by Pam Weaver
‘Can you tell me about my father?’
Florrie shook her head. ‘I hardly remember him,’ she said dismissively.
Ruth seemed surprised. It was hard for Florrie to think of her as Hannah. She was still Ruth to her.
‘Then tell me about yourself,’ she said. ‘I want to know all about you.’
‘Me?’ said Florrie. She took a deep breath. ‘Well, until I was ill, I looked after my shop.’
‘Mrs Andrews said you were a shopkeeper.’
‘A tobacconist and newsagent,’ said Florrie. ‘I inherited it from Father’s estate. He knew about this shop, but he was far too ill to run it himself. A stranger left it to him. Apparently he did something very brave trying to help the man’s son. The soldier died of his wounds and so the man left my father the shop.’
‘That was very nice for you,’ said Ruth.
Florrie blinked. Was that a hint of sarcasm in her voice? ‘As a matter of fact,’ she went on, ‘it couldn’t have come at a better time. My husband had just left me with two small children.’
Ruth stared at her. ‘You’re married, then?’
Florrie nodded. ‘My son, Tom, is what you might call simple,’ she went on. ‘There’s no harm in him, but he doesn’t grasp things as he should. On the other hand, Shirley, his twin, she’s as bright as a button.’
‘But you kept them,’ said Ruth.
‘Of course,’ said Florrie, puzzled.
‘When did you marry?’
Florrie was confused by the note of hostility in her voice. Why was Ruth angry? ‘When I was eighteen,’ she said. ‘In 1919.’
‘Two years after I was born,’ said Ruth. ‘And when you got married, did your husband know about me?’
‘No,’ said Florrie. ‘Mrs Andrews thought it best not to say anything.’
Ruth’s face clouded. Florrie leaned forward to touch her hand, but Ruth moved herself out of reach. ‘We did it to protect you,’ Florrie protested mildly. ‘We thought it was for the best.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ said Ruth stiffly.
‘I’ve never stopped thinking about you,’ said Florrie. ‘Mrs Andrews said you’d been well looked after and that you had a good life.’
‘I did,’ said Ruth. She was tight-lipped now.
Confused, Florrie said, ‘Ruth, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ruth haughtily. ‘Nothing at all.’
They both fell silent, and when Ruth looked up again, Florrie was alarmed to see tears standing in her eyes. ‘I knew this would be a mistake,’ she said, gathering her things.
‘I don’t understand,’ cried Florrie. ‘What did I say?’
Ruth rose and began moving the chair back to its proper place.
‘Mrs Andrews said you wanted to see me,’ said Florrie, battling with tears herself now. ‘I would never have agreed if I’d thought it would upset you this much.’
‘Of course it upsets me,’ Ruth hissed. ‘You have me with some chap you hardly remember, then hand me over like a piece of cheese . . .’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Florrie, her voice rising.
‘Then you get married,’ Ruth went on, ‘and carry on with your nice little life in your nice little shop . . .’
‘No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,’ Florrie cried desperately. She was beginning to feel very hot, and her head was all swimmy.
‘And then you have two more children without even a backwards glance in my direction . . .’
‘No, listen to me, please. You’ve made a terrible mistake—’
‘That’s right,’ Ruth spat. ‘For one glorious minute I thought you might actually feel something for me. I thought,’ she laughed sardonically, ‘God forgive me, that there might be just a small spark of love and affection, but you’re as cold as ice.’
A nurse appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’ She went to Florrie’s side and picked up her wrist to feel her pulse. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to leave,’ she told Ruth. ‘This patient is still far from well. You can’t be allowed to upset her like this.’
Ruth turned towards the door. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said haughtily. ‘I’m leaving.’
Florrie tried to stand up.
‘Mrs Jenkins,’ said the nurse, ‘let’s get you back in bed.’
‘Ruth, don’t go,’ Florrie cried. ‘You don’t understand. I never meant to hurt you.’
But Ruth wasn’t listening. With the nurse doing her best to slow her down, Florrie staggered to the veranda door. ‘Come back,’ she shouted after Ruth’s receding back. ‘Please.’
‘Back to bed now, Mrs Jenkins,’ the nurse insisted. ‘All this upset isn’t doing you any good at all.’
‘But she mustn’t go,’ Florrie said, trying her best to push the nurse away. ‘Not like this. She doesn’t understand. Please make her come back. I need to explain. Ruth, Ruth . . .’
As the doors to the ward swung on their hinges, Florrie let out such a heart-rending wail it brought the happy buzz of visiting time to an abrupt standstill.
CHAPTER 24
‘Mrs Oliver?’
A man in his forties had come up the lane. He was dressed in a rather tired-looking, old-fashioned suit, but he looked clean-shaven and tidy. The cuffs on his shirt were frayed, and he carried a small suitcase. Seth, who was sharpening a scythe in the barn, came out and, standing by the doorway, called Vince softly. He was at the other end of the barn hanging up some dead rabbits. Later on, he would take them down to the village and sell them to the local butcher. It was a good arrangement. He’d got rid of a nuisance and tomorrow somebody would get a decent rabbit pie for tea. Seeing Seth’s anxious expression, Vince left what he was doing.
Janet had been putting Lucy into her pram for an afternoon nap. She turned at the sound of her name. ‘Yes.’
‘My name is Eddie Keller. I shared a cell with your old man.’
Vince came out of the barn, wiping his hands on an old rag.
Janet’s eyes grew wide. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve got a message from him,’ said Eddie.
As Janet grabbed the prop from the washing line, Eddie lifted his hand. ‘There’s no need for that,’ he said quickly. ‘He just wants you to know how much he misses you.’ Eddie reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope. ‘And he asked me to give you this.’
Janet edged nearer, but only close enough to snatch the envelope, and then she put herself between Eddie and her baby.
‘I don’t understand why you’re so scared,’ Eddie complained. ‘I may be an ex-jailbird, but I’ve never lifted a finger to anybody, much less a woman. Gilbert seems a really nice bloke.’ He looked around, but confused by their cold stares, he turned to go. Seth and Vince stuck out their chests as if to make themselves look bigger. Eddie walked out of the gate cautiously as if he was afraid that they would chase after him.
Janet had paled.
‘You all right, lass?’ asked Seth.
She nodded and went inside. She glanced up at the mantelpiece. Every time a letter came, Janet slipped the unopened envelope behind the clock with the others. After the first one, she hadn’t bothered to open any of them. Why should she subject herself to his tirade of abuse? He meant nothing to her now, and his farm was only a means to an end.
The reminder that Gil was still very much around had upset her. For some time, she simply stood still and tried to stop trembling. It wasn’t fair. Life was so much better without him. She never thought she’d say it, but she liked being on the farm. Of course, it would be far more of a going concern if she had a husband who was more committed to making it a success. It would be better if she had a proper husband, full stop.
She looked around the room. Only a few more weeks and she’d be gone from here. She’d miss all her friends, but it couldn’t be helped. They’d made such a difference, Shirley and Tom. She wondered about their future too. It wouldn’t be long before they were back in London with their mother. Janet sighed. What was she going to do when Gil
got out? Mrs Dyer had offered her a live-in cook-housekeeper’s post, and had said she would let her keep Lucy. It sounded like a generous offer, but Mrs Dyer was a shrewd woman. The exceptional wage she’d offered would be somewhat diminished once her board and lodging were taken into consideration, and Lucy’s board and lodging would be extra. She would end up with a lot less than Mrs Dyer first said, and Janet couldn’t help thinking that the doctor’s wife was getting the better end of the deal. But the biggest problem was that she would be too close to Gil. Janet knew in her heart of hearts that he would turn on that charm of his and she’d end up the villain in the eyes of the village, or worse still, he’d make himself a nuisance and she’d be out of a job in no time. Out of a job and nowhere to go. Except back to the farm. No, if she went, she’d have to go far, far away, and probably leave no forwarding address.
She became aware that her cheeks were wet and her nose was running, so she lowered herself into a chair and got out her hanky. ‘No good ever came of boo-hooing,’ she told herself crossly.
The letter was written on that same prison paper, but there was no stamp in the corner of the envelope. Eddie had obviously got it past the censors. She glanced up at the mantelpiece, where the dozen or so unopened letters were tucked behind the clock. Should she open this one? Supposing it was filled with the same disgusting words the prison officers had blanked out in his other letters. Supposing he was just as nasty. Then it occurred to her that by putting a letter into the hands of a fellow prisoner, he might be a little more circumspect. He would have turned on the old charm to persuade Eddie to risk getting into trouble by bringing it out, so perhaps this letter was different. After all, there was always the possibility that Eddie might steam it open and take a look for himself. Janet turned it over in her hands, then, picking up a knife from the kitchen table, she slit it open. Her heart was in her mouth as she opened the folded page. It was upside down. She turned it the right way up, and then her whole world was turned upside down.
When I get out, bitch, you and that brat are dead.
* * *
Florrie opened her eyes, but it was hard to focus. She could hear voices through the fog, but for a second or two, she couldn’t remember where she was. Her whole body hurt, and her head was thumping. Her nose was sore, and her eyes felt puffy. She must have been crying. Why was she upset? What had happened . . . ? And then it all came rushing back. Ruth. Lovely Ruth. She had been so cross she’d walked away. If only she had stayed long enough for her to explain, and yet how could she tell her the whole truth? It would destroy her. Florrie could feel her eyes smarting again. What was the use? Everybody had opinions, and even at that time they’d blamed her, but what could she do about it? It really wasn’t her fault.
She sensed someone leaning over her. ‘Mrs Jenkins?’ The nurse’s voice was gentle, but Florrie turned away from her. They meant well, but all she wanted to do was curl up and die.
‘Mrs Jenkins, someone rather special has come to see you.’
Florrie lifted her head. ‘Ruth?’
‘No,’ said the nurse. Florrie sank back down dejectedly on the pillow. ‘But one of our brave boys from Dunkirk is here, and Matron has let him in even though it’s not visiting time.’
There was a slight pause, and then she heard him say, ‘Hello, my lovely.’
Her heart leapt. Was he really here? She pulled herself up on her elbow and her eyes met his. ‘Oh, Len.’ She struggled to sit up.
The nurse was pulling the screens round the bed. ‘She’s been like this for four days,’ the nurse was telling him. ‘She had a visitor last Sunday, her daughter, I believe. Whoever it was walked out and Mrs Jenkins hasn’t been the same since.’
Len nodded and lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed.
‘I’ll go and get you some tea, but if you could get Mrs Jenkins to eat something, that would be good,’ the nurse whispered conspiratorially. ‘We can’t persuade her to do anything. It’s as if she’s completely shut down.’
She plumped up Florrie’s cushions and left them alone.
Florrie and Len hadn’t taken their eyes off one another.
‘So what’s all this about, my lovely?’ said Len, taking her hand. ‘What’s up with Shirley?’
Florrie shook her head. ‘It wasn’t Shirley. It was Ruth.’
‘The baby you gave up?’
Florrie nodded, and suddenly aware of how dry her mouth was, she reached for some water. Her hand was shaking so much Len held the glass steady for her.
‘How did Ruth know you were here?’
‘Mrs Andrews told her.’
Len’s brow furrowed. ‘Some bloody do-gooder interfering again?’
‘No, no,’ cried Florrie. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She looked away, aware of how fragile she was, and the realization dawned. ‘Just a minute . . . How did you know about Ruth?’
‘I know more than you think,’ said Len.
Florrie smiled wanly. ‘You think you do, but you don’t.’
‘I know Ruth isn’t your daughter, for a start.’
The revelation almost took Florrie’s breath away. ‘You knew?’
‘Some bloke from Shoreditch told me,’ said Len. ‘I helped him aboard ship. On his way to Australia, I think.’
Florrie made a small sound. Sid’s family came from Shoreditch way. Didn’t his brother emigrate to Australia? She’d been so careful not to let on to anyone.
‘I’ve known for years,’ said Len. ‘Look, Florrie, I’ve been a fool. We’ve both been fools. We should have brought all this out into the open years ago.’
Florrie put her hand to her head. She’d known Len since before she’d had the twins, but it had been six years before that when the whole thing came about. Even though she was only sixteen, as soon as the trial ended and the verdict was announced, she had been subjected to a tirade of abuse. It seemed that she couldn’t go anywhere without somebody taking out their feelings on her. She’d been buffeted on the tram and spat at in the street. As for friends and neighbours, every one of them was angry, disappointed or disgusted, and they made no bones about telling her what they thought. She’d had buckets of horse manure smeared on the windows and pig’s blood poured all over the front step. It was hard enough dealing with what her mother had been accused of, let alone having to deal with the wrath of others as well. ‘When did you find out?’ she asked.
‘Soon after Sid went,’ he said. He rubbed her hand gently and she stared at the top of his head as he bent to kiss her fingers. Her thoughts were immediately turned from her own misery to what he’d been through.
‘You’ve had a terrible time, haven’t you?’ she said tenderly. ‘Dunkirk. We’ve heard so much about it on the news and in the papers. Was it really bad?’
‘Worse,’ he said.
‘Oh, Len, I’m sorry. Do you have to go back?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m on two weeks’ leave and then I have to report to Doncaster, of all places. I don’t even know where it is. Up North somewhere.’ He looked up and they both laughed.
‘I missed you,’ she said.
‘I missed you more,’ he said.
The nurse bustled in and put two cups of tea onto the bedside locker. As she’d pushed past him, Len had stood up to get out of the way. When she left, he leaned over Florrie and brushed his lips against hers. The sensation made every fibre of her body respond to him. Such a gentle touch, but her heart pounded. He sat back down.
‘While I was on that beach,’ he began, ‘I did some serious thinking. Half of my pals got shot to pieces and I decided there and then that life is too short to keep waiting for something that might never happen. Listen, love, I know you can’t marry unless you get a divorce from Sid, but for all we know in these uncertain times, he could already be dead.’
She nodded, her eyes smarting with unshed tears.
‘Florrie, I want us to be together. I know if you haven’t got a wedding ring, it’s not what you want. It’s not what either of us wants, but I’m
tired of waiting. We’ve already wasted half a lifetime, and after what I’ve seen in that hellhole, I don’t want to wait any longer.’
‘Neither do I,’ she said softly.
‘I reckon if we made our vows to each other, in church if you like, just you and me . . . well, that should be enough, shouldn’t it?’
Florrie chewed her bottom lip anxiously.
‘I know we won’t be man and wife in the eyes of the Church,’ he went on, ‘but we can still make that promise, and if we did, God knows I for one would mean every word.’
She blinked. ‘I’m not much of a catch.’ How could she explain that even her neighbours, people she had known all her life, had turned against her because of Ruth? It had taken years of hard work to build a good reputation, and there was always that ever-present dread that somebody from the past would undo everything and ruin her future. She could still hear the voice of Mother’s old neighbour, Mrs Jefferson, ringing in her ears. ‘Shame on you, Florence. How can you have anything to do with that wicked, wicked woman? Shame on you, I say.’ But what could she do? Whatever her mother had done, Florrie couldn’t turn her back on her.
‘That’s enough of that,’ Len said firmly, at the same time squeezing her fingers. ‘You’re my best girl and you mean the world to me.’
Florrie’s throat constricted. ‘Len, you may know about Ruth, but I promise you don’t know the half of it.’
‘Then tell me,’ he said earnestly. ‘Whatever it is, it won’t make any difference to how I feel about you, Florrie.’
They could hear the rattle of a trolley coming down the ward. It was almost suppertime.
‘When I told Sid, he walked out on me,’ she said, looking away. ‘I’m afraid to say the words.’
‘I’m not Sid,’ he said firmly. ‘I may not be the most romantic man in the world, but once I’ve set myself on something, there’s no going back.’
The nurse burst through the screen again. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go now, Mr Greene. We don’t want the other patients getting jealous, now, do we?’
Len rose to his feet. ‘Nurse,’ he began, ‘you’ve been very kind and we appreciate all that you’ve done for us, but five more minutes, please.’