A Family Affair. Nancy Carson

up for her stepsister to see. Ramona agreed that she liked it.

      ‘Let me buy you a drink, Clover. May I?’

      ‘Thank you, Tom. A glass of lemonade wouldn’t come amiss. It’s thirsty work I’ve been doing all day.’

      Mary Ann appeared at the door from the passage, in stern mode. ‘Clover. Come and help me with the tea now you’m back,’ she said curtly.

      ‘Have you seen the photographs, Mother?’ Clover waved the thin album at her to buy more time with Tom.

      ‘Yes, I’ve seen them,’ was the terse reply. ‘Now I could do with some help in the scullery.’

      Clover looked disappointedly at Tom and then at Ramona. ‘I’d better go. Shame about the drink.’

      ‘Another time,’ Tom suggested, his face manifesting equal disappointment.

      ‘Yes, another time.’ She smiled her apology. ‘Coming, Mother.’

      Tom Doubleday appeared again in the taproom of the Jolly Collier a couple of days later. Clover spotted him as she returned home from work. Self-conscious about her dowdy working clothes, she flitted past the door hoping to be unseen, but Tom caught sight of her and waved. She waved back but scurried out of sight into the security of the scullery. Later, as she was peeling potatoes at the stone sink, she peered through the window and saw Tom Doubleday talking and laughing with Ramona outside. A pang of jealousy seared through her. Never in her life before had she experienced jealousy and it was not a pleasant feeling. Suddenly, her heart was beating fast and she felt hot; she hated Ramona for being in Tom Doubleday’s company, for luring him away. Just as suddenly she hated Tom Doubleday for spurning her by being so obviously taken with her stepsister. She’d hankered for Tom Doubleday since the day she met him and Ramona must have known that. Ramona surely didn’t want him; she’d got this Sammy she’d talked about. Could the girl really be so thoughtless, so selfish as to take the man she wanted?

      At tea Clover hardly spoke and didn’t even acknowledge Ramona. But nobody seemed to miss her contribution to the conversation that was growing more intense by the minute.

      ‘Six more free houses will take our ale, Mary Ann,’ Jake announced. ‘And an off-licence in Castle Street. As soon as we can brew the extra beer they’ll start selling it. Things am really looking up.’

      Mary Ann sighed and swallowed a mouthful of rabbit stew. ‘It’s all well and good finding places what’ll take the stuff, Jacob, but can we brew it fast enough? That lot in the taproom can soak it up as quick as ever I can brew it.’

      Jake picked a small piece of bone from between his teeth and set it on the side of his plate. ‘We need a bigger copper boiler. Six hundred and fifty gallon capacity wouldn’t be amiss. That’s eighteen barrels a brew, Mary Ann. Brewing six days a week, that’s one hundred and eight barrels. ’Course, we’d need half a dozen new fermenting vessels and all. And that grist mill we’ve got is buggered.’

      ‘And where d’you suppose the money’s coming from, Jacob?’ Mary Ann asked astutely. ‘’Cause I don’t suppose for a minute as it’ll stop at a new boiler and fermenting vessels. I daresay we’ll need an extension to the brewery, eh? Then we’m gonna need a new horse and dray and somebody to drive it.’

      Jake dipped a piece of bread into his stew and popped it, dripping, into his mouth thoughtfully. ‘Well, we’ve made a start,’ he said. ‘You see, Mary Ann, what you’ve gorra consider is the potential. In five years, if everything goes according to plan, we could own six or seven licensed premises besides this’n. You only have to see what Hanson’s have done to see as there’s money to be made.’

      Clover displayed little interest in the schemes and aspirations of her new stepfather. Let him get on with it. It was a different world to the one she inhabited. She was more concerned about Tom Doubleday and how he now seemed out of her reach. She excused herself from the table and went to her room sullenly. There, she sat on her new bed and sighed, full of frustration, full of animosity over Ramona. She gazed at the wash-stand with its ewer and bowl set and saw her face reflected in the mirror at the back of it. She was frowning. Yet she was not given to frowning. She must be in love with Tom Doubleday, else why would she feel like this? Her inborn common sense, however, suggested she had no prior claim over him. Ramona had just as much right to him.

      She stood up and rummaged through her wardrobe for a frock that would be suitable attire for sewing canvas pieces onto wing sections. A home-made one presented itself and she changed into it. If Tom Doubleday fancied Ramona who was she to complain? She could hardly blame him. After all, Ramona was a fine-looking, vivacious young woman. Doubtless, in no time, they would be doing together eagerly what Ramona had been doing with Sammy. Naturally, the thought did not please her. It did not please her at all. Deftly, she buttoned up the dress, then shook out her long dark hair, brushed it thoroughly and tied it up again. At least Ned would be glad to see her. At least she could rely on Ned.

      When she called for Ned at his home in Watson’s Street his mother, as usual, made a huge fuss of Clover. No, he’d gone half an hour since to Springfield House. He’d had another idea and couldn’t wait to get cracking on it. He’d said to send her over when she arrived, but would she like a cup of tea first? Clover replied that she’d not long had one and another would ensure she’d be dying to pee in an hour, when there was nowhere for a woman to pee at the stables of Springfield House since they’d demolished the old earth closet. She didn’t like to bother Mr Mantle, either, when he was so good anyway about them using the old stables to construct Ned’s flying machine.

      So Clover bid goodbye to Florrie Brisco and carried on down Watson’s Street, turning right at Percy Collins’s greengrocery store. When she reached the top of Hill Street where it levelled out, she could see the blue slate roofs of Springfield House in Tansley Hill Road, a narrow, descending lane that was overhung like a grotto with tall trees.

      Now that Joseph Mantle had bought a Sunbeam motor car and housed it in a newly constructed garage on the other side of Springfield House the old stables were redundant and the horses and carriage long since gone. The stables comprised one building that used to be sectioned into stalls on one side and was long enough to accommodate a forty-foot wingspan. Ned realised he was lucky to have such a fine facility, and with no outlay. His mother had been instrumental in arranging for him to use the stables through her connection with the Mantles; she had been in service there for years before she married, and was highly thought of. She still called regularly and the Mantles welcomed her like any old friend. Indeed, Joseph Mantle took a keen interest in Ned’s project and often put his head round the stable door to check on progress.

      Ned smiled when he saw Clover. He had already taken off the sailcloth coverings at the wing-tips, ready for extending the wingspan.

      ‘So what do you want me to do, Ned?’

      ‘I want you to cover in the fuselage behind where I sit,’ he told her. ‘There’s no advantage in leaving it open like a frame. Enclosing it can provide storage space and protect the control wires to the tail and rudder.’

      ‘All right.’ She set about measuring up for the first piece.

      ‘Look, here’s the model. It’s nearly finished already. What do you think?’

      ‘It looks a bit different to the first flying machine you made,’ she said fingering the tail. ‘It’s less like a box kite.’

      He grinned with satisfaction. ‘And it’ll perform better than any box kite design.’

      She smiled at him with admiration. He was so engrossed in his machine and how he could make it fly. His determination was formidable. Nothing would deter him from his goal. Oh, he would succeed, of that she was certain. He read every scrap of information there was to read about the progress of other aviators all over the world and utilised their best ideas.

      Clover moved to the trestle table and rolled out the expensive canvas sailcloth. She measured it and marked it out with a piece of blue chalk, then began cutting with a huge pair of scissors. Meanwhile Ned sawed and sanded