View Full Version : North Enders
Unregistered
10-08-08, 11:37 AM
It was quiet in North End. The school was closed for the holidays and old Vera missed the sounds from the children in the playground. She always found it comforting as she sat alone in her living room.
That morning....
Erica Boulton
10-08-08, 01:58 PM
...Vera was feeling particularly lonely because she had received a letter in the post from her sister declining the invitation to stay over for the Festival. For years, Marge and Vera had walked around the trail together, sometimes agreeing on the merits of a display. Other times the displays led to an argument. They didn't always share the same tastes - Vera preferring a traditional style of...
art. Whereas Marge’s house was what she called ‘minimalistic’ in style, Vera preferred to clutter hers with things she had collected over the years - souvenirs from holidays with the family in Skegness and prizes she had won at her weekly game of Bingo. Once she had given Marge one of her winnings - an orange jug that had been made by a Wirksworth potter, but it must have been put away in a cupboard because Vera had never seen it on display in Marge’s house.
Vera sat back in her armchair and sighed, allowing the letter to slip to the floor. She was just about to doze off, when.…
when the doorbell rang. A young man was standing on the doorstep. He gave her a big smile, “Mrs Duckworth, yes? Er…I’m here on behalf of the art & architecture trail committee…you know, the festival. Well, we were wondering…it is Mrs Duckworth, yes?”
Vera was getting a little impatient. It was also cold standing at the open door, but she had been told never to invite strangers in to the house. “Yes, I’m Mrs Duckworth. What is it you want?” The man cleared his throat. “Well, it’s like this. Your sister, Mrs Simpson gave us your name some time ago. She recommended your garden for a sculpture. Well…we wondered if you would be willing to…er…let us…”.
Vera decided to let him in. Inwardly, she was cursing her sister, especially as she would be left on her own to deal with it all. “What kind of sculpture is it?”, Vera asked, fearful of the idea of having a nude body standing in her garden. “Oh, it’s beautiful, really beautiful. You will like it, I am sure”, the young man replied. For some reason, Vera wasn’t convinced...
James Ogilvy
11-08-08, 03:04 PM
...the thought of having a nude statue (of either sex) standing in her garden filled her with dread. What would her neighbours think? How could she look out of her window? Where would she hide?
Then she suddenly had an idea. "Have you a photograph of the statue?", she asked. The young man hesitated. "Well, no. You see, it hasn't been made yet. The sculpture needed to know first what kind of space he had before he could make it."
It then occurred to Vera that the sculpture was indeed the young man standing in front of her. She wished her sister Marge was around to advise her. He seemed such a nice young man, nicely dressed and clean shaven. So many artists had beards. Vera felt that she had to make a decision. "Well, as long as you promise me that the statue will be...er dressed, I will think about it", she said. "Dressed?", he echoed. "What do you mean...dressed?". And then he began to laugh..."Oh Mrs Duckworth, you are a scream! The statue will be of a....
Hi James, I like the way this story is developing, but can I just remind you that the spelling of "the sculpture needed to know" and the "sculpture was indeed the young man" in both cases should read sculptor.
When I've given some thought to the plot, I promise to write something...!
statue will be of a domestic animal, I promise you. The sculptor does a nice line in hens. Of course, you could have a dressed chicken, if you'd like that!".
Vera relaxed and smiled. She was beginning to take to the young man. "Tell me, what is your name?", she asked.
Unregistered
13-08-08, 08:15 AM
Vera relaxed and smiled. She was beginning to take to the young man. "Tell me, what is your name?", she asked.
"Tony...Grimley. Nice to meet you". He held out her hand to shake hers, but they were interrupted by a ring at the door.
"Just a minute...Tony, I must see who's there", Vera said. She hurried out, giving Tony an opportunity to look around her room. There was very little to interest him, although he did spot what looked like a little piece of Beswick in the shape of a pig sitting in front of her cabinet.
The conversation at the door sounded a little heated....
but
it was ignored by Tony whose eyes had alerted to a photograph on Vera’s mantelpiece. It was of a customary wedding picture, but the stance of the bride and groom was unbelievably similar to the photo that had always stood on his mother’s dressing table. His mother had been proud of the fact that the photographer had chosen to move away from the customary wedding pose and have her standing rather than the groom.
Tony picked up the frame and looked at the figures more closely. He could hardly believe that the couple on the photograph were indeed his own parents. Steadying himself by holding on to the mantelpiece, Tony managed to stop keeling over in a faint.
He could hear Vera at the door saying, “I’m sorry, but I really do not want any more sculptures in my garden. Thank you for calling” and the door closing. Tony tried hard to brace himself before Vera came back into the room, but he could not stop himself from shaking.
“Ccan..can I sit down please,” Tony asked.
Tony opened his eyes to see a glass of water being handed to him. “Here, drink this…slowly now”. Tony took a sip then asked, “Did I pass out?”. “Yes duck, you did”, Vera replied. “You must have had a quite a shock. I don’t know what it's about, duck, but something tells me its to do with the photograph…you must have been looking at it because you dropped it when you went over”. Tony looked down and saw the shattered glass collected in Vera’s dustpan.
“Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs Duckworth. I will get a new frame for you”, Tony said. “Oh don’t worry about that duck, just you calm yourself. When you feel better, you must tell me all about it. But slowly now. We don’t want you going over again, do we?”, Vera said with a kindly smile. Tony needed time to...
recover, but the image of his parents in that photograph kept on returning as if to haunt him. How was he going to explain to this kindly old lady who had allowed him to use her garden for the trail? How were they related to her? Well…were they related? If not, why did she have their photograph on display? Tony half hoped he might … just might find himself in the comfort of his own bed having woken up from a vivid dream. It was all so unimaginable…
and yet when Tony looked at the old lady who was staring at him with such concern, he felt he knew her. She reminded him slightly of someone.
"Do you have any children Mrs Duckworth?" Vera chuckled. "Not me, me duck. Live on me ownsome, always have done. Well, me and the Beswick pig that I bet you've spotted! Not worth anything though, the pig. I dropped him from the mantle once and his curly tail chipped off on the fireplace. That's why he's in the cabinet now, under lock and key. Not cos he's worth owt, just that I'm a clumsy mare!"
Tony smiled. He liked the way Vera spoke but when he listened to her the feeling that she looked familiar lessened. It was obvious that whoever Vera reminded him of did not sound at all like Vera.
"I do have a sister. Our Marge lives away from here. She usually comes to look round the festival with me but this year she's written to say she's staying at 'ome. I shouldn't be bothered really - last year she caused a scene in one house by mentioning how mucky someone's curtains were. The she spilled her cuppa all ovver a patchwork quilt someone had spent hours on. I am bothered though. That she's not coming. It won't be the same this year".
Tony felt sympathetic towards this old dear. She was obviously very lonely. The name Marge meant nothing to him either though. He must figure out how this lady came to have the photograph of his parents on her mantlepiece. He had a peculiar feeling that fate had sent him to this venue for a reason. He was meant to find out. Vera's voice made him look up.
"Could you do a pig? Fer the garden. Not dressed mind. Just a pig". Vera was a simple soul, Tony thought. Lived a simple life. How he wished his life was more simple.....
… Identifying his parents in the photograph added yet a further complication. He just had to find out more.
“I’d be delighted to make a pig for you, Mrs Duckworth. Perhaps with a flower behind one ear…would you like that?”.
Vera said she'd like that very much. She almost wanted to give him a kiss, but instead she went into the kitchen, filled the kettle, put two mugs out and dropped a teabag in each. She could hardly contain her excitement and decided to put out a slice or two of Killers carrot cake she always kept by for special occasions.
She laid everything out on a tray and went into the living room. Tony was still sitting where she had left him, still looking at the photograph with a puzzled frown on his face. “Here yer are, Tony luv, have a nice cuppa. It’ll do yer the world of good”, Vera said, “and then yer can tell why yer came over…all funny-like”.
“Perhaps if you told me who…who they are”, said Tony, pointing to the photograph.
Vera smiled sadly. "Yer know 'em don't yer? In good time I'll tell yer why that photo is sitting there but I would like to know summat about yer first off. I've told yer I've got no children but what about you? Who do you go 'ome to of a night?"
"I'm married to a girl I met at University. I was studying art and she was studying law. She's not a lawyer though. Didn't enjoy the work and she re-trained as a florist. Her name is Anna."
Vera thought long and hard before she asked her next question. "On yer wedding pictures. Did you pose like them two?" Vera pointed to the photo in the broken frame.
"Actually, no. Anna was very adamant that she wanted the traditional groom standing, bride sitting pose". Vera sighed loudly in relief.
"You married a clever girl Tony. No good can come of trying to change the way things should be done. It's a bad omen that. It's been proven by them pair!" Again Vera pointed at the photograph. Tony was beginning to feel bewildered. This woman obviously knew his parents and knew something about them that he did not know.
The telephone rang loudly. Vera answered it impatiently. What a time for the phone to ring just as she was getting to know this wonderful young man. The caller was Marge and Vera began to frown as she listened to her sister. Marge was speaking with urgency.
"You must put that photograph away Vera! I'm telling you now that our Tony is in your area doing that festival thing and he might end up in your front room."
"What makes yer think that would happen Marge? How do yer know?"
"You know I still see his mother sometimes when I go to Tesco. Mind, I do try and avoid the till she's working cos she only goes on about how she only does the job to get her out of the house, not cos they need the money with them being so well off. Blah Blah. Any road, I was there last week and she told me that Tony was working on the festival where you live and I have this funny feeling that something's in the air Vera."
Vera smiled. "Is that why yer decided to stay at home Marge? Out of harm's way? Avoid any nastiness the way yer always do instead of sorting things out once and for all? Well, summat is in the air Marge and it's time it weren't in the air no more! I wouldn't have moved the picture our Marge, even if you'd rung me in time, which as it happens, yer didn't." Vera put the phone down with a bang. She turned and smiled at Tony.
"Don't look so fretful lad. That were just your Great Aunt Marge sticking her oar in where it's not wanted."
Tony began to comprehend the meaning of Vera's words.
"Great Aunt Marge? You mean..we are related?". Tony sat back in his chair, almost spilling his mug of tea. He wasn't sure how he should react, but he felt a sense of great relief. At least there was some explanation, and he waited for Vera to continue...
The telephone rang again. "Would that be my Great Aunt Marge?", Tony asked, hoping he hadn't sounded sarnarcastic. He didn't want to upset the old dear, but he was getting more and more anxious to learn the truth. "Aye, more like it than not. But she can wait. I'm not going to answer it."
Tony marvelled at her courage, but....
Sorry about 'sarconastic'...but its quite a nice word, isn't it?
Tony marvelled at her courage, but also felt concern that if the two sisters fell out, he would be no nearer getting to the truth. He tried again, "If Great Aunt Marge is your sister, does this mean that I am also related to you?". Vera gave him a reassuring pat on his knee. "Well, I reckon you are, duck. And I tell you why.... It all began when your mother - that woman in the photograph met up with our David. David Grimley. Eeh, she was a one. He'd met her in Spain - she was a right Spanish beauty. We all tried our best, but it wasn't easy. Well, you know how it is.. different temperament to us lot. She....
“Just a minute, Tony politely interrupted her, "I think you’re going too fast for me. Can you tell me what…er ...Aunt Vera – do I call you that?”.
“Of course, lad, that’s who I am. And you are our brother’s grandson…that’s what make you our great nephew.. so what were you going to say, duck?”.
This was the answer to the top of Tony’s list of many questions. At least he understood their relationship. But he was amazed to learn his mother was Spanish. And because he resembled her it explained why he had always been told that he had a Mediterranean-look about him. All his through his schooldays, his teachers had made some remark about his looks. And there had been the odd occasion when he had been absurdly accused of being a….
Erica Boulton
23-08-08, 03:12 PM
a threat to the nation. It had secretly amused him because if anything he was a bit of a coward and tried to avoid conflict even of the mildest form.
His mother, he knew, was still considered to be a beauty, even now in her late fifties. But he had been brought up in a happy home, where his parents had always demonstrated a great deal of affection towards each other. So what was this ‘different temperament’ all about? And why on earth was his mother working in Tescos?
He was suddenly aware of Vera waiting for him to give her an answer, but all he could do was shrug his shoulders. “Yer in a bit of a tizz, aren’t you duck?”, she said. “I can understand. It’s all been a bit of a shock. So, what do yer want to know?”.
Tony tried to speak, but somehow the words got stuck in his throat. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. In a half whisper, he said, “Well, everything…anything and everything you’ve got to tell me. It’s all so…so..”.
“Well let me tell you from the beginning, eh? Is that what you want?”. Tony nodded his head and attempted a smile.
“Well, your dad was a bright young lad. Got good marks at Gell’s, then went to university. Always good at languages…even as a kid”, she began to laugh, “He used to have us all in stitches, especially at parties….now where was I? Oh yes… he found a good job and it was on one of his trips to Spain that he met Anna-Maria, yer mum”.
“But my mother’s name is Margaret!”, Tony almost shouted. “Aye…that’s it. When she came over to settle with our David, she wanted to become…er..all English. So, she changed her name….like er…that Princess Margaret. She got rid of all her clothes..and started buying Englishified ones. Yer know the type…twin sets, tweed skirts with pleats…things like that. God knows, he wasn’t made of money…but whatever she wanted she got.”
“Where did they live?”, Tony asked, hoping to move the story on. “Where else, lad but here in North End. In this very house. She didn't get on with her neighbours,of course. At that time there was a....
James Ogilvy
25-08-08, 01:26 PM
lot of people who knew each other very well. They didn't take to newcomers. Silly really, but that's the way they were in those days. So, on one side there was Ken who lived all alone. Right grumpy old bugger, he was. Even his kids didn't talk to him, so yer can imagine. And on t'other side, there were a young couple with a family of four kids - all under six who made one hell of a racket from morning till night. And, across the road...
There was a loud knock on the front door. “Oh heck, who’s that now”, grumbled Vera as she struggled to get up from her armchair. “Never had such a busy morning…it’s non-stop. All right, all right, I’m coming…keep yer hair on!”.
“Would you like me to see who it is?”, Tony asked.
“Oh aye, duck. Would yer? That’d be nice. Yer a good lad…”
Tony felt he needed some air and he looked forward to the prospect of taking a breath while he was at the door. He opened it to find a woman standing on the doorstep. Her resemblance to Vera was startling and he was quite taken aback.
“You must be my great aunt Marge”, he said limply.
“Aye, that I am. There’s summat wrong with her doorbell. Well, are yer going to let me in?”
Before he could reply, she swept past Tony and stormed into Vera’s living room. “Ah, I knew it. Yer’ve been hiding the lad, keepin him to yerself!”
Vera’s face reddened, “I’ve done no such thing. I were goin to give yer a call, but t’lad keeled right over when he heard yer shoutin through phone. He’s only just come round, poor duck.”
Marge looked closely at Tony. “Aye, I reckon he does look a bit shaken up. The livin image of yer Dad. Isn’t that so, Vera?”
“Aye”, agreed Vera.
“So what cock and bull story have yer been telling him?”, Marge demanded and before Vera could answer, she pointed to the cup and saucer on the table and said, “Yes, and I’ll have a cuppa too. I’m right parched”.
“Don’t get up, Aunt Vera. I’ll go and make it”, Tony collected the empties and went into the kitchen.
Although the two sisters looked alike, their personalities were clearly different. Through the door he could hear Marge interrogating Vera.
“Yer can’t go on protectin her…or yourself. Better he knows the truth…”
Erica Boulton
28-08-08, 11:07 AM
Better he knows the truth…”, Marge said drawing their argument to a close.
After he had returned to the living room and handed the mugs to his aunts, Tony drew up a chair close to Marge and said, “Your sister Vera was just in the middle of telling me about my mother when you called at the door. I think we were up to her difficulty living with her neighbours here in North End. But I suppose there is a lot more to come and I’d like to hear it…but without you two bickering at each other. Is that OK? I’m in no hurry, so which of you is going to continue?”, Tony asked.
It took roughly an hour for Tony to be told that his mother began to lead a double life. Her efforts at becoming ‘Englishified’ and her homesickness for Spain, caused her conflict between the two cultures. When she heard that Flamenco classes were setting up in the Town Hall, she was delighted and registered as a student. In this way, she had the best of both worlds.
That was until her pregnancy began to show. For the last few months she couldn’t attend the classes and she became depressed. Even the birth of her baby was of
little consolation. If anything, it made her worse. She rejected the child and didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
“We had to get yer on a bottle cos she wouldn’t feed you. No way. But our David was wonderful, wasn’t he, Marge? He had his job to do, but as soon as he got home, he would see to the nappies, take yer out in yer pram and put yer to bed. When you woke up in the night, it would be yer dad who’d go in to see yer”, Vera said.
“Aye, and durin the day, who was there to help? Why us two bloody fools!”, said Marge.
“Its what they now call post-natal depression”, said Tony.
“Aye, that maybe. But it was a bloody nuisance at the time. As soon as she could, she got back to her Flamenco, in her bloody long skirts and montilla-thing that she had sent over from Spain. Twas the only bloody thing that made her happy…well, that and the bloody chap, of course.”
“Did you say chap?”, Tony said in surprise.
“Well, of course! What do yer think it’s all about, yer ninny!”
“So you are saying she used to meet up with a man at the flamenco classes?”, Tony asked.
Marge thumped the cushion beside her in exasperation. “For goodness sake, lad… don’t you understand? He was the bloody teacher. A Spaniard just like her.”
“His name was Carlos”, Vera explained. “Oh yes, he was a right handsome man – just like she was a beauty. There had been nothing in it at first…until he began to teach her the tango. Everyone reckoned it was the tango that did it. Yer know..all very..”.
Erica Boulton
30-08-08, 05:34 PM
…very simmering and sexy. Yer’ve seen how they do it on the telly. They look into each other’s eyes and well..yer know..sexy. At first she’d go twice a week, but as soon as he started teaching her the tango the lessons increased to three, sometimes four a week.”
“Humph!”, Marge interrupted. “She should have been at home lookin after her baby. And yer too old to be rantin on like this. Yer makin a right fool of yerself.”
“No, she isn’t, Aunt Marge”, Tony said. “She’s describing the tango. Anyway, go on what happened with Carlos? What did my Dad make of it all? Did my mum and Carlos…did they fall in love?”
Marge thumped the cushion again. “Ah! What did I tell yer?”, she said looking at Vera. “I warned yer…but yer wouldn’t listen”.
“What have I said? What do you mean you warned her? I don’t understand?” Tony said, suddenly feeling a little nervous.
The two sisters were clearly disturbed. Vera had become agitated and a little tearful, Marge vehemently thumped the cushion, so much so that it split at the seams.
“Tell him. Go on tell him!” Marge shouted.
“I can’t….you tell him.”
“Look in bloody mirror, lad,” Marge shouted. “What do yer see?”
Tony went over to the mirror above the mantelpiece. The reflection was one he had always been accustomed to…wide forehead, dark brown eyes, with curly long eyelashes. He’d always received compliments for his eyelashes. His hair was dark brown, verging on black. Tony looked closer and noticed that he had slightly cut himself on the left cheek with the razor that morning. His skin was dark and…
“Oh no! You don’t mean…are you telling me that…”
“Oh bloody yes. Yer a ripe Spanish onion if ever there was one!”, Marge gloated.
Tony sat down and buried his head in his hands. His thoughts and emotions seemed to be fighting a battle with each other. It was bad enough having to cope with what his Aunt Marge had told him, but he also found her use of words very offensive. For the second time that morning, he felt suffocated in Vera’s over-stuffed little room.
“Look, would you mind very much if I just took a stroll outside to collect my thoughts?”
“No lad, yer just do that”, Vera replied. “Yer need to be on yer own for a while.”
Tony gave her a kiss on the cheek to show his gratitude. He smiled politely at Marge and let himself out.
Outside the door, he opted for a walk towards Coldwell Street. Typical for that particular summer, it was a grey, cold day and he was glad he had remembered to pick up his scarf on Vera’s chair in the hall before venturing out. As he passed the Royal Oak he toyed with the idea of going in and ordering a large scotch, but decided he’d postpone that until his return journey.
At the corner, he crossed the road and slowly approached the Town Hall. There
was a chip wrapper on the pavement, blowing about in the breeze and Tony kicked at it with force. He felt angry - felt as if his whole life had been a lie. He was angry that his parents had kept so much from him. Angry that his true parentage had been hidden. His thoughts raced and past events spun through his mind like a whirlwind. The routine questions from members of the medical profession about his medical history and any problems within the family. He had always answered the same way, "Nothing to declare!". But what if there was something to declare? What if his Spanish family had some illnesses running through their history that he needed to be aware of? Madness for example, for he truly thought his mother must be quite mad if she was able to live so piously knowing how she had carried on in her past. What else had she done?
Tony's overall feeling was one of sadness, and at the heart of that sadness was the fact that he had missed out on family he knew nothing of until now. Vera seemed like a real old dear. Marge, he was sure, would also have added colour to his life which he realised had been quite devoid of extended family. He thought of David, the man he had always believed to be his father and felt tears begin to fall down his cheeks. He loved his dad. Yes, he was his dad whatever his actual parentage may be. The man had looked after him through illnesses, taken him to his first football match, made airfix models with him and helped him with the worst maths homework. David was the real reason Tony went home for Sunday lunch and popped in a couple of evenings a week. Tony realised that his mother had never done anything for him unless there was a valid reason why David couldn't do it. His mother had kept him at arm's length throughout his childhood and now was only interested in him so that she could brag to her cronies about his achievements. Tony pursed his lips, turned on his heel and walked determinedly back towards Vera's house. He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad to come home now. David needed to be here with them while he learned the truth about his mother's double life.
The sign of the Royal Oak tempted him to go in and order the scotch he had promised himself. Somehow the fact that the Royal Oak was the oldest pub in Wirksworth affected Tony. Just how many stories had been told here over the years? Presumably thousands of romantic ones similar to that of his mother and Carlos – and how many had resulted in some offspring like him being hurt. He ordered a double whisky and sat down by the window. After a couple of sips, it suddenly occurred to him that his father may never have known the truth. Had his mum deceived his father and led him to believe Tony was his son? And how devastating would it be at his time of life to have it all revealed?
He needed to get back to his aunts, so he downed his drink, left the pub and hurried back to Vera’s house.
“Did my dad know that I wasn’t his child? I want to know the truth”, Tony asked. as soon as he returned to Vera’s living room.
“Eeh lad, yer lookin right upset.” She leant forward and sniffed. “And yer’ve been drinkin. Don’t do yer any good, lad. Take my word for it.”
“Please Aunt Vera…I know you are being kind, but please tell me the truth. I need to know. Did my dad know that I wasn’t his son?”.
“No lad. He didn’t. Well, that is until….”
“Until what? Aunt Vera, until what?”
“Until yer all went traipsing off to Spain, that’s when”, Marge butted in. “Yer mother couldn’t help herself…the selfish bugger. Had to go lookin for her Carlos, didn’t she. And that’s when it happened”.
“What happened?”
“Are yer half daft or what? What der think happened. Carlos had only to take one look at yer and he knew. He’d got two kids already, but he just had to claim yer as well. Yer were goin on for about fifteen, but yer were the spitting image of em. Right how-to-do, it were.”
"I remember that trip!" Tony gasped. "We went to a festival, some dancers were performing and mum didn't take her eyes of them once. At the end of the show mum ran over to the leader of the dancers and was laughing and smiling like I'd never seen her before. Dad stood with me. I was totally bored by it all but had to sit through it and whilst mum was chatting to this man, my Dad was standing with his arm round my shoulder, staring across at them. When mum came back Dad told her we were going back to the hotel and Dad and I left. Mum didn't come with us." Tony looked at his Aunts. "She stayed behind with that man and came home really late. I think my parents had a row because next morning they weren't really speaking and Dad organised some trips for me and him to go on without mum to take us to the end of the holiday."
"There you go! Our poor David!" cried Vera. "I knew she'd rubbed his nose in it on that blasted holiday!"
"The witch!" shrieked Marge. "I know she's your mother lad but she's wicked and that's the truth. That Carlos was bad news and your mother couldn't see past the end of her nose cos she was smitten with him. Poor David. I'm just glad you knew nowt of it at the time. "
"Ah but later when Carlos came over here seeking em out it were harder to hide you our Tony. He came to Wirksworth all het up and blustering about wanting to see his lad! We told him nowt, did we gal?" The two sisters smiled triumphantly at each other. "Went from here with a right face on him, that he did!" finished Vera.
“And..and do you think it was during that row mum told Dad about me being Carlo’s child?”
“I’m damned well sure, lad. Things were never the same between them after they got back from that holiday. And when yer started to show a talent for arty things, like what you do now, David felt that yer’d inherited it from yer Spanish dad. Mind you, he weren’t half relieved that yer didn’t go in for dancing. Eeh, that were his biggest worry, weren’t it, our Marge?”
“He bloody well would have hated it and rightly so, to my mind!”
“Yes, I know dad wasn’t happy about me studying Art at University. He thought it was a waste of time and worried that I wouldn’t make a living. It was the one thing we could never agree on.”
“Well, yer did alright, lad”, said Vera. “And yer’ve got yer Anna. When are yer bringin tha lass to meet us?”
The mention of his wife made Tony feel a dreadful pang of guilt. He excused himself and went into the kitchen to call her on his mobile. It wasn’t easy, especially with his battery running low, but he managed to convey in abbreviated form all that had happened. “Yes, yes I’ll see you in a while”, he said. “They both want to meet you. How do you feel about that? Yeah, I know. Do you want me to warn them? No, okay. Love you too. Bye.”
James Ogilvy
05-09-08, 02:37 PM
While he was in the kitchen, he shouted, "Do you want another cuppa?" Without waiting for a reply, he filled the kettle and switched it on. He was ready for more than a cup of tea. He was hungry. Coupled with a feeling of headiness after the whisky. He cursed himself for drinking on an empty stomach. Never a clever thing to do. He took a look in Vera's Bread Bin to see if he could cadge a crust then thought better of it. At this stage he didn't want to do....
anything that might upset his aunt Vera.
“Tell me, Tony duck, does yer Anna make pigs too?”, Aunt Vera asked as he handed her the mug of tea.
“Yer what! Pigs! He’s not a farmer, is he?”, shrieked Marge, almost spilling her tea.
“Eeh no, our Marge. He makes them into statues. He’s going to make one with a flower behind his ear, aren’t yer, our Tony?”
“In answer to your question, Aunt Vera…yes, Anna is an artist. She’s in textiles – she makes installations.”
Vera raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yes….installations. Mm..and is she Spanish like you?”, she asked, chuckling at her own joke.
Tony hesitated before replying. “No, she isn’t. Look she’ll be coming soon so you will be able to meet her.”
Both aunts sat up. “Coming here? Oh! But, I’ve no cake in house”, said Vera looking anxiously at Marge.
Tony excused himself again and went looking for the loo in Vera’s house. He found it in the pink bathroom upstairs. He sat on the closed loo and mobiled Anna. “Look darling, they are both in a tizz downstairs. Anyone would think you were the Queen the way they are carrying on. Vera’s instructed Marge to vacuum and dust, Vera is in the kitchen baking scones and a cake and any minute one of them will come upstairs to clean the bathroom. So…could you meet me at the Royal Oak in five minutes? I need another scotch before I can cope with this. OK? See you there.”
But how could he make yet another escape? Fortunately, his problem was solved by Marge, standing at the bottom of the stairs in an apron and wearing oversized rubber gloves.
“She’s hardly got enough milk in fridge. We’re bound to run out. Do yer think you could nip out and get a pint fer us?”
“Yes, sure. I won’t be long.”
At the Royal Oak, he sat by the window with his drink and waited for Anna. His thoughts returned to his dad and all he had been through living with his mum. It wasn’t as if things had improved over the years. She was always going off on some crazy jaunt - always wanting to do something different. The current job at Tescos was just another in a long line of short-term positions she had taken on. Once she’d got the hang of what to do, she’d get bored and start looking for something new.
Tony sighed. He suddenly felt very weary. So much had happened in one day and there was so much more to come. How would his aunts react to Anna? For years, he and Anna had suffered from racist comments from ignorant people. One never got used to it. It hurt every time. He expected his sweet Aunt Vera to be surprised…but he feared Marge’s reaction. She didn’t appear to be the most tolerant of people at the best of times and he dreaded her saying anything offensive. He needed to protect Anna from that. Through the window, he saw her coming up North End…
James Ogilvy
10-09-08, 03:23 PM
wearing the new pink and white striped top she’d bought from the Factory Shop the day before.
Even though they had known each other for almost ten years now and married for seven of them, the sight of her still excited him as if they had just met.
She came in to the pub and he got up to greet her with a kiss. “Hi, the top looks good”, he said looking down at her breasts, “Want a lager. Yes? Go and sit down, darling and I’ll come over and join you.”
“Are you OK?”, she asked anxiosly. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. We haven’t got long….oh and I must remember to get some milk before we go.”
“Do you want me to get it while you order?” she asked.
“Good idea.”
Seated together, he tried to answer all her many questions. The revalation about his natural father took some time for her to sink in, but on the whole she seemed quite pleased. “I always knew you had a bit of the Mediteranean in you”, she teased, stroking his thigh.
“Down there, girl! Control yourself…
"But it feels like ages since I last saw you Tony!" Anna smiled at her husband and winked at him. "Even though it actually was only a few hours ago!"
Tony smiled at his wife then sighed loudly. "I feel so tired Anna. This whole thing has sent me quite giddy. I've even made a mess of telling my aunts about you. First I told Vera you studied law but didn't like it and re-trained as a florist. Just now I told the two of them that you were an artist like me, making installations. Installations for Pete's sake! Why do I always feel as if I can't tell the truth when I'm talking about you to other people? I just wish I had the guts to tell Vera straight out what you are and what you do but it's so difficult, especially with people of her generation who don't always understand. Vera might be okay but Marge! Give me strength when it comes to Marge! She'll have something to say I know she will."
Anna made a soothing noise and kissed Tony on the cheek. "The best way to deal with this is to tackle it head on." She stood up. "Come on, let's get to it".
"But what about the milk?" Tony asked weakly.
"I didn't race over here for tea and scones! I came because you needed me and your aunts want to meet me. We'll be too busy calming the two of them down to eat and drink in any case."
Tony stood up and took Anna's hand. Together they left the pub and walked back towards Vera's house.
For the third time that day, Tony rang Vera's doorbell. It took a while before she opened the door. “Hello duck. Yer back.” Then she saw Anna. “No ta, not today", she said firmly. “We don’t do no Jehova’s whatderyercallem in this ouse. Ta for callin”, and as if to avoid any further conversation, she turned to Tony. “Now then, young lad, come on in”
Tony cleared his throat. “Aunt Vera, this is Anna. My wife.”
As they followed her in, Tony and Anna suppressed their giggles. Of all the reactions they had expected, this one had never occurred to them. Vera sat down and invited them to join her. She politely held out her hand to Anna.
“I’m right sorry I mistook yer for one of em. Now then, let’s look at yer. Tony’s wife. Ee, I can’t believe it. Seems only yesterday he was playin in yard at back.
And now…married man. And a success too….with his...er animals, like. Yer not what I expected, but”, she took both Anna’s hands and shook them warmly, “I’m very pleased to meet you, duck. An I mean that.”
Tony beamed at his aunt. He went over and kissed
Vera on the forehead. He knew she wouldn't be horrible to Anna. He looked across to Marge who was sitting bolt upright and staring at Anna. She was unblinking, stony faced and pale. For a brief moment Tony thought she was dead but then he realised her right foot was tapping the floor rapidly and her hands were clenched into shaking fists. He glanced at Anna and realised that the smile she had worn for Vera had been replaced by a look of utter horror as she now looked across at Marge.
Marge leapt from the chair and moved quickly across the room towards Anna, far quicker than Tony would have thought possible.
"You!!" she screamed. "I never thought the day would come when I saw you again, you sheming hussy-ender!! How dare you darken my doorstep" Tony leapt across Anna to deflect the blow which Marge was about to land on his wife. Anna leaned backwards towards the door they had just come through and Marge pushed against Tony to try to reach her. Tony didn't understand. What on earth was Marge going on about? Amid the chaos came a calm but strong voice. Vera spoke with command.
"Sit down our Marge!" she said forcefully. "And you Anna, and our Tony. I will not have this in my living room!" She looked hard at the others in the room and they all found a seat, Tony and Anna as far from Marge as possible. "I will thank you to remember that this is MY doorstep our Marge and you will NOT take it upon yourself to be rude to people who are guests in my home!. I was hoping you wouldn't recognise the gal but I forgot for a minute that you have the memory of bleeding elephant. Contain yourself woman and let Anna explain what the heck she is doing with our Tony when she knows very well they are most likely blood related through that cretin of a father of hers!"
Tony looked at each of the women in turn. His wife looked like she was about to be sick. Dear Aunt Vera looked positively worn out and Marge looked like an angry boil, about to burst!
"I think" he said "that I need to know the whole truth from someone and fast!". The silence was almost deafening, but the knock which suddenly broke the silence was louder still.
Vera opened the door solemnly and then promptly burst into tears at the sight of the man who stood on the doorstep. The years had been quite kind to him. His eyes were still the same shade of blue, caring and smiling at the same time, though more wrinkled around the edges than when they had last seen each other. His hair was now white but worn in the same way as when he was a lad. Even the lock of hair that would never lay flat was still resistant to comb and bryll cream. Vera hugged her brother David and kissed him on the cheek. "Come in lad" she said. "I'm right glad you made it and you've arrived just in time to hear
your sister Marge having to say sorry to yer grandson Tony and his wife. Have you ever heard her say sorry for anythin? Well, she’s goin to have to right now or she’s never welcome in this house again.”
Tony showed his father a chair and invited him to sit down. “Well, I’m waiting. I want some explanation for all this.” He looked at Anna. “Are you going to tell me?”
Anna remained seated and with much dignity that Tony admired from the start, began to explain.
“I believe Tony told you that I went to university – that’s where we met – to study law, but he said I changed my mind to be a florist. But he made that up, unfortunately. You see, I did study law and I became a barrister. And..that’s what I am. A practising barrister…under my maiden name..Anna King. I have chambers in Derby….as well you, Mrs Simpson and your sister know”, she paused, while Marge uttered “humph”. There had been several “humphs” during Anna’s account.
“Tony, your Aunt Marge – Mrs Simpson - was prosecuted for racism. My client had been subjected to some disgraceful behaviour over a long time and I defended her in court. My client won the case and I managed to save Mrs Simpson here from being sent down. She was, however, ordered to pay a heavy fine. Your Aunt Vera, here, was in court at the time and…I’m not sure, but I believe she assisted with the costs.”
Tony looked bewildered. “Dad, did you know about all this?”
David looked at his son with tears in his eyes. “Yes. I knew..” he could not say more.
“All three of us knew. And that was why your Aunt Marge here didn’t want you to come to the house. She was worried it would all come out. And it has. And, as far as I’m concerned. I right glad. Yer’ve got a wife you should be proud of, Tony lad.”
"But...but what was all that about us being blood relatives? I don't understand that. Carlos was Spanish. Anna's family are from Jamaica. Where's the...
connection? And...Anna darling did you know they were my aunts all the time? Why didn't you say?" Tony looked hurt.
Anna took Tony's hand. "I didn't know at the time. Of course not. How could I? You have only discovered them yourself today. The only thing was...the way you described the two sisters..and the names Vera and Marge. It rang a bell, but I didn't imagine for one moment that you were related to them. That's why I was so upset when I saw them. You do believe me, don't you?"
Another “Humph!” sounded from Marge.
“You do…don’t you Tony?” Anna almost pleaded.
Tony shook his head and through sobs, he said. “I don’t know darling Anna. I just don’t know.” He took a tissue from a small pack he had in his pocket. He wiped his eyes.
“If Aunt Marge had said that about us being blood relatives…I would have dismissed it…but Aunt Vera. She said that you knew we were likely to be related because of your father. For some reason, I trust Aunt Vera. I don’t think she would say anything that wasn’t true... “. On the verge of hysteria, Tony turned to David. “Dad, help me, please. Are Anna and I related, and if so how?”
James Ogilvy
15-09-08, 08:32 PM
David’s reply was interrupted by the sound of movement in the hall. Next moment, Margaret Grimley entered the room. Everybody gasped. She wore gilt-coloured high-heeled and a vivid orange mac that exactly matched the over-hennaed colour of her hair.
“How the bloody ‘ell did this ray of sunshine get in?” demanded Marge in a loud voice.
“Through the front door. It was open”, Margaret calmy replied.
“Well, yer not welcome. Am I right our Vera?”
“No, yer not”, argued Vera. “It’s not yer house. It’s mine.” She went over to Margaret. “Come on in duck. We might as well have yer ere. Yer son as been learnin a bit of his history. I reckon yer can fill in t’missin pieces.”
By then the room was overcrowded and Tony found it difficult breathing in such a stuffy atmosphere.
"Er...can I open a window? Would you mind?"
"Open a window? Oh, we don't do that, Tony lad. Not here, in North End." She began to chuckle. "Aw my goodness...what would neighbours say? They'd think there were a fire in ere! T'last time I opened window was when chip van boiled over. Right mess it were at the time."
Wayne Dwopp
16-09-08, 03:33 PM
My mum has an orange mac, puts henna in her hair to stop the gray bits showing and a month ago she burnt our chip pan. She thinks you are basing the story on her and finds this ofensive. My sister Tia and I emfaticly agree. So do you mind changing the colour of Margaret’s mac to blue and change the chip pan to the milk pan. Thank you, Wayne and Tia Dwopp.
"They've let yer off early then, Tesco?" asked Marge with a sarcastic grin.
"You might scoff at me Marge but I get all the new offers within minutes of them arriving on the shelves! Only yesterday I picked up 4 tins of tuna fish in brine for half of what they sell them for round here! Your just jealous Marge - always have been!"
"Jealous of you, you old ratbag?!" yelled Marge. "How durst yer say that to me!"
"Because you are an old dragon Marge, that's why. My son here has been far better off living his life without knowing anything about the likes of you and old Mrs Tea and Sympathy over there! You two are nothing but a pair of old fish wives, poking about in other people's affairs."
Vera rose to her full height of 4 foot 10 inches and looked at Margaret sternly. Quietly she said "Now Margaret, you just settle. Yer being rude and I'll not have that in my house. I like tea, and sympathy does nobody any harm. Fish I'm not so keen on so a fish wife I'll not be branded and you can keep your cheap tuna in brine for all I care. But I do care about this lad here because he's my flesh and blood. If poking about in people's affairs, and by that I mean your affairs Margarent - any road if poking about in em means we'll see an end to our Tony's upset then so be it. Speak up lady and let the lad know about all those half Spanish/half Jamaican relatives he's got in Derby and the surrounding area!"
"Enough!". Tony stood in the centre of the room. "I'm tired of all this. I don't know who any of you are really, let alone who I am!. All I know, is that I came here today to discuss some artwork for the festival and if I don't sort it out soon the festival will be over and I'll have nothing to exhibit. So, can we all just calm down and let Vera decide if she wants a chicken, a pig, a duck or a flaming goose wearing wellingtons in her back yard for the next two weeks?"
To everyone's astonishment, David got up and stood beside his son.
"The lad is quite right. I think it is time for the three of us...you, Anna, Tony and I to have a quiet stroll outside...breathe in some fresh clean...I'll say it again...clean air. And, I will tell them all they want to know."
"Good idea," Anna agreed.
"Yes, good idea dad", said Tony.
The three of them left the house in silence, leaving the other three women glaring at each other.
James Ogilvy
18-09-08, 08:45 AM
Vera thought about making another cup of tea and remembered all the baking she had done in preparation for Tony's wife. They were laid out on plates in the kitchen still untouched.
"Anyone fer a cup of tea?" she asked.
"I've been wondering when I'm going to be asked", Margaret said. "And I can smell baking...don't mind if I do."
"Humph", said Marge.
In the kitchen, Vera could hear several more “humphs” from Marge and then the start of a conversation that became more and more heated.
She stood at the door and listened.
“You’ve always been jealous of me…admit it!”
“What jealous of an affair with a Spanish onion? Don’t make me laugh!”
“You fell for him as soon as you set eyes on him. As if he’d look at someone like you. You…in yer stained skirts and your darned woollies that you used to wear.
I was a beauty in those days… you’ve only got to look at that wedding photograph up there to prove it. And…all you’ve done over the years is pour dirt on me. I can’t believe the lies you’ve told about me. You should be ashamed.”
“Look at yer now! All brassed up with yer red hair. So where’s the ravishin beauty now, I’d like to ask!”
“You’re trying to get out of it again, aren’t you? Avoiding the issue as always. Do you know what, Marge Simpson? You are just an evil cow and that’s the end of it.”
Marge got up and grabbed at Margaret’s hair. To her astonishment, the whole head of hair fell into Marge’s hand.
“Bloody hell!”
“So now you know. My hair is white. I suppose that’s something else you’re going to gloat about and make my life a misery. It’s all you’ve ever done… “ She looked in the direction of the kitchen. “And, Vera…I know you’re listening. Come on in…join the fun. If you can call it that. Well, it’s not been funny for me…that’s why I have had to take the job at Tescos…just to get my mind off it for a few hours. And…”, she looked at Marge, “even that you mocked at.”
Vera slowly shuffled in her slippers into the room. She sat heavily in the armchair nearest to Margaret.
“Aye, we deserve what’s comin to us. I reckon yer’ve got a pair of rotten sisters-in-law. Yer see, I knew our Marge was a…well, I don’t know what yer would call er…”
“A tyrant, that’s what! A wicked tyrant! Years of lies. As soon as David told us Tony was marrying a black girl, she began to make up all sorts of stories about me havin an affair with her father. What yer’ve never known, Marge Simpson is that Anna’s dad died when she was a child. Brutally murdered, he was."
“What?”, screamed Vera.
“You heard, Vera. It was too painful a story to tell. Me and David kept it quiet for Anna’s sake. But your sister there made up these lies and we hoped Anna and Tony would never hear about them. Then, of course…Marge goes and gets herself into trouble with the law…and well, I suppose you know what happened as a result of that.”
The other three never returned to North End, and visitors to the Festival that year were deprived of seeing a sculpted pig on display with a flower behind its ear.
------
James Ogilvy
20-09-08, 04:22 PM
Pity about that. I was looking forward to seeing it!
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