When asked he looked stricken with guilt. ‘I thought that was what you wanted, to be free of the responsibility of being the foster mother to a child that is not yours.’
‘I’ve never said that. I love her. Heather is my child, in every respect but one. I did not give birth to her.’
‘I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t understand. Bit confused. Will you forgive me?’
It was difficult to find it in her heart to do so. As he took the child from her arms to give little Heather a cuddle, fear escalated inside her yet again, instinct warning her not to irritate him further. He was so impulsive, his moods unpredictable and irrational, much as he might claim to love her. It was as if he was jealous of this little one’s demands upon her attention. Perhaps she should encourage him to spend more time with Heather, and learn a little more about childcare. But would that work? Could she trust him? Cathie sent up a silent prayer that he’d come to love the child as much as she did. Finding a solution to this problem was going to take time.
Parenting, Cathie discovered as little Heather’s independence grew, was not simply a job but more a way of life, and one that would last for ever. Oh, but she loved the bones of her, and was gaining increasing confidence as a mother. She had established a good routine, knew not to overexcite the child as bedtime approached, and when and how to put her down to sleep. She’d even disposed of her dummy yet again as she didn’t want the toddler to damage her teeth. Instead, the little girl would chatter away using her own made-up words, or sing herself back to sleep, which was a delight to listen to. And whenever she threw herself into a tantrum Cathie would stand by and let her get on with it, finding that she generally grew bored after a few minutes and would start playing with a toy instead, as if to distract herself.
But, as Rona had predicted, persuading Alex to take an interest in the child was not proving to be easy. He showed very little patience. On one occasion when Cathie had left him in charge for no more than ten minutes while she slipped out to the corner shop, she’d returned to find he’d plonked her into a cardboard box under the stairs, just because she’d started crying the moment Cathie had gone. They’d had a furious row over that.
‘If children don’t behave they need to be punished,’ he snapped.
‘But not locked up in the dark,’ Cathie shouted back. ‘Don’t ever do that again.’
‘Don’t you tell me what I can or cannot do!’ He’d stormed off, but had returned later with a bunch of violets, looking most contrite. ‘Sorry, sweetie, I’d had a tiring day so lost patience.’
Doing what? she wondered, but didn’t dare enquire. He was far too unpredictable to argue with. Cathie accepted his apology with good grace, but doubted she would ever leave Heather alone with him again. Although if that were the case, how could she even consider marrying this man? Their relationship seemed to be going from bad to worse. What was it that made him lose his patience so easily? On other occasions he could be the sweetest, most generous person, often providing her with unexpected gifts of clothes and cash. One minute he could be raging with temper, the next loving and caring. Was that genuine or a ploy on his part? Or perhaps all part of the healing process. Maybe she just needed to be patient too.
Today he’d brought home some fillets of haddock, which a fisherman friend had apparently given him.
‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Cathie told him as she happily set about cooking it. ‘You’re so clever the way you keep finding us good food, and something different to eat.’
Heather, however, was less impressed and refused to eat it, spitting out every mouthful with a sour expression on her little face. Alex was not pleased.
Cathie merely laughed. ‘She’s never had haddock before, or fish of any kind. I expect it takes time to acquire a taste for it. Never mind, I have one or two eggs left; I’ll boil one of those instead. She loves boiled eggs.’
‘No, she must eat this. She’s a silly child, and has no right to waste perfectly good food,’ he barked. He picked up a spoon, scooped up a morsel of fish and attempted to shove it into her mouth. Heather stubbornly resisted, clamping her plump little lips together and turning her head away. ‘You naughty girl!’ he yelled, standing over her and jabbing a finger in her chest.
‘Stop that!’ Cathie cried, pushing him away, utterly horrified by such behaviour. ‘You’ll hurt her.’
‘She must learn to do as she’s told.’
For once Heather did not start crying. Instead, she seemed to have frozen, her little mouth still clamped shut, an expression of wary distrust in her blue-eyed gaze. Cathie found this reaction even more disturbing.
‘Please, Alex, as we’ve already discussed, you need to exercise a little more patience. You’re expecting her to behave like a five-year-old, but Heather isn’t even eighteen months yet. Right now she needs loving comfort; rules and punishment can come later when she’s old enough to understand.’
‘She never will understand if we aren’t firm with her.’
‘You are too firm.’
‘Nonsense, you should have seen how my father behaved towards me.’
‘Then don’t repeat his mistakes upon Heather.’
‘I’ll do as I damn well please!’
‘No, you won’t,’ Cathie patiently responded, stifling a sigh. ‘As I am her foster mother, she is my responsibility, not yours.’
Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she instantly regretted them. Hadn’t she once agonised for months over how to tell Alex she wanted him to help her adopt the baby? Now his mouth twisted into a curl of sarcastic amusement, and he laughed. ‘We’ll see what good that does you.’
Finishing the rest of his meal in silence, he then picked up his hat and marched off to the Pack Horse, as he did most evenings. Cathie heaved a sigh of relief, even though she knew he would no doubt come home the worse for drink. Rather than settling into a civilian way of life, Alex seemed to be battling against it.
The next day Alex was out and about, as usual. This time hovering close to various jewellery shops, trying to decide which one to try. Perhaps the smartest part of the city would not be a good idea, certainly not St Ann Street, as he was too well known by the shopkeepers there. He had, however, adopted a disguise of sorts by wearing a large pair of spectacles and a false beard, plus the kind of bowler hat he would normally never wear. He walked along Deansgate, and various roads and streets leading off it, and then wandered over to Piccadilly, which was something of a blitzed site still, as most of the warehouses had been damaged or destroyed by bombs.
The city was bustling with activity, and he quickly dashed across the road as a cart passed by, loaded with great churns of milk. Stalls and hawkers’ carts lined Oldham Street but it was a prosperous shopping area with many fine shops, popular with Mancunians. And in one of the streets just off it, he soon found what he was looking for: a small shop selling new and second-hand jewellery.
The bell rang as he strolled inside, and a grey-haired stockily built man with a ruddy complexion emerged through a curtain at the back of the shop. He was cleaning a pair of spectacles, which he then perched on to his long nose.
Alex kept his own glasses firmly in place, squinting at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Good morning,’ he said with a polite smile. ‘I’m seeking an engagement ring for my fiancée. In theory we’ve been engaged for some time but because of being sent overseas during the war I never got around to buying her a ring.’ Not true, but this man had no way of knowing that. ‘Sorry, I don’t have too much money, I’m afraid, but wondered if you could help.’
‘Be happy to,’ the shopkeeper said, and instantly began pulling trays of rings out from under the counter. ‘Would she like a sapphire, ruby or …?’
‘Diamond. She loves diamonds.’
A few trays were set out before him and, as he examined each one, Alex made a careful note of the prices, which were reasonably low. ‘Perhaps I could see some rings with stones a little larger and more valuable. Actually, I’m not totally without funds and
this lady is the love of my life.’
A couple more trays were brought out, at a much higher price. ‘If these are too expensive, sir, I could show you some priced between the two,’ the man assured him.
They were indeed far too expensive, but, giving a wry smile, Alex lifted one or two rings to examine them more closely under the light of a lamp. ‘I can see why. They are quite beautiful, but perhaps something a little less costly would be more sensible. Have you a solitaire, perhaps?’
‘Of course,’ he said, pulling out yet another tray. It was as Alex reached for it that he managed to ‘accidentally’ knock one of others on to the floor. ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry,’ he cried, instantly bending down to start gathering up the rings scattered about.
‘Yi, yi, yi!’ The old man threw up his hands in horror and came scuttling quickly round the counter to help. It took no more than a matter of moments to collect up all the rings and set them back upon the tray, then Alex chose one of the cheaper imitation diamond rings. ‘I think I’d better stick with this one,’ he said with an apologetic grimace.
The chosen ring was swiftly put into a box, the shopkeeper informing Alex as he handed over the money that if he brought his fiancée in the ring could be resized to fit her finger.
‘Thank you, you’ve been most kind.’ Then, glancing at the trays on the counter, now in something of a muddle, he again apologised profusely and calmly left. Once outside, he slipped his hand into his pocket to find the ring that had just happened to fall into it. It was amazing how foolishly trusting some people were. Cheating, he’d discovered, was so easy and extremely profitable. But then he’d always had a talent for deceit.
Chuckling to himself as he turned the corner back into Oldham Street, Alex quickly removed the bowler hat, spectacles, beard and even his raincoat, and dumped the lot into a dustbin behind a hawker’s cart, just in case it dawned on the shopkeeper that he’d been robbed. Then he strolled into a pub for a pint of beer to celebrate.
It was a beautiful sunny spring day and Cathie was walking along Back Irwell Street towards Deansgate, thinking she might enquire at Kendal Milne to see if they had any vacancies, when she spotted Brenda approaching. Her friend was smartly dressed in linen trousers with a tailored jacket, a broad grin on her face and her arms outstretched. Cathie instantly raced over to give her a hug, the baby bouncing in her pram. ‘Oh, there you are, Brenda, how lovely to see you back. How I’ve missed you.’
‘Good to see you too, darling. Shall we go and find Davina to enjoy our usual cup of tea and a gossip?’
‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’ve so much to tell you. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through.’
Brenda frowned. ‘Not more problems?’
‘I’m afraid so. What about you, are your family legal problems resolved?’
Brenda pulled her face. ‘I hope so. Come on, let’s go and eat.’
It took no time at all for Cathie to pour out her heart to her best friend as they linked arms and headed for their favourite café on Campfield Market. She was as ever loyal, supportive and deeply sympathetic.
‘I always thought there was something fishy about that girl,’ Brenda said with a snarl of ill temper. ‘She turned up out of the blue one day, yet never said a word about her past, not even where she’d been born or anything about her family, let alone the war. What a madam she must be.’
‘She took such pleasure in revealing their affair, and telling me she was carrying Alex’s child, with not a word of apology even though I’d always looked upon her as a friend.’
‘You poor darling, that must have been awful. Have you seen her since?’
‘No, not a sign.’
‘There’s no sign of her today either,’ Brenda said, glancing over at the second-hand clothes stall where she normally worked. ‘You order tea and a sandwich for us while I go and ask.’
Cathie watched as Brenda bustled over to chat with the owner, who seemed to be shaking her head. Did she even need to know what had happened to Davina? she asked herself.
‘The stallholder says she’s no idea where she is. Davina didn’t even bother to hand in her notice, just disappeared, maybe back to wherever she came from.’
‘Well, it’s of no interest to me where she’s gone,’ Cathie said with a sigh. ‘All that matters is that Alex and I are back together, well almost. Possibly. I’m trying my best to put all this mess behind me and see if it will work. Admittedly, it isn’t easy as he’s still not at all himself, and a bit too impatient with little Heather here,’ Cathie said, stroking the toddler’s fluffy blonde hair as she lifted her from the pram to sit her on her lap, then quickly told Brenda about his attempt to find Heather a place at the local orphanage.
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s dreadful!’ Brenda said, giving the baby a comforting pat and kiss.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of allowing that to happen. I just can’t understand why he would imagine it to be a good idea.’
Brenda gave a sad shake of her head, her normally cheerful face looking doleful. ‘I doubt he’s thinking things through properly. The psychological effects of war can be very damaging.’
‘I do realise that. Aunt Evie was telling me about my dad, and how the First World War affected him so badly that he couldn’t settle, then disappeared to explore the world, never to be seen or heard from again. I’m wondering if that is partly the reason why my mother became such a selfish queen. Being locked up with her husband’s problems obviously didn’t appeal.’ Cathie was silent for a moment as the possible truth of this notion hit home. Maybe she should show more compassion towards her mother. Rona can’t have had an easy life, losing a husband and having to bring up her daughters alone, then losing Sal whom she loved so much. Her losses in life had sadly turned her into a bitter and selfish woman. How Cathie hoped and prayed the same things wouldn’t happen to her.
‘Has Alex found employment yet?’ Brenda asked, interrupting her troubled thoughts.
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘That’s a shame. I believe the British Legion has been attempting to achieve priority for ex-servicemen in getting jobs, so far with little success as the new Labour government insists on equality for all. They say this is because civilians too have been on the fighting line.’
‘That’s a fair point, but I still think ex-servicemen deserve better treatment than they’re getting. As for Alex, oddly enough he doesn’t seem to be short of money, which is a bit of a puzzle to me, particularly considering how he keeps demanding I hand over little Heather’s inheritance, which I refuse to do.’
‘And what’s happened to Davina is a mystery too, but then that girl always was. Maybe I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows where she’s living now,’ Brenda said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alex was eating his breakfast in peace and quiet one morning, as he so liked to do after both women had gone off to work, when to his horror he found a piece in the Manchester Guardian reporting a theft at a jewellery shop. He quickly read it, instantly recognising the story as that of his own. To his great relief, the description given by the shopkeeper of the person he suspected of the crime was of a man with a beard, who wore spectacles and a bowler hat. Alex chuckled to himself as he recalled how easily he’d disposed of this simple disguise. It was highly unlikely that he would ever be recognised or implicated as the thief responsible.
The word ‘thief’ resounded momentarily in his head. Is that what he’d turned into, as a consequence of this dratted war and a need for hard cash? Dismissing the crime as unimportant, as was what he’d been obliged to do to Davina, he tossed the newspaper aside. His family had largely disowned him because his fancy public school had never regarded him worthy of high regard. Nor had the army. His future now lay very firmly in his own hands, and allowing his plans to be ruined by some tart was never on the cards. He was not the idiot people might think.
He’d also attempted to dispose of that irritating child, but had sadly failed, which ann
oyed him enormously. Nor had he yet managed to lure Cathie back into his arms, as she was still resisting him with obstinate stubborness. He would need to exercise his charms a little more in order to completely win her over. Maybe he could begin tonight by taking her out for the evening. Didn’t he deserve to enjoy life after years of hard work, not to mention bullying from army commanding officers as well as his own father? Now it was his turn to rule the roost.
Before he left the house that morning on his usual round of factories and deals in the black marketing world, he tore the offending page from the paper and threw it in the fire, just to make sure that Cathie never saw it.
That evening, Alex took her to the Ritz dance hall, their favourite place, leaving the child in her grandmother’s care. He’d made it very plain to Rona that if she really wanted him to ever get back together with her daughter, she would need to play her part. Happily, she’d agreed. He so enjoyed holding Cathie in his arms, smoothing his hand over her slender back and waistline and gently kissing her soft cheeks and lips. Even though he longed to go much further, he carefully held himself in check. There would be ample opportunity to explore her delightful body once he’d got a ring back on her finger.
A few days later, they went to the Palais on Rochdale Road, and the following Saturday to see ‘The Harvey Girls’ at the Odeon. Life was looking up, so far as Alex was concerned. He had a pocket full of cash and a girl on his arm. What could be better? Having her in his bed, of course, which was the next and most important step.
But Cathie was not Davina, and would never entertain such a move until she’d agreed they had a future together. And before that could happen he needed to appear to reconcile himself to this so-called niece of hers.
‘How about a visit to Belle Vue?’ he suggested one Sunday. ‘The sun is shining as summer is almost here. I thought perhaps the little one might enjoy a day out to see the elephants and monkeys.’
Home Is Where the Heart Is Page 18