Untitled Josephine Cox 4 Page 2

  ‘Oh, do you indeed!’

  Eileen turned away and was silent for so long that Tony looked at his watch, thinking of the restaurant reservation. He silently berated himself for tackling the subject of Marie and her letter only now. He’d thought the prospect of an evening out would have offset the news he had to break to Eileen. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d totally misjudged the situation, he reflected ruefully.

  When Eileen turned back Tony was not entirely comforted by the expression on her face, though her words could be interpreted as conciliatory.

  ‘All right, we’ll see her. Let’s hear what she has to say after all this time.’

  ‘Thank you, love. That’s very generous of you. She said she’d meet us late morning, at the Blue Bench. But actually, she said she’d be staying here tonight.’

  ‘Good grief, it gets worse! Why on earth …?’

  ‘I don’t know, Eileen. Maybe she didn’t want to miss us if I’d said no to the meeting or if we didn’t show.’

  ‘Sounds a bit desperate to me.’

  ‘Aye, well, I think you’re right there, love, but let’s just see what she has to say, eh?’

  Eileen sighed heavily. ‘All right, Tony. Whatever you want.’

  ‘Good girl.’ He kissed her cheek, glanced again at his watch and started to gather his loose change into his pocket. ‘Time we were off. We might be a few minutes late, even.’

  ‘You go down, Tony, and perhaps you’d better phone the restaurant from the foyer to say we’re running late while I check I’ve got what I need in my handbag.’

  As soon as Tony had closed the door behind him Eileen grabbed a sheet of the hotel stationery and quickly wrote a few words. Then she took one of the smart blue envelopes and addressed it to ‘Mrs Marie Foster’. If she were quick she’d be able to leave it at Reception while Tony was busy telephoning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ON WHAT PROMISED to be a glorious summer’s day, two workmen strode purposely back along Central Pier, the echoing thud of their heavy work-boots resounding a soulful rhythm against the ancient, wooden boards, their shoulders hefting their canvas tool bags.

  On this gloriously warm morning the first priority was a true labour of love; the task being the ongoing restoration of the famous Blue Bench, one of the oldest and much-loved landmarks along the entire coast.

  Painstakingly painted year after year in a shade as blue as the skies above, the old bench was instantly recognised and cherished by those who had often found comfort and peace when seeking to rest awhile.

  For over eighty years, as far as the records implied, the small, upright bench had proudly stood in the same place, from where it offered much-needed refuge for both locals and the many hordes of holidaymakers who arrived at the resort, year after year. Danny shook his head in admiration. It’s a great pity but we may never find out where she came from, he thought to himself. I’d love to know who put her there, standing forever strong against whatever the weather throws at her. Sometimes feel a bit sorry for the old thing, when the holidaymakers have gone, the Blue Bench could look sad and lonely, her paint would start to crack and peel and her arms would creak and rust. That bench must have witnessed many unforgettable sights, silently keeping the secrets of many sad souls who used her as refuge. He hoped she would stand there facing the elements long after he and John were departed, he thought, with a gentle smile lighting up his eyes.

  ‘Hey, Danny Boy!’ John Ferguson called out to his colleague, who had hurried ahead of him. ‘Slow down, man! There’s no need to rush about to start another hard day’s work? Especially in this damned heat!’ He gave a low, agonising groan. ‘If there was any justice, the two of us would be flat out on the beach right now, sunning ourselves!’

  ‘Fat chance o’ that, me old mate!’ Danny kept up his pace. ‘We’re not here to lie on the beach. Like it or not, you and I, Big John, are just two working men, bought and paid for. We’ve looked at those handrails, now we’d better see what else is to do. And I, for one, think the pair of us should be grateful to be still earning a wage at our time o’ life!’

  Having spoken his piece, Danny pressed on along the pier, with Big John ranting on as he followed. ‘Slow down! Why the big rush? I dare say that useless bench will outlive us, you see if I’m not right!’ Once John climbed onto his soapbox, there was no shutting him up. ‘I mean it, Danny Boy! It’s time we took it a bit easier. Like I said, we’re at a certain age now. We’re no longer two young men just larking about. We’ve grown old, and that’s the truth of it!’

  Their attention was duly diverted to watch some children scampering over the wide stone steps leading to the sea front and to the ice cream shop. ‘It’s a wonder the little devils don’t get seriously hurt … fighting and shoving like that.’ Shaking his head, John looked away and moved on.

  Danny took a moment to watch the children. ‘It’s like a Christmas sale at the Co-op!’ he chuckled. ‘Hordes of frantic women knocking seven bells out of each other, fighting like cat and dog in order to reach the bargains before anyone else. It’s downright mayhem, so it is!’

  John laughed, ‘Is that so? And how would you know that, eh? Unless you were there in the queues yourself?’

  Grabbing Danny’s shoulder, he pushed him forward. ‘Stop your idling now, and employ your mind to something useful. Come on, eyes front, before the boss catches us wasting precious time.’

  Having said his piece he increased his pace and strode steadily onward. Danny measured his step so as to walk alongside the big man, who appeared to have slipped into a silent world of his own. But Danny continued to chatter along.

  ‘We’ve had some good years haven’t we? Lived for the moment, with our boozing til dawn, backing the horses good and bad, mostly losing our shirt into the bargain! Enjoying ourselves come what may, never giving a thought to the consequences.’

  Their wayward antics over the years had now begun to hit them hard as age caught up with them, but each man always looked at the bright side, no matter the woe or the weather.

  John nudged his pal, ‘We were good at the game though and still are. When we’re not worn and knackered from a hard day’s work, that is.’

  That’s what Danny Boy could do to him, always put a smile on his face. The twinkle in his eye grew bright as his thoughts wandered back to good times.

  Ever practical, John remained a straight-talking fellow. In the main a hard-working man, he liked to work and earn a wage, and he enjoyed the treats that money could buy. Now in his sixties, he was thankful to be healthy and able, although he deeply regretted the years passing by so quickly. A man could still dream his dreams, but he did so now with a heavy heart.

  He was as huge and as handsome as he’d been in his prime and his heavy-booted feet still made the walkways tremble as he thumped along.

  Danny Magee and John Ferguson had been close friends and workmates for more years than either of them cared to remember. By now, they were more like brothers than workmates. Each man had earned the respect of the other, having been tried and tested through good times and bad. They rarely rowed, but when they did – usually about work and women – it was fast and furious, then soon forgotten. In some ways theirs was an unlikely alliance, each man having strongly held views and differing opinions on many subjects, though they shared a powerful passion for the after-work leisure, especially football. If George Best was their hero, Stanley Matthews had been their god. More often than not these days, this leisure time would find them growing increasingly rowdy and comical as they relayed stories of their heyday, while they supped their pints of beer, played their shots at the billiard table, and still made time to ogle the good-looking women.

  Danny Boy, grown slighter and shorter with the years, his hair now thinning, turned back to address his mate in the musical, Irish lilt he’d retained. ‘John, me old friend, will ye move yerself! Don’t forget, we planned to sneak away early tonight and there’s work to be done.’

  ‘D’you think I don�
�t know that?’ Big John spat on the ground. ‘You don’t need to tell me how it is and I know we should be grateful to have work to go to. I understand that.’

  ‘Good. And let’s not forget Blackpool in summer does have its compensations,’ Danny gently reminded him. He gave a wide grin as he stole a peep over the railings and down to the beach. ‘Hey!’ He pointed excitedly. ‘Take a look at that little beauty stretched out. There, the one against the wall on the pink towel!’ He made a whooping sound. ‘It’s a crying shame we’re not down there, taking it easy and chatting up these dolly birds.’

  John treated himself to a peek at the blonde and gave a cheeky wink. ‘Let’s not forget that we’re a bit long in the tooth for chasing the young’uns. It might improve our chances if we had money to throw about, but neither of us has ever been fortunate in that respect.’

  ‘That’s very true, more’s the pity,’ Danny sighed. ‘The sad truth is we’re meant to work till we drop.’ There was real regret in his voice as thoughts of various women who had passed through his life, and one in particular, crowded his mind.

  As his mood lowered, he forged ahead, calling back to his mate, ‘Move yourself, will you? And don’t think I can’t see you sneaking another glance at the half-clad women down there. We’re agreed we both need this job, at least for a few more years. So let’s get on with it …’

  John tried to raise the mood with some banter. ‘As for you, Danny Boy, you try to keep your eyes ahead, too. Forget the beautiful women, ’cos they’re not looking at you, are they?’ He gave a snigger. ‘While they would happily spend a night with a fine man like myself, I’m not altogether sure they would really appreciate a crinkly-faced little squirt like you.’

  Danny took the harmless dig in the spirit in which it was given. ‘I’ll have you know there’s a heap o’ life in this old dog yet. I’m nowhere near ready for the knacker’s yard.’

  John gave a mischievous wink. ‘Me neither. And though I say it myself, there is still a good tune left in this old fiddle.’ Giggling like two naughty schoolboys, they each recalled the wild and naughty antics in a misspent youth, when their manly prowess and lust for the girls was at full throttle. Life had been theirs for living to the full, and pretty girls had flocked round them like bees to a honey-pot.

  Eventually the big man broke the mood with a great sigh. ‘Well, Danny Boy, we really did have some great times back in the day, didn’t we, eh? How desperately I wish we were young and virile again!’

  Danny gave a sorry little snort. ‘You mean when we had more hair on our heads, and naughty tattoos proudly across our chests and a woman on each arm?’ He sighed at the memories. ‘Now the girls have moved on, and the tattoos are sagging.’ His voice dropped as he added sombrely, ‘Just like everything else if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Oh, but I do.’ John lapsed into silence. ‘I really am worried about the future,’ he admitted eventually.

  ‘How could we have been so stupid? We should have made plans for our old age. We’ve been enjoying ourselves too much, that’s why!’

  ‘We’ve only ourselves to blame. We’ve never earned much but what we had we spent. Still, what’s done is done and we can’t ever turn the clock back. It’s no use grumbling about it! Instead, we should be thanking our lucky stars that we’ve been able to enjoy life and still be as healthy as we are. Look on the bright side, we’ve got good jobs and a regular wage. And though we’ve left it a bit late we are now, at last, starting to think about the future.’

  ‘Not every working man is as fortunate as us. Look at poor Len Waterman. He’s a year or two younger than us, but he’s so crippled with arthritis he can hardly get along. Fate can be so cruel. If he hadn’t fallen off that roof, he might have been working alongside us even yet. But he seems to get worse as the days pass. More’s the pity.’

  ‘But by God, don’t the years just fly by. Even when we were in our forties we had enough knowledge to start our own business. We should have taken the bull by the horns back then,’ John said quietly. ‘You’re right, Danny Boy. We’ll just have to concentrate on what we’ve actually achieved and not dwell on what we’ve lost. Who knows, we might yet give another thought to the idea of setting up in our own business? We can make a success of it if that’s what we aim for. ’

  Both men felt uplifted to have discussed most of the matters that had been weighing heavily on their minds. They squared their shoulders and put a spring in their step as they continued along the Promenade, ready and raring to set about the day’s workload.

  Taking a grubby old handkerchief from his trouser pocket, John slapped it across his nose and blew hard. ‘Dammit, I reckon I’ve got a cold coming on.’ He moaned under his breath, before blowing his nose again. ‘Look there! Do you see that tired old woman across the way? Poor old bugger, she’s been lumbered with that huge bag … no doubt filled to the brim with kids’ stuff, all dumped on her by her family. Really struggling she is.’

  Danny stole a glance at the woman. ‘Bless her old heart. I’m sorely tempted to go and help her. She looks well and truly done in, so she does.’

  John produced from his overalls pocket a piece of paper on which was scrawled a list of tasks for the week, some already crossed off. ‘Come on, matey! We’d best crack on. No time for rescuing damsels in distress, and look her family are catching her now. I wouldn’t mind betting she’s got a little dram o’whisky hidden inside that bag. The crafty old devil.’ He gave a deep-throated chuckle, before waving the list under Danny’s nose. ‘I expect you’ll want to start on her first?’ He gestured in the direction of the Blue Bench. ‘She’s looking a bit weathered of late, don’t you think?’ John strode on, clutching his list and grumbling as he went to his own tasks, leaving the bench to Danny.

  He paused to admire her, ‘She’s like an old friend,’ he murmured, ‘this place would never be the same without her. And you’re right … she does seem to be looking a bit worse for wear, but you can’t blame the old girl for looking worn out. Not when she’s facing the elements twenty-four hours a day, year in year out.’ He chuckled loudly, ‘In some ways, she’s a bit like us, don’t you think? Forging onwards, whatever the weather throws at us, and just like her, we’ve learned to stand strong against the elements. I’d love to know what her story is.’

  When Danny looked up at the Blue Bench, his ready smile faltered and his heart seemed to flip over. It couldn’t be … Surely not! The lovely Marie Foster sitting on the bench – alone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MARIE HAD ARRIVED at the Blue Bench very early this morning. After she’d received Eileen’s note she decided to skip breakfast at the hotel in case she bumped into Eileen and Tony in the dining room. Instead, she’d bought a cup of tea at a seafront stall and would have enjoyed the stroll along the Promenade had it not been for her nervousness.

  Why had she put off suggesting this meeting all these years? The longer she’d left it, the harder it had become to make this move. Even now she was halfway to thinking she’d just scarper and forget all about it, especially as Eileen’s note didn’t have what you might call a friendly tone.

  Tony has agreed to meet you so I suppose I had better come along, too. I don’t know what your game is, Marie, but don’t you dare ever, ever tell him our secret.

  Well, that left no room for doubt.

  And just what was her ‘game’, Marie asked herself as she sat down on the Blue Bench, clutching her tea tightly. What on earth had possessed her to come to Blackpool by herself, hoping to be reconciled with Eileen and Tony and to share with them an important part of her life? Her conscience had troubled her for years and she wanted to be free of that burden now, while she was still physically and mentally able. But what had seemed like a sound idea at home – to meet Eileen and Tony in Blackpool while they were relaxed on their holiday, a place they had shared so much laughter, so many good memories – now seemed fraught with potential disaster. Should she just go now – get up and leave and pretend to herself she’d never so
ught this meeting? Her life-long demon was even now sitting on her shoulder, whispering in her ear that this whole stupid plan was doomed from the start.

  But that demon had always led her by the nose, and now, twenty years after Derek’s death, she owed it to her family to shrug it off and be a better person.

  Derek – every day it was hard to believe he’d been gone for so many years. Dead of a heart attack and only in his forties. So Marie had lived on without him, though she still had Anne, and her lovely husband, Dave … and of course Cathy, that dear girl. Cathy, the light of their lives, an unlooked-for joy, was now on the brink of womanhood, and Marie owed it to her – to all of them – to reveal the truth at last. What if she herself were to die suddenly, as Derek had done, and never tell what it was her duty – her duty, not Anne or Dave’s – to tell? How would Cathy think of her then?

  Marie could still picture Eileen’s face that night, they’d been sitting at the same kitchen table they’d sat and talked over for years. When it became clear to Marie that Eileen had discovered their one night together, she felt she had to confess all. But in that moment, fearful that Eileen and Tony might want to claim her baby as their own, she told the most awful, shameful lie. It had been a wicked thing to say and she’d regretted it every moment.

  And now, she felt she needed to go back to the beginning, where it all started. She looked out over the Promenade to where the gentle waves washed the beach. Already there were families set up on the sand, colourful towels laid out, deck chairs in clusters, brightly striped windbreaks – more for privacy than to keep any breeze at bay on this glorious morning – and, as always in summer, the piping voices of excited children.