by Pam Weaver
Annie cleared her throat and took a mouthful of wine. She knew how that felt. Hadn’t he been angry with her the day the police came? How could she forget it? She looked down at the glass in her hand. She’d never had wine before. It was heady and strong, but not an unpleasant taste.
‘He started telling me what to wear,’ Kaye continued. ‘I didn’t mind of course because I always thought Henry knew best.’ She emptied her glass and walked around with the bottle topping up the others. She paused by the fireside to throw on another log. The fire crackled and spat as the flames took hold. Back in her chair, Kaye resumed her narrative. ‘When he finally left me in November 1938 I was totally lost. I’m a strong woman, I know that now, but back then I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea how to pay the bills or where I would find the rent money. How was I going to survive? He’d left me with absolutely nothing, of course. I couldn’t access the bank account even though it was a joint account. The bank would only accept his name on the cheque.’
November 1938, thought Sarah. That was around the time she’d met Henry and they’d married only four months later. Kaye’s story was familiar, more than familiar. Kaye’s story was her story.
‘Of course, I had to get out of our marital home in Chichester,’ Kaye went on with a sigh. ‘I had to sell all my lovely things for a song and start all over again.’
Annie emptied her glass in one go. Sarah stared somewhere into the middle distance. It seemed that Henry was a serial husband. He had done exactly the same thing to each one of them.
‘That,’ said Kaye, breaking into their thoughts again, ‘was when I had my first stroke of luck. The war came along and other people’s misfortune became my good fortune. I joined the Women’s Timber Corps. Lumber Jills they called us, and I loved it. I had a roof over my head and I could be outdoors, far away from falling bombs and air-raid shelters.’ She smiled to herself. ‘By that time I had my own place, but I moved from there to a hut in the forest. We worked mainly in the Forest of Dean and the New Forest cutting down twenty-five-year-old conifers. I was what they called a snedder. I had to chop all the bits off the trunk with a billhook so that it was ready to go to the sawmill. It was damned hard work, but it helped me to pull myself together and realise that I was perfectly capable of being without Henry.’
She stood up again to replenish their glasses. Both Sarah and Annie seemed more relaxed, but neither of them made eye contact with her.
‘I’m sure my story is familiar,’ said Kaye, sitting down. ‘There’s a pattern, d’you see? For people like Henry, it’s all about control.’
‘Not for me it isn’t,’ said Annie, lifting her head defiantly. ‘When he gets out of prison, Henry is coming for me and we’re going to make a proper life together for our son.’
Kaye smiled at her. ‘He’ll be glad you’ve given him a boy,’ she conceded, ‘but as for the rest, I’m not so sure. I hope you won’t be disappointed because there’s no telling with Henry.’
‘All I can say is that you don’t know Henry like I do,’ Annie retorted.
Irritated, Sarah glared at her again. Silly little prig.
‘You’re probably right,’ said Kaye, sounding far more gracious that Sarah felt. ‘But then I never did manage to give him what he wanted.’
Nor did I, thought Sarah. They fell silent and sipped their wine.
‘Okay, so you’ve made us face up to the fact that Henry does this all the time, but why are you doing this?’ Sarah asked tetchily. ‘Why have you got us all together? What’s the point?’
‘I can see that I’ve made you angry,’ said Kaye. Embarrassed, Sarah looked away. ‘Oh, it’s all right to be angry,’ Kaye went on. ‘It was never my intention, but I think we’re all going to have to deal with some very confused emotions.’ She emptied the first bottle of wine. ‘You see, I met someone during the war,’ she began again. ‘I loved him dearly, but it took me a long time to realise that I was too afraid to have another relationship. I suppose I kept worrying that he might turn out like Henry. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was emotionally crippled.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my emotions,’ Annie snapped.
Sarah chewed the inside of her mouth anxiously. Was that why she couldn’t allow herself to get too close to Peter Millward? Was she emotionally crippled too? Anyway, what on earth had that got to do with living together with Henry’s two other wives?
‘I let the man go,’ Kaye went on, ‘but then I had my second stroke of luck.’ She waved her hand. ‘This house and an unexpected legacy. It put me well and truly on my feet again and has given me the chance to carry on with my passion for writing.’
‘Who do you write for?’ asked Annie, suddenly interested.
‘Plays, mainly,’ said Kaye, ‘but I’ve just been commissioned to write another one for the BBC.’
‘The BBC?’ cried Annie, clearly impressed. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘The point is,’ said Kaye, looking directly at Annie, ‘when I saw the two of you in the courtroom that day, I wanted you to have the same chances.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t write a word,’ said Annie.
‘You misunderstand …’ Kaye began.
‘You mean you planned all this?’ Sarah asked incredulously.
Kaye stood up to open the second bottle of wine. ‘No, not at all. How could I, but when I saw you, I liked you. That drive back to Worthing put an idea into my head and when I realised that my aunt couldn’t be left, I thought of you and, as it turned out, you needed a stroke of luck too.’
‘You needn’t worry about me,’ said Annie. ‘I shall only be here until Henry gets out of prison.’
Sarah pursed her lips angrily. She wanted to smack her one. Why did the silly girl keep banging on about it?
‘I know it won’t be easy,’ said Kaye, filling each glass again, ‘but if you stay here, Sarah, you’d be doing me a great favour, and Annie, you’d get to keep your baby.’
‘So let me get this right,’ said Sarah cynically. ‘All you want is to give both of us the chance to gain our independence?’ She didn’t believe for one second that was the only reason. Kaye was setting herself up as Lady Bountiful, but there had to be a catch somewhere … there always was.
‘That’s the whole idea,’ said Kaye. ‘Being alone would be difficult, but with the three of us working together it should be a lot easier. We’d help each other.’ She sat back down and Sarah frowned, puzzled. ‘Think of it as a sort of co-operative.’
‘The Henry’s wives co-op?’ Sarah muttered. This was crazy, bizarre …
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ said Annie, ‘living here is only temporary.’
‘I didn’t think for one minute that either of you would want to live with me for the rest of your lives,’ Kaye chuckled. ‘But each of us could help each other, you know, a bit like giving someone a leg up.’
‘Henry will be out soon,’ Annie tutted. ‘He’ll support Edward and me. I don’t need to get a job.’
‘It won’t hurt for you to develop a skill,’ Kaye said patiently. ‘What about you, Sarah? How best could you support yourself and your children?’
Sarah was beginning to feel rather light-headed. Her anger was mellowing but her brain was still refusing to function. She shrugged. ‘It would have to be something respectable.’
‘A shop?’ Kaye suggested.
‘I have no capital,’ said Sarah, gulping more wine.
Annie turned to face her. ‘What are you good at?’
‘Cooking,’ Sarah said dully, ‘sewing … but there’s not a lot of money in either of those.’
‘You’re good with people,’ Kaye chipped in. ‘How about nursing?’
‘Fat chance,’ Sarah scoffed. ‘How on earth would I manage shift work with my children?’
‘We’ll help each other, remember?’ said Kaye.
The full import of what she was proposing finally began to dawn on Sarah. She really meant it, didn’t she? Help each other … make a new start … put the past
well and truly behind them … ‘You’re actually saying that you would look after my children while I was learning some sort of skill?’
‘Why not?’ said Kaye.
Sarah sat up straight. If this was true, then Kaye was offering her a golden opportunity. This was more than a stroke of luck, this was a whole future. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice suddenly small. ‘All my life I’ve sort of bumbled along. I’ve never even thought about being independent.’
‘Would you like to be a nurse?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Married women aren’t allowed to nurse anyway,’ she said. ‘I know I’m not married but I do have two children. They would never allow me to nurse under those circumstances and, to be honest, I’m far too squeamish.’
‘My mother wants me to teach the piano,’ Annie hiccupped.
‘You have to take exams for that,’ said Kaye.
‘I won’t really need it,’ said Annie. ‘Henry will be out before the summer and he’s coming back for ush.’
‘Oh, do shut up!’ Sarah blurted out. There was a shocked silence and then she appealed to Kaye. ‘Look, we both know that if she went back to him he’d never allow her to work.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Kaye, ‘but how long before he moves on?’
‘Henry would never leave me and the baby,’ cried Annie.
‘Then why not do it to please your mother?’ Kaye suggested. ‘She’s going without her dress allowance to give you this chance to keep Edward.’
Annie sighed and pulled a face. ‘I’m very rushty. I shall need a shedload of practice.’ She closed her eyes as she spoke but didn’t seem to notice that her speech was becoming slightly slurry.
‘You practise and we’ll take care of Edward,’ said Kaye.
Annie rounded on her. ‘Hang on a minute. What about you? What’s in it for you?’
‘I’ve just lost my independence again,’ said Kaye, walking around with the wine bottle once more. ‘I shall need someone to look after Lottie when I’m writing.’
Annie went to put her elbow on the arm of the chair and missed.
‘Go steady with that wine, Kaye,’ Sarah cautioned. ‘Don’t forget Annie is breastfeeding.’
‘Hells bells,’ said Kaye. ‘I’m sorry. I never gave it a thought.’
They heard a distant baby cry. Edward was awake and hungry. Annie leaned forward. ‘Are you saying it’ll be in the milk?’ She giggled. ‘Oh dear.’ She wobbled to the door and went upstairs.
Kaye smiled after her and then turned to look at Sarah, but before she could say anything, Sarah stood up abruptly. ‘I need to go to bed. It’s been a long day.’
‘Sarah,’ Kaye said to her receding back, ‘I know you are angry, but it’s really not her fault.’
*
Alone in her room, Sarah finally felt the heat draining from her cheeks, but she didn’t want to stop feeling angry. Not yet. She had really been looking forward to Christmas, but everything was spoiled now. Miserably, she undressed and climbed into bed. As she heard the baby’s reedy cry coming up the stairs, she turned her face to the wall. Kaye actually expected her to live in the same house as that silly girl. How was she going to cope? Talk about rubbing your nose in it, but she was in no position to do anything about it now, so until she could stand on her own two feet, she would have to put up with it.
Eighteen
Sarah spent the remaining days leading up to the big day finishing off the jobs in the kitchen. The first week after she’d arrived at Copper Beeches, she had found some spices in the pantry and, using her own coupons as well as Kaye’s, she’d managed to get all the ingredients together to make a Christmas cake. She’d soaked a pound of mixed fruit overnight so that the currants and sultanas swelled, then she’d baked it and stored it away until now. It was ready to be decorated with a couple of snowmen and a chipped Father Christmas she’d found at the back of the drawer. When she’d finished, she felt quite chuffed about it. In keeping with tradition, she’d made two cakes, but she rewrapped the second cake in greaseproof paper and put it in an airtight tin ready for Easter. Her mother had always said that fruit cakes improved with keeping. Because of lack of time, she’d bought the Christmas pudding at the school Christmas Fair which was held in the middle of December. It was ready for reheating on the day and all she had to remember was to push a silver threepenny bit deep inside. On Christmas Eve, she planned to make cheese straws and more minced pies (using her own home-made mincemeat laced with stout) and later in the evening, when her children were in bed, she would wrap up their presents.
Ever since the delivery man carried the Christmas tree into the house on December 22nd, a rich aroma of woodland forest had filled the sitting room. It stood in a bucket of sand and the children helped Kaye and Lottie to decorate it with some rather threadbare pieces of tinsel, edible gingerbread men and Christmas bells. Lottie climbed onto a chair to put the angel on the topmost branch, while Jenny held onto a piece of crêpe paper which Kaye tied onto the outside of the bucket, making an oversized bow. The children watched starry-eyed as the ruffled crêpe paper streamers were hung across the room crossing at the centre where several balloons hid the drawing pins from view. By the time they’d finished, the whole room looked very festive and Lottie clapped her hands, her button eyes shining with excitement. ‘This is going to be my best Christmas … ever.’ Sarah couldn’t resist putting her arm around her shoulder and giving her a hug.
The weather outside was damp and grey and every afternoon, a thick sea mist drifted across the driveway and lawn. The rest of the country was in the grip of fog as well. Trains were badly delayed and in some places the fog was so dense the authorities had to put detonator flares on the rails to help oncoming trains to see that they were on the line. Without flares the train drivers couldn’t see a thing. In London, even in daylight, large oblong flares had been set up on the pavements to light the way, but already four people had been killed as a direct result of the terrible weather conditions. But all that didn’t stop Kaye from gazing out of the window and saying, ‘I wonder if it will be a white Christmas this year?’
Annie kept herself apart from the others. Most of her time was taken up with the baby anyway and she was becoming more and more concerned. Now that she had him all to herself, Edward didn’t seem to like her. Every time she changed his nappy and wrapped him in his shawl he screamed. He cried in his cot until, hot and sweaty, he exhausted himself and finally went off to sleep. Annie tried everything to make him happy. She would rock him and talk soothingly, but it was no use. He resisted all her attentions and continued to cry and, what was even worse, he did it day and night. She was beginning to feel worn out herself and it didn’t help matters when Mrs Goodall came round to complain that when she’d opened her bedroom window to give the baby some fresh air, Edward’s crying had disturbed her afternoon soirée with friends.
When her mother turned up the day before Christmas Eve, Annie had every intention of asking her what to do, but instead they had rowed.
‘If you really loved me,’ she’d pouted angrily, ‘you would have given me my independence. I shouldn’t be forced to stay here with these women. Why can’t I have a flat of my own somewhere?’
‘Oh darling,’ her mother protested, ‘just think how dismal it would be being on your own.’
‘I may as well be,’ Annie grumbled. ‘Nobody here talks to me anyway.’
Her mother raised an eyebrow. ‘And have you bothered to talk to them?’
‘That’s not the point,’ said Annie, raising her voice. ‘I want to come home with you and Father. How can you expect me to spend Christmas in this … this hellhole?’
‘You know perfectly well that your father won’t have you back while you’ve still got Edward,’ said Judith firmly. ‘He has to be very careful about getting involved in even a whiff of scandal. People can be very unforgiving about those in the public eye.’
‘Sometimes I think he cares more about his reputation than he does about his fami
ly,’ Annie snapped.
Judith sighed. ‘Annie, it’s time you stopped moaning about what you haven’t got and made the most of what you have got. I’m doing my best.’
‘Oh yes, of course, I forgot,’ said Annie cuttingly. ‘You’ve given up your dress allowance, haven’t you? Not much of a sacrifice for your only daughter, is it?’
Judith was cut to the quick but she managed to keep her cool. She told herself her daughter was overwrought. Looking after a tiny baby was a big responsibility and she was only young. She couldn’t understand why Annie hated being here. Everyone seemed so nice and her room was really attractive. They sat drinking tea and making quiet conversation until the baby stopped crying and fell asleep.
As she left, Judith handed her daughter a couple of presents, one for her and the other for Edward. Annie, in turn, handed her a jar of Pond’s cold cream wrapped in some of last year’s Christmas paper for herself and a brown paper parcel for her father.
‘Take care of yourself, darling, and I’ll try to see you again before the New Year.’
Her mother gone, Edward woke up and began to bawl again. Annie frowned dejectedly. ‘Oh Edward, what am I going to do with you? I wish your daddy was here.’
*
Christmas promised to be a bleak time for Henry, stuck as he was in a place which reeked of bleach, cooked cabbage and pent-up testosterone. He had two presents. A tin of coffee crunch, riffled, and a light-hearted book called Whisky Galore by Compton MacKenzie. Both presents, reeking of her expensive perfume, were from the woman he called his ‘guilty secret’ and helped to wile away a very tedious and boring day. There was the promise of the Salvation Army band coming to play in the prison grounds on Christmas Day, but apart from that, the prison routine was barely altered despite the season. There was little variety in his life now. The Criminal Justice Act passed by parliament in July meant that life in British prisons had changed. Hard labour had been abolished as had being whipped for violent crimes, but in its place the prison authorities expected the inmates to take part in other activities. Henry was given the choice of bookbinding or hand-sewing mailbags. He chose the bookbinding and it meant that once a day he was able to get out of his cell and go to the prison workshop.