Jo sighed with frustration. Gabe wasn’t hers, but there was someone who belonged to her, in an abstract sort of way. She leaned forward and flipped open the laptop that had been lying dormant on the coffee table. She’d been stalking Daisy on Facebook for weeks, drinking in her daughter’s every post and photo. She’d sent her a friend request, and Daisy had accepted, assuming the request had come from her elusive aunt and not her birth mother. Jo briefly wondered if Michael knew of the tenuous new connection. He could hardly come out and tell Daisy the truth, so he’d just have to sit on his hands and wait to see what Jo had in store for him. The thought made her grin like the Cheshire Cat. She had no plans to tell Daisy anything, but knowing that she could torment Michael from afar held a certain appeal.
You had no desire to be a part of her life, the more honest part of her brain argued. You never even thought about her until a few months ago. Michael has been a true parent to her, despite his many failings.
Still, Jo replied to herself, I should have been told. I had a right to know.
Jo logged in to Facebook. There, on her screen, was a picture of Daisy, wearing a wreath of flowers and a flowing lemon-yellow dress. She looked like a 1960s flower child—so beautiful. It had been someone’s wedding, her stepmother’s niece, by the looks of it. Daisy and her stepsister, Michael’s wife’s daughter from a previous relationship, had been in the bridal party. Jo stared at the picture. If she could produce such a lovely girl, she could have more children, but only with the right man.
“Gabriel,” she whispered. “Gabe.” A bolt of desire shot from her belly downward and she felt the familiar heat between her legs. She’d take him on any terms. Even if he promised her nothing but an occasional shag, she’d take it and call herself blessed. She’d take any part of him, even if that meant eating the scraps from Quinn’s table. She was that starved.
The buzzing of a text message startled her. She reached for her mobile and checked the screen. The message was from Quinn: “Welcome back. Sorry I missed you. Would love to see you and catch up. Ring me.”
Jo tossed the phone aside. She’d call Quinn, but not today. Today she needed something a bit more satisfying. She picked up the phone again and scrolled through her contacts. Callum McBride had said he’d be in London for a week. Jo grinned slyly at the memory of the big, brawny Scot. He’d been the best shag in Syria by far. Yes, he’d do—do her, again and again until he pounded Gabe out of her mind, at least temporarily.
Chapter 15
July 1955
London, England
“Off again, are you?” Edith asked as she came into the kitchen to find Helen making sandwiches.
Helen wrapped the sandwiches in brown paper, laid them carefully in a small basket, then added two apples.
“We’re going to Hyde Park for a picnic,” Helen explained. She’d been seeing David for over a month, but still hadn’t told her mother. She’d meant to, but every time she made the decision to come clean, some deep-rooted sense of self-preservation stopped her and told her to keep mum about the new relationship. Helen felt heat rising in her cheeks. She hated lying, wasn’t good at it, but the past few weeks had filled her with hope and an excitement for the future she hadn’t experienced in years, and she couldn’t bear to have those budding feelings tarnished by Edith’s skepticism and well-meaning advice.
“You’ve grown awfully close with Sarah this past month. I thought she had a young man,” Edith said, watching Helen closely.
“She does, but Bertie is travelling a lot for work and Sarah is at a loose end on her days off.”
“Hmm, in my day no one was at a loose end, as you put in,” Edith said, her reedy voice sharp with disapproval. “Young women married and had a family to look after. Nowadays, no one seems in a rush to do the right thing.”
“Things have changed since the war, Mum. People want to have a bit of fun before they settle down.”
“You can have fun with your husband,” she replied, pronouncing fun as if it were a dirty word that she had to force past her lips.
“I know things were different when you were my age, but you can’t begrudge me a bit of time on my own.”
“Time on your own?” Edith asked, her brows knitting in displeasure. “I’m on my own all day long. Thank God for Agnes and Joyce, or I’d probably die of loneliness. I know you must work, having no husband to support you, but I would think you’d spend a bit of time with me on your days off.”
“Mum, I spend every evening with you. I will be back later, and we can have supper together and listen to the wireless, just as we always do on Sunday evenings. But if I don’t spend time with people my age every now and then, I’ll go mad.”
“I never knew spending time with me was such a hardship,” Edith snapped. “I always considered myself blessed, having a daughter instead of a son. Boys go off to war, and if they’re lucky enough to return, they marry and forget that their mother was the first woman to have loved them. Girls look after their mothers; they do their duty.”
“I’ve been doing my duty by you my whole life,” Helen retorted. “What more do you want? I’m twenty-six years old. I’m entitled to a life of my own.”
“You’re a spinster, Helen. You’ve missed your chance for a life of your own. This is your life now. Sarah’s young man will return, and she’ll forget all about you as soon as she’s got better things to do, like plan a wedding. You wait and see. And then, you’ll come running back to me with your tail between your legs. Well, don’t imagine I’ll quickly forget how you’ve treated me.”
Helen glanced at the clock. She had to go, and this conversation was not one that needed finishing. Her mother had carried on like this any time Helen had gone out with a group of nurses after work or went on the odd date. Her mother was a selfish woman who thought everyone owed her something, even her friends. She always expected them to call on her, as if she were the queen, and bring by a treat when they came. She carried on like an invalid, when in fact, there was nothing stopping her from going for a walk, or to the shops.
Getting out of the house would do her good. The only time Edith left home was to go to church, and even then, she made a show of suffering, leaning heavily on her cane and stopping every two minutes as if she were in unbearable pain. Helen might have felt more compassion for her mother had she not been a nurse. She’d spoken to Dr. Ross several times after he’d called in on her mother, and the man had assured her that Edith’s injury had healed years ago. Her real ailment was that she lacked the attention she needed to feel important, and her symptoms had worsened considerably since her husband had died.
“I’ll see you this evening, Mum,” Helen said as she slung the basket over her arm and headed for the door.
Edith didn’t reply but leaned on her cane hard enough for the wood to creak in protest and retreated to the parlor, where she turned up the wireless, as if to drown out the sounds of Helen’s departure.
Helen hurried to catch the bus and took a seat on the top deck. Despite the confrontation with her mother, she was in good spirits. It was a lovely morning. Gentle sunshine glowed in a cloudless blue sky and the birds chirped joyfully, their song echoing in Helen’s heart as she anticipated her meeting with David. She enjoyed spending time with him, and she liked having something to look forward to at the end of the week. Despite Dr. Waterson’s orders, David had returned to work weeks ago, so getting together in the evenings became tricky since his shift ended several hours after hers, but they had their Sundays, and she wouldn’t allow her mother’s sour mood to ruin the best part of her week.
Helen removed her hat and turned her face up to the sun, enjoying its warm caress. It was as if the sun were shining just for her, and that was how David made her feel, as if he had eyes only for her. She’d never been the kind of girl to inspire mute admiration in men. She was average at best, but David looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, and the warm glow that he’d lit in her heart continued to grow, more so because David
didn’t seem like the kind of man to take an interest in many women. He was serious and solemn, someone who gave honesty and expected nothing less in return. And it was his unflinching ability to see things for what they were that had inspired Helen to take a good look at her own choices.
She’d spent her life trying to please others—her parents, her teachers, her employers, and even Neil. She was always afraid to disappoint, to be made to feel like her best wasn’t good enough. She’d allowed Neil to take her to bed because that was what he’d wanted, and their relationship had been all about her trying to satisfy him. He’d never taken the time to ask her what made her happy, or what she might have wanted. David wasn’t like that. He never put his needs first. In fact, it brought him pleasure to make her happy, and she wanted to please him in return. She wanted to see his face break into that slow smile that always reached his eyes. She wanted to feel his hand covering hers, making her feel safe, and she wanted to feel his lips on hers.
She’d been nervous the first time David had kissed her, frightened that she’d feel disappointed, but the kiss they’d shared had been everything a kiss should be—shy and gentle at first, hot and demanding as it deepened. She’d leaned against David as his arms slid around her, pulling her closer, molding her to his body. It was the kiss of a man, not the fumbling of an inexperienced boy or the next step in a practiced seduction. When Neil had kissed her, it had been a means to an end, an attack meant to breach her maidenly defenses. David didn’t need to breach her fort. She’d laid down her weapons and opened the gate, inviting him in and making him feel welcome. She was no longer a naïve girl of nineteen, she was a woman of twenty-six who’d been used and discarded, who’d been supporting herself without the help of a man for the past eight years, and who was ready for more.
She was past worrying about her mother’s disapproval or her reputation. What good was a pristine reputation if she wasn’t happy, if her life was as sterile as the bandages she rolled in her spare time? It was time to start living her life on her own terms. She had yet to figure out exactly what those terms might be, but deep down, she knew she was on her way. It was now or never. Helen smiled to herself as an idea sprang to mind. It was so shocking and forward that she couldn’t believe she was thinking along those lines, but today she felt reckless. As the bus approached her stop, she jammed her hat on her head and grabbed her basket, eager for her real life to begin.
David was standing at the curb, his eyes anxious as he scanned the faces of the disembarking passengers. Helen was nearly half an hour late, and he’d become accustomed to her punctuality. She came down the steps to the lower level and got off the bus. David’s face lit up at the sight of her and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek as he relieved her of her burden. The basket wasn’t heavy, but she appreciated the gentlemanly gesture.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said as they turned toward the park.
“I’m sorry. I got held up, and then had to wait for the next bus.”
“Is everything all right?”
“My mother was a bit put out. She thought we’d spend the day together,” Helen explained.
“I would have understood,” David replied, but his eyes told her he’d have been crushed if she failed to show up.
“I know, but I wanted to come. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. And it’s not raining,” she added, grinning like a loon. It had rained nearly every day that week and she’d thought they’d have to forgo the picnic and do something indoors.
“It’s a glorious day,” David agreed. “What do you say we rent a boat after lunch?”
“I’d love that. I’ve never been on a boat.”
“What? Never?”
“I’ve never even been by the seaside,” Helen said, watching David for a reaction.
“Oh, that’s a shame. I love the sea. The orphanage used to take us to the seaside for one weekend every summer. It was the highlight of the whole year, even better than Christmas.”
“What was Christmas like at the orphanage?” Helen asked. She liked it when he told her stories about his life. It made her feel closer to him, and she was glad to see that despite being abandoned, he felt no resentment.
“Christmas was nice. We decorated the dining hall with pine boughs and tinsel, and on Christmas Day, there was a special dinner after church, followed by gift-giving.”
“You got gifts?”
“Everyone got the same thing. It was either a pair of socks, a new pen, or something equally innocuous, but it was the gift-giving between the children that was fun. We all had our friends, and we gave gifts to each other that we’d obtained through black market trade,” David explained, grinning. “Oh, yes, there was a thriving black market at the orphanage. Some children were very enterprising and managed to get hold of cigarettes, magazines, even gin.”
“So, what did you get for Christmas?” she asked.
“Olly always got me books. I liked to read. Still do. And I got him magazines and cigarettes, which he shared with me. His last Christmas at the orphanage, he managed to procure a small bottle of scent for Alice. She was over the moon.”
“What did you do for Christmas after leaving the orphanage?” Helen asked, curious how a single man spent his holiday.
“There were several Christmases spent in the company of other sailors,” David replied, “and once the war ended, I always went to Olly and Alice’s flat for Christmas. They looked after me, made sure I wasn’t on my own,” he added with a rueful smile. “What about you?”
“I used to love Christmas when I was a child, but after my father died, it became just another day to get through. Since everyone was with their families, it was just my mother and me, putting on the pretense of being happy. It became exhausting after a while, since neither of us felt anything that could be mistaken for joy.”
“Yes, I can understand that. Joy is not an emotion that can be forced.”
I feel joy now, Helen thought as David spread the blanket he’d brought beneath a leafy tree and set down the basket. It felt deliciously cool in the shade. David stretched out on the blanket and folded his arms behind his head. He looked like a man who didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe he doesn’t, Helen thought as she folded her legs beneath her and set her hat atop the basket. She turned away from him as she tried to work up the courage to broach the idea she’d thought of on the bus. Once she uttered the words, there’d be no going back. It was probably a mistake, but a small voice inside her head told her she mustn’t give in to her fear.
“Hungry?” she asked instead.
“Hmm,” David replied lazily.
I’ll mention it later, Helen thought as she reached for the basket. Much later. Or not at all.
Chapter 16
August 1955
Bournemouth, Dorset
A lovely breeze blew through the open window, filling the net curtains and making them billow like sails in the wind. The air smelled of sand and sea, the glorious aroma of summer at the seaside. Helen pressed her body closer to David’s, enjoying the solid warmth of him. She had a lover, and it was delicious. Despite her ill-fated association with Neil, Helen had never known physical pleasure. The lovemaking had been for Neil and was a predictable affair—a little groping followed by a few minutes of missionary intercourse. Neil had never asked her if she’d enjoyed it or if there was anything he could do to make it more pleasurable for her. Making love to David had been a sensual feast where she got to try different kinds of delicacies before even getting to the main course, followed by a pudding so delectable, she thought she’d never experience its like again.
Lying next to him afterward, their limbs tangled and their hearts beating in unison, she felt so sated, she didn’t think she’d ever be hungry again, but the memory of what they’d done not only suffused her cheeks with heat but shot bolts of desire to the very core of her, making her yearn for him again. He seemed to sense her need and met it with his own, this time taking her swiftly and urgently, and bringing her
to a shattering climax that left her quivering like a bowl of jelly.
“I hope you’re not sorry you invited me,” David said, a lazy smile stretching across his sweat-dampened face as he moved his hand down her side and rested it on her hip, as if it were the most natural place for it. Helen smiled in response and buried her face in his shoulder, suddenly embarrassed.
David had been taken aback when Helen suggested they spend a few days by the sea. It had been a bold thing to do, and risky, but she had taken a calculated risk. Helen didn’t think David was the kind of person who’d think less of her for acting on her feelings. He was a simple, down-to-earth man who didn’t aspire to any lofty ideals or unrealistic spiritual or moral standards. He took every day as it came, living it as if it might be his last. He said he’d learned to do that during the war, when there was the danger of his ship being torpedoed at any moment. He’d lost friends, who’d met their end when they had least expected it, and had come home to find no one waiting for him.
The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8) Page 8