For days Violet and Eddie contained their suspicions about Donald Wheeler and went on without further upsets until the good weather broke on the third Tuesday of August. It broke with one of the worst thunderstorms for years, presaged by purple clouds gathering over the moor and turning the sultry summer daylight into eerie, early dusk.
‘I don’t like the look of that lot,’ Marjorie said, nodding in the direction of the lowering clouds. She’d come into Jubilee for a yard of lace trim for a christening gown she was making for a great-niece.
‘No, we’d better batten down the hatches,’ Violet agreed. She happened to be alone in the building and she judged that Marjorie would be her last customer of the afternoon. ‘Anyone with any sense will stay indoors until it passes.’
‘I’ve shut up shop a few minutes early,’ Marjorie admitted. ‘There was nothing much left on the shelves anyway, so I thought I’d pop down for the lace before the rain started. That way I’ve got something to keep me busy while it gets it out of its system.’
She’d no sooner left the shop than fat, dark splashes of rain began to fall on the pavement and Violet likewise closed the shop then went upstairs to wait for the deluge. First there was a rumble of thunder in the far distance but as yet no lightning. Next jagged forks of blinding light pierced the clouds, then more thunder, closer now and strong enough to rattle the window panes in Violet’s tiny room. Then the rain came down in sheets. It pounded onto the cobbled courtyard of Thornley’s brewery, and caused the gutter to run in fast rivulets, soon flooding the drains which regurgitated water back into the yard and across the cobbles in a wider stream until it ran down the alleyway onto Brewery Road and on from there down the hill towards the canal.
Violet sat on the bed, as far away from the window as possible. A childhood fear of thunder and lightning came back to her, and she adopted the old habit of counting the seconds between lightning and the sound of thunder to judge how many miles she was from the eye of the storm.
One … two … three. Three miles. Another electric flash. One … two. Two miles. Then another, accompanied by a simultaneous battering of noise loud enough to make her put her hands over her ears. She cowered on the bed, waiting for it to pass.
And of course it was soon over, because storms as violent as this never lasted long. The clouds blew away and the sky lightened, the rain eased so that when Violet ventured downstairs and looked out onto the street, all she saw was clear water running in the gutter and steam beginning to rise from the rapidly drying pavements. And to her surprise, here was Eddie, on foot and soaked to the skin, coming to knock on her door to make sure she was all right.
She was, she assured him, inviting him into the shop but not up to her room. ‘Wait there while I fetch my coat.’
‘Why – where are we going?’ he wanted to know. Water dripped from the peak of his cap onto the floor.
‘Down to the Green Cross – a shandy for me and whatever you fancy for yourself,’ she told him boldly. ‘My treat.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you thought about me and got soaked to the skin for my sake – that’s why.’
‘I’ll always think about you,’ he vowed as she slipped upstairs. He wasn’t sure that she’d heard, but it was true – Violet was never far from his thoughts and slowly but surely he would go out of his way to make sure she knew it.
The storm broke the normal rhythm of Violet’s days – an early rise to have breakfast in the kitchen then up to the attic to work before Ida and Muriel arrived. Conscientious as ever, she would serve in the shop or stitch like a demon, whirring away at her machine to complete the ever-mounting orders for dresses, trousers, jackets and costumes, looking forward to evening treats – a lovely ride out on Eddie’s motorbike alternating with the occasional trip to the cinema, and if not that, quiet nights in with the Thomsons on Valley Road. Then, of course, there was the Wednesday rehearsal with the Hadley Players.
‘Are you sure you need me tonight?’ Violet’s tentative question to Ida broke the silence in the workroom towards the end of a busy afternoon. All day she’d felt the usual small knot of anxiety about the evening, building to a level where she felt she must ask to be excused. ‘Only, I feel like I might need an early night.’
‘Oh, dearie me!’ Ida mimicked the quavery voice of an ancient crone. ‘What’s the youth of today coming to, finding excuses to stay indoors instead of going out to enjoy themselves.’
Violet had the grace to blush and smile. ‘But seriously, would you miss me?’
‘We would!’ Ida declared. ‘Tonight we’re learning the moves for the dance hall scene in Act Five where the murderer is finally unmasked. I need all members of the cast to be present.’
‘Hard luck,’ Muriel commiserated when she saw Violet’s dejected expression. ‘But no doubt Eddie being there will help cheer you up.’
‘He’s working late tonight,’ Violet said. ‘But all right, Ida, I give in – anything for a quiet life.’
Which was how, despite her qualms about running into her Uncle Donald again, she came to take the bus out to Hadley with Peggy, Evie and Kathy. Then it was just her luck to have an empty seat next to her when Stan got on halfway along Overcliffe Road, and what should he do but sit down there and take the liberty of putting his arm along the back of Violet’s seat and leaving his hand resting on her shoulder all the way to their destination?
‘Now, now, don’t you two go putting my other passengers off their suppers,’ the bluff conductor teased when he took Stan’s fare. He winked at Violet as he clicked his ticket machine and tore off a ticket. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only kidding. You don’t look like that kind of girl to me.’
Mortified, Violet tried to shake Stan off as soon as they got off the bus, but he stayed close by her side as they made their way into the Institute and waited for the rehearsal to begin. Then who should Ida partner Violet with during the dance scene but Stan again, eager to get into waltz hold and whiz her around the stage, oblivious to Ida’s directions?
‘Ouch, Stan – that’s my foot!’ Kathy complained.
‘Watch where you’re going, Stan!’ Peggy protested.
‘Stan, stop clod-hopping around. I want you and Violet to finish upstage left when the music ends,’ an exasperated Ida called. ‘You do know your left from your right, I take it?’
Nothing dented Stan’s confidence. He simply charged on at more of a polka than a waltz, blundering into the backdrop or almost falling off the front of the stage and taking Violet with him.
Kathy for one couldn’t stop laughing. ‘You’re a hoot, Stan,’ she cried. ‘He’s a hoot, isn’t he, Evie? Poor Violet is going to end up covered in bruises if he’s not careful.’
At least Stan’s antics kept Violet’s mind on the task in hand and off the risk of bumping into Donald Wheeler, so that by the end of the rehearsal she felt more relaxed and ready to hold her own on the bus trip home.
‘What happened between you and Evie at the Assembly Rooms that time?’ she challenged as Stan walked her to the bus stop ahead of the other girls. ‘Did you manage to sweep her off her feet as planned?’
‘Evie’s a hard nut to crack,’ he confessed, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder and his shirt open at the neck. ‘Just like you, Violet.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘What do you see?’
‘I take it that Evie refused to dance with you?’
‘As it happens, she never gave me an opening. She was either tripping the light fantastic with someone else or disappearing into the cloakroom to powder her nose.’
‘Poor Stan,’ Violet commiserated. ‘Look, she’s coming up behind us with Kathy and Peggy. Why not work your charms on her now while you have the chance?’
Instead of following her advice, Stan unexpectedly flung his arms wide and dropped onto one knee – right there at the bus stop, in full view of everyone. ‘Because I have eyes for no one but you, Violet Wheeler!’
‘Good Lord above!’ she cried, glancing up and down the street. There was a group of men outside the Miners’ Arms and a woman wheeling a bike down the pavement towards the post office at the start of the row of stone cottages.
‘Hold on, you know I’m only teasing.’ Stan jumped up with a grin.
But it was too late – Donald Wheeler, keys in hand, had come out of his house next to the post office and spotted them. He stopped in his tracks, shook his head and stayed rooted to the spot.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Violet told Stan in real distress. Her stomach churned as she prepared herself for a fresh volley of insults.
‘Why, what’s the matter?’ As the other girls arrived at the bus stop, Stan was suddenly serious. ‘It’s always just a bit of fun between us, isn’t it?’
‘Are you all right, Violet?’ Evie asked, while Kathy and Peggy remonstrated with Stan for overstepping the mark.
‘You’ve upset her,’ Kathy remonstrated. ‘She’s turned white as a sheet, poor girl.’
Violet took a deep breath and wished for the ground to swallow her up, or at least for the brown and yellow number 15 bus to arrive. Where was it? Would it reach the stop and whisk her away before the enemy had time to make his way up the street?
Sure enough, the bus turned the corner and Stan waved it down. Kathy bundled Violet up the step ahead of the others. The conductor rang the bell and the driver set off as they found their seats.
Still holding her breath, Violet glanced out of the window to see Donald fixed to the spot outside his house. He glared at the bus as it passed, seeking Violet out and spotting her next to Stan on the back seat. His gaze followed them along the main street until the bus turned the next corner onto the moor road.
‘Someone’s not happy,’ Stan commented with a backwards glance at the solitary figure.
‘Yes – what has got into your Uncle Donald lately?’ Kathy asked with her usual lack of tact. ‘He’s turned into a right sourpuss.’
Violet didn’t reply but she was glad of her narrow escape and relieved to be surrounded by her friends. She was even nice to Stan and agreed to let him walk her home from the bus stop, as long as he behaved himself.
‘Ta-ta, you two!’ Kathy called after them as the bus drew away from the kerb.
Taking his tone from a serious Violet, Stan saw her to her door in respectful silence. ‘I meant it earlier,’ he said as she took out her key. ‘The last thing I want is for us to fall out.’
‘No, in the end I was glad you and the girls were with me,’ she replied with a grateful smile. ‘You helped me out of a tight spot.’
‘So we’re still pals?’ he checked.
Violet smiled. ‘Pals,’ she confirmed, turning the key in the lock. That would do, she told herself as they said goodbye. She went through the shop and up the stairs. She and the irrepressible Stan had known each other a long time and from now on she hoped he would hold himself in check and be just that – a pal and nothing more.
‘I’d like cod and chips, please,’ Evie told Albert Pennington behind his high counter at the top of Regent Street.
‘Salt and vinegar?’ The fish shop owner predicted a yes and shook condiments over Evie’s purchase without waiting for an answer. ‘The same for you?’ he asked Violet, who was standing behind Evie in the long Thursday-evening queue.
‘Yes, please.’ Violet’s stomach was rumbling after another busy day at Jubilee.
Evie waited while Albert wrapped Violet’s supper in newspaper then the two girls walked out into the street together. ‘I hear you’re run off your feet down at number one,’ she commented. ‘Kathy says she was thrilled with the dress you made for her so she’s been passing the word around.’
‘We are busy, thank goodness,’ Violet agreed. ‘I think it’s partly word of mouth but it’s Maud and Gertie as much as anything.’
Evie was nonplussed. ‘Who?’ she asked.
‘Our two new mannequins. They attract attention and bring people in. Tell Sybil she should think about buying one for your window.’
‘Ta – I’ll pass it on.’ Happy to stroll down Chapel Street with Violet, though it meant she would have to take the long way home to Albion Lane, Evie chatted on. ‘We’re kept on the go, too. We’ve hung on to all our old customers except for Mrs Barlow and her friend, Mrs Kingsley.’
‘We thought you would.’ Violet opened up the newspaper parcel and dug into her fish and chip supper. ‘I’m starving,’ she explained. ‘Anyway, we can both keep our fingers crossed and say so far so good. It turns out Ida and Muriel were right – there is room for two dressmaking shops on Chapel Street.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Outside Sykes’ bakery, Evie seemed to hesitate then decided to venture on. ‘Violet, can I ask you a question?’
Expecting more along the lines of what had gone before, Violet nodded and was taken aback by what came next.
‘About Stan,’ Evie said.
‘What about Stan?’
‘What would you think if I went to the pictures with him?’
Violet raised her eyebrows. ‘Why – has he asked you to?’
‘Yes. He was waiting for me outside work half an hour ago. He wants to take me to see an adventure film next week.’
‘He doesn’t waste much time, I’ll say that for him.’ Violet stared at Evie, pretty as a picture in a pink and white day dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and darts at the waistline and across the bust that flattered her sylph-like figure. Her short fair hair showed off her slender neck and slight shoulders. ‘Did you tell him yes?’
‘I didn’t give him an answer straight away. I said I would let him know tomorrow, after I’d talked to you about it – not that I told Stan that last little bit,’ Evie added hastily.
A puzzled frown appeared on Violet’s face. ‘Surely you’re not asking my permission to go to the Victory with Stan? You know that I’ve got nothing to do with him, not in a romantic way.’
‘Oh, now I’ve upset you,’ Evie said with a sigh. ‘All I know is, Stan has been keen on you for ages and I wanted to make it all right with you before I said yes to the pictures.’
‘Feel free,’ Violet insisted more forcefully than Evie expected. ‘I’m walking out with Eddie, remember.’
‘I know you are. Still, I thought I’d better check.’ There was a long pause then another question. ‘So you think I should go?’
Violet cocked her head to one side. ‘How old are you now, Evie?’
‘I’m seventeen.’
‘And Stan’s twenty-three, remember. And shall we say he’s not backwards in coming forward.’
Evie managed a brief smile. ‘So you think I should say no?’
‘I don’t know. Do you like him?’
‘He makes me laugh,’ came the doubtful reply.
‘Well, that’s a start.’ Now that she’d cleared up the misunderstanding, Violet relaxed into giving the younger girl what she hoped would be good advice. ‘Stan’s a card – that’s what everyone says about him. But underneath it all he’s a decent sort. That’s my opinion, anyway.’
‘So I should say yes?’
Realizing they were in danger of going around in circles, Violet gave Evie her final verdict. ‘Go ahead and give it a try,’ she advised. ‘And if Stan puts so much as a foot wrong – you come and tell me about it. I’ll soon set him straight.’
The fish supper was eaten and Violet had taken its newspaper wrapping down to the ash pit in the back yard shared with the brewery and with numbers 3, 5 and 7 Chapel Street. She was back inside, ready to go upstairs again, when the outline of a figure in the shop doorway, obscured by the lowered blind, made her hesitate. It was probably a local chap hanging about, waiting for a friend, she thought – nothing she should worry about. Then again, perhaps she should go and see.
She was still in two minds when there was an insistent rap on the door and Violet hurried to answer it, astonished to be confronted by, of all people, Donald Wheeler.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not coming in,’ he began in what could only be described as a surly manner. ‘I can say what I have to say out here on the doorstep.’
‘You look terrible,’ she gasped. It was true – his chin was unshaven, his hair uncombed and the lapel of his jacket was ripped as though he’d been in a brawl. A closer look at his lined, sallow face revealed a recent bruise under his right eye.
‘I saw you with Stan last night, don’t think I didn’t.’ He spoke as if this was a sin that would send her careering straight to hell.
‘What of it?’ Violet said wearily. She was tired of going down the same old track, of not being listened to and being treated like a criminal. ‘I wish to goodness you’d mind your own business.’ Almost adding ‘Uncle Donald’ to the end of her complaint, she remembered what the note inside the bracelet box had revealed and stopped herself just in time.
‘This is my business, and you’ll thank me in the end,’ he insisted. ‘Listen to me. I’ve already had words with him and now I’m telling you once and for all to steer clear of Stan Tankard.’
So that was where the bruise had come from, Violet decided. Donald had tried giving orders to Stan and got a punch in the face for his pains. It served him right. ‘And my answer is I don’t need advice from you, ta very much.’
‘I mean it, Violet.’ Suddenly there was a new note in his voice – the tone was urgent but not bullying for a change. ‘You have to listen to me: Stan isn’t the one for you.’
‘And I suppose you’d say that about every young man I took up with, wouldn’t you? It would be the same thing – don’t do this, don’t do that – on and on until I was sick of hearing it.’ Exasperation rose from deep inside. Here was the man who should have taken a father’s responsibility from day one, who had hidden the truth and thrust the burden and the joy of Violet’s upbringing onto Winnie, standing to one side and interfering only to issue orders about the way she led her life. ‘You’re nothing but a lousy, rotten hypocrite,’ she said in a raised voice, aware of spying eyes and ears behind net curtains at front-room windows. ‘I don’t know how you have the nerve to come here and tell me what to do.’
‘He isn’t the one for you,’ he repeated, as if oblivious to Violet’s anger. ‘You have to tell him to leave you alone, you hear me?’
‘And if I don’t do as I’m told?’ she asked defiantly. ‘For once in your life, you have to.’ He stared at her with great intensity, refusing to budge an inch.
‘Oh, I could throttle you!’ she cried, her voice breaking down as her feelings swept her along like storm water in the gutter. ‘Tell me one thing before I slam this door in your face – why have you been so nasty to me? I don’t mean just lately, but all my life, ever since I can remember – giving me sour looks and tut-tutting and always making me feel I was in the wrong. Why couldn’t you have … loved me?’
Violet’s halting plea affected Donald more than either had expected. He lowered his gaze and his lips quivered as tears welled up. Violet felt her own eyes water and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
‘I tried my best,’ he attempted to say, but the words fell half-formed from his mouth. ‘But you were wilful and your Aunty Winnie didn’t help – she spared the rod and spoiled the child.’
‘Wilful?’ she echoed in a faint voice, realizing with a shudder that he blamed her even now. ‘That’s not fair. I was only tiny – too young to understand what I had to do to please you.’
‘We won’t go into it now,’ he said, regaining control. ‘I came here with a final warning and now I’ve done all I can to make you steer clear of a certain person.’
‘Well, there was no need.’ Violet’s frustration receded and gave room for a different picture of Donald Wheeler to form in her mind. He had become an old, broken, lonely man who couldn’t take care of himself let alone anyone else. ‘You can rest assured that I’m not walking out with Stan. I never have and I never will.’
‘Then my conscience is clear.’ Donald stepped back onto the pavement. ‘It’s the last conversation I wanted to have with you before I cleared off.’
The finality of this last remark panicked Violet into joining him on the pavement and asking more questions. ‘Cleared off where? Are you leaving your job and house in Hadley?’
‘I am and that’s that.’ He lifted his hand, forefinger raised in a peculiar reminder of a priest giving a blessing. ‘Don’t ask me where I’m going because I won’t tell you.’
‘Then I won’t ask,’ she decided. ‘If that’s what you want.’
He met her gaze for another instant then looked down again. ‘It is,’ he said. Then, without looking back Donald Wheeler shuffled down Chapel Street and turned onto Brewery Road, out of sight.
That’s the last I’ll ever see of him, Violet decided. Her thoughts flew to her beloved aunt. ‘I’m sorry, Aunty Winnie,’ she whispered with a final pull on her heart strings; sorry that the only solid link with her past had ended this way in bitter regret.