by Pam Weaver
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘There’s really no need,’ Dottie protested. She rolled the plate scrapings in newspaper for the pig and put it into the shopping bag.
‘Oh, but I insist,’ said the doctor. ‘It’s starting to rain again.’
They drove in silence, but this time Dottie didn’t feel very comfortable. The doctor seemed tense. He stared at the road ahead and his back was very straight. He’s probably driving like that because he’s had too much to drink, she thought, but it gave her little comfort. The only sound in the car was the whoosh, whoosh of the windscreen wipers.
He pulled up outside her place and as he put the handbrake on his hand brushed her leg. She gathered her shopping bag, anxious to get out of the car as quickly as possible. ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she said curtly.
‘Allow me,’ he said reaching across her to open the passenger door. Their hands met on the door handle and he pressed himself against her. ‘Oh, Dottie,’ he said huskily. ‘Dottie.’
Dottie was both shocked and surprised. ‘Dr Fitzgerald!’ she cried as his other hand squeezed her thigh gently.
‘Just a kiss,’ he was pleading. ‘One little kiss.’
His face was right in front of hers and his mouth was open. She could smell his whisky-soaked breath. She turned her head away and dug him in the ribs with all her might. Her bag fell to the floor and everything spilled out. ‘Get off me,’ she hissed. ‘How dare you!’
The wipers were still going and through the windscreen she could see the curtain in Ann Pearce’s bedroom moving. They didn’t get many cars in their street so obviously the sound of a motor drawing up had brought her to the window. The doctor accidentally touched the car horn and the loud and sudden noise seemed to make him come to his senses.
‘Oh God …’ he began. ‘Mrs Cox, I’m sorry …’
As he slumped back in his seat, Dottie scrambled to get out of the car. The door swung open and the light went on. As she stepped into the road, she looked up. Ann let the curtain drop, but Dottie knew she’d seen everything. Breathless and still panicking, she ran up the path. Behind her, the doctor’s car turned around in the road and drove off into the night.
She burst through the back door into the darkened kitchen and slammed it behind her. Thank God, Reg must still be at the pub. Heaven only knows what he’d do if he found out. Putting her head back, she leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Dirty old man …’
‘Dot?’
She jerked open her eyes and jumped a mile high. She swung round to see a dark shape in the chair. Dottie put the back of her hand to her mouth and let out a small cry. She fumbled for the switch by the door and the room was flooded with light. It was Reg. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and as he rose to his feet, the only thing that registered in her mind was the deep frown on his forehead.
‘What the hell happened? You look as white as a sheet.’
Dottie felt herself sway slightly. She hadn’t expected Reg to be sitting here in the dark. She wished now that she hadn’t put on the light. She must look a right mess.
‘Dot?’ he said again.
She felt her mouth open but nothing came out. She was shaking. He was going to be angry with her, she knew he was. She never should have accepted the lift. And yet she’d been in the doctor’s car hundreds of times and he’d never so much as looked at her. Not in that way, anyway.
He came slowly towards her. She still had enough of her wits about her not to tell Reg what had happened. He was the type to do something stupid and face the consequences later.
‘What’s that all over your skirt?’ he accused.
She glanced at her clothes. Lumps of half-eaten wedding cake and salad cream hung from her dress and she had a big blob of egg on her stocking.
‘I … I …’ she faltered and swayed again. She felt sick. Whether it was the sight of the pig food or the memory of what had happened she wasn’t sure. The room was going round and round.
He grabbed at her arm and she flinched.
‘Come and sit yourself down,’ he said kindly. ‘You’ve obviously had a shock.’
Now she was bewildered, confused. Doctor Fitzgerald’s actions were hard enough to deal with, but it was a long time since Reg had been so considerate.
‘Did something frighten you?’ He had his head on one side and was looking at her for an explanation.
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Yes, that’s it. Someone came up behind me and I dropped the bag of pig food.’
‘Pig food?’
‘Mrs Fitzgerald gave me the plate scrapings for the pig, but I dropped them.’
‘Who came up behind you?’ he demanded. ‘Did you see him?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said touching her forehead with her hand. She felt something cold and gooey; looking at it, she saw, she’d got pig food on her hand as well.
‘I saw an old tin full of tea on the windowsill today,’ he snapped. ‘Have you been feeding that bloody tramp again?’
‘No!’ she began. ‘Well … yes, but I’m sure it wasn’t him.’
‘I’ve told you before not to give to them scroungers,’ said Reg. ‘Let them work for their bloody living, like I have to.’ He snatched up the poker.
‘What are you doing?’ Dottie cried out, horrified.
‘You stay here,’ he said as he ran outside.
‘But it’s raining!’ she called after him. ‘He’ll be gone now.’
But Reg was in no mood to listen. For one heart-stopping second she thought the poker might be for her but now he’d gone off in search of the tramp. Thank God the street was empty.
She got up wearily from the chair and put the bowl on the table. There was a little hot water in the kettle so she poured it in and began to wash herself. The fingers on her left hand were swollen and painful from when Doctor Fitzgerald had pressed them against the door handle. Although she knew he was long gone, she still trembled. What on earth had possessed him? It was so unexpected.
As she washed off the pig food, she pondered what to do. She couldn’t say anything to Mrs Fitzgerald. The woman probably wouldn’t believe her anyway. He was the village doctor, for heaven’s sake, and besides, Mariah Fitzgerald wouldn’t tolerate even the smallest whiff of scandal. She’d give her the sack for sure and that would have a knock-on effect. If she wasn’t good enough for the doctor’s wife, most likely her other employers would ask her to leave as well. And there was no way she could tell Reg what had really happened either. She’d have to think up some yarn for when he got back indoors. And then there was Ann Pearce. She must have recognised the doctor’s car. What if she told Reg? Dottie’s heartbeat quickened. No, she told herself, she wouldn’t. There was no love lost between those two. They weren’t even on speaking terms. Ann had been living with another man when Jack came back home and Reg was so angry about it, he’d reported her to the welfare people as an unfit mother, an accusation which was totally unfounded but which caused a great deal of heartache. For a time, Ann had been the subject of gossip and innuendo in the village.
‘She’s doing the best she can,’ Dottie told him but Reg made no secret of his dislike.
Reg reappeared at the back door. He was holding the soggy newspaper with the remains of the pig food inside. ‘I found this in the hedge just up the road a bit,’ he said. ‘I reckon the tramp must have fancied it and come up behind you. You running off like that, must have scared him. Obviously he didn’t want the law on him so he ran off.’
She gave him a faint smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re right, Reg. That’s it. That’s what must have happened.’ It seemed safe enough to blame the tramp. He never came near the cottage when Reg was there anyway. The doctor must have thrown the pig food into the hedge as soon as he’d turned the car around.
‘You sit yourself down, love,’ Reg was saying, ‘and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’
He lifted the bowl of dirty water and took it outside to throw over the garden while Dottie plonked hersel
f down in the easy chair. Reg was making her very nervous. She couldn’t face it if he wanted her tonight but he got so angry if she let him lose the urge when it came. Somehow or other, no matter what she did or didn’t do, he lost it every time, and then he’d get angry.
When he came back, she watched him busying himself with making her a cup of tea. Why was he being so nice? It should have been lovely being spoiled, but she couldn’t relax. It wouldn’t last. As sure as eggs is eggs, there would be a payback time.
Six
Reg was in a good mood when he arrived back home for Sunday lunch. Dottie was busy carving the joint but he put his arm around her and gave her a beery kiss on the cheek. ‘That smells good.’
‘Sit yourself down,’ she smiled.
He belched in her face. ‘You’re bloody marvellous.’
She felt disgust at his crudity and yet a glow of pride at his compliment. It wasn’t often Reg said something nice to her. The people round here thought Reg a good sort, helpful and friendly. Good job no one saw what went on behind closed doors.
‘It wouldn’t be half as nice without your wonderful vegetables,’ she said modestly.
The meal, roast lamb, mint sauce, new potatoes and runner beans, with gooseberry fool to follow, was Reg’s favourite. They ate with the radio on and Two-Way Family Favourites and the Billy Cotton Band Show in the background.
‘I was talking to Jack Smith in the pub,’ said Reg as he made for his armchair and the Sunday paper. ‘I told him we ought to do something while the weather’s nice.’
‘Did you, Reg?’ Dottie hid her smile. So, Peaches had done it. She’d invited him on the outing.
‘The weather might have picked up by Saturday.’
‘About time we had some good weather,’ said Dottie putting the kettle on for some tea. ‘What shall we do?’
‘How about a trip to the seaside?’
‘Ooh, Reg,’ she cried, enjoying the pretence. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘I reckon we could all get in that lorry of his,’ Reg went on. ‘You and Peaches will be all right in the back with Gary, won’t you?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘but Peaches is pregnant’, but she knew he’d be annoyed – perhaps even change his mind. ‘Of course we will.’
‘I’ve offered him some petrol money,’ said Reg, settling down for a doze before he read the papers. ‘You’d better get round to Mary Prior’s to talk about the sandwiches.’ He yawned. ‘She’s coming too.’
Dottie hummed to herself as she did the washing up. An outing. How exciting! She hadn’t been on an outing since … since … well, she could hardly remember. It must have been before Reg came back home. Things were definitely on the up. Everyone needed a bit of cheering up. This year’s harvest had only been fair to middling and the August bank holiday had been a total wash-out with torrential rain. The papers said it was the worst on record and what with the train crash at Ford which killed nine people and injured forty-seven the Sunday before, a general air of gloom hung over the village.
Never mind, next Saturday was going to be wonderful. She’d got eighteen pounds, four shillings and eleven pence saved upstairs, and that was quite apart from what she had in her Post Office savings book. She could take a couple of quid and buy all the kiddies an ice cream.
The washing up finished, Dottie picked up the bowl to throw the dirty water onto the garden.
‘Coo-ee, coo-ee.’ Ann Pearce was leaning over the garden fence.
Dottie’s heart sank as the full horror of last night came flooding back. What did Ann want? She was smiling. What was she going to say?
Dottie tried to appear unruffled. ‘Lovely day.’
‘Smashing,’ said Ann. She noted Ann’s lank and greasy hair, fastened to the side of her head with a large hairslide. Dottie thought it a pity that she didn’t make more of herself. She wondered if she should offer to give her one of those new Sta Set Magicurls like the one Mary had tried a few months ago. It only cost ninepence and it was really successful. Ann was an attractive woman but it seemed she had given up on herself. Dottie supposed it must be because Ann had lost everything when her husband came home almost two years after the war had ended. There was an ugly scene and both Ann’s husband and the man she was living with had cleared off.
Ann raised an eyebrow. ‘Having a good day today?’
‘Er … yes, thanks,’ said Dottie, slightly flustered.
Ann smiled. ‘How did the wedding go?’
Dottie felt uneasy. She didn’t want this conversation to continue. If Reg came out and saw her talking to Ann, she’d never hear the last of it. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I think I can hear Reg calling.’
‘Before you go,’ Ann called after her. Her smile was too bright, too eager. Dottie’s stomach churned. ‘I don’t like to ask, but I seem to have run out of money for the gas.’
Dottie relaxed. This was the first time Ann had ever actually asked her for anything directly. Usually, Dottie had to resort to subterfuge to offer her a helping hand.
‘I wonder if you could help me out,’ she’d said to Ann on more than one occasion. ‘I seem to have made far too much casserole for just the two of us. Reg would go mad if he thought I’d was wasting good food, but he doesn’t care to have the same meal two nights running.’
Grudgingly, and only to ‘do her a favour’, Ann would take the dish, making sure to return it, clean, when Reg was at work. For the sake of her pride, Dottie couldn’t do it very often. It wasn’t like Ann to actually ask for something.
‘I meant to have got some change when I went down the village yesterday,’ Ann went on, ‘but I clean forgot all about it when I bumped into Doctor Fitzgerald. It was such a struggle getting away from him. Well, you know how it is.’
Dottie could feel her face begin to flame.
‘So,’ Ann continued, ‘if you could spare a few shillings for the gas …’
The sun went behind a cloud. ‘Yes,’ said Dottie weakly. ‘How much do you need?’
‘Ten bob would do nicely,’ said Ann.
Dottie turned to go inside. ‘I’ll just get my handbag. Ten bob, d’you say?’
Ann nodded. ‘That’ll do … for now.’
Seven
Saturday August 25 was indeed what the papers called ‘a scorcher’. When the lorry arrived outside Dottie’s cottage, the back of it had been transformed by an assortment of blankets and cushions. Mary was perched on top of a pillow laid on a crate of beer and fizzy pop, looking every bit the carnival queen. Tom sat at her feet while all around them the kids were bursting with excitement. Billy had a firm hold on little Christopher and Mary was cradling Connie on her lap. Susan and Maureen sat side by side next to their mother.
‘Don’t you look lovely, hen,’ Mary said as Dottie came down the path carrying a big bag. ‘You’d better sit here in the cab with that pretty dress on.’
‘What, this old thing?’ laughed Dottie, although in truth she was wearing her sundress for the first time. A friend had given her the material because it was too pink. The sleeveless bodice was tight, and she had made a belt to wear at the top of its calf-length full skirt. Luckily she’d been able to match it with some other pink material with tiny white daisies to make a small bolero top.
‘You’re so good with a needle,’ said Mary. ‘Me, I’m hopeless.’
Reg nudged Dottie’s arm. ‘I can’t sit in the back, love,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid if they can’t shove up and make room for me on the seat, I shan’t be going.’ He lowered his voice for Dottie’s ears only. ‘You know I couldn’t face the back of a lorry, not after what happened during the war.’
‘Of course not, dear,’ she smiled. ‘You sit next to Peaches, I’m quite happy at the back with Mary and the children.’
She watched as Peaches, dressed in a voluptuous tent-like dress to hide her bump, pulled Gary onto what was left of her lap and Reg, his Brylcreemed hair flopping attractively over one eye, climbed in beside her. Gary looked a little pale and he w
as complaining a bit.
‘I’m not so sure we should be taking him,’ said Peaches.
‘He’ll be as right as ninepence when he’s down on the beach,’ said Jack.
Dottie walked around the back and, grabbing hold of Tom’s hand, clambered over the side of the lorry. ‘Poor little Gary still doesn’t seem very happy,’ she said as she sat next to Mary. ‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘Peaches reckons he’s got a bit of a cold,’ said Mary, shaking her head. ‘He’s been like it since Saturday.’ And turning to one of her children, she said sharply, ‘Put your arm in Susan. If you hit something while we’re moving you’ll do yourself a mischief.’
Maureen had gravitated to Dottie’s lap. It felt good holding her. Dottie enveloped her in her arms, enjoying the feel of her warm little body and the faint vinegar smell of her shiny clean hair, soft as down next to her cheek. The old yearning flooded over her again. If only she could have a child of her own …
‘I love you, Auntie Dottie,’ Maureen lisped.
‘And I love you too, darling,’ said Dottie with feeling.
The drive to Littlehampton was very pleasant. They all sang silly songs, ‘Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentl’y fall … there’ll be nine green bottles hanging on the wall,’ was one and the other was ‘There was ten in the bed and the little one said, ‘Roll over, rollover.’ So they all rolled over and one fell out, there was nine in the bed and the little one said …’ and they clung to each other, laughing whenever Jack took a corner fast.
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up on the seafront. Tom was the first to jump down. He helped Mary and the kids and then lifted Dottie down. Everybody, except Reg, grabbed a bag and they made their way onto the sand. The warm weather and the Carnival had brought everyone out. The beach was already very crowded. In fact it was difficult to find a stretch of sand big enough for all of them to be together, but eventually they did and luckily it was fairly near the promenade. Dottie pointed out the toilets beyond. ‘Handy for the kids,’ said Mary, giving her a nudge.