There’s Always Tomorrow

by Pam Weaver

  ‘She’s had the baby!’ cried Mary. ‘Sorry, hen, I thought you knew. She had a little girl. Mandy they call her.’

  ‘But why didn’t she let me know?’ said Dottie blinking back a tear. Peaches hadn’t had a reply to her letter but Dottie was sure she would have forgiven her by now.

  ‘Don’t be too cross, hen,’ said Mary. ‘What with the baby and Gary’s exercises, she’s got a lot on her plate right now.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Dottie. ‘I wonder how Gary has coped. He hasn’t seen his mum for ages.’

  ‘Funnily enough,’ said Mary, ‘he wasn’t too bad. The hospital gave him an Ivy and Brumas and as long as they were on the bed, he was happy.’

  ‘As a matter of fact …’ Dottie began.

  ‘Where do these plates go, Mary?’ Edna interrupted.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ said Mary as she took the plates from Edna. ‘You’re the bridegroom’s mother for goodness’ sake. Leave that. We’ll do it. Take her back in the hall, Dottie.’

  Dottie took Edna’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she laughed. ‘We’d better do what the boss says.’

  Some of the men had gone down to the off-licence to buy in some more drink. Reg had helped himself to a beer and was sitting in the corner enjoying a roll-up. The accordionist was well into his repertoire and it was time to start the dancing but nobody could find Michael. Almost immediately, the cry went up.

  ‘Where’s the groom?’

  ‘Have you seen Michael?’

  Dottie came to find Reg. ‘Can you go in the gents’ to look for Michael? We can’t start the evening without him.’

  Wearily, Reg stood up to go.

  Michael was peering at his reflection in the cracked mirror in the gents’. He was quite pleased with the results. Taking his comb out of his top pocket, he re-arranged his hair so that the front flopped down in the new Teddy-boy style.

  So far the wedding breakfast had been better than he expected. Almost as good as old times. Even Reg was enjoying himself.

  Apart from the odd film show, Michael hadn’t been in the village hall since the war years. Back in 1941, Reg had come to one of the dances they put on. Michael always enjoyed the music but he was no dancer. Reg had danced like a dream and looked so handsome in his army uniform back then that he’d whisked the best-looking girl away.

  Satisfied with his hair at last, Michael stepped back to admire himself as the man himself walked in.

  ‘I’ve been sent to look for you,’ Reg said. ‘They want to start the dancing.’

  ‘Looks like I’m being hen-pecked already,’ Michael laughed good-naturedly.

  Reg said nothing.

  ‘You all right, Reg?’

  ‘Fine. Just gets me, times like this. I think about all me mates …’ His voice trailed.

  Michael touched his shoulder and nodded.

  ‘It may be six or seven years ago now,’ Reg went on, ‘but a thing like that stays with you, you know.’ He looked up at the groom and smiled bravely. ‘Sorry, mate, shouldn’t have brought it up on your wedding day.’

  ‘No, no,’ Michael said. ‘It’s OK.’ Outside, in the hall, the accordion struck up a waltz. ‘Better get going then,’ he said awkwardly.

  When he walked back into the room, Sylvie was talking and laughing with Mary and Tom. Dottie was in the kitchen serving more teas through the hatch. She looked so beautiful in that pretty pink dress. She smiled at him and motioned towards a cup and he gave her the thumbs up.

  Michael looked around for his wife, unsure as to what he should do next, but Freda had already spotted him. She came gliding towards him.

  ‘Mike, we have to start off the dance before we can go home and get ready for our honeymoon,’ she beamed.

  ‘But I can’t dance,’ he murmured, looking down at his feet. ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Nobody can start without us,’ she whispered. She held out her arms and he had no alternative but to accept her invitation.

  As he placed his hand across her back, he felt her tremble. She was breathing very quickly and her face was lit up with excitement.

  ‘Just shuffle around,’ she murmured closely in his ear. ‘Nobody will mind.’

  The embarrassment of having two left feet made him feel silly but as they moved slowly around on the inside of the circle and all his friends were nodding and smiling, he found himself enjoying it.

  Freda looked attractive in her wedding dress too. It was a bit tight around the waist but that wasn’t her fault. He wished he hadn’t got her in the family way, but at least he had done the decent thing. He gave Freda a quick smile and pulled her closer. She was probably thinking romantic thoughts about him, but right now he was thinking that he’d just have to make the best of it.

  Eighteen

  The reception finished at around ten and everyone, with the exception of the bride and groom, who were hopefully already enjoying their honeymoon in Bournemouth, set about with the clearing up.

  To Sylvie it looked like a well-oiled machine, although it did seem a little odd that they were clambering about under the stage with trestle tables in their wedding finery. Still, it was all done with good humour and fun.

  ‘Er, watch what you’re doing with that table leg,’ said Tom as he backed out on all fours. ‘You nearly did me a mischief.’

  ‘Get yer big bum out of the way then,’ came the light-hearted retort from Cecil Hargreaves, the bride’s father.

  ‘You off back home, Sylvie?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I’m staying one more night,’ Sylvie smiled. ‘I must get back home tomorrow.’

  Reg was busy stacking chairs. He turned his head sharply and looked at Dottie.

  ‘It’s so late,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘Course he doesn’t,’ said Mary. ‘You wouldn’t send the poor girl off on a long drive down to the New Forest at this time of night, would you, Reg?’

  Reg smiled thinly. ‘Of course not.’

  For a second or two, Dottie felt a little of her old nervousness coming back, but then she saw the way Reg helped the bride’s mother into Sylvie’s car and relaxed. When it came to older people, he had a kind heart really.

  Once the hall had been swept and tidied and the last of the guests had gone, Dottie and Sylvie loaded her bits and bobs into the boot alongside the rest of the wedding cake. They’d been asked to drop that into Rose Hargreaves’s place on the way home. Reg and Edna sat in the back of the car chatting about roses and what to do about black spot on the leaves.

  Back at the cottage, Dottie and Sylvie brought in the rest of the stuff while Reg went down the garden to shut up the hens and check on the pig. By the time he got back, Dottie had three mugs of cocoa waiting on the kitchen table. If Reg was annoyed that Sylvie was staying a second night, he wasn’t saying anything.

  ‘Can we talk about this child of yours, Reg?’ said Sylvie, jumping in feet first as he walked in the door.

  His head jerked up and Dottie saw something flash in his eyes. Her heart missed a beat. ‘We’re all tired now, Sylvie,’ she said quickly. ‘Perhaps this could wait until the morning.’

  ‘Reg is off to work in the morning,’ said Sylvie, ‘and I have to leave early too. We’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly had time to speak to you, have I, Reg? I know it’s late but we need to clear a few things up, that’s all.’

  Reg looked as if he was chewing a wasp. ‘Things? What things?’

  ‘You’ll be glad to hear, I will loan you the money,’ said Sylvie, determined to rub his nose in it. ‘I’m pleased to do it for Dottie’s sake, but I must insist you do two things. First you should make absolutely sure the child really is yours, get a blood test or something, and secondly, you must get someone to escort her to this country. She can’t possibly be left to her own devices on either a ship or an aeroplane. It will take six weeks with one and nearly three days with the other.’

  ‘But we don’t know anyone in Australia,’ said Dottie.

  ‘Ask Brenda. Is
that her name?’ said Sylvie. ‘Or better yet, contact a missionary society or something. They often send their people home on furlough. I’m sure someone like that would help. What do you say, Reg?’

  ‘There’s no doubt she’s my kid, see,’ he said stubbornly. ‘And as for the other …’ He got out his wallet and took out an envelope. Dottie recognised it as the letter that had come the day before. He thrust it at Sylvie. Glancing up at Dottie, Sylvie took it out of the envelope and read it aloud.

  Dear Mr Cox,

  Thank you so much for your letter. Sandy told me that although you were unable to register the baby yourself, you would be delighted to acknowledge Patricia as your child. I am so glad you still feel the way you do. Sandy always made it clear that she wanted you to have everything. She never stopped loving you. Now that we have heard from you, my good friend Doc Landers has kindly offered to pay for Patricia to go to England and be with you. Accordingly, she will be travelling with him to Southampton on the Akarda leaving here in a couple of days with Nurse Tranter (retired) and the Doc. As luck would have it, he has to return to England to see his mother who is ill. He is very fond of children and Patricia is a lovely little girl. All things considered, she is quite bright for her age and always very happy. I feel sure you will be able to offer her far more than I can. My husband is in the final stages of an illness and with four healthy children of my own to look after, I couldn’t possibly give Patricia the kind of upbringing she deserves. She has suffered so much, poor lamb. She was devoted to Sandy and was quite confused when she died.

  Patricia has sent you another letter of her own, which I enclose.

  May I ask that you would be kind enough to let me know how well she is doing from time to time? Just a line or a postcard will do.

  I remain, yours sincerely,

  Brenda Nichols.

  There were two other pieces of paper enclosed with the letter. One was a copy of Patricia’s birth certificate. The margin marked for the name and surname of father was blank. Sylvie said nothing. Reg handed her another piece of paper.

  Dear Father,

  I am loking forward to coming to England. When I stay with Auntie Brenda I sleep with Peggy. Will I have my own bed in egland? I am bringing Suzy and my best book. Your ever loving daghter

  Patricia.

  ‘So you see,’ Reg said with a look of triumph in his eyes, as they read it together. ‘I don’t need your bloody money or your sodding advice.’

  They both stared at him. Sylvie with horror, Dottie in surprise.

  ‘Well,’ he said passing by, ‘I’m off up to bed.’

  He was waiting with the light on when Dottie walked into the bedroom. She searched his face, trying to understand his mood, but he said nothing. The bedclothes were draped around his hips and she could see at once that he was fully aroused. She undressed quickly and reached for her nightdress.

  ‘You don’t need that,’ he said coldly.

  She hesitated. She was tired. It had been a long day. She wasn’t sure that she even wanted sex, especially not with Sylvie in the next room and the walls as thin as tissue paper, but how could she tell him? She took a deep breath and chewed her bottom lip anxiously. ‘Reg, if you don’t mind, I …’

  He rose up in the bed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her roughly towards him.

  ‘Reg …’ She was desperate but she still had the presence of mind to speak quietly. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  He pulled her down onto the bed and forced his hand between her legs. She tried to push him away. ‘No, Reg, I’m tired. Please …’

  He lifted his head. “‘No, Reg, I’m tired. Please …” ’ he mimicked. ‘Well, I’m not. Get your legs up, woman.’

  ‘Sylvie will hear.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have invited her for another night, should you,’ he hissed. ‘I’m sick of her filling your head with a load of nonsense. It’s about time you did something for me for a change.’

  She didn’t want this. She really didn’t want this but her struggles only excited him more. His probing fingers dug into her tender flesh, but when she tried to cry out he forced her to submit by rolling onto her and pinning her down.

  ‘Quiet, darling. Sylvie will hear,’ he smirked as his other hand went over her mouth.

  She’d never seen him like this before. He’d become a monster. The pain he was inflicting with his fingers was almost unbearable and with his crushing weight on top of her, she could hardly breathe. The more she struggled, the harder he probed. Tears filled her eyes but still he had no pity. Then he took his hand away and, sliding both hands under her buttocks, mounted her. Then the thrusting began. It was agony and it seemed endless. She bit her lip until she tasted blood in an effort not to cry out.

  ‘Please … please …’ she sobbed.

  Her skin stung so much it almost took her breath away and the pain got worse with each thrust. All at once he grunted aloud, pushed himself right into her and went rigid. It was over. He looked down at her, as if seeing her for the first time. A smile played across his lips. ‘That was lovely, wasn’t it, darlin’? You’ll soon be beggin’ for more. Just like old times.’

  She stared at him with a look of disgust as he lifted himself from her and turned away, his face to the wall. With a contented sigh, he pulled the bedclothes up and said, ‘Turn off the light, there’s a good girl.’

  Slowly and painfully, Dottie climbed out of the bed and picked up her nightdress from the floor. The material felt cool and light as it fell over her shaking shoulders. Soundlessly she walked over to the door and reached for the light switch. It clicked and she was plunged into darkness. She waited a second or two until her eyes adjusted and then she went to the bathroom to bathe her burning and bruised flesh with cold water. She was so sore she could hardly bear to pat herself dry on the rough towel.

  When she came back into the bedroom, the moon was shining through the curtains and room was bathed in a cold harsh light. Dottie passed her tongue over her lips, tasting the salt of her silent tears.

  She climbed into bed and lay very still. She could still feel him inside her and she hated him all the more for it. Staring up at the moonlit ceiling, Dottie willed herself not to cry. She found herself wondering about Michael and Mr Malcolm. Did they treat their wives like this? How gentle was Michael with Freda? Did Miss Josephine ever lie in her bed battered and so ill used? She didn’t think so, but then if she were to ask her friends, none of them would believe what Reg had done here tonight. A renegade tear rolled down her cheek and onto the pillow. She’d asked him not to but he’d done it anyway. In the eyes of the law he had done no wrong. He’d simply taken what was his by right; but as far as she was concerned, he had raped her.

  When he began to snore softly, she relaxed, knowing he wouldn’t want her again tonight. What about the next time? Dear God, she couldn’t bear the thought of a next time. Careful not to touch him, she turned over and faced the window. He stirred in his sleep and her heart began to pound.

  That was the moment she knew that she was very, very frightened.

  Nineteen

  Dottie woke with a start. The bright moonlight had waxed into the dull grey of early dawn. She slid out of bed quickly, anxious not to wake Reg. Grabbing a change of clothes, she tiptoed downstairs. The clock said 5.20am.

  Rather than use the bathroom and risk another encounter with Reg, she washed in the bowl and dressed by the unlit fire. She curled up in the armchair and sipped her tea. She was still sore and she had a bruise on her lip. That must have been where he pressed his hand on her face. Miserably, she cupped her hands around the tea and swirled the dark liquid. Sylvie said to leave him – but how could she? If she cleared off now, with Patsy on the way, he wouldn’t be able to look after her on his own. And besides, why should she go? This was her aunt’s house. If anyone should leave, it should be him. But she knew that wouldn’t happen, not in a month of Sundays. She reached up onto the mantelpiece and took down the letter. The postmark was dated two weeks ago. In a
few weeks, by the middle of October, the girl would be here.

  She looked at the child’s letter again. She had very neat handwriting, which meant she was very bright for her age. Suzy was probably the name of her dolly. Dottie wondered how she was managing onboard. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She could just picture Patsy, in her pink and white gingham dress, her blonde curls bobbing along the deck as she played hide and seek with Dr Landers. Oh dear, what if Dr Landers was too old to play hide and seek? What if poor Patsy was seasick? What if poor old Nurse Tranter fell asleep in a deckchair and Patsy climbed through the railings and fell into the sea!

  Dottie opened her eyes with a start. She heard the stairs creak and glanced at the clock. 5.45. Reg was coming downstairs.

  Putting her cup into the hearth, Dottie fled into the scullery intending to disappear down the garden until he’d gone. She picked up the bucket of chicken feed but when she opened the door, it was raining. Tipping it down.

  ‘Got the kettle on out there?’ The sound of his voice made her stomach churn.

  ‘Just coming,’ she called.

  The teapot was only warm. She switched on the gas and poured the contents of the teapot away.

  Reg appeared in the doorway. ‘Been looking at Patsy’s letter again, I see.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said wildly. Oh hell, she’d forgotten she’d still got it in her hand when she’d heard his footfall on the stairs. She must have automatically left it on the chair. ‘I didn’t mean to read your letter,’ she gabbled. ‘I’m sorry, Reg.’

  She hated to sound like this but she was scared. Scared of what he might do …

  ‘That’s all right,’ he smiled. ‘Her new mum is bound to want to look at her picture.’

  He walked towards her but mercifully the kettle began to boil, so she was able to turn away and busy herself by making a fresh pot of tea. When she walked into the kitchen he was sitting at the table. He caught her by the waist as she put the teapot onto the stand.