Three's a Crowd: and other family stories Read online

  THREE’S A CROWD

  and other family stories

  Kate Blackadder

  Copyright © 2016 Kate Blackadder

  The right of Kate Blackadder to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored or transmitted in a form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the prior permission in writing from Kate Blackadder, except in the case of brief quotations in critical reviews.

  These stories are works of fiction. They were first published in The People’s Friend (in edited versions), Woman’s Weekly and Woman’s Day – see individual stories for details.

  I particularly like the way the author takes a standard situation or relationship but

  puts a different spin on it to make it fresh and unpredictable. (Amazon reviewer)

  Contents

  Class of ’64

  Hide-and-seek for Astronauts

  In my Dreams

  Celia’s Surprise

  ‘Are We Nearly There?’

  The Generation Gap

  The Night the Band Played

  The New Eighteen

  New Tricks, Old Tricks

  Bicycles for Two

  Seeing Natalie

  Three’s a Crowd

  Class of ’64

  As she stood at the front door Emily could hear giggles coming from the sitting-room. Granny and her friend. The one they were going out with later to this reunion thing. Emily’s heart sank at the thought of the evening ahead of her.

  She let herself in, threw her schoolbag on the floor beside a huge suitcase, and stood in the sitting-room doorway.

  Granny and a lady who must be her friend Kitty were wiping their eyes.

  ‘The Prune! Her name was Prunella, wasn’t it?’ Granny put down her handkerchief.

  ‘And do you remember Giraffe? Why did we call Miss Taylor that? She didn’t have a particularly long neck, did she?’

  Kitty went off in another gale of laughter.

  ‘No, she didn’t, but there was something giraffe-like about her posture. Remember when – ? Oh, hello there.’

  ‘This is Emily,’ Granny said. ‘Darling, this is Kitty. We were in the same class in school, a long time ago.’

  Kitty patted the space beside her on the sofa.

  ‘Come and sit here, Emily. Aren’t you lovely? She looks very like you, Marianne.’

  Emily looked at her granny. Other people had said that but she couldn’t see it herself.

  ‘As your granny looked when I last saw her,’ Kitty amended. ‘All long legs and glossy red hair. I remember her school hat was always slipping off. I don’t suppose you wear hats?’

  ‘No, thank goodness,’ Emily said, looking down at her short navy skirt, white blouse and green tie. ‘School uniform’s bad enough without a hat.’

  ‘I think you look very stylish. Oh! Hats. That’s what I was going to say about Giraffe – Giraffe was what we called our history teacher, Emily. Do you remember – ’ Kitty snorted, ‘do you remember that time she called Slim Jim out for some misdemeanour or other, talking probably, and told him to stand behind the big blackboard?’

  Apparently Granny remembered ‘Slim Jim’ too. ‘And he found her cloche hat … ’

  ‘And that ghastly fox fur she used to wear, with the glassy eyes … ’

  ‘And put them on and peeked out from behind the board.’ Granny reached for her hanky again.

  ‘And when the class erupted he whisked behind it again so she never saw him. Three times he did that. And Giraffe had no idea what we were howling at. I thought I was going to burst.’

  ‘Emily thinks we’re about to burst now,’ laughed Granny. ‘Don’t worry, darling, we’ll go back to being sensible soon. After we left school, you see, Kitty emigrated to Canada with her family and we didn’t see each other again until this afternoon. We have a lot to catch up on and we’ve started at the beginning.’

  ‘My fault we never kept in touch. I was so homesick to start with I couldn’t bear to think about life carrying on here without me. And then it seemed too late. I thought everyone would have forgotten me.’ Kitty pulled down the corners of her mouth.

  ‘I didn’t forgot you,’ Granny protested, ‘but the magic thing is that fifty years have rolled away and we’re all eighteen again.’

  ‘But how did you find each other?’ Emily asked.

  ‘I joined Facebook,’ said Kitty, ‘and I saw that my old school had a page because they were planning a fifty-year reunion. Class of ’64! I decided right away that I wanted to be there.’

  ‘Granny! I said you should go on Facebook.’ Emily grinned at Marianne.

  ‘As you know I heard about the reunion anyway,’ Granny smiled back. ‘Another school friend told me about it in a very old-fashioned but useful thing called a phone call.’

  Kitty laughed. ‘I asked on Facebook if anyone knew anything about Marianne Kennedy as was, and someone gave me her number. And there she was, living a stone’s throw from our old stamping-ground.’

  ‘We moved away for a while,’ Granny said, ‘but we came back when our eldest was born.’

  Kitty wagged her finger. ‘Don’t rush ahead. We haven’t got to the husband yet. We’re still in the classroom making life a misery for poor Miss Taylor. But I want to hear about Emily first. Do you go to the school we went to?’

  ‘The Academy.’ Emily nodded.

  ‘It’s not our old building,’ Granny said. ‘They built a new one years ago. Now, you two get to know each other. I’m going to make some tea.’

  Why did it have to be this week that Dad went to Scotland on business and suggested Mum went with him for a little holiday? It meant Emily staying at Granny and Grandpa’s – which usually she loved to do, but tonight they and Kitty were going to this reunion and Granny had gone and asked the organisers if Emily could go as well.

  Great! So, instead of a cosy evening joking with Grandpa, watching TV, and scoffing Granny’s home-made biscuits, she’d be at a party where everyone else would be almost seventy.

  Kitty was peering short-sightedly at Granny and Grandpa’s wedding photograph on the side table.

  ‘I never had time to get married,’ she said. ‘Ran my own business, employment agencies all over Canada. Sold up last year. Think any of the guys there tonight will be looking for a rich wife?’

  Was she serious? Emily laughed uncertainly. Kitty must be sixty-eight, the same age as Granny. Surely she was far too old to be looking for a ‘guy’?

  ‘Your granny was quite a girl, Emily.’ Kitty glanced at the wedding photo again. ‘Slim Jim, the boy who was always in trouble with Miss Taylor, he and Marianne were an item you know.’ She sat down on the sofa again. ‘One afternoon we skipped off school to see Cleopatra at the cinema. Marianne, Jim, me, and some lad, can’t remember his name, real looker though. But Marianne and Jim took no notice of the film. They hid behind her panama hat getting in some kissing practice.’

  ‘Kitty!’ Granny hurried in, carrying a tray. Her face was bright pink. ‘I could hear everything you said. I wouldn’t have left you with Emily if I’d known you were going to be such a gossip!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Kitty said, sounding anything but. ‘Marianne, what was the name of that lad, the one who looked like Richard Burton?’

  ‘Alan Steel?’

  ‘Alan Steel. Of course. I wonder if he’ll be there tonight.’ Kitty took the cup Marianne handed to her.

  ‘I know for a fact he will be.’ A smile tugged at the corners of Granny’s mouth. ‘I’m not sure about the
Richard Burton resemblance though.’

  ‘Well, we’ll all have changed a little, I expect,’ Kitty said.

  Emily stuffed cake into her mouth to stop herself laughing. After fifty years everyone would have changed more than a little! Granny’s hair, which Kitty said had once been red, was now silvery-gray. Kitty’s own hair was blonde and she wore loads of make-up but there was no way she looked eighteen.

  ‘So is Alan footloose and fancy free by any chance?’ Kitty went on.

  Granny shook her head. ‘He has a very nice wife, five children and eleven grandchildren.’

  ‘Goodness, he’s been busy. Oh well.’ Kitty cast a mischievous look at Emily. ‘I daresay there will be some lonely hearts there for me to break. And what became of Slim Jim, do you know?’

  Granny went pink again. ‘That’s him at the door now,’ she said. ‘He’s been playing golf with Alan Steel.’

  ‘You married Slim Jim?’ Kitty threw up her hands and roared with laughter. ‘Well, I never.’

  Grandpa came in, his hands outstretched, his face alight with a welcoming smile. ‘Kitty. You haven’t changed a bit. Good to see you.’

  ‘Good to see you too, Slim Jim.’ Kitty stood up and kissed Grandpa on both cheeks. ‘So, you married your childhood sweetheart?’

  ‘And never regretted it.’ Grandpa blew Granny a kiss. ‘Oh, we’re going to have a grand time tonight. And lovely to have our Emily with us too.’

  Emily leapt up to hug him. His name should be Not-very-slim-Jim now! She tried to imagine him wearing a lady’s hat and a horrible fox fur.

  ‘So you’ll be escorting three beautiful girls tonight, you lucky man,’ said Kitty. ‘Now, Marianne. Clothes. I’ve brought three outfits and I want you to help me decide on one.’

  ‘I know what I’m wearing.’ Grandpa winked at Emily. ‘I’ll leave you girls to it.’

  ‘Emily came shopping with me last week,’ Granny told Kitty. ‘She’s my fashion advisor these days. I got a lovely little black and white dress, and a new pair of red shoes. I’ve always loved red shoes.’

  It had been a fun afternoon. Almost as good as going shopping with her friends, Emily thought. Granny tried on nine dresses before settling for this really smart one. Then she bought Emily a top as a thank you for helping her and they’d gone for hot chocolate.

  ‘Sounds a knock-out,’ Kitty said. She went through to the hall and came back dragging her suitcase which she proceeded to unbuckle and fling open.

  She picked up a brightly patterned scarf and handed it to Marianne. ‘Let’s see if I’ve got something for Emily.’ She rummaged further down and produced a round tin. ‘Try these. Chocolatey. Nutty. They’re gorgeous.’ She rummaged some more and brought out a long silky blue dress, a knee-length black one with lace sleeves, and a leopard-print skirt, all of which she draped over the sofa before diving into the case again and coming up with a pair of shoes with very high heels and red soles.

  ‘Wow,’ said Emily, and Granny turned round from the mirror where she was admiring herself in her new scarf.

  ‘Try them on if you like, both of you.’ Kitty threw the shoes to Emily.

  ‘Wow,’ Emily said again, looking down at her feet. She couldn’t move but the shoes looked a-m-a-z-i-n-g. She took them off and handed them to Granny who sashayed up and down the room in them with hardly a wobble.

  Emily thought of the dress she planned to wear, now lying crumpled up in her schoolbag, and felt a little embarrassed. ‘Can I borrow your iron, Granny?’

  ‘Of course. You know where it is. Then will you help me with my make-up, darling? Kitty’s putting me to shame in that department. Kit, I love that skirt. What would you wear with it?’

  Emily went to retrieve her dress and almost jumped out of her skin. A man with long hair and little round spectacles was coming downstairs carrying a guitar.

  He smiled at her and she realised it was Grandpa.

  He flicked the hair off his forehead. ‘How do I look?’

  Surely Grandpa wasn’t going out wearing a wig? Her question must have shown in her face.

  Grandpa patted her arm. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t put it on until we get there.’

  ‘But why … it’s not as if you’re totally bald.’

  ‘Thank you, my pet. Some pals and I are doing a Beatles’ tribute band spot tonight. Which one do you think I am?’

  ‘Which what?’

  ‘Which Beatle. John, Paul, George or Ringo?’

  ‘I’ve heard of the Beatles. Weren’t they famous back in the olden … ’ She stopped. ‘I didn’t know you could play the guitar.’

  ‘And I bet you didn’t know that your granny used to win twist competitions? You’ll see her in action later. Now,’ he said, strumming a chord on the guitar, ‘I’m going to give the girls a surprise.’ And ‘Slim Jim’ went off to clown around just as he had done in Miss Taylor’s classroom all those years ago.

  What were twist competitions, Emily wondered, as she went to find the iron. Then, hearing the laughter explode in the sitting-room, she couldn’t help laughing too. Imagine Grandpa playing in a band! And Kitty was great, really cool.

  It was true what Granny had said. Everyone was eighteen tonight.

  This was going to be a fun evening after all.

  Published in The People’s Friend

  Hide-and-Seek for Astronauts

  Last year, Julie hired a fire engine.

  The year before, she had an igloo built in the garden – in June. The year before that she took ten four-year-olds on a steam train.

  Now she had begun to talk about Ben’s next birthday party although he wouldn’t be seven for another two months. He was obsessed with space so I asked if she’d booked a supersonic trip around the galaxy with a stop for moon burgers.

  ‘Very funny. Haven’t finalised the details yet. Just keep the eighteenth free.’

  When Julie and I were kids, our birthday parties were a few friends round to play in the garden and a home-made cake with candles half-burnt from their previous outing. I don’t remember either of us ever getting new candles, but we didn’t care.

  ‘It’s different now, Karen.’ Julie was dismissive when I reminded her. ‘Anyway, you don’t have children.’

  I may not have children of my own but as an infant teacher I see more than enough of them. Julie was right. It is different now. We thought that life didn’t get any better than playing hide-and-seek and looking forward to a big piece of Gran’s jammy sponge. But that all came free, more or less – now birthday parties seemed to be about spending money and not just keeping up with the Joneses but leap-frogging over them.

  Julie had become an expert leap-frogger, and spending money was one of her favourite occupations. As was trying to persuade me to spend my hard-earned.

  ‘Why don’t we go shopping for some new clothes for you?’ she asked me. We were sitting having a Saturday morning cappuccino. It was just ten o’clock but she was carrying several shiny carrier bags from one of the designer shops in the precinct.

  ‘What for? They’ll just get poster paint and sticky finger marks all over them.’

  ‘You don’t teach all the time. Matthew suggested … ’

  ‘Matthew suggested what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Julie.’ I gave her the look I give P1 when they’re particularly fractious and she capitulated.

  ‘We were watching one of those makeover programmes and he said why didn’t I put you forward?’

  ‘As if! I’m not going to parade in my underwear, or worse, for all the world to see. What would Gran have said?’

  What Gran would have said to such an event was beyond our imagination, and we dissolved into giggles.

  ‘I can’t see you doing it,’ Julie conceded. ‘But you could do with a new look.’

  I wasn’t offended. Julie meant well and we had this conversation, or variations on it, regularly.

  ‘I really can’t be bothered,’ I said. ‘You do the glam bit for both of us.’

>   To be fair, I knew that Julie would be happy to pass her cast-offs on to me and I would have been happy to take them. It was unfortunate that I, the older sister whose hand-me-downs Julie was forced to wear as a child, was three inches shorter than her and a completely different shape.

  Julie was still thinking about Gran.

  ‘We hardly had any clothes that weren’t second-hand or home-made,’ she went on. ‘Remember the paper pattern she kept making those pinafore dresses from? The same one she’d used for our mum. And those scratchy jumpers?’ She pulled a face.

  I didn’t tell her that I still had the moss green chunky polo neck Gran knitted for me when I was fourteen, and that I wore it on winter nights when I got in from school.

  ‘She tried to teach us to sew and knit but that was a lost cause.’ Julie finished her coffee and patted her red lips with a napkin. ‘Sure you don’t want me to come shopping with you?’

  I was sure.

  But when I was getting ready for bed, Matthew’s suggestion came back to me. I looked at the nubbly tweed skirt I’d just flung on the chair. I’d had it for five years but it was still perfectly serviceable. The top I was taking off was in a shade of blue I didn’t particularly like but it had been on a half-price rail.

  I didn’t envy Julie her designer lifestyle. Fun for a day maybe but what a palaver. Sometimes I wondered what Gran, with her one ancient lipstick and her three-times-a-year perm, would think of Julie’s manicures and facials and whatnots, not to mention her built-in wardrobes and her forests of shoe-trees.

  The nubbly skirt went on again on Monday with a top, mustard this time, from the same sale rail. Even I could see that the colour didn’t suit me; the face that stared back at me looked to be the last stages of yellow fever.

  Maybe I should make more of an effort.

  Everything seemed to go wrong that morning. When I was gulping down some cereal my cat, Scatty, jumped on the table and knocked over the milk carton. The traffic, even in the bus lane, was worse than usual. P1 was playing up and my fiercest looks did nothing to quell them.