Wartime Brides

by Lizzie Lane

  If she had thought about being seen she could have instructed Billy to take her to the orphanage by a more roundabout route. But it was too late. She’d face the music another day.

  It wasn’t easy, but she put her fears behind her when she got to the orphanage. Matron smiled at her as she handed her the bags of baby clothes and the warm blankets Colin’s mother had taken to knitting from old wool.

  Matron thanked her, then said, ‘He’s waiting for you,’ and nodded towards the nursery.

  Edna smiled back. Though still nervous about who might be waiting for her and what might be said when she got back, Sherman’s smile helped her forget – at least for the moment.

  He gripped her finger in his tiny hand as she looked down at him. His chuckles betrayed the presence of two more teeth. Edna felt her eyes turn moist. She so wanted to pick him up, to run out with him, go home to Colin and say, ‘Look. This is my son.’ But until she could find the courage to do that, she had resolved to resist picking him up. The temptation was too strong.

  When it was time to go she retraced her steps along the echoing corridors. The sky had turned grey outside and the air hung heavy with the threat of thunder. Overhead lights hanging from long cords and subdued by the addition of white china shades did little to lift the gloom inside the building.

  Outside she could see Matron standing next to Billy’s van. She’d obviously seen her arrive in it. When she turned away from Billy her face looked troubled. Edna wondered what Billy could have said to cause that.

  Matron stopped by the door looking a little embarrassed. She paused as if to say something, attempted to walk on then stopped again. ‘Edna!’

  Edna halted. What had Billy said?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Matron. ‘I have just made a terrible mistake. Do forgive me.’

  Edna frowned. Surely whatever she’d done couldn’t be any worse than being seen by her mother in a van with Billy Hills?

  ‘I presumed he was your husband and you had told him about Sherman. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I may have put my foot in it.’

  Raindrops as big as pennies were falling when she got outside. Billy looked numb when she slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t look at her but stared ahead as if the raindrops trickling down the screen had some dark secret to impart.

  ‘Better get going,’ he said at last and turned the key. The engine spluttered and sighed. So did Billy. ‘Damn. Better get out and use the starting handle.’

  As he opened the door, she grabbed his shoulder. ‘You won’t tell Colin will you, Billy – about Sherman I mean?’

  He chewed his lip. At least he was thinking about it. But he didn’t look at her. Not once. And that unnerved her.

  ‘Billy?’

  Billy shook his head. ‘No. Course I won’t. Bit of a shock though, I don’t mind telling you. In fact, one hell of a bloody shock! Still,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘Not the first are you. Won’t be the last either.’

  As on all the other occasions he’d taken her to the orphanage, he dropped her off at the London Inn where the remains of vegetables and the odd bit of fruit from the barrows lay squashed on the ground. From there it was just a short walk to Kent Street.

  They were in the parlour just behind the shop, her mother, father and Colin. She smiled at them nervously, her heart fluttering in her chest.

  Her mother’s lips were a taut mauve line. Her father was dutifully sipping his tea. But it was Colin’s expression that worried her most. He looked at her furtively as though afraid of what he might see if his eyes lingered.

  She managed to swallow the sandpaper dryness of her throat enough to say, ‘Hello.’ It sounded muted and unclear, like when someone turns the sound down on the wireless.

  ‘Colin tells me you’ve been making baby clothes for the orphanage,’ said her mother. Judging by the look in her eyes, there was no doubting what she really meant. That’s where the parcels go. That’s where your baby is.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Charity begins at home! That’s what I always say! You should be making baby clothes for your own children, not other people’s cast-outs!’ As if to emphasise her statement, her mother slammed the cup and saucer back on the tray. ‘You’ve been married since May. I thought you might have something to tell me by now!’

  Edna felt her face getting warm. Oh, why did she blush so easily? Perhaps if she didn’t do that she could find the courage to stand up to others, especially her mother.

  She glanced swiftly at Colin. He had been looking down at the floor, but suddenly looked up and met her gaze. Usually he would have smiled and winked, aware that her mother was an interfering old bag who could cut deeper than a bayonet. For the first time she wondered just how much a child might mean to him. Unknowingly, her mother had touched a sore spot. Colin felt less of a man than he let on. A child, Edna suddenly realised, would make him feel more of one.

  ‘Women shouldn’t work,’ said her father suddenly. All eyes went to him. It wasn’t often he was given the chance to make a comment.

  ‘Well, just for a change, I have to say that you’re right, Cedric,’ said Edna’s mother. ‘Women should be running a home, having babies and looking after their husband. Don’t you agree, Colin?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Colin quietly and Edna felt that terrible guilt again.

  Normally the departure of her parents after a fleeting visit left the atmosphere of their little house a lot lighter. But on this occasion it seemed that a void had opened between her and Colin. And all because of my mother, thought Edna and wondered if she’d said anything to Colin about Billy giving her a lift.

  ‘I’ll get us some food,’ she said and started to make her way to the kitchen. Colin grabbed her wrist.

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell me, Edna?’

  She looked down at him, her lips parted and her tongue dry. She shook her head. Was this the time to tell him about Sherman? Had her mother said anything?

  ‘Of course not.’

  Slowly his hand dropped from her wrist.

  ‘You don’t regret marrying me do you, Edna? I mean, being as I am?’

  ‘No! Of course not!’

  Ordinarily she would have flung her arms around his neck and told him he was all she’d ever wanted. But even though he hadn’t mentioned Billy giving her a lift, she knew without being told that he knew. Her mother had seen to that. Telling him about Sherman was becoming impossible.

  Julian was kindness itself but nothing could detract from the awfulness of what he was telling her.

  ‘I think he’s verging on schizophrenia.’

  Charlotte felt weak. It was as if someone had taken every bone out of her body. ‘But he’s a doctor.’

  ‘We’re not immune,’ said Julian with a wry smile. ‘I’m afraid one of the problems with medical men like David is that they’re not very good at being patients. He didn’t really show any signs of depression as such – at least –

  yet. Modern thinking is that a particularly stressful incident is at the root of the disease. Like so-called shell shock, it’s not a physical thing. It’s a mental thing, a locking up of the horror of certain experiences.’

  Charlotte sighed. She’d taken off her gloves. Now she crumpled them up in her hands. ‘So instead of showing signs of depression you are saying it has affected his personality.’

  He nodded slowly, chin resting on his knuckles. ‘I did try telling you when I phoned.’

  She could barely remember what he’d actually said. The fact that David was coming home had been more important than anything else. She didn’t comment but only thought about how shocked she’d been on his first night home. It had been like sleeping with a stranger and was no different now.

  ‘You may find him acting completely out of character, not at all the nice person you knew.’

  She nodded. ‘I know.’

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to know?’ asked Julian at last.

  ‘Is he likely to …?�
�� She failed to get the word out. Julian filled in the gap.

  ‘Suicide? It’s a possibility. He’s been traumatised by some event he witnessed or experienced. You’ve no idea what it is? He hasn’t mentioned anything?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I thought he might have by now,’ Julian continued. ‘But in answer to your question, as long as the problem continues to stew inside him, there is every reason to believe that he could, eventually, do harm, either to himself or to someone else.’

  Charlotte automatically raised her hand to her throat. How could she say out loud that he’d already done her harm? It seemed so disloyal somehow.

  Julian offered her a lift home, but she declined. Much as he might be concerned for David’s plight, she needed time by herself to think of what she could do. There was now no question of the children not going back to boarding school. They would be safer there.

  The old Charlotte came into her own, the head girl and dormitory prefect who had gone out of her way to advise her fellow scholars, who had enrolled in the Red Cross at the outbreak of war and assisted in the orphanage and the Marriage Guidance Council.

  It was up to her to save David from himself. Somehow she had to heal the festering wound in his mind. She looked wistfully out of the window as the taxi made its way up Park Street. Architects with rolled-up plans beneath their arms and builders were standing on the wide pavements eyeing the damaged buildings. Rebuilding was only at the planning stage and there was much to be done. Just as there was with David.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE FIRST THING she noticed when the taxi pulled up outside the house was that the bedroom curtains were drawn. Julian’s words rang in her ears. After telling the cab driver to keep the change, she dashed to the door, her fingers like jelly as she tried to get the key in the lock. Eventually she pushed it open and was in the hall, the door left wide open behind her.

  Taking the stairs two at a time she dashed into the bedroom she’d shared with David all her married life.

  He’ll do things he’s never done before – act out of character – it’s like an anger festering inside – it has to come out.

  The room smelt of perfume. Bottles, face powder, creams and sprays were scattered over the floor as if by a childish hand.

  She felt sick, but not because of the spills.

  Polly’s blonde hair lay on her pillow in her bed!

  Charlotte clutched at her stomach. ‘Polly?’

  Polly didn’t move.

  A small cry escaped Charlotte’s throat. Polly’s eyes remained closed, and even though the curtains were drawn, Charlotte could see they were purple and puffy, the result of a series of blows. Her cheeks were red and bruised. One arm dangled limp and white from the bed, her hand almost touching the floor.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  Charlotte ran downstairs to the phone that sat on a table in the hall and swiftly dialled an ambulance. After that she dialled Julian and told him what she’d found.

  Julian joined her later at the Royal Infirmary.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, aware of the concern in his voice but too numb to speak.

  Julian paused, then nervously cleared his throat before speaking. ‘I’ll phone his consulting rooms. If he’s not there, I’ll have to phone the police. You know that, don’t you?’

  She nodded, afraid to ask him why the police because she knew what the answer was likely to be. It was such a short walk from their house to the Clifton Suspension Bridge. And from there it was such a long drop to the river and the road below.

  He said nothing when he came back. She looked at his face. It said it all.

  ‘You’ve phoned the police.’ She said it in a matter-of-fact manner: no inflection, no emotion.

  He patted her shoulder. ‘They’re searching the most obvious places.’

  A small cry caught in her throat. Their eyes met in mutual understanding.

  Charlotte found her voice. ‘I have to be sensible about all this. There are reasons for David being like he is, goodness, after all that he’s been through I have to give him time. And as for the prospect of him being unfaithful with Polly, well, what can one say. I would imagine she was the sort who had a wonderful time when the Americans were here. They brought glamour to her life. I suppose she thought David could do the same.’

  She bit her lip in order to stifle her distress and voiced her next concern. ‘If he is able, will he stand trial for beating Polly? Will he go to prison?’

  Julian sighed. ‘He needs treatment, not punishment. A lot depends on Polly. Apparently he chased her into your bedroom. She’d said something to him about the war and he went stark, staring mad – those are Polly’s words.’

  Charlotte sighed. David had gone to war and someone else had returned. She had borne it, told herself that in time he would heal. But having to face the prospect of infidelity was hard to bear, especially as she knew Polly and she worked for them. Now it seemed that there was nothing to be jealous about and, she had to admit, she had been jealous.

  Julian’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Charlotte, you are a real brick, the sort of woman every man dreams of marrying. But you need to be less selfless. Doing good deeds should not be your sole occupation.’

  Although choking with despair, she managed a brilliant smile. ‘You’re quite right, Julian. I should have more passion in my life. Do you think I should take a lover?’

  Julian blushed and looked away. ‘Now steady on, old girl …’

  She slapped him on the shoulder and he almost jumped out of his skin. ‘Don’t worry, Julian. You’re quite safe. I’ve already had passion in my life, but leopards don’t change their spots. I was made to serve and I’ll go right on doing that.’

  He looked up at her with his mouth open.

  She smiled down at him, thinking just how vulnerable people could really be when their Achilles heel is suddenly exposed. She knew Julian didn’t care too much for women – not in a sexual way. ‘We all have our wounds, Julian – and our secrets. I’m not a saint. Please don’t treat me as one.’

  She saw him blink and his jaw tighten and knew he understood.

  Charlotte had been at her bedside. Polly remembered it clearly though what she had actually said to her was less clear. Something about David being ill. Mad more like it, she thought to herself. Well that was that! So what was she going to do now? She certainly couldn’t go back to her job with him in Clifton. A factory? There was a fair selection; tobacco, chocolate or paper bags. Now which did she fancy?

  Or there were shops. Working in a dress shop would be nice. Might even get some good gear she thought, with or without me ration card!

  Aunty Meg made up the bed in the front bedroom for her when she came home. There was more room now because Hetty and Bert had been given a prefab out on a new estate at Brislington.

  Meg explained what it was like. ‘I went out on the bus with them to have a look. It’s not a proper home. It ain’t made of brick like these old places. It’s made of metal and it all slots into place like a jigsaw. But it’s got two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom – all indoors! Ain’t that marvellous?’

  Polly agreed that it was. She didn’t add that it was especially marvellous for her because their leaving meant there was more room in York Street, but she certainly thought it.

  When Meg suggested that Carol should sleep in her mother’s room, she didn’t object. Although there was a cot in there, it looked far too small for the growing child, so Polly allowed her daughter to come into bed with her. She had a need to love someone, to cuddle a warm body close to her own and rain kisses on an innocent head. Because of this she began to get to know her daughter, to notice the way she wrinkled her nose, the fact that she had most of her teeth now and that she could get out of bed by herself and retrieve her potty from beneath it.

  Once she was up and about, Meg allowed Billy to visit. Ever since she’d been home from hospital he’d kno
cked to see how she was, and when Meg told him off for hanging around outside the house, he waylaid her on the corner of the street when she was on her way to the shops.

  Polly still enjoyed teasing him. ‘I’m taking Carol for a walk,’ she’d say, always pretending that she was going out when he had only just arrived.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he would respond with undisguised enthusiasm.

  It never failed to surprise her that Billy offered to push the pram. She didn’t know any man who would do that. And there was no asking questions about why she hadn’t told him that she’d been alone in the house with David. He took it for granted that David had had some kind of brainstorm because of his wartime experiences. Plenty of people had been affected by it, some more so than others.

  It was October and they walked down towards the Feeder Canal that connected the River Frome to the River Avon. Italian prisoners of war were repairing a part of the road that ran alongside it. The air was damp with mist, but streaked with shafts of watery sunlight.

  ‘I’ve got a present for you,’ Billy said suddenly. He reached into his pocket and brought out an easily recognisable tin.

  ‘Powdered egg,’ said Polly with little enthusiasm.

  Billy’s face dropped. ‘Don’t you want it?’

  She managed a smile. ‘It’s always useful. More omelettes. They’re good for you.’ She unclipped the apron on the pram and popped it in.

  He asked her whether she was still going to get a job.

  ‘Of course! I’ve got Carol to support. It’s not easy you know.’

  Thoughtfully he shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded in agreement. ‘I can see that. Still, at least you ’ad the guts to keep your baby and not …’ He stopped dead, sounding as though he’d said too much.

  She frowned and looked at him questioningly. He kept his head down. Billy was hiding something. It occurred to her that he might have a skeleton in the cupboard somewhere. Perhaps it was his own child he was talking about that some worried young girl had given away. But she didn’t think so. Well, she would find out. She was good at finding things out from blokes like Billy. Smiling in a way that she knew men found irresistible, she slipped her arm through his. He was the one pushing the pram.