The Married Girls

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. Drowning my sorrows.’

  ‘The whisky doesn’t matter,’ Charlotte said, ‘but,’ her voice became more serious, ‘you’re still married to Daphne.’

  ‘I won’t be.’ Felix looked down into her eyes. ‘I promise you I won’t be for long.’ Adding anxiously, ‘Will you mind being married to someone who’s divorced?’

  Charlotte peeped up at him. ‘Married? Are you asking me?’

  ‘Of course I’m asking you. What do you take me for?’

  Charlotte reached up and stroked his face. ‘Then the answer’s no, I don’t mind, not if it’s to you.’

  ‘It’ll take time and there’s sure to be gossip,’ Felix said with a sigh.

  ‘I know,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘There always is in this village, whether there’s foundation for it or not.’

  ‘Still, I think with Daphne gone, we should be very careful not to give them any ammunition,’ Felix said. ‘I don’t want them gossiping about you and the children.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Charlotte agreed, ‘but if they do, we’ll survive.’

  *

  It wasn’t long before the news that Daphne had left Felix was round the village. She’d packed her bags and gone; she’d driven off in the car, leaving him with no transport; she’d left the house in turmoil. It was Mavis Gurney who was the fount of information. She’d arrived on Monday morning to find Felix alone in the house.

  ‘Mrs Bellinger away, is she?’ she asked, standing at the office door and peering in at Felix.

  ‘Gone to visit a friend, Mrs Gurney,’ he said without looking up.

  ‘So, what d’you want doing, then?’

  ‘Just your usual Monday morning, please, Mrs Gurney.’ He glanced up and smiled at her. ‘Thank you.’

  Mavis went out into the kitchen and looked round. It was surprisingly tidy. An empty whisky bottle and a dirty glass stood on the table, but there was no other washing up waiting for her in the sink. She went upstairs to change the bed. When she reached the landing, she saw that two extra bedrooms had been used. The bed in the blue spare room was tumbled and unmade; the bed in Mr Felix’s old bedroom the same, and when she got to the master bedroom, it looked as if a tornado had swept through. The wardrobe door stood open, showing that only Mr Felix’s clothes were still hanging there. Some of the drawers in the chest were pulled out and completely empty; the dressing table bare of its usual clutter. This bed was also unmade, the sheets tossed aside, the pillows lying on the floor.

  Mavis stared round her. It didn’t take a genius to see that Mrs Felix was going to be away for more than a few days. And who’d slept in the blue room? Some floozy of Mr Felix? Or perhaps they’d slept in here. Was that why Mrs Felix had gone? Clearly all was not well in the manor house and Mavis couldn’t wait to discuss what it meant with her friends.

  ‘Of course,’ she said piously to Sally Prynne whom she met in the post office on her way home, ‘I don’t know why she went, but I can tell you for nothing that she ain’t going to be back any time soon.’

  ‘Well,’ Nancy Bright said, as usual joining in her customers’ conversation, ‘I never liked her much. Always thought herself too good for the likes of us.’

  ‘Oh, she weren’t so bad,’ declared Mavis, proud of her inside knowledge, ‘once you got to know her, like. Worked for her for near on four years, I have. She weren’t so bad. Couldn’t cook and clean properly, but I suppose she did her best.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘We all know they was a bit strapped for cash, don’t we?’

  Nancy nodded. ‘Perhaps that’s why she’s gone.’

  ‘More like she’s got a fella, don’t you think?’

  ‘One with more money?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Never seen her with one.’

  ‘No, well you wouldn’t, would you? She’d have to be ever so careful.’

  ‘More likely to be him,’ suggested Sally Prynne, ‘Mr Felix, I mean. Maybe he’s got a bit on the side and she’s copped on.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is,’ Mavis said, ‘she’s gone and everything she owns has gone with her. She’s even took the car!’

  Felix had left Mavis washing sheets and gone to see his mother. ‘I’m afraid Daphne’s taken the car and disappeared,’ he said, ‘so I can’t take Janet to Bristol today, Mother. She could go on the bus and train, I suppose.’

  ‘Why not let her stay with me for a couple more days?’ Marjorie suggested. ‘I’m enjoying her company. She’s a breath of fresh air, and from what she says, her mother will be in hospital for a week or so yet.’

  ‘Are you sure? That would one less thing for me to worry about.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  They put the idea to Janet and she was thrilled. ‘Really? Can I stay here with you for a bit? I don’t want to go back and tell Mum about Daph running off. It was my fault.’

  ‘You can stay as long as you like,’ Marjorie assured her. ‘You can write your mum a letter and tell her where you are and say that you’ll come straight home when she’s better. How’s that?’

  ‘And I don’t have to tell her about Daphne going off?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to.’ Felix had explained to Marjorie about Janet’s revelation and now Marjorie reached forward and took the girl’s hand. ‘And remember, my dear, none of it’s your fault.’

  ‘And,’ Janet said with the optimism of youth, ‘she might have come back by then.’

  Felix was pretty sure she wouldn’t be back and this became a certainty when the post arrived the following day. Recognising Daphne’s writing, Felix took it into the office and opened the envelope with some reluctance.

  Dear Felix,

  Just in case you wondered, I’m not coming back. I was going to leave you anyway after Janet telling her tales. There were too many lies between us for us to go on as we were. And the largest one of all, which you only discovered by the greatest bad luck, was Jane. Well, not a lie exactly, but something between us that can never be resolved. So, I’m not coming back. If you want to marry again (maybe that little creep Charlotte, I always had my doubts about her), you’ll have to get a divorce. I don’t think you can divorce me for going off with another woman, so either you’ll have to provide me with evidence of your adultery, perhaps with Charlotte? so I can divorce you, or you’ll have to wait for however many years it is and say I deserted you. Well, I suppose that’s fair enough, I have.

  You can of course cause a stink by suggesting Jane and I are lovers, but we shall hotly deny that and no one can prove it. Few people will believe it and it will only antagonise Jane’s family and with one thing and another they’ve been through enough and you’re too decent to do that. Too decent altogether really, such a bore to live with.

  Of course some money would be nice, but I shan’t need as much as before. The one good thing about Janet turning up is that I can stop paying my mother the blackmail money every month to keep her mouth shut. Now you know everything, she’s nothing to blackmail me about. I’ll get a job somewhere round here. In a garage maybe. It’s funny, but I shan’t mind working if it’s for me and Jane.

  Anyway this is the last time you’ll hear from me unless you decide to let me divorce you, in which case we can arrange it all.

  You shouldn’t have married me. I never loved you then and I don’t hate you now, I have no feelings for you at all.

  Your wife... because I am still your wife,

  Daphne

  P.S. I’ll keep the car for now.

  Felix read the letter through several times and then reached for the telephone and rang Mr Thompson’s secretary to make an appointment.

  Mr Thompson read the letter twice and then looked at Felix over his spectacles. ‘You say she’s having a lesbian relationship with this Jane.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do I have to go on paying her an allowance?’ Felix asked.

  ‘Not if she’s left the marital home of her own accord. If she’s chosen to live
somewhere else when you’re providing her with a perfectly adequate home, I would say not. But, Felix, I’m not a lawyer who’s had much to do with divorce. If you’re planning to sue for divorce you need a specialist and there are an increasing number of those.’

  ‘No, I understand that,’ replied Felix, ‘but I just wanted some general thoughts.’

  ‘Fair enough, and one of them is, don’t destroy this letter. It states her intent to leave you for good, and that constitutes desertion. I can’t encourage you to follow the “adultery” route, though many people do, because it is illegal.’ He cocked his head questioningly. ‘May I ask you, if it’s not presumptuous, do you wish to remarry?’

  ‘Very probably,’ Felix replied carefully.

  ‘Charlotte?’

  Felix didn’t answer and Mr Thompson nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he said again. ‘But I wouldn’t want her embroiled in a messy divorce. I have no legal standing with her any more, of course, but over the years I’ve grown very fond of her.’

  Not as fond of her as I have, Felix thought as he left the solicitor’s office and rode home. He stabled Archie and then walked over to Blackdown House. Caroline was there having tea with the children. Charlotte felt the colour flood her face when Felix appeared at the back door.

  ‘Caro,’ she said, ‘could you keep an eye on the children for a minute or two? I just need a word with Felix.’

  Caroline smiled. ‘Of course, take your time.’ Like the rest of the village she knew Daphne had gone, and she’d been wondering what the future now held, if anything, for Charlotte and Felix.

  Charlotte and Felix went out into the garden. As soon as they were out of sight Felix gathered Charlotte into his arms, kissing her and holding her close. Her response thrilled him, the way she gave herself up to his embrace, returning his kisses with a hunger that made him want to laugh and weep at the same time. When they finally broke apart, she looked up into his eyes and said, ‘Hallo.’ So he kissed her again.

  Felix had already told Charlotte about Daphne’s letter, but had not allowed her to read it. He was determined to keep her ignorant of the part her sister-in-law had played. He knew Charlotte didn’t particularly like Jane, but he didn’t want to make it impossible for them to meet with at least a degree of cordiality when their paths crossed, which they undoubtedly would, at Charing Farm. ‘I’ve an appointment with Mr Thompson,’ he’d said. ‘I want to see what he advises.’

  ‘Well?’ Charlotte said now. ‘Tell me. What did Mr Thompson say?’

  ‘He read the letter and he said he thinks that in time I’ll be able to sue for divorce for desertion. He’s not a divorce lawyer as such and he suggests that when the time comes I should instruct a specialist... and in the meantime I have to behave myself. No breath of scandal must attach itself to me.’ He drew her to him again. ‘Charlotte, sweetheart, it may take some time, but will you wait for me to disentangle myself?’

  Charlotte, reaching up to kiss him, murmured, ‘Felix, I’ll wait as long as it takes.’

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  Read on for a preview of The Throwaway Children

  Gritty, heartrending and unputdownable – the story of two sisters sent first to an English, then an Australian orphanage in the aftermath of World War 2.

  Rita and Rosie Stevens are only nine and five years old when their widowed mother marries a violent bully called Jimmy Randall and has a baby boy by him. Under pressure from her new husband, she is persuaded to send the girls to an orphanage – not knowing that the papers she has signed will entitle them to do what they like with the children.

  And it is not long before the powers that be decide to send a consignment of orphans to their sister institution in Australia. Among them – without their family’s consent or knowledge – are Rita and Rosie, the throwaway children.

  Can’t wait? Buy it here now!

  1

  Belcaster 1948

  Raised voices again. Rita could hear them through the floor; her mother’s, a querulous wail, the man’s an angry roar. For a moment she lay still in bed, listening. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear that they were arguing.

  Rosie, her sister, was peacefully asleep at the other end of their shared single bed, the stray cat, Felix, curled against her. She never seemed to wake up however loud the shouting downstairs. Rita slid out from under the bedclothes and tip-toeing across the room, crept out onto the landing. Limpid green light from a street lamp shone through the small landing window, lighting the narrow staircase. A shaft of dull yellow light, shining through the half-open kitchen door, lit the cracked brown lino and cast shadows in the hall. The voices came from the kitchen, still loud, still angry. Rita crouched against the banister, her face pressed to its bars. From here she could actually hear some of what was being said.

  ‘...my children from me.’ Her mother’s voice.

  ‘...another man’s brats!’ His voice.

  Rita shivered at the sound of his voice. Uncle Jimmy, Mum’s new friend. Then Mum began to cry, a pitiful wailing that echoed into the hall.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ His voice again. ‘Cut the caterwauling, woman... or I’ll leave right now.’

  A chair crashed over, and the shaft of light broadened as the kitchen door was pushed wider. Rita dived back into her bedroom, making the door creak loudly. She leaped into bed, kicking a protesting Felix off the covers and pulling the sheet up over her head. She tried to calm her breathing so that it matched Rosie’s, the peaceful breathing of undisturbed sleep, but her heart was pounding, the blood hammering in her ears as she heard the heavy tread of feet on the stairs. He was coming up.

  ‘Rita! Was you out of bed?’ His voice was harsh. He had not put on the landing light, and as he reached the top stair, Felix materialized at his feet, almost tripping him over.

  ‘Bloody cat!’ snarled the man, aiming a kick at him, but Felix had already streaked downstairs.

  Jimmy Randall paused on the landing, listening. All was quiet in the girls’ room. Softly he crossed to the half-open door and peered in, but it was too dark to see anything, and all he could hear was the steady breathing of two little girls asleep.

  Must have been the damned cat, he thought. Don’t know why Mavis gives it houseroom, dirty stray. If it was my house...

  It wasn’t. Not yet. But it would be, Jimmy was determined about that. A neat little house in Ship Street, a terrace of other neat little houses; well, not so neat most of them, unrepaired from the bombing, cracked windows, scarred paintwork, rubble in the tiny gardens, but basically sound enough. Jimmy wouldn’t mind doing a bit of repair work himself, provided the house was his at the end of it. His and Mavis’s, but not full of squalling kids. All he had to do was get his name on the rent book, then he’d be laughing.

  Rita heard him close the door but lay quite still in case it was a trick, in case he was standing silently inside the room waiting to catch her out. It was a full two minutes before she allowed herself to open her eyes into the darkness of her room. She could see nothing. Straining her ears she heard his voice again, not so loud this time, and definitely downstairs.

  For a while she lay in the dark, thinking about Uncle Jimmy. He had come into their lives about two months ago, visiting occasionally at first, smiling a lot, once bringing chocolate. It was for Mum really, but she’d let Rita and Rosie have one piece every day until it had gone. But Rita was afraid of him all the same. He had a loud voice and got cross easily.

  Rita wasn’t used to having a man in her life. She hardly remembere
d her daddy. Mum said he had gone to the war and hadn’t come home. He had gone before Rosie was even born, fighting the Germans. Rita knew he had been in the air force, flying in a plane high over Germany, and that one night his plane hadn’t come back. There was a picture of her daddy in a silver-coloured frame on the kitchen shelf. He was wearing his uniform and smiling. Wherever you moved in the kitchen, his eyes followed you, so that wherever she sat, Rita knew he was smiling at her. She loved his face, his smile making crinkles round his eyes and his curly fair hair half-covered with his air force cap. Rosie had the same sort of hair, thick and fair, curling round her face. Rita’s own hair was like Mum’s, dark, thin and straight, and she always wished she had hair like Rosie’s... and Daddy’s.

  Then, a while ago, the photo had disappeared.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ Rita demanded one morning when she sat down and noticed the photo had gone. ‘Where’s Daddy gone?’

  Without looking up Mum said, ‘Oh, I took him down for now. I need to clean the frame.’

  Daddy had not reappeared on the shelf, and Rita missed him. ‘I could clean the frame,’ she offered. ‘I’m good at cleaning.’

  ‘It’s being mended,’ explained her mother. ‘When I came to clean it I found it was broken, so I’ve took it to be mended.’

  Rita didn’t ask again, but she somehow knew that the photo wasn’t coming back and that this had something to do with the arrival of Jimmy Randall.

  Jimmy Randall had changed everything. He was often there when Rita and Rosie came home from school. Mum used to meet them at the school gate, but since Uncle Jimmy, as they were to call him, had become part of their lives, Mum was too busy, and it became Rita’s job to bring Rosie home safely.

  ‘You must hold her hand all the way,’ Mum said, ‘and come straight home.’

  So every school day, except Thursdays, Rita took Rosie’s hand and crossing the street very carefully, walked them home; almost every day when they got home, Uncle Jimmy would already be in the kitchen with Mum.