There’s Always Tomorrow

by Pam Weaver

  ‘Coming back here …’ she began. ‘It must be so different.’

  ‘I hadn’t planned to come back at all,’ he said. ‘But my mother needed me. And now …’ He looked directly at her. ‘I’m not sure I even want to go back.’

  Dottie heart was pounding. She couldn’t think what to say. She knew what she wanted to say. ‘I really enjoy being with you too. You’re so wonderful with Patsy …’ but she couldn’t say that, could she? It was far too familiar and besides, she was pregnant with Reg’s child for goodness’ sake!

  In truth, when she was with John she had never been happier. She and Patsy were becoming very close as well. Their latest venture together had been making a shoebox dolls’ house. Dottie had helped Patsy cut out the windows and doors, and then Patsy had decorated the outside with flowers and the inside with pictures on the wall. They’d used matchboxes covered with scraps of material to make a bed, table and a couple of chairs. After that, Dottie had shown Patsy how to make a wool doll to go inside.

  ‘I’ll make a brown one like me and you make a pink one like you,’ Patsy had said.

  ‘I’ve only got some red wool,’ Dottie said.

  ‘That’s near enough,’ said Patsy.

  Remembering, Dottie smiled to herself.

  ‘Penny for them,’ John said.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she smiled. There was another thing she wouldn’t tell John. Not yet anyway. Patsy was embroidering a tray cloth. It was to be a Christmas present for John’s mother.

  All at once, the heavens opened and it began to rain, not just fine rain but big drops, bursting with water as they fell.

  ‘Quick,’ Dottie pointed to a clump of Ilex oak trees in the distance. ‘Head over there, for the Plantation.’

  John grabbed Patsy’s hand and they out-ran her. As Dottie raced after them, her heart bursting with the joy of watching them as they shrieked with laughter and Minnie barked and jumped at their heels. John hurried into the thickest part, searching out a large bough, heavy with green leaves, which would give them maximum shelter from the wet.

  As he turned to Dottie he called out, ‘Mind that tree!’ But it was too late. She hadn’t noticed that she was heading towards a small sapling covered in low-level newly grown branches. Dottie’s head was yanked back as her hair became entangled in its branches.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ John said as she struggled to free herself. It was no use. The more she tried to free her hair, the more entangled it became. She was stuck fast.

  ‘Ouch … Ow …’

  In a moment he was by her side, doing his best to untangle her.

  ‘Sorry …’ His fingers moved deftly and he was being as gentle as he could. How long had he desired to touch her hair? It was like silk, sensual … It smelled of gardenias.

  ‘Aah …’

  ‘Sorry …’

  ‘It’s all right,’ laughed Dottie. ‘I’m just being an absolute baby. Ow!’

  Their faces were very close, so close that every time he breathed out, his exhaled air, feather-like, touched her cheek and she felt more alive than she’d ever felt in her whole life.

  ‘There,’ he smiled, as a tendril of her hair flopped across her face. Their eyes met and she was aware that her heart was beginning to pound once more. She was seized by the most powerful yearning to touch him. She looked away quickly.

  She felt his hand on her arm, as light as a feather. ‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘I never knew it until now, but I think I’ve been waiting for something like this all my life. Is this kismet?’

  She glanced up at him. ‘What’s kismet?’

  ‘That you and I were destined to meet even before we were even born.’

  He leaned his head against hers and she felt his lips brush her cheek. It made her weak at the knees. ‘Oh John …’ she moaned softly, ‘… don’t … we mustn’t.’

  Yet she offered no resistance as he bent his head and his lips touched hers. Cupping her face in his hands, he said, ‘I went all the way to Australia, and you were here all the time.’

  She could feel his breath touching her mouth, as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Her whole body was yearning for him. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Is Auntie Dottie free yet?’ Patsy’s voice broke the spell instantly.

  ‘Yes,’ called John. ‘She’s free.’

  Dottie opened her eyes. ‘No, John,’ she said quietly as she looked directly into John’s eyes. ‘Auntie Dottie isn’t free.’ Then, calling to Patsy she said, ‘Coming.’

  His fingers searched for hers as they walked towards Patsy but she drew her hand away. What madness. She should never have allowed that to happen and she hated herself for it. As they waited together under the bough of the tree for the rain to stop, Dottie could hardly breathe.

  John was standing very close to her. Too close. One minute his hand was resting on the bough of a tree, the next he was playing with the curls on the nape of her neck. Blushing furiously, Dottie tried to edge away from him but there was little space to move. ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded softly.

  ‘What makes it rain?’ Patsy asked.

  ‘When moisture in the cloud becomes too heavy, it falls to the ground as rain,’ John explained.

  Dottie’s mind was elsewhere. She’d been in the Plantation a hundred times but, even with the rain pouring all around them, it had never seemed more beautiful. Had the grass always been this green? And why hadn’t she ever noticed how musical the rain sounded? She could hardly bear to look at John for fear that he would try and kiss her in front of Patsy. You’re a married woman, she reminded herself sternly. You mustn’t encourage him. It’s not fair.

  ‘Will it snow?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘It’s not cold enough for snow,’ said John.

  ‘What makes it snow?’

  ‘That’s when the rain starts off as ice crystals,’ John explained. ‘They fall through warmer air and land on the earth as snowflakes.’

  He was so patient with her, so loving.

  ‘Right now, the air is warm enough to melt the snowflake and change it into a rain drop.’

  Inside, Dottie sighed. Damn you, Reg, damn you.

  The rain stopped and they came out of the Plantation to walk to his car. The sky was still heavy with clouds but it had never seemed so vast, so empty.

  She deliberately didn’t meet his eye all the way back to the car, and yet she was acutely aware of him walking beside her. Patsy chattered away beside them and Minnie trotted at their feet.

  He unlocked the driver’s door then leaned in to open the back passenger door. Patsy and Minnie clambered in.

  ‘Uncle John,’ Patsy said. ‘This is my best day ever.’

  ‘Good. I’m really glad,’ he said looking over the top of the car at Dottie waiting by the passenger door. ‘I think it’s been my best day ever as well. And what about you, Auntie Dottie?’ he said teasingly. Dottie felt her cheeks flush. ‘What sort of day have you had?’

  ‘Very nice,’ she said tartly as she deliberately turned her head away.

  It was only when she got back home that Dottie realised just how insane that kiss had been. Yes, John was a wonderful person, but she was married. Not only that, but she was pregnant. She hadn’t told him that, had she? And even if he said he didn’t care about the baby, how long would it last? He’d be here today and gone tomorrow. Men like him, professionals, weren’t the marrying type, not with the likes of her, anyway. And even if he was, what would happen to his career when it became common knowledge? The doctor and a pregnant housewife flirting in the woods … heavens above! It was the stuff of the News of the World. The scandal … the risk … No, no, she wouldn’t allow it.

  With a heavy heart, Dottie decided she would have to write to him. She’d tell him about the baby. She’d say that she and Reg had been trying for years, and that as soon as he knew about it, Reg would be very happy. She would wish John well, and tell him now that he’d seen how happy and settled Patsy was, there was no need f
or him to call again. She could feel the tears beginning to form even as she thought of it.

  As she got their teas, she wept alone in the scullery. She couldn’t do it. Not with a letter. It felt like the coward’s way out. She would tell him the next time she saw him. She would see him one more time. Just one more time and then she’d tell Reg. Only she didn’t know where Reg was. He’d been gone almost a week. Where on earth could he be?

  Twenty-Eight

  There had been a heart-stopping moment when Reg had looked up and thought he’d seen Dottie staring at him from the street outside. He was sitting in the fish and chip shop having a spot of tea before beginning the journey back home. He could get used to this eating-out malarky. He’d ordered a complete fry-up, two rounds of bread and butter and a mug of tea. It all went down a treat. Relaxing with a full stomach, he spread out his paper and was beginning to read when the face at the window distracted him.

  At first he thought the woman outside looked straight at him. She had the same hairstyle as Dottie and wore one of those felt hats his wife favoured, but the face was different. Reg breathed a sigh of relief. The woman on the pavement had sharp features and wore bright red lipstick which was so thickly spread around her mouth it had bled onto her skin. She smiled and waved. He heard a chair scraping and, looking round, he saw a heavily-built man waving back at her. The woman hurried towards the shop door and the bell jangled as she came in. Reg turned his attention once more to his paper.

  He ran his finger down the ‘To Let’ column. Pleasant mod.s.d. villa close station. Blt 1936 Artistic elevation 3 sunny bedrooms bthm. Good garden, garage. Semi-detached … Too close to the neighbours. He read on. 1st flr maisonette … modern house facing sports ground … It got worse. That one would have hundreds of prying eyes. Once again there was nothing really suitable. His eye drifted down to the Property Investments column. Bungalow for sale. Attractive property in need of some renovation. The Crumbles, an area of rustic beauty between Eastbourne and Pevensey. He knew where that was. An area of rustic beauty? It was more like the middle of nowhere. A slow smile played on his lips.

  Someone on the next table dropped the pepper pot and it went everywhere. Reg sneezed. Reaching for his handkerchief, a letter flew from his pocket and landed on the floor. A woman picked it up for him. He’d forgotten that he had that. He’d shoved it in his pocket last week when he was on his way to work and he’d bumped into Vince the postman. Addressed to Mrs D. Cox, he recognised Sylvie’s sloping hand. What did she want? Bloody woman, she was always scribbling letters to Dot. He slid his finger under the seal and ripped it open.

  My darling Dottie …

  Reg’s lip curled. A bloody lesbian, that’s what she was. He read on. The first page began with women’s stuff. All about the kids at school and something about making curtains. He almost didn’t carry on but then he was glad he did. The second page was far more interesting.

  Robin has decided to stand as the Conservative candidate for our local council elections. Sylvie wrote. Major Breams seems to think that in five years time, the party could put his name forward to stand in the next general election. Just think, Dottie, I could be an MP’s wife before I’m forty! We are so excited, I can’t tell you. Of course I shall have to say goodbye to my special friend, but we both knew it was just a fling. From now on, I shall have to live the life of celibacy. I shall be an absolute saint!

  Reg lifted his eyes and stared into the far distance, with just a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. It was time to go home. What did he always say? Belt and braces. He hadn’t been able to get anything out of Mr Knightly but if the bungalow plan didn’t work, this snobby bitch had just handed him yet another nice little prospect for the future.

  The decision to look for Brenda’s address came to Dottie as she listened to Patsy’s prayers that night. She knelt beside her bed, with her hands together and her eyes closed.

  ‘Thank you for all my new friends and thank you for the fireworks. God bless Auntie Bren and Audrey and Wishbone. Please don’t let Wishbone bark too much and make Auntie Bren cross, and let her remember to give Wishbone a big bone for his tea. Please bless Dr Landers and make his mother better …’

  Dottie stared at the back of Patsy’s head as the list went on and on. Was it right to keep her here? She’d grown to love the child, but she couldn’t bear the thought of her growing up with Reg for a father. What if he had done a runner? She didn’t look much like him, it was true, but nothing could alter the fact that Elizabeth Johns had named him as the father of her child. Patsy was his responsibility and if he had cleared off, they’d never allow Dottie to keep her.

  The thought struck her that if things got really bad, Brenda might take her back. On the strength of Aunt Bessie’s inheritance, she could promise to make it worth her while. She’d promised John that she would write to Brenda, but how could she since Reg had destroyed all the papers? When he’d gone upstairs that first night Patsy came home, she’d managed to pull some of it out of the fire, giving herself a nasty blister on her thumb in the process. She’d managed to hide the charred remains in the scullery but now it was at the bottom of her wardrobe, along with her Post Office book and her savings. It wasn’t much. The remains of a diary, some photographs of the people from the homestead, she presumed, and some baby drawings belonging to Patsy. Everything else, including Brenda’s address, was gone. And then it crossed her mind that Reg might have something in that shed of his.

  ‘… and please bless Al and the new flying doctor, Amen.’

  Patsy stood up and jumped into bed. Dottie leaned over her and tucked her in.

  ‘Goodnight, Auntie Dottie,’ said Patsy, deliberately turning over before Dottie could give her a kiss. Dottie felt a pang of hurt. Although they shared some really wonderful times together, Patsy still held back. Dottie had often longed for a little hug or a kiss from Patsy, but she would never force the issue.

  ‘Goodnight, love,’ she said, cheerily.

  She ran downstairs quickly and glanced up at the clock. 8.40pm. She had no idea when Reg might turn up. She’d have to take a chance. She found a torch and went outside. It was very quiet. The only sound was a distant bell – an ambulance or a police car in a hurry somewhere.

  Dottie pushed open the shed door. It smelled musty and damp. She shone the torch around in a high arch. Her heart was already in her mouth and she knew she’d have to be quick. If he caught her, or if he found out she’d been inside his beloved shed, she knew he was perfectly capable of beating her to within an inch of her life.

  The beam from the torch fell on the big workbench with its three heavy drawers underneath. Dottie had never, ever looked inside and even the thought of rummaging through his personal things filled her with guilt. But it had to be done.

  She rested the torch on the top of the bench next to a neat row of tools, and tugged at the top drawer. It opened easily. She picked up the torch and peered inside.

  His cigarette papers, tobacco and his Rizla tin lay on the top. Carefully, Dottie lifted them up and caught sight of some photographs. The top one was of a naked woman in a provocative pose. She stared at it with horror. The woman was reclining on a sofa but she didn’t look like one of those models artists paint. More of an ageing tart with her bleached blonde hair and her bright red lips. She lay back with her legs wide apart. Nothing was hidden. She turned it over and read the inscription on the back: Come up and see me sometime. J

  Dottie took in her breath quietly. She could hardly bear to touch it but she had to see what was underneath. In fact, she found a whole pile of pictures, each one more shocking the first, and one of them depicting that disgusting thing Reg had made her do the night he had raped her when Sylvie was here. The light danced over the pictures and she realised she was shaking. Dear God, who was this person she had married?

  Pushing the drawer shut, she opened the next one down. At first she thought the drawer contained only seed packets and dried runner beans and peas ready for planting next sprin
g, but at the back she found a book at the back full of gardening tips, all handwritten by Reg. Underneath that she found a small red box. She opened it and saw a beautiful filigree brooch in the shape of a butterfly. She took it out and held it up to the light. What a wonderful present. It would look perfect on her new dark blue blouse. She wondered when he was planning to give it to her. Christmas? Or perhaps on her birthday next year when, under the terms of Aunt Bessie’s will, he thought the cottage and all Bessie’s money would be hers. Dottie closed the drawer with a sigh.

  The bottom drawer was much heavier. It took a supreme effort to pull it open and it was jam-packed with all sorts of stuff. On the top she found a hammer wrapped in an old piece of cloth. Dottie laid it on the top of the work surface and shone the torch into the drawer.

  The hammer had been resting on some torn pieces of envelope. Whatever had stained the cloth had seeped through onto the envelope. It looked a bit like rust. The envelope contained what turned out to be another of the letters she had written to Peaches. In the excitement of making up with her again, Dottie had forgotten to ask her about those letters. Why had she torn them up without reading them?

  Dottie pulled herself together. What was past was past. She wasn’t here to have a personal pity party. She was here to find Brenda’s address. Underneath the torn envelope she found a stack of letters from Brenda. She had written more frequently that Dottie realised. Reg must have been intercepting the post on his way to work. Could he have been tampering with all her letters as well?

  The pressing need to hurry pushed it to the back of her mind. She opened the first letter. Brenda’s address was in the top right-hand corner. Dottie took a piece of the torn envelope and a pencil she found on the workbench to scribble it down. She intended to put it straight back but the temptation was too great. She fanned open the letter: I can’t tell you how excited Patricia is that you are going to send for her.