The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox

sad and suddenly weary, she put the kettle on; while that was brewing she visited the loo. Afterwards, looking in the mirror, she addressed herself in bruising tones, ‘You’re a mess, Kathy Wilson!’ Looking back at her image in the tiny oval mirror, she saw how the life had gone from her face; the golden-brown eyes weren’t so bright any more, and her brown hair was lank about her shoulders. ‘In the last year you’ve let yourself go. It’s no wonder men have begun to treat you like the dirt under their feet. All right! So you were married and he left you because he’d found somebody else.’ Dan and she had been happy enough for a couple of years, but the war had taken its toll on him, as it had on so many other young men. She gazed at her image a moment longer. ‘Men! Who needs ’em?’

      She allowed herself a smile. ‘You did have some good times though, didn’t you, eh? And when he walked out, it was only natural that you felt worthless. So what! That was over a year ago, and you’re still not over it. You’re moody and bad-tempered. You almost lost your job because you were absent so often they thought you’d emigrated, and now, here you are … making a mistake with the first man who came along and was kind to you.’

      Casting a disillusioned glance towards the bedroom, she shook her head in dismay. ‘Geoff isn’t for me! He may be handsome and well spoken, but deep down he’s a bully, and he really fancies himself. I just let myself be carried along by the dates and the flattery.’

      She wagged a finger at herself in the mirror. ‘She might be the worst mother on God’s earth, and there are times when you’d be better off without her interfering, but she’s right!’ she groaned. ‘It is time you got yourself together. You’re not the first woman to lose her husband and you won’t be the last.’ They were her mother’s words, and they had never been truer.

      She went to the kitchen, where she fetched a glass of water. As she sat sipping it and musing, she came to a conclusion. ‘Right! I’ve had enough of his hands all over me, ordering me around: “Do this” … “Get me that.”’ She mocked him to perfection. ‘… And if he never kisses me again, it’ll be too soon!’

      It took all of two minutes for her to sneak into the bedroom, collect her clothes and sneak out again. Five minutes later she was ready to leave. One last peep at his sleeping figure on her side of the bed and she was tiptoeing out of there, to the merry tune of his snoring. ‘Sleep well, you bugger!’ As she went, she deliberately slammed shut the door.

      Having got up early, shaved and dressed and ready for off, Tom saw the young woman from his window. She was hatless, her shoulder-length brown hair flying out behind her. He watched as she bounced along with a spring to her step; he saw her deliberately stride out into a busy street and hail a taxi-cab, the traffic swerving round her. When, in order to avoid hitting her full on, the driver of the black cab screeched to a halt, she calmly climbed aboard and waved him on.

      Tom laughed out loud. ‘That’s what you call a gutsy woman!’

      Just then the telephone rang; it was his brother Dougie. ‘Just checking you got back all right,’ he said.

      ‘Got back … had a bath and an early night, and now I’m raring to go.’ What he was ‘raring’ to do was to organise his life at last.

      ‘Good trip?’

      ‘Good enough.’

      ‘Right! See you at the office. I’ll be late, I reckon … got a frantic call from Joe Nightingale … some planning difficulty or other, it’s a damned nuisance. Still, I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t get round.’

      ‘Dougie, wait!’ Now that his mind was made up, he needed to tell the world. ‘What time will you be back, do you think?’

      ‘Not sure. You know what it’s like. When Joe can’t have his own way, he tends to get het-up. Then you have to take him out and discuss the finer points over a pint. I don’t suppose I’ll get away much before what … three … four? Why?’

      ‘But you will be back at the office today, won’t you?’

      ‘Sure thing, but what’s the panic?’

      ‘No panic. There’s something I need to talk over with you, that’s all.’

      ‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Okay. I’ll try and get away by two. How does that suit?’

      ‘Okay. See you then. Give my regards to Joe.’

      ‘Hmh!’ Dougie gave a laugh. ‘Knowing how difficult it can be to drag yourself away when he’s got a bee in his bonnet, I’ll probably have him in tow.’

      ‘Naw. You’ll deal with it. See you at two then!’

      ‘Can’t wait!’

      A moment later, having seen that his cupboards were bare, Tom threw on his jacket and made his way out of the building. He quickly hailed a cab, though not in the same cavalier way as the young woman before him. ‘Can you take me to the best greasy spoon you know?’ he asked.

      The cabbie acknowledged his request with a grin. ‘I know just the place,’ he said. ‘Sausages, mushrooms, and thick fried bread like you’ve never seen. Two slices o’ bread and marge, and a pot o’ tea to go with it.’ He winked in his mirror. ‘How does that sound, guv?’

      Tom was impressed. ‘Sounds like the nearest thing to heaven to me,’ he said. Settling comfortably in his seat, he shut his eyes and ears to the traffic and let his stomach dictate.

      Even now, early though it was, London was a bustling medley of trolleybuses, bicycles and motor cars. But the cabbie was as good as his word. ‘Baker’s Caff,’ he declared, drawing into the kerbside, ‘owned and run by my own dear mamma … name of Lola. Looks like the devil, cooks like an angel!’

      At that minute a woman emerged. All smiles and white teeth, she was ample in every way; obviously of Italian origin, with her black eyes, and her dark hair tied in an elaborate knot at the top of her head. ‘Come in! Come in!’ she urged.

      Opening her dimpled arms, she embraced him with surprising strength. ‘Nice to see you, handsome man. You wanna the breakfast?’ As she spoke she nodded, her smile growing so wide it almost enveloped her face.

      The cabbie laughed. ‘Course he wants “the breakfast”! Why do you think I brought him, eh?’ Winking at Tom, he suggested mischievously, ‘Matter o’ fact, I’m beginning to feel a bit peckish myself.’

      ‘No, you can’t!’ She wagged an angry finger at him. ‘I don’t feed you no more today! You be a good boy … get away and bring me more customers.’

      Laughing, he deposited Tom into her care and drove off.

      Lola’s breakfast was as good as it got with rationing still in place: two huge sausages; a heaping of mushrooms; four crinkly cooked tomatoes; even a fried egg, and the whole plate swimming in juices and fats, which Tom eagerly mopped up with his chunks of fresh-baked bread. Afterwards there was a cup of scalding hot tea to wash it all down.

      Lola scooped up his plate. ‘You want more?’

      ‘Good God, no!’ Tom struggled out of his chair. ‘That was more than enough to last me the whole day, thank you. I’ve never tasted a breakfast like it!’

      ‘So, you come back another time, yes?’ Lola’s round face was a picture of joy.

      He nodded. ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘Just try and keep me away!’

      A few moments later, as he donned his wool coat and hat and left the café, he turned to wave; quietly amused when Lola blushed crimson.

      His offices were only a short distance from the café. For a moment he debated whether to take the trolleybus or walk. He had been a minute at the bus stop when he decided against it. ‘On second thoughts, I’d best walk!’ He patted his stomach. ‘It’ll do me good.’

      As