FAMILY DRAMA 4 BOOK BUNDLE

Kitty Neale, Pam Weaver, Marie Maxwell and Leah Fleming

Nobody’s Girl

KITTY NEALE

Nobody’s Girl

Dedication

For Rita McAneny.

We have worked together, laughed together, shared sadness and tears, my precious friend for over twenty years.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Read an Extract from A Father’s Revenge

About the Author

Author’s Note

With thanks to Maxine Hitchcock, Keshini Naidoo, and all the team at Avon for their much appreciated kindness and help in bringing this novel to print.

Prologue

The moon was in its first quarter as the man climbed out of his car. A high wind wailed through the skeletal branches of trees, the sound echoing that of the tiny bundle clutched in his arms. He ignored the cries, uncaring, feeling only disgust as he held the bundle away from his body.

His face was grim. He was going to make his daughter pay for almost ruining the family name, and her bastard would pay too. It would cost him dearly, yet worth it to watch her suffer, not once, but twice. My God, he had thought her perfect, his only child, but she had turned out to be a slut.

He reached the end of the lane, his eyes flicking from side to side as he turned onto a small, built-up road. He had chosen well. There were no houses, and with a wartime blackout in force, no streetlights pierced the dense blanket of darkness.

The building loomed, but still he was cautious, looking swiftly over his shoulder before roughly laying the bundle on its concrete steps. The wrapping fell to one side, the infant mewling, but the man was heedless of the cold night air.

At first he had wanted the bastard dead, but then decided it would be too easy for her, the slut’s suffering short. No, he’d bide his time, watch her grieve, and then one day, when the time was right, he’d tell her the truth. And when he did, he’d watch as she suffered all over again.

His smile thin, he swung on his heels now, swiftly walking away.

He was only just out of sight when a door swung open. A woman emerged, running swiftly down the steps and, taking up the baby, she carried it inside.

Chapter One

Battersea, South London, 1956

Dolly Dolby picked up a thick white plate from the stack and scowled. ‘Gertie, get in here!’

Up to the elbows in hot water, Gertrude Wilson sighed and, grabbing a tea towel, she hurriedly dried her hands before leaving the small, cramped washing-up area. She was used to Dolly’s moods and met her ferocious gaze with equilibrium.

‘What do you want now?’

Dolly stiffened with annoyance. She was a woman at odds with her name: there was nothing doll-like in her appearance. Tall, formidable, and big-boned, with a broad flat face above wide shoulders, her only saving grace was long, thick, chestnut-brown hair. However, the only person likely to see it was her husband when she let it down at night. In the kitchen she wore it pulled back tightly and covered with a thick hairnet.

Scowling again, she indicated the remnant of dried egg on the rim of the plate. ‘What do you call this?’

‘I do me best, but I ain’t feeling too good today.’

‘What, again? Mrs Neverwell, that’s you. If it ain’t your bleeding varicose veins, it’s your arthritis. Maybe I should think about replacing you with someone who can wash up properly.’

It was an empty threat, but one Dolly enjoyed. Gertie had been working in the café for over ten years, and in her own way Dolly was fond of the woman. There weren’t many who would put up with the conditions in the small washing-up room, which contained just two deep Belfast sinks with wooden draining boards. There was a tiny window looking out onto the yard, and now, in July, it was like working in a hothouse.

‘After all the years I’ve worked for you, you’re threatening to sack me over one dirty plate,’ Gertie whined, her small brown eyes filling with tears.

‘All right,’ Dolly placated, ‘don’t start with the waterworks. I’m just spouting wind and you know that. Just make sure that in future you wash up properly.’

‘Two full breakfasts with black pudding and fried bread,’ Rita Marriner shouted as she hurried into the kitchen, slapping an order slip onto the table.

Dolly glared at the young waitress. ‘Didn’t you hear the bell? Those two breakfasts have been standing there for nearly five minutes.’

Rita’s eyes blazed as she picked up the standard meal of sausages, bacon, fried eggs and beans. ‘No, I didn’t hear the bell. I’ve only got one pair of hands and it’s a bit much expecting me to cope with all the tables. It’s about time you found another waitress.’

‘Don’t give me any lip, young lady. You’re getting paid extra so you ain’t got much to complain about. Now get those breakfasts out of here and make sure you ask them if they want bread and butter with it.’

Clutching the two plates, Rita pushed the swing doors with her bottom, saying as she reversed out of the kitchen, ‘Why don’t you stick a bloody broom up me arse and I’ll sweep the floor at the same time!’

Dolly’s mouth opened and shut like a fish floundering out of water. She turned her eyes on Gertie, taking her anger out on the thin, middle-aged woman as she yelled, ‘What are you looking at? Get on with the washing-up.’

As Gertie scurried off, Dolly slapped four rashers of bacon into a frying pan, her shoulders rigid. Rita had been working in the café for only about two months, but the young madam would have to go. It was always the same with youngsters nowadays: they gave you lip, and she wasn’t putting up with it. Mind you, with only one waitress at the moment she’d have to stay her hand until she found a replacement.

‘Two eggs on toast, and one full breakfast,’ Rita yelled again, the door abruptly swinging shut.

The pace was picking up, costermongers from the market ready for their breakfasts. Two more rashers joined the pan, all Dolly’s concentration now focused on the morning rush.

Bernard Dolby stood behind the counter, a large stainless-steel pot in his hand as he poured tea into thick, white china cups. The antithesis of his wife, Bernard was quite short and thin, except for a slightly protruding beer belly. He had light brown hair that was thinning, and most of the time his grey eyes carried a mild expression.

Rita came running up, looking harassed as she picked up the cups of tea, calling out as she hurried away again, ‘Two slices of bread and butter please, Bernie.’

He turned to the work surface behind him, spreading butter on the bread before cutting the slices into neat triangles. ‘Who are they for, Rita?’

‘Table two.’

‘Morning, Derek,’ Bernie said as he took the plate across the room and placed it beside the man.

Derek Lewis looked up, his pug-nosed face breaking into a grin. ‘Watcha, mate. I won me fight last night.’

Bernie smiled, wondering what the other amateur boxer looked like. One of Derek’s pale blue eyes was swollen, the start of a nice black eye visible. ‘How many rounds did you go?’

‘Only six, then I knocked him out just before the bell.’

‘Well done,’ Bernie said, but seeing two customers waiting to pay for their meals, he went back to his post.

‘Right,’ he said, taking the first slip, ‘that’ll be one and six, please.’

Bernie picked up the two shillings proffered. ‘There you are, a tanner change. Dolly’s doing her steak-and-kidney pie for lunch.’

The man licked his lips. ‘That’ll do us. Save a couple of slices, Bernie.’

‘Will do.’ And taking the other man’s slip he added, ‘Egg and Bacon, plus bread and tea – that’ll be a shilling.’

The two young men left and, as the café filled with more customers, Bernie refilled the large teapot, ready for the rush.

It was nine thirty before Bernie drew breath, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as the last customer paid his bill.

‘Rita, when you’ve finished clearing the tables, you can have your break.’

‘I’m dying for a fag. Can’t I have a breather now?’

‘If my wife comes out of the kitchen and sees the state of the place, she’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘It ain’t my fault. It’s impossible to do double my tables and clear them at the same time.’

Bernie exhaled loudly. He sympathised with the girl, but knew what Dolly would say if she saw the mess. He came out from behind the counter, saying with a placatory note in his voice, ‘Come on, if I give you a hand they’ll be cleared in no time.’

The girl heaved a sigh, but began stacking the plates on table two as Bernie started on the next one.

Dolly stuck her head out of the kitchen door. ‘Rita, get me a cup of tea.’

‘I’m busy,’ she replied shortly.

Bernie held his breath, but knew what was coming as his wife marched into the room.

‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me. I’ve been rushed off my feet since six thirty this morning. These tables need clearing and I ain’t had a break yet. If you want a cup of tea, I don’t see why you can’t get it for yourself.’

Dolly’s face suffused with colour as she glared at the girl. ‘You, miss, are on a week’s notice.’

‘Huh, is that a fact? Well, sod your week’s notice. I’m going now and you can stick your bleedin’ job.’

Dolly’s jaw dropped as Rita ripped off her apron, threw it on a table and then marched out of the café, only to reappear moments later to grab her handbag from under the counter. Briefly she glowered at them both, but then as a parting shot, before slamming the door behind her, she spat, ‘Do you know something, Dolly Dolby? You’re a miserable old cow and I ain’t surprised you can’t keep a waitress for more than five minutes.’

For a moment there was a shocked silence, but then Bernie sighed heavily, turning to his wife. ‘Now you’ve gone and done it. How are we supposed to manage the lunches?’

‘I’ll get Kevin down here to do the counter. You’ll have to do the serving.’

Bernie, knowing what a lazy young bugger their son was, said with a doubtful shake of his head, ‘I don’t think he’ll take kindly to that. And anyway, he’s probably still in bed.’

The bell pinged and both glanced towards the door again as a young woman came in, her head low as she looked at them shyly from under her lashes. She was a small, mousy-looking creature, wearing a shapeless, grey cotton dress that hung on her tiny frame. Straight, light brown hair sat on her shoulders, parted at the side and fastened with a slide.

For a moment they gazed at her. Then, gathering his thoughts, Bernard asked, ‘What can I get you, love?’

‘I … I saw the notice in the window for a waitress.’

‘Oh, right, then you’d best speak to my wife.’

Dolly took in a great gulp of air, her eyes momentarily looking heavenward before she spoke. ‘I’ve just lost a waitress so your timing is perfect. Sit down,’ she offered, her voice unusually soft.

Bernie listened as his wife began to question the girl. She had arrived at an opportune moment, but she looked so slight that a puff of wind could blow her over.

‘Right, what’s your name?’

‘Pearl Button.’

‘Blimey, your parents must have a sense of humour.’

The girl’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. ‘I … I’m an orphan. When I was left on the orphanage steps, they found a tiny button clutched in my hand. That’s how I got the name.’

‘Gawd, if it wasn’t so tragic, it’d be funny. Anyway, how old are you?’

‘I’m sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen in October.’

‘Speak up, girl, I can hardly hear you. How old did you say you are?’

‘I said I’m sixteen.’

‘Christ, you’re just a kid. Have you been a waitress before?’

‘Er … no, but I can start straight away, and I’m quick at picking things up,’ she said, for a moment her expression animated.

Dolly brushed some crumbs from the table, obviously thinking it over as Bernie urged, ‘Give her a try, love.’

He watched as his wife continued to ponder, but it seemed that need overcame her doubts. With a small nod she said, ‘All right, the job’s yours. It’s Tuesday, but if you really are willing to start straight away, we’ll give you a full week’s wage on Saturday.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ Pearl said, and as she smiled for the first time Bernie saw a flash of beauty. The girl had an elfin face with a pointed chin. Huge brown eyes seemed to take up most of her face, but they were hidden again as she lowered her head.

‘You don’t know what the hours are, so don’t thank me yet. Your shift will start at six thirty in the morning, ending at three thirty in the afternoon. You’ll get an hour for lunch between eleven and twelve.’

‘That’s all right. And … and the pay?’

‘You’re only sixteen so it’s two quid a week. Until we get another waitress I’ll give you a bit extra, and you should pick up some tips too.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Hearing you speak it’s obvious that you don’t come from these parts. Where do you live?’

‘I have a bedsit over an empty shop further along the High Street.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re renting one of Nobby Clark’s rooms?’

‘Well, yes, my landlord is Mr Clark.’

Bernie and Dolly exchanged glances, both knowing what a dodgy character the young man was. The premises had been left to him by an aunt, but he had run the grocery shop into the ground. He had a reputation for shady deals, and some said that letting the upstairs rooms was just a front for his other activities.

Sixteen, Bernie thought, the kid is only sixteen and living alone in one of Nobby’s grotty bedsits. As he coughed she looked up at him, her vulnerability making him swallow. God, once Dolly showed her true character the girl wouldn’t last five minutes. He forced a smile, saying kindly, ‘Well, love, if you can start straight away I’ll show you the ropes, but first, how about a nice cup of tea?’

‘Make it a quick one,’ Dolly said sharply. ‘This place looks like a bomb’s hit it and I want it cleared ready for the lunchtime rush. While you’re at it, Bernie, you can pour a cup of tea for me and Gertie. Pearl can bring it through to the kitchen and I’ll introduce her to Gertie before I start on the lunches.’

Bernie moved behind the counter, and when his wife was out of earshot he decided that if they wanted to keep this waitress, it wouldn’t hurt to put her in the picture. He beckoned Pearl forward, handing her a tray with three cups on it. ‘Now listen, love. Before you take these through to the kitchen I should warn you that my wife can be a bit sharp at times. It’s just her way, but it’s lost us a few waitresses in the past. My best advice is to ignore her if she’s in a bad mood, and for Gawd’s sake, don’t answer her back.’

For a moment Pearl appeared disconcerted, whilst Bernie hoped he hadn’t put his foot in it. They needed a new waitress desperately, but now he might have scared her off.

Her amazing eyes were wide as she looked at him, but then with a faint smile she said, ‘Thanks for warning me.’

Bernie watched her as she walked to the kitchen, thinking it was like seeing Daniel going into the lions’ den. Yet there wasn’t only Dolly to contend with, there were the costermongers too. Rita, with her dyed blonde hair, thick make-up and hardened appearance, had given as good as she got, enjoying their ribald jokes. Pearl, on the other hand, looked as innocent as a lamb and he doubted she’d cope. They were a good crowd really, who looked after their own, and maybe he could tip them the wink, asking them to lay off the girl. He’d start with Derek Lewis. The man might look like a hard nut, but underneath Bernie knew he had a soft spot for waifs and strays – a category that Pearl Button certainly fitted into.

Chapter Two

Pearl had been introduced to Gertie, drunk her tea and, now doing her utmost to take in what Mr Dolby was saying, she was back in the dining room.

‘Right, Pearl, give me a hand to clear these tables. I’ll explain what you have to do as we go along, though it ain’t hard. Take the customer’s order and write it on a slip, along with the table number.’

‘Table number?’

‘Yes,’ Bernie said, pointing to a block of wood next to a cruet set on which a number was painted boldly in red. ‘Leave the top copy with the customer, and the carbon copy goes to the kitchen. Always ask if they want tea and bread and butter with their meal because we make a good profit on those. Dolly will ring a bell when the order is ready so make sure you listen for it. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Good. Now as soon as a customer leaves, make sure you clear the table ready for the next one. Take the dirty plates to the kitchen and give the table a quick wipe down.’

Pearl already felt bemused.

‘Don’t look so worried. Once you get the hang of it you’ll be fine. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention cutlery. You’ll find knives and forks over there on that trolley,’ Bernie pointed.

The door opened and two elderly ladies bustled in, pausing as they took in the scene. ‘Blimey, don’t tell me you’ve lost yet another waitress.’

‘I’m afraid so, Ena.’

‘It’s just as well you keep your wife out the back or you’d lose all yer customers too,’ the other lady chuckled.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right. Now what can I get you?’

‘Just two cups of tea, please.’

‘Pearl, take those plates to the kitchen,’ Bernie said, with a wave of his arm, ‘and then finish the rest of the tables.’

Pearl picked up the stack, hurrying away. Nerves made her hands shake, the cutlery on top rattling and sliding in an alarming manner. With relief she placed them on the large wooden table at the entrance to the washing-up room, glancing through to see Gertie giving her a wide grin. The woman’s sparse, reddish hair was moist from the steam rising from the sink, her face shiny with perspiration.

‘Is that the lot?’ she asked.

‘I’ve only got two more tables to clear.’

‘Thank gawd for that. I’ll just about finish the washing-up before the lunchtime rush starts.’

‘Yeah, so stop talking and get on with it!’ Dolly snapped.

Pearl had just cleared the last two tables, taking the crockery through to the kitchen, when the back door to the yard opened.

‘Sorry I took so long, Dolly,’ a short stocky woman said as she rushed in. ‘The waiting room was packed and it was ages before I saw the doctor. Mind you, it was a waste of time. He reckons I’m just a bit run down and said I should take a tonic. Tonic indeed! I tried to tell him that it’s more than that, but he wouldn’t listen.’

‘Christ, another Mrs Neverwell. I don’t know why I put up with you and Gertie.’

‘Hello, love,’ the woman said as she spotted Pearl.

Dolly heaved a sigh. ‘Pearl, this is Mo, or Maureen Price, and she’s my vegetable cook. Now enough chat and let’s get on. Mo, you’ve been out for over an hour, so get on with the potatoes.’

With a smile at the harassed-looking woman, Pearl left the kitchen. ‘What do I do now?’ she asked Bernard.

‘It’ll be quiet until lunchtime and it’ll give me a chance to show you how things work behind the counter, but first you can refill the cruets.’

A couple of young women came in. ‘Two teas, please,’ one of them said, and turning to her companion she added, ‘Grab a table by the window so we can keep an eye on our prams.’

Pearl started on the first table, checking the condiments and filling those she found empty. It was hot, the sun blazing through the windows. Her throat was dry, but, too shy to ask for another drink, she carried on.

She had finished half of the tables when a door she had seen to the side of the counter opened, a tall, dark-haired young man appearing.

‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Dad?’

Bernie’s face darkened, but his voice was level as he said, ‘We’re still a waitress short and I could do with a hand later.’

‘Sorry, no can do. I’ve made other arrangements,’ and, picking up the cup of tea that his father had poured, he headed for the kitchen, pausing for a moment as he passed Pearl.

She kept her head down, moving to the front of the dining room, and couldn’t fail to hear the remarks made by the two young women sitting at a window table.

‘Cor, that Kevin Dolby’s a bit of all right.’

‘Yeah, and he certainly ain’t a chip off the old block. He looks nothing like Dolly or Bernard.’

‘If I wasn’t a married woman, I might be tempted.’

‘Leave it out. Your old man would skin you alive.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Glancing out of the window, she added, ‘Sod it, we’d best be off. My baby’s waking up.’

As they hurried out, Pearl only had one table left to check and it was where the two elderly ladies sat. Smiling shyly at them, she picked up the salt pot, carefully removing the lid.

‘How are you getting on, dearie?’ one asked.

‘Fine,’ Pearl told her.

‘Just keep your head down and you’ll be all right. What’s your name?’

‘Pearl Button.’

‘Blimey,’ she said, unable to keep a straight face and echoing Dolly Dolby as she added, ‘Your parents must have a sense of humour.’

Pearl just nodded, and as she made to move away Kevin Dolby reappeared, taking a seat in the dining room. The old lady put a hand on her arm, whispering urgently, ‘Dolly Dolby can be a dragon, but she’s as soft as shit when it comes to her son. If you want to stay in her good books, take my advice and stay away from Kevin.’

Puzzled, Pearl now went to the counter, but she had hardly reached it when the kitchen bell rang. When she hurried to answer it, Dolly said, ‘Give that breakfast to my son.’

Pearl picked up the huge fry-up and carried it through to the dining room, her mouth salivating. It was nearly eleven, and with no breakfast that morning her stomach growled with hunger.

Nervously she placed the plate in front of Dolly’s son, relieved when, after giving her a cursory glance from hazel eyes, he went back to reading his newspaper, only murmuring, ‘Get me a couple of slices of bread.’

She went to the counter to find Bernard chalking a list of lunchtime meals onto a blackboard. There was steak-and-kidney pie, sausages and mash, pork chops, or liver and bacon. Apple or Bakewell tarts were added for pudding, along with custard. Once again Pearl’s mouth salivated, her stomach growling as she buttered the bread.

With more important things on his mind, Kevin hardly noticed the new waitress. He finished his breakfast, stood up and, leaving his empty plate on the table, went back to the kitchen.

‘Mum, can I have a word?’

‘What is it, love?’

‘Most of me mates have got cars, but I’m still riding a scooter.’

‘Blimey, Kevin, that Lambretta was a lot of money and you’ve only had it for a year.’

‘Yeah, I know, but I’ve been offered a lovely Vauxhall Wyvern for two hundred quid.’

‘Two hun—’

‘Listen, Mum,’ Kevin interrupted, ‘a new one would be five hundred and fifty, not forgetting the purchase tax. This one’s only a couple of years old and it’s a bargain.’

‘It’s still a lot of money, son.’

Please, Mum,’ Kevin wheedled. ‘All me mates have got cars now. Scooters are for kids.’

‘Kevin, I threw a big party for your twenty-first birthday and it cost me a pretty penny. Now you want money for a car. It doesn’t grow on trees, love.’

Kevin pouted, his expression for a moment that of a small boy. ‘Pleeease, Mum.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

He smiled secretly, knowing that with a bit more persuasion he’d get his own way. He could pull the asthmatic trick again, say it was due to the dust he breathed in when riding his scooter. That would give her a fright and with any luck she’d give in.

‘We could do with a hand at lunchtime.’

The smile left Kevin’s face. ‘I’ve got things to do, Mum. Can’t you manage without me?’

‘We’re a bit pushed. Rita walked out and the new girl’s inexperienced. I doubt she’ll cope with the lunchtime rush.’

Kevin knew what buttons to push. ‘From what I saw she’s doing all right, and I must say she ain’t bad-looking.’

‘She’s just a kid and far too young for you,’ Dolly snapped.

Pearl came in carrying Kevin’s empty plate, and as she placed it on the table he moved to her side, throwing an arm around her shoulder. ‘Hello, we haven’t been introduced.’

The girl flushed, looking up at him with wide, brown eyes, her words sounding breathless as she said, ‘Er … hello.’

‘Kevin, we can manage without you,’ Dolly said hurriedly.

He smiled inwardly. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll see you around tea time.’

‘Don’t stand there gawking, Pearl. Get back to your work!’

‘Yes. Sorry, Mrs Dolby.’

Dolly’s face softened almost imperceptibly as the girl ran back to the dining room. At last, a youngster who showed a bit of respect. Mind you, she’d have to keep an eye on her when Kevin was around. Pearl was just a bit of a kid, and as she was an orphan there was no knowing what sort of background she came from. There might be bad blood in her family and she was therefore totally unsuitable for her son.

‘Mo,’ Dolly shouted, ‘have you finished the spuds?’

‘Not yet, but I won’t be much longer.’

‘We’re all behind ’cos of your bleedin’ trip to the doctor’s. When you’ve finished, get on with the onions. There’s liver and bacon on the menu today so make sure you do enough.’

‘Yeah, all right, Dolly.’

It was quiet for a while as the women worked, Dolly placing the pork chops in the oven before laying out the pies ready for warming. Next she part-fried the liver, ready to be finished off with bacon when she got an order. There were only the sausages to get on now. So after vigorously forking them, Dolly placed them on a tray to cook later.

She glanced up at the clock. ‘Gertie, you’d better have your break, and you, Mo, get the spuds on.’

Mo placed the large pans on her cooker, added a generous amount of salt and lit the gas. ‘There, done, and once I’ve finished the onions I’ll get on with the cabbage and carrots.’

The Bakewell and apple pies had been delivered yesterday, and the custard already mixed, so after giving Gertie a bacon sandwich, the woman’s usual fare, Dolly took this opportunity to have a break too.

In the dining room there were only a few customers, but Dolly knew it was the calm before the storm. At lunchtime the place would be heaving and she hoped the new girl would cope. After a quick look at the tables, she sat down near the counter, her eyes now on Pearl.

Bernie was showing her how to make the tea, water pouring into the pot from the hot-water urn, a cloud of steam momentarily obscuring Pearl’s face. As it cleared, Dolly saw that the girl’s cheeks were pink from the heat, and she frowned, noticing for the first time how pretty she was. She hadn’t seen it when interviewing her, and wondered why.

As though suddenly aware that she was being observed, Pearl quickly lowered her head. That’s it, Dolly thought. It was her mouse-like demeanour, the way she kept her eyes down and her shoulders hunched.

‘As that tea is freshly made, you can pour me a cup and take a couple through to the kitchen for Mo and Gertie,’ she said, thankful that at least the girl wasn’t plastered with make-up. Kevin usually went for the obvious types, and had made a play for several of her previous waitresses. Of course, as soon as this happened she got rid of them, vowing never to employ a girl with looks again.

Had she made a mistake with Pearl? Yet as the girl came from behind the counter and carefully placed a cup of tea on the table, she doubted it. Once again she looked like a mouse, with a slim figure that was almost boyish. No, she definitely wasn’t Kevin’s type.

Chapter Three

As the first lunchtime customers entered the café, Pearl took a deep breath in an effort to steady her nerves. She waited until they had sat down before approaching their table, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Her pad was poised.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Hello, who’s this?’ the costermonger asked his companion.

‘I dunno. Rita served me for breakfast. Has she left, darlin’?’

‘Yes, this morning. Now, what can I get you?’ Pearl asked again.

‘Blimey, she talks well, Charlie.’

‘Yeah, I’ll grant you that.’

The door opened again, four men walking to a nearby table and, seeing them, Pearl’s hands shook. She hadn’t taken this order yet, but already had to take another. ‘Please, what would you like?’

‘You on toast will do. Mind you, with the amount of meat on you I wouldn’t get much of a mouthful.’

Pearl reddened, relieved when the one called Charlie placed his order. ‘I’ll ’ave the steak-and-kidney pie, love.’

‘Yeah, I’ll ’ave the same.’

She scribbled it down, dashing to the kitchen, but as she laid the order on the table, Dolly spoke sharply. ‘What do you call this?’

‘It … it’s an order.’

‘There’s no table number on this slip, and this copy goes to the customer. If they’re paying separately they have a slip each. I have the bottom copy.’

‘I … I’m sorry. I’ll write it out again, but I don’t know if they’re paying separately.’

‘Make sure you ask next time.’

‘Yes, sorry.’ Then hurriedly leaving the kitchen, Pearl approached the table again, her head bowed.

‘I’m sorry, I forgot to ask if you’re paying separately for your meals.’

‘Yeah, but don’t worry, love. We’ll split the bill between us.’

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘Here, miss, are we getting served today?’

‘Yes, sorry,’ Pearl said as she went over to the other table, her head once again low and feeling that she had said nothing but ‘sorry’ since she started. She flushed as one of the men at the table began to sing.

‘“Pussycat, Pussycat, what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under her chair.”’

Bernard Dolby wandered over. ‘Give Pearl a chance, Frank. It’s her first day and she hasn’t done the job before.’

The man slowly scrutinised her and she held her breath, thankful when he finally said, ‘Liver and bacon for me.’

The other three men gave their orders and this time, asking if they were paying separately, she had to make out four slips. As she tore them off and handed them out, it seemed a daft idea to her. Why write separate orders for each customer? Surely there was a more efficient way? However, as the café began to fill she dismissed it from her mind, and after dashing to the kitchen with the orders she almost ran to the next table.

Having finished their meal, the four men on table five stood up. As they walked towards the counter, one beckoned to Pearl, saying, ‘Do you want a tip, love?’

She didn’t know what to say. Yes, she needed tips, but hadn’t expected to be asked.

‘Here’s a good tip for you. Have a bet on Imperial Lad running in the three thirty at Newmarket.’

All the men burst into laughter. ‘Gawd, that’s a good one, Frank.’

Humiliated but determined to hide it, Pearl went to clear their table. It was only as she picked up the last plate that she saw the threepenny bit underneath. Pearl looked up quickly, just in time to see Frank giving her a wink as he went out of the door. Oh, he was nice really, and somehow she would have to get used to these rough men’s humour.

It was chaos by one thirty and Pearl could hardly keep up, her brow beaded with perspiration as she carried yet more plates out of the kitchen. She glanced at the clock, praying the lunchtime rush was almost over. Her lips were parched, throat dry, and she felt weak with hunger, legs wobbling beneath her.

Bernie was standing at table one, talking to a huge, fair-haired, craggy-faced man who looked like he’d been in a fight. She shuddered, hating violence, but when she finished giving the customers on table seven their order, Bernie beckoned her over.

‘Pearl, this is Derek Lewis. He’s an amateur boxer and a good one. Take his order next, will you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Blimey, girl, there’s no need to call me sir. Bernie will do.’

‘Is there any steak-and-kidney pie left?’ Derek asked.

‘No, I’m afraid not, but the liver and bacon is very tasty.’

Pearl saw that Bernie was looking at her with approval, and when Derek agreed to have the liver, Bernie positively beamed.

‘Well done, love,’ he whispered as she hurried past, slip in hand and heading for the kitchen.

When she had cleared three more tables and taken another order, the bell rang in the kitchen. Pearl went to get the order, which was the liver and bacon for table one.

‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Derek Lewis, when she brought it over. ‘Bernie tipped me the wink and I’ll have a word with the other costermongers. They’ll leave you alone in future.’

‘Oh, no, don’t do that. I don’t want them to think I’ve been complaining.’ Pearl’s eyes were wide with appeal, but then she suddenly swayed. The room dimmed, voices came as though from a distance, her knees buckled, and she knew no more.

When Pearl opened her eyes, she saw unusually pale blue ones looking back at her and it took her a moment to realise she was in Derek Lewis’s arms.

She struggled, but became still when he said softly, ‘It’s all right, pet. I’m just taking you through to the kitchen.’

‘Wh … what happened?’

‘You fainted.’

Pearl was placed on a chair and, dizzy again, she leaned forward.

‘What’s going on?’ Dolly asked sharply.

‘She passed out, Mrs D. Your old man told me to bring her in here.’

‘Yeah, well, you can go now.’

When Derek left the kitchen, Gertie hurried over. She gave Pearl a glass of water, and then asked, ‘’Ave you been sick in the mornings, love?’

‘Sick … no.’

‘So you ain’t up the duff then?’

‘Up the duff?’ Pearl parroted, her head still swimming.

‘She’s asking if you’re in the family way,’ Dolly snapped.

‘No, of course I’m not.’

‘Why did you faint? Are you ill?’

‘Oh, no. It’s just that I didn’t have any breakfast this morning and—’

Bernie stuck his head around the door. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s just hungry. Can you manage without her for a while?’

‘No, not really. There’s customers waiting to be served.’

‘I can give him a hand for a little while,’ Gertie offered.

Dolly exhaled loudly. ‘All right, go on then, but just while I give this daft cow something to eat, and then she can get back to work.’

Gertie scampered out, and as Dolly shoved a pork chop onto a plate, Pearl sat watching, mouth salivating. Her head was clearer now, but her stomach rumbled.

A dollop of mash was added, then some vegetables and thick gravy, Dolly’s voice gruff as she plonked it in front of her. ‘Right, get that down you.’

‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, and though she tried not to scoff, in a very short time the food disappeared.

‘I don’t think going without breakfast is reason enough to faint. When was the last time you had anything to eat?’

‘I … I had some soup yesterday lunchtime.’

‘Christ, will you speak up, girl?’

‘I said I had some soup yesterday.’

‘Is that all? No wonder you passed out. Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry?’

‘I didn’t like to, and as I started after ten, I didn’t think I was entitled to a break.’

‘For goodness’ sake! We aren’t bad employers and you only had to say.’

‘There’s something else, Mrs Dolby …’

Pearl paused and Dolly snapped, ‘Well, spit it out.’

‘I don’t think I’ve got enough tips to pay for this meal.’

‘Pay for it? You don’t have to pay for it! Lunch is a perk of the job.’

Pearl’s eyes lit up and, having, gulped down the glass of water, she rose to her feet. A free lunch every day would make all the difference. She would be able to manage on the wages and wouldn’t have to look for an evening job after all. Things were looking up.

‘Thank you for the meal. It was wonderful, but I’d best get back to work.’

‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right now?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine,’ Pearl said, still smiling as she hurried out of the kitchen. She’d been warned about Mrs Dolby, but the woman wasn’t so bad. The job was hard, but she was sure it would become easier once she got the hang of it, and if they found another waitress it could be a doddle. She would be finished at three thirty, leaving her lots of time to study, her goal now becoming a little closer.

‘Are you all right now?’

Yes, I’m fine thanks, Gertie.’

‘Right, I’ll get back to the kitchen. There’s only one more customer waiting to be served on table eight, and a few more to clear.’

‘Thanks,’ Pearl said again.

She glanced around the café, but there was no sign of Derek Lewis. Determined to thank him for his help on her way home, she later asked Bernie where she could find him.

‘He’s a costermonger selling china about halfway down the market.’

‘Why are they called costermongers?’ Pearl asked.

‘It’s an ancient name for men selling stuff from barrows or stalls, especially fruit and vegetables. I know it isn’t used much nowadays, but I like to keep up the old traditions. Most of the men working in the market have had their pitches handed down from father to son, and though they may sound a bit rough at times, they’re a good crowd.’

Pearl listened with interest, and then glanced at the clock. It was after two thirty. All the unoccupied tables were cleared, and apart from one or two late customers, the café was nearly empty. Pearl’s feet were throbbing, but at least her tummy was full, and despite the constant ribbing from some of the male customers, she’d enjoyed her first day.

Bernie gave her a tray of tea to take to the kitchen, saying he would pour one for her when she returned.

‘I don’t want any more fainting fits, girl,’ Dolly said. ‘See that you eat something before you start work in the morning.’

Pearl agreed, about to leave the kitchen when her employer spoke again. ‘You did well for your first day. Keep it up.’

Pearl smiled, unused to praise, and was still smiling as she returned to the dining room.

‘Blimey, Dolly, what’s come over you?’ Gertie asked.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘If I’m not mistaken, you actually praised the new waitress.’

‘Yeah, well, this one’s a bit different. She shows me some respect, which is more than I could say for Rita.’

‘Things ’ave certainly changed since the war,’ Mo said as she came over to take a cup from the tray. ‘Kids ain’t got any respect nowadays. My Emma came down this morning dressed in something she called Capri pants. They looked daft, if you ask me, and I told her they were too short, but she just laughed. She said it’s the Brigitte Bardot look. I ask you, who’s Brigitte Bardot? She’s got herself a bleedin’ record player too, a Dansette, and it cost twelve quid. Now all I hear day and night is flaming rock-and-roll music.’

‘Twelve quid! Where did she get that sort of money?’

‘She got it off the club, and I just hope she keeps up the payments. Gawd, I wish her father was still alive. He’d ’ave sorted her out.’

‘Yeah,’ Gertie agreed. ‘And as for that Brigitte Bardot, she’s a French actress, and from what I’ve heard she’s a right sexy piece.’

‘It’s disgusting, that’s what it is,’ Dolly said. ‘The way young girls flaunt themselves nowadays they’re just asking for trouble. Still, as I said, Pearl seems different, and she doesn’t wear make-up plastered all over her face.’

‘She seems a nice enough kid,’ Gertie agreed.

‘Right,’ Dolly said, putting her cup back on the tray, ‘let’s get finished up. I don’t know about you two, but I’m fair worn out.’

The back door opened and Kevin appeared, his look furtive as he clutched a bag behind his back.

‘Hello, love. What have you been up to today?’

‘Not now, Mum,’ he said, hurrying through the kitchen without stopping.

Dolly frowned, wondering what was wrong with the boy. She went back to her tasks, rushing to get them finished so she could go upstairs to their flat. Kevin looked upset, and she wanted to know why.

As she walked along the market, Pearl’s eyes were peeled for Derek Lewis. When he saw her approaching him he quickly finished a sale, moving to the front of his stall.

‘Are you feeling better now?’

‘I’m fine and wanted to thank you for helping me.’

‘Leave it out. It’s the first time I’ve had a girl swooning at me feet and it won’t do me reputation any harm.’

‘Here, Derek, got yourself a bit of stuff, ’ave you?’ a voice called from the next stall. ‘Hang on, ain’t that the little mouse from the café? Well, at least you’ll only ’ave to leave her out a bit of cheese.’

Derek laughed, shouting back to the stallholder, ‘Shut up, Frank! You’re just jealous.’

‘Not me, mate. I like a bit of meat to get hold of, and you’ve seen the size of my wife.’

‘Yeah, nobody could miss Lucy when she’s in full sail.’

‘You cheeky bugger,’ Frank Hanwell called, but then had to serve a customer. ‘What’s that, missus? Of course me lettuce is fresh. Hand-picked from Covent Garden this morning.’

Derek chuckled and then turned his attention back to Pearl. ‘You could have knocked me down with a feather when you passed out. What brought it on?’

‘Oh, nothing really. It’s just that I hadn’t eaten.’

She saw Derek frown, his soft voice at odds with his build as he said, ‘Are you all right for money, love?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, but I must go now. Thank you again for your help.’

As Pearl walked away she kept her head low, but as she passed Frank’s stall he started to sing again. ‘“Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been? I’ve been up to London to visit the Queen. Pussycat, Pussycat, what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under her chair.”’

She picked up her pace, and with the raucous voices of the other traders calling their wares, she didn’t see or hear Derek Lewis approaching Frank Hanwell, his fists clenched threateningly.

When Pearl walked into her bedsit she sighed with appreciation. The room was small, with just a built-in cupboard and chest of drawers, but to her it was heaven, a place of her own.

In one corner there was a curtained-off area, behind which was a sink and a single gas ring. In a tiny cupboard there were a few pieces of crockery, a small saucepan and a frying pan.

After kicking off her shoes, Pearl went to the tiny kitchen, placing the kettle on the gas ring. She wasn’t hungry after that wonderful meal in the café and was counting her blessings, especially as she was down to her last tin of soup.

Who’d have thought she’d get a job with a meal thrown in? She turned on the gas tap, frowning when she realised she’d have to feed the meter. Her precious few tips were just enough to cover the shilling needed, so feeding the coin into the slot, she hoped there would be more tips forthcoming in the morning.

There were used tea leaves in her small strainer and, carefully pouring boiling water over them, she frowned at the weak brew. Still, things were looking up and soon she’d be able to get a bit of shopping. Not only that, now that she was earning again her dream of taking art classes felt a little bit closer.

After drinking the tea, Pearl had a strip wash, carefully hung up her one and only decent dress, then threw on an old pair of pyjamas. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she picked up her sketch pad and pencil.

Everything had looked dire that morning, and she had been in despair when she’d seen the advert for a waitress. Her elfin face lit up with a smile and she began to draw a face from memory. Dolly Dolby slowly emerged on the page, but when the sketch was finished Pearl flung it aside, wishing she could afford paint and brushes.

Painting was all Pearl lived for, and never a day went by when she didn’t try to create something. With no money for paint she would sketch, burying herself in the task of perfecting whatever she was drawing. In the orphanage it had been her refuge, a way of blanking out all that went on around her.

She was constantly picked on by the other children, all laughing at her because she was never chosen for fostering or adoption. From the day she had been found on the steps until the day she left, the only home Pearl had known was the grey and forbidding orphanage, her bed one among twenty that lined the dormitory. She had plucked up courage once to ask why she couldn’t be put forward for a foster home, only to be told by grim-faced Miss Unsworth that she wasn’t suitable. When she dared to ask why, she had received a slap, Miss Unsworth telling her that she should count herself lucky that she had a home in the orphanage.

The face of Derek Lewis swam into her mind so, taking up her pad again, Pearl began to sketch. In the orphanage, picked on and helpless against the teasing, she had quickly realised that she needed someone to look out for her – someone to hide behind. She had chosen an older girl, one who, like her, was a loner, and it had worked.

Of course, eventually the girl went into foster care, and Pearl was left alone again. It was the first time she’d faced such a traumatic parting, but Pearl had leaned another hard lesson. To survive she couldn’t get attached to anyone. If she hardened her heart, she couldn’t get hurt.

From then on, through the years, she found other girls to hide behind, girls who would stand up for her, but though they didn’t know it, her feelings remained detached.

As Derek’s pug-nosed face took shape on her sketch pad, Pearl smiled. He had already offered her some sort of protection, volunteering to make sure that the other costermongers laid off the teasing. Of course she had protested, but a warm feeling now spread through her body. Yes, Derek Lewis was someone she could hide behind, and it would be a good idea to make him a friend.

Chapter Four

As he cashed up the till, Bernard Dolby’s mouth was set in a scowl, his thoughts on his son instead of the task at hand. Kevin had walked through the dining room earlier, going upstairs without a word. The lazy git should get another job, but after leaving the engineering factory three months ago, wasting years of training, he wasn’t making much of an effort to find other employment.

The young tyke had avoided National Service by becoming an apprentice, deferring his call-up until he was twenty-one. Then he’d avoided it again by failing the medical, much to Dolly’s delight. Asthma. Huh, in Bernie’s opinion a bit of physical training would have sorted that out, turning Kevin into a man instead of a mummy’s boy.

Dolly wouldn’t hear a word against her precious son and had mollycoddled him from childhood. He’s your son too, a small voice said at the back of Bernie’s mind, and once again he scowled. Yes, Kevin was his son, but other than his conception, he’d had no hand in the boy’s upbringing since Kevin was a toddler. If he so much as raised his voice to Kevin, Dolly went mad.

Bernie hunched his shoulders. It was his own fault, he knew that, but for a quiet life he always gave in to Dolly. His wife had a temper, one that he feared, and he’d felt the lash of her hand from almost the first day of their marriage.

Yes, he’d married her, but she was three months gone with Kevin and he hadn’t been given a choice. When Dolly’s father had marched round from the house next door, his pregnant daughter in tow, Bernie’s own parents had forced him to the registry office.

It had been drink, of course – a party that got out of hand – and somehow, though he had no recollection of it, he’d taken Dolly amongst a pile of coats left by the guests in an upstairs bedroom.

‘Have you finished cashing up?’ Dolly asked as she came through from the kitchen.

‘Yeah,’ he said, entering part of the takings in the cash book.

‘Well,’ she said pointedly, holding out her hand.

Bernie gave her some notes and she clasped them avidly. ‘I’m going upstairs. I think Kevin is upset about something.’

‘I’ll wait for Nora to turn up and then I’m off to the bank to pay in the rest of the takings.’

Dolly hurried upstairs and, putting the bags of coins and notes into a small sack, Bernie waited impatiently for their cleaner. Nora was a nice woman, but slow-witted. She’d been cleaning the café for the past twelve months and was surprisingly good at the job, the best they’d had. He smiled now as she came in, a headscarf tied turban-style around her head as usual.

‘Hello, love.’

‘Hello, Mr Dolby,’ she said, her round face breaking into a smile.

‘I’m off to the bank. If you need anything, my wife is upstairs.’

‘Righto,’ and without preamble she went to fetch the broom, bucket and mop. Nora might be slow, but she was thorough, and Bernie knew that the floor and the kitchen would be sparkling by the time she’d finished.

As he stepped outside, Bernie took in a great gulp of air, feeling as though he’d been released from his chain. His eyes roamed the market. It was quiet, many of the stallholders packing up for the day, and he envied them, envied their camaraderie, and their freedom.

Shortly after Kevin was born, Dolly’s gran died, leaving her the café. Dolly had been working for her gran since she left school, and with her mother roped in to look after Kevin, she had carried on. Like a fool Bernie had agreed to work with her, but soon realised his mistake. She ruled absolutely, dismissing any suggestions he made and keeping a firm hand on the purse strings.

A few years later, when war had been declared, he’d gone eagerly to join up, only to be declared unfit with a heart murmur he didn’t know he had. He’d looked forward to getting away from Dolly, her violence and the café. Instead he’d seen his friends going off to fight, and several were killed in action. He’d eventually volunteered to be an air-raid warden, but in truth it wasn’t out of patriotism – it was for the same reason as he’d tried to enlist in the army: to get away from Dolly for a while.

Of course the bloody café had survived the air raids and, despite rationing, they had made a living. Nowadays the place was a little gold mine, but what did he see of it? Huh, just the pocket money that his wife gave him.

‘What’s up, Bernie? Has Dolly been giving you what for again?’

Yes, that’s how they saw him, Bernie thought: as a downtrodden and henpecked husband. He forced a smile, turning to face the costermonger.

‘Well, you know Dolly.’

‘Not as well as you, mate, thank God. Do you fancy a game of darts tonight?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ As he walked away, Bernie knew that as he threw each dart he would picture his wife’s face etched on the board.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ Dolly asked when she saw her son slumped in a chair.

‘Nothing, Mum.’

She sat on the arm of the chair, stroking his hair. ‘Don’t give me that. I can see you’re upset about something.’

Kevin pushed her hand away. ‘Leave it, Mum.’

‘Don’t be silly, son. If you’re upset about something, maybe I can help.’

‘If I tell you what’s wrong, it won’t do any good.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘My friends are going to Brighton on Sunday, but I can’t go with them.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos they’re all driving down by car, and can you see me keeping up on my scooter?’

‘Surely one of them could give you a lift?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so, but you don’t know how it feels to be the odd one out. From now on I’ll have to scrounge a lift every time we go somewhere.’

Dolly stood up, exhaling loudly. ‘Kevin, I know how much you want to buy that car, but it’s an awful lot of money, son.’

‘See, I knew you’d say that! I told you to leave it, but you insisted I tell you! What good has it done?’ he cried, bending forward then as though gasping for air. After forcing a wheezing sound and hearing his mother murmuring worriedly, he straightened. ‘It’s that bloody scooter and the dust I inhale that causes these attacks, but forget it, Mum. You can’t afford to buy me the car so that’s that.’ And on that note Kevin reared from the chair, stomping to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Dolly paced back and forth but then, casting a glance behind her, she went into her bedroom and to the dressing table. Tucked in the bottom drawer, from under her underwear she took out her cash box. This was her hidden hoard, money the tax man had no knowledge of, and carefully added to over the years. Taking the notes that Bernie had given her and the key, she opened it, her eyes mentally assessing the contents. Why not? she thought. They weren’t hard up, and if riding that scooter was making Kevin ill, he’d have to have a car.

‘Here you are, love,’ Dolly said, knocking before going into Kevin’s room. Her son had become a stickler for privacy, but it was probably normal at his age.

‘Thanks,’ Kevin cried, jumping up and throwing his arms around her. ‘You’re the best mum in the world.’

Dolly smiled, and touched his face. ‘And you’re the best son.’

‘I’d better get a move on before he sells the car to someone else.’

Kevin released his mother, leaving the room without a backward glance, his face alive with excitement. Good old Mum, she had coughed up, as he knew she would. The radio he’d nicked and stashed in the bottom of his wardrobe wouldn’t have raised more than a pittance, but now he had all the cash he needed.

He rushed through the dining room, totally ignoring Nora as she vigorously swept the floor. In the yard he hopped on his scooter and in no time he was at Larry Mason’s house, relieved to see the Vauxhall parked outside.

‘Is the car still for sale?’ he asked, hiding his anxiety when the man came to the door.

‘Yeah, do you want to have another look at it?’

‘I’ve just been to see a Morris, but I can’t make up my mind between the two. Mind you, the Morris is cheaper.’

‘Huh, you can’t compare a Morris to a Vauxhall Wyvern.’

‘Maybe not, but I ain’t made of money.’

‘Come on, I’ll take you for a spin. It might help you to make up your mind.’

Kevin hid a smile. He knew he was going to buy the Wyvern, but there was no need to let Larry know that. He wasn’t ready to part with two hundred quid and intended to haggle.

‘It runs like a dream,’ the man said as they drove along Falcon Road.

‘The engine sounds all right, but I think I’ll go for the Morris. It’s fifty quid cheaper and I ain’t got money to burn.’

‘How about I knock off twenty-five quid? It’s still a better car, and I can’t go any lower.’

Kevin pursed his lips, pretending to consider the offer, and then said, ‘All right, Larry. I’ll take it off your hands.’

In another hour Kevin was on his way to see some important contacts, his heart thumping. They’d have to take him seriously now. They needed a car, and he had one. And without it, the job would be impossible.

Chapter Five

On Saturday, Pearl took her first week’s wages, pleased to find an extra ten shillings. With tips she had made two pounds, thirteen and sixpence. A guinea would have to go to her landlord, but now that she didn’t have to buy much food, art classes were definitely on.

She hugged herself with excitement. Art classes! She could actually go to art classes! Her mind slid back to the orphanage and the one teacher she had liked. Miss Rosen had come to the orphanage during Pearl’s final year, and she’d been inspirational, encouraging her to look at objects in a new way.

‘See the texture of the bricks,’ she would say, ‘feel them, and there’s the sky, Pearl. It isn’t just one shade of blue with clouds like puffs of cotton wool. Look closely – there are far more colours.’

And she had looked, and she had learned, but not enough, not nearly enough. Only three months after Miss Rosen arrived came Pearl’s release, and she was one of the first to leave that year. And that’s how she saw it: release – as though she had spent her whole life up to that moment in prison. Miss Rosen was the only teacher she missed, but she would never forget her art lessons.

Before leaving she’d been told they had found her a job in a laundry, and a place in a hostel, both of which she hated from the first day. The work in the laundry sickened her, making her stomach turn. Her job was to sort out linen from great bags, and check that the laundry mark was in place before sending it on to the washroom. The sheets, from a local psychiatric hospital and an old folk’s home, were often covered in blood, vomit or excrement. She had tried to distance her mind, but it was impossible, and then, after months and months, there came the final straw. A sheet she pulled out was so covered in filth that she had bent double, vomiting on the cold stone floor.

With little money saved, she had left both the job and the hostel. She moved to an area a long way from the orphanage, alighting from the train at Clapham Junction station. Maybe it was luck, maybe she had a guardian angel, but almost immediately she’d seen a card in a newsagent’s window offering a cheap room to let. After asking directions she had made her way to Battersea High Street, enthralled by the busy, bustling market. She had taken the room, and then when almost down to her last penny, providence stepped in again when she found the job in the café.

Pearl jumped as she heard a sudden knock on her door and opened it to see her landlord.

‘Your rent’s due, Miss Button,’ Nobby Clark said.

‘Yes, I’ll get it for you,’ she agreed, hiding her distaste. Her landlord was a greasy-looking young man, with dark, slicked-back hair and a small moustache. But it was his eyes that she hated most; button black and hard, they made her shiver.

He marked the rent book, handed it back, and Pearl was glad to close the door on him. For the rest of the evening she sketched. She attempted Kevin Dolby, but couldn’t get his handsome face right. With a sigh she scrunched the paper into a ball before throwing it in the bin. God, Kevin was so good-looking. Despite knowing that he would never be interested in her, she still felt her heart skip a beat every time she saw him.

At ten thirty Pearl climbed into bed and was just drifting off to sleep when she heard noises coming from the empty shop below. She sat up nervously. Men’s voices, the scraping of what sounded like chairs, a soft laugh. She strained her ears, but the voices were indistinct, muffled. Who was down there?

Pearl wished there were other tenants, someone she could run to, but hers was the only room occupied.

Laughter again, loud this time, and Pearl relaxed a little. Perhaps it was her landlord showing someone the premises, but at this time of night? Despite her trepidation, curiosity had Pearl rising to her feet and, slipping on a thin cotton dressing gown, she padded softly downstairs.

The internal door creaked as she opened it a little, and for a moment she froze, but then the handle was snatched from her hand as it was flung wide by her landlord.

Nobby Clark glared angrily, pushing her rapidly back into the hall and slamming the door shut behind him. ‘Have you heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat?’

Wide-eyed, Pearl looked back at the man, but her throat was too constricted with nerves to answer.

‘What did you see? Answer me, you silly cow! I said, what did you see?’

‘N … nothing,’ she managed to gasp.

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Y … yes,’ she stammered, finding her voice at last. ‘I … I heard noises and thought it might be burglars.’

‘What – in an empty shop?’

‘I … I didn’t think.’

‘That’s obvious. Now listen, and listen well. What goes on in my shop is none of your business and in future keep your nose out.’

‘Yes, Mr Clark.’

He stepped back a pace, took a cigarette out of a packet and lit it, blowing smoke into the air as his shrewd eyes bored into hers. ‘Get back upstairs,’ he snapped.

Pearl scampered away, her heart thumping. When she reached her bedsit she hurriedly shut the door, leaning against it as she drew in great gulps of air. She had seen something. Before Nobby Clark shut the door she’d had a brief glimpse of three men sitting around a table, and piled beside them were stacks of cartons. She had seen the markings. Cigarettes – they were cartons of cigarettes.

‘Did she see anything?’ Kevin Dolby asked anxiously.

‘Nah, she didn’t have a chance.’

‘Christ, you should’ve locked the internal door.’

‘I know that!’

‘Are you sure she didn’t see anything?’

‘I’ve told you, ain’t I? Now shut up and I’ll give Vince a ring. If you’d had the sense to buy a van we’d have a lot more stuff to offer him. I’m not sure he’ll be interested in this little hoard.’

Kevin glared at Nobby. Bloody hell, they wouldn’t have any transport if it wasn’t for him, and there was no way he was going to be seen driving a flippin’ van. The Vauxhall gave him a bit of kudos and he enjoyed the envy he saw in his mates’ eyes.

Nobby returned from making the call, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Yeah, Vince is gonna take them, but he wants delivery now.’

‘Christ, it’ll take us over an hour to get to Streatham and back.’

‘Look, the sooner we get shot of the stuff, the sooner we’ll get our dosh, and it’s better than stashing it here overnight.’

‘I’m not happy about using my car again.’

‘We can hardly get a bus.’

Kevin hung his head. That bloody girl had unnerved him. She had almost walked in on them and if she’d seen the stash, what then? Pearl worked for his mother, for Christ’s sake – she knew his face!

‘Come on, Kevin,’ Dick Smedley said as he picked up one of the cartons. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

Kevin pinched his bottom lip between his fingers, but then nodded. Pearl bloody Button hadn’t seen anything, so why was he worrying? The warehouse job had been easy, and they’d got clean away. All right, it wasn’t a big haul, but even so, they were on a nice little earner. For once he wouldn’t have to cadge money from his mother. He’d have plenty to spend on his favourite hobby. If you could call it a hobby, he thought with a smile. Soho beckoned … the girls … the things they let him do.

When Kevin reached Soho, walking the narrow streets, neon lights announced the clubs. Kevin frowned. It had been a hard lesson, money leaving his pocket like water, for drinks that cost an arm and a leg, but he knew better now and wouldn’t frequent those dives again. It had taken a few trips, but he’d finally found what he was looking for. Now he turned down an alley, his excitement beginning to mount. When he reached the last door on the left it bore no indication of the delights inside, but he just hoped that Eva was available.

She was, and following her into the bedroom he licked his lips in anticipation. Eva knew just what to do and stood waiting, but as he stepped forward she held up a hand in warning.

‘No bruises this time or I won’t entertain you again.’

His eyes narrowed. She was out of role and he didn’t like it, his erection dying. He wanted her submissive, frightened. ‘All right, I’ll be careful.’

She switched into the act, her eyes becoming wide with fear. That was better, the trigger he needed, and now he walked towards her again.

‘No, please!’ she begged.

He grabbed Eva, ripping the clothes from her body before throwing her on the bed. He wanted to pummel her, punch her, but had to hold back, yet even so, her cries of mock pain drove him to ecstasy.

It was quick, too bloody quick, and annoyed, Kevin threw money onto the bed. If he got his needs regularly, maybe he’d be able to last longer, but at least he had a few bob now and would be back. Without saying a word to Eva he left.

It was one o’clock in the morning when he drove down the side entrance, parking in the large yard at the back of the café. He was quiet as he made his way upstairs, but despite that, his mother appeared in her bedroom doorway.

‘Kevin, where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Don’t start, Mum. I got held up, that’s all.’

‘Held up. Where?’

‘Er … the car had a flat tyre.’

‘But surely it didn’t take long to change it?’

‘For Christ’s sake, leave it out, will you! I ain’t a kid, you know,’ Kevin shouted as he stomped off to his bedroom.

Only a few minutes later he heard raised voices. His mother was berating his father again, taking her angst out on the old man. He despised him, despised his weakness. What sort of a man let a woman rule him – hit him – belittle him? Why didn’t his father stand up to her?

As a kid he’d thought it normal, but as he got older it became apparent that in other households it was the man who ruled, not the woman.

His home was different and he hated it, hated seeing the way his father kowtowed to his mother. With this hate came fear. Was he the same? Was he less than a man, like his father?

Yes, his first trip to Soho had introduced him to sex, but it hadn’t really taken away his fear. The tart was paid to do as he asked; paid to be submissive.

In between trips to Soho he’d taken a few girls out, usually the obvious types, and had played the big man. Yet deep down he was still nervous, especially if they showed a bit of spunk and stood up to him. When that happened he dropped them like hot potatoes, and so girls came and went, giving him the reputation of a ladies’ man, one that he enjoyed.

His mother’s voice rang out again and, hearing it, Kevin’s determination was renewed. Not for him someone like his mother. Not for him a woman with a forceful personality. If the day ever came, and he doubted it, that he got married, he would make sure his wife was a pretty little thing. Someone meek and mild, who would have no chance of dominating him.

Chapter Six

‘I’m home, Gran!’ Derek Lewis called as he stepped into the small terraced house. It was Monday and he’d been delayed, but now hurried upstairs. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

Derek gazed down at his beloved gran, and frowned worriedly. She still looked frail, despite the doctor saying she had only a touch of bronchitis. Connie Lewis was a tiny woman, grey-haired and thin, but she was wiry and rarely ill. ‘Sorry I’m late but I had a bit of stock to pick up. Have you had your medicine?’

‘Yes, and stop looking so worried. I think I’ll be well enough to come downstairs tomorrow.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘We won’t. If I have to stare at these four bloody walls for much longer, I’ll go batty.’

‘All right, keep your hair on. I’m off to make us something to eat. What do you fancy?’

‘Something light. Perhaps a boiled egg, with bread and butter.’

‘You need more that that. How about a pork chop with mashed potatoes?’

‘No, thanks, but you have a chop. Is it your night for the gym?’

‘Yes, but I don’t want to leave you if you still feel rough.’

‘I told you, I feel fine, and a fraud for laying here.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

‘Gawd, Derek, will you stop treating me like a bleedin’ invalid? I ain’t ready for the knacker’s yard yet.’

There was a spark in her eyes now and Derek grinned. When his mother had been killed during the war, he’d come to live with his gran. At the time he’d been ten years old, a lost and frightened little boy, but she had taken him under her wing, showering more love on him than he’d ever received from his flighty mother.

He’d questioned Gran about his father, but she fobbed him off so many times that he’d given up asking. It was only as an adult that he found out why. On his birth certificate, the space for listing the father’s name was blank.

Derek bent forward, planting a kiss on his gran’s papery cheek. ‘I’m off to put your egg on.’

‘It wouldn’t suit you, love.’

‘Very funny, and if you’re cracking jokes you must be feeling better.’

‘I am, and put plenty of butter on me bread.’

As Derek went downstairs he found his thoughts turning to the café and the new waitress. Pearl looked such a frail little thing, too frail to be working for Dolly Dolby. When she fainted and he’d carried her to the kitchen, she was as light as a bird, her huge eyes full of fear as she looked at him. Well, she had no need to fear him. In fact, he was determined to look out for the girl.

In no time his gran’s egg was ready, and having spread the butter thickly on the bread, he carried the tray, complete with a cup of tea, upstairs. ‘There, get that down you.’

‘Thanks, pet, and what are you having?’

‘I think I’ll pop into the chippy on me way back from the gym. It ain’t good to spar on a full stomach.’

‘Derek, you’ve had fish and chips three times this week!’

‘It won’t kill me, Gran. You’ll be up soon and no doubt shoving vegetables down me throat again.’

‘I will, and I’ll make sure you eat the lot.’

They smiled at each other. Then Connie tapped the top of her egg, and Derek went to the bathroom for a wash. He stood looking at his face in the mirror over the basin. For a moment a frown creased his forehead. Boxing had certainly taken its toll, and was that the start of a cauliflower ear? Yes, maybe, but what did it matter? He’d never been much to look at in the first place.

An hour later he’d given his gran another cup of tea, and was ready to leave. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

‘Derek, for goodness’ sake just go. Those kids you’re helping along will be waiting for you.’

‘All right, I’ll see you later,’ he called, clattering back downstairs and out of the house.

In no time he reached the gym, a few kids crowding round him as soon as he walked in. His eyes flicked round the large room, noting a few other nippers having a go on the punch bags, their thin arms making little impact. A couple of blokes were sparring in the ring, a trainer watching them avidly, but other than that the place was empty.

Derek tousled the nearest boy’s head. ‘Right, let’s get you lot sorted. Jimmy and Bill, you do some skipping, and, Ricky, get your gloves on ready for a spar when the ring is clear.’

They all ran to do his bidding and he smiled. They were good kids, better off in the gym than running the streets.

Jimmy, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, was Derek’s favourite, a kid he was sure he had turned round. The lad had hesitantly entered the gym six months ago, and it hadn’t taken Derek long to learn that the boy was regularly beaten by his drunken father. He’d been running wild on the streets, rebelling, nicking stuff off stalls, but coming to the gym had changed all that. At first he’d seen the boy taking his anger out on the punch bag, but gradually he had grown in confidence.

Yes, Jimmy was a lot happier now, especially since Derek had taken it upon himself to have a quiet word in his father’s ear.

The following morning, Pearl was dashing along the High Street. Some costermongers were already setting up, and as she passed Derek Lewis he raised his hand to wave.

His stall was half ready, piled with china, and Pearl looked at some of the sets with interest. Maybe in another couple of weeks she could buy cups and saucers to replace the old chipped ones she’d inherited with the room.

She reached the café, rushing inside to see Bernie behind the counter as usual. ‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve just made a pot so do you want a cuppa before you start?’

‘Yes, please,’ she said, taking her apron from the hook and tying it around her waist.

‘Here you are then, and take this one through to Dolly.’

Pearl took the cup, careful not to slop any tea in the saucers. It was something she knew Dolly Dolby hated, and had felt the sting of her tongue the first time the tea had over-spilled.

Gertie didn’t start work until seven, and Mo nine, so there was only her employer in the kitchen.

‘Good morning, Mrs Dolby,’ she said, hoping that the woman was in a good mood.

‘Morning,’ Dolly said shortly, adding, ‘I thought I told you to tie your hair back.’

‘I’m just about to do it,’ Pearl said, hurriedly fishing for the elastic band in her apron pocket.

‘Get it done and go back to the dining room. It won’t be long before the breakfast rush starts.’

Pearl scrapped her hair back, hopes dashed. Mrs Dolby was obviously in a foul humour, and she dreaded the rest of the day. When her employer was in a good mood – if any of her moods could be called good – the job was easier, but when bad-tempered, like today, she would build mountains out of molehills, making all their lives a misery.

She went back to the dining room, and as she swiftly drank her tea, Bernie gave her a sympathetic smile.

‘I can see by your face that you’ve found Dolly with the hump. It’s Kevin’s fault. He didn’t come home until one in the morning on Saturday and he was out all hours last night too. Dolly was out of her mind with worry.’

‘One o’clock in the morning! My goodness.’

‘Yeah, and God knows what the young tyke was up to.’

Pearl wondered too, but then the café began to fill with costermongers, all ready for large breakfasts. They took it in turns, watching each other’s pitches, but even so, the café was soon packed.

Derek Lewis came in at eight, but ordered only two bacon sandwiches to take away.

‘No breakfast this morning?’ Pearl asked.

‘My gran’s a bit under the weather so I’m popping home to give her one of these. Frank’s keeping an eye on my stall.’

Pearl watched him leave, wondering if she could tell him about her landlord and his threat on Saturday night. She was frightened of Nobby Clark, needed someone to protect her, but didn’t feel she knew Derek well enough yet. This was a tight-knit community and she knew she had a long way to go before she was accepted. Until then, it might be more prudent to keep her mouth shut.

Pearl was taking her break, tucking into her meal, when Kevin came down from the upstairs flat.

His eyes flicked around the dining room, but then he walked towards her table. Pearl’s stomach fluttered and she quickly lowered her head.

‘Hello. Pearl, isn’t it? How are you getting on?’

‘F … fine, thanks,’ she said, amazed and gratified that he had spoken to her.

Her eyes rose, and as they fastened momentarily on his, she flushed. God, he was gorgeous, yet why did he look so anxious?

‘Do you live around here?’

‘Er … yes, I live over the empty shop further along the High Street.’

‘All right, is it?’

‘Yes, it’s fine.’

‘Who’s your landlord?’

‘Mr Clark. Nobby Clark. Do you know him?’

He smiled, perfectly even, white teeth flashing. ‘No, not really. See you,’ he said abruptly, walking away.

Pearl was thrilled that Kevin had spoken to her, but puzzled by the strange conversation.

Gertie then dashed out of the kitchen, looking harassed. ‘One of the ovens isn’t working and Dolly’s doing her nut,’ she told Bernie.

‘All right, I’m coming,’ he said. ‘Keep an eye on things out here, Pearl.’

She rose to her feet, unable now to think about Kevin’s strange behaviour as three young women came in, asking for teas.

Kevin was still smiling as he strolled along the High Street. Christ, he’d been shit scared that the new waitress had clocked him on Saturday night, but a short conversation had allayed his fears. When Pearl had asked if he knew Nobby Clark, it was obvious that she hadn’t seen him in the shop. If she had, she wouldn’t have asked the question.

‘Watcha, Kevin. With that smile on your face you must’ve got your leg over last night.’

‘Morning, Frank, and yes, I did,’ he lied.

‘You jammy young git. My old woman had a headache as usual.’

‘So much for marriage,’ Kevin quipped back.

‘It’s got its compensations, and she ain’t always under the weather.’

Kevin pictured Frank’s wife and shuddered. Like his mother, she looked a right battle-axe and he wouldn’t fancy waking up alongside her every morning.

‘Morning, Derek,’ he called as he reached the next stall.

‘Watcha, Kevin. How’s the new waitress? She ain’t fainted again, has she?’

Kevin frowned. Fainted? It was the first he’d heard of it. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about and as far as I know she’s fine.’

‘She passed out cold on her first day and I had to carry her through to the kitchen. Ain’t she a pretty little thing?’

Kevin’s eyes widened. Pretty! Blimey, Derek must need his eyes tested. Pearl was thin, pale and insipid, without an ounce of femininity. ‘Can’t say I think much of your taste, mate. Still, if you like her, as far as I’m concerned, she’s all yours.’

For a moment Derek’s face saddened. ‘She wouldn’t want me, Kevin.’

‘You don’t know that. Give it a go, mate.’

‘Nah, it’d be a waste of time.’

Kevin called goodbye, sauntering along the High Street, his arm lifting to acknowledge other stall-holders. He was still smiling happily, thinking about the money in his pocket. Yeah, he had plenty of dosh now, and would take another trip to Soho tonight.

Chapter Seven

During the next couple of weeks Pearl made a point of chatting to Derek Lewis whenever she got the chance, and this had certainly done the trick. The other costermongers still ribbed her, but in a friendly way, and their jokes were no longer smutty. On the whole she enjoyed the waitressing job. As long as she kept her head down and showed Mrs Dolby respect, the woman wasn’t too bad.

Pearl still felt like an outsider, but had learned a lot. There seemed to be unwritten rules in this little community. There was a strict code that no matter what you saw, or heard, you didn’t speak to the police. People round here took care of any problems in their own special way, but how they did it was still a mystery to Pearl. She had heard snippets of conversation – talk of keeping to your own patch and not treading on anyone’s toes – but had no idea what it meant.

It was a busy morning, about a month after Pearl had started working at the café. She wiped a hand across her forehead. ‘Can I have my break now, Bernie?’

He was about to answer when a tall, buxom woman walked into the café. As she approached the counter Pearl’s ears pricked up.

‘Are you still looking for a waitress?’

‘Yes, we are. Take a seat and I’ll get my wife.’

Bernie winked as he passed her, but Pearl frowned. It was hard work managing all the tables on her own, but if Mrs Dolby took this woman on, she’d miss the extra ten shillings a week in her wage packet.

When Dolly came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her large white apron, Bernie followed behind. ‘Right,’ she said brusquely, as she sat opposite the woman, ‘my husband tells me you’ve come about the job.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Have you had any experience?’

‘I’ve been a waitress in the Trafalgar Café at Clapham Junction for three years, but now they’ve sold the place to Greeks and they’re turning it into an omelette bar.’

‘An omelette bar? That’s a new one on me.’

‘Me too. I could stay on, but don’t fancy it somehow.’

‘I can’t believe the old Trafalgar Café has been sold. It’s been in the same family for years.’

‘I know, but old Mrs Watson wanted to retire and none of her lads would take it on.’

‘Tell me a bit about yourself.’

‘My name is Alice Freeman. I’m thirty-two and live just off Falcon Road. I’m married, with one daughter.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Yvonne’s eleven.’

Dolly pursed her lips. ‘The hours are six thirty to three thirty. How are you going to manage that with a kid of eleven?’

‘It isn’t a problem. My mother lives next door and already looks after Yvonne while I’m at work.’

‘Right, so I suppose it’s down to pay. What are you earning now?’

‘I’m on three pounds a week.’

Once again Dolly pursed her lips. ‘All right, we can match that. When can you start?’

‘On Monday.’

‘Right then, the job’s yours.’

‘Thank you,’ Alice said, smiling widely.

Pearl picked up the plates, her thoughts racing as she took them through to the kitchen. It didn’t seem fair that Dolly had offered Alice three pounds a week when she, Pearl, was earning only two. They’d be doing the same hours, the same amount of work, but because the woman was older, she’d be paid more.

Gertie turned to give Pearl a grin. ‘If someone’s applied for the waitress job, things will be a lot easier for you. You’ve been running around like a blue-arsed fly since you started and must be fair worn out.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘What’s she like?’

Before Pearl could answer, the door swung open, Mrs Dolby walking in with Alice Freeman behind her. ‘Gertie, Mo, this is Alice. She’s starting work with us on Monday.’

‘Hello,’ Gertie said, Mo following suit, both looking at the woman appraisingly. Alice was a strong-looking young woman, with fair hair pulled back in one long plait that hung down her back.

‘And this is Pearl, our other waitress.’

‘Hello,’ Alice said. ‘Have you been managing the tables on your own?’

‘Yes, but I’ve coped.’

‘She has,’ Dolly agreed, ‘for a new girl she’s done remarkably well. Mind you, a lot of our customers ain’t got time to hang about and they’ve been getting a bit impatient at the slow service.’

Pearl flushed. She’d heard the complaints, and on occasions a few costermongers walked out, saying they’d go across the road to the pie-and-mash shop. She hadn’t realised that Mrs Dolby knew, and hung her head.

‘Now then, girl, I ain’t criticising. As I said, you’ve done well. Now go on back to the dining room and fetch us all a cup of tea.’

‘Yes, Mrs Dolby.’

‘Well, Pearl,’ Bernie said as she walked up to the counter, ‘we’ve got another waitress at last, and an experienced one at that. Things will be easier all round now.’

Pearl managed a small smile, watching as Bernie poured the tea. She took the cups through to the kitchen, finding Alice chatting to Mrs Dolby, the two women obviously getting on well.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Dolby,’ Alice was saying, ‘I’ll be able to show Pearl the ropes and her speed will pick up in no time.’

‘Did you hear that, Pearl? You’ll learn a lot from Alice, so take note of what she tells you.’

With a small nod, Pearl placed the tray on the table. Alice was looking at her, a strange look in her eyes, one almost of triumph. But why?

Pearl found out on Monday. When she arrived at the café, Alice was already there, standing behind the counter and making a pot of tea.

‘Right, Pearl, once I’ve poured this you can take one through to Mrs Dolby. I’ve sorted out our tables. You can have the ones at this end, and I’ll take the others.’

Alice had chosen the easiest tables to work, those nearest the kitchen, and Pearl looked at Bernie for his reaction.

He was emptying bags of coins into the till, and just smiled, saying, ‘Good morning, love. It’s good that you won’t have to manage on your own now. There’ll be no complaints about the service today.’

Pearl had a bad feeling about Alice. She was already asserting herself, but since her days in the orphanage Pearl had never had the courage to speak up for herself. Now, taking a cup of tea through to Mrs Dolby, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her tummy.

‘Good morning, Pearl,’ Dolly said. ‘Now that Alice has started, watch and learn from her. It was rough on you starting with no one to show you the ropes, but you ain’t done bad.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Dolby.’

Dolly’s broad, flat face broke into a smile, her voice unusually soft. ‘Go on, get on with your work.’

As Pearl went back to the dining room she saw both Bernie and Alice chatting as they drank their tea.

‘Come on, Pearl, I’ve poured a cup for you too,’ Alice called.

It was a friendly gesture and Pearl responded, chatting to the woman whilst Bernie popped out to the kitchen.

Alice glanced around the café. ‘I expect it’s the same routine as the Trafalgar and I’ll soon settle in.’

‘I’m sure you will, but I think there must be an easier way to take the orders.’

‘What do you mean, love?’

‘We have to write out a separate chit for each customer, and sometimes if there are four on a table it takes ages.’

‘That sounds a bit daft to me and not very efficient.’

‘I think it would be easier to write out one slip per table, listing the order with the customers initial beside it. Most come from the market, they know each other, and nine times out of ten sit with the same crowd each day. Of course, if strangers sit at the same table it wouldn’t work, but that doesn’t happen very often.’

‘It sounds like a good idea to me.’ The bell pinged, and as customers came in, Alice said, ‘Right, Pearl, shake a leg.’

Pearl frowned. Alice made it sound like a command, but the first four men took a seat at one of her tables so she went to take their order. ‘Good morning, and what can I get you?’

‘Morning, love,’ Frank said. ‘I’ll ’ave me usual.’

‘Me too,’ another man said, adding, ‘Is that another new waitress?’

‘Yes, she’s starting today.’

‘She looks like a battle-axe, Frank.’

‘Yeah, a bit of a Boadicea, if you ask me.’

Pearl was smiling as she wrote out their chit. It was obvious these men liked to find nicknames for people. During her first week, Frank had started to call her Minnie Mouse, but she didn’t mind. It was just their way, and she was getting used to them now.

The smile left her face when she went into the kitchen. The new waitress was talking to Mrs Dolby and she looked as pleased as punch at what she was hearing.

‘Blimey, Alice, that’s a great idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. My old gran set up the present system, and as it worked we just carried on. Now though, if we do things your way, not only will it speed up service, it’ll also save us a fortune on order pads. Well done, Alice, and it’s lovely to have someone who takes an interest in the business.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Dolby,’ Alice said.

‘Pearl, our new waitress has just come up with a marvellous idea for taking orders and we’ll start using it straight away. I’d best get these breakfasts on so I’ll leave Alice to put you in the picture.’

With a smile of satisfaction, Alice beckoned Pearl to the dining room. ‘Mrs Dolby was dead chuffed when I suggested writing out one order chit for each table and it’s certainly got me into her good books.’

‘But … but it was my idea.’

‘Well, yes, but does it matter who came up with it? As long as it makes things easier for us, that’s all that matters. Oops, better get a move on, customers are waiting.’

Pearl stood rooted to the spot for a moment, unable to believe that Alice had pinched her idea. It was her own fault, she should have plucked up the courage to speak to Dolly herself, but now it was too late. She heaved a sigh. Maybe Alice was right – after all, it would make things easier for them – but she still had a bad feeling about the woman.

By eight thirty the café was heaving, and when Derek Lewis came in he took a table at the far end of the café, surprised when Alice came to serve him.

‘Hello, where’s Pearl? She hasn’t left, has she?’

‘No, she’s in the kitchen. I’m doing the tables down this end. Now then, what can I get you?’

‘Just a couple of eggs on toast.’

Carrying two plates, Pearl came backwards through the swing door, and as she rushed past she didn’t see Derek. He watched her, his face showing his disappointment. He’d decided to pluck up the courage to ask her out today, and now felt deflated. He’d been rehearsing what he was going to say, his stomach knotted as he came in the café, but now he wouldn’t have the chance. Maybe he’d be able to catch her on her way home.

Derek kept his eyes on Pearl as she worked, and when Alice put his breakfast in front of him he hardly looked at it as he picked up his knife and fork. Would Pearl say yes? Christ, he hoped so. She always seemed pleased to see him, and sometimes stopped for a chat. He’d never had attention from a girl before, and hoped he hadn’t misread the signs.

Pearl was rushing to the kitchen again, but this time she saw him. Her elfin face broke into a smile. ‘Hello, Derek,’ she called, but sailed on past.

Derek finished his breakfast, drank his tea, and then went to pay at the counter, pleased when Pearl came to his side.

‘Hello, how are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine thanks. How’s your gran?’

‘She’s back to normal, and bossing me around as usual.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Er … Pearl, I was wondering …’

As Bernie filled two cups of tea, Pearl grabbed them, and Derek was left staring at her back as she hurried away. His heart sank. She hadn’t even let him finish his sentence. Maybe he’d imagined it and she didn’t like him after all. Sadly he watched her running around for a moment. Then, with his shoulders slumped, he left the café.

It was eleven o’clock when Derek saw Kevin Dolby strolling through the market, and he lifted his arm to catch his attention.

‘Watcha, Derek, how’s things?’

‘Fine, but I wanted to ask your advice.’

‘Fire away.’

‘It’s that waitress, Pearl. She seems to like me, but how can I know for sure?’

‘You can’t, mate. Sometimes you just have to take a chance. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re worried about. She can only say no, and there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’

‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Derek murmured as Kevin walked away. It was all right for him – he was a good-looking bloke and obviously had no trouble finding women. Derek thought back to the one time he’d asked a girl out, and she’d made her distaste plain. Would Pearl be the same? Would she tell him to bugger off too?

A customer came to the stall and, pushing his worries to one side, Derek went to serve her, pleased when she purchased a tea set.

Pearl was relieved when her shift finished and was just preparing to leave when Dolly came out of the kitchen. As she walked the length of the café, her eyes inspected each and every table, but thankfully they were all clean and tidy.

Pearl’s ears pricked up when Alice said, ‘Mrs Dolby, can I have a word about our tips?’

‘What about them?’

‘It’s a bit frantic in here, both for the breakfast and lunch servings, and I’ve noticed that Pearl ain’t quite got the hang of it yet. To help out I’ve cleared a few of her tables, but some customers leave tips and in the rush I might have put hers in with mine by mistake. I wonder if it might be better if we have a jar on the counter to pool them in, sharing the money out at the end of the week.’

‘Surely mixing Pearl’s tips with your own won’t happen very often?’

‘That’s just it. I don’t know. As I said, there’ll be time when I’ll have to clear Pearl’s tables, and it’s easy to get in a muddle.’

‘What do you think about this, Pearl?’

‘I … I’m not sure. Maybe it would be better to keep them separate.’

‘You should think yourself lucky that Alice has helped you out, and by clearing your tables she takes on extra work. If you ask me she should keep any tips she finds.’

‘Oh, no, Mrs Dolby,’ Alice protested. ‘That wouldn’t be right. I’d rather we share them.’

‘Very well then, until Pearl gets up to speed you can put a jar on the counter. If and when she improves, we’ll discuss it again.’

Pearl wanted to protest, to tell Mrs Dolby that she didn’t need Alice’s help. With only half the tables to do now she could easily manage, but seeing impatience on her employer’s face, she was held back by fear.

Both she and Alice took their handbags out from under the counter, saying goodbye as the left together, but when the door closed behind them, Alice turned to Pearl, her smile ingratiating. ‘I hope you don’t mind my suggestion, love. After all, we don’t want to get our tips mixed up, do we? See you tomorrow.’ With this she walked off in the opposite direction to Pearl.

For a moment Pearl watched her, unhappy but helpless. Alice had made her look bad in front of Mrs Dolby, and she should have had the courage to speak up for herself. Yet both women were dominant, assertive and she just didn’t have the nerve. Kevin was walking towards her, heading for the café, and once again her heart skipped. It wasn’t often that he spoke to her, but just a rare smile in her direction was enough to bring the colour flooding to her cheeks. Would he speak to her now?

‘Watcha, Pearl.’

‘Er … hello,’ she stuttered, but he walked straight into the café without breaking his stride. Disconsolately she started to stroll along the market, berating herself for being silly. Kevin Dolby would never look at her twice. He had the pick of the girls and she could never compete.

Derek was looking out for Pearl and at three forty-five he saw her meandering down the market. Fingers crossed, he went to the front of his stall, smiling when she drew near.

‘Hello, love. Off home, are you?’

‘Yes, I’ve finished my shift.’

‘Er … Pearl. I … I was wondering if you fancy going to the pictures one night?’

Her huge eyes rose to meet his and he gulped. Christ, she was such a lovely little thing. She looked so innocent, so frail, and he held his breath for her answer.

‘The pictures? Well, yes, I suppose so.’

‘That’s great. How about tonight?’

‘Yes, all right. Can we go to the Granada? There’s a Marlene Dietrich film on that I’d love to see.’

‘Fine with me. How about I pick you up at seven?’

‘Yes, do that.’ And smiling shyly, Pearl walked away.

Bloody hell, he’d done it! With a little skip, Derek was grinning as he returned to the back of his stall, and was busy for the rest of the afternoon.

As Derek walked in the door that evening, Connie Lewis assessed him shrewdly. ‘What are you looking so happy about?’

‘I’ve got a date, Gran.’

‘Have you now? And who with? I hope she’s a nice girl and not one of these painted tarts you see nowadays. Does she live around here?’

‘Now then, Gran, I’m twenty-six, not sixteen, and don’t need an inquisition. But yes, she’s a nice girl and I think you’d like her. Now, I’m off upstairs to have a bath.’

Connie frowned as her grandson left the room. Derek wasn’t one for the girls so she was surprised to hear he had a date. She was under no illusions. Derek couldn’t be described as handsome. He’d been a plain little boy when he’d come to live with her, and was plain now, but of course boxing hadn’t helped.

Yet he was a lovely lad, kind and caring, in fact, sometimes too caring. She smiled, remembering all the lost and wounded animals he’d brought home over the years, from wild birds to cats. In fact they still had one of the cats now, a fat and lazy creature that spent all day asleep on a chair.

As if knowing she was thinking about him, Marmalade opened one eye, yawned and stretched, rousing himself enough to settle in another position before closing his eye again. Connie smiled. Yes, Marmalade was a good name for the ginger cat, and she was quite fond of the old thing really.

She rose to her feet, walking across the kitchen to feed cabbage into the pan of boiling water on the stove. Unbidden, Connie found herself thinking about her daughter, an expression of sadness crossing her face. Mary had got herself pregnant and had never revealed the name of Derek’s father, but she didn’t deserve to die that way – trapped under the rubble of a pub when it had been bombed during the war.

‘What’s for dinner, Gran?’ Derek asked as he returned downstairs, towelling his hair dry.

‘Stewed steak.’

‘Smashing.’

‘Where are you taking this girl tonight?’

‘We’re going to the flicks.’

‘Well, just make sure you behave yourself!’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, sorry, love. Take no notice of me. I know you’ll be a perfect gentleman.’

‘What’s up, Gran? You not only sound snappy, you look a bit down too.’

‘I was just thinking about your mother. It’s her birthday tomorrow.’

‘We’ll take some flowers up to the cemetery as usual.’

‘She seems to fill my mind more than ever around this time. I don’t know why. It’s almost as though she draws close to me on her birthday. I know she wasn’t much of a mother to you, but I’ll never forgive myself for the way I treated her.’

‘Gran, it was a long time ago and about time you forgave yourself. And, well, to be honest, I can hardly remember her now.’

Connie checked the vegetables and, seeing they were ready, she drained them before dishing up their dinner. As she placed the plates on the table and sat opposite Derek, her eyes flicked to an old black-and-white photograph of her daughter on the mantelpiece. Mary had been such a pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, and Connie couldn’t help the comparison. Derek bore no resemblance to his mother at all. In fact he didn’t look like anyone in the family. He was big, lumbering, with wide shoulders and a large head. There was something Slavic-looking about his features – Polish, maybe? She heaved a sigh, knowing full well that Derek’s origins were something they would never know. And now as she began to eat, she was just praying that this girl he was taking out wouldn’t hurt him.

Chapter Eight

Pearl went into her room and slumped onto the side of the bed. She’d been taken by surprise when Derek asked her out, saying yes without really thinking about it.

At first it had been nice to have her own place, but now had to admit that she was growing lonely. Art classes didn’t start until September, and sitting alone in her bedsit every evening had lost its appeal.

Derek was a nice man and she pictured his face, his misshapen nose, thick lips, and heavy brows, softened by his lovely, kind smile. She had only coveted his friendship, but his invitation sounded like a date. What if he tried to kiss her? She had never been out with a man before, and had no idea what to expect, but surely there must be a way to make Derek understand that it really was only friendship she sought.

Pearl rose to make herself a drink. If Kevin Dolby had asked her out it would have been different. She’d have jumped at the chance, and shivered at the thought of being held in his arms. Don’t be silly, she told herself, smiling wryly. Kevin would never look at her twice and it was just a silly dream. When the kettle boiled she made the tea, pleased that nowadays she had milk and sugar. Nevertheless she only put a small amount of each into her cup. She had only half the tables in the café now, and that meant half the tips. Yes, it was silly to dream about Kevin, but art classes were a different matter and still within reach if she was extra careful with her money.

At six o’clock Pearl stood at her sink having a strip wash, after which she surveyed her frugal wardrobe. There wasn’t much to choose from and she would love some new clothes, but more important was saving for paint and brushes. She pulled on a navy cotton skirt that had faded with so many washes, adding a blue striped blouse with a Peter Pan collar. Without navy shoes to match, she would have to wear her usual black, low-heel court shoes, and after flicking a brush through her hair she was ready.

Derek rang the bell on the dot of seven and, stomach fluttering with nerves, Pearl picked up her rather old-fashioned clip-top handbag before going downstairs.

He grinned when he saw her. ‘Hello. You look nice.’

Pearl took in his appearance. He was wearing a grey striped suit with wide lapels, the material straining across his huge shoulders. His shirt was white and his tie a bit loud, but she returned the compliment. ‘You look nice too.’

Derek’s face suffused with colour, the red flush rising from his neck to his hairline. ‘Thanks,’ he spluttered, and gaining some equilibrium added, ‘Right, are you ready to go?’

They jumped on a bus that took them along Falcon Road and up St John’s Hill to the cinema. The queue at the ticket office was short, and then Pearl smiled when Derek went to the kiosk to buy her a box of chocolates.

‘Here you are,’ he said, his smile a little shy as he handed them to her.

Pearl thanked him and then he took her arm, walking up to an usherette, who clipped their tickets before they went in to see the film.

It was pitch-black as they pushed through the double doors, but another usherette came forward, shining her torch along a row of seats about three down from the back. Pearl shuffled past a few people, whispering apologies, and then pulled down the folding seat, sitting hurriedly. Derek sat down heavily beside her just as the Pathé News began, and they settled back to watch.

Halfway through the B movie, Pearl opened her chocolates, offering the box to Derek and finding that as the flickering, bluish light from the screen playing across his face, it emphasised his pug nose and craggy cheeks. He turned to smile at her, the effect softening, but she quickly looked away. His bulk filled the seat, Pearl feeling tiny beside him, and moments later he was groping for her hand. She surreptitiously moved it, taking another sweet from the box and offering one to Derek, the moment thankfully passing.

The main film was on, Marlene Dietrich looking beautiful and sultry, when Pearl stiffened. Derek’s arm was moving slowly around her shoulders. God, what should she do? She didn’t want to encourage him, but didn’t want to lose his friendship either.

Hastily she whispered, ‘Sorry, Derek, I need to go to the powder room.’

Pearl spent a long time in the ladies, staring at herself in the mirror and dreading going back to sit beside Derek. He was a lovely man, she knew that, but at the thought of being in his arms and kissed by him, she quaked.

‘Well, Pearl, what did you think of the movie?’ Derek asked as they made their way home.

‘It was good, and thanks for taking me.’

‘We’ll have to do it again soon.’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

‘I tell you what. How do you feel about coming round one night to meet my gran? She’s a lovely old girl and I know you’d like her.’

Pearl sucked in her breath. If she didn’t say something now, she’d lose her nerve. ‘I’d like that Derek, and I’m glad that we’ve become friends. I’m too young to think about having a boyfriend, so this is lovely.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Derek said.

She caught the note of disappointment in his voice. ‘I know you live with your gran, but what about your parents?’ she asked softly. ‘I haven’t heard you mention them.’

‘My mother was killed during the war, and I don’t know who my father is.’

Pearl smiled at him with sympathy. ‘I don’t know anything about either of my parents.’

‘We’ve got something in common then.’

Pearl rapidly changed the subject. ‘Did I tell you I’m starting art classes in September?’

‘No,’ Derek said, and for the rest of the journey back to Battersea High Street, she spoke of her ambitions.

It was as they drew level with her bedsit that the door to the shop opened, Nobby Clark coming out, with Kevin Dolby behind him.

‘Watcha, Nobby … Kevin,’ Derek said. ‘Me and Pearl have just been to the flicks.’

Kevin’s smile was tight. ‘Is that right? Sorry, mate, we can’t stop to chat.’

Pearl frowned as they walked away. ‘Kevin once told me that he didn’t know Nobby Clark, but now they seem very friendly.’

‘I think you must have got the wrong end of the stick. They go back years; we all do. Kevin is about five years younger than us, but as a nipper he was always hanging around us older lads. Nobby used to be the ringleader and I ain’t proud of the things we got up to but, unlike Nobby, I grew out of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what young lads are like. We were always up to mischief.’

Pearl shook her head, unable to make sense of it all. She was sure that Kevin had said he didn’t know Nobby Clark. He had lied. But why?

Kevin climbed into his car and, leaning over, he opened the passenger door for Nobby, his mind on Pearl Button. Shit! The bloody girl had seen him with Nobby and that was the last thing he wanted.

‘Bloody hell, Derek and Pearl Button. Talk about beauty and the beast,’ Nobby chuckled as he climbed into the passenger seat.

‘Beauty? Pearl ain’t a beauty.’

‘Take a closer look, mate. Her clothes aren’t up to much, and she doesn’t wear a scrap of makeup, but when you get a good gander at her face, she’s a bit of all right.’

‘Don’t tell me you fancy her too?’

‘Nah, she’s too scrawny for me, but I can see the attraction for Derek. He always was a soft bugger and I think the girl brings out his protective instinct.’ He chuckled again. ‘When we were kids, do you remember that dog? Derek went mad when we chucked stones at it.’

‘Yeah, I remember. He nearly blew his top. When Derek’s got his pepper up he can be a nasty sod.’

Kevin revved the car, but before driving off he paused. ‘Look, mate, I ain’t sure about casing this joint. It’s a bit too soon after the last job and I thought we were going to lay low for a bit.’

‘We only got peanuts for those fags and I need more dosh. Dick Smedley said this job would be a doddle. Come on, it won’t hurt to take a look.’

In half an hour they were sitting outside the storage depot. It was in total darkness and there was little to be seen, but even so, Nobby peered through the windscreen. ‘Dick’s right, it looks a piece of cake. It’s still in Vince’s manor so we’ll have to clear it with him, but as long as we offer him the gear, I reckon he’ll be OK.’

‘What makes Dick so sure they store booze?’

‘’Cos he went there pretending to apply for a job.’

‘What about the alarm system?’

‘According to Dick it’ll be easy to nobble.’

‘Huh, and he’s an expert, is he?’ Kevin’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

‘What’s the matter? Turning chicken, are you?’

‘You know me better than that. Anyway, it’d be a waste of time using my car. We’d only get a few cases in the boot.’

‘Like I said, you should’ve got a van, you daft sod. Still, it shouldn’t be a problem. We can nick a van and dump it afterwards.’

Kevin chewed his bottom lip. Up to now, Nobby and Dick had only attempted petty thieving, low risk, but small returns. Now they were looking for bigger jobs, bringing him on board as the driver. There was no doubt this one could make them a lot of money, and at that thought he grinned. ‘All right. I’m in.’

‘Good boy. Right, let’s get back to Battersea.’

Kevin drove home, dropped Nobby off outside his house, and then parked at the back of the café.

His thoughts turned to Pearl Button again, and he scowled. On occasions, until they could shift it, they stored a bit of stolen gear in the back room of Nobby’s empty shop. What if Pearl got nosy again? What if she found it? And if she did, would she link it to him? He was frowning as he quietly went up to the flat, holding his breath as he tiptoed past his mother’s room. Maybe he should have a quiet word in Pearl’s ear. The girl needed a hint that if she was going to live around here, no matter what she saw, or heard, if she wanted to stay in one piece the best policy was to keep her lips zipped.

Chapter Nine

Pricilla Unsworth sat behind her desk at the orphanage, relieved that she had finally sorted the records in preparation for her retirement. They were all in order, but one remained, one that had been carefully guarded from prying eyes. It was Pearl Button’s, the child who had provided her nest egg, and taking out all but the barest details, she was going to destroy it, leaving no trace behind.

When she’d been approached all those years ago, she’d agreed to the ruse, and made sure that she was the one to find the new-born baby on the steps.

Everything had been done by letter; unsigned, with a box number as the return address. With so much to gain, Pricilla had diligently followed the instructions. The person who’d abandoned Pearl wanted no risks, and certainly no questions asked. To that end he, or she, had insisted that Pearl Button was never fostered out, or put up for adoption. Pricilla had thought this over-cautious in the extreme, but financially the arrangement suited her well. For each year that Pearl Button remained in the orphanage, Pricilla had been paid, the money building up to a nice little nest egg.

She picked up the thin file. No doubt the child had been born out of wedlock, perhaps another victim of a wartime romance, but it was almost as if this person wanted to punish the baby along with the mother. Many times she had wondered who she’d dealt with, and had decided it was a man. Of course she couldn’t be certain, but surely only a man could act so callously.

There had been just one sticky moment that occurred during Pearl’s last year, but thankfully it had passed. Pricilla had been surprised when she’d received a letter from a woman enquiring about an abandoned baby, giving only the date of birth. When Pricilla realised it was Pearl’s, her heart had missed a beat. She’d replied, denying any knowledge of the child, and to be on the safe side had arranged for Pearl to leave the orphanage earlier than anticipated. Thankfully that there had been no further enquiries.

It was over now, the girl no longer under her care. Pearl Button had left the orphanage, she had been found employment, a place in a hostel, but that was as far as Pricilla’s authority went. She had no idea where the girl was now, and didn’t care. It was done, finished with, and Pricilla smiled. The money she’d received for Pearl Button had provided a decent retirement fund, and now a nice little cottage in the country beckoned.

About to tear the letter to pieces, she was annoyed to hear a knock on the door. ‘Yes, what is it?’

The art teacher came into the office, her eyes puzzled as she gazed at Pricilla’s poised fingers. Quickly stuffing the letter back in the file, she saw Emily Rosen placing an envelope on her desk.

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ve come to tender my resignation.’

‘Really?’ Pricilla said. ‘And may I ask why?’

‘There is no longer any reason for me to stay.’

Pricilla shook her head impatiently. The woman wasn’t making any sense, but what did it matter? She was leaving too and wouldn’t have the task of finding a replacement. In truth, she had never liked the woman, finding her too inquisitive about the children, asking to see records that were none of her business. There was another knock on her door, and heaving a sigh of exasperation she called, ‘Come in.’

‘Oh, Miss Unsworth, can you come quickly?’ the harassed teacher begged. ‘A serious fight has broken out in the playground and I can’t break it up.’

Pricilla tutted with impatience. ‘I can’t deal with it now.’

‘But, Miss Unsworth, it’s the older girls and I can’t get through them to the poor child they’re picking on. She’s on the ground and looks to be in a dreadful state.’

Pricilla rose hastily to her feet. ‘I’ll have to sort this out,’ she told Miss Rosen.

The woman nodded, saying quietly, ‘Very well.’

Pricilla hurried from her office, but had she looked back, she would have seen the art teacher surveying the file she’d mistakenly left on her desk. Emily Rosen reached to pick it up, flicking it open. As she scanned the contents, a gasp escaped her lips. Her face lit up with joy and for a moment she hugged the file to her chest. Then, carefully replacing it in the exact position she had found it, Emily Rosen scurried out.

In Battersea, Pearl was looking at her sketches. Of all of them, the drawing of Derek stood out as best. His kind eyes looked incongruous against his craggy features, but Pearl thought she had captured the essence of the man. She picked up the sketch of Nora and frowned. She didn’t see much of the cleaner, and the sketch was one she wasn’t happy with. Nora had a round face that was somehow featureless, making it difficult to capture on paper. There was something missing, and as she tried to picture the woman in her mind, she realised it was Nora’s childlike innocence. Placing Nora’s picture to one side, Pearl lifted one of her favourites, a sketch of Frank Hanwell’s son.

She had seen the lad a couple of times hanging around his dad’s stall and was taken by the eight-year-old’s features. He had dark, unruly hair, a tiny nose sprinkled with freckles, but it was his cheeky, gap-toothed smile that Pearl had wanted to capture. She gazed critically at the sketch. It wasn’t perfect, and without paint she had been unable to capture the boy’s wonderful emerald-green eyes.

Placing the drawing back inside the folder, her thoughts returned to Derek Lewis. He’d looked disappointed when she told him they could only be friends, but had still invited her to meet his gran. Thinking of that, her eyes widened. He’d be here soon and she wasn’t ready!

As she dashed around, Pearl knew why she had agreed to go to Derek’s house. She was curious – curious to see what a normal home looked like. All she had known was the orphanage and then the hostel, family life a mystery to her. She’d heard talk, of course. When girls came back to the orphanage after being fostered for a while, they spoke of the families they had stayed with and she had listened to their stories with avid interest. Of course, not all of the tales were good ones, and some were horrible. One girl of thirteen had been used as a servant, forced to do housework from early morning to night, and had slept in a small, cold room under the eaves of the house.

When she heard a knock on the street door, Pearl shook her thoughts away as she hurried downstairs. The orphanage held mostly bad memories, ones she wanted to forget.

‘Hello, love,’ Derek said. ‘I’ve told Gran I’m bringing you round and she’s looking forward to it.’

‘Is she?’ Pearl found she was suddenly nervous and as they walked along the High Street she clung to Derek’s arm. He looked down at her, smiling with pleasure and she managed a small smile back. Oh, he was a nice man. Would his gran be the same?

It didn’t take them long to reach Derek’s house. As they walked in Connie Lewis stepped forward.

‘Hello, ducks, nice to meet you,’ she said, leading them into a small room at the front.

‘It’s nice to meet you too,’ Pearl said, smiling shyly. Derek’s gran was a surprise. She was a tiny, thin woman with sharp features, but like Derek, her eyes were kind.

‘Take a seat, love,’ she invited.

‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, doing so.

‘Derek tells me you’re an orphan.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘How old were you when you were put in the orphanage?’

‘From what I’ve been told, I was a new-born baby and left on the steps.’

‘Oh, that’s awful. Your mother must have been desperate to do that.’

Pearl looked down at the threadbare rug under her feet. Yes, her mother must have been desperate, perhaps unmarried, but Pearl would never know the answers. Over the years she had thought about her. Did they look alike? She had read a novel once in which a servant had been taken by the master and then thrown on to the streets. Was that what had happened to her mother? Scenario after scenario filled her mind. Had her mother been ill – too ill to look after her – and, as she had never come back to claim her, had she died?

‘I’m sorry, love. Me and my big mouth, and now I’ve upset you,’ Connie cried.

‘No, please, I’m all right.’

‘I’ll go and make us all a cup of tea,’ she said, bustling from the room.

‘Sorry about that, Pearl. My gran does have a tendency to put her foot in it, but she doesn’t mean any harm.’

‘It’s all right. There’s no need to apologise.’

Pearl gazed around the room with interest. There was a three-piece suite, and she was sitting on one of the rather lumpy chairs. Under the window she saw a highly polished sideboard, with a lace runner across the top on which sat a few china ornaments. The fireplace was small, and covering the grate there was a little painted paper screen in the shape of a fan. There was a carved fender, and in one alcove a small table on which sat a rather ugly plant. Even with so little furniture the room was crowded, and there was the faint scent of lavender in the air. Pearl found it cosy and wondered what the rest of the house was like.

‘Here we are,’ Connie said as she came back into the room.

Derek took the rather laden tray from her, admonishing, ‘You should have called me, Gran. This weighs a ton.’

Pearl saw pretty china cups and saucers, a teapot, and a plate piled with slices of cherry cake. Connie moved the plant from the small table, and as Derek laid the tray down she bustled out again, calling, ‘I’ll just get the milk and sugar.’

Derek grinned. ‘To tell you the truth, Pearl, we hardly use this room. We live and eat in the kitchen.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t have minded the kitchen.’

‘Well, tell Gran that.’

‘Tell me what?’ Connie asked as she came back into the room.

‘That Pearl would’ve been happy to sit in the kitchen.’

‘Blimey, and there’s me trying to make an impression. Well, we’re in here now, and here we’ll stay. Do you take milk and sugar, love?’

‘Yes, please.’

Connie handed her a cup of tea, followed by a plate with a slice of cake on it. Pearl floundered; with both hands full she couldn’t drink her tea or eat the cake. Maybe she could balance one on her lap?

Connie followed the same procedure with Derek, but instead of consternation, he roared with laughter. ‘I’ve only got two hands, Gran. Am I supposed to eat the cake with me toes?’

Connie laughed too, her eyes bright as she looked at Pearl. ‘As you can see, we ain’t used to airs and graces. All right, I give in, let’s go to the kitchen and at least we can sit around the table.’

‘Thank Gawd for that,’ Derek said.

Pearl stood up and followed Connie through to the kitchen, Derek behind them with the tray. The room was larger with a well-scrubbed table in the centre.

‘Sit down, love,’ the old lady said.

From then on it was more relaxed, the ice broken, and soon Connie was asking Pearl questions again, this time about her job in the café, and Dolly Dolby.

‘I hear the woman’s a bit of a battle-axe. Is that right?’

‘She isn’t too bad. Well, unless she’s in a bad mood.’

‘And that’s every other day,’ Derek said with a chuckle.

‘Derek tells me you live in a bedsit.’

‘Yes, I’m renting it from Nobby Clark.’

‘Is he that tyke you used to knock around with, Derek?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

‘Huh, he’s nothing but trouble. When he was left the shop he could have done all right, but from what I heard he got hooked on gambling. It’s a mug’s game and the shop went under, all the profits going to the bookies. All right, he was only nineteen at the time, but that’s no excuse. You were running the stall on your own, and you’ve done well. What’s Nobby up to these days?’

‘Nothing honest, that’s for sure.’

Pearl thought about the cartons of cigarettes she had seen, wondering if she should mention them, but then Derek stood up.

‘I’m just going out back for a Jimmy Riddle.’

‘A what?’

‘You explain, Gran.’

‘Jimmy Riddle – piddle, its cockney rhyming slang. He’s gone to the outside toilet,’ Connie said, and as the door closed behind him she leaned forward, her eyes now hardening. ‘How old are you, Pearl?

‘I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen.’

‘Christ, you’re just a kid. Look, I know you’ve become friends with my Derek, but I don’t want him hurt. He likes you, I can tell, but you’re a bit young for him.’

‘We … we’re not courting. We’re just friends.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I still think he’s looking for more than that. I don’t want to cross-examine you, but I can’t see why you’ve latched on to Derek. Surely you’d prefer friends, girls of your own age?’

‘I don’t know any girls, and those that come into the café seem to be a bit stand-offish.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s probably because you talk like you’ve got a plum in your mouth. You stand out as different, an outsider, and they’re bound to be suspicious.’ Connie leaned back and sighed heavily. ‘All right, I’ll say no more, but if you don’t want things to go any further with Derek, it might be better if you stop seeing him.’

‘Gran!’

Connie’s head shot round. ‘Derek, I didn’t know you were there.’

‘That’s pretty obvious. Now what’s going on? I only heard the tail end of what you were saying, but why are you telling Pearl to stop seeing me?’

Connie hung her head. ‘I don’t want you hurt.’

‘Gran, I’m a grown man. I like Pearl, and she likes me, but I know she’s only looking for friendship. Now if you don’t mind, I think you should keep your nose out. Come on, Pearl, I’ll take you home.’

‘Oh, please, don’t fall out over me.’

‘It’s all right, dear. Derek’s right and I had no business interfering.’ Connie stood up, going to her grandson’s side and laying a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. Pearl’s a nice girl, and I like her. I was just trying to protect you, that’s all.’

Derek’s face softened as he looked down at the tiny woman. ‘Do I look like I need protection? Now come on, let’s start again, and how about cutting me another slice of cake?’

Pearl heaved a sigh of relief. Seeing the loving look that Connie Lewis was giving her grandson, she felt a twinge of envy. It must be wonderful to have someone to love you like that, unconditionally. Maybe she could think of Derek as more than a friend – maybe she could become part of this small family. She would have a home, Derek would always be there to look out for her, and she would never have to be afraid again. Yet even as she considered it, Kevin Dolby’s face flew into her mind. Stop it, stop dreaming, she berated herself.

Chapter Ten

Nobby Clark threw open the door of the empty bedsit with a flourish. ‘There you are, and it’s a guinea a week rent.’

The balding, flabby man looked around before testing the bed. ‘Yes, it’s all right. Is there a bathroom?’

‘There’s one further along the landing.’

‘How many tenants will I have to share it with?’

‘Only one. A young woman lives on the floor below, but she’s a nice quiet girl.’

‘What about my car? With the market set up every day, I can’t see anywhere to park outside.’

‘This is one of the few premises with a side entrance. You can drive round the back and park in the yard, but don’t come in through my shop. There’s another door that leads into the downstairs hall. You can use that.’

‘Right, I’ll take it and I’ll pay a month’s rent in advance.’

Nobby grinned, pleased to have a bit of extra money coming in. They were still planning the next job and things were a bit tight. ‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I work in insurance.’

‘And what’s your name?’

‘Trevor – Trevor Bardington.’

There was something about this bloke that gave Nobby the creeps, but with a month’s rent in his pocket he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d put a bet on, one that was heavily tipped, and maybe the bad luck that dogged him would change. Yeah, perhaps he’d be on to a big winner.

‘Thanks,’ the man said as Nobby handed him a rent book and keys. ‘I’ll pick up my things and be back later.’

As both men left the room to go downstairs, Pearl Button was on her way up. They waited until she reached the landing, Nobby saying, ‘Hello, Pearl, you’re just in time to meet Mr Bardington. He’s moving in to the room above yours.’

‘Hello,’ she said shyly.

The man nodded, saying nothing and, once again thinking he was a strange one, Nobby led him down to the street door, showing him out before going through to his shop.

It wasn’t long before Kevin Dolby and Dick Smedley turned up, looking furtively behind them as they walked in.

‘Are we nearly set to do the job?’ Nobby asked.

Dick answered, ‘I’ve seen a van and have been watching the driver’s movements for several days. He parks it up in the same spot every night, and as he’s got a ladder stashed on the top it solves another problem. I doubt he’ll notice the van’s gone until the following morning, so we’ll have done the job and dumped it before it’s reported missing.’

‘Sounds good,’ Kevin said. ‘And is it the usual buyer, Nobby?’

‘Of course it is. I daren’t offer it to anyone else – you know that. Anything that isn’t small time is always fenced through Vince.’

‘He must be raking it in.’

‘Yeah, but he ain’t one to cross. He’s got the borough sewn up, and if we offered it to anyone else his boys would turn us into mincemeat. I don’t fancy storing the booze overnight, so we’re to take it straight to his club. He’s gonna wait for us, and after unloading we can get rid of the van. Now it’s just a matter of deciding when we hit the warehouse.’

Dick pursed his lips. ‘I reckon tomorrow night. They get a delivery today, and nothing gets sent out again until Monday morning.’

‘That’s fine with me. What about you, Kevin?’

‘Yeah, I’m in.’

The three men went over the plans again. When they were satisfied, Kevin rose to his feet. ‘Right, how do you fancy a drink before we go to see the match?’

‘Good idea.’

Kevin felt a thrill of anticipation as they left the shop. After the job he’d be able to take a trip to Soho, and if the haul was a big one more trips would follow.

Pearl was pleased that another tenant was moving in, but had hoped it would be someone young, ideally a girl she could make friends with.

Mr Bardington looked to be in his forties. He was a big man, overweight, with a grey unhealthy appearance, and cold blue eyes. She had looked forward to having someone else in the house, especially at night, but wasn’t sure she liked the look of the older man.

Her bedsit was like an oven, stuffy, and even with the window open it felt airless. She wiped a hand across her brow as she perched on her bed. It was the third week in August, and with art classes starting soon, she wanted to check her savings.

She’d been frugal, and with any luck there would be enough to buy paint and brushes. She checked her tips, a frown creasing her forehead. With fewer tables to work, her tips had gone down, but surely not this much.

Mentally Pearl assessed the day. She had regulars who sat at her tables, and most tipped her once a week. Frank Hanwell always left her three-pence on a Saturday, along with the other costermongers who sat with him. Derek too was generous and he mostly left her sixpence.

An awful suspicion began to fill her mind, one she wanted to dismiss but couldn’t. It was over three weeks since Alice had started work in the café, and despite her earlier trepidations, they were getting on well together. She’d assured Alice that she could manage, but the woman still thought nothing of clearing Pearl’s tables along with her own, and also took over behind the counter to give Bernie a break.

Alice seemed to have boundless energy, and though the weather was blazing hot, she was rarely still. Yes, Alice cleared her tables for her, but what about the tips she found? Was she putting them in her own pocket?

Pearl stood up and moved across to the window. Oh, surely she was imagining things. It was wrong to be suspicious, yet it had happened so many times at the orphanage. They had little, but still had to guard their tiny treasures from thieving hands. Pearl remembered a ribbon she’d been given by a departing teacher. It had been pink and she’d treasured it, but one day it had gone. She had never found out who took it, but suspected an older girl, a bully whom she’d never had the courage to confront.

Now there was Alice, and if the woman was stealing her tips, what could she do? She daren’t accuse her – Alice would go mad – but was there another way? Derek!

She could ask him to have a word with her, or maybe she could tell Bernard Dolby … Round and round her thoughts went until at last her mind calmed. Take one step at a time. Watch Alice, and if she really was pinching her tips, then maybe their employer would sort it out.

At seven o’clock, Pearl was ready. Derek was boxing tonight and had invited her to the match. She had hesitated, hating the thought of the brutality, but Connie Lewis wanted to go, and had urged Pearl to join her.

She still hadn’t made up her mind about taking the friendship with Derek any further, but as a regular visitor to his house she was growing close to his gran. Now, picking up her handbag, she went to collect Connie.

By eight o’clock they were in one of the large function rooms at Battersea Town Hall, sitting in the front row and watching a match between two young men.

Pearl found the atmosphere gladiatorial: the smell of sweat; the baying of the crowd; the boxers dancing around each other in the ring, exchanging flurries of punches that had the crowd rising to their feet yelling for more.

A bell clanged, the round coming to an end, and as one of the boxers sat in his corner, Pearl’s stomach turned as he removed his gum shield, took a mouthful of water and then spat it into a bucket. Another man took a soaking sponge, running it over the young man’s puffy, red face, blood now visible and oozing from his nose. Oh God, it was awful, but as she glanced around, Pearl could see that she was the only one affected.

‘There’s only one more round to go and then Derek’s match is next,’ Connie said, gripping Pearl’s arm with excitement.

Pearl fought nausea and the need to flee. A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around.

‘Watcha, Pearl,’ Kevin Dolby said. ‘Enjoying it, are you?’

‘Er … it’s all right.’

‘Your boyfriend is on next.’

Pearl didn’t bother to correct him. Derek was just a friend, but in the crowded room it was impossible to speak without shouting. Instead she just nodded.

‘It’ll be a good match and I’ve got a few bob on Derek.’

Pearl forced a smile before turning to face the front again. She looked up at the ring, wondering why it was called a ring when it was, in fact, square, but then the bell signalled the start of the last round.

Both young boxers began the dance again, circling around each other, until one lunged forward. A gloved fist connected with a chin, a boxer bouncing off the ropes in front of Pearl before falling with a crash onto the canvas.

The referee rushed over, his arm slicing the air as he counted the boxer out. ‘… Eight – nine – ten,’ he yelled.

The boxer didn’t move, and signalling that he was out for the count the referee bounded over to the other man, grabbed his arm and raised it into the air to show who was the victor.

By then, Pearl and the defeated boxer were the only ones who weren’t on their feet, the cheers for the local lad deafening.

A couple of men scrambled under the ropes, kneeling beside the young boxer as they tried to bring him round. Pearl found she was holding her breath. Oh God, he still wasn’t moving. Was he dead? With a groan he finally sat up, eyes glazed as he was helped to his feet and led from the ring.

Pearl saw the winner dancing round, his body slick with sweat and his arms punching the air with delight. When the accolades of the crowd gradually diminished he too ducked under the ropes and left the arena, a satin gown covering his body and a towel draped over his head.

‘That was a good match,’ Connie said as she sat down. ‘Here, what’s the matter? You look as white as a sheet.’

‘I … I feel a bit sick.’

‘Gawd, you’re a soft one.’

‘I … I think I’ll have to leave.’

‘Don’t do that, love. Derek will be ever so disappointed. Look, go outside and get a bit of fresh air. His match won’t start just yet.’

Pearl rose to her feet, stumbling for the door. The air felt heavy as she stepped outside, and she could hear distant rumbles of thunder, a summer storm threatening. She leaned against a wall, startled when she heard a voice.

‘What’s up, Pearl? Don’t you like the sight of a bit of blood?’ Kevin asked as he nonchalantly lit a cigarette.

‘I … I think it’s awful.’

‘You’ve got Derek’s match to watch yet. It’s a heavyweight bout and more my cup of tea.’

‘I don’t think I can go back in.’

‘If you ask me, you ain’t the right type to live around here. You don’t fit in. Things go on – things you have to keep your nose out of, if you know what I mean.’

Pearl’s eyes widened, and with a menacing smile Kevin continued, ‘This is just a little warning. No matter what you see, or hear, keep your mouth shut. It’s safer that way.’

She couldn’t speak, managing only a small nod.

Kevin threw his cigarette onto the pavement, grinding it out with the sole of his shoe, his manner changing again as he said softly, ‘Are you coming back in?’

‘In … in a minute.’

Pearl gulped as Kevin walked away. She was seeing him in a new light and her mind was reeling. Instead of her heart skipping a beat when she saw him, it was now jumping with fear. He had threatened her, but why?

The noise inside the function room rose again and, pushing herself from the wall, Pearl went inside, deciding that now, more than ever, she needed to stay close to Derek Lewis.

As they watched Derek’s match, Kevin found his eyes drawn to Pearl. When Derek or his opponent took a punch, instead of jumping up and baying with the crowd, the girl covered her face with horror.

When he’d followed her outside and issued the veiled threat, she had looked at him like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights. Her eyes were amazing and as she stared up at him, he enjoyed seeing her fear. She was a timid little creature who seemed incapable of standing up for herself. In fact, she was the complete antithesis of his mother, and for the first time he could see why Derek was attracted to her.

Kevin continued to watch Pearl, seeing her growing distress when Derek sustained a nasty cut above his eye. Christ, what on earth did she see in him?

The two heavyweights continued to lumber around the ring, sweat pouring from their bodies, and with only one round to go, both men looked exhausted. They came together, clinging to each other like two bulls locked in an embrace, the referee once again shouting, ‘Break!’

Dick Smedley hissed, ‘I think our bets are safe. I reckon Derek will win on points.’

‘Yeah, he’d better,’ Nobby said. ‘I stuck four quid on him instead of a horse.’

The round came to an end, and as a small stool was quickly put in Derek’s corner, he slumped onto it. His face was sponged, the cut attended to, and after the referee took a quick look at it, he signalled for the match to continue.

Aware that this was the last round, both boxers put in a bit more effort, and there were flurries of punches. Derek was obviously trying to protect his cut, his gloved hands high over his face and body leaning forward as he stalked his prey. He managed to land a good few punches, but the other boxer remained on his feet until at last the bell rang.

Both boxers went to their corners, but remained standing, and a hush descended on the crowd as the points were counted.

‘I wish they’d get a bloody move on,’ Nobby hissed.

The result! And as the referee raised Derek’s arm in victory, cheers rang out.

Kevin found himself watching Pearl again, and as she stood up he saw tears running down her cheeks. She looked up at Derek as he came to the ropes to grin down at her, blood now oozing from the cut.

Kevin scowled, surprised to find himself suddenly jealous. But why? The skinny cow wasn’t his type. He liked his women to have a bit of shape.

‘Come on, let’s go. We’ll collect our winnings and then have another drink,’ Nobby urged.

Kevin nodded, but his thoughts were still distracted as he followed his two mates. What would sex be like with Pearl Button? Would she let him dominate? Of course she would – the timid little cow would be too scared to put up a fight. He found himself hardening at the thought. He wouldn’t have to pay her either. Pearl was one he could have for free, and maybe, just maybe, he might sample the goods.

Chapter Eleven

On Sunday evening, Pearl looked up at her ceiling, puzzled. Mr Bardington seemed to be pacing back and forth, and had been doing so for over an hour. At first she tried to ignore it, but now it was driving her mad. Thump, thump, thump, his heavy footsteps unrelenting.

She couldn’t sketch, it was impossible, and throwing her pad aside she decided to have a bath. She rarely used the room, preferring a strip wash to the brown, stained, roll-top bath, but maybe soaking in nice deep water might relax her.

Pearl had a lot on her mind. There was the anxiety that Alice Freeman might be taking her tips, but worse, the veiled threat Kevin Dolby had issued. It had forced her hand, making her decide to take things further with Derek. Though she didn’t like his looks, she felt safe with him and knew she would have no need to fear Kevin Dolby, or anyone else, whilst he was around.

She crept upstairs, clutching her towel and wash things. The bathroom didn’t look inviting, the distempered walls grey and flaking, but she locked the door behind her and turned on the taps.

With her eyes closed, shutting out the ugly room, it was nice to lie back in the water, letting it trickle over her shoulders. At last she couldn’t hear Mr Bardington pacing. There was a faint sound of music now, something classical, and Pearl luxuriated in the peaceful solitude.

The water was tepid, refreshing, but finally Pearl climbed out, towelling herself vigorously. She was perching on the edge of the bath, drying her feet, when the door handle turned. She froze as it rattled again, but finding her voice she called, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s Trevor Bardington. Sorry, I didn’t realise someone was in there.’

‘I’ve nearly finished and it’ll be free in a few minutes.’

‘Right, thanks,’ and as she heard his footsteps retreating, Pearl dressed quickly.

She scooted out, but as her eyes flicked along the landing there was no sign of the man. Soon she was back in her room and, throwing on pyjamas, scrambled into bed. Yet why was she frightened? Mr Bardington had only tried the door – he hadn’t forced his way in. Pearl turned, clutching her pillow. It was Kevin’s threat that was making her jumpy and more than ever she felt alone, vulnerable, in these almost empty premises.

It was after midnight when Kevin, Nobby and Dick walked quietly to a nearby street, pleased to see the van parked in the usual spot.

‘There’s nobody about,’ Nobby said.

Dick scratched his chin. ‘It won’t take long to open that door.’

‘Come on then, let’s get on with it,’ Kevin said impatiently. He didn’t like standing around and was nervous of being seen. The sooner they got into the van and drove off, the better.

Dick, skilled at the task, soon had the door open, and in another few minutes Kevin had hot-wired the van, the engine coming to life.

‘Jump in the back, Dick,’ he hissed as Nobby climbed hurriedly into the passenger seat.

Kevin took as many backstreets as possible, finding his mouth dry as they drew up outside the warehouse. The premises were in darkness and Kevin twisted round in his seat to speak to Dick.

‘Are you sure about the alarm?’

‘As sure as I can be.’

Nobby climbed out. ‘Come on, Dick. We’ll cut the padlock and open the gates. When that’s done, Kevin, you can drive in.’

Kevin waited, finding his hands sweating as he gripped the steering wheel. The two men made light of the lock, and soon the metal gates were swinging open. With a look in his rear-view mirror, Kevin drove into the grounds, pulling up in front of the loading bay.

Dick walked up the ramp, inspecting the alarm box high on the wall. ‘I hope that bleedin’ ladder’s long enough,’ he mumbled before bending down to his bag of tools.

Nobby struggled to get the ladder off the van. ‘Give me a hand, Kevin.’

As soon as they’d placed it up against the wall, Kevin returned to the van, ready for a quick getaway if anything went wrong.

Dick climbed the ladder and then Kevin watched as he placed a small torch between his teeth, leaving his hands free to work on the alarm box.

Kevin’s tension eased. Dick seemed to know what he was doing. He removed the cover, carefully handing it down to Nobby before reaching inside the box. Then suddenly a deafening, clanging racket pierced the silence.

Kevin froze momentarily, but then in panic he gunned the engine to life, eyes on stalks as he screamed, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’

Dick slid down the ladder, grabbed his tools, and then both men scrambled for the van.

Nobby just about managed to leap into the passenger seat as Kevin screeched off. ‘Shit!’ he yelled, holding on to the dashboard for dear life.

Dick had almost shot into the back of the van and, with tyres screaming, Kevin was out of the gate, driving with his foot hard on the accelerator.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Dick yelled, ‘give me a chance to shut the back doors!’

Kevin slowed almost imperceptibly before turning a corner, his ears peeled for the sound of police sirens. Dick managed to pull the doors closed, and soon they were streets away.

‘Slow down, you stupid bastard! You’re drawing attention to us,’ Nobby shouted.

‘Watch your mouth,’ Kevin spat, his eyes now flicking to the back of the van and to Dick Smedley. ‘So much for the alarm being a fucking doddle! Christ, it serves me right for getting mixed up with amateurs.’

Nobby’s voice was dangerously low: ‘We ain’t amateurs. It was just bad luck. Now find somewhere to dump this van, and soon.’

Kevin turned left towards the industrial arches under Clapham Junction station. In the pitch-darkness his headlights pierced the gloom and, parking in front of the first unit, he scrambled out of the van.

‘Come on, this’ll do. We can make our way home through the backstreets.’

The three men walked quickly, constantly looking behind them and relieved when they reached Battersea High Street.

‘That was a bloody fiasco,’ Kevin said, breaking the silence.

‘I’ll admit it was a cock-up, but we got clean away.’

‘Yeah, but empty-handed.’

‘There’s always another job, and we’ll make better plans next time.’

‘Next time! You must be kidding!’

Nobby shrugged. ‘You’ll be looking for easy money again soon, and I’ll be in touch.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Kevin spat as he marched away.

Trevor Bardington still couldn’t sleep. Standing in the darkness of his room, he looked out of the window on to the three young men below him in the street. He recognised his landlord, Nobby Clark, and though the men seemed to be arguing, he wasn’t interested. His appetite was rising again, and try as he might he couldn’t fight it. How many times had he moved? How many different areas had he lived in? He’d lost count. So far he’d been lucky, very lucky, and had never been caught.

He turned away from the window and threw himself onto his bed. Once he had seen that face it was impossible to get it out of his mind – impossible to fight the desire. Now, as he had done so many times in the past, he began to plan.

Other than the young girl downstairs, this place was ideal, and if he used drugs again, there would be no noise. Of course, the time and place would be crucial, and it wouldn’t be easy. His brain turned. There had to be a way, there was always a way, and as an idea began to form, Trevor Bardington smiled. He’d love it, he knew he would. They all did, despite their protests.

Chapter Twelve

When Pearl awoke on Monday morning, she knuckled her eyes before climbing tiredly out of bed. She hadn’t slept well. Trevor Bardington had started pacing again and it had been after one in the morning before he’d stopped.

Why did he spend hours walking back and forth across his room? Was he an insomniac? God, she hoped not. If she got a good night’s sleep, getting up at five forty-five in the morning wasn’t a problem, but if the noise continued it would be impossible.

She’d have to wait and see, but if the worst came to the worst, perhaps she could ask Nobby Clark for a different room. There were two empty, one on this landing and one above. She didn’t fancy being on the same floor as Mr Bardington, but the one further along on this level would be fine and not directly underneath the man. The only downside was that it looked over the rear of the building, with nothing but a yard and the back of a factory wall in view. With this room she enjoyed being able to look on to the High Street, seeing the hustle and bustle of the market. Tired of drawing faces, she had begun to sketch the scene. Of course, she still craved colour. How else could she bring the pictures alive? The colourful stalls with their brightly striped awnings, the fruit and vegetables piled high, the crowds bustling, red-faced from the heat. They needed colour, and she just had to buy some paint.

The breakfast rush was in full swing and, though tired from lack of sleep, Pearl was doing her best to keep an eye on Alice. So far she hadn’t cleared any of Pearl’s tables, but as they were so busy it was impossible to watch her all the time.

Frank Hanwell came in, his son, Eric, with him, and Pearl smiled as she went to serve them.

‘Hello, and what can I get you?’

‘My usual, and beans on toast for Eric.’

The boy grinned at Pearl and once again she was captivated by his face. If he’d been a girl, Eric would have been described as beautiful. Somehow, handsome didn’t fit, and seemed an inadequate description. With lovely emerald-green eyes, slightly slanted like a cat’s, flawless skin, with a dash of freckles, he had to Pearl, perfect features.

She grinned back at him. ‘One slice of toast, or two?’

‘Two, please, miss. I’m helping my dad on his stall today.’

‘Are you? That’s nice.’

‘Lucy’s a bit under the weather, and school doesn’t start again until September,’ Frank said by way of explanation. ‘I don’t know about help, though. Somehow I think Eric might be more of a hindrance.’ He leaned forward, the sting taken out of his words as he ruffled the boy’s dark hair.

Pearl wrote out the order and hurried to the kitchen, her tables now full, but as she returned to the dining room she was just in time to see a couple of her customer’s leaving. Alice left what she was doing and hurried to clear their table. Pearl kept her head low, but was watching from under her lashes when she saw Alice slip something into her apron pocket.

As if suddenly aware that she was being observed, Alice’s head spun around. Their eyes locked, but it was Alice who looked away first, her face slightly flushed as she picked up the rest of the plates, brushing past her to the kitchen.

Pearl waited until Alice returned to the dining room, surreptitiously watching her movements. Alice passed the counter, but didn’t put any money into the jar, and Pearl was sure then that Alice was taking her tips. But what could she do? She was too scared to confront Alice, and anyway, she’d deny it. Yet how could she offer proof?

‘What’s up, Pearl?’ Derek Lewis called.

She went to his table, her mind still turning. If someone else saw what Alice was up to, there was no way the girl could deny it. ‘Derek, can I talk to you later?’

He frowned. ‘You’re not going to tell me you can’t see me tonight, are you?’

‘No, of course not. It’s just something I may need a bit of help with.’

‘Oh, right. Well, anything I can do, you only have to say the word.’

‘Thanks, Derek.’

The rest of the day seemed to drag by. Pearl kept an eye on Alice, but she kept to her own tables. Then, at three fifteen, near the end of her shift, Kevin came down from the upstairs flat. He walked towards her, but instead of a threatening look, he was smiling.

‘Hello, love, how are you doing?’

Pearl stared at him in confusion. He had issued veiled threats at the boxing match, but now he was being pleasant. ‘I … I’m fine thanks.’

‘How’s it going with Derek?’

‘Er … we’re still good friends.’

‘If you were my girl, we’d be more than friends by now.’

‘Kevin!’

They both spun round to see Dolly’s head poking out of the kitchen door. ‘I suggest you let Pearl get on with her work.’

‘Yeah, all right, Mum,’ he said, but not before throwing Pearl a wink and whispering, ‘Would you like to be my girl, Pearl?’

He sauntered off, the café door closing behind him, Pearl left red-faced. His girl! Surely he didn’t mean it? No, of course he didn’t. Her mind was still grappling with the change in Kevin’s character when Dolly came marching out of the kitchen, heading towards her.

‘Your job is to wait on tables, Pearl, and not to flirt with my son.’

‘I … I wasn’t flirting with him. Honest,’ she protested, hands shaking.

‘I don’t want to see you chatting with Kevin again. You’re here to work and I suggest you remember that.’

‘Yes, Mrs Dolby.’

The woman threw her a dark look. ‘Finish clearing that table and you can go.’

Pearl vigorously rubbed the surface, relieved when Dolly went back to the kitchen. She rinsed out the cloth, took off her apron and, taking her bag from its usual place under the counter, murmured, ‘I’m off, Bernie. See you tomorrow.’

‘Bye, love, and take no notice of Dolly. Mind you, it might be safer to stay away from Kevin.’

‘Your son’s a bit of all right, Bernie,’ Alice chuckled, ‘and you can’t blame Pearl for having her eye on him.’

‘I … I haven’t got my eye on him,’ Pearl protested.

‘Oh, yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Alice said. ‘You fancy him, and it’s as plain as the nose on your face.’

A blush stained Pearl’s cheeks and she lowered her head.

‘Leave the girl alone, Alice,’ Bernie admonished.

Pearl threw him a grateful smile, saying a hurried goodbye as she left the café. Why did Alice have to stir it, and what if she said the same things to Dolly? God, she could get the sack. It was bad enough worrying that Alice was pinching her tips, but now she had to worry about losing her job.

Pearl stopped by Derek’s stall, watching as he served a customer, amazed that with hands so large and chunky he was able to handle the most delicate china without breaking it.

As the customer walked away he came straight to her side. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

Pearl couldn’t confide in him about Kevin, instead saying only, ‘I think Alice is pinching some of my tips.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I could be wrong, but I doubt it. You see, I don’t get many tips now, even from my regulars. Sometimes Alice clears my tables and I think I saw her pocket a tip. I waited to see if she put in the jar, but she didn’t.’

‘The bitch! What did you say to her?’

‘How can I say anything until I’m a hundred per cent sure? And anyway, it’s my word against hers and she’s sure to deny it.’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’ He paused for a moment, but then smiled. ‘When I’m in the café, I’ll keep an eye out too. If we both catch her out, she won’t have a leg to stand on.’

‘Oh, thanks, Derek. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Kevin passed, lifting his hand to wave at them both, but Pearl lowered her head. She had to prevent Dolly from thinking that she was flirting with Kevin, but how?

‘Is there something else worrying you?’ Derek asked. ‘You still look a bit down in the mouth.’

She raised her eyes, saw his concern, and in that moment, made up her mind. If she had a boyfriend, Dolly would know she wasn’t after Kevin and her job would be safe. Taking a deep breath, Pearl forced a smile. ‘I’m fine. It … it’s just that I was wondering if you’d still like me to be your girlfriend.’

‘Of course I would.’

‘Good, because I’d like that too.’

‘Pearl, are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

He grinned with delight. ‘Cor, wait till I tell Gran.’

‘She might not approve, Derek. She’ll think I’m too young for you.’

‘You’ll be seventeen soon, and I’m twenty-six. That makes only nine years between us. Anyway, Gran likes you and I think she’ll be dead chuffed.’

Another customer came to the stall, Derek saying hurriedly, ‘I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll go for a nice meal to celebrate.’

‘All right, ’bye,’ Pearl said, wondering as she walked to her bedsit if she’d made the right decision. She was going to be Derek Lewis’s girlfriend, protected and safe, but what if one day he proposed? Could she face becoming his wife? She pictured his cosy terraced house, his lovely gran, and smiled. Yes, surely she could. They would be a family, and if a baby came along? At that thought Pearl’s steps faltered. When she worked in the laundry the women had often talked and joked about sex. Innocent though she was, she had soon found out from their ribald remarks how a baby was made, but could she bear to do that with Derek?

When Derek told Pearl that his gran wanted to see her, she went round to the house straight from work the next day, shaking with nerves.

At first Connie Lewis was a bit frosty, and deeply suspicious of Pearl’s motives. ‘I thought we agreed that you’re far too young for Derek,’ she said as they sat in her cosy kitchen.

‘I know, but I’ve grown very fond of him.’

‘Huh, you can be fond of a cat,’ she said, her eyes flicking to Marmalade. The huge ginger cat opened one eye, but seeing there was no food being offered, he closed it again. ‘Just what do you see in Derek? It ain’t his looks, that’s for sure.’

‘I know he isn’t handsome, but that doesn’t matter. There’s more to a man than looks. Derek is so kind, so caring, and I feel safe with him.’

‘Safe! What’s that supposed to mean? It sounds like you only want him for protection, but protection from what? Are you in trouble?’

‘No,’ Pearl said hurriedly. ‘Oh dear, I seem to be saying all the wrong things. Please, Connie, I’m just trying to explain that I don’t care what Derek looks like, it’s his ways that count. I just want to be with him, to become part of this family, and … and maybe one day there’ll be children.’

At last the ice began to melt, and a small smile played around the corners of Connie’s mouth. ‘Kids – that’d be nice, but you’re far too young to think about marriage yet.’

‘Yes, I know I’m jumping the gun, but I just wanted you to know how serious I am about Derek.’

Connie sat quietly for a moment, but then her eyes locked with Pearl’s. ‘All right, I’ll say no more. At the end of the day I just want Derek to be happy. I know I shouldn’t cross-examine you, but he’s never had a girlfriend before, his looks saw to that. You’re a pretty girl, and could probably do better, so you can’t blame me for being suspicious.’

‘I could never do better than Derek. He’s wonderful.’

At last it seemed that Pearl had said the right thing. Connie suddenly relaxed, a wide grin now on her face. ‘You’re right there. My Derek’s a diamond. He’ll be home soon so you might as well stay for dinner.’

‘Thanks, I’d love to,’ Pearl said, heaving a sigh of relief.

Chapter Thirteen

When art classes started in September, Pearl and Derek settled into a routine. She went for lessons one night a week, and Derek went to the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On the other evenings, she visited his house, sharing the family meal, growing closer to Connie and feeling part of the family. For Pearl, it was wonderful, Connie becoming like the mother she’d never had.

Pearl stood at her easel on Thursday evening, critically gazing at her effort before mixing more watercolours. Like Miss Rosen, this teacher was pleased with her work, and one day Pearl hoped to progress to oils. She had done a wash for the sky, satisfied with the stormy effect, and now raising her brush she attempted a tree. As this was an autumnal scene, in her mind’s eye she imagined a high wind blowing, so she bent the tree, making it skeletal with few leaves clinging to the branches. As she stepped back a pace, the woman at the next easel spoke.

‘I wish I could get the hang of doing that. Mine never seems to turn out right.’

Pearl wandered across, seeing that the woman had fashioned her tree with a huge trunk and a mushroom of bright green growth sprouting from the top. All right, it wasn’t very good, but what did it matter? She had seen that the elderly lady loved the classes.

‘It looks nice,’ Pearl smiled.

‘Leave it out, love, it’s rubbish.’

The teacher came to their side, her head cocked as she surveyed the old lady’s attempt. ‘Not bad, Mrs Fox, and you’re coming along nicely.’

‘Do you think so? Well, thanks very much, but I wish I could paint like this young lady.’

‘Keep up the good work and you will.’

She then wandered on to the next easel, the old lady winking at Pearl. ‘Yeah, and pigs might fly too.’

Pearl grinned as she went back to her own work. She loved the mixed ability classes, finding everyone so friendly. Picking up her paintbrush again, she buried herself in the countryside scene.

The time flew past and to Pearl her painting wasn’t quite finished. She was still daubing, still endeavouring to get it just right when the teacher came to her side.

‘Well done, my dear,’ the woman said softly, ‘but know when to stop. You’ll spoil the effect if you overwork it, and anyway, it’s time to go home.’

‘Is it?’ Pearl said, becoming aware of the noise in the room as people prepared to leave. She hurriedly packed up too, and as she left the class, there was a smile on her face. She was following her dream at last, a dream that one day her painting would be good enough to exhibit.

Pearl stepped outside to find Derek waiting for her. ‘Watcha, love,’ he said, leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek before taking her things to carry. ‘I finished early at the gym so thought I’d come to walk you home.’

She clutched Derek’s arm as they walked along, pleased to see him, and glad that she had learned to relax when held in his arms. She still didn’t enjoy his kisses, finding it hard to respond, and so far, fearing being alone with him, she hadn’t invited him up to her room.

There was only one person who marred her contentment, and that was Kevin Dolby. For some reason he had taken to chatting to her, often asking her how things were going with Derek, but she couldn’t understand why. He’d teased her once, asking if she wanted to be his girl, but she knew he was just making fun of her. He was so good-looking and there was no way he’d be interested in her, but still her stomach filled with fluttering butterflies every time she saw him. Oh, she didn’t want to think about Kevin; it only made her unsettled.

‘How did your class go?’ Derek asked.

‘It was fine, and I’m learning so much.’

They continued to chat, Pearl enthusing about her art teacher, and when they arrived at Battersea High Street, Pearl unlocked her street door. She took her things from Derek, smiling up at him. ‘Thanks for walking me home, but there’s really no need.’

‘I don’t mind,’ he said, eyes soft as he leaned down to kiss her, lips soft and moist as they settled on hers. ‘’Night, Pearl. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Yes. ’Night, Derek.’ Pearl said, relieved that he didn’t expect more.

She watched him walk away, his arm lifting in a small wave, before she went inside and climbed the stairs to her bedsit. The house was quiet as Pearl flopped onto the side of the bed, eyes looking up to the ceiling. Mr Bardington had stopped his pacing and she rarely saw the man. In fact, he had become so quiet that she often forgot he was in the building. Like her, he was an outsider. Still, now that she was courting Derek, the locals were coming round and warming to her.

Pearl kicked off her shoes and went to make herself a drink, but soon after drinking it, she heard noises from the street, people shouting. Puzzled, she went over to the window to see a crowd of about twenty people. In the dim light from a street-lamp she spotted Derek amongst them and threw up the window.

‘Derek. What’s going on?’

He looked up. ‘Come down, Pearl.’

She threw on her shoes and dashed downstairs, Derek coming straight to her side. ‘I was on my way home when I met up with this lot. Eric’s missing. Have you seen him?’

‘No. Oh, Derek, it’s after ten o’clock. Where can he be?’

‘I dunno. He didn’t come home from school and, as you can see, a lot of people have rallied round to search for him. They’ve looked everywhere but are running out of options.’

‘Have they tried Battersea Park?’

‘I dunno, but we couldn’t cover an area of that size. What makes you think he’d go there?’

‘There’s a lot to attract kids, but it was just a suggestion. Anyway, if the police have been told, they’ll probably cover it.’

‘Yeah, they’ve been told, but not until after eight o’clock. Frank was hoping he’d turn up before then.’

Pearl saw Frank Hanwell, his face drawn with worry. ‘Eric! Eric!’ he shouted, his eyes frantically searching the dim High Street. ‘Where are you, you little bugger?’

‘Frank looks awful. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘You can join us on the search. Apparently he’s not at any of his friends’ houses, and to be honest, I don’t know where we’re trying next.’

Pearl walked with Derek to Frank’s side, the man’s eyes wild as he looked at them. ‘I can’t understand it, Derek. He’s never done this before.’

‘Don’t worry, Frank. The police are sure to find him, even if we don’t. Pearl has suggested Battersea Park and she could be right.’

‘Eric wouldn’t go to the park on his own. Lucy would kill him and he knows that.’

‘He’s just a kid. Think about what you got up to as a nipper.’

Frank’s shoulders slumped. ‘All right, we’ll try there.’

It was after one in the morning before they gave up, footsore and weary as they trudged home.

Derek once again walked Pearl to her door, and after giving her a swift hug he said, ‘Try to get some sleep, love. The police are still looking, and maybe there’ll be good news in the morning.’

Pearl was so tired that she could barely respond. ‘Oh, I hope so, Derek.’

They said good night, Pearl almost staggering up to her room, but despite her exhaustion it was some time before she was able to sleep. The police would find Eric – they just had to. Behind closed eyes, tears gathered as she pictured the boy’s beautiful face.

Nearly a week passed and there was still no sign of Eric. Frank’s stall stood empty, the man incapable of running it and, trying to rally round as much as possible, the other costermongers set it up for him, working it between them to make sure the man had an income.

Frank’s wife, Lucy, hadn’t been seen, and rumour had it that she was in a terrible state. Eric was their only child, the love of their lives, and amongst the gossip in the café there was a lot of sympathy for the couple.

Gertie was also badly affected. She lived next door to the Hanwells and knew them well. Though she still washed the dishes, her tears were often seen dripping into the washing-up water, her bright smile gone.

When Pearl finished work on Wednesday she stopped off at Derek’s stall. ‘There’s still no news,’ she said sadly.

‘I know, love, and I feel so helpless. It’s been six days since Eric went missing and police seem to have exhausted all their enquiries. Now everyone’s back is up about the way they’re treating the Hanwells.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They keep questioning them, and have talked to the neighbours. They’ve asked what sort of parents they are, if there were any signs of mistreatment, and have spoken to the teachers at Eric’s school. Pearl, surely they don’t think that Frank and Lucy had anything to do with his disappearance?’

Pearl placed her hand on his arm. ‘I’ve only lived around here a short time, but I’ve seen Frank with Eric and it’s obvious how much he loves his son.’

‘Yeah, and as far as I’m concerned the police are barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Oh, Derek, where can Eric be?’

‘I dunno, love, but I hope to God some nonce ain’t got hold of him.’

‘A nonce. I don’t understand.’

‘Christ, I keep forgetting what an innocent you are. It’s another word for a paedophile.’

Pearl shook her head. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘They’re sick bastards who like sex with children.’

‘No!’ she cried, but then something she remembered from the orphanage fell into place. When she’d been about ten, a girl of the same age had been fostered out, but after only a month she came back, a sad, pale shadow of the pretty girl who had left. She hardly spoke and lay curled on her bed for hours, but whispers went around the dormitory. The older girls said she’d been interfered with by the foster parent, a man who liked children. Pearl hadn’t understood, but now it all made sense. ‘Oh, Derek, that’s terrible.’

‘Look, don’t get upset. I’m probably wrong.’

‘Oh, I hope so.’

A customer came to the stall, and with a small, sad smile, Derek said to Pearl, ‘I’ll see you later, love.’

Pearl walked away with a sick feeling in her stomach. With her head down she didn’t see Kevin until she walked into him. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she blurted.

His hands gripped her arms. ‘What do you expect when you walk around looking at the pavement?’

‘Yes, sorry, I’m afraid I was thinking about Eric Hanwell.’

‘Everyone is talking about his disappearance. I wonder what happened to the poor little tyke.’

‘I don’t know. I just wish the police would find him.’

‘Yeah, but he’ll probably turn up dead.’

The colour drained from Pearl’s face. ‘Oh, don’t say that!’

‘Look, he ain’t the sort of kid that would run away, so what other option is there?’

‘Derek said that a nonce might have got hold of him.’

‘If that’s the case, the poor little sod would be better off dead.’

Pearl found herself gawking at Kevin, and then with a small sob she ran to her bedsit. Eric was such a beautiful boy with the face of an angel. Surely nobody would harm him?

As Pearl got ready to go round to Derek’s that evening, she suddenly paused as a noise came from upstairs. Unused to hearing anything these days from Mr Bardington, her ears pricked. What was that faint sound she had heard? Was it a cry? Was the man ill?

She stood absolutely still, but there were no further sounds and, relaxing again, she continued to dress. It seemed strange to see so little of someone who lived on the same premises – in fact she saw more of his mail. Pearl never received any letters, but there were often large brown envelopes delivered for Mr Bardington. If Pearl saw them she would pick them up and place them on the bottom stair, and they always disappeared. If it wasn’t for that she wouldn’t know the man lived there.

Ready now, she picked up her handbag and was soon on her way to Derek’s. She had become very fond of Connie’s cooking, and with the extra meals she was having Pearl was putting on weight. Her few outfits were getting tight, but thankfully Mo had told her about a shop that sold second-hand clothes. Paint, brushes and paper were always top of Pearl’s wish list, but realising there was no choice but to buy new clothes, she decided to take a look at the shop the next day.

The evening soon passed, and after a huge dinner of steak-and-kidney pudding, they sat playing cards.

Derek suddenly smiled across at Connie. ‘I’ve got a nice surprise for you.’

‘Have you now. And what’s that?’

‘I’m going to buy a television.’

‘And where is the money coming from?’

‘Don’t worry, Gran, it ain’t new, but it’s in good working order.’

‘A television. My, ain’t we coming up in the world, Pearl?’

‘We certainly are,’ Pearl agreed, loving being included as part of the family.

‘That’ll be one in the eye for her next door. She’s always bragging about her television. If I hear one more word about some geezer called Dixon of Dock Green, I think I’ll go mad.’

‘Who’s he?’ Derek asked.

‘Oh, it’s some sort of programme about a copper. Someone called Jack Warner plays him, and her next door is mad about it.’

‘Well, Gran, now you’ll be able to watch it too.’

‘Yeah, I will, won’t I?’ she said, smiling widely.

‘I’d best be off,’ Pearl said as the game of rummy came to an end, Connie winning as usual. Pearl leaned down to kiss the old lady on the cheek. ‘I think you cheat.’

With a look of indignation she said, ‘No I don’t, you cheeky mare.’ Connie then smiled, patting Pearl’s arm. ‘Go on, get yourself home and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

Derek walked her to the High Street as usual. As they stopped outside Pearl’s street door, he took her into his arms, neither seeing Kevin Dolby watching them from a doorway on the other side of the road, a scowl on his face.

Kevin waited until the coast was clear before he moved. He’d been looking out for Nobby Clark, but there was no sign of him. Money was really tight and he was growing frustrated, so much so that despite the last cock-up, he was ready to do another job.

Once again he scowled. That Derek was a jammy git. Pearl had blossomed lately, her figure filling out, but it was Derek who tasted the goods. Blimey, what was wrong with the girl? How could she fancy that ugly bugger?

He looked up at her window and, seeing the light go on, he crossed the road. Without money in his pocket there was no chance of a trip to Soho. Maybe it was time to give Pearl Button a try.

Kevin looked up and down the High Street. Seeing nobody about, he rang her bell, a smile plastered on his face when she opened the door. ‘Hello, Pearl. I was just wondering if you’ve seen Nobby Clark.’

‘Er … no.’

‘I was supposed to meet him here at the shop,’ Kevin lied, ‘but so far he ain’t turned up. Do you mind if I come in and wait?’

‘But it’s after ten o’clock. Why would you be meeting him at this time of night?’

‘Now then, Pearl, you know better than to ask questions. Come on, girl, let me in,’ Kevin insisted as he pushed his way past her.

Pearl’s eyes were rounded as she stared at him, but Kevin made for the stairs. ‘Your room is on the first floor, ain’t it?’

He didn’t wait for her answer, or look over his shoulder, convinced that she would follow him.

Kevin wasn’t wrong, and as he walked into her room his face stretched with surprise as he looked around the walls. ‘Well, well, did you draw these?’

‘Yes,’ Pearl said, her face reddening.

‘They’re good – in fact, very good. It seems you’ve got hidden talents.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, obviously pleased.

Kevin hid a smile. So, the way to this girl was through her sketches. He made the most of it. ‘That’s a brilliant one of my mother. You could sell these, Pearl.’

‘Sell them? Oh, no, I don’t think they’re good enough.’

‘Leave it out, of course they are. Blimey, look at that one of Derek. It’s as good as a photograph.’ Kevin sat on the edge of her bed. ‘Have you got any more?’

‘Yes, but you won’t want to see them.’

‘Why not? I’ve got nothing else to do until Nobby shows up.’

Pearl picked up a large folder and without thinking about what she was doing, sat beside him on the bed. ‘Here’s one of Gertie.’

‘Blimey, that’s marvellous,’ and careful not to touch her, he looked at all the drawings in her portfolio. ‘Has anyone else seen these?’

‘No, you’re the first.’

‘Well, love, I feel privileged, but I don’t see one of me.’

‘I … I haven’t got one.’

As she turned, their eyes met, and as though Pearl suddenly realised their close proximity she became agitated, quickly stuffing the drawings back into the folder. He gently touched her arm, saying softly, ‘Any chance of a drink?’

‘I … I’ve only got tea or lemonade.’

‘Lemonade will do me.’

He watched her as she went to the small kitchenette. She was such a meek little thing and he didn’t want to frighten her off, but Christ, he was as hard as a rock and couldn’t wait much longer. When she returned he took the glass, his smile teasing.

‘I still think that drawing of Derek is good, but I don’t know what you see in him.’

‘Derek is lovely, kind and caring.’

‘I could be kind and caring too.’

She flushed and Kevin loved it. God, what an innocent, the daft cow like putty in his hands. She fancied him, there was no doubt about that. Placing the glass on the floor, he made his move. Taking her hand, he pulled her down beside him on the bed, enfolding her in his arms.

‘Pearl,’ he whispered, one of his hands brushing her breast.

‘No, stop it!’ she protested, pulling away.

‘Come on, Pearl, you know you like me. I only want a little cuddle, and there’s no harm in that.’

‘I … I’m going out with Derek and it wouldn’t be right.’

For a moment Kevin wanted to slap her, but resisted, instead planting a sad expression on his face. ‘Yeah, sorry, but I’ve fancied you for ages.’

‘Fancy me! You … you fancy me?’

‘Of course I do. Look, I’ll come clean. I’m not really waiting for Nobby. I came round here to see you.’

Pearl’s eyes were wide. ‘But … but Derek …’

‘Don’t worry about him.’ And on those words Kevin pulled her into his arms again. For a moment she stiffened, but then he raised her chin with one finger, his lips meeting hers. She groaned, and he smiled. He kisses grew deeper, his hands wandering over her body, touching her in places that he knew she’d love.

‘No, don’t,’ she protested as he began to unbutton her blouse.

He stopped, whispering, ‘Sorry,’ as he released her.

Pearl clutched her blouse together, gasping, her eyes dark with desire as they met his. As he hoped, she made the move this time, leaning into his arms. He struggled to take his time, almost bursting, but at last he could sense that she was ready. Once again she resisted a little as he began to remove her clothes, but as he gently coaxed, she suddenly melted.

Unable to wait any longer, he pushed Pearl onto her back, and as he entered her she cried out, stiffening beneath him. There was some resistance, but unsurprised to find Pearl a virgin, her cries of pain heightened his passion. He was the first!

Kevin took Pearl quickly, ignoring her pain. She was innocent, acquiescent, and he felt like a man, conquering, dominant and in control. Of course, there was an element missing, one that he had to pay for in Soho, but it was still good and for a while he was able to lose himself in her body.

All too soon it was over and, annoyed that he hadn’t lasted longer, Kevin rolled away to light a cigarette, ignoring Pearl’s sniffles until she spoke.

‘You … you shouldn’t have done that, and … and it hurt.’

‘You didn’t put up much of a fight, and anyway, it always hurts the first time,’ he said dismissively, thinking that at least that’s what he’d heard.

When he had finished his cigarette, he turned to look at Pearl again. She looked vulnerable, innocent, her huge eyes tear-filled as they met his. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, but it’ll be better next time. Come on, give me a cuddle.’

She shook her head, but he settled himself beside her, wrapping her in his arms. For a moment she stiffened, but when he didn’t do anything other than hold her, she relaxed, snuggling against him. They lay like that for a while, but then reliving the moment that confirmed to him that Pearl was a virgin, Kevin found himself hardening again.

Slowly and gently he began to stroke her. She resisted a little, but then became compliant. Kevin smiled. He’d let her enjoy it this time, but in future he’d teach her a trick or two, show her what he liked. He entered her, moving slowly, teasingly. She groaned, this time with pleasure.

‘Well, you certainly enjoyed it that time,’ he leered when it was over.

Pearl lay quietly for a moment but then threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, Kevin, I didn’t realise love could be like this.’

‘Love! It ain’t love, you daft cow. It was just sex, and don’t go reading anything else into it. I ain’t looking for a steady girlfriend.’

Pearl’s eyes were rounded with shock as she stared at him. ‘But—’

Kevin rose to his feet. ‘No buts, Pearl. As I said, it was nothing, and by the way, there’s no need for Derek to find out.’ With a dismissive wave of his hand he added, ‘See ya,’ before walking out.

Chapter Fourteen

When Kevin left, Pearl was in tears, going over and over what had happened. He was so handsome, so kind about her sketches, and she’d been flattered by his attention. When he started to fondle her she found her body reacting in ways she’d never felt before. His hands had been gentle, touching her, arousing delicious feelings, and though she had protested at first, in truth she didn’t want him to stop. Despite the initial pain she had never felt so close to anyone before, their bodies fused, as one, and she found herself reaching out for something, a longing. Was this it? Was this how it felt to be loved and in love?

A small sob escaped her lips, remembering how her feelings had been dashed. Kevin had dismissed it as nothing. Oh, what an idiot she’d been. He didn’t love her, didn’t want her, the sex meaningless. He had just used her, and she’d let him.

She felt dirty, soiled, and now dashed to the sink, washing all traces of Kevin from her body.

It was some time before Pearl returned to her bed, tossing and turning all night. She hated herself, hated her treacherous body, at last drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

It was the doorbell that woke her at nine in the morning but, unable to face the thought of seeing anyone, she curled into a ball. The ringing persisted. Crawling out of bed, Pearl went to the window to see Derek below. Oh God, she couldn’t see him. He would know – he would look at her and know.

He waved frantically, and it was obvious he wouldn’t go away unless she spoke to him. She lifted the window, leaning out a little. ‘Derek, I’m not well. I can’t come down.’

‘When I went into the café, Bernie asked me if I’d seen you. What’s wrong, love?’

As Derek shouted up at her, several heads lifted, and Pearl cringed. They were all staring at her. Could they tell? Did it show?

‘I’ve got an upset tummy,’ she called desperately. ‘Will you tell Bernie? I … I may see you tomorrow, but it depends how I’m feeling.’

‘Is there anything I can get you?’

‘No, but thanks.’ Pearl lifted her hand to give Derek a small wave, anxious to shut the window and get away from the prying eyes.

She crawled back into bed, just wanting to hide away, and soon, exhausted, she escaped into sleep.

It was half an hour later when Trevor Bardington parked his car, smiling as he pulled out a bag of shopping. He’d bought cereals, some fruit, a bar of chocolate, and with the girl downstairs at work, he had the place to himself.

It had been a pain keeping him quiet when Pearl Button was in, but the drugs had done the trick. Now, though, he would make sure the boy was fully awake.

Trevor went up to his room, smiling fondly at the child tied to his bed. The boy had been in a drug-induced sleep, but as his eyelids fluttered, Trevor could see that he was waking up.

Those wonderful emerald-green eyes flickered open, looking glazed at first, but seeing Trevor, they rounded with fear.

‘So, you’re awake, and as a treat I’ve got you some chocolate,’ Trevor said as he untied the bindings. ‘Now, if you’re really good, I’ll take the gag off. You will be quiet, won’t you?’

The boy nodded, but his eyes filled with tears. Trevor knew that, tempting as it was, he couldn’t keep him much longer. He tousled the boy’s hair, annoyed when he flinched. Why did they have to pretend?

He heaved a sigh. Yes, the lad would have to go soon, but he’d get a good price when he passed him on.

When Pearl awoke again it was after ten o’clock. Something had disturbed her, a sound, and she sat up groggily. Had somebody rang the doorbell? She rubbed her eyes, becoming still when she heard a cry.

Another cry, muffled, and her eyes went to the ceiling. Surely it wasn’t Mr Bardington making that noise?

For a moment the house was silent, the only sound street noises outside. Another faint cry, a yell, and suddenly Pearl flew out of bed. Please God, no, she thought frantically as she pulled on some clothes.

Barefoot, she tiptoed upstairs, struggling to stay calm. Surely she was wrong? Surely she was imagining things? It couldn’t be – it just couldn’t!

Softly Pearl crept along the landing, and reaching Mr Bardington’s door she pressed her ear against it.

At first she heard nothing, but then, as the cry came again, Pearl’s stomach turned a somersault.

For a moment she froze, stiff with panic. She had to do something, had to find help. Derek, she’d get Derek! Without coherent thought, Pearl flew back downstairs, her bare feet making little sound. She dashed outside, leaving the street door wide open behind her, eyes wild as she made for Derek’s stall.

The pavement was sharp underfoot, but Pearl was hardly aware of it. ‘Derek!’ she screamed.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘Eric … I think I know who’s got Eric! Quick, you’ve got to come!’

‘Come where? Who’s got him?’

‘It’s the man living in the room upstairs. I think Eric’s in there with him. I … I heard a child crying.’

‘Charlie! Denis! Rick! Bob!’ Derek yelled. ‘Quick, come with me.’

‘What’s going on?’ one called.

‘Pearl thinks she knows where Eric is!’

Abandoning customers, the men ran to his side, other costermongers alerted and joining them.

Derek quickly explained, their faces darkening with fury as they all ran to the open door, Pearl behind as they thudded upstairs.

Everything happened so quickly that Pearl could barely take it in. Derek’s shoulder crashed into Mr Bardington’s door, wood splintering, and still in momentum he almost fell into the room, the other men followed in his wake. Mr Bardington yelled, and as all hell let loose, she craned to see over their heads. There was a scream of fear, and then the man was on the floor, a sea of heavy boots kicking him again and again, each one landing with a sickening crunch. He shrieked, and as Pearl ducked low she had a brief glimpse of him, his nose shattered and his face running with blood. She swallowed, wanting to protest, but then Derek appeared with Eric in his arms and bile rose in her throat. Oh, no! Oh God!

All thought of protest died on Pearl’s lips as anger threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to join the men, to kick Trevor Bardington, to punch him, beat him, to make him suffer for what he had done to an innocent child. He was an animal, a monster! A wall of redness formed in front of her eyes, but then Derek yelled in her ear.

‘Pearl, come on, we’ve got to get Eric out of here! We’ll take him to the café and someone can run for Frank and Lucy.’

Derek’s voice somehow penetrated her fury and she reacted quickly. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll get something to cover him.’

As they went down to the next landing, Pearl dashed into her room, grabbing a blanket from her bed to cover Eric’s naked body. The small crowd that had gathered hushed as they stepped outside, but then a cry went up. ‘Good on yer, Derek.’

‘It was Pearl who found him, not me. Now let me pass. This child needs his mother. Madge, will you run and get her?’

The woman nodded, hurrying away.

As the crowd parted, Derek carried Eric to the café. Dolly must have been alerted, and as they walked in she motioned them upstairs to her flat. ‘Take him to my bedroom.’

As soon as Eric saw Dolly’s bed he went into a panic, fighting to get out of Derek’s arms.

‘It’s all right, darling,’ Pearl said, and as Eric held out his arms in appeal, she took him, holding him closely.

The blanket slipped and there was a gasp. Dolly held a hand over her mouth in horror. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘His … his little bottom is covered in blood.’

Pearl sat on the edge of the bed, but as she lowered Eric onto her lap he cried out in pain. Tears flowed then, rolling unchecked down her cheeks as she managed to lay the child gently on his side. She had barely covered him with the blanket when Lucy and Frank Hanwell flew into the room.

‘Eric! Eric!’ Lucy sobbed, thrusting Pearl aside. For a moment she gazed down at her son, but then she lay beside him on the bed, pulling him into her arms.

Frank watched, his face drained of colour, and as Dolly whispered her concerns, his fists balled. ‘Yeah, ring the doctor, but where is the bastard who did this? I’ll kill him with my bare hands.’

‘Don’t worry. I think you’ll find he’s already been taken care of,’ Derek murmured.

As Dolly left to make the telephone call, Frank dropped to his knees by the bed, but Eric turned his head away, refusing to look at his father.

‘Oh, son. Oh, son …’ With a strangled sound in his throat, Frank rose to his feet.

For a while nobody spoke as Lucy continued to rock the boy in her arms.

Then Frank turned to Derek. ‘You found my son and I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘It wasn’t me, mate. As I told the others, it was Pearl who found him.’

Frank’s eyes were moist as he looked at her. ‘Well, love, I don’t know how to thank you either, but I’m deeply indebted to you.’

The doctor arrived and asked all but Eric’s parents to leave. Derek and Pearl went downstairs.

‘Pearl, your feet are bare,’ Dolly said brusquely, ‘and you look awful. You’d best take her home again, Derek.’

‘Yes, Mrs D.’

Pearl was led outside, but then shock set in and she was hardly aware of anything as Derek walked her home. Many stallholders and locals patted her back as they trod the short distance, but when Pearl winced as she stood on something sharp, Derek picked her up, carrying her to the still-open street door.

The house was silent as they went in and suddenly Pearl stiffened in Derek’s arms. It felt like a house of horrors now, the thought of living there abhorrent.

‘I … can’t stay here. I just can’t.’

‘All right, love, I’ll take you round to my place. Connie will take care of you.’

Pearl didn’t argue, but as Derek carried her outside again she saw Kevin Dolby amongst the crowd. As their eyes met his smile was like a leer and Pearl looked quickly away, feeling sick inside.

Her arms tightened around Derek’s neck. Oh God, she had betrayed this lovely man. Instead of being cared for and treated like a hero, she should be stoned.

Chapter Fifteen

After staying at Derek’s overnight and then all weekend, Pearl was able to return to work, but she was still full of self-loathing. Derek and Connie had been so kind. They had believed her lies about being ill and she’d been cosseted by both of them. Of course, this had made her feel worse and she felt torn in two. She had betrayed Derek. Should she break up with him?

Pearl baulked at the thought. Despite her feelings for Kevin, he didn’t want her, he’d made that plain, and if she broke up with Derek she’d be alone again, unprotected. Not only that, she would lose Connie too, a woman she had grown deeply fond of.

A foretaste of what was to come happened as she walked through the market on her way to work. She was greeted with smiles, waves, and several stallholders stuffed bags of fruit into her arms. She was even given a bunch of flowers from the old lady who sat on the opposite corner to the café. The flower seller was known for being mean, her flowers often wired around the base of the blooms to make them look tight and fresh. Pearl took the carnations, the old crone patting her hand, and laden, she was greeted with more smiles from Bernie when he saw her.

‘Hello, love,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling better now?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks.’

‘I see the stallholders have been showing their appreciation. You’d better take that lot through to the kitchen.’

‘Have you heard anything about Eric?’

Bernie’s face straightened. ‘He’s in hospital, and may be there for some time. Go and have a word with Dolly. It’ll be better coming from her.’

‘Pearl!’ Dolly exclaimed. ‘It’s good to see you, girl, but you still look a bit pale. Are you sure you’re up to doing a full shift?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. Bernie said that Eric’s in hospital and you’d tell me why.’

Dolly exhaled loudly. ‘This ain’t gonna be easy for you to hear, but from what we’ve heard he has a lot of rectal damage needing surgery. The poor kid is badly traumatised too.’

‘What about Mr Bardington? Has he been arrested?’

‘Pearl, don’t ever mention that man’s name again, especially to the police. We have a way of looking after our own around here, and believe me, he got what he deserved. As far as the police are concerned, they were told that he ran off.’

‘Oh, please, don’t tell me that he got away?’

‘No, love, there was no chance of that. That bastard will never harm another child.’

‘You … you don’t mean that he’s—’

‘Don’t ask,’ Dolly interrupted. ‘All I’ll say is that there are a couple of blokes who run this borough, and they sorted it out. That’s all you need to know. Now go and get yourself a cup of tea before the rush starts.’

With a small nod, Pearl went back to the dining room. She had seen the beating, and from what Dolly had inferred, could guess what had happened to Trevor Bardington. It she wanted to remain in this area, like everyone else she would have to keep her mouth shut. But her stomach churned. If she had called the police instead of running to Derek, the man might still be alive, but instead she had caused his death.

‘You look awful,’ Bernie said. ‘Are you sure you can manage today?’

‘Yes,’ Pearl told him. She saw Bernie’s concerned expression, the kindness in his eyes, and blurted out, ‘I feel awful about what happened to Trevor Bardington. He’d still be alive if I’d called the pol—’

Bernie held up his hand before she could finish the sentence, saying quickly, ‘Who said he’s dead?’

‘Dolly said he’d never hurt another child again, and … and I assumed that’s what she meant.’

‘Don’t assume anything, Pearl. That bastard got the kicking he deserved and a good one at that, but it wasn’t one of our lot that took a knife to him. When he was handed over, that came later. From what we’ve been told, he’s been castrated, and that’s why he’ll never be able to hurt a child again.’

‘Castrated?’

‘Christ, girl, I ain’t about to explain the procedure. Sufficient to say that the man’s alive and you have nothing to feel guilty about.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ Pearl said, relief making her collapse onto the nearest chair.

‘Here, get that down you,’ Bernie said as he placed a cup of tea in front of her.

Pearl gulped the hot, sweet brew and a few minutes later Alice Freeman arrived.

‘Hello, Pearl, it’s good to have you back. You still look a bit rough, but don’t worry, I’ll help you as much as I can until you’re up to scratch again.’

‘Thanks, Alice.’

‘You’re a bit of a hero around here now and it’s nice to hear that Derek and his gran have been looking after you.’

Pearl hung her head. Yes, Derek and Connie had been wonderful, but after what had happened with Kevin she didn’t feel like a hero. She felt more like a slut.

By the end of the morning rush, Pearl had been inundated with gifts. She had also been hugged, thanked and made a fuss of by every customer.

Derek came in at eight o’clock, his face showing concern. ‘Are you all right, Pearl? Is your tummy still holding up?’

‘It’s fine, but I’m a bit overwhelmed by the way the customers are treating me.’

‘You’re the talk of the market. They’ve taken you to their hearts and you’re one of us now.’

‘But, Derek, all I did was hear a noise.’

‘Yeah, but you acted on it. If you hadn’t, we might never have found Eric. Or when we did, it might have been too late.’ He reached out to take Pearl’s hand. ‘Listen, love, I know you can’t face living in your bedsit, so I’ve had a word with Gran. She said you’re to stay with us until you find somewhere else to live. When you finish work, give me a shout, and I’ll come with you to pack up your stuff.’

Pearl hung her head with shame. She didn’t deserve this kindness, yet at the thought of living in that room, knowing what had happened above her, she felt sick. Derek’s offer was her only alternative, at least until she could find somewhere else.

‘Thanks, Derek,’ she murmured, unable to look him in the face.

It was midday before Pearl saw Kevin. She wanted to hate him, but couldn’t, her heart skipping a beat as he passed. He walked through to the kitchen, ignoring her, and when he came out again, he barely glanced in her direction. Pearl’s eyes blurred with tears. It didn’t seem possible that he could ignore her after something so intimate had happened between them.

Kevin spoke to his father and then walked out of the café without a backward glance, leaving Pearl feeling sick inside. She’d been an idiot, a fool, but despite what he said, she had still clung to the hope that he loved her.

There was a knot of pain in Pearl’s stomach, but then she dashed at her tears, shoulders stiffening with resolve. This was another lesson, one she would never forget. She had let down her barriers – barriers put up long ago in the orphanage. She had allowed someone into her heart, and was now suffering for it. Never again. She would never let her barriers down again.

She was fond of Derek – Connie too – but she wouldn’t allow her feeling to go deeper than that. From now on, nobody would be able to hurt her.

For the rest of the shift Pearl did her work, but her smile was forced, and once or twice she saw Bernie looking at her worriedly. As soon as the lunchtime rush was over he called her to the counter.

‘You still look a bit rough. Go on home and I’ll help Alice to finish off the tables.’

Pearl thanked him, and though she wasn’t ill, she was glad to leave. She had been fighting all day to bury her feelings and now felt emotionally drained. ‘What about Mrs Dolby? Are you sure she won’t mind?’

‘You leave her to me. Now go on, get yourself home.’

Pearl pulled off her apron and was just leaving the café when she saw Kevin walking towards her. With her head down she made to walk past him, but this time he didn’t ignore her.

‘Well, Pearl. You’re quite the little celebrity now.’

‘Let me pass.’

‘Now then, don’t be hasty. I was just going to suggest that I pop up to see you again tonight.’

‘Wh … what?’

‘I said I’d like to see you again.’

She looked up at his handsome face and her stomach fluttered. ‘You … you said you don’t want a steady girlfriend.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, but we can still have a bit of fun on the side.’

Pearl’s hand flew to her mouth as she shoved past Kevin, flaying herself for once more letting him get through her defences. One look at his handsome face and her resolve crumbled. It had to stop – it had to. She was nearing Derek’s stall now and fought to pull herself together, forcing the mockery of a smile.

‘You look awful,’ Derek said. ‘Maybe you went back to work too soon. I’ll get someone to watch me stall and we’ll collect your stuff.’

‘I can’t face going to my room now. Can we collect my things later?’

‘Of course we can. Go on home and Connie will see you’re all right. I’ll pack up in about an hour.’

He leaned forward, giving her a peck on the cheek before she hurried away. Home, Derek had said. Oh, if only it could remain her home – a refuge where Kevin Dolby could never get near her again.

Pearl’s steps faltered. There was a way. Instead of waiting, she could marry Derek as soon as possible. As Pearl continued her journey, the thought became more and more compelling.

At eight o’clock, Pearl and Derek had collected her things, and now they were back in his house. It had been hard to return to her bedsit, but with so few belongings it hadn’t taken long to pack. Derek too had been impressed with her drawings, and was now urging her to show them to Connie.

She reluctantly pulled out her portfolio, and was amazed by Connie’s reaction. ‘Blimey, girl, this is a smashing one of Derek. It looks just like him.’

‘See, Pearl, I told you they’re good.’

‘Why don’t you sell them?’ Connie suggested.

Pearl’s stomach knotted. Kevin had said the same thing and she’d been so flattered, the memory of what happened afterwards making her flush with shame.

‘Gawd, look at her, Derek. She’s blushing. I ain’t kidding, Pearl. I reckon you could sell these and make yourself a few bob.’

‘Maybe. I … I’ll think about it.’

‘Pearl’s room wasn’t up to much, Gran. I’m sure she’ll be able to find something better.’

‘Of course she will, and it’s a shame we ain’t got a spare bedroom. It can’t be much fun sleeping on that sofa.’

‘It’s fine,’ Pearl said, ‘and it’s good of you to have me. I’ll find something else as soon as I can.’

‘What did Nobby Clark say when you told him you were leaving?’

‘He said he could see I wouldn’t want to live there now, and even gave me back my week’s deposit.’

‘Huh, that’s probably because Derek was with you. I wouldn’t trust Nobby as far as I could throw him. Anyway, Derek, how about taking Pearl’s stuff through to the front room, and then we’ll have a nice cuppa?’

‘I’ll make it,’ Pearl said, jumping to her feet, and as she began to prepare the brew, she felt at home in Connie’s kitchen. Once again she hardened her resolve. She would marry Derek, stay in this haven, and now all she had to do was encourage him to ask her.

Chapter Sixteen

On Friday, Frank Hanwell set up his stall again, but he was a different man. There were no more jokes, no ribald exchanges with his customers, and when he went into the café the other costermongers became strangely quiet, most keeping their heads down as Frank headed for one of Pearl’s tables.

‘Hello, Frank,’ she said quietly. ‘What can I get you?’

‘I’ll just have an egg and a couple of rashers of bacon.’

‘How’s Eric?’

Frank reached out to grasp her hand, his eyes agonised and his voice barely above a whisper. ‘He’s coming home next week, but he won’t let me near him. It’s almost as if he blames me for what happened. He’s so quiet, Pearl, but it’s his eyes that get to me. They look blank, as though my son is dead inside.’

Pearl returned the pressure of Frank’s hand, floundering for something to say. She felt so inadequate, so unworldly, and could find no words of wisdom to comfort the man.

‘It’s early days yet,’ was all she could come up with, and after writing his order, she rushed to the kitchen. For a moment she stood just inside the door, reliving that awful moment when she first found Eric.

‘What’s the matter, girl?

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Dolby. I’ve just taken Frank Hanwell’s order and—’

‘Christ, no wonder you look upset. How is he?’

‘He looks awful. He told me about Eric, and … and I didn’t know what to say to him.’

‘I’m surprised he spoke to you about it,’ Gertie said as she joined them. ‘He’s hardly said a word to anyone since it happened.’

‘Maybe it’s because Pearl found the lad,’ Dolly said, rushing back to the stove to save some sausages before they blackened. ‘We can’t talk now,’ she said impatiently. ‘Pull yourself together, Pearl, and get on with your work.’

Gertie threw her a smile of sympathy before hurrying away and, taking a deep breath, Pearl picked up a couple of orders, carrying them through to the dining room. It was busy, the breakfast rush well underway, and when Derek came in he had no option but to sit at one of Alice Freeman’s tables.

When Frank’s breakfast was ready, Pearl placed it on the table, but the man said nothing as he picked up his knife and fork. He’d been joined by costermongers who always sat with him, but as Pearl took their orders the usual camaraderie and jokes were missing.

Awful though it was, when Frank left, it was as if everyone in the café sighed. The noise level picked up, and occasional subdued laughter could be heard.

Pearl went over to Derek, shaking her head sadly. ‘Poor Frank, and now everyone seems relieved that he’s gone.’

‘It’s human nature, love. It was a terrible thing that happened, and it touched all of us. A lot of people are probably thanking God that it wasn’t their child, and they don’t know how to comfort Frank.’

‘I didn’t know what to say to him either.’

‘Nor me, and my stall is next to his. He’s still very upset and is losing trade. I wish I could do something, anything, but feel helpless. I can’t imagine what the family is going through, and rumour has it that Eric has been mentally affected. It may take years for him to recover, if he ever does. The poor little tyke.’

‘Oh, Derek, why is the world so cruel?’

‘I dunno, love, but lots of good things happen too. It’s just that when something like this occurs, we forget them. Count your blessings, Gran says, and she’s right. Come on, cheer up.’

Pearl forced a smile, leaving Derek to take an order. She turned to look briefly at him over her shoulder, glad that he had come into her life. No matter what, she felt that Derek would always look after her – and was comforted by the thought.

Kevin came downstairs at eleven o’clock and, seeing Pearl, he smiled. She could pretend all she liked, but he knew she still fancied him. It was a bit of a bugger that she’d left her bedsit. She was staying with Derek, and out of his reach, but once she found another place he intended to sample the goods again.

Since that first time he’d been unable to dismiss her from his mind. Pearl had been a virgin and for some reason she felt like his property now. It wasn’t easy to get a girl into bed, most insisting on walking up the aisle a virgin, but it hadn’t been hard with Pearl.

He went through to the kitchen, ordered his breakfast, and made a point of sitting at one of Pearl’s tables. She’d run off last time he suggested seeing her again, so maybe he should change his tactics. She was timid, soft, and a bit of charm wouldn’t hurt.

‘Hello, Pearl,’ he said, smiling as she put his breakfast on the table. ‘You look nice. Would you mind getting me a couple of slices of bread and a cup of tea?’

She said nothing, her lips tight as she scurried off. Kevin eyed her as she went to the counter, admiring her now shapely figure. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having her as a steady girlfriend. He wouldn’t have to take her out much, and as he’d been the first one to have her, it would be nice if he remained the only one. She would be his own exclusive property and on hand whenever he got the urge.

Kevin waited until Pearl returned to the table, noticing that her hands were trembling, the cup rattling in the saucer as she placed it on the table. ‘Thanks,’ he said and, glancing around, saw no one in earshot. ‘Pearl, I really would like to see you again. Maybe I could take you out one night?’

He saw the hesitation in her eyes, but then she shook her head, saying curtly, ‘No, thanks. Derek is my boyfriend and I don’t want go out with you.’

Unused to girls turning him down, Kevin spat, ‘Yeah, but you slept with me, not him. Perhaps he’d like to hear about it.’

‘Oh, no! Please, you can’t tell him.’ She paused momentarily, then begged, ‘Please, Kevin, don’t say anything to Derek. You … you see, we’re getting married.’

‘What? You’re going to marry that ugly sod?’

‘Derek may not be much to look at, but he isn’t ugly. He’s a good man, a nice man.’

‘Nice! And that’s reason enough to marry him?’

‘I … I think a lot of him.’

Kevin’s fingers tightened around his cutlery in anger. So, she preferred that ugly sod to him. Huh, well, he’d see about that. Once Derek found out that he’d had her first, there’d be no marriage.

‘Bugger off,’ he growled, and finding that he’d lost his appetite he swallowed only his tea before marching out of the café.

It didn’t take him long to reach Derek’s stall and Kevin feigned friendliness as he went to his side. ‘Watcha, mate. How’s it going?’

‘Hello, Kevin. It’s a bit quiet today.’

‘Pearl tells me that you two are getting married.’

‘Did she?’ Derek grinned widely. ‘Blimey, that’s great.’

So, Pearl had lied, and now Kevin forced a laugh. ‘It sounds like you knew nothing about it.’

‘Well, we’re courting, but I haven’t proposed yet. I thought Pearl would want to wait until she’s a bit older.’

‘Huh, she’s old enough and, believe me, she knows how to make a man happy.’

Derek’s face darkened. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Self-preservation kicked in, and Kevin baulked. Christ, was he mad? If he told Derek he’d been there first, the man would kill him. He desperately sought for a way out. ‘Well, mate, I can see how happy you are, and it’s obvious that it’s down to Pearl.’

Derek jaws were working, his tension obvious, but as Kevin’s words sunk in, he relaxed. ‘You’re right. Pearl’s a smashing girl, and now I know she wants to marry me, I’ll do the proposing. Mind you, I’ll have to save for a ring.’

Kevin’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to punish Pearl for turning him down, to make her pay. Not only that, he wanted to sample the goods again. He needed time to work on her and had somehow to put a spoke in Derek’s wheels. ‘If you ask me, she’s a bit young and I reckon you should hold off for a while before proposing.’

‘No, I don’t want to do that. Her birthday’s a month away, in October, and I should have enough saved for a nice little solitaire by then.’

Kevin managed a smile, yet as he walked away it was quickly replaced by a scowl. Christ, despite his trying to put him off, Derek was still going to propose in October. Pearl was a bitch. He’d shown her a good time and she’d enjoyed it, yet she was going to marry Derek bloody Lewis. Well, if that’s what she wanted, fuck her. There were plenty more fish in the sea and he wouldn’t waste his time on her again.

Pearl was anxiously watching the door, but it was after three o’clock before Kevin returned. She had to speak to him – had to know if he’d told Derek. He was heading for the kitchen and she quickly stood in his path.

‘Get out of my way.’

‘Did … did you say anything to Derek?’

He sneered. ‘Worried, are you? Well, you can relax. I didn’t tell him, and in fact he’s welcome to you.’

Pearl’s breath left her body in a rush, and seeing that Bernie was looking at them curiously, she quickly moved out of Kevin’s way. He swept past, and her heart jumped when Bernie called her over.

‘Is there a problem, Pearl?’

‘No, I was just saying hello to Kevin.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Pearl, I’m saying this for your own good. If you’ve got any ideas about my son, forget them.’

‘I … I haven’t got any ideas about him.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. You stick with Derek and you won’t go wrong.’

She gave a slight nod, busying herself with a bit of last-minute tidying before her shift came to an end. Yes, she would stay out of Kevin’s way, but she hated how her treacherous body reacted every time he came near her. Kevin changed like quicksilver: one minute nice, the next horrible. Pearl hung her head. She both loved him, and feared him, yet now wondered if he was right. Had she mistaken sex for love? Was it just lust that she felt?

It was time to go and as Pearl put on her coat, Nora arrived, beaming widely, her face holding the innocence of a child. For a moment Pearl’s fingers itched to sketch her again and she studied her features, trying to hold them in her mind, but was too worried about Derek to concentrate. Had Kevin told the truth? Had he really said nothing to Derek?

She called goodbye, leaving the café to walk slowly to his stall, the breath leaving her body with relief when he smiled warmly. Oh, he was such a lovely man, and though he didn’t arouse any feelings in her, she was safe with him.

Once again Pearl’s resolve hardened. Kevin was dangerous, unpredictable, and it was better to keep out of his way.

‘Hello, love, I just saw Nutty Nora charging through the market. She looked like a rag bag.’

‘Oh, don’t call her that. She may be slow, but she isn’t nutty.’

‘It’s a nickname she’s had for years.’

‘It seems so unkind.’

‘Yeah, you’re right, it is, and from now on I won’t use it. Mind you, I still think she could do with smartening herself up a bit. Sometimes she lets off an awful whiff.’

Pearl looked down at her own clothes. She desperately needed some new ones, and as the second-hand shop was at the end of the market she intended to see if she could find a couple of outfits.

Derek had the local paper and she picked it up. ‘Did you see any bedsits to rent?’

‘Yeah, a couple, but there’s no hurry for you to move out.’

‘I don’t think your gran would agree. I’m taking up her front room.’

‘It’s not her house, love, it’s mine. Gran had the tenancy transferred to my name years ago. She wanted to make sure that if anything happened to her, I wouldn’t get chucked out.’

Pearl smiled faintly. The house might be in Derek’s name, but it was obvious who ruled the roost. ‘It’s still time I found somewhere else to live.’ She stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek, Derek gripping her hand for a moment before she hurried away.

Her heart was lighter as she opened the door to the second-hand shop, but was greeted by a musty smell that made her nose wrinkle. There was a mishmash of stuff for sale: old books, bits of china, a few pieces of furniture, all covered in dust. She was about to turn tail when an elderly lady came out of a back room, her heavily lined face breaking into a smile.

‘Hello, dear. Can I help you?’

‘I … I’m looking for a couple of outfits, but …’

‘Well, you’re in luck. I’ve just had some stuff in that’s in good nick and looks about your size.’ She shuffled over to a metal rack, her fingers gnarled and bent with arthritis. After riffling through the rail she pulled out a skirt and blouse. ‘Here they are and, as you can see, there ain’t a mark on them.’

Pearl reluctantly crossed the shop floor but when she got closer, she could see what the old lady meant. The blue skirt looked lovely, pleating from the waist into a flare, and the white blouse immaculate. When the old woman pulled out a dress, Pearl’s eyes widened. It was patterned with pink roses on a cream background, the material heavy and of good quality. The skirt flared from the waist too and there was also a matching bolero with short sleeves.

‘You can try them on, if you like.’

‘Oh, yes, please.’

She was led to the back room, finding it piled high with more clothes and old furniture, but there was a full-length mirror. The old lady left, and after trying on the skirt and blouse, finding them an almost perfect fit, Pearl reached for the dress. She twirled in front of the mirror, amazed at how lovely it looked, and now crossed her fingers that she could afford them. Quickly dressing, she then carried the outfits through to the shop. ‘How much are they?’

‘Well, now, let me see. You can have the skirt and blouse for a shilling, but I want two bob for the dress.’

Pearl gasped, unable to believe her luck. Both outfits would have cost pounds new. Afraid the woman would change her mind, she quickly pulled out her purse.

The clothes were shoved in an old brown-paper carrier bag, and as the old lady handed it over she cocked her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. ‘In the not too distant future, we’ll see each other again.’

‘Yes, I’ll definitely come here again.’

‘I know you will, but it may not be to buy clothes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t worry about it, duckie. It’s just that I know our paths were meant to cross and one day you and I will need each other.’

There was something all-knowing in the old woman’s dark eyes and Pearl shivered. ‘I … I don’t understand.’

‘You will when the time comes and—’ The door opened, a stout women coming in clutching a bag, garments spilling out of the top. ‘Hello, Maud. I can see you’ve got some stuff for me.’

‘Yeah, and it’s decent gear too. That fancy piece I clean for had a clear-out.’

‘Right, fetch it over here.’ And turning to Pearl she added, ‘No rest for the wicked.’

Pearl knew it was a dismissal, her mind turning as she left the shop. She played the old woman’s words over in her mind. Their paths were meant to cross. But what did that mean?

‘What have you got there?’ Connie asked as soon as Pearl arrived home.

‘I went to the second-hand shop.’

Pearl pulled out her outfits, gratified by Connie’s approval. ‘You’ve done well there, girl. How much did you pay for them?’

‘Only three shillings for both outfits.’

‘Blimey, old Bessie must be losing her marbles. She could have asked for more than that.’

‘Oh dear, do you think I should have offered more?’

‘Don’t be daft. Bessie Penfold has made a mint over the years. If she’s undercharging for stuff, she still won’t lose out. She buys it for next to nothing and, believe me, I should know. When my Derek was a nipper, things were really tight. My old man died and I had no choice but to flog his clothes. Bessie Penfold gave me a pittance for them, but I was desperate and had to take it. She was as tight as a duck’s arse, and it was only enough to feed us for a couple of days. I’ve never forgiven her and if she’s getting her comeuppance now, I’m glad.’

‘She said some funny things too.’

Connie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Like what?’

‘She said our paths would cross and that we’d need each other.’

‘There’s people round here who think she’s got second sight. They say she’s from gypsy stock and can see into the future. Now me, I think it’s a load of old tosh. If you ask me you shouldn’t take any notice of anything she said.’

Pearl smiled with relief. ‘I don’t believe that anyone can foresee the future, but I must admit she unnerved me a bit.’

‘Yeah, well, she’s had years of practice. You’re lucky she didn’t ask you to cross her palm with silver. She’s conned a good few people over the years with her so-called predictions.’

Pearl was surprised. Despite her strange words, she had liked Bessie Penfold, and though she was obviously in a lot of arthritic pain, the woman had been kind and cheerful. Yet Connie made her sound mean and conniving, a woman who fooled people into parting with their money. Would their paths cross again, Pearl wondered, and if so, why?

Chapter Seventeen

Pearl scoured the local papers and looked at cards in newsagents’ windows, but her attempts to find another bedsit were half-hearted. She loved staying at Derek’s, and though the sofa was playing havoc with her back, she didn’t want to leave.

On Tuesday evening, over a week later, and whilst Derek was at the gym, Connie flicked her eyes away from the television, clearing her throat before she spoke.

‘Pearl, don’t get upset about what I’m going to say, but I really think it’s time that you found a place of your own place again. Now don’t look at me like that, love. I’ve enjoyed having you here, but you need a proper bed to sleep in. And, well, what with you and Derek courting …’

Pearl gulped, her voice a whisper: ‘All right, I’ll try harder to find a room. Maybe there’ll be something in the local paper this week.’

‘Oh, love, I’m sorry I’ve upset you, but you’re welcome to come round here as often as you like. You’ve become like a daughter to me, but it just isn’t right that you and Derek are sleeping under the same roof.’

‘But why?’

‘Gawd, girl, do I have to spell it out? My Derek may be a diamond, but he’s still a man. It’s too much of a temptation, love.’

‘But he’d never take advantage of me.’

‘Pearl, you should listen to yourself. You sound like some sort of old-fashioned heroine in a novel. Derek’s bedroom is next to mine and I’ve heard him tossing and turning all night. He didn’t do that before you came to stay. He loves you and, well, as I said, he’s a man and he wants you. I know you’re an innocent, but surely you understand what I’m getting at?’

Pearl lowered her eyes. An innocent. No, she wasn’t an innocent now. Kevin Dolby had seen to that. He was leaving her alone, but despite her determination to harden her heart, it still leaped every time she saw him. She had thought about finding another job, but loved the café and was reluctant to leave. As long as Kevin didn’t talk to her, as long as she kept out of his way, she could cope, and surely one day soon she would get over him. She sighed heavily. She didn’t want to leave the safe haven of this house either, but had no choice.

‘I’ll find a bedsit as quickly as I can and … and I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble.’

‘Don’t be daft, love. You ain’t been any trouble, and when Derek’s out I enjoy your company. It’s just … well, as I said. Come on now, cheer up. I meant it when I said you can come round as often as you like.’

That was something, Pearl thought, and maybe, just maybe, she could find a bedsit in a family house this time.

Pearl found her prayers answered the following day.

During her break, Mo stuck her head around the kitchen door. ‘Pearl, can I have a word?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Mo bustled over. ‘I told Dolly what I’ve got in mind and she said to talk to you out here. Mind you, I’d better make it quick. She might be in a good mood at the moment, but there’s no guarantee it will last. Anyway, to get to the point, I’ve been thinking and it’s like this. Since my old man died, there’s only my daughter, Emma, and me. It’s been a bit of a struggle bringing her up on me own and money’s been tight.’ She scratched her head before continuing. ‘I’m daft really and I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. You see, I’ve got a spare room. It ain’t very big so I couldn’t ask much in the way of rent, but if you’re willing to pay me around fifteen bob a week, it’s yours.’

‘Oh, Mo.’

‘It’s only when I heard that you needed a bedsit that it came to me. I mean, I’ve got an empty room, you need a place, and I’d hate to have a stranger moving in. I had a word with my Emma, and she’s all for it. We’ve done the room up between us, so, what do you say?’

Pearl grinned with delight. It sounded wonderful. She would be living in a family house, one with a girl of her own age, and who knew, they might become friends. ‘I’d love to move in with you, Mo.’

‘Blimey, girl, you ain’t seen the room yet. Why don’t you pop round tonight? I live at number fourteen Pennington Street. It ain’t far, and you’ll be able to walk to work in five minutes.’

‘Mo, it’s about time you got back to the kitchen,’ Dolly snapped, her face red as she marched into the dining room.

Mo pulled a face and then winked at Pearl. ‘Tonight then?’

‘Yes, and thanks.’

‘There’s no need for thanks. See you later, or as my Emma would say, “See you later, alligator.”’

Pearl looked puzzled and Mo chuckled. ‘Everyone says it. That Bill Haley and his rock-and-roll band have even turned it into a song. Emma is mad on him. “See You Later, Alligator” is one of his hit records. You’re supposed to respond with, “In a while, crocodile.” Yeah, I know, daft, ain’t it?’ she added, still chuckling as she bustled away.

See you later, alligator. It sounded silly to Pearl, but it brought a smile to her face. Rock and roll. Yes, she had heard the foot-tapping music, but without a wireless, she rarely heard the latest trends. Oh, it sounded like it was going to be fun living with Mo and her daughter.

Derek was disappointed when Pearl told him she’d like to go Mo’s house on her own, but she felt it was best. It only took ten minutes to walk to Pennington Street from Derek’s and, slightly nervous, she knocked on Mo’s door.

‘Hello, love, come on in,’ the woman said, grinning as she stood to one side.

The small hall was immaculate, and at the warm greeting, Pearl relaxed. She was taken immediately upstairs and, flinging open a door, Mo ushered her inside. The room was small, but Pearl fell in love with it at first sight. There were lemon flowered curtains at the window, toning with the lemon candlewick bedspread. The floor was covered in rather dull, brown lino, but a nice rug lay beside the bed. She saw a single wardrobe, a small dressing table, and a tiny wicker chair in one corner.

‘I know you usually get a sink in a bedsit, Pearl, but the bathroom is only next door. You’ll have to share it with me and Emma, of course, but I’m sure we’ll all rub along nicely. If you want to cook, you can use the kitchen, and as long as you tidy up after yourself there won’t be a problem.’ With an anxious frown, Mo added, ‘Well, love, what do you think?’

‘I love it!’ Pearl cried. ‘It … it’s so pretty.’

‘As soon as I decided to let the room, me and Emma done it up.’

‘It’s lovely, and the wallpaper is smashing too,’ Pearl said, eyeing the tiny lavender and yellow flowers.

‘You should have seen the state we got into hanging it. I think we got more paste on ourselves than the paper. Still, in the end we didn’t make a bad job of it, and now we’re going to tackle our bedrooms. They ain’t been touched in donkey’s years and it’ll be nice to freshen them up. Anyway, Pearl, do you want the room?’

‘Oh yes, and can I move in at the end of the week?’

‘Of course you can. Emma ain’t in tonight – she’s gone out with her mates – but I’m sure the pair of you will get along fine. She’s a bit older than you, and a little wild at times, but she ain’t got a bad bone in her body.’

‘Wild?’

‘Maybe that’s the wrong word. It’s just that things have changed so much since the war. When I was a young woman I dressed like my mum – well, there wasn’t any choice. Now, though, there are all these weird and wonderful fashions aimed at youngsters. Only the other day I saw a group of those teddy boys, and if you ask me they look bleedin’ daft. Tight trousers, long jackets, and their hair! My God, with long sideburns and those daft quiff things hanging over their foreheads, it’s a disgrace.’ She sighed before continuing the tirade. ‘My Emma has taken to wearing some very funny clothes too, and she loves to go out dancing. Still, she’s a good girl really, and if you ask me it’s this music from America that’s causing it. Give me a nice crooner like Dickie Valentine, not this flaming rock-and-roll stuff.’ Mo suddenly chucked. ‘Gawd, hark at me, I’m really on me soapbox. Come downstairs and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’

Pearl glanced around the room again before following Mo. The kitchen was small, with a scullery leading to a back yard, and after making the tea, Mo led her into the living room. Like Connie’s, it was stuffed with furniture, most looking faded and old, but again it was immaculately clean.

‘I know you’re courting Derek Lewis, but I’m afraid I can’t allow him in your room. My Emma ain’t allowed to bring boys home either, so the same rule applies to both of you.’

‘That’s fine with me.’

‘Oh, that’s good. I was a bit worried about laying down the law and my Emma says I’m old-fashioned. Old-fashioned! I let Emma stay out until ten thirty, but she still complains. My old dad would have skinned me alive if I wasn’t home by nine thirty in the evening, and that was when I was engaged.’

‘With having to get up so early in the morning, I’m mostly in bed by ten. Where does Emma work?’

‘She’s got a job in Prices, the candle factory. She’s been there since she left school and seems to like it. Of course, with our surname being Price, she got a bit of ribbing at first, but that soon wore off.’

Pearl found herself totally at ease in Mo’s company and they chatted for another half-hour. Then, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, she rose to her feet. ‘I’d best be off, Mo, and thanks again for letting me have the room. I’ll move in on Saturday night, if that’s all right.’

‘That’s fine, and I’ll see you at work in the morning.’

Pearl hurried along the road, pleased that she had found somewhere so nice to live. It would be easier to leave Derek and Connie now, and she would be living with a small family again. It was odd really. Both Connie and Mo were without husbands and had struggled to bring up a child on their own.

Pearl’s mind shied away from her next thought. If Mo and Connie could do it – why had her own mother left her on the orphanage steps?

On Friday, Derek was late coming into the café for his breakfast, and with a few minutes to spare Pearl was standing by his table chatting to him when Kevin appeared.

His eyes flicked round the room and, seeing them together, he strolled over. Pearl held her breath, but he smiled pleasantly.

‘Are you fighting again on Saturday night, Derek?’

‘No, not this time.’

‘That’s a shame. Nobby Clark says it’s always safe to put a bet on you.’

‘There’s no such thing as a safe bet. Nobby should have learned that by now.’

‘He loses most of his money on the horses, and it’s a mug’s game. He’ll never learn and I think most of the nags he’s bet on are still running.’

Pearl listened to the exchange, and as her heart thumped in her chest she cursed that Kevin still had this effect on her. He winked, and she flushed.

‘I hear you’re moving in with Mo Price and her daughter. I must say, that Emma’s a bit of all right.’

‘Have you been out with her?’ Derek asked.

‘No, but I might just sample the goods. What do you think, Pearl?’

Pearl felt a surge of jealousy, but managed a nonchalant shrug. ‘Please yourself. Anyway, I’d best get on,’ she said, hurrying away and hiding her feelings behind a bright smile as she approached a customer. The order taken, she cast a glance at Derek, glad to see that Kevin had left. He grinned and she couldn’t help but return it. He was like a big, cuddly bear, warm, safe. Kevin was the opposite, a handsome sleek panther, dark, predatory. She shivered, at last realising that she didn’t want to be his prey. Oh, if only Derek would propose soon.

Pearl was surprised at how hard it was to leave Derek’s on Saturday evening. She had tried not to grow too fond of them, but still found the parting a wrench, particularly with Connie. It had been like having a mother: a woman who cared about her welfare, showed her affection, and greeted her with pleasure when she came home from work. Now she was moving out and there would be no quick hugs at bedtime, no lovely meals, and no cosy evenings sitting in front of the television.

‘Well, ’bye then,’ Pearl choked, picking up her bags, only for Derek to take them out of her hands.

‘’Bye, love. See you tomorrow,’ Connie said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Well, yes. You’ll be round for dinner, won’t you?’

‘Oh, yes, I’d love to,’ Pearl said, her heart lifting.

‘Blimey, I thought we’d sorted this out. You’re moving to Pennington Street, not Outer Mongolia, and can come round as often as you like. If you want to pop in to see me after work each day, that’d be lovely, and you can share our meals as usual.’

‘Oh, Connie.’

‘Well, let’s face it; you’ll become as skinny as a rake again if I don’t feed you. Now off you go, and don’t worry, you’ll be fine with Mo. She’s a good sort.’

Pearl nodded, following Derek outside. She was on the move again, but this time reluctantly. It hadn’t been hard to leave the orphanage, the hostel, or her first bedsit, but leaving Derek’s was like leaving home.

‘You can always change your mind,’ Derek said as if reading her thoughts. ‘You’re welcome to stay at my place.’

‘No, Connie’s right. It’s time I moved out.’

‘What do you mean? What’s Gran got to do with it?’

‘Well … er … she sort of said I should try harder to find a bedsit.’

‘She what? When?’

‘We had a chat when you were at the gym on Tuesday. She’s right, though,’ Pearl said hurriedly. ‘I couldn’t sleep on the sofa indefinitely.’

‘She had no right to force you out without discussing it with me. Wait till I get back. I’ll have a few words to say to her.’

‘No, Derek, please don’t fall out over me. She’s only doing what she thinks is for the best.’

‘Huh, best for who?’

Pearl glanced up at Derek’s face, seeing anger, and decided that this might be the ideal opportunity to hint about marriage. ‘Connie’s concerned about you. We … we’re courting and it isn’t right that we were living under the same roof. I don’t know about you, but it kept me awake, knowing that you were in the bedroom above me.’ Pearl’s face reddened with shame as she told the lie, but consoled herself with the thought that it was only a little white one. If Derek loved her and proposed, she’d do her best to be a good wife. She couldn’t love him in return, but she liked him, and surely that was a good basis for marriage?

‘Bloody hell, I had no idea you were laying awake, and I must admit it was the same for me.’

‘Yes, Connie told me that she heard you tossing and turning.’

Derek suddenly stopped walking and, dropping her bags on the pavement, he turned to face her. ‘I ain’t much good at fancy words, Pearl, but I think a lot of you. In fact, more than a lot.’

Pearl’s breath caught in her throat. Was this it? Was he going to propose? ‘I … I think a lot of you too.’

His huge arms reached out, enfolding her, crushing her to his chest. ‘You’ve made me a very happy man. I can’t say I’m pleased that you’re moving out, but if both of us aren’t getting any kip, perhaps Gran’s right. We’ll still see each other every day, but if you ain’t happy at Mo’s, just say the word.’

No proposal, Pearl thought, disappointed as she pulled herself out of Derek’s arms. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ she whispered, and as he picked up the bags again, they continued their journey to Pennington Street.

Chapter Eighteen

It was Sunday morning before Pearl met Mo’s daughter. She had gone down to the kitchen to get a drink but, seeing Emma, her jaw dropped. She had blonde, tousled hair, and was wearing Capri pants with a red, off-the-shoulder sweater. To Pearl she looked the ultimate in sophistication.

‘Watcha, Pearl, it’s nice to meet you at last.’

‘Hello,’ Pearl replied shyly.

‘So, you work in the café? Rather you than me.’

‘It’s not too bad.’

‘What, you must be kidding. That Dolly Dolby is a right old dragon.’

‘Now then, Emma,’ Mo admonished. ‘Dolly might be hard, but she’s fair.’

‘Yeah, if you say so, Mum. Anyway, Pearl, what sort of music do you like?’

‘Er … I don’t know really. I don’t get the chance to listen to much music.’

‘Well, we can soon sort that out. If you ain’t got anything planned, come up to my room and we’ll play some records.’

‘Not now, Emma,’ Mo protested. ‘It’s Sunday morning so let’s listen to something soothing for a change. How about putting a few of my records on instead? Pearl might like Frank Sinatra, or maybe Doris Day singing “Secret Love”. That one’s got a smashing tune.’

‘No, thanks, Mum, I don’t want putting to sleep.’ She turned to Pearl. ‘I suppose we’d better keep the old girl happy. We can listen to Bill Haley later.’

‘Old girl! Who are you calling an old girl? I’m only forty-three.’

‘All right, keep your hair on.’

‘Yours could do with a brush, my girl.’

‘You must be kidding. It took me ages to get it like this.’

‘You’ve wasted your time then. Why don’t you have a nice perm like me?’

‘Mum, it’s nineteen fifty-six, not ’forty-six. Perm indeed. They’re for old ladies.’

Pearl listened to this repartee, unable to help smiling. The banter between Mo and her daughter was all light-hearted, with smiles to take the sting out of the words.

‘Why are you wearing those daft trousers again?’ Mo asked her daughter.

‘Daft! They ain’t daft. They’re the latest fashion.’

‘Huh. What do you say, Pearl? Don’t you think they look soppy?’

Pearl floundered. She didn’t want to offend either of them. ‘Er … I think they’re nice, and they suit Emma. I don’t think I could wear them, though.’

‘Of course you could,’ Emma said, looking Pearl up and down. ‘We’ll still go up to my room but instead of playing records, we’ll do something about your wardrobe.’

‘My wardrobe?’

‘Yeah, you need bringing up to date and I’ve got just the thing.’

Pearl followed Emma upstairs, surprised when instead of going to Emma’s bedroom, they went into hers.

‘Right, let’s have a look at your gear,’ Emma said, sitting on the side of the bed.

‘I haven’t got many clothes,’ Pearl told her and, going to her sparse wardrobe, she pulled out the lovely rose-patterned dress. ‘I got this from the second-hand shop, but I haven’t had the chance to wear it yet.’

‘Gawd blimey, it looks like something a posh bird would wear to a royal garden party. It’s way too old for you.’

‘Is it? But I think it’s lovely.’

‘I can see you need teaching a thing or too. What else have you got?’

‘Just a few skirts and blouses.’

‘Come on, I’ll show you some of the latest gear,’ Emma said, going into her room. She pulled out a pair of trousers. ‘I got these Capri pants in Petticoat Lane last week, but they’re a bit too tight. Try them on.’

Pearl looked at the pale blue trousers doubtfully, but at Emma’s insistence she slipped them on. ‘Here, try this sweater with them,’ Emma said, holding out a black polo neck.

Once again Pearl did as she was told, and when she turned to look at herself in the mirror her eyes widened.

‘Sit down and I’ll have a go at your hair. That style looks schoolgirly. You need to fluff it up a bit, like this,’ Emma said, picking up a comb and vigorously backcombing Pearl’s hair. ‘Don’t you wear make-up?’

‘Er … no.’

‘Right, more to sort out. I’m gonna enjoy you living here, Pearl. It’s sort of like having a kid sister. Here, try this,’ she said, spitting on a block of mascara and rubbing it vigorously with the small brush. ‘Put some of this on your eyelashes, and then try some lipstick. You need a bit of powder too, but my shade would be too pale for your skin.’

Bemused, Pearl applied the make-up, astounded at the result. Her eyes looked larger, her lips fuller, and though the backcombed hair looked strange, it did add height.

‘Come on, let’s go and show Mum your new look,’ Emma urged. ‘I can’t wait to see her face.’

Pearl took one last look in the mirror before following Emma downstairs, and as they walked into the kitchen, Mo gaped. ‘My God, what has my daughter done to you?’

‘Leave it out, Mum. She looks great.’

‘She looks like a clone of all your friends. If you ask me, these new teenage fashions are like a uniform. Teddy boys all dress alike and you girls are the same.’

‘Take no notice of her, Pearl. In fact, next week I’ll take you up to Petticoat Lane and you can buy a few things of your own.’

‘Thanks, Emma, but I’m afraid I can’t afford new clothes. Any spare money I have goes on painting material.’

‘Painting! What do you mean?’

‘I … I go to art classes.’

‘Do you?’ Mo said, and turning to her daughter she added, ‘You could do with taking a leaf out of Pearl’s book. Instead of spending all your time going dancing you could be learning something too.’

‘Oh, yeah, like what?’

‘Well, how about dressmaking? That would come in handy.’

‘Mum, all my life I’ve had to wear clothes that you made for me, and jumpers that you knitted. It’s the last thing that I want now and I’d sooner buy them off the rails.’

Mo’s face saddened. ‘I didn’t know you felt like that. I … I did the best I could.’

‘Oh, Mum, please don’t get upset. I didn’t mind when I was a kid, honestly I didn’t, but it’s different now that I can afford to buy my own clothes. Look, I’ll think about learning something, maybe typing and shorthand.’ She turned to Pearl, an appeal in her eyes, ‘Here, why don’t you show us some of your paintings?’

Pearl took the cue. Emma had upset her mother and obviously wanted to divert the conversation. ‘I haven’t done many paintings yet. But I’ve got lots of sketches.’

‘We’d still like to see them.’

Pearl hurried upstairs, grabbed her folder and riffled through it until she found the one of Mo. It was a good likeness, but unsure of how the woman would feel about it, she stuffed it into her dressing-table drawer before returning downstairs.

‘Gawd, look at this one of Dolly Dolby,’ Mo said as they went through the folder. ‘And there’s one of Gertie too. These are really good, Pearl.’

‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, gratified to see Mo looking cheerful again.

‘Oh, look, here’s one of Nora.’

‘It’s not very good. She’s a difficult subject.’

‘The poor woman is a sandwich short of a picnic, but she’s harmless.’ Mo picked up another sketch. ‘My goodness, this is a marvellous drawing of Derek.’

Emma looked over her mother’s shoulder. ‘Yeah, but it doesn’t make him look any better. Oh Christ, sorry, Pearl, I forgot you were going out with him.’

‘That’s all right. I know he isn’t much to look at, but he’s a lovely man.’

Emma looked as if she was about to say something else, but then changed her mind as her mother found yet another drawing of someone she knew.

‘It’s young Eric Hanwell. He looks so happy in this picture. Did you draw it before, well … you know?’

Pearl nodded, her face saddening. In the sketch Eric looked mischievous, impish, his gap-toothed grin wide. Would he ever look like that again? She looked up as Emma spoke.

‘Mum told me that you found the kid. It must have been rotten for you.’

‘Yes, it was terrible, but nothing compared to what poor Eric went through.’

‘What was the bloke like who did it?’

‘In his forties, flabby, but to be honest I hardly saw him.’

‘I heard that he got done in.’

‘He didn’t. Bernie told me that he was castrated.’

‘That’s not what I heard, and anyway, he deserved more than having his balls cut off.’

‘Emma, that’s enough! I won’t have you talking like that,’ Mo admonished. ‘What we heard were rumours, that’s all and, if you ask me, nobody knows the truth.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘I should think so too. What’s done is done and it’s best forgotten. Pearl was in an awful state when she found the boy and it isn’t nice to make her go over it again.’

Pearl hung her head. They thought Trevor Bardington had been killed, but it had to be a rumour, it just had to be. Surely Bernie hadn’t lied.

She picked up her portfolio. ‘I’d best get ready to go round to Derek’s. They’re expecting me for dinner.’

‘That’s a shame. I was going to suggest taking you to meet a few of me mates,’ Emma said.

‘Oh, I’d have loved that. Maybe another time?’

‘All right, perhaps tomorrow night. You can wear that gear again.’

‘Thanks, I’d love to meet your friends.’

Pearl went back to her room. It had been a strange morning, but one she’d enjoyed until the conversation turned to Trevor Bardington. She liked Emma and maybe they really could become friends.

Pearl decided to leave the mascara and lipstick on, but when she sat across the table for dinner at Derek’s, she could sense an atmosphere.

‘Why are you wearing that muck on your face?’ Connie asked.

‘It’s only a bit of mascara and lipstick.’

‘You don’t need it, and if you ask me it makes you look like a tart.’

‘Gran, don’t say things like that. I think Pearl looks nice.’

‘Rubbish. Nice girls shouldn’t wear that stuff.’

‘All young girls wear make-up nowadays,’ Derek protested.

‘In my day only tarts painted their faces. Pearl looks better without it.’

‘I think she looks fine.’

As Connie scowled at her, Pearl felt like a naughty little girl. She lowered her eyes, but then Connie’s voice softened.

‘Take no notice of me, love. I saw my daughter painting all that muck on her face, and … well … has Derek told you what happened to her?’

Pearl lifted her head, seeing sadness in Connie’s eyes. ‘He told me that she was killed during the war.’

‘Yes, that’s right, but it was well before the war, in nineteen twenty-nine, when she met up with some rough characters and took to plastering her face with make-up. She started going to the West End, but wouldn’t tell me what she was up to. Then one day she came home with a bun in the oven.’

‘A bun in the oven?’

‘She was pregnant, and unmarried. I can’t tell you how ashamed I was. I mean, you can imagine what the neighbours would have said.’ She exhaled loudly. ‘I couldn’t face the gossip, and though I’ll regret it till the end of me days, I chucked her out. When Derek was born I still wouldn’t have anything to do with her. In fact, I didn’t even see him until my daughter was killed in nineteen forty, and by then he was ten years old.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Pearl whispered.

‘I don’t deserve sympathy. If I could turn the clock back I’d have done things differently, and then perhaps my daughter would still be alive.’

‘Leave it out, Gran. She was killed by a bloody bomb.’

‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t chucked her out, she wouldn’t have been in a pub. She’d have been at home, looking after you instead of palming you off with neighbours while she was out having a good time.’

‘Gran, you know that she was a bit wild, and I doubt you could have kept her in. Anyway, you can’t spend the rest of your life living on what might have been.’

‘Yeah, I expect you’re right, but it’s something I’ll never know.’ She turned to Pearl. ‘I’m sorry for lecturing you about make-up. It was wrong of me to compare you with my daughter. You’re a nice girl, a good and innocent girl, and I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’

Pearl flushed. Innocent – Connie thought she was innocent. Oh God, if only that were true.

Chapter Nineteen

After only two weeks of living at Mo’s, and the day before her birthday, Pearl was happier than she had ever been in her life. Emma had continued to take her under her wing, and now Pearl was transformed. Her hair had been restyled and, despite initially protesting, she had been unable to resist the young fashions for sale in Petticoat Lane.

Even the shopping trip had been a revelation. Emma thought nothing of bartering with the traders, returning their cheeky repartee, and managing to get a good few bob knocked off the prices. Pearl loved the wide flared skirt she had purchased, together with a sweater. They were the latest thing, Emma assured her, buying one too, but in a different colour.

It was Saturday night, and instead of going to the pictures with Derek, she was going dancing again with Emma. She loved the loud, foot-tapping music, and with Emma’s help had learned to jive. She hadn’t liked disappointing Derek again, but loved the company of Emma and her crowd, never before feeling so young, alive and carefree.

‘Does this look all right?’ she asked Emma, spinning around to show her the outfit.

‘Yeah, but don’t wear your sweater on the outside. Tuck it in, and clip that wide, elastic belt I gave you around your waist.’

Pearl nodded, happy to take Emma’s advice, and looking in the mirror she had to admit the outfit looked better. With a grimace she stuffed her feet into a pair of high-heeled shoes that Emma had lent her, wondering if she would ever get used to them.

‘Right, I’m ready.’

‘Me too, so let’s get going.’

As both girls went downstairs, Emma broke into song.

Pearl smiled, recognising ‘Be-Bop-a-Lula’ by Gene Vincent. Emma was mad on it. Mo stood at the kitchen door, doing her best to look stern.

‘Now, you two, I want you home by ten thirty and no later.’

‘Keep your socks on, Mum. We won’t be late.’

‘You’re wearing too much make-up, Emma. You’re skin is lovely and doesn’t need plastering with pan stick.’

‘I ain’t got that much on, and anyway, it covers up my spots.’

‘You wouldn’t have spots if you didn’t wear that muck on your face.’

Pearl hid a smile, used to his nightly exchange. In some ways Mo was of the same opinion as Connie about make-up, but Emma would win the argument; she always did.

‘All right, I won’t put so much on next time, but we’re meeting the girls and if we don’t get going we’ll be late. ’Bye, Mum, love you,’ she added, planting a smacking kiss on Mo’s cheek and leaving an imprint of pale pink lipstick.

Mo smiled with pleasure at her daughter’s show of affection. ‘Go on then, off you go, but don’t forget what I said. Ten thirty and no later. ’Bye, Pearl, have a nice time.’

‘Bye, Mo,’ Pearl called as she followed Emma outside and, linking arms, the two girls hurried along Pennington Street.

The dance hall was crowded, the music loud, and already two of the girls in their crowd had been asked to dance. Emma was next, and suddenly Pearl found she was alone. She stood a little self-consciously on the edge of the floor, jumping when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘Hello, Pearl. I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think this was Derek’s scene.’

When Pearl saw it was Kevin, her first instinct was to walk away, but hiding her feelings, she answered, ‘I didn’t know this was your scene either. Derek’s not here. I came with my friends.’

His eyebrows lifted and then he looked her up and down. ‘You look a bit tasty tonight. Do you fancy a dance?’

‘No, thanks.’ She saw his face darken and shivered, hoping he wasn’t going to turn nasty.

‘I insist,’ he said, pulling her on to the dance floor.

The tempo changed to a ballad and as he put his arms around her, she looked up into his handsome face. As they danced, there were many girls eyeing him and he had the pick of them all, but he didn’t notice them, concentrating only on her. Despite her resolve, Pearl loved being in his arms, melting against him, but when he spoke softly in her ear, she stiffened.

‘Do you still think about the night we had it off, Pearl?’

‘No … I don’t.’

‘Leave it out, you needn’t pretend. You loved it, loved me fucking you, and if you ask me nicely, I’ll do you again.’

Pearl felt her stomach turn. He made lovemaking sound so crude, animal-like and she’d been mad to let him get through her defences again. ‘No, thanks,’ she snapped, trying to break away.

He held her arm fast, now trying to pull her from the dance floor. ‘Come on, you needn’t play games. My car’s outside and the back seat is roomy.’

‘No,’ she gasped, struggling again.

‘Are you all right, Pearl?’ Emma asked, rushing to her side.

‘She’s fine, and you can get lost,’ Kevin snapped.

‘Let her go,’ Emma insisted loudly.

Several heads turned in their direction and with a snarl, Kevin released Pearl. ‘Sod you then, it’s your loss.’ But as they made to walk away, he spat, ‘I don’t think your mum would want you knocking around with a tart, Emma. I’ve had Pearl and she was easy.’

Pearl felt the heat rise in her body and, unable to look Emma in the face, she made a dash for the door, her heels wobbling dangerously on the polished floor.

‘Wait, Pearl! Wait,’ Emma shouted.

As she reached the street, Pearl took in great gulps of air. Her face was still flaming, and she dreaded facing Emma and her friends. She wanted to run, to flee, and jumped when a hand touched her arm.

‘It’s all right, love,’ Emma said softly. ‘I don’t know what made Kevin Dolby say that about you but I know you’re not a tart. He can be a nasty bugger and my mum warned me about him ages ago.’

‘D … did she?’

‘She’s worked in the café for years and has seen him grow up. She said he’s turned into a nasty sod and blames Dolly. Apparently anything Kevin wants, he gets, so my guess is that he asked you out and you said no. Am I right?’

‘Yes,’ Pearl said, grabbing the excuse.

‘He ain’t used to being turned down, and that was his spiteful way of getting his own back. Come on, come inside and forget about Kevin Dolby. He ain’t worth wasting your breath on.’

Unable to face going back into the dance hall, Pearl shook her head. ‘I think I’d rather go home, but I need my coat and bag. Would you mind getting them for me?’

‘All right, but are you sure you won’t change your mind?’

‘I’d rather go home.’

Pearl slumped against the wall, relieved when shortly after Emma returned with both their coats. ‘Oh, you don’t have to leave too.’

‘You’re upset, and my mother would skin me alive if I let you go home on your own. There’ll be other nights for dancing and, anyway, I’ve already told my friends I’m leaving.’

‘Did … did they hear what Kevin said?’

‘No, they were well out of earshot.’

Pearl sighed with relief. They spoke little on the way home, and when they arrived Mo looked at them with surprise. ‘You’re early, and what’s the matter, Pearl? Your mascara’s run and you look like you’ve been crying.’

It was Emma who answered. ‘Kevin Dolby upset her. She turned him down so he called her a tart.’

Mo’s lips tightened. ‘I’ll see that Dolly hears about this.’

‘Please don’t tell her,’ Pearl cried. ‘She’ll sack me, you know she will.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Kevin can do no wrong in Dolly’s eyes. All right, I won’t say anything, and as I’ve said to my Emma, keep away from Kevin. He’s nothing but trouble.’

‘I … I think I’ll look for another job.’

‘You could do that, but if you like working in the café it doesn’t seem fair. Why don’t you hold your hand and if Kevin gets funny again, I can back you up?’

Pearl shook her head, unable to tell them the truth and instead blurting out, ‘No, I don’t want you to do that. Anyway, as you said, Dolly wouldn’t believe us and she’d turn on you too.’

‘Don’t let that nasty sod chase you out of your job,’ Emma said. ‘If Mum can’t back you up, then I will.’

Pearl’s heart ached. Emma and Mo were being so nice. They were indignant with Kevin on her behalf, yet she didn’t deserve their support. She had slept with Kevin Dolby and what would they think of her if they knew the truth? Would they label her a tart too? With a forced smile she said, ‘Thank you, and I’ll think about it, but I’ve got a bit of a headache and I’d like to go to bed now.’

Both Mo and Emma smiled at her sympathetically, but when Pearl climbed into bed she laid awake, gazing up at the ceiling. She was a fool, a complete and utter fool. She’d been determined to keep away from Kevin, yet one smile from his handsome face and, like an idiot, she had melted. Why? She knew what he was like: one minute charming, the next vicious and cruel, yet it hadn’t stopped her from almost falling into his arms.

His words rang in her mind and she was unable to hide from the truth any longer. Yes, she did think about the night they made love, and he was right, she did want him. He had aroused such wonderful feelings, ones that she yearned to feel again.

Pearl flushed with shame, filled with self-disgust as she turned onto her side and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

The following morning Pearl awoke after a restless night, and as memories of the previous evening flooded her mind, she dressed despondently before making her way downstairs.

‘Happy birthday,’ Mo and Emma chorused as she walked into the kitchen.

‘Oh, thank you. How did you know?’

‘Derek told us, and here you are, love,’ Mo said, handing her a package and envelope.

‘And this is from me,’ Emma added as she did the same.

Pearl felt overwhelmed, her heart lifting as she opened her cards. She blinked rapidly as she read the lovely words and, gulping, opened her packages. There was a smart wide black patent belt from Mo, and a make-up bag containing mascara, powder and lipstick from Emma. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you so much.’

‘Emma chose the belt,’ Mo said. ‘With winter on its way I wanted to get you a nice warm scarf.’

‘Leave it out, Mum. She’d rather have the belt. I’m right, ain’t I?’ Emma said, grinning widely at Pearl.

‘Oh, yes, it’s just what I wanted. And the make-up’s wonderful too.’

‘Right, let’s have some breakfast,’ Mo said, beginning to bustle around. ‘It’s my treat today so you’ll be having more than cereals, Pearl. In fact, I was thinking about our eating arrangements last night. I wondered if you’d rather pay me a bit extra each week and then I’ll do your breakfast every day. It seems daft cooking separately. What do you think?’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’

‘How about another five bob and for that I’ll do your laundry too?’

‘Oh, yes, please, that would be wonderful.’

Mo chuckled. ‘I still can’t get over how well spoken and polite you are. I must admit I was a bit worried that you wouldn’t fit in at first, but in the short time you’ve been here you’ve become like part of the family.’

‘Yeah, it’s like having a kid sister.’ Emma reiterated. ‘It’s a shame you’re going round to Derek’s today. We could have had another trip to Petticoat Lane.’

‘Maybe next week,’ Pearl said, wishing that she didn’t have to see Derek. She would have preferred to spend the day with Emma, but couldn’t let Derek down again.

‘Well, Gran, what do you think?’ Derek asked as he placed the ring on the table. ‘I got it second-hand from the pawnshop.’

Connie gazed at the diamond in its old-fashioned setting. ‘It’s very nice, but I still think you should wait a while. Pearl’s a nice girl, but you’ve only been courting since the end of August. She’s also very young and might not be ready to settle down.’

‘I think a lot of her and don’t want to lose her. If she says yes, we could wait until she’s eighteen, but at least she’ll have my ring on her finger.’

‘It’d be better to hold off for another year before proposing?’

‘No, I ain’t waiting. I’ve got the ring and I’ve made up my mind. Pearl’s the girl for me and I’m gonna propose today.’

Connie sighed, wishing that Derek could see what was under his nose. Since moving in with Mo and her daughter, Pearl was changing. She was making friends of her own age and seeing less of Derek. She gazed worriedly at her grandson. He was going to be hurt, she could feel it in her bones, and despite liking the girl, she wished he had never met Pearl Button.

Pearl was on her way to Derek’s when she saw Kevin Dolby walking towards her. She hurriedly crossed the road, but he crossed too, stopping in front of her and barring the path. His eyes, she saw, were full of contrition. ‘I owe you an apology, Pearl.’

The memory of the humiliation he’d caused her on the dance floor was fresh, and her mouth tightened. ‘Leave me alone. Just go away and leave me alone.’

‘Look, I know I was out of order last night and I’m sorry.’

‘You told Emma that you’d slept with me, and you … you called me a tart.’

‘I know, but it’s your own fault. You shouldn’t have turned me down.’

‘What did you expect? You know I’m going out with Derek and shouldn’t have asked.’

‘Yes, but as I said before, it was me you slept with. Admit it, Pearl. You’d rather go out with me.’

‘I … I wouldn’t.’

He smiled, his voice soft. ‘Why don’t you come with me for a little drive out into the country? We need to talk and can find somewhere nice and secluded.’

‘I’m on my way to Derek’s.’

‘Sod Derek.’

‘I can’t let him down, Kevin.’

His whole demeanor suddenly changed, his eyes hardening. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘I can’t because he’s expecting me, and not only that, his gran will have cooked dinner and—’

‘Sod his gran too,’ Kevin spat. ‘Now I ain’t asking you, I’m telling you. You’re coming out with me.’

He reached out, viciously grasping her arm, and Pearl tensed. Last night she had admitted to herself that she still wanted him, still fancied him, but in this mood he was dangerous and all she felt was fear. With a quick jerk she pulled her arm out of Kevin’s grasp, her shoulders hunched as she dashed past him.

Pearl didn’t look back and ran the rest of the way to Derek’s house. He opened the door to her knock and, seeing his huge bulk, she threw herself into his arms with relief, seeing them only as a refuge from her tangled emotions. She’d have to leave the café, it was the only way to avoid Kevin, but loving the job, her heart sank at the thought.

‘Are you all right, love?’ Derek asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she lied, forcing a smile as she stepped out of his arms.

With Derek she was safe, his home a haven, and with him her feelings were under control.

By three thirty they had enjoyed a delicious Sunday roast, but since she’d arrived Pearl could sense a strange atmosphere. Connie was unusually quiet, and Derek seemed on edge. She was been thrilled when Connie handed her a card and present, and though she thought it appalling, she thanked her profusely for the long, old-fashioned flannelette nightdress.

‘You’ll be needing that with winter coming along,’ Connie said.

‘Yes, I’m sure I will, and thanks again. It … it’s lovely.’

‘Here’s my card, Pearl. Come into the front room and I’ll give you your present.’

There was a grunt of displeasure from Connie, and Pearl frowned, wondering what was wrong as she followed Derek out of the room.

‘Sit down, love,’ Derek said, his face flushed.

Pearl sat, and at the same time Derek kneeled in front of her. With her heart beginning to thump she saw him pull a small box out of his pocket. Pearl guessed what was coming and gulped, her breath caught in her throat. He was going to propose, but now that the moment had arrived, she found herself wanting to jump up and run. Since moving in with Mo and Emma, she was enjoying life. She loved going dancing, loved being with girls close to her own age, loved the music, the excitement. If she accepted Derek’s proposal she would have to become a staid, married woman. Was she really ready for that?

‘Will … will you marry me?’

Pearl’s eyes fixed on the ring. She thought about Kevin, how she was still attracted to him, but an attraction that was over-shadowed by fear. Derek, though, was offering her what, until now, she thought she wanted: a home where she would be part of a family, cherished and loved for the first time in her life. Still she hesitated, but then Derek spoke again.

‘I don’t expect you to marry me right away, love. I thought maybe in about a year, when you’re eighteen.’

A year, they would wait a year, and she smiled with relief before saying, ‘Yes, all right, I’ll marry you.’

‘Oh, Pearl, that’s great.’ And, leaning forward, he pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes tightly as he kissed her, but thankfully it was brief.

‘There’s only one thing, Pearl. It’s me gran. I’m all she’s got and I’d hate to leave her on her own. Would you mind moving in here with us when we get married?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t. It’s what I expected and what I want.’

He jumped to his feet and, taking her hand, he dragged her back to the kitchen. ‘She said yes, Gran,’ he cried, ‘and we’re getting married in a year.’

Connie smiled thinly. ‘Congratulations.’

There was a restraint in Connie’s manner and Pearl frowned. Perhaps she was worried about being left on her own. ‘I’m happy to move in here with you and Derek when we get married.’

Connie nodded, but she hardly spoke until Derek left the room half an hour later. After a quick look to ensure that the door was closed, she leaned forward. ‘You’ve changed lately, Pearl, and you’re not seeing much of Derek. You’re out and about with Emma Price, no doubt meeting lads of your own age. Derek’s a lot older than you, and the truth is I expected you to turn him down. A lot can happen in a year and I just hope you ain’t gonna change your mind.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘I’ve told you before. I don’t want my Derek hurt.’

‘I won’t hurt him.’ As she said these words, Pearl really meant them. She would marry Derek and make him a good wife. She was just relieved that she had a year of freedom first.

Kevin banged on Nobby Clark’s door, still in a foul mood. He was smarting that Pearl had turned him down again. Since that first time, she felt like his property and his fists clenched at the thought of her sleeping with Derek Lewis. His jaws ground. Right, sod her, if she wanted Derek she could have him and he’d never ask her out again. In fact, he really would make a play for Emma Price. She wasn’t a bad-looking girl, but then again, she was a bit lippy. He remembered how she had intervened at the dance and he frowned. Emma wasn’t like Pearl; she seemed fearless and not the sort of girl he could control. In fact, he thought, changing his mind, it might be better to give her a wide berth.

His trips to Soho were costing him a lot of money, and that was something he was short of at the moment. Once again his fists clenched in anger. With Pearl as his girlfriend he would’ve had what he wanted on hand, and could have taught her a few tricks.

Nobby Clark opened the door, forcing Kevin’s thoughts to one side. ‘Hello, mate, can I come in?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

As Kevin stepped inside he saw Dick Smedley, but the man offered no welcome.

‘Watcha, Dick, how’s things?’

‘What do you want, Kevin?’

‘I’ve come to see if you’ve got a job in the offing.’

‘I thought you didn’t want to work with amateurs again.’

‘Yeah, that’s what you called us,’ Nobby said as he sat at the table.

‘Look, I’ve told you before, I didn’t mean it. I was unnerved that night and you can’t blame me for that.’

‘Maybe, but you seem to forget that I’m the boss and I want a bit of respect.’

Kevin hid his feelings. If he wanted back in, he’d have to suck up to Nobby, but it went against the grain. The bloke was a loser and couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery, but the need for money was paramount. ‘I know you’re the boss, Nobby, and we couldn’t do the jobs without you. As I said, I lost it, but it won’t happen again.’

‘What do you think, Dick? Shall we let him back in?’

‘I still ain’t happy about that night. He was shit scared, and so keen to get away that he almost drove off without us.’

‘I didn’t. I’d never do that.’

‘I only just managed to get into the back of the van before you shot off.’

‘I admit I was keen to get away – that alarm was deafening – but I wouldn’t have left you behind.’

Dick’s eyes narrowed, but to Kevin’s relief he said, ‘All right, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.’

Nobby smiled tightly. ‘We’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, Kevin. We need a driver so you’re in. Take a seat and we’ll tell you what we’ve got planned.’

Chapter Twenty

When Pearl had shown her ring to Mo and Emma, their reactions hadn’t been favourable. Both thought she was too young to think about marriage, but Emma was most vociferous in her opinions. She told Pearl in no uncertain terms that she was mad, that Derek was too old for her, and that she should go out with other men, not settle on the first one to propose.

The costermongers had reacted differently, all of them loud in their congratulations, and though they had ribbed Derek at first, some even saying he was a cradle snatcher, they seemed genuinely pleased. Pearl was one of their own now, and none had forgotten her hand in finding Frank Hanswell’s son.

Three weeks had now passed since their engagement, and Pearl was enjoying life. She was still attending art classes, but going out and about with Emma for another couple of nights a week, it meant she was seeing less of Derek. He didn’t seem to mind, content that she was now wearing his ring, and whilst she was out dancing with Emma, he spent extra time at the gym in preparation for his next fight.

Pearl still suspected that Alice Freeman was pinching her tips, but so far hadn’t caught her. In her vigilance she noticed that Bernie was acting strangely too. He would leave the counter at odd times, Alice quickly stepping in to take his place, and though this put more work on to Pearl, she was coping well. Few customers had cause for complaint, but she still found it odd that Bernie chose to disappear at their busiest times.

Pearl was clearing a table when Kevin came downstairs. Since her engagement he hadn’t spoken to her, and this had led to her job hunting taking a back seat. She still flicked through the local paper each week, seeing jobs on offer in shops and factories, but none offered the perks of the café with free lunch every day. As long as Kevin stayed away from her she was able to keep her feeling under control, but when her heart lurched every time she saw him, she wasn’t sure if it was love she was feeling, or fear.

Before the lunchtime rush had stared, Dolly marched out of the kitchen, followed by Bernie. Her stance was stiff, her face red with anger. ‘Alice, come here,’ she yelled. ‘I want to talk to you.’

Bernie took Pearl’s arm. ‘Stay down this end for a while and out of the way.’

At first Pearl couldn’t hear what Dolly was saying to Alice, but then her voice rose to a roar. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, girl! We’ve been in this business too long and know all the tricks.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Alice cried. ‘It must have been Pearl.’

‘No, lady, don’t try to pass the buck. My husband knew that money was going missing and it didn’t take him long to work out who was dipping in the till. We’ve a good mind to call the police and have you done for thieving.’

‘No. Oh, please don’t do that.’

Dolly’s hands flapped, her temper high. ‘Get your coat and get out. I don’t know how you got references from your last job, but you certainly won’t get any from me. In fact, I’ll make sure that word passes in the area that you’re a thief.’

White-faced, Alice grabbed her coat from the hook. She took her bag from under the counter, and then Pearl’s mouth gaped as Alice almost flung her out of the way in her haste to leave.

She regained her footing as the door crashed shut, Bernie shaking his head. ‘Alice thought she could take us for mugs, Pearl, but I knew what she was up to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She was fiddling the till. I noticed takings were down a bit weeks ago so I decided to keep an eye on her, and though I’m sorry to say it, Pearl, I had to check up on you too. It didn’t take me long to realise that Alice was always eager to take over the counter, and when I started to leave it more often, she got greedy.’

‘Well, Bernie, that’s got rid of her,’ Dolly said as she joined them. ‘You’d better stick a card in the window again and let’s hope we don’t have a long wait before someone applies for the job. It’s a bloody shame. I liked the girl and still can’t believe that she was robbing us.’

‘She was at it, all right, and for a good few bob too.’

‘Huh, well, at least you caught her out. The trouble is it ain’t the first time and I doubt it’ll be the last. Finding staff we can trust isn’t easy.’

‘We’ve got a good one in Pearl.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Dolly said, her face softening, and touching Pearl’s arm she added, ‘Until we find another waitress, I’m afraid you’ll have to cope on your own again.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘You’re a good kid and I’ll stick a bit extra in your wages again. In fact, we’ll give you a rise too. I know you’re only seventeen, but good staff are hard to find and we don’t want to lose you.’

Pearl was happy and relieved. She hadn’t really wanted to find another job and it would be awful to leave the Dolbys in the lurch. She liked working in the café, and as long as Kevin left her alone it would be fine, especially as she’d be earning more money.

When the costermongers began to arrive they showed no surprise that Pearl was covering the tables on her own. Waitresses came and went frequently in the café, but it was nice when some said they hoped she wouldn’t be joining the exodus. She was coping with the rush, but only just, and wondered how long they would have to wait before finding a replacement for Alice.

‘What happened to Boadicea?’ Derek asked during a lull.

Pearl leaned forward, saying quietly, ‘She got the sack for fiddling the till.’

‘Huh, I ain’t surprised. You must have been right about her pocketing your tips too.’

‘Yes, and maybe I should have told Bernie.’

Neither noticed that Bernie had left the counter and Pearl jumped when he spoke from behind her. ‘So, she was diddling you too, and yes, you should have told me.’

‘I … I’m sorry, but I was too frightened to accuse her without proof.’

‘I tried to keep an eye on her too, but couldn’t catch her at it,’ Derek said.

‘She was a fly one, that’s for sure, but don’t worry, the word’s already going round.’

Derek chuckled. ‘Talk about jungle drums. I doubt the girl will get another job in this area.’

‘One of the factories might take her on.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

Pearl saw customers waiting and, leaving Derek and Bernie chatting, she went to take their orders. Soon after, Frank Hanwell came in, and as he took a seat their eyes met. She had another customer to serve before going to his table, but was soon by his side.

‘Hello, Frank, what can I get you?’

‘I’ll have the sausages, onion and mash. I’ve got a bit of good news too. Eric seems to be coming round. He’s talking to me again, and last night he let me tuck him into bed.’

‘That’s wonderful.’

‘It’s a step forward, but I wonder if we’ll ever see him smile again. He’s still unnaturally quiet, and he won’t go to school. Not only that, my old woman wants us to move out of the area. Eric won’t come near the market and she thinks it would help if we make a fresh start somewhere else.’

‘Maybe she’s right.’

‘I’ve lived here all my life, and the stall was handed down to me from my father. It’s all I know.’

‘There are other markets, Frank.’

‘Yeah, I suppose so, but it’s still gonna be hard.’

‘If it helps Eric, it’ll be worth it.’

He nodded, but then three other costermongers sat at his table, bringing the conversation to an end. The pace slowed a little after that, but each time Pearl passed Frank’s table, she couldn’t help noticing how distant and distracted he looked. The other men were chatting, but Frank was picking at his food, his eyes faraway. Five minutes later he called Pearl over and, as though talking to her earlier had sealed his decision, his voice was lighter as he spoke.

‘Bring us all a cup of tea, would you, love? I’ve got something to tell this lot.’

Pearl saw the puzzled glances that passed between the men but hurried to the counter, returning with the teas to hear Frank telling them that he was leaving the market. ‘My stall’s up for grabs. If you know anyone who might be interested in taking the pitch, let me know.’

‘Blimey, Frank, what brought this on?’ Charlie Slater asked.

‘Her indoors thinks that Eric needs to get out of this area, and I reckon she’s right.’

They all nodded in understanding, Charlie saying, ‘I know a decent geezer who’s after a pitch. How much do you want for it?’

Pearl moved away, her face showing her confusion as she went to the counter.

‘What’s up?’ Bernie asked.

‘Frank’s moving out of the area and is giving up his stall. There’s talk of someone buying the pitch, but I thought they rented them from the council.’

‘You’re right, they don’t own their own pitches, but it’s a busy market and a spot rarely becomes available. They’re like gold dust, so when one comes up, someone who’s willing to pay is tipped the wink.’

‘But surely anyone can apply to the council for the empty spot?’

Bernie chuckled. ‘Yeah, that might be how it’s supposed to be, but the costermongers have got unwritten rules the council knows nothing about.’

Pearl shook her head, still bewildered as she walked away, but the lunchtime rush was almost over and it was time to finish clearing the tables.

Feeling tired and washed out, Pearl was glad when her shift ended. She had an art lesson that evening, but still hadn’t managed to get a grip on seascapes. Her efforts at painting the ocean lacked depth, colour, movement, and though she had studied other paintings on the subject, her own attempts looked flat.

As she walked through the market she was frowning, hardly aware that she had reached Derek’s stall.

‘Cheer up, it might never happen,’ he quipped. ‘What are you looking so down in the mouth about?’

‘It’s nothing really. It’s just that I’ve got art classes this evening and my attempts at painting the sea are dreadful.’

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘It doesn’t help that I’ve never seen the sea.’

‘Blimey, we can soon fix that. I tell you what, I’ll take you down to Brighton on Sunday.’

Pearl’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? Oh, I’d love that.’

‘You might not be so sure when we get there. It’s nearly the end of November and it’s bound to be a bit nippy.’

‘I don’t mind. In fact I hope the sea is rough and the waves huge.’

Derek grinned. ‘You’re a strange one, Pearl. Most people want sunshine when they go to the seaside.’

‘Yes, but then the ocean would be boring. Oh, Derek, I can’t wait to see it,’ she cried, giving a little skip of delight.

He smiled again, and as a customer walked up to the stall, showing an interest in a rather large teapot, Pearl said a hurried goodbye, her steps lighter as she made for home.

Derek was lovely, he really was, and her heart warmed towards him. He might not be an oil painting, but he had a heart of gold, and though she had at first baulked at the idea of marrying him, it might not be so bad after all.

Chapter Twenty-One

On Sunday, Pearl stood on Brighton beach, gazing at the scene in wonderment. Even the pebbles under her feet held fascination as she picked her way across them, stooping to pick up one after another as she studied the colours and strata, just as Miss Rosen had taught her to do at the orphanage.

Moving closer to the foaming waves, Pearl stood transfixed as they ebbed and flowed. She stepped forward, jumping back like a delighted child when the next wave tumbled in, almost soaking her shoes. She laughed, turning to look at Derek as he lumbered down to her side, face red from the whipping wind.

‘Have you had enough now, love? We’ve been on the beach for an hour and I don’t know about you, but I could do with some grub.’

‘Just five more minutes,’ she begged.

‘All right, and I’m glad to see you’re looking better.’

‘It must have been something I ate, but my tummy’s fine now.’

Pearl looked up at the sky, saw gulls soaring, wings silhouetted against the dark clouds, their plaintive cries echoing in the bleak seascape. Rain began to fall, and reluctantly she dragged her eyes away, trying to hold it all in her memory. Head down, she stooped again to pick up a shell, fascinated by the texture and colour. ‘Oh, Derek, isn’t this lovely?’

‘Yeah, if you say so, but you’re getting soaked. I think we should find some shelter.’

Pearl slipped the small shell into her pocket, her heart once again going out to this lovely man. He looked so wet, miserable, his expression hangdog. All right, he wasn’t much to look at, but nowadays she hardly noticed. Instead it was his personality that shone through, and suddenly she knew without a doubt that she really did want to marry him.

Pearl grabbed his hand, smiling widely. ‘All right, come on then. Food it is.’

They scrambled across the beach, Pearl throwing a last look over her shoulder before they headed for the nearest café. She shivered as they entered the warmth, the smell of food suddenly making her stomach turn. Mo had insisted she have a huge breakfast before she left, but she’d been unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls before being sick. Now once again she felt queasy.

When the waitress came to their side, Derek ordered roast lamb, but Pearl shook her head. ‘Just a cup of tea for me, please.’

‘You need more than that,’ Derek said, looking at her with concern.

‘I had a big breakfast,’ she lied. ‘Honestly, I’m not hungry.’

He shook his head doubtfully, but said no more, and as his meal was put him front of him, Pearl looked away as he ate. The clouds thickened, rain teeming down and beating against the widows of the small café as though trying to gain admittance.

‘I reckon we’ll have to make our way home,’ Derek said as he finished his meal and sipped his tea. ‘I can’t see the weather brightening up.’

Pearl didn’t mind. She had seen the sea, it was etched into her memory, and once again her fingers itched to paint. Derek paid for the meal and, head down against the driving rain and wind, they hurried to the railway station.

In the waiting room, a small fire burned in the hearth and they made for the nearest bench, hands in pockets as they huddled inside their coats. Fortunately they didn’t have long to wait for a train back to London, the carriage empty as they climbed inside. As they sat down, Derek put his arm around her and Pearl sank against him, the smell of his damp clothes assailing her nostrils.

‘Shame about the weather, but at least you’ve seen the sea now.’

‘Yes, and it was wonderful,’ Pearl said. She yawned, her eyes closed, and then she knew no more until they arrived at Clapham Junction.

‘Wake up, sleepy head, we’re home.’

Pearl opened her eyes, for a moment bewildered, and then realising that she had slept for the whole journey, she stumbled to her feet. ‘Oh, Derek, I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be daft, love. I think working the tables on your own in the café must be wearing you out.’

Derek took her arm as she alighted from the carriage, but as her feet touched the platform, she swayed.

‘I don’t think this is just tiredness, Pearl. I think you’ve caught a chill or something. Come on, let’s get you home.’

She knew Derek was right, but as the only waitress in the café they’d be in a terrible fix without her. Maybe Mo would have a couple of aspirins or something, and if she went straight to bed, she’d be all right in the morning.

Pearl did feel better the next morning, and though she couldn’t face food, she felt strong enough to go to work.

The breakfast rush was almost over when a woman came into the café, Bernie greeting her. ‘Hello, Madge, long time no see. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, and I’ve come about the job.’

‘Blimey, are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’ve had enough of working evenings and weekends.’

‘Right, you’d better have a word with Dolly.’

Bernie went to the kitchen, whilst Pearl surreptitiously studied the woman. She looked to be in her mid-to-late forties, her eyes small, but bright. With short, coarse brown hair and a thin face, she reminded Pearl somewhat of a fierce terrier dog.

Dolly came bustling out of the kitchen, a smile on her face. ‘Madge, nice to see you. Bernie tells me that you’re looking for a job.’

‘That’s right.’

‘After being a silver service waitress, it’ll be a bit of a comedown.’

‘All the functions are in the evening or at weekends. My boys are grown up now and I’d rather do day work.’

‘What about the money? I can’t pay you what you’re used to.’

‘With two of my lads at work, they’re stumping up their keep. I don’t mind taking a drop in wages.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, Madge, the job’s yours. It’ll be nice to have you working here.’

‘Smashing, and if you like I’ll start straight away.’

‘With only one waitress, it’d be a godsend.’ Dolly turned, beckoning Pearl to her side. ‘This is Madge Harding, my cousin.’

‘Hello,’ Pearl said shyly.

‘Nice to meet you, love. Perhaps you could show me the ropes?’

‘I’d be pleased to.’

‘Right, I’ll leave you to it,’ Dolly said brusquely. ‘I’ve still got Gertie and Mo working for me, and once the tables are cleared we’ll have a gossip over a cup of tea.’

As soon as Dolly was out of sight, Madge turned to Pearl again. ‘How do we split the tables?’

‘We split them in half, one section at this end, and the other nearest the kitchen.’

‘Well, as I’m the last in, I suppose I’ll be doing this end.’

‘Er … well, no, not if you don’t want to.’

‘Bless you, love, I don’t mind. In fact it’s only fair. Now, what else do I need to know?’

Pearl told Madge all she could think of, both women working happily together as they cleared the tables. Despite her fierce demeanour, Madge turned out to be a friendly soul, and when they took the stacks of crockery out to the kitchen, both Gertie and Mo greeted her with delight.

Dolly told Pearl to fetch them each a cup of tea, and when she returned it was to hear Madge saying, ‘That Pearl seems a nice girl, but where on earth did you find her? She talks like she’s got a plum in her mouth and certainly doesn’t come from these parts.’

‘As she’s right behind you, why don’t you ask her yourself?’ Gertie chuckled.

‘Gawd, sorry, ducks,’ Madge said, her face red as she turned. ‘Well, at least I wasn’t running you down. I’m a nosy old biddy and must admit I’m curious about where you hail from.’

‘I was brought up in an orphanage in Surrey.’

‘You poor kid. Don’t you know who your parents are?’

‘No. I was left on the steps.’

‘Christ, that’s awful. So you haven’t any family at all?’

‘None that I know of.’

‘Where do you live now?’

‘I have a room in Mo’s house.’

‘Yeah, and she’s fast becoming one of the family. Her and my Emma are now as thick as thieves.’

‘That’s nice,’ Madge said. ‘What about you, Gertie? How are you doing these days?’

‘I ain’t too bad, but my stomach still plays me up now and again.’

Dolly spoke, her voice sharp. ‘You and Mo are both Mrs Neverwells. You’re never out of that doctor’s surgery and he must be sick of the sight of the pair of you.’

‘Now then, Dolly, don’t exaggerate,’ Gertie protested.

‘I ain’t, but enough gossip for now. You can get on with that washing-up, and you, Mo, get back to the vegetables.’

Madge winked at Pearl, the two of them going back to the dining room. ‘I see Dolly’s as bossy as ever. I know we’re related, but she still scares the shit out of me.’

‘And me,’ Bernie called, ‘but if you don’t want her to hear you, you’d best keep your voice down, Madge.’

The woman’s head shot round, eyeing the kitchen door with fear, whilst both Pearl and Bernie broke out into laughter.

‘Only kidding,’ Bernie spluttered.

‘Oh, you bugger,’ Madge said, but she soon joined in the laugher. ‘Well,’ she said, wiping eyes, which were wet with mirth, ‘at least it’s going to be all right working with you two.’

Pearl placed the tray of cups on the counter, deciding that she already liked Madge, and though she’d miss the extra money in her wage packet, she was glad that the woman had applied for the job.

Madge turned out to be a comic and often had Pearl helpless with laughter. As a local she knew many of the costermongers, giving them as good as she got in light-hearted fun.

Nearly two weeks had passed, and the only problem was Pearl’s continuing ill health. It was becoming a real concern.

When she got up on Friday morning she was once again feeling nauseous, and as she sat opposite Mo at the breakfast table, her food uneaten, the woman eyed her thoughtfully. She then dropped the bombshell.

‘Pearl, have you … well … have you been with Derek?’

‘Been with him? What do you mean?’

‘Er … have you slept with him?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Blimey, that’s a relief, and I’m sorry for being suspicious. I thought with you being sick in the mornings that you might be pregnant.’

Pearl’s face stretched in surprise. ‘Pregnant! You think I’m having a baby?’

‘No, not now you’ve told me that haven’t slept with Derek. I’m sorry, love, I should have known better. You’re a good girl, but as I said, with you being sick and all …’

Pearl stared at Mo, her eyes transfixed with shock. She couldn’t be – she just couldn’t … Yes, she had missed once, but surely that didn’t mean anything? Her mind tried to calculate dates, but so much had happened in such a short time that she’d lost track. She’d left her first bedsit, moved in with Connie and Derek for a while and then ended up here. Oh God … and as realisation dawned, Pearl’s face drained of colour. It wasn’t just one period she had missed – it was two. With a gasp she stumbled to her feet and into the hall, taking the stairs two at a time as she fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom

No! Oh, no! She was pregnant. But it wasn’t Derek’s baby she was carrying.

Pearl was lying on her bed when Mo tapped gently on the door but, unable to face her, she buried her head in the pillow. She heard the door open, and hunched her shoulders.

‘Well, Pearl, from your reaction, I think I’m right after all. Come on, it ain’t the end of the world. You’re not the first girl to get herself pregnant before the wedding and I doubt you’ll be the last. At least you’re engaged to Derek and now you’ll just have to get married as soon as possible. You ain’t showing yet, so it won’t be so bad.’

A sob rose in Pearl’s chest. She had expected disgust, censure, but instead Mo was being so kind. What would her reaction be when she found out the truth?

‘Try to pull yourself together, love, or you’ll be late for work. Have a chat with Derek as soon as you get the chance, and don’t worry, I reckon he’ll be as pleased as punch. Anyone can see that he thinks the world of you.’

Pearl gasped, her whole body shaking and, obviously bewildered, Mo continued to pat her back. The door opened again, Emma coming into the room.

‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘What’s the matter with Pearl?’

‘Shall I tell her, love?’ Mo asked.

Pearl fought to bring herself under control, managing to nod her head in agreement, but couldn’t look at Emma as Mo broke the news.

‘Pregnant!’ she gasped. ‘Blimey, you soppy cow. Does Derek know?’

With another sob, Pearl shook her head. She would have to face Derek, but dreaded his reaction. She was carrying another man’s child and there was no way he’d marry her now. Unable to put coherent thoughts in order, her mind raced. Connie would go mad too, and there was Dolly Dolby. What would she say when she found out that Kevin was the father?

Kevin! Kevin was the baby’s father! Her stomach lurched. She had been denying her feelings for him for so long, but now that she was carrying his child they overwhelmed her. Despite the way he’d behaved – despite the flaws in his character – she was in love with him.

When Pearl finally dashed into the café she was half an hour late, but instead of giving her a reprimand, Bernie puffed out his cheeks in relief.

‘I was worried that you weren’t going to show up. Madge is late too, and Dolly’s in a right old state.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Pearl told him, tying her apron hurriedly.

‘You don’t look too good, girl, and you look like you’ve been crying.’

‘I … I’m fine.’

‘If you say so, but perhaps you’re coming down with a cold.’

‘Yes, maybe,’ she said, thankful for the excuse.

The morning rush had just started and Madge still hadn’t arrived. Pearl took her first order through to the kitchen.

‘You look awful.’ Dolly said.

‘I think I’m coming down with a cold.’ Pearl was glad to grasp at Bernie’s comment. Mo wasn’t due in yet, but she dreaded her arrival. She’d promised not to say anything, but Pearl knew how much the woman loved a good gossip. There wouldn’t be a chance to talk to Derek until her break, but if Mo opened her mouth the news would spread like wildfire. Please, God, she prayed, let him hear it from me.

Madge came into the kitchen.

‘Where have you been?’ Dolly snapped.

‘Sorry, but I ain’t feeling well. I’ve got an appointment at the doctor’s but not until eleven thirty.’

‘You look all right to me.’

‘Have a heart, Dolly. When I woke up this morning I was in a terrible state, so wet with sweat that I had to have a bath. I may be a bit late, but I still turned up for work.’

‘All right, don’t go on about it, and get on with your work.’ Dolly’s eyes flicked to Pearl, ‘and that goes for you too.’

As they scuttled back into the dining room, Madge threw Pearl a wink. ‘Dolly missed her vocation. She should have been a bleeding sergeant major.’

Pearl managed a small smile but her heart wasn’t in it. In truth, tears were just below the surface but she fought them as she tackled the breakfast rush. How had it happened? She’d only slept with Kevin once, yet she was pregnant. Please let him want me. Please let him want our baby.

Derek came in at eight thirty but she could hardly look at him, just murmuring that she needed to talk to him later. He looked puzzled, but seeing how pushed she was he didn’t ask questions.

At last the café emptied, and at ten thirty Bernie called out, ‘Pearl, you still look awful. Madge can manage now so why don’t you have a break?’

Pearl picked up a stack of crockery and went to the kitchen. ‘Dolly, I’m just about to take a break. Is it all right if I pop out for a while?’

‘What for?’

‘There … there’s something important I have to do.’

Dolly heaved a sigh. ‘All right, but don’t be long. Madge has to be at the doctor’s for half-past eleven.’

‘Good luck,’ Mo called.

‘Why does she need luck?’ Dolly asked.

Mo and Pearl looked at each other, both stuck for words, Pearl’s face now livid with colour. It was Mo who managed to stutter an answer, ‘Er … she’s going to sort out the wedding date with Derek.’

Without giving Dolly a chance to speak again, Pearl swiftly left the kitchen, still wearing her apron as she made for Derek’s stall.

He saw her coming and grinned. ‘Watcha, love.’

‘I … I need to talk to you,’ she stammered.

Frank’s voice rose raucously from the next stall, ‘Apples – Bramley apples. Come on, ladies, only sixpence a pound.’

Derek glanced at Frank and said sadly, ‘I still can’t believe that Frank’s leaving the market. He’s been pitched next to me for donkey’s years. Anyway, love, what do you want to talk to me about?’

‘Alone … we need to be alone.’

‘There ain’t much chance of that. Can’t it wait until tonight?’

‘No … it must be now.’

‘Frank,’ Derek called, ‘can you watch me stall for a while?’

‘Yeah, all right.’

‘We’ll go for a walk, will that do?’ Derek asked as he took Pearl’s arm.

She nodded, feeling sick inside. She may not be in love with Derek, but was very fond of him and if this hadn’t happened she’d have married him. Unbidden, a thought popped into Pearl’s mind. Yes, but would you really have gone through with it? Pearl shook her head against the question. She’d been enjoying life, loved living with Emma and Mo, and had been relieved when Derek offered a long engagement. A year was a long way off, and she had avoided thinking about marriage. Now everything was going to change and stark reality was staring her in the face. She was going to lose Derek, lose his friendship, his protection. Tears gathered, but she managed to hold them back. She had betrayed this lovely man, she was going to hurt him badly, and however bad his reaction, it would be no more than she deserved.

They walked to the end of the market, and along Shuttleworth Road, Pearl’s head low. There was a pub ahead and as they drew alongside it, Derek stuck his head inside.

‘The snug’s empty. Come on, we can talk in there.’

With her head still low, Pearl sat at a table, and when Derek asked her what she wanted to drink her throat felt as if it was closing. She managed to speak, a croak, ‘Nothing, thanks.’

He walked to the bar, soon returning with half a pint of beer to take the seat beside her. ‘Now then, what’s this all about?’

She couldn’t look at him, she just couldn’t, her voice still a strangled whisper when she finally was able to spit out the words. ‘I … I’m having a baby.’

There was a moment of silence, but then Derek’s voice was loud in protest. ‘Don’t be daft. Talk sense, Pearl. You can’t be having a baby. We ain’t … well, done it, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I know, but I … I’m definitely pregnant.’

There was another moment of silence and finally Pearl was able to glance at Derek, a swift look that showed his face white with shock.

‘Who was it, Pearl? I’ll bloody kill him.’

‘I can’t tell you. He … he doesn’t know yet.’

Derek seemed to slump in his seat, his head shaking in denial. ‘I can’t believe this. Here, wait a minute, did he force you?’

With all her heart, Pearl wished she could say yes. At least that might ease this lovely man’s pain, but with a sigh she said, ‘No, he didn’t force me.’

‘I’ll still kill him.’

‘No, Derek, please don’t say that. I’m so sorry, I really am. It only happened once, that was all.’

‘Huh, it only takes once. Bloody hell, Pearl, we’re engaged. I was gonna marry you.’

Pearl looked at him at last and, unable to bear the hurt she could see in his eyes, tugged the ring from her finger. She then laid it on the table and rose to her feet, choking back tears as she ran out of the pub, leaving Derek slumped in his seat, looking like a whipped dog.

‘Here, Pearl, where’s Derek?’ Frank called as she hurried through the market.

She couldn’t answer him, couldn’t speak. It had been awful, dreadful, Derek’s pain terrible to see. He would never forgive her and she didn’t blame him.

The café was almost empty when Pearl stumbled through the door and sank down at the nearest table. Head buried in her arms, a huge sob rose, a dam of tears bursting as she finally broke.

‘Pearl, what’s wrong?’ Madge asked, hurrying to her side.

Unable to answer, she was aware only of Madge tugging her arm, urging her to the kitchen. ‘Come on, girl, let’s get you out of here.’

Somehow Pearl managed to drag herself up and as they entered the kitchen Madge said, ‘Dolly, I’ve got to go now, but Pearl’s in a right old state.’

‘All right, get yourself off.’

Madge patted Pearl’s back before hurrying out, Dolly then saying, ‘Now then, what’s all this? Mo’s told us that you’re pregnant and I must say I’m shocked. Still, it ain’t the end of the world and I can’t see why you’re so upset. Surely Derek has said he’ll marry you as soon as possible.’

Pearl knew there was no way out. She took a deep shuddering breath, struggling to bring herself under control. ‘The … the baby isn’t his.’

They were all gawking, faces stretched with shock, but it was Dolly who voiced their thoughts. ‘My God, you look such a little innocent, but now you’re telling us that you’re pregnant by another man. Who’s the father then?’

‘I … I can’t tell you.’

‘Why not? Is he married?’

‘No, he isn’t, but he doesn’t know yet.’

‘Well, you’d better tell him, my girl, and as soon as possible.’

Yes, but how? Pearl thought. She hadn’t seen Kevin for a couple of days, and when she did he ignored her. Worse was to come when Mo spoke.

‘I thought you were a nice girl and that’s why I offered you a room. You’ve only been around these parts for about five months and in that short time you got yourself engaged to Derek Lewis. Now you’ve got the nerve to tell us you’re pregnant, but it ain’t his baby. Well, madam, after your shift you can pack your stuff and get out of my house. I don’t want my Emma associating with the likes of you.’

With a sob Pearl fled the kitchen, and the café. She heard Bernie’s shout, but nothing stopped her.

Tears blinded Pearl’s eyes and she didn’t see Bessie Penfold sweeping the pavement outside her shop until she collided with her.

‘Blimey, girl, watch where you’re going! Gawd, what’s the matter? Has Dolly Dolby been on the warpath again? That woman can’t keep waitresses for more than five minutes.’

Without waiting for a reply, Bessie took Pearl’s arm, ushering her into the shop and locking the door behind them. ‘I’ve seen more girls leave that café than number nineteen buses. Mind you, I’ve never seen one leaving in a state like this. Hold on and I’ll put the kettle on. You look like you could do with a cup of good strong tea.’

Bessie bustled out to the back room, but by the time she returned, Pearl had managed to calm down only a little. She was handed a cup of tea that looked almost black, but found her hands shaking so much that the cup rattled in the saucer.

‘Now then. Do you want to talk about it?’

As she looked into the old woman’s dark eyes, Pearl saw gentleness, wisdom, and with the need to unburden, the words spilled from her mouth, ending with, ‘… and I … I’ve got to leave my room too. Mo is disgusted with me.’

‘Don’t take any notice of Mo Price. She’s no better than she should be. I could tell you a few things about her that might shock you, but I ain’t one to gossip. Right, let’s take this one step at a time. First you need to have a word with Kevin Dolby, but if you ask me he’ll try to squirm out of it.’

‘But he can’t – surely he can’t? Oh God, what will I do?’

‘You could get rid of it.’

Pearl stared at the woman in horror, her hand inadvertently touching her stomach. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’

‘Yeah, I suppose it could be a bit risky, but you could have it adopted.’

Pearl frantically shook her head. ‘No, I’d never let my baby be adopted.’

‘You can’t support a kid on your own and, if you ask me, it would be the best thing for it.’

‘No it wouldn’t,’ Pearl cried. ‘I came from an orphanage and know what it’s like. I’ve seen children fostered out and then returned, sometimes traumatised by what happened to them.’

‘I said adopted, not fostered out.’

‘I know, but some of the children put up for adoption were returned too. Can you imagine what it was like for them? They dreamed of being part of a proper family, but some people only want perfection, not a traumatised child who may wet the bed or find it difficult to settle into a normal home.’

‘It wouldn’t be like that for a baby.’

Pearl touched her stomach again. She knew what it was like to be without parents, without love, always wondering why she had been put in an orphanage. Always wondering who her mother was, her father was, and why they’d rejected her. She shook her head again. No matter what, she was determined that her baby wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Her voice was strong as she said, ‘Whether Kevin marries me or not, I’m keeping my baby.’

‘All right, I can see why you feel like that, but it ain’t gonna be easy for you.’

‘I don’t care. I’ll manage somehow.’

‘Yeah, I think you will,’ Bessie said softly. ‘Anyway, for the time being you need a place to stay. I’ve got a spare room and, though it ain’t up to much, you’re welcome to it. If you need a job for a while you can help me out in the shop. It’s getting a bit much for me nowadays, but I won’t be able to pay you much.’

Pearl stared at Bessie Penfold with amazement. There had been no censure, just advice, and now the offer of a room and job. Her eyes filled with tears again at such kindness. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘There’s no need to thank me. If you remember, I told you that our paths would cross again and I was right. Now come on, I’ll show you the room and then I’d best open the shop again. I can’t afford to lose customers.’

As Pearl rose to her feet she felt a surge of guilt. She had run out of the café, leaving them in the lurch, and she hoped Madge would be able to cope with the lunchtime rush. God – was she losing her mind? When Dolly found out she was carrying Kevin’s child, she’d go mad. No, she couldn’t go back, she couldn’t face Dolly, and quaked with fear at the thought.

She followed Bessie upstairs, and as the woman led her into a small room, Pearl saw it as a refuge.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Pearl knew she had to go out, but couldn’t face it. It was wonderful of Bessie to give her this room, but the feeling that it was a refuge soon wore off when she realised how close she was to the café and Derek’s stall.

If she waited until the market closed before going to collect her things from Mo’s, at least she’d be able to avoid Derek. But she still had to talk to Kevin, to tell him that he was the father of her baby.

She looked around the room, uncaring of the damp, peeling wallpaper and thick dust on every surface. Bessie had told her to make up the bed, but she was still sitting on the bare mattress, her mind twisting and turning.

An hour passed and Pearl’s head was aching with anxiety when she finally rose to her feet. Bessie had said there was linen in the hall cupboard, and in the back bedroom she would find some blankets or a quilt.

Pearl rummaged, finding a pair of old, yellowing sheets, but when she went into the back room her eyes rounded. It was piled high with clothes, old curtains and blankets, all giving off a musty, damp smell. She gingerly picked up a blanket, surprised to find that it was thick and in good condition. After rooting further, she found a home-made quilt with hexagons of pink and blue flowered material. It was beautiful, the stitching perfect, and someone had obviously spent many hours sewing it together.

With the quilt and another blanket under her arm, Pearl went back to her room. She needed to keep busy, needed something to do, and after making up her bed she tackled the dusting. Finally, with nothing else to do, Pearl nervously went downstairs.

‘It’s about time you showed your face,’ Bessie said. ‘You can’t hide up there for ever and I’ve already had to get rid of Bernard Dolby.’

‘Bernie! Bernie’s been in here? But how did he know where to find me?’

‘Wake up, love. You’re not exactly invisible, and it seems several people saw you running from the café. A quick word with the market traders soon led him here.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Only that Madge hasn’t come back from the doctor’s and they need you back at the café.’

‘I can’t go back. I just can’t.’

‘After what you’ve told me, I don’t blame you, but if you’re determined to keep that bun in the oven you’ll have to face them soon or later. Blimey,’ she added, cackling with pleasure, ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when Dolly Dolby finds out she’s gonna be a grandmother. The woman thinks she’s a cut above the rest of us, but I can tell you something that’ll give you a bit of ammunition when you face her.’

Pearl paled at the thought. ‘I don’t think I can ever face her.’

‘Well, girl, you’re gonna have to toughen up. If you show fear, Dolly will walk all over you. Anyway, if she gives you a hard time here’s that bit of ammunition I mentioned. You can remind her that Kevin arrived only six months after her wedding.‘

It took a while for the penny to drop, but when it did, Pearl gasped. ‘You … you mean …?’

‘Yeah, she too was up the spout before she got married. It was common knowledge around here at the time, but there ain’t many left in the area who’d dare remind Dolly of the facts. She scares the life out of most people, even her old man, and that’s something she’s cultivated over the years. If you manage to get Kevin Dolby to own up to his responsibilities, you’re gonna have her as your mother-in-law, and as I said, the only way to stop her walking over you is to stand up for yourself from the start.’

Pearl knew she’d never have the courage to follow Bessie’s advice, and hung her head. ‘I’ve got to tell Kevin first and somehow I’ve got to catch him on his own.’

‘Even if he agrees to marry, you’d be mad to take him on. That young man will come to no good one day.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got a funny feeling about Kevin Dolby. He might be a handsome bugger, but I reckon he’s a bad ’un. Now then, don’t look at me like that. I may be wrong, and anyway, I still think he’ll try to squirm out of it.’

Pearl stared at Bessie, her heart sinking. Yes, she knew about Kevin’s character and feared his reaction to the news too. But it was his baby, their child, the blame his as much as hers. Oh, surely he’d marry her, and once settled with a wife and child, surely he’d change. But what if Bessie was right? What if he tried to get out of it?’

Kevin Dolby heard the gossip as soon as he walked into the kitchen. His mother told him that Pearl was pregnant, and went on to say that it wasn’t Derek’s baby. He listened as she continued her tirade.

‘I’m not happy that Pearl walked out and if Madge doesn’t come back soon, we’ll be in a right old fix. Pearl’s staying with Bessie Penfold, but when your father went over there she refused to let him speak to the girl.’

Gertie pulled a face. ‘Yeah, Bessie can be a right old dragon, but I wonder if she knows who the father is.’

‘It’s got to be someone from round here, and from what we’ve been hearing, Derek Lewis is out for blood.’

Kevin blanched. Christ, if Pearl said it wasn’t Derek’s, it had to be his! So far it seemed that Pearl hadn’t named him, but for how long? He shuddered. When Derek found out he’d be mincemeat.

‘Are you all right, Kevin? You look a bit pale.’

‘It’s just a touch of asthma,’ he lied, relieved when Madge came into the kitchen, diverting his mother’s attention.

‘Well, it’s about time too,’ she snapped. ‘What did the doctor say?’

‘Huh, it was a waste of time. He said I’m on the change and have to expect hot flushes. I ain’t that old and couldn’t believe it, but it seems that some women start early.’

‘I hardly think this is a subject for my son to hear,’ Dolly snapped, but then she exhaled loudly. ‘Still, at least it’s nothing to worry about. I should have guessed. After all, I seem to be surrounded by Mrs Neverwells. I’m glad you’re back, Madge. As you can see, Pearl ain’t here so you’ll have to manage the lunchtime rush on your own.’

‘Pearl ain’t here. Why’s that?’

‘Mum, I’m going upstairs,’ Kevin interrupted.

‘Yeah, all right, son, and if your asthma is playing up, you’d best take it easy.’

Kevin nodded, leaving the kitchen before his mother told Madge about Pearl. Head down, he ignored his father as he headed upstairs. Christ, Derek would be out for blood soon. What was he going to do?

Kevin paced the room, finally deciding there was only one thing he could do, and that was to tell his mother.

He watched the clock, time ticking slowly until the café closed, and as she came upstairs, he blurted, ‘Mum, I’m in trouble, big trouble.’

Her face blanched. ‘What sort of trouble?’

‘Derek Lewis will be after my blood. He’ll make mincemeat out of me.’

Her broad forehead creased, the penny failing to drop. ‘Huh, I’d like to see him try. It’d be over my dead body, but why is he after you?’

‘Mum, do I have to spell it out? It’s Pearl. When Derek finds out, he’ll kill me.’

Dolly finally got it, her eyes rounding like saucers. ‘What! Don’t tell me that you’re the father?’

He nodded, seeing his mother stagger across the room before flopping onto the sofa. For a moment she rubbed huge hands across her face, her voice a growl. ‘I’ll kill that bloody girl.’

‘It isn’t Pearl who’s worrying me, Mum. It’s Derek Lewis.’

‘She’s having your baby and all you can say is you’re worried about Derek! Christ, son, get your priorities right.’ She shook her head in disgust, pinched her bottom lip between forefinger and thumb, then said, ‘Look, we need to think this through. How can you be sure you’re the father?’

‘Because I’ve had her and she’s already said it ain’t Derek.’

‘Don’t be crude. Anyway, she could have been with any number of men. If you ask me that girl has turned out to be nothing but a tart.’

He knew his mother was wrong, knew that Pearl was a virgin when he’d taken her. ‘She ain’t a tart, Mum. I was the first.’ Even as the words left his mouth he cursed himself. Pearl couldn’t prove he was the father and he should have kept his mouth shut. The trouble was he’d been too hung up about Derek Lewis to think straight, and now it was too late.

‘It could still be Derek’s.’

‘Leave it out, Mum. If Derek was the father she’d have said so.’

‘My God, this has come as such a shock and I can’t get my head round it. I need time to think, to work out what we’re going to do, and for that I need a bit of peace and quiet. Make me a cup of tea, and by the time you come back maybe I’ll have sorted something out.’

With a small nod Kevin left the room, feeling somewhat safer now. His mother wouldn’t let Derek Lewis touch him. He placed the kettle on the gas ring, thoughts now turning to Pearl and the baby. His mother said she’d sort something out, but would she make him marry the girl? No, surely not!

Dolly buried her head in her hands. Pearl was pregnant, Kevin was the father – and she was still struggling to accept it. The bloody girl had probably thrown herself at him and, like all men, when it was handed out on a plate he found impossible to resist. Damage control, that’s what she had to think about now, but the thought of losing her son to marriage made her groan in despair.

Dolly was desperate to find a solution, yet something Kevin said refused to go away. She tried to lock it behind a door in her mind, but it forced its way out. Kevin said he’d been the first, Pearl a virgin. Not only that, Pearl said with assurance that Derek wasn’t the father, and that meant she hadn’t slept with the man.

Dolly shook her head in despair again. She wanted to think the girl a tart, one who had set out to trap her son, but deep down knew it wasn’t true. Yet could they still bluff it out? Maybe they could accuse the girl of lying – but even as the thought crossed her mind, Dolly doubted it would work. Pearl had only been in the area a short time, but she was well liked and the locals might not take kindly to a denial. Dolly wasn’t stupid; she knew that, unlike Pearl, she wasn’t liked and many would be glad to see her brought down.

As her mind continued to work, Dolly came to the sickening conclusion that they had no choice. When Pearl named Kevin, he would have to face up to his responsibilities.

Once again Dolly groaned, dreading the idea of losing her son, yet as she closed her eyes against the thought, she was struck by a way to keep him by her side. Kevin would have to marry Pearl, but she could see that they remained close by. In fact, there was no reason why they couldn’t live here. Without a job, Kevin couldn’t support a family, and Pearl could continue to work in the café.

Dolly exhaled loudly. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a workable solution.

‘Here you are, Mum,’ Kevin said as he returned with a cup of tea.

‘Right, sit down and let’s talk. Firstly, I don’t want people to think that you’re to blame, so keep your mouth shut about Pearl being a virgin. It won’t hurt to cultivate the idea that she threw herself at you.’

Kevin’s face reddened. ‘All right, Mum.’

‘Now, like it or not, you’re gonna have to marry the girl.’

‘Marry her! But—’

‘Shut up, Kevin. You’ll do as I say, and this is how we are going to handle it …’

Bernie came into the room a little later, his face blanching when he heard that Kevin was the father of Pearl’s baby.

‘I’m ashamed of you,’ he spat. ‘How could you take down that nice, innocent girl?’

Dolly reared to her feet, face suffused with colour. ‘Don’t you dare say that! Pearl threw herself at Kevin, and when it was so easily offered, how was he supposed to resist?’

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t, that’s for sure.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, Bernie stepped back, but Dolly was already advancing towards him. Christ, he was so upset about Pearl that he’d spoken without thinking, but he was too late to avoid Dolly’s huge hand, the slap across his face making his ears ring.

‘Don’t put me in the same class as Pearl Button,’ she yelled.

‘Sorry, love,’ Bernie placated as he rubbed his cheek, knowing that if he didn’t defuse the situation more of the same would follow. He should stand up to her, and should’ve done so from the start of their marriage, but she’d been pregnant with Kevin and, anyway, he couldn’t hit a woman. Oh, there had been times when he’d been tempted over the years, but despite everything she’d laid on him, he just couldn’t do it. Instead he found it easier to allow Dolly to rule, preferring the quiet life. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. You’re nothing like Pearl Button.’

‘Huh, I should think so too.’

Bernie exhaled with relief as his wife sat down again, secretly thinking that the girl’s qualities were far superior to his wife’s. In the short time Pearl had been working for them he had come to admire her soft, gentle nature. She’d had a rotten life so far but she wasn’t bitter, yet as he listened to the plans that Dolly had made, his heart went out to the girl. Dolly would get her own way as usual, and Pearl didn’t stand a chance.

Unable to resist, he said to Kevin, ‘So, Pearl threw herself at you?’

‘Well … yeah. She fancies me and made it plain.’

Bernie eyed his son with distaste. Since childhood, Kevin blinked rapidly when lying, a dead giveaway, and he was doing it now. ‘I wouldn’t fancy being in your shoes when Derek Lewis finds out.’

‘Mum’s going to sort him out.’

‘Yes, you leave him to me,’ Dolly said. ‘I’ll go round to his place as soon as the market closes, but for now my head’s splitting and I’m off to have a lie-down. In the meantime, Bernie, it’s about time you dusted this room.’

As the door closed behind his wife, Bernie saw the look of scorn Kevin threw at him. ‘Don’t look at me like that, son. After all, this shows you ain’t any better than me. Instead of facing Derek Lewis, you’re letting your mother fight the battle for you. I reckon you’re more a chip off the old block than you realise.’

‘I’m nothing like you! I wouldn’t let a woman lay a hand on me, and that’s something Pearl Button will find out.’

Bernie swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He didn’t doubt that Pearl would suffer at Kevin’s hands, and when she did, it would be his fault. Kevin had seen too much – witnessed him being beaten and humiliated, so much so that he was determined not to suffer the same fate. His eyes closed. Oh, Pearl, what have I done?

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘What do you want?’ Connie Lewis asked when she opened the door to see Dolly on her doorstep.

‘I’d like a word with Derek.’

Connie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Derek had come home from the market in an awful state, and she cursed Pearl Button. Just as she had feared, the girl had broken his heart, but even she’d been unprepared when he told her that Pearl was pregnant by another man. Now Dolly Dolby had turned up wanting to talk to Derek, and astutely she knew there could be only one reason.

‘I can guess why you’re here. Pearl’s pregnant and I reckon your no-good son is the father.’

‘Watch your mouth, Connie Lewis. That girl threw herself at my Kevin.’

A voice roared from behind Connie and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

‘What did you say?’ Derek demanded, thrusting his gran to one side.

‘Look, I ain’t having a slanging match on the doorstep,’ Dolly said, imperiously pushing her way past Derek and into the small hall. She looked around swiftly before marching into the kitchen, Connie scurrying after her and Derek following with his fists clenched at his side.

‘If Kevin’s the one who got Pearl pregnant, I’ll bloody kill him!’

‘It takes two, Derek, and as I said, Pearl threw herself at my son.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Did she say he forced her?’

‘She didn’t tell me who the father is.’

‘That isn’t what I asked, Derek.’

His eyes glared, but then he sighed heavily. ‘All right, Pearl said she wasn’t forced.’

‘Well, there you are then. If you ask me we’ve all been taken in by Pearl Button and she isn’t the innocent she pretends to be. You should count yourself lucky.’

‘Lucky?’

‘Yes, lucky. After all, she could have named you as the father and then you’d be raising another man’s child.’

‘She’s right, Derek,’ Connie said.

‘Leave it out, Gran. She couldn’t have named me. We never …’ His face reddened. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

Connie sighed with relief. ‘Thank Gawd for that.’

‘As I said, she fooled us all,’ Dolly said bitterly. ‘I think the girl was looking for a meal ticket and thought my Kevin would be a better catch. He soon sussed her out and told her he wasn’t interested.’

‘Huh, how come he got her pregnant then?’

‘She invited him up to her room, threw herself at him,’ the lies tripped off Dolly’s tongue, ‘and told him she intended to give you the elbow.’

Derek’s face stretched with shock. ‘Pearl said that?’ He slumped onto a chair, face in his hands for a moment, but then his huge head rose, anger in his eyes. ‘He still shouldn’t have slept with her. It ain’t right.’

‘Oh, Derek, you can’t blame Kevin. With Pearl saying she was going to break things off with you, he thought the coast was clear. He’s a man and, all right, maybe a weak one, but now he’s got to face the consequences and marry the girl.’

‘Marry her! He’s gonna marry her?’

‘She’s carrying his child so he doesn’t have much choice. I came round here to explain the situation and hoped to allay any nastiness between you and Kevin. I would hate you to fall out over Pearl Button.’

‘Huh! Well, I still think he deserves a slap.’

‘Now what good would that do?’ Connie said, laying a hand on Derek’s shoulder. ‘As Dolly said, the blame lies with Pearl.’

Derek rose to his feet, his voice strangled. ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more. I’m going upstairs.’

Connie waited until he was out of sight before speaking to Dolly. ‘Like Derek, I reckon your son deserves a slap or two.’

‘How dare you? It’s Pearl who’s to blame, not my son.’

‘I’m not as gullible as my Derek and can read between the lines. How come you’ve just accepted that Kevin is the father? I mean, if Pearl is such a tart, it could have been any number of men.’

Dolly’s face suffused with colour, but her stance was rigid. ‘Just what are you accusing me of?’

‘Bending the truth, but don’t worry, I’ll talk Derek round. I don’t want him going down for giving your son a beating, even if Kevin deserves one.’

Dolly leaned forward, towering over Connie. ‘Good, we understand each other then.’

‘Yes, we do, and now I’d like you to leave.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m going,’ was Dolly’s parting shot as she sailed out, the street door slamming behind her.

Connie sat down, gripping the edge of the table, her mind cursing the lot of them – Pearl Button, Dolly Dolby, and her bloody no-good son. Bitter thoughts raged. What a mug she’d been, allowing herself to become fond of Pearl, the girl becoming like a daughter. She’d welcomed her into her home, made her a part of the family, when all the time the bitch was sleeping with Kevin on the side. Derek had been made a monkey of and, God, she’d like to get her hands on Pearl bloody Button.

Connie looked up as Derek came back into the room, his face looking haggard and drawn. ‘I know you’re hurt, love, but you’ll get over it.’

‘No I won’t, Gran. I love Pearl … still love her.’

‘Derek, she ain’t the girl we thought she was,’ Connie said bitterly. ‘She’s just a tart.’

‘I can’t believe it, Gran. You know Pearl, and at any time did she strike you as a tart? Maybe I should talk to her again, hear her side of the story. She may not want to marry Kevin, and if she doesn’t—’

‘No, Derek,’ Connie quickly interrupted, ‘don’t even think about it. She pulled the wool over my eyes and yours, but she’s a slut all right. She was going out with you, but that didn’t stop her from inviting Kevin up to her room and offering him sex. As Dolly said, Pearl thought he was a better catch and set out to trap him. I reckon she was hoping to get pregnant, but kept you on the side just in case her scheme didn’t work. Christ, love, ain’t the fact that she’s carrying another man’s child proof enough?’

Derek’s eyes darkened. ‘Yeah, you’re right, but I’m off to find Kevin. No matter what Dolly said, he still slept with my girl and he deserves a slap.’

‘No!’ Connie cried, jumping to her feet and grasping Derek’s arm. ‘Think before you act. Kevin ain’t to blame. Pearl made a mug of him, just as she did you, and now he’s lumbered with marrying her.’

Derek’s huge hands clenched into fists, veins bulging on his forehead. ‘All right, I won’t touch Kevin Dolby, but I’m going to the gym. I’ve got to take my anger out on something, so it had better be a punch bag.’

Connie sagged as the door slammed behind Derek. She’d done it, talked him out of attacking Kevin Dolby, and now she slumped onto the chair again. The room was quiet, with only the ticking of a clock breaking the silence as her thoughts raged. Yes, Dolly had bent the truth in some way, but she was trying to protect her son and it was understandable. Anyway, there was no getting away from the fact that Pearl had used Derek. Tears filled Connie’s eyes. The girl had broken his heart and she dreaded how long it would take him to get over it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was seven o’clock that evening when Kevin sneaked out of the café. At first he’d balked at the idea of marrying Pearl, but his mother had been relentless – until he reluctantly accepted his fate.

He knocked on Bessie Penfold’s door, just wanting to get this over with so he could go down the pub and drown his sorrows. The old woman glared at him, but he forced a tight smile. She was another one like his mother, a dominant, mouthy old woman, whom he usually kept well away from.

‘Yeah, what do you want?’

‘I’d like a word with Pearl.’

‘You’d better come in then.’

Kevin stepped into the shop and through the back, following her upstairs. When they reached the first landing Bessie stood at the bottom of another flight of stairs, her voice loud for such a tiny woman. ‘Pearl, you’d better come down here. There‘s someone to see you.’

‘I’d like to speak to her alone.’

‘Yeah, I bet you would, but that’s up to her.’

It was obvious that Pearl was shocked to see Kevin. He forced a smile. ‘You and me need to talk – and in private.’

‘Yes, all right.’

Bessie pointed to the front room. ‘You can talk in there. If you need me, girl, I won’t be far away.’

They stepped into the room, Pearl immediately sitting on an old sofa, her body stiff with tension. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kevin interrupted.

‘It’s my baby, ain’t it?’ he said without preamble.

Her eyes widened. ‘Yes, but how did you know?’

‘You told my mother that it wasn’t Derek’s so it didn’t take much working out. Anyway, that’s why I’m here. She sent me to see you.’

‘Your mother sent you? But why?’

‘Because I owned up.’

‘You told her! Oh, Kevin. What did she say?’

‘What do you think? She ain’t too pleased, but she says we’ve got to get married.’

‘Oh, thank God.’

‘Thank my mother. We’re to make the arrangements straight away, and after the wedding we’ll live with my parents.’

‘Live with them! But—’

‘You heard me. I ain’t working so we’ve no choice. When I can raise some money we’ll move out, but until then it’s good of my mum to put us up. Oh, yes, and though you can have the weekend off, she wants you back at work on Monday morning.’

‘No, please, I can’t face her, or Derek, and—’

‘Mum’s had a word in Derek’s ear,’ Kevin cut in, ‘and you’ve got to face her sooner or later.’

‘She spoke to him? What did he say?’

‘I dunno, I wasn’t there, but he knows we’re getting married.’

Pearl’s eyes were moist. ‘He’ll never forgive me.’ Her voice rose. ‘Kevin, please, I can’t face him yet. I don’t want to work in the café, I … I’d rather stay here.’

‘Well, that’s too bad. Mum said something about damage control and she wants you back – so that’s that. Until we’re married, you can kip down here, but there’s no reason why you can’t return to work.’

‘No, please, Kevin.’

‘Look, you know my mother. If you don’t show up she’ll come over here and drag you back.’

‘She … she’d do that?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past her. Anyway, after your shift on Monday, we’re to go to the registry office in Wandsworth.’

‘That soon?’

‘Yeah, that soon. Pleased, are you?’ Kevin asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘I … I wasn’t sure that you’d marry me, so yes, but … but you don’t seem very happy about it.’

‘I’m being forced to marry you, so what do you expect?’

Pearl’s eyes widened. ‘I … I’m not forcing you.’

No, Kevin thought, she wasn’t. It was his bloody mother. Pearl was leaning forward, arms wrapped around her body. Gazing at her, he realised that it might not be so bad after all. Pearl was a meek little thing, the antithesis of his mother, and he found himself looking forward to having her under his control. She’d be on hand whenever he wanted her, the sex free. He’d teach her a thing or two, show her what he liked and, now smiling, he said, ‘Look, I know you’re not forcing me. It’s just come as a bit of a shock, that’s all.’

‘You … you don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to.’

‘Yeah, I know, but that’s my baby that you’re carrying so we’d better get spliced.’

She was obviously relieved, a sigh escaping her lips. ‘Oh, Kevin, do you really mean that?’

‘Yeah, of course I do, now come here and give me a kiss.’

Pearl stood up, about to walk into his arms, but then the door opened, Bessie Penfold coming into the room.

‘Is everything all right, Pearl?’

‘Oh, yes. Kevin knows about the baby and wants to marry me.’

‘I should think so too.’

Kevin hid a scowl. The last thing he wanted was to be in the company of this smelly old cow. He’d wanted Pearl on her own, to have a little taster, but there was no chance of that. ‘Right, Pearl, now that it’s all sorted, I’m off. I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘What about tomorrow?’

‘No can do, I’m busy,’ Kevin said.

Pearl looked disappointed, but she nodded, but it was Bessie who moved surprisingly quickly to show him out. He clattered down the stairs, the old woman saying before she closed the door behind him, ‘I’m glad you’re doing the right thing by the girl, and I hope you treat her right.’

She was looking at him expectantly, but tight-lipped Kevin said nothing. Bessie Penfold was an interfering old cow, sticking her nose in when he had wanted to be alone with Pearl. Christ, he thought. It would be just as bad living with his parents. He and Pearl would have no privacy and with his mother close by, there’d be no chance to indulge his fantasies. He needed to raise money, big money, to find a place of their own, and as soon as possible.

Pearl was sitting on the sofa when Bessie walked back into the room. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘are you happy now?’

‘Oh yes, except that Dolly’s insisting that I return to work on Monday. Oh, Bessie, I dread facing her.’

‘She doesn’t own you and can’t give you orders. You don’t have to go back. There’s work for you here.’

‘I’d love that, Bessie, but it’s impossible. After our marriage we’re to live in Dolly’s flat and if I don’t do as she says, it will only make things worse. I have to go back. I don’t have any choice.’

‘There are always choices.’

‘Not for me.’

‘You don’t have to marry him.’

‘Oh, Bessie, I was an orphan and know what it’s like to be without parents. I know I said I can bring up my baby alone, but I don’t want to deprive it of a father.’

Bessie sighed. ‘All right. I can see you’ve made up your mind so I’ll say no more.’

As Bessie then took a seat, Pearl said, ‘I should get my stuff from Mo’s, but I dread seeing her.’

‘Leave it for now. You can find a few bits in my stock to tide you over.’

‘Thanks, Bessie,’ Pearl said, glad of the reprieve. ‘Shall I make us a drink first?’

‘No, you go and sort yourself out. I’ll see to it.’

Whilst Bessie went to the kitchen, Pearl went upstairs to the back room. It amazed her that Bessie kept so many clothes that were out of date, a lot now covered in mildew and unfit for anything but the dustbin. With careful sorting she managed to find a few things, her mind on the future now. She didn’t like the idea of moving into Dolly’s flat, but hopefully it wouldn’t be for long. Once Kevin found work they could find a place of their own. Her heart lifted. They’d be a proper family, her baby with both a mother and father.

An hour later, Pearl and Bessie were sitting companionably in old, threadbare chairs by the fire. Though Pearl was happy, she still dreaded facing Dolly on Monday morning. She glanced across at Bessie, seeing that the old woman was staring into the flames.

Curious, she asked, ‘Bessie, you said our paths would cross again and you were right. Can you really see into the future?’

Bessie turned, gazing at Pearl as though looking into her soul. ‘Yes, but not at will.’

‘But Derek’s gran …’

‘Go on, girl.’

‘No, it’s nothing.’

Bessie chucked. ‘I can guess what Connie Lewis said. Like many bitter women, she thinks I’ve done her out of money. I suspect she said my powers are false too, but truth be known it’s because I didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. Am I right?’

Pearl avoided Bessie’s eyes. ‘She didn’t mention that, but she wasn’t happy with the amount you gave her for her husband’s clothes.’

‘Christ, that was during the war. Connie must have a memory like an elephant. I can’t remember how much I gave her, but times were hard then and a lot of men died in action. When that happened I was offered their clothes, but there was a glut and it was stuff I knew I wouldn’t be able to shift. Still, I did the best I could to help out, even if I could only offer peanuts. Women’s clothes were a different matter. There was a shortage and knowing I could sell them easily, I always gave a good price.’

Pearl digested Bessie’s words, deciding that the old lady wasn’t the skinflint that Connie had portrayed. The woman’s psychic powers intrigued her and she asked, ‘Do you make things up when you tell fortunes? I mean, you said we would help each other, and though you’ve helped me, I haven’t been able to do anything for you.’

‘The time will come, you can be sure of that, and somehow I know you and I will draw close.’

‘But how?’

‘Gawd, I don’t know everything, girl, and sometimes I know nothing.’

‘I don’t understand.’

She looked deep into Pearl’s eyes again. ‘I rarely talk about my powers, but I feel I can trust you to keep your mouth shut. If you must know, I learned the art from my mother. She had the gift of second sight but, like with me, it didn’t come at will. In fact it rarely does. My mother taught me how to read people, and you’d be surprised at what you can glean just by studying someone. When women sit in front of me they don’t realise how much they give away, just by their actions. For instance, they sit up straighter when I hit on the subject that’s worrying them, be it money, health, their husbands or children. There are things to look out for too: a wedding ring, or a white mark where there was one. Signs of illness can show up on the skin, eyes, and even the palms.’

‘So you make it all up.’

‘Don’t look so disgusted, girl. The women who come to me are mostly desperate and looking for hope – sometimes searching for a reason to carry on. I give them that hope. When in despair they fail to realise that all things pass in time, be it sadness, pain or debt. The circle turns and, looking back later, they’ll find that somehow they got through it.’

‘Do you ever use second sight?’

‘If it’s given to me – yes, but even then it may not be what the person wants to hear so I soften it as best I can. Sometimes I make mistakes, and when I do it isn’t always pleasant. Let’s get back to Connie Lewis as an example. Many years ago she came to me for a reading. When I mentioned her daughter she suddenly stiffened, giving me the clue. I’d heard on the grapevine that her daughter had left home, but not why, and thought perhaps Connie wanted to hear that she was coming back. Instead I had a sudden flash of intuition and knew she would never see her daughter again, but I also saw a child, one that would be living with Connie. Now there was the quandary. How could I tell the woman that she would never see her daughter again?’

‘What did you do?’

‘I just said that I saw a child and she might become a grandmother. Well, Connie went mad. She accused me of listening to gossip, said I had heard on the grapevine that her unmarried daughter was pregnant. She said I’m a fake, a shyster, one who takes money from people who can’t afford it. With that she marched out, and has never spoken to me since.’

‘So you saw into the future and knew her daughter was going to die?’

‘Yes, but not the details. It doesn’t work like that, but I saw the darkness.’

‘Do you always see bad things?’

‘No, thank goodness.’

‘How often does it happen?’

‘Blimey, I don’t know. Sometimes every few days, but then it might be weeks before I get another one. Now enough. This is becoming like an inquisition. Put some milk on and we’ll have a cup of cocoa before going to bed.’

Pearl made the drinks, thinking about Bessie and her fortune-telling. She wasn’t sure that she approved of her methods, but surely it was all right to offer people hope when they were in despair.

Her mind gave her no answer, yet Pearl knew as she poured milk into two cups that she had clutched at this problem to avoid thinking about the café. It wasn’t only Dolly she didn’t want to face, it was the others too. There was Gertie, Madge, Mo, and worse, Derek. She would have to see him every day – see the hurt she had caused him – and it was going to be awful. The costermongers, the locals, had taken her to their heart, but what would they think of her now?

She and Kevin were to be married, and she was happy about that, but she wished Bessie could turn on her second sight to tell her what the future had in store.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pearl still hadn’t gone to Mo’s to collect her things; instead she spent the whole of Sunday indoors. She felt ill with nerves, her stomach churning every time she thought about returning to the café and, after a restless night, woke heavy-eyed on Monday morning.

She forced herself to get ready, Bessie sympathetic and telling her she could still change her mind. Finally, with her head down, she emerged from the shop, feeling as though every costermonger in the market was looking at her. She didn’t look towards Derek’s stall, couldn’t bear to see his face, and was relieved to scuttle into the cafe.

‘Morning, love,’ Bernie said. ‘Dolly wants to talk to you before the others arrive, but listen, there’s something I want to ask you first. Kevin said that you threw yourself at him. Is that right?’

Pearl’s eyes rounded. ‘No, I … I didn’t throw myself at Kevin, but I do like him. When I was living in my bedsit, he came up to my room and … and it just sort of happened.’

‘Did he force you?’

She shook her head in denial, but then Dolly’s head emerged from behind the kitchen door. ‘Pearl, get in here!’

With a swift, frightened look at Bernie, Pearl hurried to do her bidding, but instead of yelling in anger, Dolly’s voice was surprisingly calm. ‘Right, to start with I’ve managed to talk Derek Lewis into keeping his hands off Kevin.’

‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that, but I … I didn’t tell him the baby was Kevin’s.’

‘Well, he knows now, and if it wasn’t for me he’d be looking for blood.’

‘What … what did you say to him?’

‘I had to convince him that my son isn’t to blame.’

‘But—’

‘If Derek thinks that Kevin took you down against your will, he’ll give him a beating. Anyway, the truth of the matter is that Kevin didn’t force you, and you can’t deny that.’

Pearl lowered her head. Dolly was right. She had allowed it to happen. She should have been more forceful in her protest, yet in reality she hadn’t really wanted Kevin to stop. She had given in too easily, and what did that make her? Self-loathing made her stomach twist. ‘No, Kevin didn’t force me, and I don’t want Derek to hurt him.

‘I should think not. Derek knows you weren’t forced, but he still wants to give Kevin a hiding. I had to concoct a story, lay the blame on you, and if you want to keep Kevin safe, you’ll just have to go along with it. It ain’t gonna be easy for you. Derek is well liked around here and you’ll probably face some aggravation, but for Kevin’s sake, keep your mouth shut.’

‘All right,’ Pearl whispered, wondering what story Dolly had come up with. She was about to ask when the woman spoke again.

‘Now, there are other things to sort out. A lot of people around here would like to see me brought low, so I don’t want them thinking I’m against this marriage.’ Her lips tightened. ‘I ain’t happy about it, but nevertheless we will all put on a happy front. Is that clear?’

Pearl bent her head in acquiescence, but then, hearing voices, Dolly spoke quickly. ‘That sounds like Madge and, despite being my cousin, she’s another one who would like to see me brought low. Mind you, I know how to put her straight. Now get that look off your face and replace it with a smile. We’re about to put on the show of our lives and make sure you follow my lead.’

With that, Dolly beckoned Pearl to follow her, and together they emerged into the dining room. ‘Morning, Madge. Have you heard the wonderful news?’

‘What news is that?’

‘Blimey, you must be the only one around here who hasn’t heard that I’m to be a grandmother. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. Of course, it’s a shame that Pearl and Kevin aren’t married yet, but that’s the way things seem to be happening nowadays and can soon be remedied.’

‘What … you’re pleased?’ Madge sputtered.

‘Why shouldn’t I be? I’m dead chuffed that Pearl is to be my daughter-in-law and, as I said, I can’t wait to be a grandmother.’

‘Well, stone the crows. I thought you’d go barmy.’

‘Oh, so you had heard?

‘Well … yeah … and I can’t believe you’re taking it so well. After all, Pearl’s engaged to Derek Lewis.’

‘Oh, that was just a fleeting thing,’ Dolly said, beaming as she placed an arm around Pearl’s shoulders, hugging her with affection as she told a few more lies. ‘You see, Pearl went out with Kevin first – in fact she threw herself at him, but they had a falling out. She didn’t think he’d take her back and that’s why she agreed to go out with Derek. Isn’t that right, Pearl?’

‘Er … yes.’

Madge frowned. ‘Going out with him is one thing, but getting engaged is another. If you ask me, it was a bit quick.’

‘Pearl tells me that she was heartbroken when she and Kevin broke up and she agreed to marry Derek on the rebound.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Madge said, her voice registering disbelief.

Dolly’s face darkened. ‘Madge, you of all people should understand. After all, when that bloke you were courting ran off, you married Eddie almost immediately.’

Madge reddened, but before she could say anything, Dolly spoke again. ‘When Pearl found out she was carrying Kevin’s baby, she told Derek and broke off the engagement. She didn’t try to pass the child off as Derek’s, unlike someone I could mention.’

Madge’s colour deepened. ‘I can’t believe you’re bringing that up after all these years. If you want to start mudslinging, I could say a few things about your hasty marriage too.’

Dolly gasped, eyes narrowing in anger, but thankfully Bernie stepped in. ‘Now come on, you two, there’s no need for this. We’re all family and should stick together.’

Obviously fighting to stem her fury, Dolly heaved in a great gulp of air. ‘Yes, Bernie’s right. I shouldn’t have said that, Madge, so let’s forget it and start again. As my husband has pointed out, we are all family, and as your marriage worked out well I’m sure you wish the same for Kevin and Pearl.’

‘Of course I do, but what you’ve told me is a different story to the one on the grapevine.’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Most people are saying that Pearl is a nice girl, and if Kevin got her pregnant it must have been against her will.’

‘That’s rubbish and I won’t stand for my son being blamed! As I said before, Pearl threw herself at Kevin. All right, he shouldn’t have taken things as far as he did, but you know what men are like, Madge. They’re not going to turn it down when it’s handed out on a plate.’

Pearl had listened quietly, but now gasped. She’d agreed to take the blame, but Dolly was making her sound awful.

Madge looked at her disdainfully, her lips curling. ‘I’m surprised at you, Pearl.’

‘Now then, Madge,’ Dolly rebuked. ‘Pearl is to be a part of this family and I don’t want you being funny with her. All right, what she did was wrong, but what’s done is done. From now on I want us all to put on a united front. I want everyone to see that we’re happy about this baby, and the forthcoming marriage.’

‘Right – if you say so, Dolly.’

‘There’s one other thing, Madge. You’ve heard what happened from the horse’s mouth, so if you hear any further gossip that Kevin is to blame, I hope you’ll put them straight.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘Good. Now then, the morning rush will be starting soon so I’d best get back to the kitchen.’

No sooner had Dolly disappeared than the first customers of the day walked into the café, taking a seat at one of Madge’s tables. ‘Well, here we go,’ she said, ‘time to tell them Dolly’s version of the truth.’

Pearl watched from under her lashes, saw the men’s quick glance in her direction, and then they began to speak earnestly to Madge. She shook her head emphatically, leaning forward as she spoke. Then, taking her pad, Madge took their order, pausing as she passed Pearl on her way to the kitchen.

‘I’ve put them straight but it didn’t go down well. Derek is well liked, and once the news spreads I reckon things are going to get tough for you. I wish you luck, girl, ’cos I think you’re gonna need it.’

Surprisingly, when Pearl saw Gertie, the woman smiled. ‘Dolly tells me that congratulations are in order.’

‘Yes, Pearl, I’ve passed on the good news to Gertie,’ Dolly said, ‘and will do the same when Mo comes in. Have you been round to her place to pack up your stuff?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘You can go tonight, but she’d better not be funny with you. You’ll be a part of this family soon and I’m not having her calling my future daughter-in-law a tart again. In fact, Kevin can go with you, and if Mo gives you any trouble she won’t have a job to come back to.’

Despite being upset by the lies Dolly had told, Pearl felt a surge of gratitude and relief. Dolly was now standing up for her and her dread of living in the same flat lessened. Maybe, just maybe, it would all be all right.

The next hour was trying, with most costermongers making their displeasure obvious. Derek Lewis was one of their own, but when Frank Hanwell came in, he gave her the first friendly greeting she had received that morning.

‘Well, I can’t say I wasn’t shocked by the news and, as you can imagine, Derek ain’t taking it too well.’

The fixed smile she had affected so far dropped, tears flooding her eyes. Frank touched her arm, his voice soft. ‘Despite the rumours, I reckon the blame lies with Kevin, not you. I never did think much of that young man. You could do with someone in your corner and it’s a shame that it’s my last morning on the market.’

‘Your last morning!’

‘Yes, love, I’m handing my pitch over to the new bloke and we’re moving to Shepherd’s Bush tomorrow. There’s a decent market there and I’ve managed to find a spot for my stall.’

Pearl lifted a hand to dash the tears away. ‘Good luck, Frank.’

‘Thanks, love. Now I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly your name is mud around here. They’re all gunning for you, but don’t worry, I’ll do my best to put them straight before I go.’

‘No, Frank! Please, don’t say anything.’

‘Why not?’

Pearl hung her head. She had to protect Kevin, but dreaded saying the words. ‘Because what you’ve been hearing is true. I am to blame.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I … I’m just sorry that Derek’s been hurt.’

‘Yeah, me too. He’s a good bloke and thought the world of you. Well, love, despite how you’ve kicked Derek in the teeth, I wish you luck. Marrying into this family, I reckon you’ll need it.’

When Pearl went into the kitchen, she saw that Mo had arrived. The woman said nothing, her expression sour, but Dolly caught the look.

‘Now listen to me, Mo,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve told you the truth of the matter and I won’t stand for you being funny with Pearl. My son is a handsome young man and you can’t blame her for throwing herself at him. She is to be a member of my family, my daughter-in-law, and I insist that you show her some respect.’

‘Respect! You want me to show that tart respect?’

‘Be careful, Mo. You’re not irreplaceable, so either change your attitude or get out.’

Mo’s body straightened and, hands on hips, she glared at her employer. ‘I’ve stood a lot from you over the years, Dolly Dolby, but this is the last straw. On Saturday you agreed that Pearl was a tart, but now all of a sudden I’m supposed to believe that you’re thrilled to bits that she’s having Kevin’s baby. You say she agreed to marry Derek on the rebound, but I ain’t stupid. The dates don’t work out so think on that before you spread your lies.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that? Get out!’

‘Don’t worry, I’m going.’ And turning to glare at Pearl she spat out more venom. ‘Have you forgotten the night you went dancing with my daughter? Kevin was there and accused you of being a tart. He told my Emma that you were easy, but like fools we didn’t believe him. Well, miss, he was right, and if you want your things, you’ll find them outside by my dustbin. I don’t want the likes of you putting a foot over my doorstep again.’

‘Get out!’ Dolly screamed again, her voice bouncing off the walls.

Mo grabbed her coat, brushing past Gertie as she almost ran out of the back door. For a moment there was silence, but then Dolly exhaled loudly. ‘Now I’m stuck without a vegetable cook.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Right, Pearl, ask Madge to come in here. I might be able to persuade her to take over for the time being, but it’ll mean you’ll have to manage the tables on your own.’

‘Please, can I do the vegetables? I’d rather be out here than in the dining room.’

‘Are you having a hard time of it?’

Pearl nodded, her breath held as Dolly cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you know how to cook?’

‘No, not really, but you know I’m a fast learner.’

Dolly threw a glance at Gertie, speaking softly so the woman wouldn’t hear, ‘Yeah, you’re fast all right,’ she said sarcastically, ‘and you’re carrying Kevin’s child to prove it.’ She puffed loudly. ‘All right, you can work out here, but I’ll still need to talk to Madge. She might not take kindly to the extra tables. Go and get her.’

Madge agreed to do Pearl’s tables, but only if she was given a pound a week more. Tutting her impatience, Dolly showed Pearl how to prepare the vegetables for the lunchtime rush.

Pearl didn’t mind, she was just pleased to be away from the customers. As she picked up yet another potato to peel, she tried to forget the snide remark Dolly had made. Dolly had said she was to be a part of the family, her daughter-in-law, and had stood up for her against Mo. Everything had happened so quickly and it must have been a terrible shock for Dolly. Once she and Kevin were married things would settle down, and surely then it would be all right.

Pearl had more to face when she finished her shift. Kevin was out, Dolly telling her to go back to Bessie’s until he returned to take her to the registry office.

It was freezing as Pearl stepped outside. Hurriedly turning up the collar of her coat, she made to cross the street.

Connie Lewis suddenly loomed in front of her, blocking the path. ‘I want a word a word with you, my girl,’ she spat.

‘Please, Connie, let me pass.’

‘Not until I’ve had my say. You’ve ruined my Derek’s life – made a laughing stock of him – and I hope I live to see you pay.’

‘I … I didn’t mean to hurt him.’

‘Don’t give me that crap. You’d hardly been in the area for five minutes before you threw yourself at Derek. I had my suspicions from the start, but you took me in with your innocent act.’

‘Honestly, Connie, I really didn’t mean to hurt him.’

‘Then why did you sleep with Kevin Dolby?’

‘I … I …’ Pearl floundered.

‘Don’t bother looking for an excuse because there isn’t one. I’ve sussed you out and I know why. You’re nothing but a user! You took up with my Derek, but only to keep him on the side in case you couldn’t snare Kevin Dolby. If your little trap hadn’t worked, you’d have married Derek as the second-best meal ticket, and no doubt made his life a misery. Well, miss, you’ve got Kevin, so it seems your scheme worked but, knowing that young man, I reckon you’ll live to regret it.’

‘No … please, it wasn’t like that,’ Pearl protested, hardly recognising the woman who stood in front of her. Connie had been like a mother to her, a woman she had grown so fond of, but now all she saw in Connie’s eyes was hate.

‘Shut up, you bitch!’ Connie screamed.

‘Gran, come on, that’s enough,’ Derek called as he ran towards them.

‘Enough?’ Connie snapped. ‘I ain’t even started yet.’

‘Yeah, go on, Connie, give her what for,’ a costermonger called from the small crowd that had gathered.

Pearl looked around frantically, wanting only escape, but before she could move she felt the sting of Connie’s hand across her face. She heard a small cheer, saw Derek staying his gran’s hand as she lifted it again, and then, seeing a small gap, she ran through it, sobbing as she flew to Bessie’s with Connie’s words ringing in her ears.

Her steps faltered. It was true, she had used Derek, but not for the reason that Connie had spewed out. She looked back at her time in the orphanage and the way she’d always found someone to protect her. With deep shame Pearl realised she had done the same thing here. She had sought Derek out – sought his protection – and though not to keep him on the side, she had used him for her own ends. She ran into Bessie’s, ignoring the old woman’s shout as she fled to her room, throwing herself onto the bed as self-loathing swamped her.

Only fifteen minutes later, she heard Bessie calling, ‘Come down, girl. Kevin’s here to take you to the registry office.’

Lacklustre, Pearl rose from the bed, finding Kevin waiting impatiently when she walked into the shop.

‘Come on, we ain’t got much time before they close.’

‘Pearl, are you sure about this?’ Bessie asked.

‘What’s it to do with you?’ Kevin snapped.

‘Huh, take a look at her. Does she look like a girl who’s happily going to arrange her wedding?’

‘It’s all right, Bessie, I’m fine, honestly,’ Pearl said, managing a parody of a smile. She briefly touched the old woman’s arm to reassure her, and then followed Kevin outside to his car.

‘Look at that lot gawking,’ Kevin said as they drove off. ‘Anyway, why the long face?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Pearl said.

‘Well then, give us a smile.’

Pearl turned and as their eyes briefly met, she managed to force her lips into the semblance of one.

‘That’s better,’ he said, his eyes back on the road. ‘For a moment there you looked like a lamb going to slaughter.’

He concentrated on his driving then, speaking briefly about the arrangements, whilst Pearl hardly listened. She was an awful person, dreadful, hurting a man who had shown her only kindness. Oh, Derek – Derek, what have I done …?

‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Pearl, what’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing, it’s nothing.’

‘Well, if you want to change your mind, now’s the time to do it. We’re almost at the registry office.’

For a moment Pearl was tempted. She wanted to run, to hide. To never have to face Derek, or Connie, again.

‘Well, girl,’ Kevin asked as he pulled into the kerb, ‘what’s it to be?’

She turned to look at him, her thoughts still racing. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t run. She was carrying Kevin’s baby, he was the father and she needed him. Maybe there was a way out. When they were married, perhaps she could persuade Kevin to find a job out of the area. ‘I don’t want to change my mind.’

‘Right, come on then, let’s get this wedding booked.’

He smiled, and Pearl’s stomach fluttered. He was so handsome, and he was being so nice, but things changed when they walked into the registry office.

The wedding proved difficult to arrange, neither of them anticipating that with Pearl being underage, without a birth certificate, or parental permission, there’d be complications. Legal advice was suggested, and when they left the registry office Kevin was in a foul mood.

He flung open the car door. ‘Christ, that was a complete waste of time and I don’t see how a solicitor can help. He won’t be able to conjure up a flaming birth certificate out of thin air.’

Pearl hung her head, thinking it was no more than she deserved. Derek’s face returned to haunt her, the pain she had seen in his eyes. She had hurt him badly and still couldn’t get Connie Lewis’s words out of her mind.

They drove back to Battersea in silence, Kevin’s mood still dark, and as they turned into the yard at the back of the café, he finally spoke.

‘Come on, we’d better get this over with and tell my mother.’

They sat in the living room, Dolly saying after they explained what had happened, ‘They must know what they’re talking about if they suggested legal advice, but a solicitor’s going to cost a pretty penny. Have you got any savings, Pearl?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘Bloody hell, I ain’t made of money, but I suppose I’ll have to pay. You’d better make an appointment tomorrow and let’s hope it doesn’t take long to sort out.’ She scowled. ‘More bloody expense. Take her home, Kevin. I’ve had enough for one day.‘

Pearl rose to her feet, her shoulders slumped as she left the room. They made their way downstairs and as Kevin unlocked the door a blast of cold air hit them.

‘You don’t need me to walk you home – there’s no point in both of us freezing – and I ain’t too pleased about all this either. I was hoping to tap my mother for a few bob, but I ain’t got a hope in hell now.’

She nodded, just wanting to get away from Kevin and his nasty mood. He was upset, and she couldn’t blame him, but as he closed the door behind her, she almost ran back to Bessie’s.

Bessie was sitting by the fire, one side of her face red from the heat.

‘Blimey, what’s up, love?’

There was concern and sympathy in the old woman’s eyes and seeing this, Pearl flopped onto a chair. She then spilled her misery out in a torrent – the run-in with Connie Lewis, followed by what had happened at the registry office.

Bessie said nothing, letting her cry until there were just juddering sobs. She then leaned forward, saying softly, ‘Come on now. A solicitor will soon sort things out.’

Pearl drew in another shuddering breath. ‘If he doesn’t, it’s no more than I deserve.’

‘Don’t be silly. You can’t beat yourself up over the things Connie Lewis said.

‘She’s right. I … I’m not a nice person.’

‘Rubbish. You were only a child in that orphanage and did what you had to in order to survive. It doesn’t make you a bad person.’

Pearl looked tiredly at Bessie. ‘But I still carried on when I left. I wanted protection and Derek seemed an ideal choice.’

‘Gawd, love, I wish you’d stop being so hard on yourself. When you left the orphanage you were still a youngster and had to strike out on your own. You came to a new area without any friends or family, and of course you were nervous. It’s a bit rough around here and it ain’t surprising that you felt the need for someone to look out for you.’

‘But that doesn’t make it right.’

‘I’m not saying it does, I’m just saying it’s understandable. Listen, girl, we all make mistakes, but hopefully we learn from them. You’ve had a hard lesson and you can let it sink you, or you can take it on board and grow.’

‘How can I do that when I’ve ruined Derek’s life?’

‘Look, you can’t change what’s happened. Derek will get over it in time, and, who knows, eventually he might meet someone else.’

‘Oh, I hope so, Bessie.’

‘He’s a nice bloke, and though not much to look at, I’m sure someone out there will appreciate his good nature. Now come on, buck yourself up. As I said, you’ve had a hard lesson, one to teach you that you can’t hide behind someone else. You’ve got to stand on your own two feet.’

Pearl’s nod of agreement was half-hearted. It was impossible – she’d never have the courage. It was women she feared now, especially the likes of Connie Lewis, Mo Price and her future mother-in-law. Oh, if only she could get Dolly to like her, to establish a good relationship. Nobody messed with Dolly and it would be wonderful to have the woman batting on her side.

Derek Lewis stepped out of the dark doorway, the lamplight hitting his face as he threw a last glance up at Bessie’s window before moving away. He was being stupid, he knew that, but was unable to stop himself from shadowing Pearl. She hadn’t left Bessie’s house during the whole weekend, but still he’d watched.

When Pearl emerged that morning, he’d only had a brief glimpse of her before she ran into the café. Then when she finished her shift he’d been horrified to see his gran attacking her. He’d stepped in to break it up, but Pearl hadn’t even looked his way, and that had hurt. Christ, he was being a mug and he knew that, but he just couldn’t get Pearl out of his mind.

Everyone was now saying that Pearl was a tart, and she was pregnant to prove it, but he still had doubts. He wanted a word with Kevin, to hear his side of the story, but the bastard was keeping his head down. Derek threw a look towards the café, and his shoulders lifted. There he was now, and moving swiftly Derek covered the distance between them.

‘I want a word with you,’ he growled.

‘Look, Derek, none of this was my fault,’ Kevin said hastily.

‘Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told, but I’d like to hear it from you. If you’re so innocent, how come you’ve been avoiding me?’

‘I haven’t. I just didn’t want to rub salt in the wound, that’s all. Christ, mate, we go back years and I knew how cut up you’d be.’

‘Yeah, right, so how come you had it off with my girl?’

‘’Cos, like you, I was taken for a mug. Pearl told me that it was over between the two of you, and I believed her.’

‘You could have checked that with me first.’

‘Yeah, maybe, but at the time she was stripping off, and naked Pearl’s hard to resist. She threw herself at me like a cat on heat.’

Derek pictured the scene, feeling sick to his stomach, but then shook his head in denial. ‘That doesn’t sound like Pearl.’

‘I was shocked too. She looks such an innocent, but she ain’t, mate, and if you must know, I wasn’t the first either.’

‘You … you mean …?’

‘Yeah, believe me, she was no virgin.’

Derek found himself gawking. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ve had enough women to know.’

Yeah, Derek thought, that was true enough. With his looks, Kevin had never been short of women. Everyone was right then: Pearl was a tart. He felt a wave of disgust. ‘Christ, I could do with a drink.’

‘Come on, I’ll buy you a pint,’ Kevin said. ‘I could do with one too, and you should think yourself lucky. At least you ain’t stuck with marrying her.’

‘Yeah, I’m beginning to think you’re right,’ Derek said, deciding that Kevin was welcome to her, yet even as this thought crossed his mind he knew it would still take him a long time to get over Pearl Button.

Chapter Twenty-Six

When Pearl saw a solicitor, there had been no swift solution. He had written to the orphanage and was now awaiting their reply. He also advised that without a birth certificate, the only way forward was to swear an affidavit. When asking what this meant, he explained that it was a sworn oath, in his presence, that she was the person she claimed to be. It sounded a daft procedure to Pearl, but one that she complied with.

It was now the eve of Christmas and Pearl was on her way to work, something she dreaded every day. As she scuttled out of Bessie’s door and into the market, she kept her head low, but as usual there were murmurs as soon as the costermongers saw her. She glanced up from under her lashes, saw Derek turn his back as she passed, the man beside him doing the same. Derek would never forgive her – Dolly’s story had seen to that – but she missed him and his gran.

To keep Kevin safe she had gone along with Dolly’s lies, but it didn’t seem possible that only a short time ago she had felt a part of this community. Now she was an outcast. A costermonger hawked, the globule landing in front of Pearl’s feet, and as she began to run, her stomach heaved.

‘Yeah, that’s it, do a runner, and keep going until you’re out of Battersea,’ the man shouted.

‘Yeah, you tell her, Billy,’ a woman customer cried.

Still fleeing, Pearl flung open the door of the café, almost falling inside. She didn’t stop until she reached the kitchen, her breath coming in gasps as she pulled up in front of Dolly.

‘Huh, judging by the state of you, I can see that the locals haven’t stopped giving you a hard time.’

‘Some of them are still spitting at me.’

Unsympathetic, Dolly shrugged her shoulders. ‘As soon as they find another bit of gossip to titillate them, they’ll lay off. In the meantime you’ll just have to put up with it. Now I suggest you get on with the spuds.’

Pearl hung her coat up, after which she started to peel the potatoes. She had learned how to cook vegetables competently now and, glad to be out of the way, had no wish to return to the dining room. However, despite trying to please Dolly, she’d been unable to make any grounds. Her future mother-in-law continued to pretend that everything was fine when anyone else was in hearing range, but alone she dropped the act and made her feelings plain. Pearl knew she’d have to try harder, but despite always being polite and working hard, nothing she said or did seemed to please Dolly.

‘Come on, Pearl, get a move on, and when you’ve finished the spuds, get on with the carrots.’

Pearl increased her efforts, surprised when Dolly spoke again, this time pleasantly. ‘It’ll be nice to have a couple of days off, and I’ll expect you for Christmas dinner tomorrow. In fact, if you come over at about eleven you can give me a hand.‘

‘I … I won’t be joining you for dinner.’

‘Do what?’

‘I can’t leave Bessie. She’s poorly.’

‘If you’re angling to bring her along, you can forget it. I can’t stand the woman. Now as I said, I’ll expect you at eleven.’

Pearl stomach quaked, dreading a confrontation but, worried about Bessie, she had no choice. ‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t come. Bessie’s in bed and needs looking after. I can’t leave her on her own.’

‘She’s on her own now, ain’t she?’

‘A neighbour is keeping an eye on her, but can’t do it on Christmas Day.’

Dolly’s face suffused with colour, but before she could say anything, Gertie came out of the washing-up room.

‘I’ve finished all the breakfast dishes, Dolly. Can I have a break now?’

‘Yes, of course you can. Get yourself a cup of tea and fetch one for me and Pearl while you’re at it.’

Gertie hurried out, almost colliding with Kevin as he pushed through the doors. He swaggered up to Pearl, flinging an arm around her shoulders. ‘Hello, love. Did you hear from the solicitor this morning?’

‘There was nothing in the post.’

‘Sod it. Well, that’s that. We won’t hear now until the New Year.’

‘If this goes on much longer, she’ll be huge by the time you get married.’ Dolly snapped.

Pearl looked down at her stomach, seeing the tiny mound. Kevin followed her gaze, a small frown creasing his forehead. ‘I hope not, Mum.’

‘Let’s hope he gets a move on then. Now if you don’t mind, Pearl’s got work to do.’

‘All right, I’m off out.’ He gave Pearl another swift hug, ignoring his mother’s scowl as he left by the back door.

Pearl, though, couldn’t ignore Dolly’s attitude. The woman hated Kevin to show her any affection and once again Pearl was filled with dread at the thought of living in the same flat as Dolly. If Kevin would find a job, they could move away, but he avoided the subject of work. Maybe she should talk to him again – but not in Dolly’s hearing.

When the new administrator started work at the orphanage, she faced a pile of work on her desk, but was gradually ploughing through it. Today, in answer to a letter, she had to search the records. She had found a thin file on Pearl Button, but there was little to read. It was odd that the child had never been placed into foster care, and there’d been no applications to adopt. If she’d been mentally deficient it would have been understandable, these children always difficult to place, but looking at the sparse reports on Pearl’s educational progress, this didn’t seem to be the case.

In an endeavour to find out more about the girl, she had questioned members of staff, finding two who remembered her. Pearl Button had been described as nervous and quiet, but neither said she lacked intelligence.

The administrator picked up the letter from the solicitor again. It seemed that Pearl Button wanted to marry and he was enquiring if there were any relatives on record. There were none.

With a sigh she picked up her pen. There wasn’t much she could tell the man. Pearl Button’s records said that she’d been abandoned, the date, but that was all. The sparse letter completed, she blotted it, and after addressing the envelope she put it on one side for the post.

With a vast amount of paperwork in front of her, the administrator now put the girl’s file to one side and tackled her next problem.

As Kevin drove along Falcon Road he was remembering how he’d been against the marriage at first, but it had been the thought of having Pearl in his bed every night that changed his mind. Now though, she was showing, her stomach starting to swell, and he doubted he’d fancy her for much longer. Christ, he hoped they’d hear from the solicitor soon, but when they married he’d see that his lifestyle didn’t change. Unlike his father, he’d show his wife who was the boss from the start. His face darkened, realising there’d be little chance of that whilst they lived with his mother. She still treated him like a child, and ruled with a rod of iron. Not only that, if he showed Pearl any affection his mother acted like a jealous girlfriend, and it sickened him. He wanted away from her, to be the man of his own house, but without money it was impossible.

Once again he dreamed of one big job, one that would net him thousands instead of hundreds. The last two he’d done with Nobby and Dick hadn’t been bad, but by the time they fenced the gear through Vince and split the cash three ways, they’d each been left with peanuts. His lips tightened in anger. That bastard Vince had the borough sewn up. He didn’t take the risks, leaving others to do that, but he was making a mint.

If he could find a job, and a good one, there was no way he’d fence the goods through Vince. It would solve his problems if he could find a cash haul, but needed an easy target. Small shops were useless, their takings hardly worth the risk, and of course robbing a bank would be impossible. His mind turned. If only he could find somewhere that held a lot of cash on premises, yet had little security. Huh, fat chance of that!

Fighting to suppress his frustration, Kevin’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He badly needed a trip to Soho, but his mother was keeping him short of money. He knew why. The cow. She was punishing him for getting Pearl pregnant.

When she finished her shift, Pearl was relieved to find the walk home from work trouble free, the market still buzzing with life as people rushed to do last-minute shopping. There were many unsold Christmas trees, men pursing their lips and vying for a bargain as they made their selections. It was freezing, a blustery wind blowing, but the costermongers were wrapped up warmly, their voices ringing out as they tried to sell the last of their Brussels sprouts, parsnips and carrots, each trying to shout louder than the others. Pearl would have liked to have stopped to buy a few things, but feared her reception as she hurried past.

She went straight upstairs to see Bessie, finding her huddled in bed with a scarf around her neck, and not looking much better.

‘Thank the Lord you’re back,’ she croaked. Then fishing for her hot-water bottle, she held it out. ‘I’m bleedin’ freezing and her next door hasn’t been in for hours.’

‘I’ll refill it,’ Pearl said as she looked worriedly at the old lady.

‘Make me a cup of tea while you’re at it,’ Bessie managed to choke out before a bout of coughing had her gasping for breath.

‘I think you should see the doctor again.’

‘No, I’ll be all right. Pass me them fags.’

‘I don’t think you should be smoking.’

‘Leave it out. It’s a bit late to stop now, and anyway, a good cough helps to clear me chest.’

Pearl’s eyebrows rose but, knowing it would be pointless to argue, she hurried to the kitchen. At least Bessie was showing some spirit, which was an improvement on yesterday.

If Bessie hadn’t felt so ill, there was no way she’d have stayed in bed, and even now she complained constantly about the shop being shut and her loss of trade.

Pearl looked in the cupboards. She wanted to persuade Bessie to eat something, and pulled out a tin of soup.

In no time Pearl was on her way back upstairs with the hot-water bottle tucked under her arm as she carefully balanced a tray.

Bessie refused the soup, only taking the cup of tea. ‘It’s gonna be a bleak Christmas for you. I’d planned to cook us a nice dinner and maybe stick up a few decorations, but I just ain’t been up to it.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Still, I expect you’ve been invited to Dolly Dolby’s.’

‘Yes, but I’m staying with you.’

‘There’s no need for that. At least at Dolly’s you’ll get a decent Christmas dinner.’

‘I’m staying with you,’ Pearl repeated firmly.

Bessie sighed heavily. ‘All right, and you’re a good kid. I’m gonna miss you when you get married.’

‘I’ll miss you too, but don’t worry, I’ll pop over to see you as often as I can.’

Bessie patted the back of Pearl’s hand. ‘I know you will. As I told you, we were destined to meet.’

‘Yes, but what else has your second sight shown you?’

‘Nothing,’ Bessie said, her rheumy eyes becoming veiled. ‘Now bugger off and leave me in peace.’

‘I will when you’ve had your medicine.’

The old lady’s lips tightened with annoyance, causing Pearl to smile as she poured cough mixture into a teaspoon. Unmarried, with no living family, Bessie was fiercely independent and resented having to be nursed. She put on a hard and cantankerous front, but Pearl knew this was just a veneer that hid her kind, soft nature.

Pearl held the spoon to Bessie’s lips. ‘Here, drink this and I’ll go, but I’ll be up to check on you again.’

The old woman grimaced as she swallowed the medicine. ‘Yuk.’

Pearl pulled the blankets over Bessie, saying as she left, ‘I’ll be back soon.’

Bessie just nodded, her eyes already drooping, and when Pearl went into the living room she found it freezing. She hurried to light a fire, screwing up old newspaper to place in the grate. After adding kindling, and a few nuggets of coal, she was pleased when it lit straight away.

After waiting a few minutes, Pearl piled on more coal, and then sank onto a fireside chair, holding her hands out to the warmth. The flames flickered and danced merrily, mesmerising Pearl as time ticking by.

Reluctantly Pearl finally stood up, her legs mottled and red with heat as she went to check on Bessie, finding the old woman asleep. She peeped in on her several times during the next few hours, and then just before seven a knock on the shop door had her hurrying downstairs to see who it was.

A smile lit her face. ‘Kevin,’ she cried, thrilled when he gave her a swift kiss as he stepped inside.

As Kevin walked into the living room he was surprised to find it empty. ‘Where’s Bessie?’

‘She’s in bed with bronchitis.’

‘So – we have the place to ourselves.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’

Kevin smiled with satisfaction. He and Pearl had only been alone in his car, and in the small space it was unsatisfactory. When he called round to Bessie’s, she never left them alone, and his mother was the same. It maddened him. The silly bitches didn’t seem to realise that they were bolting the stable door after the horse had bolted. He lowered himself onto the sofa, arms outstretched. ‘Come here.’

As Pearl sat down, Kevin kissed her passionately, and as usual she melted against him. So far he had resisted revealing his preferences, deciding that he didn’t want to frighten her off, but once they were married she’d learn a thing or two. He’d dominate, show what a man he was. With Pearl he always felt in control, but that wasn’t enough. With his need to overpower, he wanted resistance, but she was always so soft and compliant.

‘Kevin, have you had any luck finding a job? I really do want to move away from here.’

‘I’m looking, but I ain’t working for peanuts.’

‘I can work too.’

‘Oh, yeah? And what about when you drop the sprog?’

‘Others manage.’

‘Look, I’ve told you I’m trying to find a job, so just shut up about it.’

‘All right. I’m sorry.’

Pleased that she didn’t nag, he smiled. ‘Come on, we’re on our own so let’s make the most of it.’ His head dipped, once again kissing her passionately, nipping her lower lip and hoping to hear a yelp of pain.

There was no resistance and his frustration mounted. He paid the girl in Soho to fight, to beg for mercy, and God, he missed it.

Pearl snuggled up to him again, but he pushed her roughly away. She was bloody useless! Her eyes widened, and on such a short fuse it was enough to set him off. He growled as he grabbed her, his teeth sinking brutally into her neck.

‘Ouch! No, don’t, you’re hurting me!’

The fear in her voice drove away the last of his common sense. She had dared to protest and he loved it. ‘Shut up and get on the floor,’ he snarled.

‘Wh … what?’

‘I said get on the floor.’ Kevin shoved Pearl off the sofa and as she landed with a thump he swiftly knelt over her, laughing gleefully at the shocked expression on her face. Without preamble he yanked up her skirt, his eyes feasting for a moment on the bare skin that gleamed whitely where her stocking tops ended. Then, unable to wait, he tore at her underwear.

Pearl’s hands fought to hold him off. ‘Stop it – oh, please, Kevin, stop!’

Her white face staring at him wide-eyed with fear spurred him on. He raised a hand, slapping her across the mouth. ‘Shut up – bitch!’

With another yank her knickers came apart, and as she cried out again he fumbled with his trousers. With a swift movement he thrust into her, grinning with delight at her yelp of pain.

She writhed in protest beneath him, increasing his enjoyment until he lost control. He was in a world of his own now, pounding into her without mercy, but it was quick – too quick. Disgusted, he flopped on top of her for a moment before rolling onto his side.

Pearl scrambled away, rising quickly to her feet, hands held over her mouth in horror as she stared at him. As he rose to his feet, she cried out in fear, ‘No … no, don’t come near me!’

It was the terror in her voice that suddenly brought him to his senses. He wanted Pearl as his wife, a wife he could rule, but now he may have blown it. ‘Christ, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘That … that was like rape.’

Kevin wanted to laugh, but fought to keep his face straight. Little did she know that it had been tame compared to what he got up to in Soho.

It was play-acting there, he knew that, but by paying for it he was able to resist his urges. Urges that made him want to rape women – to hurt them – to make them see that he was a man.

At seventeen years old he’d done it, attacked a girl, but he’d nearly been caught. After that he’d been too scared to try it again, yet deep inside he knew that if he hadn’t discovered Soho, his needs would eventually have driven him to strike again.

Kevin now took a deep breath, forcing himself to look sheepish as his eyes met Pearl’s. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘Why did you hurt me like that?’ she sobbed, tears beginning to role down her cheeks.

His mind raced, struggling to find words, finally able to find a lie. ‘I don’t know, but I think it was suppressed anger. Anger that I’m being forced into marriage.’

Pearl’s face was red and blotched, her clothes dishevelled, and her voice quavering as she spoke. ‘But … but we talked about this, and I said I’m not forcing you.’

‘I know,’ Kevin said, shaking his head as though in a quandary, ‘and I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that we’re never alone, and it’s been driving me mad. If it ain’t Bessie, it’s my mother, and I’m sick of it.’ He moved towards her, but she cowered away, her hands frantic as she straightened her skirt.

‘Please,’ she begged, ‘don’t touch me, and … and I don’t think I want to marry you now.’

He stepped forward again, feeling her flinch as he dragged her into his arms. ‘Don’t say that, Pearl.’

Her body was rigid as he held her. ‘I … I was so frightened.’

‘I know you were, and I’m really sorry.’ Kevin hid a scowl. He hated this, hated having to grovel.

‘Please, let me go,’ she begged.

Shit, he thought. Now what? Desperate times called for desperate measures and though loath to say the words, he forced them from his mouth. ‘Pearl, please, I love you and don’t want to lose you.’

She drew back, her eyes wide. ‘You … you love me?’

Unwilling to utter the words again, he just gave a slight nod, only saying, ‘I really didn’t mean to hurt you.’

At last he felt her body relax. ‘Oh Kevin, I love you too, but you really frightened me. And … and you could have hurt the baby.’

He blanched. Christ, hurting a woman was one thing, but a baby! He had hardly given the child she was carrying a thought but now, with sickening clarity, it hit him. The baby was his – his son or daughter. ‘Is it all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I think so.’

He gently ushered her towards the sofa. ‘You’d better sit down. Are you in any pain?’

‘No, well, I feel a bit bruised.’

‘I hope I haven’t hurt it. Maybe I should run you to hospital?’

‘I … I don’t think there’s any need for that.’

He paced the room, his hands raking through his hair, and moments later asked, ‘Any pain yet?’

‘No,’ she said, touching her tummy.

He looked at the slight swell worriedly.’ Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

He stopped pacing to kneel at her side. ‘Thank God for that! We must have a tough little bugger in there.’

For the first time a slight smile played across her lips and, seeing it, he enfolded her in his arms. ‘Pearl, I really am sorry. Say you’ll still marry me.’

‘I … I don’t know. You’re so changeable and it scares me.’

‘I know I can be a moody bugger, but I can change. It’s my mother, Pearl. You know what she’s like and she drives me mad. Once we’re in our own place, I’ll be fine.’

‘Do you really love me?’

‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘and I’ll never do that again. I don’t want to risk hurting our baby.’

She was quiet then and he held his breath, slumping with relief when she said, ‘All right, I’ll still marry you, but please, Kevin, find a job soon so we can move away from here.’

‘Don’t worry, I will.’

He held her gently, but hearing a thump on the ceiling, they drew apart. ‘That’s Bessie,’ Pearl said. ‘I’ll have to see what she wants.’

‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. I expect she wants her hot-water bottle filled again.’

Kevin solicitously held her arm as she stood up, watching as she left the room. From now on he’d be gentle with Pearl, but to hold back the demons he’d somehow have to raise the money to go to Soho. Of course after the baby was born, it would be a different matter.

Pearl was still in a daze as she walked upstairs, her mind distracted as she went into Bessie’s bedroom.

‘Something woke me,’ the old lady complained. ‘I thought I heard voices. Is someone down there?’

‘Yes, it’s Kevin.’

‘What’s that on your cheek? It looks like a hand mark. Have you been crying?’

Pearl flushed, her hand rising to touch her face.

‘Did he hit you?’ Bessie demanded.

‘We … we had a bit of a row.’

‘That’s no excuse. I’ve got no time for men who lay into women. If he’s hitting you now, I dread to think what he’ll be like when you get married. If you’ve got any sense you’ll call it off.’

‘No, it’s all right. He promised he won’t do it again.’

‘Huh, and pigs might fly. Listen, girl, you don’t have to marry Kevin Dolby. Stay here with me and we’ll manage all right. Who knows, with your fresh eyes we may be able to come up with a way to drum up a bit more business.’

‘Don’t worry, Bessie, I’ll be all right. Kevin said he loves me and I love him too. If we can find a place of our own, I know we’ll be happy.’

‘Well, it’s up to you, but I still think you’re making a mistake.’

Pearl bent to straighten Bessie’s blankets, her mind turning. It had been awful, the sex brutal, Kevin’s face a mask of anger as he took her. Yet afterwards he had been so contrite and his explanation was plausible. She could understand that Dolly drove him mad, and once away from her he’d be fine. Kevin had been so worried about the baby, and not only that, he had said the words she’d been longing to hear. He loved her – he really did, and her heart soared. Soon she would have what she’d always dreamed of. A home and family of her own. She smiled. Three children would be nice …

Then Bessie coughed loudly and Pearl looked at her with concern. ‘Your chest still sounds bad. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘No, but I want that young man out of my house. It isn’t right that you’re alone down there, and I don’t trust him.’

‘Bessie, I’m having his baby and we’ll be married soon. I think it’s a bit late to worry about a chaperone.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I don’t want him left on his own to nose about. He’d rob me as soon as look at me.’

‘How can you say that? Of course he wouldn’t rob you.’

‘I’ve heard rumours about him and what he gets up to with that Nobby Clark. Now do as I say and get him out of my house.’

Pearl wanted to argue, but Bessie’s hacking cough started again and she didn’t want to upset her any further. ‘All right, calm down. I’ll ask him to go.’

She hurried from the room, hoping that Kevin wouldn’t be upset at having to leave, but the old lady’s words played on her mind. Bessie had implied that Kevin was a thief. Pearl shook her head in denial. Of course he wasn’t. Yet even as her mind dismissed it, she couldn’t help thinking about the cartons of cigarettes she’d seen in Nobby Clark’s shop. Had Kevin been involved?

Doubts about the marriage rose again, but as she walked into the living room, Kevin spoke anxiously.

‘Are you all right? You’re not in any pain, are you?’

Pearl grabbed at his words. Bessie wanted him to leave, and now a way lay open, one that she took. ‘No, I’m not in any pain, but I am feeling a bit tired. Perhaps I should have an early night.’

‘Yes, do that. I’ll go now, but I’ll be over first thing in the morning.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘Yes there is,’ he said, touching her tummy lightly. ‘That’s my son’s in there and I want to make sure he’s all right.’

Pearl found herself smiling, pleased that he was showing such concern. ‘Or your daughter.’

He grinned. ‘A girl, eh? No, I reckon it’s a boy.’

‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

‘Go on, go to bed,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the tip of her nose. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

Pearl nodded, her heart melting as, for a moment, Kevin held her gently.

‘We’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ he said, giving her a final soft kiss before leaving.

She heard his footsteps on the stairs, the shop door closing, and smiled. Despite everything, she loved him, and now fought to dismiss the worries from her mind. Kevin said they’d be all right, and she believed him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was mid-February before all the legalities were sorted out, allowing Pearl and Kevin to marry. The registry office had originally said that she wasn’t old enough to marry without permission, but without relatives the solicitor had finally sorted it out, presenting the affidavit and the reply from the orphanage to the registrar.

During this time, any doubts that Pearl had about Kevin were laid to rest. He was being so kind, so gentle, and on the rare occasions they were able to make love, he was careful and considerate. He was still looking for a job, he assured her, one out of the area, but so far hadn’t found one with decent pay. She was disappointed, but he told her to be patient, saying that he didn’t want her or the baby to want for anything and a well-paid job was sure to turn up soon.

Though most of the locals still refused to speak to her, the awful earlier animosity had eased, though Derek still turned his back when he saw her. She’d hurt him so much and it weighed heavily on her mind, but despite this, her love for Kevin deepened.

She hadn’t made any headway with Dolly, but now that she was finally to marry Kevin, her worry eased. He would be her husband and was sure to stand up for her against his mother.

‘Well, girl, are you ready?’ Bessie asked on the morning of the wedding.

‘Yes,’ Pearl said, with a last look in the mirror. Although it was a registry office wedding, with only Dolly, Bernie and two witnesses in attendance, she still wanted to look nice. At five months pregnant she had been thrilled to find a cream swagger coat amongst Bessie’s stock, one that hid her growing lump.

The marriage was to take place at ten thirty, but with Dolly refusing to close the café for more than a few hours, there would be no wedding breakfast. Instead, Dolly and Bernie were returning to the café, opening at twelve thirty for the lunchtime session.

Pearl’s head was spinning. It had been a frantic morning. She’d been up at the crack of dawn, hurrying to work at five o’clock to prepare all the vegetables in advance. Gertie and Madge had been roped in to cook them, and with the rest of the menu partly prepared, they had only to put the trays in the oven ready for Dolly’s return.

Pearl now put on a tiny pillbox hat before picking up her handbag. ‘Do I look all right, Bessie?’

‘Yeah, but if you ask me it’s a funny sort of wedding. No reception, no honeymoon, and you ain’t even carrying flowers.’

‘I know, but it doesn’t matter. Dolly has given me the rest of the day off and Kevin is taking me out to lunch.’

‘Huh, big deal. Tell me, when you’re back to work in the kitchen tomorrow, what will Kevin be doing?’

‘Bessie, please, don’t start again. I’m sure he’ll find a job soon.’

There was a knock on the street door, the old lady speaking quickly as she grabbed Pearl’s arm. ‘It isn’t too late to change your mind.’

Pearl saw the anxiety etched on Bessie’s face and bent to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I know I thanked you last night for letting me stay with you, but I’m going to miss you so much.’

‘I’ll miss you too, but you never know – you may be back.’

‘Back! What do you mean? Is it your second sight?’

‘Now then, don’t look at me like that. It’s just wishful thinking from a silly old woman. I’ve grown fond of you, girl.’

The knock was louder this time. ‘I’d best go, but I’ll be over to see you as soon as I can.’

Kevin stood impatiently on the doorstep. ‘Blimey, Pearl, you took your time. If we don’t get a move on we’ll be late.’

‘Sorry, I was saying goodbye to Bessie. I wish she was coming with us.’

‘Mum didn’t want any fuss, and once you start sending out invitations, where do you stop? It’s better this way.’

He took her arm, leading her to his car, where she saw Dolly and Bernie sitting in the back. It was only Bernie who remarked on her appearance, saying kindly, ‘You look nice, Pearl.’

Dolly was wearing a fitted, brown coat with a turban-style hat that hid every inch of her hair. She looked severe, grim, and nervously Pearl said, ‘You look nice too, Dolly.’

She didn’t respond, and as Pearl settled, Kevin closed the door. He walked round to the driver’s side, saying as he climbed in and gunned the engine to life, ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road.’

As they drove through the market many eyes were watching. Pearl had a brief glimpse of Derek, thought he was hurrying towards them, but then they turned the corner. She looked over her shoulder, but couldn’t see him, and decided she must have imagined it.

‘What are you looking at Pearl?’ Kevin asked.

‘It’s nothing. I just thought for a moment that Derek was chasing after us.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Dolly snapped.

Kevin chuckled. ‘Perhaps he wanted to offer us his congratulations.’

‘Huh, I doubt that,’ Dolly said.

Pearl was quiet during the twenty-minute drive to the registry office. The atmosphere was strained, Bernie trying to lighten it, but Dolly hardly replied, except to complain about the business they were losing that morning. She looked grim as they climbed out of the vehicle, but Bernie tried to jolly her along. ‘Come on, Dolly,’ he cajoled. ‘This is a wedding, not a flaming funeral.’

‘Yeah, cheer up, Mum,’ Kevin said.

‘Shut up,’ Dolly snapped. ‘What’s to be cheerful about? You’re marrying a girl we know nothing about – well, except that she’s a slut.’

‘Now then, Mum, there’s no need for that. Pearl ain’t a slut.’

‘Don’t argue with me, Kevin. I won’t stand for it.’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ Kevin said meekly.

‘I should think so too,’ she snapped. She then glared at Pearl, adding, ‘Huh, well I suppose we had better get this farce over with.’

Pearl felt frozen to the pavement as she watched Dolly march into the building, her mind racing as all her doubts and fears rose to the surface. It was obvious now that Kevin couldn’t stand up for her against his mother, and she shivered, unable to face the thought of living in the same flat. Kevin took her arm, but she turned wild eyes towards him. ‘I … I can’t do it. I can’t live with your mother.’

‘Don’t worry. It won’t be for long,’ he said, moving them forward.

Pearl clung on to that as they stepped into the building, but she barely took in her surroundings as once again Dolly glared at her. She saw the two witnesses, acquaintances of Bernie’s, and tried to smile, but her lips quivered. Her eyes took in the large desk, the registrar, but as they stood in front on him, she barely heard his words, feeling as though Dolly’s eyes were boring into her back.

In what felt like minutes it was over, the registrar announcing them man and wife, Pearl at last turning to look at Kevin.

He smiled. ‘Well, that’s it, love. We’re married.’

As he leaned forward, their lips meeting, Pearl heard Dolly’s grunt of disgust.

Bernie, though, came to their side. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, smiling warmly.

They had to sign the register then, Pearl unable to ignore Dolly, her hand trembling as she held the pen. It had been so quick that it felt unreal, and then the witnesses were called forward to add their signatures. They too offered their congratulations, but Dolly offered none, only saying impatiently, ‘Right, now that’s over with we can get back to the café.’

‘Come on, Mrs Dolby,’ Kevin said as he led Pearl outside.

She looked down at the narrow band on her finger. Instead of being Pearl Button, she was now Pearl Dolby, and it sounded strange to her ears.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Bernie said to the witnesses, shaking their hands. ‘I’m sorry that we’ve got to go straight back to the café, but I’ll buy you a drink later.’

The couple nodded, and after she had said goodbye to them, Pearl thought she saw sympathy in their faces as they walked away.

Dolly was still morose as they drove back to Battersea High Street, but her expression changed the minute she got out of the car. Many faces were turned their way, and now with a fixed smile she spoke loudly.

‘Right, you two, have a nice lunch and we’ll pop a bottle of champagne this evening.’

Bernie was out of the car too, but he leaned forward to speak to Pearl through the window. Unlike Dolly, his voice was soft. ‘I’m sorry, love. It doesn’t seem much of a wedding day. I still think we should’ve had a bit of a do.’

‘It’s all right, I don’t mind,’ Pearl said, and it was true, she didn’t. There had been some discussion with Kevin about a wedding reception, but she’d been unable to think of anyone other than Bessie to invite. The Dolbys weren’t a large family, and though she faced less animosity these days from the locals, she doubted any would want to attend. In the end it had been Dolly who vetoed the idea, saying that she’d spent enough money on the solicitor, and a reception was just a waste of money.

Bernie smiled sadly, but then Dolly pulled at his arm, saying that it was about time they opened the café. For a moment they both stood on the pavement, Dolly’s smile still fixed as they waved the newlyweds off.

Derek Lewis surreptitously watched the scene. He knew he was mad – that if anyone knew they’d tell him so to his face – but despite everything, he still loved Pearl. It was hell every time he saw her, her stomach growing with another man’s baby. Kevin’s baby. When he’d seen them leaving for the registry office, he’d reacted without thought, like an idiot running after the car. Christ, what was the matter with him? Pearl was a tart, yet he had actually wanted to stop the wedding.

The costermonger next to Derek sniffed loudly. ‘Well at least you didn’t chase after them this time, mate.’

‘I know, but for a moment this morning I wanted to give the cow a slap,’ Derek lied.

‘Can’t say I blame you,’ the man said, turning as a customer came to his stall.

Derek nodded, relieved that the other costermongers had believed his excuse, but he was tired of putting on an act. It was this that had sealed his decision. He’d miss the market, but at least he wouldn’t have to see Pearl every day. She was married now, and once and for all he had to put her out of his mind.

Kevin drove to Richmond. He’d booked a table at a pub/restaurant by the river, and as it was early they’d be able to have a couple of drinks before ordering their meal. His mother had stuffed some money in his hand that morning, but she had done so begrudgingly. Kevin was worried, really worried. He hadn’t been to Soho for ages and was desperate for relief. In the past, he’d been able to manipulate his mother for extra money, but nowadays she was punishing him and was being as tight as a duck’s arse.

It had been hell holding back with Pearl, but until she dropped the kid it would have to remain that way. ‘What did you say?’ he asked impatiently when she spoke.

‘I said I can’t believe that we’re really married.’

‘Well, we are.’

‘You seem upset. Are you regretting it already?’

‘For Christ’s sake! What do you want me to do – break out in song and dance? Now shut up and let me concentrate on the road.’

He glanced round to see that Pearl had lowered her head, and at last he smiled. At least the silly cow didn’t answer him back and that made him feel better. He’d be the man in this relationship, and she might as well learn that from the start.

When they arrived at the pub Kevin pointed to a table, and as Pearl took a seat he went up to the bar. The landlord was a short, stocky man, looking harassed as he issued orders to several young women in waitress uniforms. It seemed that this wasn’t only a restaurant, there was a function room too, one that had been booked for a wedding party.

Kevin listened with interest. The pub was in a prime riverside location, and the bloke must be raking it in. An inkling of an idea began to form, but one that would need careful planning – along with insider knowledge. Almost on cue a tall, plain-faced barmaid came to take his order.

‘Hello, love,’ he said, giving her his best smile.

She flushed, but her eyes lit up with interest. ‘What can I get you, sir?’

‘A pint of bitter and an orange juice,’ he said, and by the time he was carrying the drinks to their table, he knew he’d cracked it. With her looks, the barmaid would be grateful for any attention, and he’d give her plenty of that whilst he fished for information.

Kevin sat drinking his pint, his eyes constantly scanning the pub, and then anxious to get to the bar again he turned to Pearl. ‘Come on, drink up.’

‘I don’t want another one yet.’

‘Please yourself,’ he said, taking his own empty glass and smiling softly at the barmaid as she approached, ready with his favourite chat-up line.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked, smiling shyly.

‘I’ll have the same again, but I have a bit of a problem that you might be able to help me with.’

‘A problem?’

‘Yes. You see I’ve forgotten my telephone number, so could you give me yours?’

For a moment she looked bewildered, but then, pink-faced, she smiled. ‘You … you want my telephone number?’

‘Yes, please.’

As her eyes flicked to Pearl he leaned a little closer over the bar. ‘She’s just a friend.’

‘Mary, there’s other customers waiting,’ a voice said, and Kevin scowled as he saw the landlord approaching.

She quickly pulled on the pump, filling his glass with bitter, her manner brusque now. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed as he took his money, and quickly scribbling on a scrap of paper, she passed him her telephone number.

‘I’ll ring you soon – very soon,’ Kevin told her, smiling as he walked away. She was a good choice, one he was sure would spill the beans.

When they arrived back at the café, Kevin unlocked the back door to find Nora sweeping the floor. He ignored the woman as he always did, his mind still distracted. He’d lingered over the meal, too preoccupied to take much notice of the food as he‘d watched everything, taking mental notes, but knowing that this was only the start.

‘Hello,’ Nora said.

Kevin grunted, but Pearl smiled, returning the cleaner’s greetings before Kevin ushered her up to the flat. His mother was sitting by the fire as they walked in, her smile tight as she spoke.

‘You’re back then.’

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘He’s putting the takings into the night safe at the bank.’ She then turned to Pearl, her voice clipped. ‘Put the kettle on.’

Pearl nodded, hurrying through to the kitchen, Dolly speaking again as the door closed. ‘The girl can make herself useful and we might as well start as we mean to go on. For instance, she can help your father with the cleaning up here.’

‘Hang on, Mum. She’s already working in the café, and don’t forget she’s five months pregnant.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything? Pearl isn’t ill. She’s just having a baby and doesn’t need treating like a china doll.’

Kevin shrugged, unwilling to get into an argument. If Pearl didn’t want to take on the cleaning it would be up to her to say so but, knowing his mother, he doubted it would do any good. What she said went, both in the café and up here in their flat.

‘Hello,’ Bernie said as he returned. ‘How was the meal?’

‘Fine.’

‘Where’s Pearl?’

It was Dolly who answered. ‘She’s making a cup of tea, and I’ve told Kevin that she can take over cleaning the flat.’

‘Blimey, don’t you think that’s a bit much? After all, the girl’s having a baby.’

Dolly’s face darkened. ‘I worked like a dog when I was carrying Kevin, and I don’t remember you protesting.’

Bernie lowered his eyes, and Kevin knew that, like him, his father was unwilling to argue with her. Once again his determination rose. There was no way Pearl was going to rule him. In fact, he would start right now, and this might be a way to earn a few Brownie points with his mother. If he could soften her up, she might be persuaded to give him a few quid.

When Pearl came back into the room, Kevin waited until she had put the tray down before speaking. ‘Now that you’ve moved in with us, I think we need to sort out a few things. My mother’s worn out after working in the café all day, and as she has agreed to let us live here rent free, I think you should take on the cleaning.’

Kevin threw a glance at his mother, pleased to see that she was positively beaming at him. He flushed with pleasure and then turned this attention to Pearl again, awaiting her reaction.

She was frowning, and for a moment he thought she’d protest, but then with a small nod she said, ‘Of course I’ll do the cleaning.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you a hand,’ Bernie said, ‘and why are we having tea? I thought you said we’d celebrate with champagne, Dolly.’

‘Don’t be stupid, and what’s to celebrate? I only said that for the benefit of the locals. Champagne indeed! We’re not made of money, you know.’

Kevin frowned, dreading an evening spent with his parents, something he usually avoided like the plague. Hang on! He’d decided that marriage wasn’t going to change his lifestyle, hadn’t he? There was nothing to stop him from going out later for a drink with the boys.

At eight o’clock Kevin was ready. Pearl looked surprised when he told her he was going out, but he’d told her in no uncertain terms that his mates wanted him to have a celebratory drink. She looked upset, but he ignored it, only flinging her a wave as he left.

Nobby and Dick looked surprised when they saw him walk into the pub, both offering to buy him a drink, but it was Dick who got them in.

‘Where’s your lovely wife?’ Nobby asked.

‘Indoors, where she’s supposed to be.’

‘And no doubt waiting for you to come home to bed,’ Dick leered as he handed out the pints.

‘Of course she is. Marriage has some compensations and I’ll give her a good seeing to later.’

Nobby smirked. ‘In that case you’d better go easy or you might get the brewer’s droop.’

‘No chance of that,’ Kevin bragged.

‘Have you heard the news about Derek Lewis?’

Kevin stiffened. ‘No.’

‘He’s been offered a full-time job at the gym.’

‘Oh yeah, doing what?’

‘Old Jack Spencer is retiring and Derek’s taking over. He’ll be managing the gym, and is already talking about offering more kids boxing lessons.’

‘What about his stall?’

‘According to the jungle drums, he’s keen to give it up, and you can’t blame him.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Come on, mate, it doesn’t take much working out. Pearl made a fool of him, but I reckon he still ain’t over her. I know she’s your wife now, but a lot of people ain’t got any time for her.’

Kevin relaxed. Yeah, Pearl had taken the fall, and as long as the locals continued to think that, he had nothing to worry about. He finished his beer, but with little money left he knew he only had enough for one round. ‘Well, mate, if they ain’t got any time for my wife, that’s just too bad. Now me, I’m gonna have another drink.’

Kevin ordered three pints and the conversation turning to horse racing – a sure bet that Nobby was going to place the next day. ‘This one’s a cert,’ he bragged.

‘According to you they’re all certs, but I reckon it’s a mug’s game.’

‘No it ain’t,’ he protested. ‘I won a few bob yesterday.’

‘Yeah, and you’ll lose it tomorrow.’

Nobby protested, and for a while went on about the virtues of the horse he’d been tipped would win.

‘If you want to waste your money that’s up to you, but right now, as you’re so flush, when we’ve finished these, it’s your round.’

Nobby got them in, and as they stood chatting a few people came up to congratulate Kevin, but he felt it was half-hearted. None offered to buy him a drink, and as he swallowed the last dregs in his glass, Kevin decided he’d have to leave before his turn came round again.

‘Right, I’m off to service my lovely wife.’

The others laughed, and as Kevin walked outside, the cold air hit him. He wasn’t drunk, it would take more than three pints to do that, but he felt mellow. It only took him a few minutes to walk home, and as he went upstairs to the flat he found it in darkness. With such an early morning start, his parents were rarely up after ten, and doing his best to tiptoe, he made for his bedroom.

Pearl was sitting up in bed when he walked in, the bedside light illuminating her wan face. She looked miserable, her huge eyes moist as she gazed at him.

‘For Gawd’s sake, what’s the matter with you?’

At his tone she stiffened, her reply barely a whisper. ‘N … nothing.’

With a new double bed in it, the room was a bit cramped, and though Kevin knew he still had to go easy with Pearl, he consoled himself with the thought that any sex was better than nothing. With a grin he threw off his clothes, and scrambled in beside her. ‘Good, glad to hear it. Now come here and give me a cuddle.’

As Pearl put her arms around him, Kevin became instantly aroused. Yes, he thought, marriage did have compensations. His hand lifted her nightdress and she groaned softly as he stroked her inner thigh.

Gently, he told himself as he positioned himself above her, fighting to control the need to hurt – to dominate.

‘Kevin, did you lock up?’ his mother’s voice boomed as she barged into the room.

He froze above Pearl, his erection dying instantly. ‘Christ, Mum, you could have knocked.’

‘Huh, yes, I can see that,’ she said, her voice and face showing her disgust as Pearl fought to pull the blankets over them. ‘Now, as I said, did you lock up?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Good,’ she said, her lips curling with distaste, ‘and if you don’t mind, keep the noise down. Some of us are trying to sleep.’

Kevin felt sick as memories of his childhood rose to haunt him. As a little boy, if he so much as touched his penis, his mother reacted with disgust, the same look he was seeing on her face now. She would tell him that he was a dirty little boy, filthy, and if he touched himself again, she wouldn’t love him.

She turned on her heels, leaving the room, and Kevin now felt Pearl trembling beside him. He forced the memories away, turning on his side to gather her in his arms. Softly he began to caress her.

‘No, please, we can’t,’ she said, her body becoming rigid. ‘Your … your mother might hear us.’

‘Not if we’re quiet,’ he whispered. Yet as he made to mount her again, he thought he heard a noise outside their room, and tensed. Once again his erection died and he threw himself away with disgust.

‘I … I’m sorry,’ Pearl whispered.

Kevin clutched at her apology. Yes, it was her fault, her bloody nerves putting him off. He turned on his side, whispered a curt good night, and then closed his eyes, the drink affecting him more than he realised as he almost immediately went to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Over a week passed, and Pearl’s dream of a happy marriage was already fading. They still hadn’t made love and she could sense Kevin’s growing impatience. It was her fault, she knew that, but with her mother-in-law just across the landing she was unable to relax. Kevin would climb into bed now, immediately turning his back, whilst Pearl remained awake, just wishing that at least he would hold her in his arms.

Kevin went out most evenings and though Bernie tried to make Pearl feel at home when she joined them in the living room, Dolly kept her eyes glued to their small television and hardly spoke.

Now, as they closed the café on Saturday and she went upstairs, Pearl swallowed deeply, trying to pluck up the courage to speak to her mother-in-law about her wages.

She made them all a drink, wondering if she should wait until Kevin came home to offer his support. Yet surely it was just an oversight, Dolly forgetting to pay her along with the others. As she handed her mother-in-law a cup of tea, it rattled in the saucer.

‘Er … Dolly, I think you’ve forgotten my wages.’

‘Wages! Leave it out, girl. You’re married to my son and whether I like it or not, you’re part of this family now.’

‘But—’

Dolly held up her hand, forestalling any argument. ‘And, may I add, I don’t take a penny for your keep. Pay indeed.’

‘But I need to buy—’

‘I can’t see that you need anything,’ Dolly interrupted. ‘You live rent free, and all your meals are provided. I hope you don’t think I’m providing money for you to waste on fripperies.’

‘No, of course not, but my skirts won’t fasten around my waist and I need a couple of maternity smocks.’

‘Well, that’s soon sorted. Gertie’s good with a needle and she’ll be able to add a bit to your skirts. She’ll run you up a couple of maternity smocks too.’ Dolly rose to her feet. ‘I’ve got a length of material somewhere and I’ll dig it out.’

Pearl watched her leave, her heart sinking. It wasn’t just smocks she needed, there was underwear too. Bernie looked up from his newspaper, eyes sympathetic, and his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I ain’t got much, love, but I can give you five bob.’

‘Oh, Bernie,’ Pearl whispered gratefully, only to turn sharply as Dolly returned.

‘There,’ she said, holding up a piece of cream material, garishly patterned with bright pink chrysanthemums. ‘It’s been stuck in the cupboard for years, but I knew it would come in handy one day. I reckon there’s enough here for at least two smocks.’

‘Blimey, it looks like curtaining,’ Bernie said.

‘What does that matter? She’ll only be wearing smocks for a few months and there’s no sense in wasting money.’

‘Well, if you say so,’ Bernie said doubtfully, ‘but I don’t know what people are going to think if they see Pearl dressed in that. They’ll think we can’t afford anything better.’

Dolly frowned. ‘Yeah, you may be right. I’ll put this back in the cupboard and buy a new bit of material.’

Pearl could have hugged him. He’d obviously hit on the one thing that could make her mother-in-law change her mind: people’s opinions.

As Dolly marched out of the room again, Bernie winked. ‘You have to know how to handle her,’ he whispered.

‘Thanks,’ Pearl mouthed, grateful that he was an ally in this strange household.

When Dolly returned, Bernie retreated into his newspaper again, and with a sigh Pearl found her fingers itching to paint, to bury her worries in art. Her supplies had run out, not only of paint, but sketching paper too, and with no money of her own, she’d be unable to buy any more. Art classes were a thing of the past now, her dream for the time being ending with her pregnancy. She missed the lessons, wishing she could still afford them, dreading the thought of another evening stuck indoors with her in-laws.

Kevin walked in at six o’clock, and for a moment Pearl brightened. It was Saturday night – perhaps he’d take her out. But her hopes were dashed when he spoke.

‘I’ve got to go out again. Have you ironed my white shirt, Pearl?’

‘Out again?’ Bernie said, and, as though sensing how she felt, he added, ‘Are you taking Pearl with you?’

‘No. I’ve got a bit of business to sort out.’

‘What – on a Saturday night?’ Bernie asked, eyes narrowed as he gazed at his son.

‘That’s what I said, didn’t I? Where’s Mum?’

‘She’s having a bath.’

‘Sod it. I need to talk to her. How long has she been in there?’

‘A while. What do you want to talk to her about?’

‘That’s my business.’

‘No doubt you’re after money again. It’s about time you found yourself a job.’

‘I’m doing my best.’

Bernie shook his head in disgust. ‘You’re a married man now and should think about your wife and coming child.’

‘He is looking, Bernie, really he is.’

‘Oh yeah? Well, work ain’t that hard to find.’

As Dolly walked into the room wrapped in a copious blue candlewick dressing gown, her eyes narrowed. ‘Bernie, did I hear you having a go at Kevin?’

‘I was just saying that he should get a job.’

‘Keep your nose out of it, Bernie. I think I know what’s best for my son and I don’t want him working in some dead-end job without prospects. He has good qualifications and deserves a decent salary, not the pittances he’s been offered so far.’

‘Oh, so he’s applied for some jobs then?’

‘Of course he has,’ Dolly snapped. ‘Ain’t that right, Kevin?’

Kevin blinked rapidly, his eyes avoiding his father’s. ‘Yes, but Mum, can I have a word with you in private?’

‘Of course,’ she said, beckoning him to her bedroom.

Kevin followed, but not before turning to Pearl. ‘If you haven’t ironed my white shirt, do it now.’

Pearl didn’t move. Dolly had given her a stack of ironing yesterday, and she had done the lot, including Kevin’s shirt.

Bernie said quietly, ‘She’ll give him money. She always does. I know what Dolly’s game is. She doesn’t want to lose her precious son, but she knows that if Kevin finds work the two of you will find a place of your own. Believe me, that’s the last thing my wife wants and she’ll do anything to keep him here.’

‘But Kevin wants to leave as much as I do.’

‘If you say so, love, but Dolly’s crafty. She knows that as long as she provides Kevin with enough pocket money to keep him happy, the lazy bugger won’t look for work.’

‘But he is looking, he told me.’

‘Huh, and pigs might fly. I don’t believe him and neither should you.’

Pearl shook her head, sure that Bernie was wrong. ‘Do you think Kevin will speak to Dolly about my wages? I still need to buy a few things.’

‘Leave it out, love. You’ve only been here a short while but you’ve seen how things stand. Kevin won’t speak up for you, but maybe if you ask him, he’ll drop you a few bob out of the money he gets out of his mother.’

‘Oh, yes, I’ll do that,’ Pearl said, brightening now.

When Kevin returned he went to their bedroom and Pearl followed. ‘Kevin, your mother isn’t paying me any wages now and I need some money.’

‘Well, don’t look at me.’

‘But I need some new underwear and—’

Kevin paused in the act of throwing on his shirt, his eyes hard. ‘If you want money, you’ll have to sort it out with my mother. Now bugger off and leave me in peace.’

Pearl stared at him, her heart sinking. Since their marriage he had changed, his moods mostly foul. Nowadays, as she did with Dolly, Pearl to tiptoed around him. She longed for his love, to be held in his arms, but he seemed so hard, so cold. Oh, please let him get a job soon. Please let us find a place of our own. Once away from his mother, Pearl was sure that she and Kevin would be fine.

Dolly’s temper didn’t improve, and a few days later another waitress walked out, leaving Madge to work the tables on her own.

Madge came through to the kitchen, puffing loudly to make her feelings plain. ‘Why doesn’t Kevin help out a bit? If he did the counter, Bernie could give me a hand with the tables.’

‘He’s busy,’ Dolly snapped.

‘Doing what?’

‘Madge,’ Dolly said, her voice deceptively quiet, ‘what my son does is no concern of yours. I said he’s busy and that’s an end to it. Until we find another waitress, I’ll pay you a bit extra, but now I suggest you get back to work.’

‘All right, but I ain’t standing much more of this. In fact, I think I’ll start looking around for another job.’

Pearl held her breath, waiting for her mother-in-law to explode, but Madge was at the end of her tether and if Dolly wasn’t careful she’d walk out too, leaving them in a terrible fix.

For a moment the two women faced each other, but then Dolly heaved a great sigh. ‘All right, Madge, if you want to get another job I can’t stop you. However, if you stay I’ll increase your wages permanently.’

Madge blinked rapidly, obviously as surprised as Pearl. ‘By how much?’

‘Another quid a week.’

She pursed her lips, her head cocked to one side as she thought it over. ‘Yeah, all right, I’ll stay.’

‘Good, now as I said, get back to your work.’

No sooner had Madge left the kitchen than Dolly erupted. Her face red with anger, she banged a frying pan onto the cooker. ‘Madge knew she had me over a barrel – the cow! Another quid a week! I must be mad. Huh, she thinks she’s got one over me, but when we get another waitress, I might just give her the sack.’

With the potato peeler poised, Pearl glanced at the clock. It was ten o’clock, but she doubted Kevin was up. Since Bernie’s comments, she too was beginning to doubt that he was looking for work. When he surfaced, Dolly would cook him a breakfast and he’d spend a leisurely hour eating it whilst reading the morning paper.

They’d only been married for two weeks, but Pearl was disillusioned. As long as Dolly kept Kevin provided with money, he seemed happy to remain there, virtually ignoring his new wife as he went about his own business. She no longer mentioned work to him, finding it put him in a nasty mood, and now she felt that he had lied to her about wanting a place of their own. Oh God, please let me be wrong, she prayed, dreading living permanently with her mother-in-law.

That evening Kevin cadged more money from his mother. She gave him a few quid, but not enough for a trip to Soho, and his frustration mounted. She was still keeping him short, and he couldn’t get relief from Pearl – their lack of privacy had seen to that.

Pearl had stopped nagging him about a job at last, the silly cow unaware that he had plans in hand, ones he couldn’t tell her about. Ones that hopefully would provide enough for a place of their own. He was going to rob the pub in Richmond, and to that end had given the barmaid a ring, pleased to find it was her night off and she was available.

Now he sat beside her, inwardly fuming. He’d spent the last of his money inundating her with booze, but it had been a complete waste of time. New at the job, Mary had little information about the workings of the place.

At last he rose to his feet, snapping impatiently, ‘Come on, I’ll take you home.’

She looked up at him, eyes bleary and un focused. ‘Home? I don’t want to go home yet.’

‘Tough,’ he said, grabbing her arm and heaving her up.

Kevin’s jaw clenched, wishing now that he’d spent his money on a tart. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? Bloody ages. If he could get it up with Pearl it might have offered some release, but with his mother close by he found it impossible. Ashamed, he let Pearl think that she was to blame, turning his back on her every night.

Kevin walked out of the pub, his temper only just in check. The pub was remote, the car park, other than his car, empty. To ensure that nobody saw them together, he had arranged to pick Mary up at the end of her street, but his caution had been for nothing. Now he had to waste more petrol money driving the useless cow home again.

It was dark, woods surrounding them, but Kevin was uncaring of Mary as she swayed beside him. She tripped and he grabbed her arm, inadvertently touching her breast.

She flapped her hand, saying with a silly giggle, ‘Oh, you dirty boy.’

He stiffened. Dirty boy! Words his mother had used again and again when he was a child. He growled low in his throat, and in his angry and frustrated state, Mary’s comment set off a chain of action that overwhelmed Kevin.

Mindless now, his grip tightened on her arm as he dragged her towards the surrounding trees. Mary staggered beside him, hardly aware of what he was doing as he pulled her deeper into the woods.

Suddenly she halted. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Shut up, bitch!’ Kevin hissed, forcing her forward again.

‘Wh … what?’

He ignored her as he looked wildly around. They were deep inside the woods now, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. It was perfect. There was hardly any light from the moon and, grinning with glee, Kevin threw Mary violently to the ground.

She landed heavily, crying out, but Kevin threw himself on top of her, his hands tearing at her clothes.

‘No! No, don’t!’

That was all Kevin needed, her cries like music to his ears. He smashed a fist into her face, and then began to tear at her clothes again, leering as she struggled beneath him.

She still resisted, arousing him, his actions becoming frantic as his fists beat again and again into her soft flesh. She was a woman, fighting him, and he punished her, his teeth sinking into her flesh.

At last she lay compliant and he loved it. He had won, she was helpless – his to control now as he forced her legs apart. He thrust inside her, groaning with pleasure, mindless as he sought the release he craved.

When had she become so still? Kevin had no idea, only aware, when he was finished, of Mary’s motionless body beneath him. In the darkness he ran his hands over her, the breath leaving his body with relief when he felt her ribcage move. Christ, for a moment he thought he’d killed her.

His relief was short-lived as panic set in. Bloody hell, he was still in trouble. He’d raped her, beaten her. Staggering to his feet, he rushed blindly through the trees, thinking only of self-preservation.

Mary would go to the police, tell them she’d been raped, but what else could she tell them? Think, man! Think!

She didn’t know his name; with the job in mind he’d been careful to give her a false one. Had he mentioned where he lived? No, of course he hadn’t. His mind raced with his feet. How many people had seen them together? There had only been a couple of customers in the pub, old men playing cribbage, but the landlord might remember him and give a description.

Kevin’s thoughts were still raging as he broke free of the woods, relieved to find himself close to the small car park. His car! Bloody hell, could they trace him through his car? He rushed towards it, diving into the passenger seat, at the same time realising that without them knowing the number plates, it would be unlikely.

He had to get away and quickly! Frantically gunning the engine to life, he roared out onto the narrow country road, sweat pouring down his face and almost blinding him as he screeched away around a corner.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bessie locked the shop. She hadn’t seen Pearl for a few days and was missing the girl. Pearl had been married for a few months now, and though she hadn’t appeared happy at first, nowadays it seemed that everything in the garden was rosy.

They were still living with Dolly and, despite Pearl’s protestations, Bessie thought Kevin was a lazy sod. He wasn’t well, Pearl insisted, suffering from nerves, but Bessie didn’t believe it. What did Kevin Dolby have to be nervous about? He’d been mollycoddled since childhood, spoiled rotten, and in her opinion it was just another excuse to avoid getting a job.

Bessie went upstairs, the empty living room cheerless as she walked in. Pearl had lived with her for only a short time, but since she’d left it emphasised her loneliness. Still, she had a card reading to do, and maybe Pearl would pop over to see her later.

She had barely made herself a cup of tea when the client arrived. Taking her into the living room, Bessie began to set the scene. She sat the woman opposite her at the table and then took out her cards, unwrapping them from a deep purple silk cloth. With a serious expression on her face she began to shuffle them, the cards old and worn after so much use. She then handed them to the client, the woman looking deeply worried as she took them. Bessie studied her, and judging by her age felt the consultation might be due to marital problems.

When the cards were returned she laid them out, glancing at the woman as she said, ‘Ah, I see a dark-haired man, one you may have worries about.’

‘Yes, that’d be my husband,’ the woman replied eagerly, her back straightening in the chair.

Bessie hid a smile. She had hit on the problem almost immediately, making this reading easy. ‘You care deeply for this man,’ she offered.

‘Yeah, I do,’ she said sadly.

Bessie fished again, hoping she was right. ‘You’re suspicious about something, perhaps an affair?’

The woman’s eyes filled with tears and, nodding, she sobbed, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Bessie turned another card, surprised to feel a sudden flash of intuition. ‘You’re wrong, he isn’t having an affair.’

‘But … but he hasn’t been himself lately. Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I think it’s his health that’s worrying him, and maybe you should talk to him about it.’

‘Oh, no! It ain’t anything serious, is it?’

‘The cards aren’t clear, but I don’t think so.’ She placed a card across the last one, smiling softly. ‘I see a good marriage, a strong marriage, and if your husband hasn’t mentioned his concerns, it’s because he wants to protect you from worry.’

‘Oh God,’ the woman said, ‘and here I am thinking that just because he ain’t touched me lately, he’s having it off on the side.’ She rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Thanks, Bessie, but I don’t want to hear any more. I just want to go home and talk to him. I’ve been giving the poor sod a rough time, and now I know that he doesn’t deserve it I feel awful.’

As the woman opened her purse, Bessie held up a palm. ‘No, love, it was only a short reading and there’s no need to pay.’

‘Thanks, it’s kind of you,’ the woman said.

She hurried from the room and Bessie had a job to keep up with her as she ran downstairs. She let her out, calling goodbye and then, puffing, returned to the living room. With a sigh she picked up the cards, shuffling them as her mind moved. The flash of intuition had come in handy, making the reading an easy one, but she couldn’t help feeling a little concerned about the woman’s husband. She hoped his illness wasn’t serious, her intuition unclear about that, but at least now he would have his wife’s support.

Bessie glanced at the clock, once again wondering if Pearl would pop over, and then, as she absentmindedly laid a card on the table, intuition flashed again. Her face stretched in horrified surprise as she stared at the card. She didn’t want to see it, wanted to shut it out, hastily returning the card to the pack.

Pearl smiled as Kevin stretched out beside her. He had changed so much during the last few months, hardly ever going out now, and since he’d persuaded his mother to buy another television for their bedroom, they spent every evening together.

They still hadn’t made love, but Pearl didn’t mind. In her eighth month of pregnancy her stomach was huge and she found it difficult to sit or lay comfortably.

She still worked in the kitchen, but for the first time there was a common consensus between Pearl and her mother-in-law, and that was their concern over Kevin’s nerves. She still felt Dolly’s animosity towards her, but at least she was used to it now and mostly able to ignore it.

Kevin was a little better, but there was a marked change in his personality that worried them. His swagger had gone, his confidence, and he was far too quiet. Not only that, his car, once his pride and joy, sat dirty and unused in the yard.

Pearl turned carefully onto her side, snuggling closer, her tummy pressed against him. ‘Emergency – Ward Ten is on in a minute.’

He moved away as if repulsed by her stomach. ‘Huh, it’s a load of old claptrap. I prefer The Adventures of Robin Hood.’

‘Richard Greene is a bit of all right.’

‘If you say so,’ he said, swinging his feet to the floor and surprising her when he added, ‘I’m popping out to buy a packet of fags. I won’t be long.’

As Kevin left the room, Pearl turned onto her back again, feeling a twinge of pain. It soon passed and for while she was able to concentrate on her favourite programme, but then another small pain had her squirming uncomfortably. She’d had this before, and Dolly had told her the baby was probably pressing on a nerve. Thankfully the episodes were short-lived, and as she shifted into another position, Pearl’s hands unconsciously stroking her tummy, whilst her eyes once again focused on the television.

When Emergency – Ward Ten came to an end, Pearl struggled to her feet. She was thirsty and slowly made her way to the kitchen.

‘Are you all right, love?’ Bernie said as she passed through the living room.

‘I’m having a few twinges of pain again, but I expect they’ll pass.’

‘The baby isn’t coming, is it?’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Dolly snapped. ‘She’s got another month to go yet. Anyway, where’s Kevin? He said he was only going out to buy cigarettes and I expected him back by now.’

‘Me too,’ Pearl agreed, gasping as she bent forward.

‘You’d best sit down,’ Bernie urged as he rose to his feet.

‘It’s only a small pain.’ But even so, she sank thankfully onto the sofa.

Bernie hovered anxiously by her side. ‘Do you want a glass of water or something?’

‘For goodness’ sake, stop mollycoddling the girl,’ Dolly snapped.

Relieved that the small twinge had passed and anxious to placate her mother-in-law, Pearl struggled to her feet. ‘I’m fine now and I’ll make a cup of tea. Would you both like one?’

‘I’ll make it,’ Bernie said, ‘and if you ask me I think it’s about time you stopped work.’

‘Leave it out! I haven’t found someone to stand in for her yet, and until I do she’ll have to carry on.’

‘Have you seen her feet? They’re swollen up like balloons.’

‘That’s nothing. Mine were the same when I was carrying Kevin, but I don’t remember you showing me any concern.’

‘Honestly, Bernie, I don’t mind working,’ Pearl said, knowing that this could soon escalate into a violent row. She knew what her mother-in-law was capable of and had seen her laying into Bernie on several occasions. ‘I’ve got a chair in the kitchen and can sit down whilst preparing the vegetables.’

Bernie shook his head doubtfully, but said no more as he headed for the kitchen.

Dolly stood up and, walking to the window, she drew the curtains aside. ‘I can’t imagine what’s keeping Kevin.’

‘Maybe he’s met up with his friends and is having a drink—’ Pearl suggested, breaking off with a gasp as another pain shot through her.

Dolly swung round at Pearl’s gasp, her brow creased.

‘If that’s another pain you may be having contractions.’

‘But the baby isn’t due yet.’

‘It could be coming early. We’ll time them, and for Christ’s sake sit down again before you fall down.’ Dolly showed no sympathy as she added, ‘And don’t look at me like a frightened rabbit. You’re only having a baby and there’s no need to make a fuss.’

Kevin’s eyes had flicked up and down the High Street before he stepped outside. It had been months now and surely he was safe? After it happened he’d scoured the newspapers, but there had been nothing, no report of a rape, and he was beginning to think that Mary hadn’t reported it.

Maybe he could risk raising his head a little. With that thought in mind he made for the local pub. If he sat indoors with Pearl for much longer he’d go mad, the silly cow driving him daft with her inane chatter. At one time all he’d thought about was moving out, of finding a place of their own, but that had been put on the back burner now. They’d do it one day, but in the meantime they were fine where they were. With Pearl as big as a house he had no interest in her body, and his mother kept him supplied with pocket money.

He pulled open the bar door, a cloud of cigarette smoke engulfing him as he walked inside.

‘Well, bugger me, look what the cat’s dragged in,’ Nobby said, his smile tight. ‘Has your old woman let you off the leash at last?’

‘Pearl hasn’t got me on a leash. I’ve been a bit under the weather, that’s all.’

‘Don’t take us for mugs, Kevin. We’ve seen you scuttling around on the odd occasion and you looked all right.’

‘My asthma’s been playing me up.’

‘If you say so, but you’ve surfaced just in time. We’re on to a nice little earner and need a driver.’

‘No, thanks, mate. I want to keep my nose clean for a while.’

Nobby’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought so, and I ain’t too pleased that you left us out of the loop.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘There’s only one reason why you’d keep your head down for this long and it ain’t got anything to do with asthma. I reckon you did a job without us and nearly got caught.’

‘That’s rubbish. I told you I ain’t been well and I came in here for a drink, not a cross-examination. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to get myself a pint.’ He glanced at the glasses in Nobby and Dick’s hands. ‘Are you ready for another?’

‘Yeah, I wouldn’t say no,’ Dick Smedley said, speaking for the first time.

Nobby nodded an affirmative, but his voice was hard as he said, ‘and once you’ve got them in, we’ll talk again about the little scam we’ve got planned.’

‘You can talk all you like, mate, but I ain’t interested.’

Despite all the cajoling, Kevin refused the job. Nobby was angry, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned the bloke was all mouth and he wasn’t intimidated.

At ten thirty, after a good few whisky chasers, Kevin left the pub and staggered across the road. An ambulance was parked outside the café, but his eyes were barely able to focus. He halted in his tracks, swaying, but before he could gather his addled thoughts, it drove off.

With unsteady hands, Kevin let himself in, almost falling up the stairs to the living room, and as soon as his father saw him, he jumped to his feet.

‘It’s about time you turned up. Pearl’s in labour and she’s been taken to hospital.’

‘Where’s Mum?’

‘You weren’t here so she’s gone with Pearl and she ain’t too pleased about it. Well, don’t just stand there, get yourself to the hospital.’

Kevin grinned inanely, trying to focus on his father as he spoke again.

‘Look at the state of you and you ain’t fit to drive, that’s for sure. I’ll call you a taxi.’

With a bemused expression Kevin sank onto the sofa, closed his eyes and knew no more as he fell into a drunken sleep.

‘Kevin! Kevin, wake up!’

‘Wh … what?’

‘I said wake up.’

His mother’s voice sounded loud in his ears and, managing to open one eye, Kevin saw her looming over him.

‘You’ve got a son.’

‘Wh … what?’

‘Christ, you sound like a parrot. Wake up, for Gawd’s sake.’

‘What’s the time?’

‘It’s four o’clock. Now did you hear what I said? You’ve got a son!’

Kevin’s head was thumping and he groaned, trying to pull himself upright, surprised to find himself on the sofa. His mouth was dry, and he grimaced at the bitter acrid taste on his tongue. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Mum?’

‘Bloody hell, Kevin. I can’t believe you. I’ve just told you that you’re a father and all you can do is ask for a cup of flaming tea.’

Kevin knuckled his eyes and saw his father coming into the room, his expression showing concern

‘How is she, Dolly?’ Bernie asked.

‘She’s fine, but it was a long labour. Well, Bernie, you’re a grandfather. Pearl gave birth to a lovely, bouncing boy.’

At last Kevin’s brain began to function. ‘Pearl’s had the baby?’

Dolly exhaled loudly. ‘So, you’ve come to life at last. You picked a fine time to go missing and I’ve been stuck at that flaming hospital all night.’

‘She’s actually had the baby?’

‘Am I talking to myself? Yes, she’s had the baby and you have a son.’

‘Christ,’ Kevin said, sinking back with shock.

‘Make us all a drink, Bernie. I’m fair worn out and without any sleep I don’t know how I’m gonna cope with the café today. Bloody hell, who’s gonna do the vegetables?’

‘I can’t believe this, Mum,’ Kevin said as his father scuttled from the room. ‘The baby wasn’t due yet.’

‘He came a bit early, but he’s fine and you can see him later.’

‘And Pearl’s all right?’

‘Yes, of course she is.’

‘Bloody hell, I’m a dad,’ Kevin whispered in awe.

‘I’ve been trying to get that through your thick skull for the last fifteen minutes.’ His mother’s words sounded harsh at first, but now she smiled softly. ‘He’s a lovely baby and the spitting image of you.’

‘Is he?’ Kevin said eagerly. His son! And he couldn’t wait to see him.

‘Here you are,’ Bernie said, passing a cup of tea to Dolly and then handing one to Kevin.

Dolly yawned widely. ‘Trust that girl to go into labour at such an awkward time, and now we’re well and truly stuck.’

‘You could ask Madge to do the vegetables. The new waitress will just have to manage on her own.’

‘I suppose it’s a possibility, but she ain’t gonna be too happy about it. Still, it’ll only be for just over a week. Pearl will be home again then and we can get back to normal.’

‘I don’t see why Kevin can’t give us a hand. If he takes over the counter, I can cover for Madge while she’s working in the kitchen.’

‘Leave it out, Dad. I’m going to the hospital to see my son.’

‘You can’t go yet,’ Dolly said. ‘Visiting time isn’t until one o’clock and there’s nothing to stop you giving us a hand. That goes for every day until Pearl comes home.’

‘But, Mum—’

‘No arguments, Kevin,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘It won’t hurt you to help out. After all, it’s your wife that’s putting us to all this inconvenience, and until she can get back to work we’ll have to pull together.’

Kevin gazed up at his mother, wanting to argue, but this time he could see that she was in no mood for cajoling. She looked tired, dark rings under her eyes.

Suddenly he was struck by a thought. ‘Hold on, Mum. Pearl won’t be able to work in the café when she comes home. She’ll have the baby to see to and I don’t fancy taking Dad’s place behind the counter permanently.’

‘Don’t worry, son, there’ll be no need for that. I’ve got it all worked out but I’m too tired to talk about it now. I’m gonna have a bath and hopefully it will freshen me up.’

Kevin frowned, wondering what his mother had in mind, but then his mouth tightened. Christ, he dreaded working in the café and, like his mother, he’d be glad when Pearl came home.

Chapter Thirty

Dolly was pacing up and down, the baby held firmly in her arms. ‘One more day off, Pearl, and then you can get back to work.’

‘But how? I can’t leave Johnny.’

‘We just need a routine, that’s all, and I’ve worked it all out.’

‘But—’

‘It’s simple,’ Dolly interrupted. ‘You can start work extra early and I’ll look after the baby while you prepare the vegetables. As long as I’m downstairs by six o’clock it’ll be fine, and you won’t need to be in the kitchen again until it’s time to cook them.’

‘Who’ll look after Johnny while I’m doing that?’

‘Kevin can watch him for an hour or so or, failing that, we can have him with us in the kitchen.’

Pearl ruminated on Dolly’s words. Yes, she could start work early, but would she be able to drag herself out of bed? ‘I’m hardly getting any sleep. Johnny only lasts an hour before he wants another feed.’

Dolly smiled fondly at the baby. ‘Yes, I heard him last night. He’s a hungry little bugger, that’s for sure. The best solution would be to put him on a bottle and then any of us can feed him.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t want to do that!’

‘If he wants feeding that often, it’s probably because you haven’t enough milk to satisfy him. Surely you don’t want to starve the poor little mite?’

‘Not enough milk? But he only woke up once a night when I was in hospital.’

‘While he was in the nursery they probably topped him up with a bottle. After all, they wouldn’t want to disturb all the other mothers in the ward by bringing him to you every hour.’

‘But surely my milk is best for him.’

‘Not if he’s hungry. A bottle would be the best thing. Wait and see, he’ll thrive.’

‘I’m still not sure.’

‘Well I am, so that’s an end to it. Now take Johnny for a minute while I find my purse. I’ll give you the money for all the paraphernalia. You’ll need to buy bottles, teats, and powdered milk. Then in the morning, we can start the new routine.’

Pearl wanted to protest, but was too scared of Dolly to argue. ‘I’ll take Johnny with me to the chemist. It’ll do him good to get a bit of fresh air.’

‘No, it’ll be quicker to go on your own. You can leave him with me,’ Dolly insisted, laying the money on the table and taking Johnny from Pearl’s arms.

With a sigh Pearl did as she was told, and was soon outside, heading for the chemist. She turned the corner, almost colliding with Derek.

‘Oh!’

‘Well, well, I didn’t expect you to be out and about so soon.’

‘Oh … you’ve heard that I’ve had my baby.’

‘Yeah, I heard. I may not be working my stall, but gossip still reaches me. How are you doing?’

Pearl was relieved that Derek wasn’t showing any animosity. His expression was mild. ‘I’m all right, and Dolly insists that I start work again tomorrow.’

‘That soon?’

‘Yes, well, you know Dolly. My mother-in-law rules the roost and we all have to do as she says. Mind you, Kevin won’t be too pleased about having to look after the baby while I’m working in the kitchen.’

His face immediately hardened, mouth grim as he replied, ‘Yeah, somehow I can’t see Kevin as a babysitter. Still, you knew what he was like – Dolly too – before you schemed to marry him. As the saying goes, you made your bed and now you’ve got to lie on it.’

Pearl knew she deserved this, deserved all that Derek threw at her. ‘I hurt you, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t mean to. Really I didn’t.’

‘It’s a bit late for apologies now, Pearl,’ Derek said, and as her eyes met his, he gazed into them for a moment. ‘When I look at you like this, I can’t believe what happened. Dolly told her story, Kevin too, but somehow, along with yours, they don’t ring true. If you want to open up, I’ll listen, and if you’re unhappy, you only have to say the word.’

Pearl tore her eyes away. Time had passed, but even if Derek found out the truth, he might still go for Kevin. No, she had to keep her mouth shut – for both their sakes. ‘It was the truth, Derek, and if you hate me, I don’t blame you.’

He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted. ‘I’m sorry. I must go now.’ Bye, Derek,’ she blurted, hurrying away.

Pearl rushed to the chemist, saddened by her encounter with Derek. She had opened up old wounds for him, seen his pain. Oh, if only they didn’t have to see each other, if only she and Kevin could move from this area. Kevin’s nerves had been bad and he had given up looking for work, but he was recovering, and now maybe she could broach the subject again.

Another week passed. Pearl had been home for over two weeks now and disturbed by her’s movements, Kevin turned over in bed. He forced his eyes open to glance at the clock. Bloody hell, it wasn’t even four in the morning and he didn’t know how she got up this early to start work.

‘Kevin! Kevin, where’s the baby?’

He ignored the panic in her voice, saying impatiently, ‘In his bleeding cot. Where do you think?’

‘He isn’t. It’s empty.’

‘What!’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his mind jumbled before he had a coherent thought. ‘Maybe Mum’s got him.’

Their eyes met, and without another word they made for Dolly’s room.

As Kevin opened the door, all he could see were two humps in the bed and his heart began to thump in panic.

‘Mum, wake up!’ he shouted. ‘Johnny isn’t in his cot.’

‘Bloody hell, where’s the fire,’ Dolly grumbled as she turned onto her back. ‘I heard him crying in the night again so I brought him in with me.’ She moved the blankets to reveal Johnny snuggled by her side.

‘Christ, Mum, you frightened the life out of us.’

‘Well, that’s nice, ain’t it? I thought I’d give Pearl the chance of a good night’s sleep and this is the thanks I get.’

‘Yeah, sorry, Mum,’ Kevin said, his heart calming down. ‘It was good of you.’

‘I’d better give him his bottle before I start work,’ Pearl said as she stepped forward.

‘He’s already had it, and I’ve changed his nappy. The poor little mite was soaking wet,’ Dolly said reproachfully, and then her tone broaching no argument she added, ‘he can stay with me and you can put the kettle on.’ Kevin glared at his wife, his voice equally harsh. ‘You daft cow Pearl. I’m going back to bed and I don’t appreciate being woken up for nothing.’

Pearl saw her husband storm off, and chastened by both him and his mother, she headed for the kitchen. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, she had a quick wash, finding her breasts hard and painful, engorged with milk as she gingerly took off her nightdress. Tears filled her eyes as a feeling of helplessness washed over her. In the short time she’d been home from the hospital, Dolly had taken over her son, so much so that she hardly felt that Johnny was hers. Even his name had been Dolly’s choice, Kevin happily falling in with his mother’s suggestion.

The kettle began to whistle, and hurriedly throwing on her dressing gown, Pearl rushed to make the tea, carrying two cups through to Dolly’s bedroom as soon as it had brewed.

‘About time too,’ her mother-in-law complained.

‘Morning, Pearl,’ Bernie said, but his eyes were on the baby snuggled between them. ‘Look at him, he’s spark out, but how come he’s in with us every morning?’

It was Dolly who answered, ‘The poor little nipper was screaming his lungs out, but as usual Pearl didn’t hear him. Honestly, I don’t know how she sleeps through it. I always heard Kevin when he was a baby.’

Unable to believe that she’d failed to hear Johnny crying again, Pearl’s eyes filled with tears. What sort of mother was she?

‘Get going, girl,’ Dolly snapped. ‘There’s work to be done, but you’re standing there like a tit in a trance.’

Pearl nodded, throwing one last glance at her son before leaving the room. He looked so snug and cute sandwiched between her in-laws, but her arms ached to hold him, to console him for not hearing his cries. Pearl dashed her tears away. The sooner she prepared the vegetables, the sooner she’d be back again and for a while she’d have Johnny to herself. She hurriedly dressed and, without bothering to drink her tea, dashed downstairs.

That afternoon, when she finished cooking the vegetables, and despite Dolly’s scowl, Pearl went across to see Bessie, the woman smiling as she went into the shop.

‘Hello, love,’ she said, moving to look into the pram, her face soft as she gazed at Johnny. ‘He’s thriving.’

‘Yes, and it seems Dolly was right about putting him on the bottle.’

‘If you say so. Anyway, what’s up, love? You seem a bit down in the mouth.’

‘Nothing really.’

‘Don’t give me that. Now come on, tell me what the problem is.’

Pearl sighed. ‘It’s just that I don’t hear Johnny crying in the night and I feel like a useless mother.’

‘Considering that you have to be up at four in the morning, it ain’t surprising.’

‘Dolly said she never failed to hear Kevin when he was a baby.’

‘Huh, I can see she’s still holding herself up as a saint.’

‘She wakes for Johnny, and I don’t.’

‘If you ask me, you shouldn’t have to work in the café. When is Kevin going to get a job?’

‘I don’t know. I mentioned it yesterday, but he said his nerves are still bad.’

‘Huh, nerves my arse.’

‘Oh, Bessie, don’t be like that. I’m sure as soon as he’s able, he’ll find work.’

The door opened, a woman coming in.

‘Hello, Tessa,’ Bessie said. ‘What have you got for me?’

‘A really nice coat,’ she said, laying a parcel on the counter.

Bessie opened the package, the smell arising awful. She held it up, her nose wrinkling. ‘Sorry, love, but I can only give you a tanner for it.’

‘All right, and thanks,’ Tessa said, her hand held out.

Bessie gave her the money, and Pearl shook her head as the woman left the shop. ‘That coat’s only fit for the dustbin. Why on earth did you buy it?’

‘Tessa’s struggling. Her son used to look after her, but he’s just been sent down for six months.’

‘What did he do?’

‘A bit of petty thieving. He’ll see me all right when he comes out again and, in the meantime, us locals will keep an eye on Tessa.’

Pearl nodded, used now to the ways of the area. She still felt like an outcast, and missed the easy camaraderie she used to have with the costermongers. They didn’t cut her dead now, and some stopped her to have a look at the baby, but others still refused to speak.

Pearl glanced at the clock. ‘I’d best get back or Dolly will go on the warpath.’

‘Christ, girl, you’ve hardly been here for five minutes.’

‘I know, but when the café closes she likes to spend time with Johnny.’

‘Whose baby is he? Yours or Dolly Dolby’s?’

‘He’s mine, of course, but I don’t want to get on her bad side.’

‘Pearl, when are you going to stand up for yourself?’

‘Stop worrying, I’m fine,’ Pearl lied. ‘I’ll see you soon, but I must go.’

Bessie didn’t look convinced, but Pearl ignored this as she hurried back to the café. It was all right for Bessie to say she should stand up for herself, but she didn’t live with Dolly.

This thought was affirmed when Pearl walked into the living room.

‘It’s about time too,’ Dolly snapped, immediately rising to her feet and taking Johnny from her arms. ‘Bloody hell, what sort of mother are you? His nappy is soaking wet.’

‘Is he?’ Pearl said, her eyes widening with surprise. Johnny had felt fine to her and she was sure he didn’t want changing. ‘I … I’ll change his nappy.’

‘No, I’ll do it,’ Dolly snapped. ‘I’ve shown you time and time again, but you never do it right and one of these days you’ll stick him with the bloody nappy pin.’

Pearl knew that when Dolly was around she was fumbling and awkward, the constant criticism making her nervous. ‘I wouldn’t do that. I’d never stick the pin in him.’

‘Huh, so you say. Anyway I could do with a cup of tea. Leave Johnny to me and get to the kitchen. I’m peckish too, so make me a sandwich while you’re at it.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Bernie offered, throwing Pearl a sympathetic glance.

‘No you won’t,’ Dolly snapped. ‘I told Pearl to do it and don’t need your interference. There ain’t much she can do, especially when it comes to looking after this poor little bugger, but at least she’s learned to make a decent brew.’

Pearl felt her eyes filling with tears, but hurriedly left the room, at least making sure that Dolly didn’t have the satisfaction of seeing them, something she obviously enjoyed.

Oh, if only Kevin would get a job, Pearl thought for the thousandth time. If only they had a place of their own.

Chapter Thirty-One

A month passed and at five one Saturday afternoon, Kevin was sitting on the side of their bed, Pearl beside him. She was looking scrawny and miserable, and he tensed, fed up with her constant complaints.

‘I’m at the end of my tether, Kevin. I don’t feel that Johnny is our baby. Your parents seem to have him all the time, and every morning when I wake up I find him in their bed.’

‘Whose fault is that? You still don’t hear him crying in the night, and you should thank God that my mother does. She looks awful lately, with dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, but you don’t hear her complaining.’

‘I can’t understand why I don’t hear him. I wasn’t a heavy sleeper before Johnny was born, so why now?’

‘How should I know?’ Kevin shifted on the bed, hoping that Pearl had said her piece, but no, she was off again.

‘I’m grateful that she hears Johnny, but it’s getting me down that she undermines everything I do. I’m fine with Johnny when we’re on our own, but when your mother’s around she acts as though I’m incapable of looking after him and it’s turning me into a bundle of nerves.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, and I’m sure she only telling you what’s best for the boy.’

‘What’s best in her opinion. But Johnny’s our son, not hers. As soon as the café closes your mother shoots up here to take him over. Where is he now? He’s not in here with us, that’s for sure. He’s in the living room with your parents.’

‘He’s their first grandson and they’re bound to be a bit doting.’

‘Please, Kevin, go and get him.’

‘Why me?’

‘Your mother won’t give him to me. Please, love, she won’t say no to you.’

With a sigh Kevin rose from the bed. ‘All right, anything for a quiet life.’

As Kevin stepped into the living room it was to see Johnny on the floor, his mother changing his nappy. He grinned as his son’s fists waved, but then his chubby little hands moved down, one of them touching his tiny penis.

‘Stop that,’ Dolly admonished as she slapped his hand away. ‘You’re a dirty little boy.’

Kevin’s face darkened and, rushing over, he snatched his son up into his arms. ‘Don’t say that, Mum. It ain’t right.’

‘Say what?’

‘That he’s dirty when he touches himself. He’s only a baby, for Christ’s sake, and doesn’t understand.’

‘It’s best to start as you mean to go on, and I intend to break that nasty habit as soon as I can.’

Kevin’s anger mounted, words spilling out of his mouth without thought. ‘It’s perfectly natural – something that grown men do too. What’s wrong with giving ourselves a bit of pleasure?’

‘Kevin, don’t speak to me like that – it’s disgusting!’

Johnny started to cry and Kevin heaved a deep breath in an effort to calm down, his voice now registering controlled anger. ‘Mum, there’s nothing disgusting about masturbation. In future, if my son wants to play with himself, he can. You made me feel dirty as a child – even going so far as to tell me you wouldn’t love me if I touched myself. Well, you ain’t doing the same to Johnny.’

He saw his mother’s jaw gape, but before she had time to speak he turned to leave, managing a mocking smile as he added, ‘And anyway, you needn’t worry. I think it’ll be some time before Johnny manages to toss himself off.’

‘You filthy boy! How dare you speak to me like that? Get out of my sight.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m going,’ Kevin snarled as he stomped from the room.

Pearl took Johnny from his arms, comforting the squalling child, whilst Kevin flopped down beside her. The baby quietened and Kevin watched as Pearl expertly folded a nappy, laying their son across her lap as she fastened the triangular shape in place with a pin.

Kevin was still seething. Deciding that he was safe, that the coast was clear now, he was filled with renewed determination. ‘It’s about time we found a place of our own, Pearl.’

Her head swung round, her eyes wide with delight. ‘Oh, I’d love that.’

‘Right, and to raise some money I’d better see about finding a job.’

‘The local paper is due out tomorrow. There’s bound to be something advertised.’

Kevin smiled faintly. It wasn’t employment he was seeking, but Pearl didn’t know that. What he needed was to raise money quickly and that would be impossible, working in a sodding engineering factory.

He stretched out on the bed, already formulating a plan. He’d considered this job ages ago but, thinking it too risky, had discarded the idea. Now, though, the need to get away from his mother overcame his doubts.

Sleep eluded Pearl. At last Kevin was going to get a job. Excited about the future, unusually she was still awake after midnight.

She turned onto her side, but had just snuggled under the blankets when the bedroom door swung slowly open. In the dim light Pearl saw her mother-in-law creeping into the room, moving stealthily to the cot, her hands reaching inside.

Pearl swiftly turned on the bedside light. ‘What are you doing?’

Dolly visibly jumped, her voice blustering as she said, ‘I thought I heard Johnny crying.’

‘He hasn’t made a sound.’

‘How would you know? When was the last time you heard him crying in the night?’

‘What’s going on?’ Kevin asked as he pushed himself up on one elbow. ‘Can’t a bloke get a bit of sleep?’

‘Your mother said she heard Johnny crying, but I’ve been awake all this time and can assure you he didn’t make a sound.’

‘Well, I must have been mistaken,’ Dolly snapped. ‘Anyway, now I’m here I might as well take him. No doubt he’ll want a bottle soon.’

Anger gave Pearl the courage to speak, her voice quiet but firm. ‘There’s no need. I’ll see to him, but thank you anyway.’

To her surprise, Dolly said no more, just throwing Pearl a dark look as she turned on her heels to storm from the room.

Pearl didn’t speak until the bedroom door closed. ‘Kevin, have you ever heard Johnny in the night?’

‘No,’ he said shortly, plumping up his pillow.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that neither of us have heard him crying?’

‘Let it rest, Pearl. I want some sleep.’

‘I can’t. Your mother came to take Johnny, but he wasn’t making a sound. I think she’s being doing it every night.’

He turned onto his back, yawning widely. ‘Yeah, you could be right.’

‘Kevin, don’t you see what this means? She’s been accusing me of being an awful mother, but I’m not,’ Pearl cried, her voice high with indignation. ‘I didn’t hear Johnny because he wasn’t in his cot.’

‘Yeah, and I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what my mother’s game is, but I should have listened to you before. Well, we know what she’s up to now, and don’t worry – we’ll be out of here soon.’

Pearl smiled as she flung back the blankets, hurrying to the cot. Despite the noise, Johnny remained undisturbed and it seemed a shame to wake him. Sure now that she would hear him if he cried, Pearl climbed back into bed. ‘Oh, I can’t wait for us to have a place of our own,’ she whispered as she flung an arm round Kevin, only to find that he had already gone back to sleep.

It didn’t matter, Kevin was on her side now, and for once she felt him an ally against her mother-in-law’s games.

Johnny had woken once during the rest of the night and Pearl was immediately roused. Her eyes were bleary as she fed him, changed him, and then settled him down again. She wanted to confront Dolly, but fear still held her back. Kevin had assured her that they’d be in their own home soon and, dreading a face-to-face argument with her formidable mother-in-law, she decided it would be best to say nothing.

Pearl climbed wearily back into bed, relieved that it was Sunday and she didn’t have to get up early. Kevin turned over and, though asleep, his arms enfolded her. She smiled softly, enjoying the closeness as she snuggled in. With Dolly around, she was still tense, and Kevin had given up trying to make love to her. She didn’t blame him, but things would be different in their own home. They’d have a normal love life – a normal marriage – and she couldn’t wait.

Warm and snug, Pearl closed her eyes, immediately drifting off to sleep and was surprised to find when she woke again that it was after seven.

She went to the cot but Johnny was still asleep, one little hand tucked under his chin. Kevin moaned softly, stretched his arms and then pushed himself up on to one elbow. His hair was tousled, his face relaxed and she couldn’t miss the growing resemblance. ‘Do you know, Johnny is getting more and more like you.’

‘Is he? Then he must be a handsome little devil.’

‘Oh, he is,’ Pearl said, adding with a smile, ‘but his head isn’t as big as yours.’

Kevin grinned and Pearl’s heart swelled with love. Johnny stirred and she picked him up, placing him in Kevin’s arms. He gazed at their son, his affection obvious, and once again Pearl’s heart soared. He was a good father, and now their future together looked rosy.

‘Yuk, he’s bloody soaking.’

‘Well, you’d better change his nappy then. I’m off to make his bottle.’

‘Leave it out, Pearl. That’s women’s work.’

She shook her head, feigning exasperation. Some things would never change and sorting out their son’s nappy was always going to be down to her.

Chapter Thirty-Two

After changing Johnny, Pearl went to the kitchen, relieved to find that her in-laws weren’t up. She made the baby’s bottle and a cup of tea, returning to the bedroom with everything balanced on a tray.

Johnny was squalling and Kevin held him out. ‘He wants his grub.’

Pearl placed the tray on the chest of drawers and, perching on the side of the bed, she gave the baby his bottle, watching as he pulled on the teat.

‘Kevin, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll pop over to see Bessie later.’

‘Why you bother with that old ragbag is beyond me, but I’m going out too so please yourself.’

‘Bessie’s been good to me and I’m fond of her. Where are you going?’

‘I’ve got someone to see – a bit of business to sort out.’

‘Oh, is it to do with a job?’

‘Yeah, you could say that,’ Kevin said, smiling enigmatically as he threw back the blankets, heading for the bathroom.

Johnny finished his feed, and after Pearl had winded him he contentedly drifted off to sleep. She gently placed him in the cot, smiling down at him for a moment before leaving to rinse out his bottle. Dolly was in the kitchen now, making a fresh brew, but she totally ignored Pearl. The atmosphere was awful, tense, and when Kevin finally showed his face, he received the same treatment.

Dolly continued to bang around, slamming doors, driving them out of the kitchen and, soon after, the house, earlier than they’d anticipated.

‘We might be in for a bit of a rough ride,’ Kevin said as they left the café. ‘My mother can sulk for England, but she can stew in her own juice as far as I’m concerned.’

Pearl grinned. ‘Any more metaphors before we part company?’

‘You cheeky bitch,’ Kevin said, but his smile took the sting out of his words. He leaned over to give her a swift kiss on the cheek, gave Johnny the same, calling, ‘See you later,’ as he sauntered off.

Pearl pushed the pram across the road, feeling that something had shifted in their relationship. Kevin seemed warmer, more relaxed, his nerves completely gone and a swagger back in his step.

‘Hello, ducks,’ Bessie said as she opened the door. ‘Come on in.’

Pearl lifted Johnny from his pram and followed the old woman upstairs, but her nose wrinkled as she walked into the living room.

‘Get that sour look off your face,’ Bessie said. ‘I know the place is a mess, but after running the shop all week, I’m too knackered on my day off to worry about housework.’

Pearl took at good look at the old woman and didn’t like what she saw. Bessie looked pasty, her eyes hooded with tiredness. ‘You look awful.’

‘Thanks and it’s nice to see you too,’ she retorted, flopping onto a chair and holding out her arms. ‘Blimey, he gets bigger every time I see him.’

When Pearl laid Johnny in Bessie’s arms, the old woman tickled him under the chin, but he remained undisturbed, sleeping soundly. ‘He sure likes his kip.’

‘Yes, he’s a contented baby,’ Pearl replied before turning on her heels to head for the scullery. ‘I’ll make us a drink.’

The room was in an awful state, dishes piled in the sink, all her work when she had lived with Bessie undone. She shook her head and set to, but it was some time before she returned to the living room.

‘Here,’ she said, placing a cup of tea beside Bessie.

‘Blimey, it’s about time. What have you been doing out there?’ Before Pearl had time to reply she sailed on, ‘Huh, I can guess. You’ve been cleaning up. It’s good of you, but I’d have got round to it eventually.’

‘You said you’re worn out, and I think a rest is more important.’ She took Johnny from Bessie’s arms, laying him gently on the sofa. ‘While he’s sleeping, I’ll tidy up in here.’

‘Leave it, love. Other than the occasional card reading, you’re the only person who visits me, so what does a bit of mess matter?’

‘It won’t take long.’

‘What is it with you and housework? I’d rather you sat down for a chat.’

‘We can talk while I’m working.’

‘How are things over in the café?’

Pearl paused, a pile of old newspapers in her arms. ‘You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.’

‘For Gawd’s sake, you’re making my neck ache. Leave the bloody tidying up and sit down.’

Returning the newspapers to where she had found them, Pearl flopped beside Johnny. ‘I don’t know where to start really but, as you know, I haven’t been hearing the baby at night.’

‘Yeah, and I know it’s upsetting you.’

‘It was, but not now. I couldn’t sleep last night, and Johnny wasn’t crying, but it didn’t stop Dolly from sneaking into our room to take him.’

Bessie straightened in her chair. ‘Bloody hell, and do you think she’s been doing that every night?’

‘Yes, I’m sure she has.’

‘Huh, with the way she’s been trying to take him over, I should have guessed.’ Bessie chuckled. ‘Blimey, you’ve got Dolly well and truly scuppered now and I bet she doesn’t like that. I hope you gave her what for.’

‘Er … not really, but I didn’t let her take Johnny and she wasn’t too happy about that.’

Bessie’s brow lifted. ‘In other words, you’re letting her get away with it.’

‘Oh, Bessie, the atmosphere is awful now and there’s no point in making it worse, especially as Kevin is getting a job and we’ll be in our own place soon.’

‘Huh, I wouldn’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything. I’m just annoyed that you’ve let Dolly get away with it but I should have kept my mouth shut.’

The old woman had her head down, and Pearl looked at her worriedly. She’d heard metaphors from Kevin, but Bessie’s felt somehow prophetic. ‘I can’t just forget it. You inferred that something is going to stop us from getting a place of our own. Have you had another vision?’

‘I told you, it’s nothing. It happened a while ago, after I gave someone a reading, but it was just a flash.’

Bessie was still avoiding eye contact so Pearl didn’t believe her. She had seen something bad, Pearl was sure of it, and her heart began to thump.

‘Bessie,’ she begged, ‘you can’t leave me up in the air like this. Please, please, tell me what you saw.’

A sigh escaped Bessie’s lips and finally she turned her head. ‘Christ, me and my big mouth, but I can see you ain’t gonna leave me in peace until I tell you. All right, if you must know, I saw Kevin in some sort of trouble.’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘I told you it was only a flash. All I saw was Kevin surrounded by policemen.’

‘Oh God! Was it an accident or something? Was Kevin all right?’

‘I don’t know! It was unclear and, if you ask me, best left alone.’

‘You don’t know!’ Pearl shrieked. ‘But you must have seen if he was all right.’

‘Bloody hell, why do you think I didn’t want to tell you? I knew this would happen and that you’d want answers I can’t give you.’

Pearl’s cries had disturbed Johnny and he awoke, squalling. She picked him up, rocking him in her arms. ‘When is this going to happen?’

‘I don’t know, but I think soon.’

Pearl closed her eyes. Bessie had seen Kevin surrounded by policemen. What did it mean? Oh God, she prayed, please let him be all right.

The road was quiet, few people around early on a Sunday morning. Kevin stood in the opposite doorway, gazing across at the shop. When he’d first considered this job, he’d thought about ambushing the old man when he took his takings to the bank, but after following him a few times he’d seen there were always a lot of people about, making it far too risky.

His eyes took in the alarm box above the jeweller’s. He’d foolishly hoped to get in that night, but the system was state of the art and too hard for him to crack. Kevin scowled. He didn’t want to bring Nobby and Dick in on the job, but what was the alternative?

Kevin emerged from the doorway and walked across the road. The only alternative would be to hit the shop when it was open, a risky move but, thinking of the mass of gems inside – which he didn’t want to share with Nobby and Dick – he licked his lips. If he covered his face and got in and out quickly, maybe he could get away with it.

Kevin peered through security grids on the windows, seeing large displays of jewellery, and knew that even if he managed to get only the stuff on show, it would fetch a pretty penny. He moved into the deep entrance now, taking in the side windows. To the right he saw watches and clocks, and to the left more fine jewellery. The door was covered by another thick grid and, hearing a key turning in the lock, Kevin’s eyes widened as it slid back. The door then opened, an old man emerging.

As their eyes met, both froze for a moment, but it was Kevin who moved first. Bloody hell, it was fate, it had to be. He shoved the old man back into the interior, kicking the door closed with his heel. Christ, who’d have thought the jeweller would be in the premises on a Sunday. Talk about luck!

Kevin took in the shop, seeing that, like outside, the internal windows were covered by security grids. He pointed at them, voice thick with menace as he growled, ‘Give me the keys.’

The old man was trembling. ‘I’ll get them for you, but please, don’t hurt me.’

‘If you do as I say, you’ll be fine. However …’ Kevin left the threat hanging in the air.

‘Th … they’re behind the counter,’ the jeweller muttered, and Kevin pushed him roughly forward.

The old man shuffled behind the counter, fumbling underneath whilst Kevin’s thoughts raced, his adrenalin high. This was great and he still couldn’t believe his luck. It was so easy, the geezer obviously terrified and under his control.

At that moment an alarm sounded, jangling loudly in Kevin’s ears. He looked around in panic, his eyes wild as they turned to the jeweller.

‘You bastard! You set off the alarm!’

‘I … I know you. I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ the old man spluttered, unaware that his words sealed his fate.

With a cry of rage Kevin swept up the only thing to hand, a heavy chair in front of the counter. He lifted it high before swinging it down with all his might, smashing it on to the old man’s head.

The bastard had recognised him! His rage now out of control, Kevin ran behind the counter, hitting the man again with the only thick piece of wood left in his hand.

The alarm still sounded, jangling loudly, but Kevin hardly heard it now. He couldn’t leave the man alive – he had to silence him – and seeing only a wall of red before his eyes, he smashed into the jeweller’s skull over and over again.

Blood spurted from the old man’s head, but mindlessly Kevin carried on, only stopping when a hand seized his arm from behind.

The grip was vicelike and, looking over his shoulder with sweat pouring down his face, Kevin saw the hand belonged to a policeman.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Dolly was in deep shock – Pearl too, but somehow she had to keep going for Johnny’s sake. For the first time in the living memory of most locals, the café was closed, and had been for a week.

Bernie threw yesterday’s newspaper to one side with disgust. ‘I don’t know how they got hold of Kevin’s photo, but his face is plastered all over the front page again.’

‘I don’t care what they say. It was self-defence, it had to be. My son would never do something like that.’

‘I don’t think the jeweller could have put up a fight. He’s an old man and lucky to be alive.’

‘There must have been someone else with Kevin and he did it.’

‘Not according to the police. Christ, Dolly, he was caught in the act, and he was the only one there.’

‘Shut up, Bernie! Instead of standing up for Kevin, it sounds like you’ve already decided he’s guilty.’

‘I’m just facing the facts.’

‘I’m telling you he didn’t do it!’ Dolly cried, but she remained seated, for once not lashing out at her husband.

Pearl had been surprised by her father-in-law’s reaction to the news. He’d shown no sympathy for his son, his thoughts for the poor old jeweller, whom Kevin had bludgeoned almost to death. She shuddered, still hardly able to believe that her husband was capable of doing such a thing.

Someone was banging on the front door. Seeing that both her in-laws were ignoring it, Pearl made her way downstairs. Tentively she opened the door.

‘Mrs Dolby?’ a man said. ‘I’m a reporter from the Sketch and—’

‘Go away!’ Pearl screamed, cutting off the man’s words as she slammed the door in his face.

The letterbox lifted. ‘Have you any comment about the new accusations against your husband?’

New accusations! What new accusations? For a moment Pearl stood rooted to the spot, but then she turned, racing back upstairs. ‘Bernie! There’s a reporter outside and he said something about Kevin facing new accusations.’

‘Christ, that can only mean the jeweller’s snuffed it. Kevin must be facing a murder charge now.’

‘No. Oh, no!’ Dolly sobbed.

They soon found out when, following another loud banging on the door, Pearl went to the window to see a costermonger walking away. She crept downstairs to find that today’s newspaper had been shoved through the letterbox.

After reading it they were all stunned. A young woman had seen Kevin’s photograph in the paper, coming forward to accuse him of rape and battery.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Dolly cried. ‘She’s telling lies, she must be, and how come we’re the last to hear of it?’

‘Why would she lie about something like that?’

‘I don’t know, Bernie, but it ain’t true. Maybe she’s jumped at a chance to make money by selling a trumped-up story to the newspapers.’

‘That seems a bit unlikely.’

‘My son is not a rapist,’ Dolly snapped. Her eyes flicked to Pearl and she added venomously, ‘Kevin was all right before he married you.’

Pearl had been reading the report again, but now she dropped the newspaper before rushing, gagging, from the room.

It wasn’t long before Bernie heard Pearl being sick and looked at his wife with disgust. Dolly was grasping at straws, and rather than face the truth about Kevin, she was using Pearl as a scapegoat. She had to find an excuse for her precious son’s behaviour, but to lay the blame on Pearl was bloody ridiculous. With a small shake of his head, Bernie went after his daughter-in-law, finding her just leaving the bathroom. The poor kid looked awful, ashen, as she dragged a hand across her mouth. ‘Are you all right love?’

‘I … I’ve been sick.’

‘Yeah, I know, but listen, don’t take any notice of Dolly.’

Pearl nodded sadly and he saw a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘I … I think I’ll go to my bedroom for a while.’

Bernie returned to the living room, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘Dolly, I don’t think it’s fair to blame Pearl. She’s really upset.’

‘It’s no more than she deserves. Kevin changed when he married her. He became a nervous wreck and hardly left the flat. God knows what that girl’s been doing to him.’

‘You’re mad, woman! Read the newspaper report again and check the dates. Huh, Kevin’s nerves! It all makes sense now. He did it, Dolly. He raped that woman, and was scared of being caught. That’s why he’s been staying in so much. He was too bloody frightened to show his face!’

Dolly reared to her feet and Bernie stiffened, expecting a clout. ‘Why do you always think the worst of him?’ she yelled. ‘He didn’t do it! That woman’s lying. I know she is.’

Bernie kicked off his slippers and reached for his shoes. ‘All right, I’ll go down to the station and we’ll see what they’ve got to say about it.’

‘We’re going to see Kevin tomorrow and we’ll hear the truth from him.’

As Bernie finished tying his laces he felt something snapping inside. Kevin had been caught almost beating an old man to death and he had no doubts about these latest accusations. ‘No, Dolly, you’re going to see him, not me. I never want to set eyes on him again.’

‘But he’s your son!’

‘I was only there at the conception. I’ve had no hand in bringing him up. You saw to that.’

Dolly raised her hand but this time Bernie didn’t flinch. For the first time in years he felt no fear, and uncaring of the consequences his voice rose. ‘I’ll tell you something else. Pearl has just been sick and if you ask me that girl deserves an apology.’ And on that note he strode from the room.

When Bernie left the café he saw that the market was thronging with life, and there was no way he could avoid being seen. Someone shouted his name but he ignored it, keeping his head down until he was out of sight. Christ, he’d known his son had a weak character, but had never dreamed he was capable of such violence. If anything, he had thought him a coward, a mummy’s boy, and his stomach twisted. Had his home environment caused it? Had Kevin seen too much and it had somehow turned his mind? Bernie shook his head, refusing to believe it. He’d heard of worse parents, ones that neglected, starved or beat their children, yet none had turned out like Kevin. No, the boy must have been born like it, he and Dolly bringing a monster into the world.

Pearl heard Bernie going out, but remained sitting on the side of the bed, her hands clutched between her knees. It wasn’t her mother-in-law’s accusation that had made her sick. Like Dolly, she couldn’t believe that Kevin had raped and beaten a woman, but as she read the newspaper report, a memory surfaced. Before their marriage, when Bessie had been ill in bed and they were alone, Kevin had virtually attacked her too, the sex violent. She remembered how frightened she’d been, Kevin calming her fears with excuses, ones that she had believed … until now.

She groaned, rocking back and forth. It was as if her eyes had opened and she was seeing Kevin for the first time. The man she thought herself in love with didn’t exist. Yet even as these thoughts crossed her mind, Pearl knew she was fooling herself. There had been many times when she had worried about his Jekyll and Hyde character but, loving him, she had chosen to dismiss her fears.

Pearl had no idea how long she sat there, her thoughts twisting and turning, but then Bernie poked his head around the door.

‘Come into the living room, Pearl. I’ve been down to the police station and I’ve got some news.’

She rose to her feet, following Bernie into the living room.

Dolly’s head snapped up as soon as she saw her husband. ‘What did the police say?’

‘They wouldn’t tell me much, but one copper was a nice bloke and took me to one side. He said that so far there’s lack of evidence to support the young woman’s story.’

‘See, I told you my boy wouldn’t do such a thing.’

‘He’s not out of the woods yet. They’re still making enquiries and are bringing a few people in for an identity parade.’

‘They’re wasting their time.’

‘Don’t be so sure. And are you forgetting what he did to that old man? He’s lucky he hasn’t been charged with attempted murder.’

‘How many times have I got to tell you that he didn’t do it?’

‘And how many times have I got to say that he was caught red-handed? If that copper hadn’t turned up when he did, Kevin would have killed that old man. There’s no getting away from it, Dolly. Even if Kevin gets off a charge of raping that young woman, he’ll still go down for robbery with violence.’

‘He can’t … he won’t,’ Dolly cried, tears filling her eyes. She leaned forward, her sobs turning to wails as she rocked back and forth.

Pearl and Bernie looked at each other, both floundering. This wasn’t the Dolly Dolby they knew. The once-strong woman was almost choking on her own tears, and neither knew how to react.

‘Oh, Bernie, Bernie,’ she sobbed.

With a small shake of his head, he sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on, old girl. If you carry on like this you’ll make yourself ill.’

She fell against him and, feeling like an intruder, Pearl quietly left the room.

Johnny was still asleep, but she lifted him from his cot. She needed comfort too, someone to talk to, and only one person came to mind: Bessie.

She’d only managed to see the old lady a couple of times since Kevin’s arrest, and now wondered if she’d heard about the latest charges. It didn’t take Pearl long to get Johnny ready and, popping her head around the living-room door, she was surprised to find Bernie alone.

‘Dolly’s in an awful state. I should have kept my mouth shut. She’s gone to lie down, but I can’t get her to stop crying.’

‘Maybe you should call the doctor.’

‘You could be right, but I know Dolly and she won’t thank me. Instead she’d probably go potty. It might be safer to wait and see how she is in a couple of hours. Where are you off to?’

‘I’m just popping out to see Bessie.’

‘All right, but before this you’ve only been to see her when the market was closed for the day. Tongues are wagging and it might be a bit rough for you.’

Bernie was right. It was awful walking through the market. Heads turned, murmurs could be heard, but Pearl ignored them all until a hand touched her arm. She raised her eyes, stunned to see Derek by her side.

‘I’m so sorry, Pearl. You’re having a rotten time of it and I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Mind you, in the light of this latest news I’ve got more doubts about how you got pregnant. I think you took the blame, but you can tell the truth now. Did Kevin rape you too?’

Tears filled her eyes. She had badly hurt this man, but here he was, offering her sympathy. ‘No, Derek, he didn’t.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ And, unable to bear his kindness, she moved quickly away from him, almost running to the second-hand shop.

‘Oh, Bessie,’ she cried as she rushed inside, relieved to find that there weren’t any customers. ‘Derek just offered me his sympathies. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

‘Yeah, he’s a good bloke.’

Pearl sank onto an old chair. ‘I suppose you’ve heard that Kevin’s been accused of rape as well now?’

‘Yes. It doesn’t take long for bad news to spread around here.’

‘You knew it was going to happen, didn’t you?’

‘No, love.’

‘You told me you saw Kevin surrounded by police, but you saw more than that, didn’t you?’

Bessie heaved a sigh. ‘There wasn’t much more, and I once told you that I’d misinterpreted a vision I had about Connie Lewis. Since then I’m loath to say anything unless I’m a hundred per cent sure.’

‘What did you see, Bessie? It’s happened now so there’s no harm in telling me now.’

‘All I missed out was that I had a bad feeling about it. I felt that Kevin was up to no good and would be caught, but I don’t think it had anything to do with rape. I think I saw the robbery.’

‘Oh, Bessie, it’s bad enough that Kevin attacked that old man, but now there’s a woman too. When he’s found guilty of either offence he’ll probably go to prison for years.’

‘I notice that you said when he’s found guilty – not if.’

‘He was caught red-handed at the jeweller’s, and somehow I just know he attacked that girl.’

‘I warned you against Kevin from the start. I told you he’d come to no good, but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I know, but I loved him, Bessie, and I didn’t take any notice of your warning.’

‘Well, you ain’t the only one. As I’ve told you before, people only hear what they want to. Anyway, if you’re right and Kevin goes down for a long time, what are you going to do? Have you given any thought to your future?’

‘Well, no, but all this has been such a shock.’ For a moment Pearl was quiet, pondering the old woman’s words. ‘I’d like to get out of this area. It would be awful for Johnny to grow up hearing his father talked about as a man who nearly killed someone and, not only that, raped a woman too.’

‘Yeah, I can understand that, but where will you go?’

Pearl stared at Bessie, her mind racing. There was no doubt that Kevin would go to prison, and for many years. She’d be alone again, and even if she could get out of Battersea, how was she going to survive on her own?

Chapter Thirty-Four

In an effort to identify Kevin, the police had brought a few people to an identity parade. There was a publican from a country pub, along with a customer, and also the girl’s employer, but as the attack had happened some time ago, none had been able to positively identify him. There was no forensic evidence either, and now the charges had been dropped.

Hearing this news, Dolly had rallied a little, but Kevin remained on remand for the charge of robbery with violence. Nearly three weeks had passed, but still the café remained closed, Dolly’s thoughts only for her son.

Then, at six o’clock that evening, they heard a banging on the café door.

‘I’ll see who it is,’ Bernie said. Soon he returned upstairs with Gertie and Madge.

Without preamble, it was Madge who spoke. ‘Dolly, we’re worried about our jobs. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but when are you going to open the café again?’

‘I can’t think about that now, Madge.’

‘Look, I can understand how you feel, but me and Gertie can’t afford to wait around much longer. If you ain’t gonna open up soon, we’ll have to start looking for something else.’

Dolly at last reacted, her neck stretching as though on a stalk. ‘Neither of you have shown your faces until now, and you, Madge, are family. Your lot could have called round to offer us a bit of support, but we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you.’

‘We knew you’d be going through hell and didn’t like to bother you,’ Madge blustered.

‘Nor me,’ Gertie agreed. ‘I mean, from what we’ve heard, the jeweller’s in an awful state and I can’t understand how Kevin could do something like that.’

‘What! My God, it sounds like you’ve tried and convicted him already.’

‘Of course we ain’t,’ Gertie said, ‘but seeing as he was caught red-handed, there can’t be much doubt about it.’

‘Get out! And as for getting another job, go ahead. You’re both sacked.’

‘Well, that suits me,’ Madge bristled, ‘but the least you can do it pay our wages for the time we’ve been hanging around.’

Bernie’s voice was quiet, but there was an undertone of anger. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your wages, and I’m only sorry that we didn’t think about it before. But we’ve been through a lot, and as Dolly said, you took your time coming to see us.’

‘I’m here now, ain’t I?’

‘And me,’ Gertie agreed.

‘Yes, but only because you’re worried about money. As for you, Gertie, well, you’ve been with us for years and should have known that you’d get paid. Now come on, I’ll show you both out.’

It was only a short time before he returned, shaking his head as he walked into the room. ‘Well, Dolly, I can understand why you sacked them, but now we’re in a right old fix. We’ll have no staff when we open up again.’

‘I don’t give a damn about the café. You heard them, Bernie. If those two are anything to go by, everyone around here must think that Kevin is guilty.’

‘Yes, love, I’m afraid they do.’

Dolly stared at him for a moment. Then, jumping up, she fled to her bedroom.

As the door slammed behind her, Bernie shook his head, ‘Christ, Pearl, I’ve put my foot in it again, but when is she going to face the truth?’

‘I don’t know, but perhaps deep down, she already has.’

‘I doubt that.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Dolly ain’t liked around here, and that’s her own fault, but I didn’t expect Madge and Gertie to behave like that. I should have thought to pay them until we open up again, but there was no need for that attitude. Instead of sympathy, they rubbed salt in the wound.’

Pearl nodded her head in agreement, but in truth she wasn’t surprised. Dolly had ruled the roost, enjoying her dominance over the women, and though she’d been shocked by Gertie’s behaviour, she knew that Madge was glad to see Dolly brought low. Family or not, Madge had no love for her cousin.

It was visiting day and Pearl sat opposite Kevin, listening as her mother-in-law monopolised the conversation as usual. Was he all right? Was he getting enough to eat? On and she went whilst Kevin sat morosely, only answering in monosyllables.

‘I knew that girl was lying, Kevin, and now I’ve been proved right.’

Pearl watched the range of emotions that chased across her husband’s face, but she was seeing him clearly now, the veil lifted. Guilt was the one expression that stood out. He had nearly killed a man, raped a woman, and she was sickened. Had she ever really loved him? In truth she had never really known him. She’d fallen for his handsome face, and had chosen to ignore the side of his personality that she feared. He really was like Jekyll and Hyde. On one side, charming, but the other side, a monster.

Kevin spoke to her now, his voice hoarse. ‘How’s my boy, Pearl?’

‘He’s fine.’

With shock, Pearl saw tears forming in Kevin’s eyes. ‘Johnny will be an adult before I get out of here.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Dolly cried. ‘You may get off the other charges too.’

‘No, Mum. I’ll be going down for years.’

‘Oh, Kevin …’

He ignored her, his eyes still on Pearl. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think while I’ve been on remand, and I don’t want Johnny to see me while I’m in prison. In fact, you can stay away too.’

Pearl couldn’t help it: she felt only a sense of relief. She had felt it her duty to visit Kevin, but now he had freed her. ‘Why don’t you want me to visit you?’

‘It’s obvious. As I said, I’ll be going down for a long time, and you ain’t likely to wait for me.’

‘Of course she will, Kevin.’

‘Leave it out, Mum. Ours wasn’t exactly a love match and I only married her because she was having my kid. Yes, and that was your idea too. Christ, it’s all your fault.’

‘My fault! How can it be my fault?’

His look darkened. ‘I only robbed that jeweller because I wanted enough money to get away from you.’

‘Get away from me! But why?’

Kevin’s voice was as hard as his expression. ‘You need to take a good look at yourself and then you’d know.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘All right, Mum, you’ve asked for it. You’re a sick, narrow-minded bully.’

‘What!’

‘You heard me. You’ve ruled the roost, made Dad’s life a misery, and because I’ve had to watch it, mine too.’ His eyes flicked to Pearl before continuing, ‘When Pearl was unfortunate enough to marry into the family, look how you treated her, and I’m sorry to say I wasn’t much better.’

‘You were fine before you married her.’

Kevin’s laugh was derisive. ‘No, Mum, you can’t blame Pearl for the way I turned out. It’s all down to you, and I’ll tell you something else, I don’t want you ruining my son.’

‘Kevin, how dare you talk to me like this? Of course I won’t ruin Johnny.’

‘Oh, I dare.’ And then his eyes turned to Pearl, his voice hissing and urgent as visiting time drew to an end. ‘My mother made sex a dirty word, and I want you to get Johnny away from her. Find somewhere else to live, and don’t come here again.’

Pearl stared at him in confusion, but then a guard came to lead him away. Dolly reared to her feet, calling, ‘I know you don’t mean it, son. You’re under a lot of strain, that’s all. I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t bother,’ he shouted, ‘and, Pearl, do as I say. Get Johnny away from her.’

Dolly’s face was white as she turned to Pearl. ‘He’s upset, and you mustn’t take any notice of what he said.’

‘Please, I just want to get out of here.’

Dolly nodded, becoming quiet, and she hardly spoke on the way home. Pearl too was deep in thought. Kevin has said some strange things. He said that Dolly was sick, that she had made sex into a dirty word. What did he mean? Had Dolly interfered with him in some way? Oh God, it was awful. He had told her to get Johnny away from his mother and, somehow, she intended to do just that.

The following day Dolly was morose, hardly speaking and, wanting to get out of the flat, Pearl got Johnny ready, wheeling him across to Bessie’s shop. She wanted to talk to the old lady, to tell her what Kevin had said.

‘Hello, love,’ Bessie said as Pearl pushed the pram inside, her head cocking to one side. ‘What’s up?’

Pearl took a seat by the counter. ‘It’s Kevin. I had a bit of a shock when we went to see him.’ She went on to tell Bessie what had happened, finally saying, ‘He told me to move out, to get Johnny away from Dolly.’

‘Well, love, I must admit I don’t like the sound of it. Are you going to take his advice?’

‘Yes, of course I am, and I want to move out as soon as possible.’

‘Can’t say I blame you, but before we work out what you’re going to do, I must tell you about another vision.’

‘Was it about Kevin again?’

‘No, this time it was about you.’

‘Me! What did you see?’

Bessie’s forehead creased. ‘It was odd. All I saw was a woman sitting in bed looking at a newspaper, and your face was on the front page.’

‘But I’ve never been in the newspaper, and who was this woman?’

‘I have no idea. All I can say is that she looked ill, but happy.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes, but I have a feeling she’ll come into your life.’

Pearl rubbed a hand across her forehead. Why would a strange woman be happy to see her? ‘Maybe I’ll meet her when I move out of this area?’

‘Have you any money, Pearl?’

‘No.’

‘So how do you think you can move away? You’d need to find a home, a job, and you can’t work with a baby to look after.’

Pearl knew Bessie was right. She’d been stupid, living in a dream world, and now she was facing reality, tears stung her eyes.

‘Don’t get upset, love. Why don’t you come back here? I know it’s only a stone’s throw from Dolly, but it’s a start.’

‘I can’t expect you to keep me.’

‘Keep you! Leave it out. There’s work for you in the shop and it’ll be nice to put me feet up for a while.’

Pearl’s heart surged with gratitude. This lovely old lady was offering her a way out, and she grabbed it. ‘All right, Bessie, I’ll come back, and thank you.’

Things didn’t work out as Pearl expected, her happiness short-lived. During her absence Dolly had collapsed and Pearl returned to find Bernie in a dreadful state.

‘She’s hardly said a word since seeing Kevin yesterday and when you went out she just sort of folded. It was weird, Pearl, and she won’t stop crying.’

‘Have you called the doctor?’

‘Yes, and he should be here shortly, but what happened to bring this on?’

She told him that Kevin had said he didn’t want to see his mother again, blaming her for all that had happened. Her face reddened, too embarrassed to tell Bernie the bit about Dolly being sick and making sex a dirty word.

‘I can’t believe that he doesn’t want to see his mother again, and no wonder she’s upset.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘That’ll be the doctor,’ Bernie said. ‘Would you let him in, Pearl?’

She went downstairs, returning to wait with Bernie whilst the doctor examined Dolly.

Bernie scratched his head. ‘I reckon that, like Dolly, Kevin is looking for a scapegoat. He’s done wrong, but it’s easier to blame someone else than face his own actions. Dolly spoiled him rotten, but that doesn’t mean she’s responsible for what he did.’

Before Pearl could respond, the doctor emerged, Bernie jumping to his feet. ‘Is she all right?’

‘I think your wife is suffering from nervous exhaustion.’

‘What the hell is that?’

‘It’s caused by stress. Has she been sleeping?’

‘No, not really, but she’s a strong woman and always has been.’

‘Everyone has a breaking point, Mr Dolby, and I think your wife has reached hers. I’ve given her a sedative, and if you keep her free of any further worries, I’m sure she’ll be fine.’

‘Gawd, how am I supposed to do that? She still has our son’s trial to face.’

‘Don’t let her go. Keep her at home.’

‘Huh, if she wants to go there’ll be no stopping her.’

The doctor sighed. ‘You can tell her it’s against my advice, and until then keep her as quiet as possible. Call me if you have any worries.’

When the man left, Bernie went in to see Dolly, but he soon returned. ‘She’s asleep, but what about when she wakes up? I don’t know how I’m going to cope with her, Pearl.’

Bernie looked sick with worry and, with a sinking heart, Pearl realised she’d have to remain. Bernie had always shown her kindness and she was fond of her father-in-law. She couldn’t abandon him now. She’d stay for a while, just until Dolly recovered, and then she’d be out of there like a shot.

Dolly was up in less than a week, but she still looked awful and hardly spoke. Bernie seemed lost, creeping around his wife as though she was made of china. However, later that morning both he and Pearl were surprised when she suddenly surged to her feet, her voice strong and assertive again.

‘I’m going to see Kevin.’

‘You’re not up to it, love,’ Bernie protested.

‘I have to see him. He’s my son.’

‘All right, if it means so much to you, I’ll come along.’

‘No, Bernie, I want to see him on my own.’

Nothing Bernie could say would prevent her, and when she left they felt as if they were holding their breath until she returned.

One look at Dolly’s face was enough for them to realise her visit had been a mistake. She looked almost on the point of collapse, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

‘What happened, love?’ Bernie asked.

‘Kevin agreed to see me, but said it was for the last time.’

‘He said what?’

‘Oh, Bernie, he still blames me for everything and I … I think he’s right.’

‘Don’t be daft, Dolly. He tried to rob that jeweller – not you.’

‘Yes, but he only did it to get away from me.’

‘He’s just making excuses. If he wanted money to move out there was nothing to stop him from getting a job.’

‘Maybe, but he said I’m a dominant and interfering mother.’

‘Well, you certainly ain’t mouselike,’ Bernie chuckled, trying to inject a bit of humour.

Dolly didn’t smile; instead her voice rose. ‘Kevin’s right then. I drove him to it!’

‘Leave it out, Dolly. You weren’t that bad and, if anything, you spoiled the lad.’

‘Didn’t I do anything right?’ she cried, running from the room.

Bernie looked at Pearl, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘I seem to be making a habit of putting my foot in it. I’ll go and see if she’s all right.’

It wasn’t long before he came back. ‘She’s in a right old state and I think I’ll have to call the doctor again.’

Pearl nodded, but her heart was heavy. She had hoped that Dolly was getting better, but now the woman had taken a step backwards. Oh, if only she could move out, but she still couldn’t bring herself to abandon her father-in-law.

Chapter Thirty-Five

It was mid-September and Pearl still hadn’t moved in with Bessie. She had no love for Dolly, but Bernie seemed incapable of looking after her. The doctor had put Dolly on medication and mostly she just sat, seeming to draw great comfort from just holding Johnny in her arms. Strangely, though, she always asked permission now before picking him up, and with all the housework, the washing, ironing and cooking to do, Pearl was sometimes pleased to hand him over to her mother-in-law. She had watched carefully, but hadn’t seen anything to make sense of Kevin’s accusations. Nevertheless, she remained vigilant, making sure that Bernie was always around before leaving Johnny in her mother-in-law’s care.

Then, after all the waiting, Kevin was at last brought to trial, Dolly insisting that she was going to attend. As though it had brought her a new lease of life, she bustled around getting ready, only stopping her preparation when Bernie spoke.

‘The doctor has advised against this, but you just won’t listen. All right, go then, but you needn’t think I’m coming with you.’

She hardly reacted, only closing her eyes for a moment before turning to Pearl. ‘What about you?’

‘Yes, I’d like to go, but I don’t want to take Johnny. Would you mind looking after him, Bernie?’

‘Of course I will – well, as long as you make sure you have his bottles made up.’

Pearl smiled her thanks and went to get ready, afterwards preparing everything for the baby.

Bernie insisted that she call a cab. Dolly hardly spoke during the journey, and when they entered the courtroom it was to find it packed, many locals showing an avid interest in the case.

The chamber buzzed with voices, and a sea of faces looked at them as they sat down. Dolly kept her head low, Pearl surprised when she reached out to grip her hand.

There was a hush as Kevin appeared in the dock, which continued when the judge entered the courtroom.

The trial began, but after all Pearl’s nervous anticipation, it was quickly over. On his lawyer’s advice Kevin had pleaded guilty, and now the judge was looking at the medical evidence. The jeweller had recovered, but only just, the report revealing brain damage.

Pearl’s found her eyes were fixed on the bench and the stern-faced judge. He looked grim as Kevin stood before him, and she gasped as he passed a sentence of fifteen years imprisonment.

The courtroom came alive, buzzing with voices again, but Dolly slumped in her seat. Pearl thought she had passed out, and bent anxiously over her mother-in-law, but as Kevin was led away Dolly rallied enough to rise to her feet.

‘Oh, son,’ she cried.

Kevin’s eyes flicked towards them, but then he was urged downstairs and out of their sight. Dolly stood transfixed, but Pearl took her arm, pulling her mother-in-law towards the exit.

They emerged into bright sunlight, but it was the flash of a camera going off in Pearl’s face that made her blink. She hadn’t expected reporters, new headlines taking up the front pages, and now looked frantically for a taxi. One was coming and she raised an arm to hail it, almost bundling Dolly inside before slamming the door behind them.

‘Battersea High Street,’ she told the driver.

‘Oh, Pearl, I can’t believe it,’ Dolly whispered. ‘Why did Kevin plead guilty?’

‘With the amount of evidence against him, I don’t think he had any choice. If Kevin tried to plead not guilty and then lost the case, the judgement would have been harsher.’

Dolly sunk low in her seat, dabbing at her eyes, and as the taxi drove off Pearl didn’t look back. Kevin was going to prison, he didn’t want to see her again, and that meant her marriage was over. Suddenly she felt a surge of freedom again, followed by another of shame. How could she feel like this when her husband had just been sentenced to fifteen years in prison? Yet as she closed her eyes against her guilt, Pearl found that nothing could mar her feelings of relief.

Bernie was giving Johnny his bottle as they walked in, his eyebrows rising in enquiry. ‘Fifteen years,’ Pearl told him.

‘It’s what I expected,’ he said, but then as Dolly suddenly staggered he rose to his feet. ‘Pearl, take the nipper. I’ll see to Dolly.’

She took her son, surprised when Bernie spoke firmly to his wife. ‘See, I told you not to go, and in future perhaps you’ll listen to me.’

‘Oh, Bernie …’ Dolly groaned.

‘Come on, let’s get you to bed,’ he said.

As her father-in-law led Dolly from the room, Pearl saw that he was growing in stature. He seemed the leader now, Dolly clinging and the follower, but Pearl couldn’t help wondering how long this situation would last.

As they left the room, Pearl sat down, popping the teat into Johnny’s mouth. She gazed at his face, seeing Kevin in his features. Her marriage was over, but he had given her Johnny and she would always thank him for that.

When Bernie returned, his face was etched with worry. ‘Dolly’s taken the sentence really badly. I think she was clinging to the misguided hope that Kevin would get off.’

‘Maybe it would help if you get back to a routine again. Perhaps open the café.’

‘Dolly refuses to talk about the business and I’m really worried about her. She’s becoming almost a recluse, only leaving the flat when she went to see Kevin. If we continue to live and work around here, I can’t see her ever getting back to her old self.’

‘Given time, she’ll bounce back.’

‘No, I don’t think so. She’s been brought too low, and I’ve been giving it some thought. I reckon we should sell up and move out of the area.’

‘Sell up! But where will you go?’

‘I ain’t thought that far ahead, but a nice little teashop in Devon or Cornwall would suit me. That nipper seems Dolly’s only comfort now, and as long as you’re with us, I reckon she’ll be happy to move anywhere.’

Pearl drew in a breath. It was time to tell him, but she dreaded his reaction. ‘No, I’m sorry, Bernie, but I won’t be coming with you. My marriage is over, and though I feel sorry for Dolly, it wouldn’t be right to go on living with you.’

‘Don’t be daft. You’re family, and how you can bring Johnny up on your own? You’d need to earn enough to support you both, and you can’t work with a baby to take care of.’

‘I wouldn’t be on my own. Bessie has asked me to live with her.’

‘Well, yeah, you could do that, but do your really want to stay in this area? If you come with us it would be a fresh start, and nobody need know about the past.’

‘I admit I’d like to get out of Battersea, but I can’t face living with Dolly.’

‘Look, I know she gave you a rough time of it, but she’s different now. Please, Pearl, I need you. Until Dolly gets back to normal, I don’t think I can cope with her.’

‘Yes you can. You’re doing fine, but what about when she is back to her old self? She’ll try to take Johnny over again, undermining everything I do.’

‘I’ll see that she doesn’t,’ Bernie said, and, seeing Pearl’s expression, he smiled faintly. ‘There’s no need to shake your head in doubt. Things have changed, Pearl. I let Dolly get away with dominating me in the past, but I don’t intend to let it happen again.’

‘I’m sorry, Bernie, but Kevin urged me to get Johnny away from his mother, and though I don’t know what made him say that, he must have had his reasons. I don’t want my son hurt.’

‘Leave it out. Dolly loves the nipper – we both do – and neither of us would do anything to harm a hair on his head.’

‘I know you wouldn’t, Bernie, but when it comes to Dolly I can’t take that chance.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘It’s madness, if you ask me, but it seems you’ve made up your mind. I just hope that I can still persuade Dolly to move.’

Dolly didn’t surface until the following morning, her long hair hanging lacklustre down her back, and her complexion wan.

‘How are you feeling, love?’ Bernie asked as he lowered his newspaper.

‘I’m all right.’

‘Did you take your pill?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well then, how about having a cup of tea and a couple of slices of toast first?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Pearl offered, rising to her feet with the baby in her arms.

‘Can I hold him?’ Dolly asked.

With Bernie in the room, Pearl didn’t mind, ‘Of course you can.’

Bernie waited until Pearl left the room and then leaned forward, speaking earnestly. ‘Dolly, how do you feel about moving out of the area? We could sell up and buy a little tearoom in the West Country. Nobody would know about us and it’d be a fresh start.’

‘But that’s miles away! No, I need to be near Kevin.’

‘Dolly, he’s in prison and doesn’t want to see you.’

‘I know that, but he’s sure to come round. When he does, I’ll be able to visit him.’

‘Maybe, but even so, you won’t be able to see him every day. I’m only talking about moving to Devon or Cornwall, not Timbuktu.’

With infinite gentleness Dolly stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘It might be nice for Johnny to grow up in the country.’

Bernie knew there was no putting it off. Pearl had made up her mind to leave and he couldn’t see her staying for much longer. ‘No, love, Pearl won’t be coming with us. She’s moving in with Bessie.’

A spark returned to Dolly’s eyes, her voice indignant, ‘She can’t take Johnny away from us. We’re his grandparents.’

‘She can, love. Now that the marriage is over, Pearl can do what she likes.’

‘Who said it’s over? Pearl is still Kevin’s wife and it’s her duty to wait for him until he comes out of prison.’

‘Dolly, for Gawd’s sake, you’re talking rot! He beat up a man, raped a woman and, if you ask me, Pearl’s better off without him.’

Before his eyes, Bernie saw the transformation in his wife’s demeanour. The spark in her eyes turned to fire as she spat, ‘He didn’t rape that woman, and I am not talking rot. Like it or not, Pearl must stay with us. I’ve already lost my son, and I don’t intend to lose my grandson too.’

‘It’s Pearl’s decision,’ Bernie said.

‘She’ll move in with Bessie over my dead body.’

‘Dolly …’

‘Enough! I don’t want to hear another word about it.’ Dolly stood up and, finding a clean nappy, she laid the baby on the rug to change him.

Pearl came back into the room, carefully balancing a tray, smiling at her son’s antics. He loved being free of the binding, his chubby legs kicking, and hands waving before going down to pull on his little penis. Dolly slapped it away, her voice loud. ‘Stop that, you dirty little boy,’ she cried. ‘Bad boy, it’s nasty to do that.’ Then, seeing Pearl, she added, ‘What’s this about you moving in with Bessie Penfold?’

Dolly looked surprised when Pearl slammed the tray down before moving swiftly to her side. She picked the baby up, her face and voice tight, ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Well you can forget it.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. You’re Kevin’s wife and your place is with us. Bernie has suggested that we move out of the area and I think it’s a good idea. Mind you, Devon or Cornwall is a bit far, but Dorset would be all right. It’ll be lovely for Johnny to grow up in the country and while we’re waiting for Kevin to come home, we can all work together in a nice little tearoom.’

Bernie held his breath, but Pearl didn’t argue, just saying, ‘Johnny needs a wash and then I’ll get him dressed.’

Dolly, he saw, had a smile of satisfaction on her face. ‘See, I soon sorted her out. Right, Bernie, let’s see about getting this place on the market.’

Bernie heaved a sigh. He should have stood up for Pearl but, like Dolly, he didn’t want to leave their grandson behind. ‘So, you fancy Dorset then?’

‘Yes, and the more I think about it, the better it sounds. We can offer sandwiches and home-made cakes, served on pretty china. There’ll be no more getting up at the crack of dawn to cook flaming breakfasts. Oh, I can just see it, Bernie. Lovely fresh white linen tablecloths and small vases of flowers on the tables.’

‘Sounds good to me, love.’

‘I’ll be able to spend a lot more time with Johnny.’

Whilst they happily made plans, unbeknown to them, Pearl was rapidly making her own. She was stuffing clothes into bags before hiding them in the bottom of the wardrobe. She’d wait until that night, wait until her in-laws were asleep, and then she was getting out of there.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The house was silent. Pearl’s nerves were jumping as she crept downstairs. She had taken all she could carry, stuffing bags into the pram, and now, fully loaded, she carefully opened the street door. With infinite care she closed it behind her, stepping outside into the dark night. She was leaving, her shoulders stiff with resolution. Dolly was back to normal, laying down the law, but Kevin had told her to keep Johnny away from his mother, and she intended to do just that. She was going to Bessie’s, and there was no way Dolly Dolby was going to drag her back.

Pearl banged on Bessie’s door again and again, relieved when at last she opened it.

‘Bloody hell, love, what are you doing here at this time of night?’

‘I’m sorry, Bessie, but I had to get away.’

‘All right, come on in, but why didn’t you wait until the morning?’

‘Dolly’s back to normal and if I hadn’t sneaked out now, there’s no way she would let me leave.’

‘She couldn’t have kept you a prisoner.’

‘Dolly’s capable of anything,’ Pearl said as she put the brake on the pram, leaving Johnny asleep as she lugged her things upstairs. She then went down again to get her son, laying him gently on the sofa.

‘Right,’ Bessie said. ‘Start at the beginning.’

‘They’re going to sell up and move out of the area, and it’s as though the decision has given Dolly a new lease of life. Only yesterday she was a wreck, but now she’s back to laying down the law. She won’t accept that my marriage is over and insisted that I go with them to Devon or Cornwall.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Pearl, you’re not a child. You’re a grown woman and she can’t force you to go.’

‘I … I just didn’t want an argument.’

‘If I know Dolly, you won’t have much choice. As soon as she finds you’ve gone, she’ll be over here.’

‘Oh, Bessie, what am I going to do?’

‘For starters you can get that frightened rabbit look off your face and stand up for yourself. As I said, Dolly can’t force you to go, and you’ll just have to tell her that.’

Pearl shook her head doubtfully, her head drooping.

‘Come on,’ Bessie said. ‘Let’s get to bed and we’ll worry about Dolly bloody Dolby in the morning.’

With a nod of agreement, Pearl rose to her feet and lifted Johnny into her arms. She followed Bessie upstairs, her tired eyes widening when she saw her old room and the cot in the corner. ‘Oh, Bessie.’

‘Now then, don’t start the waterworks. I knew you’d be moving in eventually and the cot didn’t cost me anything. It was in the back room, but cleaned up nicely.’

Pearl took in the clean white sheets, the soft blankets and choked, her eyes watery as she said, ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘Leave it out, girl. Now get yourself and Johnny to bed and we’ll talk again in the morning.’

Bessie left then and, after settling Johnny, Pearl climbed into her own bed. She had done it; she had got away from Dolly. But now she shivered. Bessie was right: as soon as Dolly found her gone, she’d come looking for her and she dreaded it.

Pearl wanted to remain hidden, but Bessie wouldn’t stand for it. ‘You can’t stay up here for ever, love. If Dolly comes over here, stand your ground. She doesn’t own you and can’t drag you back.’

Reluctantly Pearl followed the woman downstairs, but as she settled Johnny in his pram and glanced out of the window, her heart skipped with fear.

‘Oh God, Dolly’s already on her way over.’

‘Now then, don’t run away. As I told you, stand your ground, girl.’

Pearl wanted nothing more than to flee, but moments later the door flew open, crashing back against the wall. Ramrod straight, her hair still loose and flying wildly around her shoulders, Dolly marched into the shop.

‘I don’t know what your game is, but you can bring that child back to the café.’

The noise woke Johnny up and he began to cry, but as Dolly moved towards the pram, Pearl barred her path. ‘Keep away from him.’

‘You must be mad, girl. I’m not having my grandson living in this dump!’

‘Oy, watch your mouth, Dolly Dolby,’ Bessie said, moving from behind the counter.

‘Shut up!’ Dolly shouted, her hand coming out as though Bessie was a fly to swat away.

‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ Pearl screamed.

Dolly stayed her hand, saying with a scowl, ‘Huh, I wouldn’t touch her with a bleedin’ bargepole.

She made for the pram again, but Pearl bent swiftly, snatching Johnny up and holding him tightly to her. ‘Stay away from my son!’

‘I’ll do no such thing! He’s my grandson and his place is with me.’

Pearl felt her body swelling, stretching, and from somewhere inside she felt imbued with strength. ‘No, Dolly, his place is with me, his mother! I’ll decide where he lives, not you, and we’re staying here.’

‘You heard her. I want you out of my shop, Dolly Dolby, and now.’

‘I told you to shut your mouth, Bessie Penfold! I ain’t going anywhere without my grandson and if you get in my way I’ll smash your bleedin’ face in.’

When Pearl heard the threat it was the final straw. She had lived in fear of this woman, allowed herself to be ordered about like a servant, but she wasn’t going to let Dolly take her son. Johnny was still wailing, but her voice rose above his cries. ‘You lay one finger on Bessie, or my son, and I’ll call the police.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

‘Oh yes I would.’ And playing what she hoped was a trump card, she added, ‘And I’m sure the locals would love to see another Dolby being carted off to gaol.’

‘You little bitch,’ Dolly spat. ‘All right, I’m going, but I ain’t finished with you yet!’

The breath left Pearl’s body in a rush as Dolly marched out of the shop, slamming the door behind her.

‘There, there, it’s all right,’ she soothed, patting Johnny on his back. His cries turned to little hiccuping sobs, and then finally stopped.

‘Well done, love,’ Bessie said. ‘She was like a bleedin’ Amazon, but you sorted her out.’

‘Yes, but for how long?’

‘You’ve got the upper hand now, and it won’t take her long to realise that if she wants to see her grandson, she’ll have to behave.’

Pearl smiled at last. She had done it. She had stood up to Dolly and from now on, nobody was going to walk all over her again.

Dolly was fuming as she marched across the road, but saw many eyes looking at her, and heard sniggers of laughter. Her hand flew up, touching her hair, and she suddenly realised that she had dashed out without giving any thought to her appearance. Christ, she still had her slippers on! Head down she surged forward, almost running to the sanctuary of the café.

The postman had been and a few letters lay on the floor. She swept them up, still sick with shame as she flicked through them, but then stayed her hand as one caught her eye. It was addressed to Pearl, the writing spidery, and she frowned, wondering who it was from.

Well, sod the girl. She had run off, taking Johnny with her. Without hesitation, Dolly tore the envelope open. Her mouth gaped in disbelief as she read the contents. She then smiled slyly. She’d keep this bit of information to herself and it would serve Pearl right. Dolly stuffed the letter into her pocket and went upstairs.

‘She wouldn’t come back then?’ Bernie said.

‘No, and she even had the cheek to threaten me with the police.’

‘Blimey! Why did she do that?’

‘Oh, I dunno. Probably because I threatened to give Bessie Penfold a clout.’

‘Bloody hell – what did you do that for?’

‘Cos the old cow told me to get out of her shop.’

Bernie shook his head. ‘Dolly, it sounds to me like you went in there like a bull into a china shop.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I did, but Pearl can’t keep me away from my grandson.’

‘Dolly, she can, and we can’t do anything about it.’

‘Huh, we’ll see about that. I’ll go to a bloody solicitor if I have to.’

‘It won’t do any good. We have no legal rights over Johnny.’

‘Don’t be daft. We’re his grandparents.’

‘As the law stands at the moment, it doesn’t make any difference.’

Dolly sunk onto a chair, her mind turning. So, they had no legal rights, but she wasn’t going to give in. ‘I’ll tidy myself up and go over there again.’

‘It might be better if I speak to her.’

‘No, I’ll sort her out.’

‘Dolly, if you aren’t careful, you’ll frighten her off. There’s nothing to stop her leaving Bessie’s, and if she does we’d lose track of her.’

Dolly frowned. Bernie was right. She didn’t want the girl bolting and needed time to think, to plan. In the meantime, Bernie might be able to calm things down.

‘All right, you talk to her. She always did have a soft spot for you.’

Bernie left half an hour later. Awaiting his return, Dolly paced the floor. She wanted out of this area, but had no intention of leaving without her grandson. A plan began to form, and as she went over it, Dolly decided it could work. But would Bernie agree?

A lot depended on how quickly they could sell the business, but then, struck by a thought, she stopped pacing. The letter that had been delivered for Pearl might put a fly in the ointment. Grabbing her coat from the back of the chair, she pulled the crumpled envelope out of the pocket.

As she read the contents again, a small smile of satisfaction crossed her face. The woman was ill, too ill to travel, and that suited Dolly fine. There was no chance of her turning up for the time being, no chance of any interference, and with any luck they would be long gone before she showed her face.

She went over the plan again, a little unsure if Kevin had any legal rights. He must have, he was Johnny’s father! It might be for the best if Bernie approached him. He could tell Kevin that Pearl was an unfit mother and that Johnny was in danger. It was rubbish, of course, but Kevin loved his son and would want to protect him.

Dolly frowned, unsure of this stage of her plan, but then her back straightened. Even if Kevin wouldn’t co-operate, it could still work. They’d have to change their names, of course, but just in case Bernie baulked at the idea, she’d wait until they had a buyer for the café before telling him. He might not like it, but she’d get round him, and if not, well, sod him. She’d do it on her own.

Bernie sat in Bessie’s living room, relieved that Pearl had agreed to speak to him in private, his eyes soft as he gazed at his grandson. The lad was growing fast, sitting up now and a happy baby, with chubby arms and legs that waved with excitement at the sight of his toy.

‘Dolly is really sorry, Pearl, but when you went off without telling us, she nearly went out of her mind.’

‘That’s no excuse for coming over here and threatening Bessie.’

‘I know, but she’s come to her senses now. All she wants is to be allowed to see the nipper now and then.’

Pearl shook her head. ‘I’ve already told you. Kevin warned me to move out and to keep Johnny away from his mother.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense, love. Dolly may not be perfect, but who is? And she loves Johnny. It would be cruel to stop her seeing him.’

‘You’ll be moving out of the area as soon as you’ve sold the café.’

‘If you’re not coming with us, I doubt she’ll go.’

Pearl was quiet for a while, her head down, Bernie unaware of her thoughts. She wanted Dolly to leave, to be free of the woman, yet it would be Johnny who kept her here. ‘Do you think she’ll agree to go if I allow her access to Johnny?’

‘Well, she might, but living in the West Country it won’t be easy.’ He scratched his head. ‘It’s too far to drive down for the day. We’d no sooner get here than it would be time to return. If you’d let us have him for weekends it might work.’

‘No, I can’t allow that.’

‘It’s that or we stay here.’

Pearl once again became quiet as her mind turned. She didn’t want Dolly near her son, sure that somehow she had turned Kevin’s mind. Maybe she could pretend to agree. Once gone they couldn’t do anything about it when she changed her mind. ‘All right, Bernie, you can have him for the occasional weekend.’

‘Thanks, love. Dolly’s sure to agree now and, in the meantime, until we move, can we see the lad?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but I don’t want Dolly left alone with him.’

‘Blimey, I think you’re taking this a bit far.’

‘It’s that or nothing, Bernie. I want you there with them the whole time, and you can only have him for a couple of hours. If you agree, you can pick him up tomorrow afternoon and then maybe again in a day or two.’

He exhaled loudly. ‘All right, I’ll make sure I don’t leave the nipper alone with Dolly, but it still doesn’t make any sense.’ He rose to his feet, leaning over to kiss Johnny on his cheek. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, bruiser.’

Johnny waved a chubby fist, and Bernie’s eyes saddened. Christ, he was going to miss the boy, but at least he’d talked Pearl into giving them access.

When Bernie went downstairs he found Bessie standing behind the counter, her arms folded across her chest.

‘Now you listen to me, Bernard Dolby. I ain’t having your wife marching in here again, shouting like a bloody fishwife, and you can tell her that from me.’

‘It’s all right, Bessie. Pearl has agreed to let us see the baby and it won’t happen again.’

‘The girl’s too soft for her own good.’

‘He is our grandson, Bessie.’

As the old woman gazed at him, Bernie shivered. Her eyes looked strange, unfocused, almost as though she was seeing through him and into the distance.

Her head cocked to one side as she spoke. ‘Pearl tells me that you’re leaving the area. Is that right?’

‘Yes, as soon as we sell the business.’

‘She’s up to something,’ Bessie murmured.

‘Who’s up to something?’

‘Your wife.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I saw something, a vision, but it was just a flash. Yeah, she’s planning something.’

Bernie shook his head impatiently. Visions. What a load of rot. He wasn’t going to stand around listening to this nonsense. ‘’Bye,’ he said shortly.

As he left the shop, Bernie’s eyes took in the market, and a couple of costermongers lifted their arms to wave. Would he miss the area? With a shake of his head he realised he wouldn’t. The only thing he’d miss would be his grandson. Without him and Dolly, he hoped to God that Pearl would be able to cope – financially.

His thoughts continued to turn. The café was in a prime location and should fetch a pretty penny. When they brought a small tearoom they’d have plenty left over and maybe he’d be able to persuade Dolly to drop Pearl a few bob. After what she’d been through she deserved it, and maybe they could put some money in trust for Johnny.

Bernie went into the café, locking the door behind him and then gazed around the dining room. For a moment it seemed to echo with memories – the customers, the waitresses that had come and gone – and seeing that the room looked dusty and unused, he smiled sadly as he thought about their cleaner, Nora. Like Madge and Gertie, they hadn’t given a thought to the poor woman and her wages, something he was ashamed of but had now put right.

With a shake of his head he headed for the stairs, hoping they had all managed to find jobs. Dolly was waiting, and he smiled, glad that he was able to give her some good news.

‘Pearl is letting us have Johnny for a couple of hours tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Well done, love,’ she said, and Bernie’s chest swelled. ‘In the meantime, let’s get this place on the market.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Pearl was enjoying herself as she reorganised the shop. Bessie was happy to give her a free rein, and with Johnny in his pram behind the counter, he got most of the old woman’s attention.

She had given the place a good clean, afterwards putting the stock into sections: clothes racks in one area, furniture in the other, arranged to resemble a room. Most had been improved with a good polish, and already they had managed to shift a dining-room table and a sideboard.

The clothes got her attention next, and Pearl made sure that everything on offer was clean and pressed. Bessie had moaned at the garments spread over lines in the upstairs flat to dry, but it resulted in more sales.

Pearl’s nose wrinkled. There was still a musty smell in the air and she knew it came from the piles of old blankets and quilts, but washing such large items presented a problem.

She turned to Bessie. ‘Maybe we should get rid of this lot. They won’t sell in this state.’

‘Get rid of them! Leave it out, girl. Not everyone is as fussy as you, and the blankets are worth a few bob each.’

‘In the two weeks I’ve been here they haven’t sold. Is there any way to wash them?’

‘I suppose you could take them to the laundry baths, but if you ask me it’s a waste of time.’

‘You said that about the clothes.’

‘Yeah, well, I must admit we’ve shifted a lot since you sorted them out, but look at you. All this washing is wearing you out and you’re up half the night ironing.’

‘It’s been worth it, and I’ve nearly finished now.’ Pearl frowned. ‘I suppose the laundry is the answer for these blankets, but I’d be stuck down there for hours.’

‘Well, I ain’t taking them. That place is full of gossiping old biddies and—’

The door opened, cutting Bessie off in mid sentence, and both smiled as Nora came in.

‘Hello,’ Pearl said.

‘Hello,’ she replied, her eyes puzzled. ‘What you doing here?’

‘I work here now. What about you? Have you found another job?’

‘No,’ she said, her eyes flicking to the pram. ‘That your baby?’

‘Yes, and his name is Johnny.’

Nora leaned over the counter, and as she pulled faces at him, he chuckled, dribble running from the corner of his mouth. ‘He likes you, Nora.’

‘What can we do for you, love?’ Bessie asked.

‘Want new coat. Mummy gave me this,’ she answered, holding out two shillings.

Involuntarily Pearl glanced out of the window. September was drawing to an end, but thankfully it was still mild. They didn’t have many winter coats, and with just two shillings Nora’s mother must be expecting a miracle. Moving across to the racks, she flicked through them, finding only one that might fit the short, chubby woman. Now that everything was priced, she checked the tag, but it was too expensive. ‘I’m sorry, Nora, but at the moment we’ve only got one that will fit you and you haven’t got enough money. We may get more in later.’

‘Mummy said get coat now.’

Pearl glanced at Bessie but, obviously reading her mind, the woman shook her head.

‘We can’t reduce it. I paid good money for that coat and there’d be no profit if we let it go for two bob.’

With an appeal in her eyes Pearl continued to look at Bessie, but to no avail.

‘Now don’t look at me like that. We’re not a charity and we’ve got to eat.’

With a sigh, Pearl put the coat back on the rack, but was then struck by an idea. ‘Nora, do you know how to use the machines at the laundry?’

‘Yes. I does our washing.’

‘Bessie, she could take the blankets. Freshly laundered, they’re sure to sell and we could let her have the coat for two shillings as payment.’

‘Oh, all right then. Gawd, if I ain’t careful I’ll end up as soft as you.’

‘I tell Mummy, then come back,’ Nora said.

‘What have you got us into now?’ Bessie complained as the door closed behind Nora. ‘If those blankets don’t shift we’ll have wasted money having them laundered, let alone letting Nora have that coat for two bob.’

‘Don’t worry, they’ll sell,’ Pearl assured her, praying she was right as she bent to the pile, selecting those in the best condition. ‘Poor Nora, it’s a shame she hasn’t found another job. Do you know her mother?’

‘Yes. Lily’s a nice woman. She had Nora late, when she was in her forties and must be getting on a bit now. Let me see, I’m sixty-six, so Lily must be coming up to seventy.’

Pearl looked at Bessie in surprise. Somehow she had thought her older, the woman’s skin lined and her hair grey. ‘What about Nora’s father?’

‘He died a few years ago.’ Her eyes took on a thoughtful look. ‘Lily was often in the market, but I ain’t seen her lately.’

‘Perhaps she’s ill.’

‘Yeah, that could be it. I’ll ask Nora when she comes back.’

Pearl tied the blankets into a bundle, and when Nora returned Bessie was quick to ask the question.

‘I haven’t seen your mum for a while, Nora. Is she all right?’

‘Yes,’ the woman said, taking the blankets from Pearl’s arms.

‘She’s not ill?’

‘No,’ she said brusquely.

With a sigh Bessie took some money from the till and, shoving it into her pocket, Nora bustled off.

‘Well, that was short and sweet. She ain’t one for conversation, that’s for sure. If Lily isn’t ill, I wonder why I haven’t seen her lately.’

Pearl shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea, but maybe you’ve been too busy to notice.’

‘I suppose so.’ But there was doubt in Bessie’s expression.

Pearl was right and, two weeks later, the last of the laundered blankets had sold. There were still loads more unlaundered items, let alone those in the back bedroom so, feeling confident, she suggested that they use Nora again.

‘These quilts would come up a treat, and even if we pay Nora for the hours she spends at the laundry, we’d still make a profit.’

‘I’m not arguing. You’ve achieved wonders in just a month. It was a good idea to display some of our choice pieces in the window and I’ve never had so many customers.’

Pearl smiled with satisfaction, glad that she was earning her keep. She glanced at the clock. Bernie would be arriving to pick Johnny up soon and she wondered if there would be any news. He’d said on Monday that a man might buy the café, but wanted to look at the account books first. She looked out of the window, seeking Derek passing the shop, and as their eyes met he lifted his hand to wave. Living in such close proximity, she often saw him out and about, reminded every time of how much she had hurt him. He looked nice, Pearl thought, smart, and thankfully there was no animosity in his manner. She missed his friendship, missed Connie, and as he moved out of sight, she turned away.

When Bernie arrived a few minutes later he held out a bag and her portfolio. ‘We’ve been sorting out the bedrooms and you left this stuff behind.’

‘Thanks, Bernie.’

‘We’ve got a buyer for the café, Pearl.’

‘Is it the chap you mentioned on Monday?’

‘Yes, and he’s keen to get the purchase through as soon as possible. We could be moving out in less than a month.’

‘Have you found a place in Dorset?’

‘No, and to tell you the truth we haven’t been looking. Dolly thinks we shouldn’t rush into anything so we’re going to rent a little house for a while. It’ll give us a chance to find the sort of premises we’re looking for, and who knows, we might just find an established business.’

Pearl wheeled the pram from behind the counter. ‘Johnny’s had his bottle and he’s taking solids too. He scoffed a bit of rusk mashed down with milk, and then went to sleep.’

Bernie smiled fondly. ‘He likes his kip, that’s for sure. I’ll fetch him back in a couple of hours as usual.’

He called a goodbye and as soon as the door closed behind him, Bessie nodded at the portfolio. ‘What’s that?’

‘I went to art classes for a while and they’re my efforts.’

‘Can I have a look?’

At Pearl’s nod, Bessie began to flick through them. ‘Blimey, girl, these are really good. If you stick them in the window you could make a few bob. They’d look even better in frames and if you have a rummage round, I think you’ll find some.’

‘I miss art classes, and one day I hope to get back to them. I’m not good enough yet and I can’t see anyone wanting to buy these.’

‘Don’t be daft. I reckon the ones of the market will fly out.’

‘I could give it a try, but I won’t be able to sell the portraits.’

‘Why not?’

‘Can you imagine what they’d say? Take Dolly, for instance. I don’t think she’d be happy to see her face displayed in the window.’

‘Yeah, I suppose you have a point, but …’

The door opened, Nora poking her head inside. ‘You got job for me?’

Bessie and Pearl exchanged looks, both wide-eyed with surprise.

‘Blimey,’ Bessie asked, ‘how did you know that?’

‘Just do,’ Nora replied.

‘Pearl, we only just decided to give her some work. Don’t you think her turning up on cue it a bit strange?’

‘After living with you for a month, I don’t find anything strange.’

‘You cheeky moo.’ But Bessie’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Nora. ‘Maybe she’s a bit psychic.’

‘Goodness, I hope not. I don’t think I could cope with two of you.’ Pearl then bundled up some quilts. ‘Here you are, Nora, you can take these to the washing baths, but I hope they aren’t too heavy for you.’

‘Hang on, I think I’ve got an old pushchair in the yard,’ Bessie said, heading for the back door.

‘She nice,’ Nora said.

‘Yes, she is,’ Pearl agreed. She was happy – happier than she’d been in a long time – and it was all thanks to Bessie.

Bernie carefully lifted Johnny from his pram and, though he stirred a little, he didn’t wake. As he walked into the living room, Dolly indicated the sofa, and as he laid the child down, she looked at her grandson fondly.

‘Bernie, we need to talk. There’s a lot to sort out before we move.’

‘I know that, love. You’ve got so much stuff piled in cupboards that we’ll probably need two removals vans.’

‘No, it’s not that. We need to talk about Johnny. He shouldn’t be stuck in that bloody dump of a shop. If he came with us we could offer him a decent home and he’d want for nothing.’

‘Now then, we’ve been over this before and you know that Pearl won’t come with us.’

‘If Kevin knew what was going on, I reckon he’d agree with me. He’d want the best for Johnny.’

‘Maybe, but Pearl has made up her mind and we can’t do anything about it. At least we’ll be having the lad for the occasional weekend.’

‘Huh, that’s big of Pearl,’ Dolly said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I’ve been thinking, Bernie, and I reckon you should go to see Kevin. Tell him what’s going on and persuade him that Johnny would be better off with us. He must have some say in his son’s upbringing and could sign something to give us guardianship until he comes out of prison.’

‘Dolly, surely you’re not suggesting that we take him away from Pearl?’

‘I am, and what’s wrong with that?’

‘Christ, I don’t believe this. We can’t take the child away from his mother!’

‘Yes we can.’

‘Don’t be daft. Pearl would never agree to it.’

‘She won’t be able to do anything about it.’

‘You’re living in cloud-cuckoo-land. Kevin’s in prison, and even if he agreed to this daft idea, it wouldn’t be legal.’

‘Sod the law then. We’ll just take the boy. We won’t go to Dorset. Instead we’ll go north and go somewhere that Pearl won’t be able to find us.’

‘Bloody hell, Dolly. Now you’re talking about kidnapping!’

‘No I’m not. He’s Kevin’s son, we’re his grandparents, and despite what you say, it isn’t kidnapping.’

‘I think you’ve taken leave of your senses and—’

‘No I haven’t,’ Dolly interrupted. ‘And anyway, if we change our names nobody will be able to find us.’

‘You’re mad, woman!’

Bernie watched her rear up, but stood his ground. ‘Now listen, Dolly, I love the boy as much as you, but I can’t agree to this.’

Red-faced with anger, she glared at him, but then Johnny stirred. Dolly heaved in a great gulp of air, fighting to calm down before picking him up. ‘Shush, Gran’s here,’ she said, rocking him for a minute or two.

At last Dolly looked up at Bernie, her voice quiet now. ‘All right, you win. It was a daft idea, but I’m going to miss him so much.’

‘Me too, love,’ he said.

Bernie slumped with relief. For a moment he thought she’d lost her mind. To take the lad with them was an insane idea, one that could have landed them both in prison. Thank God he’d been able to talk her out of it.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

By the time another three weeks had passed, Nora had become almost a fixture in the shop. She turned up every afternoon, and though most of the time they had nothing for the laundry, she stayed until closing time.

At first Bessie had grumbled, but gradually Pearl saw a growing fondness for Nora in the old woman’s eyes. Nora was always cheerful, making herself useful, and Pearl often saw Bessie slipping her a couple of bob.

Luckily the business was continuing to do well, and Pearl had been pleasantly surprised when her paintings sold. Now there was only one left. Cocking her head on one side, she looked at it critically. It was a winter scene and perhaps too bleak. The market stalls were also a little out of proportion, but if she reduced the price someone might buy it.

Nora came in, and Bessie smiled a welcome.

‘Hello, love. We haven’t got anything for the laundry today.’

‘Mummy cross. She chucked me out.’

‘Lily wouldn’t do that.’

‘Kicked me.’

‘What did she do that for?’

Nora shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

Bessie came out from behind the counter. ‘Pearl, there’s something fishy about this. I think I’ll pop round to see Lily.’

Nora headed for Johnny, distracted by the baby as Bessie left the shop. A happy baby who rarely cried, and growing rapidly, he chuckled when he saw her. Bernie would be here shortly, and then on Saturday, he and Dolly would be leaving.

‘Hello,’ Bernie said as he pushed open the door. ‘And how’s my grandson?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘Well, Pearl, only two days to go now before we move. It’s been a bit chaotic sorting all our stuff out, but Dolly’s on top of it now. Once we’re settled, maybe by the following Friday, can we have Johnny for the weekend? In fact, why don’t you come too? A bit of country air would do you both good.’

‘Oh, no,’ Pearl blurted, covering her rudeness with a tight smile as she added, ‘but thanks for asking.’

‘Pearl, I know you’re worried about Dolly, but there’s no need. She’s accepted that your marriage is over now, and I’m sure she’ll make you welcome.’

Pearl doubted that was true and fobbed Bernie off. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Right, see you later,’ he said, wheeling the pram from the shop.

No sooner had the door closed, than Nora asked, ‘Where Johnny going?’

‘Bernie’s taken him to see Dolly.’

‘No like her.’

‘Nor me,’ Pearl agreed. She still didn’t trust Dolly and had no intention of letting her have Johnny for the weekend. When Dolly found out, there was no doubt that she’d kick up an almighty fuss, and Pearl’s stomach flipped at the thought. She stiffened her back. She could stand her ground with Dolly now, and would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Bessie returned, frowning worriedly as she drew Pearl to one side. ‘Lily’s gone a bit strange. At first I don’t think she recognised me, and she got a bit aggressive. She stank rotten too and I reckon she’s wetting herself.’

‘Oh dear. What are you going to do?’

‘I think I’ll get the doctor to take a look at her. In fact, I’ll go to the surgery now.’

As Bessie made to go out again, Nora ran to her side. ‘Where you going?’

‘I’m just popping along to the doctor’s, love. I won’t be long.’

‘Take Mummy away.’

Bessie’s eyebrows rose. ‘Of course not. Now I won’t be long, and when I come back we’ll have a nice cup of tea and some biscuits.’

‘Yes, biscuits,’ Nora agreed, and, placated, she didn’t protest when Bessie hurried out again.

Dolly was jiggling Johnny up and down on her lap, singing a little ditty that made him giggle. Oh, he was gorgeous, just like Kevin at this age. When she stood him up, strong little legs pummelled her lap. ‘Look at that, Bernie. He’s less than six months old and is trying to walk already. Did Pearl say we can have him next weekend?’

‘Yes, and I invited her too.’

‘That’s nice,’ Dolly said, playing her game and pretending she was pleased. She grimaced then as Johnny grabbed a chunk of her hair – ‘Oh, you little bruiser’– and whilst doing her best to disentangle his hands she asked, ‘What time are you picking him up on Saturday?’

‘At nine o’clock, but it’ll be chaotic with the removal men here too. Still, it’s our last chance to see him before we go.’

Dolly hid a smile. It was all going to plan, everything in place, and both Pearl and Bernie had a shock coming. As far as she was concerned it served her husband right. He should have gone along with her plans, but he’d always been a weak, soft and useless bugger.

Come to think of it, he and Pearl were two of a kind, neither of them capable of bringing up Johnny. Children needed discipline, and that had been her mistake with Kevin. She’d spoiled him, been too soft, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake with her grandson. Oh, she’d love him, but she’d be strict too. Johnny was her second chance, and for Kevin’s sake she’d make sure that his son turned out right.

The doctor had examined Nora’s mother, and now Bessie looked at him worriedly as she answered his question.

‘I don’t know if she’s got any family. Why do you ask?’

‘I’ve given her a thorough examination and in my opinion she has dementia.’

Dr Baxter’s expression was grave. He’d been Bessie’s doctor for many, many years and she trusted him – but dementia …? ‘Christ, poor Lily. Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Bessie, I’m sure. Not only does she seem confused and agitated, there’s memory loss. She also has difficulty with reasoning and communication. There are signs of malnourishment too.’

‘Gawd, no wonder Nora always seems hungry.’

‘Yes, well, her mother is incapable of looking after her now. In the circumstances, and until other relatives can be found, I’ll make arrangement for Mrs Dobbs to be admitted to hospital immediately.’

‘But what about Nora?’

‘A home will have to be found for her too. I’ll get on to the health authorities.’

‘No, don’t do that. She can stay with me for a while.’

‘Are you sure, Bessie?’

‘Yes. She’ll be better off with me than stuck with a load of strangers.’

‘I’ll still need to inform the health authorities.’

‘You do that, and no doubt the nosy buggers will be round to check me out.’

‘Yes, they’ll have to, but don’t worry, I’ll vouch for you.’

‘You can do that?’

‘Yes, Bessie, and I’ll tell them that despite your grumpy nature, you have a heart of gold.’

‘Grumpy! I ain’t grum—’ She saw the amused smile on his face and halted. ‘Oh, you …’

‘I’ll go and make the arrangements. Will you stay with Mrs Dobbs until the ambulance arrives?’

‘I’ll suppose I’ll have to,’ Bessie complained.

‘See, I told you – grumpy,’ he said, still smiling with amusement as he left.

When Bessie was finally able to return to the shop, she spoke to Pearl out of Nora’s hearing.

‘The doctor’s had Lily admitted.’

‘Admitted! But why?’

‘She’s got dementia.’

‘Oh dear. What about Nora?’

‘I said she could stay with us while they trace any relatives. I just hope they find someone to take her on.’

Pearl stood back as Bessie approached Nora, gently breaking the news. Surprisingly, Nora didn’t seem upset, only throwing her arms around Bessie. ‘I stay with you?’

‘Yes, love, and I tell you what, how do you fancy a nice plate of pie and mash?’

Nora nodded vigorously and Bessie took some money out of the till. ‘What about you, Pearl?’

‘No thanks,’ she said, unable to understand what the local people saw in it. She could stomach the pie, and the mash, but the thick, green and sickly-looking liquor that was poured over the meal made her stomach turn.

Nora went off eagerly and Pearl found out why when the door closed behind her.

Bessie said, ‘She’s half starved, her mother too. There was hardly any food in the cupboards and goodness knows when they last had a square meal.’

‘But Nora doesn’t look to have lost any weight.’

‘Well, there was a bag of broken biscuits and a loaf of bread. They must have been living on stuff like that.’

‘It’s just as well you went round there.’

‘Yes, but it’s odd when you come to think of it. It was the end of September when Nora first turned up looking for a winter coat, and still mild. Seeing Lily, I doubt she was capable of thinking about Nora’s clothes. In fact the woman hardly knew what day it was.’

‘Yes, it is strange, but it’s just as well she came in. If she hadn’t, I dread to think what would have happened.’

‘Me too, love and you should have seen the state of the place. Still, Nora will be all right now. We’ll take good care of her until someone in her family turns up.’

‘Huh, and you call me soft. You’re just as bad.’

‘Yeah, well, keep it to yourself. I don’t want the customers to think I’m an easy touch.’

‘There’s no chance of that,’ Pearl said, yet smiling fondly at Bessie.

It was only a little later when the door opened with a ping, and Pearl saw that Bernie had returned. ‘Has Johnny been good?’

‘He always is. Talk about a placid nipper. As agreed, I’ll pick him up at nine on Saturday and that will give us a couple of hours with him before we go.’ His eyes saddened. ‘Dolly’s gonna be heartbroken to leave him – me too.’

Bernie leaned over the pram, gently kissing Johnny on the cheek, and he gurgled with pleasure. ‘’Bye, lad. Grandpa will see you on Saturday.’

Johnny’s chubby hands reached out to touch Bernie’s face, and suddenly Pearl felt selfish. Bernie and Dolly were Johnny’s grandparents and, other than her, the only family he had. She’d been an orphan, with no relatives of her own, and now she was depriving her son of his only family. She still couldn’t bear the thought of letting them have Johnny for the weekend, but maybe she could take him to see them occasionally? In the meantime, she still had to carry on with the charade.

‘The rental on the cottage has been finalised now so we’re all sorted,’ Bernie said. ‘It’s a nice little place and we’ll be fine there for a while. We’ll be going down in Kevin’s car. There’s no sense in leaving it to rot.’

‘I didn’t know you could drive, Bernie.’

‘Of course I can, love, but it’s been years since I had a car.’

‘Oh dear, are you sure you’re not out of practice?’

He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, and when he comes to stay Johnny won’t come to any harm with me.’

Pearl lowered her eyes. Yes, Johnny might be safe with Bernie, but after Kevin’s warning, she still couldn’t say the same about Dolly.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

On Friday morning, Pearl was rearranging the window display when she saw Derek Lewis talking to a costermonger. Across the distance he saw her, and then, crossing the road, he stood outside, looking at the picture in the window that hadn’t sold. For a moment he studied it, and then he came into the shop.

‘Is that painting of the market one of yours, Pearl?’

‘Yes, but it isn’t one of my best.’

‘I can see my old stall, and I’d like to buy it.’

‘You don’t have to do that. You can have it for nothing.’

‘Thanks, but I’d rather pay.’ His eyes flicked around the shop. ‘Where’s Bessie?’

‘She’s upstairs. Nora’s staying with us for a while and they’re sorting her room out.’

‘What, nutty Nora? Oh, sorry, I know you don’t like to hear her called that, but why is she staying here?’

Pearl briefly explained and Derek said, ‘I don’t think she’s got any other relatives.’

‘Not even distant ones?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

Johnny jiggled in his pram, arms waving as he gurgled happily. Derek smiled. ‘Bit of a bruiser you’ve got there, Pearl.’

‘Yes, that’s what everyone says.’

‘How are you coping?’

‘I’m fine. What about you? Are you enjoying your job at the gym?’

‘Yes, but I still miss the market at times.’ He paused, licked his lips and then said, ‘Like me, Gran thinks there’s more to your story than meets the eye. Are you still sticking to it, Pearl?’

‘Well, it wasn’t quite like Dolly presented it, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all water under the bridge now.’

‘It wasn’t just Dolly, there was Kevin too. He told me that he wasn’t the first to … well, sleep with you.’

‘What!’

‘It’s all right, Pearl. I know now that he was lying.’

‘Oh, Derek … how could he?’

‘Self-preservation, love, and, knowing what I’d do to him, I ain’t surprised. I’m just annoyed that I believed him. Despite your denial, I still reckon that like that other girl, he raped you.’

Pearl shook her head. There had been enough lies and Derek deserved the truth. ‘No, as I told you before, he didn’t rape me. Like a fool, I was flattered by Kevin’s attention and couldn’t believe he was interested in someone like me. I should have stopped him, I know that, but I didn’t. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you, and hope one day you’ll find happiness with someone else.’

He was quite for a moment, but then said, ‘All right, Pearl, and thanks for being honest. As for finding someone else, well, I’ve got a date tonight.’

‘Have you? Oh, that’s wonderful.’ Pearl kicked herself. She sounded over-enthusiastic, but finding that Derek had moved on lifted her spirits. ‘Do I know her?’

‘I don’t think so. Her name’s Jessica Bailey and she brought her son to the gym to ask about boxing lessons.’

‘Her son?’

He smiled faintly. ‘She’s a widow. But enough about me. How much is the painting?’

‘Please, Derek, let me give it to you as a gift.’

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he said quietly, ‘All right, and thanks.’

She lifted it down. Derek took it from her hands and held it up. ‘Yes, look, that’s my stall, and I can even see china on display.’

Pearl looked at it too, but critically, once again thinking that she hadn’t got the proportions right. Oh, she missed art classes, missed sketching. Bessie had insisted that she keep any money from the sale of her pictures, and she was so grateful, saving hard for a few materials.

‘I hear on the grapevine that Bernie and Dolly are moving tomorrow,’ Derek said as he lowered the painting to his side.

‘Yes, they’re going to Dorset.’

‘So much is changing around here, but I never thought I’d see the day when Dolly didn’t run the café. Still, there’s quite a few that won’t be sad to see the back of her – you included, I should think.’

Pearl offered no comment, and then Derek spoke again.

‘Do you visit Kevin?’

‘No, and anyway, he doesn’t want to see me. As soon as I can afford it I’m getting a divorce.’

‘Can’t say I blame you, and are you going to stay here permanently?’

‘I’d like to move away before Johnny’s old enough to hear his father talked about, but it won’t be easy. For the time being I’ll have to stay – well, that’s if Bessie’s prepared to put up with me.’

‘Anyone would put up with you, Pearl.’

She saw the fondness in Derek’s eyes, and looked away. She had hurt him so badly, used him, and yet still he cared. For a moment she remembered how safe he made her feel and was tempted. She could have married this man. He would have treated her like a queen, but instead she’d been Dolly’s servant and Kevin’s doormat. If she went out with Derek again, she wouldn’t have to fear Dolly’s reaction when she backed out of the weekend visits. Instead she’d have this man’s protection, her son too. Stop it, she berated herself. Yes, she’d been fond of Derek, but it hadn’t been love, and here she was thinking about using him again. Derek deserved someone better than her, someone who could truly love him. He had to forget her, to walk away, and maybe the woman he was taking out that night could bring him happiness.

Brusquely she said, ‘Well, I had better get on with some work.’

‘All right, Pearl, and thanks for the painting.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He shuffled on his feet for a moment, but when she refused to meet his eyes, he turned swiftly, saying no more as he left the shop.

Pearl was sickened by where her thoughts had been taking her. Connie Lewis was right, she was a user, but it had to stop, and now. Somehow, no matter what she faced in the future, she had to stand on her own two feet.

It was ten minutes later when Bessie and Nora appeared and by that time Pearl had managed to pull herself together. Johnny threw a toy out of his pram, something he did umpteen times a day, and whilst Nora bent to pick it up, Pearl went to speak to Bessie.

‘Derek’s just been in and he said that Nora hasn’t got any other relatives.’

‘No, I didn’t think so.’

‘But that means she’ll have to go into a home.’

‘Not if I have anything to say about it. If they’ll allow it she can stay with us, and you must admit she’s turned out to be handy to have around. She cleans the place like a demon and, other than feeding her, she ain’t gonna cost much to keep.’

‘So, you knew there wasn’t anyone else when you brought her here?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘Do you know something, Bessie Penfold, you’re a lovely woman. First you took me in, and now Nora.’ With a grin she added, ‘Are there any more waifs and strays that you’ve got your eye on?’

‘No I bleedin’ ain’t,’ she said, obviously trying to hide her pleasure at the compliment as she added brusquely, ‘Anyway, you can both earn your keep. I’ve put Nora in the back bedroom, but we had to move piles of stuff. The pair of you can sort it out, while I keep an eye on Johnny.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Pearl said with a mock salute, and calling Nora, they went upstairs, to start on their work.

Chapter Forty

On Saturday morning, Pearl was getting Johnny dressed. Bernie would be here soon and she was easing her son’s arms into his coat when Bessie spoke.

‘Don’t let them have the lad today.’

‘Not have him? But why?’

‘I dunno, it’s just a feeling.’

‘Oh God! Have you had another vision?’

‘Only a small one and it was some time ago now, but I don’t think you should let Johnny out of your sight.’

Pearl’s eyes were wide as she gazed at Bessie, her thoughts still racing when Bernie turned up. It was then that she came to a decision. ‘Do you mind if I come with you today?’

‘No, love, but what’s brought this on?’

Pearl forced the parody of a smile. ‘Well, er … I think I should say goodbye to Dolly. It would be nice to part without bad feelings.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be dead chuffed.’

Pearl doubted it, but with Bessie’s warning in her ears she wasn’t going to let her son out of her sight.

The furniture was already being loaded when they arrived at the café, and though Dolly gawked when she saw Pearl, she soon recovered, her smile pleasant.

‘Hello, Pearl, how nice that you’ve come to say goodbye.’ She took Johnny from her arms, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’m going to miss him so much, but thank you for letting us have him for weekends. You’d be welcome too, Pearl.’

Finding this Dolly unrecognisable, Pearl said, ‘That’s kind of you. I … I’ll think about it.’

‘Bernie, keep an eye on the removal men,’ Dolly ordered, and then her attention was once again focused on Johnny.

During the next half an hour, Dolly struggled to remain pleasant. Christ, Pearl turning up had ruined everything. She’d had it all worked out, right to the last detail, even a bag of stuff stashed away for Johnny to get them through the first twenty-four hours. After that she’d planned to buy everything they’d need.

Her lips tightened. Now it was all going wrong, but she refused to give up. There had to be a way – and almost immediately she found it.

When Bernie came back into the room, Dolly handed Johnny to him. ‘Here, you have him for a while. I’d best ring the solicitor to see if the money has come through. We can’t leave until we know the sale has been properly completed.’

Bernie lifted Johnny high into the air, laughing up at him. ‘It’s about time your granny gave me a look in.’

Dolly went into the hall to ring the solicitor. The call was short, the money cleared, and after making sure it would be transferred to her private bank account she replaced the receiver. She’d planned to use this excuse with Bernie, pretending that she needed to see the solicitor, taking Johnny with her whilst he remained to supervise the loading. Of course she had no intention of returning, her route planned, and despite Pearl turning up, it could still work.

Fixing an indignant look on her face, she returned to the living room, taking Johnny from Bernie as she formed the lie. ‘Huh, I thought it was expecting too much that things would go through without a hitch. Apparently there’s a document that needs signing and I’ve got to go to their offices immediately.’

‘I thought you’d already signed everything.’

‘So did I, but it’s to do with the fixtures and fittings. Sod it, if I go out now I won’t have much time with Johnny. Can I take him with me, Pearl? The solicitor is only in Falcon Road and I won’t be long.’

‘Er … er, I’ll come with you.’

‘There’s no need and—’

One of the removal men poked his head into the room, ‘Excuse me, missus, we’ll need to load the stuff in here soon and there’s a woman downstairs asking to see someone called Pearl.’

‘Send her up,’ Dolly said, thinking that the gods were smiling on her. She didn’t know who this woman was, but with any luck she’d be able to slip out with Johnny whilst Pearl was distracted. She moved closer to the door, saying, ‘I wonder who it is, Pearl?’

A youngish woman appeared, but she looked frail, breathing heavily as she climbed the last stair. It wasn’t anyone Dolly recognised, but she gestured her into the room. As long as this woman held Pearl’s attention for a minute, it would be enough.

When Pearl saw the woman walking into the room, her voice came out in a squeak.

‘Miss Rosen!’

‘I’m so sorry, my dear, but when you didn’t respond to my letter, I just had to come.’

‘Letter … what letter?’

‘I wrote to you over a month ago.’

Pearl shook her head in confusion. She hadn’t received it, and though it was lovely to see her old art teacher, what was she doing here? The woman suddenly paled, swaying on her feet, and Pearl moved quickly forward.

‘Are you all right?’

Bernie moved at the same time, grasping the woman’s arm. ‘Here, sit down.’

Miss Rosen’s upper lip was beaded with perspiration. She looked ill, her skin holding a greyish tinge as she sunk onto a chair.

‘Can I get you anything? A drink of water?’ Pearl asked.

‘Yes, please.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Bernie said, hurrying through to the kitchen.

Pearl continued to gaze at Miss Rosen, glad to see that she was looking a little better and then Bernie returned, holding out an old cup. ‘I’m sorry, but all our stuff has been packed and this is all I could find.’

Miss Rosen waved his apology away before sipping the water. A little colour returned to her cheeks, but her expression was anxious as she looked at Pearl.

‘As you didn’t get my letter, this is going to be a little difficult. Would it be possible to speak to you alone?’

Pearl’s eyes flicked to her father-in-law first, and then she looked towards the door, suddenly tensing. ‘Bernie, where’s Dolly?’

‘Blimey, she was standing over there a moment ago.’ He scratched his head. ‘I expect she’s gone to see the solicitor.’

Bessie’s warning rang in Pearl’s mind, her voice holding panic, ‘Bernie, she’s taken Johnny with her.’

‘Yeah, but she’ll be back soon.’

‘But what if she isn’t?

‘Don’t be daft, love. She’ll be here in a minu …’

Pearl heard no more as she headed for the door, stumbling down the stairs in her haste to find her son. Oh, no, God! Oh, please God! The words were a chant in her head as she dashed outside.

She ran across to Falcon Road, her eyes frantically searching, but there was no sign of Dolly. How far along was the solicitor’s office? She continued to run, legs pumping and heat thumping in her chest. Where was she? Oh, please, let me find her.

Pearl was mindless with fear when she stopped, leaning forward as she gasped for air. Had she passed the solicitor’s office?

Once again her eyes flicked frantically up and down the road, but then with sickening clarity the truth dawned. Dolly hadn’t gone to see the solicitor. It was a ruse, and by now she could be anywhere!

Bernie stared at Pearl’s back as she flew from the room, wondering what all the fuss was about. Dolly would be back soon and in another hour or so they’d be on their way. Pearl’s panic would have been understandable if she’d known about Dolly’s insane idea to take the boy with them, but thankfully he’d talked her out of that.

He froze. He had talked Dolly out of it – hadn’t he? Bernie felt a moment of doubt. Had Dolly given in too easily? With a sick feeling in his stomach he made for the telephone.

‘What’s going on? Why did Pearl run out like that?’ Miss Rosen asked.

‘I’ll explain later,’ he said, scurrying into the hall.

After speaking to the solicitor and hearing that there weren’t any papers to sign, Bernie found his hands shaking as he replaced the receiver. Dolly had lied, and he guessed why. She’d done a runner with the lad.

Christ, she’d been cunning, clever, and must have planned this, fooling them with her amiable act. He had to stop her, do something, and quickly. For a moment his mind raced, but then he exhaled loudly. There was no choice, he knew that, and, picking up the receiver again, Bernie dialled 999.

It took some time, but at last he was taken seriously, the police on alert now and saying they’d be round to take a statement. When the call was finished he became galvanised, rushing into the living room to give Miss Rosen a potted explanation before going to find Pearl. A removals man halted him in his tracks, but Bernie dismissed his query, only saying, ‘Look, we’ve got a bit of a problem so why don’t you have a break? Leave the rest of the loading until I come back.’

As he stepped outside, another thought crossed Bernie’s mind. It might not be a bad idea to spread the news. Someone might have seen which direction Dolly had taken.

‘I didn’t see her,’ the first stallholder said. ‘She’s taken Pearl’s kid, you say. Blimey, I’ll put the word out.’

Bernie thanked the man and then crossed the road, almost immediately seeing Pearl. She was running back along Falcon Road, her face set in panic.

‘I can’t find her, Bernie!’

‘It’s all right, love, calm down. She can’t have gone far and I’ve called the police. They’ll find her.’

Pearl began to cry then, tears flooding down her cheeks. ‘But what if they don’t? Oh, Johnny … Johnny.’

Bernie ineffectually patted her back, his voice coaxing. ‘Don’t cry, love. I’ve given the police a good description and, let’s face it, Dolly ain’t easy to miss. Now come on, let’s get back to the café. The old bill will be arriving soon to take a statement, and that woman is still waiting to talk to you.’

‘I’ve put the word about, Bernie, but so far nobody’s seen your missus,’ the stallholder said when he saw them.

‘But someone must have seen her leaving!’ Pearl cried.

‘No, sorry, love.’

Pearl pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes and Bernie could see that she was close to collapse.

‘Come on,’ he urged, ‘let’s get you indoors.’

‘I can’t just sit and wait. I have to do something to find Johnny.’

She made to run off, but Bernie held her arm. ‘Wait, Pearl. We have no idea which direction Dolly took and all we’d be doing is running around like headless chickens. Leave it to the police. They’ll find her.’

Her huge eyes were wide, her face drained of colour, and suddenly her knees gave way. Holding her up now, Bernie urged her into the café, mentally cursing his wife.

They hadn’t been upstairs for long, Pearl verging on hysteria, when the police arrived. She tried to answer their questions, but had to leave most of them to Bernie. When they left she was unable to sit still, pacing the room, and when Miss Rosen tried to comfort her, she was barely aware of her as she shrugged the woman off, her mind only on her son.

Miss Rosen’s expression was sad, but she sat down again, talking to Bernie now. ‘I seem to have come at a bad time, but surely your wife wouldn’t run off with the baby?’

‘Huh, you don’t know Dolly. When she gets an idea in her head there’s no stopping her. I should have realised that.’

Pearl continued to pace, stopping only to look out of the window every now and then. Eventually she saw Bessie, with Nora by her side, heading for the café. ‘Bessie’s on her way over,’ Pearl told Bernie, glad when he went to let her in.

‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ Miss Rosen said, standing up and moving to Pearl’s side again. ‘I’m sure you’ll have your baby back soon.’

Pearl’s brow creased, wondering again why Miss Rosen had come to see her, but then Bessie came into the room, the thought forgotten as she flew across the space, throwing herself into the old woman’s arms. ‘Oh, Bessie, Dolly’s taken Johnny.’

‘I know, love, but don’t worry, I’m sure the police will find her.’

‘But it’s been over an hour now!’

‘Train,’ Nora said.

‘What did you say?’ Bessie demanded, unravelling Pearl from her arms.

‘Train,’ Nora said again. ‘Dolly get train.’

‘How do you know?’

Nora shrugged. ‘Just do.’

‘Do you know what station she’s gone to?’

‘Big one.’

‘Bernie, call the police, tell them what Nora said. I’ve a feeling she could be right.’

He shook his head. ‘I should think they’re already checking the stations.’

‘I’ll call them,’ Pearl cried as she ran from the room.

‘It’ll be a waste of time,’ Bernie said. ‘The old bill know that Dolly has done a runner, that she’s taken Johnny, and are taking it very seriously. They’re on full alert, and are hopefully checking train stations as we speak.’

‘Bernie, I warned you that Dolly was planning something and I’ve been proved right!’ Bessie said.

Bernie ignored her, his face white with strain, and deciding this wasn’t the time to rub salt in the wound, Bessie turned to Miss Rosen, saying. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Pearl knows me as Emily Rosen, but I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘Do you live around here?’

‘No, I’ve travelled down from Winchester.’

‘Winchester. Blimey, you’ve come a long way.’

Pearl came back into the room again. ‘I told them,’ she said, before staring to pace again. Was Nora right? Was Dolly headed for a railway station? Tears filled her eyes again. It would take ages to check them all, and Dolly could be long gone before they got there. She stopped her pacing for a moment to look out of the window, tears running down her cheeks. Arms wrapped around her, and she turned into them, Miss Rosen holding her close.

Derek Lewis had been on his way to the market when he saw Dolly Dolby. She looked furtive, harassed, and as a taxi drew into the kerb, she climbed inside. Derek was puzzled. She and Bernie were supposed to be moving today, but Dolly was going off on her own. No, not on her own – she had Pearl’s baby with her.

He saw another taxi and, acting on impulse, Derek hailed it, feeling foolish as he urged the driver to follow the one in front. The man’s eyebrows lifted, and he grinned. ‘In all my years as a cabbie, I’ve been waiting to hear that.’

‘Just do it,’ Derek growled.

With a shrug the driver pulled off, Derek leaning forward anxiously, and relieved to see that they hadn’t lost the other cab. They crossed the Thames, driving through London, Derek’s thoughts racing. He could be making a fool of himself and should have checked things out with Pearl before chasing after Dolly. Maybe there was a reason for all this, but if so, why was Dolly acting so suspiciously?

They finally turned into Euston station and in his haste to keep track of Dolly, Derek almost threw his fare at the driver, hurrying into the station in time to see her heading for the ticket office. This wasn’t right, he was sure of it, and increasing his pace, Derek grabbed her arm.

She jumped like a startled rabbit, her eyes wide. ‘Derek, what are you doing here?’

‘I’m trailing you, Mrs D, and I’d like to know where you’re taking Pearl’s baby.’

‘Er … well … it’s like this,’ Dolly said, her eyes now darting from side to side as she obviously fought for words. ‘Pearl has decided to come with us, and … and she stayed behind to supervise the removals. I … I’m going on ahead, and taking Johnny with me. Pearl and Bernie will travel later.’

Derek cocked his head. She was lying, he was sure of it. ‘Do you mind if I ring the café to check this out?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Now get out of my way. I have a train to catch.’

‘No, Mrs D, until I’ve had a word with Pearl, you ain’t going anywhere.’

‘How dare you? Let go of my arm!’

Her yell startled Johnny and he began to squall, but still Derek held on. There was a shout, the sound of running footsteps, Derek still refusing to let go as three policemen surrounded them. He had no idea how they had come to Dolly’s rescue so quickly, but as he loosened his grip on her arm, she tugged it away. Dolly then turned to run, but one of the constables barred her path.

‘Mrs Dolby?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m not Mrs Dolby,’ she protested.

‘Yes she is,’ Derek said loudly.

Another officer appeared, this one female and, moving to Dolly, she said firmly, ‘Give me the child.’

‘No,’ Dolly snapped.

The policewoman endeavoured to pull Johnny from Dolly’s arms, but she shrieked, clutching him to her. ‘No! No, leave him alone. He’s my baby, my son! You can’t take him!’

A tussle ensued, a male officer joining in, and soon they were surrounded by a crowd, all watching the scene with avid interest. ‘Help me,’ Dolly yelled, her eyes frantic with appeal. ‘They’re trying to take my baby.’

No-one moved forward to help, and at last the male officer was able to pull Johnny, kicking and screaming, from her grasp. Her arms empty, Dolly went mad. She reared like an angry bull, lashing out at the policeman, her fist connecting with his nose. Derek heard his ‘oomph’ of pain, but the man had the presence of mind to turn away, shielding Johnny in his arms before passing him to the policewoman.

‘That’s enough, missus!’ another officer shouted, trying to pin Dolly’s arms.

‘Get off me!’ she screamed, her strength amazing as she shook him off.

With the help of his colleagues, the policeman tried again, this time managing to cuff her, yet still she fought, kicking out with her legs.

Derek’s legs had felt glued to the spot, but at last he moved. ‘Mrs D! Stop! This isn’t doing any good.’

Maybe it was his voice that penetrated Dolly’s fury – Derek didn’t know, – but suddenly her struggles ceased. Johnny was still screaming, his face red, nose running, but seeing his grandmother, he held out his arms towards her in appeal.

Sobbing, Dolly tried to move forward, but was held tightly, one of the officers calling, ‘Get that kid out of here.’

The policewoman nodded, hurrying away. ‘Kevin! Kevin!’ Dolly screamed in anguish, but as they went out of sight, her legs folded and she collapsed.

Why had Dolly said the baby was her son? Why had she called him Kevin? Derek moved forward, appalled to see her suddenly convulsing, foam forming on her lips. She looked mad, rabid. ‘She’s having a fit – she needs help.’

The constables were kneeling by her side, but one looked up, ‘Don’t worry, sir, she’ll be taken care of.’ He then rose to his feet, leaving his colleagues to attend to Dolly. ‘We’ll need to take a statement from you.’

‘What about the baby?’

‘He’ll be returned to his mother.’

Derek nodded. Yes he’d give a statement, but judging by the look of Dolly, they wouldn’t get much out of her.

When the telephone rang, Bernie hurried out to the hall to answer it, returning with a wide smile on his face.

‘It’s good news, love,’ he said, moving to wrap an arm around Pearl’s shoulder. ‘They’ve found Dolly. She was at Euston station, and Derek was with her.’

‘Derek! What was he doing there?’

‘I dunno, love.’

‘And Johnny?’

‘He’s been seen by a doctor and he’s fine. He’s being driven here as we speak. Dolly had some sort of fit, and I’ve got to go and see her. Oh yes, and the police want to know if you’re going to press charges.’

Pearl flew from the room, dashing downstairs and outside to wait for the police car. Her eyes flicked the street anxiously, just wanting it to arrive, to hold Johnny in her arms.

After a few minutes a costermonger came to her side. ‘Have they found him, love?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Pearl said, but her eyes were still on the road.

‘That’s good.’

Pearl hardly heard the man as she saw a police car approaching. She dashed forward as it drew into the kerb, a policewoman climbing out. She was holding Johnny, and Pearl’s heart soared. He’d been crying, his eyes red and his nose caked with mucus, but his arms went out when he saw her, a smile now lighting his face. Pearl took him, holding her son closely, her eyes once again filling with tears, but this time of joy.

Johnny lay against her for a moment, but then struggled, pushing back, his eyes now darting curiously around the market and the crowd that had gathered. One of the costermongers stepped forward, patting the boy on the head. ‘I’m glad you’ve got him back, love.’

Pearl smiled her thanks, but then the policewoman said, ‘We’ll need to talk to you.’

As they went inside, Pearl asked, ‘Please, can you tell me how Derek Lewis was involved in this?’

‘From what he told us, it appears that he followed your mother-in-law, and it was lucky he did. He was able to hold her up until we got there, preventing her from catching a train.’

‘He did! Oh, I must thank him.’

They stepped into the living room, everyone crowding around Pearl,

‘Mrs Dolby, we need to know if you intend to press charges against your mother-in-law,’ the officer said.

‘Please, I’ve only just got my son back. Can it wait?’

The policewoman looked doubtful for a moment, but with so many people in the room she nodded. ‘All right, we’ll come back in an hour.’

As the constable left, the others all made a fuss of Johnny for a while, but as they moved away Pearl saw Miss Rosen hovering in the background. She again wondered what had brought the woman here, but at the moment all she wanted was to hold her son, to keep him close and never let him out of her sight again.

‘Look, I’ve got to go, love. What they said about Dolly is worrying me and I need to see how she is,’ Bernie said.

Pearl’s lips tightened, but Bessie broke in and didn’t give her a chance to speak. ‘And we’ll go back to the shop,’ she said. ‘Come on, Pearl, you don’t want to stay here. What about you, Miss Rosen, would you like to join us?’

‘Emily, please call me Emily, and thank you, but no. I think that Pearl has been through enough today. If it’s all right, I’ll come back tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, do that, love,’ Bessie said.

She moved to Pearl. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow, my dear.’

‘Yes, all right.’ But then Johnny started to cry, Pearl distracted as she comforted him.

When he quietened, there was only one thing uppermost in Pearl’s mind. The police would be back for her decision. Did she want to prosecute Dolly?’

Chapter Forty-One

When they arrived at the shop, all trooped upstairs, Pearl immediately asking Bessie’s opinion. ‘Do you think I should press charges against Dolly?’

‘From what Bernie said, it seems that Dolly’s had some sort of fit. She must have been mad to think she’d get away with kidnapping your baby, but I can’t advise you, love. It’s got to be your decision.’

Pearl chewed on her bottom lip. Dolly had tried to kidnap her son. Now her relief at getting Johnny back was replaced by anger. Fit or not, Dolly would recover. She’d bounce back as she always did. ‘If I let her get away with it I’ll have to spend years looking over my shoulder in case she tries it again.’

‘I don’t think even Dolly would be daft enough to do that. Come on, you’ve been through enough and let’s forget it for now. I’ll make us all a cup of tea and, by the look of you, you could do with one.’

Bessie bustled off, and Nora began to amuse Johnny, pulling her usual faces whilst Pearl’s mind continued to churn. She couldn’t forget it. The police would be back soon for her answer. She couldn’t let Dolly get away with it. She’d have to press charges.

In the end it was Bernie who stayed Pearl’s hand. Dolly was ill, he said, when he came to see them. Her mind was unhinged. Pearl saw the deep sadness in her father-in-law’s eyes as he spoke.

‘I should have realised she wasn’t quite right, Pearl, but now she seems to have lost it completely. Maybe those tranquilliser pills the doctor prescribed held it off, but she must have stopped taking them. She’s raving, Pearl. She thinks that Johnny is Kevin and that the police were taking him away from her.’

Confused, Pearl shook her head, but Bernie continued, ‘I had to speak to a psychiatrist and he asked me lots of questions. I told him about Kevin and then he spouted bloody theories that Dolly couldn’t face up to what Kevin had done, or losing him to a prison sentence. He said the catalyst must have occurred when the police snatched Johnny. His theory was that Dolly slipped back to a time when Kevin was a baby, and that her mind couldn’t cope with losing him twice.’

Pearl sighed heavily. ‘I suppose it makes some sort of weird sense. Did you have to give permission for her to be sectioned?’

‘Yes, but even if I’d refused, it would have been taken out of my hands. Anyway, seeing the state Dolly’s in, it wasn’t a hard decision. She needs help, a lot of help, and at the moment a psychiatric hospital is the best place for her.’

‘What will you do now, Bernie?’

‘I dunno, love. With the café being in Dolly’s name, I couldn’t halt the sale, but I’ll stay around here. The psychiatric unit is in Tooting, and I want to be close by.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’d best be off to sort to find myself a bed for the night. Can I pop in to see the nipper now and again?’

‘Yes, of course you can,’ Pearl said, her heart going out to Bernie. He looked awful. With his shoulders stooped, suddenly he was like an old, old man.

‘Thanks, Pearl.’

As Bernie left, she slumped back and closed her eyes, feeling mentally drained.

‘Are you all right, Pearl?’ Bessie asked.

‘I’m just tired.’ Pearl said, forcing her eyes open again. It was only five o’clock, but felt much later.

There was another knock on the door.

‘Bloody hell, what now?’ Bessie said as she went to answer it.

Bessie returned with Derek behind her and Pearl rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Oh, Derek, I was going to come to see you, to thank you. How did you know what Dolly was up to?’

‘I didn’t, but it seemed odd that she was going off with your baby. I followed her, and I’m glad I did.’

‘Me too,’ Pearl said, impulsively giving him a hug.

His arms tightened around her and she leaned against him, feeling his strength. This man had stopped Dolly from kidnapping her son. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes. ‘I … I can’t thank you enough.’

‘It was nothing, love, and anyway, the police weren’t far behind me.’

‘Hark at him, playing it down,’ Bessie chuckled. ‘From what we heard you held on to Dolly until they arrived. I reckon you deserve a medal.’

Pearl was still in his arms, but before drawing away she heard words said almost under his breath: ‘Sod a medal, I’d rather have Pearl.’

She pretended she hadn’t heard, but her mind reeled with confusion. Derek still loved her, still wanted her, and as she looked up at his face she realised that she cared for him too, maybe more than cared.

‘I’ve got to go, Pearl,’ he said. ‘I’m due at the gym.’

‘Yes, of course. I … I’ll show you out.’

Derek called goodbye to the others, and then Pearl led him downstairs. She paused before opening the door. ‘Are … are you still seeing that woman?’

‘No, love, it didn’t work out.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Is there any chance for me, Pearl?’

She wanted to say yes, but held back. She felt something for Derek, but was it love? He held none of the passion that she had felt for Kevin, but there was something, like a seed that had been planted yet needed water to flourish. ‘I don’t know, Derek. Maybe, but so much has happened and I don’t think I’m ready for another relationship. Perhaps if you give me a little more time and then ask again …’

‘I’ll wait, Pearl,’ he said eagerly. ‘You can have all the time in the world, and I’ll still be waiting.’

He looked like a big, soft bear and Pearl had to smile. She stood on tiptoe, giving him a swift kiss. ‘Thanks, Derek.’ Then impulsively she added, ‘And … and I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting for long.’

It was as though a light had switched on inside Derek’s eyes and they glowed with happiness as he looked at her. He grinned, and Pearl found herself grinning back. His wasn’t a handsome face, but suddenly Pearl loved it.

‘When things have calmed down, come round to see me. Maybe in a week or two.’

‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,’ Derek smiled, and as Pearl finally opened the door he stepped outside. ‘Take care, love, and if you need me before then, you know where I am.’

Pearl was smiling as she closed the door, walked back upstairs and into the living room.

Bessie said, ‘Right, let’s hope that’s the last caller. I can’t face cooking a meal so me and Nora are off to get some fish and chips.’

‘I’ll get them,’ Pearl said.

‘No, love, we’ll go, but it’s nice to see you smiling again. That Derek’s a smashing bloke.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Pearl agreed.

‘You could do worse.’

‘I know,’ Pearl said, but this time she wasn’t going to rush it. She had learned her lesson, and would take things slowly. Yes, she cared for Derek, but didn’t know if it would grow into love. It wouldn’t be fair to give him false hope, and she’d have to tell him that from the start, but it would be nice to go out with him again.

When Bessie and Nora returned, they sat around the table to eat, Nora’s portion the first to disappear from her plate. She then got up, moving across to play with Johnny, whilst Bessie said, ‘That woman who turned up today – it’s a bit strange really, but with so much going on I’ve only just realised where I’ve seen her before.’

‘Miss Rosen was my art teacher during my last year in the orphanage. I must admit I was surprised to see her.’

‘She’s the one I saw in my vision, the one I told you about, who was sitting up in bed looking at your face in the newspaper.’

Pearl frowned. ‘I wonder what she wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Well love, you’ll find out when she comes back tomorrow.’

Pearl found herself puzzling about Miss Rosen for the rest of the evening, but it had been a fraught day and she was yawning widely by nine thirty.

‘I think I’ll have an early night,’ she said.

‘Yeah, you do that, love,’ Bessie agreed. ‘Me and Nora won’t be far behind you.’

Pearl took Johnny upstairs and, after changing his nappy, laid him gently in his cot. He gurgled, his smile wide as he held his arms up. Unable to resist, she picked him up again. She held him against her fiercely for a moment, thanking God that Dolly had been caught, but then, yawning again, she put him back. He protested, so Pearl sat on the side of her bed with a hand through the bars, holding his until he went to sleep. She then lay down but, tired as she was, her mind was still restless, her thoughts again turning to Miss Rosen as she wondered why her old art teacher wanted to talk to her.

Chapter Forty-Two

When Pearl got up the next morning, she found Johnny soaking. He didn’t seem to mind as he gurgled happily to see her.

She tickled him under the chin. ‘Come on, darling, I think you need a bath.’

Bessie was up, but there was no sign of Nora when Pearl finally got her son bathed and dressed. He was starting to cry now, obviously hungry, so Bessie took him while Pearl went to prepare his bottle and rusk, something her son had taken to with relish.

‘Blimey, Pearl, he’s getting to weigh a ton,’ Bessie said when Pearl returned.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, smiling fondly as Johnny’s mouth opened like a baby bird waiting to be fed.

‘Thank Gawd it’s Sunday,’ Bessie said, ‘’cos I don’t know about you, but I still feel worn out.’

‘I’m fine now, and just glad that Dolly didn’t get away with it.’

Nora appeared, hair sticking up like a brush, but she made straight for Johnny. ‘Me hold him, Pearl?’

‘Yes, when he’s finished his breakfast.’

It was a leisurely morning, but at eleven o’clock someone knocked on the door. ‘I’ll get it,’ Pearl said.

When she opened the door, Miss Rosen smiled, ‘Hello, my dear.’

‘Please come in,’ Pearl invited, thinking that the woman looked frail.

Emily Rosen followed Pearl upstairs, but after saying hello to Bessie and Nora, she said, ‘I’m sorry to sound rude, but would it be possible to talk to Pearl alone?’

Bessie stood up. ‘Of course it would. Come on, Nora, we’ll make ourselves scarce for a while.’

‘Please, sit down,’ Pearl said as the door closed behind them. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, but I must admit I’m puzzled. What do you want to talk to me about?’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m afraid this is going to be another shock for you, but when you didn’t respond to my letter I began to think the worst, that … that you didn’t want to see me.’

‘I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to see you. I left the café just over a month ago, and maybe the letter arrived after that. If Dolly found it I’m not surprised she didn’t pass it on.’

‘Never mind, I’m here now, and only sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I’ve been rather ill and until now, unable to travel. Anyway, my dear, I don’t know how to break this gently, so I’ll just tell you. You see, I’m your mother.’

Pearl’s jaw dropped. ‘What! But you can’t be!’

‘I am, my dear, and I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to find you again.’

‘But … but I don’t understand. If you’re my mother, why didn’t you tell me when you came to work at the orphanage?’

‘I’m afraid it wasn’t that simple.’

Johnny awoke, crying loudly. Pearl picked him up and, as she comforted him, bitterness rose like bile in her throat. No matter what, she could never abandon her son. She would die first. She glared at the woman who claimed to be her mother. Emily Rosen had dumped her on the steps of the orphanage, but now had the cheek to turn up all these years later. Where had she been when she had felt so alone? Where had she been when she needed her?

Taking a seat again with Johnny perched on her lap, she voiced her thoughts. ‘Do you know I grew up dreaming about my mother, wondering why she had left me. The only comfort I could find was in thinking that she was ill, too ill to keep me and that she’d died. What other excuse could there be for abandoning me?’

‘Oh Pearl, I didn’t, really I didn’t. Please let me explain.’

‘No,’ Pearl cried. ‘You can’t be my mother! You just can’t.’ And, holding Johnny closely, she ran sobbing from the room.

‘What’s going on?’ Bessie demanded, but Pearl ignored her shout as she reached her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Bessie frowned and, marching into the sitting room, she demanded, ‘What the hell’s going on? Don’t you think that girl’s been through enough without you turning up to upset her?’

‘Please, I didn’t know she’d take it like this. Like me, I thought Pearl would be overjoyed.’

‘She didn’t look overjoyed to me. What did you say to her?’

For a moment Emily hesitated, but then said quietly, ‘I told Pearl that I’m her mother.’

Bessie’s face stretched in shock. ‘What?’

‘I said I’m Pearl’s mother.’

For a moment Bessie just stared at Emily. Then, heaving a deep sigh, she pulled out a chair. ‘Come on, tell me about it, and start at the beginning.’

Nora came into the room, Bessie snapping, ‘Go and make your bed.’

The tone in Bessie’s voice was enough to have Nora scuttling out again, and for a moment Emily said nothing. She then looked deeply into Bessie’s eyes, and as though seeing someone she could trust, she began, ‘It’s a long story.’

Bessie listened, thinking that the woman still showed signs of illness, and didn’t interrupt until her story came to an end. Then she said kindly, ‘Well, love, it’s a sad tale, but once Pearl has heard it I’m sure she’ll come round.’

‘Oh, I do hope so. Now that I’ve found her, I couldn’t bear to lose her again. I can’t offer her much, but I have a small cottage and hoped to offer her a home.’

‘As I said, she can’t fail to come round, but if she moves in with you, I’m gonna miss the girl. Anyway, Emily, I should think she’ll have calmed down by now. Go and talk to her. You’ll find her on the top floor, the room at the end of the landing.

When Emily left, Bessie sat thinking. She had no doubt that Pearl would leave to be with her mother, and she felt a wave of sadness. It seemed that some people came into your life and remained, yet others came only briefly. Yet as paths crossed, each person brought a new experience, a new lesson to learn. Sometimes it would be a bad experience and you’d hurt someone, or be hurt – others were good – but no matter what, it brought the opportunity for spiritual growth.

She’d known that she and Pearl were destined to meet, that for a short while the girl would need her, just as she now knew it was time for her to move on.

Bessie sighed heavily. It had been a two-way thing, of course. She had let the shop, and herself, go, but when Pearl turned up it had given her a new lease of life. That was the lesson: a reminder that there was always a reason to carry on.

Nora came into the room, her expression nervous, but Bessie smiled at her and, visibly relaxing, Nora smiled back. Bessie was fond of Nora and knew she shouldn’t have snapped at her. As with Pearl, the two of them needed each other. The circle was turning, and as one door was closing, another had opened. She had Nora now. Thanks to Pearl the shop was doing well, and between them they’d keep up the good work.

Yes, she and Nora would rub along well together, and somehow Bessie knew it would be for many, many years.

When Emily Rosen knocked softly on the door before walking into the room, Pearl cried, ‘Leave me alone. We have nothing to say to each other.’

‘Oh, Pearl, I didn’t abandon you. Please let me explain.’

Part of Pearl wanted to know, to hear the story, but the other still held bitterness. Yet the woman looked so sad, so frail, and something touched Pearl’s heart. ‘All right, I’m listening.’

‘This is going to be a long story, and I’m afraid not a pretty one, but I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.’ Emily walked towards the bed, wringing her hands. ‘I think I had better start at the beginning. You see, I’m afraid I was unmarried when I fell pregnant with you, and my father almost threw me out of the house. I had disgraced him, had a love affair with a gardener, and I think that was more unforgivable to him than the pregnancy. It was only my mother who stayed his hand, but I was kept virtually a prisoner until you were born.’

Pearl stiffened. It sounded ridiculous, like something out of a Victorian melodrama. If this was her mother, she was making it up, trying to make excuses. ‘You say my father was a gardener. What happened to him?’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m afraid he was sacked. He never knew that I was pregnant, and it was many years later before I had news of him. By then it was too late. He … he had died in a farming accident.’

Pearl closed her eyes momentarily. So, her father was dead – well, that was if this story was true. ‘What was his name?’

‘Jack – Jack Peterson.’

Unable to help herself, Pearl blurted, ‘What was he like?’

‘Oh, he was a fine man, and I can see something of him in your features.’

Pearl’s voice still held bitterness. ‘If you really are my mother, how come I ended up in an orphanage?’

‘I was told you were stillborn, Pearl, and I find it unforgivable that I was lied to. I had no idea what a devious man my father was, and it seems he paid someone in the orphanage to keep you there.’

‘This is all sounds a bit far-fetched. I mean, if you thought I was stillborn, how did you find out I was alive?’

‘I only found out when my father became seriously ill and, I think, wanted to make his peace with God. He said he’d planned to tell me one day, but not until you had left the orphanage, making it impossible for me to find you. Oh, it was so cruel, Pearl. He wanted me to suffer twice – to grieve when I thought you were stillborn, and then to suffer all over again when he told me you were alive. I can’t tell you how I felt. I was angry, yes, but full of joy too.’

‘So why did you come to the orphanage as a teacher? Why didn’t you just claim me, tell me who you were?’

‘Pearl, it wasn’t that simple. My father arranged for you to be taken into the orphanage without identification, and claimed he didn’t know what name you’d been given. I wrote to the orphanage, giving your date of birth, but they denied any knowledge of you. I found this very odd, but because I knew you only had a year left before leaving, I was desperate. I used another name and applied for the post of art teacher.’

‘Another name. Why?’

‘Because I had already written to the orphanage for information using my own name, and didn’t want to arouse suspicion. My real name, our name, is Harmsworth.’

Pearl looked away. The story still sounded too fantastic to be true, but if this woman wanted to make excuses, wouldn’t she have found a simpler explanation? Emily then gasped and Pearl blurted, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, don’t worry, it was just a spasm.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I have a slight heart condition, angina, but don’t worry, I’ve had treatment and I’m recovering. Now, where was I?’ she continued, precluding any further questions about her health. ‘As I said, I was told you were stillborn and you were whisked away before I got even a glimpse of your face. It was a foolish dream to think I’d begin work in the orphanage and recognise you straight away as my daughter. There were so many children, so many of the right age, and though I looked at all their faces, I was still unsure. I tried asking questions, but Miss Unsworth was always evasive, keeping her records under lock and key.’

She paused again, shaking her head. ‘In the end, I knew that time had run out. I had waited a year, until all the children of the right age had gone, and with no longer any reason to stay, I handed in my resignation.’

‘So how did you find me?’

She smiled softly. ‘For the first time it seemed that God was smiling on me. When I went to Miss Unsworth’s office, she was in the throes of leaving too, and had a pile of files on her desk. She was in the process of tearing something up from one of them when I walked in, and thrust it back into the file. As luck would have it she was called away, and I’ll never know what made me do it, but I looked in that file. It was yours, Pearl, and inside I saw my letter, along with another that I recognised was in my father’s handwriting.’

‘What did Miss Unsworth have to say?’

‘I didn’t wait to confront her, Pearl. I had found you, saw where you had been placed, and that was all that mattered.’

Pearl gazed at Miss Rosen – no, Miss Harmsworth – wanting to believe her, but still she hesitated. ‘Why have you waited this long before coming to see me?’

‘Oh, Pearl, you disappeared. You left the laundry, the hostel, and nobody knew where you’d gone. I was desperate to find you, and if I’d had money I would have hired a private detective, but my father must still have wanted to punish me, leaving me nothing in his will. I refused to give up, I kept looking but, shortly after, I was taken ill.’

‘So how did you find me?’

‘It was like a miracle, Pearl. I saw your picture in a newspaper, along with a story about your husband.’

‘Bessie was right,’ Pearl murmured.

‘What do you mean?’

Pearl told her about Bessie’s vision. Emily gasped, ‘My goodness, that’s amazing.’

Johnny stirred and Emily moved to the cot, leaning forward to cup his face gently in her hand. ‘He’s lovely, and … and I can’t believe I have a grandson. Oh Pearl, I mourned you for so many years. How could my father do such a thing?’ Her composure broke and tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘I missed so much, Pearl. Your first smile, your first step, and I’ve never even held you in my arms.’

Something jolted inside Pearl. It was true. This woman was her mother! Johnny’s grandmother! ‘Please, don’t cry.’

Emily dashed the tears from her face. ‘Oh, my precious girl, they are partly tears of joy. I’ve found you. After all these years, I’ve found you!’

Pearl saw the love in her eyes, and suddenly nothing else mattered. With a small cry she rose to her feet, running straight into her mother’s arms.

They clung together, swaying, both now sobbing. Pearl could feel how thin her mother was and as they drew apart she said, ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes, I’m on medication now and there’s nothing to worry about.’

She then took Pearl’s arm, drew her to the bed and they sat down. ‘We have so much to talk about, so much to catch up on.’

‘Yes, I know. Do you still teach art?’

‘Yes, my dear. I left a local school to come to the orphanage to look for you, but they were kind enough to take me back.’

‘I love art too, and until I fell pregnant, I took lessons.’

‘Yes, I recognised your talent, and even dared to hope for a while. But when you were one of the first to leave, I thought your date of birth must have been earlier in the year. Too early for you to be my daughter. Oh, Pearl, we have lost so many years and I can’t bear to be parted from you again. I … I have a cottage in Winchester. Please, will you come to live with me?’

‘With you?’

‘Yes, Pearl,’ she said, animated with excitement now. ‘It isn’t large, but there’s a spare room. I’d love you to live with me, to see my grandson growing up. Please say yes.’

Pearl gazed at her mother, saw the appeal in her eyes and felt her heart fill with joy. This woman, this frail but beautiful woman, was her mother and was offering her a home. For a moment her face straightened and she hung her head. It would mean leaving Battersea, and though this was something she had longed to do, it would mean leaving Bessie – Derek too.

As though reading her mind, Emily spoke. ‘I realise there are people here that you’ll miss, but you can still see them.’

‘Winchester is so far away and it wouldn’t be easy.’

‘Nonsense. It isn’t that far and there are trains. If you want to see Bessie, you could visit at weekends, and I’m sure she’ll always offer you a bed.’

‘Yes, she would,’ Pearl agreed, yet still she hesitated.

‘Oh, my darling girl, I’ll understand if you want to stay, but will you come with me, if only for little while? I love you, my dear, will always love you, but I want so much for us to get to know each other.’

Hearing her mother’s words, Pearl’s heart once again surged with joy. It was as if her dreams had come true. She had a mother. A mother who loved her. It would be hard to leave Bessie, but she had Nora now and wouldn’t be alone. She could talk to Derek, explain that she’d come to see him as often as she could. He said he’d wait, but it would be a long time before she was divorced – free. Would he wait that long?

Pearl sighed. There was no way of knowing, the future not hers to see. She and Derek would have to take it one step at a time, but for now, her mother was right. They needed to get to know each other.

She turned, smiling widely. ‘Oh, yes please, I’d love to come to stay with you.’

Read an Extract from A Father’s Revenge

Chapter One

Dolly Dolby smiled at her secret. For so long she had been woolly-minded, medicated after her mental breakdown, but just lately she had surreptitiously stopped taking the pills that Bernie, her husband, fed her. She felt that her mind had come alive again, that she was in control and thinking clearly for the first time in years.

It was a lovely spring day in March and Dolly was looking forward to seeing John, her grandson. He was the image of his handsome and dark-haired father, so like Kevin that every time she saw him her heart jolted.

Kevin was in prison, serving a fifteen-year sentence for robbery with violence, and had refused to allow her to visit him. She had no idea why, but then, to her joy, he had at last replied to one of her letters. The first thing she’d noticed when she went to see him was that Kevin’s eyes now burned with religious fervour and it was as though her son had been reborn. He wrote regularly now, his letters full of his plans to help others when he was released, and though until then she hadn’t had much time for religion, Dolly had gone down on her knees and thanked God for her son’s religious conversion.

At last Dolly heard the sound of a car pulling up outside their cottage which sat on a quiet lane on the outskirts of a village near Southsea in Hampshire. They had no close neighbours, though that didn’t bother Dolly. Nowadays she preferred seclusion. She had once owned a café in Battersea, London, and ruled the roost. No one had dared to cross her, but her world collapsed when Kevin had been arrested. There had been so much gossip, the story reaching the newspapers, and she’d been brought low with shame.

However, many long years had passed since then and pushing the memories to one side, Dolly flung open the street door. Her husband Bernie had taken to gardening with a passion and some of the daffodils were in bloom, but Dolly only had eyes for her grandson as he walked up the path.

‘Hello, Gran,’ John said, briefly accepting a cuddle before pulling away.

Dolly flinched, upset that he wasn’t more affectionate with her. Kevin had once rejected her too, and now his son was doing the same. No, stop it, stop being silly, she told herself. John was nearly thirteen years old now, no longer a little boy who wanted hugs. She had to control herself, had to stop imagining slights where none was intended. Briefly touching John’s shoulder, Dolly ushered him inside.

‘You took your time,’ she said huffily to Bernie.

Bernie frowned and for a moment he looked at her intently. ‘You seem to forget it’s a two-hour round trip to Winchester and back.’

Dolly didn’t want Bernie to realise that she hadn’t been taking her pills. ‘Sorry, love,’ she said meekly. ‘It’s just that I couldn’t wait to see John and the time seemed to drag. I expect you could do with a cup of tea?’

‘Yes please,’ he said, ‘and I might as well tell you now that Pearl wants John back by four. They’re having a bit of a do.’

Dolly’s lips pursed at the mention of Pearl. She had no time for John’s mother, never had. It didn’t matter how many years had passed, she refused to talk to her and even sacrificed calling John on the telephone in case it was Pearl who answered it.

Pearl had been a naive sixteen-year-old when Dolly first met her. She had been a thin, nervous, mousy little thing with huge brown eyes that seemed to take up much of her face. However she’d blossomed, ensnaring Kevin by becoming pregnant with his child. Dolly tried to prevent the marriage, to prove Pearl a tart, but then Kevin admitted she’d been a virgin. With no other choice, they had married, but Pearl then turned Kevin against her – his own mother. Dolly would never forgive her for that.

‘Dolly, did you hear what I said?’ Bernie asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, dragging her thoughts back to the present. ‘Why is Pearl having a bit of a do?’

‘It’s her mother’s fiftieth birthday.’

Nobody had made a fuss when it was her birthday, Dolly thought. Not only that Pearl’s mother, Emily Harmsworth, got to see John every day, not just once a month, and now even this visit was being curtailed. It still rankled that when Pearl had divorced Kevin she’d been granted sole custody of John, and from the start she had laid down the rules. There was only one that Dolly agreed with: that John should be told only that his father was in prison for robbery and the rest kept from him.

Dolly forced a smile as she tousled John’s hair. ‘I’d planned to cook you a lovely dinner, but never mind,’ she said, pretending acquiescence to Pearl’s demand for his early return, ‘I’ll do us a nice lunch instead.’

‘Smashing,’ said John, grinning.

Dolly led him into their sitting-cum-dining room which was overstuffed with heavy, mahogany furniture. It had come from their previous home, but looked a bit out of place in this low-beamed cottage.

‘Sit down, love,’ she said to John, thinking that though Pearl held the upper hand now, things were set to change. Kevin had been turned down last year, but he’d written to say that he was sure to get parole this time. Yes, Dolly told herself, of course he would, and as soon as the prison gates opened for her son she’d be ready to act. If Bernie dared to stand in her way she’d show him who was boss again, and if Pearl and Derek Lewis, her second husband, tried to stop Kevin from seeing his son, they’d have her to deal with.

Bernie looked at Dolly as she went through to the small back kitchen. She was fifty-five years old now, her brown hair greying, yet even when she had been young there was no way that Dolly could’ve been described as pretty, or even attractive. Far from it. She was tall and big-boned, with a broad, plain face over wide shoulders.

Of course, Bernie thought, he was no oil painting either. He was shorter than Dolly, with a paunch, and at fifty-six years old, almost bald now. Their marriage couldn’t be described as a love match: it had been forced on them by their respective parents when Dolly had been three months pregnant. From the moment she’d given birth, Kevin had been the centre of Dolly’s world, and Bernie had hardly been allowed a say in the boy’s upbringing.

Bernie’s lips tightened. He’d been unhappy with the situation, with the way Dolly ruled him, but too weak to do anything about it. He’d stuck it out, because though divorce was commonplace now, in his day it was unheard of. Not only that, Dolly had held the purse strings and kept him short with a paltry few quid a week. Of course, Bernie reflected, that had been in the distant past and things were a lot different now – he was the one in control of their finances.

‘I saw a jay last week, Granddad.’

‘Did you now?’ Bernie said as he sat down opposite John. ‘They’re lovely birds.’

Dolly appeared in the kitchen doorway, saying, ‘Do you both fancy macaroni cheese for lunch?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Bernie said and John agreed with him.

Bernie was unwinding after the long drive, yet found himself thinking back to when Dolly had her breakdown. For the first time in their marriage she had turned to him. He had seen another side of her, her vulnerability, for a short time, but then she had lost it completely and had been sent to a psychiatric hospital. The electroconvulsive treatment Dolly had received seemed to shrink her, and she’d developed a stoop along with a shuffle when she walked. He had seen his once formidable wife diminished, and after each session Dolly appeared disorientated. It had affected her memory too, sometimes temporarily, yet there were other things she’d forgotten permanently.

‘Here you are,’ Dolly said as she placed a cup of tea in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice for John. She then went back to the kitchen and returned with a plate of chocolate biscuits. ‘Don’t eat too many or you’ll spoil your lunch.’

Bernie winked at his grandson. ‘I’ve got a sweet tooth so dig in or I’ll scoff the lot.’

They munched companionably while Bernie’s thoughts drifted again. Dolly had forgotten that when Kevin had been sent to prison, the thought of losing her grandson too when Pearl left, had turned her mind. John had been just a baby when Dolly had run off with him, and it was only thanks to Pearl’s largesse that she hadn’t been charged. Instead Dolly had been admitted to the psychiatric hospital and when she finally came home, it was again thanks to Pearl’s kindness that they saw their grandson regularly.

Bernie’s ears pricked up when Dolly spoke to John.

‘Did you know that we once had a café in Battersea?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Gran, you told me, and my dad used to live in Battersea too. He ran a boxing club.’

‘You’re talking about Derek Lewis and he’s not your real father,’ Dolly snapped. ‘You seem to forget that your name isn’t Lewis – it’s Dolby.’

Bernie tensed. There was something different about Dolly lately. For one thing she was standing straighter and at times, like now, she seemed almost argumentative. Of course it could be that she was stimulated by John’s visit. That could explain it, and there was the added excitement of Kevin’s letter to say that his parole was likely to be granted.

Or was it that her medication needed adjusting? Worried now that Dolly was becoming psychotic again, and remembering the woman she had once been, who had thought nothing of laying into him with her fists to get her own way, Bernie decided to keep a closer watch on her. If she didn’t quieten down, he’d ask the doctor to increase her medication.

John was used to his gran being a bit unfocused, but today she appeared more alert than usual, her dark brown eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them before.

She’d been annoyed that he had called Derek his dad, but he was the only father he’d known. Derek was great, but despite that John was curious about his real father and said, ‘Gran, can I look at your photograph album again?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, her tone milder as she took it from the sideboard drawer.

John turned the pages, struck as always by the similarities as he looked at the grainy black and white snaps of his real father. ‘I look just like him, Gran.’

‘You certainly do. You’re a chip off the old block.’

John peered intently at his father’s face and said, ‘I wish I knew more about him.’

‘Kevin was a good lad, and when he left school he became an apprentice engineer. When he got his papers he worked in an engineering factory for a while, but then he got in with the wrong crowd. They led him astray and that’s how he ended up in prison.’

‘I’d like to see him, but I’m not allowed,’ John muttered.

‘I know and it’s disgraceful! You should tell your mother that you have every right to visit your father if you want to.’

‘That’s enough, Dolly!’ Bernie chipped in, sounding annoyed. ‘You know Kevin gave instructions that he didn’t want John to see him while he’s in prison.’

‘Did he? But I don’t remember that!’ she cried, pulling at her hair. ‘Why can’t I remember? What’s wrong with me?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Dolly. You get a bit confused now and then, that’s all.’

John was nervous of his gran’s behaviour, but as his granddad took a bottle of pills and shook one on to his palm, he said calmly, ‘It’s all right, John, don’t look so worried. Your gran’s a bit under the weather, but she’ll be better soon.’

Dolly took the pill without argument, and shortly after John saw a familiar distance in his gran’s manner.

‘Why don’t you come and give me a hand in the back garden?’ his granddad suggested. ‘Leave your gran to rest for a while.’

This was something John loved to do, and when his gran nodded, her smile sweet, he flung on his coat again. It was chilly outside, but soon the two of them were so absorbed that they hardly noticed, John learning more and more about the plants and fauna.

‘See that?’ his granddad said, pointing to the bird table. ‘It’s a chaffinch.’

‘And there’s a blue tit.’ John shared his granddad’s love of birds.

‘I could hear a woodpecker in the woods yesterday, but though I got my binoculars, I couldn’t spot it.’

‘I remember the first time I saw one. It was bigger than I expected,’ John said as he eyed the dense woods that started where the back garden ended. They stood quietly for a while, watching the various small birds that came to feast on the seeds and nuts his granddad put out, then they went back to work on the garden.

When they were called in to lunch, John saw that his gran had rallied a little. Later when it was time to leave, his gran hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him to wonder what was really wrong with her.

Chapter Two

Pearl was sitting beside Derek in the car as he drove her to see Bessie Penfold. She didn’t like going to Battersea, and rarely went. It was a place that held so many bad memories, but Bessie was special to her, a woman who had taken her in when she had fled from her first husband, Kevin Dolby, and his terrifying mother.

She saw that nothing much had changed. The stalls still lined the High Street with the costermongers shouting out their wares, and as Derek looked for somewhere to park he said, ‘While you’re visiting Bessie, I’ll go to see my gran.’

‘All right,’ she agreed. Derek had lost his mother when he was still a child and it had been his gran, Connie Lewis, who raised him. Connie didn’t like her, but Pearl felt she deserved the old woman’s anger. She had been going out with Derek, had agreed to marry him, but then been mad enough to fall for Kevin Dolby. She’d been such an innocent at the time, unworldly, and had been helpless to stop what happened. When she had found that she was pregnant she had married Kevin and they had moved in with his parents, but Pearl had been so ashamed of herself for breaking Derek’s heart.

When Kevin went to prison, it took several years before her divorce was granted, and during that time Derek came back into her life. Then, when he’d asked her to marry him, she had gladly agreed.

‘I’ll stop off to buy Gran some of her favourite sweets,’ Derek said.

‘I still can’t believe she agreed to go into an old people’s home.’

‘Even my gran had the sense to see that with her hands and knees riddled with arthritis, she was no longer capable of looking after herself.’

‘We’ve been married for nearly ten years, but she’s never softened towards me. I don’t suppose it helped that you gave up the tenancy on her house.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t agree to live in Battersea again and, anyway, it’s just as small as your mother’s cottage.’

‘I don’t want John to hear the truth about Kevin, but he’d soon find out if we moved back here,’ Pearl pointed out, thankful that Derek had been happy to move to Winchester.

‘Here we are,’ Derek said as he found a space and pulled into the kerb.

Pearl smiled at him fondly. Derek was nine years older than her, with fair hair, pale blue eyes and a face battered by years of boxing. The antithesis of Kevin, he couldn’t be described as handsome, but with his innate kindness and the love he showered on both her and John, Pearl thanked God for the day she had become his wife.

With the engine still running, Derek said, ‘Right, love, I’ll see you later.’

‘To give us time to prepare my mother’s birthday treat, we’ve got to get back to Winchester by three at the latest,’ Pearl pointed out.

‘I know, but that gives us about an hour and a half.’

‘Don’t leave it any longer than that before you pick me up again,’ Pearl urged, leaning across to kiss Derek on the cheek.

‘I won’t,’ he replied.

As Derek drove off, Pearl walked the short distance to Bessie’s shop, which was set in a tall, terraced building, the two floors above providing ample living accommodation.

When Pearl entered the shop she saw that it had hardly altered from when she had lived with Bessie and worked there, making improvements that had increased trade. There were racks of second-hand clothes, and a few long trestle tables almost buckling under the weight of old china and other stuff. There were a few pieces of battered furniture for sale too, and every spare surface was piled with old books. Pearl wrinkled her nose at the musty smell, but at least everything looked as tidy as possible.

Lucy Sanderson was standing behind the counter, a lovely young woman who had been through hell. She had lost both parents in a fire, but had somehow managed to get on with her life. Then more tragedy followed when her husband died in a traffic accident before Clive, their only child, was born. It had almost broken Lucy, but for her baby’s sake she had somehow battled on. Clive was seven years old now, and as far as Pearl knew there had never been another man in Lucy’s life. She took in sewing alterations to make ends meet, along with her earnings when working part time for Bessie.

‘Hello, Lucy,’ Pearl said. ‘How is Bessie?’

‘Her chest seems really bad and she insisted that I ring you.’

‘She’s probably got bronchitis again,’ Pearl said, thinking that despite it looking a bit washed out and home made, Lucy looked nice in a floor-length, high-necked, Laura-Ashley-style floral dress. Her hair was a halo of frizzy blonde Afro curls, the result of a home perm, yet they framed her pretty, delicate features and the style suited her.

‘I sent Nora along to the chemist to pick up Bessie’s medicine,’ Lucy said. ‘I think she can manage that.’

‘Yes, of course she can,’ Pearl assured. Bessie had taken Nora in many years ago, and though mentally slow, there were things she could cope with. ‘I’d best go up, Lucy, but I’ll have a chat with you again before I leave.’

As a customer came in Pearl went through to the back of the shop and climbed the stairs. She passed the first floor where there was a living room, kitchen, bathroom and Nora’s bedroom, going on up to the top floor where she walked into Bessie’s room.

It was dim with the heavy, dark blue curtains partially drawn, but Pearl could just about make out that Bessie was propped up in bed on a pile of pillows. Her grey hair, though short, was untidy and her face lined with wrinkles. ‘Are you awake?’ Pearl asked softly.

‘Yes, and it’s about time you got here,’ Bessie croaked. ‘I’ve got to be dying before you come to see me.’

Pearl felt a twinge of guilt. Though she hadn’t lived with her for long, they had grown close and Bessie would always hold a special place in Pearl’s heart. When she had moved away from London, Pearl kept in touch with frequent phone calls, and Derek would sometimes pick Bessie and Nora up after visiting his gran and he’d bring them back to Winchester for the afternoon. ‘Bessie, you know why I don’t like coming to Battersea,’ she said. ‘Now tell me, how are you feeling?’

‘Rough, but open the curtains so I can get a better look at you,’ Bessie said then coughed painfully.

Pearl let in some light before drawing a rickety chair close to the bed. ‘You shouldn’t be up here on your own at night. I don’t know why you won’t let Nora sleep in the room next door.’

‘Leave it out. She snores like a trooper. Even with the door shut, I’d hear her.’

‘Oh, and you don’t?’ Pearl said wryly while rearranging the blankets. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’

‘Yes, but a fat lot of good that’s gonna do,’ Bessie croaked when another fit of coughing ended. ‘I think me number’s up this time.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re going to be fine.’

Despite the reassurance, Nora suddenly gripped Pearl’s hand, saying urgently, ‘I want you to promise that if I don’t pull through, you’ll take care of Nora. Don’t worry, you won’t lose out financially, I’ve seen to that.’

‘Of course I’ll look after her, but this is just another bout of bronchitis and it won’t be necessary.’

‘Promise me, Pearl. You’ve got to promise me,’ Bessie pleaded.

‘All right, I promise,’ Pearl said, thinking that though Bessie was being overdramatic, it might be best to placate her.

‘Thanks, love,’ Bessie said, releasing Pearl’s hand and sinking back on her pillows. ‘I can rest easy now.’

‘Is this why you wanted to see me?’

‘Yes. I don’t suppose John’s with you? The only time I get to see him is when we come to Winchester.’

‘You know why I don’t bring him to Battersea.’

‘No matter how much you try to hide it, the truth has a way of coming out,’ Bessie warned.

‘John is too young to cope with it yet. Maybe when he’s older, but even then it’s going to be an awful shock.’

‘I know you regret the day you married Kevin Dolby, and if you remember, I tried to warn you against him,’ Bessie said, but then she doubled up in another fit of coughing.

‘Your chest sounds terrible. If you’d stop smoking it would help.’

‘After thirteen years of nagging me, you might as well give up. Anyway, I’m nearly eighty years old now and it’s too late.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course it isn’t.’

‘Bury your head in the sand if you must, but now you’ve promised to take care of Nora it’s eased my mind. You’re settled with Derek, and though you all live with your mother, which isn’t ideal, it’s plain to see how happy you are. Your son is a lovely boy and one of the few people who doesn’t mock Nora.’

‘He loves her, Bessie.’

‘I know, and she adores him, which is another reason why I know Nora will be fine when you take her on. When I go, you’ll find a box under the bed with my papers in, and when you sort my things out you’ll find a nice little cache of stuff to help you out.’

‘I wish you’d stop talking like this.’

‘I’m just putting me affairs in order, that’s all. Now enough said, so how about making me a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, all right, and can I get you anything to eat?’

‘No, thanks, a fag and a cuppa is all I want.’

‘Oh, you and your cigarettes,’ Pearl said wearily, sad that all her years of nagging Bessie to stop had come to nothing. She went down to the kitchen, pleased to see it sparkling with cleanliness. Bessie was hopeless when it came to housework, but it was one of the things Nora excelled at. Without even thinking about it Pearl had agreed to take Nora on if anything happened to Bessie, but now she realised that it would pose a rather large problem. They shared her mother’s two bedroom cottage, and with her mother in one of them and John in the other, she and Derek already had to sleep in the front living room. That just left the kitchen, which fortunately was a large one, and a small conservatory which now served as a sitting room. As Pearl was pouring the boiling water into the teapot, Nora appeared. She was short, plump, with a round face and straight, light brown hair. Though her eyes often appeared vacant, Nora was usually cheerful; yet this wasn’t the case now.

‘Bessie really bad this time,’ Nora said woefully.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Pearl said kindly. ‘You’re doing a wonderful job of looking after her.’

Looking tearful, Nora shook her head. ‘No, Bessie not get better.’

Nora’s words sent a shiver along Pearl’s spine, but despite that she managed to sound reassuring. ‘Of course she will. Did the chemist give you her medicine?’

‘Yes,’ she said, holding it out.

‘Good girl, and now you can take it up to her,’ Pearl said as she regained control of her feelings. Like Bessie, Nora had the strange ability to predict the future – but surely she was mistaken this time?

‘All right, I give to Bessie,’ Nora agreed.

As Pearl waited for the tea to brew, she decided that as always Nora was just being overly anxious, as she was every time Bessie got a bout of bronchitis. She wasn’t predicting the future. Bessie would get over it. She always did. She was a tough old bird and would probably live long enough to get a telegram from the Queen.

Bessie dutifully swallowed her medicine, but she knew there was nothing now that could help. She smiled fondly at Nora, but it did nothing to soothe the girl’s anxiety. Instead Nora looked as she had for the past week, pale and tearful.

Like her, Nora knew of course, sensed that the end was in sight and Bessie’s heart went out to her. How long had it been since she’d taken the girl in? Girl, no, Nora wasn’t a girl – she was forty-three now and they’d muddled along together for thirteen years.

With a sigh, Bessie closed her eyes as her mind drifted back to 1957. Both Pearl and Nora had been like waifs and strays then, both needing her sanctuary and help. When Pearl had to get away from the Dolbys she had nowhere else to go, and Bessie recalled how she’d felt compelled to take her in. However, she had also sensed that Pearl wouldn’t be with her for long. On the other hand, as Nora’s mother had been admitted to a home with senile dementia, she had known that taking Nora on would become a permanent arrangement.

Bessie opened her eyes again to look at Nora, forcing a smile to alleviate her fears. It was odd that Nora could predict too, almost as if they were meant to be together, and over the years Nora had become like the daughter that Bessie had never had, a woman who remained like a child, capable of some tasks, yet so vulnerable. There was one thing that Nora feared, and that was change, but Bessie had now taken steps to ensure that all that was familiar to Nora would remain.

With a croak in her voice, Bessie said, ‘Thanks for fetching my medicine, love.’

‘I look after you,’ Nora said gravely.

‘You certainly do,’ Bessie agreed as the door was pushed open and Pearl appeared carrying a tray. ‘It’s about time. I thought you’d gone to India to hand-pick the tea leaves.’

‘Very funny,’ said Pearl.

With a small, elfin face, Pearl had a delicate look about her, but Bessie knew she was stronger than she appeared. She was very fond of Pearl, and with no family of her own left Bessie felt there had been no choice – no other way to secure Nora’s future. Even so, she felt a twinge of guilt at the burden she was going to lay on Pearl. Would she agree to the conditions of the will?

Bessie longed for reassurance, for a glimpse of the future, but her second sight failed her.

Derek left the old people’s home, pleased to see that his gran was still happy there. At seventy-nine she had women of her own age to talk to and obviously enjoyed joining them in putting the world to rights.

His gran certainly hadn’t been happy when he married Pearl, and it hadn’t helped that he’d moved to Winchester. Despite all the years that had passed and all his attempts to persuade her, she still stubbornly refused to have anything to do with Pearl, though it didn’t stop her from complaining that she was the only one in the home who couldn’t brag about having great-grandchildren. He’d tried over and over again to tell her that he saw John as his son, but his gran refused to recognise him as such. It saddened Derek that he and Pearl hadn’t had children, but despite the pleasure of trying, it had never happened.

Battersea High Street was still busy, the market stalls doing a brisk trade, and for a moment Derek envied the costermongers their camaraderie. He had once had a pitch himself and there were a few men he’d known still working the stalls; one of them waved as he got out of the car, but mostly it was strange faces.

Pearl looked worried as they left Bessie’s and after popping upstairs himself to say hello to the old girl, he understood why. ‘She looked a bit rough, Pearl.’

‘I know, and thank goodness for Lucy. She’s been cooking meals for them both, and though Nora manages to do most things for Bessie when she’s ill, she can’t use the telephone. I’ve asked Lucy to ring me again if she thinks I’m needed.’

‘Lucy’s a nice girl,’ Derek commented and as always as he drove off he felt a pang at leaving Battersea. He liked Winchester, but this area would always feel like home to him. He knew they would never come back, never live here again … but a man could dream, couldn’t he?

A mother must fight to protect all she holds dear …

About the Author

NOBODY’S GIRL

Kitty Neale was raised in South London and this working class area became the inspiration for her novels. In the 1980s she moved to Surrey with her husband and two children, but in 1998 there was a catalyst in her life when her son died, aged just 27. After joining other bereaved parents in a support group, Kitty was inspired to take up writing and her books have been Sunday Times bestsellers. Kitty now lives in Spain with her husband.

To find out more about Kitty go to www.kittyneale.co.uk.

Author’s Note

Many places and street names mentioned in this book are real. However, others, and some of the topography, along with all of the characters, are just figments of my imagination.

There’s Always Tomorrow

Pam Weaver

Thereâ€™s Always Tomorrow

Dedication

This book is dedicated to David, my husband, my lover and
my best friend, who never stopped believing in me.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

One

Dottie glanced at the clock and the letter perched besideâ€¦

Two

When at last Dottie walked outside into the cool nightâ€¦

Three

Mary Priorâ€™s niece sighed. â€˜Nobodyâ€™s coming yet.â€™

Four

It was cool in the shed. Reg pulled the orangeâ€¦

Five

Dottie didnâ€™t finish at the house until late. She wasâ€¦

Six

Reg was in a good mood when he arrived backâ€¦

Seven

Saturday August 25 was indeed what the papers called â€˜aâ€¦

Eight

Billy didnâ€™t have the energy to run all the wayâ€¦

Nine

It was quarter to ten when Dottie finally got home.

Ten

â€˜Youâ€™re very quiet today, Dottie.â€™

Eleven

It was a mad rush to get the tea readyâ€¦

Twelve

Mrs Fitzgerald was out. Sheâ€™d left a note on theâ€¦

Thirteen

Dottie decided not to argue with Reg about Sylvieâ€™s lengthâ€¦

Fourteen

Late the following Friday afternoon, Dottie was drumming her fingersâ€¦

Fifteen

By the time Dottie, Sylvie and Michaelâ€™s mum, Edna, arrivedâ€¦

Sixteen

Sylvie had taken Dottie to a hotel in the centreâ€¦

Seventeen

Michaelâ€™s wedding day dawned dull and overcast. Dottie slipped outâ€¦

Eighteen

The reception finished at around ten and everyone, with theâ€¦

Nineteen

Dottie woke with a start. The bright moonlight had waxedâ€¦

Twenty

Was her period late?

Twenty-one

â€˜People will think weâ€™re off to another wedding,â€™ Dottie jokedâ€¦

Twenty-two

Patsy was in bed. Dottie poured herself a cup ofâ€¦

Twenty-three

Janet Cooper climbed into the window of her tobacconist-cum-sweet-shop andâ€¦

Twenty-four

When Dottie came downstairs on Thursday, her black eye wasâ€¦

Twenty-five

Reg hadnâ€™t come home last night.

Twenty-six

It was Sunday, the day Dottie and Patsy were dueâ€¦

Twenty-seven

When she woke next morning, Dottie was alone once again.

Twenty-eight

There had been a heart-stopping moment when Reg had lookedâ€¦

Twenty-nine

â€˜Whoâ€™s there?â€™ The light from the kitchen made the personâ€¦

Thirty

It was proving to be difficult trying to contact Sylvie.

Thirty-one

The whistle went, bringing to an end the last playtimeâ€¦

Thirty-two

The clock on the mantelpiece said 2.20am and Dottie wasâ€¦

Thirty-three

John Landers couldnâ€™t sleep. He stood at the window ofâ€¦

Thirty-four

By the time Ann had raced downstairs and grabbed herâ€¦

Thirty-five

After a full English breakfast, Reg suggested that Patsy andâ€¦

Thirty-six

The whole bungalow smelled musty and damp. The windows wereâ€¦

Thirty-seven

Mary listened open-mouthed as Ann told her what had happenedâ€¦

Thirty-eight

When John walked into the Jolly Farmer that night, aâ€¦

Thirty-nine

As soon as the man spoke, it was so obvious,â€¦

Forty

â€˜As a matter of fact, we do have someone fittingâ€¦

Forty-one

Kipper got the call just before he was going offâ€¦

Forty-two

â€˜May I remind you that you are here purely asâ€¦

Forty-three

â€˜If you ask me, theyâ€™ll do her for attempted murder,â€™â€¦

Forty-four

â€˜Itâ€™s all gone!â€™

Forty-five

John opened the car door.

Forty-six

They reached Maryâ€™s house just as the bakerâ€™s boy wasâ€¦

Forty-seven

The first flurry of snow began as they drove outâ€¦

Acknowledgements

Read an Extract from Pack Up Your Troubles

About the Author

One

Dottie glanced at the clock and the letter perched beside it. It was addressed to Mr Reg Cox, the stamp on the envelope was Australian and it had been redirected several times: firstly â€˜c/o The Black Swan, Lewisham, Londonâ€™, but then someone had put a line through that and written â€˜Myrtle Cottage, Worthing, Sussexâ€™, and finally the GPO had written in pencil underneath, â€˜Try the villageâ€™.

Australia â€¦ who did they know in Australia?

She picked it up again, turned it over in her hands. Holding it up to the light, she peered through the thin airmail paper at the letter inside. Of course, she wouldnâ€™t dream of reading it. It was Regâ€™s letter â€“ but she couldnâ€™t help being curious.

There was a name on the back of the envelope. Brenda Nichols. Who was she? Someone from Regâ€™s past perhaps? He never talked about his war experiences, but perhaps heâ€™d done some brave deed and Brenda Nichols was writing to thank him â€¦

There was a sudden sharp rap at the front door and Dottie jumped.

Nervously stuffing the letter into her apron pocket, she opened the door. A boy with a grubby face stared up at her. â€˜Billy!â€™

â€˜Mrs Fitzgerald wants you, Auntie Dottie.â€™

Billy Prior wiped the end of his nose with the back of his hand. His face was flushed, a pink glow peeping out from the mass of ginger freckles, and colourless beads of perspiration trickling from the damp edges of his hairline. He was very out of breath.

Dottie smiled down at him but she resisted the temptation to tousle his hair. She knew he wouldnâ€™t like that any more. Billy was growing up fast. Heâ€™d take the eleven plus next year and maybe heâ€™d be clever enough to go to grammar school. As he stood there twitching for an answer, she guessed why heâ€™d come. There was obviously some hitch back at the house and heâ€™d run all the way, keen to do an errand regardless of whether he might get a sixpence for his trouble. He was a good boy, Billy Prior. Conscientious. Just the sort of son any mother would be truly proud of.

â€˜She says itâ€™s a pair of teef that you come,â€™ Billy ventured again.

Puzzled, Dottie repeated, â€˜Itâ€™s a pair of â€¦ Oh!â€™ she added with an understanding grin, â€˜you mean itâ€™s imperative that I come?â€™

â€˜Sâ€™right,â€™ he nodded.

â€˜You can go back and tell Mrs Fitzgerald Iâ€™ll be there directly.â€™

â€˜If you please, Auntie Dottie â€¦â€™ Billy began again, as she turned to go back indoors. â€˜Mrs F said it was urgent.â€™

Dottieâ€™s fingers went to her lips as she did some quick thinking. Should she leave a note on the kitchen table and go back with Billy? Her mind raced over the preparations sheâ€™d already made for the wedding party taking place the next day. Everything was under control; sheâ€™d left nothing to chance. Whatever Mariah Fitzgerald wanted, it couldnâ€™t be anything serious. Dottie smiled to herself. People like her always needed to feel in charge. To Mariah, any slight hitch seemed like a major disaster. Dottie looked down at Billyâ€™s anxious face and her heart went out to him. â€˜Has there been a fire?â€™

â€˜No.â€™

â€˜Did you see an ambulance at the house?â€™

Billy frowned. â€˜No.â€™

â€˜In that case, Billy,â€™ she said, â€˜the message is the same. Tell them I shall be there directly.â€™

Billy sniffed and wiped the end of his nose with his hand, palm upwards. He seemed rooted to the spot.

â€˜Off you go then.â€™

He turned with a reluctant step. â€˜Itâ€™s urgent,â€™ he insisted.

â€˜I know, I understand that. Itâ€™ll be all right, Billy. I promise I will come as soon as I can.â€™

She watched him go back down the path, worried in case he walked too near the old disused well. Even though Reg had put a board over the top, and weighted it down with a stone, she didnâ€™t like anyone walking too close.

Billyâ€™s shoulders slouched, so as he reached the gate she called, â€˜Just a minute, Billy.â€™

He turned eagerly, obviously expecting her to run all the way back with him. Instead, she went back inside and reached up onto the mantelpiece where Reg kept his Foxâ€™s Glacier Mints in a tin. She took it down and looked inside. There were still plenty. Sheâ€™d filled it up the day before, but heâ€™d been busy last night so most likely he hadnâ€™t had time to count them yet. Should she risk it? He could so easily fly into one of his rages if she touched his things. She could hear Billy kicking the doorstep as he waited anxiously, scared of getting into trouble. Should she? Yes â€¦ sheâ€™d take a chance. She went back to the door and held the tin out in front of the child. â€˜A sweetie for your trouble.â€™

Billyâ€™s face lit up. By the time heâ€™d reached the gate again, the treat was already in his mouth.

â€˜And donâ€™t throw the paper on the floor,â€™ Dottie called after him. She chuckled to herself as she watched him quickly change the position of his hand and slide the paper into his pocket.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck five. Sheâ€™d better get a move on. Reg would be back home soon, another ten minutes or so. If she had to go back to the doctorâ€™s house, sheâ€™d be there half the night. Sheâ€™d better tidy up her sewing and shut up the chickens right now. Reg would see to the vegetables after heâ€™d had his tea. With all the rain theyâ€™d had lately, they might not even need watering. According to the wireless, 1951 had seen the coldest Easter for fourteen years, the coldest Whitsun for nine years and, with the height of summer coming up, things didnâ€™t look so promising for that either. Everybody grumbled and complained â€“ everyone except Reg. He didnâ€™t seem to be too worried.

â€˜All this rain is good for the celery,â€™ he said. â€˜And itâ€™ll help keep down the blackfly on the runner beans. Save me buying Derris dust this year.â€™

Dottie folded away the pink sundress she was working on and put it in her sewing box. The potatoes were beginning to boil. As she grabbed a handful of chicken feed from the tin by the back door, she turned down the gas and hurried down the garden.

Dottie had lived in their two-up-two-down cottage on the very edge of the village for eleven years. At sixteen, sheâ€™d come to live with her Aunt Bessie and now, nearly two years on from Aunt Bessieâ€™s tragic death, she lived here as Regâ€™s wife. She smiled as she recalled her wedding day. How handsome heâ€™d been in his uniform. Heâ€™d been so nervous, his hands had trembled as he put the ring on her finger. If she had been tempted to practice philosophy, Dottie would say that in life some are the haves and others the have-nots and, despite the sadness of the past, she was still one of the haves. She had come from nothing and now she had a nice little home, good health and â€“ if she was careful â€“ Reg was all right â€¦ Apart from the times when his horrible moods got on top of him, and he couldnâ€™t help that, could he? What was it Aunt Bessie always used to say to her? â€˜You make your bed and you must lie in it.â€™

She opened the gate leading to the chicken run and closed it behind her, calling as she went. The chickens clucked contentedly around her ankles, clearly recognising her position as provider.

â€˜Chick, chick, chick â€¦â€™

She opened the door of the henhouse and threw in the seed. Most of the hens scrambled inside straightaway. She had only to coax a few stragglers to go in before she closed and locked the door. They were still noisy and agitated, but theyâ€™d soon roost on the perches and quieten down. Satisfied that all was well, Dottie turned back to the house. She saw that Reg had arrived and was putting his bicycle into the shed. Her heart beat a little faster. He had lost some weight since his illness but he still had his good looks and his hair was still as black as jet. She paused, waiting to see what kind of mood he was in.

â€˜Got the tea ready?â€™ he said cheerfully.

With a quiet sigh, Dottie relaxed. Thank God. He was in a good mood tonight.

â€˜Of course,â€™ she smiled.

â€˜What are you grinning about?â€™

She punched the top of his arm playfully. â€˜Just pleased to see you, thatâ€™s all, silly.â€™

Something flickered in his eyes and she knew sheâ€™d gone too far.

â€˜Oh, silly, am I?â€™

Her heart sank and she chewed her bottom lip anxiously. â€˜I didnâ€™t mean it like that, Reg.â€™

As she brushed past him, he grabbed her left breast and pushed her roughly against the back door. His other hand was already up her skirt, his fingers pressing into her bare flesh above her stocking top. His breathing became quicker as, with one deft movement, he undid her suspender. She felt her stocking slip. As his urge became more acute, he pressed his body against her and she heard a crinkling paper sound coming from her apron pocket. Her heart almost stopped. She still had his letter! Her mind went into overdrive. He mustnâ€™t know. Please, please donâ€™t let him feel it. Please donâ€™t let him ask, â€˜Whatâ€™s that noise â€¦ What have you got in your pocket?â€™ She could feel it getting all creased up. If he found out, what would she say? How on earth would she explain?

He was kissing her so hard she hardly had time to draw breath. His tongue filled her mouth and she could feel the rough stubble on his chin rasping against her face. She tried to respond to him â€“ he got so angry if she didnâ€™t â€“ but she couldnâ€™t. Her only thought was the letter.

The door latch was digging into her side and it took all her willpower not to push him away. Another thought came into her mind. He wasnâ€™t going to make her do it here, was he? Not here by the back door, out in the open, where anyone could come around the side of the house and see them? What if Ann Pearce looked out of her bedroom window? Sheâ€™d never be able to look her in the face again.

â€˜Come on,â€™ he said hoarsely, pinning her to the door with one hand and fumbling with the buttons on his trousers with the other. â€˜Come on.â€™

â€˜Reg â€¦â€™ she pleaded softly. â€˜Letâ€™s go inside.â€™

He pushed her again, banging her head painfully against the door as he lifted his knee to prise her legs apart. All at once, he stopped fumbling with his flies and slid his hands over her buttocks. Her skirt went up at the back.

â€˜No,â€™ she pleaded. â€˜Not here, not under Aunt Bessieâ€™s window.â€™

He froze. She looked up and he was staring at her coldly. His lip curled and he punched her arm.

â€˜Oh bugger you then,â€™ he snarled as he walked into the house.

Dottie grabbed the window ledge to steady herself. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ she whispered. She stayed where she was for a couple of seconds, her knees trembling and her hair dishevelled. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she pulled at her suspender to secure her stocking again. The back of her head was tender but thankfully there was no sign of blood. She glanced into her apron pocket. The letter was completely crumpled. She couldnâ€™t give it to him now. Heâ€™d go loopy.

Taking a deep breath, Dottie tugged at the front of her dress to pull it straight and held her head high as she walked back inside. She knew what was expected. Business as usual. They never discussed it when it happened. He didnâ€™t like talking. Five minutes later, her apron and the letter hanging on the nail on the back of the door, she placed his plate on the table.

He put down his paper. â€˜Got plenty of gravy on that?â€™

â€˜Yes, Reg.â€™

He got up from his chair and sat at the table.

â€˜Iâ€™ve got to go back to the house,â€™ she said, aware that she was treading on eggshells.

â€˜Oh?â€™

â€˜She sent Billy Prior up with a message.â€™

â€˜Wonâ€™t it keep until morning?â€™

â€˜I doubt it,â€™ Dottie said, risking a little laugh. â€˜You know what sheâ€™s like. Sheâ€™ll be in a right state. Josephineâ€™s wedding is the wedding of the year.â€™

â€˜I canâ€™t imagine thereâ€™s anything left to do,â€™ said Reg, pulling up his chair to the table. â€˜Not with you in charge.â€™

She wasnâ€™t sure what to make of that remark. Was there a note of pride in his voice, or was it sarcasm? She decided not to ask and went to fetch her own plate.

â€˜Well, youâ€™d better get over there right away then, hadnâ€™t you?â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll eat our dinner first,â€™ she said, adding her own note of defiance. â€˜Sheâ€™ll send the doctor with the car before long.â€™

â€˜How do you know that?â€™

She shrugged nonchalantly. â€˜Youâ€™ll see.â€™

â€˜I dare say Iâ€™ll look for any sign of mildew in the strawberry beds,â€™ he said, mashing his potato into the gravy and spilling it onto the tablecloth, â€˜and then maybe Iâ€™ll take myself off to the Jolly Farmer for a pint.â€™

â€˜So itâ€™s all right for me to go then?â€™ she said.

He looked up sharply. â€˜Got any brown sauce?â€™

Just as sheâ€™d predicted, Dr Fitzgerald, a small man with a shock of frizzy light brown hair, walked up the path about twenty minutes later. Pushing his thick-rimmed glasses further up his nose, he curled his top lip at the same time, something he always did when he was slightly embarrassed.

Dr Fitzgerald had always admired the simplicity of Dottieâ€™s little cottage. Reg kept the garden looking immaculate. The neat rows of carrots, cabbages, beans and peas kept the two of them well fed and healthy. He knew from the various occasions when heâ€™d been called out when Reg was ill that the inside of the cottage was neat and tidy too.

Some would say he was nosy but the doctor made it his business to know all about his patients. Taking umpteen cups of tea by the fireside had enabled him to discover that, born and raised a gentlewoman in the last century, Elizabeth Thornton, known to everyone as Aunt Bessie and the original owner of Myrtle Cottage, had incurred the wrath of her father by marrying beneath her station. Cut off from the rest of the family, she and her beloved Samuel had amassed a tidy fortune in the twenties and thirties by running a string of small hotels, but sadly they remained childless. The frequency of the doctorâ€™s visits had increased slightly in 1940, when her only living relative, orphaned by the Blitz, had come to live in the village. A terrible thing to happen to a young girl, but he couldnâ€™t be sorry: Dottie had brought a very welcome ray of sunshine back into Bessieâ€™s life.

He found the back door open. In the small scullery, Dottieâ€™s pots and pans gleamed and glinted. He wondered vaguely where she found the time. He was well aware that she was in great demand in the village. On Mondays and Tuesdays, she worked for Janet Cooper, owner and proprietor of the general store in the village, and on Thursdays and Fridays she was at his own house. Dottie wasnâ€™t the usual sort of daily help, all frumpy and with wrinkled stockings â€“ she was attractive too. Damned attractive. Her figure was trim and her breasts soft and round. If she had one fault, it was that she wore her copper-coloured hair too tightly pulled back in a rather severe-looking bun, but now and then a tendril of hair would work itself loose and fall over her small forehead. He wasnâ€™t supposed to, but he noticed things like that. And when she laughed, her clear blue eyes shone and she lit up the whole world. He sighed. Oh to have an un complicated life like hers â€¦ to have an uncomplicated wife like her â€¦ Mariahâ€™s agitated face swam before his eyes.

Dr Fitzgerald cleared his throat. â€˜We sent the Prior boy up, but we werenâ€™t sure if youâ€™d got the message,â€™ he began apologetically.

Dottie gave no hint one way or another. Oh dear, oh dear. He dared not return without her. â€˜Um,â€™ he went on, â€˜my wife â€¦ that is â€¦ we wondered if you could spare an hour or two tonight, Dottie?â€™

â€˜I told Billy to tell you I would be there directly,â€™ she said in her usual unhurried manner.

â€˜I see â€¦â€™

â€˜I had to take care of my husband first.â€™ Although her tone was mildly reproachful, the doctor envied Reg Cox â€“ not for the first time. When was the last time Mariah put him first in anything?

â€˜Yes, yes, of course,â€™ he said hastily. â€˜Um â€¦ I was just wondering â€¦. um â€¦ if you are able to come straight away, I could give you a lift.â€™

â€˜Well, thatâ€™s most kind of you,â€™ she said in a surprised tone. â€˜Iâ€™ll just do this and then Iâ€™ll get my coat.â€™ She picked up the bowl and wandered past him to throw the washing-up water onto the garden. â€˜And,â€™ she added as she walked past him a second time, â€˜Iâ€™m sure you wouldnâ€™t mind dropping Reg off at the Jolly Farmer on your way, would you?â€™

If the doctor was annoyed by her presumption, he wasnâ€™t about to make a fuss. He wasnâ€™t stupid. He knew that in her quiet way, Dottie controlled all their lives and for the sake of his own sanity and peace of mind, it was important for him to get their in dispensable daily woman back to his wife as soon as possible.

By the time they arrived at the house, Mariah Fitzgerald was in a complete flap. Sheâ€™d got Keith running in and out of the house and into the marquee (a large ex-army tent set up on the lawn), with the large dinner plates from her best service, as well as some plates sheâ€™d found on the larder floor.

â€˜Donâ€™t drop them, whatever you do,â€™ sheâ€™d screamed at her already nervous son. Keith tripped over the guy ropes and she almost had a fainting fit.

â€˜You forgot the china, Dottie,â€™ she said accusingly as Dottie stepped out of her husbandâ€™s car. â€˜Itâ€™s a good job I went into the marquee to check. The tables were bare.â€™

Dottie said nothing but she was bristling with anger. Dr Fitzgerald disappeared somewhere in the direction of the surgery and she heard a door closing. She hung her coat on the peg on the back of the kitchen door and looked around in dismay. Sheâ€™d expected interference to some small degree but not on a scale like this. Her beautifully organised kitchen was in total chaos.

Mrs Fitzgerald had been going through everything, even the tins in the pantry. The lid of the tin containing the strawberry shortcake was on the draining board, the tin containing the brandy snaps had the lid from the love-all cake on the top and vice versa. The tin of butterfly cakes had no lid at all. Dottie couldnâ€™t even see it. When sheâ€™d left that afternoon, the dinner plates, on hire from Bentalls in Worthing, had been in their boxes under the shelf in the pantry. They had since been pulled out and the shredded paper used as packing was now strewn all over the kitchen worktops and the floor.

With an exaggerated sigh, Dottie set about putting things to rights. The bread bins were open and some of her carefully counted cutlery was missing from the drawer. What was the point of asking someone to do something and then changing it the minute her back was turned? Mrs Fitzgerald usually trusted her implicitly. What on earth had changed, for goodnessâ€™ sake?

Keith came in and bent to pick up some more plates.

â€˜You can leave them,â€™ Dottie said tartly.

â€˜But Mother says â€¦â€™ he began.

â€˜Iâ€™ll deal with your mother,â€™ she said, her tone a little less edgy. After all, it wasnâ€™t the boyâ€™s fault. He stared at her with wide eyes. She smiled and said softly, â€˜You go and have your bath.â€™

â€˜I told her you wouldnâ€™t like it,â€™ Keith muttered as he turned towards the stairs.

Dottie set off in the opposite direction, towards the garden and the marquee.

â€˜I shouldnâ€™t have to do this, Dottie,â€™ Mrs Fitzgerald wailed as she saw her coming.

â€˜And you donâ€™t have to, Madam.â€™ Dottieâ€™s tone made her employer look up sharply. There was no insolence on her face, but she needed to let her see she wasnâ€™t happy.

â€˜Thereâ€™ll be so much to do in the morning,â€™ said Mariah Fitzgerald. â€˜Why didnâ€™t you think to put the plates out? It would save such a lot of time, you know.â€™

â€˜They need to be washed first.â€™

â€˜Washed?â€™

â€˜I have no idea who had the plates before us, Madam,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I didnâ€™t think you would want to use them unwashed so Iâ€™ve arranged for Mrs Smith and Mrs Prior to come first thing in the morning.â€™

Mariah Fitzgeraldâ€™s jaw dropped slightly. â€˜Well,â€™ she flustered, as she strove to recover her composure, â€˜the cutlery needs sorting out.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s right, Madam,â€™ Dottie agreed. â€˜And Iâ€™ve arranged that Mrs Prior will bring her little niece Elsie to do that. Sheâ€™ll polish everything for ten bob.â€™

Mariah Fitzgerald went a brilliant pink. The napkin she was holding fluttered down onto the table. She looked around helplessly. So did Dottie. She should have come sooner. Right now, she was wishing with all her heart that she hadnâ€™t bothered to wait for Reg when Billy Prior had knocked on the door. Now sheâ€™d have to collect up all that cutlery, take all the plates back to the kitchen and tidy up at least forty napkins before she could go back home. She might even have to iron some of them again.

Their eyes met.

â€˜Yes, well â€¦â€™ said Mariah, patting her hair at the back. â€˜I have to be up very early in the morning. The hairdresser is coming at nine thirty.â€™

Dottie didnâ€™t move.

â€˜So â€¦ so Iâ€™ll leave you to it, Dottie.â€™ Mariah said, mustering what little dignity she could find. â€˜As usual, you seem to have everything under control.â€™

Dottie watched her as she crossed the lawn and sighed. It would be at least another hour before she had everything back to the way it was before.

Reg was all set to spend the evening in the corner of the Jolly Farmer with his pint of bitter. Usually there were plenty of people still willing to buy a pint for an old soldier, but tonight the bar was almost empty. He didnâ€™t mind. It had been a long day â€“ Marney and the station master had had him running from pillar to post.

Marneyâ€™s chest was bad again. Too much smoking, everyone said, but Reg reckoned it was something to do with the POW camp he had been in Germany somewhere. You could pick up some weird germs in those places. Marney probably lived week in week out on the verge of starvation as well, and that couldnâ€™t have helped. Reg might not have been in a palace himself, but his â€˜rest of the warâ€™ was nowhere near as bad as Marneyâ€™s. Even if it were the ciggies that made his cough, who could blame the poor old bugger? He probably only smoked them to forget something.

As Reg stared deeply into his pint, Oggie Wilson drifted back into his mind. Heâ€™d never forgotten poor old Oggie, and when he heard what had happened to him, heâ€™d felt as sick as a pig. Reg never spoke of his own experiences of course. Better to let sleeping dogs, and all that, but when heâ€™d married Dot in â€™42, he knew heâ€™d fallen on his feet. A nice little place right near the sea, two women at his beck and call â€“ what could be better? Dottie had stuck by him all through the war and it was only the thought of coming home to her that kept him sane while he had been stuck in that bloody prison. Heâ€™d finally come back in â€™48. Sheâ€™d given him quite a homecoming too. Some of his mates had come back from POW camp to find their missus had given up on them. Jim Pearceâ€™s wife had presumed him dead and when he came home he found her shacked up with somebody else. A fine how-dâ€™you-do that was, and the woman had no shame. Reg knew what heâ€™d have done if heâ€™d found any woman of his cheating on him. Not Jim. Heâ€™d cleared off and she was still living next door, bold as brass.

Dottie wasnâ€™t like that. Dottie had waited and sheâ€™d been faithful. Reg took a long swing of his beer. Nah, Dottie would never do anything bad. She was perfect. Too bloody perfect, that was her trouble. Taking her on the doorstep would have added a bit of spice to life. Why did she have to go and mention the old trout? Bloody Bessie with her silly hats and passion for cowboy films, she ruined everything. Even the thought of her made his stomach turn.

Heâ€™d had the shock of his life when Aunt Bessie had died and heâ€™d never felt the same since. It had done for his marriage as well. Heâ€™d tried to get it together but he just couldnâ€™t do it any more. Before the war, he could keep it up for hours, especially if he knew Bessie was listening on the other side of the paper-thin walls. He was a bit rough at times but heâ€™d had enough women to know most of them liked it that way. But ever since â€¦ well, since then he just couldnâ€™t do it any more. Not with her, anyway.

Dottie had never reproached him for it. She was too anxious to please. Sometimes he wished she would. He took another long drink. Trouble was, she never fought back. Whatever he dished out, she just took it. Well, that was no fun, was it? She was beginning to bloody annoy him all the time now.

â€˜Hey up, Reg. You coming outside?â€™

He put his empty glass down and looked up. Tom Prior from the Post Office was leaning in, holding the door open. â€˜Weâ€™re bowling for a pig,â€™ he cajoled.

â€˜A pig?â€™

â€˜Nice little thing,â€™ Tom went on. â€˜Fatten him up and heâ€™ll be a lovely bit of bacon when Christmas comes.â€™

Taking in Tomâ€™s weedy frame, the thought crossed Regâ€™s mind that he could do with a bit of fattening up himself. Naturally skinny, he and that fat cow Mary looked like Jack Sprat and his wife.

Reg shook his head. â€˜Nah, Iâ€™ll settle for a bit of peace and quiet.â€™

â€˜Peace and quiet!â€™ Tom chortled. â€˜Youâ€™ll get plenty of that when youâ€™re in your pine box and staring at the lid. Come on, man. Letâ€™s be havinâ€™ you. Iâ€™ll stand you another pint and itâ€™s only two bob a go. All in aid of the kiddiesâ€™ home.â€™

Reg rose from his chair. â€˜I donâ€™t know why I listen to you, Tom Prior,â€™ he grumbled good-naturedly. â€˜I never bloody win anything.â€™

Dottie had worked hard and now she was very tired. The marquee was almost back to the way it had been and the kitchen was nearly straight when Miss Josephine, the bride to be, came downstairs in her dressing gown and wearing slippers.

She wasnâ€™t exactly a pretty girl. Her nose was slightly too long and her mouth definitely too wide; but Dottie knew that just like any other bride she would look radiant in the morning. Right now the whole of her hair was kiss-curled, each one pinned together by two hair grips crossed over one another. Her face was white, and the Pondâ€™s Cream, thick enough to be scraped off with a palate knife, hid every blemish on her skin. She was wearing little lace gloves so sheâ€™d obviously creamed her hands and, to judge by the puffiness of her eyes, sheâ€™d been crying for some time.

â€˜Are you making some cocoa, Dottie?â€™

â€˜I can easily make some for you, Miss.â€™

Dottie went to fetch the milk and a saucepan. Josephine sat at the kitchen table. â€˜Oh, Dottie,â€™ she sighed.

Dottie was tempted to ask, â€˜Excited?â€™ but the tone of the girlâ€™s voice led her to believe her sigh meant something altogether different. â€˜What is it?â€™

â€˜Can you keep an absolute secret?â€™

â€˜You know I can,â€™ said Dottie, striking a match. The gas popped into life and she turned it down.

â€˜Iâ€™m not sure.â€™

â€˜Not sure of what, Miss?â€™

â€˜That I can go through with all this.â€™ Josephine produced a lace-edged handkerchief from her dressing-gown pocket and wiped the end of her nose. â€˜I tried to tell Mummy, but she just got cross and shouted at me. Then she said she didnâ€™t want to talk about it because sheâ€™d forgotten to do something really important in the kitchen.â€™

Ah, thought Dottie, careful not to let Miss Josephine see her lips forming the faintest hint of a smile. Mrs Fitzgerald had sent for her, not to sort out a few stray plates, but to stop her daughter from calling off the wedding.

Dottie reached for the Fryâ€™s Cocoa, mixed a little of the powder with some cold milk in the cup, then added the boiled milk. She kept her voice level, unflappable, as she asked, â€˜Whatâ€™s the problem?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know,â€™ Josephine wailed. â€˜And before you tell me itâ€™s just nerves, let me tell you itâ€™s not.â€™

â€˜Do you love Mr Malcolm?â€™ Dottie put the cup and saucer in front of her, still stirring the cocoa.

â€˜Yes, of course I do!â€™ She dabbed her eyes again. â€˜How can you ask such a thing? Itâ€™s just that I donâ€™t â€¦ I canâ€™t â€¦â€™ Her chin wobbled. â€˜Oh, Dottie, supposing â€¦â€™

â€˜Every young woman is nervous on her wedding night,â€™ said Dottie sitting down at the table with her. â€˜But if you love him â€¦â€™

â€˜I do, I do!â€™

â€˜And he loves you?â€™

â€˜He says he does. Heâ€™s so â€¦ Oh, Dottie, youâ€™re a married woman â€¦â€™

Dottie thought back to her own wedding night. All those old wivesâ€™ tales her friends teased her with. They only did it because they knew her innocence. What they couldnâ€™t know was that their teasing fed her fear of the unknown, the fear of failure, the dread of being hurt. But back then, all her worries had been blown away by her feelings for Reg. Poor lamb, heâ€™d never known real love. Heâ€™d never even known a motherâ€™s love because heâ€™d been brought up in a childrenâ€™s home. When she saw him waiting at the front of the church on her wedding day, her heart had been full to bursting. Now at last, she would be able to show someone how much she cared and as theyâ€™d walked into her honeymoon guesthouse, her one and only thought had been that she would be giving him something heâ€™d never had before. Something very precious â€¦

â€˜Havenâ€™t you ever?â€™ she began, but one glance at Josephineâ€™s wide-eyed expression told her what the answer was. Dottie reached out her hand in a gesture of affection. â€˜Mr Malcolm knows youâ€™ve never been with anyone else,â€™ she said gently.

â€˜But I wonâ€™t know what to do,â€™ Josephine wailed. â€˜Supposing I fail him? Supposing being married doesnâ€™t work?â€™

â€˜Of course it will work,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Even if itâ€™s difficult to begin with, youâ€™ll make it work.â€™ Thatâ€™s what we women do, she thought to herself. Men pretend everything is fine or go down to the pub, but we get on with it and make it work.

Josephine leaned forward. â€˜Dottie â€¦. do you mind? I mean â€¦ would you tell me? What happens when you and Reg â€¦? Oh, I shouldnâ€™t ask that, should I? Itâ€™s not nice. But what happens â€¦? I mean, exactly â€¦?â€™

Dottie glanced up at the clock. What should she say? If she told Josephine how things really were between her and Reg, there would be no wedding. Mr Malcolm seemed a nice enough man. A bit of a chinless wonder as Aunt Bessie would say, but he clearly loved her. Reg had been good and kind in the beginning. Her wedding night had been a little â€¦ rushed â€¦ but she knew he loved her really. It was only the war that changed him. All that time he was away, sheâ€™d dreamed of what it would be like to have him back home again. It wasnâ€™t his fault things werenâ€™t the same. Aunt Bessie was right. She always said, â€˜War does terrible things to people.â€™

â€˜Dottie?â€™

Josephineâ€™s voice brought her back to the present. She leaned towards her employerâ€™s daughter as if she were about to whisper a secret. She wouldnâ€™t spoil it for her. She wouldnâ€™t tell her how it was, sheâ€™d tell her how sheâ€™d always dreamed it would be.

Two

When at last Dottie walked outside into the cool night air, Dr Fitzgerald came out through the French windows.

â€˜Iâ€™ll take you home, Dottie.â€™

She was startled. â€˜Thereâ€™s no need, sir. Iâ€™m quite happy to walk.â€™

â€˜Nonsense!â€™ he cried. â€˜Youâ€™ve got a big day tomorrow. Youâ€™ll need all your strength. Hop in.â€™

He was holding the passenger door of his Ford Prefect open as if she were a lady.

â€˜Everything set for the reception?â€™ he said as he sat down in the driverâ€™s seat.

â€˜Yes, sir.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re an absolute marvel, Dottie.â€™

â€˜Not at all, sir,â€™ she said. â€˜Iâ€™m only doing what anyone else would do.â€™ But in the secret darkness of the car, she allowed herself a small smile. Yes, let him appreciate her. It was only right.

Reg still wasnâ€™t back from the Jolly Farmer when she got indoors. It was unusual for him to be out this late on a weeknight. Still, he had a half-day off tomorrow. Heâ€™d be back home at lunchtime.

She put the kettle on a low gas while she pinned up her hair and put on a hairnet. By the time sheâ€™d finished, the overfilled kettle began to spit water so that it coughed rather than whistled. She filled the teapot and sat at the kitchen table. It was lovely and quiet. The only sound in the room was the tick-tock of the clock. Then, all at once, there was a knock at the kitchen window and she jumped a mile high. â€˜Whoâ€™s there?â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s me, Reg.â€™

Dottie pulled back the curtain. â€˜Oh, Reg!â€™ she gasped clutching her chest. â€˜You scared the life out of me. What are you doing knocking on the window?â€™

â€˜Come here, Dot. Iâ€™ve got something to show you.â€™

Remembering how heâ€™d grabbed her when he came home earlier that evening, her heart beat a little faster. She shivered apprehensively. â€˜Iâ€™m very tired, Reg.â€™

â€˜It wonâ€™t take a minute.â€™

What was he up to now? And what was that under his arm? Slipping her feet back into her shoes, she made a grab for her coat hanging on the nail on the back of the door. As she lifted it, her apron hanging underneath swung sideways and the pocket gaped open to reveal Regâ€™s creased-up letter. Oh flip! The sight of it made her stomach go over. Sheâ€™d forgotten all about it.

â€˜Hurry up,â€™ he shouted from the other side of the door.

Dottie grabbed the apron, rolled it up and stuffed it into the drawer. â€˜Just let me get my coat on.â€™

As she stepped outside into the cool night air, whatever he was holding under his arm moved. Dottie cried out with surprise.

â€˜Take a look at this!â€™ he said, flinging the jacket back.

It was a small piglet. The animal wriggled and squealed.

â€˜Where on earth did you get that?â€™ she gasped.

â€˜I won it,â€™ he laughed. â€˜Tom Prior persuaded me to have a go at skittles and I was the only one who got them all down with one throw. I got the first prize. The pig.â€™

â€˜But you never win anything,â€™ Dottie said.

â€˜Thatâ€™s what I bloody said,â€™ Reg agreed. â€˜But this time I did.â€™

â€˜But what are we going to do with it?â€™

Reg shrugged his shoulders. The pig protested loudly so he covered it with his coat again.

â€˜Well, weâ€™ll have to put it in the chicken run for now,â€™ she said. â€˜Theyâ€™re all shut up for the night. Has it been fed?â€™

He shrugged again. â€˜Shouldnâ€™t think so.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s some potato left over from last night, and some peelings in the bucket waiting to go on the compost heap. Iâ€™ll do a bit of gravy and you can give it that.â€™

â€˜If we fattened him up,â€™ he said, leading the way down the garden to the chicken run, â€˜heâ€™d be a nice bit of bacon by Christmas.â€™

They put the pig in the chicken run and, while Reg pulled an old piece of corrugated iron over the tree stump and the edge of the fence to give it a bit of shelter if it rained, Dottie ran back indoors to get some food.

Later that night, as they both climbed into bed, Reg said, â€˜I reckon Iâ€™ll get ten bob, a quid, for that pig if Iâ€™m lucky.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™d need a proper pigsty,â€™ she challenged, as she switched off the light by the door and fumbled her way into bed. â€˜Itâ€™ll upset my chickens.â€™

â€˜Blow your chickens,â€™ he snapped. â€˜You think more of them than your own bloody husband!â€™

With that, Reg turned over, snatching most of the bedclothes. A few minutes later, he was snoring. Dottie lay on her back staring at the ceiling. First thing in the morning, sheâ€™d iron that letter smooth and put it back beside the clock.

Josephine Fitzgeraldâ€™s wedding day dawned bright and sunny. Dottie was up with the lark, but Reg had already gone to work. He had to be at Central Station in time for the 5.15 mail train in order to help load up the mail bags from the sorting office in Worthing.

As soon as she was dressed, she got out the iron. She had to stand on the kitchen chair in order to take out the light bulb and plug it in, then she switched it on and waited for it to warm up.

Somebody knocked lightly on the kitchen window. She looked up in time to see the tramp scurrying behind the hedge. Heâ€™d been here many times before but Dottie hadnâ€™t seen him for ages. In fact, it had crossed her mind that perhaps heâ€™d died during the cold winter months, or maybe moved on to another area.

Whenever he turned up, Aunt Bessie always gave him something, a cup of tea or a piece of bread and jam. They all knew Reg didnâ€™t like him around so he planned his visits carefully.

Dottie popped out to the scullery to put on the kettle to make him some tea, and to get the rolled-up apron out of the drawer. Taking out the letter, she held it to her nose. It smelled of nothing in particular, but now that it was close up, she could see it had more than one piece of paper inside the thin envelope. There was a white sheet of paper but she could also see the edge of a smaller yellow sheet. Dottie turned it around in her hands. Who was this Brenda Nichols? Why was she writing to Reg?

Dottie and Reg first got together in 1942, on her sixteenth birthday. Theyâ€™d met at a dance in the village hall and they had married after a whirlwind courtship. Aunt Bessie had paid for them to honeymoon in Eastbourne, no expense spared.

Once the wedding was over, Dottie had come back to the cottage to carry on living with Aunt Bessie, while Reg, who was in the army, had been sent to Burma. Perhaps Brenda was someone heâ€™d met out there? All Dottie knew was that his unit was part of the Chindits. They were well respected and very brave but she had to rely on the newsreels at the pictures to give her some idea of what it must have been like for Reg because he never talked much about his experiences.

When heâ€™d returned home three years later than most of the boys from Europe, little more than a bag of bones, Dottie had been glad to nurse him back to health. She wished that he and Aunt Bessie had got on a bit better but, try as she might, there was always a frosty atmosphere when they were together in the same room. Reg had eventually recovered physically but his war experiences left him with black moods and Dottie had to be very careful not to upset him. Was it possible that Brenda was one of the nurses who had looked after him? If she were, she would have to write and thank her.

With great care, Dottie ironed the letter flat and put it back beside the clock.

The kettle began to whistle. The trampâ€™s tin can with the string handle was outside on the step but, instead of being empty, there was a note inside: I did it! Thanks.

How strange. Whatever did that mean? She looked around but he was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug of her shoulders, Dottie scalded the old tin and filled it with tea the way Bessie always had. Then she cut a doorstep slice of bread and smeared it lavishly with marrow and ginger jam. She put it on the windowsill as she went down the garden with some outer cabbage leaves for the pig and some chicken food.

Motionless, the pig watched her as she let out the chickens. At first they were a little alarmed when they discovered they had a new living companion, but after a few squawks, plenty of grunting and some running about, things settled down into an uneasy truce.

When she got back to the house, the trampâ€™s tea and the bread were still there. Where was he? Perhaps he was afraid Reg was still around. Then she saw Vincent Dobbs, the postman, walking up the path. Obviously the tramp was waiting until the coast was clear.

â€˜Morning, Dottie,â€™ said Vince. â€˜You look as if youâ€™ve lost something.â€™

â€˜I was just wondering where the tramp was. I made him some tea.â€™

Vince shook his head. â€˜Havenâ€™t seen any tramps,â€™ he smiled, â€˜but I did see some chap coming out of your gate.â€™

â€˜Who was that?â€™ asked Dottie, puzzled.

â€˜Never saw him before,â€™ said Vince. â€˜Smart, though. In a suit.â€™ He handed her a letter.

â€˜Oh, itâ€™s for me!â€™ she cried, eagerly tearing open the letter.

The letter was from her dearest friend, Sylvie. The tramp and Vince forgotten, Dottie walked indoors, reading it as she went. Sylvie was asking to come and stay for a few days when Michael Gilbert from the farm got married. Dottie had already written to tell Sylvie that Mary and Peaches and the other ex-Land Girls would be coming. Michael and Fredaâ€™s wedding, scheduled for three weeks time, might not be half so grand as the stuffy affair Mariah Fitzgerald was laying on for her daughter today, but it would be much more fun. Sylvie said how much she was looking forward to meeting up with everybody at the wedding. Dottie smiled. She was looking forward to it too. It would just be like old times.

I canâ€™t believe that the warâ€™s been over for five and half years, Sylvie wrote. This will be a golden opportunity to get together again. I never stop thinking about you all and the fun we had on the farm and all that blinking hard work!

Dottie laughed out loud when she read that. While everyone else had been slogging their guts out in the fields, Sylvie spent most of her time sloping off for a kip in the barn.

Write and tell me all about Freda, Sylvie wrote. Whatâ€™s she like? How old is she? How did they meet? Oh, Dottie, I canâ€™t imagine our little Michael all grown up.â€™

Dottie felt exactly the same way. Although there was only two yearsâ€™ difference in their ages, Michael still seemed a lot younger. Freda, his bride to be, was only eighteen. Dottie didnâ€™t know where theyâ€™d met but they had made their wedding plans very quickly; Dottie suspected that Freda might already be pregnant.

Dottie sighed. Sylvie led such a glamorous life with all those parties and important people she met, but sheâ€™d have to pick her moment to ask Reg if she could stay and that wouldnâ€™t be easy. She knew only too well how Reg felt about her. â€˜Snobby, stuck-up bitch,â€™ heâ€™d say.

Dottie glanced up at the clock. 8.30. Time to go. She shoved Sylvieâ€™s letter into her apron pocket to read again later then, humming softly to herself, she put a couple of slices of cold beef on a plate with some bread and pickles and put it in the meat safe for Regâ€™s dinner.

Just to be on the safe side, she propped Regâ€™s letter in front of the teapot on the table alongside her own hastily scribbled note â€“ Dinner in meat safe â€“ so that he couldnâ€™t miss it. Then she packed her black dress and white apron into her shopping bag and set off for the big house.

Three

Mary Priorâs niece sighed. âNobodyâs coming yet.â

âGood,â said Dottie happily. âIt must be time to put the kettle on, Elsie.â

Peaches and Mary sat down at the table.

The wedding reception was being held in the marquee on Dr Fitzgeraldâs lawn. Caterers from some posh hotel in Brighton had handled all the food, but the women in the kitchen had been kept busy with unpacking and washing up the hired plates and glasses. Dottie had asked her next-door neighbour, Ann Pearce, to help out but she couldnât find anyone to look after the kids.

Dottie looked around contentedly. She loved being with her friends and nothing pleased her more than helping to make a day special for someone.

The wedding itself was at 2pm, and once the bride had set off for the church some of them took the opportunity to pop back home. Peaches had wanted to check that her little boy, Gary, was all right with his gran. Mary wanted to get her husband, Tom, some dinner and she took Elsie with her. Dottie stayed at the house: after last nightâs fiasco, she wasnât going to leave anything to chance.

As soon as the wedding party returned from the church, the waiters began handing round the drinks and some little fiddly bits they called hors dâoeuvres. Until everyone went into the marquee for the meal, Peaches and Mary were kept busy with a steady stream of washing up.

The marquee had been set out with twelve tables, each with eight place settings. Each table was named after a precious stone â diamond, ruby, sapphire, amethyst, amber, opal, and so on â and in order to avoid family embarrassments, there was a strict seating plan. Guests were to eat their meal to the gentle sound of a string quartet.

The top table, at which the family wedding party sat, was tastefully decorated with huge vases of fresh flowers at the front, and the toastmaster was on hand to make sure that everything was done decently and in the correct order. Mariah Fitzgerald knew her daughterâs wedding would be the talk of the golf club and county set for months to come, so Dr Fitzgerald and the best man would not be allowed to move until the toastmaster had given them their cue.

The catering company had a separate tent on the other side of the shrubbery where a small team of cooks was already busy producing the meal with all the efficiency of an army field kitchen. All the washing up was to be done in the house kitchen and the team of waiters and waitresses would bring in the dirty crockery. They would send it back to Bentalls once it had been washed and repacked in the various boxes.

Dottie gave her little team a piece from one of her cakes and they sat down for a well earned cup of tea. They had been friends since the war years when they had worked together on the farm. Their friendship had deepened when Mary was widowed. It was ironic that Able had gone all through the war, only to be killed on his motorbike near Lancing. Billy was only just over five at the time and Maureen three and Susan eighteen months. Dottie and Peaches pulled together to help Mary through.

âWell, at least the rain held off,â Dottie said.

âThey say itâll clear up in time for the Carnival,â said Mary.

âI could do with this,â said Peaches, sipping her tea. âI still donât feel much like eating in the morning.â

âNot long now before the baby comes,â said Mary.

âSeven weeks,â said Peaches leaning back and stroking her rounded tummy. âI canât wait to get into pretty dresses again.â

âI bet it wonât take you long either, you lucky devil,â Mary said good-naturedly. âI looked eight months gone before I even got pregnant. Five kids later and just look at me.â She wobbled her tummy. âMary five bellies.â They all giggled.

âAnd your Tom loves you just the way you are,â said Dottie, squeezing her shoulder as she leaned over the table with the sponge cake.

âOur Freda is getting fat,â said Elsie. Her eyes shone like little black buttons and Dottie guessed this was the first time sheâd been included in âgrown-upâ conversation.

âI wouldnât say that when Fredaâs around,â Dottie cautioned with a gentle smile. âSheâd be most upset.â

âI canât wait for the wedding,â said Elsie.

âMichael has certainly kept us waiting a long time,â Mary agreed.

âBut I wouldnât call him slow,â Peaches said, half under her breath. The baby kicked and she looked down at her stomach. âOw, sweet pea, careful what youâre doing with those boots of yours, will you?â

Elsieâs eyes grew wide. âI didnât know babies had boo â¦â

âItâs hard to imagine Michael old enough to get married,â Dottie said quickly.

âCome on, hen,â Mary laughed. âHeâs only two years younger than you!â

She was right, but somehow, in Dottieâs mind, Michael had always remained that gangly fourteen year old in short trousers who had followed them around on the farm. It was hard to believe he was almost twenty-five.

âI canât wait to be a bridesmaid,â said Elsie.

âItâs very exciting, isnât it?â Dottie smiled. âIâm sure youâll look very pretty.â

âAre you doing the dresses, Dottie?â Mary asked.

Dottie shook her head. âNot enough time.â

The older women gave her a knowing look and she blushed. She hadnât meant to say that and she hoped no one would draw attention to her remark in front of Elsie. She poured Peaches some more tea.

âI think Freda will make Michael a lovely wife,â said Dottie.

âOh!â cried Peaches. âThis little blighter is going to be another Stanley Matthews.â

âPretty lively, isnât he?â said Mary.

âCan I feel?â asked Elsie.

Peaches took her hand and laid it over her bump.

âWhatâs it like, having a baby?â Elsie wondered.

âI tell you what,â laughed Peaches. âI wonât be doing this again.â

âWhy not?â

âThatâs enough, Elsie,â her aunt scolded.

Elsie pouted and took her hand away.

âWho did you say was looking after your Gary, hen?â asked Mary.

âMy mother,â said Peaches. âShe canât get enough of him.â

âTomâs got all mine,â grinned Mary. âThatâll keep him out of mischief. At least you donât have to worry about whoâs going to look after the kids, Dottie.â

Dottie bit her lip. Oh, Mary â¦ if only you knew how much that hurt â¦

âDid I tell you?â she said, deliberately changing the subject. âI had a letter from Sylvie yesterday.â She took it out of her apron pocket and handed it to Peaches. âSheâs coming to Michaelâs wedding.â

Peaches clapped her hands. âSylvie! Oh how lovely. Sheâs so glamorous. I really didnât think sheâd come, did you? Weâll have a grand time going over old times. Remember that time we put Sylvieâs fox fur stole at the bottom of Charlieâs bed?â

Dottie roared with laughter. âAnd he thought it was a rat!â

âJumped out of bed so fast he knocked the blinking jerry over,â Peaches shrieked.

âGood job it wasnât full,â laughed Dottie.

âWhich one was Charlie?â asked Mary.

âYou remember Charlie,â said Dottie. âOne of those boys billeted with Aunt Bessie and me. The one that went down with The Hood.â

âDear God, yes,â murmured Mary.

âAnd is your Reg all right with her staying at yours?â Mary wanted to know.

âHavenât asked him yet,â said Dottie. In truth she wasnât looking forward to broaching the subject.

Mary glanced over at Peaches and then at Dottie. âWhy doesnât he ever bring you over to the Jolly Farmer, hen?â

Dottie felt her face colour. She never went with Reg because he said a womanâs place was in the home. Maryâs pointed remark had flustered her. She brushed some crumbs away from the table in an effort to hide how she was feeling. âIâve never been one for the drink.â

âBut we have some grand sing-songs and a good natter,â Mary insisted.

Dottie took a bite of coffee cake and wiped the corner of her mouth with her finger. Theyâd obviously been talking about it. âI usually have something to do in the evenings,â she said. âYou know how it is.â

âYou should come, Dottie,â said Peaches. âYou donât have to be a boozer. I only ever drink lemonade.â

âI canât think what you get up to at home,â Mary remarked to Dottie. âThereâs only you and him, and that house of yours is like a shiny pin.â

âShe does some lovely sewing, donât you, Dot,â said Peaches. âYou ought to sell some of it.â

âI do sometimes,â said Dottie.

âDo you?â

Yes I do, thought Dottie. She was careful not to let Peaches see her secret smile. And one day sheâd show them just what she could do. One day sheâd surprise them all.

Mary leaned over and picked up the teapot again. âWhat are you doing next Saturday?â she asked, pouring herself a second cup.

âHaving a rest!â Dottie laughed. What were they up to? This sounded a bit like a kind-hearted conspiracy â¦

âTell you what,â cried Peaches. âJack is taking Gary and me to the Littlehampton Carnival in the lorry. Itâs lovely there. Sandy beach for one thing. Nicer for the kids. Worthing and Brighton are all pebbles. Why donât we all go and make a day of it? You and Reg and your Tom, Mary. Thereâs plenty of room. We can get all the kids in the back.â

âThat sounds wonderful!â cried Mary. âMy kids would love it. Are you sure?â

âI donât think Reg â¦â Dottie began. She knew full well that Reg would prefer to spend a quiet day in the garden and then go down to the pub. She didnât mind because it left her free to work out how to do her greatest sewing challenge so far: Mariah Fitzgeraldâs curtains.

âYou leave Reg to me,â said Peaches firmly. âYouâre coming.â

âCan I come too?â Elsie wanted to know.

âCourse you can,â said Peaches. âThe more the merrier.â

âI donât think you can, Elsie,â said Mary. âYour mum and dad are going to see your gran over in Small Dole next week. She told me as much when I asked if you could help out today.â

Elsie stuck her lip out and slid down her chair. âI hate it at Granâs,â she grumbled. âItâs boring.â

Peaches had gone back to Sylvieâs letter. âAll the hard work â¦â?â she quoted.

âEh?â said Mary.

âShe says here, âI never stop thinking about you all and the fun we had on the farm and all that blinking hard work!â I seem to remember she spent more time on her back than she did digging.â

They all giggled.

âMy dad says Mum ought to do that,â said Elsie innocently. She was sitting at the opposite end of the table, her face covered in strawberry jam and cake crumbs.

âBut you havenât even got a garden,â said Mary walking round behind her to top up the teapot.

âNot digging, Auntie! Lying on her back.â

Peaches choked on her tea as Mary made frantic gestures over the top of Elsieâs head.

âDad said it would do her good to lie on her back every Sunday afternoon when we go to Sunday school,â Elsie went on innocently. âBut Mum says she hasnât got the time.â

âLovely bit of sponge this, Dottie,â said Mary, struggling to regain her composure. âElsieâs really enjoying it, arenât you, lovey?â

âAuntie, why are you laughing?â

âWhat are you going to do with your ten bob, Elsie?â Dottie interrupted.

Elsie smiled. âWhen the summer comes, me mumâs taking me over to me other grannyâs for a holerday,â she said. âShe says I can keep the money for then.â

âThatâs nice.â

âShe lives near Swanage,â Elsie was in full swing now. âI can go swimming in the sea.â

âWhile your mumâs lying on the beach?â muttered Peaches, starting them all off again. Desperately trying to keep a straight face herself, Dottie nudged her in the side. Elsie looked totally confused.

The door burst open and a waitress dumped a pile of dirty plates on the draining board.

âTime to get started,â said Dottie standing to her feet and straightening her apron. âGet that cake and our cups off the table, will you, Elsie? We shall need all the space we can find now.â

The next hour was a frenzy of activity. The washing up seemed endless and they were hard pushed to find space for both the clean and dirty dishes.

At around four thirty, Elsie came running back. âTheyâre all coming out!â

The women gathered by the back door to watch.

Josephine Fitzgerald looked amazing and very happy. Her dress, made of organza and lace, was in the latest style. The V-shaped bodice was covered with lace from neck to the end of the three-quarter length sleeves while the skirt was in two layers. The white organza underskirt reached the ground while the lace overskirt came as far as the knee. The whole dress was covered in tiny pearls. Dottie had studied it very carefully. She knew it had cost an absolute fortune, but with a little ingenuity she knew she could make one for less than quarter of the price.

Malcolm Deery looked even more of a chinless wonder than ever in his wedding suit but, Dottie decided, they were well matched. Josephine would lack for nothing. After a couple or three years, there would be nannies and christenings. In years to come, sheâd become just like her mother, going to endless bridge parties, and playing golf. Sheâd buy her clothes from smart shops in Brighton or maybe go up to London to the swanky shops on Oxford Street and, if Malcolmâs business did really well, Regent Street.

âAhh,â sighed Peaches. âDonât she look a picture?â

âMust be coming in to get changed before they go off for the honeymoon,â said Mary.

Dottie didnât want to think about the conversation sheâd had the night before. Had she betrayed that girl? She hoped not, but only time would tell.

âSecond wave of washing up will be on its way in a minute,â she said to her companions. âBetter get back to work, girls.â

As if on cue, two waitresses hurried out of the marquee, each with a tray of glasses, followed by a waiter with a stack of dirty plates.

Mary grabbed a small sausage from the top of the pile of dishes and shoved it into her mouth as she pushed more dirty plates under the soapy water.

âMa-ry!â cried Peaches in mock horror.

âI need to keep my strength up,â said Mary, her cheeks bulging.

âDottie, would you come and help Miss Josephine?â Mrs Fitzgeraldâs sudden appearance made them all jump. Mary choked on the sausage and Peaches put down her tea towel to pat her on the back.

âYes, Madam,â said Dottie, doing her best to steer her employer away from her friend before she got into trouble. Mariah Fitzgerald could be very tight-fisted. Dottie could never understand meanness. Why put food in the pig bin rather than allow a hard-working woman like Mary to have a little something extra? But she knew her employer was perfectly capable, at the end of the day, of refusing to pay Mary if she caught her eating.

Thinking about pig bins, she was reminded of the pig in her hen run. How was it getting on? Sheâd have to ask if she could take some leftovers for him â¦ or was it a her? How do you tell the difference, she wondered.

As she followed Mrs Fitzgerald upstairs, Dottie decided â nothing ventured, nothing gained. âExcuse me, Madam. About the leftovers.â

âPut them in the pantry under a cover,â said Mariah without turning around.

âAnd the plate scrapings?â

Mrs Fitzgerald stopped dead and Dottie almost walked into her. âThe plate scrapings?â She sounded horrified.

âOnly my Reg has a pig,â Dottie ploughed on, âand I was wondering if I could take the scrapings home to feed it.â

Mrs Fitzgerald was staring at her.

âHe hopes to fatten it up for Christmas.â Dottie swallowed hard. âHe says it would make a nice bit of bacon.â

âWhat an amazingly resourceful man your Reg is, Dottie,â she said, walking on. âYes, of course you can take the scrapings. And when Christmas comes, donât forget to bring a rasher or two for the doctor, will you?â

Theyâd reached the bedroom where Josephine was struggling with the buttons on the back of her wedding dress.

âIâve told Dottie to help you, darling,â said Mrs Fitzgerald. âIâll have to get back to the guests.â

As they heard her mother run back downstairs, Dottie gave the bride a conspiratorial smile. âAre you all right now, Miss?â

âOh, Dottie,â Josephine cried happily. âItâs been a wonderful, wonderful day, and I know, I just know, tonight will be just fine.â

âIâm sure it will, Miss.â

âMrs,â Josephine corrected her dreamily. âMrs Malcolm Deery.â She gathered her skirts and danced around the room, making Dottie laugh.

Between them, they got her out of the wedding dress and into her going-away outfit, an attractive pink suit with a matching jacket. The skirt was tight and the jacket nipped in at the waist. Her pale cream ruche hat with its small veil set it off nicely. She wore peep-toe shoes, pink with white spots and a fairly high heel. She carried a highly fashionable bucket-shaped bag.

Mr Malcolm, who had changed in the spare bedroom, was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in a brown suit and as he waited, he twirled a brand new trilby hat around in his hand. The newlyweds kissed lightly and, holding hands, they began to descend. Halfway downstairs, however, Josephine broke free and ran back.

Dottie was slightly startled as she ran to her, laid both hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. âThank you, Dottie darling,â she whispered urgently in her ear, âthank you for all youâve done.â

âIt was nothing,â protested Dottie mildly.

âOh yes it was,â Josephine insisted. âAnd if Iâm half as happy as you and your Reg have been, I shall be a lucky woman.â With that she turned on her heel and ran back to her new husband and they both carried on downstairs.

As soon as sheâd gone, Dottie went back into the bedroom. As happy as you and your Reg have been? Had they been happy? If they had, it was all a very long time ago. She could hardly remember their courtship, but they had been happy in the beginning â¦ hadnât they?

Even her own wedding day had been rushed. The phoney war was over by then and Reg was nervous, afraid heâd be sent abroad. Under the circumstances, Aunt Bessie had been persuaded to let them marry by special licence on August bank holiday weekend. The gossips had a field day. She knew the rumour was that she was pregnant, but she was a virgin when Reg took her to bed that night.

Remembering all that the boys had gone through at Dunkirk, when Reg wrote to say he was being posted to the Far East, sheâd been pleased. âAt least heâll be out of all this,â she had told Aunt Bessie.

But after heâd gone, sheâd felt bad about saying that. She had little idea what happened out there, but if the newsreels were to be believed it looked far worse than what happened in Germany. He didnât want to talk about it when he came back, at the end of â48, and he had been a changed man. His chest was bad and he needed nursing. Reg didnât seem to want her for ages but when he recovered and tried to make love to her, he was so rough she hated it. It was hard not to cry out with Aunt Bessie next door. And that was another thing. He and her aunt didnât see eye to eye but funnily enough, when she died, Reg had been deeply affected. The shock of it left him with another problem: he couldnât do it. She wished she had someone to talk to, but it wasnât the done thing, was it? A married woman shouldnât talk about what went on behind the bedroom door.

Dottie sighed. She was still only twenty-seven and if things went on the way they were, she was destined to be barren. There would never be any babies.

She put Josephineâs wedding dress on a hanger and, hanging it on the front of the wardrobe door, she spent a little time smoothing out the creases, until the overwhelming need for tears had passed.

Four

It was cool in the shed. Reg pulled the orange box from under the small rickety table behind the door and sat down. He kicked the door closed and the soft velvety grey light enveloped him. This was his haven from the world and, apart from the occasional passing chicken that might have crept in to lay her egg under the bench, he knew the moment he shut the door he would be left alone. Dot would never come in here uninvited. This was the place where he kept his pictures. She didnâ€™t know about them of course, but when the mood came over him and she wasnâ€™t there, heâ€™d come out here and have a decko. They were getting dog-eared and yellow with age but he wouldnâ€™t part with them for the world. Although he still burned for the love of his life, he might have forgotten what she looked like if he didnâ€™t have the pictures.

They werenâ€™t the only pictures he had. Heâ€™d still got the ones heâ€™d bought off some bloke at the races. Now they really got him going. Those tarts would pose any way the punters wanted them. They got him all excited and when Dot was around, doing her washing or something, heâ€™d watch her through the knothole on the shed wall and have a good J. Arthur Rank. It wasnâ€™t as exciting as the real thing, but he liked it when there was an element of danger. And with the way things were at the moment, he wasnâ€™t getting much of that either.

But looking at his pictures wasnâ€™t the reason why heâ€™d come out into the shed today. He positioned the box near the small window and next to the place where the pinpricks of sunlight streaming through the wood knots in the boards would give him plenty of light to read the letter. Dot had propped it on the table but he hadnâ€™t opened it. Heâ€™d shoved it straight into his pocket while he ate his dinner. He wanted to be alone when he read it, somewhere he knew he wouldnâ€™t be disturbed.

First he took out his tobacco tin and his Rizla paper and box. As he lifted the lid, he took a deep breath. The sweet smell of Players Gold Cut filled the musty air. Putting a cigarette paper in the roll, he shredded a few strands of tobacco along its length. Then he snapped the lid shut and a thin cigarette lay on top of the box. Reg licked the edge of the paper and rolled the cigarette against the tin. He pinched out the few loose strands of tobacco from the end and slipped them back inside for another time. The years spent â€˜abroadâ€™ had made more than one mark on his character. Reg was a careful person. He hated waste and he always knew exactly how much of anything heâ€™d got. Thatâ€™s how he knew Dot had been eating his Glacier Mints. There had been twenty-four in there when she gave him the new bag. Now there were only twenty-three.

Putting the thin cigarette to his lips, he lit up and the loose strands at the end flared as he took his first drag. He laid his lighter and the Rizla box onto the bench and reached into his back pocket for the letter.

The envelope was flimsy. Airmail paper. The stamp was Australian. He stared at the handwriting and a wave of disappointment surged through his veins. It wasnâ€™t what he thought it was. Now that he looked carefully, the sloping hand was unfamiliar. He turned the envelope over for the first time and stared at the name on the back.

Brenda Nichols â€“ who the devil was she? He ran his finger over the writing and sucked on his cigarette. A wisp of smoke stung his eye and he closed it. The address on the front said â€˜The Black Swan, Lewishamâ€™. He dug around in the recesses of his mind but he couldnâ€™t place it.

Reaching over to the jam jar on the shelf under the tiny window, he took out his penknife. The smoke from his cigarette drifted towards his eye again and he leaned his head at an awkward angle and closed it as he slid the knife along the edge of the envelope and tore it open. There were two sheets of paper inside the wafer-thin, transparent blue airmail envelope. The larger was white. A letter.

Regâ€™s hand trembled as he read slowly and carefully.

Murnpeowie. June 1951

Â Â Â Â My dear Reg

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â I need your help. I never told you but in â€™43 I had a child. Her name is Patricia. Sheâ€™s eight now. Youâ€™ll love her. Everybody does. Sheâ€™s a very good girl and she will be no trouble. I cannot look after her any more. The doc tells me itâ€™s only a matter of time. I have left Patricia with my friend Brenda Nichols but she canâ€™t look after her for long. Her husband is sick. Please come to fetch her. I hope that deep down, you can find it in your heart to forgive me for running out on you like that but I thought it was for the best, things being the way that they are. Iâ€™m sorry for keeping this from you, but in my will I have left everything to you and I hope you will give her a good life.

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â God bless you,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Sandy.

There was a codicil at the bottom of the page, written in the same hand.

This letter was dictated by Elizabeth Johns to Brenda Nichols, who nursed her until she passed away peacefully in her sleep on July 15th 1951. Signed Sister Brenda Nichols.

His first reaction was panic. A kid? He didnâ€™t want kids. That was what put him off Dot â€“ her incessant bleating on about kids. How long he held the letter he had no idea. It was only when he realised that his cigarette was far too close to his lip that Reg stirred. He took it out, threw the dog end to the floor and ground it into the earth.

He threw the letter contemptuously onto the workbench and reached for the tobacco tin again. There was no way he was going to take in some bloody Australian bastard. He rolled another fag and stuck it between his lips while he fumbled in his pocket for the lighter. Taking a deep drag, he picked up the letter and read it with fresh eyes.

If he refused to take the kid, someone might go digging around in his past. Elizabeth Johns was dead. Sheâ€™d left everything to him. That was a bit of luck. Heâ€™d need extra money if he was going to bring up a kid. Nobody would bat an eyelid if he took it. Running his hand through his own thinning hair he grinned to himself and squeezed his crotch. Yeah, he was still safe. As far as everyone knew, he was the kidâ€™s only living relative and she was eight. She wouldnâ€™t have a clue. What harm would it do?

Pity it all went belly up back then. He didnâ€™t like to think about what happened when heâ€™d got caught, and when heâ€™d got out he was scarcely more than skin and bone. He could hardly remember those first few days of freedom. Heâ€™d been a dumb thing, beaten, exhausted, bewildered â€¦ It had been a close call, but it was worth the risk. Thank God for bloody Burma. Before the regiment was sent there, heâ€™d never even heard of the place.

Heâ€™d written a letter to Dot telling her he was on a secret mission and given it to Oggie Wilson. Oggie owed him a favour. Heâ€™d heard after the war that Oggie had ended up on that bloody railway. When he got out, Reg tried to trace him but he couldnâ€™t. Then someone said that theyâ€™d been forced to leave men by the roadside because the guards refused to allow them to bury the dead. He reckoned thatâ€™s what happened to Oggie Wilson. A bit of luck as far as Reg was concerned. No one left to blab. He sighed. All the same, it didnâ€™t seem right leaving a man like Oggie out there in the open. He should have been buried, decent like. The thought of it made him shudder. If he hadnâ€™t been caught, maybe heâ€™d have been sent out to that bloody jungle himself, and if he had, heâ€™d be lying beside poor old Oggie Wilson.

Putting Elizabeth Johnâ€™s letter in his lap, Reg unfolded the yellow sheet of paper. It was another letter, written with a childâ€™s hand, complete with a couple of ink stains on the page.

Â Â Â Â Dear Father,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â I hope you are well. I am well. I went to MULOORINA with Mrs Unwin in her truck. We ate ice cream. I am nearly nine. I can count up to 500. Thatâ€™s all for now.

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Your ever loving daughter,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Patricia.

Patricia â€¦ Reg leaned back on the orange box and closed his eyes. A letter from Patsy. He liked Patsy better. His stomach was churning, the way it always churned when he was nervous. An old ITMA joke slipped between the sheets of his memories. â€˜Doctor, Doctor, it really hurts when I press here.â€™ â€˜Then donâ€™t press it.â€™ Heâ€™d have to stop thinking about the past. It only made him angry. Put it out of your mind and get on with it. Thatâ€™s what the screw had told them. Heâ€™d bloody tried but he couldnâ€™t. It was the guilt mainly. He never told anyone, but sometimes he did feel bad about what happened. He felt a draught in the back of his neck and turned his head sharply, afraid that someone was standing behind him, but he was quite alone. He re-lit his cigarette and forced himself to relax.

Lifting the envelope, he put the letter back inside. Something weighted the corner. He tipped it upside down and a small photograph fell onto the workbench. Just one look at that mop of blonde hair and it was obvious why she was called Sandy. She was standing outside a bungalow. It was a sunny day and there were some funny-looking flowers growing beside the door. She was wearing a nurseâ€™s uniform. Her hair was loose and cut short. He couldnâ€™t make out the detail of her face â€“ the camera was too far away â€“ but she was holding a bundle in her arms. Bloody hell. This must be Patsy.

He was aware of his heart thudding in his chest. His mouth had gone dry. How long he stared at the small photograph he never knew. What did the kid look like now? He squinted at the bundle. Tom Prior, weedy as he was, was the father of twins and stepfather to the three others from Maryâ€™s first husband. He always made jokes about Reg and the lead in his pencil. If everyone thought this was his kid, heâ€™d have no trouble from now on.

In the beginning, heâ€™d been quite pleased to get Dot. She wasnâ€™t a bit like the sort of woman he was used to but she was all right. Heâ€™d never gone in for all that soppy stuff, but until heâ€™d met Dot, heâ€™d never had a virgin either. It wasnâ€™t all it was cracked up to be. Heâ€™d tried to get her to do what he wanted, but she wasnâ€™t having any of it. Yet she was desperate for a kid, even wept about it sometimes. She was careful not to do it in front of him but heâ€™d heard her in the scullery. He didnâ€™t even want her now. Since the old aunt died, she bored him.

The more he thought about being a father the more he liked it. The word sounded good. He was somebodyâ€™s dad. He had a daughter. Patricia. A nice name, Patricia, but he still preferred Patsy.

I have left everything to you â€¦ With a bit of luck Elizabeth Johns was well off when she died. For all her wealth, bloody Aunt Bessie hadnâ€™t left him a bean. Well, this could be the big one. The only problem was Dot. She might not take too kindly to having his kid around. He didnâ€™t want her to rock the boat so heâ€™d have to play this one carefully. Plan it all out. And when heâ€™d won her round, heâ€™d have a nice little nest egg. After that, the future would sort itself out.

He opened the drawer again and took out his favourite photograph. The woman smiled up at him, her back arched and tits thrust out. She was better than Diana bloody Dors any day. He squeezed his crotch again. Right now he needed someone like her. Just the thought of her made his pulse race. Sheâ€™d give him what he wanted â€¦ and more â€¦ He ran his tongue along her naked body and then shoved the photograph back in the drawer.

Taking another drag on his cigarette, Reg pulled out a writing pad and cleared a space on the worktop. For once he didnâ€™t have to word his letter carefully in case other people read it first. All the same, he didnâ€™t want anyone to start asking awkward questions. Licking the end of the pencil, Reg began to write.

Five

Dottie didnâ€™t finish at the house until late. She was worn out. All she wanted to do was to get home and put a bowl of warm water on the kitchen floor to soak her poor tired feet. She was just about to set off for home when Dr Fitzgerald came into the kitchen.

â€˜A marvellous day, Dottie.â€™

â€˜Yes, sir.â€™

â€˜Have you seen my wife?â€™

â€˜I believe sheâ€™s gone upstairs to lie down.â€™

â€˜And youâ€™re off home?â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s right.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll give you a lift.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s really no need,â€™ Dottie protested. She rolled the plate scrapings in newspaper for the pig and put it into the shopping bag.

â€˜Oh, but I insist,â€™ said the doctor. â€˜Itâ€™s starting to rain again.â€™

They drove in silence, but this time Dottie didnâ€™t feel very comfortable. The doctor seemed tense. He stared at the road ahead and his back was very straight. Heâ€™s probably driving like that because heâ€™s had too much to drink, she thought, but it gave her little comfort. The only sound in the car was the whoosh, whoosh of the windscreen wipers.

He pulled up outside her place and as he put the handbrake on his hand brushed her leg. She gathered her shopping bag, anxious to get out of the car as quickly as possible. â€˜Thank you, Doctor,â€™ she said curtly.

â€˜Allow me,â€™ he said reaching across her to open the passenger door. Their hands met on the door handle and he pressed himself against her. â€˜Oh, Dottie,â€™ he said huskily. â€˜Dottie.â€™

Dottie was both shocked and surprised. â€˜Dr Fitzgerald!â€™ she cried as his other hand squeezed her thigh gently.

â€˜Just a kiss,â€™ he was pleading. â€˜One little kiss.â€™

His face was right in front of hers and his mouth was open. She could smell his whisky-soaked breath. She turned her head away and dug him in the ribs with all her might. Her bag fell to the floor and everything spilled out. â€˜Get off me,â€™ she hissed. â€˜How dare you!â€™

The wipers were still going and through the windscreen she could see the curtain in Ann Pearceâ€™s bedroom moving. They didnâ€™t get many cars in their street so obviously the sound of a motor drawing up had brought her to the window. The doctor accidentally touched the car horn and the loud and sudden noise seemed to make him come to his senses.

â€˜Oh God â€¦â€™ he began. â€˜Mrs Cox, Iâ€™m sorry â€¦â€™

As he slumped back in his seat, Dottie scrambled to get out of the car. The door swung open and the light went on. As she stepped into the road, she looked up. Ann let the curtain drop, but Dottie knew sheâ€™d seen everything. Breathless and still panicking, she ran up the path. Behind her, the doctorâ€™s car turned around in the road and drove off into the night.

She burst through the back door into the darkened kitchen and slammed it behind her. Thank God, Reg must still be at the pub. Heaven only knows what heâ€™d do if he found out. Putting her head back, she leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. â€˜Dirty old man â€¦â€™

â€˜Dot?â€™

She jerked open her eyes and jumped a mile high. She swung round to see a dark shape in the chair. Dottie put the back of her hand to her mouth and let out a small cry. She fumbled for the switch by the door and the room was flooded with light. It was Reg. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and as he rose to his feet, the only thing that registered in her mind was the deep frown on his forehead.

â€˜What the hell happened? You look as white as a sheet.â€™

Dottie felt herself sway slightly. She hadnâ€™t expected Reg to be sitting here in the dark. She wished now that she hadnâ€™t put on the light. She must look a right mess.

â€˜Dot?â€™ he said again.

She felt her mouth open but nothing came out. She was shaking. He was going to be angry with her, she knew he was. She never should have accepted the lift. And yet sheâ€™d been in the doctorâ€™s car hundreds of times and heâ€™d never so much as looked at her. Not in that way, anyway.

He came slowly towards her. She still had enough of her wits about her not to tell Reg what had happened. He was the type to do something stupid and face the consequences later.

â€˜Whatâ€™s that all over your skirt?â€™ he accused.

She glanced at her clothes. Lumps of half-eaten wedding cake and salad cream hung from her dress and she had a big blob of egg on her stocking.

â€˜I â€¦ I â€¦â€™ she faltered and swayed again. She felt sick. Whether it was the sight of the pig food or the memory of what had happened she wasnâ€™t sure. The room was going round and round.

He grabbed at her arm and she flinched.

â€˜Come and sit yourself down,â€™ he said kindly. â€˜Youâ€™ve obviously had a shock.â€™

Now she was bewildered, confused. Doctor Fitzgeraldâ€™s actions were hard enough to deal with, but it was a long time since Reg had been so considerate.

â€˜Did something frighten you?â€™ He had his head on one side and was looking at her for an explanation.

â€˜Yes,â€™ she said quickly. â€˜Yes, thatâ€™s it. Someone came up behind me and I dropped the bag of pig food.â€™

â€˜Pig food?â€™

â€˜Mrs Fitzgerald gave me the plate scrapings for the pig, but I dropped them.â€™

â€˜Who came up behind you?â€™ he demanded. â€˜Did you see him?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know,â€™ she said touching her forehead with her hand. She felt something cold and gooey; looking at it, she saw, sheâ€™d got pig food on her hand as well.

â€˜I saw an old tin full of tea on the windowsill today,â€™ he snapped. â€˜Have you been feeding that bloody tramp again?â€™

â€˜No!â€™ she began. â€˜Well â€¦ yes, but Iâ€™m sure it wasnâ€™t him.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve told you before not to give to them scroungers,â€™ said Reg. â€˜Let them work for their bloody living, like I have to.â€™ He snatched up the poker.

â€˜What are you doing?â€™ Dottie cried out, horrified.

â€˜You stay here,â€™ he said as he ran outside.

â€˜But itâ€™s raining!â€™ she called after him. â€˜Heâ€™ll be gone now.â€™

But Reg was in no mood to listen. For one heart-stopping second she thought the poker might be for her but now heâ€™d gone off in search of the tramp. Thank God the street was empty.

She got up wearily from the chair and put the bowl on the table. There was a little hot water in the kettle so she poured it in and began to wash herself. The fingers on her left hand were swollen and painful from when Doctor Fitzgerald had pressed them against the door handle. Although she knew he was long gone, she still trembled. What on earth had possessed him? It was so unexpected.

As she washed off the pig food, she pondered what to do. She couldnâ€™t say anything to Mrs Fitzgerald. The woman probably wouldnâ€™t believe her anyway. He was the village doctor, for heavenâ€™s sake, and besides, Mariah Fitzgerald wouldnâ€™t tolerate even the smallest whiff of scandal. Sheâ€™d give her the sack for sure and that would have a knock-on effect. If she wasnâ€™t good enough for the doctorâ€™s wife, most likely her other employers would ask her to leave as well. And there was no way she could tell Reg what had really happened either. Sheâ€™d have to think up some yarn for when he got back indoors. And then there was Ann Pearce. She must have recognised the doctorâ€™s car. What if she told Reg? Dottieâ€™s heartbeat quickened. No, she told herself, she wouldnâ€™t. There was no love lost between those two. They werenâ€™t even on speaking terms. Ann had been living with another man when Jack came back home and Reg was so angry about it, heâ€™d reported her to the welfare people as an unfit mother, an accusation which was totally unfounded but which caused a great deal of heartache. For a time, Ann had been the subject of gossip and innuendo in the village.

â€˜Sheâ€™s doing the best she can,â€™ Dottie told him but Reg made no secret of his dislike.

Reg reappeared at the back door. He was holding the soggy newspaper with the remains of the pig food inside. â€˜I found this in the hedge just up the road a bit,â€™ he said. â€˜I reckon the tramp must have fancied it and come up behind you. You running off like that, must have scared him. Obviously he didnâ€™t want the law on him so he ran off.â€™

She gave him a faint smile. â€˜Yes,â€™ she said. â€˜Youâ€™re right, Reg. Thatâ€™s it. Thatâ€™s what must have happened.â€™ It seemed safe enough to blame the tramp. He never came near the cottage when Reg was there anyway. The doctor must have thrown the pig food into the hedge as soon as heâ€™d turned the car around.

â€˜You sit yourself down, love,â€™ Reg was saying, â€˜and Iâ€™ll make us a nice cup of tea.â€™

He lifted the bowl of dirty water and took it outside to throw over the garden while Dottie plonked herself down in the easy chair. Reg was making her very nervous. She couldnâ€™t face it if he wanted her tonight but he got so angry if she let him lose the urge when it came. Somehow or other, no matter what she did or didnâ€™t do, he lost it every time, and then heâ€™d get angry.

When he came back, she watched him busying himself with making her a cup of tea. Why was he being so nice? It should have been lovely being spoiled, but she couldnâ€™t relax. It wouldnâ€™t last. As sure as eggs is eggs, there would be a payback time.

Six

Reg was in a good mood when he arrived back home for Sunday lunch. Dottie was busy carving the joint but he put his arm around her and gave her a beery kiss on the cheek. â€˜That smells good.â€™

â€˜Sit yourself down,â€™ she smiled.

He belched in her face. â€˜Youâ€™re bloody marvellous.â€™

She felt disgust at his crudity and yet a glow of pride at his compliment. It wasnâ€™t often Reg said something nice to her. The people round here thought Reg a good sort, helpful and friendly. Good job no one saw what went on behind closed doors.

â€˜It wouldnâ€™t be half as nice without your wonderful vegetables,â€™ she said modestly.

The meal, roast lamb, mint sauce, new potatoes and runner beans, with gooseberry fool to follow, was Regâ€™s favourite. They ate with the radio on and Two-Way Family Favourites and the Billy Cotton Band Show in the background.

â€˜I was talking to Jack Smith in the pub,â€™ said Reg as he made for his armchair and the Sunday paper. â€˜I told him we ought to do something while the weatherâ€™s nice.â€™

â€˜Did you, Reg?â€™ Dottie hid her smile. So, Peaches had done it. Sheâ€™d invited him on the outing.

â€˜The weather might have picked up by Saturday.â€™

â€˜About time we had some good weather,â€™ said Dottie putting the kettle on for some tea. â€˜What shall we do?â€™

â€˜How about a trip to the seaside?â€™

â€˜Ooh, Reg,â€™ she cried, enjoying the pretence. â€˜That would be lovely.â€™

â€˜I reckon we could all get in that lorry of his,â€™ Reg went on. â€˜You and Peaches will be all right in the back with Gary, wonâ€™t you?â€™

It was on the tip of her tongue to say â€˜but Peaches is pregnantâ€™, but she knew heâ€™d be annoyed â€“ perhaps even change his mind. â€˜Of course we will.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve offered him some petrol money,â€™ said Reg, settling down for a doze before he read the papers. â€˜Youâ€™d better get round to Mary Priorâ€™s to talk about the sandwiches.â€™ He yawned. â€˜Sheâ€™s coming too.â€™

Dottie hummed to herself as she did the washing up. An outing. How exciting! She hadnâ€™t been on an outing since â€¦ since â€¦ well, she could hardly remember. It must have been before Reg came back home. Things were definitely on the up. Everyone needed a bit of cheering up. This yearâ€™s harvest had only been fair to middling and the August bank holiday had been a total wash-out with torrential rain. The papers said it was the worst on record and what with the train crash at Ford which killed nine people and injured forty-seven the Sunday before, a general air of gloom hung over the village.

Never mind, next Saturday was going to be wonderful. Sheâ€™d got eighteen pounds, four shillings and eleven pence saved upstairs, and that was quite apart from what she had in her Post Office savings book. She could take a couple of quid and buy all the kiddies an ice cream.

The washing up finished, Dottie picked up the bowl to throw the dirty water onto the garden.

â€˜Coo-ee, coo-ee.â€™ Ann Pearce was leaning over the garden fence.

Dottieâ€™s heart sank as the full horror of last night came flooding back. What did Ann want? She was smiling. What was she going to say?

Dottie tried to appear unruffled. â€˜Lovely day.â€™

â€˜Smashing,â€™ said Ann. She noted Annâ€™s lank and greasy hair, fastened to the side of her head with a large hairslide. Dottie thought it a pity that she didnâ€™t make more of herself. She wondered if she should offer to give her one of those new Sta Set Magicurls like the one Mary had tried a few months ago. It only cost ninepence and it was really successful. Ann was an attractive woman but it seemed she had given up on herself. Dottie supposed it must be because Ann had lost everything when her husband came home almost two years after the war had ended. There was an ugly scene and both Annâ€™s husband and the man she was living with had cleared off.

Ann raised an eyebrow. â€˜Having a good day today?â€™

â€˜Er â€¦ yes, thanks,â€™ said Dottie, slightly flustered.

Ann smiled. â€˜How did the wedding go?â€™

Dottie felt uneasy. She didnâ€™t want this conversation to continue. If Reg came out and saw her talking to Ann, sheâ€™d never hear the last of it. â€˜Excuse me,â€™ she said. â€˜I think I can hear Reg calling.â€™

â€˜Before you go,â€™ Ann called after her. Her smile was too bright, too eager. Dottieâ€™s stomach churned. â€˜I donâ€™t like to ask, but I seem to have run out of money for the gas.â€™

Dottie relaxed. This was the first time Ann had ever actually asked her for anything directly. Usually, Dottie had to resort to subterfuge to offer her a helping hand.

â€˜I wonder if you could help me out,â€™ sheâ€™d said to Ann on more than one occasion. â€˜I seem to have made far too much casserole for just the two of us. Reg would go mad if he thought Iâ€™d was wasting good food, but he doesnâ€™t care to have the same meal two nights running.â€™

Grudgingly, and only to â€˜do her a favourâ€™, Ann would take the dish, making sure to return it, clean, when Reg was at work. For the sake of her pride, Dottie couldnâ€™t do it very often. It wasnâ€™t like Ann to actually ask for something.

â€˜I meant to have got some change when I went down the village yesterday,â€™ Ann went on, â€˜but I clean forgot all about it when I bumped into Doctor Fitzgerald. It was such a struggle getting away from him. Well, you know how it is.â€™

Dottie could feel her face begin to flame.

â€˜So,â€™ Ann continued, â€˜if you could spare a few shillings for the gas â€¦â€™

The sun went behind a cloud. â€˜Yes,â€™ said Dottie weakly. â€˜How much do you need?â€™

â€˜Ten bob would do nicely,â€™ said Ann.

Dottie turned to go inside. â€˜Iâ€™ll just get my handbag. Ten bob, dâ€™you say?â€™

Ann nodded. â€˜Thatâ€™ll do â€¦ for now.â€™

Seven

Saturday August 25 was indeed what the papers called â€˜a scorcherâ€™. When the lorry arrived outside Dottieâ€™s cottage, the back of it had been transformed by an assortment of blankets and cushions. Mary was perched on top of a pillow laid on a crate of beer and fizzy pop, looking every bit the carnival queen. Tom sat at her feet while all around them the kids were bursting with excitement. Billy had a firm hold on little Christopher and Mary was cradling Connie on her lap. Susan and Maureen sat side by side next to their mother.

â€˜Donâ€™t you look lovely, hen,â€™ Mary said as Dottie came down the path carrying a big bag. â€˜Youâ€™d better sit here in the cab with that pretty dress on.â€™

â€˜What, this old thing?â€™ laughed Dottie, although in truth she was wearing her sundress for the first time. A friend had given her the material because it was too pink. The sleeveless bodice was tight, and she had made a belt to wear at the top of its calf-length full skirt. Luckily sheâ€™d been able to match it with some other pink material with tiny white daisies to make a small bolero top.

â€˜Youâ€™re so good with a needle,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Me, Iâ€™m hopeless.â€™

Reg nudged Dottieâ€™s arm. â€˜I canâ€™t sit in the back, love,â€™ he said. â€˜Iâ€™m afraid if they canâ€™t shove up and make room for me on the seat, I shanâ€™t be going.â€™ He lowered his voice for Dottieâ€™s ears only. â€˜You know I couldnâ€™t face the back of a lorry, not after what happened during the war.â€™

â€˜Of course not, dear,â€™ she smiled. â€˜You sit next to Peaches, Iâ€™m quite happy at the back with Mary and the children.â€™

She watched as Peaches, dressed in a voluptuous tent-like dress to hide her bump, pulled Gary onto what was left of her lap and Reg, his Brylcreemed hair flopping attractively over one eye, climbed in beside her. Gary looked a little pale and he was complaining a bit.

â€˜Iâ€™m not so sure we should be taking him,â€™ said Peaches.

â€˜Heâ€™ll be as right as ninepence when heâ€™s down on the beach,â€™ said Jack.

Dottie walked around the back and, grabbing hold of Tomâ€™s hand, clambered over the side of the lorry. â€˜Poor little Gary still doesnâ€™t seem very happy,â€™ she said as she sat next to Mary. â€˜Whatâ€™s the matter with him?â€™

â€˜Peaches reckons heâ€™s got a bit of a cold,â€™ said Mary, shaking her head. â€˜Heâ€™s been like it since Saturday.â€™ And turning to one of her children, she said sharply, â€˜Put your arm in Susan. If you hit something while weâ€™re moving youâ€™ll do yourself a mischief.â€™

Maureen had gravitated to Dottieâ€™s lap. It felt good holding her. Dottie enveloped her in her arms, enjoying the feel of her warm little body and the faint vinegar smell of her shiny clean hair, soft as down next to her cheek. The old yearning flooded over her again. If only she could have a child of her own â€¦

â€˜I love you, Auntie Dottie,â€™ Maureen lisped.

â€˜And I love you too, darling,â€™ said Dottie with feeling.

The drive to Littlehampton was very pleasant. They all sang silly songs, â€˜Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentlâ€™y fall â€¦ thereâ€™ll be nine green bottles hanging on the wall,â€™ was one and the other was â€˜There was ten in the bed and the little one said, â€˜Roll over, rollover.â€™ So they all rolled over and one fell out, there was nine in the bed and the little one said â€¦â€™ and they clung to each other, laughing whenever Jack took a corner fast.

Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up on the seafront. Tom was the first to jump down. He helped Mary and the kids and then lifted Dottie down. Everybody, except Reg, grabbed a bag and they made their way onto the sand. The warm weather and the Carnival had brought everyone out. The beach was already very crowded. In fact it was difficult to find a stretch of sand big enough for all of them to be together, but eventually they did and luckily it was fairly near the promenade. Dottie pointed out the toilets beyond. â€˜Handy for the kids,â€™ said Mary, giving her a nudge.

Tom and Jack brought some deckchairs down and the adults made themselves comfortable. As for the children, they couldnâ€™t wait to get into the water. Mary stripped them down to their little ruched bathing costumes and knitted swimming trunks and let them go. â€˜Make sure you look after them,â€™ she told Billy.

Knowing theyâ€™d soon get bored, Dottie went up top and bought six buckets and spades from the kiosk along the promenade. The children were thrilled to bits.

â€˜You shouldnâ€™t have spent all that money, hen,â€™ Mary scolded. â€˜They must have cost you a fortune.â€™

â€˜They were only one and eleven each,â€™ said Dottie happily. â€˜And besides, it was my pleasure.â€™

â€˜What do you say?â€™ Mary demanded of her children.

Five happy faces looked in her direction and chorused, â€˜Thank you, Auntie Dottie.â€™

Reg gave Dottie a dirty look but just then Jack and Tom appeared with the crate of beer and fizzy pop.

â€˜Hope youâ€™ve remembered a bottle opener,â€™ Reg remarked as he tied a knot in each corner of his handkerchief to make a sun hat. He had already bagged a deckchair and placed himself on the edge of the group.

Everyone looked helplessly from one to the other until Peaches rummaged in her handbag and produced one. â€˜Thank the Lord for that,â€™ laughed Jack as he set about offering the bottles around and removing the tops.

When it came to her turn, Peaches shook her head. â€˜Iâ€™d sooner have a cuppa.â€™

â€˜Then look no further,â€™ smiled Dottie, reaching for her Thermos flask.

In the end, the men had beer, the women had a cup of tea and the kids shared from a big bottle of cherryade with a replaceable glass stopper.

â€˜Can I take the empties back to the off-licence and get the tuppence, Mum?â€™ asked Billy.

â€˜We havenâ€™t emptied the buggers yet,â€™ laughed Tom.

â€˜Language,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Whoops, sorry love.â€™

The deckchair attendant turned up. Reg appeared to be asleep, so Tom parted with three bob. â€˜He didnâ€™t waste much time,â€™ he grumbled good-naturedly.

The sea glistened in the bright sunlight and the air was filled with the happy shouts of excited children. Dottie kicked off her shoes and let the sand get between her bare toes. Maryâ€™s kids kept themselves amused for hours, making sandcastles and running to the sea with their new buckets to get water for the moat.

Little Gary joined in for a while but it was obvious he wasnâ€™t really feeling well. It didnâ€™t take long before he was all curled up on Maryâ€™s lap with his thumb in his mouth.

At one oâ€™clock they ate their lunch: egg sandwiches, bloater paste sandwiches and cheese sandwiches; but no matter how hard they tried, they all ended up with a little sand on them. Mary handed round some of her fruitcake and Dottie offered them some Victoria sponge. Then they made the kids lay down for a rest. The little ones were shaded by the deckchairs or a blanket suspended between the chairs as they lay underneath.

â€˜I reckon you should have gone in for the Miss Littlehampton, Dottie,â€™ said Tom holding out his newspaper. â€˜Youâ€™re better-looking than that June Hadden any day.â€™

â€˜Oh, Tom,â€™ laughed Dottie. â€˜Iâ€™m a married woman!â€™

â€˜So is she,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Sheâ€™s a mother of two.â€™

â€˜Have a go at the Miss Sussex competition.â€™ Tom encouraged. â€˜That feller from Variety Bandbox is going to crown the winner. Derek Roy.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t think Reg â€¦â€™ Dottie began.

â€˜Reg wonâ€™t mind, will you, Reg?â€™

Reg had been lying back in the deckchair with his eyes closed. He opened them to find everyone staring at him, willing him to agree.

â€˜What, and make a fool of herself?â€™

â€˜Your Dottie is a real smasher, Reg,â€™ Tom protested.

â€˜Come on, Reg,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Be a sport.â€™

Regâ€™s eyes narrowed and Dottie laid her hand on Maryâ€™s arm.

â€˜Whoâ€™s for ice cream?â€™ said Jack and a chorus of little voices, all wide-awake now, cried out, â€˜Me, me!â€™

â€˜Good timing, Jack,â€™ grinned Peaches.

After their ice creams, Gary, Connie and Christopher slept for upwards of an hour while Susan and Maureen managed half an hour. Billy was allowed to go to play by the waterâ€™s edge as soon as the others were asleep. Dottie walked with him, not only to keep an eye on him, but also to have a bit of a paddle herself.

She and Billy had a special relationship. He was only little when his dad died but until Tom Prior came along, heâ€™d so desperately tried to do what everyone told him and be the man of the house. He was fiercely protective of his mum. Dottie had never ever told Mary how heâ€™d cried the day of their wedding. His mother and Tom were off on honeymoon â€“ an afternoon at the pictures in Brighton â€“ and Dottie was looking after Billy, Maureen and Susan in their new home. The babies were sleeping and sheâ€™d thought Billy was quite happy playing with his toy farmyard but all at once heâ€™d burst into tears. At first sheâ€™d thought it was because he was jealous of Tom: after all, heâ€™d had his mother to himself for most of his life. Up until the time Billyâ€™s father was killed, the war had meant that, apart from a couple of periods of leave, Billy had hardly ever seen him. But as she comforted him, Dottie realised the child had taken his â€˜jobâ€™ as â€˜man of the houseâ€™ so seriously, that the tears were tears of relief. Now at last Tom could have the responsibility of looking after his mother.

As she and Billy paddled in the water, Reg, his trouser legs rolled up to his calves, came to join them.

Earlier that morning, Dottie had been thinking about that letter from Australia again. She kept forgetting to say something about it and, although heâ€™d obviously taken it and read it, Reg still hadnâ€™t said anything about it. It was probably of no con sequence. A letter from the wife of an old army pal or something â€¦ but it was funny that he hadnâ€™t mentioned it again.

She was about to ask him about it, when he said, â€˜Youâ€™d make somebody a good little mother.â€™ His remark caught Dottie by surprise. She stared at him, unsure what to say. How odd. Was he feeling the urge again? Oh dear. Could he hang onto it until they were home, or was he going to suggest they go somewhere?

As they all paddled together, Dottie felt she couldnâ€™t be happier. The sun, the sea, the lovely weather, their friends on the beach and Reg â€¦ She wanted to tell him so, but she couldnâ€™t embarrass him in front of Billy.

Picking up her skirts, Dottie ran further into the water. Billy followed and the two of them splashed about a bit.

â€˜Fancy a quick look around Woolworths?â€™ Mary suggested when Dottie and Billy came back. Reg was already back in his deckchair.

â€˜Ye-ah,â€™ said Billy.

â€˜What about the kids?â€™ asked Dottie.

â€˜Iâ€™ll stay and keep an eye on them,â€™ said Peaches.

â€˜The men can look after them for five minutes, canâ€™t they?â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Reg?â€™ Dottie asked.

â€˜Iâ€™m reading the paper.â€™

â€˜Can I come?â€™ said Billy.

Tom and Jack waved them away. â€˜Go on, get on with you and enjoy yourselves.â€™

â€˜And me?â€™ Billy tried again.

â€˜You heard your mother,â€™ said Tom. â€˜Us menâ€™ll have to look after the kids. About time you took our Christopher over to the toilets, isnâ€™t it?â€™

â€˜Aw, Dad!â€™

The three friends set off for the town. As they walked along the promenade, Peaches fluffed out her blonde hair with her fingers. Dottie linked her arms through theirs and they began an impromptu dance until Mary slipped and trod on some manâ€™s toe.

â€˜Oi!â€™ he shouted.

â€˜Sorry,â€™ Mary called as they all dissolved into laughter.

â€˜Heâ€™ll have a flat foot now,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜Step â€“ flip, step â€“ flop â€¦â€™

It was all very silly but Dottie laughed until she held her sides. â€˜I havenâ€™t had a laugh like this for ages.â€™

They stopped off to look at the exhibits in the big marquee on the green.

â€˜Iâ€™ll tell you what,â€™ said Mary, holding a prize-winning jar of lemon curd up to the light, â€˜your preserves are every bit as good as these, Dottie.â€™

Dottie blushed happily.

â€˜And I tell you what,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜Iâ€™m busting for the toilet again. Letâ€™s head towards the town.â€™

The friends linked arms once more and set off to find the public conveniences. Outside again Peaches said, â€˜Iâ€™ll be glad when this one comes and I can have some fun again. Fancy coming to Brighton with me once I get my figure back? I canâ€™t wait to get some new things.â€™

â€˜Let me make you something,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Be nice if we could all go shopping though, wouldnâ€™t it?â€™ Peaches remarked.

â€˜Count me in,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Youâ€™re on,â€™ said Dottie with a smile.

â€˜How come you havenâ€™t got any kids, Dottie?â€™ asked Mary. â€˜Doesnâ€™t Reg want any?â€™

Dottie felt her face colour. â€˜It just never happened,â€™ she faltered.

â€˜Oh darlinâ€™, Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Me and my big mouth.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right,â€™ Dottie quickly reassured her.

â€˜My cousin Nelly was like that,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜In the end she went to the doctor and he said she and her husband wasnâ€™t doing it right.â€™

â€˜What the â€™ell were they doing then?â€™ said Mary, agog.

â€˜Just touching navels.â€™

There was a moment of silence then Mary said, â€˜Was that all?â€™

They all burst out laughing.

â€˜Perhaps your Reg needs some coaching,â€™ said Mary, giving Dottie a hefty nudge.

â€˜You volunteering?â€™ grinned Dottie and they all laughed a third time.

â€˜What about cousin Nelly?â€™ Mary asked.

â€˜Whatever the doc said to them worked,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜Theyâ€™ve got three kids now.â€™

â€˜All the spitting image of the doctor,â€™ roared Mary. Peaches enjoyed the joke, laughing heartily. Thank goodness they didnâ€™t know about Doctor Fitzgerald, thought Dottie as she joined in. Thankfully the subject of babies, and the lack of them, didnâ€™t come up again.

â€˜Here we are,â€™ said Mary as they found the shops.

They wandered around Woolworths and Peaches bought herself a bottle of Lily of the Valley. Mary got each of her brood and Gary a 3D stick of rock with â€˜Littlehamptonâ€™ printed through it to take home. â€˜Clever how they do that,â€™ she remarked.

Dottie bought a new comb for Reg.

Reg flipped through the pages of the Littlehampton Gazette. Nothing much there. He was just about to fold it up when Connie tottered towards him, a long candlestick of mucus and sand hanging from the end of her nose.

Alarmed, he cried, â€˜Tom!â€™

â€˜Cor, love a duck,â€™ said Tom as he saw her.

Lifting her half-filled bucket towards her father, she said, â€˜Eat tend cakey, Daddy.â€™

â€˜Hang on a minute, sweetheart, let Daddy clean you up first.â€™ With the practised hand of an expert, her father put one hand on the top of her blonde head to hold her steady while he fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief. Connie sneezed and the candlestick grew longer.

Jack, who was cuddling Gary on his lap, laughed aloud. Reg shuddered with disgust.

â€˜Tend cakey, Daddy?â€™ Connie said as her face emerged from under the voluminous handkerchief.

â€˜Iâ€™d love to,â€™ said Tom, pretending to take a piece. â€˜Ummm, delicious. Donâ€™t forget your Uncle Jack and Uncle Reg.â€™

â€˜Yum, yum,â€™ said Jack obligingly.

Connie turned towards Reg. â€˜Not for me,â€™ he said quickly.

Tom ruffled the childâ€™s hair. â€˜Uncle Reg is full up,â€™ he said. â€˜But I could eat you up!â€™ He growled and, snatching her in his arms, he kissed her neck. Connie giggled happily and when he put her down again she wandered back to the area of sand which served as her kitchen.

â€˜Not up to sand pie, Reg?â€™ Tom said good-naturedly.

â€˜Looking after kids is womanâ€™s work,â€™ Reg muttered.

â€˜Rubbish,â€™ said Tom. â€˜I love being with all my kids. Iâ€™m a dab hand at changing a nappy too.â€™

Reg shook his paper disapprovingly and hid behind it again. Thank God Patsy was well past that stage. His lip curled at the thought of changing nappies, and as for dealing with snotty noses â€¦ Youâ€™d better keep well away from me, thought Reg sourly. But a couple of minutes later, the little brat was on her way back. Reg glanced around helplessly. The other two men were gone: Tom was doing something with Christopher and Jack was walking Gary towards the sea where the other kids were splashing about at the waterâ€™s edge.

â€˜Clear off,â€™ Reg hissed.

But Connie was on a mission. Holding out her bucket of sand, she struggled to steady herself, tottered and made a grab at his trousers. She stumbled against him and fell. At the same time, Reg noticed a wasp crawling along the sand nearby. As Connie pulled herself to her feet again, Reg glanced around to make sure nobody was watching him, and then gave Connie a good shove with his leg. She sat down heavily on top of the wasp. A few seconds later, her heart-rending screams brought the others running.

By the time the girls got back, the kids were sitting further down the beach, watching a Punch and Judy show. Billy had his arm around Connie who was sporting a large white bandage on her leg. Mary listened in horror as Tom explained about the wasp.

â€˜Good job the St John Ambulance people were so close,â€™ he said, pointing to the first aid post a little way along the beach.

â€˜Poor little mite,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Couldnâ€™t you have stopped her?â€™

â€˜She fell,â€™ said Reg, re-arranging the knots in the handkerchief on the top of his head. â€˜Couldnâ€™t do a thing about it, love.â€™

The Punch and Judy show over, Gary was looking very listless again.

â€˜I think youâ€™d better take him to see Dr Fitzgerald tomorrow, hen,â€™ Mary told Peaches.

Peaches nodded miserably.

â€˜Get Dottie to run over and fetch him when we get back,â€™ Reg suggested.

Dottie turned her head away. Oh God, she couldnâ€™t possibly face Dr Fitzgerald again. Not after last Saturday night. Whatever was she going to do?

â€˜Youâ€™ll go and get the doc for Peaches, wonâ€™t you love?â€™ Reg insisted.

She turned her head and everyone was looking at her. â€˜Yes, yes, of course I will.â€™

They arrived back in the village at six thirty. Jack dropped Reg off at the Jolly Farmer and then went on to Maryâ€™s place. It took a while to get all her sleepy kids off the back of the lorry, but they all called out their goodbyes.

â€˜Itâ€™s been a wonderful day, hen,â€™ Mary told Peaches. â€˜Now donâ€™t you worry about your Gary. Heâ€™ll be all right.â€™

Jack took Dottie, Peaches and Gary home. The little boy kept whimpering as if he was in pain and Jack had to carry him indoors. As soon as they were safely inside, Dottie and Jack drove to the doctorâ€™s.

â€˜Youâ€™ll wait for me?â€™ she asked.

â€˜Of course,â€™ he smiled.

Dottie was relieved. Sheâ€™d been frantic with worry. She didnâ€™t really want to face the doctor again. Not so soon. But she couldnâ€™t refuse a friend, could she? Not when her child was so sick.

She drew some comfort from hearing the engine still running as she walked up the garden path to the big house. Dottie rang the doorbell and waved to Jack. All at once, he drove off. She almost panicked and ran after him, crying, â€˜Come back â€¦â€™ but then she realised he was only turning the lorry around. She turned to face the door. The glass panel grew dark and she knew someone was coming.

It was Mrs Fitzgerald. â€˜Dottie!â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry to bother you, Mrs Fitzgerald,â€™ Dottie began, â€˜but is the doctor here?â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s not on call today,â€™ Mrs Fitzgerald said crisply. â€˜Youâ€™ll have to go to Dr Bailey over at Heene Road.â€™

â€˜Who is it?â€™ said a voice behind Mrs Fitzgerald.

â€˜Itâ€™s Dottie.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right,â€™ said Dottie quickly. She could hear Jackâ€™s lorry drawing up outside the gate again. â€˜Weâ€™ll go to Dr Bailey.â€™

Dr Fitzgerald snatched opened the door and Dottie jumped. She couldnâ€™t look at him in the eye and was immediately tongue-tied. â€˜I didnâ€™t know it was your day off â€¦ um â€¦ I wouldnâ€™t have â€¦â€™

â€˜Is it your Reg?â€™ he asked all businesslike and formal.

â€˜Itâ€™s little Gary Smith,â€™ Dottie gabbled. â€˜Peaches and Jack are really worried. We thought it was just a cold and a bit of sunshine would do him good so weâ€™ve been to the beach all day at Littlehampton. Heâ€™s been too poorly even to join in with all the other kids.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll get the car,â€™ said the doctor.

â€˜Itâ€™s your day off,â€™ Mariah reminded him.

â€˜Donâ€™t trouble yourself,â€™ said Dottie at the same time. â€˜Jackâ€™s here. Heâ€™ll run us over to Heene Road.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll just get my bag,â€™ Dr Fitzgerald insisted.

Dottie hurried back up the path. She wanted to get into the lorry before the doctor suggested taking her as passenger in the car. Jack was leaning anxiously out of the cab. â€˜Heâ€™s coming,â€™ she said, swinging open the door and climbing in beside him.

â€˜Thank God for that,â€™ said Jack with feeling.

Dr Fitzgerald followed them to number thirty-four where Jack and Peaches lived. It made Dottie feel uncomfortable knowing that he was right behind them. Sheâ€™d have to deal with this. She had to find a way of making it clear that his advances were totally unwelcome, and then they would both know where they stood.

â€˜You will come in with us, wonâ€™t you, Dottie?â€™ said Jack as they pulled up outside.

â€˜Well â€¦â€™ Dottie began.

â€˜Peaches would be glad of a friend.â€™

When they all got inside the house, Gary was already in bed. Dr Fitzgerald, Peaches and Jack went upstairs and while they were all gone, Dottie busied herself making some tea for when they all came down. After a few minutes, she heard Peaches cry out, â€˜Oh no, no!â€™

Dottie dropped the lid of the teapot and raced upstairs, her heart pounding with fear.

Peaches was sobbing in Jackâ€™s arms. Little Gary was lying very still on the top of his bed while Dr Fitzgerald was pulling down his pyjama top. For one awful second, Dottie feared the worst, but then she saw Gary move his arm very slightly. â€˜Iâ€™ll go back home and telephone for the ambulance,â€™ Doctor Fitzgerald was saying.

â€˜What is it? Whatâ€™s happened?â€™ Dottie gasped.

â€˜Iâ€™m going with him,â€™ said Peaches.

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid that will be impossible, Mrs Smith,â€™ said Dr Fitzgerald, shaking his head. â€˜Not in your condition.â€™

â€˜But Iâ€™m his mother!â€™ Peaches wailed.

â€˜Whatâ€™s wrong with him?â€™ said Dottie looking wildly from one to the other.

Dr Fitzgerald closed his bag with a loud snap. â€˜Iâ€™m not one hundred percent sure,â€™ he said, â€˜but it looks to me like poliomyelitis.â€™

Eight

Billy didnâ€™t have the energy to run all the way back to Aunt Peaches. He was much too tired.

It had been a grand day. Memories of the Punch and Judy show, paddling in the water and that huge ice cream Uncle Jack had given him kept going over and over in his mind. It had been his best day ever. Even better than the day Phil Hartwell let him hold the dead frog his cat had killed.

It was late. It was already way past his bedtime when Mum came back downstairs after sheâ€™d put the twins and Susan to bed and said, â€˜Run over to your Aunt Peaches and find out how Gary is.â€™

Heâ€™d said, â€˜Aw, Mum,â€™ but heâ€™d known it was no use arguing. Tom looked at him over the top of his evening paper. He didnâ€™t say anything. He didnâ€™t need to: the look was enough. Billy walked as fast as he could all the way there without stopping.

Uncle Jackâ€™s lorry was parked outside the house and the cab door was wide open. The doctorâ€™s car was there too. And right in front of the house, there was an ambulance as well. Billy hung back. If the adults saw him, theyâ€™d be bound to send him back home again.

â€˜This is no place for nippers,â€™ Uncle Jack would say.

The ambulance door was wide open too. Billy could see the bed and all sorts of boxes and things. He tried imagining what it was like to be an ambulance driver. It was bound to be exciting. He might see squashed people â€¦ that would be better than a squashed frog the cat killed any day. He sat down on the kerb and gripped an imaginary steering wheel.

â€˜Neee-arrr,â€™ he said as he careered around the corner at top speed to save his patient.

He heard the front door open. Dr Fitzgerald came out with his doctorâ€™s bag and the ambulance man, dressed in his dark uniform and cap, followed him. The ambulance man was carrying someone in his arms. The someone was all wrapped up in a blanket and although Billy couldnâ€™t actually see who it was, judging by the way he was screaming, and the fact that Aunt Peaches was right behind him crying her eyes out, he knew it had to be Gary.

Auntie Dot came out and gave Aunt Peaches a kiss on the cheek. â€˜Try not to worry,â€™ she said. He liked Auntie Dottie a lot. She was nice.

He thought back to the time when theyâ€™d paddled in the sea together. Heâ€™d been wearing his knitted cossie. Auntie Dottie didnâ€™t have one but she had picked up her skirts and walked into the water until it was right up to her knees. No other grown up had done that. And she hadnâ€™t minded getting wet either. Sheâ€™d kicked the water all over him and when heâ€™d done the same to her, she didnâ€™t get cross and yell at him. Sheâ€™d splashed him back and sheâ€™d laughed. He liked to hear Auntie Dottie laugh. She didnâ€™t do it very much but when she did, her whole face lit up. He could tell by the anxious look on her face now that she wasnâ€™t very happy.

â€˜You will stay with him, wonâ€™t you?â€™ Aunt Peaches wailed. â€˜Heâ€™ll be so frightened.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll stay as long as they let me,â€™ Auntie Dottie promised. â€˜The ambulance man says they have very strict visiting hours, but Iâ€™ll be there until they kick me out.â€™

â€˜I should be there,â€™ cried Aunt Peaches. â€˜Iâ€™m his mother.â€™

Auntie Dottie hugged her again. â€˜You have the little one to think of. Now leave Gary to me. Until heâ€™s back on his feet, Iâ€™ll be his mum.â€™

Aunt Peaches blew her nose in her hanky. â€˜I donâ€™t know what Iâ€™d do without you, Dottie.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t be daft,â€™ smiled Dottie. â€˜What are friends for?â€™

Uncle Jack appeared behind her. â€˜Iâ€™ll follow the ambulance in the lorry and bring Dottie home.â€™

â€˜Come along now, Madam,â€™ said the ambulance driver. â€˜The sooner we get him to hospital the better.â€™

â€˜Someone ought to tell Mary,â€™ Dottie said as she climbed into the back of the ambulance.

Billy stood up and ran to the open door. â€˜Iâ€™ll tell me mum, Auntie Dot.â€™ But the other ambulance man pushed him away. â€˜Off you go now, sonny. This is no place for you.â€™

â€˜Tell your mum Gary is in hospital,â€™ Auntie Dot called to him. â€˜Tell her heâ€™s got poliomyelitis.â€™ The ambulance man shut the door, banged it twice and walked round to the front and climbed into the driverâ€™s seat.

Billy watched as the ambulance raced down the road, its bell ringing like mad. He was confused. What was that she said? Polo-my-light-us? What was that?

Aunt Peaches was going back into the house.

â€˜What shall I say is wrong with Gary, Aunt Peaches?â€™

â€˜Gary is very ill,â€™ sniffed Peaches. She put her handkerchief to her mouth and closed the door. A second later, it opened again. â€˜And donâ€™t you come round again. Itâ€™s too dangerous. And tell your mum, none of your family is to come either.â€™

Billy stared at the closed door. Why couldnâ€™t he go to Aunt Peaches? What had he done wrong? He turned and walked down the road scuffing his shoes and trying to work it out.

â€˜Hey-up, Billy. You coming on the swings?â€™

It was Paul Dore on his bike. He pulled up beside Billy.

â€˜I got to go home,â€™ said Billy miserably. His mum would go spare when he told her heâ€™d upset Aunt Peaches. Heâ€™d get a walloping for sure.

â€˜Aw, come on,â€™ Paul cajoled. â€˜Iâ€™ll give you a lift on me bike.â€™

It didnâ€™t take much to persuade Billy to put off the moment he faced his mum. When they got to the playground, they didnâ€™t have a swing, that was for babies, but the scrubland along the edges of the park was great for a game of Cowboys and Indians.

There was a whole crowd of them there including Mark and David Weaver. Everyone wanted to hear about his day on the beach.

â€˜Lucky devil,â€™ said David as he told them about the Punch and Judy man and his big ice cream. â€˜Bags Iâ€™m John Wayne.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s my turn,â€™ said Mark.

â€˜You did it last time,â€™ Billy protested.

In the end, Billyâ€™s day out was forgotten as they had a scrap about who was going to be John Wayne and David Weaver won. Then they whooped around the bushes shooting Indians until it began to get cold and the light was failing. Paul Dore gave Billy a lift back on his handlebars as far as the road next to his and Billy, knowing that he was bound to be in trouble, walked slowly home.

â€˜Where the devil have you been?â€™ his mother demanded as she opened the door. She clipped his ear as he walked past. â€˜Iâ€™ve been worried sick.â€™

â€˜Garyâ€™s gone to hospital,â€™ said Billy quickly. â€˜Heâ€™s got â€¦â€™ He froze. He couldnâ€™t remember what it was called. â€˜And Aunt Peaches said none of us should come to her house ever again and she was so upset about it, she sent Auntie Dottie off in the ambulance with him.â€™

His mother put her hand to her throat. â€˜Donâ€™t tell me heâ€™s got polio,â€™ she said quietly.

The isolation hospital was rather grim. It smelled of carbolic soap and disinfectant and it was dimly lit because most of the patients were asleep. Dottie followed the nurse who wheeled Gary onto the ward on an adult-sized stretcher. He looked so small and vulnerable. Wordlessly, they took him to a cot and the nurse drew the curtains around him, leaving Dottie on the outside.

â€˜Are you the childâ€™s mother?â€™

Dottie shook her head at the doctor who had walked up behind her. â€˜His mother is eight months pregnant,â€™ she explained. â€˜Her doctor was worried about infection so he told her not to come. Iâ€™m a close friend.â€™ The hospital doctor said nothing. â€˜Garyâ€™s father is here,â€™ Dottie went on. â€˜Heâ€™s parking the lorry.â€™

The doctor parted the curtain and went inside. Gary was whimpering.

â€˜If you would like to wait outside,â€™ said Sister, pulling little white cuffs over the rolled-up sleeves of her dark blue uniform. â€˜Iâ€™ll come and speak to you later.â€™

Behind the curtain, Gary, obviously in pain, began to cry.

Dottie hesitated. â€˜I promised his mother Iâ€™d hold his hand,â€™ she said anxiously.

â€˜We have to examine him,â€™ Sister said, â€˜and the doctor will have to give him a lumbar puncture. Itâ€™s not very pleasant, Iâ€™m afraid, but it has to be done. We need to know what weâ€™re up against. Now if you would like to wait outside â€¦â€™

It was as much as Dottie could do to fight back the tears as she waited in the corridor for Jack to arrive. She stared hard at the green and cream tiled walls and the brown linoleum floors until she thought she knew every crack. Beyond the peeling brown door Garyâ€™s cries grew more heart-rending. Jack hurried towards her, turning his cap around and around in his hand anxiously.

â€˜How is he?â€™

Dottie shook her head. â€˜The doctorâ€™s with him now.â€™

Jack sat beside her and ran his fingers through his hair. â€˜Oh God, oh God â€¦â€™

She put her hand on his forearm. â€˜Try to keep calm, Jack,â€™ she said gently. â€˜Theyâ€™re doing their best.â€™

â€˜Yes, yes, I know,â€™ he said brokenly. â€˜Oh Dottie, that boy is my life. I donâ€™t know what Iâ€™d do if I lost him.â€™

Mercifully, at that moment they heard Gary stop crying.

â€˜Donâ€™t go thinking like that, Jack. Heâ€™s a tough little lad. Heâ€™ll pull through.â€™

Jack leaned further forward and wept silently. Dottie placed her hand in the centre of his back and did her best to fight her own tears. After having such a lovely day, she couldnâ€™t believe this was happening. If Reg were here, even he would be upset.

They waited for what seemed like a lifetime until the brown door opened and the ward sister came out. â€˜Are you the childâ€™s father?â€™

Jack rose to his feet, and wiped the end of his nose on his jacket sleeve. â€˜Yes.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s no point in beating around the bush and thereâ€™s no easy way to say this but Iâ€™m afraid your son definitely has polio.â€™

Jack flung his arms around himself, squeezed his eyes tightly and turned away.

â€˜What happens now?â€™ Dottie asked. It cut her to the quick to see how hurt Jack was, but Peaches would want to know every last detail.

â€˜Itâ€™s best if you leave him now,â€™ the sister said matter-of-factly. â€˜Mum can visit him in a week or so.â€™

â€˜A week or so?â€™ cried Dottie.

â€˜We keep visits to a minimum,â€™ the sister continued. â€˜Normally we would allow his mother to see him for twenty minutes or thereabouts, but as you say, sheâ€™s pregnant.â€™

â€˜I could take her place,â€™ Dottie said, â€˜at least until his mum is in no danger.â€™

â€˜At this highly infectious stage,â€™ the sister went on, â€˜itâ€™s best for the patients to remain calm. Family visits are very unsettling for young children. They cry for hours afterwards.â€™

â€˜Can we at least see him now?â€™ Dottie asked. â€˜I want to put his motherâ€™s mind at rest.â€™

â€˜Is he going to die?â€™ Jack choked.

â€˜Itâ€™s always possible,â€™ the sister said, â€˜but personally I think heâ€™ll be more stable in a day or two.â€™

â€˜Please God,â€™ Jack murmured.

â€˜I tell you what,â€™ said the sister, her tone softening, â€˜pop in now, just for a minute to see him settled and you,â€™ indicating Dottie, â€˜can visit him on Monday.â€™

Dottie couldnâ€™t hide her gratitude. â€˜Thank you, oh thank you.â€™

â€˜But when you do come, it can only be for twenty minutes,â€™ the nurse cautioned. â€˜No more.â€™

â€˜I understand,â€™ said Dottie gratefully.

They followed her back onto the ward and tiptoed to Garyâ€™s cot. His eyes were closed and although his face wore a frown, he certainly looked more peaceful than when theyâ€™d brought him in. He was still very flushed and a young nurse was sponging his face with water.

The sister picked up the temperature chart at the foot of the bed. â€˜His temperature is one hundred and four degrees fahrenheit,â€™ she said.

Dottie touched Garyâ€™s fingers. â€˜Night, night, darling,â€™ she whispered. â€˜See you in the morning.â€™

Jack leaned over the cot and kissed his sonâ€™s forehead. â€˜Night, son,â€™ he wept.

Gary started to cry again.

â€˜Come along now,â€™ said the sister briskly. â€˜Itâ€™s best not to upset the little lad again.â€™

Nine

It was quarter to ten when Dottie finally got home. As Jack dropped her off at the gate, she saw Ann Pearceâ€™s curtain twitch. Nosy old cow, she thought irritably. Sheâ€™d probably think she could get even more money out of her now. That last time â€¦ it was blackmail, wasnâ€™t it?

As Dottie walked indoors, Reg scowled. For one sickening second, Dottie thought Ann might have been round and told him about Dr Fitzgerald.

â€˜How long does it bloody take to go to the doctorâ€™s house and ask him for a visit?â€™ he demanded. â€˜Iâ€™ve been waiting for hours for my tea.â€™

â€˜They took little Gary to hospital,â€™ she said.

Regâ€™s expression changed. â€˜Hospital?â€™

Dottie slipped off her bolero and reached for her wrap-over apron. â€˜Iâ€™m afraid Gary has been admitted.â€™

Reg lowered himself into a chair. â€˜Admitted â€¦â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s a bit late for cooking,â€™ Dottie said matter-of-factly. She was angry that heâ€™d sat there all that time, helplessly waiting for her to come home. Couldnâ€™t he have got his own tea for once? â€˜Shall I do you a couple of fried eggs?â€™

He nodded and she set about gathering the frying pan, the eggs from the bucket of cold water on the scullery floor and the dripping from the meat safe.

â€˜Whatâ€™s wrong with him?â€™

Heartened that Reg was so concerned, she forgave him immediately.

â€˜He has polio,â€™ she said, cracking an egg over the melted dripping in the pan. â€˜But they seemed to think heâ€™ll be a bit better in a day or two.â€™ She filled the kettle with water and put it on the gas.

â€˜Peaches staying with him, is she?â€™

â€˜No,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜They wouldnâ€™t allow it. Itâ€™s too dangerous, what with her being pregnant and all. Thatâ€™s why I went.â€™

His eyes flashed. â€˜You?â€™

She cut a slice of bread and put it into the hot fat. â€˜And I promised Peaches I would visit him until sheâ€™s allowed to go.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re not to go.â€™

â€˜Although how Iâ€™m going to fit it all in I donâ€™t know,â€™ she said turning the bread over.

â€˜I said,â€™ his tone was harsh, â€˜youâ€™re not to go.â€™

She gave him a puzzled look. â€˜But I promised.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t bloody care! Youâ€™re not going.â€™

She put the eggs and fried bread onto his plate and put it in front of him. Then she filled the teapot and sat at the table with him. She wanted to throw the supper at him. Sheâ€™d have given anything to scream at him, â€˜Iâ€™ll make my own decisions and I donâ€™t need you to tell me what to do.â€™ But she knew she had to tackle this calmly. He was getting wound up and if she upset him too much, heâ€™d be horrible for days.

â€˜Look, Reg,â€™ she said quietly. â€˜I know youâ€™re worried about me, but really, I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ll come to any harm and Peaches is upset that Gary wonâ€™t have anyone he knows.â€™

He glared at her and stabbed the air with his fork. â€˜I donâ€™t care about bloody Peaches. Iâ€™m telling you now, youâ€™re not going and thereâ€™s an end to it.â€™ A splatter of egg yolk ran down his chin.

â€˜But sheâ€™s my friend.â€™

He carried on eating. She poured his tea and one for herself. She had to make him understand just how important this was. She didnâ€™t have many friends around here and Peaches was one of the best. Sheâ€™d been there for her when Auntie Bessie died. She and Mary had virtually done the whole of her wake: Dottie had been in such a state, and Reg wasnâ€™t much help, so sheâ€™d been glad to leave it to them. Their friendship went way, way back. Peaches, Mary and Sylvie had kept her going for many a long and lonely month while sheâ€™d waited for news of Reg during the war. Other women had been allowed to write to their husbands but Reg had been on a top-secret mission so she had to wait it out with no word from him at all. Peaches, Mary and Sylvie had been there for her which was why it was so important not to let Peaches down in this, her hour of need.

â€˜Reg,â€™ she tried again, â€˜donâ€™t worry. Iâ€™ll be perfectly safe.â€™

He slammed his knife and fork onto the plate, making her jump. Then he leaned back and, reaching into his pocket, drew out a piece of paper.

â€˜No, itâ€™s not bloody safe,â€™ he cried. â€˜And thereâ€™s the reason why you canâ€™t go.â€™

He threw the paper onto the table in front of her. Dottieâ€™s heartbeat quickened. The letter from Australia! Sheâ€™d forgotten all about it. Sheâ€™d had what Aunt Bessie would have called a presentiment that it wasnâ€™t just any old letter the moment she first set eyes on it. Now it rested on the table between them, small and rectangular, and yet it seemed as big as a house.

She stared at the sloping handwriting, the stamp and the strange postmark, and her blood ran cold. This must be serious, but what on earth did it say? She shivered and looked up at her husband.

â€˜Well, go on,â€™ he said with a note of triumph in his voice. â€˜Read it. I know youâ€™re dying to.â€™

Her hand was trembling as she picked it up. So flimsy and yet heavy with destiny. It was going to change her life, she knew it â€¦ she just knew it.

She took it out and read it slowly. I never told you but in â€™43 I had a child. Her name is Patricia. Sheâ€™s eight now. Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed hard. 1943? He had been with some other woman almost as soon as they had been married? Heâ€™d been sent abroad just four weeks after their wedding and straight after that, the very next year, heâ€™d been unfaithful?

Please come to fetch her, she read on, I hope that deep down, you can find it in your heart to forgive me â€¦ She laid the letter on the table and looked up at him. He was smiling.

â€˜See?â€™ he said triumphantly. â€˜You think I canâ€™t bloody do it, but I can see? Iâ€™ve got a kid of my own. She gave me a kid. She knew how to turn a man on. She knew what to do. Not like you, you bloody cold fish.â€™

His words cut her into a thousand pieces but all she could think of was that he had had a child with another woman. He had a child â€¦ and she didnâ€™t. Why couldnâ€™t he make love with her? Other people thought she was attractive but he was always calling her a cold fish, even though she really tried. She did everything he wanted her to, even things she didnâ€™t like.

â€˜For Godâ€™s sake, stop that snivelling,â€™ he said sharply and Dottie suddenly realised that she was crying. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her hanky. Then she blew her nose quietly and dabbed her eyes. She shouldnâ€™t have done that. It must have been the shock of seeing Gary.

â€˜I want to get her over here,â€™ he was saying. â€˜I want my little girl here, living with us.â€™

â€˜Living with us?â€™ she said faintly.

â€˜Why not?â€™ he challenged. â€˜Sheâ€™s mine. Why shouldnâ€™t I have her here?â€™

Dottie stared at him, her brain refusing to function. This was all too much for one day. Foolishly sheâ€™d always thought heâ€™d been as faithful as sheâ€™d been. It never crossed her mind that heâ€™d even had the opportunity. No, she hadnâ€™t thought about it. Sheâ€™d just presumed â€¦ but how wrong had she been? He had a child, a daughter. And now he wanted her to come over here?

Her stomach churned. All at once she felt sick and jumped up and ran to heave over the slop bucket in the scullery.

â€˜Thatâ€™s right,â€™ he bellowed after her. â€˜Always got to be the centre of attention. Get yourself noticed. Letâ€™s have the drama queen.â€™

She steadied herself and wiped her mouth on her hanky, then she walked back into the kitchen.

He was sitting with one hand on his head and the other holding the photograph. â€˜I want her here, Dot,â€™ he said. â€˜I want my little girl.â€™

She couldnâ€™t speak. She wanted to be happy for him, but his joy was her misery. He didnâ€™t seem to care about how she was feeling. She couldnâ€™t think straight. Her eye was drawn to the woman in the photograph.

â€˜Donâ€™t you see, you daft bat?â€™ he said looking up at her. â€˜This is your chance too. Youâ€™ve always wanted to be a mother. Well, nowâ€™s your chance. A little girl. Patsy. Nice name, Patsy. Weâ€™ll be a family.â€™

â€˜But I want a family of my own!â€™ she blurted out.

Reg leapt to his feet and struck her across the mouth. Dottie tasted blood as her lip split under the force of his blow. â€˜Maybe this is the closest youâ€™re going to get,â€™ he snarled. â€˜I can do it with a real woman, but I canâ€™t do it with you. I canâ€™t do it in this house. Doesnâ€™t that tell you something? Eh?â€™

Dottie leaned against the dresser, utterly crushed.

â€˜Weâ€™re going to get my baby over here,â€™ Reg said sitting back down again with the photograph, â€˜and weâ€™re going to be a real family. Me, Patsy and you.â€™

Dottie opened her mouth but no sound came out.

He turned and glared at her again. â€˜Thatâ€™s why I donâ€™t want you going near that Gary see? I canâ€™t have my Patsy getting polio.â€™

Ten

â€˜Youâ€™re very quiet today, Dottie.â€™

Janet Cooper, Dottieâ€™s Monday and Tuesday employer, gave her a concerned look as she filled the kettle for their afternoon break.

Dottie had been miles away. She couldnâ€™t get the events of the previous weekend out of her mind. Worried about little Gary and upset by Regâ€™s revelations and rantings, she had gone about her work as quickly and as quietly as she could. She hadnâ€™t stopped for her mid-morning break, neither had she stopped to eat the sandwich Janet had prepared for her as she closed the shop for the lunch hour. Dottie didnâ€™t want to be drawn into a conversation in case she said something she might later regret. She was glad today was Monday and not Tuesday. Dottie helped in the shop on Tuesdays and it was easy to be drawn into long conversations between customers. Janet loved a little gossip. Starved of excitement in her own life, she thrived on the misfortunes of others and had a clever way of weeding juicy bits of gossip out of someone, no matter how reluctant the person might be to part with them. Had it been Tuesday, Dottie would have told her about their day in Littlehampton and little Garyâ€™s illness and, before the day was over, it would have been all over the village. Fine if Peaches told friends and neighbours, but Dottie didnâ€™t want people to hear it from her lips first.

Janet cut across her thoughts again. â€˜I see Ellen Rileyâ€™s daughter is on the bottle again.â€™

Dottie gave her a quizzical look.

â€˜There was a definite bulge in her coat pocket when she came into the shop this morning,â€™ said Janet, clearly enjoying her tasty morsel of gossip. â€˜Want a biscuit with your tea?â€™

Dottie shook her head and wished Janet a million miles away.

â€˜Itâ€™s the kids I feel sorry for,â€™ Janet went on. â€˜If you canâ€™t be a responsible parent, you shouldnâ€™t have children, thatâ€™s what I say.â€™

Dottie switched off. Monday was the day she cleaned the Cooper house from top to bottom. Upstairs, she changed the beds, hoovered the rooms and dusted. Then sheâ€™d come down and spend the rest of the morning putting the dirty sheets in the washing machine. You had to stand over it when everything went through the wringer, but it was a great help and if the weather was kind she would end the day by ironing the same sheets she had changed in the morning.

With the washing on the line, the afternoon was spent cleaning and dusting downstairs. It was one of her heaviest days and yet with the weight of everything on her mind, she hardly noticed the time passing.

Sheâ€™d been up early that morning. Reg was still in bed when sheâ€™d left for the Coopers. After another outburst about not seeing Gary the night before, she had poured him his usual cup of tea in the morning, but instead of making sure he was awake, sheâ€™d crept upstairs, being careful not to disturb him. Sheâ€™d left the tea on the bedside table. Heâ€™d groaned and rolled over when she put the cup down and sheâ€™d panicked, but she stood very still and almost immediately heâ€™d begun to snore again. Dottie hurried downstairs and out of the house. She didnâ€™t want â€¦ couldnâ€™t face talking to him again. Why did she always take him a cup of tea anyway? It had started when he first came home. He was ill then. He was fine now. Well, he could get his own tea from now on, she told herself defiantly.

All day long sheâ€™d gone over and over the things heâ€™d said and she was surprised to realise that, for the first time in her whole life, she resented the idea of looking after someone elseâ€™s child. If Patsy was already eight, there was no way she could pretend the child was hers. What was she going to say to the people in the village? She hated the thought of everybody talking behind her back.

â€˜Of course, you know that poor Dot Cox canâ€™t have any children.â€™

Dottie bristled at the thought of being an object of pity.

â€˜Canâ€™t blame a man for wanting his own child, can you?â€™ theyâ€™d say.

And what about the child? When she had been conceived, she and Reg were already married. Everyone would know heâ€™d been with another woman. War or no war, what sort of a man goes with another woman within a year of his marriage? What did that say about her? And what about the child herself? Poor little thing. She didnâ€™t ask to be born, did she?

â€˜Dottie â€¦â€™ Janet said.

Dottie frowned. She refused to feel sorry for the child. Why should she? But while she was ironing, she found herself wondering what she looked like. Reg had black hair but only out of a bottle to hide the grey. The woman in the picture was fair. She imagined Patsy all peaches and cream, a little Shirley Temple with pretty blonde curls, who smelled of talcum powder and Gibbs toothpaste. Dottie folded and shook a sheet viciously and banged the iron down on it. She had to stop doing this. She didnâ€™t want her. She didnâ€™t want Regâ€™s kid. She wanted her own child. And another thing, why should he rant and rave on like that, expecting her to like the idea? Sheâ€™d be nothing more than an unpaid servant. She was his wife, for goodnessâ€™ sake. Why should she open her home to his â€¦ his bastard!

â€˜Dottie!â€™ Janet Cooperâ€™s voice brought her abruptly back to the present. â€˜Youâ€™ve ironed that sheet to death. Sugar in your tea?â€™

â€˜Er, no. Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ Dottie said. â€˜I was miles away.â€™

â€˜So I see,â€™ smiled Janet. â€˜Nothing serious, I hope?â€™

â€˜I was wondering â€¦â€™ Dottie began hesitantly, â€˜would it be possible for me to go early today?â€™

Janet Cooper looked at the clock. Normally her cleaner left at four. It was now ten to three. She frowned. Dottie didnâ€™t usually ask favours but sheâ€™d have to be careful. Give these people an inch â€¦ the last thing she wanted was Dottie taking liberties.

â€˜I came in at eight instead of nine,â€™ Dottie pointed out, â€˜and I havenâ€™t taken any breaks.â€™

Janet hesitated. â€˜Is it Reg?â€™ she asked.

Dottie chewed her bottom lip. She didnâ€™t like telling lies but she could see by her face that Janet Cooper needed a good reason to let her go. â€˜Yes.â€™

â€˜Oh my dear, why didnâ€™t you say so? Of course you must go. We canâ€™t do too much for those of our brave boys who came back. Yes, put the rest of that ironing away and off you go.â€™

Fifteen minutes later, Dottie, feeling somewhat ashamed and guilty, was hurrying to the next village. Durrington was easily a mile and a half away and she decided not to catch the bus that stopped outside the shops. She didnâ€™t want anyone from the village telling Reg theyâ€™d seen her catching the bus. It was a bit of a rush, but she was fit and knew she could do it.

â€˜How was the trip to Littlehampton, Reg?â€™

Marney handed him a chipped enamel mug of tea. Reg was acting as ticket collector today, although there were few passengers on a weekday afternoon. He put the steaming mug to his lips and slurped in a mouthful of tea. â€˜Not bad.â€™

â€˜Kids enjoy themselves?â€™

â€˜Reckon so.â€™

â€˜The wife wanted me to take her over for the torchlight procession and the fireworks,â€™ Marney went on, â€˜but our Jean and her hubby came by. We all got chatting and then it was too late. Was it good?â€™

â€˜We were back before 8.30,â€™ said Reg. â€˜Maryâ€™s boy wasnâ€™t looking too clever, so Peaches and Jack took him to the docâ€™s.â€™

â€˜Shame,â€™ said Marney. â€˜All right now, is he?â€™

â€˜Suppose so,â€™ Reg shrugged.

â€˜A bit of a fuss about nothing, I expect,â€™ Marney observed. â€˜It usually is where kids are concerned.â€™

Reg grunted.

â€˜Still,â€™ Marney ploughed on, â€˜I expect Dottie enjoyed herself.â€™ Reg gave him a puzzled look. â€˜Well, the girls like a bit of a get-together, donâ€™t they? Have a bit of a chat and a laugh. It does them good.â€™

They could hear the 3.32 in the distance and Marney turned to go. The door of the ticket office clicked shut behind him, leaving Reg alone on the platform. He frowned. Another day out? Oh, no. Of one thing he was perfectly sure, he wasnâ€™t going to be putting up with another day like that in a hurry. He only agreed to it to butter Dottie up. Well, enough was enough. From now on, Dottie would have to understand that her place was in the home, not gadding about with the likes of Peaches and that fat cow Mary.

As the 3.32 was pulling onto the platform of West Worthing station, Dottie was heading into the Isolation Hospital.

â€˜Visiting hours are 2 to 2.30,â€™ said the sister haughtily as Dottie arrived. The clock hanging on the wall behind her said a damning 3.25.

Her heart sank. â€˜But I couldnâ€™t possibly come then,â€™ she said. â€˜Please let me see him. Just for a moment.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, but itâ€™s against the rules,â€™ said the sister. She began to walk away.

â€˜Sister, his mother isnâ€™t able to come because sheâ€™s expecting,â€™ Dottie called after her. â€˜Sheâ€™s relying on me to help her out. Iâ€™ve been at work all day and Iâ€™ve had no meal breaks whatsoever in order to make sure I could get here to see Gary. Please. I canâ€™t let his mother down.â€™

The sister pursed her lips and gave Dottie an irritated frown. â€˜This is most irregular,â€™ she sighed. â€˜The child has only just stopped crying. Iâ€™m not sure that a visit will be in his best interest.â€™

â€˜I would hate him to think weâ€™ve abandoned him.â€™

The sister gave Dottie a long hard stare. â€˜Very well.â€™

Dottie smiled with relief. â€˜Thank you, Sister.â€™

â€˜But only five minutes and it mustnâ€™t happen again.â€™

â€˜Of course. I understand,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜How is he?â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s making progress,â€™ said the nurse. â€˜Hopefully we can start his rehabilitation with the other children by the end of the week.â€™ She pointed down the ward. â€˜Heâ€™s down there, next to the girl in the iron lung.â€™

Dottie hurried down the ward. In daylight, the ward seemed even gloomier than sheâ€™d remembered from the Saturday before. The dark green and cream paintwork was pretty cheerless and some of the tiles on the walls were cracked and chipped. But at least somebody had made an effort: although the curtains at the windows were dark blue and faded at the edges, the curtains on the screens that went around the beds had bright nursery rhyme pictures on them.

There seemed to be few toys. Of the children who were sitting up in bed, some were reading comics and others simply stared at her as she walked down the ward. One little girl standing at the end of her cot held her arms out as Dottie walked past.

Gary was as white as a ghost but he seemed more peaceful than before. He saw her coming and whimpered, â€˜I want my mummy.â€™

His plaintive cry tore at Dottieâ€™s heart. She touched his forehead and brushed back his damp hair. â€˜I know, sweetheart, I know. Mummy canâ€™t come today, so she sent me instead.â€™

Garyâ€™s chin quivered.

Dottie reached into her bag and drew out two small bears wrapped in dark blue tissue paper. She had bought them the previous year when the whole country had been captivated by the story of Ivy and Brumas and early that morning sheâ€™d sneaked them out of their hiding place.

In 1949, Ivy, a polar bear at the London zoo, had surprised everyone by giving birth to a son, Brumas. The following Christmas, just about every child in the land had an Ivy and Brumas bear in their stocking. Dottie had bought a pair, and after wrapping them in tissue paper she had put them in Aunt Bessieâ€™s wardrobe alongside Aunt Bessieâ€™s cowboy hats and boots, and all the other things she couldnâ€™t bear to throw away.

Dottie had always imagined that one day she would put the bears in the cot of her own baby but after what Reg said last Saturday, that day seemed too far away to matter. She realised that if Reg knew about them, he would make her give them to his child and she wasnâ€™t prepared to do that. No, sheâ€™d sooner give them to someone more deserving and in the present circumstances, who could be more needy than Gary?

He watched her unwrap the bears. â€˜Whereâ€™s my mummy?â€™ he whimpered again and a tear rolled down his cheek.

â€˜Mummy canâ€™t come today,â€™ said Dottie gently as she put both bears on the bed. â€˜But Mummy told me she misses you very much.â€™ She was willing her voice not to break. â€˜So Iâ€™ll tell you what Iâ€™ll do.â€™ She fondled Garyâ€™s hair again. â€˜Iâ€™m going to give Brumas to you to cuddle and Iâ€™m going to put Ivy down here at the end of the bed.â€™

As Gary tried in vain to move his head in the direction of the bear, the full extent of his paralysis became a chilling reality. Dottie bit back her own tears.

â€˜Ivy loves Brumas very much,â€™ she went on, â€˜just like your mummy loves you. Sheâ€™ll be watching Brumas all the time, see?â€™

She placed the larger bear in his direct line of vision.

â€˜You look after Brumas and all the time you see Ivy watching him, youâ€™ll know your mummy is thinking about you too.â€™

She lifted his limp arm and placed Brumas next to his body.

â€˜Is Ivy watching him?â€™

â€˜Yes,â€™ Gary whimpered.

â€˜See?â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Ivy is watching Brumas so your mummy must be thinking about you.â€™

Gary looked up and gave her a weak smile.

â€˜Sister says itâ€™s time to go,â€™ said a young nurse, coming up to them. â€˜We have got to get all these children ready for bed.â€™

It was a ridiculous statement, but Dottie knew what she meant. She leaned forward to kiss Gary goodbye but the nurse held her shoulder. â€˜No. Not too close.â€™

Dottie kissed her own fingers and touched Garyâ€™s forehead. â€˜Iâ€™ll come back as soon as I can, darling.â€™ The lump forming in her throat felt like it would choke her. She had to keep strong. She mustnâ€™t let Gary see her cry. â€˜Mummy will come along another day.â€™

She left him watching Ivy. â€˜Thank you, Nurse,â€™ she said as they reached the door.

â€˜No,â€™ said the nurse, taking a furtive glance over her shoulder, â€˜thank you. Iâ€™m sure heâ€™ll be much happier now. That was a nice thing you did.â€™ And with a rustle of her starched apron, she was gone.

Dottie made her way outside, her whole body racked with sobs. As she stood in the bus shelter, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Poor little lamb. Just three years old and not allowed to see his mummy. It wasnâ€™t fair. What was going to happen to him?

â€˜Dear Lord,â€™ she prayed through her tears, â€˜donâ€™t let him be paralysed all his life.â€™

The bus came and she got on. Thankfully she couldnâ€™t see anyone she knew. As she looked out of the window, she allowed herself a small smile as she recalled Brumas under the sheet and Ivy watching him. Sheâ€™d go round and tell Peaches all about it later this evening when Reg had gone to the pub. It wasnâ€™t much but it would certainly put her friendâ€™s mind at rest. Careful that she mustnâ€™t do anything to let Reg know where sheâ€™d been, Dottie got off two stops before she needed and walked the rest of the way home. The fresh air gave her a chance to clear her head and to compose herself.

Eleven

It was a mad rush to get the tea ready before Reg got home and the potatoes still needed another ten minutes when Dottie saw him parking his bike against the wall. She wondered what sort of a mood he was in; but she neednâ€™t have worried. He was feeling cheerful. He handed her a bunch of sweet peas.

â€˜Ooh, Reg!â€™ She couldnâ€™t hide her surprise. He seldom gave her the flowers from his station garden, preferring instead to hand them out to his passengers. In between his station duties, heâ€™d built up a reputation as an expert nurseryman, cultivating flowers and even a few vegetables on the strip of land alongside the station ticket office, and collecting a great many ardent admirers along the way. It was well known in the village that if you had a gardening problem, Reg was the man to ask.

She held them to her nose and sniffed them loudly. â€˜Theyâ€™re lovely.â€™

â€˜The fence is covered,â€™ he said proudly. â€˜A really nice show this year.â€™

He sat in his chair and took off his railwaymanâ€™s boots, then went upstairs. A few minutes later he came down in his gardening clothes. â€˜Just going out to dig a few spuds,â€™ he said. â€˜Dinner nearly ready?â€™

â€˜Five more minutes,â€™ she said as she arranged the sweet peas in a vase. Their heady perfume filled the kitchen and she could tell they were his prize blooms by their big, perfectly formed petals. They were the talk of the village.

â€˜No one can grow sweet peas like your Reg.â€™

â€˜He ought to go enter the flower show with those blooms.â€™

â€˜Magnificent. Whatâ€™s his secret?â€™

She was back in the scullery putting the runner beans in a colander when she heard a footfall outside the back door.

â€˜Iâ€™m just dishing up, Reg,â€™ she called.

â€˜Dottie, itâ€™s me.â€™

Dottie swung round to find Peaches in the doorway. She looked drained. Her face was pale and she wore no make-up. There were dark circles under her eyes. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry to burst in on you like this, but Jack and I couldnâ€™t wait. How is he? Did he look any better?â€™

Dottie grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. Sheâ€™d have to be quick. She have to say her piece before Reg came back up the garden.

â€˜Whatâ€™s she bloody doing here?â€™ He was already sitting at the kitchen table. He rose to his feet. â€˜Get out of here, Peaches Smith. Youâ€™re not welcome.â€™

Peaches stared at him aghast. â€˜Not welcome â€¦?â€™ she said faintly.

â€˜No â€¦â€™ Dottie began. â€˜What Reg means â€¦â€™

But Reg stepped between them, pushing Dottie aside. â€˜Look, no offence,â€™ he said, his tone a little less harsh, â€˜but Dottieâ€™s afraid sheâ€™ll get it, see?

â€˜Wait, Reg â€¦â€™ Dottie protested.

Peaches gave her a stricken look.

â€˜Listen, Peaches â€¦â€™ Dottie gasped. â€˜Let me explain.â€™

But before Dottie could start, Reg had taken Peachesâ€™ arm and was manoeuvring her back through the door. â€˜Itâ€™s best if you donâ€™t come round for a while.â€™

Peaches stared at him. â€˜Why are you doing this?â€™

â€˜Hang on a minute â€¦â€™ Dottie began again.

Peaches rounded on Dottie. â€˜You promised to go and see my Gary today. Didnâ€™t you go?â€™

Dottie saw Regâ€™s back stiffen and her heart almost stopped. What was she going to do now? If she said yes, he would have one of his moods. If she said no, Peaches would be distraught. For a second, her brain refused to function. Think, she told herself desperately, think. Say something. Say the right thing. They were both facing her now, one staring at her with a helpless expression and the other with that dark look in his eye.

â€˜Look, Dottie canâ€™t help the way she feels,â€™ said Reg, his eyes unmoving as they stared into her face. His words soft and measured.

â€˜But you did go and see him, didnâ€™t you, Dottie? You saw my baby?â€™

Dottie turned away. She lowered herself into a chair. Sheâ€™d have to lie. To placate Reg, sheâ€™d have to lie. Sheâ€™d go round to Peaches later, like she planned, and sheâ€™d explain why she had to do it. Peaches would understand.

â€˜Dottie?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid Reg is right,â€™ Dottie said quietly. â€˜I didnâ€™t go.â€™

â€˜But you promised,â€™ Peaches wailed. â€˜My poor baby. All alone â€¦â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s not that she doesnâ€™t care for the boy,â€™ Reg said, his voice as smooth as silk.

â€˜Oh yes,â€™ said Peaches her voice turning brittle, â€˜everybody cares.â€™ She snatched her arm away from Reg. â€˜If Iâ€™d known you werenâ€™t going,â€™ she shouted at Dottieâ€™s bowed head, â€˜I could have arranged for my mother to go. At least then my Gary would have had somebody with him. Iâ€™ll never forgive you for this, Dottie. Never.â€™

As she swept out of the back door, Dottie put her hands over her face and closed her eyes.

â€˜Donâ€™t upset yourself, Dot. It was for the best,â€™ Reg said as they heard the front gate banging shut. â€˜You did it for my Patsy.â€™

â€˜Patsy, your Patsy,â€™ Dottie burst out. â€˜You donâ€™t even know when sheâ€™s coming. Australia is thousands of miles away.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s coming.â€™

â€˜Even the boat takes six weeks.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s coming, I tell you.â€™

â€˜And how are we going to get the money to get her here?â€™

Reg clenched and unclenched his fists. â€˜Iâ€™ll get the money.â€™

Dottie blew her nose into her handkerchief. â€˜Peaches is my best friend.â€™

â€˜And Iâ€™m your bloody husband,â€™ he said sharply. He banged his fist on the table, making all the plates rattle. The sauce bottle fell over. â€˜Now stop this bloody racket and letâ€™s be having our tea.â€™

â€˜Where dâ€™you want it, Reg?â€™

Half an hour later, Michael Gilbertâ€™s cheery shout brought an angry and red-eyed Dottie from the scullery where she was washing the dishes.

â€˜Hello, Michael.â€™ She wiped her hands on her apron. â€˜What are you doing here?â€™

He gave her a long look and she knew he was wondering why sheâ€™d been crying. â€˜Reg asked me to bring some bales of hay round. You all right, Dottie?â€™

Michael was fond of Dottie. She joined the Land Girls on his fatherâ€™s farm in 1941. The Ministry of Fisheries and Food had already sent some local girls, Peaches Taylor, now Smith, Hilary Dolton-Walker (sheâ€™d ended up in Canada, he thought), Sylvie Draycot (sheâ€™d married a banker called McDonald, and lived in the New Forest somewhere) and Mary had done her bit too. There were others who came and went and heâ€™d be hard put to recall either their names or faces, except Molly Dawson of course. She stuck out in his mind only because sheâ€™d been killed in an air raid while home on leave in Coventry. As a kid, whenever heâ€™d looked at Dottie, he got a funny feeling at the pit of his stomach. Heâ€™d never understood it of course, but heâ€™d made up his mind that one day heâ€™d marry her. However, when she was eighteen and he was still only fourteen, she went and married Reg Cox. He didnâ€™t think of her in that way any more, but he was fond of her, like a sister. He didnâ€™t like to see her upset.

Dottie smiled, her eyes willing him not to ask any more questions. â€˜Reg is upstairs getting ready to go out.â€™

â€˜Oh no, Iâ€™m not, my darling,â€™ said Reg coming up behind her. â€˜Iâ€™m staying in tonight. Weâ€™ve got to get something sorted out about that bloody pig, havenâ€™t we?â€™

Dottieâ€™s heart sank. Sheâ€™d been planning to run over to Peachesâ€™ house as soon as Reg left for the Jolly Farmer.

â€˜Bring the rest of the bales down the garden, will you, Michael?â€™ said Reg pushing past her and grabbing the first bale from Michaelâ€™s hands. â€˜I reckon a dozen will do me. Got the chicken wire?â€™

Michael nodded. â€˜On the back of the trailer.â€™ He lingered a second or two. Dottie was aware that he was looking at her but she wouldnâ€™t meet his gaze. â€˜Iâ€™ll be right there.â€™

Silently, Dottie went back to the bowl to finish the washing up. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she could pop out while they were busy up the garden; but Reg soon put paid to that.

â€˜When youâ€™ve finished that, put the kettle on, Dot,â€™ he called cheerfully over his shoulder. â€˜Michael looks like a man dying of thirst.â€™

The two men set to work making a pen at one end of the chicken run for the pig but first they shut the chickens in the henhouse and put the pig on a rope tied to the old apple tree. When Dottie walked up the garden with two cups of tea, Reg was missing.

â€˜Where is he?â€™ she asked Michael furtively.

â€˜In the lavvy.â€™

Michael was at the back of the newly made pig run banging in the wooden posts. Dottie sidled up to him.

â€˜Listen, Michael, do me a favour, will you?â€™ She heard the bolt slide back on the lavatory door. Michael carried on banging. â€˜Itâ€™ll take too long to explain,â€™ she whispered urgently. â€˜Would you tell Peaches not to say anything to Reg but tell her I did go?â€™

Michael stopped banging. He readjusted a pin in his mouth and said, â€˜You what?â€™

She glanced nervously over her shoulder and realised it was too late. Reg was already coming back up the path.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, Dottie,â€™ said Michael. â€˜I missed that. What did you say?â€™

â€˜Do you have sugar in your tea? I canâ€™t remember.â€™

He gave her a quizzical look. â€˜No thanks.â€™

Reg took his cup and Dottie returned to the house. She went upstairs and looked out of the window. Michael was helping Reg staple the chicken wire onto the posts. Did she have time to get over to Peaches? She could if she got her bike out, but the bike was in the shed, and Reg would see her going in there. Sheâ€™d just made up her mind to chance it when Reg spotted her at the window and shouted, â€˜Bring us another cup of tea, Dot.â€™

Downstairs in the scullery again, Dottie wiped away her angry tears. Everything was going wrong. Reg wanted her to have his child and yet he didnâ€™t want her. She had upset her best friend and if she didnâ€™t explain everything to Peaches as soon as possible, sheâ€™d never repair the damage done. And on top of all that, there would be another row when she told Reg about Sylvie coming.

Twelve thousand miles away, Brenda Nichols shielded her eyes from the sunâ€™s glare with her hand as she watched the Flying Doctorâ€™s plane bank and circle the homestead. As it finally came in to land, the red earth exploded into a cloud of hot dry dust, which set up a swirling trail behind it.

Their radio call had been very specific. â€˜We have to make Muloorina before nightfall. Can you make sure everybodyâ€™s ready to meet the doctor on the airstrip? Over.â€™

Brenda pressed the control button. â€˜This is 8 EM. Everyone is here, Doc. I have five patients for you. Baby Christopher Patterson for a Salk inoculation, little Mandy Dickson wants some cough medicine because her chest is bad again, Taffy Knowles needs you to look at his toe. He reckons a snake bit him but I think heâ€™s got an ingrowing toenail. Dick Rawlings has a cut in his finger that will need a couple of stitches and Mick Saul has another ear infection. Shall I have some tea ready for you? Over.â€™

â€˜Right on, Bren.â€™ She could hear the smile in his voice. â€˜Out.â€™

The plane taxied towards them and came to a stop. They all waited for a few minutes before the door opened and Doc Landers, wearing his now familiar brown Tyrolean hat, given to him by a grateful patient, climbed onto the steps.

Brenda had put a white sheet over the table on the veranda and it was here that the doctor set up his makeshift surgery. As usual Brendaâ€™s diagnoses were correct and it didnâ€™t take him long to dish out the medicine and insert a few stitches into the cut. As soon as heâ€™d finished he sank back into a chair and Brenda put the kettle on.

The homestead in the Australian outback was a far cry from her nursing job in England where she had risen to the position of sister at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Boscombe. Never one to rest on her laurels, Brenda had joined the army and travelled to the Far East. When war broke out, she was in Singapore and the trouble in Europe seemed a million miles away. She had been lucky enough to fall in love with Burt Nichols in â€™41, a year before the Japanese overran the colony and she was safely in his hometown of Murnpeowie celebrating her marriage when the advancing forces trapped the rest of her friends and colleagues. Because theyâ€™d both come through the war unscathed, Brenda was a great believer in luck.

She thought her luck had run out when Burt got ill so soon after their return, but then she found the homestead, where they now eked out a living. Brenda put the teapot down in front of him. â€˜Howâ€™s your mum, Doc?â€™

â€˜Going for more tests.â€™

â€˜Sounds ominous?â€™ She pushed a cup of tea in front of him.

â€˜Nobodyâ€™s saying much but it sounds to me like she wonâ€™t be able to take care of herself for much longer.â€™

â€˜Oh, Iâ€™m real sorry about that, Doc. Does this mean youâ€™ll be leaving?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll hang around a while longer and see what the results are first.â€™

Brenda handed him a big piece of her legendary Victoria sponge cake. â€˜Did you bring any post for me, Doc?â€™

â€˜A few bits and pieces,â€™ he smiled. â€˜Bills mostly.â€™

Brenda pursed her lips. â€˜Nothing from England?â€™

The doctor shook his head. â€˜Definitely nothing from there.â€™ He leaned forwards and patted her arm. â€˜Save yourself the trouble of worrying, Brenda. Youâ€™ll never hear from that bloke again.â€™

â€˜I canâ€™t let it go, Doc,â€™ said Brenda. â€˜I promised the kidâ€™s mother.â€™

â€˜What are we talking about?â€™ asked Alf the pilot as he pushed his plate forward for a piece of Brendaâ€™s cake. â€˜Or is it private?â€™

â€˜Brendaâ€™s looking after a little kid. She belonged to a friend of hers who died. Sheâ€™s trying to trace the kidâ€™s father.â€™

Alf pulled a face. â€˜Local, is he?â€™

â€˜A British Tommy,â€™ said Brenda. â€˜Got her in the family way in â€™42. Iâ€™ve got the name and address of a pub where they used to meet.â€™

â€˜Blimey,â€™ said Alf. â€˜What makes you think heâ€™d even want the kid after all this time?â€™

â€˜I dunno,â€™ said Brenda. â€˜Maybe he wonâ€™t. I donâ€™t think heâ€™s ever seen her but I just wanted to do whatâ€™s right by her, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜How long since you wrote?â€™ asked Alf, sticking his mug out for some more tea.

â€˜Five weeks.â€™ She looked at the Doctor. â€˜Thatâ€™s time enough for a reply isnâ€™t it, Doc?â€™

â€˜I should think so. He obviously doesnâ€™t want to know. Forget it, Bren. Youâ€™ve done your best.â€™

Brenda went to the window where she could see the children swarming around the plane. â€˜I canâ€™t, Doc. I promised.â€™

â€˜Why donâ€™t you and Burt keep her? You both love kids.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d let her stay here, Doc, you know that, but what sort of a chance will she have around here? And besides, I have to think of my own. You told me yourself my Burt is only going to get worse. When heâ€™s gone, Iâ€™ll have four to look after on my own. I canâ€™t take care of Sandyâ€™s girl, no matter how much I want to.â€™

â€˜You can always put her in a home,â€™ Alf said.

â€˜I donâ€™t want to do that if I can help it,â€™ Brenda sighed. â€˜The kid should be with her own. If I canâ€™t do anything else for Sandy, I can at least try to get her kid back with her father.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™ve got a big heart, Bren,â€™ said Alf admiringly.

â€˜The warâ€™s been over for six years,â€™ said the doctor, standing up and picking up his bag. â€˜How dâ€™you know he wasnâ€™t killed somewhere?â€™

â€˜Or that heâ€™s married someone else,â€™ said Alf.

Brenda looked down at her feet. Those were both possibilities, she knew that, but something deep down inside her told her she still had to try.

They walked out to the landing strip together and the kids scattered like rabbits.

â€˜Which one is she?â€™

â€˜The little one with the ribbon in her hair,â€™ Brenda said.

â€˜Sweet kid,â€™ said Alf. â€˜Thanks for the tea.â€™

â€˜If you do hear from her dad, be careful,â€™ Doc Landers cautioned. â€˜Sheâ€™s had a lot to contend with, what with her mother dying and all. Donâ€™t raise her hopes too high.â€™

â€˜I wonâ€™t,â€™ said Brenda. â€˜All the best, Doc. I hope your mum turns out to be all right.â€™

Doc Landers gave her a mock salute.

â€˜Best of luck,â€™ Alf called as he closed the plane door.

Grim-faced, Brenda nodded. She knew only too well that if she were going to find Patricia a home of her own, she was going to need all the luck in the world.

Twelve

Mrs Fitzgerald was out. Sheâ€™d left a note on the kitchen table. Dottie, give the doctor his coffee after surgery. Thereâ€™s some cold meat and salad in the fridge for his lunch. The downstairs windows need cleaning. M.F.

Dottieâ€™s stomach went into an immediate knot. That meant that once surgery was over, sheâ€™d be alone in the house with Dr Fitzgerald. Apart from when he saw Gary the day he got sick, Dottie had avoided him. She couldnâ€™t risk a recurrence of what had happened when heâ€™d given her a lift back home the night of Josephineâ€™s wedding. She had dreaded being on her own with him again, but now she had no choice.

As she went about her work, she was rehearsing over and over in her mind what she would say when she finally came face to face with him. Would he try it on again? No, he was drunk the night of the wedding. He probably regretted what heâ€™d done. But then the thought of his podgy fingers groping around under her skirt and his whisky-saturated breath in her face came flooding back, making her feel sick.

The house was back to normal after the wedding. Keith was back in boarding school and all Miss Josephineâ€™s things had been sent to her new house in Fittleworth. In fact, her old bedroom was being converted into another guest room. Mrs Fitzgerald had chosen pale yellow walls to contrast with the new fabric she had bought in London, a bold geometric design of white â€˜hourglassâ€™ shapes, shot through with black on a red background. It was bang up-to-date. Ever since the Festival of Britain, contemporary lines, bright colours and geometric designs had become all the rage.

Sheâ€™d asked Dottie to make a bedspread, eiderdown, curtains with tiebacks and a blind for the window, all in the same material. To Dottie, the fabric was amazing and she couldnâ€™t wait to begin work on it. She rubbed it between her fingers, loving just the feel of it. After so long using utility material or â€˜making-do-and-mendingâ€™, it would be a real treat to cut into a fabric which had never been used for anything else before, a fabric at the height of fashion and at the forefront of modern design.

Thrilled to bits that Mariah was going to trust her with something so lovely, Dottie was determined to prove she could do a fantastic job. Mariah usually had her curtains and other furnishings done by Bentalls, so this was Dottieâ€™s big chance. Mariah had discovered Dottieâ€™s talents about six weeks ago when sheâ€™d popped round to the cottage to collect a couple of jars of jam she had been promised for her mother. Dottie invited her in, and Mariah had been amazed by the transformation in Aunt Bessieâ€™s cottage.

â€˜Where did you buy these curtains?â€™ sheâ€™d exclaimed. â€˜And that bolster cushion â€¦ and the fire-screen â€¦?â€™

When Dottie confessed to making them, Mariah had found it hard to believe, but now she was confident enough in Dottieâ€™s abilities to ask her to refurbish Miss Josephineâ€™s old room. The only trouble was, she wanted it finished in time for her brotherâ€™s yearly visit at the end of September.

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid it will take a bit longer than that,â€™ Dottie told her firmly.

Mariah had threatened to go elsewhere, but Dottie was no fool. Sending away for the job would mean they would have to send someone around to measure up (these big firms never believed your own measurements), and relying on the post. All that would take twice as long and probably cost her three times as much. In the end, theyâ€™d agreed that the room would be finished by October 11th at the latest.

Once the master bedroom had been cleaned, Dottie left the linoleum along the landing. There seemed little point in polishing it. The decorators were coming in tomorrow to start on the yellow walls and theyâ€™d be tramping back and forth.

When she got back downstairs, Dottie glanced at the clock. 10.35. The morning surgery must be nearly over. Sheâ€™d make a start on the windows downstairs and then she could keep an eye on the waiting room at the same time. The doctor would want his morning coffee before he went out on his rounds.

The waiting room for the surgery was on the side of the house, so there was no need for patients to come to the house itself. They could walk up the driveway and go straight into the waiting room. The doctor would call in the next patient as the previous patient went out. It was up to Dottie to guess when surgery was finished, but before she went in she would also have to take the added precaution of listening at the connecting door between the house and the surgery to make sure no one was still in there having a consultation.

She was outside washing the windows when she saw old Sam Taylor coming down the driveway. Dottie smiled at the aged road sweeper. Out in all weathers, old Sam was a regular visitor to the surgery, especially in the winter when his cough got bad.

â€˜Glad I seen you, mâ€™dear,â€™ said Sam cheerily and Dottie came down the small stepladder. â€˜Will you thank your Reg for me?â€™

Dottie was puzzled. â€˜What for?â€™

â€˜For the tatters. He left a bag on my doorstep.â€™

Reg often did things for people. It was his one redeeming feature. â€˜Yes, yes of course.â€™

The old man patted Dottieâ€™s hand. â€˜Good man, your Reg.â€™

â€˜Any more left in the surgery, Sam?â€™ she smiled.

â€˜Just Mrs Reid,â€™ said Sam touching the front of his cap politely. â€˜She be the last.â€™

Dottie put down her cloth and walked indoors. Sheâ€™d already poured some Camp Coffee into a cup and the milk was in the saucepan. Trying to ignore the growing tightness in her stomach, she watched it boil and then poured it onto the dark liquid, stirring vigorously. He had one sugar â€“ sheâ€™d worked there long enough to know that â€“ but she put the sugar bowl onto a small tray covered with a tray cloth rather than adding it herself.

As she waited outside the connecting door, she heard low voices before Mrs Reid said, â€˜Thank you very much, Doctor.â€™

The surgery door closed and Dottie knocked softly.

â€˜Come in.â€™

Brisk and business-like, Dottie swept in with the tray.

â€˜Dottie!â€™ She was a little unsure of the tone of his voice but her throat tightened as he rose to his feet, pen in hand. Dottie laid the tray on the desk in front of him and stepped back smartly.

â€˜I think you should know, someone saw you trying to kiss me on the night of your daughterâ€™s wedding,â€™ she said coldly.

She saw the colour drain from his face and he glanced anxiously at the waiting room door. He was obviously worried that Mrs Reid might overhear them but Dottie wasnâ€™t too concerned. Mrs Reid was as deaf as a post. He looked back at her and seemed surprised by her boldness.

â€˜Dottie, I want to explain â€¦â€™ he began, his voice soft and his eyes lowered.

â€˜Touch me again,â€™ she glared, â€˜and me and my witness will be round to see PC Kipling.â€™

He stared like a startled rabbit caught in the glare of a carâ€™s headlamps and swallowed hard.

She turned on her heel and, head held high, she swept back out of the room, and closed the door quietly. Once outside in the corridor, however, her knees began to shake and she was trembling all over. She waited a second or two until her rapid heartbeat calmed a little. A slow smile crept across her face and she closed her eyes with relief. There, that should do it. Crisis over. The dirty old basket valued his reputation in the village too much to try it on again.

â€˜Seventy pounds!â€™

Regâ€™s brow was furrowed yet again. Dottie sighed. Earlier, with Michael Gilbertâ€™s wedding less than a week away, sheâ€™d asked him if Sylvie could come, but sheâ€™d obviously chosen the wrong moment. Just as sheâ€™d feared, heâ€™d flatly refused.

They were out in the garden in the warm evening and Reg was gathering the last of the runner beans; he planned to leave the rest to mature into seeds for next year. He had just been saying that it had been a reasonable year for the garden, despite the weather, and Dottie chose this moment to say what else was on her mind.

â€˜Thatâ€™s what I said, the fare to Australia is seventy pounds.â€™

Dottie was picking the first blackberries from the wild branches which grew at the very end of the garden. The ground beyond the brambles was kept fallow because years of using the same few feet of land over and over again had made it unusable.

Reg stopped picking the beans and came from between the rows to stand in front of her. â€˜Have you been talking about my business with someone?â€™ he challenged.

â€˜No â€¦â€™ Dottie protested. He moved his head on one side and she knew he didnâ€™t believe her. â€˜Reg, I promise you I havenâ€™t said anything,â€™ Dottie continued, â€˜Itâ€™s just that in her letter Sylvie was talking about a friend of theirs who is going over to Australia on the ten-pound passage. She was saying what a brave thing it was and how it was a wonderful opportunity to go all that way for just ten pounds, so when I wrote back, I asked her how much the real fare was and she said seventy pounds.â€™

Reg looked at her, expressionless. He said nothing so Dottie ploughed on. She had to make him see how impossible his dream was going to be. â€˜Itâ€™s going to cost us that much to get Patricia over here.â€™

â€˜Then weâ€™ll save for it,â€™ he said.

â€˜And how long is that going to take us?â€™ she cried desperately.

â€˜Itâ€™ll take as long as it takes!â€™

As she watched him striding back up the garden with the beans in his arms, her heart sank. She didnâ€™t know what to feel any more, she was so mixed up. She could see his frustration and there were times, like now, when she felt a twinge of sympathy for him, but nothing altered the fact that she didnâ€™t want this child in her home. She sighed. Sheâ€™d have to talk to him again â€¦ make him understand how she felt. It had taken a lot of courage to stand up to Dr Fitzgerald, but sheâ€™d done it. She smiled to herself as she recalled the look on his face. Well, if she could stand up to a man like him, she could stand up to Reg. He wouldnâ€™t like it, and it wouldnâ€™t be very easy, but sheâ€™d have to try. Full of determination, Dottie picked up her bowlful of blackberries and followed him back to the house.

Reg was a man of few words; he always had been. Sylvie always said he was â€˜all buttoned upâ€™ but up until now Dottie had accepted that talking about things wasnâ€™t his way. At times he seemed to relish being awkward. She could put up with his moods â€“ they didnâ€™t happen too often â€“ but it was harder to deal with the silences and the sulks.

As she reached the back door she could see him through the kitchen window, sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. She paused and all at once it hit her. This was breaking his heart. Heâ€™d had so little in life before she met him. Heâ€™d been abandoned as a child, heâ€™d told her. Heâ€™d never known a motherâ€™s love. When Dottie had said sheâ€™d go out with him, heâ€™d been the perfect gent. Even though Aunt Bessie never liked him, he always treated her right and he was keen to be part of the family. Look how excited heâ€™d been on their wedding day, running around the whole house and telling her this was the first time heâ€™d had his own home. As they lay in bed in that little guesthouse in Eastbourne, theyâ€™d talked about having children. She was being selfish, wasnâ€™t she? Just because she couldnâ€™t have children didnâ€™t alter the fact that he had a child, a child without a mother on the other side of the world, and it was breaking his heart. How could she do this to him? Just because she couldnâ€™t have what she wanted, should she deny her husband the one thing that would make him happy? All right, it upset her to think about Elizabeth Johns with Reg, but she could get over it and perhaps he was right. If Patsy came, theyâ€™d be a family at last.

Dottie smiled as a picture of Patsy formed in her mind. Sheâ€™d be wearing a little gingham dress, blue and white with a pretty gathered skirt and white Peter Pan collar. Sheâ€™d have white socks and a ribbon in her hair.

Reg glanced up and saw her smiling. â€˜What are you staring at?â€™ he said acidly. â€˜Having a good laugh at my expense, are you?â€™

She hurried inside. â€˜No, Reg,â€™ she protested. â€˜I was trying to imagine what Patsy looks like. Oh Reg, Iâ€™m sorry. Iâ€™ve been a selfish cow. Weâ€™ll save up for her. Weâ€™ll work all the hours God sends until we get the money.â€™

He rose to his feet, his whole face enveloped with a smile. â€˜Dâ€™you really mean it, Dot?â€™

â€˜Yes, dear, of course I do.â€™

He took her into his arms and hugged her. Dottie snuggled into his wiry embrace. Why couldnâ€™t it be like this more often? â€˜But first we have to talk,â€™ she went on.

He pushed her away, roughly. â€˜Oh, I might have guessed thereâ€™d be a catch.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s not that,â€™ she said, â€˜but weâ€™ve got to make a good story for the people around here.â€™

â€˜Story?â€™ he thundered. â€˜What are you talking about? Sheâ€™s my kid, simple as that.â€™

â€˜Fine,â€™ said Dottie, â€˜but howâ€™s she going to feel when everyone knows sheâ€™s Reg Coxâ€™s bastard?â€™

His face paled and he sat back down. She laid her hand over his. â€˜Weâ€™ve got to make something up, something everyone can believe, but something that wonâ€™t hurt her.â€™ She sat opposite him and waited but he seemed to have been struck dumb. â€˜I think the simpler we make it the better,â€™ she went on. â€˜Letâ€™s just tell people we wanted to adopt a child and a friend in Australia has found us one.â€™

â€˜What if the welfare people come snooping?â€™

â€˜Let them,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜As long as you make sure they send over all her papers with her itâ€™ll be fine. Youâ€™ll have her birth certificate with your name on it, wonâ€™t you? If anyone says anything, youâ€™ll be able to prove sheâ€™s yours.â€™

â€˜Then itâ€™ll still get out,â€™ said Reg gloomily. â€˜One of them might talk and itâ€™ll be all over the village in no time.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t see why,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜The welfare people arenâ€™t supposed to talk about other peopleâ€™s private business and, besides, once you show them youâ€™re her legal father, theyâ€™ll have no reason to gossip about her, will they? As long as you donâ€™t show them our wedding certificate theyâ€™ll probably assume Elizabeth Johns was your first wife. We can tell Patsy the whole story as soon as sheâ€™s old enough to understand.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™ve got it all worked out, havenâ€™t you?â€™ he said with a sneer.

â€˜Iâ€™ve done a bit of thinking, thatâ€™s all. One thing puzzles me though.â€™

He looked up, startled.

â€˜Was she Australian?â€™

â€˜Who?â€™

â€˜Elizabeth Johns. Was she from Australia? I mean, what was she doing in Burma?â€™

â€˜She worked in the NAAFI,â€™ Reg said quickly. He turned away quickly and reached for his newspaper. Blimey, he hadnâ€™t thought sheâ€™d start trying to work things out.

â€˜In the NAAFI?â€™ said Dottie. â€˜What, in Burma?â€™

â€˜Leave it out, Dot,â€™ snapped Reg. â€˜You know what those memories do to me.â€™

â€˜Yes, Iâ€™m sorry.â€™

They sat for a moment without saying anything. Dottie watched him rubbing the back of his hand in an agitated way. â€˜I met her in India, if you must know,â€™ he said. â€˜I was taken there when I was ill, remember?â€™

The explanation didnâ€™t really satisfy her. She wanted to ask more. What was an Australian woman doing in India? How did he meet her? What was she like? But heâ€™d put the paper up in front of his face.

She touched his hand. â€˜I didnâ€™t mean to upset you, Reg. Everything will be fine.â€™

â€˜Course it will,â€™ he said, relaxing.

â€˜Good,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Now all weâ€™ve got to worry about is getting the money together for the fare.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve already got that worked out,â€™ said Reg. â€˜The pig can go to market. Thatâ€™ll fetch a bob or two. Michael Gilbert says it might fetch a tenner if we leave it till Christmas, but weâ€™ve still got to feed it.â€™

â€˜Reg,â€™ Dottie said, â€˜we need seventy pounds.â€™

His face fell again.

â€˜But youâ€™re right. Weâ€™ll manage,â€™ she said quickly. â€˜Iâ€™ve got a bit saved.â€™

â€˜You?â€™ He sounded really surprised.

She nodded. â€˜Iâ€™ve got seventeen pounds saved.â€™ And I would have had another ten bob, she thought ruefully, if I hadnâ€™t had to pay Ann Pearce for her silence.

â€˜Seventeen quid,â€™ Reg gasped. â€˜Where did you get that kind of money from?â€™

â€˜I sold some of my sewing.â€™

â€˜Somebody paid you for that stupid rubbish?â€™

She willed herself to stay calm. â€˜Well, they didnâ€™t think it was rubbish when they bought it,â€™ she said indignantly, â€˜and I got seventeen pounds for my trouble.â€™

â€˜Pah!â€™ he said scornfully. â€˜Some people have more money than sense.â€™

â€˜Seventeen pounds is still a long way from seventy,â€™ she said, glad that she hadnâ€™t told him about the fifty-four pounds sheâ€™d got in her Post Office savings bank.

â€˜What about your friend Sylvie?â€™ he went on. â€˜Canâ€™t you butter her up for a loan?â€™

Dottie paused. â€˜Well, I donâ€™t know when I shall see her again, do I?â€™ she said cautiously. â€˜Itâ€™s not the sort of thing you write in a letter, is it?â€™

Reg shrugged and picked up his paper again, shaking it irritably. Grabbing the runner beans, she took them outside into the scullery to start preparing them to bottle.

â€˜All right then,â€™ he called out. â€˜Tell Sylvie she can come.â€™

â€˜Thanks, Reg,â€™ she called back, willing her voice to stay level. â€˜I can ask her about the money when she comes.â€™

â€˜Just for the one night, mind,â€™ he added acidly. â€˜I donâ€™t want her cluttering up the place for days on end.â€™

Smiling to herself, Dottie licked the end of her finger and drew it down in front of her.

Dottie one, Reg nil.

Thirteen

Dottie decided not to argue with Reg about Sylvieâ€™s length of stay â€¦ for now. As soon as heâ€™d gone off to the pub on Sunday evening, she sat down and wrote back to Sylvie, inviting her to come Friday 7th and stay over until Sunday afternoon. As she licked down the envelope, Dottie could hardly contain her excitement.

Ann Pearce was leaning on the gate as Dottie came back from the post box.

â€˜My gas has gone out again,â€™ she said. â€˜I wondered if you might have a couple of quid spare.â€™

Dottie looked at her coldly. â€˜No, I havenâ€™t.â€™

â€˜My kids will go hungry if I donâ€™t get some money,â€™ Ann called after her receding back. â€˜I wouldnâ€™t want to have to take them to the doctor, would I? And you never know, if they go hungry all the time, they might get ill.â€™

Dottie stopped walking. This was getting beyond a joke. â€˜No.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d have no choice then,â€™ Ann went on. â€˜Iâ€™d have to go to the doctor.â€™

Dottie took in her breath as she turned around slowly. Ann was staring defiantly at her, her head up and a sneer on her lips.

â€˜Why are you doing this?â€™ Dottie demanded. â€˜If you want help, ask for it.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t need your charity,â€™ retorted Ann.

â€˜Fine.â€™

Dottie turned away but plainly Ann wasnâ€™t ready to see her go. â€˜Iâ€™ll tell the whole world about you, Mrs Bloody Perfect who isnâ€™t so perfect any more.â€™

Something inside Dottie snapped. â€˜If youâ€™re trying to scare me,â€™ she spat, â€˜youâ€™re doing a pretty poor job of it. Iâ€™ve done nothing to be ashamed of.â€™

â€˜Paid up pretty darned quick last time, didnâ€™t you?â€™ said Ann. â€˜Iâ€™d hardly call that the actions of an innocent party.â€™

â€˜If you want to go to Dr Fitzgerald, thatâ€™s fine,â€™ said Dottie walking back. â€˜Iâ€™ve just seen him off and Iâ€™ll do the same with you.â€™

â€˜Seen him off,â€™ said Ann. â€˜Donâ€™t make me laugh.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™ll not get another penny out of me.â€™ Dottie willed her voice not to quaver although her blood was already thumping so loudly in her ears, she felt as if the whole village could hear it.

â€˜You bitch!â€™ Ann shrieked.

Dottie was caught by surprise as the other woman grabbed hold of her hair. Her bun disintegrated almost immediately as Ann tugged at it with all her might. The gate was still between them but Ann mounted the bottom rung as the two of them wrestled. The pain in Dottieâ€™s head was almost unbearable. She desperately tried to prise Annâ€™s fingers away but they seemed to be becoming more and more entwined.

By now the pair of them were screaming at the tops of their voices. Most of it was incoherent, but the occasional â€˜Bitch!â€™ and â€˜Sodding liar!â€™ came from Ann and â€˜Let go, you cow â€¦â€™ from Dottie.

The fight came to an abrupt end when Dottie managed to slap Ann across her the side of her face, which made her lose her balance. As Dottie pulled away, Ann toppled over the gate and landed in a heap in the road.

Breathless, Dottie stepped back, her head throbbing with pain and her hair spilling all over her face and shoulders like a wild womanâ€™s.

To complete her surprise, instead of jumping up and coming for her again, Ann burst into tears. For a second, Dottie was tempted to leave her but something kept her rooted to the spot, although she felt it wise to keep her distance. She was nervous that if she bent over Ann she might grab her hair and start the fight all over again. She looked around helplessly.

There was nobody was in sight. Dottie thought she saw a curtain move in the house opposite, where Vera Carter lived, but nobody came out. When she looked at Annâ€™s house, she was horrified to see two tearstained faces staring out of the sitting room window. Annâ€™s little children, Brian and Phyllis, made a pathetic sight. Dressed only in grubby and holey vests, their little shoulders heaved up and down as, racked with sobs, they stared at their mother sitting in the road.

Dottie closed her eyes with shame. What a thing for the children to see. Their mother and her neighbour brawling in the street like a couple of tomcats.

â€˜Get up, Ann.â€™

Ann hit her hand away.

â€˜Ann, your kiddies are watching you,â€™ said Dottie quietly. â€˜Let me help you up.â€™

Ann struggled to her feet and Dottie helped her.

â€˜Do you really need money that badly?â€™ Dottie asked.

â€˜I canâ€™t go on much longer,â€™ Ann wept. Her guard was well and truly down. â€˜I get virtually nothing from the welfare. I canâ€™t get a job because thereâ€™s no one to look after the kids.â€™ She fumbled up her sleeve for a handkerchief and then blew her nose. â€˜You havenâ€™t a bloody clue, have you? I watch you and Mary and Peaches Smith swanning around in your pretty dresses and all you lot do is kick a dog when itâ€™s down.â€™

â€˜When did I do that?â€™ cried Dottie.

â€˜When you reported me,â€™ said Ann, obviously sensing the upper hand.

â€˜But I didnâ€™t!â€™ Dottie cried. She bit her lip. Obviously Ann didnâ€™t know it was Reg whoâ€™d reported her. As far as Dottie could see, heâ€™d done it out of spite.

â€˜When Lennie cleared off back to his wife,â€™ Ann went on. â€˜Me and the kids was left with nothing.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll lend you some money.â€™

But Ann wasnâ€™t listening. â€˜What did it matter to anybody what I was doing anyway?â€™ She was in full swing now. â€˜The kids were fed and well looked after. Lennie and me was happy. We might have even got married if we could have saved up for the divorce.â€™ She covered her face with the handkerchief.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I didnâ€™t know.â€™

It was getting dark. Reg would be back home in a minute. She glanced up the road anxiously. Heâ€™d go bananas if he saw them talking together.

Ann blew her nose again and, tugging at the front of her dress, she turned towards her house, mustering what little dignity she could.

Back in her own cottage, Dottie opened her tin of savings and took out five one-pound notes. That would keep Ann going for a bit. Damn Reg and his principles. She grabbed a couple of jars of jam from the dresser and stuffed some runner beans into a brown paper bag.

As she scraped her hair back into an untidy bun, she thought better of the jam and beans. If she rushed next door laden with all that stuff, Ann would probably slam the door in her face. After all, she had her pride.

A little later when she knocked on Annâ€™s door she heard the scampering of little feet and Brian opened the door. The grubby vest was all he was wearing.

â€˜Hello, Brian, is Mummy there?â€™

Ann appeared behind him. She looked startled. â€˜Go in the sitting room with Phyllis, Brian,â€™ she said sharply.

His eyes grew wide with fear and he hurried off.

â€˜What do you want?â€™ said Ann coldly.

â€˜Look,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I really am sorry.â€™ She reached for Annâ€™s hand and pressed the rolled-up notes in it.

Ann looked down and her face flamed with colour. â€˜I told you, I donâ€™t want your charity.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s not charity,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Itâ€™s a loan. Pay me back when you can.â€™

â€˜What will Reg say?â€™

â€˜What Reg doesnâ€™t know, canâ€™t hurt him,â€™ said Dottie turning to leave.

â€˜Dottie â€¦â€™ Ann called after her.

Dottie turned. Annâ€™s eyes were filled with tears and her chin was quivering. â€˜Thank you,â€™ she choked.

Fourteen

Late the following Friday afternoon, Dottie was drumming her fingers at the kitchen table. Sheâ€™d been like a cat on a hot brick all day. Sheâ€™d got up very early, swept the house, dusted everywhere, gone over all the rugs with the Bex-Bissell and then gone to work at the Fitzgeraldsâ€™. Sheâ€™d arranged with Mariah to have the afternoon off because today was the day Sylvie was coming. Michael Gilbertâ€™s wedding was tomorrow.

Mariah had grudgingly given her the time off, but remarked that she hoped Dottie would find time over the weekend to do some more of the furnishings. Dottie couldnâ€™t wait to show Sylvie what she was doing.

Back home by lunchtime, Dottie got out the best tablecloth and her best china. A few late roses made the room smell nice and the table looked perfect, even if she did say so herself. After that, sheâ€™d started fiddling. There was a loose thread on the curtain that needed sewing in. The cushions on the easy chairs needed plumping up and once sheâ€™d done that, she thought it would be better if the floral cushion was on top of the plain one; but when she sat down at the table again, she decided the floral cushion looked a bit flash, and it would look better the other way around.

Dottie had been so excited about her friend coming. She had prepared the second bedroom with great care. The sheets on the single bed were ironed with knife-edge creases. Sheâ€™d given Sylvie her best patchwork counterpane, the one sheâ€™d spent two years making, and sheâ€™d polished the sideboard to distraction. It was nowhere near the standard her friend was used to but Sylvie was never one to put on airs and graces. She may have come from a well-to-do background, but she never flaunted it.

As usual Dottie had used every spare minute she had preparing fruit and vegetables for jams and chutney. Her store cupboard boasted a large stock of plum jam, rhubarb and ginger jam, marrow and ginger jam, raspberry, blackcurrant and gooseberry jams and now she was concentrating on chutneys. Sheâ€™d already prepared some marrow chutney and soon sheâ€™d be looking for the ingredients and enough jam jars to make elderberry chutney.

Her recipes werenâ€™t as good as her auntâ€™s and rationing meant it was still hard to get the other ingredients she needed, but she could often get a few extra coupons from friends with the promise of a jar of something to come. She decorated each batch with matching jam pot covers, using any oddment of material too small to use for anything else.

She glanced at the clock. Sylvie would be here soon. The postman pushed a second-post letter through the letterbox and she jumped a mile high.

It was another letter from Australia, addressed to Reg. It was a bit fatter than last time and although she held it up to the light it was impossible to see what was inside.

A car horn tooted outside. Dottie jumped and took in her breath excitedly. â€˜Thatâ€™s Sylvie,â€™ she said out loud, even though she was alone in the house. â€˜Sheâ€™s here.â€™

Dottie ran outside where Sylvieâ€™s black Humber almost filled the narrow road. As Sylvie stepped out of the car, she looked so elegant she almost took Dottieâ€™s breath away. She was wearing an emerald green dress with a wide collar with scalloped edges which lay on her shoulders. The bodice was tight over her still perfect figure and at the waist she wore a small belt. Her shoes were doe-coloured, as was the clutch bag she leaned into the car to retrieve from the passenger seat. Her auburn hair was topped by a small green hat covered in layers of green tulle and as she walked towards Dottie, her petticoats rustled under her voluminous calf-length skirts.

â€˜Dottie, darling!â€™ The two women embraced warmly. â€˜Itâ€™s so good to see you again. Youâ€™re looking well.â€™

â€˜And you look fantastic,â€™ Dottie laughed.

Sylvie linked her arm through hers and they walked indoors. â€˜I love this little house,â€™ Sylvie said as she walked up the path, but then she gasped as she stepped over the threshold. â€˜Oh my goodness, Dottie! What have you done?â€™ She turned to look at her. â€˜It was really sweet when your aunt was alive, but now youâ€™ve made it look absolutely wonderful.â€™

She gazed around, taking in the neat chairs with their crisp backs, the open fireplace filled with autumn flowers and the table with its embroidered tablecloth and pretty tea service. Sylvie walked over to the dresser with its jams and chutneys, and began examining the labels.

â€˜Have you done all these yourself? Wherever do you find the time?â€™

Dottie was delighted that Sylvie was so impressed. â€˜You must take something back with you when you go,â€™ she said as she absentmindedly put the letter for Reg on the table. â€˜Tea?â€™

â€˜Yes please,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Iâ€™m gasping.â€™

Dottie put on the gas. The water was almost ready â€“ in fact sheâ€™d already boiled it at least three times in anticipation of her friendâ€™s arrival.

â€˜Where is Reg?â€™ asked Sylvie, opening her bag and taking out an elegant cigarette holder.

â€˜Heâ€™s working until six,â€™ Dottie called from the scullery.

â€˜Oh good,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜That gives us plenty of time for girl talk.â€™

Dottie giggled. She re-emerged with the teapot and put in on the cork tablemat before covering it with a cosy. As she sat down opposite her friend, Sylvie reached out and touched her hand. â€˜Itâ€™s so good to see you again.â€™

Dottie looked down at Sylvieâ€™s long bronze-tipped fingernails and smooth hands and smiled shyly. â€˜And you.â€™

â€˜So tell me,â€™ said Sylvie lighting up her Craven A, â€˜Howâ€™s tricks? No sign of a family yet?â€™

Dottie busied herself with the tea. â€˜Not yet,â€™ she said quietly. â€˜How are your children?â€™

â€˜Growing like weeds,â€™ said Sylvie, her face lighting up. â€˜Hugh is seven now and off to prep school soon. Rosemary is five and a little pickle. Robin canâ€™t do enough for them. Thereâ€™s one thing Iâ€™ll say for him, Robin has been an amazing father.â€™

â€˜So youâ€™re really happy then,â€™ said Dottie pushing the cup and saucer in front of her.

â€˜I think so.â€™

Dottie laughed. â€˜Only think so?â€™

Sylvie shrugged. â€˜You know how it is, darling. You long for Prince Charming and finally he comes along. You get married and settle down and have his children but you always wonder if there isnâ€™t a bit more to life.â€™ She chuckled at Dottieâ€™s confusion. â€˜Donâ€™t get me wrong, darling. I still love Robin. I get a bit bored, thatâ€™s all.â€™

Dottie placed an ashtray in front of her and they sipped their tea. â€˜Iâ€™ve told Michael and Mary that youâ€™re coming.â€™

â€˜I canâ€™t wait to see them,â€™ smiled Sylvie. â€˜How are they?â€™

â€˜Mary is all right. Still trying to lose weight.â€™

â€˜Oh dear,â€™ Sylvie chuckled. â€˜Iâ€™m afraid that might be a losing battle!â€™

â€˜And Iâ€™m afraid you wonâ€™t see Peaches,â€™ Dottie went on. â€˜She canâ€™t be at the wedding.â€™

Sylvie seemed to pick up on Dottieâ€™s sadness. â€˜Why, whatâ€™s wrong?â€™

Dottie took a minute or two to explain what had happened to Gary.

â€˜How perfectly ghastly!â€™ cried Sylvie. â€˜But I must say, Iâ€™m surprised that Reg was so concerned about you getting the disease. I never had him down as the caring type.â€™

â€˜Oh Sylvie, youâ€™re not going to start saying horrible things about him, are you?â€™

â€˜No â€¦ no of course not.â€™ Sylvie hesitated. â€˜So how is Gary now? I mean, is there any sign of lasting damage?â€™

â€˜They donâ€™t know yet.â€™

â€˜And what about Peaches? I take it that by now youâ€™ve managed to tell her you did go to see Gary?â€™

Dottie shook her head. â€˜I never seem to be able to catch her.â€™

â€˜Write to her,â€™ said Sylvie.

Dottie looked up and smiled. â€˜Yes, I suppose I should. Iâ€™m not thinking very straight, am I? Why didnâ€™t I think of that before?â€™

â€˜Howâ€™s Reg?â€™ Sylvie said holding up his letter. â€˜Not thinking of going off to Australia, is he?â€™

Dottie could feel her face burning. She hesitated. She had to ask Sylvie about the money but this seemed like neither the time or the place. Sheâ€™d only just got in the door.

â€˜Letâ€™s get your case in first, shall we?â€™ she said brightly. â€˜Iâ€™m dying for you to see your bedroom.â€™

Sylvie looked her very intently. She wasnâ€™t stupid. Something was wrong, something Dottie wasnâ€™t telling her, but she wouldnâ€™t press her just yet. Instead, she stubbed out her cigarette and followed Dottie out to the Humber.

It took longer to bring her things in than they thought. She might only have been staying for a couple of nights, but Sylvie had two suitcases. They were both very heavy and the stairs were steep.

â€˜I couldnâ€™t make up my mind what to bring,â€™ Sylvie apologised as they struggled into the bedroom. â€˜Thereâ€™s a present for Michael in that one.â€™

â€˜I think heâ€™s already got a kitchen sink,â€™ Dottie quipped as she heaved one case onto the bed.

â€˜This is a lovely room,â€™ said Sylvie looking around. â€˜Youâ€™ve got a real flair for decoration.â€™

â€˜It was Aunt Bessieâ€™s room,â€™ said Dottie. Seeing Sylvieâ€™s anxious glance, she added, â€˜but itâ€™s OK, she didnâ€™t die in here.â€™

â€˜No, of course not.â€™

Dottie sat on the bed. â€˜I found her at the bottom of the stairs.â€™

It had come as a great shock to everybody when Aunt Bessie had fallen down the stairs eighteen months before. How ironic that it happened on the very day Reg had an extra duty at the station and Dottie was working in the Coopersâ€™ shop. Although they said her death was instantaneous, Dottie still fretted that Aunt Bessie had lain there, injured and alone before she died.

Sylvie squeezed her arm. â€˜It must have been awful for you. She was such a sweet old thing.â€™

â€˜Not that old as it happens,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜She was only sixty-one. They reckon she must have tripped at the top of the stairs. If only I had come home for lunch that day I might have saved her.â€™

â€˜She died of her injuries?â€™

â€˜They said she broke her neck,â€™ Dottie said, â€˜and that it was instantaneous. I hope thatâ€™s true.â€™

â€˜Oh darling, I canâ€™t imagine how awful it was for you,â€™ said Sylvie squeezing Dottieâ€™s elbow. â€˜Poor Aunt Bessie. Her death must have affected you dreadfully.â€™

â€˜Me and Reg,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜He was ill for weeks afterwards. He still doesnâ€™t like coming into this room. It upsets him too much. He says it makes him feel jumpy.â€™

Sylvie raised her eyebrow. â€˜What a pity Aunt Bessie wonâ€™t be around for Michaelâ€™s wedding,â€™ she said sadly. â€˜We would have had some real laughs together.â€™

Dottie smiled.

Sylvie unlocked one of the suitcases. â€˜Whatâ€™s the bride like?â€™

â€˜Freda? Sheâ€™s nice enough,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜She did all the running but I think sheâ€™ll make Michael a good wife. She works in the greengrocerâ€™s. Thatâ€™s how they met really. Her father wanted the farm potatoes, Michael delivered twice a week, and the rest, as they say, is history.â€™

â€˜Is she pretty?â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s not exactly a beauty, if you know what I mean, but she looks a picture in her wedding dress.â€™

â€˜You made it, I suppose.â€™

â€˜As a matter of fact she bought it,â€™ said Dottie, â€˜but I did a few alterations. They made their arrangements quite quickly.â€™

Sylvie gave her a knowing look and Dottie pushed her arm playfully. â€˜I didnâ€™t say anything and donâ€™t you say a word.â€™

â€˜As if I would â€¦â€™

â€˜As if â€¦â€™ Dottie smirked.

â€˜You know Michael has always been a bit in love with you, donâ€™t you?â€™ said Sylvie.

â€˜Donâ€™t talk daft,â€™ said Dottie scornfully.

â€˜Itâ€™s true, darling,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜The day you got married, he was absolutely devastated. After youâ€™d gone off on your honeymoon, we sat together in the old barn and had a long talk.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re joking.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not,â€™ Sylvie insisted. â€˜He didnâ€™t like Reg very much, jealousy I suppose, but he was terrified that youâ€™d be unhappy.â€™

â€˜I had no idea.â€™ Dottie shook her head. â€˜Whatever did you say?â€™

â€˜Havenâ€™t a clue,â€™ Sylvie shrugged, â€˜but being nineteen at the time, Iâ€™m sure I gave him the benefit of all my worldly wisdom because he soon got over it.â€™

They laughed.

â€˜We ended up drinking half a bottle of cider together,â€™ Sylvie giggled. â€˜He was quite sozzled by the time he left me.â€™

â€˜Oh Sylvie,â€™ Dottie laughed. â€˜Youâ€™re incorrigible.â€™

Sylvie threw open her case and Dottie gasped. On top she could see a floaty evening dress in pale blue. Sylvie moved it slightly aside, revealing another in apricot satin and, underneath both of them, two day dresses. Each had matching shoes and accessories. At the bottom of the case, there was a rayon nightdress, with matching bed jacket, and a pretty pair of slippers.

â€˜Where do you manage to get all the coupons?â€™ Dottie gasped.

â€˜I didnâ€™t,â€™ she said, holding up the blue gown. â€˜This one came from Paris.â€™

Dottie handed her some coat hangers. â€˜This one is gorgeous,â€™ she said, hanging up the pink satin dress by its waist loops.

â€˜Try it on,â€™ Sylvie suggested.

â€˜Really?â€™

â€˜I was rather hoping you would like it. Thatâ€™s why I brought it. Try it on.â€™

Breathlessly, Dottie clambered out of her own clothes and slipped it on. â€˜Itâ€™s amazing,â€™ she said, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

â€˜Itâ€™s yours,â€™ said Sylvie.

â€˜Oh no, I canâ€™t â€¦â€™

â€˜It looks better on you than me,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Really. You have it.â€™

Dottie flung her arms around Sylvie and kissed her cheek. â€˜Thank you, thank you.â€™

â€˜Dottie, I want you to be honest with me,â€™ said Sylvie gravely. â€˜Are you happy?â€™

Dottie turned her back. â€˜Can you undo me please?â€™

Sylvie unbuttoned the top of the dress and pulled down the zip. â€˜Thereâ€™s something wrong, isnâ€™t there? I can tell. Is it Reg? Something to do with that letter?â€™

â€˜Whatâ€™s the time?â€™ said Dottie glancing at the clock. â€˜Good heavens, itâ€™s almost five. I told Michaelâ€™s mum weâ€™d pick her up at five to take her to the village hall. Look, we havenâ€™t got time now. We really must go to the farm.â€™

â€˜But you will talk to me,â€™ Sylvie insisted.

â€˜I will, I promise.â€™ Dottie scrambled back into her own dress. â€˜Iâ€™ve got to get Regâ€™s tea ready and then we really must go.â€™

As Dottie hurried downstairs, Sylvie laid her underwear in one of the drawers and opened her second suitcase. She couldnâ€™t help worrying about Dottie. She seemed a little strained. Something was troubling her. Was it Reg? Sylvie had never been very sure about Reg. He always seemed as nice as pie in the village, but Sylvie wasnâ€™t so sure he was the same person behind closed doors.

She took out Michaelâ€™s present and laid it on the chair. Then she put the picture, a special present for Dottie, on the bedside table. Sheâ€™d give it to her another time. Smiling at the photograph of the three of them, she ran her finger over Aunt Bessieâ€™s face under the glass. Even though they had all lived in the same house, Sylvie knew only too well that Aunt Bessie and Reg had barely tolerated each other.

â€˜You never were happy with Dottieâ€™s marriage, were you, Aunt Bessie,â€™ Sylvie said to the picture. â€˜You and me both. Iâ€™ll tell you what though. Iâ€™ll make you a promise to get to the bottom of whatâ€™s troubling her during this weekend.â€™

Draping her cardigan around her shoulders, Sylvie turned towards the stairs. The one thing she hoped above all else was that Reg wasnâ€™t knocking Dottie about.

Fifteen

By the time Dottie, Sylvie and Michaelâ€™s mum, Edna, arrived at the village hall, Mary already had her husband Tom, along with greengrocer Cecil Hargreaves, father of the bride, and Steven Sullivan running around with trestle tables and unstacking chairs. Rose Hargreaves, Fredaâ€™s mother, had brought the cake stand for the wedding cake and some candles. Some other people from the village were there too, including Maggie, young Steven Sullivanâ€™s wife, who worked in the old folksâ€™ home on the edge of the green.

Everyone was thrilled to see Sylvie again but almost as soon as they all went back to work, Sylvie tottered back to her car. â€˜If youâ€™ll all excuse me, Iâ€™ve broken my nail. Iâ€™d better go and file it before I make a start.â€™

â€˜She hasnâ€™t changed,â€™ Mary muttered as she walked out of earshot. â€˜Still skiving.â€™

Dottie gave her a hefty nudge in the ribs and that started them on a fit of the giggles.

As is the case with the users of most village halls, there was a definite pecking order. Betty Cannington was in overall charge. She had been doing village â€˜dosâ€™ for the past twelve years. Sheâ€™d taken over from Florrie Hanson who had taken over from Emily Pulsford in 1933.

There were no written instructions and outsiders like Mrs Belski, a Polish immigrant living in the village, found it difficult to understand the workings of the village hall kitchen. She was at a loss to know who did what, but Dottie and her friends understood perfectly. Everyone knew where everything was, and that Betty was the one who had the ultimate say in where things should go and how things should be done. â€˜Weâ€™ve always done it this way,â€™ was her watchword.

â€˜All right if I put the cups and saucers here on the top, Betty?â€™

â€˜When we did old Mrs Grovesâ€™ funeral,â€™ Betty said, â€˜we found it worked better if they were on this side of the urn.â€™

Mrs Groves had died in 1943.

Of course, whoever was organising the â€˜doâ€™ was allowed to put her own small stamp of change on certain things, but everyone was careful not to upset Betty, or it would be the worse for them if they wanted to hire the hall on another occasion.

Edna and Rose decided the hall should be arranged with a top table for the wedding party and two long side tables for the forty wedding guests. Sylvie, Mary and Dottie covered each of the trestles with white bedsheets decorated with bunting, while Rose and Edna worked amicably together on a small table slightly set apart from the others, on which the cake was to be cut.

â€˜How are the kids?â€™ Dottie asked Mary.

â€˜Back at school,â€™ said Mary. She put a pin in her mouth and bent down to put some of the bunting in place. â€˜Billyâ€™s doing his mock eleven plus in a few weeks.â€™

Dottie smiled. â€˜Heâ€™s bound to pass. Heâ€™s a clever boy.â€™

Mary swelled with pride. They stopped talking as they concentrated on fixing another loop of bunting to the sheet. â€˜Thatâ€™ll give you a bit of time to yourself then,â€™ said Dottie, smoothing out a sheet and making sure the edges were even on both sides of the table.

â€˜Christopher and Connie are still at home, of course. Theyâ€™re not quite four, but the others are all at school. I miss them when theyâ€™re not there. So do the twins. The place seems so quiet.â€™

â€˜I was wondering,â€™ Dottie ventured. â€˜How would you feel about looking after somebody elseâ€™s kids while they were at work?â€™

Mary looked up and stuck the pin in her finger. â€˜Ow! Dottie are you â€¦? Youâ€™re not â€¦?â€™

Dottie looked away embarrassed. â€˜No,â€™ she said quickly. â€˜Not me. I was thinking of Brian and Phyllis.â€™

â€˜Brian and Phyllis Pearce?â€™ gasped Mary. â€˜Well, Iâ€™ll go to sea. I never had you and Ann Pearce down as friends.â€™

â€˜I just thought she could do with a hand, thatâ€™s all,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜She needs a job.â€™

â€˜Whatâ€™s brought this on, hen?â€™ said Mary.

â€˜The kids,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I can get her a job, easy. I know plenty of women in the village who want a cleaning lady, but she canâ€™t work with the kids in tow, and I thought to myself, Mary loves looking after kids â€¦â€™

Mary said nothing.

â€˜It wonâ€™t be for long,â€™ Dottie added. â€˜Brian goes to school next year and Phyllis is already three.â€™

â€˜You can tell her Iâ€™ll do it,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Oh Mary!â€™ Dottie cried. â€˜Youâ€™re a star. Iâ€™ll ask her to pay you, so youâ€™d better work out what you want to charge her.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s no need for that, hen,â€™ said Mary, pinning the bunting to the sheet again.

â€˜Yes, there is,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Sheâ€™s got her pride.â€™

â€˜What will she get cleaning?â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Half a crown an hour is the going rate around here. If she starts at nine and works through till four when the kids get out of school, she could earn four quid a week.â€™

â€˜Then tell her she can pay me a pound a week and Iâ€™ll give them dinner.â€™

Sylvie came back.

â€˜What took you so long?â€™ Mary asked.

â€˜I had to get them all even,â€™ said Sylvie, holding out her hand to admire her fingernails. â€˜What do you want me to do?â€™

â€˜Can you pin some more bunting on those tables?â€™ asked Mary, trying not to smile.

â€˜Iâ€™m no good at sewing,â€™ said Sylvie.

Dottie kept her head down. If she looked at Mary again, theyâ€™d both start giggling. â€˜How about giving a hand in the kitchen?â€™ she suggested. â€˜I think theyâ€™re laying out cups and saucers.â€™

They were interrupted by raised voices near the top table. The mothers of the bride and groom had crossed swords with Betty. Rose wanted to place four candles on the top table.

â€˜We never put candles near food,â€™ Betty declared. â€˜Itâ€™s too dangerous.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t be ridiculous,â€™ snapped Rose. â€˜This is a family tradition. We always light a candle at a wedding.â€™

Betty pursed her lips. She was now in fighting mood. â€˜And while weâ€™re on the subject, we never have balloons near the hatchway, Edna,â€™ she said sourly. â€˜The children might get excited and try to pop them. We canâ€™t have that when the teas are around.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re determined to spoil this, arenâ€™t you, you dried up old biddy,â€™ snapped Edna.

â€˜Donâ€™t you dare talk to me like that â€¦â€™

Dottie stepped in to defuse the situation. In the end, Edna agreed to move the balloons, and Betty conceded to the candles, provided Rose waited until everyone was seated before lighting them.

â€˜As soon as the speeches are over,â€™ said Betty, determined to have the last word, â€˜make sure they get blown out.â€™

â€˜Of course I will,â€™ retorted Rose, adding under her breath, â€˜what does the stupid woman take me for?â€™

By the time the men had taken down the long ladder theyâ€™d used to hang the bunting from the rafters, Mary said sheâ€™d better get back to put the little ones to bed. Tom said heâ€™d drive her home and give Edna a lift home as well.

â€˜See you at the church,â€™ Mary called cheerily as they left.

Maggie had set out the big plates on the tables and Cathy, the district nurse, was helping put out the cutlery. Dottie went into the kitchen to join Sylvie who was still laying out the cups and saucers.

â€˜That was a nice thing you did for Ann,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Mary told me.â€™

Dottie shrugged. â€˜She needed help and I know Mary loves looking after children.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re a lovely person, Dottie,â€™ said Sylvie, giving her a hug. â€˜Too kind for your own good.â€™

Dottie laughed. â€˜Whatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€™

â€˜People donâ€™t like goodness,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Take care it doesnâ€™t backfire on you.â€™

By 7.30pm everything was ready.

â€˜You must be famished,â€™ Dottie said to Sylvie. â€˜Iâ€™ll get us some tea when we get in.â€™

â€˜Will Reg be there?â€™ Sylvie asked.

â€˜I imagine heâ€™ll be at the pub by now,â€™ said Dottie with a shake of her head.

â€˜Then Iâ€™ll take you out for a meal,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜My treat.â€™

Dottie hesitated.

â€˜Come on,â€™ Dottie cajoled. â€˜Even if he hasnâ€™t gone to the pub, Iâ€™m sure Reg can find himself something to do.â€™

Reg stood outside the bedroom door listening. The house was empty. Heâ€™d come home to find his tea in the oven between two enamel plates. The gravy had a skin on the top of it and the potatoes had started to brown. If he hadnâ€™t been so hungry heâ€™d have chucked the lot of it in the pig bin where it bloody belonged. He knew this would happen if he let that woman into his house. Sheâ€™d go filling Dotâ€™s mind with all sorts of things and sheâ€™d neglect what she was supposed to do.

After heâ€™d eaten what he felt was the worst meal heâ€™d ever had in his whole life (and heâ€™d eaten some real slop during the war), he went upstairs to change. He found a clean shirt laid out on the bed but he didnâ€™t like that one. He had to turf out half the wardrobe to find the one he wanted. There was a new dress on her side. A silly frilly pink thing. He supposed Sylvia must have given it to her, but where Dot would wear the darned thing, he couldnâ€™t imagine. But then that was Sylvia McDonald all over. Always filling Dotâ€™s head with daft ideas.

On the way downstairs, he hesitated outside her room. Through the crack in the door he could see her open suitcase on the bed. A drawer was open too. He could see some things lying inside.

There wasnâ€™t a sound in the whole house, nothing except his own breathing. They must still be at the village hall getting ready for Michael Gilbertâ€™s wedding, although why on earth it should take all this time, he hadnâ€™t a clue. People expected too much at weddings these days. All those bloody sandwiches and cakes. Heâ€™d even heard her say that Edna was making jellies as well. Heâ€™d been satisfied with a glass of beer for himself and a sherry for Dot. Of course, there were no relatives on his side and heâ€™d made Dottie keep the numbers down on hers. Like heâ€™d told her, they didnâ€™t have the time or the money to go in for all that wedding breakfast malarky.

He reached out and pushed the door open. It creaked as it swung back and he stared into the room. Dot had made it look completely different from how it looked when that old cow Bessie was there. In fact, there wasnâ€™t a trace of her left.

He stepped onto the rug. His mouth was dry and his heartbeat quickened. This was the first time heâ€™d been in the room in two years.

He looked into the suitcase and saw a bed jacket, some silk stockings and a book. He reached into the case and picked up one stocking. It was as light as a feather, sheer, and obviously expensive. Her underwear was in the drawer. It didnâ€™t look like anything Dot had.

Reg walked over and ran his fingers over a pair of cream French knickers. He felt himself harden. Licking his lips, he took them out of the drawer by his fingertips and held them up to the light. He lifted them to his nose and smelled them. A sudden noise made him start. The door had clicked shut and the surprise made him brush his elbow against something on the bedside table. It fell with a clatter and a bang. Dropping the knickers, he froze in horror.

It was a photo in a silver frame. One heâ€™d never seen before: Sylvia and a much younger Dot, their arms around each othersâ€™ shoulders, smiled up at him â€“ but it wasnâ€™t their faces that disturbed him. She was sitting in front of them, on a chair. She was wearing that same violet-coloured dress and she had that daft cowboy hat on. All at once her voice filled his head.

â€˜Over my dead body, Reg Cox. Go to hell â€¦â€™

Something touched his cheek and his skin crawled. Blind panic made him rush from the room but it was only when he reached the bottom of the stairs that he realised it was his own perspiration running in a rivulet down his face.

Sixteen

Sylvie had taken Dottie to a hotel in the centre of Worthing. Overlooking the Steyne, it was almost the length of the road. Inside the restaurant, the tables were covered with crisp white table linen and they offered a silver service.

â€˜This must be so expensive,â€™ Dottie whispered.

â€˜Donâ€™t worry about it,â€™ smiled Sylvie. â€˜Robinâ€™s business has done really well so he can afford to treat his wife and her best pal to a meal out.â€™

She linked her arm through Dottieâ€™s and propelled her to a table.

In the corner of the restaurant, a pianist was playing Doris Dayâ€™s song, â€˜Bewitched, Bothered and Bewilderedâ€™. They ordered soup with roast beef to follow. Dottie thought she had never had a better time.

As the pianist struck up â€˜Harbour Lightsâ€™, they began to reflect.

â€˜Robin and I lead very separate lives,â€™ Sylvie said. â€˜Heâ€™s very keen to do well. Did I tell you he might get onto the board of directors before long?â€™

â€˜You must be so proud of him,â€™ Dottie said.

â€˜I suppose so,â€™ said Sylvie grudgingly. â€˜Itâ€™ll probably mean Iâ€™ll see even less of him. Oh, Dottie, I wish I could be like you.â€™

â€˜You wish you were like me?â€™ Dottie was incredulous.

â€˜You are so talented and you cram so much into your day,â€™ Sylvie went on. â€˜I knew you were good at sewing frocks but your little house looks absolutely amazing.â€™

â€˜It was the Festival of Britain that got me going,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜They had one at the Assembly Hall in Worthing. Iâ€™d never seen anything like it â€¦ all those lovely geometric patterns and bold colours. I enjoy making clothes but furnishings are so much more exciting.â€™ She was suddenly aware that Sylvie was staring at her.

â€˜What?â€™

â€˜Your face,â€™ she smiled. â€˜It lights up like a beacon when you talk about it.â€™

â€˜Sorry.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t apologise. I think youâ€™re fantastic.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s only copied â€¦ most of it from magazines,â€™ laughed Dottie. â€˜And itâ€™s all done on the cheap.â€™

â€˜Well, Iâ€™m telling you, people would pay top dollar for a look like that,â€™ Sylvie said.

Dottie smiled modestly.

â€˜All I do,â€™ Sylvie shrugged, â€˜is play bridge, shop and go to the hairdresserâ€™s. Quite frankly, darling, if it werenâ€™t for a certain person, most of the time Iâ€™d go mad with boredom.â€™

Dottie couldnâ€™t imagine a day with nothing to do â€“ and what did Sylvie mean, â€˜a certain personâ€™?

â€˜Iâ€™m going to shock you now,â€™ Sylvie went on, as if she had read her thoughts, â€˜Iâ€™m not unhappy â€¦ because Iâ€™m having an affair.

Dottie was dumbstruck.

â€˜Heâ€™s a wonderful man,â€™ said Sylvie, her eyes lighting up. â€˜His name is Bruce and he owns a riding stables. I met him when I went for some riding lessons.â€™ She opened her bag and took out a small wallet. Inside was a picture of a rugged-looking man on a horse.

â€˜Heâ€™s very handsome,â€™ Dottie conceded. â€˜Are you and Robin going to get a divorce?â€™

â€˜Heavens no!â€™ cried Sylvie. â€˜Iâ€™m quite happy with things the way they are. Bruce already has a wife and I have Robin.â€™

Dottie looked away. How could Sylvie love someone else when she was already married?

â€˜Well,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Iâ€™ve told you all my secrets. What about you and Reg? Iâ€™m making a pretty shrewd guess that you are not as happy as you like to make out either.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t be daft!â€™ Dottie laughed.

â€˜No, seriously,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜What about you? What do you want out of life? What are your ambitions?â€™

Dottie shrugged. â€˜I donâ€™t know. Iâ€™ve never really thought about it.â€™

â€˜Come on,â€™ Sylvie cajoled. â€˜There must be something youâ€™d really like to do if you had the chance.â€™

Dottie stared deeply into her glass of wine. â€˜Itâ€™s no good hankering after something you canâ€™t have,â€™ she said dully.

â€˜Youâ€™re not going to wiggle out of it that quickly, darling,â€™ said Sylvie taking a long drag of her cigarette. â€˜Just imagine, money no object, no ties, nothing impossible â€¦ what would you do?â€™

Her answer came quickly. â€˜Interior design.â€™

Sylvieâ€™s eyebrows shot up. â€˜Judging by the way youâ€™ve transformed that cottage, youâ€™d be really good at it.â€™

Dottie swirled the dark liquid in her glass. â€˜Daft idea.â€™

â€˜No itâ€™s not.â€™

Dottie laughed.

â€˜Seriously, darling. I think you should get some training,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Youâ€™ll have plenty of opportunity when you finally get your hands on Aunt Bessieâ€™s money â€¦â€™

â€˜Reg has other plans,â€™ Dottie interrupted. â€˜He wants us to sell up and get a guesthouse by the seafront.â€™

â€˜Blow Reg,â€™ Sylvie retorted. â€˜What about you? What do you want?â€™

â€˜I want him to be happy.â€™

â€˜Oh, Dottie, you are absolutely impossible. Youâ€™re making yourself an absolute martyr to that man.â€™

Dottie felt her face colour. â€˜I am not!â€™

â€˜Then for goodnessâ€™ sake, take the money, your money, and do something for yourself. Look at it this way: if you succeed, youâ€™ll make the both of you rich; and if not rich youâ€™ll make a comfortable living doing something you really enjoy.â€™

â€˜Sylvie, can I ask you something?â€™

Sylvie laid down her knife and fork and took a sip from her wine glass. â€˜Of course you can,â€™ she said draining the last of it.

â€˜This is very important but youâ€™ve got to promise me youâ€™ll never breathe a word to another living soul.â€™

â€˜Sounds intriguing.â€™

The waiter came back to the table. â€˜Is everything all right with your meal, Madam?â€™

â€˜Fine,â€™ said Sylvie. Then, leaning forward, she said to Dottie, â€˜Fire away.â€™

The waiter left.

Dottie explained about the letter and Patsy and then told her about the money.

After sheâ€™d filled Dottieâ€™s wine glass again, Sylvie said, â€˜So Reg wants me to pay the fare for this child of his to come over? The brass neck of the man! He doesnâ€™t like me but heâ€™d like some of my money. I suppose he didnâ€™t dare ask me himself in case I refused.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t say that,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜At least heâ€™s let you come and stay.â€™

â€˜Probably to give himself a bargaining chip,â€™ said Sylvie, raising an eyebrow.

â€˜I donâ€™t understand.â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s let your friend come and stay, so now you have no right to refuse his child and I should dip into my purse for the privilege.â€™

Dottie frowned. â€˜Sylvie!â€™

There was an awkward silence.

â€˜I can pay you back when I get my inheritance,â€™ Dottie said desperately.

â€˜Oh, darling,â€™ cried Sylvie, reaching out to hold Dottieâ€™s hand, â€˜Itâ€™s not that â€¦â€™

The pianist seemed to be playing a little louder. Dottie found herself humming, â€˜when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes â€¦â€™

â€˜If I do help â€¦â€™ Sylvie said.

â€˜Oh Sylvie,â€™ said Dottie eagerly.

â€˜If I do help,â€™ Sylvie repeated. â€˜It will be to help you, not Reg.â€™

The look on Sylvieâ€™s face was so serious, Dottie felt un comfortable. Had she upset her? She wished she hadnâ€™t asked her now.

Sylvie called the waiter over and as he cleared away their plates Sylvie asked tersely, â€˜Coffee?â€™

Dottie shook her head. Oh Lord, she had upset her. Oh Reg, why do you always make me do these things?

â€˜Just the bill please, waiter,â€™ said Sylvie.

Once they were in the darkness of the car, Dottie said, â€˜Sylvie, if youâ€™d rather not help out, I quite understand.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t be silly, darling,â€™ cried Sylvie. â€˜Of course Iâ€™ll help you. Iâ€™d do anything for you, you know that. You canâ€™t help it if Reg is being unfair.â€™

â€˜He just wants his child, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜And what about you?â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Why donâ€™t you have children of your own?â€™

â€˜Reg â€¦ he canâ€™t.â€™

â€˜What do you mean, he canâ€™t?â€™ Sylvie frowned and when Dottie refused to look at her, she gasped, â€˜Good heavens! Do you mean you and Reg have never even made love? But, darling, how awful. You must leave him.â€™

Dottie shook her head. â€˜Remember what Aunt Bessie used to say? You make your bed and you lie in it.â€™

â€˜Rubbish,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Weâ€™re living in the fifties, for heavenâ€™s sake. You can get an annulment straightaway if the marriage has never been consummated.â€™

â€˜We did it when we were first married, before he went to the Far East,â€™ Dottie explained.

Sylvie turned abruptly and crashed the gears as the car moved off. They motored back home in silence, Sylvie was struggling to keep her temper. Why was that wretched man so damned awkward? What sort of a life was he giving her friend? He was good-looking in a funny sort of way, which was why Dottie was attracted to him the first place, she supposed. She couldnâ€™t bear the thought of Reg touching her, but if Dottie loved him, surely she deserved better than this. They didnâ€™t do it â€¦? Why not? Was he some sort of queer?

Dottieâ€™s thoughts had drifted back to her honeymoon. Three days. Thatâ€™s all theyâ€™d had, but Reg had been all right then. He was a bit rough but she hadnâ€™t worried too much about that. She was Mrs Reginald Cox and it was wonderful just being with him. It didnâ€™t matter if he was in a bit of a hurry. Everybody knew they might not have much time. So many had been here one day and gone the next. He kept saying how glad he was to have her.

â€˜I never understood why you married him in the first place,â€™ Sylvie said suddenly.

Dottie looked at her, horrified. â€˜Because I loved him.â€™

â€˜Did you, darling? Are you sure?â€™

â€˜Of course I did,â€™ said Dottie defensively. â€˜I do â€¦â€™

Sylvie snorted and changed gear. The car sped on.

â€˜Come on, Sylvie.â€™ Dottieâ€™s voice had an edge. â€˜Say whatever you have to. We never keep secrets from each other, remember?â€™

Another car came towards them and its headlights flooded the car with light.

â€˜Letâ€™s not quarrel,â€™ said Sylvie softly, as she glanced across at Dottieâ€™s angry look. â€˜I donâ€™t want to upset you. Youâ€™re my dearest friend.â€™

Dottie looked down at her lap. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry. I shouldnâ€™t have snapped at you but I feel so on edge all the time. I want things to be right between me and Reg. I want to make my marriage work but it makes things so difficult when heâ€™s not happy. I know heâ€™s desperate to have Patsy and thatâ€™s why Iâ€™ve agreed to try and help him get her over here. Perhaps if she comes here things might â€¦ well, you know â€¦â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s an awfully big risk,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜And what about your life? How will you fit everything in? Your sewing, your little jobs, looking after Reg, and then Patsy â€¦â€™

â€˜Patsy will be at school,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I can still work during the day and I can do my sewing in the evenings when sheâ€™s in bed.â€™

â€˜But once sheâ€™s over here,â€™ Sylvie went on, â€˜how do you know that he wonâ€™t shut you out altogether?â€™

â€˜He wouldnâ€™t. I know he wouldnâ€™t,â€™ said Dottie weakly. â€˜Oh Sylvie, I just keep thinking that if I do this for him, he may be able to â€¦ and then I â€¦ I just want a child of my own â€¦â€™

â€˜This gets worse â€¦ sewing, Reg, your job, Patsy, and a child of your own?â€™

Dottie began to cry softly.

â€˜Donâ€™t cry. I didnâ€™t mean it,â€™ said Sylvie, reaching across to squeeze her hand. â€˜Look, canâ€™t you persuade him to go to the doctor â€¦ or maybe you could have a word with the doctor?â€™

At the mention of the doctor, Dottie shook her head. â€˜Heâ€™d never go and I donâ€™t think I could talk to Dr Fitzgerald about something like that,â€™ she said quickly.

â€˜Oh, darling,â€™ Sylvie chuckled, â€˜you are a little prudish at times.â€™

When they got back to Myrtle Cottage they were both rather surprised to find it in darkness.

â€˜Does Reg usually go to bed this early?â€™ Sylvie asked.

â€˜He must be on an early shift tomorrow,â€™ said Dottie, hanging her coat on the nail behind the door and collecting the dirty dishes.

â€˜What, on the day of the wedding?â€™

Dottie shook her head. â€˜Oh no, of course not. Heâ€™s got the day off. I forgot.â€™ A chill ran through her body. She shouldnâ€™t have stayed out so late.

They said goodnight to each other and climbed the steep stairs, Sylvie in front clinging onto the rope banister for dear life, and Dottie right behind her to give her a sense of security. They parted with a hug on the landing.

Reg had the light off and his back to the door. Not wishing to disturb him, Dottie undressed quickly by the light of the moon filtering through the curtains and put her clothes on the chair. As she climbed into bed beside him, Reg pulled at the bedclothes and moved away.

She lay on her back staring up at the moonlight on the ceiling. Sylvieâ€™s remarks had given her a lot of food for thought. Everyone in the village thought of Reg as a pretty good egg. He often gave some of the older folk something from his allotment and of course there were his flowers at the station. He might be a bit of a loner, but people around here liked and respected him.

Dottie saw something different. The Reg she was married to was more complex. He kept her on tenterhooks all the time. She never knew what mood heâ€™d be in. If he wanted sex, it had to be here and now or he didnâ€™t come near her for months on end. He would make remarks, small ones, but sometimes theyâ€™d hurt her very much. She always did her best for him, but somehow it was never enough. Sheâ€™d always thought the way sheâ€™d been taught. Wives should be loyal to their husbands no matter what. Wives should spend their lives making their spouseâ€™s life as comfortable as possible. They should be faithful. Love, honour and obey, so the promise went. Well sheâ€™d done all that and it still wasnâ€™t enough. Just recently sheâ€™d started to think of herself as a person in her own right. Like Sylvie said, this was the fifties. Aunt Bessie may have been satisfied with that kind of life, but, for her, it was getting harder and harder to feel the same way. Surely there was more to life than this?

Theyâ€™d been married since 1942, but in point of fact, theyâ€™d had very little time together. Heâ€™d gone almost as soon as the honeymoon was over and because he was doing something so top secret, she hadnâ€™t even been allowed to write to him. She hadnâ€™t heard from him for years and then all of a sudden, just before Christmas 1948, heâ€™d turned up out of the blue. He wouldnâ€™t talk about his wartime experiences, or where heâ€™d been since the war ended. Too upsetting, heâ€™d said. Aunt Bessie didnâ€™t like it but there it was. Reg was a changed man, who had changed even more since Aunt Bessie died.

She turned and stared at the back of his head. This wasnâ€™t what she had thought marriage would be like. Was this to be the sum total of her life? In some ways she knew him like the back of her hand. Heâ€™d gone to bed early to show her how annoyed he was that sheâ€™d stayed out late. If Sylvie hadnâ€™t been staying in the same house, there would have been a row. Heâ€™d have called her names, and perhaps even hit her. Sheâ€™d have cried and then heâ€™d have made her feel guilty, like it was all her fault. Heâ€™d have told her she wasnâ€™t good enough. She wasnâ€™t even a proper woman. Sheâ€™d never be a mother because she was nothing more than a cold fish. Dottie swallowed hard as her throat tightened. If only heâ€™d show her a little tenderness now and again. Yet even when he was nice to her, it was always for a reason. Sylvie was probably right. The only reason heâ€™d let her stay for the weekend was because he wanted the money to get Patsy over here. Sheâ€™d never know for sure, of course. Reg was deep. He never told her what he was really thinking.

All at once she remembered that other letter, the one that had come this morning. What did it say?

Her eyes were beginning to fill but she dared not cry. If he heard her, heâ€™d be angry. He hated it when she cried. She closed her eyes. Was there anything about her he liked? How she wished Aunt Bessie was still here. Right now Dottie would have given her right arm for a crumb of affection or a cuddle.

Reg began to snore and Dottie slipped her hand under her nightie. She began to stroke herself until a warm glow washed over her. Sheâ€™d better stop. It was a nice feeling but not even that took away the ache she had in her heart. If anything, it only left her even more frustrated. She was only twenty-seven and the thought of all those long lonely years stretching out before her was quite frightening.

It was no good. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. Why get all maudlin and depressed? She had to make the best of it. She turned onto her side, away from him and, feeling under her pillow for her hankie, she blew her nose softly. Then she lay back down, willing herself not to think about it any more. There wasnâ€™t much love but she could set her mind to honour and obey. That would have to do for now.

â€˜Oh God,â€™ she prayed, â€˜give me strength. I donâ€™t think I can do this on my own â€¦â€™

When Sylvie got into her own room and switched on the light, her suitcase was still on the bed. She moved it onto the chair and picked up a few things scattered on the top of the chest of drawers. She was surprised to see her panties draped over her hairbrush and comb. Thatâ€™s funny, she thought, as she tidied them into the drawer.

She arranged her face powder, hand cream, lipstick and talc into some semblance of order and fished around in her bag for a hairnet. Then she took out her nightdress, bed jacket, slippers and book.

It was quite a ritual getting ready for bed. Robin always laughed at her but it had to be done. First she undressed and put on her nightie. Then she removed all her make-up. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the taps. Only the cold-water tap was working. How Dottie put up with this primitive way of life she couldnâ€™t understand. She washed herself in the freezing water, cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair and put the hairnet right over the top.

Back in her room, she creamed her knees and her elbows. Then, sitting on the bed, she creamed her face, making sure to include twenty strokes across each cheek, twenty on her forehead and twenty-five across her throat in a vigorous upward motion from the base of her neck to her chin. That was to ward off a turkey neck in later life. Next she creamed her hands and put on some cotton gloves.

It was as she climbed into bed that Sylvie noticed the picture. It was on the floor, part way under the chest of drawers. She picked it up. How did that get down there? Sheâ€™d left it at the back of the dressing table.

Then it dawned on her. Someone had been in here. Theyâ€™d been touching the picture â€¦ her panties â€¦ She shuddered. Reg. Who else could it be? Dear God, heâ€™d been touching her underwear.

She jumped out of bed and opened the drawer. Everything was there but she took out the French knickers, holding them between her thumb and forefinger as if they were soiled. She threw them back into the case. She couldnâ€™t wear them. She might even destroy them. What a good job sheâ€™d brought plenty of other things. The very thought of wearing something Reg had fingered made her feel ill.

Another thought crossed her mind. If Reg had been snooping around looking at her underwear, was he really the kind of man to father a little girl? Yet she knew Dottie was counting on her help. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the picture again. Even though there was a war on, they had been much happier times. Dottie, her much younger self and Aunt Bessie smiled back at her.

â€˜What do you think I should do about it?â€™ she whispered to Aunt Bessie. But the woman behind the frame carried on smiling.

Sylvie lay down and pulled up the covers. If she did give them the money for Patsyâ€™s fare, she would have to ensure that there were some safeguards for both Dottie and the child. Reg mustnâ€™t be allowed to have everything his own way. She wished she could persuade Dottie to get shot of him, but that wasnâ€™t very likely, was it?

â€˜I used to think it was odd that you didnâ€™t like Reg,â€™ she told Aunt Bessie, as she turned out the light. â€˜But now, Iâ€™m pretty sure I donâ€™t like him either. Creepy bastard.â€™

Seventeen

Michaelâ€™s wedding day dawned dull and overcast. Dottie slipped out of bed almost as soon as it was light. By the time Reg came downstairs she had cleared up his dinner things from the night before and laid the table for breakfast.

â€˜Hello, Reg,â€™ she said cheerfully. â€˜Fancy a spot of porridge?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll go down the garden and feed the pig first,â€™ he said pulling on his boots. â€˜You were late coming home last night.â€™

â€˜Sylvie took me into Worthing for a meal.â€™

â€˜Our food not good enough for her then?â€™ he accused darkly.

â€˜It wasnâ€™t like that,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Weâ€™d finished at the hall and I knew you would already be at the Jolly Farmer so when she suggested taking me out as a little treat, I didnâ€™t think youâ€™d mind.â€™

â€˜Mind? Why should I mind when my wife goes gallivanting all over the place in her friendâ€™s flash car, leaving the house in a bloody mess? Where did she take you for this little treat? Some swanky place, no doubt.â€™

Dottie didnâ€™t want a row and he was getting himself all worked up.

â€˜I should have asked you first, Reg. Iâ€™m sorry. I didnâ€™t mean any harm.â€™

â€˜All I can say is thank God sheâ€™s going home today,â€™ he said, â€˜then things can get back to normal.â€™

He swept past her and disappeared up the garden. Dottie poured herself a cup of tea. Her hand was trembling. He was going to be really worked up by the time they had to go the wedding. No â€¦ no, he wouldnâ€™t. Not with Sylvie here. He wouldnâ€™t want to make a scene in front of her. Dottie glanced at the clock. 8.15am. She couldnâ€™t worry about Reg now, she had such a lot to do. Sheâ€™d have to get on.

By the time Sylvie came downstairs, the kitchen dresser was open and the enamel table inside the drop-down drawer was covered with ingredients. Dottie was well underway with baking a couple of batches of fairy cakes and a Victoria sponge.

â€˜Did you sleep well?â€™ Dottie asked as Sylvie came yawning into the kitchen.

â€˜Yes, fine. Gosh, youâ€™re busy. Whereâ€™s Reg?â€™

â€˜Outside in the garden. Fancy a bit of porridge?â€™

Sylvie shook her head and sat down. â€˜A bit of toast and a cigarette will suit me fine.â€™

Dottie put some sliced bread under the grill.

â€˜Shall I call Reg?â€™ yawned Sylvie. She seemed to be struggling to wake up.

â€˜Heâ€™ll be busy with the pig by now,â€™ Dottie smiled. â€˜He said heâ€™d have a sarnie before we go.â€™

While Sylvie enjoyed some toast and a cigarette, Dottie started on the sandwiches for the wedding breakfast.

â€˜How many are you doing?â€™ Sylvie asked.

â€˜Iâ€™ve been asked to do egg and paste.â€™

Sylvie screwed up her nose. â€˜What, together?â€™

â€˜No,â€™ Dottie laughed. â€˜A loaf of each. Weâ€™re all sharing the cost of the reception. This is our present to him although Iâ€™ve already bought him a little something.â€™

â€˜What little something?â€™ Sylvie wanted to know.

â€˜A set of fruit bowls,â€™ smiled Dottie. â€˜I saw it in the market about a month ago. Very reasonable. 15/6.â€™ She opened the cupboard under the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a small box.

â€˜Very pretty,â€™ said Sylvie, undoing the box and taking one out. â€˜Iâ€™ve brought him some bed linen.â€™

â€˜You can never have enough linen,â€™ Dottie chirped.

Sylvie took a long drag of her cigarette. â€˜Leave him,â€™ she said, glancing out of the window to check Reg wasnâ€™t coming.

â€˜What?â€™

â€˜You heard me. Leave him. Youâ€™re worth much more than this. You deserve to be happy.â€™

Dottieâ€™s eyes blazed. â€˜Sylvie, donâ€™t.â€™

â€˜You could come back with me,â€™ Sylvie insisted. â€˜Robin and I will give you a new start until you can sell this place â€¦â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t even own this place,â€™ said Dottie.

Sylvie frowned. â€˜But I thought Aunt Bessie â€¦â€™

â€˜For some reason best known to herself,â€™ Dottie retorted, â€˜Aunt Bessie left this cottage in trust until Iâ€™m thirty.â€™

Sylvie stared at her thoughtfully. â€˜How very frustrating for Reg.â€™

â€˜And what do you mean by that?â€™ Dottie flew back.

â€˜Nothing,â€™ said Sylvie innocently. â€˜A throwaway remark, thatâ€™s all.â€™

Dottie continued cutting the loaf of sandwiches.

â€˜How on earth do you get the bread so thin?â€™ Sylvie asked. â€˜If it were down to me, Iâ€™d have bought a cut loaf.â€™

â€˜Homemade is always nicer,â€™ said Dottie relaxing. A little later she added, â€˜Youâ€™re right. He is frustrated about Aunt Bessieâ€™s money. Like I told you, Reg wants us to move to Brighton and take up a seaside boarding house. We can still do it of course, but it canâ€™t be for at least another year and even then it will be difficult.â€™

â€˜Whyâ€™s that?â€™

â€˜I can still spend the money and all that but I have to get the approval of the board of trustees for anything major until Iâ€™m thirty,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜But donâ€™t say anything, will you? Reg doesnâ€™t know that bit yet. I didnâ€™t want to upset him.â€™

Sylvie flicked some ash from her skirt. â€˜I bet thatâ€™ll go down like a lead balloon.â€™

Dottie held her tongue. She finished the loaf and turned around looking for a tin to pack them in.

â€˜Look at me, just sitting here watching you,â€™ said Sylvie, stubbing out her cigarette. She stood up and grabbed an apron from the back of the kitchen chair. â€˜Come on now. What shall I do?â€™

Dottie pointed to the fairy cakes cooling on the wire rack. â€˜Fancy putting a bit of icing on them? Timeâ€™s getting on and we have to be at the hall by twelve.â€™

At quarter to two, as they walked the short distance from the car to the church, Dottie slipped her arm through Regâ€™s. She was determined to show Sylvie just how happy she could be.

Michael Gilbert was already waiting in the church. He looked very different in his smart double-breasted brown pinstriped suit. His unruly hair was slicked down, although a few wayward curls had worked loose and flopped attractively onto his forehead. His weather-beaten face glowed.

â€˜He looks incredibly handsome,â€™ Sylvie whispered as they sat down.

Dottie nodded. She hadnâ€™t realised before how good-looking Michael was. â€˜Iâ€™ve always thought of him like a little brother,â€™ she smiled. â€˜But youâ€™re right. Today he looks every inch the man.â€™

Tom Prior poked her in the back. â€˜The buggerâ€™s already proved that,â€™ he whispered with a grin.

Dottie and Sylvie giggled. Reg picked up his hymnbook and stared ahead, stony-faced.

They waited quietly until the vicar walked down the aisle and instructed them to all stand. The organ struck up.

Freda looked a picture in her long satin dress. Defiantly, sheâ€™d worn white, though her thickening waist and the roundness of her stomach was obvious. Her dress had long sleeves and the mitre-shaped cuff had a small loop to go over her long finger on each hand. The scooped neckline was edged with lace. There was lace on the bodice reaching under the bust, ending in a large bow. Matching lace circled the hem and met at another large bow. She wore her motherâ€™s pearls, three handsome strands which no one would have guessed had come from Woolworths just before the war, if her mother hadnâ€™t told everyone last night as they prepared the hall.

Fredaâ€™s wedding bouquet was enormous. Those who looked forward to dishing out acid remarks noted that it obscured her shape beautifully, covering her from waist to thigh in early autumn reds and golds.

The service brought tears to Dottieâ€™s eyes.

Reg turned and whispered, â€˜Remember? For better for worse, â€™till death do us part?â€™

At the other end of the pew, Heather from the florist shop leaned forward to listen to their conversation. â€˜Aaaah,â€™ she sighed happily; but Dottie didnâ€™t smile. Something about the way Reg had said it chilled her very soul.

After the service, someone got out a Box Brownie and they all posed in the churchyard for photographs.

Because hers was the only car, Sylvie had offered to drive the bride and groom the short distance to the reception. At this point, several other Box Brownies appeared and people took turns to stand next to the Humber with the bride and groom inside. Michael and Freda seemed very happy.

Rose was in tears. â€˜Donâ€™t they look a picture?â€™ she said as Edna handed her a lace handkerchief. â€˜So romantic.â€™

Fredaâ€™s father muttered something about Freda making sure she kept the bouquet in front of her and got a nudge in his ribs for his trouble.

â€˜Come on, Dot,â€™ said Reg. â€˜Letâ€™s pose by the car.â€™

He took her wrist painfully and pulled her towards the Humber. â€˜Take a picture of me and my old lady with the bride and groom, will you? I want to give her something to remember the day.â€™

The photographer lined up his camera and Dottie and Reg stood beside Michael and Freda.

â€˜Smile, love,â€™ Reg called out.

Dottie did her best, but her heart was thumping. What was he up to? Everybody was happy and smiling, but she could sense the undercurrent more strongly than ever.

The picture was taken. â€˜Thanks, mate,â€™ said Reg as he spotted the vicar coming out of the side door of the church. â€˜You walk on up to the hall, sweetheart. Iâ€™m just going to have a word with Rev. Roberts,â€™ he said. â€˜See if heâ€™d like some of my chrysanthemums for the harvest festival.â€™

Dottie smiled nervously.

â€˜Are you ready?â€™ Sylvie asked.

Michael helped Freda into the car and then went round to the other door. Sylvie leaned out of the driverâ€™s window and gave her a wink. â€˜Donâ€™t let them get back to the hall too quickly, Dottie. Iâ€™m taking Michael and Freda the long way round.â€™

The wedding party cheered as she pulled out into the road and headed towards Worthing and, presumably, the seafront.

Dottie fell into step with Edna Gilbert, offering the older woman her arm. â€˜You never come up to the farm to see me these days, Dottie,â€™ she chided.

â€˜I know. Iâ€™m sorry. Iâ€™m just so busy.â€™

â€˜Things all right with you and Reg?â€™

â€˜Fine.â€™ Iâ€™m becoming a good liar, she thought to herself.

â€˜No sign of a little one yet?â€™

â€˜No,â€™ said Dottie, and seeing the expression on Ednaâ€™s face, she added with a smile, â€˜not yet anyway.â€™

â€˜You know about Freda of course?â€™

â€˜Youâ€™ll make a wonderful granny,â€™ said Dottie, squeezing her arm.

Edna snorted playfully and changing the subject said, â€˜Here, Dottie, I hear youâ€™re a dab hand with that sewing machine of yours. Would you come up to the farm sometime? Iâ€™d like you to do a little something for me.â€™

Once they returned from their romantic drive along the seafront, the bride and groom stood by the door to receive their guests.

â€˜You look so beautiful,â€™ Dottie told the bride as she shuffled along the line.

Michael leaned forward and kissed Dottie on the cheek. It was a featherlike touch but afterwards Dottie couldnâ€™t look him in the eye. Her heart was beating very fast. â€˜I wish you all the luck in the world,â€™ she said quietly.

â€˜Thanks, Dottie.â€™

She glanced up at him and felt her face flame. Reg stuck his hand out in front of Michael and the two men shook hands. Dottie hoped to God Reg hadnâ€™t seen her blushing. Why on earth had she done it? Probably because it had been so long since sheâ€™d felt such a tender touch.

The three of them were to sit together, Sylvie then Reg and Dottie, but first the women had to make sure everyone else was happy and settled. As Fredaâ€™s mother lit the four candles on the top table next to the wedding cake, Dottie and Mary whipped off the damp tea towels theyâ€™d put over the sandwiches to keep them moist and began serving teas. Reg ate alone until they joined him, but he carried on a lively conversation with those nearby.

â€˜Reg is in good form,â€™ Sylvie remarked.

Dottie nodded. Yes, yes he was, wasnâ€™t he? She was getting herself all in a lather over nothing. He was enjoying himself that was all. How silly sheâ€™d been.

After the meal, the speeches and the cutting of the cake, someone produced a piano accordion so the men cleared away the tables to make room for dancing. Dottie, Mary and several other women went into the kitchen to start on the clearing up.

It was highly unlikely that Reg would come into the kitchen so Dottie pulled Mary to one side. â€˜Have you heard any news about Gary?â€™

Mary let out a long sigh. â€˜Itâ€™s not good,â€™ she said sadly. â€˜Heâ€™s come through it, but heâ€™s lost the use of his right leg and the left one is very weak.â€™

Dottie put her hand to her mouth. â€˜Oh no.â€™

â€˜Peaches has gone to live with her mother for the time being,â€™ Mary went on. â€˜Gary has been moved to Courtlands.â€™

â€˜That place Princess Elizabeth visited earlier this year?â€™

Mary nodded. â€˜Apparently they do special exercises for kiddies with infantile paralysis there.â€™

â€˜What about the baby?â€™ asked Dottie. â€˜It must be due any time now.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s had the baby!â€™ cried Mary. â€˜Sorry, hen, I thought you knew. She had a little girl. Mandy they call her.â€™

â€˜But why didnâ€™t she let me know?â€™ said Dottie blinking back a tear. Peaches hadnâ€™t had a reply to her letter but Dottie was sure she would have forgiven her by now.

â€˜Donâ€™t be too cross, hen,â€™ said Mary. â€˜What with the baby and Garyâ€™s exercises, sheâ€™s got a lot on her plate right now.â€™

â€˜Yes, yes of course,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I wonder how Gary has coped. He hasnâ€™t seen his mum for ages.â€™

â€˜Funnily enough,â€™ said Mary, â€˜he wasnâ€™t too bad. The hospital gave him an Ivy and Brumas and as long as they were on the bed, he was happy.â€™

â€˜As a matter of fact â€¦â€™ Dottie began.

â€˜Where do these plates go, Mary?â€™ Edna interrupted.

â€˜What are you doing in here?â€™ said Mary as she took the plates from Edna. â€˜Youâ€™re the bridegroomâ€™s mother for goodnessâ€™ sake. Leave that. Weâ€™ll do it. Take her back in the hall, Dottie.â€™

Dottie took Ednaâ€™s arm. â€˜Come on,â€™ she laughed. â€˜Weâ€™d better do what the boss says.â€™

Some of the men had gone down to the off-licence to buy in some more drink. Reg had helped himself to a beer and was sitting in the corner enjoying a roll-up. The accordionist was well into his repertoire and it was time to start the dancing but nobody could find Michael. Almost immediately, the cry went up.

â€˜Whereâ€™s the groom?â€™

â€˜Have you seen Michael?â€™

Dottie came to find Reg. â€˜Can you go in the gentsâ€™ to look for Michael? We canâ€™t start the evening without him.â€™

Wearily, Reg stood up to go.

Michael was peering at his reflection in the cracked mirror in the gentsâ€™. He was quite pleased with the results. Taking his comb out of his top pocket, he re-arranged his hair so that the front flopped down in the new Teddy-boy style.

So far the wedding breakfast had been better than he expected. Almost as good as old times. Even Reg was enjoying himself.

Apart from the odd film show, Michael hadnâ€™t been in the village hall since the war years. Back in 1941, Reg had come to one of the dances they put on. Michael always enjoyed the music but he was no dancer. Reg had danced like a dream and looked so handsome in his army uniform back then that heâ€™d whisked the best-looking girl away.

Satisfied with his hair at last, Michael stepped back to admire himself as the man himself walked in.

â€˜Iâ€™ve been sent to look for you,â€™ Reg said. â€˜They want to start the dancing.â€™

â€˜Looks like Iâ€™m being hen-pecked already,â€™ Michael laughed good-naturedly.

Reg said nothing.

â€˜You all right, Reg?â€™

â€˜Fine. Just gets me, times like this. I think about all me mates â€¦â€™ His voice trailed.

Michael touched his shoulder and nodded.

â€˜It may be six or seven years ago now,â€™ Reg went on, â€˜but a thing like that stays with you, you know.â€™ He looked up at the groom and smiled bravely. â€˜Sorry, mate, shouldnâ€™t have brought it up on your wedding day.â€™

â€˜No, no,â€™ Michael said. â€˜Itâ€™s OK.â€™ Outside, in the hall, the accordion struck up a waltz. â€˜Better get going then,â€™ he said awkwardly.

When he walked back into the room, Sylvie was talking and laughing with Mary and Tom. Dottie was in the kitchen serving more teas through the hatch. She looked so beautiful in that pretty pink dress. She smiled at him and motioned towards a cup and he gave her the thumbs up.

Michael looked around for his wife, unsure as to what he should do next, but Freda had already spotted him. She came gliding towards him.

â€˜Mike, we have to start off the dance before we can go home and get ready for our honeymoon,â€™ she beamed.

â€˜But I canâ€™t dance,â€™ he murmured, looking down at his feet. â€˜You know I canâ€™t.â€™

â€˜Nobody can start without us,â€™ she whispered. She held out her arms and he had no alternative but to accept her invitation.

As he placed his hand across her back, he felt her tremble. She was breathing very quickly and her face was lit up with excitement.

â€˜Just shuffle around,â€™ she murmured closely in his ear. â€˜Nobody will mind.â€™

The embarrassment of having two left feet made him feel silly but as they moved slowly around on the inside of the circle and all his friends were nodding and smiling, he found himself enjoying it.

Freda looked attractive in her wedding dress too. It was a bit tight around the waist but that wasnâ€™t her fault. He wished he hadnâ€™t got her in the family way, but at least he had done the decent thing. He gave Freda a quick smile and pulled her closer. She was probably thinking romantic thoughts about him, but right now he was thinking that heâ€™d just have to make the best of it.

Eighteen

The reception finished at around ten and everyone, with the exception of the bride and groom, who were hopefully already enjoying their honeymoon in Bournemouth, set about with the clearing up.

To Sylvie it looked like a well-oiled machine, although it did seem a little odd that they were clambering about under the stage with trestle tables in their wedding finery. Still, it was all done with good humour and fun.

âEr, watch what youâre doing with that table leg,â said Tom as he backed out on all fours. âYou nearly did me a mischief.â

âGet yer big bum out of the way then,â came the light-hearted retort from Cecil Hargreaves, the brideâs father.

âYou off back home, Sylvie?â asked Mary.

âIâm staying one more night,â Sylvie smiled. âI must get back home tomorrow.â

Reg was busy stacking chairs. He turned his head sharply and looked at Dottie.

âItâs so late,â she said. âI didnât think youâd mind.â

âCourse he doesnât,â said Mary. âYou wouldnât send the poor girl off on a long drive down to the New Forest at this time of night, would you, Reg?â

Reg smiled thinly. âOf course not.â

For a second or two, Dottie felt a little of her old nervousness coming back, but then she saw the way Reg helped the brideâs mother into Sylvieâs car and relaxed. When it came to older people, he had a kind heart really.

Once the hall had been swept and tidied and the last of the guests had gone, Dottie and Sylvie loaded her bits and bobs into the boot alongside the rest of the wedding cake. Theyâd been asked to drop that into Rose Hargreavesâs place on the way home. Reg and Edna sat in the back of the car chatting about roses and what to do about black spot on the leaves.

Back at the cottage, Dottie and Sylvie brought in the rest of the stuff while Reg went down the garden to shut up the hens and check on the pig. By the time he got back, Dottie had three mugs of cocoa waiting on the kitchen table. If Reg was annoyed that Sylvie was staying a second night, he wasnât saying anything.

âCan we talk about this child of yours, Reg?â said Sylvie, jumping in feet first as he walked in the door.

His head jerked up and Dottie saw something flash in his eyes. Her heart missed a beat. âWeâre all tired now, Sylvie,â she said quickly. âPerhaps this could wait until the morning.â

âReg is off to work in the morning,â said Sylvie, âand I have to leave early too. Weâve been so busy, Iâve hardly had time to speak to you, have I, Reg? I know itâs late but we need to clear a few things up, thatâs all.â

Reg looked as if he was chewing a wasp. âThings? What things?â

âYouâll be glad to hear, I will loan you the money,â said Sylvie, determined to rub his nose in it. âIâm pleased to do it for Dottieâs sake, but I must insist you do two things. First you should make absolutely sure the child really is yours, get a blood test or something, and secondly, you must get someone to escort her to this country. She canât possibly be left to her own devices on either a ship or an aeroplane. It will take six weeks with one and nearly three days with the other.â

âBut we donât know anyone in Australia,â said Dottie.

âAsk Brenda. Is that her name?â said Sylvie. âOr better yet, contact a missionary society or something. They often send their people home on furlough. Iâm sure someone like that would help. What do you say, Reg?â

âThereâs no doubt sheâs my kid, see,â he said stubbornly. âAnd as for the other â¦â He got out his wallet and took out an envelope. Dottie recognised it as the letter that had come the day before. He thrust it at Sylvie. Glancing up at Dottie, Sylvie took it out of the envelope and read it aloud.

Â Â Â Â Dear Mr Cox,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Thank you so much for your letter. Sandy told me that although you were unable to register the baby yourself, you would be delighted to acknowledge Patricia as your child. I am so glad you still feel the way you do. Sandy always made it clear that she wanted you to have everything. She never stopped loving you. Now that we have heard from you, my good friend Doc Landers has kindly offered to pay for Patricia to go to England and be with you. Accordingly, she will be travelling with him to Southampton on the Akarda leaving here in a couple of days with Nurse Tranter (retired) and the Doc. As luck would have it, he has to return to England to see his mother who is ill. He is very fond of children and Patricia is a lovely little girl. All things considered, she is quite bright for her age and always very happy. I feel sure you will be able to offer her far more than I can. My husband is in the final stages of an illness and with four healthy children of my own to look after, I couldnât possibly give Patricia the kind of upbringing she deserves. She has suffered so much, poor lamb. She was devoted to Sandy and was quite confused when she died.

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Patricia has sent you another letter of her own, which I enclose.

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â May I ask that you would be kind enough to let me know how well she is doing from time to time? Just a line or a postcard will do.

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â I remain, yours sincerely,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Brenda Nichols.

There were two other pieces of paper enclosed with the letter. One was a copy of Patriciaâs birth certificate. The margin marked for the name and surname of father was blank. Sylvie said nothing. Reg handed her another piece of paper.

Â Â Â Â Dear Father,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â I am loking forward to coming to England. When I stay with Auntie Brenda I sleep with Peggy. Will I have my own bed in egland? I am bringing Suzy and my best book. Your ever loving daghter

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Patricia.

âSo you see,â Reg said with a look of triumph in his eyes, as they read it together. âI donât need your bloody money or your sodding advice.â

They both stared at him. Sylvie with horror, Dottie in surprise.

âWell,â he said passing by, âIâm off up to bed.â

He was waiting with the light on when Dottie walked into the bedroom. She searched his face, trying to understand his mood, but he said nothing. The bedclothes were draped around his hips and she could see at once that he was fully aroused. She undressed quickly and reached for her nightdress.

âYou donât need that,â he said coldly.

She hesitated. She was tired. It had been a long day. She wasnât sure that she even wanted sex, especially not with Sylvie in the next room and the walls as thin as tissue paper, but how could she tell him? She took a deep breath and chewed her bottom lip anxiously. âReg, if you donât mind, I â¦â

He rose up in the bed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her roughly towards him.

âReg â¦â She was desperate but she still had the presence of mind to speak quietly. âYouâre hurting me.â

He pulled her down onto the bed and forced his hand between her legs. She tried to push him away. âNo, Reg, Iâm tired. Please â¦â

He lifted his head. ââNo, Reg, Iâm tired. Please â¦â â he mimicked. âWell, Iâm not. Get your legs up, woman.â

âSylvie will hear.â

âThen you shouldnât have invited her for another night, should you,â he hissed. âIâm sick of her filling your head with a load of nonsense. Itâs about time you did something for me for a change.â

She didnât want this. She really didnât want this but her struggles only excited him more. His probing fingers dug into her tender flesh, but when she tried to cry out he forced her to submit by rolling onto her and pinning her down.

âQuiet, darling. Sylvie will hear,â he smirked as his other hand went over her mouth.

Sheâd never seen him like this before. Heâd become a monster. The pain he was inflicting with his fingers was almost unbearable and with his crushing weight on top of her, she could hardly breathe. The more she struggled, the harder he probed. Tears filled her eyes but still he had no pity. Then he took his hand away and, sliding both hands under her buttocks, mounted her. Then the thrusting began. It was agony and it seemed endless. She bit her lip until she tasted blood in an effort not to cry out.

âPlease â¦ please â¦â she sobbed.

Her skin stung so much it almost took her breath away and the pain got worse with each thrust. All at once he grunted aloud, pushed himself right into her and went rigid. It was over. He looked down at her, as if seeing her for the first time. A smile played across his lips. âThat was lovely, wasnât it, darlinâ? Youâll soon be begginâ for more. Just like old times.â

She stared at him with a look of disgust as he lifted himself from her and turned away, his face to the wall. With a contented sigh, he pulled the bedclothes up and said, âTurn off the light, thereâs a good girl.â

Slowly and painfully, Dottie climbed out of the bed and picked up her nightdress from the floor. The material felt cool and light as it fell over her shaking shoulders. Soundlessly she walked over to the door and reached for the light switch. It clicked and she was plunged into darkness. She waited a second or two until her eyes adjusted and then she went to the bathroom to bathe her burning and bruised flesh with cold water. She was so sore she could hardly bear to pat herself dry on the rough towel.

When she came back into the bedroom, the moon was shining through the curtains and room was bathed in a cold harsh light. Dottie passed her tongue over her lips, tasting the salt of her silent tears.

She climbed into bed and lay very still. She could still feel him inside her and she hated him all the more for it. Staring up at the moonlit ceiling, Dottie willed herself not to cry. She found herself wondering about Michael and Mr Malcolm. Did they treat their wives like this? How gentle was Michael with Freda? Did Miss Josephine ever lie in her bed battered and so ill used? She didnât think so, but then if she were to ask her friends, none of them would believe what Reg had done here tonight. A renegade tear rolled down her cheek and onto the pillow. Sheâd asked him not to but heâd done it anyway. In the eyes of the law he had done no wrong. Heâd simply taken what was his by right; but as far as she was concerned, he had raped her.

When he began to snore softly, she relaxed, knowing he wouldnât want her again tonight. What about the next time? Dear God, she couldnât bear the thought of a next time. Careful not to touch him, she turned over and faced the window. He stirred in his sleep and her heart began to pound.

That was the moment she knew that she was very, very frightened.

Nineteen

Dottie woke with a start. The bright moonlight had waxed into the dull grey of early dawn. She slid out of bed quickly, anxious not to wake Reg. Grabbing a change of clothes, she tiptoed downstairs. The clock said 5.20am.

Rather than use the bathroom and risk another encounter with Reg, she washed in the bowl and dressed by the unlit fire. She curled up in the armchair and sipped her tea. She was still sore and she had a bruise on her lip. That must have been where he pressed his hand on her face. Miserably, she cupped her hands around the tea and swirled the dark liquid. Sylvie said to leave him â€“ but how could she? If she cleared off now, with Patsy on the way, he wouldnâ€™t be able to look after her on his own. And besides, why should she go? This was her auntâ€™s house. If anyone should leave, it should be him. But she knew that wouldnâ€™t happen, not in a month of Sundays. She reached up onto the mantelpiece and took down the letter. The postmark was dated two weeks ago. In a few weeks, by the middle of October, the girl would be here.

She looked at the childâ€™s letter again. She had very neat handwriting, which meant she was very bright for her age. Suzy was probably the name of her dolly. Dottie wondered how she was managing onboard. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She could just picture Patsy, in her pink and white gingham dress, her blonde curls bobbing along the deck as she played hide and seek with Dr Landers. Oh dear, what if Dr Landers was too old to play hide and seek? What if poor Patsy was seasick? What if poor old Nurse Tranter fell asleep in a deckchair and Patsy climbed through the railings and fell into the sea!

Dottie opened her eyes with a start. She heard the stairs creak and glanced at the clock. 5.45. Reg was coming downstairs.

Putting her cup into the hearth, Dottie fled into the scullery intending to disappear down the garden until heâ€™d gone. She picked up the bucket of chicken feed but when she opened the door, it was raining. Tipping it down.

â€˜Got the kettle on out there?â€™ The sound of his voice made her stomach churn.

â€˜Just coming,â€™ she called.

The teapot was only warm. She switched on the gas and poured the contents of the teapot away.

Reg appeared in the doorway. â€˜Been looking at Patsyâ€™s letter again, I see.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ she said wildly. Oh hell, sheâ€™d forgotten sheâ€™d still got it in her hand when sheâ€™d heard his footfall on the stairs. She must have automatically left it on the chair. â€˜I didnâ€™t mean to read your letter,â€™ she gabbled. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, Reg.â€™

She hated to sound like this but she was scared. Scared of what he might do â€¦

â€˜Thatâ€™s all right,â€™ he smiled. â€˜Her new mum is bound to want to look at her picture.â€™

He walked towards her but mercifully the kettle began to boil, so she was able to turn away and busy herself by making a fresh pot of tea. When she walked into the kitchen he was sitting at the table. He caught her by the waist as she put the teapot onto the stand.

â€˜Bread and cheese?â€™ she asked.

â€˜Iâ€™d rather have you all over again.â€™

Dottie looked at the ceiling. â€˜Sylvieâ€™s up there,â€™ she squeaked. â€˜She might come down.â€™

â€˜I like it best when somebodyâ€™s listening. Adds more spice to it.â€™ He let her go, slapping her bottom. â€˜Another time, eh?â€™

Dottie pulled down the kitchen cabinet and got out the bread. Her hands were trembling so much as she cut the slice, she didnâ€™t get it very straight. Normally Reg didnâ€™t like it when she messed things up but today he took it as a good omen.

â€˜Looks like Iâ€™ve got you all of a dither,â€™ he smiled.

She sat down in the armchair and put her hands around a new cup of tea.

He buttered his bread thickly. â€˜Cheese?â€™

â€˜Sorry.â€™

She went to get up, but he raised his hand. â€˜Iâ€™ll get it.â€™

As he bent to look in the cupboard, a head appeared at the window. The tramp, under an umbrella, his knuckles poised over the glass, peered into the room. Dottie leapt to her feet and shook her head. The tramp followed the direction of her eyes.

â€˜Let me find it for you, Reg,â€™ she said. Bending beside him, she reached into the cupboard and drew out the cheese dish. When she stood up, the tramp had gone.

â€˜I was looking for a piece of cheese,â€™ Reg snapped. â€˜Not a bloody dish.â€™

I have kept the cheese in that dish ever since we got married, she thought crossly, but she said nothing. Instead, she went back to the chair and sat down. Please donâ€™t let the tramp look through the window again, she thought anxiously.

They sat in silence as Reg ate his breakfast, then he stood up and reached for his coat in the nail behind the door. â€˜You do the animals,â€™ he said, coming over to her. â€˜The rain will most likely clear up soon.â€™

Flinching, she didnâ€™t know what she was expecting him to do â€“ but it certainly wasnâ€™t to plant a kiss on the top of her head. In the minutes while he was getting his bike out of the shed, she sat very still, listening to the slow tick-tocking of the clock. She was confused. How could someone be so horrible at one time and then, a few hours later, be so nice?

Reg put his head around the door again. â€˜Oh and Dottie,â€™ he said pleasantly.

Relaxing, she smiled up at him. â€˜Yes, Reg?â€™

â€˜Make sure you get rid of that silly bitch upstairs before I come home.â€™

As soon as she was sure he had gone, Dottie stood up and went into the scullery. She made a third pot of tea and cut a couple of doorstep slices of bread and a hunk of cheese. It had stopped raining now but when she walked outside the trampâ€™s tin can wasnâ€™t on the windowsill. Where was he? Perhaps sheltering from the rain somewhere? Then, as she turned to go back inside, she jumped a mile high. The tramp was standing right behind her.

â€˜Lord, you made me jump,â€™ she cried, clutching at her chest.

He didnâ€™t move.

â€˜Iâ€™ll get your tea.â€™

â€˜No,â€™ he said quickly. â€˜No need.â€™

Sheâ€™d never seen him this close up before. His face was dark and swarthy but he didnâ€™t smell. In fact, he looked quite presentable, even smart. His features were weather-beaten and he was a lot younger than she had first thought â€“ about fortyish, with tousled hair and watery blue grey eyes. She could see at once that his eyes were filled with sadness and she wondered what had happened to him that he should have been reduced to this. She wondered if he had been in action because he was wearing an army greatcoat. Hitler and that accursed war had damaged so many people in more ways than bombs alone could.

â€˜Can I get you anything else?â€™ Dottie asked gently.

â€˜The old lady in the mauve dress â€¦â€™ The sound of his voice was a surprise. Quiet, with a gentle Irish lilt. She had expected something else altogether: for it perhaps to be deeper, or a voice coated with rattling phlegm.

â€˜What old lady? Thereâ€™s only me here.â€™

He lifted his head towards Aunt Bessieâ€™s room and then looked back at her. He didnâ€™t elaborate but gradually his gaze rested somewhere behind her head.

All at once, Dottieâ€™s blood ran cold. Reg had come back? Was he right behind her and angry because she was giving the tramp something to eat. She swung sharply around, but there was no one there.

â€˜Donâ€™t do that!â€™ she cried. â€˜Youâ€™re scaring me.â€™

He looked at her as if sheâ€™d whipped him and she was immediately sorry.

â€˜She fell,â€™ he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

â€˜Oh, you mean my aunt?â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Yes, youâ€™re right. Iâ€™m afraid she died. But that was a long time ago, nearly two years.â€™

He touched his forehead as if trying to remember something. â€˜She sent me back â€¦â€™

â€˜She fell down the stairs,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜She was kind,â€™ he said. â€˜A saint.â€™

Dottie laughed. â€˜She was a wonderful person but hardly a saint.â€™

â€˜She helped me.â€™

â€˜I know.â€™

â€˜It was my fault â€¦â€™

The upstairs sash cord window rattled open and Sylvie stuck her head out. â€˜Oh, itâ€™s you, Dottie. I wondered who you were talking to.â€™

â€˜I was just talking to â€¦ Iâ€™m sorry, I donâ€™t know your name.â€™ She turned back to introduce him, but the tramp had gone. â€˜Where did he go?â€™

â€˜Who?â€™

â€˜The chap I was talking to. Didnâ€™t you see him?â€™

Sylvie shook her head. â€˜Is it all right to come down?â€™

â€˜Yes, of course.â€™

As she went indoors, Dottie felt puzzled. His fault? Whatever did the tramp mean? Was he there the day Aunt Bessie fell down the stairs? And if so, why didnâ€™t he get help?

When Sylvie and Dottie sat down to breakfast, the atmosphere between them was a bit awkward. Dottie knew Sylvie must have heard her and Reg. It was obvious she wanted to say something but Dottie could hardly bring up the subject herself. It was too embarrassing. In the end, they both skirted around it.

â€˜I canâ€™t believe you didnâ€™t see the tramp,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜He was right beside me.â€™

â€˜I heard voices,â€™ said Sylvie, â€˜but it took me a couple of minutes to get to the window. Anyway, what did he want?â€™

â€˜He comes round now and again for something to drink and a sandwich.â€™

â€˜Robin says we shouldnâ€™t encourage that sort.â€™

â€˜Reg says the same,â€™ said Dottie, pouring Sylvie another cup of tea. â€˜But heâ€™s not that old. He hasnâ€™t been around for ages. I was surprised to see him looking reasonably well turned out. I keep wondering what must happen to someone, that they should have just given up on life like that.â€™

â€˜Too much drink most likely.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t think so,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜He doesnâ€™t smell of drink.â€™

Sylvie got out her cigarette case. â€˜What was he talking about?â€™

â€˜He mentioned Aunt Bessie.â€™

Sylvie tapped her cigarette onto the case and looked Dottie straight in the eye. â€˜Did he hurt you? Reg? Last night, did he hurt you?â€™

Dottie felt her face flame. â€˜I donâ€™t want â€¦ itâ€™s none â€¦ no â€¦ yes â€¦â€™

Sylvie covered Dottieâ€™s hand with hers. â€˜Listen, darling, I know you donâ€™t want to talk about it, but really, I meant every word I said. If you ever change your mind, ring me. Keep four pennies handy for the phone box so that youâ€™ve got it day or night and Iâ€™ll come. Wherever you are, I promise Iâ€™ll come.â€™

Dottie sat very still, conscious that a large tear had rolled down her cheek and fallen onto the plate in front of her. She felt so humiliated she wanted to curl up and die. Sylvie handed her a pretty lace-edged handkerchief. Numbly she took it and wiped her eyes. â€˜Thank you.â€™ Her voice was very small. The sound of the clock seemed to get louder.

Sylvie took a long drag of her cigarette and put her head back. Dottie tried not to make a sound as she cleared her nose.

â€˜Do you have to have this child of his?â€™

â€˜How will he look after her if I go?â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s hardly a good reason to stay,â€™ said Sylvie.

Dottie sighed. Sylvie was right. Why should she stay here and look after Regâ€™s daughter? This was her home. She wanted so much to say â€˜Yes, Sylvie, Iâ€™ll go with youâ€™ â€“ but if she left, Reg would get the house by default.

â€˜This is my home,â€™ Dottie said desperately. â€˜And besides, I canâ€™t let him down. Not after heâ€™s suffered so much.â€™

â€˜Dottie, you canâ€™t spend your whole life trying to make someone else happy. Itâ€™s time you thought about what you want.â€™ Sylvie leaned towards her as if she was going to say something else, but then she seemed to think better of it.

â€˜If Reg is happy, then Iâ€™ll be happy,â€™ Dottie said, struggling to regain her composure. â€˜Look, I donâ€™t want to be rude, Sylvie, but I donâ€™t see the point of going over and over the same thing and thatâ€™s that. Youâ€™re very kind to be so concerned but please, youâ€™re not to worry about me.â€™

â€˜A very pretty speech,â€™ said Sylvie, â€˜but donâ€™t forget, I slept here last night.â€™

Dottieâ€™s face flamed. She couldnâ€™t talk about last night. It was â€¦ humiliating. As she rose to leave, Sylvie put up her hand up. â€˜Point taken, darling. If youâ€™d rather not talk about it, weâ€™ll say no more. Like I said in the car, I care too much about you to quarrel.â€™

They finished their breakfast, making polite conversation, then Dottie helped Sylvie to pack her things. By 8.25 she was ready for the off and Dottie stood in the road to wave her goodbye.

Sylvie handed her the framed photograph of the two of them with Aunt Bessie. â€˜I thought you might like to have this,â€™ she said. â€˜I had it enlarged and framed to remind you of the happy times we had together.â€™

â€˜Oh, Sylvie!â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜Itâ€™s lovely. Iâ€™d quite forgotten it. She looked so funny in that old cowboy hat.â€™

â€˜How did she get it?â€™ Sylvie asked. â€˜Iâ€™ve been trying to remember â€¦â€™

â€˜Colonel Warren gave it to her, didnâ€™t he?â€™

â€˜Of course,â€™ cried Sylvie. â€˜All those American Square Dances she organised.â€™

They looked at each other and, smiling broadly, chorused, â€˜Yee-ha!â€™

Sylvie put her arm around Dottieâ€™s shoulder and they leaned over the photograph again. â€˜Dear Aunt Bessie. I always think of her in that dress.â€™

Dottie smiled. â€˜She was wearing it the day she died.â€™ Something made her stop. She frowned thoughtfully. Something was niggling at the back of her mind, something she couldnâ€™t quite put her finger on. The tramp. Heâ€™d asked about the lady with the mauve dress. Aunt Bessie was wearing it in the photograph and she was wearing it the day she died. She shivered. The tramp must have seen her. So why didnâ€™t he raise the alarm?

â€˜What is it?â€™ Sylvie asked.

â€˜Nothing,â€™ she said, shaking the dark thoughts away. â€˜Youâ€™d better get going and Iâ€™ve got to get to work. They embraced and Dottie kissed her on the cheek. â€˜Youâ€™re a good friend.â€™

As soon as she was in the car, Sylvie wound down the car windows. â€˜Please think about getting away from Reg,â€™ she said. â€˜Donâ€™t leave it too long, and for Godâ€™s sake, donâ€™t end up getting pregnant with his child.â€™

She roared away down the road, with Dottie staring after her. Donâ€™t end up getting pregnant â€¦ The words reverberated around her head. As she turned to go back inside, Dottie found herself saying, â€˜Absolutely not. I canâ€™t get pregnant now â€¦ Not now â€¦â€™

Twenty

Was her period late?

Dottie had never really bothered keeping tabs on her monthly cycle. Why should she? She had no reason to even think about it when Reg was unable to perform but she hadnâ€™t come on at all this month.

She was handwashing her sheets in the big tin bath outside the back door. They had already been boiled in the copper and sheâ€™d staggered out with the clean sheet in a double-handled bowl to tip it into the bath of cold water to begin rinsing. It was backbreaking and exhausting work. She would wring the sheet by hand, passing it along her forearm until one end coiled itself back into the empty bowl. When both sheets were done, she would empty the bath and refill it with cold water and add a drummer blue to whiten the sheets. After a good soak and another wringing by hand, she would fold it and put it through the old mangle before it went onto the line.

The last few golden days of autumn were fading. Already there was a nip in the air. Time had hardly moved on since Michaelâ€™s wedding. He and Freda were back from honeymoon. Now at last the new Mrs Gilbert made no secret of their forthcoming happy event. Dottie had bumped into her several times in the village, her increasing girth now swathed in maternity dresses and her strained look turned into a glow. She and Michael had made a home for themselves on the farm using the old quarters used by the Land Girls during the war. Dottie hadnâ€™t seen it but she imagined it would look a darned sight better than it did back then.

Things had taken an upward turn for Ann Pearce as well. Dottie was aware that several other householders in the village were keen to find a good daily woman. They had been trying to get Dottie to work for them for ages. Colonel Harris, who was retired, and his sister, Miss Harris, a piano teacher, were two of them. Then there was Miss Edwards. Now too elderly and infirm to leave her home, she was a mine of information and was always bang up-to-date with all the village gossip.

It had been tricky approaching Ann about the job, but Dottieâ€™s decision to introduce her to Miss Edwards had been a master-stroke. The two of them hit it off straight away. Brian and Phyllis loved being with the twins all day and Mary was pleased to be able to buy a few things with the extra money Ann gave her.

Things were not so good for Dottie, however. For a few days after the wedding, Regâ€™s demands were frequent and sickening. Sometimes she tried to fight him off, but that only seemed to enflame his passion. She had a growing dread of bedtime and spent as long as she could downstairs doing odd jobs in the vain hope that he would be asleep when she came up to bed. It didnâ€™t happen very often. Her body was so tender, she had resorted to lying to him, telling him she had her period. Sheâ€™d even complained of stomach ache and that theyâ€™d gone on longer than usual, but the truth was she was late.

It was ironic that after all those years of longing for a child, even praying for one, all the years of trying to seduce Reg, now she hated the very thought of being with him. He was a brute. Dottie didnâ€™t even want to think of the things heâ€™d done to her. He seemed to enjoy it all the more when she was crying and pleading with him to stop. And when it was all over, he would pat her like a dog and tell her what a good girl she was. It had got to the stage when she couldnâ€™t bear him to touch her.

Heaving the wet sheet back into the cold-water rinse, she knew she couldnâ€™t hold out much longer. He was no fool. Heâ€™d know she was lying. Once the sheet was submerged, she stood up and pressed her apron against her stomach. But she couldnâ€™t be pregnant. She mustnâ€™t be.

In three days, Patsy would be here. Dottieâ€™d kept nagging him to do something about the old well, but somehow he never seemed to get round to it. It made her feel nervous. Patsy might run around the garden and â€¦

Ever since sheâ€™d read the childâ€™s letter, Dottie had felt different about Patsy. More than likely, Elizabeth Johns had been a loving and caring mother. Patsy had suffered the trauma of losing her mother and now she was being shipped to a place far away from all that was familiar.

Australia was hot and barren. Dottie had once seen a picture of place called Ayers Rock and it looked an empty and desolate place. By comparison, England would seem very cold, even on a summerâ€™s day. It was true, the Worthing area was sheltered from extremes of weather by the Downs, but winters could still be very cold and sometimes they had snow. Not as deep as in the north, but enough to cause problems on the roads. How, she wondered, would a little girl used to the heat manage to cope with an English winter?

Dottie had had little time to prepare for Patsyâ€™s arrival. She was desperate to finish Mrs Fitzgeraldâ€™s curtains and the bedspread, but sheâ€™d spent most evenings knitting for Patsy. Her favourite was a yellow jumper with a brown kangaroo on the front.

â€˜Do you think sheâ€™ll like this one?â€™ sheâ€™d asked Reg. Sheâ€™d held it up but he paid little attention.

As for the people in the village, Dottie had stuck to their agreed story and it had worked â€¦ after a fashion.

â€˜Why the hell adopt a kid all the way from Australia?â€™ Janet Cooper wanted to know. â€˜There are plenty of kids in this country who need a mum and dad. Barnardoâ€™s is bulging with them.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s being done through an old colleague Reg knew during the war,â€™ Dottie had said, but she was a hopeless liar. She could already feel her face beginning to burn.

Mary may have seemed a little disapproving as well but the next time sheâ€™d seen Dottie sheâ€™d given her a bag of clothes. â€˜Take what you want and give the rest back to me,â€™ sheâ€™d said. â€˜We all help each other out and there are plenty of others I know that could do with a thing or two.â€™

Dottie smiled. So that would explain why sheâ€™d seen Phyllis Pearce wearing the jumper sheâ€™d knitted little Maureen Prior two Christmases ago.

The sheets were ready for the mangle. Dottie wiped the roller with a cloth and then passed the cloth through to check for any bits. Sheâ€™d learned her lesson when, as a new bride, sheâ€™d put a sheet straight into the mangle and it came out the other side complete with a squashed spider and sheâ€™d had to rinse it all over again.

Dottie slowly turned the handle. The sheet was thick and it was hard work getting it through. There was a footfall behind her and Dottie spun around.

It was Vincent Dobbs, the postman.

â€˜Thanks, Vince,â€™ she said as he handed her a small pile of letters and waited while she wiped her hands on her apron.

Two bills, a letter from Sylvie (she recognised the handwriting and the Brockenhurst postmark), and a letter for Reg. She sighed. Still nothing from Peaches. Sylvie had been so sure a letter would help to heal the rift between them but Dottie had written her three letters and received not one reply. Reg didnâ€™t mind her writing so she had put her last letter behind the clock for posting on Sunday. Reg had taken it and put it in the box first thing on Monday so she would have had it, maybe second post, but certainly on Tuesday morning. Sheâ€™d told Peaches all about their plans to fetch Patsy. Sheâ€™d asked about Gary and even offered to help with babysitting when he got back home, but nothing. No reply. No word â€¦ nothing. It looked as if sheâ€™d lost one of her dearest friends forever.

Sylvieâ€™s letter was chatty and fun. After sheâ€™d told Dottie all about the children she wrote:

Â Â Â Â Robin is as busy as ever. I have been thinking about your wonderful talent for furnishings and I was wondering if you would come here and do some work for me? I canâ€™t invite you just yet, because I am meeting my riding friend in London for a few days â€¦

Oh Sylvie, Dottie thought, you are naughty.

Â Â Â Â â€¦ I will be in touch with you as soon as I get back. Donâ€™t forget, darling, if ever you are in trouble, you know where I am.

Dottie slipped Sylvieâ€™s letter into her apron pocket as Reg came out of the house, dressed and ready for work. â€˜Any post?â€™

Dottie handed him the bills and his letter and, after a cursory glance, he pushed them into his pocket. â€˜Whatâ€™s the matter with you? Youâ€™ve got a face like a wet weekend.â€™

â€˜I wish Peaches would write,â€™ she said. â€˜Iâ€™ve sent her three or four letters but ever since we had that row about Gary, I havenâ€™t heard a word.â€™

He was looking at her with a strange expression. She frowned. â€˜What? What is it?â€™ Something was wrong â€¦

â€˜You know something, donâ€™t you, Reg. Is it Gary? Has something happened to him?â€™

He went into his shed and took down a small tin. A few seconds later, she heard him unlocking a drawer. â€˜I didnâ€™t want you to see this,â€™ he said coming back out. â€˜I knew youâ€™d be upset.â€™

His face was so serious, her mouth went dry and her chest felt tight.

â€˜Peaches came round.â€™

Dottie gasped. â€˜What? When? I didnâ€™t see her.â€™

â€˜I found this pushed through the letterbox.â€™ He handed her something. Tears swam in Dottieâ€™s eyes as she recognised her own letter to Peaches. It had been torn in half.

â€˜I tried to protect you,â€™ said Reg, â€˜but this makes it obvious, doesnâ€™t it? She doesnâ€™t want anything to do with you.â€™

â€˜But I donâ€™t understand,â€™ said Dottie quietly. She stared down at the pieces. â€˜Why didnâ€™t she read it? If only she had opened it first, it would have explained everything.â€™

Reg put his arm around her shoulder. â€˜Sheâ€™s not bloody worth it.â€™

He went back into the shed and brought out his bike. â€˜Well, Iâ€™m off now. See you at ten and then weâ€™ll have some fun.â€™

She almost retched. She had a lump in her throat and she could feel her eyes pricking. At least she still had one friend, she thought, glancing at Sylvieâ€™s letter again. Should she read it again already? No. It was something to look forward to when she finished the washing. Shoving the letter back into her apron pocket, she picked up the other end of a folded sheet and reached for the handle.

Twenty-One

â€˜People will think weâ€™re off to another wedding,â€™ Dottie joked as Reg locked the front door on the morning they went to fetch Patsy.

It was Thursday October 11th and the weather was bright and clear. Dottie was happy. Determined not to think about her fears today, and dressed in her best clothes, she and Reg walked arm in arm to the station to catch the train to Southampton. Over her other arm, she carried a warm coat taken from the bag of childrenâ€™s clothes Mary had given her.

The truth of the matter was, her feelings were all over the place. She still hadnâ€™t had her period but she hadnâ€™t been sick in the morning. Could that mean it was a false alarm? Plenty of people missed a month now and again. Sheâ€™d heard Peaches and Mary talk about it often enough.

Even though Reg was still rough in bed, during the daytime heâ€™d been really nice to her, calling her â€˜my little wifeyâ€™ and kissing her on the cheek. Heâ€™d had another letter from abroad with instructions as to where to meet Patsy when she arrived in the country. It was from Dr Landers, the man who was bringing Patsy from Australia and it had been posted in Gibraltar.

Â Â Â Â I suspect Brenda has already told you that I am returning to England to spend some time with my widowed mother who has been very unwell. Nurse Tranter is in charge of Patricia but I am on hand should she need any help. Nurse Tranter is a capable woman with many years of experience. She is moving back to Wales to retire. We shall all be arriving in Southampton. The responsibility is no hardship because I have become very fond of Patricia. Despite her straitened circumstances, Sandy did an amazing job with her and we are all hoping that Patricia will settle down with you very quickly. However, I should like to keep up contact with her, and I know it will ease Brendaâ€™s mind if every now and then she can have a first-hand report. Perhaps when we meet, we could arrange a date at our mutual convenience for me to come and see Patricia in her new home.

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â I remain yours sincerely,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â J. Landers.

â€˜Bloody interfering busybodies,â€™ Reg had grumbled. â€˜Everybody wants to sticky-beak into my business.â€™

But this morning, as Dottie had watched him putting the letter into his breast pocket, Reg had been very excited and she was glad for him. Perhaps this really would be the start of a new era in their lives. Perhaps with a child in the house he would restrain himself a little more. Certainly he wouldnâ€™t be able to make her do some of the things heâ€™d wanted with Patsy around. For a start, heâ€™d have to stop groping her whenever he wanted. Besides, maybe if he took it a little slower, she might even get to like it â€¦ No, she would never get used to it, and she shuddered at the thought.

â€˜Whatâ€™s up?â€™ he asked.

â€˜Just thinking about meeting Patsy,â€™ she said.

He patted her hand. â€˜Good girl,â€™ he murmured.

Yes, she thought hopefully, perhaps he will change. Look what happened to Tom Prior.

â€˜Iâ€™ve never seen such a change in a man,â€™ Mary had said after the birth of the twins. â€˜He became a father overnight to my kids and now that Christopher and Connie are here, he canâ€™t do enough for us all.â€™

They had reached the station.

â€˜Off to fetch our kid today,â€™ Reg told Marney as they stopped by the ticket office for a rail pass. As an employee, Reg didnâ€™t have to pay.

Marney cupped his illicit cigarette behind his hand and coughed. â€˜Best of luck, mate,â€™ he said, once heâ€™d recovered.

The 8.32 thundered into the station. The next time I see this platform, Dottie thought to herself, my life will be changed forever. They selected a seat and Reg took out his newspaper.

Dottie sat back and did her best to enjoy the journey. Life was so confusing at the moment. A few short weeks ago she had been dreading the thought of having a child in the house, but now it was really happening. As she gazed out of the window, she seemed to see little pockets of family life everywhere. A woman and her children waiting at the gates at Angmering to go to school, a little boy on a rope swing in a garden somewhere near Chichester, a man with a small child on his shoulders watching the trains go by at Emsworth, and a group of women with prams waiting outside a church hall for a clinic to start at Fareham.

Throughout the journey, Dottie lovingly stroked Patsyâ€™s coat. It was a very pretty cherry red trimmed with black. None of Maryâ€™s children had worn it, but she fancied it was the same one Fredaâ€™s little sister used to wear. It was double-breasted and made with wool. It had black buttons and a black trim on the cuffs, a Peter Pan collar and a flared skirt. There was a matching bonnet with a turned-back brim trimmed with black and a tie under the chin. It would make a perfect frame for a halo of blonde curls. Dottie had made some knitted gloves to go with it. It might be mild for the time of year, but Dottie reasoned that, coming from such a hot place, Patsy wouldnâ€™t be used to the autumnal nip in the air.

She wondered what Dr Landers would be like. Having given the best years of his life to Australia, he was probably glad to be returning to his homeland to retire. He was obviously very worried about his poor old mother. Seeing as Nurse Tranter was returning to retire as well, Dottie hoped they hadnâ€™t found looking after a lively eight year old too tiring.

By the time theyâ€™d reached Havant, Reg was chain smoking and the tension mounted as they pulled into Southampton station. He almost lost it at the ticket barrier. He had given her the rail pass as they got on the train at Worthing and sheâ€™d absentmindedly pushed it into her bag. During the journey, it had slipped right down the bottom, and Dottie couldnâ€™t find it straight away.

The ticket collector waited patiently.

â€˜Women,â€™ laughed Reg. â€˜Sheâ€™s got everything but the kitchen sink in there.â€™

The man shared the joke as Dottie struggled to find the pass. It took her several minutes and it was only unearthed after sheâ€™d taken out her purse, lipstick, a couple of hankies, a set of keys, as well as some old letters Aunt Bessie wrote when her mother died.

â€˜You only had the bloody thing five minutes,â€™ Reg hissed in her ear as they left.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ Dottie said.

â€˜Give it here,â€™ he said churlishly, snatching it from her hand and put it in his back pocket. â€˜Making me look a ruddy fool â€¦â€™

In his letter, Dr Landers had suggested they meet in the foyer of the Railway Hotel. It was an old Victorian building which, amazingly, had survived the terrible bombing in the city. Its dark red and gold interior spoke of a bygone and more opulent age. Dottie gazed in wonder at the chandeliers and the plush carpet. The foyer itself was huge. Sofas and chairs were arranged in small groups around the drinks tables. In the windows, between the heavy drapes, large aspidistras blocked the sunlight and at the other end of the foyer was a bar. Several guests and visitors sat on the bar stools enjoying a lunchtime drink. Beyond the foyer, Dottie could see the restaurant, which had white tablecloths and a silver service.

Reg looked distinctly uncomfortable and began running his finger around the inside of his collar in a desperate attempt to avoid the eye of the doorman. It was obvious he didnâ€™t know what to do, so Dottie took charge.

Marching up to the reception desk, she said, â€˜Mr and Mrs Cox to see Doctor Landers.â€™

The receptionist picked up the telephone and as Reg came to join her she noticed his collar was sticking up at the corner. She went to smooth it out for him but he hit her hand away and glared at her.

The receptionist replaced the receiver. â€˜Dr Landers will come down as soon as he can,â€™ she said. â€˜He invites you to order a drink from the bar at his expense.â€™

â€˜Thank you,â€™ said Dottie graciously. â€˜Iâ€™ll â€¦â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll have a pint of bitter,â€™ Reg interrupted. â€˜Sheâ€™ll have a port and lemon.â€™

The receptionist glanced back at Dottie and she nodded. In actual fact, she would have preferred to try out one of those new Babycham drinks sheâ€™d seen advertised at the pictures but now she was too embarrassed to change the order.

â€˜If you would like to sit down â€¦â€™ the receptionist smiled.

â€˜Where?â€™ Reg wanted to know.

â€˜Anywhere you like, sir. The waiter will bring your order.â€™

They sat near a window, Reg following Dottie until she chose the place, her only aim to get as far away from the desk as possible.

â€˜Why come all the way over here?â€™ he grumbled as he sat down. Dottie ignored him, preferring to look out of the window. Her chin wobbled and her eyes were pricking.

Southampton was a busy place. She had never seen so many cars and pedestrians. Across the road, there was a bombsite, overgrown with weeds and buddleia, but in other open spaces she could see bright modern buildings going up. It all looked so light and fresh.

The barman, dressed in white shirtsleeves, black waistcoat and red bowtie brought them their drinks on a silver tray.

â€˜Bring us another beer,â€™ said Reg, before heâ€™d even taken a sip. As the man walked away he said, â€˜I reckon heâ€™s a bloody nancy-boy,â€™ and Dottie felt sick with embarrassment.

They sat in silence. Dottie wondered if she would know Dr Landers if she saw him. She turned her head just as a middle-aged man, balding and with a paunch walked towards them. Dottie made eye contact and smiled. She was about to stand up and hold out her hand when the woman on the table in front of them stood up, saying, â€˜Charles, darling.â€™ As the pair met, they embraced each other warmly.

Dottie shifted her gaze back to the street outside.

â€˜Mr and Mrs Cox?â€™

The unexpectedness of his soft voice made her jump. She turned her head and saw a dark-haired man with sparkling hazel eyes and a ready smile.

â€˜Mr and Mrs Reginald Cox?â€™ he repeated.

â€˜Thatâ€™s right,â€™ said Reg.

Dottie wondered why the man was giving Reg such an odd look. â€˜Iâ€™m Dr John Landers.â€™

She hadnâ€™t expected him to be so young. Well, he wasnâ€™t that young â€“ thirty, thirty-five â€“ but he certainly wasnâ€™t the balding fifty year old sheâ€™d been expecting to meet. His face was tanned and he had a line of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His teeth were white and evenly formed. He wore a lightweight cream suit made out of linen and a plain shirt, but no tie.

They all shook hands and he drew up a chair and sat beside them. â€˜I thought I would take the opportunity to have a chat with you before I take you upstairs to meet your daughter.â€™

â€˜Whatâ€™s there to chat about?â€™ Reg asked gruffly.

Dr Landers was unfazed by his rudeness. â€˜How was your trip?â€™

â€˜We came by train,â€™ Dottie said quickly. â€˜It wasnâ€™t very far. Not as far as youâ€™ve come, anyway.â€™

Dr Landers laughed softly. Dottie looked away quickly. He was making her feel all of a flutter.

â€˜I presume you want to take her home straight away,â€™ he said. â€˜Sheâ€™s in good health but I expect youâ€™ll want to get her looked at by your own doctor. Anyway, Iâ€™ve brought all the relevant paperwork with me.â€™ He placed a small case on the table between them. â€˜I wonâ€™t open it now, but itâ€™s all there. Her birth certificate, her motherâ€™s death certificate, all her medical reports and the records of her childhood illnesses â€“ you know, measles and all that stuff. By and large, sheâ€™s been very healthy all things considered. Is there anything you want to ask me?â€™

â€˜Brenda said Sandy left me everything,â€™ Reg said.

Dottie was shocked but Dr Landers simply smiled. â€˜Thatâ€™s right. All the relevant papers are in the case.

Reg continued to stare.

â€˜Has Patricia got any likes or dislikes?â€™ Dottie asked, careful to avoid Dr Landersâ€™ eyes.

â€˜I thought you might ask me that,â€™ he chuckled. â€˜Brenda has written you a letter. She spent days getting it all down, so you can bet your boots everything is there. Sheâ€™s got her favourite toy, of course, Suzy. A grey elephant. Her mother gave it to her. Suzy goes everywhere with her, and even though she is very grown up in many ways, Patricia gets very upset if she canâ€™t find her.â€™

The waiter came back with another pint of beer and Reg took it from the tray himself and took a long drink from it.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ said Dr Landers, as the waiter hovered. â€˜Where are my manners? Would you like something to eat? A meal, a sandwich or something?â€™

He ordered a round of sandwiches and Reg excused himself to go to the gentsâ€™. He walked briskly. His cheeks prickled with rage and his nostrils flared. The toilet cubicle was occupied and Reg headed straight for the urinal. After relieving himself, he stood chewing the inside of his cheek. How much money was there then? Why couldnâ€™t the doctor tell him and put him out of his misery? Perhaps he didnâ€™t know. Yes, that was it. The solicitor had written a private letter.

Behind him, the toilet flushed and the waiter who had brought him the beer came out of the cubicle. Reg stared at him, his lip curling. The young man nodded briefly and went to the sink to wash his hands. As he put his hands under the tap, Reg stepped towards him. Their eyes met in the mirror over the sink and the waiterâ€™s face went white. In his haste to get out of the gentsâ€™, the man left the tap running. Reg kicked the cubicle door.

â€˜Bloody poofter,â€™ he shouted after him.

â€˜Your mother â€¦?â€™ Dottie began as Reg left for the gentsâ€™.

Dr Landers acknowledged her concern with a smile. â€˜Nice of you to ask, Mrs Cox. Sheâ€™s not too good at the moment but Iâ€™m hopeful that she will make a full recovery.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m glad.â€™

â€˜Do you have any other children, Mrs Cox?â€™

Dottie shook her head.

â€˜But now youâ€™ve got Patricia.â€™

â€˜Now Iâ€™ve got Patricia,â€™ she repeated with a smile.

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid that by the time the funeral expenses were seen to,â€™ Dr Landers went on, â€˜there wasnâ€™t a lot left. When Brenda took her in, Sandy was almost destitute.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll be all right,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I have a little money coming to me next year. Patsy will lack for nothing.â€™

As for the paperwork,â€™ he went on, â€˜now that Iâ€™ve handed her over, the solicitor will write to your husband. That correspondence has to be private between him and Mr Cox until such time as you legally adopt Patricia.â€™

â€˜I quite understand,â€™ Dottie smiled.

â€˜I know this is none of my business,â€™ he continued cautiously, â€˜but I just want to say, what you are doing is marvellous. It canâ€™t have been easy for you to accept having Patricia as your own child. I must say I admire you enormously.â€™

Dottie felt her face colouring. â€˜What else could I do? Sheâ€™s my husbandâ€™s child.â€™

â€˜Ummm,â€™ said Dr Landers leaning back in the chair. â€˜So it would seem.â€™

What did that mean? Dottie was slightly puzzled by his remark. She was about to say something when he interrupted her. â€˜It doesnâ€™t worry you? Taking in another womanâ€™s child, I mean?â€™

â€˜Not at all,â€™ she said but she couldnâ€™t meet his gaze and looked away.

â€˜Tell me about Worthing, Mrs Cox.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s not much to tell,â€™ she laughed softly. â€˜Itâ€™s on the south coast. Itâ€™s thirteen miles from Brighton and they say itâ€™s full of newlyweds and nearly-deads.â€™

Dr Landers chuckled. â€˜Are you far from the sea?â€™

â€˜About three miles.â€™

The waiter put three plates of sandwiches in front of them. â€˜Please,â€™ said Dr Landers, â€˜help yourself.â€™

Their eyes met and Dottie was startled by their gentleness. â€˜You know, Sandy was a remarkable woman,â€™ he went on. â€˜She kept a diary. Weâ€™ve put it in the case. It might help you to know what the child has been through, and of course, when sheâ€™s old enough, Iâ€™m sure it will mean a lot to Patricia.â€™

Reg came back and ate his sandwiches in silence. Dottie and Dr Landers made small talk and eventually Reg finished the rest of his bitter. â€˜Look here, Doc,â€™ he said. â€˜No offence, but Iâ€™d sooner see my Patsy than sit down here stuffing sandwiches and having a natter. Weâ€™ve got to get back to Worthing.â€™

â€˜Yes, yes, of course,â€™ said the doctor. â€˜Iâ€™ll take you both up now.â€™

The room was on the second floor. As they walked in, a grey-haired woman wearing round, silver-rimmed glasses stood up. She was dressed in a grey skirt with a white blouse and sensible shoes. Dottie may have got it all wrong when it came to Dr Landers, but Nurse Tranter was every bit as she had imagined.

â€˜Where is she?â€™ Dr Landers asked.

â€˜Sheâ€™s just gone across to my room to get her toy,â€™ the nurse said. â€˜I was just going to read her a story.â€™

Dottie noticed she was holding a book in her hand.

â€˜Mr and Mrs Cox,â€™ said Doctor Landers, â€˜Nurse Tranter. Nurse Tranter, Mr and Mrs Cox.â€™

All three of them shook hands. The older woman gave Dottie a warm smile but when she shook Regâ€™s hand Dottie noticed a strange look pass between her and Dr Landers. Something was wrong. Dottieâ€™s stomach began to churn. Didnâ€™t they think he was right for Patsy? Reg was hardly being Mr Polite, was he? Was his attitude going against them?

The doctor walked down the hallway into another room and they could hear low voices. Reg was a bag of nerves. He was twitching all the time and kept turning his hat around in his hands. Every now and then, he ran his fingers along the collar of his shirt or touched the knot in his tie.

Nurse Tranter slipped the book she was holding onto a chair and waited in silence. Dottie turned her head and looked out of the window. Her heart was thumping and her legs had become like jelly now that they were so close to meeting Patsy. Supposing Patsy didnâ€™t like them? And what was that look that had passed between Dr Landers and Nurse Tranter? What would happen to Patsy if they decided she and Reg didnâ€™t measure up?

She heard a soft footfall and the door to the room creaked open but Dottie didnâ€™t move. Let Reg see her first, she told herself. This is his moment. Sheâ€™s his child. She forced herself to watch the people on the street below, hurrying in and out of the shops, climbing on buses, crossing the road. A man with only one leg was busking on the corner. A bus pulled up and several people got off. The bus took off again and someone ran after it, catching the central pole on the back and leaping onboard just as it gathered speed.

Behind her she heard the doctor saying, â€˜Here we are Patricia. This man is your daddy.â€™

She waited for a cry of joy, or at the very least, an acknowledgement, but there was no sound. Reg said nothing. As the ominous silence deepened, she turned her head slowly. He seemed to be transfixed. Unsmiling, he appeared to be rooted to the spot.

Dr Landers was standing in the doorway holding Patsyâ€™s hand. Dottie looked right at her.

Her hair was very dark and there was no sign of the halo of blonde curls Dottie had imagined. Instead, it was parted on the side and very curly. It was roughly cut in a pudding-basin style and she wore a large pink and white bow, which was badly tied. Her elfin face was dainty and her brown eyes were large and soft. She was thin, like Reg, but her skin was the colour of coffee cream â€¦ and something told Dottie it was more than a decent suntan.

Reg still hadnâ€™t moved.

â€˜Hello, Patsy,â€™ said Dottie awkwardly. â€˜Itâ€™s lovely to see you. Weâ€™ve come a long way to meet you.â€™

The child regarded her carefully. â€˜Is that my new name?â€™ she said looking up at Dr Landers.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ said Dottie quickly. â€˜Donâ€™t you like it? Itâ€™s just that your father likes to call you Patsy.â€™

Dottie appealed to Reg with her eyes, but he continued staring.

The child looked up at John Landers. â€˜I like Patsy,â€™ she said. â€˜Will my mummy mind if I change my name?â€™

The doctor shook his head. â€˜Iâ€™m sure she wonâ€™t.â€™

Dottie felt a lump forming in her throat. â€˜Right then,â€™ she said brightly as she glanced at the nurse. â€˜Thatâ€™s settled.â€™ She held out her hand. â€˜How dâ€™you do, Patsy?â€™

The child glanced back at the doctor for reassurance. Dr Landers smiled and nodded so Patsy let go of his hand and came towards her. The two of them shook hands formally. â€˜Are you going to look after me now?â€™ she asked gravely.

Dottie struggled to keep her voice even. â€˜I should like that very much,â€™ she smiled.

â€˜What is your name?â€™

â€˜Dottie â€¦ call me Auntie Dottie.â€™

â€˜Mr Cox,â€™ said the doctor, clearing his throat noisily. â€˜Is there anything you want to ask me?â€™

Reg turned his head. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, Doc â€¦â€™ he began.

Dottie held her breath. Doctor Landers gave him a sympathetic look. â€˜You need time to think about this.â€™

â€˜I think weâ€™d better be making a move,â€™ said Reg. â€˜If itâ€™s all the same to you. Our train leaves at four.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re taking her?â€™

Reg was staring at the brown suitcase with a stony expression. The doctor turned to the nurse. â€˜Are her things ready?â€™

Nurse Tranter nodded and walked out of the room.

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid we havenâ€™t got a coat for her.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s all right,â€™ smiled Dottie. â€˜Iâ€™ve brought one. I hope it fits.â€™

â€˜Is that for me?â€™ cried Patsy, her eyes dancing with excitement.

It fitted as if it had been made for her, and she looked so pretty. Reg took the brown suitcase, leaving Dottie to carry the suitcase with Patsyâ€™s clothes. They made their way back to the foyer.

â€˜If itâ€™s at all possible,â€™ said John Landers, â€˜I should like to keep in contact.â€™

Reg walked out onto the street.

â€˜Mrs Cox,â€™ he added in a low voice, â€˜is your husband all right? I mean â€¦â€™

â€˜Everythingâ€™s fine,â€™ smiled Dottie. â€˜This has all been a bit overwhelming, thatâ€™s all. My husband is not very good at letter-writing, but I promise Iâ€™ll drop you a line.â€™

The doctor gave her his motherâ€™s address and they shook hands, then he bent to kiss the child. â€˜Goodbye, Patricia â€¦ er, Patsy. Have a lovely time.â€™

â€˜Goodbye, Dr Landers. Thank you for looking after me.â€™

The doctor straightened himself up. Dottie noticed he had a tear in his eye.

â€˜Mrs Cox,â€™ he ventured, â€˜if I may be permitted to give you a little advice â€¦ It will be difficult to begin with. Donâ€™t try and solve all the problems at once.â€™

Dottie nodded. â€˜Iâ€™ll take good care of her, I promise.â€™

â€˜And above all,â€™ he said, â€˜love her.â€™

â€˜I will,â€™ Dottie said. They shook hands, the fear and suspicion they both shared remaining unspoken.

Outside on the street, Reg was leaning with one foot up against the wall, sucking hard on a cigarette. As soon as Dottie came out of the hotel he hurried ahead of her. She grabbed Patsyâ€™s hand and the two of them began running after him. â€˜Reg, Reg, slow down, will you?â€™

â€˜I just want to get home.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™ve had a bit of a shock.â€™

Reg rounded on her. â€˜Bit of a shock?â€™ he said between his teeth. â€˜Iâ€™ll say Iâ€™ve had a bit of a shock.â€™

He stood in front of her, eyeball to eyeball, his face contorted with pent-up rage. Patsy had crashed into her side, so Dottie pressed her against her body, covering her one exposed ear with her hand. She pleaded with Reg with her eyes. Donâ€™t say anything awful, please â€¦

â€˜In all those letters she wrote,â€™ he spat in low voice, â€˜and in all the ones I had from that Brenda woman, and the one that stuck-up doctor wrote â€¦â€™

â€˜Reg â€¦ donâ€™t â€¦â€™

â€˜Not one of them, not one,â€™ he ranted on, â€˜had the decency to tell me that she was a bloody half-breed. â€˜

Twenty-Two

Patsy was in bed. Dottie poured herself a cup of tea and sat down by the fire. Anxious that the child might already be feeling the cold, sheâ€™d lit it as soon as theyâ€™d got home. Now it was 7.30 and already dark outside.

The journey home had been strained. She and Patsy had had to run all the way to the station to keep up with Reg and heâ€™d hardly said one word all the way home. Fortunately they didnâ€™t have to wait long for the train, but heâ€™d refused to sit in the crowded carriage with them, preferring to stand in the corridor outside, chain smoking and looking out of the window.

Dottie did her best to make Patsy feel at ease but there was one heart-stopping moment when sheâ€™d asked, â€˜Have I made my daddy cross?â€™

â€˜No, dear,â€™ Dottie lied. â€˜Daddy is just thinking about important things.â€™

To take their minds off the situation, Dottie told Patsy all about their home. Patsy was excited to discover they had chickens and a pig.

â€˜My Auntie Bren has chooks,â€™ she said. â€˜Uncle Burt used to tell everybody on the radio school whenever we had baby chooks. Do you listen to Uncle Burtâ€™s radio school?â€™

Dottie shook her head. She wasnâ€™t even sure what that was. â€˜Youâ€™ll go to a new school in the village,â€™ she smiled. And then she told her all about Billy Prior, and Maureen and Susan and the twins. She was about to mention Peaches and Gary but then thought better of it. Best not to confuse the child; instead, they talked about the seaside and the Downs â€“ anything to make the journey quicker.

Dr Landers had given Patsy a book: Five on a Treasure Island by Enid Blyton. Dottie read it out loud, but when they reached the bit where George was taking them all out in a boat to see the wreck on the other side of Kirrin island, Patsy fell asleep on her shoulder. Dottie remained perfectly still for some time. Outside in the corridor, Reg turned around. He stared at the sleeping child until he became aware that Dottie was watching him. As her eyes met his gaze, his face coloured and he turned away abruptly. Dottieâ€™s stomach was churning. What a mess. Whatever were they going to do? Had Patsy come twelve thousand miles to this?

As soon as they arrived in Worthing, Reg strode on ahead, but this time Dottie made no effort to keep up with him. Patsy was too tired to hurry and so, for that matter, was she. By the time they reached the cottage, Reg had already dumped the childâ€™s suitcase in the middle of the kitchen floor and was nowhere to be seen.

She got Patsy some tea, gave her a wash and put her to bed in Aunt Bessieâ€™s old room. When she came back downstairs, Dottie made herself some tea and picked up the small suitcase of papers. When she tried the locks, they flew open at once.

Most of it was official stuff, including Sandyâ€™s death certificate. Sheâ€™d died of breast cancer. There were several condolence cards addressed either to Brenda Nichols or to Patricia c/o Brenda. Dottie felt her throat tightening. They made sad reading. Patsyâ€™s mother was only thirty-four when she died.

Dottie unfolded another certificate and there was no denying the facts. Patricia June Johns was born on April 21st 1943. Her mother was Elizabeth Mary Johns. The space where the fatherâ€™s name should be was blank but pinned to the certificate was a slip of paper. This is to certify that the father of my baby is Reginald Cox, signed Elizabeth Mary Johns. But it couldnâ€™t possibly be right, could it? Dottie supposed that Elizabeth had been known to her friends as Sandy because of her fair hair. Reg had dark hair which heâ€™d turned to black when he began to go grey, but how could two such people produce a coffee-coloured child with dark frizzy hair and big brown eyes? It wasnâ€™t possible. Reg couldnâ€™t possibly be Patsyâ€™s father, and yet there it was in black and white. Surely Sandy must have known who the real father was, so why did she put Regâ€™s name on that slip of paper? And why send her daughter all this way to a man she must have known perfectly well was no relation at all?

Dottie kept all her important papers in the kitchen cupboard with the drop-down pastry-making table. She filed the birth and death certificates along with the rest of their things and sat back down with the other papers. All at once, she froze in her chair as a terrible realisation hit her. She jumped back up and pulled the certificate from its newly-filed place. Her hands were trembling and she unfolded it again.

When Connie and Christopher were born, Mary had showed her their birth certificates. They were much smaller, â€˜squarishâ€™ as opposed to oblong, and half the length of Patsyâ€™s. They simply said something like, â€˜Constance Prior, girl; date of birth, 13th December 1947; place of birth, Worthing; sub-district, Worthingâ€™.

Patsyâ€™s was a copy of her full birth certificate and most shocking of all, it was English. Patsy had been born here â€¦ in this country! The registration district was Lewisham and the sub-district Lewisham.

Her heart was pounding nineteen to the dozen and she felt dizzy and sick. Reg never said heâ€™d been in London. Sheâ€™d married him in 1942 and heâ€™d been posted just four months after they were married. So how come he was in London in 1942 and fathering a child? It didnâ€™t make sense.

She fingered her way through the other papers but they were just nursing certificates, a first prize award for a writing com petition and some old letters from England. Dottie re-filed the birth certificate and went back to the rest of the papers in the suitcase.

It felt a little intrusive opening them. The first one she looked at was signed â€˜Matronâ€™ who wished Sandy well in her new country. Dottie discovered that Sandy had moved to Australia at the end of 1945. Matron wrote to say she hoped Sandy would put the past behind her and make a go of this fantastic opportunity.

Dottie shook her head sympathetically. Poor Sandy. How ironic that she had gone all that way to make a new life for herself and her little girl, only to die of cancer just five years later.

There were several other letters, but Dottie could see some diaries as well. She was torn. Which should she read first, the letters or the diary? She thumbed through the letters. Looking at the envelopes, she could tell that they had been written by many different people and they were all wartime letters. She stared at one envelope for several seconds. It was addressed to Sandy at an address in London. The letter inside was signed â€˜all my love, Regâ€™. It had been posted in 1943.

There was a loud bump on the floor upstairs and Patsy called out. â€˜Auntie Dot â€¦ Auntie Dottie!â€™

Absentmindedly slipping the envelope into her apron pocket, Dottie hurried upstairs.

Reg hugged his pint and stared long and hard into the open fire. This was his favourite corner in the Jolly Farmer but tonight he sat with his back to the bar, hoping he wouldnâ€™t be disturbed.

â€˜Bloody women,â€™ he thought to himself. Now Dottie knew the kid wasnâ€™t his. How could it be? She was a bloody darkie. The father must have been one of those black Yanks. Why the hell did the silly bitch go with a darkie? Maybe the Yank got her as pissed as a newt first. Or perhaps he forced her. She was probably nothing more than a bloody bike anyway. As soon as she knew she was up the spout, sheâ€™d put his name on the birth certificate. And now he was in deep shit. How was he going to explain away this one?

He pinched the end of his cigarette and pushed it behind his ear.

â€˜Another pint, Reg?â€™

Reg belched and pushed his glass towards Terry Dore, the landlord.

â€˜Just going to the bog.â€™

There was a fly on the urinal. Reg aimed for it. He hoped it was a female. It was always the women that did for him. His mother had been the first. Shopping him to the olâ€™ bill like that. If heâ€™d had half a chance heâ€™d have gone back there and done her in but she beat him to it, didnâ€™t she? Died while he was still in Borstal. His urine hit the fly and it rose up, buzzing angrily. He smiled maliciously as it crashed into the wall, then the window. Finishing, he readjusted his trousers and turned to go. It was then that the fly hit him on his face, near his lips. He hit out at it, cursing loudly.

Back at the bar, he made it clear to Terry he didnâ€™t want conversation. He went back to his table, and brooded some more.

Heâ€™d had a pretty good scam going. The Bomb Lark, they called it. He was part of a group of newly conscripted Royal Engineers who had been brought into London to help clear the bomb damage after an air raid. Reg had been the first to spot the lead on the roofs and told the sarge he knew a scrap metal merchant over Merton way. Everyone was up for it and a deal was struck. Theyâ€™d kept the thing going for more than a month before the rozzers got wind of it. As luck would have it, Reg wasnâ€™t around the day they all got nicked. Heâ€™d had a bilious attack. Well, thatâ€™s what he told the medics. In truth heâ€™d gone back to see Joyce. Couldnâ€™t keep away from her. His mates wouldnâ€™t tell but he knew it wouldnâ€™t be long before someone put two and two together so he went AWOL, coming down to Worthing where he met Dottie. Of course, he knew she would never agree to anything dishonest, but he didnâ€™t mind too much. She was his investment for the future so heâ€™d spun his charm and married her. There was the promise of a nice little nest egg once sheâ€™d inherited the house from the old witch.

He never should have gone back home but heâ€™d wanted a bit of fun with Joyce. Only theyâ€™d had a blazing row and the neighbours called the cops.

â€˜Six monthsâ€™ hard labour, followed by three yearsâ€™ penal servitude for conspiring to loot,â€™ that pompous ass of a judge had told him. â€˜A civilised society will not tolerate consistent and considerable stealing of other peopleâ€™s property. You are a disgrace to your uniform â€¦â€™

Heâ€™d been beside himself with rage when theyâ€™d banged him up and because he never did learn to control his temper, heâ€™d ended up spending a full five years in that stinking prison. Carelessness had put him there and now heâ€™d been careless again. He never should have believed what that Brenda woman had told him. Sandyâ€™d left everything to Patsyâ€™s father. Yeah, but he could have done without the darkie. He could feel his stomach churning. Bloody women. Every which way he turned they buggered things up for him. His mother, Sandy, bloody Aunt Bessie â€¦ So far, little Mrs Perfect was the only one who was still on track. All he had to do was threaten her with his fist and that was enough to keep her in check. Good job she wasnâ€™t the type to snoop around his things. All at once, his blood ran cold as he remembered that suitcase full of papers. Shit! The will. Supposing she was going through those papers right now â€¦

He stood up quickly, spilling his pint. The glass fell with a clatter and rolled across the table before crashing to the floor. He turned on his heel and walked briskly through the door, the landlordâ€™s â€˜You all right, Reg?â€™ ringing in his ears.

Patsy had needed a little reassurance, that was all. Dottie tucked her up with her little elephant, Suzy, showed her where the jerry was under the bed and then lit a night-light and put it in a saucer before giving her a goodnight kiss. Now she was back downstairs with the suitcase in front of her.

Sandyâ€™s diaries were right at the bottom of the case. Three volumes, begun in 1941 and ending in 1948. Sandy hadnâ€™t written in them every day but she had jotted things down at regular intervals. The entries werenâ€™t very detailed, but even as she flicked through the pages, Dottie had a fairly good idea as to the sort of person Elizabeth Johns had been. Armed with fresh cup of tea, Dottie curled up her feet under her and turned to 1942/43, the years Patsy had been conceived and born.

The latch on the door lifted and Reg walked in. Dottie closed the book and looked up at him.

â€˜Hello, Reg. Want some supper?â€™

â€˜What are you doing?â€™ he said coldly.

â€˜I was just going through some of the papers,â€™ she said lamely.

He snatched the book from her hand, glanced at it and then glared at her. She had never seen his eye so filled with hatred and she watched his lip curl. Her heartbeat sped up.

â€˜I didnâ€™t mean anything by it, Reg,â€™ she whimpered, hating herself for sounding so weak.

â€˜Whereâ€™s the will?â€™

â€˜What will?â€™

â€˜The money, stupid. Whereâ€™s the solicitorâ€™s letter?â€™

Dottie frowned, puzzled. â€˜There isnâ€™t one.â€™

Reg went to throw the book onto the fire.

â€˜No, Reg â€¦ donâ€™t!â€™ she cried, grabbing it from him. â€˜What are you doing? Even if you donâ€™t want them, we should at least save them for Patsy.â€™

â€˜What have you done with it then?â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s not there,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Dr Landers said the solicitor would send it along later.â€™

â€˜What!â€™ Reg exploded. â€˜But I need to know how much weâ€™re getting.â€™

â€˜Keep your voice down,â€™ said Dottie, glancing anxiously up at the ceiling.

â€˜Keep my voice down,â€™ he bellowed at the ceiling. â€˜The hell I will! Iâ€™m telling you, as soon as Iâ€™ve got the money, that little runt can go.â€™

â€˜Reg, please â€¦!â€™ Dottie jumped to her feet, but he pushed her back down into the chair, snatching back the book again.

â€˜Thereâ€™s no way sheâ€™s my kid,â€™ he said through his teeth, his spittle spraying her face. â€˜Even a dimwit like you can see that.â€™

â€˜Your name is on her birth certificate,â€™ said Dottie, pressing her back into the chair and sliding down a little.

â€˜The bitch lied!â€™ He hit her across the face with the book, catching her cheekbone under her left eye. Then he leaned over her menacingly, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back painfully. â€˜Got it?â€™

The pain in Dottieâ€™s head was unbearable. â€˜Yes, Reg.â€™

â€˜I want her gone,â€™ he said, yanking her head back again. â€˜I donâ€™t care how you do it, but get rid of her. Send her to a home, chuck her out on the street, anything you like, but sheâ€™s not stopping here.â€™

â€˜Reg, we canâ€™t,â€™ Dottie sobbed. â€˜Sheâ€™s come all this way â€¦â€™

He let go of her hair, lashing out at her again as he did. â€˜And Iâ€™m telling you, Iâ€™m not living under the same roof as a darkie.â€™

â€˜If you chuck her onto the street,â€™ Dottie cried desperately, â€˜Dr Landers will want the fare money back.â€™

Reg paused.

â€˜It cost seventy pounds to bring her over, remember?â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Where are we going to find that sort of money?â€™

Reg stepped back, stumbling against the suitcase on the floor. Papers spilled everywhere. All at once he was roaring like a mad man, kicking the case around the room. He stooped down and grabbed a pile of papers, throwing them onto the fire. It took a few moments for the paper to catch alight, but all at once Sandyâ€™s writing prize burst into a flame which greedily took her nursing certificate and a couple of letters.

Dottie couldnâ€™t bear to watch, but with him in a mood like this, she couldnâ€™t do anything about it. He was making such a terrible racket, Patsy must be up there listening to all this, absolutely terrified. As he stuffed yet more paper on the fire, Dottie, her own pain forgotten, slipped upstairs to make sure she was all right.

Twenty-Three

Janet Cooper climbed into the window of her tobacconist-cum-sweet-shop and took out the last of the old window display. It had been fairly quiet this morning, which was just as well, so she had taken the opportunity to change the window. Taking her inspiration from last weekâ€™s harvest festival display in the church, sheâ€™d decided to arrange the sweets as if they were a horn of plenty. Two large sweet jars were suspended from the ceiling with wire and sheâ€™d spent hours threading toffees on cotton and sticking the ends inside the jars with gummed tape. A doll dressed up to look like a farmer raked pile of sweets on the floor of the shop window.

The shop door jangled and she backed out of the window. Her customer was Mary Prior, and she could see Edna Gilbert, her head covered with a floral headscarf, coming along the road.

â€˜Youâ€™ve been busy,â€™ Mary smiled. â€˜I canâ€™t believe itâ€™s that time of year already.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll be thinking about ordering the fireworks for Bonfire Night soon,â€™ said Janet.

â€˜Oooh, talking about fireworks,â€™ Mary went on, â€˜that reminds me. We thought weâ€™d all pitch in together and make a real show for the kiddies this year.â€™

Janet pursed her lips. That probably meant theyâ€™d all buy one of those great big boxes from Woolworths. Sheâ€™d have to make sure she could get some decent-sized boxes at a good price.

â€˜What can I do for you?â€™ she asked.

â€˜Twenty Craven A and a Walls brick please, Janet,â€™ said Mary. The shop bell jangled again and Edna came in. â€˜Hello, Edna.â€™

â€˜Hello, Mary, Janet.â€™ Edna retied her headscarf and stood with her shopping bag clasped in front of her. â€˜No Dottie today?â€™

â€˜She didnâ€™t turn up,â€™ said Janet acidly.

â€˜Didnâ€™t turn up? Thatâ€™s not like her,â€™ Mary frowned.

â€˜She wasnâ€™t here yesterday either.â€™

â€˜Perhaps sheâ€™s ill,â€™ said Edna.

â€˜She was well enough when she went to Southampton on Friday to fetch her little girl,â€™ Janet said. â€˜Vanilla or strawberry?â€™

â€˜Vanilla,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜I think we should have a welcome party for the little girl,â€™ said Edna. â€˜Help her to feel at home.â€™

â€˜We havenâ€™t even met her yet,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Well, I think thatâ€™s a nice idea,â€™ said Janet, remembering she still had a box of balloons out the back. She hadnâ€™t managed to shift them since the VJ Day celebrations.

Mary nodded. â€˜Where shall we have it, the village hall?â€™

â€˜Why not come over to the farm?â€™ said Edna. â€˜We havenâ€™t had a do there since the war years. Thereâ€™s plenty of room in the old barn.â€™

â€˜Oh I say, what about a barn dance?â€™ Janet suggested.

â€˜Weâ€™d need a caller,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Do you know anyone?â€™

The other two shook their heads.

â€˜What about Vincent Dobbs, the postman?â€™ said Edna. â€˜He knows just about everyone around here. Maybe he knows a caller.â€™

â€˜If we had it on the farm, thereâ€™d be no problem with baby sitters,â€™ said Mary. â€˜All the kids could come with us.â€™

Edna beamed. â€˜Pass the word around, but donâ€™t tell Reg just yet. You know what men are. Heâ€™s bound to let the cat out of the bag. Leave it until nearer the time.â€™

Janet began wrapping the ice cream in layers of newspaper. â€˜I canâ€™t understand it myself,â€™ she went on. â€˜Adopting a child is a lovely idea, but why get one all the way from Australia?â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s just what I said, hen,â€™ said Mary, â€˜but Dottie reckoned they were doing it through a friend of Regâ€™s.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s probably a lot quicker than going through the welfare,â€™ Edna nodded. â€˜I knew a girl who waited a good six months before anyone even came out to see her.â€™

â€˜Letâ€™s hope that it all works out then,â€™ said Janet, pushing the brick towards Mary. â€˜That should stay nice and firm for a couple of hours. Thatâ€™ll be one and eleven please.â€™

Mary handed Janet a ten-bob note. â€˜Howâ€™s your Michael?â€™ she asked Edna.

â€˜Fine.â€™

â€˜And Freda?â€™ interjected Janet. â€˜Whenâ€™s it due?â€™

Ednaâ€™s face coloured. â€˜Next year sometime.â€™

Janet handed Mary her change and gave her a knowing look. â€˜Now, what can I do for you, Edna?â€™

â€˜A Basildon Bond pad, please.â€™

â€˜Bye, Mary. And if you see Dottie on your travels,â€™ Janet called as she opened the shop door, â€˜tell her sheâ€™d better turn up on Monday if she wants to keep her job.â€™

It was a bit of a struggle pushing the big pram. In addition to Connie and Christopher at one end and Phyllis at the other, Mary Prior had shoved a box of toys between them and a bag of clothes on the tray underneath. Maureen and Susan walked on either side of the pram, each holding onto the handle and Maureen was holding Brianâ€™s hand. Billy brought up the rear, carting another bag of clothes.

â€˜Come on, son,â€™ Mary puffed good-naturedly. â€˜We havenâ€™t got all day.â€™

â€˜The â€™andles have broke, Mum,â€™ Billy complained. â€˜You got too much stuff in it.â€™

The pram went over a pothole, startling Mary and the twins into thinking it would topple over. She grabbed at Christopherâ€™s arm and wrestled to keep the pram upright.

â€˜Youâ€™d better get out, Christopher, love,â€™ said Mary once sheâ€™d got it on an even keel. â€˜Itâ€™s not too far to Auntie Dottieâ€™s now.â€™

She pulled him out and set him down on the pavement. Maureen caught hold of his harness and the little procession trudged on.

â€˜Itâ€™s a bit like bringing gifts to the baby Jesus, isnâ€™t it, Mum?â€™ said Maureen.

Mary laughed heartily, her big belly wobbling up and down. â€˜Well, if Iâ€™m the Virgin Mary,â€™ she laughed, â€˜who do you think you are? The seven kings or a load of smelly shepherds?â€™

â€˜There were only three kings, Mum,â€™ Maureen corrected and Mary laughed again.

â€˜So there was, mâ€™duck.â€™

There was no sign of life at the cottage.

â€˜Donâ€™t tell me theyâ€™re still in bed,â€™ Mary muttered as she pushed open the gate and Maureen and Susan ran ahead of her. â€˜You kids keep away from that old well.â€™

She felt a little awkward turning up uninvited but she knew she wouldnâ€™t rest another moment until sheâ€™d checked up on Dottie. Since sheâ€™d asked around, it was apparent that nobody had seen her for days.

Billy put down his bag and rattled the doorknocker.

â€˜I wanted to do that,â€™ Susan complained. She pushed her brother away and, standing on tiptoe, she banged it herself.

â€˜Thatâ€™s enough,â€™ Mary scolded. â€˜Auntie Dottie will be wondering where the fire is.â€™

The door opened and Dottie stared at them in mild surprise. Mary made no reference to her black and swollen eye but Dottie stepped back, and kept half of her face behind the door in a vain attempt to hide it. Her shock at seeing them was tinged with both relief and embarrassment.

â€˜We brought Patsy a present like the baby Jesus,â€™ Maureen announced.

For a second, Dottie hesitated and drew back. She had spent the past couple of days licking her wounds. After smashing up the kitchen, Reg had followed her upstairs. Sheâ€™d expected him to force her again but instead, heâ€™d given her such a beating, insisting that heâ€™d only stop if she kept quiet. He was in such a mood, the night had seemed endless. It was so difficult having to endure everything silently, but she had to. She was so afraid of frightening Patsy.

Since that Thursday, she and Patsy had stayed indoors. Dottie told herself it would be good for them to spend some time together, to get to know each other, but the truth of the matter was, she couldnâ€™t bear to go out. When sheâ€™d got up that Friday morning, her left eye was completely closed and the bruise on her cheek made it look as if sheâ€™d gone three rounds with Freddie Mills. Her body ached and she had been violently sick as well. She really couldnâ€™t face Mariah Fitzgerald so she posted a letter promising to be round with the finished curtains next week. She and Patsy had played games, done jigsaw puzzles and talked Neither of them made any reference to her face, and thankfully Reg had carried on as normal so she hardly saw him.

Now, uninvited and unannounced, Mary and her brood had turned up on the doorstep. Dottie glanced at the pram behind her. Connie held out her arms, appealing to be picked up. Dottieâ€™s heart melted. This was no time for pride. Mary was a good friend. Stepping back, she opened the door a little further. â€˜Youâ€™d better come in.â€™

She ushered them into the kitchen where Patsy was trying to master the rubber buttons on her liberty bodice. The family piled in behind their mother and Dottie introduced them.

â€˜Patsy, this is Connie and Susan and Maureen and Christopher. This is Billy and this is Auntie Mary.â€™

â€˜Hello, love,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Shall I help you with that?â€™

Patsy shook her head. â€˜I can manage, thank you,â€™ she said politely. They watched her as she pulled her dress over her head.

Dottie was suddenly aware of how untidy the room was. Not even her friends had ever seen it looking like this. She began gathering various items of clothing from the back of the chair, the table and the top of the dresser.

â€˜Bicket?â€™ Connie had misinterpreted her move towards the dresser. She stood in front with her hand in the air.

â€˜Connie, thatâ€™s naughty,â€™ Maureen scolded. â€˜You shouldnâ€™t ask.â€™ But Dottie had already pulled down the biscuit box. The twins sat on the floor as if they were obedient dogs waiting to beg, and Dottie offered around the broken biscuits.

Mary reappeared, staggering back through the door with the bag of toys. â€˜Shall I put this lot in the front room?â€™ she asked. â€˜The kids can play with them while you and I have a nice quiet cup of tea in here.â€™

Dottie nodded. With a silent sigh she went outside in the scullery to put the kettle on. What was she going to say to Mary? She couldnâ€™t think straight. Her brain refused to function, but sheâ€™d have to say something, wouldnâ€™t she?

Ten minutes later, all the kids, including Patsy, were together in the front room, leaving Mary and Dottie alone in the kitchen. They pulled up two chairs and sat down at the table. Dottie pulled a cosy over the teapot and picked up the milk jug.

â€˜About Patsy â€¦â€™ Mary began uncertainly.

Dottie looked away.

â€˜Sheâ€™s very dark,â€™ Mary went on.

Dottie shrugged. The two women sipped their tea, an awkward silence between them.

â€˜Somebody sent you this,â€™ said Mary reaching into her pocket and pulling out a letter. A bold sloping hand had addressed the envelope to â€˜Mrs D. Cox, c/o Mrs M. Priorâ€™.

â€˜Itâ€™s from Sylvie!â€™ Dottie frowned. â€˜Why did she address it to you?â€™

Mary shrugged.

Dottie reached for a knife and slit the envelope.

Â Â Â Â Darling Dottie,

Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â I hope you are well. I have written you two letters but you havenâ€™t replied. I first I thought you might be too busy with the little girl, but you are always so good at letter-writing and I feel sure you would have written to me and told me all about her so I suppose my letters have gone astray.

â€˜She says sheâ€™s written but I havenâ€™t received her letters,â€™ Dottie explained to Mary.

â€˜Thereâ€™s been talk in the village about missing letters,â€™ Mary nodded. â€˜Some light-fingered postman I suppose.â€™

â€˜Not Vincent Dobbs surely?â€™ Dottie gasped.

â€˜No, of course not. Somebody at the sorting office I expect.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll read the rest later,â€™ Dottie murmured. She pushed the letter back in its envelope and put it in her apron pocket.

â€˜So,â€™ Mary asked, â€˜are you going to tell me how you got that shiner?â€™

Dottie kept her head down. â€˜Does it look really awful?â€™

â€˜It looks obvious, if thatâ€™s what you mean, hen.â€™

â€˜Somebody opened the train door too quickly,â€™ Dottie lied. She pushed a cup of the dark brown tea in front of Mary.

â€˜He did it, didnâ€™t he? Reg,â€™ said Mary, picking up a spoon and stirring the tea furiously. â€˜I thought so. The blighter.â€™

â€˜He didnâ€™t mean to do it,â€™ said Dottie defensively. â€˜He was a bit cross, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜No man has a right to hit a woman,â€™ Mary sniffed, â€˜so donâ€™t insult me by making excuses for him, hen.â€™ She threw her spoon into the saucer with a clatter but Dottie said nothing. â€˜Anyway, why was he angry with you?â€™

Dottie shrugged. This was so embarrassing. She wanted to curl up and die. She was tired, she felt ill â€¦ not ill, sick. She rested her hand across her stomach. Was there a baby in there? She didnâ€™t want to be pregnant. Perhaps she ought to tell Mary. She could feel the backs of her eyes pricking.

â€˜Heâ€™s saying that he only went along with the idea of having a kid because you wanted it so bad.â€™

Dottie looked up sharply, searching her friendâ€™s face with a mixture of horror and disbelief. â€˜I thought as much,â€™ her friend said in a softer tone. â€˜What is it then? Whatâ€™s your version? He pushed you into it and then changed his mind?â€™

That beaten feeling crept over her again. Dottie looked down at her teacup and blinked away the tears that threatened. â€˜Something like that,â€™ she conceded.

â€˜I donâ€™t understand why you donâ€™t just kick him out.â€™

She looked up again, this time with a frown. â€˜Oh, Mary! Donâ€™t you start. Have you been talking to Sylvie?â€™

â€˜Why should I talk to Sylvie?â€™ said Mary. â€˜Listen, hen, this is a small place. If you donâ€™t turn up for work for two days and your old man sits in the pub with a face as black as thunder, what do you expect? People love a bit of gossip and Iâ€™ll tell you right now, Janet Cooper is having a field day.â€™

Dottie picked up a glove belonging to Phyllis. â€˜And I suppose Ann Pearce has been round to your place spreading rumours as well,â€™ she said bitterly.

â€˜Now donâ€™t you go thinking bad things about Ann,â€™ Mary said firmly. â€˜Right now sheâ€™s the one friend youâ€™ve got, hen. Yes, she told me, but she only came to see me because she was so worried about you. She heard him crashing around, didnâ€™t she? Shouting the odds and everything. She wanted to come round but she knows heâ€™d do his nut if he saw her.â€™

Dottieâ€™s chin began to quiver and she was having difficulty in seeing.

â€˜Itâ€™s all right, hen,â€™ said Mary gently. She patted the back of Dottieâ€™s hand.

â€˜Itâ€™s such a mess, Mary. Reg says he doesnâ€™t even want to be under the same roof as her,â€™ Dottie said quietly, â€˜but I canâ€™t send her back, can I?â€™

â€˜What? Because sheâ€™s coloured? The stupid man.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s a lovely little girl,â€™ said Dottie fiercely.

â€˜What on earth made you choose a kid all the way from Australia in the first place?â€™ said Mary, pouring herself some more tea.

â€˜I didnâ€™t â€¦â€™ Dottie protested but then thought better of it. How could she tell Mary the whole story? What if Mary let slip that Patsy was supposed to be Regâ€™s child with someone else? It would be all over the village in no time. Of course, theyâ€™d never be able to explain why Patsy had coloured blood, but then, she didnâ€™t know the whole story herself. If only Reg hadnâ€™t burned what was in that suitcase. â€˜I want to tell you, but I canâ€™t,â€™ she said brokenly.

Mary moved her great bulk from the chair opposite Dottie to the one next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. â€˜Itâ€™s all right, hen. You tell me as much or as little as you want. I wonâ€™t ask any more.â€™

Dottieâ€™s eyes met hers with mild surprise.

â€˜And donâ€™t look at me like that,â€™ Mary went on. â€˜Weâ€™re friends, arenâ€™t we? Friends donâ€™t need to pry. They just need to be there for you.â€™

Dottie blinked back her tears. â€˜Oh, Mary,â€™ she blurted out. â€˜I think Iâ€™m pregnant.â€™

Billy burst into the kitchen. â€˜Can I have a drink, Mum?â€™

â€˜No you canâ€™t,â€™ said Mary irritably.

She shushed him away but Dottie stood up. â€˜Itâ€™s all right,â€™ she said, manufacturing cheerfulness. â€˜Iâ€™ve got some cherryade out the back.â€™

â€˜Cherryade!â€™ cried Billy.

â€˜Get the enamel mugs out of the cupboard,â€™ she said, blowing her nose and being very careful to keep her back to him, â€˜then you can go back in and make everyone sit down, Billy.â€™

Billy gathered the mugs and clattered his way back into the front room shouting excitedly, â€˜Hey, sit down, you lot. Weâ€™re having cherryade.â€™

Dottie came out of the scullery carrying a large, bright red bottle.

â€˜Pregnant?â€™ said Mary. â€˜Oh my dear â€¦â€™

Dottie stopped to squeeze her shoulder. â€˜Come on,â€™ she said, her voice thick with emotion, â€˜letâ€™s see what theyâ€™re up to.â€™

When they reached the front room, all the kids were sitting in a circle and Patsy was teaching them some kind of clapping game. Dottie and Mary stood in the doorway, Mary restraining her excited son, lest he break the game up too soon.

Patsy looked up.

â€˜Go on, dear,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Who stole the cookie from the cookie pot,â€™ Patsy chanted rhythmically. At the same time, she clapped her hands together once, then slapped her knees. She looked around at the children, and started a second chant, â€˜Maureen stole the cookie from the cookie pot.â€™

Maureen giggled and when sheâ€™d finished she beat out, â€˜I didnâ€™t steal the cookie from the cookie pot.â€™

â€˜Then who stole the cookie from the cookie pot?â€™ Patsy went on.

Dottie smiled. All of Maryâ€™s kids were having a great time, even the little ones, even though they couldnâ€™t possibly understand what a cookie was. They did it for some time until eventually Patsy turned around again.

â€˜Cherryade!â€™ Billy announced at the top of his voice and they all cheered.

He and Patsy organised the mugs and poured the drinks. Dottie and Mary returned to the kitchen.

â€˜How far gone are you?â€™ asked Mary as soon as they were alone again.

â€˜A couple of months.â€™

â€˜So thereâ€™s still time to get rid of it.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t think I can do that,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜I know a woman in East Worthing â€¦â€™

â€˜No, Mary.â€™

Mary curled her lip with distain. â€˜You mean youâ€™d really have his child?â€™

Dottie rolled her eyes heavenward and pressed her lips together. â€˜Itâ€™s my baby as well.â€™

â€˜Yes, but â€¦â€™

â€˜I just want a child,â€™ Dottie whispered.

Mary sat down in the chair heavily. â€˜I donâ€™t know what to say, hen. Youâ€™ve been to the doctor of course.â€™

Dottie shook her head. â€˜Not yet.â€™

â€˜Then,â€™ Mary began brightly, â€˜it may not be â€¦â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m ninety-five percent sure,â€™ Dottie insisted. â€˜It happened the day of Michaelâ€™s wedding.â€™

â€˜You know actually when it happened?â€™ Mary gasped.

Dottie felt her face redden. â€˜I canâ€™t go to the doctor, not yet. I need all the money I can get and the minute she knows Iâ€™m pregnant, Mariah Fitzgerald will ask me to go. Donâ€™t you understand, Mary? Iâ€™ve already got one child to provide for. Iâ€™m all sheâ€™s got. Donâ€™t say anything, please.â€™

â€˜All right, hen,â€™ sighed Mary. â€˜But just remember Iâ€™m here for you. We both are. Tom and me.â€™

â€˜Thanks for everything,â€™ said Dottie blowing her nose again.

â€˜I havenâ€™t done anything yet,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜You have,â€™ said Dottie giving her a squeeze around her ample waist. â€˜Youâ€™ve done more than you can ever know.â€™

â€˜A few toys and some hand-me-down clothes,â€™ said Mary with a shrug.

â€˜And a pram full of courage,â€™ said Dottie quietly. She blew her nose again and stood up to look at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. â€˜Lord, I look a sight!â€™ Reaching into the drawer for a comb, Dottie pulled the pins out of her hair and let it down.

â€˜You may not realise it but your coming here has helped me make a decision,â€™ she went on with a loud sniff. â€˜Patsyâ€™s been here almost a week and Iâ€™m determined sheâ€™s not going anywhere else. Sheâ€™s my little girl now.â€™

â€˜But sheâ€™s not yours, is she?â€™ Mary observed.

â€˜Iâ€™ll adopt her,â€™ said Dottie vehemently. â€˜As soon as Iâ€™ve got enough money put by, Iâ€™m going to a solicitor.â€™

â€˜But if Reg refuses to let you have her, how can you?â€™ cried Mary. â€˜Besides, a woman on her own, adopting a child? Itâ€™s impossible.â€™

â€˜Well, sheâ€™s certainly not going to be put in a childrenâ€™s home,â€™ said Dottie, pulling her hair into French plait. â€˜This is her home. Aunt Bessie did it for me, remember?â€™

Mary nodded. An only child, Dottieâ€™s mother had died when she was sixteen. Rose Thornton had taken the identity of Dottieâ€™s father to the grave and so Dottie had been sent to live with her maiden aunt who owned the cottage. Dottie had told Mary many a time how alone sheâ€™d felt as she rode up the road from the station. Aunt Bessie had met her with the pony and trap, which was enough to excite any little girl, but Dottie had hardly noticed. She was terrified that Aunt Bessie wouldnâ€™t like her so sheâ€™d made up her mind to work as her skivvy if necessary. But she neednâ€™t have worried. Aunt Bessie may have been a little eccentric, but she was a sweetheart and, despite never having had children of her own, the whole village knew she had given Dottie a really happy life.

â€˜There is a difference,â€™ said Mary. â€˜That was wartime, and you two were related.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t care, Mary,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜What she did for me, I shall do for Patsy.â€™

Mary glanced up at the clock. â€˜Iâ€™d better be going. Tom will be wanting his tea.â€™

â€˜Oh, I forgot to tell you,â€™ said Mary as they said their goodbyes on the doorstep. â€˜The whole village is having a joint bonfire for November 5th. Weâ€™ll probably do it on the 3rd, thatâ€™s the Saturday before. Weâ€™ve got that bit of waste ground next to the nurseries. Bring Patsy along, wonâ€™t you?â€™

â€˜I might not have money for fireworks.â€™

â€˜A packet of sparklers will do.â€™

â€˜Me and Raymond Green are doing penny for the guy,â€™ said Billy proudly.

â€˜Iâ€™ll look out for you,â€™ said Dottie attempting to give him a wink. â€˜And if I think itâ€™s good enough, I might even give you a tanner.â€™

â€˜Cor, thanks, Auntie Dottie,â€™ Billy beamed.

Dottie hugged her friend hard. â€˜Youâ€™re a real pal, Mary.â€™

â€˜Go on with you,â€™ said Mary giving Dottie a peck on the cheek, and whispered her parting remark in her ear. â€˜You keep hold of your money. Youâ€™ll need all you can get from now on, hen.â€™

Halfway down the street, Billy looked up at his mother. â€˜Whatâ€™s the matter with Auntie Dottieâ€™s face, Mum?â€™

â€˜She accidentally walked into a door,â€™ said Mary looking straight ahead.

Christopher took his thumb out of his mouth. â€˜Naughty door.â€™

Billy said nothing. His mother always said, â€˜Tell the truth and shame the devil.â€™ It wasnâ€™t often his mother lied, but he knew she was lying now.

â€˜Youâ€™re right, mâ€™duck,â€™ said Mary to Christopher. â€˜Naughty door.â€™

Billy could see that his mother was gripping the handlebars of the pram so tightly, her knuckles had gone white. Billy was no fool. Auntie Dottie hadnâ€™t walked into a door, had she? It was Uncle Reg. He must have hit her. Bristling with anger, Billy kicked a stone along the pavement. When he was all grown up, heâ€™d give Uncle Reg a black eye and then he could jolly well see how much he liked it.

Twenty-Four

When Dottie came downstairs on Thursday, her black eye was a lot less noticeable. She glanced anxiously at the shed door. Was Reg still in the shed getting his bike out?

A quick look around told her that heâ€™d already left for work. Heâ€™d made an attempt to cut himself some sandwiches. The loaf, hacked to pieces, lay on the table beside the empty cheese dish. The shed door remained closed. Heâ€™d gone.

She moved about gingerly. She should make an effort to go back to work today. She had really enjoyed her time with Patsy. Everything was so much better when Reg wasnâ€™t around and it had given her and Patsy a chance to get to know each other. She was such a lovely child, easy-going and polite, and they seemed to have quite a lot in common. They both enjoyed sewing and Dottie had discovered a tray cloth Patsy was embroidering in the suitcase that had gone straight upstairs the day she came.

â€˜I used to sit by Mummyâ€™s bedside when she was ill,â€™ she said matter-of-factly, leaving Dottie with a catch in her throat. â€˜She was going to show me how to crochet around the edge.â€™

â€˜I can do that,â€™ said Dottie. Patsy gave her an uncertain look, and Dottie added quickly, â€˜But only if you would like me to.â€™

The evening before, theyâ€™d spent a good deal of time at it and Patsy had already made good progress. It was still in the chair where sheâ€™d left it last night before she went to bed. Dottie picked it up and fondled it between her fingers before dropping it into her sewing box.

Dottie mixed up the chicken food and walked down the garden. Clucking noisily, the chickens dashed out of their hut as soon as she opened the door. The pig grunted and put his snout over the top of the fence. He was getting so big, it wouldnâ€™t be long before he broke it down and ran amok. Sheâ€™d have to mention it again to Reg some time. Heâ€™d probably forgotten all about the pig. He hardly ever came down here now.

Patsy was up and dressed when she walked into the kitchen. â€˜Are we going to my new school today, Auntie Dot?â€™

Dottie smiled. â€˜Yes, we are. Letâ€™s hope theyâ€™ve got room for you in the classroom.â€™ As the childâ€™s face fell, Dottie was seized with remorse for having teased her. She put her hand on her arm. â€˜Donâ€™t worry. Iâ€™m sure they will.â€™

Mrs Stone, the headmistress, didnâ€™t exactly welcome her with open arms, but she did agree to have Patsy in her school.

â€˜It just so happens,â€™ she said crisply, â€˜that a pupil has just moved away. Patsy can have her place but you should have applied in writing and given me more notice.â€™

Dottie apologised profusely and Mrs Stone seemed placated.

â€˜Will you have school dinners?â€™

Dottieâ€™s face coloured. She hadnâ€™t even given that a thought. â€˜Yes â€¦ how much are they?â€™

â€˜A shilling a day,â€™ said Mrs Stone, â€˜payable on Monday mornings.â€™

They looked around the school and Mrs Stone agreed to have her after the half-term holiday. After that, she seemed to have warmed to the child because she invited Patsy to stay for the rest of the day.

Dottie felt a lot happier now. She knew that once sheâ€™d got herself into a routine, she would be able to see her way through all her problems. All that remained now was to apologise to Janet Cooper for letting her down and then she could go on to Mariah Fitzgerald and fit in an extra hour at the end of the day to make up for arriving at work late.

Janet gushed all over her and Mariah was eager to hear all about Patsy. Dottie told them as much as she wanted them to know and left them to guess the rest. Thankfully, nobody thought to mention Reg.

The second Sunday after Patsy came to live with them, Dottie wrote a letter to Dr Landers. As she sat at the table, she tried to imagine him sitting opposite her. She remembered his twinkling eyes and the line of freckles over the bridge of his nose and the way his face lit up when he smiled. He was a nice man. She decided not to tell him how horrible Reg had been but she did go as far as suggesting that he was having a problem adjusting to parenthood.

Â Â Â Â We have gone from being on our own to being a complete family overnight, she wrote, but you are not to worry. Patsy is very happy. She has made friends with several children around here, in particular Maureen Prior, the daughter of a dear friend of mine. Maureen is a bit younger than Patsy but they have so much in common. They play dollies and schools. Patsy has taught Maureen some Australian games and Maureen has taught Patsy how to skip. They can keep it up for hours!

The letter was only about one and half pages long, but she kept it chatty and warm. She reasoned that if he knew Patsy was content, he would feel the same way. It came as a shock, then, to receive a letter almost by return of post in which Dr Landers asked if he could see Patsy the following Saturday.

Dottie was immediately thrown into a flat spin. What was she going to do? Try as she might to make things right between them, Reg stubbornly refused to let it happen. If he was in the house with Patsy, he would talk over her head â€“ â€˜Isnâ€™t it time she was in bed?â€™ â€“ or dish out his instructions through Dottie â€“ â€˜Tell her to get her feet off that chair.â€™

The solicitorâ€™s letter was a long time coming. Reg spent his evenings in the Jolly Farmer and on the days when his shifts gave him the opportunity to have time off during the day, he would go out. Dottie was never sure where he was, but a couple of times he set off somewhere all spruced up and came back very drunk. One good thing was that he hadnâ€™t been near Dottie since the night Patsy had arrived,

She knew he hated interfering busybodies as he called them, so how would he react if Dr Landers turned up? Dottie couldnâ€™t bear the thought of him ranting and raving on, demanding that the kid be taken back and telling the doctor that he didnâ€™t give a stuff about her. Though sheâ€™d been with her for only two weeks, it seemed as if Patsy had been here forever. Dottie couldnâ€™t bear the thought of losing her and she hated the thought of her languishing in some huge rambling old place, euphemistically called a childrenâ€™s home, more with each passing day.

No. She couldnâ€™t let that happen. She had to keep Reg and Dr Landers as far apart as possible. Having come up with a solution, she wrote back to the doctor. Once the letter was in the post, all she had to do was find the right moment to speak to Reg. It came sooner than she had anticipated. She waited until he was settled on his side of the bed and then whispered in the darkness, â€˜Reg, I thought I would take Patsy for a walk up to Highdown on Saturday.â€™

â€˜Do what you bloody well like, woman. Now shuddup and go to sleep.â€™

Half-term week seemed destined to give Dottie a problem. She still had to go to work, but Patsy needed someone to look after her. Reg wouldnâ€™t help and, anyway, she wasnâ€™t happy about leaving Patsy alone with him.

Much to her relief, Janet Cooper said Patsy could come with her to the shop. Patsy helped out, doing little jobs, and Janet enjoyed basking in the limelight. Her customers bought little gifts for the child, something guaranteed to make Patsy a favourite with Janet. Patsy would thank them, and then they would linger longer in the shop, plying her with questions which she answered politely and honestly.

â€˜Do you miss Australia?â€™ â€˜Whatâ€™s it like?â€™ â€˜Have you ever seen any of them savages?â€™ â€˜Bit â€™ot over there, innit?â€™

Sometimes Patsy didnâ€™t understand what she was being asked and most people seemed to forget that she wouldnâ€™t be able to remember much before she was five. But by the time Dottie finished work on Tuesday, she had quite a collection of colouring books, pencils and storybooks. She also had a large stash of sweets, which she stored in an old shoebox under her bed.

On Thursday, when she and Dottie went to Maryâ€™s, the first thing Patsy did was to gather the kids into a circle and share some of her booty with them.

â€˜Isnâ€™t she a lamb, love her,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Iâ€™ve run out of sweet coupons. They wouldnâ€™t have had any sweets this week if it werenâ€™t for her.â€™

Dottie was on her way to Mariah Fitzgeraldâ€™s. â€˜Itâ€™s good of you to say youâ€™ll have her, Mary,â€™ she said. â€˜Are you sure itâ€™s not going to be too much?â€™

â€˜No trouble at all,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Youâ€™ll have a cup of tea before you go?â€™

Dottie pulled up a chair and sat down.

â€˜Weâ€™ll be collecting stuff for the bonfire this weekend,â€™ Mary went on. â€˜Tom will be on hand to help us build it properly.â€™

â€˜Sounds fun.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t sound too enthusiastic,â€™ said Mary disappointedly as she pushed a cup of tea in front of her.

â€˜Sorry,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Iâ€™ve got a lot on my mind, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜Whatâ€™s that?â€™

â€˜Nothing really,â€™ said Dottie. Seeing her friendâ€™s face fall, she added quickly, â€˜Curtains for Edna, stuff like that.â€™

Mary sat in the chair opposite and warmed her hands on her cup. â€˜Reg all right?â€™ she said cautiously.

â€˜Fine.â€™ Dottie lied with ease. â€˜Are you having any food at the bonfire do?â€™

â€˜I thought weâ€™d do a few baked potatoes, a bit of bread and cheese, that sort of thing.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll give you a few spuds,â€™ said Dottie rising to her feet. â€˜Thanks for the tea, Mary. Iâ€™ll be back at one.â€™

Maryâ€™s parting words were, â€˜Donâ€™t work too hard, hen.â€™ As Dottie walked back down the path, she let out a hollow laugh. Mariah was getting ready for a family invasion. After sheâ€™d hung the new curtains and furnishings in the bedroom, it meant a thorough clean throughout and Dottie wasnâ€™t in the mood for a hard slog.

Saturday morning heralded a crisp bright day. Dottie and Patsy dressed warmly but long before theyâ€™d finished the two-mile walk to the hill, they were already peeling off their gloves and scarves. Under her best coat, which had seen very many better days, Dottie was wearing her new bat-wing blouse. Sheâ€™d managed to get it finished only the evening before but she was quite pleased with it. It was midnight blue and it went very nicely with the plaid skirt sheâ€™d made last year. Patsy was in a pretty lightweight blue woollen dress with a dainty white Peter Pan collar and dark blue appliquÃ© leaves on the left shoulder and the right hem.

Dottieâ€™s ribs were still tender. It was probably her own fault. She shouldnâ€™t have needled him.

â€˜You might at least ask how Patsy got on at school,â€™ sheâ€™d snapped as she put his supper on the table the night before. â€˜Sheâ€™s your daughter, Reg. You were the one who insisted on bringing her all the way over here. The least you can do is show a bit of interest.â€™

â€˜I will when that bloody letter comes.â€™ Heâ€™d folded his paper against the HP sauce bottle and carried on reading.

Anger surged through Dottieâ€™s veins. â€˜Thatâ€™s all you want, isnâ€™t it. The money! Well, there isnâ€™t any. Sandy was broke.â€™

Heâ€™d glared at her for several seconds, then stood up. â€˜You never told me a worse thing,â€™ he snarled.

â€˜Itâ€™s not my fault,â€™ she shouted but he suddenly lashed out, knocking her off balance, and sheâ€™d fallen against the other chair, the wooden back digging into her ribs. Then heâ€™d thrown his meal over her head and stormed out. Dottie shook her head at her own stupidity. She shouldnâ€™t have dropped it in his lap like that.

The walk would do them both good. Patsy was in fine form, her appetite for knowledge forming question after question.

â€˜What are those berries?â€™ She was pointing to the front of a cottage where a shrub, smothered in vivid red berries, covered the walls. â€˜Can you eat them?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid not,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Itâ€™s called Pyracantha and itâ€™s just to look at.â€™

â€˜Pie-be-Katha?â€™ Patsy struggled.

They spent the next few minutes saying it together, â€˜Pyra-can-tha,â€™ until Patsy could say it perfectly.

â€˜Is the King going to die?â€™ the child suddenly asked.

The question was a bit unexpected, although the reports of George VIâ€™s operation had dominated the news on the wireless. Nobody had actually said what was wrong with him but the papers said heâ€™d had to have the whole of his left lung removed.

â€˜I donâ€™t know, love, but he is very ill.â€™

Dottie had read in the paper that the Archbishop of Canterbury had held a special service in Lambeth Palace for the Kingâ€™s recovery and Clement Attlee had cut short his holiday. Prime ministers donâ€™t do that unless itâ€™s serious.

â€˜My mummy had cancer. Do you think the King has cancer? Aunt Mary says he has.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s probably right.â€™

â€˜I expect heâ€™ll die then.â€™

Dottie shot back with, â€˜We all have to die one day, love.â€™ Oh crumbs! She shouldnâ€™t have said that. Dottie chewed her bottom lip anxiously.

Patsy looked up at her. â€˜Did I tell you I got eight out of ten for my spellings?â€™

Dottie smiled. â€˜Thatâ€™s very good,â€™ she said, marvelling at the girlâ€™s ability to swap so effortlessly from death to spellings. â€˜Which two did you get wrong?â€™

â€˜Government and necessary.â€™

At the very end of the platform on Durrington-on-Sea, Reg was waiting for the London train to Victoria. To avoid awkward questions, he had deliberately chosen to leave by another station and heâ€™d waited until Dottie and Patsy were on their way up to Highdown Hill before setting out. He had thought long and hard about returning to his old stomping ground. He had worked hard at making a new life but just lately, the tug in his heart had become stronger than ever.

The truth was, he missed the big smoke â€¦ the noise, the bustle, the cries of the barrow boys, the black cabs honking their way through the narrow streets, even the bloody pigeons â€¦ Just lately theyâ€™d all taken on a rosy hue. Heâ€™d thought a lot about his old mates too. Theyâ€™d got up to some wonderful tricks in the old days when heâ€™d managed to avoid conscription for several months by ignoring his call papers and keeping on the move. When the authorities got closer, heâ€™d even got some chap whoâ€™d failed his medical, a bloke with chronic asthma, to impersonate him. Paid twenty quid for the honour but he was scuppered when the bloody army doctor recognised him. In the end, Reg had been forced to respond to his 442 and heâ€™d been put into the Royal Engineers.

In no time at all heâ€™d gained a reputation for insubordination, but then his army days ended abruptly after he was caught for nicking the lead. Reg managed a wry smile as he remembered that pompous ass of a CO telling the judge, â€˜Unless the court deems it absolutely necessary, Mâ€™Lord, the army does not want him back.â€™

Reg stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared down the line. Where was this bloody train? By the time he got up to London, it would be time to come back again. He sighed. Heâ€™d tried the honest life and where had it got him? No money, a prissy wife and now he was stuck with Sandyâ€™s kid. It was time to move on but he didnâ€™t want to just up and leave. For a start, he had no money and nowhere to go.

The porter came out of his office and put out the boards. The train was on its way.

Reg jingled the money in his pocket. It was a stroke of luck finding the cash sheâ€™d hidden in the bottom of the wardrobe. She must have put it there for some reason but he didnâ€™t bother to ask why. As far as he was concerned, what was hers was his so he could help himself whenever he wanted. The sweets the kid had been saving would come in handy too.

The train rumbled into the station.

She was off up to Highdown with the kid. What better day for him to go to London and look up a few old pals?

As the train stopped, Reg opened the door and stepped inside with purpose.

John Landers had parked his car in the lane and was waiting for them at the top of the hill. He was dressed casually in a long-sleeved blue and white check shirt, tweed jacket and grey trousers. Dottieâ€™s heart lurched. As soon as he saw them he took off his Tyrolean hat and waved before setting off down the hill to meet them.

â€˜Dr John, Dr John!â€™ Patsy ran to him and he lifted her up in his arms, swinging her around as they laughed with the sheer joy of meeting again.

â€˜You look fantastic!â€™ he cried as he set her down. He smiled at Dottie and held out his hand in a more formal way. â€˜Pleased to meet you again, Mrs Cox.â€™

â€˜Oh please,â€™ she laughed nervously, â€˜call me Dottie, everyone does.â€™

â€˜Then you must call me John,â€™ he said softly. His eyes lingered on hers for a few seconds more, making her heartbeat quicken and then he turned his attention back to Patsy.

â€˜Iâ€™ve brought a friend for you to play with,â€™ he said. â€˜Someone I think youâ€™re going to like very much.â€™

Patsy looked around. â€˜Where? Where is she? I canâ€™t see her.â€™

John chuckled. Dottie couldnâ€™t see anyone either but as they walked back to his car, a little white head peeped out over the steering wheel.

â€˜Oh!â€™ cried Patsy as a delightful West Highland Terrier wagged its tail and barked excitedly.

â€˜Come along, Minnie,â€™ he called and the dog jumped down and bounced all around them.

â€˜Minnie?â€™

â€˜After Mickey Mouseâ€™s girlfriend,â€™ he smiled.

â€˜Oh, sheâ€™s lovely,â€™ cried Dottie, bending down to pat her. The dog was jumping up at Patsy, licking her face and wagging her tail so hard Dottie wondered that it didnâ€™t fall off.

â€˜Can I play with her?â€™ Patsy asked.

â€˜Of course you can.â€™ John handed her a yellow ball. â€˜I tell you what, sheâ€™ll be your best friend for life if you throw this for her to catch.â€™

As the two of them bounded away, Dottie and John followed.

â€˜Iâ€™ve never been up here before,â€™ said John, breathing in the warm afternoon air. â€˜Itâ€™s a lovely spot.â€™

â€˜You get a wonderful view of Worthing from the top by those trees,â€™ Dottie told him. â€˜On a clear day, you can see the Seven Sisters to the east and the Isle of Wight to the west.â€™

â€˜When I told Mother I was coming here she said something about it being a radar station during the war.â€™

Dottie smiled. â€˜Thatâ€™s all gone now. Thereâ€™s just the grass, the chalk pit at the top and the Millerâ€™s Tomb.â€™

â€˜Sounds intriguing,â€™ he said.

They watched Patsy throw the ball for the dog. â€˜So tell me all about Patsy,â€™ John went on. â€˜She certainly looks well. Do you think sheâ€™s settling in all right?â€™

Dottie prattled away, telling him again about Maureen, Patsyâ€™s best friend, and the rest of the Prior children. She told him how much Patsy liked feeding the chickens and how sheâ€™d made a pet out of their pig, christening him Porker.

â€˜And what about Mr Cox?â€™ John asked. â€˜I got the feeling that he was a bit shocked when he saw his daughter in Southampton â€“ does he get along with her now?â€™

For a second, Dottie panicked. She couldnâ€™t tell him the truth, could she? Patsy didnâ€™t seem to worry about her fatherâ€™s gruff behaviour and Dottie was hoping that because she was such a lovely girl sheâ€™d win him round in the end. If she told Dr Landers â€“ John â€“ how things really were, he might take Patsy away. Keep your mouth shut, she told herself, and itâ€™ll all come out right in the end.

â€˜Reg is quite busy at the moment,â€™ she said cautiously, â€˜but once the winter sets in, and we have those long cosy evenings by the fire, Iâ€™m sure theyâ€™ll be spending a lot more time together.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s good,â€™ he said and Dottie felt a pang of guilt.

They passed the Millerâ€™s Tomb under a spreading oak tree but, just as they were going to read the inscription, a lone rider coming out of the woods distracted them.

â€˜Patsy,â€™ John shouted. â€˜Keep hold of Minnieâ€™s collar, and stand still until the lady on the horse has gone by.â€™

Patsy called the dog to heel and crouched down beside her. They waited as horse and rider cantered on. Dottie watched her with a smile. She was such a good girl.

Standing with his back to the ancient Iron-Age fort at the top of the hill, John was over awed by the view. The weather was fairly clear and Dottie pointed out the local landmarks; the spires of St Maryâ€™s in Goring and St Andrewâ€™s in Tarring, and the gasometer in the far distance near Worthing hospital.

â€˜Iâ€™ve got a picnic in the car,â€™ he said suddenly. â€˜If I had known it was so lovely up here, I would have brought it up.â€™

â€˜Never mind,â€™ she smiled. She turned towards him and as his dark brown eyes searched hers, Dottie felt her face flame.

â€˜Tell you what!â€™ he cried. â€˜You and Patsy take your time to get back to the Millerâ€™s Tomb and Iâ€™ll run on down to the car and fetch it.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s a long way to go back,â€™ she protested.

â€˜Nonsense,â€™ he chuckled. â€˜If you can walk all that long way from the village, running back down the hill isnâ€™t going to kill me, is it? Iâ€™ll meet you back there in ten minutes.â€™

He set off a steady jog. Dottie watched him go. What a lovely man. So kind. Such fun to be with. No wonder Patsy loved him. She sighed. If only Reg was like that â€¦

The sound of the dog barking brought her out of her daydream, and she called Patsy back from the chalk pits where she and Minnie were playing chase. By the time they reached the Millerâ€™s Tomb, John was puffing his way back up the hill with a basket in one hand and a blanket over his arm. They spread out the blanket under a tree and Patsy and Minnie sat down on it with expectant faces.

John laughed. â€˜Letâ€™s see what Iâ€™ve got here,â€™ he said, unstrapping the basket.

Dottie gasped with delight as he threw back the lid. He had prepared quite a spread. Chicken paste sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, three large apples, a whole fruitcake â€“ â€˜I canâ€™t take credit for that,â€™ he smiled, â€˜my mother made itâ€™ â€“ some shortbread and a flask of tea. Minnie was delighted to discover he had also packed a juicy marrowbone. She found her own corner of the blanket and set about chewing it.

They ate the sandwiches and relaxed on the blanket. â€˜This is my best ever picnic,â€™ Patsy sighed happily, as she wiped some of the fruitcake from her mouth with the back of her hand.

It was for Dottie as well. John was delightful company and for the first time since Patsy had arrived, she was experiencing one of those family times sheâ€™d so long dreamed about. If time could be trapped in a bottle, she thought to herself, this would be one of those moments to capture forever, especially if she could share it with John.

â€˜You said your mother made the cake,â€™ said Dottie, kneeling up on the blanket to wipe Patsyâ€™s face with her handkerchief. â€˜How is she?â€™

â€˜Funnily enough, since Iâ€™ve been back,â€™ he said, â€˜sheâ€™s rallied. She still needs to rest a lot, but she looks a lot stronger.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m glad,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Can Minnie and I play again?â€™ asked Patsy.

â€˜I think you should let your tea go down first,â€™ said Dottie.

John was looking at Patsy and chewing his bottom lip. â€˜Dottie,â€™ he began. â€˜Iâ€™ve told my mother all about Patsy. How would you feel if I took her to meet her?â€™

Dottie struggled to control her feelings. Reg would go bonkers. â€˜Iâ€™m not sure how my husband would feel,â€™ she began cautiously.

â€˜Oh please, Auntie Dottie,â€™ said Patsy. â€˜I want to go to Uncle Johnâ€™s house.â€™

Dottie turned her head away. What was she going to do?

â€˜I tell you what,â€™ said John, as if he sensed her discomfort, â€˜you have a think about it. Iâ€™ll give you my telephone number. If you should decide to let her come, donâ€™t worry about getting the bus or the train or anything. Iâ€™ll come for you both.â€™

â€˜You mean, you want me to come too?â€™

â€˜Of course.â€™

â€˜Thank you,â€™ she said quietly. She had to turn away again because she had butterflies already.

â€˜Now, come on, you two, I canâ€™t possible take any of this picnic back home or my mother will accuse me of starving you both. Have another paste sandwich.â€™

â€˜I really couldnâ€™t manage another thing,â€™ Dottie laughed. â€˜The whole afternoon has been wonderful.â€™

â€˜So has the company,â€™ he said, looking directly at her. Dottie busied herself tidying the plates back in the basket.

The watery sun was beginning to get lower in the sky and it was definitely getting cooler. Patsy and Minnie played one last game of â€˜fetchâ€™ with the ball.

â€˜Iâ€™ll give you a lift back home,â€™ said John as he packed away the picnic things.

â€˜No!â€™ He raised an eyebrow and she knew sheâ€™d reacted too quickly. â€˜Please donâ€™t worry about us. Weâ€™ll enjoy the walk.â€™

â€˜At least let me take you part of the way.â€™

Dottie did some quick thinking. They were unlikely to bump into anyone on the way back and she was a bit tired. â€˜All right then,â€™ she said. â€˜Drop us at the crossroad.â€™

The driver of the car behind them leaned on his horn as John slowed down.

â€˜Damn stupid place to stop,â€™ he shouted at the windscreen.

As he overtook the car in front, he glanced in his rearview mirror. A woman and her child were climbing out of the car and waving to the man behind the steering wheel. Michaelâ€™s father, Gerald, was slightly surprised to see that the woman was Dottie Cox. She had a little girl with her. Must be the one she and Reg had adopted. He wondered vaguely what she was up to. The three of them seemed very chummy.

As he looked ahead again, Gerald jumped as he realised he was going too fast to take the bend in the road. Braking sharply, he only just managed to get round in one piece.

Skimming the grass verge, he straightened the car again and settled down again. Should he slow down and offer her a lift? He eased his foot off the accelerator, but then he thought better of it. No. If Dottie was up to no good, she wouldnâ€™t thank him for spotting her. They would be turning the corner any minute. Concentrating on the road ahead, Gerald pressed his foot down hard and headed for home.

Funny, he thought to himself as he skirted the village. I never would have had Dottie Cox down as the type to play around.

Twenty-Five

Reg hadnât come home last night.

When Dottie woke up in the morning, her first reaction was pure joy. She lay on her back, watching the curtains fluttering in the light breeze coming from the open window. For the first time in a long time, her bed felt warm and cosy.

The church bells began their peal and Dottie wondered vaguely where Reg might be. There was no note on the table when they got back last evening, but then she didnât expect one. She was the one who left notes. Reg never told her his plans. In fact, he hardly even bothered to make conversation these days and if he felt she had talked too much, heâd be just as likely to thump her.

For some reason, he blamed her that having Patsy hadnât worked out. He was determined that she be the one to ask the authorities to take the child away, but she was just as determined not to. Dottie was no fool. She knew something was wrong somewhere, but she didnât want to think about it. Something told her that if she tried to work it out, she would be forced to send Patsy away and she was beginning to love the child.

The wardrobe door was ajar. Reg had gone in his best suit but nothing else was missing. He hadnât packed a case or anything. She felt a little guilty that she wasnât bothered about him. He was probably lying drunk in a gutter somewhere. Ah well, if that was the case, heâd be home soon enough and until then she and Patsy could do what they liked.

Dottie jumped out of bed and pulled open the curtains. Even though it was the end of the month, it was going to be a glorious day. Spoilt for choice, she couldnât decide what to do. Jump on a bus and go to Brighton, go to the beach, walk up to Titnore woods? She wished John Landers was coming again. Heâd made even a simple picnic such fun â¦

Hearing voices, she looked down into Annâs garden. Brian and Phyllis were squabbling over a ball and a sudden thought struck her. If Reg wasnât around all the time, the two of them would be firm friends. Perhaps they could all do something together. Throwing open the sash-cord window, she called out, âBrian, ask your mummy if she could come round a minute, will you?â

The offices of Brown, Son and Knightly were on the corner of Liverpool Terrace in Worthing, in a large imposing Victorian building badly in need of repair. Reg had been putting it off since heâd got back on Monday but by Thursday he couldnât wait any longer. Heâd biked down to the town in his lunch break to be shown into the waiting area which was dominated by a large settee that looked to be as old as the building. The leather was cracked and dry and some of the horsehair was coming out of one of the arms. Uncomfortable in his surroundings, Reg sat on a hardbacked chair next to a small wicker table covered in old magazines. He ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar and swallowed loudly. The only sound in the room was the slow tick tock of the railway-sized wall clock.

He wouldnât have thought of doing this if it hadnât been for Joyce. What a stroke of luck finding her again. Heâd been wandering around his old haunts when heâd bumped into Molly Scrace. Bit of a shock at first. Her hair was grey now and she wore gold-rimmed glasses, but apart from that sheâd looked more or less the same.

âYou still the barmaid at the Kingâs Head?â heâd asked.

âNah â¦ but I still goes there for a glass of stout now and then.â

âAny of the old crowd still there?â

Sheâd named a few names, some of which he remembered but others he couldnât put a face to. âIâm on me way there now,â she said. âFancy a pint?â

And the first person he saw when he walked through the door was Joyce. Sheâd gained some weight, but she still had that bleached blonde hair he admired so much, although close up he could see the dark roots. She was no Jane Russell but every time he looked at her something stirred in his loins. He was gutted when she told him she was with someone else now. Herbie Bawden. A bookie. Only to be expected after all this time, heâd supposed, but sheâd given him the nod and theyâd each made their excuses to leave, he for the toilet and she to go home and make Herbieâs tea. Theyâd met up in the back alley.

âI canât stop long,â sheâd told him but sheâd lifted her skirts while he unbuttoned his flies and she stopped long enough. When it was over, heâd grabbed a handful of hair. âI want you back.â

âYouâve got a bloody nerve,â sheâd snapped. âWhen you got locked up, I wanted to wait for you but you told me not to.â

âI was an idiot,â said Reg. He kissed her hard on the mouth.

She pushed him away. âWhat about you? Have you got somebody else?â

âThereâs no one,â heâd lied. âIâm on me own, or as good as.â

Sheâd looked him straight in the eye. âHerbie may not be loveâs young dream, Reg, but he keeps me comfortable. You and I have had one for old timesâ sake but Iâm not on the game any more.â

âI got me own house,â he boasted. Her eyes lit up. âBut I got a sitting tenant at the moment. You can move in as soon as I get rid of her.â

Joyce seemed unconvinced. She put her head back and her hand on her hip. âAnd how long will that take?â

âNot long.â

âIâm not hanging about, Reg.â

âYou wonât have to,â he promised.

Even thinking about her in this sterile office waiting room made him shift in his seat. That woman could do things to him nobody else could do. If he was to get her back, he needed money â¦ which was precisely why he was here in this office.

The sound of squeaking shoes came along the polished lino floor in the corridor and a woman appeared in the doorway. Her blouse was buttoned to the neck and her pale face looked washed out in the dark grey suit she was wearing. She peered at him over the top of her glasses.

âMr Cox? Mr Knightly will see you now.â

He followed her down the corridor and into Mr Knightlyâs office.

When Reg first clapped eyes on him, he was surprised. Seeing as how his name was last on the polished brass nameplate outside the door, he had expected him to be a much younger man. Mr Knightly was about fifty or fifty-five, with heavy jowls and a very discoloured nose â probably, Reg thought, from drinking too much port after dinner.

Reg introduced himself.

âPleased to meet you, Mr Cox,â said Mr Knightly pleasantly. âAnd how is Mrs Cox? Well, I hope?â

Reg assured him his wife was the picture of health. âShe and I are planning our future,â he said, getting straight to the point. âI want to talk to you about the terms of her late auntâs will. We got plans.â

Mr Knightly raise his hand. âLet me stop you there, Mr Cox. Iâm afraid I am not at liberty to speak to you in a business sense. Mrs Cox is our client.â

Regâs mouth tightened. âBut Iâm her husband. Whatâs mine is hers and whatâs hers is mine.â

âThat may be so, Mr Cox, but Iâm not at liber â¦â

âYes, yes, you already said that,â Reg cut in. âItâs about the wifeâs inheritance.â

âAs you already know,â Mr Knightly continued with a sigh, âthe house is in your wifeâs name so I can only accept instructions for her.â

âBut thatâs bloody ridiculous!â

Mr Knightly gave Reg a disapproving look. âThatâs not for me to say, Mr Cox,â he said sitting back down at his desk. âAll I can tell you is that, without formal instruction, I cannot do business with you. Good afternoon, Mr Cox.â

His face purple with rage, Reg had no option but to turn on his heel and march back down the corridor. Damn and blast it! That bloody Aunt Bessie was still ruling his life from the grave.

What was he going to do? He had to have money if he was going to get Joyce back but Dottie was in the way. He only put up with that kid because of the promise Sandy put in the letter. âIn my will, Iâve left everything to you â¦â Life would be so much better without the pair of them.

Back home that evening, Reg suddenly announced that he was going away for a couple of days at the weekend.

âBut youâll miss the bonfire,â Dottie cautioned.

Reg shrugged and went back to his paper. Dottie supposed she should ask him where he was going but in truth she didnât care. Another couple of days without him would be wonderful. She was just happy to be left alone.

On Friday morning she packed him a suitcase and some sandwiches and he went off in his best suit. He didnât kiss her goodbye. She didnât care about that either. As soon as she was sure he was really gone, her heart fluttering with excitement, Dottie went to the phone box and telephoned John Landers.

By six thirty on Saturday, Tom Prior and Michael Gilbert had set up the last of the Catherine Wheels and checked that the rest of the fireworks were safely stored in the big tin. The womenfolk and kids hadnât arrived yet but it was already getting dark. They had cordoned off the bonfire and Tom had laid the potatoes on a sheet of corrugated iron at the base. Earlier in the afternoon, theyâd sent Steve Sullivanâs terrier in to check that there werenât any hedgehogs or stray cats sleeping inside and now everything was ready for the off.

âWeâre having a do for Patsy later on,â Tom said.

Marney nodded approvingly. âAny excuse for a good old shindig.â

âMum suggested a barn dance,â said Michael. âSheâs left it all to us to organise.â

âHow do we go about doing that then?â

âMy Freda asked the bloke who played the piano-accordion at our wedding. His brother plays the fiddle,â Michael told them. âApparently Don Patterson from Findon is available and heâs a good caller. It should be a cracking night.â

âOh, âmy Fredaâ now, is it?â Tom teased.

Michael felt his face flame and turned away. Yes, surprisingly it was âmy Fredaâ now. From the moment theyâd been married, he and Freda had got on well together. She made him feel good and he was happy.

âTerry Dore says heâll give us a barrel, so us shanât go thirsty â¦â Tom was saying.

âWhat about the food?â asked Michael.

âOh, leave that to the womenfolk,â said Tom dismissively. âWeâve done the most important bit.â

They carried the guy in procession from Janet Cooperâs shop through the village and past the church, a crowd of elated children following behind. Patsy, her eyes bright with excitement, skipped alongside the old pram which was being pushed by Billy.

âThe only time Iâve ever known him willing to push the darned thing â¦â Mary muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Dottie laughed. The two friends held the hands of the little ones. Dottie had Connie and Maureen, while Mary hung on to Christopher and Susan. Everyone was well wrapped up although the evening wasnât that cold.

When they reached the field, the children ran off and by the time Dottie and Mary came the men were hosting the guy, now tied to a three-legged chair, onto the top of the bonfire with ropes. As soon as he reached the top, albeit at a drunken angle, there was a ragged cheer from the crowd and the sound of muffled clapping from their gloved hands. Dottie and Mary gathered the little ones behind the roped-off area and waited.

âTheyâve done it very well,â Dottie remarked.

Mary smiled proudly. âTom is always very careful when it comes to the kids. You will give me a hand giving out the jackets when theyâre done, wonât you, Dottie? They wonât take long. I started them off in the oven.â

Michael was given the honour of lighting the first Catherine wheel. Patsy was mesmerised as it shot out a shower of coloured sparks which eventually made it turn at great speed on the nail and she gasped with pleasure as the colours merged into one bright yellow and orange blur.

The men moved about silently lighting the positioned fireworks in a pre-arranged sequence. They held things on a tight rein, the only hiccup occurring when Billyâs friend, Raymond Green, threw a jumping jack into the crowd, terrifying little Connie and making the other girls scream. Raymond was rewarded with a clip round the ear from PC Kipling and then another from his father standing nearby. Dottie picked up Connie and tried to calm her down. The child clung to her, trembling and burying her face into Dottieâs coat.

Within a few minutes of the start of the fireworks, Tom plunged a lighted torch into the middle of the bonfire and it quickly took hold, the glowing embers soaring high into the night sky. When the rockets went up, everyone â including Connie â looked up, their âOoohâs and âAhhhâs echoing all around the field.

Dottie became aware of someone standing right behind her and a pair of gloved hands covered her eyes. âGuess who?â said a womanâs voice.

Dottie didnât need to second-guess. With a cry of joy she pulled herself away from the gentle restraint. âPeaches!â And the two of them laughed and hugged each other with Connie in between.

âHow are you? Is the baby here? What about Gary? Howâs he getting on?â The questions just spilled from Dottieâs lips.

âHey, steady on,â Peaches laughed. Jack took Connie from Dottieâs arms and, with a wink, left them to it. âEverybodyâs fine. Oh Dottie, itâs so good to see you.â

âItâs good to see you too,â cried Dottie. She was aware that Patsy had crept beside her and was looking up at them in mild surprise. Dottie put her arm around Patsyâs shoulders. âYou havenât met my Patsy yet, have you? Patsy, this is your Aunt Peaches.â

âHello, Patsy. Iâve heard all about you.â

âHello,â said Patsy.

Maureen wiggled between them. âMumâs got some sparklers for us to hold,â she told Patsy and the two girls ran off to find Mary.

Edna pushed a baked potato wrapped in newspaper into Peachesâ hand.

âTell me about Gary,â Dottie insisted. âI heard they transferred him to Courtlands.â

âItâs a smashing place,â said Peaches. âHeâs got to stay there another four to five months, but heâs breathing on his own now and heâs getting stronger every day.â

âOh Peaches,â said Dottie helplessly.

âItâs all right. Weâve got used to it now. Weâre just really pleased heâs got this far and the doctor is hopeful that heâll make a good recovery.â

âWhat about his leg?â

âItâs a bit skinny,â said Peaches, picking at her potato with her fingers. âIt could have been a lot worse. At one time the doctors said he might never walk again.â

Dottie took in her breath.

âItâs all right now. They say the exercises will make it strong again.â

Dottie regarded her shape. âAnd I heard you had a little girl.â

Peaches smiled. âWeâve called her Mandy.â

âWhere is she now? Is she all right?â

Peaches nodded. âShe weighed seven pounds three ounces, and sheâs got Jackâs eyes and my hair.â

âIâd love to see her,â sighed Dottie.

Peaches lowered her eyes. âThe fact is, Dottie, after the way I treated you â¦â

Dottie squeezed her friendâs arm. âItâs all water under the bridge now.â

âI know now that you did go to see Gary,â said Peaches. âI only found out when we took Ivy and Brumas back.â

âThe bears â¦? Oh, didnât he like them?â

âHe wouldnât be parted from them,â said Peaches, âbut we thought they belonged to the hospital. He kept saying, âAuntie Dottie gave them to me.â

Dottie smiled. âIâm surprised he even remembered.â

âI didnât believe him,â Peaches went on, âbut the nurse said someone brought them in for him on that first day, and she described you. Dottie, why didnât you say? Why did you pretend you didnât go?â

âReg didnât want me to go to the isolation hospital,â said Dottie with a sigh. âHe was convinced I would get the polio and then we wouldnât be able to have Patsy.â

Peaches squeezed Dottieâs hand. âSheâs a lovely little girl, Dottie. Mary said she comes all the way from Australia. Sheâs â¦ sheâs very dark.â

âWeâve got her because Reg knew someone out there,â Dottie said, repeating yet again the well-rehearsed story. It slipped off her tongue easily these days. âIf weâd gone through one of those adoption agencies, weâd have to have medicals and theyâd ask questions and,â she added with a nervous laugh, âyou know how much Reg hates all that red tape!â

âItâs a shame youâve never had children of your own.â

âAs a matter of fact â¦â Dottie said confidentially; drawing Peaches closer she whispered, âdonât say anything just yet but I think â¦â

Peaches beamed. âOh Dottie â¦ how exciting â¦â

âDonât breathe a word,â Dottie cautioned. âI havenât even told Reg yet.â

Peaches looked around. âWhere is Reg?â

âGive us a hand, Dottie!â came a cry.

Dottie started and then the realisation dawned. âOh my lord â¦ Sorry, Peaches, I promised Mary Iâd give her a hand dishing out the spuds.â

Regâs heart was pumping. He stared at the closed door, wondering what delectable morsels were being prepared on the other side.

When heâd arrived, Joyce had been annoyed when he told her the money was a bit tied up.

âIâm not going to be poor all my life,â sheâd pouted. âIf you want me, Reg, you have to pay for it. Iâm not giving up what Iâve got for nothing.â

When sheâd said that heâd lost his rag. Theyâd fought like cat and dog until heâd punched her to the ground. After that, theyâd had passionate, exciting and violent sex. He couldnât be without her again. She did things to him that no other woman ever did. She teased him until he was in a frenzy of desire and when she gave herself to him she didnât mind experimenting â she had no inhibitions and sheâd try anything he fancied. She even came up with some wild ideas herself. She was all woman and he was putty in her hands. Why couldnât they all be like her?

All at once, Aunt Bessieâs voice filled his head. âWhen Dottie hears what you did, youâll be out on your ear.â

âDot will do just what I say,â heâd boasted.

Joyceâs sultry voice brought him back to the present. Wait outside the room, sheâd said, and Iâll give you a fantastic surprise. Naked, he felt himself harden as he stood up and walked towards the bedroom. He glanced down to admire his manhood. He could have this every night if he could get hold of some decent money. His eyes narrowed. There had to be a way of getting rich quick. Only Dot and that bloody kid stood in his way â¦

Twenty-Six

It was Sunday, the day Dottie and Patsy were due to meet Mrs Landers, and it was chucking it down with rain. Dottie regretted insisting that John meet them at the crossroads again. They were going to get extremely wet.

She asked Ann to shut the chickens in if she wasnâ€™t back in time.

â€˜What if Reg turns up?â€™ Ann asked nervously. â€˜Where shall I tell him youâ€™ve gone?â€™

â€˜Reg is away until tonight,â€™ Dottie explained. â€˜And Iâ€™m taking Patsy to see Dr Landers.â€™

Ann frowned anxiously. â€˜Is there something wrong with her?â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s fine,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Dr Landers looked after Patsy when she came from Australia. Heâ€™s very fond of her.â€™

Her friend raised an eyebrow suggestively. â€˜Going somewhere nice?â€™

â€˜I shouldnâ€™t think so,â€™ laughed Dottie. â€˜We are to meet his old mother.â€™

â€˜How disappointing,â€™ Ann sighed. â€˜I hope you donâ€™t get too bored with the old fossils.â€™

John drove them through the autumnal lanes towards Littlehampton and on to the Sussex village of Yapton. As Patsy and John chattered away, Dottie had never felt happier. He was such a lovely man, good looking, kind â€¦ if only â€¦ She pushed her daydreams aside and concentrated on the view from the car window.

There was little in the centre of the village, just a few shops and a public green. They crossed the old canal and headed along the Barnham road where his mother lived in a small cottage. Although the garden had seen better days, it was a delightful place. Of course, there was little in the way of flowers in the garden at this time of year but a few chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies soldiered on, and the odd rose remained even though most of the bush was little more than bare twigs. The leaves of the wisteria which grew over the front door were beginning to wilt and the geraniums were way past their best, but Dottie imagined that it was very beautiful in the spring and summer months.

As they climbed out of the car, their ears were assaulted by loud music. John knocked at the front door and Minnie barked but nobody came. Taking a spare key from under a flowerpot by the window, he opened the door and they all went in.

Laura Landers was a bird-like woman with white wispy hair and pale colourless eyes, but she was far from being a fossil. She was wearing a maroon-coloured dress with tiny white dots all over it, slightly too severe for her pale complexion, but as they all walked in to her light airy sitting room, the radio was blaring out the new Patti Page song, â€˜Tennessee Waltzâ€™. Laura was dancing with a cushion in her arms and, as John entered the room, she was so surprised to see them, she almost fell over.

â€˜Mother!â€™ John cried rushing to her side.

â€˜Donâ€™t fuss, dear,â€™ she said recovering herself. â€˜You made me jump, thatâ€™s all.â€™

Dottie warmed to her immediately. She was wonderful!

John went over to the gramophone to turn it off.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, my dear,â€™ said Laura clutching her chest and sinking into a chair. â€˜Forgive the eccentricities of a silly old woman. Iâ€™m quite puffed out now.â€™

â€˜Not at all,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜You dance beautifully.â€™

Laura Landers waved her hand dismissively. â€˜You mustnâ€™t flatter me or I shall want to do it all over again and, as you can see, that will only make my son very cross.â€™ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. â€˜He thinks Iâ€™m already in my dotage and I should spend my days on the sofa, surrounded by cushions.â€™

Dottie grinned.

â€˜Donâ€™t take any notice of her,â€™ said John as he crossed the room and kissed his mother on the cheek. â€˜And you behave yourself, Mother.â€™

â€˜And whereâ€™s the fun in that?â€™ the old woman protested. â€˜I take it this lady is Mrs Cox?â€™

â€˜Call me Dottie â€¦ please.â€™

â€˜And Patsy?â€™

Patsy was hiding behind Dottieâ€™s skirt.

Mrs Landers and Dottie shook hands. â€˜Patsy, my dear, Iâ€™ve heard such wonderful things about you, I could hardly wait to meet you.â€™

Patsy gave her a cautious stare.

â€˜John, you didnâ€™t tell me she was so beautiful,â€™ cried Laura. â€˜And what a pretty dress you have. Is it new?â€™

Patsy nodded. â€˜Auntie Dottie made it.â€™

Laura Landers seemed impressed. â€˜Then sheâ€™s an excellent needlewoman,â€™ she said, struggling to get out of the chair. â€˜Now I wonder, Patsy, could you help me in the kitchen?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d be pleased to give you a hand, Mrs Landers,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜No, no, my dear. Iâ€™m sure Patsy is big enough to help me with the tea things, arenâ€™t you, Patsy?â€™

Patsy beamed, her chest swelling with pride.

They went off together hand in hand, leaving Dottie alone with John.

â€˜She does you credit,â€™ he said.

â€˜Not me,â€™ Dottie insisted. â€˜Her mother.â€™

He motioned her to sit down. â€˜Last time we met,â€™ he said, â€˜you said Patsy was happy and settled, but your husband was still finding it hard to adjust to parenthood.â€™

Dottie nodded. â€˜He still is,â€™ she said, â€˜but I am hoping he will come round soon.â€™

â€˜So do I.â€™ His smile was a little disconcerting. â€˜I feel somehow responsible, Dottie. I made a few too many presumptions when I wrote to him. For a start, I thought heâ€™d already seen his daughter, but according to Brenda, Sandy lost touch with him before she had the baby.â€™ He paused. â€˜Do you know anything about your husbandâ€™s ancestry? I mean, were his parents people of colour?â€™

Dottie stiffened. Please donâ€™t probe too deeply, she thought. â€˜Reg doesnâ€™t talk about his past but I believe he was brought up in a childrenâ€™s home,â€™ she said cautiously.

John looked at her apologetically. â€˜You know, I only want to make sure Patsy has the very best she can.â€™

â€˜Then we both want the same thing.â€™

Being so close to him, Dottie could hardly breathe. She certainly couldnâ€™t hold his gaze so she turned her attention to the dog, which was sitting at her feet. She bent to pat her, calling her a good girl. For a sickening minute, it reminded her of Reg. Thatâ€™s what heâ€™d called her that night he raped her. If she kept her hand moving, hopefully John wouldnâ€™t notice it was trembling.

Patsy reappeared with a plate of sandwiches. She put them on the table and walked over to Dottie, then put her arm around Dottieâ€™s shoulders and her mouth next to her ear. â€˜Weâ€™ve got chocolate cake,â€™ she whispered excitedly.

After their tea, John suggested they take the dog for a short walk.

â€˜A good idea,â€™ said his mother. â€˜Iâ€™ll clear the tea things while youâ€™re gone.â€™

â€˜Let me help,â€™ Dottie said, but Mrs Landers wouldnâ€™t hear of it.

Patsy was thrilled to be holding Minnieâ€™s lead. They ran on ahead while John and Dottie walked together.

â€˜I used to dream about this place all the time when I was in Australia,â€™ said John, â€˜but it has never seemed as wonderful as it does right now.â€™

â€˜Did you spend the war in Australia?â€™

â€˜Heavens, no,â€™ he laughed. â€˜As soon as Iâ€™d qualified, I was called up. I began my war in a corvette but then we were torpedoed. After that, it was a destroyer. We were mostly on convoy duties.â€™

â€˜Not an easy time,â€™ said Dottie recalling the PathÃ© newsreels sheâ€™d seen during the war.

â€˜You could say that,â€™ he laughed, â€˜but being in the navy gave me a thirst for adventure. Look, thereâ€™s some more blackberries.â€™ He pointed to a hedge bowed down with brambles. The blackberries were plump and ready for picking. â€˜Fancy some?â€™

â€˜Theyâ€™d make a wonderful pie,â€™ she said, â€˜but weâ€™ve nothing to carry them in.â€™

He took out a handkerchief and spread it on the ground. â€˜How about this?â€™

â€˜The juice will stain it,â€™ she cautioned.

â€˜Like I said,â€™ he smiled, â€˜the navy gave me a thirst for adventure. If youâ€™re willing to risk the wrath of my mother, so am I.â€™

They laughed easily and Patsy came back to see what they were doing.

â€˜This has been a wonderful afternoon,â€™ said Dottie as they walked back, his handkerchief bulging with blackberries. â€˜Your mother has made us so welcome.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s been our pleasure,â€™ said John earnestly. â€˜Can I ask you a very personal question?â€™

Dottie looked up sharply. â€˜What is it?â€™

â€˜Are you and Reg happily married?â€™

She looked away, startled. â€˜Yes â€¦ yes of course we are.â€™ Dottie blurted out, but they both knew sheâ€™d reacted far too quickly. â€˜I take my marriage vows very seriously,â€™ Dottie said, trying to justify herself, but she could feel her face burning.

John Landers smiled and she knew at once that he had seen right through her. She panicked. Was he looking for a way to take Patsy away?

He leaned forward and said in a soft confidential manner, â€˜Listen, Dottie, if ever you need anything â€¦ anything â€¦ I want you to promise that you will come to me for help.â€™

â€˜I â€¦â€™ She hesitated, then in a lower tone of voice said, â€˜Oh, John, youâ€™re such a kind man.â€™

â€˜I mean it.â€™

â€˜I know you do and I thank you,â€™ she said shyly. â€˜And I want you to know that Iâ€™ve â€¦ that Patsy and I have loved every minute of this day.â€™

â€˜So have I.â€™

Once again, Dottie could feel her face flame. Just the scent of him was enough to send her into a fluster. Patsy and the dog were lagging behind. Willing herself to remain unsmiling, Dottie called back, â€˜Patsy, hurry up, thereâ€™s a good girl. We must go.â€™ And they finished their walk in a rather awkward silence.

Back at the cottage, Patsy said, â€˜Thank you for having me.â€™

Laura Landers cupped her face in her hands and kissed her gently. â€˜And weâ€™ve loved having you, my dear. Itâ€™s been a wonderful afternoon.â€™ She slipped a pound note into the childâ€™s hand. â€˜This is for you but donâ€™t spend it all on sweets. Buy something special.â€™

Patsy thanked her and Laura turned her attention to Dottie. â€˜Iâ€™m so pleased to have met you, my dear,â€™ she said, kissing Dottieâ€™s cheek.

Dottie blushed. â€˜You went to so much trouble â€¦â€™

â€˜Nonsense,â€™ said Laura. â€˜Now you will bring her again, wonâ€™t you?â€™

As they sped down the road towards Worthing, Dottie sighed. If only every day could be as happy as this one had been.

Twenty-Seven

When she woke next morning, Dottie was alone once again. As she lay in bed, a faint smile played on her lips as she recalled the previous day and one moment in particular. It was when Patsy had looked up at her, her face purple with berry juice.

â€˜Have you been eating them?â€™

Patsyâ€™s eyes had gone wide with apprehension. â€˜No!â€™

Dottie had raised her eyebrows and put her head on one side with a sceptical expression.

â€˜Well,â€™ Patsy added, relaxing, â€˜not many,â€™ and the air had been filled with Johnâ€™s laughter.

Reg still had not returned home. Where was he? Had he left her? The thought brought a rush of guilty pleasure. Now that the clocks had gone back, the mornings were dark. Dottie switched on the bedside light and lay in the bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe.

As the clock ticked around to six thirty, Dottie climbed out of bed. Lifting her nightdress, she looked at her gently rounded stomach and caressed her skin. If only this child were Johnâ€™s. Her own words came back to haunt her. What was it sheâ€™d told him? â€˜My marriage vows are important to me â€¦â€™ something like that. If that were really true, then why was she so glad Reg wasnâ€™t here? Even if he never came back, a man like John wouldnâ€™t want a ready-made family. Heâ€™d want his own. How would she support Patsy and her own baby? She spread her fingers across her abdomen as if she were holding the baby within. Whatever she felt about Reg, this was his baby. Patsy had no mother but she still had her father. This baby had both a father and a mother. If she pushed Reg away, what sort of a life would her baby have?

Aunt Bessie had never approved of her marriage, Dottie knew that, but on the day sheâ€™d married Reg, she had given her some sound advice. â€˜Youâ€™ve made your choice, darling,â€™ Aunt Bessie said, not unkindly, â€˜now make it work.â€™

It was a sobering thought, but it was up to her now. Dottie resolved from here on in, for the sake of her baby, sheâ€™d better forget John Landers and make more of a go of her marriage.

Patsy called from her room, â€˜Is it time to get up yet, Aunt Dottie?â€™

Dropping her nightdress, Dottie reached for her housecoat. â€˜It certainly is, love. Back to school today.â€™

Reg flexed his fingers. Bruised and sore, the skin on his knuckles was broken. After a couple of days away from that cow of a wife and that snotty kid, heâ€™d hatched a plan and come back to Worthing. On his way back to the cottage, heâ€™d been waylaid. He hadnâ€™t reckoned on the bloke sneaking up on him. Heâ€™d better keep his hand in his pocket. Nobody would give him a lift if they saw the state of him.

He stood on the grass verge and stuck out his thumb. Best to get away for a few days. Lie low. With a bit of luck, no one saw him get off the train but he couldnâ€™t bloody count on it. Trouble was, it was still light. He should have gone to the pub before he went home. That way the bloke wouldnâ€™t have seen him. Who was he anyway? And how did he know his name? As far as Reg knew, heâ€™d never seen him in his life before, although he did look a bit like that dirty old tramp who used to come sniffing around the cottage when Bessie was alive.

â€˜Not me, mate,â€™ heâ€™d said but if the truth were known, heâ€™d nearly died of shock.

â€˜I know what youâ€™ve done,â€™ the bloke shouted after him, â€˜but youâ€™ll never get away with it.â€™

For a few seconds, Reg had been rooted to the spot but then the need for survival kicked in. Heâ€™d dashed into the shed and grabbed the first thing that came to hand. The hammer. Then heâ€™d stalked the bloke. Caught up with him by the fields.

One whack on the side of his head with the hammer felled him like a bloody tree. He hadnâ€™t lost his touch. Heâ€™d booted and punched the body until he was sure he wouldnâ€™t be telling anybody anything and then heâ€™d toed him into the ditch.

It didnâ€™t seem like anyone had seen him, but just to be on the safe side Reg went back to the cottage and collected his bag, hid the hammer in his shed and hit the road. He almost left the hammer where it fell but went back â€“ PC Kipling might recognise it.

A lorry pulled up. â€˜Where you goinâ€™, boyo?â€™

â€˜Where are you going?â€™

â€˜Lewes.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™ll do me,â€™ he said, climbing into the cab.

By late afternoon on Wednesday, Reg was still away and it was beginning to get to Dottie. He had never been away so long before.

After school, Dottie had arranged that she and Patsy would meet up with John again. Sheâ€™d mentioned a walk along the seafront from Goring to Ferring, and heâ€™d jumped at her suggestion to spend time with Patsy.

Mr Marney had come up to the cottage the night before.

â€˜Iâ€™ve no idea where Reg is,â€™ she told him truthfully.

Marney was none too pleased.

â€˜Heâ€™s been under a lot of strain just lately,â€™ Dottie went on. She didnâ€™t want to make excuses for him, but how were they going to manage if Reg lost his job? â€˜He needed a little break, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re supposed to book your holidays,â€™ Marney snapped, â€˜not just take them when you fancy.â€™

Just before lunch, Dottie walked down the garden, looking over her shoulder every now and then in case she saw the tramp hanging around. She wasnâ€™t even sure why she was thinking about him again. He hadnâ€™t been around since that morning when Sylvie frightened him off, but last night, just before she drifted off to sleep, Dottie found herself wondering what it was he was going to tell her. Did he know something about Aunt Bessieâ€™s death?

Clucking noisily, the chickens dashed up to the wire as soon as she opened the door, clearly thinking it was feeding time again. Dottie checked inside the henhouse for eggs, slipping her hand under one hen where she sat. The egg was still warm.

The pig grunted and put his snout over the top of the fence. He was getting so big, it wouldnâ€™t be long before he broke it down and ran amok. Michael and Gerald Gilbert were supposed to be coming sometime to take him to market. Judging by the size of Porker, it couldnâ€™t be a moment too soon.

When Dottie and John met, Patsy couldnâ€™t stop talking. He heard all about Patsyâ€™s day at school from beginning to end. Eventually she ran off with the dog while Dottie and John strolled behind. It was a crisp afternoon and the cloud base was low. The tide was out and the place was deserted apart from the odd walker or two. They walked along the edge of the pebble bank, with the sea on one side and a rough area of green the other. Dottie felt so at ease in his company.

â€˜How come you ended up in Australia?â€™

His face clouded. â€˜I needed to get away,â€™ he said quietly. â€˜When I got back home â€¦â€™

â€˜From the war?â€™

He nodded. â€˜My wife and I were strangers. She had met someone else so in the end, it was better to part.â€™

â€˜Oh, Iâ€™m sorry, John.â€™

He shrugged. â€˜These things happen. It was nobodyâ€™s fault.â€™

â€˜Do you have any children?â€™

â€˜No â€¦ fortunately.â€™

â€˜But why Australia?â€™

He laughed. â€˜A friend was supposed to be going but at the last minute he came down with shingles of all things. I was able to take his place. It was only supposed to be for a short time, but I ended up staying there for four years.â€™

â€˜Coming back here â€¦â€™ she began. â€˜It must be so different.â€™

â€˜I hadnâ€™t planned to come back at all,â€™ he said. â€˜But my mother needed me. And now â€¦â€™ He looked directly at her. â€˜Iâ€™m not sure I even want to go back.â€™

Dottie heart was pounding. She couldnâ€™t think what to say. She knew what she wanted to say. â€˜I really enjoy being with you too. Youâ€™re so wonderful with Patsy â€¦â€™ but she couldnâ€™t say that, could she? It was far too familiar and besides, she was pregnant with Regâ€™s child for goodnessâ€™ sake!

In truth, when she was with John she had never been happier. She and Patsy were becoming very close as well. Their latest venture together had been making a shoebox dollsâ€™ house. Dottie had helped Patsy cut out the windows and doors, and then Patsy had decorated the outside with flowers and the inside with pictures on the wall. Theyâ€™d used matchboxes covered with scraps of material to make a bed, table and a couple of chairs. After that, Dottie had shown Patsy how to make a wool doll to go inside.

â€˜Iâ€™ll make a brown one like me and you make a pink one like you,â€™ Patsy had said.

â€˜Iâ€™ve only got some red wool,â€™ Dottie said.

â€˜Thatâ€™s near enough,â€™ said Patsy.

Remembering, Dottie smiled to herself.

â€˜Penny for them,â€™ John said.

â€˜Itâ€™s nothing,â€™ she smiled. There was another thing she wouldnâ€™t tell John. Not yet anyway. Patsy was embroidering a tray cloth. It was to be a Christmas present for Johnâ€™s mother.

All at once, the heavens opened and it began to rain, not just fine rain but big drops, bursting with water as they fell.

â€˜Quick,â€™ Dottie pointed to a clump of Ilex oak trees in the distance. â€˜Head over there, for the Plantation.â€™

John grabbed Patsyâ€™s hand and they out-ran her. As Dottie raced after them, her heart bursting with the joy of watching them as they shrieked with laughter and Minnie barked and jumped at their heels. John hurried into the thickest part, searching out a large bough, heavy with green leaves, which would give them maximum shelter from the wet.

As he turned to Dottie he called out, â€˜Mind that tree!â€™ But it was too late. She hadnâ€™t noticed that she was heading towards a small sapling covered in low-level newly grown branches. Dottieâ€™s head was yanked back as her hair became entangled in its branches.

â€˜Ow!â€™

â€˜Hang on a minute,â€™ John said as she struggled to free herself. It was no use. The more she tried to free her hair, the more entangled it became. She was stuck fast.

â€˜Ouch â€¦ Ow â€¦â€™

In a moment he was by her side, doing his best to untangle her.

â€˜Sorry â€¦â€™ His fingers moved deftly and he was being as gentle as he could. How long had he desired to touch her hair? It was like silk, sensual â€¦ It smelled of gardenias.

â€˜Aah â€¦â€™

â€˜Sorry â€¦â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right,â€™ laughed Dottie. â€˜Iâ€™m just being an absolute baby. Ow!â€™

Their faces were very close, so close that every time he breathed out, his exhaled air, feather-like, touched her cheek and she felt more alive than sheâ€™d ever felt in her whole life.

â€˜There,â€™ he smiled, as a tendril of her hair flopped across her face. Their eyes met and she was aware that her heart was beginning to pound once more. She was seized by the most powerful yearning to touch him. She looked away quickly.

She felt his hand on her arm, as light as a feather. â€˜You know,â€™ he said softly, â€˜I never knew it until now, but I think Iâ€™ve been waiting for something like this all my life. Is this kismet?â€™

She glanced up at him. â€˜Whatâ€™s kismet?â€™

â€˜That you and I were destined to meet even before we were even born.â€™

He leaned his head against hers and she felt his lips brush her cheek. It made her weak at the knees. â€˜Oh John â€¦â€™ she moaned softly, â€˜â€¦ donâ€™t â€¦ we mustnâ€™t.â€™

Yet she offered no resistance as he bent his head and his lips touched hers. Cupping her face in his hands, he said, â€˜I went all the way to Australia, and you were here all the time.â€™

She could feel his breath touching her mouth, as gentle as the flutter of a butterflyâ€™s wings. Her whole body was yearning for him. She closed her eyes.

â€˜Is Auntie Dottie free yet?â€™ Patsyâ€™s voice broke the spell instantly.

â€˜Yes,â€™ called John. â€˜Sheâ€™s free.â€™

Dottie opened her eyes. â€˜No, John,â€™ she said quietly as she looked directly into Johnâ€™s eyes. â€˜Auntie Dottie isnâ€™t free.â€™ Then, calling to Patsy she said, â€˜Coming.â€™

His fingers searched for hers as they walked towards Patsy but she drew her hand away. What madness. She should never have allowed that to happen and she hated herself for it. As they waited together under the bough of the tree for the rain to stop, Dottie could hardly breathe.

John was standing very close to her. Too close. One minute his hand was resting on the bough of a tree, the next he was playing with the curls on the nape of her neck. Blushing furiously, Dottie tried to edge away from him but there was little space to move. â€˜Donâ€™t,â€™ she pleaded softly.

â€˜What makes it rain?â€™ Patsy asked.

â€˜When moisture in the cloud becomes too heavy, it falls to the ground as rain,â€™ John explained.

Dottieâ€™s mind was elsewhere. Sheâ€™d been in the Plantation a hundred times but, even with the rain pouring all around them, it had never seemed more beautiful. Had the grass always been this green? And why hadnâ€™t she ever noticed how musical the rain sounded? She could hardly bear to look at John for fear that he would try and kiss her in front of Patsy. Youâ€™re a married woman, she reminded herself sternly. You mustnâ€™t encourage him. Itâ€™s not fair.

â€˜Will it snow?â€™ asked Patsy.

â€˜Itâ€™s not cold enough for snow,â€™ said John.

â€˜What makes it snow?â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s when the rain starts off as ice crystals,â€™ John explained. â€˜They fall through warmer air and land on the earth as snowflakes.â€™

He was so patient with her, so loving.

â€˜Right now, the air is warm enough to melt the snowflake and change it into a rain drop.â€™

Inside, Dottie sighed. Damn you, Reg, damn you.

The rain stopped and they came out of the Plantation to walk to his car. The sky was still heavy with clouds but it had never seemed so vast, so empty.

She deliberately didnâ€™t meet his eye all the way back to the car, and yet she was acutely aware of him walking beside her. Patsy chattered away beside them and Minnie trotted at their feet.

He unlocked the driverâ€™s door then leaned in to open the back passenger door. Patsy and Minnie clambered in.

â€˜Uncle John,â€™ Patsy said. â€˜This is my best day ever.â€™

â€˜Good. Iâ€™m really glad,â€™ he said looking over the top of the car at Dottie waiting by the passenger door. â€˜I think itâ€™s been my best day ever as well. And what about you, Auntie Dottie?â€™ he said teasingly. Dottie felt her cheeks flush. â€˜What sort of day have you had?â€™

â€˜Very nice,â€™ she said tartly as she deliberately turned her head away.

It was only when she got back home that Dottie realised just how insane that kiss had been. Yes, John was a wonderful person, but she was married. Not only that, but she was pregnant. She hadnâ€™t told him that, had she? And even if he said he didnâ€™t care about the baby, how long would it last? Heâ€™d be here today and gone tomorrow. Men like him, professionals, werenâ€™t the marrying type, not with the likes of her, anyway. And even if he was, what would happen to his career when it became common knowledge? The doctor and a pregnant housewife flirting in the woods â€¦ heavens above! It was the stuff of the News of the World. The scandal â€¦ the risk â€¦ No, no, she wouldnâ€™t allow it.

With a heavy heart, Dottie decided she would have to write to him. Sheâ€™d tell him about the baby. Sheâ€™d say that she and Reg had been trying for years, and that as soon as he knew about it, Reg would be very happy. She would wish John well, and tell him now that heâ€™d seen how happy and settled Patsy was, there was no need for him to call again. She could feel the tears beginning to form even as she thought of it.

As she got their teas, she wept alone in the scullery. She couldnâ€™t do it. Not with a letter. It felt like the cowardâ€™s way out. She would tell him the next time she saw him. She would see him one more time. Just one more time and then sheâ€™d tell Reg. Only she didnâ€™t know where Reg was. Heâ€™d been gone almost a week. Where on earth could he be?

Twenty-Eight

There had been a heart-stopping moment when Reg had looked up and thought heâ€™d seen Dottie staring at him from the street outside. He was sitting in the fish and chip shop having a spot of tea before beginning the journey back home. He could get used to this eating-out malarky. Heâ€™d ordered a complete fry-up, two rounds of bread and butter and a mug of tea. It all went down a treat. Relaxing with a full stomach, he spread out his paper and was beginning to read when the face at the window distracted him.

At first he thought the woman outside looked straight at him. She had the same hairstyle as Dottie and wore one of those felt hats his wife favoured, but the face was different. Reg breathed a sigh of relief. The woman on the pavement had sharp features and wore bright red lipstick which was so thickly spread around her mouth it had bled onto her skin. She smiled and waved. He heard a chair scraping and, looking round, he saw a heavily-built man waving back at her. The woman hurried towards the shop door and the bell jangled as she came in. Reg turned his attention once more to his paper.

He ran his finger down the â€˜To Letâ€™ column. Pleasant mod.s.d. villa close station. Blt 1936 Artistic elevation 3 sunny bedrooms bthm. Good garden, garage. Semi-detached â€¦ Too close to the neighbours. He read on. 1st flr maisonette â€¦ modern house facing sports ground â€¦ It got worse. That one would have hundreds of prying eyes. Once again there was nothing really suitable. His eye drifted down to the Property Investments column. Bungalow for sale. Attractive property in need of some renovation. The Crumbles, an area of rustic beauty between Eastbourne and Pevensey. He knew where that was. An area of rustic beauty? It was more like the middle of nowhere. A slow smile played on his lips.

Someone on the next table dropped the pepper pot and it went everywhere. Reg sneezed. Reaching for his handkerchief, a letter flew from his pocket and landed on the floor. A woman picked it up for him. Heâ€™d forgotten that he had that. Heâ€™d shoved it in his pocket last week when he was on his way to work and heâ€™d bumped into Vince the postman. Addressed to Mrs D. Cox, he recognised Sylvieâ€™s sloping hand. What did she want? Bloody woman, she was always scribbling letters to Dot. He slid his finger under the seal and ripped it open.

My darling Dottie â€¦

Regâ€™s lip curled. A bloody lesbian, thatâ€™s what she was. He read on. The first page began with womenâ€™s stuff. All about the kids at school and something about making curtains. He almost didnâ€™t carry on but then he was glad he did. The second page was far more interesting.

Â Â Â Â Robin has decided to stand as the Conservative candidate for our local council elections. Sylvie wrote. Major Breams seems to think that in five years time, the party could put his name forward to stand in the next general election. Just think, Dottie, I could be an MPâ€™s wife before Iâ€™m forty! We are so excited, I canâ€™t tell you. Of course I shall have to say goodbye to my special friend, but we both knew it was just a fling. From now on, I shall have to live the life of celibacy. I shall be an absolute saint!

Reg lifted his eyes and stared into the far distance, with just a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. It was time to go home. What did he always say? Belt and braces. He hadnâ€™t been able to get anything out of Mr Knightly but if the bungalow plan didnâ€™t work, this snobby bitch had just handed him yet another nice little prospect for the future.

The decision to look for Brendaâ€™s address came to Dottie as she listened to Patsyâ€™s prayers that night. She knelt beside her bed, with her hands together and her eyes closed.

â€˜Thank you for all my new friends and thank you for the fireworks. God bless Auntie Bren and Audrey and Wishbone. Please donâ€™t let Wishbone bark too much and make Auntie Bren cross, and let her remember to give Wishbone a big bone for his tea. Please bless Dr Landers and make his mother better â€¦â€™

Dottie stared at the back of Patsyâ€™s head as the list went on and on. Was it right to keep her here? Sheâ€™d grown to love the child, but she couldnâ€™t bear the thought of her growing up with Reg for a father. What if he had done a runner? She didnâ€™t look much like him, it was true, but nothing could alter the fact that Elizabeth Johns had named him as the father of her child. Patsy was his responsibility and if he had cleared off, theyâ€™d never allow Dottie to keep her.

The thought struck her that if things got really bad, Brenda might take her back. On the strength of Aunt Bessieâ€™s inheritance, she could promise to make it worth her while. Sheâ€™d promised John that she would write to Brenda, but how could she since Reg had destroyed all the papers? When heâ€™d gone upstairs that first night Patsy came home, sheâ€™d managed to pull some of it out of the fire, giving herself a nasty blister on her thumb in the process. Sheâ€™d managed to hide the charred remains in the scullery but now it was at the bottom of her wardrobe, along with her Post Office book and her savings. It wasnâ€™t much. The remains of a diary, some photographs of the people from the homestead, she presumed, and some baby drawings belonging to Patsy. Everything else, including Brendaâ€™s address, was gone. And then it crossed her mind that Reg might have something in that shed of his.

â€˜â€¦ and please bless Al and the new flying doctor, Amen.â€™

Patsy stood up and jumped into bed. Dottie leaned over her and tucked her in.

â€˜Goodnight, Auntie Dottie,â€™ said Patsy, deliberately turning over before Dottie could give her a kiss. Dottie felt a pang of hurt. Although they shared some really wonderful times together, Patsy still held back. Dottie had often longed for a little hug or a kiss from Patsy, but she would never force the issue.

â€˜Goodnight, love,â€™ she said, cheerily.

She ran downstairs quickly and glanced up at the clock. 8.40pm. She had no idea when Reg might turn up. Sheâ€™d have to take a chance. She found a torch and went outside. It was very quiet. The only sound was a distant bell â€“ an ambulance or a police car in a hurry somewhere.

Dottie pushed open the shed door. It smelled musty and damp. She shone the torch around in a high arch. Her heart was already in her mouth and she knew sheâ€™d have to be quick. If he caught her, or if he found out sheâ€™d been inside his beloved shed, she knew he was perfectly capable of beating her to within an inch of her life.

The beam from the torch fell on the big workbench with its three heavy drawers underneath. Dottie had never, ever looked inside and even the thought of rummaging through his personal things filled her with guilt. But it had to be done.

She rested the torch on the top of the bench next to a neat row of tools, and tugged at the top drawer. It opened easily. She picked up the torch and peered inside.

His cigarette papers, tobacco and his Rizla tin lay on the top. Carefully, Dottie lifted them up and caught sight of some photographs. The top one was of a naked woman in a provocative pose. She stared at it with horror. The woman was reclining on a sofa but she didnâ€™t look like one of those models artists paint. More of an ageing tart with her bleached blonde hair and her bright red lips. She lay back with her legs wide apart. Nothing was hidden. She turned it over and read the inscription on the back: Come up and see me sometime. J

Dottie took in her breath quietly. She could hardly bear to touch it but she had to see what was underneath. In fact, she found a whole pile of pictures, each one more shocking the first, and one of them depicting that disgusting thing Reg had made her do the night he had raped her when Sylvie was here. The light danced over the pictures and she realised she was shaking. Dear God, who was this person she had married?

Pushing the drawer shut, she opened the next one down. At first she thought the drawer contained only seed packets and dried runner beans and peas ready for planting next spring, but at the back she found a book at the back full of gardening tips, all handwritten by Reg. Underneath that she found a small red box. She opened it and saw a beautiful filigree brooch in the shape of a butterfly. She took it out and held it up to the light. What a wonderful present. It would look perfect on her new dark blue blouse. She wondered when he was planning to give it to her. Christmas? Or perhaps on her birthday next year when, under the terms of Aunt Bessieâ€™s will, he thought the cottage and all Bessieâ€™s money would be hers. Dottie closed the drawer with a sigh.

The bottom drawer was much heavier. It took a supreme effort to pull it open and it was jam-packed with all sorts of stuff. On the top she found a hammer wrapped in an old piece of cloth. Dottie laid it on the top of the work surface and shone the torch into the drawer.

The hammer had been resting on some torn pieces of envelope. Whatever had stained the cloth had seeped through onto the envelope. It looked a bit like rust. The envelope contained what turned out to be another of the letters she had written to Peaches. In the excitement of making up with her again, Dottie had forgotten to ask her about those letters. Why had she torn them up without reading them?

Dottie pulled herself together. What was past was past. She wasnâ€™t here to have a personal pity party. She was here to find Brendaâ€™s address. Underneath the torn envelope she found a stack of letters from Brenda. She had written more frequently that Dottie realised. Reg must have been intercepting the post on his way to work. Could he have been tampering with all her letters as well?

The pressing need to hurry pushed it to the back of her mind. She opened the first letter. Brendaâ€™s address was in the top right-hand corner. Dottie took a piece of the torn envelope and a pencil she found on the workbench to scribble it down. She intended to put it straight back but the temptation was too great. She fanned open the letter: I canâ€™t tell you how excited Patricia is that you are going to send for her.

Dottie had never seen this letter before.

Â Â Â Â I am so sorry that your wife has been so ill. I hope the new treatment will soon restore her to full health and strength.

Dottie frowned. For heavenâ€™s sake, what lies had Reg been telling now?

There was a sound outside in the yard and a long thin shadow fell across the doorway. She jumped and her heart began to pound. Oh flip! He was back! Heâ€™d come back early, and she was here, in forbidden territory. She stuffed the letter back into the envelope and switched off the torch. As she waited in the dark, to her horror, the shadow grew longer.

Oh, God, help me, she panicked. Heâ€™s coming and Iâ€™m trapped!

Twenty-Nine

â€˜Whoâ€™s there?â€™ The light from the kitchen made the person casting the shadow seem very tall and Dottieâ€™s throat was so tight, her words were strangled.

â€˜Auntie Dottie â€¦â€™

Dottie almost fainted with relief when she realised it was only Patsy.

â€˜What are you doing back downstairs?â€™ she demanded.

â€˜I want to do big jobs.â€™

â€˜Then why didnâ€™t you say so before!â€™ Dottie snapped.

Patsyâ€™s eyes grew wide and her chin trembled. â€˜Can I go now?â€™

â€˜Yes, yes,â€™ said Dottie, her voice softer now. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, love. I didnâ€™t mean to sound cross. You gave me a bit of a scare, thatâ€™s all.â€™ And while Patsy was in the toilet, she went back into the shed to push all the letters back into the drawer and replace the hammer.

Reg turned up two days later. Dottie was getting ready for bed. As he came into the room and switched on the light, her heart sank.

â€˜Hello, Reg.â€™

â€˜Hullo.â€™ He stood at the end of the bed, swaying slightly.

Donâ€™t nag him, she told herself. Donâ€™t ask him where the hell heâ€™s been. The hard look in his eye chilled her. What was he planning to do? Her hand trembled on the bedclothes. Perhaps if she told him about the baby â€¦

â€˜Reg, I need to talk to you â€¦â€™

He looked up at her, one leg outside his trousers. His eyes were bloodshot and she could tell he had a job focusing on her. He was drunk. Too drunk for a conversation like this. What a fool sheâ€™d been. She never should have started this now. In fact, where should she start?

â€˜Since youâ€™ve been away â€¦â€™ she began.

â€˜Oh, here it comes â€¦â€™ he slurred.

â€˜The thing is, Reg â€¦ um, that night Sylvie was here â€¦â€™

His face darkened. â€˜Whatâ€™s that bloody woman up to now?â€™

â€˜Nothing.â€™

He pointed his finger at her. â€˜You stay away from her, see? Bloody stuck-up bitch.â€™

â€˜Reg, this has nothing to do with Sylvie. Iâ€™m trying to tell you something.â€™

He put his trousers on the footboard at the end of the bed and leaned over menacingly. â€˜And Iâ€™m telling you,â€™ he said belching beerily, â€˜if I want to go up to London for a few days to see some of my old mates, itâ€™s got nothing to do with her.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t mind you going away, Reg. Itâ€™s nice â€¦â€™

â€˜What dâ€™yer mean itâ€™s nice!â€™

â€˜I didnâ€™t mean it like that,â€™ Dottie protested.

They stared at each other and Dottieâ€™s heart sank. All at once he stripped the bedclothes back and grabbed her ankles. â€˜Well, she ainâ€™t here now, is she?â€™ he said as he pulled her down the bed, â€˜so youâ€™ve got plenty of time to show me whatâ€™s nice.â€™

The next day, Dottie slept in late. It was 7.15 when she opened her eyes and 7.45 before she tumbled out of bed. Her stomach was churning. A wave of nausea swept over her. Dottie leaned out of the bed, grabbed the potty and was sick.

â€˜Auntie Dottie â€¦â€™ Patsy called anxiously.

â€˜Itâ€™s all right, love,â€™ said Dottie before she threw up a second time.

She moved around gingerly. Halfway through the nightmare of last night sheâ€™d decided not to tell Reg about the baby. It would be hard keeping it from him now. She kept wishing, God forgive her, that what he was making her do would make her miscarry.

And now that she had spent time with someone like John, she couldnâ€™t bear the thought of spending the rest of her life with Reg.

As he left for work that morning, sheâ€™d pretended to sleep, sneaking a look while he dressed with a mixture of disgust, resentment and anger. She hated herself for being so scared of him. Sheâ€™d been utterly terrified when Patsyâ€™s shadow fell across the shed doorway and she still shuddered at the thought of what heâ€™d have done if heâ€™d caught her pushing all those revolting photographs back into the drawer.

It had been agreed that today Patsy could play with Maureen and Susan.

â€˜I want to walk to Aunt Maryâ€™s by myself,â€™ she announced.

â€˜Iâ€™ll go with you as far as the corner,â€™ Dottie agreed, â€˜and then you can go the rest of the way.â€™

After sheâ€™d waved Patsy goodbye, Dottie returned home to clear up her kitchen but all the time her problems were going round and round in her head. If she left Reg, who would look after Patsy? If she and Patsy set out on their own, how were they going to survive? She would get something from Aunt Bessieâ€™s inheritance in the middle of next year, but the little bit of money she had now wouldnâ€™t last that long. Perhaps she should do what Sylvie suggested and give him his marching orders, but she knew he would never go. As galling as it was, she would have to let Reg stay where he was, and as soon as she could afford a solicitor, fight in the courts to get the house back. And how long would that take? It may be the fifties, but it was still hard for a woman like her to strike out on her own.

Maybe she should go round to the sweet factory and see if she could get a full-time job â€¦ but what would she do if Patsy was ill? She couldnâ€™t keep asking for time off.

In the end she decided she would have to give up the luxury of Wednesdays at home. If she charred on Wednesdays she could bring in another ten bob a week. Sheâ€™d write and ask Sylvie to find her a place to stay and as soon as she could, sheâ€™d take her meagre savings and her Post Office book. She and Patsy wouldnâ€™t starve. Once the place was tidy and sheâ€™d stopped for a cup of tea, Dottie felt much better.

Upstairs, Dottie opened the wardrobe door. But when she lifted the loose board at the back, the cavity underneath was empty. The things sheâ€™d hidden from Patsyâ€™s case had gone too. Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, no â€¦ dear God no! Her moneybox was gone! Frantically she searched every drawer but it wasnâ€™t there. Where was it? There was no sign that they been burgled. Reg must have taken it. She had always been safe in the knowledge that he knew nothing about her little nest egg, but who else would have taken it? Her thoughts flew to the Post Office savings book. At least he couldnâ€™t touch that. It needed her signature to draw the money out. But that was gone too. Slowly the realisation dawned. All those days off heâ€™d had. The days heâ€™d gone away. The overnight stays â€¦ he must have been using her money.

Her heart pounded and her knees went weak. She sat on the edge of the bed, hot tears springing into her eyes. How she hated him now. His vindictiveness and cruelty knew no bounds. How could he use her body one minute and be so calculating and devious the next?

Patsy had never said anything but it must be obvious even to her that he wanted nothing to do with her. He kept out of her way, ignoring her if they were together in the same room. Dottie had been careful not to make a sound last night in case it frightened her, but the child was no fool. Poor little girl. To lose her mother was bad enough, but to come here to this was even worse. In her heart of hearts, although Dottie knew it wasnâ€™t her fault, she somehow felt responsible.

What was she going to do? She didnâ€™t need to look in her handbag to know that her purse was empty bar a few coppers. She had nothing. Not a penny. The money Mariah Fitzgerald gave her for making the curtains had gone on clothes and toys for Patsy. Oh God, what was she going to do â€¦?

She began what she was sure would be a fruitless search in every handbag and every pocket. Her coat pocket and an old jacket yielded five and eleven pence haâ€™penny. In a bag she hadnâ€™t used since Aunt Bessieâ€™s funeral, she found a ten-shilling note. There was sixpence in her apron pocket and in another apron, one she hadnâ€™t worn for ages, she found the letter Reg had written to Sandy. Sheâ€™d slipped it in there the night that Patsy had arrived. She would read it later.

It was while she was looking through every pocket that she could think of that she came across the torn pieces of Peachesâ€™ letter in another apron. Not the bit with the address on that sheâ€™d written down last night. This was the envelope Reg had said Peaches had torn up and shoved back through the letterbox. She sat on the bed again and stared at it.

A tear rolled down Dottieâ€™s cheek and she sighed. She blew her nose and stared again at the envelope. How long ago had she posted this? She studied the stamp and thatâ€™s when it struck her. There was no frank. She turned it over and pieced the envelope together again. There was nothing on the back either! The letter had never even been posted. She frowned. It must have been. She remembered now, sheâ€™d put it behind the clock and Reg said he was going right past the post box. Perhaps the postman who was supposed to stamp it missed â€¦ or more likely it had never been posted at all. Her hands were trembling and she could feel the anger rising in her again. Peaches had never even received this letter. How could he? How could Reg do this to her? Sylvie said she had sent letters which Dottie obviously hadnâ€™t received. So it must be true. Reg had been interfering with her mail for some time.

She took out the other letter, the one Reg had written to Sandy, and turned it over in her hands. It was signed â€˜all my love, Regâ€™. Almost immediately Dottie realised it was a love letter and she felt slightly intrusive reading such a private correspondence.

My own true love â€¦

She stopped reading and caught her breath. My own true love, she read again.

Dottieâ€™s eyes filled. Never once in the whole time theyâ€™d been married had Reg ever addressed her in such loving terms. Reg must have loved Sandy very much.

Â Â Â Â I canâ€™t stop thinking about you, my darling. I have to see you again. Eric says heâ€™ll look out for you if we go overseas. We shall soon be on the move again, but Iâ€™m not allowed to say where. As soon as I can, I will write to you again. Please donâ€™t forget me, Sandy. When this war is over, we will get married. I shall never feel about anyone else the way I feel about you. Every night I lie awake remembering our last night together. Darling girl, I love you with all my heart. Take care of yourself, all my love, Reg.

Such a pretty letter. Moved by its tenderness, Dottie wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

She needed to talk to someone, but who? What a mess. Where could she start? Dottie held her arms tightly around her middle and rocked herself gently. Oh damn you, Reg. Damn you to hell!

Fifteen minutes later, Dottie hurried into the telephone kiosk and telephoned Sylvie. As soon as Dottie pressed button B, Robin answered.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, Sylvie isnâ€™t here at the moment,â€™ he said. â€˜Can I take a message?â€™

Dottie chewed her bottom lip anxiously. â€˜Do you know when sheâ€™ll be back?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not sure,â€™ said Robin. â€˜Sheâ€™s gone up to London. Sheâ€™s staying with an old friend.â€™

Dottie knew what that meant even if Robin didnâ€™t. She was meeting her lover, Bruce.

â€˜Iâ€™ll ring her tomorrow,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Iâ€™m not sure that sheâ€™ll be back before the middle of next week,â€™ said Robin. â€˜Her friend is leaving the country.â€™

â€˜Oh.â€™

â€˜Yes,â€™ said Robin. â€˜It was all very sudden. Poor Sylvie was quite upset. Theyâ€™re very close, you see.â€™

Dottie hesitated, unsure what to say.

â€˜Are you sure I canâ€™t help?â€™ said Robin.

Dottie swallowed hard. â€˜Donâ€™t worry,â€™ she said willing her voice to stay strong. â€˜Iâ€™ll ring some other time.â€™

Thirty

It was proving to be difficult trying to contact Sylvie. Dottieâ€™d called three times since the weekend with no luck, and she was beginning to worry. If she had to launch out completely on her own, getting away from here was going to be more difficult than she thought. It was crucial that Sylvie find her a place to stay. Dottie didnâ€™t fancy trudging the streets of a strange town with two suitcases and Patsy in tow, looking for a room to rent. She also needed to ask Sylvie to lend her some money, now that Reg had pinched all her savings.

Dottie inserted four pennies and dialled the number. â€˜Hello?â€™

Sylvie! She was there at last. The pips went and Dottie pushed button B. â€˜Sylvie! Oh, itâ€™s so good to hear your voice.â€™

â€˜Dottie! Robin said you had rung. Is everything all right? Has something happened?â€™

â€˜I want to leave him,â€™ Dottie said. â€˜Can you help Patsy and me find somewhere to live? Somewhere down your way?â€™

â€˜Come and stay with us.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t think thatâ€™s a good idea,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜As soon as he realises Iâ€™ve gone, your place will be the first place heâ€™ll look.â€™

â€˜All right, darling. Leave it with me.â€™

The pips went again. â€˜Iâ€™ve got no more money,â€™ Dottie cried. â€˜Iâ€™ll ring at the weekend.â€™

â€˜Give me the number of the box,â€™ cried Sylvie, â€˜and Iâ€™ll ring you back â€¦â€™ But already Dottie was listening to the dialling tone.

Dottie had made up her mind that this afternoon after school would be their last with John.

The weather prevented them from going for a walk. It was drizzling. Laura took Patsy into the kitchen to prepare the tea, leaving Dottie and John alone in the sitting room. He came towards her.

â€˜Careful,â€™ she cautioned. â€˜Your mother â€¦â€™

His gentle kiss stopped her mouth. Dottie felt a yearning far more powerful than anything she had experienced before. The voice in her head kept telling her no, no, you are a married woman, think of Patsy, think of what this might do to Johnâ€™s reputation â€¦ but her heart was begging him to kiss her again. As she closed her eyes, she felt so alive, so very, very happy.

â€˜Oh, John,â€™ she whispered as she lay her hands on the top of his. â€˜Itâ€™s no use. Canâ€™t you see? We must not let this happen.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve made a lemon drizzle cake this time.â€™ Lauraâ€™s voice in the passageway and the rumbling of the trolley wheels heralded the return of his mother and Patsy.

John went towards the fire and fanned his fingers.

â€˜Are you cold, dear?â€™ his mother asked as they crashed into the room. â€˜Put some more coal on the fire.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m fine,â€™ he said gently. â€˜Here, let me give you a hand with that.â€™

â€˜I put the icing on the sponge,â€™ said Patsy proudly.

Dottie slipped her arm around her shoulder admiringly. â€˜And it looks absolutely scrummy.â€™

While Laura and Patsy arranged the trolley as they wanted it, Dottie glanced over the tops of their heads and smiled at John. He blew her a kiss, making her heart leap and her knees go to jelly again.

â€˜After tea,â€™ Laura was saying, â€˜youâ€™ll have to go up in the attic and get some of your old toys down for Patsy.â€™

â€˜Mother,â€™ John laughed, â€˜I donâ€™t think a little girl would be remotely interested in playing with tin soldiers.â€™

â€˜What about the draughts board?â€™ said Laura, piercing a crumpet with the toasting fork. â€˜And Ludo. We could join in with that.â€™ She handed the fork to Patsy. â€˜Now hold this in front of the fire, like so, and when itâ€™s brown, weâ€™ll do the other side.â€™

Patsy sat cross-legged in front of the fire and before long the delicious smell of toasted crumpet filled the room.

Later on, after theyâ€™d all done the washing up, they left Laura to rest by the fire and the three of them climbed up to the attic.

â€˜Itâ€™s an age since I was up here,â€™ said John switching on the light. â€˜I can imagine itâ€™s pretty disgusting.â€™

Considering it was a dumping ground, it was surprisingly orderly. A few cobwebs were draped between the boxes and old furniture stacked around the edges, but it was obvious it wasnâ€™t as dirty as Johnâ€™d imagined it would be. Patsy spotted his old rocking horse at the back and immediately made a beeline for it. Dottie laughed aloud as she sat astride it crying, â€˜Gee up, gee up, you good for nothing old donkey.â€™

John began a thorough search. â€˜The boardgames should be somewhere in these boxes.â€™

Dottie picked over a few things. They held no memories for her, but it pleased her to think that these were all part of Johnâ€™s life. She tried to picture him as a small boy playing with his fort with its working drawbridge, or reading the Enid Blyton Sunny Stories sheâ€™d found tucked away in a box of soft toys. She wondered what he might have looked like â€¦ a little boy with scuffed knees and a runny nose. He must have cuddled that squashy teddy bear when he went to sleep at night â€¦

â€˜Can I have a go, Uncle John?â€™ Patsyâ€™s voice brought her back to the here and now. She was holding up a single roller skate.

â€˜You can have them if we can find the other one,â€™ he laughed.

Their search became a little more earnest, but Dottie settled down on an old chaise longue with a photograph album. She opened it and there he was. She recognised him straight away. A small boy aged about ten, in big Wellington boots, and a serious expression. He was holding a fish in front of him. The caption underneath read, â€˜Freshwater trout caught in the Adur, 8th April 1930â€™. She also found a picture of a family group. She had no idea who the people with him were, apart from Laura of course, but she didnâ€™t really care. She only had eyes for John, aged about five, sitting on his motherâ€™s lap in the centre of the picture.

â€˜Here it is!â€™ cried Patsy. She held up another roller skate. â€˜Can I have a go now?â€™

â€˜Not today,â€™ he said. â€˜Itâ€™s too dark now and itâ€™s wet.â€™

Dottie ran her finger over the photograph of John and a gnawing attraction engulfed her. She kissed the end of her fingers and placed them over his face.

â€˜And hereâ€™s the Ludo,â€™ John cried. â€˜And a couple of jigsaw puzzles you might like to do.â€™

As Patsy clambered back downstairs with her trophies, John wandered over to Dottie. â€˜I wondered what you were looking at. Heavens above, I havenâ€™t looked at those in years.â€™ He began pointing out some of the people. â€˜Thatâ€™s my grandmother. She died at the beginning of the war. Killed while doing canteen duty for the WRVS. And thatâ€™s my friend Derek. He and I used to bike all over the country in the summer hols,â€™ he chuckled. â€˜I got so saddle-sore, I couldnâ€™t sit down for a week.â€™

She smiled. Looking up at him, she noticed he had a cobweb complete with its tiny owner on the top of his head and reached up and lifted it away. His head was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheek. He smelled of crumpets and tea.

â€˜Oh, Dottie,â€™ he said hoarsely.

She turned her head away and stood up. â€˜No, John, please donâ€™t.â€™

He caught her arm. â€˜Why do you never talk about Reg?â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s complicated.â€™

She should tell him now. She should say, â€˜I found this letter â€¦ Iâ€™ve found out something about Reg, but Iâ€™m frightened the authorities will take Patsy away from me â€¦ And Iâ€™m having Regâ€™s baby.â€™ She tried to tell him but her mouth wouldnâ€™t work. Instead, she looked at him with a stricken expression and felt her knees giving way.

â€˜Dottie? What is it? Whatâ€™s wrong?â€™

Her throat tightened. She took a deep breath. â€˜Itâ€™s no use. I must go.â€™

â€˜All Iâ€™m asking is a few moments with you.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t be ridiculous, John,â€™ she said, doing her best to be firm. â€˜Iâ€™m married. Think of the scandal â€¦ your career â€¦â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t give a stuff about all that,â€™ he said fiercely.

They heard a footfall on the stairs and Patsy called, â€˜Are you coming?â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll be right there, Patsy,â€™ she called. She held his gaze for a second and then pulled herself away. Replacing the album in the box, she stood up and saw Patsyâ€™s head appearing over the edge of the floor.

â€˜What are you doing?â€™ she asked. â€˜Weâ€™ve set up the Ludo and weâ€™re waiting to play.â€™

â€˜Sorry, love,â€™ Dottie smiled. â€˜I got carried away looking at some old photographs. Weâ€™re coming now.â€™

Patsy turned around and raced back down, her shoes clattering noisily on the bare wooden stairs. John caught Dottieâ€™s hand and swung her back into his arms. Gently but firmly, he kissed her. Her lips parted and his tongue filled the space between, sending her pulse racing and flooding her whole body with sensual desire. He lowered her onto the chaise longue and caressed her tenderly, kissing her eyelids, her mouth, her neck, her bare shoulder and finally opening a button at the top of her blouse to kiss the top of her breast.

â€˜Dottie, oh Dottie â€¦â€™

And Dottie melted in his arms.

She must stop him â€¦ this mustnâ€™t go any further â€¦ she had to stop him â€¦ But how could she? This was her moment. Up here among the flotsam and jetsam of Johnâ€™s former life, she and he were together at last. She would remember this precious moment to the day she died. She was aware of the old boxes, a dressmakerâ€™s dummy, a tennis racquet hanging from a nail driven into the rafters. Aunt Bessie once told her that when she loved someone, it would be truly wonderful, she would give herself willingly and with passion. Every part of her body was aching for him now. His strong arms pulled her close as his mouth covered hers again. Releasing her, he exposed her breast completely. Her nipple was hard as his mouth went over it and Dottie moaned with pleasure.

The thundering footsteps were back and they sprang apart. By the time Patsy reached the middle of the attic steps, John was leaning over the top. Behind him, Dottie struggled to tidy herself up.

â€˜Weâ€™re coming,â€™ he said to the upturned anxious little face coming up to the attic. â€˜Put the kettle on and weâ€™ll have a cuppa while we play Ludo.â€™

â€˜Granny Laura says she doesnâ€™t feel well,â€™ said Patsy.

With an apologetic backward glance at Dottie, John rushed back downstairs.

â€˜Drop us at the crossroads,â€™ she said.

â€˜Dottie, itâ€™s pitch black and itâ€™s pouring with rain.â€™

â€˜Someone might see us,â€™ Dottie whispered.

He reached across and squeezed her hand. â€˜Donâ€™t worry.â€™

She looked into the back of the car. â€˜Patsyâ€™s asleep.â€™

â€˜Then Iâ€™ll take you to your door.â€™ He negotiated a bend in the road. â€˜When can I see you again?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll write.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t make this goodbye,â€™ he pleaded. â€˜Please â€¦â€™

A face appeared between them. â€˜Are we nearly there yet?â€™

Dottie jumped. â€˜I thought you were asleep.â€™

â€˜I was pretending.â€™

Dottie and John exchanged an anxious look.

â€˜Will Granny Laura be all right?â€™

â€˜Yes,â€™ said John. â€˜All that excitement made her very tired, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s a very old lady, isnâ€™t she?â€™

â€˜Youâ€™d better not let her hear you say that,â€™ John chuckled. â€˜Did you enjoy yourself?â€™

â€˜Ooh, yes.â€™ Patsy held up the skates. â€˜When you take me there next time, Iâ€™ll show you how I can roller skate.â€™

Theyâ€™d arrived at the cottage. Dottie climbed out and opened the door for Patsy.

â€˜Thank you, Dr Landers,â€™ Dottie said in a business-like fashion. As she went to close the passenger door, Patsy was already halfway down the path. She turned, and John was beside her.

â€˜Goodbye, Dottie.â€™ He leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek but Dottie fled.

He stood beside the car dejectedly, the rain soaking his jacket, but as she opened the front door and switched on the light, Dottie didnâ€™t look back.

Dr Landers got back into the car, slipped it into gear and moved off.

Neither of them noticed the curtains of the house opposite moving. â€˜I reckon that Dottie Cox has got herself a fancy man,â€™ Vera Carter told her husband as she pulled them closed.

Thirty-One

The whistle went, bringing to an end the last playtime of the afternoon. Maureen, Susan and Patsy lined up with the others by the door.

â€˜I know a secret,â€™ said Maureen in Patsyâ€™s ear. Patsy turned around and gave her a puzzled look.

â€˜The grown-ups all think weâ€™re daft,â€™ Maureen went on, â€˜but we know what theyâ€™re on about.â€™

â€˜Ooh, Mo,â€™ cried Susan giving her sister a poke in the back. â€˜You said you wouldnâ€™t tell.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right to tell Patsy, you daft,â€™ Maureen retorted. â€˜Patsy ainâ€™t going to tell, are you, Pats?â€™

â€˜Tell what?â€™ asked Patsy.

â€˜Theyâ€™re doing a surprise party for you.â€™

â€˜A party!â€™ cried Patsy.

â€˜Maureen Prior, turn around and stand still,â€™ snapped Mrs Stone.

â€˜Shh,â€™ said Maureen said, nervously putting her finger to her lips. â€˜You mustnâ€™t let on I told you.â€™

Patsyâ€™s eyes grew wide. â€˜Why are we having a party?â€™

â€˜Because you are our best friend oâ€™ course.â€™

Patsy gave Maureen a rib-crushing hug. â€˜Ooooh, thank you.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t let on, will you?â€™ Maureen warned.

â€˜I wonâ€™t,â€™ said Patsy, a surprise of her own forming in her mind.

â€˜Patricia Cox and Maureen Prior,â€™ Mrs Stoneâ€™s voice was sharp. â€˜Will you both stand still!â€™

Dottie stared at the blank piece of paper. Where should she start?

Â Â Â Â Dear John.

Well, that was as good a beginning as any.

Â Â Â Â Patsy seems to be happy but I canâ€™t go on pretending everything is fine. Iâ€™m sorry to let everybody down â€¦

She crossed that out and screwed up the piece of paper. Better to begin by asking about his mother.

She didnâ€™t want to write this letter but she had to. Even though she had agreed to one more meeting, she really couldnâ€™t go again. It had to end.

Â Â Â Â I hope your mother is well. She was so kind to us and we did enjoy our day with you both. Patsy is still a real credit to her mother. Sheâ€™s no trouble and she seems to have settled down very happily.

Dottie re-read what sheâ€™d written. She couldnâ€™t send that either. Sheâ€™d made it sound like everything was perfect. If only it was. She drew out her handkerchief and blew her nose. Writing this letter was breaking her heart, but it had to be done.

She tried again.

Â Â Â Â Reg doesnâ€™t know that we are still meeting. John, I donâ€™t know how to tell you this but Iâ€™m having a baby â€¦

Oh, this was hopeless. Dottie screwed up that one as well. She knew only too well that when she told John about Reg, he would be duty-bound to inform the authorities and they would take Patsy away. Poor little girl â€¦ she would have to face yet another radical change in her life. She had to be protected at all costs, but telling the authorities felt like a terrible betrayal. She hadnâ€™t wanted the child in the first place, but now that she was here, Dottie loved her more than words could say.

Then there was the dilemma of her own baby. How could she trust Reg when the baby came? She shuddered at the thought of him living under the same roof. What a fool sheâ€™d been to marry him. Aunt Bessie had tried to tell her but she wouldnâ€™t listen. If sheâ€™d been single she might have been able to marry John â€“ but on the other hand, if it hadnâ€™t been for Patsy, she never would have met him.

Her head was reeling from all these â€˜what ifâ€™sâ€™ but she had to face the facts and get on with it. She would have to run away with Patsy. It galled her to leave Reg in the house, but what did it really matter, as long as she and Patsy were free?

I have made the right decision, she told herself firmly. She would move to the New Forest area, somewhere like Ringwood or Fordingbridge, and make a new start. Reg would take the cottage, but her inheritance was safe. At an appropriate time, she would come back and claim it. For the time being, no one need ever know she and Patsy werenâ€™t related. Theyâ€™d all presume they were mother and daughter. She could pretend Patsyâ€™s father had been one of those coloured GIs.

Dottie picked up the pen again. Would it be better to see John face to face? Would she be brave enough to say the words when he was looking at her?

Â Â Â Â I have something important I have to tell you. I should have talked to you yesterday but I chickened out. Is it possible for you to meet me for a frank and urgent discussion â€¦

Did that sound stupid? No, she wanted it to sound formal. It had to.

Where should she suggest that they meet? Not here. Not with Reg around. What about the Warnes Hotel, the place where Sylvie had taken her for that meal? She suggested that she would meet him there on Sunday.

She signed herself formally, â€˜yours faithfully, Dorothy Cox (Mrs)â€™ and sealed up the envelope. The post box was just down the road, a three-minute walk away, and she had to get it in the box before the last collection. She could be there and back in no time. She couldnâ€™t leave Patsy alone in the house, so she called out, â€˜Would you like to come to the post with me?â€™

Patsy appeared in the doorway. â€˜Can we go and see the horses too?â€™ Theyâ€™d noticed two mares in Michaelâ€™s field a couple of days ago.

â€˜Good idea,â€™ said Dottie, helping her on with her coat.

Patsy grabbed a couple of tired-looking apples from the fruit bowl. Dottie glanced at the clock. Theyâ€™d have to hurry if they were going to catch the last post. Pulling on her old coat, Dottie hurried out of the door.

On their way, they passed Ann Pearce coming home from work with her two children. Positive she could hear the post van coming, Dottie was anxious not to stop.

Ann pointed towards the flowerbed near the fence. â€˜Dottie, I donâ€™t mean to be rude,â€™ she said, â€˜but Iâ€™ve never seen that old well in your front garden looking as bad as that before. It looks to me like itâ€™s going to cave in any minute.â€™

Dottie was startled. Ann was right. Dottie hadnâ€™t really noticed before but the ground around the old well had definitely subsided.

â€˜I should tell Patsy to keep away from it,â€™ Ann added. â€˜You donâ€™t want her falling in.â€™

Dottie nodded. â€˜Iâ€™ll tell Reg right away,â€™ she said dully.

Ann felt uneasy as she watched her go. It wasnâ€™t like Dottie to be so casual. Come to think of it, she wasnâ€™t looking her normal self these days. Her hair looked lank and untidy and there were times when she seemed miles away. Ann shooed her children indoors. As soon as she got her wages at the end of the week, sheâ€™d buy Dottie a nice bunch of flowers and invite her and Patsy in for a cup of tea. It was the least she could do for someone who had been such a wonderful pal to her.

When she and Patsy walked back indoors about half an hour later, Reg was making some tea in the scullery. Dottieâ€™s heart almost stopped.

â€˜I heard the gate,â€™ he smiled. â€˜Come on in and sit yourself down, pet.â€™

Pet? Dottie was totally bewildered. What was he up to now? And where had he been? She hesitated. â€˜I have to shut up the henhouse.â€™

â€˜All done,â€™ he beamed. â€˜Iâ€™ve got us all fish and chips for tea. I thought it would save you cooking. You like fish and chips, donâ€™t you, Patsy? Take your coat off, thereâ€™s a good girl, and sit up at the table.â€™

After all these weeks, these were the first real words of kindness heâ€™d ever spoken to her and although they were gentle enough, Patsy looked nervously at Dottie. Dottie gave her a reassuring smile and placed her hand in the middle of her back to guide her to the kitchen table.

Out in the scullery, she got the plates out and he came to help her dish out the chips. They smelled wonderful and she suddenly realised how hungry she was.

â€˜Iâ€™ve been thinking, pet,â€™ he said as he shovelled the plates high, â€˜Iâ€™ve been a bit unreasonable just lately, havenâ€™t I?â€™

â€˜What?â€™

â€˜Well, from now on, things are going to change.â€™

â€˜Oh, Reg â€¦â€™

He put his hand up to silence her. â€˜No, no, fairâ€™s fair,â€™ he went on. â€˜Iâ€™ve given you both a hard time. But Iâ€™ve seen the error of my ways. From now on, I shall be a good husband to you and a good father to Patsy.â€™

They walked into the kitchen with the three plates piled high.

â€˜There you are, Patsy, love,â€™ he said. â€˜Daddyâ€™s treat.â€™

â€˜Thank you,â€™ said Patsy warily.

â€˜Thatâ€™s my first treat and in a minute Iâ€™ll tell you about another one.â€™

Dottie slid into her chair and picked up her knife and fork. â€˜This looks so wonderful,â€™ she smiled. â€˜Thereâ€™s no need for anything else.â€™

â€˜Nonsense,â€™ he laughed. â€˜Oh, itâ€™s no good, Iâ€™ve got to tell you now. Patsyâ€™s here and weâ€™re going to celebrate. Remember that place we went to on our honeymoon? Well weâ€™re going back again. Itâ€™s all booked up. All three of us are going for a little holiday.â€™

Patsyâ€™s eyes danced. â€˜A holiday?â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s right, my love,â€™ he beamed.

â€˜Oh, I donâ€™t think â€¦â€™ Dottie began.

â€˜Will we be back in time for the party?â€™ cried Patsy.

â€˜What party?â€™

Patsy went red. â€˜Nothing â€¦â€™

Reg tapped the side of Patsyâ€™s plate with his knife. â€˜Eat up, now. Donâ€™t let it get cold.â€™

Dottieâ€™s head was in a whirl. He was getting Patsy all excited, and he hadnâ€™t even told her why they were going. What was this all about? She was supposed to ring Sylvie tomorrow. â€˜When are we going on this holiday?â€™ she said curtly.

â€˜Right away, pet. First thing tomorrow morning.â€™

Dottie lay on her back staring at the ceiling. Regâ€™s snores filled their bedroom but that wasnâ€™t what was keeping her awake. A holiday. She didnâ€™t want to go away with Reg but she couldnâ€™t bear to disappoint Patsy. It wasnâ€™t as if it was the height of summer either. Who goes away in November? It was terribly short notice too. Sheâ€™d have to get hold of Ann Pearce in the morning and see if she could do Mrs Fitzgeraldâ€™s and Janet Cooperâ€™s while she was away. She felt confident Ann would agree. After all, it was all money in her pocket and Christmas wasnâ€™t too far away. Now that Reg had promised to be a model husband and father, perhaps Dottie didnâ€™t need to feel so desperate about getting away from him. She would still leave him, but she could take her time, do it properly.

She pulled the bedclothes up to her neck and turned over. The eiderdown kept slipping over towards his side. She stuck her arm out into the cold night air and yanked it back. What she needed was a heavy weight on her side of the bed to keep it over her own shoulders.

Dottieâ€™s eyes flew open and suddenly she was wide awake. The hammer. Why had he hidden that hammer in the drawer in his shed? She didnâ€™t trust him as far as she could throw him. Dottie held her breath. More to the point, where was the hammer now?

Thirty-Two

The clock on the mantelpiece said 2.20am and Dottie was downstairs in the kitchen. She was listening out to make sure Reg was still asleep.

She had crept out of bed and down the stairs with her heart in her mouth. Call it a presentiment, or a hunch, she didnâ€™t really understand why, but she had to make sure the hammer was still in the shed. Upstairs, a loud snore convinced her it was safe to go outside. She took her coat down from the nail on the back door. Outside, she opened the shed door gingerly, remembering that it sometimes creaked, and slipped inside. Opening the drawer, she shone the torch inside.

The hammer was still there, wrapped up in the piece of sacking. Where should she put it? She couldnâ€™t leave it where it was. She didnâ€™t trust Reg. For her own peace of mind, she had to think of some place where no one would think of looking. The chickens. Sheâ€™d put it in the henhouse. Sheâ€™d have to ask Ann to look after the hens while they were away. Back indoors, she scribbled a note then, pulling her coat tightly around her, Dottie hurried down to the bottom of the garden.

The pig was gone. Gerald must have taken it but she was surprised to see the door of the henhouse was wide open. Reg had said heâ€™d done the chickens, so why was the door open? Good job sheâ€™d come down or the fox might have had them before morning. She walked inside softly so that they wouldnâ€™t panic. There wasnâ€™t a sound. She switched on the torch. Every perch was empty. Where were they? Had they all escaped outside somewhere? She felt sick. They were good egg-layers, and they would have eventually made good broilers. The torchlight picked out an old sack in the corner: something drew her to it. Cautiously Dottie went over and looked inside. She gasped in horror and almost dropped the torch.

All her lovely hens were in the sack. Every single one of them. Had the fox got in during the day and Reg didnâ€™t want to tell her in case it spoiled the holiday? Foxes kill for the sake of killing, she knew that. It happened once when Aunt Bessie was still alive. The fox had got inside the henhouse and killed every single chicken. Dottie frowned. Back then there had been feathers everywhere and the fox had chewed the heads off as well. She bent to look more closely. None of the chickens in the sack had a mark on them but their necks were broken. Dottie trembled. Reg must have done it. But why? Why would he do such a thing? She couldnâ€™t understand it. He enjoyed a boiled egg as much as she did.

Reg stepped back behind the curtain. What was she doing down the bottom of the garden, stupid cow? He hadnâ€™t meant her to find the chickens, damn it. What was she up to? Sheâ€™d been in the henhouse for some time. Was that bloody John Landers down there too? Surely they werenâ€™t having it off in his chicken house?

Vera had collared him as he walked up the path.

â€˜Iâ€™m not the one to cast aspersions,â€™ sheâ€™d said, â€˜but I thought you ought to know â€¦â€™

Even while she was telling him, Reg felt the contempt rising in his mouth. Dot always thought she was a cut above the rest, what with all those ridiculous cushion covers and fancy curtains, but heâ€™d never had her down as an unfaithful wife. Not until heâ€™d ferreted in the dustbin and spotted some crumpled paper left in the bottom of the bin. He wouldnâ€™t have bothered with it except that it was her Basildon Bond paper, the stuff she used for important letters. Heâ€™d picked up the bits and fanned them out. Now he couldnâ€™t get the words out of his head.

Â Â Â Â Reg doesnâ€™t know that we are still meeting. John, I donâ€™t know how to tell you this but Iâ€™m having a baby â€¦

Bitch. Slut. Apart from Joyce, they were all the bloody same. Sheâ€™d been seeing that Dr Landers, heâ€™d known that, but he hadnâ€™t suspected anything was going on. Now he was boiling with rage. Heâ€™d gone down the garden to cool off but heâ€™d lost it altogether in the henhouse. He hadnâ€™t meant to kill them until it occurred to him that she thought more of her bloody hens than she did of him. So heâ€™d grabbed one and then another.

His lip curled. Perhaps she was meeting the doc now. He could easily hide in the lane. Reg had done it himself often enough.

He waited until Dottie emerged from the henhouse and watched as she hurried back up the garden. His eyes narrowed. On the way down, sheâ€™d walked differently. All hunched up, her arms tightly round her. Coming back, her coat flapped open and her arms were by her side. The bitch was definitely up to something.

He leaned back into the shadows as she went into the outside lav. As he climbed back into bed, he heard her pull the chain.

â€˜Iâ€™ll just pop next door and ask Ann to look after the chickens,â€™ smiled Dottie the next morning.

Reg was sitting in the scullery, polishing his boots until they shone. â€˜No need,â€™ he said cheerily. â€˜Iâ€™ve already seen her. Sheâ€™ll do it for you.â€™

Dottie chewed her bottom lip. Should she confront him? Tell him sheâ€™d already seen the bag full of dead chickens? Better not. Heâ€™d go mad and Patsy was on her way downstairs.

â€˜Iâ€™ve also cleared it with the doctorâ€™s wife and with the old biddy in the shop too.â€™

Dottie was puzzled. It wasnâ€™t like him to be so organised.

The house was practically all shut up. Reg had raked out the fire while Dottie was making the beds. Heâ€™d even packed their suitcase. Although she really didnâ€™t want to go, Dottie had to do her best to make him feel everything was completely normal.

She neednâ€™t worry about meeting John. He wouldnâ€™t get her letter until Monday now. She was sure sheâ€™d missed the post. As soon as they got back from the holiday, she would arrange to go to Sylvieâ€™s. She wasnâ€™t ready but she didnâ€™t want to be with him a minute longer than necessary.

Patsy was beside herself with excitement. â€˜Will we swim in the sea? Will we make sand pies like you did when you were a girl? Will we eat ice cream?â€™

Dottie regretted telling her all that now. â€˜Itâ€™s too cold for all that,â€™ she explained. â€˜But weâ€™ll still have a lovely time, youâ€™ll see.â€™

â€˜But what will we do?â€™ Patsy wanted to know.

â€˜Weâ€™ll eat lots of lovely food and weâ€™ll go for long walks.â€™ Dottie struggled to make it sound exciting. â€˜Maybe weâ€™ll hire some bicycles and go for a bike ride.â€™

â€˜But Iâ€™ve got nobody to play with,â€™ Patsy grumbled. â€˜I wish Maureen and Susan could come.â€™

â€˜Perhaps next time,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Can I take my roller skates?â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s a lovely idea.â€™

Reg stopped polishing his shoes. â€˜Where did she get those?â€™ he demanded.

Patsy looked up at Dottie nervously.

â€˜Mary gave them to her,â€™ Dottie lied coolly. â€˜They used to be Billyâ€™s and the girls didnâ€™t want them.â€™

Reg went back to polishing his boots.

â€˜Did you tell Ann where I keep the chicken feed, Reg?â€™

The look he gave her made her blood run cold. â€˜Stop fretting about the bloody chickens. I told you, Iâ€™ve seen to them.â€™

So he was responsible. He had killed all her chickens. But why? She felt more than a little anxious. She had to go along with it, but what was this all about?

He waved the brush at her and smiled. â€˜Come on, pet.â€™ His voice was as sweet as honey. â€˜Get your coat on. We donâ€™t want to miss the train, do we?â€™

They were halfway to the station when Reg suddenly remembered heâ€™d left his wallet behind the clock in the kitchen.

â€˜You two go and get us some sweets from the station shop,â€™ he said, digging deep into his pocket and fishing out half a crown. â€˜Iâ€™ll meet you on the platform.â€™

Patsyâ€™s eyes lit up.

â€˜What a pity you didnâ€™t notice before,â€™ Dottie remarked. â€˜If weâ€™d been in the village, I couldâ€™ve popped in and told Janet Cooper where weâ€™re going.â€™

Reg wasnâ€™t listening. â€˜I wonâ€™t be a minute.â€™

Dottie watched him running back down the road. She had no idea he could run so fast. Something wasnâ€™t quite right. But what was it? She couldnâ€™t put her finger on it.

â€˜Come on, Auntie Dottie,â€™ said Patsy tugging her hand. â€˜Letâ€™s get our sweeties.â€™

Although the Sea View was in the rundown part of the town, Dottie was relieved to arrive there in one piece. The train journey had been uneventful but Patsyâ€™s excitement made it into an occasion. Reg had read his newspaper most of the way and then he had extended his legs and dozed off.

As soon as they arrived, the landlady had taken them up to their rooms. The furniture was very basic but the bedrooms, one single and one double next door to each other, seemed comfortable enough. Only the dÃ©cor offended Dottieâ€™s eye. Nothing matched: the bedspread in the double room was patterned with brown and orange squares, the curtains had red roses on them and the single room had pink curtains with brown and blue on the counterpane.

â€˜Very nice,â€™ said Reg.

â€˜Breakfast is at 8 oâ€™clock sharp and I require all my guests to be out of the room by 10.30,â€™ said Mrs Flint as she handed Reg the keys to the rooms. â€˜Doors open at 5pm and the evening meal is at 6.30 sharp.â€™

â€˜Thank you,â€™ said Reg. Behind his back, Dottie and Patsy grinned at each other. They turned to go.

â€˜I havenâ€™t finished yet.â€™ Mrs Flint folded her arms over her chest. â€˜Your bathroom is on the next floor up and baths are available on Sunday, Wednesday and Friday at an extra charge of two shillings.â€™ She glanced down at Patsy. â€˜No running in the corridor and no food and drink in the bedrooms. Is that clear?â€™

â€˜Perfectly clear,â€™ sad Reg.

â€˜Then I shall expect you all in the dining room at 6.30 sharp.â€™ She turned to go. â€˜By the way, there is a sing-song after the meal in the parlour. You are welcome to join in. If you go out, we expect all our residents in their rooms by 10.30 unless by prior arrangement. And,â€™ she added as an afterthought, â€˜I do not tolerate drunkenness or entertaining in the bedrooms.â€™

As she disappeared down the stairs, Reg gave her a Hitler salute and Dottie giggled.

â€˜You and Patsy take the double,â€™ said Reg. â€˜She might be a bit nervous on her own.â€™

Dottie was taken completely by surprise. Patsy was delighted.

The meal was plain but well cooked and enjoyable. Dottie and Patsy joined the residents with the sing-song after dinner while Reg read a book. The other guests were a motley lot. They included a retired vicar and his wife and two elderly women, both widows, who had spent most of their latter years staying in guesthouses and small hotels around the country. The other guests were three members of a dancing troupe appearing in the local theatre and a rather brassy-looking woman with blonde hair and bright red fingernails. She kept herself to herself.

â€˜Weâ€™re off to Norfolk for Christmas this year,â€™ one of the elderly women announced at dinner. She ran her fingers up and down her string of pearls. â€˜Who knows, we might even pop down to Sandringham to see the King.â€™

â€˜I doubt he will be there,â€™ observed the vicar. â€˜In my humble opinion, His Majesty is much too ill to travel.â€™

After dinner, Dottie took Patsy off to bed.

â€˜Night-night, dear,â€™ smiled the vicarâ€™s wife. â€˜Such a beautifully behaved child,â€™ she observed to her husband as they left.

Thirty-Three

John Landers couldnâ€™t sleep. He stood at the window of the Warnes Hotel staring out to sea. Her letter, posted last night, had arrived at his motherâ€™s cottage by first post on Saturday and had been specific enough. Heâ€™d dropped everything, booked himself into the hotel that afternoon and waited for her to come. By the time they were taking last orders in the dining room, heâ€™d realised she wasnâ€™t coming. The meal was fantastic, but he couldnâ€™t do it justice.

In her letter she had sounded frantic with worry. It was obvious she had always wanted the best for Patsy but John had a gut feeling that Reg Cox wasnâ€™t the type to make even a halfway decent father. Heâ€™d been cold and stand-offish when heâ€™d seen Patsy. She didnâ€™t look anything like him either.

He was no fool. Sandy was very English in appearance. Although dark-haired, with a sort of gypsy appearance, Reg was too â€“ yet Patsy was mixed race. It was possible there had been an atavism connected to Patsyâ€™s birth, but the reversion to a former ancestral characteristic after several generations, or throwback as it was more commonly known, was highly unusual.

Sandy had had a reputation for being a bit wild in her youth. Brenda once told him that coming to Australia had been a last-ditch opportunity to make something of her life. Brenda would never betray a confidence but John had the impression from the word go that Sandy had been an unmarried mother. The father of her baby must have been a person of colour. Definitely not Reg Cox. Yet the thing that puzzled him the most was the fact that Sandy had named him so clearly. In view of her youth and the fact that she was determined to keep her child, Sandy had been given a second chance. As soon as the war ended, sheâ€™d been sent to Australia for a new start.

He dropped the curtain and climbed back into bed. As puzzling as it was, there was something else on his mind. Heâ€™d have to find out why Dottie hadnâ€™t come. She wasnâ€™t the type to let people down.

His mother was looking a lot better now. Heâ€™d found her a Girl-Friday and she was being well looked after. It was time to look around for a practice. Worthing seemed like a nice enough area and he would be near Dottie. If he could only get her to trust him. She was in his thoughts day and night and he knew now that she was someone very special. Pulling the bedclothes over his shoulders, he resolved to motor over to the village to see Dottie in the morning.

At about 10pm, Reg knocked on the door as Dottie was getting undressed. â€˜Can I come in?â€™

â€˜Just a minute, Iâ€™m not decent.â€™ She dragged on her dressing gown. â€˜Itâ€™s all right now.â€™

The door remained firmly closed. Dottie pulled it open but the corridor was empty. She stood by his door and knocked, but he didnâ€™t answer.

â€˜Reg? Are you there?â€™

Never mind. He could tell her whatever it was that was troubling him tomorrow.

On the other side of the closed door, Regâ€™s eyes glinted with excitement. As soon as Dottie knocked he pushed the woman with him against the door and covered her mouth with his to keep her quiet. With one hand he searched for her Venus mound. She began to resist him and the old excitement began coursing through his veins. He was in for a good night. She wouldnâ€™t go all limp and submissive on him. Sheâ€™d give him what he craved. He pushed his tongue deep into her mouth and winced as she dug her long red nails into the flesh around his naked waist. As Dottieâ€™s footsteps died away and her door closed, he broke away and she laughed softly at his erection.

â€˜If only she knew.â€™

He ran his fingers through her blonde hair. â€˜I wish she did,â€™ he said huskily. â€˜It would make it a lot more fun.â€™

â€˜Are we really going to do it then?â€™

Reg drew his finger across his throat and smiled sardonically.

The womanâ€™s eyes widened. â€˜A knife? I donâ€™t like knives.â€™

Reg took a small bottle out of his pocket. â€˜Had it stashed away for ages,â€™ he said. â€˜Phenobarbitone.â€™

The woman laughed softly. â€˜Ooh, you naughty, naughty boy, Reg. Mummyâ€™s going to be very, very cross with you.â€™

Ann Pearce watched the well-dressed man with the big umbrella walking round the back of Dottieâ€™s place. It was a bit early to come calling and this was the second day running heâ€™d been there.

She was upstairs at the bathroom window which overlooked Dottieâ€™s path. She loved this room. It looked so much brighter than it had done even three months before. Sheâ€™d replaced the dark green walls and brown panelling with a lovely canary yellow, and sheâ€™d done it all herself.

The man was knocking at the front door again. It was only ten past eight. What on earth did he want at this hour? She pulled the curtain completely shut and began to undress. She shivered in the early morning air but she was happy. Life was a lot better since sheâ€™d taken that job Dottie had got for her. When at first sheâ€™d been put on a fortnightâ€™s trial, sheâ€™d resented it, but now that she was working full time she didnâ€™t think it was such a bad thing after all. Miss Edwards had wanted her to do the windows and even clear out the guttering. At the end of her trial period, when sheâ€™d been offered the job at The Merton, sheâ€™d said she would only stay on one condition.

â€˜Condition?â€™ Miss Edwards demanded.

â€˜Iâ€™ll work for you provided I donâ€™t have to put my life at risk,â€™ sheâ€™d said tartly. â€˜I am not willing to go up any ladders, not unless you make a solemn undertaking to be the sole support of my children should anything happen to me.â€™

Miss Edwards had first glared at her but then she burst out laughing.

â€˜Fair enough, Ann,â€™ sheâ€™d smiled. â€˜And I must say, I admire your spunk.â€™

Dottie had been a real pal. She and the kids had really enjoyed that day theyâ€™d all walked down to the seafront to see the new streetlights. It had been one of quite a few good days this year. She and Dottie couldâ€™ve spent more time together gossiping over a cup of tea if it werenâ€™t for that Reg.

Her strip-down wash finished, Ann peeped through the curtains again. Despite the rain, the man was still there. He didnâ€™t look like a debt collector or a policeman. Lord knows sheâ€™d seen enough of those to recognise one when she saw one. Heâ€™d arrived at the cottage in a car so he must be well off but why was he so persistent? Could it be that he was one of Dottieâ€™s customers? Ah yes, that was it. Dottie was making some curtains for his wife or his mother and heâ€™d been sent to collect them. Funny. If that were the case, why didnâ€™t Dottie open the door?

Come to think of it, Ann hadnâ€™t seen Dottie since Friday. On Saturday, Ann had taken the kids up to Highdown on the bus. Theyâ€™d had a wonderful time, with the kids playing in the chalk pits. It was quite cold, but it was dry. Today, Monday, it was raining hard.

Mary and Edna were coming over later to talk about the food for Patsyâ€™s surprise party. Theyâ€™d begun their planning with small back-of-the-hand whispers on Bonfire Night. They had to be so careful that Dottie didnâ€™t see them. Mary was bringing the twins, but that was all right â€“ they could play with Brian and Phyllis. The important thing was, Dottie would be at Janet Cooperâ€™s.

Now washed and dressed, Ann pulled back the curtain and the man tilted his umbrella and looked up as if he sensed she was watching him. She darted back but she knew heâ€™d spotted her. Blast! What if he came to her door? She straightened the curtain and tidied away her soap and flannel, all the time listening for the sound of crunching footsteps on the gravel. But thankfully a few seconds passed into several minutes and the door knocker stayed silent. Cautiously she peeped again, but heâ€™d gone.

The rain was heavier than ever and she could see Vincent Dobbs, the postman, coming along the road on his GPO bicycle. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Ann became aware of a movement by Dottieâ€™s back door. She clutched at her chest. The man was still there, sheltering under the porch.

Vincent was about eight doors up. If he had post for them, heâ€™d be turning into Dottieâ€™s gate any minute now. There was a low rumble and as Ann took another look down into Dottieâ€™s garden her eyes grew wide.

â€˜Oh my stars â€¦â€™ she breathed.

Thirty-Four

By the time Ann had raced downstairs and grabbed her coat and wellies from the hall, Vincent Dobbs had reached Dottieâ€™s front garden.

â€˜Bloody hell,â€™ he gasped, as his hand touched the gate.

The smartly dressed man stood in the middle of the path staring down at the flowerbed. â€˜Thatâ€™s the last thing I expected to happen,â€™ he said shaking his head.

The wet ground around the well had dropped down by several feet and part of the old well wall was exposed. On the other side, an area the size of a dining room table had disappeared altogether, taking half the flowerbed too.

Ann stared in disbelief. She always knew the old well was falling apart, but she wasnâ€™t expecting anything as dramatic as this.

â€˜When did that happen?â€™ Vera Carter from across the road had joined them. â€˜Just now,â€™ Ann said.

â€˜They havenâ€™t used that old well for years,â€™ said Vera, stating the obvious. â€˜When Bessie had the housing taken down, I thought sheâ€™d had it filled in.â€™

â€˜Does she know itâ€™s gone?â€™ asked Vince jerking his head towards Dottieâ€™s front door. A rivulet of rain circled his postmanâ€™s hat and dropped down his neck.

Ann pulled her coat tightly around herself. â€˜I shouldnâ€™t think so, or sheâ€™d have called somebody out by now. Want me to knock on the door?â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s not there,â€™ said the smart man under the umbrella. Ann regarded him for the first time. Close up, he was very good looking, clean cut and well dressed. â€˜In fact,â€™ he went on, â€˜Iâ€™m rather worried about her â€¦ er, the whole family.â€™

Vince frowned. â€˜Course theyâ€™re there. Reg might already be at work but Dottie and the little girl, theyâ€™ll be getting up about now.â€™

â€˜Theyâ€™re not there,â€™ the man insisted. Ann was aware of twitching curtains as the rest of the street gathered by their windows to see what had happened. â€˜Iâ€™ve been coming here on and off since the weekend and every time the place has been empty. When was the last time somebody saw them?â€™

Everybodyâ€™s attention was distracted by Vincent walking along the edge of the path towards the house.

â€˜Careful,â€™ said Ann rather unnecessarily.

Going gingerly all the way to the door, he rattled the letterbox loudly.

Ann hurried up behind Vincent. She joined in, tapping on the windowpane. â€˜Dottie, are you there?â€™

Ann went round to try the back door. It was locked. She frowned. Dottieâ€™s back door was never locked â€¦ and why were the curtains still drawn? She and Vince exchanged a worried look. â€˜Someone better get Kipper,â€™ he said.

The rain had eased off by the time PC Kipling, affectionately known by everyone in village as Kipper, pushed his way through the waiting crowd at Myrtle Cottage.

â€˜Thereâ€™s nobody in,â€™ Mary said. â€˜Ann and Vince and this gentleman here have been banging on the door for ages.â€™

Mary Prior had arrived a few minutes after Vince. After pushing the twins all the way from home in the big pushchair, she was wet through and out of breath and dying for a cup of tea. The shock of seeing the gathering in Dottieâ€™s garden put paid to that.

Kipper leaned his bicycle against the fence and as he looked around at the sea of faces, everybody started talking at once.

â€˜I heard the sound of breaking glass.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s â€™cos Vincent Dobbs broke a window.â€™

â€˜The council should come out and look at that garden. Itâ€™s a real danger.â€™

â€˜Well, I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the state of the place.â€™

â€˜Patsy didnâ€™t go to school today. I thought she must be ill and Dottie was looking after her.â€™

â€˜If somebody doesnâ€™t do something about this soon, the whole road could collapse and take our homes with it.â€™

â€˜Dottie would never go off and not tell anyone.â€™

Kipper put his hand in the air. â€˜One at a time â€¦ please!â€™

â€˜I broke the window at the back,â€™ Vince admitted. â€˜Mrs Pearce here, she climbed in.â€™

â€˜I couldnâ€™t bring myself to go upstairs,â€™ Ann began, â€˜in case â€¦ well you know, so I opened the door and Vince and Bob Carter from over the road, they went up.â€™

Kipper swallowed hard. â€˜And?â€™

â€˜The place is empty,â€™ said Vince. â€˜Theyâ€™re all gone.â€™

â€˜So?â€™ Kipper demanded. â€˜The place is empty, whatâ€™s wrong with that?â€™ If his sergeant got wind of this lot breaking and entering, theyâ€™d all end up in court. â€˜Dottie works at the Coopersâ€™ today, doesnâ€™t she?â€™

â€˜I dropped in for Tomâ€™s paper on the way here,â€™ said Mary Prior, â€˜and Dottieâ€™s not there. I tell you, Janet Cooper is hopping mad.â€™

A murmur ran around the crowd.

â€˜Constable, it seems to me that judging by everyoneâ€™s reactions, Mr and Mrs Cox going off like this is very uncharacteristic,â€™ said the smart man.

â€˜And who might you be?â€™ said Kipper raising an eyebrow.

â€˜Dr John Landers.â€™

â€˜Dr Fitzgerald is her doctor,â€™ said Ann.

â€˜Mr and Mrs Cox and I have a connection through Patricia,â€™ John Landers continued. â€˜In fact, Mrs Cox wrote and asked me to come. We had an appointment for Saturday afternoon. Iâ€™ve been in Worthing the whole weekend but she has made no contact, which is most odd.â€™

Everyone looked at Vince.

â€˜Donâ€™t look at me,â€™ he protested. â€˜I deliver every letter I get. Reg quite often takes them off me on the way to work, but if someone wrote Dottie a letter, I delivered it.â€™

â€˜Dottie wouldnâ€™t go anywhere without telling someone,â€™ Ann insisted. â€˜And she certainly wouldnâ€™t leave her house looking like a tip.â€™

â€˜A tip?â€™ Kipper queried.

â€˜Everythingâ€™s all over the place,â€™ said Ann. â€˜Like somebodyâ€™s been looking for something.â€™ She blew into her handkerchief and Vince laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

John Landers shook his head.

Kipper frowned thoughtfully. There was no evidence of a crime except the broken window, and yet he had a gut feeling something was amiss. Dottie wasnâ€™t the sort to do a moonlight flit. And why should she? As far as he knew, she owned the cottage herself.

â€˜Of course, youâ€™ve seen the hole,â€™ said Vince, pointing towards the sunken garden.

Silently, the crowd parted, giving Kipper a good view of the collapsed well. A clear footprint and a skidmark went right to the edge of a deep dip.

â€˜When did that happen?â€™

â€˜We donâ€™t know, but it wasnâ€™t there yesterday,â€™ said Ann.

Kipper strained his eyes. Sticking up from the middle of the rubble he saw what looked like some brown material. He moved a little closer, frowning. Someone laid a restraining hand on his arm.

â€˜Itâ€™s her coat,â€™ Ann sniffed. â€˜The one she keeps on the nail behind the back door. We didnâ€™t really notice it before it got light.â€™

â€˜â€™Ere, Mr Kipling,â€™ said Mary, pointing to a dark stain on the material. â€˜Doesnâ€™t that look like blood?â€™

â€˜Are you saying she could actually be down there?â€™ Dr Landers pushed his way through the crowd.

â€˜I wouldnâ€™t go any closer if I were you, sir,â€™ Kipper cautioned.

John took no notice; but as he stepped onto the edge of the dip, there was a creaking sound and some more earth fell away.

â€˜Careful!â€™ Kipper cried. He grabbed Johnâ€™s arm and John stepped back gingerly. There was a loud bang and the whole area was jolted down about six inches.

Kipperâ€™s heart missed a beat. He took a deep breath and willed himself to stay steady on his feet. Mary was right. He could see it more clearly now. There was a dark stain on the material and it certainly did look like blood.

â€˜We all reckon sheâ€™s down there, Mr Kipling,â€™ said Vince. â€˜Dottieâ€™s in that well.â€™

â€˜And what about Patricia?â€™ John gasped. â€˜Where is she?â€™

â€˜Perhaps Reg is down there and all,â€™ Vera Carter said.

There was a horrified silence and everyone stared into the hole.

John was spurred into action. â€˜What we need are some planks,â€™ he said. â€˜Anyone know a builder around here?â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s Mr Treeâ€™s,â€™ said Ann. â€˜Down by the station.â€™

â€˜Will you take me there?â€™ John asked.

â€˜I canâ€™t leave my children,â€™ Ann said.

â€˜Iâ€™ll take you,â€™ said Vera Carter.

John opened the front passenger door of his car and Vera slid inside. John did a three-point turn and they drove off at speed in the direction of the station.

As soon as Kipper had ascertained for himself that indeed no one was at home, he left a couple of men to guard the crime scene with strict orders not to let anyone pass until his return. Then he went back to his police house to telephone Worthing Central for re-enforcements. That done, he bicycled like a bat out of hell to be back at Dottieâ€™s before the police car turned up.

In the meantime, the crowd was moved away. Mary went back to Annâ€™s place.

â€˜What do you think?â€™ asked Ann.

Mary shrugged. â€˜Perhaps itâ€™s like Kipper says. She and Reg have gone away for a holiday.â€™

â€˜Since when did Reg take Dottie on holiday?â€™ said Ann.

Mary sighed. â€˜Youâ€™re right, hen. We had to practically bully him to come with us to Littlehampton for the Carnival.â€™

Halfway through the morning, John Landers had a builder on site. Whoever or whatever was in that well had to be got out with care because the ground all around was so unstable.

â€˜I told Reg he should have filled that thing in years ago,â€™ said Terry Dore from the Jolly Farmer when he came up to have a look.

By the time Michael Gilbert brought his mother to the house at eleven oâ€™clock, Mary was sitting in Annâ€™s kitchen drinking tea. They left the children playing in the front room while they told Michael and Edna what had happened.

â€˜You really think sheâ€™s down that well?â€™ gasped Michael.

â€˜Whatever it is, something bad has happened,â€™ said Mary.

Edna began wringing her hands. â€˜I canâ€™t believe it. Poor Dottie.â€™

Michael picked up his cap.

â€˜Where are you going?â€™

â€˜To help,â€™ cried Michael. â€˜I canâ€™t sit here drinking tea if Dottieâ€™s down that well.â€™

As soon as they heard the front door slam, the three women went upstairs to watch the goings-on out of Annâ€™s bathroom window. Michael joined the other men, adjusting and holding onto planks. By the time the builder was able to reach the brown coat, nobody could bear to watch.

â€˜I donâ€™t want to look,â€™ said Ann suddenly.

â€˜Me neither, hen,â€™ said Mary. She was already in tears. Edna followed them downstairs.

Ann was restless. Since theyâ€™d settled their differences, she and Dottie had become real friends. She now had a good job, her children were well fed and happy and she had smartened herself up no end â€“ all thanks to Dottie. When Vincent Dobbs had put a comforting arm around her, it felt wonderful. It was good to know she was still attractive to men, especially a decent bloke like Vince. Heâ€™d lived with his mother until sheâ€™d died a year or two back and now he lived alone. A quiet man, he was a real gentleman.

Connie came into the kitchen where the women sat in silent thought.

â€˜Bicket?â€™ she asked.

Ann reached up for the biscuit tin, and all at once she had four little hands reaching out to her. â€˜Off you go now,â€™ she smiled as she doled them out.

They heard a collective yell outside and Annâ€™s blood ran cold. She glanced at Edna and Mary. They must have found her â€¦ Oh Dottie. She turned her head away lest the children see her tears.

â€˜Why are you crying, Mummy?â€™ Brianâ€™s anxious little voice forced her to pull herself together. Wiping her eyes with the edge of her cardigan sleeve, she bent to kiss him. â€˜Itâ€™s all right. Mummyâ€™s being silly, thatâ€™s all. Now off you go and play with your friends.â€™

â€˜But, Mummy, what are they doing in Aunt Dottieâ€™s garden?â€™

â€˜Filling up the old well,â€™ said Ann briskly. â€˜Now run along.â€™

The children went back into the front room and the three friends looked from one to the other.

â€˜Shall I go back upstairs?â€™ asked Ann.

Mary chewed her bottom lip anxiously. â€˜If you want to, hen.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t think I can bear to look.â€™

All at once they heard the sound of running feet along the path outside followed by frantic knocking on her door. A lone tear rolled unchecked down Ednaâ€™s cheek. Ann straightened herself up and took a deep breath. Phyllis came back out into the hallway.

â€˜Stay there a minute, darling. Mummyâ€™s going to answer the door.â€™ Tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, Ann tugged at the front of her apron. Edna and Mary stood in the kitchen doorway.

It was Vince. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. â€˜It wasnâ€™t her,â€™ he blurted out.

Ann blinked, not fully comprehending what he was saying. Behind her, she heard Maryâ€™s cry of relief.

â€˜Thank God,â€™ Edna breathed. â€˜Oh thank God â€¦â€™

â€˜Then who â€¦?â€™ Mary began.

Ann put her trembling hand to her mouth. â€˜Oh, Vince, no. Please donâ€™t tell me it was Patsy?â€™

â€˜It wasnâ€™t either of them,â€™ said Vince breathlessly. â€˜It was chickens. A sack full of dead chickens!â€™

Mary, Ann and Edna looked from one to the other.

â€˜I donâ€™t understand it,â€™ said Edna. â€˜Who would kill perfectly good chickens and chuck them down a well?â€™

Michael Gilbert came up behind Vince. â€˜A bloody mad man, if you ask me.â€™

Thirty-Five

After a full English breakfast, Reg suggested that Patsy and Dottie meet him at the other end of the seafront.

â€˜Iâ€™ve got a bit of business to do,â€™ he explained. â€˜Iâ€™ll catch up with you later.â€™

The weather was chilly but at least it was dry. They wrapped up warm and walked to the Lower Parade towards the pier, â€˜One day,â€™ Dottie promised Patsy, â€˜weâ€™ll come back when itâ€™s summertime.â€™

Theyâ€™d had a pleasant day on Sunday. They hadnâ€™t done a lot but it was nice walking along the seafront and eating egg and chips in warm cafÃ©s with steamed-up windows. She liked the thought of coming again next year. Patsy would be that much older and able to enjoy â€˜girlie thingsâ€™. The baby would be born by then too. As sheâ€™d lain in bed last night, she began thinking about this change of heart Reg was having.

Dottie didnâ€™t feel comfortable about it. It was too quick, too impulsive and yet she couldnâ€™t fault his behaviour. Had he guessed she was pregnant, or was he up to something?

Whatever it was, she was still going to leave him. When she got back home later today, sheâ€™d do what sheâ€™d planned: sheâ€™d phone Sylvie. She wished she hadnâ€™t written to John asking to meet one more time, but he probably wouldnâ€™t get the letter until today anyway. She had missed the last post on Thursday night, so it wouldnâ€™t have gone until Friday and she would already have been at the hotel on Saturday by the time it arrived at his motherâ€™s place. She would always treasure those lovely days with John but from now on sheâ€™d have to make the best of what she had. Patsy must be given time to settle down. But, oh, how miserable it was going to be if she could never see John again â€¦

Wiping a renegade tear from the end of her nose, Dottie took a deep breath. She mustnâ€™t give way to this. For Patsyâ€™s sake. For the sake of the baby. As she watched Patsy roller skating ahead of her, Dottie realised that sheâ€™d never seen the little girl looking so happy before.

When Reg met them at the end of the road, he surprised her again, this time by pulling up in a car.

â€˜Where on earth did you get that?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve hired it for the day. Hop in and weâ€™ll go for a drive.â€™

He drove them out of Eastbourne.

Dottie frowned. â€˜But I thought we were going home?â€™

â€˜We are, but first Iâ€™ve got something to show you.â€™

Dottie studied his profile as he drove. Heâ€™d been so different yesterday and today. What made him so unpredictable? The night of Michaelâ€™s wedding had been the first time heâ€™d forced her to have sex with him, and ever since then sheâ€™d hated the thought of him touching her. Yet since theyâ€™d been there heâ€™d let her share a room with Patsy. The way he was behaving right now he was more like the old Reg, the man sheâ€™d promised to love, honour and obey all those years ago.

â€˜I want us to buy a new place,â€™ he went on. â€˜Itâ€™s not much to look at now but I reckon youâ€™d make a better landlady than old mother Flint.â€™

â€˜She is a bit formidable, isnâ€™t she,â€™ Dottie laughed. â€˜No food and drink in the bedrooms â€¦â€™

â€˜No running in the corridor,â€™ cried Patsy, mimicking her perfectly.

Dottie laughed but Regâ€™s expression didnâ€™t change. She felt the old nervousness came creeping back.

â€˜Are we going to look at a guesthouse?â€™ Dottie asked.

â€˜Bungalow.â€™

â€˜A bungalow!â€™

â€˜It needs a bit of doing up, but I reckon it would suit us just fine.â€™

Dottie decided to say nothing, but she couldnâ€™t help thinking that you couldnâ€™t get many paying guests in a bungalow.

Ann Pearce was surprised to see Kipperâ€™s Austin 7 waiting outside her gate. She began to walk a little quicker. Something was up. Had he discovered something about Dottie?

As she reached the gate, Kipper stepped out of the car. â€˜Hello, Ann. I wonder if I could have a word?â€™

She nodded. Although he sounded cheerful enough, her heart was thumping and it felt like the bottom had fallen out of her stomach. She could sense that the whole road was full of twitching net curtains. â€˜Would you like to come inside?â€™ she asked pleasantly. She hoped her voice didnâ€™t give away how nervous she felt.

The short walk up the path seemed like the last mile home. It was cold indoors. She hadnâ€™t been home since first thing this morning and the fire had gone out. Apologising for the temperature, she mustered what little dignity she could with a nervous smile. Kipper was business-like.

â€˜Do you know an Ernest Franks?â€™

Puzzled, Ann shook her head.

â€˜Pity,â€™ Kipper went on. â€˜Apparently Dottie and her late aunt were kind to him. They left him tea on the windowsill.â€™

Ann frowned. â€˜Tea on the windowsill â€¦? Oh, you mean the tramp? Oh yes, I remember him. Havenâ€™t seen him for a while though. He would put the tin on the windowsill and Aunt Bessie would fill it for him. Sometimes she gave him a bit of bread and jam. I never knew his name. Ernest Franks, is it?â€™ She was conscious that she was babbling but she couldnâ€™t help herself. â€˜Why do you ask? Has something happened to him?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid so,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜At the moment heâ€™s in Worthing hospital.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry to hear that,â€™ said Ann. â€˜But at least heâ€™ll get three square meals a day.â€™

â€˜He was found a few days ago,â€™ Kipper went on. â€˜In a hedge. Heâ€™d been badly beaten and left for dead. It was touch and go. Heâ€™s made some improvement but heâ€™s still not out of the woods yet.â€™

â€˜Why are you telling me all this?â€™

â€˜I wonder if you would come with me and identify him as the tramp you remember,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜I need to make sure heâ€™s on the level.â€™

â€˜Me?â€™ cried Ann. â€˜But I hardly know the man.â€™

â€˜I would have asked Dottie,â€™ said Kipper, â€˜but sheâ€™s not here. Iâ€™ve come round in my off-duty because Iâ€™d rather not make it official unless I have to.â€™

She realised for the first time that he wasnâ€™t in his uniform. How silly of her not to notice. Normally he rode a bicycle around the village, not the Austin 7.

â€˜If we could go to the hospital now,â€™ he went on, â€˜we could clear this up very quickly. The poor old fellow took quite a licking. Most likely heâ€™s had his brains scrambled but I need to check on a few things.â€™

Ann glanced at the clock. â€˜It just so happens that my children are with Mary Prior,â€™ she began. â€˜Iâ€™d have to be back here before six.â€™

â€˜It shouldnâ€™t take that long,â€™ said Kipper.

The bungalow turned out to be one of several in a row standing behind a four-foot wall on the edge of The Crumbles, an area of wild, undeveloped and lonely land between Eastbourne and Pevensey. The only thing that marked it out from the others of a similar ilk was a windswept rambling rose clinging to the whitewashed walls. As they walked up the path, Dottie looked up as the net curtain in the next door bungalow was lifted and an old woman peered out. At the same time, an old man looked out of the downstairs window. Despite Regâ€™s enthusiasm, Dottie could never imagine the area becoming a magnet for visitors. It was too bleak.

Although it was furnished, the bungalow was musty and damp inside. Patsy ran from room to room exploring every cupboard drawer.

â€˜It needs a bit of work,â€™ said Reg, â€˜but nothing that a lick of paint wonâ€™t cure.â€™

â€˜How much do they want for it, Reg?â€™

â€˜Nine hundred pounds.â€™

Dottie was flabbergasted; yet heâ€™d made it sound as if it were just a few quid. â€˜Where are we going to get that sort of money?â€™

He turned to her with that dark look in his eye. â€˜There you go again,â€™ he hissed. â€˜Always trying to spoil everything.â€™

â€˜No, no,â€™ she protested. â€˜Believe me I wasnâ€™t, but nine hundred pounds â€¦ itâ€™s a lot of money.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll get a tidy sum from selling the cottage,â€™ he said. â€˜Add it to your trust fund, weâ€™ll do it easy.â€™

Dottie gasped. â€˜But I donâ€™t want to sell the cottage,â€™ she cried. A wave of anger swept over her and she spun round to face him. â€˜I wonâ€™t do it, Reg. Itâ€™s my cottage and I wonâ€™t do it!â€™

Immediately, he raised his arm to hit her.

â€˜Auntie Dottie â€¦ Auntie Dottie, thereâ€™s a funny old pump over the sink,â€™ said Patsy, running back into the room. â€˜Come and see.â€™

Reg snapped his arm back to his side. â€˜Letâ€™s not talk about money now, love,â€™ he said, giving Dottie a deliberate smile. â€˜Go and see what the kid wants â€¦ and when you come back, Iâ€™ve got another surprise for you.â€™

Ann and Kipper pulled up in the car park outside the hospital in Lyndhurst Road. They walked in silence under the clock tower and into the long tiled corridors that smelled of disinfectant.

Ernest Franks was in a room on his own next to the menâ€™s ward. He lay on his back, with his head slightly propped up. The snow-white sheet was folded neatly over his chest and beneath his unshaven chin. He looked very different. One eye was badly bruised and the eyebrow had been stitched back together again. Ann guessed from the look of him that his nose had been broken.

As they walked into the room, he appeared to be asleep but as she drew nearer, he opened his one eye and began to cough painfully.

She sat down on the chair beside the bed. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry to see you like this,â€™ she said.

â€˜I remember you,â€™ he said softly. â€˜You lived next door â€¦â€™ Ann could feel Kipper leaning over her shoulder trying to catch what the man was saying â€˜â€¦ to the old one.â€™

â€˜You mean Elizabeth Thornton?â€™ she said. â€˜Everyone knew her as Aunt Bessie.â€™

He nodded his head painfully. â€˜She helped me.â€™

â€˜She was a lovely woman.â€™ Ann agreed.

â€˜I was going to end it all,â€™ he said. â€˜Iâ€™d come to the end of my tether. If it wasnâ€™t for her â€¦â€™ He coughed. â€˜I went back and left her a note. I wanted her to know it was because of her I did it.â€™

Kipper frowned. â€˜Did what?â€™

â€˜Got my life back together again.â€™

Ernest coughed again. Ann offered him some water. He took a small sip and then sank back onto the pillow, apparently overcome by emotion.

â€˜When I saw a newspaper cutting â€¦â€™ he choked.

Ann glanced anxiously at Kipper. The poor man wasnâ€™t making much sense, but he was clearly overwrought about something. When heâ€™d recovered a little, he indicated that he wanted his knapsack. They found it stuffed in the bottom of the locker; the sister had wrapped it in a brown paper bag. When Kipper pulled it out, it still stank of ditchwater. They laid it on the bed beside him.

Ernest had precious few possessions but they included a tattered photograph of a young woman with a small child on her knee, some dog-eared letters, a few items of clothing, his trilby hat and a black tie. At the bottom of the bag they found a faded blue rabbit with floppy ears. He seized the rabbit, pressing it to his cheek. â€˜My poor little Bobbie â€¦â€™

Ann felt uncomfortable. After the war, there were plenty of people with similarly pathetic little collections of bits and pieces left over from a bombed house. Rubbish to one person, but a treasure collected from the darkness for another.

â€˜Shall we play with bunny? Youâ€™d like that, wouldnâ€™t you, Bobbie?â€™ He began to hum.

Ann couldnâ€™t bear it. Swallowing hard, she bit back her own tears and turned over a few of the other things spread out on the bedcovers. â€˜Are you looking for something, Mr Franks?â€™ she said gently.

Eventually, Ernest pushed most of the things aside and picked up a page of folded newspaper. Kipper opened it out and they scanned each side of the page. On one side was an article about canal boats, on the other a small article headlined â€˜Tragic Fallâ€™.

Ann recognised it at once as the report on Aunt Bessieâ€™s death. She didnâ€™t need to re-read it to know it said that Elizabeth Thornton had been found dead at the foot of the stairs in Myrtle Cottage, High Street, on February 15th 1949; that Dr Fitzgerald had attended the scene and had pronounced life extinct. The police and the coroner had been informed and at the inquest her niece, Dorothy Cox, had said that her aunt had been in good health when she had left for work that morning. The report went on to say that Mr Reginald Cox had come home to find the doctor and an ambulance in attendance, his wife distraught and his wifeâ€™s aunt dead. The newspaper report noted that he was deeply moved as he spoke of Aunt Bessie, describing her as angel in disguise who, since his return from the war, had given him both a welcome and a home. He had last seen his wifeâ€™s aunt at 8.30 that morning as he left for work.

As Kipper refreshed his memory by reading the report aloud, the man became agitated.

â€˜The bloody liar,â€™ he hissed. He gripped the edge of his sheet and screwed it as he tried to sit up. â€˜He didnâ€™t go to work at 8.30. He was there, I tell you. The bastard was there!â€™

Thirty-Six

The whole bungalow smelled musty and damp. The windows were boarded up and the only light came from between the open cracks. There was no electricity and the wind made an eerie sound as it whistled between the back door and the fence.

â€˜The owner is in a nursing home,â€™ said Reg. â€˜I know it doesnâ€™t look a lot right now but itâ€™ll be really nice once weâ€™ve done it up.â€™

His eyes shone with excitement and he was animated in a way Dottieâ€™d never seen before. Patsy ran from room to room, keeping up a running commentary as she went. â€˜Thereâ€™s some old saucepans on the cooker. Ugh, thereâ€™s something in this one, itâ€™s all mouldy.â€™

Dottie stood at the entrance to the sitting room watching Reg putting down a sheet. Her mind was working overtime. Surely he couldnâ€™t be serious about this?

â€˜I can see paw marks on this floor, Auntie Dottie,â€™ Patsyâ€™s voice drifted towards them. â€˜Is there a dog here? I like dogs.â€™

How could she make this into a guesthouse? It would take a month of Sundays to clean it up and then it would need to be redecorated throughout. No one would want to stay in a place with nicotine-stained walls and smelly drains. The garden was a wilderness and it was miles from anywhere. She wondered vaguely how the old couple next door managed to do their shopping.

â€˜Come on,â€™ said Reg at last. â€˜Letâ€™s have our picnic.â€™

â€˜Reg,â€™ she began weakly.

He glared at her stonily. â€˜Weâ€™ll talk about it later. Now do as I say and sit down.â€™

His tone was so belligerent, Dottie lowered herself down at once.

Patsy bounced into the room. â€˜What are you doing?â€™

â€˜Weâ€™re having a picnic,â€™ said Reg.

â€˜But â€¦â€™ the child began; then seeing Dottieâ€™s expression, she lowered herself beside her, hugging her toy elephant close.

Reg opened a duffle bag and took out some sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper. â€˜I asked the old dragon to make us some sandwiches. Hungry?â€™

Even the thought of eating made her feel sick but Dottie nodded. She had to get out of this somehow. How could she possibly have her baby in this God-forsaken hole. And where would Patsy go to school?

Reg threw a bag of crisps at Patsy. The childâ€™s face lit up.

Reg poured some tea from a flask and handed Dottie a mug. Dottie cupped her hands around it. Did he really want her to give up Aunt Bessieâ€™s comfortable cottage for this?

â€˜I can see the bungalow has great potential but Iâ€™m not sure many people would like it here, Reg,â€™ she ventured cautiously. â€˜Itâ€™s very isolated.â€™

â€˜Nonsense. This is just what people want. A nice quiet place.â€™

A nice quiet place â€¦ her mind echoed with emphasis.

A dark expression drifted across his face. â€˜Eat your sandwiches.â€™

She ate but they tasted like cardboard and she was struggling not to cry.

â€˜Can Suzy and me go and look for the dog?â€™ Patsy asked.

â€˜Course you can, pet,â€™ smiled Reg.

â€˜I canâ€™t buy this place,â€™ Dottie said quietly as soon as they were alone.

His head snapped up. â€˜But as soon as your inheritance comes through â€¦â€™ he began.

â€˜Itâ€™ll be tied up until Iâ€™m thirty.â€™

His mouth became a tight line. â€˜Tied up?â€™

Dottie explained the terms of her auntâ€™s will. â€˜I canâ€™t do anything without the approval of the trustees.â€™

Reg held her gaze for a while and looked away. â€˜What a shame.â€™ His voice was so controlled it chilled her even more. What was he up to? Her head was spinning. She could think straight.

â€˜I donâ€™t feel so good,â€™ she said. â€˜My mouth is very dry.â€™

â€˜Have some more tea, dear.â€™ He helped her with the cup and she managed another mouthful. â€˜Tell you what. Why donâ€™t you have a bit of a lie down? Thereâ€™s a bed next door. I can lay the sheet over it for you.â€™

She protested but he stuffed everything back into the duffle bag and helped her out of the room. Her legs were like lead.

The bedroom was cold and the windows were closely boarded up. No cracks here, but she was grateful to see the bed. He spread the sheet over the mattress and Dottie lay down. â€˜Iâ€™ll be fine in a minute,â€™ she said.

â€˜Course you will, pet,â€™ he said.

Ann gasped in horror. â€˜What!â€™

But Ernest Franks was seized by a violent coughing fit. They rang the bell and a nurse came. Between them, they hauled him into a more upright position and she re-arranged the pillows.

â€˜Youâ€™ll have to put that stuff away, Ernie,â€™ she said pointing at the old knapsack and its contents scattered all over the bed. â€˜If Sister sees it, you know whatâ€™ll happen. Sheâ€™ll have it all in the incinerator as quick as you like.â€™

Ann busied herself putting everything back in the brown paper bag. As she pushed in the trilby hat, her fingers touched something sharp and she let out a small cry. She supposed it was his knife but she pulled out a medal. The DSO and bar. She and PC Kipling shared a glance and her respect for the tramp went sky-high.

Kipper opened his notepad. â€˜So youâ€™re saying that Mr Cox was in the house when Mrs Thornton died?â€™

Ernest was in a world of his own. Bouncing the rabbit in the air, he began to sing softly. â€˜Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run â€¦â€™

Kipper glanced at Ann and shook his head. It was obvious that the poor man was a sandwich short of a picnic. As they turned to leave, Ernest looked up sharply. â€˜And that isnâ€™t his name either.â€™

The full import of his statement was lost as Ann exclaimed, â€˜Ernest, if you heard Aunt Bessie fall, why didnâ€™t you go and help her?â€™

â€˜I wasnâ€™t there when she actually fell,â€™ he said. â€˜She gave me my tea and she let me talk. I liked it when she let me talk.â€™ His voice trailed. â€˜I could never talk to people about Eileen and my boy, nobody except her. She didnâ€™t try to shut me up. She didnâ€™t say, thatâ€™s all in the past, time to move on. Sheâ€™d listen. I could talk to her. I told her about my boy. My little Bobbie.â€™ His face clouded. â€˜But then, he came back,â€™ he said bitterly. â€˜He never liked me being there. Whenever he saw me, he used to shout at her. She always said she wasnâ€™t worried but I didnâ€™t want to get her into trouble so I only went there when he wasnâ€™t around.â€™

â€˜But he came back that day,â€™ said Kipper.

Ernest nodded. â€˜He came in the back way, down the garden path, and I scarpered out the front door.â€™

â€˜Reg always used to come in the back way,â€™ Ann remarked. She wanted to tell them that he used to stand in the lane and watch her house and that he gave her the creeps, but this wasnâ€™t the time or the place.

â€˜So why didnâ€™t you come to the police when you heard Mrs Thornton had died?â€™ Kipper wanted to know.

â€˜I didnâ€™t know she was gone until a few weeks ago,â€™ he said simply. â€˜She had given me a rail ticket to go back home, so thatâ€™s where I went.â€™

â€˜Home?â€™ said Kipper. â€˜Whereâ€™s home?â€™

â€˜Liverpool.â€™ His voice had dropped again. â€˜I went back to see where theyâ€™d put Eileen and the boy.â€™ He laid his hand on the top of the brown paper bag. â€˜The neighbours saved a few things for me. This is the little rabbit my boy used to take to bed with him, a few photographs and stuff. There wasnâ€™t much left.â€™

â€˜May I ask you what happened?â€™ Ann asked gently.

â€˜They were killed in an air raid.â€™

They all became very conscious of how quiet it was in the room.

â€˜Mr Franks,â€™ said Kipper bringing them back to the business in hand. â€˜We are very sorry for your loss, but you indicated that Reg Cox wasnâ€™t his name?â€™ Ernestâ€™s face clouded with anger. â€˜Thatâ€™s because when I called out his real name, he turned around. His name is Daniel Sinclair, and we met in a courtroom in 1942.â€™

Ann frowned. â€˜Thatâ€™s not possible,â€™ she smiled. â€˜Reg and Dottie met in 1941 and were married in 1942. Soon after that, Reg went on a special mission. It was all very hush, hush.â€™

The tramp eased himself up on his elbow and looked intently at her. â€˜And Iâ€™m telling you, Danny Sinclair was a no-good thief and troublemaker,â€™ he said, with just a hint of the authority heâ€™d once wielded. â€˜Heâ€™d been had up for stealing army blankets for the black market and then he was done for stealing lead from bombed-out houses. I should know, I was the escort at his trial.â€™

A little air escaped from Annâ€™s lips. â€˜Reg always said he was shipped to Burma. He was one of those brave Chindits.â€™

Ernest relaxed against the pillows. â€˜One of the Chindits, my eye. By the end of 1942, he was in prison.â€™ He pointed to his face. â€˜Why do you think he did this? He knew I could expose him for the rat he is, so he left me for dead.â€™

They became conscious of Kipper turning the pages in his notebook in his struggle to keep up with what was being said. â€˜Can you prove any of this?â€™

Ernest shook his head. â€˜Not now. I could have done but when he jumped me in the lane and he took everything off me.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s a bit unfortunate,â€™ said Kipper dryly.

â€˜I wrote several times,â€™ Ernest went on, â€˜but of course, she never replied. I knew that wasnâ€™t like her, so I decided to come back. I turned up a couple of months ago but everyone was going to a wedding.â€™

â€˜Michael Gilbert,â€™ said Ann.

â€˜I didnâ€™t want to intrude so I bought a few bits for my shop in Liverpool and left.â€™

â€˜Shop?â€™ asked Kipper.

â€˜I deal in antiques now,â€™ Ernest went on. â€˜And then I found that wrapped around some trinket.â€™ He pointed to the newspaper cutting. I was very upset and it niggled me, so I had to come and find out what happened to her.â€™

â€˜But why didnâ€™t you go straight to the police?â€™ Kipper asked.

â€˜Because, fool that I was, I wanted to confront him myself.â€™

The nurse reappeared. â€˜The doctor says Mr Franks has to have his sleeping pills now.â€™

Ernest became agitated. â€˜Iâ€™ve got to tell you â€¦â€™ he said looking at Kipper, â€˜about Danny â€¦â€™ He began to cough.

â€˜You really must rest,â€™ the nurse insisted.

â€˜Weâ€™ll come back when youâ€™re feeling better,â€™ Kipper soothed.

Ann put the brown paper bag back into the locker as the nurse stood over him with two pills on a small tray. Obediently, Ernest took them one by one, washing them down with a sip of water.

â€˜You do realise, heâ€™s very poorly, donâ€™t you?â€™ said the nurse quietly behind her hand. She raised her voice to speak directly to her patient. â€˜Good man. Now you lie back and try and get some sleep.â€™

Kipper walked briskly to the door. â€˜Goodnight, Mr Franks.â€™

Ernest didnâ€™t acknowledge him. He had closed his eyes and was relaxed on the pillow. Ann couldnâ€™t resist leaning over him and giving him a feather-like kiss on his cheek. â€˜Goodnight, Ernest.â€™

Ernest Franks sighed. â€˜Night, Eileen, love â€¦â€™ â€˜you will come back, wonâ€™t you? You must know â€¦ Danny â€¦â€™ His eyes closed and he drifted into sleep.

On the way home, PC Kipling was apologetic. â€˜I shouldnâ€™t have taken you there. I had no idea what he was going to say but I would ask you to keep this to yourself.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all a bit worrying, isnâ€™t it?â€™ said Ann. â€˜Especially now that Dottie and Patsy have gone missing.â€™

â€˜Letâ€™s not make a mountain out of a molehill,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜We donâ€™t know that they are missing.â€™ Ann sat grim-faced. â€˜What about Ernest?â€™

Kipper shrugged. â€˜I will report it to my superiors but, despite what heâ€™s just told us, heâ€™s unreliable. Half the time heâ€™s away with the fairies, isnâ€™t he?â€™

They had reached Mary Priorâ€™s place. â€˜Thanks for dropping me back,â€™ said Ann.

â€˜Donâ€™t forget,â€™ he reminded her, â€˜this is strictly between ourselves.â€™

As she jumped out of the car, Ann couldnâ€™t help feeling very worried about Dottie and Patsy.

Thirty-Seven

Mary listened open-mouthed as Ann told her what had happened at the hospital. Once Edna turned up, the whole story was repeated verbatim.

â€˜I canâ€™t see how we can do it,â€™ said Mary. â€˜I mean, I donâ€™t want to sound melodramatic, hen, but even if everything is all right, whoâ€™s to say sheâ€™ll be back by Saturday?â€™

Edna shrugged. â€˜Sheâ€™ll probably walk in here, right as rain at any minute.â€™

â€˜I canâ€™t stop thinking about those chickens,â€™ said Ann.

â€˜Whoever killed them,â€™ said Edna. â€˜Iâ€™m sure it wasnâ€™t Dottie.â€™

â€˜Like Vince said, it was the work of a madman.â€™ They glanced around at each other nervously.

â€˜Do you think Kipper will keep looking for her?â€™ Ann asked.

Mary nodded. â€˜Heâ€™d make a good detective.â€™

They all stared miserably into their teacups. â€˜We canâ€™t just leave it to him,â€™ said Mary. â€˜One of us ought to go and look for her.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t look at me,â€™ said Ann. â€˜Iâ€™m a single mum. Canâ€™t go traipsing around the country, and besides, where would I start?â€™

â€˜Nor me. Iâ€™ve got five kids and a husband,â€™ Mary reminded them.

â€˜I would if I could, dear,â€™ said Edna. â€˜But my old rheumatics â€¦â€™

â€˜Then what we need,â€™ Mary said, â€˜is someone who has plenty of time and nothing much to do.â€™

There was a second of silence before everyone looked up.

â€˜Sylvie,â€™ they chorused.

â€˜Mummy,â€™ said Brian, bursting into the kitchen. â€˜That man is outside Auntie Dottieâ€™s house again.

John Landers was pushing a letter through the letterbox at Myrtle Cottage. He had written formally and addressed it to Mr and Mrs Cox. In it he had told them that he had just been passing the area and had called in on the off-chance that he might see Patricia. After that he wrote the usual sort of keeping-in-touch letter, asking after their health and Patriciaâ€™s welfare. Even though John felt honour-bound to make quite sure that the child was well, he had made his enquiry as light-hearted as possible for two good reasons. If Dottie, as he supposed by yesterdayâ€™s shenanigans, had left her husband, Reg Cox wouldnâ€™t feel in any way threatened by his visit. But if the three of them had simply gone on holiday, as everyone else supposed, they would be quick to reply, having the need to apologise for his wasted journey.

The collapsed well had now been roped off and the police had satisfied themselves that no one had fallen down the shaft.

While sitting by the open fire in the pub last night, John overheard some of the locals talking. Everyone was puzzled by the Coxsâ€™ disappearance. It was, the regulars agreed, totally out of character. Rumour had it that the detective sergeant and the detective constable hadnâ€™t been too happy about being dragged out to the village to deal with a bag containing a few dead chickens weighted down with a hammer, and after that, there had been a lot of laughter revolving around eating kippers and chicken soup.

John Landers couldnâ€™t help feeling that if the Coxs had been moneyed people, the crime of kidnapping would have been uppermost in the mind of the law enforcement officers. But, to give him his due, PC Kipling had tried to persuade the DC that he should mount an investigation. As soon as the bag had been retrieved, with (it had to be said) a great deal of open hostility and ridicule aimed towards the village bobby, the scaffolding planks had been left for safetyâ€™s sake.

â€˜Excuse me.â€™ A neighbour looked over the fence. John recognised her from the day before.

â€˜Good morning,â€™ he smiled affably. â€˜Mrs Pearce, isnâ€™t it?â€™

â€˜Yes.â€™

John raised his hat. â€˜Any news of Mr and Mrs Cox?â€™

Ann shook her head and John Landers became conscious of two other women standing by Annâ€™s back door. â€˜I donâ€™t know if you know,â€™ he went on, â€˜but I accompanied Patricia from Australia.â€™

â€˜We guessed who you were,â€™ she said, â€˜although from what Dottie said, we thought you would be a lot older.â€™

â€˜And not so good looking,â€™ Mary muttered near Ednaâ€™s ear.

â€˜I wonder if I might have a word with you?â€™ John asked.

â€˜Weâ€™re not much for gossiping, if you know what I mean,â€™ said Ann, looking around at her friends.

â€˜I wouldnâ€™t dream of asking you to,â€™ he said. â€˜And Iâ€™m not at liberty to discuss confidentialities but as friends of Mrs Cox, I wondered if you might be able to throw some light on the matter.â€™

â€˜We all reckon,â€™ said Ann cautiously, â€˜thereâ€™s something funny going on.â€™

Dottie felt the bed dip but she didnâ€™t open her eyes. Her head felt as if it weighed as much as a sewing machine and her mouth tasted like the bottom of a parrot cage. A sickly sweet smell drifted towards her but she couldnâ€™t work out what it was.

She heard Reg say, â€˜She says she canâ€™t sell the place. She canâ€™t do bloody anything until sheâ€™s thirty.â€™

Dottie breathed in a waft of stale cheap perfume. It wasnâ€™t one she used but she had smelled it before.

â€˜All tied up, eh?â€™ said a womanâ€™s voice. â€˜Then if you ask me, lover, sheâ€™s worth more to you dead than alive.â€™

Sitting in Annâ€™s kitchen, John listened to Dottieâ€™s friends as they told him how much Dottie meant to them. Ann told him in glowing terms how Dottie helped her get a job which enabled her to pull herself back out of the gutter and Mary and Edna shared a few wartime experiences on the farm. Finally, Mary told him about Dottieâ€™s love for Patsy, as they all called her.

As they talked, it dawned on John that he had fallen in love with Dottie. The revelation almost took the wind out of him, but something told him that it must remain a secret for the time being. It had probably begun when he was untangling her hair from the tree branch and even now, as he remembered, his heart ached for her. Her blue-green eyes, her soft mouth, her hair â€¦ such a lovely colour, like burnished bronze. His daydream was sweet. Her hair must be quite long. He wondered what it would be like when it wasnâ€™t tied up in that rather severe bun. He even remembered her smell. He never had been a man for heavy perfume, but his head felt light as he thought of her natural fragrance. She wore lipstick, but not too much, and he could even remember the laughter lines around her eyes â€¦

Yes, her friends were absolutely right. Dottie wasnâ€™t the sort of woman to go off without telling anyone. She was kind and considerate. She would know that people would worry. And she certainly wouldnâ€™t risk losing her job.

Everything became very quiet. He was aware that they were all looking at him. John blinked and cleared his throat noisily. â€˜And what about Mr Cox?â€™

â€˜He doesnâ€™t think very much of me,â€™ said Ann. â€˜I keep out of his way.â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s a dark one, that one,â€™ said Mary. â€˜He gave her a black eye once.â€™

Johnâ€™s blood ran cold. What an idiot heâ€™d been. A dark one â€¦ a black eye â€¦ He should have insisted on proper background checks before heâ€™d left Patricia with Reg Cox. He shouldnâ€™t have listened to Brendaâ€™s protestations that everything would be all right. His chest was filled with rage.

Edna had gasped in horror. â€˜Reg gave Dottie a black eye? You never said.â€™

â€˜It wasnâ€™t my place to,â€™ said Mary crisply. â€˜Anyway, she tried to make out it wasnâ€™t much. But I told her, no matter what you do, thereâ€™s no cause for a man to hit a woman, isnâ€™t that right, Doctor? Anyway, she said heâ€™d never done it before, and it was an accident. She reckoned he just got a bit upset about the little girl, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜Upset?â€™ John interrupted crossly. â€˜Why was he upset?â€™

â€˜Because of the way she looks, I suppose,â€™ said Mary shaking her head. â€˜You people are supposed to tell the parents about the child theyâ€™re adopting, arenâ€™t you? I canâ€™t think why you adoption people never told him she had coloured blood in her. He should have been told before they sent her.â€™

They were all nodding in agreement. Clearly they had no idea that Patricia was supposed to be Regâ€™s natural offspring, but they were unanimous about Regâ€™s dislike of the child. His mind drifted back to Dottie. What was it like for her living with Reg?

â€˜Are they happily married?â€™ he asked, although he could hardly bear to hear the answer.

Mary shrugged. â€˜Sheâ€™s pregnant.â€™

John said nothing but it felt like the bottom had fallen out of his world. Heâ€™d thought â€¦ hoped, that she no longer had relations with Reg.

Edna and Ann gasped. â€˜What? Are you serious?â€™

Mary nodded. â€˜Sheâ€™s having Regâ€™s baby.â€™

â€˜After all this time,â€™ Edna said slowly, â€˜I donâ€™t know whether to be happy or sad.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d top myself if I was having his kid,â€™ said Ann ominously.

John smiled grimly. â€˜Could they have gone to visit relatives?â€™

â€˜Dottie came to live with Bessie because she didnâ€™t have a soul in the world,â€™ said Mary. â€˜And I canâ€™t honestly say as Iâ€™ve ever seen any of Regâ€™s relatives, have you?â€™

Ann and Edna shook their heads.

â€˜And if she was going away, she would have asked me to look after the chickens,â€™ Ann insisted. â€˜She loved those birds.â€™

â€˜PC Kipling believes Mrs Cox killed the chickens.â€™

â€˜Dottie wouldnâ€™t do that,â€™ said Edna. â€˜She would only kill a chicken if it was going to be eaten â€“ and before you suggest they might have been diseased, let me tell you, Iâ€™ve looked at them very carefully and thereâ€™s nothing wrong with those fowl.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s right,â€™ Mary went on. â€˜Itâ€™s such a waste. Have you seen the price of chicken these days? Dottie would have put them on somebodyâ€™s doorstep if she didnâ€™t want to eat them. She wouldnâ€™t chuck them down the well. Those birds would have made a nice meal for someone.â€™

â€˜What about a fox?â€™ asked John. â€˜Thereâ€™s talk that one might have got into the henhouse.â€™

Edna shook her head. â€˜And Iâ€™m telling you, no fox has been at those chickens.â€™

John regarded them carefully. â€˜You think Mr Cox did it, donâ€™t you?â€™

There was an awkward silence and then Ann said, â€˜The truth of it is, Dr Landers, weâ€™ve all got a really bad feeling about all this.â€™

Edna nodded. â€˜Something has happened to them. I can feel it in me water.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not sure exactly what I can do,â€™ said John, reaching for his hat. He stood to go. â€˜But Iâ€™ll ask around. The trouble is, Iâ€™m not sure where to start.â€™

Thanking them for their time, he made his way back to his room at the Warnes Hotel. He was glad to have met with Dottieâ€™s friends but their concern only served to fan the flame of his own terrible sense of foreboding.

Thirty-Eight

When John walked into the Jolly Farmer that night, a large crowd of regulars were huddled noisily around the fireplace. Above the chatter, John could hear someone, a man, sobbing. The landlord, Terry Dore, pushed past him with a double whisky in his hand.

â€˜Glad to see you, Doc,â€™ he said. â€˜Could you have a butcherâ€™s at one of my regulars? Heâ€™s had a bit of a shock.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid I havenâ€™t got my bag with me,â€™ John apologised. â€˜But Iâ€™ll take a look.â€™

He followed the landlord into the confused mÃªlÃ©e.

â€˜Here you are, son,â€™ said Terry holding out the whisky. â€˜Get that down your neck, and then the doc here wants to take a look at you.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d prefer it if I could look at him before he drinks alcohol,â€™ John interrupted.

The landlord stepped aside and John Landers was suddenly face to face with a tear-stained Reg Cox. They both blinked at each other in surprise.

Reg was very dishevelled. His hair was wild and his coat splattered with mud. The collar of his shirt was greasy and clearly needed changing.

John spoke first, his tone measured. â€˜Everyone has been very concerned about you and your family, Mr Cox.â€™

Reg said nothing.

â€˜The landlord wants me to give you a quick look, if you donâ€™t mind.â€™

He caught hold of Regâ€™s limp wrist and began counting his pulse. There didnâ€™t appear to be anything physically wrong with the man but he was clearly distraught about something. When John had finished his examination, it took a couple of glasses of Terry Doreâ€™s best malt whisky before Reg could stop shaking. â€˜Have you come to see my Patsy?â€™ he asked John.

â€˜Yes, I have. Where is she?â€™

Regâ€™s face crumpled. â€˜I donâ€™t know. I donâ€™t know.â€™

John struggled to make sense of what he was saying when Terry took the words out of his mouth.

â€˜What yer mean, you donâ€™t know?â€™ Terry demanded.

â€˜Sheâ€™s been taken.â€™

â€˜Taken? Taken where?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know,â€™ Reg whimpered.

While the people around them murmured and shook their heads, John felt as if something had gripped the pit of his stomach. â€˜I think it best if someone gets the constable,â€™ he said.

â€˜Already done, sir,â€™ said Terry. â€˜I sent my lad Paul. Heâ€™ll be back in a minute.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m here now,â€™ said a deep and reassuring voice behind them. â€˜Whatâ€™s up?â€™

PC Kipling was in civilian clothes. They were a bit scruffy and he had one or two dead leaves stuck to his jacket. He smelled pleasantly of autumn bonfire. â€˜Ah, Reg. Iâ€™m glad to see youâ€™re back,â€™ he said. â€˜Going off like that without telling a living soul where you were going has caused a fine how dâ€™you do in the village, I can tell you.â€™

â€˜He says his girlâ€™s been took off,â€™ Terry blurted out.

â€˜Took off?â€™ Kipper snorted. â€˜You been watching too many of them Hollywood films, Reg.â€™

Regâ€™s eyes narrowed. â€˜Is that a fact, Mr Kipling? Well, let me tell you, Iâ€™ve been going out of my mind looking for them, but I canâ€™t find either of them, not my Patsy or Dot.â€™

John stared somewhere into space. Had she really left him? Heâ€™d known she wasnâ€™t happy almost from the moment theyâ€™d met. There was sadness in her eyes even back then. Hearing she was pregnant put a whole different complexion on things. If she was having her husbandâ€™s child there must be a marriage there â€¦ and yet there was still something about her that made him want to make things right for her, make her laugh, protect her â€¦ He swallowed hard. If she had run off, would he ever see her again?

Reg downed the last of the whisky and glanced up at Terry but this time there was no response. The bar fell silent. Everything seemed rather surreal. Where was Dottie? Where was Patsy?

Reg looked down at his shoes, turning his foot this way and that so that everyone could see the mud caked on the bottom. â€˜Look at the state of my shoes. I must have walked twenty mile or more.â€™

Kipper took out his police notebook from his back pocket.

â€˜But we all thought youâ€™d gone off together,â€™ said Vince Dobbs.

â€˜We did,â€™ Reg continued. â€˜I took them to the hotel where Dot and I went for our honeymoon. Sea View in Eastbourne. Itâ€™s only a step from the seafront. Lovely place, top notch. Sheâ€™s been working so hard just lately, see â€“ I thought Iâ€™d surprise them.â€™

John was conscious of the people around him exchanging sentimental smiles but he kept his eye on Reg. He wasnâ€™t normally a sceptical person but he had a growing gut feeling the man was playing to the gallery. When Dottie sent that last letter to him, she had been troubled about something. All this talk about surprises and honeymoon hotels â€¦ Reg had never seemed the caring, tender-hearted type before.

â€˜We had the best time.â€™ Reg went on. â€˜We walked round the town and I bought my girl a candyfloss. We spent the afternoon in the pictures and on the way back to the guesthouse, I took them into a cafÃ© for fish and chips.â€™ He stared into his empty glass.

A tall bespectacled man snatched Regâ€™s glass from his hand. â€˜For Godâ€™s sake, give the man a drink, Landlord.â€™

â€˜Thanks, Eric,â€™ Reg said without looking up.

â€˜Go on then, son,â€™ said Eric, his voice low.

John started at the top of Regâ€™s bowed head. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong.

Reg spread his hands and wiped his palms down the side of his trousers. â€˜I loved that little girl, as God is my witness, I loved her. But she didnâ€™t want me to have her, did she? She wanted her all to herself.â€™ His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. â€˜When did any of you last see all of us doing something together â€¦ something as a family? The truth of the matter is, she wouldnâ€™t include me. Jealous, thatâ€™s what she was. Jealous as sin.â€™

John was appalled. Dottie jealous? Never! How dare he? Dottie never spoke ill of her husband. The only thing sheâ€™d intimated was that Reg was the one finding it hard to adjust to being a family.

Reg looked up at him, as if reading his thoughts. His cold stare made it difficult for John to maintain eye contact. â€˜She always made out like she was the perfect little housewife but Les Dixon can vouch for me,â€™ Reg insisted with a slight curl in his lip. â€˜Turfed out of me own home to eat in his chip shop night after night. I tell you, Doc, Iâ€™ve lived a solitary life since that child came.â€™

John said nothing, aware that several heads were nodding in agreement.

â€˜Thatâ€™s â€™cos she never wanted me home of an evening.â€™

â€˜You was in here every night,â€™ Eric agreed. â€˜I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve ever known you to miss.â€™

â€˜I loved that kid. Loved her, I did.â€™ Reg choked back another sob.

John clenched and unclenched his fists. Fraud â€¦ Liar!

The whisky arrived. Reg gulped a mouthful and then leaned forward, supporting his head with his hand.

Kipper bent over him and said softly, â€˜So where is Dottie now, Reg?â€™

â€˜I told you, I donâ€™t know. I swear to God. I woke up this morning and she and my Patsy had gone. Look, I found this note.â€™ He dug in his pocket and handed a dog-eared and crumpled piece of paper to the policeman. â€˜I spent the whole day looking for her. I even caught a bus up to Beachy Head. Thank God she wasnâ€™t there but the more I think about it the more convinced I am. Sheâ€™s done for her, Mr Kipling. I know she has.â€™

John felt himself sway. In Godâ€™s name, what had he done? Had he hurt her? And what had he done to Patsy? Never taking his eyes from Reg for one minute, John lowered himself into a nearby chair, his heart racing.

Kipper took his time unfolding the note, taking out his glasses and calling for a better light. Grim-faced, he read it and then handed it to John.

John recognised Dottieâ€™s handwriting immediately. The paper looked as if it had been screwed up and there was a large chunk torn from the top of the page. The note itself was in ink but hastily scribbled.

Patsy seems to be happy but I canâ€™t go on pretending everything is fine. Iâ€™m sorry to let everybody down â€¦

â€˜Are youâ€™re sure itâ€™s from her?â€™ Kipper asked.

Yes, John answered in his head, itâ€™s her handwriting. It was similar to something she wrote in the letter she sent him â€¦

â€˜The chambermaid found it when she turned down the sheets,â€™ Reg said.

For the first time since Kipper arrived, John found his voice. â€˜If you spent the whole time together, when did she write this note?

â€˜I dunno,â€™ said Reg. His tone had an edge to it now. â€˜Yesterday, after we had breakfast. I went up to use the toilet and when I came down, theyâ€™d gone. I went to look for them. Like I say, I was out all day.â€™

As Kipper wrote it down in his notepad, Reg blew his nose, loudly.

â€˜Did they take their things?â€™ John asked.

â€˜The suitcase was gone.â€™

Someone handed Reg a lit cigarette. He drew on it deeply.

â€˜Did you check with reception?â€™

â€˜Nobody saw them leave.â€™

â€˜How long did you wait for them?â€™

â€˜All day and all night.â€™

â€˜And you didnâ€™t tell anyone around here that you and your wife were going away?â€™

â€˜I told you, it was a surprise, spur of the moment.â€™

â€˜So spur of the moment, you didnâ€™t even ask anyone to feed the chickens?â€™

Reg looked up. His eyes grew dark. â€˜What is this?â€™ he snapped. â€˜I come here to tell you my wife and child are missing and all you can do is talk about bloody chickens?â€™ He appealed to PC Kipling. â€˜Look here, Constable Kipling, Iâ€™m exhausted. Iâ€™ve spent the last two days searching the whole of Eastbourne for them. Iâ€™ve walked right along the seafront. Miles, Iâ€™ve walked, but I couldnâ€™t find her. I couldnâ€™t find either of them.â€™

â€˜Did you contact the police in Eastbourne?â€™ Kipper wanted to know.

â€˜I didnâ€™t think theyâ€™d help,â€™ said Reg looking away again. â€˜I mean, theyâ€™d have to have something to go on, wouldnâ€™t they? A body or something â€¦â€™ He choked back a sob.

John fixed his eyes on the floor. What have you done, you bastard â€¦

â€˜Now, now, donâ€™t go jumping to conclusions,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜I reckon in a day or two, sheâ€™ll turn up, right as ninepence.â€™

â€˜You all right, Doc?â€™ Terry suddenly asked. â€˜Only you look a bit peaky.â€™

John gave him a fleeting smile. â€˜Iâ€™m fine. Just trying to work out the scenario, thatâ€™s all.â€™ He took a deep breath. â€˜Youâ€™d better go home and get some rest, Mr Cox,â€™ he advised. He kept his voice as even as he could but in truth he was so angry it was as much as he could do not to hit the man. â€˜Youâ€™ve obviously had a shock.â€™

â€˜I think we all have,â€™ said Reg looking directly at John. â€˜My wife and daughter mean a lot to a lot of people.â€™

John felt a shiver run down his spine.

â€˜Michael Gilbert might still be round your place,â€™ said Terry as everyone began drifting back to the bar.

â€˜Michael Gilbert?â€™ Reg looked puzzled. â€˜What for?â€™

â€˜To fill in the well,â€™ Terry explained. â€˜Oh of course, you donâ€™t know, do you? It fell in on itself Monday. We couldnâ€™t leave it like that. Too dangerous.â€™

Reg recovered himself. â€˜Has it completely gone?â€™

â€˜And half the garden,â€™ said Vince. â€˜One time, we thought your Dottie was in it.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s right,â€™ piped up someone else. â€˜We saw something sticking up in the rubble.â€™

John noticed that Reg had gone very pale.

â€˜Donâ€™t worry,â€™ said Eric quickly. â€˜When the police finally got hold of it, tâ€™were only a few dead chickens.â€™

Regâ€™s eyes darted from one to another but he showed no real surprise.

â€˜You knew the chickens were in the well, did you, Mr Cox?â€™ said John.

Reg looked at him coldly. â€˜Of course I did,â€™ he snapped. â€˜Bloody fox got them. Chewed all the heads off. I chucked them in the well without telling her because I didnâ€™t want Dot getting upset.â€™ He stood up and walked towards the door. As he reached it, he turned back with his hand outstretched. Grasping Johnâ€™s hand and shaking it vigorously he added, â€˜Sorry youâ€™ve had a wasted journey, Doctor.â€™

As he let go of his hand, it was as much as John Landers could do to resist the temptation to wipe his now warm and clammy palm down the side of his trousers.

Everything seemed really far away. Dottie struggled to make herself wake up. She could hear someone banging on the door but her body wouldnâ€™t move.

And that awful smell was fading but something told her something was dreadfully wrong but she couldnâ€™t think. What did it mean? She couldnâ€™t remember. It wasnâ€™t as strong as it had been but it was still there. It reminded her of rotten eggs. She coughed but it clung to her throat and her head hurt. Oh, how her head hurt.

The banging was getting more violent. She had to make herself move but her limbs felt like lead. Her mouth tasted of vomit and there was a sort of crust around her lips. What was that smell? She could remember a heavy perfume, but it wasnâ€™t that â€¦

Gas!

Her eyes flew open. Where was Patsy? They had to get out of here, but where were they? She couldnâ€™t remember that either.

She had to turn off the gas.

She could hear voices but they sounded as if they were at the far end of a long tunnel. And that banging â€¦ was it never going to stop? She had to sit up but when she tried to move, it felt as if someone was sitting on her chest. She thought she was in bed but she wasnâ€™t. She was lying on something hard and unyielding. Should she switch on the light and see?

Turn the gas off. Turn it off! That must be why she had such an awfully bad headache and her brain wouldnâ€™t work â€¦

Now it sounded like someone was kicking the door down. Someone was breaking in and she couldnâ€™t do anything about it. She wanted to vomit again.

Mary? Help me, Mary.

Is that you, Sylvie â€¦ Get Patsy out â€¦

Are you there, Reg â€¦

She could hear the voices more clearly now. They were getting closer. Someone was trying to get in the room but Patsy was lying too close to the door.

â€˜Patsy â€¦ move over, darling â€¦

A manâ€™s voice, one she didnâ€™t recognise, cried out, â€˜For heavenâ€™s sake, get a move on. Thereâ€™s a child in here!â€™

Thirty-Nine

As soon as the man spoke, it was so obvious, John wondered why he hadnâ€™t thought of it before.

It was Tuesday. Heâ€™d motored over to Eastbourne and, having found the Sea View, heâ€™d asked the manager and several members of staff about Dottie and Patsy but drawn a blank.

â€˜Iâ€™ve already told the police all this,â€™ Mrs Flint said tetchily â€˜I donâ€™t know what happened to the lady.â€™

After walking along the seafront and stopping a few people to show them the photograph of Dottie and Patsy that heâ€™d taken at his motherâ€™s place, he was still no closer to finding out what had happened to them. The police had, they told him, already tried all the hospitals but nobody of that name had been admitted.

By now he was almost sick with worry. People donâ€™t just vanish into thin air, he told himself â€“ but that wasnâ€™t true. People went missing all the time, if they wanted to â€¦ Look what had happened after the war. Hundreds of people went â€˜missingâ€™. It was their one chance of a new life, a new start.

Even though she had been so adamant that they couldnâ€™t become involved with each other for the sake of his career, he couldnâ€™t bring himself to believe she would go off somewhere without even a word. Then he thought about that kiss under the ilex oak, and those precious moments in the attic â€¦ He did mean something to her, he knew he did. The more he thought about it, the more positive he was that she would have contacted him if she had decided to leave Reg.

As the evening drew in, he found his way to the pier, hoping against hope that she might have brought Patsy here to see the amusements. Heâ€™d planned to show the stallholders the photograph, but most of the stalls were already closed for the winter.

He sat on the seat next to an old man. He was just about to show him the photograph when an irate woman came towards them.

â€˜Father, Iâ€™ve been looking for you everywhere.â€™

The old man looked slightly bemused. â€˜Do I know you?â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s Ivy, you daft bat,â€™ she chided. â€˜Come on now. Let me take you back home.â€™

â€˜I was just putting the cat out,â€™ said the old man as she hauled him to his feet.

â€˜Course you were,â€™ she said, winking at John and waving her finger around in a circle next to her head.

â€˜Have we met somewhere before?â€™ said the old man.

Poor old chap, John thought as they walked away. Obviously gone senile and didnâ€™t have a clue where he was. And thatâ€™s when the idea hit him like a thunderbolt. Heâ€™d been to the hospitals asking for her by name but perhaps Dottie didnâ€™t know who she was. Perhaps she had lost her memory.

Sylvie sucked deeply on her cigarette holder and blew the smoke high above her head. Using the tips of her fingers in her still gloved hand, she moved a plate stained with dried egg on the top of another caked with the remains of a gravy-soaked dinner.

She had never seen Dottieâ€™s kitchen look like this before. In fact, it was a complete mess. The whole table was piled high with the debris of several daysâ€™ washing up, the ashtray overflowed with dog ends and there were newspapers everywhere.

When heâ€™d shown her in, Reg had to move a couple of very unsavoury-looking shirts from the chair on which she was now sitting. She shivered. The fire was barely alight and she could see it badly needed to be raked out and the ash pan emptied. She looked around, trying to gauge if there was some clue, something that might explain the state of her friendâ€™s mind, but sheâ€™d drawn a blank. Dottie had been gone five days and already he had reduced her neat-as-a-pin home into a tip.

Reg was in the scullery, preparing her some tea. Sheâ€™d been surprised when heâ€™d invited her inside. Sheâ€™d arrived unannounced and, because there was no love lost between them, sheâ€™d expected a doorstep conversation, probably peppered with abuse.

But when heâ€™d opened the door, his expression was more of sadness than surprise and he seemed only too glad for someone to talk to.

His first question surprised her. â€˜Is Dottie with you?â€™

As Sylvie shook her head, heâ€™d turned away like a whipped dog, giving her the second surprise.

Heâ€™d been polite, throwing the shirts onto the easy chair next to the fireplace and holding the back of the kitchen chair as she lowered herself onto it. It had been years since sheâ€™d seen him being considerate and, for a brief minute, the old Reg was back. She remembered that it was his attentive and caring manner which had impressed Dottie so much. Back in 1942, most of the other boys used to horse around and the chaps in uniform, who were usually the worse for drink, wanted a final fling before going overseas; but Reg, for all his lack of education, had been a real gentleman. Flowers for Aunt Bessie, compliments and other considerations for Dottie, they had all added up to a very attractive package.

Sylvie had wanted to motor down to Worthing as soon as Mary telephoned but it wasnâ€™t as easy as that. First, she and Robin had an important dinner party with the bank manager, and then she had to arrange for her three-times-weekly woman to come in daily so that Robin would be well looked after while she was away.

When she finally got here, nobody knew what to do, but they all felt they had to do something. She had been worried herself. Dottie had promised to ring again on Sunday but she hadnâ€™t. Had Reg attacked her again? Had something happened to Patsy? According to Mary, the police from Worthing Central had washed their hands of everything, although Kipper was doing his best to be helpful.

The women had met at the farm, sitting around the big oak table in the big farm kitchen while Edna plied them with tea and buns. As Mary, Ann and Edna unfolded the story about the well and the dead chickens, it crossed her mind that in years to come, there would a logical explanation and they would laugh about it, but right now, it didnâ€™t seem so funny.

â€˜I think I should go and talk to him,â€™ Sylvie had said.

Theyâ€™d all protested loudly.

â€˜Thatâ€™s what a concerned friend would do, isnâ€™t it?â€™ Sylvie insisted. â€˜If we carry on as if everything was normal, he might let something slip.â€™

â€˜Oh, Sylvie,â€™ Mary gasped. â€˜You know how much he hates you.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll front it out,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜Itâ€™s the only way.â€™

â€˜But supposing he gets angry?â€™ Ann whispered.

â€˜Even if heâ€™s up to something he wonâ€™t do anything to me,â€™ Sylvie had told them. â€˜He wouldnâ€™t dare do anything,â€™ she added with a grin, â€˜except shout a little.â€™

She took a long drag of her cigarette as Reg came back with two cups of tea. The saucers didnâ€™t match and heâ€™d overfilled the cups, slopping tea into them. Sylvie moved some papers out of the way and onto the chair next to her so that he could put them down. Reg put a cup down in front of her and, apologising for the mess, scooped up the rest of the papers into a ragged bundle and dumped them onto the dresser. Sylvie pulled off her gloves.

She let him talk. He was only too eager to tell his story. The trip was to be a surprise. Dottie had found it difficult to adjust to having Patsy â€¦ oh, she was a good little girl but Dottie wasnâ€™t used to kids, and she found it hard to accept her.

Sylvie didnâ€™t believe a word of it but wisely she held her tongue.

Theyâ€™d gone to their honeymoon hotel. She could check it out if she wanted, heâ€™d give her the address. Heâ€™d arranged to meet Dottie downstairs in the foyer and then they were going to go out. But first, heâ€™d popped out to buy a paper and when he got back, there was no sign of Dottie and Patsy. Heâ€™d walked right along the seafront. Heâ€™d asked everyone, but no one had seen her. Sheâ€™d simply vanished. He hung his head and looked so dejected, Sylvie felt compelled, for the sake of appearing to be the concerned friend, to lay a comforting hand over his.

â€˜You and she were close,â€™ he said, looking up at her. â€˜What dâ€™you reckon? Did she have a fancy man?â€™

â€˜Of course not!â€™ cried Sylvie indignantly. â€˜How can you possibly think that? You know perfectly well Dottie is utterly devoted to you.â€™

Reg stared at her. What was that glint in his eye? And could she see a ghost of a smile on that cruel mouth? Sylvie was about to pick up her cup when she noticed her hand was trembling. She took a long drag on her cigarette instead.

â€˜I donâ€™t know what to do,â€™ he said, lowering his head again, but not before she saw something playing at the corner of his mouth. There it was again. It was only a fleeting movement, a twitch of a muscle â€“ that was all, but all at once, Sylvie realised this was a game. What should she do? Go along with it or front it out?

â€˜You can stop play-acting, Reg,â€™ she said coldly.

His head jerked up and he stared at her with a wounded expression.

â€˜You donâ€™t fool me,â€™ she said, drawing on her cigarette in an attempt to look calm and in control. â€˜I can tell youâ€™re up to something.â€™

â€˜How can you be so cruel, Sylvie?â€™ he protested. His voice had a catch in it. â€˜My dear wife has â€¦â€™

â€˜You forget,â€™ she went on. â€˜I stayed in your house the night of Michaelâ€™s wedding. I heard what you did to your â€˜dear wifeâ€™. I wonder what the police would say if I told them you used to rape her?â€™ His eyes narrowed and Sylvie felt her heartbeat thumping. â€˜So you neednâ€™t come all that perfect marriage stuff with me.â€™

He rose to his feet menacingly.

â€˜Be careful, Reg,â€™ Sylvie went on, willing her voice to stay strong. â€˜At least four other people, including PC Kipling, know Iâ€™m here.â€™

She expected him to demand that she get out but to her surprise, Reg lowered himself back down in the chair with a smile. â€˜Well, my dear,â€™ he sneered. â€˜I donâ€™t know what you have in mind, but I would think very carefully before you start making any wild accusations. You may not have enjoyed listening to our robust lovemaking, but what a man and his wife get up to in the privacy of their own bedroom is nobody elseâ€™s business but theirs.â€™

â€˜It doesnâ€™t give you the right to force her.â€™

â€˜I think you will find, that in the eyes of the law, I have every right,â€™ he said silkily. â€˜Dottie is my wife.â€™

â€˜You make me sick,â€™ Sylvie retorted.

â€˜But I believe in the sanctity of marriage,â€™ he went on piously. â€˜Now, if I were to go outside of the bounds of my marriage, that would be a different kettle of fish, so to speak.â€™

He was staring at her in such a strange way, Sylvie could feel her colour rising. â€˜And whatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€™ she snapped.

â€˜If I were to have a little flingâ€¦â€™ Reg said quietly. â€˜Just a bit of fun, you understand â€¦â€™

Sylvie went cold all over. He knew about Bruce! Had Dottie told him? No, no she would never betray a trust. But how else did he know? She stubbed out her cigarette and picked up her gloves. â€˜I donâ€™t have to listen to all this â€¦â€™

â€˜And if someone, say an old friend, discovered what I was doing,â€™ said Reg leaning into her face, â€˜it might be a real problem, if say, my spouse was hoping to be a Member of Parliament one day.â€™

â€˜I havenâ€™t the faintest idea what you are talking about,â€™ she said haughtily.

Reg leaned forward, his eyes glittering. â€˜It never did take much to get your knickers off, did it, Sylvie?â€™

â€˜You are despicable,â€™ she snapped, her lip curling with disgust.

â€˜Now, now, my dear.â€™

Sylvie picked up her cigarette case and slipped it into her bag. â€˜Is this an attempt to blackmail me?â€™

â€˜Perish the thought,â€™ he said brightly. â€˜I was just supposing, thatâ€™s all. A friendly warning to be careful what you say outside these four walls.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t give a stuff about you, Reg Cox,â€™ Sylvie snapped. â€˜My friend is missing and Iâ€™m going to find her.â€™

â€˜I wonder if Robin would be so cavalier about his marriage?â€™ Reg mused.

As she turned to leave the room, her arm brushed against the dresser and the papers heâ€™d thrown so carelessly on the top cascaded to the floor. As Reg bent to pick them up, Sylvie felt the blood drain from her head but she said nothing. As he opened the door to let her out, she willed her legs to move effortlessly and refused to even look at him.

â€˜Thanks for coming, Sylvie,â€™ he called after her. â€˜As soon as I hear something, Iâ€™ll give you a call.â€™

Climbing into her car, her hand was trembling as she turned the key in the ignition. Bastard, bastard! What a hateful little prick he was. Tears were welling up in her eyes. He thought he had her over a barrel. He reckoned that she wouldnâ€™t dare to say anything because if she told the police about her fears, he would tell Robin about Bruce. Well, that was a risk she would have to take. She dare not risk her affair coming out into the open, but how could she turn her back on her dearest friend? Something bad had happened to Dottie, she knew it. Those papers sheâ€™d knocked to the floor told her Reg had been going over his life policies and you only do that when you are positive that someone is dead.

Dottie moaned as the feelings came back again. Were they real or just a dream? The first time it felt as if it was real, but everything kept repeating itself.

It began with torchlight as the door had been eased open. Dottie felt a stream of cold air and a beam of light was played on her face. She had screwed up her eyes and tried to turn her head away.

â€˜No, Ada!â€™ a manâ€™s voice had yelled. â€˜For Godâ€™s sake, donâ€™t switch on the light. Youâ€™ll blow us all to kingdom come. Open the window and get some air in here.â€™

Dottie had heard the sound of someone drawing back the curtains.

â€˜Itâ€™s all right, dear.â€™ The manâ€™s voice was close to her head.

The woman screamed. â€˜The window, itâ€™s nailed shut!â€™

There was a rushing sound in her ears and the manâ€™s voice faded away but there was no mistaking the urgency. â€˜Quick, get them out of here.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re safe now,â€™ said the soothing voice close to her ear. Not the man this time but a woman and Dottie realized she was actually in a bed. She tried to make sense of it all. How had she got from the room where Reg had left her to this one? She remembered being manhandled at one point. Someone had hold of her shoulders and someone else her feet. The rocking movement as they carried her turned her stomach. She had heaved and vomited. It tasted of gas and hit the floor with a light splashing sound. She remembered the sound of opening doors and then the cold air hit her and she knew she was outside. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sea. She remembered taking in great gulps of fresh air which was so sweet but it made her head hurt.

But she wasnâ€™t outside now, she was in the warm and in bed. There was something over her mouth. She lifted her hand and pulled it away. â€˜Patsy â€¦â€™ she moaned. â€˜Have you got Patsy?â€™

The womanâ€™s voice came close again. â€˜Keep the mask on, dear. Itâ€™s oxygen. Itâ€™ll help you breathe.â€™

She must be in hospital, but how had she got here? When sheâ€™d heard the sea, sheâ€™d tried to sit up but someone pushed her down and placed a blanket over her. â€˜Stay there a minute, duck,â€™ the man had said kindly. â€˜The ambulance is coming.â€™

She had difficulty in keeping her eyes open. They felt puffy and when she did manage to force her lids up, everything looked foggy. Someone wiped her face with a cloth and she heaved again. When she rolled back she had a terrible cramp in her stomach, a pain which gripped her like a vice. She had held herself around her middle murmuring, â€˜Help me â€¦ Oh please, help me.â€™

Things began to fade again. She forced herself back to the present day and tried to remember. What was next? A bell. She had heard the sound of a bell getting louder and louder.

â€˜The ambulance is here,â€™ the man had said and Dottie had felt the relief flooding over her like giant waves. She had tried to focus her eyes on him. He was old. Who was he? Did she know him? Oh yes, he was the man sheâ€™d seen in the garden next door.

The next time she opened her eyes, a man in a uniform was holding her wrist. â€˜Iâ€™m just taking your pulse, love.â€™

Where was Patsy?

The pain in her stomach came back. She groaned as it gripped every muscle.

â€˜Whatâ€™s your name, dear?â€™

Dottie had tried to moisten her lips with her swollen tongue. What was her name â€¦? She tried to think. What was her name? She must have one: everybody had a name. It was on the tip of her tongue but she was hanged if she could remember what it was and, oh no, the pain was coming back again.

â€˜My baby â€¦â€™ Dottie had moaned.

â€˜My colleague is seeing to her,â€™ the ambulance man had said. â€˜Donâ€™t worry, weâ€™ll get the both of you to hospital as soon as we can.â€™

A moment later, Dottie felt herself being lifted then the ambulance lurched as the men jumped out. It lurched again as they came back in with another stretcher.

Patsy â€¦ Dottie tried to sit up. Was she all right? As soon as sheâ€™d smelled the gas, sheâ€™d tried to get her out but Patsy didnâ€™t want to move. She was so heavy and then when she got to the door it was locked. She couldnâ€™t open it. She tried and tried to turn off the gas tap but it was too badly damaged. Someone had bashed it with something. As she had struggled to remember what had happened, a picture of Reg, his pockets full of squawking chickens, and brandishing a huge hammer floated before her eyes.

The woman had stuck her head into the ambulance and shouted, â€˜You stupid cow!â€™ Dottieâ€™s head had thumped and a wave of sickness had swept over her.

The womanâ€™s face was distorted with anger. â€˜You might want to do away with yourself,â€™ sheâ€™d screamed at Dottie. â€˜But there was no need to try and take the kiddie with you!â€™

â€˜I didnâ€™t,â€™ Dottie croaked. â€˜Oh please, please help her.â€™

But instead of helping Patsy, the person beside her bed slowly turned into Reg. Dottieâ€™s mouth tasted disgusting and everything was getting swimmy again. Reg was wringing Patsyâ€™s neck.

â€˜No, no â€¦â€™ Dottie felt so cold and clammy and she knew she was going to be sick. Reg had the tramp under his arm. With a cry of anguish Dottie flailed her arms in a vain attempt to stop him wringing his neck too. She came to for a moment and found herself back in the bed. Not the one in the bungalow. Everything around her was white and clean. â€˜Thank God,â€™ she thought. â€˜I really am in hospital.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™d better give her another shot, nurse,â€™ said an unfamiliar male voice.

A second or two later, Dottie felt herself being gently held down. â€˜A sharp prick,â€™ said the nurse, and everything went in on itself again.

Forty

â€˜As a matter of fact, we do have someone fitting that description,â€™ the ward sister told John. â€˜Is she a patient of yours? Sheâ€™s in a state of deep shock. We had to sedate her. She still hasnâ€™t told us her name.â€™

John felt a mixture of relief and concern. â€˜What happened to her?â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™d tried to kill herself.â€™

â€˜Kill herself!â€™ He couldnâ€™t disguise his shock.

â€˜She was admitted late Monday night.â€™

John frowned. Sheâ€™d been here two days.

A nurse burst out of a side room and rushed towards them at breakneck speed with a trolley. John stepped neatly out of her way.

â€˜Walk, Nurse,â€™ the sister said sharply. â€˜Walk.â€™

â€˜Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.â€™

â€˜The police want to interview her once sheâ€™s well enough,â€™ the Sister continued as she walked on in front of him. â€˜In my humble opinion they should do something to change the law. When someone is distressed enough to attempt suicide, the last thing they want is to end up in jail.â€™

â€˜The woman Iâ€™m looking for had a child with her.â€™ Johnâ€™s throat was thight and his voice sounded strangled. He coughed into his hand. â€˜Is she here in this hospital too?â€™

The sister stopped walking and turned around.

â€˜A little girl,â€™ John continued. â€˜About eight, dark curly hair, brown eyes, light brown skin, very pretty.â€™

â€˜In that case, Dr Landers,â€™ she said quietly. â€˜I think you must prepare yourself for another shock â€¦â€™

Dottie was lying flat in the bed with her eyes closed. Her hair was down. It lay like burnished bronze clouds all over the pillow. Heâ€™d often wondered what it would look like out of that bun of hers, but even in his wildest dreams heâ€™d never expected it to be so beautiful. It was as much as he could do not to reach out and caress one of her curls between his fingers, but he was aware that the sister was still right behind him and still watching. Dottie looked so small, so fragile. Her skin was pale, like parchment, her hands limp by her side. Thank God she was alive â€¦ It was as much as John could do to control his emotions.

â€˜I think I would like to sit here with her for bit.â€™ He drew up a chair. Several times his mouth formed a word. â€˜Hello?â€™ â€˜Mrs Coxâ€™ â€˜Dorothyâ€™ but he couldnâ€™t bring himself to speak.

â€˜You said she was a patient?â€™ the sister said.

John cleared his throat noisily. â€˜Actually, Sister, you said that. Mrs Cox â€¦ Dottie â€¦ is a friend.â€™

â€˜Oh, Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ said the sister. She seemed slightly embarrassed. â€˜I think Iâ€™d better tell her doctor you are here,â€™ she said, bustling out of the room.

As he touched her hand, his heart ached for her. My poor Dottie â€¦ what youâ€™ve been through. He leaned forward. â€˜Dottie â€¦ Dottie, itâ€™s me. John.â€™

Dottie opened her eyes and her heart lurched. Oh John â€¦ youâ€™ve come at last â€¦ She gave him the faintest of smiles but one look at his anxious expression and it all came flooding back. She didnâ€™t want to think about it. Patsy â€¦ Patsy was in the same ambulance as her. She remembered that awful smell, the smell of rotten eggs, then someone banging the door and Patsy lying on the floor. What happened? Why couldnâ€™t she get out?

John was talking softly to her. His voice was soothing but she couldnâ€™t grasp what he was saying â€¦ no wonder. His body looked just the same but he had a chicken head. As she closed her eyes there was a rushing sound in her ears and Reg was standing at the end of the bed with a bag under one arm and a hammer in his hand. She could hear someone calling her name â€¦ â€˜Dottie, Dottie â€¦â€™ but when she tried to move she was afraid of treading on the chickens. The pain was back too. A gripping pain which left her breathless. Then Reg came towards her and she cried out, â€˜No, Reg, no!â€™ but she could feel him tugging at her arms and pinning her down and everything fell away once more.

The pips went and John pressed button B. â€˜PC Kipling?â€™

â€˜Yes?â€™

â€˜John Landers. I wonder if I could meet you for a chat. Itâ€™s about Mrs Cox and Patsy. I think there is far more to this than meets the eye.â€™

â€˜What makes you say that, sir?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve found Dottie. Iâ€™ve been with her all afternoon. Sheâ€™s in hospital, very ill and somewhat confused. Patsy has been taken to the childrenâ€™s hospital but I havenâ€™t seen her yet.â€™ John heard the policeman take in his breath. â€˜I shall be on my way back to the village shortly and I should appreciate it if I could be present when you tell Mr Cox.â€™

When Dottie opened her eyes again, John was asleep in the chair beside the bed. Dottie watched the rise and fall of his chest for some time. His hand was on top of hers and as she stirred, so did he.

â€˜Dottie â€¦â€™ he said, sitting up.

Her eyes were filling with tears again. Why was she so emotional all the time? What was she going to say to him? Heâ€™d entrusted her with Patsy and sheâ€™d let him down. Sheâ€™d tried to shut it out since she came here. She wouldnâ€™t even tell them her name, but sheâ€™d have to face it now. Sheâ€™d have to find out â€¦

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry about Patsy â€¦â€™ She croaked.

He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

She tried to lick her lips but they felt as big as bricks. Sensing her need, he picked up a glass of water at her bedside and raised her head with his hand. The water tasted strange. Metallic. Everything still tasted of gas; but at least the liquid was cold and she could feel it trickling down her parched throat. He eased her head back down onto the pillow. â€˜I â€“ I donâ€™t remember what happened.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s better if you get some rest now. Weâ€™ll talk about it later.â€™

There was something in her arm. She moved it slightly and then realised she was attached to a blood drip. Why were they giving her blood?

She smiled at John. â€˜Reg took me to see a bungalow.â€™

â€˜Reg was with you?â€™

A picture of a dark and stuffy room filled with gas came into her mind. Her eyes grew wider. â€˜They got Patsy and me out, but I didnâ€™t even think about Reg. Is he all right?â€™ She tried to sit up, pulling at the sheets with light fluttery movements.

â€˜Stay calm,â€™ John said, his hand firmly against her shoulder. â€˜Donâ€™t get so agitated. Reg is fine. Heâ€™s back home.â€™

â€˜Back home?â€™ Dottie fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Her befuddled brain was trying to understand.

â€˜Donâ€™t talk about it now,â€™ he said gently. â€˜Give yourself a little chance to recover.â€™

â€˜But I need to know what happened.â€™

There was a long pause and then he said, â€˜They tell me you tried to commit suicide with Patsy.â€™

â€˜What? But thatâ€™s not true!â€™ cried Dottie, her fingers screwing the sheets into a tight ball. â€˜I promise you on my motherâ€™s life itâ€™s not true. I donâ€™t want to die. Not now.â€™ Her voice trailed and she turned her head away despairingly. â€˜Why would they think I would try to do a thing like that? I couldnâ€™t. I wouldnâ€™t.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right,â€™ said John, gripping her hand.

Dottie looked back at him, her eyes swimming with tears. â€˜Everybody keeps telling me itâ€™s all right but they wonâ€™t tell me anything. I know Patsy came with me in the ambulance, but I havenâ€™t seen her yet. Where is she? Please take me to her, John.â€™

â€˜Dottie â€¦ you must try and stay calm.â€™

Her hand flew to her mouth. Patsy was dead, wasnâ€™t she? That was why no one was telling her. Sheâ€™d guessed she was very poorly when they put her in the ambulance but no matter how many times sheâ€™d asked, no one would actually tell her. A heaviness settled on her chest, a crushing ache that seemed to suck the life from her. She opened her mouth and at the same time her throat closed, yet somewhere in the room, she could hear a heart-rending howl, a cry that sounded like a wounded animal. It seemed to go on and on until she heard the sister running.

The portly gent pressed a coin into Regâ€™s hand and gave him a curt nod. Reg touched the edge of his cap and thanked him. Tight-fisted git. He must have a bob or two if he could afford to travel first class and the case heâ€™d just lugged out to the waiting taxi weighed a bloominâ€™ ton, yet judging by the size of the coin as he turned it over in his hand, he had only given him a measly tanner for a tip. Reg hurried back onto the platform and slammed the train door.

â€˜Is this the Portsmouth train?â€™

Donâ€™t people ever read the bloody boards, he thought acidly. He spent long enough writing out all the names of the stations. Irritated, Reg turned in the direction of the voice, intending to be rude, but he was pleasantly surprised by the owner, an attractive blonde, no more than twenty-five, with an hourglass figure and an alluring expression who was gazing up at him expectantly.

â€˜It certainly is, Miss,â€™ said Reg, pausing to open the door again.

She didnâ€™t acknowledge him again but as he closed the door, he was left standing in a waft of expensive perfume. One day when heâ€™d got the money from the sale of the cottage heâ€™d get himself a woman like that.

â€˜Mind the doors.â€™ The guard blew his whistle and the train gathered steam before it thundered away.

â€˜Reg.â€™ Kipper was standing at his elbow and he had Dr Landers with him. â€˜Could you step this way for a moment?â€™

â€˜I was just about to â€¦â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right, Reg,â€™ said Kipper gently. â€˜Marney will see to your duties.â€™

He could see Marney, his head down, hurrying along the platform.

Kipper was wearing that serious but sympathetic express of his. The same one he wore when Marjorie Thompsonâ€™s husband came to see where sheâ€™d jumped in front of the Bournemouth express.

Ah, thought Reg, theyâ€™d found the bodies at last. About time too. It had taken longer than heâ€™d thought. He hoped they didnâ€™t expect him to identify them. Theyâ€™d look pretty grim after being shut up in that stuffy atmosphere for a couple of days. What if the place had rats? He braced himself as he followed the two men into the station masterâ€™s office. He knew heâ€™d have to make this look good but he was confident heâ€™d be fantastic. Heâ€™d practised it enough times. That was where so many people slipped up. They didnâ€™t practise receiving the bad news.

Heâ€™d been brilliant when theyâ€™d found that old cow Bessie. He should have been on the bloody stage. Walking into the office, he was surprised to see that theyâ€™d arranged three chairs in a semi-circle. He sat in the chair Kipper indicated to him and John Landers closed the door.

Outside, they could hear Marney calling, â€˜The train approaching platform two is the 9.16 to London Victoria, calling at â€¦â€™

Reg glanced at the station master. He sat behind his desk, his eyes lowered and his hands on the desktop, the fingers tightly laced. Kipper positioned himself behind a chair, gripping the back. Everyone waited until John sat down.

â€˜What is this?â€™ Reg asked nervously. This was all a bit more formal than heâ€™d expected. Perhaps they werenâ€™t going to tell him theyâ€™d found Dottie and Patsy after all. Had they rumbled that heâ€™d been tampering with the mail? Perhaps heâ€™d been too greedy. After all, they had reported rather a lot of damaged bags in the past year.

â€˜Itâ€™s your wife and daughter,â€™ said Kipper gravely.

Reg widened his eyes the way he thought a concerned husband would.

â€˜Weâ€™ve found them,â€™ Kipper went on. â€˜They were in an old bungalow â€¦â€™

â€˜A bungalow? Whose bungalow? What were they doing there?â€™

â€˜We donâ€™t know yet,â€™ said Kipper.

Reg looked away. Damn. He was so nervous heâ€™d asked the wrong question. That was question two. He went back to the plan. â€˜Are they all right?â€™ He tried to sound anxious, doing his best to make it look as if he could hardly bear to hear the answer.

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid â€¦â€™ Kipper began.

â€˜Oh, no, no â€¦â€™ Reg moaned. â€˜Are you sure â€¦?â€™

â€˜The neighbours called an ambulance. It took a while to come. Itâ€™s a bit isolated.â€™

Reg leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. He didnâ€™t see Kipper open his mouth to say something more and John gripping his arm to silence him, but he did hear the station masterâ€™s chair scraping back and then one of the cupboard doors opened. Good. He was getting the brandy out. Only cheap stuff but brandy all the same. They had to help him hold the cup because he was trembling too much to manage on his own.

â€˜What happened?â€™ Reg choked.

â€˜They were gassed,â€™ said John.

â€˜She gassed herself,â€™ Kipper corrected.

â€˜You donâ€™t know that,â€™ said John. â€˜It could have been an accident.â€™

Reg looked up sharply. â€˜She meant to do it,â€™ he said coldly. â€˜She wrote a note. I gave it to you, didnâ€™t I, Mr Kipling? She said she was going to do it.â€™

â€˜Yes, yes,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜And that will be part of the evidence.â€™

Reg relaxed but as he caught Johnâ€™s eye, he leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. â€˜What happened, Mr Kipling?â€™

â€˜Oh my poor little girl,â€™ Reg moaned when Kipper had finished telling him. â€˜Poor Dottie. How am I going to live without them, Mr Kipling?â€™ He began to weep. â€˜Why did she do it? All locked up like that. If sheâ€™d only told me how she was feeling, I could have helped her.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s still time,â€™ said John.

Reg lifted his tear-stained face and gave him a quizzical look. â€˜Time? Time for what?â€™

â€˜You can go and see them for yourself, Reg,â€™ said the station master. â€˜Under the circumstances the railway will give you some compassionate leave.â€™

â€˜Theyâ€™re both in hospital,â€™ said John. â€˜Dottie is still quite ill, but Patsy is making a good recovery.â€™

John watched the colour drain from Regâ€™s face and noticed that he had developed a nervous tic under his left eye.

â€˜Donâ€™t you understand, Reg?â€™ Kipper said. â€˜Itâ€™s good news.â€™

â€˜Oh yes,â€™ said Reg, downing the rest of the brandy and turning the glass in his hands. â€˜Really good news. It couldnâ€™t be bloody better.â€™

Forty-One

Kipper got the call just before he was going off duty. Sinking fast, they said. He went straight to the hospital.

Ernest Franks rallied slightly as Kipper walked in the door.

â€˜Got to tell you â€¦â€™ he gasped, â€˜before itâ€™s too late.â€™

Kipper went to the bedside and Ernest grabbed at his coat. â€˜Danny â€¦ he must have taken â€¦â€™ Ernest sank back on the pillow, his eyes wild.

â€˜Take your time, sir,â€™ said Kipper gently.

The manâ€™s breath was coming in short pants after his exertions. â€˜Bomb site â€¦ Reg Cox â€¦â€™

â€˜The real Reg Cox was found on a bombsite,â€™ said Kipper. Ernest nodded. â€˜And Danny Sinclair took his identity?â€™

Ernest nodded again.

â€˜Tell me,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜Was Reg Cox a coloured man?â€™

Ernest nodded. â€˜Jamaican.â€™

Kipper patted Ernestâ€™s arm.

â€˜He left him to die,â€™ said Ernest. â€˜He could have helped him, but he didnâ€™t.â€™

â€˜How do you know all this?â€™ said Kipper.

Ernest took a deep breath and sighed his last word on earth. â€˜Military â€¦â€™

Although Christmas was still weeks away, Billyâ€™s mum had let him go carol singing but his heart wasnâ€™t in it. The grown-ups had been getting together in little huddles for a couple of weeks. More than once, heâ€™d heard his mum whispering, â€˜Shh, keep your voice down. Letâ€™s keep the children out of it,â€™ but they werenâ€™t stupid. All of them knew something bad had happened to Auntie Dottie and Patsy. Even little Christopher was unsettled. He spent nearly all the time sucking his thumb and twiddling his hair. His dad always got cross when Christopher did that. He said he might be only four but it wasnâ€™t manly â€¦ but just lately he hadnâ€™t said anything to Christopher.

Billy and his mates Paul Dore and Dennis Long had walked right round the village and he was getting tired. Theyâ€™d quickly realised that if they just sang outside a house, no one answered the door, but if they knocked first and sang as soon as the door opened, theyâ€™d get some money. His dad had given him the old oil lantern so that they looked more Christmassy and occasionally people kept the door open and listened. They werenâ€™t so keen on that because youâ€™d feel a right twit singing your head off with everybody looking at you with goo-goo smiles. But theyâ€™d made quite a bit of money.

Billyâ€™s walk slowed to a crawl as his mates ran ahead. They were heading for Auntie Dottieâ€™s road. Heâ€™d never tell his mates of course, but he really missed Patsy. She was good fun â€¦ for a girl.

Maureen missed her as well. She kept on and on, asking where Patsy was but no one would give her a straight answer. In the end, it drove his mum nuts so she said Patsy had gone to a new home. Maureen was upset but not as upset as she would have been if sheâ€™d understood what that meant. Billy knew and he was gutted.

Paul Dore came running back. â€˜Hurry up, Billy,â€™ he shouted.

Billyâ€™s heart did a cartwheel inside his chest as Dennis came up behind Paul, staggering under the weight of a pile of clothes.

â€˜Look at this lot,â€™ he cried. A jumper slid from the pile and unintentionally, he trod all over it. Billy recognised it at once. It was Patsyâ€™s jumper. She didnâ€™t like it much but it was the one Auntie Dottie had knitted with the kangaroo on the front. His eye gravitated to the rest of the pile. There was Patsyâ€™s red coat and Auntie Dottieâ€™s pink hat, the one she wore at Michaelâ€™s wedding. With an agonised roar, Billy charged up the road towards Auntie Dottieâ€™s gate.

Holding up the lantern he could see a large pile of clothing beside the dustbin. When he lifted the lid of the bin he found Auntie Dottieâ€™s sewing box and some material with pins in it. At the foot of the mound were two suitcases as well. The smaller one had a photo album in it and the other had loads of photo frames complete with pictures. Auntie Dottie and Auntie Sylvie, together with the old lady who used to live in Myrtle Cottage, smiled up at him from the top.

â€˜Stay there!â€™ Billy barked. â€˜Donâ€™t nobody touch it.â€™

â€˜Where are you going?â€™ cried Paul as he ran back down the road.

â€˜Just stay there!â€™

Billy charged back to the house. The old pram stood in the doorway. He could hear his mother in the kitchen talking to Aunt Peaches. Billy emptied out the bedding and backed it towards the door.

Christopher appeared at the top of the stairs. â€˜Where are you going, Billy?â€™

Billy put his finger to his lips and manoeuvred the pram out of the front door. As the door closed, he ran like the wind back to Myrtle Cottage.

The three boys set about loading up the pram, then Billy pushed it back while Paul and Dennis took it in turns to carry the big suitcase.

â€˜This thing is too heavy,â€™ Paul protested. â€˜And we might drop the photo frames. Theyâ€™ve got glass in them.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™re taking the lot,â€™ said Billy fiercely.

The overloaded pram kept shedding articles of clothing but Billy wouldnâ€™t let anything stay in the road. He shouted at them tetchily to â€˜pick â€™em up,â€™ his face heavily flushed. His two friends couldnâ€™t really understand why he was in such an odd mood.

â€˜I thought we were going carol singing,â€™ cried Dennis. â€˜If my dad sees me with this lot, heâ€™ll go mad.â€™

Billy glared at him. â€˜We canâ€™t leave it.â€™

â€˜What dâ€™you want it for?â€™ asked Paul. â€˜This is all rubbish. They chucked it out.â€™

Billy rounded on him. â€˜All this stuff this belongs to Patsy.â€™

â€˜Patsy â€¦â€™ Dennis pointed his finger at him and laughed. â€˜Heâ€™s in love!â€™

â€˜You shut up, Dennis Long,â€™ shouted Billy, his eyes glistening with tears.

Paul pulled a womanâ€™s cardigan from under the pile. â€˜Well, this ainâ€™t Patsyâ€™s.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s my Auntie Dottieâ€™s and sheâ€™s coming home soon,â€™ said Billy snatching it back.

Paul and Dennis exchanged an anxious look. â€˜Bet she donâ€™t,â€™ said Dennis, â€˜my dad says sheâ€™s a murderer. She tried to kill Patsy.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s not true!â€™ cried Billy. He launched himself at Dennis, throwing him to the ground and wrong-footing Paul at the same time. In the scrap that followed, it seemed to Dennis and Paul that Billy had the strength of ten men. Although it was two against one, Billy won easily. Twenty minutes later, hot and sweaty, and struggling to control his emotions, Billy pushed the pram into his dadâ€™s shed at the bottom of the garden. He cleared a space on the top of the workbench and began pulling at the untidy bundle. His shoulders shook as he folded each item carefully and placed them neatly on top of one another. It took him ages. That was because every now and then, he had to stop and wipe his nose on the cuff of his sleeve.

â€˜Sylvie, theyâ€™ve been found!â€™ Mary couldnâ€™t contain her excitement.

On the other end of the telephone, Sylvie gasped. At first she was relieved that Dottie was alive but she listened with mounting horror as Mary told her what had happened.

â€˜The bad news is,â€™ Mary concluded. â€˜Dottie has lost her baby.â€™

â€˜Baby?â€™ Sylvie gasped. â€˜What baby?â€™

â€˜Oh!â€™ said Mary. â€˜Perhaps I shouldnâ€™t have said anything. I thought you knew.â€™

â€˜She and Reg â€¦?â€™

â€˜Yes,â€™ said Mary. â€˜I tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined to keep it. Anyway, now sheâ€™s lost it.â€™

There was a slight pause.

â€˜In one way, I canâ€™t say Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜That Reg is an absolute pig, but knowing how much Dottie wanted children, I should imagine sheâ€™s devastated.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sure she is.â€™

â€˜Havenâ€™t you seen her then?â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s not allowed visitors. Sheâ€™s been haemorrhaging badly and theyâ€™re giving her blood.â€™

â€˜How awful.â€™

The two women struggled to contain their emotions.

â€˜And Patsy?â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s still quite ill. Some sort of poisoning. Theyâ€™ve got her in the childrenâ€™s ward. No visitors.â€™

â€˜Let me know when we can go,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜And Iâ€™ll take you over to see Dottie.â€™

â€˜I bet that blinking Reg had something to do with this,â€™ said Mary, darkly. Sylvie wouldnâ€™t be drawn but as she hung up she pondered Maryâ€™s words. When sheâ€™d last seen him, Reg was so sure Dottie was dead, he was even looking over his life policies. She shook her head in disbelief. Reg was a nasty piece of work, all right. He was capable of terrible things â€“ but stooping as far as attempted murder? That was a different league altogether.

Dottie looked around the room, willing her mind to think about something less painful. She felt a bit woozy, probably from that stuff they had injected into her arm. The blood drip was gone. The room was stark, the walls bare. The locker beside her bed was empty apart from a jug and a glass of water. There were some screens in the corner and the material was faded. They must have left it in the sun. Her mind drifted back to that cold sunny day on Highdown Hill. In her head she could hear Minnie barking and Patsy was laughing and happy as she ran up to the chalk pits â€¦ Oh, Patsy â€¦

John was there again. Neither of them spoke, but he held her hand and gently kissed her fingers.

â€˜Reg took us to see that bungalow in the car,â€™ Dottie said eventually. â€˜He wanted me to buy it. It was horrible. So bleak and it was miles from anywhere. There were roses on the wall but inside it was old and smelly â€¦â€™ She was beginning to gabble. â€˜I didnâ€™t like it at all but we had a picnic in one of the rooms. It wasnâ€™t as much fun as the one we had on Highdown, but Reg was trying so hard and Patsy had egg sandwiches and â€¦â€™

Something was beginning to niggle John, something he couldnâ€™t quite put his finger on. Dottie turned her face away and began to cry again. John held onto her hand, stroking it with his thumb. Suddenly aware, she pulled her hand away.

â€˜John, Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ she said. â€˜Iâ€™ve tried writing but it seems cowardly. I want to tell you face to face. Iâ€™m having a baby.â€™

She could feel a tear running across the bridge of her nose. Every part of her body wanted to say yes but she thought too much of him to let him ruin his whole life and reputation for her and the baby. The gossips would put two and two together and make five in no time.

â€˜Listen, Dottie,â€™ he said lowering his eyes. â€˜You need to know something â€“â€™

All at once, her eyes grew wide. â€˜My baby? Is my baby all right? I had bad pains. I am still pregnant, arenâ€™t I?â€™

John gripped her hand even more tightly. She couldnâ€™t believe it when he started shaking his head slowly. â€˜Iâ€™m terribly, terribly sorry. They did all they could but youâ€™d been starved of oxygen for so long â€¦â€™

â€˜No!â€™ Dottie stared at him helplessly. Sheâ€™d lost the baby? She wasnâ€™t going to be a mother? â€˜No, no, youâ€™ve got it all wrong.â€™ Her other hand flew to her stomach and she pressed the flesh. It still felt a bit round but then she felt the sanitary belt around her waist and the bunny between her legs. â€˜My baby â€¦â€™

John stroked her forehead. â€˜There will be other babies,â€™ he said softly.

â€˜No,â€™ she moaned. â€˜I want my baby.â€™ She turned her head away. First Patsy and then this â€¦ â€˜I canâ€™t bear it.â€™

John seemed to be fighting to control his own emotions.

â€˜And Reg?â€™

â€˜Reg knows.â€™

â€˜I hate him.â€™ Her voice was barely more than a whisper and her face crumpled as she searched in vain for a dry area of her handkerchief. â€˜Have you seen poor Patsy yet?â€™

â€˜Not yet.â€™ He fished around in his pockets and found a clean handkerchief.

She took it gratefully and blew her nose. â€˜I pushed her face by the gap under the door,â€™ Dottie went on. â€˜I thought the air â€¦ fresh air â€¦â€™ she paused, taking in a huge racking breath, â€˜but I couldnâ€™t stop the gas. I did try and save her â€¦â€™ Her voice had risen to a squeak and now she was sobbing again.

He frowned. According to the sister, the police believed that Dottie had locked herself and Patsy into the bedroom and as soon as Patsy was asleep turned on the gas taps. At some point, Patsy had crawled out of bed and collapsed by the door, her face by the gap in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air. Dottie was found lying on the floor halfway between the bed and the door.

â€˜I donâ€™t think you should try and say any more,â€™ he said softly. â€˜Iâ€™m going to tell the sister to call the police. You must tell them everything you know.â€™

â€˜No, no. I canâ€™t, I canâ€™t talk to the police.â€™

â€˜Dottie, you have to,â€™ he said. â€˜Listen. Youâ€™re a strong woman and if you really care about Patsy, you must help them find out what happened to her.â€™

â€˜If I really care?â€™ she said bitterly. â€˜Surely you of all people must know how much I love her.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, I didnâ€™t mean it to sound like that,â€™ said John. â€˜But you need to persuade the police that you meant her no harm.â€™

â€˜You will stay with me, wonâ€™t you?â€™

He hesitated. How would that look for her case? Would it be such a good idea?

â€˜Please, John,â€™ she begged. â€˜I need a friendly face with me when I talk to the police. Itâ€™s the last thing Iâ€™ll ever ask of you.â€™

At last he understood. She wanted him there professionally. He was a doctor. She needed his moral support. If that was so, how could he refuse?

Forty-Two

â€˜May I remind you that you are here purely as an observer, Dr Landers,â€™ the sergeant said. â€˜Any interruptions and I shall ask you to leave.â€™

Dottie had been in hospital five days but today was the first day she was deemed well enough to be questioned. John stood with his back to the window, grim-faced as two policemen, Sergeant Smart and PC Connelly, sat on either side of Dottieâ€™s bed, their notebooks at the ready. Dottie, red-eyed and still very tearful, was telling them what had happened.

â€˜Reg wanted to buy a bungalow.â€™

â€˜On The Crumbles.â€™

â€˜Yes, but when we got there, it wasnâ€™t very nice. It had been empty for ages. Apparently the owner had gone into a nursing home. Reg said he wanted us to run it as a guesthouse but there wasnâ€™t much room. I mean, we couldnâ€™t have many guests.â€™

â€˜So you didnâ€™t like it,â€™ said the sergeant. â€˜What happened next?â€™

â€˜Reg brought a picnic,â€™ Dottie went on. â€˜He made it quite fun. We had Smithâ€™s crisps, fig-roll biscuits and sandwiches. He put it all on a big sheet and we sat in the sitting room.â€™

â€˜You all ate the same thing?â€™

â€˜Yes. Patsy and I drank the tea from a flask. Reg had a beer but apart from that we all had the same.â€™

â€˜Go on.â€™

Dottie shrugged. â€˜Then Patsy felt tired and Reg suggested she lie down on the bed for a while. I wasnâ€™t feeling so bright myself, so I lay down beside her. It wasnâ€™t very pleasant. I mean, the sheet smelled and the room was cold.â€™

â€˜You say you didnâ€™t feel so bright?â€™

â€˜My head felt funny and my mouth was very dry,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Anyway, I must have drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up I could smell gas. I tried to turn the tap off but someone had smashed it up.â€™

â€˜Who?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know! It was all right when I turned it on.â€™

â€˜You turned the tap on?â€™

â€˜Yes, of course I did,â€™ cried Dottie.

The sergeant looked at his constable who was desperately trying to sharpen his pencil and handed him his fountain pen. â€˜Make a note of that, Constable. Mrs Cox turned on the gas tap.â€™

â€˜The electricity was off so I put the fire on,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜The room was cold.â€™

â€˜When you woke up,â€™ said John, â€˜was the fire still on?â€™

â€˜Dr Landers!â€™ said the sergeant reprovingly.

â€˜No!â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜The fire was out but the gas was still on.â€™

There was some shifting of feet and then the sergeant said, â€˜Go on.â€™

â€˜The window was all boarded up and the door was locked. We were trapped. I couldnâ€™t get out â€¦ I couldnâ€™t â€¦â€™

Dottie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. John smiled encouragingly at her.

â€˜Did you shout for help?â€™

â€˜The gas made me feel so sick, I was trying not to breathe,â€™ she said. â€˜I dragged Patsy over to the door and pressed her face by the gap. Then I tried to break the wood over the window.â€™ She held up her hands and showed them her broken nails. â€˜And then the gas just stopped.â€™

â€˜Stopped?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know why but it just stopped.â€™

â€˜The only thing that saved you, apart from the neighbours smelling the gas, was the fact that the gas meter had run out of money,â€™ said the Constable.

â€˜I think I must have fainted.â€™ Dottie blinked. â€˜The next thing I knew someone was breaking down the door.â€™

She told them that she didnâ€™t know where Reg was. He must have gone back to the hotel she supposed and, no, she couldnâ€™t understand why heâ€™d left them there. Everything was fine between them and that night she was going to tell him that she was having his baby.

The thought of her beautiful baby made her break down and the three men waited for a few minutes while she sobbed uncontrollably. When she recovered herself, John gave her a glass of water, and Dottie reached out with a trembling hand for his. â€˜Thank you.â€™

John was acutely aware of the sergeantâ€™s gaze as he sat back down.

â€˜Are you ready to continue, Mrs Cox?â€™

Dottie nodded.

â€˜Mr Cox says he waited for you to come down from your bedroom that morning,â€™ the sergeant continued, â€˜but you and Patsy had gone off without him.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s not true,â€™ said Dottie desperately. â€˜He told us to go ahead of him so we walked along the seafront.â€™ She glanced at John. â€˜We didnâ€™t mind. Patsy wanted to try out her roller skates. When we got so far along, he met us with the car.â€™

â€˜Car?â€™

â€˜A hired car.â€™

â€˜What sort of car?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know. One looks much the same as the other to me. A black one.â€™

PC Connellyâ€™s fountain pen scribbled away.

â€˜And you say you had no intention of killing yourself and the child?â€™

â€˜No,â€™ she cried, horrified. â€˜Of course I didnâ€™t.â€™

John couldnâ€™t get Reg out of his mind. Heâ€™d looked as if he was going to pass out when PC Kipling told him Dottie was still alive, but John couldnâ€™t work out why he might want to do his wife and Patsy harm. Why not simply walk away from them? Plenty of men did. Smart and Connelly probed into every part of Dottieâ€™s marriage and her relationship with Reg. Were they worried about money? Could they pay the rent each week?

â€˜We donâ€™t have to pay rent,â€™ she said. â€˜The house belonged to my aunt and she left it to me.â€™

Now at last, John began to understand what Reg was up to. Dottie had just given him the motive he was looking for. He put his hand up and took in his breath to say as much but one look from the sergeant silenced him immediately.

The questioning went on and on. Did she regret having Patsy? How did Reg feel about having his own baby on the way? Was it Regâ€™s child?

Dottie was beginning to look exhausted. The circles under her eyes were growing darker than ever. John was just about to demand that they stop questioning her when the sergeant stood up.

â€˜Thank you for your co-operation, Mrs Cox,â€™ he said formally. â€˜We shall be in touch.â€™

Dottie was gazing somewhere into space. â€˜There was someone else.â€™

Connelly stopped by the door and turned around. â€˜Someone else you say? Where?â€™

â€˜In the bungalow.â€™

â€˜Who?â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t know, but now I think about it, I feel sure Reg was talking to someone.â€™

â€˜A neighbour, perhaps?â€™

â€˜No, it wasnâ€™t him.â€™

They waited a moment or two, but Dottie shook her head. â€˜I canâ€™t remember.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll speak to you again as soon as weâ€™ve spoken to the little girl,â€™ said PC Smart.

Dottie sat bolt upright. â€˜What do you mean?â€™ she demanded.

â€˜We have to verify your story,â€™ said the sergeant.

â€˜No, no,â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜What do you mean, talk to the little girl? What little girl?â€™ Dottieâ€™s heart was beginning to pound.

â€˜Patsy, of course,â€™ said PC Connelly.

â€˜You mean, sheâ€™s alive?â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜Sheâ€™s really alive? But thatâ€™s wonderful.â€™ She looked wildly from John back to the policeman. â€˜But why didnâ€™t you tell me? How is she? Is she going to be all right?â€™

Johnâ€™s mouth gaped. â€˜But I thought you knew. The sister said â€¦â€™

â€˜The sister wouldnâ€™t tell me anything,â€™ Dottie cried.

â€˜Sheâ€™s been very ill,â€™ the constable said, his voice a little softer, â€˜but she is improving all the time.â€™

Dottie smiled and burst into tears. Oh wonderful, wonderful day â€¦ Patsy was alive. Alive and getting well. â€˜Is she asking after me?â€™ she went on eagerly. â€˜When can I see her?â€™

â€˜No, Mrs Cox, Iâ€™m afraid you canâ€™t,â€™ said the sergeant coldly.

Dottie took in her breath. â€˜But why not?â€™

â€˜Because I have given instructions that sheâ€™s to have no visitors â€“ not even you, Doctor.â€™ The sergeant frowned. â€˜All that can wait until Connelly and I have spoken to her.â€™

Dottie relaxed back onto the pillows and began to laugh softly. â€˜But sheâ€™s alive. I canâ€™t believe it. Sheâ€™s alive.â€™

â€˜If you remember anything else, Mrs Cox,â€™ the sergeant said as he headed for the door, â€˜let us know.â€™

â€˜Give her my love, wonâ€™t you?â€™ Dottie called after them.

The door closed and John moved back to the bed. â€˜I am so sorry you didnâ€™t know.â€™

â€˜It doesnâ€™t matter now,â€™ Dottie sighed. â€˜Oh, isnâ€™t it wonderful? Sheâ€™s alive.â€™

â€˜I think youâ€™d better rest now.â€™

â€˜They donâ€™t believe me about someone else being there, do they?â€™

John chewed his bottom lip. â€˜Perhaps if you could have been a little more specific â€¦â€™

She looked up, willing him to touch her, hold her hand, stroke her hair, anything â€¦ but instead he picked up her chart from the foot of the bed and studied it.

â€˜John â€¦â€™

â€˜Anyway, youâ€™re getting better all the time,â€™ he said, glancing up. The coolness in his voice hurt.

The door burst open and PC Connelly came back into the room. â€˜Whoops-a-daisy,â€™ he cried. â€˜Forgot me pen.â€™ He smiled at Dottie and added, â€˜Now donâ€™t forget, if you remember anything else, just give us a shout.â€™

John headed towards the door with him, knowing full well that the pen had been left as an excuse to check on whether there was anything between Dottie and him. For a while heâ€™d better keep up the pretence.

â€˜I hope you make a full recovery, Mrs Cox,â€™ he said stiffly.

The policeman held the door open for him to pass.

Dottie stared at the closing door, then lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Outside in the corridor, John fell into step with the two policemen.

â€˜When do you plan to talk to Patsy?â€™ he asked.

â€˜As soon as weâ€™ve got her father over here,â€™ said the sergeant. â€˜Sheâ€™ll probably feel a lot safer with a relative.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not sure thatâ€™s a good idea,â€™ said John. All three men stopped walking. â€˜Look,â€™ John went on, â€˜Iâ€™m not one to cast aspersions, but I think Mr Cox may know more than he lets on.â€™

The sergeant gave him a strange look. â€˜And perhaps Mrs Cox does too, sir.â€™

â€˜Whatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€™ John protested. â€˜You saw how pleased she was that Patsy had survived. I tell you, she loves that child.â€™

â€˜Tell me, Doctor,â€™ said the sergeant. â€˜How close are you and Mrs Cox?â€™

â€˜Weâ€™re friends, thatâ€™s all,â€™ John insisted.

â€˜Could it be that she wanted more?â€™ the sergeant suggested. â€˜Patients fall for their doctors all the time. Unrequited love is a very powerful thing.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s not like that at all.â€™ John went cold. â€˜And I can tell you now that youâ€™re barking up the wrong tree, Sergeant.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™ll see, Doctor. Weâ€™ll see.â€™

They parted somewhere near the front entrance. On his way out, John passed a petite blonde woman carrying a large bunch of flowers.

â€˜Excuse me,â€™ she said exuding a waft of cheap perfume. â€˜Could you tell me the way to the womenâ€™s ward?â€™

â€˜Down the corridor, and turn left at the top of the stairs,â€™ said John.

The woman smiled. â€˜Thank you. Much obliged, Iâ€™m sure.â€™

â€˜Peaches!â€™

Dottie was walking down the ward between two nurses because she had asked to go to the toilet rather than have a bedpan.

Peaches followed them all into her room and waited until the nurses had put her back into bed. As soon as they were alone, the two friends embraced warmly.

â€˜Oh, Peaches,â€™ said Dottie tearfully. â€˜I was having a baby, but Iâ€™ve lost it.â€™

Peaches was shocked. â€˜Oh, Dottie, how awful.â€™ She hesitated. â€˜But I didnâ€™t think you and Reg â€¦ No, no, Iâ€™m sorry.â€™

â€˜I have never been unfaithful to Reg,â€™ Dottie said stoutly.

Peaches squeezed her hand. â€˜Of course you havenâ€™t and I wouldnâ€™t suggest anything of the sort. Oh, Dottie, Iâ€™m so sorry about the baby.â€™

A nurse bustled in with the tea trolley and to Dottieâ€™s delight, Peaches was allowed to have one too.

â€˜Howâ€™s Gary?â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s doing really well,â€™ said Peaches, pulling up a chair and sitting down. â€˜He has to keep on with the exercises. Jackâ€™s much better at it than I am. Gary gets a bit cross about it and as you know, Iâ€™m not very patient, but his leg is getting stronger all the time.â€™ As she relaxed in the chair, Dottie smiled at her friend. She was looking really good. Sheâ€™d regained her figure after the baby and sheâ€™d obviously taken great care with her clothes. She was wearing a pretty tangerine twinset, a colour which suited her very well.

â€˜I wish you could have brought Mandy with you,â€™ sighed Dottie. â€˜I still havenâ€™t seen her.â€™

â€˜I know, Iâ€™m sorry.â€™

â€˜How did you know I was here?â€™ Dottie asked when the nurse had gone.

â€˜Jack,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜He was doing a run to Worthing station and overheard Marney talking and, of course, youâ€™re in all the papers.â€™

â€˜The papers?â€™

â€˜Only no one realised it was you,â€™ said Peaches. She held out her hand, headlining, â€˜Mystery woman and child in gas tragedy.â€™

Dottie pursed her lips.

â€˜Oh, Dottie, Iâ€™m an idiot,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜Listen to me prattling on â€¦ me and my big mouth. How is Patsy? Has she said anything?â€™

Shaking her head, Dottie reached for her handkerchief, wet from use. Peaches fished in her handbag and gave her a clean one. Dottie blew her nose. â€˜Iâ€™m not allowed to see her. Can you find out how she is? Iâ€™m so worried about her.â€™

â€˜Of course, darling,â€™ said Peaches. â€˜Iâ€™ll go and see her on my way home. Itâ€™s the least I can do.â€™

As Dottie grasped her hand in gratitude, Peaches chewed her bottom lip.

â€˜You know something else, donâ€™t you?â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Tell me, Peaches.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t like to say â€¦â€™

â€˜Tell me â€¦ please!â€™

Peaches lowered her head and stared at her own hands. â€˜The papers say you had something to do with what happened to Patsy.â€™

â€˜But thatâ€™s not true!â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜The windows were all boarded up on the inside. I couldnâ€™t break them â€¦â€™ She was becoming agitated. â€˜Peaches, Reg left us there but I donâ€™t remember why. And when I smelled gas, I couldnâ€™t get us out.â€™ She broke off and stared at Peaches wide-eyed.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry, Dottie. I wish I didnâ€™t have to tell you,â€™ said Peaches gripping her hand. â€˜But, darling, Reg is telling everyone you did it on purpose.â€™

Forty-Three

â€˜If you ask me, theyâ€™ll do her for attempted murder,â€™ said Kipper.

â€˜But we both know Reg Cox is lying,â€™ said John angrily. â€˜Lying through his teeth.â€™

John had gone over and over everything again and again. There was something wrong with the story Reg was putting about but, no matter how hard he tried, it eluded him. The suspicions raised by Ernest Franks were still being checked out. The military moved very slowly.

â€˜You may be right, Dr Landers,â€™ said Kipper, â€˜but the law says, and I quote, â€˜If an attempted suicide failed, but killed someone else instead, by the doctrine of transferred malice, they are guilty of murder.â€™ Nobody died in this incident, but it looks as if Dottie was responsible for what happened to Patsy.â€™

They were sitting in the police house in front of a roaring fire. The room itself was masculine, with none of the prettiness that comes with a feminine touch, but it was neat and tidy: a room with a place for everything and everything in its place.

John had just come back from Eastbourne and, although it was out of office hours, Kipper had invited him in to share â€˜a spot of whiskyâ€™ after his long journey. John was pleasantly surprised to find that he liked Kipper a great deal. He was a thinker and maybe a tad slow to make judgements, but he was fair and he was candid.

â€˜My God,â€™ John breathed. â€˜You mean theyâ€™d actually do that? Accuse her of attempted murder?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid so,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜Look, I donâ€™t believe sheâ€™s a killer any more than you do but all weâ€™ve got in our favour is purely circumstantial evidence.â€™

â€˜Dottie says someone tampered with the tap,â€™ said John. â€˜Doesnâ€™t that prove something?â€™

â€˜She could have done it herself.â€™

â€˜And the boarded-up windows?â€™

â€˜Theyâ€™ll say she planned it.â€™

â€˜Surely you canâ€™t argue about the door being locked from the outside? How could she have done that?â€™

â€˜The key was on the floor,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜There is a theory that she locked the door and then pushed the key under the door.â€™

John frowned. â€˜Even so, you think differently.â€™

â€˜I was too hasty when the well caved in,â€™ said Kipper, knocking out his pipe against the hearth. â€˜Iâ€™m just a country copper, not a detective, but if Iâ€™m to get Worthing Central to take note, Iâ€™ll have to have more than feeling and hearsay. I need good hard evidence. Ernest Franks knew the truth but that blow to the head scrambled his brain as well.â€™

John frowned. â€˜Ernest Franks?â€™

â€˜He said that Reg was in the house the day Bessie Thornton died.â€™

John gasped and then smiled broadly. â€˜Arrest him, arrest him now!â€™

Kipper reached for his tobacco pouch. â€˜I canâ€™t. He died before I could get a signed statement and Iâ€™m not sure it would have been much use anyway, given the circumstances.â€™

John groaned and they lapsed into a troubled silence.

â€˜I knew Reg was up to no good from the word go,â€™ said John. â€˜I was watching his face when we told him his wife was alive in that office and it was obvious that he knew far more than he was letting on.â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s a slippery one, Iâ€™ll grant you that, but what have we got so far?â€™ Kipper went on. â€˜According to him, he was a devoted father, but she was a woman who found it hard to adjust to a fully grown child in the family â€¦â€™

â€˜More likely the other way around,â€™ John retorted.

â€˜He takes them off on holiday,â€™ said Kipper, putting the tobacco pouch down on the table, â€˜and she walks out of the hotel. Hours later, sheâ€™s drugged the child and gassed them both.â€™

â€˜You knew she was having his baby, didnâ€™t you?â€™

Kipper looked away. â€˜I knew she was pregnant, but was it her husbandâ€™s child, thatâ€™s the burning question.â€™

â€˜Whatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€™ John demanded.

â€˜Thereâ€™s some talk that the baby was yours.â€™

â€˜Mine! But thatâ€™s ridiculous. Whatever gave you that idea?â€™

â€˜Youâ€™ve been seen in the company of Mrs Cox,â€™ said Kipper earnestly. He leaned forward in his chair. â€˜Often and alone.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve only ever been with her when Patsy was around,â€™ said John truthfully. â€˜Anyway, who saw me? Where?â€™

â€˜I am not at liberty to say, but the gossip in the village is rife,â€™ said Kipper, relaxing back in his chair. He began pushing the tobacco down in his pipe, reluctant to tell him that Gerald Gilbert and Vera Carter had come to him with stories of car rides, late-night lifts and walks along the seafront. And although Dr Fitzgerald assured him that Dottie was the soul of discretion, Mariah Fitzgerald considered that she had changed recently from a hard-working woman into a liability, and Janet Cooper was on the verge of giving her the sack. It seemed that her relationship with John Landers was the catalyst.

â€˜Can I speak candidly?â€™ said John.

â€˜Please do.â€™

â€˜I wonâ€™t deny that I have strong feelings for Dott â€¦ Mrs Cox,â€™ said John. â€˜But she and I have never â€¦ that is to say â€¦ She has always remained absolutely faithful to her husband.â€™

â€˜For what itâ€™s worth,â€™ Kipper said, striking a match. â€˜I believe you.â€™

John pressed his lips together and nodded. â€˜Just tell me what evidence you need to prove her innocence,â€™ he went on, â€˜and Iâ€™ll make sure you get it.â€™

â€˜She talked about a hired car,â€™ Kipper puffed, â€˜but nobody saw it, and Reg says he canâ€™t drive. And who wanted to buy that bungalow? She says he did, but the estate agent says he spoke to a woman on the telephone. Did Dottie write that suicide note? It certainly looks like her handwriting. And all that nonsense with the chickens. What was that all about? There was no way the fox got those birds, yet Reg was adamant.â€™

â€˜Reg was obviously lying,â€™ John observed.

â€˜Precisely, and while youâ€™re on the subject, ask her again about her auntâ€™s death.â€™

â€˜Good God, youâ€™re not suggesting â€¦â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not suggesting anything, Dr Landers,â€™ said Kipper. He flicked the rest of the match into the fire and chewed the end of his pipe thoughtfully. â€˜And another thing, thereâ€™s apparently some question about the true identity of her husband. You obviously did some checks on Mr Cox when you agreed to Patsy coming here. Did you come across anything?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid we were governed by our hearts and not our heads as far as Sandy was concerned,â€™ said John, grim-faced. â€˜This is really serious, isnâ€™t it?â€™

â€˜Yes, Dr Landers, it is,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜You and I may dismiss all this as hearsay and innuendo, but the Eastbourne police believe they have a watertight case.â€™

After his evening with PC Kipling, John had returned to his motherâ€™s house. The first thing next morning, heâ€™d arrange an interview with the Eastbourne estate agent (he felt it better to talk to the man in person) and then heâ€™d tackle finding the hire car.

Laura Landers had been devastated when heâ€™d told her what had happened.

â€˜I refuse to believe that that lovely girl would ever do anything to harm that child,â€™ sheâ€™d said stoutly, â€˜or herself for that matter. And believe you me, I am an excellent judge of character.â€™

Theyâ€™d reached the middle of December before theyâ€™d had their first really cold snap. There was even talk of snow coming. John and his mother were relaxing over a sherry before Sunday lunch when there was a knock at the door. Minnie, who had been stretched out before the log fire, leapt up and ran barking into the hallway. John went to open the door.

â€˜Dr Landers?â€™ The woman on the doorstep was elegantly dressed in a cream coat with a fur trim. â€˜You donâ€™t know me but Iâ€™m a friend of Dottieâ€™s. My name is Sylvie McDonald.â€™

John stepped back, holding the door wide open. â€˜Come in. Dottie has told me all about you.â€™ As she raised her eyebrow, he laughed, adding, â€˜All good, I assure you.â€™

She walked in, peeling off her gloves, and he showed her into his motherâ€™s sitting room. The delicious smell of roast lamb pervaded the whole house and Sylvie began to feel quite peckish.

â€˜This is my mother, Laura Landers,â€™ he said, introducing them both. â€˜Mother, this is Dottieâ€™s friend, Sylvie McDonald.â€™

â€˜Come in, my dear,â€™ said Laura struggling to her feet. â€˜Sit down. Can I get you a sherry?â€™

John took Sylvieâ€™s coat. â€˜Iâ€™ll get it, Mother.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry to disturb you,â€™ said Sylvie, patting the back of her hair, â€˜but I really need to talk to you.â€™

â€˜If youâ€™ll excuse me,â€™ said Laura, â€˜Iâ€™d better check the roast.â€™

â€˜This whole thing with Dottie is driving me mad,â€™ said Sylvie as Johnâ€™s mother left the room. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her elegant legs while Minnie flopped on Sylvieâ€™s foot, waiting for a stroke.

â€˜Iâ€™ve been hoping it will all blow over,â€™ said John. â€˜Iâ€™ll be seeing Dottie, probably tomorrow. I have to go to Eastbourne, and Iâ€™m hoping sheâ€™ll be well enough to come home by then.â€™

â€˜Are you aware,â€™ she went on, â€˜that the Eastbourne police are planning to arrest Dottie as soon as sheâ€™s well enough?â€™

John was conscious of his mouth dropping open. â€˜How can you possibly know that?â€™

â€˜My husband has friends in high places.â€™

â€˜Do you know the charge?â€™

â€˜Attempted murder.â€™

â€˜So it really has come to this.â€™ He sank into his chair, his face ashen.

â€˜Sadly, yes,â€™ said Sylvie.

Laura came back from the kitchen. â€˜John? Whatâ€™s wrong?â€™

Sylvie explained.

â€˜And they have enough evidence?â€™

Sylvie shrugged. â€˜Itâ€™s her word against his and for some reason, the Eastbourne police seem to be more inclined to believe him. The thing is, Doctor, I should like to enlist your help.â€™

â€˜Weâ€™re just about to have lunch,â€™ said Laura. â€˜Would you â€¦?â€™

â€˜Love to,â€™ beamed Sylvie.

Laura made an extra place at the table.

â€˜I was horrified to see the state she was in when I got to the hospital,â€™ said Sylvie as they sat down together. â€˜The sister wouldnâ€™t let me in but when sheâ€™d gone off-duty, I managed to twist the staff nurseâ€™s arm. The others had to wait in the car.â€™

â€˜Others?â€™ said Laura.

â€˜I took her friends with me, Ann Pearce, Mary Prior and Edna Gilbert,â€™ Sylvie explained. â€˜Theyâ€™d brought her presents and fruit. Everyone is very upset about Patsy but none of us can believe that Dottie could be in any way responsible.â€™

â€˜I was just saying exactly the same thing to John,â€™ said Laura, warming to Sylvie straightaway. â€˜Peas?â€™

â€˜Thank you.â€™

â€˜How did you find out where I lived?â€™ asked John. He liked Sylvieâ€™s direct manner.

â€˜From Mary Prior. Dottie told her all about you.â€™

â€˜We donâ€™t want Reg to know where Dottie is,â€™ said Sylvie, taking the gravy with a nod of thanks. â€˜So weâ€™re going to spirit her out of hospital tomorrow. Sheâ€™ll stay with Mary for one night and then Iâ€™ll get her back home with me.â€™

â€˜Is that a good idea?â€™

â€˜The poor girl canâ€™t even think straight at the moment,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜What Dottie needs now is a good long rest.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sure youâ€™re right,â€™ said John. â€˜But why do you need me?â€™

â€˜We need to get her a change of clothes and sheâ€™s also asking for her auntâ€™s picture,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜I rather think itâ€™s the one I gave her of me and Dottie and Aunt Bessie during the war. I had it enlarged and framed and gave it to her as a present for putting me up when Michael Gilbert got married.â€™ Sylvie paused for a mouthful. The thing is, everything is in the cottage and since Reg is going around saying heâ€™ll have nothing more to do with Dottie, getting her stuff will be a bit awkward. The others wonâ€™t go and ask for it because theyâ€™re too scared of him so I have to be the one to help her. But Reg and I, well, letâ€™s say thereâ€™s no love lost between us. I need to get in there, get her things and out without him knowing.â€™ She took another mouthful of the roast lamb. â€˜This is absolutely delicious. I hadnâ€™t realised how hungry I was.â€™

â€˜I need to talk to Reg about Patsyâ€™s future,â€™ said John. â€˜I feel obliged to make sure sheâ€™s in a safe place when she comes out of hospital. Iâ€™m not leaving her with someone who has made it clear from the start that he doesnâ€™t want her.â€™

â€˜What will happen to Patsy now, John?â€™ Laura asked.

John shrugged. â€˜If Dottie is arrested, sheâ€™ll most likely end up in a childrenâ€™s home.â€™

Laura stopped eating. â€˜Oh, John, we canâ€™t let that happen!â€™

â€˜I know, Mother.â€™

â€˜Canâ€™t she come here, with us?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m afraid that wouldnâ€™t work, Mother,â€™ said John laying his hand over hers. â€˜You are in no fit state â€¦â€™

â€˜Worse come to the worse,â€™ said Sylvie determinedly. â€˜Robin and I will have her.â€™

John smiled at her. â€˜Youâ€™re a good friend, Sylvie.â€™

They carried on eating and then John said, â€˜What if I take Reg to the Jolly Farmer and ply him with a few drinks while you do what you have to at Dottieâ€™s place?â€™

â€˜Super!â€™ cried Sylvie. â€˜Letâ€™s do it.â€™

Alone in her hospital room, Dottie sighed. All the details were slowly coming back to her. The woman in the kiosk and the man next door. The car ride and Patsyâ€™s roller skates. Sheâ€™d left them on the back seat and during the picnic sheâ€™d decided she wanted them in the bungalow.

â€˜You canâ€™t wear them in the house,â€™ Dottie had said.

â€˜But I need them, Aunt Dottie,â€™ Patsy protested. Somehow or other, they were more than just roller skates to her. They were a connection with someone she loved.

â€˜No,â€™ said Reg.

â€˜But I â€¦â€™

â€˜Leave them, I said!â€™

It was a frightening reversion back to the old Reg after a day of niceness and Patsy had hidden behind her, trembling.

â€˜Come on, love,â€™ Reg coaxed. â€˜Sit here and have a packet of crisps.â€™

The child did as she was told, but it had rather spoiled their picnic. Afterwards, Patsy had wanted to sleep so Dottie had suggested Reg take them back to the hotel.

â€˜Canâ€™t,â€™ said Reg, shaking his head. â€˜Iâ€™ve arranged to meet the bloke selling the bungalow. Heâ€™s coming here in about half and hour.â€™

Remembering all this now made Dottie feel uncomfortable. She climbed out of bed and stood by the window. It was dark on the street below. No one was about. A lone car went down the road. She watched it stop at the junction and turn left.

Dottie laid her hand on her stomach and for a brief moment mourned the loss of her child. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. What sort of life would he have come to? She might even be in prison before long.

The thought of prison focused her mind again. Back in the bungalow, Reg had been very considerate. â€˜Why donâ€™t you have a bit of a lie down?â€™ he had said. Something told her not to do it, but already it was irresistible. She didnâ€™t like being there. The bed wasnâ€™t very savoury and the room smelled but Reg said heâ€™d keep the door open. â€˜Itâ€™ll only be for a minute or two,â€™ heâ€™d assured her. â€˜Just until this bloke comes.â€™

She knew that Reg was counting on using her trust money, of course. Thank God Aunt Bessie had insisted that the trustees had to agree to whatever she wanted to spend. She was confident that theyâ€™d never agree to buy that dump. Reg would go mad when he found out of course, but sheâ€™d worry about that when the time came. Sheâ€™d closed her eyes. Her head was spinning.

Sheâ€™d heard the front door open and someone came in. Reg was talking to whoever it was in low tones and at the time something struck her as odd. It was only now that she recalled what was wrong. Reg had talked about a bloke coming to talk to him about the bungalow. The person outside the bedroom door was a woman.

She must have come into the bedroom at some point. Dottie could remember her heady perfume. Then there was a hissing sound â€“ was that when the gas went out? And then she was aware of several sharp bangs â€¦ that must have been when he broke the tap. Someone shut the door. Come to think of it, she remembered hearing the key turn in the lock. He had definitely locked them both inside!

Dottie felt herself sway and she put her head against the cold glass. How long had she been trying to make her marriage work? What a fool she had been. Heâ€™d never wanted her. Heâ€™d only wanted her money. A distant memory crept back into her brain. â€˜Sheâ€™s worth more to you dead than alive â€¦â€™

She didnâ€™t want to even think it, let alone say it, but Reg had planned to kill her, hadnâ€™t he? Her and Patsy. He hated them both. She clenched her fists. Now that the baby was gone, he had no hold over her, none whatsoever. It was time to get a grip and get herself out of this mess.

Dottie shivered and climbed back into the bed. She may have worked it all out but she was still in trouble. Heâ€™d been trying to stitch her up and so far heâ€™d done a pretty good job. She hugged her knees and rocked herself.

â€˜Youâ€™ve been very clever, Reg,â€™ she said bitterly. â€˜Youâ€™ve convinced just about everyone that Iâ€™m to blame. You think little mousey me will never stand up to you, donâ€™t you? I bet youâ€™re thinking, poor little Dottie, sheâ€™s so weak, sheâ€™ll be a right pushover. Well, I may have been a fool once, Reg, but not any more.â€™ Dottie could feel the strength flowing back into her veins.

She sat up straight and, pulling a notepad out of the locker drawer, she began to list the pros and cons of her present position. She divided the page into two columns.

Reg had told the police he wasnâ€™t at the bungalow at all. That went in the problems column. Talk to the man walking his dog, went in the solution column. Sheâ€™d chatted to him over the wall while Patsy was in the lavvy. Only a brief minute, but surely heâ€™d remember the woman whoâ€™d given him a friendly wave. â€˜My husbandâ€™s fetching us a picnic from the car,â€™ sheâ€™d said.

â€˜Funny place for a picnic, missus!â€™ And theyâ€™d laughed. He was a nice man. With nobody else about, heâ€™d remember her.

Find the roller skates. Patsy had left them in the back seat of the car. Reg must have hired the car from somewhere. There couldnâ€™t be that many places in Eastbourne where you could hire a car.

Then there was the woman at the kiosk. She and Patsy had stopped there for some sweets. Theyâ€™d chatted. The womanâ€™s son had just been posted to Suez.

â€˜I donâ€™t even know what weâ€™re doing in a place like that,â€™ the woman said. â€˜They donâ€™t want us there.â€™

â€˜We always seem to be fighting someone elseâ€™s battles,â€™ Dottie had said as she sympathised with her. Theyâ€™d grumbled about the general election and wondered if Churchill wasnâ€™t a bit too old to be prime minister again and then sheâ€™d asked her if sheâ€™d seen Reg. â€˜Tall, with dark hair,â€™ sheâ€™d told the woman. â€˜Very slim.â€™

The woman shook her head, so Dottie and Patsy had decided to retrace their steps back to the hotel, fearing that theyâ€™d missed Reg and he was still waiting back in the foyer. But a few minutes later, Reg had picked them up and as theyâ€™d driven back past the kiosk, the woman had waved.

Dottie smiled grimly. â€˜Iâ€™m going to nail you, Reg Cox. Youâ€™re not going to get away with this. You may have won the battle but Iâ€™m going to win the war.â€™

Forty-Four

â€˜Itâ€™s all gone!â€™

As Sylvie walked back through Maryâ€™s door, she threw her hands in the air in abject despair.

Mary carried on wiping her hands on her apron. â€˜What are you talking about?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve just been over to Dottieâ€™s to get her things and I went right through the house,â€™ cried Sylvie. â€˜Thereâ€™s not one thing that belonged to Dottie in the place. Heâ€™s got rid of it all.â€™

â€˜But why?â€™ said Mary.

The two women were standing in Maryâ€™s kitchen. Mary was doing the ironing. The kitchen table was covered with an old blanket and then a piece of sheet. The iron was plugged into the light socket overhead.

â€˜Whatever am I going to tell her?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d lend her something of mine,â€™ said Mary, â€˜but sheâ€™s only a slip of the thing.â€™

â€˜I can give her something of mine,â€™ said Sylvie, â€˜but thatâ€™s not the point. He has no right to get rid of her things.â€™ She reached for a cigarette and lit it with a trembling hand. â€˜Iâ€™ll tell you what though â€¦â€™ Sylvie leaned forward and Mary was all ears, â€˜heâ€™s had another woman back there.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re joking!â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜There was a rubber johnny in the bathroom and a bottle of perfume on the dressing table. Pretty powerful stuff, and very expensive. Dottie would never use that.â€™

John Landers pushed the treble Scotch in front of Reg.

â€˜Thanks, Doc,â€™ said Reg with a familiarity which immediately annoyed John. He took a gulp and set down the glass. â€˜Ah, thatâ€™s good. Goes down a treat.â€™

It was as much as John could do not to let his lip curl with disdain. For a man whose wife was about to be charged with attempted murder, he was far too relaxed.

John began with small talk. â€˜Are you going somewhere for Christmas?â€™

Reg shook his head. â€˜Iâ€™m not bothered about Christmas.â€™

John had spent the afternoon with PC Kipling, hoping that he might have found out something which might help Dottie. The only new development had come from the Eastbourne police. They had discovered that Patsy had been drugged before she was gassed.

â€˜Auntie Dottie gave me some tea and it tasted funny,â€™ Patsy had told them.

â€˜Sleeping pills,â€™ Kipper had explained to John. â€˜The bottle was still in the room.â€™

â€˜How does that help Dottie?â€™ John had asked.

â€˜It doesnâ€™t,â€™ Kipper had said as they left the police house together. â€˜The bottle belonged to Elizabeth Thornton â€“ Aunt Bessie â€“ which means that Dottie could have drugged Patsy herself.â€™

â€˜Fingerprints?â€™

â€˜Wiped clean.â€™

â€˜Bit odd,â€™ John remarked. â€˜I mean, if she planned to die herself, why bother?â€™

Kipper nodded in agreement. â€˜Personally I think someone else could have drugged them both but what we need is real, undisputed proof if weâ€™re going to convince anyone of her innocence.â€™

Now, sitting in front of Reg, John wished he could throttle the truth out of him, but he had to keep calm. â€˜How are you coping, Reg?â€™ said John, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

â€˜Bearing up,â€™ said Reg. â€˜When itâ€™s all over, the trial and all, Iâ€™m leaving this bloody village. Too many bad memories.â€™

John nodded. â€˜Have you heard from Dottie?â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t talk to me about that woman,â€™ Reg spat. â€˜She tried to kill my Patsy.â€™

â€˜How is Patsy?â€™

â€˜Fine,â€™ said Reg.

John was only too well aware that Patsy hadnâ€™t had any visitors apart from himself.

â€˜When are you seeing her again?â€™

â€˜To tell the truth,â€™ said Reg quickly. â€˜I was planning to go tomorrow.â€™

You wouldnâ€™t know the truth if it bit you on the bum, thought John.

â€˜Very nice, you giving me a drink and all, Doc,â€™ smiled Reg. â€˜But was there something you wanted?â€™

â€˜This is a bit awkward, Reg,â€™ said John. Reg downed the rest of his drink and stared at his glass. John waved an arm at Terry.

â€˜Fire away, Doc.â€™

â€˜I think it might be a good idea to put Patsy up for adoption,â€™ said John. â€˜What she needs right now is a mum and dad and a good home. I could handle all the arrangements for you, if you like. You neednâ€™t be involved at all. All youâ€™d have to do was sign on the dotted line, so to speak.â€™

Reg stared ahead, unblinking. Terry placed another whisky in front of him. Reg looked up at him and then at John.

â€˜Whatâ€™s the alternative?â€™ asked Reg.

â€˜I canâ€™t really see one, Reg,â€™ said John. â€˜With a full-time job and no wife at home how would you look after Patsy? No, under the circumstances, if she wasnâ€™t adopted, Patsy would have to spend the rest of her life in a childrenâ€™s home.â€™

John saw something in the manâ€™s eye; just a flicker, but it chilled him to the bone. It was a look of triumph.

Reg picked up his glass. â€˜Nobodyâ€™s adopting my Patsy,â€™ he said maliciously. â€˜Not no-how.â€™

Dottie sat perfectly still, her cup of tea in her hand. She and Sylvie waited until the nurse left the ward with the tea trolley then Sylvie handed her a small bundle and Dottie climbed out of bed and padded to the toilet. She changed very quickly. As soon as the staff nurse rang the visitorsâ€™ bell, Dottie emerged, looking every bit as smart as Sylvie always did.

The two women hurried down the corridor with the rest of the visitors and a while later they were both in Sylvieâ€™s car and on their way back to Worthing.

â€˜Heâ€™s probably put all my things in Aunt Bessieâ€™s room,â€™ said Dottie when Sylvie told her all her own things were gone. â€˜He doesnâ€™t like going in there and he doesnâ€™t like me at the moment, so I reckon thatâ€™s what heâ€™s done.â€™

By the time they arrived at Myrtle Cottage, it was very late in the evening.

â€˜Do you want me to go in?â€™ asked Sylvie drawing up outside.

Dottie shook her head. She froze as she thought she saw Reg coming towards her, pushing his bike, but it was just a piece of red cloth flapping on the post guarding the old well.

Dottie ran up the garden path and round the back of the house. She fumbled for the spare key she always kept under the mangle. It was still there but when she tried the door, it was already unlocked.

Dottie crept inside. All she had to do was grab a few things and Auntie Bessieâ€™s picture and then sheâ€™d go â€“ but when she put on the light, she gasped in horror. Sylvie was right. The place had been stripped bare. Nothing of hers remained. All her jams and jellies, her lovely cushions and her pretty chairbacks, even they were all gone. There was a coat hanging on the nail behind the door but it wasnâ€™t hers; a coat with a pretty filigree brooch on the lapel. Dottieâ€™s blood ran cold. That was the brooch sheâ€™d found all that long time ago in the drawer in Regâ€™s shed.

She crept into the sitting room, Aunt Bessieâ€™s picture wasnâ€™t there either. In fact, none of her photographs were here.

Back in the kitchen, Dottie heard a footfall upstairs. Someone else was here! Grabbing the bread knife from the table, she went to the foot of the stairs and looked up. A tarty blonde woman dressed only in a silk petticoat stood at the top.

â€˜Oh,â€™ she said. â€˜Itâ€™s you.â€™

â€˜Who are you?â€™ said Dottie. â€˜You donâ€™t sound very surprised to see me.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not.â€™

â€˜I remember that perfume,â€™ said Dottie slowly. â€˜You were staying in the B&B, and â€¦â€™ she frowned, â€˜you were in the bungalow.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll be more careful next time,â€™ said the woman.

â€˜You tried to kill me,â€™ said Dottie bitterly.

The woman smiled and leaned back against the doorframe. â€˜You mean you tried to kill yourself and the kid.â€™

â€˜You and Reg tried to make it look like that, but I have witnesses â€¦ proof.â€™

The woman stood up straight. â€˜Rubbish! No one will believe you. Youâ€™re only playing the innocent to get hold of Regâ€™s money.â€™

â€˜Reg has no money,â€™ said Dottie coldly. She stared at the woman again. â€˜I know you from somewhere. Iâ€™ve seen you before.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve never seen you before,â€™ said the woman tossing her head defiantly. â€˜Except in a photo.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™s it,â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜Youâ€™re the woman in the photograph. Reg has a picture of you in his shed.â€™

The woman smiled. â€˜The dirty dog,â€™ she said. â€˜He told me heâ€™d got rid of those.â€™

A picture of the woman, some years younger, it was true, and apart from a little more weight, looking much the same, floated before Dottieâ€™s eyes. It was the one sheâ€™d seen the night she found the hammer in Regâ€™s shed. The woman in the photo had fewer clothes on than she did now and she was posing provocatively, but it was her all right. Dottie shuddered.

She turned away in disgust. â€˜Where are my things?â€™

â€˜He got rid of them, chucked them away,â€™ said the woman. â€˜This is his place now. Thereâ€™s nothing here for you, Dot Cox.â€™

Dottieâ€™s head swam. Chucked them away? What, all her clothes? What gave Reg the right to do that? It was all falling into place now. Being nice to her, taking her and Patsy on the trip to Eastbourne â€¦ second honeymoon, my eye. Theyâ€™d planned it all together, hadnâ€™t they? Get her and Patsy to some isolated spot and make it look as if Dottie had planned to commit suicide and ended up killing Patsy. Two birds with one stone. Neat. And it had worked. Theyâ€™d almost done it. And right now she was left with nothing, not even the clothes she stood up in.

â€˜What the hell are you doing here anyway?â€™ the woman said.

Dottie had never felt so angry in her whole life. She put one foot on the bottom stair and the bread knife glistened in her hand. The woman went white and Dottie could see her trembling through her transparent petticoat.

â€˜Havenâ€™t you heard?â€™ said Dottie coldly. â€˜Poor mad killer that I am, Iâ€™ve escaped.â€™

The woman snatched at her own throat.

â€˜Oh yes,â€™ Dottie went on. â€˜Theyâ€™ve found enough evidence to prove it wasnâ€™t me who killed Patsy. They know Reg did it. And whatâ€™s more, they know he wasnâ€™t alone.â€™

â€˜Youâ€™re lying.â€™

â€˜I have never lied to anyone,â€™ said Dottie.

For a second or two, the woman stared at her, then turning away she said, â€˜Iâ€™m getting out of here,â€™ and the bedroom door slammed.

Putting the bread knife back on the table, Dottie hurried back down the path. It wouldnâ€™t be long before Reg came back and the last thing she wanted was to be arrested in her own home.

She paused halfway to the gate, sensing something menacing behind her. Her feet were rooted to the spot. She turned slowly. He was standing by the shed door and took a step towards her.

â€˜Donâ€™t even think about it, Reg,â€™ she said in a voice so full of strength it surprised even herself.

He hesitated. â€˜Yeah, youâ€™re right. Youâ€™re on your way to a long prison sentence. Maybe theyâ€™ll even hang you.â€™

He laughed softly. Dottie heard Sylvie open the car door.

â€˜As soon as youâ€™re safely locked up,â€™ Reg carried on, â€˜me and my Patsy are going to be together.â€™

â€˜Over my dead body,â€™ Dottie spat.

â€˜My Joyce knows some people who would pay good money for a nice little totty like her. They wonâ€™t worry that sheâ€™s a darkie.â€™

Anger blazed up in Dottieâ€™s chest. Behind her, Sylvie called out her name sharply. Shaking with pain and frustration, Dottie turned on her heel and headed for the car.

By the time Tom came downstairs after Mary had called him, Dottie was sitting at the table, with her head in her hands.

â€˜Just look at the state of her, Tom,â€™ cried Mary. â€˜That Reg is a wicked, wicked man.â€™

Sylvie threw herself into a chair and tapped a cigarette on her holder. â€˜She insisted on going in for her things,â€™ she said as if Dottie wasnâ€™t there. â€˜I told her it was all gone, but she would go.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s all right, Sylvie,â€™ said Dottie, sitting up and blowing her nose. â€˜Itâ€™s not your fault.â€™

Tom sat down and took her hands in his. â€˜Itâ€™s good to see you, Dottie. Weâ€™ve been so worried.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m so lucky to have friends like you,â€™ she said softly.

â€˜Couldnâ€™t you find anything, hen?â€™

Dottie shook her head. â€˜Oh, yes, I found something.â€™ They all looked up expectantly. â€˜Regâ€™s fancy woman.â€™

Sylvie groaned.

â€˜You knew?â€™ Dottie said.

â€˜I knew heâ€™d had a woman there,â€™ said Sylvie, â€˜but I didnâ€™t expect her to still be there.â€™

â€˜None of us have seen her,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Not even Ann.â€™

â€˜Who would have thought â€¦?â€™ Tom began.

â€˜I wouldnâ€™t put anything past Reg,â€™ said Dottie. She gave her friends a wry smile. â€˜The trouble is, I canâ€™t prove a thing.â€™

â€˜Sylvie and Dr Landers have been really trying to help you,â€™ said Mary eagerly. â€˜They both went back to Eastbourne again yesterday.â€™

â€˜I found the owner of the bungalow,â€™ said Sylvie. â€˜It wasnâ€™t for sale. Itâ€™ll be demolished.â€™

â€˜And the doctor found the car hire company,â€™ Mary interrupted. â€˜And Patsyâ€™s roller skates on the back seat.â€™

Dottie wiped a renegade tear from her cheek.

â€˜Ah, hen, donâ€™t,â€™ soothed Mary.

â€˜I donâ€™t deserve you,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Course you do,â€™ said Tom. â€˜Wouldnâ€™t you do the same for them if they were in trouble?â€™

â€˜Where are the children?â€™ Dottie asked.

â€˜All in bed, hen,â€™ said Mary. â€˜Itâ€™s all arranged. Youâ€™ll be staying the night with us so you can see them in the morning.â€™

Dottie lifted her hand in protest as Sylvie said, â€˜Then Iâ€™m taking you home with me.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ll just nip down to the pub,â€™ said Tom all at once. â€˜See if the doc is still here.â€™

When heâ€™d gone, Mary leaned over the table and took Dottieâ€™s hands. â€˜Heâ€™s done it because he loves you, hen.â€™

â€˜Who?â€™

â€˜Dr Landers, of course.â€™

â€˜Itâ€™s no use now, Mary. Itâ€™s all gone wrong,â€™ Dottie sighed. â€˜I had proof that the Reg Cox who was Patsyâ€™s father wasnâ€™t the same Reg Cox I married, but itâ€™s gone. He got rid of it when he chucked out all my things.â€™

The kitchen door burst open and there stood Billy. He was in his pyjamas, his hair was tousled and his eyes puffy with sleep.

â€˜Go back to bed, Billy,â€™ said Mary.

â€˜Auntie Dottie!â€™ Ignoring his mother, Billy ran over to Dottie and gave her a hug. â€˜I knew youâ€™d come back.â€™

Dottie held him tight, aware that Billy wasnâ€™t usually so free with his affections.

â€˜Are you coming to live here with us?â€™ asked Billy eventually.

â€˜I canâ€™t, Iâ€™m afraid,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜I have to go away. Have no choice. Iâ€™m in a spot of bother, Billy. I havenâ€™t got a home any more.â€™ She laughed with irony. â€˜I havenâ€™t even got any clothes.â€™

Tom came back indoors. â€˜No sign of the doc in the pub,â€™ he said. â€˜He must be back at his motherâ€™s.â€™

â€˜What am I thinking about?â€™ cried Mary. â€˜Anyone want a cup of tea? Letâ€™s put the kettle on, shall we?â€™

No one noticed Billy slipping outside. It took him only a minute or two to nip down to the shed. Tact told him to leave Patsyâ€™s pile of things but he grabbed all of Dottieâ€™s clothes and raced back up the garden path. His face shone like a belisha beacon as he leaned across the kitchen table and placed the neatly wrapped bundle in front of her. â€˜There you are, Auntie Dottie,â€™ he said proudly. â€˜Here are your clothes.â€™

Dottie gasped with pleasure. â€˜But how â€¦?â€™ she began.

â€˜I collected them when we were carol singing,â€™ he said.

â€˜What!â€™ Tom thundered. â€˜You went into Myrtle Cottage and helped yourself?â€™

â€˜No, Dad,â€™ Billy protested. â€˜Uncle Reg put them out by the gate and me and Paul Dore and Dennis Long found them.â€™

â€˜And theyâ€™re wrapped in Ednaâ€™s new curtains,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜How on earth did you get them back here?â€™ asked Sylvie.

â€˜The pram,â€™ said Billy.

â€˜The pram!â€™ exclaimed his parents.

â€˜Oh Billy, you are amazing!â€™ cried Dottie, giving him a quick hug.

Tom ruffled Billyâ€™s hair. â€˜Well done, son.â€™

It was wonderful to see her powder-blue twinset, her Prince of Wales check skirt, her pink and white check sundress with the bolero once more â€“ but even more amazingly, on the top of her clothes, sat a photo frame. Sylvie and her much younger self smiled up at her with Aunt Bessie, wearing her silly â€¦ wonderful cowboy hat, sitting between them.

Dottie beamed from ear to ear. Lovingly, she wiped her hand across the glass.

â€˜Tom,â€™ she said quietly. â€˜Would you do one more thing for me? Would you get Kipper for me? Tell him to call head office. Tell him, Iâ€™ve got the blighter at last.â€™ She turned the nails on the back of the frame and something fell out. â€˜Iâ€™ve got all the proof I need to expose Reg for the liar and cheat he is.â€™

Mary leaned over her shoulder. â€˜What is it, hen?â€™

â€˜A love letter,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜The one Reg wrote to Sandy all those years ago.â€™ She spread it out in front of them.

â€œMy own true loveâ€™,â€™ Mary quoted. â€˜Ah, Dottie, thatâ€™s beautiful.â€™

Sylvie snorted in disgust.

â€˜Listen to this. â€˜I canâ€™t stop thinking about you, my darling. I have to see you againâ€™,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜And this bit: â€˜I shall never feel about anyone else the way I feel about youâ€™.â€™

Sylvie laid her hand on Dottieâ€™s shoulder. â€˜Dottie, donâ€™t do this to yourself.â€™

Dottie looked up, her eyes sparkling. â€˜Itâ€™s all right,â€™ she said. â€˜I donâ€™t mind at all. Look at it carefully, Sylvie â€¦ do you think my Reg wrote this?â€™

There was a momentâ€™s silence while everyone crowded around.

â€˜Reg couldnâ€™t have written that,â€™ Tom suddenly declared. â€˜Itâ€™s not even his bloody handwriting.â€™

Dottie gave them all a satisfied smile. â€˜Precisely.â€™

Forty-Five

John opened the car door.

â€˜The woman confessed she was at the bungalow as soon as the police went round.â€™

â€˜You know I once found some dirty pictures of her in his shed?â€™

â€˜What!â€™

â€˜I didnâ€™t know who she was of course, but as soon as I saw her on the stairs, I recognised her.â€™

John had just picked Dottie up from the magistratesâ€™ court where, at a hastily convened sitting, Patsy had been placed, temporarily, in her care. The welfare people needed more time to go over the facts of the case for themselves, but they were satisfied that Dottie was completely exonerated of any wrong-doing in the bungalow. Now she and John were on their way to fetch Patsy from hospital.

He started the engine. â€˜Why donâ€™t you and Patsy come and stay with me at my motherâ€™s place?â€™

â€˜I just want to get back home,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜Now that thereâ€™s a warrant out for Regâ€™s arrest, and that woman has been locked up, thereâ€™s no reason why we canâ€™t go back to the village.â€™

He nodded in a resigned sort of a way and the car made its way along the Brighton Road.

â€˜I still donâ€™t like the idea of you being there on your own,â€™ John protested.

â€˜Why ever not?â€™ said Dottie innocently. â€˜I have all my friends around me. I can shout for help if I need it â€¦ which I wonâ€™t. The whole village knows what happened now, John. Myrtle Cottage is perfectly safe.â€™

â€˜I suppose youâ€™re right,â€™ John sighed. He leaned over and squeezed her hand. â€˜I just want to be there for you.â€™

Dottie gently took her hand away. â€˜Can I ask you something? Do you think Reg killed Aunt Bessie?â€™

â€˜I guess weâ€™ll never really know if he intended to kill her,â€™ said John, changing gear. â€˜Since PC Kipling acted on what poor Ernest Franks told him, there can be little doubt that Reg was there the day she died. Marney has confessed that he was lying when he told the police Reg was at work all that day.â€™

â€˜Marney lied for Reg?â€™ Dottie gasped. â€˜Youâ€™re joking!â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t think too badly of him,â€™ said John. â€˜Reg had spun him some yarn and he genuinely thought he was just helping a mate out.â€™

â€˜Did she fall or was she pushed?â€™ Dottie mused.

â€˜I guess weâ€™ll never know.â€™

â€˜One thing is for sure,â€™ said Dottie quietly. â€˜He fully intended to kill Patsy and me.â€™

John glanced across at her. â€˜Yes, Iâ€™m afraid he did.â€™

â€˜I guess he wanted me out of the way so that he could get his hands on the house,â€™ Dottie went on. â€˜But why kill Patsy? Why poor Patsy?â€™

â€˜She was simply in the way,â€™ said John quietly. â€˜My problem is trying to understand why, when it was so obvious she wasnâ€™t his child, he kept up the pretence that he was her father.â€™

â€˜Knowing Reg,â€™ said Dottie bitterly. â€˜He thought there was money in it somewhere.â€™

John reached out and gripped her hand for a second time.

â€˜She was so happy that day we went along the seafront, John,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜She roller skated the whole way. And you should have heard her giggle while we ate that silly picnic on the floor.â€™

â€˜There will be other happy times,â€™ he said, pulling up at a crossroads.

â€˜I should have tried harder. I should have saved her.â€™

â€˜How could you? You were both drugged. Those sleeping pills were quite powerful, you know. Thankfully, youâ€™d pushed her by the door. Enabling her to breathe sweet air while unconscious undoubtedly saved her life.â€™

The road cleared and he pushed the car into gear. Dottieâ€™s mind drifted over the most recent events. Mary had told her that the friends were planning a surprise party for Patsy.

â€˜Did you know about the party?â€™

â€˜I didnâ€™t think they were going to tell you about it,â€™ said John.

â€˜I donâ€™t think they had much choice,â€™ Dottie laughed. â€˜People kept turning up on the doorstep with food!â€™

â€˜The last time I went to see Patsy,â€™ John said, â€˜she asked me about it. She was scared sheâ€™d missed it.â€™

â€˜Then it wasnâ€™t much of a surprise,â€™ Dottie observed. â€˜Anyway, weâ€™ll do it another time. Too much excitement for Patsy may not be good for her so soon after being in hospital.â€™

They drove on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. John was thinking about his new post. He had spent some time looking for a practice in need of a GP and had been delighted to find one in nearby Littlehampton, badly in need of a third partner. Drs Green and Noble seemed amiable enough and their practice was growing. The location couldnâ€™t have been better: Littlehampton was close to both Worthing and Yapton.

No, he had told them, he had no family commitments, but he had been nursing an aged mother who had been ill, but was now recovering. Yes, he thought he would settle in the area. Every third weekend off sounded reasonable, and he wouldnâ€™t mind being on call a little more often than the others. And yes, he could start at once. He was due to start the following Monday and after all this time, he couldnâ€™t wait to get back into the swing of things. Apart from being called upon a few times to help out as a locum and writing an article for The Lancet, he hadnâ€™t done very much since he came back from Australia.

He glanced over at Dottie again. He still had to tell her something else. Was she up to hearing more bad news? In the end, he decided it would be better to tell her now, while they were still alone. Maryâ€™s house was chock-a-block full with children and visitors, and once Patsy was with them it would be impossible to have an adult conversation.

Dottie was thinking about the future. Sheâ€™d wondered whether to go back to work for Mariah Fitzgerald, and Janet Cooper. The thought wasnâ€™t very appealing, but sheâ€™d have to do something if she was going to support Patsy by herself. She knew what sheâ€™d like to do â€“ her furnishings â€“ but was she right to take a gamble at such a time as this? And what about John? Once this was all over, would she ever see him again?

â€˜Dottie,â€™ John interrupted. â€˜I found out something else. I donâ€™t know how youâ€™re going to feel about it, but I think itâ€™s important that you should know.â€™

She turned her head.

â€˜Iâ€™ve discovered that Reg Cox wasnâ€™t even his real name. He stole it from a dead man. The real Reg Cox was killed at the end of 1942. Ernest Franks, your tramp, told Kipper.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not surprised,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜When Patsy came, you gave us a case full of papers, remember? That first night, I went through it and I came across a beautiful love letter from Reg to Sandy. I knew straight away that my Reg hadnâ€™t written it. Apart from anything else, the handwriting was a dead giveaway.â€™

â€˜Why didnâ€™t you say something?â€™

â€˜I didnâ€™t want to upset Patsy. Sheâ€™d come all this way and I thought it would hurt her deeply if she realised from the outset that Reg wasnâ€™t her father. I kept hoping heâ€™d come round.â€™

â€˜I canâ€™t imagine your Reg writing a love letter.â€™

Dottie gave a hollow laugh. â€˜Neither can I.â€™

â€˜Oh, Dottie, Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ he said quickly, kicking himself for being so thoughtless.

â€˜Donâ€™t be,â€™ she smiled. â€˜At least weâ€™ve still got it, that and a picture of Sandy with Patsy in her arms. Reg burned almost everything else.â€™

â€˜A picture of Sandy with Patsy in her arms?â€™

â€˜The one of her in the nurseâ€™s uniform,â€™ said Dottie.

John frowned. â€˜Iâ€™ve seen that. Kipper showed me, but thatâ€™s not Sandy. Thatâ€™s Brenda.â€™

â€˜Brenda!â€™

â€˜She brought Patsy into the world,â€™ said John. â€˜Thatâ€™s how they met, Brenda and Sandy, on the maternity ward.â€™

For a moment, Dottie was completely dumbstruck. â€˜But Reg told me it was Sandy.â€™ She paused. â€˜That proves beyond a shade of a doubt that he never knew her, doesnâ€™t it?â€™

â€˜Absolutely,â€™ John agreed.

â€˜The real Reg must have loved Sandy very much.â€™

â€˜I think he did,â€™ said John, â€˜but she knew her family would never accept him. Heâ€™d lived in this country much of his life, but Reg Cox was half-caste. Ernest thought he was Jamaican but his parents came from East Africa, a place called Zanzibar. His father, Almas Jaffer, was the skipper of the Al Said, which used to be called the SS Drake and was bought for the Zanzibar Protectorate back in 1934. I found a whole article about him in The People.â€™

Dottie was intrigued. â€˜Really?â€™

â€˜It was unusual to see a black man in those days,â€™ John went on, â€˜let alone a whole shipload of them. The press invited the crew to Croydon airport and they watched West Ham play against Plymouth at Upton Park.â€™

â€˜And you say this Almuck â€¦â€™

â€˜Almas Jaffer.â€™

â€˜â€¦ was Reg Coxâ€™s father?â€™

â€˜So it would seem,â€™ said John. â€˜According to The People, he had two fat wives back home, one a native, the other a white missionaryâ€™s daughter. Almas Jaffer brought Reg, who was about twelve at the time, back to this country to be educated. I suppose the family must have changed his name to spare their blushes.â€™

â€˜And when he grew up, Sandy fell in love with him.â€™

â€˜She had his child and kept it a secret because of her family, but as it turns out, he was killed in an air raid. I guess poor Sandy never knew that.â€™

â€˜How sad,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜It gets worse,â€™ said John. â€˜I looked up the newspaper reports at the time. Apparently, as he lay on the ground, he was robbed. He was still alive when the medics got to him, but died some time later.â€™

Dottie gasped. â€˜You mean, you think Reg took his ID and left him for dead?â€™

John nodded. â€˜Looks like it.â€™

Dottie felt the shame. â€˜I canâ€™t believe the brass neck of the man!â€™

â€˜Did you keep the love letter?â€™

â€˜Of course. I hid it where I knew Reg would never look for it, behind the picture of Aunt Bessie. I knew, given half the chance, Reg would get rid of the picture as soon as he could, which was why I had to get it as soon as possible. Thank God for little Billy.â€™

â€˜Indeed,â€™ John agreed.

â€˜Between us,â€™ Dottie went on, â€˜Ernest Franks and I have given Kipper the cast-iron evidence he needs to prove that Reg was a fraud.â€™

â€˜Oh, Dottie,â€™ said John quietly, â€˜thereâ€™s one more thing you donâ€™t know.â€™

â€˜What?â€™

â€˜Ernest Franks is dead.â€™

For a few moments Dottie was silent. â€˜Poor man. He suffered so much.â€™ She sighed. â€˜Rest in peace, dear Ernest.â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s with his beloved Eileen and Bobbie now.â€™ John waited a second or two then asked. â€˜Do you think Reg attacked Ernest?â€™

â€˜He did,â€™ Dottie nodded, â€˜with a hammer. I found it all wrapped up in a piece of cloth in Regâ€™s shed. Of course, I didnâ€™t know then but something made me hide it in the henhouse. Mary and Ann told me it was in the well, so when Reg went back to the house that morning, he must have thrown it there.â€™

â€˜I guess he thought the weight of the hammer would take the whole lot, chickens and all, to the bottom,â€™ said John. â€˜He couldnâ€™t have known the well was collapsing.â€™

â€˜None of us expected that,â€™ said Dottie. â€˜But Kipper had the hammer checked: Ernestâ€™s blood was on it. In actual fact, Ernest came to the house twice.â€™

â€˜Twice?â€™

â€˜The first time Ernest came back, the time he left the note on the windowsill, he had no idea Aunt Bessie was dead,â€™ Dottie said. â€˜He told Kipper heâ€™d come back to tell her heâ€™d made a new life for himself. Thatâ€™s why he left a note saying â€˜I did it!â€™

John nodded sagely.â€™ And the second time?â€™

â€˜It was because heâ€™d seen a newspaper cutting, and he knew that Reg was lying when he told the police he wasnâ€™t there on the day Aunt Bessie died.â€™

â€˜I never did work out why Reg killed your chickens,â€™ said John.

â€˜Who can understand a warped mind like Regâ€™s,â€™ Dottie observed.

The Royal Alexander Hospital for Sick Children was in Dyke Road, Brighton. They parked the car and walked quickly to the ward where Patsy was.

â€˜Do you think sheâ€™ll blame me?â€™ Dottie asked.

â€˜I donâ€™t think so,â€™ he assured her. â€˜No, not at all.â€™

All the same, Dottieâ€™s hands were trembling and her knees like jelly by the time theyâ€™d made themselves known at the desk.

â€˜Ah, yes,â€™ said the sister. â€˜Nurse Doughty is just getting her dressed.â€™

There was a footfall in the corridor, and Patsy cried out, â€˜Uncle John, Uncle John.â€™

They turned and there she was. A little pale, but she was beaming from ear to ear and clutching Suzy, her toy elephant. John put his arms out and she ran to him. Dottie smiled as he swept her off her feet and twirled around. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her head in the folds of his coat.

â€˜Come on now, young lady,â€™ said John. â€˜Letâ€™s get you home.â€™

Patsy pulled away from him. â€˜Whereâ€™s Auntie Dottie?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m here, love,â€™ Dottie squeaked. Her throat had closed and she could hardly speak.

Patsy reached around and put out her arms towards Dottie. Dottie took her from John and hugged her tightly. Oh, the joy to have her in her arms once more! Dottieâ€™s eyes brimmed with tears and she let out an involuntary sob.

Patsy leaned back and looked at her with a puzzled expression. â€˜Auntie Dottie, why are you crying?â€™

â€˜Because Iâ€™m so happy to see you,â€™ Dottie laughed.

Patsy put her hands on either side of Dottieâ€™s face. â€˜Donâ€™t cry. I was all right. I had Suzy to look after me.â€™

â€˜Of course, how silly of me to worry,â€™ said Dottie, swallowing hard. She took a deep breath. â€˜Come on. Uncle John is taking us home.â€™

As Dottie put her back on the floor, Patsy looked around anxiously. â€˜Whereâ€™s Uncle Reg?â€™

Dottie stiffened. â€˜Uncle Reg has gone away,â€™ she said.

â€˜Is he coming back?â€™

â€˜No.â€™

â€˜Not ever?â€™

â€˜Not ever.â€™

â€˜Good,â€™ said Patsy, as she skipped towards the door. â€˜I donâ€™t like that daddy.â€™

Forty-Six

They reached Maryâ€™s house just as the bakerâ€™s boy was making a delivery.

â€˜Are we going to live with Auntie Mary?â€™ asked Patsy.

â€˜No, weâ€™re going home,â€™ said Dottie, â€˜but we thought youâ€™d like to see your friends first.â€™

Maureen and Susan emerged from the house and rushed down the path, crying, â€˜Patsy, Patsy â€¦â€™

Billy hung back by the door. He had his hands in his pockets. He kicked an imaginary stone on the step as he watched his sisters jumping around Patsy. Dottie noticed a slight smile playing on his lips.

â€˜Hello, Billy,â€™ said Patsy. â€˜Iâ€™ve been in hospital.â€™

Billy stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. â€˜You all right now?â€™

He dug out a sweet and handed it to her. â€˜Iâ€™ve been saving it for you,â€™ he said. â€˜Itâ€™s got a bit of fluff on it, but I ainâ€™t sucked it, honest.â€™

Patsy laughed. â€˜Thanks,â€™ she said, popping it in her mouth.

As they walked in the door, Mary handed Dottie five pounds.

â€˜Whatâ€™s that for?â€™

â€˜Gerald brought it round. Itâ€™s what he got for the pig.â€™ She grinned, â€˜Minus a bit of commission.â€™

Dottie laughed.

There was a white box on the kitchen table. â€˜This has just come for you.â€™

Maureen and Susan edged up to them. When Dottie lifted the lid she gasped. It was a cake covered in pink and white icing with a large pink rose on the top.

John caught his breath. â€˜Where did that come from?â€™

Maureen beamed. â€˜Patsy done it, didnâ€™t you, Pats?â€™

Patsy frowned crossly. â€˜O-oh! It was supposed to be for the â€™prise party.â€™

Maureenâ€™s smile died and she looked apprehensive.

â€˜Ummm,â€™ Susan said to her sister. â€˜You shouldnâ€™t have told.â€™

â€˜Where did the cake come from?â€™ Dottie asked gently.

Susan and Patsy went red and stared at the floor.

â€˜Me and Patsy went to the cake shop,â€™ Maureen piped up. â€˜Patsy said for it to come today and the lady wrote it all down.â€™

â€˜But how did you pay for it, love?â€™ asked Dottie. â€˜You donâ€™t have any money.â€™

â€˜Are you cross with me?â€™ Patsy asked.

Dottie crouched down. â€˜Of course not, love,â€™ she said. â€˜Itâ€™s the nicest thing anyone ever gave me.â€™ She opened her arms and Patsy went to her.

â€˜Patsy used a whole pound note,â€™ said Maureen. â€˜Didnâ€™t you, Pats? She got it off that old lady.â€™

â€˜My mother,â€™ whispered John. â€˜Remember â€¦?â€™

Then Dottie remembered Laura giving the child a pound note that first day they went to the cottage. Buy something special, Laura had told the child â€“ and sheâ€™d spent every last penny on a cake for her! Immediately the tears sprang into her eyes and she had a lump in her throat the size of a grapefruit. Her heart was overwhelmed with love for this beautiful child.

â€˜Come on, you two,â€™ said Mary briskly, putting her hands in the small of her daughtersâ€™ backs. â€˜Come out to the kitchen with me.â€™

â€˜Maureen told Patsy about the party, Mum,â€™ said Susan.

â€˜I never!â€™ Maureen protested.

â€˜Oh yes, you did â€¦ I said youâ€™d get told off.â€™

â€˜I never, Mum,â€™ Maureen insisted.

â€˜Itâ€™s all right, mâ€™duck. Nobodyâ€™s cross with you.â€™ Their voices faded as Mary closed the door.

Dottie reached for her handkerchief. â€˜Auntie Laura meant you to have that money for yourself, darling,â€™ she said dabbing her eyes. â€˜But thank you for doing that. Itâ€™s lovely.â€™

â€˜Can I have some?â€™

Dottie laughed. â€˜Of course you can.â€™

Patsy wriggled out of Dottieâ€™s arms. â€˜Can I go and play with Maureen now?â€™

Dottie stood up. â€˜Off you go then.â€™

She hurried out of the room and in a short while Dottie could hear the girls giggling. Dottie looked down at the cake again.

â€˜Oh John, Iâ€™ve been an absolute idiot. I didnâ€™t really want her in the first place but Patsy is such a lovely child. And I wanted so much to believe that Reg would come round. I kept thinking, perhaps not today, but thereâ€™s always tomorrow.â€™ She broke off and looked away.

â€˜Everyone was fooled,â€™ said John softly. â€˜Itâ€™s not your fault that you always look for the good in people.â€™

â€˜I married a monster.â€™

â€˜Ah, thereâ€™s one more thing I havenâ€™t told you,â€™ said John cautiously. â€˜Iâ€™m not sure if you even realise, but you two were never even married.â€™

She frowned.

â€˜Because he used a false name, that makes your marriage null and void,â€™ said John. â€˜And besides, he already has a wife under his real name.â€™

Dottie raised an eyebrow.

â€˜That woman he had in your house,â€™ said John, â€˜his accomplice. Her name is Joyce Sinclair.â€™

Dottie let out a hollow laugh. â€˜How ironic,â€™ she said harshly. â€˜All I ever wanted was to be a respectable married woman with a family. Now I turn out to be the bigamous wife of a would-be murderer. How far from respectable can you get?â€™

â€˜None of this is your fault,â€™ said John.

â€˜Do you think theyâ€™ll ever catch him?â€™

â€˜Heâ€™s as slippery as an eel, that one,â€™ said John. â€˜Only one thing is for sure, heâ€™ll be far, far away by now.â€™

Dottieâ€™s chin quivered as she ran her finger along the top of the cake. She sighed. â€˜What a lovely thing to do.â€™

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. â€˜Can we come in, Uncle John?â€™

John grinned. â€˜I suppose they have been waiting a very long time,â€™ he said glancing at his watch. â€˜At least fifteen seconds.â€™

â€˜More than a lifetime,â€™ she laughed.

She watched the children swarm over him. He was wonderfully patient and heâ€™d make a terrific father one day. She glanced down at the inscription on the cake again, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt her heart soar.

The pink icing said it all. â€˜For Mummy Dottie.â€™

In the week before Christmas, Mary, Edna, Ann and Peaches decided to go ahead with the welcome party. Christmas Day fell on the Tuesday and everybody agreed that after the usual family affair, they would gather in Ednaâ€™s barn for a barn dance and make it a Christmas to remember.

They spent Christmas Eve decorating the barn with paper chains.

â€˜Whoever thought up that idea deserves a medal,â€™ Mary declared. â€˜It kept the kids quiet all day.â€™

Janet Cooper finally got rid of the box of balloons left over from the VJ Day celebrations. Gerald, Tom and Jack swept out the barn and Michael arranged some bales of straw around the edge for seating. By the time the caller arrived, the trestle tables borrowed from the village hall groaned with leftover Christmas fare and plenty more besides.

Patsy was very excited. She and the other children had been doing some country dancing at school and this was a wonderful opportunity to show off their skills. Even more thrilling, Dottie had given Patsy Aunt Bessieâ€™s old cowboy hat to wear.

â€˜Whereâ€™s John?â€™ asked Mary as Dottie struggled through the door with a sherry trifle.

â€˜On duty.â€™

â€˜On Christmas Day?â€™

â€˜Somebodyâ€™s got to do it,â€™ smiled Dottie. â€˜He said heâ€™d try and come over later if everything was quiet, but I know heâ€™s worried about a couple of pregnant patients.â€™

She and John had had a long talk soon after Patsy came out of hospital. John wasnâ€™t too keen, but sheâ€™d persuaded him that she needed to be on her own for a bit. They were still seeing each other but, for the first time in her life, Dottie was making her own decisions and plans.

â€˜What a shame,â€™ Ann sighed. â€˜After all weâ€™ve been through, we should all be together tonight.â€™ Vince came up and handed her a milk stout. As she took it, he put his arm around her shoulders and she smiled up at him happily. â€˜Everyone should be with the people they love at Christmas.â€™

Dottie and Mary exchanged a grin as they left them to it. Several kids playing kiss chase dashed through the straw bales. â€˜Calm down,â€™ Mary shouted.

By the time Dottie got back home that night, it was very late. Patsy was so tired she struggled to walk up the path so Michael Gilbert swept her up in his arms and carried her indoors and upstairs to her bedroom. While Dottie undressed her, Michael went back to his truck to fetch the presents.

â€˜Are you sure youâ€™re going to be all right here on your own?â€™ he asked.

â€˜Michael,â€™ Dottie chided gently. â€˜Iâ€™m a big girl now and I can look after myself.â€™ But she knew why he was concerned.

Earlier in the evening, Mary had said anxiously, â€˜I think you should stay here with us tonight, hen.â€™

â€˜Whatever for?â€™ cried Dottie. â€˜As far as Reg knows, weâ€™re still at Sylvieâ€™s. Besides, coming back here would be the last thing he would do.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sure your John wouldnâ€™t like you to be on your own,â€™ Ann cautioned.

â€˜John is a dear man,â€™ Dottie had said, â€˜but I can make my own decisions. Stop worrying.â€™

Tom wasnâ€™t so sure either. â€˜Reg can be very vindictive, Dottie. I think you should do as Mary says.â€™

â€˜Thank you for your concern,â€™ said Dottie stiffly, â€˜but really, thereâ€™s no need.â€™

Now that she was back home, Dottie didnâ€™t like to admit she was a little nervous.

â€˜Iâ€™ll stay if you like,â€™ Michael said. â€˜I can sleep on the sofa downstairs.â€™

Dottie smiled. â€˜Iâ€™ll be fine.â€™

â€˜Lock all the doors,â€™ Michael cautioned as he left.

â€˜I always do,â€™ Dottie smiled. She kissed his cheek. â€˜Donâ€™t you worry about me. You get your Freda home to bed. She looks all done in, poor girl.â€™

Before she went to bed, Dottie tidied up the toys and made herself a cocoa. Climbing the stairs to her room, she found that she was missing John. Having her independence was wonderful, but she wished he was here right now.

She opened the door slightly and listened to Patsyâ€™s deep rhythmic breathing. It was like music to Dottieâ€™s ears and she couldnâ€™t resist creeping in and giving her a kiss on her forehead. Patsy stirred in her sleep. As quietly as she could, Dottie crept outside. Sheâ€™d leave the toys until the morning. If she tidied them away in Patsyâ€™s room, she might wake her. She put Aunt Bessieâ€™s hat on the top of the pile and left them.

Back in her own room, she wished John was here once again. And if he was here â€¦ Humming to herself, she climbed into bed and turned out the light.

As soon as the door creaked open, Dottie held her breath. A tall figure was standing in the doorway with one hand on the latch. He waited, watching the bed for any sign of movement and then looked behind him towards the landing.

He stepped into the room and Dottie saw the glint of the knife in his hand. With one fluid movement, he was beside the bed and slashing at the bedclothes.

â€˜Bitch,â€™ he hissed. â€˜Bloody bitch.â€™

Dottie didnâ€™t move. Please, please, she prayed. Donâ€™t let Patsy hear him, donâ€™t let her wake up.

Dottie had known the minute she saw him that it was Reg. The others had been right. She wished to God sheâ€™d listened, but she hadnâ€™t and now sheâ€™d put Patsyâ€™s life in danger once again. A murderous intent had driven him back to the one place she honestly thought heâ€™d never return. When sheâ€™d heard the key in the lock, sheâ€™d realised heâ€™d got into the house the same way she had â€“ heâ€™d used the spare key under the mangle.

As soon as sheâ€™d heard him, something made her get out of bed and stuff the spare pillows under the bedclothes. Sheâ€™d only just managed to stop the coat hangers rattling in the wardrobe where she was hiding as heâ€™d come into the room. The door was shut, but she could watch his every move through the crack above the mirror.

A light went on outside and Patsy called out, â€˜Mummy.â€™

Reg sprang like a cat towards the door. Dottieâ€™s heart went into her mouth. He was after Patsy too. Stumbling out into the room, Dottie dashed onto the landing.

Patsy had opened her door wide and stood tousled-haired, rubbing her eyes in the doorway. When she looked up and saw Reg, she froze. Dottieâ€™s heart was pounding but from deep within her she found a strong and commanding voice.

â€˜Patsy, go back into your room and shut the door â€¦ now!â€™

Patsy fled. Her door banged. Reg rounded on Dottie and his narrowed eyes seem to change colour. He was so terrifying, she thought she was going to faint.

â€˜Iâ€™m going to kill you, bitch,â€™ Reg snarled. â€˜Youâ€™ve ruined my life. You and that bloody aunt of yours.â€™

Dottie could feel her knees knocking. â€˜Did you kill Aunt Bessie?â€™

â€˜Of course I did,â€™ said Reg.

Dottie took in her breath.

â€˜You should have seen her face,â€™ Reg grinned. His eyes were bright with excitement. â€˜She was standing right where you are now.â€™

Dottieâ€™s knees went to jelly.

â€˜Didnâ€™t take much. Just one little push.â€™

â€˜Why?â€™ Dottie squeaked.

â€˜The stupid cow found out I was still married.â€™ Reg kicked at Aunt Bessieâ€™s hat and stamped on it. â€˜Bloody bitch.â€™

Dottie trembled as Reg threw back his head and let out a hideous laugh. â€˜Know what?â€™ he sneered. â€˜She never touched one bloody stair all the way down.â€™

A door closed downstairs and they both looked down. John Landers and Kipper were standing in the small hallway.

â€˜So now we know, Reg,â€™ said Kipper. â€˜That was as good a confession as Iâ€™ve ever heard.â€™

â€˜Dottie, be careful!â€™ John frantic cry coincided with Regâ€™s loud roar as he made a dash towards Dottie. He was still standing on Aunt Bessieâ€™s hat and somehow the chinstrap had looped itself over his other foot. The little landing didnâ€™t allow him much room for manoeuvre. Reg looked down, and lost his balance. For a couple of seconds, he flailed his arms, but he couldnâ€™t seem to stop himself from falling. He let out a single cry of panic before tumbling over the top stair and there was a sickening thud as he hit his head at the bottom. Dottie turned her head away.

In the ominous silence that followed, John leaned over him. â€˜Heâ€™s dead,â€™ he said quietly. â€˜His neck is broken.â€™

A small voice called from behind the bedroom door. â€˜Mummy â€¦â€™ And anxious that the child shouldnâ€™t come out and see what had happened, Dottie dashed across the landing into Patsyâ€™s room.

Forty-Seven

The first flurry of snow began as they drove out of Worthing. By the time theyâ€™d reached the turnoff for Yapton, it was beginning to settle. It was 1952, one year later and Christmas Eve. Dottie and John were on their way to pick up his mother for Christmas in the village. Sheâ€™d left Patsy and the others back at Maryâ€™s place, busy making mince pies for the carol service in St Andrewâ€™s later that evening.

â€˜What a difference a year makes,â€™ John grinned.

Dottie nodded slowly, remembering last Christmas when Reg had broken into Myrtle Cottage and fallen down the stairs. Thank God John and the policeman had been there.

Kipper, anxious that Dottie would be in the house on her own, had rung John to tell him Reg had been spotted in the area. John was so frantic, heâ€™d arranged for his colleague to cover for him while he drove over to Worthing to make sure that Dottie was all right.

The two of them had arrived just in time to see Reg enter the cottage. John was all for arresting him there and then but Kipper held back and as a result theyâ€™d heard Regâ€™s confession. When it was all over, Dottie was surprised that she felt no grief. In fact, she didnâ€™t feel anything. She had been married to him and now he was gone.

The past twelve months had brought a complete change in all their circumstances. Gary was back home with Peaches and Jack and Mandy. Heâ€™d made such good progress heâ€™d been able to shed the calliper, although he still walked with a slight limp. Everyone agreed heâ€™d made an amazing recovery.

Michael and Freda had a bouncing baby boy, birth weight nine pounds, and Dottie had been asked to be godmother.

â€˜Imagine that,â€™ Mary gasped. â€˜None of mine were more than seven pounds and that little slip of a girl gives birth to an elephant!â€™

In the same month, King George VI died of lung cancer. Like thousands of others, Dottie, Peaches, Ann and Mary huddled together around the wireless and wept.

In March, Dottie put Myrtle Cottage up for sale. By the time the May blossom was out, Ann and Vince were married. â€˜Iâ€™m Mrs Vincent Dobbs,â€™ Ann sighed as Dottie, Peaches and Mary helped her change into her going-away outfit. She held out her left hand and the gold band on her finger glistened in the light. â€˜It so good to have a man to lean on.â€™

â€˜Thereâ€™s nothing like a good wedding,â€™ said Peaches, digging Dottie in the ribs.

Dottie felt her face colour. She and John were very close, but ever since Reg died, he hadnâ€™t even mentioned marriage. â€˜I want to stand on my own two feet,â€™ said Dottie, keen to put a stop to her friendsâ€™ speculation. â€˜Iâ€™ve decided I donâ€™t need a man to be happy.â€™

Peaches shook her head. â€˜Oh, Dottie â€¦â€™

But Mary had surprised them all by saying, â€˜Good for you, hen.â€™

Dottie said nothing. Even if she had the chance to marry John, perhaps the stigma of her once living with a murderer might damage his career.

With the five hundred pounds she got for the sale of the cottage, Dottie had bought a small shop in the centre of Worthing and set up her own furnishing business. Sylvie had recommended her to all her friends and Dottie had a full order book before Fabulous Furnishings had even opened its doors. Mariah Fitzgerald couldnâ€™t wait to tell all her friends that she had been the one who discovered Dottie. Her beautifully decorated bedroom became the talk of the Golf Club. By Whitsun, the requests were coming in so fast, Dottie was forced to close for a week to teach Ann how to measure up accurately. Mary said Dottie was kindness itself, but Dottie felt Ann simply needed a leg up. After all, she was a quick-witted and intelligent woman.

Patsy was really settled now. She and Billy had both passed their eleven plus and were doing well at school.

By the end of the summer, despite her best efforts to convince herself that he was just a friend, Dottie was still hopelessly in love with John. She deeply regretted holding him at armâ€™s length now, but he seemed happy to leave things as they were.

As she and John drove out of town to fetch his mother, Dottieâ€™s mind drifted back to the night before when she and Mary had been filling their hot water bottles. She and Patsy had left their little flat over the shop and come to stay with the Priors for Christmas.

â€˜John wants to help me adopt Patsy officially.â€™ Dottie had told her.

â€˜Oh? I didnâ€™t think it was possible for a single woman to adopt a child.â€™

â€˜Apparently, because Iâ€™m a woman of independent means, I may be able to do it if I get the backing of a professional.â€™

â€˜But if you and John got married,â€™ said Mary pointedly, â€˜there would be no problem at all.â€™ Dottie looked away. Mary pressed the filled bottle to her chest until the water drew level with the top and then she screwed in the stopper. â€˜You love him, donâ€™t you?â€™

â€˜You know I do,â€™ said Dottie.

â€˜Well then?â€™ said Mary.

â€˜I think heâ€™s changed his mind,â€™ said Dottie. She sighed. â€˜Maybe itâ€™s just as well. I may have been exonerated from the goings-on in Eastbourne, but in the kind of circles where he mixes, you know what theyâ€™re like. Theyâ€™ll say thereâ€™s no smoke without fire.â€™

â€˜Now youâ€™re being silly,â€™ scoffed Mary. â€˜Why should he care what people think? And besides, youâ€™re a rich woman, Dottie Cox. You can afford to move away and start all over again.â€™

â€˜I couldnâ€™t bear to be parted from all of you!â€™ Dottie cried. â€˜Where would I find such wonderful friends? Anyway, itâ€™s nothing to do with money. Itâ€™s class. John has a position to keep up. Heâ€™ll choose a wife whoâ€™ll play the hostess and stay at home. Now that Iâ€™ve had a taste of running my own business, Iâ€™m not sure I could go back to all that.â€™

Mary had plonked herself on the edge of the kitchen table. â€˜Sometimes you do talk utter rot, Dottie. Youâ€™re just putting up obstacles. What does it matter when two people love each other?â€™

â€˜What do you mean?â€™

â€˜My Tom had his own Post Office when I met him.â€™

â€˜So?â€™

â€˜I worried that he was just looking for a post mistress to help him,â€™ Mary went on. â€˜I mean, Iâ€™m hardly Joan Crawford, am I? Just look at me.â€™ She was dressed for bed in her nightie and plaid dressing gown; her moth-eaten slippers peeped out from underneath and her hair was in curlers.

Dottie laughed and gave her a cuddle.

â€˜When my Tom married me,â€™ Mary went on, â€˜I was a fat widow with three kids. Now Iâ€™m an even fatter wife with five kids.â€™

â€˜Donâ€™t be silly,â€™ Dottie laughed. â€˜Tom doesnâ€™t care a stuff about any of that. Heâ€™s crazy about you. He just wanted to be with you â€¦ to love you â€¦â€™ Her voice trailed and Mary lifted one eyebrow.

â€˜Precisely. And your John feels the same about you.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m not so sure â€¦â€™

â€˜Dottie, the man loves you,â€™ said Mary in a slightly exasperated tone. â€˜For heavenâ€™s sake, relax a little. Encourage him when heâ€™s being loving towards you. Youâ€™re a warm person. Itâ€™s about time you knew what real love is. Give him a chance. Just let him love you â€¦â€™

Just let him love you. The words had played over and over in her mind ever since and now that she was in his car, heading towards Yapton, she couldnâ€™t think of anything else. Mary was right. He was so gentle, so caring. All through those dark and terrible days, the thought that he was still there had kept her going. Theyâ€™d had some wonderful times during the past year, but did he really love her enough to want to be together for the rest of their lives? She glanced at his profile as he drove and her whole being lurched with desire. Mary had said it was about time she knew what real love was, and now at last, she knew Mary was right. But was it too late? Oh, John â€¦ John â€¦ have I been a complete idiot?

â€˜Looks like weâ€™ll have a white Christmas,â€™ he said, suddenly turning to look at her.

Dottieâ€™s face coloured and she looked away quickly. She was glad the inside of the car was dark. â€˜I hope we donâ€™t get snowed in,â€™ she remarked light-heartedly.

â€˜I hope we do,â€™ he said and they both laughed.

Encourage him, Mary said. Dottie took a deep breath and her heart was in her mouth but she took a chance. She reached out and put her hand on his leg. She felt him stiffen. Oh God, she shouldnâ€™t have done it. What would he think of her? She began to take her hand away but he reached out, caught it and put it back on his leg. Neither of them spoke but they drove for several miles with his hand pressed over hers.

His motherâ€™s cottage looked as pretty as a picture postcard as they stepped out into the road. They hurried up the path. Dottie reached out for the doorbell but John caught her hand. â€˜Hang on a minute,â€™ he said breathlessly. â€˜Iâ€™ve left something in the car.â€™

He took a few minutes to find whatever it was but eventually he ran back up the path. Although she was standing under the porch, the dormant rambling rose hanging over the roof afforded little protection from the prevailing wind. â€˜Hurry up,â€™ she laughed, as she stamped her feet to keep warm. â€˜Itâ€™s perishing cold here.â€™

He stopped short of the doorway and knelt on the ground.

â€˜What are you doing?â€™ she said; ever practical, added, â€˜John, youâ€™ll ruin your trousers.â€™

â€˜I love you, Dottie, darling,â€™ he said gravely. â€˜Will you marry me?â€™

She caught her breath. The sight of him, kneeling on the freezing cold pathway, the snow falling steadily onto his upturned face was almost too much. He loved her â€¦ he loved her â€¦

â€˜Oh, John, youâ€™re beginning to look like a snowman,â€™ she laughed, afraid of the trembling passion rising in her veins.

â€˜Then put me out of my misery,â€™ he said, opening a small red box and holding it up to her. â€˜Please say yes. It doesnâ€™t have to be right away if you donâ€™t want it. Iâ€™ll wait for as long as it takes, but please, please say youâ€™ll marry me.â€™

She glanced down at the diamond ring, twinkling in the moonlight. The sighing of the wind through the bare rose bush seemed to echo Maryâ€™s words. Just let him love you â€¦

Shivering furiously, she looked into his dear, dear face. â€˜Oh, yes, John, yes.â€™

With a broad grin, he slipped the ring on the third finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly. Then he stood up and opened out his coat. She went into his arms, the warmth of his body and his gentle kiss chasing away all the bitterness and sorrow of her cold and loveless yesterdays.

Acknowledgements

To Eve Blizzard, ever there with an encouraging word, my amazing editor, Kate Bradley, and my agent Juliet Burton â€“ Juliet, youâ€™re the best!

Read an Extract from Pack Up Your Troubles

Pack Up Your Troubles

Pam Weaver

Â 

Â 

VE Day 1945

Â 

Â 

One

By the time they reached Trafalgar Square, the sheer weight of the crowd forced the bus to a standstill. As the passengers turned around, the conductor gave them an exaggerated shrug and rang the bell three times. â€˜Sorry folks, but this bus ainâ€™t going no fuver.â€™

Irene Thompson and Connie Dixon had planned to go on to Buckingham Palace but they had to get off with the rest of the passengers. The bus couldnâ€™t even get anywhere near the pavement but nobody minded. Today, everybody was happy; everyone that is except Connie who couldnâ€™t hide her disappointment.

She had planned to be here with Emmett but he had written a hurried note, which she had stuffed into her shoulder bag as she left the billet. It was terse. â€˜Canâ€™t make the celebrations. Mother unwell and she needs me.â€™ She knew she shouldnâ€™t be annoyed. Emmett was always keen to help others, and he was devoted to his aged mother but it was very galling that he should pick this moment to be noble, just when the celebrations were about to begin. He had said he would telephone her that evening but even if she got back to the barracks in time, she had made up her mind to be â€˜outâ€™ when he called. She frowned crossly. Why couldnâ€™t he be like the others? Betty Tannerâ€™s boyfriend brought her flowers all the time and Gloriaâ€™s man friend had given her a brand new lipstick. Emmett never did anything like that. It really was too bad.

â€˜Cheer up, Connie,â€™ Rene chided as she took her arm. â€˜Weâ€™re making history. Donâ€™t let Emmett spoil it for you. Be happy.â€™

As they stepped onto the road, Connie had never seen so many people all in one place. Soldiers, sailors and airmen, from what seemed like every country in the world, had been drawn here to join the people of London to welcome this much longed for day. After five years of war and hardship, peace had come at last. It was rumoured that Churchill and the King had wanted Monday, 7 May to be called VE Day, but the Yanks had insisted that it should be today, Tuesday, 8 May. Connie supposed it was because they were cautious enough to make sure that everything was signed and sealed before enjoying the victory. The German troops had capitulated and signed an unconditional surrender at Eisenhowerâ€™s headquarters at 2.41 a.m. Whatever the reason, the grey war-wearied faces had gone and Connie was met with smiles and handshakes from complete strangers. Ever since the news had broken that Adolf Hitler and his mistress had committed suicide, the whole nation finally believed what they had not dared to, that the war in Europe was over at last. The war in the Far East was still raging but the smell of victory was in the air.

The bus had come to a halt because an Aussie soldier, waving the Australian flag, his arm linked with a merchant seaman, was leading a group of revellers down the middle of the street. They were being watched by a couple of eagle-eyed Red Caps but there would be no trouble today. No one was in a fighting mood. The military police were in for a lean time. Even the US MPs â€“ â€˜Snowdropsâ€™ as they were known because of their white caps, white Sam Browne belts and white gloves â€“ were redundant. The joyful crowd following in the Aussie soldierâ€™s wake was made up of American GIs, WAAFs, ATS girls and civilians all singing at the tops of their voices.

â€˜Bless â€™em all, the long and the short â€¦â€™

â€˜Come on,â€™ cried Rene as Connie held back, â€˜letâ€™s join in.â€™

An American GI caught Reneâ€™s arm and pulled her into the body of moving people. â€˜â€¦ this side of the ocean, so cheer up my lads bless â€™em all.â€™

â€˜Oh Rene,â€™ cried Connie, â€˜itâ€™s really, really over.â€™

Picking up the lyrics, they lurched with the crowd towards Nelsonâ€™s column, the base of which was still covered in hoarding to protect it from bomb blasts even though the last air raid warning had been sounded on 19 March. Someone had stuck a poster on it with â€˜Victory over Germany 1945â€™ on one side and â€˜Give thanks by saving.â€™

Connie nudged Rene in the ribs and jerking her head, shouted over the noise, â€˜Give thanks by saving? I should cocoa!â€™ and they both laughed.

After so much hardship and sacrifice, did the government really think everyone was going to keep on being frugal and sensible with their money? Some might, but not her. She was twenty-one and sheâ€™d already spent the best years of her life scrimping and making do, first in the munitions factory and then, after a spell of sick leave, in the WAAFs. Now that the war was over, Connie had no idea what she wanted to do but she was sure of one thing. She was in no mood to save for the future. Hadnâ€™t she just blown all her coupons on her new outfit, a lovely pale lemon sweater and some grey pinstriped slacks? And then there was Emmett. She had hoped he would have asked her to marry him by now, but he hadnâ€™t, presumably because he was anxious about his motherâ€™s health. Heâ€™d asked her a few times to go further but Connie had told him she wasnâ€™t that sort of a girl. Still, Rene was right. This was no time to nurse her disappointments. Today was the day to enjoy herself.

In the press of the crowd, Rene was standing on tiptoe to see if anything was happening. â€˜We should have got away earlier,â€™ she grumbled good-naturedly. â€˜Thereâ€™s too many people here.â€™ Despite the noise all around her, Connie heard a distinct tap-tapping sound just behind her and froze. Someone was tapping his cigarette on a cigarette case. Her blood ran cold and her heartbeat quickened. A surge in the crowd made the woman beside push her and she apologised. â€˜Sorry, luv.â€™

â€˜Has Churchill given his speech yet?â€™ Rene asked.

Connie listened hard. The person behind her clicked a cigarette case closed. It couldnâ€™t be â€¦ could it? No, it was impossible. It would be far too much of a coincidence.

â€˜It was supposed to be at nine oâ€™clock this morning,â€™ the woman went on, â€˜but weâ€™re still waiting.â€™ She rolled her eyes towards the lions. â€˜Theyâ€™ve been putting up speakers so that we can hear him but as for when that happens, your guess is as good as mine.â€™

â€˜You all right, Connie?â€™ said Rene. â€˜You look a bit peaky.â€™

â€˜Three oâ€™clock,â€™ said a manâ€™s voice behind them. Connie turned sharply to look at him. Sure enough, he was putting his cigarette case into his inside jacket pocket and was reaching for a lighter. He lit the fag between his lips and took a long drag. â€˜Thatâ€™s what the copper on the steps told me,â€™ he went on. â€˜Three oâ€™clock.â€™

A wave of relief flooded over her. The man was old, forty or maybe fifty with greying hair and a tobacco-stained moustache. It was all right. It wasnâ€™t him. Connie relaxed and looked at her watch. It was quarter past ten. A group of Girl Guides gathered together at the base of Nelsonâ€™s column and were turning around to face the crowd. If the authorities were planning to entertain them, the man must be right. Churchill wouldnâ€™t be giving his speech for ages yet.

â€˜Rene!â€™ A girlâ€™s voice rang out above the noise. â€˜Rene Thompson, itâ€™s me, Barbara.â€™

Rene searched the sea of faces and eventually spotted her friend waving as she came towards her. â€˜Barbara Hopkins. Well, as I live and breathe. Fancy seeing you here!â€™

Laughing, the two girls hugged each other. Barbara, dressed in her WAAF uniform, was thickset with very dark curly hair. The girl with her was dressed in civvies and hung back shyly.

â€˜I havenâ€™t set eyes on you since our training,â€™ Rene cried happily and Barbara hugged her again. â€˜Oooh, itâ€™s so good to see you.â€™

They stepped apart and introduced everybody.

â€˜This is Eva Oâ€™Hara,â€™ said Barbara. Eva was tall but with an almost elfin-like face, and a lot of laughter lines around her eyes. She wore dark slacks and a pale blue hand-knitted jumper.

â€˜And this is Connie,â€™ said Rene. â€˜We share the same billet.â€™ The hand shaking was soon over and somehow or other the girls had reached one of the fountains in the middle of the square. The day was warm and the water inviting and while Rene and Barbara caught up with old times, Connie, unable to resist, began to roll up the legs of her slacks. â€˜Come on,â€™ she laughed. â€˜Which one of you is game for a paddle?â€™

After a feeble protest from the others, Eva rolled up the legs of her slacks as well. As she climbed in, a sailor gave her a hand and then he rolled up his trouser legs and stepped in. The water was cold, but not unbearable, and it came just above their knees. The sailor and his mate, who joined them, were taller than Connie and Eva so there was less chance of them getting their clothes wet. The sailors were nice looking lads. One had brown Brylcreemed hair and a ready smile and the other one had fairer hair and slightly bucked teeth. He plonked his cap on Connieâ€™s head as they stood together. The blond one carried a knobbly walking stick and Connie wondered if he had some sort of injury, but she didnâ€™t like to ask. They all had to hold on to each other because the bottom of the fountain was covered in algae and a bit slippery. If they werenâ€™t careful, theyâ€™d all be under the water and soaked. The singing grew louder.

â€˜Thereâ€™ll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover â€¦â€™

The two girls swayed with the sailors as they sang and after a few minutes, the sailorâ€™s cap began to push Connieâ€™s rich chestnut-coloured hair out of place. She wore her hair with curls on the top of her head and pulled away from her face. When her comb landed in the water, her hair fell in attractive loose tendrils around her face. The sailor bent to pick the comb up and at the same time spotted a newspaper photographer taking pictures.

â€˜Here you are, mateâ€™ he called. â€˜Two pretty girls and two good looking sailors. What more could you want for the front page?â€™

The photographer came over and the sailor planted a kiss on Connieâ€™s cheek as the shutter came down. Connie wasnâ€™t offended but she gave him a playful shove before he was tempted to take any more liberties. She didnâ€™t want Emmett or her own mother to see a picture of her kissing someone else on the front page of the paper and despite the improbabilities, she found herself scouring the faces in the crowd.

â€˜Which paper are you from?â€™ laughed Eva as the four of them posed again.

â€˜Daily Sketch,â€™ said the photographer before moving on.

Connie heaved a sigh of relief. None of her family read the Daily Sketch and with a bit of luck, her great aunt (they called her Ga) had never even heard of it.

Their legs were getting cold so the four of them climbed out of the water and Connie gave the sailor his cap back. She and Eva only had handkerchiefs to dry their legs but they didnâ€™t care. They held on to each other because in the surging crowd it was difficult to keep a balance on one leg while drying the other. Someone shouted a name, and waving, the two sailors merged back into the crowd.

â€˜You in the WAAFs as well?â€™ Connie asked Eva. It seemed very likely considering that her friend Barbara was in uniform.

Eva nodded. â€˜And you?â€™

Connie nodded too.

â€˜Did you and Rene come on your own?â€™

â€˜Actually my boyfriend was meant to be here but he couldnâ€™t come.â€™

â€˜Nothing wrong, I hope?â€™

Connie shook her head. â€˜Heâ€™s got a sick mother.â€™

â€˜I hope itâ€™s not too serious,â€™ Eva remarked.

Connie shook her head. It was funny that Mrs Gosling always seemed to be ill whenever she and Emmett had something planned but as soon as the thought went through her head, she scolded herself for being so churlish. Nobody could help being ill, could they?

â€˜No doubt my lot will all be back home and listening to the radio,â€™ Eva said. â€˜My parents are at home and my brother is in the Royal Engineers. Heâ€™s still being kept quite busy, and will be for a long time, Iâ€™m afraid. Heâ€™s in the bomb squad.â€™

Connie frowned sympathetically. â€˜That must be tough on you.â€™

â€˜I try not to think about it,â€™ Eva smiled. â€˜What about you? Do you have brothers and sisters?â€™

â€˜A brother two years older than me,â€™ said Connie with a sigh, â€˜and a little sister called Mandy. Sheâ€™s just coming up for six.â€™

â€˜What about your brother? Is he in the army?â€™

Connie shook her head and willed her voice not to crack as she said matter-of-factly, â€˜We lost touch.â€™

Eva stopped what she was doing and looked up. â€˜Iâ€™m sorry.â€™

Connie looked away, embarrassed. It wasnâ€™t bloody fair. Families should be together, especially at times like this. Her emotions were all over the place. After her scare of a few minutes ago, now she was fighting the urge to cry. She looked around. â€˜Have you seen my other shoe?â€™

Eva shoved it towards her with the end of her foot.

â€˜Thanks,â€™ Connie smiled, glad that Eva hadnâ€™t asked any more questions. She looked at her watch. It was still only 11.30 a.m. If they stayed here, they were in for a long wait and it wasnâ€™t as if Churchill would be coming in person. He was only going to speak over the loudspeakers. Connie blew out her cheeks. She was bored. She wanted something more memorable to happen. Something she could tell her children and grandchildren about when she was old and grey.

â€˜Letâ€™s go to Buckingham Palace,â€™ she said suddenly.

Barbara looked around helplessly. â€˜Where will we get a bus?â€™

â€˜We can walk from here,â€™ said Eva. â€˜Itâ€™s not that far.â€™

They pushed their way back through the crowd and when they finally reached the fringes, all four of them struck out for Buckingham Palace. Rene and Barbara linked arms and walked on ahead so Connie walked with Eva. With a lack of anything else to say, they shared their war experiences.

â€˜So, where do you come from?â€™ asked Eva dodging a drunk man staggering along the pavement in the opposite direction.

â€˜Worthing. Itâ€™s on the south coast, near Brighton.â€™

â€˜Really?â€™ Eva laughed. â€˜How weird. My folks live near there.â€™

They could hear the sound of a mouth organ playing, â€˜When the lights go on again, all over the world â€¦â€™ and all at once, an American airman grabbed Eva around the waist and waltzed her into the middle of the road. His companion held out a bottle and leaned into Connieâ€™s face. â€˜Hey babe, want some beer?â€™

Laughing, she pushed him away and another serviceman, this time a jolly Jack Tar, danced Connie into the street next to Eva and the two of them spent a hilarious few minutes with their newfound dance partners. As suddenly as theyâ€™d grabbed them, the two men hurried off to join their companions, blowing kisses as they went.

â€˜Whereâ€™s Rene?â€™ said Eva as they came back together, laughing.

Connie shrugged. â€˜No idea,â€™ she said. â€˜I canâ€™t see Barbara either.â€™

They stayed where they were for a few minutes but as there was no sign of either of their friends, Connie and Eva struck out on their own. All the way to the palace, they were craning their necks and calling out occasionally but it was hopeless. The crowd was every bit as big as it had been in Trafalgar Square but thankfully, because the area in The Mall was much bigger, they didnâ€™t feel quite so much like sardines. After a while Connie said, â€˜This is stupid. We havenâ€™t a hope of finding them.â€™

â€˜I think youâ€™re right,â€™ said Eva, linking her arm through Connieâ€™s. â€˜Itâ€™s time to give up and enjoy ourselves.â€™

â€˜I second that,â€™ Connie laughed. She suddenly liked this girl. â€˜Itâ€™s a pity we never got stationed together. Iâ€™ve been in Hendon for a while, after I was re-mustered from Blackpool. Were you ever there?â€™

â€˜I was stationed along the south coast mostly,â€™ said Eva shaking her head. â€˜Poling, Ford and Rye. Thatâ€™s where I met Barbara.â€™

â€˜I was hoping to be posted to those places,â€™ said Connie wistfully.

Eva looked sympathetic. â€˜Why? Did you have it bad where you were?â€™

Connie shrugged. â€˜Not really.â€™ It wasnâ€™t that. â€˜It was closer to home, thatâ€™s all.â€™

â€˜We didnâ€™t have too many bombs,â€™ said Eva, â€˜but we were on the front line for the invasion. They were bombed in Poling just before I got there.â€™

â€˜I suppose,â€™ Connie said with a broad grin, â€˜as soon as olâ€™ Hitler heard you were coming, he pushed off elsewhere.â€™

Eva chuckled.

â€˜What do you do in the WAAFs?â€™ Connie continued.

â€˜Telephone operator,â€™ said Eva. â€˜Mum seems to think itâ€™ll hold me in good stead when I get demobbed. She says I could join the GPO as a telephonist but Iâ€™d much rather join the police or something.â€™

â€˜Oh no,â€™ cried Connie. â€˜I canâ€™t wait to get out of uniform. I hate it. All those damned buttons to polish, no thank you!â€™

Eva chuckled.

â€˜I mean it,â€™ Connie said defensively. â€˜When I went for training in Blackpool, our billet was so damp that every single one of my buttons was green by the morning and that was even after Iâ€™d used the button stick and a duster. I had to polish the darned things up again with my uniform cuffs before parade.â€™

By now, Eva was laughing heartily.

â€˜You may well laugh,â€™ Connie continued, â€˜but I was forever getting into trouble. There was a constant film over them.â€™

â€˜I trained in Blackpool as well,â€™ said Eva wiping her eyes. â€˜1942. I had the choice of factory work or the WAAFs.â€™

â€˜I was there in September 1943,â€™ Connie said. â€˜Blowing half a gale on the seafront, it was.â€™

â€˜And if your hat blew off while you were marching, you werenâ€™t allowed to stop and pick it up,â€™ laughed Eva.

â€˜Yes, and how daft was that?â€™ Connie remarked.

â€˜Did you have old Wingate?â€™

â€˜You, that gel over there,â€™ Connie said mimicking Sgt Wingate, the WAAF officer who presided over new recruits, perfectly. â€˜Head up, chhh â€¦ est out.â€™ And they both roared.

â€˜So, what will you do when you get demobbed?â€™

â€˜I want to be a nurse,â€™ said Connie.

â€˜And they donâ€™t have a uniform?â€™ Eva teased.

â€˜Yesss,â€™ Connie conceded, â€˜but itâ€™s much sexier,â€™ and they both laughed again.

Even after the long walk down The Mall, the crowd outside Buckingham Palace was every bit as good-natured as the crowd had been in Trafalgar Square. People milled about, meeting old friends and new faces with equal enthusiasm. The area around the Victoria Memorial was so overwhelmed with people, you could hardly see the mermaids, mermen or the hippogriff. People sat on the plinths beneath the great angels of Justice and Truth either side of Victoria herself. The statue depicting Motherhood was just as beautiful but it was facing the wrong way. Nobody was interested in what was happening down The Mall. Today all eyes were on the palace.

â€˜At least heâ€™s home,â€™ said Eva, rolling her eyes upwards.

Connie turned her head and glanced at the royal standard on the roof, fluttering in the breeze. â€˜Oh good-o,â€™ she grinned as she put on a posh voice. â€˜Shall we knock on the door and ask for tea?â€™ and Eva laughed.

According to one woman in the crowd, the King and Queen had already come out onto the balcony four times so Connie and Eva didnâ€™t hold out much hope that they would be lucky enough to see them. An impromptu conga snaked its way through the crowds and Connie and Eva joined in until they were breathless with laughter.

â€˜What do you reckon?â€™ said Eva eventually. â€˜Do you want to wait a while?â€™

â€˜May as well,â€™ said Connie with a shrug, â€˜now that weâ€™ve walked all this way.â€™

â€˜What if we donâ€™t see them?â€™

â€˜It doesnâ€™t matter,â€™ said Connie. â€˜At least we were here.â€™ In her heart of hearts she was hoping theyâ€™d be lucky. Two disappointments in one day was too much to bear.

All at once, the cry went up, â€˜We want the King, we want the King.â€™

As it gathered momentum, Connie and Eva joined in. The volume of noise reverberated all around and it felt as if the whole world was stilled by the cry of the crowd. â€˜We want the King.â€™

Dodging one of the few cars still travelling in the area, they crossed the road and joined the people nearer the railings. Connie stared at the imposing building beyond the iron gates and especially at the red- and gold-covered balcony.

â€˜They say Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms,â€™ said Eva.

Connie wrinkled her nose. â€˜Just think of all that dusting. Youâ€™d hardly be bloominâ€™ finished before you had to start all over again!â€™

â€˜Look!â€™ Eva nudged her arm and Connieâ€™s heart nearly stopped with excitement when a small door within the great centre door opened and a tiny figure in naval uniform came out onto the balcony. The King! King George VI, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Empire, and here she was, looking right at him! He raised his arm and with a circular motion of his hand began to wave to the crowd. The Queen in a pale green hat and matching coat and dress had followed him out onto the balcony and when she began to wave as well, the crowd opened its throat and roared. A sea of waving hands and cheering people in front of them, Connie and Eva were carried along with the thrill of it all. In a moment of sudden frustration, Connie stamped her foot. Damn it, Emmett! You should have been here with me, she thought.

Two more figures had joined the King and Queen. Princess Elizabeth in her ATS uniform and Princess Margaret Rose, not yet fifteen and too young to join up, was in a pretty aqua-coloured dress. From where Connie and Eva stood, they were no more than tiny dolls behind the long red- and gold-covered balcony but it was enough. Connie and Eva cheered themselves hoarse.

When eventually the royal family went back inside, the two girls looked at each other with satisfied smiles.

â€˜Iâ€™m starving,â€™ said Eva. â€˜Fancy something to eat?â€™

â€˜Iâ€™ve got a couple of fish paste sandwiches in my bag,â€™ said Connie taking it from her shoulder.

â€˜Theyâ€™ll be a bit squashed but youâ€™re welcome to share them with me.â€™

â€˜Thanks for the offer,â€™ laughed Eva, â€˜but if you donâ€™t mind, I think I can do a bit better than that.â€™

â€˜But where are we going to get anything around here?â€™ Connie cried.

Eva tapped her nose and pulled Connie towards Green Park. When they reached the road, they turned into a side street. Connie hadnâ€™t a clue where she was, but she didnâ€™t feel the least bit nervous. Presently they came across a small crowd laughing and dancing outside a cafÃ©.

â€˜Is this where weâ€™re going?â€™

Eva nodded.

â€˜How on earth did you know this was here?â€™

â€˜My husbandâ€™s family has been here for quite a while,â€™ she said matter-of-factly.

Connie was taken by surprise. Eva had never mentioned a husband. She wasnâ€™t wearing a wedding ring either. She was about to mention it when she was swept up with hugs and kisses and handshakes as the family welcomed Evaâ€™s new friend. Someone called out, â€˜Queenie, Queenie luv, look whoâ€™s â€™ere.â€™

Queenie, a small woman, middle-aged, with a lined face, hair the colour of salt and pepper and wearing a wrap-around floral apron, came out of the kitchen. The two women looked at each other, unsmiling, then Queenie opened her arms and Eva went to her. Such was the difference in their height, Queenie had to stand on tip-toe and Eva had to lean over, but there was a moment of real tenderness and, Connie supposed, if Queenie was Evaâ€™s mother-in-law, a sense of shared grief. For a moment, Connie felt like an intruder so she looked away. Eva and Queenie went into the kitchen and shut the door.

Another woman sitting at one of the tables touched her arm. Connie looked down and smiled thinly.

â€˜Why donâ€™t yer sit down, ducks,â€™ said the woman indicating a vacant chair opposite. â€˜Theyâ€™ll be back in a jiffy.â€™

Connie nodded her thanks and sat down.

â€˜Been to the celebrations?â€™ asked the woman fingering a pearl necklace she had around her neck.

â€˜To the palace.â€™

The woman lifted what looked like a glass of milk stout. â€˜Hereâ€™s to His Majesty, Gowd bless â€™im. Did you see him?â€™

As they talked, Connie discovered that Evaâ€™s mother-in-law, Queenie Oâ€™Hara, had lived in London all her life. She and her late husband, an Irishman, had taken over the small cafÃ© in 1941 after their dockland home had been bombed out of existence.

â€˜Queenie used to clean â€™ouses for the nobs round â€™ere,â€™ said the woman, â€˜but when she saw this place was up for sale, it were an hoppertunity too good to miss. He died in â€™44 just before her son got married.â€™ She pointed to a photograph over the counter of an Irish guardsman in his Home Service dress of scarlet tunic and bearskin. â€˜Thatâ€™s her Dermid. The light of her life.â€™

So this was Evaâ€™s husband. He was certainly a striking man.

â€˜How long have they been married?â€™ Connie asked.

The woman shrugged. â€˜No more than a couple of weeks.â€™

Connie frowned. Only a couple of weeks and already Eva had taken off her wedding ring?

â€˜This damned war,â€™ muttered the woman. â€˜The day he died the light went out of Queenieâ€™s face.â€™ Connie was appalled. Dead? She looked at the picture of the handsome young man in uniform again. How could it happen? Now she realised that sheâ€™d been so concerned to avoid talking about her own troubles that she hadnâ€™t even asked Eva about herself. Losing touch with Kenneth was bad enough but to lose a husband so soon after marriage seemed grossly unfair. And yet coming down The Mall, Eva didnâ€™t seem to be that upset. She was more like the life and soul of the party. Was she callous or was it bravado? But when she emerged from the kitchen and came over to join them at the table, Connie could see that Evaâ€™s eyes were red and sheâ€™d obviously been crying. â€˜Queenieâ€™s going to rustle something up for us,â€™ she said matter-of-factly to Connie and then turning to the woman with the pearl beads and the stout, she said, â€˜And how are you, Mrs Arkwright?â€™

Connieâ€™s table companion leaned over and squeezed Evaâ€™s hand. â€˜Mustnâ€™t grumble, ducks. Mustnâ€™t grumble.â€™

Someone in the cafÃ© had a piano accordion. He squeezed the box and one by one, the songs, especially the one penned during the war to end all wars, the same one which had meant so much to the country for the past five years, filled the air.

â€˜Pack up your troubles â€¦â€™

Yes, thatâ€™s what the whole world wanted but for the first time that day, Connie felt uncomfortable. The war might be over but people like Eva had to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives. Her mind was full of unanswered questions. How did Evaâ€™s husband die? Was it really only a couple of weeks after theyâ€™d been married?

â€˜Whatâ€™s the use of worrying?

It never was worthwhile â€¦â€™

Of course, she couldnâ€™t ask. She hardly knew the girl and it seemed far too intrusive.

â€˜Pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and

Smile, smile, smile â€¦â€™ they sang.

Connie could hardly bear it.

All at once, Queenie bustled in from the kitchen and put two plates of meat and veg pie, mash and gravy in front of them. Despite the fact that Connie had to search for a piece of meat in her pie, it was hot, delicious and very welcome.

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry about your husband,â€™ said Connie as Queenie went off to get them both a cup of tea. Her remark felt lame but she felt she had to say something.

â€˜You werenâ€™t to know,â€™ said Eva.

Connie smiled awkwardly and Eva looked away. â€˜Not much to say really,â€™ Eva said, addressing the brick wall. â€˜We met in Hyde Park, got married by special licence and he was killed six weeks later.â€™

Connie stopped eating. â€˜But I thought â€¦â€™ She glanced sideways at Mrs Arkwright who was stubbing out a cigarette. Two weeks or six, it was still terrible. â€˜God, Eva, thatâ€™s awful.â€™

Eva ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair and shrugged her shoulders. â€˜It happens.â€™

Sheâ€™d only known the girl for a few hours but Connie wasnâ€™t fooled. She might be trying to sound tough but Connie could see that Evaâ€™s eyes had misted over. Connie had obviously reopened an old wound and now she didnâ€™t know what to say. Rescue came once more in the form of Evaâ€™s mother-in-law who reappeared with the tea. Planting a kiss on the top of Evaâ€™s head she said to Connie, â€˜Isnâ€™t she lovely? My Dermid picked a real gem. Like a daughter to me she is.â€™

Connie nodded vigorously and embarrassed, Eva shooed her away with, â€˜Get away with you, Queenie.â€™

â€˜Now that itâ€™s all over, my gal,â€™ said Queenie earnestly, â€˜you mind you keep in touch.â€™

â€˜Of course I will,â€™ said Eva, looking up and squeezing her hand.

As they finished their meal the man with the accordion struck up â€˜A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Squareâ€™ and they all sang along. Or at least, Connie mouthed the words. Her throat was too tight with emotion to sing but the jolly songs had the others dancing and clapping and the more poignant ones brought a sentimental tear to the eye.

â€˜I presume youâ€™ve got a SOP,â€™ said Eva. â€˜If you need a place to sleep, Iâ€™m sure Queenie will put us up, wonâ€™t you Queenie?â€™

â€˜â€™Course I can,â€™ smiled Queenie.

Mrs Arkwright frowned. â€˜Whatâ€™s a SOP?â€™

â€˜Sleeping Out Pass,â€™ laughed Eva.

Connieâ€™s jaw dropped and she gasped in horror. â€˜Oh Lord, no! Since we started double summer time, these long light evenings make such a difference. Whateverâ€™s the time?â€™

â€˜Eight forty-five.â€™

â€˜Oh hell,â€™ cried Connie grabbing her handbag from the floor. â€˜I never gave it a thought. I havenâ€™t even got a late pass and Iâ€™ve got to be in by ten.â€™

â€˜Where are you billeted?â€™ asked Eva.

â€˜Hendon. Can you tell me how to get to the nearest tube station? I shall be all right once I get there.â€™

â€˜Doug is going near there,â€™ said Queenie balancing the empty plates up her arm. â€˜Heâ€™ll be here in a minute. He can take you in the pig van if you like.â€™

Connie raised an eyebrow. â€˜Pig van?â€™

â€˜He collects pig food from all the restaurants around here,â€™ said Queenie. â€˜If you donâ€™t mind the smell, Iâ€™m sure heâ€™d give you a lift.â€™

Connie looked at Eva and they laughed. It was hardly ideal but at least she had the chance to be back to the camp on time.

Connie stood to go. â€˜Thanks Eva,â€™ she said giving her an affectionate hug. â€˜Iâ€™ve had a wonderful day.â€™

â€˜Me too,â€™ said Eva. â€˜We must keep in touch.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™d like that,â€™ said Connie.

Her new friend purloined two pieces of paper and gave one to Connie. â€˜Iâ€™ve no idea where Iâ€™ll be when I get demobbed,â€™ she said, â€˜so Iâ€™ll give you my motherâ€™s address. Sheâ€™ll always know where I am.â€™

â€˜Thatâ€™ll be good,â€™ said Connie writing her own name and address down. â€˜I guess it wonâ€™t be too hard to meet up. You started to tell me that we lived near each other.â€™

â€˜I come from Durrington,â€™ said Eva handing her details over to Connie. â€˜Itâ€™s near Worthing.â€™

â€˜I know where that is,â€™ Connie smiled.

Queenie leaned over the counter and interrupted them. â€˜Dougâ€™s here, darlinâ€™.â€™

â€˜Thanks Queenie,â€™ said Eva.

â€˜Iâ€™ll tell him youâ€™ll be out in a minute, shall I?â€™

â€˜Thanks Queenie,â€™ said Eva once more. Her mother-in-law went out through the kitchen door.

â€˜My folks live in Goring,â€™ Connie smiled. â€˜Thatâ€™s a small village the other side of Worthing.â€™ She handed Eva her slip of paper and glanced down at the name and address Eva had written down.

Beside her, her new friend gasped. â€˜Connie Dixon? Youâ€™re not one of the Dixons from Belvedere Nurseries, are you?â€™

â€˜Yes,â€™ said Connie. She stared disbelievingly at the address Eva had just given her. Mrs Vi Maxwell, Durrington Hill. She couldnâ€™t believe what had just happened. Sheâ€™d spent the day with a girl her family heartily disapproved of. â€˜When we met,â€™ she accused, â€˜you said your name was Oâ€™Hara.â€™

â€˜Of course,â€™ said Eva, tossing her head defiantly. â€˜Thatâ€™s my married name. I was born a Maxwell, and Iâ€™m proud of it.â€™

â€˜I had no idea,â€™ said Connie quietly.

â€˜I canâ€™t quite believe it either,â€™ said Eva. â€˜And weâ€™ve had such a lovely day.â€™

Connie nodded. â€˜What are we going to do?â€™

â€˜Tell you one thing,â€™ said Eva. â€˜I donâ€™t think my mother would be too happy if you turned up on the doorstep.â€™

Connieâ€™s heart began to bump but she wasnâ€™t sure if she was angry or deeply offended. How could this girl be a Maxwell? She had been so nice. â€˜After what your family did to mine â€¦â€™ she began. â€˜After what my family did?â€™ Eva retorted. â€˜I think youâ€™ll find the boot is on the other foot.â€™

â€˜Now hang on a minute,â€™ said Connie, her hand on her hip. â€˜I donâ€™t want to get into a fight but get your facts straight first.â€™

They glared at each other, their jaws jutting.

â€˜Whatâ€™s up with you two?â€™ said Queenie, reappearing in the cafÃ©. â€˜You both look as if you lost half a crown and found a tanner.â€™

â€˜Sheâ€™s been buttering up to me all day and it turns out that sheâ€™s a bloody Dixon,â€™ spat Eva. She turned away and Connie thought she heard her mutter, â€˜Cow.â€™

Connie was livid. â€˜Itâ€™s hardly surprising,â€™ she said to Evaâ€™s receding back, â€˜that the Dixons and the Maxwells have nothing to do with each other, especially when one of them is so bloominâ€™ rude.â€™

Queenie Oâ€™Hara looked helplessly from one girl to the other. She seemed confused. â€˜I donâ€™t understand. A minute ago you two were best friends. How come things have changed so quickly?â€™

Connie recovered herself. â€˜Buttering up to you all day? Whatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€™

â€˜You know perfectly well what it means,â€™ Eva countered huffily. â€˜My folks would have leathered me with a strap, if Iâ€™d have had anything to do with the Dixons.â€™

â€˜Would they really?â€™ said Connie putting her nose in the air. â€˜Well, mine would do no such thing. Iâ€™m lucky enough to come from a loving family.â€™

â€˜If I had known you were a Dixon, I never would have invited you here,â€™ cried Eva.

â€˜Donâ€™t worry,â€™ said Connie. â€˜If I had known you were a Maxwell, I would never have come!â€™

â€˜Girls, girls,â€™ cried Queenie, â€˜donâ€™t let this spoil a lovely day. For Gowdâ€™s sake, youâ€™re like a couple of bickering schoolkids. Doug has to get going and you have to say your goodbyes.â€™

â€˜Goodbye,â€™ Eva snapped, carefully avoiding Connieâ€™s eye.

Connie put her nose in the air. â€˜Goodbye.â€™

â€˜I donâ€™t understand,â€™ said Queenie, shaking her head. â€˜Here we are with the first day of peace and you two are at war. Whatever it is, canâ€™t you bury the hatchet?â€™

â€˜After what her family did to mine? No, I canâ€™t,â€™ said Eva. â€˜Donâ€™t keep Doug and the pig van waiting, Connie.â€™ And with that she swept out of the room.

Furious, Connie followed Queenie through the kitchen and out of the back door. Her stomach was in knots. She had really liked Eva and sheâ€™d had more fun today than sheâ€™d had in a month of Sundays but Eva was a Maxwell. Her emphasis on the word pig hadnâ€™t gone unnoticed either. For a time back there, she had seemed really nice. She could have fooled anyone with that dear friend act sheâ€™d put on. Ah well, at least Eva had shown her true colours before it was too late and besides, Connie knew only too well that if she stayed friends with a Maxwell, there would be hell to pay. Hadnâ€™t she been brought up with her great auntâ€™s stories about the Maxwells? Cheats, liars and vagabonds, the lot of them, according to Ga.

When Queenie hugged her before she climbed into the passenger side of the lorry, Connie hugged her back. It wasnâ€™t Queenieâ€™s fault and her full stomach reminded her that she had been more than generous. Doug turned and gave her a toothless smile as she sat down. He turned out to be a fifty-something in a greasy looking flat cap and leather jerkin.

â€˜Straight over to Hendon now, Doug,â€™ said Queenie, closing the passenger door. â€˜The girl has to be back by ten.â€™

â€˜Right you are, missus,â€™ said Doug, starting the engine.

As the lorry moved off, Connie caught a glimpse of Evaâ€™s pale face at an upstairs window before she let the curtain drop. At the same moment, Connie screwed up the piece of paper with Evaâ€™s name and address on it and deliberately dropped it out of the van. Queenieâ€™s eyes met hers and Connie felt her cheeks flame. Thankfully, that second, Doug put his foot on the throttle and the van lurched forward.

Doug wasnâ€™t very talkative and Connie was too upset to make much conversation. What a perfectly rotten end to a lovely day. It had started out disappointingly because Emmett couldnâ€™t be with her, but from the moment they had paddled in the fountain, she had had a wonderful time. When Eva had said her family came from Worthing, Connie had no idea of the bombshell that was to come. Her mind drifted back over the years. Now that she came to think about it, her great aunt had never been that specific about the rift between the two families. In fact, Connie hardly knew anything about the Maxwell family, but whenever Ga spoke of them, the contempt in which she held them was written all over her face. She never had a good word to say and when Ga voiced an opinion, no one dared argue. Connie had grown up believing that the Maxwells were dishonest, conniving, deceitful wretches who were to be avoided altogether. Eva was the first Maxwell Connie had ever spoken to and look how nasty she had been when sheâ€™d found out who Connie was. Sheâ€™d certainly shown her true colours, hadnâ€™t she? Ah well, good riddance to bad rubbish.

The cab smelled musty and a bit like a compost heap on a sunny day. After a while it made her feel queasy so Connie was more than relieved to see the gates of her camp looming out of the darkness. She thanked Doug profusely and walked the few hundred yards to the sentry post. She fancied that the guard wrinkled his nose as she walked by and her only thought was to have a good strip-down wash or if she was lucky, a small bath before lights out.

â€˜Connie! There you are,â€™ Rene sounded really pleased to see her as she walked in their Nissen hut. â€˜Where did you and Eva get to? We looked everywhere for you both but youâ€™d completely disappeared. Iâ€™m so sorry. Did you have a terrible time? I mean, you donâ€™t know London at all, do you? Oh, I feel perfectly dreadful about it. How on earth did you get home?â€™

â€˜If youâ€™ll let me get a word in edgeways,â€™ Connie laughed as she threw her bag over her iron bedstead, â€˜Iâ€™ll tell you.â€™

As Rene sat on the bed beside her, Connie told her some of what had happened. Listening to her friendâ€™s abject apologies, Connie felt a twinge of guilt. Sheâ€™d been having such a good time, she hadnâ€™t given Rene and Barbara a momentâ€™s thought since theyâ€™d lost sight of each other on The Mall. â€˜Please donâ€™t worry,â€™ she smiled as Rene apologised yet again. â€˜It wasnâ€™t your fault. I had a great time anyway.â€™

â€˜If you donâ€™t mind me saying so,â€™ said Rene, pulling a face, â€˜you donâ€™t smell too good.â€™

â€˜Neither would you if youâ€™d sat in that awful van,â€™ Connie laughed. â€˜Let me go to the bathroom.â€™

Sitting in the regulation five inches of water, Connie sponged away the smell of the pig food, but somehow she didnâ€™t feel clean. Sheâ€™d already gone over some of the things Eva had said to her, and now she was remembering the unkind things she had said in return. She shouldnâ€™t have been so sharp with her. After all, Eva was a war widow and being with her mother-in-law again had obviously brought back some painful memories. Hadnâ€™t she suffered enough?

She climbed out of the bath and towelled herself dry. What could she do about it? The Dixons and the Maxwells had been at loggerheads for donkeyâ€™s years. She pulled the plug and watched the dirty water swirl around the plughole before disappearing. Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, Connie sighed. There were some stinks that needed a lot more than soap and water to wash them away. Ah well, it was done and dusted as far as she and Eva were concerned. Sheâ€™d never see her again anyway.

The dream came in the early hours. It was one of those strange moments when you are asleep and you know itâ€™s only a dream and yet you are powerless to wake yourself up. She struggled to make sense of it but as the moving forms in front of her grew darker, the overwhelming fear reached panic proportions. The tap-tapping of the cigarette on that case grew louder. Wake up, Connie. Wake up. Oh God, he was coming for her. Her eyes locked onto his and she couldnâ€™t get the door shut. The door â€¦ the door â€¦ Now he was inside the room â€¦ coming closer and closer. She could smell his breath, feel his hand pinning her shoulders down. Connie, wake up. She was screaming but no sound came from her lips. His rasping voice filled her ears. Youâ€™ll like it â€¦ He opened his mouth and beyond his yellow teeth she saw his fat, pulsating tongue. She felt that if he came any closer, he would devour her whole. The weight of his body suffocated her. She thrashed her arms to push him away and the rushing sound in her ears grew louder.

â€˜Connie, itâ€™s all right. Itâ€™s just a dream.â€™ The moment Reneâ€™s voice penetrated the terrifying sounds, they vanished as quickly as someone turning the radio off. Her eyes sprang open and she saw a torch on the pillow beside her. Rene was leaning over her, her hands as light as a feather on her shoulders but she had obviously been shaking her to wake her up. Connie sat up suddenly and blinking in the half light, saw a dozen anxious faces gathered around her bed. At the same time, she became aware that her nightdress was drenched in perspiration and her hair stuck to her forehead.

â€˜You had a bad dream,â€™ said Rene. â€˜You were shouting out.â€™

â€˜Iâ€™m sorry,â€™ she said. â€˜Sorry I woke you all up.â€™

The girls began to move away and get back into their own beds.

â€˜Do you want to talk about it?â€™ said a disembodied voice in the darkness.

Connie lay back on the pillow and shook her head. â€˜No, thanks. It was only a dream.â€™

Connie and Eva are the best of friends, but their families are the worst of enemies â€¦

About the Author

Adopted from birth, Pam Weaver trained as a Nursery Nurse working mainly in childrenâ€™s homes. She was also a Hyde Park nanny. In the 1980s she and her husband made a deliberate decision that she should be a full-time mum to their two children. Pam wrote for small magazines and specialist publications, finally branching out into the womenâ€™s magazine market. Pam has written numerous articles and short stories, many of which have been featured in anthologies. Her story The Fantastic Bubble was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and the World Service. This is her first novel.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

Ruby

RUBY

Marie Maxwell

This is for Riley, my gorgeous grandson. His first dedication! xxx

I’d also like to pay a special tribute to the fabulous author and friend Penny Jordan/Annie Groves who died on New Year’s Eve 2011. RIP Penny, you’ll be sadly missed.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Part Two

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

Southend Hospital, 1952

‘Someone give me something … I’m in such pain … I can’t breathe,’ the woman on the trolley groaned. Her head rolled back and forth and she clutched fiercely at her chest. ‘I can’t breathe, help me …’ As she spoke, all her strength seemed to float way from her body and she could feel herself being pulled towards unconsciousness. She tried to turn onto her side to curl up into a comforting ball but hands reached out to stop her and hold her flat on her back.

Her mind confused by the ever-increasing waves of pain, she was losing track of where she was. All she knew was that she was suffering the worst pain she had ever felt in her life. She felt as if her lungs were on fire. She could hear voices all around her but she was finding it hard to focus. An atmosphere of urgency pervaded, but the words she could hear made no sense.

She kept drifting between pain and oblivion: floating away peacefully to another place and then being pulled back with the fierceness of the pain.

Then the voices became louder and more urgent, and she felt herself being moved quickly. Bright lights flashed overhead, wheels rattled loudly underneath her and doors slammed behind her. Almost as soon as the journey had started, so it stopped, and people she didn’t recognise grouped around her, touching her, pulling at her clothes. Then there was a pain in her hand, a mask over her face, and she was drifting away again. She just had time to wonder if she was dying, if that was it for her life – if that was all it had been about – before oblivion took her over and she succumbed to the anaesthetic.

‘Time to wake up now,’ a disembodied voice said. ‘Your operation is over and we need to see you awake.’

She tried to shake herself awake but it was hard.

‘Don’t move. You’ve got dressings on your chest and your arm is in plaster. Just open your eyes so we know you’re out of the anaesthetic and then you can go back to sleep.’

She forced her eyes open and focused on the nurse standing beside the bed.

‘What happened?’ The words came out slowly past her swollen tongue.

‘You’ve had surgery. The doctor will talk to you about it later once you’re transferred from post-op.’

As she watched the ramrod-straight back of the nurse walking away, the memory of some of it started to come back to her. It was all disjointed in her head: the sudden crippling pain in her ribs that made breathing agony; the feeling that her chest had exploded; tumbling down the stairs and cracking her head; crawling along the hall to the open front door and then out onto the path looking for help. And then she remembered the fear …

‘What happened to me?’ she whispered, her chest hurting with every breath. ‘Nurse? Nurse …?’

By then the nurse was tending to a patient across the other side of the post-operative ward. She looked over her shoulder. ‘Sshh, you’re in recovery,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘Don’t disturb the other patients now. Go back to sleep and doctor will talk to you soon.’

‘Why am I here?’

‘You’ve had an operation. Stop shouting.’

‘Operation for what?’ Her voice was hoarse and her tongue felt as if it was filling her mouth so that she struggled to get the words out.

‘I told you, sshh. I really can’t tell you anything. Doctor has to talk to you and he will, later. He’s talking to your fiancé at the moment.’

‘To who?’ She tried to clear her head. There was an image she was trying to catch hold of but it wouldn’t stop long enough for her to focus on it.

‘I’m sorry but there are seriously ill patients over here I have to look after, so stop the talking and rest,’ the nurse snapped impatiently in a tone that proved tolerance obviously wasn’t her forte in the middle of a busy night shift.

She closed her eyes in despair and let her head fall back onto the skinny pillow that had been placed under her head, but even that hurt. She reached up and touched her face, then had another flash of recall. She struggled to sit up.

‘Someone tell me what’s happened. I can’t remember …’

‘Stop this, you’re disturbing everyone.’

Instead of the recall of events she was searching for, a wave of terror engulfed her and she started screaming, louder than she had ever screamed in her life, and the pain in her chest erupted.

‘Tell me, tell me what’s going on! I’m scared, I can’t remember …’

This frantic call for help was answered with a dose of sedative that took her away from it all again.

Two men stood facing each other in the corridor. The older was dressed in a green hospital gown and short rubber boots with a surgical mask hanging down around his neck; the younger was wearing dark brown casual slacks and an open-necked shirt, a tweed sports jacket slung from one finger over his shoulder.

‘Your fiancée has three broken ribs and one of these pierced her left lung. It was this that necessitated the emergency surgery. She’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while but we can explain the implications of that to her later when we talk about her other injuries.’

‘Will she be all right?’

‘Well, we hope so. It’s fair to say she could easily have died from the lung injury but we’ve done our best to put her back together,’ the doctor said, a hint of contempt in his voice. ‘At the moment she’s as well as can be expected. First the fall with its accompanying injuries, possibly concussion, a head wound, a fractured arm, assorted cuts and bruises, a punctured lung and then the emergency surgery …’ he stopped to take breath. ‘She’s been through a lot but she’s stable and will be taken up to the ward later. We’ve had to sedate her again, she’s so distressed by the, er, accident.’ He made firm eye contact with the younger man. ‘Tell me again how it happened?’

‘I told you,’ the man sighed as if this was really boring him, ‘I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there. No one was there. I arrived at the same time as the ambulance. I think a neighbour telephoned for it. He heard some sort of kerfuffle going on. Probably her falling down the stairs. She’s so clumsy with those big feet of hers …’ He smiled as he shrugged dismissively. ‘I don’t even know what she was doing there on her own, to be honest.’

‘I see. But we are very puzzled by the bruises on her neck.’

‘They’d be from when she fell down the stairs, wouldn’t they?’

‘It’s possible, but unlikely. Anyway, that’s not for me to decide. I just put her back together again.’

‘You’re absolutely right, doctor. That’s not for you to decide.’ The man held out his hand to indicate the end of the conversation.

‘I suggest you go home now,’ the doctor said. ‘You won’t be able to see your fiancée until tomorrow evening during visiting hours. Check at the reception desk for the hours. I don’t know which ward she’s going to be taken to. Will you be contacting her family?’

‘She doesn’t have any family.’

‘I see …’

The doctor’s tone was cold and he didn’t take the proffered hand. He simply turned sharply and walked back through the doors he’d emerged from a couple of minutes before.

A look of anger flashed across the other man’s face, and for a moment it looked as though he would follow the doctor, but instead he breathed deeply several times before turning round and heading down the corridor in the direction of the main exit. Once outside he sat on the wall, taking more deep breaths before lighting a cigarette and thinking about everything that had happened. He wanted to get it all straight in his head, just in case. After he’d ground the butt into the flowerbed he walked down the footpath and swung open the door to the phone box that stood at the main gate.

He fumbled in his pocket for coppers and then made his call. ‘Hello? It’s me. I know it’s late – or early, depending on how you look at it.’ As he spoke he checked his hair in the mirror that was fixed on the wall above the phone and then pulled a comb out of his back pocket. ‘I’ve had a strange old night but everything’s OK now and I’m dying for a decent cup of coffee … among other things!’

He smiled at himself in the mirror as he put the phone back into its cradle, then he flicked the comb through his hair, slipped on his jacket and pushed the door open. He held the door back for the elderly woman waiting patiently outside.

‘Thank you kindly young man,’ she said. ‘Have you just come out of the hospital?’

‘I have. My fiancée’s had an accident.’

‘Ooh dear, I hope she’s OK.’

‘Oh, nothing serious. Just a bit of a tumble and a few bruises. I’ve told her to lay off the gin in future.’ He grinned.

Shrugging his jacket straight, he pulled at his collar and walked away from the hospital where his fiancée lay battered and bruised.

Part One

One

Melton, Cambridgeshire, 1945

‘Here comes the train. Mummy, Mummy, I can hear it, I can hear it!’ As the small boy’s shriek pierced through the general chatter on the crowded railway platform the conversations started to fade away and the train appeared around the bend in the track lumbering noisily towards the station. Children jumped up and down excitedly at the sight and sound of the huge steam engine, and adults automatically reached down to pick up their bags and baggage.

Ruby Blakeley wasn’t feeling in the least bit excited as she pushed her own two small suitcases nearer the edge of the platform with her feet and then looked at the woman who was holding tightly onto her hand. She was feeling terrified.

‘It’s the train …’ the girl sighed sadly. The woman pulled the teenager in towards her and hugged her tightly.

‘Oh, Ruby, I’ve been dreading this moment. Uncle George and I are both going to miss you so much. I still can’t believe you’re leaving us.’

‘I’m going to miss you too, Aunty Babs. I don’t want to go back, but I have to. There’s no other way.’

‘I wish there was something we could do to persuade your family to let you stay. We’d love you to work in the surgery with us. We need the help, and you could send money to your mother and support her that way.’

Ruby let herself be hugged for a few seconds before blinking hard and pulling back. More than anything she wanted to turn round and go back to the comfortable, loving home she had become accustomed to over the past few years.

‘I know, but Mum said no. She said I have to go back. If I don’t go she’ll send Ray to collect me and you’ve seen what he’s like. I suppose it is hard for Mum. Ray said I have to go and help her, what with Dad not coming back and Nan being there and everything …’

‘Yes, dear, I know what Ray said, but having met him I think you and I both know he likes to exaggerate a little.’ The older woman went on quickly, ‘Listen to me, Ruby. I know you have to go but I want you to remember that we’re always here for you. Any time you need anything, or you just want to come and see us, we’ll send you the train fare,’ she took hold of the girl’s arm, ‘or if things change and you want to come back and live here again. We’ll keep your room, even if it’s just for a holiday with us. This will always be your home.’

‘Will you really? I’d like that,’ Ruby said with a hopeful smile.

‘Of course we will. Now don’t you forget to keep in touch. We both think of you as our daughter. I never expected that to happen the day we took you into our home, but now …’ Barbara Wheaton paused mid-sentence as her eyes welled up. She touched Ruby’s cheek with her gloved hand. ‘Now it’s as if you were always with us, part of our family.’

‘Thank you. I’ll write, I promise. I’m going to miss you both so much.’

‘And I’ll write. Now you’re sure you’ve got the paper on which Uncle George wrote everything down for you? We don’t want you to get lost in London, and you mind who you talk to on the train.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘I do wish you’d let us drive you back.’

‘I’ll be careful, I’ve got the paper in my bag and I’ll be fine. Mum is going to meet me at the bus stop when I get to Walthamstow.’

At fifteen Ruby was slender and coltishly leggy with green eyes and dark red curls not quite tucked away under the brim of a grey beret, which matched her knee-length tailored coat. Her ‘aunt’ was taller in her high heels, her hair pinned into an elegant chignon, and her face subtly made up, but the women were of similar colouring and bearing, and, standing side by side, they looked just like the mother and daughter Ruby had often wished they were. It had been nice to be the cosseted only child in a loving home instead of the ignored youngest in a crowded unhappy house, but now she had to go back to her family.

Amid billows of smoky steam the train bound for London lumbered to a standstill and, after one more hug, Ruby clambered aboard with her cases and sat down in a window seat. Forcing herself to be detached she smiled and waved through the steamed-up glass as the train started to chug forward while Babs Wheaton stood perfectly still on the narrow platform dabbing gently at her eyes with one hand and waving with the other.

Just outside the station Ruby could see Derek Yardley, the Wheatons’ driver, watching through the fence. As the train moved away she saw him raise a hand and wave. To all intents and purposes it was a friendly wave but she could see his stone-cold eyes staring directly at her. She hated him with a passion. He was the one person she certainly wouldn’t miss, and she knew without doubt that he was pleased to see the back of her, too.

Ruby remained dry-eyed and outwardly unemotional but inside she felt sick and angry at the thought both of what she was leaving behind and of what she was going back to.

It just wasn’t fair.

Five years previously, amid many tears and tantrums, the ten-year-old Ruby had fought desperately against being evacuated from her home and family in wartime East London to the safety of a sleepy village in the Cambridgeshire countryside. Just the thought of going had been terrifying to the young girl, who had never been away from home for even a night. But once she had adjusted to the change, she had settled in and her time with Babs and George Wheaton had turned into the happiest of her life. She had stayed on long after the other evacuees had returned home.

But now the war was over and, despite pleading for Ruby to be allowed to stay indefinitely, her host family had been told that their evacuee had to return to her real family.

Ruby’s eldest brother, Ray, had visited a few weeks previously and stated in no uncertain terms that it was way past time for the only daughter to do her bit for the cash-strapped family. Her mother wasn’t prepared to agree to her staying away any longer.

Leaning back in her seat, Ruby closed her eyes. She was dreading it.

After five years living with the very middle-class country GP and his wife, who had picked her randomly from the crocodile of scared evacuees transported to the village school playground, Ruby had changed dramatically. She had morphed from a frightened shadow of a child into a self-confident and popular young woman with a good brain and a quick wit, although there was still a certain stubbornness about her that could surface quickly if she was crossed.

She had also grown accustomed to being loved and cared for, even spoiled, by her childless host parents.

It was all so different from her other home, a small terraced house in Walthamstow where she had lived for the first ten years of her life; the home where she had been brought up, the youngest child with three brothers who had constantly overshadowed her early years with their boisterous masculinity and smothering overprotectiveness; the home where her bedroom was the tiny boxroom and her role was to be seen and not heard, especially by her father. Ruby thought that her mother probably loved her in her own way, but she didn’t have any time for her, and Ruby’s enduring memory of those first ten years was of constant loneliness and anxiety. She hadn’t actually been unhappy at the time because she didn’t know any different, but now she knew how childhood could and should be.

Sitting in the carriage, carefully avoiding any eye contact with the other passengers, Ruby could feel that the old anxiousness returning, but she resisted the urge to nibble around the edges of her nails as she had when she was a child.

There was something niggling her, a thought that she couldn’t quite get hold of. She could see how her mother would be run ragged and struggling to cope with a house full of adults, but she couldn’t understand why anyone in her position would fight to add an extra person into the mix, an extra mouth to feed. It simply didn’t make any sense.

When Ray had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep a few weeks previously to order her home, Ruby had been mortified. The gawky schoolboy she remembered had turned into a sneering young man. Ray Blakeley had gone from rowdy boy to ill-mannered lout, the kind of person Babs and George had always encouraged her to avoid at all costs.

‘Ruby? There’s someone here to see you. I’ve sent him round to the front door,’ George had shouted through the hatch in the door that joined his village surgery to the house.

Ruby had run down the stairs from her bedroom expecting to see one of her friends in the lobby, but instead there was a young man. She looked at him curiously for a moment and then realised.

‘Ray? What are you doing here?’ She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.

‘Now that’s not a nice way to talk to your big brother, is it, Rubes?’ he grinned. ‘No hello? No long time no see? No nothing at all?’ With both hands in his pockets he looked her up and down critically and shook his head. ‘I dunno, look at you done up like a dog’s dinner. Looks like I got here just in time before you get any more stupid ideas above your station. Mum told me you’re all la-di-dah now.’

‘I’ve just got back from the town; I was just going to get changed,’ she countered defensively.

‘Just got back from the town,’ he mimicked her voice and enunciation with a wide grin. ‘Just got back from the town. Posh talk there girl.’

As a bright scarlet blush crept up her face, Ruby could feel herself shrivelling inside, reverting back to the trampled-over child she had been before her evacuation. But then she noticed Babs standing in the kitchen doorway, observing quietly, and her confidence returned.

‘Aunty Babs, this is my oldest brother, Ray. He’s come to see me,’ Ruby said brightly, looking for a distraction.

Ray glanced dismissively at the woman before turning his attention back to Ruby.

‘Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong, Rubes. I haven’t come to see you, I’ve come to take you back home. Now.’

‘But I don’t want to go back.’ As soon as the words were out she realised she’d made a mistake. ‘I mean, I’m not ready. You can’t just turn up without warning and expect me to go with you. I’ve got school and all sorts of things …’

‘No choice there, Rubes darling. School’s done for you, and Mum wants you back home, what with the old man more than likely dead … please God.’ He paused and grinned before continuing, ‘But you know that. Enough mucking around – she’s writ often enough – so now she’s asked me to come and get you; drag you, if I have to. Time to stop being all duchesslike and get back to where you belong.’

Babs stepped forward quickly, held her hand out and smiled.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Ray. I’ve heard so much about you. Dr Wheaton and I were so sorry to hear about your father. I have sent my condolences to your mother.’ Her smile widened in welcome. ‘But you’ve had a long journey and you must be famished. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll make you some tea and find you something to eat. If I’d known you were coming I’d have had a meal waiting.’

As he ignored the proffered hand it was obvious Ray was confused by the welcome, and he stared suspiciously at this seemingly genial woman. But when Babs and Ray locked eyes for several moments Ruby could see that the gauntlet was down, although she wasn’t sure who had thrown it.

‘OK, must admit I’m bloody starving; but then we have to get back.’ He looked back to his sister. ‘You go and get your stuff packed as quick as you can while I have a feed. I can’t muck around all day. And I hope you’ve got your train fare else you’ll have to run behind.’ He laughed as he held his hand out palm up towards Babs and rubbed thumb and forefinger together theatrically. ‘Oh, and we expect a bit of payback for keeping our Rube here for so long …’

Ruby could feel crushing embarrassment taking over her whole body. Ray was behaving like a complete lout and she couldn’t figure out why. He’d always been a bully but she didn’t remember him being quite so bad-mannered.

‘Oh dear, Ray, I’m really sorry but I don’t think Ruby should travel today. She’s been a bit under the weather the last few days.’ Babs Wheaton’s expression was suitably apologetic. ‘There’s a lot of mumps going about the village. We’re not sure if Ruby’s got it yet, but it can be really bad for young men. I wouldn’t like to see you or your brothers go down with it. The side effects could be really nasty …’

As he thought about it Ray Blakeley screwed his eyes up and stared intently at his sister’s neck. ‘She looks all right to me, and she’s just come back from town.’ Again he put on the silly voice. ‘She wouldn’t be out and about if she were that bloody sick …’

Babs reached forward and placed her palm on Ruby’s forehead.

‘Your sister’s such a good girl, she’s putting on a brave face and pretending to be fine, but we’re worried the mumps may be in the incubation period. We’re not sure yet.’ Again Babs smiled. ‘But we’ll soon see. Now let’s go and see what I can conjure up to feed you, but don’t sit too close to Ruby. Just in case.’

Her words hung in the air as Babs led the way through into the kitchen and motioned for the brother and sister to sit at opposite ends of the vast farmhouse table. As he looked around the homely room with a slight sneer on his face, Ruby studied Ray and tried to work out whether he was being deliberately uncouth for effect.

With his even features, dark brown hair and a jaunty moustache, he looked older than nineteen. His clothes were clean, his shoes polished and he looked presentable enough – smart, even – but he had an arrogant swagger in his walk and more than a hint of aggression in the angry eyes that stared out from behind horn-rimmed spectacles. As she watched and listened, Ruby decided that, despite his being her brother, she really didn’t like Ray Blakeley one bit.

As Ruby surreptitiously studied him from the other end of the table, Babs quickly made some thick cheese and pickle sandwiches and put a plate in front of him along with a chunk of cold apple pie, a big mug of tea and a white napkin tucked inside a ring.

Ruby watched in fascination as, ignoring the napkin, Ray stuffed the food in his mouth, washing each mouthful down with a swig of tea and dribbling as he talked with his mouth full. Within a few minutes the plates were clean and he looked at Babs, leaned back in his chair, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched. ‘Another cuppa’ll really go down a treat, missus.’

It was at that moment that Ruby, overwhelmed with shame, knew he was being deliberately uncouth; that he was being provocative. She also knew that her mother would be equally horrified because none of them had been brought up to speak like that to anyone, let alone an adult, or to behave like that at the table.

As she stared at her brother in disgust a door next to the walk-in pantry opened and Dr Wheaton came through from his surgery at the other side of the rambling old house. His wheelchair clunked as he expertly wheeled himself across the stone-flagged kitchen floor and manoeuvred himself up to the table.

‘Ray, this is Uncle George.’

‘What happened to you, then? War wounds?’

‘No. Polio. When I was a child.’

‘Oh right. So as Ma says, this contraption is the reason you want our Rubes to stay here, so she can look after you? She says all the other kids are already home and you two want her as your skivvy.’

As Ruby froze, so George smiled. ‘No. I don’t need looking after. Ruby’s still here because she wanted to finish her schooling here. She’s very clever and doing well. We sent her school reports to your mother.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not reports Ma needs, it’s another pair of hands to help her out, and that’s what Rubes has got, so off we go.’

Ruby looked from one to another before saying, to try to calm Ray, ‘Uncle George is a doctor.’

But Ray just looked at her as if she were mad. ‘I know that, you daft bint, but I’ve never seen a doctor in one of those. Who’d have thought it?’

‘And I’m going to train to be a nurse when I’m old enough,’ Ruby added.

‘Course you are, Rubes, and I bet that’s the doc’s idea: a nurse in the house to save him a few bob. Shrewd, eh?’

Ruby had to sit through another hour of embarrassment before Ray, having conceded that she could stay another couple of weeks until she was definitely confirmed fit, finally left, informing her he’d be back for her if she wasn’t home within the month.

Two

As Ruby was deep in thought, and going where she didn’t want to go, the train journey into London was over in a flash and, following George Wheaton’s instructions to the letter, Ruby caught the bus to the stop nearest to her road in Walthamstow. She looked around hopefully for her mother, but after a twenty-minute wait in the autumn evening chill she gave up and started walking.

The Wheatons had wanted to drive her back home but, after Ray’s disrespectful behaviour, Ruby wanted to keep her two lives apart so she had determinedly refused. She had insisted that she was old enough to make the trip alone, but as she trudged along the streets and the two suitcases got heavier and heavier she regretted her decision. She kept picking them up and putting them down and changing hands, even though they were the same weight. When she was halfway there she dumped them on the pavement and sat down on one of them to catch her breath.

She looked around at the once-familiar surroundings that she had all but forgotten about when she was living safely in the open spaces of rural Cambridgeshire. Terraced houses with tiny front gardens edged both sides of the road, and the smell of coal smoke hung heavy in the air. Before her evacuation the area had simply been home, but now she viewed it objectively and it felt claustrophobic and grubby.

Amid the familiarity of the streets remnants of the war stood out. There were pockets of emptiness and rubble where houses and shops had once stood, and as she looked across the road at the bombed-out remains of two adjoining houses she thought about who might have been inside when the bomb fell.

Suddenly the recently ended war was real and the loss of life she’d heard about was on her own doorstep.

As she clenched and unclenched her aching hands and tried not to cry, a young man she had vaguely noticed walking along on the other side of the road crossed over and stopped beside her.

‘They look far too heavy for a little thing like you to be carrying; here, let me help you. Where are you going?’

‘To Elsmere Road, the far end, but it’s OK, I can manage perfectly well on my own. I’m just giving my hands a rest,’ she snapped defensively.

‘That’s just past where I’m going so it’s daft for you to carry them on your own. When you’ve got your wind back we’ll get going, but I’m not carrying your handbag.’

The young man’s expression was friendly and his smile wide as he waited for her to stand up again. Once she was on her feet he quickly picked up the cases and loped easily along the street, leaving Ruby almost running to keep up. In no time they were by the familiar front gate to the Blakeley family home.

‘Here, this is the house.’

The man put the cases down on the pavement.

‘Thank you,’ Ruby said, looking up through her eyelashes into a pair of navy-blue eyes. Under his intense gaze she felt strangely shy.

‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ he said.

‘I know I didn’t,’ she replied.

With his eyes still fixed on her, the young man held his hand out. As she took it he gripped firmly and, as he held on slightly longer than was necessary, Ruby felt a strange tightening in her throat that she couldn’t identify.

‘Well, I’m Johnnie, I’m from down the street. I live here; Walthamstow born and bred. Are you visiting?’ he asked, still holding on to her hand.

‘No, Johnnie-from-down-the-street,’ she smiled as she withdrew her hand from his. ‘I live here as well. I’ve been in evacuation for five years and I’ve just come back. It all seems strange, though. I know where I am but it doesn’t feel like home any more. It’s all different.’

‘That was the war …’ He paused for a moment and then raised his eyes upwards. ‘Ah! I was a bit slow there! Of course you’re Ruby; Ruby Blakeley, the missing sister who’s been having such a time of it she didn’t want to come home again. And none of your brothers came to meet you? They should be ashamed of themselves, leaving you to drag your own cases through the streets.’ Johnnie Riordan shook his head slowly, his disapproval all too obvious.

‘I wasn’t dragging them, I was carrying them,’ Ruby frowned. ‘How did you know all that about me?’

‘Your brother Ray has a very loose mouth; blabs all the time. Lucky he missed call-up; we’d have lost the war after he’d given chapter and verse to Hitler’s spies.’

Ruby tried not to laugh. ‘And you? Why didn’t you go and fight?’

‘Just missed out, but I’ve been doing my bit in other ways.’ He winked.

‘That’s what they all say … So how do you know my brothers?’ she asked curiously.

‘Ah! That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ He winked again, and another very strange feeling fluttered gently through her chest. ‘And I’m sure you will very soon, just as soon as you tell your brothers you met me. I’ll be seeing you then, Ruby of the red hair!’

With a wide grin, a tip of his hat and a flamboyant backward wave the man strutted down the road in the direction from which they’d come. Ruby watched as he casually kicked a ball back to a group of children playing in the middle of the road and then disappeared into a gate halfway down the street.

She guessed he was older than she – he certainly looked it – maybe even older than her brothers, and he had an edge of danger about him that excited her momentarily; but she knew it wasn’t the time to be thinking about handsome young men.

She was home, but all she wanted to do was turn and head back to the security of Melton and to the Wheatons, the substitute parents who had cared for her and loved her as their own.

She pulled back the wooden gate, took a couple of steps along the short concrete path and, after banging sharply on the door knocker, waited impatiently for what seemed an age before the door opened.

‘Hello, Mum,’ she smiled.

The woman looked at her for a moment before registering that this was her own daughter.

‘Ruby! Hello, dear, you’re early. I was just going to walk down to the bus stop to meet you, but you’re back here already.’

‘I was right on time. I waited for you for ages …’

‘Not to worry. I had so much to do I must have got behind. But you’re here now so in you come.’

The woman who had opened the door was small and round with wavy faded red hair pulled back from her face and tucked up in an old voile headscarf that was tied on top of her head. She was wearing an enveloping flowery apron and neatly darned woollen slippers.

Her appearance told Ruby that there was no way she had been getting ready to go out, and she felt hurt that the mother who had stated how desperate she was to have her daughter back home couldn’t even be bothered to walk down the road and meet her off the bus after such a long journey.

Sarah Blakeley held the door right back, then turned and shouted. ‘Arthur? Your sister’s here. Come and take her cases to her room.’ She turned back to her daughter. ‘Ruby, you go back out and shut the gate before those little urchins across the street start swinging on it again. I’m just sorting your brothers’ tea and then we’ll have ours after with Nan.’

Her eyes widened as she looked at her daughter properly for the first time. ‘You’ve grown, Rube – I nearly didn’t recognise you – and you look very glamorous, but a bit too old for your age. Did that Babs woman give those clothes to you?’

‘Yes, she made me lots of clothes and altered some of hers for me.’

‘Not really suitable for a fourteen-year-old …’

‘I’m fifteen, soon be sixteen,’ Ruby sighed.

‘Still not quite right, though. I’ll try them on later. I haven’t had anything new for years.’

And that was the total of her welcome home from her mother after five years away.

Ruby stood for a moment on the threshold and stared straight ahead at the faded wallpaper in the narrow hallway and the staircase that disappeared off into claustrophobic darkness. She didn’t even want to go in, let alone live there again. She wanted to run; but then she heard her grandmother.

‘Is that you home, Ruby?’ a voice called out. ‘Come and say hello to your old nan.’

‘Coming, Nan. Just going back to shut the gate.’

As her mother turned and walked back to the kitchen, Ruby’s brother Arthur bounded down the hall past her and grinned. ‘Hello, sis, decided to come home at last? Ray said you’d landed on your feet in that big posh house. He said you’ve gone la-di-dah and we’ve got to knock it out of you now you’re back!’

At seventeen and not much more than a year older than his sister, Arthur had always been closest to Ruby in all ways and she had never taken offence at him the same way she had with her other brothers. He was a lump of a boy who had always had a certain slow innocence and openness in his nature, unlike Ray and Bobbie, who could both be mean and devious when the mood took them. She was pleased to see that, on the surface at least, Arthur seemed the same good-natured lad she remembered and she hoped that Bobbie, the middle brother in both age and temperament, had maybe grown up and away from Ray. Life back home would certainly be easier if her oldest brother was the only unpleasant one in the family.

‘You could try, I suppose, or I could teach you how to be posh as well? It’s not that bad, you know, there’s nothing wrong with good manners.’ She laughed as she put an arm around his waist and hugged him affectionately, much to his embarrassment.

‘Get off,’ he muttered as he pulled away, making her laugh.

‘I’ve really missed you, Arf. You look so grown up now and you’re so tall. It’s a shame you didn’t come to the country, you’d have loved being out in the open. I had a friend Keith who you would have loved playing with. He even had a gun to shoot rabbits and pigeons. It was great fun – even school – and Uncle George and Aunty Babs were so nice to me. I love them so much.’ She paused as she realised exactly what she’d said. ‘But I love you all as well, especially you, and even Ray.’

‘We’re boys. Dad said boys who were evacuated were cowards.’ Arthur bristled and squared his shoulders. ‘Dad said we had to look after ourselves and Mum, and that’s what we did. We weren’t girls …’

‘Weren’t you scared you might get killed with all the bombs?’ Ruby asked curiously, still aware of the bombed-out houses she’d seen.

‘No. We weren’t scared. And now the war’s over and we won! Ray said you weren’t away because of the bombs, he said the posh people wanted you because the bloke’s a cripple and she’s barren. Ray said—’

‘That is such rubbish,’ Ruby interrupted angrily. ‘Lots of different people took in evacuees and some of the hosts were really horrible to them. I was really lucky that I ended up where I was. Especially as no one from here bothered to check if I was OK.’

But Ruby knew that she was wasting her time. Arthur really didn’t understand.

‘Ruby, are you going to come and see me?’ called Nan. Ruby turned away from Arthur and started towards the parlour.

‘I’m just going to see Nan and then I’ll tell you all about it,’ she said.

Arthur picked up the cases and followed close behind her.

‘You’re supposed to be taking them to my room.’

‘I am. Didn’t Mum tell you? You’re going to be sharing with Nan in the parlour. Ray’s got your old room.’

‘You’re joking. I can’t share with Nan. And what about the things I left?’ Ruby turned and looked at her brother in horror.

‘I think Ma got rid. Ray took your room as soon as you went away. Can’t see him coming back in with me and Bobbie now he’s the head of the house, can you?’ Arthur laughed.

‘Why can’t Nan share with Mum?’

‘’Cos of the stairs, you idiot.’

‘Why can’t I share with Mum?’

Arthur laughed. ‘I dunno …’ Pretending to spar, he skipped around and punched his sister hard on the arm, the way he used to when they were children, but now he was physically a man and the punch hurt.

‘Don’t do that, Arthur,’ she snapped at him. ‘Don’t hit me, don’t ever hit me. We’re not children any more. Adults don’t hit each other.’

‘Ooh, get you, Duchess. Ray was right. He said you think you’re better than us now.’

Looking angry and still unaware of his own strength, he pushed at her and she stumbled backwards slightly.

‘Well, I’m definitely better than Ray, I promise you that,’ she snapped back angrily as she struggled to stay on her feet.

The door was open so Ruby turned straight into what used to be the front parlour, where they would all have dinner on high days and holidays, and formal tea when the parish priest visited, but everything that had been in there was gone, including the familiar battered piano that Ruby had loved to try to play.

Instead there were two narrow iron-framed beds with a bedside cabinet each, a wardrobe and a tallboy, which took up half the room, leaving just enough space for a chest of drawers with a jug and bowl atop and her grandmother’s armchair in the small bay of the window. Arthur dumped the cases on the bed nearest the door and went out again without saying another word. Ruby knew she’d hurt his feelings but she was upset herself. She was, however, determined to make it up to him later because she knew he was the only one who she could rely on.

As she looked around all she could see in her mind’s eye was her bedroom back in Cambridgeshire, the large and airy room with a wide comfy bed, a huge walnut wardrobe with drawers underneath, a matching dressing table and a ruby-red chaise longue that Aunty Babs had covered to match the curtains.

It was all hers but she’d had to leave it behind, and now she was standing in a room less than half the size, which she was going to have to share with her incapacitated grandmother. It just wasn’t fair and, try as she may, she couldn’t understand why they had wanted her back to cramp the house even further.

Keeping a determined check on the tears that were threatening at the back of her eyes, she went over to the bay where her grandmother was sitting.

‘Hello, Nan. I’m back and it looks like I’m sharing with you. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, it’s not your fault, Ruby dear. The war’s meant we all have to make sacrifices, and Sarah was good enough to take me in so I can’t grumble. Now come up close so I can see you; my eyes aren’t what they used to be.’ As Ruby moved closer the woman grabbed her hands and pulled her down. ‘Ooh, you’re a proper young lady, you are now, by the looks of it. Ray said you’d grown up. Now tell me all about it while you unpack. There’s some coat hangers on the side. You’re going have to use the picture rail for now to hang your clothes until I have a sort-out.’

‘I’ll unpack later, Nan, I’m so tired …’

‘All night, dear. Then can you help me through to the back? We can have a cuppa before tea. I don’t eat with the boys – they’re too noisy and there’s not enough room at the table. Me and your ma eat after they’ve all finished and gone out doing whatever it is that young men do nowadays. You’ll be eating with us, I suppose.’

Ruby didn’t answer; she just couldn’t think what to say. She was both horrified and saddened as she looked at the elderly woman with stooped shoulders and cloudy eyes, who was peering up at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. One hand rested atop a wooden walking stick and the other gripped a vast dark grey crocheted shawl around her shoulders.

During the five years she had been away Sarah Blakeley had visited her daughter every other year on her birthday, but as Ruby hadn’t been home at all she hadn’t seen her grandmother in all that time, and she was shocked to see how much she’d aged.

It was on one of the birthday visits that her mother had told her that Nan, already a widow, had been bombed out of her own house in Stepney and come to stay with the family, and after her eyesight had deteriorated there was no way she could live alone. So there she had stayed, despite the overcrowded accommodation.

‘Shall we go through to the back now, Nan? How do you want me to help you?’

‘Just let me take your arm. It’s the rheumatics, they kill me in this weather and make me feel ancient.’ She laughed. ‘Oh, it’s good to have you home. You can help your mother around the house. Those boys are such hard work for her, what with her job and me being no use to her any more.’

‘I’ve not come home to look after the boys, Nan. I’ll help when I can but I’m going to be a nurse. I’m going to get a job and save up to start training when I’m eighteen.’ Ruby smiled down at her grandmother hanging on her arm.

‘Ooh no, Ruby, I don’t think the boys’ll let you do that. Oh no, dear, no.’ The woman’s voice rose sharply and she shook her head so violently Ruby took a couple of steps back. ‘They said you were coming home to look after me and help your mother in the house. That’s why they wanted you home … and they’re a real handful for your poor mother, especially with no father to make them take heed.’

‘I’m not doing that. If I can’t go to school then I’m going to work.’

The old lady pursed her lips and blew out air noisily. ‘I wish it was so, but I don’t think so dear I really don’t …’

Ruby stopped listening as she wondered how to stop Ray from taking over her life now, as Nan had reminded her, their father wasn’t around to control the boys.

Ruby hadn’t seen her father since the day she had been shipped off to Cambridgeshire, but she had rarely given him a thought. Frank Blakeley had always been so distant with her that she might as well not have existed in the family; it was as if she were invisible. He would, however, often rough and tumble fiercely with his sons to teach them to be men, and discipline them harshly for the smallest misdemeanour, his belt being the favoured tool of formal punishment, or his hand around the back of the head for an instant reprimand.

It was usually Ray who was the recipient of the fiercest beatings because he just would not give in. Ruby and Arthur would cower together, staying as quiet as possible when their father was beating Ray into submission, each of them praying for him to apologise and end it, but he rarely would. It meant that afterwards, despite the pain and the silent tears, Ray would be victorious.

Believing that girls were the responsibility of their mothers, Frank had never laid a finger on his daughter; but he had never interacted with her either. The news that he was dead had been a shock and she had felt sad – he was her father after all – but nowhere near as upset as some of the other evacuees had been when they had received similar news during the war. In the years she was in evacuation George Wheaton had been more of a responsible father figure to her than her own father had in the previous ten, and she adored him for it.

‘Mum?’ Ruby said as she helped her grandmother down the step into the back room. ‘Are you there, Mum?’

She had expected her brothers to all be there to welcome her back; for her mother to be waiting for her; but no one seemed to be around.

The room was long and dim, with a single standard lamp alight in the corner; it was dominated by an impressive round table with large bulbous feet, which was covered in a shiny oilskin tablecloth and encircled by six hard-back chairs. The alcoves either side of the chimney breast had built-in dressers, which were filled with assorted crockery, serving dishes and the best sherry glasses. A wooden canteen of cutlery had pride of place on one side, and two large Chinese-style vases, which had previously stood either side of the fireplace in the parlour, on the other.

As her grandmother sat at the table and shuffled herself comfortable, Ruby went through the scullery to the back door, which was wedged open with an old iron pot. She stepped out into the back yard, trying to ignore the outside lavatory, which she knew she would have to get used to using again. Just the thought of it made her feel nauseous.

‘Mum? Where are you?’

‘Out here, Ruby, just getting the washing in. I should have done it hours ago. Can you come and help me?’

‘Nan wants her tea. I said I’d make her a cup of tea while she waits. I thought the boys would be here to say hello.’

‘Well, Nan will just have to wait until I’ve finished this, unless you want to heat it up for her. It’s in the oven with yours. The boys have gone off somewhere like they always do and there’s all this needs doing. Good job it’s been a nice day, but it’s already starting to get damp.’ Her mother looked at her and smiled brightly. ‘Now come over here and I’ll show you whose clothes are whose. The boys don’t like it if their clothes get all mixed up!’

‘The boys, the boys. Don’t you want to know what’s been going on for me? I’ve been away for five years. Five years,’ Ruby said flatly without moving. The washing line was stretched the length of the small back yard, which was part paved and part vegetable garden. A small corrugated roof extended out from the scullery and provided cover for the mangle. At the end, the gate that led out into the back alley was open.

‘Don’t be silly, Ruby, we’ve got plenty of time to catch up on everything now you’re back for good. Back where you belong, not up there with those snobs. Here, hold this for me …’

Still smiling, Sarah pushed a battered laundry basket at her. Looking down, she remarked, ‘Those shoes are a bit too grown up for you. You’re only fifteen and they’ve got a heel …’

‘And they’re too big for you,’ Ruby replied quickly with a smile, aware of the way the conversation was about to go. ‘My feet are huge.’

‘That’s all right,’ her mother replied seriously, still looking at her daughter’s feet. ‘I can stuff paper in the toes.’

Ruby didn’t answer. She didn’t want an argument, but she could see her mother was going to find it hard to accept that Ruby had gone away a child and come back an independent young woman with a mind of her own and ambitions to fulfil.

At that moment, standing in the back yard with a washing basket of clothes in front of her, she knew that she couldn’t stay in Walthamstow. It had been her home when she was a child but now that she had seen a different way of life it was alien to her. She’d tried to do the right thing but she could see that her return had actually been nothing to do with her personally. It was simply a power struggle, with her mother and Ray asserting their position over the Wheatons.

She watched as her mother quickly took the washing off the line and transferred it to the basket Ruby was holding out. She pretended she was listening to her mother’s instruction about whose clothes were whose but she was already mentally composing her letter to George and Babs Wheaton, telling them she wanted to go back.

But even as she was doing it she knew that the letter would be the easy part. Persuading her mother and Ray would be the problem.

Three

Ruby found life back at the Blakeley family home far more difficult to deal with than she had ever expected and, as the weeks passed, it got worse rather than better. She looked after her grandmother, helped around the house and ran errands for her continually overworked and dog-tired mother. She did her duty as she saw it, the duty she had gone home to do, but nothing seemed enough. Alongside that she generally irritated her bombastic brother, Ray, as much as she could, her view being that if she annoyed him enough there wouldn’t be any objections to her leaving and going back to Cambridgeshire.

As the days passed she became increasingly obsessed with getting back to the Wheatons, and it always took several seconds when she woke up in the morning to remember where she was and then for the overwhelming sense of injustice to rise again. But her mother refused point blank to even discuss Ruby’s return to Melton.

‘Mum? I’m off to the High Street,’ Ruby shouted, quickly pulling the front door closed behind her and hotfooting it away from the house. She wanted to escape before she was given an even longer list of things to do and items to try to buy. She resented always having to do the shopping, especially with rationing making it such a chore, but at least it got her out of the house and away from her mother’s ongoing domestic grumblings, and Ray’s tormenting, which was made worse by her middle brother, Bobbie, slavishly agreeing with his every word. Arthur remained her friend as best he could, but his fear of upsetting his oldest brother meant he would always run off and hide rather than get involved.

Ray and Bobbie worked at the same motor repair garage so more often than not they left together in the morning on Ray’s beloved motorbike and arrived home together in the evening expecting their dinner to be waiting for them on the table, their clothes to be washed and ironed and their beds made.

And everything was always done. Their mother made sure of it.

Sarah Blakeley had easily accepted Ray’s declaration of himself as ‘Head of the Family’, and Ruby saw he was turning into a clone of his father, the man he and his brothers had always been petrified of. He carefully shaped his moustache in the same manner, tipped his flat cap at the same angle, and when he shrugged on his late father’s heavy overcoat the resemblance from a distance was perfect.

Ruby couldn’t understand why he would want to be just like the father who had always treated him so harshly but she didn’t comment; she simply observed and wondered why her mother didn’t stand up for the women in the house.

She was deep in thought as she walked and was almost at the bottom of the road when she heard her name being called.

‘Ruby! Ruby! Hang on a minute …’

She hesitated but didn’t turn round; without looking she knew that it was Johnnie from down the street, the man who’d carried her bags and caught her eye; the man she’d only seen in passing since that day, but who she had thought about and also heard much about.

‘Ruby!’ he shouted again. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll walk with you, Ruby Red.’

This time she stopped and waited with a smile for him to catch her up.

As he drew alongside he looked at her appreciatively and she was pleased she’d come back from the Wheatons’ with a decent selection of clothes and a secret lipstick. Clothes that had fortunately turned out to be mostly far too tight for her wide-hipped and ample-bosomed mother, despite the middle-aged woman trying her best to squeeze into them one by one.

‘Hello. What’s this Ruby Red silliness?’ she asked.

‘That’s what I’ve decided to call you, Ruby Red. Red for short. You look like a Red. Anyway, you look nice. Where are you off to?’

With a grin Ruby held up the shopping baskets. ‘Just running shopping errands for Mum and Nan, off to queue, queue, queue in the High Street. Again. My life is one long queue, hand over coupons, queue again.’

‘See? I was right. Didn’t take them long to get you back in harness. Big brother Ray said he was going to train you back into your place, as the family slave.’

Ruby laughed. ‘Shut up! He never said it like that! Do you think I’m daft enough to let you annoy me? Ray told me all about you and what you’re like, so don’t bother.’

‘Oh, so you were interested enough to ask him about me, then? I’m flattered.’

Ruby smiled up at him shyly as he fell in step beside her, his long legs taking just one step to two of hers.

‘Not really! Anyway, I don’t really mind getting the shopping for the moment. Ma has plenty to do with her job and everything. I do it for her, not the boys. And it’s just until I can get a job and earn some money; just until I can start nursing training and live in at a hospital.’

‘But they get the benefit of everything you do – don’t you care?’

‘I already told you I don’t care.’ Ruby lied easily, not wanting Johnnie Riordan to see her as downtrodden. ‘In a way I feel sorry for Ray. He’s just jealous he didn’t get to live where I did during the war. His face nearly hit the floor when he saw it all when he came to order me home. It was so nice there – clean with lots of fresh air – it makes this bombed-out place look like a slum.’

‘Oi! Hang on now, missy.’ Johnnie stopped walking and faced her. ‘I live round here, so does my sister and her kids, and it’s all right, thank you very much. Apart from your bloody brothers, that is. If anything’s wrong round here it’s Ray and Bobbie. They lower the tone.’

Although he was half-smiling there was an anger in his words that made Ruby pull herself up. She suddenly realised what a snob she sounded.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I really didn’t. I meant the size of the houses and the gardens and everything – it’s all so much smaller here, and overcrowded. It’s so different from where I was out in the country with open fields, fresh air and no bomb damage, I’m still getting used to it back here.’

‘Apology accepted. I didn’t really think you’d be such a duchess, despite what your brothers say.’

Johnnie resumed walking and Ruby strode alongside him.

‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘I’m not like that at all! And yes, I did ask about you. I wanted to know who you were before I spoke to you again. But I have to say that I didn’t ask Ray – as if I’d do that – I asked Mum, and she went and told Ray.’

‘And am I all right to talk to?’ he asked.

‘No you’re not. Ray went nuts and has forbidden me to even look at you, never mind have a conversation. You are the villainous enemy, a spiv who he hates, who hates him, a really nasty piece of work and far too old. And you think you own the place.’

‘Bloody hell, Ruby, far too old? I’m only nineteen! Though, thinking about it, I suppose the rest is true enough.’

Ruby kept her expression serious for a few moments before bursting into laughter.

Johnnie joined in as they quickly turned the corner, out of sight of the street, neither of them wanting to be seen with the other by their immediate neighbours, although for different reasons.

Despite the age difference they looked good together. Ruby was tall, at five foot seven, and certainly looked older that her years in the classy tailored clothes that she had brought back with her. Despite her slenderness she was shapely, with a tiny waist, neat breasts and wavy auburn hair, which was fixed back from her face with large grips and sugar water. Johnnie meanwhile was just under six foot, with broad shoulders. His fair hair was a little too long at the front, his features were even, and he had a natural loping grace that emphasised his long legs. They made an attractive couple as they walked along together, and Ruby felt comfortable with him alongside her, albeit with a large shopping basket looped over her arm between them just to be sure.

As they strolled slowly to the High Street Ruby told him a little about the Wheatons and her life with them.

Her time in evacuation had been spent in a small village so she had socialised with a far broader age range than when she had been living in Walthamstow. Her evacuation years, during which she’d had both dancing and tennis lessons, had served her very well, leaving her self-assured, graceful, and as comfortable around boys as she was with girls; but these assets now, in her original city surroundings, made her feel like a fish out of water.

Melton in Cambridgeshire, where Ruby had been sent to stay, was situated between Cambridge and Saffron Walden, and a long bumpy bus ride from either town. In typical village style, there was just one main street, but with narrow lanes and tracks running off, leading to outlying farms and cottages. The High Street was edged with an assortment of shops and houses, with Dr George Wheaton’s surgery and family home at the top of the gently winding hill and the village school at the bottom. It was a slow and easy way of life, even in wartime, and because it was a few miles from the nearest towns, everyone knew everyone else and their business.

At the school, instead of clusters of children of the same age grouped around the playground, as there had been at Ruby’s Walthamstow school, pupils of all ages, including the evacuee children, played together both in and out of school. There had been a natural wariness on both sides when the evacuees first arrived, but after the initial settling-in period, when there were natural divisions, an integration of sorts had happened. Keith and Marian Forger, the children of the local greengrocer, had very quickly become Ruby’s closest friends.

Marian was two years older than Ruby and her brother, Keith, was Ruby’s age. They lived with their parents over the shop in the village itself, and their cousins lived about a mile away in two adjoining cottages tied to an outlying farm where their respective fathers worked. Their family was close and all the cousins played and socialised together.

It was Keith who had held out the hand of friendship to the very scared ten-year-old Ruby on her first day at the village school, and she had had a huge soft spot for him ever since. He was short and wiry, with straw-coloured hair that never quite behaved, a splattering of freckles on his nose and hazel eyes. Ruby had adored him from the very first moment he’d smiled and befriended her, and, despite rapidly outgrowing him in size and maturity, she’d continued to adore him the whole time she was there.

Keith was a rough-and-tumble boy with no academic aspirations, who was happiest helping his father in the shop and with deliveries, while his sister, Marian, was the brains of the family. She was determined to go to university and become a doctor; she was also a brilliant comedienne and imparter of the facts of life as she knew them. The five farm cousins were all experts in animal husbandry so there was nothing Ruby didn’t quickly learn about the birds and the bees and the ways of boys. The related group of children had drawn her in and become like brothers and sisters, and it had been nearly as hard to say goodbye to them as it had been to leave the Wheatons. But she’d promised she would keep in touch and had insisted she would be back as soon as possible.

As she gave Johnnie the description of her life in Melton, Ruby felt her eyes misting and a huge wave of homesickness swept over her.

‘… And I’m going to go back just as I promised, as soon as I can persuade Mum and Ray that they don’t really want me here after all. I mean, they don’t want me, they just hate the idea of me being with the Wheatons and liking it.’

‘Best of luck to you then,’ Johnnie said sympathetically. ‘I hope you manage to talk them round and then I can come and visit you. I’ve been to the seaside at Southend and up west to the city but I’ve never really been to the country apart from getting up to no good in Epping Forest a few times.’

‘Oh, it’s so different to here, all open spaces and everyone knows everyone. It’s just nicer, I suppose. We all had so much freedom. It was just so different and—’

‘OK, OK, that’s enough, I’ll take your word for it.’ Johnnie Riordan grinned as he interrupted her and held his hands up as if in defeat. He and Ruby had got to the queue outside the grocers. ‘I’ve got to see someone, so you go and get started with your shopping and I’ll meet you on the corner by the butcher’s in about an hour and help you with the rest of it. I’d take you for a tea and a bun but we might be seen.’

Ruby smiled to herself as he walked away. There was something about him that cheered her up and made her feel like a grown up. An hour later she stood on the corner and tried not to look too pleased when he came strutting along the pavement towards her.

Doing the shopping with Johnnie alongside relieved some of the monotony of standing in the various queues to get everything on her mother’s list. It was a relaxing and light-hearted few hours away from the house, but as she neared home she knew there was going to be trouble the moment she saw Ray waiting on the pavement outside. He was leaning against the gate jamb, his arms crossed and his face screwed up in anger. Ruby was relieved that she and Johnnie had parted company way before they reached their street.

Ray had one of those faces that would have been handsome if his nature had been different, but he exuded a thin-lipped violence that twisted his features and made him look unattractive and nasty.

As she looked at him she was suddenly scared, but there was no way she was going to let him see.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he snarled as he unfolded his arms. ‘Mum said you’ve been gone hours.’

‘Getting the shopping like Mum asked me, but what’s it got to do with you? And anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?’ Ruby asked with a smile and a lot more bravado in her voice than she felt in her heart.

‘It’s got plenty to do with me. What have you been up to all this time?’

‘Mind your own. You can’t tell me what to do or when to do it.’

He moved closer to her. ‘I’m the man of this house, head of the household, and you answer to me. Those retarded bumpkins out in the middle of nowhere might have let you roam the streets doing what you want but I won’t. Your job is to help Ma and Nan. If you have to get shopping you go and then come straight back.’

Ruby gasped as she took in his words. ‘Man of the house? Oh, do shut up. Do you know how daft you sound? This isn’t the cinema, it’s real life. You’re my brother, that’s all you are – just a brother. An equal, not a bloody overseer.’

Ruby laughed in astonishment as she went to push past him. She couldn’t believe that her brother would speak to her like that.

‘You’re a kid, you’re underage and you do as I say or else.’ He moved in front of her, blocking her way with his body.

‘Or else what? No, I do what I like and it’s none of your business. I’m not your daughter or your wife. Now get out of my way if you want supper tonight, else I’ll tip this lot out in the street and you’ll have bugger all.’

For a moment Ray looked quite shocked. He hadn’t expected her to challenge him.

‘You dare talk to me like that, you little cow! Now get into your room and stay there until I say you can come out!’

Ruby stared hard at Ray and slowly shook her head. ‘Not bloody likely. Get away from me …’

His hand flicked out and he grabbed her forcefully by the arm, dragged her down the path to the front door, then pulled her round until they were nose to nose.

‘Get indoors and get into your room or I’ll get Dad’s belt to you.’

‘You just try it, you lay one finger on me and I’ll be out of that door for good. Don’t forget, I’ve got somewhere to go.’

As soon as the words were out she regretted them. In the heat of the moment she had given Ray an insight into her thoughts.

‘That’s what you think,’ he snarled. ‘You ain’t going nowhere, never in a million years. Nowhere!’ His face was so close to hers she could feel the spittle on her cheek as he spat the words at her.

She tried to pull away from him but he just tightened his grip around the top of her arm and walked her over the doorstep into the hall before pulling his other hand back and slapping her across the face. As she reeled away he snatched the shopping basket from her before shoving her so forcefully into her bedroom she tumbled straight onto her bed. Then, before she could stand up, he took the key from the inside, slammed the door shut and locked it.

‘Now you can stay there until I say you can come out.’

She rattled the handle with one hand and massaged her face with the other. She could feel her cheek swelling and her eye starting to close.

‘Open this door,’ she screamed as loud as she could. ‘Open the door!’

But there was just silence from the other side.

Four

‘Oh, Ruby, you silly girl, what have you done to upset Ray? He’s got a fearsome temper, that lad. He’s not one to be crossed.’

Ruby looked round and realised for the first time that her grandmother was also in the room and sitting quietly in her chair by the window.

‘I haven’t done anything. He’s just being a pig because he is a pig. I hate him,’ Ruby said, fighting hard not to cry. Not because she was upset or even because she was hurt, but because she was so angry and frustrated. How dare he do that to her? Hitting her was bad enough, but locking her in her bedroom like a child? She rattled the handle loudly and kicked out at the door, hoping that her mother would come and let her out.

‘Let me out of here,’ she screamed as loudly as she could. ‘Mum? Arthur? Are you there? Someone unlock this bloody door. Ray locked me in and Nan’s inside. Mum?’

‘They won’t open the door, Ruby, not if Ray’s locked it. They’ll never cross Ray, none of them. They’re all scared of him, even your mother; and anyway, he’ll have the key in his pocket, like as not. No one’ll dare ask for it.’ Her grandmother’s tone was wearily matter-of-fact.

‘But why’s Mum scared of him? He’s her son, he should respect her, shouldn’t he?’ Ruby asked.

‘Because that Ray’s just like his father – your father – and she knows it. He doesn’t respect anyone. He’s nothing but a bullyboy and your grandfather would turn in his grave if he could see the way that boy carries on. My Ernie never liked your father right from the first day your mother brought him home, and he wouldn’t like Ray, I know that for a fact. Truly like father like son. Peas in a pod, those two.’ Pulling her shawl tighter round her shoulders she shook her head sadly. ‘The others aren’t really bad boys. Bobbie looks up to Ray, God help him, so he does as he’s told, and poor Arthur doesn’t really understand it all. But that Ray, he’s bad through and through and no one can do anything about it.’ She sighed, her whole chest heaving as if it was an effort. ‘But it’s your mother I feel for. My poor Sarah. A thug for a husband and now a thug for a son. Your mother is my only living child, even though we had three, so it hurts all the more to see her treated like that by one of her own children.’

Ruby sat on the edge of her bed and studied her grandmother, whom she knew could probably see only her outline across the room. For the first time since her return to London she was seeing her as a person; as Elsie Saunders, wife and mother, not just Nan who now lived with them all and with whom she grudgingly shared a bedroom.

Ruby had been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she hadn’t realised how hard it must be for a woman of Nan’s age to go from having her own home, where she had lived all her married life with her husband and where she had raised a family, to owning nothing and having to share a bedroom with a fifteen-year-old, eating her meals when she was told and being ordered around like a child by her own grandson.

It was too much for Ruby and she felt the tears of guilt break through and roll down her cheek. Standing up she went over the woman, leaned forward and hugged her tightly.

‘Well, I never – what was that for?’

‘Because I’m a selfish cow, Nan, and I’m sorry.’

Elsie Saunders’ eyes also filled up. ‘You’re a good girl, Ruby, and it’s a crying shame they made you come back here. Your mother shouldn’t have done that and I told her so when Ray went to get you. She should have let you get away from this, even if she can’t.’

‘I want to go back there, Nana, I want to go back so badly, and they want me back. I could finish school and get qualifications. I want to train to be a nurse. It wouldn’t mean I’d be gone for ever. Aunty Babs was teaching me how to sew my own clothes and grow fruit and vegetables, and I had real friends. But how can I go back now I know what’s going on here? I can’t leave you and Mum with Ray.’

Ruby started to cry. She didn’t want to; she didn’t want there to be any possibility of Ray finding out she was upset, but she couldn’t help it.

‘Don’t you cry, Ruby love. Listen to me: you have to go back. You can’t stop Ray being as he is, as your mother let him be, so don’t sacrifice yourself. I saw what he did – my eyes are bad, but not that bad – and anyhow, I know that sound. He’s his father’s son all right.’ She reached her hand up and gently touched her granddaughter’s swelling face. ‘Now, as we’re locked in together, why don’t you tell me all about your time away? We haven’t had time for more than a few words since you’ve been back and it would be so nice to hear all about it.’

It was Sarah who opened the door a couple of hours later. ‘Your dinner’s ready and the boys have gone out. I told Ray he shouldn’t have locked you in. He gave me the key.’

‘Then why didn’t you let us out? He locked Nan in here as well, and he hit me you know; hit me around the face. Look.’ Ruby pointed to her swollen cheek.

Her mother glanced at her. ‘That’s going to really bruise up. I’ll find the witch hazel. But you shouldn’t have upset him. He told me what you said. You wouldn’t have spoken to your father like that, would you?’ The woman pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. ‘Anyway, what’s done is done. Just remember next time, Ray can get carried away but he doesn’t mean it badly; he’s just trying to look after everyone the best he can.’

‘He is not my father. He locked the door with Nana in here. You should have let us out straight away.’ Ruby was incensed and so was her tone but her mother simply shrugged.

‘But there’s no harm done, is there? And you’ll know for next time. He is the man of the house now.’

‘Oh, stop using that expression. There’s nothing manly about him. He’s just a thug and a bully. I hate him.’

Her mother didn’t answer straight away; she simply frowned and looked from her daughter to her mother in bemusement, as if she really didn’t understand what Ruby was so upset about.

‘I don’t think you understand, Ruby. Your brothers, especially Ray, work hard to keep this family going now your father’s gone. Without them I’d probably end up in the workhouse. It’s not asking much of you to help me look after them and your nan. Don’t forget while you were living the life of Riley with the la-di-dah Wheatons, the boys were here working, I was working, and we were all trying to survive the Blitz.’

‘But you sent me away. I didn’t ask to go,’ Ruby shouted.

‘Yes we did. We sent you for your own safety, but you were meant to come back!’

Ruby stared at her mother. Sarah Blakeley was an attractive woman who had kept her looks despite everything she’d been through. There were lines across her forehead and around her eyes, and her lips were pinched, but she still retained her shapely figure and feminine legs that suited high heels. However, she rarely smiled spontaneously, her eyes were constantly unhappy and when she spoke her voice was a monotone. She wasn’t enjoying her life, she was just going through the motions.

After her long chat with her grandmother when they were locked in the bedroom, Ruby had promised that she would try to be understanding of her mother, and at that moment she could see why the woman gave in to Ray on everything. It was the route to an easier life with fewer arguments. Arguments she knew she couldn’t win. She had been bullied and ground down by her own husband all her married life so it had become part of her nature to accept it as her lot in life. Ray had simply stepped straight into his father’s vacant shoes and she had let him. The treadmill for Sarah Blakeley just carried on with no end in sight and although Ruby felt for her she had no intention of getting on it herself.

In bed that night, with Elsie on the other side of the room snoring and snuffling and keeping her awake, Ruby pulled her eiderdown up to her chin and thought about her afternoon with Johnnie from down the street. Those had been the most carefree hours she’d had since her return. He’d made her laugh as she stood in the queues, bought her an icecream and then helped her carry the shopping. He was blatantly experienced in the ways of the world, maybe overly confident, and from what she’d heard was certainly involved in a great many dodgy dealings, but that added an element of danger that attracted her.

On the other side of the coin he spoke lovingly of his family and had a kindly streak that had been obvious the first time she’d met him. As she thought about Johnnie Riordan she couldn’t help but focus on the resentment that existed between him and Ray and wonder if there was some way she could use her newfound friendship with Johnnie to get her own back on her brother.

It was easy for her mother to shrug off Ray’s behaviour, but she couldn’t. Ray had hit her and treated her as a child – her own brother had acted as if she was his child instead of a sibling – and she had no intention of letting that go without taking some sort of revenge that would punish him and, at the same time, distract him enough to allow her to make her escape back to Melton.

She knew that although Johnnie Riordan worked legitimately in a public house he was also a wheeler-dealer with a finger in many pies, some legal, some not. He bought and sold anything that might earn him a few bob, including the things that the ordinary man in the street had no access to in times of rationing and shortages. It had taken her a while to figure out why Ray hated Johnnie so much. Now she knew: it was because he was jealous; because he really wanted to be a part of those activities himself but he didn’t have a quick enough brain to think things up for himself.

Ruby wondered if she could find a way to make that work in her favour, and as she finally dozed off a plan was coming together in her head.

‘You know what, Roger, I’m gonna have to sort this out right now. I’ve got no choice. I can’t let those pricks get away with it any longer, not now they’re messing around close to home – to my home. If I roll over and let them carry on taking the mick like this then every upstart in Walthamstow and beyond will be trying to get his foot in the door – my door, on my turf.’

His irritation bubbling away, Johnnie Riordan slammed his fist down hard on the table, making the teacups rattle in their saucers and his brother-in-law jump nervously.

‘But how’s it your turf?’ the other man frowned. ‘You don’t own Walthamstow, and anyway, what do you reckon you can do to stop them?’

‘That’s what I’ve got to decide. Any ideas?’ Johnnie asked out of kindness more than anything. He didn’t really expect a workable answer.

‘I’m new at this lark so I don’t know nothing; I’m not like you. It’s hard for me after what’s happened and I just don’t bloody well understand any of it. I can’t do it.’

The man sitting opposite Johnnie was so bewildered he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Johnnie tried hard to keep himself in control. He was fuming at having found out that Ray Blakeley had apparently got his hands on some black-market alcohol to sell on. It wasn’t that Johnnie didn’t have enough of his own, it was that Ray even thought he could try to encroach on his territory.

‘Don’t whine, mate. I know it’s hard for you to get your head round it, but when needs must and all that … It’s not your fault you’re a cripple now, and I feel bad for you, I really do, but your family still need providing for. I’ve given you a good way of doing that so you’ve just got to get on with it. You help me and I’ll help you, but you’ve got to be committed.’

‘But committed to what? What you do’s dishonest. I was never clever, and I’m even dafter now, but that don’t make me bent. I’ve never been bent.’

‘It isn’t dishonest, it isn’t bent and you’re not daft, just a war victim.’ Johnnie struggled to keep his anger down. ‘Well, yeah, OK, it is a bit dodgy but, like I said, when needs must; and right now needs must. I’ve got a living to earn and you’ve got a family to take care of.’

Johnnie was sitting in his sister’s kitchen along with his brother-in-law, Roger Dalton. After they’d got home from the local pub Betty had made them a huge pot of tea, put it in front of them with a couple of home-made biscuits, while at the same time threatening them with their lives if they woke the two sleeping children upstairs.

Johnnie adored his elder sister and her children, and he even liked her husband, which was lucky, as he lived with them and contributed more than his fair share to the family budget.

Johnnie had been living with their widowed mother until the year before when, with very little notice, she had told him she was going off to be a live-in housekeeper in central London for a very wealthy elderly gentleman she’d met while working in the menswear department in Selfridges.

It had been a surprise but neither he nor Betty had been upset. Betty was pleased that her mother was enjoying her life again and had persuaded her beloved little brother to leave the temporary accommodation where he and their mother had been living since being bombed out of the old family home, and come to lodge with her instead. Johnnie was also pleased for his mother but, with an eye always on a chance, he had viewed his mother’s change of circumstances more cynically and could see that her affluent employer was a connection that he might well be able to cultivate in time.

All in all it had worked well for the whole family.

‘I reckon a good battering should do it, nothing too serious but enough to stop his fucking nonsense.’ Johnnie leaned back in the chair and blew smoke rings in the air as he thought about it. ‘That Ray likes to think he’s a hard nut, but he’s just another little punk without enough brains to be even a half-decent entrepreneur. As for Bobbie, he could be squashed underfoot in an instant. A few hard kicks up the arse should knock them down to size.’

‘Entrepen what?’ Roger looked quizzically at his brother-in-law.

‘It’s what I am and what I’m going to make you. Supply and demand. I’ve told you before, we find those who haven’t got it but want it and then we supply it.’

‘Supply what?’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Roger, anything anyone wants that we can get our hands on. We’re the middlemen. But you know all this; I’ve explained it over and over.’ Johnnie sighed and banged the palm of his hand against his forehead in frustration.

‘I know, but I’ve never heard it called that before. I thought it was just the black-market stuff.’

Johnnie sighed and leaned forward. ‘Now listen to me, don’t even mutter that expression under your breath, never mind out loud. We’re businessmen – does that make it easier for you to understand? Anyone asks, we’re businessmen. Don’t say anything else. OK?’

Roger Dalton frowned and shrugged. He had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer but, before signing up to fight in the army, he had had a steady job in a local factory and had worked hard to provide for his family. Now, thanks to a random grenade, he was officially an invalid with a gammy arm that hung lifelessly by his side, a shattered knee that didn’t bend, and an eye patch covering an empty eye socket while he waited to be fitted with a false one. But worse than the physical damage was the effect the explosion had had on him psychologically. Roger had returned from convalescence a nervous wreck who rarely slept and who jumped at the slightest sound. He was getting better – mostly thanks to his wife – but Johnnie had also more than contributed to his painful recovery.

Johnnie was determined not to see his sister go without, so he was doing his best to help by getting Roger into a bit of wheeling and dealing alongside him, but it was hard work and he could only use him on the periphery of his blossoming business. There was no way Roger could cope with anything complex and Johnnie wasn’t convinced he could be trusted not to talk inadvertently about his business to the wrong people.

‘I saw you down the High Street talking to his sister earlier. Betty told me who she was. Is she like her brothers?’

‘You never said hello – where were we?’ Johnnie asked sharply.

‘You were standing by the alley looking at her all daft, like. So is she like her brothers?’

‘I wasn’t looking at her like that, you idiot!’ Johnnie said a little too quickly. ‘But no, she’s not a typical Blakeley. An old head on young shoulders, that one; all classy and bright as a button, thanks to spending five years away from the no-hopers in her family. I think she’ll give the bloody Blakeley boys a run for their money eventually. She especially hates Ray so she’s a good one to have on our side. We can make use of her if we play our cards right; get some info from her when we need it.’

‘Do you want to go out with her then?’ Roger asked curiously. ‘She’s a bit of a looker, but don’t tell Bet I said that.’

‘Get off, she’s far too young for me – not even sixteen yet,’ Johnnie replied quickly, but with a lack of conviction. ‘But there’s something about her, the way she carries herself, her conversation … I dunno, she just seems way older than other girls her age. If I didn’t know I’d have put her at twenty.’

‘So you do want to go out with her?’ Roger pushed with a wide grin.

‘I said, she’s too young for that, but I do want to be friends with her so I can keep tabs on the two toerags.’

‘So are we going to have to batter ’em then? The Blakeleys?’

‘No we’re not, I’m going to get someone else to do it. We don’t want to get in any bother ourselves, do we?’

Again Roger looked vague and Johnnie could feel his patience evaporating.

‘Look, I’ve got to have a good think about it first. Maybe we could find Ray’s stash and nick it. He has to store it somewhere, probably in that garage where they both work. He couldn’t tell anyone we’d done it, could he? It’d drive him crazy and get him into some real bother.’ Johnnie smiled at the thought, then stood up. ‘Still, enough of that now, we’d better get ourselves off to bed before our Betty has a go. Me and her are off up west tomorrow to see Ma in her classy joint. Might even get to meet the rich toff she’s working for.’

‘It’s not fair. I dunno why I can’t go as well.’ Roger’s voice was childlike, his tone sulky. ‘Why does Betty want to go with you and not me? I’m her husband.’

It irritated Johnnie when Roger behaved like this, but he tried to make allowances for everything he’d been through.

‘Because you and Aunty Clara are keeping an eye on the kids for a change, and my motorbike don’t take three.’

‘But I want to go as well.’

‘Too bad,’ Johnnie interrupted. ‘I want doesn’t always get. Your missus needs a break sometimes, and I’m taking her out so stop bloody moaning on like a sissy.’

As soon as the words were out he felt guilty. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a job you can do if you want an extra couple of bob; just an hour or so while the kids are at school.’

Roger’s face lit up. ‘What’s that then?’

‘I’ll tell you about it in the morning,’ Johnnie replied, giving himself a few hours to think of something that would help his brother-in-law’s self-esteem.

Five

1940

A large group of children all aged around ten stood in two raggedy lines. They faced forward obediently and, even though the boys feigned bravado, each and every one of the children was noticeably scared and nervous. Hands and feet fidgeted and eyes either darted around, taking in the unfamiliar scene, or stared down at their shoes.

Ruby Blakeley was in the middle of one line, her small suitcase and gas mask at her feet, tightly holding hands with the equally terrified small girl beside her. Her heart was thumping and tears were threatening to overflow once again from her already red eyes; all she wanted to do was run out of the gates and keep on running until she got back home. What had seemed a bit of an adventure when they had set off for the train station earlier that same morning had quickly turned into a nightmare once the reality of the situation sank in. They were leaving their families, homes and everything familiar to go and live far away with complete strangers.

Once the selection process got underway her thoughts became confused. On the one hand she desperately wanted to be picked, but on the other she didn’t want to have to go home with any of the strangers who were milling around the playground, chatting with each other.

As they had neared the village, Mrs Sparrow, one of the accompanying teachers, had stood up at the front of the coach and briefly explained to the thirty children on board exactly what would happen once they had reached their destination.

‘To make sure you all understand I’ll repeat everything you were told earlier on the train, so listen very carefully. Those of you with red dots on your labels are getting off at the first village and the other half with blue dots will be taken to the next village with Miss Flynn. The other coaches, with the children who are accompanied by their mothers, have gone elsewhere. We’ll be ticking your names off the list as you get off so don’t any of you be trying to stay on board if you’re in the first group.’

The usually stern teacher smiled down at the sea of small faces to ease the tension and paused while every child looked down at his or her name label.

‘Once you’re matched with your host family they’ll take you to their home where you’re going to live with them until London’s safe again. These are kindly people who are doing their war duty so we expect you to repay them by doing as you’re told at all times, being helpful and behaving well. You’ll be attending school while you’re here, so you’ll make some new friends; and don’t forget, Miss Flynn and I will be staying with our groups for the time being. We know you’re going to miss your families but you all have to be brave. It’s for your own good, remember, to take you all away from the bombing.’

A few minutes after she had finished speaking the coach pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. It was the moment of reality for the children, and some of the girls had started to cry openly while most of the boys chewed their lips, fiddled with their hankies and stared out of the windows, pretending not to care.

‘All right, children. Red dots collect all your belongings and follow me. Quickly! Tell me your name and show me your label as you get off.’

The children scrambled off the coach and formed a crocodile before hesitantly following their teacher into the church hall next to the local school. After a brief respite, which included hot chocolate and biscuits, they were instructed to line up back in the school playground and the process began.

Only three children were picked before Ruby. Then she saw a woman point to her.

‘Ruby Blakeley, step forward, please,’ her teacher said, and she took the smallest step forward with her eyes firmly on the ground. ‘Ruby! Manners!’

Swallowing hard, she looked up just as a tall, imposing woman stepped up to her and smiled.

‘Hello, Ruby. I’m Mrs Wheaton. You’re coming home to stay with me.’

Despite the lady’s friendliness, Ruby was terrified, and she couldn’t stop herself from shaking as she bent down to pick up her sparse belongings.

‘You look frightened, Ruby, but don’t be. Think of this as a nice holiday,’ the woman said gently before taking Ruby’s free hand and walking her up the main village street. She talked all the way, explaining about the village and pointing out the shops and landmarks, but the ten-year-old was so wrapped up in her own fear she found it hard to even concentrate, let alone respond.

‘Here we are, Ruby, just in here. This is where we live. We don’t have any children ourselves but your schoolfriends will be staying nearby. I was part of the committee that organised the billets so you just have to ask and I can tell you where they all are. And you’ll make new friends at school.’

Ruby looked around as they approached the house. From the exterior it reminded her of ‘the big house’ up in Woodford, where her mother was employed as a cleaner. During the school holidays she had sometimes gone with her mother and waited impatiently on the wall outside, wondering about the inside, but not once had she been allowed over the threshold; and she had never met her mother’s employer.

The Wheaton property was equally impressive, with thick wisteria growing up the walls, flowerbeds on each side and a walled garden to the rear. The house itself was L-shaped and stood alone on a corner at the top of the main street behind a high but neatly trimmed hedge. A large black car was parked on the drive near a detached garage, a fat ginger and white cat curled up on the car roof. He opened his eyes, looked at the newcomer and closed them again.

Talking all the while, Mrs Wheaton led Ruby along a curvy path to a hidden entrance on the side.

‘We always use this entrance because the other one is the one the patients use to go into the surgery. I did tell you my husband is a doctor, didn’t I? But there are also doors in the house that lead from one to the other.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, and the cat is called Fred. He’s very gentle and lazy and loves children. Mr Yardley lives in the flat over the garage. He drives the car for the doctor and does all the odd jobs. You’ll meet him later, and we usually have a nurse staying with us. There’s a new one coming next week. She’ll live in the room at the back of the surgery. That’s why we only had room to take in one evacuee. It’s a very busy house and surgery.’

With a hand placed in the middle of her back, the woman gently pushed a hesitant Ruby through an already open front door into a wide, square lobby with a tiled floor and half-panelled walls. Several dark wood doors led off it and there was an impressive staircase to the side that turned twice on its way to the first floor. Ruby’s first impression was that it was enormous, so enormous she couldn’t imagine sleeping even one night inside without being scared witless.

‘I’ll show you your bedroom in a minute, but first I want you to meet my husband. He’ll be through in just a moment.’

Even as Mrs Wheaton spoke Ruby heard a clunking sound and turned around to see a man in a wheelchair heading across the tiled floor towards them. Ruby was petrified when she saw the man wheeling himself towards her. His head was down and she couldn’t see his expression.

‘George darling, this is Ruby Blakeley, the evacuee who’s going to be staying with us. She’s ten years old and from London. She’s also very nervous, understandably. Ruby, this is my husband, Dr Wheaton.’

‘Don’t be nervous, Ruby,’ the man said as he stopped his chair in front of her. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I hope you’ll be happy during your time here; we look forward to having you for as long as you need to be here.’

The man held his hand out to her and smiled. His face was friendly and his tone soothing but, despite all the niceness, a huge wave of homesickness swept over her and before she could reach out and take the proffered hand she started to cry. Her shoulders moved up and down in time with the huge gasping sobs that she tried desperately to control but couldn’t.

Mrs Wheaton immediately bent down and pulled the little girl to her; she hugged her tight and, whispering gently, she continued to hold her until the sobs subsided.

‘There, I think the worst is over for you now so chin up. I’ll show you your room and then we’ll have dinner and get to know each other.’

Later that night Ruby lay curled up in her bed and thought about everything that had happened during that long first day. She was exhausted, but although Mrs Wheaton had made her a cup of warm cocoa she couldn’t sleep. Her room was large and her bed was soft and welcoming, but she hated it and wished she was back home in the familiar boxroom, which she had to herself because she was the only girl. She also wished she had been able to bring some of her favourite personal things with her: the three china animal ornaments that had perched on her windowsill for as long as she could remember, the wooden box that contained all manner of secrets and mementoes, the mini-bolster that she liked to cuddle at night; but most of all she wished her mother was there with her.

When they’d started to gather in the school playground in Walthamstow, Ruby had assumed that all the children were travelling alone, but then she’d realised that some of the mothers had cases with them also.

‘Why aren’t you coming, Mum?’ she’d asked tearfully.

‘Don’t fuss, Ruby. Only the babies have their mothers with them. You’re a big girl now, you don’t need me with you. Besides, I have to look after the boys.’

‘Why aren’t they being evacuated, then? There are big boys here.’ Ruby waved her hand around to make her point.

‘You know your dad wouldn’t let them go. Just you, because you’re a girl. Now, no more tears. Look, everyone’s walking; you need to find your place with your friends. I can see Mary Flaherty over there – go and walk with her.’

‘Aren’t you even coming to the coach with me?’

‘No, I have to get back. I have to get to work or I won’t get paid. You know what Mrs Harrison is like if I’m late. But you write to me as soon as you know your address and I’ll write back. You won’t be away long, I promise!’

The crocodile of children had started moving slowly, and Ruby took her place, but when she looked around to wave she couldn’t see her mother anywhere in the sea of faces. There were so many children that no one would have noticed that Ruby’s mother had gone, but still her face reddened and her disappointment was physically painful: her mother hadn’t even kissed her goodbye.

Now she was in a beautiful bedroom that was probably six times the size of her boxroom back home. It was well furnished, with a proper wash-basin in the corner and a large yellow teddy bear with brown button eyes on the end of the bed. It was beautiful and luxurious beyond her imagination, but at that moment all she wanted was to be back at home with her mother in the crowded terraced house with an outside toilet and no bathroom.

Ruby Blakeley was unhappier than she had ever been in her life. She buried her head under the fluffy pillow and sobbed silently until she was exhausted. Daylight dawned just as she dropped off, and next thing she knew there was a knock on the door.

‘Ruby? Are you awake? Breakfast is nearly ready. Ruby?’

‘I’m awake.’ Ruby replied cautiously.

The door opened slightly and Mrs Wheaton put her head around it.

‘Then get washed and dressed and come down. I’ll be in the kitchen. Dr Wheaton has an early surgery this morning and then Yardley, the driver, will take him on his rounds so it’s just you and me. I’m looking forward to it.’

Ruby climbed out of bed and tiptoed across the landing into the bathroom. She’d never been in one quite like it until the night before and was overawed again with the inside lavatory with a shiny metallic chain, and the huge white bath with claw feet and gleaming taps. Even at the age of ten Ruby was worldly enough to take it all in and wonder exactly how rich the Wheatons were to have a house that size.

As she shyly took her seat at the table in the kitchen Babs Wheaton turned round from the range and put a plate in front of her with a fat rasher of bacon, a fried egg and a thick slice of fried bread. Just looking at it made Ruby feel sick but she knew she had to make an effort. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her host family on the first day.

‘Did you get to sleep, Ruby? I heard your bed creaking during the night but I didn’t want to come in and upset you.’

‘I’m all right,’ Ruby mumbled as she looked at the plate in front of her. ‘I just feel a bit sick now.’

‘Would you sooner have a plain slice of toast? You need something inside you, especially if you feel sick.’

Babs Wheaton removed the barely touched breakfast plate and replaced it with another that had just a slice of toasted bread with a scrape of butter on it and a glass of milk.

‘Is that better? I know this is horrid for you but it will get better once you settle. In fact, today is a settling-in day for all the evacuees so we’ve both got a free day.’ She paused and looked at the child sitting at her table. ‘I think we should go for a walk round the village. I’ll show you the shops and we can look at the church. We might even bump into the vicar and his wife. They also played a big part in arranging this evacuation and finding accommodation for you all.’

‘I still feel a bit sick,’ Ruby muttered cautiously, not wanting to go anywhere, least of all to meet the vicar and his wife.

‘Then a breath of fresh air will do you good. Mind you, I think most of the children will be feeling sick today. It was a long journey for you all yesterday and you’re all away from home.’

‘Do I have to go to school tomorrow if I still feel sick?’ Ruby asked hopefully.

‘Oh, I think you’ll be fine by tomorrow and, if not … well, Dr Wheaton will have a look at you. And you won’t be going for the whole day. The school hours have changed because of having to fit in so many extra children; we can check when we get down there this morning.’

Babs Wheaton’s tone was lightly firm and her smile was kindly, but Ruby knew instinctively there would be no point in arguing with the woman.

Walking back down the hill through the village, Ruby started to relax. They visited all the shops, and Ruby was impressed that Mrs Wheaton was introducing her as if she was a genuine visitor rather than a child who had simply been dumped on her.

That evening she was surprised when Mrs Wheaton explained about the evening meal; Ruby hadn’t expected to be included for every meal and a part of her didn’t want to be. The whole situation was far too overwhelming for a ten-year-old away from home for the first time.

‘We don’t stand on ceremony at mealtimes but we do expect promptness and good table manners. Now you sit here …’

Ruby took her seat nervously and sat perfectly still and quiet, with her hands in her lap and her eyes down.

‘Now, young Ruby, tell us a little about yourself and your family.’

Ruby looked up through her eyelashes at the man sitting adjacent to her at the head of the table. Her mouth was dry and the nausea she had felt that morning started to rise again.

‘We know your father is away at war and that you have two brothers at home—’

‘Three brothers.’

‘Ah,’ Dr Wheaton smiled, ‘the lone girl in a family of boys. No wonder you’re so quiet; I doubt you ever get a word in.’

Both Dr and Mrs Wheaton tried hard to bring her out of herself and into a conversation but she remained mostly silent and scared.

‘Would you pass me the gravy, please, Ruby?’ the doctor asked.

Silently Ruby leaned forward and picked up the glass saucer holding the jug, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t hold on to it. As she went to pass it she felt it slip away and land in the middle of the table, splattering the thick hot gravy everywhere, including down Dr Wheaton’s shirt. His wife jumped up from her chair and, with a quickly snatched tea towel, tried to minimise the mess as the doctor wheeled his chair backwards away from the table. But the brown liquid had already made its mark.

Paralysed with fear, Ruby could only watch the chaos she had caused. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry …’

As the man moved his wheelchair towards her, so she cowered down in her seat fearfully. She was horrified she could have done such a thing, and terrified of the consequences. In her head she could hear her father’s angry voice, and she could see the whiplash that was his hand as he banged one or other of her brothers around the head for the slightest perceived misdemeanour. A dropped gravy boat would have earned the boys a sound thrashing with his belt and Ruby a banishment by her mother to her room with nothing to eat or drink until the next day.

‘Ruby, it’s OK, it’s just gravy. It doesn’t matter,’ Barbara said gently. ‘It was an accident. We have them all the time in this house. I often drop things, and so does my husband. Now let’s get this cleared up and then we’ll start again.’

Eyes wide, Ruby looked from one to the other. ‘I’m sorry.’

George Wheaton moved very slowly back beside her. He smiled and then gently ruffled her hair. ‘Promise me you won’t ever be frightened of either of us again, Ruby. Promise?’

‘I promise.’

Six

Walthamstow

‘Any letters for me?’ Ruby asked as she closed the front door behind her. It was always the first question she asked the moment she walked into the house. As she slipped off her coat and hung it on the hallstand she looked around hopefully.

‘No, and I wish you wouldn’t keep going on about it. I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Ruby. I know you mean letters from the bloody Wheatons and you know how much it gets me and your brother going when you keep asking. It’s finished – all of it. You have to forget it.’

Head on one side, Ruby stared at her mother. She couldn’t understand her constantly defensive stance towards the Wheatons, a couple who had done nothing wrong by her at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

‘I can’t forget about it. And anyway, why should it bother Ray? Or you? I lived with them for five years, they looked after me as if I was their own daughter, and I really want to hear from them.’

‘Well, they couldn’t have thought that much of you as they haven’t even written. Anyway, you should be pleased you had a real family to come back to. Lots of evacuees ended up in orphanages, you know. Homes were bombed, whole families killed, and that was it. Instant orphans. You’ve got all of us … well, apart from your father.’

Sarah Blakeley looked over her shoulder at her daughter and they locked eyes. She was kneeling halfway up the stairs, brushing the narrow carpet to within an inch of its life with a brush and dustpan, and Ruby knew the brass stair rods would be next for a vicious attack of Brasso, followed by the polishing of the banister. Every day of the week was marked by different chores and meals, and nothing was ever allowed to interfere with that domestic routine. Sarah’s whole life was run to a meticulous timetable.

Ruby was convinced that her mother worked herself into the ground, both at home and at work so that she was permanently exhausted and therefore too tired to think about her grindingly monotonous life. Ruby felt for her, but at the same time couldn’t understand why she didn’t do anything about it. Being subservient to a husband was to be expected, but to answer in this way to a son was something else entirely and, as far as Ruby was concerned, not what her mother should accept.

‘Yes I know, Mum, and I am grateful you’re all alive and the house is still standing,’ Ruby continued, trying but failing to keep her tone reasoned, ‘but just because I have family here doesn’t mean I can’t have a second family there. They were good to me and you should be pleased.’ Her voice got stronger along with her frustration. ‘A lot of evacuees were treated like skivvies. I heard about one who only ever slept in a barn, even in winter, and he wasn’t allowed to go to school, and he had to work all day on the farm to earn a meal.’

‘Don’t you shout at me. And grateful?’ Sarah laughed drily. ‘To them? I should be grateful that they tried to keep my only daughter? It was only because of Ray going up there that they let you come home at all. Just because they couldn’t have their own they wanted to keep you to look after the crippled doctor in his dotage. They’ve ruined you, given you ideas above your station so you won’t settle back here. They did it deliberately.’

Ruby knew her mother was repeating Ray’s words and that it was pointless to argue, but she couldn’t help it.

‘That’s not true, you know it isn’t. It’s just what Ray says …’

‘It is true, Ruby, it is! Me and Ray both met them, don’t forget. Both of them pretending to care but looking down on us all the while. Now stop keep going on about them and how wonderful they are. I mean, how come they’ve no kids of their own, him being a doctor an’ all? Unless he’s not a real man down there.’

Ruby was near to tears at the injustice of it all, but still she wouldn’t back down.

‘Why are you so horrible about them, Mum? They did their best for me and they still want to, I know they do. I could have a career, I could have—’

‘Shut up, Ruby. Just shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Sarah stood up. She stepped down the stairs and looked at her daughter, and Ruby could see the tears of anger in her eyes.

‘I don’t understand …’

‘That’s because you don’t want to.’

Ruby paused when she saw what looked like genuine hurt on her mother’s face. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just forget I said anything!’

Ruby stopped arguing. She could see that her mother would always follow Ray’s lead and support his opinions. It puzzled her that her own mother didn’t want the best possible for her, but she could also see there was no point in arguing about it.

But she was worried. She’d heard nothing from the Wheatons since their first letter and she couldn’t understand how they could have forgotten about her so quickly. She’d written to them several times telling them how she felt, how she wanted to go back but wasn’t allowed. She had opened up her heart and they hadn’t responded, making her wonder if something was amiss.

Because her mother allowed Ray to have the upper hand in the household, Ruby’s life was becoming increasingly unbearable. In fact, it was becoming the same as her mother’s: a grind of mind-numbing domesticity. Her hopes of escape were pinned on her grandmother’s support and the hope that the Wheatons still wanted her to live there.

She grabbed her coat again. ‘I’m going to the phone box. I’m going to telephone them. They wouldn’t have forgotten my birthday last week, I know they wouldn’t. Something must be wrong …’

‘Don’t you dare go running off, Ruby. You come back here this minute! Don’t you dare phone them. I’ll send Ray after you …’ her mother shouted after her as she slipped out of the front door without closing it, but Ruby took off down the road regardless.

She had no idea where she was going until she was halfway down the street and saw the open gate. On the spur of the moment she swerved in and cautiously knocked on the front door.

‘Well, if it isn’t Ruby Red!’ Johnnie Riordan smiled as he opened the front door and saw her standing nervously on the step. ‘Long time no see, missy. I thought you might have done a runner. What’s up? You look upset.’

‘Just out of breath,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to ask, I want to make a telephone call but I left in a hurry and my purse is indoors and I don’t have any money for the phone box. I can give it back to you but I don’t want to have to go back for it right now …’ she hesitated. ‘Ray is due home soon and if I go back I might not get out again.’

‘Course you can. Come in.’ He stood back. ‘You can come and meet my big sister, Betty Dalton, while you’re here. She’s great, is our Betty. Keeps us all in line.’

His voice raised at the end of the sentence and he looked over his shoulder.

‘I’m not deaf, you know. I can hear you talking about me,’ a voice echoed down the hallway.

‘You were meant to,’ Johnnie shouted back. ‘I like to keep on your good side.’ He looked back to Ruby and grinned. ‘Come and meet Ruby Blakeley. She lives up the other end of the road.’

Betty Dalton came towards them and smiled cautiously. ‘Hello, Ruby, nice to meet you. How are you settling back here? My brother told me all about your evacuation. You were really lucky, from what I’ve heard – so lucky, in fact, you nearly didn’t come back!’

‘Nice to meet you too, Mrs Dalton. Yes, I was very lucky,’ Ruby answered nervously.

‘Call me Betty. Have you got time for a cuppa?’

‘Erm, I was just going to the phone box …’

‘A quick one then. Come through to the back room. I’ve baked a cake and it’s still warm. Does that persuade you?’

‘That’d be nice, thank you very much,’ Ruby said politely as she stepped into the house and followed Betty Dalton down the hall into the light and airy breakfast room. The houses in this part of the street were larger than those at the top end, with three storeys and inside facilities. The room was light and inviting with long sash windows decorated with pretty lace curtains and a dark red velour cover on the table in the side bay.

‘Sit down and I’ll make the tea.’

The woman went through to the kitchen, leaving Ruby sitting opposite Johnnie at the long rectangular table. She stared nervously at her hands, wondering what Ray would say if he ever found out she’d been inside the house of his sworn enemy.

Johnnie smiled. ‘You look nervous but there’s no need; Betty’s not going to tell Ray you’ve been here.’

‘How did you know I was thinking that?’ Ruby asked.

‘Because I know how you feel about Ray.’

‘Here you are.’ Betty brought a tray through and set it down. To Ruby’s surprise she sat down with them.

As they made polite conversation Ruby looked from brother to sister. She was fascinated that there was no physical resemblance between them. Betty was not much over five foot, with pale skin, dark brown, tightly permed hair, and oval brown-flecked eyes. She wasn’t unattractive, but there was nothing about her that stood out, in contrast to her tall, good-looking and charismatic young brother. Emotionally, however, Ruby could feel the link between the two. It was instantly obvious that the siblings adored each other, and she felt a little pang of envy. She’d seen the same connection between Marian and Keith Forger, her friends in Cambridgeshire, and it saddened her that she didn’t have that closeness with any of her brothers.

Even Arthur was different now he was older and in the thrall of his two older brothers. If just the two of them were together it was almost like the old days when, despite being younger, Ruby had been the protector whom Arthur adored. But his fear of Ray and Bobbie was so great that if they were around he would either ignore her or bully her exactly as they did. It made her hate Ray even more.

‘Tell me about your phone call – unless it’s private, of course?’ Johnnie asked once they were all seated at the table with tea and cake in front of them. Ruby looked cautiously at Betty, unsure of her.

‘It’s OK, our Betty’s the soul of discretion, aren’t you Bet?’

‘Of course I am. I don’t gossip me, but I’m not nosy either, so I’ll go and find something to do if you want me out of the way.’

‘No, it’s OK’, Ruby interrupted quickly. ‘I wanted to ring the people where I was evacuated to but I left home without my purse. I’ve got the money at home but if I go back then I mightn’t get out again. My brother …’ she stopped. ‘I mean, my mother …’

‘It’s all right,’ Johnnie interrupted. ‘Betty knows all about your brothers.’

‘Arthur’s OK,’ she said defensively. ‘He just follows the others. He’s a bit slow – Mum always says he was born with the cord tied round his neck – and even Bobbie would be better if he wasn’t around Ray all the time. Anyway, I had my birthday, and Mr and Mrs Wheaton didn’t even send a card. I don’t understand it. I haven’t heard from them since I got back and I’m worried something’s happened.’

Johnnie and Betty exchanged looks.

‘What?’ Ruby looked from one to the other. ‘Do you know something?’

‘No, don’t know anything, but I can make a bloody good guess,’ Johnnie said.

‘Don’t use bad language in front of ladies, thank you very much, John. You weren’t brought up to do that.’ Betty glared at him fiercely.

‘Sorry, sis.’ He looked from his sister to Ruby. ‘Just wondering if your brother has possibly been nicking your letters.’

‘He wouldn’t do that.’ But as soon as she spoke the words Ruby realised what she’d said, and laughed. ‘Of course he would. I wonder why I never thought of that.’

‘Because you’re not a lying scheming piece of scum like Ray. Sorry, but I have to say it as it is.’

Ruby frowned. At times she hated her brothers but she still felt a certain sibling loyalty and Johnnie’s rhetoric made her feel uncomfortable. She waited for Betty to intervene again but she didn’t.

‘I tell you what, Ruby Red, how about next week I take you to see them? We could go on my motorbike. It shouldn’t take long if I put my foot down – an easy run, almost a straight line, I reckon.’

Ruby caught the glare of disapproval that Betty Dalton flashed at her brother.

‘Ruby’s family wouldn’t approve of you taking her down to the High Street on that old boneshaker, let alone all that way, and quite rightly. You can’t go upsetting them with something like that. It’s none of our business and it’s not right.’

‘I could borrow a car. Bill Morgan would lend me his, if I asked nicely. I’m in his good books at the moment.’

‘Bill Morgan? You know what I think of him,’ Betty snapped. ‘And what about petrol? Where will you get that, or daren’t I ask? I’m telling you, John, you bring trouble to this door and you’ll know about it. Just you remember that.’

‘OK, OK, we’ll go by train. How about that?’

Betty stared at her brother for a few moments. Then, without giving an answer, she stood up and walked out of the room, shaking her head.

‘Sorry; all my fault, that. I shouldn’t have said it in front of her; what the eye don’t see the heart don’t grieve over. She’s very upright and righteous, is our Betty, but she’s got a heart of gold underneath it all.’ Johnnie pulled a face. ‘But I mean it. I’ll take you if you want, but the train is probably best. I’ve never been further than Wanstead Flats on the bike since I got it.’

Ruby laughed. ‘The train would be best. It’s a long way, and anyway, I have to ring them first and see if they still want to see me.’

‘They’ll want to see you. I bet any money you like your Ray’s been playing at postman.’

Johnnie Riordan stood up, dipped into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. After a quick glance at the money in his palm he took Ruby’s hand and pressed the coins into it.

‘That should be plenty. Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Would you? But I don’t want us to be seen. Ray’s been worse lately and I don’t want to ask for any more trouble than I’ve got already.’

‘Go to the phone box at the top end of the High Street and I’ll meet you there. I’ll give you a head start and I’ll use the back alleyway.’ He laughed and touched her hand. ‘I could pull my hat forward and turn up the old collar like they do in the films. I’m really good at not being seen!’

Ruby smiled in return. ‘Yes, I expect you are,’ she said.

Seven

Ruby pressed the A button in the telephone box and the coins clanked down. ‘Hello, Aunty Babs? Is that you? It’s me, Ruby …’

That was all she could say before she started crying. Just hearing Babs Wheaton’s voice as she answered the phone was enough to set her off. Suddenly all the sadness and frustrations of her months back in Walthamstow came out, and she couldn’t speak.

Johnnie was close beside her inside the red telephone box, and as she started crying he slipped his arm around her waist sympathetically before gently taking the receiver from her.

‘Mrs Wheaton, I’m Johnnie Riordan, Ruby’s friend. She’s upset and missing you. She’s worried she hasn’t heard from you.’

He held the receiver between him and Ruby so they could both listen.

‘What do you mean, she hasn’t heard from me?’ Babs Wheaton said sharply. ‘I’ve written every week since Ruby left and I sent her ten shillings for her birthday. I wondered why I hadn’t heard from her. I even wrote to her mother because I was worried about her. I wish she’d phoned earlier.’

‘Ruby’s a bit upset but I’ve said I’ll bring her to visit you, would that be OK?’

Ruby’s tears dried quickly as anger took over. She was steaming mad – too mad to have a sensible conversation – so she left most of it to Johnnie. A queue grew outside the telephone box and eventually an elderly man banging on the glass made them bring the call to an end with a promise to phone again as soon as they knew when they’d be visiting.

Once the phone call was over Ruby was itching to get straight home and have it out with her mother and brother. She knew her missing letters had to have been Ray’s idea, but it felt worse to think her mother was part of it.

‘I’ll kill him, I will, I’ll kill him. How dare he do that? And Mum – how could she do that to me? No wonder she tried to stop me going to the phone box. I’m going home to give them what for. How dare they?’

As she ranted so Johnnie stood in front of her and blocked her from rushing off.

‘Now calm down and listen to me. If you go storming in telling ’em all what’s what and upsetting Ray, what good will it do? They’ll know you know all about it and then you’ll stand no chance of me taking you up to see the Wheatons. Take a tip from the expert: keep this information to yourself and then use it when the moment is right.’

‘But I’m so angry. It’s not fair!’

‘You’re going to bide your time. Never do anything in temper; it always backfires.’

‘But I told Mum I was going to phone them,’ Ruby said. ‘She’ll expect me to say something …’

Johnnie grabbed her by her shoulders. ‘Listen to me, Red! Tell her you changed your mind. Say you couldn’t get through, but whatever you do don’t say you talked to them. She’ll be so relieved she’s not been caught out you’ll be able to get away for the day. Be nice, act normal until we’ve been to see them, and then you can say whatever you like!’

As they walked along talking, Ruby automatically linked her arm through his the same way she used to with Keith when they were roaming down the lanes around the village. It was a few moments before she realised what she had done and she pulled her arm away, hoping that Johnnie hadn’t noticed. One of the things she missed most about Melton was the casual way of life and the accompanying friendships that meant she was never lonely. Keith Forger was as much a friend to Ruby as his sister Marian was, and she missed their easy friendship so much.

Once Ruby and Johnnie were back in the danger zone they separated and took different routes to Elsmere Road. As she neared the top of the road Ruby could see her mother standing at the gate in conversation with Mrs O’Connor, her next-door neighbour. As Ruby approached, Sarah Blakeley stopped talking and looked at her daughter carefully; Ruby could see the apprehension in her eyes as she studied her face.

‘Well? What did she say?’

With a shrug Ruby walked past her mother and Mrs O’Connor and went indoors and, as she had expected, Sarah Blakeley followed her.

‘Ruby, I’m talking to you. What did she say? More lies, I’ll be bound. You can’t trust them, you know.’

Ruby paused for a few moments. She really wanted to shout and cry but she didn’t. She remembered Johnnie Riordan’s words.

‘I couldn’t get through, and then when I went back to try again there was a queue outside the phone box so I gave up. It can wait. I’ll try again another day.’

Ruby didn’t turn round but the sigh of relief from her mother’s lips was audible.

‘Best leave it, Ruby. Maybe they just don’t want to talk to you any more. All said and done you were only an evacuee – why would they want to have anything to do with you now they don’t have to? Let sleeping dogs lie.’

Seething inside, Ruby forced a smile. ‘Maybe … maybe none of my friends up there want to talk to me any more because I was only a poor old evacuee from London who only lived there for five years. Just little orphan Annie me, eh, Ma?’

‘It’s for the best, Ruby, really it is.’ Sarah Blakeley completely missed the sarcasm in her daughter’s comment. ‘Shall we have a cuppa before I go to work? I’ll make your nan one and take it through, then you and me can have a chat. We don’t ever do that.’

It was hard for Ruby to carry on the charade, especially when she knew her mother was only being nice because she knew what she’d done – what Ray had done – but she tried to concentrate on Johnnie’s advice.

‘OK. I’ll just go and check on Nana, see how she is.’

Ruby went into her bedroom and sat on the side of the bed, taking deep breaths. ‘Don’t get angry,’ she muttered, ‘don’t get angry.’

‘What’s that, dearie? What did you say? I can’t hear you.’ The woman cupped her hand around her ear and turned her head.

Ruby raised her voice. ‘Nothing, Nana. Just talking to myself!’

‘First sign of madness, that is, girl, talking to yourself, along with hairs on the palm of your hand,’ the old lady laughed.

‘You’ll not catch me out with that one!’ Ruby said. ‘Are you all right in here or do want me to help you through to the back? Mum’s making a pot of tea.’

‘I’ll stay here. I like watching out the window, seeing as best I can who’s doing what. It’s so long since I was out and about, sometimes I feel I’m in gaol.’

‘I’ll take you for a walk tomorrow, if you like, just to the corner and back.’

‘I don’t know about a walk. What I’d like is to sit in the chair out by the gate, but your mother says that’s common.’ She laughed again. ‘What she means is, she doesn’t want me gossiping to nosy Nora O’Connor next door about any goings-on in here.’

‘Well when Mum goes to work tomorrow we’ll both go and sit out front and be common, and you can chat to nosy Nora and give her something juicy to talk about down the market. How about that?’

‘You’re a good girl, Ruby.’ She smiled affectionately at her granddaughter.

‘I try to be, Nan, but sometimes it’s so hard,’ Ruby sighed. ‘Why are they all so horrible? And I mean Mum as well … I’ve never done anything wrong but still they just want me to be unhappy.’

‘It’s not really like that, they’re just envious. I know it’s not right but that’s how it is. When you were sent away they felt sorry for you, but then you landed on your feet. Your mother thought you preferred Mrs Wheaton to her, and all Ray could see was you living the life of Riley while he was being belted.’

‘But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t even want to go, and now I find out that they’ve been hiding my letters …’ She stopped and glanced towards the door; the last thing she needed was for her mother to overhear her.

‘Please don’t say anything, will you, Nan? I’ve got to go. Me or Mum’ll be back in a sec with your cuppa.’

Ruby took a deep breath, fixed a smile on her face and went off to do her own manipulating. Johnnie Riordan was teaching her well.

Taking a sip of tea she focused on the cup in her hand. Despite her anger she still didn’t want to have to make eye contact with her mother when she knew that she herself was about to tell lies.

‘Are you working every day this week?’ Ruby asked. ‘You’re working more than ever before.’

‘I can work more because you’re here at home. It was hard doing everything before, but now it’s easier …’ She stopped and shrugged her shoulders, giving Ruby a chance.

‘Mum, you remember Eileen, who I used to go to school with? Well, I met her when I was out just now and she’s going for a job up west next week. She said some of the big department stores in Oxford Street are looking for shop-girls now they’re rebuilding. Can I go with her?’ She paused for a moment and looked at her mother, trying to gauge her reaction. ‘She wasn’t evacuated so I haven’t seen her for ages. I thought maybe I could get a job myself. It’s good money, she said; it’d help me settle back here if I had something proper to do …’

Ruby fiddled with her hair nervously as she turned on the emotional blackmail; she felt surprisingly little guilt at deceiving her mother, the woman who had so blatantly deceived her, and she knew she had to be convincing if she wanted to get away for the day.

The story she told her mother was half true. She had bumped into her old schoolmate Eileen, whom she hadn’t seen for years and who really was going job-hunting, but Ruby had no intention of going with her. She was going to Melton with Johnnie.

‘I really need you here, Ruby, you know that …’ Ruby could hear a hesitation in her mother’s voice and she was aware that it hadn’t been an outright refusal. ‘Three grown sons and a near-blind mother who’s nigh-on a cripple is just too much for me to look after on my own. And I have my job …’

‘If I got a job you could give yours up—’

‘No I couldn’t!’ Sarah interrupted fiercely. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do, girl. It might be hard work at that bloody great place but it’s the only life I have out of this house and that’s when I need you here.’

‘But you’re always complaining how tired you are.’

‘Yes, well, I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m tired of the big house. I’ve got friends with the other help there and it’s nice to have a bit of a natter about different things while we work. No, Ruby, your grandmother needs help all the time. She’s getting worse by the day and I love my job so you have to be here.’

Ruby sensed that there was something she was missing, something her mother had given away by her tone, but she was too focused on getting her way to give it serious thought. She did, however, tuck the thought away in the back of her mind. She knew at that point that her mother was wavering and she hoped that with a little gentle persuasion she could be home and dry.

‘I know it’s hard for you but could I just go with Eileen to see what’s happening and then talk to you about it? I’d love a day out, and I promise I won’t do anything without talking to you. I’ll just have a look around. I know Nan won’t mind; she managed on her own before I came home.’

Sarah Blakeley took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Ruby knew instantly that she’d won.

‘All right, you can go – it won’t hurt for you to have a bit of a day out – but don’t go telling your brothers. They don’t mean it badly, they just worry about how much I have to do and they worry about you being out on your own. They’re all good boys really …’

Ruby knew that was nonsense but it wasn’t the time to nitpick. She was going to go to Melton with Johnnie one way or another. She wanted to visit the Wheatons, of course, but she also liked the idea of spending the whole day with Johnnie Riordan without them having to look over their shoulders for fear of being spotted together.

‘Oh, thanks, Mum!’ Ruby jumped up and flung her arms around her mother and hugged her.

‘Get off, you silly girl. There’s no need for all that nonsense.’

‘Can I just go round to Eileen’s and tell her it’s OK? I’ll be really quick.’

‘Go on then. If the boys come in I’ll tell them you’re running an errand for me.’ With a sharp intake of breath she jumped from her seat in panic. ‘Oh dear God, just look at the time! Ray and Bobbie are due in any minute. I’d better get the dinner sorted, but you get off and tell that Eileen you can go with her.’

Despite her brusque words Sarah smiled and looked decidedly pleased at the interaction, making Ruby turn away with a tiny tinge of guilt. But she quickly brushed it off. She had been let down by her family once too often, and there was no way she could ever forget that, whatever the reason. There was no going back.

As her mother rushed around preparing dinner, Ruby got out of the house as quickly as she could and ran down the road to Betty Dalton’s house.

‘Can we arrange the day?’ she asked Johnnie excitedly. ‘I’ve told them I’m going up west and Mum agreed.’

‘See? You should always listen to me. I know these things. I’m off to work right now. I’ll see what I can fix for getting us there. Betty says not to use the bike.’

‘I think Aunty Babs’d have a fit as well. Best go by train.’

‘However you like, Red, this is going to be fun and we both need a bit of that.’

Eight

‘You still up for it?’ Johnnie Riordan asked the man who was leaning on one elbow on the other side of the bar skilfully rolling a cigarette.

‘Just waiting for you to give me the go-ahead.’

‘You haven’t been around. Friday afternoon do you? The boss does his business in the morning, those in question are there alone and late to leave; they have other business.’ Johnnie smiled but it wasn’t with humour. ‘I don’t want anyone else involved and no one else to know anything. Got that? Not anything about anything. Just you and them.’ Johnnie didn’t look at the man as he spoke quietly.

‘Yeah, Friday it is, then. Everything else as we said previous?’ the man asked before concentrating on striking a match then lighting the skinny roll-up that was more paper than tobacco. He inhaled deeply as he waited for a reply.

‘Yes, as I said. Nothing too serious, just a good warning, but you may have to persuade them to hand over what I want. They need a lesson.’

The man smirked. ‘Thy will be done.’

‘Don’t take the piss, Eddie. Makes you look like an idiot.’

With a glare and a quick shake of his head Johnnie pushed a bottle of beer across the bar towards him, scooped up a few coins and turned away. He took a few steps sideways towards the elderly man he had spotted out of the corner of his eye waiting impatiently further along the bar for service.

‘And a very good evening to you, Mr Morgan, sir. Sorry I kept you waiting. What’s your poison? Same as usual? But no taking it home for the missus, eh?’ he asked jovially, referring to the man’s ongoing joke about his wife.

‘Not a chance, Johnnie boy. She’s poisonous enough as it is; don’t need no more dripping off that tongue of hers.’ The man laughed and Johnnie joined in. ‘And where’s young Sadie tonight? You’re all right in your way but I like to see a pretty face when I’m supping.’

‘She’s out with some flash bloke who wants her to work in his club up west. She’s got her eye on improving herself, has Sadie, and she sees one of the swanky clubs as the way to do it.’

‘I’d better have a word with her then about swanky clubs and the scum that hang around in them, give her a bit of advice before she gets herself in trouble. She’s a good girl but a bit daft. Be a shame if she was taken advantage of.’

Johnnie shrugged, unsure if he’d dropped Sadie in it but not really caring; keeping in with the boss was far more important. Sadie had a bit of a thing about him but although he quite liked her it was never going to go any further than a bit of fun.

Bill Morgan was always impeccably dressed to the point of sometimes being mistaken for a dandy, but those that dismissed him did so at their peril. He looked like everyone’s favourite dotty uncle, but he was a ruthless career villain who was always treated with wary respect by those who knew him. He owned the Black Dog pub where they were, but had very little to do with the everyday running of it. Instead he treated it as his private office.

Into his seventies he was still fit in his body and sharp in his mind, albeit with some arthritis in his knees and hands. Apart from always wearing a cravat, his biggest affectation was using an ornate walking cane with a solid silver handle moulded in the shape of a running lurcher, a nod to his lowly origins in a gypsy caravan in Yorkshire. Bill Morgan used the cane when walking but it was also the perfect weapon to make a painful point if anyone disrespected him, and many had received a nasty slice across their cheek from the razor-sharp point on the innocuous-looking handle.

Although mostly retired from the physical involvement of his trade, he still kept a finger in most of the dubious pies across a wide area of East London, and as a result lived in considerable luxury with his wife of fifty years in a vast detached house in Wanstead, overlooking the open spaces of Wanstead Flats and just a short car drive from the Black Dog.

‘You setting up something I should know about?’ He nodded his head in the direction of Eddie Stone as Johnnie set his usual Whisky Mac down in front of him.

‘Nothing relevant, Mr Morgan. Eddie’s helping me out imparting some advice to a couple of upstarts from down my way who think they can just take what I’ve worked hard for.’

‘Some of the young pups need a bit of a kicking now and then to keep them in line …’ Morgan paused and looked at Johnnie carefully. ‘Mind, you’re a bit of a pup yourself, so you’d best be careful whose toes you tread on.’

‘Just protecting my interests. I’m not treading on anything. These are just fly-boys trying to be cut corners. My hard-earned corners, as it happens, on my patch,’ he said defensively, not enjoying the implied criticism from his mentor.

‘A word of advice, Johnnie boy,’ the man said quietly. ‘I like you; you’re ambitious and you’re bright with a bit of education behind, but you’re still young and a bit too keen to flex muscles you haven’t grown yet. It won’t do you any good to get ahead of yourself and get in bother.’ He paused for effect before continuing, ‘Don’t run before you can walk and, more importantly, remember him over there,’ he nodded his head to where Eddie Stone was still standing, ‘he can’t always control himself. Not his fault, mind, but this game is all about being in control.’

Johnnie shrugged and smiled, but his smile wasn’t as wide or as self-assured as before. He tried to decide if Bill Morgan was advising him or warning him. The man was a big name in London, equally admired and feared, and the last thing Johnnie wanted to do was upset him.

‘I’ve got to take care of my business. I can’t let them think they can do whatever they like.’

The older man shook his head. ‘Ways and means, lad, ways and means. So take heed. I can help you in the long run same as I can help young Sadie, but I need to know you’re sensible. I like you both, as it happens. You’d make a good couple’. He stared at Johnnie eyeball to eyeball for a couple of seconds before turning away. ‘Anyways, I’m expecting company, so think on. If anyone asks I’ll be in the snug.’

Bill Morgan picked up his drink in one hand, his cane in the other and walked across to the door in the corner of the public bar. Before he even got there someone had jumped up and pulled the door open for him, and as he disappeared into the small bar Johnnie knew he’d spend the evening there, along with a select few, equally important companions.

Johnnie Riordan loved his family and would do absolutely anything for any of them, but outside of that circle he had little loyalty, few emotions and a ruthless streak that belied his youth and the moderate, churchgoing upbringing his mother had given him.

Success and money were important to him and he was focused on achieving both. During the day he hovered eagerly on the periphery of crime, looking for a gap in the market; a local Jack-the-lad, able to get almost anything for anyone if the price was right. Post-war shortages and rationing affected everyone and many were prepared to pay over and above for the things they wanted. Johnnie didn’t see that anything he was doing was criminal as such, and he hated being called a spiv, he just saw it as being paid to provide a service.

Even at school he had been wheeling and dealing in the playground, and then, as now, he’d seen himself as a bit of a Robin Hood. It was his way of easing his Catholic conscience.

At other times Johnnie kept his working life relatively clean by working in the Black Dog, a dubious establishment with a bit of a reputation, on the borders of Walthamstow and Wanstead in Essex. But it was legitimate employment and a good cover for Johnnie’s other activities. Although his wage as general dogsbody and bottle-washer was a pittance, just being there and mixing with the dodgy clientele made him some excellent contacts.

One of these was Bill Morgan himself and the other was Eddie Stone, a failed boxer who was down on his luck after coming home from the war broke and depressed, and who’d happily sell his own mother if the price was right. Eddie was unpredictable and had a vicious streak, but no-one was really sure if he’d always been like that or if his boxing injuries had been more damaging than anyone had realised.

Not wanting to dirty his own hands, Johnnie had spoken to him about the job he wanted doing, a lesson taught to Ray and Bobbie Blakeley, and carefully arranged for it to be done when he himself was well away and with an alibi. Their sister, Ruby.

He wanted the Blakeley boys brought down a peg or two but he also didn’t want to blot his copybook with Ruby. Despite his Jack-the-lad reputation, Johnnie Riordan wasn’t a ladies’ man; he was far more into his business, his future and earning money. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the opportunity and he had the odd fling here and there – especially with Sadie Scully, when they’d shared a shift and the backroom was empty after hours – but anything more than that wasn’t what he was looking for.

However, Ruby had a manner about her that he’d never come across before and she was intruding into his thoughts far more often than he wanted. There was something about the girl that kept pulling him towards her. Offering to take her to Melton had not been entirely a gesture of goodwill. He wanted to spend some time with her away from the local prying eyes, who may well tell Ray Blakeley, the man to whom Johnnie preferred not to give any ammunition. The man who Eddie Stone was going to deal with on the very day Johnnie and Ruby were miles away.

‘Any chance of service here?’ Eddie asked in the tone that always irritated Johnnie.

Johnnie smiled none the less. ‘What do you want?’

‘What do you mean, what do I want? I want a fucking drink, that’s what I want.’

‘Of course. Coming right up, sir. Anything you want, sir …’ Johnnie’s tone was pure sarcasm but it went straight over Eddie’s head.

‘About time too!’

Johnnie got the man his beer, took his money and made two mental notes. He would never use Eddie Stone again and he would also at some point teach him all about manners.

Nine

As the train turned the final bend Ruby pulled down the carriage window and leaned out; she could see Babs Wheaton standing on the edge of the short platform, waiting for the London train to arrive. She was wearing the familiar beige coat that Ruby had long coveted and a matching hat perched at a jaunty angle with a large feather pinned to the front. The coat was shaped tightly into her waist with a row of black velvet buttons all the way from neck to hem and a neat velvet collar, and knowing that she had worn it specially made Ruby well up. She waved frantically as the train pulled in and, after jumping out as the train was still moving, she ran over and hugged her tight. Babs hugged her back for a few seconds before holding her away with both hands and looking her up and down.

‘My, how you’ve grown, even in this short time. Just look at you – you’re nearly as tall as I am with my high heels on!’

‘And you’re wearing my favourite coat!’

‘Maybe this time I’ll let you take it with you, now you’re just a little older.’

‘But not the hat.’

As they laughed Johnnie stepped up beside them both and held his hand out.

‘Aunty Babs, this is Johnnie Riordan. He’s the friend you spoke to on the phone when I was so upset. He helped me arrange the visit.’

Johnnie smiled confidently and tipped his hat. ‘Very nice to meet you, Mrs Wheaton. I’ve heard a lot about you from Red here.’

‘Red?’ Babs raised an eyebrow and looked at Ruby before taking Johnnie’s proffered hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Riordan. It was kind of you to go to the trouble of helping Ruby. Dr Wheaton and I appreciate it.’

Babs smiled and briefly shook the young man’s hand, but it wasn’t quite the friendly smile Ruby was used to. Her mouth smiled politely but her eyes were narrowed with querying disapproval. As she took her hand away and looked back at Ruby her natural smile returned.

‘Let’s go, Ruby dear. Yardley’s waiting for us outside. He’s looking forward to seeing you again, and so is Uncle George, of course. He’s in surgery but he’ll be with us for lunch, emergencies permitting, and Marian and Keith are going to drop by after lunch …’

Johnnie stepped back as they walked to the car and stood politely to one side when Ruby briefly greeted Derek Yardley with a curt nod before she and Babs climbed into the rear of the car. Only when they were settled did he then get into the front passenger seat. His manners were impeccable and Ruby was both impressed and relieved, especially after the way Ray had embarrassed her when he’d visited, but she felt that Babs Wheaton, the woman she viewed as a second mother, wasn’t equally impressed.

During the drive back to the village Babs gave Ruby a brief outline of everything that had gone on in the months she’d been away, while Johnnie asked Derek Yardley all about the car. Both conversations were stilted and superficial, and there was a distinct atmosphere that Ruby didn’t understand but which made her feel uncomfortable. She sighed with relief when the car finally turned off the road.

‘Beautiful house, Mrs Wheaton. I’ve heard so much about it,’ Johnnie said as they pulled up outside the house Ruby knew she would always think of as home.

‘Thank you. It’s my husband’s family home. He was brought up here; his father was the village doctor before him.’

‘The war didn’t affect you out here in the sticks then? No offence, of course. I say that ’cos Red was evacuated here so it must have been safer than London.’

Ruby stiffened at his words; she knew what Johnnie meant by ‘out here in the sticks’, but the way he said it made it sound like a criticism of this place she loved.

‘We weren’t directly affected by the Blitz, no, and we fared better than London and many other cities and towns, but like everywhere else we lost family and friends. It’s a blessing it’s all over, though, and we can start to get back to some normality.’ Babs’ tone was polite as she turned back to Ruby. ‘Come along, dear; let’s go in.’

As Ruby walked along the path beside Babs she glanced back and noticed Johnnie had stayed back by the car and he and Derek Yardley were standing almost head to head in deep conversation. A wave of panic swept over her. The last thing she wanted was for Yardley to have an opportunity to talk to Johnnie Riordan.

‘Johnnie, come on, catch up …’

The two men shook hands and Johnnie walked quickly, catching them up as they turned the corner leading to the back door.

‘What were you talking about?’ Ruby asked.

‘Sorry about that. I’m interested in cars and motorbikes, and we were comparing notes. He knows his stuff, that man; we’ve got a lot in common.’

‘No, you haven’t, you’ve got nothing in common with him,’ she snapped, but then countered her comment with a smile.

She tried not to be irritated at the way Johnnie was seeing the visit. She wanted him to stay in the background and let her have a brief sample of her old life; instead he was involving himself in it and she felt unreasonably territorial. She turned away sharply.

‘Can I go and say hello to Uncle George?’

‘He’ll be coming through for lunch providing there are no emergencies, so best wait until then,’ Babs replied.

Although she knew that what Babs was saying made sense, Ruby still found it hard to hide her disappointment.

‘I’ll wait until lunch then. Do you need any help?’

‘You could lay the table. You know where everything is.’

The general awkwardness continued as they made superficial conversation and Ruby quickly regretted bringing Johnnie Riordan with her. They all carried on through the motions until after lunch, when Babs stood up.

‘Johnnie, do you mind if I take Ruby off for a few minutes? I really want her to meet the new nurse and I’m sure you’d sooner sit here and chat with Dr Wheaton.’ She looked at her husband. ‘Is that OK with you, George?’

‘Sounds like a good idea to me, darling,’ George Wheaton said, ‘Don’t forget I’ve got a call this afternoon, but there’ll be plenty of time for Yardley to drive Ruby and Johnnie to the station for the London train.’

George Wheaton was a kindly man and his face reflected that. His brown eyes twinkled when he smiled, which was often, and Ruby had rarely seen him angry. Because of using a wheelchair his upper torso was extraordinarily broad and strong, but it was a gentle strength that he never used in the wrong way. Ruby loved watching him spread his long graceful fingers across the piano keys as he taught her how to play. She loved him as a father but she also admired him for achieving everything he had, despite his disability.

Smiling first at George and then at Johnnie, Ruby stood up. She was surprised when Babs headed to the front door instead of one of the interconnecting ones, but she didn’t comment as she followed her out into the garden. Together they walked slowly around to the surgery door, but instead of going inside Babs beckoned for them to sit on the bench under the covered porch just outside.

‘I wanted to spend a few minutes with you alone. It’s hard to talk properly in front of a stranger …’

‘But Johnnie isn’t a stranger – well, not to me. He’s been a good friend from the day I went back to Walthamstow and he carried my cases along the road. He lives just further down with his family. We’re neighbours.’

‘I know, dear, you said that, but George and I don’t know anything about him so to us he is a stranger.’

‘You make that sound bad, but he’s the only friend I have there. I really miss having Keith and Marian, and Johnnie is nice to me …’ She could feel her throat starting to tighten so she swallowed hard. The last thing she wanted to do was cry.

‘Tell me about him then.’ Babs said. ‘What does your mother think of him?’

‘She doesn’t know him and she doesn’t know we’re friends. Ray and Bobbie hate him so she’d just side with them. It’s easier to say nothing.’

‘Do you know why they don’t like him?’

‘Because they’re jealous of him.’

‘Why are they jealous? What does he do for a job?’ Babs asked gently but curiously.

‘He’s a businessman,’ Ruby said quickly and defensively.

‘Ah, right … But what sort of businessman?’

Ruby frowned, unsure how to answer. ‘I don’t know, but he works in a public house in Wanstead to earn extra. He helps support his sister and her family – her husband was crippled when he was in the army. That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is. I just wondered what his business is—’

With her naturally quick temper rising in defence Ruby interrupted her, ‘Why are you asking me all these questions? Why don’t you ask him?’

‘It’s not really my place to question him, Ruby, but it is my place to worry about you because we care about you.’ Babs touched her arm but Ruby pulled away. ‘I’m just not sure if you should be hanging around with someone older than you, and I also don’t feel comfortable helping you deceive your mother.’

‘But she deceived me,’ Ruby snapped. ‘She said you hadn’t written when all the time Ray had been stealing my letters and she knew. How can that be right? Is that what mothers do?’

‘It’s not right, but then again two wrongs don’t make a right, and she is your mother. I love you dearly, Ruby, and I so wanted you to stay with us; but now you are back with your mother, she is responsible for you and I feel very guilty that you’re here and she doesn’t know.’

Ruby was startled. It was the last thing she had expected when she and Johnnie had set out that morning to make the journey to Melton. She’d chattered excitedly all the way, telling him what to expect, but now it was all going wrong.

‘I thought you were going to be pleased to see me, like I was to see you.’ She knew she sounded sulky but she didn’t care. Her disappointment was overwhelming.

‘Oh, we are! But I’d be happier if your mother knew you were here, especially as you’re with a young man. It makes me feel quite uncomfortable.’ Then Babs smiled. ‘But now I’ve said my piece and we can get back to where we were. Shall we go back in? We need to enjoy the little time we have before you go home, and don’t leave it so long next time. Maybe I’ll write to your mother and formally invite you to come for a holiday, all above board.’

‘She won’t let me.’

Ruby looked down and tried not to show her disappointment. It was all going wrong and she couldn’t think of anything to say. It shouldn’t have been like this. Babs and George Wheaton should have been thrilled to see her, whatever the circumstances.

‘Ruby darling, I don’t want you to take any of this the wrong way. Uncle George and I want to see you and to be part of your life – we love you – but I’d like it to be done properly, and properly isn’t you sneaking away with a young man no one knows anything about. I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry, but I had to tell you. You’re only just sixteen, after all.’

Ruby looked down at her watch. ‘Can we go for a walk through the village? I want to show Johnnie around.’

‘Of course, we’ll go together. Hopefully we’ll bump into Keith and Marian. They both miss you as much as you miss them.’ She took both Ruby’s hands in hers. ‘Friends?’

Ruby didn’t answer but as they stood up Babs Wheaton put an arm around her waist and, ignoring the resistance, pulled her in towards her for a few seconds.

‘I shall try hard to get to know your friend.’

Once they were on the train heading back to London, Ruby was close to tears.

‘They’re not usually like that,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand it. I thought they cared for me, but maybe Mum and Ray were right, I was just the stupid little evacuee …’

‘Ray is never right. Even I could see how much the doc and his wife love you. They were just being protective,’ Johnnie laughed. ‘Ray is an idiot who thinks he’s brighter than he is, but he’ll get his comeuppance, and when he does you’ll enjoy it.’

Ruby looked at Johnnie Riordan curiously.

‘It’s just not right, is it? How can he dictate my life to me? And it’s not right that Mum lets him.’

‘Ray thinks he’s a big man but he isn’t. He upsets people, the wrong people, but he’ll learn otherwise.’

‘No he won’t. He’s always been a bully; he’s not going to change now, unless …’ she paused and looked at him, ‘unless he did something wrong, unless the police were to know he’s doing things he shouldn’t be doing.’

‘Hang on there, Red. If you mean what I think you mean that’s a serious road to take, involving the Old Bill. That’s not the way we do things where we come from.’

‘I just want him to leave me alone.’

‘Oh, he will. As soon as he’s got something else to think about.’ Johnnie smiled. ‘Someone’ll sort him out good and proper one day.’

‘I hope so, I hate him. He makes my life misery and enjoys it. He deserves a taste of his own medicine.’

‘And Bobbie as well?’

‘I hate him for doing everything Ray says. Monkey see, monkey do. But I know he wouldn’t be like that without Ray.’ Ruby looked at him, waiting for a reply, but he simply shrugged; he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him very slightly. Instinctively she stiffened and pulled away just enough for him to loosen his hand and move it onto the back of the seat.

‘They’re good at upsetting the wrong people so they’ll both be in real trouble soon enough.’

‘I hope Mum hasn’t found out I wasn’t where I said I was today,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘They’ll all go bananas and I’ll never get out of the house again!’

‘She won’t find out.’ Johnnie looked at her and smiled.

‘Hope not …’ Ruby smiled back shyly.

‘I tell you what, it’s been a nice day even if we spent hours getting there and back, and you’re right about the doc and his wife – they’re OK – and that Yardley, the chauffeur, me and him are cut from the same cloth, I reckon. He’s a bit of a card, isn’t he?’

‘Hardly a bit of a card and you’re not cut from the same cloth. Yardley is bad.’

‘I bet he’s a bit of a duck-and-dive merchant in his spare time. Perfect set-up there, car to get him around, a garage to store stuff and the respectability of working for the doc. He’s got it made.’

Ruby shook her head and pulled a face. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know that, would I? Uncle George helped him out by giving him a job because of his bad lungs, and they think of him as family and they trust him.’ She paused for a second. ‘More fool them. He’s bad.’

‘Why do you say that? Seemed OK to me.’

‘I don’t want to talk about Yardley.’

‘Not too keen on him, then?’

‘I just said, I don’t want to talk about bloody Derek bloody Yardley, OK?’

‘OK.’ Johnnie looked at her sideways but she just focused on the steamed-up window. There were some things she didn’t want to talk about and she wasn’t going to let Johnnie push her into it.

‘Interesting view, that. Well, I think it might be, if we could see it.’

She turned towards him and, despite herself, she laughed. ‘You’re a nitwit, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Maybe, but my sis says I’m a nice nitwit.’

This time when he gripped her shoulder Ruby let him pull her close. Leaning her head on his shoulder she suddenly felt really grown up. Especially when he softly kissed the top of her head and touched her neck with his fingertips; she felt goose bumps rising on her skin and she reddened, aware that he could probably feel them as well.

Her heart was thumping all the way down the road, and by the time she opened the front door her fear was so great she felt as if she were about to have a heart attack. Once she was back in the High Street the reality of everything she’d done and the possible implications hit her. She was suddenly petrified that her mother might have found out that not only had she been to visit the Wheatons, but she’d gone with Johnnie Riordan, Ray’s sworn enemy, and, in the heat of the moment, she’d done far worse.

It had seemed such a good idea at the time, but as she walked in through the door at nearly midnight she could feel her heart palpitating in her throat as she imagined Ray waiting behind the door for her, waiting to backhand her.

‘Mum? Are you there? Mum, I’m sorry I’m so late but the buses from the West End were up the Swannee. We had to walk for miles and we got lost. It was ever so frightening.’ She paused fearfully and listened. ‘Mum? Are you awake?’

As she stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking around and praying nervously that there was nothing in her expression to give away her guilt, so her mother leaned over the banister at the top.

‘Ruby? Oh, thank God you’re here. Come upstairs quickly. I don’t know what to do … Your brothers need help, you have to help. This is beyond me. Oh my Lord, this is awful …’

Ten

It was already dark in the narrow, unmade lane that led from the main road to the line of ramshackle engineering-style workshops behind a disused section of bombed railway track. The only lights were the dim beam escaping from under the doors of one of the units, and the dying embers of a rusty brazier outside the large central unit that was home to a carpentry shop. Blacksmiths Lane itself was a dead end with the units forming a banjo at the far end, but there was another hidden route for anyone prepared to clamber over the remains of a wooden fence and slip through a gap in the overgrown bushes at the back, which shielded the eyesore of assorted workshops from the allotments behind.

It was amid the rubble behind these bushes that Eddie Stone was waiting impatiently for the right moment. He’d done a walk-by the day before, feigning interest in having an armchair repaired, so he knew exactly where he had to be, when he had to be there and how to get in and out without being seen. He also knew what he was going to do.

There was no disputing he desperately needed the money but he couldn’t help looking forward to a bit of a dust-up at the same time. It had been a while since he’d had either.

When the last of the other units was locked up, and the occupants were out of sight and sound down the lane, Eddie ground his cigarette into the dirt under the heel of his soft-soled shoe, flexed his shoulders and arms, and prepared to slip through the brambles to surprise Ray and Bobbie Blakeley and earn his desperately needed payday from Johnnie Riordan.

On the way past he stopped and rubbed his hands together over the still-warm brazier before taking the last few steps to the grandly named Collins and Son, Garage and Workshop. His research told him that despite the name neither David Collins, senior nor David Collins, junior actually worked there. They did, however, own every single unit in the lane. They also owned the land and all the businesses in all the units.

David Collins, junior visited all the units most days just to check on that small part of the family property and business empire. Although his visits were dreaded by his employees, at least his routine was always the same: smartly turned out, he’d drive up at the same time, swagger in and out of every unit, looking down his nose at the workers as he did so. On Fridays he would visit and hand out the pay packets with benevolence, as if he were handing out charitable donations. Nobody liked him – he was arrogant and dictatorial – but nobody ever said a word because at least they all had jobs and the lazy Collins son was preferable to his cantankerous and unpredictable father, who hired and fired as the mood took him.

The unit with the lights still on was the one Eddie was going to pay a visit to. It had a corrugated-iron roof and double wooden doors with rusting metal bolts and hinges on the outside that had seen better days, and three motorbikes parked up outside. One belonged to the brothers and the other two were there to be patched up as best they could be.

That was the job that Ray and Bobbie Blakeley were paid to do and they were good at it. They patched up motorcars and motorbikes that were really fit only for the scrapheap. It was a job that needed brawn more than brains, and no qualifications. They just worked long hours, learning how to do it as they went along.

The pay, typical of the Collins’, was as minimal as they could get away with, but Ray and Bobbie topped up their income by using the long-forgotten lockers at the back for their own sideline business. The small working space was so crammed full of tools and equipment that the battered and greasy lockers that lined the back wall weren’t visible to anyone who didn’t already know they were there.

‘Hello, boys,’ Eddie said as he slipped in through the unbolted doors into the workshop and quickly pulled them to behind him.

Ray was sitting at a small wooden desk near the doors and Bobbie was perched on the corner as Eddie appeared. Initially they both looked bemused; they’d stayed late because they were expecting a customer they didn’t want anyone to know about, so it took a moment for either of them to react.

‘Yeah?’ Ray asked as he took in the man. Dressed all in black, the six-foot-four ex-boxer with no neck and shoulders like a silver-back gorilla was a scary sight, but Ray wasn’t instantly concerned. He had an arrogance about him that made him none too observant and he stayed in his seat staring confrontationally at Eddie. Bobbie, however, instinctively stood up and started to back away.

‘I’ve been asked to pay you a visit to clear up a little misunderstanding that Mr Riordan is concerned about.’

‘Reckon you’re in the wrong place, mister, so unless you’ve got some genuine business here, get out.’ Ray nodded his head towards the doors, a gesture of dismissal.

Eddie Stone laughed; he loved a challenge. He flexed his shoulders in a circular movement, then with one long reach of his arm he grabbed Ray round the neck, pulled him from the chair and punched him full force straight in the midriff before letting go and watching him drop to his knees. As Ray groaned so Bobbie jumped forward.

‘What are you doing? Leave him alone. You’re in the wrong place.’

Eddie Stone’s eyes moved to the younger lad. ‘You said what?’

As Bobbie sidled towards his brother so Eddie hit him with a professional upper cut to the side of his jaw. He stumbled back with blood dribbling from his mouth and fell onto the floor opposite his brother.

‘What do you want?’ Ray groaned from his kneeling position. ‘There’s nothing here worth nicking. The boss has already gone with the cash box. It’s just us – we only work here – there’s nothing … nothing.’

Eddie grinned as he lifted a boot-clad foot and kicked Ray in the chest. It wasn’t an overly vicious kick but it was hard enough to crack a rib and send Ray flying across the workshop. Then he turned to Bobbie and gave him a hefty kick in the kidney area.

‘But that’s not all you do here, is it? I know you’re up to no good, and naughty boys that get up to no good get punished.’

Staring at each of them in turn, Eddie reached out and picked up a large spanner. He grinned as he gripped it tightly and batted it against the palm of his other hand.

‘Now, you and I are going to have a little chat. Well, more than a chat really …’

Eddie started to swing the spanner, knocking things off the various surfaces . His long arms and massive hands gave him both control and strength of the weapon, and tools and engine parts went flying, including a hammer that bounced fiercely off Bobbie’s shoulder.

‘Don’t! Please don’t. Leave us alone, we haven’t done anything …’ Bobbie was one step from tears and he put his hands over his head in terror as Ray clambered to his feet and tried to shoulder-tackle Eddie.

‘Don’t, Ray, you stupid git!’ Bobbie shouted. ‘He’ll kill us …’

‘Clever boy! At least one of you’s got some brains,’ Eddie laughed as he whacked Ray right across his knuckles with the spanner. ‘Now give me what you know you shouldn’t have and I’ll be gone. But if not, then the bikes outside look like they need seeing to …’

He didn’t need to finish the threat. This time there was no arguing. Bobbie ignored his brother and told Eddie exactly where to look. Eddie scooped up the boxes, which contained twenty-four bottles of black-market whisky and gin, and headed towards the door.

‘The lesson of the day for you boys is that Mr Riordan’s unhappy. He wants you to stay off his turf. You want to wheel and deal, you don’t do it round here. Got it?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘I said, have you got it?’

Ray and Bobbie lifted their heads in unison and nodded.

Eddie winked at the prostrate brothers and left as quickly as he had arrived. The whole episode had lasted only a few minutes but in that short time Ray and Bobbie had both been badly hurt. However, that was the least of their problems.

The cases of whisky that Eddie had taken hadn’t been paid for, and for that they knew they’d be in even worse trouble.

Ruby took the stairs three at a time and nearly ran into her mother, who was standing on the landing wringing her hands.

‘Something’s happened to my boys. They’re hurt and I don’t know what to do. They don’t want to go to hospital but they must, they have to, they’re hurt …’

‘All of them? What happened?’ Ruby asked.

‘No, it’s Ray and Bobbie. Just go and see if you can do something to help them, please!’

‘Why me?’ Ruby was puzzled at her mother’s insistence.

‘You said you wanted to be a bloody nurse – you lived with a doctor – you know what to do …’

Ruby went into Ray’s bedroom, the tiny boxroom that used to be hers, and saw him lying fully clothed on top of the bed. He was lying on his back with his knees up and bloody hands clasping his midriff. She could see his hands were injured and his face was deathly pale. As she moved forward to take a closer look her mother stood stock-still in the doorway with her hand clamped over her mouth.

‘Get out, Ruby,’ Ray shouted as he opened his eyes and saw her leaning over him. ‘Get out of my fucking room and mind your own business, you stuck-up little bitch. Get out …’

Ruby shrugged. ‘OK. I was only going to help.’

With her mother almost glued to her back, she went into the other bedroom to see Bobbie, who was sitting on the edge of his bed close to tears, while Arthur was tucked down tight in his bed curled up in the foetal position facing the wall with his hands over his ears, trying to pretend nothing was happening.

‘Bloody hell, what have you two been up to?’ Ruby asked. ‘You need a doctor—’

‘No,’ Bobbie interrupted sharply. ‘Don’t tell anyone. It’s nothing, you mustn’t tell anyone. Please, Ruby, don’t tell.’

‘Is Arthur OK?’ Ruby asked over her shoulder.

‘He’s just scared,’ Sarah said. ‘He doesn’t know anything. He was here with me and your nan but he saw them come in all covered in blood.’

Ruby turned to her mother, who was standing behind her gulping in air and making noises as if she were hyperventilating.

‘So what happened? Did they crash the motorbike?’

‘I don’t think so. Ray said someone jumped them on the way home, but I don’t see why they don’t want anyone to know. Will you try and talk to Ray again? Bobbie’ll just do whatever he says. They’ve been beaten so bad – why would anyone want to hurt my boys?’

In a split second Ruby had a lightbulb moment and everything fell into place. She was horrified at the implications of her thoughts, but still wanted to laugh.

Johnnie Riordan. He had to be behind this.

‘I’ll patch them up. You’re right, I used to help Uncle George in the surgery so I know what I’m doing, but you’ll have to tell them to let me.’ Ruby looked at her mother, who was leaning on the wall struggling to light a cigarette. ‘Ray’ll hate having me look after him but if he doesn’t he might get blood poisoning, and there’s nothing I can do if he’s hurt inside. If either of them gets worse then you have to get proper help, whatever they say.’

It was all she could do to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. Maybe now they’d got other things to think about they would leave her alone and let her live her life.

After much persuasion from their mother, and with hatred in his eyes, Ray allowed Ruby to perform some basic first aid on his hands. Her mother fetched some iodine and a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and then went down to the scullery for a bowl of warm water. While Ruby bathed Ray’s hands Sarah tore an old pillowcase into strips for bandages and watched as Ruby wrapped them around.

Once the basics were done she moved onto Bobbie, who had lost a tooth and bitten his tongue quite badly. He also had a large bruise forming on his left side. But despite the pain they were both in, Ray was adamant there would be no doctor and that they both had to be able to go into work the next morning, although neither of them would say why.

Later that night Ruby and her grandmother were sitting in their bedroom.

‘So the boys are in trouble, eh? About bloody time that pair came unstuck and were taken down a peg or two. I wouldn’t wish them real harm but I hope this is a lesson learned.’ Elsie Saunders was sitting up in her bed wearing a pink crocheted bed jacket and her ever-present hairnet. With her teeth in the denture pot beside her bed she looked older than her years and she spoke with a lisp. She peered across at Ruby, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed. ‘And I’m not going to ask how your day was because there’s something that doesn’t seem right about any of this and I don’t want you to have to lie to me.’

‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Nan.’

‘Yes you would, my girl, same as you’ve lied to your mother, but that’s between you and your conscience. I hope you haven’t overstepped the mark, that’s all.’

‘You don’t think I had anything to do with Ray and Bobbie, do you? How could I do that? I’m pleased they were battered but it was nothing to do with me! I was shocked when I first saw them.’

‘Seems fishy to me that you beg and plead for a day away and it’s the very day something happens. I may be old and decrepit in body but I’m not stupid. I see a lot – far more than your mother, in fact – and when I do venture to the front door I hear things.’

‘Honest, I promise you, Nan, I don’t know anything about what happened to the boys. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ Ruby was starting to feel scared all over again.

‘Ruby, my little precious, never push your luck by saying things like that. I don’t want to know what you’re up to so long as you’re not in trouble.’ Elsie’s expression was serious as she stared at her only granddaughter. ‘And violence never solved anything.’

‘I’m not in trouble, but Ray and Bobbie are, and of course I’m pleased,’ she laughed. ‘I patched them up so now they’re both in my debt and I can do whatever I want!’

Ruby leaned her head back, closed her eyes and thought about what had happened just a couple of hours earlier on the way home. When she had let herself get carried away with Johnnie Riordan in the park, with the moonlight glimmering through the shelter of foliage that hid them from the sight of any passing people. She relived how she had let him kiss her, touch her …

She crossed her arms and hugged her secrets close to herself. Suddenly she felt grown up and in love, and she knew Johnnie felt the same because he had told her.

She smiled happily. Suddenly her future looked a lot brighter and it didn’t matter so much that the Wheatons had let her down; she had Johnnie to look out for her now.

When they’d got back to Walthamstow they decided to take the circuitous route back to Elsmere Road via the alleyways and the park so that they wouldn’t be spotted by anyone. As they strolled through the almost deserted park hand in hand, Ruby just didn’t want to go home; she wanted the moment to last for ever. There was no conversation, but the silence between them was comfortable.

‘Shall we sit for a while?’

‘I need to get back.’

‘I know, but a few more minutes won’t hurt. This is so nice, just you and me and the moon.’

As Johnnie looked at her expectantly so Ruby looked up at the full moon shining overhead and smiled. She sat down on the bench and Johnnie sat beside her. He was so close to her she could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes.

‘I was about to have a cigarette but I’m going to have to do this instead …’ Johnnie leaned round, took her face gently in both hands and kissed her, gently at first and then harder, much harder. Ruby was lost; she knew she should resist and go straight home, but she couldn’t …

Afterwards she was filled with remorse and she hated herself because she’d done exactly what the Wheatons had always warned her not to do. She’d let herself down.

‘I have to go home,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘We shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong.’

‘Oh, Red, don’t say that. I know how I feel about you and I know you feel the same.’

‘Do you love me?’ she asked with tears in her eyes.

‘Of course I do.’

The next morning Ruby stayed in her room until she heard the slamming door that told her the boys had gone to work. She went through to the back, hoping that her mother would still be too distracted to ask any questions about her day in London with Eileen.

‘How’re Ray and Bobbie? I heard them go off to work.’

‘Bobbie’s gone but Ray’s still in bed. The poor boy can barely walk. Bobbie’s going to cover for him if Collins shows up. I don’t know what this country’s coming to when two hard-working boys get battered like that for nothing.’

‘Hmm.’ Ruby was determined to be noncommittal. ‘What do they think happened?’

‘Ray said they were ambushed by a gang of men in Blacksmiths Lane as they closed up. He thinks they were wanting to burgle somewhere and came across the boys working late. He’s so worried they’ll get the blame if anything was nicked so he wants it all hushed up. They don’t want to lose their jobs.’

‘So do they know what was taken?’

Instead of answering, Sarah Blakeley started crying again. ‘Will you go and see how Ray is? You’ll know better than me.’

Ruby was getting really irritated with her mother but she did as she was asked.

She knocked on the bedroom door and went in to find Ray trying to get dressed.

‘You shouldn’t be up. You need to stay in bed.’ she said gently, but he ignored her. ‘Ray, please, get back in bed. If you rest you’ll get better but—’

‘Get out of here, Ruby. You’ve done your duty, like Mum made you. Now leave it.’

Ruby was horrified at how ill he looked, doubled up in pain. Suddenly his suffering wasn’t quite so funny any more.

‘Get back in bed, you idiot. Bobbie’s at work, he’ll sort it all out there. Think how Mum’ll feel if you keel over.’

He looked at her and his face was ashen.

‘What happened, Ray? I mean, what really happened?’

‘We were jumped, that’s it. Random.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I don’t give a monkey’s what you believe, you stupid kid. Get out.’

‘You need to see a doctor, you look really white—’

‘GET OUT.’ As he shouted, so Ray leaned forward and was violently sick all over his feet and the bedside rug.

Ruby said nothing – there was nothing to say – but the idea that Johnnie Riordan could have been behind the attack was no longer amusing.

Regardless, she was in love with him.

Eleven

Melton

‘Ruby! What are you doing here?’ Babs Wheaton exclaimed as she walked up to the back door and saw the bedraggled girl sitting on the doorstep in the pouring rain. ‘Why didn’t you go indoors, you silly girl? You’re drenched.’ But her responsive smile quickly dropped away when she registered Ruby’s distressed expression and the small sodden bag on the step beside her. Babs dumped her shopping baskets on the ground and leaned across the girl to push the unlocked door open.

‘Whatever’s wrong? Oh dear, let’s get you inside and warm you up. You’re soaking wet and you’ll catch your death. I can’t believe you didn’t just let yourself in to get warm …’

With her hair hanging all around her face in rat-tails and her dripping wet cotton frock and cardigan clinging to her body, Ruby looked like a little street urchin. Babs smiled in reassurance and reached out a welcoming hand as Ruby continued to sit stock-still on the step, her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped tightly around her shaking body. Then after a few moments she put a hand out in response and let Babs pull her up and lead her gently over the familiar threshold straight into the warmth of the kitchen. Despite feeling scared and in the depths of despair, she also felt relief that she was back where she felt safe. She knew she still had to explain the situation, but for the moment she just felt relieved to be back in the place she would always think of as home. She just hoped that Babs and George would continue to let that be.

‘How did you get here?’ Babs asked as she led her over to a fireside chair beside the range and gently made her sit. ‘You should have telephoned. I hate the idea of you travelling alone.’

‘I got the train and bus. It’s taken so long, but I haven’t told Mum and I thought you might tell me not to come if I didn’t ask her first. Johnnie lent me the fare.’ She said it almost as a challenge, but Babs didn’t rise.

‘Of course I would have said you should tell your mother, but I wouldn’t have rejected you, not ever. You know that. Whatever made you think I would?’

‘Last time I came I wasn’t welcome here, and when Ray said you wouldn’t want me any more I thought perhaps he was right: that I was just your good turn for the war …’

‘That’s a lot of piffle and you know it. Now I’m going to make a pot of tea and you can tell me what’s happened. I can see it’s serious.’ Her expression was troubled as she looked closely at Ruby, who wasn’t making any eye contact. ‘Is it Ray? Has he done something to you again? What’s been going on?’

Ruby didn’t answer. She was so scared and embarrassed she just couldn’t think of the words she needed. Instead she sat motionless with her knees together, her hands clenched in her lap, and looked at her feet.

‘All right, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to – I can see you’re distressed. I’ll do you something to eat and make up the bed in your room and we can talk in the morning.’

Ruby took a deep breath. ‘No, I’ll do it now. It’s nothing Ray’s done – this isn’t his fault – but I’m scared of what he’ll do if he finds out. I’m in such big trouble, Aunty Babs – really, really big trouble – and I don’t know what to do. You’re the only person who can help me.’ She hugged herself even tighter as if for protection, then started to sob quietly.

‘It surely can’t be that bad, dear, and even if it is there’s nothing we can’t deal with, is there? Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘I’m sorry. You’re going to hate me …’ She chewed her lip and looked everywhere except at Babs Wheaton.

‘Go on.’

‘I’m sorry … I think I’m having a baby. I think I’m pregnant and I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

Walking over to the kitchen table, Babs Wheaton leaned on it with both hands and then lowered herself onto a chair. Her eyes opened wide with shock as the words slowly sunk in.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. Ray will kill me if he finds out. I’ve left for good, I can’t go back there, and if they find out they won’t want me anyway.’

‘Are you sure about this? Have you been to the doctor yet?’

‘I think I’m sure, but I haven’t been to the doctor. I went to the library and looked it up, and I’ve got the symptoms, and I did … you know, I did do … IT. I know how it happens, I just never thought it’d happen the first time, the only time. I promise, it was only once, and when I was at school they said …’

Her words were mumbled and trailed off, and her face was scarlet with embarrassment at having to talk about things like that to the person she loved most, the person whose approval was so vital to her.

‘But you’re only just sixteen. Who is it? Is it that one who brought you up here? Johnnie? Did he take advantage of you?’

Ruby paused. She wondered about lying, about shifting the blame so that she wouldn’t be such a disappointment, but she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to lie to the woman she truly wished was her mother.

‘It was Johnnie, but he didn’t take advantage of me. He didn’t make me. I really liked him and it just sort of went too far. It was after we left here last time, I was upset and—’ she stopped and searched frantically for the right words. ‘And things happened.’

‘Well, things shouldn’t have happened, and if you’re having a baby then he’s going to have to marry you whether he likes it or not. There’s absolutely no alternative,’ Babs stated angrily. ‘Honestly, he should have known better. You’re just a child. I dread to think what Uncle George will have to say about this.’

‘He’s only nineteen, he just looks older.’

‘That’s still too old even to be courting you, let alone … let alone …’ She couldn’t get the words out. ‘I knew my instincts were right about him. Well, if you’re pregnant he has to marry you!’

Babs Wheaton flitted nervously back and forth across the kitchen as she spoke, her distress evident in her movements.

‘But I don’t want to marry him, I don’t want to marry anyone,’ Ruby said. ‘And I don’t want him to know because then he’ll think he has to.’

‘He does have to. An illegitimate baby? It can’t happen. It will ruin your life.’

‘Can I just stay here and then have it adopted after it’s born?’

Babs’ eyes widened. ‘Heavens above, Ruby, that’s a question from out of the blue. This isn’t something I can deal with just like that. But apart from that, I don’t have the authority. You’re under twenty-one and I’m not your mother or even your guardian.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I’ll have to tell George. He needs to know and he’ll know what to do. He’s used to dealing with this sort of thing. He’s going to be so disappointed with you.’

‘I knew you’d help me,’ Ruby said, looking up at Babs.

‘I’m promising nothing, Ruby. This is serious and not something to be dealt with over a mug of cocoa. And anyway, we don’t even know if you are pregnant. So, first things first. Where does your mother think you are?’

Ruby dropped her eyes and didn’t answer so Babs continued, only thinly disguising her concern. ‘You know this is the first place they’ll look. We’ll soon have your brother on the doorstep creating merry hell just for the fun of it. What if they call the police? You’ll have to go home then.’

‘They won’t. I left a note. I said I was going to Manchester with a friend, that I wanted to get away from being a drudge. It was a good letter.’ For the first time Ruby smiled.

‘Ruby, this isn’t funny. I can’t deny I’m disappointed. You’re a clever girl, with everything going for you.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Ruby said.

‘It’s not me you have to apologise to, it’s yourself.’ Babs paused and shook her head. ‘But what’s done is done. I’ll talk to Uncle George later tonight and we’ll go from there. He’s out on a call at the moment so it’s you and me and a big bowl of soup. Just by chance I made your favourite this morning.’

She touched Ruby’s face gently and then ruffled her hair. ‘We’ll sort this out. I don’t know how yet, but we will. I just wish you’d never had to leave here in the first place.’

It was all that was needed for Ruby to jump up and throw herself crying into Babs’ arms. The woman hugged her close, in exactly the same way she had when Ruby had been a ten-year-old scared and lonely evacuee.

Later that night, as she snuggled down in the familiar bedroom, which was exactly the same as the day she had left it all those months before, she thought about what had happened.

Aunty Babs was right; she had let herself down and she should have known better. After five years living in the country and spending time on farms, she knew only too well how babies were conceived, and yet still she’d let it happen. Not only that, she’d given away her virginity on the spur of the moment to someone she didn’t even know very well, and it didn’t matter one iota that she loved him.

For the first time since she was a child she put her hands together and prayed. She prayed the Wheatons would help her, she prayed that she wouldn’t have to tell her mother and she also prayed that they wouldn’t insist on telling Johnnie Riordan.

Ruby had been so absorbed with Johnnie Riordan and her feelings for him that it had taken a long time for her to realise that she might be pregnant. She knew what she had done, and in the back of her mind she knew what the consequences of that could be, but she was sure it couldn’t happen the first time. Her biggest concern was that Johnnie would think she was cheap, that he would despise her for giving in so easily, so she had labelled it a mistake and was determined that it wouldn’t happen again.

There was also the distraction of the atmosphere at home, and Ruby had put her feeling of nausea down to the underlying sense of misery throughout the household after the incident with Ray and Bobbie. She guessed they were both in some sort of trouble and that it was probably to do with Johnnie, but she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. She didn’t want anything to spoil her feelings for him.

She was head over heels in love.

It was only when the waistband of her fitted skirt was distinctly tight and she realised her lack of monthlies that she put two and two together and it hit her like a hammerblow to the head.

‘What’s wrong, Ruby? You know you can tell your old nan,’ Elsie Saunders said to her granddaughter when she realised the girl was crying into her pillow. Her eyesight wasn’t what it should be but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. ‘Come on, I don’t like to hear you all upset. Tell your nana what’s wrong.’

Ruby had felt panic soaring in her throat; she desperately wanted someone to confide in but she knew it couldn’t be anyone who lived in the house in Elsmere Road. Even if her grandmother was sympathetic, she knew that she’d feel obliged to tell her mother.

‘It’s Ray and Bobbie …’ Ruby lied. ‘They’re both so vile to me, I can’t stay here any longer. I really tried to help them when they were beaten but they don’t care. I want to go away from here, to do my nursing. I don’t want to be here.’

‘Well, dear, if that’s what you really want then you have to tell your mother and see if she’ll change her mind.’

Ruby pulled her eiderdown further up under her chin and shivered. ‘She’ll never let me. I’ll have to run away.’

‘Then you have to make the decision, don’t you?’ Elsie said before turning over in her bed and facing away from Ruby. ‘I don’t want you to go anywhere, lovey, but I can see what those boys are doing to you. Your mother should have left you where you were and I’ve told her that.’

Ruby didn’t answer and within a few minutes the woman was snoring and she was wide awake, thinking about what she’d said. If she was pregnant, as she suspected, then there was no alternative but to run away.

‘Ruby? We need to talk to you. Ruby?’ The gentle knock was followed by the door opening an inch.

Curled up in the chair in the corner of her room, the room she’d missed so much and longed to go back to, Ruby rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed.

‘Do you want me to come downstairs?’

Babs pushed the door right back and stood in the doorway.

‘Yes, come on downstairs. We need to have a talk.’

‘Are you going to tell Mum?’

‘Come on downstairs, Ruby, and we’ll talk about it all.’

It had been two days since Ruby had turned up on their doorstep and uttered those immortal words, ‘I think I’m pregnant’. Two days of uncertainty and disappointment for everyone, although after the initial embarrassment of having to first tell Babs and then talk about it clinically with George, Ruby was just relieved that she wasn’t having to deal with it alone. She knew George and Babs were talking about it when she was in her room and, because Babs had disapproved of her visiting behind her mother’s back earlier, Ruby had constantly worried that they would try to send her home. But she had already made up her mind that she wasn’t going back, whatever they said. If she had to run away from everyone then she would. Nothing would make her go back.

At least the Wheatons had agreed on the first night that Ruby could stay while they decided what to do for the best, but there were strict ground rules. No one was to know she was back in the village, not even her friends, and she was going to have to stay indoors just in case her family, specifically Ray, came looking for her. If no one knew she was there then no one could let anything slip.

The next day Dr Wheaton had checked her over in his surgery in private after hours and confirmed that she was indeed expecting a baby, but that she was also fit and healthy.

‘Sit down, Ruby. Uncle George and I have come to a decision. You can’t stay here and keep your pregnancy a secret – it’s just not possible – so we’ve spoken to Uncle George’s sister, Leonora, who lives near Southend down in Essex. Remember, she came to visit us? We think you should go and live there with her until the baby is born and then we can arrange for it to be adopted.’

‘But I don’t know anyone there.’

‘That’s why it’s for the best. We have to consider your future and this is best, unless you’d sooner go into a mother-and-baby home?’

Ruby didn’t answer. She knew she was backed into a corner of her own making.

‘Leonora owns a small hotel so you can also work there to pay your way. Then you can come back either to here or to Walthamstow, and get on with your life. No one need ever know if you don’t want them to. It’ll be best for everyone, especially you. It will give you choices you won’t have if anyone finds out about a baby.’

‘Why would she help me?’ Ruby asked, feeling increasingly nervous at the thought of going to live somewhere strange. Again.

‘Because she’s a very nice lady. She’s family and so are you.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry …’

‘Well, what’s done is done, and we’re pleased you felt you could come to us.’

‘I was so scared. I’m still scared. What if Ray comes looking for me? He’ll kill me stone dead, that’s for sure.’

‘No, he won’t. Not even Ray—’

‘He will. He and Bobbie were beaten and robbed at the place where they work and they’ve both been even worse since then. Ray is just angry all the time.’

‘That’s awful. What happened?’

‘I don’t know but they were hurt badly and now Ray is quite fearsome. He’s always shouting and swearing, and everyone’s scared of him. He even lashed out at Mum and blacked her eye. It was Arthur who pulled him off. Bobbie is just quiet, not really there at all.’

‘Well, he won’t get near you, take my word for it!’ Babs stated emphatically. ‘Now when Uncle George comes in for his lunch we’ll talk this through, but you have to stay out of sight while we put everything in place. It will be only for a couple of weeks, anyway, while we make all the arrangements. You need clothes and things for the time being. We’re thinking that you could be a war widow. Then you won’t have to explain your pregnancy to anyone. You look a lot older than your age, so that should work.’

‘I should just have run right away. I’m causing you all so much trouble—’

‘No, you shouldn’t have run away and you know it. This will work out. You’ll see.’

Ruby shrugged and closed her eyes in silent resignation.

When she had realised that she could be pregnant with Johnnie’s baby her first instinct had been to tell him, but once she gave it some thought she knew it would be pointless. Johnnie Riordan was young and ambitious, and there was no place in his life for her.

As time had gone on and she had got to know him better, Ruby had discovered that while he undoubtedly liked her, he had also been using her as a way of keeping tabs on her brothers. It had never been spoken about but she knew without doubt that Johnnie had been behind the attack on them and, much as she had wanted Ray to suffer, it bothered her that Johnnie was capable of authorising such violence.

That knowledge hadn’t stopped her being in love with him, but it had given her an insight into his character, his ruthlessness and his huge ambitions. Ambitions that certainly wouldn’t include a shotgun marriage to a sixteen-year-old.

She had thought about confiding in her grandmother but she knew Nan would have trouble keeping it secret, however much she might have wanted to.

In the end she had run to Babs and George Wheaton, the only people she knew she could really trust.

It had never even briefly occurred to her to confide in her mother.

‘Johnnie, I’ve got an interview at a hospital in Manchester to see about nursing. Can you lend me the train fare? I’ll pay you back, I promise, but I’m skint and you know I can’t ask Mum ’cos she’ll tell Ray and it’ll all start up again. He’s been strange since he and Bobbie were battered: much quieter, which is nice, but so much nastier.’

Ruby and Johnnie had been sitting side by side on the park bench close to where they had made love that very first time, but it was daytime and there were people about. They sat a distance apart, not touching, but Ruby was still aware of his closeness.

His eyes had narrowed slightly at her words. ‘I didn’t think he could be any nastier – well, not to you, anyway.’

‘More quietly angry instead of his old raging temper …’ She paused, aware that she’d sown a seed in Johnnie’s mind. ‘But what about the fare to Manchester? Can you help me?’

‘Why Manchester? That’s a long way away.’

‘Oh, that’s only for the interview,’ she lied easily. ‘I’ll be training in London if they accept me, and living there. It’s how these big hospitals work.’

‘I’ll come with you. We could have another day out together—’

‘No, no,’ she interrupted quickly, ‘I know you’re busy. I just want to sneak away without anyone knowing. I want to get all the facts before I say anything.’

‘Good idea, Red.’ He took her hand and gently rubbed his thumb up and down hers. ‘You really need to get out of that house and get a job you get paid for. They just use you, and I hate seeing it.’

Ruby could feel her resolve weakening. She so wanted to tell him, for him to declare it was fine and they’d get married right away. But she held firm.

‘I know. One way or the other I’ll pay you back but I don’t want anyone to know where I am. I don’t think they’d ever ask you but just in case they do you have to say you don’t know anything.’

‘Of course I’ll lend you the money and I really hope you get the job or whatever you call it, and my lips are sealed.’ He studied her face for a moment. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you? This isn’t you running away? You really can trust me, Red.’

But she already knew she couldn’t. Not only did she know about what he’d done to her brothers, she also knew all about Sadie Scully, the barmaid at the Black Dog. Johnnie’s sister, Betty, had made a point of telling her.

He’d leaned forward to kiss her on the lips but she’d moved her head just enough for him to kiss her cheek instead. Ruby Blakeley had learned the hard way that, however much she wanted it to be otherwise, she was not going to see Johnnie Riordan ever again.

She was going to leave Walthamstow. She wasn’t going to Manchester and she also wasn’t going to come back. Ever.

Twelve

1946, six months later

‘Oh, she is so pretty. Look, George, just look at her little rosebud lips and button nose … She looks just like Ruby but her hair is so fair, it’s almost invisible. I expected another redhead. She is beautiful and so healthy. You’ve done well, Ruby, you clever girl …’

‘Yes, she’s perfect, a bonny bouncing baby, definitely.’ As he spoke George Wheaton gave a warning look to his wife before glancing quickly at Ruby, who was standing alongside them at the glass partition that fronted the nursery where all the swaddled newborns were lined up in their cribs like fresh produce in the shop window. Only the names on the cribs identified which one was which.

Babs and George stood side by side gazing adoringly at the baby tagged as ‘Baby Blakeley, Girl’, but instead of looking at her daughter Ruby was determinedly looking the other way. She had no intention of connecting any more than was absolutely necessary with the infant from whom she would soon be separated for ever.

‘They all look the same to me, and anyway why would I want to look at her? It’s not as if I’m keeping her. She’s not mine.’ Despite her barely disguised frustration at her situation Ruby shrugged as if she didn’t care.

‘Have you definitely made your mind up then?’ Babs asked. ‘Have you spoken to anyone about adoption?’

‘I haven’t said anything and I’m not going to while I’m still in hospital. They all think I’m a poor little war widow so they’re being really nice to me. Not like Gracie, the girl at the other end of the ward who’s just had an illegitimate baby. They’re so horrible to her and now she’s got to go back to the mother-and-baby home that’s just like a prison.’

‘Well, it’s going to be hard for you too, Ruby, whatever you do. You do know that, don’t you? Giving a baby up is hard for anybody.’

‘Yes, I know that. I’m not stupid you know.’

Ruby could feel a surge of anger rising up in her. It was as if they didn’t think she was capable of realising the enormity of her situation at that moment. She had given birth to a baby she was going to give away and never see again: a beautiful and perfect baby girl who, under different circumstances, would have been her pride and joy.

Despite her youth and circumstances Ruby had felt a maternal surge the moment she had held her daughter for the first time. She had tried to fight it, and had been fighting it every minute since, but it was still there.

‘I know you’re not. I was just making sure you do what you want to do. If it’s any consolation, Uncle George and I both think that giving her up is the best thing you can do for both of you. Other than marrying the father, of course.’

Ruby’s head swivelled sharply. ‘No. Oh, you haven’t told him, have you? I don’t want Johnnie Riordan having any part of my life. Or hers.’ She paused. ‘Not that he’d want to.’

‘Of course we haven’t said anything – not to anyone. Not a soul – but we do want you to be sure you know what you’re doing. Adoption is for ever. You can’t change your mind sometime in the future.’

‘I know. It’s the best thing to do and it’s what I’m going to do, but I don’t want to do anything until we’ve left here. I couldn’t bear to be treated like Gracie has been. They’ve been so nasty to her and she’s had no visitors. Not one.’

Babs shook her head. ‘That must be horrible for the poor girl. I’ll go and have a word with her on the way out. If the nurses think George and I know her they might be nicer. It’s wrong, I know, but …’

‘That’s a kind thought, Babs,’ George said before turning to Ruby. ‘Have you chosen a name for this little one yet?’

‘Why would I do that? There’s no point in me giving her a name and then someone changing it as soon as they take her.’

Babs and George Wheaton exchanged glances.

‘We have to talk to you in private, Ruby. There’s something we have to tell you. The nurses have said you can come outside with us for a walk, so we’ll go somewhere private.’

Being a doctor himself, George had been able to pull strings that allowed both him and his wife to visit ‘his niece’ freely in the nearby maternity home where she’d gone to have the baby. It was another thing that annoyed Ruby on Gracie’s behalf.

Babs pushed George’s wheelchair as they made their way along the main corridor to the double doors that led out into grounds. As they walked they all made stilted small talk. Ruby spoke quickly and fired questions about Marian and Keith, and Babs and George told her a couple of amusing but completely irrelevant anecdotes about the surgery. It was all very superficial as the three of them all skirted around the most important subject of all. The baby.

It had been a perfect pregnancy and an easy birth, with Ruby feeling fit and well physically, and more than ready to leave the hospital when the time came. All she had to do was actually set the wheels in motion to arrange the adoption of her daughter.

When the plan had been formed all those months ago for her to go to stay with George’s sister, Leonora, in Essex, Ruby had accepted she had little choice but to go if she were to have the support of the Wheatons so she had persuaded herself it was another evacuation.

Being sent to Melton had turned out OK so she was determined that a stay in Southend would be equally satisfactory if she just focused her mind on the end result. A few months in exile, then she would have the baby adopted and could start her life again, hopefully back in Melton with her friends. But whatever happened she knew she could never go back to the overcrowded terraced house in Walthamstow, where she wasn’t wanted and which was just a stone’s throw away from Johnnie Riordan, the love of her life and the father of a beautiful baby daughter who looked just like him.

She tried hard to block him out of her mind but she often wondered what he was doing and whether he missed her. However, she knew he had to be part of her past, just as her family were now. Pregnant and in exile, all she had had was Aunt Leonora, who, despite her honorary title of aunt, was really just another total stranger.

Leonora Wheaton was the spinster of her family, the oldest child of four who had never married because she had become the carer who stayed at home and looked after her ailing mother. After she died Leonora had inherited the family home where she had lived all her life, but instead of staying there she had sold everything and fulfilled her long-held dream of running a seaside hotel. She had bought a run-down seafront property near Southend and turned it into a quiet upmarket establishment for genteel single and widowed ladies, who may otherwise have found having a holiday impossible. It meant Ruby fitted in there perfectly and no one asked any embarrassing questions about her condition.

She was a kind-hearted woman and a natural-born carer, so she was good to Ruby and went along with the deception because she loved her brother, but she hadn’t been completely able to hide her dismay at the young girl’s situation.

As they reached a deserted area of the hospital grounds Babs stopped and faced Ruby.

‘This is really important, dear. Uncle George and I have been talking and we think we have a solution.’

Ruby turned away. ‘I’m not changing my mind. I can’t look after a baby, I don’t want a baby and I’m not going to marry Johnnie. I’m sorry.’

‘We understand that. But the solution we’re offering may well suit everyone,’ George said. ‘Babs and I think, well, we wondered—’

But before he could finish his wife interrupted, ‘You’re beating around the bush, George. Let me tell her. Ruby, we want to adopt your baby. We want her, we want her so much …’

Stunned, Ruby looked from one to the other. It was the last thing she had expected them to say, and something that had never even crossed her mind.

‘I don’t understand. You’re saying you want her? You never said before. Why would you want to take my baby?’ Ruby could feel her warning antennae on alert.

‘It’s not that we want to take your baby, Ruby dear – that sounds so cruel – we want to adopt her, to have her as part of our family and give her a good life. We feel attached to her already because she’s yours, and we hate the idea of her going to strangers.’ Babs said quickly and intensely.

‘Why didn’t you say that earlier? Why wait until now?’

‘Because neither George nor I dared to consider it as a possibility. We didn’t want to pressure you into anything, you had to make your mind up yourself; but if you’re determined to give her up then surely it’s better that we take her home with us, to bring her up as ours. Better than her going to strangers. We were never lucky enough to have a child of our own; you were the nearest we came to parenthood …’ as Babs’ voice broke George took Ruby’s hand in his.

‘Ruby, no one need know anything apart from us; no one will know she’s yours. I have contacts who can arrange the adoption. Then you can get on with your life, knowing your baby is truly loved and well looked after.’ George held her hand tighter. ‘And you know we’d do that, don’t you?’

Ruby looked from one to the other as she tried to take in just what they were saying to her. Was the couple who meant so much to her ready to push her aside to have the one thing they had apparently always wanted? A child of their own?

She tried to get this new notion together in her head. When she had gone to visit them with Johnnie, Babs had been insistent that it was wrong for Ruby to deceive her mother, yet when she became pregnant they had whisked her off and hidden her away. Had they done that because they knew from the start that they wanted the baby? Would the baby replace her in the Wheatons’ affections?

She walked over to the low wall that separated the lawn from a wide paved footpath and sat on it very gingerly, at the same time wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her still swollen body. She chewed her lip and looked into the distance as she determined not to cry. George and Babs followed her.

‘So you don’t want me to come back to Melton then? You just want my baby.’ Ruby could hear the whine in her voice, the childish challenge, but at that moment she felt like a child again. She could taste the betrayal.

Babs and George Wheaton moved simultaneously to either side of her, and Babs, too, sat on the wall. George took her hand again and gripped tightly.

‘No, it’s not like that. Of course we want you – we want both of you – but you said you were giving her up anyway so it makes sense to let someone who loves both of you take care of her. Ruby, we love her because we love you. You can be her big sister, her guiding godmother. We’re both getting on a bit now and you can be the younger influence for her.’

‘Just think about it, Ruby,’ Babs said. ‘We’re not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you could stay here for a couple of months and then come back to live with us eventually, and no one would be any the wiser. Think about it, at least.’

Frowning, Ruby looked from one to the other, feeling their expectation.

‘No, it’s OK, you take her. I suppose she’ll have a good home.’

‘No, no, Ruby, you have to think about it. You can’t make such a big decision just like that,’ George said with a distinct note of caution in his voice, but Ruby wasn’t interested.

‘Yes I can, I’m leaving hospital tomorrow morning and I’m not taking her with me. I’ll just leave her here. You can take her in the morning when we leave here and I’ll go back to the hotel. If Aunt Leonora’ll still have me, that is.’ Ruby bit her lip, determined not to cry.

‘Of course she will; and don’t worry about anything, we’ll arrange it all … if you’re sure. We’ll come back and collect you as soon as the interest in the village has died down, as soon as there’s no way they can make any connection between both of you.’

‘OK.’ Ruby shrugged but she knew it would never happen. If they adopted the little girl then things could never be the same, however much they all wanted them to be. ‘Have you heard from Ray? Or Mum?’

‘No, nothing since Ray telephoned all those months ago being obnoxious, but there’s something else we need to tell you. Johnnie Riordan visited a few weeks ago, looking for you. He just turned up on the doorstep out of the blue.’

‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’ Ruby’s head turned from one to the other. ‘I don’t want him to know anything. Anything!’

Ruby felt sick as she once again brushed away the picture of her and Johnnie with their baby, which kept invading her thoughts. It wasn’t going to happen, so she had to live with it.

‘No, of course we didn’t, even though he seemed very determined to find out about you. He was very polite, of course, but that’s his way.’

‘Did he say anything about Mum or Nana?’

‘He said he’d spoken to your grandmother and that she was well.’ Babs answered. ‘She told him everything was much the same apart from Ray, who was still behaving very badly. I have to confess we felt really uncomfortable lying to him, knowing that you were having his baby. I wish you could have married him, Ruby, kept the baby …’

Ruby shrugged. ‘I have to get back now. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She stood up cautiously and, without looking at them again, turned to walk back to the ward and her last day with her baby.

The next morning Babs and George Wheaton collected Ruby and her baby daughter from the hospital and they all went back to the hotel where Ruby had been staying during her pregnancy.

It was a four-storey terraced building right on the seafront on the borders of Thorpe Bay, and had been tastefully and expensively renovated. The ground floors housed the communal lounges, dining room, kitchen and reception area, two more floors were single guest rooms, and the top floor was Leonora’s spacious private flat where Ruby had been staying. There were just two live-in staff and their quarters were down in the basement. The hotel was Leonora Wheaton’s life and she spent most of her time in the office behind the small reception desk on the ground floor.

Because of George’s wheelchair they couldn’t go up to the flat so they were all cramped into the office on the ground floor in an embarrassed silence as Babs gave the baby her first bottle away from the hospital and carefully got her ready for the drive back to Melton with Babs at the wheel.

‘Do you mind if we called her Margaret? Then she can be Maggie or Meg. What do you think? We think it really suits her.’

‘I don’t care what you call her,’ Ruby answered abruptly. ‘Just take her and go. Please? I can’t stand any more of this. Just go.’

Babs handed the baby to George while she collected everything up.

‘We’ll talk on the telephone …’

‘I’m sorry, but I just want this over with.’

‘Ruby, you know you’ll always be a daughter to us, don’t you? You’ll both be our daughters. Nothing’s changed.’

‘If you say so,’ Ruby answered. But she knew it wasn’t true. Everything had changed.

That night Ruby allowed herself to cry for the first time over what might have been. She cried for the loss of her baby, she cried for what might have been with Johnnie, she cried for the change in her relationship with Babs and George Wheaton; but she didn’t shed a single tear for her mother and brothers. As she saw it, none of it would have happened if they hadn’t dragged her away from her carefree life in Melton back to Walthamstow.

At that moment she desperately wanted to make them pay for how they had ruined her life.

Thirteen

Walthamstow, the month before

As Johnnie Riordan was driving his motorcycle down Elsmere Road he saw Elsie Saunders, Ruby’s grandmother, sitting on an upright chair in the tiny front garden of the Blakeley house. It was the first time he’d seen her sitting outside so he went home, parked his bike, and, after a few minutes’ hesitation, walked back up the street and stopped at the gate. Her concentration was on the knitting needles that were clicking furiously in her lap so she didn’t notice him standing there.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Saunders. My name’s Johnnie Riordan. I’m a friend of Ruby’s. I live down the street at my sister’s house. Don’t know if you know her – Betty Dalton? Married to Tony?’ He smiled disarmingly, turning the charm up high.

The woman peered up at him but didn’t answer. Johnnie wondered if she was having trouble seeing him so he stepped closer and gently touched her arm.

‘I wondered if you’d heard anything from her.’

‘And what’s that got to do with you? She never said anything about you to me. Not a clue who you are.’ She glared up at him through the new spectacles she was adjusting to.

‘I’m a friend. We got to know each other when she came back from her evacuation. Just a bit worried ’cos she sort of disappeared.’

‘Not your job to worry, young man.’

‘Well, no, but we were friends and she’s been gone for months. I didn’t expect it to be that long. I thought she was going away for a couple of days, but so long as she’s OK …’

‘Well, Sonny Jim, seeing as what happened before she went I doubt she’ll ever come back, poor kid, but if she does I’ll tell her you were asking.’

Her tone was dismissive as she shrugged and pulled a face; immediately Johnnie started laughing. ‘I can see where Ruby got her fighting spirit from.’

‘In this house it’s stand and fight or lie down and let the buggers walk all over you. Ruby fought back; me and her mother just lie here and let them do whatever they want.’

She placed her knitting on the wall and wriggled forward on her chair. As she started to stand up Johnnie leaned forward to help her but she swatted him away impatiently, grabbed the front wall with both hands and heaved herself up.

‘Ruby told me things, you know, but she didn’t want Ray to know we were friends. I know a lot about what she went through and why she didn’t want to be here. She told me you were the only one who understood. If there’s anything I can do to help?’

‘You can pass me that walking stick.’ The elderly woman looked around, checking that no one else was nearby to hear her words. ‘I’ll say if I hear anything, so if you see Ruby you’ll tell me, will you? I just want her to be all right, that’s all. She’s a good girl and they did wrong by her.’

‘I know. I’ll tell you if I hear anything.’

After she’d fully turned to go indoors Johnnie had walked slowly back down the street, thinking hard about Ruby Red, the classy and clever young girl whom he’d met by chance and instantly been fascinated with. The attraction he had felt for her wasn’t the same feeling he’d had with other girls, and he had enjoyed the slow burn of the embryonic relationship, but then he’d made the mistake of losing control and having sex with her despite her being only sixteen.

He had realised the next time he’d seen her that she was ashamed and embarrassed, and he hated himself for making her feel that way, but there was no going back.

Initially he’d felt so guilty he’d been almost pleased when she’d gone away, but then she hadn’t come back and now she was at the forefront of his thoughts again. He wondered if the urge to find her was because he was backed into a corner with Sadie, who, encouraged by Bill Morgan, was eagerly making plans for a party at the Black Dog to announce their engagement.

An engagement that Sadie wanted, that Bill Morgan wanted, but not one that Johnnie himself wanted. But he saw it as a chance to ingratiate himself further with Bill, who treated Sadie as the daughter he’d never had.

He leaned on the lamppost outside his house and watched a young courting couple walking along, completely absorbed in each other. He realised he had never felt like that with Sadie Scully. He liked her a lot and they had fun together, but he wasn’t in love with her.

Then it hit him like a bullet between the eyes. He was in love with Ruby Blakeley.

He decided then and there to go to Melton as soon as he had a free day. He knew he would be better able to judge the Wheatons’ reactions to his questions if they were face to face. But first he would have to arrange for a day off from the Black Dog and also find an explanation that would keep the very possessive and volatile Sadie happy.

A week later he walked up the path to the Wheatons’ front door and knocked. As he waited he saw Derek Yardley looking out of the window of his flat over the garage. He smiled and waved, but the man just frowned and dropped the curtain.

‘Good day, Mrs Wheaton,’ Johnnie smiled confidently as she opened the door. ‘I’m wondering if you know anything about Ruby. She’s missing.’

One look at the shocked expression on her face and he knew that the Wheatons were somehow involved with Ruby’s disappearance.

‘I’m worried about her and I know you know where and how she is.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Riordan, but Ruby doesn’t live here. We haven’t seen her for a while.’

‘But is she OK? Why didn’t she come back?’

Johnnie stayed where he was, hoping that Babs Wheaton’s natural good manners would get him into the house. The woman wasn’t being unfriendly and her expression was neutral, but there was a determined line to her mouth.

‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, Mr Riordan. You’re welcome to come in and have a cup of tea before your journey home but I really don’t want to talk about Ruby. It’s not my place. Have you asked her family?’ She stood back and motioned for him to go in.

‘I’ve spoken to her grandmother. She’s worried about her welfare, but I think she’s also pleased Ruby has made a run for it and got away!’

‘Do you take sugar in your tea?’ Babs Wheaton asked with a smile, effectively ending the conversation.

When he left an hour later he was none the wiser; Babs Wheaton had given away nothing, although she hadn’t denied that she knew where Ruby was. Johnnie hovered around for a few minutes after Mrs Wheaton had shut the door and then went across and knocked on the door of Derek Yardley’s lodgings over the garage. Then he knocked again. And again.

‘Hello, mate. Long time no see.’

Derek Yardley tried to smile but it just didn’t happen. Johnnie knew that guilty look and it surprised him, but at the same time he was intrigued. The man was hiding something.

‘I’m looking for Ruby Blakeley – have you seen her?’

‘No.’

‘No suggestions where she might be then?’

‘No.’

‘Can’t say I believe you, but no matter. I’ll be back, so you have a think in the meantime, eh?’

The two young women were sitting side by side on the seawall swinging their legs and looking out to sea. They were both wearing similar but different coloured outfits of patterned cotton frocks, light cardigans and summer sandals, but whereas Ruby’s clothes were good quality, almost new and well-fitting, Gracie’s were faded and overworn bordering on threadbare.

‘What happened to your baby, Ruby? Why isn’t it living with you?’ Gracie McCabe asked curiously.

‘I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over and done with, and now I want to forget all about it and get on with my life. Like you do,’ Ruby said firmly.

‘It didn’t die, did it?’ Gracie’s jaw dropped as the thought occurred to her.

‘Of course not. I’d have said, wouldn’t I?’ Ruby sighed loudly and raised her eyes skywards. ‘And stop saying “it”. She’s a girl and I gave her up to be adopted, if you must know. Same as you with your baby boy, who’s a he.’ She emphasised the words but smiled at the same time.

‘But why would you have your baby adopted, you being a war widow and all that … unless you’re not a widow at all!’ Gracie studied her closely for a few moments, then continued, ‘I thought about saying I was a widow but when I had to go into the home they wouldn’t let me. The bloody nuns thought I had to feel shame and be punished for my sins. And, God, was I punished. That’s why I just left the baby there and did a runner. I wasn’t going to spend another six weeks in purgatory being punished before they took him away. Ten days in hospital with him were bad enough.’

‘Don’t you want to know what they’ve done with him? Haven’t you got to sign papers and things?’

‘They wouldn’t have told me that, anyway. They just arrange it all and you do as you’re told. I knew he was going to be adopted so that was it. Do you know what’s happened to yours, then?’

Ruby shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Neither of us has our baby any more. That’s it, there’s no going back now, is there?’

‘I suppose not.’ Gracie replied with a deep sadness in her voice that Ruby could understand. Despite her protestations of indifference, every time Ruby closed her eyes she could see the little bundle of shawl, bonnet and rosebud lips that was her firstborn as she said her final goodbye. She knew that image would stay with her for ever and she was sure that Gracie would be feeling the same, despite them both proclaiming their joy at their current freedom.

The day Ruby had left the hospital she’d given Gracie her address at the Thamesview Hotel, and asked her to keep in touch, but it had been several weeks before the young woman had eventually turned up on the doorstep. She’d made light of her situation but Ruby could read between the lines and guessed that she’d had it rough. Having seen how Gracie had been treated in the hospital, she could only imagine how it must have been for her in the mother-and-baby home.

‘I’ve not offended you, have I?’ Ruby asked. ‘I just want to forget any of it ever happened.’

Gracie swung her legs back over the wall and stood up on the pavement. ‘Of course not. I just don’t understand why you won’t confide in me. I’m not likely to tell anyone, am I? Me being in the same situation and all.’

‘I just can’t. One day I will. Promise!’ She looked at Gracie and smiled. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’

Gracie smiled back and then nudged her. ‘I know, how about we go for a walk to town and have a look in the Kursaal. There’s this bloke working there – I saw him last week when I was taking a walk – he’s so good-looking. I bet he’s a gypsy, he’s all swarthy and mysterious, like, and I swear he looked at me, you know, proper looked, like he fancies me.’

‘Aren’t you off men after what happened?’ Ruby frowned.

‘If you fall off your bike you get straight back on, that’s what my ma used to say, so that’s what I’m going to do,’ Gracie said with an exaggerated shrug, making Ruby laugh properly for the first time in months.

‘OK, OK, you win. I need some fun as well but it’s not going to be the man sort of fun for me. I’m done with all that for ever. I’m going to be an old spinster with a Pekingese. And an aspidistra in a gazunder.’

Ruby got ready to cross the road back to the hotel. ‘You wait here and I’ll just go and grab my bag quick and hope I can get in and out without being seen or heard by any of Leonora’s Ladies. They all tell tales on me, and I’m supposed to be helping with afternoon tea.’

Ruby put her forefinger up to her lips and gave an exaggerated wink. She was fed up with the questions. She was fed up with still having to act out being a nineteen-year-old grieving war widow who’d suffered a stillbirth. She was also fed up with Aunt Leonora alternately smothering her and then expecting her to act as an unpaid lady’s maid.

She’d co-operated with everyone but now she had the urge to rebel. She wanted to be out and about having fun like other girls her age, like Gracie, not hanging around in the kitchen at the beck and call of the lady guests, then being sent off to bed at nine thirty like a schoolgirl.

Before the Wheatons had left, taking her baby daughter with them, there had been a discussion about the future and George had promised to open a Post Office account for Ruby with enough money to keep her going until it was the right time for her to go back to them. Leonora had disapproved strongly of a young girl having access to a large sum of money and had wanted to control it, but Ruby had dug her heels in. She saw it not as a gift, but as a small payment for handing over her baby, and she fully intended to use it to go out and enjoy herself and pretend that the past months had never happened. She also thought that having money to spend would help to wipe Johnnie Riordan from her memory.

But until Gracie turned up she hadn’t had the opportunity.

After Gracie had walked out of the mother-and-baby home she’d quickly found a live-in job in the vast Palace Hotel at the top of the hill overlooking Southend Pier and the seafront. It was one of the most lowly and poorly paid jobs in the hotel, with long hours of back-breaking cleaning and polishing of the communal areas, but she had a bed to sleep in and food to eat, and the occasional afternoon off.

The two young women had initially bonded in the hospital and after meeting up again their friendship had continued to grow, not only because of their similar situations but because they really liked each other. The circumstances of their pregnancies and adoptions were different but their feelings were the same and that meant they understood each other in a way no one else could.

‘Right, let’s go before I get spotted!’ Ruby said as, laughing, she ran down the hotel steps and off along the seafront with Gracie hot on her heels.

Ruby had fallen in love with the Thames Estuary town of Southend. After the drabness of post-war Walthamstow and the sleepiness of the Cambridgeshire countryside, the seaside town was a hive of excitement just waiting to be explored, and now she had someone to explore it with.

Gracie had been born and brought up there and, at twenty, she knew exactly where to go to have fun. Ruby hadn’t admitted her real age so Gracie still thought they were nearly the same age. She knew she would have to confess at some point but she was scared Gracie wouldn’t want to be friends with someone four years younger than she was.

‘What shall we do? I’ve got some money, we can go wherever we want.’

‘Let’s walk to town and see what’s happening. I’ve got to get back to work at five, but we could have some chips on the beach and then have a go on the roller coaster? That’s where the young man works. He is so handsome, all moody-looking with green eyes and a tattoo on his arm.’

‘Sounds dangerous to me.’

‘Yes, I know, but I need some danger and excitement in my life after the home and the hospital and all that.’

‘Do you think I could get a job at the Palace as well?’ Ruby asked. ‘I have to get away from Aunt Leonora. She means well and has been really good to me but she’s just there all the time. It’d be nice to do whatever I want. I’ve never been able to do that.’

‘I dunno. I was lucky ’cos I know one of the chefs and he persuaded them. Lots of people are looking for jobs with board now, what with the bombing and everything. We lived in Westcliff up by Chalkwell Park and were bombed out. Mum’s rented a new place down near the seafront, but I’ve been banished. None of the family want to know me ’cos of the baby and other stuff. They think I’m a right tart but I’m not, I was just stupid. I shouldn’t have got caught out, specially with a bloody soldier passing through.’

Gracie was a very plain girl. Her mousy hair was dead straight and more often than not it was greasy and lank. She suffered badly with acne though it never seemed to bother her; she was a livewire with a huge personality and Ruby enjoyed being with her. She wanted to ask a bit more about Gracie’s baby’s father but she knew she wasn’t ready to talk about Johnnie, so she said nothing.

‘Me, too.’

‘But if you were a widow then you were married, so then it was all right for you to have a baby.’ She paused and squinted sideways. ‘Something’s not right about your story. Why are you living with this aunt and why did you have your baby adopted? You’re no more a war widow than I am, Ruby Blakeley.’

‘I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. Keep on and I’m going back!’ Ruby looked down at the pavement and Gracie didn’t push it.

The tide was out as they walked along the seafront with the weak autumn sun just about warming their faces. They stopped as they neared the Kursaal amusement park to watch some children playing in the mud. The little girls had their skirts tucked in their knickers and were giggling and ducking as the boys threw mud pies at them.

‘They’ll be in trouble when they get home. I remember when me and me sisters used to do that. Ma’d go bananas when we got home with mud caked up our legs and in our hair.’

‘It looks fun. I used to get all muddy but not from the beach. I lived in the country … Do you get on with your family? Apart from having the baby, that is.’

‘Yeah, on the whole I suppose. And me mum’ll come round sooner or later. She always does when one of us does wrong! We all fight like cat and dog but then we make up.’ Gracie laughed. ‘Want a fag?’

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘Oh, come on, give it go. It’s hard at first but once you get used to it it’s great. Let’s sit on the beach and I’ll show you how to do it.’

They walked for a little way and then ducked down between two empty beach huts, away from the breeze that was blowing in from the Thames Estuary. In unison they tucked their skirts under their knees and perched on the cold pebbles. Then Gracie pulled two cigarettes out a packet of five, lit them both behind cupped hands from a single match and passed one to Ruby.

‘Now suck the smoke all the way into your lungs. It’ll make you cough but you’ll soon feel so relaxed and it looks so sophisticated when you do it right. As soon as you’ve learned we’ll go to the Kursaal and show ’em. Have you been on the roller coaster yet? It is so noisy and scary.’

‘No, I haven’t been anywhere except to the shops in the High Street. Not since I was in hospital. Not even before I was in hospital and I was sent into exile—’ Ruby stopped mid-sentence.

‘So you’re not a bloody war widow. I knew it.’ Gracie clapped her hands. ‘So go on, tell all. What happened to you? You tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine.’

But before she could answer Ruby suddenly started coughing and spluttering as the smoke from her first cigarette hit her lungs.

‘It gets better …’ Gracie dissolved into laughter, with Ruby coughing and laughing at the same time. ‘Now tell.’

‘No, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s carry on walking. My lungs are on fire …’

‘I’m not moving until you tell me.’

Ruby hesitated. The promise between Ruby and the Wheatons had been not to say a word to anyone, ever, but Gracie was different: she’d been through the same.

‘OK, I’ve not been widowed, or even married. I’m sixteen, not twenty, and Aunt Leonora isn’t my aunt. I got caught out and she helped me. Now, let’s go …’

Ruby jumped up and ran off, Gracie in hot pursuit, but they hadn’t run far before a voice rang out.

‘Gracie, Gracie, stop!’

The girls looked round in unison and saw two young men heading towards them.

‘Oh God, it’s Sean. He’s a porter at the Palace and keeps asking me out. What can we do? I don’t want to be lumbered with him now, I want to talk to you, you secretive cow!’ Gracie said out of the corner of her mouth as she waved half-heartedly.

‘Nothing you can do. He’s closing in on you,’ Ruby murmured. ‘Who’s that with him?’

‘Dunno, but not bad, eh? Think that one’s mine,’ Gracie murmured.

‘You can have both of them. I’m not interested in any men. Never again …’

With no other option they stopped and waited for the two young men to catch them up.

‘Hello there, Gracie. Fancy seeing you here! And who’s your friend? This is my cousin Patrick, who’s visiting from London for the day. I’m showing him the delights of the Golden Mile.’

‘Hello, Sean. Hello, Patrick. This is Ruby, she’s a friend of mine who lives up in Thorpe Bay.’

‘Oh, very nice is Thorpe Bay. That’s where the money is,’ Sean said, and his tone made Ruby instantly cautious.

‘No money, me. I’m also staying with a relative,’ she said with a polite smile.

‘So where are you living when you’re not on your holidays by the sea?’ the other young man, Patrick, asked her, but Ruby chose not to respond. The last thing she wanted was personal questions from a stranger.

‘Don’t tell me then!’ he grinned.

After everyone had shaken hands with everyone else, they all stood facing each other in an awkward silence, unsure of what to do next. Eventually Sean took the lead.

‘Would you girls like to go for a drink or something? We could go to the pub? Or the cafe?’

Gracie looked at Ruby and then back at Sean and Patrick. ‘Not the pub, but the café at the end of the pier would be fun. We want chips and then I have to be back at work.’

The group of four walked along to the pier and caught the train that trundled back and forth. At the pier head they bought cups of tea and bags of chips, and went to sit on one of the benches that faced the sea.

‘Look, I can see the Thamesview from here. I wish we had binoculars,’ Ruby said as she looked across the estuary.

‘What’s the Thamesview?’ Patrick asked.

‘It’s a landmark,’ Gracie said quickly. ‘The border between Southend and Thorpe Bay.’

Ruby smiled at her gratefully. The streetwise Gracie was always much quicker than she when it came to covering up. ‘Shall we walk back? Did you know this is the longest pier in the world? It’s over a mile.’

‘And you want to walk it?’

‘Yes. It’ll do us all good. Lots of sea air in our lungs to clear out the fag smoke!’

The four of them strolled all the way back to the seafront and then went their separate ways, Gracie to the Palace and Sean and Patrick to the High Street.

When Ruby was on the bus on her way back to the hotel, she realised she had enjoyed herself. Really enjoyed herself for the first time in so long. Sean had made no secret that he was interested only in Gracie, so Ruby and Patrick had been thrown together and had chatted about everything that wasn’t in the least bit personal. Gracie had kept glancing at Patrick all the while but Ruby didn’t mind. She wasn’t interested in having a serious boyfriend, but she enjoyed being part of a group again, being silly and acting like the carefree young girl she used to be in the good days in Melton. The days before she’d had to leave her school and all her expectations and go back to Walthamstow.

Patrick had made noises about the four of them going out dancing one night, and the more Ruby thought about it the better that sounded.

Fourteen

‘I’ve made up my mind, Aunt Leonora. I’m not going back to Melton.’

‘Why ever not?’ Leonora Wheaton asked sharply. ‘Babs and George are looking forward to you going back, and you getting to know Maggie. Have you decided to go home to London instead?’

‘No. I’m going to stay here, in Southend. I’ve got used to the place and I’ve got friends again. Anyway, I don’t think it’s fair on any of us for me to be around Maggie all the time. But don’t worry,’ she laughed, ‘I don’t mean I’m going to stay here.’

Leonora looked hard at Ruby. ‘But how can you stay in Southend if you haven’t got anywhere to live?’

‘I’ve been offered a job at the Palace with Gracie, and I can live in there. It’s a shared room but I don’t mind.’

‘That doesn’t sound a good idea, Ruby. You’re still far too young to be living like that when you don’t have to. Gracie has no choice, poor thing, but you do. And your baby? You don’t really mean that, do you?’

‘Yes, I do. She’s not my baby any more so why would I want to see her every single day? It’s not fair to expect me to pretend that I’m her sister. What if I make a mistake and say something wrong? I can’t do it.’

As Ruby welled up she was surprised to see the woman’s normally stern expression change slightly. Leonora Wheaton was usually brusque and unemotional in her dealings with everyone, be it the chambermaid, the milkman or the visiting vicar of the parish. No matter what the situation, her demeanour remained the same.

She was a large, upright woman with salt-and-pepper coloured hair, which she always wore pulled back from her face, pinned tightly behind her ears and rolled around the bottom. Her outfit of choice without fail was a tailored costume over a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse and a very fearsomely structured corset. Her concession to summer was to remove the jacket. Her complexion was naturally pale and she always wore lipstick, a touch of powder along with a spray of floral perfume, and a large diamanté brooch in the shape of a lizard.

But despite always being so rigid and formal, she noticeably softened when Ruby mentioned the baby.

‘It’s just so sad, dear, but at least you know where she is and how she’s getting on. You’ll always know that, and George and Babs will be perfect parents to her, the same as they are to you. You just have to think of that poor Gracie, who wasn’t lucky enough to have the support you had. She knows nothing about her baby and she never will.’

‘I do know that,’ Ruby said sharply. ‘But now they’ve got the baby they always wanted I’ll just be in the way.’

‘No you won’t. That is just being childish and silly, Ruby, and I know you’re not silly. It’s true they always wanted a child but were never blessed, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have enough love for you both. Some parents have five, six, seven children – can they only love one of them?’ She looked at Ruby and raised her eyebrows. ‘But it’s not my place to say any more about it. You must talk to George and Babs and discuss this with them.’

With that Leonora stood up and carefully straightened her skirt before looking in the large mirror that hung over the open fireplace, patting her permed hair without actually moving it, and reapplying the bright red lipstick, which seemed out of character with her otherwise staid appearance. Ruby knew that was meant to be the end of the conversation but she wasn’t going to let it go as easily as that.

‘Well, I know I want to stay in Southend and I’m going to. It feels like home now.’ She smiled. ‘But I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve been so good. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t helped me. You didn’t have to, but you did.’

To Ruby’s surprise a deep flush made its way from Leonora’s neck all the way up to her forehead.

‘That is such a nice thing for you to say, Ruby Blakeley. And believe it or not, it’s been a pleasure to have you here. You’ve grown on me, young lady!’

Ruby was pleased. She felt settled and was glad Leonora liked having her there. Since meeting Gracie, Ruby was enjoying her new life in the lively seaside town. The two girls had become close friends and were going out together at every opportunity. They went to dances and the cinema, they even went to the theatre, but there was nothing they enjoyed more than spending an afternoon at the Kursaal on the seafront, sometimes just the two of them and sometimes with young men. But although Gracie sometimes took it further Ruby never did. She wouldn’t even let a young man kiss her, let alone go any further. She had promised herself she would never get into that awful situation again. Yes, she thought to herself. Southend was home.

Pressing her lips together to set her lipstick, Leonora turned around to face her. ‘Has your money from George run out yet? Is that why you need a job?’ she asked.

‘No. I haven’t spent much of it. I’m saving up, and if I take the job I can carry on saving. I’ve helped out here, I’ve seen what Gracie does in the Palace, and I can easily do what she does.’ She looked at Leonora earnestly, seeking approval. ‘I want to learn all about the hotel trade. I want my own hotel.’

‘Not so long ago all you wanted was to be a nurse.’

‘Yes, but only because that was all I knew. I had the idea that I’d become a nurse and then go back and work with Uncle George, but that was just a stupid kid’s dream. Now I know different. I want a hotel just like this one day.’

‘High expectations, young lady. I was lucky to have an inheritance. I could never have afforded this without it and after all those years looking after my mother I had the domestic experience as well, which was lucky in its own way. And I was already getting on in years.’ Leonora laughed drily. ‘No, dear, I approve your ambition but you should go off and do your nursing training. That would be a good basis for many things, especially for marriage and children. You may meet a nice doctor – lots of nurses do. That’s why they’re nurses.’

‘I’m not going to get married. I don’t need a man to look after me. I want to be able to look after myself. I want a job, a career. Like you.’

‘But that’s not how it is nowadays, not now the war’s over and the men are able to work again. There aren’t so many jobs for the women.’ Once again she glanced in the mirror. ‘Now we have to go down and see to the guests. We’ll talk again tonight.’

Ruby looked at her and realised that the conversation really was over.

Leonora walked ahead down the narrow staircase from the flat to the main hotel accommodation and then down again to the ground floor; as Ruby went into the kitchen so Leonora went into her small office by the reception and sat down at her desk. At the age of fifty-five, unmarried and, until the death of her mother, never having had a life outside the family home, she had an understandably narrow view of modern life. She tried to keep up with the world she had never previously had much access to, but it was hard. She’d had little opportunity to make a social life, and she had no experience of the younger generations. She was more comfortable dealing with the genteel ladies who stayed in her hotel rather than opening it up to holidaying couples and families.

She had only agreed to having the pregnant Ruby to stay with her because she adored her brother George, and would do anything for him. Despite her reservations, she had, however, grown fond of the young girl and had got used to having her around to help out. She enjoyed her youthful company and conversation and it was as if she were reliving her own lost youth.

She had fretted over Ruby’s pregnancy, the birth and then the adoption and she had been delighted that baby Maggie was with George and Babs and not with strangers. She had been sucked in to their lives, and now the time was drawing near she found herself dreading the girl’s departure.

The hotel’s small office window looked out across the sea, and on a clear day it was possible to see right across the estuary to Kent. She would often sit and stare and imagine what her life could have been like if she had had some freedom in her youth, especially when she saw the passenger ships heading out to open sea en route to countries she had only read about in the many books she’d collected over the years. In her daydreams she was on a ship travelling off on an adventure to the great unknown, sailing to such exotic destinations as India and China, Africa and America. As she watched she could see herself sipping tea on deck with the ladies and dining with eligible male companions who were off to transform the colonies.

It was these now unachievable dreams that made her want something more for her young charge. Leonora Wheaton disapproved strongly of the fact that Ruby was unmarried and a mother, especially at such a young age, but she also admired the way she had dealt with it.

She opened a drawer, pulled out a ledger and spent an hour going through it, adding up, working out and thinking hard. She pushed her chair back resolutely and went out to the reception desk where Ruby was standing talking to one of the guests. Leonora watched for a moment as Ruby interacted perfectly with the elegant woman, and as soon as the conversation was over Leonora called Ruby into the office.

As she closed the door Ruby went straight into her naturally defensive mode.

‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Miss Delaney was asking me about the buses.’

‘It’s nothing like that. I want to put something to you.’ Leonora paused for a moment and took a deep breath. ‘If you’re sure you want to stay in this area, then you can stay here and work for me properly. As my assistant. I can’t pay you much but you’ll have board and lodging and training. You will have to take your turn at everything; this is such a small hotel I can’t have specific employees for specific jobs.’

Ruby stood and stared. She was completely taken aback and she wasn’t sure what to say. Her decision to move out had been made because she thought she had no choice, and suddenly she had an alternative but she wasn’t sure it was the alternative she wanted. Part of the appeal of staying in the town was the thought of the freedom it would bring her. She and Gracie had plotted and planned where they would go and what they would do once she was away from Thamesview and free to go out and start having fun.

‘Oh, I don’t know what to say. This isn’t what I was expecting …’ Ruby stuttered when she realised that Leonora was waiting for some sort of response. ‘I wasn’t hinting or anything …’

‘I know you weren’t and I can see you’re shocked, so off you go and think about it. Then if you decide we can talk about your role, which will have to combine work and training.’

‘I’ve arranged to meet Gracie at the pier – I have to go, she’ll be waiting for me – but I’ll come straight back.’

Leonora smiled but Ruby could see the woman was disappointed that she hadn’t jumped at the offer.

As she turned to leave the room Leonora called her back. ‘Ruby dear, I’m not doing you a favour. I’d like you to stay.’

Ruby hadn’t arranged to meet Gracie but she wanted to get away to think. Even if her situation at Leonora’s hotel changed she couldn’t imagine the woman who had been her guardian, as such, easily letting go of the reins.

She walked along to the nearby parade of shops and went into the small café where she and Gracie sometimes sat for hours with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits topped up occasionally by the owners, Mr and Mrs Alfredo, if there wasn’t a queue. If it was a sunny day the lace curtains were clipped back from the windows and everyone who went in always wanted the window seats. Ruby and Gracie always sat in the alcove at the back without a view of anything except the kitchen so they were rarely moved on.

‘Ah, it is the beautiful Ruby.’ Mr Alfredo held his arms out in welcome across the counter. ‘But where is the also lovely Gracie?’

‘She’s not here today. Do you mind if I sit in here on my own? I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea …’

‘If they get the wrong idea then Mrs Alfredo will immediately teach them the right idea. You go and sit and I’ll bring you tea. Go, go …’

Ruby smiled. It would be very easy to be flattered by the charm of the moustachioed Mr Alfredo but she’d spent long enough in there to know that he greeted everyone as if they were all long-lost cousins and their offspring. While he gesticulated and complimented, so Mrs Alfredo tutted and rolled her eyes. It was a routine, almost a music-hall act which the two of them had perfected over the years.

She crossed to the other side of the café which was empty apart a young couple sitting at a table in the window, oblivious to everything going on around them. Once she was seated and had a cup of tea in front of her, Ruby watched them surreptitiously as they leaned into each other across the gingham-covered table and held hands. She noticed the shiny gold wedding ring first and then saw the woman gently touch her stomach.

Recently wed and pregnant.

As she watched she couldn’t help but think of Johnnie Riordan. The familiar wave of pain that always swept through her body whenever she thought of him and Maggie started in the pit of her stomach and spread up though her chest. She blinked fiercely, aware that the next stop for the wave was always her eyes. It just never really went away. She often lay in bed at night and fantasised about the three of them being a family, and that thought hurt just as much as it had the day she had handed Maggie over to Babs and George Wheaton.

It was that pain that helped her make up her mind.

Having fun with Gracie was such a short-term thing and she really didn’t want a serious boyfriend. Although she was only just seventeen she felt a lot older; older than Gracie, even. Her friend seemed to have overcome everything that had happened to her and locked it away in the far reaches of her mind; she bore little resentment to the father of her baby, who had quickly abandoned her when she told him she was pregnant, to her mother who threw her out of her home, or even to the nuns who treated her so badly. ‘Back on the bike and riding …’ she’d laugh if Ruby asked how she was feeling.

Ruby always went along with the gaiety and pretended to feel the same but inside she felt stripped of all emotion. She couldn’t imagine ever getting over it as Gracie seemed to be doing.

‘Thanks, Mr Alfredo,’ she said as she rushed past the counter. ‘I’ve left the money on the table.’

‘Wait, Ruby, wait! I want you to meet my son. He’s at university, you know! He’s very clever; he’s going to be a big important lawyer when he qualifies.’ His pride was obvious as he turned and shouted out in the direction of the internal stairs that led up to the accommodation above the café. ‘Tony? Tony, come down and meet my most beautiful customer, my favourite customer.’

The young man who sauntered down into the café, hands in pockets, was classically handsome in features and obviously Mediterranean in colouring. Confident in his stature, his clothes were casual but smart, and he was perfectly groomed; he had a mass of thick black hair controlled by Brylcreem, light olive skin and deep brown eyes that looked directly into Ruby’s as he moved to stand behind the counter. Ruby’s first impression was that he looked just like a movie star, but she instantly dismissed the thought.

‘Tony, this is Ruby … Ruby, this Tony, my son. He’s home from university for the holidays and helping his mamma and papà with the business,’ Mr Alfredo said.

‘Pleased to meet you, Ruby,’ Tony Alfredo said with a smile that showed his very white teeth but didn’t reach his eyes. Ruby guessed he was fed up with being regularly wheeled out to be shown off.

‘Pleased to meet you too, Tony,’ she smiled, and then turned back to his father. ‘I’m sorry but I have to run. I’ve got something I have to do but I’ll see you soon.’

She blew Mr Alfredo, senior a light-hearted kiss and winked at his wife, who smiled and predictably rolled her eyes.

She could feel Tony Alfredo’s eyes on her but she resisted the urge to turn round and look at him again. The flicker of interest she felt wasn’t what she wanted.

As she reached the Thamesview she ran up the steps, into the lobby and and then straight through into the office.

‘Aunt Leonora, I’ve thought about it. I’d love to work here and I’m so grateful to you for giving me the chance. I want to learn absolutely everything and I promise I won’t let you down.’

‘Good,’ Leonora said. ‘Now which one of us is going to tell Babs and George that you’re not going back to Melton?’

Part Two

Fifteen

1951

‘But Ruby, you must come back for Maggie’s birthday tea party. I really want you here; we all do.’

‘I don’t know if I can. The hotel is busy and Aunt Leonora is still unwell.’

‘I’m sure you can manage this one day. Maggie really wants you to come. She’s written your name on her list.’ Babs Wheaton was at her persuasive best. ‘We’ve missed you, darling. It’s been so long. We’ll send Yardley to collect you and Leonora. It will be nice for her to see Maggie as well.’

‘I’ll do my best. Gracie might be able to take over if she can get the day off from the Palace. Sometimes I wonder how we’d manage without her being prepared to work twenty-four hours a day. My saving Grace, she is,’ Ruby laughed.

‘Marian was asking about you the other day. She’s engaged now. Keith is still single and he’s grown into such a fine young man. He’s doing National Service but I don’t know where he is. Oh, Ruby, he looks so handsome in his uniform … And, of course, there’s Maggie; such a little madam, that one. She rules this house. You must come home.’

‘OK, you win,’ Ruby laughed. ‘I’ll be there but we don’t need Yardley. I can drive the hotel car now. I’ll bring Aunt Leonora if she’s well enough but I am worried about her. Do you think Uncle George will examine her?’

‘If she lets him. Leonora can be very difficult.’

‘Difficult isn’t the word at the moment, but she is poorly and I’m worried. You’ll notice when you see her – if she comes.’

Ruby replaced the phone onto its cradle and leaned back against the wall. She didn’t want to go and play happy families at Maggie Wheaton’s fifth birthday, but she knew it was something she had to do: a duty.

The little girl had been brought up knowing Ruby as her distant big sister and godmother, so the occasional visit was something she had to endure to keep everyone happy, but it was hard and every year it got harder rather than easier. As Maggie had changed from a baby into a beautiful small person with a voice and a personality, Ruby was even more aware of what she was missing, but she knew it was the best thing for daughter, who was having a happy childhood with two comfortably-off parents who adored her.

But still it hurt.

As time had passed she had done her best to detach herself from her previous lives in Melton and Walthamstow simply because she didn’t want to think about what had gone before, but every so often something happened and she was back on the hospital ward holding the bundle in her arms.

A remark, a look, a small child of a similar age playing on the beach could instantly spark an unexpected memory. There was always a current photograph of Maggie on the sideboard at the hotel, but it was Leonora who would take the old one out of the frame and replace it with the new. Anyone who asked was told that Maggie was Leonora’s niece and Ruby’s goddaughter.

The only person outside of the Wheatons who knew the details of Maggie’s parentage was Gracie, but it had never been discussed since the day Ruby had told Gracie she wasn’t going to move to the Palace Hotel and work with her, that she was going to stay at Thamesview, and then told her all the reasons why. Gracie had hugged her friend and promised to keep her secret. And she had. The one good thing to come out of it all was Ruby’s deep and enduring friendship with Gracie.

She went through to the kitchen where Gracie was again helping out.

‘Gracie, I have to go upstairs. Mrs Burton may be leaving early but I know you can take over on reception.’

‘Oh, yes, me on reception. Aunt Leonora’ll have a real touch of the vapours when she finds out about that!’ Gracie laughed. Then she saw the expression on Ruby’s face. ‘What’s up? You look as white as a sheet, like you’re going to faint.’

‘Don’t exaggerate. A bit shocked, maybe, but not about to collapse! Aunty Babs just telephoned. She wants me to go up to Melton for Maggie’s birthday. I really don’t want to but I suppose I have to. It’d look strange if I didn’t as I’m her godmother. And some fresh country air might be good for Leonora.’

‘Instead of the fresh sea air blowing up a storm right outside this front door?’ Gracie laughed.

‘All right, that was a silly thing to say, but this chest thing is taking so long to shift and she won’t go to the doctor. I’m hoping she’ll let Uncle George have a look at her. I’m going to go up to see how she is and how she reacts to going to Melton.’

‘Good luck with that. Have you got a tin-hat ready?’ Gracie laughed loudly. ‘Sorry, you know I don’t mean it. Shall I go to the chemist and get her a tonic?’

‘Maybe later.’ Ruby looked at her friend and smiled affectionately. ‘Thanks, Gracie. I don’t know what I’d have done without you helping out.’

‘Go on with you,’ Gracie said. ‘Go and see the Lady Leonora.’

‘Tut tut, you make her sound like a pleasure steamer!’

Ruby was still smiling as she walked up the stairs, thinking how much she loved Gracie McCabe.

Leonora was sitting in her favourite winged leather armchair with her feet up on a large tapestry footstool and a heavy blanket over her legs pulled right up to her hunched shoulders. She looked so pale and fragile that Ruby was worried anew.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked as casually as she could.

‘Just a little tired. Do stop fussing, I’ll be fine by tomorrow.’

‘Oh, good, because Aunty Babs has just rung, they want us both to go to Melton for Maggie’s birthday party on Sunday. It’s the first party she’s ever had. I can drive, if you trust me!’

‘Well, you have to go, of course, and you can take the car, but I’m not going. There’s far too much work here for both of us to be away.’

‘It’s not until next weekend, and it’s only for the day, so you might feel better by then,’ Ruby said without looking at her. ‘I’ll make you a pot of tea now and then bring your supper up later on a tray.’

‘I’m not an invalid, you know. I just have a chill, and I can do my own supper, thank you. And I’m perfectly capable of sitting at the table. I’ve never resorted to a tray on my lap in my life.’ To show her disapproval she inhaled and exhaled as loudly as she could before reaching a hand out and turning the volume on the wireless up high.

Ruby bit her tongue. Over the years, Leonora had mellowed and become almost amenable but since she had been unwell she was back to the intransigent, difficult person she had been when Ruby had first gone to stay with her. She sometimes reminded Ruby of her grandmother back in Walthamstow: she was tough as old boots because of everything she’d been through in her life but with a good heart tucked away inside. Ruby had grown increasingly fond of her and understood her absolutely, but still she occasionally lost patience with her.

‘I’ll stay and have a cup of tea with you. Gracie is in charge downstairs.’

‘Gracie?’ Despite her lethargy Leonora visibly bristled. ‘She’ll drive all my guests away. They’ll all go and leap off the pier in protest.’

‘That’s just what she thought you’d say, but she’s more than capable, as you know. She’s helped out more than enough times, and your ladies always love her.’

‘She’s common.’

‘So am I.’ Ruby snapped back.

Leonora shrugged back down under the blanket and glared ferociously but Ruby knew it was because she was feeling frustrated at having to hand over the reins of her beloved hotel to someone else, even if it was Ruby, who had worked hard alongside her for five years, and Gracie, who was more than proving her worth in being a general dogsbody in her spare time.

Ruby made the tea, set it out on a tray and put it on the side table beside her aunt’s chair.

‘Shall I pour for both of us? Gracie can manage, you know, and I said I’d be an hour so she’s not expecting me.’

Without waiting for an answer Ruby sat on the chair next to the other side of the table and stirred the teapot.

‘I’d really like you to come to Melton with me. It’s going to be so hard and it would help if you were there. You understand the situation so well.’

‘I’ll see how I am. I know it’s just a chill but it’s wearing me out. I feel so useless.’

Leonora’s tone had Ruby wondering if she was actually trying to convince herself that she just under the weather rather than really sick.

Suddenly Ruby wanted to go to Melton and she wanted to drag the recalcitrant Leonora along with her so that George could give her a check-up.

‘How is she?’ Gracie asked when Ruby went back down.

‘I’m not sure. I want to talk to you about Maggie’s birthday. If I can persuade Aunt Leonora to come with me, would you take over here for the whole day? A long day?’

‘I can ask for the day off, but would you really trust me here for a day? And more importantly, would Lady Leonora?’

‘She’ll fret, but she frets when it’s me.’

They both laughed. Gracie was nearly as fond of Leonora as Ruby was.

‘And as for fretting, when are you seeing Tony again?’ Gracie asked. ‘He’s been fretting a bit himself since Fanny-Ann upstairs has been out of action and you’ve been too busy for him.’

‘He’s not happy that I’m so busy but that’s just too bad.’

‘Well, you know what I think about him, but the feeling’s mutual so I don’t care.’ Gracie’s tone was matter-of-fact.

‘You do seem to rub each other up the wrong way all the time.’

‘Hmm. So how do you really feel about him? How far is it going to go? All the way down the aisle?’ Gracie turned the corners of her mouth down and pretended to shudder.

‘Don’t be mean,’ Ruby laughed. ‘I like going out with him, but that’s it at the moment. I don’t want to be married. I’ve said before, just me and a Pekingese in my old age.’

‘You’ll change your mind, I know you will, but I hope it’s not that arrogant twit you decide on. A smelly snuffly Pekingese would be much nicer.’

‘Meanie. Anyway, I’m off to do things that need doing.’

They smiled at each other before going off in different directions to work, Gracie to the kitchen and Ruby to the office and reception.

Tony Alfredo was the only bone of contention between Ruby and Gracie. He was the man Ruby was going out with him, but Gracie didn’t like or trust him, and she made no bones about it.

Ruby had become friends with Tony Alfredo very slowly, starting five years before with just the occasional outing during his university holidays when he was visiting his family. As an occasional companion the charming young law student had been perfect, but then he’d returned to the family home to live with his parents and started working in London, commuting by train every day, and he expected to see her far more often. He had become more demanding, and although Ruby still liked his company she was uncomfortable with his intensity.

He hated her going out and about, especially with Gracie and her friends from the Palace Hotel, yet he would never go out with them, despite Ruby asking him. They had fun when they were together and he took her to places she wouldn’t normally go, but he was too demanding when Ruby couldn’t spend time with him. Despite her constantly trying to find the middle road, Tony just wanted more, and he would push and push until she gave in. She knew she had to sit down and have a talk with him, but she knew it would be hard, and at that moment she wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

As Ruby helped Leonora out of the car a whirlwind that was a child ran out of the house and then stopped dead beside the car door, looking expectant.

‘Hello Maggie! Many happy returns of the day to you. Are you having a lovely birthday so far?’ Ruby managed a wide smile, despite feeling her stomach lurch right up into her throat. It was such a physical feeling Ruby was grateful that she could busy herself helping Leonora out of the car and not have to make any prolonged eye contact with the child immediately. She needed some time to acclimatise herself both to seeing Maggie, who had grown so much, and to being back in Melton, the village she loved.

It was the same every time she went back: she felt physically sick with expectation, unsure of how it was going to be.

Leonora had started to feel better in the days before Maggie’s birthday so it had been easier to persuade her to go to the party and leave a very scared Gracie in charge of the hotel. But as they got closer to Melton so Ruby’s nerves had started to take over and when she turned onto the village High Street all she wanted was to do a U-turn and head straight back to Essex.

But of course she didn’t. She carried on following the familiar route to the house.

‘I’m having a birthday party. Four of my friends are coming and Mummy’s made jelly and cake for everyone. You can have some as well.’

‘I can’t wait! And you look so pretty in your party frock. Shall we all go inside and see Mummy and Daddy?’ She looked at the little girl. Her daughter. ‘Say hello to Aunty Leonora. She wanted to see you on your birthday as well.’

‘Hello, Aunty Leonora.’ As the child held out her hand and smiled, all Ruby could see was Johnnie Riordan. There was little in her features or colouring to connect her to Ruby, but there was no denying her paternity. The child’s hair was blonde and straight, and tied back from her face with a bright red ribbon that perfectly matched the colour of both her T-bar shoes and the edging of her white cotton frock, which Ruby just knew was home-made by Babs. She wanted to cry as she looked at the perfect little girl standing in front of her, but before she could shed a tear Babs came out. Ruby knew she’d stood back for a few minutes to let her say hello to Maggie, and she was grateful for her thoughtfulness and perfect timing under the circumstances.

She walked forward and greeted her sister-in-law politely first, before hugging Ruby affectionately. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased to see you, both of you. I thought we’d have a slow light lunch to get our strength up before the other little girls arrive and the party starts. The children will be excluded from the sitting room so Leonora and George can spend some time together.’ Babs lightly squeezed Ruby’s hand to acknowledge that she’d listened to Ruby’s request for George to check his sister over.

‘Ruby, do you want to come and see my new pram? I’ve put my dolly in it already.’

‘I’d love to, and I’ve got a birthday present for you as well, and,’ she paused and looked down at Maggie, ‘so has Aunty Leonora. But you have to go indoors first. Go on, no peeking. Off you go.’

The little girl laughed and ran off into the house, followed by Leonora, leaving Ruby alone with Babs to get the presents out of the car boot.

‘How are you getting on?’ Babs asked. ‘I’ve missed you so much, and I still worry about you.’

‘I know.’ was all Ruby could think of to say. Melton was no longer her world and Maggie was no longer her daughter; the whole situation felt wrong. As they walked together to the house Ruby saw Derek Yardley leaning against the Wheatons’ car, watching her; as she caught his eye so he smiled, or rather his mouth made the shape of a smile, but he didn’t say anything, he simply stared until she looked away.

‘I don’t think Yardley knows what to say to you. You’ve turned from a gawky little schoolgirl into a beautiful young woman. He was always very fond of you …’

‘Hmm.’ Ruby’s murmur was noncommittal as she looked away from him and walked faster towards the open back door of the house. ‘You did tell Yardley I was just giving Aunt Leonora a lift, didn’t you? I don’t want him to know where I live or what I do.’

Babs looked puzzled. ‘We’ve never said anything. It’s nothing to do with him, but it’s been so long anyway, he’d never put two and two together now. No one would.’

Derek Yardley had been the Wheatons’ driver for so many years they thought of him as part of the family. Ruby had no intention of saying anything against him, especially as she didn’t live there any more and didn’t have to have anything to do with him, but she disliked him intensely and was ever uncomfortable around him. But because George and Babs depended on him so much she kept quiet.

‘OK Maggie, let’s go and look at your new doll’s pram,’ Ruby said. ‘And you’ve got more presents to open …’

Ruby watched Maggie and was fascinated at the self-assurance of the little girl. She was gorgeous and confident, and Ruby found herself thinking to the future, seeing her daughter growing up to go to university, qualifying as a doctor to take over from George and keep the family surgery going in the village. Because of circumstances and finances, Ruby’s parents had never had any aspirations for her and it thrilled her that Maggie would have everything going for her. There would be no limits for Maggie Wheaton.

Everyone watched indulgently as Maggie opened her gift from Ruby and whooped with excitement at the beautifully dressed baby doll. She placed it straight into the pram and wheeled it around the room.

‘She loves it,’ Babs smiled. ‘Look at her, such a wonderful choice.’

Then she opened her gift from Leonora, which was a compendium of games. Ruby had known what the birthday present was – she’d even bought it from the toyshop on Leonora’s behalf – but with everything that was going on she hadn’t given it too much thought.

‘Oh, look, Maggie, all those games,’ Babs said. ‘It’s got your favourite game in the box. Draughts …’

Draughts. The word hit Ruby like a bullet between the eyes. Nausea rose and she breathed deeply. In and out, in and out.

‘Who do you play draughts with?’ Ruby asked Maggie, trying to keep her tone moderate.

‘I always play with Mummy and Daddy.’

‘Do you play with anyone apart from Mummy and Daddy?’

‘No, but I might play with my friends now I’ve got a big box. Look, Mummy, Snakes and Ladders. Will you teach me?’

As her face became hotter so Ruby could actually feel her heart palpitating erratically in her chest. Suddenly the old wound, which had seemed long since healed, was ripped open again.

Sixteen

1942

‘What are you up to, young Ruby?’ Derek Yardley asked the twelve-year-old, who was kicking a tennis ball at the edge of the path in boredom. Babs Wheaton was helping her husband in the surgery, Marian and Keith had gone home for their tea, and Ruby was on her own with nothing to do.

‘I’m waiting for Aunty Babs.’

‘I don’t want that ball hitting the car I’ve just cleaned. Do you want to come up to my flat and wait for her? It’s just about to rain. We could listen to the wireless or play a game of draughts.’ He walked over to where she was playing and smiled as he patted her gently on her back.

‘I’m all right here. It’s nearly teatime.’

‘I’ll leave the windows open and then you’ll hear Mrs Wheaton call you.’

‘OK,’ Ruby said without any more hesitation. Yardley, as he was called by everyone, was almost family and she had known him as long as she’d known Aunty Babs and Uncle George.

Derek Yardley was a compact and wiry man in his early thirties, with a neat moustache and short hair. He was softly spoken to the point of mumbling, and he rarely made eye contact with anyone. Country born and bred, he had a very narrow outlook, was not very sociable and didn’t stand out on any level. He’d not had to serve in the Forces because of health problems, and he had no family so he was the perfect live-in driver for George, with his own disability. He did everything for the doctor that he couldn’t do himself: he helped him in and out of the car, lifted his wheelchair and helped him on his rounds. He looked after the car impeccably and did some odd jobs. He was indispensable to both George and Babs, and they acknowledged it by treating him well.

Ruby followed him up the outside stairs at the rear of the garage and in through the door at the top. It had previously been the hayloft, but the Wheatons had converted it into a compact flat that was just big enough for one person. A heavy curtain attached to the ceiling separated the living area from the bedroom. There was a washbasin in the corner and an outside toilet behind the garage, but no cooking facilities, so Yardley ate the same meals as the family although he never ate with them. He simply collected his plate and returned it after he’d eaten. If it was a day when the elderly housekeeper was there then he’d have a cup of tea and a slice of cake with her in the kitchen, but other than that he led a separate, isolated life.

‘Here, Ruby, you sit on the sofa and I’ll get the draughts out.’

Ruby had never been in his flat before. She had automatically sat down at the drop-leaf table by the window, but she did as she was told and moved to the sofa, watching as Yardley set the game up on a rickety side table that he’d pulled forward. He then sat beside her on the small lumpy sofa, which was against the wall on the far side away from the window.

‘There you are. What do you want to be, black or white?’ he asked.

‘I always choose white when I play with Aunty Babs.’

‘White it is for you, then. You go first.’

The man and the child had been playing the board game and laughing for a few minutes when Derek Yardley made his move. First he slid one hand along the back of the sofa and then moved it onto her shoulder. It was surreptitious and although Ruby sensed something not quite right it wasn’t enough for her to say anything, but she was distracted enough to move her white draught without concentrating, leaving Derek Yardley to jump over two and take them.

‘I won!’ he whooped. ‘Now you have to pay a forfeit. You have to give me a kiss.’ He laughed before leaning forward and kissing her hard on the lips with his mouth open, forcing his tongue between her teeth. She tried to pull away and turn her head sideways, but he grabbed hold of her hair and forced his tongue right into her mouth; then in one quick movement his hand was up her skirt and touching her inside her knickers, his fingers probing around before frantically tugging at the elastic to force them down.

‘Don’t,’ she said nervously, unsure of what to do. ‘You’re hurting me.’

‘It’s OK, Ruby, just relax. It’s what grown-ups do all the time.’

‘I’m not a grown-up,’ she said fearfully. ‘I want to go now. My tea will be ready.’

‘But you look like a grown-up. I bet you’ve done this before – all the city kids do it all the time – I can tell you know what to do, Ruby. Come on, do it for me …’

He leaned right over, moving his arm from behind her and putting it across her neck. As his breathing quickened so his face flushed and he started wheezing so hard she could hear his lungs rattling. He pulled his hand away from her knickers, arched his back and grabbed inside the already undone fly buttons on his trousers.

But at that moment a voice echoed from below.

‘Ruby? Ruby, where are you? Tea’s ready …’

Derek Yardley turned and hesitated just long enough for her to slip out of his grasp and reach the door, which she was horrified to find was locked, although the key was still there. As she fumbled to open it she looked back over her shoulder to see Derek lying back on the sofa with his upright penis poking out of his trousers and a strange look on his face. Ruby stared a split second in horror before throwing the door back.

‘One word, and I’ll tell them you came up here, that you asked for it,’ he spat as she stepped out onto the top of the outside staircase. ‘One word, you filthy little London brat, and I’ll fucking kill you. One word …’

Ruby stifled a scream and ran down the steps and around to the front of the garage from where she could see Aunty Babs, who was still calling her.

Ruby took a deep breath. ‘I’m here.’

‘Thank heavens for that,’ Babs laughed. ‘I thought for a minute we’d lost you. Have you been good?’

‘I was in the field out the back with Keith and Marian, they’ve just gone.’

‘Come on then. Teatime.’

As she went back to the house, Ruby looked up at Yardley’s window, expecting to see him peering out, but there was no sign of him.

He didn’t ever try to do anything again, and it was only as the years passed and she got older that she became aware of what had actually happened, but still she never said a word to anyone because she could see how lost the Wheatons would be without Yardley to do everything for them.

She was also worried that they might not believe her after so long.

It was easier to pretend it had never happened and just keep away from him as much as possible. Sometimes there was no way of avoiding him and it was then that she remembered, and was aware that actually his resentment was far stronger than hers. It was also as she grew older that she realised he actually hated her for knowing what she knew about him.

The rest of Maggie’s birthday passed in a blur for Ruby. She enjoyed it on one level because the little girl had such a wonderful birthday and she could see how much Babs and George loved every moment of it, but on another level she was fighting the distractions in her mind caused by the resurfacing of her long-buried memories.

She made an effort and pasted on a smile, but all she could see was a beautiful, friendly little girl living in a house that was just a few steps away from the resentful Derek Yardley, who had tried to abuse her when she was a child. She just hoped he never discovered the secret about Maggie’s parentage.

Despite everything going on around her she tried to trawl her memories of that time, to analyse what had happened. Was it only she who had attracted him? Had she done something to encourage him as he’d implied, or did he like children? Any children? Had he done it to anyone else? Just the thought of it made her feel sick.

‘Has Yardley ever had a girlfriend, do you know?’ Ruby asked Babs as they stood side by side in the kitchen, cutting tiny crust-free jam sandwiches.

‘Not that I know of, but what an odd question. Any reason for it?’

‘No, just wondered. I suppose I’m surprised he’s still here and living over the garage at his age. Wouldn’t you think he’d have been married by now?’

‘Oh, I think he’s too much of a loner for that. He has a bit of social life in the village. He goes to the working men’s club and to church, and on his day off he does some gardening for the vicar. I don’t know what else he does but he’s been with us for so long now and he’s helped George so much.’

‘Uncle George helped him: he gave him a job and somewhere to live.’

‘That’s why it works. They’re good for each other.’ Babs smiled at her. ‘This is nice, just standing here talking. I really miss having you around to talk to. I know it’s hard for you but I really wish you’d visit more often, maybe even stay for a few days?’ She paused and when Ruby didn’t answer she pretended not to notice. ‘Anyway, shall we take the sandwiches and lemonade out to the children in the garden?’

As Babs picked up one tray, so Ruby picked up the other. ‘Let’s go.’

As they got ready to leave Ruby wanted to snatch Maggie up and take her away from the vicinity of Derek Yardley. She knew that the right thing to do would be to tell George and Babs, but it was so long ago and she still had her old childhood fear of not being believed, of being thought of as the outsider causing trouble. And Yardley had been part of the Wheatons’ lives for far longer than she had, and George especially depended on him. She couldn’t do it.

They all walked out together to the car, and as she opened the passenger door for Leonora to get in she caught sight of Yardley standing beside the Wheatons’ gleaming black Vauxhall, pretending he was tending to it. But she knew he was watching her, the same way he had always watched her.

‘I’m just going to have a word with Yardley,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Can I come with you?’ Maggie asked.

‘You stay and talk to Aunty Leonora. I’ll be one minute.’

As she walked over to him she smiled as if she were going to greet a friend.

‘Once you warned me, now I’m warning you. If you lay one finger on Maggie then you’ll live to regret it. I’ll make your life a real misery.’

Yardley’s smile was equally insincere as he faced her. ‘Now that’s a bit uppity of you, isn’t it? I mean, what’s it to you? You’re not part of that family,’ he nodded his head in the direction of the Wheatons, who were all standing in the driveway, ‘not like I am, and what I do is none of your business, Miss Dirty Evacuee. None of your business.’

He rubbed his hands together as if he was rubbing dirt off but Ruby was determined not to be riled. She didn’t want anyone to see the confrontation, so she shrugged. ‘But you made it my business when you did what you did. Remember my brother Ray who came to visit? Well, there are another two just like him at home. Three nasty violent thugs. So remember that if you ever touch Maggie like you touched me I’ll know and I’ll send them all down to deal with you.’

She turned and left him standing where he was, but she could feel his eyes boring into her back.

With the smile still glued to her face she hugged everyone, climbed into the car beside Leonora and drove off down the drive.

‘Did you enjoy the visit?’ she asked Leonora as they drove through the village towards the main road.

‘It was nice to see Maggie but I wasn’t happy that you tried to take advantage of George being a doctor. If I wanted to see a doctor I would, and I don’t.’

‘But he’s your brother, he’s bound to be worried about you. You should have taken advantage of him being a doctor on hand!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

With that Leonora put her head back and closed her eyes. Within a few minutes she was asleep leaving Ruby with plenty of time to think about the day that had ended so badly for her.

When they eventually got back to the hotel she helped Leonora upstairs to her flat and then went back down to find Gracie.

‘How’s Maggie?’ Gracie asked.

‘She’s lovely. She’s so pretty, and clever beyond her years. There were four others there and she was way ahead of them. It must be because Aunty Babs spends so much time with her. She’s five, can you believe it? Five years old.’

‘Yeah, I can,’ Gracie said sadly.

Ruby’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh God, I’m so stupid; your own baby. I’m so sorry, Gracie. I was so wrapped up in myself …’

‘Oh, it’s OK. I don’t often think about him. I think he’s probably fine. But I have to think that, don’t I? Sometimes I think you’re really lucky knowing all about Maggie, but then at others times I think I’m the lucky one ’cos I can forget most of the time.’ She smiled and touched Ruby’s arm. ‘Did she like her presents? I bet she did. And how’s Lady Leonora? Did she buck up a bit once she was with her family?’

‘You know, one day you’re going to slip up and say that in front of her, and then you’ll be in such trouble!’

‘But I don’t mean it, do I? Anyway, how is she?’

‘Tired, but I think she enjoyed it. Have you got to get back or do you want to stay here tonight? There’s an empty room on the first floor, but don’t tell anyone.’

‘Oh, yes, please. I was dreading dragging me poor aching body all the way back home tonight. These ladies are far more demanding than what I’m used to. Gracie this, Gracie that, it never stops.’ But she grinned as she said it, and Ruby knew she had actually enjoyed being in charge of the hotel.

‘Go and take the key. It’s time for all of us to get some kip. And thank you for today. I couldn’t have gone without you!’

‘Get away …’ Gracie laughed. She reached over the desk, snatched up a room key from the board and ran up the stairs.

Ruby made sure everything was as it should be before handing over to Henry, the night porter. It had been a long and emotional day.

As Ruby had put the car in gear and driven out of the drive, Derek Yardley had carried on pretending he was engrossed in buffing the paintwork on the already gleaming car, but he was actually watching everything through his eyelashes. He had noticed how Ruby was included in the family gathering while he was left firmly on the outside. He’d seen how she’d been part and parcel of the birthday celebrations, both inside the house and out in the garden, while he had been handed some sandwiches and cake on a plate to take away and eat on his own.

He resented the fact that he’d been a loyal employee to the doctor and his wife for over fifteen years and yet he remained no more than that. He wanted so much to be a part of their lives, to be included the way Ruby Blakeley was, to be their surrogate son, but instead he was just an invisible employee.

As he watched the car disappear out of sight all he could think was how he could get back at Ruby and make her life as miserable as she had made his. He had been delighted when Ruby was ordered back to London, but it hadn’t been the end he had expected. She was still back and forth, and even though she wasn’t in Melton any more she was still treated as family. Even when the Wheatons had adopted the baby the talk was still of their precious Ruby. The final straw for Derek Yardley was when they gave her the role of godmother, while he remained just the employee who drove the car.

It had all been brewing in him for so long when, to add insult to injury, he’d had to stand still and smile as she insulted and threatened him. He couldn’t believe that Ruby Blakeley, the little nobody evacuee from the backstreets of London, the kid who was absolutely no better than he, had actually had the nerve to speak to him so disrespectfully about something that had happened so many years ago.

Something that he knew could still ruin him in the eyes of the Wheatons.

Yardley’s biggest talent had always been his ability to hide his feelings completely, so on the face of it he remained the pleasant and accommodating driver who was always there. Every day he carried on smiling and behaving as he had always done, but every day his resentment and his paranoia increased.

He was angry that Ruby continued to be treated as one of the family, while he was living in a poky flat over a garage with an outside toilet and a tin bath. He was angry that after Ruby had left the Wheatons’ home they had then taken in another child, this time an orphan baby, and adopted her.

Because of the time he’d worked for them – dedicated his life to them almost – Derek Yardley had anticipated an inheritance of sorts when the childless couple eventually passed on, but now he could see that slipping away. For that he placed the blame on Ruby, and for that he was determined to do her down.

His thoughts immediately went to Johnnie Riordan.

Seventeen

Up in the flat at the top of the Thamesview Hotel Ruby went out onto the balcony and picked up the binoculars that Leonora always kept to hand. Despite it being dark outside she held them up to her eyes but she couldn’t focus properly because the lenses were blurred and damp from her tears. She rubbed her eyes quickly with the back of her hand and sniffed. She really couldn’t take it all in.

It had been one of the worst days of her life.

That morning, just three days after the visit to Melton for Maggie’s birthday, Ruby had gone back up to the flat for an early tea break and been surprised to see that Leonora wasn’t up and around. Even though she’d been feeling unwell and unable to manage the stairs, the pernickety woman had always made sure she was washed and properly dressed before settling in the chair in the sitting room or out on the balcony. Ruby had quickly checked the kitchen and bathroom and the balcony before going to her bedroom and knocking on the door.

‘Aunt Leonora? Are you OK? Shall I bring you a cup of tea in bed?’

She had waited for several seconds before knocking again and rattling the door handle. ‘Aunt Leonora?’

When there was still no response she opened the door and peered in.

As soon as she had seen Leonora Wheaton lying flat on her back in her bed with her eiderdown on the floor, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed and her eyes open and lifeless, she knew the woman was dead, but still she had frantically tried to wake her. She gently shook her body and then cautiously touched her icy-cold face.

‘Wake up. Please wake up, please. You can’t leave me, you can’t …’

As the panic had built up inside Ruby felt herself losing control, so she ran out of the flat and called over the banister, ‘Help! Someone, help! Aunt Leonora’s unconscious. She won’t wake up!’

Although she had known without any question that she was dead, Ruby simply couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.

It was only later that day, after death had been confirmed and certified, Leonora’s body removed and the formalities dealt with, that reality had forcefully hit Ruby.

Aunt Leonora, her mentor, companion and unlikely friend, whom she had lived with for over five years, was gone.

Deep in thought, and with the binoculars grasped firmly in her hand, she walked around the flat, picking things up and putting them down, looking at the things that she’d always seen but never really taken notice of before. Leonora had always kept the flat uncluttered for convenience, but there was still the family photograph in which George was a young boy on his feet before the polio struck; the model of a sailing ship with cotton sails and tiny brass portholes; the shelf of travel books, a selection of postcards and a framed photo of Maggie.

As she looked at everything with different eyes Ruby realised exactly how much she had grown to love the outwardly cantankerous old woman and how much she was going to miss her.

Ruby had listened and watched, and she alone knew that behind the carefully constructed façade of church-going severity was a woman with unfulfilled dreams of a glamorous life far away on another continent, with a dashing gentleman on her arm. She’d seen the faraway expression on Leonora’s face when she watched the liners through the heavy binoculars, which were always to hand. Ruby knew that when she was out on the small balcony of the ordinary seaside hotel she was no longer a prim and proper spinster but a beautiful young woman gazing out from the salt-stained balcony of a liner, headed off into the great unknown.

Ruby walked back out there again, sat on Leonora’s chair and looked out to sea. Leonora’s sea. She was still sitting there deep in grief when the door flew open.

‘Ruby! Jesus Christ, I only just got your message and I came straight here. I can’t believe it. I knew she was poorly, but dead? That’s so awful,’ Gracie cried as she ran full speed across the flat towards her friend. Ruby stood up and they hugged each other and cried.

‘I know, I can’t believe it either. I don’t know what to do, I feel so useless, but the hotel still has to be run. We’ve got only three guests but still there are things to do. Gracie, I don’t want to go downstairs …’

‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll go down and check in a minute, and then I’ll stay with you tonight. Have you spoken to George yet?’

‘Yes, they’re coming down here tomorrow. There’s the funeral to arrange and also her business affairs. Uncle George has to deal with the solicitor and everything. I think she was very organised in all that, you know how she was …’

‘I suppose she was worth a few quid – quite a lot of quid, probably. Will the hotel and everything go to them?’

‘Yes, they’re the only family she has apart from a couple of obscure cousins up north somewhere.’ Ruby paused and looked down. ‘Gracie, I know it’s selfish even to say it right now, but what am I going to do if they want to sell the hotel? Where will I go? I can’t go back to Walthamstow, and I can’t go back to Melton with Maggie there. It’d be too much for me to have see her every single day.’

‘Blimey, Rube, I hadn’t even thought of that!’ She looked at Ruby in horror. ‘No, George wouldn’t do that to you. He knows this is your home and your job. Maybe he’ll let you stay here and run the hotel for him.’

‘You keep forgetting I’m not family. They owe me nothing. I owe them for everything they’ve done for me.’ Ruby said as she stared at her friend.

‘I don’t think they see it like that,’ Gracie said quickly. ‘Well, I hope they don’t. I mean, look what you’ve done for them. They’ve got Maggie – that’s got to be worth much more than a bleeding hotel in Southend.’

‘What’s this about the hotel and Maggie?’

Ruby and Gracie jumped up in unison and turned round. Neither of them had heard Tony Alfredo enter the flat and walk across to the balcony where they had been sitting with their backs to him. Both of them immediately worried he might have heard the words and put two and two together.

‘This is a private conversation, haven’t you never heard of knocking? That’s just so bloody rude.’

Ruby looked from one to the other, terrified that Tony might have some idea what Gracie meant. But instead of responding to Gracie he looked her up and down dismissively before going over to Ruby and kissing her on the cheek. He was still wearing his pinstripe suit, and with his highly polished shoes, gleaming white shirt and perfectly groomed hair he looked every inch the solicitor. Even amid the sadness Ruby couldn’t help but think how handsome he was.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your aunt. Dad told me. It was so sudden and I know you were fond of her. What happened?’

‘It was a massive heart attack, they said. It was instant – she wouldn’t have known anything about it – but I still feel guilty that I wasn’t there,’ Ruby answered quickly, to stop Gracie giving a smart answer.

‘I must admit I was surprised you didn’t bother to tell me yourself,’ Tony said, with a hint of undertone. ‘I’d have come straight back from work. It seemed odd I had to hear it from my father. I felt quite sidelined.’

Ruby shrugged slightly. ‘Well, it only happened this morning and it’s been hectic ever since. I’m sorry you’re upset, though. I didn’t think.’

‘Is her legal situation all in order?’ he asked, putting his arm around Ruby’s waist.

‘I’ve no idea. Uncle George is coming tomorrow to deal with everything.’

‘I hope he’s got your best interests at heart. This has got to be a profitable business and it’s an expensive property.’ He paused. ‘So what’s Maggie got to do with it?’

He smiled as he looked from Ruby to Gracie and then back again, watching both their faces as he did so. Ruby knew then that he’d registered Gracie’s comment and was analysing it.

‘What’s Maggie got to do with what?’ Ruby asked.

As always, Gracie was quick off the mark. ‘We were just talking about how much she’s going to miss her Aunty Leonora who lived by the sea in a hotel. Every little girl’s dream, that – free holidays!’

Tony didn’t respond to Gracie; he didn’t even look at her. It was as if she wasn’t even in the room.

‘Well, if you need help with the legal side I can help you, Ruby. You need to have your own representation.’

‘Why would I need that?’ Ruby frowned, genuinely bewildered.

‘You may have a claim on the estate. You’re entitled to something for all the hours you put in here. You’ve done all the work for so long.’

‘Oh, give the old legal flimflam a rest,’ Gracie snapped. ‘Can’t you see she’s upset at losing Leonora? All that other stuff doesn’t matter a bloody fig.’

‘Shut up.’ Tony retorted dismissively. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Well, it’s got bugger all to do with you, that’s for sure, you ignorant pig.’

‘Stop it, the both of you,’ Ruby said with a break in her voice. ‘The lawyer is dealing with everything, along with Uncle George. It’s nothing to do with me. If I have to move on then so be it. You both seem to think I’m entitled to something but I’m not.’

Ruby turned away and stepped back onto the balcony.

‘I’m sorry.’ Tony followed her out and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I was just trying to help. I only came to see how you are but I realise I’m not appreciated so I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re not so emotional. My parents both send their condolences, by the way.’

‘Tell them thank you.’ She forced a smile.

He kissed her again and, ignoring Gracie completely, left the room as quietly as he’d come in.

‘I wish you’d get on with him,’ Ruby said. ‘Especially now. It’s going to be difficult enough as it is.’

‘Sorry. He is such a snob and he looks down on me all the time. And he was sneaking around. I don’t like him but I’ll try to be nice in future.’ But Ruby knew Gracie didn’t really mean it.

Over the years Gracie had gradually changed both in appearance and attitude. She had filled out into a very shapely young woman with slim legs, curvy hips and a quick and endearing smile. Her mousy hair was brighter and blonder, and it wasn’t greasy any more. She wore it shoulder length and gently waved, which softened her features and, along with carefully applied make-up, helped detract from the acne scarring on her face. She was vivacious and bright-eyed, and everyone who met her liked her.

Everyone except Tony Alfredo.

Although she still worked at the Palace Hotel on the busy seafront, she also spent a lot of time helping out and learning about the business at the quieter and smaller Thamesview Hotel in Thorpe Bay. Because they worked together and played together she and Ruby had become as close as sisters and had never once fallen out with each other, but it was this closeness that irritated Tony and he made no secret of it. He simply didn’t understand why Ruby still enjoyed a lively night out at the Kursaal with Gracie when she could be alone with him.

Tony Alfredo still lived with his parents, although they no longer lived over the café. They had bought a small house close by in a road behind the seafront, where Tony was waited on hand, foot and finger by his doting parents, in whose eyes he could do nothing wrong.

Attractive and ambitious, he had an obvious charm and no hesitation in using it to get what he wanted. Old for his years in many ways, and often staid in his rigid Italian Catholic outlook, he wanted far more commitment from Ruby than she was prepared to give at that time, and made no secret of it. But although his charm and eligibility were undeniable, it was all wasted on Gracie, who simply declared him oily and devious.

‘I’ve seen creeps like him before,’ she’d say. ‘Just because he speaks nice, wears a suit and works in London don’t mean he’s not just as much a fly-boy as the boys at the funfair.’

‘But you like the boys at the funfair.’

‘Not any more. I learned the error of my ways and dumped them; so should you.’

Ruby always laughed it off and emphasised that she actually enjoyed Tony’s company, but whatever Ruby said, Gracie McCabe didn’t trust him and made no secret of it.

In return, Tony Alfredo made no secret of the fact that he despised her and her lifestyle.

It was a standoff.

Melton

Babs Wheaton held her hands out, palms up, and shook her head. ‘I am at a loss here. How exactly are we going to handle this, George?’

‘We’ll deal with it as Leonora would have expected us to: fairly and properly,’ her husband answered with a gentle smile. ‘She trusted us to carry out her wishes and that’s what we’ll do. We understood her and knew her well enough to know what she wanted; what she meant.’

‘Of course we will. I think I’m just surprised. I wish she had confided in us so that we could have been prepared, for Ruby’s sake. It’s going to be a very sudden transition. Ruby has only ever thought of herself as Leonora’s assistant, and she’s still so young.’

‘I don’t think it ever occurred to her that she would die any time soon – well, it didn’t occur to any of us, did it? She thought she was under the weather. But even if we had known in advance we’d still be in the same situation now.’

George Wheaton was sitting at an impressive antique roll-top desk, which dominated the second reception room at the back of their house. It was an informal, comfortable room with large, well-worn furniture, and the one they used far more often than the formal sitting room at the front. As George shuffled papers across the desk from one pile to the other, his wife paced the floor.

Leonora’s solicitor had briefly outlined everything to George on the phone, and he and Babs were trying to get all the facts straight for themselves before telling Ruby.

‘You’re right, of course, darling. If she’d known how ill she was she’d have gone to the doctor, I’m sure, or even let you examine her when she was here. What exactly did she say when you spoke to her at Maggie’s party?’

‘I told you, nothing much at all. She refused to confide in me about her health, just said she had a cough and cold. I did tell her to go and see her doctor but she always was contrary. When she was a child, Mother used to call her Contrary Mary.’ George Wheaton looked down at his desk and ran his fingers across his forehead; the shock had hit him hard.

‘I was always the sickly one and I always thought I would go first. Everyone did, even when I was a child.’

‘I know you’re going to miss her, darling – so will I – and poor Ruby will be bereft,’ Babs smiled sadly. ‘That was such an unlikely relationship. I never thought when we sent her there that they’d actually become so close.’ She laughed lightly. ‘I imagined Leonora packing Ruby back to us as soon as she possibly could, but in the event she wanted her to stay and treated her as much like a daughter as we do. Strange.’

She pulled a chair from beside the fireplace and sat beside her husband, placing her hand gently on his leg.

‘But all this will business – I don’t know if this is good or bad for Ruby. I’m worried her family will crawl out of the woodwork again. Can you imagine what would happen if her family got wind of this? And then there’s that Johnnie fellow. I didn’t trust any of them to start with, but now this has happened. Considering everything, Ruby’s done so well at the hotel and in her life. I don’t want this to be a burden to her.’

‘Well, we don’t have a choice. We have to go back to Southend again and talk to her face to face. It has to come from us and it has to come before the funeral or the formal reading of the will.’

‘I’m worried, George. Ruby has been so happy lately, and then there’s Maggie. I’m scared this may change the way it’s all working …’ Babs’ voice trailed away.

‘Maggie is our daughter, legally signed and sealed. Let’s not look for things to fret over.’ George wheeled himself backwards away from the desk and then turned the wheelchair so he was facing his wife. ‘Leonora meant well and we have to abide by her wishes and accept that it will be for the best for Ruby.’

Babs stood up. ‘Maybe we should take this as a reminder to us to get our own affairs in order in case anything unexpectedly happens to either of us.’

George smiled at his wife, his affection for her written all over his face. ‘We’re already all in order, my darling. Now if you could telephone Ruby and tell her we’re going down to Southend again tomorrow, I’ll go through to the surgery and throw myself at the mercy of the locum again!’

As they had talked and tried to decide the best way to go about making sure Leonoras Wheaton’s will was executed according to her wishes, neither of them had realised that their driver, Derek Yardley, was standing near the open window, tucked away out of sight beside the blooms of the gnarled wisteria growing up the outside of the house.

He’d originally stepped out for a cigarette but the sound of voices had pulled him across the garden and he was doing what he did best. Snooping.

He couldn’t hear every word but he heard enough to draw a conclusion that made his head spin. Ruby Blakeley, the random evacuee who had inveigled her way into the family, was in for a windfall from the lately dead aunt and they were worried about her family and Johnnie Riordan finding out. That told him the inheritance had to be big.

When he eventually slipped away from the window he was seething, but at the same time a plan was forming in his head to pay back the Blakeley bitch.

Later that day, when he knew that George was safely ensconced in his surgery and Babs was down at the church hall with Maggie, he’d slipped in the unlocked back door and headed straight for the desk in the hall near to the telephone where Babs Wheaton kept her assorted notepads and address books.

He flicked through until he found what he was looking for, scribbled the information on a scrap piece of paper and sneaked out again with his prize clutched in his hand. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it before.

Eighteen

The next day, after a long sleepless night, Ruby stood at the window in the office, watching the road outside and waiting for the Wheatons’ car to pull up. Gracie had taken over the day-to-day business of the hotel and was busy dealing with it all while Ruby nervously waited for them. She felt like a child again, desperately needing them to support her and reassure her that everything would be all right, to promise that they would look after her, whatever happened.

For the third time in her life Ruby felt lost, with nowhere to go. She wouldn’t ever go back to Walthamstow, and Melton was out of the question, with Maggie there. The only option she could see for herself was to find a live-in job at another hotel; to be a small fish in a big pond after several years as Leonora Wheaton’s assistant.

She went from the window to the desk, which was dominated by an imposing typewriter, shuffled a few papers and then went back to the window. The wait was nerve-racking and, to add to her distress, when the car did pull up, she saw Yardley was driving. She didn’t want him to see her upset and she certainly didn’t want him inside the hotel, but she knew George and Babs would expect him to be invited into the kitchen for a drink and a snack after the long drive. It had been a secret that she was living here, but suddenly it didn’t really matter any more, especially if she was going to have to move out.

She quickly wiped her eyes once again, powdered her nose and went outside to greet them. She managed a watery smile as she welcomed them and, without actually looking at him, she made the offer to Yardley, which, to her relief, he declined, pleading the need to stretch his legs.

George told him to be back in an hour to take him to meet the solicitor and deal with the formalities of the impending funeral. He turned and walked off in the direction of Southend itself as the Wheatons and Ruby went inside. Ruby found it strange to be sitting with them in Leonora’s hotel without her being there; she had to force herself not to think about her lying all alone in the chapel of rest less than a mile away.

‘I wasn’t expecting you back until the funeral. I’m worried now!’ she laughed nervously. ‘Is it bad news?’

‘Not at all, dear,’ Babs said. ‘George has a meeting with the solicitor that you have to go to as well, but first there is something you should know … something we have to talk to you about.’

Ruby’s heart started to thump. ‘I knew it. The hotel’s got to be sold and I have to move out. It’s OK, I was expecting it,’ she said quickly.

Her hands shook as she pulled a cigarette out of the packet she’d been holding and flicked away at the silver table lighter several times before there was a flame. She inhaled deeply and leaned back before blowing the smoke slowly up into the air.

‘This is all so horrible. I’m still so upset about Aunt Leonora, I can’t think straight. Thank God there are hardly any guests to look after at the moment. Do you think we should close for a couple of weeks? It’s too sad.’

‘I know,’ Babs said, ‘we’re all upset, especially as it was so unexpected. She was one of those ageless people who always seemed as if she would go on for ever. But one consolation is that she knew nothing about it, although I do wish it hadn’t been you who found her.’

Tears welled up in Ruby’s eyes. ‘It was horrible. She was just lying there. I knew as soon as I saw her even though I’ve never seen anyone dead before.’

‘I know,’ George said sympathetically. ‘But, Ruby, we have to talk before I go to the solicitor—’

‘Can I stay in the flat until I find somewhere else?’ she interrupted sharply. ‘Maybe the new owners will give me a job. I know what I’m doing now.’

‘If you’d just listen for a moment we might get somewhere. I’ve spoken with the solicitor, her solicitor, and Leonora has mentioned you in her will …’

But Ruby wasn’t listening at all. She just didn’t want to hear what they had to say so she chattered on, putting off the evil moment of truth that she was sure was coming.

‘I’ve already asked Gracie to put her ear to the ground; she knows so many people in so many hotels and boarding houses all over town. I might even get a decent job at the Palace now I’ve got the experience.’

‘Stop it, Ruby! Just stop interrupting and listen to what we have to say.’ Babs looked at her husband. ‘George? Can you please tell Ruby about Leonora’s will? You understand it all better than I do.’

‘Ruby, listen to me and don’t say a word. Leonora made a new will recently. I don’t think she thought she was going to die so soon. I think she was thinking about you in the future. And Maggie …’ He looked at her. ‘Ruby, Leonora’s will states that—’

‘The hotel’s going to be sold,’ she interrupted again, trying her best to pretend she didn’t mind. But she did. She minded so much it hurt.

‘Calm down and listen, Ruby. You’re acting like a child.’ George was getting impatient with her. ‘Babs just said Leonora has left you something – well, she’s left the hotel to you. To you. It’s all very complicated but the general gist is that the hotel is yours so you’ll be staying here and running it. If that’s what you want to do, of course.’

‘But that can’t be right. I’m just a kid. I’m not even a relation …’ Ruby’s eyes were everywhere, her hands were shaking and she was palpitating. It was all too much for her to take in. She pulled another cigarette out but this time George picked up the lighter. He flicked it once and the flame glowed. As Ruby leaned forward with the cigarette in her mouth for him to light he took the opportunity to continue what he was saying.

‘No buts. You have the hotel, Maggie has a trust fund for when she’s twenty-one, and Babs and I have been left some investments and insurances. I hadn’t realised how shrewd my sister was in business. Cleverer than me, that’s certain!’ George laughed. ‘There are stipulations, of course. You can’t sell it for five years, and Babs and I as executors have been asked to oversee everything for those five years to give you a little support.’

‘Are you sure you’ve read it right? It should be yours. You’re family, and it was the family house that bought this place, she told me.’

‘Yes, but it was hers to do with as she wanted,’ George said quietly. ‘And you are family and you’ve worked hard here. We’re proud of you. You deserve this opportunity, and what would we do with a hotel in Essex? Our lives and the surgery are in Melton, we’re very comfortable, and we’re all used to village life, including Maggie.’

‘You could sell it. That’s what I was sure was going to happen. I can’t believe it. The hotel is mine? Really?’ Ruby was excited at the thought of owning the hotel, but her excitement was tempered by the sorrow of how it had come about.

‘Yes, really. There is a reserve to go with it for emergencies, but other than that you’re going to have to work like a Trojan to run it, and you’re going to need someone alongside you, as you were for Leonora. We also need to talk about the implications.’

‘What implications?’ Ruby asked curiously. Her head was in overdrive but she tried to concentrate.

‘First, there’s the commitment of you having to manage Thamesview completely, no easy task for anyone, let alone someone as young as you. Then there’s fortune-hunters. You’re an attractive, single young woman who is now of independent means; a businesswoman, an owner of property. You’re going to have to be very aware because there will doubtless be men who will want to court you for the wrong reasons.’

‘Never! It’s a hotel, not the crown jewels,’ she laughed in embarrassment.

‘Oh, it’s very likely!’ Babs said firmly. ‘So it may be best if you’re discreet about your inheritance. And talking about young men, are you still seeing the chap that you told us about? Tony?’

‘Sort of. But he’s not a fortune-hunter, he’s a solicitor, and I’ve known him for years, ever since I came here.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘At the family home, just a road back from here. His parents own the café in the parade of shops up the road. They used to live over the shop but they’ve moved to somewhere bigger; they are such nice honest people, though they have spoiled their son.’

‘He doesn’t know anything about Maggie, does he?’

‘No, of course not. I’m not stupid. No one knows except us and Gracie, and I’d trust her with my life,’ she replied sharply, annoyed that they would even think she’d betray them and Maggie.

‘I’m sorry – we’re all being oversensitive at the minute – but you’re going to have to be more aware than ever before. Even with people you know.’ Babs said.

‘Tony’s all right. Once he’s more experienced he’ll earn a fortune. He’s ambitious.’ She stopped for a moment. Then: ‘Can I tell Gracie?’

‘Not straight away, nor Tony.’ George said. ‘Best not to tell anyone until it’s all formalised. Now we have to leave for the solicitor.’ He looked at his wife. ‘Can you see if Yardley is with the car?’

As she stood up Babs Wheaton smiled at Ruby. ‘This is going to be a challenge for you, but I know you’re capable and we’ll be there to help.’

While George, Babs and Ruby had been up in the flat talking through the details of Leonora’s will, Derek Yardley had walked along the seafront, taking in the air and looking for a postbox. When he got back to the hotel he crossed the road, sat on a nearby bench and, almost in a trance, watched the world go by.

He watched the mix of people walking along the promenade, some with dogs on leads, others with babies in prams, elderly couples arm in arm just taking the sea air. Despite a chill in the air there were children and adults alike paddling in the sea, absolutely caught up in the moment and savouring the freedom from everyday life. It was so peaceful, and he leaned back on the bench and imagined himself living there in the comfort of a seafront property with perfect views and the bustling social life of the town just up the road.

A picture-postcard place to live.

And now Miss Ruby Blakeley, the snivelling little evacuee kid, was not only going to live there on Wheaton money, his permanently listening ears told him that she was going to own the whole hotel.

He wondered how long she had been living there and he also wondered why. Something just wasn’t right about the whole situation, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. He sat there and seethed with resentment and anger. The anger was, however, tempered a little by the knowledge that Ruby Blakeley had a couple of shocks in store.

Deep in thought and warmed by the sun, he was annoyed when he saw Babs Wheaton appear on the steps and look across at him. As she waved so he stood up, carefully straightened his uniform, fixed a neutral expression on his face and walked back over the road to the hotel where the car was parked.

Once again he manipulated George Wheaton’s wheelchair into the boot of the car and then followed the directions that took them to the line of shops and offices on Thorpe Bay Broadway. During the short drive he made a point of catching Ruby’s eye in the rear-view mirror as often as he could. His expression was neutral but he made sure she knew he was watching her and he enjoyed the power he could see he had over her.

On the way back he again looked at Ruby and could almost feel her discomfort, her desire to get away from him. That annoyed him, so as she climbed out of the car back at the hotel he caught her eye once again, gave a sly smile and winked. She pretended not to notice but the tiny action was somehow so sinister it took her breath away.

‘Well, we have to go shortly, darling. It’s a long drive, as you know,’ Babs Wheaton smiled as they all went back inside. ‘But I’m pleased Gracie is staying with you. She’s a lovely girl and you’re lucky to have her as a friend. And vice versa, of course.’

‘I know. I love her dearly. I don’t know how I’d get on without her, especially without Aunt Leonora.’ Again the tears filled Ruby’s eyes. ‘I never really thanked her for all she did for me …’

‘She knew how you felt, and she felt the same about you. The best way to thank her is to take care of her hotel from now on in, to look after her gift to you. Now a quick cuppa and then we’ll be off and we’ll see you on funeral day. George will make all the arrangements but if you have any suggestions then ring us.’

As they left, Ruby avoided any more contact with Yardley. She was aware of him trying to catch her eye but she was determined not to let it happen again. She wasn’t going to let him overshadow her mourning of Leonora Wheaton.

Nineteen

When Ruby opened the curtains on the morning of Leonora’s funeral she was relieved to see a perfect sunny day dawning. There wasn’t a cloud in the bright blue sky, the waters of the Thames Estuary were mill-pond calm, and Leonora’s favourite view was as clear as it could be.

Purely by chance the high tide peaked as the funeral cortège pulled away from the hotel. Ruby looked out of the car window as the hearse moved slowly along the seafront and smiled sadly, pleased that it was so perfect as Leonora Wheaton left her beloved hotel for the very last time.

It had been a strange few days as Ruby tried to come to terms with both Leonora’s death and her will. Such extremes of good and bad.

George and Babs had had to go back to Melton because of both the surgery and Maggie, but Gracie had been staying at the flat with Ruby. They had both been rushed off their feet, which stopped Ruby thinking too much, and it had also made it easier for her to sidetrack all conversation about the future of the hotel. She had nearly given in a few times, but in the end she told no-one, as George and Babs had asked. But she was waiting impatiently for the moment after the funeral and the formal reading of the will when she could. She hated having secrets from Gracie.

The moving service in the local church and the burial in the pretty churchyard outside passed in a blur, but the saddest moment for Ruby was travelling back to the hotel without Leonora. It didn’t seem right.

Gracie McCabe had stayed behind and laid out the funeral tea in the dining room at the back of the hotel and, dressed from head to toe in respectful black, was standing waiting at the door as the mourners arrived back, pointing everyone in the right direction. There had been a good turnout at the church and everyone who attended had been invited back to the reception.

As Ruby went in, Gracie took her hand. ‘How are you?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know really. I need to talk to you after all this. The solicitor will be here soon and then I can tell you everything …’

‘So you know what’s going to happen then?’

‘Yes, but I can’t say anything until after the formal stuff. I’ll tell you later, I promise!’

Gracie was doing a good job of co-ordinating the food and also managing the reception desk, while Ruby and the Wheatons circulated amid the sea of black clothes and sad faces. Many were members of the church where Leonora had been a regular on Sundays, along with any of the hotel guests who had wanted to attend the service.

It was over an hour later, and most of the mourners were still there when Gracie came into the room and whispered to Ruby, ‘There’s a bloke in the lobby asking for you, Ruby. He says he’s—’

‘That’ll be the solicitor,’ Ruby interrupted. ‘He’s here for the formal reading of the will.’

‘No it isn’t. I think it’s your brother Ray out there. Well, he said he is! What do you want me to do with him?’

Ruby nearly passed out on the spot.

‘Oh dear God! Ray? How do you know it’s Ray? What did he say?’

‘Just that his name’s Ray and that he’s your brother. He’s insisting on seeing you. I told him there was a funeral reception going on but he just laughed.’

Tony had been watching the interchange and, sensing something was up, came straight across the room to stand beside Ruby. Although he hadn’t been at the funeral he had walked along to the reception to pay his respects.

‘Problem?’ he asked as he placed a hand in the centre of Ruby’s back protectively.

‘Nothing we can’t handle,’ Gracie smiled.

‘My brother has turned up out of the blue. He’s in the lobby waiting for me,’ Ruby said.

‘I didn’t know you were in contact with your family. Do you want me to turf him out?’ Tony asked.

‘I don’t know what to do. How did he find me?’

‘You tell me …’ he asked, looking at her suspiciously.

But as he spoke, so the familiar figure of Ray appeared in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a huge grin on his face. He was slightly more rounded and his face was puffy and pasty, but there was no denying it was him.

‘Hello, Rube. What’s holding you up? Ain’t you pleased to see your big brother?’

As Ruby looked at him her heart started to beat faster. Ray Blakeley, her brother. So much flashed through her mind in a few seconds that she couldn’t keep track. She guessed that was what it must be like to have your life flash past your eyes.

His voice was loud enough to stop all conversation in the dining room, but as everyone turned in the direction of the loud voice George wheeled himself over with Babs by his side and a confident smile on his face.

‘Well, I never.’ Ray laughed out loud. ‘Uncle George and Aunty Babs, the child stealers! I knew you were behind our Rube disappearing, you lying bastards.’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘Still, I love a family party. Is there a drink for me? I mean, I’m family, aren’t I?’

‘This is a private reception. We’ve just come from my sister’s funeral so, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you you’re not welcome.’

‘OK, I’ll wait out there in that fancy great armchair and cause a bit of a rumpus. I can always talk to some of the posh bints I’ve seen hanging around looking a bit lost.’

‘You have no right to be here, Ray. Now please show some respect. I’ve told you, this is my sister’s funeral.’ George said quietly.

‘And I just want to speak to my sister,’ Ray said.

‘It’s OK,’ Ruby said quickly, aware of the potential for trouble, ‘I’ll talk to him. I don’t want a scene in front of everyone.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Tony said with a wide fake smile and a very slight flexing of his shoulders that he knew Ray Blakeley would understand. ‘Just to support you.’

‘No, Tony, I don’t need any help. I can deal with Ray – he’s my brother.’

Ruby was in shock but she had no intention of letting anyone know how she was feeling, especially Ray. She couldn’t believe that he had found her, let alone turned up on the day of the funeral, and just before the formal reading of the will. She had to get rid of him before Leonora’s solicitor arrived with all the documents. She could only imagine what would happen if her family found out about her inheritance.

‘Come on then, come through to the office,’ she said to Ray. Then she leaned over George’s wheelchair as if to push him. Hardly moving her mouth she whispered, ‘When the solicitor comes take him straight through to the lounge and shut the door. I won’t be long.’

High heels clacking sharply on the tiled floor, she marched straight across the small lobby to the office, with Ray right behind her, but despite his inimitable swagger he looked unsettled out of his own environment and in his sister’s. The last time they’d been together she had been young, scared, secretly pregnant and about to run away. As she looked at him she realised that for the first time ever she had the upper hand over her brother. She was on home ground whereas he was on unfamiliar territory and among total strangers.

‘Take a seat.’ She pointed to a bucket chair near the door and, needing the security of a barrier between them, walked round and sat behind the desk.

‘Very important, Rube. I’m impressed,’ Ray smiled.

‘What do you want, Ray? I’m not really sure why you’re here.’

‘Because you’re my sister. Because you ran off without a word and left Ma and Nan worried sick, not to mention Robbie and Art. Ma thought you’d probably been done in up north; me and the boys thought you were probably on the game somewhere.’ He laughed but she didn’t react. Ruby knew he was only baiting her.

‘Not a thought for any of us, had you? And as for Mr and Mrs High and Mighty declaring with a straight face they didn’t have a clue …’

Ruby smiled. ‘They were helping me, being kind to me. They really cared about me, which is more than can be said for my real family. What a sorry tale you’re telling, but none of you had any thought for me when you were treating me worse than a stray alley cat. Still, that’s in the past. Done. Forgotten. So why are you really here? I don’t understand. How did you know where I was?’

Ray Blakeley crossed his legs, folded his arms and smiled.

‘A little bird told me!’ he said. ‘Now I’m asking how you came to be here. I thought you ran off to be Florence Nightingale and tend to the sick. Now, as far as I can see, you’re a waitress to Lord and Lady Muck out there.’

Ruby ignored his dig, happy to realise that he no longer had any power or control over her. ‘Are any of the family with you? Is everyone OK?’ Ruby asked.

‘Bit late to be asking that, Rube, after all this time not bothering.’ He frowned. ‘But you’re not telling me what all the bloody Wheatons are doing here. What are you doing here? They told Ma they didn’t know where you were and now it’s all happy families beside the seaside.’

‘It’s their hotel and I work here.’ Ruby lied easily. ‘But now I have to get back to the funeral, so if you’re done …’

‘Any messages for anyone?’ he grinned.

‘No. I’m sure you’ll tell them everything.’ She stopped. ‘Just remember me to them. I missed Ma and Nan. Is Nan still OK?’

‘Same as she was, but older and deafer.’

As she stood up so did Ray, but the angry attitude she knew so well just wasn’t there in the same way now; he was all bluster. She walked beside him to the doors and then out onto the steps.

‘I’ll be back, you know. You don’t escape us that easily.’

His words were thrown angrily at her, but as he turned away she noticed something in his expression, something she’d never seen before. Ray Blakeley looked vulnerable. She looked at him closely and noticed that his clothes were very well worn, and there was a sad, dishevelled air about him. He looked like a chubby neglected version of the Ray she remembered so well.

Something had happened to change him.

She suddenly remembered him sitting on the side of his bed, beaten to a pulp and scared witless by Johnnie Riordan.

Something was wrong with her brother. He’d given in far too easily. As she watched him make his way down the steps she noticed for the first time that he had a limp.

‘Ray, wait!’ she called. He turned on the pavement outside. ‘How did you get here?’

‘On the train.’

‘Just to come and see me? I’m flattered,’ she smiled.

‘Don’t kid yourself. I came with someone else. I’m meeting ’em back in the pub up the road.’

‘I have to finish with the funeral, but come back later if you want.’ She looked at her watch. ‘At five o’clock, for some tea before you go home.’

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe because a funeral focuses the mind, maybe because you’re family – I don’t know – maybe because I’d like you to. But it’s up to you.’

Overwhelmed with guilt she walked back into the hotel, feeling so very unhappy. It was all too much for one day.

‘You have to go through,’ George said as she went back in. ‘Babs has taken Mr Wallington to the lounge but time’s getting on and we have to get back. I’m sorry Ray turned up today of all days. How did he find you?’

‘He said someone told him, but I can’t imagine who.’ She walked back to the door and looked out. There was no sign of him.

‘I know it’s distressing having Ray appear out of the blue like that, but we’ll talk about it properly later: first we must do the legalities.’

‘What legalities are those?’ Tony asked. Ruby had forgotten he was there.

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘Do you need me there for you?’

‘No, I bloody don’t!’ she snapped. ‘I’m perfectly capable. Now just let me do what I have to do … please.’

Tony stared at her for a few seconds, his frown so fierce his eyebrows were nearly touching, and for a split second Ruby felt nervous, but then he just turned on his heel and walked out of the hotel.

‘Now you’ve done it,’ Gracie said.

‘Oh, I don’t care right now. But don’t you go, will you? I have to talk to you as soon as I come down from this meeting. Can you keep an eye out for Ray? I don’t want him to know what’s going on.’ She pulled a face. ‘I told him to come back in two hours for his tea …’

‘Well, he is family, I suppose,’ Gracie said. ‘I can understand it, but I don’t think Tony-me-laddo will if he gets wind of it!’

Leaning against the wall outside, Derek Yardley was trying hard not to react. With his arms folded across his chest and with one foot crossed over the other he watched as best he could as the events unfolded. He’d never expected to be lucky enough to be a spectator when it all hit the fan, and it amused him especially that Ray Blakeley had unwittingly timed his entrance to perfection.

He couldn’t hear everything that was being said so he moved a little closer and tried to read the various faces as everyone stood in the lobby.

When he’d driven George and Babs down to Southend earlier in the week Derek Yardley had been his usual invisible self in the driver’s seat as they talked discreetly about the situation, but it didn’t matter. For once he had felt strong and powerful and that was because he knew what he had in his jacket.

He’d kept his old feelings of inadequacy and rejection under control for so long, but the confrontation with Ruby and then the news of her inheritance had brought it all back. Once again he was the sickly worthless child no one cared for or noticed.

He’d parked the car and gone for a walk around the block until he’d found a pillar box. He pulled two already written plain postcards out of his pocket and kissed them happily before posting them in the box with a flourish. That would teach her.

‘You’ll find RUBY BLAKELEY at: The Thamesview Hotel, Eastern Esplanade, Thorpe Bay, Essex.’

One postcard was addressed to Ray Blakeley and the other to Johnnie Riordan.

Ray walked out of the hotel and Yardley had just moved to follow him when Babs Wheaton called to him, ‘Don’t go anywhere, Yardley. We’ve got to leave very shortly. Come through to the kitchen, there’s a plate for you.’

Yardley cursed under his breath but turned back obediently. Firstly, he really wanted to talk to Ray Blakeley, and secondly, he hated being sent to the kitchen while Madam Ruby flounced round importantly having meetings with solicitors.

A plate for you. How he hated those words. They summed up everything that he hated about his treatment.

He loved both George and Babs Wheaton, who had done so much for him during his many years with them. He loved them so much he would gladly kill for them, but he hated everyone else in their lives.

Especially Ruby and the child Maggie. The usurpers.

Twenty

Wanstead

Johnnie Riordan frowned as he reread the words on the postcard and then turned it over several times, scrutinising it carefully. He was looking for a clue but he didn’t recognise the handwriting and the Southend postmark meant nothing to him. But there was no denying it was meant for him.

He was bemused, but also grateful to his sister for handing it to him when they were alone. However, he also didn’t want to react to it in front of her.

‘What do you make of it, Johnnie?’ Betty asked as he stood, deep in thought, with the postcard in his hand. ‘Do you think Ruby sent it to you?’

‘No, that’s not what she’d do. If she wanted to contact me after all this time she would have gone to the house.’

‘But you don’t live there any more.’

Johnnie laughed. ‘You know that and I know that, but Ruby doesn’t. No, I know trouble, and this just reeks of someone trying to stir something up. Ray Blakeley maybe? He’d love to drop me in it now I’m his boss,’ he laughed. ‘God, how he hates that.’

‘But in that case he’d be dropping himself in it as well. Is he that dim?’

‘Well, maybe it’s someone trying to drop Ruby in it, then. Oh, I don’t know and I don’t care. Ruby was someone I felt sorry for. She was different, and I liked that, but she must have wanted to disappear off the face of the earth and she did.’ He looked at it again and smiled. ‘At least we know she’s alive. I had wondered if Ray had done her in.’

‘Have you ever asked Ray about her? I mean, you don’t know why she disappeared. Maybe he does.’

Johnnie laughed. He was just about to tell her about talking to Ruby’s grandmother but decided against it. ‘No, I wouldn’t ask him and raise his suspicions. No, Ruby’s of no interest to me any more and I don’t know why anyone would think she would be. I’m certainly not going to do anything about it.’

‘Pleased to hear it!’ Betty said. ‘But I had to give it to you because it’s addressed to you. Best to just tear it into tiny pieces and forget it ever came. You know what Sadie can be like.’

‘Yeah, I know all right. She’d have my guts for garters and a belt before I even finished explaining the whys and wherefores. She’d never believe it was nothing to do with me.’

‘It’s because she loves you. She just goes about it all wrong.’

‘I know, but she doesn’t trust me and that’s damned frustrating.’

‘Well, that’s Sadie! Where is she now? Did you tell her I was coming over?’

‘Taken the kids to the park. You know how she is about you. And Ma. She thinks I love you both more than I love her.’

He shrugged and smiled, as did his sister. Neither said anything but they both knew that actually Sadie was right. He didn’t love his wife as much as he should. In fact, he didn’t love Sadie at all. It was a marriage of convenience on his side. But he didn’t feel guilty about it. He treated her properly and provided well for her and their two small sons so she had no legitimate cause to complain.

Betty had caught the bus from Walthamstow to Wanstead to visit her beloved brother at his house just one street away from where Bill Morgan, his employer, who was now also his landlord, lived. Betty had tried to warn him against putting all his eggs in one basket but Johnnie Riordan’s ambitions and the promise of a promotion at work and a nice house for him and Sadie to start married life in had cancelled out any concerns.

After his last attempt to find Ruby had ended in failure he’d simply put her to the back of his mind. He’d had feelings for her that he’d never had for anyone before or since, but he was sensible enough to bury them and put all his energy into his ambitions to better himself. And he had done that very successfully, though he had had to sacrifice most of his independence and cosy up with Bill Morgan, the owner of the Black Dog and the man who had bought all the businesses in Blacksmiths Lane from his rival David Collins.

Bill Morgan had put Johnnie in charge of overseeing them all, along with collecting the rents on some of his other investments, effectively making him Ray and Bobbie Blakeley’s boss.

Johnnie had enjoyed the irony but at the same time had tried to be fair to them, and as soon as he’d dropped the bombshell that he was going to be in charge he’d increased their wages a little. But he’d also closed off their black-market skulduggery, which he’d had the advantage of knowing all about, and the Blakeley Brothers were caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. If they wanted to keep their jobs they had to be legal.

Pleased not to have to work behind the bar at the Black Dog any longer, Johnnie Riordan threw himself into his new job with gusto. He loved it but the downside was that, as a condition of employment and a higher-than-average wage, he had to accept Bill’s rule of iron. Not only did he have to work extra-long hours, he also had to bow to Bill Morgan’s matchmaking skills and, against his better judgement and his sister’s advice, marry Sadie Scully, whom Bill adored in a paternal way.

Nine months later she’d given birth to his first son, Martin, and less than a year after to his second, Paul. Johnnie adored his little sons, but he knew they’d come along so quickly because Sadie wanted to ensure he was totally tied to her.

‘So, do I get a cuppa from my little brother then? Or do you want me gone before Sadie gets back and throws another pink fit?’ Betty ruffled her brother’s hair affectionately.

‘Get off,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. And I want you to stay and see the boys, whatever Sadie says. Silly cow that she is …’

‘I don’t want to cause a fight but I would like to see my nephews. We all want to see them so you must bring them over. How about tea on Sunday? Ma’s coming to stay for a few days so she’ll be there to see them as well.’

‘That sounds nice. Tea on Sunday. I’ll tell Sadie. We both know she’ll say no but she can like it or lump it.’

Betty laughed lightly and looked at her brother for a few seconds before speaking.

‘Johnnie, I know things are different now, and I really hate to ask, but is there any chance of some work for Roger? He’s driving me mad, under my feet all day doing nothing. Money is really tight.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. How do you think he’d feel about helping in the pub as a potman? I know he gets touchy but it’d bring in a bit.’ He took his sister’s hand. ‘You know I’ll always help out, always. You just have to ask …’

‘No, Johnnie. If you can find something for Roger that’s wonderful, but I don’t want handouts, really.’

At that moment they heard the front door open. Johnnie went out to the hall to help Sadie with the double Silver Cross pram, a present from Bill Morgan when the second baby was born. It was Sadie’s pride and joy.

‘Shouldn’t you be working?’ she said angrily as she pushed the pram down the hallway without looking at him.

‘Not yet. Betty’s here. I told you she was coming over this morning.’

He gave her a warning look but it made no difference. It worried him that Sadie was always so angry but he just didn’t have time to pander to her jealousies. Every day it was something different. He’d been accused of having affairs with every woman he came into contact with, even the old woman who helped out cleaning the pub.

‘Well, my boys are sound asleep and I’m not going to let her wake them, the interfering old cow.’

With that she pushed the pram into the room and sharply pulled the door shut.

‘Our boys, thank you very much, but that’s OK, we’re all going over there for tea on Sunday so she can see them then. And their cousins want to see them as well. Ma’s going to be there,’ Johnnie smiled, keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want Sadie having a go at his sister, but at the same time he wasn’t going to let Sadie undermine him.

‘No we’re not.’

‘We are. Now get in there and be civil to Betty.’

His tone meant Sadie did exactly as she was told, albeit with bad grace.

Two years older than Johnnie Riordan, Sadie was big in size and personality with masses of platinum-blonde hair. She was only five foot three, but she always wore high heels, pinned her thick hair up high with combs, and wore full make-up every single day. It was all of this, combined with her favourite fitted outfits, that had made her the perfect barmaid and Bill Morgan’s favourite. In his eyes she could do no wrong, a situation of which she took full advantage and of which Johnnie was wary. But Bill Morgan had never really seen the demanding, selfish side of Sadie, the same side that was jealous and volatile. Johnnie had never seen that side either until after they’d tied the knot and he had no way of backing out.

She always controlled herself in public; she was the epitome of the jolly bubbly blonde barmaid and was like an affectionate puppy in front of Bill, but one wrong word at the wrong moment from Johnnie in private and she could fly like a banshee, attacking him verbally and physically.

‘I’m going to give Betty a lift home and then I’ve got to go straight to see Bill at the pub. I’ll be late tonight so put my dinner in the oven and kiss the boys good night from me.’

Sadie ignored Betty completely and glared at her husband, her face enveloped in a sulk.

‘Late again? Surprise, surprise. Anything rather than come home to your family. Who is it going to be tonight?’

‘Don’t be stupid. You know what Bill’s like: business has to be done in the Dog. He thinks that’s his office and it’s open until closing time.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘See you later, I’ll try not to wake you.’

He ushered Betty out of the door before Sadie could respond, but they both heard the bang as something she’d thrown down the hallway hit the front door.

‘I don’t envy you going home tonight!’ Betty grinned as they got into the car that was also owned by Bill Morgan.

After he dropped his sister off at her home Johnnie started to head back to Blacksmiths Lane to check on the units, but on the spur of the moment he decided to take a detour. He turned and drove into Walthamstow High Street, parked the car and walked straight to the park where he and Ruby had gone after they had got back from Melton.

The park where he’d made love to Ruby Blakeley the one and only time.

He walked over to an empty bench and sat down plumb in the middle to try to avoid anyone coming to sit next to him. Leaning back he closed his eyes.

He counted back and guessed it would have been about six years before … six years, and such a lot had happened since then, but sitting there it seemed as if it was only the day before.

He knew the minute they’d both stood up and straightened their clothes that he’d done the wrong thing. He hadn’t planned or expected it, but at the time he’d been carried away by both Ruby and the circumstances. He could see he’d taken advantage of her but it hadn’t seemed like that at the time.

The visit to Melton had opened Johnnie’s eyes to life away from the London he’d lived in all his life and it had also shown him Ruby in different surroundings. It had all been so exciting that, for the first time in his ruthless young life, he’d let his heart rule his head. She was a sixteen-year-old virgin and he was three years older, and already well experienced, courtesy of Sadie Scully. It was wrong and he knew his sister would have been horrified if she’d ever found out.

The train journey home that had seemed so romantic, the smell of her shiny clean hair when she leaned on his shoulder, walking in through the park gates holding hands, the first kiss, the anticipation … he could remember it all so clearly. But then not long afterwards, just as he’d started to think they could have a future together, just as she’d started to intrude into his thoughts all the time, she’d disappeared. But at the same time so had his guilt, because he had no constant reminder of his foolhardy behaviour.

Ruby Blakeley had become a pleasant memory.

He pulled the postcard out of his pocket and studied it. He had no intention of following up on this information – he had a wife and two children and a good job with Bill Morgan – but he still couldn’t help wondering again about her. What she looked like, what she was doing, and what had gone wrong. He wondered why she was apparently living in a hotel when she’d gone off to be a nurse, whether she was married, if she had any children. He smiled nostalgically as he remembered the young girl who had fascinated him from the first moment he’d seen her sitting on her suitcase at the bottom of the street, and then disappeared just as he was falling in love with her.

Suddenly fearful of the feelings that one simple card had reawakened in him, he tore it into several pieces and almost ceremoniously dropped it in a nearby rubbish bin. Then he went back to his car and drove away.

Johnnie Riordan was living a good life, and as long as he stayed on the right side of Bill Morgan and did his bidding without question it could only get better.

Now all he had to do was forget what he’d read and stay away from Ruby Blakeley.

Twenty-One

‘You own the bleeding hotel? She’s left it all to you? Oh, dear God in Heaven, what a shock! Not that you don’t deserve it, but blimey, that’s some inheritance. I thought you were going to say she’d given you the car or her fur coat or something, but the whole fucking hotel?’

Gracie was happily incredulous as Ruby finally shared the news with her. The solicitor had headed off back to his office and the Wheatons had left for Melton, so Ruby and Gracie were alone for the first time. It had been prearranged that there would be no dinner provision that evening and the few guests that were there had either gone out or to their rooms after the funeral tea, giving the two women time to sit down and discuss the turn of events.

‘I couldn’t tell you until after the formal reading of the will. I wanted to but … anyway, I’ve also got a reserve fund in case it all goes wrong. I suppose she knew I wouldn’t be able to cope …’

The tears started to well up again as she thought about Leonora, the woman who didn’t like the dark, spending her first night all alone in the churchyard. Ruby had thought about putting her precious binoculars in the coffin, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with them so instead she’d placed inside the ragdoll that Leonora had kept on her bed and a postcard of a cruise liner that one of her lady guests had sent her from India several years before.

‘I know I should be pleased about the hotel,’ Ruby sniffed, ‘but I feel so bad that this is all because she died. And I’m so scared. It’s all beyond me, really. I don’t know if I can manage it. I wish George and Babs were nearer.’

‘Of course you can manage. You’ve been doing it for years already,’ Gracie tried to reassure her.

‘Yes but with Aunt Leonora watching over me like a hawk and jumping when I did something wrong. Doing it on my own is going to be a different kettle of fish, that’s certain.’

She looked at Gracie sitting beside her in the cramped office that had always been such an oasis of calm, but had seen so much action in the past couple of weeks. It wasn’t a small room but it was full to capacity. The desk was old and creaky, and at an angle, with a chair either side, placed so that Leonora could see the view from the window and also into the lobby when the door was open. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase was crammed into an alcove and weighed down with folders and files and everything to do with the hotel. Aside from a couple of extra chairs tucked in the corner there was nothing else. It was Leonora’s little kingdom and Ruby felt uncomfortable being in there without her, even though she had been many times before.

‘I know I’ve been helping here, but there’s so much to learn. I mean, look at all those files and things. I don’t know what’s in most of them.’

‘Easy-peasy! You already know it all, even if you don’t think you do. One step at time …’ Gracie smiled. ‘You’ve got a solicitor and an accountant to help you, as well as Babs and George.’

‘Can I ask you something? Uncle George agrees that I need someone to help me so I was wondering, would you come and work here properly? If you did my old job then I might muddle through doing the rest. But I can understand if you don’t want to,’ Ruby added quickly, not wanting to put Gracie on the spot. ‘I know the Palace is big and lively, and you’ve got lots of friends there. It can be as dead as a dodo here out of season. In season too, sometimes.’ She laughed nervously, desperately wanting Gracie to say yes.

Gracie didn’t answer straight away. Instead she started chewing around the edge of her fingers, the way she always did when she was nervous. ‘I’ll have to think about that one. I love helping out here but I don’t know if I’d go nuts being here all the time. It’s a bit sort of grim sometimes when Leonora’s ladies are demanding stuff and nonsense.’

‘Listen, Gracie, don’t worry about it. I don’t want my question to make you feel put on the spot,’ Ruby said quickly, panicking that she might push Gracie away completely, ‘but some ideas might help me. There are some things I want to change. I suggested some changes to Aunt Leonora ages ago but she was having none of it. But I can’t do anything just yet. It would be disrespectful.’

‘I know what you mean, but do you know what I think?’ Gracie jumped up and marched on the spot. ‘I think we should go for a walk and talk about it; we both need some fresh air. You look dead on your feet.’

‘I can’t in case Ray comes back.’

‘I thought you didn’t want anything to do with any of them.’

‘I didn’t, I don’t … Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it’s because Aunt Leonora died so suddenly it made me think about my mother and grandmother. It would be nice just to know how everyone is, even if I never go back there.’

‘Are you going to tell him about the hotel?’

‘Not a bloody chance. The boys’ll be on the doorstep in a flash, looking for free holidays!’

As they both laughed so Henry, the occasional night porter, who’d come in early to help out, knocked on the door.

‘Someone here for you.’

‘OK, I’m on my way.’

Ruby and Gracie walked out together. They were still dressed from top to toe in black, and both had their hair still tied back from when they had had their hats on for church. Ruby fleetingly wished they’d had time to change and not look so drab but it was too late to do anything about it.

‘You came back,’ Ruby said to Ray, who was standing by the desk. She smiled slightly but didn’t offer a hand and neither did he. ‘I didn’t think you would.’

‘Thought I might as well come and see what’s what.’ He shrugged and curled his lip slightly, feigning indifference, but Ruby wasn’t fooled. She knew him too well. Ray’s curiosity had got the better of him.

‘Let’s go to the dining room. I put some food aside for you in case you came back. It’s only from the funeral tea but it’s really nice.’ She looked at him, trying to judge his expression. ‘Oh, and this is Gracie, a friend of mine. We work together sometimes.’

Gracie smiled and held her hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ray.’

‘I bet,’ he said as he took her hand and shook it before quickly dropping his back down to his side as if he’d been shocked. With both women being nice Ray was completely wrong-footed.

Ruby led the way to one of the tables in the dining room, then went and fetched some cake and sandwiches for him along with a pot of tea. She placed the tray in front of him and sat down next to Gracie.

‘Why’d you do it, Rube? Run off like that.’ He didn’t look up as he poured himself a cup of tea.

‘You know why. You and Ma forced me to come back from Melton where I was happy and then you treated me like dirt. I didn’t want to be your skivvy. I wanted to finish my education and have a life.’

‘Well, get you. Still Miss High and Mighty.’ As he said it he glanced down at her hand and Ruby knew he was checking for a wedding ring. ‘Well, you didn’t get yourself much of a life, did you? From what I can see you’re just a waitress in a run-down boarding house!’ He sighed deeply and shook his head.

‘I’m happy,’ Ruby smiled. ‘Well, not today because of the funeral, but I like living here.’

‘You shouldn’t have gone like that.’

‘Whyever would I have stayed?’

‘Because we’re family and that’s where you belonged. You know that, and if the doc and his wife hadn’t got you you’d have known your place. You had a duty to the family but you ran off and left us to manage. Family should have been the most important thing for you, same as for the rest of us.’

Ray leaned back in his chair and looked at her. It was a challenge.

‘No, I didn’t belong, and you didn’t need me, as well you know. You just all resented that I’d had another life; but it wasn’t my fault Dad didn’t let you boys be evacuated, and it wasn’t my fault that he battered you all and not me.’ She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. ‘But that’s all in the past. I’ve moved on and I bet everyone else has.’ She waited for a few moments for him to speak but he said nothing. ‘So what’s been going on back home, Ray? Has something happened to bring you here?’

‘Curiosity, once I knew where you were,’ he said.

‘Who told you?’ she asked.

‘You already asked that; it’s for me to know and you to find out!’ he replied childishly.

‘Oh, well, never mind, it doesn’t matter.’ Ruby shrugged, determined not to give any leverage for anything. ‘How is everyone? Are you going to tell me?’

‘Ma’s married again.’ His tone was flat and suddenly everything became clear. Ray’s demeanour was because he had been usurped as head of the family.

‘Who’d she marry?’

‘Some bloke she worked with. That’s why she loved that job at the big house so much. He’s the fucking gardener.’ He looked at Gracie. ‘’Scuse language, no offence.’

Ruby nearly fell off her chair. Ray being respectful?

‘None taken.’ Gracie smiled and stood up. ‘But now I’d better go and help in the kitchen. Edith’s struggling out there on her own and you two must have lots to talk about.’

Ruby knew that wasn’t strictly true. Last time she’d looked Edith was sitting out in the garden with her feet up on a stool having a cigarette and a cuppa, but she appreciated Gracie’s show of tact.

‘So what’s his name?’

‘Who?’

‘The bloke Ma’s married, of course.’ Ruby laughed, determined to keep the mood light.

‘Frankenstein. No, sorry, it’s Donald. He’s Scottish and a right ugly bastard, but Ma thinks the sun shines out of his you-know-what.’

‘Is he good to her?’

‘I suppose. Don’t see her that much. She doesn’t care about any of us any more. It’s all to do with him.’

And Nan?’ Ruby asked.

‘Older and going a bit gaga. Spends all her time looking out the window, especially since she got some decent glasses.’ He grinned and there was a hint of the old nasty Ray. ‘Looking for you most likely! She don’t like Donald all that much either.’

‘What about everyone else?’

‘I’m married, living in Leytonstone. Bobbie was engaged but she did a runner and he’s in lodgings. Only one at home is Artie. Lives in his own world, does that one. Him and Nan are well suited. He looks after her since he lost his job. But you’re asking all the questions … What about you?’

‘I live and work in this hotel and I’m not married.’

‘So that’s it then. All caught up,’ he said.

‘Hardly, but it’ll do for the moment. I noticed your limp – what happened?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, stop being so snippy. I’m just asking. It’s called talking.’ Ruby shook her head. ‘Maybe we should have tried it before.’

Suddenly she was finding the whole conversation really wearing. It had been a long day and she wondered if she’d ever find out why Ray was really there. She also wondered if she cared. She just didn’t want to play the silly games any more.

‘Motorbike went one way and I went the other. Wrecked my knee and the bike. Bike’s mended but I’m not, so no National Service for me, but I married the nurse so some good came out of it.’ Ray’s response was so normal Ruby wondered if there had been a breakthrough.

‘Are you working?’ she asked.

‘Same place, me and Bobbie, but that Johnnie Riordan who used to live down the street is boss now. He works for some old villain who’s got a finger in every pie. The bloke bought the whole of Blacksmiths and put him in charge. Bastard wears a suit and swans round in a decent car while me and Robbie scratch by but, as the missus says, it’s a job and beggars can’t be choosers.’

Ruby could barely breathe as she took in what Ray was saying. Johnnie Riordan. The name reverberated in her head.

She wanted to ask Ray about him, she wanted to know everything, but didn’t dare even speak his name. Her secret was just too big to compromise by showing an interest. Forcibly she pushed the information away and watched her brother as they sat across the table from each other.

It seemed strange to her how things had changed. Although she’d tried to hide it Ruby had been terrified when he’d come in through the doors earlier in the afternoon, all bluff and insults like the old Ray she’d run away from, and yet now they were having an almost normal sibling conversation.

‘Well, this has been strange, hasn’t it, Rube? But I’ve got a train to catch …’ Ray stood up and pushed his chair back.

‘Do you want me to give you a lift to the station?’ Ruby asked, surprising herself as the words came out.

‘Blimey, girl, you really have gone up in the world,’ he said.

‘I’m just offering you a lift to the station in the hotel car, that’s all.’

‘No, thanks, I’ll walk. I’ve just got a bit of a limp, I’m not a fucking cripple.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it, but suit yourself,’ she said easily, but she was disappointed not to have the chance of a little more time to find out more about everything that had happened in the years since she left.

Especially what had happened to Johnnie Riordan.

Later that night Ruby was upstairs in the flat with Gracie, who was staying overnight again.

‘Your brother didn’t seem that bad,’ Gracie said tentatively. ‘Mellowed with age, do you reckon?’

‘Being demoted from his self-appointed role in charge of the family probably did for him. That must have hurt. I’m shocked Ma was brave enough to marry again but then I did always wonder about the pull of the Big House, as we always called it. Now we know. But good luck to her. She had nothing in her life.’ Ruby suddenly laughed. ‘Well, I didn’t think she had. And Ray’s married. I never even asked her name. Maybe they were right, I am a selfish bitch …’

‘Today isn’t the day for any more emotional stuff. Forget about Ray and all that for the moment. Deal with Leonora and the hotel today.’

‘It’s been so strange from start to finish.’ Ruby lit a cigarette and then waved it at Gracie. ‘See what you’ve done to me? I’m a bloody chain-smoker now!’

‘Give over, you love it! But maybe it’s time for you to make peace with your family now you’ve slain the giant. I did that with my family. Not that I have much to do with them, but I could if I wanted. Common as muck, they are; not good enough for me any more now I’m mixing with the posh folk in Thorpe Bay.’

As Ruby spun her head round and looked at her in horror, so Gracie screamed with laughter.

‘Gotcha. No, the peace has been made but it’s not the same. Can’t be after the baby and the home they sent me to. More bothered about the neighbours’ gossip than me. But we send cards for birthdays and Christmas. It’ll be like that with you and yours. It’s hard to go back once you’ve grown up and moved on but there’s that bit in the middle that’s nice and neutral.’

‘I’d like to see Nan. She won’t be around for ever and she was the one who encouraged me to get away else I might still be there, but I’d never be close to the others.’

She thought about telling Gracie what Ray had said about Johnnie Riordan but then decided it was best left. The less she discussed it, the easier it was to forget again.

‘Have you thought about my offer?’ she asked Gracie to change the subject.

‘Sort of, but I’m not sure, Rube. I’ll think about it and let you know. Hey, your mate Tony’ll have a breakdown when he finds out about you having the hotel and him not being involved. He was desperate to give you advice! Are you going to tell him?’

‘Not straight away. You’re right, he’ll want to give me advice and I’d like to keep this separate from my love life. No, let’s keep it between you and me. I’ll just let him think the same as Ray – that I’m managing it for Uncle George.’

Twenty-Two

Ruby strolled slowly along the seafront until she got to the steps and then walked down onto the beach. The tide was on its way out so just before she reached the soft damp mud she quickly slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot, feeling the mud seep between her toes. She loved the early mornings on the beach, especially when she needed to think in peace. She was wearing her favourite shirt dress with a full skirt, which she gathered up in her hands like a child to avoid getting mud on the hem. It was early morning and hardly anyone was around to notice the tall attractive redhead holding her skirt up around her thighs while she waded up to her ankles in the mud.

She had decided that much as she had loved Leonora she had no intention of following her overly formal dress code to work, so she just wore her normal clothes, albeit the ones that were unobtrusive and looked professional. That morning, knowing the accountant was scheduled for a long, complicated visit, she’d chosen her favourite pale green dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and an open shirt collar that stood up high against the back of her neck and flattered her pinned-up auburn hair. Her stockings and beige court shoes were laid out in the bedroom for when she got back to the hotel.

She loved the beach and the proximity of the sea. Like Leonora before her, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now; she would even sit out on the balcony as Leonora had with her beloved binoculars up to her eyes and watch ships and boats sailing by, especially when the tide was up and the fishing boats were making their way either in or out. To her mind it was the perfect place to live. The only difference was that Ruby knew that one day she would sail on one of the cruise liners that headed out to sea via the Thames Estuary, whereas Aunt Leonora had never got the chance.

It had been four months since Leonora Wheaton had died and Ruby had settled into her new working routine far more easily that she had expected. Gracie had dithered for only a few days before agreeing to work for her, and they shared the flat on the top floor. But while the two young women were still close friends and worked well together, each had her own social life. Ruby had very little spare time but most of what she did have she spent with Tony Alfredo, while Gracie still spent time with her old friends from the Palace, especially Sean, to whom she’d started to grow close, against all the odds. He was now the head porter and although he’d had other girlfriends over the years, and Gracie had not been especially nice to him, he still held out for her and it made her think far more kindly towards him.

As she turned to start walking back Ruby saw Tony standing on the steps from the Promenade, watching her. He was dressed casually in slacks and a white V-necked cricket sweater over an open-necked shirt. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head. Tony Alfredo always looked immaculate.

‘Take your shoes off and come and join me!’ Ruby shouted.

‘Not likely,’ Tony shouted back. ‘It’s too filthy for me.’

‘It’s good for you. Mud is all the rage nowadays. Very healing.’

He smiled as she padded back to the steps where she’d left a small towel and a child’s bright orange beach bucket full of water. She tucked her skirt up so she was sitting on her knickers and carefully rinsed the mud off her feet before drying them and putting her sandals back on.

‘You look like a naughty child sitting there like that, not very ladylike at all,’ Tony said with a smile on his face and just a hint of criticism in his voice.

‘Better than going back covered in mud. Leonora’s ladies would not be amused, I can tell you.’ She smiled. ‘Anyway, what are you doing down the beach this early on a weekday? Haven’t you got a job to go to?’

‘I’ve got a day off and I came looking for you. I promised to do the café books for my father but I thought I’d see if you’d like to come for coffee and cake there before I start. Gracie told me you were over here,’ he said calmly, expertly covering his real feelings about Ruby’s friend. ‘Papà’s been complaining he doesn’t see enough of you now that uncle of yours is working you into the ground.’

‘He’s not working me into the ground, I’m doing it myself. I really want this to be a success and I’ve got lots of ideas.’

‘Well, come over to the café and you can tell me all about them. I’m interested.’

Ruby still hadn’t told Tony about her true role at the hotel. She hadn’t lied, she just hadn’t elaborated on her previous generalisation that she was going to carry on working there. She wanted to be honest and open with him but was aware that his personality would make it impossible for him not to interfere so she continued to let him think that George Wheaton owned the hotel and she was managing it for him. It was just easier that way.

Ruby stuffed the towel into the bucket and they walked along the promenade together to the café.

‘Oh, Ruby, Ruby, where have you been, my beautiful one? It’s been so long …’ Mr Alfredo ran over to her with his arms outstretched. ‘Tony tells me you are working too hard, too hard for a beautiful young woman. You should have a man to take care of you.’

‘I’m very well, thank you. I am working hard but I enjoy it. Just like you and Mrs Aldredo enjoy your café.’

‘But Mrs Alfredo has me to work beside her. You are all alone in that hotel with so many women. There’s no one to appreciate you. You must let my boy help you.’

‘That’s enough flattery, Papà,’ Tony said firmly. ‘We’re here to have morning coffee, not to have a lecture on the joys of working together.’ He looked at Ruby. ‘Shall we have the table in the window?’ he asked, but the decision was already taken.

‘I shall bring your order over. You two go and sit, talk, enjoy …’

Ruby was never sure exactly how much of Mr Alfredo’s Italian lilt was exaggerated but he always made her smile with his extravagant compliments and hand waving. She envied Tony his besotted parents, but sometimes, when he was being mean, she wondered at how they had overindulged him. In their eyes he could do no wrong, and he had grown up thinking exactly the same. He was supremely confident in himself and his abilities, to the extent that it never occurred to him he could be wrong or that someone could disagree with him. But it was also that confidence that made him so good at his job.

Tony Alfredo was always the perfect companion when they went out together and Ruby enjoyed his company. He would take her to nice restaurants and dances, and sometimes to the theatre in London. He was charming and intelligent, and always immaculately turned out; the perfect gentleman who could always make her laugh and feel special. However, just occasionally, when she disagreed with him, he could turn in a flash from being a suave and sophisticated young man into a sulky and spoiled child with a bad temper.

‘You were going to tell me about your plans,’ Tony said.

‘I have to talk it through with Uncle George but I want to change the hotel. I don’t want it to be ladies only any more. That’s so old-fashioned now. I think we should open it up for couples. It’d earn more if there were two people in every room, and if we didn’t do dinners—’

‘I suppose Gracie’s behind this,’ he interrupted.

‘It’s nothing to do with Gracie. Surely you don’t think I’m so silly that I’d do something I didn’t agree with on the say-so of someone else?’ She smiled as she spoke because she could see Mr Alfredo looking over at them, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ruby. Thamesview is well known. It has a good reputation and many of the guests come back year after year. I bet Leonora Wheaton had to struggle to build it up again after the war. You’d lose all that. You’ll end up like every other seaside boarding house along this stretch of the esplanade.’

Ruby took a sip from her drink, unsure where the conversation was going. She’d expected Tony to be all for modernising the hotel.

‘But it’s just so sedate,’ she said, feeling irked that he didn’t agree with her.

‘Is that wrong, then? I think it makes it different. And Thorpe Bay isn’t in the centre of town, not the best place if you want a family seaside holiday.’

‘Well, what would you suggest then, to bring it into the twentieth century?’ Ruby asked curtly.

‘That you get your uncle George to invest some cash into the property. It needs decorating inside and out, and the furnishings all need replacing. The armchairs in the lounge look as if they might collapse, the carpets are falling apart and the curtains are out of the ark—’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying that.’ Ruby interrupted. ‘I love the hotel—’

‘I know you do, but George has to be realistic about his investment. He has to either invest in it or sell it. The clientele will move on if it’s not renovated to reflect the prices.’

‘Suppose that’s not an option? Suppose Uncle George doesn’t agree?’

‘Then it’s his problem isn’t it? He shouldn’t be in the business if he can’t think ahead constructively,’ Tony said with a dismissive shrug.

As they talked further Ruby was distracted; she knew she was doing the wrong thing by talking about it but not telling him the whole story. She decided to change the subject to avoid saying the wrong thing.

‘I’m thinking about going to visit my mother. Ray will have told her about his visit so it might be a good time to break the ice. I feel happier with the thought than I did at the time, when Aunty Leonora had just died.’

‘Is that a good idea? You said you never wanted to see any of them. Why the change of heart?’

‘Because seeing Ray and talking to him, I’ve realised that I have nothing to be scared of any more. And I’d like to see my grandmother again before it’s too late.’

‘So you’re not just being nosy about your mother’s new husband? Your stepfather?’

‘Oh Lord.’ Ruby sat up in her chair and gasped. ‘I hadn’t even thought of that. A stepfather …’

‘Someone else to come and scrounge off you now they know where you are. You’re doing well for yourself, you don’t need those people in your life.’

Ruby suddenly felt irrationally defensive. First he’d told her the hotel was a dump and now he was criticising her family. But she said nothing; she knew it was her own fault. He only knew what she had told him about her family, and none of it had been good. She wanted to say that things had changed, that she’d been sixteen when she’d run off and now she was older and knew better. She wasn’t scared of anyone any more.

‘Anyway, time marches on and I’ve got to get back now. I’ll think about what you said and talk to Uncle George.’ Ruby stood up and kissed Tony on the cheek. ‘Good luck with the book-keeping. I’ll see you tomorrow evening still?’

‘Of course. Cinema and dinner. I’ll call for you at seven.’

‘That’ll be nice.’

Ruby slid out quickly while Mr Alfredo’s back was turned. She couldn’t face another round of compliments and hugs from him or his wife.

She turned right and meandered back past the line of shops, looking closely as she walked. She realised that they looked as decrepit as the hotel did from the outside, and she was ashamed she hadn’t noticed it before.

She’d arrived down in Southend after the war when the town was slowly returning to normality and trying to encourage the visitors back. Leonora had told her a little about the trials and tribulations of the town in the wartime lockdown but Ruby hadn’t been interested; she had been too wrapped up in her own misery to care. But now she was looking around and noticing how the townspeople must have suffered. Especially those with small hotels like the Thamesview.

She crossed the road so she was opposite the hotel and stood looking up, really studying it for the first time. Suddenly she was shocked at how neglected it looked. Tony was right.The paint was peeling off the woodwork, the railings needed attention and there was a general air of grubbiness about it. She could see that Leonora had made the right decision in continuing to focus on widows and single woman, and many of them returned year after year, but there weren’t many new guests. She would have to talk to George and see what he thought.

‘Tony the Great was here looking for you,’ Gracie said as Ruby went back into the hotel.

‘I know. He found me on the beach paddling in the mud like a five-year-old. We went to the café. It wasn’t open but the parents let us in anyhow. Tony’s spending the day doing their books for them. He’s good at things like that. He has a very organised mind.’

‘You seem bright and happy. Do I sense wedding bells in the air?’ Gracie laughed. ‘Oh dear God, I don’t think I could have him as a boss. Makes me feel like Little Orphan Annie when he looks me up and down.’

‘Oh, he’s all right in his way,’ Ruby replied. ‘He’s just been spoiled. Anyway, I could ask the same of you. Are you going to marry Sean? You’re getting on a bit, you know. You’re older than me, you’ll be up there swinging your legs on the old maids’ shelf soon.’

When Gracie didn’t answer immediately Ruby opened her eyes wide and stared. ‘No … Has he asked you? Why didn’t you tell me, you secretive cow?’

‘He’s not asked outright but I know what he’s thinking.’

‘And? If he does ask?’

‘I don’t know. He’s hard-working, not bad-looking and he loves me. What more do I want? I was head over heels once and look where that got me. As soon as I told him I was expecting he was off and I ended up in that bloody awful place. Sean wouldn’t do that to me …’

‘You’re not pregnant now, are you?’ Gracie asked.

‘Of course not. I’m not that stupid, you know.’

Ruby went over to her friend and hugged her tight.

‘Blimey, what’s that all about?’

‘Because I sometimes forget that you had an even worse time than I did. If it’s any help, I think Sean is a really nice bloke and I think it’s better to have someone who really wants you than to go looking for the moonlight-and-roses stuff and then get dumped.’

Gracie stared at her. ‘Some speech that, missy. I’ll try and remember it!’

‘You do,’ Ruby said with a smile, before turning on her heel and going to the office to think about getting the hotel done up and also how to pay for it.

Twenty-Three

‘I’ve been thinking about taking you to the seaside for the day, you and the boys, what do you think?’ Johnnie Riordan asked casually as he and Sadie were sitting side by side in front of the fire. She was hand-sewing blue satin ribbon onto the edge of a romper suit for the baby and he was flicking half-heartedly through the pages of the newspaper. ‘We could take a picnic for the beach.’

‘Oh, that’d be so fantastic, Johnnie. The boys haven’t been to the seaside yet and I haven’t been for ages!’ Sadie shrieked, and leaned across to kiss him hard on the cheek. ‘When? Where?’

‘Southend. On Sunday. I’ve told Bill that I have to have at least one whole day a week with you and the boys and he’s agreed. He knows it’s hard for you so he didn’t mind too much when I laid down the law to him.’

‘Aw, I love Bill, but it is boring being stuck here all the time with just babies to talk to. I miss the Black Dog.’

‘Well, Sunday it is then; a day out. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.’

‘I don’t mind. It’s been so long since we went out on a day trip.’

Johnnie couldn’t help but smile. It cheered him no end that Sadie was so happy at the thought of a family day out, but at the same time there was an underlying niggle of guilt because he wasn’t doing it for her. He was doing it for himself.

Johnnie had tried hard to put the postcard out of his mind and concentrate on his life as it was, but it had nagged away at him constantly from the moment he’d seen it four months before.

Ruby Blakeley. Thamesview Hotel. He told himself over and over that the girl he once knew was now history and that he had no interest in her; that he just wanted to know she was OK. He’d thrown the card away for fear of Sadie finding it but the address was imprinted in his mind and there was no way he could erase it without checking it out. He needed to resolve his feelings and put Ruby Blakeley back into the past.

‘Time for bed, Mrs Riordan,’ Johnnie said with a wink as he stood up, aware that Sadie was in a good mood. ‘Up those stairs with you …’

‘Come on then, Mr Riordan, show us what you’re made of,’ Sadie laughed.

He quickly checked the locks, clicked off the lights and then followed his wife up to the bedroom, smacking her gently on her backside as they went. When she was like this it was like the old days. They’d had a highly charged relationship that thrived on excitement and instant sex, but back then her moods had always stayed within the boundaries of normal highs and lows.

But she’d changed the moment they were married. She was no longer Sadie Scully, the barmaid, the life and soul, whom everyone fancied, but Mrs Riordan, the wife with two small children and wider hips than she’d ever had. He didn’t mind her hips at all, but she did, and it depressed her.

When they were in their own little bubble Sadie was as happy as could be; it was when the outside world, especially Johnnie’s family, intruded that she dropped right down into the depths of paranoia and depression.

Next morning Sadie was already downstairs cooking breakfast and dancing around to a tune on the wireless when Johnnie came downstairs. It bothered him that she had such extremes of mood, but at least if she was happy then he wouldn’t get too much of a grilling when he went to work.

‘Still looking forward to Sunday, I see,’ Johnnie laughed, and hugged her from behind as she stood at the stove frying eggs. ‘Well, so am I! We could go down the pier, get the train, go on the boating lake, drive from one end of the seafront to the other … Do you remember when we went there before we were wed?’

‘I remember. That was when it was just us. Now we’ve got children and you don’t fancy me any more.’

‘Not true. We did all right last night, didn’t we?’ He hugged her again. ‘Do you know anyone with a fold-up type pram that can fit in the car? I’m sure I’ve seen them. Or even a carrycot on wheels for the little ’un. I can carry Martin when he’s tired, and we could even top and tail them.’

‘I dunno. I don’t know who to ask.’ Sadie frowned.

‘I’ll ask Betty. She’ll have one in the loft; she never throws anything away.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew he’d put his foot in it.

‘I don’t want my boys in someone else’s pram, especially hers.’

‘OK.’ he soothed. ‘It’ll just be easier or we’ll have to carry them both. That Silver Cross thing would need a lorry to take it anywhere.’

He laughed to try to distract her from her irritation before it built up into something else. Again.

She put his breakfast on the table and grinned. ‘Go on then, ask Betty, but don’t dare ask them to come with us. This is going to be just us and the boys. A real family.’

Sadie was still in a good mood when Sunday came round and Johnnie watched as she happily gathered up everything for the day and piled it all into the Ford Consul. She was dressed up to the nines, with full make-up, high heels and her hair piled high. He thought it was a bit too much for a day at the seaside but he didn’t say anything, he was just relieved she was happy. She packed his precious car full to overflowing, and Johnnie was pleased that Bill Morgan wasn’t around to see it looking like a removal van, but within a few minutes they were on their way to the seaside.

When they drove down Chalkwell Avenue to the start of the seafront Sadie was like another child in the car, clapping her hands and laughing. Nine-month-old Paul was asleep in the carrycot in the back and two-year-old Martin was on his mother’s lap in the front.

‘Look Marty, it’s the sea … look at the sea … look at the boats!’ She turned to Johnnie. ‘They’re fishing boats, aren’t they?’

‘I’m not sure. They might be cockle boats. I don’t know the difference, but whatever they are they’ll go out on the tide later on.’

‘I’d love to go on a boat.’

‘We could see if the pleasure steamers are running. If not it’ll have to be the boating lake.’ Johnnie looked sideways and laughed. ‘What do you want to do? Go for a drive along the front or park up and go somewhere first?’

‘Let’s park and go for a ride on the pier. Marty will love the train, then we can have our picnic on the beach at Westcliff.’

Johnnie hid his disappointment well. He wanted to drive along to find the address on the postcard. Just to have a look.

‘OK. We’ll just drive along and get our bearings and look for the best place to go for our picnic on the beach later on.’

He drove slowly from end to end with his arm on the open window, trying to look casual, but he was actually looking hard for the sign ‘Thamesview Hotel’. He drove all the way along the front up to Shoeburyness, then turned round to drive back. His disappointment was hard to hide but he did his best.

Then on the way back he saw it: a large white three-storey property set back from the pavement. The first-floor balconies jutted out over the front garden and were protected by permanent canopies. It was a large property that at first glance looked too small to be a hotel, but an ornate sign on the front that said ‘The Thamesview Hotel for Ladies’ in big black letters told him he’d probably found the right address.

The only thing he didn’t know was if Ruby Blakeley really lived there or if the postcard was some sort of joke. The building just didn’t tally with where he had imagined Ruby would be.

‘This looks a really nice place for a picnic. It’s not crowded. Shall we come back here after the pier?’

‘Looks a bit quiet to me,’ Sadie said.

‘But after all the excitement of doing all the things we want to do, the boys will need a nap and we might need a bit of peace and quiet.’

‘I suppose …’ Sadie said without much enthusiasm.

‘We’ll decide later then.’ Johnnie appeased her as he always did.

He continued driving back towards the pier and then parked as near to it as he could.

They crammed both children, one each end, into the borrowed carrycot and caught the train to the end of the pier before walking all the way back and spending time in the amusements on the other side of the road. Johnnie did his best to make sure everyone had a good time but he was really just itching to get back to the part of the beach that was opposite the hotel. It certainly wasn’t the best part of the beach for a picnic, with a concrete slope and just a small strip of sand before the mud, but he convinced Sadie it was perfect. He collected two deck chairs and carefully positioned them near one of the seaweed-covered breakwaters, then put the carrycot with a sleeping Paul in the shade of it.

Then he sat in the deck chair that gave a perfect view of the hotel doorway and left the other, which faced towards the sea, for Sadie.

She’d packed quite a spread into the picnic basket, and as she laid it all out carefully on the rug Johnnie started to feel guilty all over again. His conscience was shouting at him to gather everything up and go right back to the other end of the promenade, as far away from the Thamesview Hotel as he could get, but once it was all spread out he told himself it was too late. He had no choice but to stay there.

The longer they sat there the more Johnnie started to relax and enjoy himself. Martin was happily trying to make mud pies with his baby bucket and spade, and he was making Sadie laugh. It was a perfect family day out and Johnnie promised her they’d do it more often.

And then he saw her.

It was the hair that he saw first and then the person. He wasn’t sure he would have recognised her if it hadn’t been for the hair. The dark red hair was the first thing he had noticed when he’d seen her sitting on her suitcase in Elsmere Road and it was the first thing he noticed now.

Red, he had called her then. Ruby Red. The coltish young girl who was far too young and innocent for him. Now she looked so tall and ladylike that it jolted him. He stretched out in the deck chair and watched carefully so Sadie didn’t see him looking. She didn’t know Ruby or anything about her, but she hated Johnnie even glancing at another woman so he knew she’d sit up and take notice if she got even a hint of Johnnie’s wandering attention.

He didn’t move a muscle as Ruby walked down the two front steps of the hotel with another woman about her age and the two of them crossed the road almost where the Riordan family were sitting with the remains of the picnic between them. His heart thumped with the fear of being caught, of Ruby seeing him and saying hello. It was so fierce he was sure Sadie would hear. He wanted to run but there was no way of escaping without being spotted.

‘Are we mud-paddling today, my Lady Ruby of Thamesview, or is wandering round with your skirt in your knickers on a Sunday a bit beneath you now?’ The other woman’s voice carried, as did her laugh.

Ruby laughed. ‘Stop taking the mick, you. I’m up for a paddle if you are!’

‘I’ve got me best slacks on,’ the other woman said in mock horror.

‘Roll them up. If I can tuck my skirt up then you can roll your trouser legs.’

‘’Spose I’ve got no choice.’

Without even glancing at them the two women walked within a few feet of the Riordan family to the edge of the mud, took their shoes off and left them on the sand. Ruby gathered her skirt up and the other woman carefully rolled the legs of her slacks up to her knees and held on to them.

‘Come on then,’ Ruby said with a wide grin. ‘It’s not that cold!’

Johnnie didn’t move a muscle as he watched them walk out onto the mud together and then stand there squelching their toes and giggling, the unknown woman with her trouser legs up by her knees and Ruby with her skirt clutched up in a bundle around her thighs.

‘I tried to get Tony in to do this the other morning but he refused point-blank.’

‘Beneath his dignity, of course. Tony never lets his hair down that I can see.’

‘Not often, but he’s a nice man deep down …’ Ruby giggled and kicked at the water that was pooling in the natural gulleys as the tide came in. ‘Aaah, we’re going to get cut off by the tide. We’ll drown in a sodding great whirlpool of mud and sludge and our bodies will never be found.’

‘Don’t be daft, we’re only a few feet from shore. We could go out to the Ray and have a swim,’ Gracie said, referring to the natural sandbank in the distance.

‘Never in a million years. It’s all right for you, you can swim!’

They laughed together, oblivious to the beachgoers out on the strip of sand. There weren’t many but those that were there were watching and laughing as well.

All apart from Sadie Riordan.

‘Look at those stupid cows,’ Sadie suddenly said. ‘Have they got no shame? Acting like schoolkids at their age. All dressed up and nowhere to go, my mother used to say.’

Her voice was so loud that Johnnie knew they must have heard her, but if they had it made no difference; they carried on doing what they were doing.

‘If they splash one of the kids I’ll tell ’em their fortune.’

Johnnie wanted to say something, to tell Sadie how miserable she was, but he was scared to open his mouth. Instead he sank further down in the deck chair with his arms crossed and his chin on his chest, hoping Sadie would think he was dozing off. Turning his head to one side he watched Ruby dancing about and having fun, and he felt really choked. He knew he shouldn’t have gone looking for the past. He should have left it buried.

It took a few moments for Johnnie to realise that Ruby and her friend were playing up to Sadie’s continuing comments. They didn’t look at her but Ruby hoisted her skirt higher and started marching while the other woman laughed long and hard.

‘Bloody ridiculous, I think. Just look at them, stupid women …’ Sadie snarled without looking at him. He didn’t know how to stop her because to comment would make her worse. Suddenly the other woman started to head towards them. ‘Don’t Gracie,’ Ruby said. ‘It doesn’t matter. And anyway we can’t have any of the ladies spotting us out here getting into a brawl.’

But Gracie carried on regardless. ‘Look, you, just ’cos you don’t know how to enjoy yourself don’t mean we can’t. Now shut it.’

Sadie was up out of the deck chair in a flash.

‘Don’t, Sadie. Don’t spoil the day. Please don’t, not in front of the children …’

Sadie hesitated for a moment and then sat down again, albeit with a face like thunder. Gracie looked from one to the other and then, with a shake of her head, turned away. Johnnie sighed with relief; when Sadie wanted to fight she usually went for it without any thought, but this time she held back. Bill Morgan called her spirited, and Johnnie himself had always believed that up until they were married, but the more he got to know her the more he realised that she was that deadly combination of volatility with no self-control.

Mortified, he buried his chin back into his chest. He just wanted them to go away.

He knew the sender of the postcard had been right, and that this was the place; he knew this woman was Ruby Red, and he knew that she was safe and well and seemingly very happy. Much happier than he.

He told himself that was all he’d wanted to find out, all he’d gone there for. He just shouldn’t have taken Sadie and the kids on his jaunt into the past.

‘We’ll have to back over the road like this, you know. Let’s hope we don’t get spotted. It’s not in keeping with our positions, is it, Lady Ruby?’

‘Probably not!’ Ruby picked up a handful of mud and started to mould it into a ball.

‘Don’t you dare …’ Gracie laughed, and ran the other way.

As Ruby looked towards Gracie her eyes skimmed past Sadie. Johnnie knew she was glancing at the woman who had nearly started a confrontation but then her glance went past him.

Then she did a double take and he knew instantly that she’d recognised him.

Scared, he met her eyes and pleaded silently. She paused for a split second and then quickly dropped the mud, snatched up her shoes and, after doing a detour to avoid getting too close to him, she started marching back up towards the promenade.

‘Hurry up, Gracie,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘We’re late. You’re going to have to catch me up.’

Once both women were out of sight Johnnie sat forward in the deck chair. He didn’t dare look round, especially as Sadie was glaring in their direction to see where they were going, but he didn’t have to look because he knew exactly where they were heading.

He also knew that now he’d seen her he’d be back. Ruby Blakeley still had the power to draw him in.

Twenty-Four

‘What’s the matter?’ Gracie asked breathlessly as she caught up with Ruby. ‘Something’s happened, I know it. Was it the crazy woman back there? She was just jealous because she’s got a boring husband and two kids and isn’t allowed to have fun any more. We’d never give her a room here, miserable cow!’

‘It wasn’t that,’ Ruby said as she carried on walking.

‘Well what then? You just turned and ran off like the devil was hot on your heels.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to get washed and then we have to make a start on dinner. It’s just you and me tonight, but with only four guests it shouldn’t be too hard!’

‘Don’t tell me you turned and ran back to get the dinner on,’ Gracie said. ‘Don’t forget I know you, Lady Ruby.’

‘I said I don’t want to talk about it, not now. I’ll tell you later, promise.’ She paused. ‘Do you mind getting started with the vegetables? I’ve just remembered something I haven’t done. I won’t be long …’

Gracie looked at her. ‘I don’t believe you, but off you go. I’ll get it out of you later.’

Ruby smiled. She knew Gracie was right: she’d pick and pick away until Ruby gave in for a quiet life.

Trying not to run, she went straight into the office and closed the door. Because of the balcony above she knew that no one could see in the window unless they were up close to it, but still she stood to one side and peered around the curtain in the direction of the beach. Because of the steep slope she couldn’t see anything below the level of the pavement but she carried on looking and waiting and cursing the people walking and driving by on both sides of the road.

As she watched and waited so she reran the whole event in her mind. It had been such a shock to see Johnnie Riordan again she had felt physically sick. She’d seen the family there, heard the woman making silly comments and wanted to look at her. But then she’d seen the man with her.

It was the shape of the man’s head, his fair hair, his long angular body folded up in the deck chair. Her recognition had been instant and after the shock her immediate instinct had been to smile and acknowledge him as she would any old friend, but his fearful eyes had told her not to.

Because of that she could only assume that the tarty, aggressive woman he was with was his wife and that the two tiny children were his. She hadn’t had time to study the woman but it made her feel sad to think of the lively ambitious man she’d known being too scared of his wife even to acknowledge someone from his past.

And they had two children. If they were his then there were two children related to Maggie.

Half-siblings to his daughter whom he knew nothing about.

She shook her head away from that thought and pondered on why he had chosen that that particular strip of beach to have his family picnic. But as she thought about that so she wondered at the coincidence of her brother Ray and Johnnie Riordan both finding out where she was. The last two people she had ever wanted to find her. There they both were, in or near an obscure little hotel on Southend seafront, but nowhere near the regular day-tripper areas.

The more she thought about it, the more concerned she became, and the emotional impact of seeing him was overshadowed by the realisation that it was nigh on impossible for it to have been coincidence that, after all those years, both Ray and Johnnie found where she was and had turned up within a few months of each other.

Ray had said that ‘a little bird’ had told him; maybe the same little bird had told Johnnie. Maybe it was someone trying to cause problems for her. But she had no idea who or why.

Suddenly Johnnie appeared at the top of the steps carrying a carrycot towards a car that was parked nearby. He pushed it onto the back seat and then went back for all the other stuff while the woman, who was done up like a dog’s dinner, appeared with the little boy on her hip and climbed straight into the car.

Once she was in the car and everything was packed in the boot, Ruby saw Johnnie look across at the hotel; he stood behind the open boot where the woman couldn’t see him and just looked in her direction, deep in thought. Then fiercely he slammed the boot down, climbed into the driver’s seat and Ruby heard the engine start. As he pulled away she saw him take one last look across at where she was standing.

She knew then that there was no coincidence.

‘Gracie, can I ask you something?’ she said when she had calmed down.

‘Of course you can. Is this to do with earlier when you had a funny turn on the beach?’

‘Sort of, but not really. Who can you think of who’d want to cause me some upset?’

‘No one that I know of. You don’t go round upsetting people like I do,’ Gracie said, looking sideways at her friend. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘I was wondering who could have told Ray where I was. He wouldn’t say how he knew.’

‘I can’t think of anyone. You’re not an enemy-gathering person.’

Ruby frowned and went over to the kitchen sink. ‘Have you done all the vegetables? You shouldn’t have, I said I wouldn’t be long.’

‘Oh, bugger the vegetables, there’s something you’re not telling me. Come on, Ruby, we’re friends – thick and thin – who know each other’s darkest secrets.’

Ruby took a deep breath. ‘You know that family on the beach, the brassy woman who was chuntering on like an old granny about us?’

‘I knew it was something to do with her, but we did carry on just to annoy her even more, show-offs that we are,’ Gracie laughed. ‘Daft bint.’

‘It’s not to do with her, it’s to do with the man who was with her. Did you look at him?’

‘Yeah, hen-pecked and scared. He didn’t move a muscle while she carried on, just pretended not to notice. Yellow belly—’

‘It was Johnnie Riordan,’ Ruby said. ‘There, I’ve told you. It was Johnnie Riordan.’

‘Johnnie who?’ Gracie said, and then it dawned. ‘Noooo. Are you sure? How can you be sure? He didn’t look like the spivvy jack-of-all-trades you’d described. That bloke looked more like a well-trained dog.’

‘Of course I’m sure. I had his baby, didn’t I?’ Ruby said calmly.

‘Sorry. Just wondering when it happened …’

‘You know when it happened. You and me both,’ Ruby glared.

‘No, not that. I mean his castration! Bet he can sing bloody good soprano now.’ Gracie starting singing high.

‘He did look a bit scared of her, I must admit,’ Ruby said with a slight smile. ‘But that’s all by the by. I’ve got a puzzle for you. After all these years what do you think are the chances of him just happening to turn up on the beach out front? I mean, first Ray shows up and now Johnnie.’

‘Maybe they’re the fortune-hunters George and Babs warned you about.’

‘Don’t be daft. For a start, they don’t even know I’ve inherited. No one does.’

‘As far as we know no-one knows. Word can get out, although I promise you I’ve not said a single word to anyone.’

‘I know,’ Ruby said. ‘But I think I’m going to go back to Walthamstow for a visit. To see Ma and Nan, make some peace. It’s time. And if I can find out from Ray how he knew where to find me that’ll be a bonus.’

‘And Johnnie?’

‘That door is shut. Looks like he’s made himself a nasty little bed to lie in.’

‘Are you going to tell Tony about Johnnie and Maggie?’

Ruby looked at her friend and shook her head. ‘Never in a million years. He’s not the sort of man to be that understanding, is he?’

‘No, I guess not.’ Gracie smiled but her tone was sad. ‘Mind you, I haven’t told Sean either.’

‘Some secrets are best left where they are, buried in the past.’

‘How would you feel about not living at the hotel any more?’ Tony Alfredo asked Ruby.

‘What a strange question. I have to live at the hotel: it’s my home and my job.’

Ruby looked across the table at him. They’d been for a walk to the nearby Southchurch Park and then gone back to the café. It was packed out with mostly holidaymakers so they were tucked away at a tiny table right next to the kitchen. Ruby was relieved it was so hectic because it meant Mamma and Papà Alfredo hadn’t got time to take any notice of them.

‘Papà has said I can live in the flat upstairs here. He wants to let it out, so who better than his son? And it’s fully furnished, a perfect first home.’

‘Why would you want to do that when you’ve got a mother who does everything for you and desperately wants to keep you tucked safely under her wing?’ Ruby laughed. ‘Everything you could ever want is in that house. I bet you’ve never so much as picked up a saucepan!’

‘But I don’t want to live at home any more. The time has come to move on and settle down away from home.’ He paused and fumbled in his pocket. ‘With you. I want to live with you.’

‘But I live with Gracie.’ Ruby frowned, not quite sure of what he meant.

‘I want you to come and live with me in the flat upstairs.’ He pulled out a box, opened it and stood it in front of her. ‘I want you to marry me!’ He put his hand to his mouth. ‘Sorry, I mean … please, please, Ruby Blakeley, will you be my wife?’

Shocked into silence, Ruby picked up the box and looked at the diamond ring tucked into the velvet. There were five diamonds in a row, the biggest in the middle and two smaller ones on each side. It was neat and pretty but not ostentatious, and Ruby was mesmerised, not by the ring but by everything it meant. She was dumbstruck by the proposal, which the last thing she’d expected.

Tony Alfredo was not a man who showed his emotions. Although Ruby knew he liked her and liked being with her, he had never even said that he loved her, never talked about the future other than in the loosest terms. There was no doubt that they got on well together, but marriage …? Ruby’s brain was in overdrive.

As she looked at the ring she thought of Johnnie Riordan with a wife and two children, a Ford Consul and a day out at the seaside. She could see him in her mind, slumped down in the deck chair, terrified of what his mad wife would do if she said so much as hello. This was the man whom she was sure had ordered the attack on her two brothers that left them both battered and bloodied and in need of medical attention. He may have been the father of her baby, but Maggie now belonged to the Wheatons and Johnnie belonged to his wife.

The door was closed and she wanted it to stay that way. She didn’t want temptation, and being married to Tony would make sure she didn’t succumb.

‘Well?’ Tony asked. ‘What do you say?’

‘Yes, Tony. Yes, I will marry you,’ she whispered. She smiled as he took her hand across the table and slid the ring onto her third finger, enjoying the delight on his face. The fact that she could still see Johnnie Riordan in her mind’s eye was irrelevant. Marrying Tony Alfredo would be a good way of ensuring he was out of her head.

‘Can I tell the parents?’

‘Ssh, not now. They’re rushed off their feet. We can tell them later.’

‘I love you. You’ll enjoy being a solicitor’s wife; you’ll love having lots of babies.’

The dark eyes that she always found hard to read gazed into hers possessively and she panicked, instantly regretting her answer to his proposal.

‘And I love you too,’ she said uneasily. ‘And I love the ring, but I’ll have to put my hand in my pocket as we leave. Your dad has a very eagle eye.’

‘We have to make decisions now. First thing will be that George has to find someone else to manage his hotel. You can’t do that and be a solicitor’s wife. Maybe dim Gracie could take the reins in the short term.’

Ruby didn’t answer. Not because of how he’d referred to Gracie, but because she had temporarily forgotten that Tony didn’t know she actually owned the hotel. She owned the hotel, the business, absolutely everything connected to the hotel, yet the man she’d just agreed to marry didn’t have a clue.

‘I can’t give up Thamesview, I really can’t, because –’ she started to say, but he leaned forward and placed a finger on her lips.

‘Ssh. Your loyalty is fantastic but it’ll be my job to look after you. Not the Wheatons’. You’re not their little pet evacuee any more, you know. And then we have to arrange the wedding and sort out the flat as we want it.’

Ruby smiled at him and listened as he carried on planning their lives together. She let it all waft over her; she would tell him all about it the very next day.

‘You what?’ Gracie shouted when Ruby told her later that night. ‘You’re out of your mind. You don’t love Tony. It’s all that business with Johnnie-the-ex that’s brought this on.’

‘No it isn’t. He’ll be a good husband. I don’t want to be like Leonora, with just the hotel in my life. I want a husband and children, same as you do. Sean isn’t the love of your life but you’re thinking about settling down with him. You’re just waiting for him to ask and then you’ll be off down the aisle.’

‘That’s different. I actually really like him as a person, and he likes me,’ Gracie laughed.

‘Oh, come on, be happy for me. You can be chief bridesmaid.’

‘Are you sure he’s not just after your money?’ Gracie asked, suddenly sombre.

‘Hardly. He doesn’t even know I own this place. He thinks I’m just the manager.’

‘Whaaat? Oh, Ruby, what is wrong with you? He will go mad when you tell him.’

‘Why?’ Ruby asked, as if she didn’t know the answer.

Gracie threw her hands up in the air. ‘Because it’s going to look as if you don’t bleeding trust him,’ she shouted. ‘You know what he’ll do, don’t you? He’ll throw a sulk first and then he’ll want to take it over. You’ll lose everything if you marry him.’

‘I’ll tell him, I promise, and I’ll discuss it with Uncle George.’ She pulled a face. ‘The biggest problem is he wants me to move into Mamma and Papà Alfredo’s flat with him, the one over the café. It’s only up the road but—’

‘Oh, you are priceless, Ruby Blakeley,’ Gracie interrupted with a huge exaggerated sigh. ‘Priceless. I’m going to go to my room, get down on my knees and say a prayer for your sanity and your safety, you daft ha’porth. You’re going to need all the help you can get from the Good Lord above to get out of this mess!’

Twenty-Five

Melton

Derek Yardley was up in his flat looking out of the window at the scene of domesticity in the Wheatons’ garden below. It was a cold autumn day but still George and Babs Wheaton were out in the garden with Maggie. George was in the summerhouse with a blanket over his legs, his wife was gardening and Maggie was running around excitedly with her new lurcher puppy, a stray that Babs Wheaton had brought home after finding it freezing cold and shivering in the field out the back.

Yet another stray.

They’d given it a home because they felt sorry for it; much in the way they had taken in Yardley himself all those years before, except that even the puppy really was part of the family. Looking down at them, all he could see was a perfect family unit and Yardley resented that he wasn’t part of it, that he was even lower in the pecking order than an abandoned flea-ridden gypsy puppy.

He wanted to be a part of it somehow, so he pulled on his well-worn donkey jacket and went down the wooden stairs and through the open gate to the garden. He walked around the edge of the lawn towards where they were at the far corner.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Wheaton, Mr Wheaton,’ he said respectfully as he approached.

Babs looked up from her weeding and smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Yardley. What can we do for you?’

‘I saw you from my window and thought you might like me to help you with the wheelbarrow.’

‘That’s thoughtful of you but it’s your day off.’

‘I haven’t got anything else to do. I like to be busy.’

‘In that case, yes, some help would be nice. I’m trying to sort the vegetable garden out but it’s so time-consuming and it’s getting a bit chilly. See that pile of leaves there? If you could rake them that would be such a help.’ Again she smiled. ‘And if you gather up the windfalls, I’ll bake you an apple pie in appreciation.’

As they worked side by side he started to relax. He felt that he was part of the family again, the way he had been in the days before Ruby and Maggie, when it had just been the three of them. He always blamed Ruby because she was the one who made the Wheatons feel dissatisfied with the way things were. It was because of Ruby that they adopted orphan Maggie, as he liked to call her. It was because of Ruby he was no longer the only one. He hated her.

It wasn’t that he was all that much younger than either of the Wheatons in years, but he was in intellect. His reading and writing skills were poor after minimal schooling, and his social skills were even worse. Babs Wheaton had spent time with him, teaching him the basics he’d missed and, despite his own disability, George had taught him to drive, but Derek Yardley had remained socially inept.

Derek Yardley had been a sickly child born prematurely to farming parents who lived on the breadline and who had no time to compensate for his lack of schooling. Lung congestion, they had called it, when he had wheezed and coughed and had been too ill to get out of his bed. His mother would boil some water, pour it into a bowl and then place him and the steaming bowl under a towel. Much of his childhood had been spent either in the kitchen under the towel or alone in the bedroom he shared with two healthy brothers, who were always either at school or working on the Cambridgeshire farm. No one had ever had any time for Derek Yardley.

As a result he was not only small for his age, and socially inept, but also inherently resentful of life.

At thirteen he’d run away with as many of his clothes he could wear at once and never gone back. He quickly taught himself how to live rough and he’d survived by doing odd jobs when he was well, and sleeping in the woods in his makeshift shelter when he was poorly. He loved his den, which was made of collected wood and any old rags he could find all moulded together with mud to make a reasonably waterproof shelter. He’d learned to hunt for food by trial and error and had become skilled at roasting rabbits over an open fire and sewing the pelts together for warmth in the winter. No one knew where his hideaway was so he was left alone in his solitude unless he went out into the villages looking for work.

He’d lived that way for several years until the day he’d collapsed both physically and mentally while working in the village next to Melton. Dr George Wheaton had not only treated him, he’d taken him under his wing and helped to mend him.

Derek Yardley adored the couple who had made him feel like an ordinary human being, and he had never been as happy as he was in those early years being sheltered by the Wheatons. They fed him, tended his illness and taught him all about cars; then they gave him a job and his own home. They had not only saved his life, they’d replaced it, and he saw himself more as a son than an employee.

But that had all changed when they’d brought in Ruby Blakeley and really embraced her into the family; in his mind he was convinced the London evacuee had replaced him.

Now he felt as if he were fighting for survival all over again. He’d been happy in the woods at the time but now he knew different, and he couldn’t imagine not having his job and home. He didn’t ever want to go back to having nothing.

Babs and Yardley carried on doing the gardening while George dozed and Maggie bounced around with her puppy.

‘I’ve been thinking, Yardley, it seems a long time since you had a holiday. Why don’t you take some days off and go somewhere? It would do you good, I’m sure. We all need to get away sometimes.’

‘I’m fine, Mrs Wheaton. I don’t like holidays, I like to work.’

‘I know you do, and we all appreciate it,’ she said. ‘I tell you what, I’ll have a word with Ruby. She’s at that lovely little place in Southend that used to be Dr Wheaton’s sister’s hotel, where we went for Mrs Wheaton’s funeral. Well, you couldn’t stay there because it’s ladies only, but I’m sure she could recommend somewhere. The sea air would be good for your chest as well …’

Halfway through what she was saying his mind switched off so he didn’t really hear the words, he didn’t recognise her thoughtfulness, he just heard Babs Wheaton trying to get rid of him.

Instantly his back was up and he was angry all over again.

‘I don’t like the sea, I like the country, I like it here …’ he muttered without looking up, but he didn’t think she’d heard him because she was across the garden, laughing with Maggie as they tried to catch the puppy.

‘Well, I think we’ve finished here now, Yardley,’ she shouted across to him. ‘Thank you for your help. An apple pie it is for you!’

He turned away and walked back up to his flat, feeling as if he’d been dismissed.

Apple pie. He sneered as he walked up his staircase. He didn’t want apple pie, he wanted things to be as they used to be before Ruby Blakeley came along.

His head was throbbing with the familiar pain as he went inside. Revenge was all he could think of, but his head was hurting too much for him to formulate anything. He looked in the drawer for his bottle of aspirin. He took three with a glass of water to be sure, then lay down on the lumpy sofa with his head on a small cushion and his legs hanging over the end. He would think about Ruby Blakeley in the morning.

Babs had opened up the door of the boiler in her kitchen, and George and Maggie were sitting warming their hands in front of the glowing coals while Babs prepared supper for them all. The curtains were drawn and the puppy was curled up in his bed fast asleep, tired out from all the exercise.

‘Maggie darling, I think it’s time you went and had a good wash after all that playing in the garden with Scruffy.’

The little girl turned down the corners of her mouth. ‘But, Mummy, I don’t want to. I want to stay here with Scruffy.’

‘No supper for you then. We’ll have to give it to this little doggie here instead.’ George shook his head and pulled a sad face, making her laugh and run for the stairs.

Babs looked round the door to make sure she’d gone. ‘George, I have to confess I’m a little worried about Yardley. I’m concerned he’s going back a bit to how he was when you first treated him. I can’t quite put my finger on it but something’s not quite right. Even Ruby was asking questions about him when she was here.’

‘Can’t say I’ve noticed.’ George looked at her. ‘He’s just being Yardley, surely. He’s always been different, that’s how he ended up here in the first place.’

‘I know, but I am going to keep a close eye on him. It’s been a long time since he had any of his mental problems but I think we need to watch him … for his sake as much as anyone else’s. Maybe give him a check up? He can’t say no to you if you suggest it.’

‘Fair enough, but here’s no reason for it to happen again. His problems were caused by his circumstances. Living alone in the woods for years would affect anyone. The one single factor would be if he was stressed, and he certainly doesn’t have any stress here.’

‘I’m still going to keep an eye. Especially with him driving you on your rounds.’ Babs looked thoughtful. ‘Next time I speak to Ruby I’m going to find out what made her ask about him. Unfortunately we were too busy with Maggie’s birthday tea to really talk, and then Leonora died and everything was forgotten.’

Babs Wheaton loved her husband just as much as she had when they were courting. The couple had a strong marriage and adopting Maggie had added to it. They both adored her. Babs also admired George tremendously. He had overcome being crippled by polio as a child and, against all the odds, had gone to medical school and qualified as a doctor so that he could carry on when his father, the village GP, retired.

A popular figure in the village community and a much-admired GP, George was always doing over and above his duties. Babs loved the fact that he was kind and caring and that he always tried to see the best in everyone, but it was this very trait that was now making Babs feel she had to be extra observant.

Something wasn’t right about Derek Yardley. Her instincts told her that he had changed recently and, with hindsight, her conversation with Ruby was now worrying her. She wondered what it was that had made Ruby ask the questions she had.

‘I’m going to telephone Ruby to double-check. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Of course not, if it puts your mind at rest,’ George smiled.

After she put the phone down she went back through to George.

‘Well? What did she say?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t get round to asking about Yardley.’ Babs’ expression was thoughtful. ‘She said that she and Tony wanted to come and see us. George, they’re engaged. She wanted to tell us face to face but as I’d phoned she told me.’

‘Oh, that’s interesting. Can’t say I’m surprised he’s asked her – I’m sure lots of young men would like to marry our Ruby – but I am surprised she said yes. What do your instincts tell you about Tony Alfredo?’

‘I don’t like him one little bit, as you know, but Ruby’s a big girl now. All we can do is cross our fingers …’

‘And make sure the ownership of the hotel is watertight. Solicitor or not, I don’t trust him as far as I can run, and that’s certainly not very far at all, is it?’

Babs laughed. ‘Yes. At the funeral he trying to inveigle his way into every conversation. He asked too many questions for a stranger. The hotel definitely needs to be wrapped up legally.’

Twenty-Six

Ruby stood on the doorstep for several minutes while she plucked up the courage to knock on the door. It had been so long since the day she had just upped and left that she wondered if perhaps it was best to leave it be, to turn and walk away a second time. None of them had contacted her after Ray had found her, although he had telephoned her once. But then again she hadn’t contacted them.

She knocked twice and waited. Then she knocked again.

‘There’s nobody in.’

She looked around and realised the voice was coming from next door. Nosy Norah.

‘Well, knock me down and call me Charlie, it’s young Ruby, I’d recognise that hair anywhere. How are you, lovey? Long time no see, eh?’

Ruby smiled. ‘I’m fine, thank you, and it’s nice to see you too. Do you know where everyone is?’

‘Probably at Whipps Cross. Elsie was carted off in the ambulance a couple of weeks ago.’

‘What happened to her?’ Ruby asked. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She had a fall and broke something – her leg or her hip. It’s afternoon visiting today so that’s where they’ll be.’

Ruby started to walk back down the short path but Norah had no intention of letting her get away that easily.

‘You look smashing, a right proper lady. Best thing you did was to get away from those brothers of yours, your nan used to say. Mind you, your mother’s done all right for herself. Really nice man she’s married, always passes the time of day and even tends my bit of back yard at the same time as your mother’s. And she doesn’t have Ray and Bobbie there no more, which is probably a blessing.’

Ruby smiled. ‘Thanks, Norah. I’ll try again later.’

‘Why don’t you go down to Whipps? Elsie really missed you; always talking about you. She’d be chuffed to see you.’

‘I might just do that.’

With that she turned and started walking to her car, which she’d left away from the house for fear of them thinking she was showing off. As she got to it she tried to talk herself out of doing what she was thinking, but it didn’t work so she walked down the road to Betty and Roger Dalton’s house.

‘Ruby Blakeley,’ Betty said as she opened the door. It was a statement rather than a welcome.

‘Hello, Betty. I came to visit my family but no one’s in so I thought I’d knock and see how you are …’

‘Johnnie doesn’t live here any more.’

‘I know that, I know he’s married …’

Betty smiled. ‘I thought you might! It’s probably not the wisest thing, but would you like to come in?’

‘I would, I really would,’ Ruby said, puzzled by the less-than-enthusiastic reception. As far as she was concerned, Betty knew nothing about her and Johnnie except that they were friends.

Betty stood back and gestured her in.

It seemed strange walking down the familiar hallway to the back room. Everything looked exactly the same: the wallpaper, the carpet runner, the hallstand by the door.

‘So what have you been doing, Ruby? You left a bit sharpish, leaving everyone wondering …’

‘I’d had enough so I just went. I live down in Southend now.’

‘I know.’

‘How do you know? Did Ray say something? I know he works for Johnnie now.’

‘Do you now …’ she said, more as a loaded statement than a question before continuing, ‘No, it wasn’t your brother. A postcard came here for Johnnie telling him where to find you. But he’s married now, lives in Wanstead with his wife and two children. He married Sadie who used to work with him at the Black Dog. He’s got a good job, a nice car, he’s settled and doing well.’

‘I’m so pleased for him. He was destined to do well, with all his ambitions,’ Ruby said as lightly as she could.

Suddenly it all fell into place.

Sadie. Ruby had never met her but she’d heard all about her from Johnnie. She was the barmaid he worked alongside at the Black Dog, the one he said wouldn’t leave him alone, the one he said had pursued him so relentlessly but he had dismissed categorically. And now he was married to her …

‘I’m pleased he’s happy. He was nice to me when I was having such a bad time, and I remember him fondly … I’m engaged now.’ Ruby held her hand out across the table to show Betty the ring. ‘My life is finally together so I thought it time to see Ma and Nan and make the peace.’

‘Congratulations, Ruby. I hope you’ll both be very happy,’ Betty said, her manner thawing slightly. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do you still like cake?’

Ruby laughed. ‘You remembered.’

Once the conversation started to flow Ruby told Betty about her life after she’d left. Selectively, of course. She didn’t tell her that she’d had a baby that she’d had to give up – Johnnie’s baby – or that she had inherited the hotel where she worked. It was all very general and light.

‘Betty, can you tell me anything about the postcard you said Johnnie got? Only Ray got one as well, and he came and found me. No bad thing, as it happens – it broke the ice – but I don’t think it was meant to be a good thing. I think someone is stirring something but I don’t know who or why.’

‘Hmm. Plain postcard which just said your name and the address of a hotel. Posted in Southend …’ As she said the words so Ruby could see Betty’s brain furiously clicking away. ‘Johnnie went to Southend recently, took Sadie and the boys for a day out. Did he go and see you?’

‘No. I haven’t spoken to Johnnie since before I left,’ Ruby answered confidently. ‘We weren’t friends of long standing, there was no need to keep in touch.’

‘No, of course there wasn’t,’ Betty said with a hint of a smile.

The two women made some light conversation about her husband and the children for a while longer before Ruby decided it was the polite time to leave. She could see she was making Betty feel uncomfortable.

‘It’s been nice to see you again, Betty. Maybe we can catch up again next time I visit.’

Betty smiled as she held the front door open but she didn’t answer.

As Ruby left the house she noticed a green Ford Consul parked just up the road. As she got closer she looked at the registration plate and was sure it was the same car she’d seen Johnnie and his family driving away in. She was so busy looking at the car itself she didn’t notice the man in the driving seat until she was right beside it.

‘Hello, Ruby Red.’

‘Hello, Johnnie from down the street,’ she replied, feeling the familiar thump start up in her chest

‘I don’t want Betty to see us. Cut through the alley and I’ll pick you up by the High Street.’

Before she could answer he quickly drove away without a backward glance.

She stood stock-still watching the car disappear down the road. There was no question in her mind that she should just go back to her own car, get in it and drive away. That was the right thing to do. Johnnie Riordan was a married man with two children, and she was newly engaged to Tony Alfredo. Her head told her to carry on going but her heart said otherwise, and her legs took her straight to the familiar alley.

Johnnie Riordan leaned over and opened the passenger door from the inside and Ruby got in. He quickly pulled away and, without saying anything, drove to the edge of Epping Forest, pulled off the road and tucked the car out of sight of passing traffic under the cover of the trees.

He turned to face her. ‘Well, Red … what can I say? Long time no see.’

‘How about saying that we shouldn’t be here? That you’re a married man with two children and I’m engaged to be married?’

Mentioning the children was hard for Ruby. She wanted to tell him all about Maggie, the beautiful little girl they had made together, but of course she didn’t.

‘You could say that, but …’ he trailed off.

She twisted in her seat to look at him and was surprised to see him looking so very sad.

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I didn’t. I pulled up as you turned into Betty’s gate. Nearly had a heart attack. But anyway, tell me all about yourself,’ he continued. ‘It’s been so long, I’ve often wondered about you.’

‘It’s not been that long … A few days back you were sat on the beach outside my hotel.’

‘That was a stupid thing to do. Crazy. I shocked myself afterwards but it had seemed like a good idea at the time,’ he laughed. ‘I thought I might get a glimpse of you, see how you were doing. I never expected you to all but climb over my legs to get to the bloody water. Dancing in the mud … what were you girls playing at? That was so crazy, I couldn’t believe it was happening.’

Ruby smiled. He still had the ability to make a good joke out of anything. ‘The joy of living at the seaside. I love it there so much. Your wife didn’t take too kindly to it, though.’

‘How did you end up in Southend?’ he asked, but Ruby ignored the question.

‘I came back today for the first time, I was looking for the family but no-one was in. Nosy Norah said Nan’s in Whipps Cross. I was all fired up to walk into the lion’s den and it was empty.’ She laughed.

‘I didn’t know that. Your brothers never said anything.’

‘Why should they?’

‘Come on, stop snapping like a crocodile. I’m not the one in the wrong here. You came to see me however long ago it was to borrow your train fare and that was it. Gone. You were never seen again, not even a postcard. You just disappeared.’

‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I never paid you back.’ She laughed, feeling the old easiness of his company again. ‘And speaking of postcards, Betty told me you got one. Whoever sent it to you, sent one to Ray as well. It can’t be someone who actually knows you because neither of you lives at the old address any longer; it must be someone who knows me and is stirring it.’

‘Did Ray cause a problem?’

‘Long story! He turned up by coincidence at the funeral reception of a very close friend. But it was all smoothed over. A bit of a shadow of himself really.’ She stared at him. ‘Just like you, in fact. Where’s the “I’m going to rule the world” Johnnie gone? Surely marriage can’t be that bad?’

Johnnie Riordan didn’t answer. He simply looked miserable and shook his head.

‘You said you’re engaged?’

‘You didn’t answer my question. Where’s Johnnie Riordan?’

‘I think he died a little when Ruby Red left without a word and never came back and he had to settle for something else that he didn’t want.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t complain though because it was all my own fault. I made an idiot of myself, Ruby Red. I did what Bill Morgan wanted instead of what I wanted. Now he owns me and my life. He chose Sadie and I married her, I work for him, live in one of his houses and drive one of his cars. I don’t have anything that’s mine.’

He leaned across and pulled her towards him gently. She relaxed and let herself fall into his arms as he kissed her fiercely with a passion that ignited everything in her again. She responded eagerly – she just couldn’t help herself – but when he tried to take it further she pushed him away.

‘No … we can’t. You’re married, I’m engaged.’

Reluctantly he pulled away. ‘I know. You can’t imagine how much I wish we weren’t.’

‘There’s no going back, Johnnie, and we shouldn’t be trying. It’s wrong – you know it is – and neither of us is like that.’

He loosened his tie and rolled the window down, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything.

‘We’d better go back,’ Ruby whispered gently. ‘If you could drop me somewhere nearby. My car’s back in Elsmere.’

‘What car have you got?’

‘Morris Minor’.

‘Hmm, not bad for a woman.’

Ruby picked up her handbag and playfully swung at him with it. The heat of the moment had passed.

‘Can I see you again? Just so that we can catch up.’

‘I’ve already said, you’re bloody well married; I’m engaged to be married. It’s playing with fire …’

‘I know. Next Friday, I’ve got to go see someone up in Essex to collect some rents for Bill Morgan. I’ll be with you at lunchtime. Shall I come to the hotel?’

‘OK.’ The word was out of her mouth without her even realising it.

Ruby looked at her watch and decided she still had enough time to go and see if her mother was back, so when Johnnie dropped her off she walked through the alleyway. But just as she went to turn onto the street she saw her mother and a man walking down towards the house. He had his arm around her and she was leaning her head on his shoulder. She was just about to say something when she noticed that her mother was crying. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed loudly. As they got to the house Nosy Norah came out of her gate.

‘What’s happened, Sarah? Is it Elsie?’

‘Yes. She passed away this morning,’ the man said. ‘We didn’t know until we got there.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, my love. Come on in and I’ll make you a nice sweet cuppa for the shock. Your Ruby was here just now looking for you,’ she heard Norah say.

‘Ruby? Do you mean my Ruby?’

‘Yes, dear. Very elegant, she looked, all grown up and driving a car. I saw her getting out of it. Mind, I didn’t know it was her until she came knocking.’

‘What did she want?’ the man beside Sarah asked, his strong Scottish accent telling Ruby he was indeed Donald the new husband. Her stepfather.

‘She said she was looking for you,’ Norah said. ‘I told her you were visiting at Whipps with Elsie. I thought she might go there.’

‘Well, she left it too sodding late if she did,’ Sarah cried.

Ruby took a step back, unsure what to do. It was an all-or-nothing moment; she knew if she turned away she would never go back there again.

She stepped out and walked towards them.

‘Mum.’

Sarah, Donald and Norah all turned towards her.

‘If you want me to go I will. I’m so sorry about Nan …’ She felt her eyes prickling and then suddenly two big fat tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry …’ she sobbed.

‘And so you should be,’ her mother said without moving.

It was Norah who made the first move. She stepped forward and put her arm around Ruby’s waist.

‘Come on now, dearie, no need for that. Elsie wouldn’t want you crying over her any more than she’d want you all fighting.’ She looked directly at Sarah.

‘Shall we all go inside?’ the man beside Sarah said calmly.

The deep timbre of his voice suited him perfectly. He was tall and broad, with tanned leathery skin that told of a life working outdoors. His hair was mottled black and grey, as was the full beard and moustache that framed his jaw. At first glance the man looked intimidating but Ruby had already noticed the kindly dark green eyes that looked at her sympathetically. She took to him immediately.

As Sarah turned on her heel and walked up to the front door, so Donald McIver stood back and motioned for Ruby to follow, leaving Norah standing alone on the pavement. Ruby turned and smiled and mouthed ‘Thank you’ before walking cautiously into the once-familiar house that used to be her home.

It wasn’t very different from when she’d left. The runner in the hall was new, as was the stair carpet, and the paintwork looked brighter, but the biggest difference was that Ruby didn’t feel intimidated as she walked down the hall towards the back of the house. The constant niggle of fear that had always been there when she entered the house was gone.

‘I’m sorry about Nan … I just don’t know what else to say.’

‘Well, you should be sorry. She missed you and now she’s gone, not knowing if you were dead or alive.’ She looked Ruby up and down. ‘You look like you’ve done all right for yourself so you could start by telling us where you’ve been.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on … By the way, I’m Donald.’ The man held his hand out to Ruby and she took it gratefully. She could see he was going to be a good mediator between her and her mother.

‘I’m Ruby, though you know that already,’ she smiled, then looked back to her mother, who was pulling out the chairs from the familiar dining table.

‘Didn’t Ray tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘About me?’

Ruby stared into her mother’s eyes and then laughed humourlessly. ‘He didn’t tell you. Same old Ray. He found out where I was living and came to see me a few months ago. I thought he’d changed, I really did!’

‘I don’t believe you. Ray would have told me. You’re just trying to put the blame on him because you got here too late for your nan.’

‘OK, try this for size. Donald is your husband now. He’s a gardener, works with you at the big house, Ray had an accident and married his nurse, Bobbie’s in lodgings and Artie’s been looking after Nan since he got the sack from the butcher’s shop … Oh, and Ray and Bobbie have to behave themselves at work now. No more dodgy dealings.’

‘How do you know all that?’ Sarah asked suspiciously.

‘I told you, Ray found out where I was and came to visit. I just thought he’d tell you. Shall we all sit down and have a talk? I’d like to clear the air, I really would.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do, won’t we, Sarah? Life’s too short for grudges,’ Donald said purposefully.

‘Yes, Donald.’ Her mother looked at him and smiled, and Ruby could feel the tears prickling away again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother look content.

Twenty-Seven

Ruby was distracted to the point of losing track of what she should be doing. Her brain was spinning constantly, she couldn’t sleep and she was losing weight, but what she did know was that Gracie was worried about her and that Tony was angry with her.

However much she tried to explain her feelings about her grandmother’s untimely death to him, he simply couldn’t understand how she could be so upset over someone whom she hadn’t seen for so many years, and then he’d compounded her misery when he’d told her it would be for the best if she didn’t rekindle family relationships. She’d been especially surprised at that, considering how close he was to his own parents.

But she tried to be understanding and make allowances for his behaviour because she could see why he was frustrated. At a time when they should have been happily planning their wedding together she was having trouble even thinking about it, let alone doing anything.

They were newly engaged yet she had already lost interest, and for this he blamed her reconnection with her family.

An element of that was true. Ruby was upset that she had missed seeing her grandmother for the last time by just a few hours and she hated herself for it. She hated herself for not going straight to the hospital when Nosy Norah had told her that her grandmother was there, but most of all she hated herself for having absolutely no willpower when it came to Johnnie Riordan. She had betrayed Tony and he had betrayed his wife, and it was wrong.

‘But, Ruby, how were you to know about your nan?’ Gracie asked impatiently as they talked about it while going through the booking forms for the new season. ‘Did Norah tell you she was dying? No. Did Ray let you know she was in hospital? No, and he should have done – and, yes, he should have told her he’d seen you – but none of it happened and none of it can be changed so stop feeling so bleeding guilty about everything.’

Ruby leaned back and closed her eyes to try to ease the tiredness caused by lack of sleep that was overwhelming her.

‘I should have gone to see them all after Ray came here. I’d built it into such a big thing, but I was sixteen when I left, a kid who didn’t know better. Now I do. I was such an idiot. I should have gone back …’

Gracie looked at her and shook her head in frustration. ‘You’re telling me all this, but I know there’s more to all this guilt than your nan dying. So what is it you aren’t you telling me this time?’

‘There’s nothing,’ Ruby said vehemently. ‘Just leave it alone. You keep going on and on all the time and I just want to work in peace. Our bookings are down and I have to think about getting the decorating done.’

‘I thought the decorating was going to be done early next spring?’

‘Yes, it was, but Tony said that’s too late. It needs to be started right away, then we can get the carpets down.’

‘Oh, bugger Tony and what Tony said. This is your hotel … and I bet he doesn’t know that yet, either!’

‘That’s not the point. Anyway, he’s coming over later so I want all this paperwork done first. We’re going to discuss the wedding. And he wants to schedule the engagement party. He wants a big fancy do at Garons in the High Street.’

Gracie huffed loudly. ‘Oh, come off it, Rube. You’re not still going to go through with this fiasco, are you?’

‘Of course I am. I agreed to marry him – how can I possibly call it off almost as soon as it’s happened?’ As she said the words so her face crumpled and she started to laugh and cry at the same time. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. You’re right, this is one big mess and I don’t know what to do. Why do I get myself into these situations, eh?’

She was standing at the reception, leaning on her elbows with her head in her hands, pretending to study the columns of figures in front of her.

Gracie put her arm over her shoulders. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s go upstairs. I’ll just tell Edith she can be in charge for a while. That’ll please her no end. She doesn’t often get the chance to be out front and scare the guests.’

Ruby laughed. ‘She is a bit of a battleaxe, isn’t she? But she works hard.’

Making sure the door to the flat was properly locked this time, Gracie made a pot of tea, then sat quietly beside Ruby and waited. It wasn’t long before she told Gracie everything about bumping into Johnnie and what followed.

‘He said he’s coming to see me on Friday, just so that we can catch up, and then put it all behind us. A sort of Last Chance Saloon visit.’

‘Catch up, my eye. He wants more than a catch-up else he wouldn’t have been sat on the beach outside here looking like an abandoned puppy dog.’

‘He did look a bit sad, didn’t he?’ Ruby cracked a smile. ‘But that wasn’t because of me, it was because of that silly Sadie.’

‘Ruby, Ruby, listen to me. I can guess how you feel about Johnnie just by listening to you. You can’t marry Tony, you can’t. It’s not fair. Not that I care about him, of course – you’ll be well rid – but if he ever finds out … Honestly? You are playing with fire. You’ll not only get burned, you’ll be bloody torched,’ Gracie said.

‘But there’s no future for me and Johnnie. He’s married with kids, and you’ve seen the wife. And married is married in my book. Adultery isn’t for me. I just feel this pull to him … OK, dammit, I want to see him just once more, then that’s it: he can have Sadie and I’ll have Tony.’

‘First love and all that shit, it never really goes away,’ Gracie said.

‘Hmm. Not quite how I’d put it … But I’d almost forgotten about him. I’d inherited a bloody hotel, I was starting to feel content with Tony, and I know Maggie’s happy even if she isn’t mine, as such. Johnnie was just a memory …’ She clenched her fists. ‘I could kill the bastard who sent those postcards and disrupted my life. Everything was fine until then.’ She stood up and walked out onto the balcony. ‘Until Leonora died.’

Gracie walked out and joined her but this time she kept an eye on the door, even though she knew it was locked. She didn’t trust Tony Alfredo one bit.

Ruby reached for the binoculars and looked out over the sea. A storm was threatening and she watched the small boats bobbing about like toys in a bath. She loved living up here, at the very top of a building that was right on the seafront; she didn’t want to move, even if it was only a few doors down. She couldn’t do it. Thamesview was hers.

‘Well, I think whoever it was who sent the cards did you a great big favour, even if that wasn’t what they meant to do,’ Gracie interrupted her thoughts. ‘It’s brought it all out into the open. You don’t love Tony and you shouldn’t even be considering marrying him. He’s got a dark side Rube, I can smell it when he’s around. I know you think I’m mean but it’s not just that I don’t like him, I don’t trust him. There’s something bad there.’

‘That’s not fair! Tony’s a nice man. It’s not his fault I’m so complicated. But the question is still, why did whoever it was send those postcards? Who knew about both Ray and Johnnie? I mean, Ray’s my brother but no one knew about me and Johnnie.’

The two of them ticked names off on their fingers, trying to narrow down the list.

‘It had to be someone who knew where they both lived and that you were here.’ Gracie frowned as she tried to think it out. ‘There can’t be that many. The family in London didn’t know you were in Southend. People in Southend thought you were from Melton. People in Melton thought you were in London. How funny that is!’ she laughed. ‘The only ones who knew it all, especially about Johnnie, are the Wheatons and me.’

‘It definitely wouldn’t be Uncle George or Aunty Babs, and it’s not you …’ Ruby screwed her eyes up and suddenly her hand flew up to her mouth. ‘I know who it was. Oh God, I bet I bloody well know who it was …’

‘Well, tell me then.’

‘Yardley the driver. It has to be him. He’d met Ray and Johnnie when they went to Melton, he drove the car and heard all the conversations that went on in there; and he hates me.’

‘But how would he know the addresses of Ray and Johnnie?’ Gracie frowned. ‘Mind you, they were both out of date. It was just chance that Ray had gone to visit your mum that day and she never got to see it.’

‘I bet Aunty Babs has everything written down somewhere. She is so efficient at things like that. He could easily find that sort of information if he wanted it. They trust him and he can do whatever he likes.’

‘But why do you think he hates you? I don’t understand.’

‘He just does. I can’t explain right now. He’s strange and I think he thought I was taking his place somehow. Oh, I don’t know,’ Ruby said, unsure if she was trying to convince Gracie or herself. ‘If it was him then I think it’s probably because he was having a stir. I don’t think it was sinister.’ She sat with her face buried in her hands. She wanted to confide in Gracie but she couldn’t. She had to talk to Babs first.

‘I wish I’d seen one of the cards. He’s semi-illiterate – I’d have recognised his weird writing anywhere. Bugger it.’

‘Do you think he’s dangerous? Do you think he knows who Maggie is?’

‘Don’t say things like that, please. I’ll talk to Aunty Babs about it. I just have to get the order of things straight before I fire everything up. Another couple of days won’t hurt.’

‘And what about Johnnie? Are you going to put him off as well? Mr Married Man.’

‘Gracie! You’re not my mother! I’ll do what I decide to do, about Johnnie, about Tony, about Yardley, about Nan’s funeral … There. That’s how much I’ve got going on, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.’

Gracie smiled. ‘Good to see you’ve still got some gumption about you, girl!’

Derek Yardley was once again maniacally polishing and buffing the Vauxhall to within an inch of its life. He saw Babs Wheaton look out of the window that overlooked the garage and was certain that he was being watched. He didn’t like it one bit. In fact, he was feeling very scared. He’d often fretted about being invisible, but now it seemed that she was watching his every move, checking up on him, asking him questions. He was getting increasingly paranoid, wondering if Ruby had said anything to them.

Were they watching him because of Maggie? Did they think he would actually touch a child, their child? Did they believe Ruby Blakeley’s story? The questions kept whirring repetitively in his head. He’d never done anything else wrong, never, but now his life was going to end because of that one stupid incident so long ago.

He was scared, but he was also offended because it wasn’t true. Or not true in the way she saw it. Yes, he had tried to kiss her and touch her, but he hadn’t expected her to mind. He had thought she liked him as much as he liked her.

At the age of twelve Ruby had been clever and pretty, and knew far more than he. He would watch how she behaved with her friends, especially with Keith, the lad from the greengrocer’s, and he would want to be out there with her, chasing through the fields and racing bicycles.

He’d watched as the mousy ten-year-old evacuee had turned into a lively, amusing girl with a wit and wisdom way beyond her years, and it was about then that he’d stopped seeing her as a child and thought of her as something more. He had sat up in his flat fantasising about her and imagining what it would be like to have a relationship with her, to have sex with her.

He had liked her so much and had wanted her so badly, but then when she rejected him the feelings had quickly turned to a hatred that was coupled with the fear of losing everything he had with the Wheatons.

As Yardley was buffing the car and thinking, he saw Babs Wheaton look out of a different window. He couldn’t think what to do. He was scared witless and convinced it was only a matter of time before he lost his job, his home and his standing in the village as the doc’s driver. His life.

He carried on polishing and did his best to look unconcerned. After a few minutes he put the dusters away and he did what he had done so many times before when he was stressed and knew he wouldn’t be needed for a few hours. He got his beloved pushbike out of the garage, wheeled it to the end of the drive and then cycled hard and fast to the woods between Melton and the next village and then made his way to the location of his old shelter, hidden deep in the woods where no one ever ventured. He had lived there for so many years it was his security blanket and the only place where he could always clear his head of the crushing headaches that he suffered under stress and think clearly.

Although basic, his makeshift den was reasonably weatherproof, with protection from the canopy of the trees above and the well-weathered roof and walls of mud mixed with moss and layered onto crossed branches. Well hidden, miles away from any public access in the densest part of the woods, and meticulously blending into the surroundings, it was visited by no one. Whenever he went there he’d tidy up and make sure it was ready for his next visit. He’d sweep dry leaves into his makeshift mattress to refill it, gather some fallen branches for his fire, add some more mud to the walls and ceiling, and renew the covering foliage. He’d even got a couple of raggedy old blankets, an eiderdown and a pillow, which he covered in an old tarpaulin every time he left. Each time he visited he took something new with him to leave behind. This time it was a battered old saucepan that he’d bought at the church jumble sale. He never slept there any more but he had to keep it up to scratch. Just in case.

The den was his security blanket and he couldn’t imagine a life without knowing it was there waiting for him.

Once his chores were done and he was satisfied he lay back on his mattress and waited for his headache to clear. Then he started to formulate a plan.

Twenty-Eight

Tony Alfredo’s face was screwed up with anger. Ruby had never seen him like that before, and as he marched back and forth across the room with his fists clenched she could see exactly what Gracie meant. There was a darkness about him that was suddenly frightening. He barely resembled the handsome and rangy Anthony Alfredo, with his sexy Roman colouring and charming smile.

He reminded her of Ray.

‘Are you telling me that you own the Thamesview? And you never said anything?’

‘Well, yes, but I don’t see what difference that makes … You knew I worked here and I still do. Why would you mind?’ Ruby asked.

‘Why would I mind?’ he asked nastily. ‘Are you mad? You keep something like that from me and ask why I mind? We shouldn’t have secrets. I don’t have secrets from you, you know everything about me. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Maybe because I knew you’d be like this. Oh, I don’t know, it just wasn’t important so I never got round to it,’ Ruby said with a shrug that seemed to incense Tony even more.

‘Do you really not understand? I am your fiancé. We were planning our future together as a couple and you didn’t think something like this would be important? I don’t believe you. This has to have been a deliberate attempt to undermine me.’

‘It wasn’t, Tony, I promise.’

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘You knew I wanted you to give up working there as soon as you became my wife, and now I find out you actually own the place.’

‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Tony, but I don’t understand why it makes any difference. I’ve not got control of it, anyway. Uncle George and Aunty Babs have that for five years. What I do is just a job, like I said.’

‘That’s not legal. He can’t have control of something that’s yours. He’s not your guardian.’

‘It was Aunt Leonora’s wish. Her will was very specific about what she wanted.’

‘That doesn’t matter if it’s not enforceable in law. I need to see the will.’

From being apologetic for the situation Ruby was suddenly angry. ‘This isn’t to do with you, this is family business.’

He laughed nastily. ‘They’re not your family. Your family live in the dirty backstreets of East London, not in a bloody great house in the country like the Wheatons. You’re getting a bit too big for your boots for my liking.’

Ruby looked down at her hands. She couldn’t believe he’d thrown such a low blow.

‘I don’t care what you say, it’s still Wheaton family business.’

‘No, from now on it is my business. When we’re married I’ll be responsible for the hotel. It’ll be ours in law.’ He stopped marching about and looked out of the window. He didn’t look at her. ‘You said there’s a reserve fund – how much money is in it?’

‘I don’t know. Tony, stop it. I don’t want to talk about it. You’re making mountains out of molehills. Can we just talk about the flat and the wedding?’

‘The flat’s irrelevant now that we know you own a great big hotel. How inadequate do you think that makes me feel, my wife having more money than me?’ He held his arm out and pointed around the room. ‘I’m showing you a poky little flat owned by my parents, and you’re laughing behind your hand because you own a whole damned hotel.’

He had started to pace again, his shoes clicking rhythmically on the stiff, brown-patterned linoleum, which was laid throughout all the main areas of the flat. Ruby hated it; in fact, she hated the flat, which was dingy and old-fashioned. The only thing going for it was the view, but there was no balcony.

As he paced he puffed angrily on a cigarette, despite usually being only a social smoker.

‘Tony, I’m leaving now. I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down. I don’t like you being like this. You’re reminding me of Ray when he used to rant and rave.’

She picked up her handbag and scarf and started walking towards the door, but in an instant Tony was blocking the way with his body.

‘You can’t go and leave all this hanging in the air.’

‘Get out of my way, Tony. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

She tried to get past him but he was across the room in a flash with his arms out blocking the doorway. ‘You’re not going anywhere. We have to talk this through.’

‘Yes I am, I’m going home. I don’t want a scene. We can talk tomorrow.’

His hand shot out reactively and gripped her around the neck, but just as quickly he let go.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I love you, Ruby. You can’t do this to me …’

‘I don’t think you do love me, not really. I’m sorry, Tony, I can’t marry you now, not after this.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘The engagement is off.’

She pulled the diamond ring from her finger, but rather than give it to him she laid it gently on the utility sideboard his parents had left in the flat. Her heart was thumping with fear but she tried to keep her voice calm. Anything to get out of there and away. The fear was rising in her, just as it had when Ray was attacking and trying to control her. Suddenly she saw the handsome and eligible Tony Alfredo as a threat and she was horrified.

‘I’m really sorry but if you don’t let me go I’ll call the police,’ she said as calmly as she could as she ducked under his outstretched arm and out of the room, trying to pull the door shut behind her, but she pulled it onto his fingers, which were gripping the edge of the doorframe, making him yelp with pain.

Ruby had known Tony Alfredo and his parents for over five years, most of the time she’d lived at the Thamesview, and although she knew he could often be overly self-assured and occasionally bumptious, she saw that as a trait he had to have to get on in the legal profession. He could also be loud and intimidating when he was crossed, but it had never once occurred to her that Tony would hurt her. Despite being indulged at every turn in his life, Tony had still been brought up in the God-fearing Italian way, and he continued to follow most of the rigid rules of life that came from a religious upbringing.

She was certain he was a good man at heart but his reaction to her inheritance had been out of all proportion, and she knew she could never marry someone who she could not confide in about Maggie one day.

She had just opened the door at the top of the stairs when Tony threw the sitting-room door wide open and flew at her like a madman.

‘You’re not going until this is resolved. I’m not letting you call it off. I’m not.’

He grabbed her by the wrist and tried to pull her back into the room, but she instinctively pulled away and to her horror she heard a crunch.

‘You’ve broken my bloody arm,’ she stated, more in shock than pain.

He let go as if he’d been stung, but as she put her foot on the stair he caught her around the waist in a bear hug and tried to swing her round. The pain was excruciating but still she fought. Her instincts told her to get out of there as quickly as she could. As he loosened his grip she fell forward, landing on her chest on the upright at the top of the banister; he tried to pull her back into the sitting room, but as they fought she lunged away back onto the landing, determined to get out whatever the pain.

‘Stop it, Ruby. I’m telling you, stop. I just want to talk. You’re not going, you’re not—’

‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you. I want to get out of here and away from you. You’re a maniac,’ she screamed in his face.

Next thing she knew, his hands were grabbing at her neck, pulling her towards him, and he was trying to kiss her.

‘I love you, Ruby, don’t do this to me, I love you …’

Stumbling backwards, she lost her footing and as she started to fall back over the stairs, so Tony let go of her.

Barely conscious at the bottom of the steep stairs, she heard footsteps running down. As she cowered she sensed Tony stepping over her and running out of the door. Instead of checking to see if she was OK he’d bolted.

It took all her willpower to get to the front door, which Tony had left open in his panic to flee; she crawled out onto the pavement. Everything ached but she knew she had to stay conscious.

‘Help,’ she shouted as loud as she could. ‘Someone help me …’

‘What’s happened to you, dear?’

Ruby looked up and through the mist of semi-consciousness saw an elderly woman standing over her, looking bewildered.

‘I need an ambulance,’ she said before she passed out from a mixture of pain and relief.

When Ruby came round the second time she was out of post-operative care and in a hospital bed on a general ward with only a hazy memory of how she got there.

A passing nurse stopped and smiled. ‘You look better already, would you like a cup of tea? The trolley will be here in a minute.’

‘What happened to me? I can’t really remember.’

‘You had an accident, took a fall down the stairs. The doctors will be doing rounds later this morning and they’ll explain to you.’

‘I’m in such pain. My chest hurts so much.’

‘I’ll ask the doctor to prescribe something for the pain but I’m here to have a look at your dressings.’

The nurse pulled the covers back and examined her closely. When she touched Ruby’s ribs she yelped in pain.

‘I’m sorry but I do have to check everything is as it should be. You’ll feel better once you’ve had a wash and you’re wearing your own nightdress.’

‘Does anyone know I’m here?’ Ruby whispered, unable to raise her voice for the pain.

‘Your fiancé was here last night while you were in theatre. He came as soon as he heard about your accident.’

‘I don’t have a fiancé any more.’

‘Maybe the doctor got it wrong. Is there anyone you’d like us to inform?’

‘Yes, my business partner, Gracie McCabe. She lives at the same address as me. Do you want the telephone number?’

‘Yes, please.’ The nurse pulled a piece of paper out of her uniform pocket and wrote the number down. ‘I’ll go and ring her now. You’re going to need some essentials brought in. I think you’ll be staying in for a while with those injuries.’

‘Thank you.’ Through hazy eyes Ruby watched the nurse as she walked away. In her crisp blue uniform with starched collar and cuffs, a white belt and a pert white hat pinned to her hair, she was the epitome of how Ruby had once dreamed of being herself.

Before going back to Walthamstow; before Johnnie; before Maggie.

Later in the day Babs Wheaton turned up at the hospital, along with Gracie. George wasn’t with them but once again he had been able to use his influence as a doctor to make sure they were able to see Ruby outside of normal hours. He had also got her moved to a small side-room where she was the only patient and had some privacy.

Gracie had phoned the Wheatons as soon as she’d heard, and they’d met in the foyer of the hospital and gone to the ward together.

Babs was calm and collected on the outside, but Gracie could see she was distraught.

‘Do you know what happened?’ Babs asked.

‘Only what I told you on the phone. The hospital rang me to say Ruby had had an accident and an operation. I wondered why she didn’t come home last night but thought she might have stayed at Tony’s parents’ place and forgotten to tell me.’

‘Is he here?’

‘I hope not, the creep. I can’t help but think he’s behind this. I was only telling Rube yesterday what I thought of him. Dark and dangerous.’

Babs Wheaton’s head spun round. ‘Is that what you think of him?’

‘Can’t stand the bloke, but Ruby says she’s going to marry him. She’s mad.’

‘I see.’

They walked quickly along the corridor to the stairs that would take them up to the first floor.

‘It’s in here,’ Gracie said.

They turned into the ward and were pointed in the direction of Ruby’s room.

‘Sweet Jesus, Ruby, you look like you’ve been bare-knuckle fighting,’ Gracie said by way of a hello. ‘What happened?’

‘I fell down the stairs at the Alfredo flat.’ Ruby looked at Gracie, willing her not to ask too many questions. She felt much more alert and she could remember what had happened.

‘Where was Tony?’

‘He left. I called off the engagement.’

Gracie crossed her arms and said nothing. She’d understood immediately what Ruby was trying to tell her.

‘Did Yardley drive you down here?’ Ruby asked, as if it was just a casual conversation question.

‘No, I drove myself. I didn’t want Yardley to bring me. Actually, I want to ask you about him – but another time … when you’re better. Oh, Ruby, I couldn’t believe it when Gracie telephoned me. We were so scared.’

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ Ruby said cautiously. ‘It’s about Yardley …’

‘Not now, love. You need to sleep and I need to go and have a talk to the doctor. I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘But it’s important. You have to know …’

But Babs was already out of the door.

Ruby closed her eyes until Babs had moved away from the bed, then she forced them open again.

‘Johnnie is coming tomorrow and I can’t contact him.’

‘Ah! Oh, well, I’ll deal with him when he gets there. Tell me about this accident. It was Tony, wasn’t it? He pushed you down the stairs, didn’t he? I’ll kill him. I will …’

Unable to face the inevitable questions, Ruby closed her eyes and feigned sleep. Her concern was more with Yardley than with Tony at that moment, but then the pain relief took over and in a few moments she was snoring quietly.

Twenty-Nine

Derek Yardley was pacing around his tiny flat like a captive wildcat as he tried to figure out what was happening. Everything was strangely different … George Wheaton was ensconced in a busy surgery and Babs Wheaton had taken the car to go somewhere on her own. Although she sometime drove George if they were going out socially she rarely went out in the car on her own. Yardley hated it when she took his precious car away at the best of times, but this time he was petrified that she’d gone off to talk to Ruby Blakeley. He was so worried he’d been physically sick several times during the day. As he paced so his headache started again.

He took the bucket down to rinse at the outside tap at the back of the garage and then, trying to look casual, he walked round to the front to see if there was any sign of her coming back. Swinging the bucket he stood by the hedge waiting and wondering if this particular day was going to be the one when the Wheatons threw him out.

As he stood there, moving from foot to foot, Mrs Alderton, a teacher from the village school, came into view. She was walking along holding little Maggie Wheaton by the hand.

Word travelled fast in a village and everyone except Derek Yardley had soon heard the news about Ruby Blakeley being in an accident. Mrs Alderton had phoned to offer to look after Maggie until Babs Wheaton returned but as George wasn’t doing any house calls because he had no car, he was free to look after Maggie himself. All the teacher needed to do was drop her off.

‘Hello, Yardley,’ the elderly teacher said as she walked up the path with Maggie.

‘Mrs Alderton,’ he nodded in acknowledgment.

‘I’ve brought Maggie home. Is Dr Wheaton around?’

‘He’s busy,’ Yardley answered in his usual taciturn way.

‘Right, well I’ve got to rush back so here she is. Delivered as promised. If you’ll just take her to the doctor … The woman laughed and looked down at Maggie. ‘Mr Yardley will take you to your father and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

As she walked off Yardley stood there feeling ambushed. The last thing he needed was to have to take the child in to the doctor. He needed to be there on the drive, waiting for Mrs Wheaton to get back.

As he cussed to himself so the little girl looked up at him and smiled. He looked down at Maggie Wheatley and stared. As she continued smiling, waiting for him to reciprocate, so he continued staring.

Derek Yardley had never been bright, but because he had spent so much time alone, he had a brilliant memory and well-honed instincts. He’d had to be alert and cunning when he lived in the woods in order to survive, and although he no longer needed those skills in quite the same way, they had remained. He didn’t need paper and pen to remember things, to work them out. His brain could do all that all by itself.

Ping, it went. And he knew.

He’d never really looked at the child before. He’d ignored her because he resented her very being – she was just a little girl who was there – but as she looked up at him his brain collated all the information and got a result. A good result, in chronological order.

He knew.

Ruby had gone back to London, aged fifteen, and then revisited the Wheatons a few months later with a man in tow. Johnnie Riordan. Yardley remembered it well. He’d felt the electricity between them and had been angry that she was responding to that man but had rejected him.

He’d been even more angry when Johnnie had tried to tap him for information about the Wheatons. Then three months later Ruby had turned up and stayed for a couple of weeks, tucked away of sight of everyone. But he’d known she was there. He’d always made a point of knowing everything.

Then the Wheatons had given him an extra day off and whisked Ruby away, with Babs driving.

Six months later the Wheatons went off in the car again, Babs driving again, and came back with a baby they were adopting.

Johnnie Riordan came sniffing around for information …

Ruby Blakeley threatened him with his life if he looked at Maggie.

Well, of course she did. Maggie was the illegitimate offspring of Ruby Blakeley and Johnnie Riordan. Just one look and any fool could see that!

He looked at Maggie again and saw both parents in her face.

‘Uncle George is busy at the moment but I’m going out on my bicycle. Would you like a ride on the handlebars? Down the lane and back?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the little girl grinned up at him.

‘George? Are you there, George?’

‘I’m in the garden,’ he shouted.

Babs went through and kissed him on the top of the head.

‘How’s Ruby?’

‘Not very well at all at the moment, but she’ll be OK. She took a nasty tumble and has some bad injuries. I think that Tony pushed her but she won’t say. I’ll have to leave it to Gracie to get to the root of it all. Ruby’s more likely to tell her than us.’ Babs looked around. ‘Where’s Maggie?’

‘Still at Mrs Alderton’s. She hasn’t brought her back yet.’

‘That’s strange. I’d better ring her.’

After she’d spoken to the teacher Babs ran back through to George.

‘Mrs Alderton said she brought Maggie back nearly two hours ago and left her with Yardley. He told her you were busy. He said he’d take her to you.’

They looked at each other, both immediately aware of the possible implications.

‘Maybe he’s around somewhere. I’ll go and call. He wouldn’t do anything to our Maggie. He wouldn’t. We’ve done everything for him,’ Babs said, trying to convince herself.

‘You look all around and if he’s not nearby then I’ll go in and call the police. Two hours is far too long,’ George replied.

Babs Wheaton’s voice got louder and louder as she called Maggie and checked everywhere possible. There was just no sign of her or of Derek Yardley.

‘Mrs Wheaton …’

Babs turned to see Mrs Alderton standing on the path in tears. ‘I don’t understand it. I left her with Derek Yardley. Two of the village children were playing out and they said they saw Derek Yardley on his bike with Maggie on the handlebars. He was heading out of Melton that way.’ She pointed in the direction. ‘They said Maggie waved at them.’

‘George!’ Babs screamed. ‘George. She’s with Yardley. Tell the police he went through the village with her on his bicycle.’

Suddenly all hell broke loose in the village, with residents coming out of their shops and houses as word spread that Derek Yardley had abducted little Maggie Wheaton, the doctor’s daughter. Search parties were organised and the evening dusk was lit up with the glow of flickering torches.

‘What do we tell Ruby?’ Babs asked. ‘We have to tell her. Supposing something bad happens? She’ll never forgive us.’

‘Ring Gracie. She’s the only person who knows about Maggie.’

‘George, I feel so sick. What if he does something to her? She’s only five years old. She trusts him. I knew something was wrong about him, but I didn’t do anything.’

Yardley skidded his bike to a halt at the side of the road and jumped off. Then he lifted Maggie off and stood her on the ground.

‘Do you want to see my den, Maggie? It’s a secret. No one else knows it’s here. We have to follow the marks high up on the trees. I put them there a long time ago so I could always find my way there and back again.’

He pushed his bike by the handlebars as far into the wood as it would go, then tucked it under some heavy foliage; he made sure it was well camouflaged, then took the little girl by the hand.

‘Why have you got a den?’

‘So that I have somewhere to be all alone. I like to be alone.’

‘I want to see Mummy. She’ll be home by now.’

‘It’s just a little bit further, come on,’ Yardley sighed, and tugged at her hand, pulling her along roughly.

‘I’m scared. It’s too dark in here. I want to go home.’ The child started to cry quietly.

‘Oh, stop whining, will you? You’re just like your mother.’

He felt the child freeze. When she looked up at him, again he saw Ruby and Johnnie in her face.

He had the ultimate revenge in mind.

No one would ever find her in the woods, and the bitch Ruby would spend the rest of her life regretting the way she’d treated Derek Yardley. She had turned him down and then had sex with Johnnie Riordan. She’d ruined his life with the Wheatons.

It would serve her right.

‘Come on, don’t you dare try and run off without me because you’ll get lost in the woods and then you’ll die.’

As the child wailed, so he snatched her up under his arm and carried her to his secret hideaway.

‘Ruby, I’ve got something to tell you.’ Gracie had rushed back to the hospital the moment she’d put the phone down.

‘Did Johnnie ring about coming down? Did you tell him where I was?’

‘No, it’s nothing like that. Ruby, I’m sorry but Babs telephoned me a little while ago. It looks as if Yardley might have abducted Maggie. They’re both missing.’

It took a few moments for the words to impact on her still-befuddled brain. She tried to sit up but couldn’t.

‘Abducted?’

‘He took her off on his bike a few hours ago and hasn’t come back. Babs said he’d been acting strangely. She’s beside herself. Everyone is—’

‘Oh God, this is all my fault,’ was all Ruby said before she started coughing and bringing up blood.

Then she was rushed off to intensive care.

By the time they reached the den Maggie had calmed down a bit and even looked a bit interested.

Yardley pulled the tarpaulin from his bed of leaves.

‘Look, this is where I lie when I have really bad headaches. I cover myself in these blankets to keep warm. I’ll make a fire in a minute, but first come and sit with me.’

‘No. I want to go home to Mummy and Daddy. Please?’

‘No. Not yet. We’ve got to stay here tonight now. There’s wild animals out there who’ll eat us up. It’s much too dangerous to try and get back.’

Maggie wailed in fear.

‘Shut up … just shut up. I don’t want to listen to that whining any more.’

He took hold of her, forced her to lie down and covered her with the dirty smelly blankets.

Again he looked at her face. She wasn’t making a sound but tears were spilling over from her eyes, she was shivering with cold and he could see she was terrified. She turned onto her side and tucked herself into the foetal position with the eiderdown up round her neck.

‘Don’t move from there. I’m just getting some wood for a fire,’ he ordered her. He went around the back of his den and pulled some ready-cut small logs round to the flattened area outside and piled them up. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a box of matches but as he struck a match he saw Maggie Wheaton’s face in the glow. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at him in terror.

Her expression shocked him and the fog started to clear from his head. Suddenly he realised exactly what he’d done. Because he was angry he’d taken a small child and scared the wits out of her.

He stared at her but this time instead of seeing Ruby and Johnnie he saw George and Babs Wheaton: the people who had been so good and kind to him; the people who had rescued him and given him a life away from the den. They were the ones he was hurting and he couldn’t do it to them.

He jumped up and went back outside. Leaning against a tree, he breathed deeply, trying to get some air into the bottom of his sickly lungs as he’d been taught. It helped clear his head a little and lessened the pain of his excruciating headache.

At the same time a second plan started to form. It would be too easy to let Ruby off scot-free, and if he was going to be homeless and jobless he would need money, and he wanted it from Ruby Blakeley. The one who started the whole thing. The one who had caused his house of cards to topple.

‘Come on then, little Maggie. This was just a game. Let’s go back. But you did like my den, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she sniffed hopefully.

‘Good. You mustn’t tell anyone about it, though. Now, we’ll go and get my bike and take you home but I have to go to the phone box. We have another game to play first. It’s called How Loud Can You Scream?’

‘What about the wild animals? Won’t they get us?’

‘No. I’ve got special powers, but I’ll carry you, just to be sure.’

Derek Yardley carried the little girl to where he had left his bike. He placed her on the handlebars and then went a longer way out of the dense woods so Maggie would lose her bearings. He didn’t want anyone ever finding his secret place.

After propping his bike up against a tree he put the girl down, took her hand and cautiously crossed the road to the layby that was at the entrance to a quiet lane, where there was a line of tied cottages and a phone box.

‘I want you to sit on the grass right there and don’t move until I call you. And then I want you to scream really loudly down the phone to your mummy.’

He smiled at the irony and fumbled in his pocket for his diary where he had written all the details he had for Ruby.

He dialled the number for the Thamesview Hotel.

‘I want to speak to Ruby Blakeley,’ he said, confident in his plan. But Ruby wasn’t there. He didn’t know what to do next. He needed money to get away.

As he flicked through his diary, trying to decide what to do, he saw Maggie stand up and wander towards the road.

He flung the phone-box door open. ‘Maggie, come back, come back here!’ he shouted as loud as he could, but instead of stopping she ran. Straight into the path of a car.

Yardley didn’t know what to do. He started to go towards where the child lay in the road, but when the driver got out he panicked and ran back over the road, jumped on his bike, took one last look over his shoulder and then rode like the wind back into the woods and back to his den.

When he got there he laid down on the lumpy mattress, pulled the cover over himself and savoured the excruciating pain of his headache.

It was his punishment.

Babs and George Wheaton were waiting down by the gate at nearly midnight when the police car pulled up outside.

‘Your daughter is safe but she’s got a few cuts and bruises so she needs a check-up at the hospital tomorrow. She was hit by a car, but luckily it was someone on the lookout for her so it was going very slowly. She needs some other checks as well, but as you’re a doctor …?’ The policeman conveyed exactly what he meant with those few words.

There was a queue of well-wishers outside the surgery who, after fearing the worst, were all waiting to see the little girl brought safely back home.

As the car door opened, so Babs, trying to pretend she wasn’t crying, snatched her up and hugged her as tightly as she could. She had never felt such fear in her life.

‘Mummy’, Maggie cried, ‘Yardley was all horrid and not nice. We went to his den in the woods but I didn’t want to sleep there in the dark. It was smelly and dirty but the nice lady washed my face and wrapped me in her blanket.’

‘Let’s go inside into the warm and then you can tell us all about your adventure,’ George said with a smile.

Once indoors, the two police officers explained as much as they knew: that one of the tenants at the cottages had helped the driver tend to Maggie and then taken her indoors to his wife before using the phone box to call the police. No one had seen Derek Yardley.

‘Did he hurt you? Yardley, I mean – did Yardley hurt you?’ Babs asked nervously.

‘No, he carried me so the wild animals couldn’t hurt me.’

‘And where’s Yardley now?’ George asked, looking at the policeman standing in the doorway. ‘Why didn’t he bring you all the way home?’

‘After the car knocked me down he went away really fast on his bike.’ The little girl turned the corners of her mouth down. ‘He’s horrid, I don’t want him to live here any more.’

‘He won’t, darling, I promise. It’s all right now.’

‘Can I see Scruffy?’

George and Babs exchanged looks over her head. Neither of them needed to say a word.

Thirty

Ruby was upstairs in the flat recovering from her life-threatening haemorrhage and trying to understand everything that had happened during the previous weeks. Her brain was still a bit befuddled from all the medication, but she kept thinking about it over and over and torturing herself with blame. It had been so dramatic she still palpitated thinking not only about what happened, but also what could have happened. And if the unthinkable had happened to Maggie, it would have been her fault. Now she was going to have to live with that.

By the time she had recovered consciousness after her collapse Gracie was at her bedside waiting to tell her that Maggie had been found and she was alive and well. The child was scared and clingy, but miraculously nothing irreparable had happened to her. Yardley hadn’t hurt her physically, although he had badly frightened her.

When she heard what had happened to Maggie, Ruby had intended to tell George and Babs about what Yardley had done to her, and she had been about to do just that when she had collapsed, but even if she had told them at that moment it would have been too late to save Maggie. Now it was her dark secret and she was going to have to keep it; after failing to speak out at the right time she could never disclose it now.

Despite an intensive search the police hadn’t found any trace of Yardley, or his den in the woods; everyone feared the worst for the mentally fragile man.

‘Hey, Ruby, you’ve got a visitor,’ Gracie shouted up the stairs, interrupting her dark thoughts. ‘Shall I send him up?’

‘Depends who it is?’ Ruby said as loudly as she could, knowing full well it was Johnnie Riordan. She was expecting him and she had invited him.

The bunch of flowers came in the door first.

‘Hello there, Red. How are you feeling? The shiners are impressive; do any boxer proud!’

‘Bit by bit I’m improving,’ she smiled. ‘I can laugh now without thinking my chest is going to burst open. The ribs are so painful and the arm’s going to be in plaster for a while, but I’m OK really.’

Ruby was ensconced in Aunt Leonora’s old chair with her feet up, and her plastered arm was propped up on a cushion, but she’d drawn the line at the blanket Gracie had offered her. They was no denying that she was pale and poorly, and the bruises were still evident, but she’d put on some lipstick, patted some powder around her black eyes and let Gracie brush and shape her hair.

‘So, I got your cryptic letter via our Betty and I even managed to figure out what you meant. I could have been a code-breaker in the war.’

‘Did Betty know it was from me? I hoped typing the envelope would stop her from wondering about it.’

‘Well, it did and it didn’t. It never occurred to her it was personal so she decided I was in trouble and gave me gyp for it!’ He laughed and looked at her. ‘I’m not in trouble, am I?’

Ruby looked at him and felt the familiar lump in her throat. A part of her wanted him out of her life for ever, but another part wanted to be with him for ever.

‘No trouble … well, not that I know of, anyway,’ Ruby replied lightly. ‘I just had no other way to contact you and I thought we still had unfinished business. Imagining I was going to kick the bucket made me think about my life and all the things I should have organised, and in a way that included you!’

Johnnie went over and sat on the arm of the sofa opposite Ruby.

‘Imagining you were going to kick the bucket made me think as well. I really thought that was it for you, and when I turned up here, happy as Larry, to see you and Gracie told me what had happened I felt quite sick and I couldn’t even go to visit you.’ He looked at her intently. ‘What did happen? Gracie seemed to think your fiancé was somehow involved.’

‘Let’s leave it that I tripped. It’s not important now and Gracie shouldn’t be gossiping.’

‘She wasn’t gossiping, she was upset, but yes, let’s leave that for the minute. Unfinished business, you say? Does that mean there’s going to be a finish for me? Is that what this is all about?’

‘I suppose it is. There has to be, with things as they are,’ she said sadly. ‘A wife and children means there’s no going back.’

‘Hang on, let’s not forget a fiancé …’

‘He’s not a fiancé any more. That’s finished. Look …’ she held her hand up and wiggled her fingers. ‘No ring. The beautiful diamonds had to go!’

Johnnie walked over to the balcony and stepped outside.

‘Bit nippy out here without a pullover!’ He wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders as he looked from side to side at the vista of the Thames Estuary. ‘It’s so beautiful from up here. I can understand why you like working and living in this gaff. That view is fantastic. But how come you got the penthouse?’

‘Because this is my hotel. I own it.’ As he turned round Ruby stared him straight in the eye. It was a definite challenge so she could judge his reaction.

‘Blimey,’ Johnnie said after a few seconds’ thought. ‘And there was me thinking I was the entrepreneur of Elsmere!’

‘Not quite an entrepreneur – I inherited it – but I’ve worked here since I left Walthamstow so I know it inside out, and now I own it. Isn’t that odd? I must have done a good job for Leonora to leave it to me, mustn’t I?’

‘Not odd at all. There always was something special about you! How did it all happen?’

Ruby told him the story. It both amused and saddened her that they were so comfortable with each other. She knew she could tell him anything.

Anything but the secret about Maggie. His daughter. Not because she didn’t want to but because she’d promised the Wheatons.

‘Tell me about your life, your marriage and what happened to Ray and Bobbie that day.’

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. ‘Tall order, that …’

‘I know,’ she smiled sadly, ‘but we might never see each other again after today so take a seat and let’s dig all the skeletons out, eh?’

Johnnie walked over to the sofa and sat down.

‘I’ve already told you about Sadie and my marriage …’

‘Ray and Bobbie?’

‘Yes, that was me. Well, not me – someone else did it – but I arranged for them to take a bit of a beating. But I gave them a pay rise when I became the boss!’

‘They were badly hurt, really badly, especially Ray. It wasn’t so much what happened, but your part in it.’

‘That wasn’t what I wanted. I used the wrong bloke. I thought I knew best, but even Bill Morgan warned me against him. They were stealing my business. Now I wouldn’t be so angry, but back then …’

Ruby thought for a moment and then smiled. ‘And there was I thinking you’d done it for me. Ray and Bobbie warned me about you but I took no notice, so we’re quits.’

‘That is not fair. They weren’t right. I never did anything to hurt you. I loved you, and you ran off and never came back – well, not until it was too late. I would never hurt you.’

Ruby stared at him and was surprised to see him turn red and look away.

‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Yes, you should. There were reasons I went. I know I should have told you, but …’ She looked at him sadly. ‘Oh, Johnnie, how could we both have been so daft?’

‘I don’t know, Red, but more to the point, what are we going to do about it?’

‘Nothing. We can’t.’

There was a subtle knock on the door and then a pause before Gracie opened it and looked around cautiously.

‘Safe to come in? I’ve come bearing gifts from the kitchen: sandwiches and cake. I’ve even carried up a pot of tea. Don’t say I never give you anything.’

‘How’s it going downstairs?’

‘We’re not talking about the hotel. You’re sick and resting, and I’m dealing with it.’

Johnnie stood up and took the tray.

‘Thank you kindly, sir,’ she said as she bobbed in a curtsy.

Johnnie laughed. ‘You two are as mad as each other. How did you meet?’

The glance that passed between Gracie and Ruby told nothing and everything, and after just a moment’s pause Johnnie smiled. ‘Forget I asked. That was nosy.’

‘Well. Love you and leave you,’ Gracie laughed nervously. ‘Madame can ring the bell if Madame wants anything further.’ She curtsied again and scuttled away demurely.

‘Yes, both of you are mad. But where were we …?’ he asked.

‘How trustworthy would you say you are, Johnnie Riordan?’ Ruby asked, suddenly serious. ‘I mean if I told you something really big would you blab or could you keep quiet?’

‘I could keep quiet without a doubt. I may be a bit of a fly-boy, as our Betty says, but I’m loyal. You know I am. Why? What have you done? I’m worried now …’

‘I need you to swear this will be our secret, that you won’t betray me whatever happens, not ever.’

‘You’re scaring me now, but unless you’re going to confess to being a secret mass murderer then I promise. Hand on heart.’

‘Do you remember when I borrowed the train fare from you?’

‘And you never came back or paid it back, naughty girl. Yes, of course I remember,’ he smiled. ‘I did try and find you.’

‘I didn’t go off to see about nursing. I went to Melton, to the Wheatons. I was pregnant. With your baby.’

Johnnie looked at her, his expression hard to read, and she waited for this news to sink in.

‘What happened to it?’ he asked eventually.

‘I came to live here, with George’s sister, Leonora, and hid away until the baby was born. A girl. She was adopted. I was going to go back to Melton but I met Gracie and decided on a new start so I stayed here.’

Johnnie leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and looked at her. Again she tried to read his expression but couldn’t.

‘You were so ambitious,’ she continued, ‘so sure of what you wanted, and that didn’t include a shotgun wedding to a sixteen-year-old. I did what I thought was best at the time,’ she smiled.

‘Do you know anything about the baby?’

‘Everything. She was adopted by George and Babs. Maggie is five years old and their daughter. I’m her godmother. No one knows apart from Gracie.’

‘Does your fiancé know?’

‘No, he doesn’t, and I told you, he’s not my fiancé any more.’ She watched his face carefully, desperately hoping she hadn’t made the wrong decision.

‘Why are you telling me now?’ he asked slowly.

‘Because I saw your boys on the beach and I realised they’re related to Maggie and that you had a right to know. But you mustn’t do anything or tell anyone.’

‘I promised, didn’t I? Am I allowed to see her?’ Johnnie asked.

‘I have to think about that. She mustn’t know – not until she’s older – but she’s having the best life. George and Babs adore her; she is their daughter, not mine, not yours. The adoption was done properly and they never pressured me. They did it for me and Maggie. To save her being adopted by strangers and going out of our lives for ever. See over there on the sideboard, the photo frame that’s laid down? That’s Maggie. I turned it over so you wouldn’t see it and maybe realise.’

He stood up and reached out for the frame. Turning it over he stared at the photo for what seemed an age without saying anything.

‘Please don’t hate me,’ she said eventually.

‘How could I hate you? You did what you had to do and it was probably right at the time. I wasn’t ready for anything like that. I suppose you knew me better than I knew myself back then. But now …’ He stared into her eyes. ‘I wish we could turn back the clock in one way, but then I love my boys so I can’t regret them.’

Ruby smiled. ‘I know that. So the skeletons are out and it’s time for you to go. I don’t mind if you want to telephone sometimes and see how Maggie is doing, but apart from that, Johnnie Riordan, I think we missed the boat several years ago.’

They talked for a while longer until the moment came and Johnnie Riordan said goodbye to Ruby with a kiss on the top of her head and a quick wave. She said nothing as she bit her lip and breathed deeply, desperate not to cry.

As Johnnie drove away he looked up, hoping to see Ruby on the balcony or even at the window, but she wasn’t there.

He was supposed to be out and about checking on Bill Morgan’s various investments but he simply couldn’t face it. He couldn’t face anything to do with Bill Morgan at that moment.

So much had happened and his head was in turmoil as he tried to understand it all as he drove back down the arterial road to Wanstead. He knew he needed to lie down and clear his head – he needed time to think – so he decided to go home instead and tell Sadie he had a headache. He hoped that would persuade her to leave him alone and let him rest.

He let himself in the house. ‘Sadie? Sadie? Where are you?’

He thought he heard a noise upstairs and guessed Sadie was up there with the children; he went into their bedroom and they were both asleep, but there was no sign of Sadie. He ran downstairs and checked everywhere before realising that Sadie had gone out and left the children alone.

He looked out in the back garden and then went out the front to check the road, but there was no sign of her anywhere.

‘Hello Johnnie,’ his neighbour said as he saw him looking around. ‘What’s up mate?’

‘I’m looking for Sadie. The kids are in bed but I can’t find her.’

The man looked down at the ground. ‘I didn’t know she left the kids on their own. That’s not on. You’ll find her at number forty-eight. She’ll be in there with the Greek bloke. Sorry …’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s always in there, but I didn’t know she left the kids in the house.’

Johnnie focused for a few seconds. ‘Do me a favour, just stand by my front door and listen for the boys. I won’t be long.’

He marched over the road and banged on the door of number forty-eight. When there was no answer he simply kicked the door in and ran straight up the stairs. He was confronted by a man wearing just a vest and socks. Without pause he grabbed him in a stranglehold round the neck.

‘Where’s Sadie? Quick, or you’re going headfirst down those stairs.’

‘In there …’

But then Sadie appeared on the landing, her hair in a mess and her blouse buttoned up wrong. Johnnie could see she’d tried to get dressed quickly.

‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ he shouted at her, his anger bubbling away.

‘Exactly the same as what you’ve been doing,’ Sadie smiled. ‘But it’s all right for you, out all day whoring, but not me.’

Johnnie looked at her and his temper evaporated down into cold fury. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, I don’t care who you fuck, but I do care that you’ve left the boys on their own while you do it. Anything could happen to them, you stupid, stupid bitch. The whole house could have burned down with them in it.’

As Sadie stood on the landing looking bewildered, so the man, whose name Johnnie didn’t even know, backed up against the wall.

‘I’m sorry, mate. She just comes over here … what’s a man to do when it’s on a plate?’

Johnnie pulled his arm back and punched the man clean on the jaw.

‘Wait for me, Johnnie,’ Sadie said meekly in her silly girly voice that grated on him at the best of times.

‘I’m taking the boys to Betty. You can do whatever you like to earn enough to pay the rent on your own.’

‘Johnnie, Johnnie, I didn’t mean it, Johnnie. Don’t leave me. You were doing it as well. Johnnie …’

‘I was not doing it, Sadie. I’ve never been unfaithful to you. Never.’

As he crossed the road he could still hear her shouting, ‘I’m gonna tell Bill. You can’t do this to me …’

Thirty-One

‘So you’re not into adultery, then?’ Gracie laughed, trying to cheer Ruby up. ‘He’s a bit of all right though your bloke.’

‘He’s not my bloke, so give over. I’m all alone and single again, and tomorrow I’m going to get a Pekingese. That’s all I need in my life. I’ve got the hotel, I’ve got the genteel lady guests, what more do I need?’

‘Johnnie Riordan!’ Gracie did a little dance in front of her friend.

It was a few days after Johnnie’s visit, and Ruby was still feeling fragile from both the emotion of their conversation and the aching of her slowly healing injuries. She had managed to get down the stairs and was sitting in the kitchen, out of sight and away from guests’ questions.

‘Just out of interest, have you seen Tony at all? I’m really worried about him being so close by, especially once I start going out.’

‘Mamma and Papà Alfredo told Henry he’d gone to live in London. They were also talking about his new girlfriend … Don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. They idolise him and will cover up for him whatever. They’re firmly stuck with the idea that you fell down their stairs drunk. That’s why Tony called the engagement off.’

‘That’s what parents do, though, isn’t it? Unconditional love. But if he’s gone to London …’

‘How unconditional is unconditional?’ Gracie asked.

‘Blimey, missus, that’s a bit deep …’

‘I’m learning, I’m learning. Oh, it’s the phone. I’ll get it.’ She went out into the lobby and then put her head back around the door. ‘Ruby, it’s Johnnie. He says it’s urgent.’

‘I don’t want to speak to him.’

‘He says it’s really urgent.’

‘No. I can’t speak to him, I can’t. Tell him another time. If it’s urgent he can tell you.’

She could hear Gracie talking to him but she couldn’t hear the words. Then Gracie came back into the room.

‘I don’t want to hear it, Gracie.’

‘Oh, you do, you really do.’

‘I don’t. I have to shut him off.’

Gracie smiled. ‘When he left here the other day he went home and found the babies on their own and his missus over the road having it away with a neighbour, a Greek waiter from Soho … though I don’t know why he told me that.’

‘Nooo, I don’t believe you, Gracie McCabe. You’re lying to me.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die. He said he can’t see you for a while because he’s got the boys with him at his sister’s and he doesn’t want Sadie finding out anything and dragging you into it. Now there’s a fine kettle of fish for you.’

Ruby leaned forward. She felt sick and faint. In a few moments everything had changed.

‘He wants you to phone him on this number.’ Gracie handed her a piece of paper. ‘Shall I cancel the Pekingese?’

Ruby smiled. ‘We’ll see. At the moment I really need a brandy.’

That evening, after she’d spoken to Johnnie, Ruby sat out on the balcony thinking about everything that had happened and wondering how it might all pan out in the future. In a few short weeks her life had roller-coastered up and down so much she was scared to think about anything positively for fear of it all whooshing back down again.

Johnnie Riordan. Could it happen? She didn’t know … His life was so tied up with Sadie and Bill Morgan. Despite what Sadie had done, the threat from Morgan was there. If he divorced Sadie then he lost everything: his home, his job, his car; but he would keep his boys, which was the most important thing to him.

But would he go that far? She wasn’t sure. Only time would tell. But the thought that maybe she and Johnnie Riordan, the love of her life, could be together one day was enough for the moment.

She picked up the binoculars and looked out across the water. It was damp and misty, but she could knew Leonora was out there somewhere, keeping an eye on her hotel and her protégée.

She was so far away she jumped when Gracie came up behind her.

‘Babs rang. They’ve found Derek Yardley’s body. He hanged himself with his belt in the place he’d called his den, so Maggie was right about that. Really spooky place, a proper hut in the woods, which was only found by chance by a farmer shooting rabbits and following his dog into the undergrowth. The police never found him.’

Ruby put her fingers in her ears. ‘I don’t want to hear about it, not now. I can’t think about him because I feel sorry for him and I don’t want to, he took Maggie.’

‘That he did, but he brought her back and he didn’t do anything bad to her. That’s the main thing. There’s good and bad in all of this, that’s for sure.’

‘I suppose you’re right … Do you think we could both take a day off?’ Ruby suddenly asked Gracie. ‘Just one day. I really want to go and see my mother but I can’t drive with my arm like this. I was thinking, it’ll soon be a new year … a new year, a new start. I want to get everything cleared in my head and start afresh.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

Gracie and Ruby stood together looking over the balcony.

‘Are you watching, Lady Leonora?’ Gracie shouted. ‘We love you!’

Epilogue

Johnnie Riordan turned the car into the drive and pulled up in front of the garage.

‘I’m dreading this, you know.’

‘Well, don’t. Just think of it as an extended family get-together. It happens all the time – aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces. Maggie is just like that.’

‘It doesn’t feel right.’

‘I know, but you have to pretend it is. You’ll get used to it. I have.’

‘I know.’ Although the engine was turned off his hands were still gripping the steering wheel.

Ruby smiled reassuringly. ‘How’s Betty coping with two babies in the house?’

‘She’s grumbling but she’s loving it. It’s a bit cramped, though, with me as well. Poor Betty …’

‘So Bill hasn’t put a hit out on you then?’

‘No. Just sacked me, took the car, chucked me out of the house and threatened to break my legs if I ever showed my face in Wanstead again, that’s all.’

‘But she was in the wrong …’

‘Does it matter? Nope. Bill Morgan always had a soft spot for her so he was automatically going to believe her. She’s even working in the Black Dog again!’ Johnnie shook his head and grinned. ‘Life, eh? So, shall we go in? I’m scared, if I’m honest.’

‘It’ll be OK. I’m her sister Ruby, and you’re my friend Johnnie.’

‘Sounds like a storybook’.

‘It is a bit like a fairytale, and all’s well that ends well. Right, here we go. Come and meet Maggie.’

‘I can’t believe we have a daughter.’

‘You must never ever say that out loud.’

‘What about us?’

‘You know about us. We were meant to be.’

They both stopped when they heard voices.

‘Mummy, it’s Ruby!’

Ruby looked at Johnnie’s face as his daughter ran towards them.

‘One day,’ she said to him quietly, ‘one day she’ll know. Hello, Maggie. Say hello to my friend Johnnie.’

Read an extract from Gracie by Marie Maxwell

She made the ultimate sacrifice but can she now move on with her life?

About the Author

Marie Maxwell was born in London and, after living here, there and everywhere, now lives happily by the sea in Essex.

She has written seven other books under the name Bernardine Kennedy and information on Marie and Bernardine is available at: www.bernardinekennedy.com

The Girl From World’s End

LEAH FLEMING

The Girl From World’s
End

Dedication

In memory of Kathleen, who loved these hills.

Epigraph

…grief has no wings. She is the unwelcome lodger that squats on the hearthstone between us and the fire and will not be moved…

Arthur Quiller-Couch
Armistice Day Sermon, November 1927

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Part One A Change of Sky

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part Two Darkening Skies

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Part Three The Snow House

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Author’s Notes

About the Author

Part One
A Change of Sky

1

West Riding of Yorkshire, 1926

A girl of about eight sat swinging her legs to and fro to keep them from going numb, watching the sky growing dark above. The weak December sun dipped behind the high moor and soon the cobbled streets would be crusted with frost. When was Father going to come out of the Green Man and take her home? The church clock had struck half-past four. Soon the mill hooter would buzz across the rooftops and the clatter of clogs would deafen the streets.

It had been a grand afternoon: one of the good days when Paddy Gilchrist woke up by himself, whistling and promising her a ride on a tram to Bradford to look in the shop windows and hear the Christmas brass bands. They had got as far as the park, where he’d pushed her on the swings and slides, but then they’d made a detour through the back streets of Scarperton.

‘I’ll not be a minute, Mirren. Time for my medicine–just a wee nip to keep me warm,’ he laughed, his dark eyes pleading as he saw the little blue ribbon on her coat lapel and the wince of disapproval on her face.

She was proud of that badge and the signed certificate from the Band of Hope that said not a drop of liquor would ever pass the lips of Miriam Ellen Gilchrist.

‘Don’t be long,’ she pleaded, trying not to pout as her lips trembled. ‘You promised me a ride up to town.’

‘Aye, I know, lassie, but you don’t begrudge yer dad a little comfort now, do you? You sit tight and I’ll buy you some sweeties when I’ve had my snifter.’

She had sat on this bench so many times, dreading that the father who went in standing would be the one who’d come out on all fours. The Green Man was that sort of pub.

Paddy and Mirren didn’t live alone. There was a master in their rooms: one who ruled over them night and day, whose presence lurked like a ghost in the corner of the compartments of the disused railway carriage that was now their home. He was a magician, full of piss and wind and wild schemes, who could turn her dad into John Barleycorn, the drunken sot who needed a guiding hand to round the corners on his way home, knocking folk off the pavement as he sang out of tune at the top of his voice. Sometimes she opened the latch and he fell through the door, stiff like a board.

John Barleycorn had stale breath and leaking pants. He stole her father’s hard-earned wage and the food from their table, shaming her before school pals playing in the street, who would look up and snigger as she and her demon-possessed father wound their way down the ginnels from the pub, Mirren staggering under the weight of him. She worshipped her father–he was tall, handsome and strong–but she hated John Barleycorn, the drinker who was so weak and silly.

Demon Drink was not like the pantomime devil with horns and a forked tale, all red and black, shouting from a stage, or the wily tempter from the pages of her Sunday school prize book, with forked tongue and goatee beard. He came and went for no reason.

Sometimes he disappeared for weeks and gave her back the father she loved: the Paddy Gilchrist who had wooed and won young Ellie Yewell away from her farming family in the big Yorkshire Dales farmhouse, the railway navvy with his squeeze-box and fancy dancing and Scottish charm, who promised her the moon, sun and stars if she would be his bride. Then he went off to war, leaving his new bride with a bairn, Mirren’s angel brother, Grantley, and with no family to support them until he returned wounded right badly in the leg.

If only Mother and little Grant hadn’t died in the terrible sickness that came when she was a baby, leaving her motherless. How she wished they were all together, snug by their fireside of an evening, not freezing to death outside a public house.

Now the lamps were lit and Mirren was fed up of waiting. He’d forgotten she was there again and at the mercy of rough lads, making fun of her for being ‘Jill all alone’. Soon Woodbine Winnie would be touting for business and taking men in mufflers down the alleyway to lift up her skirts–to do quite what Mirren wasn’t sure, but it was something sinful.

At last Mirren recognised one of the men coming out of the pub as Mr Ackroyd, who lived in one of the far carriages that made up their row of houses in Chapelside Cuttings; old rolling stock being the only homes left for returning heroes from the war. Some wags laughingly called them ‘the Rabbit Hutches’, but Dad shrugged off the gibe and so did she.

Living in a neat line of compartments with steps up to their railway carriage was better than living back to back, up a steep hill with no garden to play in. She could sit for hours watching the engines shunting up and down the line, engine drivers waving and hooting. She knew the names of all the great iron boilers puffing and snorting out of the station on their way to Scotland and London; Duchess of Hamilton was her favourite.

Dad was a ganger on the line repairing the track. When he was in work there was always plenty of coal for the stove and treats. When there were layoffs they still had vegetables from the allotment and eggs from the chicken coop, but money was always a worry. Granny Simms, who lived next door with her son and his one leg, cooked for them and took in the washing in return for coal and treats, baccy and beer for Big Brian, who hobbled about the town on crutches, begging.

In Mirren’s life Granny Simms was a guiding light like the moon peeping through clouds. A neighbour who was mother, friend and comforter, she would know what to do. On nights like this Mirren could always knock on the window and Granny would open up, wrapped against the cold in the faded shawl she wore summer and winter, the long printed pinny with rubbed-out patches. Her face was leathery and lined with soot, hair scraped back in a knot, and she wore iron clogs, which rattled on the wooden carriage floor, and rolled-up stockings. She would take the little girl in and shove a fat rascal bun in her hand, spicy and full of currants.

It was Granny who taught her to knit, to peg a rug and bake bread, railway slice and dumplings. She saw that she got a proper schooling at St Mary’s and was turned out neat to all Sunday school treats going in the town.

‘He can’t help himself, Mirren,’ Granny Simms would sigh, showing empty gums with two yellow cracked front teeth. ‘Drink is a terrible thing. There’s many a red nose makes a ragged back in this town. It’s a pity the Paddy Gilchrist what came back from France was not the young lad who went to war, nor the man yer mam wed. A wild-eyed stranger he returned, not able to keep down a job, but she got him straight again. But when the Spanish flu came to visit us, it went through the town like a dose of Epsom salts. Yer dad just couldn’t get his head round that carry-on. He did his best with you, but men are useless when it comes to babbies. It’s a terrible temptation to drown yer sorrows, lass.’

These words made Mirren sad, for she knew her love would never be enough to mend her father’s heart. What he needed was the Word of God in his life, like the pastor in Sunday school preached, but Dad just laughed at her pleas for him to go to church.

‘Where was God when we needed him in the Battle of Arras? Where was he when the Angel of Death knocked at our front door? Ask your preacher man that!’ he would scoff. She had learned not to talk to him in drink but to hide in the little bench bed, under the quilt and blankets, pretending she couldn’t hear his sobs and rantings, praying that he would be in time to go to his work in the morning. Without work there was no rent money and no rent money would lead to the workhouse and pull them apart.

Then, without explanation, the sun would rise in the morning, bright and dazzling, full of promise when her real dad rose, bleary-eyed but ready for work, unaided, bringing home gobstoppers and fish and chips. She would dress quickly and take his hand before the clouds came back.

On such days Mirren could go to school and learn her tables and not worry about him being sent home. She liked to bury her head in a reading book and pretend she was the Little Princess in the attic or one of the Railway Children. On such days Dad would swing her round to ‘Charlie Is my Darling’ and call her his ‘own wee darling’, telling her she was pretty like her mother and what a lucky chap he was to have such a beautiful, clever daughter. When he held her hand and whistled to himself, she felt so safe until they stopped by the pub door and her heart sank with fear.

Now, tonight, was going to be another of the bad nights.

‘Is my dad still inside?’ she asked the old neighbour, Mr Ackroyd, as he passed.

‘Aye, lass, stuck to the bench a while yet. There’s some as never knows when they’ve had enough. Better get off home now. It’s no night to be out in the cold. Happen you’d better come along with me.’

‘Thank you, but I said I’d wait,’ she smiled, torn between wanting the warmth of Granny Simms’s iron stove and the need to see her dad home safely. Why should she wait when he didn’t care? Why should she believe any of his broken promises? He deserved to slip on the ice and crack his head but then he wouldn’t get to work on time and would be laid off and soon it would be Christmas and she had seen a little doll in the window of Bell’s Emporium with a sticky-out skirt and real hair.

But what was the point? He’d already spent his wages supping with his cronies. It was always the same palaver: he’d be ashamed and crawl home to sleep off the drink when she wasn’t looking, and then pretend none of this had happened.

Why should she wait a minute longer when there was someone at hand to guide her through the dark streets?

‘Wait, Mr Ackroyd, I’ll come with you…’

She spent the night at Granny Simms’s, sleeping in the chair. When it was morning, and there was no sign of Dad’s return, Mirren thought he would be lying snug in one of the refuge huts on the side of the railway track, hiding until he was sober enough to face her sullen anger. So she went to school with a heavy heart and thought no more about it.

She ran home at dinner break, hoping there would be smoke coming out of the carriage, but there were strangers waiting on the doorstep with Granny Simms, who nodded gravely as she saw her. There was a funny look in her eyes as Mirren approached more slowly.

She recognised Constable Fletcher, who was kind. He took off his helmet as he spoke.

‘You’ll have to be brave, lass. There’s been a terrible accident. Yer dad got knocked over on the track.’

Mirren shook her head, not wanting to hear what was coming next, wanting to run, but her legs had turned to jelly so she shoved her hands over her ears. It was Granny who put her arms around her shoulders and held her tight.

‘He wouldn’t’ve known a thing, love. He fell asleep on the line. He must have taken a short cut and slipped.’ Her eyes were full of tears.

Mirren couldn’t believe what she was saying. ‘Dad’d never cross the line at night. He said I must never do that. Where did it happen? You’ve got it all wrong. The track’s miles from the Green Man.’

‘I’m sorry, lass, but he must have been taking a short cut down the line in the early hours. He was hit on the down line–the night sleeper from Glasgow and him Scotch-born and all…Let yer granny make you a cup of tea,’ said the constable.

‘She’s not my granny,’ Mirren screamed in fury. ‘My real granny lives up the dale on a farm.’ At Christmas there was usually a parcel of clothes from Grandma, which never fitted, and a printed card from the Yewells of Cragside Farm. The rest of the year there was nothing.

‘I want to see my dad.’

‘That’ll not be possible,’ whispered the constable. ‘There has to be an investigation.’

‘I have to go and see if it’s him. It might not be him,’ Mirren said, not listening. This was all some strange nightmare she was living in and soon she would wake up. How could her dad be gone and have left her all alone?

‘Come on, Mirren, you’ve had a shock,’ Granny Simms whispered, ignoring the earlier betrayal. ‘She’ll stay with me until such times—’

‘But it’s all my fault,’ Mirren cried out. ‘I should’ve waited and brought him home.’

‘Now how do you make that out, young lady?’ said the policeman, kneeling down so close up she could see the hairs sprouting out of his nose.

‘I should have stayed on. He told me to stay outside on the bench, but I was cold and came home. He needed me and I wasn’t there. It’s all my fault.’ The hot tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘I want my dad. I have to tell him I’m sorry.’

‘Now none of that, child,’ said one of the strangers, a man wearing a clerical collar. ‘Mr Gilchrist was a grown man and should’ve known better than to leave a child alone in the dark outside a pub,’ he tutted in her defence, but his words gave no comfort.

‘I’m afraid there’s many as does round here,’ answered the constable. ‘The child was right to go home. In his befuddled state, Paddy wouldn’t know what time of day or night it was. Don’t fret yerself, lass. It were an accident and a cruel one at that, just before Christmas.’

‘That remains for the coroner to decide,’ the parson replied. ‘The railway line is always a temptation, an easy way out of life’s troubles.’

‘Not in front of the kiddy, sir,’ snapped the constable. ‘She’s got enough to bear as it is, without putting that burden on her.’

But the words were spoken and a seed of doubt sown in turbulent soil. Mirren had sensed early that a force greater than her childish adoration always drew her father towards danger. He’d once lived in a world of soldiers. When he sat in the Green Man there were old pals from the war who supped and sang that ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ song that made him cry. Once she had rooted in his tin box of papers and found a likeness of him, standing so straight in his uniform, his dark hair plastered down and his moustache waxed. He looked so strong and handsome, but when he caught her staring down at it he almost slammed the lid on her fingers.

‘Put that away. There’s nothing in there for you!’

‘Is that you?’ she’d asked, looking at his kilt.

He’d stared down at the young man and shook his head. ‘Never seen him afore.’ His voice was cracked and his breath smelled of stout, his skin was grey, his shoulders stooped as he fought the demons she was too feeble to conquer. She never opened the tin box again because it was where he kept his wounds and pain, out of sight of a child’s prying eyes.

‘It is good to see this child Miriam has signed the pledge.’ The parson pointed to the badge on her lapel. ‘A weakness for strong drink is bred in the bone. Do you belong to the Band of Hope?’ He was changing the subject, trying to make polite conversation.

‘Yes, she does,’ Granny Simms interrupted. ‘She’s a regular at their banner parades and treat in the summer. She wears that blue ribbon all the time.’

‘Good. That’s a start, young lady, and next we must get the Welfare to sort out accommodation. She can’t stay here alone,’ he added.

‘She’ll bide with me tonight. This lass’s not budging from where she knows best,’ Granny said, holding her tight. Mirren’s eyelids were drooping, her mouth was dry, her head whirring as her legs buckled. ‘Look at the poor mite. She needs a mash of sweet tea. There’s friends enough round here to see to the poor bairn in her sorrow.’

They stumbled up the steps and into the fug and clutter of Granny Simms’s compartment, where Brian sat dosing with his dog on his lap. He didn’t know yet. He hadn’t heard the news.

For a second, life was as it always had been, bread and dripping on the table as if her world had not been turned upside down and she left alone.

If only she’d stayed with Dad, if only it was yesterday all over again. But the mill buzzer hooted at dinner time as normal. How could something terrible happen and the mill chimneys went on smoking just the same? She started to shake and couldn’t stop.

Granny shoved something bitter on her lips. ‘Sip it slowly, lass. It’ll calm you down,’ she coaxed, but Mirren spat it out.

‘It’s spirit. I know that smell. Don’t make me break my pledge.’

‘Bugger the pledge…It’s the only medicine for shock.’

‘What am I going to do?’ Mirren cried, feeling the hot whisky slipping down her throat. It tasted bitter. How could anyone pay good brass for such poison?

‘First things first. We’ll see yer dad buried good and proper and you kitted out to do him proud. Everything else can wait until then. Yer a good lass and sharp as a knife, but you’ve not gone far to find your sorrows. Happen something will turn up for you.’

‘I’ll have to go in the orphanage, won’t I?’ Everyone at school knew of the orphan kids, in their grey uniforms and cropped hair, who walked in lines around the town and had no parents to care for them.

‘Over my dead body! You deserve better and, as you said, I’m not yer real kin. It’s time them as are got to know what’s happened,’ Granny Simms smiled. ‘I’m no good with lettering but we’ll get someone to write and get them down here fast. It’s time they took up their responsibilities. Yer mam would have wanted that.’

‘But I’d rather stay here with you.’

Granny shook her head. ‘Be that as it may, there’ll be nothing but bad memories for you here. You deserve better. Happen it’s time you were changing yer sky!’

Adeline Yewell was too busy finishing off the Christmas pig to see the letter that George, the postman, delivered to the kitchen table at Cragside Farm. He would be wanting his forenoon drinkings and a bit of gossip with Carrie before he headed across the moor on foot to the next farm.

The farmer’s wife had trapped Myrtle, the brown pig, against the wall so she squatted on her fat rump. Then Adeline shoved a ball of oatmeal down the pig’s throat and gave her a sup of good buttermilk from the bucket to swallow. ‘That’s a girl, stuff thyself!’ She wanted some fat sweet flesh on this porker before she got seen to with an axe, strung up and bled off. At least her pigs died happy and belly stuffed. No place for oversentiment on a farm, she thought.

There was so much to see to before the big day and she didn’t want George holding up Carrie Sutcliffe from her chores. They were getting a bit sweet on each other, them two. She hoped that didn’t mean another live-in domestic giving notice. It was hard to get girls and lads to stay overlong up on the tops. They wanted to be in nearer the town.

Oh, what it was to be love-struck and silly! She could still recall the time when she’d made eyes at Joe Yewell at the Christmas dance, nearly forty years ago. It’s a good job she had collared and bagged him by the New Year stir-up in the village hall as he stomped across the wooden floor in his shirtsleeves, before the fiddle and the stamp of dancing feet became Satan’s snare.

Once he got ‘saved’ in Brother Handel Morton’s tent he hadn’t time for worldly gatherings, only preaching and chapel meetings. She’d caught him just on the turn, and her being Church not Chapel, it could have made things impossible.

The two didn’t mix in Windebank village, never had and never would, but love conquers all, so they say. The two of them went their separate ways each Sunday morning.

If only he could have made Ellen, their daughter, see sense when she fell for that Scotch navvy Gilchrist. They both felt it was a grave mistake, but the lass burned her bridges good and proper, and paid the price. They’d not even gone to her funeral for fear of catching the flu and passing it on up the dale.

That act of cowardice had never sat easy on her; cost many a sleepless night. To abandon their own daughter was not something either of them was proud of but Ellie’d made her bed and all that. It was her choice to go rushing up to Gretna Green making a fool of them all, having a bairn not six months afterwards. It was not easy to stomach having a thankless child.

Adeline’d done her bit for the kiddies but had never seen the last one nor wanted to, but her father being a Catholic and fond of drink was a worry. Sometimes she lay in bed and wondered if the girl had Ellie’s fair hair or the blue Yewell eyes renowned in the district for the distinctive dark ring round the iris, making them sparkle like sapphires. It was those blue globes that had drawn her to Joe’s side. When he gazed into her face she was lost.

‘Get a grip o’ thyself,’ she sighed at such memories. There were geese to be plucked and sent down to market and the butcher. She hoped the prices held up for Christmas as it had been a tough year for farmers and workers, what with the General Strike and lay-offs.

She must parcel up a few bits for the Gilchrist lass down in Scarperton. She wasn’t sure whether Miriam was six or seven, but Mildred at the haberdashers always set aside a few items that hadn’t sold for her to parcel up. Time flew past so quickly. Where had the years gone?

There’d be many cutting corners this Christmas, making do with a cheap joint or scraps down in the market town. Joe would have to temper his chapel sermons; a little less hellfire and a little more goodwill to all men, she hoped. He could get so carried away when he got in that pulpit.

‘Remember those good women have scrimped and saved to put a Sunday meal on the table for their kin. Don’t you go spoiling their Yorkshire puddings with your rantings. Have a bit of Christian charity.’

‘You’re a hard woman, Adey! Come with me and give me a signal.’

‘Never,’ she would laugh. ‘I like my pew comfortable and quiet, with beautiful words and no bone shaking. The vicar gives us ten minutes’ pulpit talk. That’s enough for me.’

Joe would be out on the moors now, foddering the sheep, reciting the good bits of his sermon to himself, rendering choruses from Messiah and making sure none of his flock strayed too far, for the weather looked set for a blow-in of snow. He was a good shepherd to his flock through and through. He was for sheep and she was for cows so together they made a good team.

Cragside Farm sat on the slope of the fell, tucked into the hillside with windowpanes looking south and west to get the best of the sun to warm the stone a treat. Once it was thronged with children, dogs and yard boys, but now it was quieter as their son Tom farmed higher out at Scar Head, and his brother, Wesley, was a teacher in Leeds with no interest in farming at all.

This perch was fine while they were fit and strong, and Yewells were long livers, but come the next few years Joe would have to slow down a bit. Things were tough for farmers now and getting tougher, Adey thought as she sat with Carrie plucking the goose feathers into a sack. Nothing must be wasted.

‘There’s a letter come from Keighley,’ Carrie said, shoving the envelope across the table. ‘Who do we know in Keighley? Happen it’s a Christmas card from Paddy and the girl. What’s her name again?’ Carrie was fishing; always curious about the prodigal daughter and her infamous family who never darkened the door.

‘I’ve never had a card from him nor the girl, and she’s called Miriam, after Joe’s mam, as well you know. Little good that’ll do her. I’m surprised she didn’t get Theresa or Maria or some fancy saint’s name.’

Adey stared at the handwriting, curious for a second. The address was written in a neat copperplate hand. It looked official and it was addressed to both of them.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Carrie was at it again, rooting for information, but Adey wasn’t going to give her satisfaction so shoved the letter in her pinny pocket and promptly forgot all about it. That was the trouble with girls who lived in: they got a little too nosy about family affairs. It was none of her business who was writing to them.

‘Now what’s all this about you and George Thursby?’ It was Adey’s turn to go fishing.

‘He’s asked me if I’m going to the Christmas hop in the village hall. What shall I wear?’

‘Clothes would be a start if you don’t want to stir them all up,’ Adey laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something to dazzle him with, but I want you back at midnight and no hanky-panky. It’s a long walk up that hill in the dark. Let him wait for his favours.’

Carrie was blushing, her neck a circle of pink weals. ‘Mrs Yewell, what do you take me for?’ she muttered.

‘As silly a lass as any in the dale, as daft as a brush when it comes to a handsome face and clean shirt, but with a canny eye for a good bargain,’ she replied. ‘You could do worse than one of the Thursbys’ lads. They’re reliable, sturdy and don’t squander their brass. His mother is that careful she’d skin a dog for its fleas.’ Carrie laughed at her joke but her eyes were far away.

‘Mind, I was young once: only the once and look where I landed up: plucking geese, scouring pigs, mucking out and general farm dogsbody stuck on the moors in all weathers. At least George won’t make you tramp with him. It’s a good job in the Post Office, steady and secure in hard times. You could do worse. Take our Tom. When’s he ever going to get himsen wed? He’s over forty and too set in his ways.’

Adey had been hoping her son might have taken a shine to this girl himself but he was tongue-tied when he came into female company, preferring to go his own gait and a game of darts in The Fleece, much to Joe’s dismay. If he didn’t get a move on there’d be no grandsons to take over the tenancy and run the family farm.

He was a good catch. The Yewells were a family of standing in the district. Joe was a lay preacher in the Methodist Circuit. She was a Boothroyd from a farm across the Ribble valley: two of a kind. It didn’t do to marry off the moor, like Ellie. You never knew what you were getting or what sort of stock they came from, its strengths and weak points. Better to be in full knowing of the facts before signing up for life, she thought.

All in all she’d had no regrets. It was a pity you couldn’t choose yer own bairns. They all needed kicking with a different foot: Wesley was all brains with no feel for the land; Tom was all brawn and no business sense; Ellie, well, she was bonny and bright but as stubborn as they came, wanting to go her own road into a town. Bradford was no life for a country-born girl, especially in the war, with rations and shortages and two babies to rear and a husband away fighting.

If she’d come home for a bit of fresh air they wouldn’t have turned her away from their door, but she didn’t because a Yewell was too proud to admit a mistake and they were too proud to go running after her. What a carry-on for good Christian folk!

As the morning wore on Adey was too busy to dwell on what-might-have-been. There was the farm lads’ dinner to line up in the large stone-flagged kitchen, the chicken coop to see to and the ironing of shirts. She wanted to get the oven range hot for a bit of special baking: spice bread and ginger cake to put away for when company came calling. Joe would be wanting his tea before his last rounds, and tomorrow was the slaughterman’s day when Myrtle would give her all. They would be at the butchering until midnight.

It was after eight before she sat down to the basket of mending by the half-finished peg rug. No rest for the wicked, she smiled, and then remembered the letter in her pocket.

‘There’s summat come from Keighley Shall I open it or you?’ she asked, seeing Joe was half asleep in his big leather chair. He grunted as she opened the page, then opened his eyes when there was silence from across the table.

‘What’s to do? Give it here…’

She shoved the letter across the table. ‘You’d better read this,’ she muttered.

He fumbled for his spectacles and gave it the once-over, paused and then searched the flickering flames as if looking for a reply. ‘By heck, that’s a turn-up. I shall have to get on my knees to the Lord about this. Poor lass…and just before Christmas, but it’s too much for us to take on at our age.’ His eyes were pleading with her to agree.

Adey read the letter then she too searched the flames, trying to blot out the image of Ellie’s likeness that lay face down in her dressing table drawer. This was their own flesh and blood they were assigning to an orphanage, their only grandchild, named after their own famous kin, Miriam of the Dale, who had rescued children in a blizzard at great cost to herself.

If only it weren’t Christmas, with stories of wandering strangers and no room at the inn. How could you turn your back on a bairn at such a season and look your neighbours in the eye?

Joe stood up and stomped around the room. ‘The daft happorth! Crossing the line in the dark, getting torn to pieces by an express. It don’t bear thinking about. I’ve seen what engines can do to a dog trapped on a rail. Railway sidings are no place for a kiddy.’

‘It was good enough for two of ours, Joseph Yewell.’

‘And look where it landed them. Ellie and Wesley are backsliders and town dwellers,’ he argued, not looking his wife in the face; not wanting to see her anguish.

‘We were hard on Ellie. Miriam’s not to blame for her parents, now is she? Do we turn our backs on her? What good reason is there for that? Answer me?’

‘We don’t know anything about her,’ Joe snapped.

‘Would you turn out one of yer own stock for running with a tup in the wrong field?’

‘That’s just an animal.’

‘We’re animals too when it comes to looking after our own. Whether we like it or not, she’s one of us: a Yewell with yer own mother’s name. What sort of life will she have if we say no to their request? Can you live with that ’cos I can’t, not now, knowing what we do…’ Adey flushed with heat and began to snivel.

‘I shall have to pray over it. It may not be the Lord’s will.’

‘I don’t know where you dreamed that one up, preacher man. Doesn’t the Good Book say, “Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not”? If it’s good enough for the Master then happen it’ll be good enough for us too.’

‘Adeline, you’ve no idea what you’re taking on…she’s someone else’s child.’

‘Our daughter’s child, mind; a motherless lamb. How many of them have we mothered on in our time?’

‘Let’s sleep on it and see how it feels in the morning. I’m off to check the byres,’ Joe said, anxious to be out of the room, far away from this unexpected request.

Neither of them slept much that night, tossing and turning, pulling the bedclothes this way and that. In the morning the slaughterman would be about his killing business. There’d be no time for private discussions until late.

Adey rose and lit a candle, opening her private drawer, the one that held stuff that was women’s business: douches, sponges, pads and belts. Soon she would be at the end of all that palaver, but to start again with a kiddy and a stranger to a farmhouse? Whose fault was that? It was too much to ask of them.

But as she lifted Ellie’s portrait, those Yewell eyes pierced her through like a spear straight into her heart. ‘Don’t abandon my child,’ they cried out.

She closed the drawer and dressed ready to face this bloody day.

2

Miriam sat in the railway carriage, stunned with the suddenness of being torn away from everything and everyone she knew. Dad was barely laid in the hard ground and already his face was fading from behind her eyes. Now she was going to live with strangers in a foreign land like Ruth in the bible story. The lawyer said she was a lucky girl to get this change of sky but his words weren’t sinking in.

Her new relation was sitting across from her, bolt upright, staring out of the window, but every so often Mirren caught her snatching glances at her face as if she had snot on her nose end.

Grandma Yewell had appeared in the lawyer’s office when Granny Simms packed a little parcel of clothes and took her down to Keighley on the tram.

‘Now you be good for yer new gran. She’s come a long way to fetch you. Remember your Ps and Qs and don’t fidget,’ she whispered as they sat in the corridor waiting for the door to open to the old man’s office.

‘Now, Miriam,’ he said, when they were admitted, pointing to the lady in the seat. ‘I want to introduce you to Mrs Yewell, mother of the late Ellen Miriam Gilchrist, who’s your grandmamma now. She’s kindly agreed to take you back to the family’s farm for a little holiday in Windebank.’

Mirren bobbed a curtsy like they did to the managers of the school when they came visiting. Her tongue stuck to her teeth.

‘She’s tall for a seven-year-old,’ muttered the woman before her, in a thick tweed coat, brown felt hat and with a dead fox round her neck. She eyed Mirren up carefully.

‘I’m eight and a half,’ Mirren piped back.

‘And sharp with it!’ said the woman.

‘You’re a very lucky girl that your grandparents are offering to take full responsibility for your welfare. Needless to say I hope you will repay them with good behaviour, diligent service.’

‘But I don’t know them,’ Mirren cried suddenly, realising that she must leave with this lady, and clinging to Granny Simms.

‘Now none of that, young lady,’ the old man with the whiskers down the sides of his face continued. ‘You have a whole train journey to get acquainted…It’s as much a burden for them to have to take you in as it is for you to make minor adjustments to your change of circumstances. You were not left in any position to support yourself, my dear. If these kind folk hadn’t offered—’

The lady cut his words off, saying, ‘Come along, lass. We’ve a train to catch or your grandfather will be left standing at the station. It doesn’t do to keep a farmer waiting.’ She smiled with her eyes and Mirren picked up her parcel, knowing there was no other way. She hugged Granny Simms, who wiped tears from her eyes.

‘You’ve got a good ’un there and wick as a weasel, just like her mam, a real lady…’ Granny Simms told Mrs Yewell. Then she was gone.

Why had her gran and granddad never visited her before? There was a big bust-up, Mirren knew, a falling-out over her dad, long before she was born. She knew nothing about farms except that they were smelly places full of cow muck and horse dung. They once went on a Sunday school trip to one up on Howarth Moor, which was a right wild place where some lady had written a story called Withering Hats.

She smiled now, looking at Mrs Yewell’s hat. It was withering at the edges, all floppy with feathers that looked faded and frayed. It must be windy at Windebank. How would she live up in the wilds? She stared out of the window, trying not to snivel as her eyes filled with tears.

There was nothing but green fields and stone walls flashing past the window, walls running in all directions, making strange patterns over the hills: squares, oblongs, triangles and curves, and in the middle were dotted sheep like balls of cotton wool.

‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked. ‘When do we see the farm?’

‘All in good time,’ whispered the woman. ‘Be patient. Everything comes to them as waits…’

Mirren sighed and turned back to the window. She had never seen so many walls and sheep, men on carts and not a mill chimney in sight. This was a funny place to live, all strung out on your own. Where were the streets and the crowds?

Adey couldn’t take her eyes off the child opposite. She was the spitten of her mother at that age: the same long sandy plaits and those blue Yewell eyes. If she’d walked past her in the street, it would’ve been like seeing a ghost. How could she have gotten her age so wrong? Miriam must have been born at the war’s end. The son died as a baby. They ought to have visited but farms couldn’t run on their own and bridges had been burned when Ellie ran away.

The truth was she couldn’t bear to see her daughter living in the rough, running after a navvy into goodness knows what conditions. No wonder she…but this lass would get her chances even if she did have Paddy’s wild blood inside her. There was a spark to her eyes and an edge to her tongue, and she was quick to defend herself like all the Yewells.

So they called her Mirren not Miriam, the Scotch way, the old Granny had whispered. The lass had a right to her name but the Yewells were proud of Miriam and doled it out to their firstborn daughters for generations. Ellie had done the same for her daughter and that was touching.

Adey had to admit she was warming to the bairn even if she could see a few battles ahead with stubbornness. Mirren was a town child and not easy to settle up the dale, not used to shutting gates and doing chores. They were used to shops and dens of iniquity round every corner, cinema houses showing bare flesh as if it were decent. The child’d need watching and fattening up; all legs and elbows and bony knees. The kiddy was sitting in a dark serge coat two sizes too small, with her skirt hem showing and her stockings in need of a good darn: more holey than godly. Heaven only knew what was underneath. Full of fleas no doubt, but a good scrub would sort that out.

‘Do you like the country?’ she asked, trying to interest the girl away from picking her nose.

‘If you’ve seen one sheep you’ve seen the lot,’ Mirren sighed.

‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. Every one of them is different and some of them have names, just like children, no two alike. The shepherd like the Good Lord Himself, knows them all. There’ll be a lot for you to learn, but farming’s in your blood so you’ll soon catch on. Your grandfather will walk you round the fields and introduce you to his flock so they’ll come to you,’ she added, hoping he would take to the child as she had done.

Joe would be shocked when he saw this mite standing, the image of their lost daughter. Why had they kept away so long? This child had been allowed to run wild into all sorts of danger just because they were too proud to bend a little. Now they must make up for lost time.

The man who came in the cart to collect them was like a giant with a sandy moustache and tufts of sandy hair coming out of his nose. He stared at her.

‘So this is our Ellie’s bairn, skinny as a lath but bonny with it? We’ll do summat with this one, Mother,’ he laughed, eyeing Mirren up like a prize calf.

‘No guessing she’s one of ours, Joe, is there?’ said his wife.

‘Oh, aye, right enough, but not in front of the lassie…So what did you think, coming all this way on a steam train?’ he offered, thinking she’d never been on a train before.

‘I’ve been everywhere with my dad…Leeds, Bradford and to the sea once at Filey,’ she answered politely. ‘This one was a bit slow.’

‘I see we’ve got a right little wanderlust here but I bet you’ve never lived on top of the world before,’ he said with a wink. She stared back, not sure if he was teasing or not. He was so tall and broad, like a giant in fustian breeches and big leather boots. His jacket had patches at the elbows, and from his waistcoat hung a real gold chain.

‘Now don’t go upsetting the lass. It’ll all be strange to her at first,’ said the woman.

‘All aboard then, and let’s be getting back, young lady.’

They seemed to be climbing uphill for ever, past grey stone village houses, past a small church with a stubby tower, past a duck pond, up walled tracks, higher and higher to the top of the hill where jagged white rocks jutted out and sheep scuttled past on bare grey hillsides. Down in the valley Mirren could see more stone walls and fields of sheep grazing, greens and greys and blue sky. A damp wind mopped her cheeks and she felt dizzy at the sight of such strangeness. It was another world with no people, no buses, no lines of houses lining the road, no smoking chimneys.

Then they turned off the track to the left towards a large white house with windows shining, sparkling like eyes. It was a house grander than she had ever seen before and this was Cragside, her new home. This was where Mam had lived as a girl. How could she have ever left such a dwelling for a railway hut?

Perhaps it was the marble pillars in the hall, the clack of her clogs on the tiled floor, or the high ceilings with piped icing corners, the large square rooms off the hall or the fact that the back of the house seemed to be tunnelled into the rock, but Mirren thought that Cragside wore a frown, not a smile, on that first viewing. It was like walking into the town hall or the Wesleyan Chapel and asking for the lavvy. She was dying for a pee but too shy to ask.

A kind girl in a white apron, called Carrie, showed her into the parlour, which smelled of lavender polish and woodsmoke, and she crossed over to the long window, staring out at the view. You could see for miles and miles, right down to the river and the railway line.

‘The sheep have all got coloured bottoms,’ was all she could think of to say. ‘Why?’

Nobody answered, but Carrie smiled. What had she said wrong?

This might look like a palace but at that moment her grandmother looked stern and forbidding, and Granddad looked awkward.

‘Go with Carrie into the kitchen and she’ll find you some tea,’ her grandmother ordered as she flopped down on the big armchair, pulling off her withering hat with relief. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘I need the lav,’ she whispered to the maid.

‘The what?’

‘The lavvy. I’m bursting…’

‘Oh, the nessy…outside in the yard, or you can go to the water closet upstairs but it’ll be a bit high for you to pull the chain,’ said Carrie.

Mirren didn’t wait for an answer and shot out into the cobbled yard to look for the toilet.

From what she had seen so far, this was one of those fussy houses with ornaments to knock over and photographs to admire. There was a shawl over the big piano that might come hurtling down if she caught it and then she’d smash all the glass. She must remember to walk slowly and not make a noise on the flag floors. The kitchen smelled like a bakery and she felt hungry for the first time in days.

If only this was just a holiday it would be wonderful. If only Mam and Dad and Grant were here visiting together, playing in the fields and then going back home on the train, back to Scarperton and her friends…But this was for ever and ever, amen, and they were her family now, strangers who called her by the wrong name, who lived in a cold house and spoke different.

Mirren sat on the lavvy seat and howled. She was Jill all alone and it was all Dad’s fault, but she couldn’t be cross with him because he was gone. They were all together now without her in heaven. It wasn’t fair!

3

In the days that followed Mirren’s arrival at Cragside Farm there were a whole new set of chores to be learned. Carrie took her in hand to feed the chickens, to rummage for precious eggs and clean out the huts carefully, and look for holes in the fence where Brer Fox could get in. Mirren wrinkled up her nose at the smell of chicken dung but knew the score.

Uncle Tom, her mother’s big brother, showed her how to sweep up properly and take water to the cattle in the winter barn. The yard boy helped her scoop oats for the big Clydesdale horses. There was so much to learn and being busy made her forget about starting the new school down at Windebank.

Sometimes in the evening they gathered round the piano and Granddad placed his fingers up and down the keys to find a chord and smiled, showing her a set of gleaming teeth that Carrie said Granny had given him as an early Christmas present. He played tunes without even looking at his fingers. ‘“Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low…”’ His voice was rich and deep, but Granny got upset.

‘Don’t sing that, Joe…George used to sing that in the chapel concert. He was your mother’s brother, Mirren, but he never came home from France. They never found him; so many lost boys. At least you’re a lass and won’t have to face that carry-on.’ She sniffed, pointing to the photo of a soldier in uniform in the black frame on the mantelpiece. ‘That’s yer uncle, God rest his soul. Thank goodness some were spared, but there’s one or two round here who’re not the men they once were; the schoolmaster for one. I’ve heard that Annie Burrows has a lot to put up with these days.’ She lifted her hand as if she was swallowing something from a bottle. Then she saw Mirren watching and put it down quickly. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve signed the temperance pledge. Joe’s a Methodist so we don’t drink.’

‘Was my mam a good singer?’ Mirren asked.

‘She could render a good Messiah chorus when pushed but no solo work. George was our baritone. He’s sorely missed. They don’t do concert parties down Windebank any more. There aren’t enough men to go around now,’ she sighed.

‘Can I learn the piano?’ Mirren asked, hoping to be able to accompany herself singing like Granddad.

‘We’ll see when you’ve done your chores. Chores first and foremost, lass. The farm must come first, then making meals, sewing and mending, church, of course, and if you’re quick about them all, happen you’ll pare off a slice of time for a bit of music but only after you’ve done your homework.’

So that was how Mirren got her piano lessons, driving them mad, thumping out the wrong notes with hammer fingers until she got the knack of placing them correctly, which wasn’t easy. She soon got bored with scales, preferring to read all the books left on the shelf: Boy’s Own adventures that were full of derring-do and excitement. Getting lost in a book was one way to shut out the noisy comings and goings of the farm and the strangeness of her life high on the hills, but most of all the dreariness of Windebank school.

The school in Scarperton was large. There were hundreds of children, from infants to part-timers at the mill. They drilled like soldiers in a barracks, lining up with masters and mistresses to the sound of the bell, the whistle and the booming voice of the headmaster, who eyed up his pupils with interest and shoved Mirren into the class above because she could read well and help others. There were marching songs and country dancing, singing hymns and object lessons about nature and stars.

The school at Windebank couldn’t have been more different. There was one master, Mr Burrows, and his assistant, Miss Halstead. It was a mean matchbox of a building with windows high up on the wall. A big coke stove at one end belched out fumes. It had railings round that smelled of dirty socks and wet wool, and wet knickers now and then. Everyone was mixed up together on benches; the quiet and serious ones with rough boys in holey jumpers and thick boots that stung when they tripped you up.

Miss Halstead took the littler children into another tiny classroom out of the Head’s way after assembly. Mirren went to the front on her first morning to be registered, eager to show off how well she could read and write, but Harold Burrows barely gave her a glance.

‘That’ll do,’ he muttered while she was finishing the page. His breath smelled like Dad’s had done. He pointed her towards the back bench among tall lads who couldn’t read or write much. Everyone stared and then giggled at her accent. At playtime the other girls crowded in a corner but didn’t make friends, just stood staring at her.

It was too far to walk home at lunch so she sat on her own, eating her pasty and apple, trying not to feel miserable.

‘She’s one of them posh clever clogs, a townie,’ sneered Billy Marsden in his jacket with his shirt hanging out of the elbows. ‘My mam heard she was living in a railway hut when they found her.’

‘No…it’s a bungalow,’ she lied.

‘It were a railway shed, fit for donkeys on our farm,’ laughed another lad.

‘Shut up, dumbo. At least I can read,’ she shouted. ‘It was a special carriage all on one level so it is a bungalow.’

‘Who does she think she is, bloody offcumden!’ Billy was not for being outfaced by this newcomer.

‘My granny lives at Cragside and I’m a Yewell, so there!’ Mirren hated being singled out. She just wanted to have a friend and be left alone.

‘So what’re you doing living in a railway hut? Mam says you’re not a proper Yewell. Her mam was a whore who ran away and had a bastard!’ He put his hands on hips, waiting for her to get out of that insult.

Mirren didn’t know what a basted was, or a hoor, but she sensed it was rude and when everyone started laughing she leaped up and flung herself into Billy’s face, scratching his cheek accidentally. ‘Shut up, numpty! You’re as thick as shit!’

Mr Burrows was standing in the doorway of the school. He’d heard none of the teasing and saw only her take action. Everyone stepped back, seeing the look on his face.

‘Gilchrist and Marsden, my desk, this minute. Not another word!’ he screamed, cuffing them both round the ears, not listening to Mirren’s attempt to explain.

‘I don’t want wildcats in this school. If you want to behave like an animal, you can go and amuse the infants in their room. Get out of my sight, Miriam Know-all. You’re too cocky for words, with your town ways and impudence. Hold out your hand.’

The cane struck her palm, bringing tears to her eyes but her mouth was drawn tight, wincing as the next blow hit the palm, biting into her flesh. She was not going to let him see her pain. She took five strokes but Billy Marsden got off with a caution. It wasn’t fair.

She was banished to the infants’ cupboard with her face to the wall. Her hands were stinging and cut but she turned her face to hide her tears. The silent battle of wills with Harold Burrows had begun.

He ignored her in class when her hand was raised to answer a question. She sat sullen and unresponsive to anything he offered to the class as a whole. Billy Marsden left her alone. In fact the whole school pretended she wasn’t there, avoiding her after lessons. It got to the point where there was no point in attending school any more but no one at Cragside had any idea of her unhappiness. If they found out, she might be sent away to the orphanage.

Every morning she waved them goodbye and set off for the track down to the village but once out of sight she veered off on another route. In this way Mirren got to know every nook and cranny of the Yewells’ fields and gullies, becksides and hidy-holes. With her pasty and bottle of milk to sustain her, she could amuse herself for hours. If it was raining there were hidden caves and boulders to shelter under, like the sheep, outbarns full of hay to hunker down in and read the book she’d hidden there at the weekend.

There was this wonderful book called Scouting for Boys, all about making dens and campfires and signalling. It taught her how to lurk out of sight of shepherds and workmen. For days on end she stayed up in the hills but knew soon she would have to return to the school with some excuse of sickness in case the Welfare man came calling to see why she was absent.

December was not the month for staying out too long. The first flurries of snow sent her scurrying for cover but it was better to have frozen fingers than be caned and bullied and ignored. There was more to learning than sitting on a hard school bench.

In the fields there were hares to watch and foxes to follow, gullies and waterfalls and leaping fish. There were birds she’d never seen before, berries to identify and mushrooms that she was warned not to eat.

As long as she wrapped up in her new thick wool coat with a flannel lining sewn in for winter, a hand-knitted scarf and beret like a cloche helmet, thick stockings and leather boots, she was warm enough if she kept on the move.

Now the sun was low in the sky, making long shadows. Mirren sensed by the way the sun moved when it was time to head back down to the track as if she was coming from school. The last bit of hometime was the worst, having to creep through the dark copse in the shadows where the tawny owl hooted and sometimes the eye of the fox glistened as the moon rose at dusk. It was dark by four thirty.

It was such a relief to leave the wood behind and watch for the twinkling lanterns in the yard and farmhouse windows before they closed the shutters. They always waited until she was home before doing that, while she sat with a slice of bread and dripping, making up stories of her happy day at school.

Two weeks before Christmas the snows came; flutterings of goosefeathers at first, turning to ice and then rain on the sodden ground. The wind turned to the north-east, making puddles into skating rinks and icy slides. Mirren decided to make a quick recovery just in case there were lots of Christmassy things to do at school but she needn’t have bothered for there was not even a string of paper chains or Nativity play to enliven the season, and no part for her in the carol service in the parish church. She was Chapel, after all.

Mr Burrows had forgotten she was on the register by the look he gave her over his half-moon glasses. ‘Back in the land of the living again, Miss Gilchrist? We thought you’d gone back to town.’

She stuck it until dinner break and told Miss Halstead in the playground she felt sick and could she be excused. The teacher looked concerned, felt her forehead and packed her off with a wave.

The sky was purple and grey, but nothing to worry about as she sneaked off over the track, glad to be away from the sticky sweaty smells of the school hall. The fact that everything on the hillside was going in the opposite direction never struck her as odd.

Sheep were heading down, butting and nudging each other like the kids in the playground queue. They sensed a change in the weather. Cows were bellowing from their stalls, no bird chatter in the tree tops, as if the silent wood was waiting. She was so intent on getting away, Mirren didn’t notice the darkening sky above her.

Yet it all looked so sparkly, ice like tinsel on the stone walls, sugary tree trunks. The air was sharp at the back of her throat, nothing to warn her of the storm ahead, but she pulled her tammy over her ears.

The snow came speckled at first, the wind pushing her forward. Then it slowed her pace as she rose higher and it got thicker and whiter, the feathery flakes sticking to her coat and chapping her bare knees. Only then did she realise she was too high and must turn back.

Sheep passed her by like walking snowballs. They were taking shelter behind the bield of the stone walls and so must she. Her coat weighed a ton, stiff like cardboard, and her cheeks were stinging with the chill. Miriam sensed she mustn’t stop, but finger her way along the stone walls, hoping to find the shelter of a barn. This, however, was new territory. Her eyes squinted at the whiteness that disguised where she was, her fingers ached in her mittens and her boots were like lead weights.

It was then she realised how stupid it was to be wandering alone in a snow storm. She had no strength against the wildness of these moors, being just a silly, disobellient little girl who was lost. There was trouble in the wind and no one to help her.

The fleeting warmth of her tears was no comfort. This was her own doing and her own fault, and now she was going to freeze to death and no one knew she was even missing. They thought her safe in the schoolroom. She would be found frozen like a dead sheep with its eyes pecked out by rooks.

The thought of that fate stirred her into one last effort to find a gate or a barn. ‘Help me…’ she cried, but there was none there to hear her, yet her stubborn spirit was not going to give in without a fight.

No use turning back, for the trackway was covered and she could stumble down a gully and be stuck. It was forwards or nothing, and she wasn’t going to lie down without cover. Slowly she edged forward, following the wall end. The effort took all of her strength and she felt herself struggling.

Just when she couldn’t go another step, she saw an outline in the whirling white, a jagged line of high stones, walls and a chimney stack. Her eye fixed on that marker with hope in her heart that she’d found a farmhouse or a barn. Listening for the bark of a dog or the bellow of a cow, she made for the shelter. The silence, stillness and swirling snow like a veil hid what was before her but she knew there was something there if only she could get her legs to work properly. To be so near and yet far…

‘Help me,’ she called again, but no one came.

Those last few yards were like agony, carrying a load of ice on her shoulders, but she fell into the stone porch with relief. It was already half filled with a snowdrift. She shouted but no one answered. Desperation fuelled her arms to batter the oak-studded door and it yielded even to her puny weight. How she yearned for firelight and the glow of a storm lantern, the smell of bacon or an open fire, but there was nothing, just an empty shell.

Part of the rafters were stove in and she could see snow falling through the gap in the roof, little drifts piling up, and it was just light enough to see the old stone fireplace behind a great arch of stone spanning the width of the room. Inside there it was dry and sheltered. There was even old straw bedding on the flagged floor, musty and dusty where it was dry, old cattle bedding. There was a broken ladder to a small loft but she daren’t risk going up there.

Through another arch she spotted the cold dairy with slate shelves. The storage holes were empty of jars. No one had lived here for years. There were a few bits of broken chairs, nothing else but four bare walls.

The disappointment rose up like bile in her throat. No fire, no welcome. There was not even a lucifer to light a fire, not even a beast to warm herself by, but it was shelter from the blizzard outside and it was getting dark.

‘Be thankful for small mercies, child,’ came her Sunday school teacher’s voice in her head. Looking around in the gloom, she had to admit that there was everything here for her to ride out the storm.

If you were silly enough to do what she had done then this was about the mercy she deserved, she decided. She was safe and this would have to do. Outside the wind was roaring up a gale. Bits of roof rattled and clanked but stayed put.

Mirren gathered up the driest bits of straw she could find to make a nest under the stone arch. She sat in the grate, trying to be brave. There was snow to suck on and she still had her store apple to feast on in her coat pocket. Every bite would have to be savoured slowly and eked out as if it was a proper meal, skin, pips, core, the lot.

Where she was, she hadn’t a clue, but it was high up above Cragside. The chimney breast smelled of old soot and woodsmoke, and the straw itched. She thought of mangers and cheered her flagging spirits singing ‘Away in a Manger’. She was away in a manger but no one knew where she was and there’d be hell to pay when they found out.

She heard little rustlings and scratchings beside and above her: night creatures scurrying into the walls. At least the house had other things here, mice and wrens seeking shelter…maybe wild cats, foxes, wolves…No use scaring herself with fairy tales. For one night she’d be glad of company, whatever it was. She was one of them, trapped, penned in, safe enough. The house will look after us, she sighed, and curled up in a ball to save heat.

Down in the valley Windebank school would be dismissed early. They had a snow drill and roll call, and children would have been collected. Others would be forced to stay by the stoves and stay the night in Burrows’ den, poor buggers! She could swear out loud and there was no one here to tell her off. This was better than being stuck with that hateful man. This was all his fault…

Mirren woke from a deep sleep feeling numb, legs aching with cramp. She scoured around hoping there might be a provender sack, something to stuff with straw to keep her teeth from chattering. There was a small store under the ladder stairs with a pan and a brush, and to her joy some rotten sacks. Once more the little house had come to her rescue. If only there was enough kindling to get a flame going.

It was then she remembered the scouting book. There was a section on lighting fires with sticks of wood and bits of cloth, making sparks to smoulder into kindling. She wished she’d read it more carefully.

Just thinking about it gave her courage to ferret in the darkness. The sky was clear and the moon was up high enough to be a lantern if she opened the window shutters. Her eyes were getting used to the half-light. It was better to keep moving than to freeze, so she packed the straw into the sack to make a little mattress, and pretended it was a feather quilt and she was the princess in the pea story. Then she gathered up any bits of wood she could find, scliffs from the stairs.

There were holes built into the inglenook, crannies where things were kept dry like the one in the old bit of Cragside for salt, and a bread oven. Feeling her way into the holes with fear in case a rat jumped out of its nest, like one had in the chicken coop the other day, scaring her half to death with its beady eye, Mirren tried to be brave. Inside was dry and she touched something hard and jumped back. It didn’t move. Her fingers found a cold metal box about the size of a baccy tin.

Please let there be lucifers inside, she prayed. The tin was rusted and hard to prise open, all ridges and bumps in fancy patterns made of brass, and her fingertips were numb. In frustration she banged the edge on the hearth and it fell open.

Inside was a kit of some sort. Dad had one of these on the mantelpiece to keep his pipe bits in. It was an old comforts tin for soldiers, he had told her, once full of chocolates and cigarettes. This one had the face of the old Queen on, but nothing inside but a bit of rag, some chalk ends, a peppermint lozenge and two dry lucifers. Two chances to make a flame: another prayer was answered.

How did they do it in the scout book? She had to have some dry cloth. Her clothes were damp-even her knickers were wet where she had leaked–but she did have a thick vest and liberty bodice though she couldn’t cut them. Then she found the hanky rolled in her knicker pocket, full of snot but dry enough now.

She must make a little triangle tent of straw and bits to catch alight but she needed stuff to put in the fire too, wood and bits to keep it going. Dad once told her that poor people used cow dung to heat their fires. Dried dung didn’t smell, he said when she turned up her nose. There was plenty of that scraped along the walls, if she searched hard enough.

She piled everything she could and tried to light the lucifer, but it flared and went out before anything smouldered and she threw it away in disgust and frustration.

She set out her little fire again and hovered over it as she struck the last match. This one flared and dropped onto the tinder. As it smouldered she recalled she had to blow it gently, adding little pieces with trembling fingers, just like Granny Simms did when her fire wouldn’t catch.

Slowly the little fire grew from a few twigs to a flaring ember of warmth and needed feeding with fresh stuff to burn. Just the sight of it made Mirren feel warm. If only there was a candle somewhere. Back to the storage holes and a fingertip search in case there was something there, and there was: just a stub, but a candle for company.

Up the stairs she went gingerly, in search of kindling and bits of plaster laths.

‘Thank you, house,’ she whispered into the walls. ‘Thanks for shelter and firelight but I need more wood. Where can I find wood?’

Then a strange thing happened. It was as if she could hear her dad’s voice in her head for the first time since the accident.

‘Mirren Gilchrist, use yer gumption, lassie. It’s all to hand.’

With her candle end she crawled up the ladder and saw the broken laths lying around the walls, a pile of dry kindling. She must chuck them down onto the flags and make a pile. This was dusty work but it kept her mind off the roar of the blizzard and the piles of snow gathering from the hole in the roof.

Downstairs was warmth, a feather bed, a lozenge to suck if she dared. Water could be heated in the brass tin over the fire and she popped in the lozenge to give it taste. This was using her gumption too. Whatever happened, the fire must be fed in the hearth. No one would come in the storm, but perhaps in the morning…

Waking at first light shivering, Mirren smelled smoke and smouldering embers. Her hoard was well and truly exhausted but there was a good supply upstairs. Time to melt more snow in the tin. Through the gap she could see blue sky and a few drifting flakes. She opened the shutter to a mysterious white mound, strange shapes, no walls or barns or rocks, just great waves of snow, in peaks like whipped cream. The devil wind was whipping up new shapes. Her tummy was rumbling with hunger and her legs were wobbly but there was nothing to eat here.

It was warmest sitting right by the fire, hidden under the archway, and when the blackened tin was hot she wrapped it in a sack to warm her feet like a hot-water bottle. The stones were now hot and if she stayed tight she was thawed enough to tingle, but the fire was the only thing being fed. She was feeling dizzy.

What was happening at Cragside? Had they discovered she was wagging off school? In some ways she was glad to be found out. Wasting schooling was doing her no good.

‘Whatever you do in life, lassie, get an eddy-cashun,’ her dad once said when he was sobered up. ‘You dinna want to end up like me. Even a girl needs a schooling.’

It had been easy in Scarperton, but this school was teaching her nothing and the teacher didn’t care. He was useless and smelled of whisky. How she hated that smell.

Up here it was peaceful, safe between thick walls. Someone must have lived here once, but who? If only she could live here with Mam and Dad. They could keep stock and make butter and cheese, and she could show Dad all she’d learned from Granddad.

Had Mam played here as a little girl? Was her spirit watching over her now? Mirren hoped so.

It was hard to be a motherless lamb with no memories of her mam, just a snapshot in a print dress. The mother of her imagination would be tall and pretty, with golden hair, and clever and sparkling, but no one at Cragside ever talked about her much when she asked questions. They clammed up and looked the other way when she pestered for more.

Did they own this house or did it belong to the bigwig in London who came for the shooting at Benton Hall? Why was it left to rot, unloved, abandoned?

Mirren made for the door, thinking if she kept in a straight line she might just make her way down like the sheep. Her courage failed when she opened the door on to a mountain of snow. She was trapped, fast in, as they said round here. Time to bank up the fire and pray. She was no match for the devil wind and the snow giants.

She sipped her hot water, pretending it was cocoa laced with the top of the milk. Mam and Dad would have loved this house but they weren’t here now. They were gone and she was on her own again. If someone didn’t come soon she would starve. How quickly night-time fears flee when the sun shines, but she sat like Cinderella at the hearth, too weak now to move.

When would they come?

4

Adey took one look at the sky and knew school would be out early. They must send a cart to see the child got back safely. Country kiddies took shelter in bad weather. They knew to lie low until it was safe, but Mirren was different and secretive these days and she might not do the right thing. Adey sent Joe to collect her just in case.

Now they were used to having her around the place, grown accustomed to her noisy chatter and questions. Questions. She was a bright one and her piano playing was coming on. All she lacked was practice and concentration, but she was little Miss Head-in-a-Book. It would be nice if she got to the girls’ secondary school like her mam. Her coming had brought life back to the place and no one could say she didn’t help out…

Then Joe blew in from the doorway, covered in snow.

‘You’re back, praise the Lord. Thanks for getting her, Joe. Where’s her ladyship?’ Adey searched for the child behind him.

‘She wasn’t there, Mother. Burrows said summat about her going home early and that’s not all. I had a word with Lizzie Halstead at the door. Mirren’s hardly been in school at all…’ he muttered.

‘The little minx, wait till I get my hands on her. What’s going on?’ Adey was all worked up with worry and fury.

Carrie was lurking at the stove and she turned pink. ‘Perhaps I should’ve said something earlier, Mrs Yewell, but our Emmot says that Mirren hates school and got the cane for fighting. They’ve been calling her names and Burrows makes her go in the baby class so she’s been off sick.’

‘Now you tell us!’ snapped Adey. ‘How long has this been going on? Oh, my giddy aunt, she’s out in that snow. Send for Tom. We’ll have to get up a search party.’ She felt the fear and panic rising and went for her coat.

‘Hang on, Mother. What good’ll that do in this wild darkness?’ came Joe’s predictable reply. ‘She could be anywhere by now. She’s a sensible lass even if she’s stubborn with it. She’ll have found cover. Tom and the village boys will look for her in the morning.’

‘We can’t wait that long. She’ll catch her death,’ Adey was shouting back. ‘Wait till I see her, scaring us half to death. You’ll have to take the strap to her and teach her a lesson.’

‘Wait on, Adey. Lass’s in enough trouble as it is, gadding off into the hills. She doesn’t know the lay of the land and not the size of tuppence ha’penny. We should have kept a closer eye on her ourselves. We used to be able to sniff out trouble with our lads but we’ve got out of the habit, and she’s a deep one, at that.’

‘You could take the dogs out with a storm lantern,’ Adey pleaded.

‘Don’t be daft. And have two of us lost in the snow? We’ll do the job proper with a gang stretched over the moor. Mind you, she’s a right devil running off from the schoolmaster. I thought only lads did that,’ said Joe, scratching his head.

‘We’ve got to do something,’ screamed Adey, pacing up and down the kitchen, clattering her pans.

Carrie started to cry. ‘I’m not a tale teller, as you know, but I reckon Burrows had made her life a right misery. Emmot says she’s top of the class but she has to sit at the back and shut up or teach the dunces to do their letters. That’s not right, is it?’

‘Poor lass has had a right miserable time but never thought to tell us,’ said Joe, slurping his tea in a way that always got on Adey’s nerves.

‘We didn’t bring her all this way to lose her in the snow,’ Adey sighed. ‘Happen we should never have brought her here in the first place. It’s not like living in a town. She never said a word…’

What if Mirren was already lost? What sort of Christmas would they have in mourning? How would she ever forgive herself? The girl’d been taking her bullying in silence and that showed courage, and to put up with Burrows in the state he was in nowadays. He ought to be reported. Were they such ogres that she couldn’t tell them her troubles?

If she came out of this alive, they’d have to think things afresh, perhaps put her in a private school, but where would they find the cash for that?

‘Dear Lord, keep the child safe for one more day, temper the wind to the shorn lamb,’ Joe prayed, and they bowed their heads in the kitchen. ‘Show us the way…’

Outside the wind roared and the blizzard raged but no one got a wink of sleep that night. They were helpless in the face of the storm. It was out of their hands now.

The fire was still crackling with more broken-off laths but Mirren was now weak with hunger and fear. Why didn’t they come? Would they ever find her? Perhaps they had given her up for lost?

Outside the door a cruel silvery world shimmered with icicles cascading down from the roof ends but she was too tired to wonder at the beauty of it all. She wanted to be home with Gran in Cragside kitchen, back with Carrie making faces, back sneaking titbits to Jet under the table.

It was melting, though. There were drips plopping from the hole in the roof, but no other sound. Then she heard the faint bark of dogs in the distance. Her heart thumped with relief. Someone was out there searching for her.

‘I’m here, over here!’ she squeaked, but her voice was too quiet. She couldn’t open the door for the weight of snow and she was desperate. What would the Scouts do now?

Uncle George’s book had served her well so far. There was a chapter on camping and sending signals, but she’d skipped that bit. If she was high up perhaps they would see her smoke.

Mirren piled on more laths. The only thing to hand was her new winter coat and she was in enough trouble as it was, so she grabbed a smelly sack and tried wafting it over the flames but it caught alight and she had to throw it onto the fire. Perhaps the blue smoke might be visible.

She sat down, exhausted and tearful. Come on old house, she prayed, help me one more time and I promise, on my blue temperance badge, I’ll pay you back.

There was always the hope that the kindred spirits who had once lived here would come to her rescue. She opened the one working shutter and yelled until she was puce and dizzy.

Then a tall boy in a peaked tweed cap, carrying a proddy stick, climbed over a drift and waved.

‘She’s here! Over here! Now then, young Miriam, let’s be having you,’ smiled a pair of dark brown eyes. She’d never seen him before in the village. He was about fourteen.

‘Who are you?’

‘Jack Sowerby, from The Fleece. You must be wrong in the head to go gallivanting up World’s End…’

‘It wasn’t snowing when I left,’ she answered back. No wonder she’d never seen him. Yewells didn’t go in pubs. They were Satan’s houses. ‘Anyway, the house found me and kept me safe.’

Her rescuer didn’t seem interested in her explanation but kept on whistling and shouting.

‘She’s alive, up here!’ he called, and suddenly there were dogs sniffing at her, faces peering under sack hoods with burning cheeks, and she was pulled through the window to safety.

‘So you spent the night at World’s End,’ laughed Uncle Tom, shoving in her hand a flask of hot soup, which burned her throat. ‘Sip it slowly. You’re a lucky blighter to find this ruin and hole up like a lost sheep. Happen you’re a Yewell through and through. Now, young lady, don’t you ever do such a daft thing again. You have to treat these hills with respect or they’ll take your fingers off in a few hours and your life by nightfall. Mam and Dad are going mad with worry at Cragside. Don’t you go putting lives at risk again…silly mutt!’ Uncle Tom stared at her with cold eyes and she cried.

‘Now what’ve I said?’ he muttered. ‘Don’t take on. Drink yer soup.’

It was creamy broth with bits of meat and veg in it, the most wonderful soup in the world at that moment, but she still felt dizzy and floppy.

Uncle Tom had never shouted at her before. The lad, Jack, peered in through the window. ‘She’s got a fire going…She’s canny enough, Tom, to think of that.’ He turned to her with smiling eyes. ‘I reckon we’ve got another Miriam o’ the Dale here. How did you think all this up?’

‘I read Uncle George’s book.’ At least Jack Sowerby didn’t think she was stupid. ‘I tried to do smoke signals but it didn’t work.’

‘That’s grand. They’ll be right proud of you when they find out,’ he said, but Uncle Tom was scowling.

‘No they won’t. She’s for it when she gets back, if the look on my mam’s face is anything to go by. She’s lost us a day’s work.’

‘The snow did that for you. We can’t blame her for a blizzard. The poor kid’s half starved. Do you want a piggyback?’ Jack offered.

But Mirren shook her head. ‘No thank you, I’ll walk. I’ve caused enough bother. I don’t suppose you’ve done anything as daft as me?’ she asked them both.

Uncle Tom suddenly roared. ‘His mam says Jack ran away on the first day at school ’cos he couldn’t count up the cardboard pennies so he hid in the cellar of the pub and she and Wilf were run ragged trying to find him.’ He lifted her up as she was struggling and her legs had turned to jelly. He carried her down to the waiting sled, to the warmth of a horse steaming, then homewards over the snow.

It was a cold crisp morning with a weak winter sun, but the journey down was like bumping over ice and the poor horse slithered. How could she have wandered so far uphill–and to the end of the world, they said?

She turned to say goodbye to her house but it had already disappeared from view, hidden and secret once more. One day she must come back and thank it properly.

They were all lined up waiting in the kitchen as she was carried in and inspected for frostbite. Someone had blasted off a gun to give notice that she was safe. Two blasts and it would have meant she was a goner, so Carrie whispered.

‘You’ve given us such a fright, Miriam. Whatever were you thinking off?’ said Granny, rubbing her dry with a towel.

‘Not now, Adey,’ said Grandpa Joe. ‘She’s frozen through. Get her in that zinc tub and warmed up. Plenty of time for a sermon when she’s come to. Carrie can see to it.’

Soon Mirren was soaking in the warm tub, her hands and toes tingling, and then Carrie was towelling her dry.

‘Weren’t you scared all alone at World’s End?’ she asked.

‘I wasn’t alone. There were animals sheltering in there, and when the fire was lit, I heard—’

‘They say that ruin is haunted. You wouldn’t catch me up there for love nor money,’ Carrie added.

‘It’s a kind place. I didn’t see anyone. The walls are thick and warm.’

‘You’re a braver lass than me…World’s End is unlucky for some. That’s why it’s been left. It belonged to one of yours years back. They said his wife was a witch but I never believed it…your great-granny, Sukie Yewell. She never went to church. They say…but I shouldn’t be putting ideas in your head. You’ve had a lucky escape. We thought you were a goner. The snow’s taken many a soul off these moors. They know about you skipping school, by the way. I had to tell them.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Mirren, splashing the water with her foot. Carrie was wrong. World’s End was a kind house. It had sheltered her and saved her life. Now she must get dressed and face the grilling downstairs.

Soon everyone in Windebank knew the child was safe, found in the old ruin at World’s End. George Thursby, the postman, brought an update straight from Cragside lane end, telling Miss Halstead how the town child was found. Soon it passed from cottage to shop and pub that Mirren Gilchrist was a truant from school on account of her beating by Mr Burrows. He was called by the managers to account for such rumours and reprimanded for taking whisky bottles into school. Only his war record prevented his dismissal. His wife went to her mother’s on account of her health. The village was agog at the gossip, but Mirren was to know nothing of all this.

She was trying to be extra good for her grandparents, keeping her head down, waiting for the moment when she would be summoned to make an account of her behaviour. And so near to Christmas too.

‘Why does nobody like World’s End?’ she asked at the dinner table.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, child,’ said Gran. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Carrie said it’s haunted by a witch,’ she replied.

‘Nonsense, she’s making a cake out of a biscuit again. There’s nothing wrong with that place that a bit of repair wouldn’t sort out but it’s too far out to be much use to us, especially in winter. You did well to find it.’

‘It found me, I think. Can we mend it?’

‘Of course not, lass. There’s no money for that sort of whimsy.’

Grandpa was taking his tea into his study to do his sermon for the Christmas carol concert. Being a preacher was important and he was not to be disturbed when she passed his door.

Carrie began brushing Mirren’s hair out. It crackled on the brush.

‘Ouch!’ she cried as the lugs were combed out.

‘We should be paddling your backside with that brush, young lady, not pampering your vanity. Disobellience in one so young is a black mark. Truanting is what boys do, not nice girls,’ said Gran.

‘She’s learned her lesson, haven’t you?’ said Carrie, pulling Mirren’s hair so she nodded meekly.

‘Spare the rod, spoil the child, the Good Book says,’ sniffed Gran.

They all lined up against her two days later-Gran, Grandpa and Uncle Tom–and she stood as if a culprit before the constable.

‘We’re really disappointed in you, Miriam. If you were unhappy you should have told us instead of wagging off like that. You could have fallen in the waterfall or in a bog and no one would have known where you were. We are led to believe you’re a clever girl not a dunce…We never took you for a quitter.’ Grandpa Joe wagged his finger like he did in the pulpit when he spat out about the fiery furnace waiting for sinners. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I hate it there. I want to go back to St Mary’s school,’ Mirren sobbed.

‘That’s no answer,’ he said, ignoring her outburst. ‘It’s bound to take time for you to settle in. Tomorrow you will go down and apologise to Mr Burrows, and knuckle down to be a good scholar.’

‘I won’t,’ she snapped back. ‘He hates me. He won’t teach me anything.’

‘You will do as you’re told, young lady. I give the orders in this house. You must learn that when you do something wrong you take your punishment. Write a neat letter of apology in your best handwriting and I will check it over. You’ve got to get back to study. We’ll help you with that bit and that’ll be the end on t’matter. As for punishment, I’m sure you realise that there’ll be no pantomime trips or Christmas treats for you this year. Father Christmas doesn’t bring gifts to naughty children. There’ll be no outings until I’m sure you’ll not let the family name down.’

‘I hate you all,’ Mirren screamed, and Gran cuffed her around the ear, a right sidewinder. It stung her cheek and she stared, shocked. The room fell silent.

‘Out of my sight, you rude ungrateful child. You put other lives in danger and shamed us before the village. I will not speak to you until you show due remorse. Go to your room at once.’

Even Miriam knew she’d gone too far and pushed Gran into clouting her, but she would not go back to that boring classroom to be caned and humiliated all over again.

The next day she sidled out of the side door, down the cinder path from the yard to the little summer hut where, she’d been told, on sunny days Grandpa sat outside, smoking his pipe and looking down the valley at the view, dreaming up words for his preaching.

It was just a wooden shed with an open front and railings round, and a bench inside out of the breeze. No one would find her there, she thought. She needed to calm her thudding heart and think of what to write to Burrows.

The bench was icy, and icicles hung from the roof like lollipops. How she wished she was back up on the tops at World’s End, far away in her own fireside. If she was grown up she would run away for ever and make that hidy-hole safe from prying people; somewhere to get away from meddlers.

She sat hunched up, trying to summon up courage to go back in, when she sensed at the corner of her eye someone standing to the side, hovering, not knowing whether to cough or not. It was Jack Sowerby. She glowered at him, hoping he’d slink away.

‘Hutch up,’ he said. ‘In a bit of hot water, I hear. Tom was down at The Fleece telling Mam all about it. I thought you might need a friend.’

‘No, go away!’

‘Pity I sort of wondered if we could find a way round the bother at school. It’s not a bad school.’

‘It’s a rubbishy school,’ Mirren snapped. ‘I hate old Burrows’.

‘Why?’

‘I just do, and he smells of whisky,’ she replied, sitting with her arms folded in defiance of Jack softening her up.

‘Let me tell you a story about Harold Burrows. For one, he’s not old, just over thirty. For two, he’s a brave man who won medals in the war. For three, he saved many men’s lives and he was injured in the head. For four, I’m told he gets terrible headaches that make him scream out in the night with pain. The whisky gives him heart. Shall I go on?’ Jack paused, searching her scowling face.

‘So what? He’s caned me for nothing and doesn’t teach me anything.’ Mirren stared at him.

‘What do you do to help him?’ Jack stared her back, his dark eyes piercing into hers. She looked away into the distance, not sure where all this was leading. Teachers were there to drum stuff in. Mirren had never thought of them as having headaches and homes and pain, just like everyone else. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, you know how to be helpful, fetch and carry, look interested when he’s talking. You could be quite pretty if you smiled more.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ she quipped, but was interested just the same.

‘There you go, thinking of yourself. You’ve got the brains, so use them. Work it out like arithmetic. Don’t sit there feeling sorry for yourself. Give him some hope by passing the blessed qualifying exams. Show him you’re a winner. If you get stuck I’ll always help if I can.’

Why was Jack being so kind? Was it something to do with the fact that Uncle Tom was visiting his mam a lot?

‘Is World’s End haunted?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘What do you think? You’re the one that slept there.’

‘I wish I could go and live up there like a shepherd, and go for walks and keep hens and not have to go to school,’ she sighed.

‘By the time you’re ready to leave, it’ll have fallen down. It’s like an eagle’s eyrie up there, but very lonely,’ Jack smiled, showing a line of white teeth.

‘We mustn’t let it fall down. It’s my friend and I want to live up there one day,’ Mirren replied.

‘Don’t be daft. Whatever could you do up there? It’s a poor living off thin topsoil. Even I know that.’

‘I don’t care. They mustn’t pull it down. Uncle Tom could mend it.’ Then she remembered that she was in the doghouse and Uncle Tom wouldn’t do anything if she didn’t go back to school.

‘Why should he help you when you won’t go back to school?’ Jack had read her thoughts.

‘If I go back and behave, will he mend the roof for me?’ she smiled.

‘Well, that’s a start, but you’ll have to ask him yourself and he’s got other ideas in his head at the moment. He’s courting my mam, by the looks of things.’

‘Do you mind?’ she asked, not sure what courting meant.

‘Nothing to do with me…Mam’s a widow. As long as he doesn’t want me to be a farmer. You’ve got a few bridges to mend before you ask any favours off anyone.’

She looked at Jack, her hero, with growing admiration. He was already at the boys’ grammar school, and if he was on her side the battle was as good as won.

Her battle was yet to come in going down to Windebank with her tail between her legs but if it meant a new roof on World’s End, then it was worth it.

That night on the moor had changed everything. She knew now she was part of these hills like her ancestors before her: Miriam and Sukie and Adey and Mother.

Sitting in the twilight of that icy December afternoon, Mirren knew that one day she would make this farming way of life her own, but how she wasn’t sure. Tomorrow she must make her peace with Mr Burrows. That was enough to be going on with…

In the days that followed the snow fell hard and there was no school, no chance to find a path to World’s End. By the time New Year came and went, she was much too busy with lessons to think much about it again.

5

29 June 1927

The total eclipse of the sun was going to be the most exciting event in Mirren Gilchrist’s life since that snowstormy night at World’s End.

Granny Yewell was throwing a leaflet from the council on the table, telling them the hours when they must dowse their fires, so as not to spoil sightings of the sun with smoke. ‘If I hear one more word about this blessed eclipse…’ she called out to Grandpa Joe, who was kicking off his boots in the back porch and then knocking over his mug of tea on the clean tablecloth.

‘There, look what you’ve done,’ she snapped. ‘What a fuss about nothing. You’d think it were the end of the world!’

Poor Gran got so flustered and crabby when the farm workers invaded her kitchen, but there was always something warm waiting for Mirren on the table after school: a pot of broth or warm oven-bottom teacakes dripping with rhubarb jam. Adey Yewell had taken a great interest in her schooling ever since she’d marched down to Windebank with her hackles raised on her granddaughter’s behalf and tore a strip off Mr Burrows.

‘We can’t have our lass wasting that brain of hers trying to knock some learning into lumps o’ lard like Billy Marsden. You should be grateful to have such talent. I want no more nonsense. She’s taken her punishment from us so just you treat her right or you’ll have me to deal with!’ Of course, news quickly spread and the whole village was agog at Adey’s stand. Mirren felt so proud of her.

Now that Mirren and Mr Burrows had come to an understanding after she wrote her own letter of apology, and the vicar had stepped in as referee with the family over the runaway episode, school was not so boring. She was going to be put in for a prize scholarship. The Head was giving her extra coaching and he didn’t have whisky breath any more. A new girl called Lorna Dinsdale arrived in Mirren’s class. They became best friends and they were both trying for the scholarship together: no skiving off for Mirren with Lorna chasing her heels in class for top marks.

One of their projects was to study the total eclipse of the sun, due that summer, and the vicar brought in lantern slides to explain the ‘fenominer’ and how their dale was to be honoured with the best view in the whole of England. It was the centre of Totality. The sun was going to be eclipsed completely right above Mirren’s head.

No one in the village could talk of anything else because every farmhouse, cottage and hotel was going to be booked up with visitors. There was brass to be made.

‘Aye,’ Joe replied to Adey, mopping up the spilled tea, giving his wife and granddaughter one of his twinkling looks. ‘Who knows what the Good Lord in His mercy, who sets His firmament in the sky and causes the sun to go down at noon, has in store for us? It’s all there in the Good Book. I shall be taking mesen off to the highest spot to stand before my Maker. I’ll be nearer heaven should I be taken up to glory and you should all be doing the same.’

Grandpa Joe was of the old school of local preachers; just like the preachers in the Band of Hope at Scarperton, well drenched in the Holy Bible, never considering he had done service to his Lord unless he had his congregation whipped up into a frenzy of enthusiasm, making their Sunday roast dinners dry out in weariness by the length of his preaching, but she loved him dearly. There was always a sweetie in his pocket for her and a twinkle in his eye.

‘Now then, none of that talk afore the lass,’ Gran said, seeing Mirren’s wide eyes on stalks. ‘I’ll have enough to do making breakfasts for all them folk thronging the hillsides for a good view. It’ll be all hands to the pump, Joe. I want that yard spotless.’

Mirren knew they’d put their names down on the Eclipse Committee to provide field parking, hot breakfasts and some overnight accommodation when the world came to Windebank. All this work for a little extra brass in the kitty would be useful come the autumn when she must be kitted out far winter: clogs, shoes, uniform. Her legs just kept growing out of things. There was a limit to how far the egg money would stretch, but she would do the work and collect the takings. That was what this coming eclipse was all about.

They had seven bedrooms and she must go in the attic while Grandpa Joe could kip in the stable loft for one night and the family visitors would sleep in the upper parlour on a camp bed. Gran would charge ten shillings a night for the privilege of sleeping in her best rooms and full breakfast.

Organising parking in the fields would be Uncle Tom’s job with Uncle Wesley’s boy, Ben, from Leeds, but they were all moaning about the wetness of the spring and the awful summer so far, and Tom didn’t want his fields poached or the lambs disturbed by vehicles.

Gran suggested they open the fields for campers, tents and cyclists, and charge at least a shilling per person. It was only for one night.

‘You’re a hard woman,’ Joe smiled, sipping from his refilled mug of tea with relish.

‘Someone has to be in this house,’ she argued. ‘You’re as soft as butter with yer head either stuck in a milk pail or in another world, on yer knees night and day waiting for the call to glory. If thousands of mugginses want to traipse up here for a clear view, then let them pay for it, I say.’

‘That’s hardly the spirit, Mother, of a good Christian woman,’ he tried to tease her, twinkling those blue eyes, but she was not for soft-soaping.

‘Life’s shown me that you don’t get owt for nowt in this world. We’ve a bairn now to feed and clothe. You have to take yer chances, as well you know, and this event won’t happen again in our lifetime right slap-bang in this dale. The minute the shadows are over, I’ll stoke up my fire and make a hundred breakfasts if I have to. Think of the brass.’

‘There’s more to life than brass, Adey,’ said Grandpa Joe.

‘My name’s Adeline, as well you know, but it’s brass as polishes the silver, keeps us all fed and clothed. We live off our wits and off our land. The land can give us a bonus this year, that’s all,’ she answered. ‘The girl’ll have to do her stuff too and earn her keep.’

Mirren sensed that her gran got tired of having a boisterous child around when the rest of her family was grown up. She tried not to show it but it sort of leaked out at the corners. The coming of the city hordes was a worry to her, not being used to throngs of people.

‘I don’t like offcumdens wandering where they will, knocking down walls and leaving litter, frightening and stealing. I shall keep out of their way,’ Adey added.

‘They’d not want to meet you on a dark night with yer dander up. No need to put up any sign “BEWARE OF BULL” but “BEWARE OF FARMER’S WIFE’”, Grandpa laughed, but Gran was not amused.

They were always arguing and bickering, and sometimes forgot she was there, but they were kindly and welcoming so that the sad life in the Rabbit Hutches seemed a long time ago. She wished she could remember her own mam. All she had of her was the photographs in her father’s tin box, but being here she could imagine her as a little girl on the farm and wonder how she could ever have left such a beautiful place.

Sometimes they sat her by the fire and quizzed her about life in the Hutches but Mirren only told them the good bits. The bad times were hidden at the back of her head and not for sharing.

Cragside was a house full of men with Grandpa Joe, Uncle Tom, the yard boys and shirts to iron. Mirren helped Carrie where she could but Uncle Tom, up at Scar Head, was in want of a wife to do all his laundry, and needed regular pies and bread to keep him stocked up. The news that he was courting was a great relief, but Florrie Sowerby worked in The Fleece, which didn’t go down so well.

Grandpa teased Mirren that she was growing into the bonny bairn of the dale, the bobby-dazzler with golden curls and bluebell eyes, fringed with long lashes. She’d rather be a boy and race around the school playground with a football, never sitting still, scourge of the Sunday school trying to catch up with Jack Sowerby, who ignored her when he was with his friends. She palled up in mischief with anyone who’d let her join their gang. The village girls gave her a wide berth but Lorna stuck to her side.

No one seemed to fuss much over appearance but Uncle Tom knew the way to her heart and sometimes brought her ribbons and crayoning books from the market. Sometimes he brought Florrie’s son Jack to help out on the farm. They would all be coming to help out with the parking and cooking.

Mirren’s hair was bobbed short now. It was easier to manage than plaits. Grandpa Joe complained she looked like a lad, which pleased her no end.

Gran was not one for titivating her appearance to please her man. She preferred sludge colours, plain shirts and pinafores with her greying hair scraped back.

Farm cooking was plain and simple with ‘no frills and fancies’. They baked rabbit pies and rib-sticking milk puddings, food to fill bellies and stave off hunger until the next feed. There was no time on a busy farm for fancy baking and showing off, Gran declared, so each week’s menu followed a regimental order: roast, cold, mince, pie, hash, stew. Who needs a calendar when you can tell the day of the week by the dish of the day? Mirren thought. The days of bread and dripping and what her dad called ‘push pasts’ with Granny Simms were long gone.

As they went about morning chores, Gran was barking out lists and orders for the coming invasion. This kitchen was her world and she ruled it like a sergeant major. Sometimes Mirren caught the sharp end of her tongue and wondered why Gran was being so hard.

It was Uncle Tom who told her the tale of Adey’s parents, who were farmers up the dale, who’d killed a cow for their own use and then when others fell dead and anthrax was discovered, it was too late for them to survive. Gran was boarding with an aunt near Settle and banished from any contact. She never saw her parents again or got to say farewell, and never went back to visit the spot. The farm was boarded up and the land useless. It would never be farmed again in her lifetime. She was the object of curiosity and pity for a while. Who wanted a child of anthrax victims on their land?

This made Mirren sad too, for she knew how it felt to be left alone in the world at the mercy of strangers. She was glad that Grandpa Joe had made Gran happy and she, in turn, ploughed all her love into running her side of the dairy, butter and cheese making and housekeeping as efficiently as she could. No one could ever say Adeline Yewell was a shirker of duty who let dust settle, or a lazy mother whose lads wore grey shirts not white, or one who kept a poor table and empty cake tins. Just when she was due a rest, along came Mirren to spoil the show.

Now Gran was going to make sure that the money pot on the mantelpiece would be stuffed full of brass by the end of this eclipse but she’d not be giving this sun dance a second glance herself.

Mirren loved Cragside. No one had a house as big or grand as this one. Only Benton Hall was bigger and it had been a hospital for the soldiers in the war who couldn’t walk or talk. In her eyes Cragside was a fairy castle high on the hill. She was the princess in the turret, huddled under the goosedown quilt as the wind whistled around, the candle flickering in the draught, while Jack Frost painted ice pictures on her window. She felt safe here, the house wrapped its arms around her, shielding her from ghosts and ghoulies of the night.

Sometimes she thought she heard the voices of children laughing and playing across the landing but when she got up to find them there was only silence and creaky floorboards. Here she was queen of all she surveyed. This was her world and she’d never leave this kingdom.

Now the valley would be flooded with visitors. Tomorrow the world would come to her kingdom and she was afraid, not of the eclipse for they had done that at school for months, but of having to share this space and give up her room.

She loved the magic lantern and slides show with the blinds down, showing pictures of the moon eclipsing the sun and how the light would be blotted out for twenty-three seconds. It would go very dark and she was not to be frightened because Jack said the light would not be destroyed.

Jack’s class in the grammar school were doing the topic, and he knew about everything and kept going on about ‘the Totality’ and that was why everyone wanted to come to Cragside to see it all.

Very important people were setting up telescopes at Giggleswick, down the dale, and the Prince of Wales would come to see it if he could. Grandpa Joe said they must all pray each night for a perfect viewing with no clouds to hide the sky or no one would see anything.

Uncle Tom was busy, and Florrie Sowerby was running round with a pink face shouting at Mirren to shift this, shove that, and tidy everything away. She looked so pink all the time, trying to butter up Gran into liking her.

Jack had plans to go car spotting, for there would be thousands of motor cars and motor bikes heading in their direction. He could not imagine there being so many cars in the whole world. Only the squire and the doctor had a car in Windebank.

When the first few cars began to scrunch their gears up the hill, Mirren and Jack were sitting on a five-barred gate that shut the road from the young lambs on the moors. It was Jack who opened the gates for the driver in goggles and a leather helmet. Mirren waved at them and the ladies smiled. Then the man held out a penny for Jack so they shut the gate behind them carefully and scrapped over how they would spend it.

There were three such gates at strategic points across their stretch of the moor track from Windebank village. They sat on one apiece with Uncle Wesley’s son, Ben, who’d arrived on the train from Leeds. He was ten and nearly as tall as Jack. There would be pennies galore to collect if they smiled and opened the gates.

What started as a game soon was a deadly endeavour to see each gate stayed closed, opened, and then reclosed after each vehicle. Cyclists were happy to open their own gates, nodding to the children but giving nothing. Motor bikers with side cars were not much better, but it was the large stately cars that yielded the richest pickings.

Mirren’d never possessed so much brass in her life. Pocketfuls of halfpennies and pennies, three-penny bits and even some silver sixpences were thrown at them by ladies, who patted her shiny bob as she curtsied, in case any of them were real lords or ladies.

By the evening of the Tuesday night there was a steady stream of cars heading to spend the night on the hills, waiting for the 5.30 a.m. start of the eclipse.

It was Jack who decided they would make most money during the night, guiding motorists up towards the parking fields with lanterns.

‘But it’s our secret, right?’ Jack whispered. ‘We’ll go to bed no bother and sneak out later, but it won’t go dark until nearly midnight. Don’t go blabbing owt to yer gran, Mirren.’

Mirren had never been up at midnight before. She was a little afeared of the darkness, but she’d do anything to impress Jack and Ben. Everyone knew there would be great revels in the valley: eclipse dances and cinema shows, cafés open all night, midnight parties. The newspaper was full of notices of events and Grandpa Joe read them all out with a sad face.

‘This’s no way to prepare for the Lord’s coming, in such drunkenness and dancing. They should be on their knees in prayer, asking the Lord to be merciful to sinners and temper His wrath. Much is expected of us, children,’ he exhorted.

Mirren was that wound up with excitement she stayed wide awake in the attic, watching out of the window as their visitors arrived by the front porch to stay in the grander rooms at the front of the house. Gran and Florrie were decked out in their best checked pinnies and hats, and never noticed Jack and Mirren in their lookout tower.

Mirren didn’t like the thought of strangers using her jerry pot under the bed in the night but Gran’d clipped her ears and told her not to be cheeky to visitors. It was only for one night.

Where were they going to hide all their pennies? She was dreaming of the sweetie shop down the village with a shelf of jars: rainbow crystals, liquorice straps and dolly mixtures, sherbert dabs and chocolate drops. She spent her money ten times over in her head, slavering with delight. For the first time in her life she was going to be rich beyond her wildest dreams. How she wished Dad could be here to see it all.

At last she fell asleep, dreaming of cars dancing across the sky and coins falling like rain.

Jack woke her with a start, shouting in her lug hole, ‘Gerrup! Time to get cracking…out of the window.’

Getting out of the attic window was not for the faint-hearted. Jack had done the old sheet rope trick as best he could but it didn’t stretch down far enough. He just jumped the rest, falling on the grass and waving Mirren on.

In the half-light she was terrified but tried to be brave and climbed down backwards, feet touching the stone walls until she ran out of sheet and had to let go. The jump took her by surprise as she fell on her side, cracking her elbow. Tears welled up in her eyes but Jack pulled her up roughly and she winced.

‘Hurry up, slow coach…follow me,’ he whispered, but Mirren was struggling to keep up in the darkness, trying not to cry as they made for the barn loft to meet Ben, guarding the lanterns, which Jack knew how to light.

‘I can’t carry one now, me arm…’ she cried, pointing to her elbow. Jack yanked the lamp off her.

‘Give it here and make for the gate,’ Ben offered, and she trundled on, watching Jack every step of the way.

Out on the fellside they could hear sheep bleating at the noise of harmonicas and gramophone records echoing out into the night air. There seemed hundreds of twinkling lights dotted around the fields: campfires and the flickering of car storm lamps. It was as if the hills were alive with an army before some battle. Uncle Tom would go mad at all the mess in the fields.

There was a snaking light along the river road in the valley, cars edging their way north to see this great show. If only her arm didn’t hurt so much, Mirren thought, but Jack kept rushing her to do gate duty.

‘I can’t open the gate, Jack. Me arm hurts,’ she said.

‘Don’t be a girl’s blouse,’ Jack snapped. ‘We should never have let you come.’

‘Am not! Look yerself, it sticks out funny,’ she snapped, swallowing her snot, trying to be brave.

‘We’ll have to do it together then, but yer not having my share of the brass.’ Jack glanced at her arm. ‘This was my idea.’

‘It’s not her fault she can’t use it,’ said Ben with concern. ‘Why couldn’t you both have used the back stairs?’

Mirren was glad someone understood. It was hard trying to stand her corner but the pain was yelping now.

Jack ignored her protest and did the best he could, but the takings were down without the full workforce.

Mirren knew she was letting the side down but even Jack could see her arm wasn’t right.

‘It’s sticking out funny. You’d better go off home,’ he yelled. But both of them knew if she was caught out of bed she’d be for it and in trouble for taking money from strangers in the dark.

‘Better stay put here,’ said Ben, pointing to the old barn, ‘until first light and we can pretend we got up early.’

Mirren was so tired all she wanted was to curl up and sleep if she could lie comfortable. She crept behind them to the shippon. It was a fine warm summer night and excitement grew as dawn broke over the valley. The day was clear and promised a good view. She lay on the tussocks of hay sheltered by the stone wall, letting Jack and Ben deal with the stragglers. Her eyelids dropped and soon she was dreaming of a wonderful eclipse.

There he was making a fool of himself as usual, thought Adey, watching Joe at his antics. He was sitting on the high ridge at World’s End, marvel-ling at the sight of such a throng of people now assembled on the slopes, just like the Sermon on the Mount. He had it on good authority that only a miracle would open the skies for he had been to the open prayer meeting that night and heard about the Reverend Charles Tweedale, Vicar of Weston, who had attached himself to the Astronomer Royal’s party at the Giggleswick Observatory in order to make sure that they would have a pure viewing of the corona.

There was no stopping him when he was on one of his missions. He’d sent word for all Christians to kneel down and pray for the parting of any clouds, for he had dreamed that a great black cloud would obstruct the view if left to its own devices. He’d decided the least he could do was to hold a vigil on this side of the hills to back up any emergency should it arise on the other, where the Anglicans were gathered. Better that Chapel and Church should work together for the good of all, for a change.

He’d tried to get Tom roped in but he was far too busy calming his restless cows. It was rumoured that animals could run amok at the first signs of shadows and darkness.

He should have had more sense than to get Adey out here when she was busy up to her elbows in flour, baking baps with the last heat on the range. She might be hard as flint on the outside but he knew her heart was warm. She’d never got over losing George, and Ellie running off like that, and blamed herself for being a bad parent.

Sometimes it was hard to fathom why Joe had taken to her so strong. The Yewell boys were known for being one-girl men. She’d not let him down, running the farm on tramlines. He couldn’t fault her housekeeping but even she knew she was laced up too tight. No one ever saw her sit down to count the daisies, allus on the go. There was never a grin on her face. Perhaps a bit of laughter would do her good, crack the enamel on that stiff mask into something close to pretty.

If Adey stood still she would flop down and be a limp rag. It was better to be on the go. But Joe had dragged her high up the fell. The ridge might have a great view but there was nothing else going for World’s End but the old ruins that had saved the child last winter.

She surveyed the sky. It was nearly 5.30 now and already light. She hoped Florrie had dowsed the fire but she could see in the distance a bank of cloud gathering that might scupper their view. Soon the clouds were playing hide-and-seek with the sun.

Joe was looking at his fob watch. It was 6.10 and one black cloud was progressing ever closer to the sun. The eclipse was beginning to happen and the crowds on the hillsides were ready with their spectacles and smoked-glass eye shields.

Even Adey was peering out anxiously. Everyone was willing the clouds to break. Then she saw her husband fall on his knees and throw out his arms, heedless of the curious looks from bystanders. It was time to wait upon the Lord as the cloud moved ominously on.

‘O Lord of the Heavens and Earth, open our eyes to the wonders of the Firmament. Just budge that cloud a little lower down,’ he was pleading, a single voice in the silence of anticipation and dread. Suddenly the sun stood alone with the moon creeping to its position through a window in the sky. Joe got up and came rushing over.

‘Come on, Adey, leave yer fiddling, come and see the miracle,’ Joe yelled from his perch. ‘Come up here and see the eclipse.’

‘Leave me be, Joe. I ought to go down and see to things,’ she snapped, but he strode over and grabbed her by the arm roughly.

‘For once you’ll do as yer bid. There’s more to life than griddle cakes and bacon. The porridge’ll keep. Have a bit of soul, woman…’ He pulled her towards the edge facing east, overlooking the fells where people now crawled like ants in the gathering gloom.

Have a bit of soul indeed, she thought, as she stared up at the broken cloud watching the shadow pass across the sun. Suddenly there was a chill of air, and darkness was falling fast. The silence was unnerving. She was glad Joe was watching by her side.

A hush fell over the crowds. A silence you could cut with a knife, so sharp and powerful. Then came the racing shadow over the fells like the wings of some black angel brushing across the earth, an eerie shadow of death passing over their heads.

Adey watched the black moon devouring the sunlight. Joe shoved the smoked glass in front of her and she glimpsed briefly the sight of the corona of fire and bowed her head.

All the songbirds were silent and the chill made her shiver, for she felt the whole world was wiped out and for a second she felt such panic. How many of their ancestors had stood and watched in terror as this mysterious act was performed in front of their eyes? They would have looked with fear and dread at this unexpected darkness.

She thought of Mam and Dad, George and Ellie, and of the terrible war. All that grief and suffering, and for what? She was flooded with grief, and tears welled in her eyes. It was all there in that black shadow blotting out life and warmth and happiness, all the shadows of her own life rolled into one.

Yet even this shadow could not blot out the sun’s rays and fire. It was an illusion of time and circumstance, just an illusion. The sun’s life burned regardless, the crown of fire would win through with power. Each of those twenty-three seconds seemed like an eternity of suffering burned up, devoured in the heat of life.

Would the sun ever return them to brightness? What if Joe was right and this was the end of the world? Was she fit to meet her maker, this sad, shrivelled-up, old-before-her-time woman? More than anything she longed for it to be over, for colour and life to return, for the warmth to touch her very heart as it had when she was a child so many years ago.

She turned to look at Joe afresh, her husband, her boys, Tom and Wesley safe, this farm, her life, and young Mirren, their second chance. This was what mattered now, not the past lives.

Suddenly the Totality was over and the shadow slipped away. Light was beginning to return. The clouds raced in, closing the curtain on the sun. There was nothing to see.

Huge cheers went up, a stirring of relief and excitement as the dark moment passed. The moors began to clatter with the roar of vehicles and engines revving up. Normality would soon return, but Adey was transfixed by what she had witnessed; something so unexpected, so personal, enlightening.

It felt like a message just for her–as if scales had fallen from her eyes and she saw all things anew. How small the world below looked from this perch; how magnificent were the hills around them, grey and green. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,’ she sighed.

There was such a vivid green to the fields, a sharpness to the grey walls, a freshness of the breeze on her cheek as she raced down the slope towards the outline of Cragside. She noticed the white blossom dripping from the hawthorns, their scent wafting up her nostrils. She looked up at the frontage of their ancient farmhouse as if seeing its grandeur for the first time. This is my home, my family, she thought, though Joe might be standing in his midden clothes, still smelling of the farmyard, scratching his head at all he has seen, no doubt thinking his prayers have opened the skies. She saw Jack and Ben strolling among the crowds, eyeing the girls with interest. It was good that those two were becoming friends, but where was Mirren?

Mirren woke in the hayloft at the sound of cheering, her eyes crusted, and she wondered where she was. Then she felt the pain in her arm and heard voices whispering down below.

‘Tom, behave yourself! I’ve got the breakfasts to do!’ giggled Florrie Sowerby. Mirren leaned over to see more. Tom was on his back pulling Florrie into the hay, fooling around, tussling her. What were they doing? He was jumping on her like a tup at a ewe. They were kissing and making silly noises. Wait until she told Jack.

She was leaning so far out to see more that she rolled off the edge, falling between them with a scream. Uncle Tom lay back at the sight of her, laughing, scratching his head in surprise.

‘Look what’s jumped out of the hay.’

‘I’ve hurt me arm,’ she sobbed.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Florrie, trying to examine it. ‘I don’t like the look of this, love…It’ll need a looking-at and some of Dr Murray’s bone-setting liniment and plaster of Paris.’

The two lovebirds straightened down their clothes and made for the door. Jack came tearing across the yard and in through the barn door.

‘Did you see it, Mam?’ he said, looking up at them all with a cheeky grin on his face.

‘Of course,’ Florrie smiled. ‘It were that grand it made my eyes water. It makes you think…’

Mirren began to howl again, great rasping sobs that brought all her family running.

‘Does it hurt that bad?’ Uncle Tom asked.

‘I missed it,’ she sobbed. ‘I missed it all. I were asleep and they never waked me.’ She stared hard at Jack, one of her darkest glowers. It was then that Uncle Wes took a snap of her holding her elbow and scowling with his little box camera.

Gran gathered her up to comfort her, trying not to touch the sore bit. ‘Don’t fret on it, lass. Happen you’ll be young enough to see it again,’ was all she could offer. ‘I nearly missed it myself and that would have been a great pity, Mirren. There’ll be no second chance for me.’

If only she’d stayed in her own room and out of mischief but she had to go following Jack Sowerby It was all his fault and she wasn’t ever going to speak to him again; not never.

‘Look at the mess!’ shouted Uncle Tom, surveying the litter over the fields. No sooner had the world and his wife departed, and the farmers mopped their brows and counted the cash, than the real price was there to see. There were makeshift camps and fires, broken bottles, tyre marks and ruts and spilled petrol cans.

‘The dirty buggers!’

‘Thomas! Not in front of the children, please,’ shouted his mother.

Before the day was over there was news of other farms where lambs were caught and roasted on makeshift spits over fires.

‘Never again!’ sighed Tom.

Mirren had had to have her arm set in plaster down in Scarperton and that meant a trip on the bus and more expense, so she offered her cash and then out it came about Jack’s little scheme. Gran was not impressed.

‘I can’t leave you lot, five minutes…Now there’s doctor’s bills to pay and the house to clean out. Those mucky beggars from Bradford left the bedrooms in a tip. They’ve broken crockery, and my fancy towels are missing and the little china horse that belonged to Great-Aunt Susannah. Don’t go asking me to take in lodgers again, not so much as a please and thank you, and them with a car and a chauffeur.’

‘Oh, don’t take on so,’ said Grandpa Joe. ‘They’re only things. They can be replaced. Pity the poor devils who’ve to go back to soot and smoke and toil. Town folk don’t know how to behave in the country. They think it’s a big park to play in. They forget it’s our livelihood, but no mind…’

Mirren emptied her pockets of coins and put the whole lot on the table with a scowl.

‘There’s three shillings in coppers and two shilling pieces and sixpence…You can have that, Gran, for my doctor’s bill,’ she sighed. The furry sweets she was keeping back in her pocket. No one was having those.

‘We’ll put it in your piggy bank for a rainy day,’ Gran said, siding it all away. ‘I have to admit it was a grand do seeing such wonders in the sky.’

Mirren scowled again. ‘But I didn’t see any of it, it’s not fair…’ She turned for sympathy but none was coming.

‘You can take that look off your face, young lady. Life’s not fair and the sooner you learn that lesson, the better.’

Adey reckoned there were three miracles delivered on that June morning. The first was the easy one: the opening of the clouds to let them have the only clear view of Totality in the entire country. But the second was much harder to quantify. It was as if that eclipse brought such a change in their household and in herself that even she couldn’t understand. It wasn’t so much as if she got in the habit of cracking smiles more often or bothering a bit more about what she dolled herself up in, it was more as if she were one of them pictures that got itself hand-tinted with a bit of colour wash. Her knitting patterns were a bit brighter and her pinnies took on a bit more of red and blue and brightness.

She distempered the walls of the parlours with warm earth colours. Flowers found their way into vases and in the winter she and Mirren sat hooking a great rug for the hall, made up from fabric cut from old clothes from the attic. The design was a great sun with a moon half across it, then full on and then passing over.

It was to make up to Mirren for missing all the excitement and to rest Adey’s ankles and back a bit more. The sky didn’t fall if you sat down and rested up a while.

Mirren’s elbow was a bit of a mess and needed trips to the infirmary. The child was sad to have caused extra expense but Adey shook her head and laughed it off, saying, ‘I told you the money from the eclipse would come in handy one way or another. What matters most is getting you straight again, young lady.’

What mattered most was the coming of this unexpected gift to Cragside, this second chance, this miracle of God’s grace, as Joe called Mirren, proof of His forgiveness. Hard work had its place but without joy and time to count the daisies, what was the point? Adey had learned her lesson and would pass it on.

Mirren wasn’t Ellie, nor could she ever be her replacement. There was much about her that needed licking into place but her coming had brought new life and joy to their old age and for that Adeline Yewell would be forever grateful.

The third miracle was that Tom was getting wed at long last. Wilf Sowerby’s widow had said yes and there was going to be a wedding in September.

Praise the Lord…no more washing Tom’s overalls and smelly socks and feeding his hollow legs. Perhaps then she could rest up a bit for she’d been feeling a bit off, of late.

After the wedding breakfast Jack, Ben and Mirren climbed the path to World’s End, stuffed to the gills with ham salads, trifles, curd tarts and wedding cake. Mirren had been pestering the boys to come to find it again.

‘Isn’t it grand?’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

‘You’ve brought us all this way to see a ruin?’ said Jack, eyeing the old house with disdain. ‘It’s just a shepherd’s hut and perishing cold.’

Ben was being tactful and said nothing.

‘The walls are thick and strong,’ she argued, wanting to defend her secret place, wishing she hadn’t brought them now.

‘But there’s no roof left; it’s all collapsing.’

‘But with a new roof on…I’m going to rebuild it one day.’ She could see it all done up in her mind’s eye.

‘You’re not a roofer. You couldn’t lift one of those sandstones,’ Jack laughed.

‘But we could help her,’ offered Ben.

‘If I can survive a night in a blizzard, I can put a roof on a house.’ She could see the place with paned windows and gleaming glass, a new front door.

‘Look, you can see right down the valley to the railway and the river. I bet the Brigantes held out here long ago.’ Ben was into history and battles.

‘We could camp up here and it could be our secret den.’ Mirren was trying to impress Jack, to no avail.

‘No, thanks, none of your mad ideas. I’ve enough of my own. Ben can come in the holidays and you can play hide-and-seek,’ Jack scoffed.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Mirren. ‘This is a shepherd’s house and I’ll be a proper shepherd with my own flock, so there!’

‘Girls can’t be shepherds!’ Jack laughed again. ‘Your cousin is soft in the head,’ he said turning to Ben.

‘You’ll be going to grammar school soon,’ Ben smiled. ‘How’ll you manage to do both?’

‘I can try,’ she replied, feeling dumped.

‘Well, you won’t catch me chasing sheep up a mountain. I want to be an engineer,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve got Cragside and we’ve got Scar Head. How many more places do you want?’

‘I want a place of my own one day,’ Mirren told him.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s get cracking. This place gives me the creeps.’

It was at that moment, standing on the edge, looking out, queen of all she surveyed, that Mirren sensed a flicker of excitement. World’s End was hers and hers alone. She had found it and it was her destiny. How could those silly clots not see its magic?

Part Two
Darkening Skies

6

1939

‘You’re going to have to rest up a bit more, Mrs Yewell,’ said Dr Murray, taking his stethoscope from Adeline’s chest. ‘That ticker of yours is showing its age.’

She pulled up her underslip quickly and got dressed. After the last dizzy do, Joe insisted they call the quack out to the farm.

‘It’s a tonic bottle I need, not a lecture. That’ll get me right enough,’ she smiled.

‘Adeline Yewell, like it or not, you’re no spring chicken and those puffy ankles tell me the pump’s not working as it should. I’ll give you some pills. You farmers’ wives are all the same, up from dawn to midnight and no proper holidays. Let that young lass of yours take up the slack.’

‘Miriam’s got her studies to do. We want her to do well and not waste her chances shovelling muck of a morning…She does her share. Happen I’ll take things lightly for a few days.’

‘Days won’t cure this, Adey, and you know it! Perhaps I’ll have a word with Joe downstairs,’ the doctor threatened.

‘You do that and you won’t get any of my brass again. Just give me the pills and I’ll try and put my feet up. Joe’s enough on his plate with all the rules and regulations coming in. I don’t know what the world’s coming to, setting us up for another war, sending sons out as gun fodder again…You’d think we’d learned summat after the last packet.’

John Murray shook his head, having lost his only son at Gallipoli. ‘We have to stop this madman in Germany,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll be too old to do much, though it has to be done.’

‘I just wish they’d get on with it after all the shillyshallying. How can I rest up with all the rules landing on our doorstep?’

‘If you don’t, I can’t vouchsafe for your strength holding out, tough as you are.’ The doctor patted her wrist. ‘Get some extra help in and bring Miriam back from college for a while. Think on.’

‘So be it then. The world’ll just have to get on without me. Mirren’s staying put.’

Where had the years gone since Ellie’s child arrived in rags at their doorstep? Now she was a strapping lass, full of plans to be a teacher. She’d not been a spot of bother in her in-between years, always up at the ruin at World’s End with Lorna and Hilda Thursby, camping out with the Girl Guides or at the Young Farmers’ dances with Jack and his gang, when she hadn’t got her head in a book.

She was good with sheep and bred some ewes and tups for showing. Now her world was going to be turned upside down by war and there was talk of single girls having to be sent to work like in the Great War. It wasn’t fair.

Adey hoped for peace in her old age, not another dose of worry and hard work, but another war…It was bad enough losing George, but now there was Ben and his brother, Bert, Jack and the girls to worry about. How could it have happened all over again? This Mr Hitler was too big for his boots and needed taking down a peg or six, shouting and screaming on the wireless.

There was talk of billeting strangers out in the country and with the spare rooms in their big house she’d be first in line to take them.

The last time she’d had lodgers for one night at the eclipse it was bad enough. The new live-in, Elsie Paget, was a hard worker but there was too much to do.

Adey didn’t want Mirren coming home just yet. She was a bit too stuck on Jack Sowerby, and Adey wasn’t sure what to make of that harum-scarum. He’d already joined up; give credit where credit was due. Florrie confided that she was worried about him.

They would have to take young Ben up on his offer to come and help out. She didn’t need the quack to tell her that she was always out of puff and that tired when she crawled into the four-poster bed of an evening her legs ached all night.

Perhaps these pills would do the trick for a while, but she didn’t want Joe worried. He’d fuss and make her go to bed. If war was coming she would do her bit whatever the consequences.

Two days later there was a letter from Mirren saying she was coming home at the end of term for the duration. ‘You’ll need me when the farm lads get called up. Teaching can wait, Gran.’

Adey wept to herself with relief at the news. Miriam was a good lass, like her mother at that age, the runaway daughter who’d never got a chance to prove them wrong.

How mysterious are the ways of Providence in giving us a second chance, she sighed.

Reuben Yewell whistled to himself as he set about filling the gap in the wall. There was no other life for him from now on. He had left Leeds without a backward glance. This was the life. He loved setting out his stones, hand and eye working together in the ancient art of knowing which stone to place where, finding the exact one or dressing another with a chisel to fit into the shape. It was like a giant jigsaw puzzle. They never went back the way they had fallen.

From the top field he got a grand view of the dale. Its greenness never tired his eye. It was hard work for little more than his keep but he was where he wanted to be at long last.

Walling couldn’t be skimped if it was to last for centuries to come; his wall reshaped and strengthened, one upon two, two upon one in the old pattern, with big through stones placed evenly as the wall rose and narrowed off. A good wall could see them all out. If only other things in life could be so certain.

Uncle Tom trusted him with jobs, especially with sheep. He trusted him over Jack because he sensed that Yewell instinct in him. He might be a plodder but when he walked the fields he did it with care and a sharp eye. Tom had shown him how to spot a ewe in trouble, to listen to see if she’d lambed and was making the right noise, pointed out the signs of weakness and strength in a new-born lamb, how to skin a dead one and mother on an orphan.

Grandpa Joe pointed out how weather came in mostly from the west, how to spot rain clouds, haze and sun dogs, how the wind changing direction was important. There was so much to learn and now that war was coming, he knew he’d made the right choice in helping them out.

What would happen to Cragside if all the men left? Someone had to keep the nation fed and the land safe. Bert had gone into the RAF, Jack was in the army, but he knew his job was right here. Mirren was at college.

He was glad Jack was off. He always made him feel a bit of a clodhopper. Jack had never been keen on farming. He cut corners and had no feel for the animals. Mirren was more like him. She took time to do things properly. She was a nature girl, interested in flowers and birds and knew the Latin names of everything. He’d been hopeless at Latin.

He’d lived for the weekends and school holidays to come and help out at Cragside for years. Now he had a chance to pay them back.

He’d learned to fish down by the river and walked the paths with the river warden, knew the lie of the land and once took Jack out to poach a salmon from the river, which he’d then not had the nerve to sell on. Jack had whisked it down to the pub and pocketed the cash.

Jack bought a motor bike and offered to teach him to drive but he preferred slower things. He was a good horseman now.

‘Boring old Ben,’ Jack teased as they eyed up all the girls at the Young Farmers’ dance. Jack got the best partners in Windebank: the glamour girls with painted faces and long nails, who loved riding pillion on his bike.

Mirren’s girl friends, Lorna and Hilda and Aly, were grammar school girls and he was wary of them, a bookish, giggling gang and always whispering. It was best to keep out of their way.

He and Mirren were offcomers, townies on the surface, but both of them now were country through and through. His dad had smiled and told him to go and do his war service in the dale. ‘At least we’ll know one of you is safe,’ he quipped, making out it was an easy option. Ben almost went the opposite way with Bert for a while but the pull of the land was stronger than any other service. His ancestors might have been on the muster roll for Flodden in 1513 but he was going to stay put and put his back into the war effort. He was going to keep the nation fed.

7

In the weeks following the declaration of war, Mirren felt as if the whole of the dale was cranking itself up for a fight. Boys from the grammar school suddenly appeared in uniform, parading themselves proudly in blue, navy and khaki. Jack went into the Royal Engineers. Uncle Wesley’s Bert joined the RAF, and his brother, Ben, came to work with Uncle Tom. It was good to have him around and he lodged with Uncle Tom at Scar Head.

How Auntie Florrie sobbed when Jack left the farm. For all his wild gadding about he was good to her, fetching errands from town, teasing her rotten when she tried a new hairdo, playing tricks to get her flustered. Who could ignore Jack when he was so suntanned and bronzed from haytiming, making the most of his last few days on the farm helping Uncle Tom?

They’d spread picnics in the fields for everyone and held a hop in the barn as a farewell party for Lorna’s brother, Freddy, and Jack’s friends from Windebank. The fiddler kept them dancing over the stone flags until dawn.

Mirren felt so grown up in her checked dirndl skirt and voile blouse, and Jack had twirled her round and made a fuss of her.

Mirren wasn’t going to be left behind teaching, and volunteered for the Women’s Land Army. She was based at the unit down in Scarperton but got a dispensation to work at Cragside in the place of young Derek Sumner, the farm lad who’d disappeared one night to join the navy.

Grandpa Joe, in his fustian breeches and outdoor clogs, was eighty, still upright and fit enough, but his rheumatics got to his back in damp weather. Grandma Adey had shrunk to nothing but had a will of iron when it came to keeping the farmhouse stocked and sparkling. With Tom and Ben’s muscle they made a good team.

Suddenly farming was on a wartime footing with the War-Ag Ministry breathing down their necks, inspecting fields, ordering quotas, issuing demands for extra yields in all their food production.

The Yewells paced over their bottom fields with heavy hearts, knowing some of their best pastures must be ploughed over and sown for oats, barley, kale and root crops.

‘It’s a waste of time,’ said Joe, shaking his head in disgust. ‘This land isn’t meant to grow arable. They’ll not get owt off it, you’ll see. Who’s going to plough it over?’

‘I am,’ Mirren piped up. ‘We’re bringing over a tractor tomorrow, just the job; I’ve been practising on it for days. I’ll have those furrows as straight as tramlines.’ They all looked at her as if she was mad. Ploughing was man’s work but she’d show them!

The past weeks of training were taken up with lectures and demonstrations, visits from advisors round the farm giving out orders. The villagers were busy extending their allotments and hen coops, pig arks sprouted in back gardens. Florrie and Adey were sewing up blackout curtains, grumbling that no one could possibly see into their small windows until the ARP warden told them that torchlight could be seen from the air and they must cover every opening.

Granny cursed old Josiah Yewell for building such fancy front windows for show. Ben boarded them up with wooden shutters and the house felt dark and gloomy.

‘We’ll never hear any sirens or whistles up here,’ Florrie wittered every time she came to visit. ‘We’ll be taken in our beds!’

‘Happen the cellar or under the stairs will have to do the job for us. There’s always the big rock hole in the field to jump behind,’ teased Mirren.

‘And get ourselves shot trying to run across the grass?’ Florrie snapped. ‘You can’t go anywhere off the track. There’s tanks and shooting ranges on the moors. It’s not safe to wander too far out. They’ll be roasting our sheep if we don’t watch out.’

‘We’ll all be roasting our sheep if they get a broken leg,’ winked Uncle Tom, quoting the new regulations that did allow lame sheep to be slaughtered as food.

There was a big searchlight being built at the back of Windebank looking down over the valley, hoping to catch night raiders taking a short cut across Yorkshire.

The village seemed full of strangers; children evacuated from Leeds and Bradford billeted around the green, climbing trees and splashing in the beck. The Fleece was packed with soldiers off duty from the moor, according to Uncle Tom and Ben, squeezing locals from their benches by the fire.

Not that Mirren went anywhere near, being strictly teetotal. She’d never forgotten what drink had done to her father. It was like pissing away hard-earned brass to her, but it was supposed to warm chilled bones and some of the strangers weren’t used to the sharp damp air yet.

On the morning of their turn to use the Fordson tractor, she crawled up the narrow lanes, praying no cart would be coming in the opposite direction or that the gateposts weren’t too narrow. Some of the girls had had to demolish posts before they could get through to do their work. She felt like a queen on her chariot, smart in her fawn corduroy breeches, green jersey and turban, riding high overlooking the stone walls with her instructor, Reggie Pilling, who could plough blindfold, backwards, without a wobble.

She was going to show those Yewell men just what a hot shot she’d become, but her heart sank when she saw them all lined up waiting for her to crunch the gear box and stall the engine.

With her chin stuck out, her eyes glued to the task ahead, she didn’t want lanky Ben smirking or Uncle Tom making silly faces. Tractors were rare treasures in this part of the dale and everyone would want a go when she was finished. Grandpa Joe waved her on, shaking his head. Ben was all for horses, not machines. Hercules and Hector were his finest Clydesdales. He would be hard to impress.

‘We’ll do Honey Mires first and then Stubbins and then Top Meadow,’ said Reggie, looking at his papers. ‘They’ll be sown down to oats.’

‘Will they grow this high up?’ Mirren asked, knowing how cold and wet it could get even in summer.

‘That’s what the War-Ag have decided. Only time’ll tell if it works. Doesn’t have to be top quality; it’s only for cattle feed. Oats have been the staple diet up here for centuries,’ he added, seeing the look of scorn on her face.

‘Yes, but this is sheep country, not arable.’

‘Don’t argue, lass. Ours is not to reason why,’ he laughed. ‘Just get on with it! You’ve got an audience.’

Mirren set off determined to keep a straight line, up and down without a hitch, turning the pasture brown side up, the meadow where clover and rattle, buttercups and rich grasses scented the air in June. All those wild flowers ploughed in. It was a good field for keeping bees. The loam was rich and moist, and weeds would sprout with the oats. It would be her job to weed and keep an eye on the crop until the stalks were ripened off.

Up and down she trundled, hoping everyone had got on with their own jobs by now, but just as she was turning round the bottom end a blackened-up face leaped up and screeched, ‘Geronimo!’

It was Jack, back on leave, up to his old tricks, giving her a surprise, scaring her witless, making her laugh and lose concentration. She wobbled and her line went to pieces.

‘Firm up!’ yelled Reggie, not amused. ‘Get that bugger out of the way!’ The giggles had got hold of her and she was all over the place, seeing Jack clowning around.

‘Now look what you’ve made me do!’ she yelled at the dashing young soldier. ‘Just wait till I see you proper. Don’t you know there’s a war on…?’

She wasn’t going to stop, even for him. This was her war work and she mustn’t shirk. He’d ruined her line but there was always the next.

Jack always made her laugh and her heart flutter. Mad Jack, the demon biker who drove Florrie wild when he brought his engines into the kitchen and spread them all over the floor, who roared round the narrow lanes as if it were Brooklands race track. He never seemed to take anything seriously. Uncle Tom had hoped he’d take to farming but not a chance.

‘What do you expect?’ Granny sniffed. ‘Florrie was a Kerr before she wed Wilf Sowerby Kerrs don’t make good farmers, not bred in the bone. He’ll do fine for hisself as long as he keeps moving. They like to wander, do Kerrs, allus have and allus will.’

So how come Florrie had stayed put with Uncle Tom? Mirren thought. She was always good for a laugh and could bake better than any Yewell.

Jack had stayed on at the boys’ grammar school, as she had at the girls’. He’d even been abroad to France on a school trip. He could speak real French while she struggled with Latin and German.

Now he was training down London way, something to do with mines. He’d always looked out for her like a big brother should but they weren’t related in any way. The girls had drooled over him when he met her off the school bus and gave her a lift. How could she admit to them how much she looked forward to having him to herself? The sun came out when he came around.

It was something to do with him rescuing her when she was little, laughing her out of her sulks with his antics. You never knew what Jack would do next, and he was a great ballroom dancer, lifting her off her feet at the end of a dance. Sometimes he looked at her and made her blush.

‘You’re special, Mirren. Don’t you forget it. I shall have to keep my eye on you.’

Sometimes he took her out to the cinema and held her hand, other times he just left her alone. Lately he’d made her feel a right country bumpkin and she wondered if he was mooning over some flighty London piece with lipstick and kiss curls. If Lorna or Hilda ever tried flirting with him she felt jealousy flash through her body. That’s when she knew she was smitten. He made them all feel so girly and giggly, with his dancing black eyes. Cragside wasn’t the same when he went away. Florrie took her aside once when she saw how upset she was getting.

‘I can see how you feel about our Jack but don’t let him see it too much. He’s like my dad and doesn’t like to be cornered. Leave him be and he’ll come to. He’s not one for settling down, love, but if ever he did, you’d be the one. He’s got a tender spot for you.’

Mirren blushed at the warning so kindly given. She’d been in love with Jack Sowerby since she was nine. It was too late to change any of it now.

She rushed through the rest of the ploughing and got on with her other chores. There’d be just time to wash and change before she set off to Uncle Tom’s at Scar Head to hear all Jack’s news.

In the months that followed the ploughing, everything was sown and prepared but the winter of 1940 was grim and they were fast in with blizzards and snowdrifts. Windebank waited for war to begin in earnest and waited on. The evacuees went back south to Leeds and Hull, disgruntled and frozen. The Women’s Institute pickled, preserved, jammed and salvaged. The Services Comforts Fund ran concerts, raffles, bazaars, anything to coax cash out of the farmers’ tight pockets. Letters came from far-flung places and sad telegrams that no one wanted to read were delivered to a few unfortunate families. Bert was on flying operations and Ben was worried.

Then at the beginning of June came the news of the miracle of Dunkirk and the evacuation of the beaches at terrible cost. Jack was one of the last to be evacuated, busy laying mines in the Channel and getting strafed and wounded in the process.

He returned one night, exhausted, his uniform in tatters, having landed at Liverpool. He slept for almost three days without waking and then ate Auntie Florrie out of house and home. Then he was posted somewhere in the south-west on special training.

On his last night of leave, Mirren hoped they’d go to the pictures but he still looked grey and weary, and spent the evening in The Fleece with Tom and Ben, enthralling everyone with tales of his escapades on the beaches, taking free pints from any who offered until he was half-cut. Then he sauntered up to Cragside, happy to wander round checking the crops with her.

As they feared, the oat stalks were leggy and the heads were small and weak. They walked on up to World’s End and stood staring down at the valley below as the sun was setting pink behind the moors.

‘I take back all I said about up here…Never take this for granted, Mirren. This is paradise to where I’ve been.’ This was a sober sad side to Jack she’d never seen before. He was always Jack-the-lad in company, full of jokes and quips, fooling around, acting daft. Now he looked ten years older somehow. She just wanted to hug him and take the pain out of his eyes; pain and anger that hadn’t been there before.

‘Was it that bad?’ she asked.

‘Our lads never stood a chance wading into the water. Sitting ducks, they were, and no bloody planes to defend us…Still we live to fight again and I don’t want Herr Hitler to get his hands on all this. If we don’t stand firm now, it’ll be the end of everything we’ve ever known.’ There were tears in his eyes. There was a soft side to Jack, despite all his joking. She grasped his hand, wanting to hold him to her but he shrugged off his mood.

‘No time like the present, girl. Make the most of life while you’ve got it. I hear Freddy Dinsdale’s copped it. His mam must be gutted. We were in the same class. Not much of a lifetime, was it, for him?’ He stared out across the fields and down into the valley, lost in his own world. ‘Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die!’

‘Don’t say that,’ she snapped, thinking of poor Lorna’s brother, lost over the Channel.

‘You ought to join up proper and come and join me,’ he replied, not listening.

‘I am joined up, or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘The Land Army…well, you must know what the lads call you lot…backs to the land.’ He paused, seeing her look puzzled. He dropped to the ground and opened his legs.

‘That’s horrible.’ She blushed and turned from him.

‘Don’t take on, only joking. You need to lighten up a bit. Don’t take everything so seriously. There’s not much of a war up here, now is there?’

‘Oh, no? Then why are my tyres bald with biking, my hands blistered with hoeing and mucking out and then doing a shift down in Scarperton? I’ve never been so tired in all my life. It’s up to us to keep everyone fuelled up with milk and crops and meat and eggs. We’re growing everything we can. Just ’cos there’s no bombs or fighting. I’m doing my best here,’ she snapped. He was spoiling their last evening together, making them argue.

‘I know you are, sweetheart, but you’ve got to have some fun too. It’s nice to know I’ve got a girl hard at it in muck and soil who stands for everything worth fighting for,’ he smiled, his dark eyes flashing at her.

‘Am I your girl?’ she asked, her heart thudding.

‘Course you are, always have been.’ He plonked a kiss on her forehead. ‘And I expect letters every week with all the gossip from Windybags but no farm talk: how Lanky Ben’s landed a cushy little number on the farm with his reserved occupation…’

‘I don’t think he sees it like that. He’s helping us out and has joined the Local Defence Volunteers.’

‘The Look, Duck and Vanish Brigade, very nice,’ Jack laughed. ‘Fat lot of good they’ll do if Jerry ever lands. Throw a few potatoes at them? There’s not a decent gun between them. They spend most of their time in the pub.’

‘Oh, come on! They do a full day’s work and then stay up all night guarding the railway line, making defences. We hardly see Ben. I hate it when you’re mean,’ she said.

‘You’re mighty quick to his defence. Is there something I should know?’ Jack’s mood could turn on a sixpence.

‘Don’t be daft. Ben’s my cousin, my big brother. He’s not like that.’

‘All men’re like that, given half a chance. You just watch it with all these uniforms about. You’re my girl now!’ He pulled her to him roughly and kissed her on the lips. ‘That’ll do for starters,’ he laughed. ‘But there’ll be more where that came from when I’m back again.’

With that he jumped on his motor bike and roared off, leaving her in a total spin. Her very first kiss from Jack, such a special moment and over so quickly. Did he love her? Was she his girlfriend now? It was so confusing: all her romantic dreams were coming true. How she had imagined this coming-together on a windswept moor, but somehow it was all so rushed and tense and matter of fact. Where was the courting, the roses, the billets-doux, those passionate embraces they showed at the pictures like Heathcliff and Cathy?

Don’t be daft, she thought, grinning from ear to ear. A kiss is a kiss. This is Jack we’re talking about and he was always impulsive. If only he wasn’t so far away now. She didn’t know when she’d see him again. This war was spoiling everything but nothing was going to spoil this long-awaited exciting romance.

Jack’s leave ended and, eventually, so did summer.

There was a humdinger of a September storm one night, only to be expected at the back end of summer, but Mirren thought the roof was going to lift off and sail away. The rain splattered on the windows, battering its way through the cracks. The gale drowned out any chance of sleep. She thought she heard the drone of Junkers in the night on the way to Liverpool or Manchester and pitied the poor sods manning the gun battery out on the moors.

There were alerts on the news bulletins every night to be vigilant against parachutists and enemy agents but she felt safe in their eyrie. Jack’s letters were by her bedside, full of cheery jokey escapades. She was finding it hard to make her replies relate anything other than the usual drudgery but now she must get up to prepare the milk parlour when she just wanted to bury her head in the bolster and sleep on.

Taking a deep breath, she darted out of the bed and pulled on her breeches, her jumper and dungarees, man’s socks, shoving her hair in a turbaned scarf. If she was quick there was time for a brew. There wasn’t much morning light but the storm had abated outside, which was a mercy.

She opened the door to let the house dog out and noticed a strange shadow in the far corner of the near field where the old ash tree rose high. With horror she saw a flying ship, a Zeppelin, a monster fish, hovering over her head.

One look and she shot back into the house, yelling, ‘They’ve landed! Jerry’s here in a flying ship! Everyone downstairs…Get the shotgun, Ben.’ He was sleeping in the attic. ‘Send for Uncle Tom!’

All her training went out of the door in her panic and shock. How could they send for help if parachutists were close by? What did the leaflet say: ‘IF THE INVADER COMES…’?

Stay calm, Mirren, stay put. Go about your business and tune into the wireless, she told herself. Well, that was easier said than done with just one precious battery working. The old folks must be put in the cellar and Daisy, the latest live-in helper, must be warned.

Everyone sat round the table looking grim, sipping stewed tea. Grandpa Joe’s face was drawn and pale. The shock was too much at his age.

‘I never thowt it’d come to this in my lifetime, Adeline,’ he whispered. ‘Creeping over our heads in the dead of night. What can we do but pray…?’

‘And keep milking. Hitler might have landed but the cows need seeing to,’ Mirren said, suddenly feeling stronger. ‘They’re not having our eggs either.’

Ben was fully dressed, carrying a rucksack. ‘I have to go!’ He made for the door.

‘What’s up, Reuben?’

‘I’ve got orders if…’ His words faded away as he shot out the door. Then there was a great roar of laughter from him. ‘Come outside, Mirren Gilchrist, and tell me what you can see.’

Everyone made for the door and gawped. ‘Don’t you know a barrage balloon when you see one?’ he roared. ‘It’s one of ours. Panic over, everybody.’

‘Then where did it come from in the dead of night, scaring me to death?’ Mirren felt stupid but she must defend her corner. He was right: it was a huge inflated balloon.

‘Who knows? The cables are entangled in the ash, see, and there’s a funny box dangling down. Nothing to worry about, Granddad. We live to fight another day.’

What a relief; it was nothing more sinister than one of the air defences to stop enemy aircraft flying low or dive-bombing into buildings. Mirren had seen them on the newsreel at the Majestic in Scarperton, but this one was huge. Where had it come from?

‘You’d better let someone know it’s arrived,’ smirked Ben, enjoying the red-faced flustering of his cousin. She could have slapped him one right there but wanted to hang on to the last shreds of her dignity.

There was always rivalry between them; both being town-bred children who had found their living in the country. They were always competing to be the best farm worker.

‘You can wipe that smile off your face, right now!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve got the milking to do and no time to go gallivanting, so you can just bike down to the phone box and get your Home Guard up here. I’m not having that thing hovering over us all day. It’s like the Angel of Death.’

Then it was back to the chores and the mucking-out, the milking and cleaning up, trying to catch the day until Arnie Blewitt came puffing up the lane with his cronies with their one gun slung over his shoulder. She hoped they’d shut the gates into the lane and not let the shorthorns out of the bottom field.

‘Now then, Arnie. You’ve come at last to see what’s up. Good job it wasn’t Jerry or we’d all be dead and gone by now,’ Mirren teased.

‘Orders are to guard it day and night, so that’s six teas, please,’ he replied, eyeing her up and down.

‘Get them yerself. I’m busy. That thing’s going nowhere. It doesn’t need a guard, or have you nothing better to do? I can find you a few jobs,’ she said.

‘The cables’re trapped. It don’t half look like a trapped whale. They’re sending for a winch to shift old Moby Dick here. I’ll go and see Joe and Adey. I bet they got a shock in the night.’

He disappeared into the kitchen and came out with a tray of mugs and large wedges of ginger parkin. No one took much notice of the overhead visitor but folk kept coming to the bottom of the lane to take a peek at Moby Dick. Even the school teacher brought the children up to draw the thing, and all the while Mirren was trying to get on with her chores.

Later in the afternoon a posse of lorries and trucks trundled up the lane. At last the cavalry has arrived, thought Mirren, as a brass hat jumped out of the cab and stormed across the yard.

‘What are all these civilians doing here? You were told to guard this with your life!’ he snapped as the Home Guard jumped to at the sight of a real soldier. ‘I want the premises evacuated now. Pack a suitcase and get out of here right now,’ he ordered as Grandpa Joe stood by, not taking in his words.

Ben came running up. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I want the place cleared at once,’ said the officer.

‘This is a farm and there’s stock to see to,’ Mirren replied.

‘And you are the Land Girl here?’ he said, looking down at her as if she was muck on his shoe.

‘This is our family farm. We can’t just upsticks and leave. There’re old folk inside,’ she argued.

‘All the more reason to get everyone out.’ The man was resolute and he had the troops to back him up on the back of the lorry.

‘But it’s only a balloon,’ said Ben, standing by her side.

‘This is not standard issue. It was ripped from its moorings. It has certain elements capable of destroying a Junker on contact. It’s primed for action. That’s all I’ll say,’ came the reply.

‘You mean there’s a bomb in it?’ said Ben.

‘I’m not at liberty to say…For everyone’s safety we must evacuate the premises forthwith.’

‘No one said anything about bombs,’ croaked Arnie, stepping back in alarm.

‘Stay where you are, man, and get on with the job. The sooner the farm is cleared, the sooner we can do what we have to.’

Mirren couldn’t believe what was happening. She slammed a few nightclothes in a suitcase for her grandparents, who were flustered and frightened at being hustled out the door and onto the cart with Daisy. Ben released the horses into the far field where the cows would soon be ready for afternoon milking.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to them somehow,’ he smiled. ‘You just get everyone up to Scar Head.’

‘I’m not leaving!’ said Joe, but when Ben explained that Adey and the girls were in danger, he got onto the cart with them.

‘I’ll come back as soon as they’re settled to gather up the sheep. If there’s an explosion—’

‘You stay put, Mirren, or you’ll have me to deal with,’ Ben said.

‘You and whose army? I’m in charge here,’ she snapped.

‘I’m bigger than you, so skedaddle!’ At six foot three there was no arguing with him on that score.

As they bumped across the fells, Mirren took one last glimpse at the rooftops of the old farm. This couldn’t be happening. How could one of their own defences rip apart centuries of Cragside just on the whim of the wind? She thought they were safe from war and now she knew how all those poor bombed-out people in London felt, their homes reduced to rubble, left with only the clothes they stood up in, and relying on the kindness of strangers.

She was clutching Dad’s tin box in her lap, and the portrait of Uncle George from the mantelpiece. It was funny what she’d rushed to save.

They’d heard the drone of bombers in the night, saw the glow in the distance of fires and destruction, but it was all so far away. There’d been a crash on the moors: young men on a training flight who’d hit the hills in the mist. There were a few bombs aimed at the railway line but nothing more to harass their peace of mind.

Apart from all the restrictions no one would know there was a war on up here but now she did. For the first time she knew how helpless they were. If the bomb blew it would wipe Cragside off the map, and all those brave men close by. Ben was down there protecting their stock in danger too. Suddenly she knew they weren’t playing war any more. This was real and the danger was real.

None of them spoke but, once they were settled at Scar Head, for the first time in months she walked up to World’s End and prayed hard that all would be well.

Ben watched the demolition operations with fascination from the top field. The sixty-foot barrage balloon had drifted all the way from the coast at Barrow-in-Furness docks. It was a hush-hush job with an external device in the box now dangling precariously over the great ash tree.

The winch on the back of the lorry was attached to the cables. Every move was planned and rehearsed. The valve was released to deflate the balloon. Then the bomb squad corporal was ready and padded to climb the tree and remove the triggering device from the explosive. One false move and all that would be left of Cragside would be a crater.

For achingly long minutes life was held in the balance, but the brave man did his business and suddenly the panic was over.

Everyone stood around in a cloud of blue cigarette smoke once the explosive box was carted off. Ben found himself handing round mugs of sweet tea, knowing Gran wouldn’t mind him using her precious rations; a small reward for saving the farm.

‘What a tale to tell the nippers,’ laughed one of the bomb disposal squad, eyeing the farm building with interest. ‘Nice place…Unusual architecture for a farmhouse. Your wife did well to get the old folks out so quickly.’

‘She’s my cousin, not my wife,’ said Ben quickly.

‘Sorry Not wed then?’

‘Nah, no time for all that with two farms to run,’ he replied, sensing the question in the air: what’s a strapping lad like you doing out of the army? ‘Home Guard duties, of course,’ he added.

He was not going to tell him, or anyone for that matter, the truth: that he’d been approached early on to train for special duties alongside the Home Guard. It was his cover for secret training in the Auxiliary Unit, a hush-hush platoon of locals who met under cover of darkness; men who could go into hiding at a moment’s notice into their secret fox-holes underground, bunkers already prepared and stocked should there be trouble. They were men trained to hide out for weeks, sabotage, kill, and be killed if necessary; a very secret army that no one must know about.

They’d been meeting in the dark, hiding out, doing exercises and no one suspected a thing. That was how it must stay. With a bit of luck they might hold out for six months. Knowing every nook and cranny of these hills was essential and they were handpicked for just that special knowledge and for their ability to blend in unnoticed wearing Home Guard uniforms when needed.

If Tom wondered where Ben went late at night with his rucksack on his back, he never said anything and he’d have got a load of lies from his nephew about catching poachers or night exercises.

There were six of them in his cell: Podge, the gamekeeper; Evan, the Scoutmaster; Dick and Dave, farmers; and the officer in charge, all known by nicknames. Ben was Lanky. He knew the score. Survival might be only for days or weeks should the invasion come.

The fewer people knew, the better. Ben was praying their skills would never be put to the test but at least he could look uniforms in the eye, knowing he was doing his bit on two fronts just as much as they were.

It was a shame there were no women recruited, for Mirren knew the terrain even better than he, but even she hadn’t spotted the bunker tucked down the side of World’s End with its entrance so carefully concealed. There was just a concrete tube as a rear escape route if things got hot. He was glad all his Boy Scouting days had come to some good use.

When all the danger was over and the lorries drove off down the hill to the main road, Ben made back to Scar Head to give them the good news. He found everyone sitting around looking glum and Auntie Florrie was wiping her eyes. Mirren stood silent, her face white with shock.

‘What’s up?’ Ben said.

‘It’s Jack,’ said Uncle Tom, pointing to the telegram. ‘The lad’s had a bad accident on his motor bike…hit a tree in the blackout. He’s in hospital. Florrie and Mirren want to go and see him near Aldershot.’

Serves him right, Ben thought but said nothing. Jack careered around corners as if he owned the road on his Norton, scaring sheep and horses. It was about time he slowed down.

‘Done much damage?’ he asked.

‘It doesn’t say, but wrapping yourself round a tree must be painful,’ sobbed Mirren. ‘Why does he have to tear around like a mad thing?’

Why do girls always fall for the reckless ones? Ben sighed, seeing how upset she was by this news. Her blue eyes were sparkling with tears. She’d lost the puppy fat of her schooldays and was growing into as fair a lass as any in the dale. Trust Jack to mark her card.

‘He’s got the luck of the Irish and a bump on the head won’t stop him, you’ll see,’ he replied. ‘They’ll give him some leave once he’s recovered. Don’t worry, Auntie Florrie, he’s tough as cowhide.’

‘But I do worry. He’s already come through one bad scrape in Dunkirk and now this. One day he’ll run out of lives to squander. I wish he was steady like you.’

How to be damned with faint praise, he thought. Good old boring Ben…If only they knew what he could do with a piece of wire and rope, they’d not write him off as dull.

‘Just look on the bright side, everyone,’ he smiled. ‘At least he’ll still have Cragside to come home to. The balloon’s gone and you can all go home.’

Mirren leaped up at his news and soon they were all packed and back on the cart, chattering with relief that the ordeal was over. Arnie and his troop had long gone, leaving a mound of stub ends and a pile of grey balloon lining on the mucky yard.

The women pounced on the booty. ‘It’ll sew up well for couch covers,’ said Gran, fingering the cloth.

‘We could make a suit out of it and trim it up for summer,’ said Mirren.

‘Florrie will want some for curtains.’

‘Finders keepers,’ said Mirren. ‘There’s enough cloth here to suit up Windebank. We’ll divide it up and wash it off and see how we go…Pity it isn’t black for lining the big curtains.’

‘You’re never satisfied, ladies,’ said Grandpa. ‘The Lord has tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, indeed. Let us pray and give thanks for a safe delivery and for Jack’s recovery.’

They all bowed their heads right there in the yard and stood in silence. Cragside was restored to them. Danger was averted. Perhaps it was a good omen, Ben mused, that Hitler wouldn’t come and he might just live to a ripe old age. But until victory came, he must set himself apart and keep shtoom.

Mirren waited anxiously for news of Jack’s slow recovery. The weeks dragged into a month. She wrote every day, even telling him about the escapade with the balloon, against her better judgement, to try to keep his spirits up. Perhaps this accident would slow him down.

Florrie managed one visit to the hospital, taking fresh baking in a tin that got lost in the crush on the train.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Florrie laughed on her return. ‘He’s all in one piece and as cheeky as ever. His head must be made of concrete. Your letters cheered him up no end…’

Mirren blushed scarlet. There was no hiding how she felt about Jack from anyone now.

They’d been hard at the pig killing and now Cragside could face winter with a line of salted flitches stored in the back dairy on hooks in the beams, when George Thursby, the old postman, puffed through the farm gate as Mirren was mucking out.

‘The inspector’s on the warpath counting pig quotas. Taylor’s rang The Fleece to pass it up the dale to get them extras hidden.’

‘Thanks. Come in and get your drinkings,’ Mirren winked. ‘Tell Gran you deserve an extra slice of spice bread.’

No one took notice of the rules and regs that said they could only kill one pig for their use, but took liberties in the hope that what wasn’t seen wasn’t missed. If they were found there’d be a fine and a fuss, and no one wanted that so it was up to each farm to spread the word when the War-Ag man came to call.

Ben would have to get word now to Scar Head. They’d promised pork for Christmas to some of the families who’d helped over the summer by way of a thank you.

‘Where shall we hide them?’ whispered Mirren, knowing the obvious places were the first to be checked. ‘The cellar’s not safe or the out barns. If he creeps in there while we’re not looking…’ Then she heard a whinny from the stable, where Hercules, the bad-tempered Clydesdale, was stamping for attention.

They fetched the oat bag and tempted him while Ben carried the carcasses out of sight covered in sacks to the back of the stable.

An hour later Mr Simpson’s van arrived unannounced. He was in a foul temper, having slipped on the mud and splashed his gaberdine mac, so Gran sat him down for a chat and a wodge of her best treacle parkin. Little did he know he was eating molasses from the can allowed for cattle feed, which cooked up a treat in cakes and biscuits.

‘Time to get going, Mrs Yewell. Just the two carcasses, is it?’ He smiled a sly smile, knowing what the score was but powerless to do anything about it. ‘I’ll just have a nosy around,’ he continued. ‘On my own, if you don’t mind.’

He searched the dairy and cellar, the attic eaves, the barns, and was making for the stable block until Mirren stepped in. ‘Please help yourself, Mr Simpson, but I must warn you, Hercules doesn’t like strangers…I’d hate to see him kick you. We can’t be responsible for any injury caused.’

‘Really?’ The inspector looked at the stable door and at Mirren’s open face. ‘I’m good with horses.’ Her heart sank as he made to open the door but Hercules reared up right on cue and Simpson shut it quickly again. ‘I take your point, miss. Thank you, everything seems to be in order, but then I’d expect honesty from the God-fearing family of Joseph Yewell,’ was his parting shot that, fortunately, Grandpa Joe didn’t hear.

‘What’s that he was saying?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ Mirren smiled, glad that his hearing was not what it was. ‘I’m going to find a carrot for Hercules.’ That bad-tempered beast had saved their bacon in more ways than one.

It was nearly Christmas and if the weather held Jack would be back on leave now that he was recovered and on duty again. He’d been knocked out and bruised but nothing to worry about, so Auntie Florrie was baking for Yorkshire just in case he made it home.

Mirren was rushing through her chores in time to get a lift to the Home Guard hop in the village hall that evening. All the girls in the hostel were turning out and they’d be dressed to kill. For once she was going to make an effort and get out of her jumpers and dungarees so as not to let them down. That meant buckets of hot water to heat to have a strip wash and a scrub to get the farmyard stink off her body and hair. She was going to wear her one and only best frock and stockings, and show off the marcasite necklace that Jack had bought her for her twenty-first birthday.

Her new outfit was inspired by the scene in Gone With the Wind, when Scarlett O’Hara made a dress from curtains. Florrie had rummaged in the trunk for a length of some velvet salvaged from old parlour curtains. Gran insisted that Mirren should have something decent to wear to the party but no one wanted to waste good fabric, so they cut away the faded bits. There was enough to make a fitted frock with short skirt, three-quarter sleeves and a sweetheart neck. Jack’s necklace was on show for all to see. Florrie helped Mirren sweep her hair into a victory roll at the front, leaving the rest to fall in waves down her back.

‘You look a right bobby-dazzler. Those lads won’t know what’s hit them!’ she laughed.

Mirren hardly recognised herself in the mirror. Getting dolled up was not something she’d bothered with before. It was like looking at a stranger in the mirror, but it was the brightness in her eyes with the hope that Jack would be coming home that was lifting her spirits.

If Jack came home she didn’t want him to see her in all her old muck and make-do. The other Land Girls would be giving him the eye. ‘Eau de Farmyard’; that pong of stale milk, dung and sweat took a bit of stomaching, and getting rid of, but they’d soon got used to it. Everyone competed to have the strongest perfumes, just in case, but all Mirren could manage was lavender water and Lifebuoy soap. She hoped it was enough.

Ben would pick her up in the farm truck and just so it looked a legitimate use of petrol, he’d tether the nanny goat in the back as if she was being taken to the vet. They all did this from time to time, stretching the War-Ag regs a little bit.

As she dressed with care Mirren wished it was Jack escorting her to the dance, but there’d been no letter for a week. She’d lost track of him since his accident and he was vague about his new posting. If only he’d get back for Christmas it would be the best ever, war or no war.

Ben took trouble to brush down his uniform for the dance and polish his boots to a glass finish. He’d washed and shaved, Brylcreemed his fair hair when he found a parting, and brushed his teeth. He didn’t want to smell of the farmyard tonight, not when he was escorting Mirren in her best clobber, but he was not in the mood for dancing.

He had heard that his big brother, Bert, was missing. The telegram came a week ago and so far there was nothing else. They were praying he was shot down and captured. So many young men lost on bombing raids ended up as prisoners. It was better than the alternative, but the news was awful and he felt sick whenever he thought of it.

He’d gone straight to Leeds to comfort his mam and dad. They were putting a brave face on things but his mam’s eyes were red-rimmed with crying. He’d felt so helpless.

‘We have to keep hoping and getting on with the job,’ she’d smiled through her tears. ‘Thank God you’re safe.’ There was not one iota of reproach in her voice that he was in a reserved occupation but he could see it in the faces of other town folk, who passed on their condolences at the front door of their villa close to West Park.

When he saw Mirren coming down the grand front staircase in her velvet dress, with her hair half up and down, carrying her dancing shoes and looking like a ripe plum, he forgot his sorrows.

‘You scrub up well,’ he said, trying not to show how much her appearance stirred him. ‘Better wrap up and take yer gumboots. It’s right clashy weather outside. There’ll be snow before long.’

She looked put out at his words for some reason and gave him a scowl but he bundled her into the passenger seat, shoving his rucksack to one side.

‘Any news? How’s Auntie Pam?’ she asked. ‘You must bring them here for Christmas.’

He nodded, not wanting to spoil the evening by thinking of the war.

‘You go everywhere with that old thing–has it got your life’s savings in it?’ she said, starting to fidget with the strap of his canvas bag.

He pushed it onto the floor. He could tell no one that it was his survival kit. If there were a sudden warning, he would down tools, grab it and go into hiding. Inside was all the weaponry for killing: a pistol, a few rounds of ammo, a Fairburn knife, wires, tools, maps, Horlicks tablets, rations to keep him on the go until he went into his secret bunker to await instructions.

They’d done so many rehearsals now: exercises in the dead of night, recces of the camp on the moors, seizing the battery in a mock battle, laying dummy traps on the railway line, living off the land for days on end. It was Boy’s Own stuff but in deadly earnest. Uncle Tom once caught him for being late and gave him an earful for skiving off but he took it like a man. It would have been treason to betray the truth and reveal anything.

The two of them bumped down the track to Windebank in silence, leaving the truck parked out of sight up the top lane, and tethered Jezebel to the verge to munch around. There were plenty of other revellers with the same idea, with chickens squawking and dogs barking. He could hear the trio warming up and the windows were blacked out, but it was pitch-dark with only a few white lines etched onto the street corners to guide wary travellers.

The church hall had been done up by some of the Home Guard wives; lanterns, storm lamps and candles in jars on windowsills, paper chains and bells hanging from the ceiling. There was a Christmas tree on the stage where the Jimmy Benson Trio had set up shop; fiddle, drums and piano to give the dance a bit of swing.

Ben looked hopefully to the far end where under cloths was a Jacob’s join supper laid out with the usual sausage rolls and pies, bridge rolls full of cold cuts and meat paste, pasties, fruit pies, slices of cake, all portioned out to give everyone a fair share. He was starving just thinking about the supper. There was a licensed bar but little beer to go round, pop and crisps if they were lucky. Some of the lads would be sneaking off back down to The Fleece to top up. Dancing was thirsty work and they’d be here until dawn, if it was a good do.

There were a gaggle of schoolgirls in ankle socks, trying to look grown up. Mirren’s friends from the hostel eyed Ben up with interest; the lipstick and rouge brigade, smelling like a chemist’s shop. A few village ladies were hovering around the tablecloth to shoo away sneaky fingers.

Ben wasn’t much of a dancer: two large left feet in the waltzing, but he could swing around better in the country dances. He spotted some of his platoon lurking in the doorway, eyeing up the talent, and went over to have a chat. He felt safer in male company. When he turned round again, Mirren was tripping the light fantastic with Arnie Blewitt. She did look grand in the lamplight, full of life, her fair hair bouncing after her, neat ankles twisting and turning. She made the other girls look common and over-made-up, he thought.

Halfway through the evening, when the stir was hotting up, he wondered about giving his cousin a twirl. She might be his cousin but he’d hardly known her until he came from Leeds just before war started. Their paths had never crossed much as children, just occasional visits and the escapade when she broke her arm in one of Jack’s madcap schemes.

She had looked a right tomboy in her grammar school gear and always had her head stuck in a book when they came to visit. In truth he was a little in awe of her book learning. But, like everyone else, she’d put any career ambitions on hold once war was declared, which made him admire her all the more.

It was about time he told her how much he liked her, but that would sound daft and she’d probably laugh him away. They were mates on the farm, a good team. He wasn’t any good at all this romance lark and was in no position to go courting. He didn’t fancy making a fool of himself on the dance floor so he hung back, content to let others swing her around the floor.

There was the usual scramble for the supper plates and Ben ended up going back and forth to the kitchen on somebody’s orders. It was eleven o’clock before he plucked up courage to ask Mirren for the slow foxtrot, which was a big mistake as it was also a gentleman’s ‘Excuse me’.

Arnie was shuffling around, polishing the floor with his feet and clinging on to her for dear life so he decided to rescue her, butting in: ‘It’s my turn now.’

He hadn’t realised she was so small. She barely came up to his shoulders. He could smell her newly washed hair and when she smiled up at him he went all wobbly inside. They did a few steps and he trod on her toes.

‘Excuse me.’ There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned round to see Jack Sowerby smirking at them.

‘Jack! Oh, Jack, you made it!’ squealed Mirren with such obvious delight that Ben stood back to release her, watching bemused as she hugged Tom’s stepson with a little too much enthusiasm for his liking. They glided off together without a backward glance.

So that was how the land lay, he sighed. Ah well, perhaps as well. He backed off to the doorway and pulled out a packet of ciggies to join the lads. That was his last foray onto the dance floor tonight. Once was enough. He needed a smoke and some fresh air.

Mirren had no eyes for any of the other soldiers once Jack was in her arms. He looked so bright and handsome, his dark eyes flashing mischief as they twirled around the floor, dancing and dancing until she was giddy with excitement.

He was home for Christmas, for five whole days. For once, trains had run on time, snow hadn’t disrupted the roads, his arm was healed; everything was perfect.

How glad she was to have made that extra effort to glam up. He’d saved her toes from being broken by Ben’s size twelves. When you worked alongside someone all day what was there to say to each other except, ‘How’s Daisy’s udders?’, ‘Have you set that trap for the rats?’, ‘Did the new lad see to the hen hut roof?’ but with Jack there was a whole world of fresh topics. Where was he now? What had he seen? What’s on in London?

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she sighed. ‘Why didn’t you write? I could have come and met you.’

‘And spoil the look on your face when I breezed in? You can never tell with trains and I hitched a lift from Scarperton station. If you’d been waiting and I’d not shown, you’d have a face on you like sore feet. Come on, let’s get out of here…’ he whispered.

‘You’ve brought a bike?’

‘’Fraid not. It’s shanks’s pony for a bit until I get another one,’ he said as he guided her by the elbow out of the crush. ‘Let’s pop into The Fleece.’

‘It’s after hours and you know I don’t go in those places,’ she said.

‘Signed the pledge, have we?’

‘I did as a kiddy…I just don’t fancy the stuff,’ she insisted.

‘Well, let’s walk the slow way home then. We’ve a lot of catching up to do.’

They climbed the path to Gunnerside Foss and on up to World’s End, holding hands. The sky had cleared and stars were dotted right across the sky, making patterns and shapes. The moon was bright but in the distance the searchlights arced over the moors.

They found some shelter out of the wind and Jack whipped off his greatcoat and sat down, holding out his hand. ‘Come on, Land Girl. Backs to the land!’

‘Stop that!’ she snapped, and caught him on the arm and he winced. ‘Sorry, is that your bad arm? Is it badly hurt?’

‘I’ll get worse before this war’s over,’ he quipped.

‘Don’t let’s talk about the war…Let it wait. It’s Christmas and you’re here,’ she sighed, snuggling into his side.

‘Is that all the welcome I get?’ he laughed, pulling her closer, and she kissed him with a closed mouth.

‘That’s a little girl’s kiss,’ he teased. ‘Let me show you another way.’

He was kissing her so deeply, forcing open her mouth to receive deeper longer kisses that sent shivers down her insides. His hands began to feel for her breasts and finger them roughly. Even Mirren knew where this would lead and drew back coyly.

‘Not here, not now, Jack,’ she whispered. Things were moving too fast and she was afraid.

‘When then?’ he whispered back. ‘You’re my girl, my only girl…don’t you want me to…?’

‘I do, but it’s damp and cold and I’m frozen. This is my best frock…if it gets stained,’ she said, knowing they weren’t the real reasons she was holding back.

His jibes about Land Girls being ‘easy’ had gone deep, making her wary of spoiling the romance of his return. She felt a novice and clumsy, not knowing what to do next. There were dangers in letting a lad have his way. One of the girls in the hostel had already been discharged pregnant and in trouble.

‘I’d make it right, love. I’d never do anything to get you in trouble, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ll not force you into anything either. It’s just I’ll be going away soon and we might not see each other for ages, or ever again. You can’t blame me for wanting an early Christmas present,’ he said, standing up. ‘But you’re right. It’s a bit parky up here. Funny how we always trek up to World’s End…’

‘Because it’s quiet and no one comes here, and this is where you found me or have you forgotten?’ she whispered, thinking of the night in the snow.

The moment had passed and the chill was getting to both of them. Time to plod downwards and towards Cragside.

‘We could have got a lift with Ben,’ she offered. ‘He ran me down to the hall. Have you heard about Bert?’

Jack nodded but said nothing.

She sensed his disappointment hanging unspoken like icicles, cross with herself for being so slow and calculating, but there was a warning light flashing in her eyes and a voice saying: ‘Be careful, slow down. There’s plenty of time, no rush to fulfil your loving.’ Now it felt awkward and her excitement deflated.

‘You’ll be coming for Christmas? We’ll play silly games and do carol singing–you will, won’t you?’ she asked, desperate to know she was still his special girl.

‘Same old Cragside Christmas. Don’t worry, Mirren, I’ll be there…hoping and waiting…You’re my girl.’

‘Am I? You don’t mind me being…?’ she pleaded, looking him straight in the eye.

‘You looked gorgeous tonight. Every man in the hall was jealous. You should have seen Ben’s face when I turned up,’ Jack laughed. ‘You and me’re meant for each other.’

She sensed he was no virgin lover, no novice declaring his undying love. He knew what he was doing and how to go about loosening her up, but she couldn’t help herself when she was in his arms. Why was it all right for lads to have fun but if a girl experimented she was a slut?

He saw her to the farmhouse door, pecked her on the cheek and walked on up to Scar Head, leaving her feeling mean and silly, confused, excited, nervous and suddenly afraid. She mustn’t let Jack down. He was going to fight. He could be killed and he needed comfort. If she didn’t give it perhaps someone else would.

If only there was someone she could trust enough to talk this over? Florrie was too close, and family. The girls in the hostel talked about sex all the time but she didn’t live in and had no special friend there. Lorna had gone very religious since Freddy died. She would be horrified at this behaviour. The only mate she had was Ben. He was her listening ear but he was the last person she could ever tell about this.

He’d just heard his brother was missing in action. He was going to go home to see his parents again to persuade them to come back to Cragside to cheer them up. Why did this war change everything?

Even Gran was looking peaky, out of breath at the slightest rush. Mirren hated to think Joe and Adey were getting old but there was such a weariness in Gran’s eyes when they sat at the peg rugging, a breathless panting as she climbed the stairs. The thought of Gran not being around made her panic. There was so much to learn and so little time.

8

Mirren was determined to put on a good show for the family. The fact that she had never been in charge of the whole Christmas dinner before didn’t matter. Gran was not well and confined to bed for the morning so she must see to the goose for the first time, and organise Daisy and Grandpa like troops before battle.

She loved Christmas, the most magical time of the year, even for a farm hand, and with wartime rations it took a palaver of bartering to get enough raisins and muscatels and spices to do the pudding justice. Thankfully there were enough people who couldn’t stand dried fruit in the village but wanted fresh eggs or a bit of brawn as a swap.

It was Christmas morning and Jack, who was staying at Scar Head, would be coming to sample her cooking so she must look sharpish and see to all the vegetables. The farmhouse dresser looked so festive and cards were strung up across the beams, the tinsel and holly sat on every ledge, the fire in the big parlour blazing. Now there were just the buckets of potatoes and carrots to peel. Her hands were frozen in the cold water but her heart was singing. Tonight she would be with Jack.

On the cold slab sat one of Uncle Tom’s geese ready to be stuffed with Auntie Florrie’s homemade forcemeat. What a blowout there was going to be. Daisy was peeling the store apples to make a sauce and there was just Gran’s pudding full of grated carrot, nuts and every spare currant to be boiled in the set boiler in the outhouse: so much to think about before they went to chapel.

Daisy was to see to the range and Gran while they were out. The dining table was already prepared with the stiffest of the damask cloths, set with china and napkins. All the cutlery sparkled, and in the centre was a cardboard and plaster sleigh full of holly and the first Christmas roses, that grew in the old croft under the wall. There were home-made crackers with no bangers inside so everyone had to shout as they pulled and pretend they were the real ones.

Mirren thought she ought to stay home but it was always the tradition to go to chapel and support the singing. Perhaps Jack would turn up with Tom and Florrie but if he had any sense he would lie and make the most of the morning. She would go and pray for forgiveness for what she was about to do tonight given half a chance!

Once there, her mind was racing, anticipating lying in Jack’s arms, when she was jolted awake by Ben singing the next Christmas carol, drowning out these fantasies with his rich deep voice. If only it was Jack standing by her side.

Not even Hitler could spoil this Christmas, she thought, with his bombs and threats, not here at least where the family was gathered together. Only Uncle Wes and Auntie Pam were absent–and Bert, of course. If Gran could come down for the meal then everything would be as it always was for a few hours.

‘I’m ready for that goose,’ said Uncle Tom on the way home, looking at his fob watch on a chain. ‘Singing and a good sermon gives me a grand appetite.’

Too long a sermon gave Mirren a sore bum on the hard chapel benches with sit-up backs, but the minister had kept it short for once, and she needed to be getting back to see to the trimmings. Daisy was reliable but had to be told to do things. Perhaps she should have stayed at home after all.

There was a delicious aroma when they opened the back door. ‘Oh, joy in the morning!’ said Grandpa. ‘I’ll have to loosen my belt to do justice to all your efforts.’

‘Nice not to have to cook for a change,’ whispered Auntie Florrie, unpinning her best felt hat and making for the lobby. ‘I’ll go and see to Gran and help her dress. I see our Jack’s arrived at last,’ she smiled, looking out of the window at her son standing by the wall smoking a cigarette.

‘I’ll just see to the bird,’ Mirren croaked, trying not to blush, opening the oven door gingerly to check on the roasting fowl.

Everyone had drifted into the kitchen towards the delicious smell. Ben went to fetch the ginger beer jar from the cold larder shelf, when there was an explosion of smoke and fat as the goose shot across the kitchen like a cannonball, setting everyone back on their heels. Quick as a flash Ben pulled Mirren away from the lava of fat. Auntie Florrie took one look at the mess and screamed as the hot fat bubbled over the flat tin onto the flag floor and Tom’s glass of ginger beer spilled and ignited the fat into flames.

‘I thowt this house was supposed to be teetotal.’ He looked down with surprise. It was Ben who whipped up the rag rug and dowsed the flame.

It was like a flash flood all right, Mirren just standing there yelling, ‘The goose, my poor goose! The dinner’s ruined!’ She looked round the room in horror.

‘Never mind the goose, love, we could’ve all been drowned in fat and done to a turn,’ laughed Uncle Tom. ‘Roasted in that avalanche.’

‘I’m so sorry!’ Mirren was in tears.

‘Didn’t Daisy think to drain off some of the fat out of the tin?’ whispered Auntie Florrie.

‘She didn’t say,’ said Daisy looking woebegone at Mirren.

‘Still, Adey’s floors are spotless, we can eat off them later,’ chuckled Ben, seeing the funny side of it. But Mirren was shaking her head, feeling stupid and shamed in front of the family.

‘You’ve cooked your goose and no mistake,’ added Jack, putting his arm round her. Everyone was smiling and laughing as if it was all some big joke not a humiliating disaster.

‘No one’s been injured. All’s not lost, love,’ said Grandpa Joe. ‘Wait until Adey hears this. It’ll cheer her up no end.’

Mirren rushed out into the yard, wanting to cry, taking in great gulps of air to steady her fury. How could they laugh at this disaster?

‘Come back in,’ shouted Auntie Florrie. ‘We’ve called out the lifeboat to rescue us…You did well to get it all done on time. Don’t get in a maddle on Christmas Day. If we get on us pinnies when the fat’s cooled down, we can let the bird rest a while and no harm done.’

She was only trying to help but Mirren wailed, ‘What about the veg? I can’t get at them.’

‘Dinner will be a little late this year,’ said Jack, fanning the flames of Mirren’s fury. ‘I’m sure Mam can find a few bits to keep the wolf from the door. We’ll all muck in and make it happen, you’ll see. Don’t take on, it’s only a bird!’

Mirren sniffed back her shame, not seeing the funny side at all. The floor was like a skating rink as they crouched down to scrape off the goose fat. What a waste of precious medicine; all those jars of liniment and chest rub piled into a lump of gunge.

As if reading her thoughts, Florrie smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we can render it down again.’

The goose was laid to rest on top of the range and soon the veg were ready for the table. Everyone was full of elderberry cordial, pink-faced and making merry. Gran struggled downstairs to see what the fuss was about and had a good laugh too, which was the best medicine of all even if it was at Mirren’s expense.

‘She didn’t say,’ Daisy kept repeating to anyone who’d hear, but they were all too busy enjoying themselves to criticise.

Then Tom, Jack, Ben and Grandpa put on a floor show in their pinnies, prancing about.

‘You’ve heard about the Dying Swan,’ said Jack. ‘This is the dancing goose.’

The sight of them fooling around made Mirren’s lips quiver and burst into a smile.

‘That’s better. No tears on Christmas Day.’

The goose was rich and succulent despite its strange dance across the floor and everyone fell on it with gusto. Adey’s Christmas pudding was up to scratch and her Christmas cake tasty, despite being a little thin on fruit this year. Uncle Tom did his usual trick of producing a ten-bob note from his mouth and pretending to choke on it.

Soon the dining table was covered in crumbs and stains and bits of cracker and silly hats, and the old folk retired to their little snug to snooze away what was left of the afternoon in peace.

Then it was time for the next lot of company to arrive, visiting farmers and their families for a party singsong and a game or two of cards. The tale of the dancing goose was told over and over again as the women cleared away the debris to start again on preparing supper. All the tensions of the day were drifting away.

It was the usual Christmas ritual: games and a day out of time, but there was still the stock to see to. Thankfully it was the men’s turn to see to them while the women prepared a supper fit for the King: rounds of cheeses, trifle with real cream topping, Christmas spice bread, cakes and cold meat with bowls of potato salad, chutney, beetroot pickle.

No one had come empty-handed. The day was going well and it was not over yet.

Mirren’s eyes followed Jack around the room. It was as if some invisible thread was spinning a web around them, a strange attraction of heat and body, a feeling she had never experienced before of anticipation, an aching in her loins to reach out and touch the fine curve of his cheek, to bury his head in her breasts; a spark of sudden awareness that he felt the same pull of souls. Something was fizzing inside her like bubbling pop. In the bustle of busyness, toing and froing with the other women, something magical was stirring, so warm and wonderful she could hardly breathe. It separated her off from the rest of the noise and laughter. She was lost in a whirlpool of desire. All she wanted was to fall onto the rag rug into his arms and for everyone to go away so she could make the most of him. She felt like a bitch on heat.

She fingered her dress. The warm deep cherry velvet echoed her mood, shaped her body, showing off her neat waist and full bust. She might be built square but everything was in proportion. Someone wound up the old gramophone and familiar tunes took on a whole new meaning. She wanted to seal all these precious moments in a jar to take out in the long months ahead.

Jack took her by the hand and whirled her around the room until she was dizzy. She could feel his breath, and the scent of him was sweet to her nostrils. He had lost that ingrained smell of hay and farm. They glanced up at each other and smiled, a brief exchange of eyes and meanings.

Tonight we’ll be as one. This is where I belong, she sighed, feeling the touch of his fingers like electricity surging through her body. She’d never felt this urgency before. This was no gentle courtship. This was raw naked hunger. She sensed the stirring in his body and drew back. There was more on the boil than the kettle!

If only this was Hollywood, he could be Rhett to her Scarlett, Heathcliff to her Cathy, Maxim de Winter to her Rebecca, but this was Yorkshire and romance was thin on the ground except at the Plaza Picture House in Scarperton. She sometimes skived off with the Land Girls to the afternoon matinée on market day, swooning at the fancy costumes and handsome heroes. Now she had one of her very own.

Anyone could see they were smitten, and Florrie didn’t seem to mind. Jack was family but not a blood relative. Gran was too poorly to notice much these days.

It was almost a relief when everyone started to make noises about going home but not before another serving of supper and toffees. Coupons and rations were forgotten for the day. Belts were loosened, ties undone, corsets unhooked when Cragside was having a blowout. Neighbours, children, soldiers on leave squashed together for one final singsong.

Jack saved Mirren a place on the floor as Grandpa began his ghostly monologue about the mysterious barghest, the white hound of the dale, omen of death and doom, and one of his sightings. As they crouched together she felt his hand reach out and squeeze hers tightly, his fingers caressed the inside of her palm so gently she felt herself flush with pleasure. If he had said, let’s slip away now and go to your bed, rip off our clothes and make love all night long, she would have risen, meek as a lamb and done his bidding, not caring what anyone thought.

His hand brushed her thigh lightly and she was transfixed by the sensation. It was now or never. They might never get another evening together but how was it going to happen if he went back to Scar Head?

By the time everyone lingered and chatted, it was time to take Gran up to bed and help her undress. Grandpa was tired and Jack came up with the perfect solution.

‘You have a lie-in in the morning,’ he said to the old man. ‘I’ll kip down with Ben for the night and see to some chores then. I’m good at taking orders,’ he smiled, winking at her.

Nothing more was said, just one brief exchange of nods as they parted at the top of the landing but she knew that for the first time in her life she would not be sleeping alone.

Lying in bed with not one wink of sleep in her, she waited for the house to go quiet. She had checked that Ben had finished the rounds of the yard, settled the dogs. She could hear Daisy banking up the fire, climbing the stairs to her bedroom above. She waited and waited until she was forced to rise and put on her dressing gown and make for the parlour, but it was in darkness too. She climbed back up the stairs with a sickening lump in her throat. She had got it all wrong. She didn’t put the light back on and sighed as she flung herself on the bed.

‘Ouch!’ whispered a voice. ‘You weigh a ton!’

‘What took you so long?’ she said, not quite believing he was here at last. Her arms were around him in a second and she cradled him tight.

‘I’ve come for my Christmas present,’ he whispered. ‘Hope I’m not too late?’

There was no time to reply, for he stopped her mouth with his kisses. There was no fear in how their bodies crushed together, strained to express all they felt, and what was happening was as natural as talking and breathing. Why waste precious moments in words when bodies can do such delicious things to each other?

There was no time for coyness, only the desperate seizing of the moment. All Mirren’s scruples vanished in the primitive surge to mate and surrender.

Jack’s breath smelled of whisky and cigarettes, a heady brew. She melted under his touch as his fingers sought out her nipples and flicked them into life. His hands moved downwards until she felt her blood turn into treacle. As he entered her she felt a searing pain and it was hard not to cry out. As he moved forwards and backwards deeper into her, the soreness fell away and then he withdrew and it was all over before she had begun to settle down and enjoy herself. There was so much to learn.

‘I’ve not taken any risks, love,’ he whispered. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you too much but it’ll get better with practice when we’re wed.’

She pretended to hit him. ‘Is that a proposal?’ she said, her heart leaping at his words.

‘I suppose it is.’

How could something so wonderful be rationed to only those with wedding rings, she mused. Thank goodness lovemaking wasn’t on coupons. They’d have used up a whole year’s worth in one night, but who cared? Heaven knew when they would get some again but the thought of a honeymoon kept her awake all night.

Ben lay awake, seething. Jack’s camp bed was empty and he knew where he was and he was furious, jealousy and envy all mixed up. How dare Jack come home and ruin everything with his fancy talk? He’d seen them eyeing each other up all night. He was furious with Mirren for falling for such obvious charm.

He lay in the darkness, powerless, trying not to think what was going on down the corridor. What had Jack got that he hadn’t? Easy to answer that, he mused. Florrie’s son had a way with girls, a confidence and patter, but he was also a man’s man and could drink any of them under the table and still seem sober. He made Ben feel like a clodhopper, a homespun bumpkin with two left feet.

His mind was raging with scenarios of murderous revenge: sabotaging Jack’s motor bike brake cable, ambushing him in the dark–jealous fantasies that shocked him. It was Christmas and goodwill to all men was the order of the day. Mirren had made her choice and it was none of his business.

In the early hours, Jack crept back into the room and Ben shone his torch in his face. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘None of your bloody business.’

‘If you’re just messing about with our Mirren…’

‘What’s it to you? She’s your cousin, remember.’

‘She’s one of the best and deserves to be treated right. If you get her into trouble, I’ll kill you,’ Ben snapped.

‘You’ll do what? You and whose army? What do you know about girls? You’re too scared to lay a finger on any of them!’ Jack was mocking him.

‘Shut it!’ Ben leaped out of bed and pinned Jack by the neck. ‘You’d better be marrying her or you’ll have me to answer to. Don’t go breaking her heart. I heard about you and Doris Hargrave, last summer. She went to pot when you dumped her. Tongues wag in a small village.’

‘Get off me, Lanky…That was ages ago, nothing to do with how I feel about Mirren.’ Jack shrugged and smirked, which only made things worse.

Ben grabbed him and shoved him against the door in a stranglehold. ‘I mean every word. If you so much as—’

‘Hold yer sweat. What’s got into you, the parsnip wine? You never could hold your liquor. Don’t jump the gun. As a matter of fact I’ve just popped the question and she’s said, yes…so shut up. Needless to say I’ll not be asking you to be best man.’

‘That’s all right then,’ said Ben, releasing his hold, feeling sick at this news. ‘I only want what’s best for her.’

‘You want her for yourself but I got in there first,’ Jack laughed. There was a cruel glint in his eye. ‘I don’t need to explain, do I? First come, first served, so keep your filthy paws off her.’

‘I don’t think of her like that,’ Ben replied.

‘You’re no man if you don’t. Believe me, she’s hot stuff under the sheets,’ came the boast.

‘Oh, shut the fuck up!’ Ben snapped. This was not the old Jack he used to muck about with as a lad. He’d always been easy-going. There was a cold edge to his tongue now, a cruel ruthless streak Ben had never seen on display before and he was worried.

‘Go screw yourself, boyo!’ Jack taunted.

Ben grabbed a blanket and took himself down to kip by the hearth. He didn’t want to be in the same room as Jack. His homecoming had spoiled everything and Ben wished he’d gone back to Leeds. He kept thinking about Bert, lying dead, broken somewhere, or caged up in a camp. The sofa was too small for him but this discomfort was nothing to what his brother would be suffering out there if he was still alive. It was a long restless night.

‘I’ve got some good news. Jack and me are thinking of getting wed soon,’ Mirren announced the next day as she sat perched on Gran’s bed.

All the Christmas excitement had been too much for Adey and she was staying in bed for the day under strict orders not to budge.

‘We want to do it quickly in case he’s sent abroad soon.’

There was silence for a second as the news sank in. Gran looked at Joe and back at Mirren. ‘Eeh, you’ve caught us on the hop there. I allus thought it’d be young…Are you sure? Jack Sowerby…Florrie’ll be chuffed but it’s a big step to take, lass.’

‘I’ve known him since I was eight. We’re well suited.’ Mirren was surprised that Gran wasn’t more excited.

‘But we thought you were staying on the farm like Ben for the duration,’ said Grandpa.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ she said, puzzled. ‘Who said anything about leaving the farm? I’ll be going nowhere. I’m still a Land Girl and there’s a war on. It’s going to make no difference while Jack’s away.’

‘Once the war’s over, Jack’ll want to be making tracks to better himself. You know what Kerrs are like. He’ll never make a farmer and you’ll be going with him then,’ croaked Gran, her sharp grey eyes piercing into Mirren’s.

‘We’ll see when the time comes. Anyway, that’s a long way off. People change their plans. I thought you’d be pleased,’ Mirren added. It was not quite the joyous reaction she had hoped for.

‘As long as you’re sure, love. We just want you to be happy. If Jack is Mister Right who are we to gainsay it? Marriage takes two and Jack’s always been a wild ’un. Florrie will tell you that. I reckon it was not having a dad around when he was a kiddy. I allus remember him jumping off the foss straight down into that water, a right little devil with no sense of danger.’

‘That’s not his fault. I didn’t have a mother,’ Mirren snapped.

‘I know, but happen a wedding will help him find his roots. No one can say you aren’t a solid and sensible girl. Where would we be without you now?’ said Gran, stretching out her hand. ‘Congratulations! We were blessed the day the Lord brought you to our door; a second chance to put things right with Ellie. Love lists where it wills, lass, we know that,’ she sighed, looking towards her husband.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not Mam or Dad. No hole-in-the-corner wedding for me. War or no war, I’ve set my heart on him and a proper chapel do. He’ll make us proud no matter what the future brings.’

‘Then we’ll have to get our skates on and get cracking. A real chapel do means a choir, sit-down breakfast in the barn, if needs be. Let no one say the Yewells don’t know how to put on a show, but it’ll all have to be above board, no under-the-counter dealings or any alcohol. We’re not footing the bill for Satan’s brew.’ Gran sat up already looking brighter.

‘That’s more like it. Don’t you worry, I’ll see to it all. Ben can help me. You just get yourself fit again. A wedding is just what we all need to cheer us up!’

Ben couldn’t believe Mirren would go ahead with marrying that scumbag. Jack didn’t love Mirren as a man should with all his heart and soul. It was all sex. He wanted her body to keep him warm when he came home on leave. He’d make promises he’d never keep. It wasn’t in his nature.

Jack was not cut out for country life. He’d been one of the first to volunteer to see the world. Sooner or later he’d take his cousin far away from everyone she loved here, far from them into towns and cities. Then he’d get bored with her and drink too much. Mirren deserved better.

Now, if it were him going down the aisle with her he’d get that little house she loved so much shipshape, reroofed and made spick and span, new windows and floorboards, a lick of distemper. He’d build her a kitchen with cupboards and they could live on the tops content. Only it wasn’t him she wanted.

Not once had she looked in his direction with the sort of cow eyes Lorna Dinsdale was making at him when she called. Lorna was always hanging on his every word and lingering in the yard, holding him up from his jobs. Trouble was, when he looked at her there was no spark. It was a shame because she was a nice enough lass, nice figure, shiny hair and pleasant voice, and she’d just lost her brother in the RAF.

You don’t choose who you love, he thought, stretching his long legs under the table, disturbing the house dog who rested her head in his lap. Pity!

It was time to look over Mirren’s list. She might not love him but she knew how to make him jump to her bidding.

Mirren could hardly believe how quickly they could organise a wedding once the family got used to the idea. If Jack was going to go abroad it was better that they spent some private time together before he went, they argued. Everyone could see they were in love.

Auntie Florrie was a bit subdued at first, but then got into the swing of the arrangements in the time-honoured place of her own mother. Granny was failing but was determined to attend the wedding in the chapel on 21 March: the first day of spring.

Finding enough coupons to buy a wedding dress was out of the question so Mirren found a dressmaker in Scarperton who ran her up a lovely two-piece dress and jacket in pale turquoise wool crepe. She found a sharp black hat with a feather in the side and matching gloves and shoes. The girls in the hostel gave her some dyed parachute silk to make underwear and she felt like a princess in all her finery.

Only Ben ignored all the fuss as if it wasn’t happening, and every time she asked what was the matter, all he’d say was, ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? What’s the rush?’ which was no help at all.

Mirren assumed his indifference was because he thought she’d have to give up her work, but there was no possibility of her leaving Cragside, nor did she want to with Gran in such bad health.

The day dawned fine for a change; the first day of spring in all its glory. Outside, the daffodils were nestling in the shelter of the stone walls, the tired snowdrops flopping and the sky set fair for the day.

Mirren lay in bed gazing up at the ceiling. As from today she’d be Mrs Jack Sowerby, a proper married woman with a husband in the Forces. She was the envy of all the Land Girls, who took great delight in plying her with lurid details of what to expect on her wedding night. She’d sat wide-eyed, looking all innocence. It was nobody else’s business what they’d already been up to in bed.

Daisy helped her get dressed, fussing over the angle of her hat so it showed off her new shorter hairstyle. There was a small posy of spring flowers to carry and all the guests were given buttonholes and sprays, which Mirren and Daisy had sat up half the night putting together.

Yesterday Florrie, Daisy and Mirren set out the trestle tables with white starched linen cloths in the Chapel Hall for a stand-up buffet. No one was allowed to sit down to eat in case there was an air raid! Gran was overwhelmed with gifts of ham and pies and home baking. The wedding cake was a plain sponge sandwiched together with jam and frosted over with butter cream. It was the best they could do at short notice. Mirren was going to give Jack an old family signet ring and she was making do with a second-hand wedding band as gold was scarce.

This upset Florrie for some reason. ‘I hope you’re not tempting fate,’ she whispered. ‘It ought to be a new one. You haven’t even got an engagement ring.’

‘There is a war on,’ snapped Mirren, tired with all the preparations. What did it matter if someone had already got some joy out of the ring? It was the best Mr Soames, the jeweller, could offer at short notice.

She drove down to Windebank in Mr Bennett’s ambulance saloon cum taxi with Grandpa looking dapper in his preaching suit and Gran with her fox fur tippet and best hat. Lorna was the bridesmaid, wearing a borrowed tweed coat and hat and a new dress underneath. It wasn’t the most stylish wedding party in the dale but it was going to be one of the happiest.

It was a lovely family wedding. Jack brought a soldier friend, Eddie Minshall, to be his best man. Uncle Wes and Auntie Pam came from Leeds. They had heard that Bert was captured and safe at long last. Ben looked splendid in his Home Guard uniform, towering over everyone with a face like thunder. The reception went without a hitch until some of Jack’s mates got a little tipsy by tripping over to The Fleece to top him up. Grandpa was on his feet to toast the couple with elderberry cordial.

‘Raise your glasses to this brave couple setting out on the most exciting journey of their lives. May the Lord grant them the blessing of a happy hearth and the patter of tiny feet in due course. May He bring our Jack safely through the dangers to come.’ He turned then to Gran with a wink. ‘If they’re as happy as we’ve been these fifty years, I shall be content, eh, Mother?’

Mirren thought her heart would burst with joy and love. All she loved were sitting around them wishing them well. If only Paddy and Ellie, her parents, were here to share this precious moment…When she turned towards Jack she thought her heart would burst with pride. We’re so lucky, she smiled to herself. Soon it would be time to toss her bouquet, say her goodbyes and suffer the blizzard of confetti when they went to catch the train up to the Lake District for three nights in a hotel by the shores of Lake Windermere.

She tried to hold on to every second of those magical days, knowing that in the months and years to come it would be the one precious unsullied time when they lay in bed all morning, walked in the hills in the afternoon to see the famous daffodils, and then dining by the lake.

Jack was gentle with his lovemaking and took her slowly, waiting at first, but she could never quite catch him up. There was an art to this malarkey that neither of them had quite got the hang of yet, but it was wonderful to be lying in his arms so close. In that chilly hotel bedroom there was such a heat and energy when they came together, and for those few nights the war went away.

Mirren wished she could stop the clocks and that they wouldn’t have to separate at Carnforth station, but Jack was due to report to a base in Scotland for yet more hush-hush training. Who knew when they would meet again?

Once back at Cragside it was as if it was all some dream. The cows didn’t know she was married, or the sheep, which were soon due to lamb. By April she knew she mustn’t go near them for a while. Ben would have to see to them and she would concentrate on the dairy for a while. He was furious at her desertion and wanted to know why.

‘Can’t you guess? An expectant woman doesn’t risk being close to the lambs just in case…’ she replied, not able to look him in the face.

Auntie Florrie was ecstatic and got out her knitting needles. It was all round Windebank in hours that there’d be a Christmas baby at Cragside.

In the months that followed Mirren’s whole life was turned upside down. Jack sailed to somewhere hot and dry. Gran was looking tired.

Uncle Tom and Ben took over the farm, with Mirren and another farm hand trying to salvage the oats and barley that were flattened by storms. The stooks flopped over and wouldn’t ripen off. All that effort for a poor yield, just as Grandpa had said, and they all bemoaned the waste of prime pasture.

Suddenly she felt very alone. New life was growing inside her and she ought to be excited but Jack was so far away and his letters were few and far between. He took the news of their honeymoon baby with delight but insisted that there were to be no more family names; no Jacks or Miriams, Reubens or Toms.

‘No disrespect, Mirren, but it’s time for a change. Our baby will have a modern name, one all of its own.’

She knew the Yewells would be disappointed as there was a tradition in the family to name the first girl Miriam. The old carved box, handed down from Miriam to Miriam, was in her possession but Jack, being a stepson, wanted to start traditions all of his own.

These thoughts gave her hope that in years to come they could live out their lives up here with their children and watch them grow and prosper once this wretched war was over. Until that joyful day, she would light the home fires, pray for his safe return and do all she could to keep the farm prospering.

9

Ben caught Gran in the wash house struggling to turn the mangle and fighting for breath. ‘You shouldn’t be doing that, you’ve not been well. Mirren and Daisy can do it later…’

‘I’m not wasting a good dry breeze. Here, peg these out for me while I find one of them pills the quack gave me. Good money after bad, I reckon. They don’t seem to be doing me any good,’ she muttered.

‘Shall I get Grandpa?’ Ben was anxious. Her face was ashen.

‘He’s down the far end at Cowside.’

‘I’ll send for the doctor…’

‘You’ll do no such thing. I’ve had worse than this in the night. Just leave me be, son, and see to your chores,’ came the order, but the voice was weak.

‘No I won’t. You’ll just do as you’re told for once and get up those stairs to bed if I have to carry you myself. Rest is what you need.’ He towered over her with a steely look in his eye.

‘If you put me up there I’ll never get out of it,’ she whispered.

‘Nonsense, a good sleep and you’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll be getting that right enough, the long sleep…Now promise me you’ll see the farm right, and Mirren and the babby I’m relying on you to hold the fort until Jack comes back…if he comes back,’ she muttered as they inched their way slowly up the stairs.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got a bad feeling about it…just a twinge now and then. It’s not going to be easy for them love birds. Promise me you’ll lend a hand. She’s so like her mam, falling for a roving bloke, it’s worried me.’

Ben flushed, sensing her meaning but not knowing how to respond. Why was Gran spilling all this out now?

‘I’ll do what I can but you’ll be fine, just you wait and see.’

‘No I won’t see, Ben, that’s the trouble, I’m fagged out. I’ve tried to keep going but the spirit’s willing and the flesh’s weak. It’s time I was taken home…’ she sighed and flopped onto the bed.

‘Don’t talk like that, Gran. Come on, let me get those shoes off. Then I’m calling Grandpa and the doc. He’s a right to know…’

The days all melded into one after that as they tiptoed round her bed, one by one, trying not to tire her. Dr Murray shook his head. ‘She’s a stubborn old mule but it’s beaten her this time and she knows it…I told her to rest up.’

Grandpa Joe sat patting her hand, not wanting to leave the room. Daisy brought up endless cups of weak tea that no one could drink. Tom, Ben, Florrie and the yard boys kept the farm going while Mirren walked down to Windebank to send a telegram for Ben’s parents to get on a train fast.

‘I can’t believe she’s going to leave us,’ sobbed Mirren. ‘She won’t see our baby. It’s not fair, and Jack far away.’ She flung herself into Ben’s arms unabashed and he smelled the farmyard in her hair, the earth on her dungarees, felt the bump she was carrying, and he held her gently for fear of spoiling the moment.

‘We’ll manage, all of us, and Florrie will help you. It’s Grandpa who’ll need minding. They’ve been wed for over fifty years. He looks so lost, just standing staring up at the hills. I’ve never seen him so yonderly.’

‘I can’t let her go, Ben, I’m not ready to let her go,’ Mirren wept.

‘We can’t stop her, love. She’s tired out and it’s her time. She wants to go to sleep and we must say goodbye as best we can and she knows you’ll take over her role. You’ll be champion. Remember what she used to say: the eye of the mistress is worth two of her hands. She’s taught you well and you’ll carry on just as she carried on when Joe’s mother died.’

‘How can I follow her?’ Mirren looked up and he so wanted to kiss away the tears and fought his demons to stay calm. She relaxed in his arms and he felt like choking with joy.

‘You will do right by Cragside–we both will. We’ll see it through and make her proud of us. The world’s a sadder place for Gran going but we’ll manage somehow,’ he said, and looked out of the window. The sky was darkening and soon it would rain. Time to be up and doing. Farms wait for no one.

Mirren sat holding Gran’s bony hand. How quickly she had shrunk into the bed, but she was peaceful, half awake and then fading. She lifted the birdlike claw with its tissuey skin and marvelled.

This was a hand that had laid fires at dawn, swept floors, scoured pots, a hand that turned the hind quarters of a lamb in the womb, planted crops, pickled onions, plucked goose feathers, wrung the neck of hens, rubbed saltpetre on beef until her skin was raw. This hand had soothed beasts and bairns alike, grasped the reins of a bolting horse, steered wheels through blizzards, whipped up the best of cream sponge cakes and the lightest Yorkshire puddings in the district, and now this hand was still. It had done its last job, gently plucking at the bedclothes, which Florrie said was a sign that the end was nigh.

How can I let you go? Who will care for me as you have done? She felt the baby turn and put her hands on her own belly. Please God I live to be a good mother myself.

In that second of her distraction, Grandpa cried, ‘She’s gone, she’s passed over to her eternal reward.’ They all bowed their heads and Daisy opened the window to let her soul fly free out onto the hills.

Mirren felt the chill of autumn whisk around the room. The women left Wes and Tom and their father alone. Gran’s day was done.

Ben watched his cousin get slower and slower, more cumbersome, her swollen belly marked out on her apron, rubbing against flour and coal. He watched her waiting for the postman, only to be disappointed when news didn’t come.

He saw her absentmindedly setting a place at the table for Gran, only to whip it away with tears in her eyes. They sat glued to the wireless with its one precious battery, waiting for weather and news. Sometimes she sat in the big parlour at the piano, fingering the same tune over and over again and then banging down the lid in frustration.

They had their first batch of evacuees, a private arrangement. The family came for safety into the country and the husband came at the weekend to visit them when he could. They were polite enough when he was around, but the mother spoiled them and they ran riot in the farm, teasing the dogs and leaving gates open, tormenting the chickens until Ben yelled at her to keep them in check. The mother had no discipline.

If this was what it would be like with a kid around the place…but no, Mirren would not let her baby grow up like this lot.

She was too busy being in love with the idea of being the farmer’s wife, a married lady and mother-to-be, lost in a world of her own that excluded him.

Perhaps it was time to spend longer out of her way at The Fleece, take out one of the Land Girls or even Lorna Dinsdale, anything to get away from her.

They were busy harvesting the last of the vegetables. Mirren and Daisy were pickling onions and crying tears into the bowl. Mirren’s legs were aching with standing and it was time for a break. Grandpa had brought in a sack of spuds from their veg plot. He had aged in the past months and got so thin.

‘I’ll just go and see to my sermon for Sunday,’ he shouted. ‘I’m preaching at Gunnerside Chapel Harvest Festival and they like a bit of hellfire there but they’ll get the usual “plough the fields and scatter the good seed”. I reckon it’s the carrot that shoves the donkey, not the stick–or happen both,’ he laughed. ‘Praise goes a long way further than punishment. I’m softening in my old age. I used to be all rant and now I prefer a gentler way. I’m learning sense in me old age.’

‘You go ahead and I’ll bring you your tea when it’s mashed. You look done in,’ said Mirren, ready to sit down herself.

‘My, it’s warm for the time of year. Yer gran loved the back end. I can’t believe she’s been taken,’ he said, wiping his brow.

‘I know, but she’s here in spirit, making sure I don’t overboil the jam, just behind my shoulder sometimes. I can hear her voice: “Now think on, Miriam, keep yer mind on t’job.” They both laughed and Mirren turned back to the cooking range.

Somehow the tea got stewed and it was nearly five o’clock when she took in his favourite slice of ginger wodge. He was sitting at his desk, looking out the window with a beam on his face. Mirren called his name and reached out so as not to startle him but his eyes were glazed and his hand was already cold.

How could they be sad that within months those two had found each other again? The whole dale turned out to pack the chapel and schoolroom to sing praise to Joseph Yewell.

‘They don’t make ’em like that any more,’ said the minister.

‘Behind a man like that was some hell of a woman,’ said another to Mirren with a wink. ‘Adey was a stickler but she had a heart of gold.’

‘I know,’ she said through her tears. To have known their love was the biggest gift of all, not the grand farmhouse or the beautiful scenery. It was love that mattered and she prayed that she and Jack would find that steady love when he came back to her and their little one. Her time couldn’t come soon enough now.

10

December 1941

‘I think you’re mad to be going out in that state,’ yelled Ben from the back door. He’d finished the milking for her now that she was too big to bend. Mirren was determined to get to the rehearsal down in the village. It was the last one before the concert on Saturday. She wanted to go out while she still had the freedom. Soon the kitchen would be full of nappy buckets and bibs, all the paraphernalia of a new baby in the house.

‘It won’t happen tonight,’ she yelled back. ‘The midwife’s called in and felt around.’ Mirren was in no mood to be cooped up like a pregnant sow or listen to another of Ben’s lectures.

How easily had she fallen with this baby, but the terrible thing was now she was getting nervous and wished Jack was close by. He was in North Africa and heaven knew when they’d be together again. Like so many couples separated by this war, it was time to keep busy and not fret. Jack wrote hoping for a son and kept nagging her to take care, convinced they were about to sire the next captain of Yorkshire County Cricket team. His letters were always a precious distraction. When they were delayed her blood pressure went sky high with worry.

All that mattered was that the baby was healthy. Boy or girl, it would be a reminder of Jack. It was taking her all her time now to do her chores, lumbering as best she could, like a beached whale, waiting for the waters to break. But not tonight, she hoped, because she needed a good sing.

Rehearsals for Messiah were the one chance to open her lungs and let all the emotion out, all the worry, the uncertainty. There was something in that music that swelled her ribs with pride, stirring her uneasy soul, giving her some peace from this turmoil of eternal worry about Jack. Worry stalked her night and day; always at the back of her mind was the terrible fear of how she’d cope if he didn’t come home. Tonight she was going out, baby or not. It could jolly well wait its turn.

There was a part of her that wished the lump would stay put and melt away somehow, but Tom and Florrie were that excited. She’d tried for a baby for years but to no avail. It was going to have the finest layette in the district.

Once he had got used to the idea even Ben fussed over her like a mother hen. It was quite touching, him treating her as if she were one of his pedigree ewes, one of his best breeding stock, which, she supposed, in a funny sort of way she was. The family were looking to her to continue the bloodline. The first of the few so far, she feared.

Poor Bert was going nowhere, and Ben was hopeless. She’d set him up with dates at the hostel, lovely girls interested in farming, perfect farmer’s wife material, but he took them out and then nothing. He could be so stubborn. It wasn’t fair to them to be mucked around. Then she recalled how his Uncle Tom was a late starter. Perhaps Ben was another slow burner and it ran in families.

There was no one in whom she could trust to confide her growing fear of giving birth. Everyone seemed to assume, being a farmer, she knew the score. She’d seen enough to know things could go wrong: calves got stuck in the womb and needed rope to be pulled out; lambs needed turning and her hands were too big sometimes to do the job. What if the bump didn’t budge?

Perhaps wartime was not the right time to bring a bairn into the world. No one knew the depths of her fear and not having a mother was a real burden to her. Auntie Florrie did her best to help her but she was worried about her son too.

I should have thought of all this when Jack and I were on our honeymoon, she mused to herself. The decision was out of her hands now.

If only it was not the Christmas season, when the post was full of letters and parcels and cards from friends. There was one letter and photo from Jack. How she had pored over every word, giving it pride of place on the mantelpiece. If only she could tell him how she was feeling, but by the time he’d get her news the baby would have arrived.

‘I hope you know what yer doing, going out on a night like this,’ said Ben, watching her putting on her coat that gaped in the middle over her bump. ‘It’s a cold night and happen there’s frost on the tarmac. I don’t want you driving on ice in the dark. I’ll give you a lift. If you must go, stay at Peggy’s in the village for the night. She’ll see you right, but why you want to go gadding in the middle of winter…What’s wrong with your own fireside?’ he said, his blue, blue eyes piercing her own.

Why was he so hostile? What she did was none of his business. They used to be friends but now they snapped and snarled at each other and she didn’t know why. Sometimes she couldn’t look him straight in the face for fear he would see how angry and hurt she was by his attitude. It was all to do with Jack somehow. He was making it plain he didn’t rate him much as a husband and that got her all worked up.

‘There’ll be plenty of nights by the fire when winter sets in and I’ve a bairn at my breast so I’m letting myself run in the meadows while I can. It’s only one night,’ she snapped.

‘We’ll be that worried,’ Uncle Tom added, supping tea at the kitchen table, and she loved him for it. ‘Do as Ben says and stay overnight.’

‘Then I’ll take a pigeon in a basket and let it out with a message in the morning, if that’ll set yer mind at rest,’ she said, patting her bump. ‘This one’s in no hurry to come, I tell you. It’s a lazy lump and doesn’t kick much.’

There was no answering that one since they had no telephone and it was their usual way of communicating when someone left the dale. Pigeon post, they called it.

Messiah night was the one time she could be assured of a bit of female company, a bit of a crack along the line of altos as they waited for the others to arrive. Hilda Thursby, as she now was, and Lorna would both be there. It was a combined choir of all the village chapels in the district, much famed in the area for its rendition of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’.

Why was it that Messiah was never sung, it was always rendered, she mused, like plaster on walls? Every year, Handel’s oratorio made its appearance in the first weeks of December and somewhere throughout Yorkshire there must be a rendering of Messiah every night of the week. Most of the singers knew it off by heart for they went from chapel to chapel to help out.

As she sat in the pew waiting for the choirmaster to gather up his baton, the soloists to limber up, she felt the wooden seat digging into her back. She had brought a cushion but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. They stood to sing, and what a blessed relief. It had been a jostling ride down into Windebank that night and now she was paying for it.

It was one of those stop-start rehearsals that never seem to get going. Everything was wrong: the basses were late with their entry, the sopranos were out of tune, but looking at the ages of some of them it was not surprising. They kept parting company spectacularly with the male parts.

‘Talk about “All we like sheep have gone astray”. Ladies, please, watch my beat,’ shouted the choirmaster, the veins of his temples bursting with exertion. It was not going well but they weren’t the Huddersfield Choral Society, just a bunch of mill workers, farmers’ wives and teachers, quarry-men and a few Land Girls and soldiers padding them out. All were wrapped up against the draughts, and ancient village worthies, willing to have a go, had brought hot-water bottles for their feet.

Somehow they struggled together, sang themselves hoarse, letting the power of the music raise their meagre voices to dizzy heights. The B flats were cracking and there was the odd screech in the wrong place, but Mirren was putting her heart into the rehearsal with gusto.

In that moment, in that music, she could forget all her worries and let rip, but the ache in her back got no better. She was feeling so uncomfortable by half-time that she went for a stroll across the green just to straighten up. Perhaps she should have stayed at home after all and put her feet up as Ben suggested but she was desperate to get away for a few hours’ change of scene.

Sitting in the chapel only reminded her of that Sunday a year ago and the dancing goose, the Christmas dinner and the look of bemusement on Grandpa Joe’s face. She felt like bursting into tears at the sweet memories of Jack’s kisses but swallowed her nostalgia and made for her pew, trying not to grimace during the great rumbling ‘Amen’ chorus, but a huge contraction gripped her by the belly and made her sit down.

Now that wasn’t wind or the fish pie, that was for real, so she took some deep breaths and thought about the latest craze for mind over matter. I’m going to sing ‘Worthy is the Lamb’ if it kills me, she decided, standing to give the chorus some passion.

By the end of the chorus, she was limp with emotion and sweat, and the sickening realisation that this bairn was not going to wait for the end of the rehearsal to make its appearance. Birth was supposed to take hours. Was this one just protesting wildly at her singing efforts, preferring to shove its way out rather than hear her screeching?

She whispered to Hilda and they shuffled out, collapsing through the chairs and into the vestry followed by half the married females as rumours spread of something interesting going on, all wanting to give advice and not a midwife among them.

Someone went to the kiosk to phone the doctor while someone else ran for Nelly Fothergill, who had had thirteen children and lived by the green.

‘I don’t think Mr Handel quite expected such spectacular effects from his “Hallelujah”,’ she gasped between contractions, knowing any second something bloody and messy was going to shoot out onto the polished vestry floor.

There was a plaque on the wall to focus on until she saw old Josiah Yewell’s name, one of the trustees, one of the founders of the chapel. Can’t get away from flaming Yewells, she cursed at him. Men, what do they know?

Was he the rascal who had two wives but became so religious in his old age that one of his missus had thrown a pillow down the farm stairs one night, telling him to go and sleep in the blessed chapel if it was more important than her, or was it someone else? She was too tired now to think, getting fuzzy with pain.

She was taken over by strange grunts and primitive noises, not in the least musical, groanings rendered on the floor among the cushions and army blankets and newspapers scattered as the impatient baby shoved its greasy head into the world for its first breath. It was a girl, a dark-haired little beauty.

Nelly made sure that the baby was breathing, and from the stunned choir in the chapel came cheers and clapping, and a stirring rendition of ‘For unto us a child is born’.

Never had Windebank chapel seen such drama since the vicar of St Peter’s had thrown a piss pot out of his window over the chapel band processions on Christmas morning for disturbing his slumbers, singing carols right under his window, annoying his lady wife.

The Irish midwife arrived after it was almost over, tidied the baby up and shoved her in Mirren’s arms. Mirren looked down at the screwed-up purple face. She thought she could see Jack in her daughter but this child looked like all new-born babes, wrinkled and swollen, and she felt numb and exhausted.

‘And what will you be calling this little princess?’ the midwife asked. ‘Handel?’

‘Georgina Fredericka?’ laughed Lorna, who was musical.

Mirren was so exhausted and shocked that she could hardly think.

‘Now as I recall, December the sixth is the feast of Saint Nicholas, so it is. Nicola or Carol?’ said the midwife, determined to have a name at hand.

‘It’ll be another Miriam, won’t it, your ancestor who saved the children of the dale?’ suggested Lizzy Potts, the minister’s wife.

Mirren looked down on the little face, recalling Jack’s wish for something fresh. The name was already decided for a girl. ‘She’s called Sylvia…Sylvia Adeline.’ She was determined to give the child at least one family name too.

What a shock but what joy in this urgent delivery. Their own Christmas baby was born, a sign of hope in a dark world. Mirren would never be alone again with this little companion at her breast to love.

Love flooded over her for this tiny mite born in a rush. It all felt as if she was in a dream as she waited for the ambulance to carry them across the village to stay the night under the midwife’s roof. They mustn’t take any chances with this precious cargo. Cragside could wait. She thought of the messenger waiting in its cage.

Poor Ben and Uncle Tom, she sighed. They were going to get one hell of a surprise when the pigeon landed on their roof tomorrow morning.

Cragside went into raptures at the new arrival and Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the tiny thing in her bassinet cot, draped in net. Her flannel nightdress and knitted jackets smelled of talc and lavender water. He thought Sylvia was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. She was a potted version of Mirren except for her dark hair and olive skin, and when her eyes stared up at him they were like jet buttons.

Auntie Florrie couldn’t keep away and decided to decamp down to Cragside for the duration to give the new mother a hand. The arrangement suited them all fine. They took on a young Italian POW called Umberto at Scar Head, who worshipped the baby and sang tenor arias to ‘Bambina Sylvia’ in a loud voice.

New birth was giving hope for the future–new lambs and calves and stock–but Sylvia was different. Ben’d never been close to a baby before and he cradled her nervously at first until he got used to the size of her. Her hands curled like fronds, her lashes grew and when she gave him her first smile, he was her slave.

He was glad to be out of the way at Scar Head when she squealed all night with colic and it was the women who did the floor pacing, but he stood proud as one of her godparents when she was baptised in the chapel, draped in the ancient lace robe that had served the Yewells for over a hundred years.

Sylvia Sowerby tripped off the tongue but how he wished she had a proper Yewell name. He tried not to watch Mirren nursing the baby in a corner out of sight, her breast full of milk, the baby nuzzling with contentment, and he was envious of Jack all over again.

How mean it was to be relieved that Sylvia’s father was far away and it was him who got the hugs and kisses of the little infant when he carried her around the fields at lambing, who picnicked with her at hay timing and pushed her pram proudly to show her progress. No one called him a girl’s blouse to his face and he knew he was being unusual in making such a fuss of a girl, but he wanted her to love the farm as much as he did, to pick flowers and know their names, to treat stock with respect, to have an eye for good form and line in a beast but all in good time, he mused; Sylvia was only a baby.

He talked to her sometimes as if she was grown up, and when she could crawl on all fours she followed him around like a faithful puppy in trousers cut from Grandpa’s old fustians with patches at the knees.

The activities of the secret Auxiliary Unit began to scale down and there was hope that the invasion was no longer a priority. He could begin to think there would be a future for him, but his rucksack was never far away and they still did exercises in the woods and kept the operational bunker well stocked.

News from the real front was slow but getting better, and they all plotted Jack’s progress in the newspaper from victory at El Alamein in November ’42.

On Sylvia’s first birthday, she stood up and staggered across the hall. ‘Ben…Ben…’ were her first words, her mouth covered in precious cocoa icing from her little cake. Everyone roared with laughter and he blushed.

At Christmas he played Santa and filled her stocking with knitted toys and a wooden horse on a trolley. He had to watch where she was after that, for she followed him around at his chores and he made her a little brush to help.

Mirren seemed happy to let him take Jack’s place. Sometimes he felt guilty that he was getting the pleasure of the baby but at the back of his mind he knew a time of reckoning would come and he’d have to take a back seat once more.

Jack’s unit was bogged down through the fall of Tunisia to the invasion of Italy in the summer of ’43. Still, the news was good and the best of all news was their entry into the South of France. Jack sent postcards from France to Sylvia. Surely the end was near.

Mirren kept pointing to his picture but the little girl had no idea who the strange man in uniform was. ‘Daddy,’ Mirren kept saying, pointing but Sylvia turned one morning and pointed, ‘Daddy Ben!’

He blushed both at the compliment and with embarrassment. There was nothing he’d have liked more but it was never to be. Four years is a long time in the life of a child. The months and seasons had rushed by so quickly. Then the letters stopped after the agony of Arnhem in September ’44 and everyone but Mirren feared the worst.

She stuck out her chin like a warrior and carried on gathering the sheep across the fells, lost in her thoughts. Ben knew better than to challenge her when she was in such a mood.

When the war news was at its grimmest and there was no word from Jack, Mirren took Sylvia up the well-trodden path to World’s End, first in her arms, then on her back in a sling when she grew heavy. Now she could walk unaided, with sturdy little legs in wooden clogs, her body wrapped up in scarves and her head in a woolly hat. Florrie was her devoted slave and kept her supplied with knitted outfits. Her dark hair had grown into natural ringlets, her face round as a ball, with a beaming smile that allowed her to wind Daisy, Ben and the farm hands around her finger.

They would stand on the crest of the ridge and shout into the wind, telling Jack all their news and calling him home.

‘Daddy, home!’ Sylvia mimicked, not understanding as they wandered round the ruins, playing houses. No one knew of their secret visits and if they did they said nothing. It was none of their business. Mirren had to be strong for all her family now, and she drew that strength from the wind in her face and the rocks beneath her feet. There was comfort in this refuge and she wanted Sylvia to share in the joy of the place. One day she would make a home for them up here, safe from all the troubles of the world. When the war was over this would be their hidy-hole.

11

October 1944

It was the morning of the Harvest Supper and the village was trying to raise a thousand pounds to add to their big War Savings campaign so the hall was being decorated ready for the evening’s concert and everyone was baking treats from their hoarded rations of eggs, butter and treacle, to be auctioned off.

Up at Cragside, Florrie, Daisy and Mirren were peeling apples from the orchard and Sylvia was getting under everyone’s feet as usual. They had ten pies to bake and two sponge cakes to raffle. Sylvia needed a fancy-dress costume for the children’s competition but Mirren couldn’t settle until the postman had been.

Every day she looked out for letters, and just when they’d given up hope a whole pile of them came together from somewhere in Belgium. Then nothing, and the news about the parachute campaign wasn’t good.

Jack had transferred into some airborne division ages ago but his letters were vague and censored. They knew so little about his activities, only that they were hush-hush. He’d been away for almost four years now; four whole haytimes, harvests and lambings.

He’d missed Sylvia’s birthdays, and although she kissed his picture every night and said, ‘Good night, Daddy,’ his daughter had no idea who he was. He’d missed all her important milestones: the first tooth, that first step, her first words, her potty training, blowing out the candles on her little birthday cake. How would they catch up when he came home?

He was beginning to feel a stranger even to Mirren. Letters were no substitutes for kisses and cuddles, for chats over tea. They had had only three nights alone together in three and a half years and it all seemed a lifetime ago.

Everyone was drabber, wearier and fed up with war. The travel restrictions were beginning to bite, petrol was short, rationing was stricter. There were more inspections and checks. Labour was harder to get as most of the young farm lads were called up. The whole agricultural effort was a disaster in the dale as the crops didn’t ripen off and the ground lost quality.

Mirren was sick of war and the newsreels and the slow Allied progress into Germany. They’d hoped for a quick end after D-day and peace before Christmas but still it was all dragging on and Jack’s silence was terrifying. To have gone through all he had and be lost now was unthinkable. She felt so out of touch with him. There was so much to share with him.

By the afternoon, Sylvia was overtired and crotchety, and none of them was in a mood for yet another fund-raising effort. The house was a refuge for evacuees again, these latest fleeing from the doodlebugs in London; a private arrangement with a family who were cousins of Auntie Pam in Leeds was made, bringing Margery, her mother and Dennis and Derek, two little boys who were full of mischief.

It was good to have children for Sylvia to play with but she was clingy and shy with them at first. Daisy still lived in, and Uncle Tom and Auntie Florrie too since Mirren’s grandparents died. Large as the house was, it was noisy, untidy and getting shabby.

Nothing had been replaced: neither furnishings, bed linen, crockery nor pots. There were scuff marks on the oak table and up the hall stairs, a line on the walls that got higher as Sylvia grew, but there was no paint to cover up sticky finger-marks.

Sometimes Mirren wished everyone would go away and leave her in peace with her little girl but she was always glad of help and couldn’t manage the farm on her own. Walking round the fields and walling were two ways to get away from folk.

Ben had taught her how to do it properly. Mirren would never have managed without his help and encouragement. More and more she relied on him as her big brother. He was patient when Sylvia clambered all over him, feeling in his trouser pocket for the sweets he saved for her from his ration.

He kept an eye on Mirren at the socials when some of new RAF boys got frisky and suggestive. She’d seen too many local girls go off the rails while their husbands were away. To her it was the worst betrayal of all; flirting and dancing was all that was needed to cheer the lads up at the hops but anything else was unthinkable.

Now it was an effort to get dressed up and she was going to give the Harvest Supper a miss if she could. The wind had got up and she shoved an old coat over her shoulders and a scarf round her head to see to the chickens. It was growing damp, another grey mizzling day half over and still no news.

She didn’t know what made her look down towards the farm track, but a speck on the horizon caught her eye. Was it a horse strayed out of the field? No, it was too small. It was someone trundling up the track. There was just something in the mist that made her stop and stare and wonder. Her feet just edged forward for a better view.

There was a jaunty stride and the swing of a greatcoat and Mirren knew, she just knew, and her legs started to run and her heart was pounding.

‘Jack!’ she screamed. ‘Oh, Jack!’ hair flying, her arms outstretched in welcome. She ran towards him and then tripped and fell flat on her face, in a crumpled heap, and the soldier came running.

‘Drunk as usual,’ laughed an oh so familiar voice. For a moment time went away and they hugged and kissed and cried with joy to be together again.

‘Jack! I’ve been so worried. Why didn’t you send a telegram?’

‘And have you think the worst? You know me, I like to give a surprise. How’s my best girl?’ he bent down to pick her up and his breath smelled of ale and cigarettes. ‘Well, I have to say you look a bit of a sight in your old clobber. I thought it was a tramp running to steal my whisky. Where’s the little ’un? Tucked up in bed? I’m dying to see her…’

They marched up the track arm in arm and Mirren’s face was aching for she had a grin from ear to ear. ‘Florrie! Come and see who the cat’s dragged in!’ she yelled.

A face appeared at the window and then there was a scream and suddenly his mother leaped on him and burst into tears. ‘If I’d known you were coming, we’d have set out a spread…Let’s be looking at you…You’ve lost a bit of weight.’ There was a deep stitched scar across his cheek.

‘What’s that?’ Mirren pointed.

‘I had an argument with a dispatch bike, another bump on the head. It must be made of concrete, but this one knocked me out.’ Jack laughed searching the room. ‘Where’s my nipper then?’

‘Just out with her Uncle Ben as usual,’ said Florrie, and Mirren saw a flash of annoyance cross her husband’s face for a second, then it was gone.

‘I’m starving!’ he said, and proceeded to tuck into the sponge cake sitting on the table. He was still sitting there when Ben carried in Sylvia, who was sucking her thumb.

‘She’s had a fall and wants her mum,’ he said, and then stopped, seeing who was sitting there. ‘Now then, Jack, the warrior returns.’

‘Not before time,’ said Jack. ‘Come here and let’s have a look at you, young lady.’

Sylvia hung back and started to cry, clinging to Mirren’s skirt.

‘This is your daddy,’ said Florrie, trying to be helpful, but the little girl hid even more and wouldn’t go near him.

‘She’s just tired,’ Mirren explained, seeing the hurt on his face. ‘If I’d known I could have prepared her.’

‘Looks to me as if she’s been spoiled rotten while I was away; doesn’t know who to turn to,’ Jack answered, ignoring the child and sipping his tea. ‘She’ll soon change her tune when she sees what I’ve brought her. I see you’ve got a house full,’ he said seeing Margery and her boys creeping through the kitchen, trying to be invisible. ‘It looks a right pig sty in here.’

‘We’ve made a few changes,’ Mirren smiled.

‘So I see,’ he said, and his eyes looked so disappointed that she signalled to Ben to get everyone out.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll all get out of your hair,’ said Florrie, taking the hint. ‘It’s the harvest do and there’s a pile of stuff to go down. You’ll be giving it a miss,’ she winked. ‘Sylvia’s a bit young to be out late. Daddy and Mummy can put you to bed tonight. Won’t that be grand?’

‘I go with Denny and Derek,’ Sylvia said, wanting to follow the evacuees.

‘No, love, not now. We’ll play with Daddy instead,’ Mirren tried to appease her but the minx could be wilful when crossed.

‘No…no. He go away.’ She stared hard at Jack, then buried her head from him again. No one knew what to do to salvage this reunion. Sylvia was kicking and screaming, and then Mirren smacked her bottom and everyone disappeared quickly to leave her to it.

Jack got up, making for the drawing room with his kit bag, upset. ‘She can wait for her present after that little exhibition.’

‘Don’t take on,’ Mirren whispered. ‘She’s just flummoxed by all the fuss.’

She was caught whichever way. Better to calm down the child first, feed her and get her into bed, then let Jack have her full attention. What an unexpected turn-up! How many nights had she dreamed of his return and now he was here and she looked like something the cat had dragged in, the house was a mess and his daughter was playing up.

Sylvia needed no rocking and was tucked up without a murmur. Mirren did a quick change out of her farm muck and dabbed some lavender water on herself, brushed out her hair from her scarf and pinched her cheeks. She wanted to look her best for Jack, and tiptoed down the stairs expectantly.

Jack was snoring by the fire, flat out with a half-bottle of whisky, half empty on the side table. Poor love was exhausted and needed peace and quiet, she thought, and left him to it. She took up her mending and sat opposite, watching him sleep, the expressions flickering across his face, twitches and gasps. Let their lovemaking wait. Her husband was home and all was right with the world.

Over the next few days they pieced together his wartime travels: how he was trapped near Arnhem and escaped capture, got himself back to England with help from the brave Dutch underground. Now he had two weeks’ leave before he must return to barracks.

Her heart sank at the shortness of his stay. After four years they needed months to get to know each other again, she feared. Florrie fussed over him every second she was free. They never seemed to be alone.

‘You’ve lost some weight, lad. Just look at you, all skin and bone,’ she said, shoving another ladle of soup into his bowl. He looked up, his eyes dull and his skin sallow.

‘Don’t fuss, Mother. I’m not that hungry. I’ve eaten enough broth to last a lifetime. You’ve had it easy here,’ he sneered, looking at the pile of bread and butter, the mound of cold cuts. ‘Our Sylvia’s getting quite the little fatty.’

‘No, she’s not, she’s just perfect for her age,’ Mirren argued, hurt at his comment. He was so snappy in the mornings, sitting about smoking, getting under her feet as she went about her chores.

‘When are this lot going home to Scar Head?’ he whispered. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus in here. When are we going to get time to ourself? I’m sick of tripping over Big Ben and his farm hands. I didn’t think we’d be reduced to having prisoners of war in the house. I spent enough time fighting them in Italy. Now I’ve got to hear a wop singing in the yard.’

‘Jack!’ Mirren went hot knowing Umberto was in earshot.

‘Berti is one of the family and he’s so good with Sylvia.’ That was a mistake.

‘I don’t want no Eyeties fondling my kiddy. It’s bad enough she chases after Ben. She looks through me when I try to play with her.’

She could see the hurt in his eyes. You couldn’t force a child to warm to a stranger. It took time and patience, and Jack wasn’t showing anything but frustration.

‘Tom and Florrie have let out the farmhouse. It made sense with all the shortages. This house is big enough for all of us, but I’m sorry it’s such a bus station.’

He did look so weary and edgy, the mischief gone from his dark eyes. The Jack who went away was not the one who’d come back. Poor man had been to hell and back and here they were living the same old life but different too. How could he not be disappointed?

He was trying so hard to woo Sylvia but the more he stalked her the more she ran from him. He’d brought her a dress that was too big and some dolls she wouldn’t look at. She preferred to play with farm animals and build bricks with Dennis and Derek. She was not the girly girl Jack was expecting at all.

‘Leave her be and she’ll come round,’ Mirren offered, but Jack ignored her advice.

They managed some walks out together, up to World’s End, and made love by the rocks and under the moon but it was a rushed and chilly coupling, not the passionate embrace Mirren was longing for. It got off to a wrong start when she insisted he wear a French letter.

‘No more babies for a while, Jack,’ she whispered. ‘Not till you’re settled. We can start again then.’

‘Aye,’ he agreed, ‘when we get ourselves out of this madhouse and away from all our relatives. You can’t breathe for Yewells on yer back.’

This outburst took Mirren by surprise. The thought of leaving Cragside never entered her head. Farming was the only life she knew and the thought of moving back into a town made her shiver, but she said nothing. This was the war talking, and his weariness, so she held him close.

‘It’ll all be different when the war’s over,’ she smiled.

‘It better had be,’ snapped Jack, buttoning up his trousers. ‘I didn’t fight a war to come back to shovelling muck for the rest of my life. There’ll be training schemes on offer. We can make a whole new life down south. The lads I’ve met live the life of Riley down there. I didn’t realise just how backward everything is up here: no electricity, telephones, bathrooms and indoor toilets…You should see London, the shops and flicks and shows. There’s nothing but hills here. It’s so primitive.’

‘It suited you before,’ she replied, seeing the strained look on his face. ‘Be patient.’

‘Patient! I’ve seen good men die for nothing. I’ve seen starving kids with bones sticking out, and horrors…Don’t get me started, Mirren. I need a drink.’ With that he rose and took her hand. ‘Shall we go down The Fleece?’

‘You know I don’t go in there,’ she snapped. ‘Come home and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

‘Tea? I’m sick of it! I need something a bit stronger than char, love. You go off and see to the kiddy. I’ll go and get my medicine at the bar.’

This was his pattern, which had been going on for days. Mirren was close to tears, torn by wanting to keep him company but knowing she was needed back on the farm.

‘Don’t be long,’ she waved. ‘I’ll make us a nice supper.’

All the way home she felt guilty that Jack had not got the welcome he deserved. Tonight she would make something special for him, lay the table, get Sylvia to sleep in her proper bed for once, and they could talk and be alone. Then it would be all right.

She waited and waited in her best red frock. She had cooked a rabbit pie with her best topping, and a blackberry and apple crumble. She watched the clock crawl round to nine o’clock. She felt sick and anxious and unnerved, hurt and then cross. The supper was put back on top of the stove and she undressed, climbed into bed with acid in her throat. How could he spoil a wonderful night? She waited and waited until he crept up the stairs and fell through the door drunk, smelling of a taproom; the smell that took her back to being a child and frightened her.

‘You are my Lily of Laguna!’ he sang, lurching forward to kiss her.

‘Shush! You’ll wake everyone. Where’ve you been till this hour?’

‘Having a good time for once…’ His speech was slurred.

‘I cooked you a lovely meal,’ she whispered. ‘I waited and waited…’

‘Don’t nag…not back five minutes and I’ve got a nagging wife,’ he said.

‘I’m not nagging. I wanted tonight to be special,’ she replied.

Jack leaned over and grabbed her arm. The stench from his mouth was stale. ‘Come and make your hero happy again,’ he laughed, trying to ease himself over her.

‘No! Not like this and you, drunk. I’m too tired and not in the mood.’

‘I didn’t come all the way through Europe, ducking and diving with the devil’s fire bursting over my head…enemy fire, with half a dozen bloody buzzards hovering, wanting to peck the feathers off my back, darting from hedge to hedge with guns blasting us to kingdom come…running like hell. I didn’t come all this way home to a wife who was too tired, so get on your back and do your duty for once!’

‘Jack! Don’t talk to me like that!’

‘Like what?’

‘As if you hate me. I didn’t start this war. You could’ve stayed here on the farm. I’m so proud of you doing your duty but I’ve never seen you so angry. Don’t blame me!’

‘You’d be angry if you’d seen what I’ve seen…I want to just blot it out,’ he said, and for a second she saw the old Jack in his eyes: Jack who hid the kittens from the drowning bucket; who wiped her tears when Jip, her collie, died; who sat with her at World’s End after Dunkirk, who’d promised her the moon, the sun and the stars if she’d only be his wife.

‘But getting blathered isn’t the answer,’ she offered and then wished she hadn’t.

His body stiffened at her reproach. ‘What do you know about it?’ His voice was angry and hard, the voice of a stranger, and he held her so tight that her body recoiled at his embrace. There was no point in struggling. He wanted comfort in the only way he knew. No point in resisting, and she felt used, opened up and rammed by his hard demanding sex. There was no love, no tenderness, just brute force.

Mirren lay there afterwards, shocked, trying to understand. He’d suffered and he was still suffering. She must make allowances for his drunkenness. This was not the real Jack but a wounded Jack, and he needed understanding not rejection. Why did it feel as if she was being punished? What had she done wrong?

She waved him off at Scarperton with a heavy heart, his last words ringing in her ears.

‘When I come home again I want them all out, all them Yewells. If I hear that child call Ben her dad one more time…It makes me wonder what you’ve been up to behind my back!’ he said, gripping her tightly on the arm.

‘Oh, Jack, how could you even think that?’ Mirren’s eyes were brimming with tears and her arm bruised from his grip. He was so rough when he held her, as if she was his possession, not his loving wife.

‘Think on…I need some peace and quiet, not a house full of strangers. And tidy the place up a bit. It looks like Paddy’s market.’

This was not the Jack she had yearned for, this sad, angry soldier. Even his own mother said he had changed and not for the better.

‘He’s that sour, he’d turn milk. He doesn’t listen to a word his mam says. He’s not right in the head, anyone can see that. You’ll have to be patient with him.’

Every night Mirren had tried to reach out to him, suffering his rough lovemaking without protest, but it had done nothing to bring them closer together. Now the thought of Jack returning for good filled her with unease. Perhaps when the war was over, with fresh air and good food, the old Jack would return once more.

As the train chuffed out of the station she turned her back on the smoke and soot with relief. Time to climb back to Windebank and normality. Six weeks later she realised she was pregnant again. This time there was no joy, only fury that she’d been caught and trapped. Christmas was coming soon; another wartime Christmas and bad weather to come. Only the thought of Sylvia’s excitement gave her any incentive to plan ahead. She wasn’t bothered if Jack came home or not, and that was what shocked her most of all.

It was another hard winter with blizzards and hard frost. Ben sensed that Jack’s visit had not gone well and Mirren dragged herself around, not looking him in the face when he asked if she was OK to lift loads. It was as if she didn’t care what happened to the coming baby.

Margery and the boys went home to London and Uncle Tom decided to return to Scar Head. Now that Jack would be home soon, it was felt the couple needed time to settle down. There were wild tales of Jack’s drinking sprees down at The Fleece on his leave. Nothing escaped the gossips of Windebank: how he came out on all fours one night and jumped on someone’s motor bike and left it in a hedge; how he had a fight with one of the lads from the artillery battery and left him with a bloody nose; how he was a barstool bore and cadged drinks in exchange for gruesome war tales; how he could sort out the army better than Monty himself. If only half of them were true, Mirren was in for a rough time.

War had done terrible things to Jack and Ben wished he could talk to him, but the fact that Sylvia clung around Ben’s legs had not gone down well. Sometimes he thought he saw a flash of hate in his eyes. When Jack returned he was going to keep a weather eye on him.

Once they were settled, though, Ben had his own plans to leave. It was time to train himself up. They were advertising for trainers in the college near York; to find experienced workers who could get agricultural courses onto a better footing. He fancied a change away from all that held him at Cragside. Mirren needed time to lick her husband back into shape and he needed a change of sky.

Funny how he had always thought his life would be forever at Cragside, but once Jack returned he would not be welcome. Sylvia must learn to turn to her dad for comfort and treats, not him. The new baby would have a father around and would get a better start. Mirren could run the farm with Uncle Tom just as well as he could.

Two’s company, three’s a crowd, they said, and it was true, but he would see to things for awhile longer, make sure Mirren got her proper rest. She was her own worst enemy, always on the go, skipping meals when everyone else sat down.

He hoped Jack appreciated what he’d found in her. She was a farmer’s wife without equal in his eyes. None of the girls she’d thrown at him could measure up to her standards and he wouldn’t settle for less.

Mirren took her troubles to World’s End, climbing high away from the farmhouse, leaving Sylvia with Granny Florrie. Most days now she felt stiff and sore, and angry inside. Nothing was turning out as she planned for her family. How she wished she could have turned back the clock to when Gran and Grandpa were alive, when things seemed simpler and Jack was Jack-the-lad, shinning down the window on a sheet, when they were all full of dreams and schemes.

Now Sylvia needed new clogs and gumboots.

There was a new coat to buy and eventually another baby to clothe. Why did she resent now having to do it all on her own?

Why did Jack now get mixed up with her own dad in her dreams? It was weird and scary. Had she married a man like Paddy, who made promises and never kept them, who spent pound notes as if they were loose change? Oh God, she was going crazy! Her stomach tightened like a drum skin and she was afraid. If the two of them did leave Cragside how would they manage?

12

VE Day, 8 May 1945

There was so much to do before the afternoon’s party on the village green, and Mirren was that thronged with jobs she did not know where to start first. There was a bowl of trifle to be made for a start.

Jack was making himself useful, building the great scaffold arch out of greenery and flags that was the centre piece of the display on Windebank Green, giving a hand loading trestles and chairs onto the back of their wagon, from the church hall down the road. No doubt he’d drop in to The Fleece for a quick half before he came to collect the family for the fun and games.

He was home on leave and seemed to have turned a corner since his last visit, thrilled at the prospect of another baby on the way. There was no talk of moving away and his mother seemed to have talked some sense into him, telling her son they were much better off living in the country for the moment, with a roof over their heads and an income from the farm.

Even Sylvia was getting used to him sleeping in her mother’s bed. Jack’s seeing her alongside Uncle Ben always stirred things up for the worse, though.

If ever there was a young farmer in the making, it was Sylvia. In her corduroys and wellies with a flat tweed cap cut to size and a pretend crook, she looked like a miniature shepherd. So far she showed no leanings at all to wear pretty dresses, even for the afternoon party. If it didn’t have four wheels or four legs she wasn’t interested.

Jack looked on in dismay but held his peace, leaving her well alone, and she in turn began to answer when he called her and take his hand now and then. Mirren decided long ago not to keep her child too close to the hearth as some farmers’ wives did with their daughters. They made cakes and buns together and went walking the fields but Sylvia was shared out between the grown-ups. Jack was persuaded to read to her each night.

No child of Mirren’s would ever want for books and learning, girl or boy. She wanted Sylvia to be free to go to college when the time came, even if it meant fighting the Yewell family tradition that farming must always come first and foremost.

It was hard to recall she’d passed her matriculation, had attended the teacher training college in Ripon and had plans to become a proper teacher. That was another lifetime ago but it didn’t stop her love of novels and biographies from the circulating library. Now the chance to teach was a distant dream. The war must have scuppered so many well-made plans, but it was over at last and her heart was leaping with relief.

Time to turn back to her task. Trifle was a fiddle to make when you were in a hurry; sponge fingers to soak, home-made custard to boil, fresh cream to skim, soft fruit to poach, and they wanted to be down in the village hall by mid-afternoon before the concert and fancy-dress parade. Her back was giving her gip again. Tiredness swept over her like a wave and she had to sit down, feeling faint.

So victory was here at long last but there was a bit of her feeling empty inside. This was a day to remember, with bonfires and bells pealing, bunting in the streets, but even though Ben had promised to help with the milking, there were still chores to do.

What a big fuss they were making down in the village. Not that she was against all the patriotism or the end of hostilities but it was making such a lot of extra work. There was the sports day to come, the pageant and gala procession, the massed school choir festival in Scarperton, the Brownie fancy-dress float, a dancing display and WI events and competitions, baking for the children’s bun feast on the green and the old folk’s treat, the refreshments for the Crazy Cricket match with men dressed as women and women as men, and a half-made fancy-dress outfit for Sylvia to finish before this afternoon.

Sylvia had begged for a special outfit for the day but Mirren’s mind was blank until she saw a bit of the old grey cloth left from the barrage balloon. Why not dress her as her own namesake, Miriam, the famous ancestor of the dale, in a little grey frock and white Quaker collar? Florrie could make the collar and cap out of a linen napkin, and Tom would find a little lantern for her to carry. Everyone knew the story of how her ancestor kept the school children in the chimney, safe from the blizzard and fallen roof. It was quite an original idea, she mused, laying out the costume on the bed. Better to wait until the last moment to dress her up. The little monkey could get filthy in two minutes.

Ben was too busy to make the trip down to the village but there was going to be a lamb roast outside The Fleece later in the evening, and that would be more his scene.

There was a damp raw edge to the morning, and Mirren caught snatches on the wireless of the sound of excited crowds cheering at anything that moved, braving the rain with the usual British stoicism. There was no May sunshine up here. It was more like autumn than spring. What did they expect, living so high up, making do with nine months’ winter and three months’ bad weather as the old joke went.

As long as the kids got their party and could run off steam with sports and dancing, they would have honoured the day. If the weather did its worst then everyone would be shovelled into the village hall to put the trestle tables up there. What would they do without their patched-up gaberdines and macs, umbrellas and leaking gumboots?

The sheep and cows didn’t know it was VE Day and still needed their routine, so life at Cragside Farm would go on as normal. Bank holiday or not, the stock must come first. Lambing was in full swing and there were orphans drying off in the barn, makeshift pens of suspect mothers that needed coaxing to feed their lambs, calves and piglets running amok given half a chance.

But Mirren had to admit to a tinge of excitement about this special holiday and the chance to have an afternoon crack with her friends in the grey stone village full of cottages. There was something about the way that Windebank nestled under the big hill that comforted her. Small as it was, they’d all pulled together in the war, welcomed strangers, raised a staggering amount of savings bonds, supported their shops and deserved a day off for all their combined efforts.

Her life was a predictable round of seasonal chores: lambing, clipping, haytiming, gathering, tupping, muck spreading and lambing. Anything that made a change–market day, visitors, Christmas–was always welcome.

She hoped that for Jack and her, life would be settled and more stable now. Their new baby would be born in peacetime. Her husband would be demobbed and rationing would end. Farmers would get the recognition for all the hard work they had done in keeping Britain fuelled with food; the worst of the wartime regulations would end, surely.

How much would little Sylvia remember of all this? All she could think about was the party and treats and playing with her friends. No wonder she was as high as a kite with impatience. What it is to be young, Mirren sighed, looking at her daughter with pride, with all your life ahead of you.

Down on the green it was like Merrie England at play. The eaves were draped with bunting and the flags were flying from windows. The dark clouds were holding off but Ben didn’t think for much longer. There was such a feeling of relief that it was all over but not for those poor souls out in the Far East.

He had made a fruitless trip into Scarperton to pick up some milk powder for hand-feeding the weaker lambs but everything was shut and it was a waste of petrol. Jack had been holding court as usual outside The Fleece, chewing the ear of the landlord, but at least he was being a little less sharp with Mirren, in public at least.

He had to leave the couple to make up and go their own gait but it wasn’t easy when he was so protective of her. There was something about Jack he didn’t trust, especially when he had the drink on him. He turned into a violent bully, the charm mask slipped and he was quick with his fists. Better to get him back home before he got blathered and spoiled the afternoon, he thought, waving to him and offering him a lift back to the farm.

‘I’ll walk,’ Jack waved back but Ben stopped the truck.

‘Mirren’ll need a hand with the kiddy while she finishes off,’ he said, more as an order than an offer. Jack rose from his bench, pulled a face and trundled across.

They drove back in silence. Jack had already had a skinful and was just about the right side of merry. ‘I could’ve walked,’ was all he said.

When they got back Sylvia was having a tantrum, not wanting to put on the dress.

‘If you don’t wear your costume, there’s no party for you, my lady!’ said Mirren. She turned, looking to Ben, but he just shook his head and sucked on his pipe. She turned to Jack, who shook his head too.

‘Do as yer mother says,’ he said. ‘That’s her department, not mine.’ And that was that, no arguing when they all put up a united front.

Sylvia reappeared in her costume and Uncle Tom found his Box Brownie and took a snap of her scowling by the barn door.

Now it was almost time to go and everyone was rushing round finishing off chores. Jack was hanging about, getting in the way so Ben told him to shift the Fordson into the barn, back it down out of the way so they could park up the truck, get the horse and cart loaded up and then he could get on with the afternoon in peace.

Ben himself would rather come down later for the feast. Kids’ stuff was for parents and grandparents, not for him.

He was making for the gate when he heard Jack brum-brumming the tractor engine as if it was a racing car. He smiled. Jack was a big kid, still trying to impress everyone. One day that guy would grow up and find he had a wife and two kiddies to support, not burn good rubber. ‘Cut it out!’ he yelled in annoyance. It was only a borrowed tractor and not theirs to fool about with. Better to do the job himself, he thought, and turned back. He didn’t want any scraped paint.

There was no one else in the yard but the tractor was parked up by the barn door so Jack was clambering down from the seat to open the big doors. He could see Sylvia standing with her hands on her hips, watching them from the kitchen door.

‘I’ll do it…you’re not supposed to leave it running,’ he shouted.

Jack ignored his call and made back for the seat with that cheeky grin on his mug that seemed to charm the girls but left him cold. Tractors were temperamental and could cut out or be flooded. It was daft asking Jack to do anything. What did he know about this sort of machinery?

‘I can do it, no problem,’ Jack yelled back. The engine stalled and juddered.

‘Jack, you’re too tiddly. Let me sort it.’ Ben moved up to pull him off.

‘Bugger off, Lanky!’ He was fiddling with the gear stick and yanking the knobs in fury, and the key was in the engine so he twiddled that too just to annoy him. The tractor roared up and then jumped back and there was a bump, shooting him with a jerk, and he couldn’t stop it and was thrown sideways with the shock of it. He was sliding and clinging on but the tractor was going backwards into the wall. Ben was yelling and everyone came running, rushing past him.

It was then, when Ben turned, that he saw a pair of black wellies lying on the floor and there were legs in the wellies and a grey dress in the mud.

Mirren came running and screaming, and suddenly Tom and Ben were tugging at the wheels and taking the controls and shunting the tractor forward. There was a lot of shouting and Jack was dragged inside out of their way by Florrie. The door was slammed behind him.

Everything was in slow motion but Ben and Tom strained and strained until the wretched machine was pulled clear. How they did it, the strength they found, the pumping desperation and the sounds of Mirren screaming, he would never forget.

There was no telephone and someone had to race down to the village and raise the alarm. Tom was in no fit state so Ben backed the truck and raced off, leaving them.

Jack was sitting in total shock, unaware of anything. He kept seeing the wellies, Sylvia’s little wellies. One minute she was standing by the kitchen door and then she was…why didn’t she jump out of the way? They hadn’t seen her. Speeding towards the village, Ben felt so cold and shaky and very calm. It was all his fault. If he only had left Jack in the pub and not interfered…

It was the sound of the argy-bargy outside that made Mirren leave her baking table and go outside to see what the fuss was about. It was the roar of the tractor when she knew Ben was in the byland somewhere that didn’t feel right. Tom was there first, pulling the wheel of the tractor away from the barn door, straining with all his might to pull something free from its grip…one of the dogs. No, oh, no, her baby! She was trapped between the wheel and the barn door, crushed by the force and speed of the accident.

Suddenly everything went blurry, fuzzy round the edge. She could see the grey patchy sky and hear the blackbird pinking on the roof of the barn, see the straw and muddy tyre wheels, smell the burning rubber in her nostrils. Everything was alive and loud and clear and she saw herself looking down at her beautiful daughter and her muddy costume, white, grey and blood.

Florrie bundled Jack away from the scene and Ben came running, suddenly looking every one of his twenty-eight years.

‘Do something, Uncle Tom,’ she heard herself screaming as she looked down at Sylvia’s bloodstained face, bruised and an odd colour. She was so still and silent, which was not like her at all. There was a trickle of blood coming out of her ear and Mirren began to shake and shake.

‘Do something, Ben. Do something, somebody…please.’ She was screaming so loud she thought the whole dale would hear her cry for help.

Tom’s face was grey and hard. He cradled Sylvia in his arms and she saw tears rolling down his cheeks. It was the sight of those tears that turned her heart to stone.

‘Ben’s going for the doctor,’ offered Daisy, but Mirren couldn’t take it in.

‘Well, don’t just sit there like a statue. Bring her inside and let’s get her warmed up. The kettle’s boiled we can give her some tea,’ Mirren bustled, suddenly alive with possibilities. ‘I’ll rub some life into her. Get her away from that damn tractor.’

Still Uncle Tom did not move but he looked up. ‘It’s too late, love, she’s gone. Sylvia’s been taken from us.’

‘Don’t be daft, she’s just out cold,’ she was arguing. ‘Bring her into the warmth. She’ll catch a chill with just that skimpy dress on. Bring her inside and we’ll happen patch her up.’ She could hear her own voice as if from a distance, so brisk, so cold, so businesslike.

‘What do men know of these things, Sylvia? I’ll soon have you up and running. You’re just winded. Mum’ll see you right.’

Tom carried Sylvia into the kitchen and Mirren brushed all her baking out of the way, spreading a cloth so the girl could lie close to the range. She covered her in blankets and a warm rug. Her face was blue and purple and grey in patches and her eyes were tight shut. She looked so tiny under all that bedding. She busied herself with a sponge cloth and bowl of Dettol, wiping away the gunge and grime from her head, rubbing her cold fingers with all the love she could muster but still she did not wake up.

‘Come on, Sylvie, wakey wakey…It’s VE Day and we’ve got a party to go to,’ she urged, hearing the cheering coming from the wireless. ‘You don’t want to miss the party, do you? Where’s Jack? Why isn’t Jack here to help me?’

‘Switch that bloody thing off!’ Tom screamed. She could see he was distraught but it didn’t register. Nothing was registering, only that Sylvia was fast asleep and in no hurry to wake up.

‘No, don’t switch it off. Sylvia wants to listen to it. She wants to hear all the bells ringing. Turn it up.’

Then Ben was standing in the doorway, looking at her. His face was grey. He switched the wireless off and grabbed her arm. ‘Stop it, Mirren, stop this. I’m so sorry, love. It’s all my fault…She’s gone and there’s no life in her now,’ he said.

‘Don’t you dare tell me there’s no life in my daughter. Look, she’s warm. She’ll come round soon. Don’t you touch her!’ She was shooing them all away and still guarding her when Dr Murray came through the door, grim-faced, with the police constable carrying his hat under his arm.

‘Come on, Mrs Sowerby, let me examine Sylvia.’ He stepped closer and she smiled.

‘I’m so glad you’re here. Perhaps you can put some sense into this lot. They think Sylvia is dead but she’s just sleeping. There’s hardly a mark on her. She wouldn’t leave us on VE Day, now, would she? See, she’s all dressed up ready to go,’ she said shaking her head. ‘I’ll have to sit down. I’ve got a right pain in my back now with standing.’

Someone gave her a drink that made her mouth go dry and the room spin, and suddenly she could hardly keep her eyes open. The rest was a blur of nothingness. There was pain and stabs in her groin and a gush of something warm and wet in her legs. Somewhere in the fug was pain and cramps and more pain. Her belly went flat and her breasts leaked and then she knew that the baby was coming too soon, but when she looked there was nothing there, just towels and the smell of Dettol and a huge emptiness in her body. She couldn’t raise her head from the pillow.

In the days afterwards she crawled out of bed hoping for oblivion, praying for the celebration day to come again so she could rearrange it differently but as each new dawn crept into the sky, she crawled down again, hoping for night never to end.

Of Jack there was no sign. He hadn’t spoken a word since the accident, the terrible accident that had robbed her of two lives. The doctor had sent him into the hospital to bring him round. It was as if he had never come home.

All Mirren knew was that Sylvia was taken and she would never see her again. She had gone to a place where she couldn’t follow. One morning they were dressing up to go to the biggest party in the village and then she disappeared from them.

Florrie and Daisy had taken all Sylvia’s clothes and the toys from her bedroom and stripped it bare, and the door was locked on it to make it easier for them to bear. Mirren hadn’t the strength to protest. It was all she could do to put one foot after the other and creep from room to room, calling her name in case she was hiding from them.

In chapel, funereal voices whispered all around her. It was no comfort to say Sylvia had gone to a better home and only the good die young. It was no comfort that her little body was put in a box in the churchyard out of sight where it was windy and chilly. When she wanted to call out her name, someone whispered, ‘Hush, don’t upset yourself. Crying won’t bring her back. Time’s a great healer…You’ll have other children one day.’ ‘How dare you say that? I want Sylvia!’ she screamed out, and everyone heard her pain. Jack was too sick even to hold her up. It was Ben who kept her upright at the graveside.

It was as if Sylvia had never lived in Cragside, never kicked the banisters and got told off for picking the plaster from the wall, never sang in her bath or raced over the fields chasing sheep. There were no photographs and she was never spoken of in front of Mirren except in hushed tones. Friends passed her on market day in the street rather than face her raw grieving.

‘Our Sylvia was too good for this world so she was taken, not spared. It didn’t make any sense. She was taken for an angel in Heaven,’ wept Florrie with a quiet voice, not looking at her.

Mirren spent hours sitting up in her eyrie at World’s End, the wind battering her and rain pouring down on her face, but she didn’t care. Ruins were what suited her now. The nights when sleep wouldn’t come she spent looking at the photograph, the only one she salvaged, the one Jack kept in his pocket, creased with looking at: a baby shot of Sylvia smiling. She was never for sharing after that, and she hid it in Dad’s tin box under her bed.

Sometimes she forgot and when it was dusk she looked for her coming down from the top field on Ben’s shoulders, coming through the kitchen door full of chatter. It was hard waiting for that little voice to shout, ‘What’s for tea?’ and her saying, ‘Wipe your feet!’ But it never came.

There were no words to explain that terrible moment when life’s gone from a body or any sense in the death of a precious child. It took only seconds for Sylvia to leave them, ribs crushed and skull broken, and for Mirren’s world to end. To bury her precious kiddy was an abomination on the face of the earth and she would never get over it as long as she lived. It went against nature. It was agony to speak even her name in company.

Her dreams were full of her child running through the house in her Fair Isle jumper and dungarees made from worn cord breeches.

Sylvia would never grow old or marry and have children, or roam the world and do as she pleased, and it was all their fault. Two men who should’ve known better than to mess about with engines when there was an excited child in the yard. The coroner said as much himself. She would never forgive Jack and Ben for her death.

They were named and blamed and shamed. It was an accident, one of those tragic things that can happen on any farm if people were careless. Farms were and always will be dangerous places for children. Sylvia died because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is what Mirren’s head was saying: not drowned or killed on the road, lost on the fell or abducted, but in her own back yard where she should have been safe and something in her died alongside her child that day.

The tractor was just a machine and should not have been left like that with the key in the lock parked at an awkward angle. The yard was too busy. Sylvia was distracted but Mirren blamed them for the loss of the baby too.

Shock had brought on the labour too early. The little lad was too small to live and didn’t stand a chance, the doctor explained to her. She couldn’t feel anything. They had taken him away before she’d even seen him, taken him away like rubbish in the bin, not buried decently. It was cruel, he said, but for the best. How did he know, her heart cried out, but he was the doctor and they knew best, didn’t they?

The sheep, the lambs and the cows didn’t know what had happened. People took over while she recovered her strength, but Dalesmen knew that hard work and silence were the best solace. So they just got on with life as best they could through the slow procession of the seasons in turn. Dalesfolk made no show of grief, or they didn’t until now. No amount of repainting the barn doors would ever wipe the memory of that accursed day. Nothing would bring Sylvia back to Cragside.

Each morning Mirren took her hen bucket of grain and walked past that door. How she hated that tractor, but it wasn’t hers to destroy. It disappeared one morning, never to return. She hated herself and Jack for being alive when their child was dead.

Something between them died that afternoon.

Ben drove Florrie to the hospital near Scarperton in silence. None of them had slept for weeks. His dreams were filled with the noise of the engine, his feet trying to run to help but stuck in thick mud, trapping him, a helpless looker on at a needless tragedy.

He had never seen a young man collapse so quickly into a crumpled shell of humanity. Jack was in total shock, brought on by the sight of his little girl being killed by his own carelessness. His eyes were dead, gazing far from any words spoken to him. He had not uttered a coherent word. Florrie tried to bring him round but he retreated into such strange behaviour that they feared for his life.

The news of Mirren’s miscarriage tipped him over the edge to a point where Dr Murray wanted him off the farm–‘I can’t vouch for his safety after this.’ Now Jack was twenty miles away and poor Florrie was dreading seeing him locked up in an asylum.

Ben sat outside in the van, ashamed, but Jack’s mother wanted to see her son alone. Weakness like this was not for sharing outside immediate family. Ben hadn’t even time to visit his own parents.

Returning to Cragside, Ben watched Mirren’s anger grow but said nothing.

‘Jack’s not coming near this farm when he gets out of the loony bin,’ she shouted. ‘He killed his baby. You tell him he’s not coming back here,’ she snapped.

‘But he’s your husband,’ wept Auntie Florrie. ‘He’s been in hospital a month. He’s not himself. He knows what he did and it’s floored him. You have to make your peace with him. If he could turn the clock back, believe me he would. Don’t make it any worse than it is, love.’

Florrie and Tom were in a losing battle with their daughter-in-law, thought Ben. Mirren was lost in her own guilt and loss. She wanted to lash out at all of them, and most of all at him. Her eyes were hard as steel when she barked orders to Umberto. There was no reasoning with her. This stalemate couldn’t go on. It was affecting everyone on the farm.

‘If you’re going to be hard on someone, blame me,’ he butted in. ‘It was me as brought Jack up from the village. If only I’d left well alone but I thought…You must go and see him. He needs your help.’

‘I know what you thought: better get me laddo home before he drinks too much. We all know what Jack’s like when he’s blathered. He can’t keep away from an engine.’

‘But he’s sick and weary, Mirren. Have some pity. Don’t do this to him. Blame me, but go and see him…Make your peace.’

‘I do blame you. I blame everyone, but most of all myself,’ she snapped back. Her eyes flashed, hard, flinty. ‘How can we live here after this?’

‘There must be a way,’ he replied, thinking of his long-ago promise to Gran to see them both right. How he wished he could pack up and go back to Leeds, away from the bitterness, but that was the coward’s way out.

There was no reaching the woman when she was in this mood. They were all hurting, going through the motions of daily routine like automatons.

It was high summer but the sun couldn’t lighten the gloom over Cragside. They all needed to spread out and find some peace away from prying eyes.

Mirren was needed on the farm, but her living here every day was agony for all of them, and a cottage in Windebank was too public. What she and Jack needed was a private place to grieve and he knew just the place.

Ben looked to the heavens for the first time in weeks. ‘Don’t worry, Gran,’ he whispered. ‘I know just the place to set them right again…’

13

The hospital outside Scarperton stood like a fortress, set high on the moor overlooking the River Wharfe; a world of its own with high forbidding gates, a palace with tall windows with bars across them. It had taken two trains to get here. Why was she coming?

Mirren gulped. Was it to see Jack suffer? One look at the place and she sensed it was like a prison. Her husband was under lock and key and she must face him for the first time since Sylvia died. How could she look on his eyes and hair and not see the image of her own child? How could she face the murderer of her unborn baby? She would soon know.

The pills that Dr Murray forced upon her were long flushed down the pan. They had done nothing to dull her pain. They made her woozy and dry in the mouth, but she couldn’t face this journey without some strength from somewhere.

In her bag was a cake in a tin from Florrie, a copy of the local Gazette and a little package from Tom that looked like a bottle, a bit of comfort to help him. There was no point in giving him that, she sneered. It had done enough damage. She would chuck it in the nearest dustbin.

Anger rose like bile in her throat. What was the point in giving him liquor to drown his sorrows when she couldn’t drown hers with anything stronger than tea?

There was a small crowd gathered at the door for visiting time. She wished she’d asked Ben to come for support, but he was too busy, and Florrie came when she could. The visitors made a row of anxious faces as they were ushered down tiled corridors to the wards, hearts beating faster at the thought of what they must face and the smell of mopped floors and bed pans.

It was a strange subdued meeting. Jack sat there staring out the window, not even looking up when she came. His eyes were like dead fish on a slab, cold and glassy and drugged. He was in a borrowed dressing gown that was too big for him, his cheeks were sunken and he looked like an old man. She wondered if he had even recognised her. The sight of him overwhelmed her.

‘Jack! It’s me, I’ve come to see you,’ she offered.

He turned, looked at her unsmiling, nodded his head and she sat down. He didn’t speak so she filled the gaps by telling him she’d lost the baby and had to have a scrape-out and wasn’t up to visiting before, making excuses why she had put off this moment.

He listened, his face blank as if he was a stranger, fiddling with his dressing gown cord, not looking at her. She didn’t understand.

‘I thought you’d be glad I’d made the effort to come and clear the air,’ she offered. This was hard work and it was making her angry. ‘Look, speak to me or not, but we’ve got to have this out,’ she nagged. Where had this fishwife voice come from? ‘I blame you and Ben and I blame me. It never should’ve happened. If only you’d kept out of that blessed pub, but, oh no, you have to have your nips. Ben should have let you get sozzled and stay put, but he was interfering, as usual. Sylvie would’ve been with us and none of this…’ She was yelling at him now.

Jack turned away and blanked her out as she wagged her finger at him.

‘And you can stop all this funny business, shutting me out. You heard what I said. No use hiding away in the madhouse, getting folks sorry for you. It’s not fair. Face what you’ve done like a man, fair and square on. You killed our beautiful little girl!’

‘Mrs Sowerby! A moment, please,’ said a man in a white coat with a foreign accent.

‘I’ve not finished yet, Doctor. I need to get this off my chest but he won’t listen.’

‘Not here, not now, Mrs Sowerby. Be patient. Jack’s not well, he can’t listen to you. He can’t think straight yet but he will, given time and rest. I’m Dr Kaplinsky.’ He held out his hand but she ignored it.

‘But he killed our child,’ she screamed, and everyone in the ward stood listening to her.

‘It was a terrible accident. Your child ran into the tractor,’ said the doctor with the soft voice.

‘How do you know? You weren’t there. I was! He did it,’ she said, pulling on Jack’s sleeve to try to wake him out of his torpor.

‘Come,’ the doctor insisted, ‘let’s talk in private. Jack is not listening. The war has left him with many problems. He needs time and treatment. Peace and quiet to heal his spirit.’

‘But what about me? Don’t I get time to recover? This nightmare will never end as long as we live. I haven’t gone doolally. Someone has to get up and see to the cows, no matter how bad it gets,’ she snapped at him.

‘And that is the best way, Mrs Sowerby Keep busy and keep going from day to day. Push the pain away. It’s hard but I see you are strong. Jack is different,’ he added. His eyes were dark and kindly enough, but what did he know of her pain?

‘What is it to you?’ she sneered.

‘Believe me, I know,’ said the young man with the beard. ‘Come, sit down and rest. Just hold his hand for a while. It is good you have come.’

‘I’ll do no such thing. He’ll have to get over it on his own. I’ve a bus and two trains to catch. I came to see how he was and, now I’ve seen for myself, he can rot in here for all I care.’ Mirren stood up, put on her coat and made for the door.

‘Please, wait…It has to be unlocked.’ She stood politely while the keys turned, shuddering at the sound.

‘Pull yourself together, Jack, or I’ll not be coming again,’ she shouted, and then stormed down the corridor, fuming at the injustice of it all. How dare he be mollycoddled and she told just to get on with it? The anger was bubbling like a kettle on the boil inside and she was that thirsty and chilled through.

She sat on a bench outside in the garden to calm down. It wasn’t fair. No one cared about her and she felt in her bag for a hanky and found the bottle of whisky. What a waste of money and coupons. This was the cause of all their troubles. Wait until she saw Uncle Tom.

She lifted the glass bottle. The golden amber liquid glinted in the sun. So what does the water of life taste like? She smiled, unscrewing the top out of interest; she sniffed the fumes and saw her dad. She made to pour it away and then stopped, swallowed, and tasted some. It burned its way down her throat.

‘Hell’s bells, and they pay good money for this?’ She swallowed some more to warm her through. Popping it back in her bag, she took nips all the way home.

By the time she arrived at Windebank halt, she was feeling calmer and pink with satisfaction. She’d gone and made her peace with Jack. Everyone would be pleased, Ben most of all. He was being very secretive of late. Perhaps he was out courting again but why he needed his tool bag with him was a mystery. Not that she cared. For the first time in weeks she didn’t care about much at all and slept like a log.

Maybe a day out to visit Jack was just the time out she needed away from this accursed place.

The visits to see Jack seemed to be doing Mirren good, thought Ben as he began the long job of repairing the roof at World’s End. Down came the last of the rotten timbers and he hauled up some old but sound timbers from a barn on the sled. He had laid out all the sandstone slabs in order to put them back on the roof and sworn Tom to secrecy when he helped him out. They would fix up the cottage as a surprise for Jack and Mirren.

There was a new POW, yet to be repatriated, called Dieter Klose, who was helping out down at Cragside. He was of farming stock and useful.

Florrie said Jack still wasn’t speaking, but he recognised his wife and mother when they came. Mirren came back full of good cheer and went about her work with gusto. It was hard to put what was different about her; she was full of vim and vigour but then got tired and crotchety again as the strain of the past months took its toll.

Florrie whispered that Jack was to have some newfangled electric-shock treatment to jolt him out of his lethargy, they hoped. He would have pads put on his head and a current run through, which would give him a fit. The doctor assured them it was safe and it might just get him back on his feet again. It sounded awful to Ben.

Mirren didn’t talk about her trips much. She sometimes stayed late and went to the pictures. No one begrudged her a day off, but she didn’t seem that interested in the stock. Lately she overslept and was groggy first thing until she had her brew and perked up ready to start the day.

No one had ever seen her walking up to World’s End and she had no idea of the surprise they had in store. Dieter was told to ward her off the track with an excuse if he saw her going in that direction.

Now the war was over there seemed to be even more regulations and rationing as the shortage of manpower and foodstuffs began to kick in. Ben put his own plans to move away on hold. This was no time to be heading out of the dale.

He was still involved with the Young Farmers, and drifted back under the wing of the ever-faithful Lorna, who was teaching at the village school. They went for walks together and dances. She helped him show some sheep at the Ribblehead Show, grooming their coats when Mirren forgot to turn up on time. She was good company and Ben could forget his worries when she was chattering away.

The whole dale knew about their recent tragellies and asked about Jack. What was there to say but that progress was slow? Ben must see more improvement in the family’s spirits before he departed and there was his secret project to finish. He didn’t visit Jack himself. He knew he wouldn’t be welcome.

Over the weeks World’s End was shaping up well; one big living room with store room and kitchen off, some proper stairs to two bedrooms above. All the upper floor was boarded with timber they had scrounged. Materials were now in short supply so it was a matter of make do and mend, and don’t ask too many questions.

There was water from the sunken well and a little stone WC to the side. Mirren would soon make a home of it out of everyone’s way. Somehow he couldn’t see Jack being too suited but it was a start and it was better than living with his parents.

Tom and Florrie were thinking of letting Cragside as holiday lodgings in the summer. It was too big for the family now and ought to be sold off but who would want this cold barn of a house? Better to let it earn its keep.

Mirren assumed everyone would be living at Scar Head farm but she showed little interest in the plans. This indifference was a habit hard to get out of, Ben thought. Sometimes she was like her old self, busy in the kitchen and garden, going to market. Other times she was weepy and retired to her bedroom. They were all pleased she was visiting Jack but her absence when she went got longer and longer, and her timekeeping unpredictable. Funny, her being such a stickler for punctuality.

It was all part of losing Sylvia, Ben sighed. Cragside would never be the same again. He was glad Gran and Grandpa weren’t around to see this change of fortune. Ben trusted that his surprise would stir Mirren and Jack back to life and give them hope for the future. The rest was up to them after that.

Mirren made sure she had the eggs hidden in her basket, safely wrapped in Jack’s change of pyjamas. Fresh eggs were like gold in the town, and butter too; all strictly rationed and under the counter but her supplies were much appreciated, with customers willing to pay over the odds for farm produce. No one missed a few eggs in season. She always packed a few sweets and buns to take to Jack as a treat but he had no appetite. Her visits were getting shorter and shorter and she tried to avoid that awful doctor if he came in view. At least she did put her head round the door before skiving off for the day.

Jack deserved everything that was coming to him. She wanted him to be stunned back into remembering everything so he could feel the pain she was feeling and more, the guilt and anger in full measure. That thought made these weary visits worthwhile.

She was getting used to being back in a town, part of a crowd and anonymous. No one knew her history here in Scarperton. She could saunter through the streets staring at half-empty shop windows, putting off the evil hour when she must face the big iron gates and locked doors.

For that she needed some comfort and it was there waiting round the corner in the back door of Brennan’s licensed grocery store: her usual bottle of amber nectar, the medicine, if taken in small doses, that would see her through the coming visit.

Theirs was an amicable arrangement. She delivered her produce and Alf Brennan produced a bottle: no names, no questions asked. It wasn’t as if she was overdoing it. In truth she’d broken a life-long pledge of temperance but she was a grown-up now and knew how to spoon out the spirit, carefully sipping it slowly. It was no different from Doc Murray’s pills but this medicine worked, and it was only for a while, until she felt better. Something had to see her through this terrible time.

No one knew her here, deals were strictly tit for tat, but she brought extra this week so that if she missed a trip then she needn’t be without her medicine up the dale.

She had hated the smell of it at first. It took her back to Dad’s breath, but now she found it strangely comforting. At first she would shut her eyes and gulp, but now she could sip it and not squirm. She didn’t want to enjoy the taste. That might make her make a habit of it and end up like Dad with his ‘wee drams’. Oh, no! That’d never do, but it was her little secret and it dulled the edge of her pain, her reward at the end of a tough day. It helped her sleep without dreaming.

It wasn’t as if she was wasting anyone’s coupons or stealing cash. It was her way of staying strong for Jack, of forgetting Sylvie’s broken body. No one could deny her such comfort when her husband was tucked up safe in hospital, drugged to the eyeballs…

‘I’ll take two this week,’ she smiled at the grocer. ‘In fact, three might be better.’ It was always a relief to have those bottles tucked down in her basket as she sat on the train heading north. It helped her face the going back to Windebank and the walk home.

‘Sorry, love, two’s all I can manage. I’ve got regulars I can’t disappoint, but if you come down on Saturday I’ll see what I can do. I’m expecting another supply…Oh, and if you could bring some bacon too…’

She scurried out to the street on edge. Coming out of the asylum always made her knees buckle. She needed a pick-me-up just to get through the gate. Perhaps she ought to try somewhere else or, better still, save her supplies and wait until the Golden Lion opened and have a little nip to warm her through for the journey. She could catch the bus home. The world wouldn’t miss her for another hour or two. No one would begrudge her a little free time.

To step over the threshold of a public house on her own took some doing. She breezed in and said she was freezing and could she have a nip to keep out the cold. The woman at the bar, all dolled up, looked her up and down with suspicion. There was only one sort of woman who went in a pub alone and that was to pick up men. She eyed her thick tweed suit and felt hat, her sensible brogues. There was no mistaking Mirren for a lady of the night.

Soon she popped in every week and they passed pleasantries and she told them she was visiting a sick aunt in the asylum and the chaps around looked at her with pity and bought her a round. Her presence was now fully understood. ‘Wouldn’t catch me in one of them places,’ was the general opinion.

The pub was cosy and warm and the fug of stale ale and cigarettes, soot and sawdust no longer bothered her. She chatted to the regulars and watched the old men play dominoes. She gave accounts of the imaginary progress of her sick aunt. Here she felt safe among chums, who took her at face value: just a farmer’s wife down from the dale to shop and do good. There was nothing wrong in that and yet…

Sometimes as the nights grew darker and colder it got harder to face that lonely trek on the last bus home, walking through the copse in the dark, the wind in her face, the look on Ben’s face. That ‘Where’ve you been till this hour?’ sort of look.

She got into the habit of telling tales about not wanting to leave Jack, doing shopping for him, popping back, all lies. She said she’d eaten in a café so no need to heat up any tea, and by the way she was going to pop back on Saturday to give Jack a surprise.

Sometimes Mirren didn’t recognise herself, her brash lies and skin-deep answers, quick to snap at Ben if he looked put out. It is easy to lie when you are trusted, she noted with concern.

‘I was hoping to get off early on Saturday. I’m taking Lorna to the pictures,’ he said.

‘I’m not stopping you. Uncle Tom’ll cover with Dieter, and I’ll do the morning milking,’ she offered. ‘So it’s back on with you two then? About time,’ she smiled, but as she climbed the stairs she felt put out and jumpy that Ben was getting his life together. He’d be leaving them soon. It didn’t take long for him to forget his goddaughter.

Ben and Lorna, Jack in hospital, Tom and Florrie had each other. Who was there for her?

She unpacked the bottles carefully, tucking them deep into her wardrobe and shoving the empties into her bottom drawer. It was time for her medicine, a big swig. She wanted to sleep tonight. It was going to be a long trek until Saturday.

By Friday night she was down to the last dregs of the second bottle. The medicine was not working as well as it used to for she was awake all night watching the dawn creep through the gap in the curtains. She rose early and went in search of their secret hoard of bacon flitches. How was she going to cut off a hunk and get it out of the farm in her basket? She would need a suitcase, but Jack might need some fresh clothes. No one would suspect anything. They’d be glad he was up and about and dressed. It would mean he was soon coming home. The thought of his return made her sweat.

Ben sat through Brief Encounter holding Lorna’s hand and trying not to yawn. It was a woman’s film about a housewife and a doctor having an affair in some small town. He perked up when he recognised Carnforth station in the shot, recognising the tunnel and the platform, and the music wasn’t bad. Lorna was weeping buckets.

‘Wasn’t it sad? They were made for each other but she had to go back to her real life and do her duty…’

He patted her on the hand and looked at his watch. They might catch the fish-and-chip shop open on the way back. It was time he stepped up this on-and-off romance, give her a bit of attention. He’d never kissed a girl properly before, or made love, for that matter. Lorna was not the sort of girl to experiment on either. He couldn’t lead her on without it being serious. She was a straightforward Yorkshire girl, a no-nonsense sort with a kind heart. He could do far worse than stick with her but deep inside, it was Mirren’s lips he wanted to kiss, her body he wanted to hold. God help him if he was just a one-girl man. He was doomed.

How could he go on fooling himself that all this work at World’s End was anything other than a chance to pretend that he would be sharing it with her himself? He was a right muggins.

Mirren would stick with Jack, like it or not. Lately she was so unreliable in the mornings he’d begun to think she was sickening for something. Mirren–all he ever thought about was her when it should be Lorna on his mind.

They walked up the high road through the village, dawdling and chatting while he plucked up the courage to make a move. He could see her eager, her eyes sparkling with expectation. Be a man and get it over with, he thought as he reached for the gate to open it but a shout from the post office house stopped him in his tracks.

‘Ben? Is that you? You’ve saved me a right hike. ’A’ve just had Sowerby missus on the phone. She’s stuck in Scarperton, daft bugger missed the last train. She asked me to say she’ll not be fit in the morning. Poor lass, and her having to go all that way to visit Jack. She didn’t want you to be worried.’

‘Thanks, Harold.’ Ben waved his hand at the postmaster. ‘I’ll have to go, Lorna. You heard the gist of it. I can’t have her walking in the dark. There’s tramps and deserters on the run. Daft happorth, visiting finished hours ago. What’s she been up to? You women and the pictures…all that romancing…’

‘Well, we don’t get much in these parts, Reuben Yewell,’ she snapped at him.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? I took you out,’ he said, puzzled.

‘I might as well have gone myself, the interest you took. You were asleep in five minutes.’

‘I was up at the crack of dawn,’ he offered, knowing it was true.

‘Did madam not surface again? They say she’s a right lady of leisure, swanning round Scarperton, twice a week. I thought you farmers were having a rough time? She’s been seen going in the Golden Lion of a night, and on market day,’ Lorna added.

‘Don’t be daft. Mirren’s teetotal and always has been,’ he snapped back.

‘That’s not what I heard,’ she sneered. ‘Bold as brass through the front door.’

‘I thought she was your friend,’ he said, feeling his pulse racing at this news. ‘After what she’s been through, I’d not begrudge her a port and lemon or two…Who’s been spreading this nonsense?’

‘No one you know, but it’s true so you’d better get off and rescue the damsel in distress before she wears out her precious shoe leather.’

This was a side to Lorna he didn’t like. ‘You can come with me if you like,’ he offered.

‘What, and play gooseberry? I’m not blind. Everyone knows you slaver over her like a puppy. I’m not playing second fiddle to her tune. Go on, beat it!’

‘Oh, Lorna,’ Ben stuttered, not knowing what to say. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt your evening. I’ll make it up to you.’

‘No you won’t. I’m sick of excuses, excuses. If it’s not the farm, it’s that ruin you’re restoring.’

‘Who told you about that?’

‘Does it matter? Everyone knows everyone else’s business in Windebank. I’m sorry about what happened to Jack and Mirren, we all are, but it’s about time they pulled themselves together and didn’t expect you to pick up the crumbs under their table,’ she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

‘If that’s how you feel…’ Ben sighed, suddenly bone weary.

‘Yes it is, and the sad thing is you’ve never noticed how I felt before and never will while yon girl from World’s End is on the loose. Watch it, Ben, you may get more than you bargain for meddling with those two. Oil and water don’t mix, or should I say, whisky and wine,’ she said, and with that warning she swung through the gate, put her key into the front door and slammed it behind her.

Ben drove the truck slowly with the pinwheel headlights on, peering into the darkness, trying to spot a glimpse of Mirren on the road. Surely she was not trying to thumb a lift on the main road? How could she think of such a thing unless she was not right in the head? Surely not?

He spotted her three miles out of Scarperton, barefoot, carrying her shoes and basket as if she was off to market, her headscarf was round her head with her hat plonked on top.

‘Get in!’ he shouted, leaning across the seat. ‘What the hell are you doing at this time of night? Do you want to get run over?’

‘I’m fine,’ she smiled. ‘The fresh air has done me good. I went to the pictures and fell asleep through the second house.’ She smiled sweetly, looking at the road ahead, not at him and he knew she lied.

‘What did you see?’ he snapped, knowing it would be Brief Encounter on at the Plaza too.

‘Oh, I don’t know, some cowboy so boring I dozed off. The usherette woke me up. It’s been a long day,’ she sighed.

‘Don’t tell me lies. You’ve been in the pub, drinking.’

‘Why, Ben, what a cruel thing to say. You know I don’t drink. I’d never go in one of those places,’ she replied without a shake in her voice.

‘So how come you’ve been seen going in the Golden Lion, regular as clockwork?’ His voice was cracked with fury.

‘I just popped in to sell them some eggs, didn’t I tell you? I’ve got quite a little round going.’ She had an excuse for everything.

‘Oh, you’ve had a round or two, I can smell it on your breath. I didn’t come up the Wharfe on a biscuit tin. You stink of smoke and there’s whisky on your breath, not just on your clothes.’

‘I had just the one to tide me over. Jack’s visits are such a strain and I was frozen. It seemed like a good idea. No harm done…’ Her excuses drained away.

‘Pull the other one, Mirren. I wasn’t born yesterday, you must be tipsy to be taking a risk like this,’ he said. His hands were gripping the wheel. He wanted to shake her.

‘Oh, shut up! Don’t be so po-faced. You sound like my Sunday school teacher. Did little Miss Lorna give you the push? Have I spoiled your evening?’

‘Mirren, this isn’t you talking. If you’re in trouble you only have to talk to me about it, not bottle things up and drink it. Nothing good comes out of those sort of bottles. How many times’ve you told me? It’s a mug’s game,’ he pleaded.

‘Oh, but it does, you’re wrong. It’s only medicine. It calms me down and gets me to sleep and makes me forget. There’s no harm in a nip or two and I’m not bothering anyone else,’ she said with her arms folded in defiance or defence–he wasn’t sure which.

‘But you bother me, wasting petrol coming to find you. Don’t you think I’d rather be doing something else than ferreting around looking for you?’

‘I didn’t ask you to come. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Is that enough? Now shut up and let me sleep.’

What else could he say? Lorna was right. The gossip was true. He was too stunned by her casualness, her lies to argue. She was drunk enough to be beyond reach and soon she was snoring away, flopping her head on the side window all the way home.

Ben drew up in the yard, lifted her out of the truck and carried her upstairs. No one was up. He took off her stockings, loosened her jacket and blouse. She looked so peaceful, lying there. He felt such a desire rise up but he daren’t do anything. How he longed to hold her close and take this terrible pain away from her, the pain she was trying to blot out. If she had his love wrapped around her, there would be no need for whisky or booze. They would fight the demons together.

Mirren woke with a fuzzy head and a tongue like cork matting. The room spun around her and she lifted herself slowly. How had she got back home? Her clothes were crumpled up, her stockings were in tatters on the chair. She could recall going into the pub and chatting to Monica, the barmaid. Then they were chucked out at closing time and the station was shuttered. How had she managed to get back here?

There was the long black road, headlamps, a stretch of stars torching her path. It was like a jigsaw all broken up with a few corners filled in. There was an argument and a man’s voice…

Her watch said ten o’clock in the morning. Hellfire, she’d missed morning milking again and it was Sunday. There’d be ructions. Time to pull off her suit and girdle, throw on her farm stuff. Aiming for the door, she banged her shins. Blood and sand! I’m in for it, she thought.

She crept down the grand stairs slowly, not wanting to trip. Florrie was bustling about singing hymn tunes in her best frock. Since Sylvia died she’d taken to chapel big time and would be off to the service.

‘You’re up then? Ben said you were unwell and he had to fetch you…a bit of a tummy upset, was it? How’s Jack?’ No further questions so all was well there then.

‘He’s fine. The treatment is making him remember stuff,’ she smiled. Jack was slowly coming round–well, a version of Jack, not the one she used to know; a bit like herself. She was forgetting the Mirren she used to be. ‘It was just a gippy tummy but I’m fine now. I’d better get cracking. I owe Ben a favour. Is he doing his rounds?’

‘No, he’s up the tops, as usual. I’m glad you’re feeling better. He said you were right poorly in the night. Would you like to go to chapel?’

Mirren shook her head and patted her stomach. ‘No, I daren’t risk it,’ she lied. All she could think about was making sure Ben hadn’t spilled the beans. She must apologise to him and put things right, but first there was another thing she must do.

She crept back up the dark oak staircase to her room and rummaged in her basket, just in case he’d spotted her medicine. There was nothing there and she felt panic rising. She rifled through her wardrobe and the drawer of empties, then her knicker drawer–all her private places–but there was nothing and she began to shake.

Then she remembered the last resort, the tin box under her bed. Opening the tin she grabbed the spare bottle but not before she saw Sylvia’s face in that photograph looking up, scowling, the last one they ever had, and she slammed down the lid, swallowing her whisky quickly. This was going to have to last.

It was time to get out into the field and find Ben. There must be no tales told out of school. As she trudged up the track, there was no sign of him walling, just Dieter who was waving frantically and running over, but she dodged him and took a short cut over a stone stile. Onwards and upwards to the high fells where the air would clear her head, fresh and cool. The loose limestone scree slowed her down. It was a long time since she’d visited World’s End–not since VE Day. For a while it had been her refuge but lately it was too much bother. Let it go to rack and ruin, she didn’t care. All the days were the same, grey, flat and empty, since Sylvia left them.

At least in Scarperton she could meet new people and be one of a crowd who laughed and worked in the mills and shops, clocking on and off, not like farmers who never got a chance to clock off.

Perhaps when Jack came out they would have a change of sky, as Granny Simms used to say. Funny how she could hardly recall any of that time, as if there was a wall between her and her childhood with no door in it.

She panted up the hill, unused to its steepness, and then stopped in shock at the sight before her, not sure if she had come to the right place.

The ruin was no more, but in its place was a fine cottage with a roof, new windows, signs of building rubble and activity. Someone had been hard at work rebuilding World’s End and they were making a fine job of it too. She walked around, stunned at the detail and effort into the little place that had saved her life so many years before.

She could hardly bear to look. No one had said anything about it being renovated but it was months since she’d bothered to come. Funny how she’d always thought of it as her World’s End, but the land probably belonged to Lord Benton. The Yewells must only rent it and now it was taken back.

She trekked back down the hill disconsolate, her insides churning like a butter tub. Who would go to all the trouble? She spotted Dieter in his battledress with the yellow circle at his back. He was waiting for her, cap in hand.

‘Who is building up there?’ she said in schoolgirl German. He smiled at her effort and answered in good English. ‘I help Herr Ben for his sweetheart, I think.’ He patted his chest. ‘He make new home, I think, but it is top secret, I think.’

Mirren took in his information in one gulp. How dare he? How dare Ben go behind her back and take her dream and make it his own? Behind her back take Miss Goody Two-Shoes Dinsdale and live up there all cosy and lovey-dovey. It was not his World’s End, it was hers!

She was so angry she forgot her mission to find him. If she saw him she would have screamed at him. Best to avoid him, the serpent, getting wed and not telling her. How could he steal her dream? The tears dripped down her cheeks but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she knew his little secret. All she needed was a drink. She raced back to Cragside and hid in her bedroom all afternoon, burying her head in the pillow, sick at heart. World’s End had been her secret refuge and now it was gone.

‘Jack’s coming home for the weekend. We’ve had a telegram,’ yelled Florrie from the foot of the stairs, rushing round giving everyone the good news. They were busy getting the beef stock ready for the Christmas fat stock show. It was all hands to the pump in the rush to make them secure in the cattle truck.

Ben watched Mirren’s face drop at the news. ‘It’s too soon, surely. Who said he could come out?’

‘The Polish chap, the nice doctor with the beard. I heard he was rescued from one of them concentration camps, poor devil. There’s a few of them round Leeds doing a good job, if our Jack’s anything to go by. Dr Murray says if he settles he’ll come out for Christmas too,’ Florrie beamed. ‘It’s an answer to prayer.’

Mirren shook her head. ‘You and Tom’ll have to go and fetch him then. We’re too busy with all this palaver, aren’t we, Ben?’ She looked him straight in the eye for the first time in weeks. He’d begun to think she was avoiding him and he put it down to her shame at being caught drunk. They’d not talked since, but she was careful to show him how sober she was and she was back on form for the cattle show, which was a relief.

‘We’ll be proud to bring him home in the van. He needs a rest and feeding up. The sight of these hills will perk him up, and your cheery face, Mirren. I’m going to bake a right big sponge if I can find some eggs. I’ll be wringing their necks if those hens don’t do their duty. We allus seem short these days,’ she sighed.

Ben looked at Mirren, willing her to own up to her secret egg round but she looked away with pink cheeks.

Having Jack back would be the best medicine, Ben thought. Then he would show them his surprise and give them a chance to get to know each other again. No more trips to hospital and no temptation for Mirren. He’d not smelled spirits on her breath, just mint imperials, which she sucked furiously, perhaps to give her mouth something to chew on. If she was making an effort he wasn’t going to tell tales.

It had been such a bad year and now she was seeing sense. The egg episode would stop now that winter was on them. Mirren was sensible. She knew enough was enough, but even he knew this weekend visit would be difficult for all of them. It was the first time Jack had faced the farm since the accident.

It was hard not to feel sorry for him. He wouldn’t wish Mirren and Jack’s suffering on his worst enemy. It still felt like some nightmare. They were dreading Christmas without the fun of seeing a little kiddy opening her presents and her stocking. Children made Christmas special.

His mam and dad were coming, and maybe Bert with his foreign fiancée, Irina, if he could get her into the country. They’d met when his camp was liberated. She was an interpreter. It was the talk of the district how he’d come home safe at last with a pretty foreign bride in tow. Her arrival was going to take some stomaching for some, seeing as she was German. She’d helped Bert after the war and now he was going back into teaching woodwork. Ben couldn’t wait to see his brother again.

The war had changed them all but drawn them closer as a family. His mother and dad were full of Bert’s adventures. He hoped family closeness would hold up Jack and Mirren at the worst time of the year.

‘Come on, slow coach,’ yelled Mirren. ‘We’ll be late. I want a rosette at least out of this lot. This is the first big show since hostilities ceased,’ she laughed. ‘Mind you, there’ll be a few hostilities in the auction ring when the judges give their verdict.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Ben sighed with relief, she was back to her old self. How silly he was to think she wouldn’t straighten herself out, given time and some understanding.

Scarperton Auction Mart was buzzing with good humour. The white coats were parading their beasts round the ring, heifers, bulls, calves, all rippling with good meat. Local farmers in tweeds were gathered in flat caps, chewing over the entries, eyeing up the opposition. Butchers were out in force choosing their Christmas stock while the auctioneer rattled off the prices. There were stalls of produce, farm wear and fancy goods, and wives with baskets, on the prowl for a bargain.

The Yewells were grooming the last of their beefers, polishing them off to show off their haunches but all Mirren could think of was Jack coming home and having to share her bed. How would she take her medicine with him around the room?

She’d have to shift her dwindling supplies. Her nerves jangled every time she thought of him coming home for good: all of them together and no Sylvia.

She couldn’t bear the thought of her lying in the ground and not jumping on their bed with glee on Christmas morning. She just wanted to forget the whole damn business. This wretched season ought to be banned.

She’d made sure in the past weeks to avoid the toy shop windows, the Christmas displays and festive decorations, meagre though the post-war ones were. To see children pointing out Dinky toys and dolls in boxes, toy prams and dressing-up clothes was agony.

She was going to need supplies to get her through the coming weeks, and there were no spare eggs or provisions to barter, just the brooch that had belonged to Gran, the one she’d have passed on to Sylvie, had she lived. What was the point now? Better to buy medicine and give everyone a hearty Christmas. If she dulled the pain, she’d be better company, but pawning her brooch for drink didn’t sit easy. Gran would turn in her grave.

She slipped away from the Auction Mart in the centre of town, down to the old second-hand shop at the back of the Town Hall where Sam Layberg sold watches, second-hand jewellery and junk. There was a discreet sign with three golden balls over the door. She slipped into the shop and produced the brooch from its box: a large amethyst surrounded by seed pearls in a gold setting.

He examined it carefully. ‘Nice piece, Regency, family? I can’t give you more than two guineas for it. There’s not much call for big stuff.’ He sighed over his half-moon glasses.

She knew and he knew it was worth a lot more but she nodded. ‘Don’t sell it. I’ll be back for it,’ she smiled, taking the cash quickly, trying not to gasp at what she had just done. It was so disloyal, but needs must…

‘That’s what they all say, young lady. Now I have a shop full of stuff I can’t sell,’ he whispered.

The coins were burning through her purse. It was just about opening time and if she trawled enough off-licences she might get herself a full bottle of whisky and some halves. There were one or two places to avoid, for they sold duff bottles, watered down with God knew what; she dreaded to think. She needed full strength to see her through. This time she checked every entrance to make sure no one recognised her. It wouldn’t do to be caught red-handed.

By two o’clock she’d spent every penny, wrapped her purchases carefully in her shopping bag and headed back to the show. Ben was waiting with a face like thunder.

‘Where’ve you been?’ He drew close to smell her breath again.

‘Never you mind. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Haven’t you heard of Christmas shopping or am I expected to buy it all here? Jack needed new pyjamas and I’d got enough coupons. I saw a little scarf for Florrie. No peeking until Christmas.’ She smiled sweetly through her lies. That took the shine off his shoes. ‘You thought I’d been down the Golden Lion again. Go on, admit it? You’ll have to trust me. Those days are over now. We’ve got Jack home and we’ll give him a good time.’ It hurt to play-act in front of him but what else could she do?

Ben stepped back, looking relieved. ‘We got a second for Gertie and a third for Horace. Pity you weren’t here to see it, but I suppose you ladies have to make the most of an outing to the shops now you’ll not be gadding off each week.’

Was there a warning in his voice? It was hard to tell. Ben was acting like her policeman and it got on Mirren’s nerves.

‘I’ll gad where I like,’ she snapped, ‘and when I like. You’re not my keeper and I’m not a child!’

‘Someone has to look after you. You’ve got so thin and I never see you eat a square meal. I never see you pick up a book either, or peg rugs with Florrie like you used to.’

‘Nothing is like it used to be, or have you forgotten? You’ve got your life to live and I’ve got mine,’ she said, and walked away from him.

The sooner he got wed the sooner she could settle down with Jack and try to make a go of it. Ben unnerved her when he drew too close. There was something in his eyes that stirred up stuff. He was young and strong and fit and bursting with energy.

Perhaps she and Jack should move right away and go down south, as he wanted to. This new Jack didn’t seem so eager. Once he was at Cragside he’d be fed up in five minutes and want to move on.

Mirren took her bag to the ladies’ room and had a swig to calm her nerves, chewed on a peppermint and splashed on some lavender water, just in case her gaoler was on the prowl.

Now she had to think where to hide her supplies away from prying eyes. World’s End would have been ideal if it wasn’t so far to trek, but now it wasn’t hers. She didn’t want Tom and Florrie finding out her secret habit. They had enough on their plate worrying about Jack. He wouldn’t care either way.

It was funny how she was getting an expert on how to find black-market booze around the district. It was as if there was a secret little network of cronies all after the same stuff and all helping each other find new suppliers, word of mouth round the pubs and shops. She’d make sure Tom got in some stuff for Christmas. Beer or brandy–anything would do to eke out her own bottles. They were not for sharing. She had to be strong for Jack and to stop Ben from nagging and get through the festive season without making a fool of herself. Christmas was an endurance test and she had to look after her own interest if she was to survive.

Ben could like it or lump it. It was none of his business. If he didn’t like it he could camp out with his ladylove at World’s End and leave her to get on with living her way. She still hadn’t forgiven him for stealing her dream.

14

Jack shuffled through that first visit in a dream, drawn, bent and so tired he fell asleep even when they were talking. That weekend was to be the first of many and it was a strain trying to be bright and breezy, chipper and cheerful. Florrie did her best to cajole her son into eating some of her best baking but he barely had a spoonful. It was hard to make conversation with him. He didn’t seem to hear what they were saying, had not a spark of interest in farm chitchat. He avoided Dieter as if he was a bad smell and just stared out of the window across the valley, lost in his own world.

‘Come on,’ said Mirren, trying to stay patient. ‘Snap out of it. We’re going to make the best of the season whatever. Pam and Wes have made the effort to come and visit. Your mam’s doing her best. Buck up!’

‘You don’t know what it’s like. I feel tired all the time.’

‘But you do nothing but sit around,’ she replied. ‘Let’s walk the fields. It’s time we had a chat.’

‘What about? I should think you said it all in hospital. I know you’re only going through the motions. You look worse than me in the mornings.’

‘That’s because I’m trying to stay on top of the job. One day at a time, and I’ve no time to indulge myself in self-pity. What’s done can’t be undone,’ she replied.

‘Do you think I like feeling like this?’

‘There you go, feeling sorry for yourself again. Buck up and come and help me muck out. The doctor said exercise would do you good.’ His whining was getting on her nerves.

‘Not with that Jerry on the prowl,’ came his reply. ‘Why did you let them bring Krauts here?’

‘Because Dieter is hard-working and cheap labour and he does the job.’ What had Dieter got to do with anything?

‘So you prefer Jerry to me now, is it?’ He stared at her hard.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She avoided his gaze.

‘You’ve not looked the road I’m on since I came back,’ he added.

‘And why should I want to? You’ve not made any effort. You don’t wash or shave unless I badger you, your armpits smell of sweat. I’m doing my best trying to put things behind me…for better or worse, Jack. That’s what we promised but it’s hard.’

‘You ignore me as if I’m some weak-willed idiot. I can’t help how I feel,’ he argued back.

‘Feel, feel…feel. I’m sick of how you feel. What about how I feel, trapped in these hills with only memories of how it once was?’

‘But you’ve changed, Mirren, grown that hard you’ll snap. Strong you may be but it feels I’m being punished night and day, in my dreams, every waking moment, and when I see the look on your face it’s like sore feet. How’s a chap supposed to feel? And why’s Lanky still sniffing around here? I thought he was wedding Freddy’s sister?’

‘He will. Give them time. Those two are on the slow boat to China, blowing hot and cold. Enough of them. What are we going to do? We can’t stay here for ever, not now…’

‘I’m not ready to shift yet, love. I’ve got to get my head together. There’s whole bits I can’t piece together. It’s the shock treatment. I don’t want any more of that. It burns your brains.’ He fidgeted with his hair.

‘Then buck up, smarten up, and we’ll go down The Fleece and have a little celebration.’

‘But you don’t drink.’ He looked up at her with surprise.

‘That was before Sylvie died. I’ll not refuse a sherry or two, or a beer even. I need to get out of this place and I can’t go on my own, now, can I?’

‘I can’t drink with my tablets. Dr Kaplinsky says I’m dried out now and better to stay off it. It was doing me no good, as well you know. Thanks but I’ll give it a miss.’

‘That’s not like you to miss a treat. Where’s that esprit de corps? It’ll do us both good just to go down and see your pals. Come on, one won’t do you any harm.’

And that was how they found themselves propping up the bar at Windebank amidst the faded tinsel and tatty paper decorations, the spit-and-sawdust brigade, listening to gossip. Everyone made a fuss of Jack and bought him drinks and he began to liven up.

Mirren slipped down as many as she decently could before the bell rang and Bill suggested a lock-up. Those who were still at the bar when the bell rang were locked in. They were still there at two in the morning.

Somehow they staggered home and into bed without too much noise, laughing and giggling like naughty schoolkids, fumbling into a drunken cuddle, snoring and waking up with heads like helter-skelters.

Now that was better, Mirren smiled. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, she reasoned. Better to share the same hobby.

Suddenly Christmas at Cragside was nothing to fear.

‘What’s got into Mirren?’ said Ben’s mother, Pam, eyeing her at the table with concern. ‘She’s up and down like a yo-yo, never still and that thin, and she was always such a bonny lass. Now she’s shrunk to nothing. Still, it can’t be easy for her with Jack on the bottle again. Florrie’s that worried. They stay out all hours. It’s the talk of Windebank how they’ve perked up. I hope Mirren will keep him on the straight and narrow. She always was a stickler before but lately…I’m not sure.’

It was as if Sylvia’s death hovered over them all like a dark cloud, never spoken of but always there, and those two were partying as if there was no tomorrow.

Mirren was hitting the bottle again, down the pub laughing and joking, pretending all was well, glassy-eyed, tanked up one minute and miserable the next. Ben knew the signs by now. It made him sick to watch her.

Lorna was avoiding him too, trying to play hard to get, but he didn’t have time for games. There were enough games going on here.

Nothing was ever addressed. Tom and Florrie didn’t want to upset Jack, and he was treading a fine line trying to hold himself together, but Mirren wasn’t helping at all, taking him down to the very place that had caused his first trouble. Ben didn’t understand her any more.

He caught her by the outbarn, loading hay, for the weather was set for snow.

‘What’s your game, setting Jack back on the booze?’ he yelled, not caring who heard him. ‘He was dry for months and now he’s as bad as ever. I’d have thought you had more sense. I’m that worried about you, Mirren. Drink’s not the answer.’

‘How would you know?’ she said, her eyes blazing hatred.

‘It doesn’t bring out the best in you. Cut it out for a while…sober up. Everyone’s beginning to notice.’

‘So what? It’s my life. I can live it how I please. I will take my medicine when I like, where I like. You can’t stop me.’

‘Medicine–is that how you see it? Poison, more like. It’s changed you from being my reliable friend into someone I can’t trust any more.’

‘Who says I need your friendship anyway? You stole what was mine for your girlfriend. I don’t trust you either,’ she said.

‘Don’t talk daft. When did I ever steal anything of yours?’

‘World’s End. I’ve seen what you’ve done with it…for her. Dieter told me. That place was mine first.’ She stared back defiantly at him, waiting for a response.

Ben took off his cap and roared with laughter. ‘You nincompoop! So that’s what you’ve been sulking about all these weeks. I knew there was something up.’

‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, Reuben Yewell. There’s nothing more to say if you’re going to take that attitude. I hate you!’ She stormed off, leaving him standing, calling her back.

‘But let me explain…’ he called into the wind.

‘I’m not listening. Kettle calling the pot black, that’s you!’ She raced off down the track.

The stupid woman thought World’s End was for Lorna, Ben smiled, and she was jealous. He could see it in her eyes, up a gumtree with fury. It was time to clear the air once and for all and show that harridan just how wrong she was. Then he wanted to see the shame on her cheeks when he showed them his gift.

‘It’s not a night to be gallivanting out,’ Florrie advised. The sky was leaden and full of snow feathers and ice. She looked up from her knitting. ‘Better to stay indoors and have a game of cards. It’s icy out there.’

Mirren breezed past her. ‘We’ll borrow the van, won’t be long. Jack’s been stuck in all day long, helping with paperwork. He deserves a treat. You wouldn’t begrudge us a bit of life now, would you?’ She knew how to get round Florrie.

‘You never used to like those places, Mirren,’ Florrie sniffed, not looking up. ‘Now you can’t keep away.’

‘There’s nothing to keep us here, is there?’ Sylvia was laid on the table as her trump card.

‘No, well, if you put it like that, but don’t be late. Tom’s got a bad chest. It’s your turn to do the milking.’

‘When have I ever let him down?’ she said, knowing full well she’d be pushed to rise by first light.

Jack was looking brighter, more his old self, more the man she married except in the bed department. They’d not managed to get it together very well yet. But she wasn’t exactly Hedy Lamarr in the glamour stakes to help it on.

Ben went about like a bear with a sore head. He’d offered to take them both up to World’s End to show them round but she refused politely and didn’t want to hear any more on that subject. World’s End was off limits until hostilities ceased. She didn’t want to see the pride in his place when he showed them his love nest.

It had been a dreadful morning at the local marketplace. Lorna had snubbed her in the street. Hilda Thursby, now a mother, was pushing her pram and ducked behind the stalls when she saw her coming.

Mirren knew people were pointing at her behind her back, saying that she was the wife whose hubby had run over his kiddy while drunk. She knew what they were thinking and she didn’t care. She and Jack had each other and a bottle for company. The rest could go hang!

It was a freezing night, sure enough, and a wind had got up. They rattled down the village in silence. There was something on Jack’s mind. He’d gone quiet and shut off.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Mirren said, hoping to chivvy up his mood, but he looked ahead and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Well, this is going to be a great night out if you’re in a strop!’

‘I was thinking perhaps we should go to the flicks tonight and not the pub. I’m getting fed up with the same old faces in Windebank.’ This was a surprise.

‘Then let’s go on to Scarperton; it’s only ten miles down the road. There’s enough petrol to take us there and back. I know a good place there. Fresh faces to meet.’ They drove down the narrow lanes and crossroads to the market town and parked up the van.

‘Fish and chips or a slap-up meal at the Rose and Crown,’ Jack offered. ‘Then we can go to the second house at the Plaza, like old times.’

‘Who needs a meal? Save your brass. Let’s get straight to the Golden Lion. They do crisps. There’s a good fire and a piano. I know the girl at the bar–Monica, she’s called–she’ll make us a sandwich.’

‘Mirren, we need to talk,’ he said in a quiet, serious voice. ‘This drinking’s got to stop. It needs cutting down. We can go to the Plaza or go dancing, if you like, make a proper night out for a change,’ he offered again.

‘What’s got into you?’ she snapped, not understanding this sudden change of mood. ‘It’s not like you to miss a pint. Don’t be a girl’s blouse.’

‘It’s not that, love. I just think we’d better slow it down a bit. Ben was saying—’

‘Oh, so Holy Joe has been telling tales, has he? Given you a warning. Take no notice of him, he’s in a mood since I won’t speak to him. Come on, I’m going in even if you’re not.’

Mirren left him on the pavement and headed for the pub door, certain that he’d soon follow her. She breezed in, greeted the gang assembled and waited for the door to open but it didn’t. It was too cold to be messing about so she went out to search for him. He was sitting in the van weeping, a grown man howling his head off.

‘What’s up with you now?’ she snapped, irritated. This was Jack going backwards again. ‘Come in and forget your misery. I want you to meet my friends.’

Jack shook his head. ‘No, love. I know all about it…’

‘About what?’ She was puzzled now. His face was a picture of misery.

‘What you’ve been up to with the bottles. I found your empties.’

‘What bottles might they be?’ She shivered but tried to look puzzled.

‘Your medicine bottles. I was searching for some slippers and went in your wardrobe and they fell out. There were dozens and dozens of empties,’ he croaked.

‘So?’

‘Mirren, there were whisky bottles everywhere, pounds and pounds worth of empties. What have you done to yourself?’ he sobbed.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She flushed at his discovery.

‘Oh, come off it, you’re drinking enough for two, worse than any man. I know you can’t help it. I know what it’s like. I used to see the army whisky swiggers, taking nips here and there. The officers were the worst. It’s strong spirit. This isn’t you, not the girl I married,’ he whispered.

‘And who beat me round the head, took me whether I wanted it or not and killed my babies?’ she screamed. ‘That’s not the guy I married either!’

‘It can’t go on, not like this. It’ll harm your insides. Women can’t take it like men.’

‘Want to bet? Come on, you’ve said your piece and I’ve listened but we’re wasting good drinking time. Don’t be a spoilsport.’

‘Dr Kaplinsky said I must fight my demons and drink made them worse, not better,’ he pleaded again, but she’d heard enough.

‘Dr Kaplinsky? I’m sick of his name. What does he know?’

‘I told you before, he knows about suffering. He lost all his family in the war. They were Jews. Let’s go home. I’m done in.’

‘Well, I’m not, not at all. If you won’t come in then I will jolly well go back and enjoy what’s left of my evening. You can go home and I’ll walk back.’

‘Don’t be daft. Like that time when Ben came to find you?’ He faced her angrily.

‘Oh, so he’s been telling tales, has he?’

‘He’s your cousin, he’s family, he loves you. It broke my heart to see those bottles hidden away. I want to keep you safe. You’re my girl…’

‘Don’t go all teetotal on me now, Jack. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Drink doesn’t suit you either. It’s not the answer. Together we can move away, put all this behind us, make something of ourselves, but not with a bottle between us. What would yer gran and Joe make of you going in pubs? They’d be horrified, and I’ve brought you down to this. I showed you the way. Please, Mirren, come home with me and we’ll make plans and find a way through together.’

‘Leave me alone! I’m fine. I need a break, not a sermon. I’ll get the last train home, I promise. You can meet me at the Halt. Go on then, on your way if you’re not coming in. I don’t want you hanging around. You can do the morning milking,’ she laughed, but the laugh was hollow as she waved him off. What on earth had got into Jack?

He’d turned coat and gone all strait-laced and prissy. He must be having one of his turns. Well, ‘Let him go, let him tarry, let him sink or let him swim’, as the song went. His loss. Where she needed to be now was not in a van with a lap full of fish and chips from newspaper but through the door where there was a roaring fire and a vat of whisky to drink dry or die in the attempt. That was better. It was true that the world looked better through the bottom of a glass.

The whole gang was there, Elsie, the wild Irish market trader, ripping up and down the keyboard singing old Irish ballads. There was Mr Fisher and his mates, arguing over whose round it was, and then there were builders’ boys, who’d start a fight before long and be chucked out into the chill air.

At closing time they all spilled out onto the street and someone knew a cellar where you could get stuff on the QT. Mirren’s breath steamed in the frost and she drank until her purse ran out. Elsie bought the cardigan off her back, the new one Pam had knitted for her for Christmas.

Cragside was lost in the mist. Jack was a faded argument. Here she could let rip and be herself, singing and cavorting. One by one they all peeled away until there was just her and Elsie, sitting on a bench, roaring out songs.

‘Shut that bloody racket up!’ shouted a voice from a window. ‘You’re waking my kids!’ Dogs were barking. The drunks rolled up the High Street laughing. Mirren didn’t feel the cold with a bottle in her bag and then she slid on the icy pavement and her bag flew off her arm and the glass broke, spilling precious liquid through the straw. She kicked the broken glass in frustration.

‘Pick it all up, young lady, or I’ll make you!’ said a gruff voice.

‘You and whose army?’ she heard herself say.

‘Pick up that mess yourself and get along home.’ There was a pair of black boots and navy trouser bottoms in her face. Mirren looked and sniggered, and then saw the blood on her hands and knew no more.

She woke with a banging headache in a lock-up cell with grey walls and tiles covered by a blanket. Her hand was bandaged tightly and she groaned. This was Scarperton police station.

‘Right, Mrs Sowerby, if you’ll just sign here to say these are the contents of your bag and purse, your watch…’

‘Why am I here?’ she croaked, her eyes bloodshot and her forehead throbbing.

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Not exactly. I was out with friends.’

‘We didn’t see anyone with you, young lady. You were insulting my police officer, and drunk and incapable. We are charging you with disorderly conduct. Is there anyone you’d like us to inform of your whereabouts?’

‘My husband, Jack…John Wilfred Sowerby of Cragside Farm. He can come and fetch me.’ The police inspector nodded and left the cell.

Oh shit! She sat in the bare cell, feeling foolish, hungry, hung over and in need of a stiff one to get her on her feet. If only Jack had come with her, none of this would have happened.

Ben had never seen Jack in such an agitated state when he brought the van back alone.

‘Where’s Mirren?’

‘You may well ask,’ came the answer. ‘Just come and look at this!’ Jack stormed up the stairs, two at a time and Ben followed behind. Curious. What on earth had got into him? Jack was peering into a sackful of bottles. ‘This is what it’s come to…hidden in her wardrobe. Go on, count them. She’s Paddy’s girl, right enough, and it’s all my fault!’

Ben peered into the pitiful pile of small whisky bottles and swallowed hard. Bloody hell!

He felt like an interloper in their bedroom, with Mirren’s clothes scattered over the chair, the overwhelming smell of perfume trying to mask the stench of stale whisky.

‘I don’t know what to do. The doc said to keep off the stuff and now she’s drowning in it. I left her in that pub in Scarperton. I were that mad…’

‘The Golden Lion?’ Ben said, not looking at Jack, not wanting to see the despair on his face. He ought to feel glad that Jack was getting his comeuppance but he felt sick with worry.

‘You knew about her little haunt, then? Why didn’t you say?’

‘It was not my place, as you’d soon have spelled out,’ Ben replied. ‘I didn’t fancy your fist in my jaw.’

‘Is that what you think? We all used to be mates. What’s happened to us? I come back drinking like a fish and kill my kiddy…Don’t look like that. It’s true. Now Mirren’s hitting the bottle and I’m sober as a judge. God forgive me, I shouldn’t’ve abandoned her. I’d better go back.’

‘No, I’ll go,’ Ben offered. It was a foul night and Jack was not fit to drive.

‘It’s not your problem. I’ll be fine.’ Jack raised his hand to fob him off. ‘Just a bit out of practice with all those sleeping pills. I’ll be all right.’

‘What’s going on?’ Florrie was out of her bedroom door, wearing iron pin hair curlers under a pink net. ‘You’ve been up and down them stairs like thunder…What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, Mam, go back to bed. We’ll explain in the morning. I’m just going to fetch Mirren from the station,’ Jack said.

‘At this time of night? Have you two had another quarrel?’

‘Nowt like that, go to bed,’ Jack snapped.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Ben ordered. His heart was thudding with fury at Mirren for keeping them up again. Would she never learn?

‘Well, I’m driving!’ Jack jumped back into the van. They backed out of the yard and down the drive and track towards Windebank. Ben sat in the car on the bench seat, waiting until the steam train puffed into sight on its way up to Carlisle.

Jack stood by the platform as the last stragglers left through the side gate, walking back, his shoulders hunched. ‘What’s she playing at?’

‘Missed the train again?’ Ben shrugged. ‘Hop in. I’ll drive.’

‘This is my shout and my wife. We’ll have to go and fetch her from that flaming pub. Hutch up…’

He was driving like a madman, taking corners too fast, lost in his fury.

‘Steady away, there’s ice on the road.’ Ben was nervous. Jack’s love of speed, racing round bends, wasn’t funny on a night like this. ‘Gently, Bentley, there’s a black patch in the shadow of the wall. This’s not Oulton Park! Calm down, she’ll still be in there.’

‘I hope so. She needs help. What a bloody mess. If only—’

‘Just concentrate on the road; you’re making me nervous. It’s a while since you’ve driven in these conditions. Let me take the wheel,’ Ben offered, but Jack was adamant.

‘What’ve I done to make her like this? No, don’t tell me!’ He turned to look at Ben for one second and suddenly the wheels went into a skid.

‘Jack! Reverse the wheel!’ Ben screamed, trying to grab the steering wheel. They ricocheted off the stone wall and spun into the air. It was like some slow waltz, shaking like marbles in a tin can, the sound of splintering glass. The van door opened of its own accord and Ben was flung onto the grass verge. The last thing he saw was the wheels spinning, the van upside down.

He woke with a crushing pain in his side. There was not a sound from the van but somewhere a dog barked in the night.

The policeman came back with a cup of strong tea sweetened too much.

‘Have you rung the post office at Windebank?

They’ll send a message to him. He’ll come for me.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ the officer muttered, looking at her sideways on. ‘I’ve contacted a Mr Reuben Yewell instead. He’ll be along shortly.’

‘But I want Jack, not Ben,’ she said, knowing it would mean more lectures and sermons from the mount. The whole of Windebank would know her business once Sergeant Bill Turnbull passed the glad tidings around, but it would appear in the Scarsdale Gazette anyway. She felt numb and silly now. If only she’d not broken that bottle. It was cold without Pam’s cardigan, and how would she explain its loss?

Why was everything taking so long? she thought, watching the hands of her watch creep slowly round. She tried to look contrite and smiled at the young man who brought her more awful tea but he looked at her as if she was an object of pity.

It was a relief when Ben stood in the doorway still in his farming gear, smelling of dung and hay. He could at least have changed his shirt.

‘At last! What took you so long?’ She stood up, trying to look dignified in her dirty skirt and tattered stockings. ‘You needn’t look at me like that! Where’s Jack? He said he’d wait for the last train.’

‘Oh, he did that all right, waited and waited, but you weren’t on it, were you? Then, being Jack, he made his way back to Scarperton just like I did to find you, but there was black ice on the road, Mirren, the sort you don’t see in the middle of the night. We skidded and crashed the van, did a spin and hit a wall full on.’

He paused, shaking his head, and she sank onto the bench, winded with shock.

‘Is he OK?’ she mouthed.

He shook his head again wearily. ‘Mirren, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but Jack is dead. He died at the wheel. It would have been quick, the ambulance man said.’

‘Is this some sort of joke?’ she snarled, looking at the bobbies standing in the doorway.

‘No, missus, sadly not,’ said one of them. ‘We were called out early this morning to an incident. The A65 is treacherous. Poor man never stood a chance. This one here was lucky he fell out of the van.’

Mirren sat in the back of the police car, silent, stony-faced, out of this world, with her brows furrowing, trying to shake off her hangover. Suddenly she felt so small and vulnerable and lost. This was all some dreadful nightmare; too much cheap hooch was giving her strange dreams. There was Ben, full of bruises, telling her some tale about Jack being dead, but it was little Sylvia who was dead.

Then she was in some cold tiled place where they were making her look under a blanket. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. It was as if it were all happening to somebody else and she was looking down from the ceiling. It looked like Jack fast asleep except for the dent in his head and the strange colour of his skin. She saw herself nodding but her tongue was stuck in her mouth.

It was just like Jack when he saw Sylvia, not a tear or a murmur of regret, just an eerie silence as if she’d retreated into another world. This couldn’t be true. In a minute she’d wake up and it’d all be all right. It was like the day Granny Simms had taken her in, the day her dad had not come home. How strange.

Dr Murray gave her something to make her sleep and they stood over her while she swallowed it, but it did no good and she jumped up, pacing the floor, searching the farm for her hidden bottles, searching to no avail.

‘You won’t find anything in the loft or the cellar.’ Ben had heard the noise and opened her bedroom door. He was no comfort at all. ‘I’ve gone on a recce and cleared them all out. You are going to sort this out once and for all. It can’t go on! Jack mustn’t die in vain. Pull yourself together for his sake!’

Mirren held up at the funeral, or they held her up as she walked behind the coffin, her eyes staring ahead, not wanting to look down. Tom and Florrie were in pieces but the Dale’s farmers, as usual, came out to honour their own and the strong singing of ‘Rock of Ages’ had everyone in tears except her. Chapel folk knew how to stand together in grief. She was no part of the proceedings. It was just meaningless words and empty condolences. She watched it all from a long way off.

Jack was buried with Sylvia in the parish churchyard, and they planted bunches of snowdrops around the grave.

The day held up, being almost spring. The days were pulling out but it felt that darkness would always cover Cragside from now on. Ben had never felt so alone. How he wanted to escape, but he had promised Gran to see things through and he was not letting her down again.

‘Where are you taking me?’ shouted Mirren as Ben, grim-faced, dragged her up the hill, up the familiar beaten track to World’s End.

‘I’m taking you home…to the house I did up for you and Jack to live together. I’m putting you inside and locking you in until you sober up enough to see sense. That’s what I’m doing!’

His words fell on deaf ears. She made to turn back, but he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of coal. He was taking no more nonsense from her.

‘No you don’t! You can climb out of the window, jump off the ridge, if you must, but you’ll be sober as a judge when you do it, right? This nonsense has got to stop!’

‘Put me down! You can’t do this to me! I’ve a farm to run…things to see to,’ she screamed, wondering why he was behaving like a caveman.

‘Who’re you fooling? You’ve not been running Cragside since Sylvia died, not for months. You’ve been in another world. You can do what you want up here but there’s no booze, I’ve checked, and no pub, no hiding place. The cupboard is stacked with food. You won’t starve if you ever start to eat again. I’ll check on you and Dieter will guard you. He knows the score. We’ll watch over you but this is where it stops, right?’

‘This’s barbaric. You can’t make me stay here!’ she yelled, feeling foolish on his back.

‘Oh yes I can. I’ll be behind that door night and day. You’re not coming down to Cragside until you clean up your act. Tom and Florrie have enough sorrows without watching you stumbling all over the show pretending you’re compos mentis and bringing them more grief. I’ve told them you need to be on your own for a while. This is your problem and you’ll sort it one way or the other.’ His voice was hard and angry.

‘You’re very hard all of a sudden. What gives you the right to be my gaoler?’ she continued, hoping to cajole him out of this stupidity.

He fixed his lips, hard and mean. ‘Promises I made a long time ago to people I respected and loved, and I don’t want Jack to have died in vain. You owe it him. We all let him down…’

‘But I keep telling you, I don’t have a problem. I can stop whenever I choose,’ she argued, but there was fear in her voice.

‘So you keep telling me, so prove it. Show me that Mirren Sowerby can take her punishment. Prove me wrong.’

‘Oh, go to hell!’

‘It’s you who’ll go to hell in there, but I’m your friend and always have been. I want the old Mirren back, not this…walking skeleton with crazy eyes. I don’t believe you any more. So go on, and get in, sort yourself out and prove me wrong.’

He threw her in the door and turned the key. She could stew in there for a few days and see how she managed. He wanted to teach her a lesson.

15

Mirren paced the flag floor of World’s End, bemused at Ben’s antics at first. Then she looked around in amazement. So this was what he had done for them both? She felt so ashamed.

The walls were plastered and limewashed, the old range was lit and its flue was cleared. The stone sink had piped cold water from the slate tank outside. The hearth was swept. There was a supply of split wood and kindling, old sleepers for logs and even a humiliating jerry pot and a supply of newspaper. He’d thought of everything.

Upstairs was a makeshift bedroom with a camp bed and blankets, a chest of sorts and washstand and mirror.

‘I’ll show him,’ she snorted, not quite believing that she was imprisoned. She didn’t need a nip but every time she said the word her throat and lips ached for the taste. Then she thought about Jack’s sacrifice and shivered, hot and cold, shaky and unnerved by the silence. She still couldn’t believe that he was gone.

Soon it would be growing dark and she felt afraid.

By nightfall she was achy and shivery and feeling sick. The joke had gone far enough. How dare he lock her up like a prisoner? Now she was going down with a chill and all she needed was a nip to warm her throat. All she could think of was a drop of something to calm her down.

Ben popped his head round the door later with a flask of hot soup. She tried to look in control.

‘Get that down you,’ he insisted, ‘before it gets cold.’

‘I’m fine.’ She waved away his offering. ‘I don’t want your bloody soup. It’s too warm. I want to go home. I promise I’ll never touch a drop again.’

‘Nice one, Mirren, but it won’t wash. I expect there’s a bottle I missed somewhere, in the outbarn?’ He searched her face and saw her mouth drop. ‘I thought so. I found the one in the milking parlour and the one hidden in the rafters of the nessy You’re in a bad way and need help.’

‘Ben, I can’t stay here. I’ll catch my death. It’s freezing,’ she pleaded.

‘I thought you were roasting a minute ago. You will stay upstairs and I will kip down here. This is the only way to stop you. Hasn’t there been enough grief this year? I want to get on with my own life and not have to nursemaid you.’

‘I’m not stopping you,’ she barked, hoping he’d go away.

‘Yes you are. I won’t leave until old Mirren’s back in charge and I see her in your eyes. There’s no easy way to dry out. Doc Murray says—’

‘So the whole world knows my business now?’ she yelled. ‘How dare you take over my life? Get the hell out of it!’ she screamed, pulling off her boot and throwing it down the stairs. He ducked and it missed his cheek.

‘I’m going nowhere and neither are you. This is your World’s End for a while. You’re going to have to sweat this out of your system and it won’t be pleasant. I’m being cruel to be kind,’ he pleaded as he left her alone with just the storm lantern for company.

For three nights she paced the floor, sweating, crying out with cramps and perspiration. ‘Let me out of here! You can’t do this, you sadist!’ There was no answer from him but she knew he was close by and Dieter took turns to guard the door. It was unbelievable what they were doing to her and her indignation fuelled her anger even more.

The bedroom was indeed her World’s End, her hands trembled and she twitched. She cursed and swore and lay on the bed crying as the agony of withdrawal curled her into a ball.

And all he brought her were foul-smelling teas made from dried leaves he’d bought from some quack. They smelled of carbolic and disinfectant all rolled into one, and tasted like piss.

Then came the terrible dreams that tore at her sleep. Sylvia and Dad were waving through half-open doors. When she ran to find them they were gone. Jack’s bruised body was rising up to wag a finger at her. She screamed out and Ben came rushing up to hold her through the nightmare. When she lay back exhausted he disappeared downstairs.

‘Hush,’ he cried. ‘You’re doing really well. It’ll pass. All this will pass.’

She screamed as the spiders crawled out of the corners of the room, creeping over her skin, and she tried to cover her body from them. ‘Let me out! Oh, Ben, have pity!’

She took the last of the powders he left and sipped it slowly with a grimace. This was not medicine, it was torture by mouth. He was poisoning her and then he’d hang and she’d be glad.

By the fifth day she slept in and woke to find the winter sun filtering through the makeshift blind. Outside looked bluer and brighter and greener, with snow still hanging back in the crevices. Her tongue felt smoother and for the first time she sensed a little hunger in her belly.

Mirren peered into the wall mirror, not recognising the reflection of sallow-faced harpie, with scraggy hair, sunken cheeks and broken veins on her nose. Who are you? She blinked as if to make the horror go away but it pulled faces at her. It was real. Then she remembered all that had happened: Sylvia, Jack, her public shame to come.

It was like looking down at another person, not Mirren Gilchrist or Mirren Sowerby but a stranger. She wanted to cry out at this image and fell on the bed sobbing, rocking back and forth, trying to piece together those lost months: Jack’s breakdown, the hospital visits, the Golden Lion, the police cell, funeral. How could she ever face the family again?

‘Ben, Ben, let me out, I’m starving!’ she cried. There was no one there but she noticed the door was ajar and she climbed down the ladder and went in search of food and fresh air.

Downstairs the fire was lit and crackling, and she recalled that very first visit here as a child, a little girl lost in the snow, saved by this ruin. Now it had done it again, saved her sanity, made her clean, rinsed the mud out of her mind. She was cured. No more whisky ever again.

How long had it taken? Days or weeks. Time had no meaning here but she felt clean inside, fresher. Ben would be pleased. She would look Tom and Florrie in the eye and apologise. It was as if for the first time in months she could see things differently and feel her own thoughts.

How could she have been so daft? How could she bear to think about poor Jack? He would have understood her torture. He had tried to warn her but it was too late to make it up to him now. The pain of it made her wince.

She must thank Ben for being her big brother again. It couldn’t have been easy, and how she’d misjudged him and all the effort he had put into her house. She’d called him every name under the sun, cursed him for imprisoning her here, but he knew World’s End was her friend. It had held her and protected her, but she was better now and must get back to the real life down at Cragside, pull her weight as never before.

For the first time in months she tasted the salty bacon she’d cooked and relished the smell with fried bread and fresh eggs. It was a welcome feast. She boiled the kettle until she had a zinc tub full enough to make a bath, stripping herself down for a decent wash, soaking her hair and combing it, rubbing it dry so it smelled of soap and smoke. Mirren felt clean all over, tingling with the chill but alive.

From the window stretched the panoramic view across the valley. She could see for miles and wanted to run outside to embrace the whole hillside. The door was still locked. Ben had not trusted her enough to set her free just yet.

We’ll see about that, she smiled to herself, opening the window shutters wider to squeeze her narrow body through to freedom. Just the knowledge that she could was enough. It was good to sit by the fire and listen to her racing thoughts. Where had she been all these months? The answer was plain enough to guess.

Her drinking had taken her to a faraway place, a wild shameful place, a place her father knew well, but she was not Dad and had broken the spell. She would never touch whisky again. It didn’t suit her constitution. It had made her mental, like Jack. Now she could face Cragside and face the fury there. She had paid her due, done her sentence. Everyone must realise she’d never let them down again.

How thoughtful they were in letting her come up here to rest. It was basic but her woman’s eye roamed over it. It would suit her well but it needed some pegged rugs and mats, some decent curtains, draught excluders, proper bedding and towels, cushions and a proper chair by the fireside. Given a little attention it could be cosy. Men never saw those details that softened the edges of a room-lace, fabric, pictures, ornaments. It could be her home with all her treasures, her carved box that belonged to her ancestor, the first Miriam Yewell.

When Ben bothered to return he’d get a surprise to see her cooking, clearing up, whistling tunes. She must thank him properly for setting her back on the straight and narrow. Now it was up to her to mend all the broken bridges and fences she’d crashed into on the way.

First she would invite Ben and Lorna for tea, and make cakes and pastries and try to heal the rift there. She’d go to chapel with Florrie and help with the Brownies and get herself out on the farm, keep herself busy so there was no temptation to pop into The Fleece for a quick nip.

No one would ever say that Mirren was not a reformed character. She’d seen the error of her ways. Now she knew better, thanks to Ben, the rest would be easy.

In the weeks that followed, Ben watched her progress with anxiety at first and then pride and not a little relief that his cure had worked so well. Mirren had done ‘cold turkey’ and come out the other side, and now she was more like her old self, or almost. She was cheerful and chipper, hardworking, full of ideas and plans.

He could see that World’s End had worked its magic once more but it was one thing being dry in the safety of this moorland retreat. At some time she must face the stresses and strains of the real world; the reality of her now being a widow with little income, the memories of this last year, the strictures of rationing and depression.

They were all aware that it would soon be the anniversary of Sylvia’s death and Mirren must get through that day; a day forever celebrated as VE Day, not a day of mourning and regrets.

He must stick close by her and help her through the worst, and make sure there were no whisky bottles to hand. There was still a bit of him unsure enough to go round checking if he had missed any hidy-holes. One sip and she’d be off again. Doc Murray had explained that there was only so much he could do and that the choice to stay sober was always Mirren’s alone, but surely if he kept her safe…He couldn’t bear to think of her starting up again.

So far so good. She was sober and going about her farm business with gusto, doing extra shifts to make up for past misdemeanours. The women were heavily into spring cleaning, beating rugs, washing anything that wasn’t tied down, turning Cragside upside down. Turning from winter into spring was a serious business and there was no let-up as Florrie, Daisy and Mirren scrubbed, cleared out, beat, hung out, aired and generally got in everyone’s way. There was no place to sit down and then they started on the dairy and shippon and outside paintwork. Dieter had never seen such a palaver.

There was tension in the air between Florrie and Mirren, an undercurrent of blame and bitterness not easily healed by spring cleaning. Mirren decided to live alone up at World’s End for a while until she felt stronger. Ben was glad that the two women were apart. She busied herself tearing up old clothes to make yet another rag rug.

If her eyes were a little too bright and her determination a little too brash, Ben felt it was just Mirren’s way of getting back to her bolshie old self.

She was brave in facing the embarrassment of her caution at the police station when the inspector tore her off a strip for her unreasonable behaviour. They decided to take into account the tragedy of her past year in mitigation for her conduct. She took it all on the chin, unflinching, and he was proud of her.

It was the first time she had left the farm for weeks. Her trips to market were supervised but she didn’t seem interested in socialising.

The anniversary hung over them like a black cloud. How would she get through that day? Then Uncle Tom had a brilliant idea.

‘Let’s give ourselves a day out,’ he suggested. ‘A proper day out on the train to the seaside or the Lakes–you lot choose. No use hanging around feeling morbid. It don’t change any of it but it’ll happen pass the time with a change of sky.’

They were all sitting down to Sunday dinner and it was good to see Mirren’s cheeks filling out, the dark circles under her eyes barely shadows now.

‘What do you think, Mother? Sea or lakes?’ Tom smiled at Florrie.

‘Oh, the sea–Morecambe or Blackpool or Southport. They have some nice shops there. I fancy a bit of Lord Street. A bit of sea air will do us all good, but it’s lambing time, Tom,’ Florrie said, knowing it was the busiest time of year.

‘We’ll see. I might have to stay back with Dieter. You do the first milking and we’ll manage the rest, but you three must make a day of it. We can’t take Sylvia or Jack but you’ll be taking them in yer hearts for all of us.’ Tom was not one for making speeches but he’d certainly come up with a solution for 8 May.

‘Are you going to bring that lass of yours, Ben?’ asked Florrie. ‘It’s about time you and her made it official.’

Ben found his cheeks flushing. ‘Lorna’s given me over for Harry Batty from Holly Bank. I think she got a bit fed up the way things were.’ He didn’t want to cite Mirren as the cause of their recent bust-up. He’d spent so much time keeping an eye on her that he’d stood Lorna up one time too many.

‘I’m sick of kicking my feet, waiting for you to show up on time. This time you’re free to chase the black widow, but you’d better watch your step, her with those big blue eyes. She’s a wild one. She’ll run you ragged, chew you up and spit you out. Don’t make an ass of yourself mooning over her!’

There was nothing much to say after that outburst, for every word of it was true. He had no eyes for Lorna Dinsdale or anyone else as long as Mirren was in this world, sober or drunk. She was all he had ever wanted, but now was not the right time to share his hopes and heart with her. Every day must be a struggle for her.

Tom’s little speech was the first time anyone had dared mention Sylvia’s name for months; a rare treat in a house that had no reminders of her on show, no snapshots, no toys, nothing to prove she had ever existed.

Tom wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to be doing. It was all beyond him. Florrie hinted it was the only way to see Mirren through the next few weeks and stop her from going ‘funny’ again.

In the end it was Southport that got their vote. There was almost a direct line by train that they picked up at Hellifield.

Lambing was too far on for Tom to risk coming, and Ben offered to stay back but Tom insisted he escorted the women. His instinct was to go along and chivvy Auntie Florrie into having a break. The two women together might be a strain on both of them. Florrie didn’t get out much, and Jack’s death had aged her by decades. Her bitterness towards Mirren was tempered by the fact that Jack had caused them problems and worries and she knew he had not been the best of husbands but he had died with honour. Now it was Mirren’s turn to show she was strong.

They stopped at Windebank on the way to the station halt just to lay daffodils at the graveside. Mirren kneeled while Florrie wept. They walked away silent and separate, lost in their own thoughts and grief.

The train drew into Southport station and they waded through traffic on Lord Street to head for the beach. The sands seemed to go on for miles and the sea was not to be seen. There was still evidence of coastal defences and everywhere was shuttered and grim, but some of the big hotels were getting a fresh lick of paint. It was all a bit depressing with no bustle of holidaymakers, just a few elderly gentlemen out for their constitutional. There were flags flying, reminding them of the day.

The pull of the shops was too much for the women and they sauntered back towards the main street and its parades of classy shops. Not Ben’s cup of tea at all but he had agreed to come and he was doing his duty.

To passers-by they must have looked like any young couple up from the country with one mother-in-law in tow. If only the truth were so simple, Ben sighed.

Mirren looked frozen and sullen, not enjoying herself much. Her eyes were glazed as if she was miles from the bustle of the shopping arcades.

‘Why don’t I leave you to go round the shops?’ he suggested, knowing Florrie would like to browse. He would go in search of some rock and novelties for the farm lads. How would he explain seaside rock to Dieter; pink candy-striped sticks with writing all through?

‘We’ll meet up by the Scarisbrick Hotel and find a table for our dinner. We deserve a treat,’ he smiled, looking up at the red-brick hotel. ‘Then we can just meander until it’s time for the train back.’

It was like flogging a dead horse. Mirren nodded glumly and turned away. He couldn’t reach her and she was merely going through the motions.

‘We shouldn’t have come,’ she whispered. ‘I should have stayed with Tom. I can’t forget. It’s no good. Let’s get the train home now,’ she pleaded.

‘But we’ve only just arrived,’ snapped Florrie, suddenly catching on. ‘I’ve a few things to buy while I’m here. It’s a shame to waste a good day out.’

‘You and Ben go off shopping then, and I’ll sit here by the war memorial on the bench. I’m feeling tired,’ Mirren replied in a sharp voice.

Oh no you won’t, thought Ben. We’ll all go together or not at all. He didn’t trust that look in her eyes. ‘Let’s walk back down the Esplanade,’ he offered.

‘Not with my corns,’ protested Florrie. ‘You two go off and I’ll take a trip round myself. I wish you’d make your minds up!’ She was sensing the tension mounting. ‘We’ll meet up outside the hotel,’ she added, trying to be cheerful.

Ben marched Mirren back towards the sea and sand, hoping the breeze and fresh air would lift her mood. Perhaps it would have been better to have stayed in Cragside after all, but this outing was only for one day.

They walked side by side in silence. Mirren was building a wall around herself with no door he could bash open. It was not the time to push her but he couldn’t help himself. He was worried now, but she spoke first.

‘When are you going to leave Cragside?’ she said out of the blue.

‘Who said anything about me leaving?’ he replied, taken aback.

‘I’m fine now. You’ve done your duty. It’s time you were looking after yourself. If Lorna’s dumped you, all the more reason to hit the trail,’ she snapped. ‘I thought you wanted to do some training.’

‘I do but…’ How could she be dismissing him out of her life?

‘No one’s stopping you, Ben,’ she sighed.

‘You are, if you must know. I just want to be around a bit longer,’ he said, not looking at her as they walked.

‘You want to be my gaoler in case I’ve sneaked a bottle or two upstairs? Well, I haven’t, not yet, but if you hang around for much longer, I will, hovering over me like a mother hen. You did your job well at World’s End. We can manage without you at Cragside now we’ve got three POWs. Trust me, I’m a big girl, I’ve learned my lesson and I can look after myself.’

‘I do trust you, but not in this mood. It’s still early days. Doc Murray says—’

‘If Doc Murray wants to give me advice let him visit me himself instead of sending you as his messenger boy and his mouthpiece. I just want to be on my own. Can’t you read my lips? Leave me be!’

‘I care about you, Mirren, I always have. We look out for each other and I want to see you on the road to—’

‘Oh, grow up, Ben. There is no yellow brick road to wonderland when you’ve lost your whole world, when every time you shut your eyes you see your child lying there. I don’t want you around, reminding me of it all. Jack’s gone and it’s my fault. That’s another thing I have to live with. Why don’t you bugger off out of my life?’ Her eyes pierced him like icy daggers. ‘Do I have to spell it out? I don’t want you here!’

‘You don’t mean that. I lost Sylvie too. She was like my own daughter and many was the day I pretended she was. I loved her as my own. Don’t shut me out. I loved you both…’ His voice was raised in desperation. How could this be happening?

‘Don’t talk so soft. You get on my nerves. You should’ve married Lorna and been happy, not hanging round the farm being my gaoler. Go away and let me get on with my own life!’ she shouted, pushing him away.

‘Don’t say that!’ He shoved her back, unable to help himself.

‘Is that lad bothering you?’ said the man in a couple, hearing the argument as their voices rose.

‘Yes, he is,’ Mirren snapped, and stormed off, leaving Ben flushed, furious and lost for words. What had he done to deserve all that?

She hadn’t meant to say all those things to Ben. They were unfair and cruel, but he was getting on her nerves. Mirren stormed back towards the station, not wanting to spend another moment in the town. It wasn’t Southport’s fault. It was just the trip was a mistake and she could smell the beer coming out of the pub doors and alleys.

She wanted to get as far away as she could from shoppers and fish-and-chip stalls and hotels and cheerful people, back to the hills where she belonged and the silence of World’s End.

How did they think she could ever survive the anniversary in a strange place? There would be a train going east to Preston and from there she’d get on the first one that went towards Leeds if there was one, and blow the consequences. Florrie and Ben could have their treat in the Scarisbrick Hotel. What she needed was to be left alone.

All that hard work on the farm, the extra shifts and humble pie she’d eaten were taking their toll. If only she had the comfort of her nips. She knew that was dangerous but she needed something stronger than stewed tea to tide her along on the journey home. Not a nip, of course, but perhaps a glass of wine as a tonic. Just the one, though; she was not going down that road again…

Mirren sat in the buffet savouring the sweet taste of tonic wine. It was full of herbs and goodness and it slipped down easy, as did the next one and the next. It was only like pop, though. Three would have to be enough as she climbed on board the train with a smile on her face. What a relief to be heading back home. What a blessed relief to be away from their well-meant fussing.

She sat in the empty carriage watching the fields rush past. ‘Peter dum dick, peter dum dick,’ clacked the wheels over the rails, and she nodded off.

She woke when a guard shook her awake. ‘Ticket, please?’ he asked, and she rummaged in her bag for her return.

‘Where am I?’

‘You should’ve got off at Hellifield, love. You’ll have to pay extra and next stop’s Scarperton Junction. Better wait there for the up train.’

She staggered off the train, feeling silly and not a little fuzzy. The tonic wine must’ve been stronger than she thought. How stupid to have slept through her change. Then she stood and recognised just where she was: the other end of Scarperton, not far from Chapelside Cuttings. How strange to be only a few yards from where she was born. It was years since she’d been here.

Now she was hungry and feeling shaken. The wine had taken its toll. She’d have to wait for another connection, for a train going north from Leeds. It was like one of those eerie dreams when she couldn’t find the way home and it was still 8 May. Oh hell!

Florrie would be furious that she’d sent Ben packing, let them down with breaking her pledge–but it was only tonic wine and only three glasses…In for a penny, in for a pound, perhaps some more would make no difference. She couldn’t face them after this so she might as well make the most of the evening.

It was as if her feet knew the old paths by heart–through the side streets, on the cobblestones, past rows of terraces with corner shops, the sooty taste of chimney smoke up her nostrils, the smell of the cotton mills and the clack of clogs on the pavements, neat doorsteps with whitened donkey-stoned steps and flags flying across the streets to celebrate the day.

In a daze of confusion and nostalgia she found her way back to the Cuttings and the line of carriages that had been her first home. The little allotments were still there but there was no sign of life at number five.

Granny Simms would’ve long gone. The faces peering at her through net valances were the faces of strangers, not neighbours, unfamiliar in turban headscarves. She was a country lady now, not a townie, in her summer frock and short jacket and sandals.

The child had come home one more time, she smiled, standing by the railway line, sniffing the soot and seeing weeds sprouting by the tracks.

There was Dad, picking docks to boil with nettles and oats, thickened with onions to make his special dock pudding when funds were tight. It tasted all green and slimy in her mouth but she swallowed it so as not to hurt his feelings. Why had she remembered that?

Mirren wandered past St Mary’s school where she’d sat obelliently on the bench, looking up at the blackboard. It was still there, only smaller and shabbier than when she attended.

Then she saw the long low roof of the Green Man. It looked now to her adult eyes like an old farmhouse converted into a public house, tucked away in what once must have been fields. How many times had she waited on that bench for Dad to come out with her heart in her mouth, waiting, waiting. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, tears for that little girl who waited for the man who never came, and she wept for the little girl who she’d never see again, who would never be eight or twenty or have children of her own.

In her throat rose up that familiar acid of bitterness for those lost years and all the broken dreams. Well, Mirren Sowerby, she decided, you’re a big girl now; it’s about time you saw for yourself what the inside of Dad’s hiding place is like. What is so special about it that Dad preferred it to me?

Without a moment’s hesitation she walked inside and shut the door.

16

Ben brought Florrie back to Cragside after their silent lunch. The pork was tough and stuck in his gullet. She was tired and tearful, and there was no point hanging about after Mirren’s desertion. Over lunch he had tried to cover for her but Florrie was not fooled.

‘It were a mistake to shift her. She’s a stubborn mare, is that one, but she’ll come round given time. I hope she’s not done something silly. It’s about time you looked to yourself, young man…’

Ben smiled at her concern. ‘That’s just what Mirren said. Time for me to move on then?’

‘Mirren talks through her behind sometimes but a change of sky might do you good. No good hankering after what’s never going to happen, lad.’

He could see she meant well but it was not what he wanted to hear.

‘Is it that obvious?’ Ben blushed and spluttered on his crackling.

‘From the day you came with Pam and Wesley, all those years ago, to help out at the eclipse. She’s allus been the one for you, cousin or not. You Yewell men are all the same, thank goodness, but lazy when it comes to doing something about it. Look at Tom. It took him years to pluck up courage to ask me to walk out with him,’ she laughed. ‘I know when Wilf went west I thought the world had come to an end, and then up pops Tom and I’ve been twice blessed. Pity that Jack and her were never suited. We all knew that, but folk have to go their own gait, as they say.

‘There’s some lovely young lass out there waiting for you so don’t waste your time on what’s not for you. Mirren’s that twisted up inside, she’s not to be trusted. Don’t think we didn’t know what was going on…It’s in the blood. Ellie was a fool to follow Paddy Gilchrist. He was always a devil for his drink, so Tom says. Mirren’s the same but no one can do owt about it…It’s her show, not yours, so leave her be, Ben. You’re putting good money after bad there.’

‘But I tried.’

‘You did your best but it’s not enough with them as can’t take it. Jack was finding his way through his problems with help. Going back to her undid it all. She’ll have to do the same. I’m trying not to be bitter but it’s hard. They were two of a kind and that didn’t bring out the best in either of them. Then with the war and Sylvia…It’s in the Good Lord’s hands now, not yours…I’ll be praying she finds salvation one of these days. I wish we were rid of her but she’s family. There, I’ve said my piece.’

Ben was stunned at this outburst.

They sat in silence in the carriage on the way home. Then, as they neared Hellifield, Florrie whispered again, ‘Mirren’s said one good thing, though. It’s time for pastures new for you. She’s letting you off the hook by her way of it. We’ll manage. You’ve been like a son to us and seen us through the worst. We’ll be sorry to see you go but you’ve only got the one life, Ben. Look to it and to yourself for a change. No one will think the worst of you for that.’

Ben listened with a heavy heart to yet another dismissal. Perhaps it was time to leave Cragside after all, leave all that he loved about the place, leave the stock and the hills and find other experiences, see a bit of the world outside this dale. His heart was heavy at the thought of going. Why did it feel like exile and banishment?

The inside of the Green Man was little more than a smoky hovel with sawdust on the floor, a thin fire of sorts, and old men sitting around staring at her as if she was a creature from another planet, in her cotton frock and tweed jacket, not the usual mill girl in clogs with curlers wrapped in a headscarf.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, to the fug of smoke and fumes and rough coughs from old men hugging the fire. The barman stood and stared.

‘Looking for someone, are you?’ he said.

‘Now you come to mention it, yes, I’m looking for my dad. I just wanted to see what the attraction was in here,’ she replied as they all stared.

‘Yer not from here, are you?’ said one old man.

‘Oh, but I am, number five Chapelside Cuttings…Gilchrist, Paddy Gilchrist’s daughter–you know, the one that got killed on the line a good few years back.’ She saw their faces change.

‘Oh, aye, Paddy,’ said one old man. ‘Scotch navvy on the railway. Sad do was that.’ She was the object of interest now.

‘Poor man missed his footing, they said,’ said another.

‘I heard that he lay on the line…’

‘Shut up, not in front of the lady. So where’s you living now?’ said the barman with the moustache and come-hither eyes, beckoning her to the bar. ‘On the house.’

‘Up the dale on a farm, my mother’s side–and make it a double whisky,’ she added. ‘And no water.’

‘So what brings you to this armpit of the world?’ someone joked.

‘Just passing through.’

‘Nothing passes through this pub but piss and wind, pardon my French, or passes out on all fours or I’ve not done my business. Another?’

‘I know all about that, and thanks,’ she said, swallowing it down quickly.

For the price of a pint they all had a tale to tell about roaring Paddy, the Scottish soldier who could spin a yarn. She didn’t recognise her dad in any of their tall tales but she let them talk on while she supped.

Someone jangled the ivories and she forgot she was a lady and told some of the filthy jokes she’d heard in the Golden Lion, to their obvious enjoyment.

Suddenly in the fug she saw him there in the shadows, laughing and joking, emptying his pockets of all his wages, lingering over the last drop, forgetting her outside, and she felt her fury rise up.

‘Don’t you lot have homes to go to? Children to put to bed and wives to talk to? What a waste of hard-earned brass, just going down your throats.’

Why had he left her alone? What was wrong with her that he preferred their company to hers?

‘Now, none of that, young lady. You’ve had a skinful yourself and you can’t hold it like we can. I hate seeing women drunk; they make such fools of themselves. There’s the door. I reckon this lass’s Paddy’s girl, after all, whoever he was,’ sneered the barman, and she could have hit him.

‘Chip off the old block!’ said another.

‘No, I’m not,’ she said, trying to get up with dignity.

‘Just look at the state of her. Next stop she’ll be out in the alley for a pee and a puke, by the looks of her. Shame on you, lass. Don’t come in here tellin’ us what’s what!’ The old men were ganging up against her now.

Mirren staggered into the street and the cold hit her. She made for the nearest lamppost and leaned on it to steady herself. She was about to turn when a middle-aged man in a grey mac and trilby came up to her.

‘How much?’

‘How much for what?’ she replied.

‘How much for the business? Just up the wall, nothing fancy, a hand job’ll do…’

She still hadn’t cottoned on. Then it clicked and she saw Woodbine Winnie, with her back to the wall and her drawers round her ankles while some man humped her up and down; the other girls pacing the pavements, looking for trade while she sat outside this wretched place.

‘I’ve got nothing for sale,’ she snapped.

‘What, a looker like you, all dolled up and asking for it? How much?’

‘Bugger off or I’ll call the police. What do you take me for?’

‘A drunken tart who’s down to her last sixpence and needs a punter, or aren’t I good enough for you?’ he shouted.

‘Just leave me alone,’ she shouted, trying not to shake at the enormity of his words. Had it come to this?

She stumbled down familiar streets, feeling dizzy and sick, and then she threw up over the pavement and gasped at the danger she was finding herself in.

So it had come to this: back in the gutter where she belonged, skint, gasping for another drink, cold and out of her head with whisky. She was no different from her dad after all, just another loser, another lost cause. What was the point?

All those broken promises: everything she touched she destroyed. All her promises to be sober had turned to farce. What was there to be sober for? There was nothing worth living for.

Jack had tried to help and died in the attempt. Ben had tried to protect her from herself and she’d sent him packing. She was nothing but a useless bit of cow muck with no willpower and no pride left. One difficult day and it was back to square one. What was the point of going on?

It was still 8 May, the date forever branded into her brain. Victory in Europe. Where was her victory?

She found herself walking towards the railway station along the side of the track, a familiar path she knew since childhood. How many times had she guided her drunken father carefully over the rails, the short cut across towards their carriage home? The one night she hadn’t bothered he’d been killed. There was another life she’d destroyed but it was not going to happen again.

Like father, like daughter, better just to follow in his footsteps and get it over with, no more messing up, letting people down. She just wanted to go to sleep and put an end to the misery. No point in troubling anyone ever again. There was nothing to live for, not now, and no one cared if she lived or died. Better to call it quits and let them off the hook.

Mirren lay across the track–at least it would be quick–but the iron rails dug into her back and she shifted into a ball between the rails. Nothing came.

Perhaps it was just a shunting line. Perhaps it was easier to keep walking and be hit in the guts by one of those big black steaming monsters that scared her as a child. It wouldn’t see her coming but she would hear it in the distance.

Her head was spinning and she was sobering up in the chill air. Her courage was failing.

‘Oh, for God’s sake come quickly,’ she yelled into the darkness but nothing came. Now she was shivering and sobering fast. It had to come soon…

‘Don’t be a numpty, Mirren. Away to yer scratcher!’ A long-forgotten voice pierced her head. ‘Away home to yer bed, the now!’ There it was again.

‘Dad?’ she called out, seeing him walking along the line swinging a lantern into her face. ‘Away home. This is no place for yer, mo ghoil!’

‘Dad? I’m here!’ she shouted, running towards him.

‘Who’s that on my line? Get off, you bloody fool. Don’t you know there’s a train coming?’

The guardsman swung the lantern into her face. ‘What on earth are you doing here, miss? You’re trespassing. Get off at once!’

‘I was just taking a short cut,’ she heard herself say.

‘Like hell you were…I know what you were up to: taking a short cut to hell, more like. Just get off this line at once and don’t come back! It’s me as has to scrape you off the track and I’ve done a fair too many of late to want any more messy jobs. Don’t you have a home to go to? This is the end of the world for you, the end of the line, if you step back on.’

Meekly she hurried back to the embankment and scrambled up, shaking at what she had just been about to do, and sat down trembling. He was right. This was the end of her world. So easy to give up. No more worries. How could she even think of it?

Not now, when she was sure she’d heard Dad calling her like he did when she was lost in the snow on the night she found World’s End. She had seen it sparkling in the snow, her refuge and comfort through so many sorrows. There was another end of the world after all, she remembered. Her heart was thudding with confusion.

How could she go back and face World’s End, knowing what she had tried to do? Whose was the voice she had heard? Had her father come to rescue her? She’d gone in search of him and he had found her. Her dad had stopped her in his tracks. Why? Who would rescue a girl like her? How could he think her worthy of saving after all she’d done? But he had!

She sat on the chilly grass and sobbed and sobbed. The dam had burst and the floodgates opened at long last. She wept for Sylvie and howled for Jack’s needless accident and the fact that she’d never said goodbye. He tried to do his best. She wept for the woman she’d become and the shame she’d brought on her family. What a mess, what a sorry mess she’d made of everything.

‘I am weak and I have no more strength left.’ In a flash she knew she had sunk so low and come to the end of the line. ‘Dad,’ she cried out into the darkness. ‘I can’t stay sober on my own. I need help. Oh God, Dad, please help me. I can’t go back to World’s End like this. Where can I go?’

There was silence and then the clanking of iron wheels on rails in the distance. The world was going on just the same. No matter what tragedy she’d suffered it would go on turning.

She stood up, sobered, her head rinsed clear by tears, and began to walk slowly back towards Scarperton. Everywhere was shuttered and silent. Turning away from the station a name, a place came into her head and it was not far from here. It was worth a try. This time she hoped the gates of the asylum would open and shut her in.

The telegram from Mirren was brief.

‘DO NOT SEND SEARCH PARTY. I WILL CONTACT SOON. GOOD LUCK BEN. MIRREN.’

‘Now what are we to make of this? Another of her little tricks?’ sniffed Florrie.

‘She’s a funny one but at least we know she’s safe and in one piece. You hear such tales these days. I never slept a wink last night, wondering where she was, but she’s let us know even if it’s not good news.’

Ben was packing his things up, relieved that Mirren was safe. She’d gone on the razzle and sobered up enough to keep them in touch. She was too ashamed to come home until she had got her act together so she could fool them all again. This would be the pattern for years to come and he’d never be able to trust her not to have slipups. It was all hopeless and beyond him. Better to get out now.

He couldn’t go on mollycoddling her. It was time to let go of his dream of ever having her to himself. Florrie was right: she was a hopeless cause. Time for a change of sky.

There was an agricultural college near York that was advertising courses for practical supporters and an emergency teaching diploma. It would do him good to have a look at other aspects of farming–arable and animal husbandry. Teaching was in his blood, after all. He might try another farm or go abroad.

He would like to learn more about proper crop growing after all the blunders they had made trying to grow oats in this high altitude. Perhaps he could take in some estate management. The possibilities were legion, but his heart would always be in limestone scree and pastures, here in the Dales.

There was no point hanging about. Tom gave him a bonus and some extra. He was letting them down but there would be men demobbed soon and back in the fields. He said his farewells and made for the station. No use hankering over what would never be. Time to move on. He was not wanted here.

17

They were sitting on the grass in the shade of one of the big ash trees. The asylum garden was well tended and it was a beautiful June afternoon so the group were meeting outside.

‘My name is Mirren, Miriam Sowerby, and I am an alcoholic.’ There, it was said, and it was as hard as giving birth to admit those words to herself and to a circle of patients in the very place she’d visited Jack not that long ago.

Dr Kaplinsky was sitting at the back, silent, watching her first confession.

‘I was teetotal until my daughter, Sylvia, died in an accident. My husband was a drinker, as was my father, but I thought I would never take to strong drink, especially whisky. But I did and it became my only source of comfort. I know now I can’t take anything with alcohol in it. One drink leads to another. I’ve not had a drink since May the eighth, the first anniversary of Sylvia’s death. With God’s help I will try to go through this day without a drink.

‘To feed my habit, I stole things that weren’t mine, I betrayed a loving friendship. I let my family down but most of all I let myself believe it was everyone’s fault but mine for letting my child die in such a way. I blamed my husband and my cousin. There is no justice in life’s events and life’s not always fair or in my control. I see that now. Others have suffered like me one way or another but I must only talk about what I know.

‘I thought I was alone and abandoned, and I lay down on the railway track, wanting to die like Anna Karenina in the book, but I couldn’t do it. Don’t ask me why. I heard my dad’s voice calling me to get up and telling me off, and a man came out of nowhere and shooed me away so perhaps I was not meant to go in that fashion…I don’t know. Perhaps I didn’t end my life because I was too scared. I heard a train and I wanted to live. That’s all I know. Then I decided to come here and ask for help. Sounds simple but it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I hated this place when I visited Jack here but I know I can’t stay sober on my own.’

Everyone clapped.

‘You chose life, Mirren,’ said the man sitting next to her. ‘You chose life over death. Every day you say no to a drink, you choose life.’

‘Do you think so? How can I ever stay sober?’ she asked.

‘By doing what you’ve just done: acknowledging your weakness and asking for help from others, from a higher power than just your willpower. That way you’re never alone, never abandoned, and if it gets too much try to keep busy with other things. You can do it but it won’t be easy. One day at a time is all we can ask of ourselves,’ he said, and the others nodded.

A woman smiled and added, ‘There’ll always be temptation but put it in the corner of the room, not centre stage. Keep busy and you’ll find ways to be the master, not its slave. You can do it!’

Dr Kaplinsky edged forward. ‘Have you thought that May the eighth is a good date to remember? It will always be Victory in Europe and, of course, a sad day of loss for ever. But it is also for you, Miriam. Victory over alcohol, the day when you discovered your true self and began the battle you’ll have to fight for the rest of your life. Every time you choose to be sober, you win another victory. Sylvia and Jack will be proud.’

Mirren stayed in the hospital for six weeks, using her savings to pay for her stay. They had given her the latest electric pad treatment, shocked her brain, giving her such a headache and fuzzy feeling. Her mouth tasted of rubber but it was the talking with other patients that helped her most, knowing they were all fighting the same battle to stay sober that she was.

There was nobody to rely on now but herself and the support of her new friends. Dr Kaplinsky and the nurse slowly taught her to respect her own strengths, to grieve over what had gone and to let it go, to plan ways to feel good again.

Somewhere in all their discussions she had discovered some way to forgive herself for being weak, to forgive Jack and Paddy too for being human like herself–no better, no worse. It would take a lifetime to fathom it all out.

How she longed for World’s End, for the peace and solitude it would give her.

In the high summer of 1946 when she returned to Cragside and got stuck into haymaking she was sad to see Ben had taken her advice and left. There was so much she wanted to tell him and share.

Tom was struggling and she stayed on at Cragside and tried to make her peace with Florrie, but it was not easy. Too much had happened. It was better just to help with the influx of summer visitors to the farm, cooking, cleaning, showing she meant business this time.

The visitors spilled out to World’s End Cottage, for the income was needed now.

In September she wrote to Dr Kaplinsky, thanking him for his help and offering World’s End as a respite stop for any people he felt needed fresh air and quiet to get their broken lives back together again. All they needed to bring were their ration books.

She welcomed strangers, refugees, all sorts of humanity for a few weeks to walk the hills and draw breath. The path to World’s End was well trod.

She often thought of Ben, working across the county now, getting on with his life without her to worry about. She’d sent him away in a fit of pique and bitterly regretted his absence. Cragside was not the same without his cheery banter. They had said stuff she wished could be unsaid. She almost wrote to him but then thought better of it. Best to leave well alone. It was enough to get through each week sober.

Her greatest thrill was a trip to Scarperton long overdue, stepping down the cobbled street to see Sam Layberg’s shop to redeem Gran’s brooch. As luck would have it, the brooch was still in its box after all those months.

He stared up at her over his glasses and smiled as he handed it back.

‘I said I’d come for it. Took longer than I thought,’ she said.

He grinned. ‘You’ve kept your promise to yourself, young lady, and restored my faith in humanity. Wear it with pride. It’s too beautiful a jewel to be in a pawnshop, just like yourself.’

There was a spring in her step after that little remark. She crossed the road to avoid reminders of the Golden Lion, making for the Copper Kettle tearoom instead. In half an hour it would be time to catch a bus to the hospital for her monthly meeting with Dr Kaplinsky. This rendezvous was her lifeline, her hope for the future, her own World’s End.

Part Three
The Snow House

18

1947 She can just see the dark head among the buttercups, ribbons and ringlets bobbing in the wind, chasing across Stubbins pasture but the child is out of sight and suddenly there are nettles and tall burned grasses hiding her from view. She calls and calls but there is no answer.

Mirren was woken by the chill, dragged from her dreaming, dragged from the solace of chasing Sylvia. Why did she have to wake up?

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;

She heard herself calling out the lines from her favourite Rossetti poem. Asleep, fully clothed on top of her bed again, woken only by the chill of the icy bedroom stabbing her back into consciousness, this was getting to be a habit, a lazy habit.

It was Sunday, with twenty cows to be milked, but no breakfasts to make for the men and time to please herself, she hoped, while cracking the ice in the water bowl. Had she remembered to bank up the Rayburn to keep the back boiler going?

This falling asleep fully clothed, piled high with musty blankets, had to stop. She opened the shutters to look out on the February morning.

If only the sky was not so pigeon grey, darkening from the north. She needed no weatherglass to know there was snow on the wind. The old fears were creeping into the corners of her mind, closer, closer, making her uneasy. She hated snow.

She would have to crack the ice on the water tank again with the axe. The chores were all hers for the day: buckets of water to the indoor beasts, mucking out, chickens to feed, fields to scan for sheep. Thank God most were gathered down from the fellside closer into the farm, but there were stragglers out on the tops that would need rounding up.

The lorry would not be dropping off Kurt and Dieter from the German POW camp to help with evening milking. It was church in Scarperton for them and a long trek back for Sunday dinner.

Florrie might call in for tea as usual, walking up from Windebank after taking her Sunday school class, if it faired up. They had made a truce of sorts since Mirren’s return. She liked to keep an eye on her daughter-in-law, just in case. Even after all these sober months no one could quite believe she meant it.

Sunday or not, it was all the same here; udders must be emptied and milk collected up. The new live-in girl, Doreen, was visiting her parents, the cow man was courting down at Rigg village but if the weather closed in again she was in for a packet of trouble to deal with all by herself.

The snow fences needed repairing from the last downfall before Christmas, and they were getting low on fodder.

If it was bad Florrie would make straight for home back at Scar Head and she would be spared her incessant chatter about Ben’s new job on a farm near York. He wrote to Florrie but not to her. There was nothing to say. She’d shoved him away from the nest and he’d made another life. Good luck to him.

Florrie found comfort in her chapel work and seemed to think it was just what Mirren needed to come out of herself and be more sociable. Once she sat down to wolf down a plate of ham and eggs, there was no stopping her. It made Mirren’s ears ache, all that wittering on about having no new clothes to wear. Who had, after six years of war and nearly two more years of make do and mend?

Clothing coupons were the least of her worries. How was she going to manage when Kurt and Dieter were repatriated? She’d fallen lucky with them. They were almost family now. They were farmers’ sons and needed no training up on chores. She saw to it that they were well fed and muscled up for the job. The rhythm of a farming life knew no war zones or language barriers. It was a good arrangement.

Then Sam Lund, the shepherd, put her in a mood by going on about the ring round the moon the other week and it being Candlemas. He didn’t like the signs if the sun was breaking through the clouds as it was now.

‘Aye, Missus Sowerby, three circles is a bad sign. A pale moon is growing snow, I reckon,’ he sighed, scratching his cap, searching the sky. ‘I’d rather see a wolf running with me flock than the sun out on Candlemas morn.’

She ignored his warning. Everyone knew February could go either way: snow or rain, black or white. Only a fool thought winter was over. It mostly never started until the back end of January but they’d had such a poor summer and rough December, a mild New Year ought to even things out, but when was life ever fair?

She was glad that Christmas was behind them. Florrie wanted to do it the traditional way: visiting other farms, cards round the table and chapel singalongs. Mirren tried to make a bit of an effort, inviting their Germans for a meal now that the rules against fraternisation were lifted, killing a cockerel and boiling an apology for a Christmas pud just to show willing, but her heart wasn’t in it. Going through the motions sapped every ounce of her energy.

Christmas was for kiddies and families, and a dangerous time for drinkers. The big old Yewell celebrations before the war was what Florrie yearned for, before…No use going over all that.

There were just the three of them now, Mirren, Tom and Florrie, with lodgers in Cragside when they could get them. World’s End was deserted. Her supply of refugees had dried up for the winter. It was too grim in a cold farmhouse at the mercy of every whim of the weather.

Uncle Tom liked to feel he was in charge and gave her orders each week like some farm hand, but Mirren sometimes wished he’d stay put and leave her to get on with things her way.

‘Mirren Sowerby, you’re getting an old grump,’ Florrie would tease. ‘Just look how you’re letting yerself go. When was the last time you looked in the mirror? Ben wouldn’t recognise you,’ she cajoled, as if Mirren was interested in her appearance.

Sometimes she felt as old as the hills with all the sorrows of the world on her back.

There was the usual selection of cast-off overcoats to pile on her shoulders: army greatcoats from the Great War, Ben’s Home Guard one that drowned her, and some tattered mackintoshes at her disposal. There was always one standing stiff with frost like a guard on sentry duty by the range, others hanging on the pulley over the kitchen range to dry off. If they were all sodden then she could pile on the sacks over her head like Sam did. Sheep didn’t care what you looked like in a storm.

Responsibility weighed heavy; she was no shirker of duty. This was her portion and she must swallow it.

No use looking backwards to what once was. One day at a time in soberness. That was her philosophy and it would get her up of a morning in the refrigerated bedroom. She was keeping up the family tradition as best she could. There was no other life on offer. A woman could run this farm as well as any man. No one could say she didn’t do a man’s job as well as most.

There were enough on the tops ready to point the finger at her drunken past, saying that farming was not women’s work, but perhaps she was best kept from the town. There were enough men around the place to keep busy. Doreen might not be much help outdoors but she would give a hand with butter making and kept the surfaces clean enough.

Not that they did much of that now, with all the regulations for subsidies. It was hardly worth the bother.

She missed Ben. He’d kept well out of her way ever since their falling-out. She heard news of him through Uncle Wesley. She’d let a good friend go. No one could fault him. He was reliable and trustworthy, a good stockman who never clock-watched. He could hold his beer and never made a fool of himself, not like her lapses…They’d been a team, two work horses hitched to the same wagon for a while.

When he left she carried on, knocked sideways by her sudden need of him. She had thrown stuff back at him in anger and lost a friend.

Was it her fault that Cragside, once full of coats and gumboots and the noise of dogs and men, had fallen silent? Only the coats were left to bear evidence: Gran and Grandpa Joe passed away, Jack gone, Ben, Daisy married and away, and Sylvia buried in the churchyard. There was no future in this place now.

She had tried to fill the emptiness with whisky, but no longer. There were evacuees who came and went, refugees who lived in for a while up in the cottage, hired hands and POWs to fill the spaces left by Ben and Jack, but no one could stomach the bad winters or the isolation. You have to be born to it, she thought.

This stone house was built to withstand all that wind and blizzard could throw at it, low-roofed, elongated at the back in the old style, with small mullioned windows set into walls filled with rubble, windows glinting south-westwards to catch all the sun’s rays, set foursquare on the cragside, sheltered with a small copse of ash, rowans and beech; a good mile up the track from the Windebank road, easily cut off by snow. Man and beast lived side by side. Sometimes the cattle sheds were the warmest place to shelter, amongst the flesh of the beasts.

She padded downstairs in her rough wool socks. There was yesterday’s porridge stiff on the range. She poured in some milk and hot water, stirring it around. It was lumpy but it would do. Food was fuel. Her appetite was basic but she had to eat to stay warm. Why couldn’t she lie in bed and carry on dreaming?

‘You come to me in dreams that I may live my very life again though cold in death…’ No use going over the past, look forward, but it was weeks since she’d been to a meeting. Somehow it got harder to make the effort. It was time she proved she could go it alone.

Piling on the layers she went to check the water in the shippon. Milking was warm work with cheeks soothed by the flanks of her beasts, its fug of warm straw and dung. She only hoped there was enough fodder to see them through a bad spell.

Crossing the yard with the can full of milk strapped to her back from the cows in the outbarn, she felt the first flakes of snow settling on her cheeks, and shivered. The fight was on again. Sam Lund was right. They were in for another blow-in.

The sooner she did her chores, the sooner she and Jet could drop the latch and turn to the peat fire for comfort. Florrie wouldn’t walk up here in snow. She’d more sense than to risk getting caught on foot.

This would mean Mirren wouldn’t have to take a pan of hot water upstairs and do a strip wash, change her clothes and put on something half decent to show it was her half-day off. She needn’t change the rug in the parlour for the best one, or lay the table properly as Granny Adey used to do every Sunday, the embroidered cloth with the hollyhocks in the corners and lace trim. She could make do with something on her knees in the kitchen, hugging the iron range. There she would have only dogs and ghosts for company.

The old place was full of spirits, rattling, chattering in the wind, stomping hob-nailed boots along the stone-flagged passageways. She didn’t mind them. They had as much right to be here as she did. Sometimes she wished she might catch a glimpse of loved ones, of old Miriam her namesake, her guardian; of Sylvia, but her spirit was elusive. She sensed she wasn’t tied to a house place but roamed free over the fields with a line of old farm dogs chasing behind.

Lately she noticed after evening jobs she was that whacked she fell asleep, nodding off by the firelight like Granny Mutch, but there was no one to tell her off for skipping her darning. Even when she was sitting, there was always mending and knitting, unravelling old jumpers to reknit into something warm to wear that fooled no one. They always held back a fleece to spin up and dye. Florrie did a whole baby layette for Sylvia.

Florrie was always trying to get her interested in sewing. Mirren was happiest left to herself, and that was taken wrong among the other farmers’ wives, who thought her snooty and standoffish. She was a drunkard who by rights ought not to be running Cragside, taking jobs from the men. They were suspicious. She didn’t go to the Women’s Institute or to church. Her trips down to Scarperton on market days were brief and she lingered only at the library to change her books. There was always temptation to sniff the air and she might be lost again. Funny, spirits no longer had a hold of her senses. They just made her feel sad at those wasted months.

Florrie was right about her appearance, though. She must look a fright in a pair of old jodhpurs and holey jumper, but who was to know if she missed her lick and a promise, she smiled. It was too cold to get undressed. Happen she smelled of the farmyard to strangers, but could smell nothing amiss herself.

Where had all the ‘golden locks’ gone that Sylvia used to twist around her finger and tug when she was going to sleep? It was going grey in the wings and was firmly anchored in a victory roll, using an old stocking, flattened with a headscarf or man’s tweed cap. Her cheeks were wind-burned and pink, with ice-blue eyes that missed nothing. She was still firm and full breasted, with a figure honed with lifting bales. Trousers suited her, and Ben’s twill shirt and army jacket her favourite outfit. She could still smell the sweat of him. It comforted her to wear his clothes. It was as if she was taking on his mantle and trying to do all the jobs as he would have done them. He would be glad she’d made it through the wilderness months. What use had she for dresses and tweed suits?

She would never darken the door of a church again if she could help it. The consolations of religion meant nothing to her, nothing at all. If it gave comfort to others, so be it, but it wasn’t for her. Her gods were closer to the hills, the old spirits of the Dales that promised nothing more than blood, sweat and tears for working this upland pasture.

On a clear day she could sometimes hear the bells of St Peter’s, Windebank in the distance, ringing out the seasons in turn. Kurt and Dieter were Catholics and went to services there when they could. Yewells were staunch Chapel, with a few renegades like Wes and Pam turning to Church when they went up in the world.

Sunday was just another day in the week for Mirren, but the one that she was allowed to spend to herself and that suited her fine. She would give last week’s local Gazette a good going-over.

She kept peering out across the yard to the fields. The snow was building up and a strange unease crept over her, reliving the night when one of the farmers up the dale failed to return from Windebank, last winter. His poor wife was waiting with hope, searching with the lantern, calling with the men for hours, lanterns across the snow, hoping he had taken shelter, sick in her stomach as the night turned to morning and her worst fears were confirmed. The newspapers had gone to town with florid prose: ‘Tragic death on Windebank Moor. Young farmer vanquished in raging storm. Gallant man loses his footings in the snow…’ describing how the lifeless body of George Pye was found lying close to a sheepfold, only yards from shelter. What the papers refrained from saying was that he had spent the night with his cronies in The Fleece, as usual, and staggered back to be caught in a storm with half his wits sozzled, disorientated, crossing and recrossing his own tracks. It was a stupid, needless accident but she knew how easy it was to drown sorrows in drinking. That could’ve been her. Everyone up the dale had some tragedy to blot out.

She was too on edge to pick up the paper now or a book. The classics and poetry were her preference: the Brontës, of course; Dickens, rereading into the small hours sometimes when sleep was elusive. Where was it she had read that there were three bad things in life?

To lie in bed and sleep not.

To wait for one who comes not.

To try to please and please not.

That was it. She had made acquaintance with all three in her time. Don’t go down that path, Mirren, she muttered. No going there or she’d never get the evening milking done.

Ben woke in the middle of nowhere, trying to fix a point in the landscape he recognised. The train rattled on, packed with Sunday travellers, all squashed together, trying to get some kip on the long journey north.

The low sun was already flooding over the stone walls like rose-coloured silk. As he gazed over the hills he recognised that peculiar winter light like the soft hues of firelight. Even the sheep were tinged pink and gold. All the roughness of the stones, the bare branches caught up in the flame, and then suddenly the light was gone.

Transfixed by the sight and sudden recognition that this must be close to Scarperton and home territory, Ben felt a stirring, a restless surge of energy and a voice whispering in his ear, ‘Go back. Pay them all a visit. Rebuild your bridges before you go off on your travels. Make your peace and sort it out once and for all. Australia’s a long way in the other direction!’

He turned round to see who was talking to him but the rest of the soldiers in the carriage were nodding and snoring. This was crazy. Now he was hearing voices singing loony tunes.

It was time to make for the door. Then he realised it was Sunday and this was the Scottish express that didn’t stop at all the little station halts. The stone walls were rushing by and he felt a panic. It was still light. There was still time, as his feet felt the wheels on the track slowing down, reducing speed. He tried to ignore the voice.

‘Why are you sitting there? Get off right now before it’s too late.’

For one brief second this crazy idea hung in the air. If he missed this chance perhaps he might never see Cragside again, never get a chance to make his peace with Mirren. He stood up, gathered his case and his bag, his coat, pulled down the belt that lowered the window, peered out as the steam and soot rushed into his face. They were slowing down near Windebank level crossing. This was his chance.

He was suddenly wide awake, alert to danger as he threw out his bags and jumped onto the bank, rolling down just before the small station platform. With one leap into the unknown he was in free fall, parachuting into old familiar territory, answering the call in his head. He knew he was finally going crazy.

‘You can’t do that ’ere! It don’t stop ’ere!’ shouted a man, running towards him, while the one o’clock from Leeds to St Enoch’s, Glasgow, with its long line of maroon carriages, was already shunting out of sight.

Ben sprang up, sniffing that clean damp air up his nostrils, the welcome tinge of soot smoke. He was back in the hills one last time. It had been a long time since his last visit.

He would give them all a surprise, and Auntie Florrie would be delighted to feed him up and give him a bed for the night. There would be no other train on a Sunday in early February and the porter-cum-gate keeper was already demanding to see his travel warrant, looking up at him with suspicion as his ticket was for Port Greenock.

‘Now then, I know your face,’ he said gruffly. ‘You shouldn’t be jumping off trains, lad, but you always were a devil. It’s one of them Yewells, is it?’

‘Ben,’ he smiled back sheepishly, straightening his greatcoat and trying to act casual. The rest of his stuff was scattered along the line.

‘This’s highly irregular to jump off a train. I should report you,’ said the little man, trying to lift the battered case from cluttering his line. ‘Happen you’re a rare ’un to turn out on a day like this. Have you seen that sky? Off to see Tom Yewell up the tops?’ His accent was thick but the welcome was typical. He wanted to know all his business. ‘It’s no day to be wandering about the fells. The nights pull in sharp up here. Any road, you’ve miles to hike,’ he said, pointing to where the hills rose high in the distance.

The last-minute pilgrim smiled to himself. He’d miss all this–being recognised even by strangers who were curious about your doings. He was going to sail halfway across the world on an assisted passage to start a new life amongst total strangers. How he wished he could take all this with him.

He was glad he had not joined up, but taken work on an arable farm near York. He missed sheep and hills but a gang of farmer workers were setting off for the New Territories where farmers were needed and there was land to buy. Ben was free to follow his impulse, a free agent with time to say his farewells. His mother was upset, of course, but she still had Bert to mollycoddle since he returned from Germany. He and his German wife were the talk of Horsforth for a while.

Ben stood on the platform, uncertain. Taking out his last pack of Capstan from his pocket, he tapped the box several times to loosen the pack, pulled off the Cellophane and peeled back the packaging to shake out two cigarettes. He offered one to the porter, who popped it behind his ear with a nod. Then he pulled out his Ronson lighter from his trouser pocket and lit up, leaning back on the wall out of the wind. His hands were still shaking from the fall.

‘I’d forgotten how grand it is up here,’ he smiled, drawing in the smoke. ‘I guess a Sunday is not a good time to hitch a lift, though,’ he sighed.

‘You’re dead right there, chum. They’ll all be sleeping off their Sunday dinner. I hope you’ve eaten?’ asked the porter.

‘Yip, sandwiches on the train,’ Ben replied.

‘It’s a fair hike over the moor road. If you crack on apace, you’ll happen make it by nightfall, but don’t leave the road and if snow blows in find yerself a barn or summat for shelter. Don’t go wandering around or you’ll end up frozen in a ditch. We lost one man last winter. I’d leave yer case here. It’ll be safe enough with me. Where’re you living now?’

‘On my way to New South Wales,’ Ben replied, warming to the Yorkshire man.

‘By heck! That’s going it. The wife’s brother emigrated to Melbourne. Is that anywhere near your place? Jimmy Ewebank is his name. He’s a farmer,’ said the porter, certain of finding a connection.

‘I haven’t a clue, but if I see him I’ll tell him you were asking,’ Ben offered while shoving his valuables, papers, shaving kit and some clothes into his canvas bag. It was time to take a hike. ‘Be seeing you,’ he waved.

He strode out on the icy road from the village halt with the wind behind his back, pushing him forward. This would be his last jaunt in the hills before he embarked for a new life.

He’d been putting off this return for months, making one excuse to himself after another. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to face all that sadness again. Mirren had straightened herself out without his help but he knew how cunning she could be. Now she lived alone, taking in refugees, who knows what she was getting up to?

He just wanted to know she was OK before he left. There was so much anger at their last parting. She still might hate him but he wanted to know how she was surviving.

There was no mistaking the clouds were gathering into a purple bruise as the first flakes of snow fluttered down on his cheeks. He was glad of his old army coat, and pulled his cap down over his ears. The only way was forward. This wonderful snowy landscape would set him up for the long trek home.

It was good to be alone. ‘“Keep right on to the end of the road,”’ he sang to Harry Lauder’s tune.

The snow was speckled at first, the wind behind and to his side, not in his face. It didn’t slow his pace but as he rose above the first snowline, above the village, onto the Windebank road, higher up he saw that it had been snowing for hours on top of ice. Snowflakes were building up on his shoulders, clinging to his trouser legs.

This was stuff that could build up into towers of snow whipped around into ice-cream cones, freezing limbs in hours. Ben thought about turning back but the track behind him was obliterated in this grey-white swirling blizzard. For the first time he felt uncertain, lost in a once-known landscape. He would have to move forward pretty darn sharpish.

‘What a fine mess you’ve gotten into now,’ he smiled, trying to cheer himself up pretending it was a scene from a Laurel and Hardy film.

Sheep passed him like walking snowballs. They would make their way to shelter. He snatched at the hope that the stone walls would lead to some barn.

It was the patchwork of handmade walls that always fascinated him about the landscape on his first visit; each wall crisscrossing the dales over the tops. The barns were squat and square, and plenty of them, thank goodness!

Where there were sheep, surely there would be shepherds or farm buildings, but in the dwindling light there was nothing.

He plodded on over ever-deepening snow, lifting boots that felt like leaden weights. He worked his legs like machines, keep moving, following the sheep tracks onwards and downwards. They would know where to shelter.

The sheep were suspicious of a stranger in their midst. He hoped some of them knew his scent but it was so long since he was here. Don’t stop now, keep moving, he thought. His duffel bag was topped with snow. It was easier to drag it behind him to leave some trail of his presence.

His coat was frozen like a cardboard crinoline and the wind stuck his cords to his skin. A weariness was overtaking him. He was lost. He was doomed unless he found somewhere soon.

Now came the battle against the wind to stay upright. It felt like trekking through a dense jungle, pushing his limbs through snowdrifts, trying to feel for the stone walls, which were fast disappearing. His eyes were tired from squinting at the whiteness. His fingers ached with the cold. He had fingerless mitts. His leather gloves were in his case. His cap was useless but he tied his tie over the top to rope it to his head. He must not lose more heat.

There was not a soul to be seen. No one in their right mind would venture out in this wilderness. Everything must fend for itself in this icy blast. The urge to lie down and rest was getting stronger and he knew that he must fight the impulse.

What a crazy stupid fool he was to leave the comfort of a train for this endurance test. When would he ever learn? He had no power over the wild spirits of these hills. He was at their mercy. How frail was the human body against such an onslaught; how quickly the elements can ravage skin and bone.

How many sheep carcasses had he dug out, frozen into grotesque shapes, blackened by frost. It took them hours to hack away the earth for makeshift graves. He knew what frostbite could do to limbs and faces.

There was no one to blame but himself if he died out here, alone like a wounded animal. No one but the porter knew he was on the road. They would all be tucked up safe for the night. Was this to be his last resting place, stuck in some ditch in the drowsy slow sleep of death? Like hell it was! If only he could find the old bunker, the foxhole they’d built by World’s End, but it would be suicide to try to get up there. It was too high up.

Was this his reward for an impulse to say goodbye to his family, an impulse to follow a crazy voice in his head?

Death would be peaceful, lying on a downy pillow, cushioned suddenly warm as the frostbite took hold. He had heard how men dropped down, convinced they were fine when they were dying. He could see the beauty even as he struggled against it, the wind whipping the drifts into ripples like the ridges of a Marcel wave on a silver head of hair.

He could hear the bleating of sheep gathering together, more afraid of him than the weather. There was an owl hooting. Where there were owls there must be trees, a copse, some shelter, perhaps? He strained to hear it again but there was only silence.

He knew these moors blindfold and he wasn’t going to peg out in a snowdrift. Get digging, Ben, make a shelter, keep your limbs moving, make an igloo, a cocoon, and wait for rescue. Pray yourself out of this mess. He was not ready to meet his Maker yet. He was too angry to pray and his anger was the only thing that might keep him alive. In his anger he would dig himself a snow house.

When it was done he sat upright, rigid, afraid to sleep or sink back into his bivouac beside a wall, numb fingers unable to open the cigarette case or burn the lighter fuel, resigned to his fate.

Then he remembered the whisky in his bag, a present for Uncle Tom. He had put it aside as a thank you. He managed to use all of his hands to fish in the canvas sack. The bottle was wrapped inside some socks. His fingers were too numb to open the top so he smashed the neck of the bottle against the stone wall and let the burning liquid trickle down his throat, reviving his spirits. At least he would pass out happy.

When your time came it came, he reasoned, but not here, on home ground with the safety of a bunker somewhere close by. It was too ridiculous for words. Yet he could sense death creeping towards him, black cowled with a stick, a light drawing ever closer. His eyelids were heavy, his arms useless. There was no more fight left in him.

Mirren couldn’t settle to her mending, prowling round the kitchen, biting on her chunk of toast, restless, opening the door to check the weather. The storm blowing in from the north was abating now. How could she settle when there were still sheep out on the moor, stragglers ravaged by a wet spring and autumn, poor hay and weak lambs that hadn’t thrived as they should? What if Florrie was caught halfway home in the storm like George Pye?

She sensed a gruff voice nagging her, tugging her away from the fireside. It was her father’s voice with a lilt. He always had an instinct for trouble when he was sober. He could read the wind and the skies better than any weatherglass. Surely Florrie wouldn’t be so daft as to walk up? Yet she was uneasy.

‘Damn and blast it! Come on, Jet. We’ll happen check down to the lane end before it’s overblown, just in case,’ she called, dragging the greatcoat from the pulley and pulling on a cap, fixing one of the sack hoods over her shoulders like a monk. She lit the storm lantern and faced the polar wilderness outside, holding a prodding stick.

‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she muttered to the sky, but her voice was trembling knowing she must beat a path through the storm. Snowfall might look like falling stars but it was treacherous, a fickle friend flattering, disguising the familiar.

Snow could stop armies in their tracks, beggar a poor farmer overnight, and snow could torture and kill. One false move and you were done for.

The fields were smoking with white powder. Icy particles whipped up from the drifts stung her eyes. The sky was clear, frost clear as the wind dropped for a few minutes.

Only the loose snow danced in front of them. She knew the best bield for the sheep, the favourite walls where they would shelter out of the northeasterly, waiting bunched up for rescue, their fleeces sometimes frozen together.

Jet scampered ahead, drowning in the drifts. He was not the sharpest working dog, an average collie with sheep, but in snowdrifts he was a maestro. He could make mischief but he could nose out trouble with the best. He wasn’t a setter, sitting on his finding, waiting for instructions, like an obellient gundog. He would be in there scrambling and scratching to get at his discovery.

He was up in the corner as usual, scrabbling about as Mirren felt for the horns of the sheep and yanked its face into the air pulling it free, releasing the reluctant beast from its icy grave.

‘Good lad!’ she smiled. It was hard lifting them out of danger, but satisfying. Jet was in his element. He liked praise and she was glad of his company. If this was a serious blow-in it would mean foddering three times a day with the sledge into the fields, making sure her food and fuel lasted until supplies could be delivered again. She could last a week, two, three at most, but the thought of no help at hand was daunting. Surely the snow diggers would cut open the roads at daybreak?

‘When the snow falls dry it means to lie’ went the old saying, and this was powder fine on top of ice. She could not rid herself of an uneasy feeling and turned back on their footings towards the safety of the house.

The scene looked as beautiful as a Christmas card, complete with glitter, but it hid a coldness and cruelty. She would be living alone in a snow house like the Snow Queen with icicles in her heart, fast in, cut off at the mercy of the weather. She would just have to stomach it.

She whistled for Jet but he didn’t come. She whistled and cursed the disobellient mutt. In the brightness of the snow she could just make him out scrabbling in another drift. He was only doing his duty and the sheep would need all the help they could get to survive this spell.

She stumbled across the drifts, numb with cold, aching to go back to the warmth of her peat fire and mug of Bovril. This ‘Miriam of the Dale’ stuff was a bit too much and she was tiring. The dog was still scrabbling away, tail wagging with excitement.

‘Let’s be having you!’ she muttered under her breath, burying her hands to fish for more horns. She could feel something rough but soft to her touch, but it wasn’t fleece. She parted the snow and shone the lantern into the snow. In her hand was a piece of khaki woollen cloth. In her hand was the hem of a coat.

There was no time to lose. Her heart lurched as more of the fabric came into view. She scrabbled alongside the black and white collie, sick with the knowledge that this was how Farmer Pye was found, frozen in the ditch without any signs of life.

‘Not again.’ She urged her hands to brush aside the cocoon in which the body was trapped. How long had the poor soul been stuck fast? How was she going to drag a dead weight back into the farm? How was she going to wake the dead? This was not fair, this terrible reminder of her own journey as a child. She had to do something.

At least this man had had sense enough to shelter by a wall and make some bield for himself. His face was wrapped up in a scarf, in a pocket of air. He’d done his best to stay alive but it must be too late now. Then she saw the whisky bottle and smelled the liquor. The aroma hit her like a blow, taking her back to those terrible scenes in her head and the shame. The bottle was empty, thank God!

Not another drunken sot? Not another capurtled fool wandering over hill and dale out of his wits? When do we ever learn?

She was used to tramps and bog trotters on the moors, calling at all farmhouse doors for handouts. Sometimes when it was harsh she would let them kip down in the hay barn for the night but not before she searched their pockets for matches just in case.

There were good tramps and rogues, war-scarred veterans and lazy deserters. This one looked fresh-faced, with no matted beard and foul-smelling clothes, younger than most of her visitors.

‘What am I going to do with him? I can’t have him in the house. I don’t think I could drag him there. He’s a big man. What’s he doing stuck out here at this time of night?’

She often talked to herself. It was Paddy Gilchrist’s nagging spirit that had brought her out here with the dog. His prompting might yet save this man’s life.

The tramp’s sandy hair was matted with ice. There was something about him she recognised. The face was clean shaven, the bit she could see was handsome enough and he was still breathing. She bent close to check his breath as his eyes flickered for a second, blue eyes fringed with frosted sandy lashes. He muttered something incoherent in what she took to be a foreign language so she bent down closer, smelling the whisky on his frozen lips. There was no time to judge his stupidity. She must treat him like a frozen beast and revive him as best she could.

She rubbed his arms with vigour to get warmth into them, but straw, hot water and blankets were what were needed now, with sweet tea and hot-water bottles. She had to get him on his feet before his limbs froze for ever, but how?

‘Oh, give me strength to lift him, to rouse him from his stupor. He has to help himself or he is lost.

‘Stay by, Jet. Stay.’ She ordered the dog to sit across his body, tearing off her sacking to cover them both, leaping in panic back over their footings. She must go to bring the sled and harness the cart horse but then she remembered the barn door was fast with snow. The muffled man would die of cold long before she reached him.

There was nothing for it but to drag him to his feet. He had to get his own limbs going, get the circulation back into his frozen body. He had to help himself.

Every second seemed to be in slow motion as she tugged and tugged at his frozen coat to release him from the snowdrift.

‘Get up! Get up. You are not far from the house,’ she cajoled him out of his stupor. ‘Come on, last lap. Wakey, wakey! You’ve got to help me. I can’t drag you. You’ve got to work your legs!’ she shouted in his ear.

He opened his eyes through the slit in his frozen scarf like a drunken man, not taking in her words and yet searching her face with his eyes, unable to form words with his lips. She was rubbing his hands. It was going to hurt like hell once his numbness wore off. She had to get him into the kitchen to thaw out.

From somewhere outside of herself she felt the strength flooding into her tired body, sap rising up in a spurt of energy to get him sitting upright, pulling him on his feet, but his legs were rigid and he was going to fall.

He groaned and cried out in protest but she felt angry with frustration as to why this drunken stranger had to stray onto her land, interrupting her peaceful evening and demanding such attention.

‘Lean on me,’ she ordered gruffly, thinking about a sack of coal stuck on her back. At least her shoulders were used to heaving burdens. She would drag him behind her, bent double with the effort, but they would get to that fixed point where she placed the storm lantern to light their path home. She would rest and put the lantern ahead again, and drag him to the next fixed point until the outline of the whitened farmhouse came into view.

Slowly they edged ever closer to the farmyard, but there was a gate to open; a gate blown over with snowdrifts. The snow was beginning to fall again and soon there would be another blow-in. The last yards would be the worst if he didn’t help himself. She could feel the cold seeping into her body.

Then she remembered the cripple hole, the gap in the stone wall where the sheep could run from one field to another. If she could only drag him through the wall, but it would be blocked by now. The gate would never open. The wind was rising and whipping the snow. She could see only six feet in front of her but nothing was going to distract her from one last effort. Her shoulders were on fire with the effort.

‘What do I do now?’ she cried into the wind. To be so near and yet so far from safety…Suddenly the wind dropped and the clouds parted for a few seconds. The moon shone down, torching a path. The snow was piled so high by the farm gate that it was right over the stone wall, built up, freezing hard, a ready-made slope for her to cross over and down into the farmyard.

There was no time for gratitude, only to seize the moment; one last dragging, pushing effort. She crawled up herself and then dragged him like a sledge down the slope, laying him with relief on the snow.

‘Come on, nearly there,’ she shouted yanking his arm.

He made one supreme effort to stagger to his feet, his arms clinging across her chest. Together they staggered to the door already covered with thick snow, but after all she had been through kicking a path into the kitchen was nothing at all.

The warmth and light of the room hit them both. She had never been so glad in all her life to see the flag floors and kitchen fire. She smelled the peaty smoke with relish.

‘We’ve made it,’ she cried, but now the real rescue job would begin in earnest.

He was already prostrate on the floor, exhausted, disorientated and fevered. She was going to have her work cut out to save his hands and feet from permanent damage. Stripping off his greatcoat and army jacket, she found underneath a woollen shirt and thick vest. These layers must have saved his life.

They were not the clothes of a vagrant unless they were stolen from a washing line. There was a mixture of tweeds. Around his neck and face was the frozen scarf masking his face. She would have to peel it off with care or it would rip off his skin.

She was curious now. She examined him like a carcass. He was well muscled and well fed but on the thin side and very tall. Everything that was dry and warm must be piled on top of him. He needed thawing out by the range like a frozen sheep. She smiled to herself, thinking of the tune from Messiah, ‘All we like sheep have gone astray,’ and thought of Sylvie’s birth in the vestry when she was young and full of hope.

There was no time to lose. Whilst the kettle was boiling it was time to tackle his feet. To her surprise his boots were well made but his socks were welded to his skin. She took the nearest towel and began to massage his toes gently. What was she doing with a stranger at her hearth, rubbing him down like a beast? Florrie would have the vapours to know what she was up to.

She placed a warm cloth over his face to release the frozen mask, curious to see who was underneath. Then she fished in his pockets for some identity.

There was only a silver cigarette case and lighter, some coins and tickets. There was a thin diary with a travel warrant stuck in one page and baler twine. His name scrawled was smudged by water, unreadable, but you could tell a lot from a pocket. Here was a farmer on his way to market, who smoked and drank with the best. It didn’t add up to much but perhaps she would be safe in the house with this curious stranger, unless he was a thief.

She took away the lighter, just in case. He was in no state to be moved and in for a rough time when the numbness wore off. She would make a bed for him by the hearth with the dogs.

The wind was rattling the doors as it did when it blew in from the east. They had beaten the blizzard by the width of an eyelash. ‘Someone must have been looking after this chap,’ she muttered as she prepared the bowl of water. Now she must be cruel to be kind.

It was like laying out the dead, sponging him down, opening his shirt, listening to see if his breathing was steady. Jet sat by her side, interested, trying to lick him back to life. There were hot bricks in the bottom of the Rayburn. Wrapped in old cloths, they could be padded round his body to warm him through.

It felt as if she was in some strange dream: the walk in the snow, feeling the coat in her fingers, dragging the half-dead man into the safety of the house and now anointing his body with lanolin, trying to rub the life back into him.

She was exhausted with the effort, unnerved by him lying there, packed with blankets and rugs. What if he died on her?

She sat vigil until her eyelids were drooping and found herself wrapping the blankets around herself. She might as well kip down with the dogs by the hearth, lie by his side and see him through until morning, but first she must unpeel the scarf.

Bit by bit she released the material, first his nose, then his mouth and neck, and only then did she see who it was…

19

Ben stirred, hearing himself groaning. Was this a dream? Where was he? He lay helpless on a rug, stripped, covered over with rough blankets. There was the smell of wet dog, muck and manure and peat smoke, and he sensed he was safe. Then he felt the searing pain of his thawing body and rolled in agony, his limbs on fire. A woman was rubbing his arms, slapping life and pain back into him when all he wanted to do was sleep.

‘Ben, I have to do this,’ a voice whispered, checking to see if he was really awake. All he could register was pain and a pair of his own eyes looking down at him with concern. What the hell was going on? He shut his eyes to hide his agony but she kept shaking him as if he was a rag doll. Why was she doing this? Then he recalled the station and the walk and the blizzard, and being dragged across the snow with a dog licking his face. It was Jet wagging his tail in his face, and his eyes focused and he saw it was Mirren torturing him, pulling him up and making him change position. Then he saw the bowl of hot water.

‘No! Have a heart! Mirren, is it really you? What happened?’

‘Later…we have got to get your feet in the bowl,’ she said, her cheeks flushed with exertion.

‘My feet are fine,’ he protested, trying to focus on her hair loosened from a scarf.

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ she snapped.

Still the same old Mirren, sharp as a knife, he sighed.

‘If you’re daft enough to walk through a blizzard then you risk losing your toes and fingers. Don’t be a girl’s blouse!’

‘I’ll do it slowly,’ he groaned.

‘Do it how you like, but just get on with it,’ was all the sympathy he was going to get. ‘I’ve made a pot of tea.’

The drink was piping hot and laced with sugar from her ration. Swallowing took his mind off the agony in his toes as they were coming back to life. He began to shiver and saw that he’d been stripped down to his underpants and vest.

‘When you’ve finished, I’ll have your head in friar’s balsam. Might as well keep the chill off your chest,’ she ordered, like a hospital matron.

How could he protest, face down with his head covered by a towel, sniffing camphor fumes? His cheeks were raw and stinging.

‘What on earth possessed you to come tramping up here? You were nearly a goner when Jet found you.’

‘It wasn’t that bad when I left the station,’ he muttered under his towel, feeling naked and silly and entirely at her mercy.

‘You should have stopped in the village. Honestly, you haven’t the sense of a flea. I had to get you out of those wet clothes and quick.’ Mirren plonked a pair of Grandpa’s old fustian breeches, a thick shirt and clean vest before him. ‘These’ll have to do for now. I’ve no other spares. There’s not enough hot water for a bath so I sponged you down as best I could. You’d got some smart tweeds on for hiking. Off somewhere special?’

‘I was making for Glasgow; got a ticket on a ship. Didn’t Florrie tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’ She paused from her busyness.

‘I’m emigrating to Australia…an assisted passage.’

‘Are you now? Deserting the old country in its hour of need? What happened to college?’ she replied, and then there was silence. Mirren left him to struggle into the breeches and long socks. His whole body was tingling and sore, but where there was feeling there was life, he thought with relief. The smell of bacon was coming from the range like perfume to his nose, and he was ravenous, gazing around the familiar kitchen with pleasure. Nothing had changed: the smooth flag floor with rag rugs covered in dog hair, custard-cream walls and ancient stove. The cupboard of china plates still fixed to the wall, a clutter of pipe cleaners, jugs and candlesticks over the mantelpiece, a glowing kerosene lamp in the middle of the deal table, two dogs watching him and Mirren’s open book turned face down as usual.

Grandpa’s breeches itched and smelled of mothballs but they covered his credentials perfectly. He blushed to think of Mirren undressing him. How unbelievable that she had found him like that. It was hard to take in that he’d escaped death by a whisker.

‘You’re done then?’ She eyed him furtively as she laid the table. ‘Were they expecting you at Scar Head?’ she added. ‘No one said, but then I only get told what Florrie thinks is good for me these days.’

‘No, it was a last-minute idea on the train. I jumped off at the Halt,’ he said, eyeing up the bacon rashers, his mouth slavering.

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? No panic then with Tom and Florrie. Sit down, eat up and rest a while. It’s not fit to throw a louse out in this storm.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any bother,’ he offered.

‘You already have but you’re family, so no mind. Get stuck in,’ she smiled, and the clouds parted, the stern look on her face brightened, her full lips smiled and those sad eyes flashed a welcome. In that instant he saw her beauty again and knew he was lost.

Mirren watched him wolfing down his bacon with relish. He finished off the last bread in the bin, slurping down his mug of tea, savouring every sip, and it was like old times round the kitchen table after milking. If she hadn’t got out of the chair he could have been lying in the drift, stiff as a board like George Pye for weeks. It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘How’re your toes?’ she asked, knowing he must be in agony.

‘I’ve still got ten of them, thanks to you,’ he smiled, and she had forgotten just how blue were his eyes and fair his hair in the lamplight. ‘You saved my life.’

‘You tried to do the same for me and I never thanked you,’ she blushed, not wanting him to see how close to tears she was.

‘It’s bad out there. Do you want me to try to get to the barn?’

‘Just get those legs going up and down the stairs, up the passage. Give them a good stretch. The beasts are going nowhere. Time you had a proper rest. Happen in the morning you’ll be fit enough to give me a hand,’ she paused, recalling that he had a train to catch and a ship to board and she might never see him again. Better make the most of him while he was around.

She poured hot water from the kettle on the hob into a stone bottle and passed it over. ‘You know where everything is. I’ve aired Grandpa’s bed. You can sleep posh tonight.’

She could see him wincing as he rose up and it was natural to give him a hand up the stairs with the lamp. Ben smelled of balsam and mothballs, soap and something she couldn’t quite fathom. It was over two years since he had climbed those stairs. He leaned on her and she could smell his warm breath.

The curtains were drawn and the drapes around the four-poster pulled across.

‘It’ll be clashy tonight. Listen to that gale blowing in, but we might get out in the morning,’ she said without much conviction.

If the storm continued they were going to be stuck together for a few more days. Judging by the look of him he was in no fit state to be let loose up the dale. Why did that fleeting thought warm her cheeks? She ought to be furious with him still, but somehow now was not the time to be going into all that.

They sat in silence, only the ticking of the wall clock, the stirring of the dogs by the door disturbing this makeshift meal. For the first time since his arrival Ben felt awkward and unnerved by the tensions still unspoken between them. He was bone weary, propping his hand on his chin to stop it from dropping onto the table, eating the tinned corned beef hash with one fork, trying to stay awake.

They had slaved like navvies all day digging out. There were just too many trapped sheep for two of them to tackle, too many buckets of water to fetch, too much fodder and mucking out. Back and forth with freezing limbs and aching fingers, the ice biting his cheeks and nose as they trudged over the snow.

Nearly three hundred sheep were bleating for fodder, sheep trapped, frantic for release. Already they were pouring milk away and it froze into piles like ice cream. It was too cold to make butter and they hadn’t the strength to load the milk kits and try to make it to the lane end just in case a lorry might get through. They worked like two pairs of hands with nothing to think about but the next bale or the next bucket of water.

The storm was still howling the odds. There was no escape from its iron grip. It was going to be some battle to fodder the beasts in their stalls. Every journey was an excavation, and dangerous. How on earth would Mirren have survived without help when none of the farm hands would make it back for days? Until then he was her only hope and he owed her his life so he was staying put.

Now they sat speechless, lost in their own thoughts. Sooner or later Mirren’s drinking must be brought up but now was not the time. He’d noticed the house was still stripped bare of any trace of Sylvia’s presence; not even the photograph of her sitting on the bench taken as a baby, no toys or reminders. The house was sanitised and empty, not how it used to be, cluttered and welcoming. The big rooms were never used. They were too big to heat now. Mirren lived in the kitchen and in the bedroom with the little parlour off it upstairs.

It was dark by the time they staggered back after their chores. First job was to thaw their frozen coats, to hug the fire until they stopped feeling numb and only then did they look round for something easy to fill the belly: soup, porridge, scrambled egg, anything quick.

‘I’ll have a go at digging out to the lane end tomorrow,’ Ben offered.

‘Don’t waste your strength. The more you dig, the more the wind just blows it back,’ Mirren said. ‘Can’t wait to leave us?’ she smiled, but her eyes were cold.

‘Just thought it might help getting the milk out. It breaks my heart to chuck it out,’ he snapped back, hurt that she was so quick to see his offer as a desertion. ‘Any road, I’m not budging until you and I’ve cleared the air. I can’t go halfway across the world knowing I’m not welcome here.’

‘Who said that?’ she replied.

‘Why do you think I kept away for all these months…after what you said?’

‘That was ages ago! We were all in shock and said stuff better left unspoken.’

‘I hear you sorted yourself out.’ There, it was out on the table now.

‘No thanks to you this time, but you did me a favour, made me work it out for myself. It was like a madness. Drying out is never easy but I was in a safe place, in the madhouse where it all began,’ she said. Her voice was clipped and her words carefully measured.

‘Was it awful?’ he asked.

‘What do you think? Finding out you’re not little Miss Perfect after all, finding things about yourself, but I had to do it for their sake. I dosed myself up to stop the pain and it was poison, just like you said, but you can’t be told so you just have to find out for yourself the hard way. I have to live with the consequences and I do every day. I guess men and women do things differently.’ She stopped and eyed him again. ‘Is that why you’re off to Aussie land, to put all this behind you?’

‘Don’t be daft. No…it’s just there’re opportunities there for land, to be my own boss.’

‘Uncle Tom always looked to you to fly the Yewell flag here and you beetled off and left us to it.’ There was a ring of accusation in her words.

‘I couldn’t stay after…Florrie wanted me to get away. It wasn’t just me. You were so angry. We could never have worked together, and after Jack, well, it was not right to stay.’

‘His heart was never here after the war. He drowned his sorrows. This was never what he wanted. Sylvia bound us together and when she…something snapped between us. I hated his drinking…but got hooked on it myself. It got worse and it reminded me of my dad all of a sudden, the very person I’d hated for letting me down. You know, on that night I left you, I found my way back to the line where he died when I was small and left me an orphan. I loved my dad but hated him drunk. Jack began to remind me of him, but it was me as lay on that track and wanted to end it all.’ She eyed him. ‘Do I shock you? Well, I shocked myself but someone stopped me and I got up and chose life. I’m not my dad, I’m me, but if I drink again I could end up back down there and I don’t want to feel like that ever again.’

It was the longest speech he’d ever heard from her. She looked up at him, rising quickly. ‘The war has a lot to answer for but it’s over now and you’ve a new life to lead. I wish you well, Ben,’ she whispered, patting him on the shoulder as she darted towards the door. ‘I’ll bid you good night. There’s a hot brick in the oven. Wrap it in the towel. We can’t spare water now for bottles. If you need a shave…’ She paused, seeing his stubble.

‘I think I’ll grow a beard. It’ll keep my face warm and the ice off my lips.’

‘Pity,’ she quipped. ‘It’ll grow red and won’t match your hair. You’ll look like a Viking on the pillage.’

‘Who cares in this weather?’ he laughed. ‘You look like a walking eiderdown.’

‘Precisely; anything to keep warm,’ she replied. For a second there was a flash of the old banter between them. He’d heard more about her history today than in the whole of the time they had worked together. Perhaps because he was leaving she felt she could share stuff with him, trusting he’d tell no one. Perhaps she was relieved that he was off to pastures new, perhaps not; it was hard to tell with Mirren.

Yet Sylvia’s name had been spoken just the once and before he left he wanted to beg a snap of his godchild from her. Surely that was not too much to ask.

Mirren lay in the dark, too stirred up to sleep. Grief never ends, she sighed and just the mention of that precious name brought back every second of that terrible day, and just that sniff of whisky in the snow brought so much back into her mind again. How easy it would be to slip, but the need was more bearable now. There was a sadness to the edge of it that softened each haunting memory.

Death is for ever, and for months she couldn’t let go of the hope that it was all a nightmare and she would wake up to see her baby’s dark head on her pillow. It was never there and she’d gone on living, but it was a different life, with the terrible knowledge that awful things could happen again. She needed someone to hold her together in case she fell apart again.

Jack had been too shattered to do that and she hadn’t been able to let anyone else near enough. Ben was strong but she had pushed him away and now he was going to the far ends of the earth to get away from her. All that anger and blame and fear had driven away friends and family until she was set up alone with strangers, her heart iced over with hurt and fear. Ben would find love and comfort, but she couldn’t risk ever letting anyone close. For the first time for months she wept quietly, sitting up in the chill, fiddling for the candle, and that was when she felt something strange again. She was not alone. The house creepers were back.

For a second she tensed but it wasn’t a physical presence, more a comforting presence all around her of women: farmers’ wives who had paced these floors, treading the same Gethsemane road, a company of weeping women, Rachels weeping for their own lost children in the wee small hours of the night, mothers who couldn’t be comforted. It was this sharing of loss that bound her to Cragside for ever. A bit of Sylvia was here within these walls. How could she leave? She buried her head in her pillow.

Grief has its own milestones, its own sad progress, perhaps: Sylvia’s birthday, Christmas, the anniversary and the ones to come. Each of these needed marking, and she had hidden all her pain away in suitcases or it had been done for her, and she had never bothered to sort out her daughter’s clothes or her toys. What the eye didn’t see…Now there was time. They were confined indoors, fast in, and Ben was the one person in the world who might help her face her fear. It would be the one last task they would share before he left. It was up to her to open the door, to clear the air once and for all.

At first she was cross because his coming messed up her solitary routine. It was duty that had dragged her out in the snow and duty that revived him, and yet the thought of him going away for good…He looked different, older and more careworn. He had suffered too in his exile. Tonight his presence was companionable and welcome. He smelled of earth, woodsmoke; honest sweat glistened on his brow in the firelight.

She noticed his broad hands stretched out for warmth; farmer’s hands, chapped, gnarled with wind and rain, rough and even bigger than her own spades. His palms were callused, blistered from all their shovelling, and just for one second she wondered what those hands would feel like dusting over her skin.

A frisson of shock sparked through her body. She had undressed him and sponged him down like a brother in extremis, but now she was curious and not a little shocked by the realisation that Ben might be her cousin and a friend, but in the firelight he was first and foremost a man.

‘Remember how Grandpa Joe used to say that a good bit of wood gave two heats?’ Ben shouted as he split the logs with an axe.

‘Could we ever forget? The first was in the chopping and the second when it was on the fire,’ Mirren said as she was loading the logs onto the foddering sled, layered up in coat, scarf and sacking hood.

Splitting the wood, crashing blade onto bark, was strangely soothing, releasing all his tension and stiffness. The pile was drying off by the fire. The last of the fallen trees stored under tarpaulin was damp, but dry enough at the core to eke out the peat.

Day was following night, and still it snowed. Their daily routine was digging a tunnel out to the cattle in the byre, which bellowed in protest at having only half-portions. Ben looked out across an arctic landscape, snow on ice whipped into monumental sculptures. He thought of their flock still not rescued, heavy with lambs. No amount of wool would save them from this devouring monster. He turned back to his chore with a heavy heart.

There was relief in Mirren’s eyes when he tackled something extra, but he felt uneasy. Something was shifting between them as if being stuck together was forcing some change. There was a tension that he couldn’t explain, a restless nervous energy that was making them both busy themselves, always on the go, jumping up to see to a chore or to the stove, the dogs. When Mirren did sit down her right leg was bobbing up and down like a piston and she only did that when she’d something on her mind. He knew her so well, or he thought he did, but she was softer round the edges, her voice quieter and there was a look in her eye he’d never seen before when they talked about the old days at Cragside.

‘This house’s a bit too big for one to manage,’ he said, and then wished he hadn’t.

‘Tom and Florrie are talking of giving up Scar Head and moving back here, I think to keep an eye on me,’ she smiled. ‘They say it could do with knocking back.’

‘You can’t do that! It’s Cragside, it wouldn’t be the same.’

‘I suppose it makes sense but I don’t know what the old ghosts will think about it if we do. Josiah Yewell spent his life turning his sow’s ear of a farm into a silk purse and nearly beggared himself to keep his wives in china and embroidery silk, so Granny Adey told me once, but I don’t know if it’s true.’

‘I heard he stole a picture and was so in fear of hell that he sent it back to the artist but Dad said Grandpa was always full of fanciful tales. I wonder what tales will be told about us?’

‘You’ll find gold in the outback, raise ten kids and make a fortune,’ she laughed.

‘And you? Why aren’t you at World’s End and what’s all this about it being a refugee camp, a holiday house for down-and-outs, as Florrie says, a proper league of nations up there?’

‘Who knows? I had to make something out of it. It’s a special place, thanks to you. Maybe one of these days I’ll return there and turn into Miss Havisham and stop all the clocks. I can’t live alone here for ever–it’s not economic. If this blow-in doesn’t stop soon, the weight of ice will crack the slates, the beams will rot, the roof will cave in and I’ll end up like Miriam of the Dale, hiding under the chimney, frozen to my lamp. Last night for the first time in ages I felt…no, you’ll laugh,’ she stopped.

‘Go on.’

‘I felt the past round me. I couldn’t see anything but there was a mist and I knew they were there, watching and waiting, nice ghosts like the ones at World’s End. Am I going off my rocker?’

‘An old house is steeped in people’s stories and feelings. Was Sylvia there?’

She didn’t reply, but bent her head. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Because when I go round the rooms I can’t see a single photo of her and I want to take one with me when I leave. I’ve been plucking up courage to ask you and if I don’t say it now I never will. If you like, tell me where I’ll find one and I won’t mention her again, but I loved her too.’

‘I know and I’m sorry, but Florrie took the stuff away and I never asked where, and she’s never said, but there must be some somewhere. Perhaps it’s time I went and looked while you’re here…It’s not something to do on my own.’ She paused, gazing out of the window. ‘Oh my God, look at that! Hares are foraging for food in the open. Things must be bad, get the gun. Quick, there’s supper out there if you’re still a crack shot!’

Ben shot up at her command and made for the gun cupboard.

Later he flung the carcass across the table with satisfaction. ‘That’ll make a change from salt bacon.’

The smell of the jugged hare boiling wafted through the kitchen, raising Mirren’s spirit at the thought of a feast. She would make a batter pudding with rhubarb jam and topped with cream. The wind was howling through the doors and a sad bunch of bedraggled sheep were bleating outside but they were on rations that were fast running out.

The two of them were cocooned inside now that it was dark, and might as well make the most of it. She saved some precious hot water for a strip wash. Tonight she would drop her breeches and put on a thick skirt, take off the old Land Army jumper and find something half decent to honour the poor beast that was cooking up a treat on the range.

It was agony stripping off in the icy blast, but she’d put a hot brick round her undies and Gran’s old paisley shawl. For once she would attempt to look half human, but why the fashion parade now was hard to fathom. It was something about reminding her and, by default, Ben that she was still a woman, not a snowball. She wanted him to remember her as she once was, and not the fierce animal that had brayed at him before he left. She unrolled her hair and let it hang down to her shoulders for a change, looked in the mirror and decided to pin it back up again. No use frightening the man.

‘You’ll do,’ she pouted back at her reflection. How long was it since she had dressed up for anyone? Her legs had not seen daylight for months. Florrie would be impressed by this effort. She was all dolled up like a dog’s dinner, wondering if it was a bit much.

The tantalising smell was wafting upstairs, and Mirren knew that dratted Ben had left the blanket off the door and the door open. Every degree of heat must be saved. The draught was that keen in the hall it would cut them in two. Time to get down and brave the stairs, dart back into the kitchen and see to the dinner.

It was strange eating at night. But there was no time in the day to cook up much. Doreen was the one to see to the meals for everyone. Beasts came first and then, as there were only two of them, they must forage for themselves. Tonight they deserved a reward for all their hard work.

Tomorrow she must scrape out the last of the oats and make up some oatbreads to hang on the pulley to dry. With cheese from the dairy, they wouldn’t starve, and there was always the sack of the National Flour that tasted of floor sweepings, but with some treacle cake mixed in it wasn’t so bad.

Tonight they were eating civilised, like the toffs, in celebration of shooting the hare and for keeping the show on the road. There was nothing more they could do to save their flock. You had to admit when you were beaten, Mirren sighed, and Nature as always was having the last word.

*

They sat stoking up the fire, full to bursting after the dinner, warmed through with a hot toddy of spiced elderberry cordial.

‘Grandpa Joe was wrong about there being only two heats from wood. There’s a third, don’t you think, the one you get from just looking at the flames and the colours? It cheers your soul,’ Ben said.

‘I never took you for a romancer,’ Mirren laughed. ‘But happen you’re right.’

He was touched she had made an effort to change for supper and he was glad he had put on a clean shirt and his dried-off tweeds.

There was another heat tonight that he didn’t like to share: a spark of interest in her eyes when she looked at him and held his gaze just a little too long for comfort, making him want to look away. It didn’t take much for a spark to ignite into a flame but he drew back at such a thought. What if he got it wrong?

From the first second he opened his eyes and saw Mirren’s worried face, her hands rubbing life back into him, all the old feelings had come rushing back: admiration, concern, gladness that they were still friends, but most of all a stirring in his groin that would never go away when she was close.

They sat side by side, savouring the chickeny meat, the pot herbs and vegetables. He kept darting glances at the flames shooting up into the grate, feeling content for the first time in months.

Is this what marriage was about, going about jobs side by side, sitting in companionship sharing the triumphs and disasters of the day? Only the silence between them wasn’t so comfortable now. There were things to discuss, feelings to sort out and a photograph to find. He meant to keep her to her promise and now was as good a time as any, but she was quick to seize the moment.

‘Shall we play cards?’ she said, jumping up to the sideboard. ‘It’s too early for bed yet.’

‘We could listen to the wireless,’ Ben countered.

‘There’s only a little juice left in the battery and we need to listen out for news. If it gets worse they’ll have to do a drop. They did it before.’ Mirren was back to her usual practical self.

‘There’s a gramophone in the parlour,’ he suggested. ‘We could polish the floor with our feet.’

‘You can’t dance,’ she snapped, laughing. ‘Last time you nearly broke my toes.’

‘I can boogie-woogie. We used to go to the dance hall in York.’

‘Oh, aye? What was her name?’

‘Sheila…Sheila Hayes. Her brother worked with me on the farm. He’s coming to Oz with us.’

‘And Sheila?’

‘She’s a teacher in York, not interested.’

‘You trod on her toes once too often then?’ Mirren was teasing him, seeing his discomfort. Sheila was only ever a friend but he was not going to tell her that. There were other girls he had met in York who’d shown him what’s what in a much earthier way, taught him a thing or two about female anatomy, shown him some tricks, but he wasn’t going to tell her about them either.

‘Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.’ She sprang up. ‘But only for a few minutes. It’ll be freezing in there and my chilblains are itching.’

Ben made a foray into the big parlour. It was damp and musty, well shuttered. There was a piano in the corner and a wind-up gramophone with a cabinet full of 78s, mostly classical music, quite a bit of Handel. It was Grandpa’s collection, but if Ben recalled right, tucked at the side were some of his Joe Loss Band records and some Anne Shelton tunes. Then he found the country dances and put one on for fun.

‘This takes me back,’ Mirren smiled, holding out her hand to him. ‘Two steps forward, one step back and twirl in the church hall with Miss Bickerstaffe on wet playtimes.’

They pranced around, bumping into furniture, acting silly like children of the storm, kindred spirits shut off from the real world, dancing without a care, making fools of themselves. He could go on dancing like this for ever. He could feel her breath on his cheek, the warmth of her hand in his as they swirled, and the daft dog jumping up to join in. For a few minutes they could forget the terrible havoc being wreaked over the dale and the stranded sheep and the suffering, and everything could be as it once was.

What am I doing, prancing like an idiot? Mirren gasped, out of breath at all their silliness. If Florrie could see the two of them messing about in the best room, letting the dust fly and the dog loose on her sofa, she’d go wild. The feast had been a success and Ben had lapped up her cooking with relish. His beard was frosted with cream and for a second she’d wanted to kiss it off his lips until common sense got the better of her. He was her cousin, for God’s sake.

This was Lanky Ben of the size twelve boots, who even now was careering round like a mad thing. How could she be thinking of him like that? It was when he mentioned his girlfriend in York that she had felt a dart of panic. Why shouldn’t he be courting? Once he got to Australia some farmer’s daughter would soon get her hands on him.

How strange that her body should be coming alive to the notion of romancing with someone she’d known almost all her life? It must be the spicy juice she’d sipped that was making her silly. Who needed whisky to feel so giddy and light?

It was as if suddenly the snow was melting and there was sunshine again and birdsong, and the earth was coming alive after a long sleep.

Ben was handsome in a gruff Yorkshire sort of way, tall, broad and fair. Perhaps he was the one man capable of melting the ice around her heart. Was that why he came back? For so long she’d felt nothing. It was as if she was a block of ice, frozen, unable to move, but now it was warm and things were shifting fast.

When was the last time she’d pranced around this room? She froze. It was when she had chased Sylvia around, playing catch-up, trying to get her dressed in time for the fancy-dress parade…What would her little girl think of all this? Were the ghosts of Cragside shaking their heads, wondering if she had gone mad at last?

‘Enough,’ she said, stepping back and shaking her head. ‘This’s not right–not here, not now.’ She felt cold and shivery and backed away from Ben. ‘You wanted a photo, we’ll have to find one somewhere. Stop here while I search.’

‘I’ll come and help you,’ he said, making for the door.

‘No, go and see to the fire. We don’t want to let it down,’ she snapped. There must be no more romancing. It wasn’t right, not when her baby was lying in the frozen earth all on her own.

She raced up the stairs two at a time. The suitcases were in the top bedroom, the one they used for junk. Florrie wouldn’t have shoved stuff in the damp under a leaking roof. She went through each drawer in the bedrooms, one by one: clothes, shirts, old bed linen. She looked under the bed just in case there was something hidden beside the jerries. Florrie would have put the things in an orderly fashion.

Why, oh why had she never demanded all the stuff back to cherish? How blind she had been. When she was in drink she’d not cared about anything but being blotto. It had taken a mere man to remind her of how cruel she was, to shove her beautiful daughter out of sight so no one could share her.

A passionate energy tore through her limbs as she opened every cupboard, and then she realised that Florrie had taken them with her, all the little baby things, just in case. Perhaps she’d given them to a needy child in the village without her permission.

There was nowhere else to look now. Wardrobes and chests and blanket drawers held no treasures, for now she knew that that was what they were: her treasures so wantonly abandoned.

‘I can’t find anything,’ she sobbed, standing in the doorway, suddenly limp with frustration. ‘There’s nothing left. Florrie took me at my word and destroyed everything, and I’ve only myself to blame. I’m sorry but there’s nothing left.’

Everything went blurred and she was sobbing, and Ben was holding her tight and she buried her head into his chest with relief.

‘We’ll find them. No one destroyed anything. I know Florrie. She’d do what you said but keep them safe for just the day when you were ready to have them back.’

‘I am so tired,’ Mirren cried, going limp, leaning on him for strength.

‘I’ll make us a brew and we’ll sit by the fire and see if there’s anywhere else we could look. Where are those old photo albums, the one with the eclipse in and Grandpa in the Gazette?’

‘Where they always are, on the shelf in the parlour,’ she muttered. It had been the obvious place to look. They took their mugs back into the parlour and scoured the shelves to no avail, stopping every now and then to admire a snapshot of Joe and Adey. It was then she recalled Dad’s tin box that she had brought, with the postcards from the front and Paddy Gilchrist in his uniform, and the one of Mum and Grantley Where had they gone?

Photos were important, especially of their family, she mused. These snaps brought back memories of the eclipse, of Jack as a lad, and Adey and Tom and Florrie. Seeing them all together brought them closer. It wasn’t right to hide Sylvia away. She was as much a part of this old farm as Mirren herself was. As long as she and the others were alive Sylvia would live on in their memory. But where was she now?

Ben was trying to be helpful, searching under the stairs, in all the nooks and crannies, but there was nothing.

‘Better sleep on it, love. You’ll feel fresher in the morning.’

‘In the morning there’ll be no time for searching. I have to find them now. Oh, if only I’d asked. How could I be so stupid?’ she snapped.

‘You weren’t stupid. It just wasn’t the right time and now it is, and I’m glad ’cos it’s cleared the air between us a bit. You can be a stickler once you get an idea in your head, Miriam. You go at it like a cock at a grozzit. It’ll wait.’

‘Sylvia wasn’t a Miriam, though. Jack wouldn’t let me name her that,’ she sighed.

‘She was a Yewell through and through, just like you and all the rest of the Miriams of the Dale. We even dressed her up…Oh, no!’ Ben stopped, seeing her shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No…wait. That’s it! Where’s the one place I haven’t looked?’ she said, making strides across the room.

‘You’ve lost me there, Mirren,’ he said, not understanding her excitement.

‘In here; the one thing that all the Miriams hand down from one to another. Look!’ She stood before the dark oak carved table box, hardly daring to breathe, undoing the clasps slowly and lifting the lid. ‘They’re here. Oh, Ben, they’re all here in the Miriam Box!’

She lifted out the frames and the snapshots and envelopes, clasping them to her chest with relief. She sat down and wept, and Ben gathered her into his chest again and wept with her.

‘I’ve been so stupid. I nearly lost her twice over with my stubbornness. Hold me while I look at her again.’ They both gazed down through a mist of tears at the face looking back at them. ‘When does the aching stop?’

‘It never does, love, but it’s better to share the pain with someone than carry it all on your own. She’s found and you’ll put her in her rightful place, on show, where everyone can see what a lovely little girl she was. That’s the best we can do, I reckon.’

‘I’m so glad you came back,’ she whispered. ‘You won’t go away just yet, will you?’

‘What do you take me for, a masochist? Three steps out there and I’d sink without trace,’ he laughed, wiping her eyes with his old hanky.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said.

‘I know, but I’ll see you right before I make tracks, and that’s a promise. And you can choose the picture for me, right?’

‘That’s all right then.’

Mirren sat in the parlour, going through every snap. Wartime film was precious, and there weren’t as many as she hoped, but the little portrait done in Scarperton was still in its silver frame. Her birth certificate was in its envelope, and the little bag of silver threepenny bits, and a teaspoon someone had given for her christening. There was a lock of hair coiled round a cotton reel: little mementoes still intact and safe in the Miriam Box. And at the bottom were Dad’s old photos and the postcards; all her treasures were secure.

She had never bothered much with the old oak chest until now. It was just something passed down and of not much interest. She fingered the carving lovingly, knowing she’d never be parted from it again. Perhaps one day she might even hand it over to another Miriam. This was her past but it promised a future too. She was young and healthy and on her own. Maybe it was time to look out instead of inwards.

She smiled, thinking of the banks of snowdrifts blocking the side door, the great tunnels of ice in the farmyard. It was all about survival now, and tomorrow she would have to try to save what was left of their stock.

20

It was Ben who heard the drone of a single-engine plane in the distance coming ever closer, breaking the silence of the snow. Curiosity made him scrape off the icy ferns at his bedroom window to search for the dot in the sky. Suddenly it was swooping down, fluttering leaflets, and he could see Mirren already up, racing to gather them in.

‘Mafeking is relieved. The RAF are going to drop supplies. It says we’ve to listen to the wireless for instructions. It’ll depend on the weather. You remember they did it before? No, you weren’t here. Just when I thought we were on our beam ends…no hay, nothing but sawdust left.’

He read the paper over and over. Bales of hay and emergency rations would be dropped to farms still cut off. Instructions would be announced on the Farming Programme. They must make some way of identifying the drop zone on the day of their delivery. There was hope after all.

‘Where shall we put it?’ she cried, her cheeks burning pink in the chill air.

‘Not too close to the house or they might drop on the slates and go through the roof. Better out by the far barn, if we can dig ourselves through the drifts. This calls for a celebration,’ Ben shouted. ‘Salty bacon or salty bacon?’

Their food supplies were running low. Most nights they dined on vegetables and bacon, and rice pudding sweetened with treacle.

Mirren was leaping round in circles, excited like a child at Christmas, as if all the old tensions had evaporated. But there were still the sick beasts and the remnants of their flock to feed until then.

Ben’s favourite time was when they sat together and tried to bolster their flagging spirits. Last week the postman got through to the lane end but no further, and they stood on the walls and signalled that all was well and to tell the other Yewells that Mirren was safe. There were diggers doing their best to open the tracks but Cragside was not a priority yet.

There was no snow that night. The clouds were high but still looking heavy. Mirren was glued to the wireless, hoping the batteries wouldn’t choose now to conk out. For three mornings she listened but there was no announcement. She and Ben began to think it would never be their turn, and then on the fourth day, the West Riding Dales were named and they both jumped up. Mirren was all for going out there and then to make their pyre, but Ben held her back.

‘Don’t be daft. It’s still dark. Get some food inside you and pretend it’s just another day in case they don’t have time to reach us.’

‘But they’ve got to come now. What if the cloud drops and they miss us?’ she moaned.

‘Hold your sweat. I’ll make a pyre to guide them in. We did it in the Home Guard,’ he ordered, not telling her he’d been trained to lure enemy aircraft down onto rocks.

He gathered all the dry provender sacks from the inside of the door and laid them in a great cross over the field. The snow was hard and compacted, and he could just see the outline of stone walls beneath his feet. They kept watch all morning, looking to the east towards the RAF base at Dishforth, but there wasn’t even a bird on the wing.

It was mid-afternoon when he soaked the sacks in old engine oil so they would flare up quickly and lit the match to the cross so it blazed out with black smoke and flames just as the sound of engines droned ever closer. He could see the smoke rising in the distance from Scar Head. Uncle Tom would have a good feast tonight.

Mirren came running out, waving her hands. ‘Get under bloody cover!’ he yelled, racing over to grab her arm. ‘What do you think you’re playing at? You could be squashed by bales and boxes on your head!’

The planes circled above like hawks on the wing, flying low enough for them to see the doors opening. They were checking to see if it was the right farm. One flew overhead while the other chucked out huge parcels down in the field, which just missed landing right in the flames.

Mirren shot out to reach the boxes and screamed, waving her fist, ‘There’s no hay! We need bales, not parcels!’ Her face was a picture of disappointment and frustration.

They watched the plane veering off westwards and trudged out with the sled to retrieve the manna from heaven. Looking up, Ben saw the other plane turning back towards the field. ‘Look!’ he yelled as she was trying to drag heavy parcels.

This time they were bombarded with bales of hay, some well off target, many splitting open on impact, scattering hay in all directions. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Neither of them could settle until every scrap was accounted for. It must all be under cover by nightfall in case the weather blew in again. They let the rescued sheep forage for themselves, scoffing up every blade of nourishment. It was good to see the ewes, cold and weak as they were, jostling and tussling for their share, butting and shoving each other like old wives at a jumble sale, hobbling from one pile to another, vacuuming up every morsel.

That evening Mirren and Ben opened the food parcels in wonder. Rationing or no rationing, someone had done them proud with such a variety of tins. There was also toothpaste, soap, cocoa, tea, egg powder, boiled sweets, yeast and flour, and even some chicken feed. It was like those food parcels sent by the Yewells who’d settled in America. There was even a sack of coal nuts to burn.

Mirren disappeared into the kitchen, weary as she was, and baked some scones. There was Spam and oatcakes and Dundee cake for tea, and they huddled over the fire, full of gratitude to the men who had flown out these supplies.

Ben had been here so long now it was as if he’d never been away. Surely the weather would let up soon and it would be time to be on his way. The ticket was burning a hole in his pocket. These extra rations would see Mirren through the last of the terrible siege. He didn’t want to think about the coming thaw, but there was rain in the night and he knew it wouldn’t be far off.

Ben went down into the cellar to stock up their new provisions, whistling to himself. It smelled musty and dank, but the cupboards were sound and the slate shelves thick. He could see a line of neat Kilner jars all neatly labelled. Someone had been busy. And then he saw it, tucked away at the back and his heart sank.

There, behind the salted runner beans, was a half-bottle of neat whisky, a cheap brand, and there was no dust on it. It was fresh.

So that was her little game then? She was still at it, fooling everyone. No wonder she wanted to be on her own. Disappointment stuck in his throat like a stone. Nothing had changed then.

The farmyard was like a skating rink as Mirren made for the cow shippon, slithering on the path. The sky was higher and the chill was not as bad. The rain would soak off the snow and the snow cutters would be making their slow progress up the Windebank road soon.

She was head down, milking the brown Ayrshire, her cheeks warmed by its soft fleshy rump. The air drop of hay would save the last of their herd now, but it was too dangerous for them to step foot out of the byre. The fate of their lost sheep didn’t bear thinking about. She looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway with a mug of tea.

‘Put it on the ledge…thanks.’ There was something in his eyes that made her pause from her job. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m thinking of cutting myself down the track. Now the rain’s come, the thaw can’t be far behind. I ought to be heading on. I’ll not have time to see Florrie and Tom but you can tell them all my news. You’ll manage till the lads come?’

‘You do what you think best,’ she said, feeling suddenly cold inside. ‘If you can dig yourself out, the cutter lorry won’t be far behind. I’ve held you up enough as it is.’

‘It’s not that…The ticket will expire but I could change it for later.’

‘You get yourself off down that road. I’ll be fine,’ she said, not looking at him, knowing she was shocked by this sudden announcement but didn’t want to let him see it.

‘Are you sure? I just thought I ought…’

‘I understand; places to go, people to see. Don’t let me hold you back.’

‘If you can’t manage…’ His voice trailed away.

‘I managed before you came. Don’t look so worried. I’m so glad we sorted things out. You’ve earned your keep. I’ll look you out that snap.’

He helped her muck out, both of them working in silence. Funny how she’d not expected him to jump ship so quickly. He must have got cabin fever, cooped up with her. She was used to her own company, but in the last weeks having Ben around was a godsend. She’d grown used to his quiet presence.

He knew what to do without even being asked. Cragside was as much his farm as hers. They had both adopted it as children, or it had adopted them. The thought of him leaving everyone behind for good had never entered her head. Why did it feel like desertion?

Later she packed him up cheese, oatcakes, a wrinkled apple and a wedge of sticky cake into his knapsack. Never let it be said that she didn’t know how to send a man off properly. ‘Mind and stick to the stone walls and the telegraph pole. Take the red hanky and if there’s anything waiting at the lane end hoist it up the pole. I can just see it from the top windows,’ she smiled.

Now it was time for him to leave she felt awkward. She had put Sylvia’s photo in an old tortoiseshell frame and packaged it up with a few snaps of hay time and the family, one of Gran and Grandpa at the eclipse. Ben was standing, looking around, hovering and in her way.

‘I’ll be off then…Send you a postcard. I hope you understand why I must make tracks now,’ he muttered, picking up the rucksack, avoiding her gaze.

She’d insisted that he wear sacking puttees round his trouser legs to stop the worst of the wet. She’d found another scarf to muffle him and a prodding stick, mended the tear in his old greatcoat. ‘Put this one on till you get to the lane end. You can leave it there and put on the better one for travelling. Dog and me’ll go with you to the first barn.’ She pointed, wrapping the sacking hood around the shoulders of her old coat, making a monk’s hood of it.

The going was slippery at first. Even the dogs were skating. They clambered over frozen drifts like mountaineers. The sky was grey and the drizzle icy, a fine mist rolling over the high slopes ahead so that the whole panorama was a monochrome of grey and white, stone and slate, grass hidden under a silver sheen of snow.

Together they dragged the sledge of fodder across to the first outbarn where the cows were bellowing.

Why did she feel he was deserting his post? What if the snow returned and she was stranded? How would she manage alone? She had depended on his strength and knowledge. She wanted to cry, ‘Stay! Please don’t go,’ but said nothing, not wanting him to feel obliged and beholden.

He lingered at the barn door, hovering again as if reluctant to move on.

‘On you go, I can manage…Keep in touch. No more wandering off the track; straight lines is best. I’ll tell Tom you drank his whisky,’ she yelled, trying to make light of it all but feeling sick at heart.

‘Are you sure?’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘We’re a good team, you and me.’

‘Just get on that ship and send me a long letter from Wagga Wagga land. If I win the pools I might just come out and see you one of these days…Shove off, me laddo!’

She wanted to run to him and hug him, plead with him to stay, but it would only embarrass him. She didn’t need a minder now. He could see she could look after herself. He wanted to go and she was too proud to beg. They were friends again and that was all that mattered: friends and nothing more.

Ah well, one day she would laugh about his coming with Tom and Florrie round the fire. ‘There was me, poor Jill all alone in the blizzard, and who did I dig up but my long-lost cousin. Then he was off before I had time to wash his socks! That’s Yewells for you.’

She watched as he plodded forward, his knees plunging into the snow. Now and then he stopped and waved and looked back to the safety of their snow house. He’d looked so guilty as he walked away with a faraway gaze in his eye. Her own eyes were smarting but it wasn’t the wind.

His body was bent into the wind, his trousers bagged and his coat flapping; his outline fading into the landscape. She wanted to call out to him to come back but her lips were cracked and no sound came out of her throat. So that was that then?

If he made it to the lane end and took it steady, he could walk on the wall tops like the postman. Ben knew the lie of the land. He had his snap and a hip flask of hot cocoa and brandy. There were icicles to suck like lollies, but whether there would be a train to catch was another matter. When he got to the crossroads there were plenty of places where folk would give him a bed.

She’d done her bit and kept him safe. He in turn had helped her out and given her the courage to look at Sylvia’s face. That was what family was for, but there was something in his unexpected return that had taken her by surprise. His warmth had stirred up feelings, memories of what it was to be young and alive to the attraction of a handsome face. Auntie Florrie was right: ‘You should get out more. You allus were the bonny one. Why’ve you let yourself go? You’re only young the once.’

She did her chores watching the sky for any change, any sign of the thaw. It was getting colder and the clouds were like lumps of lead. Once the wind blew in it would start all over again, and she hoped that Ben would be well on hs way down the valley by then.

The weather might not be thawing but she had, she mused. She was not so frozen up and dead to feeling. Ben had given her back some hope, she thought as she made her way to the hen hut with the chicken feed. There might be a frozen egg if she was lucky.

When she reached the netting she saw disaster had struck. There was a hole and a trail of blood and feathers. A bloody fox…She needed no soothsayer to know what she was going to find in there. With a sinking heart she stepped into the cage and gathered up the remains of her chickens. Only one sat shivering on the roost pole.

The worst of it by far was the fact that there was no one back in the kitchen. No one to share this bad news. For the first time in weeks she needed a drink.

There was one bottle she kept for old time’s sake down in the cellar on the top shelf. She went down every now and then to polish it, inspecting it and talking to it. It was good to know it was there. She knew she could go down those steps and help herself any time she chose to do so. It had felt the right thing to do to remind herself that temptation was round every door, but tonight it felt like a step too ambitious. She was frozen through and her corns were on fire. The house felt so empty.

Mirren opened the cellar door, sniffing the air. She fingered the bottle and took it off the shelf, hugging it to her chest. You were my comfort in times past, my comfort in times to come, she thought. Your time has come…

It was like old times on night exercises, yomping over the snow towards the lane end, but the usual landmarks were hidden by the drifts and hard to make out. One wrong turn and Ben was off track again. His reinforced leggings were hard to lift; he prodded his stick like a blind man testing the depth of drifts. It was slow and exhausting work but the day was still fresh, plenty of time, and yet each step was taking him away from Cragside and the woman whom he loved dearly; the girl who must face the rest of the snows alone.

He prayed there was a supply of letters and supplies waiting at the lane end, that she could bring the horse down and the sled to collect provisions and news of her farm hands. He strained to hear the noise of wagons cutting through the deep tunnels that gathered on the road down towards civilisation, but there was none.

That would be a sign that he was doing the right thing. ‘Who’re you kidding?’ he sneered out loud. He just wanted to ease his own conscience, to make his desertion more comfortable, soothe his confusion, but he felt like a heel. He was taking flight from Cragside because he was a coward. He’d seen the evidence and he couldn’t face all the lies and deceit again. Yet she always seemed so sober.

How many times had he wanted to tell her how he felt but sensed his words would bring only rejection and awkwardness between them? Better to bugger off now and make the best of a bad job. If only she’d given him a sign that what they felt for each other was more than kinship and companionship. How could it be any other way? They were bound together by suffering and misunderstandings.

Mirren had a passionate heart, frozen still, dormant, waiting like the poor sheep sheltering even now under walls and drifts, waiting to be rescued, breathing, scratching, waiting for the thaw to save them. One day she’d blossom and love again, but not him.

Jack had never been the right man for her right from the start. Ben’d hung back and watched them pair off, knowing his step-cousin was too wild and wilful to make her happy. Whereas he, like a timid tup, hovered around, hoping she would notice him. ‘You have to grab life by the balls,’ his old sergeant used to say. He was more like a useless tup in a field full of ewes, not up to the job.

The two of them were rooted to this spot by generations of breeding. Hill farming was bred in their bones so why was he running away now, making excuses, leaving her in the lurch?

He was afraid of that bottle in the cellar. Its power was too strong for him to overcome. He was afraid of there being no loving responses in her. He was afraid of being turned down.

The sun pierced through the clouds for a few seconds as he reached the lane end and saw what remained of the crossroads shimmering like silver glass where the telegraph poles went in two directions. This was where he must have stumbled off track the first time. The silence was eerie, the wind whipping his earlobes and the end of his nose. It was time to kick the ice off his leggings and take out a snack from his bag.

It wasn’t that far to make for Scar Head and give them a surprise, though better to make down the lane leading up from Windebank. It felt like weeks since he had left the train, the longest time he had ever spent with Mirren alone. The more he’d lived with her the more he’d loved her.

He got up and shook off the snow. No more dithering. Time to head down the valley before the light went. He would face the huge barriers of uncut snow when he came to them. No diggers had got close to this moor yet and nothing was left but a pile of letters and bills for the farm. No sign of boxes hidden on the slate shelf halfway up the wall.

Dieter would be out on digging patrols. All the POWs would be made to work off the farms. As Ben walked, his legs got heavier and heavier and his heart sank into his boots. Funny how he could hear her voice in his head teasing. ‘Move along, slowcoach, stop flither flathering. Get on with it!’ He brushed the crumbs from his frozen coat. If only there was another way…Mirren found she’d laid the table for two and whipped up the cutlery with annoyance. Ben would be where he wanted to be by now, no doubt propping up the bar at The Fleece, boasting about being off to foreign parts.

She could do with making off to sunshine and leaving this whole sorry mess behind. The house was as quiet and empty as it used to be, and somehow that was no comfort at all. Something was missing–rather someone was missing–and she’d let him go without even a murmur of protest.

How would the family pay for all their losses? Only by pulling in their horns. If truth were told, she didn’t want Tom and Florrie taking over again, having to share a kitchen with another woman. Doreen was different. Florrie wanted to gossip about folk who didn’t interest Mirren.

It was Ben who would’ve made this harsh life bearable. Now he was gone. Perhaps it was a sign she’d lived too long with only the grandfather clock for company to be looking to him for something that wasn’t there.

They’d danced a bit and he’d comforted her over the lost snaps. It wasn’t exactly lovey-dovey candlelit dinners with soppy words. He’d sat on his hands. That sort of stuff was for the pictures. It didn’t happen in real life, not up here in the Dales. Courting was a shifty sort of arrangement, made on the dance floor or at the Young Farmers’ club. She was far too old for any of that now. Then she smelled the milk burning in the pan and jumped up. Just time for her comfort.

She flopped down with the whisky bottle and the bowl of hot water, and poured the contents into the bowl to soak her feet. If she couldn’t drink at least she could use the spirit to dab on her corns.

She felt a sudden draught, a blast of ice and wind, and the door banging open, the dogs barking and wagging their tails, jumping up at the open door.

There was a snowman in the doorway grinning, his beard full of icicles, his coat sticking out like a crinoline. She dropped the bottle in shock.

‘Now don’t go blaming me for that,’ said a familiar voice.

‘Ben! What are you doing back here? Is it that bad outside?’ Her heart was thundering with pleasure at the sight of him. ‘Sit down, sit down…I’ll get you a brew.’

‘I got halfway down the hill and then I saw how bad it was. It’s not good. Then I thought to myself, there’ll be other ships but now’s not the time to be deserting yer post. Cragside is my home as well as yours, and I don’t want to see you all ruined for want of another pair of hands. I hope you don’t mind…’ He paused, looking down with furrowed icy eyebrows at her standing in a bowl of water.

She burst out laughing. ‘You’ve caught me at my ablutions…but I think you thought I was back on the hard stuff and came back to spy on me. Oh, Ben! Look, it’s all here to soothe my corns. Smell it! Proper medicine this time.’

Enough shillyshallying, it was now or never. ‘You’re a good man, Ben Yewell. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in all my life. The house’s been that quiet. I can’t believe you’ve come back. I want to hug you. I missed you so!’

‘Then what’s stopping you?’ he laughed, his ice-blue eyes sparkling with mischief at giving her such a shock.

She tore at his frozen clothes and flung them on the floor. Her heart was racing as she fingered his icy cheek. Her kiss was closed, dry and tentative, testing, hesitant, just a peck, waiting for him to draw back in shock. He searched her face with his eyes. Then she kissed him hungrily, her lips apart as if she was drinking in the very heart of him. They rolled down onto the old sofa that smelled of dogs and coal, lying in each other’s arms, laughing.

‘Oh, Mirren, can you forgive me? I thought the worst. I wanted to catch you out and now it’s me who’s ashamed.’

She stopped his mouth with a kiss.

Ben was home and this time she was going to give him such a Yorkshire welcome that nothing would make him go away again.

In the early dawn she woke to feel the warmth of the bed and the big hump beside her. She wanted to shake him and kiss him awake, and leaned over.

‘This’s the only way to keep warm from now on, better than any hot-water bottle,’ she whispered. The bed was rumpled and the sheets awry, but Ben turned towards her and cupped her breast, flicking her nipple alive with one finger and feathering her in a slow deliberate caress as if there was all the time in the world.

Her hands explored him back. There were no boundaries or stone walls between them now, nothing but pleasure given and received.

Somewhere in that precious evening they had crossed the river, over the wooden bridge from friends to lovers, and now her body yearned for more. This was how it should be. This is what she needed, feelings long forgotten as his fingers roamed across her skin and lit a fire no blizzard would ever quench.

Ben leaned over his lover with a smile. To think if he had walked away he’d have missed the fire in her eyes as she welcomed him home. This was his home for good, hefted to her side for the rest of his life. Who needed promised lands when all the world was right here in this bed, burning up with eagerness to draw him back into her? In this curtained-off cocoon was life and courage and hope; all he had ever wanted. Mirren, his lover, his woman, his friend. He nuzzled her cheek and grinned. ‘Let’s be having you again…’

Outside the wind turned from the east towards the south, warmer air crept northwards, changing snow to fat goose feathers. Everything looked the same but wasn’t.

The sheep sensed the change, the crows rasped and the cows snorted. Soon the icy gargoyles on the drainpipes would shrink and melt in the morning sun, ice glistening to the sound of sliding snow.

Down in the valley the mechanical diggers ground their way up the gritted track, banks of brown slush parted as the plough divided its spoil. Footprints left a damper patch.

Winter was losing its stranglehold at long last. The curlews bubbled and called, flying over a shrinking sea of snow to find their nesting places. Spring was on the move and new life growing, safe under the blankets in a bedroom at Cragside Farm.

The house creepers sank back into the darkness, content.

Author’s Notes

You will not find Windebank or Scarperton on any map of the Yorkshire Dales for they are fusions of many villages and townships in the Craven area. My story and its characters are entirely fictitious but I have based some incidents on local events before and after the Second World War.

I am indebted to the following for sharing their stories of their farming lives: Anne Holgate, Olive and Joe Coates, Elizabeth Hird, Gordon Sargeant and Dick Middleton but especially to the late Mrs Edith Carr for the loan of photographs. I have drawn inspiration from her detailed account of surviving the winter of 1947 from her memoir: Edith Carr-Life on Malham Moor. A mini-biography by W.R. Mitchell, Castleberg Publications (1999).

I also drew ideas and inspiration from local exhibitions at the Folly Museum, Settle, and Victoria Hall, and from local publications: North Craven at War: A Collection by the North Craven Historical Research Group, Hudson History publications of Settle (2005) and How they lived in the Yorkshire Dales by W.R. Mitchell, Castleberg Publications (2001).

The incident with the barrage balloon was inspired by an anecdote in Sheep, Steam and Shows by Gerald Tyler.

I am indebted to North Yorkshire County Libraries for always finding my obscure requests, especially the Settle branch for showing me the Craven Herald and Pioneer articles and the local archive of the Giggleswick total eclipse in 1927.

Most of the information on the secret Auxiliary Units of the Home Guard came from www.auxunit.org.uk. My hidden bunkers in the Dales are fictitious. I’d love to know if there are any still extant.

This story was sometimes written to the accompaniment of Edward Elgar’s Introduction and Adagio for Strings, Opus 47: the background music to Barry Cockcroft’s inspirational Yorkshire TV documentary, Too Long a Winter (1974).

Many thanks to my editor, Maxine Hitchcock and the team at Avon, to Judith Murdoch, my patient agent, Elizabeth Gill and Trisha Ashley of the 500 Club and Diane Allen for their constant encouragement and support.

A special thanks also to Jenny Hall, Joyce Price, June Parrington, Kate Croll and the late Kathleen Firth for their friendship and enthusiasm and to David and all my family for just being there.

About the Author

Leah Fleming was born in Lancashire of Scottish parents, and is married with four grown-up children and four grandchildren. She writes full time from a haunted farmhouse in the Yorkshire Dales and from the slopes of an olive grove in Crete. For further information on Leah Fleming, please visit www.leahfleming.co.uk

Visit www.AuthorTracker.co.uk for exclusive updates on Leah Fleming.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

The ultimate treat for fans of Danielle Steele and Penny Vincenzi …

Copyright

Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Collins in 2013

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2013 NOBODY’S GIRL, Pam Weaver 2013 (THERE’S ALWAYS TOMORROW) Marie Maxwell 2013 Ruby, LEAH FLEMING 2013 (THE GIRL FROM WORLD’S END)

NOBODY’S GIRL

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Benedict Winter

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2009

THERE’S ALWAYS TOMORROW

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Debbie Clement design

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2011

RUBY

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Colin Thomas/Getty

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2012

THE GIRL FROM WORLD’S END

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Beard & Howell/Getty

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2007

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of NOBODY’S GIRL

Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of THERE’S ALWAYS TOMORROW

Marie Maxwell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of RUBY

Leah Fleming asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of THE GIRL FROM WORLD’S END

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

Ebook Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9780007532445

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Version 1

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

About the Publisher

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

http://www.harpercollins.com.au/ebooks

Canada

HarperCollins Canada

2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada

http://www.harpercollins.ca

New Zealand

HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited

P.O. Box 1

Auckland, New Zealand

http://www.harpercollins.co.nz

United Kingdom

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

77-85 Fulham Palace Road

London, W6 8JB, UK

http://www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States

HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

10 East 53rd Street

New York, NY 10022

http://www.harpercollins.com