That'll Be the Day (2007) (11 page)

Lynda smiled brightly around the table in an effort to inject some warmth into the chilled atmosphere. ‘This is nice, isn’t it? The whole family together again after all this time.’

Ewan hadn’t been difficult to find. He’d come wandering into the Dog and Duck late Saturday afternoon. Lynda was thrilled to at last have the opportunity to get to know her father but this was not at all how she’d planned it, with her mother sitting there all sour-faced and the pair of them replaying World War Two.

Guessing it was going to be a difficult meal she’d felt compelled to tell Terry not to come, which was a great shame. But she was still meeting him later to go with him on the biker’s rally. She’d probably be glad of an excuse to escape by then. She’d wear her new plaid Capri pant’s which would make her bottom look all pert and sexy on the bike.

‘It’s certainly interesting to be here with you all,’ Ewan dryly remarked. ‘And I’m most grateful to be invited,’ carefully avoiding a withering glance from Betty. ‘Them Yorkshire puddings look spectacular. You’ve not lost your lightness of touch with the baking then?’

Betty didn’t even trouble to answer this pathetic attempt at a compliment. She recalled too well how even on the morning he’d walked out on her, he’d casually remarked that he’d miss her cooking, particularly her Yorkshire puddings.

His eating habits had not improved over the years. He still chewed with his mouth open, and insisted on a slice of bread to mop up the gravy.

‘It’s too good to waste, Betty love.’

Betty sucked in her breath and made no comment as they all addressed themselves to savouring prime roast beef, no one quite willing to break the silence. It was Jake, naturally, who eventually fired the first shot.

‘So why did you split then? And why have you never tried to contact us since?’

Ewan half glanced at Betty but by the tightness of her expression it was plain she had no intention of helping him out with that one. He cleared his throat. ‘Why I left isn’t really important, lad, not after all these years. As to why I didn’t keep in touch, you’d need to speak to your mam about that. I did write, at first, but I doubt she showed you my letters. I certainly never got a reply.’

Jake’s mouth fell open, revealing an unsightly amount of unchewed beef. He gulped, swallowing the mouthful whole before shouting across at his mother, ‘You kept his letters from me? I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. You
knew
how much I wanted to see me dad. You
saw
how many pathetic attempts I made to write him a decent letter, young as I was, even sending him daft pictures of meself playing football just to make him proud.’

‘I wrote too,’ Lynda put in, her voice oddly strained and quiet.

Ewan leaned across the table and stroked her hand. ‘I’m sure you did, chuck. I only wish I’d got them.’ As one, three pairs of eyes swivelled in Betty’s direction.

She got briskly to her feet. ‘I’ll fetch the pudding. It’s apple pie, your favourite, Jake love.’

‘I don’t want it. I’ve lost me appetite.’ He pushed his half eaten meal away. ‘I should’ve known I couldn’t trust you, you stupid cow.’

‘
Jake
!’ Lynda scolded. ‘There’s no need to be rude.’

Betty blinked away the threat of tears. This was what she’d most dreaded: Ewan putting his side and she standing dry-mouthed, unable to explain or defend herself. But what could she say? How could she tell them what it had really been like living with this man? Why should she subject her lovely children to remembering all of that pain, thereby destroying years of effort on her part to help them forget?

But Jake wasn’t done with her yet. ‘Well, what’ve you got to say for yourself?’
 

‘Nothing. I’ve nothing to say except I did what I thought was right.’

‘
Right
? You thought it was right to deprive me of me own father?’ He turned to Ewan. ‘Did you leave of your own accord or did she ask you to go? Just tell me that.’

Ewan almost smiled. ‘Things were a bit difficult at that time, it’s true, but yes, Betty made it very clear that the marriage was over and I had to go.’

‘You
bitch
!’

Jake was on his feet, fists clenched and Lynda, white faced and in something of a panic, was desperately trying to calm him down.

‘Don’t speak to Mam like that, Jake. Don’t use such awful words, it’s not right. Anyway, he’s here now. Let’s all try to stay calm, shall we? Why don’t you tell . . .’ Lynda stumbled, wondering what to call him. A part of her wanted to call him Dad but she knew her mother wouldn’t like that. ‘Why don’t you tell Ewan how well you did in football at school, how you nearly got picked for City? I’m sure he’d like to get to know a bit more about what you’ve been up to all these years.’

‘Aye, true enough, I would. Manchester City, eh? That’s summat, that is.’

‘I didn’t get picked though,’ Jake muttered, reluctantly resuming his seat and gazing mournfully at the food on his plate. He loved beef and Yorkshire pudding. Could he eat it without losing face? he wondered.

‘Aye, but to be given the chance to try for a place is an achievement in itself, it really is.’

Jake preened himself before the praise. ‘I suppose it was pretty cool - Dad,’ and picking up his knife and fork, he got stuck in.

Hearing Jake use this word for the first time brought a jolt of shock like kilowatts of electricity running through Betty and she gripped the edge of the table in panic. What should she do? There must be some way to rid themselves of this man for good and all, but if so, she certainly didn’t know what it was. Ewan, she noticed, was looking mighty pleased with himself, a smirk of pure satisfaction curling his lip. All she could think to do was to gather up the dirty plates and dash to the kitchen.

Lynda followed, hustling her brother to finish his dinner and helping to clear the table while Betty concentrated on breathing slowly and slicing the apple pie.

‘Are you all right, Mam?’

Betty couldn’t think of a thing to say. How might Lynda react if she said: . . . your dad’s only being nice to you to make me mad? He only wants revenge for what I did to him and doesn’t give a tinker’s cuss about either of you two. Would Lynda believe her? Not on your nelly. Nor would Jake. Listen to the stupid lad laughing at one of Ewan’s sick jokes even now.

When Lynda brought the warmed pudding dishes, Betty said, ‘How can I possibly be all right with that dreadful man sitting at my table looking like a cat what’s swallowed the flaming cream, and our Jake attacking me like that.’

‘I know it’s hard but Jake has to be given the chance to sort things out in his own mind. You’ll need to be patient with him, Mam, with both of us.’

‘Patient? You think I don’t understand what it means to bite your lip and be patient?’ Betty made a sound of disgust deep in her throat then grabbing the dishes, she slung a slice of hot apple pie into each one. ‘Here, take them through. I’ll be with you in a minute, soon as I’ve thrown some cold water on my temper.’

Lynda put her arms about her mother’s comfortable figure and held her close for a moment. ‘It’ll be all right. Trust me. You know I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, not for the world. Haven’t we always stood by each other?’

Betty sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘You’re a good lass, get on with you.’

But running cold water over her hands and wrists Betty knew in her heart that nothing would ever be
all right
ever again. Her sanctuary had been invaded. Her escape had ended the moment she’d spotted him leering at her from across the street. Rinsing her face to wash away the unshed tears and attempt to cool the anguish in her heart, she drew in a steadying breath. Children! Why was it they could never see beyond the end of their own noses?

But then to be fair to both Jake and Lynda, Ewan always could put on this clever act, as if butter wouldn’t melt on his lying tongue. Why should today be any different? He was somehow managing, by dint of saying very little, to put himself in the right with Betty herself seen as the difficult one. As if she were the one who had created the problems and called an end to this imagined idyllic life they’d led together. A fantasy Jake clearly believed.

Well, not even Ewan Hemley could keep up the pretence for too long. All Betty could hope for was that her son didn’t suffer too much when he saw his father for what he really was.

Then she picked up a jug of custard and went to join her family.
 

It was after the apple pie had been eaten and the dishes all cleared away, washed, dried and stacked on the kitchen dresser that Ewan revealed a glimpse of his true colours.

He got up from the table, belched loudly, then went to sit in the winged fireside chair. Betty saw the private battle taking place in her son’s face: the urge to order this stranger out of his chair warring with the desire to make friends with his father.

Ewan sat contentedly picking his teeth. ‘What a treat that was. I’d forgotten what an excellent cook you are, Betty love.’

Betty winced, averting her gaze. ‘I only made the Yorkshire puddings, our Linda cooked the rest. And I’ve told you before, I’m not
your love
.’

Ewan beamed at his daughter, a look of pleased surprise on his face. ‘Better and better. What talented children I have. Oh, and I’ve told you Betty, me old love, me old faggot, that I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.’

Jake snorted, stifling the sound quickly when he caught his mother’s furious glare from where she stood, unmoving, by the kitchen door.

Betty spoke through tightly compressed lips. ‘Lynda, fetch your father’s coat will you? Sunday lunch is over. Everything has been said that needs to be said, now I’ll thank him to take his leave.’

Jake looked as if he might be about to protest, but then glancing again at his father reclining in
his
chair as if he owned the place, changed his mind and seemed to think better of it.

Ewan watched this conflict of emotion on his son’s face with some amusement, then allowed his gaze to follow Lynda as she went to the under-stairs cupboard to reach for his overcoat. But he made no move to rise.

Instead, he casually took a pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it, tamping the tobacco down with meticulous care. Taking his time over the task, he drew on it till the tobacco flared hot and red, then glancing in mock surprise at Lynda, and using the stem of the pipe to indicate the coat she was holding out for him, softly smiled.

‘Thanks, love, but I don’t think I’ll be needing that till the morning. I’ve no intention of leaving, d’you see? I’ve come home and I mean to stay, so fetch me the Sunday papers and a stool for me feet. I fancy an hour or two of peaceful perusal of
The Sporting Chronicle
before tea. Then I reckon an early night after all this emotional upset, don’t you? No, don’t panic, Betty love, your virtue is quite safe. I’m sure our Jake won’t mind sharing with his old dad. Time we got to know each other again, isn’t it, son?’

Chapter Twelve

They did indeed enjoy a ‘nice’ walk on the sands to ‘blow the cobwebs away’. Jonty, Leo and Helen walked in uneasy silence for what seemed like miles before returning home to partake of the tinned salmon and cucumber salad which Dulcie had prepared, as usual, for their evening meal; her son’s bouquet of carnations and lilies on proud display in the centre of the table so that no one could quite see over or around it.

After the peaches and Nestle’s milk had been enjoyed and the washing up done, Helen endured a long dull evening listening to an orchestral recital on the Third Programme, twiddling her thumbs while the two men talked business and Dulcie crocheted, fingers flying as she hummed softly to herself.

When she could bear no more and grew tired of listening to Jonty verbally batter her husband with Dulcie acting as occasional referee, Helen escaped to bed. Not that there was much hope of any hanky-panky sleeping in the narrow twin beds with their pink eiderdowns and matching candlewick bedspreads.

Helen was aware of the moment her mother-in-law retired as she paused to tap softly on the bedroom door. ‘Goodnight dear, sleep tight.’

Of course she could see the light on under her door since Helen was reading, but it irritated her all the same. Helen chose not to reply.

Later she heard voices raised in argument coming from the living room. Jonty claiming that Leo allowed people to take advantage of his good nature, that he was weak and useless, which he vehemently refuted. Helen listened for a while, itching to go in and do battle for her husband. How anyone, particularly his own father, could accuse Leo of being weak was quite beyond her. He was kind and loving and affectionate, certainly, but nobody could deny that Leo wasn’t a strong, capable man.

He radiated high levels of energy, was bold and daring, yet was decent and honourable. He’d been a fighter pilot during the war, joining at just eighteen in nineteen-forty so no one could ever call him a coward either. Her husband possessed admirable qualities, gave his all to the business, often to the detriment of their personal life together since he was so determined to take the distribution business into the modern world.
 

 
The only problem was that Leo was too attractive for his own good, and positively drew predatory women to his side. Helen never felt quite able to trust him. How could she? Even her own father had strayed once or twice. Men did that, it was in their nature. Hadn’t her mother told her so a thousand times. To be fair to Leo, Helen guessed she was the only woman whom he truly loved, and she was certainly the only one who could manipulate him.