The Married Girls

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Well, whatever it is, it suits you,’ Harry said.

  ‘What about you, Harry? How have you been?’ What a stupid question, she thought, even as she asked it. He’d walked out on her, and now here he was turning up like the proverbial bad penny and expecting her to be pleased to see him. Suddenly she was serious and asked, ‘Where did you go, Harry? One day you were there and the next you’d vanished.’

  ‘It’s a long story—’ Harry began, but she cut him short.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ she retorted, ‘and I’m sure none of it was your fault, it never is, but you disappear for years and then turn up again out of the blue and expect me to be delighted to see you.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Harry asked with a quizzical smile. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  ‘No!’ Charlotte snapped, and then looking at his dear, familiar face, her shoulders slumped a little and she said, ‘Yes, of course I am. At least, I’m glad you’re alive and haven’t forgotten me.’

  ‘Lisa...’ Harry took her hands in his again, ‘I’m never gonna forget you, am I? I’ve come to find you, haven’t I? An’ I tell you what, it ain’t been easy, neither. Come on, give us a kiss and make up.’

  He suited the action to the words and pulled her back into his arms, seeking her lips with his. For a second her lips parted and then she struggled to push him away, saying, ‘No, Harry. Don’t!’

  ‘It’s only a kiss, Lisa.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want it, Harry.’ She pulled free and turned away.

  ‘Charlotte? What’s going on?’ Billy emerged from the shadows, holding Johnny by the hand. ‘I thought you were going to the ladies.’

  ‘I was, I am...’ Charlotte felt the colour rise in her cheeks, burning hot. ‘It’s just...’ Her voice died away. It was just... what?

  ‘Billy, ain’t it?’ drawled Harry. ‘Think we met at the end of the war.’ He extended his hand. ‘Harry Black.’

  ‘Yes,’ Billy’s voice was icy and he ignored the outstretched hand, ‘I remember.’ He bent down and picked up Johnny, hoisting him up onto his shoulders. ‘It’s time to go home, Charlotte. Johnny’s getting cold.’

  ‘I’m not cold, Daddy,’ Johnny protested. ‘I’m hot. I want to see the fireworks.’

  ‘The fireworks are finished, old chap, and poor Mummy’s cold even if you’re not. So, it’s time to go home.’ He held out his hand to Charlotte, who took it and moved to his side.

  ‘It was nice to see you again, Harry,’ she said. ‘But we have to be going now.’

  ‘Can I come and see you tomorrow?’ Harry asked. ‘Just to chat, you know, before I go back to London?’

  ‘No.’ It was Billy who spoke firmly. ‘I’m afraid we’re spending tomorrow with my parents.’ And with that he turned and walked away, Charlotte at his side. She glanced back once, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and Harry put his finger to his lips. A sign to say nothing? A last blown kiss? She didn’t know, but she walked away with her husband and her son and left him standing alone, a dark shape in the flickering flames of the bonfire.

  ‘He was definitely kissing her,’ Mabel confided to Nancy Bright from the post office.

  ‘But who is he?’ wondered Nancy, a gleam of excitement in her eyes as she smelled gossip.

  ‘He’s Australian,’ answered Mabel as she handed Nancy her sausage. ‘His name’s Victor Merritt. He’s taken a room with us, at the Magpie.’ She looked round to see if they were being overheard and then added softly. ‘He told us his name was Victor Merritt, but she called him Harry.’

  ‘Well, that just shows, doesn’t it,’ marvelled Nancy. ‘He’s in... inco... not using his own name! I should keep an eye on him, if I was you. You can’t never trust a foreigner, can you.’

  ‘He’s Australian,’ Mabel reminded her. ‘They’re very free and easy in their ways.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Nancy said darkly. ‘But even if he is, that makes him a foreigner, so you can’t trust him.’

  Billy and Charlotte walked home in silence and when they got there Billy’s mother was anxious to hear how the evening had gone. Johnny was full of excitement, chattering on about the bonfire and the fireworks.

  ‘I held a sparkle and it was very bright and I had a sausage Mrs Barrett cooked outside. It was wrapped in bread and very hot. And then Mummy met a man and then we came home. I didn’t want to, cos the bomb-fire was still going, but Daddy said we had to because Mummy was cold. I wasn’t cold, I was hot.’

  ‘Come on, darling, it’s late,’ Charlotte said. ‘Way past your bedtime. Say goodnight to Daddy and Gr’ma.’ Johnny hugged his father and his grandmother and Charlotte took him up to bed.

  As Billy walked his mother back to Charing Farm, Margaret asked him about the ‘man’ Johnny had mentioned. Billy answered that it was an old friend of Charlotte’s from London, during the war.

  ‘And he’s come to see her?’

  ‘He’s always turning up, upsetting Charlotte,’ Billy muttered.

  ‘But why does it upset her?’ Margaret was mystified. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘His name’s Harry Black. They came from the same town in Germany and met up when they were both refugees in London at the beginning of the war. She was getting bullied at school and he saw off some anti-German bullies.’

  ‘I seem to remember you doing the same thing yourself, here in Wynsdown,’ remarked Margaret. She glanced across at her son’s face, but was unable to see his expression in the darkness. ‘I think it’s you who’s upset, Billy, not Charlotte.’

  ‘I saw them together at the bonfire,’ Billy said miserably. ‘He had his arms round her.’

  ‘And is that so bad?’

  ‘She was hugging him back.’

  ‘So what Billy? That’s what old friends do.’ She waited, but he said no more, so she asked, ‘How long is he here for?’

  Billy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just a day or so, I expect. He said he was going back to London.’

  ‘Then forget about him, son. He’s an old friend of Charlotte’s, that’s all. It’s you she loves. You’ve got nothing to fear from him.’

  ‘If she loves me.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Billy, pull yourself together. You know she does, it’s pretty obvious, to everyone else if not to you!’

  When they reached Charing Farm Billy saw his mother to the back door. She looked at him in the porch light and seeing his misery, she took his hand and drew him into a hug. ‘Don’t doubt your Charlotte,’ she said softly. ‘Trust her as you always have. Now, you go straight home and tell her you love her.’

  Billy didn’t go straight home, he headed for the pub. As he plodded back to the village, his mind was in turmoil. It wasn’t Charlotte he didn’t trust, it was Harry. When he reached the village green he found it deserted and he realised that most people had adjourned to the Magpie. He paused outside for a moment and then with sudden resolution, he pushed open the door and marched into the bar. He’d have it out with Harry Black, once and for all.

  Seeing Harry sitting at the bar, Billy plonked himself on the bar stool next to him. He ordered a pint with a whisky chaser and then glancing over at Harry, nodded to Jack to replenish his glass too.

  Jack poured Billy’s drinks and then said, ‘Same again, Mr Merritt?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ When his whisky glass had been refilled, Harry raised it to Billy and deliberately speaking German, said, ‘Prosit!’

  Billy scowled at him and took a long pull at his pint. ‘Mr Merritt, is it? What happened to Harry Black, then? Life too hot for you with that name, is it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Harry easily. ‘I use them both.’

  ‘What did you come here for?’ Billy demanded.

  ‘I came to see Lisa.’

  ‘Her name’s Charlotte.’

  ‘She’ll always be Lisa to me.’

  ‘She won’t be anything to you, if I have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Up to her, don’t you think?’

  They drank, enclosed in an angry sil
ence, while the hubbub of a village night out swirled round them. The bonfire had burned to embers and the November night was cold. Those who had no children to take home to bed had moved into the warmth of the pub.

  ‘Time you went back to London, or Australia or wherever you’ve sprung from,’ Billy said as he finished his pint and downed the whisky chaser. ‘Leave my Charlotte alone. You’re not part of her life any more and we don’t want you hanging round. Time you got lost!’

  Harry’s eyes hardened. ‘That’s for her to tell me, not you!’

  ‘I’m her husband and she’s the mother of my children. We’re a family and you don’t belong to it! You’re nothing to us and I speak for both of us.’ Billy slammed his glass down onto the bar and got a little unsteadily to his feet. An interested silence fell on the pub as, watched by Mabel, Jack and more than half the village, he stalked out into the night, leaving Harry sitting alone at the bar. For a few moments the bar remained hushed and then the chatter and laughter returned. Harry knocked back the last of his drink and with a quiet ‘goodnight’ to Mabel, he went upstairs.

  *

  With Johnny now safely tucked up in bed, and Billy walking Margaret home, Charlotte was on her own at Blackdown House. She sank into an armchair, feeling thoroughly miserable. Harry had come back, as he always did; always on his own terms, his own inimitable self. Hearing his voice, seeing him smiling at her, she recognised the bond that had always been between them, strengthened when as refugees they had struggled with life in a country which was at war with their own. Their lives had moved on, diverged, and yet when she heard him say her name, the name he knew her by, she had felt the familiar tug of affection. She hadn’t wanted him to kiss her, she’d had no thought of that, and yet when he had, she’d known a fleeting response before she’d pulled away. Had Billy seen that embrace? She didn’t know. If he had, would he confront her with it? She didn’t know. If he did, would she be able to convince him that though she was fond of Harry, it was he, Billy, whom she loved with all her heart. She didn’t know.

  It was some time before she heard Billy coming in through the back door. Longer than the walk to Charing Farm and back. He came into the kitchen and it was immediately clear he’d stopped off at the Magpie to have a drink or two on his way home.

  ‘Sorry I’ve been so long,’ he said as he flopped down onto a chair. ‘I’ve been having a drink with your beau!’

  ‘With Harry?’

  ‘Oh, so you know who I mean, then?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Billy, he’s not my beau, as you call it, and never has been.’

  ‘He thinks he could be.’

  ‘Well, he couldn’t.’ She fixed Billy with a stare. ‘And you know it.’

  ‘Looked to me as if you were pretty pleased to see him. “Just going in to the ladies,”’ he mimicked. ‘Just going to meet your boyfriend, rather!’

  ‘Billy, my darling, listen. I was getting Johnny his sausage and he just came up behind me. I didn’t know he was here until he spoke to me.’

  ‘But you knew he was coming.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She reached for Billy’s hand. ‘I admit, I did know he was looking for me. Aunt Naomi wrote to me and told me he’d been to see her, trying to find me.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that,’ scowled Billy.

  ‘I didn’t because I knew it would upset you. I didn’t think he’d actually turn up, without any warning. Aunt Naomi said he was going back to Australia soon. I didn’t think he’d come here and so there was no point in upsetting you.’

  ‘I’m not upset,’ snapped Billy. ‘I’m angry. I saw you, you were in his arms. I expect the whole village saw you.’

  ‘He gave me a hug,’ Charlotte said. ‘A hug and a kiss as any old friend might. It meant nothing and you know it. It’s you I love, Billy. It always has been, right from the day you stood up for me against Tommy Gurney when I was just fourteen. I’ve never loved anybody but you. I’m fond of Harry, you know I’m fond of Harry, he’s been an important part of my life, but it’s you I love. Love with every fibre of my being. You are my best friend, my lover and my husband and you know it... don’t you?’

  Billy nodded, and getting to his feet, he pulled her into his arms.

  ‘I love you, Char, more than anyone in the world,’ he murmured with his face against her hair. ‘And d’you know something else? I’m sorry for Harry.’

  ‘Sorry for Harry?’

  ‘Because you love me and not him. Come on, my dearest girl, let’s go to bed.’

  *

  Back at the Magpie, Harry lay on his bed, smoking a cigarette and listening to the noise downstairs. He’d found her. He’d seen her with her family, and he knew, much as he hated the fact, that Billy was right. He ought to leave, to disappear once again and let her get on with her life, but he also knew he couldn’t simply walk away for ever. What lay between them was too strong. Like a piece of elastic, he thought. I can stretch it just so far before it brings me back to find her. He wanted to see her once more before he left; to tell her that if ever she needed him, she only had to call, but he knew Billy wouldn’t let him near her again... this time.

  It was the next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, that he awoke with the answer. When he got back to London he would write to her. He would write her a letter and send it, sealed, to Caroline Morrison at Livingston House. She wasn’t there any more, but they would surely have a forwarding address and the letter would reach her eventually. Harry knew that Caroline had withheld one of his letters before, and maybe she would do so again, but, he decided, it’d be worth a try.

  18

  Caroline Masters picked up the post from the mat and carried it back into the dining room, where she poured herself another cup of coffee. Henry was already in his surgery and she set his letters aside for him to open later. There was only one for her and it had been sent on from Livingston House. Addressed to her as Miss C. Morrison, it had been redirected to her new name and address in a different hand. She picked up a knife and slit the envelope open. Inside was another envelope, wrapped in a folded paper. The second envelope was simply addressed to Mrs Charlotte. There was no surname, but plenty of space to add it and an address. On the paper that had been wrapped round it was a scrawled note.

  Dear Miss Morrison.

  Please send my letter on to Lisa. I don’t know her address, but I do know she is married to Billy. Last time I wrote to her you kept the letter back. Please do not this time as I mean her no harm. If you do not send my letter on I will go back to Wynsdown and see her again for myself. Billy won’t like that.

  Thank you.

  Harry Black

  Caroline stared at the sealed envelope for a long moment and then set it aside. She knew that Harry had been in Wynsdown on bonfire weekend and the trouble that had caused. Like everyone else in the village, she’d heard the rumours circulating about Charlotte and her ‘lover’.

  Caroline and Henry had not been at the bonfire party, and had not seen Harry, but thanks to the good offices of Nancy Bright and Mabel Barrett over the past week, Caroline had heard various stories of what was supposed to have happened that evening. These ranged from Charlotte being caught in a passionate embrace with Harry, who apparently was posing as an Australian, Billy dragging his wife away from the bonfire party by brute force, Harry and Billy having a punch-up in the bar of the Magpie and Harry overheard threatening dire revenge on his lover’s husband.

  ‘Nasty piece of work,’ she’d heard Nancy say to Mavis Gurney in the post office. ‘Well, Australians are, aren’t they?’ replied Mavis, who’d never met one.

  ‘Surprised at Charlotte, though, carrying on behind Billy’s back.’ Nancy shook her head at the thought of it.

  ‘Well, she’s a foreigner, an’ all, ain’t she?’ returned Mavis. ‘Two stamps, please, Mrs Bright.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Nancy, as she handed over the stamps and took Mavis’s money. ‘We tend to forget that now, don’t we?’

  ‘You saw all this happe
ning, did you, Nancy?’ interposed Caroline, unable to control herself any longer.

  Nancy looked at her in surprise. ‘Well, no,’ she admitted, ‘not myself, but Mabel saw them hugging and kissing in the shadows where they thought no one could see them.’

  ‘And my Bert was in the pub when Billy come in, later that night,’ put in Mavis. ‘He said Billy was raging at this Vic bloke and telling him to leave his wife alone.’

  ‘Who’s Vic?’ asked Caroline, confused.

  ‘Well, this Australian, of course,’ replied Nancy. ‘Like I was saying, Mabel saw them kissing and she says his hands were all over her. Mabel says they were hiding in the shadows, so’s not to be seen.’

  ‘Mabel seems to be saying a good deal,’ remarked Caroline with asperity.

  ‘Well, she was right there, weren’t she?’

  ‘She was in the shadows with Charlotte Shepherd and some unknown man?’ Caroline raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘No, course not. But she saw them, Charlotte and this bloke.’

  ‘And his name was Vic, was it?’

  ‘Well, Mabel said it was. He stayed at the Magpie for the night, so she should know.’

  ‘My Bert says,’ Mavis Gurney went on, anxious not to be left out of the story, ‘that they nearly came to blows in the bar, him and Billy Shepherd. “Don’t blame Billy,” my Bert says. Says he’d have fetched the bloke a swipe if he’d laid a finger on me.’

  Caroline suppressed a smile at the thought of anyone laying a finger on the redoubtable Mavis Gurney. She was a large woman in every particular and, Caroline thought as she watched her leave the post office, it’d be a brave man that would try, even if he wanted to, which, she thought uncharitably, is most unlikely.

  ‘Course, you’ve known that Charlotte since she was a kid, haven’t you?’ Nancy said to Caroline. ‘You must be surprised as me at such behaviour. And her with two young kiddies, too. That baby can’t be more than four months and there’s her mother—’

  ‘There’s her mother meeting up with an old friend from the war, who gave her a hug and, possibly, a kiss.’