‘Oh, isn’t she beautiful! She’s more like you than Walter this time,’ said Val, peering at the baby lying in a carry-cot at the end of the bed where Cissie, sitting up, was smiling happily.
She had given birth to the baby girl two days earlier on Christmas Day. Val had come round as soon as she was able, anxious to see the new member of the Clarkson family.
‘Yes, she’s lovely, isn’t she?’ said Cissie contentedly. ‘It wasn’t much trouble either, having her. I messed up everybody’s Christmas dinner but it couldn’t be helped. An’ it’s nicer being at home than in hospital.’ Cissie had insisted on a home birth, and as her last confinement had been trouble free, the doctor had agreed. ‘A lot of the work’s falling on Walter, of course. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, and his mother comes round to help. My mam’s not all that much use, you know, when it comes to dirty nappies an’ all that. She just likes the easy part, when they’re all clean and smelling nice.’
‘I’d like to pick her up but I won’t,’ said Val. ‘She’s fast asleep so I won’t disturb her. I can see she’s got your fair hair – quite a lot of it, too – and I expect she’ll have blue eyes, like you. I’ve brought her a little present. I’m not the world’s best knitter and I know she’ll have lots of matinee jackets and things like that, so I’ve brought you a dozen little bibs. I know they go through a lot, don’t they, when they start on more solid food?’
‘Oh, those are real cute,’ said Cissie, admiring the bibs, all edged in pink and depicting nursery characters like Bo Peep and Humpty Dumpty. ‘Paul used at least two a day an’ he’s still a messy eater.’
‘And this as well… I couldn’t resist it,’ said Val, presenting Cissie with a little pink teddy bear, just the right size for a baby to cuddle.
‘Oh, isn’t he gorgeous!’ said Cissie. ‘Well… it’s a she, I suppose, not a he, though we always call teddy bears he, don’t we? How clever of you to get a pink one – you must have got it before Christmas?’
‘Yes. Actually I bought one of each, a pink one and a blue one – it will come in useful sometime.’ Val smiled coyly. ‘I must tell you… I’m trying not to get too hopeful but I think I might be pregnant. I haven’t told anyone yet, except Sam, because I’ve been disappointed before, but this time I really think I am.’
‘Gosh, that’s great!’ said Cissie. ‘We’ll be able to push our prams out together. When will it be?’
‘I’m not sure yet. I’m only two weeks overdue but that’s a lot for me. So, if I’m right, it would be early in August. Too soon to think about it, really, so don’t go telling anyone. I haven’t even told my mum yet. And I’ll have to wait a few weeks before I see a doctor and make sure. Anyway, what about you? Are you feeling OK?’
‘Yes, fine, thanks. I’m feeding her myself, like I did with Paul, for as long as I can.’
‘And has she got a name yet?’
‘Yes. We’re going to call her Holly. It’s a nice Christmassy name. They was a choir on the wireless just after she was born, singing “The Holly and the Ivy”. An’ you’ll be godmother again, won’t you, Val?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ said Val. ‘Thanks for asking me, but isn’t it someone else’s turn?’
‘Who else would there be? You’re still my best friend. There have to be two godmothers, though, ’cause it’s a girl, so I think I’ll ask Brenda, a girl I got friendly with at the clinic. And Walter can choose the godfather – one of his cycling mates, perhaps.’
Val did not stay too long. Despite Cissie’s cheerful manner it was obvious that she was tired. Val kissed her cheek; she smelled faintly of milk. ‘Look after yourself and that lovely little girl. I’ll see you again soon.’
‘Yes, please do. Ta-ra for now, Val. Love to your Sam…’
Walter was downstairs playing with Paul on the hearthrug, his toy cars spread all around. Several nappies were airing on a clothes horse near to the fire, which was surrounded by a sturdy fireguard. The room was reasonably tidy, considering that it was still the Christmas period. Val knew that Walter liked everything to be spick and span and would try to keep it that way. Christmas cards were hung on strings on the wall and a few paper streamers decorated the ceiling. Their small Christmas tree was in the front room. Val had seen its lights twinkling as she knocked at the door.
‘You’ve got your hands full now, Walter!’ she remarked.
‘You can say that again!’ he replied, standing up as she entered the room.
‘You’ve got a lovely little girl…’
‘Yes, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’ He gave a small laugh. ‘I hope Cissie will be satisfied now. One of each is enough, as far as I’m concerned. And this one’s a real live wire.’ He ruffled his son’s dark hair. Paul was becoming more and more like his daddy – dark-haired and of a wiry build. ‘He’s a good lad, though, aren’t you, Paul, helping Daddy to look after Mummy and the baby?’
‘You’ve got a new baby sister, haven’t you, Paul?’ said Val.
The child nodded. ‘Holly…’ he said, stumbling a little over the strange new word. At eighteen months he was tearing around and into everything, and talking just a little.
‘Here’s a new car to add to your collection,’ said Val. She knew that children sometimes felt overlooked when there was a new arrival but that didn’t seem to be the case with Paul.
‘Bus…’ he said, smiling in delight at the big red bus.
‘Yes,’ laughed Val. ‘I stand corrected. It’s a bus, isn’t it, not a car?’
‘Say thank you to Aunty Val,’ said Walter.
‘Thank… you,’ he repeated. He crouched down again, making ‘brrm, brrm’ noises as he whizzed the new bus along the carpet.
‘Back to work on Monday,’ said Walter. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll be glad to get back for a rest!’ Christmas Day had been on Wednesday, and it was now Friday.
‘How will you manage then?’ asked Val.
‘My mum’s coming round to help with Paul and to see to the meals, but Cissie should be up and about in a few days’ time. I know she’ll want to get back to normal. Thanks for coming, Val. You’re a good friend to Cissie…’
‘The baby’s lovely,’ Val enthused to Sam when she arrived home. ‘She looks just like Cissie – blonde hair and a lovely fair complexion. She’s asked me to be godmother again. They’re calling her Holly.’
‘I expect all babies look lovely to their mothers, don’t they?’ said Sam. ‘No matter how red and wrinkly they are. Some look like little monkeys.’
‘Sam, how can you say that! I think she’s beautiful and I’m not her mother.’
‘Yes, I’m sure she is beautiful, but do try not to get too excited, love – about your condition, I mean. I don’t want you to feel all let down again. I keep telling you it’s early days and we’ve got plenty of time.’
‘OK. I’ll try not to think about it too much,’ said Val, ‘and I won’t keep talking about it.’
However, the weeks passed and by the beginning of February Val felt sure that there could be no doubt about it. Her breasts were tender and she was starting to feel a little queasy, though not always in the morning.
She went to see the doctor, who confirmed that she was expecting a baby. It – he or she – would be born, all being well, in early August, which was the date that Val had worked out herself.
‘You are fit and healthy, Valerie,’ the doctor told her. ‘Just carry on normally but don’t overdo things. There’s no reason why you should not go on working for a few months. And you’ll be expected to go to the hospital for a check-up. I would prefer you to go into hospital as it’s your first child.’
Val was delighted, and so was Sam, to have their hopes confirmed. They decided she should carry on working until the end of April, which was about normal for a pregnant woman. She did not want people to say that the boss’s wife was being given preferential treatment. The girls in the office were very pleased, although they would miss her pleasant company.
Pauline’s baby boy had been born in September and was now five months old. The girls made a great fuss of him when Pauline brought him into the office to show him off.
‘Your turn next,’ they said to Val. She couldn’t wait to have her own bundle of joy.
Plans were going ahead for Janice and Phil’s wedding in April. They had booked the time, twelve o’clock, at the parish church, with the reception to follow at Summerlands at one thirty.
Phil was still looking for a suitable workplace, with living accommodation, so that they wouldn’t need to travel each day. This was not proving easy, as many of the places had a flat above that was already occupied. His search in Ilkley and nearby Otley and the environs had been fruitless so far, so Phil suggested to Janice that they should look a little further afield.
‘Knaresborough’s a nice place,’ he told her when they spoke on the phone one evening in late February. ‘…so is Harrogate. They both get more tourists than Ilkley – holidaymakers and day-trippers, as well as the local folk, of course.’
‘I haven’t been to either of those places,’ said Janice. She had not seen Phil for three weeks but was due to go to Ilkley the following weekend. Mr Summers had given her some time off as the hotel was quiet.
‘Right then… We’ll go there on Saturday,’ said Phil, ‘and who knows? We might find just what we’re looking for.’
The February day was cold but the sky was clear and there was no sign of rain when Phil and Janice set off for their day out. Janice had arrived late on Friday afternoon. Saturday would be their only full day together as she would have to leave on Sunday afternoon to start work again on Monday.
They drove across the moors to Knaresborough, where Phil parked in a side street off the main road. The town was busy with Saturday shoppers as it was market day. They walked through the market square along narrow, cobbled streets to the area where the ruins of the medieval castle stood. Since the early 1900s the castle grounds had been used as a public park which provided a magnificent view across the valley.
Janice gasped with delight when she saw the view, one which featured on picture postcards and railway posters. Below them were the rooftops of the town and the viaduct crossing the River Nidd against a background of moorland. A train was crossing, puffing smoke into the clear air.
‘What a stupendous view!’ she said. ‘I had no idea it was such a picturesque place.’
‘It’s Knaresborough’s hidden gem,’ said Phil. ‘Come along, let’s go down and look at the river.’
They wandered down a steep path then crossed the railway line by the level crossing. A further steep path led them down to the level of the river. After a short walk they passed the entrance to Mother Shipton’s cave. She was a famous Yorkshire witch, born in the fifteenth century, who had prophesied future events such as the Great Fire of London, the defeat of the Spanish Armada and even the end of the world! The cave was a popular tourist attraction because of the nearby petrifying well. There, everyday objects left by tourists – even a handbag left by Agatha Christie – were turned to stone by the action of the chemicals in the water. At the time of Mother Shipton, local townsfolk had believed that the well was magic and feared that if they touched the waters they would be turned to stone.
They did not linger there, taking the steep climb by road up to the main part of the town. The couple of estate agents they visited had nothing of interest to show them. There were cafes a-plenty along the main street and they dined at the one they had seen previously, close to the castle.
‘This would be an ideal place for us,’ said Janice as they tucked into the tasty ham sandwiches and apple pie.
‘It’s thriving, though, and I don’t suppose the owners have any intention of leaving,’ said Phil. ‘We’ll press on to Harrogate. There will probably be more scope there.’
It was only a few miles to the town; in fact, the towns were often linked together as Harrogate and Knaresborough.
‘It’s quite a posh place, isn’t it?’ said Janice as they approached the outskirts of Harrogate.
‘Yes. I suppose genteel is the word for it,’ replied Phil. ‘A lot of people retire here as it’s a very congenial sort of place to live. It’s a spa town. People used to come to take the waters, as they called it in the Georgian and Victorian times. But I’ve heard that the water actually tastes bloomin’ awful because of the sulphur content.’
‘Ugh! How ghastly. Like bad eggs, I suppose. I think we’ll give that a miss.’
‘We sure will. I don’t suppose many of today’s visitors come to taste the waters.’
They were driving up a steep road which led from the valley to the centre of town. ‘That’s Betty’s Tea Rooms,’ said Phil, pointing to a busy-looking shop on the corner of two streets, facing the war memorial. ‘They’re more likely to want a cup of coffee at Betty’s than a drink of spa water.’
There was quite a crowd of people outside the shop and cafe. ‘It’s a very popular place,’ he went on. ‘A bit pricey, mind, but folks come from all over to sample the toasted teacakes and cream cakes.’
‘Would there be any point, then, in us opening up our own place here?’ queried Janice. ‘We couldn’t compete with Betty’s.’
‘Nor would we try to,’ said Phil. ‘Harrogate’s a big place so I’m sure there’d be room for us as well. There are lots of other tea shops and restaurants and they have their own clientele. Just as we shall have.’ He turned to grin at her. ‘Let’s park up and have a look around.’
Phil parked the car in a side street, then they walked along a road lined with shops and hotels opposite a wide stretch of grassland.
‘That’s what they call the Stray,’ he told her. ‘It’s quite unique and I should imagine that’s why a lot of people come to settle in Harrogate. Where else could you find so much open space surrounding a town?’
He told her that the Stray consisted of two hundred acres of grassland encompassing the town. By an act passed in the eighteenth century it could not be built on and the restriction was still in force. At one time, animals such as sheep and cows were allowed to graze there and the land was enclosed. Now it was a public park for the enjoyment of the residents and the many visitors. The only animals were dogs as it was an ideal place for them to run free.
‘Thanks for the history lesson!’ said Janice, laughing. ‘It’s very interesting, though. I’d no idea it was such a lovely place. It’s like being in the country, and yet you’re not.’
There were stretches of secluded grassland with trees and bushes and banks of flowers, then they came upon a row of shops in front of a residential area about half a mile from the town. They wandered away from the grassy area to take a look at the shops.
‘Look!’ cried Janice. ‘There’s one for sale, or is it to let? Oh, Phil, how exciting! Let’s go and see.’
It was a row of shops such as one might find in any residential area. A newsagent’s shop, a hairdressing salon, an off-licence, a ladies’ clothing shop and a florist. The shop at the end was empty. They made a beeline for it.
The notice in the window showed that it was for sale, enquiries to be made at an estate agents in Harrogate. It was not clear what sort of shop it might have been but they looked at one another and smiled. It seemed to be just what they had been looking for.
‘That’s exactly what we want, isn’t it, Phil?’ said Janice. ‘Shall we go back now and look for this estate agent? I can hardly believe it, after all the time you’ve been searching.’
‘But not searching in the right place, obviously,’ he replied. ‘It seems ideal, as far as we can see, but you never know what snags there might be, or lots of other people interested in it. Don’t get your hopes up too much, love. But… well… yes, I think we must at least go and make enquiries.’
As it was a corner property they walked along the street at the side. The property stretched back quite a long way and it seemed that there would be ample space for their requirements. They had not yet decided exactly how they would organise their business. A tea room, a shop with a cafe, a restaurant… It would depend on the scope of the premises before they made up their minds.
They walked back to the parked car but left it where it was while they looked for the estate agents. Their office was in a side street leading off the Stray, just a little way from the town centre. But they were closed on Saturday afternoons.
‘Oh, damn!’ exclaimed Janice, unable to hide her disappointment.
‘I suppose we might have known,’ said Phil. ‘They don’t always work shop hours. Never mind, it’s not all that far away. I’m sure Dad will give me time to come over again on Monday.’
‘But I won’t be with you…’
‘You can trust my judgement, can’t you? And we both thought it was what we wanted, even at a first glance.’
There was a photo and a notice about the shop in the window. ‘Vacant possession and open to offers’, it declared. The price seemed a little above their budget but not too improbable.
‘Come on,’ said Phil. ‘We won’t have long to wait. Let’s walk down to the valley gardens before we head back home.’
The valley gardens, as the name implied, were down in the valley, reached by one of the steep roads that led down from the town. They had been developed in the early nineteenth century when the town was becoming famous as a spa. Visitors could stroll there as part of their health regime after taking the waters. The waterside walk, with flowers and trees in abundance, became a favourite place for promenading and socialising. The facilities were extended to include a tea room and a bandstand. It was still a very popular venue for residents and visitors, although on that February afternoon there was a lack of flowers.
They wandered through the pathways and into the colonnades that had been opened some twenty years ago. Although it was wintertime there were hardy climbing plants intertwined among the trellis work making a leafy arbour above them. The late-afternoon sun cast dappled light and shadow around them as they strolled hand in hand through the walkway. There was scarcely another person in sight as the day drew towards evening.
They walked back to the car almost in silence, each engrossed in their own thoughts.
‘I can’t tell you how much I hope this works out for us,’ said Janice as they drove back.
‘I think I can guess,’ Phil replied. ‘But there’ll be another one if this doesn’t work. I feel sure.’
Phil’s parents were pleased to hear their news and his father agreed that he must drive over again on Monday. If all was well, Janice would come over again as soon as possible.
Their parting at the railway station on Sunday afternoon was not as poignant as usual, as they had high hopes for the near future. Janice decided not to say anything to her father about the property they had in mind until she had heard from Phil. Ian seemed pleased to see her home again. He was quiet these days, spending a good deal of time at the homes of his mates playing chess, as it was too dark for evening football.
Norma still visited occasionally but Alec continued to spend more time at her place than she did at his. He said nothing of his future plans, and Janice did not ask. She could tell that Ian was doing his best to ignore the situation, although he was polite enough to Norma when they met; polite but… aloof.
Janice waited on tenterhooks for Phil’s phone call. She was on an early shift so he had promised to ring on Monday evening.
‘I’ll go,’ she said as the phone rang in the hallway. ‘It’ll probably be Phil.’
‘Good news, darling,’ he said as soon as she answered. ‘Dad went with me today. I thought we could do with an expert opinion. We had a good look round the property with the estate agent and… it’s just what we want!’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ she cried. ‘Tell me all about it.’
‘Plenty of room for whatever we decide to do, good living accommodation and quite a modern kitchen and bathroom upstairs. And the price is OK. They came down a bit because – would you believe? – it’s been on their books for quite a while. We’ll need a mortgage – a small one, I hope, but we can go ahead with our plans.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ she said again. ‘I’ll come over again soon if it’s all right with Mr Summers.’
‘Yes, that would be great. I won’t talk any more now, I’m running up the phone bill. Ring me later in the week. Bye for now, darling. Love you…’
‘Bye, Phil. Love you too…’ she whispered.
‘What’s all the excitement?’ asked Alec. ‘I could hear you were pleased about something and I expect I can guess what it is, can’t I?’
‘Yes, I dare say you can.’ She told him about the property they had found and that their plans could now go ahead.
‘You mean… you’ve found somewhere to live?’ asked Ian. He had been doing his homework in his attic room and had come down to see what was going on.
‘Yes, that’s right. We won’t be able to move in straight away, but after we’re married I shall be there to help with all the planning.’
‘And it’s only – what is it? – seven weeks till your wedding,’ said Alec. ‘It’s all happening, isn’t it?’
Ian went upstairs again without a word. He never wanted to talk about the wedding.