by Molly Green
How could this man be anything to do with her, let alone be her father? She shuddered. And then her rage boiled over.
‘You’ve got me here under false pretences. There’s obviously nothing wrong with your legs. “In a wheelchair. Can’t walk. Completely numb for life.”’ She turned on him, not caring, spitting out the words.
He actually moved back a step in surprise.
‘Now, girl, don’t be like that to your poor old dad.’
‘You’re not my dad.’ June raised her voice to make sure he heard every word. ‘You’ve never been a dad to me, never acted like one and you never will. I hate every bone in your rotten body. I don’t know why my mother married you. You disgust me. I’m leaving – right this minute. And I never want to set eyes on you again.’ She turned and made for the door, suitcase still in her hand.
‘Just hear me out, young lady, with your high-and-mighty talk.’ Her father sat heavily on the armchair. ‘I think you need to know something before you go mouthing off. I was the one who rescued your mother from the gutter.’
What was he on about? Her fingers were already on the door handle. She kept her back to him as she said, ‘Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that.’
‘It’s the truth. She would’ve ended up a doxy if it hadn’t been for me.’
June swung round, her eyes ablaze. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true. She already had Stella. Yes, you can look. Stella was three when I took her in. Married your mother to give the little bastard a name. Make an honest woman of her. So don’t make me laugh, girl. Your mother owes me, and more.’
‘Well, she can hardly repay you for your kindness’ – June emphasised the word – ‘when she’s no longer alive.’
‘That’s it. You’ve hit the nail on the head. She can’t – but you can. Because you see, June, dear’ – his lips formed a sneer – ‘not only was Stella a little bastard, but so were you!’
It was difficult to stand there in the claustrophobic stench and take in what he was saying. Her mother had had two illegitimate babies? Not just one, but two. It didn’t make sense.
‘That’s shut your gob up for a bit.’ Her father gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘I thought that might bring you up short.’
‘What about Clara?’ June whispered, dreading what he would say next.
His lips formed a smile. ‘She’s your mother’s. But she ain’t mine neither. None of yous are mine. Three of you. So what do you think of that?’ A bubble of spit gathered in the corner of his lips, but his eyes were alight with triumph. June realised he was actually enjoying telling her these secrets about her mother. How he must have hated her too. And how her mother must have hated him to have sought comfort elsewhere. A sliver of admiration crept into her heart. June was glad her mother hadn’t completely cowed under her bully of a husband. She hoped, whoever the man was, he’d treated her mother with kindness and love.
‘Yes, she carried on with him even after I married her. She couldn’t never have him ’cos he already had a wife. And like a fool I stuck with her. She tried to pass you and Clara off as mine. But I knew different and after I gave her a good hiding she admitted it in the end.’ He paused and his mouth twisted. ‘And in case you’re wonderin’, it’s no good going looking for him. He’s dead and buried – long ago.’
June couldn’t take her eyes off him. Instinctively she knew for once he was speaking the truth. And the light dawned, big and bright. She wanted to shout with joy. Not one drop of his bad blood was in her. It was as though a huge weight lifted from her. She wouldn’t have to ever worry again about whether she’d inherited any of his rotten traits. They had nothing whatsoever to do with her – or with Stella, or with Clara. No wonder his treatment of his so-called three daughters was so cruel. He had no love for any of us, she thought. We weren’t his. We were simply three little bastards who lived under the same roof.
‘And Clara—’
‘Don’t you dare mention Clara’s name to me ever again.’ June’s voice shook with fury. ‘I will never forgive you for what happened.’
‘I agree, that were unfortunate.’
‘Unfortunate?’ June screamed at him. ‘How dare you call my sister’s death “unfortunate”?’
‘It were an acci—’
Hardly aware of what she was doing June dropped her case in one movement and grabbed the nearest object and threw it straight at him. The vase bounced off his skull and smashed into the fireplace. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and half rose, his eyes wide with terror, and then he slowly slumped back in the chair without a word, blood pouring from his head.
She ran over to him and shook him but he didn’t respond. Blindly she found the toilet and grabbed a dingy towel off the door handle and clumsily wrapped it round his head. He didn’t stir.
‘Speak to me.’ The word ‘Dad’ stuck in her throat.
But there was nothing.
What had she done? Dear God, what had she done? She must have killed him.
She didn’t stop to think. She turned and raced out of the door, taking the stairs two at a time. Then ran back up, heart pounding with exertion, and without looking at the lifeless figure in the chair, snatched up her case and ran back down the stairs again.
As she flew along the hallway the grey-haired landlady came out of one of the rooms and shot an arm out to stop her.
‘Just where are you going in such a hurry, Miss Lavender?’
June shook the arm off. She was in a daze. Couldn’t think. Was he dead?
‘Please telephone for an ambulance,’ she shouted as she flung open the front door. ‘My father’s had an accident.’ She pulled the door behind her, slamming out the landlady’s call for her to come back this instant.
Oh, the relief to be out in the street. She took three seconds to gulp some air, and then she ran and ran and ran. She had no idea which direction she was running in. If she’d killed him she was glad. If she hadn’t she hoped he’d have a sore, throbbing head for the rest of his life. Then she stopped and caught her breath, her heart thundering like mad in her chest. If she’d killed him it would be murder. She’d be up for murder. Hanged. Oh, dear God. Even if they didn’t hang her she would go to prison for the rest of her life. Everything she’d worked for would be gone – her job at Dr Barnardo’s which meant the world to her, Lizzie and all the other children she’d grown so fond of, and who she was sure had begun to rely on her, Aunt Ada’s loving support, her friends, Iris and Kathleen, and most of all … a man in a greatcoat with twinkling eyes the colour of a summer sky. How could she confess to him she’d killed her own father? Who wasn’t her father. Oh, this was a nightmare.
She closed her eyes as the whole horrible truth took hold. Tears squeezed through her eyelids and slid down her cheeks.
Still panting hard, she put her hand on a bus stop to steady herself. Sweat was pouring off her forehead. She should have stayed until the ambulance arrived. Instead she’d left the landlady to deal with a dead body. Bile rose in her throat. She was glad. He deserved it. But she knew she was only trying to persuade herself. No one deserved to die. Except maybe Hitler and all the wicked men around him, carrying out his revolting orders.
She looked around to see where she was. She knew she wasn’t far from Oxford Street. But that was the last place she wanted to be, among crowds of normal people doing their shopping. There was a large church in the distance that didn’t look too far away. Maybe she could just go in there for a few minutes – try to think what she must do. Her head felt as if it would burst. Should she go and see Aunt Ada? She bit her lip so hard she tasted a trickle of blood. Aunt Ada would probably say, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’ She started to hurry towards the church, head down, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye and have them wonder what this mad woman was doing, rushing along. She only knew she must find somewhere to stop and think. Sit quietly. Think what she should do.
She felt the force of knocking into someone who put out a hand to steady her.<
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‘Well, I’ll be darned – it’s June Lavender, isn’t it?’ Charles Lockstone grinned down at her. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’
Now she’d stopped she couldn’t catch her breath. She tilted her neck back, just to make sure. Chas. Easy-going Chas. Could she tell him? Would he understand? Would he believe her? If only it was Murray who stood in front of her.
‘You look as though something’s upset you mighty bad,’ Chas said, still holding her arm firmly. She was thankful. She’d begun to feel quite light-headed. Feeling she would choke and swallowing hard, she tried to dislodge the lump in her throat.
He looked down at her intently. ‘Do you want to tell me about it? I’m a good listener.’
She shook her head. She didn’t want him to go with her and sit in church.
‘I’m on leave for a few days and my buddy wasn’t interested in any sightseeing.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, why don’t we go and sit on a bench in the park?’
She nodded. He took her hand as they crossed the road.
‘Come on, tell Uncle Charles what’s the matter,’ Chas said when they were sitting on the bench.
‘I think I’ve just killed my father,’ June blurted.
There was a sharp intake of breath beside her. She ventured to take her hands from her face and look at him. His cheery grin had faded and a look of horror had taken its place.
‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’ The horror had faded to disbelief.
‘I-I do know what I’m saying.’ She was sobbing openly now. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.’ She drew in a huge breath and Chas handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose.
‘Yes, you should tell me.’ He took hold of her hands and turned her towards him. ‘This is serious, June. You must start from the beginning.’
He sat there silently while she told him everything.
‘You poor girl. But you need to go back to his lodgings and find out what happened. If the ambulance came. If he really is dead – which he probably isn’t.’
She looked up at him, despair in her eyes. ‘I’ll come with you, if you like,’ he added.
She leaned against him gratefully for a few seconds, then pulled away. He might misinterpret her action when she was feeling vulnerable.
Chas got hold of her arm and tucked it through his, and together they quickly retraced the steps to Billy Lavender’s. This time the front door was slightly ajar and there was no landlady in sight. They rushed up to number 8 and that door, too, was unlocked. They went in. Her father was no longer there. The vase was still in fragments in the fireplace and there were bloodstains on the lino and on the back of the chair he’d slumped against.
She felt sick again and had to rush to the toilet, where she brought up a stream of bile. She rinsed out her mouth.
‘Are you okay?’ Chas sounded concerned.
‘I don’t know what to do. I suppose they’ve taken the body to hospital to find out how he died.’
‘Which is the nearest?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to find the landlady.’
But she was nowhere around. The whole house seemed to be empty.
‘We’ll get a cab,’ Chas said. ‘The driver will probably know which one he’ll have gone to.’
A quarter of an hour later the taxi dropped them off at the front door of a plain sprawling building with a hospital sign. Chas marched straight up to the reception desk and asked if Billy Lavender had been brought in as an emergency.
The young girl shuffled some papers and ran her pencil down the list.
‘A William Lavender was admitted about an hour ago.’
‘That’s him.’ June joined him at the desk. ‘I’m his daughter’ – her voice shook – ‘and I—’
‘One moment.’ The girl picked up the internal telephone. ‘I’ve got Mr Lavender’s daughter here.’ There was a pause. ‘Yes, she’s here in reception. Oh, I see …’ Her voice trailed off.
He’s dead. I’ll be hanged. I’m a murderess. I’ll go to hell.
To her surprise the girl turned towards her and smiled. ‘Would you like to see him? He’s in Ward 9. Down the corridor and turn left. Then through the swing doors. You’ll see it marked.’
‘He-he’s not dead then?’
‘Apparently not,’ she said, and laughed. ‘He’s sitting up and demanding his dinner.’
Chas roared with laughter too and squeezed her arm. ‘Say, that’s swell. Shall we go and see the old so-and-so?’
The young girl frowned. ‘It’s a quiet area all over the hospital.’
‘I’m sorry, Ma’am.’ He gave her his charming smile and she simpered. Then he bent down and whispered in June’s ear, ‘So you’re not a murderess after all. Shame. I was looking forward to some excitement.’
June glanced at him doubtfully. His American ways would take some getting used to. He caught her eye and held out his arm. ‘Let’s go find him.’
‘No,’ June said, her teeth on edge. ‘Let’s not.’ She took his arm. ‘I want to get out of here – right now. Get some air. I feel I’m suffocating.’
‘We’ll go have a coffee first.’ Chas sent an apologetic glance to the young girl behind the desk.
It was after they’d left the café that June saw the puppy. Chas had said he wanted to go to back to Oxford Street, to Selfridges, to buy something for his mother’s birthday, and when they were walking along Regent Street, June feeling a little calmer, she saw the puppy in Hamleys’ window. He was amongst a few dozen other toys, but he stood out. He was so like Freddie with his brown head and spark of white above his nose. His red felt tongue was hanging out, and he looked for all the world as though he might bark with happiness at any moment. She had to have him no matter how much he cost.
‘Chas, I’m going to ask the price of the puppy over there.’ She pointed to it.
‘You girls with your stuffed toys,’ Chas said with a laugh, guiding her into the shop.
She didn’t bother to tell him it was for Lizzie.
A thin pasty-faced boy stood behind the counter wearing a tin hat. June looked round to see two other staff in tin hats. Silently Chas pointed up to the ceiling which had been recently damaged.
‘We wear the hats all the time,’ the pasty young man said as he followed their glance. ‘We’ve already been caught three times.’
‘Do you mean the shop’s been bombed three times?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ His lips were almost white with fear and he gave a nervous giggle. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘I’d like one of the brown-and-white puppies like the one in the window.’
‘I’m afraid they’ve all been sold, Miss. They’ve been very popular.’
‘But what about the one in the window?’
‘That’s for display so we can sell the whole boxful.’
‘But if they’re all sold now you don’t need the one in the window to help with any more sales,’ June persisted.
‘It’s against the rules to take anything out of the window.’
‘Then I’d like to speak to the manager.’
‘He’s on a break.’
June tapped a foot impatiently. ‘When will he be back?’
The boy looked over at the wall clock. ‘Maybe half an hour. Maybe longer. No saying with Mr Barber. He’s often late …’ His voice trailed off and he went bright red. ‘Oh, Mr Barber, can you help this lady? She’s asking for you.’
‘I’ll talk to you later, young man.’ Mr Barber sent him a stern look, then turned to June and Chas with a bright smile.
June repeated her request.
‘I’m afraid young Robson was right – the window has to stay as it is until the dresser comes next week and re-does it.’
‘But I won’t be here next week,’ June protested. ‘It’s for a child who’s had her real puppy taken away from her. She’s lost her whole family in a bombing raid and she didn’t speak – until she had Freddie. Then she had to give him back because Matron at the
orphanage wouldn’t allow it. The toy puppy looks so much like Freddie, I think she’d talk to him.’
‘Well, in that case I suppose we can make an exception,’ the manager said, his voice softening a little. ‘Robson, will you get that brown-and-white puppy out of the window and wrap it up for the lady?’
‘How much is it?’ June asked, getting her purse out while the young man was leaning into the window to remove the toy.
The manager glanced at the price tag. ‘One guinea.’
‘A guinea,’ June squeaked. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘I’ll be glad to buy it for the lady.’ Chas stepped up to the counter. He got out his wallet and removed a bundle of notes. He peeled a pound note off the top. ‘A guinea’ – he turned to June – ‘it’s another shilling, isn’t it? But I’m afraid I don’t have any change.’
‘I’ve got a shilling.’ June’s face flushed with embarrassment. She should have asked how much it was right at the beginning. A guinea. She’d guessed about five shillings.
‘I’ll pay you back, Chas,’ she said when they were outside, the brown package safely under Chas’s arm.
‘No sweat. Consider it a present.’
‘But it’s for Lizzie.’
‘It’s a present for Lizzie, then. She sounds as though she’s had a rough time.’
‘You’re really kind, Chas. Thank you.’ She looked up at him and smiled.
‘I want to be kind to you, June. You’re so lovely. Don’t you know by now I’m crazy about you? Say, what about having a spot of tea, as you Limeys say, at the hotel where I’m staying? It’s not far from here. We can walk.’
Immediately June felt uncomfortable. She put it down to his American-ness but she didn’t want to hear those sorts of declarations. They didn’t make one jot of difference to her feelings. She knew by now he really liked her, but in her eyes he’d never be more than a friend – a good friend, after the way he’d helped her today, but sooner or later, if he carried on like this, she’d have to tell him her heart belonged to someone else.