Missing the Moment Read online

  Some of the people in the isolated villages used bicycles as their only means of transport. With shops delivering everything; bread, grocery rations and vegetables, besides heavier items, this did not present a problem. Which was why Joe did good business selling bicycles and repairing them, with people coming from other towns and villages, drawn by his expertise, fair prices and reliability.

  He was painting the front of his shop with cheerful red paint when he saw Charlotte approaching. He smiled, put down his brush and wiped his hands on a rag. Perhaps today was the day to inform Charlotte of his plans.

  “Charlotte! This is a pleasant surprise! Let you off the hook, has she? The Dragon?”

  Charlotte felt the usual lurch in her heart as his dark eyes creased in a welcoming smile. Why did she ever have doubts? It was only when she was away from him that she began to wonder if perhaps life had something more to offer than marriage to Joe and a comfortable domesticity. She backed away from the kiss that showed on his face. “Joe,” she admonished, “someone might see!”

  He turned her away from the street and guided her into the porch where, near the front of the window, she could see the display of children’s scooters and three-wheelers.

  “Afraid in case you lose control, are you?” he teased. “Glad I am that you’re here. I was going to call and face the Dragon after closing.” He pushed open the shop door and as she passed him, stole a kiss that was aimed at her mouth but which touched her cheek. “Duw, your cheek is like ice. Come on, I’ll get a cup of tea to warm you. Weak it’ll be, mind, my ration is almost gone. Where have you been?”

  “Only doing a bit of shopping,” she said. “Mam is resting.”

  “I reckon she does too much of that. But good on her if it means I can see you.”

  They went into the shop with its smell of rubber, oil and new leather, and into the small “office” which was only a partition in a corner. Joe put the kettle on to boil on a single gas ring which was set in a shallow biscuit tin. Charlotte looked around the orderly display in the shop and noticed an addition to the stock. A man’s bicycle stood against the wall, not a new one, but one that she recognised.

  “That bike. doesn’t it belong to Brian, Rhoda’s husband?”

  “It did, but not any more, love. Rhoda asked me if I could sell it for her. She doesn’t like cycling and she doesn’t want Brian to do anything that doesn’t include her. More like your Mam than your Mam, that one!” He attended to the kettle that was hissing impatiently. “I gave her six pounds.”

  “You won’t make a profit on that, then!”

  “Of course not. She’s practically my family, isn’t she?” He glanced towards the doorway before kissing her briefly. She responded to his second kiss and clung to him, hidden from anyone passing by the partition.

  “Poor Rhoda,” she said. “I don’t think she and Brian are all that happy. Why else does she spend so much time with Mam? With a beautiful house like theirs down by the river, you’d think she’d want to stay home. Glad I am that she doesn’t, mind. With her keeping Mam entertained I have a bit more freedom!”

  “Forget about the Dragon. Come here.” Joe held her close and thoughts of her mother and Rhoda were forgotten in the warmth of his love and desire. Their kisses created a need in them which, until they were man and wife, had to be ignored. But for both of them the sensations made marriage a more urgent consideration. Charlotte feared the weakness of her body, heightened by her unhappiness and the need to escape. She stepped away, avoiding looking at Joe, knowing he would see the longing in her hazel eyes, unable to trust herself to refuse if he began his persuasions.

  To sharpen the mood, guide them away from dangerous waters, she began telling him about the work her uncle was currently doing and her worries about the slackness of the way he was dealing with the orders and accounts. But she could see that Joe had something on his mind and was not really listening to her.

  “What is it, Joe?” she asked. “Is something wrong?” The fear of him leaving her made her cling to him again.

  “I’m thinking of making a few changes.” he said. his lips touching her sweet-scented hair.

  Charlotte moved away again. the pulse in her throat powerful and alarming. Forcing her mind away from her treacherous body, she looked at the neatly lined bicycles set up on their blocks. “Changes?” she asked. “What changes? The display is good. If you bring any more items from the stores you’ll make it look cluttered and people will be less inclined to come in and look around.” He didn’t reply and she stepped away from him, glad of the distraction. “I think you should fit a mirror over near the door, mind. So you can watch the shop when you go out the back. People aren’t as honest as they once were.”

  “I don’t mean here, in the shop.” He handed her a cup of tea and they sat on one of the boxes which held lamp batteries. “I’m selling up. Moving out altogether.”

  Fear shrank her heart. Was he saying they were to part? The thought of him leaving was a painful one. But alongside it was the other fear, of living with her mother far into the distant future, without a prospect of leaving home and starting out on her own life. The ubiquitous guilt made her turn from him as if he could read the selfish and unloving thought on her face. What was wrong with her? Was it lust she felt and not love? Wasn’t she capable of true love, in which the happiness of another was paramount?

  “What are you going to do?” she asked in a low voice, surprised at how calm she sounded.

  “I want you to come and see something. Can the Dragon spare you for half an hour?”

  “What about the shop? You can’t close it?”

  “Oh yes I can,” he said and she heard the smile in his voice as he touched her chin and turned her to face him. “In a couple of months’ time it will no longer be mine.”

  “You’ve already sold it?”

  “Come and see what I’ve bought in its place.”

  Ignoring her protests and refusing to tell her anything more, he led her further down the road to the centre of Main Street, where a shop that had once been a butcher’s stood empty, the window starkly, coldly white with marble slabs. The name Maldwyn Prosser was sculpted in the centre of the marble edging the window front and still showed the glitter of gold paint.

  “You’re never going to be a butcher, Joe Llewellyn!”

  “That’s right. I’m never going to be a butcher. This will be a shop selling motor car spares and oil and polish and all the accessories a growing market of motorists can possibly need. What d’you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “There’s something else I want you to see.” He unlocked the door and they went inside. In spite of being empty for several months, the place was clean and fresh. Newspapers covered the newly washed black-and-white tiled floor. Joe guided her through the shop and up the scrubbed wooden stairs to three rooms above. One room was a kitchen. Further stairs led to two more rooms with views across the road and over the town in one direction and across fields towards the river that wound itself around the town, a protective moat, in the other.

  “This? Joe said, kissing her gently. “is for us. I want us to marry and make this our first home. I have enough money to buy what we need. Nothing swish, mind, just the essentials. It’ll only be a start. In a few years we’ll be moving on from this. I have great plans for us, Charlotte, my pretty one. Great plans.”

  Joe had spent several days clearing out the remnants of the previous occupier and scouring the floors with vim and a hard scrubbing brush, helped by his Auntie Bessie Philpot. He stood back and waited for her enraptured reaction. Instead he got his face slapped.

  “Thank you very much!” she stormed. “So this is my life is it? All planned out for me and arranged down to the last breath I take, by you and Auntie Bessie Philpot!”

  “I thought you’d be pleased!” He was so shocked he hadn’t felt the blow for several seconds. Now he rubbed his cheek and stared at her, wide-eyed. “Most girls would be thrilled to have suc
h a surprise.”

  “Surprise? Shock more like! Why didn’t you ask me what I wanted? Oh, lovely this is, you and your Auntie making all the decisions for me! Don’t you think I’ve had enough of people telling me what to do? All my life I’ve been told what’s best for me! Mam does that all the time! Well, when – and if – I get married, Joe Llewellyn, it will be when I decide, and where I live will be a shared decision. Right?”

  “You want time to think about it. I understand that. But don’t be too long, the wallpaper is being delivered tomorrow and I want to get started. If you don’t want to live here then I won’t bother to decorate. Right?”

  “You’ve even chosen the wallpaper? This I don’t believe.” She pushed him out of the way and clattered down the hollow-sounding stairs and out into the street. She felt humiliated. She could see her life drifting from a possessive mother into the hands of an equally possessive husband.

  Possessive mother. She had never admitted that before, but that was what her mother was. Possessive. It had taken this foolishness of Joe’s to make her see it. Now she had seen it, could she do anything to make sure it didn’t continue? She clenched her teeth in a grimace. She could try!

  * * *

  Joe called at Mill House that evening. He crossed his fingers as he knocked on the door, hoping it would be Charlotte and not her mother who opened the door. He gave a wide smile when he saw Charlotte in the light from the hall.

  “Sorry. The wallpaper was a joke.” he said. “If you don’t want to live above an ol’ butcher’s shop, well, we’ll rent it out and find ourselves somewhere else. Come with me tomorrow, my pretty one, and we’ll start looking at rooms to rent.” He stepped towards her and she ran into his arms.

  “I’m sorry Joe. I think the flat will be a perfect home for us.”

  “Marry me, Charlotte. Don’t let’s wait until it’s all right for your Mam. It will never be all right with your Mam, we both know that. Come with me now and let’s discuss our plans.”

  “It isn’t that easy. I’ll have to—”

  “Who is it, Charlotte?” Her mother’s voice made Charlotte pull back from Joe’s embrace. “Time you closed that door. The house will be like a cold store!”

  “It’s Joe, Mam.” Charlotte called back.

  “Oh.”

  “Her disapproval of me nearly rips the paint off the door!” Joe chuckled.

  “Well,” Harriet continued from within the house, “tell him it’s very late.”

  “It’s very late.” Charlotte joked.

  “Tell her were getting married in three weeks’ time and are going to live in a marble hall!” Joe whispered.

  Giggling at the butcher’s shop being described as a marble hall, they kissed until they were breathless, laughter fading and passion bringing them to a pitch of desire. Then at Harriet’s increasing insistence, they said a reluctant good night.

  “Tomorrow midday, then?” Joe said, pressing her to him in a way that made her body flood with longing. Charlotte agreed and after one final kiss, rejoined her mother.

  “Mam,” she said. her face glowing with the suddenness of the decision. “Joe and I are getting married.”

  “We’ll talk about your future, dear, as soon as your father comes home and Uncle Peter is well again.”

  “Mam, you’re not listening. We’re getting married and we’re going to live above the butcher’s shop in Main Street.”

  “And you think I should take you seriously? Marry that – repair man, and live above a butcher’s? Reeks of death, a place like that. No one would ever visit you. Such funny ideas you get, Charlotte. Go and fetch my tablets, will you, dear?”

  “I brought them down earlier, here they are.” The small victory was without joy.

  * * *

  Charlotte and Joe met as arranged, but Charlotte had lost the impulsive excitement of the previous evening. Her mother had seen to that. Unable to admit her mother’s part in her switchback attitude to Joe, she told herself the excitement had only been the relief of making up their quarrel, and knowing he hadn’t been so insensitive as to choose the paper to go on their walls.

  “I’ll have to wait a while, Joe. Until Mam gets used to the idea of my moving from home.”

  “You wouldn’t like me to move into Mill House would you? So she can live my life for me, as well as hers and yours!” This time the joke was a sour one and a glance at his blazing eyes brought out the worst in her. The quarrel was worse than any they’d had. His last words as she stormed off were:

  “If you won’t make the break and marry me, then get yourself a job. Do something to prove to yourself you aren’t spineless. Because that’s what I think you are, Charlotte Russell! Spineless!”

  She stopped and turned back. Joe prepared for more abuse but what she said was:

  “All right! I will marry you! We’ll go now this minute and talk to the Vicar!”

  Sobbing, kissing, apologizing and swearing undying love, they went to the Vicarage of the church and made an appointment to discuss and arrange their wedding.

  The following morning, two hours later than she had promised to be home, she stepped through the door of Mill House in a state of euphoria. It was done. The long-delayed decision was made and this time she wouldn’t be persuaded to alter it. There was nothing her mother could say to make her change her mind. She was strong because she loved Joe.

  “Mam,” she said as she entered the house. “I don’t care what you say. I’m going to marry Joe. I’m past the age of consent and it’s all fixed. Right?” Then she saw that her mother was crying. “Mam? What is it?”

  “Constable Hardy has just called. Your Uncle Peter has been taken into hospital. Oh, Charlotte! What will become of us? I’m sure he’s going to die! Thank goodness Rhoda is away, she’s like me, so sensitive she’d be unable to cope. I’m so glad I’ve got you here. I don’t know what I’d do without you here to support me. What were you saying, dear?”

  “Nothing, Mam. Nothing important.”

  Chapter Two

  Joe’s Auntie Bessie Philpot had arrived for work at Mill House while Charlotte and Joe were discussing their future. The gates had just come into her view as the ambulance was leaving. She had watched the ambulance drive past and a frown crossed her plump face as she glanced towards the gates of Mill House. It seemed to have come from there. And there was nowhere else apart from the Russells’ factory. A walker perhaps? Daft beyond, they were, walking the hills in January!

  Could it have been poor Peter Russell? Then it might have been Harriet. Grizzling herself into an early grave for sure, that one! Whatever, she would still be needed to do the Friday cleaning. Curiosity hastened her footsteps as she pushed through the gate and hurried up the drive.

  The door of the house was closed and she withdrew her key from the pocket of her ancient tweed coat. Then she thought it wiser to knock, just in case there was someone left at home. Even after all the years she had looked after the Russells, Harriet could be very sharp when she thought someone had overstepped the boundaries of respectful behaviour! There was no reply and she opened the door and called, “Bore da, Mrs Russell, it’s only me,. ol’ Bessie Philpot come to sort you out.” Humming tunelessly. she bustled into the kitchen and began to gather the clusters and brushes she needed.

  She started as always with the bathroom, and, still humming, she washed and shone the surfaces and wiped the linoleum, leaving the room clean and smelling of disinfectant. There had been no sign of anyone being home. Perhaps the ambulance had been leaving Mill House. Well, it was an ill wind. She would treat herself to a sly cup of tea before anyone turned up. Mrs Russell watched her like a slave master, making sure she didn’t get less work than she paid for, and she guarded her ration of tea and sugar like an old ogre. Pisio crics it was when Mrs Russell made it. Although cricket’s pee was probably stronger! The opportunity of getting away with an extra tea-break was irresistible.

  The humming stopped as she went into the kitchen and put on the kettle, mutter
ing to herself as usual about the cranky kettle that wobbled on the jet and the state of the ancient stove with which the family managed. For people who considered themselves a bit above the rest, they had no idea about some things. Tatty ol’ stove and battered pans… talk about fur coat and no knickers! While she waited for the water to boil, she went into the parlour to see if there were ashes from last night’s fire to lift, box for the ashes, dustpan and brush and floorcloth in her arms. She started with shock. Mrs Russell was there, sitting in a chair staring out of the window. She had a blanket around her and her face showed signs of tears.

  “I – just put the kettle on. now this minute.” Bessie said briskly after a moment of embarrassment. “Peeked in and saw you I did, and thought – a good strong cuppa is just what she needs by the look of her. I was worried it might have been you or Mr Peter in that there ambulance I did. Duw, there’s a shock this time of the day. Who was it then? Have you heard? Some twp ol’ walker was it?”

  “It was Peter.” Harriet whispered.

  “Never! And you not able to go with him?” In sepulchral tones she added, “There’s a pity.” Going into the kitchen to deal with the kettle she called back, “Have to wait for Charlotte to come back, I suppose. Get a taxi, go on. I’ll wait by yer till your Charlotte comes home. Still with my Joe, I expect.”

  “She isn’t with your nephew! She went shopping.” Even in her shocked state Harriet corrected any inference that her daughter was involved with that awful bicycle repair man.

  “Shopping in an empty butcher’s shop they were then. Funny the way some folks carry on, isn’t it?” Bessie said, quickly adding, “Two sugars is it then? We need it for the shock, we do.”

  Bessie Philpot was a buxom woman, looking younger than her fifty-eight years, with a smooth, pink complexion and hair that was still fair, although untidy and fly-away. She was the town’s express news reporter, spreading the latest goings on in the houses where she cleaned. The people down in the town loved to hear the latest gossip about “them up there” in the larger houses on the hill. It was Bessie’s life-long commitment that they wouldn’t be disappointed.