Abby pondered the matter for some days. She’d all but lost touch with Audrey and she knew this was partly her fault, but not altogether. When she’d discovered the truth about her parenthood she’d felt unable to correspond with her aunt as she had been doing, but Audrey had never written to enquire what was wrong or whether everything was all right, which was strange. It wasn’t like her aunt. It was almost as if Audrey herself had been relieved their contact had waned. Nevertheless, Abby did feel her aunt would be upset if she married without at least giving her the chance to be present. Wilbert was no letter writer but they had written to each other once or twice and she loved her brother dearly. She would ask him to give her away. He could tell their mother he was coming to visit her for Christmas. Her mother wouldn’t like it but she could hardly stop him.
And Ivor? She no longer thought of him as Uncle Ivor. If her aunt came, he’d no doubt accompany her. Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. But just let him try and act the benevolent uncle and devoted husband and she’d give him what for! Not in front of her aunt though; her aunt was the last person she wanted to hurt and it was possible Audrey would never recover if she found out her beloved husband had had an affair with her own sister.
And so the arrangements continued. If Ike or any of the others thought her attitude regarding her mother a little hard, they didn’t say so. Abby felt she couldn’t explain the true facts to anyone, not even her future husband, and so she simply stated they’d had a falling out and that reconciliation was not an option. It was only Clara who mentioned Nora, and then to say, ‘I’m glad you’re not telling Mam about you getting wed, Abby.’ The two of them were standing in the greenhouse planting seeds before Clara had to leave for the village school.
It came out of the blue and the two sisters stared at each other before Abby said, ‘She’d try and spoil things, wouldn’t she?’ and Clara nodded. Their eyes held some moments longer, both thinking of their father and the way he had died, and then Abby said, ‘I want you to be my bridesmaid. Would you like that?’ and the moment passed and Clara whooped and hugged her. They had never discussed the manner of their father’s passing since the night Clara had blurted it all out, but that morning Abby realised Clara thought about it as often as she did, which was a comfort of sorts.
Abby had decided not to get married in the Catholic church at Whitby. Ike was not of the faith, in fact he declared himself to be an agnostic. She’d looked this up in the dictionary and found it to mean a person who believes that nothing is known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena. Immediately she’d read it she knew the term was not right for Ike. In the past he’d admitted that when his wife was dying he had railed against God constantly, one moment begging Him to heal her and then asking Him to take her quickly to end her suffering. He’d wrestled long and hard with the manner of Eleanor’s death and the distress and pain he’d seen in others since, and the result was a bitter resentment towards the Almighty for allowing such agony. Abby could understand this. She felt confused and angry herself that a lovely man like her father who had never hurt a living soul had been treated the way he had by people who were alive and well and had got off scot-free. It was monstrously unjust. And there was her mother acting all holy and toadying round the priest, her reputation as a good Catholic unblemished. It made Abby feel sick. Which was maybe why the decision to marry at Whitby’s register office was set in concrete as far as she was concerned.
The wedding was due to take place the morning of Christmas Eve, which was a Monday. On the Saturday afternoon Wilbert, along with Audrey, Ivor, Leonard, Bruce and Jed, were due to arrive at the smallholding and Abby was beside herself. She knew the others were surprised she was so het up, especially as she had managed to meet all Ike’s relations, who had arrived the previous day, with complete poise and calm, but the thought of seeing Ivor, of having to look into his face, made her feel ill. But she’d get through, she told herself, staring into the speckled mirror on the dressing table in the bedroom she shared with Rowena. On Monday Rowena would move into the room Gladys had previously had to herself. Winnie, Clara and Joy occupied the third bedroom in the smallholding. All three bedrooms were large and spacious, which was fortunate.
It was also fortunate, Abby thought, that there were no spare rooms in the property because this meant all the guests had to stay in town. Ike had insisted on treating everyone to a top-notch hotel, both his relations and Abby’s, and when she’d protested about her side he’d cupped her face in his large hands and smiled at her. ‘I can afford it,’ he said softly, ‘and there’s no your side and my side, at least not from Monday anyway. They’ll all be ours, like everything else. OK, honey?’
Abby sank back on the stool, reflecting how very lucky she was to have found Ike. Not just because of his generosity, which knew no bounds, but because he was the dearest man on earth. She smiled slowly, thoughts of Ivor retreating. Ike was bringing what Abby considered a small fortune into the marriage, and he’d already made it clear he wanted to be a fourth partner in the smallholding and their business, albeit a sleeping one. Suddenly the four women had a wealth of funds at their disposal for all the repairs to the existing house and barn, plus another big greenhouse they’d had in mind for the future. On top of that he had suggested a large extension for the house which would effectively give himself and Abby a home of their own, whilst still being close to the others.
They had plenty of land, so the three-bedroom extension, complete with sitting room, dining room and kitchen, would present no problem, and he proposed it should have its own front door, but also an interconnecting door. He was intending to return to the medical profession in due course, and Abby knew he was thinking of the times he might be called out for long periods and she would be alone. ‘You don’t want to be scampering out in the cold when it’s snowing a blizzard or raining cats and dogs,’ he’d said. ‘Better if you can just open a door and stay in the warm.’
Abby patted the shining coil of her hair and smoothed the collar of her dress. She went to look out of the window for a moment or two. It had snowed on and off all through December and the wind had carved the deep drifts into curves of exquisite beauty. The smallholding’s shovels had become the most important items they possessed. Abby had found herself praying the snow would continue to fall and prove a deterrent to Ivor and the others, but instead they’d had a partial thaw followed by days of cold frosty sunshine. And now they’d all be here any moment. Ike had met their train earlier and taken them to the hotel so they could freshen up before he brought them to the house.
As though on cue she heard the engine of the big car Ike had acquired. Her legs trembled as she turned from the window. They continued to tremble as she walked down the stairs and into the square hall. Off it on one side were the kitchen, scullery and dairy, and on the other side their comfortable but shabby sitting room and a small storeroom. Clara hurtled out of the sitting room just as Abby reached its doorway, her voice high with excitement as she cried, ‘They’re here, Abby! Aunty Audrey and Jed and the others!’
‘I know.’ Abby forced a smile. ‘Have you finished decorating the tree?’
Clara nodded. ‘Joy fell asleep after a little while but I laid her on the sofa.’
The night before, the four women and Clara had stayed up to the early hours cutting out cardboard circles, tiny Christmas trees, stars and other shapes and covering them in silver paper for the fir tree Ike had brought to the house. He had also arrived with a big bag of sugar mice and tiny candy shepherd hooks which he’d bought in America with Christmas in mind, and when he’d presented these to Clara her excitement had known no bounds.
But then, Abby thought now as she looked into her sister’s bright eyes, Clara had never really decorated a tree with the unthinkable luxury of dozens of pink and white sugar mice and gaily coloured candy sticks before. The war had made such a thing impossible. When they had finished cutting and sticking at two in the morning, Clara had declared
that she and Joy would trim the tree once the toddler was awake. She had received no argument from the bleary-eyed women.
‘How does the tree look?’ Abby asked.
‘Smashing!’ Clara declared, and then the door opened and Ike was ushering folk in.
Audrey was the first to enter and for a moment Abby didn’t recognise her. Gone was the big, dowdily dressed housewife she remembered and in her place was a smart, attractive woman with carefully styled hair and discreet make-up. The voice was the same though when Audrey let out a screech of delight, clasping Abby and Clara to her as she cried, ‘Eee, me bairns, me bairns,’ before bursting into tears.
In the ensuing few minutes of bedlam Abby found herself lifted right off her feet in a bruising bear hug from Wilbert and kissed soundly by a grinning Leonard and Bruce - the latter with an empty left sleeve to his jacket which told its own story. And then she was smiling down at a reserved and shy Jed who held out his hand to be shaken, clearly horrified by all the kissing and endearments flying around. ‘You remember Clara, don’t you, Jed?’ Abby said to the young lad after she’d decorously shaken the proffered hand. ‘You used to be inseparable at one time.’ She glanced at her sister and was amazed to see Clara was beetroot red, her voice a mumble when she muttered a quick hello.
In the moment it took for Abby to take in how very alike the two youngsters were - same blond hair, straight fine noses and wide full mouths - she became aware of a bulky figure standing half hidden by the side of the open front door. She felt herself stiffen but the trembling had vanished. As Ivor walked fully into the house, a big smile on his face, Abby stared at him. She did not return the smile but her voice was level when she said, ‘Hello, Ivor.’
Whether it was her tone or the lack of ‘Uncle’ before his name, he stopped about a yard away instead of taking her in his arms and hugging her as he’d obviously intended. His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Hello, Abby.’ Almost immediately his gaze dropped to Clara and his voice was jolly as he said, ‘This can’t be Clara! Not this grown-up young lady in front of me. I don’t believe it.’
Clara wriggled with embarrassment. Abby stared at the man she now knew to be her father. He hadn’t changed much. A little older, a little plumper and there was a heavy smattering of grey in his hair, otherwise he seemed the same relaxed individual she remembered from her childhood and youth. She’d loved this man as her Uncle Ivor, trusted him, run to him with little problems when her da was at sea. How could he have done what he had?
‘I couldn’t believe it when we got your letter, hinny.’ Audrey took her arm. ‘You getting married an’ taking on this place an’ all. By, lass, you’re one on your own and no mistake. An’ I like your American,’ she added in a loud stage whisper as they all walked through into the sitting room where a crackling log fire was burning in the stone fireplace, the flames reflected in the steel-topped and brass-tailed fender. ‘An’ him a doctor too,’ she murmured with a touch of reverence.
Abby couldn’t help but smile. Ike was clearly one step down from the Pope himself in her aunty’s opinion. ‘You didn’t say anything to Mam?’ she whispered. ‘She hasn’t caught wind of anything?’
‘Your mam?’ For a moment her aunt’s voice held an inflection Abby couldn’t put her finger on. Then it was gone as Audrey said quietly, ‘We’re not on speaking terms any more, lass. Haven’t been for years and I have to say I prefer it that way. Your Wilbert comes round now and again; brings his young lady in to see us. You know he’s courting strong the last little while with a Southwick lass?’
Abby shook her head. She was lucky if she got a letter from Wilbert every six months and then it always followed the same pattern. A few scrawled words enquiring if she was well, if Clara was well, and stating the health of them back home. This was followed by a commentary on the present state of the weather and that was about it. When she had written telling him about the wedding she’d received a two-liner back stating he’d be pleased to give her away and telling her the time of his arrival, and that he would be travelling down with their aunt and uncle.
‘Aye, well, he is,’ Audrey carried on, ‘an’ she’s a right bonny lass an’ all. I understand your mam can’t stand the sight of her.’
‘Why aren’t I surprised?’
They looked at each other and neither was smiling. It was Audrey who changed the subject, pointing to Joy who was curled up like a small puppy on the sofa and still fast asleep. ‘Is that Winnie’s bairn?’ she said softly.
Abby nodded. She had gone to some lengths in her letter to her aunt to explain the circumstances of each of the women in the household, thinking it better things were straight before the visitors arrived.
‘Poor little mite.’
Abby looked at her aunt. ‘Joy is very much loved and she’ll be brought up in a family where she’ll want for nothing. There are worse starts in life. Most important of all, Winnie dotes on her.’
‘Oh aye, lass, aye. I wasn’t meaning . . .’ Audrey’s voice trailed away. They both knew what she had meant. Then the slightly awkward moment passed as she said warmly, ‘I’m glad you wrote, Abby. I’ve been meaning to put pen to paper so many times but then something would come up, you know how it is. I was working full-time when the war was on but with the men coming out of the forces that’s all changed. I’ve got a nice little part-time job in the laundry in St Marks Road now though, nine till two. The money’s not brilliant but it’s enough for what I want. I couldn’t go back to being stuck at home all day and I like me own pay packet, you know? Little bit of independence.’
Abby stared, she couldn’t help it. This was her aunt and yet not her aunt and it was weird. But the war had changed everyone, she reminded herself as Gladys bustled in with a trolley containing tea and cakes. No one had come through unscathed. And Audrey’s transformation was not a bad thing, far from it, except - Abby blinked as she tried to marshall her whirling thoughts - there was something behind the soft brown of her aunt’s eyes. Sadness? Melancholy? Grief? But then she would be mourning Donald, wouldn’t she? He was her firstborn, her boy. It was only natural.
Winnie and Rowena followed close on Gladys’s heels and as Joy chose that second to wake, the moment was lost. It wasn’t until much later, when she was lying in bed and sleep seemed a million miles away, that the haunted look in her aunt’s eyes returned to Abby’s mind. And she wondered . . .
Chapter Twenty-four
‘All I’m saying is, she doesn’t seem like the same lass who left Sunderland five years ago. That’s all. It wasn’t meant as a criticism.’
Audrey’s sceptical gaze spoke volumes, as did her ‘Huh!’
Ivor looked somewhat sheepishly at his wife as he struggled with the top button of the new gleaming white shirt purchased especially for the wedding with precious clothing coupons. He had wanted to wear his Sunday one but Audrey wouldn’t hear of it. The button finally fastened, he felt as if he was choking. ‘Does she seem the same to you then? Now tell me, does she?’
‘Aye, she does. More beautiful than ever but just the same old Abby under the skin.’ Audrey smoothed the lapels of her tweed suit after turning to check her appearance in the full-length mirror in the hotel room. Twelve pounds this suit had cost her, double what it should, but you had to be prepared for that if you bought on the black market. With the only new things in the shops being utility clothes that looked as drab as dishwater, it’d been worth it, and even Ivor had said it was a grand bit of material. That had been before he’d known it had cost her three weeks’ wages mind. But never again would she stint on herself. She might not be earning what she had during the war, but what she earned was her money and would remain so. It was one of the terms she’d laid down when she’d taken him back.
‘The same old Abby?’ Ivor was now fighting with his tie, and after clicking her tongue Audrey walked across to him and took over. ‘I don’t think so. I really don’t, lass. Not with me anyway.’
‘You’re imagining things.’ The tie in a perfect knot, Audr
ey handed him the jacket of his Sunday suit. ‘Now hurry up, I bet we’ll be the last ones downstairs and we don’t want to keep them all waiting.’
Ivor caught his wife’s arm as she went to turn away. ‘You look bonny, lass,’ he said softly. ‘Right bonny.’
Audrey smiled but did not say anything. He was always complimenting her about her appearance these days. He also praised her dinners, the way she kept the house, even the way she ironed his shirts. And she wished he wouldn’t. He’d never understand, but it was a constant reminder of the affair which had blighted their lives. And he was so grateful for any little show of affection from her, and this had the effect of restraining her somehow. The old Ivor had taken her completely for granted, mind you, and she wouldn’t want to return to that. Of course she wouldn’t. But . . .
Here Audrey’s reasoning ran out and she mentally shrugged. Life was funny, and not in a ha-ha sense either. But she was glad things were back on a level footing between herself and Abby. When the chance had come to cut off contact with her niece, she had taken it because anything connected to Nora was a reminder, but when she’d begun to feel a bit better about things she had regretted it. It had seemed too late, then, to suddenly start writing again.
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