by June Francis
Both women nodded.
‘I know so little,’ said Alice, taking a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbing her eyes.
‘You know the most important thing,’ said Kenny firmly. ‘He’s alive. You’ll have to write to his mother and let her know. She must be worried sick. Seb is her only son.’
Alice glanced at Hanny, for she often talked to her about her mother-in-law’s shortcomings. ‘I will do. But I must admit to feeling angry and hurt that she never bothered to come and see me and the children after I wrote to tell her that Seb was missing.’
‘I understand how you feel,’ said Hanny. ‘But she mightn’t be able to get away from the farm.’
‘The trains aren’t running as they should due to fuel shortages and insufficient manpower,’ said Kenny. ‘I spoke to Davy and he was telling me about it. I know how you feel about her but you must write. Not only does she need to know he’s been found but surely his uncle will want to know he’s alive, too.’
Alice slanted Hanny another look. They had discussed Seb’s Uncle Martin, his father’s brother, in the past, and now she spoke her thoughts aloud to Kenny. ‘He hates Seb because he inherited his grandmother’s house instead of him. Uncle Martin expected to get the house, the money; the whole lot.’
Kenny frowned. ‘He has no right to resent Seb because of that. After all, it was you two who looked after her when she went senile.’
‘Whatever he felt, it didn’t stop him from marrying Seb’s mother,’ said Hanny with a grimace. ‘Mind you, she was a good catch. Excellent cook and housekeeper, and with her own little nest egg.’
‘You’re forgetting her temper and her lack of morality,’ said Alice, and, getting into her stride, added, ‘She likes to rule the roost, too, and hates the fact that I’m the lady of the house where she wanted to be mistress. The truth is that Gabrielle married the wrong brother because the right one wouldn’t tie the knot with the hired help.’
‘But she couldn’t have married the other Mr Waters, anyway, could she?’ replied Hanny reasonably. ‘Back then, wasn’t she still married to that musician, Mr Bennett? The one who left her stranded in America and who Seb grew up believing was his father.’
Alice nodded. ‘That’s true, but she was quick enough to divorce him for desertion so she could marry Martin Waters, which surprised me, I can tell you. She makes out she’s oh so religious and yet she was Thomas Waters’ mistress for years and then goes through a divorce and marries his brother!’
‘Perhaps the first time she was married wasn’t in the Catholic church,’ said Kenny, taking the weight off his gammy foot by resting against the desk. ‘So it wouldn’t be regarded as a true marriage in her church’s eyes, surely?’
‘When Seb and I married she said that we weren’t legally married because we didn’t marry in a Catholic church.’ Alice’s green eyes glinted. ‘She had a nerve. Anyway, if she is unhappy in the country it’s her own fault.’
‘I must admit I’ve always thought of her as a townie,’ said Hanny, getting up. ‘By the way, we’ve got some good news for you, Alice,’ she added almost casually.
‘What is it?’
Hanny looked at Kenny. ‘Should we tell her? I know we’ve been worried to say anything in case it jinxed us.’
‘Is it the business?’ asked Alice, looking anxious. ‘You’ve been generous, giving me what you can from the little that’s coming in. I don’t know what I’d have done… well, I know what I still have to do,’ she said frankly, ‘hock a few more things. But don’t mention it to Seb. I’m hoping he won’t notice I’ve taken stuff from the attic.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Kenny firmly. ‘It’s—’
‘I’m having a baby!’ burst out Hanny, her eyes shining. ‘After more than ten years of trying, we’re having a baby at last.’
Alice could scarcely believe it. ‘It’s another miracle,’ she said excitedly.
‘That’s how we feel. I’m frightened to believe it’s true,’ said Kenny.
‘Oh, I can’t wait to tell Seb,’ said Alice joyously. ‘It’s incredible. Two lots of good news in one day after such a hard time.’
Kenny smiled. ‘Well, while you’re in this mood, write to Seb’s mother. I’m sure she’ll feel a lot happier if you let her know that Seb’s been found, and you’ll feel better knowing you’ve done the right thing.’
Alice did not argue. She would write to her mother-in-law so she could honestly tell Seb that she had kept in touch with her.
Chapter Three
Gabrielle Waters gazed at the Chester postmark on the envelope and her heart began to beat heavily. She recognised Alice’s handwriting and guessed the letter must contain news of her son. They had not always seen eye to eye, but she loved him in her way. What if the letter confirmed her fear that she would never see him again? She remembered her husband’s reaction when she had told him Sebastian was missing. He had not said anything, but she had seen the glee in his eyes. In that moment, her loathing of Martin had intensified. How she could ever have imagined that he could fill his brother’s shoes was a mystery to her these days.
She fingered the bruising on her arm from Martin’s latest assault. Before they had married, she would never have believed he could be so vicious and vindictive. She was strong herself but was no match for his brute strength. The thought of his latest drunken attack brought to mind her childhood, when she had stood up to her mam. The fear she had felt as a young girl made her feel sick for a moment, but then she remembered the letter in her hand and wondered how she could have allowed her thoughts to run on so. Taking a deep breath, she slit open the envelope.
Dear Mother-in-law,
I’m sure you will be pleased to know that Seb has been found. Unfortunately he is wounded, but I don’t know how badly at the moment. As soon as I hear more about his condition I will be in touch. If you would like to come and visit us you will be made welcome. The children often ask after their grandmother.
Yours sincerely,
Alice.
Gabrielle’s fine dark eyes filled with tears. Her son was not dead. Praise be to God and all the saints! She would walk the several miles to church right now and light a candle and give thanks. She fetched her handbag, donned her hat and coat and was in the act of putting on her gloves when the door opened and her husband entered.
He stopped in the doorway. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.
‘To church,’ she replied, tilting her chin. ‘My son’s been found and he’s alive. I’m going to get down on my knees and thank my Lord and Saviour for his return.’
Martin’s bluff, raw-skinned face turned ugly. ‘You’re not ruddy going anywhere,’ he said, slamming the door behind him.
‘Get out of my way,’ she said defiantly. ‘You’re not stopping me from doing this. I know you wanted him dead, but he has a wife and three children. If you can’t be glad for me that he’s alive, then be glad for them.’
‘Like hell I will. They have what should have been mine. You’re not going to that pagan place with its incense and bloody statues. Heathen, it is. You’ll stay here and get my dinner.’
Her dark eyes flashed magnificently. ‘Your lunch is in the oven. Now get out of my way.’
‘I told you that you’re not going to that heathen place.’ He removed his cap to reveal a balding pate and flung his headgear onto the table. ‘Now take your coat off and put my meal on the table.’
‘I will not. It’s you that’s the heathen!’ She threw the words at him. ‘I should never have married you in my church.’
‘On that we can agree,’ he snapped. ‘But seeing as how you did, we’ll just have to put up with each other. Now, I’m only asking you one more time, get my food on the table.’
‘Get it yerself,’ she said, her accent slipping as her temper rose.
She made to walk past him but he seized her by the arm and within seconds they were locked in a struggle. He knocked her hat off and grabbed her by the hair. She hit him with
her handbag across the face. He swore and forced her down on to the table. There was a knock on the door. Instantly he released her, growling, ‘Who’s there?’
Gabrielle bent and picked up her hat. As the door opened to allow the farm labourer entry, she covered her messed up hair with her hat and hurried out. She knew that Martin would be even more furious with her when she returned, but she was prepared to face his wrath once she had performed the rituals she felt necessary. Her church had always been a comfort to her, even if she did not always follow its commands.
She had tried to be a good wife to Martin, grateful for the status he had given her as a married woman, bearing the name of Mrs Waters at last. But she had soon realised he had married her only because he wanted to possess that which had been his brother’s. Being Mrs Waters had paled into insignificance once she realised that, and she had treated his demands with scorn. That was when he had started to hit her. She coped with it as best she could, but, having no easy escape where she could, for a short while, forget her miserable life, living with him on the farm grew more irksome each day. She missed the hustle and bustle of city life. During the winter the countryside was especially grim, and Martin was such a stick-in-the-mud that he refused to leave the farm even for a couple of days in Wales or Liverpool. As for her visiting the house in Chester to see her son and grandchildren, he absolutely forbade her to do so. She had disobeyed once a few years ago and had lived to regret it. She had long realised that he would never forgive her son for inheriting what he saw as his, and as he could not punish Sebastian, he was determined she would pay for it.
If only she could be free of her marriage she would be off like a shot, fulfilling her dream of visiting America again. Perhaps she might even meet up with her first love, Robbie Bennett. My, he had been a fine figure of a man and tinkled the ivories a fair treat as well as making the clarinet sing. If she had been younger instead of on the wrong side of fifty, she would have taken a chance and gone to sing her way to her goal, as she had when she had run away from her mam. But she was no longer the attractive, bold-eyed seductress she had been on that first voyage to America. She needed money if she was to have a last throw of the dice so, for the moment, she had to accept that she had made her bed by marrying Martin and had to lie on it. She could only pray that one day her chance would come to do what she wanted, and when it did, she would seize it with both hands.
Chapter Four
August, 1918
‘I’ve got a letter at last, Gran,’ called Clara, hurrying into the kitchen. It had been over a month since she had obtained Mrs Black’s address and written to her, asking if she knew of Gertie O’Toole’s whereabouts. Each day she had waited and waited for a reply to her enquiry, and now it had come.
Bernie appeared not to have heard her and continued to read the newspaper. ‘It says here that the Allies have taken loads of German prisoners. They used tanks and there were these new fangled flying machines bombing behind their lines. There’s a picture of a tank here. Come and have a look.’
Clara said impatiently, ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve a letter and I’m sure it’s from Mrs Black. It’s postmarked Eastham.’
‘In a minute, girl. It looks like the war’s going the Allies’ way, at last, with the help of the Americans. Look at that gun.’
Exasperated, Clara glanced at the picture of a tank with a gun. ‘Bit like being in a tin box,’ she said, interested despite her impatience. ‘I bet there was a lot of shrapnel flying about during the fighting. Did you know that soldiers get paid for any shrapnel they can collect and hand in? It gets sent back here to be melted down and reused.’
‘I didn’t know that. I bet it’s dangerous collecting it,’ said Bernie, folding the newspaper.
Clara agreed and moved away to sit in the shabby armchair opposite her grandmother. She was on a two-to-ten shift, so could relax for a moment as she had a few hours before she needed to leave for work. She slit open the envelope.
Bernie watched her. ‘About time it came. How long have we been waiting to hear?’
‘Never mind that now, Gran. Let me read it.’
Her chest wheezed as Bernie watched her granddaughter for a moment and then she cried, ‘Hey, hey. Read it aloud, girl, so I know what it says.’ She leaned forward and tapped her on the knee.
‘Hold your rush,’ said Clara, reading on a bit further before lifting bright eyes to Bernie. ‘You were right. She does know Gertie. She is still alive. Isn’t that good news?’
‘Does it say where she’s living? I won’t believe that woman’s being honest with me unless I see our Gertie with me own eyes.’
Clara read on a bit further and gasped. ‘You’ve a grandson but he was wounded in France and has recently been sent back to Blighty.’
Differing emotions flittered across Bernie’s face. ‘A grandson! That’s the gear! But oh, the poor boy! How badly wounded is he? He’s still got his legs, hasn’t he?’
Clara read on a bit further. ‘It doesn’t say he’s lost them. In fact, it doesn’t say what his wounds are. Perhaps she doesn’t know.’
‘Does she say where our Gertie’s living?’
Clara shook her head in disappointment. ‘She only says that she lives on a farm in the country. Neither does she say where my cousin lives, but she does tell us his name is Sebastian Bennett.’
Bernie sniffed. ‘Sebastian! What kind of name is that? Our Gertie really must fancy herself as somebody.’
‘It’s a saint’s name. You should know that.’ Clara lifted her gaze from the letter. ‘He’s got three children, so you’ve great-grandchildren, too.’
‘Well, that’s bloody great that is,’ said Bernie, her breathing laboured. She hit the arm of her chair with a clenched fist. ‘I’ve got great-grandchildren and the bloody woman doesn’t give the addresses. She’s bloody playing games with us. Yer should never have bloody bothered writing to her.’
Clara glowered at her grandmother as she folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. ‘You’ve no right to swear at me. You were the one who wanted me to write to her, so it’s your own fault if you’re not happy with what she has to say. I must admit I’m made up I’ve an aunt and a cousin with a family. I’d like to meet them.’
‘Well, I’m bloody far from made up,’ muttered Bernie, her expression sour. ‘What’s the use of telling me about me daughter, grandson and his kids if I don’t know where to get in touch with them?’
‘At least you know about them,’ said Clara. ‘You should be dancing round the kitchen.’
‘I bloody wish…’ whispered Bernie, her breathing sounding worse than before.
Clara glanced at her and noticed that she had changed colour. ‘Are you OK?’
‘No, I feel peculiar. It must be the shock of knowing Gertie’s alive and that she’s never got in touch.’ She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.
Clara rose and went over to her. ‘Just you take it easy, Gran. I’ll write to Mrs Black again. Everything will work out, you’ll see.’
‘I wish I had yer confidence. Get me some whisky,’ urged Bernie. ‘I feel as if I’m on me last legs an-and I was hoping… to get… to see our Gertie before I go.’
‘Buck up, Gran, you’ve felt like this before and been OK. Just don’t get yourself worked up. I’ll sort things out. A nice cup of tea, that’ll make you feel better.’ Clara left her gran a moment to make tea, reusing the tea leaves in the pot to eke out the rationing.
Bernie made a noise in her throat. ‘What about me whisky? Whisky for me poor old heart.’
‘You tell me,’ said Clara dryly. ‘I haven’t bought any and I thought you hadn’t been going out because you were scared of catching the flu.’
‘I took a chance.’ Bernie opened one eye and whispered. ‘Fetch me handbag from upstairs, but don’t you go nosing inside it.’
Irritated by that remark but still concerned by her grandmother’s pale colour, Clara bit back the words she’d like to say and
took the stairs two at a time. She found the handbag on the bed and hurried downstairs with it. She placed it on Bernie’s lap and would have undone the clasps if her grandmother had not knocked her hand away. Clara swallowed an angry rebuke and moved away. As she watched Bernie swig out of the bottle of Black and White whisky, it struck her that it was more likely to be the spirit that would eventually kill her grandmother, rather than any flu epidemic.
Bernie screwed the top back on the bottle and looked up at Clara. ‘So when are yer going to get in touch with Mrs Black?’
‘Probably today. It took weeks for her to answer my last letter but she does mention having been away.’ Clara poured the tea.
‘Yer’ve her address – why don’t yer just go and call on her?’ asked Bernie. ‘It’ll save time.’
Clara was unsure of the etiquette of just dropping by on a medium but longed for a day out. It would be a real treat. ‘I presume you won’t be coming with me?’ she asked.
‘With my legs? Yer have to be jokin’, girl. They won’t get me to the Pierhead, never mind the Wirral.’
Clara was relieved. It would be no fun having her grandmother hanging on to her arm, but she had thought she had best ask. She decided that she would write to Mrs Black, informing her that she intended to visit. The more Clara thought of getting away from her humdrum existence for a day, the better she liked it.
‘Go this Sunday while the weather’s nice. Yer can take a ferry to Eastham. Nice woods there. I remember them from when I was a girl and did some courting there.’ Laughter rumbled in Bernie’s chest and then she started coughing.
‘Here, have a drink,’ said Clara. ‘I hope you’ll be OK without me.’
‘Don’t I fend for meself when yer at work?’ said Bernie, with a virtuous expression. ‘I’ll manage. Yous deserve a day out.’
Clara gave her a droll look and thought it made a change for her gran to be nice to her. For once they were in agreement; she did deserve a day out, away from work and her grandmother. So far, she had not even managed that trip to the cinema with Jean. And she desperately wanted to be united with the family she had never known. They were tied to her by blood. She thought about how she had managed single-handedly to cope with her grandmother, with only occasional offerings of help from the neighbours. She missed her parents. Her mother, Eileen, had been strict but good-natured and fair. She had come from the west coast of Scotland and her family had been connected with shipping, but they had not been in touch since Eileen’s death. Clara sometimes thought it would be interesting to know more about the Scottish branch of the family, but it was too late for that now. Instead, all her hopes were pinned on being united with her Aunt Gertie and her family.