Fred sat in one of his two new armchairs, the untouched Dundee cake in front of him. Alison had been asleep for two hours. He wondered if he ought to send a message to Cora to let her know her daughter was all right, but he didn’t want to leave in case the girl woke up. He was afraid that if she came to and saw she was alone she might take off again and harm herself. He couldn’t live with himself if that happened. For the time being she was his responsibility and he had to look after her.
It didn’t mean he had to starve though. He reached out and picked up the knife he’d taken out to cut the cake, and the noise of blade on china made her stir. Slowly she sat up, confused and disoriented.
Trying for normality again, Fred asked, ‘Do you fancy that slice of cake?’, cutting into it and helping himself to some.
Alison wasn’t totally sure where she was but Fred seemed to be there so it was probably all right. Groaning then she remembered what had happened. She’d tried to kill herself but had failed. She couldn’t even do that right. ‘Where am I?’
‘In my living room above the butcher’s,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, you can stay here till you’re ready to leave. You’ve slept for ages. You must be hungry.’
Alison realised he was right. She’d had nothing since the half of a ham sandwich hours before. Now there didn’t seem to be any good reason not to eat, as the bump wasn’t a secret any more. ‘Thanks, I’ll have some.’
‘Good, you’ll like it,’ Fred beamed, passing her a slice on a delicate plate. ‘Now you’re awake I’m going to get a note to your mum to say where you are. She’ll be concerned.’
‘She won’t,’ said Alison. ‘You don’t know her like I do. She won’t care.’
‘I’m going to do it anyway,’ said Fred. ‘There’s a young lad who lives opposite who’s always glad of an extra bob to take a message. Many’s a time I’ve thought of a delivery I need after the post has gone and he’s always happy to help. So I’ll ask him. Won’t be a mo.’ Quietly, he slipped out.
Alison finished her cake, and eating for comfort too now, cut herself some more. She didn’t think he’d mind. As she ate it, she took in the room where she was sitting. Even though she was tired and distressed she was surprised at what it was like.
The furniture was sparse but looked new. It was obviously not utility, the only modern type she had ever come across. It had spindly legs and shiny surfaces, and there were cushions with very strange shapes printed on the fabric. It all felt a bit empty, as if there had once been more things there but they’d been taken away.
She puzzled at this new side of Fred. This must have all cost a lot. He was careful with his money in the shop and always happy when they made a good profit but he never seemed to have much more than anyone else she knew. He certainly never said anything about furniture or fashion. She decided she quite liked it but couldn’t understand why he’d got it. Maybe he shared the flat with someone? Did he have a lady friend she didn’t know about? It didn’t seem likely – he could never have kept that a secret from her, as whoever used the flat would have to come and go right by the shop window. She had never given much thought to what the flat upstairs was like but she hadn’t imagined it would be like this.
The downstairs door banged and Fred’s footsteps echoed on the stairs. ‘That’s all sorted out,’ he wheezed. ‘He’ll go round and if your mum wants to send a message back, she can. If she doesn’t then no harm done. Ah, I see you enjoyed the cake.’
‘Thanks.’ Alison looked round. ‘Fred, your living room … it’s not what I thought it would be like.’
Fred seemed embarrassed, shuffling as he returned to his armchair. ‘The new stuff, you mean? Do you like it?’
Alison paused for a moment. ‘Yes. Or at least I think so. I haven’t really seen anything like it. It was just a bit of a surprise.’
He nodded. ‘When Mother died, I decided to have a good old clear out. We had things she’d got from her parents and grandparents and it was all dark and miserable. This is a big room but you’d never have known it with all that in it. So I thought, Fred my lad, you can make a new start. I haven’t got very far yet. It needs more to make it like a home, but it’s a beginning.’
Alison nodded. She felt like that about the grim and worn-out items at home. She’d have chucked out the lot if it was up to her – and if she had the cash to get replacements. That wasn’t likely to happen now.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me being here?’ She realised how late it was. ‘Aren’t you going out? Or expecting company? It’s Saturday and I don’t want to be in your way.’
Fred laughed. ‘No, I’m not going anywhere. I hardly ever do. And I’m not expecting any visitors. So don’t worry.’
‘Don’t you?’ Alison thought she was the only single person in London who always stayed in and spent Saturday night on their own, from what her sisters and everyone at the factory said. ‘What about the cinema? You’re always telling me I should see this film or that. You must go out then.’
‘Sometimes I do,’ Fred admitted, ‘but not very often. Not at the weekend anyway. People think you’re strange if you’re on your own on a weekend evening.’
‘Don’t you have any friends?’ The question was out before Alison realised what she’d said.
Fred shook his head ruefully. ‘I suppose that makes me seem like a sad old sod but I got out of the habit. I had plenty when I was younger – like your dad, for instance. He was a good lad. We used to go out and get up to all sorts. But then there was the war, and then Mother was ill and needed me around all the time. Before I realised it everyone I used to know was either dead, moved away or stuck at home for one reason or another. Anyway, I’ve got the business to think of. That takes up all my time. Sometimes I’m up here doing the books into the small hours.’
‘You should have said!’ she burst out. ‘I could do more in the shop and then you could do the books in working hours. You don’t need to work all night on them.’
‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I like it. They keep me company.’ He shuffled his feet again. ‘That’s enough of my lack of social life. I can’t last all evening on a piece of cake. I need some proper food. What do you say to a meal and a glass of beer? Sorry, you probably don’t drink it. Ginger beer? Yes? Good. You make yourself comfortable and I’ll get busy. Here, let me turn the radio on for you.’
He began to potter around the kitchen, taking out pans and finding glasses. All the while he kept an ear open for the messenger boy in case he brought word from Cora. He had been certain she’d reply. But as the time wore on, there was nothing.
Some hours later, Fred sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on his accounts. Usually he found it soothing but tonight he couldn’t seem to think straight. He was too unsettled by the strange events of the day.
He and Alison had eaten and she’d insisted on washing up, so he let her. She was clearly worn out so he’d shown her to one of his spare rooms and said she could stay as long as she liked. She’d seemed surprised again by the modern style of the furniture and décor, which pleased him even though he was worried about her. He was very embarrassed to lend her a T-shirt to sleep in, but she’d been too tired to care. He’d made her promise to call out for him if she needed anything, then left her to sleep.
There was still no word from Cora. He couldn’t understand it. If it had been him … He laughed grimly to himself. He wasn’t likely ever to be in such a position. But what did this make him now – would people talk if they realised she had spent the night in his flat? Not that he could have done otherwise, but would it sully her reputation still further? Then again, the gossips would really have their work cut out to imagine any scandal between the awkward girl and her short, balding boss. He felt responsible because of his friendship with her father, and that was good enough. He wouldn’t allow her to roam the streets, especially in her condition.
What she said had hit home. It was true that he didn’t really have friends. He’d convinced himself he was happy enough, building up the business, content to spend his evenings with his accounts. But now he could see it through someone else’s eyes, it did strike him as sad. What sort of man preferred lines of figures to human company? There was nothing wrong with him – he was free to do as he liked once the shop was shut. He knew his looks weren’t up to much and he’d never been very popular with the girls even when he was young, but he’d stopped trying. Years of dealing with his difficult mother had led him to retreat into his shell, glad of the peace and quiet. Yet she was dead now. He’d managed to throw out her cluttered old furniture but he hadn’t done anything about his habits.
Now he could see how sad he must appear to the outside world. If he admitted it, he was lonely. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with just his accounts to turn to. He’d enjoyed this evening in a funny sort of way, having someone there to cook for, to fuss over. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that.
He also had to admit he liked having Alison around. She was the opposite of his mother, who had thought she knew everything and shouted her views at anyone daft enough to come near. Alison was quiet until you got to know her but then she turned out to be smart and funny. He was sure there was still more to her, but she was so unused to having anyone take her seriously she kept much of her personality under wraps. Even in the current circumstances she managed to be good company, amusing and observant, asking the sort of questions that nobody else would. In fact, she reminded him of her father – she had all the qualities of a good friend. If things had been different maybe that’s what she would have been. He realised just how much he would have missed her if she’d succeeded in her tragic plan to kill herself. His life would be darker, duller and lonelier without her.
He closed the accounts book in front of him as the idea struck him. At first he dismissed it as plain crazy. It would never work. But once it was hatched the idea wouldn’t go away. He tried to forget it as it was so ridiculous. As the minutes went by he began to ask himself if it was really possible. It would be risky even to contemplate it and he might be laughed at for the very suggestion. And yet … and yet … It would solve everything, for him, for Alison and the baby, and for Cora. If only they’d agree.
It might seem mad, but the solution was simple: he would marry Alison. She and the baby could live with him here in this flat. It was too big for one person and he rattled around in it, wondering how to fill the space he’d made. She would help him, and the baby could have its own room. He could take care of her, as her father would have wanted him to do. Then she wouldn’t have to face the scandal of being an unmarried mother and the baby wouldn’t be called a bastard. It would be better for both of them, if he could make her see it that way.
Fred’s thoughts continued to turn. Cora would surely be delighted. She’d get rid of the daughter she plainly had little time for and the family name wouldn’t be disgraced. Hazel’s wedding could go ahead with no cloud hanging over it. So she would be easy to persuade.
Alison might not be so keen though. Perhaps she had dreams of a romantic wedding and a gorgeous young husband, and he knew he was far from that. But given what had happened to her she wasn’t in a position to choose. He’d offer her security and a roof over her head, even if it wasn’t exactly a love match. He could provide for her and the baby. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having to raise another man’s child but that would be the price he paid.
He thought he’d enjoy getting to know her better. He admired her strength of character, knowing what she’d had to cope with, and it would be a joy to see the lighter side of it when the time was right. As for the physical side of marriage, there would be nothing going on while she was pregnant. He wasn’t so cruel as to imagine there would be. Yet he hoped that after the baby was born they would grow to care for each other. He missed the sensation of a woman’s arms around him. Those encounters during the war were all a long time ago, but he’d enjoyed them while they lasted, even though he’d known they were only temporary comfort. He remembered the women had seemed happy enough. Maybe he could show Alison he wasn’t such a sad old sod after all.