The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel
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Dorothy appeared to buckle and Etty put an arm around her shoulders to steady her.
‘I can’t live without him,’ her sister’s voice was hoarse.
‘You can. You will. You’re carrying his baby, remember.’
Dorothy began to cry, great sobs that racked her body. She sobbed and sobbed and Etty held her close until she stopped.
She sniffed and gave a weak smile. ‘I suppose I have to get on.’
‘I suppose,’ Etty said, tears brimming in her eyes, holding her sister tighter.
‘I want there to be an afterlife, Etty, because Laurie might be with Mam.’
Etty thought it best not to say a thing.
One day, in mid January, Dorothy astounded Etty. They were in the kitchen, Etty changing Norma’s sodden nappy on her knee while Dorothy squatted in front of the fire raking the ashes.
‘I’ve been to see Mrs Calvert senior.’ Her voice barely audible, she didn’t turn, carrying on with her task.
‘What did she have to say?’ Etty held her breath.
‘Nothing much, in fact, she was quite abrupt… but maybe she was upset. They’re not a close-knit family. There’s two boys, both old enough to be in the army. Mrs Calvert has trouble with her legs and gets around in a wheelchair.’
Etty digested this piece of news. There was to be no reminiscing about Laurie with the Calverts then.
Dorothy faced her. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it? Laurie coming from a family like that when he was such a warm and loving person.’ She heaved her shoulders. ‘I left a photograph of him in his uniform.’
Etty’s heart somersaulted – she’d spoken Laurie’s name. She prayed that this was the final hurdle and that her sister was coming to terms with her loss. A picture came into her mind’s eye of Laurie in his uniform, and the lump in her throat hurt.
In other ways too, Dorothy progressed. She began sorting through Laurie’s pitifully few belongings. Most of his personal possessions had sunk with him on the ship. His civilian clothes were sent to a second-hand shop, his cricket bat, sheets of music and keepsakes he’d had since he was a lad were boxed up and placed on top of the wardrobe for his child.
When Dorothy eventually opened up about her loss, to Etty’s mortification, it was to May.
Etty, leaving Norma asleep in her pram at the front door, called in to see her sister. May Robinson was sitting at the table – the Morrison shelter that Dorothy had thrown a yellow checked tablecloth over. With her feet up on a chair opposite, eating a jam sandwich, May appeared as if she were part of the furniture. The lass had got into the habit of calling at Dorothy’s during her dinner break and Etty was thankful as it meant Dorothy had daily company – even if May’s presence did make Etty feel uncomfortable.
As she entered the kitchen, an awkward silence followed. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t found out why May had left the factory. With a remorseful start, Etty wondered if it had anything to do with Billy.
She left May and Dorothy alone while she went into the scullery to make a pot of tea.
The conversation in the kitchen resumed and Etty strained to hear.
‘As I said…’ May’s voice sounded a tad nervous, ‘I think you’re brave.’
She heard Dorothy sigh. ‘When I received the telegram… the shock was so great all I wanted was to die too.’
‘Eee! Don’t ever think that, not when you’re having his bairn.’
‘I don’t now, but I did then. The worst part was getting angry with Laurie for leaving me.’
‘The baby’s part of him too. Just wait till the bairn’s born… you’ll feel differently then.’
The lass had a way of talking straight that Etty, given the circumstance, envied. She returned to the kitchen and taking the kettle from the hob, poured boiling water over the tea leaves.
Dorothy’s smile was sad. ‘Laurie reckoned his life only began when he met me.’
‘You should be proud of the fact. I know I would be.’
‘It’s difficult to go on without him.’
‘You’re made of stern stuff… you’ll think of a way.’
‘He was so thrilled he was going to be a dad. His letters were full of plans.’
‘Isn’t it lovely, then, that he died a contented man.’
‘I’d never thought of it quite like that before.’
A childish sense of being left out nettled Etty and, struggling with her composure, she tried desperately not to let it show. There was no real harm in May, she reasoned, and wondered why the lass vexed her so. Was it really to do with her relationship with Dorothy, or because she was Billy’s fiancée? With a lurch of the stomach, she realised the latter was probably the reason.
Etty’s mind didn’t want to travel down that route; she’d end up feeling even more disgraced. ‘Tea’s brewed,’ she called.
‘Not for me, thanks.’ May stood and gave Etty a sidelong glance. ‘I’ll have to get back to work. Besides, you and Dorothy will want to talk privately. You don’t want me around. I’m not family.’ This was said with a friendly smile.
When May had gone, Dorothy went to the alcove cupboard and brought out two cups.
‘You’re awkward around May. Is it because of…’
‘Billy. I…’
‘Etty! You either let it be known who the real father is or banish the fact from your mind and get on with life. It’s up to you. Otherwise you’ll torture yourself no end.’ As she regarded her sister, Dorothy’s expression softened to one of understanding. ‘But it’s not just about you, is it? Believe me, you’re not a coward if you don’t own up. You must think about other peoples’ lives too. How it will affect them.’
‘It’s not just about the disgrace,’ Etty admitted. ‘I could never tell May because of the hurt it would cause. Poor lass… she’s caught up in something she doesn’t even suspect. And I’ve left telling Trevor too long. I wish I had told him from the beginning.’
Dorothy nodded. ‘There’s your answer, then. Don’t prolong the guilt, as it will only ruin your life… Trevor’s, too.’ Dorothy looked upset and Etty hated that she was the cause. ‘You must find the strength, Etty, to leave the past behind. For everyone’s sake.’
‘I know you’re right but––’
‘I’m not saying it will be easy but don’t let it affect relationships… such as your friendship with May. She thinks highly of you.’
Etty, ashamed, had never felt so bad. She promised she would make a friend of May from now on.
And here Dorothy was in the midst of grief, trying to comfort her.
Etty gave her a hug. ‘Thank you.’
Dorothy laughed, ‘You don’t get one of those at Blakely.’
Etty went on to lighten the mood by relating the tale of Mrs Milne believing that drinking too much tea could turn a baby yellow.
‘There’s not much hope for mine, then!’ Dorothy placed the tea cups on the make-do shelter table. ‘I’ve drunk gallons of the stuff since…’ it hung in the air ‘…Laurie died.’ A vein ticked in Dorothy’s temple. ‘The thing that hurts most is that our baby will never know its father.’
‘We won’t allow that to happen. We’ll always keep Laurie’s memory alive.’
Dorothy smiled gratefully.
They lapsed into silence, and when Etty thought about her brother-in-law, how he would never get the chance see his baby, she felt infinitely sad.
‘I never knew our father.’ She was surprised she’d spoken out loud.
‘Neither did I, really,’ Dorothy replied. ‘I know he worked from home as a cobbler because he was ill. And that he died from his war injuries. I’ve only a shadowy picture of him in my mind.’
Dorothy had a faraway look in her eye and Etty wondered if she was recollecting about their father.
‘Tell me.’
Dorothy started guiltily. ‘I’ve never told you before because I thought it would make you sad as you’ve no memories of him.’
‘It’s sadder not knowing anything about him.’
‘He sounds fun and kind.’ Etty gave a wishful sigh.
‘That’s the sense I’ve always had of Father. Another thing I remember… our parents laughing.’ Then a stricken look. ‘After he died, I can’t remember Mam’s laughter again.’
Etty hastily changed the subject. ‘Do you know what his injuries were?’
‘I seem to remember he was gassed. Isn’t that tragic? It’s such a shame there’s no one to ask.’
‘There’s the Grubers from the butcher’s… if they haven’t moved on. They might have known our dad.’
‘So you do have memories of that time.’ Dorothy looked pitifully hopeful. ‘Don’t forget Aunt Lillian. Remember, I thought I saw her in Beach Road on my wedding day. She must know something about our father. Aunt Lillian was Mam’s cousin, her surname was Stanton.’
They were entering dangerous territory, a region Etty wasn’t prepared to go.
Dorothy had no such restraints. ‘Etty, do you realise, I’m in the same boat as Mam? Our dad died just before you were born.’
The difference, Etty said in her head, is that you’ll never desert your baby.
Dorothy went on. ‘You did know her father was a vicar? And that she came from the Hexhamshire area.’ Etty nodded. ‘And that her mam died when she was little.’
‘I never knew that. Who told you?’
‘I’ve always known. I don’t know how.’ A wistful expression crossed Dorothy’s face. ‘Oh, Etty, I wonder what happened to her.’
She struck a forlorn figure, standing in the doorway, and Etty’s heart wrenched. She would do anything to ease her sister’s pain, to make up for her loss. An idea formed in her mind – an idea she instantly shied away from. She couldn’t do that, not even for Dorothy.
Yet the thought niggled on.
She changed the subject. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. Why did May leave the factory to work for the Newmans?’
Dorothy hesitated. ‘She’s got troubles.’ Dorothy moved to the hearth and poked the fire.
‘Am I allowed to know?’
Poker in hand, Dorothy faced her. ‘I wasn’t sure whether or not to tell you, but we never keep secrets from each other.’ She grimaced. ‘Poor girl… Billy has broken it off. She couldn’t handle factory gossip and she asked Ramona Newman, who is her aunt by the way, if she could have her old job back.’
Etty went cold. ‘Did she explain why?’
‘Etty, leave it.’
‘Did she?’
Dorothy gave a troubled sigh. ‘Can you remember when I told you ages ago that Derek was her son?’
Etty nodded.
‘It’s as I suspected; Billy is the father. They’d met before, when she was young, and she’d never told him about the baby. It’s all rather complicated and I don’t understand why the man didn’t know about his son until then.’
‘What was Billy’s reaction?’
Dorothy’s steady gaze met hers. ‘He left her.’
As the full impact of what Dorothy had told her hit Etty, she went weak at the knees and had to sit down.
‘You realise what this means,’ she told Dorothy. ‘If Billy has a son, and it’s Derek, then he is Norma’s half-brother.’
May was late for work. Usually, she rose in plenty of time but this morning she struggled to raise her head from the pillow. Her head ached, as did her bones but she refused to take time off, because she didn’t want to stop and think.
She looked around the kitchen, with its swept stone floor, kettle whistling on the hob and oval table set for breakfast, concluding that everything was shipshape for her mother.
‘Lass, there’s no need for you to do all this,’ Mam told her, time and time again. But May wanted to, as guilt still plagued her and it was the only way she could show her mother her appreciation.
Clever as she was, Mam knew something was up but May wasn’t ready to tell her yet about Billy, and Mam didn’t pry. May wished the folk at the factory were the same but everyone wanted to know everyone else’s business. It was difficult keeping secrets and May would die if they gossiped about her.
Much to everyone’s surprise, not least Mam’s, May left the factory and went back to work for Aunt Ramona as a parlour maid. She didn’t divulge that Billy had left her, making up a story that all leave had been cancelled at the barracks to explain his absence.
‘Why?’ Mam wanted to know.
Flummoxed as to what to say, May improvised. ‘His regiment might be going abroad.’
Technically, this wasn’t a lie because, at some point, Billy would be posted abroad.
The answer seemed to satisfy Mam because she didn’t ask any more questions.
Billy had changed since New Year’s Eve, May thought as she banged the front door closed and left the house for work. She didn’t question why but she knew it had something to do with him going out first footing. She reminded herself to be patient and not to pester him. Her biggest fear was that one day he would tire of her – and it appeared that day had finally arrived.
It was on his last leave after the new year, she remembered, when he’d arrived unexpectedly and gone straight to the attic bedroom without a word. May made up a supper tray and, entering the bedroom, didn’t question what was wrong as she knew her fussing would only infuriate him.
He paced the floor. ‘It’s not working, any more.’ He stared at her with a wild look in his eye.
May would swear her heart stopped beating. She placed the supper tray on the locker beside the slim bed. Please God, let this not be real.
‘What’s not working?’ She knew, of course, his meaning.
‘Us’
‘It’s my fault, I shou––’
‘It’s nobody’s fault.’
‘I’ll change.’
‘Don’t do this.’
‘I will. Just give us a chance.’
‘It wouldn’t do any good. I thought I could settle down but I can’t. And you… loyal and trusting… deserve somebody better than me. I should never have proposed.’
‘Don’t say that, Billy.’
‘You don’t realise it now, but I’m doing yi’ a favour.’
She heard the firmness in his tone and desperation took hold. ‘Leave it be for a while. You like getting me letters and when you’re on leave you have somewhere to call home. I won’t ask for anything, honest. Then when the war is done… see how you feel.’
May stood at the bus stop and a trolley bus arriving interrupted her reverie. She boarded and found a window seat, paying the cheery conductor. Then, gazing unseeing out of the window, she continued her musings.
‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ Billy had told her. ‘You deserve better than a waster like me. Think on it. What have I ever done to make you happy?’
She could think of hundreds of ways but the main one was Derek.
One of those déjà vu moments tiptoed over May and she was certain it was an omen.
‘Billy,’ her voice was tentative, but she was convinced it was the right thing to do. ‘I… should’ve told you this a long time ago.’
‘What?’
‘You know that time on Cleadon Hills?’
Billy frowned in concentration.
‘When we… made love for the first time.’
‘Yes?’
‘I got pregnant.’
Silence followed, his body stiffening.
Then, ‘You’re having us on.’
‘Honestly. It’s true.’
‘Where’s this bairn, then?’
Her heart thumped in her chest. ‘It’s Derek. Me mam brought him up.’
As he stared disbelievingly at her, Billy’s eyes bulged.
‘You conn
iving bitch. I never thought you had it in you. That you, of all people, would stoop so low to get me to stay.’
‘Billy, I would never!’
May had often dreamed about the moment she told Billy about his son. Like a fairy tale, she imagined he’d be bowled over and the three of them would live happily ever after.
‘To use the kid… your own brother…’ Billy’s voice was incredulous. ‘To hook your claws in me… it beggars belief.’
‘I’m telling you the––’
‘Leave it, May. I’ll pack me bag in the morning.’
He turned his back on her.
She couldn’t believe this was the end. Helpless as to what to do, panic rose in her chest and she feared she couldn’t breathe.
She gulped at the air. ‘Don’t hate us,’ she exclaimed.
He didn’t reply, simply glowered at her. In that moment, May summoned her dignity. She wouldn’t beg. She wanted Billy’s memory of her intact. She was capable of letting him go if that’s what he wanted – but, she thought, tell that to the pain that ripped through her heart.
Even in her heartbreak, she couldn’t help but worry about him. ‘Where will you go?’
Still, he didn’t answer.
‘Let me know, Billy, I’d like to know how you’re getting on.’
As the trolley stopped at Dean Road, May jumped off. Walking down Whale Street towards Newman’s, she checked her watch. She wasn’t late for work, after all.
She opened the funeral parlour door and, putting on a brave face, May hoped to fool her employers.
As time went on, May understood Dorothy Calvert’s grief – how she didn’t want to go on living without her husband.
The day Billy left, all evidence of him gone, the attic bedroom had felt lifeless without his presence. May had had an overwhelming feeling that she didn’t want to go on.
She had always known it wouldn’t last with Billy. He was a free spirit – no one could tame him and neither would she ever want to. May had believed that the fact he’d been a part of her life at all was enough, but how wrong she had been. Life without Billy, she realised, would only be existing.
In bed one night, as May tossed and turned, desperation took hold as she couldn’t tolerate the heartache any longer. Like a wave swelling for the shore, all she wanted was to end her suffering.