by Ellie Dean
Rosie nodded as tears brimmed and threatened to fall.
Mary’s thoughts were whirling and a worm of horrifying suspicion began to make itself impossible to ignore. ‘But … But he’s your brother,’ she gasped. ‘Surely you aren’t trying to tell me that you and he …?’
Rosie went ashen. ‘No! Oh, God no, Mary, of course not.’
Mary experienced an overwhelming sense of relief that was laced with deep grief. ‘So you aren’t my mother, after all,’ she said through her tears.
Rosie shook her head, her lovely blue eyes awash with sadness.
That small gesture shattered all hope, and brought such a deep, physical pain to Mary’s heart that it took a long moment to recover from it. ‘Then I don’t understand,’ she murmured into the heavy silence. ‘Why keep Cyril’s identity such a closely guarded secret? And as you aren’t my mother, how did you know I’d once been called Flora?’
Rosie was clearly making a tremendous effort to control her own emotions as her grip tightened on Mary’s hand. ‘I swear to you, Mary, I didn’t know anything about Cyril until the other day; and I certainly didn’t know you’d been asking after him.’
Mary listened as Rosie told her how Tommy had confessed to using that alias, and how worried he’d been about the possibility that Mary’s family had been victims of his insurance scam and she was out to cause trouble with the police.
Mary’s hurt was all-encompassing as she slowly withdrew her hand from Rosie’s grip. It was hard enough to accept that this was not her mother, but to realise she’d betrayed their friendship by spying for Tommy was unbearable.
‘So that’s what this tea party was all about?’ she said brokenly. ‘You were just trying to find out why I was looking for Cyril.’
‘That was only a tiny part of it,’ Rosie confessed as she mopped her tears and tried valiantly to keep calm. ‘I’ve come to be very fond of you, Mary, and wanted to get to know you better. I had no real intention of doing Tommy’s dirty work, but your search for Cyril intrigued me – it didn’t make sense. You were too young, and the sort of background you had didn’t fit the picture that Tommy had painted of his victims – they were usually wealthy, you see, not country vicars.’
Mary battled with her disappointment and pain as she thought about this and then came to realise that she should actually be grateful for Rosie’s meddling – for without it, the truth would have stayed buried. And she’d asked for the truth, no matter how unpleasant it turned out to be.
She looked across the abandoned tea things at Eileen, understanding now that, for some reason, she too had been following Tommy’s orders. Then she felt a deeper sense of betrayal as she turned sadly to Peggy, for she’d come to love and trust her and hadn’t for one minute suspected that she’d been lying to her for all this time. ‘You knew Cyril was Tommy all along, didn’t you?’
‘Not until very recently,’ said Peggy as she flicked a glance at the silent, solemn Ron. ‘It was only when I asked Ron about Cyril that I learned who he was – and once I knew, then it was vital to protect you from him. Ron didn’t know about him being your father,’ she added hastily. ‘Not until last night, anyway, when it became clear that all this was going to come out.’
‘But I’m not a child, Peggy. I trusted you to tell me the truth – so why didn’t you?’ Mary demanded.
‘How could I?’ said Peggy softly. ‘He’d already frightened you by trying to pick you up that night, and you’d started playing the piano here, and were in and out visiting Rosie who’d become a friend.’
Peggy gave a deep sigh. ‘It was better you knew only that your father was a complete rotter and not worth the effort of trying to find him. You had to stop asking about Cyril, don’t you see? Otherwise Tommy would have got to hear about it and …’
‘He would have pestered me until he knew the whys and wherefores – and then once he realised who I was … I dread to think what might have happened then,’ Mary finished softly. Her head was throbbing, her heart was aching, and she was still finding it almost impossible to deal with what she’d learned, for within a few minutes she’d gone from joy to despair – from trust to doubt – and ultimately to a deep and painful sadness.
Yet, as the silence in the room continued, she realised Peggy was not to blame for any of this, and she loved and admired her too much to continue being cold with her. She took Peggy’s hand. ‘I do understand why you kept quiet,’ she said softly, ‘and I’m grateful you cared enough to protect me.’ She held Peggy’s gaze as she laced their fingers. ‘How long have you known that Tommy had fathered a child?’
‘Many years,’ she replied as she dabbed away her tears. ‘It was a confidence Rosie shared with me that I’ve kept ever since. Neither Ron nor my Jim ever knew about it.’
Mary gave a deep, wavering sigh as she gathered her scattered thoughts. ‘My father, whatever he calls himself, is a crooked, womanising spiv, and that is something I’ve already managed to come to terms with. It’s just the fact that he’s Tommy Findlay that I’m finding hard to accept.’ She shot Rosie an apologetic, uncertain smile.
‘I don’t blame you,’ said Rosie as she blew her nose on Ron’s handkerchief. ‘He’s not exactly the sort of relative anyone would wish for,’ she said with some asperity, ‘and I’m just so sorry you ever had to find out about him.’
Mary nodded and managed to find a modicum of comfort from her words. The room had gone very quiet, she noticed. Ron was sitting on the arm of the couch next to Rosie, his unlit pipe clenched between his teeth, and Monty lying at their feet; Peggy was fidgeting in the tight squeeze on the sofa, while Eileen remained isolated on the other side of the low table. And yet, in that silence was a tangible sense of tension – of things unsaid – of emotions being tightly restrained.
Eileen’s expression was apprehensive, her slender figure rigid with some unspoken anxiety as she fumbled to light a cigarette. Yet, as Mary met those unwavering brown eyes which had watched her throughout, she saw something flicker there momentarily before she looked away. Was it apprehension, or something much deeper? It had been too fleeting to tell.
‘I’m going to make a pot of fresh tea,’ said Peggy as she glanced fretfully at the clock and began to clear the cups and saucers onto the tray. ‘It’s the best medicine I know for calming people down and soothing hurts.’
Mary watched as she went into the kitchen, the leggy pup following her in anticipation of a treat. The silence in the room was profound and Mary could almost feel the hostility between Rosie and Eileen as they momentarily caught each other’s eye and swiftly looked away.
Peggy returned some minutes later with the tea tray, and once everyone had a cup, she perched on the very edge of the small couch next to Mary. ‘Drink up, love,’ she murmured. ‘It’ll make you feel better, I promise.’
As the tea was sipped and cigarettes were lit, the silence continued, and Mary felt a squirm of nervous apprehension in the pit of her stomach. The moment had come to bring this whole upsetting business to its conclusion.
She put down the empty cup, flicked back her hair and cleared her throat. ‘I’m sure you all remember that I had several questions to ask,’ she said, with a firmness that surprised her. ‘Now I know that Tommy was my father – which probably explains why Rosie knew me as Flora – it’s time to ask the most important question of all.’
She looked at each of them, noting how they were steeling themselves for what she was about to ask. ‘Who was my mother?’
Tommy had had enough of being in hospital, even though he’d been here less than twenty-four hours and had spent most of that time unconscious with morphine. He hated the restrictions of being forced to lie in bed, the bustling, po-faced nurses who clearly didn’t approve of him; Matron’s hectoring manner; and the disgusting food they insisted upon serving up.
He wasn’t actually hungry, but he couldn’t have eaten it even he’d wanted to, for his jaw was swollen, his lips were split, and the raw sockets where his two front teeth had onc
e been were small pits of agony. The only advantage to all this was that he couldn’t smell the antiseptic stench of the place, for his broken nose had been tightly plugged with lint.
He lay in the bed, his breathing as shallow as possible through his damaged mouth, for every movement sent sharp pains from his cracked ribs into his chest. He couldn’t see very much through his bloodshot eyes and swollen lids, but at least the swelling had begun to go down, thanks to the ice-packs the nurses frequently replaced. His whole body felt as if it was on fire despite the pills the doctors had given him for the pain, but at least the plaster on his broken leg had eased the agony he’d gone through as he’d crawled into that alleyway.
Tommy was feeling very sorry for himself and wondered, resentfully, why Rosie hadn’t rushed to his bedside the minute she’d heard what had happened to him – or at least put in an appearance during this afternoon’s visiting hour. He could have died last night in that bitter cold, and if that girl hadn’t started screaming blue murder, which had alerted the people in the flats nearby, he doubted he would have been found before morning – and then it would have been too late.
He wished he could ease the deep pains in his ribcage, but every movement was agony, so he just had to lie there simmering with rage. Didn’t Rosie realise that he’d taken that beating to protect her and that precious bloody pub of hers? The Copeland brothers had been threatening to do the place over, to smash it up and clear the stock in return for the money he owed them – perhaps even rough up his sister to underline their message – and he’d begged and pleaded and made promises he knew he had no hope of keeping so they punished him and left Rosie alone.
Yet, as he lay there plucking nervously at the sheet with his torn hands, a nasty cold trickle of doubt dowsed his self-righteous anger. There was no guarantee that the Copeland thugs would keep their word. Now they’d dealt with him and got him out of the way, they could very well be plotting to go to the Anchor to take what they considered was owing to them. And Rosie would now be there alone every night.
He gripped the sheet and began to tug at it, careless of his torn nails and bruised knuckles. He had to get out of this bed to warn her. But the sheet and blanket were tightly binding him, and each pull on his battered muscles made him hiss with pain.
And then he froze in terror as the swing doors clattered back and four large men appeared on the ward. Their double-breasted black pinstripe suits strained against their bulky chests and muscled arms, and the brims of their dark fedoras were tugged low over their hard, narrowed eyes as they surveyed the ward.
Brushing aside the nurse’s protests, they headed straight for Tommy. It was the Copeland brothers and they were clearly not in a pleasant mood.
Tommy’s mouth dried and his heart hammered so hard he could barely breathe. He couldn’t even squirm up against his pillows, hampered as he was with the plaster cast and the heavy bandaging around his chest, so he waited, trapped in the hated bed as they advanced on him.
He blinked up at them through his swollen eyelids as they blocked out the light and loomed over him like black harbingers of death, and his cracked ribs protested sharply with each terrified breath. ‘What do you want?’ he managed to stutter.
‘We’ve come to see how you are,’ said the eldest brother in a tone that froze the blood in Tommy’s veins.
Tommy knew better than to reply, for Alfie Copeland wasn’t a man who had any time for two-way conversations.
‘Let this be a warning to you, Findlay,’ the man continued. ‘Next time you try to cheat on us, we’ll give you a proper hiding.’
Tommy shook his head vehemently, although it hurt like hell. ‘There won’t be a next time,’ he lisped through his missing teeth. ‘I promise.’
Copeland’s cold glance travelled from Tommy’s face to the plaster on his leg, and he reached down casually and grabbed the exposed toes in an iron grip. ‘Let’s hope you’ve learned to keep your promises, Findlay, or you won’t be the only one to end up on a slab in the morgue.’
His humourless smile was vulpine and chilling. ‘And that would be a shame. Your Rosie’s a good-looking woman.’
Tommy’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst from his chest as the grip on his vulnerable toes increased and began to twist until he could feel the bones grind agonisingly against each another. He knew that to cry out and bring attention to what was happening would only make things worse, and he almost bit through his lip as the torture continued and the keening in his throat rose to a desperate, high-pitched whine.
And then suddenly the pressure was eased and he sank back into the pillows with a sob of relief.
‘How dare you come into my hospital and ignore my nurses!’
Copeland moved back from the bed and all four brothers raised their hats to the furious Matron, who’d arrived like a marauding galleon under full sail. ‘We were just visiting our friend,’ said Alfie with all the charm of a cobra. ‘I’m delighted to see how well you’re looking after him. Good day to you, Matron.’
Before the astonished woman could reply they’d walked out of the ward, leaving the doors clattering back and forth behind them.
Matron glared down at Tommy. ‘Who were those men?’ she demanded.
Tommy closed his eyes and refused to answer.
‘I do not allow visitors on my ward out of hours,’ she continued as she forcefully straightened the bedding. ‘And I certainly don’t appreciate that sort of rough type coming in here disturbing my nurses and my patients.’
Tommy ignored her as he kept his eyes closed and tried to recover from Copeland’s rough handling. But his ribs were shooting pains through his chest and his broken leg felt as if it was on fire. He had to get out of here – had to leave Cliffehaven and get as far as possible from the Copeland gang – and if at all possible, persuade Rosie to get out too, before they carried out their threats.
He lay there and let the woman take his temperature and pulse as his mind raced. There was always a nurse on the ward, and he wouldn’t get very far on this broken leg without crutches or a wheelchair. But there had to be some way. There just had to.
Chapter Fifteen
THE SILENCE THAT met Mary’s question was deeply uneasy. Ron fidgeted on the arm of the couch and all three women refused to look at one another.
And then a soft, unsteady voice broke the silence. ‘I’m your mother, Flora.’
Mary stared at her, unable to believe that she was the one she’d been searching for, had foolishly dreamed about in the desperate hope that despite everything, she’d regretted abandoning her. And then she felt a cold rush of fury sweep through her. ‘So why didn’t you acknowledge that fact earlier? You certainly had plenty of chances.’
‘I didn’t know who you were until today,’ she stammered.
Mary gave a snort of derision. ‘Really? I find that very hard to believe.’
‘If I’d known, then of course I would have said something,’ she persisted.
‘I doubt it,’ retorted Mary. ‘You’d already proved you were no sort of mother by abandoning me before I was less than ten days old, so I can hardly expect you to welcome me with open arms now.’
Eileen’s brown eyes were huge in her ashen face. ‘I didn’t abandon you,’ she rasped.
‘Yes, you did,’ Mary snapped. ‘You walked out, never to be seen again, and left me to Tommy’s tender mercies. I’m amazed you dared to ever show your face here again, let alone still be in cahoots with him – and don’t deny it, Eileen. I’ve seen you with him on more than one occasion.’
‘I’m not denying that Tommy can still get me to do his dirty work – he can be very persuasive. But as for walking out on you …’ Eileen gulped as she fought back her tears. ‘I never did that, Flora – in fact, if it had been at all possible, I would have kept you.’
Mary shook her head in disbelief. This woman was her mother – and even though she’d been faced with the living proof of what she’d done, she still couldn’t be honest.
Eileen edged forward in her chair, eager to reassure her. ‘I loved you, Flora – really I did – and giving you up for adoption was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’
Rosie snorted. ‘You’re such a liar, Eileen.’ You were keen enough to give her away, even before she was born, so don’t put on the martyr act to make yourself look good in front of the poor girl. Peggy and I know the truth,’ she said coldly, ‘so you’re not impressing anyone.’
Eileen’s gaze hardened and her lips thinned as she returned Rosie’s glare. ‘You didn’t exactly cover yourself in glory either,’ she snapped. ‘None of this would have happened if you’d kept your word.’
‘What do you mean?’ barked Rosie as she shook off Ron’s restraining hand and struggled to her feet. ‘I keep my promises. Which is more than I can say for you. If you’d had a shred of decency …’ She took a shallow, shuddering breath and clenched her fists. ‘But you didn’t, did you? You just went your own sweet way without a single thought for anyone else, and to hell with the consequences.’
‘That’s an out-and-out lie!’ Eileen was now also on her feet with her hands clenched and her eyes stormy.
Mary looked at them both through her tears, stunned by the anger and bitterness that lay between them. It was horrible, and she wished with all her heart that she’d never started this.
‘That’s enough from both of you,’ ordered Ron. ‘Can’t you see you’re upsetting Mary with your poison?’ He gently but firmly drew the furious Rosie back to the couch and glared at Eileen until she too was sitting down again.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard a great many things this afternoon and it strikes me that we need to clear the air before we go any further – and we can only do that if you tell the truth.’
‘But I have been telling the truth,’ protested Eileen.
‘Not from where I’m sitting, you haven’t,’ retorted Rosie.