Licence to Dream

Dear reader

I sometimes wonder how my heroes and heroines have turned into the sort of person who steps out on to my pages.

This time I’ve indulged my curiosity and explored Meriel’s and Ben’s childhoods. Then I’ve watched them as adults pursuing their dreams.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Anna

Meriel the Child

Nine-year-old Meriel Ingram walked home from school, shoulders hunched against the rain, backpack bobbing against her shoulders. She slowed down as she got nearer home because once inside, she’d be trapped indoors. Her mother never let her and her sister play out in the rain. It wasn’t fair.

The Ingrams had one of the two best houses in the long terrace, with three bedrooms instead of two. The smallest bedroom of each house was built over the arched passageway which led through the middle of the row to the narrow lane between the back yards at the rear. The row was wide enough for a horse and cart to pass along and Grandpop said in the old days coal had been delivered that way.

With a sigh Meriel opened the front door calling, ‘I’m back, Mum!’ and went through to the kitchen at the rear.

Her mother greeted her with, ‘Just look at you! Covered in mud again. Where do you find it? Get those filthy socks off this minute and I’ll put them to soak. They were
white
this morning.’

Meriel removed the socks and trailed up to her bedroom, lingering by the window to stare down at the row of small oblong back yards. Theirs was completely covered in black tarmac, which she hated. The next door neighbours had made a little garden with all sorts of flowers, but her mother said a garden would make the yard untidy and get in the way of her washing.

But the flowers were much prettier!

Meriel looked out every morning before she went to school to see what was coming into bloom, and checked them again in the evenings.

When her father got back, her mother had the food on the table within minutes. As they began to eat, she announced, ‘Mrs Perley next door’s got herself a job. It’s not right, mothers working. I’d never let
my
children come home to an empty house.’

Dad made a gentle murmuring noise which could have meant anything and concentrated on his food.

Meriel looked at him. Grey. He was nearly all grey: hair, pullover, trousers. Today the teacher had been talking about what jobs their fathers did. Boring jobs, all of them. Hers worked at the Town Hall as a clerk. She was going to do something more interesting than that when she grew up: become an artist, or an astronaut, or a pop singer. Not work in an office, whatever her mother said.

The thing she kept coming back to was being an artist and painting pretty pictures for people to put on their walls. Her favourite Christmas present had been a big box of paints. She loved mixing new colours and trying to make her pictures look real. Art lessons were the highlight of the school week, as far as she was concerned.

After tea she dried the dishes then got out her paints.

‘That’s the only thing you’re tidy about,’ her mother grumbled. ‘Did you put your clean clothes away? Are you
blind?
They were sitting on the bed, all neatly folded. A blind man couldn’t miss them.’

‘Sorry, Mum.’

‘You’re not fiddling with those paints till you’ve gone upstairs and put your clothes away. You’d live in a pigsty if I let you!’

With a sigh Meriel did as she was told.

When she went downstairs again, her father was sitting reading his newspaper, which he did every evening unless it was fine enough to go out for a walk. Her mother was knitting and watching a favourite TV programme. Her sister was doing homework, sneaking glances at the television.

Meriel had no homework tonight, so for an hour or so she was free to let her imagination roam. Bliss.

* * * *

When Meriel was twelve her father suggested getting a computer. ‘It’s about time our girls learned to use one.’

Denise pulled a sour face. ‘They’re expensive.’

‘They’re the coming thing. We want to give our girls a good start in life, don’t we?’

‘Where are you going to put it?’

‘We hardly ever use the front room, so a computer wouldn’t be in the way there. I thought we could put it in the back corner.’

 Meriel held her breath. She was learning how to use computers at school, but you didn’t get a turn very often and she desperately wanted one at home.

Denise got up and walked into the front room. ‘It’d mean getting rid of Auntie Janie’s table.’

‘Well, we only use that for standing ornaments on.’

‘Those are my great-grandma’s ornaments. I care a lot about them. No. There just isn’t room for a computer.’

‘We could put it in a corner of the bedroom, then,’ her father suggested.

‘What, and spoil the look of my new bedroom suite!’

For once Frank tried hard to get his way and quarrels raged through the house, but Denise won, as she always did in the end.

Wanting to help, Meriel suggested they put the computer in her bedroom. ‘I wouldn’t mind, Mum, and – ’

‘Don’t you start. I’m not having one of those horrible things in the house and that’s that.’

* * * *

That same year Meriel’s Grandpop retired and bought a little house in the next street with the money from his endowment policy, which had matured after forty years of payments.

His move across town meant he could see more of his only daughter and her family, but Meriel knew she was his favourite. Well, he was her favourite person in the world, too.

From then onwards she was able to escape from her mother more easily. Grandpop had a workshop in the cellar and he let her help him with his woodwork. She loved making things.

Her grandmother was a quiet woman, very house proud like her daughter, except for Grandpop’s cellar workshop, where no one was allowed without his permission. Not that it was messy. He wouldn’t have stood for that. A place for everything and everything in its place, he always said.

Mum went out shopping with Grandma sometimes, or they sat gossiping together, drinking tea and eating biscuits.

Dad took up long distance walking at weekends to get fit and spent even less time at home. He said he didn’t want to have a heart attack like his friend at work.

No one seemed to mind what Meriel did as long as she was safe with Grandpop.

And
he
was thinking of getting a computer.

‘I’d have to go to classes first and learn how to use one, mind. I’m not having anything in this house that I don’t understand.’

‘I know how to use one. We have them at school.’

He smiled down at her. ‘Then you’ll be able to help me, won’t you, love? Once I’ve got the house shipshape I’ll look into it.’

* * * *

The town’s campaign of beautification of the older suburbs spread to Meriel’s area. Cul-de-sacs were created in some streets, with strips of garden at the blocked-off ends, though the trees and bushes planted there by the council always seemed to be struggling to survive, poor things.

Meriel was in the thick of this mania for revitalisation because Grandpop had got a grant to modernise his home, which had a narrow downstairs bathroom, very old-fashioned, in a lean-to.

A builder created a tiny new bathroom over the stairwell, then a plumber installed the bathroom fitments, but after that Grandpop turned to Meriel. ‘How about you help me tile the walls and paint the woodwork?’

She beamed at him.

He had to coax Denise to allow her daughter to participate in such mucky activities, and buy his granddaughter some special overalls to protect her clothes, but Grandpop was one of the few people who could make her mother change her mind.

By the time the work was finished, Meriel could use all the tools that had been too big for her before. Afterwards she made her first solo piece, a bookshelf to stand on the chest of drawers in her bedroom.

Her mother pulled a face. ‘It’s crooked and I don’t know why you didn’t paint it white instead of polishing up the bare wood like that.’

‘It’s not crooked. The grain tricks your eye. See how the lines flow and curl.’ She traced them with a fingertip.

‘It’s old-fashioned, plain wood is, but it’s too late to change it now you’ve put the varnish on. Still, it’ll keep your books tidy, at least.’

Her dad said, ‘It’s lovely. You’re a clever lass.’ He glanced quickly over his shoulder and whispered, ‘I like the wood better, too.’

Her Dad spent a lot of time avoiding her mother these days, which was beginning to worry Meriel. A classmate’s parents had just split up and were getting a divorce. Jimmy had to spend alternate weeks with each of them, which he hated because he always managed to leave something he needed in the other house.

Surely her parents wouldn’t divorce? Meriel lay awake worrying about that, wishing her mother would be kinder to her father. Her mother was stuck in an old-fashioned rut and spent all her energy on having a perfect home.

Even Grandpop was more with it than his daughter, enjoying his computer, sharing it with his granddaughter, loving the way you could find so much information on it.

Meriel wasn’t going to be like her mother when she grew up. Or her father. She was going to be like her grandfather.

* * * *

‘It’s unnatural for a teenage girl to hang around with an old man like that,’ her mother grumbled as she grew older. ‘Why don’t you go out to the cinema with your friends, our Meriel?’

‘I don’t want to.’ She didn’t want to waste her spending money on films, when she could spend it on extra art materials.

‘Well, what about joining a youth club, then?’

‘Youth clubs are for people who have nothing better to do,’ Meriel explained – reasonably, she thought. ‘I’ve got plenty to do.’

‘You should have grown out of all that painting and drawing rubbish by now. It’s for little children not teenagers. A girl as pretty as you should have a boyfriend, but you don’t make the most of yourself. Lovely blond hair like that and you scrag it back in a pony tail with a rubber band.’

But Meriel paid less and less attention to her mother because the art teacher was giving her extra lessons after school and talking about the possibility of her studying art at college.

She hadn’t told her mother about that yet, though. Her mother had a way of destroying dreams, smashing the glowing rainbow hopes into dull shards of disappointment.

* * * *

Ben Elless liked living in Australia and shuddered when he saw pictures of winter in Europe on the television. His life was near perfect till he was seven and his father died suddenly of a heart attack. After taking stock of her finances, his mother said they’d have to sell their house.

He looked at her in horror. ‘But where will we live?’

‘Your uncle Johnny has invited us to live with him in the country. I’ve always got on well with my brother and it’ll be cheaper. Besides, he can’t cook for toffee.’

‘What’s it like living in the country?’

‘It doesn’t matter where you live, darling, it’s
how
you live that counts.’

Uncle Johnny even found his sister a job because he knew everyone in town.

Ben felt a bit lost in York at first. It was very small, like most country towns in Western Australia. He missed his father dreadfully and even though his uncle was kind, it wasn’t the same.

‘I miss Dad,’ he confided in his uncle one day.

‘We all do, lad. He was a good guy, your father was. But there’s no way of bringing him back so we have to carry on without him.’

‘Mum cries at night when she thinks I can’t hear. I don’t like her crying.’

‘She’ll get over that gradually. She’s a strong woman. Now, no use moping. How about I take you out walking on my block and show you the little flowers that hide away, and the little animals too? There’s a lot more than kangaroos to see. I’ve left the bush untouched so that as many native animals as possible can still have a home.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘You need to wear shoes, not sandals, and sturdy jeans. And tuck your jeans into your socks. I don’t want you getting bitten by a snake, or spider, or picking up a tick.’

Once he’d got to know the block of land, Ben was allowed to roam through the bush on his own. He became so interested in the plants, he got books out of the library, thick ones which listed every single plant, with photos or drawings of each stage of their development.

His uncle bought him a big botany book for Christmas and his other presents lay ignored as he sat on the veranda studying the photos and anatomical sketches.

After the meal was over, his mother came and sat with him. ‘You seem to love plants, Ben.’

‘I do. Look how beautiful that flower is.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to help me start a garden here, once the hot weather is over? We could grow vegetables and herbs. I’m missing my garden.’