Young May Moon (13 page)

‘I shall be awake now, wondering what you haven’t told me, May,’ Bea said, as she switched off the bedside lamp.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, Saturday, May was awake before Bea. She looked around her, smiled at Bea’s white slacks which she’d flung haphazardly on to the chair, and which dangled to the floor; her friend was as untidy as ever. This was the biggest bedroom, with the bay window, and there was a fireplace opposite the bed – it must be cosy in winter to lie and watch the flames flickering in the dark, she thought.

There was sun streaming in through the curtains where she had parted them last night, to look at the stars. She glanced at her watch, it was already 7 a.m. May turned back the covers on her side of the bed, and lowered her legs to the ground. The linoleum was cold to her feet. She found her slippers and dressing-gown, noted that Bea was still fast asleep, and went quietly out to the bathroom opposite.

She put down her rolled towel and toilet bag on the edge of the bath, marvelling at the depth of it, standing on clawed feet: so different from the tin tubs of country life, and the narrow hip bath in the small bathroom in Kettle Row. The WC had been off the kitchen there; here there was a throne in a cubicle next to the
bathroom
, with gleaming tiled walls and proper lavatory paper. Min had always provided cut-up newspapers hanging on a nail on the wall: old habits died hard. May tried the hot tap over the basin. The water gushed out, but it was cold. Did she need to boil a kettle in the kitchen, and bring a jug upstairs, she wondered?

A polite tap on the door startled her.

‘It’s only me.’ It was Henry’s voice.

She opened the door and there he was, clad in a thick, checked, woollen dressing-gown with a knotted girdle. His hair was ruffled
and, without his glasses, his myopic eyes were large and luminous, as she recalled Bea’s were when she was on stage.

He took in her appearance, too: her hair long and loose, which instantly reminded him of Young May Moon when she danced on stage while he strummed the guitar. She’d been so vulnerable in those days, he thought, but he had been too shy to presume that she might be attracted to him, as he was to her. Maybe it was too late now, as she obviously valued her independence. Despite the proposals, he’d never progressed beyond a brotherly hug and a kiss on her cheek.

‘I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you that you have to put a match to the geyser over the bath – be prepared for a loud pop! But it soon runs nice and hot. Shall I do it?’

‘Please.’ May moved aside to permit him to enter the bathroom. He had a box of matches in his pocket. ‘We don’t keep them in here, as they get damp and then you can’t strike ’em,’ he said.

He demonstrated how to turn the geyser on and off. ‘It’s not a problem in winter, because there is a back boiler in the dining room downstairs which heats the water when the fire is lit. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Why don’t you have a bath, before my sister takes over the bathroom? She never used to bother with her appearance when we lived at home, but
now
… I must start on the breakfast.’

‘Oh, I expect you wanted to use the bathroom first. You’ll have to tell me the rules of the house!’

‘There aren’t any. I want you to treat this as home, May, while you’re here. I washed earlier– in cold water – too lazy to light the geyser then! Join me downstairs when you’re ready.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Leave your hair loose, I – I like it.’

Later, Henry said ruefully: ‘Seems it’s just thee and me for
breakfast
– maybe just as well – I burned the toast.’

‘I could tell you had, as I came downstairs,’ May said. ‘I’m surprised Danny didn’t wake up and think the house was on fire.’

‘I think he and Bea are both late risers, they don’t get to bed until the early hours after an evening performance, I gather. We’ll eat here in the kitchen, if you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t. Well, what’s on offer, Henry?’

‘Rubbery scrambled eggs and well-scraped toast.’

‘Didn’t you add any butter to the eggs?’

‘I’m a typical bachelor, May. I just whisk the eggs, shake in pepper and salt, and a dash of milk – then scramble away with a fork.’

‘I don’t mind doing the cooking while I’m here,’ she offered
diffidently
. ‘I learned a lot from Jenny Wren when we were at West Wick. Aunt Min was more your style of cook!’

‘I accept your offer with alacrity,’ he said. He took down a couple of odd plates from the dresser. ‘Sorry, I should have put these on the rack above the cooker to warm. Would you care to pour the tea?’

‘I would,’ she replied. She wondered where he had acquired the china cups, and the teapot with a chipped spout. She looked in vain for a tea-strainer.

‘Any crumbs left for a hungry chap?’ They looked up from the table to see Danny lounging in the doorway, grinning at them.

‘Eggs and bread; help yourself, if you don’t mind cooking your breakfast,’ Henry said amiably. ‘I’ll need to go shopping later on,’ he added to May. ‘I haven’t much left in the cupboard.’

‘You didn’t count on having an unexpected visitor,’ Danny said cheerfully. He sawed at the heel of bread and put a thick slice under the grill. ‘I won’t bother with the egg. I’m not conversant with the gas cooker. Any tea left in the pot?’

‘Just a trickle.’ Henry gave an almost imperceptible sigh, then rose to refill and boil the kettle. The telephone rang in the hall. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I expect that’s my mother, wanting to know we arrived safely.’

May made a fresh pot of tea, found another cup but without a matching saucer, and took these to the table. As she bent over the pot, to stir the contents, the locket on her neck swung forward and Danny instantly recognized it. ‘Paddy gave you that, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ She tucked it back into place.

‘As a symbol of eternal love…?’

‘We were too young for that,’ she said primly, passing his cup.

‘It was Pom’s letter, you know.’

‘What letter?’

‘She wrote to me about the pantomime – the Singing Kettles – and she mentioned that you were madly in love with someone called Dennis.’

‘Denzil, actually. It was nothing really, certainly not on his side.
He married someone else. I – I just liked him a lot, that’s all. I suppose you showed the letter to Paddy?’

‘He demanded to see it, in case there was a message for him from you. You broke his heart, May.’

‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic – and you’re as hopeless as Henry; you’ve burned the toast too.’ It was a tactless thing to say, because Henry, coming into the kitchen, must have overheard her remark.

He said merely, ‘Bea’s calling out to you.’

Bea was seated before the dressing table, concentrating on pencilling in her eyebrows. She paused for a moment, seeing May’s reflection in the mirror. ‘You’re shocked, I know, to think I could pluck my brows and replace them with artifice!’

‘It seems a shame,’ May ventured, ‘to do so – but I understand why you wish to follow the latest fashion. I’m way behind the times.’

‘Despite the fact that you’re the one who comes from a theatrical background, eh? You’re still Young May Moon, you know, but you seem to think you’re middle aged. Come here.’ Bea rummaged in her vanity case. ‘Don’t bundle your hair up again. Yesterday I was reminded of those hideous plaited earphones, the day you and I met. Allow me to brush the top and side hair back from your face and secure it with this hair comb. There, that’s much prettier!’

‘I’m not against powder and paint, Bea, but I suppose Aunt Min discouraged it. Pom, now, took no notice and did as she liked, from the age of sixteen. Well, you were calling for my attention?’

‘Won’t Danny have something in mind? I’m going to offer to do the grocery shopping for Henry. He doesn’t seem to have much idea….’

‘Oh, Henry needs a wife! I’ll come, if you like. Danny’s not one for shopping.’

‘You haven’t had your breakfast yet.’

‘Breakfast? Since I escaped the family gruel I haven’t bothered.’

‘No wonder you’re so thin,’ May worried. Over the years she’d only seen Bea on her flying visits home and had not taken in the changes to her appearance. However, their old rapport was still strong.

‘Danny agrees with you: not much of me to clasp, he says.’

‘Oh – I thought you told me you were just good friends!’

‘Did I? Please don’t say anything to him, will you, but I can’t help myself. He may be too young for me, but.…’ She broke off, noting May’s expression. ‘He’ll be our leading man in the new show. It’s a musical, and he’s an accomplished singer.’

‘He was, even as a boy.’ May recalled the treble voice and the show-stopping rendition of
Danny Boy.

‘While I, dear May, am a character actress. My Cinderella days are gone, but I still get to dress up.’

The Royal Arsenal Co-operative shop was an imposing, double-fronted building, just a short walk away along the Worple Road, a bustling thoroughfare with a variety of other shops. One shop was displaying baskets of mismatched crockery in straw, half-blocking the pavement, with handwritten cardboard notices:
NOTHING MORE THAN SIXPENCE
. So that was where Henry bought his crockery from, May thought. There was no need to venture further unless you wished to go into Wimbledon on the whining, clanging trolley bus, which was considered a treat in itself to the many children who were about on a Saturday morning.

‘I do find the names of roads hereabout intriguing,’ May observed. ‘Pepys Road, for instance, I wonder if it is connected with old Samuel who wrote diaries?’

‘I asked Henry the same thing – but I might have known he would have delved into the history of the area before he moved here. It became Raynes Park in the 1870s because the land around here was originally owned by the Rayne family, as simple as that. Pepys Road was named after Charles Pepys, Earl of Cottenham – there’s a Cottenham Park, apparently. The locals pronounce it ‘Peppis’, so now you know … Got your list ready?’ They entered the brightly lit interior of the shop with its marble-topped counters and cheerful, white-coated assistants.

‘Just look at those boxes of biscuits!’ Bea exclaimed. ‘I’ve never seen so many different sorts. Now I feel hungry.’ They studied the contents of the boxes through their gleaming, glass lids.

With a ten-shilling note in her purse from Henry, May was seduced by all the good food on offer.

Crumbly cheddar – a wedge was cut with wire, by an obliging assistant. ‘Here, dear – or a little more?’ A flitch of bacon was inserted in the machine and streaky rashers fell one by one on to greaseproof paper. Sausages, hanging in glistening necklaces from a hook were cut free, and then deftly parcelled up. Bread was tapped to show it was fresh, then wrapped. Butter was patted into shape: sugar was poured into a bag fashioned before their eyes, from a piece of coarse blue paper and made into a cone shape. Eggs were placed carefully in a brown paper bag. May’s basket was filled to the brim. Then Bea requested a bag of broken biscuits. ‘Bourbon are my favourites!’ she said, with a winning smile. As well as a handful of small change, they received the tokens which were issued according to the amount spent in the store.

Satisfied, they strolled up the road to see which film was showing at the Rialto. ‘King Kong!’ Bea exclaimed. ‘I’ve seen it. Have you?’

May admitted she had not. ‘I don’t think it would be my cup of tea.’

‘It might do my bashful brother good to hold you in the palm of his hand, like that great ape does with Fay Wray – well, you know what I’m getting at, don’t you?’ Bea took a bite from a broken Bourbon.

‘You can forget the matchmaking, Bea. But thank you for letting me know how stuffy I’d become – I needed that,’ May said, meaning it.

O
N
M
ONDAY MORNING
May was woken by a light tap on the bedroom door. Bea and Danny had departed late the previous evening, for rehearsals were due to start for the new production today, so it could only be Henry, she thought; unless it was his daily help; it was washing day, after all.

She sat up in bed, but pulled the sheet up under her chin as Henry entered with a tray. ‘I brought my cup too, hope you don’t mind if I sit on the side of the bed?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, letting the sheet drop from her clasp, as she positioned the spare pillow behind her head. ‘You’re spoiling me, Henry. I only expected a call to remind me to rise and shine because I ought to be job-hunting in earnest from now on.’

‘Not today, or tomorrow,’ he returned. ‘I’m taking a couple of days’ leave, and we’ll go out and about, because I’m hoping to persuade you to stay on here. At least you’d have a friend to talk to in the evenings, I know from experience how lonely it is living on your own.’

‘So long as you understand….’

‘I do understand. Let’s see how we get on, shall we?’

‘Well, you’ve made a good cup of tea, used the tea-strainer from the Co-op!’

As she raised the cup to her lips she was aware that one shoulder strap of her flimsy nightgown had slipped down her arm and that he had tactfully turned his face away from the sight of an exposed breast. She surprised herself by exclaiming: ‘Don’t tell me you are
repelled
at seeing more of me than was intended. It would be more flattering if you were
excited
!’

‘You have no idea how I feel, that’s obvious.’

‘I do! And it’s most frustrating!’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘Maybe I made a mistake coming here. You – you don’t know how to woo a girl, Henry! D’you want to know why I almost succumbed to Denzil’s charms that time? It was the element of danger. He wasn’t worried that I was too young, too innocent; in fact that was what made me attractive to him. You’ve never even – touched me. You’re the kindest person I know, but.…’

He took her empty cup, ‘Here, give me that.’ He placed it on the tray. Then he was leaning over her, his hands firm on her bare
shoulders
. ‘Stop talking for a minute, and I’ll show you exactly how I feel.’ He kissed her parted lips before she could protest. His arms
encircled
her and he hugged her tightly. His voice was muffled by her hair. ‘When I saw what you were unconsciously revealing earlier I was reminded of Young Carmen in that tight dress you wore when you performed the flamenco and I accompanied you on the guitar. I thought you were beautiful and desirable. I still do, but then I was dumbstruck. Where do we go from here?’

‘Down the Worple Road to Wimbledon,’ she said demurely. ‘But first you might have a shave!’

She wore a new frock, lettuce-green cotton, chosen because it reminded her of the pretty one Carmen had bought for her when she was sixteen. It was too outmoded to wear now, but she’d kept it, thinking she could sew table napkins from the skirt. The new dress had short, butterfly sleeves, an exaggerated, pointed white collar, a snug waist and an elegant skirt with a flared hemline. She’d mastered the art of fixing her hair back with the comb that Bea had given her; she didn’t have a hat, but she pulled on short, white summer gloves. It was warm enough not to need to wear a jacket, though she carried one folded over her arm.

May enjoyed every minute of the day out on the common, but first there was the ride in the trolley bus. The high-pitched whine made conversation difficult, so she gazed, entranced, through the window at a bustling new world.

They walked for miles, it seemed, for there was so much Henry wanted to show her. The hill up which the heavy horses lumbered with their loads, and the drinking trough where the animals slaked
their thirst. ‘There’s a fountain for mere mortals,’ Henry said, smiling, as she slipped her arm in his, and they went to find it, for they too were looking forward to a long draught of cool water. They walked round the imposing drinking fountain and read the Biblical texts engraved on all four sides.

‘Seventy-five years ago, washerwomen brought their damp linen to the common, fixed lines between the trees, or dried smaller garments on the bushes,’ Henry told her. ‘It really was common land, then.’

They ate their lunch at noon by the boating pond, where, on the sunlit water, small boys and energetic grandfathers sailed boats, to be caught in the reeds on the far side. Henry pointed out the slippery edges to the pond, where the grass was worn away, and warned May not to get too close to the water. They sat on a wooden bench and unwrapped thick slices of Co-op bread, cut when new, with cubes of cheese and a red apple apiece.

‘I should’ve worn a hat,’ May remarked ruefully as the sun blazed down on her unprotected head.

Henry lightly touched the crown of dark hair. ‘Your hair is thick enough to protect you from sunstroke, and long enough to cover the back of your neck. However, you are welcome to borrow my cravat.’

She looked up at him, mischief glinting in her eyes. ‘I gather you have decided I’m not averse to you touching me, eh? Thank you, I accept your offer of the cravat.’

He pulled the silk scarf from under his collar and passed it over. May tied it gypsy style, knotting the ends under her hair at the back. ‘I’m not too sure navy blue with white spots goes with green, but I feel very Spanish today.’ The silk smelled faintly of bay rum, she thought, with a little smile curling the corners of her lips. It reminded her of Jim, who had slicked back his unruly hair with the same lotion.

‘And I feel cooler without it, even though passing ladies may look disapprovingly at my lack of a tie!’

‘It was a good day,’ she sighed contentedly, when at his suggestion she put her feet up on the sofa that evening, after they’d eaten their fish-and-chips supper. She wriggled her bare toes, having slipped off her stockings while he was washing up in the kitchen. ‘I’m feeling the effects of all that walking, though.’

Henry sat down at the end of the sofa, and said diffidently: ‘I’ll give your feet a rub, shall I? That should help.’

The soothing massage caused her to relax, close her eyes and doze. He gazed at her for a few minutes before he woke her with the words: ‘Time for bed, I think. Off you go. See you in the morning.’

Pomona was feeling decidedly homesick. She sat at the small table by the window in her room to compose a letter to her sister. First she needed to fill her Waterman lady’s fountain pen with ink. She squirted a jet of blue-black on to the pink blotter, considering what to write. She couldn’t admit to being unhappy, knowing how hard May had worked to help her reach her goal of university, and here she was, at Cambridge, feeling like a fish out of water. She sighed, shaking her head, then fingered her honey-coloured fringe from her eyes. They might call me Mona, she thought wryly, but at least I’m not Sandy, as I was at school. Thank goodness my hair darkened as I grew up. Here I am, a student of English, finding it difficult to express my thoughts.

She looked pensively out of the window. Far below, tiny figures in black, some with mortar boards on their heads, hurried by. ‘So this
is life in a stately pile,’ Pomona said aloud. She slotted her letter into an envelope, sealed it, and wrote May’s address on the front. She’d post it later. Reluctantly she gathered up her books, and ventured outside her room into the echoing long corridor.

‘Two letters for you, and the electricity bill for me,’ Henry informed May.

She flipped the eggs over in the frying pan. ‘There – you haven’t laid the table yet, and breakfast is just coming up! Two letters – one from Pom, I hope. Who sent the other, I wonder?’

‘Don’t ask me, I haven’t got X-ray eyes. Thanks, that looks good. Eggs without frizzled edges, just right for dipping my fried bread in.’

May read her letters when she drank her tea; Pom’s first. ‘Oh dear, I think she’s realized that she’s no longer top of the class, as she was at school, and that she has to work harder than she ever has before.’

‘She can do it,’ Henry observed, wiping his plate clean with the last slice of bread and butter. ‘Well, open the mystery letter, then!’

May did so, but didn’t immediately enlighten him as to the content. She read the single sheet of notepaper twice, then poured more tea before she satisfied his curiosity. ‘If you must know, the letter is from Danny’s brother, Paddy. I told you about him, didn’t I?’

‘You didn’t, but Bea dropped a few hints. A former boyfriend, I gather?’ His tone was light, and he smiled at her.

‘I suppose you could call it young love. It didn’t last, of course. I was only sixteen. I actually
was
Young May Moon then.’

‘I wish I had met you then,’ he said softly. ‘By the time I did, you were no longer the Punch and Judy lady, but had given it all up for shorthand and typing.’

‘Didn’t you, Henry, ever have a youthful infatuation like mine?’

‘I have to admit, I did not. I was rather a solitary scholar at Cambridge. That doesn’t mean I didn’t … well … hope to meet the right girl in time. When I did I was too unsure of myself to do anything about it.’

‘Are you talking about me, Henry? I liked and respected you from the moment we met, but you seemed so much older, and often aloof….’

‘I’m only five years your senior,’ he reminded her.

‘Henry, I’m very fond of you – I’ve got to know you so much better since I came here – but you must be patient still.’

‘Are you going to tell me what he says?’ he asked diffidently.

‘Paddy? He tells me he is separated from his wife, that he has a little girl named Cluny, that he has never forgotten me. He doesn’t ask if we can meet, or even if I will reply to his letter; he just says that he was glad to have known a girl like me. That’s all, Henry.’

‘Nevertheless, will you reply to his letter?’

‘I don’t know, I really don’t. He’s still married, after all. Don’t look so … stricken, Henry. Let’s just enjoy getting to know each other properly, eh? Today, I have my first job interview! It was a good idea of yours to place an advertisement in the
Standard
and a pleasant surprise when I received such a prompt reply! I’ll meet you afterwards at lunchtime, outside the bank, as we arranged.’