by June Francis
She must have fallen asleep at some time because she woke to the sound of knocking on her door. Her heart jerked in her chest and the memory of last night came flooding back, drenching her in fear. The knocking came again and she managed to ask who was there.
A woman answered and she recognized the name as belonging to one of the group she had been talking to the evening before. For a moment she thought of saying that she was unwell and must go home, but she could not face going home yet. ‘Give me a few minutes,’ she called in a voice that sounded surprisingly normal. ‘Perhaps you should go down and I’ll join you there.’
‘No, I’ll wait for you,’ said the woman.
Hester did not insist on her going. She felt stiff and sore as she got up from the chair, but managed to dress without too much difficulty. She brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair and applied lipstick. She gazed at her reflection in the dressing table mirror and forced a smile that was more like a grimace. Her father used to tell her to think happy thoughts when she was troubled. It took a real effort for her to smile naturally. She felt a completely different person from the one who had left Liverpool the day before.
Cedric. How was she going to face him? She couldn’t do this . . .
‘Will you be much longer?’ called the woman outside.
From somewhere deep inside herself, Hester found the strength to reply, ‘I’m ready now.’ She picked up her handbag and unlocked the door.
The woman stared at her and then smiled. ‘You look nice.’
‘Thanks, so do you,’ said Hester. ‘Shall we go?’
When they arrived in the dining room, Hester blindly followed the woman to a table where two places had been kept for them. Only when she was seated did she look for Cedric.
Despite having no wish to ever set eyes on him again, she knew that she had to face him. Yet she could not see him. Perhaps he was sleeping off the daddy of all hangovers. God, she hoped so. She wanted him to suffer.
She felt light headed. What if he could not remember what he’d done to her last night? What if he denied it had ever happened? The thought enraged her. She had to force herself to eat, not wanting her lack of appetite to cause comments from the group she now seemed to be part of. Every few minutes her eyes darted towards the doorway in case Cedric should enter.
There was still no sign of him when the criminal psychologist, whom the writer consulted for research, began his talk. Hester had trouble concentrating on what he had to say. Every now and again an image of what had happened last evening would flash up in her mind. She tried to suppress it but was only partly successful.
Cedric was not in the dining room at lunchtime or at the discussion that afternoon either. Where was he? Was it possible that he was too ashamed to face her? Could he be in the bar? Her anger was such that she could not keep still. She wanted him on his knees, begging for her forgiveness. She had an overwhelming desire to put her foot on his head and squash it.
He was not in the bar.
Eventually, when the tension inside her was too much to bear, she went to reception and asked after him.
‘He’s left, Miss Walker,’ said the receptionist.
Wordlessly, she stared at the woman and then turned on her heel and hurried away. There were questions she could have asked, but at that moment she could only think that she desperately needed some fresh air. She went upstairs for her outdoor clothes and to change her shoes. The handcuffs had gone. She felt a spurt of rage. Somehow he must have entered her bedroom and taken them whilst she was elsewhere. That meant he had not been so drunk that he had forgotten what he had done.
She needed to think about what action to take. She went outside and took deep breaths of frosty air as she circumnavigated the grounds. Part of her wanted to walk out of the place and not return. She could understand now why people disappeared. She wanted to slam a lid on the last evening and pretend it had not happened. Yet another part of her was so outraged by what Cedric had done to her that she wanted to scratch his eyes out at the very least. He deserved to be punished for the degrading way he had invaded her body. She felt sick thinking about it. Suddenly it occurred to her to wonder what he had thought she might do. She was a police officer after all, and he might believe that what she had to say would carry some weight if she should accuse him of rape. What an ugly word that was!
A shiver ran through her and she wrapped her arms about herself. What was she going to do? Of course if she did lay a charge against him for rape, he could counter that charge by saying she had been willing. It was her word against his and the police force was still very much a man’s world. But surely they would take her seriously – especially as Cedric was being investigated? But there was no doubt about it, what had happened would upset her father once it was out in the open. She could picture George’s broken-hearted expression only too easily, and as for Sam – what would he do? Beat Cedric to a pulp? And what if she were to get pregnant? The thought made her feel icy cold. She needed time to think, somewhere away from this place. Then she remembered her plan to visit Myra Jones. The shock of what had happened had driven it from her mind. She went inside, packed her bag, handed in her key and left.
Twenty-Two
‘The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown,’ sang Jeanette, wiping a table top.
‘It’s not Christmas yet, you know,’ said Mrs Cross, slamming the till drawer shut.
‘It’s only a week to go,’ said Jeanette, straightening up and easing her back. ‘And on Tuesday it’s my eighteenth birthday.’
‘My, you’re getting old,’ said Mrs Cross in a droll voice. ‘I wish I was eighteen again.’ She sighed. ‘You make the most of being young, girl.’
‘I aim to,’ said Jeanette, glancing around the milk bar. ‘I’ve finished here now. Is it OK if I go ten minutes early? I’ve got to get home, change, cook a meal, and my boyfriend is coming to pick me up.’ Her heart seemed to lurch sideways, thinking that this evening would be the first time David would meet the family. Last night had been a no-no because her father and Sam had been working, so it had to be this evening. She prayed that all would go well.
‘All right, but don’t think I’ll allow it every Saturday,’ said Mrs Cross. ‘I’ll see you in a fortnight on New Year’s Day.’ She sighed. ‘Nineteen fifty-five! Where do all the years go?’
Jeanette made no comment, but threw the cloth in the washing basket and then rinsed and dried her hands before reaching for her coat. ‘Thanks, Mrs Cross. I hope you have a good Christmas – and thanks for the bonus.’ She wasted no time leaving the milk bar and walked swiftly in the direction of Renshaw Street.
She was passing Quiggins when a voice hailed her. She turned and saw Marty standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. ‘You off home?’ he said.
‘Yes, I can’t stop.’ She made to walk on by but he grabbed her arm.
‘Hang on a mo! Our Peggy was telling me that fella that got hit in the face is back and you’re going out with him?’
‘That’s right,’ said Jeanette. ‘Have you heard anything on the grapevine about Billy?’
‘No,’ said Marty, dropping the butt of his cigarette and grinding it out with his heel. ‘If I had the faintest idea where he was, I’d grass on him like a shot.’
A shiver went through her. ‘Do you think he’s lying low in Liverpool somewhere or that he’s scuttled off to Ireland?’
‘I can’t say for certain, but I am keeping my eyes peeled and my ears to the ground,’ said Marty. ‘If I do discover anything, you’ll soon know.’
Jeanette thanked him, reckoning that he would tell Peggy and she’d pass it on to her. She continued on her way, thinking about the meal she was to cook that evening before going out, and wondering how Hester was getting on at the conference.
Hester felt a strange calm come over her as she stepped off the train at Whalley station. The heaviness of her spirit caused by the horror of last night lifted, and as she handed over her ticket and walked through the barrier and
down the main street she experienced a sense of homecoming. Why had she left it so long before returning? She should have put what Aunt Ethel said about Myra Jones to the test and visited Whalley on a summer’s day, making a visit to the ruined abbey an excuse and called in on her. She took a deep breath. Well, she was here now and, pray God, she would soon be seeing her.
The house was not far from the Co-op. She still remembered Myra’s divvy number that she used to repeat every time she went shopping there. She came to the house and noticed that there were still net curtains at the windows and the door was painted green. She sighed and banged the knocker but no one came. She wielded the knocker again but there were no footsteps hurrying to answer the door. Her mood of calm began to evaporate. Myra had to be in!
She thumped on the door with her fist and called her name but there was still no response and she slumped down and sat on the step. Suddenly she thought of Ally and wished he was here right now to comfort her. But he was in Germany and she doubted there could be a future for them. What with him wanting to emigrate, and besides . . . Suddenly words were tumbling into her head: he wouldn’t want her now. She was spoilt, besmirched, used goods because of what had happened last night. A sob burst in her throat and she bent over and burst into tears.
‘Hester?’
Her head jerked up and she saw Emma standing a few feet away. ‘What is it, love? You can’t be breaking your heart crying just because Myra’s gone to visit her nephew. She’ll be back tomorrow.’
Hester stared at her dumbly, the tears trickling down her cheeks. Emma covered the distance between them in no time and crouched beside her, putting an arm around her. ‘There now, tell me what’s wrong and we’ll see if we can sort it out.’ Her voice was so sympathetic that all that had happened last night and what was worrying Hester now came out in fits and bursts between sobs.
‘Oh, poor Hester!’ murmured Emma, rocking her as if she was a baby.
‘What am I going to do?’ asked Hester when she gained some measure of composure, relieved that there was no one else around. ‘How can I tell Dad and Sam?’ she whispered.
‘You must! You can’t let him get away with it. Let your menfolk deal with him.’
‘They’ll want to kill him. I don’t want them getting into trouble,’ said Hester, mopping her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘Besides, I feel too ashamed . . . and anyway, I’m forever saying women are equal to men. I should deal with him. I got myself into this, I should get myself out of it.’
Emma looked at her in dismay. ‘Hester, there are just some things that men are best left to deal with. What can you do?’
‘I don’t know yet. I need to think some more when I’m in less of a state.’
‘But what if . . .’ Emma paused.
Hester stared at her. ‘If I’m already pregnant, you mean? I’ll worry about that if and when I know for sure. One thing is for certain – I won’t be able to stay in the police force if I am.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Dad will be so upset.’
Emma was silent for several moments, and then she said, ‘Well, you know where to come if you need a refuge. You can stay at my cottage. You’re not the first person this has happened to.’
Hester blinked at her. ‘You mean it happened to you?’
‘No! It happened to Betty,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Your half-sister?’
‘Aye, although she’s not really my half-sister, but that’s another story.’
‘I don’t understand. I thought—’
‘So did I, but apparently her mother was already pregnant when she married my father. Her sister, who was Jared’s mother, told him shortly before she died and he thought I should know the truth. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell Betty.’
‘What do you know about her real father?’
‘He was an actor with a travelling company and apparently he died of blood poisoning and never knew Betty’s mother was pregnant. They were in love.’
‘How sad!’
‘Aye.’ Emma sighed. ‘But it’s the past and right now we have to think what to do about you.’
‘I came to see Myra. She was like a mother to me and will expect me to visit her tomorrow afternoon.’ Hester’s tears spilled over again.
‘You can still see her. You can stay with Jared and me tonight.’ Emma stood up and helped Hester to her feet. ‘Now let’s go and have a cup of tea. I’ve made some scones. We’ll have them and then we’ll make something hot for supper. Jared is busy planning a bathroom. He thinks it will be an asset whether we keep the cottage and rent it out or sell it.’
‘Thank you. You’re so kind,’ said Hester, and freed a deep sigh of relief.
‘I’m sure you’d do the same for me,’ said Emma, leading the way.
Hester picked up her overnight bag and followed her, thinking over all that Emma had said and questioning whether she should take her advice about letting her menfolk deal with Cedric. She wondered what exactly had happened to Betty that was similar to her own situation. Presumably she had been raped, but had it resulted in a pregnancy, and if so had Betty had the baby adopted or had an illegal abortion? She supposed it was really none of her business, but it was possible that she might have to make such a choice. She felt sympathy and admiration for the girl without having even met her. To suffer such abuse left its mark. She thought of Ally and felt a different kind of ache about her heart and wished she could turn back the clock.
Twenty-Three
‘What’s this?’ asked Ethel, poking the food on her plate with a fork.
‘It’s cottage pie,’ said Jeanette.
Ethel tasted a mouthful. ‘It’s got baked beans in it! Hester wouldn’t put baked beans in cottage pie.’
‘Hester isn’t here,’ said Sam shortly. ‘Besides, what’s wrong with baked beans? It tastes fine to me.’
Her father glanced across at Jeanette. ‘So what time is this David Bryn Jones coming?’
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘He should be here any minute now.’
As if on cue, the door knocker rat-a-tat-tatted. She jumped to her feet and hurried out of the room, switching on the lobby light as she did so for it was pitch black outside. As she opened the door and smiled at David, she thought no doubt there would be some of the neighbours taking note of the stranger calling at their house.
David smiled down at her. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m great.’ She thought of this time yesterday when they had met in town and he had kissed her, there outside the Forum cinema, not caring who might be watching them.
‘Your dad and brother in this time?’
She nodded, thinking that he had taken the news that her father and brother wanted to meet him surprisingly well. ‘Come in!’
He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. His lips brushed hers and she felt a warm glow. She helped him off with his navy-blue reefer coat and hung it up. All was quiet and she guessed that the family had their ears pricked. She glanced at him and he winked.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and said in a voice that quivered slightly, ‘Dad, Sam, Aunt Ethel, meet David Bryn Jones.’
George rose to his feet. ‘We’re just having our meal, lad. Perhaps you’d like to sit down and have a cup of tea with us?’ He glanced at his daughter. ‘Jeannie, fetch the lad a cup!’
David removed his cap to reveal curling black hair, and squared his shoulders. ‘Thanks, Mr Walker. A cup of tea’s always welcome and it’s a chilly evening.’
‘Perhaps he’d like to sit by the fire,’ said Ethel, surprising her relatives. ‘We can all move round.’
‘Thanks, Miss Walker, but I’m used to the cold. You stay where you are,’ said David.
‘Please yourself,’ she said, ‘but the name’s not Walker, it’s Ramsbottom.’
‘That’s a good Lancashire name,’ said David.
Jeanette flashed him a smile as she poured his tea.
‘Aye, it is,’ said Ethel, blinking at him. ‘So
how’s that face of yours? You should stay out of fights.’
‘I have every intention of doing so, Miss Ramsbottom,’ he said politely.
‘It’s Missus, actually,’ she said, glancing slyly at her family. ‘I married a distant cousin.’
‘You never did!’ said George, staring at her. ‘What kind of joke is this?’
Her mouth quivered. ‘It’s no joke. I’ve never seen the point of mentioning it before, but after talking to that young film woman, I changed my mind. My husband died within two days of us tying the knot.’
‘You’ve talked to Sam’s Dorothy?’ said Jeanette.
Ethel said smugly, ‘She came knocking at the door this morning while you were all out. My young man was like this one here, with dark curly hair and nice manners.’
‘Good God, Aunt Ethel, I wish you hadn’t chosen now to drop such a bombshell,’ said George, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘And what’s this about our Sam and a film woman called Dorothy?’
‘She’s determined to make a film about women of Liverpool,’ said Jeanette.
‘Shall we set this aside?’ said Sam sharply. ‘Mr Jones has come here to meet Dad. Bearing in mind how you two first met, we’re naturally concerned that he stays out of trouble. After all, sailors are famed for getting into fights when they come ashore.’
David gave him a straight look. ‘I don’t go looking for trouble, Mr Walker, but I could no sooner ignore Jeanette’s cry for help that evening in the chippy, than I could a kitten thrown in a bucket of water to drown. I’m a third marine engineer, hoping to work my way up to first, and it pays me to keep my nose clean.’
‘What if you were to meet the youth who did that to your face again?’ asked Sam.
‘That would depend on the circumstances. If Jeanette was present, I’d send her to ring for the police.’
‘Good answer,’ said Jeanette, handing David his cup of tea. ‘We’ll have to go soon if we’re to make the start of the film.’
‘Hang on,’ said Sam. ‘We need to know more about him before you go off with him.’