‘So were you very disappointed, Anne?’ asked Maisie. She had come round to the new flat at Anne’s request, on the Sunday afternoon following the interview, for a chat and a teatime meal.
‘A little,’ replied Anne. ‘Yes, I must confess I felt rather despondent for a while. I suppose it’s human nature to want to win, to be the best. But I’ll get over it. I keep telling myself that I’ve still got a job that I enjoy very much and a lovely part of the world to live in. I think the other two applicants liked the idea of living up here as much as they wanted the job. Florence Wotherspoon was very crestfallen. She was a very nice, refined, single lady. But somehow, I couldn’t see her coping with a headship. It needs someone more dynamic.’
‘And this chap who’s got the job, you’d say he’s got what it takes, would you?’
‘Without a doubt. I’d picked him out straight away as a winner, and I think the other two had as well. And apparently the interviewing panel was almost unanimous in their decision. That’s what I gather, at any rate, reading between the lines. Miss Foster didn’t tell me everything that went on; it wouldn’t be ethical. Besides, she didn’t want me to feel any worse than I did already. I was convinced that I’d made a real hash of my interview, you see, but she assured me that I hadn’t.’
‘But Miss Foster and Luke, they would have voted for you, wouldn’t they?’
‘Maisie, I have no idea.’ Anne shook her head. ‘Maybe not; it would have smacked of favouritism, wouldn’t it? And when it comes to the crunch it has to be the best person for the job, hasn’t it? And that would seem to be Captain Roger Ellison. He is very forceful, and persuasive, too, I should imagine. The sort of chap who makes you sit up and take notice, and that is obviously what the committee did. I dare say he put everyone else in the shade… And I rather suspect his views on education are not the same as mine.’
‘In what way?’ asked Maisie.
‘Oh… I don’t want to go into it all now,’ said Anne. ‘Let’s just say that I don’t expect to agree with him on everything. But we’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘What’s he like then,’ asked Maisie, ‘apart from being bossy and full of himself? No, I know you didn’t say that, but he sounds pretty awful to me.’
Anne smiled. ‘Oh dear! I shouldn’t have given such an unfavourable impression of the poor chap. I didn’t mean to…although I must admit I didn’t exactly warm to him. He’s ex-army; I told you that, didn’t I? He was a captain in a Yorkshire regiment; took part in the D-Day landings, and it was then that he got a bullet in his leg and was invalided out. So that was the end of his war; apparently he was commended for bravery following the Dunkirk evacuation.’
‘Did he tell you all this at the interview?’
‘No; he said very little about himself. Miss Foster told me. When he was offered the position, the men on the panel wanted to know about what sort of a war he had had. It seems that when it came to talking about himself – about his war record, at any rate – he was quite reticent… Actually, Charity seemed to quite like him.’
‘Is he married…or what?’
‘He’s a widower, apparently. His wife died suddenly, of a brain tumour, just after the start of the war. That was when he resigned from his teaching post and joined the army.’ Anne paused thoughtfully. ‘I suppose he’s had a pretty rough time, poor fellow. I must try not to be too critical, mustn’t I…? Anyway, because he has no post to resign from it means that he can start straight away in January.’
‘And what does he look like?’
‘Every inch the army captain, I would say.’
‘Tall, dark and handsome, with a waxed moustache?’
Anne laughed. ‘Not so very tall – maybe an inch or two taller than me. Dark, yes, and tolerably handsome; a little ’tache… Oh dear, the poor chap’s ears must be burning… Let’s forget about him, eh, and talk about something else. So…what do you think of my new abode?’
‘Very nice,’ said Maisie. ‘This room is bigger than Miss Foster’s, isn’t it? And you’ve got all the furniture you need.’
She looked round the spacious living room, equipped with a sofa, two easy chairs, dining table and chairs, and sideboard, all in the wartime ‘Utility’ design, plain but functional, and she nodded approvingly. ‘Yes, I like it. And you’ve got a nice view from the window.’
The room was at the back of the house overlooking the garden area and across the valley to the next range of hills. The front room was the bedroom, which Maisie had already seen when she took off her coat. This looked out on to the opposite row of greystone semi-detached houses, and the trees which lined the quiet avenue. They were now almost denuded of their leaves which lay in brown heaps on the grass verges.
‘Yes, it’s a pleasant place altogether,’ said Anne. ‘The kitchen is very small, but it’s big enough for me, and it’s got a modern electric cooker.’ The kitchen was the room that had once been the small bedroom, little more than a boxroom. ‘And this sofa will pull out and make a double bed; so if my parents come on a visit I’ll be able to put them up. I’ve always gone back to Leeds to see them – they’ve never been up here to Middlebeck – but now that the war’s over I might be able to persuade them to come. My father took the government warning, “Is your journey really necessary?” very seriously. Well, I dare say that applies to a lot of people. There hasn’t been much holiday-making for several years.’
‘You’re not thinking of looking for another post then, Anne? Another headship, somewhere else?’
‘No… I don’t think so. I intend to save up like mad from now on, and then, eventually, I might be able to buy a little place of my own, like Charity has done. At least, I do have the option now, don’t I? If I’d got the headship then I would have had no choice but to stay in the schoolhouse.’ She laughed. ‘A case of sour grapes, perhaps, but it’s one way of looking at it. Anyway, I think that’s enough of me and my doings… What about you, Maisie? Are you looking forward to the party? I must say, it’s good to have a social occasion to look forward to; they’re very few and far between at the moment. Things seem to have ground to a halt since the Victory celebrations.’
‘Bruce’s party? Yes, I suppose I’m quite looking forward to it,’ said Maisie. ‘It’s only a couple of weeks away now, isn’t it?’
‘I was surprised that Rebecca had invited me,’ Anne went on. ‘I don’t know Bruce very well – he’s always been away at school or in the RAF – but of course I do know her and Archie quite well. He helped me when I moved in here; he’s a real good sort, is Archie. They’ve invited Miss Foster as well, so we’ll have to decide what we’re going to wear. How about you, Maisie? Will you be wearing that nice pink dress that you wore for the concert? It really did suit you and it made you look very grown-up.’
‘No…no, I don’t think so,’ said Maisie quickly. ‘Actually… I’m thinking of asking Arthur if I can help with the catering. You know, serving the supper and all that sort of thing. I heard him saying to Mum that he would have to employ a couple of girls as waitresses for the evening. So I thought, Why not me? It’s not as if I’m an important guest. Anyway, I want to keep well out of the limelight…if you see what I mean.’
‘Yes… I see,’ said Anne. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…you’re not still upset about Bruce, are you, and his girlfriend? I thought, with you saying that you don’t want to be too involved in the party…’
‘Oh no,’ replied Maisie, a shade too quickly. ‘It’s not that at all. Of course I’m not upset about Bruce. No…that’s not the reason… I did get the impression, though, that Christine didn’t take to me at all, and the feeling was mutual, so it’s best if I keep away from her. But… I don’t want to play gooseberry, you see, to Audrey, and Brian Milner.’
‘Oh, so that little romance is still going on, is it?’
‘Well, I don’t know that you’d call it a romance,’ said Maisie. ‘But she likes him a lot – she doesn’t say much, but I know she does – and they spend a lot of time together. He meets her out of school and they sit together on the bus, when he’s not on his bike, that is.’
‘He’ll be going away to university though, won’t he, next year?’
‘Yes; he’s in the upper sixth; he’s two years older than Audrey and me. I suppose it might fizzle out when he goes away, although he seems pretty keen on her at the moment. I’m surprised that Aunty Patience and Luke allow her to see him so much. I know my mother thinks I’m too young to start going around with boys. She guessed about Bruce – you know, that time when I was upset – but I’ve never talked to her about him, like I did with you. And I know she wants me to work hard at school. I get sick of her going on about it sometimes, ’cause I always work hard without anybody nagging at me. I thought Aunty Patience might have been the same with Audrey, although I know Patience was never one to nag…’
‘I’m sure she reminds Audrey of the importance of her school work,’ said Anne, ‘just as your mother does, Maisie. Mothers only want what is best for you, although I know they have different ways of showing it sometimes. I expect Luke and Patience know that they can trust Brian Milner to take care of Audrey. He does seem a nice sensible sort of lad, from what I know of him. He was never in my class, though. He had just gone on to Grammar school when I started teaching at Middlebeck.’
‘Yes…you’ve seen us all grow up, haven’t you, Anne?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Anne gave a contemplative nod and a little smile. ‘It makes me feel quite old at times, I can tell you! But it’s interesting to see what you all make of yourselves. And sometimes I have reason to feel very proud… What about Doris? I haven’t heard you mention her much lately. She will be at Bruce’s party, won’t she? Has she a boyfriend in tow, as well?’
‘Not that I know of,’ said Maisie. ‘To be honest, Audrey and I don’t see her very much now, except at pantomime rehearsals. We said it wouldn’t make any difference when we went to the Grammar and she went to the Senior school… But it does make a difference really, doesn’t it, Anne? Since she left school she’s been busy working, so I suppose we’ve drifted apart, just a bit. She spends a lot of time with her mother and her brothers; they’re a really close family.’
‘Yes, especially since Walter was killed,’ said Anne. ‘A very nice sort of girl, Doris Nixon; genuine and uncomplicated. You mustn’t let that friendship grow cold, Maisie.’
‘No, of course not!’ said Maisie, sensing a note of reproof. ‘It’s just that we do different things, some of the time… I must tell you about the pantomime. We see Doris then, at the rehearsals, because we’re all in it, me and Audrey and Doris, and Brian as well, of course.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that you’re doing Cinderella and that you’re going to be the Principal Boy, but apart from that I don’t know much about it. It’s a great choice – my favourite of all pantomimes – but isn’t it rather ambitious?’
‘You mean with the coach and horses and all that; and the transformation scene?’ Maisie nodded. ‘Yes, we wondered at first how we would manage it, but it’s the squire to the rescue again. Mr Tremaine is going to lend us a farm truck, just a small one, and we can construct some sort of golden coach on top of it.’
‘And real horses, I suppose?’ joked Anne.
‘Four little boys dressed in black with horses’ heads,’ Maisie smiled. ‘Our Jimmy’s going to be the leader, so he’s tickled pink.’
‘And what about Joanie?’ asked Anne.
‘She’s going to be the leader of the chorus line and sing one or two bits on her own. She’s quite chuffed about it. And guess what?’ Maisie paused for breath. ‘You know how nervous Audrey is? Well, we’ve actually persuaded her to have a part, instead of being in the background all the time. She’s going to be the Fairy Godmother! Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘Yes, that’s certainly an achievement,’ agreed Anne. ‘Audrey will make a lovely Fairy Godmother. Who is doing the producing? Is it Patience? Has she written it?’
‘Oh no; we sent away for the script,’ said Maisie. ‘Yes, Aunty Patience is producing, with help from Mrs Hollins, of course. Quite a lot of help, actually. There’s no show without Punch, you know.’
‘Don’t be naughty, Maisie,’ scolded Anne with a smile.
‘Well, you know Muriel Hollins, don’t you? She has to have her say, although I must admit she has some good ideas and she’s a very good pianist. And guess what?’ she asked again. ‘Timothy’s going to play some incidental music between the acts. He couldn’t be persuaded to be in it, but he’s pleased that he’s going to be a part of it.’
‘Good for Tim,’ said Anne. ‘I’m pleased to see he’s coming out of his shell. And who is Cinderella? Let me guess… Is it Doris?’
‘Oh no,’ said Maisie. ‘It had to be somebody who could sing, you see, and Doris is the first to admit that she’s no singer. Celia James, one of the girls from the choir, she’s Cinderella.’
‘Oh yes; I think I know who you mean. A dainty girl with curly hair?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Actually, she’s two years older than me, but they wanted me to be Prince Charming because I’m quite a lot taller than Celia.’
‘So…what about Doris?’
‘Oh, Doris is going to be one of the Ugly Sisters.’
‘Oh dear! Poor Doris,’ said Anne. ‘She’s such a bonny girl. Why on earth have they cast her in that role?’
‘Because she’s such a clown as well,’ laughed Maisie. ‘Don’t you remember her at the concert with that Matilda poem? She nearly brought the house down. She likes fooling around and she’s not bothered about making herself look ridiculous. And Brian – Audrey’s boyfriend – he’s the other ugly sister. They’re a great act. You should see them!’
‘Well, hopefully, I will,’ said Anne. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ She would know most of the youngsters – well, teenagers, many of them were by now – who would be taking part. On occasions such as this – pantomimes and concerts – it was good to sit on the sidelines and watch their pupils and former pupils with pride; and sometimes with surprise as they saw promise of an undetected talent.
‘So this will be performed in January, I take it?’ she asked.
‘Yes, the first week in January,’ said Maisie, ‘just before we all go back to school. It’s on three nights; the Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I’m really glad they decided to do Cinderella. It’s my favourite of all, not that I’ve seen all that many pantomimes. But I remember going to see Cinderella when I was a tiny little girl, with my mum and dad – my real dad I mean. When she married Sidney Bragg we didn’t get any treats; at least we never went anywhere with him. I don’t even know which theatre it was at – I know it was in Leeds – but I remember the shining golden coach and Cinderella’s shimmering silver ballgown. I felt as though I was in Fairyland… And when we came out of the theatre it was snowing. And my dad picked me up and carried me…’
‘Yes, Cinderella brings out the child in all of us,’ said Anne. ‘It’s truly magical.’ She smiled at Maisie, who appeared lost in thought, far away in that magical world with a rapt expression on her face. ‘And one day, Maisie, you will meet your own Prince Charming. I feel sure of that.’
Maisie blinked and returned to reality. ‘What…? Oh yes, p’raps I will. But I’m busy at the moment, aren’t I, pretending to be a prince myself? My mum’s busy too, making my costumes…’
Maisie reflected, as she walked home later that evening, about what Anne had said. Her Prince Charming… Well, she had given up all hope, or had tried to, that it would be Bruce. But what about Anne Mellodey and her future prospects? It bothered Maisie a little that her friend still talked about herself and Charity Foster as though they were contemporaries.
‘Charity and I will have to decide what we are going to wear at the party…’ she had said. What about a Prince Charming for Anne? She was still young and pretty and fun to be with. Maisie hoped that the future would hold much more for her than endless years of teaching at the village school, and memories of the young flying officer she had lost in the early years of the war.
Arthur Rawcliffe, Lily’s husband-to-be, had agreed that Maisie could be a waitress at the party; in fact, he thought it was a very good idea.
‘I’ll see that you don’t miss all the fun,’ he told her. ‘I won’t expect you to be on duty all evening. You must have a dance and a bit of a jive and enjoy yerself with the other young ’uns.’
‘Oh, I’m not bothered about that, Arthur, honestly I’m not,’ she told him. ‘I’d rather be doing something useful…and you won’t need to pay me, will you?’
‘Don’t worry; I’ll see that you get a bob or two for yer trouble; a bit of spending money like… But, aye, there’s summat in what you say, lass.’ Arthur was a true Yorkshireman, mindful of his brass.
In the end Lily, too, had said that she would prefer to wait on, rather than be just a part of the festivities. And Doris, when she found out what Maisie had opted to do, also volunteered to help. She, also, would be happy enough, she said, with a bob or two as payment, like Maisie.
On the morning of the party day Maisie helped Arthur, and Harry and Flo, the new partners in the business, to prepare the food for the buffet supper, taking it in turns to serve in the confectioner’s shop as well, which was always especially busy on a Saturday morning. Arthur had been up extremely early, at four o’clock instead of his usual five, to cope with the extra baking, and Harry had joined him soon afterwards. Lily, of course, was busy in her own draper’s shop.
There were sausage rolls in flaky pastry, vol-au-vents, and pork pies – which Arthur called ‘hand raised’ – a speciality of his which he had reinstated since returning after the war, which folk came from far and near to buy. Admittedly, there might not be as much pork in the mixture as there had been in pre-war days, but everyone who tasted them pronounced them delicious. The open sandwiches, on freshly baked barmcakes, would be prepared later, so as to be fresh, with a variety of toppings; boiled ham, salmon, thinly sliced cucumber and tomato, and egg and cress. There were individual trifles in waxed cardboard cases, and a huge assortment of cakes; éclairs and meringues (containing mock cream which was almost as good as the fresh sort), almond tarts, jam tarts, coconut pyramids, and chocolate buns.
The pièce de résistance would be the birthday cake, large and square, seated on a silver board and iced all over in white, with blue lettering. ‘Happy Birthday Bruce,’ it read, ‘21 today’. There would be one largish candle instead of twenty-one small ones, in a silver holder, and in the centre a tiny silver aeroplane, really a child’s toy, that Lily had bought from Woolworth’s.
‘And it’s not a whited sepulchre, neither,’ said Arthur, referring to the war-time bridal cakes; hollow constructions of cardboard with a tiny fruit cake hidden inside. ‘It’s the real thing. Not as much fruit as I’d have liked, but ne’er mind; there’s even a dash of rum in it.’
‘We’re certainly doing Bruce proud,’ said Maisie, although she had a feeling, deep down, that he would not really appreciate all the fuss and palaver. She had even had a suspicion that the party would not go ahead at all; that Christine might have persuaded him to say he didn’t want it, but that had not happened. It was going to take place in just a few hours and she, Maisie, though she was putting on a show of bravado and cheerfulness, would be glad when it was all over.
The food, laid in large wooden trays, had been transported to the Market Room in Arthur’s van. It was now ready and waiting, covered in sheets of greaseproof paper, in the small kitchen off the main room, to be served halfway through the evening. The first job that Maisie and Doris had to do, after helping to carry the trays in from the van, was to circulate amongst the guests, who were gradually arriving in ones and twos, and offer them drinks from round silver trays. There was a choice of sweet and dry sherry, and orange juice for the younger guests.
‘Maisie! Good gracious, what a surprise!’ exclaimed Bruce as he caught sight of her, balancing a tray full of glasses. He came towards her and she noticed that Christine quickly followed him. ‘They’ve got you working, have they? I hope you’re going to be able to enjoy yourself as well.’
‘Don’t worry, I will,’ she replied. ‘I’m just giving Arthur a hand… Happy Birthday, Bruce,’ she added. She could not kiss his cheek, as she had seen some of the other guests doing, or even shake his hand, unless she put her tray down. She clung to it tightly as Bruce helped himself to a pale golden sherry of the dry variety and handed one to Christine.
‘Thank you, Maisie,’ he said, with a smile that could easily have filled her, once again, with longing, but she was determined not to let it. ‘And thank you for your card.’
She smiled briefly and nodded. ‘My mother will give you our present later,’ she told him. She had decided it would be foolish and might only prove embarrassing to buy him a personal gift, so she had added her name to the book token that Lily and Arthur had bought for him. A safe present, they had thought, preferable to cufflinks and tie-pins and the like, of which he might well get an abundance. Then, because she knew she must, she turned to the girl who was hovering at his side. ‘Hello, Christine,’ she said brightly. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘Yes…and you too, er…Maisie, isn’t it?’ said Christine. She smiled with her lips, but there was a tiny spark of malice in her grey eyes. She knows perfectly well what my name is, thought Maisie, as she nodded and walked away.
The wording on the invitation had read ‘Dress Optional’, but Christine had obviously decided to dress up to the nines. And it had to be admitted that she did look lovely. Her dress was ankle-length, of deep pink silken taffeta with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. The skirt was covered in delicate black lace with a trimming of a black lace flower on the bodice. It looked as though it might, at one time, have been a bridesmaid’s dress, updated in the ‘Make do and Mend’ manner that they had all got used to during the war. But if so, then it had been very skilfully done. Maisie, in her full-skirted floral cotton dress, partially covered by a frilly white apron, felt, by contrast, very young and unsophisticated; but she had been determined not to dress up too much. She was certainly glad now that she had not decided to wear her pink dress from the concert.
The evening consisted mainly of talking and dancing, or just sitting and listening to the music. The three-piece band, of piano, drums and saxophone, was called ‘Civvy Street’, and had been formed by three young men soon after they were demobbed. They were local lads from Lowerbeck and the girl vocalist, Belinda, was the sister of one of them. They were very accomplished, especially as they had started playing together only quite recently, and they soon had most of the guests on their feet, circling the room in waltzes, quicksteps and slow foxtrots.
Maisie, having finished serving the drinks, sat at the side with Doris, watching the dancers glide by, the women and girls all in bright colours and the men no longer in uniform. There was a feeling of relaxation, of gladness that the dreadful war was at last over and that things were normal again. She saw Bruce and Christine dance by, her arms circling his neck, to the sentimental strains of ‘Long Ago and Far Away’. Don’t watch, she told herself, as Bruce smiled down at his lady friend and she, starry-eyed, smiled back at him.
The dance, a smoochy foxtrot, came to an end on a discordant flourish from the saxophone, and the couples stood around and clapped. Then the trio struck up with something much more lively; and the next minute Ted Nixon, Doris’s brother, was at Maisie’s side.
‘Are yer dancin’?’ he asked with a grin. She laughed and got to her feet.
‘I can do this one; it’s a quickstep, isn’t it?’ They had been having dancing lessons that term, one afternoon each week after school ended, with the boys from the nearby Grammar school; all very strictly supervised by the teachers, of course. She had not quite mastered the slow foxtrot, and the tango still had her bewildered, but a quickstep rhythm was jolly and made you feel like dancing.
She sang quietly as she followed Ted’s lead. He was surprisingly light on his feet for a farm worker, she thought.
‘You sound happy,’ he remarked, grinning at her.
‘Well…yes, I suppose I am,’ she replied. ‘There’s no point in being miserable, is there? It’s a party! We’re here to enjoy ourselves.’
She was forcing herself to sound more light-hearted than she was feeling, but with Ted that was not difficult. She had known him ever since she came to live in Middlebeck, as Doris’s brother. Doris had two much older brothers and Ted was the younger of the two, the one who had stayed behind to take over the farm work during the war whilst his brother, Joe, and later, his father, had served in the forces. Joe was aged twenty-one, ruddy-complexioned, sturdily built and fair-haired, like his late father and his sister; he had a fiancée, a young woman called Irene from a farm near Lowerbeck, who was his partner for the evening. Ted resembled his mother, being dark-haired and dark-eyed and of a more lean and wiry build. Maisie had never given him much thought before, only seeing him as Doris’s brother, but now, as he smiled down at her, she realised that he was a very nice looking young man.
‘I’ve been waiting to have a dance with you,’ he said, ‘but you were busy serving t’ drinks with our kid. Can I come and sit with you for a bit? I suppose you’ll be helping to serve t’ supper, like, won’t you?’
‘Yes, but not just yet,’ she replied. ‘About nine o’clock, Mrs Tremaine said. Yes, of course you can sit with me, if you want to.’
‘You look lovely tonight, Maisie,’ Ted went on, very daringly holding her a little closer. At least, it seemed daring to Maisie; she had always considered him to be a rather shy young man. ‘But then you always do look lovely. I think you’re a very pretty girl.’
‘Well, fancy that!’ she replied, a little nonplussed. ‘And there’s me thinking you saw me as a bit of a kid, like your sister.’
‘Kid sisters grow up,’ said Ted, nodding towards Doris, dancing near to them with Colin, who was Irene’s brother, another farm worker. ‘… And so have you, Maisie. Do you think—?’ His words were cut short as the dance came to an end and the compère of the group, the drummer, came to the microphone.
‘And now our lovely Belinda is going to sing for you,’ he said. ‘Carry on dancing if you wish, ladies and gentlemen, or just sit and listen. The next dance is a foxtrot…and here is Belinda. Give her a big hand, everyone.’
A petite auburn-haired girl in an emerald green dress, sparkling with sequins, stepped up to the microphone. ‘Let’s sit down,’ whispered Ted. ‘I’m not very good at foxtrotting.’
‘No, neither am I,’ replied Maisie.
They sat down on the little gilt chairs, upholstered in green velvet, that had been acquired with the make-over of the room. To Maisie’s surprise and slight embarrassment Ted took hold of her hand. The girl soloist, who had a pleasant, though rather tinny sounding voice, was singing about a ‘Paper Doll’ – it was a man’s song really – about a doll that other fellows couldn’t steal and who would always be faithful! Maisie had always thought it was a daft song when she had heard it on the wireless, but everyone clapped politely when she had finished.
The next one she sang, ‘Swinging on a Star’, was much better, a fairly recent Bing Crosby number from the film Going My Way; Maisie had seen it at the local cinema, the Palace, earlier that year. She sang along now – quietly though, under her breath – the words about carrying moonbeams home in a jar, and being better off than you are.
‘You’ve got a lovely voice,’ whispered Ted. ‘Much better than that Belinda.’
‘Shh…!’ she admonished him. ‘Of course I haven’t.’
‘Yes, you have. I’ve always thought so. I wanted to ask you, Maisie…would you go out with me? To the pictures or somewhere, happen next week? I’ve been wanting to ask you for ages. But I thought, well…you’re quite a bit younger than me, aren’t you? Although you look very grown-up, you do really. And…and I do like you a lot, Maisie.’
She was quite at a loss as to what to say. She liked him well enough, but had never thought of him in…that way. Not as a boyfriend. But maybe friendship was all he had in mind, not boy and girl stuff; just going out with him as she might do with his sister. But somehow, knowing that Ted was five years older than herself, she did not think so. She knew he had already had one or two girlfriends; there had been a shop assistant at Woolie’s, and he had been friendly with one of the land girls staying at Tremaine House.
It would sound silly to say that her mother would disapprove; not of Ted himself, of course, but of the fact that he was several years older, and that Maisie was still at school…and only fifteen years of age. She knew very well that that was what Lily would say. She also knew that if it had been Bruce who, by some miracle, had asked her out, then she would have moved heaven and earth to persuade her mother to let her go.
‘I don’t know…’ she began. ‘Thank you for asking me, but I’m not sure. You see…’
Belinda had stopped singing and the compère was announcing the next dance. ‘Now, come along, ladies and gentlemen; I want to see everybody on their feet for the… “Palais Glide”!’
‘Oh…come on, Ted,’ cried Maisie, pulling at his arm. ‘I love this. It’s great fun… I’ll think about what you said, honest I will,’ she added.
‘Yeah, OK then…’ Somewhat bemused, he followed her on to the dance floor as the band struck up with the opening chords. Then they linked arms in lines of five or six and pranced round the room, all joining in the familiar song, ‘Poor Little Angeline’.
Maisie felt quite carefree and merry as she stamped her feet and kicked up her legs in unison with the others in the line. It was good to be amongst friends; Audrey and Brian, Doris and Colin, who was still partnering her, and… Ted. She decided there could be no harm in telling him she would go out with him; just the once, maybe, then she would see.
The lively dance came to an end and they all took their seats again, laughing and in a jolly mood. Maisie was surprised and a little disturbed to see Bruce coming towards her, and she folded her hands in her lap, just in case Ted should reach for her hand again.
‘Maisie…’ Bruce began. ‘I wonder if you would do me a big, big favour?’ And again he smiled in the way that could so easily break her heart, if she would let it. But she wouldn’t; no, she would not!
‘I will if I can, Bruce,’ she said easily. ‘What is it? We’ll be serving the supper soon, you know.’
‘Yes, I know that. I wondered, just before the interval, would you sing for me? For us, all of us, I mean; that song that you sang at the concert. It’s a favourite of mine, and of a lot of other people too. Would you…please, Maisie?’
‘“We’ll Gather Lilacs”, you mean…?’
‘Yes, that’s the one…’
‘Oh…no, Bruce, I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be right, would it? They’ve got a vocalist – a very good one – and she might be annoyed. Oh no, I don’t think so. Besides, they might not have the music and…no, no, I couldn’t.’
‘I’ve already asked them,’ said Bruce, with a satisfied little smile. ‘They’ve got the music; they sometimes play Ivor Novello numbers as requests. And the pianist will accompany you; you don’t need the drums and the sax. Belinda says she doesn’t mind at all. She’s a really nice young woman; she says it’s my party, and so I should call the tune.’
‘So you’ve got it all arranged,’ said Maisie, ‘before you even asked me.’ She felt a little peeved at that, but although her first instinct had been to refuse, she found herself wavering. Why not? she thought. She glanced around the room. Christine had not come with Bruce, but was sitting with his mother and father, and his two sisters and their husbands and children; it was quite a family occasion for the Tremaines. At least, Mrs Tremaine was talking, but Christine was looking fixedly and unsmilingly at Bruce.
‘Yes… I’m sorry about that,’ said Bruce. ‘I should have asked you first perhaps. But, as you say, Belinda may well have objected…’
‘Oh, go on, Maisie,’ urged Ted. ‘Why don’t you? I remember you singing that song about lilacs at the concert. It’s one of my favourites an’ all.’
‘All right then,’ she said. She grinned at him; then, suddenly, a little spark of mischief made her say, ‘OK, Ted; if you want me to sing, then I will.’
‘Good for you,’ he replied, putting an arm around her and giving her a hug. Only then did she look at Bruce.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll sing for you. When? Before the interval, did you say?’
‘That’s right,’ he nodded. ‘Thanks a million, Maisie. Come with me now – there seems to be a lull in the proceedings – if you’re ready, that is?’
‘Yes, I’m ready.’ She stood up.
‘Good… I’ll get the compère to announce you.’ He squeezed her arm briefly as they walked up to the dais. ‘Thanks again, Maisie. It will make the evening…for everybody.’
After a few whispered words from Bruce, the compère stepped up to the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise item for you tonight. Here is your very own Maisie Jackson. And she is going to sing for us that lovely song from Perchance to Dream – “We’ll Gather Lilacs”.’
She did not look at anyone as she sang; not at Ted, certainly not at Bruce, but fixed her eyes on the portrait of the King and Queen on the wall at the far end of the room.
The song contained such evocative words, and once again she thought of the country lanes around Middlebeck and the happy times she had spent there with Audrey and Tim, Doris…and Bruce. Only then did her eyes stray, but just towards her mother who was beaming at her, her smile full of pride and joy. And towards Audrey who was grinning and giving her a thumbs up sign.
There was enthusiastic applause when she had finished. She took a little bow and made to walk away, but Belinda stopped her.
‘Wow! What a voice you’ve got,’ she said, ‘and I thought I could sing. You’re terrific… Are you going to do it professionally, like?’
‘Oh no, of course not,’ replied Maisie. ‘Thanks for saying that; it’s real kind of you. But I’m still at school, you know. I sing in the church choir, that’s all.’
‘If I could sing like you I’d be after a job with the BBC,’ said Belinda. She laughed. ‘But I know my limitations, and I reckon Civvy Street is as far as I’ll get. It makes a nice change, though, from working at t’ mill.’
‘You’re very good,’ said Maisie, ‘and Civvy Street is a great little group.’ What a very nice girl, she thought, as she went to join the team of caterers in the little kitchen. It was time to serve the supper, time to put on her apron and leave behind her moment of glory.
The guests helped themselves to the ‘eats’ arranged on a long table at the back of the room, and Maisie and Doris circulated again, with larger trays this time, holding cups of tea or coffee. Lily and Flo were responsible for making sure that everyone had another glass of sherry, at the request of Archie Tremaine. Maisie smiled and said thank you as people congratulated her on her singing, but she purposefully kept away from the family group consisting of the Tremaines…and Christine.
When everyone was served she grabbed a few savoury items and a chocolate cake from the residue of the feast and went to sit with Ted again.
‘You were great!’ he said, reaching for her hand, but she forestalled him.
‘Let me eat my supper, Ted,’ she said. ‘I’m famished; I didn’t have time for any tea.’
She munched away hungrily – Arthur’s pies were certainly delicious – as she watched Bruce, with Christine at his side, walk over to stand at the table behind the birthday cake. Like a bride and groom, she thought, tormenting herself again, as they smiled at one another. But they were not a bride and groom; it was only a birthday cake.
Then Bruce started to speak. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, all my friends and relations,’ he began. ‘I want to thank you for coming here tonight to help me to celebrate my birthday, and for all the lovely presents. As some of you know, I am not much of a one for parties… This was my mother’s idea.’ There was a ripple of quiet laughter before he went on. ‘But tonight is a very special occasion, both for me and for Christine. It is not just a twenty-first party, but an engagement party as well. I have asked Christine to marry me…and to my delight, she has said yes!’
There was an outbreak of clapping, and exclamations of, ‘Fancy that!’ and ‘Oh, how lovely!’ He turned to her and they kissed, but only briefly, before he said. ‘So Christine and I are going to blow out the candle, and cut the cake – our engagement cake.’ Together they blew out the flame, and then with their hands clasped together they plunged the silver knife into the icing, and Archie Tremaine rose to his feet.
‘This has been a surprise to Becky and me as well,’ he said. ‘We were only told about it today. But we are delighted, and I would like you all to raise your glasses and drink to the health and happiness of my son, Bruce, and Christine.’
‘Bruce and Christine,’ echoed everyone as they sipped at their sherry.
Maisie went through the motions mechanically. Although she was under age, she had been allowed a modicum of sherry, which she drank all in one gulp.
‘Good for them,’ said Ted. ‘I’ve always liked Bruce. There’s nowt stuck-up about him, even though he’s t’ squires’s son and has been to a posh school an’ all that. I dunno about her though. She looks a bit snooty, like, to me, but he seems well suited with her. And I must admit she’s a looker… Not as pretty as you, though, Maisie, I don’t mean; not by a long chalk… Hey, what’s up? Has summat upset you?’
‘No, of course not,’ she answered. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting to be asked to sing and it…well, it takes a lot out of me sometimes.’ Maisie suddenly realised that she was, indeed, very tired. ‘But I’m OK, honestly I am.’ She smiled brightly at him, hoping she had managed to blink away the stray tears.
What on earth had Bruce been thinking of, asking her to sing? She would never forgive him for that, then going on and announcing his engagement immediately afterwards… But if he had asked her now, instead of earlier, she most certainly would not have been able to do it.
Ted took hold of her hand and she did not resist. ‘Have you thought any more about what I said? You know, about going out with me? Will you, Maisie…please?’
‘Yes…of course I will, Ted,’ she replied gaily. ‘Where shall we go?’