Live the Dream

Daisy knew what Amy would order, but she asked all the same. ‘You’d best make your mind up,’ she urged. ‘Any minute now, I could be rushed off my feet.’

Amy looked about the half-empty café: there was the man by the window; a little old couple in the corner, Daisy and herself. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that just yet,’ she teased, ‘but just in case, I’ll have a pot of tea … and one of your toasted barm cakes.’

Daisy shook her head. ‘Sorry, no can do. The toaster blew up. We’re waiting for the fella to come and mend it.’ She laughed. ‘You should have seen it this time … there was a big bang and the bloody toast went flying in all directions. Come and look.’

Amused, Amy followed her. ‘Not again? That’s the third time!’

Daisy shrugged. ‘There must be a fault somewhere.’

Smiling, Amy shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s you. You’re the “fault”. You’re not supposed to snatch the plug from the wall every time you think the toast is done enough. You have to switch it off first.’

‘Then it burns the toast!’

‘That’s because you haven’t got the setting right.’

‘It’s a nuisance! I don’t like the bloody thing. I never have.’

‘So, use the grill instead.’

‘Mrs Tooley won’t let me. She says she’s not spending good money on new things for me to ignore them. That toaster is her pride and joy. I’m to use it, and that’s an end to it. I did use the grill once, when the toaster went wrong and she tore me off a strip for making a mess everywhere.’

‘But Mrs Tooley only comes of an evening to collect her takings.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

Amy explained, ‘Well, now that she’s got her new fancy man, she hardly ever shows up here during the day, so she won’t know you’re using the grill – not if you clean it up half an hour before she arrives.’

As the possibilities dawned on her, Daisy’s frown became a wide, cunning grin. ‘You’re right!’ she gasped. ‘I’ll use the old things and clean ’em up before she gets here!’

‘I’m glad that’s settled!’ Amy knew how to put a smile on Daisy’s face. ‘So now, can I please have my tea and barm cake?’ Feeling mischievous, she teased, ‘And while you’re gone, I’ll have a word with the stranger. I’ll find out who he is and where he’s from. Oh, and you’ll want to know if he’s married or if he’s got a girlfriend, and whether he’s well off or stony-broke, in which case you won’t want to know any more about him and we’ll all get some peace. OK?’

Daisy knew she was being teased and went along with it. ‘While you’re at it, happen you’d best ask if he lives local, ’cos I followed him one time and he suddenly disappeared – went down a side street and was gone like will-o’-the-wisp.’ She threw her arms wide and opened her hands to demonstrate.

Amy was surprised. ‘You never told me you followed him!’

‘No, because you’d have told me off good and proper.’

‘Quite right too.’ Amy put on her most severe, reprimanding look. ‘Following men down alleyways … what if he’d turned round and attacked you?’

Daisy chuckled. ‘I should be so lucky!’ She glanced through the kitchen door at the man. ‘Anyhow, does he look like the sort who would attack anyone?’

Amy followed her glance. ‘Maybe not, but you never know.’

He was certainly a mystery, she thought. Although as Daisy said, he didn’t seem like the sort who would turn on a woman. There was a kind of gentle strength about him that would protect rather than hurt.

‘I’ll get your order,’ Daisy said, adding hopefully, ‘I bet you won’t dare speak to him while I’m gone.’

Amy continued the charade. ‘If I do, and providing he gives all the right answers, I’ll ask him if he’ll take you on a date, because you fancy him summat rotten.’

‘Oh, I wish you would,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Three whole months he’s been coming here. Almost every Tuesday without fail, and I don’t even know his name!’

Realising she would have to wait for her breakfast, Amy resigned herself to listening while Daisy chatted on about the ‘Tuesday man’.

Taking a moment to observe this busy, bumbling person she had come to know so well, Amy took in the big brown eyes, the shock of wild auburn hair and the pretty face with its multitude of freckles over a pretty, pert nose. Short and voluptuous, outgoing and friendly, Daisy was once seen never forgotten.

Amy thought of Daisy’s miserable home life, with the constantly feuding parents.

For as long as Amy had known her, Daisy had suffered wretchedly at the hands of her selfish, boorish parents. Their noisy, sometimes violent, arguments, often fuelled by drink, meant that Daisy could never invite Amy to her home. In Mrs Tooley’s fuggy little café, Daisy could escape the unhappiness of her home by chatting with the customers, teasing and joking with the friendly regulars, and even flirting a little with the men. In this way, Daisy could create some much-needed fun in her life.

‘Look, Daisy … don’t get too infatuated with your Tuesday man,’ Amy warned. ‘If he’d wanted you to know who he is, I’m sure he would have told you.’

‘But he wants to talk,’ Daisy confided, ‘I can tell that much. Sometimes he looks so sad, and sometimes he smiles at me and I want to sit next to him like I’m sitting next to you, only he looks away, just when I think I’m getting through to him.’

Amy shook her head. ‘Maybe he’s not such a “mystery”,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe he comes in here because he lives alone and needs to be amongst people. Or maybe he comes in here because he’s got a wife and ten children and he can’t get any peace at home. Either way, if he needs to be quiet and alone for whatever reason, it’s his choice and you should respect that.’

Casting a sideways glance out at the man, Amy sensed his loneliness. Daisy was right: he was a mystery – always preoccupied, head bent to his newspaper, while not seeming to be actually reading it. Instead he appeared to be deep in thought. Sometimes he would raise his head and gaze out of the window, before eventually returning to his newspaper or thoughtfully sipping his tea.

He never looked at the other customers; in fact it was as though he was totally oblivious to them. It was a curious thing.

‘What are you thinking?’ Daisy’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Amy looked up, her voice quiet as she answered, ‘I just think he deserves to be left alone.’ She smiled fondly at the other young woman. ‘Not everybody’s like you, Daisy,’ she pointed out. ‘Some people really do like their own company.’

Daisy shifted her gaze to the man. For a long moment she didn’t say anything, but there was a troubled look in her eyes.

‘Daisy, are you all right?’ Reaching out, Amy closed her hand over Daisy’s. ‘Has something happened at home?’

Daisy shook her head. ‘It’s the same,’ she confided with a sad little smile, ‘always the same.’ Drawing away her hand she added brightly, ‘Here’s me chatting away and you cold and famished. Sorry, love. I’ll go an’ get yer breakfast.’

‘But something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Amy had learned to read the signs. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Daisy shook her head.

‘All right, but I’m a good listener if you need me.’

Daisy gave that little smile again. ‘I know that.’ With a roll of her eyes, she looked over to where the man was closing his newspaper. ‘If only a man like that could sweep me up and carry me off, it would solve everything.’

‘Oh, Daisy. You can’t mean that!’

‘Why not?’

‘Well …’

Amy took another discreet look at him. He was certainly handsome, there was no denying that, with his long easy limbs, fine sensual lips and that dark brown tumble of hair. Once, when he looked up at the clock over the counter, Amy had caught sight of his dark, brooding eyes. There was something about him that stirred the senses.

‘Hey!’ Daisy gave her a prod. ‘You were saying …?’

Ashamed and startled at her own thoughts, Amy returned, ‘I just don’t think it would solve your problems to run off with some stranger and, besides, like you said yourself, you don’t know the first thing about him.’

‘But if he carried me off, I’d soon find out, wouldn’t I? Anyway, what’s to know? He pays his bill with proper money, and he always treats me with respect. Leaves a tip he does, and smiles up at me when I serve him.’ She gave a girlish giggle. ‘Anyway, even if it turned out he was some sort of rogue, he’s so good-looking it wouldn’t matter a bugger! A man like that … I could forgive him anything!’

Amy was alarmed. ‘You’re too trusting.’

‘And you’re too bloody suspicious!’

Amy changed tack. ‘I’m also cold and hungry, and I’ve changed my mind about the barm cake. I fancy a hot meat-and-tatty pie … with a helping of mushy peas and a dollop of that awful gravy you make.’

Daisy bounced over to the fridge. ‘Don’t get cheeky, lass,’ she wagged a warning finger, ‘or I might refuse to serve you. In fact, I might shut up shop and lock myself in … with him!’ She winked as she went. ‘And it’s no good you getting jealous, ’cos I’m the manager here and what I say goes.’ With that she sauntered off to open a tin of peas and suddenly, softly started to sing.

‘Whatever makes you happy,’ Amy chuckled, resuming a seat at her table.

She looked across at the man and when he unexpectedly smiled at her, her heart took a leap. For what seemed an age he held her gaze before turning away.

Confused and embarrassed, she fumbled in her shopping bag. Drawing out this month’s Woman and Home, she opened it up and spreading it across the table, pretended to read. In her mind’s eye she saw his smile, soft and friendly, reaching out to her … and those wonderful dark eyes! Daisy was right. He was devilishly handsome, and yet, there was such sadness about him – a kind of lost look that had touched her deeply.

‘What you got there?’ Daisy was back. Placing Amy’s order in front of her, she turned the page of the magazine. ‘Heck! Look at that!’ Pointing to the elegant model in centre-page, she called Amy’s attention to the blue spotted dress with thick belt and flared hem, ‘How much!’ Her look of rapture turned to one of horror. ‘One and ten! I’d have to work a whole month before I could buy that!’

Amy wasn’t listening. Something else had alerted her. Strangely uneasy, she turned to see the man looking straight at her again. He held her gaze for a second or two, then he stood up and walked towards the door with long easy strides. ‘I think your mystery man is leaving,’ Amy told Daisy quietly.

‘What!’ Looking up, Daisy saw the door close behind him. ‘Damn! He always does that to me!’

Amy tutted mischievously. ‘What? You mean he sneaks off without paying?’

‘No, you daft ha’pporth!’ Daisy groaned. ‘He always leaves his money on the table. I wish he’d pay at the counter, then I might get chance to quiz him a bit.’

Amy’s curious gaze followed him as he went past the window and away down the street. ‘Maybe next time,’ she said quietly. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.’ Because there was a man who had a lot on his mind, she thought, and he wasn’t about to share his secrets with anyone at Tooley’s Café.

Just then two more customers arrived, a middle-aged woman with a younger woman who, judging by the argument going on, appeared to be her daughter. ‘What in God’s name d’yer think you’re playing at?’ demanded the older woman. ‘By! If your dad knew, he’d hit the roof!’

‘I don’t give a bugger what he says!’ snapped the younger woman. ‘It’s his fault I’m leaving. Miserable old git, I don’t know how you’ve put up with him all these years!’

Daisy groaned. ‘Bleedin’ Nora! It’s them two! Argue all the time, they do. I’ve a good mind to bar the pair of ’em.’

Amy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Good customers, are they?’

Daisy nodded. ‘Three times a week, regular as clockwork: two full breakfasts and gallons of tea.’

‘Right!’ Amy gave her a shove. ‘What you do is shut your ears … if you can bear not to eavesdrop. Then you smile, and serve them and take their money when they’ve finished. And now if you please, I’d like my breakfast.’ With that she gave Daisy another shove and Daisy toddled off to ask the other customers, ‘What can I get you, ladies?’ And back came the swift answer, ‘Piss orf. Can’t yer see we’re not ready yet!’

Cursing under her breath, Daisy quickened her steps to the kitchen; while Amy, having heard the whole thing, found it hard not to laugh out loud.

When behind her, the argument raged on between the two women, she looked up to see Daisy, elbows resting on the counter, ears pricked and eavesdropping like a good ’un. ‘That’s my Daisy!’ she chuckled. ‘Can’t resist a good argument.’

Amy loved her Tuesday shopping, and her regular stop-off at Tooley’s Café because rain or shine, there was always something going on.

Then, as thoughts of the man came into her mind, her amusement turned to concern. What made him so afraid to reach out, she wondered. What was it in his life that put the sadness in those deep, dark eyes?

Like Daisy she would have loved to know more about him.

She glanced out the window but he was long gone. ‘A burden shared is a burden halved,’ she murmured. And he had seemed to want to talk, she thought. Just for that split second or two when he held her gaze, he had seemed to be reaching out to her.

But then again, maybe it was only her imagination.

Chapter 3

‘WHAT PLANS HAVE you got for tonight, lass?’ Strikingly pretty, small-built like Amy, and with the same bright smile and brown hair, Marie Atkinson was mild-tempered and of a kindly nature. ‘Off somewhere exciting are you?’

It was a Friday evening and Amy was busy emptying the till in the shop. She glanced up at her mother. ‘I might go to the pictures with Daisy.’

‘Hmm! Sounds like a good idea.’ When she was younger, Marie had always fancied herself as a film star. ‘What’s on?’

Concentrating on separating the silver coins from the less valuable copper ones, Amy said, ‘I think it’s Charles King in The Broadway Melody.’

Marie liked the sound of that. ‘By! If your dad weren’t coming home tonight, I might have joined you,’ she said dreamily. ‘Ooh! I do like Charles King.’ She tap-danced on the spot. ‘Feet of magic and a smile that turns you inside out. I wouldn’t mind a little twirl with him.’

Amy laughed. ‘Don’t give me that! If it was a choice between Dad and Charles King, you’d pick Dad every time.’

Marie kept on dancing. ‘Happen I’ll let your dad get his own dinner. Happen I’d rather put on my glad rags and go to the pictures with you and Daisy.’

Knowing how devoted to her father Marie was, Amy laughed. ‘I can’t see you letting Dad come home to an empty house, not even for Charles King! Besides, you’ve always said how nobody could ever take Dad’s place.’

Exhausted, Marie stopped dancing and leaned over the counter. ‘You’re right, lass,’ she said breathlessly. ‘There’s not a man in this world can ever tek the place of your father.’

Her face wreathed in a smile, she let her mind wander back over the years. ‘Me and your dad have been wed almost twenty-five years, and I wouldn’t swap a single minute.’

In fact their anniversary was only eight months away. ‘I were just turned eighteen when we walked down the aisle,’ she confirmed. ‘Your father was twenty … though o’ course he weren’t your father then … he were just my Dave.’ She sighed. ‘I loved him with all my heart then. And I’ve loved him the same ever since.’

Amy sighed longingly. ‘I wish I could find someone to love like that.’ All her life Amy had witnessed the love and devotion between her mam and dad, and it was a wonderful thing. She had thought that marriage to Don would have been just the same – had envisaged a life of devotion to her gorgeous husband – and even now flashes of that golden future that would never be occasionally passed through her mind. She couldn’t see how she could ever love that way again. Her parents’ happiness was a living example of an idyllic marriage Amy now feared she might never have. She shrugged away the thought.

Having bagged up the takings, she came across the room and, placing the bags on the counter, she wrapped her arms round that small, delightful figure. ‘After all this time you still adore him, don’t you, Mam? What woman in her right mind would give up a night with Charles King to be with “your Dave”, as you call him?’

Marie gave it some thought. ‘Well, I’ll admit your father’s not as slim as Charles King and it’s no wonder, with all that dancing an’ tapping an’ flinging himself about. By! It’s a marvel he’s not worn down to his kneecaps.’

Amy loved to tease and she did so now. ‘Whereas Dad can’t dance; and he can’t tap, although I have known him “fling himself about” a bit, when he comes home three sheets to the wind.’

‘No!’ Marie flew to his defence. ‘You’ve never seen your father three sheets to the wind!’ she protested, half smiling. ‘He’s only ever been the worse for drink once in the whole of his life, and that was when Grandad Atkinson got wed for the second time. Even then he didn’t have the strength to “fling himself about a bit”.’ She chuckled. ‘Though he did manage to fall down the coal-hole and bruise himself from top to bottom.’

Amy laughed. ‘I bet that sobered him up.’

‘It did, yes. It weren’t the first time he’d fallen down the coal-hole,’ she revealed. ‘A natural disaster, that’s your dad.’

Marie told a tale or two about what Amy’s dad had got up to before she was even born, and for the next few minutes the two of them rolled about with laughter. ‘On the night I decided I loved your father we were holding hands as we walked from Atkinson Street. A horse and cart ran through a puddle and splashed him from top to bottom. How could I not want to marry him after that?’

‘A couple of old romantics, that’s what you are.’ As always, Amy’s heart went out to Daisy, whose own parents were forever feuding and fighting. Tonight would be as much an escape as an entertainment for poor Daisy.

‘I wish he hadn’t gone driving for Hammonds, though,’ Marie said thoughtfully. ‘I really miss him. Why in God’s name did he have to take on that delivery work? He was offered work inside the factory, but he said he didn’t fancy “being cooped up”. All the same, I wish he’d taken it. At least he’d have been home of a night-time.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I do hate him being away all week!’

Hammonds had two lines of business: a brush factory, and delivery of their own and other people’s goods in a small fleet of motor lorries.

In an effort to bring back the smile to her mother’s face, Amy quipped, ‘Why d’you need Dad, when you’ve got me?’

Collecting up the money bags, Marie groaned. ‘That’s another thing. I feel guilty about you giving up your job at Wittons factory, so you could come and help run this place. And you were about to be promoted to the office.’

Amy was astounded. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Rosie Salter told me a few days after you left.’

‘She should never have done that!’

‘Well, she did, and I’ve felt bad about it ever since. I mean, you can’t deny, it’s a bit of a come-down for you.’

‘Oh, Mam! You’re not to feel guilty.’ Amy enjoyed working in the shop and she told her mother so. ‘Do you know what I think?’

‘What?’

‘I think you’re sorry you asked me to come and work with you, because now you think I’m no good at shop-keeping.’ By deliberately going on the defensive, Amy cunningly turned the tables on her mother. ‘The truth is, you want rid of me, and you don’t like to say. That’s it, isn’t it?’

Just as Amy suspected, Marie was mortified. ‘Aw, lass, nothing could be further from the truth! I love having you here and, what’s more, you’ve learned the business like you’ve been at it all your life. As a matter of fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Collecting the money bags and the ledger into her arms, she sighed. ‘It’s just that, well, I really loved working with your dad, and I miss him terrible when he’s not around.’

‘He’ll be home soon.’ Amy gave her a hug. ‘You go and make yourself beautiful for him, while I mop the floor and clear up in here.’

‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl!’ Marie insisted. ‘We’ll clear up together, same as always.’

A short time later, having cleared up, swept the floor and tidied away the large blocks of butter and cheese, and canisters of loose tea and broken biscuits, Marie walked with her daughter to the living quarters at the back.

‘When me and your father started this business, I thought we’d be doing it together until we retired, but he just got more and more restless. He’d always been a driver, y’see, lass – first with the horse and carts, then the beer wagons, and now with these new-fangled motor vehicles … dangerous things if you ask me!’

At first Amy’s father had seemed to settle into his new life as a grocer. Then a few months back, he’d spotted an advert in the post office for a driver at Hammonds distribution business. He applied for the job and got it. ‘I’m fed up of being behind a counter all day,’ he’d told Marie. ‘I need to get back on the road. I’d rather not be staying away nights, but it’s all they’ve got for the minute.’ Once he’d decided, there’d been no dissuading him.

‘I miss him too,’ Amy confessed, ‘but he’s a lot happier now he’s away from the shop. He loves the driving, and anyway, the week goes by quickly enough.’ Amy glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. ‘Look! It’s already half-past five. Another hour and he’ll be home,’ she winked, ‘with another present for you, I expect.’

Every Friday was the same. He would bounce through the door, beaming from ear to ear, with a little present in his pocket for his beloved wife, and a small posy of flowers for Amy.

Talking of her husband and knowing how sometimes Amy was lonely for the same kind of love, Marie grew serious. ‘Do you ever think of Don?’

Surprised by her mammy’s unexpected question, Amy nodded. ‘Sometimes, yes, but it doesn’t hurt in quite the same way as it did. There was a time when I would have had him back with open arms, but not any more.’ When her fiancé dropped her only a few days before they were due to be wed she had thought she would never get over it, but somehow she’d survived. The pain had faded; maybe one day it would go altogether. ‘I’m over it now, Mam. If he walked in that door right now, I’d speak to him, yes, but I wouldn’t feel anything. Not any more.’ This was in part true: nothing for it but to move forward. The love she once felt for him had long since gone.

Marie slid an arm round her. ‘I’m glad about that, lass,’ she said softly, before quickly changing the subject by asking brightly, ‘And you’re absolutely sure you don’t regret giving up promotion to come here and work with me?’

‘I’m content enough here,’ Amy answered. And she was.

In truth, Amy had not been too keen to give up her job, and at first had missed the banter and comradeship of her factory mates. But much to her astonishment she had come to enjoy working in the corner shop. It was easy enough work, and the tasks were always varied: selling tobacco, weighing out dried peas or potatoes, unwrapping the fragrant sacks of sugar and tea, or stacking the shelves with fresh eggs or that day’s newspapers.

Her mother was great company; though the wages were not as good as Amy had been used to, but there were other compensations – no journey to work, the pleasant work and the friendliness of the customers – and so she had settled into the job surprisingly well.

By six thirty, just as Amy had predicted, Dave arrived home. A man with no airs or graces, he was of good build, with a shock of fair hair and a homely smile, which he now bestowed on them. ‘By! Summat smells good.’

Coming into the back parlour he kissed Marie first. ‘Don’t tell me …’ throwing off his coat he draped it over the chair and sniffed the air, ‘… meat pie, roast potatoes and baked parsnips, am I right?’

Amy came for her kiss. ‘I don’t know when you’ve ever been wrong,’ she laughed.