Home Is Where the Heart Is

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely,’ Cathie cried, clapping her hands with joy. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?’ she asked Heather, who giggled and laughed with a nod of her little head, shouting “Yes, yes,” not knowing what she was agreeing to but loved to join in the fun. Cathie felt a surge of joy that at last Alex was beginning to take a proper interest in the child.

  They caught the number thirty-four tram to Belle Vue, and Heather did indeed squeal with delight at seeing the monkeys playing on their rocky hill. She was utterly entranced by the way they cuddled and groomed each other, pointing first at one monkey and then another, her chubby little face aglow with happiness.

  ‘Look, look. Want a cuddle.’

  ‘What about taking her for an elephant ride?’ Alex suggested with a smile.

  ‘Ooh no, I think she’s far too young to sit on such a huge animal, but perhaps on a donkey.’ And keeping a firm hold around her tiny waist, with the donkey’s owner controlling the animal, it worked a treat with Heather chuckling with excitement.

  It was a wonderful day. The sun shone, the sight of bombed factories, rows of damaged houses and shops not evident for once. Belle Vue felt like a magical wonderland of fun and entertainment with its zoological gardens and amusement park, musical concerts, dancing and even a circus at Christmas time. Today there was a band playing out on the lawns, and they sat for some time listening to ‘Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?’ Alex held her hand, gazing deeply into her eyes as he sang along with the music. And when he put his arm about her to give her a tender kiss, she felt as if her heart was melting. Perhaps she did still love him. How could she not?

  Cathie even raised no objections to him taking them to watch the racing on the track at the corner of Hyde Road and Hunter’s Lane, even though the sound of the engines roared in her ears as the bikes tore around the track. Surprisingly, they didn’t seem to bother him, despite his protests that he hated noise.

  ‘It must be a hugely dangerous sport,’ she said. ‘How very brave those men must be.’

  ‘Or maybe a bit mad,’ he laughed. ‘You get that way after fighting a war.’

  Alex bought some candy floss for the toddler, and a dish of vanilla ice cream each for Cathie and himself. What a generous and kind man he was turning into, she thought, as later he took her to a tea dance at Joe Taylor’s Dance Hall, where he held the baby in his arms while they danced together. Cathie smiled up at him with delight. He must be on the road to recovery at last, and soon everything would be just fine between them.

  ‘At one time we could have taken this little one to see the fireworks,’ he said, as they enjoyed ham sandwiches, tea and cakes together. ‘Unfortunately, they haven’t started yet, all because of that dratted war.’

  ‘I wonder sometimes if we’ll ever get over it,’ Cathie groaned, taking a sip of the sparkling wine he’d also ordered as a treat, and feeling her cheeks glow with happiness.

  ‘Of course we will, sweetie. You and I are meant to enjoy a wonderful life together. Which reminds me of the rather special reason I invited you out today.’ He placed a small box on the table before her. Cathie’s eyebrows lifted in startled surprise as she looked at it, a part of her guessing what it might be. ‘Go on, open it.’

  After taking it gently in her hands, she did so, and stared in disbelief at the beautiful solitaire diamond ring set within a pad of blue velvet. ‘What is this?’

  ‘What do you think? A brand new engagement ring to replace the cheap second-hand one I got you during the war.’ He took it from the box and slid it on to the third finger of her left hand. He had to push it slightly, but it did go on. ‘Wonderful, it fits perfectly. A new ring for a new life between us.’

  ‘Oh, it’s beautiful. Are you sure you can afford it as you don’t even have a job yet, do you?’

  The smile slid from his face as his eyes flickered with annoyance. ‘What are you suggesting? That I don’t have two pennies to rub together, let alone buy you a mark of my love?’

  ‘No, no, sorry.’

  ‘So will you marry me, darling?’

  Gazing up into his eyes and still feeling joy at the kind and loving way he’d treated little Heather, who was even now sitting on his lap, how could she refuse? She’d forgiven him for his past misdemeanours, and did still love him, didn’t she? Even as she told herself this, an image of Steve drifted into her head, as if challenging that belief. Stifling a sigh, she blocked it out. Steve had gone and, according to his parents, would be unlikely ever to return to Manchester. Besides, this man was her future, not Steve, who had been a good friend to her, once they’d got over their childhood battles, but never any more than that.

  Cathie felt so delighted that at last things were as they should be between them. Alex’s profound apologies had helped, but now he’d gone a step further by proving his acceptance of her lovely niece. The future suddenly looked bright. Perhaps it was the happiness on her smiling face that did the trick when a day or two later she called at the Christmas card factory to ask about a job. The forewoman, who introduced herself as Mrs Woolton, said that she did happen to have one or two vacancies available.

  ‘Summer is our busiest time of year as we have all the orders coming in for Christmas, so aye, we are looking to take on new recruits. Some of the work involves collating cards into boxes; other tasks are dropping said boxes on to a conveyer belt to be filled. We set a limit and if you go beyond that number of cards, you win a bit of a bonus,’ she said with a wink. ‘How would you feel about that?’

  Cathie’s eyes shone with new hope. ‘I’m a hard worker, Mrs Woolton, but there is just one problem. I have a small niece to care for, as her parents are not with us any more, thanks to the war, and her nursery has closed down so I’ll need to find someone to mind her.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s been happening to all our women workers. The government is good at ignoring us ladies, despite all our hard labour throughout the war, so we’ve set up a crèche here. Bring her along, she’ll be very welcome.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much. That would be wonderful!’ All her problems resolved in one go, thanks to this lovely lady. ‘You can rely on me to do my best to try and meet those targets.’

  Mrs Woolton chuckled. ‘I’m sure you will, love. And if you make good progress, there are other tasks such as using machines to add glitter or gold dust to the cards, which are more demanding but better paid. You just have to prove yourself first.’

  ‘I’d love to do that.’

  ‘Right then, chuck. You’re on. We’ll give you a month’s trial, if that’s agreeable to you.’

  Cathie assured her that it was, even though it meant giving notice to her cleaning job without absolute proof that this one would last. But she had every hope it would. The chance of being back working in a factory again with the opportunity to be part of a team and make new friends felt like a joy to her heart. How she’d missed all of that. On top of which she’d be earning much better wages, and with the chance to improve them over time.

  Cathie went straight to Brenda’s flat to tell her the good news, mentioning that there appeared to be more than one vacancy. ‘Why don’t you apply too?’

  ‘Really? I’ll go and speak to the lady right now,’ her friend said, jumping up and grabbing her coat from the hook behind the door.

  ‘I’ll come with you and wait outside while you go in and ask.’

  By good fortune, Brenda too was offered a job, and the two friends did a little jig together on the pavement outside. Life was looking up for them both, at last.

  The pair of them quickly settled in to their new job, being used to a factory system of clocking in, targets to be met and a long working day. Cathie loved every minute of it. She couldn’t remember feeling this happy in months. The task of dropping the boxes on to a conveyor belt was rather boring but she would hum little tunes to herself as she worked. She soon got the hang of sitting at a bench collating the Christmas cards, counting and sliding off a dozen from the various piles and
popping them into the boxes.

  By the end of the first week both were suffering from an aching back, and would rub liniment into each other’s shoulders, giggling as they did so.

  ‘Are we turning into old women?’ Cathie chortled.

  ‘Never.’

  But over the coming weeks the pain eased and her speed gradually improved. Cathie felt quite certain she would soon reach the required target to ensure she kept the job. Getting beyond that level to earn a bonus might take considerably longer but she was delighted to be employed again and happy with the progress she was making.

  Alex, however, was less impressed. ‘You won’t need to work at all once we are wed,’ he said, watching with a sniff of disapproval as she left off peeling potatoes to set little Heather on her potty; then gave her shoulders a quick massage before dashing to check the sausages in the oven. ‘There’s no reason to wait, and you could then devote your time to being a good wife and mother instead of running round in circles like a mad thing.’

  Cathie stifled a sigh. She’d been thrilled by his change of attitude towards little Heather, and his loving proposal. But because of all the ups and downs in their relationship, and remembering what Steve and Brenda had both said about the effects of separation during war, felt the need to take things slowly. Perhaps a month or so to allow herself time to be absolutely certain she was making the right decision.

  ‘I’m happy to be engaged to you, Alex, but still have no desire to rush you to the altar, or give up work even when we do marry. We agreed we needed time to save up. Beside which, I do like my independence.’ And pecking his cheek with a kiss to brush away the sour expression on his face, Cathie then bustled off to pin a clean nappy on the toddler, wash her hands, and go back to peeling the potatoes.

  Saturday was now the only time Cathie could take little Heather out in her pram, although at eighteen months old, it was obvious that the child was itching to be free of such confinement. But not here, or right now, as Cathie was walking along Oldham Street, which as usual was thronged with people milling about. The area was a strange mix of cheap bargain stalls and a most prosperous range of fine shops. She loved browsing at the hawkers’ barrows that jostled the length of the street as far as Stevenson Square.

  Hearing the sound of an organ grinder, she strolled over to listen. He was playing a Perry Como hit: ‘Prisoner Of Love’. She understood perfectly how that felt. Hadn’t she been trapped by her feelings for Alex, even when there was no proof that he felt the same way about her? Now there was, following that wonderful day out together at Belle Vue, and his proposal. Happiness soared through her at the memory and her dream for a happy future together about to be fulfilled. Everything was looking wonderful, at last. The war was over and even Alex was beginning to settle.

  Perhaps she’d walk over to Shudehill fruit and vegetable market later, and see if she could find any bananas for little Heather. She’d heard tell that there were now some available, if you were lucky. As the music ended, she swung the pram around and went bang into a man who’d obviously been standing right behind her. ‘Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry. I hope I haven’t hurt you.’

  ‘Nay it’s my fault, dearie. I were standing too close.’

  Alarmed by the man’s age and the way he was bending down to hold his knee, Cathie helped him away from the crowds to sit on a low wall just off the main street, dragging the pram behind her as she did so. Then she began to gently massage the knee for him. He was grey-haired, stockily built with a ruddy complexion, and quite old. Cathie didn’t have the nerve to ask him to pull up the thick tweed trousers he was wearing to examine the knee for any bruising, but she did help him to stretch and bend his leg to check it was all right. ‘Is that helping or making it worse?’

  ‘Much better, dearie, thank you.’

  ‘Maybe you should go to the chemist or a doctor to get it checked, or I could run and fetch one for you?’ Panic and guilt was overwhelming her, and the baby was beginning to moan and whine, as was her wont when ignored.

  ‘There’s really no need. I’ll be fine in a moment, once I’ve had a bit of a rest. That’s a beautiful ring yer wearing.’

  Cathie smiled as she flipped up her hand to admire it again with pride. ‘Isn’t it just? It was given to me by my fiancé when he proposed. Such a thrill.’

  ‘You look a right bobby-dazzler. Expensive too, by the looks of it.’

  Cathie laughed. ‘I very much doubt it.’

  ‘Congratulations on your engagement, and thanks for your care of me. You’ve been most kind. What’s your name, dearie?’

  Cathie smiled as she told him, but then little Heather began to cry and wail even louder, perhaps feeling hungry as it was well past her dinner time. She rushed to give her a little cuddle and try to settle her.

  ‘And your young man?’

  No longer able to hear him over the hubbub little Heather was making, she gave a little smile and a sigh. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right? It’s time for my little niece to be fed, so I must be on my way.’

  ‘Ah, of course. She’s a lovely little thing. I’ll be fine, you go and feed her.’

  ‘Good day to you, sir, and take care.’

  And giving him a cheery wave, Cathie bustled off, aware that he continued to sit on the wall watching her for some time, or maybe still resting his knee. But what a nice old man he was.

  It was early one Friday evening as she was getting baby Heather ready for bed that there came a knock on the front door. Rona was out with her mate Tommy at The Donkey, and Alex on his usual pub crawl.

  ‘Now who can that be?’ Cathie asked the small infant, sitting her down on the rug as she went to answer it. It was unusual for anyone to knock. Some folk might give a light tap, but generally they’d walk straight in saying, ‘Hello, it’s only me.’

  This time a complete stranger was standing on the doorstep, a woman of about fifty in a smart coat and hat. She glanced at a piece of paper in her hand. ‘Are you Miss Catherine Morgan?’

  ‘I am, can I help you?’

  ‘My name is Marjorie Simpson, and I’m a social worker. May I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ Cathie dutifully led her into the living room, feeling slightly puzzled about why this woman was here. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she politely offered, showing the woman to a chair by the fire.

  Instead, she went straight to the baby and picked her up from the rug. ‘I take it this is your niece.’

  ‘She’s our little Heather, yes, and quite adorable, don’t you think?’

  The woman did not respond to Cathie’s question. ‘I’ve been informed that you are living with a man to whom you are not married. No foster mother is allowed to behave in such an immoral manner, so I’m afraid that has to end now.’ And giving a brisk nod of her head she walked out the door, taking the baby with her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As the woman carried Heather away, Cathie dropped everything and scuttled after her. ‘What are you doing? Where are you taking her?’ she shouted. But there was a Ford motor car waiting at the door with its engine running and, within seconds, the social worker had climbed in and the driver roared away. Cathie ran after it the entire length of the street, screaming for the car to stop, much to the curiosity and alarm of neighbours who all came out to see what was going on.

  She was running so fast she tripped over one of the ruts in the road and went flying, bashing her knee on the cobbles. Utterly devastated, Cathie limped back home, too distressed to speak to anyone or explain what had happened. Besides, it could have been any one of these neighbours, or so-called friends, who had reported this alleged immorality.

  It was midnight by the time Rona arrived home, and Cathie was still sitting sobbing in the kitchen. ‘This is all your fault,’ she yelled at her mother, after she’d explained what had happened. ‘Now she’s been taken from me because someone has reported I’m an immoral woman who is sleeping with him. Which isn’t true! If you’d never invited Alex to come and live h
ere, Heather would still be safely tucked up in her cot.’

  Even Rona looked shocked. ‘Nay, chuck, I were only trying to help you two get back together, and look at that ring, it worked.’

  ‘No it hasn’t,’ Cathie snapped, anger pulsating through her.

  She was seriously beginning to question whether she still wanted to be his wife. If asked to choose between marriage with Alex or keeping little Heather, she would surely choose her lovely niece, wouldn’t she? But she hadn’t been given that choice. And why did she feel so torn?

  She spent a sleepless night in floods of tears, her anger mounting to more ferocious levels, as Alex didn’t return until the early hours. ‘What am I do to?’ she cried, rushing into his arms when finally he did appear at well past four in the morning.

  Holding her close, he gently stroked her face, leading her back to a chair to draw her on to his lap. ‘Hush, sweetheart. Do stop crying and tell me what has happened.’

  He listened with sympathy as she told her tale, wiping the tears from her eyes with his handkerchief. ‘You need to calm yourself as this could well be for the best.’

  ‘How can you can say that when she’s been taken away? And it’s a lie! You and I are not having an affair, or living as man and wife, which is how that woman described it. I’ve done nothing immoral at all, but how can I prove that?’

  ‘By marrying me, sweetie, quite quickly. Why don’t we get wed now?’

  Cathie felt her heart lurch as she gazed into his eyes. ‘Oh, Alex, why didn’t I think of that? Of course, we are engaged to be married. I should have told the woman that fact. And you have agreed to adopt Heather.’

  ‘Were we to be man and wife in actuality then indeed I would, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Of course I do. I love her.’

  ‘But do you love me?’

  Cathie hesitated, asking herself the same question. ‘It is possible to love more than one person at a time.’ These words brought another image bursting into her head, which she quickly blocked out, as was her way. Her fondness for Steve had increased in recent months, but only after he was gone from her life had she appreciated how much he meant to her. She’d lost a good friend. Nothing more, she reminded herself. ‘But I hate the fact these people have made judgements against me that are entirely untrue. I must do something about that.’