by Lizzie Lane
She bent down and kissed his forehead. ‘I’ve made my decision about marrying you. I’d also like to make my own decisions about the wedding.’
Colin visibly relaxed. ‘It won’t be easy. Your mother likes getting her own way.’ He paused suddenly and snatched his hand away. ‘Here! Does that mean you’ll end up just like her when you’re older.’
‘I hope not!’
‘Hope the kids don’t either,’ Colin added.
Edna’s smile froze as she remembered the dark hair and coffee-coloured skin of the child that had been taken away, his chubby hands and his even temperament.
‘No. I don’t think they could be,’ she replied, and hoped Colin didn’t notice the tremor in her voice.
There were over one hundred guests at the reception to celebrate the homecoming of a number of top doctors in the Bristol area. The university dining room thronged with lately returned combatants, their faces a little more strained than before the war and their suits sharply cleaned and pressed for the first time since hostilities began.
David was exuberant. His natural charm was at full strength as he greeted old acquaintances and basked in the admiration of those who had not seen as much action as he had.
Only when they started asking him more in-depth questions about his escapades, particularly the more social side of his service, did his face stiffen and his voice sharpen.
‘I hear Cairo is a beast of a place,’ said one old surgeon, a very large whisky in one hand. ‘Beastly things happen there.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘If you know what I mean.’
Charlotte, filled with apprehension, placed her gloved hand on David’s raised arm. She felt the muscles harden. ‘Can you get me a drink, darling? I’m terribly thirsty.’
The old surgeon, whose tongue was rapidly running out of control, turned to an equally elderly colleague who had no doubt spent his uniformed existence no further south than Surrey.
‘Take no notice of him,’ said a pleasant voice close to her side. ‘His imagination is prone to run riot occasionally.’
‘I won’t,’ she said, smiling as she turned to face the speaker. Her smile froze.
The speaker’s mouth was crooked, his skin purpled and severely dimpled by burns. Eyelids as smooth and immobile as plastic seemed tautly stretched across his eyes.
‘We’ve all been through a lot,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘Even those who stayed in Blighty were under a fair amount of stress.’ He nodded in the direction of the old surgeon who was now extolling the licentiousness of a Cairo he himself had never visited. ‘He’s glad he didn’t go abroad but embarrassed about it.’
‘My husband was sent to the Western Desert,’ Charlotte said, once she’d got over the shock of his face. ‘Then he was transferred to Singapore.’
‘Not a healthy place to be.’
She asked him, ‘Where were you when the war ended?’
‘Hamburg,’ he answered.
‘Really?’ He must have seen her puzzlement and went on to explain.
‘I’m not a Jerry. I stayed behind with the wounded at Dunkirk and was promptly marched off to a POW camp.’
‘Is that where you …’ Charlotte began. She felt embarrassed asking.
He shook his head. ‘No. As a doctor I was sent to Hamburg when the blanket bombing started – Americans by day, RAF at night. I got caught in a firestorm. Still, marvellous what they can do nowadays, isn’t it?’
At that moment David came back with her drink. The disfigured surgeon shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before drifting off.
Charlotte watched him go, feeling sadly inadequate and extremely grateful. What were her problems compared to his? Her own, personal domestic bliss had gone with the war. That man had lost a lot more. So why should she be frightened of telling David that she was not giving up her Red Cross and counselling work? She took the plunge.
‘I didn’t give my notice in,’ she blurted, sounding braver than she actually felt. ‘I want to continue.’
His face seemed to turn to stone.
Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘I don’t care what you say, David or what you do. I have to have some purpose in life and without the children …’
‘Ah! So we’re back to that,’ he growled.
Charlotte glanced round at the assembled crowd. How long would it be before someone realised that one of their most eminent members was arguing with his wife.
‘David!’
The intervention of another old acquaintance saved the day. For the rest of the evening an uneasy truce held. It wasn’t until they were in the car driving home that the storm finally broke.
She knew it was going to happen the moment he turned onto Durdham Downs and toward the sea walls that bounded the cliffs along the Avon Gorge.
‘Please, David,’ she began, her stomach tightening with fear. She had recognised another of his mood swings and guessed what was coming next.
He switched off the engine. His hand stung her cheek and there was a slight click of neck bone as her head went sideways.
She willed herself not to cry, instead she fought, not caring what anyone might say if they saw a bruise on her face or her neck. But David was devious. So far no one had noticed a thing – except Josef.
‘You are my wife and will do as I say!’ he snarled.
His hands were around her throat. Her head was bent back as his alcoholic breath smothered her face.
‘I’m not your slave!’ she managed to say.
She struggled, clawed at his hands as they almost choked the breath from her body. Just when the whole world seemed to fade into night, his hands left her throat.
‘You’re mine!’ he mumbled against her ear as his hands tore at her clothes and he pushed between her legs. ‘You do as I say and don’t you forget it!’
There was a ripping sound as the silk dress was torn from knee to waist. She cried out as his fingers ripped at her underwear and bruised the soft flesh of the inside of her thighs.
An odd thought occurred to her. If it had been anyone else this would be called rape. But this was her husband and in law there was no such crime.
Polly held the door open for them when they got home. Just lately she’d started staying overnight, glad to escape the overcrowding down at York Road now Hetty and her lot had moved in.
‘Let’s have a nightcap,’ David shouted and strode purposefully to the study. Charlotte followed unwilling to cause a scene. Aware that Polly’s eyes were following her, she grasped her coat firmly so that it wouldn’t fall open and expose the fact that her clothes were ripped to shreds.
Once the door was closed he started on her again. ‘Don’t defy me, Charlotte.’
‘David. There are a lot of people needing help nowadays.’
‘It doesn’t have to be from you.’
She raised her voice. ‘But I want to help! What else is there for me to do all day alone in this house.’
David swigged back the gin he had poured and threw the tumbler onto the floor.
‘Women like you!’ he growled.
Uncomprehending, she frowned. What did he mean women like her?
‘I saw a woman like you destroy a good man. A very good man. And all because he took pity on her life behind a wall. But they’re right you know, those Libyans. Women should know their place, then there would be no problems.’
Polly’s ear was close to the door and her sympathy was entirely with David. What the hell was the matter with Charlotte, the silly cow! What she wouldn’t only give to pack in work and stay at home all day with someone to come in and clean and cook and do all the nasty domestic things she particularly hated.
‘Woman don’t know when she’s bloody alive!’ She whistled as she went up the stairs to the yellow distempered room at the back of the house, a cool oasis from the haphazard arrangements at York Street.
Christmas with Aaron had consisted of walking through the city centre, dodging the piles of rubble and twisted metal, all that remained of Bristol’s old tr
amway. It hadn’t mattered that there was no Christmas dinner. Anyway, all Meg could provide was a small chicken and a Christmas pudding made of breadcrumbs, saccharine and any bits and pieces of fruit, including discarded orange peel, that she could find.
As it turned out Aaron brought food from the base, slices of tinned turkey meat and Christmas cake flown in from the States but had declined to enter the house and stay for a meal.
It had suited Polly. ‘Don’t blame you now Hetty and all ’er kids ’ave moved in,’ she said, as the noise of children shouting, laughing and crying spilled out into the street. One of them had been Carol.
She’d left the supplies with Meg and marched off with Aaron. So far she had avoided mentioning the fact that she had an illegitimate child. There was plenty of time yet.
Number 14 York Street was now severely overcrowded. Hetty and Bertie slept in Polly’s old room, the kids were in with Carol, and she’d been expected to share a bed with Meg in the front room downstairs. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Meg. She was a good woman. But blimey, there had to be a line drawn somewhere.
Never mind, she said to herself with a smug smile as she took off her dress and hung it on a hanger on the wardrobe door. You’ve got a date with Aaron on Friday and you know damn well that he’s going to ask you to marry him.
Stripped down to her brassiere and bloomers, she stretched her arms wide and did a quick twirl. ‘Look out America! Here I come!’
Chapter Nine
RAIN SPEWED FROM gutters and gurgled down drains.
Polly hopped from one foot to another. Her shoes were sodden, her hat was limp at the edges and a decorative feather flopped over one eye.
‘Great George’, the bell in the university tower that could be heard all over the city, confirmed eight o’clock. Aaron had said seven-thirty.
There were lots of excuses for him being late. Perhaps the bus had broken down. Perhaps he’d got extra duties.
Two off-duty sailors strolled by, eyed her up and down and slipped her the wink.
‘Fancy a good time?’ one of them said.
She tossed her head. ‘Not with you I don’t.’
They shrugged and strolled off. At one time she’d have decided to forget her absent date and go and enjoy herself. In the case of Aaron she found it impossible. What if he found out she’d been drinking with other men? He wouldn’t kill her or hurt her. She was pretty sure of that. But he would be upset, she just knew he would. Funnily enough she would be too. He meant too much to her to spoil it now. He was her passport to a better life.
So she stood and waited some more. Great George struck nine.
‘Damn the bastard!’ she muttered under her breath.
Spirits low and coat wet, she turned to go home.
She headed for Old Market, not caring that more water filled her shoes and ran down her neck. Head down, she barged through the crowds coming out of the Kings’ Picture House and would have charged onwards if she hadn’t met an obstruction.
‘Polly?’
She recognised Edna and Colin, whose wheelchair she had unseeingly barged into.
Wary that they’d ask her where she’d been, she got in first. ‘Hello. Been to the pictures then? Good, was it?’ She nodded at the billboard advertising Brief Encounter. ‘I hear it’s romantic. Is that right then?’
Colin smirked wickedly. ‘Saucy more like! Love between two married people, who aren’t married to each other. Hanky panky!’
Playfully Edna smacked his shoulder. ‘Colin!’
‘There’s been a war on,’ Colin protested. ‘Lots of things happened that shouldn’t have happened and straying off the straight and narrow ain’t nowhere near the worst of it.’
Edna ignored his comment and asked the question Polly had been dreading. She hated being stood up, no matter what the reason. ‘Have you been anywhere nice?’
‘Working,’ Polly said brightly. ‘You know I do a bit now for Charlotte and David, don’t you?’
‘Doctor and Mrs Hennessey-White?’ Edna never could get used to calling Charlotte by her first name. ‘I haven’t seen her for a while.’
‘Still busy with her Red Cross stuff and all that. Don’t know why she bothers though with the house that she’s got and the money he makes. Give me half the chance and I’d change places with her like a shot!’
‘She likes helping people,’ Edna said, and couldn’t help sounding defensive. Charlotte was a bit of a busybody, yet she was basically kind-hearted.
‘Care for a drink?’ Colin piped up suddenly. ‘So long as we can find a pub with a wide enough door to get me and the old Wells Fargo express through the door!’
Polly thought about refusing but then thought of the conditions back in York Street. God, if she’d known that swine wasn’t going to turn up she’d have stayed overnight up in Clifton. At least it was quiet and there was no doubting that David Hennessey-White appreciated her being around. Never mind. She’d just been offered an alternative.
‘Love to!’ she said.
Because the Stag and Hounds dated from medieval times, its door was wide enough to take a horse and trap.
Colin was an avid collector of trivial information, and imparted some of it to Polly and Edna as they went in.
‘Stables used to be out the back so they brought the horses through here. And the pigs for slaughtering out back. Nobody was too fussy in those days.’
Polly wanted to say you haven’t met Bertie and Hetty. They’re not too fussy either. But she held her tongue, took off her hat and shook the water out of it.
Colin bought the drinks. Polly had a small stout, Edna a port and lemon.
Colin made himself comfortable behind a pint of beer and explained how the staff in the Kings’ Picture House over the road had carried his wheelchair up the stairs then set him down in the front so he had the best view in the house. Edna sipped her drink quietly. Polly did the same and as she did so noticed a man at the bar was looking over at them.
He didn’t look like a local, mainly because his suit was well cut, and his trench coat looked to be a genuine Burberry.
Well, so what? she said to herself. You’re spoken for. Remember?
She dragged her gaze away from him and asked Edna and Colin about the wedding. They said it was set for May. Edna looked a little strained as she said it. ‘You’ll have to come,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t keep me away.’
‘I’ve asked Charlotte and the doctor to come too,’ said Edna, her eyes shining brightly. As if they’re bleeding royalty, thought Polly.
She then made her excuses to go to the ladies. When she came back out she wasn’t surprised to be apprehended by the well-dressed man she’d seen standing at the bar.
She folded her arms and looked at him defiantly. ‘Whatever’s on yer mind the answer’s “no”!’
‘You rate yerself too highly, my love. All I wanted to know is whether that bloke you’re with lost his legs in the war?’
Slightly abashed, Polly unfolded her arms. ‘Oh! Yes. He did.’
‘Poor sod. I thought so. Wouldn’t be offended if I bought ’im a drink would ’e? Only I know the pension ain’t much and jobs for the likes of ’im are just about nonexistent.’
Polly couldn’t help getting defensive. ‘He’s not an idiot, you know! He can make toys.’
He slid his hat to the back of his head. ‘Can he now! Well that’s interesting.’
To her surprise he went straight to their table. Polly followed.
He thrust his hand in front of Colin’s chin. ‘How do you do, chum. Billy Hills is my name and I’d like to buy you a drink.’
Colin’s jaw hardened. Somehow Polly knew he’d respond like that. He might not be whole but he certainly had his pride.
‘I don’t need charity!’
‘And I don’t give it,’ replied Billy Hills as he pulled a chair up to the table. ‘Get the drinks in, girl,’ he said pushing a ten-bob note into Polly’s hand. ‘I want to talk business.’
Bot
h Colin and Edna seemed entranced by the time Polly got back to the table. Billy Hills was still talking.
‘Now it’s goin’ to be a bloody long time, ’scuse me language, until the big toy makers get back into production, specially the Jerry ones. Good toys they used to make. But even British producers went over to war work. Torpedoes instead of train sets, you might say.’
Polly set down the drinks and offered Billy the change. ‘Keep it, love,’ he said without even looking up at her.
Flash, she thought. He’s trying to impress me. I don’t care what he said, he’s fancying his chances.
They were still in the Stag and Hounds at closing time. But not once did Billy Hills try it on. She was only slightly disappointed. Just as she’d guessed, he wasn’t local. He was from Bedminster on the south side of the city near the tobacco factories, a fact he was imparting to Colin and Edna and saying how useful it would be seeing as he didn’t live too far from them.
She didn’t concentrate too much on the rest of it. He wasn’t her type. OK for money but had no class. Bit of a wide-boy in fact. Besides, Aaron could offer her America. No one else could offer her that.
But she was worried. Why hadn’t he turned up? What had happened to him?
‘You can come shopping with me.’ It was Saturday morning and Ethel Burbage was already plunging the pearl-ended pin into the crown of her dark brown hat. Her voice was as firm as her grip.
Edna made an attempt at rebellion. ‘I thought you were going to play whist at the Baptist Hall afterwards?’
Whist was the last thing Edna wanted to get involved with; middle-aged men and women, all concentrating on a game that seemed to her to hold little excitement.
‘You can walk on back with some of the shopping.’
Edna became aware that her mother was looking at her quizzically.
‘You’re looking happy. Blooming in fact. Is there something you think I should know about?’
Edna blushed. ‘No! Of course not.’
She knew what her mother was referring to. Had she and Colin gone too far. They hadn’t. It was just that Billy Hills had made them a certain proposition and it was like the answer to their prayers. On top of that she now knew where her baby was. All she had to do was plan how to get to see him.