Now the War Is Over (44 page)

‘This place opened last year,’ Reggie said. ‘Pete, one of the lads I did my training with in Kings Heath – he told me about it. The food’s . . . Well, I really like
it.’ He leaned over as she peered, bemused, at the menu. ‘I can tell you some nice things if you like.’

She felt the age gap again suddenly, Reggie much older and more experienced. He had learned to do all sorts of new things. And he had money. He ate in restaurants sometimes, something she had
scarcely ever done, except for a couple of times before Christmas when business had gone especially well and Dad treated them.

‘The chicken’s nice,’ he said. ‘Go on – order what you like. It’s all on me.’

He seemed excited, she thought. When she glanced up from the menu his eyes were drinking her in as if trying to memorize her, or as if – she realized afterwards – he was about to
spring a surprise on her.

‘I don’t really know,’ she said. She chose something that sounded fairly safe and Reggie ordered. He asked for lagers to drink.

‘D’you know why they serve lager in Indian restaurants?’ he asked, sitting back once the waiter had dissolved away like a shadow. ‘There’s this big restaurant in
London called Veeraswamy’s, been open for years. And sometime before the war the Prince of Denmark went there for a meal. He liked it so much that he gave them a present of a whole lot of
lager. I suppose they must have found it went well with the food.’ He laughed. ‘Pete told me that as well. He knows all sorts of odd things, like a walking encyclopaedia.’

Melly laughed. She looked around her. There were a few other people in the restaurant, but it was only half past six – early as yet. She realized that today had made her feel less like
drab little Melly. She had run the stall – run it well, she knew – and now she was sitting here, in a restaurant, with Reggie. She felt more grown up, her thoughts expanding wider.

‘You’ll have to tell me about Germany,’ she said. ‘You never said anything about your National Service.’

‘I will.’ Reggie took a drink of his lager. ‘Thing is though, Melly. I want to say summat first.’

She saw that he was now full of some emotion that she could not read. He lit a cigarette and she noticed that his hands were not steady. He took a drag on it and set it down in the ashtray, his
right hand reaching into his pocket.

‘Before they bring the food I want to . . .’ He had brought out a little blue box and, watching her, he opened it. Against a dark bed of velvet, she saw jewels winking – one at
the centre a deep green, nestled between clear, glassy diamonds like tiny dots of light.

‘I know it’s been quick, Melly. But I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Not since I saw you again. Being away from you is terrible. I love you with all my heart and
I want to ask you to be my wife.’

Tommy had woken that Saturday morning with his heart pounding hard. He opened his eyes and looked round, startled. He was still in the back room downstairs on the put-you-up
– of course he was. Auntie was in his old room.

Usually he woke in a sweat about getting to work – still, after all this time. But there was no work today. As he sat up, he remembered that the reason for his pounding blood was
excitement as much as nerves.

‘
Dear Mr Booker . . .
’ The letter had arrived by return of post from an address in West Bromwich. ‘
Thank you for your subscription to the Invalid Tricycle
Association.
’ The letter went on to give him information about events and socials that were planned.

‘
You may be interested in an event that is coming up shortly . . .
’ There was to be an outing to Cannock Chase; a picnic and social with games. Times and meeting places
followed. Today – it was today. And he had decided to go. He had dared himself. What else would he be doing, stuck at home? It looked dry and bright outside. He had no exact idea where he was
going, but what the heck? He and his little car would find the way together.

‘I thought I’d better get over to Hay Mills and see your nan later,’ his mother said as she drifted into the kitchen. ‘D’you want to come with me?
You could go on your Invacar thing now.’ She peered at him. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Making a sandwich.’ He was bent over, the loaf pinned with his left arm, sawing erratically at it.

‘Here – let me.’ She came over to him; her nylon dressing gown swished a faint smell of sweat and sandalwood talc. On her feet were little slippers with a strip of pink fluff
across to keep them on.

‘No – s’all right. I can – do it.’

‘Well, what d’you want a sandwich for this time in the morning?’

‘I’m going – for a picnic.’ He explained about the ITA, the social. As he spoke, she immediately looked worried.

‘But, love – Cannock? That’s miles away, up Wolver-hampton way, isn’t it?’ She had never been there. She scarcely knew. ‘I mean, it’s one thing going
over to work in that thing, but all the way out there? Look – just let me do that.’ She elbowed him out of the way. Spreading the marge was harder than cutting a slice.

Tommy gave in and asked her for cheese and pickle.

‘There’s a – group – going,’ he said, sitting by the table as she parcelled up his food. ‘All together. I want – to – go places.’

‘Course you do, bab.’ But she looked uncertain, her long habits of protectiveness warring with her longing for freedom – for both him and herself. ‘Here –
I’ll cut you a piece of cake. And there’s some apples. Want a flask of tea?’

‘Yeah. Go on – then.’

‘I hope you’re going to be all right,’ she said, heating the Thermos, swirling it in her hands.

‘I’ll be – OK,’ he said. He smiled to reassure her.

He loved his three-wheeler, now he’d got the hang of it. Once he was inside this vehicle – built especially for him! – he felt equal to everyone else. He
could roar along the roads – it was very noisy – the fact of his bad arm, his weakly functioning legs, for the moment irrelevant. He was part of the traffic, going places like anyone
else.

And when he turned up at the meeting place for the social, half sick with nerves, he was amazed to see more and more invalid carriages arriving, of varying ages and styles. Driving them he could
see people of varying ages and styles as well. An older man who he parked next to leaned over and called to him through his window.

‘All right, lad? New, are yer? Don’t you worry – just follow on. We’ll all stick together.’

Tommy nodded and smiled back. He kept looking to see if he could spot anyone of his age in the cars but it was hard to tell from where he was. He had not met many people for any kind of social
life up until now, except at the clubs organized by Carlson House. He still had a couple of pals from the school, but now he wanted something new, to prove to himself that he could do things
outside just the Spastic Association.

No friendships had come out of being at work. No one was interested in waiting long enough for him to get out of the building, let alone to do anything else like help him go to the pictures with
them. He was too slow. He didn’t fit in. It made him feel as though he wanted to hide away again, away from people’s harsh staring eyes and unkind comments, like,
Why don’t
you go to Remploy, hopalong?

For years he had not let himself want any more, the things that able-bodied people took for granted like friends and social lives and love affairs. It hurt too much to want and know you were
never going to get anything. It was better not to feel anything.

But now, even just being here felt exciting – with a whole new set of people who were something like him. He didn’t care how young or old people were really. It was just nice to have
a chat, do things with other people who knew what it was like. And – he allowed himself the thought – surely somewhere in all this lot there might be someone he could call a friend?
That was his biggest dream. If only he could have a true friend.

They headed north, the sun out, the warm air coming in through his open windows; he thought he might burst with excitement. As they set off the man in the next car called to
him again, ‘Just follow me, son, if you don’t know the way.’

So that was what he was doing, not needing to worry about reading a map or whether he might get lost and instead feeling as proud of his little vehicle as he might have been of the fastest
racing car. He had wheels! He was off to see the world. He was amazed by the open space of Cannock Chase, the gently rolling hills, the woods all around and all the three-wheelers arriving. He
looked round as all the little vehicles parked on a flat area, in a semicircle.

As he was getting ready to haul himself out, he saw that as well as the invalid cars, quite a number of ordinary cars had rolled up which must have been behind them. There were people with no
disabilities walking about: friends or family of others in the three-wheelers. He saw wheelchairs being taken out of cars, people spreading rugs and carrying picnic baskets.

Tommy felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped it was just going to be other disabled drivers. He had no one with him. Now he was going to face a day sitting on the edge of things again, all
on his own as everyone met up with their families in tow. He felt like starting up the engine and driving home again, only he didn’t know the way. And he had wanted something of today, of
joining the ITA. Wanted it so much.

He sat for a moment, his right hand gripping the steering bar.

Oh, well, he thought. Better get on with it. At least I’ve got a rug to sit on. A little rug that had come with the car.

He climbed out, put the strap of his canvas bag with his sandwiches and flask in over his head, reached down for his stick and tucked the rug under his right arm. This made walking very awkward.
He could not hold the stick properly as he had to keep his arm clenched close to his body. He shuffled along a few steps feeling hungry and defeated and fed up before he had even started. The place
where everyone was gathering for the picnic was about twenty yards away. It seemed like miles. He put his head down and resigned himself to shuffling along.

‘All right, lad?’ a voice said, approaching behind him. Tommy bristled for a second but the voice sounded friendly enough. ‘Need a hand?’

A balding, middle-aged man had come up behind him, a wicker basket in one hand and a cloth draped over one shoulder. He was wearing sporty brown tweed trousers, a putty-coloured shirt and
spectacles clamped on his bulbous pink nose.

‘Let me carry the rug for you,’ he said. ‘It’s cramping your style, I can see.’

Tommy allowed him to take the rug and the man walked slowly, as if keeping Tommy company.

‘I’ve not seen you on one of these outings before, young man. Is this your first?’

‘Yes,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ve just joined.’

‘Good, very good.’ The man spoke in the brisk way that Tommy often found people did to him. He expected him to stop talking and move away as soon as he could, but he said.
‘We’ve been to a few – just over the last year, since my daughter had her car.’

They talked cars: the man’s daughter’s was a Tippen Delta, made in Coventry. Tommy told the man his was an Invacar.

‘Marvellous, aren’t they?’ the man said. ‘I’d never’ve thought there could be such a thing. Course there used to be the old bath chairs but these –
marvellous.’

As they approached the place where everyone was laying out their rugs and food, the man said, ‘Right – where d’you want to be?’ He looked at Tommy and then back behind
him. ‘Isn’t there anyone with you?’

‘No,’ Tommy had to admit.

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, well, that won’t do. Can’t have you sitting all on your own. I’m sure you’ve already done far too much of that if I know anything about it
– eh?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Come and sit with us – over there, look, that’s my wife and family.’ Tommy saw a small group of people sitting together, one, a
dark-haired woman, had her arm raised, waving in her husband’s direction.

‘All right. Thank – you.’ Tommy felt relieved but also a bit silly, like a charity case and a nuisance. It was still better than just sitting there on his own, but then he had
to worry about eating in front of strangers. He tensed up, wondering what he was in for.

When they reached the spot, the woman got to her feet. Beside her was someone in a wheelchair, her back to Tommy, and a boy who looked a few years younger than he was.

‘Hello,’ the woman said, a kind but enquiring look on her face.

‘This is Tommy,’ her husband told her. ‘This is his first time – and he’s come all on his own.’

‘Oh, dear – well, we can’t have that,’ she said. Her dark hair was shoulder length and curled under at the ends. She had a fresh complexion and a smiley way of talking.
‘Come and join us. Here we are, Jo-Ann,’ she added to the person in the wheelchair. ‘We’ve got some company!’

The boy, who must have been about fourteen and looked obviously very like his mother, got to his feet.

‘This is Tommy,’ his mother said. And to Tommy, ‘This is Philip.’

‘’Lo,’ Philip said. He seemed shy, but not unfriendly.

‘And this is our daughter Jo-Ann.’

She was trying to turn in the chair to see who was there and her mother went to help. Tommy saw a girl of about his own age with long, straight brown hair and a shy smile which brought a deep
dimple into her right cheek.

‘Hello,’ she said.

Tommy smiled back, squirming inwardly with shyness. The girl was lovely. Lovely in a way that made something cartwheel inside him.

‘Come on – let’s have something to eat,’ the mother was saying. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Come and sit here, Tommy – are you all
right down on the ground? Good – sit by Jo-Ann, she’d love to talk to you. Oh, I forgot to say, I’m Mrs Halstead – Marjorie. And this is my husband Roy. You’ve brought
something to eat? Oh, good – but there’s plenty here as well.’

Tommy sank to the ground, close to Jo-Ann’s wheelchair. He made a to-do about getting settled and getting out his sandwiches, because he was overcome with shyness and had no idea what to
say. Just because Jo-Ann’s mother said she would want to talk to him did not mean it was true.