The Most Precious Thing

by Bradshaw, Rita

  The harsh winter was followed by a cruel spring and everyone suffered, but in April the New Look burst over Britain like a fashion bomb as Christian Dior unveiled his unashamedly romantic ‘corolle line’.

  Carrie was captivated by the full mid-calf skirts, wasp waists, plunging necklines and batwing sleeves, and she gambled that there were plenty of women who had worn service uniforms or factory overalls, or who had donned the thick socks, sweaters and breeches of the Land Army, who were now sick of utility clothing and the make-do-and-mend ethic.

  She commandeered Lillian, who was still smarting at losing her job at the steelworks now that the war was over and the men were back, into working for her full time, and asked her mother and Miriam to increase their hours. And then she went into overdrive, producing modified versions of Dior’s designs at various price levels.

  She knew the venture was risky and she wasn’t sure if Sunderland was ready for chic fashion, but she was as sick as anyone of serviceable and practical clothing. All her married life she had worked her fingers to the bone, first with home work from the firework factory, then working for Horwood’s and at the nursery, along with continuing to make cheap items from home and building her reputation as a good seamstress with neighbours and friends.

  And that had been fine then. It had given her a good grounding for what she intended now, and also provided a standard of living they’d all benefited from. But with the purchase of the shop which had more space than they’d ever hoped for, she wanted to see if she could achieve a dream which had always been on hold in the back of her mind - that of opening her own dress shop.

  She didn’t intend it to be purely an exclusive and pricey one like some in the town, although the upper range of what she would sell would be both those things. She wanted anyone and everyone to be able to afford something, and for those who wanted to be dressed for a specific occasion, she would start by selling them a good foundation and work outwards.

  By the end of the summer, which had been as hot as the winter had been cold, she knew the gamble had paid off. Women from all walks of life knew what they wanted, and it was to surrender to the delicious rustle of taffeta or the caress of silk and lace. They had worked hard in all sorts of occupations during the war and had proved that women were every bit as good as men, hadn’t they? And there was more to life than leaving school only to become a housewife, Britain’s new breed of working women told themselves. It was high time to take a step away from the kitchen sink. Those who wanted to spend their lives scrubbing and donkey-stoning the front step were free to do so, but women had brains and ability and it was not unfeminine to use them, as they’d been told in the past.

  David’s side of the business, although not as financially productive as Carrie’s, was also doing well. The children were all happy and healthy. They saw plenty of Carrie’s parents, along with Billy and his family, and Lillian and the bairns. Danny and Len were engaged to two sisters and due to have a double wedding the next year. Everything in the garden was wonderful, in fact, Carrie told herself at least once a day, and she could make herself believe it if she didn’t think of Matthew. But she did. She thought about him a great deal.

  She knew David was worried about her. He was forever telling her to slow down and take time off, but by packing twenty-five hours into every day and working so hard she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, the worst of the ache in her heart was kept at bay. Every time she went into town or to the beach with the bairns, or to the cinema, her eyes searched for one face. It was never there.

  And then at the end of September two things happened in quick succession, the first having a direct bearing on the second. Late one Saturday afternoon, when David had taken the children to the park and Carrie had just sent everyone home and shut up shop, Veronica came to see her. A very grown-up and remote Veronica, with hard eyes and a somewhat brittle smile, and clothes which Carrie could see immediately were both expensive and well-cut. Renee’s daughter had not come back to Sunderland after the war but had made her home with a Land Army friend, whose parents had a big house in London.

  ‘I’m going to be married, Aunt Carrie.’ Veronica smiled as she spoke, and Carrie was struck by how much she resembled Renee. ‘He’s the brother of my friend, an accountant in the City. He has a wonderful job and we’re buying a gorgeous house that overlooks Richmond Park. Gerald says I can furnish it exactly how I want, what do you think about that?’

  Over a pot of tea and hot girdle scones, Carrie let her niece talk for some time about her plans and then, when Veronica stopped for breath, she said, ‘Are you happy, Vee?’

  ‘Happy? Of course I’m happy. I’m . . .’ She hesitated, then burst into tears.

  Carrie leaned forward and touched Veronica’s arm gently, and when the girl turned into her she held her and rocked her much as she would have done little Melanie. It was a while before Veronica was all cried out. Carrie wiped her face and poured her another cup of tea. Then she said softly, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Carrie.’ Veronica gulped, rubbing her nose in a childlike gesture which made her seem very young despite the carefully applied make-up and styled curls. ‘It’s . . . it’s nothing, not really. Wedding nerves, I suppose.’

  With an intuition born of her love for her son and for Renee’s daughter, Carrie said, ‘Is it something to do with Matthew, Vee? You can tell me, really. I know you quarrelled the last time you were home on leave.’

  ‘He told you?’ Veronica raised wide eyes.

  ‘Not in so many words.’ Carrie did not add that Matthew had not really talked to her for some time before their last altercation. ‘But you haven’t been back since so that speaks for itself. Do you want to go and see him? Is that it?’

  Veronica said nothing, she only shook her head as two more big tears spilled out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘Is it something Matthew said? Something he did?’

  This time Veronica slowly nodded. Carrie waited now, and after a moment or two, Veronica said, ‘It was about my mam.’

  ‘Your mam?’ This was unexpected. Carrie had known Veronica was sweet on Matthew, she had followed him around like a devoted puppy from the moment she could toddle. Carrie had thought that perhaps Matthew had told the girl her feelings were not reciprocated, something along those lines.

  ‘He said . . .’ Veronica gulped. ‘He said my da likely wasn’t my da, that it could be someone else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We . . . we’d got friendly, you see, just kissing and that sometimes, but when I came home that time I wanted to know if . . . well, if we had a future I suppose. Lots of lasses like Matthew and I just wanted to know where I stood.’

  ‘I can’t believe he said that. It’s not true, I know it isn’t true. Where on earth did he get it from?’

  ‘Gran.’

  ‘Gran? Gran Sutton?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you argued about that?’ She could understand it. Of course Veronica would defend her mother, but how could Matthew trifle with the girl’s affections in the first place? Veronica had always been quite open about her feelings for Matthew but a blind man could have seen Matthew didn’t feel the same way.

  ‘He said everyone knew my mam was . . .’ Veronica hesitated again, her voice a whisper as she said, ‘loose.’

  ‘Oh, lass.’ Carrie’s heart went out to the girl. ‘Look, Vee, your gran is a nasty, bitter, twisted old woman and she never liked your mam or me either. I know for sure your da was your da, all right? Renee was my sister and she told me everything. Everything.’

  Her niece raised tear-washed eyes. ‘There’s more, Aunt Carrie. He said Gran had told him my mam was carrying on with . . . with all her sons at one time or another. She said . . . she said she wouldn’t like to guess who exactly had fathered me because it could have been any one of them.’

  Carrie stared at Veronica, her mouth agape. She couldn’t believe that David’s mother was capable of such unm
itigated venom. But yes, she contradicted herself in the next moment, yes she could. Olive had always hated Renee and she had never taken to her granddaughter like she had to Matthew. If Olive had been worried they might get together then Carrie could easily imagine her making up some story to stop it. Her precious Matthew defiled by Renee’s daughter, that’s the way she’d look at it. And if nothing else, it set the picture perfectly for her revelation about Alec being Matthew’s father. Two sisters, bad blood. She could just hear Olive saying it. The old witch. The evil old witch.

  ‘Veronica.’ Carrie put her fingers under her niece’s chin and brought her face up to meet her gaze. ‘Your mother never carried on with Uncle Alec or Uncle David.’ Veronica’s eyes flickered and Carrie knew she was going to have to say more if Veronica was to believe her. ‘She never carried on with anyone until long after you were born. Then, well, your da and her started having problems and Mr Fleming, you remember Hughie Fleming from the factory? He and your mam fell in love. And she did love him, lass. It wasn’t a fleeting thing or anything like that. I know it doesn’t make it right, but there was only Hughie.’ There had been at that point, Carrie told herself. Veronica didn’t have to know it all, just enough to convince her that Walter was her father. ‘No one knew about it except me because like I said, your mam told me everything. Do you believe me?’

  Veronica stared at her, looking deep into Carrie’s eyes, and then her face changed, becoming softer, lighter. ‘You’re sure, Aunt Carrie?’

  ‘Lass, on my bairns’ lives, I know Walter was your father.’

  ‘So I’m not Matthew’s half-sister then?’

  ‘You are cousins, lass. That’s all.’ She put out a hand and stroked the silky smooth skin, wiping away the dampness from Veronica’s face. ‘Your gran had no right to tell Matthew lies like that, but sometimes I think she’s not right in the head. Now.’ Her voice became brisker. ‘Does that alter anything concerning Matthew and this other young man?’

  Veronica dropped her head to one side. Her voice was shaking when she said, ‘No, not really, Aunt Carrie. Matthew . . . he was so cruel that day. He knew how I felt about him.’ She raised her head. ‘I’ve never been much good at hiding my feelings, have I?’

  ‘Not much,’ Carrie said, hugging her.

  ‘I’ve thought about it a lot and after a while I realised it suited him to tell me at that point. He doesn’t love me, not in that way. I . . . I think I’ll always love him, but Gerald is nice and kind and I like him.’

  ‘But you might meet someone else some day, lass. Someone you can feel about like you did Matthew.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’ Veronica’s tone was certain and very matter-of-fact. ‘And I don’t really want to feel like that again, Aunt Carrie. It’s too . . .’

  ‘Painful?’

  Veronica nodded. ‘Gerald worships the ground I walk on and that’s very nice, but he’s also funny and clever and gentle. I’ll always know exactly where I am with him and he won’t break my heart because he can’t. But I’ll be a good wife to him.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’ Carrie felt terribly sad. Veronica was still just a young lass but youth had fled from her. She could have been thirty, forty, the way she was talking. How could Matthew have been so insensitive?

  Because he is Alec as Alec was at that age.

  The answer shocked her, the thought coming like a bolt out of the blue.

  ‘I must go, Aunt Carrie. I want to call in and see Aunt Lillian and the bairns before I catch the train, and Granda and Grandma. Thank you.’ Veronica flung her arms round Carrie in one of the impulsive gestures Carrie remembered from the past, and as she hugged her back, she thought, you can be proud of her, Renee. She’s a grand lass.

  ‘You’ll come to the wedding, you and Uncle David and the bairns?’ Veronica was smiling now and she didn’t seem like the same girl who had walked quietly into the flat an hour before. ‘I’ll send out the invitations nearer the time of course, but I would like you to come.’

  ‘Of course we will.’ The two women hugged again, and Carrie said, ‘Your mam and da would have loved to see you get married. They both loved you very much, you know.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Carrie, but I think we both know that you had more of a hand in bringing me up than Mam.’ It was not said with rancour. ‘Mam was the sort of woman who should never have had a bairn, but I know Da thought the world of me. He was lovely, my da.’

  ‘Aye, he was, lass.’ Again Carrie felt overwhelming sadness.

  When David returned and the children had been bathed, fed and tucked up in bed, Carrie told her husband of Veronica’s visit.

  ‘I think she had finally nerved herself to come and find out the truth,’ Carrie said gently as she finished telling the tale. ‘But it must have been eating away at her like a canker, poor lass.’

  David stared at her, quite unable to speak for a moment or two. Then he said, ‘Someone’ll swing for my mother one day, you mark my words. She’ll go too far and someone will do for her.’

  They didn’t have to.

  When Carrie and David went round to the house where Olive lived to confront her with her lies, they couldn’t make anyone hear at first. Eventually, with the help of a neighbour who lodged upstairs, they forced the door. It was the smell that hit them first, that and the flies.

  Olive Sutton had clearly been dead for some days; it looked as if she had collapsed and tried to crawl to the door before she died. She had been in some pain judging by the marks her broken and bloodied fingernails had made on the floorboards where she lay.

  Carrie stared in shock at the remains of the woman who had hated her from the day she had first set eyes on her, and her first thought was, she died as she lived, alone and unloved, and no one, not even Olive Sutton, should have such a terrible epitaph.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Two days before her mother-in-law’s funeral, Carrie saw to it that a letter was delivered to Alec. It enclosed a note for Matthew. In her letter to Alec she explained what she had heard from Veronica and exactly what she had written to Matthew. She stated she would not be going to Olive’s funeral, regardless of what folk thought; it would be the height of hypocrisy given what she felt about the woman and her manipulative evil ways. She made it clear she was disappointed by Matthew’s part in all of this, and she felt he owed his cousin a written apology for his insensitivity. The letter to Matthew was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but although David tried to tell her she didn’t have to send it, she knew differently in her heart. She owed it to Veronica and even more so to Renee. Her sister might not have been the best of wives and mothers, but she did not deserve to have her name blackened in such a fashion.

  On the morning the letter was sent, Carrie found herself quite unable to work as usual. The last few months she and David had employed Danny’s fiancée, who was a trained nanny, to come and take care of the children each day from nine to five, although Carrie often sent the girl home early because she wanted more time with the children. Their baby kisses and hugs were balm to her sore heart like nothing else could be. And today, more than any other, she needed that comfort. She didn’t know if the letter would forever alienate her from her son, but she thought it might be the final nail in her coffin as far as Matthew was concerned.

  After telling Danny’s delighted fiancée she could have the day off, Carrie spent the morning quietly with her children. She prepared a light lunch of cold meat and salad for everyone as she normally did, and when David, her mother, Lillian and Miriam had gone back downstairs again, she put the twins down for their afternoon nap and spent some time with Edward before he, too, went down in his cot.

  In spite of how wretched she was feeling inside, she forced herself to sit down at the desk in a corner of the room and begin looking at some correspondence that needed attention. She dealt with it automatically, and when it was finished she rose and paced the sitting room.

  Her mind was filled with images.

  Matthew as a chubby, smiling
baby with soft downy hair and dimpled hands. Matthew curled up on top of the covers in his narrow iron bed in a pair of blue flannelette pyjamas she had made for him. Matthew standing very still and stiff with a quivering bottom lip as she left him on his first day at school. Oh Matthew, Matthew, Matthew.

  Her sadness was pressing in on her, causing an ache in her heart which would have been a moan had she expressed it. She loved him so much, didn’t he know that? But he must, he must. Then why was he punishing her like this?

  And then she took hold of herself and came to a standstill. ‘Enough, enough,’ she said out loud. ‘You can’t make him love you or forgive you, and if this letter is the final severance, you did what you had to do.’ But it was little comfort.

  Half an hour later the twins woke up and she brought them into the sitting room to play. When David walked into the room, Philip and Melanie immediately made a beeline for him. Over their heads and without any preamble, he said, ‘Matthew and Alec are downstairs asking to see you. Shall I tell them to come up?’