Home Is Where the Heart Is

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘That’s life.’

  ‘It’s entirely unfair. I have not spent the war entertaining the troops as Davina apparently did. I would love for things to return to the way they were between us, although it does feel a bit odd to have him living here.’

  ‘If he’s to be your husband, lass, why shouldn’t he?’

  Cathie said no more. Perhaps Rona was right, and she was fussing too much. She was at least finally convinced that Alex was not engaged in an affair with her own mother, or had any wish to be.

  Over the coming days and weeks, Cathie applied all her attention upon caring for little Heather. As a lively toddler, she happily spent her time running about and playing with her wooden bricks, her teddy and a rag doll that Cathie had stitched for her. She loved her so much, as if she really were her own child.

  Every now and then, Cathie would encourage Alex to play with her too, so far with little success. She once placed Heather on his lap with her favourite teddy in her arms. The toddler pressed its nose against Alex’s mouth as if Billy the bear was giving him a kiss, making Cathie laugh. Alex, however, was not amused. He whipped the toy from her hands and tossed it across the room. Heather instantly began to cry, which infuriated him, and he handed her back to Cathie as if she were a dishrag he really had no wish to touch.

  ‘Shut that child up now!’ he snapped.

  Little Heather gave a startled jerk and screamed all the louder. Cathie rushed to pick up her precious teddy, and quickly handed it back to the child for her to cuddle. ‘That is really no way to react. She was only having a bit of fun with you.’

  ‘She cries the whole damn time.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t, only if she falls down, feels hungry or she’s having a bit of a paddy as children do at this age. But it soon passes. It doesn’t help if you take away her favourite teddy.’

  ‘The noise grates on my nerves.’

  What had happened to his resolve to be like a father to her? His attitude towards the child troubled Cathie deeply, as it did not bode well for the future. Perhaps his reaction to her noisy screaming was a result of his fear of guns going off during the war? Cathie immediately set about trying to calm the toddler down, which did not prove easy, so she took her upstairs for a nap.

  Heather also had a passion for opening bags, drawers and boxes. Anything she could lay her chubby little hands on she would search and empty. But when she explored Alex’s gas mask pack, scattering papers, letters, notebooks and other stuff all over the rug in the front parlour, he flew into a rage. Cathie had never seen him so angry.

  ‘Get that child out of here,’ he roared, so loud and furious that Heather’s little mouth compressed with shock then opened wide in yet another piercing scream, her panicked gaze turning at once to Cathie for help.

  ‘Please don’t shout, you’re frightening her,’ Cathie cried, rushing to pick her up. If it was noise that troubled him, why did he make so much himself? ‘She was only playing, and hasn’t damaged a thing, at least I don’t think so.’

  Staring down at the letters, she could see that some of them had been torn in half, although she couldn’t imagine Heather managing to do that with her tiny fingers. She’d no idea who they were from. Perhaps his grumpy father. Cathie could also see one or two ration books, and a few loose coupons held by an elastic band, which seemed odd, as Alex had handed his over when he’d moved in.

  ‘Whose are these?’ she asked, but as she reached down to investigate he snatched them up.

  ‘I’m looking after them for a mate of mine. Nothing to do with you, or that damned infant.’

  Remembering the advice she’d received, not only from her mother but also on the wireless from members of the Salvation Army and the WVS, explaining how ex-servicemen could be very obsessive over their privacy, she gave him a polite smile of apology. ‘Sorry, I’ll go and put the kettle on. I think we could all do with a cup of tea.’

  ‘If we had a decent home of our own we wouldn’t be so crushed for space,’ he growled. ‘But you selfishly refuse to share your pot of money with me.’

  Cathie decided not to indulge in a dispute upon this point either.

  And then her worst fears came true when one morning she took Heather as usual to the nursery only to be told that it was closing down.

  ‘Sorry, dear, but this is our last day,’ the matron told her. ‘No more government funding available, and fewer children seeking places as mothers return home, so that’s it. I’m afraid this nursery, like most others, is to close.’

  ‘Oh, no, so how am I supposed to cope now?’ Cathie felt sheer panic flood through her.

  ‘Maybe a friend with a child of her own would help, or perhaps your mother?’

  Cathie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this suggestion. She didn’t have any close friends around right now. And she certainly had no intention of leaving little Heather with Alex, even if he showed himself willing to babysit. Could persuading Rona to finally take some responsibility for her grandchild be the only answer, assuming childcare could be fitted in with her shifts? Rona made it very clear that it wasn’t.

  Fortunately, Cathie’s new boss at the umbrella factory kindly agreed she could take the little girl with her, so long as she was kept in her pram. Poor Heather did not enjoy being so confined and would wail and howl, struggling to free herself, so that once again the dummy had to be brought into action, and the apron and harness fixed firmly in place. But what else could she do as Rona had point-blank refused to help? Besides which, she had her own shift work to deal with.

  Every morning, Cathie would dash to the umbrella factory to clean their offices before they started work at nine. Around half past ten, she’d pop in the Co-op to do the day’s shopping, always keeping an eye out for Steve, in the hope he might have changed his mind and returned home. Then she’d clean their own house, fetch in the coal, wash, iron, scrub floors and cook, an endless raft of domestic duties that greatly bored and exhausted her. There must surely be more to life than this.

  Alex was generally absent during the day; although where he went and what he got up to Cathie had no idea. He seemed to take long walks along the Rochdale canal towpath or by the River Irwell, but also claimed to be seeking work. What kind of employment he was seeking she did not have the courage to ask.

  No questions, that’s what the WVS also advised, which suited Cathie greatly.

  But it still puzzled her slightly that if he hadn’t already found a job, how was it that he never seemed to be short of cash? Now that he was sleeping on the couch, the envelope of cash had disappeared from under the mattress, and not for a moment did Cathie dare mention she’d found it there, let alone ask how he’d come by so much money. But he certainly had enough to go out drinking every night, living life to the full, as he liked to call it. Rarely did Cathie go with him, even when invited, although on occasions Rona would surprise her by offering to babysit. At last prepared to take some responsibility for her grandchild. On those occasions they’d go to the Gaumont cinema, or back to the Ritz.

  It was such a treat to be able to go out together. Cathie came to enjoy sitting beside Alex at the flicks, holding his hand or feeling his arm about her shoulders. She loved dancing with him and enjoyed his kisses, although she was careful not to allow him too much leeway. After all, they were no longer even engaged, and Cathie wanted their relationship to grow at a modest rate. To be fair, he seemed perfectly happy with that, so perhaps things might work out for them in the end.

  Oh, but how she missed her work at the tyre factory, and the companionship of the other women she used to work with, not to mention Brenda who was still with her relatives. She’d written to her friend, explaining that she’d now moved out of her flat as she and Alex were giving it another go.

  Oddly enough, Cathie even missed Davina, and would sometimes wonder how or where her erstwhile friend was, and whether she’d given birth to her baby yet. Although not for a moment dare she mention this fact to Alex. He might take it to mean that she wasn’t
in the least bit jealous and he could continue his affair with her, which was the last thing Cathie wanted.

  As for Steve, she ached to know where he was too, wishing he would answer the letter of apology she’d sent him. But it was not something she dare repeat, fearful of what Alex would do to her if he found out they were still in touch.

  Cathie was making herself a mug of hot chocolate one night when she heard the front door bang. Most evenings Alex went out alone and would often come home late, having clearly overindulged himself on far too much alcohol. She should have been in bed herself but had been kept awake by Heather having another of her screaming tantrums.

  Thinking that perhaps she was suffering from a bad dream, Cathie had sat with her for some time, singing gently to her: Hush little baby don’t say a word, Momma’s going to buy you a mocking bird … until she fell asleep again.

  Now about to take her drink upstairs to bed, she realised Alex was home. Strangely, instead of feeling pleased, her heart sank, partly because he might demand that she make him some supper, and she was so exhausted. She was also fearful of his reaction if Heather woke up crying again. Just as the sound of thunder and sirens would upset her, crying and screaming seemed to badly affect him.

  Before Cathie could escape up the stairs, he entered the kitchen and, from the bleary expression on his face and the way he staggered, she realised that yet again he must have drunk an excessive amount. Reaching for the cake tin and handing over her own mug of chocolate, she managed a smile.

  ‘There you are. Help yourself. I’m shattered and off to bed.’ But as she moved away, he grabbed hold of her to pull her into his arms.

  ‘Aw, come on, girl. Stop avoiding me and give me a kiss.’

  ‘I’m not avoiding you,’ Cathie said with a gentle little smile, even as she struggled to free his hold upon her.

  ‘If you really want me, why don’t you show it?’ His eyes were glazed and, lifting her in his arms, he half carried her to the old horsehair sofa in the living room where he started to kiss her with passion. His mouth and hands seemed to be everywhere, as if he were devouring her. But instead of feeling that surge of desire she used to experience at his slightest touch, fear and revulsion cascaded within her. Being made love to by a drunk was not what she wished for at all.

  ‘Stop it!’ Cathie cried, striving to push him away.

  ‘Why are you resisting me?’ he slurred.

  ‘It’s late, and I’m tired.’

  ‘We’re about to become man and wife, so I’ve every right to make love to you.’ He had her pinned beneath him, one hand fondling her breast while the other slid beneath the waistband of her skirt to explore the nakedness of her stomach. Cathie sent up a thankful prayer that she’d been sensible enough not to venture downstairs in her pyjamas or nightgown, a feeling that didn’t last long as his hand slid up her leg to caress her buttocks and private parts.

  ‘Not like this,’ she cried, slapping him. ‘Leave me alone. Please!’ Even the smell of him was revolting: the beer on his breath and the stink of sweat made her feel sick. Fearing that at any moment her virginity could be taken from her, and not at all in the romantic way she’d envisioned, she fought to push him away. But the weight of him on top of her was overpowering. It was then that Heather let out a heartrending wail of distress and began to scream and cry all over again.

  ‘Let me go, please. She’s having bad dreams.’

  But he only laughed as he began to unbutton his flies. ‘That bloody child can wait. You can’t be doing a good job as a mother if she cries all the flaming time.’

  ‘How can you say that? She’s just a baby.’

  ‘I’m sick of listening to her screams and yells,’ he shouted.

  ‘Then let me go to her. Now!’

  ‘Not till I’ve had you first,’ he hissed.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Rona’s voice rang out. ‘This isn’t the place for such a carry-on, or an argument, not when that flipping child is ruining my night’s sleep.’

  Within seconds Alex had rolled off her, and Cathie was on her feet and rushing upstairs, for once grateful for her mother’s intervention. Dear God, what had she been thinking of to stay here? Had she completely lost her senses? As she cradled the sobbing baby in her arms, soothing and kissing her and feeling Heather rub her little head into her neck for comfort, she was even more surprised when Rona came to join her.

  ‘Is the little lamb all right?’

  Goodness, it almost sounded as if her mother actually cared. ‘I’m not sure. She may still be teething, or suffering from bad dreams. Thanks for coming for me, Mam. Alex is as drunk as a lord, yet again, so I was most grateful for your help. I really don’t understand why on earth he drinks so much, night after night.’

  ‘That’s what ex-servicemen do, chuck. It blocks the horrors they’ve suffered from their minds. Happen he’ll get over it, given time. As to whether he’ll agree to father that child, I still have me doubts. Anyroad, goodnight. I need my sleep.’

  So do I, Cathie thought, taking Heather into her own bed, and cuddling up beside her. There were times when her stupid mother did speak sense, even if those last words had filled her with fresh doubt and fears. Perhaps what Alex had suffered in the desert was causing him to drink. How long would it take for him to recover from whatever was troubling him? And her hopes that he might come to adore little Heather didn’t seem to be working either.

  It was as Cathie changed the bedding in the baby’s cot the following morning that she came across a scattering of dust and plaster beneath the bottom sheet. How on earth had that got there? Looking up at the ceiling she wondered if it had rained down from above, but could see no sign of any cracks. Hadn’t she given the entire place a coat of whitewash just a few months ago? No wonder the poor love had woken up screaming and crying, and been quite unable to settle. She must have felt so uncomfortable with bits of plaster and rubble sticking into her back and little bottom. It was most odd. And why hadn’t she noticed this while singing her to sleep?

  ‘Have you been messing with Heather’s bedding?’ she demanded of Rona as she slapped a plate of toast and jam on to the table before her. Alex, fortunately, was still asleep, so Cathie felt free to challenge her mother. ‘I found plaster and dust in Heather’s cot. Have you any idea how that could have happened?’

  ‘Nay, why would I?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but you’ve rarely shown any interest in her, despite the fact she’s your grandchild.’

  ‘Mebbe that’s because I can’t bear to remember her real mother is dead.’

  Stunned by the sadness in Rona’s eyes, Cathie sank on to the chair beside her, then quietly murmured, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mam. I should allow for the fact that you too are grieving for our Sal.’ This may well account for Rona’s black moods, although she’d never been the most affectionate of mothers, even when they were young. She was always far too obsessed with her own needs, and having a good time. Cathie wished she understood her mother better, and then she might feel closer to her. Yet Rona did love Sally; there had never been any question about that. In a way she was her favourite daughter, and would often say to Cathie: ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’ never quite appreciating Cathie’s own strengths and qualities. Rona must miss Sal greatly, as did she. And everyone had their own ways of grieving; anger being a major part of the pain involved.

  ‘I’ll admit you’ve been much more helpful lately, allowing me some time off now and then, although I did wonder if that was more to please Alex rather than any love you feel for little Heather.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t care, chuck. I never was the maternal sort, and it’s too late for me to change now.’

  ‘It would seem so, as you aren’t even prepared to adjust your shifts to share the job of childcare.’

  ‘I can’t. I need the income if I’m not going to be a burden to you as I get older. Anyroad, it’s not my lack of help for this little lass you should be worried about, it’s the reactions of the man y
ou are keen to make into her father.’

  This remark stunned Cathie into silence as she concentrated on assisting Heather’s attempt to feed herself, while nibbling her own toast. Was that the reason she hadn’t returned to Brenda’s flat? Her indecision and dread of struggling to cope alone sending her demented? And possibly the reason for the rubble in the baby’s cot lay in this ramshackle house they were renting. All of which should encourage her to try all the harder to find a better job. She needed a good income too. But on the plus side, for the first time in years Cathie felt something akin to a closeness with her mother.

  A day or two later, Cathie received a letter from a local orphanage thanking her for her enquiry and saying they did now have room to take her sister’s child.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cathie stared at the letter, perplexed. What on earth were they talking about? She hadn’t made any such enquiry. Had her mother done this? Dear God, she’d give her a piece of her mind if she had. When challenged, Rona denied any knowledge of such a letter.

  ‘What are you accusing me of now? None of this has owt to do wi’ me,’ she responded indignantly.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I never chucked you in an orphanage, did I, even though I had to bring the pair of you up all by myself?’

  That was certainly true, even if she hadn’t been the most wonderful mother, Rona had always provided them with a comfortable home.

  ‘There must be some mistake then.’

  So what was going on? When Cathie called round to the orphanage later that day to inform them she had made no such enquiry, the young woman in the office looked somewhat puzzled.

  ‘We did indeed receive a letter. Here it is.’ And opening her filing cabinet she drew out a sheet of paper, which she handed to Cathie.

  Reality dawned, rather like a shower of cold ice sliding over her. This wasn’t her handwriting, or her signature. Nor was it her mother’s. Nevertheless Cathie recognised it instantly. Hadn’t she received a number of letters written in this hand over years, not as many as she would have liked and often in batches with long pauses in between, with some of the words blocked out by black pencil? There was no mistaking the sender. What had possessed Alex to do such a thing?