There’s Always Tomorrow (15 page)

Was her period late?

Dottie had never really bothered keeping tabs on her monthly cycle. Why should she? She had no reason to even think about it when Reg was unable to perform but she hadn’t come on at all this month.

She was handwashing her sheets in the big tin bath outside the back door. They had already been boiled in the copper and she’d staggered out with the clean sheet in a double-handled bowl to tip it into the bath of cold water to begin rinsing. It was backbreaking and exhausting work. She would wring the sheet by hand, passing it along her forearm until one end coiled itself back into the empty bowl. When both sheets were done, she would empty the bath and refill it with cold water and add a drummer blue to whiten the sheets. After a good soak and another wringing by hand, she would fold it and put it through the old mangle before it went onto the line.

The last few golden days of autumn were fading. Already there was a nip in the air. Time had hardly moved on since Michael’s wedding. He and Freda were back from honeymoon. Now at last the new Mrs Gilbert made no secret of their forthcoming happy event. Dottie had bumped into her several times in the village, her increasing girth now swathed in maternity dresses and her strained look turned into a glow. She and Michael had made a home for themselves on the farm using the old quarters used by the Land Girls during the war. Dottie hadn’t seen it but she imagined it would look a darned sight better than it did back then.

Things had taken an upward turn for Ann Pearce as well. Dottie was aware that several other householders in the village were keen to find a good daily woman. They had been trying to get Dottie to work for them for ages. Colonel Harris, who was retired, and his sister, Miss Harris, a piano teacher, were two of them. Then there was Miss Edwards. Now too elderly and infirm to leave her home, she was a mine of information and was always bang up-to-date with all the village gossip.

It had been tricky approaching Ann about the job, but Dottie’s decision to introduce her to Miss Edwards had been a master-stroke. The two of them hit it off straight away. Brian and Phyllis loved being with the twins all day and Mary was pleased to be able to buy a few things with the extra money Ann gave her.

Things were not so good for Dottie, however. For a few days after the wedding, Reg’s demands were frequent and sickening. Sometimes she tried to fight him off, but that only seemed to enflame his passion. She had a growing dread of bedtime and spent as long as she could downstairs doing odd jobs in the vain hope that he would be asleep when she came up to bed. It didn’t happen very often. Her body was so tender, she had resorted to lying to him, telling him she had her period. She’d even complained of stomach ache and that they’d gone on longer than usual, but the truth was she was late.

It was ironic that after all those years of longing for a child, even praying for one, all the years of trying to seduce Reg, now she hated the very thought of being with him. He was a brute. Dottie didn’t even want to think of the things he’d done to her. He seemed to enjoy it all the more when she was crying and pleading with him to stop. And when it was all over, he would pat her like a dog and tell her what a good girl she was. It had got to the stage when she couldn’t bear him to touch her.

Heaving the wet sheet back into the cold-water rinse, she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. He was no fool. He’d know she was lying. Once the sheet was submerged, she stood up and pressed her apron against her stomach. But she couldn’t be pregnant. She mustn’t be.

In three days, Patsy would be here. Dottie’d kept nagging him to do something about the old well, but somehow he never seemed to get round to it. It made her feel nervous. Patsy might run around the garden and …

Ever since she’d read the child’s letter, Dottie had felt different about Patsy. More than likely, Elizabeth Johns had been a loving and caring mother. Patsy had suffered the trauma of losing her mother and now she was being shipped to a place far away from all that was familiar.

Australia was hot and barren. Dottie had once seen a picture of place called Ayers Rock and it looked an empty and desolate place. By comparison, England would seem very cold, even on a summer’s day. It was true, the Worthing area was sheltered from extremes of weather by the Downs, but winters could still be very cold and sometimes they had snow. Not as deep as in the north, but enough to cause problems on the roads. How, she wondered, would a little girl used to the heat manage to cope with an English winter?

Dottie had had little time to prepare for Patsy’s arrival. She was desperate to finish Mrs Fitzgerald’s curtains and the bedspread, but she’d spent most evenings knitting for Patsy. Her favourite was a yellow jumper with a brown kangaroo on the front.

‘Do you think she’ll like this one?’ she’d asked Reg. She’d held it up but he paid little attention.

As for the people in the village, Dottie had stuck to their agreed story and it had worked … after a fashion.

‘Why the hell adopt a kid all the way from Australia?’ Janet Cooper wanted to know. ‘There are plenty of kids in this country who need a mum and dad. Barnardo’s is bulging with them.’

‘It’s being done through an old colleague Reg knew during the war,’ Dottie had said, but she was a hopeless liar. She could already feel her face beginning to burn.

Mary may have seemed a little disapproving as well but the next time she’d seen Dottie she’d given her a bag of clothes. ‘Take what you want and give the rest back to me,’ she’d said. ‘We all help each other out and there are plenty of others I know that could do with a thing or two.’

Dottie smiled. So that would explain why she’d seen Phyllis Pearce wearing the jumper she’d knitted little Maureen Prior two Christmases ago.

The sheets were ready for the mangle. Dottie wiped the roller with a cloth and then passed the cloth through to check for any bits. She’d learned her lesson when, as a new bride, she’d put a sheet straight into the mangle and it came out the other side complete with a squashed spider and she’d had to rinse it all over again.

Dottie slowly turned the handle. The sheet was thick and it was hard work getting it through. There was a footfall behind her and Dottie spun around.

It was Vincent Dobbs, the postman.

‘Thanks, Vince,’ she said as he handed her a small pile of letters and waited while she wiped her hands on her apron.

Two bills, a letter from Sylvie (she recognised the handwriting and the Brockenhurst postmark), and a letter for Reg. She sighed. Still nothing from Peaches. Sylvie had been so sure a letter would help to heal the rift between them but Dottie had written her three letters and received not one reply. Reg didn’t mind her writing so she had put her last letter behind the clock for posting on Sunday. Reg had taken it and put it in the box first thing on Monday so she would have had it, maybe second post, but certainly on Tuesday morning. She’d told Peaches all about their plans to fetch Patsy. She’d asked about Gary and even offered to help with babysitting when he got back home, but nothing. No reply. No word … nothing. It looked as if she’d lost one of her dearest friends forever.

Sylvie’s letter was chatty and fun. After she’d told Dottie all about the children she wrote:

Oh Sylvie, Dottie thought, you are naughty.

Dottie slipped Sylvie’s letter into her apron pocket as Reg came out of the house, dressed and ready for work. ‘Any post?’

Dottie handed him the bills and his letter and, after a cursory glance, he pushed them into his pocket. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’ve got a face like a wet weekend.’

‘I wish Peaches would write,’ she said. ‘I’ve sent her three or four letters but ever since we had that row about Gary, I haven’t heard a word.’

He was looking at her with a strange expression. She frowned. ‘What? What is it?’ Something was wrong …

‘You know something, don’t you, Reg. Is it Gary? Has something happened to him?’

He went into his shed and took down a small tin. A few seconds later, she heard him unlocking a drawer. ‘I didn’t want you to see this,’ he said coming back out. ‘I knew you’d be upset.’

His face was so serious, her mouth went dry and her chest felt tight.

‘Peaches came round.’

Dottie gasped. ‘What? When? I didn’t see her.’

‘I found this pushed through the letterbox.’ He handed her something. Tears swam in Dottie’s eyes as she recognised her own letter to Peaches. It had been torn in half.

‘I tried to protect you,’ said Reg, ‘but this makes it obvious, doesn’t it? She doesn’t want anything to do with you.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ said Dottie quietly. She stared down at the pieces. ‘Why didn’t she read it? If only she had opened it first, it would have explained everything.’

Reg put his arm around her shoulder. ‘She’s not bloody worth it.’

He went back into the shed and brought out his bike. ‘Well, I’m off now. See you at ten and then we’ll have some fun.’

She almost retched. She had a lump in her throat and she could feel her eyes pricking. At least she still had one friend, she thought, glancing at Sylvie’s letter again. Should she read it again already? No. It was something to look forward to when she finished the washing. Shoving the letter back into her apron pocket, she picked up the other end of a folded sheet and reached for the handle.

‘People will think we’re off to another wedding,’ Dottie joked as Reg locked the front door on the morning they went to fetch Patsy.

It was Thursday October 11th and the weather was bright and clear. Dottie was happy. Determined not to think about her fears today, and dressed in her best clothes, she and Reg walked arm in arm to the station to catch the train to Southampton. Over her other arm, she carried a warm coat taken from the bag of children’s clothes Mary had given her.

The truth of the matter was, her feelings were all over the place. She still hadn’t had her period but she hadn’t been sick in the morning. Could that mean it was a false alarm? Plenty of people missed a month now and again. She’d heard Peaches and Mary talk about it often enough.

Even though Reg was still rough in bed, during the daytime he’d been really nice to her, calling her ‘my little wifey’ and kissing her on the cheek. He’d had another letter from abroad with instructions as to where to meet Patsy when she arrived in the country. It was from Dr Landers, the man who was bringing Patsy from Australia and it had been posted in Gibraltar.

‘Bloody interfering busybodies,’ Reg had grumbled. ‘Everybody wants to sticky-beak into my business.’

But this morning, as Dottie had watched him putting the letter into his breast pocket, Reg had been very excited and she was glad for him. Perhaps this really would be the start of a new era in their lives. Perhaps with a child in the house he would restrain himself a little more. Certainly he wouldn’t be able to make her do some of the things he’d wanted with Patsy around. For a start, he’d have to stop groping her whenever he wanted. Besides, maybe if he took it a little slower, she might even get to like it … No, she would never get used to it, and she shuddered at the thought.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Just thinking about meeting Patsy,’ she said.

He patted her hand. ‘Good girl,’ he murmured.

Yes, she thought hopefully, perhaps he will change. Look what happened to Tom Prior.

‘I’ve never seen such a change in a man,’ Mary had said after the birth of the twins. ‘He became a father overnight to my kids and now that Christopher and Connie are here, he can’t do enough for us all.’

They had reached the station.

‘Off to fetch our kid today,’ Reg told Marney as they stopped by the ticket office for a rail pass. As an employee, Reg didn’t have to pay.

Marney cupped his illicit cigarette behind his hand and coughed. ‘Best of luck, mate,’ he said, once he’d recovered.

The 8.32 thundered into the station. The next time I see this platform, Dottie thought to herself, my life will be changed forever. They selected a seat and Reg took out his newspaper.

Dottie sat back and did her best to enjoy the journey. Life was so confusing at the moment. A few short weeks ago she had been dreading the thought of having a child in the house, but now it was really happening. As she gazed out of the window, she seemed to see little pockets of family life everywhere. A woman and her children waiting at the gates at Angmering to go to school, a little boy on a rope swing in a garden somewhere near Chichester, a man with a small child on his shoulders watching the trains go by at Emsworth, and a group of women with prams waiting outside a church hall for a clinic to start at Fareham.

Throughout the journey, Dottie lovingly stroked Patsy’s coat. It was a very pretty cherry red trimmed with black. None of Mary’s children had worn it, but she fancied it was the same one Freda’s little sister used to wear. It was double-breasted and made with wool. It had black buttons and a black trim on the cuffs, a Peter Pan collar and a flared skirt. There was a matching bonnet with a turned-back brim trimmed with black and a tie under the chin. It would make a perfect frame for a halo of blonde curls. Dottie had made some knitted gloves to go with it. It might be mild for the time of year, but Dottie reasoned that, coming from such a hot place, Patsy wouldn’t be used to the autumnal nip in the air.

She wondered what Dr Landers would be like. Having given the best years of his life to Australia, he was probably glad to be returning to his homeland to retire. He was obviously very worried about his poor old mother. Seeing as Nurse Tranter was returning to retire as well, Dottie hoped they hadn’t found looking after a lively eight year old too tiring.

By the time they’d reached Havant, Reg was chain smoking and the tension mounted as they pulled into Southampton station. He almost lost it at the ticket barrier. He had given her the rail pass as they got on the train at Worthing and she’d absentmindedly pushed it into her bag. During the journey, it had slipped right down the bottom, and Dottie couldn’t find it straight away.

The ticket collector waited patiently.

‘Women,’ laughed Reg. ‘She’s got everything but the kitchen sink in there.’

The man shared the joke as Dottie struggled to find the pass. It took her several minutes and it was only unearthed after she’d taken out her purse, lipstick, a couple of hankies, a set of keys, as well as some old letters Aunt Bessie wrote when her mother died.

‘You only had the bloody thing five minutes,’ Reg hissed in her ear as they left.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dottie said.

‘Give it here,’ he said churlishly, snatching it from her hand and put it in his back pocket. ‘Making me look a ruddy fool …’

In his letter, Dr Landers had suggested they meet in the foyer of the Railway Hotel. It was an old Victorian building which, amazingly, had survived the terrible bombing in the city. Its dark red and gold interior spoke of a bygone and more opulent age. Dottie gazed in wonder at the chandeliers and the plush carpet. The foyer itself was huge. Sofas and chairs were arranged in small groups around the drinks tables. In the windows, between the heavy drapes, large aspidistras blocked the sunlight and at the other end of the foyer was a bar. Several guests and visitors sat on the bar stools enjoying a lunchtime drink. Beyond the foyer, Dottie could see the restaurant, which had white tablecloths and a silver service.

Reg looked distinctly uncomfortable and began running his finger around the inside of his collar in a desperate attempt to avoid the eye of the doorman. It was obvious he didn’t know what to do, so Dottie took charge.

Marching up to the reception desk, she said, ‘Mr and Mrs Cox to see Doctor Landers.’

The receptionist picked up the telephone and as Reg came to join her she noticed his collar was sticking up at the corner. She went to smooth it out for him but he hit her hand away and glared at her.

The receptionist replaced the receiver. ‘Dr Landers will come down as soon as he can,’ she said. ‘He invites you to order a drink from the bar at his expense.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dottie graciously. ‘I’ll …’

‘I’ll have a pint of bitter,’ Reg interrupted. ‘She’ll have a port and lemon.’

The receptionist glanced back at Dottie and she nodded. In actual fact, she would have preferred to try out one of those new Babycham drinks she’d seen advertised at the pictures but now she was too embarrassed to change the order.

‘If you would like to sit down …’ the receptionist smiled.

‘Where?’ Reg wanted to know.

‘Anywhere you like, sir. The waiter will bring your order.’

They sat near a window, Reg following Dottie until she chose the place, her only aim to get as far away from the desk as possible.

‘Why come all the way over here?’ he grumbled as he sat down. Dottie ignored him, preferring to look out of the window. Her chin wobbled and her eyes were pricking.

Southampton was a busy place. She had never seen so many cars and pedestrians. Across the road, there was a bombsite, overgrown with weeds and buddleia, but in other open spaces she could see bright modern buildings going up. It all looked so light and fresh.

The barman, dressed in white shirtsleeves, black waistcoat and red bowtie brought them their drinks on a silver tray.

‘Bring us another beer,’ said Reg, before he’d even taken a sip. As the man walked away he said, ‘I reckon he’s a bloody nancy-boy,’ and Dottie felt sick with embarrassment.

They sat in silence. Dottie wondered if she would know Dr Landers if she saw him. She turned her head just as a middle-aged man, balding and with a paunch walked towards them. Dottie made eye contact and smiled. She was about to stand up and hold out her hand when the woman on the table in front of them stood up, saying, ‘Charles, darling.’ As the pair met, they embraced each other warmly.

Dottie shifted her gaze back to the street outside.

‘Mr and Mrs Cox?’

The unexpectedness of his soft voice made her jump. She turned her head and saw a dark-haired man with sparkling hazel eyes and a ready smile.

‘Mr and Mrs Reginald Cox?’ he repeated.

‘That’s right,’ said Reg.

Dottie wondered why the man was giving Reg such an odd look. ‘I’m Dr John Landers.’

She hadn’t expected him to be so young. Well, he wasn’t
that
young – thirty, thirty-five – but he certainly wasn’t the balding fifty year old she’d been expecting to meet. His face was tanned and he had a line of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His teeth were white and evenly formed. He wore a lightweight cream suit made out of linen and a plain shirt, but no tie.

They all shook hands and he drew up a chair and sat beside them. ‘I thought I would take the opportunity to have a chat with you before I take you upstairs to meet your daughter.’

‘What’s there to chat about?’ Reg asked gruffly.

Dr Landers was unfazed by his rudeness. ‘How was your trip?’

‘We came by train,’ Dottie said quickly. ‘It wasn’t very far. Not as far as you’ve come, anyway.’

Dr Landers laughed softly. Dottie looked away quickly. He was making her feel all of a flutter.

‘I presume you want to take her home straight away,’ he said. ‘She’s in good health but I expect you’ll want to get her looked at by your own doctor. Anyway, I’ve brought all the relevant paperwork with me.’ He placed a small case on the table between them. ‘I won’t open it now, but it’s all there. Her birth certificate, her mother’s death certificate, all her medical reports and the records of her childhood illnesses – you know, measles and all that stuff. By and large, she’s been very healthy all things considered. Is there anything you want to ask me?’

‘Brenda said Sandy left me everything,’ Reg said.

Dottie was shocked but Dr Landers simply smiled. ‘That’s right. All the relevant papers are in the case.

Reg continued to stare.

‘Has Patricia got any likes or dislikes?’ Dottie asked, careful to avoid Dr Landers’ eyes.

‘I thought you might ask me that,’ he chuckled. ‘Brenda has written you a letter. She spent days getting it all down, so you can bet your boots everything is there. She’s got her favourite toy, of course, Suzy. A grey elephant. Her mother gave it to her. Suzy goes everywhere with her, and even though she is very grown up in many ways, Patricia gets very upset if she can’t find her.’

The waiter came back with another pint of beer and Reg took it from the tray himself and took a long drink from it.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Dr Landers, as the waiter hovered. ‘Where are my manners? Would you like something to eat? A meal, a sandwich or something?’

He ordered a round of sandwiches and Reg excused himself to go to the gents’. He walked briskly. His cheeks prickled with rage and his nostrils flared. The toilet cubicle was occupied and Reg headed straight for the urinal. After relieving himself, he stood chewing the inside of his cheek. How much money was there then? Why couldn’t the doctor tell him and put him out of his misery? Perhaps he didn’t know. Yes, that was it. The solicitor had written a private letter.

Behind him, the toilet flushed and the waiter who had brought him the beer came out of the cubicle. Reg stared at him, his lip curling. The young man nodded briefly and went to the sink to wash his hands. As he put his hands under the tap, Reg stepped towards him. Their eyes met in the mirror over the sink and the waiter’s face went white. In his haste to get out of the gents’, the man left the tap running. Reg kicked the cubicle door.

‘Bloody poofter,’ he shouted after him.

‘Your mother …?’ Dottie began as Reg left for the gents’.

Dr Landers acknowledged her concern with a smile. ‘Nice of you to ask, Mrs Cox. She’s not too good at the moment but I’m hopeful that she will make a full recovery.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Do you have any other children, Mrs Cox?’

Dottie shook her head.

‘But now you’ve got Patricia.’

‘Now I’ve got Patricia,’ she repeated with a smile.

‘I’m afraid that by the time the funeral expenses were seen to,’ Dr Landers went on, ‘there wasn’t a lot left. When Brenda took her in, Sandy was almost destitute.’

‘We’ll be all right,’ said Dottie. ‘I have a little money coming to me next year. Patsy will lack for nothing.’

As for the paperwork,’ he went on, ‘now that I’ve handed her over, the solicitor will write to your husband. That correspondence has to be private between him and Mr Cox until such time as you legally adopt Patricia.’