Constance watched her mother make another gin and tonic, but said nothing. She’d learned a long time ago that the less said when her mother was on at least her third drink, the better. The gin affected her in two ways: she’d either become snappy and argumentative or turn maudlin, lamenting her lost youth and difficult life.
Constance quietly left the room and went down to the basement kitchen. She didn’t usually disturb Ethel during her time off in the evenings, and hoped she wouldn’t mind. She walked in and frowned when she saw Ethel sitting on a chair with her swollen feet raised on a stool. Poor Ethel, she thought. The woman’s life was a stark contrast to that of her mother’s, who’d known nothing but luxury. ‘Oh, Ethel, your feet,’ she exclaimed.
‘Don’t worry, love. Once I’ve had them up for a while the swelling will go down.’
‘I’ll have a word with my mother. You’re working too many hours, as is Mary.’
‘No, Miss, please don’t say anything,’ Ethel said worriedly. ‘At my age I’m lucky to still have a job, and one with accommodation too. As for Mary, she’s young and can manage.’
Constance wasn’t satisfied and bit her lower lip. Despite her father suggesting it, Constance knew her mother would never contemplate doing any cleaning. However, she might allow her to help Mary in some way. She still had many weeks left before she returned for her last year at college, and even then she was home early enough to help with the housework, and of course during weekends. Constance wasn’t sure what she could do, but maybe a bit of dusting or something like that would take a small amount of the burden from Mary. There was a knock on the basement door, startling Constance out of her thoughts, especially when Mary opened it to a very good-looking young man.
‘Albie, what are you doing here?’ Ethel asked, sounding surprised.
‘I’ve just popped in to see how you are,’ he said. His eyes travelled to Constance. ‘Well, well, who’s this then?’
‘Albie, this is Miss Constance, the daughter of the house, and I’d thank you to mind your manners.’
‘What do you take me for, Gran?’ he quipped with a twinkle in his blue eyes. ‘Of course I’ll mind me manners.’
‘Miss Constance, this is my grandson, Albert Jones, but he likes to be called Albie.’
‘How do you do,’ Constance said shyly. ‘It is very nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sight for sore eyes?’
‘Albie!’ Ethel snapped.
‘What, Gran? I’m only speaking the truth. She’s tasty and I’ve always fancied a bit of posh totty.’
‘Albie!’
‘Albie … Albie,’ he mimicked. ‘Gran, I think you’re turning into a parrot.’
Mary giggled, drawing his attention. ‘Hello, Mary. You’re so quiet, like a little mouse, which is more than I can say for my gran.’
‘Don’t be so cheeky,’ Ethel admonished, ‘and listen here, my lad, I’m fine so there’s no need for you to stay.’
‘What’s this? Trying to get rid of me, are you?’
‘On this occasion, yes. Miss Constance isn’t used to the likes of you with all your blarney.’
‘It’s all right, Ethel,’ Constance said hurriedly. ‘I’m going back upstairs now.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Albie said, flashing her a smile. ‘I hope we meet again.’
Constance felt her cheeks flush. She’d never met anyone like Albie before and when she looked at him her stomach fluttered. ‘Yes … err … bye,’ she stammered and then quickly turned to flee upstairs.
‘Now look what you’ve done, Albie. You embarrassed the girl,’ Ethel said, but her tone was light.
‘How old is she, Gran?’
‘She’s only seventeen, and far too young for you.’
‘Leave it out. I’m only twenty-four.’
‘Constance has had a very sheltered life and she’s an innocent, so whatever it is you’re thinking, forget it. Stick to your own class.’
‘Come off it, Gran. Those days are long gone. It seems funny that this is the first time I’ve met her. Where’s she been hiding?’
‘She wasn’t born until you were seven, and her mother didn’t allow her below stairs to mix with us. By the time she started sneaking down here behind her mother’s back, she was about ten and you’d left school to start work.’
‘It still seems funny that despite me popping in to see you, we’ve never met. I reckon you’ve been keeping her from me,’ he said jovially.
‘Miss Constance doesn’t usually come down to disturb me when I’m off duty. Anyway, now that you’ve met, I don’t want you sniffing around her. If her parents found out I could lose my job.’
‘Looking at the state of your legs, that would be the best thing for you. It’s time you retired.’
‘My flat goes with the job, so where am I supposed to live if I retire?’
‘With us.’
‘Huh, and your mother has suggested that, has she?’
‘Well, no, but I should think it’s taken for granted.’
‘Albie, you know me and your mum don’t get on. The last thing she’d want is me moving in.’
‘I know she can be a bit hard at times, but she wouldn’t see you homeless.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’
‘Gran, I’m asking you again, why did you fall out? I’ve asked Mum loads of times too, but she won’t say.’
Ethel glanced across at Mary and said, ‘You’ve done enough for one day. Go on up to bed, love.’
‘I’m all right. I’m not tired,’ Mary protested as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.
‘You must be, and anyway, I need to talk to my grandson in private.’
‘Gran, we could go into your sitting room,’ Albie suggested.
‘Huh, the walls are so thin that we might as well be talking in here.’
‘I’ll go and sit in the garden for a while,’ Mary offered.
‘Thanks, love. We just need ten minutes,’ Ethel said, and waited until the girl left by the back door before she spoke again. ‘Albie, I don’t think your mum would want me to tell you why we fell out. Suffice to say it was my fault, and she’s never forgiven me.’
‘Your fault? I can’t believe that.’
‘It happened a long time ago, and at the time I thought I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t, but I’m not saying any more about it so don’t ask questions.’
‘Was it because she wouldn’t let me be evacuated during the war? I know it was dodgy with the bombing raids on London, so did you have a go at her for that?’
‘No, it was her decision and though I didn’t agree with it, I didn’t interfere.’
‘So why did you fall out?’
‘Albie, that’s enough. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re as bad as my mother.’
‘Language,’ Ethel admonished.
‘Sorry, but you and Mum are enough to make a vicar swear. I hate it that you don’t talk to each other. It means we never get together as a family and that ain’t right, especially as there’s only the three of us, what with Dad getting killed during the war, and Granddad gone.’
‘I know, love. I’ve tried to talk to her but Dora can’t forgive me.’
‘I’ll sort her out, tell her she’s out of order.’
‘No, Albie. What I did to your mum was unforgivable, so please don’t blame her. Stirring things up will just make things worse. You never know, one day she might soften. It’s the best I can hope for. Now, enough said on the matter. I don’t know about you but I could do with a nice cup of tea.’
As though on cue the back door opened and Mary poked her head inside. ‘Is it all right to come in now?’
‘Yes, love, and you can make us all a drink,’ Ethel said, relieved to bring the conversation with her grandson to an end. She had treated her daughter harshly, and was thankful that Dora had never told Albie the truth. If she did, Ethel knew she would probably lose Albie too. He was a bit of a rogue, but she loved him dearly and couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.
Albie stayed for a little while longer and, as always, his gran began to reminisce, her happiness remaining in the past.
‘Do you remember when me and your granddad lived close to you and your mum during the war?’
‘Yeah, vaguely, on the next street, I think. It was such a long time ago, but I know granddad used to bring me to your house.’
‘That’s right, and do you remember the toys he carved for you?’
‘Not really, though I think there was a car.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. You loved that little car.’
Albie had been born in 1940 and had mixed emotions about his childhood. He knew from talk of the war that there’d been air raids and bombs falling, but he had little memory of them. Maybe it had been so horrific that his brain had shut out the sights and sounds. Other memories remained though, and he said, ‘More than the car, I can remember that I loved being with you and Granddad.’
‘We loved having you. You were our only grandchild, and still are, so we cherished any time spent with you.’
‘I didn’t know what happened at the time, or why things changed, just that you moved here and I saw a lot less of you.’
‘As I’ve told you before, it wasn’t out of choice. We were down the local pub when a doodlebug took out our house. We were left with nothing, not even a pot to piss in, so seeing a job offered with accommodation was like a godsend.’
‘A pot to piss in,’ Mary said and giggled. ‘I ain’t heard that one before.’
‘Well, you have now, but it doesn’t sound very ladylike and I shouldn’t have said it.’
Albie smiled. He didn’t care if his gran sounded ladylike or not. He loved her just as she was. ‘I suppose I must have been about three years old when your house was hit.’
‘Yes, that’s right, and then once a month, on his day off, your granddad would bring you here. The Burton Blakes were kind enough to let you visit us as long as it didn’t cause them any inconvenience.’
‘Huh, big of them,’ Albie said sarcastically. One day off a month, and his gran talked about the Burton Blakes being kind. He wondered if Constance was as bad as them, stuck up and considering herself a cut above those who worked below stairs. Maybe she was different – at least he hoped so – because now that he had met her, Albie intended to find a way to see her again. The attraction didn’t come from her looks – with straight, shoulder-length, mousy brown hair and a face devoid of make-up, she wasn’t his type. It was the way she spoke, her posh voice and demeanour, that fascinated him. Even the way she dressed was different. There had been no pencil skirt, or the Capri pants that all the girls were wearing now. Instead she wore an old-fashioned dress and wrinkled stockings that made him smile.
Thought not strictly the truth, it was as he’d told his gran. He’d always fancied a bit of posh totty, and though Constance didn’t fully fit the bill, she seemed ripe for the picking. Albie wanted to better himself, to rise above his roots, and he could learn a lot from Constance Burton Blake.
Constance sat on her window seat, twirling a strand of hair out of habit, as she waited to see Albie leave. He’d said that she was a sight for sore eyes, and she’d been unable to believe her ears. Constance knew she was plain, her mother had told her often enough, and Albie was the first boy who had spared her a glance. Of course, she realised he was just being kind, and that had been sweet of him, but he still fascinated her. He was tall with vivid blue eyes and blond hair that flopped onto his forehead, and she thought him very handsome. Ethel often talked of her only grandson, who was a long-distance lorry driver, but this had been the first time they’d met.
She recalled Albie’s remark about posh totty and, unoffended, she smiled. She hadn’t heard that said before, and hoped it meant he would try to see her again. Maybe she could ask Ethel when he was likely to visit next, and then make sure she was there at the same time.
It was dark outside now, but by the light of a street-lamp she saw Albie leave. He looked up at the windows as though aware he was being watched, and she quickly moved back, her face flushing. As he turned to saunter off, raising an arm to wave, Constance heard her mother shouting from below.
‘Constance, where are you, girl?’
She ran onto the landing and from the top of the stairs called, ‘I’m up here, Mummy, in my room.’
‘I’m not feeling well.’
Used to this, Constance ran down to help her mother. Despite the way she was treated, she longed for her mother’s love and craved her affection, but it had never been forthcoming. Now, with an arm around her mother to give support, she guided her to the first floor and into her large and luxurious bedroom at the front of the house. Her mother was leaning on her, legs wobbly, as Constance led her to the large double bed. ‘There you are,’ she said gently as she sat her down. ‘Would you like me to help you to undress?’
‘Certainly not. Go now. I can manage.’
Though her mother was attempting an imperious tone, her words were indistinct. Constance did as she was told and left the room. She knew from experience what would happen now. Her mother would lie down, fully dressed, and when her father came home he would see the state of her and sleep in another room. In the morning her mother would wake up, bathe and dress, and then come downstairs for breakfast as if nothing had happened. Constance knew that nothing would be said, and their breakfast would be perfectly civilised, as always. She could never understand why her father tolerated this behaviour.
Back in her room, Constance undressed and slipped into bed. No wonder her father spent most evenings at his club, she thought – he was driven from his own home by a drunken wife. Constance wished she too could escape, permanently, and prayed that one day she would be able to do just that.