by Pam Weaver
All at once, Aunt Bessie’s voice filled his head. ‘When Dottie hears what you did, you’ll be out on your ear.’
‘Dot will do just what I say,’ he’d boasted.
Joyce’s sultry voice brought him back to the present. Wait outside the room, she’d said, and I’ll give you a fantastic surprise. Naked, he felt himself harden as he stood up and walked towards the bedroom. He glanced down to admire his manhood. He could have this every night if he could get hold of some decent money. His eyes narrowed. There had to be a way of getting rich quick. Only Dot and that bloody kid stood in his way …
Twenty-Six
It was Sunday, the day Dottie and Patsy were due to meet Mrs Landers, and it was chucking it down with rain. Dottie regretted insisting that John meet them at the crossroads again. They were going to get extremely wet.
She asked Ann to shut the chickens in if she wasn’t back in time.
‘What if Reg turns up?’ Ann asked nervously. ‘Where shall I tell him you’ve gone?’
‘Reg is away until tonight,’ Dottie explained. ‘And I’m taking Patsy to see Dr Landers.’
Ann frowned anxiously. ‘Is there something wrong with her?’
‘She’s fine,’ said Dottie. ‘Dr Landers looked after Patsy when she came from Australia. He’s very fond of her.’
Her friend raised an eyebrow suggestively. ‘Going somewhere nice?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ laughed Dottie. ‘We are to meet his old mother.’
‘How disappointing,’ Ann sighed. ‘I hope you don’t get too bored with the old fossils.’
John drove them through the autumnal lanes towards Littlehampton and on to the Sussex village of Yapton. As Patsy and John chattered away, Dottie had never felt happier. He was such a lovely man, good looking, kind … if only … She pushed her daydreams aside and concentrated on the view from the car window.
There was little in the centre of the village, just a few shops and a public green. They crossed the old canal and headed along the Barnham road where his mother lived in a small cottage. Although the garden had seen better days, it was a delightful place. Of course, there was little in the way of flowers in the garden at this time of year but a few chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies soldiered on, and the odd rose remained even though most of the bush was little more than bare twigs. The leaves of the wisteria which grew over the front door were beginning to wilt and the geraniums were way past their best, but Dottie imagined that it was very beautiful in the spring and summer months.
As they climbed out of the car, their ears were assaulted by loud music. John knocked at the front door and Minnie barked but nobody came. Taking a spare key from under a flowerpot by the window, he opened the door and they all went in.
Laura Landers was a bird-like woman with white wispy hair and pale colourless eyes, but she was far from being a fossil. She was wearing a maroon-coloured dress with tiny white dots all over it, slightly too severe for her pale complexion, but as they all walked in to her light airy sitting room, the radio was blaring out the new Patti Page song, ‘Tennessee Waltz’. Laura was dancing with a cushion in her arms and, as John entered the room, she was so surprised to see them, she almost fell over.
‘Mother!’ John cried rushing to her side.
‘Don’t fuss, dear,’ she said recovering herself. ‘You made me jump, that’s all.’
Dottie warmed to her immediately. She was wonderful!
John went over to the gramophone to turn it off.
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ said Laura clutching her chest and sinking into a chair. ‘Forgive the eccentricities of a silly old woman. I’m quite puffed out now.’
‘Not at all,’ said Dottie. ‘You dance beautifully.’
Laura Landers waved her hand dismissively. ‘You mustn’t flatter me or I shall want to do it all over again and, as you can see, that will only make my son very cross.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘He thinks I’m already in my dotage and I should spend my days on the sofa, surrounded by cushions.’
Dottie grinned.
‘Don’t take any notice of her,’ said John as he crossed the room and kissed his mother on the cheek. ‘And you behave yourself, Mother.’
‘And where’s the fun in that?’ the old woman protested. ‘I take it this lady is Mrs Cox?’
‘Call me Dottie … please.’
‘And Patsy?’
Patsy was hiding behind Dottie’s skirt.
Mrs Landers and Dottie shook hands. ‘Patsy, my dear, I’ve heard such wonderful things about you, I could hardly wait to meet you.’
Patsy gave her a cautious stare.
‘John, you didn’t tell me she was so beautiful,’ cried Laura. ‘And what a pretty dress you have. Is it new?’
Patsy nodded. ‘Auntie Dottie made it.’
Laura Landers seemed impressed. ‘Then she’s an excellent needlewoman,’ she said, struggling to get out of the chair. ‘Now I wonder, Patsy, could you help me in the kitchen?’
‘I’d be pleased to give you a hand, Mrs Landers,’ said Dottie.
‘No, no, my dear. I’m sure Patsy is big enough to help me with the tea things, aren’t you, Patsy?’
Patsy beamed, her chest swelling with pride.
They went off together hand in hand, leaving Dottie alone with John.
‘She does you credit,’ he said.
‘Not me,’ Dottie insisted. ‘Her mother.’
He motioned her to sit down. ‘Last time we met,’ he said, ‘you said Patsy was happy and settled, but your husband was still finding it hard to adjust to parenthood.’
Dottie nodded. ‘He still is,’ she said, ‘but I am hoping he will come round soon.’
‘So do I.’ His smile was a little disconcerting. ‘I feel somehow responsible, Dottie. I made a few too many presumptions when I wrote to him. For a start, I thought he’d already seen his daughter, but according to Brenda, Sandy lost touch with him before she had the baby.’ He paused. ‘Do you know anything about your husband’s ancestry? I mean, were his parents people of colour?’
Dottie stiffened. Please don’t probe too deeply, she thought. ‘Reg doesn’t talk about his past but I believe he was brought up in a children’s home,’ she said cautiously.
John looked at her apologetically. ‘You know, I only want to make sure Patsy has the very best she can.’
‘Then we both want the same thing.’
Being so close to him, Dottie could hardly breathe. She certainly couldn’t hold his gaze so she turned her attention to the dog, which was sitting at her feet. She bent to pat her, calling her a good girl. For a sickening minute, it reminded her of Reg. That’s what he’d called her that night he raped her. If she kept her hand moving, hopefully John wouldn’t notice it was trembling.
Patsy reappeared with a plate of sandwiches. She put them on the table and walked over to Dottie, then put her arm around Dottie’s shoulders and her mouth next to her ear. ‘We’ve got chocolate cake,’ she whispered excitedly.
After their tea, John suggested they take the dog for a short walk.
‘A good idea,’ said his mother. ‘I’ll clear the tea things while you’re gone.’
‘Let me help,’ Dottie said, but Mrs Landers wouldn’t hear of it.
Patsy was thrilled to be holding Minnie’s lead. They ran on ahead while John and Dottie walked together.
‘I used to dream about this place all the time when I was in Australia,’ said John, ‘but it has never seemed as wonderful as it does right now.’
‘Did you spend the war in Australia?’
‘Heavens, no,’ he laughed. ‘As soon as I’d qualified, I was called up. I began my war in a corvette but then we were torpedoed. After that, it was a destroyer. We were mostly on convoy duties.’
‘Not an easy time,’ said Dottie recalling the Pathé newsreels she’d seen during the war.
‘You could say that,’ he laughed, ‘but being in the navy gave me a thirst for adventure. Look, there’s some more b
lackberries.’ He pointed to a hedge bowed down with brambles. The blackberries were plump and ready for picking. ‘Fancy some?’
‘They’d make a wonderful pie,’ she said, ‘but we’ve nothing to carry them in.’
He took out a handkerchief and spread it on the ground. ‘How about this?’
‘The juice will stain it,’ she cautioned.
‘Like I said,’ he smiled, ‘the navy gave me a thirst for adventure. If you’re willing to risk the wrath of my mother, so am I.’
They laughed easily and Patsy came back to see what they were doing.
‘This has been a wonderful afternoon,’ said Dottie as they walked back, his handkerchief bulging with blackberries. ‘Your mother has made us so welcome.’
‘It’s been our pleasure,’ said John earnestly. ‘Can I ask you a very personal question?’
Dottie looked up sharply. ‘What is it?’
‘Are you and Reg happily married?’
She looked away, startled. ‘Yes … yes of course we are.’ Dottie blurted out, but they both knew she’d reacted far too quickly. ‘I take my marriage vows very seriously,’ Dottie said, trying to justify herself, but she could feel her face burning.
John Landers smiled and she knew at once that he had seen right through her. She panicked. Was he looking for a way to take Patsy away?
He leaned forward and said in a soft confidential manner, ‘Listen, Dottie, if ever you need anything … anything … I want you to promise that you will come to me for help.’
‘I …’ She hesitated, then in a lower tone of voice said, ‘Oh, John, you’re such a kind man.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I know you do and I thank you,’ she said shyly. ‘And I want you to know that I’ve … that Patsy and I have loved every minute of this day.’
‘So have I.’
Once again, Dottie could feel her face flame. Just the scent of him was enough to send her into a fluster. Patsy and the dog were lagging behind. Willing herself to remain unsmiling, Dottie called back, ‘Patsy, hurry up, there’s a good girl. We must go.’ And they finished their walk in a rather awkward silence.
Back at the cottage, Patsy said, ‘Thank you for having me.’
Laura Landers cupped her face in her hands and kissed her gently. ‘And we’ve loved having you, my dear. It’s been a wonderful afternoon.’ She slipped a pound note into the child’s hand. ‘This is for you but don’t spend it all on sweets. Buy something special.’
Patsy thanked her and Laura turned her attention to Dottie. ‘I’m so pleased to have met you, my dear,’ she said, kissing Dottie’s cheek.
Dottie blushed. ‘You went to so much trouble …’
‘Nonsense,’ said Laura. ‘Now you will bring her again, won’t you?’
As they sped down the road towards Worthing, Dottie sighed. If only every day could be as happy as this one had been.
Twenty-Seven
When she woke next morning, Dottie was alone once again. As she lay in bed, a faint smile played on her lips as she recalled the previous day and one moment in particular. It was when Patsy had looked up at her, her face purple with berry juice.
‘Have you been eating them?’
Patsy’s eyes had gone wide with apprehension. ‘No!’
Dottie had raised her eyebrows and put her head on one side with a sceptical expression.
‘Well,’ Patsy added, relaxing, ‘not many,’ and the air had been filled with John’s laughter.
Reg still had not returned home. Where was he? Had he left her? The thought brought a rush of guilty pleasure. Now that the clocks had gone back, the mornings were dark. Dottie switched on the bedside light and lay in the bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe.
As the clock ticked around to six thirty, Dottie climbed out of bed. Lifting her nightdress, she looked at her gently rounded stomach and caressed her skin. If only this child were John’s. Her own words came back to haunt her. What was it she’d told him? ‘My marriage vows are important to me …’ something like that. If that were really true, then why was she so glad Reg wasn’t here? Even if he never came back, a man like John wouldn’t want a ready-made family. He’d want his own. How would she support Patsy and her own baby? She spread her fingers across her abdomen as if she were holding the baby within. Whatever she felt about Reg, this was his baby. Patsy had no mother but she still had her father. This baby had both a father and a mother. If she pushed Reg away, what sort of a life would her baby have?
Aunt Bessie had never approved of her marriage, Dottie knew that, but on the day she’d married Reg, she had given her some sound advice. ‘You’ve made your choice, darling,’ Aunt Bessie said, not unkindly, ‘now make it work.’
It was a sobering thought, but it was up to her now. Dottie resolved from here on in, for the sake of her baby, she’d better forget John Landers and make more of a go of her marriage.
Patsy called from her room, ‘Is it time to get up yet, Aunt Dottie?’
Dropping her nightdress, Dottie reached for her housecoat. ‘It certainly is, love. Back to school today.’
Reg flexed his fingers. Bruised and sore, the skin on his knuckles was broken. After a couple of days away from that cow of a wife and that snotty kid, he’d hatched a plan and come back to Worthing. On his way back to the cottage, he’d been waylaid. He hadn’t reckoned on the bloke sneaking up on him. He’d better keep his hand in his pocket. Nobody would give him a lift if they saw the state of him.
He stood on the grass verge and stuck out his thumb. Best to get away for a few days. Lie low. With a bit of luck, no one saw him get off the train but he couldn’t bloody count on it. Trouble was, it was still light. He should have gone to the pub before he went home. That way the bloke wouldn’t have seen him. Who was he anyway? And how did he know his name? As far as Reg knew, he’d never seen him in his life before, although he did look a bit like that dirty old tramp who used to come sniffing around the cottage when Bessie was alive.
‘Not me, mate,’ he’d said but if the truth were known, he’d nearly died of shock.
‘I know what you’ve done,’ the bloke shouted after him, ‘but you’ll never get away with it.’
For a few seconds, Reg had been rooted to the spot but then the need for survival kicked in. He’d dashed into the shed and grabbed the first thing that came to hand. The hammer. Then he’d stalked the bloke. Caught up with him by the fields.
One whack on the side of his head with the hammer felled him like a bloody tree. He hadn’t lost his touch. He’d booted and punched the body until he was sure he wouldn’t be telling anybody anything and then he’d toed him into the ditch.
It didn’t seem like anyone had seen him, but just to be on the safe side Reg went back to the cottage and collected his bag, hid the hammer in his shed and hit the road. He almost left the hammer where it fell but went back – PC Kipling might recognise it.
A lorry pulled up. ‘Where you goin’, boyo?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Lewes.’
‘That’ll do me,’ he said, climbing into the cab.
By late afternoon on Wednesday, Reg was still away and it was beginning to get to Dottie. He had never been away so long before.
After school, Dottie had arranged that she and Patsy would meet up with John again. She’d mentioned a walk along the seafront from Goring to Ferring, and he’d jumped at her suggestion to spend time with Patsy.
Mr Marney had come up to the cottage the night before.
‘I’ve no idea where Reg is,’ she told him truthfully.
Marney was none too pleased.
‘He’s been under a lot of strain just lately,’ Dottie went on. She didn’t want to make excuses for him, but how were they going to manage if Reg lost his job? ‘He needed a little break, that’s all.’
‘You’re supposed to book your holidays,’ Marney snapped, ‘not just take them when you fancy.’
Just before lunch, Dottie walked down t
he garden, looking over her shoulder every now and then in case she saw the tramp hanging around. She wasn’t even sure why she was thinking about him again. He hadn’t been around since that morning when Sylvie frightened him off, but last night, just before she drifted off to sleep, Dottie found herself wondering what it was he was going to tell her. Did he know something about Aunt Bessie’s death?
Clucking noisily, the chickens dashed up to the wire as soon as she opened the door, clearly thinking it was feeding time again. Dottie checked inside the henhouse for eggs, slipping her hand under one hen where she sat. The egg was still warm.
The pig grunted and put his snout over the top of the fence. He was getting so big, it wouldn’t be long before he broke it down and ran amok. Michael and Gerald Gilbert were supposed to be coming sometime to take him to market. Judging by the size of Porker, it couldn’t be a moment too soon.
When Dottie and John met, Patsy couldn’t stop talking. He heard all about Patsy’s day at school from beginning to end. Eventually she ran off with the dog while Dottie and John strolled behind. It was a crisp afternoon and the cloud base was low. The tide was out and the place was deserted apart from the odd walker or two. They walked along the edge of the pebble bank, with the sea on one side and a rough area of green the other. Dottie felt so at ease in his company.
‘How come you ended up in Australia?’
His face clouded. ‘I needed to get away,’ he said quietly. ‘When I got back home …’
‘From the war?’
He nodded. ‘My wife and I were strangers. She had met someone else so in the end, it was better to part.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, John.’
He shrugged. ‘These things happen. It was nobody’s fault.’
‘Do you have any children?’
‘No … fortunately.’
‘But why Australia?’
He laughed. ‘A friend was supposed to be going but at the last minute he came down with shingles of all things. I was able to take his place. It was only supposed to be for a short time, but I ended up staying there for four years.’