For Better For Worse (13 page)

‘It would certainly be one in the eye for Henry,’ said Kaye, and they both laughed. ‘That girl Henry was living with looked so young, didn’t she? I felt a bit sorry for her.’

Sarah nodded. ‘And that father of hers looked like a real tartar.’

*

Henry was livid. This should never have happened. How could he have miscalculated so badly? He knew Kaye was an intelligent woman, but he never dreamed she would follow him to the ends of the earth. She must have discovered where Sarah and the girls were living, but how on earth had she traced him to Horsham? He’d been so bloody careful. He should have moved right away. Perhaps if he’d gone to Leeds or Wales or somewhere like that it would have made it harder for her to come back into his life. He’d tried to blame Sarah and Kaye for the mess he was in but the jury didn’t buy his story. The only bit of satisfaction he had was seeing that pompous ass Mitchell in the gallery. He almost wished he’d committed murder just for the satisfaction of seeing the look of affronted anger on his face.

When the judge sent him down they’d made him wait in the police cells, then he’d been transferred to Winchester. Why on earth they didn’t leave him in Lewes he couldn’t begin to understand. They’d strip-searched him when he’d arrived and he’d been told to submit to a doctor’s examination. Full of indignation, he’d resisted until one of the prison officers had given him a clout on the side of his head and he’d caved in. Once he’d been kitted out with his prison garb, they’d marched him to his cell. It was little more than a box room, thirteen feet broad by seven deep, and nine feet high, with a rounded ceiling. The walls were painted mustard yellow, if you could call it that, with a dark green band about four feet from the floor. The floor was of shiny blackened bricks. On the left-hand side was a bucket toilet with a wooden seat and a packet of Izal toilet paper on the floor beside it. The barred window was close to the ceiling and in the middle of the end wall. The panes of glass were opaque with the exception of two which had been nailed up with board. Opposite the window was the narrow door through which he had come. He shivered. It was bloody cold.

There was a wooden bed with a mattress and bedding rolled up at one end. At a glance he could see that he had two grey blankets and one sheet. There was only one shelf, a quarter wedge of wood fixed to a corner on which he found a Bible. All his personal belongings had been left in his suitcase and locked away. The prison service had supplied him with a black hairbrush, a toothbrush, a tin mug and a bit of vile smelling soap. As soon as Henry walked in, the officer banged the door closed behind him and then looked at him through the spyhole before letting the cover fall. Henry froze as the sound of the key turning in the lock echoed through the cell and the full horror of his predicament burst into his mind. This was to be his home for the next six months.

*

‘Shall I take you to fetch your children?’ Kaye asked. They were on the outskirts of the town with less than a mile to go until they arrived at Sarah’s house.

Sarah hesitated. Jenny and Lu-Lu had never been in a car before. They would love it, but when she got to Vera’s she knew they wouldn’t be ready. Kaye would have to wait for them. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble and it’ll be a lot quicker for you,’ said Kaye.

‘That would be very kind of you.’

‘Not at all.’

When they pulled up outside her sister’s house, Kaye tooted the horn and a face appeared at the window. Vera’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

‘Whose car is that?’ she said, opening the door. The house smelled vaguely of cabbage and there were boxes in the hallway. Sarah had forgotten that Vera and Bill were moving to Lancing at the end of the week.

‘One of Henry’s wives,’ she said mischievously.

‘One of … Good God, how many has he got?’

‘Mummy, Mummy …’ Sarah’s children threw themselves into her arms and she kissed them fondly. ‘Have you been good?’

Having Kaye waiting for them in the car brought an element of haste. Sarah was grateful for that. It meant Vera had little time to do much probing, although when she was sure that Jenny wasn’t eavesdropping on their conversation, she told Vera that Henry had been sent to prison. ‘Please let’s keep this to ourselves,’ Sarah asked. ‘I don’t want Jenny upset.’

‘How long for?’ Vera wanted to know.

‘Six months.’

Vera tut-tutted disapprovingly. ‘A criminal. This is a first in the family. I don’t know what Bill is going to say about it.’

Sarah held her tongue. She longed to remind Vera that she was the victim here and it wasn’t her fault. Besides, who cared what bloody Bill thought about it? She gathered her children and their things and hurried them to Kaye’s car. As they clambered in, Kaye pinched the end of her cigarette and flicked the stub into the road.

‘It’s not fair,’ Carole grumbled. ‘I want to have a ride in the car too.’

‘Thanks Vera,’ said Sarah as she put Jenny in the back seat and walked to the passenger door with Lu-Lu in her arms. ‘I’ll settle up with you later.’

Jenny sat as good as gold, her bright eyes dancing with excitement. Sarah glanced over her shoulder and saw her stroking the leather seats when she wasn’t gazing wonderingly out of the window. Kaye asked her questions about school and Jenny answered politely.

‘My goldfish died,’ Jenny said eventually.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Kaye.

‘We buried him in the garden. You can see him if you like.’

‘I think Mrs Royale has to get home, darling,’ said Sarah.

‘Call me Auntie Kaye, please.’

‘I’m hungry, Mummy,’

‘Didn’t you have tea with your auntie?’ Kaye asked.

‘Auntie Vera said Mummy was coming soon,’ said Jenny. ‘She said Mummy would give us tea.’

Sarah bristled with anger. The agreement had been that Vera would feed them when she and her family had their tea. She’d even given her a few coupons to help with the food.

She hated it when Kaye saw where she lived. Embarrassed and drained by the day, she thanked her profusely and bundled the children out of the car. To add to her fluster, she caught sight of one of her neighbours peeping out from behind the net curtain. A car in the street was unusual enough, but when it had a woman driver at the wheel, it was an object of curiosity. Kaye climbed out to help her.

‘No, no. Don’t get out,’ Sarah protested at the same time dropping a glove and Jenny’s school plimsolls. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘It won’t take a minute to help you,’ Kaye insisted, ‘and besides, I have to see the goldfish grave, don’t I?’

There was an envelope pinned on the doorframe. As she snatched it from its pin Sarah supposed it was another order from Mr Lovett. Today was his usual day to call into Mrs Angel’s and he had promised to try and secure some more orders for her. Kaye had Lu-Lu in her arms as they walked into the house and Jenny was anxious to show her where Goldie was buried.

‘We said prayers and everything,’ Jenny was telling her proudly.

‘I’m glad you did everything properly,’ said Kaye, winking at Sarah.

Now that she was actually in the house, Sarah felt obliged to say, ‘Would you like a cup of tea before you go?’

‘Love one,’ said Kaye.

She put the kettle on while Kaye and the children went out into the small yard. As she waited for the water to boil, Sarah impatiently tore open the envelope. A second later, her whole world had crashed around her like a pack of cards. The headed notepaper said it all. Notice of Eviction. She slumped into the chair and pulled off her beret. No, no, after all that had happened today, this really was the last straw. She struggled to keep her composure, but she knew she couldn’t do it anymore. After working all the hours God gave, after doing everything she could to keep the roof over their heads, now this had to happen. She felt a mixture of rage and pity for herself. Someone up there must have it in for her. What had she done to deserve all this? The sound of laughter filtered through the open back door, but Sarah could only put her head in her hands and burst into tears.

A couple of days later, Kaye set out for Chichester to meet her maiden aunt. This had been such a strange time. She had spent a lot of time reflecting on the past, something she’d deliberately avoided when Henry walked out on her all those years ago. He had never been easy to live with, although given her condition when he had proposed to her, she had been glad to accept his offer of marriage. She’d been writing for women’s magazines when she’d met him, but Henry was old-fashioned. He said he didn’t want his wife to work. ‘People will think I can’t support you,’ he said sulkily. So her passion for words had been shelved. Henry had been pernickety and had spent a fortune (money they didn’t have) on his suits. He became angry if she questioned him, although he’d never been physically violent. When they’d first got married, she’d stood up to him, but over the almost ten years they were together, she’d found it easier to avoid conflict. When he finally left and she’d had to start all over again, she realised that her confidence was completely shot through. She had no friends either. Still, nothing was wasted. She’d drawn on her own experiences when writing her plays. Perhaps, she reflected as the spire of Chichester cathedral came into view, her own personal experiences might even help her aunt.

She had been excited to discover that Aunt Charlotte was so close, but what she hadn’t told Sarah was that her aunt was in a mental institution. Just before the trial, Kaye had received a letter from the authorities telling her that ‘
although Charlotte wasn’t cured, she was a great deal better, and in view of the present financial conditions, whenever possible, long-term patients are being re-homed with their families.’

It had come as a shock to discover that she even had a relative. Her mother, who had died six years ago, had never mentioned a sister. As she drove the twenty miles to Chichester, she wondered what had happened to Aunt Charlotte and why she had been put away and apparently forgotten.

She found herself driving down a winding driveway overhung with thick rhododendron trees, and when she came upon the Home, it was a rather forbidding place. Put together in grey stone, the Victorian building was in a poor state of repair. The gutters were sprouting grass and the paintwork was peeling. Kaye rang the old-fashioned pull bell and eventually a junior member of staff came to the huge paint-starved front door. She seemed very nervous and as she put a basket of washing onto the hall table, Kaye couldn’t help noticing her red, chapped hands. Kaye was asked to wait in the dark wood-panelled entrance hall. In the distance, she could hear voices, some in apparent distress. Eventually a man in a white coat appeared, his hand extended, ‘Mrs Royale. I’m Doctor Smith. How good to see you.’

He invited her to his office and as they walked the dim echoing corridors, her shoes squeaked on the highly polished linoleum floor. Kaye was filled with a sense of foreboding. What a dreadful place. As she sat down in the office, he pulled a folder from a filing cabinet and sat on the other side of the desk.

‘Miss Dawson came here in 1917,’ said the doctor. ‘She’s been here ever since.’

‘I had no idea,’ Kaye began.

‘Your grandmother left instructions that she should stay here for life,’ said Doctor Smith, ‘but we are more enlightened now. There is no reason why she should be kept here. There’s nothing wrong with her.’

‘So what happened to her?’ said Kaye.

‘She had a baby,’ said Doctor Smith.

Kaye was horrified. ‘She was put in a mental home because she had a baby!’

‘Apparently,’ said Doctor Smith. ‘I’ve only been here a few months and it has taken me a while to get to grips with the system. It seems that she was homed here as a private patient, but the annuity ran out in 1936. When it came to my notice, I realised that your aunt had been done a great disservice. I think she was upset after the birth of her baby, maybe she had baby blues or depression, but most likely a few weeks’ rest would have been sufficient to cure her.’

‘I can hardly believe what you are saying,’ said Kaye. ‘If she came here as far back as 1917, that means she’s spent almost all of her life in this place.’

The doctor nodded.

‘Thirty years?’ Kaye gasped.

‘I am as appalled as you are, Mrs Royale,’ Doctor Smith said. ‘That’s why I am keen to re-home people like her whenever I can.’

‘I knew my grandmother was very strict,’ said Kaye, still trying to get to grips with her discovery, ‘but this is terrible. How could you let it happen?’

‘It’s not uncommon,’ the doctor shrugged. ‘Thank God we live in more enlightened times now.’ Kaye could see that he was doing his best to help but she wanted to slap him. How could he be so matter-of-fact about something so terrible?

‘So you’re telling me that the only reason my aunt is here is because my grandmother paid for her to stay?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Doctor Smith.

Kaye frowned. ‘I don’t understand why the rest of the family didn’t do something. My mother, for instance.’

‘It’s possible she didn’t even know,’ he said. ‘These things were all hushed up.’

‘I’m taking her home straight away,’ said Kaye stoutly.

‘That wouldn’t be advisable, Mrs Royale,’ he said. ‘Lottie, er, that’s what we call her, is a nervous woman. She doesn’t know you. I think it advisable that we take it one step at a time.’

Kaye could see the sense in what he was saying, but it pained her to think of anyone staying in a place like this any longer than was necessary, especially when there was no need.

‘She has only ever been out as far as the hospital grounds,’ he added. ‘I think the big wide world would be a bit much all at once.’

‘Yes,’ Kaye conceded. ‘You’re right. But I should like to see her today if I may.’

‘Of course,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll take you to the ward now.’

As they stepped back into the echoing corridor, one thing was puzzling Kaye. ‘If my grandmother’s annuity ran out as far back as 1936,’ she said, ‘why didn’t you contact me back then?’

‘Apparently we did,’ said Doctor Smith, ‘and your husband set up another annuity which continued the payments until earlier this year.’