‘Susan told me one day. She says that Gran Parker’s husband once had a butcher’s shop in Upminster, but he died of a heart attack and his elder son, Norman, took over. Norman was useless, and what profits he did make he spent at the races. On top of that, he had a nasty temper. Bob’s father, Doug, was the younger son and he thought he could make a better fist of it and said so, and one day when they were having a row Norman picked up a knife and attacked Doug. His arm was so badly injured that at one point they thought it was going to have to be amputated. Norman walked out, joined the army and died in India of malaria, the butcher’s went bust and, with what money was left, Gran moved to Southend with Doug and his family and put a deposit on the guest house. Which was fine until the war came and that business nearly went bust too. From what I can make out, they’re just about hanging on now, with people wanting to go on holiday again. So you see, they’re not a grand family living in a big house. They’re ordinary people who’ve had a lot of bad luck, just like you have.’
‘Oh—yes—I see. Dear me, what a terrible story! Fancy one brother attacking another like that. How dreadful.’
Going over the tale kept them occupied as they made their way along the depressing back streets with their rows of almost identical houses till they could see the grey gleam of the Thames estuary, finally emerging on to Southend seafront just past the gasworks. All three of them paused to take in the scenery. Susan gazed at the dome of the Kursaal, where she had met Bob at the dance hall. Cora looked mistily at the pier, marching out across the grey mudflats to the shining river. She and her late husband had taken many a romantic stroll along its mile and a quarter of decking. James looked at the Golden Mile of amusements and longed to be there with his friends, playing the machines and eyeing up the girls, instead of being stuck with this gruesome family tea with the Parkers.
It was still too early in the year for many day trippers to be about, but the sunny weather had brought out plenty of locals to walk off the effects of their Sunday lunches. Young couples wandered hand in hand, families marched along in groups, elderly people stopped to look at the fishing boats or across the water to the hills of Kent, dogs ran around barking at the seagulls.
A brisk walk along the promenade in the spring sunshine brought the Kershaws to the Sunny View Guest House, set a few houses back from the seafront on a side road. There was not much to set it apart from any of the others in the terrace. They were all three storeys high with square bay windows, grubby brickwork and dark paint. All displayed ‘Vacancies’ signs. James couldn’t imagine wanting to stay in any of them. They looked most unwelcoming.
The front door of Sunny View was opened by a skinny kid of thirteen or so with long plaits. She looked about as pleased to see them as James was to see the Parkers.
Susan put on her grown-up voice. ‘Hello, Lillian dear. How are you today?’
‘All right, I s’pose. You better come in.’
Bob came to meet them in the hall, took Cora’s coat and gave it to the kid to hang up, then opened the door to the front room.
‘We’re in Gran’s room today,’ he told them, in a tone of voice that made it clear they should think themselves honoured.
The entire Parker clan was gathered in the gloomy room. After the fresh sea air it smelt stale, a mixture of cigarette smoke, polish and cooking fat. James found himself introduced to each family member—Bob’s grandmother, parents, younger brother Frank and the kid Lillian. But none of them made any impression on him, for there, sitting amongst them, was the most stunning girl he had ever seen.
‘My sister Wendy,’ Bob said.
She was a natural blonde, her hair in soft curls round her lovely face. Her eyes were big and blue and her lips were luscious, while her body was as alluring as Marilyn Monroe’s. She wore a pink jumper that showed off her magnificent breasts to perfection, and a wide belt emphasized her narrow waist. James was mesmerised. There was a general shaking of hands, during which James got to grasp hers.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he managed to say. He felt hot all over.
Wendy kept hold of his hand a few telling moments longer than necessary. ‘Likewise,’ she said with a cool smile.
James was horribly aware that she knew just what effect she was having on him and, what was more, she was enjoying it.
He sat on the dining chair nearest to where Wendy perched on the arm of her father’s seat. Around him, the two families were making polite small talk. The words buzzed about him but made little sense. Then he realised that Susan was hissing at him.
‘James!’
‘What?’ he asked, disorientated.
‘Mrs Parker is asking you a question.’
With difficulty, he focused on Bob’s grandmother. She was a grim-looking old bat, dressed entirely in black with a large cameo brooch at the neck of her blouse.
‘Yes, Mrs Parker?’ he said, trying to sound intelligent.
From across the room there came a snigger. James glanced over. It was Frank, a lanky young man of about twenty with a shadow of a grin on his face. He understood just what the problem was.
‘I asked what you did for a living, young man.’
James looked back at the grandmother.
‘I’m an apprentice mechanic at Dobson’s garage,’ he told her.
‘Hmm, well, it’s a good thing to have a trade. Our Bob has a position at the bank, of course.’
‘Yes, Mrs Parker,’ he said. Nothing on earth was going to make him sound impressed.
‘It’s such a comfort to have an office worker in the family. Bob takes after his grandfather. He has the brains of the family.’
There was a murmuring of agreement from the older members of the family.
James couldn’t help glancing at Bob. He was sitting there looking like the cat that got the cream, and there was Susan, gazing at him with her face glowing.
‘Susan has an office job,’ James pointed out. Nobody was going to make out that the Parkers were better than the Ker-shaws.
‘But not in a bank,’ the old bat stated. She shut her mouth in a tight line, to show that she had said the last word on the subject.
‘It’s a good job though, for a girl,’ James argued. Susan had let slip how Gran ruled the roost round here, but she wasn’t his grandmother and he wasn’t going to let her shut him up like she did the others.
Mrs Parker turned her stony glare on him. ‘When are you going for your national service, young man?’
‘July.’
Mrs Parker gave a satisfied nod. ‘That’ll knock the cheek out of you. You won’t know what’s hit you.’
‘Make a man out of you,’ Bob’s father said.
Bob and Frank both agreed. They had done their national service. They sat there with the superior expressions of those who had been through the mill and survived it. James was conscious of Wendy, sitting there watching the fun and waiting for his reaction.
‘I’ve
