Courage of the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  So this was Franny.

  This was Theo’s wife.

  Helen squinted against the morning sun. She looked unremarkable, surprisingly slim considering she had given birth just a few months previously, and her light brown hair was scraped back into a bun, showing a slightly pinched, plain-Jane face.

  Helen felt herself stiffen as two young children came bursting out the front door and started to run around on the gravelled driveway.

  Tamara and Stanley!

  It was clear from the way Theo had described the boy and girl that he loved them very much. But he had described them as his younger siblings, not as his son and daughter. Helen couldn’t tear her eyes from them. They looked so happy, so full of life. They were playing a game of tag and circling their mother, who was laughing and trying to tag them back, albeit unsuccessfully. Helen found herself staring, entranced, at the joyful, innocent tableau being played out on the shale driveway. They all seemed so normal.

  What had she expected? A family unit that was more frigid? Sterner? Behaviour she deemed to be typically upper class? More like her own? A few moments later another figure appeared in the doorway. Another woman. A large, rotund older woman who was wearing a fawn-coloured uniform with puffy sleeves and a full-length starched white apron, which Helen knew to be the required dress of a Norland nanny. And in the nanny’s arms was a little baby, all swaddled in blankets. Helen was too far away to see the baby’s face, but she’d been told it was a boy, that he was just two months old – and that the newborn had been given the same name as his father, Theodore.

  Helen watched as Franny went over to the baby and held him in her arms, cooing and smiling. She might not be able to make out little Theodore’s face, but Helen could clearly see the look of love on his mother’s.

  Her heart suddenly felt heavy.

  This could have been an advertisement for how a perfect family should be. The father only absent because he was, of course, at work.

  For a few seconds Helen’s view was once again blocked – this time by a passing tram. When she could see the family again, Franny was in the process of carefully passing her baby back to the nanny. She looked as though she was reticent to give him up. The nanny disappeared again before reappearing, still with babe in arms, but now also holding a wicker basket. She waited to hand it to Franny, who was bending down to give Tamara and Stanley a farewell hug.

  Helen watched with growing jealousy as Franny laughed and blew kisses, all the time shooing her children back into the house.

  Helen stood rooted to the spot and stared.

  What a happy family.

  What lovely, happy children.

  And loath though she was to admit it: What a lovely mother.

  An image of her own mother flashed across Helen’s mind. She could not recall one time in all her childhood when her mum had shown her such love.

  Helen scratched the thought out of her head.

  This was not the time for self-pity. She was here to exact her revenge.

  Helen watched Franny as she started walking in the direction of the city centre.

  She waited a few moments before she started following her, making sure she kept a safe distance.

  When Franny stopped to chat to an elderly couple she clearly knew, Helen walked over to a newspaper stand and bought a copy of the Oxford Mail. She carried on following her down St Giles’, past the Martyrs’ Memorial just outside her hotel and along Cornmarket Street before she reached the entrance to the Covered Market.

  Helen walked a little faster and lessened the gap. This would be the perfect venue to do what she had planned.

  She had imagined the scenario over and over in her head: she would stop Franny and, if possible, persuade her to go for a cup of tea in a nearby café. Perhaps she would pretend she was an old university friend of Theodore’s, that she had been at their wedding, but, of course, Franny wouldn’t remember her as it was such a huge and extravagant affair.

  It would be enough to get Theodore’s wife seated – to gain her undivided attention.

  And then she would tell her.

  She would tell her that her husband had pretended that he was, in fact, a single man, that he had courted Helen, taken her out for drinks, and eventually taken her to bed.

  She would tell her that Theodore had told her all about Oxford and his ‘brother and sister’, Tamara and Stanley, and that he had painted a picture of Helen and him sharing a happy-ever-after life together in his hometown.

  Helen would tell Franny that she had believed him wholeheartedly. Why wouldn’t she? He was a surgeon, after all. He was rich, educated and well bred.

  And Helen, being naïve as she was then, had given him the one thing he was really after – her body. And not just her body, but her virginity as well.

  Then would come Helen’s pièce de résistance.

  Because of Theo’s lies, his need for sexual gratification, and her own stupidity, she had fallen pregnant with his child.

  Helen knew that it would destroy their marriage.

  It would destroy Theo’s life – just as he had destroyed hers.

  But as Helen followed Franny into the hubbub of the market, a thought kept nudging its way into the forefront of her mind.

  This will destroy Franny’s life too – and her children’s. Helen tried to beat away the thought, just as she tried to beat down a wave of nausea as the odour of raw meat and fresh fish hit her nostrils. She breathed in the still, dry air and coughed – it was acrid with a heavy mix of cigarette smoke and dust. Helen’s eyes watered but she managed to keep her sights on Franny as she made her way through the crowds of shoppers. They were mainly housewives and, of course, academics, who seemed oblivious to everyone around them as they waited in queues, debating animatedly amongst themselves.

  Helen stood outside M. Fellers & Sons, the dead fowl, rabbits and deer carcasses hanging around the shop’s perimeter creating a macabre curtain and obscuring the inside. She watched curiously as Franny made her way over to a nearby fruit and vegetable stall, apologising as she went for bumping into a passer-by with her cumbersome wicker basket.

  She seems so nice, Helen thought. So polite and courteous. Watching how she interacted with the stallholders and her fellow shoppers, it occurred to Helen that she had not really given much thought to what Theodore’s wife would be like. She had presumed she would be upper class, which she clearly was, but she didn’t appear to have the attitude to match.

  What was the word she was looking for? That was it. Humble. She seemed humble.

  Well, Helen thought, leaving the butcher’s and following Franny to the other side of the market, all the more reason for her to know what her husband is really like.

  Helen joined another queue and counted her blessings she had never had to do her own shopping.

  With growing curiosity, Helen watched as Franny made her way over to a beggar, an old woman who was dressed in what could only be described as rags. She saw Franny speak to her and the old woman smiled, showing yellow stumps for teeth. Her eyes, however, were the palest blue Helen had ever seen. It took her a moment to realise the beggar woman was blind.

  Helen felt someone accidentally shove her from behind and mutter an apology but she paid no heed; her eyes were glued to Franny as she pressed some money into the woman’s dirty, gnarled hands. The old woman reached out and Helen could not believe that Franny let the beggar touch her face with her filthy, calloused hands.

  Seeing Franny walk on and join yet another long queue at the fresh fish stall, Helen slowly made her way over to her.

  Now! Helen commanded herself. Do it now!

  Helen joined the queue, just managing to beat another shopper to her place right behind Franny. She was perfectly placed to carry out her plan. Now all she needed to do was tap her on the shoulder – and tell her.

  Tell her everything about the man she had married, the man she loved, the man who had fathered her three children.

  Her three happy children.

&nb
sp; Her three innocent children.

  The queue seemed to go down quickly.

  Too quickly.

  For God’s sake, just get her attention and tell her!

  There were now just two people to serve before Franny. Helen raised her hand and tapped Theodore’s wife on the shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As Helen walked out of the Covered Market she stopped and breathed in fresh air, although there was nothing fresh about it. This city that she had thought was going to be her new home seemed stuffy and hot. There was not even a wisp of wind. She wiped her brow. What she wouldn’t give for a cool sea breeze. The cream Utility-style dress she was wearing felt too hot, too thick. She would have been better off in a cotton dress.

  Helen forced herself to walk back down Cornmarket Street, now even busier with shoppers, scholars and street traders. Her legs felt shaky and she stopped for a moment outside a shop window that was full of headless mannequins dressed in flowing black college gowns, mortar boards and summer blazers. Helen forced herself to breathe through her mouth as she was hit by another surge of nausea. She cursed this morning sickness that she had read up about in the medical books John had loaned her. In most women it passed relatively early on, but John had told her that sometimes it lasted throughout the pregnancy and she was not to be overly concerned, unpleasant though it clearly was.

  As Helen waited with a throng of pedestrians to cross the junction where Cornmarket Street ended and St Giles’ began, she realised the irony that barely a month ago she had been intent on ending her pregnancy, whereas now she was worried about any problems that might prevent her pregnancy from going full term.

  It seemed she was changing her mind an awful lot these days. Reaching the other side of the road, Helen found herself in the shade, which helped to invigorate her. She felt the energy return as she strode on, knowing exactly where she was going – and precisely what she was going to do.

  There would be no dithering this time.

  ‘I’ve come to see Mr Theodore Harvey-Smith.’ Helen spoke politely but with authority as she smoothed down her dress and smiled at the middle-aged receptionist on the enquiry counter of the Radcliffe Infirmary. ‘I believe he’s doing his morning rounds at the moment,’ she added helpfully, ‘but if you wouldn’t mind fetching him as a matter of urgency, please?’

  The stern-looking receptionist narrowed her eyes as she inspected the self-assured – and very beautiful – young woman now standing in front of her. Her slight northern accent told her she wasn’t from these parts, although judging by the Norman Hartnell dress she was wearing and her Schiaparelli handbag, she clearly came from money.

  ‘May I ask what the “matter of urgency” is?’ the receptionist asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘You must tell him that it concerns his wife, Franny, and that a Miss Helen Crawford is here at the front desk, waiting.’

  The receptionist picked up the receiver to what Helen presumed was the hospital’s internal phone. Her voice was low and serious as she repeated Helen’s request word for word.

  Helen would have given anything to see the look on his face when Theo heard his former lover’s name being mentioned in the same breath as his wife’s.

  As Helen had predicted, it took only minutes for Theodore to leave his rounds and rush to the hospital’s foyer.

  She stood stock-still as she watched him hurrying towards her, his white coat flapping open, a stethoscope shoved into his pocket.

  His face was as white as a sheet.

  ‘Helen!’ His voice was hoarse with shock.

  ‘Ah, Theo!’ Helen put her arms out, but rather than embrace him she grabbed both his upper arms and squeezed as hard as she could. ‘How wonderful to see you!’ She was still holding him at arms’ length, still gripping hard.

  Theo threw a nervous look over to the receptionist, who was watching them both with unguarded curiosity.

  ‘Gosh! This is a surprise.’ He looked at Helen like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. ‘Shall we chat outside?’ The expression on his face was a plea.

  Helen looked over at the receptionist and thanked her with a smile. She was genuinely grateful. This part of her plan, at least, was going perfectly.

  ‘Yes, Theo,’ Helen finally dropped her claw-like hold, ‘let’s go outside. It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

  Theodore pushed his hair back nervously as he stepped forward to open the main door, allowing Helen to go first.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Theodore hissed as he guided Helen down the front steps towards a large, perfectly manicured lawn in the middle of which was a stone fountain in the shape of the Greek god Triton.

  ‘What the hell’s going on? And what the hell did you mean, it “concerns Franny”? Have you seen her?’ Theodore was not even attempting to hide his panic.

  ‘I have seen her, actually, Theo.’ Helen spoke as if they were simply exchanging pleasantries. She looked at Theo.

  ‘What … what have you said to her? Please … please don’t tell me you’ve told her about …’ He paused, as if trying to find the right words. ‘About us.’ Helen let out a loud laugh, causing a few doctors who were walking past to turn their heads and look with interest.

  ‘But there was never any “us”, was there, Theo?’ Helen said with more than a hint of bitterness. ‘I mean, you pretended there was – and you pretended very well, I might add. But in reality there was no “us”. It was all you. You. You. What you wanted.’

  Helen stared into Theo’s eyes. ‘Am I right?’

  Theodore looked back into Helen’s green eyes, and knew he was doomed. He would not be able to lie his way out of this one.

  Helen now knew everything. But that didn’t bother him. What he did care about, though, what he was terrified might well be the case, was whether Helen had told Franny the truth.

  ‘Have you spoken to Fran?’ His mouth was tight as he spoke, the beginnings of anger starting to show. ‘Have you told Franny?!’ he demanded.

  Helen looked down at Theo’s hands and saw they were clenched into fists.

  ‘I’d change your tone if I were you, Theo, otherwise I might just shout the truth out from the treetops!’

  Theo’s shoulders dropped in defeat.

  ‘Just tell me, Helen.’ He was now begging. ‘Have you said anything to Franny?’

  ‘Well, I did say something to your Franny.’ Helen forced a smile. ‘She’s not at all what I imagined. Very plain – she’s certainly no Lauren Bacall, but then again, you’re no Humphrey Bogart either …’

  Theodore stood rooted to the spot; small splashes from the fountain were just missing him.

  ‘I caught up with Franny in the market just now.’ Helen looked about her as if momentarily distracted. ‘She was shopping, as I’m sure you’re aware, something she does every morning.’ Helen had spoken on the phone to one of the surgeons Theodore worked with and who was also a good family friend. She had pretended to be an old school pal who wanted to pay a surprise visit. The surgeon had been particularly loquacious and disclosed more than enough information for Helen to concoct her plan down to the exact minute.

  ‘I have to say, Theo,’ Helen started to walk round the fountain, ‘you really did bag yourself a saint of a wife.’

  Theodore stuck to Helen’s side as she strolled around the freshly cut lawn as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Helen. Did you tell her?’ Theodore spoke through clenched teeth.

  Helen stopped walking and looked straight at the man she had thought she would marry.

  ‘As I was saying, before you rudely interrupted, Theo – I followed Franny into the market. I joined the queue she was waiting in. I even went as far as tapping her on the shoulder with the intention of telling her the truth about the man she is married to …’

  Helen paused.

  ‘But when she turned around and looked at me with those big brown eyes of hers … I simply ended
up asking if she knew anything about fish, and what would she recommend.’

  Helen looked at Theo and thought he was going to collapse with relief then and there.

  ‘So, you didn’t tell her? You didn’t say anything?’

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘No, I didn’t tell her, Theo. Much as I wanted to make you suffer, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make someone else suffer because of you and your lying, conniving and down-right despicable behaviour.’ Theo wanted to laugh with relief.

  ‘Oh, thank God. Thank you, Helen.’

  Helen forced a smile to appear across her face.

  ‘I just hope,’ she said, ‘that one day soon Franny realises what you’re really like. That she finds out for herself that she shares a bed every night with a treacherous, philandering bastard that cares for no one but himself. And I hope that when she does find you out, she not only leaves you, but finds a true love to spend the rest of her life with – and that you, Theodore Harvey-Smith, grow old and very, very lonely.’

  Helen could see by Theo’s face that her words had sailed blithely over his head. She doubted he had taken in even one syllable of what she’d just said, and even if he had, her jibes had not in any way penetrated his conscience. That was, if he had one.

  ‘Of course,’ Helen said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, ‘I’m sure a man of your intellect and education would realise that I have not travelled all the way down from the north-east of England merely to inform your lovely wife of your infidelity.’

  Theo looked at Helen with the beginnings of concern. Helen deliberately kept quiet – leaving the air loaded with the obvious question.

  ‘So, so …’ Theodore stuttered, ‘why did you really come down here?’

  ‘I came to tell you,’ Helen said calmly, ‘that you were wrong about something.’

  Theodore’s brow furrowed.

  ‘What was I wrong about?’ he asked.

  ‘Remember how you told me – in your very serious, doctor-like way – that there was something called the “natural family-planning method” that was – how did you put it? Oh, that’s right – “one hundred per cent foolproof”?’ Theodore stared at Helen, not wanting to hear what he knew was coming next.