The Married Girls

by Diney Costeloe

  They both enjoyed their day out. Jane took them to a small café in Whiteladies Road where they ate fish pie for lunch and then they wandered through the shops at the top of Park Street. Daphne had no money to spend and she looked longingly at the new fashions that were finding their way into the shops now that you no longer needed coupons for clothes, but she’d enjoyed Jane’s company and when she finally drove home again, she felt somehow invigorated by her breath of Bristol air.

  It was the start of a new and unexpected friendship, but one Daphne was pleased to have made. Jane lived outside the tight community of Wynsdown, but she knew all about it, knew the people with their failings and their foibles, and she seemed happy enough to share these with Daphne. It was soon clear that she had little time for Charlotte. She had never liked her sister-in-law and had made no real effort to get to know her. She had resented the place Charlotte had taken in Billy’s heart, and felt shut out from his affections by their obvious devotion to each other.

  ‘And now he’s dead, it’s my parents who are having to step in and fill the breach,’ Jane said bitterly. ‘Charlotte this, Charlotte that. Babysitting the children so she can have some time to herself.’

  That actually seemed quite reasonable to Daphne, she would expect the same if not more if she were in Charlotte’s situation, but it didn’t seem the moment to say so.

  Jane, now qualified as a staff nurse, no longer lived in the nurses’ home. She had moved out to a tiny flat not far from the hospital, and it was there Jane and Daphne got to know each other properly, smoking and chatting over cups of tea and the occasional glass of wine from bottles that Daphne brought from Major Bellinger’s cellar. There were occasions, usually over a glass of the stolen wine, when she was tempted to tell Jane all about herself, about why she’d married Felix, about Janet and about her mother’s blackmail, but in the months she’d lived in Wynsdown, Daphne had been learning to keep her own counsel. So far she hadn’t given in to the temptation, but there were times when she felt such frustration living with Felix that she found herself biting back the words. Discretion, however, prevailed. She’d heard Jane dishing the dirt about others in Wynsdown and Daphne decided it was better not to divulge anything to her new friend yet... after all, you never knew, did you?

  However, it was a friendship that was to grow and prosper over the coming months, and for different reasons was valued by each of them.

  Jane had never felt anything for anyone as she felt for Daphne. From their first meeting she had felt a frisson of excitement. Daphne was so beautiful, Jane wanted to touch her, to touch her hand, her cheek, to stroke her hair. At first she’d felt a fool. She remembered the embarrassing crushes she’d had on one or two of the older girls at school, but then so had most of her classmates at some time or other. Being ‘cracked’ on someone was the usual expression used when discussing this.

  ‘Who’re you cracked on, Jane?’

  ‘Mary Broadbent, who’re you?’

  ‘Elspeth Rance, she’s just gorgeous!’

  ‘Elspeth Rance? Well, she is good at hockey, I suppose.’

  ‘Good?! She’s just brilliant... though Mary’s quite good as well.’

  ‘Who’s your crack, Annie?’

  ‘Beth Woods, I’d die for her!’

  Conversations like these had been almost daily affairs when they were twelve and thirteen, but how, Jane wondered, could she feel the same about Daphne Bellinger at twenty-eight as she had about Mary Broadbent when she was twelve? It was ludicrous, but she did. Daphne had become her raison d’être. She had never had more than the odd casual boyfriend since she’d left school and had not enjoyed any of the intimacy to which such relationships led. She didn’t like being kissed or touched and now, suddenly, she ached for it. Daphne was the centre of Jane’s world and Jane longed for her love, because love it certainly was, to be reciprocated.

  For her part, Daphne was fascinated by Jane. She was a strange mixture. She had an important job and clearly she was very good at it. She didn’t talk about the hospital much but you couldn’t be a staff nurse in a big hospital like the BRI, Daphne reasoned, if you didn’t know what you were doing. In other ways she seemed so forthright, so direct in her comments about her family and particularly about Charlotte, but all this, Daphne sensed, was a cover, a cover for something else, and she was intrigued.

  As their friendship had deepened Jane had found herself fantasising about Daphne, wishing she could see her naked, run her hands over her body, wishing that Daphne would, in turn, touch her; touch her as she’d always disliked when it was a man who put his hand on her arm, let alone her knee, or worse, her breast. Now, the thought of Daphne’s hands on her breasts made them tingle in aching expectation. She longed to lie on a bed with Daphne, both of them naked, skin to skin; legs entwined, lips locked, hands roaming. She wanted Daphne to herself. She hated Felix for being married to her. Daphne obviously didn’t love him. It was clear to Jane from the odd comment that Daphne didn’t enjoy the physical side of their marriage, and Jane longed to put that right. She had never had a full physical relationship with anyone, man or woman, but she knew in her heart that if only Daphne would let her, she could bring her to life in her arms. She could stir her to the very core, as Jane was stirred simply thinking about it. When they were together Jane was as happy as she’d ever been in her life, when Daphne went home to Felix, Jane was left with an aching emptiness, with only her own fumblings to bring her relief.

  As the time passed, Daphne could see that Jane wanted a deeper relationship than their original, simple friendship, but she held back. She was no novice to such ideas. During the war in the WAAFs, she had seen girls move on from friendship to love and sex. She tried it herself on occasion, but without any serious intent. She realised that some women found her desirable, but she hadn’t encouraged them; she’d been out to catch a rich husband. She’d set out to dazzle the men and she wanted no suspicion that she was anything but strictly heterosexual.

  Now, however, she had caught her husband and found his attentions more and more distasteful. She didn’t want children, and their lovemaking became less and less frequent. She had no idea if Felix chose to take himself elsewhere for sex, she thought not, but she didn’t care one way or the other. What she wouldn’t do was release him from a sterile marriage. She didn’t want him, but she did want what came with him: a comfortable life, position and money. They were rubbing along well enough. With the aid of Mavis Gurney she ran the house and made sure Felix couldn’t complain about his everyday needs.

  Daphne’s friendship with Jane gave her an escape from the confines of her marriage and from the village. An evening at the cinema or a shopping trip with Jane were a welcome return to what had once been reality, and their friendship flourished.

  28

  Henry Masters showed Charlotte into his surgery and sat her down opposite him. He didn’t speak for a moment or two, just looked at her. She held his gaze for a few moments and then dropped her eyes.

  ‘Tell me, Charlotte,’ he said gently.

  ‘Nothing to tell,’ she answered. ‘I’m just so tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Sleeping?’

  ‘So-so.’

  ‘Eating?’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘I just don’t feel hungry,’ she said.

  ‘Sick or just off your food?’

  ‘Bit of both, I suppose.’

  ‘Hmm. Any aches or pains? Headaches, stomach ache, anything like that?’

  ‘No, not really. Headaches, I suppose, specially at the end of the day.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let’s have a look at you.’

  Dr Masters was very thorough, listening to her chest, checking her lower eyelids for the paleness which would suggest anaemia, feeling for swollen glands, testing her reflexes. When he’d finished he smiled at her and said, ‘Any trouble with your periods?’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘Well, they haven’t been very regular since Edie was born.’

  ‘And how old
is she now?’

  ‘Eight months.’

  ‘When was your last one? Can you remember?’

  Charlotte thought back. ‘I don’t really know,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Some time in November?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Dr Masters said. ‘It’s not that important. You have to realise that you’ve been under enormous pressure in the last couple of months, emotionally and physically, and stress like that can play havoc with your body clock and your health in general. I’m going to take a little blood and send it away to check whether you are indeed anaemic; in the meantime I’ll give you a tonic to help give you a bit more energy. I’ll have it ready for you later this afternoon. Take it as directed and then come back and see me again in a couple of weeks and we’ll see how you’re feeling then.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Try to eat a little more regularly, Charlotte. If you’re not eating properly you will feel tired and, I know it’s difficult, but if you can get a little rest during the day, so much the better.’

  Charlotte did as he told her, taking two teaspoons of the sour-tasting mixture he’d given her, three times a day.

  ‘It tastes revolting,’ she said to Caroline, who laughed and said, ‘They say the worse it tastes, the better it is for you!’ Charlotte pulled a face, but she continued to take the medicine and she did seem to feel less tired. Two weeks later she returned to the surgery, ready to tell Henry Masters that she didn’t think she needed any more of the tonic, that she felt fine.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Henry said, ‘but I’ll just give you the once-over to be sure.’

  To be sure of what? wondered Charlotte as he examined her again, listening to her chest, gently feeling her abdomen. When he’d finished he smiled at her and said, ‘That’s fine. Come and sit down.’

  Charlotte readjusted her clothes and then took a seat on the chair opposite to him.

  ‘Well,’ he began, ‘I’m glad to see you’re looking less peaky than when I last saw you. You’ve got a bit of colour in your cheeks. Have you been sleeping better?’

  Charlotte said she had and he nodded.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘because I think you’re going to need all your energy.’ He paused and Charlotte looked at him expectantly. ‘I have to tell you, Charlotte, my dear, I think you’re in the family way.’

  The colour drained from her cheeks and she said faintly, ‘What? How?’

  Henry smiled. ‘In the usual way, I assume. From what I can feel now, I’d say you were probably about three months. From November, say?’

  Charlotte thought back to that night in November when she had finally convinced Billy that he had nothing to fear from her friendship with Harry, a night they had spent locked in each other’s arms. They had made love many times after that night, but that night was especially precious in her memory, and perhaps this baby was conceived then. Another child who wouldn’t know his father, but another tiny piece of Billy left to her.

  Henry Masters watched the thoughts flying across Charlotte’s face and waited for her to meet his eyes again before he added the coup de grâce. ‘And,’ he said, ‘I think it could be twins.’

  ‘Twins!’ Charlotte gasped.

  ‘Difficult to be sure this early,’ he admitted, ‘but from what I can feel at the moment, I would think it a strong possibility. I could do an internal examination, but I don’t think that’s necessary at present.’

  Charlotte sat for a long time saying nothing. Henry did nothing to hurry her. He knew that what he’d suspected from her first visit, and of which he was now almost certain, would be an enormous shock to her. Charlotte had given no thought to the rhythm of her body clock; since Billy’s death she had been struggling with life, one day at a time, with no thought beyond tomorrow.

  ‘Two babies,’ whispered Charlotte. ‘However will I manage?’

  ‘With the love and support of those around you,’ he replied gently. ‘And you can be sure you have plenty of that.’

  Charlotte’s mind was in a whirl. ‘I don’t want anyone to know, not yet.’

  ‘Well, I won’t be telling anyone anything,’ he promised.

  ‘Not even Caroline, not yet!’

  ‘No one,’ Henry assured her. ‘You know anything we discuss in here is completely confidential, never goes out of this room.’

  Charlotte left the surgery in a daze and before she went through to Caroline to collect the children, she left the house and crossed the green to the church. Still bemused by what Henry had told her, she needed some time to herself and, without thinking, she headed to the corner of the churchyard which had become her solace. The last days of February were still chilly, but snowdrops had pushed their way up through the grass in the shelter of the hedgerow, touched by the warmth of a feeble sun. There was birdsong and more than a hint of spring in the air, new life emerging from the barren ground. New life. New life within her, too.

  Charlotte stood looking down at the two headstones; Miss Edie’s gently weathered by the years, Billy’s, stark and new, its lettering clear-cut, carved deep.

  WILLIAM JOHN SHEPHERD

  BILLY

  1924–1949 BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

  ‘I’m expecting again, Billy,’ Charlotte told him. ‘You’re going to be a father again,’ her voice broke on a sob, ‘and now you’ll have three children who never knew you!’

  For several minutes she allowed the tears to stream down her cheeks, further relief for her pent-up grief, before she began to check them, drawing deep shuddering breaths in her attempt to bring them under control. She knelt down on the hard ground between the two graves and placed a hand on each, as if to draw strength from them before she finally got to her feet again and turned away, to return to Caroline and fetch her children. As she stood up and moved away, her eyes still blurred with tears, she almost bumped into Felix Bellinger, who was placing flowers on his father’s grave.

  He put out a hand to steady her, and with one look at her tear-streaked face, said, ‘Charlotte? Oh, my dear girl, are you all right?’ Adding immediately, ‘Stupid question, of course you’re not.’

  ‘I am,’ Charlotte gulped, ‘really. It’s just...’

  ‘It’s just that when you come to their graves, it brings it all back to you,’ Felix said, still holding her hand. ‘Hits you again.’

  ‘It’s not just that,’ Charlotte said. ‘I come and see Billy and Miss Edie a lot, but today...’

  ‘Today?’ Felix prompted gently.

  ‘Today I had to tell them.’ The tears slid once more down her cheeks.

  Felix waited. He didn’t want to pry, he simply held her chilly hand in his and then, as she regained her self-control, proffered a handkerchief. Charlotte took it gratefully, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said as she pushed the damp hankie into her pocket. ‘The thing is, Dr Masters has just told me that I’m expecting again. Billy’s baby. I’m going to have his baby and he’s not here.’

  Felix had absolutely no idea what to say to this, so very wisely he said nothing. He simply put his arm round Charlotte’s shoulder and held her against him as, yet again, she struggled to overcome her tears.

  At last she pulled away and looked up at him. ‘I wasn’t going to tell anyone but Billy and Miss Edie,’ she said, ‘not yet.’

  ‘Well, I shan’t be telling anyone,’ Felix assured her. ‘I shall be just as amazed as everyone else when you do tell.’

  ‘I think you will be amazed,’ Charlotte told him. ‘Doc Masters thinks it might be twins!’

  Felix watched her as she made her way back through the churchyard, her tears dried, her head erect, walking towards a difficult future.

  She has tremendous courage, he thought in admiration. Not many women could cope as she has these past months.

  He turned his steps slowly towards home and Daphne. Daphne, still unhappy with the move to Somerset, unwilling, or unable, to become part of village society, and he sighed. Charlotte was having an unexpected baby, possibly tw
o. He wished he and Daphne were having a baby; a child that would cement them in their marriage, but so far there had been no sign of one.

  As he crossed to the lych gate he paused at the single lichen-covered stone that stood at the head of a grave, tucked under the churchyard wall, its carving barely legible after years of neglect.

  HERE LIE THREE GERMAN AIRMEN

  KNOWN ONLY TO GOD

  DIED 28TH JUNE 1942

  REST IN PEACE

  When he’d heard about the shooting down of the German bomber and learned that three of the crew were buried at the church, Felix had come looking for the grave. Despite the fact that they’d been on opposite sides, he couldn’t help feeling a kindred spirit. He could have been lying in just such a grave somewhere in Germany had he been shot down over enemy territory. Now, on his occasional visits to the graveyard, he would pause to remember them lying at peace beneath that stone, and think, There but for the grace of God... No one knew their names, all identification had been destroyed in the firestorm that had consumed them and their plane when it hit the ground and exploded. What was left of their remains had been extricated from the plane and David Swanson had insisted they be given a Christian burial and laid to rest in the village churchyard. It was not a universally popular idea.

  ‘Bloody Jerries,’ muttered Bert Gurney. ‘Don’t deserve a Christian burial!’

  ‘Jerries indeed,’ the vicar had replied cheerfully, ‘but still God’s children.’

  ‘Rest in peace,’ Felix murmured now, before somewhat reluctantly he turned for home.

  *

  That evening, in the privacy of her own house, Charlotte went to the piano stool and took out Harry’s letter. She read it through again and then picked up her pen and began to write.

  29

  Harry was on his way back to Sydney, summoned there by a telegram from Dora.

  DENNY DYING. FLY NOW. BRING ALL WITH YOU.

  Harry would much rather have travelled by ship, but the summons said fly, so fly he must. It would take the best part of a week, but still much faster than travelling by sea and time was of the essence. He had never flown before and when he first boarded the plane at London Airport, he’d been extremely nervous. The air hostess had come past to ensure that he had fastened his seat belt and to offer him a sweet to suck during take-off, and though she’d smiled reassuringly, Harry felt anything but reassured; but he was glad to be going and as the aircraft lifted off the tarmac he knew a profound relief. He’d made it. He was leaving London with Denny’s money and his own skin both intact.