Home is Where the Heart Is
Home is Where the Heart Is
Freda Lightfoot
1945. Finally, peace has been declared. Cathie hardly dares believe that Alex, the fiancé she has not seen for nearly two years, is coming home. And, finally, life can begin again for Cathie and the orphaned baby in her care.But the Alex who returns is not the kind, loving man Cathie remembers. He’s cold, selfish, sometimes even frightening. So Cathie has a choice: stand by him, and try to contain his violent temper? Or hold her tiny baby close…and run from the man she has yearned for.Home is Where the Heart Is is a heart-wrenchingly, poignant new saga from Freda Lightfoot, set in the aftermath of World War II.
Born in Lancashire, FREDA LIGHTFOOT has been a teacher and a bookseller, and in a mad moment even tried her hand at the ‘good life’. A prolific and much-loved saga writer, Freda’s work is inspired by memories of her Lancashire childhood and her passion for history. For more information about Freda, visit her website: www.fredalightfoot.co.uk (http://www.fredalightfoot.co.uk)
Also by Freda Lightfoot (#ua5cbcbfa-8731-5832-acde-19f211f2a7ec):
Historical Sagas
LAKELAND LILY
THE BOBBIN GIRLS
THE FAVOURITE CHILD
KITTY LITTLE
FOR ALL OUR
TOMORROWS
GRACIE’S SIN
DAISY’S SECRET
RUBY MCBRIDE
DANCING ON
DEANSGATE
WATCH FOR THE
TALLEYMAN
POLLY’S PRIDE
POLLY’S WAR
HOUSE OF ANGELS
ANGELS AT WAR
THE PROMISE
MY LADY DECEIVER
The Luckpenny Series
LUCKYPENNY LAND
WISHING WATER
LARKRIGG FELL
Poorhouse Lane Series
THE GIRL FROM
POORHOUSE LANE
THE WOMAN FROM
HEARTBREAK HOUSE
Champion Street Market Series
PUTTING ON THE STYLE
FOOLS FALL IN LOVE
THAT’LL BE THE DAY
CANDY KISSES
WHO’S SORRY NOW
LONELY TEARDROPS
Women’s Contemporary Fiction
TRAPPED
Historical Romances
MADEIRAN LEGACY
WHISPERING SHADOWS
RHAPSODY CREEK
PROUD ALLIANCE
OUTRAGEOUS
FORTUNE
Biographical Historical
HOSTAGE QUEEN
RELUCTANT QUEEN
THE QUEEN AND THE
COURTESAN
THE DUCHESS OF
DRURY LANE
LADY OF PASSION
Table of Contents
Cover (#ub07d4af8-6d13-55a7-8d1c-0241cd496ddb)
About the Author (#u704b6824-8b42-50cf-b5a2-183e5be7b866)
Title Page (#u5f05e0f7-d14f-5bae-a6ab-166625ff8b02)
Also by Freda Lightfoot
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_d640071c-9a8b-5903-8d97-e7f6e0ea4252)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_caf7e5d5-af13-5486-8af4-7519eb68f63e)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_717fe7c8-13ab-54a9-ac1a-15ab1cbe25b1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_b0c3e903-11dc-5a1d-8841-ebed8dbd953f)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_1937e898-4bd9-58cd-9177-63d7f9d0a576)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_a57295f9-db92-5612-b1f2-fab0f37d3d4a)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_611d9f86-18bb-5cf1-9471-6315d84c75a7)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_8806971f-dfbb-55cb-a4f2-e948ee2fed7c)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ca66a970-a4dd-5d30-b05c-b9a6de50f6de)
1945
Cathie gave a squeal of joy as she read the letter that had arrived that morning. ‘Alex is coming home!’ she cried. She’d waited so long for this news she couldn’t quite believe it. It must be nearly two years since she’d last seen her fiancé and now the war was over he’d be home for good, at last. She quickly scanned the letter again to make sure she’d read it correctly. ‘He says he hopes to be home by Christmas.’
There was no one to hear her exciting news except for the baby, bouncing up and down on her chubby little legs in her cot, holding fast to the rail and giving a happy gurgle as if to echo Cathie’s delight.
Gathering the child in her arms, Cathie screwed up her nose and chuckled. ‘I think you need changing, sweetie.’ But even as she smiled into the baby’s soft blue eyes, her own filled with tears. ‘Oh, I do wish your mummy was here, and your daddy, of course. It’s so desperately sad that you’ll never get to know or love them. I shall tell you all about them as you grow, of course. Particularly Sally, my dear sister, who loved you so much, and was very much a part of my life.’
At least a baby did not experience the pain of grief that she had suffered, Cathie thought, as she laid the infant on a towel-covered table to strip off the wet nappy and set about cleaning her plump little bottom.
What a dreadful war it had been. First her sister had lost her beloved husband, who’d gone down with his ship in August 1944 when it had been sunk by a U-boat. Tony had never even learned his wife was pregnant, let alone seen his child. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her mind flew back to that dreadful day, barely a month after the birth of her beautiful daughter, when Sal had gone with her friend Rose to the Gaumont Cinema on Oxford Road to see Judy Garland in Meet Me in St Louis. Cathie might well have accompanied them, but somebody needed to stay home and look after the baby. She’d happily volunteered for the task as she hoped the film might lift her sister’s depression. Still enveloped in grief, Sal had been in desperate need of an afternoon out.
Cathie had been happily sitting feeding little Heather with her bottle when the door had burst open. She’d glanced up with a smile, fully expecting to see her sister now that dusk was falling. Instead, she saw their mother standing rigid, her face as white as a ghost.
‘She’s gone.’
Cathie recalled how something inside her had jolted as she’d stared in shock at Rona. ‘Who has?’
‘Our Sal.’
Her memory became a blur after that, as a cold numbness came over her. Cathie had felt strangely detached. Everything went silent, even the sound of children playing in the street, and the odd passing car or motorcycle. It was as if she was standing outside of herself, watching as she gently set down the baby’s bottle and patted little Heather’s back to settle her tummy while the horror of what Rona was saying slowly penetrated.
It seemed that on their way home the driver had lost control on the icy roads and the bus had tipped into an old bomb crater, killing many on board, including her beloved sister.
Now the pain of her loss resonated afresh as, staring out of the window, Cathie watched two young women walking arm-in-arm past the bomb-damaged houses opposite, laughing and chattering. The pair reminded her so much of how she and Sal used to step out together, whether as young girls trotting off to school, or grown women going shopping or to a dance together. So many treasured memories.
The sad irony was that they’d come close to death many times during this last six years with constant air raids on the nearby railway, warehouses, wharfs and canals, and once when their own house had been bombed. A terrifying incident that Cathie still fiercely blocked from her mind.
The effects of war could be devastating and so long lasting.
Cathie stopped this train of thought in mid-track. To lose her beloved sister was bad enough, but for it to happen just as the war was coming to an end was even more heartbreaking. Sal’s death had left a huge hole in her life that nothing and no one could ever fill. It felt as if a part of her too had died as well as their family having been decimated.
Blinking back tears as she smoothed talcum powder over the baby’s soft skin and began to pin on a fresh nappy, Cathie’s heart was swamped with love and pity for her niece. With scarcely any family left, what kind of future could this little one be facing?
Not that they’d had much of a family to begin with, their father having left home while both girls were very young. And their mother, Rona, was not an easy woman. Cathie felt she’d endured a dreadful childhood: a selfish mother with a string of lovers and an absentee father whom she hadn’t seen in years. Sal had been the one person to give her the love she’d so badly needed. Cathie certainly had no wish for little Heather to suffer a similar fate. And who else was there to care for the poor child but herself? A responsibility she’d accepted without question.
Were it not for having to care for the baby, she might never have found the will to carry on, or even get up in a morning. She’d needed to locate a nursery, of course, to look after the child during the day, as Cathie couldn’t afford to give up her job at the tyre factory down by the docks. She’d also queued at the Citizens Advice Bureau for hours, to ask them if she was entitled to extra clothing coupons for the baby. They’d agreed that she was, and had told her to ask for form CRSC/1. All such a fuss, but money was tight and Cathie had very little in the way of savings in the post office.
There was a tidy sum stashed away in an account left by dear Sally and her husband, but that was for their precious daughter when she grew up, not to be wasted on trivial bits and bobs now.
Breathing in the sweet scent of her as she cuddled the baby in her arms and kissed her soft cheek, Cathie murmured, ‘You were so loved by your mummy, and if Sal were still with us, she’d be celebrating Alex’s return along with me, despite having lost your lovely father. I promise that you will never feel unwanted, sweetie, even if there are only a few of us left. The war is over and it’s time for a fresh start.’
But how would her fiancé react to taking on someone else’s child? Did she even know Alex well enough to be certain? Of course he would, as he was such a kind, sweet man. As Cathie warmed some milk for the baby’s morning porridge, she kept glancing across at his letter, her heart radiating with hope and pride. She’d loved Alex Ryman from the moment she’d met him over three years ago, back in 1942.
One Saturday, as Sal’s husband Tony had been home on leave, they’d treated themselves to a night at the Palais. It wasn’t cheap, being ninepence a ticket, but it proved to be worth the expense when this gorgeous man had approached her to ask for a dance.
‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You are so lovely with your long curly red hair, that smattering of freckles on your cute little nose, and the sweetest smile,’ he’d said.
Cathie remembered how she’d flushed with pleasure at the compliment, never for a moment having thought of herself in such terms. ‘Not strictly red, more a strawberry blonde,’ she corrected him, with a smile more shy than sweet, or so she thought.
‘Still beautiful, however you describe it, as are your hazel eyes. I’m not the greatest dancer in the world, but please would you do me the honour?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ and, taking his hand, she’d allowed him to lead her out on to the dance floor. She felt entranced by the fact that this tall handsome man, with his crop of short brown hair, chestnut brown eyes and square jutting chin, could be at all interested in her. His quiet conservative manner, and the respect he showed her, also proved him to be the perfect gentleman.
They danced almost every dance, the feel of his arms wrapped about her slender body, as if she were too precious to let go, filling her with joy. Was this how it felt to fall in love? Something she’d never experienced before. By the end of the evening, Cathie happily accepted an offer of a date, all too aware of a dazed longing in her eyes as she cast him a shy sideways glance from beneath her lashes. Could this be the man of her dreams? It most certainly felt like love at first sight for both of them.
After he returned to base, they’d exchanged letters almost daily. At that time he was stationed at Squires Gate, Blackpool, which before the war had been a holiday camp but was now used for army training. Barely able to put him from her mind, she’d gone out with him at every opportunity. Most wonderful of all, when he was granted a week’s leave before being sent overseas early in 1943 following weeks of training in Silloth, he’d presented her with a ring.
‘I wish I could afford to buy you something more splendid, but the thought of not seeing you again is devastating. I need to be sure that you’ll be here, waiting for me, when I return.’
‘Oh, I most certainly will,’ she’d assured him with love and pity in her heart, utterly thrilled and excited by his proposal.
Sadly, she hadn’t seen him since, or received quite as many letters as she would have liked, but then he’d been stationed in Egypt, and goodness knows where else. Now he was coming home at last, and she could hardly wait to become his wife.
Cathie’s new-found happiness was very slightly curtailed as she considered what his reaction might be to the fact that this little one now occupied a large place in her heart too. She certainly had every intention of keeping her, not least because she understood how it felt to be deprived of parental love. And she owed it to her sister. For little Heather’s sake, and to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, Cathie fully intended to push these concerns from her mind and make this the best Christmas ever.
‘It may only be October but Christmas will be here before you know it, which means I must start shopping and preparing right away, as rationing makes everything so difficult,’ she told her giggling niece, as she popped her safely back in her cot.
Oh, she really couldn’t wait to welcome Alex home, and to be in his arms again. He too had no doubt lost friends and loved ones, maybe suffered injuries in battles and campaigns he’d been involved in. So surely he would appreciate how necessary it was to move on and live with the consequences of whatever this dreadful war had thrown at them. Cathie was quite certain he would come to love her little niece as much as she did.
‘Never in a million years,’ said her mother later that day when Cathie showed Rona the letter and spoke of her intention to ask Alex to agree they adopt little Heather. ‘No man is willing to take on another chap’s child. Why would he agree to do such a thing?’
‘Because Alex is a lovely kind man. Why would he not?’ As so often when dealing with her mother, Cathie felt instantly irritated by Rona’s sarcasm and negative attitude. She had always been a dogmatic, stubborn person, obsessed with her own needs and busy social life, with little thought or care for those she was supposed to love. Even her show of grief had been entirely self-centred, worrying more about how she would cope without Sal’s help in the house, rather than any genuine sense of loss.
‘Who’ll do the washing and ironing now?’ she’d moaned. ‘Who will clean the house, mop the floors, make the beds, and keep the fire going? You’re not half as good at housework as our Sal was.’
‘Who cares about such things?’ Cathie had sobbed in her distress. ‘It’s losing my lovely sister that hurts, like a knife in my heart, not the loss of the work she used to do around the house.’ Sal had been like a mother to her, as well as an elder sister, something Rona never could be.
‘Well, someone has to do it, and I’m certainly not up to all that hard work any more,’ had been her mother’s sharp response, and still was to this day as she made herself comfy now in her chair by the fire. She began filing her already perfect nails as she patiently waited for Cathie to tell her when tea was ready. She was an attractive woman, despite being well into her forties, with her smoothly styled blonde hair and blue eyes, lovely oval face completely wrinkle-free, pencilled brows and red lipstick. She would even rub some of the lipstick on to her powdered cheeks. Not for a moment did it enter her lazy head that perhaps she should help, if only to lay the table, let alone peel the potatoes.
‘You could brew the tea,’ Cathie politely suggested, striving to keep her temper.
‘You’re the one standing by the stove, so why don’t you do it? And you’re the one with energy, being young, so be quick about it as I’m meeting Tommy at seven o’clock at the Pack Horse.’
Cathie stifled a weary sigh, all too aware it was a complete waste of time and energy to argue with Rona. She had no real objection to dealing with household chores, but a little assistance now and then would help. Unfortunately, nothing would persuade Rona to take the slightest risk of breaking a nail, or spoiling whatever pretty dress she happened to be wearing. Nor had she ever lifted a finger to help care for little Heather, or shown the slightest interest in the child, despite being her only grandchild.
It was Cathie who fed the baby, changed and washed her nappies, and got up with her in the night when she was hungry or teething. Fortunately, she was a good baby, but the work was exhausting nonetheless. It was Cathie who wheeled the pram to the nursery on her way to the factory each morning, and collected the baby on the way home at the end of her long working day. If Rona was on the early shift at the local cotton mill, it never brought forth an offer to pick up her grandchild, or to make a contribution towards the cost of her care.
As for offering to babysit, that hadn’t happened in the entire seven months since Sal’s death. Not that this troubled Cathie one bit, as she’d been far too sunk in grief to be interested in going anywhere. But things would need to change in the future, and she had every faith that Alex would support her, as well as provide her with the love she’d always longed for.
‘You haven’t even agreed to meet him yet, so how can you possibly judge?’ Cathie said, returning to their original difference of opinion as she placed two plates of corned beef hash on the table.
‘Men are men and not interested in babies. You are such an innocent. It’s long past time you grew up and entered the real world.’
‘I think the war ensured I did that, Mam,’ Cathie sharply responded. ‘I’m twenty-two, if you recall, no longer a child.’
‘So you are, and with a face on you like a line of wet washing. Stop sulking, girl.’
‘Actually, I’m feeling much better, really quite happy now that Alex is on his way home.’
‘Aye, well don’t be too naïve, or expect too much from that fella of yours. He’ll have his own plans for the future, whether you like it or not.’
‘I’m sure he will, but I’m entitled to my wishes too.’
‘Ooh, what an independent little madam you’ve turned into.’
‘That could be the result of the war too,’ Cathie said, thinking that she really hadn’t been given much choice in the matter with a young baby to care for, a useless mother and a living to earn.
After lifting Heather into her high chair and tucking a bib about the baby’s neck, she began to feed her the soft hash from her own little dish and let her mind drift away from her mother’s nagging. Despite her ignorance so far as baby care was concerned, the nine-month-old was doing well. She’d sat up at six months, and was now showing every sign of wanting to walk. Precious little Heather had been successfully weaned and was doing well with her eating, though she did have a tendency to fling her dish on to the floor if she didn’t care for whatever was on offer, or grew bored with the process. Today, she seemed to approve of the mush she was eating, which was a great relief. Feeding spoonfuls to the baby as she ate her own food, Cathie focused her thoughts upon her happy news.
The biggest worry she and Alex faced was where they would live when they did marry. The idea of moving in with her mother as newly-weds was too dreadful to contemplate, even supposing Rona would agree to such an idea. Cathie had already made a few enquiries about finding a house to rent, so far with no luck. So many homes had been destroyed by the bombing that they were in very short supply. ‘Homes for Heroes’ they’d been promised by the government, but there was little sign of any so far, apart from a few prefabs. She could but hope something would turn up soon.
Everything would work out just fine, she was sure of it. Father Christmas was about to deliver the best present possible by sending Alex home to her. Now she would give her fiancé the best present she had to offer, her love forever, and a beautiful ready-made family to start their wonderful life together.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_05aba47e-c08c-58bf-8c87-d0f9c7fb2ee5)
The next day being a Saturday, Cathie set off early to Campfield Market, intent upon making a start on her preparations for Christmas. Most of their food was purchased from the local Co-op where she could benefit from an annual dividend and other special offers. At Christmas they would allow customers a little extra sugar, butter and a tin of condensed milk. But she still loved to visit the market for bargains.
Cathie had carefully written out a list, which included little gifts to put in crackers and some sticky strips to make paper chains. She already had a box of Christmas tree baubles and ornaments that she and Sal had collected over the years, many of them home-made. Later, Cathie meant to buy a small tree, which she would decorate. Right now she must find the right ingredients to start cooking. Dried fruit for mincemeat and a Christmas cake, dried egg, prunes or dried apricots, spices and vanilla essence to make everything taste good, and ground rice for some mock marzipan. Hopefully there’d be an end to rationing soon, but while it continued, this would not be an easy task; so the sooner she started searching, the better.
The food shops and stalls were mainly in the top section between Tonman Street and Liverpool Road, and that was where she headed first. A brisk wind made her tighten the scarf about her neck, sending scraps of grubby paper bags and rotting cabbage leaves flying everywhere. But the baby was tucked up safe and warm in her pram with the hood up and the apron clipped in place over the blankets.
Cathie decided she would try ordering a goose from one of the butchers, although sometimes it was better to come to the market late, just before it closed as prices were cheaper then. The problem with that was there might not be anything left, and Cathie really had no wish to make do with another mock goose comprised mainly of lentils and onions. If this was to be the best Christmas ever, to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, genuine poultry was essential.
Cathie loved exploring the market, with its huge iron girders arching across the roof beneath a range of dusty windows, the supporting pillars beautifully decorated with red roses in patriotic honour of Lancashire. She would lovingly stroke a hand over one as she passed by, as if to bring herself luck, something she still felt in need of despite the war being over. Outdoor stalls jostled for space from here on Tonman Street right across to Deansgate, many of them piled high with second-hand goods, as anything new and cheap was quite rare with rationing still in place.
As always the market was heaving with people: harassed mothers scolding their children for wandering off, old men in flat caps and mufflers huddled together by the hot baked potato cart, no doubt busily putting the world to rights. Perhaps discussing how the General Election in July had brought a Labour landslide with Clement Attlee now Prime Minister in place of Churchill. The terrible bombs that had been dropped since on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the fact Britain was pretty well stony broke.
Nevertheless, morale remained high, despite the threat of austerity and restrictions growing ever tighter as young men returned from the war. It was true that ex-servicemen were not always in one piece, or a happy state of mind, often damaged either physically or mentally. But families were delighted to see their loved ones safely home.
Cathie could barely wait to see Alex again.
She studied various grocery, vegetable and biscuit stalls, happily pausing to watch a man in a bowler hat cleverly juggling pots, pans and plates, appearing to let one fall then easily catching it in order to gain people’s attention. ‘I’m not asking five shillings. I’m not asking one shilling. I’m not even asking sixpence. A threepenny bit and this beautiful plate is yours,’ he shouted to the large crowd gathered about his stall.
Smiling at his showmanship, Cathie queued at her favourite butcher’s stall, where she was a regular customer, and bought a few sausages for tea. He gladly took her order for a goose, offering to give it priority once he heard that her fiancé was returning from the war.
‘Can’t promise it’ll be big, mind, but I’ll do my best, and let you know if I don’t find one.’
Thanking him, Cathie moved on to the Maypole Dairy, which sold margarine, butter, cheese and bacon, also nuts and dried fruit. Checking her purse, she made a mental note to choose with care, as she certainly couldn’t afford to buy everything at once. But after careful browsing, and a very helpful shop assistant, Cathie purchased the necessary ingredients to at least bake a Christmas cake. She’d worry about the mock almond paste, icing sugar and mince tarts later.
Having finished her shopping and carefully negotiating the pram between the crowds of shoppers, Cathie went to meet up with her two best friends for a snack at the market café, as they loved to do on a Saturday. After greeting each other with hugs and a few moans about the cold weather, the three of them gave their orders then sat drinking tea together while Cathie told her good news.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Brenda said, instantly sharing her friend’s excitement.
‘When does he arrive?’ Davina politely enquired.
Davina Gibson, who worked on a second-hand clothes stall, was new to the area, having moved into Castlefield just a couple of months ago. Cathie had met her while buying some clothes for baby Heather. She’d been sympathetic of her loss, and so helpful in allowing Cathie to negotiate a low price on everything she needed, they’d become firm friends ever since. Brenda Stuart, on the other hand, was a best friend of some years’ standing, as she and Cathie had been in the same class at school all those years ago, and worked together at the rubber factory producing tyres for motor cars, army vehicles and trucks.
Both these women had been left widowed by the war, as had so many others. Davina was something of a beauty with her voluptuous figure, long dark hair, green eyes beneath winged brows, and full lips. While dear Brenda claimed to be a plain country girl with scraggy brown hair, plump figure and puffy cheeks. But her round face nearly always wore a smile, and there’d generally be a twinkle in her downward-sloping dark eyes.
‘I’m not sure, but in time for Christmas, or so he hopes. It’s so exciting. I can hardly wait to see him again.’
‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ Davina asked, the corner of her mouth twisting into what might pass for a smile. She wasn’t the most exuberant or lively friend Cathie might have hoped for, being slightly cool and distant. Whatever she’d suffered during the war had clearly badly affected her.
‘Not yet, but I know Alex is keen for us to marry as soon as possible.’
‘I do hope I receive an invitation,’ Brenda said, eyes sparkling at the prospect.
‘If and when it happens,’ Davina added.
‘Of course it will happen, fairly soon, I hope. How would you both feel about being bridesmaids? I have some lengths of parachute silk, which Mam managed to buy cheap from the mill. It has one or two flaws in it, which is disastrous for a parachute, but will scarcely show in a dress. We could sew them together.’
Brenda whooped with joy. ‘That would be wonderful, so long as you teach me how. Never was much good at sewing but I’m willing to learn.’
Looking slightly stunned by this request, Davina murmured, ‘Oh, that is so kind of you to ask me, Cathie, but I’m not sure I could cope with attending a wedding so soon after losing my own husband.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. I’ve no wish to upset you.’
‘When and how did you lose him, darling?’ Brenda asked. ‘You never did tell us.’
Davina’s lips tightened. ‘I don’t care to speak of it.’
‘Ah, I can fully sympathise with that feeling,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Painful things have happened in my life that I cannot bear to remember either. I’ve locked them in a box in my mind, never to open them again. However, sometimes it helps to talk.’ When no response came, Brenda leaned over the pram to tickle the baby’s nose, making her giggle. ‘So what about this little one, Cathie? Have you told Alex that you now think of her as your own?’
‘No, not yet,’ Cathie admitted with some reluctance. ‘I told him of Sal’s death and that we were safe, of course, but didn’t go into any details about her child.’
‘Why ever not?’
Taking a bite of the cheese rarebit the waitress had just brought her, Cathie took her time to chew on it for a moment before answering. Her old friend knew her better than most, how she tended to be far too cautious and wary of making a mistake in life. She’d been this way ever since watching her parents’ marriage collapse after years of rows. Having Sal to cuddle her close in bed as they listened to them yelling and screaming at each other had been the only way to deal with her misery. The sisters had made a pact never to involve themselves in these arguments, and never to discuss what they’d heard.
Giving a pragmatic shrug, she said, ‘Letters to the Front need to be upbeat and cheerful. Mine to Alex were generally asking how he was coping, and chatting a little about myself, which was what he wanted to hear. I put in no bad news that might depress him. Besides, like Davina, I’d no wish to talk about Sal’s death.’
Davina said, ‘Keeping silent about painful subjects may be commonplace in these difficult times, but being open and honest with Alex about what you hope to do for the baby is surely very necessary.’
‘I’m afraid she has a point there,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Did he never ask about the child?’
Cathie frowned, struggling to remember. It had indeed been painful, a time of complete anguish. The weeks following Sal’s death had passed in something of a blur, almost as if she were locked behind a pane of frosted glass and not part of the real world at all. ‘I don’t think he did. But then I’m not certain I ever mentioned that she’d given birth to a daughter, as Heather was barely a month old when her mummy died. My memory of that time is very hazy. Then Mam kept putting me off, insisting it wasn’t right to dump this problem upon him when he had enough to deal with fighting a war.’
‘I’m sure he did have enough on his plate,’ Davina agreed. ‘Still, he does need to know, so the sooner you tell him the better.’
‘I’m ashamed to say that the longer I left it, the harder it became to broach the subject. I could never quite find the courage, and finally decided it would be better to wait and tell him in person, once he is home and can see for himself how adorable she is.’
Smiling down at the baby, Brenda gave her cheek a gentle stroke. ‘You might be right. She certainly is adorable, how could anyone resist her?’
‘Mam is not convinced Alex ever will accept her, which is absolute nonsense. He’s a real gentleman, so why wouldn’t he?’
‘Men can be a bit sniffy about such matters, certainly where children are concerned,’ Davina pointed out, rubbing a hand over her face, which Cathie noticed was suddenly looking rather pale and strained. What other problems did she have? she wondered. Her new friend’s past life was something of a mystery as she was reluctant to speak of the war, not unusual these days. Even so, Cathie had made several attempts to ask Davina about her past, where she’d lived before, what job she’d done, and what had happened to her. But for some reason she always avoided answering such questions. And, as she was still grieving for the loss of her husband, Cathie had decided not to pursue the matter for fear of upsetting her further. Their shared grief was what had cemented their friendship in the first place. Just as her own reluctance not to keep going over Sal’s death was perhaps the main reason why she had neglected to tell Alex the whole story.
Brenda, however, was the absolute opposite. Despite having lived in France during the German occupation, and becoming one of many British women arrested and confined, apparently for no other reason than her nationality, she firmly believed that talking about problems helped you to cope better. Even so, Cathie was aware of occasions when Brenda too would clam shut and find it impossible to speak of past pain, as she herself had just admitted.
‘I do agree that Alex must be told soon. Once he’s settled in, I’ll explain everything,’ Cathie said, with a smile that appeared more confident than she actually felt.
‘I think you should write and tell him now,’ Davina suggested. ‘If he’s going to be this child’s father, you’ll surely need his agreement and support in order to achieve that wish, or it won’t ever happen.’
These words had a disconcerting effect upon Cathie. It was kind of Davina to be so concerned for her, although echoing her mother’s negative comments was not exactly what she’d wished to hear. Poor Davina’s expression was looking even more pinched and doleful, perhaps because she was facing the prospect of life with no hope of a child of her own, as her husband had not survived the war. So many atrocities, so much grief. Cathie had to confess that the timing of Sal’s death couldn’t have been worse, not only because the war had been in the process of coming to an end, but as she herself was about to be married.
Brenda gently patted her hand. ‘I can understand that you might feel a little nervous about telling Alex of your wish to keep Sal’s child, but be brave, darling. He loves you, so not for a moment do I imagine he’ll refuse to accept her.’
‘Oh, you are so right, he does.’ Her worries and sadness dissolved as joy ricocheted within once again. With no one ever expressing any love for her but Sally, Cathie could hardly believe her good fortune. ‘And he is such a kind man.’
‘There you are then, no problem,’ Brenda said, kissing a cheek damp with the odd stray tear.
Davina put her arms around Cathie to give her a hug that felt just a little stiff and awkward. ‘Please know that I’m here to offer support too, should this Alex give you any problems.’
‘Thank you so much! You are both such good friends to me. Not that I think I will need your help, as I have every faith in him.’ The baby began to whimper and squirm, and Cathie got quickly to her feet. ‘Now, I really must go and see to some food for this little madam.’
Brenda jumped up too. ‘I’ll walk back with you, darling, at least as far as my gloomy little bedsit.’ And, saying their goodbyes, the pair walked off, Cathie oddly aware of Davina standing watching for some time as she wheeled the pram away. Something was troubling the girl, but she couldn’t make out quite what it could be.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a509bdda-aa68-552a-99c0-b663341a530c)
Over the coming days and weeks, Cathie continued to work hard at the factory as well as take care of the baby. She also busied herself with cleaning and tidying the house from top to bottom, much to her mother’s irritation as she was moved from room to room, not offering to even lift a duster to help. Buying a pot of brown paint from the ironmonger, Cathie gave all the doors a quick coat, hoping the landlord would not object. But, as they’d been bombed out of their own home, and were now renting in a ramshackle street in a rather poor area of Castlefield, Cathie was anxious for the house to look as respectable as possible when Alex arrived home. She felt rather pleased with the result, and proud of herself for having picked up quite a few skills over these last years.
‘It costs very little to at least be clean,’ said her Aunt Evie, not for the first time when Cathie popped in to fill her in on what was happening, and ask her advice. Her aunt too had suffered a horrible war, not least by the fact her children had been evacuated.
‘Your Uncle Donald hasn’t been demobbed yet, although no longer a POW. He’s undergoing some help, or so I’m told, by the Resettlement Service or whatever they call themselves. But my little ones will be home soon too,’ she said, cuddling baby Heather on her lap. ‘Not that they’ll be little any more, and goodness knows what they’ll think when they see me again. I’ve turned into a real old crow.’
‘Don’t be silly, they adore you,’ Cathie said with a smile. Evie, her father’s younger sister, was very maternal, the kind of mother Cathie would have loved to have. ‘So when do you think I should tell Alex about little Heather?’
Her aunt considered the question with a frown. ‘Not easy to answer. Judge your moment when it feels right. Believe in yourself, sweetie.’
It felt like good advice, and surely her courage and sense of independence had increased throughout this long war. Or had it all vanished again with the loss of dear Sal? Uncertainty and panic swelled in her, which yet again had to be quelled as Cathie resolutely devoted the entire afternoon to baking a Christmas cake, and thinking positive thoughts about the future. It was admittedly rather plain but at least it had real fruit in it and not just prunes, as was the case last year. Wrapping it in greaseproof paper and storing it in a cake tin, she hid it safely away on a top shelf in the larder where Rona wouldn’t find it. Next, she set about making paper chains and tiny Chinese-type lanterns, which she strung up around the front parlour.
‘We need the house to look good as Father Christmas will be here soon,’ Cathie explained to the baby, as the pair of them sat together on the rug. Heather’s soft little lips pursed in concentration as she tried to help by flicking bits of paper about, some of them sticking to her little fingers, which made Cathie laugh. She’d also bought a tree, which she now decorated with home-made Christmas crackers, a few baubles and pipe-cleaner dolls dressed in scraps of wool and cotton that she and Sal had made when they were small.
Stepping back to admire her efforts with a glow of satisfaction, in her mind’s eye she could see Sal standing on a stool as she fixed a fairy to the top of the tree. As the elder of the two, her sister had always insisted on this being her job, carried out when the tree had been fully decorated. The thought that this would be the first Christmas without Sal, filled Cathie with fresh pain. Brushing away her tears, she strived not to dwell on past memories.
‘What do you think?’ she asked her mother, keeping her voice deliberately bright and with a cheerful smile on her face.
Rona gave a careless shrug. ‘The tree’s a bit small but I expect it will do. But all them decorations seem like a lot of effort for just the two of us.’
‘The war is over, and there won’t be just the two of us. Alex is coming home, remember, and it’s Heather’s first Christmas. I mean to make it very special.’ Cathie fully intended to honour Sal’s memory by giving her precious child a wonderful time. Even if Heather was only a baby and had never even heard of Father Christmas, Cathie had already found her a stocking to hang up, and bought a few small toys to put in it, together with a few jelly babies and chocolate creams.
‘Don’t expect me to look after the nipper over Christmas, even if your boyfriend does get home in time. I have my own plans, and it doesn’t include going back to child-minding and washing nappies. I had my fill of all that with you two.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of expecting you to,’ Cathie caustically replied, feeling this comment proved what a neglectful mother Rona had been. ‘I did wonder though, if you would be willing to babysit for one evening at least, so that we could go out for a meal together to celebrate his homecoming. I haven’t seen Alex in nearly two years.’
‘I’d need to meet him first, to give my approval. Why don’t you ask him to join us for tea one day, or Sunday dinner perhaps?’
Whenever he’d walked her home after they’d been out on a date, he’d never actually stepped inside, claiming a reluctance to intrude upon her life. In reality it may well have been the lack of welcome from her mother. Now, despite them living in a much shabbier property, Cathie smiled with relief. ‘That would be lovely. I’ll do that. I’m quite certain that you’ll like him.’ She made to give her mother a kiss in gratitude, but Rona moved quickly away, as ever resisting any show of affection from her daughter, although she rarely refused a kiss from a man.
Fortunately, Cathie reminded herself, she no longer depended upon her mother for love, not now she had Alex, and the baby. She ached with longing to see him again, but everything was ready: the goose ordered, mince tarts made, and having failed to find any icing sugar she’d coated the Christmas cake with a mock butter cream. Cathie had even treated herself to a new dress in Christmas rose red, and Davina had trimmed and styled her corkscrew curls for her. Half her personal savings were gone, but Cathie was delighted with all the preparations she’d made.
When later that day the postman delivered a second letter from Alex asking her to meet him at Victoria railway station at eleven o’clock the Sunday before Christmas, her heart turned over with happiness. She rushed to tell her friends at the very first opportunity.
‘So pleased for you,’ Brenda said, giving her a delighted hug.
‘How exciting. When does he arrive exactly?’ Davina coolly enquired.
Cathie read out the necessary details from her precious letter, without revealing his private comments to her. ‘I can hardly wait.’
Now her life would truly change for the better.
At the end of the week, as she clocked in as usual at the tyre factory to start her morning shift sharp at eight, she found a note from her boss. Answering his call to enter, she breezed into his office with a happy smile on her face, her heart feeling as if it was bouncing with happiness. ‘You wanted to see me?’
Glancing up from the account sheet upon which he was working, he removed his spectacles and gave a brief nod. ‘I wish to thank all you ladies personally for the sterling work you’ve done throughout the war, and can now release you from those labours as the men are returning.’
Cathie stared at him in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The war is over, if you haven’t noticed. The soldiers, sailors and airmen are all coming home and need their jobs back. So while you women have done splendid work, you are now free to return to your domestic duties.’
Her mind in a whirl at this unexpected announcement, the last thing she’d wanted to hear right now with a baby to feed, Cathie couldn’t think of a polite way to protest, however much she might feel the need to defend her own rights. Women who had refused to take a war job back in 1941 had been threatened with prison. She’d been happy to do her bit, young as she’d been at the time. She’d loved her work, the independence it had brought her, as well as the companionship of other women. ‘I do appreciate what you say, boss. Of course fighting men have the right to get their jobs back, but do women need to be dismissed entirely in order to achieve that? How are we supposed to survive without a wage coming in?’ she asked, attempting to sound reasonable.
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I hear you’ll be married soon, Cathie, so what’s the problem? A woman’s role is to produce babies and support her husband.’
‘And no doubt clean fire grates, knit baby clothes and mend socks,’ she said, with a sharp edge to her tone. ‘But what if I have no wish to be confined to the kitchen sink?’
He seemed to find this remark so amusing he laughed out loud. ‘That is something you must discuss with your dearly beloved. I’m sure hubby will take you out from time to time. And, as it’s Friday, the job ends today, so don’t forget to collect your final wages and card on your way out.’ Having said his piece, he put his spectacles back on and returned to the task of adding up company profits, which might well drop now they’d be paying higher men’s wages.
Walking back to her bench in a complete daze, Cathie felt tears prick her eyes. How on earth would she cope without any money coming in? It felt as if a whole different world was opening up before her, one where she would have very little say over her own future. But once she’d listened to the woes of the other women, many of them war widows with children of their own to feed, she swallowed her own worries and said very little. She, at least, would have a loving husband to depend upon, one who would be home in just over a week.
‘How on earth can I continue to pay the rent without a wage coming in?’ Brenda snapped, also complaining bitterly about being sacked. ‘I certainly have no wish to return to my late husband’s family home out on the Pennines.’
Judging by the expression on her friend’s face, Cathie thought it wise not to ask for an explanation on that point, and instead gave her a consoling hug. ‘I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find other work, even if it’s only part-time. We do have considerable experience at our fingertips, after all. Surely all these years of hard work we’ve done must count for something?’
‘I do hope so. We should have seen this coming, of course. Those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back. I’d just never got around to thinking how that might affect me. Nor did I expect it to happen so suddenly.’
‘Me neither. A little warning might have helped, or better still an alternative offer of a job here in the factory, one that involved us in work we know so well.’
According to the general conversation buzzing around them, other factories were likewise laying off women workers, so a new job might not be easy to find. And thinking of the busy week ahead in preparation for Christmas, helping with a charity event at the local Co-operative Society, and with a goose to pay for, Cathie attempted to mentally calculate how much money she had left to live on.
As for Alex’s homecoming, her feelings were becoming increasingly muddled. Much as she longed to see him, she really had no wish to be dependent on her fiancé from the outset. In any case, war might have badly affected him too, and she had no wish to add to his distress by expecting him to be entirely responsible for earning all the money they would inevitably need. It was necessary to be practical as well as supportive and loving.
The rest of the day passed largely in gloomy silence and, as the factory clock chimed six strokes, the women packed their bags, collected their wages and walked out grim-faced, into what they’d believed would be a brave new peaceful world, and now wasn’t looking quite as good as they’d hoped.
‘Have you considered asking for a job here at the Co-op?’ This question came from Steve Allenby, an old friend who had returned from the war some time ago with serious injuries. Cathie was helping him to organise a Christmas concert in the Co-operative Society rooms above the shop, and had casually mentioned the fact that she’d lost her job, although she felt she really had no right to complain too much. A V1 rocket had exploded close to an airfield where Steve was working in Holland. It had so badly damaged his leg an amputation had been necessary. He now had an artificial limb on his right leg from the knee down, and walked with a slight limp. He was making a good recovery, if still suffering from pain and post-war traumas, looking even thinner and more raw-boned than when he was a scraggy kid. But then losing a leg was far more serious than being dismissed from a job, however worrying that might be for her.
In between blowing up balloons that were piling up all around them, she turned the idea over in her head, a little hope lighting up within. Could that be a possibility? She wondered. Cathie knew that in the past the Co-operative movement had supported workers during strikes, as well as throughout the war, keeping tally sheets for folk who couldn’t settle their household bill till their next wage was paid. Whether they would be willing to offer her a job was another matter entirely.
‘I’m not intending to work here for ever,’ Steve was saying. ‘I do have other plans. But Cyril Leeson, the manager, generously kept my job open and I’m proud to be employed by a business that has been in operation since the mid-nineteenth century and an important part of the community. They are expert at juggling prices to suit customers’ needs, give dividends, and run holiday clubs in which money can be saved for Wakes Week. Generally a week in Blackpool, as we know.’ He laughed.
‘I do approve of their Christmas club, which has helped me to finance this expensive season by saving up in it week after week,’ she said, thinking of her dream to make this the best Christmas ever for Alex. ‘Unfortunately, my skills are more concerned with checking tyres.’ She gave a dry little laugh. ‘Can’t see that being of any use slicing bacon, butter and cheese, let alone keeping track of people’s accounts. I’d be hopeless.’
‘Probably you would at first, but with a bit of effort you might at last learn to count, and even add up.’
‘Cheeky!’ she snapped, playfully punching him on the shoulder.
He laughed as he ducked, in case she tried again. ‘I trained as a junior instructor in the army and eventually became a trainer myself, doing a lot of work with small arms. What has that got to do with cheese? You’d soon get the hang of it, Cathie. It’s plain to see that you’ve grown much more confident and capable as a result of this war.’
Was that true? Cathie rather hoped it may well be. She had changed quite a lot over the years, gaining considerably more courage and faith in herself. Had Steve noticed that in her, or was he playing her for a fool yet again? They’d been friends from childhood, as he came from the same rough area as herself. But although he was fun to work with at these charity events, she still had her reservations about him.
She recalled how once he’d built them a tree house down by the River Irwell, and persuaded her to climb up and sit in it. Then he’d dashed off to play with his mates, leaving her stuck up the tree, too afraid to climb down without assistance. Hours later, soaked to the skin from a downpour of rain, she was rescued by Sal who came looking for her. Steve claimed he’d meant to return but forgot. Knowing how he loved to play endless practical jokes and tricks upon her, she’d never entirely forgiven him, refusing to speak to him for months afterwards. They’d fallen out countless times over the years due to her innate caution, while Steve, on the other hand, had always been a bit reckless and impulsive, lively and ruddy-cheeked.
Now his face was drawn and pale with a bleakness to his blue-grey eyes. Out of pity for the pain he was suffering, their friendship was slowly improving. But not for a moment could she ever feel the same way about him as she did for Alex, who was much more handsome, smart and sweetly polite. Steve would never be anything more to her than an old friend, but at least he was trying to be helpful now.
‘Maybe I should make a polite enquiry, just in case.’
‘Good. I’m sure you’ll find another job, Cathie, assuming you decide you need one.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Why would I not?’
‘I heard that Alex will be home soon. You must be looking forward to seeing him again, and may soon be busy raising a family instead.’ He glanced across at little Heather, contentedly asleep in her pram with her thumb in her mouth.
They both fell silent as Cathie considered this point. Was she eager to have children of her own? She hadn’t thought that far ahead, obsessed only with seeing Alex again, as well as caring for Sally’s little one. But a job could well prove to be unnecessary if they married quickly and she fell pregnant. Did she want that to happen? ‘It’s certainly true that I can’t wait see him. It’s been two years or more.’
‘Let’s hope he soon settles into Civvy Street. I found it difficult at first,’ Steve admitted, as he gathered the balloons into a net. ‘Once everyone has welcomed you home by buying you a pint, they tend to forget all about you. Life can feel a bit flat after that, and rather lonely to suddenly find yourself without all the mates you’ve lived and worked with for years, let alone shared untold horrors.’ He drew in a deep sigh, a frown marking his too thin face. ‘And some of them I’ll never see again.’
Cathie was filled with sympathy as she waited for him to reveal more of his war story, but as always his mouth clammed shut. Could it be that grief overwhelmed him, the pain of remembering being too much to bear, or was he holding back some secret he wished to keep to himself? ‘It must have been very difficult for you, Steve. But I’ll be there for Alex, as I’m sure his family will too.’ Not that she knew anything about his family, never having met them.
‘He’s a lucky man to have you. I was not so fortunate.’
‘Maybe you will be one day.’ Tucking the blanket over the baby’s sprawled chubby body, Cathie decided it was time to change the subject. ‘Will Father Christmas be coming to this charity concert?’
‘I’ve written to invite him,’ Steve replied in all seriousness. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without him, would it? He’s promised to call in towards the end, with presents for all the children. There’s a special group coming from Styal, St Patrick’s and other local orphanages.’
Glancing again at Heather, thankful that her niece hadn’t ended up in such a place, she smiled. ‘That’s wonderful. I always feel so sorry for all the poor orphans created by this dratted war.’
Steve gave a grim little nod. ‘Yes indeed. At least we can provide them with a good Christmas party, thanks to the generosity of the Co-op. And a fun concert.’
Before leaving, Cathie called at the office downstairs to ask if by any chance they did have any vacancies, and was politely informed that sadly that was not the case.
‘Hope you didn’t mind my asking, Mr Leeson. Admittedly, I don’t have any experience as a shop assistant, but I’m willing to learn. Should there ever be one, do please let me know.’
‘Of course,’ the manager, said. ‘Keep your eye on our window, Cathie, which is generally where we post vacancies. Although people tend to hang on to their jobs rather a long time these days.’
Over the next few days, having had the idea of being a shop assistant planted in her head, Cathie enquired about work at several other shops too, only to receive the same response. She called in at warehouses and factories, explaining her skills and experience during the war, forced to walk away as heads were shaken. She chose not to apply at the cotton mill, as working with her mother did not appeal.
Only a short time ago they’d been celebrating the end of the war with ticker tape and dancing, street parties, funny hats and flags. Now everyone seemed to have sunk back into a gloomy depression. Except that in two days time she’d be welcoming Alex home, which lifted her heart afresh. Their future together was surely all that truly mattered now?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_00aa14bc-aaaa-54b1-9106-7ecffd515589)
A cold north-east wind was buffeting her as Cathie stood anxiously waiting on Victoria station platform, pacing back and forth, and constantly glancing up at the big clock high on the wall. The train must be running late as she seemed to have been standing here for an awful long time, yet she felt more concerned about the coming reunion with Alex than worrying about the cold. Did she properly remember him? How well had she got to know him in the excitement of their love match? Cathie recalled a kind, gentle, handsome man, very polite and caring. Would he still be the same, or might he have suffered some injury that he’d chosen not to mention in the few letters that had managed to get through? More importantly, would he still love her?
Cathie had tried to look her best, dressed in a tailored navy jacket and skirt with a neat pleat down the front, over which she wore a beige raincoat to protect her against the weather. A wide-brimmed red wool hat decorated with a navy hatband sat carefully tilted to one side over her neatly styled hair, a matching handbag dangling on one arm, and warm red gloves. But what if he remembered her as being far more glamorous and beautiful, instead of homely and ordinary, which was how she saw herself now? If only the weather had been better, then she could have worn a pretty dress.
Just as she’d almost given up hope, a whistle sounded, making her heart bump as if in unison. Then the air was filled with choking steam as the train came puffing slowly along the track. She could barely see the passengers as they hastily disembarked, thanks to the smoke and the crowds filling the platform. Cathie could hear the cries of joy, and the clatter of heels as women ran to fling themselves in the arms of their returning heroes.
Then like a ghost emerging from the mists of the past, she saw a vaguely familiar figure walking smartly towards her. At first sight, Cathie didn’t recognise him as she was accustomed to seeing Alex in uniform, not this dreadful demob suit with trousers that didn’t quite reach his ankles, trilby hat and a greatcoat stripped of its usual army buttons and braid. Seconds later, he was enfolding her tight against his chest, smothering her with kisses. Her heart felt as if it might explode with happiness.
‘Let me look at you.’ Releasing her, Alex stepped back a pace so that his gaze could roam over her, taking in her rosebud mouth, flushed cheeks and sparkling hazel eyes before sliding downwards over her slender figure. ‘Even more beautiful than I remember.’
Glowing with joy, she gave her most bewitching smile. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you too, Alex, I can’t quite believe you’re here at last.’ She whipped off her gloves and stroked his face as if to prove to herself that he was.
‘I’ve missed you too, darling,’ he said, quickly responding with yet more kisses, his stubbled chin scraping against hers.
‘I’ve got so much to tell you.’
He looked down at her, his chestnut brown eyes darkening with desire. ‘We have a great deal of catching up to do, not simply involving talk,’ he said, chuckling as he slid an exploring hand over her breast. ‘How soon can we be married? I can’t wait too long. I could eat you all up here and now.’
Cathie felt her cheeks grow hot as she gave a little giggle. ‘We can fix a date for the wedding any time you like. But I haven’t even met your parents yet, nor have you met my mother, which you are now about to do. Mam suggested I invite you for Sunday dinner, I do hope you can come?’
‘Not today,’ he said, looking surprised by the suggestion. ‘My mother and father are anxious to have me home. We’ll need to arrange that for some other time.’
‘Oh, of course!’ Even as Cathie agreed, disappointment bit deep in her. But then perhaps she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Naturally, his parents were keen to see their only son again, after all this time away fighting in a war. It was easy to forget that other families were close when her own was not. She also thought with some regret of the expense of the half shoulder of lamb she’d left roasting in the oven. ‘Can we at least walk some of the way together?’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ Linking her arm in his, he hitched his kitbag on to his other shoulder and they set off to walk along Deansgate.
Cathie felt a little downhearted that, even though she was his fiancée, she had not been included in his plans for his first day home. Surely on such a special occasion she should have been allowed to share it? In all the time they’d been going out together, not once had he thought to invite her to meet his family. Alex lived on St John Street, as his father was a doctor who worked at the local hospital. Unlike where she lived, close to the Potato Wharf district, it was quite a smart area even if it was still in Castlefield. Cathie couldn’t help but wonder if that was the reason.
For now though, she should be simply relieved to see how fit Alex looked, marching as if on parade, straight-backed with his head held high, if unshaven and his expression somewhat stern. All her anxiety and worries had evaporated in seconds on seeing him as, unlike Steve, Alex seemed perfectly normal with no sign of any injuries. After six years of war, being only nineteen when he’d been called up in 1939, he was now a grown man of vast experience. And if there was a slight sense of distance between them, surely that was to be expected after these long years apart. But it was wonderful that they were together at last. Her future secure.
‘I look forward to you coming some other time, at your convenience. I should warn you in advance that my mother, Rona, is not an easy person, being rather selfish, and very full of herself. She doesn’t believe in sitting still for five minutes. She has ever been obsessed with giving herself a good time, always going off somewhere: to dances, band concerts, pubs or horse racing. Having a bit of fun is how she terms it.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Alex said. ‘I dreamed of doing very much the same when I was stuck out in the desert in Egypt.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ Cathie said, filled with remorse for having implied that living a full life was somehow wrong, even if she had only been attempting to explain her self-obsessed mother. ‘And we all had fun when peace was declared. Did you get to celebrate VE Day?’
‘No, I was still overseas,’ he responded grimly.
‘Oh, you poor thing. We went to Albert Square, everywhere ablaze with lights and hordes of people all dancing and singing ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’, ‘Bless ‘Em All’, and loads of other popular songs. It was fantastic fun. Manchester was so jam-packed with folk there was no room for traffic, not even the buses could get through. There were flags everywhere, posters saluting the Allies, fireworks going off. There were thanksgiving services at various churches, and the King spoke to us on the wireless. Oh, it was a wonderful celebration with dozens of street parties held over the next few days. Mam and I attended several, and treated ourselves by opening a tin of peaches.’ Cathie chuckled at the memory, preferring not to mention that they’d both also wept over the fact Sal was not present to share the celebrations with them.
Alex groaned. ‘We missed all of that, but I see us going out quite a bit over the next few months, to the theatre, dancing, concerts, all manner of stuff. Can’t wait to start enjoying life again.’
‘Of course, you deserve to after all you’ve been through,’ she said, feeling a little guilty that they’d been privileged to enjoy the bonfires and parties, and cheer as the blackout curtains were taken down.
Turning right along Quay Street, they walked in silence, Cathie’s mind racing as she wondered whom she could call upon to babysit whenever they did go out. Rona had made her position on the issue very clear. Would Brenda mind the baby for her? Maybe, on the odd occasion, as she was doing today, but Alex sounded as if he wished to go out almost nightly.
And when should she bring up the subject of little Heather?
Remembering what her Aunt Evie had said, Cathie decided the moment wasn’t quite right, as he looked so grim and rather tired. Which was to be expected as he’d only just arrived, and it would take a little time for them to re-establish the closeness they’d once enjoyed.
When they reached the corner of St John Street, he paused. ‘How would you feel about a night out at the Palais, or maybe the Ritz? Going to a dance is how we met, so let’s revisit old times.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ Cathie agreed, heart racing.
Then, putting his arm about her waist, he gave her a rather chaste little kiss as he smiled down at her. ‘More of this later, eh?’ And after agreeing to meet at the bus stop on Wednesday evening, he turned smartly on his heel and strode away, whistling happily.
Walking home alone, feeling just a little flat as this was not at all how she’d expected their first day together to be, Cathie deliberately turned her mind to what she would wear for the dance. It was, after all, something to look forward to.
‘How did it go?’ Brenda asked, when Cathie called to collect Heather following a Sunday dinner with her mother that had been even more dull and boring than usual. ‘Did Alex look as you remembered?’
‘Not quite, I almost didn’t recognise him as he’s no longer a smart soldier, a bit unshaven and shabby-looking, although he still marches like one. But he seems fit and well, which is all that really matters, and he still likes kissing me,’ Cathie added with a shy giggle.
‘Wonderful, and how did he react to the news about this little one?’
Cathie ruefully explained how she hadn’t found the courage to tell him, and how his plans for the day had not included her. She was struggling to keep her emotions in check, feeling a slight sense of rejection. ‘He didn’t seem too keen to spend his first day home with me. It was as if we’d just met and were strangers, not engaged at all. A really weird feeling.’
‘That’s not so unusual, darling. It must feel a bit odd to be back in Civvy Street. Another friend of mine said her husband went to the pub first, and was pretty drunk by the time he arrived home, somewhat later than expected. She was not pleased, but he claimed he needed to celebrate peace at last, as he’d missed all the street parties.’
‘I dare say you’re right, Brenda. Alex too is upset at missing out on the celebrations, and his parents haven’t seen him for a long time either, so his family should come first.’
‘Parents can be very controlling,’ Brenda sadly remarked as she slipped Heather’s chubby arms into her matinee jacket. ‘And his father, Doctor Ryman, does have a reputation for being rather grand. Some men tend to be that way. You should see how my brother-in-law behaves, as if he has the right to own the world. He goes on and on at me, constantly nagging and insisting I do whatever stuff he demands.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘Oh, legal stuff in the main. He’s so arrogant, but then my late husband did inherit the family estate, now in his brother’s hands. Anyway, enough of my stupid problems. I’m sure Alex will make it up to you soon,’ she said, giving Cathie a warm hug.
‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Cathie agreed, instantly brightening as she explained about the Ritz. ‘Can’t wait for Wednesday to come. Now what on earth can I wear?’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_b6c26f33-6c5b-523e-8b04-7e6ca72f9e0e)
The Ritz was every bit as beautiful as Cathie remembered, luxuriously appointed in red and gold, with its arched ceiling, two tier bandstand, tables and chairs set around the dance floor, and with a gallery above where you could watch the dancing. The band was playing Doris Day’s ‘Sentimental Journey’ as they walked in, which quite touched her heart. To her great surprise, in spite of the war having been over for some months, there were still many men in uniform, happily smooching with their partners to the music. Others were standing around eyeing up the girls and women who stood chatting and giggling at the opposite side of the ballroom.
‘I’m amazed there are still servicemen around,’ she said.
‘Maybe they are men returning home, looking to find themselves a wife.’
‘Or husbands who have left their poor wives stuck by the fireside minding the kids,’ she said, giving a small sigh of disapproval.
‘Which would be perfectly reasonable.’
She looked up at him, startled by this remark, but decided he must be joking. The next instant she was in his arms, moving slowly around the ballroom, and it felt so wonderful, her insides lighting up as brilliantly as that highlighting the band.
There were very few American GIs around, she noticed, or Yankee-Doodle Dandies as they used to be called. ‘This ballroom was once so popular with the Yanks, they called it the forty-ninth state,’ Cathie told him with a laugh. ‘Whitworth Street always seemed to be full of American jeeps, and MPs with red armbands and batons, whose task it was to keep the boys of Uncle Sam in line.’
Staring grimly down at her, he asked, ‘Did you used to come here and dance with them?’
‘Heavens, no! I was too busy working for one thing, and waiting for you, of course.’
‘Sorry, of course you were,’ he said with a smile that warmed her heart.
Cathie caught a glimpse of them dancing together in one of the many mirrors set around the walls. Was she dancing close enough in his arms, or a little more distant than that first time when they’d met at the Palais? Perhaps it would take a little while for them to relax together, as her friend Brenda had suggested. Still, she was here at the Ritz, in his arms, a dream come true. Cathie was relieved to see that she looked quite respectable in a pink flowered dress with a matching flower in her hair. Almost pretty. Stuck for something to talk about, she continued chatting about the way things used to be during the war years.
‘British servicemen outnumbered the Yanks, of course, but only just. I believe the ballroom did used to be packed with scores of excited girls throughout the war, all seeking their dream hero.’
‘That’s all women want from a man, someone to bring in the money each week.’
‘Goodness, what a thing to say.’
‘Are you implying that you want more from me than that?’ he asked.
‘Of course I do. I love you, darling.’
It was then, as the lights dimmed and the music changed to ‘If I Loved You’, that he kissed her, quite thoroughly this time.
‘We should come here more often,’ Alex said, when later he walked her home. ‘I love dancing with you. We could try the Palais again, and Belle Vue.’
Thinking of how fortunate she’d been to persuade Brenda to babysit for her, Cathie cleared her throat, then in a light, philosophical voice, not wishing to sound bitter, she hesitantly pointed out the poor state of her finances as a consequence of losing her job. ‘We women have been disposed of now that the men are coming home. Fair enough, I suppose, but money is a bit tight right now. I’m out and about every day searching for a new job. I dare say you will be too, once you’ve settled in.’
‘I’ll certainly be on the lookout for one eventually,’ he agreed. ‘Although I have my demob money to tide me over, and shall insist upon it being the right job in the right place. For now, I’m in desperate need of a rest, as well as a bit of fun. It’s easier for you as a woman as you won’t even need a job, once we’re wed. You can simply relax and return to your cosy domestic duties.’
Cathie chose to make no response to this, much as the remark slightly irritated her, as it had done when Steve suggested this might happen. It was true that some women were glad to be free of work at last, and more than happy to return to the comfort of their own hearth. But she was missing hers already after only a week of being unemployed. Sadly, Alex hadn’t even expressed any sympathy over her losing her job, and she really had no wish to spoil their first evening out together by pressing for her independence.
They walked on down Lower Byrom Street that had suffered badly from incendiary bombs, many of the houses now without fronts or roofs, as in Duke Street, where they used to live, and many other streets they passed. It was then that he suddenly pulled her into the shadows of a broken building and began to kiss her most urgently. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he sighed, when some moments later he finally released her.
‘And I you.’ Desire burned within her, tempered a little by nervous caution. This didn’t seem quite the place to be engaging in lovemaking.
‘You are so sweet I could lick every part of you.’
Cathie giggled. ‘I’m not a lollipop.’
‘Really? That’s a shame, because I’d love to eat you all up.’ He was kissing her again, this time her ear and eyelids, and then exploring her mouth with his tongue. As he bent to kiss her throat, she felt her senses skitter with longing, remembering how she used to spend wakeful nights dreaming of moments like this. Now, as his hand slid over her bottom, then down her thighs and began to inch up her skirts, she was filled with a flash of panic, and quickly put out a hand to stop him.
‘Sorry, but it’s been so long since we last kissed like this, I don’t want to rush things.’
His eyes were glazed, as if in some dream world of his own. He carried on touching and kissing her, not really listening to a word she said. Cathie could hear him panting for breath, feel the hardness of him pressed against her. Suddenly overwhelmed by shyness, and feeling slightly taken advantage of, she gave him a shove and eased herself from his arms. ‘That’s enough, Alex. We aren’t married yet, remember.’
He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his sweaty brow. ‘Sorry, I can hardly wait until we are. But you’re quite right, I should remember that you’re not some tart I picked up.’
She gasped. ‘Is that what you used to do?’
He burst out laughing, making a joke of it. ‘Of course not. Don’t fret, sweetie, I’m just impatient to enjoy life following the misery of war, but I need to remind myself how to behave.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Allow me to be the perfect gentleman and escort you home.’
Smiling, Cathie hooked her arm into his and they set off again.
When they reached the grimy old River Medlock littered with broken bricks and rubber tyres as it slid darkly into the culvert that took it under the city, Cathie felt a sting of shame for the shabby state of the district in which she lived. It wasn’t helped by the stink of coal dust in the air, and noise from the railways, which were ever present. Having lived in this part of Manchester all her life, she had become largely oblivious to such things, perceiving this as a fascinating historic and industrial region. But Castlefield, like many other parts of the city, had suffered a severe battering during the war. Now, seeing the area through her fiancé’s eyes, Cathie couldn’t imagine him ever settling for living here. This would not be the right place for Alex Ryman at all.
‘I’m sorry everywhere looks such a mess,’ she remarked quietly, as his gaze roamed over the depressing scenes: black pits marking the ground, heaps of rubble and broken buildings roped off. ‘But it’s been a difficult war. We’ve all suffered greatly.’
He gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Not as much as those of us who were at the Front and suffered from constant air-attacks, shelling and fear.’
‘I’m sure that’s true, but it was pretty terrifying on the Home Front too. You can see from the damaged houses that there have been regular hits on Manchester, Salford and neighbouring areas.’
‘Not in recent years,’ he coldly remarked. ‘You’ve been most fortunate.’
Cathie glanced at him in astonishment. ‘I do appreciate that you and your comrades must have suffered worse traumas, but we haven’t been as lucky as you might think. One night we rushed to the air raid shelter when the sirens went off, believing we’d be safe. Instead, it suffered a direct hit. Brave Sal saved both our lives by pushing us out of the bunk we were sharing just before the concrete roof collapsed.’
Cathie had suffered an even worse incident, but, like Brenda, preferred not to dwell upon such things, certainly not right now, as Alex didn’t seem to be taking any of this in.
‘At least you survived,’ he said, a slightly scathing note in his tone of voice. ‘So what was the problem?’
‘The terror of it. We did escape largely unhurt on that occasion, if almost suffocated and blinded by the stink of gas,’ Cathie said, feeling slightly let down by his lack of sympathy. Not least by the dreadful fact that in the end her lovely sister had not survived, of which he was fully aware.
A memory she preferred to keep blocked out suddenly resounded in her head with startling clarity, as if it had taken place only yesterday. It was during the Christmas Blitz in 1940 that their home in Duke Street had been bombed. The three of them had been rushing to the nearest air raid shelter when her foolish mother had suddenly ordered Cathie to go back and collect some warm blankets.
‘What? Are you mad? There are bombs falling all around.’
‘Then don’t just stand there arguing, get on with it afore it’s too late. It’s that cold we’ll all freeze to death if you don’t look sharp.’
Cathie ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the street, her boots clattering on the cobbles. Fear pounded against her ribs, as she felt desperately anxious to carry out the task as quickly as possible and escape back to the shelter. But speed proved to be counter-productive. Had she walked at a sensible pace, all might have been well. Instead, the moment she raced in through the front door, the house was hit.
She found herself suspended in mid-air for several long moments before walls and ceilings began to fall in upon her from all directions. It felt as if the world itself was collapsing. Cathie had never known such terror in her entire life. The dust and stink of smoke was suffocating, as she lay buried beneath the debris for what felt like days, but was probably only a few hours. She fought to move her limbs and crawl out of the mire but failed completely, a strange heat escalating through her. Was she about to be burned alive?
She could hear crying, yelling, screaming, not realising it was her own voice. After that she must have passed out, as a darkness overwhelmed her. She finally woke to hear someone calling, ‘Can anybody hear me? Is there anyone there?’
‘Yes!’ Cathie screamed. ‘I am. Please help me.’
She was badly cut and bruised, her dress scorched by the explosion, but at least alive. Others had been less fortunate. The sight that met Cathie’s eyes when she was lifted out and carried to a nearby ambulance would live with her for ever: faces burned, limbs missing, dreadful injuries among the walking wounded, and dismembered body parts scattered everywhere. It was an experience she would never forget. To this day, if she heard a crash of thunder, let alone a bomb going off, she would go running for cover into the pantry or wardrobe, but then suffer terribly from claustrophobia. She’d be riveted with fear just by the sound of the siren.
Blinking away the nightmare flash of memory, she offered a cautionary smile. ‘Now that the war is over we can at last look forward to a bright future.’
‘Whatever that might be,’ Alex growled. ‘And so long as it doesn’t take too much effort to achieve.’
He sounded somewhat dismissive and scathing, not at all the calm, well-mannered young man he used to be. Perhaps the war had badly affected him, after all. Perhaps physically he was reasonably well, but not mentally. Returning to Civvy Street and the shambles all around them couldn’t be easy, as Steve had tried to explain to her.
Cathie was filled with sympathy for his anguish. She too had grown increasingly devastated by the losses all around her, of bomb craters and fires leaping up everywhere, shops she’d once loved reduced to ashes, friends fleeing to the country to escape the city, and wounded men walking the streets. Anything even vaguely disturbing upset her greatly. Speaking of these experiences was quite beyond her, although she prayed that one day she might find the courage to share her pain with Alex. And he might share his with her. That way, they might both begin to recover.
Feeling a reluctance to make life even more difficult for him right now, since he’d been home for such a short time and this was their first evening out together, Cathie decided this was certainly not the moment to mention baby Heather.
‘So you’re this Alexander Ryman I’ve heard so much about,’ Rona said, casting her shimmering blue-eyed gaze over him with open curiosity. ‘Never expected my daughter to find someone so tall or half so good-looking.’
Cathie winced, filled yet again with that far too familiar sense of rejection. ‘Actually, Alex found me,’ she said, trying to laugh the cutting remark away.
‘And what a treat that was,’ he agreed. ‘Which is why we went dancing tonight, to relive that wonderful moment. It’s a delight to meet you too, Mrs Morgan, as you are as beautiful as your daughter.’
‘If not more so,’ Rona said with a little swivel of her shapely hips as she stood before him in her too-tight, too-short skirt and flimsy blouse through which her cleavage was clearly visible.
He seemed to find this amusing and, reaching out, gave her hand a lingering shake of apology. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to accept your invitation for lunch the other day. I’m sure I would have enjoyed your cooking enormously. Perhaps another time?’
‘We call it dinner, not lunch. But you’re very welcome to come whenever you like, chuck,’ Rona said, making no mention of the fact that she did not actually do any of the cooking.
‘Thank you, I shall be delighted to accept, hopefully one day soon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I will say goodnight.’ Putting his arms about Cathie, he gave her a quick hug. ‘You will meet my parents soon, sweetie, when you come to spend Christmas with us.’
‘Oh, but …’
‘No buts. It’s long past time you did meet them, and I can think of no better occasion. After that, we can start planning the wedding.’
Stunned into silence, Cathie simply nodded and hugged him back.
Rona flickered her neatly trimmed eyebrows and gave him a teasing wink as he smiled at her from over her daughter’s shoulder. Maybe for once the girl had brought home someone of interest.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4d91d57d-c831-5c44-a891-b7caa31589f0)
How I wish I’d followed your advice, Davina, and written to Alex before he arrived. It was a bad mistake to leave it so long, as it’s now more difficult than ever. Delighted as I am to receive the invitation to spend Christmas with him and his family, how can I possibly accept because of baby Heather?’ Cathie said, sharing the problem she now faced with her friends. ‘Yet if I refuse, it will look as if I’ve no wish to spend the day with his family, and it’s long past time I met them.’
They were enjoying one of their customary snacks together, this time midweek as neither she nor Brenda had any job to go to. The sound of carol singing by the Salvation Army filled the frosty air, as Cathie slowly sipped her bowl of hot vegetable soup. She was taking her time over it, knowing it might be the most food she would get to eat that day. How she would manage to keep the pantry stocked in the coming weeks really didn’t bear thinking about. She would be entirely dependent upon her mother’s wages to feed them, a dismaying prospect. Rona hadn’t a clue about the cost of anything, the difficulties of shortages, or even how rationing worked, as she’d always left all of such domestic matters to her daughters.
Now even Christmas, which she’d been so looking forward to, was turning into a nightmare. It meant that all her efforts to prepare the best Christmas ever for Alex had been entirely in vain.
‘I’d offer to help only I’ve agreed to spend the holiday season with my late husband’s family,’ Brenda said, pulling her face as if this gave her little pleasure.
‘I could mind baby Heather for you, if you like,’ Davina offered, taking her entirely by surprise.
Cathie blinked. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly. I’m not an expert on baby care, but this is a time of goodwill, after all, so why shouldn’t I help?’ she said with a smile that seemed much warmer than usual.
How could she decline such an offer? It was too good to refuse, even though this was not at all what Cathie had planned. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to have a practice this evening as I need to attend the concert Steve and I have helped to organise? The Co-operative Society is very much involved with local charities, holding dances, whist drives, sports events and children’s parties, with which I’m always happy to help. I was going to tuck Heather into a back room, but it would be much better if you came and sat with her at home. My mother will be out on the razzle, of course, as usual. Never thinks to offer any assistance at all.’
‘No problem, I’d love to. Then if you’re happy with my services, I shall be equally happy to babysit for you on Christmas Day.’
‘That’s very generous of you,’ Brenda said with a frown, almost as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing either. ‘Have you no other plans? You aren’t going home to spend time with your own family?’
‘Not just now, no.’ When she said no more, Cathie rushed in with her thanks.
‘That would be great! So kind of you, thank you, Davina.’ She could hardly believe her good luck on both counts.
They agreed a time for Davina to arrive that evening, early enough for her to be shown how to change a nappy, and feed baby Heather her bottle before putting her to bed.
In fact she very kindly came early and carefully went through the routine of baby care, which worked wonderfully. Satisfied that all was well, and with little Heather tucked up in her cot and her friend reading a magazine by the fire, Cathie put on her hat and coat and went off to meet Steve, arriving in good time to help him get everything ready before starting to collect tickets at the door.
It was just as well she hadn’t brought baby Heather with her as it proved to be an incredibly busy evening. Cathie was rushing about all over the place, helping people backstage with their dresses and make-up, checking that props were in the right place, and controlling the children as they waited for their turn to perform in the school choir. She also sold programmes, helped the ladies of the Women’s Institute to serve the tea during the interval, and generally scurried about doing all manner of tasks. She even found herself helping the lighting technician resolve a problem with the sound system when for some reason it failed.
‘You’ve improved your talents considerably,’ Steve said in surprise, not sounding half as mocking as he might once have done when they were young kids.
‘I’m certainly not the useless lump you used to accuse me of being,’ she retorted. ‘Thanks to my war efforts.’
‘Well, you couldn’t be any worse,’ he said with a laugh, and she scowled at him. Perhaps at heart Steve wasn’t quite as kind and caring as he appeared at first sight, and still a bit thoughtless at times, although his charity work deserved considerable admiration.
The Christmas concert was a great success, with various locals volunteering to do a turn. These included a butcher who performed some magic tricks, much to everyone’s astonishment and delight; a group of acrobats who usually worked at Belle Vue, and two young women shop assistants who sang ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ and most appropriately ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’, which brought forth cheers all round. They finished their performance by singing ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, with which everyone in the audience joined in, save for Cathie. Cathie was in tears, as she knew it had been sung by Judy Garland in Meet Me in St Louis, the film Sal had gone to see on the day of her fatal accident. How unfair life was.
Recognising her distress, Steve gave her shoulder a little squeeze. Brushing the tears from her eyes Cathie took a deep breath to calm herself. She really must be brave, for little Heather’s sake, she reminded herself, however difficult that might be.
As a prelude to Christmas a choir from the local chapel sang the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ from Handle’s Messiah. There wasn’t a textile town in all of Lancashire and Yorkshire that didn’t revel in the glorious sound of this old favourite. After which, the concert concluded with the pianist playing a medley of carols, from ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ to ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’, accompanied by both the school and chapel choir singing in perfect harmony. This brought forth a rousing applause and a merry singalong from the audience.
‘What a wonderful concert that was,’ she told Steve as they said goodnight at the door, having quickly stacked chairs, swept the floor and generally tidied up, with stalwart help from the WI ladies.
‘I couldn’t have managed half so well without you,’ he said with a grateful grin. ‘Particularly keeping those kids happy and stopping their fights and arguments.’ They chuckled together as they recalled some of the disputes she’d resolved, and the songs and poems the school children had performed individually.
‘Some of them were so talented they put me to shame.’
‘What little stars they were. Anyway, thanks for helping to organise the concert. It’s been great fun.’
‘Happy to do so. I enjoyed myself enormously. Any time you have an event on, just let me know,’ she said, pecking his cheek with a quick kiss before turning to leave.
It was then that she saw Alex, standing to attention before them, his brow puckered into a grim frown. ‘Alex, goodness, I’d no idea you intended to come tonight.’ His sudden appearance was startling, and he looked so stern and regimented that Cathie thought for a moment Steve might be about to click his heels together and salute.
‘I can see you weren’t expecting me,’ he remarked icily.
Noting the scowl of jealousy on his face, Cathie hurried to give him a kiss. ‘It’s lovely to see you, darling. You should have told me you were coming. This is Steve Allenby, by the way, who works at the Co-op and organised this event. It has raised a large sum of money for our returning heroes.’
‘Cathie worked hard too, bless her,’ Steve said with a smile, as he stretched out a hand for Alex to shake.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he turned to address his fiancée in a firm tone of voice. ‘I’ve come to see you safely home, not watch this children’s concert.’
‘Oh, of course, how kind of you. Well, goodnight Steve.’ Hooking her arm into his, she allowed Alex to lead her out into the cold dark night.
The incident brought rather a sad feel to the end of what had been a joyous evening. But when they reached the corner of her street Alex pulled her into his arms and proceeded to kiss her with such vigour, any feeling of resentment quickly dissolved as she responded with equal passion. It was almost a compliment that a perfectly boring friendship with Steve had sparked jealousy in him. Alex’s increasing fervour did cause her some alarm when he slid his hand down her thigh to lift her skirt and began to fondle her private parts. She almost slapped his hand away, feeling a sudden urge to protest that he was going too far, but then lost the courage as desire flowered within her. Hadn’t he made it very clear that he wished to enjoy life again? Who was she to deny him a little pleasure, and after all these years apart?
Besides, didn’t his need for her prove how very much he loved her?
On Christmas Eve, Cathie went through the ritual of hanging up the baby’s Christmas stocking, and setting out a plate of mince tarts and a small glass of sherry for Santa Claus, even though little Heather hadn’t the first idea what was going on. When Christmas Day finally dawned, the little girl instantly fell in love with the soft little teddy bear she found poking out of the stocking. What a joy the child was, so happy and giggly, and so easy to love. She stood holding tight to a chair as she dangled the bear with one hand. Then pulling it to her chest, gave it a hug as she took her first step, wobbled madly for a moment and then plonked down on her bottom. Cathie laughed and clapped with delight. She’d be walking soon.
‘This was your mummy’s teddy when she was a little girl. He’s called Billy. I’m so glad you like him too,’ she said to the bright-eyed child, who instantly planted a kiss on the stuffed bear’s nose, then said, ‘B-b-b,’ as if making an effort to start practising his name.
They had a fun time playing with her new toys – some wooden bricks and a little postbox with plastic letters to fit in. Later in the morning Cathie reluctantly handed Heather over to Davina. She hated the idea of them spending Christmas apart. Oh, how she wished she’d mentioned the baby before now, then she wouldn’t have needed to leave her. But everything had seemed much more complicated than she’d expected, or else she was still very much the coward Steve remembered. Cathie was quite certain everything would have been different had she found the courage to do the right thing. Then Alex would have invited Heather. Now it was too late. It certainly wouldn’t be appropriate to mention the subject today, but once Christmas was over Cathie fully intended to explain everything.
‘So your mother didn’t rise to the occasion then?’ Davina asked, with a wry smile. She rocked the pram a little and then smiled down at the baby, who was sitting up straight and proud, cuddling the bear in her arms.
‘I’m afraid not.’
Rona had already gone off to The Donkey, her favourite pub on Water Street, to celebrate Christmas Day with her friends. Having witnessed Alex’s invitation at first hand, she’d quickly made it very clear that the baby was not her responsibility. ‘The child needs a proper mother, not a young girl like yourself who can’t even offer her a father.’
‘I’m about to be married so I will be able to offer her one soon. I realise I should have told Alex about Heather long before now. You were wrong to advise me against doing that, Mam. But couldn’t you just for once stand in for me, if only for a few hours. It is the season of goodwill.’
Rona had been sitting at her dressing table applying rouge and lipstick with her usual diligence, then fluffed up her victory roll hairstyle, scarcely listening to a word Cathie said, as her next remark proved. ‘Tommy has invited me to his house for dinner. I gave him the goose we bought, and a few of the trimmings so as not to waste them.’
‘You did what? You’d no right to do that, Mam. You didn’t even buy that food, I did, and could have cooked it for dinner tomorrow, on Boxing Day.’
Rona shrugged. ‘You never said you intended to do that. Anyway, it’s too late, it’s gone. No doubt the goose is already in Tommy’s oven. He’s quite a good cook, actually.’
Now, as Cathie met Davina’s sympathetic gaze with anguish in her own, Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve even lost the food I bought for Christmas, but there’s really no arguing with Rona. She does exactly as she pleases, with no thought for anyone but herself.’
‘Maybe you should tell Alex today about the child. It is, as you rightly pointed out to your mother, the season of goodwill, so this could be your best opportunity.’
‘I don’t think it would be quite appropriate on the day I meet his parents for the first time.’
‘They need to know some time, so why not now?’
Cathie thought about this piece of advice as she made her way past St John’s Church. Once she had met his parents and done the polite thing by chatting to them and enjoying the Christmas meal they offered, she hoped there might come a moment during the course of the afternoon when she and Alex would be alone. That would hopefully give her the opportunity she needed to explain her plan for adoption. What should she say? How could she put it? Are you willing to accept my late sister’s child as your own? Perhaps that was a bit too blunt. And how could she begin to explain why she had kept silent for so long on the subject? Was it really just because she had no wish to speak of Sal’s death, or more from a fear of losing him?
Whatever the reason, she must remind Alex how many orphaned children there were now, that too many were growing up without fathers. She had no wish for little Heather to feel abandoned when she had a loving aunt to care for her. Perhaps she should have brought the baby with her, after all. Surely once he met Heather all these worries would be resolved. Although how Alex’s parents would react was much more of an unknown factor.
At least little Heather was safe and happily playing with Davina, so she’d hopefully enjoy Christmas Day, even without her aunt. Cathie had agreed to collect her later in the afternoon, around four o’clock. Tomorrow she’d make it up to the child by devoting the entire day to her.
Arriving at the door of a fine Georgian, three-storeyed terraced house bearing the name Doctor Victor Ryman written on a plaque fixed to the wall, Cathie was suddenly beset with the urge to turn on her heels and run back home. Instead, she took a deep breath to gather her courage and lifted the brass knocker. It looked so bright and shiny the maid had no doubt polished it that very morning. Cathie smiled to herself as it crossed her mind that she would probably have more success applying for such a job rather than the role of wife to a doctor’s son. Giving the knocker a gentle bang, she almost hoped that no one would hear it.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_a463d9a1-8c09-5fd1-8254-a3eb5ac17006)
If Cathie had been hoping to see jolly faces in funny hats, hear the sound of carols being sung or played on a piano, or even laughter resonating through the house as this was Christmas Day, she was instantly disappointed. There wasn’t even any sign of Christmas decorations, save for a stately tree set in a corner of the large, spacious hall, sparingly bedecked with baubles. Nor was Alex waiting there to welcome her. The door was opened by an elderly manservant, who took her coat and hat before leading her upstairs to the drawing room. Cathie trembled with nerves. This was not at all how she’d hoped to spend Christmas, nor had she imagined that Alex’s home would be so grand. How naïve of her to assume he would be happy to spend it at her own humble abode.
As she entered, the entire family, seated on leather armchairs set around a stunningly beautiful panelled room, all turned to gaze upon her in silence. No one spoke, or offered the compliments of the season. Was her Christmas rose dress too garish? Did it not suit her strawberry blonde curls, which suddenly seemed to be falling over her flushed cheeks in a scraggy mess, making Cathie feel even more uncomfortable? A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, seeming to freeze the scene in its bright light, which even the flames from the coal fire burning in the stately fireplace failed to warm. Then, springing from his chair by the window, Alex strode over to put an arm about her shoulders and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Cathie smiled up at him, sighing with relief.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she murmured.
‘And to you, sweetheart. Come and meet my folks.’
Leading her by the hand around the room rather like a dog on a lead, he introduced her, one by one, to his family, a process she found totally confusing. There were so many of them that she instantly forgot every name and relationship the instant it was given. She had no difficulty, however, remembering his stern-faced father. Doctor Victor Ryman appeared quite old, stockily built, and really rather grand, as Brenda had told her he was. The very arrogance of his stance filled her with a sense of foreboding. He offered no compliments of the season either, or even a welcoming smile, merely muttered good day through clenched teeth, giving her a brief nod.
Alex’s mother, Dorothy, a tall elegant lady, smiled somewhat coldly as she offered Cathie a slender hand sparkling with jewelled rings and bracelets. And his sister, Thelma, a perfect beauty with a sheath of glossy black hair that fell upon her bare shoulders, was wearing the kind of long stylish gown one would only expect to see worn by Rita Hayworth in such films as Cover Girl.
‘It looks as if your family have lived here for generations,’ Cathie politely remarked, admiring the range of portraits depicting Alex’s ancestors that were hung upon the silk-covered walls. She felt utterly overwhelmed and intimidated by the apparent high status of his family. What kind of home had she stepped into?
‘Not really, we’ve moved about quite a lot, and the portraits come with us wherever we go, don’t they, Pa?’ his sister said, glancing with a shrug and a smile at her father.
‘Indeed, even to India,’ he agreed. ‘They are our heritage, which confirm who we are.’
Did she have such a thing as heritage, whatever that might mean exactly? Cathie wondered. It seemed highly unlikely as her mother rarely spoke of her own family, and they tended to get through life by taking one day at a time.
‘I believe you live close to Potato Wharf, Miss Morgan?’
‘Cathie, please.’ How formal everyone sounded. ‘We live near the River Medlock actually, but in that general area, yes,’ she agreed, not wishing to be too specific considering the sad state of their street right now.
‘Poor you, so glad I wasn’t born round here.’
Her brother gave a hollow laugh, which to Cathie’s ears sounded faintly embarrassed. ‘It’s not a bad thing to be Manchester-born.’
‘How can you say that when you were born in Jaipur, as were the rest of us while Pa was working for the Rajah out there? Of all the wonderful places we’ve lived, I ask myself daily how on earth we ended up living in this dreadful city.’
‘Manchester is a wonderful city,’ Cathie bravely stated. ‘Or was before the war destroyed so much of it. As is Castlefield.’
‘What a silly name,’ Thelma retorted. ‘I don’t see any sign of a castle.’
‘I think it had something to do with the Romans who once occupied this area, so maybe they had a castle or a fort of some sort. It used to be called Castle-in-the-Field back in medieval times when even then Manchester was a famous trading port, or so my father told me. But over time the name of this district was shortened to Castlefield. I’m quite proud to be a Mancunian, actually.’
‘Brave of you to take such a stand, dear, although you didn’t have any choice on where you were born, so you have my sympathy.’ Thelma flicked her winged brows in caustic amusement before graciously moving back to her seat, leaving a cloud of Chanel perfume in her wake.
Cathie almost wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
The atmosphere over lunch was equally chilly and fraught with tension, almost as bad as the cold sleet now slapping against the stained glass windows. There were various aunts, uncles and cousins seated around the large table. Cathie smiled vaguely at everyone, but no one smiled back, or even bothered to speak to her save for his Aunt Mary, a wizened old woman with grey hair who prattled on at length about a book, For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway, which she happened to be reading. Even Alex seemed sunk in some private world.
Cathie attempted to fill the frozen silence by mentioning the success of the charity concert the other night.
‘Thanks to the Co-op we managed to raise a great deal of money for our returning heroes,’ she told Doctor Ryman, who was seated opposite her, his wife by his side. Neither responded, offering not a word of congratulations.
Throughout the meal his mother, Dorothy, frequently cast curious glances in Cathie’s direction while conversing quietly with her husband. Were they discussing her? They certainly seemed to be examining her in excruciating detail. Cathie felt as if she were on show in a shop window, the entire family watching the way she lifted her glass, held her knife and fork, and chewed upon her food. At one point, she slid a hand beneath the table to clasp Alex’s knee, needing the reassurance of his presence beside her. Even that brought little response beyond a small sideways twist of a smile.
Striving not to appear offended at being so ignored, Cathie concentrated on eating the Christmas turkey. ‘This is so tender,’ she said at last, unable to bear the awkward silence any longer. ‘We were going to have goose, unfortunately …’ She stopped in her tracks, not wishing to explain how her selfish mother had given it away, despite the curious glances directed her way.
‘What? You didn’t know how to cook it?’ Thelma asked with a laugh.
Cathie’s cheeks flushed bright red. ‘Well, yes, actually, I did, although my cooking is nowhere near as good as yours, Mrs Ryman.’
‘Then perhaps you should take lessons from the WVS,’ Dorothy remarked coolly. ‘Particularly if you are soon to be married.’
‘Oh, I’d never thought of that. Not that I could afford to, nor have I the time.’
His mother gave a wintry sort of smile that did not reach her cloudy grey eyes. ‘Such classes are free. Besides, you have all the time in the world to make your husband happy. That will be your job from now on, so long as you feel up to the task, that is.’
Cathie felt a strong urge to dispute this remark, but fortunately her sense of caution won out and she kept silent. The conversation around the table again reverted to personal matters, which she allowed to drift over her head, making no attempt to listen, let alone join in. Alex was likewise ignoring her, exchanging a few words with his father. Perhaps, she thought, when lunch was over, there would be the opportunity for them to be alone at last and have time to talk. Till then, she’d button her lip and say nothing more.
But his mother’s next question, directed specifically at her, changed everything. ‘I perfectly understand why a young girl such as yourself would be eager to quickly tie the knot, but you need to remember that my son has only just returned from the war, so must be allowed some time to recover before you rush him down the aisle.’
Cathie let out a little gasp. ‘I wasn’t planning on doing any such thing.’ The joy she’d felt in anticipation of Alex’s homecoming, and their wedding, had now quite deserted her. ‘We haven’t even fixed a date yet, have we, Alex?’ she said, turning to him for confirmation.
‘It’s none of your business, Ma. We’ll marry when we choose,’ he announced firmly.
‘Don’t speak to your mother in that manner,’ ordered his father. ‘She is only showing concern for you.’
‘I don’t need her concern. I’m perfectly well. No injuries, no loss of limb, not blind or deaf. Nor am I any longer the young boy I was when I joined the army back in ‘39, but a grown man who makes his own decisions in life.’
‘You are most certainly not the man you were, darling boy,’ she insisted. ‘You don’t even seem happy to be home, behaving ridiculously tetchy and bad-tempered one minute, and sunk into silent gloom the next.’
‘You won’t even tell us where you’ve been stationed, or what you’ve been up to these last years,’ his father growled. ‘Nothing about your role or rank in the army, let alone what you hope to do in the future.’
‘We were shelled, bombed, friends killed, intimidated and attacked by our enemies. Why would I wish to speak of any of that?’ Alex snapped.
‘You could share some of your agony with us. It might help.’
‘I have friends who don’t care to remember painful times either,’ Cathie hastily put in, anxious to offer Alex her support.
‘Quite!’ he grumbled, slapping down his knife and fork and pushing aside his half-eaten meal, his tone harsh with anger.
Dorothy cast Cathie a furious glare, as if the fault were hers that he’d abandoned his dinner, before turning with a gentle smile back to her son. ‘Then it’s even more important for you to take time to rest and recuperate. Landing yourself with the hassle of organising a wedding and finding a home as well as a new job is not a good idea right now. It’s not as if this girl is in the family way, which would be the only reason to rush headlong into marriage. At least I assume that to be the case?’ she caustically remarked.
Shocked by the question, and feeling the food clog her throat, Cathie took a quick sip of water to stop herself from choking, an attack of nerves making her shake. Was this the moment to reveal all? She was struggling to find the rights words to explain her position when the butler, who had quietly entered the dining room, whispered something in Mrs Ryman’s ear. The woman seemed to freeze as her narrowed eyes glowered at Cathie with a flint-eyed glare.
‘There’s someone at the door asking for you. She has apparently brought your baby in a pram, and the child is crying for her mummy!’
All around the table knives and forks dropped, conversation halted and every pair of eyes fell upon her like daggers.
‘Good God,’ Alex said. ‘You have a child? So who’s the damned father? It certainly isn’t me?’
They were seated in the conservatory, Cathie quietly sobbing into her handkerchief. ‘I know I should have told you before now, Alex. I truly meant to. I tried on numerous occasions to summon up the courage to mention it in a letter, but was always put off by my mother. She insisted you had enough to contend with fighting a war. Also, I was still grieving, and couldn’t bear to keep going over Sal’s death.’
‘Your reasons for keeping it a secret are much more basic than that,’ he snarled. ‘You were obviously reluctant to admit that you’d had a baby.’
Alex was striding back and forth, fists clenched, fury etched upon his handsome face. Cathie felt as if he were a commanding officer and she was one of his men, whom he was reprimanding for some alleged misconduct. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she whispered, ‘You aren’t listening to me, Alex. I’ve just explained that the child is my niece.’
His glance was scathing. ‘Do you have proof of that fact?’
‘Such as?’
‘A birth certificate.’
Cathie shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Sal hadn’t got around to registering the birth before she was killed.’
‘How very convenient.’
‘Heather is most definitely the daughter of my sister Sally and her husband Tony, who, as you know, were both tragically killed. The poor child is an orphan and I’m the only relative she has left in the world, save for her useless grandmother. I love her, and rather hoped you would come to adore her too. Look at what a sweetie she is.’
Watching her aunt weep had earlier brought a rather sad expression to the baby’s round face. Now Heather was smiling as she sat happily on Cathie’s lap, rubbing her little head into her neck, obviously feeling the need for a loving cuddle. How Cathie longed for Alex to take her into his arms and offer the same sort of comfort, to somehow overcome this distance growing between them.
‘That child’s behaviour is appalling. I’ve never seen such a fusspot. She seems to be a right little madam.’
‘Heather was upset, that’s all.’ It was true the baby had been screaming and kicking quite hysterically, in something of a tantrum when Cathie had dashed to the door. Davina had looked equally distressed. Holding the teddy bear in her hand, her friend had explained how the baby had refused to eat a thing, and wouldn’t stop crying.
‘I swear that I would not have brought her to you otherwise. I know you didn’t want Alex to know about the child yet,’ she said, adopting a woeful expression.
Only too aware that he stood hovering close behind her, a shocked expression on his face, and must surely have heard this remark, Cathie had hastily gathered the child in her arms and offered reassurance to Davina. ‘Don’t worry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left her.’ She paid little attention to the smile of satisfaction on her friend’s face as she’d cuddled and kissed the baby’s hot head. But she was deeply aware of the tension bristling within Alex, and still was as her efforts to explain the situation to him did not seem to be working.
Determined to do right by her late sister and the baby she already loved as if she really were her own, Cathie tried again. ‘You need to understand, Alex, that because of the neglect I suffered as a child myself I wish to do my best for little Heather by adopting her. I did hope that you would agree.’
‘You think I’m some sort of idiot that I’d believe such tripe? How many times have women pretended to adopt a long lost cousin or niece? The child might call them aunt in public, but everyone knows she’s really the mother. Or else she gets her own mother to take the child on and makes out the child is her sister. Why don’t you ask Rona to do that?’
Cathie almost laughed out loud. ‘Absolutely not!’ she spluttered. ‘Not all women are natural mothers, and mine most certainly isn’t. Besides, I’ve just explained who Heather is. Why won’t you believe me?’
He glared at her, lips curling with disgust. ‘Because I know when I’m being lied to. Were this child really your niece then someone else could easily adopt her. Someone who can offer the child a proper home and a father. Why should it be you, unless the child really is yours?’
Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve already told you that Sal and I were very close, so I feel that I owe it to my late sister’s memory to take good care of her baby.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! I assure you that I’ve no intention of taking on another man’s child. Why would I? It’s that Steve fellow, isn’t it?’ he shouted, wagging a furious finger in her face. ‘I saw you with him the other night, giving him a kiss. You could have told me all about this child then.’
Devastation hit her that Alex should imagine for one moment that she could love anyone but him, let alone engage in an affair. ‘That’s not true, Alex! Steve and I are just old friends, nothing more and never have been. We don’t even get on terribly well, constantly falling out. And that was simply a thank you peck on the cheek for all the work he’d done. I’d been helping him run that charity event, as you know full well.’
‘Don’t take me for a damn fool,’ he shouted, in the kind of dismissively stern voice that denied argument. ‘Who else would it be, if not him? Some Yank perhaps? You did say when we were at the Ritz that there were plenty stationed near Manchester, and who attended the dances, so that’s a definite possibility.’
‘I also made it very plain that I was not involved with them in any way.’
He shrugged. ‘Whoever the father is, like many other young women parted from their man by this dratted war, you’ve behaved like an absolute slut and betrayed me. Not even bothering to send me a “Dear John” letter. My mother was right. This is the reason you wished to rush me into marriage, to find a father for your child.’
Cathie felt herself start to shake, with anger now rather than nerves. Why wouldn’t he believe her, or even listen to a word she said? ‘I’m no slut! And it was you who said you were in a hurry to marry, the moment we met at the station. I didn’t at all mind waiting a little while, as it’s a job I’m most urgently in need of. You weren’t very sympathetic about that either, saying I wouldn’t even need one now we were about to marry.’
‘Well, I was wrong there. We aren’t going to be married, so it will indeed be necessary for you to find yourself employment fairly quickly, so that you can afford to feed this bastard child of yours.’
At which point Cathie stormed out of the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_dd6b3bd8-cc5f-57d9-ad3b-5cb4a0b1eff6)
Cathie felt utterly devastated as she poured her heart out to Brenda as they strolled around the market a week later, Davina absent for once. She’d thought of Alex as the love of her life, and believed that he felt the same way about her. Yet he was convinced she’d betrayed and lied to him. ‘All these years of waiting and praying for his safe return, and now he’s tossed me aside as if I were some sort of harlot. Why won’t he believe that little Heather is my niece? Nor has he offered sympathy for the loss of Sal, not even in any of his letters let alone in person.’
‘It sounds very much as if he’s turning his back on reality,’ her friend quietly remarked.
‘I can fully understand why Alex would have no wish to speak of his own traumas, whatever they might be, but why is he so dismissive of my own?’
Had he been a touch more sympathetic she might have shared her own horror story with him.
‘Sometimes, the only way of coping is to “forget”,’ Brenda was saying. ‘To shut the horrors from your mind, just as everyone else who has suffered in this war does.’
‘I appreciate what you’re saying, and you know that I have first hand experience of grief as a result of this war, and other traumas too. I agree that locking away painful memories does often feel like the best way of dealing with the problem. But, as you’ve told me many times in the past, Brenda, sometimes talking about these issues can help, so why won’t he do that? Or properly listen to mine?’
‘He’s rather like Davina in that respect. Who knows what happened to that husband of hers? She won’t even tell us his name. I can talk endlessly about my beloved Jack to anyone willing to listen, if not about the manner of his death. Isn’t that how it should be?’
‘Oh yes, I’m happy to speak of Sal’s love of Christmas, of movies and singing, but not her accident. I prefer to remember her in life, not the manner of her death. With all the hardships I’ve had to face, and being forced to accept the wartime attitude of “we can take it”, it was the prospect of Alex’s homecoming that has kept me going.’
Brenda nodded, her round face filled with compassion. ‘The problem is that despite the war being over, things seem to be getting worse, not better, which is hard for ex-servicemen, for all of us. Peace is not bringing the end to the misery that everyone hoped it would. There’s a feeling of anticlimax, as if the bright blue, sun-filled sky has clouded over again, leaving a feeling of uncertainty about the future. A grey chill seems to hang over everything.’
‘Oh, you’re so right,’ Cathie said, pausing to haggle over the price of a rather poor selection of fruit and vegetables on one of the stalls. She finally added two tomatoes, a small turnip and a few potatoes to her bag. ‘There are still too many shortages, queues are even longer as rationing continues and austerity beckons. We barely have enough money to buy coal to keep a paltry little fire burning in the grate, assuming we can find any to buy. We’ve burned all sorts of stuff over the years, including stools and old chairs in order to keep warm.’
Brenda chuckled. ‘I burned the clothes prop once, feeding it in an inch or two at a time.’
‘But no longer can anyone say: “Don’t you know there’s a war on?”’
Both girls were laughing now as they recalled the number of times this mantra had been repeated over the years. ‘Making ends meet is not easy, and bartering still very evident, if you have something to barter with,’ Brenda agreed. ‘I reckon only black marketeers are making any money.’
‘So what happens now? How can I convince Alex that I’m innocent of this charge of having an affair?’ Cathie asked, bleakness descending upon her once more. She valued Brenda’s friendship greatly, but when suffering traumas in the past Sal had been the one she’d turned to for comfort. Sadly, having lost her lovely sister, to now lose Alex made Cathie feel more alone than ever, and everything so much harder to deal with. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘How do I face life without him?’
‘With courage, darling, a skill you’ve never been short of, so have faith in yourself and the future you can create for this little one.’
Cathie smiled through her tears as she watched little Heather happily bobbing up and down in her pram, gazing about her with bright-eyed interest. ‘Thanks, but being a little jealous is one thing, accusing me of sleeping with another man, quite another.’
‘He is fond of you though. Steve, I mean. He always has been.’
‘Don’t talk daft. The pair of us were for ever at odds, and the number of tricks he’s played on me over the years doesn’t bear thinking of. He’d hide my favourite doll, set off bangers and crackers to scare me on bonfire night, and make me run round and round a gravestone then put my ear to it to listen to the dead talking. Which was no doubt his own voice speaking to me, which I didn’t realise, idiot that I was. There’s nothing Steve Allenby likes more than to stir up trouble, but we’ve done nothing wrong. I simply gave him a peck on the cheek to thank him for his charity work. Nothing more than that, I swear it. But yes, I should have come clean from the start about wanting to keep Sal’s baby.’
‘That would have been difficult while Alex was away fighting, and whenever you chose to tell him could easily have brought forth this same reaction. But you need to consider if he’ll also take his anger out on Steve.’
‘Oh, my goodness, I never thought of that. Alex is a bit reckless and unstable in his thinking at the moment, probably because of this dratted war, and poor Steve has enough problems to deal with.’ She’d done her best, as a friend, despite their constant disputes, to help him to deal with his traumas. Cathie really had no wish for her old friend to suffer even more as a result of some stupid assumption on Alex’s part. ‘Sorry, but I must go and warn him, right away.’
Quickly saying her goodbyes, Cathie dashed off, intending to call in upon Steve at the Co-op.
‘You’ve done the right thing, in dropping that silly girl,’ Alex’s mother assured her son, patting his cheek as if he were a five-year-old. ‘She was clearly taking advantage of your offer to get herself out of a hole of her own making. How dare she cheat on you! The chit obviously had no idea how fortunate she was to find such a fine young man as yourself. Who is this other fellow, anyway?’
‘An old friend of many years, apparently,’ Alex growled, making no mention of the fact that he’d lost count of the number of times he too had cheated on Cathie over these last few years. Leave wasn’t easy to come by out in the desert, but whenever he was granted any he would go to Cairo and spend his money on booze and brothels to offset his boredom.
He’d become so accustomed to that way of life, he’d done the same thing when he first returned home and was stationed near Salisbury. That was where he met a certain young lady. She was so beautiful that he soon become entirely besotted with her. The fact she was a ‘good-time girl’, or in reality probably a prostitute, didn’t trouble him in the slightest. Keeping servicemen happy was her role in life, and it was perfectly acceptable for them to befriend girls when on leave. However, complete fidelity was naturally expected from wives and sweethearts. Ordinary women should be loyal to their man. That was their job, so Cathie had no right to betray him. But perhaps all women were whores at heart. ‘May he rot in hell for stealing my girl,’ he growled.
‘I should think you are better off without her, darling. Having an illegitimate child is almost as bad as prostitution. Quite shameful and immoral, and would bring disgrace to our family.’
‘So what are your plans for the future?’ his father put in, in that authoritative tone of voice that always set Alex’s teeth on edge. ‘You must have acquired some skills while serving abroad, what were they exactly? Hopefully they will help you to find a new job, as you never stayed in one longer than five minutes when you were a lad.’
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Freda Lightfoot
1945. Finally, peace has been declared. Cathie hardly dares believe that Alex, the fiancé she has not seen for nearly two years, is coming home. And, finally, life can begin again for Cathie and the orphaned baby in her care.But the Alex who returns is not the kind, loving man Cathie remembers. He’s cold, selfish, sometimes even frightening. So Cathie has a choice: stand by him, and try to contain his violent temper? Or hold her tiny baby close…and run from the man she has yearned for.Home is Where the Heart Is is a heart-wrenchingly, poignant new saga from Freda Lightfoot, set in the aftermath of World War II.
Born in Lancashire, FREDA LIGHTFOOT has been a teacher and a bookseller, and in a mad moment even tried her hand at the ‘good life’. A prolific and much-loved saga writer, Freda’s work is inspired by memories of her Lancashire childhood and her passion for history. For more information about Freda, visit her website: www.fredalightfoot.co.uk (http://www.fredalightfoot.co.uk)
Also by Freda Lightfoot (#ua5cbcbfa-8731-5832-acde-19f211f2a7ec):
Historical Sagas
LAKELAND LILY
THE BOBBIN GIRLS
THE FAVOURITE CHILD
KITTY LITTLE
FOR ALL OUR
TOMORROWS
GRACIE’S SIN
DAISY’S SECRET
RUBY MCBRIDE
DANCING ON
DEANSGATE
WATCH FOR THE
TALLEYMAN
POLLY’S PRIDE
POLLY’S WAR
HOUSE OF ANGELS
ANGELS AT WAR
THE PROMISE
MY LADY DECEIVER
The Luckpenny Series
LUCKYPENNY LAND
WISHING WATER
LARKRIGG FELL
Poorhouse Lane Series
THE GIRL FROM
POORHOUSE LANE
THE WOMAN FROM
HEARTBREAK HOUSE
Champion Street Market Series
PUTTING ON THE STYLE
FOOLS FALL IN LOVE
THAT’LL BE THE DAY
CANDY KISSES
WHO’S SORRY NOW
LONELY TEARDROPS
Women’s Contemporary Fiction
TRAPPED
Historical Romances
MADEIRAN LEGACY
WHISPERING SHADOWS
RHAPSODY CREEK
PROUD ALLIANCE
OUTRAGEOUS
FORTUNE
Biographical Historical
HOSTAGE QUEEN
RELUCTANT QUEEN
THE QUEEN AND THE
COURTESAN
THE DUCHESS OF
DRURY LANE
LADY OF PASSION
Table of Contents
Cover (#ub07d4af8-6d13-55a7-8d1c-0241cd496ddb)
About the Author (#u704b6824-8b42-50cf-b5a2-183e5be7b866)
Title Page (#u5f05e0f7-d14f-5bae-a6ab-166625ff8b02)
Also by Freda Lightfoot
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_d640071c-9a8b-5903-8d97-e7f6e0ea4252)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_caf7e5d5-af13-5486-8af4-7519eb68f63e)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_717fe7c8-13ab-54a9-ac1a-15ab1cbe25b1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_b0c3e903-11dc-5a1d-8841-ebed8dbd953f)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_1937e898-4bd9-58cd-9177-63d7f9d0a576)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_a57295f9-db92-5612-b1f2-fab0f37d3d4a)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_611d9f86-18bb-5cf1-9471-6315d84c75a7)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_8806971f-dfbb-55cb-a4f2-e948ee2fed7c)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ca66a970-a4dd-5d30-b05c-b9a6de50f6de)
1945
Cathie gave a squeal of joy as she read the letter that had arrived that morning. ‘Alex is coming home!’ she cried. She’d waited so long for this news she couldn’t quite believe it. It must be nearly two years since she’d last seen her fiancé and now the war was over he’d be home for good, at last. She quickly scanned the letter again to make sure she’d read it correctly. ‘He says he hopes to be home by Christmas.’
There was no one to hear her exciting news except for the baby, bouncing up and down on her chubby little legs in her cot, holding fast to the rail and giving a happy gurgle as if to echo Cathie’s delight.
Gathering the child in her arms, Cathie screwed up her nose and chuckled. ‘I think you need changing, sweetie.’ But even as she smiled into the baby’s soft blue eyes, her own filled with tears. ‘Oh, I do wish your mummy was here, and your daddy, of course. It’s so desperately sad that you’ll never get to know or love them. I shall tell you all about them as you grow, of course. Particularly Sally, my dear sister, who loved you so much, and was very much a part of my life.’
At least a baby did not experience the pain of grief that she had suffered, Cathie thought, as she laid the infant on a towel-covered table to strip off the wet nappy and set about cleaning her plump little bottom.
What a dreadful war it had been. First her sister had lost her beloved husband, who’d gone down with his ship in August 1944 when it had been sunk by a U-boat. Tony had never even learned his wife was pregnant, let alone seen his child. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her mind flew back to that dreadful day, barely a month after the birth of her beautiful daughter, when Sal had gone with her friend Rose to the Gaumont Cinema on Oxford Road to see Judy Garland in Meet Me in St Louis. Cathie might well have accompanied them, but somebody needed to stay home and look after the baby. She’d happily volunteered for the task as she hoped the film might lift her sister’s depression. Still enveloped in grief, Sal had been in desperate need of an afternoon out.
Cathie had been happily sitting feeding little Heather with her bottle when the door had burst open. She’d glanced up with a smile, fully expecting to see her sister now that dusk was falling. Instead, she saw their mother standing rigid, her face as white as a ghost.
‘She’s gone.’
Cathie recalled how something inside her had jolted as she’d stared in shock at Rona. ‘Who has?’
‘Our Sal.’
Her memory became a blur after that, as a cold numbness came over her. Cathie had felt strangely detached. Everything went silent, even the sound of children playing in the street, and the odd passing car or motorcycle. It was as if she was standing outside of herself, watching as she gently set down the baby’s bottle and patted little Heather’s back to settle her tummy while the horror of what Rona was saying slowly penetrated.
It seemed that on their way home the driver had lost control on the icy roads and the bus had tipped into an old bomb crater, killing many on board, including her beloved sister.
Now the pain of her loss resonated afresh as, staring out of the window, Cathie watched two young women walking arm-in-arm past the bomb-damaged houses opposite, laughing and chattering. The pair reminded her so much of how she and Sal used to step out together, whether as young girls trotting off to school, or grown women going shopping or to a dance together. So many treasured memories.
The sad irony was that they’d come close to death many times during this last six years with constant air raids on the nearby railway, warehouses, wharfs and canals, and once when their own house had been bombed. A terrifying incident that Cathie still fiercely blocked from her mind.
The effects of war could be devastating and so long lasting.
Cathie stopped this train of thought in mid-track. To lose her beloved sister was bad enough, but for it to happen just as the war was coming to an end was even more heartbreaking. Sal’s death had left a huge hole in her life that nothing and no one could ever fill. It felt as if a part of her too had died as well as their family having been decimated.
Blinking back tears as she smoothed talcum powder over the baby’s soft skin and began to pin on a fresh nappy, Cathie’s heart was swamped with love and pity for her niece. With scarcely any family left, what kind of future could this little one be facing?
Not that they’d had much of a family to begin with, their father having left home while both girls were very young. And their mother, Rona, was not an easy woman. Cathie felt she’d endured a dreadful childhood: a selfish mother with a string of lovers and an absentee father whom she hadn’t seen in years. Sal had been the one person to give her the love she’d so badly needed. Cathie certainly had no wish for little Heather to suffer a similar fate. And who else was there to care for the poor child but herself? A responsibility she’d accepted without question.
Were it not for having to care for the baby, she might never have found the will to carry on, or even get up in a morning. She’d needed to locate a nursery, of course, to look after the child during the day, as Cathie couldn’t afford to give up her job at the tyre factory down by the docks. She’d also queued at the Citizens Advice Bureau for hours, to ask them if she was entitled to extra clothing coupons for the baby. They’d agreed that she was, and had told her to ask for form CRSC/1. All such a fuss, but money was tight and Cathie had very little in the way of savings in the post office.
There was a tidy sum stashed away in an account left by dear Sally and her husband, but that was for their precious daughter when she grew up, not to be wasted on trivial bits and bobs now.
Breathing in the sweet scent of her as she cuddled the baby in her arms and kissed her soft cheek, Cathie murmured, ‘You were so loved by your mummy, and if Sal were still with us, she’d be celebrating Alex’s return along with me, despite having lost your lovely father. I promise that you will never feel unwanted, sweetie, even if there are only a few of us left. The war is over and it’s time for a fresh start.’
But how would her fiancé react to taking on someone else’s child? Did she even know Alex well enough to be certain? Of course he would, as he was such a kind, sweet man. As Cathie warmed some milk for the baby’s morning porridge, she kept glancing across at his letter, her heart radiating with hope and pride. She’d loved Alex Ryman from the moment she’d met him over three years ago, back in 1942.
One Saturday, as Sal’s husband Tony had been home on leave, they’d treated themselves to a night at the Palais. It wasn’t cheap, being ninepence a ticket, but it proved to be worth the expense when this gorgeous man had approached her to ask for a dance.
‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You are so lovely with your long curly red hair, that smattering of freckles on your cute little nose, and the sweetest smile,’ he’d said.
Cathie remembered how she’d flushed with pleasure at the compliment, never for a moment having thought of herself in such terms. ‘Not strictly red, more a strawberry blonde,’ she corrected him, with a smile more shy than sweet, or so she thought.
‘Still beautiful, however you describe it, as are your hazel eyes. I’m not the greatest dancer in the world, but please would you do me the honour?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ and, taking his hand, she’d allowed him to lead her out on to the dance floor. She felt entranced by the fact that this tall handsome man, with his crop of short brown hair, chestnut brown eyes and square jutting chin, could be at all interested in her. His quiet conservative manner, and the respect he showed her, also proved him to be the perfect gentleman.
They danced almost every dance, the feel of his arms wrapped about her slender body, as if she were too precious to let go, filling her with joy. Was this how it felt to fall in love? Something she’d never experienced before. By the end of the evening, Cathie happily accepted an offer of a date, all too aware of a dazed longing in her eyes as she cast him a shy sideways glance from beneath her lashes. Could this be the man of her dreams? It most certainly felt like love at first sight for both of them.
After he returned to base, they’d exchanged letters almost daily. At that time he was stationed at Squires Gate, Blackpool, which before the war had been a holiday camp but was now used for army training. Barely able to put him from her mind, she’d gone out with him at every opportunity. Most wonderful of all, when he was granted a week’s leave before being sent overseas early in 1943 following weeks of training in Silloth, he’d presented her with a ring.
‘I wish I could afford to buy you something more splendid, but the thought of not seeing you again is devastating. I need to be sure that you’ll be here, waiting for me, when I return.’
‘Oh, I most certainly will,’ she’d assured him with love and pity in her heart, utterly thrilled and excited by his proposal.
Sadly, she hadn’t seen him since, or received quite as many letters as she would have liked, but then he’d been stationed in Egypt, and goodness knows where else. Now he was coming home at last, and she could hardly wait to become his wife.
Cathie’s new-found happiness was very slightly curtailed as she considered what his reaction might be to the fact that this little one now occupied a large place in her heart too. She certainly had every intention of keeping her, not least because she understood how it felt to be deprived of parental love. And she owed it to her sister. For little Heather’s sake, and to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, Cathie fully intended to push these concerns from her mind and make this the best Christmas ever.
‘It may only be October but Christmas will be here before you know it, which means I must start shopping and preparing right away, as rationing makes everything so difficult,’ she told her giggling niece, as she popped her safely back in her cot.
Oh, she really couldn’t wait to welcome Alex home, and to be in his arms again. He too had no doubt lost friends and loved ones, maybe suffered injuries in battles and campaigns he’d been involved in. So surely he would appreciate how necessary it was to move on and live with the consequences of whatever this dreadful war had thrown at them. Cathie was quite certain he would come to love her little niece as much as she did.
‘Never in a million years,’ said her mother later that day when Cathie showed Rona the letter and spoke of her intention to ask Alex to agree they adopt little Heather. ‘No man is willing to take on another chap’s child. Why would he agree to do such a thing?’
‘Because Alex is a lovely kind man. Why would he not?’ As so often when dealing with her mother, Cathie felt instantly irritated by Rona’s sarcasm and negative attitude. She had always been a dogmatic, stubborn person, obsessed with her own needs and busy social life, with little thought or care for those she was supposed to love. Even her show of grief had been entirely self-centred, worrying more about how she would cope without Sal’s help in the house, rather than any genuine sense of loss.
‘Who’ll do the washing and ironing now?’ she’d moaned. ‘Who will clean the house, mop the floors, make the beds, and keep the fire going? You’re not half as good at housework as our Sal was.’
‘Who cares about such things?’ Cathie had sobbed in her distress. ‘It’s losing my lovely sister that hurts, like a knife in my heart, not the loss of the work she used to do around the house.’ Sal had been like a mother to her, as well as an elder sister, something Rona never could be.
‘Well, someone has to do it, and I’m certainly not up to all that hard work any more,’ had been her mother’s sharp response, and still was to this day as she made herself comfy now in her chair by the fire. She began filing her already perfect nails as she patiently waited for Cathie to tell her when tea was ready. She was an attractive woman, despite being well into her forties, with her smoothly styled blonde hair and blue eyes, lovely oval face completely wrinkle-free, pencilled brows and red lipstick. She would even rub some of the lipstick on to her powdered cheeks. Not for a moment did it enter her lazy head that perhaps she should help, if only to lay the table, let alone peel the potatoes.
‘You could brew the tea,’ Cathie politely suggested, striving to keep her temper.
‘You’re the one standing by the stove, so why don’t you do it? And you’re the one with energy, being young, so be quick about it as I’m meeting Tommy at seven o’clock at the Pack Horse.’
Cathie stifled a weary sigh, all too aware it was a complete waste of time and energy to argue with Rona. She had no real objection to dealing with household chores, but a little assistance now and then would help. Unfortunately, nothing would persuade Rona to take the slightest risk of breaking a nail, or spoiling whatever pretty dress she happened to be wearing. Nor had she ever lifted a finger to help care for little Heather, or shown the slightest interest in the child, despite being her only grandchild.
It was Cathie who fed the baby, changed and washed her nappies, and got up with her in the night when she was hungry or teething. Fortunately, she was a good baby, but the work was exhausting nonetheless. It was Cathie who wheeled the pram to the nursery on her way to the factory each morning, and collected the baby on the way home at the end of her long working day. If Rona was on the early shift at the local cotton mill, it never brought forth an offer to pick up her grandchild, or to make a contribution towards the cost of her care.
As for offering to babysit, that hadn’t happened in the entire seven months since Sal’s death. Not that this troubled Cathie one bit, as she’d been far too sunk in grief to be interested in going anywhere. But things would need to change in the future, and she had every faith that Alex would support her, as well as provide her with the love she’d always longed for.
‘You haven’t even agreed to meet him yet, so how can you possibly judge?’ Cathie said, returning to their original difference of opinion as she placed two plates of corned beef hash on the table.
‘Men are men and not interested in babies. You are such an innocent. It’s long past time you grew up and entered the real world.’
‘I think the war ensured I did that, Mam,’ Cathie sharply responded. ‘I’m twenty-two, if you recall, no longer a child.’
‘So you are, and with a face on you like a line of wet washing. Stop sulking, girl.’
‘Actually, I’m feeling much better, really quite happy now that Alex is on his way home.’
‘Aye, well don’t be too naïve, or expect too much from that fella of yours. He’ll have his own plans for the future, whether you like it or not.’
‘I’m sure he will, but I’m entitled to my wishes too.’
‘Ooh, what an independent little madam you’ve turned into.’
‘That could be the result of the war too,’ Cathie said, thinking that she really hadn’t been given much choice in the matter with a young baby to care for, a useless mother and a living to earn.
After lifting Heather into her high chair and tucking a bib about the baby’s neck, she began to feed her the soft hash from her own little dish and let her mind drift away from her mother’s nagging. Despite her ignorance so far as baby care was concerned, the nine-month-old was doing well. She’d sat up at six months, and was now showing every sign of wanting to walk. Precious little Heather had been successfully weaned and was doing well with her eating, though she did have a tendency to fling her dish on to the floor if she didn’t care for whatever was on offer, or grew bored with the process. Today, she seemed to approve of the mush she was eating, which was a great relief. Feeding spoonfuls to the baby as she ate her own food, Cathie focused her thoughts upon her happy news.
The biggest worry she and Alex faced was where they would live when they did marry. The idea of moving in with her mother as newly-weds was too dreadful to contemplate, even supposing Rona would agree to such an idea. Cathie had already made a few enquiries about finding a house to rent, so far with no luck. So many homes had been destroyed by the bombing that they were in very short supply. ‘Homes for Heroes’ they’d been promised by the government, but there was little sign of any so far, apart from a few prefabs. She could but hope something would turn up soon.
Everything would work out just fine, she was sure of it. Father Christmas was about to deliver the best present possible by sending Alex home to her. Now she would give her fiancé the best present she had to offer, her love forever, and a beautiful ready-made family to start their wonderful life together.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_05aba47e-c08c-58bf-8c87-d0f9c7fb2ee5)
The next day being a Saturday, Cathie set off early to Campfield Market, intent upon making a start on her preparations for Christmas. Most of their food was purchased from the local Co-op where she could benefit from an annual dividend and other special offers. At Christmas they would allow customers a little extra sugar, butter and a tin of condensed milk. But she still loved to visit the market for bargains.
Cathie had carefully written out a list, which included little gifts to put in crackers and some sticky strips to make paper chains. She already had a box of Christmas tree baubles and ornaments that she and Sal had collected over the years, many of them home-made. Later, Cathie meant to buy a small tree, which she would decorate. Right now she must find the right ingredients to start cooking. Dried fruit for mincemeat and a Christmas cake, dried egg, prunes or dried apricots, spices and vanilla essence to make everything taste good, and ground rice for some mock marzipan. Hopefully there’d be an end to rationing soon, but while it continued, this would not be an easy task; so the sooner she started searching, the better.
The food shops and stalls were mainly in the top section between Tonman Street and Liverpool Road, and that was where she headed first. A brisk wind made her tighten the scarf about her neck, sending scraps of grubby paper bags and rotting cabbage leaves flying everywhere. But the baby was tucked up safe and warm in her pram with the hood up and the apron clipped in place over the blankets.
Cathie decided she would try ordering a goose from one of the butchers, although sometimes it was better to come to the market late, just before it closed as prices were cheaper then. The problem with that was there might not be anything left, and Cathie really had no wish to make do with another mock goose comprised mainly of lentils and onions. If this was to be the best Christmas ever, to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, genuine poultry was essential.
Cathie loved exploring the market, with its huge iron girders arching across the roof beneath a range of dusty windows, the supporting pillars beautifully decorated with red roses in patriotic honour of Lancashire. She would lovingly stroke a hand over one as she passed by, as if to bring herself luck, something she still felt in need of despite the war being over. Outdoor stalls jostled for space from here on Tonman Street right across to Deansgate, many of them piled high with second-hand goods, as anything new and cheap was quite rare with rationing still in place.
As always the market was heaving with people: harassed mothers scolding their children for wandering off, old men in flat caps and mufflers huddled together by the hot baked potato cart, no doubt busily putting the world to rights. Perhaps discussing how the General Election in July had brought a Labour landslide with Clement Attlee now Prime Minister in place of Churchill. The terrible bombs that had been dropped since on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the fact Britain was pretty well stony broke.
Nevertheless, morale remained high, despite the threat of austerity and restrictions growing ever tighter as young men returned from the war. It was true that ex-servicemen were not always in one piece, or a happy state of mind, often damaged either physically or mentally. But families were delighted to see their loved ones safely home.
Cathie could barely wait to see Alex again.
She studied various grocery, vegetable and biscuit stalls, happily pausing to watch a man in a bowler hat cleverly juggling pots, pans and plates, appearing to let one fall then easily catching it in order to gain people’s attention. ‘I’m not asking five shillings. I’m not asking one shilling. I’m not even asking sixpence. A threepenny bit and this beautiful plate is yours,’ he shouted to the large crowd gathered about his stall.
Smiling at his showmanship, Cathie queued at her favourite butcher’s stall, where she was a regular customer, and bought a few sausages for tea. He gladly took her order for a goose, offering to give it priority once he heard that her fiancé was returning from the war.
‘Can’t promise it’ll be big, mind, but I’ll do my best, and let you know if I don’t find one.’
Thanking him, Cathie moved on to the Maypole Dairy, which sold margarine, butter, cheese and bacon, also nuts and dried fruit. Checking her purse, she made a mental note to choose with care, as she certainly couldn’t afford to buy everything at once. But after careful browsing, and a very helpful shop assistant, Cathie purchased the necessary ingredients to at least bake a Christmas cake. She’d worry about the mock almond paste, icing sugar and mince tarts later.
Having finished her shopping and carefully negotiating the pram between the crowds of shoppers, Cathie went to meet up with her two best friends for a snack at the market café, as they loved to do on a Saturday. After greeting each other with hugs and a few moans about the cold weather, the three of them gave their orders then sat drinking tea together while Cathie told her good news.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Brenda said, instantly sharing her friend’s excitement.
‘When does he arrive?’ Davina politely enquired.
Davina Gibson, who worked on a second-hand clothes stall, was new to the area, having moved into Castlefield just a couple of months ago. Cathie had met her while buying some clothes for baby Heather. She’d been sympathetic of her loss, and so helpful in allowing Cathie to negotiate a low price on everything she needed, they’d become firm friends ever since. Brenda Stuart, on the other hand, was a best friend of some years’ standing, as she and Cathie had been in the same class at school all those years ago, and worked together at the rubber factory producing tyres for motor cars, army vehicles and trucks.
Both these women had been left widowed by the war, as had so many others. Davina was something of a beauty with her voluptuous figure, long dark hair, green eyes beneath winged brows, and full lips. While dear Brenda claimed to be a plain country girl with scraggy brown hair, plump figure and puffy cheeks. But her round face nearly always wore a smile, and there’d generally be a twinkle in her downward-sloping dark eyes.
‘I’m not sure, but in time for Christmas, or so he hopes. It’s so exciting. I can hardly wait to see him again.’
‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ Davina asked, the corner of her mouth twisting into what might pass for a smile. She wasn’t the most exuberant or lively friend Cathie might have hoped for, being slightly cool and distant. Whatever she’d suffered during the war had clearly badly affected her.
‘Not yet, but I know Alex is keen for us to marry as soon as possible.’
‘I do hope I receive an invitation,’ Brenda said, eyes sparkling at the prospect.
‘If and when it happens,’ Davina added.
‘Of course it will happen, fairly soon, I hope. How would you both feel about being bridesmaids? I have some lengths of parachute silk, which Mam managed to buy cheap from the mill. It has one or two flaws in it, which is disastrous for a parachute, but will scarcely show in a dress. We could sew them together.’
Brenda whooped with joy. ‘That would be wonderful, so long as you teach me how. Never was much good at sewing but I’m willing to learn.’
Looking slightly stunned by this request, Davina murmured, ‘Oh, that is so kind of you to ask me, Cathie, but I’m not sure I could cope with attending a wedding so soon after losing my own husband.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. I’ve no wish to upset you.’
‘When and how did you lose him, darling?’ Brenda asked. ‘You never did tell us.’
Davina’s lips tightened. ‘I don’t care to speak of it.’
‘Ah, I can fully sympathise with that feeling,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Painful things have happened in my life that I cannot bear to remember either. I’ve locked them in a box in my mind, never to open them again. However, sometimes it helps to talk.’ When no response came, Brenda leaned over the pram to tickle the baby’s nose, making her giggle. ‘So what about this little one, Cathie? Have you told Alex that you now think of her as your own?’
‘No, not yet,’ Cathie admitted with some reluctance. ‘I told him of Sal’s death and that we were safe, of course, but didn’t go into any details about her child.’
‘Why ever not?’
Taking a bite of the cheese rarebit the waitress had just brought her, Cathie took her time to chew on it for a moment before answering. Her old friend knew her better than most, how she tended to be far too cautious and wary of making a mistake in life. She’d been this way ever since watching her parents’ marriage collapse after years of rows. Having Sal to cuddle her close in bed as they listened to them yelling and screaming at each other had been the only way to deal with her misery. The sisters had made a pact never to involve themselves in these arguments, and never to discuss what they’d heard.
Giving a pragmatic shrug, she said, ‘Letters to the Front need to be upbeat and cheerful. Mine to Alex were generally asking how he was coping, and chatting a little about myself, which was what he wanted to hear. I put in no bad news that might depress him. Besides, like Davina, I’d no wish to talk about Sal’s death.’
Davina said, ‘Keeping silent about painful subjects may be commonplace in these difficult times, but being open and honest with Alex about what you hope to do for the baby is surely very necessary.’
‘I’m afraid she has a point there,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Did he never ask about the child?’
Cathie frowned, struggling to remember. It had indeed been painful, a time of complete anguish. The weeks following Sal’s death had passed in something of a blur, almost as if she were locked behind a pane of frosted glass and not part of the real world at all. ‘I don’t think he did. But then I’m not certain I ever mentioned that she’d given birth to a daughter, as Heather was barely a month old when her mummy died. My memory of that time is very hazy. Then Mam kept putting me off, insisting it wasn’t right to dump this problem upon him when he had enough to deal with fighting a war.’
‘I’m sure he did have enough on his plate,’ Davina agreed. ‘Still, he does need to know, so the sooner you tell him the better.’
‘I’m ashamed to say that the longer I left it, the harder it became to broach the subject. I could never quite find the courage, and finally decided it would be better to wait and tell him in person, once he is home and can see for himself how adorable she is.’
Smiling down at the baby, Brenda gave her cheek a gentle stroke. ‘You might be right. She certainly is adorable, how could anyone resist her?’
‘Mam is not convinced Alex ever will accept her, which is absolute nonsense. He’s a real gentleman, so why wouldn’t he?’
‘Men can be a bit sniffy about such matters, certainly where children are concerned,’ Davina pointed out, rubbing a hand over her face, which Cathie noticed was suddenly looking rather pale and strained. What other problems did she have? she wondered. Her new friend’s past life was something of a mystery as she was reluctant to speak of the war, not unusual these days. Even so, Cathie had made several attempts to ask Davina about her past, where she’d lived before, what job she’d done, and what had happened to her. But for some reason she always avoided answering such questions. And, as she was still grieving for the loss of her husband, Cathie had decided not to pursue the matter for fear of upsetting her further. Their shared grief was what had cemented their friendship in the first place. Just as her own reluctance not to keep going over Sal’s death was perhaps the main reason why she had neglected to tell Alex the whole story.
Brenda, however, was the absolute opposite. Despite having lived in France during the German occupation, and becoming one of many British women arrested and confined, apparently for no other reason than her nationality, she firmly believed that talking about problems helped you to cope better. Even so, Cathie was aware of occasions when Brenda too would clam shut and find it impossible to speak of past pain, as she herself had just admitted.
‘I do agree that Alex must be told soon. Once he’s settled in, I’ll explain everything,’ Cathie said, with a smile that appeared more confident than she actually felt.
‘I think you should write and tell him now,’ Davina suggested. ‘If he’s going to be this child’s father, you’ll surely need his agreement and support in order to achieve that wish, or it won’t ever happen.’
These words had a disconcerting effect upon Cathie. It was kind of Davina to be so concerned for her, although echoing her mother’s negative comments was not exactly what she’d wished to hear. Poor Davina’s expression was looking even more pinched and doleful, perhaps because she was facing the prospect of life with no hope of a child of her own, as her husband had not survived the war. So many atrocities, so much grief. Cathie had to confess that the timing of Sal’s death couldn’t have been worse, not only because the war had been in the process of coming to an end, but as she herself was about to be married.
Brenda gently patted her hand. ‘I can understand that you might feel a little nervous about telling Alex of your wish to keep Sal’s child, but be brave, darling. He loves you, so not for a moment do I imagine he’ll refuse to accept her.’
‘Oh, you are so right, he does.’ Her worries and sadness dissolved as joy ricocheted within once again. With no one ever expressing any love for her but Sally, Cathie could hardly believe her good fortune. ‘And he is such a kind man.’
‘There you are then, no problem,’ Brenda said, kissing a cheek damp with the odd stray tear.
Davina put her arms around Cathie to give her a hug that felt just a little stiff and awkward. ‘Please know that I’m here to offer support too, should this Alex give you any problems.’
‘Thank you so much! You are both such good friends to me. Not that I think I will need your help, as I have every faith in him.’ The baby began to whimper and squirm, and Cathie got quickly to her feet. ‘Now, I really must go and see to some food for this little madam.’
Brenda jumped up too. ‘I’ll walk back with you, darling, at least as far as my gloomy little bedsit.’ And, saying their goodbyes, the pair walked off, Cathie oddly aware of Davina standing watching for some time as she wheeled the pram away. Something was troubling the girl, but she couldn’t make out quite what it could be.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a509bdda-aa68-552a-99c0-b663341a530c)
Over the coming days and weeks, Cathie continued to work hard at the factory as well as take care of the baby. She also busied herself with cleaning and tidying the house from top to bottom, much to her mother’s irritation as she was moved from room to room, not offering to even lift a duster to help. Buying a pot of brown paint from the ironmonger, Cathie gave all the doors a quick coat, hoping the landlord would not object. But, as they’d been bombed out of their own home, and were now renting in a ramshackle street in a rather poor area of Castlefield, Cathie was anxious for the house to look as respectable as possible when Alex arrived home. She felt rather pleased with the result, and proud of herself for having picked up quite a few skills over these last years.
‘It costs very little to at least be clean,’ said her Aunt Evie, not for the first time when Cathie popped in to fill her in on what was happening, and ask her advice. Her aunt too had suffered a horrible war, not least by the fact her children had been evacuated.
‘Your Uncle Donald hasn’t been demobbed yet, although no longer a POW. He’s undergoing some help, or so I’m told, by the Resettlement Service or whatever they call themselves. But my little ones will be home soon too,’ she said, cuddling baby Heather on her lap. ‘Not that they’ll be little any more, and goodness knows what they’ll think when they see me again. I’ve turned into a real old crow.’
‘Don’t be silly, they adore you,’ Cathie said with a smile. Evie, her father’s younger sister, was very maternal, the kind of mother Cathie would have loved to have. ‘So when do you think I should tell Alex about little Heather?’
Her aunt considered the question with a frown. ‘Not easy to answer. Judge your moment when it feels right. Believe in yourself, sweetie.’
It felt like good advice, and surely her courage and sense of independence had increased throughout this long war. Or had it all vanished again with the loss of dear Sal? Uncertainty and panic swelled in her, which yet again had to be quelled as Cathie resolutely devoted the entire afternoon to baking a Christmas cake, and thinking positive thoughts about the future. It was admittedly rather plain but at least it had real fruit in it and not just prunes, as was the case last year. Wrapping it in greaseproof paper and storing it in a cake tin, she hid it safely away on a top shelf in the larder where Rona wouldn’t find it. Next, she set about making paper chains and tiny Chinese-type lanterns, which she strung up around the front parlour.
‘We need the house to look good as Father Christmas will be here soon,’ Cathie explained to the baby, as the pair of them sat together on the rug. Heather’s soft little lips pursed in concentration as she tried to help by flicking bits of paper about, some of them sticking to her little fingers, which made Cathie laugh. She’d also bought a tree, which she now decorated with home-made Christmas crackers, a few baubles and pipe-cleaner dolls dressed in scraps of wool and cotton that she and Sal had made when they were small.
Stepping back to admire her efforts with a glow of satisfaction, in her mind’s eye she could see Sal standing on a stool as she fixed a fairy to the top of the tree. As the elder of the two, her sister had always insisted on this being her job, carried out when the tree had been fully decorated. The thought that this would be the first Christmas without Sal, filled Cathie with fresh pain. Brushing away her tears, she strived not to dwell on past memories.
‘What do you think?’ she asked her mother, keeping her voice deliberately bright and with a cheerful smile on her face.
Rona gave a careless shrug. ‘The tree’s a bit small but I expect it will do. But all them decorations seem like a lot of effort for just the two of us.’
‘The war is over, and there won’t be just the two of us. Alex is coming home, remember, and it’s Heather’s first Christmas. I mean to make it very special.’ Cathie fully intended to honour Sal’s memory by giving her precious child a wonderful time. Even if Heather was only a baby and had never even heard of Father Christmas, Cathie had already found her a stocking to hang up, and bought a few small toys to put in it, together with a few jelly babies and chocolate creams.
‘Don’t expect me to look after the nipper over Christmas, even if your boyfriend does get home in time. I have my own plans, and it doesn’t include going back to child-minding and washing nappies. I had my fill of all that with you two.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of expecting you to,’ Cathie caustically replied, feeling this comment proved what a neglectful mother Rona had been. ‘I did wonder though, if you would be willing to babysit for one evening at least, so that we could go out for a meal together to celebrate his homecoming. I haven’t seen Alex in nearly two years.’
‘I’d need to meet him first, to give my approval. Why don’t you ask him to join us for tea one day, or Sunday dinner perhaps?’
Whenever he’d walked her home after they’d been out on a date, he’d never actually stepped inside, claiming a reluctance to intrude upon her life. In reality it may well have been the lack of welcome from her mother. Now, despite them living in a much shabbier property, Cathie smiled with relief. ‘That would be lovely. I’ll do that. I’m quite certain that you’ll like him.’ She made to give her mother a kiss in gratitude, but Rona moved quickly away, as ever resisting any show of affection from her daughter, although she rarely refused a kiss from a man.
Fortunately, Cathie reminded herself, she no longer depended upon her mother for love, not now she had Alex, and the baby. She ached with longing to see him again, but everything was ready: the goose ordered, mince tarts made, and having failed to find any icing sugar she’d coated the Christmas cake with a mock butter cream. Cathie had even treated herself to a new dress in Christmas rose red, and Davina had trimmed and styled her corkscrew curls for her. Half her personal savings were gone, but Cathie was delighted with all the preparations she’d made.
When later that day the postman delivered a second letter from Alex asking her to meet him at Victoria railway station at eleven o’clock the Sunday before Christmas, her heart turned over with happiness. She rushed to tell her friends at the very first opportunity.
‘So pleased for you,’ Brenda said, giving her a delighted hug.
‘How exciting. When does he arrive exactly?’ Davina coolly enquired.
Cathie read out the necessary details from her precious letter, without revealing his private comments to her. ‘I can hardly wait.’
Now her life would truly change for the better.
At the end of the week, as she clocked in as usual at the tyre factory to start her morning shift sharp at eight, she found a note from her boss. Answering his call to enter, she breezed into his office with a happy smile on her face, her heart feeling as if it was bouncing with happiness. ‘You wanted to see me?’
Glancing up from the account sheet upon which he was working, he removed his spectacles and gave a brief nod. ‘I wish to thank all you ladies personally for the sterling work you’ve done throughout the war, and can now release you from those labours as the men are returning.’
Cathie stared at him in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The war is over, if you haven’t noticed. The soldiers, sailors and airmen are all coming home and need their jobs back. So while you women have done splendid work, you are now free to return to your domestic duties.’
Her mind in a whirl at this unexpected announcement, the last thing she’d wanted to hear right now with a baby to feed, Cathie couldn’t think of a polite way to protest, however much she might feel the need to defend her own rights. Women who had refused to take a war job back in 1941 had been threatened with prison. She’d been happy to do her bit, young as she’d been at the time. She’d loved her work, the independence it had brought her, as well as the companionship of other women. ‘I do appreciate what you say, boss. Of course fighting men have the right to get their jobs back, but do women need to be dismissed entirely in order to achieve that? How are we supposed to survive without a wage coming in?’ she asked, attempting to sound reasonable.
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I hear you’ll be married soon, Cathie, so what’s the problem? A woman’s role is to produce babies and support her husband.’
‘And no doubt clean fire grates, knit baby clothes and mend socks,’ she said, with a sharp edge to her tone. ‘But what if I have no wish to be confined to the kitchen sink?’
He seemed to find this remark so amusing he laughed out loud. ‘That is something you must discuss with your dearly beloved. I’m sure hubby will take you out from time to time. And, as it’s Friday, the job ends today, so don’t forget to collect your final wages and card on your way out.’ Having said his piece, he put his spectacles back on and returned to the task of adding up company profits, which might well drop now they’d be paying higher men’s wages.
Walking back to her bench in a complete daze, Cathie felt tears prick her eyes. How on earth would she cope without any money coming in? It felt as if a whole different world was opening up before her, one where she would have very little say over her own future. But once she’d listened to the woes of the other women, many of them war widows with children of their own to feed, she swallowed her own worries and said very little. She, at least, would have a loving husband to depend upon, one who would be home in just over a week.
‘How on earth can I continue to pay the rent without a wage coming in?’ Brenda snapped, also complaining bitterly about being sacked. ‘I certainly have no wish to return to my late husband’s family home out on the Pennines.’
Judging by the expression on her friend’s face, Cathie thought it wise not to ask for an explanation on that point, and instead gave her a consoling hug. ‘I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find other work, even if it’s only part-time. We do have considerable experience at our fingertips, after all. Surely all these years of hard work we’ve done must count for something?’
‘I do hope so. We should have seen this coming, of course. Those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back. I’d just never got around to thinking how that might affect me. Nor did I expect it to happen so suddenly.’
‘Me neither. A little warning might have helped, or better still an alternative offer of a job here in the factory, one that involved us in work we know so well.’
According to the general conversation buzzing around them, other factories were likewise laying off women workers, so a new job might not be easy to find. And thinking of the busy week ahead in preparation for Christmas, helping with a charity event at the local Co-operative Society, and with a goose to pay for, Cathie attempted to mentally calculate how much money she had left to live on.
As for Alex’s homecoming, her feelings were becoming increasingly muddled. Much as she longed to see him, she really had no wish to be dependent on her fiancé from the outset. In any case, war might have badly affected him too, and she had no wish to add to his distress by expecting him to be entirely responsible for earning all the money they would inevitably need. It was necessary to be practical as well as supportive and loving.
The rest of the day passed largely in gloomy silence and, as the factory clock chimed six strokes, the women packed their bags, collected their wages and walked out grim-faced, into what they’d believed would be a brave new peaceful world, and now wasn’t looking quite as good as they’d hoped.
‘Have you considered asking for a job here at the Co-op?’ This question came from Steve Allenby, an old friend who had returned from the war some time ago with serious injuries. Cathie was helping him to organise a Christmas concert in the Co-operative Society rooms above the shop, and had casually mentioned the fact that she’d lost her job, although she felt she really had no right to complain too much. A V1 rocket had exploded close to an airfield where Steve was working in Holland. It had so badly damaged his leg an amputation had been necessary. He now had an artificial limb on his right leg from the knee down, and walked with a slight limp. He was making a good recovery, if still suffering from pain and post-war traumas, looking even thinner and more raw-boned than when he was a scraggy kid. But then losing a leg was far more serious than being dismissed from a job, however worrying that might be for her.
In between blowing up balloons that were piling up all around them, she turned the idea over in her head, a little hope lighting up within. Could that be a possibility? She wondered. Cathie knew that in the past the Co-operative movement had supported workers during strikes, as well as throughout the war, keeping tally sheets for folk who couldn’t settle their household bill till their next wage was paid. Whether they would be willing to offer her a job was another matter entirely.
‘I’m not intending to work here for ever,’ Steve was saying. ‘I do have other plans. But Cyril Leeson, the manager, generously kept my job open and I’m proud to be employed by a business that has been in operation since the mid-nineteenth century and an important part of the community. They are expert at juggling prices to suit customers’ needs, give dividends, and run holiday clubs in which money can be saved for Wakes Week. Generally a week in Blackpool, as we know.’ He laughed.
‘I do approve of their Christmas club, which has helped me to finance this expensive season by saving up in it week after week,’ she said, thinking of her dream to make this the best Christmas ever for Alex. ‘Unfortunately, my skills are more concerned with checking tyres.’ She gave a dry little laugh. ‘Can’t see that being of any use slicing bacon, butter and cheese, let alone keeping track of people’s accounts. I’d be hopeless.’
‘Probably you would at first, but with a bit of effort you might at last learn to count, and even add up.’
‘Cheeky!’ she snapped, playfully punching him on the shoulder.
He laughed as he ducked, in case she tried again. ‘I trained as a junior instructor in the army and eventually became a trainer myself, doing a lot of work with small arms. What has that got to do with cheese? You’d soon get the hang of it, Cathie. It’s plain to see that you’ve grown much more confident and capable as a result of this war.’
Was that true? Cathie rather hoped it may well be. She had changed quite a lot over the years, gaining considerably more courage and faith in herself. Had Steve noticed that in her, or was he playing her for a fool yet again? They’d been friends from childhood, as he came from the same rough area as herself. But although he was fun to work with at these charity events, she still had her reservations about him.
She recalled how once he’d built them a tree house down by the River Irwell, and persuaded her to climb up and sit in it. Then he’d dashed off to play with his mates, leaving her stuck up the tree, too afraid to climb down without assistance. Hours later, soaked to the skin from a downpour of rain, she was rescued by Sal who came looking for her. Steve claimed he’d meant to return but forgot. Knowing how he loved to play endless practical jokes and tricks upon her, she’d never entirely forgiven him, refusing to speak to him for months afterwards. They’d fallen out countless times over the years due to her innate caution, while Steve, on the other hand, had always been a bit reckless and impulsive, lively and ruddy-cheeked.
Now his face was drawn and pale with a bleakness to his blue-grey eyes. Out of pity for the pain he was suffering, their friendship was slowly improving. But not for a moment could she ever feel the same way about him as she did for Alex, who was much more handsome, smart and sweetly polite. Steve would never be anything more to her than an old friend, but at least he was trying to be helpful now.
‘Maybe I should make a polite enquiry, just in case.’
‘Good. I’m sure you’ll find another job, Cathie, assuming you decide you need one.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Why would I not?’
‘I heard that Alex will be home soon. You must be looking forward to seeing him again, and may soon be busy raising a family instead.’ He glanced across at little Heather, contentedly asleep in her pram with her thumb in her mouth.
They both fell silent as Cathie considered this point. Was she eager to have children of her own? She hadn’t thought that far ahead, obsessed only with seeing Alex again, as well as caring for Sally’s little one. But a job could well prove to be unnecessary if they married quickly and she fell pregnant. Did she want that to happen? ‘It’s certainly true that I can’t wait see him. It’s been two years or more.’
‘Let’s hope he soon settles into Civvy Street. I found it difficult at first,’ Steve admitted, as he gathered the balloons into a net. ‘Once everyone has welcomed you home by buying you a pint, they tend to forget all about you. Life can feel a bit flat after that, and rather lonely to suddenly find yourself without all the mates you’ve lived and worked with for years, let alone shared untold horrors.’ He drew in a deep sigh, a frown marking his too thin face. ‘And some of them I’ll never see again.’
Cathie was filled with sympathy as she waited for him to reveal more of his war story, but as always his mouth clammed shut. Could it be that grief overwhelmed him, the pain of remembering being too much to bear, or was he holding back some secret he wished to keep to himself? ‘It must have been very difficult for you, Steve. But I’ll be there for Alex, as I’m sure his family will too.’ Not that she knew anything about his family, never having met them.
‘He’s a lucky man to have you. I was not so fortunate.’
‘Maybe you will be one day.’ Tucking the blanket over the baby’s sprawled chubby body, Cathie decided it was time to change the subject. ‘Will Father Christmas be coming to this charity concert?’
‘I’ve written to invite him,’ Steve replied in all seriousness. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without him, would it? He’s promised to call in towards the end, with presents for all the children. There’s a special group coming from Styal, St Patrick’s and other local orphanages.’
Glancing again at Heather, thankful that her niece hadn’t ended up in such a place, she smiled. ‘That’s wonderful. I always feel so sorry for all the poor orphans created by this dratted war.’
Steve gave a grim little nod. ‘Yes indeed. At least we can provide them with a good Christmas party, thanks to the generosity of the Co-op. And a fun concert.’
Before leaving, Cathie called at the office downstairs to ask if by any chance they did have any vacancies, and was politely informed that sadly that was not the case.
‘Hope you didn’t mind my asking, Mr Leeson. Admittedly, I don’t have any experience as a shop assistant, but I’m willing to learn. Should there ever be one, do please let me know.’
‘Of course,’ the manager, said. ‘Keep your eye on our window, Cathie, which is generally where we post vacancies. Although people tend to hang on to their jobs rather a long time these days.’
Over the next few days, having had the idea of being a shop assistant planted in her head, Cathie enquired about work at several other shops too, only to receive the same response. She called in at warehouses and factories, explaining her skills and experience during the war, forced to walk away as heads were shaken. She chose not to apply at the cotton mill, as working with her mother did not appeal.
Only a short time ago they’d been celebrating the end of the war with ticker tape and dancing, street parties, funny hats and flags. Now everyone seemed to have sunk back into a gloomy depression. Except that in two days time she’d be welcoming Alex home, which lifted her heart afresh. Their future together was surely all that truly mattered now?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_00aa14bc-aaaa-54b1-9106-7ecffd515589)
A cold north-east wind was buffeting her as Cathie stood anxiously waiting on Victoria station platform, pacing back and forth, and constantly glancing up at the big clock high on the wall. The train must be running late as she seemed to have been standing here for an awful long time, yet she felt more concerned about the coming reunion with Alex than worrying about the cold. Did she properly remember him? How well had she got to know him in the excitement of their love match? Cathie recalled a kind, gentle, handsome man, very polite and caring. Would he still be the same, or might he have suffered some injury that he’d chosen not to mention in the few letters that had managed to get through? More importantly, would he still love her?
Cathie had tried to look her best, dressed in a tailored navy jacket and skirt with a neat pleat down the front, over which she wore a beige raincoat to protect her against the weather. A wide-brimmed red wool hat decorated with a navy hatband sat carefully tilted to one side over her neatly styled hair, a matching handbag dangling on one arm, and warm red gloves. But what if he remembered her as being far more glamorous and beautiful, instead of homely and ordinary, which was how she saw herself now? If only the weather had been better, then she could have worn a pretty dress.
Just as she’d almost given up hope, a whistle sounded, making her heart bump as if in unison. Then the air was filled with choking steam as the train came puffing slowly along the track. She could barely see the passengers as they hastily disembarked, thanks to the smoke and the crowds filling the platform. Cathie could hear the cries of joy, and the clatter of heels as women ran to fling themselves in the arms of their returning heroes.
Then like a ghost emerging from the mists of the past, she saw a vaguely familiar figure walking smartly towards her. At first sight, Cathie didn’t recognise him as she was accustomed to seeing Alex in uniform, not this dreadful demob suit with trousers that didn’t quite reach his ankles, trilby hat and a greatcoat stripped of its usual army buttons and braid. Seconds later, he was enfolding her tight against his chest, smothering her with kisses. Her heart felt as if it might explode with happiness.
‘Let me look at you.’ Releasing her, Alex stepped back a pace so that his gaze could roam over her, taking in her rosebud mouth, flushed cheeks and sparkling hazel eyes before sliding downwards over her slender figure. ‘Even more beautiful than I remember.’
Glowing with joy, she gave her most bewitching smile. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you too, Alex, I can’t quite believe you’re here at last.’ She whipped off her gloves and stroked his face as if to prove to herself that he was.
‘I’ve missed you too, darling,’ he said, quickly responding with yet more kisses, his stubbled chin scraping against hers.
‘I’ve got so much to tell you.’
He looked down at her, his chestnut brown eyes darkening with desire. ‘We have a great deal of catching up to do, not simply involving talk,’ he said, chuckling as he slid an exploring hand over her breast. ‘How soon can we be married? I can’t wait too long. I could eat you all up here and now.’
Cathie felt her cheeks grow hot as she gave a little giggle. ‘We can fix a date for the wedding any time you like. But I haven’t even met your parents yet, nor have you met my mother, which you are now about to do. Mam suggested I invite you for Sunday dinner, I do hope you can come?’
‘Not today,’ he said, looking surprised by the suggestion. ‘My mother and father are anxious to have me home. We’ll need to arrange that for some other time.’
‘Oh, of course!’ Even as Cathie agreed, disappointment bit deep in her. But then perhaps she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Naturally, his parents were keen to see their only son again, after all this time away fighting in a war. It was easy to forget that other families were close when her own was not. She also thought with some regret of the expense of the half shoulder of lamb she’d left roasting in the oven. ‘Can we at least walk some of the way together?’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ Linking her arm in his, he hitched his kitbag on to his other shoulder and they set off to walk along Deansgate.
Cathie felt a little downhearted that, even though she was his fiancée, she had not been included in his plans for his first day home. Surely on such a special occasion she should have been allowed to share it? In all the time they’d been going out together, not once had he thought to invite her to meet his family. Alex lived on St John Street, as his father was a doctor who worked at the local hospital. Unlike where she lived, close to the Potato Wharf district, it was quite a smart area even if it was still in Castlefield. Cathie couldn’t help but wonder if that was the reason.
For now though, she should be simply relieved to see how fit Alex looked, marching as if on parade, straight-backed with his head held high, if unshaven and his expression somewhat stern. All her anxiety and worries had evaporated in seconds on seeing him as, unlike Steve, Alex seemed perfectly normal with no sign of any injuries. After six years of war, being only nineteen when he’d been called up in 1939, he was now a grown man of vast experience. And if there was a slight sense of distance between them, surely that was to be expected after these long years apart. But it was wonderful that they were together at last. Her future secure.
‘I look forward to you coming some other time, at your convenience. I should warn you in advance that my mother, Rona, is not an easy person, being rather selfish, and very full of herself. She doesn’t believe in sitting still for five minutes. She has ever been obsessed with giving herself a good time, always going off somewhere: to dances, band concerts, pubs or horse racing. Having a bit of fun is how she terms it.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Alex said. ‘I dreamed of doing very much the same when I was stuck out in the desert in Egypt.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ Cathie said, filled with remorse for having implied that living a full life was somehow wrong, even if she had only been attempting to explain her self-obsessed mother. ‘And we all had fun when peace was declared. Did you get to celebrate VE Day?’
‘No, I was still overseas,’ he responded grimly.
‘Oh, you poor thing. We went to Albert Square, everywhere ablaze with lights and hordes of people all dancing and singing ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’, ‘Bless ‘Em All’, and loads of other popular songs. It was fantastic fun. Manchester was so jam-packed with folk there was no room for traffic, not even the buses could get through. There were flags everywhere, posters saluting the Allies, fireworks going off. There were thanksgiving services at various churches, and the King spoke to us on the wireless. Oh, it was a wonderful celebration with dozens of street parties held over the next few days. Mam and I attended several, and treated ourselves by opening a tin of peaches.’ Cathie chuckled at the memory, preferring not to mention that they’d both also wept over the fact Sal was not present to share the celebrations with them.
Alex groaned. ‘We missed all of that, but I see us going out quite a bit over the next few months, to the theatre, dancing, concerts, all manner of stuff. Can’t wait to start enjoying life again.’
‘Of course, you deserve to after all you’ve been through,’ she said, feeling a little guilty that they’d been privileged to enjoy the bonfires and parties, and cheer as the blackout curtains were taken down.
Turning right along Quay Street, they walked in silence, Cathie’s mind racing as she wondered whom she could call upon to babysit whenever they did go out. Rona had made her position on the issue very clear. Would Brenda mind the baby for her? Maybe, on the odd occasion, as she was doing today, but Alex sounded as if he wished to go out almost nightly.
And when should she bring up the subject of little Heather?
Remembering what her Aunt Evie had said, Cathie decided the moment wasn’t quite right, as he looked so grim and rather tired. Which was to be expected as he’d only just arrived, and it would take a little time for them to re-establish the closeness they’d once enjoyed.
When they reached the corner of St John Street, he paused. ‘How would you feel about a night out at the Palais, or maybe the Ritz? Going to a dance is how we met, so let’s revisit old times.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ Cathie agreed, heart racing.
Then, putting his arm about her waist, he gave her a rather chaste little kiss as he smiled down at her. ‘More of this later, eh?’ And after agreeing to meet at the bus stop on Wednesday evening, he turned smartly on his heel and strode away, whistling happily.
Walking home alone, feeling just a little flat as this was not at all how she’d expected their first day together to be, Cathie deliberately turned her mind to what she would wear for the dance. It was, after all, something to look forward to.
‘How did it go?’ Brenda asked, when Cathie called to collect Heather following a Sunday dinner with her mother that had been even more dull and boring than usual. ‘Did Alex look as you remembered?’
‘Not quite, I almost didn’t recognise him as he’s no longer a smart soldier, a bit unshaven and shabby-looking, although he still marches like one. But he seems fit and well, which is all that really matters, and he still likes kissing me,’ Cathie added with a shy giggle.
‘Wonderful, and how did he react to the news about this little one?’
Cathie ruefully explained how she hadn’t found the courage to tell him, and how his plans for the day had not included her. She was struggling to keep her emotions in check, feeling a slight sense of rejection. ‘He didn’t seem too keen to spend his first day home with me. It was as if we’d just met and were strangers, not engaged at all. A really weird feeling.’
‘That’s not so unusual, darling. It must feel a bit odd to be back in Civvy Street. Another friend of mine said her husband went to the pub first, and was pretty drunk by the time he arrived home, somewhat later than expected. She was not pleased, but he claimed he needed to celebrate peace at last, as he’d missed all the street parties.’
‘I dare say you’re right, Brenda. Alex too is upset at missing out on the celebrations, and his parents haven’t seen him for a long time either, so his family should come first.’
‘Parents can be very controlling,’ Brenda sadly remarked as she slipped Heather’s chubby arms into her matinee jacket. ‘And his father, Doctor Ryman, does have a reputation for being rather grand. Some men tend to be that way. You should see how my brother-in-law behaves, as if he has the right to own the world. He goes on and on at me, constantly nagging and insisting I do whatever stuff he demands.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘Oh, legal stuff in the main. He’s so arrogant, but then my late husband did inherit the family estate, now in his brother’s hands. Anyway, enough of my stupid problems. I’m sure Alex will make it up to you soon,’ she said, giving Cathie a warm hug.
‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Cathie agreed, instantly brightening as she explained about the Ritz. ‘Can’t wait for Wednesday to come. Now what on earth can I wear?’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_b6c26f33-6c5b-523e-8b04-7e6ca72f9e0e)
The Ritz was every bit as beautiful as Cathie remembered, luxuriously appointed in red and gold, with its arched ceiling, two tier bandstand, tables and chairs set around the dance floor, and with a gallery above where you could watch the dancing. The band was playing Doris Day’s ‘Sentimental Journey’ as they walked in, which quite touched her heart. To her great surprise, in spite of the war having been over for some months, there were still many men in uniform, happily smooching with their partners to the music. Others were standing around eyeing up the girls and women who stood chatting and giggling at the opposite side of the ballroom.
‘I’m amazed there are still servicemen around,’ she said.
‘Maybe they are men returning home, looking to find themselves a wife.’
‘Or husbands who have left their poor wives stuck by the fireside minding the kids,’ she said, giving a small sigh of disapproval.
‘Which would be perfectly reasonable.’
She looked up at him, startled by this remark, but decided he must be joking. The next instant she was in his arms, moving slowly around the ballroom, and it felt so wonderful, her insides lighting up as brilliantly as that highlighting the band.
There were very few American GIs around, she noticed, or Yankee-Doodle Dandies as they used to be called. ‘This ballroom was once so popular with the Yanks, they called it the forty-ninth state,’ Cathie told him with a laugh. ‘Whitworth Street always seemed to be full of American jeeps, and MPs with red armbands and batons, whose task it was to keep the boys of Uncle Sam in line.’
Staring grimly down at her, he asked, ‘Did you used to come here and dance with them?’
‘Heavens, no! I was too busy working for one thing, and waiting for you, of course.’
‘Sorry, of course you were,’ he said with a smile that warmed her heart.
Cathie caught a glimpse of them dancing together in one of the many mirrors set around the walls. Was she dancing close enough in his arms, or a little more distant than that first time when they’d met at the Palais? Perhaps it would take a little while for them to relax together, as her friend Brenda had suggested. Still, she was here at the Ritz, in his arms, a dream come true. Cathie was relieved to see that she looked quite respectable in a pink flowered dress with a matching flower in her hair. Almost pretty. Stuck for something to talk about, she continued chatting about the way things used to be during the war years.
‘British servicemen outnumbered the Yanks, of course, but only just. I believe the ballroom did used to be packed with scores of excited girls throughout the war, all seeking their dream hero.’
‘That’s all women want from a man, someone to bring in the money each week.’
‘Goodness, what a thing to say.’
‘Are you implying that you want more from me than that?’ he asked.
‘Of course I do. I love you, darling.’
It was then, as the lights dimmed and the music changed to ‘If I Loved You’, that he kissed her, quite thoroughly this time.
‘We should come here more often,’ Alex said, when later he walked her home. ‘I love dancing with you. We could try the Palais again, and Belle Vue.’
Thinking of how fortunate she’d been to persuade Brenda to babysit for her, Cathie cleared her throat, then in a light, philosophical voice, not wishing to sound bitter, she hesitantly pointed out the poor state of her finances as a consequence of losing her job. ‘We women have been disposed of now that the men are coming home. Fair enough, I suppose, but money is a bit tight right now. I’m out and about every day searching for a new job. I dare say you will be too, once you’ve settled in.’
‘I’ll certainly be on the lookout for one eventually,’ he agreed. ‘Although I have my demob money to tide me over, and shall insist upon it being the right job in the right place. For now, I’m in desperate need of a rest, as well as a bit of fun. It’s easier for you as a woman as you won’t even need a job, once we’re wed. You can simply relax and return to your cosy domestic duties.’
Cathie chose to make no response to this, much as the remark slightly irritated her, as it had done when Steve suggested this might happen. It was true that some women were glad to be free of work at last, and more than happy to return to the comfort of their own hearth. But she was missing hers already after only a week of being unemployed. Sadly, Alex hadn’t even expressed any sympathy over her losing her job, and she really had no wish to spoil their first evening out together by pressing for her independence.
They walked on down Lower Byrom Street that had suffered badly from incendiary bombs, many of the houses now without fronts or roofs, as in Duke Street, where they used to live, and many other streets they passed. It was then that he suddenly pulled her into the shadows of a broken building and began to kiss her most urgently. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he sighed, when some moments later he finally released her.
‘And I you.’ Desire burned within her, tempered a little by nervous caution. This didn’t seem quite the place to be engaging in lovemaking.
‘You are so sweet I could lick every part of you.’
Cathie giggled. ‘I’m not a lollipop.’
‘Really? That’s a shame, because I’d love to eat you all up.’ He was kissing her again, this time her ear and eyelids, and then exploring her mouth with his tongue. As he bent to kiss her throat, she felt her senses skitter with longing, remembering how she used to spend wakeful nights dreaming of moments like this. Now, as his hand slid over her bottom, then down her thighs and began to inch up her skirts, she was filled with a flash of panic, and quickly put out a hand to stop him.
‘Sorry, but it’s been so long since we last kissed like this, I don’t want to rush things.’
His eyes were glazed, as if in some dream world of his own. He carried on touching and kissing her, not really listening to a word she said. Cathie could hear him panting for breath, feel the hardness of him pressed against her. Suddenly overwhelmed by shyness, and feeling slightly taken advantage of, she gave him a shove and eased herself from his arms. ‘That’s enough, Alex. We aren’t married yet, remember.’
He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his sweaty brow. ‘Sorry, I can hardly wait until we are. But you’re quite right, I should remember that you’re not some tart I picked up.’
She gasped. ‘Is that what you used to do?’
He burst out laughing, making a joke of it. ‘Of course not. Don’t fret, sweetie, I’m just impatient to enjoy life following the misery of war, but I need to remind myself how to behave.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Allow me to be the perfect gentleman and escort you home.’
Smiling, Cathie hooked her arm into his and they set off again.
When they reached the grimy old River Medlock littered with broken bricks and rubber tyres as it slid darkly into the culvert that took it under the city, Cathie felt a sting of shame for the shabby state of the district in which she lived. It wasn’t helped by the stink of coal dust in the air, and noise from the railways, which were ever present. Having lived in this part of Manchester all her life, she had become largely oblivious to such things, perceiving this as a fascinating historic and industrial region. But Castlefield, like many other parts of the city, had suffered a severe battering during the war. Now, seeing the area through her fiancé’s eyes, Cathie couldn’t imagine him ever settling for living here. This would not be the right place for Alex Ryman at all.
‘I’m sorry everywhere looks such a mess,’ she remarked quietly, as his gaze roamed over the depressing scenes: black pits marking the ground, heaps of rubble and broken buildings roped off. ‘But it’s been a difficult war. We’ve all suffered greatly.’
He gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Not as much as those of us who were at the Front and suffered from constant air-attacks, shelling and fear.’
‘I’m sure that’s true, but it was pretty terrifying on the Home Front too. You can see from the damaged houses that there have been regular hits on Manchester, Salford and neighbouring areas.’
‘Not in recent years,’ he coldly remarked. ‘You’ve been most fortunate.’
Cathie glanced at him in astonishment. ‘I do appreciate that you and your comrades must have suffered worse traumas, but we haven’t been as lucky as you might think. One night we rushed to the air raid shelter when the sirens went off, believing we’d be safe. Instead, it suffered a direct hit. Brave Sal saved both our lives by pushing us out of the bunk we were sharing just before the concrete roof collapsed.’
Cathie had suffered an even worse incident, but, like Brenda, preferred not to dwell upon such things, certainly not right now, as Alex didn’t seem to be taking any of this in.
‘At least you survived,’ he said, a slightly scathing note in his tone of voice. ‘So what was the problem?’
‘The terror of it. We did escape largely unhurt on that occasion, if almost suffocated and blinded by the stink of gas,’ Cathie said, feeling slightly let down by his lack of sympathy. Not least by the dreadful fact that in the end her lovely sister had not survived, of which he was fully aware.
A memory she preferred to keep blocked out suddenly resounded in her head with startling clarity, as if it had taken place only yesterday. It was during the Christmas Blitz in 1940 that their home in Duke Street had been bombed. The three of them had been rushing to the nearest air raid shelter when her foolish mother had suddenly ordered Cathie to go back and collect some warm blankets.
‘What? Are you mad? There are bombs falling all around.’
‘Then don’t just stand there arguing, get on with it afore it’s too late. It’s that cold we’ll all freeze to death if you don’t look sharp.’
Cathie ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the street, her boots clattering on the cobbles. Fear pounded against her ribs, as she felt desperately anxious to carry out the task as quickly as possible and escape back to the shelter. But speed proved to be counter-productive. Had she walked at a sensible pace, all might have been well. Instead, the moment she raced in through the front door, the house was hit.
She found herself suspended in mid-air for several long moments before walls and ceilings began to fall in upon her from all directions. It felt as if the world itself was collapsing. Cathie had never known such terror in her entire life. The dust and stink of smoke was suffocating, as she lay buried beneath the debris for what felt like days, but was probably only a few hours. She fought to move her limbs and crawl out of the mire but failed completely, a strange heat escalating through her. Was she about to be burned alive?
She could hear crying, yelling, screaming, not realising it was her own voice. After that she must have passed out, as a darkness overwhelmed her. She finally woke to hear someone calling, ‘Can anybody hear me? Is there anyone there?’
‘Yes!’ Cathie screamed. ‘I am. Please help me.’
She was badly cut and bruised, her dress scorched by the explosion, but at least alive. Others had been less fortunate. The sight that met Cathie’s eyes when she was lifted out and carried to a nearby ambulance would live with her for ever: faces burned, limbs missing, dreadful injuries among the walking wounded, and dismembered body parts scattered everywhere. It was an experience she would never forget. To this day, if she heard a crash of thunder, let alone a bomb going off, she would go running for cover into the pantry or wardrobe, but then suffer terribly from claustrophobia. She’d be riveted with fear just by the sound of the siren.
Blinking away the nightmare flash of memory, she offered a cautionary smile. ‘Now that the war is over we can at last look forward to a bright future.’
‘Whatever that might be,’ Alex growled. ‘And so long as it doesn’t take too much effort to achieve.’
He sounded somewhat dismissive and scathing, not at all the calm, well-mannered young man he used to be. Perhaps the war had badly affected him, after all. Perhaps physically he was reasonably well, but not mentally. Returning to Civvy Street and the shambles all around them couldn’t be easy, as Steve had tried to explain to her.
Cathie was filled with sympathy for his anguish. She too had grown increasingly devastated by the losses all around her, of bomb craters and fires leaping up everywhere, shops she’d once loved reduced to ashes, friends fleeing to the country to escape the city, and wounded men walking the streets. Anything even vaguely disturbing upset her greatly. Speaking of these experiences was quite beyond her, although she prayed that one day she might find the courage to share her pain with Alex. And he might share his with her. That way, they might both begin to recover.
Feeling a reluctance to make life even more difficult for him right now, since he’d been home for such a short time and this was their first evening out together, Cathie decided this was certainly not the moment to mention baby Heather.
‘So you’re this Alexander Ryman I’ve heard so much about,’ Rona said, casting her shimmering blue-eyed gaze over him with open curiosity. ‘Never expected my daughter to find someone so tall or half so good-looking.’
Cathie winced, filled yet again with that far too familiar sense of rejection. ‘Actually, Alex found me,’ she said, trying to laugh the cutting remark away.
‘And what a treat that was,’ he agreed. ‘Which is why we went dancing tonight, to relive that wonderful moment. It’s a delight to meet you too, Mrs Morgan, as you are as beautiful as your daughter.’
‘If not more so,’ Rona said with a little swivel of her shapely hips as she stood before him in her too-tight, too-short skirt and flimsy blouse through which her cleavage was clearly visible.
He seemed to find this amusing and, reaching out, gave her hand a lingering shake of apology. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to accept your invitation for lunch the other day. I’m sure I would have enjoyed your cooking enormously. Perhaps another time?’
‘We call it dinner, not lunch. But you’re very welcome to come whenever you like, chuck,’ Rona said, making no mention of the fact that she did not actually do any of the cooking.
‘Thank you, I shall be delighted to accept, hopefully one day soon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I will say goodnight.’ Putting his arms about Cathie, he gave her a quick hug. ‘You will meet my parents soon, sweetie, when you come to spend Christmas with us.’
‘Oh, but …’
‘No buts. It’s long past time you did meet them, and I can think of no better occasion. After that, we can start planning the wedding.’
Stunned into silence, Cathie simply nodded and hugged him back.
Rona flickered her neatly trimmed eyebrows and gave him a teasing wink as he smiled at her from over her daughter’s shoulder. Maybe for once the girl had brought home someone of interest.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4d91d57d-c831-5c44-a891-b7caa31589f0)
How I wish I’d followed your advice, Davina, and written to Alex before he arrived. It was a bad mistake to leave it so long, as it’s now more difficult than ever. Delighted as I am to receive the invitation to spend Christmas with him and his family, how can I possibly accept because of baby Heather?’ Cathie said, sharing the problem she now faced with her friends. ‘Yet if I refuse, it will look as if I’ve no wish to spend the day with his family, and it’s long past time I met them.’
They were enjoying one of their customary snacks together, this time midweek as neither she nor Brenda had any job to go to. The sound of carol singing by the Salvation Army filled the frosty air, as Cathie slowly sipped her bowl of hot vegetable soup. She was taking her time over it, knowing it might be the most food she would get to eat that day. How she would manage to keep the pantry stocked in the coming weeks really didn’t bear thinking about. She would be entirely dependent upon her mother’s wages to feed them, a dismaying prospect. Rona hadn’t a clue about the cost of anything, the difficulties of shortages, or even how rationing worked, as she’d always left all of such domestic matters to her daughters.
Now even Christmas, which she’d been so looking forward to, was turning into a nightmare. It meant that all her efforts to prepare the best Christmas ever for Alex had been entirely in vain.
‘I’d offer to help only I’ve agreed to spend the holiday season with my late husband’s family,’ Brenda said, pulling her face as if this gave her little pleasure.
‘I could mind baby Heather for you, if you like,’ Davina offered, taking her entirely by surprise.
Cathie blinked. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly. I’m not an expert on baby care, but this is a time of goodwill, after all, so why shouldn’t I help?’ she said with a smile that seemed much warmer than usual.
How could she decline such an offer? It was too good to refuse, even though this was not at all what Cathie had planned. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to have a practice this evening as I need to attend the concert Steve and I have helped to organise? The Co-operative Society is very much involved with local charities, holding dances, whist drives, sports events and children’s parties, with which I’m always happy to help. I was going to tuck Heather into a back room, but it would be much better if you came and sat with her at home. My mother will be out on the razzle, of course, as usual. Never thinks to offer any assistance at all.’
‘No problem, I’d love to. Then if you’re happy with my services, I shall be equally happy to babysit for you on Christmas Day.’
‘That’s very generous of you,’ Brenda said with a frown, almost as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing either. ‘Have you no other plans? You aren’t going home to spend time with your own family?’
‘Not just now, no.’ When she said no more, Cathie rushed in with her thanks.
‘That would be great! So kind of you, thank you, Davina.’ She could hardly believe her good luck on both counts.
They agreed a time for Davina to arrive that evening, early enough for her to be shown how to change a nappy, and feed baby Heather her bottle before putting her to bed.
In fact she very kindly came early and carefully went through the routine of baby care, which worked wonderfully. Satisfied that all was well, and with little Heather tucked up in her cot and her friend reading a magazine by the fire, Cathie put on her hat and coat and went off to meet Steve, arriving in good time to help him get everything ready before starting to collect tickets at the door.
It was just as well she hadn’t brought baby Heather with her as it proved to be an incredibly busy evening. Cathie was rushing about all over the place, helping people backstage with their dresses and make-up, checking that props were in the right place, and controlling the children as they waited for their turn to perform in the school choir. She also sold programmes, helped the ladies of the Women’s Institute to serve the tea during the interval, and generally scurried about doing all manner of tasks. She even found herself helping the lighting technician resolve a problem with the sound system when for some reason it failed.
‘You’ve improved your talents considerably,’ Steve said in surprise, not sounding half as mocking as he might once have done when they were young kids.
‘I’m certainly not the useless lump you used to accuse me of being,’ she retorted. ‘Thanks to my war efforts.’
‘Well, you couldn’t be any worse,’ he said with a laugh, and she scowled at him. Perhaps at heart Steve wasn’t quite as kind and caring as he appeared at first sight, and still a bit thoughtless at times, although his charity work deserved considerable admiration.
The Christmas concert was a great success, with various locals volunteering to do a turn. These included a butcher who performed some magic tricks, much to everyone’s astonishment and delight; a group of acrobats who usually worked at Belle Vue, and two young women shop assistants who sang ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ and most appropriately ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’, which brought forth cheers all round. They finished their performance by singing ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, with which everyone in the audience joined in, save for Cathie. Cathie was in tears, as she knew it had been sung by Judy Garland in Meet Me in St Louis, the film Sal had gone to see on the day of her fatal accident. How unfair life was.
Recognising her distress, Steve gave her shoulder a little squeeze. Brushing the tears from her eyes Cathie took a deep breath to calm herself. She really must be brave, for little Heather’s sake, she reminded herself, however difficult that might be.
As a prelude to Christmas a choir from the local chapel sang the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ from Handle’s Messiah. There wasn’t a textile town in all of Lancashire and Yorkshire that didn’t revel in the glorious sound of this old favourite. After which, the concert concluded with the pianist playing a medley of carols, from ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ to ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’, accompanied by both the school and chapel choir singing in perfect harmony. This brought forth a rousing applause and a merry singalong from the audience.
‘What a wonderful concert that was,’ she told Steve as they said goodnight at the door, having quickly stacked chairs, swept the floor and generally tidied up, with stalwart help from the WI ladies.
‘I couldn’t have managed half so well without you,’ he said with a grateful grin. ‘Particularly keeping those kids happy and stopping their fights and arguments.’ They chuckled together as they recalled some of the disputes she’d resolved, and the songs and poems the school children had performed individually.
‘Some of them were so talented they put me to shame.’
‘What little stars they were. Anyway, thanks for helping to organise the concert. It’s been great fun.’
‘Happy to do so. I enjoyed myself enormously. Any time you have an event on, just let me know,’ she said, pecking his cheek with a quick kiss before turning to leave.
It was then that she saw Alex, standing to attention before them, his brow puckered into a grim frown. ‘Alex, goodness, I’d no idea you intended to come tonight.’ His sudden appearance was startling, and he looked so stern and regimented that Cathie thought for a moment Steve might be about to click his heels together and salute.
‘I can see you weren’t expecting me,’ he remarked icily.
Noting the scowl of jealousy on his face, Cathie hurried to give him a kiss. ‘It’s lovely to see you, darling. You should have told me you were coming. This is Steve Allenby, by the way, who works at the Co-op and organised this event. It has raised a large sum of money for our returning heroes.’
‘Cathie worked hard too, bless her,’ Steve said with a smile, as he stretched out a hand for Alex to shake.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he turned to address his fiancée in a firm tone of voice. ‘I’ve come to see you safely home, not watch this children’s concert.’
‘Oh, of course, how kind of you. Well, goodnight Steve.’ Hooking her arm into his, she allowed Alex to lead her out into the cold dark night.
The incident brought rather a sad feel to the end of what had been a joyous evening. But when they reached the corner of her street Alex pulled her into his arms and proceeded to kiss her with such vigour, any feeling of resentment quickly dissolved as she responded with equal passion. It was almost a compliment that a perfectly boring friendship with Steve had sparked jealousy in him. Alex’s increasing fervour did cause her some alarm when he slid his hand down her thigh to lift her skirt and began to fondle her private parts. She almost slapped his hand away, feeling a sudden urge to protest that he was going too far, but then lost the courage as desire flowered within her. Hadn’t he made it very clear that he wished to enjoy life again? Who was she to deny him a little pleasure, and after all these years apart?
Besides, didn’t his need for her prove how very much he loved her?
On Christmas Eve, Cathie went through the ritual of hanging up the baby’s Christmas stocking, and setting out a plate of mince tarts and a small glass of sherry for Santa Claus, even though little Heather hadn’t the first idea what was going on. When Christmas Day finally dawned, the little girl instantly fell in love with the soft little teddy bear she found poking out of the stocking. What a joy the child was, so happy and giggly, and so easy to love. She stood holding tight to a chair as she dangled the bear with one hand. Then pulling it to her chest, gave it a hug as she took her first step, wobbled madly for a moment and then plonked down on her bottom. Cathie laughed and clapped with delight. She’d be walking soon.
‘This was your mummy’s teddy when she was a little girl. He’s called Billy. I’m so glad you like him too,’ she said to the bright-eyed child, who instantly planted a kiss on the stuffed bear’s nose, then said, ‘B-b-b,’ as if making an effort to start practising his name.
They had a fun time playing with her new toys – some wooden bricks and a little postbox with plastic letters to fit in. Later in the morning Cathie reluctantly handed Heather over to Davina. She hated the idea of them spending Christmas apart. Oh, how she wished she’d mentioned the baby before now, then she wouldn’t have needed to leave her. But everything had seemed much more complicated than she’d expected, or else she was still very much the coward Steve remembered. Cathie was quite certain everything would have been different had she found the courage to do the right thing. Then Alex would have invited Heather. Now it was too late. It certainly wouldn’t be appropriate to mention the subject today, but once Christmas was over Cathie fully intended to explain everything.
‘So your mother didn’t rise to the occasion then?’ Davina asked, with a wry smile. She rocked the pram a little and then smiled down at the baby, who was sitting up straight and proud, cuddling the bear in her arms.
‘I’m afraid not.’
Rona had already gone off to The Donkey, her favourite pub on Water Street, to celebrate Christmas Day with her friends. Having witnessed Alex’s invitation at first hand, she’d quickly made it very clear that the baby was not her responsibility. ‘The child needs a proper mother, not a young girl like yourself who can’t even offer her a father.’
‘I’m about to be married so I will be able to offer her one soon. I realise I should have told Alex about Heather long before now. You were wrong to advise me against doing that, Mam. But couldn’t you just for once stand in for me, if only for a few hours. It is the season of goodwill.’
Rona had been sitting at her dressing table applying rouge and lipstick with her usual diligence, then fluffed up her victory roll hairstyle, scarcely listening to a word Cathie said, as her next remark proved. ‘Tommy has invited me to his house for dinner. I gave him the goose we bought, and a few of the trimmings so as not to waste them.’
‘You did what? You’d no right to do that, Mam. You didn’t even buy that food, I did, and could have cooked it for dinner tomorrow, on Boxing Day.’
Rona shrugged. ‘You never said you intended to do that. Anyway, it’s too late, it’s gone. No doubt the goose is already in Tommy’s oven. He’s quite a good cook, actually.’
Now, as Cathie met Davina’s sympathetic gaze with anguish in her own, Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve even lost the food I bought for Christmas, but there’s really no arguing with Rona. She does exactly as she pleases, with no thought for anyone but herself.’
‘Maybe you should tell Alex today about the child. It is, as you rightly pointed out to your mother, the season of goodwill, so this could be your best opportunity.’
‘I don’t think it would be quite appropriate on the day I meet his parents for the first time.’
‘They need to know some time, so why not now?’
Cathie thought about this piece of advice as she made her way past St John’s Church. Once she had met his parents and done the polite thing by chatting to them and enjoying the Christmas meal they offered, she hoped there might come a moment during the course of the afternoon when she and Alex would be alone. That would hopefully give her the opportunity she needed to explain her plan for adoption. What should she say? How could she put it? Are you willing to accept my late sister’s child as your own? Perhaps that was a bit too blunt. And how could she begin to explain why she had kept silent for so long on the subject? Was it really just because she had no wish to speak of Sal’s death, or more from a fear of losing him?
Whatever the reason, she must remind Alex how many orphaned children there were now, that too many were growing up without fathers. She had no wish for little Heather to feel abandoned when she had a loving aunt to care for her. Perhaps she should have brought the baby with her, after all. Surely once he met Heather all these worries would be resolved. Although how Alex’s parents would react was much more of an unknown factor.
At least little Heather was safe and happily playing with Davina, so she’d hopefully enjoy Christmas Day, even without her aunt. Cathie had agreed to collect her later in the afternoon, around four o’clock. Tomorrow she’d make it up to the child by devoting the entire day to her.
Arriving at the door of a fine Georgian, three-storeyed terraced house bearing the name Doctor Victor Ryman written on a plaque fixed to the wall, Cathie was suddenly beset with the urge to turn on her heels and run back home. Instead, she took a deep breath to gather her courage and lifted the brass knocker. It looked so bright and shiny the maid had no doubt polished it that very morning. Cathie smiled to herself as it crossed her mind that she would probably have more success applying for such a job rather than the role of wife to a doctor’s son. Giving the knocker a gentle bang, she almost hoped that no one would hear it.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_a463d9a1-8c09-5fd1-8254-a3eb5ac17006)
If Cathie had been hoping to see jolly faces in funny hats, hear the sound of carols being sung or played on a piano, or even laughter resonating through the house as this was Christmas Day, she was instantly disappointed. There wasn’t even any sign of Christmas decorations, save for a stately tree set in a corner of the large, spacious hall, sparingly bedecked with baubles. Nor was Alex waiting there to welcome her. The door was opened by an elderly manservant, who took her coat and hat before leading her upstairs to the drawing room. Cathie trembled with nerves. This was not at all how she’d hoped to spend Christmas, nor had she imagined that Alex’s home would be so grand. How naïve of her to assume he would be happy to spend it at her own humble abode.
As she entered, the entire family, seated on leather armchairs set around a stunningly beautiful panelled room, all turned to gaze upon her in silence. No one spoke, or offered the compliments of the season. Was her Christmas rose dress too garish? Did it not suit her strawberry blonde curls, which suddenly seemed to be falling over her flushed cheeks in a scraggy mess, making Cathie feel even more uncomfortable? A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, seeming to freeze the scene in its bright light, which even the flames from the coal fire burning in the stately fireplace failed to warm. Then, springing from his chair by the window, Alex strode over to put an arm about her shoulders and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Cathie smiled up at him, sighing with relief.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she murmured.
‘And to you, sweetheart. Come and meet my folks.’
Leading her by the hand around the room rather like a dog on a lead, he introduced her, one by one, to his family, a process she found totally confusing. There were so many of them that she instantly forgot every name and relationship the instant it was given. She had no difficulty, however, remembering his stern-faced father. Doctor Victor Ryman appeared quite old, stockily built, and really rather grand, as Brenda had told her he was. The very arrogance of his stance filled her with a sense of foreboding. He offered no compliments of the season either, or even a welcoming smile, merely muttered good day through clenched teeth, giving her a brief nod.
Alex’s mother, Dorothy, a tall elegant lady, smiled somewhat coldly as she offered Cathie a slender hand sparkling with jewelled rings and bracelets. And his sister, Thelma, a perfect beauty with a sheath of glossy black hair that fell upon her bare shoulders, was wearing the kind of long stylish gown one would only expect to see worn by Rita Hayworth in such films as Cover Girl.
‘It looks as if your family have lived here for generations,’ Cathie politely remarked, admiring the range of portraits depicting Alex’s ancestors that were hung upon the silk-covered walls. She felt utterly overwhelmed and intimidated by the apparent high status of his family. What kind of home had she stepped into?
‘Not really, we’ve moved about quite a lot, and the portraits come with us wherever we go, don’t they, Pa?’ his sister said, glancing with a shrug and a smile at her father.
‘Indeed, even to India,’ he agreed. ‘They are our heritage, which confirm who we are.’
Did she have such a thing as heritage, whatever that might mean exactly? Cathie wondered. It seemed highly unlikely as her mother rarely spoke of her own family, and they tended to get through life by taking one day at a time.
‘I believe you live close to Potato Wharf, Miss Morgan?’
‘Cathie, please.’ How formal everyone sounded. ‘We live near the River Medlock actually, but in that general area, yes,’ she agreed, not wishing to be too specific considering the sad state of their street right now.
‘Poor you, so glad I wasn’t born round here.’
Her brother gave a hollow laugh, which to Cathie’s ears sounded faintly embarrassed. ‘It’s not a bad thing to be Manchester-born.’
‘How can you say that when you were born in Jaipur, as were the rest of us while Pa was working for the Rajah out there? Of all the wonderful places we’ve lived, I ask myself daily how on earth we ended up living in this dreadful city.’
‘Manchester is a wonderful city,’ Cathie bravely stated. ‘Or was before the war destroyed so much of it. As is Castlefield.’
‘What a silly name,’ Thelma retorted. ‘I don’t see any sign of a castle.’
‘I think it had something to do with the Romans who once occupied this area, so maybe they had a castle or a fort of some sort. It used to be called Castle-in-the-Field back in medieval times when even then Manchester was a famous trading port, or so my father told me. But over time the name of this district was shortened to Castlefield. I’m quite proud to be a Mancunian, actually.’
‘Brave of you to take such a stand, dear, although you didn’t have any choice on where you were born, so you have my sympathy.’ Thelma flicked her winged brows in caustic amusement before graciously moving back to her seat, leaving a cloud of Chanel perfume in her wake.
Cathie almost wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
The atmosphere over lunch was equally chilly and fraught with tension, almost as bad as the cold sleet now slapping against the stained glass windows. There were various aunts, uncles and cousins seated around the large table. Cathie smiled vaguely at everyone, but no one smiled back, or even bothered to speak to her save for his Aunt Mary, a wizened old woman with grey hair who prattled on at length about a book, For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway, which she happened to be reading. Even Alex seemed sunk in some private world.
Cathie attempted to fill the frozen silence by mentioning the success of the charity concert the other night.
‘Thanks to the Co-op we managed to raise a great deal of money for our returning heroes,’ she told Doctor Ryman, who was seated opposite her, his wife by his side. Neither responded, offering not a word of congratulations.
Throughout the meal his mother, Dorothy, frequently cast curious glances in Cathie’s direction while conversing quietly with her husband. Were they discussing her? They certainly seemed to be examining her in excruciating detail. Cathie felt as if she were on show in a shop window, the entire family watching the way she lifted her glass, held her knife and fork, and chewed upon her food. At one point, she slid a hand beneath the table to clasp Alex’s knee, needing the reassurance of his presence beside her. Even that brought little response beyond a small sideways twist of a smile.
Striving not to appear offended at being so ignored, Cathie concentrated on eating the Christmas turkey. ‘This is so tender,’ she said at last, unable to bear the awkward silence any longer. ‘We were going to have goose, unfortunately …’ She stopped in her tracks, not wishing to explain how her selfish mother had given it away, despite the curious glances directed her way.
‘What? You didn’t know how to cook it?’ Thelma asked with a laugh.
Cathie’s cheeks flushed bright red. ‘Well, yes, actually, I did, although my cooking is nowhere near as good as yours, Mrs Ryman.’
‘Then perhaps you should take lessons from the WVS,’ Dorothy remarked coolly. ‘Particularly if you are soon to be married.’
‘Oh, I’d never thought of that. Not that I could afford to, nor have I the time.’
His mother gave a wintry sort of smile that did not reach her cloudy grey eyes. ‘Such classes are free. Besides, you have all the time in the world to make your husband happy. That will be your job from now on, so long as you feel up to the task, that is.’
Cathie felt a strong urge to dispute this remark, but fortunately her sense of caution won out and she kept silent. The conversation around the table again reverted to personal matters, which she allowed to drift over her head, making no attempt to listen, let alone join in. Alex was likewise ignoring her, exchanging a few words with his father. Perhaps, she thought, when lunch was over, there would be the opportunity for them to be alone at last and have time to talk. Till then, she’d button her lip and say nothing more.
But his mother’s next question, directed specifically at her, changed everything. ‘I perfectly understand why a young girl such as yourself would be eager to quickly tie the knot, but you need to remember that my son has only just returned from the war, so must be allowed some time to recover before you rush him down the aisle.’
Cathie let out a little gasp. ‘I wasn’t planning on doing any such thing.’ The joy she’d felt in anticipation of Alex’s homecoming, and their wedding, had now quite deserted her. ‘We haven’t even fixed a date yet, have we, Alex?’ she said, turning to him for confirmation.
‘It’s none of your business, Ma. We’ll marry when we choose,’ he announced firmly.
‘Don’t speak to your mother in that manner,’ ordered his father. ‘She is only showing concern for you.’
‘I don’t need her concern. I’m perfectly well. No injuries, no loss of limb, not blind or deaf. Nor am I any longer the young boy I was when I joined the army back in ‘39, but a grown man who makes his own decisions in life.’
‘You are most certainly not the man you were, darling boy,’ she insisted. ‘You don’t even seem happy to be home, behaving ridiculously tetchy and bad-tempered one minute, and sunk into silent gloom the next.’
‘You won’t even tell us where you’ve been stationed, or what you’ve been up to these last years,’ his father growled. ‘Nothing about your role or rank in the army, let alone what you hope to do in the future.’
‘We were shelled, bombed, friends killed, intimidated and attacked by our enemies. Why would I wish to speak of any of that?’ Alex snapped.
‘You could share some of your agony with us. It might help.’
‘I have friends who don’t care to remember painful times either,’ Cathie hastily put in, anxious to offer Alex her support.
‘Quite!’ he grumbled, slapping down his knife and fork and pushing aside his half-eaten meal, his tone harsh with anger.
Dorothy cast Cathie a furious glare, as if the fault were hers that he’d abandoned his dinner, before turning with a gentle smile back to her son. ‘Then it’s even more important for you to take time to rest and recuperate. Landing yourself with the hassle of organising a wedding and finding a home as well as a new job is not a good idea right now. It’s not as if this girl is in the family way, which would be the only reason to rush headlong into marriage. At least I assume that to be the case?’ she caustically remarked.
Shocked by the question, and feeling the food clog her throat, Cathie took a quick sip of water to stop herself from choking, an attack of nerves making her shake. Was this the moment to reveal all? She was struggling to find the rights words to explain her position when the butler, who had quietly entered the dining room, whispered something in Mrs Ryman’s ear. The woman seemed to freeze as her narrowed eyes glowered at Cathie with a flint-eyed glare.
‘There’s someone at the door asking for you. She has apparently brought your baby in a pram, and the child is crying for her mummy!’
All around the table knives and forks dropped, conversation halted and every pair of eyes fell upon her like daggers.
‘Good God,’ Alex said. ‘You have a child? So who’s the damned father? It certainly isn’t me?’
They were seated in the conservatory, Cathie quietly sobbing into her handkerchief. ‘I know I should have told you before now, Alex. I truly meant to. I tried on numerous occasions to summon up the courage to mention it in a letter, but was always put off by my mother. She insisted you had enough to contend with fighting a war. Also, I was still grieving, and couldn’t bear to keep going over Sal’s death.’
‘Your reasons for keeping it a secret are much more basic than that,’ he snarled. ‘You were obviously reluctant to admit that you’d had a baby.’
Alex was striding back and forth, fists clenched, fury etched upon his handsome face. Cathie felt as if he were a commanding officer and she was one of his men, whom he was reprimanding for some alleged misconduct. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she whispered, ‘You aren’t listening to me, Alex. I’ve just explained that the child is my niece.’
His glance was scathing. ‘Do you have proof of that fact?’
‘Such as?’
‘A birth certificate.’
Cathie shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Sal hadn’t got around to registering the birth before she was killed.’
‘How very convenient.’
‘Heather is most definitely the daughter of my sister Sally and her husband Tony, who, as you know, were both tragically killed. The poor child is an orphan and I’m the only relative she has left in the world, save for her useless grandmother. I love her, and rather hoped you would come to adore her too. Look at what a sweetie she is.’
Watching her aunt weep had earlier brought a rather sad expression to the baby’s round face. Now Heather was smiling as she sat happily on Cathie’s lap, rubbing her little head into her neck, obviously feeling the need for a loving cuddle. How Cathie longed for Alex to take her into his arms and offer the same sort of comfort, to somehow overcome this distance growing between them.
‘That child’s behaviour is appalling. I’ve never seen such a fusspot. She seems to be a right little madam.’
‘Heather was upset, that’s all.’ It was true the baby had been screaming and kicking quite hysterically, in something of a tantrum when Cathie had dashed to the door. Davina had looked equally distressed. Holding the teddy bear in her hand, her friend had explained how the baby had refused to eat a thing, and wouldn’t stop crying.
‘I swear that I would not have brought her to you otherwise. I know you didn’t want Alex to know about the child yet,’ she said, adopting a woeful expression.
Only too aware that he stood hovering close behind her, a shocked expression on his face, and must surely have heard this remark, Cathie had hastily gathered the child in her arms and offered reassurance to Davina. ‘Don’t worry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left her.’ She paid little attention to the smile of satisfaction on her friend’s face as she’d cuddled and kissed the baby’s hot head. But she was deeply aware of the tension bristling within Alex, and still was as her efforts to explain the situation to him did not seem to be working.
Determined to do right by her late sister and the baby she already loved as if she really were her own, Cathie tried again. ‘You need to understand, Alex, that because of the neglect I suffered as a child myself I wish to do my best for little Heather by adopting her. I did hope that you would agree.’
‘You think I’m some sort of idiot that I’d believe such tripe? How many times have women pretended to adopt a long lost cousin or niece? The child might call them aunt in public, but everyone knows she’s really the mother. Or else she gets her own mother to take the child on and makes out the child is her sister. Why don’t you ask Rona to do that?’
Cathie almost laughed out loud. ‘Absolutely not!’ she spluttered. ‘Not all women are natural mothers, and mine most certainly isn’t. Besides, I’ve just explained who Heather is. Why won’t you believe me?’
He glared at her, lips curling with disgust. ‘Because I know when I’m being lied to. Were this child really your niece then someone else could easily adopt her. Someone who can offer the child a proper home and a father. Why should it be you, unless the child really is yours?’
Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve already told you that Sal and I were very close, so I feel that I owe it to my late sister’s memory to take good care of her baby.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! I assure you that I’ve no intention of taking on another man’s child. Why would I? It’s that Steve fellow, isn’t it?’ he shouted, wagging a furious finger in her face. ‘I saw you with him the other night, giving him a kiss. You could have told me all about this child then.’
Devastation hit her that Alex should imagine for one moment that she could love anyone but him, let alone engage in an affair. ‘That’s not true, Alex! Steve and I are just old friends, nothing more and never have been. We don’t even get on terribly well, constantly falling out. And that was simply a thank you peck on the cheek for all the work he’d done. I’d been helping him run that charity event, as you know full well.’
‘Don’t take me for a damn fool,’ he shouted, in the kind of dismissively stern voice that denied argument. ‘Who else would it be, if not him? Some Yank perhaps? You did say when we were at the Ritz that there were plenty stationed near Manchester, and who attended the dances, so that’s a definite possibility.’
‘I also made it very plain that I was not involved with them in any way.’
He shrugged. ‘Whoever the father is, like many other young women parted from their man by this dratted war, you’ve behaved like an absolute slut and betrayed me. Not even bothering to send me a “Dear John” letter. My mother was right. This is the reason you wished to rush me into marriage, to find a father for your child.’
Cathie felt herself start to shake, with anger now rather than nerves. Why wouldn’t he believe her, or even listen to a word she said? ‘I’m no slut! And it was you who said you were in a hurry to marry, the moment we met at the station. I didn’t at all mind waiting a little while, as it’s a job I’m most urgently in need of. You weren’t very sympathetic about that either, saying I wouldn’t even need one now we were about to marry.’
‘Well, I was wrong there. We aren’t going to be married, so it will indeed be necessary for you to find yourself employment fairly quickly, so that you can afford to feed this bastard child of yours.’
At which point Cathie stormed out of the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_dd6b3bd8-cc5f-57d9-ad3b-5cb4a0b1eff6)
Cathie felt utterly devastated as she poured her heart out to Brenda as they strolled around the market a week later, Davina absent for once. She’d thought of Alex as the love of her life, and believed that he felt the same way about her. Yet he was convinced she’d betrayed and lied to him. ‘All these years of waiting and praying for his safe return, and now he’s tossed me aside as if I were some sort of harlot. Why won’t he believe that little Heather is my niece? Nor has he offered sympathy for the loss of Sal, not even in any of his letters let alone in person.’
‘It sounds very much as if he’s turning his back on reality,’ her friend quietly remarked.
‘I can fully understand why Alex would have no wish to speak of his own traumas, whatever they might be, but why is he so dismissive of my own?’
Had he been a touch more sympathetic she might have shared her own horror story with him.
‘Sometimes, the only way of coping is to “forget”,’ Brenda was saying. ‘To shut the horrors from your mind, just as everyone else who has suffered in this war does.’
‘I appreciate what you’re saying, and you know that I have first hand experience of grief as a result of this war, and other traumas too. I agree that locking away painful memories does often feel like the best way of dealing with the problem. But, as you’ve told me many times in the past, Brenda, sometimes talking about these issues can help, so why won’t he do that? Or properly listen to mine?’
‘He’s rather like Davina in that respect. Who knows what happened to that husband of hers? She won’t even tell us his name. I can talk endlessly about my beloved Jack to anyone willing to listen, if not about the manner of his death. Isn’t that how it should be?’
‘Oh yes, I’m happy to speak of Sal’s love of Christmas, of movies and singing, but not her accident. I prefer to remember her in life, not the manner of her death. With all the hardships I’ve had to face, and being forced to accept the wartime attitude of “we can take it”, it was the prospect of Alex’s homecoming that has kept me going.’
Brenda nodded, her round face filled with compassion. ‘The problem is that despite the war being over, things seem to be getting worse, not better, which is hard for ex-servicemen, for all of us. Peace is not bringing the end to the misery that everyone hoped it would. There’s a feeling of anticlimax, as if the bright blue, sun-filled sky has clouded over again, leaving a feeling of uncertainty about the future. A grey chill seems to hang over everything.’
‘Oh, you’re so right,’ Cathie said, pausing to haggle over the price of a rather poor selection of fruit and vegetables on one of the stalls. She finally added two tomatoes, a small turnip and a few potatoes to her bag. ‘There are still too many shortages, queues are even longer as rationing continues and austerity beckons. We barely have enough money to buy coal to keep a paltry little fire burning in the grate, assuming we can find any to buy. We’ve burned all sorts of stuff over the years, including stools and old chairs in order to keep warm.’
Brenda chuckled. ‘I burned the clothes prop once, feeding it in an inch or two at a time.’
‘But no longer can anyone say: “Don’t you know there’s a war on?”’
Both girls were laughing now as they recalled the number of times this mantra had been repeated over the years. ‘Making ends meet is not easy, and bartering still very evident, if you have something to barter with,’ Brenda agreed. ‘I reckon only black marketeers are making any money.’
‘So what happens now? How can I convince Alex that I’m innocent of this charge of having an affair?’ Cathie asked, bleakness descending upon her once more. She valued Brenda’s friendship greatly, but when suffering traumas in the past Sal had been the one she’d turned to for comfort. Sadly, having lost her lovely sister, to now lose Alex made Cathie feel more alone than ever, and everything so much harder to deal with. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘How do I face life without him?’
‘With courage, darling, a skill you’ve never been short of, so have faith in yourself and the future you can create for this little one.’
Cathie smiled through her tears as she watched little Heather happily bobbing up and down in her pram, gazing about her with bright-eyed interest. ‘Thanks, but being a little jealous is one thing, accusing me of sleeping with another man, quite another.’
‘He is fond of you though. Steve, I mean. He always has been.’
‘Don’t talk daft. The pair of us were for ever at odds, and the number of tricks he’s played on me over the years doesn’t bear thinking of. He’d hide my favourite doll, set off bangers and crackers to scare me on bonfire night, and make me run round and round a gravestone then put my ear to it to listen to the dead talking. Which was no doubt his own voice speaking to me, which I didn’t realise, idiot that I was. There’s nothing Steve Allenby likes more than to stir up trouble, but we’ve done nothing wrong. I simply gave him a peck on the cheek to thank him for his charity work. Nothing more than that, I swear it. But yes, I should have come clean from the start about wanting to keep Sal’s baby.’
‘That would have been difficult while Alex was away fighting, and whenever you chose to tell him could easily have brought forth this same reaction. But you need to consider if he’ll also take his anger out on Steve.’
‘Oh, my goodness, I never thought of that. Alex is a bit reckless and unstable in his thinking at the moment, probably because of this dratted war, and poor Steve has enough problems to deal with.’ She’d done her best, as a friend, despite their constant disputes, to help him to deal with his traumas. Cathie really had no wish for her old friend to suffer even more as a result of some stupid assumption on Alex’s part. ‘Sorry, but I must go and warn him, right away.’
Quickly saying her goodbyes, Cathie dashed off, intending to call in upon Steve at the Co-op.
‘You’ve done the right thing, in dropping that silly girl,’ Alex’s mother assured her son, patting his cheek as if he were a five-year-old. ‘She was clearly taking advantage of your offer to get herself out of a hole of her own making. How dare she cheat on you! The chit obviously had no idea how fortunate she was to find such a fine young man as yourself. Who is this other fellow, anyway?’
‘An old friend of many years, apparently,’ Alex growled, making no mention of the fact that he’d lost count of the number of times he too had cheated on Cathie over these last few years. Leave wasn’t easy to come by out in the desert, but whenever he was granted any he would go to Cairo and spend his money on booze and brothels to offset his boredom.
He’d become so accustomed to that way of life, he’d done the same thing when he first returned home and was stationed near Salisbury. That was where he met a certain young lady. She was so beautiful that he soon become entirely besotted with her. The fact she was a ‘good-time girl’, or in reality probably a prostitute, didn’t trouble him in the slightest. Keeping servicemen happy was her role in life, and it was perfectly acceptable for them to befriend girls when on leave. However, complete fidelity was naturally expected from wives and sweethearts. Ordinary women should be loyal to their man. That was their job, so Cathie had no right to betray him. But perhaps all women were whores at heart. ‘May he rot in hell for stealing my girl,’ he growled.
‘I should think you are better off without her, darling. Having an illegitimate child is almost as bad as prostitution. Quite shameful and immoral, and would bring disgrace to our family.’
‘So what are your plans for the future?’ his father put in, in that authoritative tone of voice that always set Alex’s teeth on edge. ‘You must have acquired some skills while serving abroad, what were they exactly? Hopefully they will help you to find a new job, as you never stayed in one longer than five minutes when you were a lad.’
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Freda Lightfoot
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 17.04.2024
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О книге: 1945. Finally, peace has been declared. Cathie hardly dares believe that Alex, the fiancé she has not seen for nearly two years, is coming home. And, finally, life can begin again for Cathie and the orphaned baby in her care.But the Alex who returns is not the kind, loving man Cathie remembers. He’s cold, selfish, sometimes even frightening. So Cathie has a choice: stand by him, and try to contain his violent temper? Or hold her tiny baby close…and run from the man she has yearned for.Home is Where the Heart Is is a heart-wrenchingly, poignant new saga from Freda Lightfoot, set in the aftermath of World War II.