by Pamela Evans
‘Are you all right, Jane?’ enquired Marie, because her sister-in-law was now more than six months pregnant. ‘Don’t be afraid to say when you’ve had enough.’
‘I’m fine at the moment, thanks . . . let’s just go as far as Kew Bridge, shall we?’ Jane sensibly suggested for she was carrying a lot of extra weight. Her pregnancy was now generally known and she was booked into hospital for the birth. As predicted, her father’s reaction to the news had been explosive, but he was now used to the idea of another grandchild.
‘Okay,’ agreed Marie. ‘We’ll probably all have had enough by then.’
Full of high spirits, the children had gone on ahead, running and skipping and stopping every so often to watch the swooping seagulls or the ducks riding the waves, staring with interest at the occasional boat passing by.
‘It’s good to see Davey and Pip enjoying the fresh air instead of being cooped up in Dad’s flat,’ remarked Jane. ‘The bad weather is hellish with us all stuck indoors.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘They’re of an age now to need some sort of organised play, for part of the day at least,’ remarked Jane. ‘They used to really enjoy going to nursery school.’
‘Mine are the same,’ said Marie. ‘Still, Davey and Mel will be starting proper school in September, won’t they?’
‘True.’
‘A new stage in their lives.’
‘Yes. Sad, really. I know that Davey’s ready for it but I’m dreading that first day,’ confessed Jane. ‘It’ll be like sending him out into the big wide world for the first time.’
‘I know what you mean. We’ll probably both weep into our coffee that morning!’
They laughed and walked in silence for a while, so at ease with each other that words weren’t necessary.
‘Today doesn’t feel a bit like New Year’s Eve,’ remarked Jane after a while. ‘It’ll be very different for me this year.’
‘We shall all miss your New Year’s Eve party,’ said Marie. ‘It was almost as much a part of the festive season as Christmas pud.’
‘It certainly was.’
Jane and Mick had entertained on New Year’s Eve ever since they’d been married. It had begun with just a few friends in their bedsit in the early days and had grown along with their circumstances, progressing from bedsit to self-contained flat to a small semi for a while, before they’d moved into the big house in Maple Avenue where New Year’s Eve had been a lavish occasion.
‘You’re welcome to come round to our place tonight,’ invited Marie. ‘We’re not doing anything special but we’ll stay up to see the New Year in with the telly and a few drinks. We can put Davey and Pip top and tail in bed with our kids . . . and I’ll make up a bed for you on the sofa.’
‘Thanks for asking me but I think I’ll stay home and keep Dad company.’ Jane was dreading tonight and wanted the painfully emotive time to pass with the minimum of fuss. ‘He might be lonely if I go out. He’s always spent the New Year with Mick and me up until now.’
‘Well, you’ll be more than welcome if you change your mind.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind . . . and thanks.’
They caught up with their offspring who were gathered around a scraggy black cat perched on a garden wall. This area on the Chiswick side of the river near Kew Bridge was threaded through with narrow lanes and alleys leading off the foreshore, which was fronted by quaint old cottages as well as some very imposing houses. The cat, obviously a stray, leaped off the wall and streaked along the towpath. The children followed, disappearing around a corner.
‘I’ll go on ahead and keep an eye on them,’ said Marie. ‘You follow in your own time. We can’t have you running about in your condition.’
Jane didn’t argue and plodded on at a slower pace as Marie dashed off. She was feeling much more bloated and uncomfortable with this pregnancy than she had with either of the others. She’d positively glowed with health then. This time she’d felt tired and unwell from the beginning, which wasn’t too surprising considering the strain she’d been under.
‘Mummy, Mummy, come quick . . . come and see!’ shouted Pip excitedly, appearing from the turning and tearing towards Jane.
‘Hey, you mustn’t run off like that, Pip,’ Jane warned her sternly. ‘How many more times must I tell you?’
‘But we only went round the corner . . . and guess what?’
‘What?’
‘We’ve found the pussy cat’s house.’ She tugged at her mother’s hand excitedly. ‘He lives there all by himself. ’
Jane allowed herself to be led down a narrow paved street called Tug Lane. It was flanked to either side by a hotchpotch of old properties, some houses, some pretty little cottages, most of them well-kept with tiny front gardens. When they reached the end, past a pair of shabby semi-detached dwellings called Vine Cottages, they turned the corner and made their way along an alleyway backing on to the rear of the houses in Tug Lane.
Following her daughter, Jane went through a creaking wooden gate with a rusty number one nailed to it and into the back garden of a derelict property she assumed was number one Vine Cottages. Here she found Marie and the children peering into the cottage through the dusty windows.
‘Whatever do you think you’re doing?’ Jane asked in a hushed voice. ‘We mustn’t come in here, we’ll get into trouble for trespassing.’
‘’Course we won’t,’ said Marie. ‘No one lives here except the cat. The place is a ruin. Who’s to know or care who’s here?’
‘Come and see the pussy, Mummy,’ said Davey, turning from the window with a serious expression. ‘He’s ever so sweet, isn’t he, Aunt Marie?’
‘Yes, he is, love. The poor thing’s half starved by the look of him,’ she said, glancing round at Jane only briefly before turning and looking through the window. ‘He’s obviously a stray who uses this place as a shelter.’ She pointed to a broken window. ‘He gets in through there, I expect. Come on, Jane, come and have a look.’
She picked her way through the overgrown garden, almost tripping over a rusty old mangle hidden in the undergrowth, and eventually reached the cottage which, like its partner, was of rust-coloured and grey brick, patched with ivy. The other cottage was also empty and in a state of neglect.
‘There’s the cat, look,’ said Marie, her face pressed to the window. ‘He’s sitting on the bottom stair washing himself.’
‘Aah, isn’t he lovely?’ chimed Davey.
‘Puss, puss,’ called Pip. ‘Come out and see us, puss.’
‘It’s a wonder he’s got the strength to move about, he’s so thin,’ said Marie. ‘He’s very friendly, though, for a stray, letting the kids stroke him back there. Some stray cats are feral and won’t let you get anywhere near them.’
‘Why isn’t anyone looking after him?’ Davey wanted to know.
‘I don’t know, love. Perhaps his owners got fed up with having him around and took him out and dumped him,’ said Marie. ‘Some people can be very cruel.’
Jane cleared a patch on the grimy glass with her glove and peered in, finding herself overwhelmed by an unexpected surge of emotion. For some reason she found the scene inside unbearably moving: the emaciated cat sitting in a patch of sunlight, managing to survive, unloved but sheltered in this ancient cottage which, to Jane, exuded a feeling of warmth and friendliness.
‘Cor, what a dump!’ said Marie, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Whoever put the “To Let” sign up must have a warped sense of humour.’
‘I think it’s lovely,’ said Jane.
‘You’re joking?’
‘No, I’m not.’
Clearing some more dust off the window, Jane peered in again. She was looking into an unfurnished room that had been empty for some time judging by the amount of dust and cobwebs. It was larger than she’d expected and had an old-fashioned iron fireplace set into one wall. She could see bow windows and a door in the opposite wall at the front of the house, which meant this room ran the full depth of the cottage. In
the corner, a wooden staircase curved to the upper floor. Through an open door towards the back of the property Jane could see into a room she guessed was the kitchen, which looked quite roomy and jutted out, making the building L-shaped at the back.
‘Just look at the pretty brickwork!’ she enthused. ‘And feel the character of the place.’
‘All I can feel is dust in my throat,’ was Marie’s response. ‘About the only thing this place is fit for is a cat to live in.’
‘I think it has terrific potential,’ declared Jane.
‘Only as a shelter for down and outs!’
‘Now you really are exaggerating,’ said Jane lightly.
‘It might have been all right donkey’s years ago,’ said Marie dismissively. ‘But it certainly isn’t fit for human habitation now.’
‘Oh, I don’t know so much about that,’ said Jane with a lift to her voice her sister-in-law hadn’t heard in a very long time.
Marie shot her a look, waiting for her to elaborate.
‘With a bit of paint and polish, it would be ideal for me and the kids,’ Jane said, standing back and looking at Marie.
‘You can’t be serious!’ she exclaimed, frowning darkly.
‘I am.’
‘But you can’t live in a place like this,’ said Marie, looking towards the cottage. ‘It’s nothing short of a hovel.’
‘It does need cleaning up, I admit,’ said Jane with a wry grin.
‘It needs a whole lot more than that!’
‘I’d have to get rid of all that dark, old-fashioned wallpaper, of course, and paint the walls a light colour,’ Jane murmured almost to herself. ‘But at least it would be a place of our own and the children would have a garden to play in.’
‘This isn’t a garden, it’s a wilderness!’
‘Nothing a bit of effort with a good pair of garden shears won’t cure.’
‘A bulldozer would be more appropriate.’
‘The garden isn’t a bad size for London,’ said Jane, ignoring her sarcasm.
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ said Marie with blistering disapproval. ‘You really must be desperate if you’d even consider living in a place like that.’
‘But I am desperate, aren’t I?’ she said. ‘We both know that.’
‘But if you wait a bit longer, the council will get you a place,’ Marie pointed out persuasively. ‘Don’t forget you’ll be given more priority once the baby arrives.’
‘I’d rather live here,’ said Jane, eyes glued to the window again. ‘And it would probably work out cheaper than a council place. The owner can’t possibly charge much rent because of the state it’s in.’
‘Do yourself a favour and forget it, Jane, please.’
‘I don’t want to forget it. I have a real feeling about this cottage,’ was her immediate response. ‘Just imagine what that fireplace would look like if it was cleaned up.’
‘It’s hideous,’ said Marie, who had no eye for anything old-fashioned.
‘I think it’s beautiful.’
‘And I think we’d better go home before you lose your marbles altogether.’
‘I’ve never felt more sane in my life.’
‘You mustn’t even contemplate living here,’ said Marie. ‘It’s too awful.’
But Jane had moved away from the building and was staring up at the roof.
‘Oh, look, there’s an attic,’ she said, flushed with pleasure. ‘That could be used as another bedroom eventually. It already has two rooms upstairs, you can tell by the windows.’
The conversation came to a sudden halt when the cat sprang through the broken window and shot up a tree at the bottom of the garden, delighting the children who fought their way through the long grass and stood at the bottom of the tree.
‘An apple tree,’ cried Jane. ‘Oh, how absolutely perfect!’
‘Oh, God,’ muttered Marie, despairing of her friend.
The cat was sitting on a branch, staring down at them, its coat dull and matted, greenish-yellow eyes resting on them soulfully.
‘He’s so thin,’ said Jane. ‘A mere shadow of a cat, really.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Marie, eager to be gone because Jane’s interest in the cottage worried her. ‘It’s very sad. But be that as it may, it’s time we were on our way. It’s freezing, standing about here.’ She shivered and stamped her feet as though to emphasise the point. ‘Come on, kids, time to go.’
‘But we can’t leave Shadow up the tree,’ said Davey, christening the animal. ‘He might not be able to get down.’
‘He’ll get down, don’t you worry about him,’ said Marie.
As though to confirm this, Shadow shot down the tree and darted back into the house.
‘Can we come back and see him tomorrow?’ asked Melanie.
‘We could bring him some food,’ suggested Roy hopefully.
‘Stray cats will always find food,’ said their mother briskly. ‘I know he’s thin but he’ll survive. Cats are known for it.’
‘Oh, please, Mum!’
‘Now we’ve started something,’ said Marie under her breath to Jane. ‘They’ll have us round here every day to feed the damned thing.’
‘Can we come back and see him tomorrow, Mum?’ requested Davey.
‘I don’t know about tomorrow, love, but we’ll definitely come and see him again sometime soon,’ Jane promised.
Walking back along the riverside, Marie said worriedly, ‘You weren’t serious about wanting to take that cottage on, were you?’
‘I’m serious about loving it,’ said Jane. ‘And I know the children and I could be happy there.’
‘How can you know a thing like that?’ asked Marie, baffled.
‘It’s just a feeling I have, really. Nothing I can actually put my finger on,’ said Jane. ‘All I can say is, the place felt right for us and I’m certain I could make it into a real home, given a little time. I want to give the children back the sense of security they lost when Mick went. Living in someone else’s place just isn’t the same.’
‘I can understand your feeling like that but it wouldn’t be wise to take on anything so dilapidated, especially not in your condition,’ cautioned Marie. ‘Think of all the hard work getting it clean enough to live in. I dread to think what sort of a state the plumbing is in too. And you know what these old places are like for damp . . .’
Her negative attitude was beginning to have an effect on Jane. It wasn’t easy for a deserted wife to stay confident about striking out on her own and doing something different, especially when she was hard up and pregnant.
‘You’re probably right,’ she agreed with a sigh, surprised by the depth of her own disappointment. ‘It’s a nice idea but not a practical one. Not when you really think about it.’
In the early hours of the next morning, Jane lay awake listening to the children’s gentle breathing in the camp beds beside her. The sleeping arrangements had altered as soon as her father knew she was pregnant. He’d insisted that she have his bedroom until after the baby was born while he managed on the bed settee in the living room. She felt guilty about depriving him of his bed but he was adamant.
Looking back on the last few hours, she decided that this had been the strangest and saddest New Year’s Eve she had ever experienced and she was thoroughly glad to see the back of it. The sensible thing would have been to ignore the ritual altogether. But she had felt it was something she had to face up to, so she and her father had gone through the motions with the celebrations on the television.
‘Auld Lang Syne’ always moved her to tears. Mick used to tease her about it. Tonight her father had hugged her and he’d been crying too because it had made him think of all the New Years he’d seen in with his wife. They’d drunk a toast to Jane’s mother and Jane had secretly sent her thoughts and wishes to her husband, wherever he was. Soon after that they had gone to bed, each wanting to be alone with their own private sorrow.
Quite a contrast to New Year celebrations of the past when she
and Mick had fallen into bed tipsy in the small hours and made love. Closing her eyes tightly, she conjured up a vivid image of his face which made her cry. She wondered if he’d thought of her on this New Year’s Eve, their first apart since they’d been teenagers.
Mulling things over, Jane thought that she was probably coping with life as well as anyone in her position could be expected to. But missing Mick never seemed to get any easier. The feeling clung to her like a lasting illness, dragging her down and shadowing her life.
Recalled to the present by her demanding bladder, which sent her to the bathroom umpteen times during the night at this stage of her pregnancy, she got out of bed and felt her way across the bedroom in the dark to avoid disturbing the children by switching on the light. As she crossed the hall, she noticed from the clock on the wall that it was past three o’clock, which meant she would be dead on her feet all day tomorrow.
Back in bed, her spirits rose unexpectedly at the thought that it was a new day and the first morning of the New Year. A time for hope and resolution. All right, so she was deserted, pregnant and poverty-stricken. But she was also young and healthy with two beautiful children and a new life growing inside her.
Mick had torn their family apart and broken their hearts. It was up to her, as the children’s mother, to give them security and a sense of family without their father. She must find the courage to follow her instinct which told her that she could best do this for them at number one Vine Cottages, Tug Lane. Despite all the difficulties that Marie had so sensibly pointed out, Jane was convinced that that cottage was right for her and her children.
Being so taken with the place, she had made a mental note of the letting agents in Chiswick High Road. Now she would pay them a visit to find out if it was possible for her to rent it.
Once that decision was made, she felt happier and more positive than she had in a very long time. It was almost as though she was about to embark upon a new life . . .