For Better For Worse

by Pam Weaver

  Twelve

  The weather in November was mild and still sunny. On November 15th, 1948, Malcolm Mitchell switched on his radio at ten o’clock in the morning and heard the BBC’s John Snagge announce that at 9.14 p.m. the previous day, Her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth, Duchess of Edinburgh, had been safely delivered of a prince. ‘Her Royal Highness and her son,’ he told the nation in dulcet tones, ‘are both doing well.’ Having acted upon Malcolm’s suggestion, among the first to send congratulatory telegrams to Buckingham Palace was Leonard Bentall, the mayor of Worthing, something which was worthy of a mention on the news on the Home Service. At roughly the same time, in Zachary Merton, a small maternity hospital in the village of Rustington about five miles from Worthing, Malcolm’s daughter was safely delivered of her son. For the royal prince, there would be the traditional forty-one gun salute in Hyde Park and the bells of Westminster Abbey would ring out. For Malcolm’s daughter, there would be no such celebration and from that moment on, at her father’s insistence, no mention of her baby. The father of the prince had played squash during the birth of his son. Henry Royale had languished, quite rightly so Malcolm thought, in his prison cell.

  For the past month, Annie had kept herself to herself. To begin with, she’d spent a good deal of her time in her room, only coming downstairs for meals or when the doctor or the midwife called. She had perked up when she had received Henry’s letters, and although she had to remain hidden from view, she spent time playing the piano. Since her marriage, her playing had become a little rusty, but she was a talented pianist and soon regained her abilities. The music had soothed and calmed her jangled nerves. The letters from Henry had kept her going during her isolation, but since her father found out about them, she hadn’t received any more. However that didn’t stop her writing to Henry every day and she bribed the maid with a couple of her old dresses to make sure she posted them on her way home. To make absolutely sure Henry got them, Annie would watch her cross the road and put them in the postbox on the corner from her bedroom window.

  ‘My father is preventing me from getting your letters,’ she told Henry, ‘but I know you still write, my darling.’

  She’d thought long and hard about Henry and relived their courting days and the memory of his passionate lovemaking. She understood that he was not perfect but she couldn’t – nay, wouldn’t – believe all the terrible things they said about him in that courtroom. The others might be quick to condemn him, but they obviously didn’t love Henry the way she did. She still clung to the idea that this was all a terrible mistake. Perhaps he had a twin brother he didn’t know about. But even if what they said was right, as far as she was concerned, she would forgive him. Henry was coming to get her and they would make a home together for the sake of their son.

  All the decisions about her life were being made by others. The doctor, her father and her mother, had made all the arrangements for her confinement. She feigned obedience, but everything they’d said had floated over the top of her head, her only contribution being the occasional nod of assent. According to the doctor, she would have to spend the usual ten days after the birth in Zachary Merton and then she and the baby would go to a Mother and Baby Home until he was adopted. No one except the doctor knew of her situation and even her father’s insistence that she revert back to her maiden name was designed to keep her away from the public gaze. She’d fought him over changing her name. In her eyes, she was Henry’s wife and she still regarded herself as Mrs Royal, but in the end it was easier to give in. She had a private room in the maternity home and although her father was willing to engage a nurse to take care of the baby for her, the doctor persuaded him to follow the usual procedure.

  ‘Let her nurse the child for six weeks,’ he told Malcolm. ‘It will make her face up to her responsibility. I realise that this situation is not her fault, but you don’t want her making any more rash decisions.’

  Malcolm could see the sense of that and when her father was around, Annie was compliant and cooperative to the point of slavishness. But when she was alone, Annie was busy making plans. Would she give up Henry’s son? Never!

  The day after the baby was born, the local press came to the hospital to photograph any babies born at the same time as the new prince. Annie’s child had been born at almost exactly the same time as little Prince Charles, but nobody dared to divulge that bit of information. They had to make do with baby Ian Sheppard who had been born a few hours before the prince.

  Annie stayed quietly in her room, and for an hour in the afternoon, her mother would visit. After lunch, the nurses would close the curtains and make sure each mother was resting on her bed. The first day she came, Judith hadn’t realised that this was part of the hospital routine and when the nurse said she would wake Annie, Judith wouldn’t let her. Instead, she popped in to see the baby. He was awake but not crying. As she stood over his cot, he watched her with dark, intense eyes and her heart melted. She reached out and touched his hand and he automatically opened his fist and then closed it around her finger. From that moment Judith fell in love with her first grandchild, and all her visits were planned around the time when Annie was required to take her afternoon nap.

  On day five, Annie, quiet and subdued, said to her mother, ‘Take me home.’

  ‘You have to stay for ten days,’ said Judith.

  ‘But why?’ Annie protested. ‘It’s not as if there’s anything wrong with me. I miss you and Father. I want to come home.’

  Her mother was sympathetic, because once Annie went to the Mother and Baby Home, she would be forbidden to visit. Going to the Home meant she would be saying goodbye to her only grandchild forever. Up until that moment, Judith hadn’t realised how hard that would be. ‘I’ll talk to your father,’ she said.

  ‘Can you give me some money and a few coupons?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Why do you need money?’ her mother said, mildly curious.

  ‘The trolley comes round in the morning and I’d like to buy a paper and some sweets,’ said Annie.

  Her daughter watched her mother dig into her purse and pull out ten bob. Annie smiled. She already had almost four pounds in her own purse, but that was for something else entirely. She leaned forward and rewarded her mother with a kiss.

  *

  The East Worthing Utopia Hotel was very run-down and Mrs Mumford the manager left a lot to be desired. A middle-aged woman with untidy grey hair, she wore a food-stained cardigan under her floral wrap-over apron. Her fingers were yellowed with nicotine stains and she smelled almost as bad as the hotel she ran. Sarah felt ill at the thought of staying here, but what else could she do? It was all she could afford. She had worked out that if she eked out her money they could stay here for a couple of weeks.

  The lino in the corridors was so dirty that her feet stuck to the floor when she stopped walking. They had to share the toilet with three other families. It was little better than a sewer and Sarah made it her job to clean it up. At first, she felt annoyed with the other tenants because they felt it beneath themselves to use a cleaning cloth. But on reflection, she understood that when you are at the bottom of the pecking order already, you’ll take any chance you can get to be one notch above the rest. The toilet cleaner was truly at the bottom of the heap, but for now, Sarah didn’t care. She did her best to keep her room clean and tidy, and having so little luggage was a distinct advantage. Sarah caught sight of one of the other tenant’s room as she left the door open. She had four children and possibly the contents of a whole house in that one room. Bags and suitcases lined the walls in untidy heaps.

  They all had to leave their rooms by ten in the morning and weren’t allowed back until four in the afternoon. When Sarah complained, Mrs Mumford said, ‘Them’s the rules, like it or lump it.’ The weather wasn’t too cold as yet and she was grateful that it was dry. Each day after doing her cleaning jobs, Sarah looked for more permanent digs but there was nothing. She scoured the shop windows for vacancies and knocked on doors, but she was o
nly met with disappointment.

  Keeping the children clean wasn’t too much of a major issue. Every couple of days, she booked into the Heene corporation baths. The children loved splashing in the water and when the attendant moved on, Sarah climbed in with them. They could have a clean towel and a little soap as part of the price and together they had a very happy time.

  Her biggest worry was their clothes. Where could she wash them? To pay for them to be sent to a laundry was difficult. For a start, she was trying to keep what little money she had left for food, and besides, people who used the laundry usually had a laundry box which was collected from their address. The only sink in the Utopia was used by all the other tenants as well and it was difficult to find a time when somebody else wasn’t washing, having a wash or washing up.

  The few pounds she had saved for the sewing machine was fast being used up. She had just enough money for a couple more nights with Mrs Mumford when she decided she would have to swallow her pride and ask someone for help.

  The next day Sarah realised that she had already left it too late. According to the note on the door, Mrs Angel had shut the shop and gone to stay with her sick sister, whilst Peter Millward was apparently in Wales. Sarah’s heart sank. Because of her own stupidity, she was finally homeless. Before she’d left for her sister’s, Mrs Angel had been pressing her for her new address in case Mr Lovett brought in another order, but her silly pride had made her fob her off. ‘Isn’t it silly?’ she would laugh. ‘I could take you there right now but I can’t remember the name of the road. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Can’t stop. Must dash.’ If only she had come clean, Mrs Angel might have even let her and the girls use her flat above the shop while she was at her sister’s.

  Finding that Peter wasn’t at the yard was another blow. Before she’d been locked out of the cottage, by working late into the night, she’d finished the two lots of books he’d given her from his friends and was hoping to be paid. The money would have kept her and the girls at the hotel for a few more nights. The men at the yard told her that Peter was thinking of branching out again, this time with coaches. Day trips and holidays by the sea were becoming big business now and he wanted to be in on it from the start, so he’d gone to Wales to see some chap who had a coach for sale. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and his offer of marriage. She felt terrible about the mess she’d got herself and the children into – at this rate they’d be sleeping rough on the street before the week was out. Marrying Peter was the most sensible option because it would give them a roof over their heads, but she still couldn’t bear the thought of what she would have to do with him. She dreaded the welfare people finding out about her predicament, but every morning she woke with renewed hope that today would be the day she would find some rooms.

  Sarah was well aware that they could soon end up on the streets. Luckily the nights were not yet terribly cold, so she would look for a shelter, a shop doorway or a space under the eaves of a bridge, and with all their things around them, surely she could manage to keep the cold night air at bay. Lu-Lu would be all right. She could still sleep in the pram, but Jenny was too big. Please God, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that because she knew that was an absolutely last resort. If she was going to avoid sleeping rough, there was only one other course of action left. She would have to beg her sister for help. If Vera would take Jenny and Lu-Lu for the weekend, Sarah was sure she would find just the place.

  She decided to go over to Lancing after school. That would give the girls a whole weekend to settle down before Jenny had to go back to school on Monday and it would also give Sarah a couple of days without the children to concentrate on finding rooms. She would stress to Vera that it was only temporary and that if she helped her this time, she would never ask for help again. The more she rehearsed her little speech, the more convincing it sounded. All the same, at the back of her mind there was this niggling feeling that Vera would have none of it.

  * * *

  Annie’s heart was thumping. At the other end of the phone, and to her utmost joy, she heard her father say, ‘Worthing 253.’

  She pressed button B and the coins dropped in the box with a clatter. ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Annie, how are you? How is the skiing going?’

  She knew then that he had company and wasn’t free to talk.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, willing her voice to stay strong.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said and then his voice became muffled as he added, ‘that’ll be all, thank you.’ There was a short pause and then he added, ‘Are they treating you well?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy, I’m fine. Oh Daddy, he’s lovely. You’d adore him. He’s got your …’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said her father, cutting her off. ‘There’s no point in talking about this. You know my views and that’s an end to it.’

  ‘But Daddy,’ she tried again, ‘if you just saw him I’m sure …’

  ‘Annie,’ he said curtly. ‘No.’ There was a short pause while she struggled not to cry and he tried not to sound like the harsh parent. ‘You hurry up and get on top form,’ he said, his voice lightening up, ‘and come home.’

  ‘I want my son to come too,’ she insisted.

  ‘The subject is closed,’ said Malcolm, hanging up and leaving his stunned daughter listening to the dialling tone.

  *

  Kaye put the phone down and stared into the middle distance. Her mother’s younger sister had been living in her house for almost a week now and it hadn’t been an easy transition. Apart from a couple of run-ins with Mrs Goodall who expressed her concern that Kaye was turning her home into a halfway house for the mentally ill, Lottie was still frail after her ordeal in the institution and could only cope with being on her own for short periods. Kaye had given Mrs Goodall short shrift and had devoted herself to taking Lottie on long walks by the sea and visiting local tea shops in an effort to help her get used to normal life, but she would cling grimly onto Kaye’s arm and she froze every time someone spoke to her. To add to her present difficulties, Mrs Pearce, her new housekeeper, made no secret of the fact that she was nervous of Lottie and did her best to avoid being with her. Kaye had a shrewd suspicion that she and Mrs Goodall were in cahoots together and wanted to get rid of her aunt. Lottie might be nudging fifty but she still trailed around with a battered old teddy and constantly asked when she would be allowed to go back to her friends.

  This should have been the most exciting time of Kaye’s life. The BBC wanted to see her and her agent again. With the promise of commissioned work, Kaye couldn’t afford to let it pass, but she would need to be in London overnight and probably, if she was invited to have dinner with the producer, be prepared to stay a second night in a hotel. The difficulty was that Mrs Pearce was going on holiday to Paignton in Devon to be with her sister next week and it would be unfair to ask her to change her arrangements. What Kaye needed now was someone to help look after Lottie.

  Several telephone calls to friends drew a blank and the enormity of what she had taken on began to dawn on her. In the end, she rang a nursing agency and provisionally arranged for Lottie to be looked after by a live-in nurse, but it was far from ideal. The cost wasn’t the issue. Kaye was more worried about Lottie’s reaction to having a nurse. She worried that she may be panicked by the uniform. It was only as she strolled in the garden before dusk that Kaye thought of Sarah. When she had gone to her little house, it was obvious that Henry’s second wife was in dire straits, and when Kaye had taken her for lunch, she’d had the feeling that Sarah was a bit run down. She was a fiercely proud woman, but she might be amenable to looking after one middle-aged confused lady for a couple of nights, and she was sure the children would enjoy staying in her home. That one time when she had been to Sarah’s house, Kaye couldn’t help noticing that they didn’t even have a proper bathroom. She’d guessed that the rather odd shelving in the kitchen probably meant that the only bath in the house was probably under the boards. On the other hand, her home, Copper Beeches, had a lovely big
bath where the children could play in the water for as long as they wanted. There was plenty of food in the larder, and apart from her own bedroom, she would give Sarah the run of the house. The more Kaye thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Tomorrow, she would get the car out and go and see her.

  Thirteen

  ‘I’m looking for Mrs Royal.’

  The man he had stopped looked blank and shrugged his shoulders. Detective Sergeant Truman, known affectionately as Bear had already knocked on several doors in the street before he found anyone at home. He felt sure Mrs Rivers next door was in but not answering and he couldn’t blame her. Since her son had been locked up yet again, the woman had no time for the police. He’d been surprised and strangely upset to see the eviction notice on Sarah’s door and the heavy padlocks across the handle. The windows were boarded up too. With everything else that had happened to her, hadn’t the poor woman suffered enough?

  ‘She left,’ said another neighbour passing in the street. ‘I don’t know where she went, I’m sure, but she packed up the baby’s pram and she left.’

  ‘When did she go?’ said Bear, tipping his hat.

  ‘A couple of weeks ago.’

  Damn, he thought. He’d only just missed her. ‘Did you see which direction she went?’

  ‘I mind my own business,’ said the woman, shaking her head.

  * * *

  Annie’s baby had acquired a reputation for being the perfect, contented child. He slept all night, which meant that the night nurses didn’t come to the nursery, so it was four days before one of them realised that Annie was creeping into the nursery to feed the baby herself.

  ‘Don’t tell a soul,’ she told the startled woman, ‘and I’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘Your father has left strict instructions …’ she began.

  ‘My father need never know,’ said Annie. ‘This is my baby and I will never give him up.’

  ‘But they won’t let you feed him yourself in the Mother and Baby Home,’ said the nurse. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’