by Pam Weaver
She tried again.
Reg doesn’t know that we are still meeting. John, I don’t know how to tell you this but I’m having a baby …
Oh, this was hopeless. Dottie screwed up that one as well. She knew only too well that when she told John about Reg, he would be duty-bound to inform the authorities and they would take Patsy away. Poor little girl … she would have to face yet another radical change in her life. She had to be protected at all costs, but telling the authorities felt like a terrible betrayal. She hadn’t wanted the child in the first place, but now that she was here, Dottie loved her more than words could say.
Then there was the dilemma of her own baby. How could she trust Reg when the baby came? She shuddered at the thought of him living under the same roof. What a fool she’d been to marry him. Aunt Bessie had tried to tell her but she wouldn’t listen. If she’d been single she might have been able to marry John – but on the other hand, if it hadn’t been for Patsy, she never would have met him.
Her head was reeling from all these ‘what if’s’ but she had to face the facts and get on with it. She would have to run away with Patsy. It galled her to leave Reg in the house, but what did it really matter, as long as she and Patsy were free?
I have made the right decision, she told herself firmly. She would move to the New Forest area, somewhere like Ringwood or Fordingbridge, and make a new start. Reg would take the cottage, but her inheritance was safe. At an appropriate time, she would come back and claim it. For the time being, no one need ever know she and Patsy weren’t related. They’d all presume they were mother and daughter. She could pretend Patsy’s father had been one of those coloured GIs.
Dottie picked up the pen again. Would it be better to see John face to face? Would she be brave enough to say the words when he was looking at her?
I have something important I have to tell you. I should have talked to you yesterday but I chickened out. Is it possible for you to meet me for a frank and urgent discussion …
Did that sound stupid? No, she wanted it to sound formal. It had to.
Where should she suggest that they meet? Not here. Not with Reg around. What about the Warnes Hotel, the place where Sylvie had taken her for that meal? She suggested that she would meet him there on Sunday.
She signed herself formally, ‘yours faithfully, Dorothy Cox (Mrs)’ and sealed up the envelope. The post box was just down the road, a three-minute walk away, and she had to get it in the box before the last collection. She could be there and back in no time. She couldn’t leave Patsy alone in the house, so she called out, ‘Would you like to come to the post with me?’
Patsy appeared in the doorway. ‘Can we go and see the horses too?’ They’d noticed two mares in Michael’s field a couple of days ago.
‘Good idea,’ said Dottie, helping her on with her coat.
Patsy grabbed a couple of tired-looking apples from the fruit bowl. Dottie glanced at the clock. They’d have to hurry if they were going to catch the last post. Pulling on her old coat, Dottie hurried out of the door.
On their way, they passed Ann Pearce coming home from work with her two children. Positive she could hear the post van coming, Dottie was anxious not to stop.
Ann pointed towards the flowerbed near the fence. ‘Dottie, I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said, ‘but I’ve never seen that old well in your front garden looking as bad as that before. It looks to me like it’s going to cave in any minute.’
Dottie was startled. Ann was right. Dottie hadn’t really noticed before but the ground around the old well had definitely subsided.
‘I should tell Patsy to keep away from it,’ Ann added. ‘You don’t want her falling in.’
Dottie nodded. ‘I’ll tell Reg right away,’ she said dully.
Ann felt uneasy as she watched her go. It wasn’t like Dottie to be so casual. Come to think of it, she wasn’t looking her normal self these days. Her hair looked lank and untidy and there were times when she seemed miles away. Ann shooed her children indoors. As soon as she got her wages at the end of the week, she’d buy Dottie a nice bunch of flowers and invite her and Patsy in for a cup of tea. It was the least she could do for someone who had been such a wonderful pal to her.
When she and Patsy walked back indoors about half an hour later, Reg was making some tea in the scullery. Dottie’s heart almost stopped.
‘I heard the gate,’ he smiled. ‘Come on in and sit yourself down, pet.’
Pet? Dottie was totally bewildered. What was he up to now? And where had he been? She hesitated. ‘I have to shut up the henhouse.’
‘All done,’ he beamed. ‘I’ve got us all fish and chips for tea. I thought it would save you cooking. You like fish and chips, don’t you, Patsy? Take your coat off, there’s a good girl, and sit up at the table.’
After all these weeks, these were the first real words of kindness he’d ever spoken to her and although they were gentle enough, Patsy looked nervously at Dottie. Dottie gave her a reassuring smile and placed her hand in the middle of her back to guide her to the kitchen table.
Out in the scullery, she got the plates out and he came to help her dish out the chips. They smelled wonderful and she suddenly realised how hungry she was.
‘I’ve been thinking, pet,’ he said as he shovelled the plates high, ‘I’ve been a bit unreasonable just lately, haven’t I?’
‘What?’
‘Well, from now on, things are going to change.’
‘Oh, Reg …’
He put his hand up to silence her. ‘No, no, fair’s fair,’ he went on. ‘I’ve given you both a hard time. But I’ve seen the error of my ways. From now on, I shall be a good husband to you and a good father to Patsy.’
They walked into the kitchen with the three plates piled high.
‘There you are, Patsy, love,’ he said. ‘Daddy’s treat.’
‘Thank you,’ said Patsy warily.
‘That’s my first treat and in a minute I’ll tell you about another one.’
Dottie slid into her chair and picked up her knife and fork. ‘This looks so wonderful,’ she smiled. ‘There’s no need for anything else.’
‘Nonsense,’ he laughed. ‘Oh, it’s no good, I’ve got to tell you now. Patsy’s here and we’re going to celebrate. Remember that place we went to on our honeymoon? Well we’re going back again. It’s all booked up. All three of us are going for a little holiday.’
Patsy’s eyes danced. ‘A holiday?’
‘That’s right, my love,’ he beamed.
‘Oh, I don’t think …’ Dottie began.
‘Will we be back in time for the party?’ cried Patsy.
‘What party?’
Patsy went red. ‘Nothing …’
Reg tapped the side of Patsy’s plate with his knife. ‘Eat up, now. Don’t let it get cold.’
Dottie’s head was in a whirl. He was getting Patsy all excited, and he hadn’t even told her why they were going. What was this all about? She was supposed to ring Sylvie tomorrow. ‘When are we going on this holiday?’ she said curtly.
‘Right away, pet. First thing tomorrow morning.’
Dottie lay on her back staring at the ceiling. Reg’s snores filled their bedroom but that wasn’t what was keeping her awake. A holiday. She didn’t want to go away with Reg but she couldn’t bear to disappoint Patsy. It wasn’t as if it was the height of summer either. Who goes away in November? It was terribly short notice too. She’d have to get hold of Ann Pearce in the morning and see if she could do Mrs Fitzgerald’s and Janet Cooper’s while she was away. She felt confident Ann would agree. After all, it was all money in her pocket and Christmas wasn’t too far away. Now that Reg had promised to be a model husband and father, perhaps Dottie didn’t need to feel so desperate about getting away from him. She would still leave him, but she could take her time, do it properly.
She pulled the bedclothes up to her neck and turned over. The eiderdown kept slipping over towards his side. She stuck her arm out into the cold night air an
d yanked it back. What she needed was a heavy weight on her side of the bed to keep it over her own shoulders.
Dottie’s eyes flew open and suddenly she was wide awake. The hammer. Why had he hidden that hammer in the drawer in his shed? She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Dottie held her breath. More to the point, where was the hammer now?
Thirty-Two
The clock on the mantelpiece said 2.20am and Dottie was downstairs in the kitchen. She was listening out to make sure Reg was still asleep.
She had crept out of bed and down the stairs with her heart in her mouth. Call it a presentiment, or a hunch, she didn’t really understand why, but she had to make sure the hammer was still in the shed. Upstairs, a loud snore convinced her it was safe to go outside. She took her coat down from the nail on the back door. Outside, she opened the shed door gingerly, remembering that it sometimes creaked, and slipped inside. Opening the drawer, she shone the torch inside.
The hammer was still there, wrapped up in the piece of sacking. Where should she put it? She couldn’t leave it where it was. She didn’t trust Reg. For her own peace of mind, she had to think of some place where no one would think of looking. The chickens. She’d put it in the henhouse. She’d have to ask Ann to look after the hens while they were away. Back indoors, she scribbled a note then, pulling her coat tightly around her, Dottie hurried down to the bottom of the garden.
The pig was gone. Gerald must have taken it but she was surprised to see the door of the henhouse was wide open. Reg had said he’d done the chickens, so why was the door open? Good job she’d come down or the fox might have had them before morning. She walked inside softly so that they wouldn’t panic. There wasn’t a sound. She switched on the torch. Every perch was empty. Where were they? Had they all escaped outside somewhere? She felt sick. They were good egg-layers, and they would have eventually made good broilers. The torchlight picked out an old sack in the corner: something drew her to it. Cautiously Dottie went over and looked inside. She gasped in horror and almost dropped the torch.
All her lovely hens were in the sack. Every single one of them. Had the fox got in during the day and Reg didn’t want to tell her in case it spoiled the holiday? Foxes kill for the sake of killing, she knew that. It happened once when Aunt Bessie was still alive. The fox had got inside the henhouse and killed every single chicken. Dottie frowned. Back then there had been feathers everywhere and the fox had chewed the heads off as well. She bent to look more closely. None of the chickens in the sack had a mark on them but their necks were broken. Dottie trembled. Reg must have done it. But why? Why would he do such a thing? She couldn’t understand it. He enjoyed a boiled egg as much as she did.
Reg stepped back behind the curtain. What was she doing down the bottom of the garden, stupid cow? He hadn’t meant her to find the chickens, damn it. What was she up to? She’d been in the henhouse for some time. Was that bloody John Landers down there too? Surely they weren’t having it off in his chicken house?
Vera had collared him as he walked up the path.
‘I’m not the one to cast aspersions,’ she’d said, ‘but I thought you ought to know …’
Even while she was telling him, Reg felt the contempt rising in his mouth. Dot always thought she was a cut above the rest, what with all those ridiculous cushion covers and fancy curtains, but he’d never had her down as an unfaithful wife. Not until he’d ferreted in the dustbin and spotted some crumpled paper left in the bottom of the bin. He wouldn’t have bothered with it except that it was her Basildon Bond paper, the stuff she used for important letters. He’d picked up the bits and fanned them out. Now he couldn’t get the words out of his head.
Reg doesn’t know that we are still meeting. John, I don’t know how to tell you this but I’m having a baby …
Bitch. Slut. Apart from Joyce, they were all the bloody same. She’d been seeing that Dr Landers, he’d known that, but he hadn’t suspected anything was going on. Now he was boiling with rage. He’d gone down the garden to cool off but he’d lost it altogether in the henhouse. He hadn’t meant to kill them until it occurred to him that she thought more of her bloody hens than she did of him. So he’d grabbed one and then another.
His lip curled. Perhaps she was meeting the doc now. He could easily hide in the lane. Reg had done it himself often enough.
He waited until Dottie emerged from the henhouse and watched as she hurried back up the garden. His eyes narrowed. On the way down, she’d walked differently. All hunched up, her arms tightly round her. Coming back, her coat flapped open and her arms were by her side. The bitch was definitely up to something.
He leaned back into the shadows as she went into the outside lav. As he climbed back into bed, he heard her pull the chain.
‘I’ll just pop next door and ask Ann to look after the chickens,’ smiled Dottie the next morning.
Reg was sitting in the scullery, polishing his boots until they shone. ‘No need,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ve already seen her. She’ll do it for you.’
Dottie chewed her bottom lip. Should she confront him? Tell him she’d already seen the bag full of dead chickens? Better not. He’d go mad and Patsy was on her way downstairs.
‘I’ve also cleared it with the doctor’s wife and with the old biddy in the shop too.’
Dottie was puzzled. It wasn’t like him to be so organised.
The house was practically all shut up. Reg had raked out the fire while Dottie was making the beds. He’d even packed their suitcase. Although she really didn’t want to go, Dottie had to do her best to make him feel everything was completely normal.
She needn’t worry about meeting John. He wouldn’t get her letter until Monday now. She was sure she’d missed the post. As soon as they got back from the holiday, she would arrange to go to Sylvie’s. She wasn’t ready but she didn’t want to be with him a minute longer than necessary.
Patsy was beside herself with excitement. ‘Will we swim in the sea? Will we make sand pies like you did when you were a girl? Will we eat ice cream?’
Dottie regretted telling her all that now. ‘It’s too cold for all that,’ she explained. ‘But we’ll still have a lovely time, you’ll see.’
‘But what will we do?’ Patsy wanted to know.
‘We’ll eat lots of lovely food and we’ll go for long walks.’ Dottie struggled to make it sound exciting. ‘Maybe we’ll hire some bicycles and go for a bike ride.’
‘But I’ve got nobody to play with,’ Patsy grumbled. ‘I wish Maureen and Susan could come.’
‘Perhaps next time,’ said Dottie.
‘Can I take my roller skates?’
‘That’s a lovely idea.’
Reg stopped polishing his shoes. ‘Where did she get those?’ he demanded.
Patsy looked up at Dottie nervously.
‘Mary gave them to her,’ Dottie lied coolly. ‘They used to be Billy’s and the girls didn’t want them.’
Reg went back to polishing his boots.
‘Did you tell Ann where I keep the chicken feed, Reg?’
The look he gave her made her blood run cold. ‘Stop fretting about the bloody chickens. I told you, I’ve seen to them.’
So he was responsible. He had killed all her chickens. But why? She felt more than a little anxious. She had to go along with it, but what was this all about?
He waved the brush at her and smiled. ‘Come on, pet.’ His voice was as sweet as honey. ‘Get your coat on. We don’t want to miss the train, do we?’
They were halfway to the station when Reg suddenly remembered he’d left his wallet behind the clock in the kitchen.
‘You two go and get us some sweets from the station shop,’ he said, digging deep into his pocket and fishing out half a crown. ‘I’ll meet you on the platform.’
Patsy’s eyes lit up.
‘What a pity you didn’t notice before,’ Dottie remarked. ‘If we’d been in the village, I could’ve popped in and told Janet Cooper where we’re going.’
&nb
sp; Reg wasn’t listening. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Dottie watched him running back down the road. She had no idea he could run so fast. Something wasn’t quite right. But what was it? She couldn’t put her finger on it.
‘Come on, Auntie Dottie,’ said Patsy tugging her hand. ‘Let’s get our sweeties.’
Although the Sea View was in the rundown part of the town, Dottie was relieved to arrive there in one piece. The train journey had been uneventful but Patsy’s excitement made it into an occasion. Reg had read his newspaper most of the way and then he had extended his legs and dozed off.
As soon as they arrived, the landlady had taken them up to their rooms. The furniture was very basic but the bedrooms, one single and one double next door to each other, seemed comfortable enough. Only the décor offended Dottie’s eye. Nothing matched: the bedspread in the double room was patterned with brown and orange squares, the curtains had red roses on them and the single room had pink curtains with brown and blue on the counterpane.
‘Very nice,’ said Reg.
‘Breakfast is at 8 o’clock sharp and I require all my guests to be out of the room by 10.30,’ said Mrs Flint as she handed Reg the keys to the rooms. ‘Doors open at 5pm and the evening meal is at 6.30 sharp.’
‘Thank you,’ said Reg. Behind his back, Dottie and Patsy grinned at each other. They turned to go.
‘I haven’t finished yet.’ Mrs Flint folded her arms over her chest. ‘Your bathroom is on the next floor up and baths are available on Sunday, Wednesday and Friday at an extra charge of two shillings.’ She glanced down at Patsy. ‘No running in the corridor and no food and drink in the bedrooms. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly clear,’ sad Reg.
‘Then I shall expect you all in the dining room at 6.30 sharp.’ She turned to go. ‘By the way, there is a sing-song after the meal in the parlour. You are welcome to join in. If you go out, we expect all our residents in their rooms by 10.30 unless by prior arrangement. And,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘I do not tolerate drunkenness or entertaining in the bedrooms.’