by Pam Weaver
‘Take as much as you can, dear,’ she had said quietly. ‘You won’t be coming back here, will you.’
Their eyes met and Annie had felt her throat tighten as another thought drifted into her mind. She’d have to face everybody in Worthing. What was she going to say to her friends? Her hand rested on her bump. If only she wasn’t pregnant, she could start over again quite easily. Now that she had a baby growing inside of her, everything was changed. She would have a miserable time for a while, but hopefully with a bit of help she could get her life back on track eventually. ‘Oh Mum,’ she’d mumbled sadly.
‘I know, I know,’ said her mother, holding out her arms to her.
‘Hurry up, you two. We haven’t got all day,’ her father shouted up the stairs, startling Annie and her mother into action again. All her clothes were in the suitcases her mother carried and as Annie had left the bedroom she picked up the case containing the baby’s layette.
‘What’s that?’ said her father as he took the case from her at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Baby clothes,’ said Annie.
‘Well, you can leave them behind,’ he said gruffly. ‘You won’t be keeping it, will you.’
For a second, Annie was taken aback. She didn’t want her baby dismissed so lightly. It made her feel uncomfortable. And she certainly wasn’t going to give him up. She must have looked startled because her mother’s expression softened.
‘Even if she isn’t keeping it, Malcolm,’ she’d said, ‘the clothes might come in useful for whoever has him.’
Her parents walked on ahead as Annie stood in the small hallway for the last time. She was exhausted and drained. More than anything, she wanted to get away because this home only held sad memories now. Her father was overbearing and strict but she welcomed the stability he was offering. She had no choice, what with no money and no husband and a baby on the way, and yet she knew she was a lot luckier than most girls in her position. She went back into the sitting room, opened the damaged drawer and slipped the shares certificates, along with the photographs of Henry and his friends into her pocket. Closing the drawer, she took a last look around.
Just as she was about to leave, she heard a soft knock on the front door. It was Mrs Holborn. Her face was grey and Annie knew instantly what had happened. Glancing back at Annie’s parents, Mrs Holborn shook her head. They didn’t need words. As their eyes locked, Annie opened her arms and Mrs Holborn went to her.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Holborn,’ said Annie.
Her neighbour had swallowed hard and nodded curtly. ‘Thank you, my dear. In the end, he went peacefully and we were all there. All the best to you and the baby and I’m sure everything will all turn out fine.’
Annie had slept on the back seat of the car on the way back to Worthing. As she woke, her first drowsy thought was of Henry. She loved him and she couldn’t bear the thought of being a lone parent. She would write to him. It wasn’t over yet, was it? He was only on remand. The jury would find him innocent and they could start again. Maybe they could find a new place to live. Eastbourne was nice, or Bognor Regis. But the next day, after sleeping late and mooching around her parents’ home all day, her thoughts were beaded on another string. It was going to be a long and unbearable three weeks until the trial. How was she going to survive without him?
*
Sarah worked hard to get the baby clothes finished. There were times when her eyes hurt and her back ached, but gradually the romper suits and dresses took shape. Life was a struggle. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she was still living hand to mouth. It had taken a while to recover from the loss of her purse and now a loaf of bread had gone up to fourpence h’penny. Everything seemed bleak until one afternoon after she’d collected Jenny from school, she’d found an envelope pushed through her letter box with a ten bob note inside. There was nothing written on the envelope but she knew where it had come from. Mrs Angel was such a dear and she certainly lived up to her name.
It was a lot quieter next door as well. Mrs Rivers had gone to stay with her sister, although the neighbour who told her didn’t know her address.
Sarah’s need to keep going was relentless. Cleaning the house, doing the washing, making sure her girls were clothed and fed, queuing at the shops, the walk to school and the walk back again, working in the pub and the big houses, and once the children were in bed, sewing, sewing, sewing. Sarah knew she was exhausted but she dared not stop. It didn’t help matters much that the newspapers were full of gossip about the beautiful Princess Margaret. Whenever Sarah wiped the tables in the pub and someone had left their paper from the day before, she would see the princess smiling up at her from the Daily Mirror or the Evening News. Sometimes she was pictured doing the rumba or being welcomed by some dignitary somewhere. Eighteen years old, Sarah thought ruefully, and never done a day’s work in her life. How the other half live …
She made plans. She would put some of the money Mr Lovett gave her by and save up for a sewing machine. She’d seen an advertisement for a Singer treadle for £23/18/6, way beyond her means of course, but she’d ask the rag-and-bone man to look out for a second-hand machine. She’d be methodical and stick to it. When she got the machine she would put a card in Mrs Angel’s window, something like, Seamstress, alterations and children’s clothes at good prices. If she worked hard she could start a little business. In the meantime, Lil Relland had plenty of second-hand clothes in her shop. It wouldn’t take much to cut some of them down for baby clothes, and once she’d got a little capital behind her, she could buy some new material in the market. It might take a year or two, but with a bit of luck she need never be beholden to anyone again.
The police asked her to go back to the station to make a statement. It seemed to take a long time, but when it was over, she was glad it was done. Thankfully, Vera had dropped her a note to say she would look after the girls on the day of the trial. Sarah had a sneaky feeling it was only for the money, but she said nothing. If she confronted Vera, she knew her sister would turn her back on her and she wouldn’t be able to find anyone else. Sarah had had plenty of friends before she’d married Henry, but he’d never wanted her to continue friendships. ‘You’ve got me now,’ he’d say with that puppy-dog look of his. ‘Why do you need anyone else?’ So gradually she’d lost touch with her friends. It wasn’t until he was out of the picture that she’d realised how isolated she’d become. Since then, there wasn’t time for anything else except keeping her head above water. She had to keep going for the sake of the children. The thing she hated most was that she was becoming very short-tempered with them. If Lu-Lu messed about while Sarah struggled to get her dressed, they’d both end up in tears. It hurt her beyond words when Jenny brought a picture she’d painstakingly painted home from school called ‘My Mummy’. It was the usual childish attempt with a big woman standing outside a red-brick house and smoke coming out of the chimney.
‘That’s my house,’ said Jenny pointing, ‘and that’s you.’
‘Oh, it’s lovely, darling,’ said Sarah, pinning it to the wardrobe door with a drawing pin, but she was disturbed by the picture. The woman staring back at her looked very cross, when all she wanted was for her children to have a happy childhood.
Sarah had heard on the grapevine that the old lady who had lived in the two rooms downstairs wasn’t expected to live. With that news came more uncertainty. The housing shortage was so acute in the town that she knew she would have new tenants before long. What would they be like? Or worse still, what if the cottage was condemned and pulled down? The landlord had never bothered to repair the leak on the stairs, no matter how many times she’d asked, and it was obvious that he didn’t care about the damp creeping up the walls in the kitchen. What would she do if he pulled the place down?
Peter Millward turned up at her door one early evening to say he had recommended her bookkeeping skills to a couple of other friends. Once she’d sorted out the muddle he’d got himself into, it was easy enough to look them over once a month, but althoug
h Sarah would have welcomed the income, and she was grateful for his kindness, she had to explain that she would be hard put to find the time to do anything else.
‘I hardly have a minute to myself as it is,’ she explained.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked and Sarah hesitated. What if Mr Lovett couldn’t sell any more of her things? Could she afford to turn down another source of income?
‘Let me take you out,’ he said suddenly.
Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m a married woman,’ she began, her face colouring. What a stupid thing to say. She wasn’t married at all.
‘That doesn’t stop you and the girls from having a treat,’ he smiled. ‘Come on. Nothing elaborate and no strings attached … fish and chips in a café?’
Sarah hesitated. The girls had never been in a café before and it would be so nice to have somebody else cook for her.
‘Good,’ said Peter, sensing his victory. ‘I’ll call for you on Friday at six,’ and with that, he lifted his hat and was gone.
It turned out to be a lovely time. The café was noisy and crowded but the fish and chips were delicious and the children were as good as gold. Sarah watched her girls tucking in and, for the first time in months, she felt relaxed and happy.
‘You look better already,’ he told her.
Sarah smiled. ‘This is very kind of you.’
‘Not at all,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’m just looking after my own vested interests.’
Lu-Lu threw her spoon on the floor and they were distracted while Peter got a clean one.
‘I’m getting another two lorries,’ he went on once they were settled again. ‘The business is expanding quite rapidly. Don’t suppose you’d like a full-time job as a secretary?’
Sarah hesitated. It would be so much easier to have one job rather than racing about from one thing to another. Men always got far more money than women, she knew that, but she thought Peter would give her a fair wage. It would most likely be enough to cover the cost of living, but would it be enough to pay the rent? And what would she do with Lu-Lu? Jenny would be at school, but she knew without asking that Vera wouldn’t have her. Besides, she’d have to get her all the way over to Lancing and then fetch her after work if she did. If she had to fork out on bus fares, she’d probably end up back where she’d started.
‘If you’re worried about the little one,’ he said, pre-empting her protest, ‘I know a really good woman who would look after her.’
Sarah frowned. A stranger looking after her baby all day? She wasn’t sure about that … but perhaps …
‘Tell you what,’ said Peter, ‘think about it. I don’t need an answer straight away.’
Sarah watched him as he went back to the counter to buy mugs of tea for them both, an ice cream for the girls and to pay for their meal. He was such a kind man. A lump formed in her throat. Oh Henry … why? Why?
*
‘We’ll have to put in place a few ground rules about this.’
Malcolm Mitchell had gathered his wife and daughter in the sitting room of his comfortable home near the Thomas A Becket public house, about two miles from the centre of Worthing. He was anxious to regain control of a tricky situation. His good name was at stake. As a member of Worthing Borough Council, his reputation had to be squeaky clean, and as a Freemason even more so. They had let Annie sleep late as usual and now that breakfast was over and the maid was in the kitchen, where she could no longer eavesdrop on the conversation, he was anxious to decide on their next move. ‘Your mother will arrange a place for your confinement and for the adoption society to take the baby as soon as it’s born. You must stay indoors until the trial comes up. We don’t want the neighbours or the gutter press making your predicament into a public spectacle. I think if you keep a low profile, there’s no reason why you can’t pick up the threads of your life again once the birth is over.’
Neither woman spoke. Annie sat on the edge of the sofa staring at her hands, while her mother sat in the armchair gazing somewhere into the middle distance. Her father stood by the fireplace.
‘Of course,’ said her father, slipping his thumbs either side of his waistcoat and thrusting out his generous stomach, ‘if you had listened to me in the first place, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this situation.’
Annie’s face flamed. He just couldn’t resist, could he? He had to keep reminding her that it was her own headstrong actions that had brought all this to pass.
‘You seem to forget,’ Annie mumbled, ‘that I didn’t know he was already married.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ said her father, ‘but I knew he was a thief and I’m going to make damn sure he pays for his crimes.’
Annie’s head jerked up. ‘You knew? But you never said anything!’
‘I was trying to protect you,’ said Malcolm. Already the atmosphere between them was heating up. ‘He and I had words when that brooch went missing. Of course he denied it, but I knew it was him.’
So it was the brooch that had brought them to the police station, not his own daughter’s desperate need. She’d been too miserable to ask why they were there. DS Hacker had said the brooch was stolen, but Annie didn’t think for one minute that it had come from her father’s shop. ‘You should have said something in the first place,’ she said.
‘And would you have listened?’ he challenged. ‘No. You were too besotted with him to take any notice of anything I said. Well, from now on, my girl, things will have to change around here. If you are going to live under my roof,’ he was wagging his finger now, ‘I want you to promise that you will do as I say.’
Annie remained silent. Looking at his pompous face and wagging finger, it occurred to her that her father could be insufferable at times.
‘I’m only doing this for your own good,’ Malcolm Mitchell insisted. ‘If you do as I say, when this has all blown over, and people have forgotten what happened, you’ll probably be able to find a decent young man who will forgive your past and take you as a wife.’
Annie could feel her heartbeat quickening again. ‘None of this was my fault!’ she cried. ‘And I wouldn’t have run off with him if you’d given him a chance, Father.’
‘Oh, I think you already knew something about his character,’ her father spluttered. ‘That’s why you didn’t invite your mother and me to the wedding.’
‘You hated him from the word go,’ she cried. ‘And I did invite you. You chose not to come.’
‘I never hated him,’ Malcolm insisted. ‘But I knew he was no good.’
Annie said nothing.
‘If the chairman of the Borough Council gets to hear of all this …’
‘You don’t give a damn about me, do you?’ Annie cried.
Judith’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Annie,’ she gasped. ‘Language …’
But her daughter wasn’t listening. ‘All you can think about is how this looks to your snobby friends.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Malcolm snapped.
‘You never had time for Henry,’ Annie blundered on. ‘All those snide remarks.’
‘And which one of us turned out to be right?’ her father demanded. ‘Eh? Which one?’
‘Malcolm, dear,’ Judith Mitchell interjected, ‘I don’t think this is helping.’
‘Oh, here we go,’ her husband bellowed. ‘Somehow I thought you’d be sticking up for her before long.’
‘I’m going to my room,’ said Annie, getting to her feet.
‘Sit down!’ her father spat, but Annie ignored him. Calmly walking from the room, she closed the door. She could still hear him shouting, ‘Annie? Annie, come back here this minute …’ as she closed her bedroom door and lay on the bed. It was still a couple more weeks until the court hearing, but she’d made up her mind she wasn’t going to get into any more arguments with her father until it was over. She’d give the baby up like they said. Not because her father wanted it but because it wasn’t fair to bring a child into a world where its grand
parents were warring with its mother and its father was in jail. To have it adopted was by far the best thing. That way the baby could have a mother and father who loved and wanted it.
‘It’s the best I can do for you,’ she told him, as she ran her hand wearily over her bump. But when the baby moved in response to her touch, she knew she could never do it.
Eight
The courtroom in Lewes was on the High Street. When Annie first saw it, she thought it an imposing building. It dated from Victorian times and was made of Portland stone with a portico of four pillars which covered the steps leading to the three doors at the top. Above the steps, a single Victorian lamp lit the way. Lewes had had its share of famous trials and most notably had gained notoriety as the place where Patrick Mahon was tried for the murder of Emily Kaye in the infamous Crumbles murder case, a case which had been handled by none other than the famous forensic pathologist, Sir Bernard Spilsbury. Annie only knew all this because there had been a lot in the paper about him when Spilsbury had died at the end of 1947.
With the castle itself as a backdrop, Annie wished she was here as a tourist rather than a wronged woman. Flanked by her parents, she was hustled through the doors and into a waiting area where she sat down. Her father prowled the corridors, jangling the coins in his pocket, and her mother, a bag of nerves, kept going to the toilet. Their drive to Lewes had been uneventful, and although she knew it really worried her mother, Annie had little to say. She found her silence acted as a defence mechanism because talking only encouraged her father’s constant ranting about Henry and how he knew all along that he was a bad lot who would eventually come to a sticky end. It took all her willpower not to react but she refused to kowtow, knowing that this was by far the best way. With only a month to go of her pregnancy, Annie no longer had the energy to argue or defend herself, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing how much her refusal to respond irritated her father.
She had been there about ten minutes or so when she saw the woman who had come to her house on that fateful day and accused Henry of being her husband. This time, dressed in a brown suit with patchy velveteen cuffs, she was on her own. The two of them made eye contact and as the woman gave her a nod of recognition, Annie turned her head away before working her mouth into a thin half smile. They sat apart, the woman sitting primly with her handbag clutched tightly on her lap and Annie staring at the floor.