Follow Your Dream

‘It’s a guest house,’ James stated. ‘They don’t live in all of it.’

‘But it’s theirs. They own it. They don’t rent it.’

Their mother sighed. ‘I know it’s not what you want, darling. You deserve better than this, both of you. It’s so poky in here. When I first got married, I never expected to still be living somewhere like this, all these years on. Never in a month of Sundays. We had such dreams, you know. We were going to have a big house with a garden and a garage and everything, one of those lovely places down in Thorpe Bay. If only your poor dear father had survived…’

Her voice trailed off. James and Susan were silenced, as they always were, when their mother started on this subject. The words ‘If only…’ had threaded all through their childhood. There was nothing meaningful they could say, for it was true, things would have been completely different for them if their father had not been killed in the war. The eyes of all three of them turned to the photograph in pride of place on the mantelpiece, showing a tall man in cricket whites with dark hair and eyes and a narrow, clever face who looked back at them with a sunny smile. As James grew older, it was becoming ever clearer that he was the image of his father.

James gave Cora another hug. ‘You won’t live here for ever, Mum. I’ll buy you a house with a garden one day, you’ll see.’

He might be the youngest of their little household, but he was the man of the family, had been since he was five years old, and it was up to him to provide.

Cora reached up and patted his cheek. ‘You’re a good boy, Jamie.’

He could tell that she didn’t really believe him. How could a boy who worked in a garage ever get to buy a house?

‘And anyway,’ he said, returning to the argument that he and Susan were having, ‘just because the Parkers live in their own place down by the seafront, it doesn’t mean they’re better than us. So stop having a go at us, Susan. We’re not going to let you down.’

‘I didn’t say you were. I just said I wanted it to be perfect, and you—’ Susan broke off, catching sight of the clock. ‘Look at the time! We’ll be late if we don’t set off in five minutes. Come on, Mum, I’ll help you do your hair.’

After a brief flurry of activity they set out, James and his mother arm in arm, Susan walking just ahead of them.

‘Doesn’t she look a picture?’ Cora said, smiling proudly at her daughter’s back.

‘Lovely,’ James agreed, to keep her happy.

Susan was tip-tapping along in her polished court shoes, neat and proper in the powder blue suit that she had made herself on the old hand-cranked Singer sewing machine. She wore a little blue felt hat perched on top of her head and new white gloves. Her black handbag hung from her arm. The whole outfit had taken months and months of saving from her wages as a junior in the office of a department store in the High Street.

‘Just like something out of a magazine.’ Cora sighed. ‘You look just like something out of a magazine,’ she called ahead to Susan.

Susan turned her head and smiled back at her. ‘Really?’

Even James had to admit that his sister was looking pretty. Plenty of men would be delighted to go out with her. Why she was so stuck on Boring Bob was a mystery to him.

‘I do hope the Parkers will like us. This is so important to Susan,’ his mother said.

‘Mum, the Parkers aren’t as wonderful as Suse likes to make out, you know. Has she told you how they came to be living here?’

‘No, but—’

‘Susan told me one day. She says that Gran Parker’s husband once had a butcher’s shop in Upminster, but he died of a heart attack and his elder son, Norman, took over. Norman was useless, and what profits he did make he spent at the races. On top of that, he had a nasty temper. Bob’s father, Doug, was the younger son and he thought he could make a better fist of it and said so, and one day when they were having a row Norman picked up a knife and attacked Doug. His arm was so badly injured that at one point they thought it was going to have to be amputated. Norman walked out, joined the army and died in India of malaria, the butcher’s went bust and, with what money was left, Gran moved to Southend with Doug and his family and put a deposit on the guest house. Which was fine until the war came and that business nearly went bust too. From what I can make out, they’re just about hanging on now, with people wanting to go on holiday again. So you see, they’re not a grand family living in a big house. They’re ordinary people who’ve had a lot of bad luck, just like you have.’

‘Oh—yes—I see. Dear me, what a terrible story! Fancy one brother attacking another like that. How dreadful.’

Going over the tale kept them occupied as they made their way along the depressing back streets with their rows of almost identical houses till they could see the grey gleam of the Thames estuary, finally emerging on to Southend seafront just past the gasworks. All three of them paused to take in the scenery. Susan gazed at the dome of the Kursaal, where she had met Bob at the dance hall. Cora looked mistily at the pier, marching out across the grey mudflats to the shining river. She and her late husband had taken many a romantic stroll along its mile and a quarter of decking. James looked at the Golden Mile of amusements and longed to be there with his friends, playing the machines and eyeing up the girls, instead of being stuck with this gruesome family tea with the Parkers.

It was still too early in the year for many day trippers to be about, but the sunny weather had brought out plenty of locals to walk off the effects of their Sunday lunches. Young couples wandered hand in hand, families marched along in groups, elderly people stopped to look at the fishing boats or across the water to the hills of Kent, dogs ran around barking at the seagulls.

A brisk walk along the promenade in the spring sunshine brought the Kershaws to the Sunny View Guest House, set a few houses back from the seafront on a side road. There was not much to set it apart from any of the others in the terrace. They were all three storeys high with square bay windows, grubby brickwork and dark paint. All displayed ‘Vacancies’ signs. James couldn’t imagine wanting to stay in any of them. They looked most unwelcoming.

The front door of Sunny View was opened by a skinny kid of thirteen or so with long plaits. She looked about as pleased to see them as James was to see the Parkers.

Susan put on her grown-up voice. ‘Hello, Lillian dear. How are you today?’

‘All right, I s’pose. You better come in.’

Bob came to meet them in the hall, took Cora’s coat and gave it to the kid to hang up, then opened the door to the front room.

‘We’re in Gran’s room today,’ he told them, in a tone of voice that made it clear they should think themselves honoured.

The entire Parker clan was gathered in the gloomy room. After the fresh sea air it smelt stale, a mixture of cigarette smoke, polish and cooking fat. James found himself introduced to each family member—Bob’s grandmother, parents, younger brother Frank and the kid Lillian. But none of them made any impression on him, for there, sitting amongst them, was the most stunning girl he had ever seen.

‘My sister Wendy,’ Bob said.

She was a natural blonde, her hair in soft curls round her lovely face. Her eyes were big and blue and her lips were luscious, while her body was as alluring as Marilyn Monroe’s. She wore a pink jumper that showed off her magnificent breasts to perfection, and a wide belt emphasized her narrow waist. James was mesmerised. There was a general shaking of hands, during which James got to grasp hers.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he managed to say. He felt hot all over.

Wendy kept hold of his hand a few telling moments longer than necessary. ‘Likewise,’ she said with a cool smile.

James was horribly aware that she knew just what effect she was having on him and, what was more, she was enjoying it.

He sat on the dining chair nearest to where Wendy perched on the arm of her father’s seat. Around him, the two families were making polite small talk. The words buzzed about him but made little sense. Then he realised that Susan was hissing at him.

‘James!’

‘What?’ he asked, disorientated.

‘Mrs Parker is asking you a question.’

With difficulty, he focused on Bob’s grandmother. She was a grim-looking old bat, dressed entirely in black with a large cameo brooch at the neck of her blouse.

‘Yes, Mrs Parker?’ he said, trying to sound intelligent.

From across the room there came a snigger. James glanced over. It was Frank, a lanky young man of about twenty with a shadow of a grin on his face. He understood just what the problem was.

‘I asked what you did for a living, young man.’

James looked back at the grandmother.

‘I’m an apprentice mechanic at Dobson’s garage,’ he told her.

‘Hmm, well, it’s a good thing to have a trade. Our Bob has a position at the bank, of course.’

‘Yes, Mrs Parker,’ he said. Nothing on earth was going to make him sound impressed.

‘It’s such a comfort to have an office worker in the family. Bob takes after his grandfather. He has the brains of the family.’

There was a murmuring of agreement from the older members of the family.

James couldn’t help glancing at Bob. He was sitting there looking like the cat that got the cream, and there was Susan, gazing at him with her face glowing.

‘Susan has an office job,’ James pointed out. Nobody was going to make out that the Parkers were better than the Ker-shaws.

‘But not in a bank,’ the old bat stated. She shut her mouth in a tight line, to show that she had said the last word on the subject.

‘It’s a good job though, for a girl,’ James argued. Susan had let slip how Gran ruled the roost round here, but she wasn’t his grandmother and he wasn’t going to let her shut him up like she did the others.

Mrs Parker turned her stony glare on him. ‘When are you going for your national service, young man?’

‘July.’

Mrs Parker gave a satisfied nod. ‘That’ll knock the cheek out of you. You won’t know what’s hit you.’

‘Make a man out of you,’ Bob’s father said.

Bob and Frank both agreed. They had done their national service. They sat there with the superior expressions of those who had been through the mill and survived it. James was conscious of Wendy, sitting there watching the fun and waiting for his reaction.

‘I’ve been the man of our family since I was five,’ he said.

Gran made a harumphing noise in her throat and looked at Bob’s mother, who had so far said nothing.

‘Time to put the kettle on, Nettie. And you, Lillian, go and help her.’

Susan, her voice brittle with strain, steered the conversation into a discussion of the weather. Everyone seemed relieved when tea was ready and they could move into the next room. In the hallway, Susan caught hold of James’s arm.

‘How could you?’ she whispered accusingly.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Be so rude to Mrs Parker.’

‘I’m not. I’m being perfectly polite.’

‘James, please.’

He relented. She was his sister, after all, and she wanted to make a good impression on these awful people. ‘OK, sis.’

They went into what was usually the guests’ breakfast room, where the small tables had been pushed together to make one large one. Plates of sandwiches and dishes of shrimps and cockles and whelks were set out all along it. James made a beeline to where Wendy was sitting, but found himself outmanoeuvred. She was flanked by her father on one side and Frank on the other. The only spare seat was between Bob and the kid. James sat down, resigned to being bored.

Eating, making polite remarks about the food and discussing the best place to buy fresh seafood took up most of the meal. James let them get on with it, while he tried not to stare at Wendy. He was surprised to find Lillian speaking to him.

‘You work in the garage, then?’ she said.

‘Yup.’

‘So you’re good at fixing things?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Only I’ve got this bike, see. I bought it at a jumble sale but it won’t go properly.’

Despite himself, James was interested.

‘If someone’s sent it to the jumble, it must be pretty bad. How rusty is it?’

‘Quite a lot,’ Lillian admitted.

‘And do the pedals go round?’

‘No.’

From the other side of the table, Frank joined in. ‘It’s a heap of junk. Best thing to do with it is to give it to the rag-and-bone man.’

‘It’s not a heap of junk,’ Lillian said.

Frank gave that sneering grin of his. ‘Junk,’ he repeated.

‘Have you had a go at it for her? Given it an oiling or anything?’ James asked.

‘Got better things to do with my time, mate.’

‘Pig,’ Lillian muttered.

James felt sorry for her. It must be pretty grim having Frank and Bob as big brothers, and that old hag ordering her around all the time.

‘I’ll have a look at it for you, if you like,’ he offered.

Her sharp little face lit up. ‘Would you? Really?’

‘’Course. After tea, if you like.’

‘Oh—I got to do the washing-up.’

‘After that, then,’ James offered.

So he found himself half an hour later in the back yard. Lillian disappeared into a rickety shed and wheeled out a rusty ladies’ bike. James was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t as ancient as he had thought it would be.

‘It’s a Raleigh, and that’s good for a start,’ he said, trying the brakes, examining the chain. ‘The parts will be easy to get. You know what I think? This has been dumped in someone’s back yard for years in all weathers. The tyres aren’t very worn—see, there’s plenty of tread on them—but they’re cracked from neglect. There’s even quite a bit of wear in the brake blocks, once I get the brakes going again.’

‘They will work, then?’ Lillian said.

‘Oh, yes, nothing that a good clean and a bit of oil won’t fix. That saddle has had it, but you could put an old beret over it for now, if you’ve got one. You’ll have to buy new tyres and inner tubes, though. Can you afford that?’

‘I’ll save up my paper round money.’

‘Good, well, if you get on with getting rid of all this rust—’ He explained what to do, while Lillian listened and nodded. ‘You don’t mind getting your hands dirty, then?’ he asked. It wasn’t a job that Susan would have considered tackling.

‘Oh, no. Not if it means I’ll have a bike to ride. But what about the brakes and the chain?’

‘I can’t do it now ’cos I’ve got my best stuff on and I haven’t any tools with me, but I’ll come back and do it next weekend, if you like,’ James offered.

‘Would you really?’ Lillian sounded amazed. She was looking at him with glowing eyes. ‘You’ll come back and do it for me?’

James didn’t like to tell her that it was worth it to have the chance of running in to Wendy again.

‘’Course,’ he said.

‘Wow! That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.’

For a moment he thought she was going to fling her arms round him, but instead she veered away and turned a perfect cartwheel, allowing a glimpse of her long slim legs and her navy knickers.

James clapped and Lillian laughed with pleasure.

‘I was dreading this tea party, but now I’m really glad you came,’ she confided.

‘Me too,’ James agreed.

He never thought he would admit it, but Boring Bob’s family had turned out to be much more interesting than he’d expected.

Chapter Three

‘WHERE are you off to, squirt?’ Frank demanded, barring Lillian’s way downstairs.

‘None of your beeswax,’ Lillian told him, making to dodge under his arm.

She wasn’t quite quick enough. Frank caught hold of her wrist.

‘Not so fast, squirt. You’re supposed to be helping.’

It was the time of the dreaded spring clean. All the paintwork had to be washed, all the windows cleaned, inside and out, the curtains taken down and washed, the carpets and rugs taken outside and beaten, the floors scrubbed, the fireplaces scoured and the furniture polished. Everyone, even the men, was supposed to be helping. Gran, of course, was organising it all. She didn’t actually do any physical work.

‘I’ve done mine,’ Lillian said. Her hands were red and raw from the sugar soap solution she had been using to wash the paint in all the first floor rooms. It was now all clean and shining, but nothing could disguise the fact that it was chipped.

‘No, you ain’t, because the back room floor’s got to be done yet.’

‘That’s yours. You was on floors,’ Lillian protested.

Frank’s grip tightened. He bent her arm up behind her back. ‘I got better things to do. You can finish it for me.’

‘What’s in it for me?’

‘You’ll be sorry if you don’t, that’s what.’

He pushed her arm a bit further up. Lillian bit back a squeal of pain.

‘I’ll tell Gran you’ve bunked off,’ she threatened.

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Try me.’

Another hitch of her arm. Lillian gritted her teeth.

‘Sixpence,’ she managed to say.

Despite the fact that he was by far the bigger and stronger, Frank was forced to bargain. He didn’t dare risk Gran knowing he had wriggled out of part of his task.

‘Thruppence.’

‘Fivepence ha’penny.’

‘Fivepence, and not a farthing more.’

‘Done.’

Frank released her and she held her hand out for the money. Her back and arms and knees were all aching from the cleaning she had done already, but five pence was not to be sneezed at. She needed a lot more than that before she could buy the new tyres and inner tubes for her bike. With a sigh, Frank fished four pennies and two ha’pennies out of his pocket, slapped them into her palm and went clattering downstairs, whistling the latest Johnnie Ray number. Lillian knew just where he was off to; he was going to join his mates and hang about down at the amusement arcades on the seafront. She was doing him a favour, taking some of his cash off him. He would only go and lose it all on the machines.

Half an hour later, Lillian emptied the now filthy cleaning water into the first floor toilet and lugged the bucket and scrubbing brush and block of green Fairy household soap downstairs. The whole house smelt of damp floorboards and polish and the vinegar that had been used to shine the windows. The windows and doors were all open to give the place a good airing. On her way through to the yard, she met her dad coming in from work in his lift attendant’s uniform.

‘You finished already?’ he asked.

‘Yup.’

He looked at her suspiciously. ‘You done it all properly? Your gran’ll be up there to check.’

Gran was sure to find some fault, but Lillian knew she had made a good job of it. She had been well trained.

‘Yup, every bit.’

‘Right, well, you can go down the newsagent’s and get me a packet of fags.’

Lillian groaned inwardly. She wanted to go out in the yard and get her bike out. James was coming to see what she had done when he finished work today.

‘All right,’ she sighed, with as good grace as she could manage. After all, there was no getting out of it. She was the youngest, the runner of errands.

Her father counted the exact amount into her hand, so there was no chance even of being given the change. Lillian went out of the back door—nobody ever used the front—wheeled her bike out of the shed and leaned it against the fence, then went through the rickety gate and along the alleyways, emerging into the street six houses up from her own. Outside, it was warm in the spring sunshine, even though it was now late afternoon. Freed from the day’s chores, Lillian felt light and happy. Today was the day that James had said he would come—lovely James who treated her as if she was somebody. She had to stop herself from putting a skip into her step. After all, she was fourteen now, not a little kid. Next year she would be leaving school.

At the newsagent’s, a woman was buying sweets. The paper bags were lined up along the top of the counter, half pounds of toffees and pear drops and humbugs. Now she was hesitating between mint creams and nut brittle.

‘Oh, I’ll have a half of each,’ she decided.

Since sweet rationing had been taken off in February, people had been going mad for sweets. Lillian drew in the sugary smell, her stomach rumbling. In her pocket was the five pence that she had extracted from Frank. She gazed at her favourite, Fry’s Five Boys chocolate. But then there was nougat as well. She loved nougat, and it lasted longer. She jingled the money, sorely tempted. No, she mustn’t. Every penny brought those tyres nearer, and with them the day she could get on that bike and ride it.

As she stepped out of the shop with her father’s Player’s Navy Cut, she saw James just rounding the corner into her road on his bike. She let out a shriek.

‘James! Wait for me!’

He skidded to a halt as she raced towards him, amazed that he had actually stopped. No one in her family would wait for her like this. She pounded down the road, her plaits bobbing on her back as she ran.

‘Oh—’ she panted as she joined him. ‘You’ve really come. I didn’t know if you would.’

James looked faintly puzzled. ‘I said I would, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, but people don’t always do what they say they will,’ she pointed out.

‘I do,’ James told her.

And she knew absolutely that this was the truth. He was not the sort of person who would let you down. It gave her a strange glow inside.

‘You’re not like my family,’ she told him as they started towards her house. ‘But never mind them. I’ve been working really hard on my bike. Just wait till you see it! It’s shiny as new.’

He actually listened to her and asked her sensible questions. Lillian could hardly believe it. She led him in through the back way to where the curtains were still drying on the washing lines in the yard.

‘We’ve been spring cleaning,’ she explained.

‘Oh, yes. My mum goes mad on that each year for a bit, but she never gets very far. Susan and I usually finish it. But we’ve only got a little flat to clean. It must be a big job doing all this place,’ James said, looking at the back of the house as it reared up above them, the bare windows gleaming. ‘Do you all help? Wendy as well?’

‘Even Dad’ll have to tomorrow, when he’s off work,’ Lillian told him. ‘Oh—I got to go and give him these cigarettes. Would you like a cuppa?’

James said that he would.

‘You can see what I’ve done to my bike while I’m making it,’ she suggested.

When she came back out with a large cup of tea and the biscuit she’d dared to take, he was already busy with his tool kit and oil can. He admired what she had done and for a while they talked cogs and chains and brakes. Lillian soaked up all the information.

‘You’re very clever,’ she said.

James shrugged. ‘I enjoy getting things working. Bikes are easy. Cars take a lot more skill. Some of the blokes where I work, they do the job but they don’t think about it. If something’s a bit tricky, they just adjust a few things and get it moving but they don’t make it sing. If a car’s going well, you can hear it, it speaks to you.’

He gave an embarrassed smile. ‘I suppose that sounds daft.’

But Lillian knew just what he meant. ‘No, no, it doesn’t. I know when a movement is just right. It’s the same thing. Look.’

She stood up, took a pose, then executed a series of pirouettes across the concrete yard, finishing by the door. James grinned and clapped, but Lillian hadn’t finished.

‘No—that’s what I mean. Anyone could do that if they practised. Now watch.’

She came back again the other way, this time making every part of her body as graceful and fluid as possible. Everything had to be right—the angle of her head, the way she held her arms, the expression on her face—as well as doing the steps perfectly.

‘See?’ she asked.

James was looking at her in amazement. ‘Where did you learn to do that? Do you go to ballet classes?’