Faded Dreams (7 page)

   Joe set to work preparing the Christmas dinner but he might as well have been invisible for all the notice Florrie took. The children were excitedly showing her their presents but she could only nod mechanically. For a while her world had stopped turning.

   Time and again she stroked her fingers across her face where Frank’s tender kiss still tingled on her flushed cheek. The other soldiers had given her a Christmas kiss last night, some passionately, some shyly, but none had affected her like Frank’s sweet, impulsive gesture. Heaven forbid, don't say she was falling in love with Frank Neild! The mere thought was  enough to send a warm tingle through her body.

   ‘Am I talking to the bloody wall, or what?’ Joe jerked her out of her daydream. ‘I’ve
said
it three times… this is a damn fine chicken we’ve got here.’

   He had fattened up a cock-chicken and a couple of days earlier throttled it in full view of his daughters, waving the still writhing bird towards them and laughing heartily. They had made a pet of the bird and were horrified.

   ‘You’ve murdered Crowy Cock… you’re a MURDERER,’ screamed Betty.

   ‘We’re not eating him,’ Ellen covered her eyes with her hands.

   ‘Don’t be so bloody marred,’ he laughed, ‘he’ll be nice and tasty with a bit of sage and onion up his arse and a drop of gravy round him.’

   With the chicken in the oven, and the potatoes peeled ready for Florrie to boil, he went to the pub.

   By 2 o’clock Crowy was well and truly roasted and the children were so hungry they would have eaten anything. With no sign of her husband Florrie carved the chicken, mashed the potatoes, stirred a pinch of pepper into the pan of mushy peas and sat down with the girls. Joe’s plate rattled on top of a pan of boiling water for another hour.

   They were going to his parents for tea so he promised he would go easy on the beer. His promises though well-meant were unreliable so Florrie was relieved to see him walk rather than stagger into the kitchen. Carrying his plate to the table he appeared not to notice the gravy had dried to a dark brown stain.

   ‘Well! I must say our Crowy’s turned out bloody tender.  Have the kids had enough to eat Florrie?’  It was something he asked every time he sat down at the table, he had to be sure their bellies were full before he could enjoy his own meal. ‘Give ‘em some of mine, I’ll not eat all
this
.’

   ‘We’ve all had enough. Get it eaten yourself, and for God’s sake hurry up or your mam and dad’ll be wondering where the hell we’ve got to.’

   He finished his dinner and rinsed his hands and face at the kitchen sink. Hopping from one foot to the other he dusted the fronts of his shoes on the backs of his trouser legs. Although he never took a bath or washed anything apart from his face and neck, he liked to think of himself as a smart, well-turned-out man-about-town.

   Now when it came to his collars and shirts he was particularly finicky. Loosening his collar from its studs he reached for a freshly ironed one. After struggling in vain to attach it to his shirt he flung both collar and stud to the floor and turned angrily on his wife

   ‘Did you say you'd ironed this collar?’

   ‘What’s wrong with it? ‘Course I’ve ironed it.’

   His voice rose. ‘Where’s this bloody crease come from then?’

   ‘Oh shut your gob Joe, for God’s sake. We don’t want all
this
on Christmas Day… iron it your bloody self in future.’

   ‘Don’t tell me to shut me gob… you lazy bugger. ‘You don’t know you’re born…you do bugger-all in this house… simple-minded, bloody Joe Mug does the lot…makes the meals…even on Christmas Day... cleans up….you lot are neither use nor ornament,
none
of you.’

   With that, he grabbed the half-empty mushy-peas pan and flung it against the wall. A bottle of HP sauce followed and slithered towards the floor ,the thick brown spicy liquid and broken glass joining the pea puree which should have gone towards tomorrow's dinner. His face went from red to white to grey, finally taking on a pale green hue not unlike the mushy peas.

   ‘I’ll show you who’s boss around here, and if your don’t like it, you know what you can do… piss off.’ His thunderous voice was breaking with emotion. ‘I’ll not be ordered about by you or any other woman. Go on, piss off, the lot of you… I’ll be better off on me own.’

   Florrie ushered her daughters through the front door, the sound of breaking glass ringing in her ears. Maggie Pomfret would have to decide for herself why they hadn’t turned up for tea, but never in a million years would she lay the blame at the door of her beloved son.

   In the silence that followed Joe wondered why everybody blamed him for these bust-ups when Florrie was at fault for antagonising him in the first place. After being wed all these years you’d think she’d know when to keep her gob shut instead of upsetting him time after time like this.

   Drenched in self-pity he started to clean up the mess.  He’d make sure the house was spotless and when she brought the kids back he’d let bygones be bygones, and one of these days she’d realise how lucky she was to have a fella like him that was willing to forgive and forget.

                                                      CHAPTER EIGHT

   The next few days were peaceful if only because Florrie and Joe were not on speaking terms after his Christmas Day outburst.  She couldn’t forgive him for ruining Christmas justlike he managed to ruin every weekend or holiday - not to mention ordinary everyday-days in between.

   As usual, he used  Ellen as a go-between, ‘Ellie… ask your mam if she wants a pot of tea.’

   ‘Mum, dad says do you…’

   ‘Tell him he can shove his pot of tea up his arse,’ Florrie said, without even acknowledging her husband less than three feet away. 

   Ellen told him no such thing. Repeating it would have earned her a swift clout off her mum or dad, or both.

   New Year’s Eve was fast approaching and Frank Neild and his wife Janie were to stay overnight so Joe was pretty confident there would be a truce before then. After biding his time for another day or two he sensed a change of mood and seized his moment.

   ‘Ask your mam if she wants a bacon-butt, Ellie.’

   Ellen glanced hopefully at her mother.

   ‘Tell him I’ll have a drop of sauce on it,’ she snapped.

   He handed her the sandwich with one single drop of sauce on it. She snatched it, her eyes narrowing angrily. Why did he have to be so bloody idiotic? Shielding his face with his arm he cowered from her in mock terror feigning a tremor that shook him from head to foot. When he lowered his arm and his twinkling eyes met hers, she stifled a giggle and he knew he’d won.

   ‘I’m sorry, lass. But y
’know
I love you more’n anything Florrie. I’m a daft bugger sometimes, but y’know I don’t mean it.’

   ‘How many times have I heard that tale?  Well, one of these days I’ll sling my hook and bugger off for good.' Her words were brusque yet there was softness in the way she uttered them and she didn’t resist when he pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her. Ellen gave a sigh of relief and hugged them both. Betty, angry with her mother for giving in so easily and with Ellen for being so forgiving, stared coldly at the three of them. Her stomach was in a knot and she knew it wouldn’t be long before plates were flying against the wall again.  How she hated her father.

*

    Florrie had looked forward to meeting Janie on New Year's Eve, but since Frank’s brief kiss on Christmas Day her feelings were a mixture of curiosity and resentment, even jealousy, but you weren’t supposed to feel jealous of another man’s wife, not when you had a husband of your own. The kiss had meant nothing to Frank so why should she attach so much importance to it? After all, it wasn’t as if he’d kissed her on the lips… it wasn’t as if she’d lain in his arms all night… Christ, where were her thoughts leading her. She wondered what kind of a girl Janie would be. She hoped she wouldn’t be prettier or better dressed than herself, it was bad enough that she was a few years younger. Coming from Lancaster she wouldn’t talk in a broad Lancashire dialect like Joe and her. Frank, with his posh, gentle way of talking... she could listen to him all day. There she went again, daydreaming, wondering what it would be like to be Janie and married to him.

   Just before midnight he stood on the front doorstep chatting to other ‘first-footers’ waiting for the clock in Corporation Park to chime in the New Year. As the clock fell silent he was welcomed inside where Frank was waiting to propose a toast.

   ‘To 1941, let’s drink to the end of this bloody war and hope and pray that before long we’ll all have peaceful lives again.

   They clinked whisky glasses then placed them on the table and welcomed the New Year with kisses or handshakes. Joe made a meal of Janie for what seemed like hours, greedily reaching for a second helping of her tight, red lips.

   Frank and Florrie made do with a quick peck at first, but seeing that Joe and Janie were too busy with each other to notice them, slid back into each other's arms and kissed more passionately. They broke apart to find Joe pinning Janie against the wall while she struggled to break free.

   ‘For Christ’s sake, let her be, act your age and stop showing yourself up,’ Florrie muttered under her breath. Compared to Frank he was uncouth and insensitive.

   Later she undressed and climbed into bed, surprisingly irritated at the thought of Frank and Janie crushed up together under the stairs. The walls on either side of the tiny bed would keep them from falling onto the floor so more than likely they’d have to cling to each other all night.

   She wished she’d never met Janie, her with her sharp tongue and an answer for everything.  She’d never make a friend of her, they were like cheese and chalk, her and Janie.

   ‘I don’t reckon much to Frank’s wife, ‘she whispered.

   ‘What’ya on about? She’s a bloody smasher. Come on, shuddup now and give us a kiss.’

   He turned to face her, his sexual abilities unaffected by his ability to down alcohol. Joe’s urges were the last thing on Florrie’s mind but one thing that Hettie had told her stuck in her mind...

  
When you get wed Florrie, never refuse your husband even if you don’t feel like bothering with him. It’s a cruel thing to do to a fella and it’ll be your own fault if he goes looking somewhere else for what he’s not getting at home.

   With that in mind, she tried her best not to imagine what was going on downstairs in that hot cosy air-raid shelter and rolled over into Joe’s arms.

   The next morning she asked  if he’d noticed how Janie had constantly belittled Frank, how she’d made references to his best friend Bob, who was supposedly keeping an eye on her while he was away.

   Joe couldn’t imagine what she was getting at.  He reckoned Janie was a smart-looking little tart and Frank was bloody lucky to have her. 

   Hell-fire, one look at her would knock any fella bow-legged. No wonder he wanted somebody to look after her when he was away -
he
wouldn’t have minded keeping an eye on her himself. 

   He told Florrie she’d better stop worrying about Frank and mind her own business  but with the amount of time Frank and the boys spent in her home over the coming months that was easier said than done.

   She sensed that something seemed to be going on between her and Frank, and she knew in her heart it wouldn't be long before something happened.

CHAPTER NINE

   ‘Hey, Florrie, where are ya?’ Joe was clearly agitated. ‘I’ve just been talking to some of the lads downtown…’ he paused for breath, ‘they’re moving out Florrie… it looks like the balloon’s gone up.’

   ‘Moving out?
All
of them?’She stared in disbelief.

   ‘Yeah, it’s all of ‘em that’s going.’

   ‘Where to?’ 

   ‘Nay they’re not gonna tell ‘em
that
till they are well on their way or Jerry’ll be waiting for ‘em. Frank reckons it’ll be a long time afore any of ‘em see us again… that’s if they ever do
see us again. Anyway, they’ll not have time to come round here afore they leave.’ His pessimistic view of the unfolding drama was coupled with a personal pride in his friends  off to do daring deeds.