Page 8 of The Lavender Bride
7
SHEFFIELD, OCTOBER 1946
The tension in the cinema is palpable as we watch Cary Grant sprint up the stairs in the evil Nazi spy’s mansion. Notorious is the most exciting film ever. Please let Cary Grant get to Ingrid Bergman in time! I reach across the arm dividing our seats and grip Freddie’s hand. He shoots a quick glance at me then he twists his hand so our fingers interlock.
On the screen, Cary opens the bedroom door and sees Ingrid Bergman, limp and helpless in the bed. I hold my breath and then he says, ‘I love you.’ There’s a collective sigh from across the auditorium. He’s been beastly to her all the way through the film but finally, he’s admitted how he feels!
He carries Ingrid down the stairs and out to the waiting car. He’s saved her! They can be together. I press my free hand against my heart as the credits roll. I’d thought Cary Grant debonair and handsome but after seeing him in this film, tortured, brooding and utterly gorgeous, he is now my absolute favourite.
As the house lights come up, I turn to Freddie. ‘That was the absolute best! Cary Grant was incredible!’
‘I thought you’d say that.’ Freddie grins as he releases my hand to shrug on his overcoat. ‘Has he deposed Gene Kelly in your affections?’
I’ve had a crush on Gene Kelly since I saw him in Cover Girl with Rita Hayworth. ‘Definitely!’ I put my beret on, adjusting it so it angles over my left eye. ‘It’s Cary all the way for me now.’
‘You’re so fickle!’ Freddie laughs as we exit the auditorium. ‘You’ll be daydreaming about someone else next week.’
‘No, I won’t!’ I cross my arms and glare at him. ‘I’m in love with Cary Grant and it’s going to stay that way.’
‘I know you, Audrey.’ Freddie tugs his cap onto his head. ‘I give it a month before you’re head over heels about someone else.’
I purse my lips, not wanting to admit he’s right but I’m not finished with the film yet. ‘Hitchcock’s use of lighting was amazing. Did you see the way he used it to create mood and tension?’
Freddie raises an eyebrow. ‘More photograph books from the library?’
I raise my chin. ‘I bought one. It’s champion. It’s got sections on composition and lighting and using foreground and—’ I blush as I see Freddie’s face. He’s the only person who accepts my passion for photography but even he doesn’t want that much detail.
‘Only you, Audrey Wade!’ I hear the affection in Freddie’s voice and smile.
As we reach the stairs, he slings his arm around my shoulders. It’s something he’s done for years but tonight, I’m fiercely aware of his proximity. Every nerve ending seems to be alive to his slightest movement. The heat of his hand on my shoulder, the lithe movement of his legs as we descend the stairs in unison. Is he doing this because he likes me as I like him? I don’t know because he’s Freddie and we’ve always been this easy together.
I want this to mean something because what Freddie doesn’t know is that I spend as much time daydreaming about him as I do about movie stars. With his arm around me, it feels like we’re properly a couple, leaving the cinema on a Saturday evening. Not caught in this strange hinterland between longstanding friendship and, for me, longing.
As we reach the pavement, his arm slides away. Instantly, I feel smaller. I button my coat against the chill evening air. The smog has settled while we’ve been in the picture house. The air is damp and heavy with smoke. The lights from the cinema glow a dim yellow and barely penetrate more than a few yards. A tram looms out of the mist, rattles past us and disappears.
I glance at Freddie. We’ve just watched a film about a man who can’t admit his feelings for a woman he loves. I don’t want to have to get poisoned by Nazis before he admits he loves me. I follow Freddie’s gaze; he’s looking with peculiar intensity at a tall young man with ginger hair who nods at Freddie as if they know each other. Abruptly, I feel as if I have been poisoned. My stomach burns.
‘Who’s that?’ I ask sharply.
‘Dunno.’ Freddie’s eyes continue to follow the man as he walks away.
Then why is he so interested in him? This is my time with Freddie. I don’t need any ginger-haired lad bursting in on our last evening together. It’s enough that I’ve had to hear all summer about his friend Michael. I cross my arms. ‘You looked like you knew him.’
‘I’ve seen him around.’ Freddie shrugs. ‘You’d hardly miss him with that hair!’
The words sound forced and uneasiness stirs. What is going on with him this evening? We were having a great time watching the movie but now it’s as if he’s a long way away.
We start walking up Ecclesall Road and I say, ‘Will I see you before you go back to Birmingham?’
Freddie’s going into his second year at Birmingham University studying architecture. I’m jealous and frustrated that he gets to follow his dreams whereas I was sent to secretarial college and spend my days typing letters about the sale of steel.
‘Well, you’ll see me at church tomorrow.’ Freddie’s parents are dedicated members of Father’s congregation. To keep the peace with his family rather than because of any deep-seated faith, Freddie comes to church on Sundays during his university holidays. I know perfectly well he doesn’t step foot in a church otherwise but I’m pretty certain I’m the only person in Sheffield who’s aware of that. ‘Other than that, probably not. You’ll be at work during the day and I’m busy in the evenings.’
Annoyance spikes. Why can’t he fit me in? Is it so much to ask that we have another evening together? ‘Every evening?’ My voice rises. ‘Doing what?’
‘Things I can’t tell a nice girl like you about!’
‘Freddie!’ I biff him on the arm, possibly a little harder than he deserves, and he laughs.
Is he avoiding me? Jealousy and confusion squirm in my stomach. I’ve seen so little of him over the summer. I’d been looking forward to him coming back so much, counting the days until I’d see him again. But it’s not been like the old days; there’s a distance between us now. He talks pretty constantly about Michael, who seems a paragon of every virtue. Every second sentence has been, ‘Michael’s family live in Putney…’ or, ‘When Michael and I saw King Lear …’ They seem to have done everything together during Freddie’s summer term.
Freddie’s face lights up when he talks about him and I hate it. Freddie’s my friend. I don’t want to share him with this Michael who I don’t know but am absolutely certain I wouldn’t like. It’s only when we go to the cinema that it feels like it did before he went away. Audrey and Freddie against the world.
Cars pass, creeping slowly through the smog, their headlights blazing. A lad on a pushbike emerges from the murk. He tips his cap and winks at me as he passes. I duck my head and blush.
Jim, one of the apprentices at work, asked me out for a drink last Friday. He’s the same age as me, pimply, slender and obsessed with Sheffield Wednesday. Goodness knows why he thought I’d want to go. I’m absolutely certain I’ve not done anything to encourage him and I said no. When I told Freddie, he said I should have gone. ‘Give the poor lad a chance. You never know, he might surprise you.’ I’d crossed my arms in a huff as anger and disbelief surged through me. Freddie knows me better than that. Or at least he used to before he went away and started spending all of his time with ruddy Michael.
And what about our plan to go to Hollywood? I couldn’t do that if I was with Jim. For the first time, I’d wondered if Freddie had grown out of our dream to move to Hollywood.
The thought chills me because I need that dream. It’s a light at the end of the very dull tunnel of my working days. It sustains me during the bus ride across town, the endless hours at my typewriter followed by tiptoeing around at home to avoid sending Father into one of his rages. One day, when I’ve saved enough money and the government finally allows foreign travel again, I will escape my parents and this city and sail across the sea to Hollywood. There’ll be sunshine and parties and glorious food and Father will no longer be able to tell me what to do.
‘I wish your degree wasn’t so long,’ I say abruptly into the silence. ‘That means we can’t go to Hollywood until 1950.’
‘But think of the money you’ll have saved by then. If you don’t spend it all on photography books!’
‘I bought one!’ I shoot him a look of amused irritation. ‘I’m saving up for the camera in the pawnbroker’s window. It’s a good one but after that, every penny goes in the Hollywood fund.’
‘Think of the sunshine. Won’t it be incredible to live somewhere sunny!’ Freddie says as he takes my arm. ‘And the clothes. I shouldn’t care because it’s bourgeois but damn, I really want new clothes.’
I don’t know what bourgeois means and it annoys me that he uses words like that these days. The important thing is he still wants to go. This we still share and it’s got nothing to do with poxy Michael. I snuggle closer to him as we walk.
‘And we’ll go to the Brown Derby and eat wonderful meals with meat and butter and cheese.’ My stomach growls at the thought. They’ve been long years of privation during the war and I’d give a lot for a lamb chop or Welsh rarebit.
‘Oh, cheese! Stop it!’ Freddie groans. ‘I’ll get a job at a movie studio designing sets.’
‘We’ll go dancing at The Cocoanut Grove and meet movie stars.’
‘And you’ll be the toast of Hollywood.’ Freddie spins me round and I squeal in excitement.
As I stop, I bump into him. His face is close to mine and his eyes widen. This has got to be the moment, hasn’t it? I’ve dreamed of this for so long. I lean in and kiss him. His lips are soft but there’s a rasp of stubble which is not unpleasant. I close my eyes as my senses flood with scent and sensation. Then Freddie jerks away.
‘What are you doing?’ His eyes darken with anger.
Uncertainty and confusion are a damp blanket thrown in my face, but I can’t let him see that. ‘I’d have thought that was pretty obvious.’ I cross my arms and look him straight in the eye.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’ His voice is icy. I’ve never heard him so cross. He turns on his heel and walks swiftly away from me. In a few short yards, he’s swallowed by the smog.
Is this my fault? Did I do it wrong? I’ve never been kissed before and I’ve waited for this for so long and I wanted it to be heart-stoppingly perfect but he’s ruined it.
I blow out a long breath. If he wants to be like that then I should leave him to it. There are other boys who like me. I’ll go dancing with Jim and we’ll see how Freddie likes that. My head droops. Only I don’t want to go out with Jim. I want to be with Freddie.
I take off at a sprint down the road. Pedestrians and obstacles materialise out of the fog and are swiftly absorbed by it again. I pass a couple walking arm in arm, an old man in a flat cap and a young woman pushing a pram with a muslin draped over the hood to keep the smog from the baby. The fabric of my skirt bunches around my knees, slowing me down. My beret lifts and I clamp a hand on my head to steady it.
I catch up with Freddie by the newsagents. He’s not waited for me which stings. Why should it be up to me to dash after him when he gets upset? Then I spot his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes downcast. I blow out a long breath and stifle my irritation at him. I know these signs. I have to tread carefully.
‘Wait!’ I call as I catch up to him. I don’t risk touching him. Not when he’s like this. ‘I’m sorry, Freddie.’
He doesn’t look at me. I fall into step beside him. I can’t let us part on bad terms. To not see him again until Christmas knowing that we’d not made up would be agony. But what to say? Jokes usually work when he’s in moods like this. I rack my brain to come up with something. I test it out in my head then keeping my voice light, I say, ‘I must have mistaken you for Cary Grant.’
‘Because we look so much alike?’ Is that a hint of amusement beneath the grumpiness? I glance at him but his gaze is still fixed on the pavement.
‘Well, you’re both tall and dark. Admittedly, you’re slimmer but, you know, on a dark night?—’
‘To a blind woman.’ He gives me a wry smile. ‘You do talk rot, Audrey.’
I shrug to hide my relief that he’s speaking to me again. ‘It’s a talent.’
Silence stretches between us as we walk. It’s not far until I’m home. Then I’ll have time to try to work out what’s happened between us. I must be bad at kissing. The problem is there’s no way to find out if you’re any good until you do it. Maybe I should try kissing Jim just to make sure I’m doing it right. But then he’d definitely think I like him and I’d have to go out with him and— I sigh as tears prickle behind my eyes. Why is it all so complicated? Why can’t Freddie like me as I like him? We’ve been the best of friends for eight years. We always said we’d get married. So why doesn’t he want to kiss me?
The post box outside our house emerges from the fog. The net curtain in Father’s study twitches. I spin on my heel and yank my handkerchief out of my pocket. I scrub at my lipstick. If Father sees me wearing it, I’ll catch such a telling off.
‘Hey!’ Freddie catches my hand and there’s a tingle where we touch. ‘Leave some skin on.’
His hand drops away as I stare at the ruby stain on the handkerchief as if I’ve transferred the sensation of Freddie’s lips against mine to the fabric. Maybe the handkerchief knows where I went wrong because I sure as anything don’t have a clue.
‘One day, you’ll be far from here.’ Freddie’s gaze meets mine and there’s an intensity to it. ‘He can’t hold you back forever.’
I gaze up at him as I blink back tears. His dark-blond curls are damp and his skin looks pale in the gauzy light. Why can’t it always be this perfect between us? I bite my lip. He wouldn’t say things like that if he didn’t care, would he? But if he cares, why doesn’t he want to kiss me?
‘Hollywood,’ he says, extending his hand palm up. This is our ritual. The way we’ve always sealed the promise.
‘Hollywood.’ My hand clasps his, my skin slightly warmer than his. Our fingers grip for a second before we pull apart.
I stare at him. If this was a movie then he’d kiss me now and it’d be utterly perfect. But this is Sheffield and real life doesn’t work that way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the net curtains twitch again. ‘I have to go.’ I take a step back, my eyes not leaving his. ‘I’ll see you at church.’
‘What’s the sermon?’
‘Romans 6:23,’ I recite. I typed it yesterday evening, feeling like my fingers might bleed as I hammered out every barbed and bitter word from Father’s pen. ‘ For the wages of sin is death .’
Freddie grimaces. ‘Did you tell him I’d be there?’
‘No.’ The hair lifts on the back of my neck. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’
‘No reason.’ He waves as he turns away. ‘I’ll bring a book.’
Freddie’s been bringing a book to church since he was fifteen. I, however, as the Minister’s daughter, have to sit on the front row and can’t get away with tricks like that.
As I walk up the garden path, my shoulders hunch. I stuff the stained handkerchief deeper in my coat pocket. When I open the front door, the hall smells of damp clothes and stewed tea.
‘Audrey!’ Father calls from his study.
My heart sinks. If he’s seen me with Freddie then I’m in for it! ‘Coming, Father.’ I slip off my coat and shoes.
‘Was that Freddie Greenwood?’ he says as I step through the door of his study. He’s sitting beside the fire reading the Daily Mail . His pipe smokes in his hand. ‘You’re spending too much time with that boy.’
Should I argue? I’ve tried it before and it’s never got me anywhere. Right now, I’m too churned up to defend Freddie to Father. He’ll sense any uncertainty on my part. ‘You don’t need to worry. He’s going back to university next week.’
‘Best place for him.’ Father nods and returns his attention to the newspaper. I’m dismissed. Relief makes me feel a little lightheaded. I hurry through to the sitting room where Mum and Esther are huddled around the wireless. Esther’s staying with us for the weekend as her husband, Bill is on nights.
‘You want some toast?’ Mum asks. When I nod, she adds, ‘I’ve saved you a bit of cheese and there’s some treacle pudding for afters.’
I slip into the chair she’s vacated. It’s warm from her body and I pull the crocheted rug over me and snuggle into it.
‘Good time with Freddie?’ Esther looks up from her knitting with a smile. She knows exactly how I feel about Freddie.
‘Sort of.’ I bite my lip. Esther went out with plenty of boys when she was a Land Girl. Maybe she can help me understand why Freddie’s so confusing. ‘I kissed him and he didn’t like it. He told me not to do it again.’
‘Oh, Audrey!’ Esther laughs as she runs a hand over her rounded belly. She’s expecting her first baby which is due in January. ‘You’re supposed to wait for them to kiss you. Boys don’t like it when you’re too forward.’
I lean forward and clutch the arm of Esther’s chair. ‘You think that’s all it is?’
‘I’m sure that’s all it is.’ Esther takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘You need to start playing hard to get.’
‘It’s Freddie!’ I pull back and spread my hands. ‘I’ve known him since I was nine.’
‘That’s why it’s even more important to let him make the running. You don’t want him thinking you’re fast.’
‘Fast?’ I lean back with a snort. ‘As if I’ll ever have a chance to be fast with Father around!’
Esther gives me a long look as she picks up her knitting again.
‘What?’ I say.
‘You won’t want to hear it.’ She reaches the end of the row and switches the needles over. She’s making a bootee from fine white wool. Its tininess pulls at a yearning deep in my belly.
‘Esther!’ I say as I cross my arms. She might be about to be a mother but she’s still infuriating.
She lays the needles down on her lap. ‘It’s going to be a long time until Freddie’s out of university and got a job.’ She holds up a hand as I open my mouth to object. ‘Just listen. The fastest way out of this house is with a ring on your finger.’ She holds her hand up and wiggles the finger with her gold wedding band on. ‘Do you really want to spend another four years here waiting for Freddie? There are plenty of decent blokes out there who’d give you a nice home and be a blooming lot easier to live with than Father.’
I stare at her as the implication of what she’s saying sinks in. ‘But you love Bill, don’t you? You didn’t marry him just to get out of here?’
Her hand goes to her belly again and she smiles. ‘Of course I love Bill. But it’s not all romance and big gestures like you see in the films. It’s more about the little things, like kindness and building a life together.’
It sounds dull as anything. I open my mouth to object, to tell her I want more, but Esther smiles again. If only she didn’t look so blinking happy.
‘I know you have all these dreams but dreams won’t protect you when he’s,’ my sister tilts her head towards Father’s study, ‘in one of his rages. A husband will.’
Something inside me curdles. I cannot allow my life to become that small. I don’t deny it’s worked for Esther; I’ve seen the change in her since she left home and married. She used to be perpetually nervous but that’s fallen from her since she left this house. But I want more from my life. I want adventure and romance and to take photographs and I want Freddie by my side as I do it.
‘Just think about it,’ Esther adds. ‘I hate leaving you here, knowing what he’s like.’
My throat clogs with emotion. I really miss her. We’d been allies against Father’s wrath and without her, it’s like being stuck in no man’s land on my own, never knowing when the next volley of anger will strike.
Mum bustles back in with a tray of tea and toast. As she tends the fire, I bite into the toast and let my thoughts float away. Is Esther right? Am I holding out for an impossible dream? It’s not that I really believe I’ll marry Cary Grant. I’m not that much of a dreamer!
But if Freddie will one day kiss me like Cary Grant kissed Ingrid Bergman then it’s worth sticking it out at home. Because together, we’ll escape not only Sheffield but the small life that Esther’s content with. We’re going to Hollywood and, once we get there, everything will be absolutely perfect.