As she strolled along the Golden Mile, breathing salt air and
sniffing seaweed, Audrey watched the glistening waves rising and falling and
eventually dwindling to a trickle on the sand. An unmerciful sun was burning
her scalp and she knew she'd be in trouble if she didn’t buy a hat.
Consequently, darting between tramcars, she crossed the road for the sole
purpose of such a purchase.
She wandered by congested amusement arcades and souvenir
shops until she found a stall selling hats: straw and cotton, wide brimmed or
peaked, with or without slogans. There she bought a modest, slogan-free, blue
straw with curly ribbons, and arranged it at a fetching slant over one eye. A
woman on a whelk stall called out that her seafood was fresh today, and Audrey
wondered if it could possibly be the same place where her mother once urged her
to try a loathsome oyster. To this day, the memory of it slithering down her
throat made her want to heave. She had vowed at the time never to repeat the
experience; keeping the pledge had been easy.
Browsing round, undecided about where to go next, she came to
a double-fronted jeweller's shop and it occurred to her that she should buy an
engagement present for Gladys. She stopped to examine the window display and
sniggered when she saw an arrangement of silver teething rings, spoons and
pushers. 'They definitely won't need baby things,' she said, and blushed when a
pair of love-birds turned to stare. Disdainfully, the couple moved to inspect
the rings in the other window.
Audrey resumed her search. A wood and brass barometer on the
backdrop caught her eye, reminding her of the one on Doris's wall that Gladys
so often admired. That would be perfect for a mature twosome who already possessed
the requisites for keeping house. Being unsure about Sam's tastes she based her
decision on the fact that Gladys's were similar to her own and since the
barometer was decorative as well as functional she decided to buy it.
Her purchase made and gift wrapped, she emerged from the
shop, and debated the idea of popping in the milk-bar next door or getting a
coffee someplace else. The decision to choose coffee came as a result of
witnessing the unbelievable bedlam inside the milk-bar: arguing families, crying
babies, kids screaming as they cavorted like chimpanzees on the tables; a scene
instrumental in sending Audrey to a quieter coffee bar further along, for which
she would ultimately be extremely grateful.
She paid for coffee and an Eccles cake and carried the tray
to a blue and white plastic covered table, tacky with coffee spills and
chocolate smears. Artificial plants in white troughs were installed between
tables and a plastic bear holding a charity box was used to prop open the door.
The coolness in there made up for the cake being just about palatable and the
insipid coffee merely lukewarm.
She bit into the cake and stared at the cheap poster frames
on the walls, mostly prints featuring the Pleasure Beach and the Tower. When
two middle-aged women gathered their belongings and went out, Audrey noticed
that the rest of the customers were local women taking a break from shopping;
all except a jeans-clad girl in the bay, a straw hat hanging from her neck by
its string and judging by the droop of her shoulders having the world's
problems to contend with. Just then a group of chattering teenagers jostled
each other to get through the door, and the lone girl turned to watch.
That's how Audrey came to find Vera Tomlin.
~~~~~
'Mind if I join you,' she asked, depositing a tall glass of
lemonade and a cup of coffee on the table.
Vera curved round to see who had spoken. Showing neither
surprise nor embarrassment, she said, 'Hello, Miss B,' and cleared her things
from the chair so that Audrey could sit down, as coolly as if the meeting had
been planned.
Sipping the coffee, which was a great deal hotter than the
last, Audrey said in a light voice, 'I didn't see you until those people left.'
Vera gave her a weak smile. 'You here on holiday?'
'Yes. Are you?'
The senseless question was all Audrey could think of to say,
in the light of the apprehension she felt over broaching such a delicate
subject as running away, but it turned out to be an unnecessary sentiment
because Vera unashamedly blurted it out.
'I ran away,' she said, matter-of-factly. 'Couldn't take
Mum's carping any longer. Nag, nag, nag.' She snapped her finger and thumb
three times. 'All she ever does is nag.' Without being prompted, she embarked
on lengthy descriptions of one unfortunate scene after another until at length she
ran out of steam and began fiddling with her cup. She averted her eyes as
though regretting the divulgences of family life.
'I ran away, too,' Audrey said impulsively, essentially as a
demonstration of joining forces, but instantly conceiving that it was a
misguided means of consoling a girl who did not need or require such
succouring. As if the admission wasn't enough, she went on to explain why,
surprising herself by mentioning the nuisance calls in much the same way she
had explained them to Adrian: jokingly, and keeping the nature of them to
herself.
'I knew something
was wrong,' Vera cried. 'Whenever you answered the phone you got bad-tempered.
Were they naughty calls?'
Now,
how could she know about such things?
Audrey shook her head. 'Some idiot playing havoc with my
nervous system. I got used to it after a while and …'
Looked
forward to them!
'And what?'
'I ran away.'
'You must've been at your wit's end.'
'Yes.'
Vera talked about her Aunt Fiona and Uncle Jim, a boring
couple, who thought television insulted their intelligence and who didn't seem
to mind that their radio was broken. They preferred to spend their evenings
singing love ditties … with hands on hearts … and hymns. Thinking the situation
would encourage her to return home Audrey probed the possibility, but Vera
thumped the table and said she would sooner be bored to death than suffer
constant fault-finding and threats of suicide.
They remained in the cafe for most of the day, braving two
lots of sandwiches consisting of dried-out luncheon meat, and a vast amount of
drinks. They talked non-stop until Audrey remembered that Adrian would be
waiting and, as yet, she hadn't bought the plaice she promised for dinner. She
was, though, reluctant to leave. Who knew what might happen to a single girl
bored witless by undiscerning adults. Nevertheless, she put on her hat and
separated her parcel from Vera's things, guiltily eyeing her crestfallen
expression. She thought about asking her back to the house, certain that Adrian
wouldn't mind; he had, after all, complained of not seeing many people. So,
taking a gamble, she hastily invited Vera to share their fish.
'Can't,' Vera said, consulting her watch. 'Aunt Fiona's
roasting a chicken. I said I'd be back at five.'
'Come tomorrow then, to lunch.'
'You're on. I'll tell Aunt not to cook for me. Will you be
having fish again?'
Audrey chuckled. 'Not on your life.'
~~~~~
Vera fell in love with Adrian and he with her. They acted
like they'd known each other for ever, spontaneously fussing and bantering in
the most natural, unaffected way. At dinner, they vied over the last helping of
beef stew and laughingly soaked their broth with slices of granary bread. Audrey
silently rejoiced at their close affinity.
'Now look, young Madam, you've pinched the last crust.'
Assuming annoyance, Adrian looked at Audrey. 'See what you've landed me with?
This wench is one of those who pinches crusts off old men.'
Audrey grinned and fetched more bread. They were similar to
Brian and Matthew, she thought, remembering how they had bread with everything,
even cake, and always demanded seconds. She disliked faddy eaters who picked at
food so it pleased her enormously to see the two satisfied faces in front of
her.
Vera rubbed her lips with a damask napkin. 'That was super,
Miss Buckham.'
'I told you to call me Audrey. Miss Buckham makes me sound
like an old maid.'
'You're not an old maid. You've got Matthew. Old maids don't
have kids.'
'Some do,' muttered Adrian.
'You what, Uncle?'
'I said, some do. My cousin Ada gave birth to a daughter at
forty-six. A real battle-axe she was. Still, someone fancied her. I couldn't
understand what he saw in her. Her temper flared faster than a struck match. And
talk about unattractive; she could've modelled for one of those ugly mugs they
sell in the market.'
'Ooh, you are terrible, Mr Buckham.'
'You're right, I am. I'm so terrible I'm going for a snooze
in the garden.' He whistled to Ben. 'Come on, let's get out of here before they
get me washing up.' The dog struggled to get his bulk off the floor and
followed him outside.
Adrian seemed more upright, a fact Audrey put down to lively
company and a good meal; and, if that was all it took, then the sooner a
housekeeper was engaged the better.
~~~~~
Audrey lowered herself into one of the deckchairs she had
earlier pitched on the lawn. In his chair, Adrian slept, his face hidden by his
paper; his whole body budged as his breathing grew more noisy and the chair
squeaked with every exhalation.
'What do you aim to do in Blackpool?' Audrey said to Vera,
who was lying on the grass.
Vera rolled onto her stomach and waved her legs in the air.
'I could rent a flat.'
'You could go home.'
'No! I'll go home when you do. Since we both ran away, we
should go together.'
An attempt to persuade her to ring Gerald brought another
refusal and Audrey decided to chill down, believing Vera's flush signified
anger rather than excessive warmth. Whatever happened, she did not wish to be
cast in the same role as the girl's parents. She plucked out a handful of
clover and idly separated the flowers from the leaves. 'I suppose I could ask
Uncle if you could stay here.' She said it without thinking but on seeing
Vera's eager expression, she knew that once again she had taken too much on
herself. She promptly tried to dampen the girl's enthusiasm. 'You mustn't be
disappointed if he says no.'
Vera swivelled round and sat up. 'He won't. He enjoys having
me around.' She clapped her hands. 'Just think,' she shouted. 'No more hymns.'
'Shush!' said Audrey, glancing at her recumbent uncle. 'If he
agrees, will you ring your Dad? Because if you don't, I will!'
'O-kay!'
Adrian peeped over the top of the paper and winked at Vera. 'I
want her to stay, Audrey, lass. She makes me feel ten years younger.'
'Told you,' exclaimed Vera, wrinkling her nose at Audrey and
sidling to Adrian's side. 'I thought you were asleep.'
'How can an old man sleep with such a commotion?' Singularly
wide awake, Adrian lowered the newspaper and launched his own idea of what
should be done, recommending that Audrey should go forthwith to put the idea to
Mr and Mrs Tomlin, and adding that, if they approved, she could bring with her
some of Vera's clothes. 'And, while you're out, I can sort the small bedroom.
Just in case.'
Vera rounded on him, threatening to go straight back if he so
much as touched a towel, while Audrey clamped her lips to stop herself
chortling at the girl's audacity in assuming she could blackmail him so.
(to be continued)
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