Licence to Dream (2013) Page 2

  ‘Fetch Grandpop and Grandma,’ whispered Helen. ‘They’ll know what to do.’

  With great relief Meriel hared off down the street and gasped out her story.

  To her surprise, it was her grandma who spoke first.

  ‘I told her she was a fool to deny him her bed,’ she said. ‘Our Denise has never been easy to live with but that must have been the final straw.’

  ‘We’ll come round straight away,’ Grandpop said.

  ‘Better if I go,’ Grandma said. ‘She won’t want to see a man at a time like this. She’ll talk more easily to me, Arthur. You stay here too, Meriel love.’

  ‘Did you have any idea your father was seeing someone else?’ Grandpop asked when they were alone.

  ‘No. He used to go for lots of walks, so I suppose he saw her then.’

  ‘It’s not often someone pulls the wool over our Denise’s eyes.’

  Meriel hesitated, then said what she’d been thinking. ‘I don’t blame Dad for leaving, not really. She’d never let him do anything he wanted.’

  ‘He should have stood up to her, not run away. Frank made his promises to her in church. I don’t hold with breaking promises.’

  ‘She made promises too. Love, honour and obey.’ Meriel didn’t agree with the ‘obey’ bit but the loving was important and she’d seen no signs of love between her parents, not even mild affection. They’d simply tolerated one another, living side by side. She’d often felt sad about that, because some of her friends’ parents were happy together and it showed.

  Marriage seemed to be a very chancy thing. She didn’t think she’d ever risk it.

  What upset her most was that her father was moving away, discarding his daughters as well as his wife.

  But when she went to bed that night, she found a letter from him under her pillow, apologising and promising to do all he could to help her in the coming years. He’d have her and her sister to stay with him and Linda, once they’d settled in together.

  That made Meriel feel a bit better but to her surprise, she didn’t really miss her father because he’d never played with them or taken them out, like her friends’ fathers did. It was Grandpop she’d always turned to, still did.

  Over the next few months Meriel learned to bite her tongue at the things her mother said about their father – and about men in general. She tried to discuss it with her sister.

  Helen just shrugged. ‘It’s better for her to let off steam. Ignore it.’

  ‘How can I? You’re always out with Peter. You don’t get half as much haranguing from her as I do.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Get yourself a boyfriend, then. It’s about time.’

  ‘I would if I fancied anyone, but I don’t.’

  ‘Has anyone asked you out?’

  She shrugged. ‘One or two.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I didn’t like them kissing me. All sloppy. Ugh.’

  ‘You’re too busy with your drawing. How do you expect to find a husband if you never go out and meet guys?’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want a husband.’

  Helen gave her another knowing smile. ‘You will one day. You’re just a late starter.’

  Meriel wasn’t sure she even wanted to start if it made you smile as dopily as Helen did sometimes.

  ‘I’ve got myself a job,’ Denise announced two months later. ‘The money your father’s paying me isn’t nearly enough to manage on, not if you’ve got standards.’

  ‘Good for you, Mum!’ Helen said. ‘What as?’

  ‘A receptionist.’

  ‘You’ll be good at that.’

  ‘It’s all I’m fit for without qualifications. You devote your life to a man, running his house perfectly and how does he repay you? He runs off with a floozy, that’s what he does.’

  It soon became obvious that Denise enjoyed going out to work, though she wasn’t admitting it. She grumbled for days about having to learn to use a computer but for all her protestations, she coped and was soon made permanent at her job.

  Their father made one or two phone calls, but didn’t come to visit and didn’t invite his daughters to visit him. It turned out that his new wife was expecting a baby. He sounded excited about that.

  Her mother grew rather tight-lipped for a while and Meriel had to tread even more carefully than usual.

  * * * *

  When Ben was seventeen, his stepfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He watched his mother care for Tom, staying cheerful and supportive through the operations and the chemotherapy.

  Nothing worked and Tom died nine months later.

  They came home from the hospital together and she went to make a cup of tea.

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears, and then suddenly she was crying against him. He was much taller than his mother now, so he held her close and patted her back, not knowing how to comfort her.

  After a while she pulled away. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m going to miss Tom, but not as much as you will.’

  ‘You’re a bit young to be facing all this.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to lose two husbands.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t seem fair.’ She swiped away a stray tear. ‘I’ll get through it. Those who’re left behind don’t have much choice but to carry on, do they?’

  He didn’t go to visit Uncle Johnny in Western Australia that summer, but stayed in Queensland to be with his mother.

  It was the first time he hadn’t spent the summer in York since his father died. He missed it, missed being alone in the bush. But his mother needed him. He couldn’t have left her alone so soon after losing Tom. Uncle Johnny understood.

  * * * *

  Denise looked at her younger daughter one evening. ‘I see it’s the careers night at your school next week. You are still intending to go on to A Level, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Good. You need to choose your subjects for the sixth form, it seems.’

  ‘I’ve already chosen them.’

  ‘Oh? You didn’t ask me.’

  ‘You were busy.’

  ‘I’m not too busy to make sure you start on the right track. It’s too late for your sister to have a decent career. She’s as trusting as I was, thinks the sun shines out of her Peter’s backside. It’s not too late for you, my girl.’

  ‘But – ’

  ‘I’m going to make sure you have a good profession behind you, so that you never have to be dependent upon a man. And if I have to take your father to court to get the money for your training, I will. What subjects are you doing?’

  ‘Whatever I need to get into art college.’

  Denise made a scornful noise in her throat. ‘When are you going to grow up? You can get the idea of studying art right out of your head. You’re going into something with security.’

  ‘You know I’ve always wanted to study art.’

  Denise gave her daughter the same sort of look she’d given her husband when he tried to go against her. ‘I’ll not support you if you study art, so how will you manage it?’ She began to tick her points off on her fingers. ‘You’ll need somewhere to live, money to pay the tuition fees, money to live on. You don’t think your father will provide all those, do you?’

  The quarrels raged for days, but in the end, thanks to Grandpop’s intervention, they compromised. Meriel agree to keep up maths and computing for her two final years, in exchange for being allowed to continue studying art.

  ‘But you’re not studying art at college,’ Denise said flatly. ‘I shan’t change my mind about that.’

  * * * *

  Like her mother, Helen Ingram married young, with seventeen-year-old Meriel sulking along the aisle behind her as chief bridesmaid in a long pink dress – absolutely the wrong shade for someone with silver-blond hair and green eyes! It had been touch and go whether her father would be allowed to give Helen away, but face-saving prevailed, as it always did with Denise – and besides, he
’d offered to help pay for the wedding, so you could hardly tell him to stay away from it. But he knew better than to bring his wife.

  After Helen left home, Meriel found it even more difficult to bear her mother’s moods alone. Since she was to continue at school until she was eighteen, she was allowed to use the spare bedroom as a study and even to have a computer there, bought by her father. She got a weekend job in a café so that she could buy extra art materials, because her mother refused point-blank to pay out good money for that sort of childish rubbish.

  Less than a couple of years, Meriel told herself, and I’ll be away at art college. I can put up with it until then, and afterwards, once I’ve got a job, I’ll find a place of my own to live, even if it’s only one room.

  When it came time to think about a career her teachers encouraged her to study art, making comments like ‘promising’ and ‘raw talent’.

  The battles were fought all over again during her final year at school.

  ‘I’ve told you before, you’re not studying art,’ Denise said. ‘There’s no security in art.’

  ‘But Mum, I’m good at it. Really good. Just ask my art teacher.’

  ‘I’m good at home-making, too, and a fat lot of help that was to me.’

  ‘But it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do!’

  ‘Did you hear me? You’re not studying art.’

  The row lasted only a few minutes, but bitter things were said on both sides.

  For the next couple of weeks Meriel wept and pleaded, argued and threatened, shouted and sulked, but all in vain. Denise remained adamant.

  ‘You’re good at maths. All your teachers say so. The obvious thing is for you to do is become an accountant.’

  ‘An accountant! I’d rather die!’

  Her mother ignored that remark. ‘It’s a nice safe job, respectable and clean. That matters. No one respects those who work with their hands.’

  ‘Well, I like getting my hands dirty and making things.’

  ‘I blame my father for that. I should have realised where all that do-it-yourself stuff was leading and put a stop to it years ago.’

  In the end, after the arguments had raged for weeks and Meriel had become thin and drawn, her blond hair as brittle as dried straw and her eyes cloudy green pools of unhappiness, Grandpop took the girl aside. ‘You’ll never win, lass.’

  ‘But I’d go mad stuck in an office all day.’

  ‘There are times in life when you have to recognise you’re beaten, love. If you don’t train as an accountant, your mother won’t support you in anything else, so you won’t get your art diploma, either way. You’ll have to leave school and work in a shop or a factory. That’d be even worse for someone with a good brain like yours. And don’t think your dad will stand up to her. He didn’t for himself and he won’t for you.’ He patted Meriel’s back and stared out of the window, allowing time for his words to sink in.

  After a few minutes she sniffed back an angry tear and slipped her arm through his. ‘But I love art so much, Grandpop. You don’t know how much.’

  He put his arm round her. ‘I can guess. But you sometimes have to go the long way round to get what you want. And even then, some of us never get it.’

  She stood mouse still. She knew from chance remarks how much he had hated his job as an insurance salesman, and could only guess how he chafed now at the restrictions which age and living on the pension had set upon him, though he never complained.

  ‘Things are better nowadays than when I was a young fellow,’ the gentle, loving voice went on. ‘You can get a second chance at life nowadays, what with the Open University and all. So you go to university, love, and do what your mother says. Become an accountant. But only for the time being. Once you’ve got your independence, you can study art at night school.’

  ‘I shall hate doing accountancy.’

  ‘You’ll enjoy the challenge if you set your mind to it. Bear in mind that it’s only for a few years. And in the meantime, no one can stop you from having a hobby, can they? In fact, you should tell your mum that you’ll only agree to study accounting if you can still enjoy painting and such in your spare time. Once you agree, she’ll give you back your art things.’ Her mother had confiscated all her art materials and locked them up in the big cedarwood chest at the foot of her bed when the dispute first erupted.

  Meriel sighed and brushed away a tear. She looked at him in a final mute appeal but he shook his head.

  ‘I can’t work miracles, lass. No one can. She’s got the money, however much she pleads poverty, and your father needs all his brass for his new family now. Two young sons, at his age!’

  Meriel’s shoulders sagged and tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘Well, I’m going to get away from home as soon as I graduate, as far away as I possibly can so she can’t interfere in the rest of my life. And one day I will make my living from art.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. I’ll come to your first exhibition and boast to everyone that you’re my clever granddaughter.’

  He stood up, easing his stiff joints into movement. ‘I’ll go and have a word with our Denise now, tell her I’ve persuaded you to study accounting on condition you can keep on with your art as a hobby. I’ll make her see that she has to give way on that, at least.’

  ‘It’s not fair, though,’ Meriel swiped away another tear.

  ‘No, lass. It’s not. But give her a year or two and she’ll be so wrapped up in being a grandmother and telling your Helen what to do with her children and husband that she’ll stop trying to live your life for you.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘She was upset when your father left her, more upset than you’ll ever realise. In her own way, she loved him.’

  ‘She had a funny way of showing it, then.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s our Denise for you. She’s not one to flaunt her emotions. But she loves you, too. Never doubt that.’

  ‘Hah!’

  Chapter 3

  Meriel went to study accounting in Newcastle, because it was further away from home than Manchester. Once she had started the course, she followed her Grandpop’s advice and focused on gaining good grades. She took a variety of part-time jobs during the holidays so that she could continue to buy the necessary art materials.

  The situation suddenly became more relaxed during Meriel’s second year, because Denise found herself a man friend. She was oddly coy when she told Meriel about Ralph. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m glad for you. Especially about the dancing. You always used to love ballroom dancing.’

  ‘Yes, I did. But your father – well, he was born with two left feet. Ralph and I are going to classes. We’re learning Latin American.’ Denise twirled round then blushed and laughed self-consciously.

  After that, she didn’t nag quite as much about anything.

  Most of Meriel’s spare time at college, what little she had left after studying and her part-time job, was spent drawing and painting. She managed to fit in one or two evening courses in art and read a lot of self-study books about various techniques, trying them out as best she could in the privacy of her bed sitter.

  She emailed Grandpop several times a week and he emailed back – warm, loving messages, with occasional pieces of sensible advice proffered tactfully.

  * * * *

  There were guys at college, and dates – but not as many as there could have been.

  ‘What’s wrong with Jim?’ a girlfriend asked one day.

  ‘He’s a faker, always trying to sound better than he is.’

  ‘And Luke. Surely you can’t have anything against him? He’s very good-looking.’

  ‘Yes, but he just doesn’t – ’ Meriel shrugged. ‘There’s no spark between us.’

  ‘Oh, you’re hopeless.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ She laughed, but she was beginning to worry about that. Was she hopeless? Why wasn’t she attracted to the guys who fancied her? She pulled a face. Because she wasn’t into quick gropes, because she wanted someone who wou
ld talk to her, really talk to her.

  Only once did she progress to intimacy and that turned out to be rather a disappointment. She’d expected . . . more.

  She wasn’t going down that path again.

  * * * *

  Just before she graduated, Meriel received a letter from her mother.

  I thought I’d better warn you that my father isn’t well. It’s cancer, I’m afraid. He’s bearing up bravely, as you’d expect. He’s only got a few months, the doctors say . . .

  All Meriel’s escape plans evaporated overnight. When she graduated, she found a job with an accounting firm in her home town and went back to live with her mother.

  Grandpop was much thinner, his colour poor. She tried to swallow her anguish at the sight of him but knew she hadn’t hidden her feelings well.

  ‘Come down to my workshop and let me show you a new piece I’m working on,’ he said quietly.

  Her grandma nodded and turned to her knitting again, but Meriel saw her blinking rapidly.

  In the cellar, Grandpop looked at her with a wry smile. ‘I see your mother’s told you.’

  Meriel tried to speak and burst into tears.

  He gave her a hug then put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. Looking her in the eyes, he said quietly, ‘We all move on, lass. It’s only natural. Save your worritting for something you can change. I’ve had a good, long life – and I’ve had you. You’ve brought me such joy. A man couldn’t have asked for a better granddaughter.’

  And of course, that made her weep even more.

  After that, she didn’t weep in front of him again. If he could be brave, so could she.

  * * * *

  A subsidiary benefit to living at home was that Meriel was able to start saving money, money she intended to use one day to achieve her heart’s desire, but of course she didn’t tell her mother that.

  ‘Why don’t you buy some new clothes?’ Denise would grumble, ‘Something more colourful.’

  Or, ‘I can’t think why you still mess about with paints. Honestly, at your age, you should be focusing your efforts on attracting young men.’ She smiled at herself in the mirror, smoothing out her skirt. ‘Ralph always says how smart I look.’