Red Sky in the Morning (14 page)

‘I must ask you a lot of questions,’ the registrar explained, ‘but I want to reassure you that whatever you tell me is in the strictest confidence.’

Anna bit her lip and nodded.

‘There now, shall we begin?’

The child’s Christian name, date and place of birth were quite easy to answer, but when it came to Anna’s details she hesitated and bit her lip. Mr Bowen glanced up.

‘Don’t be shy, my dear. I can assure you that nothing can shock me. I’ve seen and heard it all.’

Have you?
Anna wanted to cry.
Is there no story you could hear that wouldn’t shock and disgust you? Perhaps if you heard what happened to me . . .?

Softly, Mr Bowen interrupted her thoughts. ‘I take it you’re not married?’

Anna shook her head.

‘Then we must register your little girl under your surname. We cannot put the father’s name on the certificate unless he is here. Are you in touch with the father? Could he –
er – be persuaded to come with you?’

Harshly, Anna said, ‘I don’t want his name on it.’

‘I see,’ the man said. He cleared his throat and added, ‘Have you any identification with you? Your own birth certificate?’

Again, Anna answered with a mute shake of her head.

‘Your identity card then or your ration book?’

He bent his head, preparing to write again, but when she did not speak, he looked up once more. Anna was staring at him, her face devoid of colour. Nervously, she ran her tongue around her mouth
to moisten her dry lips.

‘Y-yes,’ she stammered as, with a trembling hand, she pulled the documents from her pocket and held them out to him.

‘Ah,’ Mr Bowen said as he perused the papers. ‘Woods. I see your name is Annabel Woods.’

Anna nodded. Hoarsely, almost as if she were dragging out the words, she said, ‘But – but I’m called Anna.’

‘Well, that seems to be in order, my dear,’ Mr Bowen said, handing the documents back. Anna almost snatched the card and book from his fingers and pushed them deep into her coat
pocket.

‘So now we can register your little one. Maisie Woods? Is that it? No second name?’

Anna stared at him for a moment and then said slowly, ‘Yes. Maisie Patricia. After Mrs Jessop. She’s been – very kind.’

Mr Bowen smiled and, for the first time, Anna understood the expression ‘wreathed in smiles’. All the lines in his face seemed to join together in one huge smile. ‘She’s
a lovely lady. She’ll be tickled pink.’

Registering both herself and her child at the doctor’s surgery was easy, especially as now she had Pat’s comforting presence beside her. The receptionist accepted
their names as Annabel and Maisie Patricia Woods. Only one moment gave Anna a brief scare.

‘We might need to see your birth certificates at some point,’ the woman said, ‘but it doesn’t matter today.’

Anna breathed again. She turned to Pat, who was now standing by her side. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I called her after you.’

‘Oh ducky . . .’ Pat said and squeezed her arm. As Mr Bowen had predicted, Pat really did turn pink with pleasure.

The doctor was young, a junior partner in the well-established practice in Ludthorpe.

‘I think you’ll get on better with Dr Mortimer,’ Pat had told her. ‘Dr Jacobs is an old dear, but a bit crusty, if you know what I mean. He’s an ex-army doctor and
not ever so good with babies and children. He’s a big man and his handlebar moustache frightens the little ones.’ Pat laughed merrily. ‘And the not-so-little ones sometimes, too.
But Dr Mortimer’s a dear.’

The young man’s fresh face beamed as Pat ushered a nervous Anna into the surgery. He bounced up from his chair and sprang around the desk to shake Pat’s hand. ‘Nurse Jessop.
Lovely to see you. Come in, come in. How kind of you to bring me a new patient.’ And he smiled at Anna and held out his arms to take her baby. ‘Now, let’s have a look at little
Maisie, shall we?’

Swiftly and expertly, he examined the baby, taking time to murmur endearments to her and even to tickle and play with her so that he gained her confidence. ‘Well, she’s fine,’
he said straightening up at last. He turned towards Anna. ‘And how’s the new mother coping? Any problems.’

Anna bit her lip, glanced nervously at Pat and then shook her head.

‘I need to examine you, Mrs Woods. If you like to undress behind the curtains and then—’

‘No!’

There was a startled silence and Pat looked up from where she was redressing the baby. ‘It’s all right, Anna. I’ll be here.’

Avoiding their glances, Anna shook her head. ‘I’m fine. I don’t mind you looking at the baby, but I don’t need—’

‘It really is advisable, Mrs Woods—’

‘Stop calling me Mrs Woods,’ Anna snapped. ‘It’s Miss—’

There was an awkward silence and then, to their horror, Anna burst into tears. ‘I’m so sorry. I – I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just – I’m so
frightened.’

‘Frightened?’ The young doctor was genuinely distressed. ‘Of me?’

Anna’s voice was muffled by her tears, but they both heard her whisper, ‘Of you touching me.’

Again, the doctor and Pat Jessop exchanged a glance. A look that said:
There’s something going on here that we don’t know about.

‘I’ll be right with you, love,’ Pat tried to reassure her. ‘I’ll even hold your hand, but the doctor must examine you internally to make sure—’

‘Internally?’ Anna almost shrieked. ‘Whatever for?’

‘To make sure everything’s as it should be. It is important both for now and for the next time you have a child—’

‘There won’t be a next time,’ Anna interrupted bitterly. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

Again a look passed between the doctor and the district nurse, but neither of them said anything.

After a great deal of gentle persuasion, for both doctor and nurse could see that the girl was genuinely terrified, Anna gave her reluctant consent. The examination was difficult. Despite the
doctor telling her to relax, Anna tensed every muscle against him. But at last he said, ‘Everything seems to be fine.’ He could not stop himself adding, ‘Physically.’

Anna took no notice and pulled on her clothes quickly, but Pat gave a little nod of agreement.

There was something upsetting this poor girl and she meant to find out what it was. She had grown fond of Anna and she could understand now why the kindly Eddie Appleyard was still taking such
risks to help her. There was just something about the girl. Even Pat couldn’t put her finger on quite what it was. Anna was a strange mixture of vulnerability and feistiness.
But for some
reason
, Pat thought,
she makes you want to put your arm round her and take care of her.

Pat acted out the thought, putting her arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘Let’s get you home now. Eddie’ll be waiting and, if I know babies, it won’t be long before
Maisie here starts to let us know she’s hungry.’

As she led the girl from the room, Pat glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Thank you very much, Dr Mortimer.’ She gave a brief nod to the young doctor that said silently:
I’ll
look after her.

The doctor smiled but his glance, following the young girl, was full of concern. He wished the girl would stay, would allow him more time to talk to her. He was sure she needed help. He knew he
could give it. But it was obvious she couldn’t wait to get away from his surgery. The young man sighed as he promised himself that the next time he saw Nurse Jessop on her own, he would ask
her about the mysterious Anna Woods.

‘You’re home from market early. Couldn’t ya find a doxy today?’ Bertha paused significantly. ‘Or don’t ya need one now you’ve got a
live-in trollop just over the hill?’

Eddie had dropped Anna and the child off at the end of the track on the far side of the wood.

‘Are you sure it’s not too far for you, lass? Carrying the little ’un an’ all?’ he’d asked, but Anna had shaken her head. ‘It’ll do me
good.’

‘I know of someone who’s not likely to need their pram any more. I’ll see if I can get it for you,’ Pat offered.

‘I can’t pay for it—’ Anna began, but Pat laughed. ‘It’s had seven bairns in it. It’s that battered I don’t reckon Mrs Dawson’ll want
anything for it.’ Hastily, before Anna might think she was being treated like a charity case, the district nurse added, ‘But I’ll ask her. We’ll do it proper.’ Pat
waved. ‘See you soon, love. Now, Eddie, you’d best get me home. I’ve still got patients I must see today.’

How different was Pat’s attitude towards the young lass, Eddie was thinking now as he faced his wife. He couldn’t help comparing the fat, blowsy woman before him, with her small,
mean mouth and beady, suspicious eyes, with Pat’s warm friendliness and ready laugh.

For once his anger bubbled to the surface. ‘Give it a rest, Bertha,’ he snapped. He spun round and left the house, slamming the back door behind him.

So
, Bertha thought, her eyes narrowing,
I was right. That little trollop is still in the cottage. Well, Mr Eddie Appleyard, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we? But
I’m patient. I can wait. I can bide me time. I can wait years, if that’s what it takes. But one day, oh yes, one day. There’s summat funny going on there with that little madam
and one day I’ll find out what it is.

By the time the snow and the flood waters were gone, Anna had begun to feel a little safer in her hideaway home. Until Joe Wainwright arrived to repair the roof.

Anna saw a lorry chugging towards her down the track from the farm. At first she thought it was Eddie, but as the vehicle drew nearer she realized that the driver was a stranger.

The lorry halted in front of the cottage and now Anna could see the name painted along the side.
Joe Wainwright, Builder.

The man climbed stiffly out of the cab. He was small and stocky and dressed in corduroy trousers and jacket with a red neckerchief tucked into his striped shirt. He was very bow-legged and
walked with a rolling gait as he came towards her, holding out his callused hand in greeting. His face, with three or four days’ growth of stubble, was swarthy and lined. Anna couldn’t
help staring at him as she put out her hand, a little nervously, to shake his.

Joe laughed. ‘Aye, I know I’m a funny little feller. I couldn’t stop a pig in a passage, could I, lass? But I’m good at me job, else Eddie wouldn’t have asked me to
come and look at that there roof.’

He squinted up at the holes in the thatch. ‘Aye, that’s no problem. We’ll soon have you all shipshape, lass.’ His glance rested on her once more. He gave a little nod.
‘So you’re the one all the village is talking about, a’ ya? The one Eddie Appleyard’s moved into his cottage? A bonny ’un an’ all.’ Joe looked around him,
his sharp eyes searching. ‘And ya’ve a babby, ain’t ya?’

Anna felt a prickle of fear. It was the first time her privacy had been invaded so boldly. Pat’s questioning had been probing, certainly, but it had been done with a feeling of genuine
concern. This man was just plain nosy.

‘I have,’ Anna said shortly. ‘But it’s not Mr Appleyard’s bairn, if that’s what folks are saying.’

Unabashed, Joe wheezed with laughter. With blunt honesty, he said, ‘Aye well, lass, that’s what they
are
saying.’ He winked. ‘You should hear the owd beezums in
the village. Clackety-clack, their tongues are going. Like me to set ’em straight, would ya?’

Anna shrugged. ‘I don’t care one way or the other.
I
know the truth and so does Mr Appleyard.’

She wondered how the village had heard of her existence in the secluded, tumbledown cottage. Her mouth tightened involuntarily. There was only one person, other than the Appleyard family, who
knew she was here. Pat Jessop. And to think Anna had allowed herself to trust the nurse.

Joe interrupted her thoughts. ‘Aye, but his
wife
dun’t, does she?’

Incredulous, Anna stared at him. ‘Are you telling me that it’s her spreading the gossip?’

He rubbed his fingers on the bristly growth on his chin. ‘Well, who else could it be? No one else knew you was here. ’Cept their lad, Tony.’ He gave another wheezing laugh.
‘And I don’t reckon it’s the sort of thing he’d tell his schoolmates, do you?’

Anna chastised herself inwardly. She had been wrong to accuse Pat. Thank goodness it had only been in her mind and not spoken aloud.

‘Where’ve you come from then?’ Joe’s prying was not finished.

‘That’s my business,’ Anna snapped, hoping that she could offend him just enough to stop his questions but not enough to prevent him mending the roof. But it was impossible to
offend Joe Wainwright. His skin was as thick and impervious as the leather on his boots. He just laughed and countered with another question. ‘And are you staying here then?’

‘Not for long. Now,’ she added, trying desperately to steer the focus of his attention away from her, ‘would you like a cup of tea and a slice of currant cake? I’ve just
managed to master the bread oven.’

‘I wouldn’t say no, lass. I wouldn’t say no.’

Joe Wainwright was, as he had said, good at his work. In a few hours the thatched roof was repaired.

As he climbed down his ladder, he remarked, ‘I see you’ve had a bit o’ trouble with that there wall. Eddie mend that himself, did he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah well, ’spect he has to watch the pennies like the rest of us. Specially with Bertha Tinker for a wife.’ He sniffed contemptuously. ‘By, she’s a shrew and no
mistake. Just like ’er mother. No wonder poor old Wilf Tinker used to look elsewhere for ’is comforts.’ He gave a huge wink and tapped the side of his nose as he added, ‘If
ya know what I mean.’

For once, Anna could not stop a twinge of curiosity. She did not venture any questions, but Joe needed no prompting and she made no attempt to stop him. ‘Mind you,’ he went on,
warming to his subject as he found a new ear to listen to his gossip, ‘he’s a bit of a lad in more ways than one, is Wilf. Ended up in the nick, he has.’

Anna’s eyes widened, but still she ventured no comment.

‘Aye, black market in the war, y’know.’

Anna bit her lip.

‘Course, lots o’ folk dabbled a bit in a harmless sort of way. Most of us got away wi’ it.’ He winked again, indicating that he, Joe Wainwright, had not been above making
a bit on the side. ‘But poor old Wilf Tinker was ’is own worst enemy. Couldn’t tell a lie, see. Not a convincing one at any rate and o’ course when he was faced with the law
. . .’ He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘They saw right through ’im. Pity, really. He’s not a bad sort in lots of ways. He certainly wasn’t a real crook, if you knows
what I mean.’ He nodded knowingly. ‘There was some hard nuts in the war, lass. Real spiv types that’d sell their granny if they thought they could get a bob or two for
her.’