The Deserter's Daughter
Page 40
She would make a stunning bride, come June. Carrie was going to be her matron of honour. She felt a little shiver of pleasure every time she pictured it. Not a bridesmaid, but the matron of honour. She would herself have been married for two whole months by then. Two wonderful months. Evadne had invited Violet Wicks to be her bridesmaid. The three of them had become friendly after Evadne had got Violet’s widowed sister the post of housekeeper to Major Baxter.
Carrie had already given Evadne her wedding present – a half-share in Armstrong’s.
‘I won’t take no for an answer. We’ll be working wives together, and when the children come along, we’ll share looking after them.’
‘If we can prise them away from their proud grandmother,’ said Evadne, and then had to brush away a tear. ‘Oh, Carrie, thank you a thousand times. To let me share the business is so generous of you. I shan’t let you down.’
‘I know.’ And she did know. She and Evadne were dear friends as well as sisters and they worked well together. Carrie’s heart lifted whenever she pictured Armstrong’s future.
‘There was a time when I couldn’t have said this, when I couldn’t have even imagined it,’ she told Adam, ‘but I have things to look forward to and I can think about them without feeling guilty, without feeling I don’t deserve them.’
‘Personally, I’m looking forward to April, Mrs Adam Armstrong-to-be.’
Carrie leant closer to him. It felt important to marry in the spring. It was part of her new beginning. For the bouquets, she had chosen roses of buttercup yellow, interspersed with dainty white spring snowflakes, which closely resembled the snowdrops that represented the special time of year of Joey’s short life.
Her left hand was tucked through Adam’s right arm. Now he took her hand with his left hand so he could slide his arm around her and draw her to his side. The deserter’s daughter in a public embrace – scandalous! She leant into him. This was where she belonged.
‘I must find another best man now you’ve filched Ted,’ said Adam.
‘My need is greater. You’ve got any number of colleagues you can ask, but Ted is the only one I want as father of the bride.’
‘I was thinking of asking Weston. He’s known me man and boy, as they say.’
Pleasure warmed her. ‘That would be perfect.’
‘Especially if he plucks up the courage to make advances to the mother of the bride.’
‘If he what?’
‘Disgraceful, isn’t it? Everyone knows the best man is meant to set his sights on the bridesmaid, but, alas, she’s got herself firmly attached to the father of the bride, so what’s a fellow to do?’
Carrie was still boggling. ‘Mr Weston – and Mam?’
‘Why not? I’d say they both deserve some comfort. Why do you think he stopped bringing you Cadbury’s and brought Fry’s instead? It’s your mother’s favourite.’
‘Well,’ said Carrie, half-laughing, ‘I know I said there were things to look forward to, but honestly …’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
She wasn’t sure what to think – no, wait, yes, she was. Mr Weston was a darling of a man, gentle and honest. After everything Mam had suffered, not just at Ralph’s hands, but going right back to the fateful day she had received the damning letter about Pa, she deserved to find a safe harbour.
‘Penny for them,’ Adam offered.
‘I was thinking wouldn’t it be perfect if Mam and Mr Weston … I’m sure Evadne will think so, too.’ Carrie laughed. Not an uncertain half-laugh, but a proper laugh, spilling over with warmth. ‘Imagine – we might have three weddings this year.’
‘You don’t waste any time, do you? One thing at a time – one wedding at a time, my girl. Roll on, April the 15th, is what I say.’ He removed his arm from her waist and looped her hand back into the safety of his elbow. ‘Shall we go and see Joey now?’
They crossed the road, passing under the old lychgate. Carrie could come here these days without feeling that guilt was dragging her inexorably to Joey’s grave. Her visits to him were poignant and tender, filled with sorrow and longing; but her terrible burden had eased. The guilt was still there and perhaps it always would be, but she was no longer tormented by it every waking moment. She now knew in her head that she wasn’t to blame for Joey’s death. And maybe one day her heart would accept it too.
She and Adam walked together down the flagstoned path to Joey’s grave. How many times had she stood here, knelt here, gazing at this stone, filled by an overwhelming emptiness because she needed her child, not a piece of York stone?
‘It’s a comfort to me that you knew him,’ she said. ‘It makes him a part of us, not just a part of me. That’s important. And I want you to know that I do realise this is not just Joey’s grave. I was never able to let that sink in until recently, but I’m going to stop hogging the grave to myself and thinking of it as his alone. Your dad’s in here, and three more ancestors. I’ll bring flowers for your dad as well as Joey.’
‘He would have loved being a grandad.’
‘So would Pa.’
‘There is something we could do for your father,’ said Adam. ‘Joey was named after one grandfather, so we could name our first son after his other grandfather.’
‘Do you mean that?’ She pictured it, allowing the sweetness of the idea to fill her. But then she shook her head. ‘People always ask where a name comes from and he’d never be able to say. Even though we know about the mind-horror, and we’ll teach our children about it, no one else is going to know, not for years and years.’
‘It’s good to hear you talking about having children.’
She turned to him. ‘I’m ready for my second child and it will be a child in its own right, not a replacement for Joey, but a brother or sister for him.’ Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, but she ploughed on. ‘I’m going to be so scared of something bad happening. I may well never sleep again for the rest of my life, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay for the joy and privilege of being a mother.’ She seized Adam’s hand and raised it to her face, crushing the leather glove against her cheek. ‘And I want you there when our child is born. Not delivering it like you delivered Joey, but at my side, holding my hand, just being there with me to welcome our child into the world.’
‘Carrie, my dear love, my one and only love.’
She moved into his arms, there in the bright March sunshine, in an old disused graveyard, where her child lay and a part of her heart with him. It was time to move on now, to take her sadness with her and move into a hopeful future.
She stood on tiptoe and reached her arms round Adam’s neck. She wasn’t nearly tall enough, but he bent his head, probably expecting a kiss. She pushed her cheek against his so she could speak straight into his ear to be sure he heard every word. Her voice caught, thick with tears, but she knew he had heard because of what he said back to her.
‘I love you, Carrie, and I will cherish you and our children for the rest of my days. We’ll have a good life, my love. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.’
Carrie subsided onto her heels. She moved beside him and slid her arm through his.
‘Let’s go to Brookburn,’ she said. ‘Evadne will be waiting.’
Side by side, close together, they walked up the path.
Author’s Note
With a few exceptions, notably Wilton Lane and Brookburn House, the places, roads and landmarks in The Deserter’s Daughter are real, although local historians will see that, for the purposes of the story, I have opened Chorlton Park a few years early.
I should like to thank Mr William Lees-Jones of J. W. Lees & Co (Brewers) Ltd for his kind permission to use the name of the Lloyds.
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About the Author
SUSANNA BAVIN has variously been a librarian, an infant school teacher, a carer and a cook. She now lives on the beautiful North Wales coast with her husband and two rescue cats, but her writing continues to be inspired by her Mancunian roots. The Deserter’s Daughter is her first novel.
susannabavin.co.uk
@SusannaBavin
By Susanna Bavin
The Deserter’s Daughter
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
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First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2017.
This ebook edition first published in 2017.
Copyright © 2017 by SUSANNA BAVIN
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–2109–2