The Beachcomber (5 page)

And now he too was gone and she was alone, except for a sister and mother who treated her with contempt. Oh, but there was still darling Maggie, a very special friend who over these past few years had become more like a sister to her than Samantha could
ever
be.

“Your stop, miss!” The conductor’s voice cut through her thoughts. “I thought for a minute you’d gawn off to sleep.”

Kathy laughed. “Chance would be a fine thing,” she replied with a grin. “To tell you the truth, I could sleep on a clothes-line!”

He waited for her to disembark. “What? Boyfriend been keeping you out late, has he?”

Kathy thought of her last encounter and laughed out loud. “I’m done with all that,” she told him, and meant it.

Tucked away behind a row of shops, Kathy’s flat boasted one tiny bedroom, a kitchenette, a sparkling white bathroom, and a surprisingly spacious living room, whose wide window looked down over the hustle and bustle of the locality.

Furnished with a brown, second-hand sofa, a little oak dresser carved with roses, a couple of seascapes hanging on the wall, and other market bric-a-brac placed here and there to make it more like home, the flat didn’t have much in the way of luxuries. But it was clean and functional and suited her for now.

She had decided to rent it after she and Dan had split up. It had been a struggle on her salary, but with Dan’s small monthly check, she could just afford it. She couldn’t have stayed in their old home. This place had given Kathy that sense of freedom and independence she had sorely needed. It was her sea of calm after the storm, and she loved it.

Relieved to be home, she pottered around the flat, her voice softly humming to the tune of Doris Day’s “A Guy Is a Guy.” She had spent a small fortune playing that song on the jukebox at the Palais, but it never failed to make her smile, as it did now. She danced across the room; she was looking forward to the usual Saturday evening at the Palais with Maggie. Saturday night was the one time they could really let their hair down; they could lie in for as long as they liked on Sunday morning.

Kathy picked up her bag, and ran down to the payphone in the hall. Her toes were still tapping as she waited for the connection. While she waited she launched into another rendition of “A Guy Is a Guy,” her arms and legs jerking in time with the rhythm.

It seemed an age before Maggie answered. Kathy was about to replace the receiver when Maggie’s blunt Cockney voice finally answered, “Yes, who is it?”

Kathy gave a sigh of relief. “It’s
me
, who d’you think it is?” She suddenly felt tired to the bone. “I was just about to put the phone down,” Kathy told her. “Where
were
you?” She grinned. “Hey! You haven’t got a fella there, have you?”

At the other end of the line, Maggie continued drying her hair. “No, worse luck. I were in the bathroom.”

“So, you haven’t forgotten we’re off to the Palais tonight, then?”

“No chance! I’m looking forward to it.”

“Bad day, was it?”

Maggie groaned. “You
could
say that. I’ve never known the salon so busy. Eight bloody hours, an’ I never even got a proper chance to sit down. Honest to God, Kathy, I don’t know why I’m looking forward to the Palais, ’cause I’ll not be able to dance even if I’m asked. Me back aches like it’s been through a wringer, and me feet feel like two over-baked puddings.”

Kathy was used to Maggie’s moaning. It was all part and parcel of her colorful personality. She’d met Maggie at work, when she’d come in as a replacement receptionist. Maggie’s outspoken style and vibrant outfits meant she hadn’t lasted long – but long enough for the two of them to become good, if unlikely, friends. “We needn’t go to the Palais if you don’t want?” she suggested slyly. “We could go to the chippie instead, then come back here afterward. You can help me paint that bathroom wall … I’ve been meaning to do it for ages.”

“What!” Incredulous, Maggie yelped down the phone. “You asking me to help you paint the bathroom wall … on a Sat’day night of all things?”

“Well, if you
really
don’t feel like going down the Palais, I thought it would be a good idea. Besides, I finally bought a tin of paint last week … that lovely lavender color I told you about. And I know I’ve got two brushes …” She smiled mischievously. “It’ll be fun. What do you say?”

Maggie was shocked. “Bloody hell, Kathy, have you gone bleedin’ mad or what!
You
can paint if you like, but, pudding feet or not,
I’m
off to the Palais!”

Kathy laughed out loud. “That’s more like it! Now stop your moaning and get ready. Eight o’clock as usual, outside Woolies.”

Maggie sounded relieved. “You and your painting. You were just having me on!”

“It worked though, didn’t it?” Kathy laughed. “See you later.” Eager now to be ready, she replaced the telephone receiver and nipped back up to the flat.

Kathy glanced at the clock. It was just coming up for five. “Time enough yet,” she muttered. “Tea and crumpet sounds good.” Leaping off the sofa, she busied herself in the tiny kitchen area, filling the kettle and switching it on. She put two crumpets under the grill.

In a matter of minutes she was seated at the table, a steaming hot cup of tea in front of her, and alongside that two golden toasted crumpets. After a moment’s hesitation, she added a scraping of precious butter from her weekly ration. “It’s an end-of-week treat,” she told herself.

Hungrier than she’d realized, she soon devoured the crumpets. Washing them down with the tea, she cleared away and went into the bathroom, where she ran a hot bath, stripped off, and gently lowered herself into the soapy suds. It felt wonderful. “Just what the doctor ordered!” She sighed and lolled, and closed her eyes to dream about her perfect man; only to groan with disappointment when she realized there was no such thing on God’s earth.

“One of these days, I might get swept off my feet by the man of my dreams,” she muttered, “though I’ll probably be old and gray, and he’ll have no teeth!” The image in her mind made her laugh out loud.

Ready to submit to a full hour of soaking in the tub, she stretched out her legs and, draping her arms over the side of the bath, began to sing; not the rock-and-roll stuff Maggie was so fond of, but a quiet, romantic Nat King Cole song, “When I Fall in Love.” It was one of her favorites. She always loved to swell her voice up to that high note. She could imagine she was Alma Cogan, in sexy high heels and one of those frilly, swingy creations.

Her romantic rendition was brought to an abrupt halt when suddenly the doorbell rang. “Oh,
now
what?”

Slipping and sliding, she struggled out of the bath, grabbing a towel to wrap around her nakedness. It was her neighbor. “There’s a telephone call for you. Says it’s urgent,” he told her. Dripping wet and disappointed, Kathy pulled on a dressing gown, went back downstairs and took up the phone. “Hi, Maggie.” She couldn’t resist a tease. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about painting the bathroom walls?”

“It’s not Maggie. It’s me … Samantha. We need to talk.”

The familiar voice of her older sister instantly darkened Kathy’s mood. “What do you want?” She must want something, Kathy thought. It was the only time her sister ever called her.

“It’s Mother.”

“What’s she up to now?” Kathy’s mother was a law unto herself, though she hardly ever did anything that might hurt her darling Samantha.

Now, though, Samantha sounded anxious. “It’s best if you come over,” she suggested hopefully. “She’s about to do something very silly.”

“Such as what?” Kathy no longer had much patience with her mother’s selfish antics.

“Please, Kathy. Come over. I can’t talk about it on the phone.”

“What …
right now
?”

“Please! I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t listen.”

“Good God, Sam! If she won’t listen to
you
, she’s hardly likely to listen to me, is she?”

“If you don’t help me, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I mean it!”

Kathy had never heard her sister so frantic. “Where are you now?”

“At Mother’s house.”

“Does she know you’ve asked me to come over?”

“She
wants
you to. Be quick as you can. I just can’t deal with it.”

Kathy was intrigued. “All right. I’ll be there soon as I can. Now if you don’t mind … I’m soaked through and catching my death of cold.”

When a moment later she replaced the receiver, Kathy leaned for a minute on the wall by the telephone. “What the devil are they up to now?” There was no telling with those two … one was every bit as devious as the other.

Back in the flat, she quickly dried herself off. After pulling on clean underwear, she then slipped on a pretty blue blouse, together with a calf-length dark skirt, which she thought made the best of her not-so-slim legs. Lastly, she pushed her tiny feet into a pair of smart brown shoes with a slender heel. A quick brush of her shoulder-length brown hair, a dab of lipstick, and she was ready; though a casual, passing glance in the mirror made her pause. “Just look at yourself, Kathy Wilson! It’s time you did something worthwhile with your miserable life … you’re losing your figure – as if you ever had one in the first place …” She gave a long, sorry sigh. “You’ve got to take a hold of yourself before it’s too late.”

Disillusioned, she turned away. “It’s time you stopped pretending. You’re in your mid-thirties and you’ve lost your way.” It was a sobering thought.

Before leaving she gave Maggie a call. “I’ll try not to be late,” she promised, “but Samantha just rang. Apparently Mother’s up to her antics again.”

There was a pause before Maggie asked what the problem was.

“I don’t know,” Kathy confessed. “Samantha wouldn’t say over the phone, but it sounds like trouble! I should let her stew in her own juice, but she was frantic. I’d best go and see what’s happened. Like I say, I’ll try and get to you on time, but if I’m not there by ten past eight, go on without me and I’ll catch up.”

Maggie was none too pleased, but agreed, with one reservation. “I don’t like going on without you, so I’ll give it a good half-hour.”

“Okay.” Kathy had a bad feeling about getting involved in whatever was happening between her mother and sister. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” she vowed. “Maybe Samantha’s got it all wrong.” Somehow though, she didn’t think so.

When Kathy reached her mother’s house, the dark mood was still on her. Even as she clambered off the bus, she was unsure about being here at all. It didn’t feel right. It never did. But her instincts told her there was something going on that she should know about. So, putting all her doubts aside, she strode determinedly down the street.

A pretty four-bedroomed place, her parents’ house was in a nice part of Kensington, situated in a tree-lined road where the houses sat well back amongst beautifully tended gardens; though if Kathy’s memory served her right, her mother had never lifted one finger to the soil. Her father, Robert, was the one who had loved the garden, but since he’d been gone her mother had paid a man to come along once a week to tend and maintain the grounds.

Approaching the house, Kathy took a minute to consider if she was doing the right thing. She came to a halt, her troubled gaze looking toward the house. She felt small and insignificant. She had lived in this house with her parents for many years – some of them good, some of them not so good. Her mother was a formidable woman; not the easiest creature in the world to get on with.

For one heart-stopping minute as she glanced toward the house, she could see her father standing on the doorstep, waving a welcome, his smile enveloping her like sunshine after rain.

In that moment of deep emotion, she turned away. Suddenly, to face her mother now seemed too much of an ordeal.

“
Kathy
!” Samantha had been watching for her.

Kathy looked up. Having seen her turn away, Samantha had opened the window and shouted. It was enough. Reluctantly, Kathy started toward the house.

As she approached the front door it was flung open by a woman in her late thirties, tall, slim and with her dark hair swept up in a handsome swirl. “I’m glad you didn’t go away,” she said accusingly. “I’ve done the best I can but she’s impossible. I hope
you
can talk some sense into her!”

Propelling Kathy into the living room, she deposited her before the hostile stare of the older woman. “Speak to her, Kathy. Tell her she’s being selfish.” Digging Kathy in the back, Samantha urged, “Go on, Kathy! She won’t listen to a word I say.”

“I probably won’t listen to
you
either, Kathy my dear, but I suppose you might as well have your say.” Her mother’s sharp brown eyes rested curiously on Kathy’s upturned face. “Whatever you have to say won’t make the slightest difference.”

Out of the same mold as Samantha, Irene was taller and slimmer than Kathy. With her smooth auburn locks, bobbed by the most expensive hairdresser in town, and those exquisitely painted brown eyes, she was unnervingly attractive. Her fingers dripped with expensive jewelry, bought by Kathy’s father over many years. She was magnificent yet intimidating: a woman you either admired or avoided. Bathed in a cloud of perfume, she had style and confidence, and today was no different. Dressed in a smart light-brown two-piece with straight skirt and fitted jacket, she was obviously ready to go out.