Home Is Where the Heart Is

by Freda Lightfoot

  Alex stroked her strawberry blonde curls from her damp cheeks.

  ‘Give yourself a rest first,’ he urged, giving her a tender kiss on the lips. ‘You’ve been working so hard caring for that child that you are utterly exhausted, particularly now that you have a job too. That’s far too much responsibility for a young woman to cope with. The child will be well looked after and once we are married there’ll be no difficulty in claiming her back. Then you can give up work and concentrate on being a real woman and mother.’

  Cathie rested her head against his neck, conflicting emotions ricocheting through her as he kissed her some more. It seemed to be the expected behaviour nowadays for a woman to give up work on marriage and devote herself to domestic duties, so why didn’t she feel any joy about that prospect? Was there something lacking in her as a woman? And how could she bear to be parted from that darling child, even if it was only a week or two until the ceremony took place?

  ‘The poor love will be heartbroken without me around to love and care for her. She’ll be feeling lost and abandoned. I can’t allow that to happen to her.’

  ‘You are her loving aunty, I know that now, and once we are married she may well be safely returned. You can then also start having some children of your own.’

  Cathie could hardly believe what he was saying. How very kind and sympathetic he was now, marking an end to all his earlier anguish and distrust. And in a way marriage would be the most sensible way of securing little Heather’s future. Yet she did need to make her situation clear, and start things moving in the right direction. ‘Thank you so much for your support. But before rushing into anything, I intend to find out exactly where Heather is, and when and how I can get her back.’

  He looked faintly irritated by this remark. ‘I’ve just said that you don’t need to do that. Once we are wed it will happen anyway.’

  ‘I must and I will,’ Cathie insisted, her sense of independence again coming to the fore as she dismissed his scowl of disapproval with a smile.

  Cathie caught a bus the moment the clock struck six that morning, unable to wait another minute even though she’d barely had more than an hour’s sleep at most. Thankful it was a Saturday and she didn’t have to go into work, she knew that nothing would stop her from going in search of little Heather. Her plan was to go straight to the orphanage, where she assumed they would have taken her for the night. The sooner she got there the better, before they had time to hand Heather over to some other foster mother who would be a complete stranger. It would no doubt be necessary to prove her innocence, perhaps by showing them this ring. But she could do that now that she had Alex’s full support.

  The orphanage was some distance from the bus stop, and rain began to beat down upon her as she half walked, half ran along a seemingly endless medley of streets off Liverpool Road.

  On arrival at the old Victorian building, she hammered on the door, feeling rather damp and out of breath. It was opened by one of the young nuns, and Cathie could see from her expression that a visitor so early was not welcome. Had she intruded upon their early mass?

  ‘May I please see the matron?’ she politely asked, heart pounding with anxiety and exhaustion.

  ‘Mother Superior is still having breakfast. Can I help?’

  Cathie quickly related what had happened. ‘This is all a big mistake. I am not doing anything wrong or immoral, although we are about to be married. My fiancé is simply renting a room in our house, having returned from the war. The child is my niece and I was granted the right to be her foster mother until Alex and I marry, after which we fully intend to adopt her. I really need to speak to her now. Please.’

  ‘One moment,’ the young woman said, and marched off.

  After waiting for ten fretful minutes, the young woman returned, shaking her head. ‘Sorry, we have no child of that name here.’

  Cathie’s heart sank. ‘Then where can she be?’

  ‘Possibly in any one of several orphanages in Manchester, or already placed into foster care. I’m afraid you’ll have to visit children’s services.’

  ‘But it’s a Saturday, they won’t be open.’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to wait till Monday morning, or else visit them all.’

  Deeply distressed, Cathie turned to leave, but then it occurred to her that she didn’t even know where all these orphanages might be. ‘Do you have a list?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, yes, but I’m not sure I’m allowed to hand it out.’ Perhaps moved by Cathie’s tears, and glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was around, the kind nun dashed into the nearby office and returned with a sheet of paper. ‘Here you are. Good luck.’

  Cathie spent the rest of that day, and the next, searching the entire city, the cost of the bus and tram fare required quickly disposing of far too much of that week’s wages. She visited orphanages on Deansgate, Ducie Street, Hanover Street, and then moved on to more distant parts of the city, including Salford, Cheetham, Ancoats and Hulme. Some of these homes turned out to be only for boys, not baby girls, while others had closed following the war, or the children had been evacuated. It was not an easy search.

  She felt bone-tired and starving hungry, as she’d barely had a thing to eat all weekend, as well as increasingly anxious. Where could Heather be? The poor child must be frightened and upset at having been removed from her home. What if she wasn’t in Manchester at all but taken over to the Fylde coast to Lytham or Southport, down to Cheshire, or up to the Lake District? She could be anywhere, even in the Yorkshire dales, as Manchester was central to so many places. How could Cathie hope to find her without the help of that Marjorie Simpson woman, the social worker?

  Reaching the next orphanage on her list, Cathie knocked on the door and was shown into the office where she came face to face with a robust, stern-faced woman she took to be the matron. Indicating that she should be seated, Cathie at once launched into telling her story yet again, which she’d done countless times. ‘I need to find her. Is she here?’

  ‘Ah yes, that child is with us and perfectly well.’

  Cathie almost jumped out of her chair in delight. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that! I’ve been searching for her all weekend. Can I please take her home?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not our decision to make. That’s up to children’s services.’

  ‘But she should be with me. I am her aunt, and innocent of these charges. And I love her to bits.’ Cathie found herself again close to tears as she struggled to remain calm. ‘Who has made this false accusation against me? It is all just malicious gossip.’ Even as she asked this question Cathie felt her heart lurch as a worry lodged at the back of her mind.

  ‘Proving the source of this information will not be easy,’ the matron warned. ‘As I say, you will need to speak to children’s services.’

  ‘I will do that first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, can I at least see her?’

  The matron shook her head. ‘I don’t think that would be wise. It might only upset her. Come back when you have the necessary permission.’

  Cathie walked away in a daze of despair, to spend yet another sleepless night, this time with no comfort offered by either Alex or her mother. She felt utterly bereft and alone.

  The following morning she arrived early at the Christmas card factory to ask if she could take some time off in order to pursue this matter further.

  ‘Sorry, but we’re far too busy to allow anyone time off work right now. You can go during your lunch break,’ said the forewoman. ‘So long as you’re quick about it and clock in again on time.’

  That would not be easy, but considering how difficult it had been to acquire the job in the first place, Cathie had no wish to risk losing it. As luck would have it she was shown in to the social worker’s office without delay.

  ‘Ah, I thought you might call in, Miss Morgan. No doubt you are about to assure me that you are actually married,’ the social worker remarked caustically.

  ‘That would be yet another lie, in addi
tion to the one that caused you to take Heather away from me in the first place. Alex and I are engaged and do intend to adopt my niece,’ she said, and then went on at some length to explain their situation in a desperate attempt to prove her innocence. ‘Please, may I have your permission to take her home?’

  ‘It’s a charming romantic tale, but why would I believe you? I need far more proof, probably in the form of a marriage licence, or better still a certificate.’

  ‘The thing is, we aren’t yet married because we’ve had problems, due to the war, but things are improving between us.’

  ‘What kind of problems?’

  ‘I’d really rather not discuss it.’ The worry that had been needling away at the back of Cathie’s mind now reasserted itself. She was quite convinced that it was Davina who’d spread this evil gossip about her, in a bid to take revenge over losing Alex. But his affair with one of her best friends was not something Cathie wished to reveal to this woman. It might only make only matters worse.

  However, the social worker began to fold up her papers and rose from her chair. ‘Then I wish you good day, Miss Morgan.’

  ‘Oh, please, don’t send me away.’ Cathie took a deep breath, making the decision that like it or not she must come clean, otherwise she would never discover the truth or get little Heather back. ‘All right, Mrs Simpson, I’ll tell you everything. If my suspicions are correct then the person who has been trying to steal Alex from me, my one-time friend, could have told this lie. They had a fling but in the end he came back to me, which has no doubt infuriated her. If that is the case then surely I have the right to know.’

  Marjorie Simpson returned to her seat, sitting in silence for some moments as she considered these comments with a speculative frown on her wrinkled brow. Then reaching into a filing cabinet she brought out a file, withdrew a sheet of paper and handed it over. With a sinking heart, Cathie read the anonymous letter that related her alleged crime in a few short vicious sentences, seeming to imply they were having sex every five minutes without the benefit of a wedding ring.

  ‘Dear God, this is even worse than last time.’

  ‘Last time, what are you talking about?’

  Cradling her face in her hands, it took Cathie a moment to recover her composure sufficiently to speak. ‘A little while ago I spoke to someone at a local orphanage who told me they’d received an enquiry from me, asking for a place for Heather. That wasn’t true, I definitely made no such request. I love her and wish to bring her up as my own child. I can’t remember the lady’s name but she showed me the letter in question, and I’m sorry to say that I instantly recognised the handwriting.’

  ‘Who was it from, this one-time friend of yours?’

  Cathie met the social worker’s curious gaze with anguish in her own, feeling as if a knot had been tied around her throat, choking her. ‘No, the letter was written by my fiancé. Alex has been badly affected by the war, which is the reason I didn’t rush into marriage with him; and why my mother allowed him to rent a room off us when he developed problems with his own parents. He did apologise for sending that letter, and promised most sincerely he would never make such a mistake again. But one glance at this tells me that he was broken his promise.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  The discussion that followed was both lengthy and heart-rending, so much so that the woman’s attitude towards her changed entirely and the social worker became increasingly sympathetic. After several phone calls, it was agreed that once Cathie had resolved these difficulties she probably would be allowed to take Heather home, although she’d be rigorously checked for a little while to make sure all was as it should be.

  ‘It’s not my place to advise you, Miss Morgan, but if I were you I’d give the fellow a piece of my mind then turf him out.’

  That was exactly what Cathie intended to do. As soon as her shift was over, she marched home, her anguish now turning into a fizz of fury. As usual, she found Alex in the living room happily gossiping with her mother. She whipped the ring from her finger and slammed it on the table before him. ‘How dare you do such a thing?’

  ‘What are you accusing me of now?’ he asked, lifting his gaze from the ring to consider her with resigned patience.

  ‘You know damn well!’ She slapped him across the face with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Hey up, what’s all this about?’ Rona asked, jumping up to grab her.

  ‘Ask him! He was the one who arranged for little Heather to be taken away from me. God knows why he wrote yet another dreadful letter to the authorities, except that he’s a selfish bully who imagines he can control me!’

  This time when she collected her things and walked out, Cathie knew it would be for good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cathie moved in with Brenda, who welcomed her with open arms, having heard the story in full as they’d stacked boxes of Christmas cards together that afternoon. ‘Men can be such devils,’ she said with a groan. ‘You’ve done the right thing by walking out on him.’

  ‘But will it help me to get little Heather back, that’s the worry?’

  ‘She’s your niece, why would you not?’

  The very next day Cathie called at children’s services yet again during her lunch break, but Mrs Simpson was out doing calls. Cathie explained to her secretary that she needed to speak to the social worker quite urgently, and finally managed to arrange an appointment to see her on Friday afternoon at six-thirty, after she’d finished work.

  ‘What do you think I’ll need to do to prove myself?’ she kept asking her friend as the week dragged by.

  ‘Just be yourself, honey,’ Brenda assured her, ‘and let your love for that little one shine through.’

  But once seated before the stern-faced social worker, it felt so nerve-wracking that Cathie could barely concentrate on a word the woman was saying as she briskly leafed through a file on her desk. She spoke at some length about new rules and regulations, how children used to be accommodated in workhouses but now more care was taken to ensure a better future for them in orphanages.

  ‘I don’t want Heather put into an orphanage, certainly not for ever,’ Cathie said. ‘She has a family to care for her and, as agreed, I’ve broken my relationship with my fiancé.’

  ‘So you won’t be getting married, after all?’

  Cathie shook her head, suddenly feeling nervous that if she was no longer about to marry she might never get little Heather back. It felt very much a no-win situation. Within moments, she found herself dealing with a whole barrage of questions.

  ‘Have you built a good relationship with the child?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Of course! As I explained to you before, she’s my niece and I love her to bits.’

  ‘Do you have her birth certificate, to prove who she is?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Cathie said, with a sad shake of her head. ‘My sister hadn’t got around to registering the birth by the time she was killed, less than a month later.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you do that?’

  ‘I never gave it a thought. I was too shocked over what had happened to my beloved sister. The war was still going on, close to the end as it turned out, although I didn’t know that at the time. Just looking after the baby was more than enough to cope with, and being swamped by grief.’

  Was that a flicker of sympathy in the woman’s gaze? Her next question destroyed such a hope. ‘I understand the infant has been left a large sum of money by her father, could that have anything to do with your wish to foster her?’

  Cathie stared at the woman, shocked to the core. ‘How can you suggest such a dreadful thing? My only concern is that the poor child has lost both her parents, her family destroyed. I never gave the money a thought. I haven’t touched a penny of it, nor will I ever, as it is meant to provide a secure future for Heather once she grows up. That is what her parents would have wished.’ A new thought occurred to her. ‘How did you know about Heather’s inheritance? Was it mentioned in that letter Alex sent?’


  ‘There was a second little note pointing out the money may well provide the motive behind your actions.’

  ‘Goodness, that man is beyond belief! More likely it was his motive for choosing to marry me, and not that he loved me at all.’ The thought filled her with fresh anguish. He could have planned this all along in order to force her into a hasty marriage. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the pressure he’d applied on her to release that pot of money, as he called it? Once he was her husband with full control over her and the child, he could easily have helped himself to Heather’s inheritance. Why had she been so naïve as to keep on trusting him? Was it out of love or foolishness on her part? There seemed to be so much about Alex’s behaviour that she hadn’t understood, possibly not as a result of war at all, but a difficult childhood or simply a flaw in his nature.

  ‘Can you afford to support and bring up this child all alone?’ the woman was asking her now.

  ‘I certainly can,’ Cathie proudly stated, straightening her spine as she explained about her job at the Christmas card factory, with its crèche facility, and a decent wage coming in with every possibility of increasing it.

  After further grilling, which covered pretty well every aspect of childcare, the child’s daily routine and diet, as well as Cathie’s entire family history, Mrs Simpson finally sat back and closed the file with a snap. ‘Very well, you may now pay the child a visit.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much. Can I take her home?’

  ‘That depends on how the child responds to you. She seems to be a very quiet little girl.’