Sing As We Go

by Margaret Dickinson

  Kathy sat on the edge of the bed staring into space, remembering the young girl with whom she’d worked for a few months.

  ‘We never did get that trip to the cinema I promised you. And you were so looking forward to it,’ Kathy whispered aloud to the empty room. ‘I’m so sorry, Stella.’

  At the end of that week, Ron called the members of the company together.

  ‘There’s been a slight change of plan. The canteen of the factory where we were due to play next has been bombed, and as the theatre there is closed for the duration, we’ve been asked to go back to Saltershaven. We’re going to play for the RAF boys billeted in the town. We’ll be there a week.’ He looked around and caught Kathy’s gaze. ‘You’ll be singing in the cinema where you were usherette, lass. That be all right?’

  Kathy felt her heart leap. It’d be more than ‘all right’. At last, she might have a chance to see James. She’d certainly try. She could hardly wait.

  As the bus drew into the town, it was like coming home, except that her memories of the place were very mixed. The dreadful nightmare of her time at Willow House, the heartbreak of having her baby snatched from her, but then the joy of holding him in her arms at last. And the kindness of the woman who was now her son’s mother. She would never forget that. But now she was back here, she was apprehensive. Seeds of doubt had been sown in her mind. Perhaps Mrs Wainwright would not be so welcoming this time. She’d had time to think about things and perhaps she’d come to the conclusion that it would be better if Kathy had nothing to do with the boy. In the two years since she had last seen her son, there had only ever been that one letter from his adoptive mother. Kathy had written regularly, but no further word had come back to her. Kathy had made all sorts of excuses in her mind. Perhaps the woman’s letters had been lost in the post or had arrived after the concert party had moved on. Perhaps she hadn’t managed to get any photographs taken. Perhaps . . . Kathy dreamed up all sorts of reasons to comfort herself, but now she was back here in the town, she was scared about what she would find.

  There was no opportunity for her to go to Sea Bank Road that first day. The party had to settle in at their digs and then meet in the cinema for a rehearsal before the concert started at seven thirty.

  But the following morning, Kathy was up early, unable to sleep for excitement. Today she might be able to see her darling boy. With gentle fingers she wrapped the toy rabbit she had knitted so lovingly during her idle hours sitting in dressing rooms and digs.

  ‘Who’s that for?’ Rosie had asked.

  Kathy had felt a blush creeping up her neck as she was forced to lie. ‘It’s – it’s for a friend of mine.’ But was it really a lie? she’d asked herself later, because James was Mrs Wainwright’s child now. Not hers. The thought broke her heart all over again.

  But today she might see him. For a few brief moments perhaps she could hold him and play with him and pretend he was still hers. Clutching the knitted toy, she set off on the long walk to the Wainwrights’ house.

  There was a cold wind off the sea as she walked the long road to the outskirts of the town, turned left past the golf course and then turned right into the road that ran parallel with the sandhills. She glanced briefly to her right at the houses, but her gaze came back time and again to the house standing at the end of the row. As she drew nearer, she frowned. There was something not quite right about the house. It looked different. As she walked closer, her hands felt clammy and her legs were weak. As last she stood in the gateway, staring at the house in horror. Half of it was gone, reduced to a mound of rubble and leaving rooms, still with furniture in, gaping open to the elements. Wallpaper was half torn from the walls and fluttered pathetically in the breeze.

  For a moment Kathy thought she would faint as she staggered and leant against the rough brickwork of the gatepost. Wildly, she looked about her, but the place seemed deserted. The shattered house was empty and forlorn, the once neat garden neglected and overgrown. James, her baby boy! What had happened to him? She glanced at the neighbouring house and saw a movement through the window.

  Galvanized into action, Kathy ran up the drive, her heart beating erratically. She banged on the side door, shouting, ‘Please, please help me. What happened?’

  The door opened and a woman stood there, frowning slightly at the noise. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kathy panted. ‘But please tell me, what happened to the people next door? To Mrs Wainwright and – and her little boy?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I – I’m a friend. Of Mrs Wainwright. I’ve been away. On tour. With a concert party. I didn’t know . . . Please . . .’ She was begging now.

  ‘Then I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your friend was killed.’

  Kathy gasped and felt the colour drain from her face. Her knees began to buckle and she clutched at the doorframe. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘You’d better come inside and sit down a moment,’ the woman said briskly. ‘I don’t want you fainting on my doorstep.’

  She took Kathy’s arm and almost pulled her into her kitchen and pushed her into a chair near the table. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘The child?’ Kathy burst out. ‘What about James?’

  ‘He wasn’t hurt, thank God. He was in the nursery upstairs on the far side of the house, but Beryl was downstairs in the kitchen on this side and, as you can see, she didn’t have a chance.’

  Now Kathy felt faint with relief, but she took a few short panting breaths and her head stopped spinning. ‘Where is James now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. With Mr Wainwright, I suppose.’ She smiled. ‘Funny, I always called him that. I knew Beryl well, but not him so much. He was always “Mr Wainwright”.’

  ‘Do you know where he is? I – I’d like to see him.’ Whether the ‘him’ Kathy referred to was Mr Wainwright or James, the neighbour was not to know.

  ‘I’ve no idea where they’re living now, but I expect they’re still in the town somewhere. Mr Wainwright wouldn’t leave his job. Very important work he does.’ She smiled again. ‘At least he seems to think so. But you’ll know all about that.’

  Kathy bit her lip. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to let slip that she didn’t know the Wainwrights as well as she was trying to make out. Surely a friend of the family would know what he did. But Kathy had no idea. Mr Wainwright had hardly been mentioned in her conversations with his wife. She chewed her lip and asked. ‘Was there other damage in the town?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Not much. They say it was a lone raider who offloaded his bombs as he flew back out to sea. The swimming pool and several houses in the town were damaged. There were one or two more killed besides Beryl. Poor Beryl,’ she mused. ‘I’ve never seen her so happy as she’s been these last two years since she got that baby. And poor little mite. What’ll happen to him now, I don’t know.’

  Kathy’s heart missed a beat. She had to take a risk. She had to push the woman to tell her more. ‘What do you mean? Won’t – won’t Mr Wainwright look after him?’

  The woman glanced at her, a question on her face, but Kathy smiled and, mentally crossing her fingers, said, ‘I’m a bit like you, I didn’t know him awfully well. It was Beryl I was friendly with.’

  The neighbour nodded, ‘Mm, yes, well, I know what you mean. All I know is that his job was everything to him. He thought this town would fall to pieces if he didn’t put in an appearance in his office at the Town Hall all day and every day.’ Her tone was a little scathing. ‘That’s why I say “poor little mite”. Goodness knows who he’s been palmed off with to look after him.’

  Kathy’s heart leapt. The Town Hall, the woman had said. Mr Wainwright was ‘something important’ in the town and he worked at the local council offices.

  The woman set the cup of tea down in front of her and Kathy sipped it gratefully. She was feeling a little better now. James was obviously safe, though where he was she would have to find out. But now she knew where Mr Wainwright wo
rked, she could see him there. Make an appointment, do it properly. With a restraint she didn’t know she possessed, she continued to sit in the kitchen and listen to the woman relating the details of the bombing. ‘We were lucky not to get more damage than we did. All our windows were broken and part of the roof damaged. We were both out at the time, but when we got back, oh the mess. There was soot everywhere that had been blown down the chimneys . . .’ On and on the woman went and Kathy sat there, hiding her impatience to be gone. At last she felt she could stand up, thank the woman for her kindness and the tea and make her escape.

  She walked back down the drive, stood a moment longer to look at the Wainwrights’ home and then turned and walked back towards the town. There was nothing more she could do today, and tomorrow was Sunday, but on Monday morning she’d be outside the Town Hall waiting for the offices to open.

  Thirty-Six

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ the severe-looking receptionist asked. ‘Mr Wainwright can’t just see anyone who turns up unannounced, you know. The town clerk is a very busy man. What is it about?’

  ‘It’s a personal matter.’

  ‘Personal? To whom? You – or Mr Wainwright?’

  Kathy was about to say ‘both’, but then realized the implication. She took a deep breath and said, ‘He might not know me, but I was friendly with his wife. And I just . . .’

  ‘Can’t you write him a letter of condolence?’ the woman snapped. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t want to keep being reminded. Especially when he’s at work.’

  ‘I realize that, but – but I just wanted to ask him about his son. How he’s coping and – and if I could be of any help.’

  The receptionist’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Kathy with a steady, calculating stare. ‘Mm,’ she said noncommittally, but then seemed to come to a decision. She picked up the receiver of a telephone on her right and dialled a number.

  ‘I have a woman here in reception asking if she might see Mr Wainwright. She says she was a friend of his wife’s and that she’s anxious to see if she can be of any help with the baby. You know what the situation is, I just wondered . . .’ There was a pause while Kathy felt herself scrutinized again. The woman lowered her voice to say into the mouthpiece, ‘Well, she looks all right. Very presentable, in fact. I mean, we both know he’s looking for . . .’ She broke off and then added, ‘Oh, has he? I didn’t know that. Anyway, do you think he’d see her? She’s brought a little gift for the child.’ There was quite a long pause until she said, ‘Right,’ and then replaced the receiver.

  ‘Mr Wainwright’s secretary will be down in a moment.’

  Kathy beamed at her. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  Kathy sat on the edge of a chair to wait. People walked through the reception area, their feet clattering on the tiled floor. After what seemed an eternity but was in fact only a few minutes, a young woman appeared out of one of the doors. She came towards Kathy. ‘Miss – er . . .’

  Kathy jumped up. ‘Miss Burton.’

  ‘If you’d come this way, Miss Burton, Mr Wainwright will spare you a moment. It won’t be long, though, I’m afraid. He has a meeting at ten.’

  The secretary led the way up polished oak stairs, along corridors, until they came to her office. She bade Kathy sit down a moment and then went to another door, which led into an inner office. The layout reminded Kathy poignantly of Tony’s office, with Miss Foster sitting guard in the outer office, deftly fielding all unwelcome calls upon her boss’s valuable time. After a moment the young woman returned and, with a smile, ushered Kathy into the office of the town clerk of Saltershaven.

  The man who rose from behind his desk was older than Kathy had anticipated. He was thin, but not very tall. The word ‘dapper’ sprang to her mind as she shook the hand he held out to her. He was immaculately dressed in a pinstriped suit with a white shirt and sober tie. His hair was thinning and his eyes, behind the round, steel-framed spectacles, were as cold as the grey waters of the North Sea.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your wife. She was a lovely lady.’

  ‘Thank you. Please sit down. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I just – I just wanted to give you this for – for James.’ She held out the carefully wrapped parcel. ‘It’s nothing much, but I made it myself and I – I so wanted him to have it.’

  That’s very kind of you.’ He placed the gift meticulously on the corner of his desk. ‘I’ll certainly make sure he receives it.’

  ‘How – I mean – where is he? Is he with relatives?’

  Mr Wainwright shook his head. ‘No. Sadly, my wife and I have few relatives and certainly no one living close.’

  ‘Then – then you have a nanny for him?’

  ‘No. He’s gone back to Willow House!’ Kathy gasped, but he didn’t seem to notice and went on. ‘I’m putting him back up for adoption. I really can’t cope with a young baby.’

  ‘Adopted? You’re going to have him adopted?’ Kathy was desperate. At least at the moment she knew where her baby was. If he were to be adopted again, then she would certainly lose touch with him. She couldn’t bear it. ‘But – but couldn’t you employ a nanny to look after him? A live-in nanny?’

  ‘I suppose I could. But it was my wife who wanted a child. Not me. I only agreed to it to keep her happy. And I’d need a bigger place. I’m living in a one-roomed flat at the moment. It’s totally unsuitable for a young child and my house is uninhabitable.’

  ‘I know. I’ve seen it.’

  He spread his hands helplessly, though to Kathy he was far from being a helpless man. ‘Then you see my position.’

  ‘But you’ll get another house?’

  He nodded, ‘Oh yes. I’m in negotiations now with one of the estate agents in the town, but it might be a while . . .’

  ‘But you haven’t actually signed any adoption papers yet?’

  ‘Well, no, I haven’t, but . . .’

  ‘Oh please don’t, Mr Wainwright. It’s not what your wife – what Beryl – would have wanted, is it?’

  It seemed as if, at last, she had touched a nerve. His face crumpled briefly and he passed his hand across his brow. But in moments he was in control of himself again. He doesn’t love James, Kathy thought shrewdly, but he did love his wife. He leant his arms on his desk and sighed heavily. ‘I’ve felt guilty enough about my decision, but I didn’t know what else to do.’ He stared at her. ‘Just who are you and how did you know my wife?’

  Kathy licked her lips. She could tell the truth, but not all of it. ‘I was walking one day along the road where you live and Beryl was out pushing the pram. We got talking and then I met her again and she invited me in to see the baby. We – we became friends.’ Kathy made it sound as if the friendship had gone on over a period of time and was deeper than it had been. ‘She – she didn’t mention me to you?’ Kathy held her breath, fearing that if his wife had told him that she’d met the girl who was James’s natural mother, Mr Wainwright might very well now put two and two together very quickly and realize exactly who she was.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he murmured, wrinkling his brow. ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘Burton. Kathy Burton.’ Now Kathy felt a little easier. She couldn’t remember ever giving Beryl Wainwright her name.

  ‘No – no, I don’t recall hearing her mention you, but then,’ he gave a wry, rather sad smile, ‘I’m afraid I was guilty of not always listening to my wife’s chatter about domestic affairs.’ He looked up and seemed to be appraising her again.

  ‘You live here? In Saltershaven?’

  Kathy avoided answering directly. ‘I’ve been away touring with a concert party. We’re affiliated to ENSA and we entertain servicemen and women, factory workers, hospitals.’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Wainwright’s eyebrows rose fractionally. ‘That sounds very commendable. And what do you do?’

  ‘I’m a singer. A soloist.’

  There was another pause before Kathy asked tentatively, ‘Won’t you consider employing
a nanny? He’s your son. Surely . . . ?’

  He smiled a little wearily and said flippantly, ‘Are you applying for the job?’

  Kathy gasped in surprise. It was more than she’d dared to hope for. ‘Yes. I am. I’d like nothing better than to care for Beryl’s baby as she would have wanted.’ She felt no guilt in ruthlessly exploiting the man’s one and only weakness, if it meant she could be close to James.

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’ll think about it. I promise I will give it serious thought. You’re right about one thing. Beryl wouldn’t have wanted me to give him back for adoption. She loved the little chap.’ It was almost an admission that he did not. ‘I presume you’re still with the concert party at the moment?’

  Kathy nodded. ‘Yes, we’re here for the whole week. At the theatre. But I could stay. I needn’t go with them. The cast aren’t under any kind of contract. It’s all voluntary.’

  ‘I see.’ He was thoughtful again. ‘Of course, I’ll have to find out what the position is regarding your eligibility for call-up. At the moment, I presume you’re classed as doing valuable war work. I’m not sure that becoming a nanny for one child would be viewed as such. However, I’ll make some enquiries. Come and see me at the end of the week some time on Friday. Check with my secretary for a suitable time and I promise I will have an answer for you by then.’

  He rose and Kathy knew herself dismissed. She shook hands with him again and left his office, not quite sure if her trembling legs were going to carry her safely down the stairs and outside the building before she could give way to the tears that welled up inside her.

  She was close, oh so close, to being with her baby. To holding him, feeding him, dressing him, loving him – to being able to spend every moment with him. But then common sense intervened and she tried to calm herself and not get too hopeful. After all, if Mr Wainwright felt very little affection for the child, why would he want to keep him at all? At the moment, he felt an obligation to the wife he had loved and lost. It would have been her wish, but as time went on and his grief lessened he might view bringing up a child that wasn’t even his as a burden he could well do without. Kathy decided she would tell no one within the company until she knew Mr Wainwright’s decision.