18
‘There’s Prudence Crawford, Alexander.’ Mother’s tone held a hint of slyness, and Alex suppressed a sigh. ‘I thought she’d be here tonight.’
It was a Thursday evening, and the church was having yet another social. There was a collection tin labelled Spitfire Fund, plenty of traybakes and tea, and Mrs Crawford smiling broadly at him from across the room. They had already had prayers and a short speech from the Right Reverend Haire.
Alex squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Did you?’ he offered mildly. ‘I see Brian’s arrived. Better have a word with him.’
With determination and more than a hint of irritation, he made his way across to Brian, who was his own age but already married and a father.
For the next wee while he heard about the joys and tribulations of fatherhood in great detail, but it was better than being stuck with Prudence, who had little to recommend her beyond a pretty face.
Mother was becoming increasingly forthright with her ‘hints’, and he foresaw an awkward conversation at some point in the future.
But not tonight. As Brian droned on about wee Samuel’s accomplishments – apparently for a child to take his first steps at only ten months of age was akin to feeding the five thousand – he allowed his mind to wander.
It went where it often did – to Maisie Canavan, and to their evening together at the September Orpheus dance.
God, those kisses! Dancing with her had been a dream.
Kissing her . . . fire blazed through him at the memory.
He’d kissed a fair few girls in his time, but never could he recall such a feeling.
And he knew why too. It was because it was her.
Maisie. He liked her. Liked her lively mind, her kind heart, the way she spoke, the way she turned her head.
He hadn’t disliked those other girls, but no one had ever fascinated him before. Maisie fascinated him. Had he been from a more superstitious era, he might have suspected witchcraft, for the way in which she had captivated him was unlike anything he had ever known.
She kissed me! Even weeks later, he was still flying high at the thought.
All through that evening, the signs had been there – the dancing, holding hands on the walk through Belfast, the way their eyes kept meeting .
. . He had known that they both wanted that kiss.
And it had indeed been wonderful – their mouths and bodies as attuned as their minds and hearts, or so it had seemed to him.
One kiss had become three, four, five, ranging from tender to passionate and back again.
They hadn’t just kissed; they’d had a kissing session!
He suppressed a grin as exhilaration rushed through him once more.
But then . . . she had said that thing about it being a bad idea, and all his hopes had been dashed.
She might have kissed him, but Maisie Canavan clearly didn’t want anything more than that, and now he didn’t know where he stood.
Had the wonder of their kisses been only in his head?
She had been pleasant but distant at work, and it had been work that she’d talked about when she’d stepped away from him that night after their kisses. Have I lost her already?
‘. . . and he can wave bye-bye too, when you ask him. Knows every word!’ Pride suffused Brian’s pleasant face, and abruptly Alex felt really glad for him.
‘Sounds like he’s really special, Brian.’
‘Ach, everybody thinks their own wain is special, I suppose.’ His eyes danced. ‘But my child definitely is. I’m not biased at all, like.’ He laughed, and Alex remembered how much he’d liked Brian when they were growing up.
‘So what about you, big fella?’ Playfully, he punched Alex’s arm lightly. ‘Any girls on the scene?’
He grimaced. ‘Yes and no. There’s a girl I like at work, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Not sure anything will come of it.’ While Maisie had been chirpy and friendly since the September tea dance, she hadn’t even gone last month. Was she actively avoiding him?
‘Ah, that’s a shame.’ He jerked his head towards the traybakes, where the Crawford ladies were chatting with Alex’s mother. ‘What about wee Prudence? I hear you and her might be walking out soon.’
Alex felt his jaw loosen in shock. ‘You what? No, nothing like that! I’ve no notion of asking her out.’
Brian looked nonplussed. ‘That’s not what I heard.’ He glanced towards his wife, Hannah, who was approaching, her son on her hip.
‘Well you heard wrong.’ Alex made a face. ‘I’m gonna have to be blunt with Mother, I suppose. Not something I ever enjoy doing.’
Brian chuckled. ‘Good luck to ya with that one!’
For the rest of the evening, Alex managed to avoid both Mother and the Crawford ladies – though it took ingenuity at times.
Brian and Hannah didn’t stay much longer, wanting only to show their faces, make a donation, then get their wee Samuel home to bed.
Finally, it was ten o’clock, and the teacups and plates had been washed and tidied away.
Mother, who wouldn’t have dreamed of doing similar tasks at home, seemed to enjoy them at church.
Granda never went to evening events any more, and Father hadn’t come, being busy with work meetings this evening, so Alex had driven their comfortable Morris 14 to the city centre.
When they emerged, it was dark, and the blackout rules were making driving extremely hazardous.
The streetlights were off and his headlights were hooded, which meant it was difficult to track his position on the road or spot other cars and pedestrians.
The only safe way to drive was basically at walking pace. Still, it meant there was time to talk.
‘Alexander Lowe!’ Mother was wasting no time. ‘I can’t believe you were so rude tonight!’
Although fully aware of what she was talking about, Alex feigned innocence. ‘Rude? I wasn’t rude! I was perfectly polite to everyone I spoke to, and I made sure not to speak with my mouth full.’
Ignoring his levity, she persisted. ‘You didn’t speak to Prudence once! And you only said hello to Mrs Crawford in passing!’
He frowned in feigned confusion – though she would not be able to see it in the dim interior of the car. ‘The place was busy, Mother. There were loads of people I never spoke to properly – even Hannah, who was one of our gang growing up. Still, I had a good chat with Brian.’
‘Aye baby Samuel is a wee dote,’ she replied, and he heard the danger of grandmother broodiness in her tone, before she snapped back to scheming. ‘But you shouldn’t have ignored Prudence. You should have made the effort to speak to her.’
‘But why? I barely know her.’
‘We talked about this. You should get to know her.’
He shrugged, pausing to let two pedestrians cross in front of the car. ‘Nah. Not interested.’
‘But she’d be a lovely girl for you, Alex!’
‘Mother, seriously. The girl would bore me within a week, and drive me mad within six months. She’s very pretty, but there’s nothing behind her eyes.’
Mother laughed despite herself, then clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Alex! Don’t be so rude about the poor girl. She’s just nervous and shy.’
‘Aye. And brainless. Sorry, Mother, but could you live with her for the rest of your life?’
There was a pause. ‘I suppose not.’
‘Well then.’ He let that sit, then slammed on his brake as a pedestrian suddenly loomed in front of him. ‘Jesus Christ!’
‘Language, Alexander!’
‘Sorry. But did you see that? This stupid blackout is gonna kill more people than the Germans!’
‘Aye, well hopefully the war will be over by Christmas and we can all get back to normal.’
‘It’s the middle of November, Mother. Can’t see anything getting sorted this side of Christmas. Besides, thon boy Hitler doesn’t seem the type to back down.’
‘No. That’s true.’ There was a silence. ‘Which is partly why I want to see you settled with a nice girl.’
He could hear the worry in her tone. ‘I won’t be conscripted, remember. Awful for the boys that will be, though.’
‘Aye.’
A nice girl. ‘There’s actually a girl I like at work.’ He hadn’t planned it, but he needed to know how open they might be to him asking Maisie to be his girl.
‘Is there, now?’ Mother was all interest.
He took a breath. ‘But she’s Catholic.’
‘She’s what?’ She put a hand to her head. ‘No way, Alexander. She won’t do.’ Her tone signalled horror, and he could almost feel how tense she was.
He decided to try and brazen through. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ she echoed. ‘Lord save us!’ She was looking at him, her eyes wide with what seemed to be horror. ‘You can’t marry a Catholic, Alexander.’ Her tone was severe; this was her implacable voice.
‘I’m only talking about asking her out, Mother.’ Deliberately, he kept his tone light. ‘And she mightn’t even go out with me if I do ask her.’
She sniffed. ‘Aye, her ones might object too. It’s impossible. I can’t believe you’re even thinking of it!’ She sounded upset, and a moment later he heard her open her handbag, presumably for a handkerchief.
‘Why are you doing this, Alexander? Are you trying to be hurtful?’
‘Of course not!’ Alex was shocked. This was a much more serious response than he had anticipated. While of course he knew about the unspoken rules of this place, he had no idea this would affect his mother in quite this way.
‘Well, it is hurtful. It’s extremely hurtful! You’re my only child, and I never dreamed you would do something so terrible!’
‘I . . . I’m sorry, Mother. I honestly am not trying to be hurtful. But I don’t see why it’s so terrible.’
‘And that’s the saddest thing of all.’ A sob escaped her. ‘If you don’t even know what you’re doing wrong, then I’m a failure as a mother!’