Follow Your Dream

Once the bike was up and running, it was more difficult to find reasons to visit the Parkers. What was more, time was getting short. In July he would be eighteen, and then his call-up papers would arrive. But luck was on his side. He called in after work one Monday with the excuse of making sure that Lillian was managing all right, and found Mrs Parker in despair over the mangle.

‘It’s stuck,’ she explained, practically in tears. ‘And we’ve had PGs in over the weekend and there’s all these sheets to get dry.’

She indicated the big galvanised tub full of wet bedlinen.

James had rather overlooked Wendy’s mother in the past. There were so many large personalities in the family, what with Wendy herself, and little Lillian, and their old hag of a grandmother, as well as Boring Bob and Shifty Frank, as he thought of them, that Mrs Parker rather faded into the background. He smiled at her as she stood there in her floral overall, her wispy hair tied up turban-style in a scarf and her sleeves rolled up to reveal thin arms and red, work-roughened hands.

‘Would you like me to take a look at it for you?’ he asked.

Relief flooded her tired face. ‘Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful.’

It was the work of a moment. Mangles were hardly difficult pieces of machinery to understand. Mrs Parker was so fulsome in her thanks that James was ashamed to earn so much praise for so little.

‘Let me turn it for you,’ he offered. ‘You just feed the stuff in.’

Turning the heavy handle to squeeze the water out of the washing was easy for him, young and strong as he was. In no time the job was done. James carried the basket of damp sheets and towels and pillowcases into an outhouse, ready to be pegged out on the lines in the morning. Just as he had done this, Wendy’s father arrived home. He looked at James with suspicion.

‘You here again?’ he asked.

There was something about the man that irritated James. Maybe it was the apologetic stoop to his shoulders, or the way he always seemed to be looking for a way to get at other people. James supposed he must be bitter about having a crippled right arm and just managed to bite back a sarcastic reply. After all, this was Wendy’s father. He needed to keep in with him.

‘Oh, Doug,’ Mrs Parker said. ‘James has been such a help to me. He got my mangle going and everything.’ She turned to James with real warmth in her smile and for the first time he saw something of her daughters in her. ‘Won’t you come in for a cuppa, dear? Kettle’s boiling.’

After that, he seemed to be accepted as the fixer of anything mechanical, just as he was at home. Mr Parker couldn’t have done these tasks, not with his bad arm, but it amazed him that neither Bob nor Frank seemed capable of doing them. He was glad that they weren’t, though. He now had the perfect reason to be calling in at the Parkers’ whenever he liked. He soon found out what time Wendy got in from her job at the big department store at the top of the High Street, and timed his arrival to coincide with hers.

Of course, she knew perfectly well what he was up to.

‘You’re a regular little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?’ she commented. ‘Fixing Gran’s glasses, getting the clock going. Whatever would we do without you?’

‘I’m sure I could fix something for you, if you let me,’ James told her.

Wendy gave him one of her dismissive up-and-down looks. ‘I don’t think there’s anything I need from you, sweetie.’ And she teetered elegantly out of the room on her high heels.

Lillian, who always seemed to be around when he was there, launched into a savage take-off. She put her hand on her hip the way Wendy did and looked back over her shoulder with the same don’t-touch-me pout.

‘I don’t think there’s anything I need from you, sweetie,’ she repeated, with exactly Wendy’s intonation, and walked to the door with an exaggerated wiggle to her bottom.

Despite his disappointment at the brush-off, James had to laugh. ‘You’ve got her to a T,’ he said.

‘Huh, she thinks she’s so wonderful, but really she’s such a cow.’

‘Lillian, language!’ her mother protested feebly.

‘But she is,’ Lillian insisted.

Her mother handed her a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

‘Take these along to your grandmother, there’s a good girl.’

Lillian sighed and went. A few minutes later, she came back through the kitchen and out of the back door.

‘Got to go and get something for Gran,’ she explained as she went.

Her mother hardly seemed to notice.

This was something that James had picked up on since he’d been spending more time at the Parkers’. Lillian hadn’t just been whinging when she’d said it was horrible being the youngest. None of her family seemed to speak to her except to tell her off or get her to do something for them. She was forever running around doing errands. It had changed his view of what it was like to be part of a large family. Often when he was young he had yearned to have lots of brothers and sisters like the families he read about in adventure stories. Now he was beginning to realise that, though his family was a bit claustrophobic at times, at least they did all value each other. He certainly wasn’t left out like Lillian seemed to be. He brought up the subject with Susan one day.

‘Don’t you think it’s unfair, the way they all treat Lillian?’

His sister looked surprised. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, getting her to do all their jobs for them, like she’s was some kind of servant.’

Susan didn’t seem to think it was important. ‘Oh, she doesn’t mind. And it keeps her out of mischief. If she wasn’t doing something useful she might be getting into trouble. She’s got that wild look about her, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t. I think she’s rather a nice kid, and she’s getting a raw deal from that lot. She does all this stuff for them, but do they do anything for her? No. She cleans your Bob’s shoes for him every day, but it wasn’t him who helped her with that bike, it was me.’

Susan just laughed. ‘Oh, yes, and why did you do that, I wonder? Out of the kindness of your heart, or to get to see Wendy?’

She was right, of course.

‘At least I did do it. Now the bike’s roadworthy and Lillian can ride it,’ he pointed out, not wanting to lose the argument.

He didn’t like to admit that he was taking advantage of Lillian’s good nature himself. The dancing lessons were a great success. There had been a problem to start with, because both of them wanted to keep it a secret. There was always somebody around at the Parkers’ so going there was no good, but then Susan had started going out with Bob on Tuesday evenings as well as at the weekend, which just happened to be when his mother went to her Townswomen’s Guild meeting.

‘Won’t your parents think it’s a bit off, you coming round to mine of an evening?’ James asked. His mother always wanted to know where Susan was and certainly wouldn’t have let her go to an older boy’s house when nobody else was there. After all, he knew his intentions were entirely innocent, but the Parkers might not look at it that way.

Lillian just shrugged.

‘They won’t notice. Or, if they do, I’ll say I’m going round my friend Janette’s.’

He had to take her word for it. And she was an excellent teacher. They didn’t have a record player or much space, but they pushed back the furniture and rolled up the carpet square, then twiddled the tuner of the big Bush wireless till they found some dance music. Lillian showed him the basic steps to the waltz, quickstep and foxtrot, and soon he was moving round the floor with confidence.

‘I can do it!’ he said, as his feet began to obey the music.

Lillian beamed at him. ‘It’s fun, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘I never thought it would be, but it is.’

She was a strict teacher.

‘Don’t look at your feet,’ she told him. ‘Head up—arm higher—elbow out—now glide, glide, don’t just walk—think of Fred Astaire!’

‘That’ll be the day,’ James said.

He asked her how she came to learn to dance herself. ‘Did you say your friend taught you all this?’

‘Yeah, Janette. Her parents have got the newsagent’s on the London Road—you know?—and they let her go to lessons, lucky thing.’ She sighed. ‘She goes to everything—ballet, modern, tap and ballroom. It’s so unfair! She’s an only child and they let her do everything she wants. I wish I was her.’