For Better For Worse

For Better For Worse Pam Weaver A dramatic read from Sunday Times bestseller, Pam Weaver, filled with bigamy, scandal and friendships which bring hope in the darkness. The perfect read for fans of Katie Flynn and Maureen Lee.July 1948. As Britain recovers from WWII, Annie Royal is looking to the future. Recently married to Henry, and with a baby on the way, she and her new husband are happily settled in the seaside town of Worthing.But a knock at the door brings Annie’s world crashing down. On her doorstep stands Sarah and her two young children. As they talk, Sarah reveals that she is Henry’s wife – and she has been searching for him since he walked out on their family a year ago.Struggling to believe what she’s hearing, Annie is forced to accept the truth when Henry is arrested for bigamy. Alone, with no one to support her, and with the baby due to arrive imminently, Annie must look to the most unlikely of places to find support in her darkest hour… PAM WEAVER For Better For Worse Copyright (#ulink_9de05e20-8e43-56eb-be6c-7404bd6d1112) HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers in 2014 This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers in 2017 Copyright © Pam Weaver 2014 Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9781847563637 Ebook Edition © July 2014 ISBN: 9780007480456 Version: 2017-03-13 Dedication (#ulink_8364f674-ea2d-52bd-8165-f9fa973f5151) This book is dedicated to Tony and Audrey Hindley and Polly McLelland. Thank you for all the times you’ve encouraged me. If they gave out medals for encouragers, you three would share the winner’s podium. Table of Contents Cover (#ua80984ba-29e8-573e-a0a0-b6101c09a2d9) Title Page (#u530fda58-d244-516c-8580-f0bb8829893c) Copyright (#u79b76577-64de-5c95-b7bb-7a784eef99fd) Dedication (#uc2bcdb2b-2f1b-53b6-ba70-20fa9c37c8dc) Chapter One (#u2e6d10ff-3267-5e8d-a077-eb575c5fbef6) Chapter Two (#ue0353e91-2912-5610-83f8-6532a2f80619) Chapter Three (#u09d86889-70f2-51f9-907d-8e5c1851f707) Chapter Four (#u1fd9e5f5-9829-5c47-9cd3-e37b8bbdeb63) Chapter Five (#u3c44bfe1-f265-5f0e-a275-34fdac95d8fb) Chapter Six (#u6f4357d7-9408-5f0e-a6f8-9668e6140d67) Chapter Seven (#u2fc75e1f-03b9-5da2-a3ae-2a249545af09) Chapter Eight (#uf244b7c6-cd67-56e2-bb4a-7447bf498765) 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) Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) One (#ulink_48a15eae-fe68-5ebe-9e9d-0094f41f52ae) July 1948 It was gone. Really gone. She’d spent the past hour hunting high and low for it, but it was no use. She couldn’t find it anywhere. She’d tried all the usual places first: the drawer, the kitchen dresser, her coat pocket, but she quickly drew a blank. She’d even been outside and looked down the street in the hope that it hadn’t fallen from her pocket, but she couldn’t see it. Her stomach was in knots. After everything else, this couldn’t be happening. Having tried the obvious places, for the past ten minutes she’d been looking in the pram, the toy box and the outside lav, places where she knew it couldn’t possibly be, and yet she hoped against hope that she’d find it. ‘Have you seen Mummy’s purse?’ Jenny pushed her silky brown hair out of her eyes and looked up at her mother with a blank expression. She was a pretty child with long eyelashes. Born in the middle of the war, she was Sarah’s first child. ‘My purse,’ Sarah said impatiently. ‘Have you taken it to play shops?’ ‘Oh, Mummy,’ her daughter tutted, one hand on her hip and her mother’s scolding expression on her face, ‘I’m not playing shops. This is dolly’s tea party.’ Sarah frowned crossly. ‘Don’t get lippy with me, young lady. I asked you a question. Have you seen my purse?’ Her daughter looked suitably chastised. ‘No, Mummy.’ Sarah’s heart melted. She shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. She wasn’t having a good day either. Just an hour ago, Jenny had come into the shared kitchen with a worried frown. ‘Mummy, Goldie isn’t very well.’ Sarah had followed her back up to the bedroom and sure enough, her pet goldfish was floating on the top of the water. Slipping her arm around her daughter’s shoulder, Sarah had to explain that Goldie wasn’t ill; she had died and gone to heaven. Jenny had stared at her mother, her wide eyes brimming with tears. ‘But why?’ Why indeed, thought Sarah. ‘It just happens, darling. Fish get old and die. It was Goldie’s time to go.’ ‘Is that what happened to Daddy?’ Jenny’s words hung in the air like icicles and Sarah had swallowed hard. Her heartbeat quickened and she felt very uncomfortable. It was at that moment she realised she should have talked to her daughter before. She had no idea the poor little mite had been thinking that Henry was dead. ‘No, darling,’ she’d said, drawing her closer. ‘Daddy isn’t dead. Daddy went to live somewhere else.’ ‘Why Mummy? Didn’t he like living with us?’ Sarah had taken in a silent breath, wondering how on earth she could answer that. She didn’t really understand herself, so how was she going to explain to a six-year-old why her father had simply packed his bags and walked out? Up until that moment she had thought Jenny was coping well. She’d seemed to accept that Henry had gone away, but as they’d talked Sarah could see that that Jenny hadn’t really understood after all. ‘I’m sure Daddy loved living with us,’ she’d said, kneeling down to look into Jenny’s face, ‘but he had to go away.’ Suddenly, Sarah’s youngest daughter Lu-Lu crashed into them and tried to kiss her big sister. Jenny laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Did it hurt?’ Sarah frowned. It was hard to follow the child’s reasoning. ‘Did what hurt?’ ‘Did it hurt Goldie when she died?’ By now Sarah had drawn her arms around both her children. ‘No. I don’t think it did and I’m sure Goldie had a very happy life.’ Jenny had put her hands on the goldfish bowl. ‘Can we bury her?’ ‘Of course,’ smiled Sarah. ‘I think I’ve got a little box we can put her in and we’ll bury her in the garden.’ They laid the fish on a bed of cotton wool inside a box which once held three man-sized handkerchiefs and Sarah put the lid on. Goldie was all ready for burial, but they couldn’t do it there and then. It was raining hard and Sarah didn’t have anything suitable for digging in their tiny courtyard garden so she promised Jenny they would bury the goldfish after school the next day. ‘Can I ask Carole to come to Goldie’s frunrel?’ Sarah hesitated. Her sister Vera made her feel that Henry’s disappearance was somehow her fault, and although Jenny and her cousin Carole got on well, she wasn’t too keen to have her sister around. ‘Please, Mummy. Please,’ Jenny pleaded. Sarah nodded reluctantly. ‘I’ll talk to Auntie Vera,’ she promised. It had brought a lump to her throat as she watched her daughter drawing a picture for Goldie, so she decided to give the girls a little treat. It was almost lunchtime, and the corner shop closed from 1 p.m. until 2 p.m. Sarah still had some coupons and if Mrs Rivers next door would take them in, she just had time to run and get some sweets. Mrs Rivers was only too glad to have the girls. She was fond of Jenny and she loved spoiling Lu-Lu. Sarah had promised to be as quick as she could. She’d used her sweet ration for the first time in months to buy them a small bar of Cadbury’s each. Given their normal circumstances, it would have seemed extravagant, but with the guinea Mr Lovett had pushed into her hand, she told herself it was only 3d a bar and she knew the girls loved chocolate. The purse had been in her basket when she came out of the shop because she remembered stuffing it down the side. After that, she couldn’t remember seeing it again. She’d collected the girls and come home, so somewhere between the sweet shop, Mrs Rivers’ place and home, the purse had been lifted or dropped out of the basket. She shifted the pile of papers on the kitchen table. She’d already searched through them once but she was irresistibly drawn back to look yet again. The purse wasn’t there. Lu-Lu toddled across the floor and sat down to eat a crumb which had fallen from the table. At fifteen months, everything went straight into her mouth. Sarah bent to take it from her hand before she put it in her mouth, and as she lowered herself back onto the chair, the terrible realisation dawned. Her purse with all her money in it was well and truly lost. What was she going to do? That purse contained the coal money and everything they had to live on for the next week. There was no nest egg to fall back on, no Post Office book with a secret stash, no money in the jar on the top of the dresser. She couldn’t ask her sister to help either. Since her brother-in-law had landed a job with Lancing Carriage Works, Vera had become rather sniffy. She’d been friendly enough when Sarah lived in the house in Littlehampton, but since she’d come to Worthing, Vera’s attitude had changed. If she didn’t know better, Sarah might have thought she was ashamed of her. Lu-Lu asked to be picked up and Sarah pulled her onto her lap, kissing the top of her golden hair as she did so. Jenny had inherited her mother’s light brown hair and hazel eyes but Lu-Lu had blue eyes and fairer hair. Cuddling her daughter, Sarah shook all thoughts of Henry away. She felt the tears prick the backs of her eyes, but what was the use of crying? That never solved anything. She hadn’t cried when he’d buggered off and she wasn’t going to start now. Besides, it was no good going back over what might have been. That was all in the past and right now her most pressing problem was what to do about her missing purse. She didn’t have a lot before it went and now she had absolutely nothing. How was she going to manage? As a woman deserted, she had no widow’s allowance. Henry contributed nothing towards the care of his children. Every penny they had was what she earned. Thank God she’d already got the rent money together. That was tucked into the rent book on the dresser, but she still had the children to feed. Their home was two rooms on the first floor of a run-down fisherman’s cottage in Worthing where they shared the downstairs kitchen and toilet with another tenant. They were just across the road from the sea, but being at the back of some larger buildings meant that there was little incentive for the landlord to improve the property. The old woman who lived below them had been taken to hospital a few weeks ago and it was Sarah’s greatest fear that she wouldn’t come back. If that happened, there would be new tenants. The landlord had intimated several times that once the other tenant, an old family retainer, passed away, he planned to sell the property. Even though the place was damp and badly in need of decoration, Sarah had done her best to make it a nice home. ‘A bit of soap and water works wonders,’ she told her sister Vera when she’d first moved in, but she couldn’t help noticing her sister’s look of disdain. It was a far cry from the lovely house Sarah had shared with Henry, but without his wage, and because of a steep rise in the rent, it was impossible to carry on living there. Sarah and her girls had moved here three months after he’d gone, and up until today, everything had been going fairly well. To save money, Sarah had always made the children’s clothes and it had been her lucky day when she went to Mrs Angel’s haberdashery shop to get some buttons and bumped into Mr Lovett. The shop was a jumble of just about everything. There were the usual buttons and embroidery silks, but Mrs Angel also stocked ladies’ underwear in the glass-topped chest of drawers under the counter and a few bolts of material. She would also allow her customers to buy their wool weekly and would put the balls away in a ‘lay-by’ until they were needed. ‘Madam, I have a proposition to make to you,’ Mr Lovett had said as he spotted Jenny’s little pink dress. ‘Mr Lovett has been admiring your handiwork,’ Mrs Angel explained. ‘I told him how popular your little kiddies’ clothes are.’ ‘If you could make another little girl’s dress like that and a boy’s romper suit,’ Mr Lovett went on, ‘I think I could find a London buyer.’ ‘It takes me a week to make one of those,’ Sarah had laughed. ‘The smocking takes ages.’ ‘I can tell,’ he smiled. ‘And before you say anything, there will be no monetary risk to your good self. I shall supply all the materials.’ Sarah hesitated. Could she trust this man? ‘I’m sure Mrs Angel will vouch for me?’ he added as if he’d read her mind. ‘Mr Lovett is a travelling salesman,’ Mrs Angel explained. She was a matronly woman with a shock of white hair. Rumour had it that it had turned that colour overnight after her beloved husband was killed by lightning on Cissbury Ring. Sarah had been slightly sceptical, but with Mrs Angel only too keen to provide the cottons and any other material she needed, the deal was struck. When she’d finished making the dress and romper suit, Mr Lovett was as good as his word. He’d been right. He’d had no trouble selling her handiwork to a shop in London where rich women were willing to pay the earth for things of such good quality. She knew he’d kept back some money for himself, and yet each time he’d taken an order he’d given her a whole guinea, more money than Sarah had had in a long time. He’d extracted a promise that if the customer liked her work, she’d be willing to do some more. Sarah didn’t need much persuading, even though, without a sewing machine, she’d had to sit up all hours to get them finished on time. She’d been so pleased with the money she’d saved, she’d decided to buy half a hundredweight of coal. Outside, a lorry drew up and the driver switched off the engine. Lu-Lu wriggled to get down. Sarah let her go and looked out of the window. Oh no, Mr Millward was here already. She couldn’t take the coal without paying for it. How frustrating. Wood never gave out the heat that coal did, and after the horrors of the winter of 1947, she had thought that this coming winter was going to be one when they didn’t have to worry about keeping warm. Think, she told herself crossly. Where did you last have that purse? There was a knock on the kitchen window and Peter Millward, his wet cap dripping onto to his face streaked with coal dust, smiled in. ‘Shall I put it in the coal shed then, luv?’ He was a kind man with smiley eyes, skinny as a beanpole, and at about thirty-four, was five years older than her. He had been married but his wife had died in an air raid, which was ironic because Peter, who had seen action in some of the worst places, had come through the war unscathed. Sarah shook her head and rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, throwing wide the front door which opened onto the street. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I’ve changed my mind. I shan’t need any coal today.’ ‘Shan’t need …’ he began with a puzzled expression. ‘But you only came to the yard and ordered this stuff an hour ago.’ He waited for an explanation and when one wasn’t forthcoming he said crossly, ‘I can’t be doing with being mucked about.’ ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry.’ He stood for a second staring at her. Lu-Lu headed for the open door and Sarah bent to pick her up. The child was wet. ‘Was it Haskins?’ he blurted out. ‘Has he given you a better deal? Normal price is five bob a bag but I can knock another tanner off for the summer price.’ ‘No, no,’ Sarah cried. ‘It’s not that. I won’t be needing it, that’s all.’ ‘If you leave it until winter I may not be able to help you out,’ Mr Millward persisted. ‘And you won’t get it at the summer prices either.’ ‘I know,’ said Sarah. As she began to close the door, he said, ‘If it’s about the money, I can’t give you the whole five bags but I could let you have one if you and I could come to some sort of arrangement.’ He raised an eyebrow. Sarah felt her face flush and taking a deep breath, she said haughtily, ‘I shall not be requiring your coal and I’d thank you to keep your special arrangements to yourself, thank you very much Mr Millward,’ before slamming the door in his face. He was raising his hand as the door banged and he called out something through the wood, but Sarah turned the key in the lock and took Lu-Lu upstairs to her bedroom to change her nappy. As she washed her daughter’s bottom with a flannel, Sarah smiled at her child but inside she was raging. How dare he? What was it with men? Ever since Henry had gone, half the male population of Worthing seemed to think that she was either ‘up for a bit of fun’ or ‘gagging for it’ or available for ‘an arrangement’. Little did they know that after the way Henry had treated her, she didn’t care if she never saw another man again. Putting the baby down, Sarah had another thought. Maybe Lu-Lu had taken her purse out of the basket while she and Mrs Rivers were having a cup of tea. She hadn’t stayed long because Mrs Rivers’ son, Nathan, had come home a bit earlier than usual, but there had been plenty of time for Lu-Lu to carry it off somewhere. As soon as Mr Millward’s lorry had gone, Sarah popped Lu-Lu into her playpen at the bottom of the stairs and knocked next door again. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way,’ she began as she stood in Mrs Rivers’ doorway, ‘but did you find a purse after I’d gone?’ ‘No, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘Why, have you lost one?’ ‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘I had it in the shops … obviously, but when I got back home and looked in my basket, it wasn’t there.’ The door was suddenly yanked open and Nat Rivers pushed past his mother. Sarah jumped. She didn’t like him. He was a big man with a generous beer belly, a mouth full of brown teeth and greying stubble on his chin. She’d never once seen him looking smart. Today he was wearing his usual grubby vest, no shirt and his trousers were held up with a large buckled belt. Nat Rivers had been in and out of prison all his life. Mrs Rivers looked up at him anxiously and slunk back indoors. ‘Are you accusing my mother of pinching something?’ he snapped. ‘No, no of course not,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s just that …’ ‘Then bugger off,’ he said as he slammed the door. Sarah turned away despondently. She’d never be able to prove a thing of course, but she couldn’t help noticing that Mrs Rivers was looking rather flushed as she spoke – and her son’s attitude wasn’t exactly neighbourly. Almost as soon as the door closed, she could hear the sound of raised voices and what sounded like a slap. She hovered for a second, wondering if she should knock on the door again, but then she thought of the children. What good would it do if Nat came out into the street and hit her in front of them? It was a relief when everything went quiet. Back home once more, Sarah had a heavy heart. It was so hard not to become bitter. She had thought that she and Henry were doing all right. He’d been looking forward to the birth of their second child. In fact, the whole time she’d been pregnant, he’d been like a big kid himself. He’d fussed over her and bought her flowers. He’d helped with looking after Jenny when her ankles swelled. Towards the end of the pregnancy, he’d taken Jenny out every Saturday so that Sarah could have a rest. When she and Henry were alone, he’d spent hours with his hand on her belly talking to his unborn child. He was so sure it would be a boy and she knew he was more than a little disappointed when Lu-Lu came, but she was such a beautiful baby right from the start. ‘You’re as good-looking as your daddy,’ she’d told Lu-Lu, knowing that Henry took pride in himself. He fancied that he looked like Ronald Colman with his light-coloured hair slicked down and his pencil-thin moustache. Sarah couldn’t see it herself but didn’t contradict him. Henry wouldn’t like that. As Sarah told him time and again, it didn’t matter that they hadn’t got a son yet. The baby was healthy, that was the main thing, and eventually he seemed to accept that she was right. But then one day she came home from picking Jenny up from school to find that he wasn’t there. She’d reported him missing but the police seemed to think that because he’d taken a suitcase, there was nothing amiss, so she was left to soldier on by herself. She had hoped he would return, but it had been almost ten months now and she had to accept the fact that he wasn’t coming back. Sarah was terrified that the welfare people would come and take the kids away, which was why it was imperative that she ask no one for money. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was an inadequate mother. She was determined to provide for them whatever happened. Over the months since he’d been gone, Sarah had pawned everything of value and only kept body and soul together by earning the odd shilling or two by cleaning the local pub in the morning and a couple of big houses during the day. It wasn’t easy because she had to take the baby with her and sometimes Lu-Lu was fractious because she had to sit in the pram all the time. Her sister had slipped her the odd five bob in the beginning, but she hadn’t offered anything lately and Sarah hadn’t asked. Mrs Angel had seen her skill with the needle and given her the occasional job mending a petticoat or making a baby dress, so when the children were in bed, she’d carried on working. In short, Sarah was willing to do anything which would raise a few extra funds provided it was honest, which was why meeting Mr Lovett had seemed like a godsend. All she could do now was hope and pray that he came back quickly with another order. Despite how she felt about Henry, Sarah had kept the few personal things he had left behind. There was a brown suit, a little old-fashioned with turn-ups, a couple of jumpers she’d knitted him and a silver cigarette case. It was hallmarked and she’d often wondered why he hadn’t taken it with him. There was an inscription inside, Kaye from Henry. She had no idea who Kaye was and Henry had certainly never mentioned her. Sarah turned the case over in her hands. It was time to let it go. She could get good money for it and it would do far more good helping to feed her children than gathering dust at the back of the wardrobe. If he came back she would explain and hope that he would understand. She searched through the pockets of the suit and found a pair of baby’s booties. They looked brand new but she didn’t recognise them. The girls had never worn them and she could only surmise that Henry had bought them intending to give them to her but forgot. They would do for Jenny’s dolly. With determination in her heart, Sarah bagged everything else up ready to take it to the second-hand shop. She’d take the cigarette case to Warner’s antique shop by Worthing central crossing in the morning. ‘Vera,’ Sarah called out to her sister as they dropped their children off at school in the morning. ‘Could I have a quick word?’ Vera glanced around as if to see who was looking. Sarah quickly explained about the goldfish and the funeral Jenny had planned for it and Vera agreed to bring Carole along. ‘Only for a minute, mind,’ she cautioned. ‘Bill will be expecting his tea.’ Back home, Sarah used a tablespoon to dig a hole in the postage stamp garden. When she’d finished, she’d stared down at it hoping it was deep enough. It definitely wasn’t the regulation six feet, but that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? How deep do you need to go for a fish? When she’d got up that morning, Jenny was already up and decorating Goldie’s coffin. She’d drawn flowers all over the sides and she’d even stuck some bits of ribbon on the lid. There was a note as well. Sarah’s eyes pricked as she read, ‘Gudbi Golldy.’ The rest of Sarah’s day was full. She took Lu-Lu to the pub where she cleaned the bar and toilets. Lu-Lu sat in her pram playing happily with some old beer mats and eventually fell asleep. After work, she took Henry’s suit and other things to the second-hand shop on North Street, where Lil Relland gave her five bob for the lot. The man in Warner’s valued the cigarette case at twelve shilling and offered her ten. Sarah was in no mood to argue. She took the money. After school, Vera and Carole came around and Jenny organised everybody for the fish’s funeral. As they stood in the small yard, Lu-Lu in Sarah’s arms, Carole read a poem something along the lines of: No more Goldie swimming round and round the water, swimmin’ like a little goldfish aughta … while the two sisters, in a rare moment of shared pleasure, struggled to keep a straight face. Then with a clear voice, Jenny put her hands together, grace style, to say thank you to God for Goldie. ‘Dear God, please look after Goldie in heaven. I know it’s a big place and she might get lost if the angels don’t look after her. And … please remember she gets scared if she’s left on her own. Amen.’ Sarah dared not look at Vera as she put Lu-Lu down and began to fill in the hole. ‘Wait a minute, Mummy!’ Jenny turned to run indoors. Sarah looked at Vera and gave her an exaggerated shrug. They waited, each avoiding the other’s eye, until Jenny came back out with the metal bridge from Goldie’s goldfish bowl. Everybody watched as Jenny knelt reverently beside the hole and placed it on top of the box. ‘She likes to swim around that,’ said Jenny. As she stood up, Sarah pushed some earth over the edge with her foot and eventually the hole was filled. When it was all done, Carole wanted to sing a hymn, so they plumped for All Things Bright and Beautiful. As they sang, Sarah’s heart was heavy. Not so much for the little fish lying there but for her little girl, having her first encounter with death and loss. What with Henry going, Sarah wondered how this might affect Jenny. Would she become terrified that she was going to lose everyone she loved? Vera sniffed (or was it giggled?) into her handkerchief. They marked the grave with the only piece of wood Sarah could find. Made out of two broken pieces of fence panelling and held together with a six-inch nail, the cross was ten times the size of the little body in the ground. After the service was over, Sarah gave Jenny the baby booties for her dolly, hoping it would soften the blow. Apparently it did, because before long, the two older girls were playing out on the street, while their mothers sat at Sarah’s table with a cup of tea. Sarah held Lu-Lu on her lap. Vera seemed very quiet, so Sarah took the initiative. ‘How’s life treating you?’ ‘Very well,’ Vera beamed. ‘Bill has just got a promotion. He’s foreman in the coach works now and since they nationalised the railways, the firm thinks they’ll get a lot more work.’ ‘That’s good,’ said Sarah. ‘Well, you can’t have a railway without carriages, can you?’ Vera joked. She frowned. ‘I hardly like to ask, but any news of Henry?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Not a dickie bird.’ Vera tutted. ‘I still can’t believe it. The swine. He took us all in, didn’t he? I mean, fancy leaving you in the lurch like that. He always seemed such a nice man. You didn’t say anything funny to him did you?’ ‘No!’ Sarah frowned crossly. Vera only knew the half of it. She’d never told her sister how demanding Henry had become and how difficult to live with. When he’d left, he’d taken all the money in the house, including the rent money and the emergency money in the jar. ‘Bill is still convinced something’s happened to him,’ said Vera. ‘They were such good mates.’ Sarah shrugged and stared into the depths of her cup. ‘The police said he’d gone of his own volition.’ What else could she say? As far as she knew, Henry had never contacted any of their friends or relations, and yet before the war, the four of them had had some good times together before the kids came along. As soon as Jenny and Carole were born, the men became occasional drinking companions, sometimes in Littlehampton and other times at the Half Brick. She smiled as she remembered one occasion when they lived in Pier Road, Henry came home on his bicycle, telling her that on the way to the pub he’d nearly fallen off when a lone Home Guard stepped out into the road and put his hand up. ‘Whatever for?’ she’d gasped. ‘He wanted to know what I was doing out at this time of night,’ Henry had chuckled. ‘I looks at my watch. “It’s only 9.30,” I says and then he wants to know where I’d been. “To the pub,” I told him. “Aren’t there any public houses nearer home?” he asks me.’ By now, they were both laughing. ‘But why on earth would he do that?’ Sarah had wanted to know. ‘He was a just a rookie having a bit of a practice,’ Henry had chuckled. ‘If you were a ruddy German,’ she had laughed, ‘you’d hardly invade the country on your own … and on a pushbike.’ Vera interrupted her thoughts. ‘You seem to be managing all right then?’ ‘Oh yes,’ Sarah smiled. Pride prevented her from telling her sister just how hard things really were. She couldn’t bear to hear her sister say, ‘I told you so …’ ‘If you need a few bob,’ said Vera, reaching for her bag, ‘I suppose I might be able to spare …’ ‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah interrupted as she felt her face heat up. Perhaps she could have done with a few bob, but Vera’s grudging and condescending manner meant that her pride got in the way. If the boot was on the other foot, she thought darkly, would I embarrass you the way you embarrass me? I think not. They drank their tea in silence. Sarah had little to say and the atmosphere between them had become rather awkward. ‘Did I tell you we’re moving?’ Vera asked. ‘No?’ ‘We’re buying a house in Lancing,’ Vera beamed. ‘Annweir Avenue. The railway is helping us with getting a mortgage and Bill wanted to be closer to the carriage works anyway. I can’t wait.’ Sarah swirled the tea in her cup. ‘Sounds good.’ ‘Bill is going to do it up and we may take a lodger. You know … someone respectable.’ Vera’s husband had done well for himself in the Lancing Carriage Works and the workforce was a close-knit community. During the war years, they had been kept busy repairing bombed-out carriages because the shortage of petrol meant that the railways had to be kept going whatever the cost. Henry had worked in a jeweller’s shop in Littlehampton until he was called up. It was through his friendship with Bill and the local cricket club matches that he and Sarah had met in the first place. Life was strange. It may have dealt her a bad hand but she was happy for her sister. They seemed to be doing really well. ‘The new British Railways have some brilliant new ideas,’ said Vera. She was on a roll now. ‘There’s talk about having an open day next year and inviting families and friends to come and have a look around. If they do it, you must come too.’ ‘Sounds fun,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s free but they’re raising funds for the Southern Railway Servants’ Orphanage and Homes for the Elderly. You will come, won’t you?’ ‘Try and keep me away,’ said Sarah, stifling a yawn. It was becoming more and more difficult to talk to Vera. As they’d got older, they had less and less in common. She felt uncomfortable and the conversation was always very one-sided. ‘How long before you leave Worthing?’ Vera shrugged. ‘Two weeks, a month? There’s still a bit of paperwork to do but the house is already empty.’ She stood to leave, calling her daughter to her and explaining that she had to get back for Bill’s tea. ‘It was lovely seeing you again,’ said Sarah, planting a kiss on Vera’s proffered cheek. ‘By the way,’ Vera said in a rather loud voice as she stepped out onto the street, ‘I’ve got a few bits and bobs you can have that belonged to Carole when she was a baby. They’re a bit worn but they might come in useful for Lu-Lu.’ A couple of her neighbours were walking by. Sarah averted her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly as she felt her face colour. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She couldn’t say no. The children needed clothes and she knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but did she have to tell the whole street? She closed the door, grateful that Vera and Carole had gone. Later, when the children were in bed and asleep, there was a knock on the door. Sarah was surprised to see Mrs Angel and Peter Millward, the coalman, on her doorstep. Mrs Angel looked much the same as she always did, with her snow-white hair falling from her loose bun, but Peter was all spruced up. He was wearing his demob suit, a white shirt and a black tie. His thinning hair was slicked down and he was holding a bunch of lily of the valley. ‘May we come in Sarah, dear?’ said Mrs Angel. Tight-lipped and angry, Sarah kept her back to them as she made a pot of tea. If Mr Millward had been there on his own she would have slammed the door in his face, but having Mrs Angel by his side meant that she felt the need to be polite. She’d carelessly cast his bunch of flowers onto the draining board without a word of thanks. In fact, she hadn’t said a word since the pair of them walked in the door. How dare he come back! And how dare he get someone as nice as Mrs Angel involved as well. She put a cup of tea in front of them, making sure she slopped some of Peter’s drink in the saucer, and sat at the table, her eyes fixed on Mrs Angel. ‘Peter wants to ask you something,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘Does he now,’ said Sarah coldly. ‘Well, I’m sure I have nothing to say to him.’ Mrs Angel put up her hand. ‘It seems there’s been a terrible mistake, dear.’ Sarah opened her mouth but then Peter said, ‘I’m a man of few words, missus, and sometimes they come out all wrong.’ Sarah turned to give him a cold hard stare. ‘I need a bookkeeper,’ he blurted out. Sarah blinked in surprise. ‘A bookkeeper?’ He nodded. ‘I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before, dear,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘It’s something you could do from home. What I mean is, you wouldn’t have to get someone to look after the children.’ ‘A bookkeeper,’ Sarah repeated. ‘I used to be good at sums at school, but I’ve never done anything like bookkeeping.’ ‘Perhaps not, dear,’ said Mrs Angel, ‘But I can help you get started and there’s nothing to it. You just have to be methodical.’ Sarah’s gaze went to Mr Millward. ‘I can’t pay you,’ he began. ‘I’ve only just started out myself, but I could pay you in kind.’ Sarah felt herself relaxing. ‘With a bag of coal?’ He nodded furiously and she began to laugh. ‘You know what,’ she said. ‘You’ve got yourself a bookkeeper.’ Mr Millward beamed. ‘I owe you an apology,’ said Sarah, but he waved a hand and shook his head. ‘Yes, I do,’ Sarah insisted. ‘It’s just that since my husband disappeared, a few people have made some rather improper suggestions.’ Mrs Angel looked away but Mr Millward continued to stare. ‘Henry has disappeared?’ ‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘Didn’t you know? He walked out on me and the children some time ago.’ She picked up her cup and tried to appear nonchalant. ‘I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.’ ‘A terrible thing to do,’ said Mrs Angel, shaking her head. ‘Those poor little girls need a daddy.’ ‘But your Henry hasn’t disappeared,’ Mr Millward exclaimed. ‘I’ve seen him.’ Sarah was aware that her mouth had dropped open, but the news had rendered her speechless. Mrs Angel clutched at her throat. ‘You saw him?’ ‘My old Mum lives in Horsham,’ said Mr Millward, addressing Mrs Angel. ‘I go to see her every week. I was there last Sunday and I saw him just down the road from Mum’s place. He didn’t see me, but I saw him.’ Sarah took in a breath. ‘Did he look all right? I mean, was he well?’ ‘Yeah, he looked fine.’ But as he looked at Sarah, the colour in his face rose and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, missus, but he wasn’t alone. He was arm in arm with some young woman.’ Two (#ulink_b355d16e-73b5-5d63-83e9-cccc1e4b069b) Annie Royal crept downstairs and into the kitchen. It was 6.30 a.m. and Henry would be up soon. She had laid the table the night before, so there wasn’t a lot to do. Today was his birthday and she was planning a little surprise. Tying her ash-blonde hair up with a scarf, she put an apron on over her nightdress. She loved her little house. It was the sort of home every girl dreamed of. Fairly near the centre of town, it had its own backyard and even a tiny front garden. She had a dining room and an upstairs bathroom with hot and cold running water. When they’d moved in, they had spent several happy weeks redecorating. All the dark greens and browns of yesterday were gone so that the house was light and airy. The country was still suffering hard times after the war so their furniture was utility, but it was clean and sturdy, and Henry promised that as soon as he got a raise, they would look for some more modern stuff like the furniture she’d shown him in her magazines. Their wedding had been a quiet affair. It wasn’t what she’d dreamed of but she tried not to mind too much. She had always wanted a big do with all of the family there, but when Henry had worked in her father’s jewellery shop they had fallen out over something. She’d tried to find out what had happened, but both men were too stubborn to say. Henry had tried to make it up to her as they’d planned their wedding almost a year ago. The registry office was full of flowers and the woman who cleaned the brasses on the front door and a passer-by had been their witnesses. All through the ceremony, which was breathtakingly short, Annie kept looking around, hoping that Mum and Father would come dashing in muttering apologies that their car had broken down or the bus was late or they’d missed the train, but it never happened. Of course, Henry could see how upset she was and he was kindness itself. ‘It’ll be all right, darling,’ he’d nuzzled in her ear. ‘Don’t let it spoil our special day,’ and his tender kisses helped to take some of the disappointment away. So long as she did what he told her, Henry was her hero, her knight in shining armour. Instead of a reception, they’d had a meal in a pretty restaurant. Somehow the people found out that they’d just got married (probably Henry’s doing again) and they’d made a huge fuss of them, giving them a free glass of wine each and handshakes all round. Annie blushed modestly and thought herself lucky or blessed or a mixture of both. Henry was light-haired, suave and sophisticated and, in her eyes, even better looking than Ronald Colman, the star he so much admired. He was so loving and caring as well. Her honeymoon nights spent right here in their own home were full of his lovemaking and her days packed with his kisses. He paid her compliments all the time and she was convinced that she would be the envy of all her friends if ever she got to tell them. Henry wasn’t one for visiting. He said he preferred them to spend their weekends by themselves, so she hadn’t seen anybody for ages. Still, it didn’t matter. Not really. She smiled to herself. Henry was so romantic, just like the film stars at the pictures. Whenever she and Henry went out, he was even mildly jealous when other men looked at her. She’d laugh gaily and tell him it was his own fault because he would keep buying her pretty dresses and scarves as well as things that were for his eyes only in the bedroom. Henry was exciting, passionate and all hers … When she’d written to tell her parents they were married, Mum wrote back protesting that they’d never received the invitation. ‘Of course they did,’ Henry had said crossly. ‘I posted it myself.’ ‘I’ll pop over and see them,’ she’d said, but Henry didn’t feel it was wise. ‘Why ever not?’ she’d protested. ‘Leave it for a while,’ he’d counselled. ‘Let things settle down.’ Annie was reluctant, but then her new husband had given her a wounded look and complained that everyone was ganging up on him, so she’d let it go. Annie had settled down to domesticity and looking after Henry. He wouldn’t hear of her getting a job. ‘No wife of mine will ever have to go out to work,’ he’d declared stoutly. It was fun at first, but she soon got bored. She had only been married for five months when she discovered she was pregnant. Henry was over the moon and did his best to treat her like a piece of delicate china. ‘I’m only pregnant,’ she’d laughed, ‘not ill.’ Henry had screwed up his nose. ‘Don’t use that word, darling,’ he said. ‘It sounds so vulgar.’ She was taken aback. ‘Then what …’ ‘Say you’re in the family way,’ he said, kissing her ear. He was funny like that. Prudish over some things and yet such an accomplished lover in the bedroom. She supposed it might be because of his Rhodesian upbringing. Henry had come to this country as a boy to get an English education and for some reason far beyond Annie’s understanding, had never gone back. As soon as she heard Henry moving about upstairs, Annie put a pan of water on the gas stove and lit the flame underneath. She took the loaf out of the breadbin and unwrapped it. She always kept it covered with a damp tea towel to keep it fresh. Her neighbour, Mrs Holborn, had given her that useful tip. All she had to do now was make the tea. Annie had met Henry just over a year ago. He didn’t talk much about his past or his wartime experiences because he had been captured in the early days and spent almost all of the war years as a POW. He was a lot older than her. She was eighteen and he was thirty-six today. She’d adored him from the start, but her father, who had taken Henry on in the jewellers’ shop, had been more cautious. ‘He’s deep that one,’ Father had said. ‘He may be a good worker, but we don’t really know much about him.’ Of course, her parents were concerned because their courtship had been so short. ‘All I know is that I love him and he loves me,’ Annie had said stoutly, and now that Henry was her husband and she was expecting his baby, she had high hopes that Henry and her father would make friends again. ‘I know Father can be difficult,’ she’d pleaded with Henry, ‘but please try and like him just a little bit.’ ‘I do, darling,’ Henry protested. ‘Really I do, but the man is impossible.’ She sighed. Perhaps he was right. She’d written to her parents several times, but they’d never replied. She could hear Henry coming out of the bathroom, so she put the eggs into the boiling water and two slices of bread under the grill. ‘What are you doing up so early?’ he asked as he walked into the kitchen. She indicated his chair and he sat down. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she kissed the top of his head. ‘Two boiled eggs, three minutes, just as you like them, coming up,’ she said, putting the toast and butter in front of him. Henry smiled. ‘Thank you, darling.’ He patted her arm. ‘When I’ve gone to work, I want you to go back to bed.’ ‘Henry, I’m fine,’ she said, reaching for the teapot. ‘A woman in your condition …’ Henry began again. ‘Please don’t worry about me,’ she protested as she put one egg in the egg cup and the other on the plate. ‘I’m fine.’ ‘Please don’t argue with me,’ he said, his pale eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I think that as your husband, I’ll be the judge of what’s best.’ ‘Yes,’ she faltered. She mustn’t make him angry. It was a bit scary when he shouted. ‘You’re right. I’ll go back and lie down once you’ve gone to work.’ ‘I only have your best interests at heart,’ he said, slicing off the top of the egg smartly with the knife. The yolk, a thick, rich orange, spilled over the side of the egg cup and onto the plate. ‘Yours and the baby’s.’ ‘I know,’ she sighed. She sat opposite him and drank her tea, but she was in no mood to eat. As her pregnancy advanced, Henry was most insistent that she lead a quiet life. ‘First babies can be difficult to carry,’ he told her. ‘I want you to rest as much as possible.’ As he constantly reminded her, Annie had promised to love, honour and obey him, but at times it was very boring. She cleaned the house and did the shopping, always remembering to buy his favourite coffee crunch sweets and settling into a weekly routine. On Mondays it was washing, Tuesday cleaning upstairs, Wednesday she did the ironing and Thursday she tackled the downstairs. On Friday it was a little light gardening until she got too big and then it was time to get the sewing machine out and make a layette for the baby. On Saturdays and Sundays Henry was home so she read books and knitted and sometimes they went for a walk. She loved the little market town. It seemed so bright and cheerful after the war. She loved the striking fa?ade of the Black Horse Hotel with its pretty window boxes, and the Carfax, a sort of market square with its own bandstand. Even the posh new toilets in the Bishopric were a talking point, but with so little else to stimulate her mind, Annie could hardly wait for the baby to come. A man came to decorate the nursery. He was good-looking, funny and friendly, but Henry said he didn’t like the standard of his work, so they had to find another. The new man turned out to be rather dour, but despite his advancing years, he got the job done eventually. She set her teacup down on the table. ‘I thought I might write to my mother and ask her over,’ she said as he tucked into his second egg. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Henry tartly. ‘You know how awkward your father can be and I won’t have you upset.’ Disappointed, she showed no emotion as she handed him a present. ‘Happy birthday, darling.’ ‘Birthday? Oh! So it is.’ She was slightly surprised that he hadn’t bothered to remember his own birthday, but his enthusiastic praise for the box of handkerchiefs she’d given him put her in a better mood. She went with him to the front door but he kissed her in the hallway. ‘Don’t let anyone see you looking like that,’ he said, pushing her behind the door. ‘Back to bed now.’ Using the door as a shield, she lingered in the hallway and blew a kiss as he closed it. After that, she went into the sitting room to watch him go towards the station. Across the street, she saw a woman walking in the opposite direction suddenly dart into the gateway of a house. Lifting the net curtain, Annie watched her husband’s back until he reached the end of the road and walked out of sight. When she turned her head again, the woman was still there. She seemed to be watching Henry as well, but who was she? Annie had never seen her before. She was elegantly dressed in a lilac two-piece. The jacket had a nipped-in waist and the flowing skirt was a perfect imitation of the New Look. She wore a small, brimmed hat with a circle of netting on the side. She seemed rather nervous as she watched Henry go to the end of the road, moving her clutch bag from one hand to the other. She waited until he’d turned the corner before she came out onto the pavement again and, opening her bag, she took out a cigarette case. Annie watched her take one out and put it between her lips and, as the woman fired her lighter, she turned towards the house to shield the flame. Her cigarette lit, the woman looked up and their eyes met. They stared at each other for a split second then, as the woman took a long drag on her cigarette, Annie let the curtain drop. A moment later, the woman turned and walked on. ‘That’s funny,’ Annie murmured to herself as she turned for the stairs. * She found herself trembling from head to foot and her heart was racing like the clappers when she saw him. She hadn’t expected to bump into him in the street. If she’d been on the same side of the road, she would have walked right into him. Luckily, when he’d come out of the gate, he’d had his head down and was brushing something from his trouser leg. That had given her just enough time to dart into the nearest garden, but she had watched him walking briskly down the street with his head held high until he’d turned the corner. Arrogant sod. Now that he’d gone and she was back on the pavement, she didn’t know why she hadn’t confronted him there and then. It would have been the perfect opportunity and they were quite alone in the street. She hadn’t expected to see the girl either. So young … she only looked about sixteen. She threw the half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and hurried on. Tears were biting the backs of her eyes, but she wasn’t going to give way. She knew exactly what to do. Her car was at the end of the street. She opened the door and threw in her handbag. Once in the driver’s seat, she fumbled for another cigarette. Drawing deeply, she felt the rage inside her subsiding slightly but not the anger. That was cold and calculating. Nobody wanted their dirty linen washed in public, but enough was enough. She was rational enough to want it all done properly and that would take time. He was not going to get away with it, not this time. It might be unpleasant, but he had to be stopped. Putting the key in the ignition, she revved the engine a couple of times and set off. * Sarah could hear raised voices next door. She tried to block out the sound because she was concentrating on Mr Millward’s books, but then she heard the sound of a loud thump, someone falling and Mrs Rivers crying out. Sarah took off her shoe and banged on the wall. She wasn’t brave enough to confront Nat Rivers face to face, but she wanted him to know that someone was listening. She heard him curse and a few moments later, the door slammed and he walked by the kitchen window. Sarah dashed to the front door and slid the large bolt at the top seconds before Nat tried the doorknob. Her heart was pounding as she turned the key in the lock and shot the bolt at the bottom of the door. On the other side, Nat kicked the wood. ‘You stay away from my mother,’ he shouted through the letter box. ‘Keep your interfering nose out of my business.’ Sarah pressed herself against the wall and said nothing, but as soon as he’d gone down the road, she went to the wooden partition between the kitchen and the scullery. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Rivers? Mrs Rivers? Shall I come round?’ ‘I’m fine,’ her neighbour called shakily. ‘I dropped the coal bucket, that’s all.’ Sarah respected her wish not to be disturbed, but she wished she could have gone in to check. ‘Sarah dear?’ Mrs Rivers called a few minutes later. ‘Yes?’ ‘I think it better if you don’t come round for a while. Is that all right?’ Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Are you sure? I’m not scared of him.’ It was a lie of course, but there was nothing to stop the two of them getting together when Nat wasn’t around. ‘I think it’s best, dear.’ Reluctantly, Sarah went back to her paperwork, but her mind was all over the place. She hadn’t wanted to believe Mr Millward when he’d told her about Henry. She’d tried to tell herself he was wrong, or that it was a case of mistaken identity, but the man was adamant. He had definitely seen her husband in Horsham. All the same, Sarah had to see for herself. Her greatest problem was getting over there. She had no spare money for the bus fare and besides, who would look after the girls? She could try Vera, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to ask her for help. It took quite a while to plough through the mountain of paperwork Mr Millward had given her, but gradually she made sense of the books. Over the past few weeks, he’d been delighted with her work and they’d become friends. He was no oil painting but he was a good man, she could see that now. He was ambitious too. He’d lost everything in the war, his wife and his home, so he had to start all over again. The coal yard, he’d told her, was only the beginning and now that his books were straight and he could see that he was doing quite well, it was time to expand. Then this morning he’d turned up at her house unannounced. ‘I’m planning to go into the haulage business,’ he told her. ‘I’m not getting any younger and humping coal is a young man’s job.’ She’d smiled encouragingly as she’d passed him a cup of tea. What was he trying to tell her? That he wouldn’t be needing a part-time bookkeeper anymore? That she’d lost the position? ‘I need a couple of lorries,’ he went on. Sarah stirred her tea, trying not to notice his protruding nasal hairs. ‘So I’m going to Horsham next Thursday,’ he said. ‘This chap I know can get hold of ex-army surplus stuff at a knock-down price.’ Sarah nodded. ‘I hope it’s all legit.’ ‘It is,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked. The thing is, if you want to see that husband of yours, you and the kids can come with me in the lorry if you like.’ Sarah hesitated. Confront Henry outright? It was a tempting thought. ‘I have to pick Jenny up from school at three,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’m not seeing the bloke until six-ish,’ said Mr Millward. ‘I can pick you up after you’ve got the kiddie, if you like.’ Sarah’s hand went to her mouth. The timing couldn’t have been better. It was an opportunity too good to miss. * * * Annie Royal lifted the net curtain to dust the already dustless window ledge then glanced back at the clock. Ten thirty. Mrs Holborn from next door would be here at any minute. Annie returned to the kitchen to boil the milk in readiness for their morning cup of Camp coffee. She had only just put the pan of milk on the stove when there was a sharp rap on the back door. ‘Come on in, Mrs Holborn.’ Her neighbour took off her coat and hung it over the back of her chair and after swapping comments about the weather, the two women sat down. They were as different as chalk and cheese but their shared loneliness had drawn them together for their twice a week coffee times. On Thursdays, Annie would go next door to Mrs Holborn’s place and today, Tuesday, Mrs Holborn came to her. They were both housewives. Mrs Holborn, a woman of fairly mature years, spent her time looking after her sick husband. She also had the responsibility of caring for her aged mother-in-law who lived a couple of streets away and, on top of that, she had three strapping but lazy sons living at home. Annie was easily twenty-five years her junior, but the two of them enjoyed their little chats together. ‘How’s your Oswald?’ ‘Much the same. He’s coughing up blood now.’ Annie frowned with concern. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’ Since the advent of the new National Health Service, it was so much easier to get medical help. Annie knew that if this had happened only a year ago and Mrs Holborn had to pay for the doctor to come, Oswald would have waited in vain. Mrs Holborn nodded. ‘He’s sleeping now so I can’t stay for more than a minute or two today. They’re taking him up to the sanatorium in a couple of days, so I won’t be able to have you over for coffee on Thursday.’ Annie squeezed her hand. ‘Oh, Mrs Holborn, I’m so sorry … for your husband, I mean.’ ‘It’s for the best, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘I know it was Oswald’s wish to die at home but it can’t be helped. The TB has got a terrible hold on him now.’ Annie knew Henry wouldn’t like it if he knew Mrs Holborn was here. Because her husband was so sick, Henry was afraid she might ‘pass something on’ to the baby and had forbidden Annie to be with her, but how could she turn away a friend in need? Mrs Holborn had been so kind when they’d moved in and had given her such a lot of friendly advice. There was so much more to being married than she’d realised, and Henry liked everything just so. Annie had been at a bit of a loss to begin with, and when Henry got annoyed, she’d cried bitterly. Mrs Holborn had helped her master the New World cooker and had given her tips on how to make the rations go further. It wasn’t easy managing on an ounce of bacon, two ounces of butter and a shilling’s worth of meat a week, and Annie welcomed Mrs Holborn’s inventiveness when it came to making interesting meals. Her own mother hadn’t been near the place, but Mrs Holborn had not only been on hand to give her motherly advice, but she’d also been a pal to laugh with and sometimes a shoulder to cry on. Now the tables had turned and it was her turn to be there for her friend. As they sat in Annie’s immaculate kitchen, Mrs Holborn took a small package out of her apron pocket and pushed it across the table. ‘A little something for the baby,’ she smiled. It was wrapped in blue tissue paper, and when she opened it, it was a tiny matinee jacket with matching booties knitted in snow-white wool. ‘It’s beautiful!’ cried Annie. ‘Whenever did you find the time to do it?’ Mrs Holborn blushed. ‘Actually I didn’t. My mother-in-law can’t get around like she used to but she’s still a good knitter. I bought the wool and the pattern and she did it for me.’ Annie fingered the lacy pattern. It was so soft, so snowy white, just perfect for her baby. ‘How long have you got now?’ asked Mrs Holborn. Annie put her hand over her bump. ‘Two and a bit months. It’s due in the middle of November.’ ‘About the same time as the royal baby then,’ Mrs Holborn grinned. ‘I wonder which one of you is going to be the first to tie the good news on Buckingham Palace gates?’ Annie chuckled. The whole country was already excited about the forthcoming birth of the Princess Elizabeth’s first child, and King George VI’s first grandchild. The papers had gone quiet since the announcement and the princess hadn’t been filmed or photographed since the summer, but everyone knew the baby was due in November. ‘Did you notice that woman was back?’ said Mrs Holborn suddenly. ‘She was waiting across the road again this morning.’ A feeling of unease wrapped itself around Annie’s stomach. ‘What woman?’ ‘Attractive, well dressed. She looked as if she was worth a bob or two,’ Mrs Holborn went on. ‘I saw her hanging around a couple of weeks ago.’ Annie frowned. ‘Is she still there then?’ The two women, their eyes locked, stood up together. They walked quietly to the sitting room and, standing well back from the window, scanned the street, but there was no sign of her. Annie was secretly relieved. She had no idea who the woman was, but it was a bit disconcerting having her outside the house. ‘The car’s gone too,’ said Mrs Holborn, sounding surprised. ‘What car?’ ‘I saw her heading towards a car at the other end of the road,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘She must have been waiting for someone,’ Annie remarked. ‘Maybe,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘I get the feeling that she’ll be trouble.’ ‘Ah well, thank goodness she’s not there now,’ said Annie, steering her back to the kitchen. Three (#ulink_6759fba5-f5cb-57af-8e0f-686061ae7231) On Thursday afternoon, Annie washed up her cup and saucer and wiped the draining board. Her jobs were all done, the house was spotless and the ironing basket was empty. What on earth was she going to do for the rest of the day? Once the baby came there would be plenty to think about, but right now, with no friends living nearby, she was bored, bored, bored. If only one of her friends from Worthing would answer her letters. She wrote nearly every Sunday and Henry posted them on his way to work, but it was as if she faced a wall of silence. A glance through the window told her that the rain was holding off, so she decided to go for a walk. Maybe she’d take a sandwich, buy herself a magazine and sit in the park for a while. Annie put on her swagger coat and sensible shoes. She decided against an umbrella, but she took a ten bob note from the emergency jar. She wouldn’t spend it all of course, but she might buy something from the shops … some chocolate or maybe an ice cream. Surely Henry wouldn’t object if she treated herself now and then? Feeling suddenly daring, she kicked off the sensible shoes and reached for her high heels. She hadn’t worn them for ages but they did make her feel more feminine. Just because she was pregnant, she didn’t have to be a complete frump, did she? Annie had no problem finding a seat in the sunshine. Earlier in the month when they’d held the Horsham Festival and the fairground rides were there, you could hardly put a pinhead between the people on the grass, but there were few in the park today. It was a lovely place. If she had been with Henry and she wasn’t pregnant, they might have gone to the outside swimming pool or played a game of miniature golf followed by cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea at the park caf?. Today, she’d bought a quarter of coffee crunch for Henry and had been daring enough to buy a naughty cake. She settled down to eat it. Henry would have been annoyed if he’d seen her. ‘Eating in the street?’ he would’ve said. ‘How slovenly,’ but for the moment, she didn’t care. She bit into the sponge and the imitation cream tickled her nose. Delicious. Her magazine was enjoyable too and she was soon engrossed in a story about an actress who felt miscast as a housewife (oh, how she sympathised), when a shadow fell across the page. When Annie looked up, the elegant woman she’d seen in the street the day of Henry’s birthday was standing right in front of her. Immediately her pulse rate shot up and the baby kicked inside of her. ‘Excuse me. Is your husband Henry Royal?’ The woman’s voice was soft and well educated and yet she didn’t appear to be at all toffee-nosed. All the same, Annie didn’t want to talk to her. Snatching up her magazine, Annie stuffed it into her bag. She didn’t know why but this woman was unnerving her. ‘I’m sorry,’ said the woman. ‘No, no, don’t get up. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ ‘Who are you?’ Annie challenged. ‘And what do you want with my husband?’ The woman made as if to speak and then seemed to change her mind. As she moved her arm, a waft of expensive perfume filled the air. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’ she said softly. ‘Somewhere a little more quiet. A caf? or some tea rooms?’ Annie’s heart was bumping as she looked the woman up and down. She was older than she was; mid-thirties or perhaps more. She was dressed in orange and brown. Her hair under her lopsided burnt orange hat was curled, but it looked natural rather than a permanent wave. Her complexion and make-up were flawless. She wore an orange and white spotted blouse underneath the jacket of her brown suit, which had a long line pencil skirt ending way beyond the knee. Her dark brown suede court shoes sported a neat bow on the front. She wore elbow-length gloves which matched her hat and she carried a lizard-skin clutch bag. The woman was polite enough and her voice was gentle but somehow Annie didn’t want to hear what she had to say. ‘I can’t stop now,’ she blurted out. ‘I have to get home and get my husband’s tea.’ ‘You’re pregnant,’ the woman said as Annie pulled her coat around herself. She sounded a little surprised. ‘Yes I am, but I don’t see what business that is of yours,’ Annie said haughtily. ‘It makes things a little more difficult,’ the woman conceded, ‘but I still need to talk to you.’ ‘Not now. Not today.’ In the distance, the town hall clock struck the half hour. ‘It won’t take long and it is rather important.’ ‘I have to go,’ said Annie, wishing she’d worn the sensible shoes now. Hurrying in high heels which she hadn’t worn in ages was not a good idea, but she couldn’t bear to be near the woman a second longer. Annie didn’t look back as she hurried away. She was shaking inside and she’d gone most of the way home before she’d managed to calm down. Thankfully the woman hadn’t followed her. As she turned the corner of the street, there was an ambulance outside Mrs Holborn’s and when a stretcher came out of the house, she saw Oswald, pale-faced and with sunken cheeks, under the blanket, blinking up at the sky. He looked terrible and Mrs Holborn was crying. Annie didn’t have time to say anything to them but she did stop to give her neighbour an encouraging smile before the ambulance doors were closed on them both. As it roared away, she somehow knew that was the last time she would ever see Oswald Holborn. The woman in the park had shaken her up, but her discomfort was nothing compared to what poor Mrs Holborn was going through. When she got indoors, Annie hid her shoes at the back of the cupboard and put the radio on full blast. Henry didn’t like a lot of noise, but Annie wanted to shut out the memories of Oswald’s pain-filled face and every trace of that woman in the park. The one thing she couldn’t stop were the questions reverberating around in her head. Who was that woman? Why did she keep coming back and what did she have to do with Henry? Before long the potatoes were peeled and the cabbage ready in the pan. Tonight Annie was going to cook lamb chops as a special treat. She had just laid the table when there was a sharp rap at the back door. Her neighbour, Mrs Holborn, must be back from the hospital already. ‘Come on in,’ she called. The door opened and a woman she’d never seen before stepped into the kitchen. Annie jumped and gasped in disbelief. Now what? Her first thought was that the woman was a gypsy, perhaps selling pegs or lucky heather, but a more considered look told her this woman was no gypsy. How strange, and what were the odds against two completely different women accosting her on the same day? She was just about to shout at her and threaten her with the police when she noticed she had two little girls with her – one was in her mother’s arms while the other leaned against her body. Annie felt her blood run cold. ‘Who are you? What do you want? My husband will be here at any minute,’ she said, hoping to frighten the woman away. ‘Your husband?’ Sarah sneered. Her words seemed to hang in space. Annie put her hand protectively over the baby under her floral apron. The woman stared at her bump and Annie held her head high. ‘You don’t know, do you?’ said the woman. ‘You haven’t a clue.’ ‘Don’t know what?’ said Annie, doing her best to sound in control of the situation. ‘Henry Royal isn’t your husband,’ said the woman, the words tumbling out. ‘My name is Sarah Royal. I’ve never been divorced, so you see Henry can’t be your husband – because he’s still mine.’ A deafening silence crept between them. Annie, still holding the salt and pepper pots ready to put on the table, was conscious that she was staring at this stranger with her mouth open. Clearly she must be quite mad. She’d got Henry mixed up with somebody else. In a couple of weeks it would be their wedding anniversary. A year ago, they had had a proper wedding with a registrar and witnesses. And wasn’t her marriage certificate in the drawer? Her husband came home every night and was with her every weekend so how could he possibly have another wife and family? As the silence deepened, the smaller child wriggled in her mother’s arms to get down. Her mother put her onto the floor and straightened up again. ‘I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible mistake,’ said Annie, taking a deep breath and willing herself to stay calm. She continued with putting the condiments on the table and tried to sound firm yet gentle. It was obvious that the poor woman must be deluded. Annie had heard of things like this before. The war had only finished three years ago and there were stories in the papers all the time about women who still believed their husbands were coming home even after they’d been officially informed to the contrary. Annie chewed her bottom lip. ‘Please,’ she began again. ‘I know you are upset but I really must ask you to go. My husband …’ They all heard a key turn in the front door and a blast of cold air propelled the kitchen door open and tugged at the tea towel hanging over the back of a chair. Annie and the woman stood facing each other, their eyes locked. At the same moment Henry called, ‘Darling, I’m home.’ The older child beamed. ‘Daddy!’ she cried and as she darted towards the hallway, her mother grabbed her arm. ‘No Jenny, wait.’ ‘But that’s Daddy,’ she cried. ‘I can hear him.’ Annie’s stomach went over. She looked down at the girl. She was about six years old with light brown hair done up in plaits. Her pinched face had an earnest expression. She was clean and tidy but thin and pale. Her coat was far too small for her. The sleeves ended above the wrists and the buttons strained across her middle. It barely reached her knees. The other little girl looked about eighteen months old. Henry’s heavy footsteps echoed along the passageway. ‘Didn’t you hear me call, darling? I’m home.’ Annie remained rooted to the spot. She didn’t know what to do. He’d be furious that she’d let this stranger in and even more annoyed that the uninvited woman in his kitchen was unhinged enough to be making such ridiculous accusations. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she hissed, but it was already too late. A bunch of chrysanthemums heralded his arrival and then Henry himself stood in the doorway. When he saw the woman, his face froze. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he thundered. ‘Daddy,’ said the child again, but he ignored her. Her mother pulled Jenny back to her side. ‘You know perfectly well why I’m here,’ she said defiantly. ‘How could you do this to us, Henry?’ ‘Get out,’ he bellowed. ‘Get out or I’ll call the police and have you arrested.’ Annie gasped and put her hand over her mouth. With a defiant look, Sarah squared up to him. ‘Why don’t you do just that,’ she retorted, but he’d thrown the flowers onto the kitchen table and was already bundling her roughly through the kitchen door. ‘Call the police,’ she shrieked as she was being manhandled outside, ‘and it’s you they’ll lock up, Henry.’ ‘Get out, you witch, and don’t come back!’ ‘You owe me, Henry!’ ‘I owe you nothing.’ ‘But we’ve got nothing. You’ve got to help us.’ By now both children were crying, but Henry didn’t seem to care. ‘Get out, get out, the lot of you …’ he shouted as he slammed the door after them. There was the sound of a fall and Annie listened in horror as the little girl tried to comfort her mother and sister. ‘Oh Henry, I forgot to bring the washing in,’ Annie cried. ‘She’s fallen over the tin bath.’ She ran towards the door but Henry grabbed her wrist and rounded on her. ‘Why did you let them in? Haven’t I told you time and time again not to have people in the house when I’m not here?’ ‘I didn’t realise she was there,’ Annie protested. The wails outside began to fade and they both knew that the woman and her children were leaving. ‘I thought she was Mrs Holborn.’ ‘And why would you think that?’ he bellowed. Annie gulped. Why had she blurted that out? She dared not tell him that she and Mrs Holborn met on a regular basis. ‘You’ve had her in here, haven’t you?’ he cried, swinging his arm around and sending everything from the table onto the floor. The plates smashed and the knives and forks fell with a clatter as he yelled, ‘Why can’t you women do as you’re bloody well told?’ ‘Henry …’ she said in shocked surprise. He’d been cross with her in the past but she’d never seen him in such a rage before. She gasped at the broken plates and the bunch of flowers scattered everywhere, but he was totally unrepentant. His feet crunching on broken glass, he stalked angrily out of the room. Annie’s heart was thumping as she surveyed the mess. This wasn’t how she’d wanted the evening to be. A smell of burning chop wafted towards her and she realised too late that the dinner was ruined as well. Miserably, she began to clear up. When she opened the back door to put the pieces of broken crockery into the dustbin, the woman and the two children had long gone. There was no sign of them. The washing was still in the clean bath, so she picked it up and brought it in. Putting it onto a chair, Annie fought her tears and began to fold it ready for the iron. Could the woman’s words be true? Annie had been ready to dismiss her fantastic accusation out of hand until the little girl recognised Henry’s voice. The child was so young it seemed impossible that she would make it up, and if she really was his child, how could he have been so cruel? Annie caressed her bump. What if he was that horrible to her baby? She heard a footfall behind her and realised he was back. ‘Sorry, darling,’ he said in a contrite tone of voice. ‘Bad day at the office.’ He took her in his arms and held her tightly. ‘She said you were her husband.’ ‘I’ve never seen her in my life before,’ he said firmly. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly and she melted in his arms. ‘But the little girl seemed to know you,’ Annie said. ‘She called you daddy.’ His expression darkened. ‘What is this? Are you calling me a liar?’ he challenged. ‘No, no, of course not,’ Annie said. ‘It’s just that …’ ‘They train them to do that,’ he said. Annie was aghast. ‘Train them?’ ‘Don’t you see, you silly goose?’ he smiled, relaxing his expression. ‘It was some sort of racket. She wanted money, that’s all. They come round and make a scene, the kid pretends the husband is the father and we pay her to go away and say nothing.’ He put his arms around her again. ‘Poor little things. They did look rather thin,’ Annie remarked. ‘Let’s not talk about them anymore,’ said Henry curtly. ‘The tea,’ she said miserably. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘We’re going away.’ ‘Going away?’ she said faintly. ‘But you never said. Where are we going?’ ‘It’s a little surprise,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few days off work. Now go upstairs and pack, there’s a good girl. We’ll eat on the train.’ ‘What train?’ she asked. ‘Stop asking bloody questions!’ he snapped impatiently. Annie fled. The suitcase was on the bed. He’d obviously been up into the loft to fetch it. She packed what she could but had no idea how long they were going for or even where they were going. Why couldn’t he have mentioned the surprise this morning? It would have made the day so much better, having something to look forward to, and she could have done a little ironing ready to pack the suitcase. Still, it was a good time of the year to be going away. Most boarding houses would welcome late guests. The summer season was over and yet the warm autumn days were as good as, if not better than, August. She wondered where they were going. They certainly couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel. Henry was always very careful with his money. ‘Finished?’ he said, coming through the bedroom door. ‘I hope we’re not going to be too long,’ she said. ‘I have to see the midwife next week.’ ‘For God’s sake!’ he snapped and, pushing her roughly aside, he slammed the lid of the case and locked it. ‘Stop bleating on, will you? Go and get your coat on.’ ‘We’re not going right away, are we?’ she gasped. ‘Yes we are, now get a move on.’ He was hurrying her down the stairs so quickly she almost stumbled. He helped her with her coat and then she remembered the rice pudding still in the oven. ‘I have to turn the oven off.’ ‘Leave it,’ he growled. ‘Don’t be silly, Henry,’ she said, hurrying back. ‘If I don’t turn it off we’ll burn the house down.’ She heard him opening the front door as she put on the oven gloves. A second later he came rushing through the kitchen, knocking her against the cooker as he went. ‘Mind the pudding!’ she cried as it slid from her gloved hands and onto the draining board. But Henry wasn’t listening. He’d flung open the back door and was charging out into the garden. He didn’t get far. Someone was standing in the shadows waiting for him. ‘Going somewhere, sir,’ said a man’s voice. Annie gasped as a policeman walked her husband back into the kitchen. Henry looked around helplessly as another policeman came into the kitchen from the hallway. ‘What’s happened?’ Annie cried. ‘Is it my mother?’ ‘Henry Arthur Royale,’ the policeman was saying, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of bigamy. You do not have to say anything …’ ‘The bitch is lying,’ cried Henry. ‘I got a divorce.’ With a horrified sigh, Annie lowered herself onto a chair. Four (#ulink_00cf33f5-617f-502c-8a51-8b686ec003be) As soon as Sarah stumbled out onto the street, she was filled with remorse. What on earth had she been thinking of? When Vera told her she was unable to have the girls, she should have let it go. She should never have brought them to Horsham. They could be traumatised for life by what their father had just done to them. She still had Lu-Lu in her arms and Jenny was clinging to her skirts. They were all crying now and when she knelt on the pavement to put her arm around Jenny, the little girl was trembling. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered as she choked back her own tears. ‘Mummy is so sorry about what happened, but I want you to remember that Daddy is cross with Mummy, not with you. He didn’t mean it.’ Jenny looked at her, her eyes brimming. ‘But he called you a witch.’ ‘It was a silly grown-up’s joke,’ she said in a measured tone. It cost her dearly, but Sarah was determined that her gentle and loving daughter wouldn’t be damaged any further. She had never once expected this sort of reaction from Henry, but she must have been mad to come, especially with the children. To her surprise, a couple of minutes later, a police car drew up and several policemen got out. They went into Henry’s gate. Sarah hoiked Lu-Lu back onto her hip and took Jenny’s hand in hers. An expensive-looking car had also pulled up beside the pavement. The driver, a woman, seemed to be waiting for something but she didn’t get out. ‘Move along now if you please, madam,’ said a policeman coming up to Sarah. ‘This is no place for little ones.’ Sarah didn’t need any more persuasion. Whatever Henry was mixed up in, she was well out of it. Her only thought now was to get her children away from here. As they hurried back along the street, Sarah turned her head to see the same policeman who had told her to move on leaning into the expensive car’s window. A few seconds later, the woman drove off. Before long, as they waited on the corner for Mr Millward’s lorry, Jenny was swinging around the bus stop and Lu-Lu was giggling as she watched her big sister play. Sarah was grateful that she’d thought of bringing the baby reins. They gave Lu-Lu a little freedom but also kept her safe. In the distance, Sarah saw what looked like Henry being bundled into a big black car. That girl in Henry’s kitchen had looked as fresh as a daisy and as innocent as a virgin, only she wasn’t a virgin, was she? She was pregnant. Before Sarah realised the girl’s condition, she had hated her without even knowing her. Now that Henry had been arrested, she was beginning to think there was something about the girl that reminded her of herself. It probably wasn’t her fault. He’d most likely lied to that girl in just the same way he’d lied to her. For a moment back there she’d felt … oh, she couldn’t put it into words … protective or something like that. She’d wanted to prepare the girl for what was to come. It wasn’t logical and her thinking was muddled. She certainly didn’t feel like that now. Because of that girl, everyone had been let down. Her friends, his friends, even the people where he’d worked. Sarah was both frustrated and angry. The silly trollop had ruined all their lives. Jenny sidled up to her and leaned into her body. ‘Who was that lady in Daddy’s house, Mummy?’ Sarah smiled down at her eldest daughter. ‘Nobody important, darling.’ * ‘You all right, dear?’ Annie was still in her kitchen with the back door wide open. Her eyes were puffy and her throat was sore from crying. Henry was gone. Bewildered, she had followed him to the front door and watched the police take him away in a big black Humber, spitting feathers and using ugly swear words she’d never heard before. ‘Get me a solicitor,’ he’d bellowed as they’d pushed him onto the back seat of the car. Her mind was in a whirl. Should she follow him to the police station? How would she get there? More to the point, where was it? If it was too far to walk, she’d have to go on the bus and it was gone eight o’clock. If they kept her at the police station for a long time, how would she get back home? She didn’t like the thought of being out at night on her own, especially in her present condition. He wouldn’t want her getting a taxi. Henry had always insisted taxis were a terrible waste of money. She had returned to the kitchen and sat at the table doing her best to gather her thoughts. There must be a terrible mistake. That woman at the back door – Sarah was it? – seemed normal enough, but she had to be deluded. Either that or it was a case of mistaken identity. Henry probably reminded her of her lost husband. He must have said something, or walked the same way her husband walked, and the poor woman had convinced herself that he was the same man. Annie cast her mind back to the late summer of 1947 when she and Henry had first met and were strolling along a country lane. She’d caught sight of a girl with long red hair just up in front of her. From the back, the girl had looked just like Ellen Slattery and her heart had missed a beat. Annie had grown up with Ellen and knew her very well, but Ellen had been killed in an air raid in 1940. At the time, Annie hadn’t taken into account the fact that Ellen would have been five years older, and that when you lose someone, they stay in your memory exactly as when you last saw them. The woman who had knocked on her kitchen door must have done exactly the same thing. In the cold, hard light of day, surely she would realise her mistake? ‘Annie dear …’ Annie became aware that Mrs Holborn was standing over her. ‘I’ve made you a cup of tea. You look as if you could do with one.’ ‘They took my Henry away,’ she said dully. ‘I know, dear,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘I saw them taking him away as I got off the bus. I wasn’t sure if I should come in …’ Annie stared at the cup and saucer being pushed in front of her. ‘Where can I get a solicitor? He told me to get him a solicitor.’ ‘I shouldn’t worry about that now, dear,’ Mrs Holborn soothed. ‘Plenty of time in the morning.’ ‘Yes, but where would I find one?’ Annie persisted. Mrs Holborn shrugged. ‘I’d ask the police when you go to see him tomorrow.’ Annie nodded dully and shivered. ‘Are you cold?’ asked Mrs Holborn. ‘I suppose you are. You had all the doors wide open. I’ll put the oven on and leave it open to warm the place up a bit.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s a bit late to light the fire in the sitting room. You’ll be going to bed soon I expect.’ Her neighbour left the room and Annie looked up. The clock was already ticking its way towards 9.30 p.m. She blew her nose and sipped her tea. A few minutes later, Mrs Holborn was back with a hot-water bottle. Annie watched as she emptied it out and refilled it with hot water. ‘I’m sure everything will come right in the end,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘Your Henry is a good man.’ ‘A woman came to the house,’ Annie began. ‘That woman we both saw in the street?’ ‘No, a different one,’ said Annie. ‘She said Henry was her husband.’ ‘Her husband?’ cried Mrs Holborn. ‘Well, that can’t be right, can it? Didn’t you tell me you were married in the registry office?’ Annie nodded. ‘Well then,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘She’s made a mistake. I shouldn’t worry, dear. The police will soon sort it out and he’ll be back home before you know it. I’ll just pop this hot-water bottle in your bed for you.’ Annie listened to Mrs Holborn climbing the stairs. The baby moved and she rubbed her stomach. What if Henry really was still married to someone else? Her baby would be illegitimate, wouldn’t it? Her throat tightened. She was an honest woman. She’d been a virgin on her wedding night. Henry was experienced, but then you expected that, didn’t you? Young men and their wild oats and all that … But he wouldn’t have deceived her about something as important as having another wife, would he? Would he? Supposing he was still married? That would make her an adulteress, wouldn’t it? If she’d broken the seventh commandment and she didn’t know, would that still make her a sinner? He’d told the police he’d got a divorce. Annie never even knew he’d been married before. Why hadn’t he told her? That wasn’t the sort of thing a husband should keep from his wife. Mrs Holborn was back. She looked tired and drawn. ‘How is your husband?’ Annie asked. ‘I’m going back first thing in the morning,’ she said grimly. ‘They tell me it’s only a matter of days.’ ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Annie, catching her neighbour’s hand. Mrs Holborn squeezed her hand back. ‘Don’t you go worrying about me. We’ve had a good innings, Oswald and me. All good things come to an end.’ As she spoke, her face coloured and she looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, dear. Me and my big mouth. Now it’s my turn to be sorry.’ ‘Do you think I should telephone the police station?’ ‘Leave it until the morning, dear. I’m sure they won’t tell you anything you don’t already know.’ * As Peter Millward drove her and the girls home, Sarah couldn’t stop thinking. In truth, she’d wished she was still in the kitchen when the police had knocked on Henry’s door. How she would have loved to see his smug face change when they’d arrested him. What on earth had he done? If she could have had anything to do with it, she would have enjoyed pointing the finger and watching him squirm. How could he have left her and the kids like that? She was at her wit’s end. Someone in the pub had told her that if a person was missing for seven years they could be declared dead. But he wasn’t dead, was he? He’d walked out of all their lives, taking everything portable with him and, somehow, Sarah had struggled on. Seeing the lovely house where Henry lived made it even harder to keep a lid on her anger. She and the girls managed in one room and a bedroom upstairs and a poky little kitchen which she had to share with the tenant downstairs. They had an outside lavvy while the rat who’d put her in this position lived in a three-bedroomed house with its own little garden. Henry had once accused her of being dippy and said that she wouldn’t be able to cope without him. Well, she’d proved him wrong, hadn’t she? She may not have such a grand house, but she’d kept a roof over their heads and the girls knew they were loved. ‘I take it that it didn’t go well,’ said Peter cautiously. ‘It didn’t,’ Sarah said. The only sound in the lorry was the hum of the engine. ‘I won’t pry,’ he said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road, ‘but just to let you know, if ever you want to talk …’ ‘Thank you, Mr Millward,’ she said stiffly. ‘You’re a kind man.’ ‘Peter, please.’ ‘Peter,’ she said shyly. And with that, he left her to her own thoughts for the rest of the journey. The minute Henry had pushed her and the girls out of the door, Sarah’s hopes and dreams had been finally dashed. In her haste to get away, she had tripped over a metal bath full of washing and fallen onto the path. Poor little Jenny was distraught. Sarah had hauled herself to her feet and, ignoring the graze on her leg, limped away, her only thought to get her children as far away from Henry as possible. For the first time since it happened, she became aware of a throbbing in her leg. She glanced down and in the headlights of a passing car, she caught sight of a dark stain creeping down her leg. Her stocking was shredded. ‘Do you need to stop and sort that leg out?’ said Peter. ‘No, I’ll be all right,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll wait until I get home.’ Jenny had already leaned into her mother’s side and promptly fallen asleep. Lu-Lu was dead to the world in her arms and although Sarah was dog-tired, she couldn’t sleep. Her brain was racing. Lu-Lu was far too young to understand, but how would her gentle Jenny survive knowing that the daddy she adored had no time for her now? How could he be so heartless and cruel? Sarah kissed the top of her daughter’s neatly plaited head. ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ she whispered to her sleeping child. ‘From now on, I promise to protect you. He may not want you, but Mummy loves you to bits.’ And, she thought to herself, Mummy will never let you down. * Mrs Holborn left soon after she’d put the hot-water bottle in the bed, making Annie promise to lock the door when she’d gone. The suitcase stood accusingly in the hallway as Annie wearily climbed the stairs. She would unpack it in the morning. As she undressed and crawled into bed, she wondered vaguely where Henry had been planning to take her. She turned out the lamp. It was lovely and warm between the sheets but already she missed Henry’s bulk beside her. Oh Henry … where are you now? They must let you come home soon. Her silent tears were making her pillow damp. She turned it over and closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind wouldn’t stop going over and over what had happened. When she finally drifted away, her last thought was of him. I need you, Henry. I simply can’t have this baby on my own. Five (#ulink_fca56d7d-7427-543e-abba-3538b1e09990) Annie woke up with a thumping headache but there was no time to feel sorry for herself. Two aspirin with her cup of tea would have to suffice. By 9.15 a.m. she was already walking down New Street. She didn’t have a plan but she knew she had to do two things: one, to make sure Henry was all right; and secondly, to find a solicitor. As she reached the bus stop, a Southdown bus pulled up to let someone off. Annie climbed aboard. There was no room on the lower deck so she went upstairs, and how providential that turned out to be. As the bus turned towards the Carfax, she spotted a sign engraved on a first floor window. D.C. West, Solicitor and Commissioner of Oaths. Annie got off at the next stop. The entrance was in between a caf? and a greengrocer’s shop and up a steep flight of stairs. A door at the top was open and Annie found herself in a small office. A woman behind the desk was typing but she stopped as soon as she saw Annie. ‘Can I help you?’ Annie stated her business and the secretary asked her to wait. She knocked on the glass of another door and a rather squeaky voice called ‘Enter.’ Mr West turned out to be an amiable man with a jolly face and a bald head. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit and when he offered her a handshake, she could see he had well-manicured fingernails. The first thing he did was to ask his secretary to bring some tea. As soon as she left the room, Annie started to explain what had happened when suddenly Mr West put up his hand. ‘Before I begin my consultation,’ he smiled, ‘I’m afraid I must ask you for two guineas up front.’ Annie swallowed hard. Two guineas? There wasn’t even a pound in the emergency jar and that was all she had. She had already eaten into the ten bob note when she’d seen the posh woman. Henry kept all their money in the bank. ‘My husband handles all our affairs,’ she faltered. ‘The balance can wait until the case is cleared,’ Mr West said, ‘but I need something on account.’ Annie opened her purse and, keeping back a florin, tipped five shillings onto the desk. ‘I’ll bring the balance tomorrow,’ she said firmly. ‘Two guineas,’ Mr West insisted. He leaned back in his chair and studied her face. Annie stood up, moving slowly and exaggerating her bulk. ‘Then I’ll have to go home and fetch it,’ she sighed. ‘Perhaps …’ he began as she headed for the door, ‘er … um … in view of your condition, I could make an exception.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Annie, lowering herself into the chair again. For the next few minutes, she told her story and Mr West took everything down. ‘Do you have your wedding certificate with you?’ Annie shook her head. Ever since she got on the bus she’d had a feeling she should have brought it with her, but it was still in Henry’s drawer. ‘Bring it when you come back with the balance,’ said Mr West, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. ‘Like you say, I’m sure this is all a silly misunderstanding. Leave it to me, Mrs Royal.’ ‘Next.’ The receptionist at the Old Town Hall was a tight-lipped woman with a severe hairstyle and a lazy eye. A young woman with a small child on her hip walked to the desk and began speaking in hushed tones. Annie, who was next in the queue, had been directed there from the police station after the desk sergeant had explained that Henry had been sent to the magistrate’s court which was held in the Old Town Hall. It was so annoying. If they had told her that straight away, she would have been here a lot sooner, but instead they had kept her waiting in a bare room for twenty minutes and then a detective had asked her a lot of questions. Had she seen the other Mrs Royal before that day? Did she know Mr Royal had been married before? Where did she meet Mr Royal? How long had she known him? The questions went on and on. The young woman moved away from the desk and the receptionist called a second time, ‘Next.’ Annie explained that she had come here to see Henry. She addressed one eye before realising that the woman was actually looking at her with the other. It was most disconcerting and even more so when the woman told her she was already too late to see Henry. ‘Mr Royal has already appeared before the magistrate and is now in the cells,’ she said, lifting her head. ‘Next.’ Annie was aware of other people behind her in the queue but she hadn’t finished yet. ‘In the cells?’ ‘He’s been sent for trial at the next Lewes Assizes,’ the woman said curtly. ‘And before you ask, no I’m afraid you can’t see him. Not in here anyway. Next.’ ‘But how long will it be before the trial?’ Annie asked. A man shuffled towards the desk. ‘Three weeks,’ said the woman. Annie stayed rooted to the spot. Three weeks? Henry would be stuck in jail for three weeks when he hadn’t done anything? ‘So what do I do now?’ said Annie, more to herself than to anyone else. ‘You can visit him once he’s been transferred,’ said the woman. ‘You don’t have to apply for a permit for prisoners on remand. Next.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Annie faintly. She moved out of the way and the man shuffled forward again. ‘If you want my advice,’ the receptionist muttered, ‘you’ll choose your friends more carefully next time.’ Annie felt her face flame and she turned on her heel. ‘Well, nobody asked you for your advice so I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ she snapped. The woman looked deeply offended, but with head held high, Annie walked back to the door, ignoring another person in the queue muttering a breathy, ‘Well, really …’ In desperate need of refreshment, Annie wandered into the caf? next door. She felt a bit guilty being so rude to the woman in the town hall, but how dare she judge her. Henry was innocent, and even if he was caught up in something, she wasn’t going to be a doormat, nor the brunt of other people’s ill-informed opinions. Sitting in the window seat and watching people going about their normal business had a calming effect. She had resisted having a quiet cry all morning and when at times her hands had a visible tremor, she’d made a point of gripping her handbag on what was left of her lap so that no one would see how upset she was. She wasn’t about to let that silly old cow in the town hall reduce her to tears now. The waitress put the teapot in front of her and the rattling teacup and saucer brought her back to the here and now. ‘Nice day,’ the waitress remarked. Annie managed a thin smile and her mouth said, ‘Yes, yes it is,’ and at the same time thinking, well, it may be for you but my world is falling apart … Left to her tea and her own thoughts, Annie wondered about little Jenny and her mother. Henry had insisted it was all trickery, but the child had seemed genuinely upset. What sort of a mother would expose her child to such an awful scene? If she had something against Henry, why didn’t she confront him when they were on their own? What the woman said couldn’t possibly be true, and yet the magistrates had believed her story. They must have done if Henry was to be sent for trial. Annie’s eyes drifted towards the newsagent across the road and in particular the billboard outside. What if the newspapers got hold of the story? She shuddered at the thought of being the object of shame and gossip and gripped her cup with both hands to stop them shaking the tea onto the tablecloth as she pictured herself trying to dodge the reporters in the same way people did on the Path? newsreels. And what about Henry? This could ruin him. For the first time since it happened, Annie suddenly remembered his job. She would have to tell them where he was, but how could she? Once they knew he was in Lewes prison, he’d get the sack. He had already lost his freedom, and if she let him lose his job, he would be totally humiliated. It was grossly unfair. She couldn’t let it happen. As soon as she’d finished her tea, she would go round to the jeweller’s shop in the High Street where Henry worked now and make some excuse. But what on earth would she say? She could explain away a day or two with a bad cold or a hacking cough, but three weeks? Think, she told her jumbled brain, think carefully and logically. Rhodesia. He’d told her that he’d grown up in Rhodesia. She knew that much anyway. It was only as the detective asked her questions that she realised how little she knew about him. Did he have brothers and sisters? She didn’t know. Where was he educated? She hadn’t a clue. She’d told the policeman that Henry had been a POW during the war but when he’d pressed her on that one, she had no idea where he’d been. She’d never thought to ask and she’d never really realised before that even if she did mention something about his past, Henry always changed the subject. The policeman had exposed her lack of knowledge and she’d felt such a fool, but she’d made up her mind that as soon as Henry was back home, she’d make a point of finding out everything she could. But for now what was she going to tell the people where Henry worked? If she couldn’t tell the truth, she’d have to make something up. What if someone out there, his mother or his brother, had sent for him? His father was dying … yes, that was it. She would tell them that his father was dying in far-off Rhodesia and that his mother had sent for him. He’d gone at once and he’d be back in three weeks. Of course he didn’t have the plane fare and there was no question of waiting to save up, so they’d sent the plane ticket by wire from Rhodesia. What with all the changes, it took four or five days to fly out there which was why he needed to go at once and why it would take at least three weeks to sort everything out. She drained the last vestige of her tea and took a deep breath. She was no good at lying. Her parents always knew when she wasn’t telling the truth. She thought back to 1940 and the last time she’d been with Ellen Slattery shortly before she was killed. They were both ten and supposed to be going to GFS after school. The Girls’ Friendly Society was fun, but Ellen had persuaded her to play Kiss Chase with the boys instead. They’d had a great time and when it was time to go home, they’d synchronised their stories. Ellen got away with it, but somehow Father had known that Annie was lying. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the unbearable sting of his wide hand as it met the tops of her bare legs. She’d been sent to bed with no tea and spent the next few days pulling her dress down to hide the bruise marks from his fingers, which were still clearly visible. This time she had to get her story right if the people Henry worked for were to believe her. * Sarah was going through the motions. She’d got the children up and Jenny to school, but she kept away from her sister. She was still annoyed with Vera that she had refused to have Jenny and Lu-Lu for a bit and she certainly didn’t want to have to talk about what had happened in Horsham. She did her shift in the pub, which was particularly unpleasant that day because someone had been sick in the gents, and then a little shopping. She avoided Mrs Angel’s shop because she couldn’t face putting what happened yesterday into words there either. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help wondering what Henry was doing now. She hoped his cell was freezing cold and that they’d taken away all his clothes. She hoped his bed was made of rusty nails and that he had rats for company. Of course, in this day and age that was impossible, she told herself, but she wished for it all the same. The puzzling thing was, why had the police arrested him? If only she had stayed outside the back door a bit longer, then she might have heard. Where did she go from here? She should jolly well make Henry pay for his children’s upkeep, but how did she go about it? Besides, if she flagged herself up to the welfare people, they might decide to take the kids away from her and if that happened, she couldn’t go on. Without Jenny and Lu-Lu, she might as well be dead. She had no money for solicitors and the like, so she was in a cleft stick. Before picking Jenny up from school, Sarah went to the phone box to look in the dog-eared Directory Enquiries book for the number of the Horsham police station. Then she lifted the receiver and asked the operator to connect her. Once she had pushed the money in the slot and the operator told her she was connected, she pressed button B and heard a gruff voice saying, ‘Horsham Police. Desk Sergeant.’ ‘I’m enquiring about Mr Henry Royal,’ she said in her poshest voice. ‘He’s been sent for trial at Lewes Assizes.’ Sarah swallowed hard. ‘On what charge?’ ‘Who are you?’ said the sergeant. ‘I’m his wife.’ ‘Then you already know,’ said the sergeant. He sounded irritable. ‘Seeing as how you made the complaint.’ Sarah hesitated. What was he talking about? ‘But I’ve made no complaint,’ she said. There was a pause at the other end. ‘Say your name again?’ ‘Mrs Sarah Royal,’ she said deliberately. The sergeant must have put his hand over the mouthpiece because although his response was muffled, Sarah heard him gasp, ‘Bloody ’ell. Call the Inspector. There’s another one on the phone.’ She hung up. * Back home and exhausted, Annie stood in her bathroom and put a cold flannel to her forehead. What a day. The meeting at the jeweller’s where Henry worked in the office went quite well, although she’d hated having to lie to them. She’d used her pregnancy to good effect and even had them fussing around her with a chair and a glass of water before she’d left the shop. ‘If there’s anything we can do to help, Mrs Royal,’ the manager had said as she left, ‘please don’t hesitate …’ Annie had kept her head down, not daring to look him in the eye, but she told him of her appreciation for his kind offer. It was so embarrassing and she went away full of shame, but for Henry’s sake what else could she do? The next pressing thing was to find some money and her wedding certificate for Mr West and that left her with another dilemma. Henry kept all their important papers in the dresser drawer, but she didn’t have the key. Henry kept all the keys to himself, while she only had the front and back door keys. After reviving her flagging energy levels with a sandwich, Annie tackled the drawer. She tried sliding a knife along the top, but as soon as it hit the lock, that was that. She found a bunch of keys in the outhouse but nothing fitted. She tried picking the lock with a piece of wire, but her attempt soon convinced her that she’d never make a good burglar. What looked easy on the Hollywood silver screen was far from simple in real life and it was also very frustrating. The emergency money was almost gone. If only she hadn’t bought that cake and magazine. True, the cake had only cost 3d, as did the Woman magazine – hardly high-class living – but right now every penny counted. And then there was that pot of tea she’d had this morning. Mr West already had five bob and the rent was due in two weeks’ time. Annie held her head in her hands. What on earth was she going to do? She wasn’t even in a position to earn any money. Who would employ a woman about to give birth? She lowered herself into a chair as her thoughts grew even darker. How was she going to visit Henry with no money? She hardly had enough to feed herself for three weeks, let alone travel all the way to Lewes. Then she remembered the gold watch Granny had given her for her birthday. She could pawn it for the time being. Once Henry’s trial was over and he was proven innocent, she could get it back. It was heavy, so it must be worth a bob or two. Annie searched the place high and low, but she couldn’t find it. It was all very puzzling. She had it on the day of her wedding because she remembered that Henry had remarked how much he’d liked it. She was sure she’d put it back in the box but it wasn’t there now. She racked her brains but she couldn’t remember seeing it again. Where on earth could it have gone? Having drawn a complete blank, there was only one other way forward. She had to open that drawer. * Angry and frustrated, Henry Royale lay on his cot facing the wall. How could he have ended up in such a place? He didn’t ask much out of life. A little money, a loving wife, a son … and yet it had come to this. He drew his knees up as he thought of Annie. Why, oh why, had she let that witch in? If he’d told her once, he’d told her a thousand times, ‘Don’t let anybody in the house while I’m at work.’ Of course, he’d never for a minute believed that Sarah would track him down, but if Annie had done as she was told, he could have bluffed his way out of it, same as he always did. And if she’d got a move on with the packing, they would have been long gone before the police arrived as well. Lewes prison, No. 1 Brighton Road, turned out to be a castellated flint and brick building. Built in Victorian times for far fewer inmates, he and another 149 prisoners were incarcerated two together in a one-man cell, with the stinking toilet stuck in the middle of the room. Only a wooden lid kept the body odours in check and, from where he lay, it wasn’t very effective. They’d told him that if he’d been a convicted man rather than a prisoner on remand, he would have been put in isolation straight away. Frankly, he would have preferred to be on his own. He hated having no privacy and, to add insult to injury, he only had a thin mattress, a stained and smelly pillow and a prison blanket on his bed, so no comfort either. He didn’t even have any more of his favourite sweets. He’d eaten the last coffee crunch before he’d been remanded in custody. A noxious smell filled the air as the other prisoner farted. ‘Whoops, sorry mate.’ Henry pulled the blanket over his nose. His cellmate, a skinny man with a broken tooth who had obviously been drinking heavily the night before, wasn’t the only animal to share his room. Before he’d turned his back on his fellow prisoner, Henry had seen at least two cockroaches running around the perimeter of the room. The fat solicitor Annie sent seemed to think that if he was convicted, he’d get three months. Three months wasn’t too bad. There was a vague possibility he’d miss the birth of his son, but he’d be back with Annie before the child was more than a week or two old. He could have done with the man earlier but he’d arrived too late for the short hearing in the magistrate’s court where Henry had elected to conduct his own defence rather than wait. He realised now that he shouldn’t have been so hasty, but what was done, was done. Right now there were more pressing things to think about … like getting his story straight and winning the sympathy of the jury. Six (#ulink_8ec08cf2-8c4e-5c62-96dc-5dc403b923ac) Annie stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Her cheeks were pale and her lipstick reduced to a fading thin line. She took out her compact and began to repair the damage. This wasn’t what she’d planned at all. Until two days ago, she’d never even been in a police station before and now here she was waiting to be ‘interviewed’ again. They’d made her tip everything out of her handbag, and then she’d watched them picking through her lipstick, powder compact, her purse, the wedding certificate and the brooch. They took the brooch and they’d already taken her bank book earlier on. Having put on her lipstick, she rubbed her lips together and wondered how much she should tell them. Having stared at it for several days, she had managed to get the drawer open earlier that morning, but the wood had split when she’d levered it away from the lock. She’d gasped in horror knowing that Henry would be very cross, but once she’d calmed down, she’d told herself it couldn’t be helped. Her hand had trembled, and after all that effort, the results were disappointing. The contents of the drawer looked a bit dull. Would the police be interested to know about the papers and the photographs? As she’d sifted through everything, the milkman had clinked the milk bottles outside the back door and she’d almost jumped out of her skin. She’d felt like a thief, but then she remembered Henry saying, ‘what’s mine is yours,’ and relaxed a little. Of course, he only said that when they were in bed together, and she knew he didn’t mean she could take his personal things when they had married, but hadn’t he promised ‘all my worldly goods I thee endow’? When her heartbeat had returned to normal, she’d lowered herself onto a chair and spread everything over the table. There was a pretty amethyst brooch in the shape of a flower. It was in a blue box, the kind her father used in the shop. Henry must have been saving it for her for when the baby came. The papers were completely incomprehensible, a neatly folded pile which looked as if she’d need the services of someone like Mr West to decipher them. There was one marked Southern Rhodesia Tobacco Company, which looked like it had something to do with shares belonging to Grenville Hartley. She also found a life policy in her name with the SunRise assurance company, the house insurance and her wedding certificate. She had known about the SunRise assurance company because the man came once a month for the premium. The photographs were of Henry with another woman. Should she tell the police about that? Henry was much younger and in swimming trunks. He stood next to the woman who was wearing a one-piece bathing suit. She had a long cigarette holder in her hand and her hair was tied up in a white turban. She seemed vaguely familiar although Annie knew she’d never met her. Perhaps she was a film star? She certainly could have passed for one with her slim figure and long legs. Annie didn’t recognise the beach but it looked hot and sunny. They were both laughing and looked so happy that Annie couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, but she would keep that to herself no matter what. The other photographs were of people unknown to her; a man in a deck-lounger in a field and another of Henry standing next to the same man with the woman, this time without her turban. There was something written in pencil on the back of one of the photographs. ‘Priory Road, Chichester, August 1927.’ Having looked at them for some time, Annie decided that the unknown man was probably the woman’s husband and that they were friends of Henry’s from before she knew him. Annie remembered feeling uncomfortable and a little bit angry as well. This was a part of Henry’s life that she knew absolutely nothing about. Who were these people? Had they died in the war? Were they relatives or just friends? Why hadn’t he told her about them? Pushing the photographs back into a pile, she’d wiped a renegade tear away from her cheek and stood up. The bank book had been a pleasant surprise. It was in their joint names and there was a healthy ?500/14/6 in the account. ?500! She couldn’t believe her luck. This, she had felt sure, would keep her very well until Henry was released. Of course, she would use it frugally, but it did mean she could travel to Lewes by train to see Henry as often as she wanted. A wave of relief had swept over her. Everything was going to be all right after all. Considering that the lock on the drawer was already broken, she tucked the wedding certificate, the brooch and the bank book into her handbag for safekeeping and put everything else back into the drawer. It didn’t take her long to get ready to go back into town. She had planned to take the wedding certificate to Mr West as soon as she had drawn some money from the bank. She’d never actually written a cheque before but she had seen her father do it hundreds of times. She’d handed it to the cashier who’d studied it for a few seconds and then stood up. ‘If you will excuse me Mrs Royal, I have to check something with the manager.’ Annie was puzzled. ‘Is everything all right?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ the cashier assured her, ‘I won’t be a minute.’ He’d left the counter for a few minutes and came back with the bank manager. The manager was very polite as he asked her to step into his office. Annie thought it a little odd, but as they were both being so pleasant, she didn’t dream anything was amiss. ‘Is this your bank book?’ he’d asked. Annie sat opposite him at the desk. ‘Mine and my husband’s,’ Annie smiled pleasantly. ‘My husband has had to go away on business and I need a little cash.’ ‘I see,’ said the manager. He was turning the book over and over in his hands. ‘I was a little concerned because the signature in the book and your signature are different.’ Annie returned his gaze. ‘My husband usually draws our money.’ ‘This book hasn’t been used for ten years,’ said the manager, ‘and to be perfectly frank, I don’t believe it’s yours. You’ve stolen it.’ Annie leapt to her feet. ‘That’s not true!’ And at the same time a policeman walked into the office. The two men conferred together while she protested her innocence, but it was no use. She had been asked to accompany the policeman to the station, which was a few doors away and where she now waited. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. How much longer were they going to keep her here? She replaced her compact and closed her handbag just as two men in plain clothes came into the room. They put a file onto the table. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Hacker,’ said the first one, ‘and this is Detective Constable Green. I’m sure that in your present condition you don’t want to be here any longer than you have to, so I’ll get straight to the point.’ ‘I appreciate that,’ Annie nodded. ‘Good,’ said DS Hacker. ‘So perhaps you would explain to me why you tried to access someone else’s account at the bank and how you came to have that brooch in your handbag.’ So Annie told them. She told them that Henry was on remand, and that he was innocent. ‘It’s all a terrible mistake,’ she said quickly as the policeman raised his eyebrow. She told them about his locked drawer and her desperate need of money. She told them about Mr West and that she had only gone to the bank to get two guineas for him and a few shillings for her own needs. She pointed out that the size of the cheque she had written was tantamount to proof of that. Wouldn’t she, she asked them, have written a cheque for the whole of the five hundred pounds had she been a thief? They listened without interruption until she sat back in the chair. ‘Umm,’ said DS Hacker, looking sceptical. ‘There’s only a couple of small problems with all that, Mrs Royal. The names on the bank book are for a Mr and Mrs Royale, spelt with an “e”, and the brooch has been reported stolen.’ * Whenever Sarah saw Mrs Rivers now, the older woman hurried on her way without speaking to her. Sarah was deeply hurt. They had been such friends before. Nat seemed to enjoy creeping up behind her in the butchers or the pub and shouting ‘Boo!’ or something silly like that. If only she could do something about him. She was sure he was still knocking his mother about but she knew that until Mrs Rivers made a personal complaint, the police treated all such incidents as ‘domestic’. One ray of sunshine in a series of dark days was the fact that Mr Lovett had secured several orders. The number and the timescale was a bit daunting – six romper suits and five dresses in a little under three weeks – but if he paid her as well as he had done before, Sarah would give it a go. However, she was shrewd enough not to show her excitement just yet. ‘I’ve no money for materials,’ she said. They were in Mrs Angel’s shop and there were no other customers because Mrs Angel had pulled down the blind for a few minutes so that they could speak in private. ‘Just tell Mrs Angel what you require and I’ll settle up with her later,’ he said. The relief Sarah felt was palpable. If she could carry on with this, life would be so much easier for herself and the girls. All she had to do was get through the next few weeks on what little money she did have, although after seeing Henry’s lovely house, it galled her that she still had this perpetual struggle. It wasn’t right that she and the girls should be scrimping and scraping, barely able to keep body and soul together, while Henry and that trollop lived so well. ‘So,’ Mr Lovett beamed. He was holding out his hand. ‘Do we have a deal, Mrs Royal?’ Sarah put her hand in his and shook it warmly as he added, ‘Then I shall be back in the middle of the month.’ As soon as he’d gone, Sarah rushed around the counter to hug Mrs Angel. ‘No need for that, dear,’ said the old woman, stepping back, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. ‘I only did what anyone else would do.’ ‘You did more than that,’ Sarah insisted. ‘You are the only person in the world who has offered me any practical help and I can never repay you for your kindness.’ ‘No need to,’ said Mrs Angel, getting a couple of bolts of material down from the shelf. ‘I hardly like to ask, but how did you get on when you saw your husband?’ Sarah told her briefly what had happened and explained that, given what she had seen, she wanted to claim maintenance for the children. ‘You’ll have to get a solicitor to deal with that,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘And that takes money,’ said Sarah sourly. ‘You can apply for a legal certificate,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘That means you don’t have to pay. Would you like me to ask around? I shall be discreet.’ ‘You’re very kind, Mrs Angel,’ said Sarah, ‘but I don’t want everybody knowing my business.’ Mrs Angel nodded sagely. ‘My dear, it’s already in the paper. Didn’t you know?’ Sarah’s mouth went dry. Mrs Angel went into the back room beyond her shop and came back with the Gazette. The front page was dominated by a story about a woman’s body being found near the pier, but Mrs Angel opened it to page five and pointed to a small paragraph headed ‘Worthing man remanded in custody.’ In the brief article, she read that Henry Arthur Royale had been remanded in custody to appear at Lewes Assizes on two charges, one of bigamy and another of theft. Sarah felt the colour drain from her face. She had blanked everything else out and had been so consumed by Henry’s reaction and the way he’d treated Jenny; but now things looked really bad. Henry really had married that girl and, to top it all, he was being accused of theft as well. ‘When he comes up before the judge,’ she said, ‘I need to be in court.’ ‘Haven’t the police talked to you, dear?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Then he must have been married to another woman,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘Don’t you see?’ she added as she saw Sarah’s puzzled frown. ‘Someone else has made a complaint.’ Sarah gasped. ‘You mean it’s not just me?’ She remembered the comment the desk sergeant had made when she rang the police. ‘If you make a complaint as well,’ said Mrs Angel, ‘they will get you to court.’ Armed with two yards of material and some embroidery silks, Sarah had plenty to think about as she walked back home. One thing was for sure. She would do as Mrs Angel suggested. She would report her marriage and go to court. * The detective who had interviewed Annie was terrifying. In his forties, and with a greasy, pockmarked face, he was very much a dominating force, aggressive and loud. Annie was respectful and did her best to field his questions, whilst at the same time, struggling not to cry. ‘Where did you get this bank book?’ ‘I’ve already told you, from my husband’s drawer.’ ‘You must have seen the name.’ ‘I didn’t notice the “e” until you said.’ ‘But it was obvious.’ ‘I know. I can see that now, but I honestly didn’t notice at the time.’ ‘Is your initial “K”? ‘No.’ ‘Then you must have known the book didn’t belong to you.’ ‘No … that is … Maybe I saw it but it didn’t really register. I was upset …’ He banged the book onto the table, making her jump. ‘I think you knew very well what you were doing, young lady,’ he shouted. ‘You saw a bank book with ?500 pounds in it and you thought, Ah, I’ll have some of that.’ Annie was alarmed. ‘It wasn’t like that!’ ‘So you passed yourself off as Mrs K Royale.’ ‘No,’ Annie protested again. ‘I only wanted enough money to pay Mr West and to go and see my husband.’ ‘But you haven’t got a husband, have you?’ he sneered. ‘I can see you are having a baby, but you’re not married. You’re living in sin.’ ‘I am not!’ Annie cried indignantly. ‘How dare you say that! I am married and you’ve got my wedding certificate to prove it.’ The two men looked at each other, then DS Hacker closed his folder and stood up. ‘All right, Mrs Royal,’ he said. ‘For the moment we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt. We’re keeping the bank book, and the jeweller concerned doesn’t want to press charges, but remember that impersonation is a very serious offence. You are free to go.’ As they led her away from the poky little room and back to the entrance, Annie struggled not to give way to tears. She wasn’t going to give that horrible man the pleasure of seeing her break down, but when she reached the front desk all her plans went out of the window. A man and a woman stood up as she came through and the woman called her name. With a loud sob, Annie threw herself in her parents’ arms. Seven (#ulink_9ea76c49-d2f3-593c-989a-fddbe29a18c2) When she told the police why she had come, Sarah was shown into a small room near the reception area. As he opened the door, the desk sergeant shouted over his shoulder, ‘Constable, get Bear and get this lady a cup of tea.’ ‘He’s with the relatives of that woman found by the pier, Sarge,’ said the constable. ‘Tell him all the same,’ said the Sergeant, nodding kindly at Sarah. ‘I think he’ll want to see Mrs Royal.’ The tea came first and Sarah struggled to control her hand. She was trembling. Perhaps she shouldn’t have started this. Maybe it would have been best to leave things as they were. Twenty minutes later, she had finished the tea and was just thinking about making her escape when the door opened and a huge man entered the room. He leaned over the table to shake her hand, ‘Detective Sergeant Truman,’ he smiled. ‘I am so sorry I kept you waiting. How can I be of help?’ Sarah immediately understood why they called him Bear. He wasn’t fat and flabby, far from it. Broad-shouldered and powerfully built, he had a warm smile and kind eyes. He was surprisingly softly spoken and he listened attentively as she told him about Henry. He took everything down and when he’d finished, he said, ‘We would want you to say all this in court. You will come, won’t you?’ Sarah hesitated. ‘If it’s transport that’s the problem, I can arrange that for you,’ he said kindly. ‘And should you need to employ someone to care for your children, that can be arranged as well.’ He saw Sarah to the door and they shook hands once again. Bear watched her as she hurried down the street towards the school. ‘Everything all right?’ the desk sergeant asked. Bear shook his head. ‘Things will never be the same for her, poor girl, and there’s something about that Henry Royale that sticks in my craw. Something’s not quite right.’ ‘You can say that again,’ chuckled the desk sergeant. ‘Looks like he’s already married half the bloody county.’ ‘It’s more than that,’ said Bear, turning to leave. There was a frown on his face. ‘But don’t you worry. I’ll find out what it is and then I’ll have him.’ * The rest of the mothers were already waiting and the teacher had sent the children to meet them as Sarah reached the school gates. Jenny came running towards her holding a piece of paper in the air and with her cardigan only on by one sleeve. ‘I drew you a picture, Mummy,’ she cried happily. Sarah smiled at the drawing as she put her daughter’s arm back into the sleeve and gave her a kiss. Her plaits were untidy and she was missing a ribbon. ‘It’s in my pocket,’ Jenny said as Sarah waved the bare plait in front of her nose. As she stood up, Sarah suddenly felt her elbow being held in a vice-like grip. ‘I need to talk to you,’ her sister Vera hissed in her ear. ‘I have to get back …’ Sarah began. ‘It won’t take a minute,’ Vera insisted. She pulled Lu-Lu’s pram into a corner of the playground and slapped a newspaper into Sarah’s hand. ‘What have you done?’ Sarah didn’t need to look at the article to know what it was about. Worthing man on theft and bigamy charges. ‘What have I done?’ said Sarah, snatching her elbow away. ‘I did nothing except marry someone who apparently wasn’t free to marry.’ ‘Bill isn’t happy about this being in the paper,’ Vera went on crossly. ‘You need to get it cleared up quickly.’ ‘Vera … it’s not my fault.’ ‘How could you?’ Vera spat. ‘Dragging the family name through the mud.’ ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,’ said Sarah. Jenny and Carole were playing tag and thankfully out of earshot. Lu-Lu sat bolt upright in her pram sucking her thumb and twiddling her hair, obviously concerned by the tone of their conversation. Sarah caressed her daughter’s cheek and smiled, while inwardly thanking God she didn’t understand what was being said. ‘This is none of my doing.’ ‘You must have told the police about him. Why didn’t you tell Bill and let us deal with it in the family?’ ‘Actually,’ Sarah said deliberately. ‘I wasn’t the one who reported him and I’ve only just been to the police station to tell them that I’m his wife as well.’ ‘What do you mean as well? Are you saying there’s more than two of you?’ ‘Apparently,’ said Sarah. Vera took in her breath. ‘Bloody hell, Sarah.’ ‘I have to go to court,’ Sarah went on. ‘I may not have to testify but I have to be there.’ ‘When?’ ‘Three weeks.’ Her sister looked thoughtful. ‘Well, it’s a good thing we don’t share the same surname anymore, but I don’t know what Bill is going to say about all this.’ Sarah felt her cheeks flame, but she resisted the temptation to hit her. Her sister had always been self-centred, but now she was being crass. Where was the sympathy; the concern? ‘I need someone to look after Jenny and Lu-Lu while I go.’ ‘I don’t think …’ Vera began. ‘The court will pay a small fee to whoever looks after them for me.’ Vera hesitated. ‘All right, I’ll talk to Bill about it,’ she said, ‘but for goodness’ sake, keep away from any newspaper reporters.’ * It was raining hard when Annie got home. She had been glad to be in her parent’s car. She would have been soaked had she caught the bus and had to walk from the bus stop. What a terrible day. Her relief when she saw her parents in the foyer of the police station was enormous, but the explanations as to why they were there had to wait. Her father was anxious to get her back home to Worthing, but before setting out on the twenty mile journey, they took her back to the home she and Henry shared first. While they waited in the sitting room, Annie packed her suitcase. It was then that the full import of her predicament slowly dawned. If what they said was true, then she wasn’t married, and what was worse, through no fault of her own, she was an unmarried mother. She had been horribly deceived. In one fell swoop, she had lost her identity, her status in life and probably her lovely home as well. She had agreed to go back to her childhood home for a bit, but now she was wondering how could she possibly manage to come back to Horsham without the support of a husband? She would lose this house and all the furnishings she had made. Ever since that night when the police came, she had clung to a flimsy belief that maybe, just maybe, there had been a ghastly mistake, but faced with the evidence they’d put before her, Annie had a sinking feeling that it was all true. Her mother had appeared in the doorway and offered her some help. ‘Take as much as you can, dear,’ she had said quietly. ‘You won’t be coming back here, will you.’ Their eyes met and Annie had felt her throat tighten as another thought drifted into her mind. She’d have to face everybody in Worthing. What was she going to say to her friends? Her hand rested on her bump. If only she wasn’t pregnant, she could start over again quite easily. Now that she had a baby growing inside of her, everything was changed. She would have a miserable time for a while, but hopefully with a bit of help she could get her life back on track eventually. ‘Oh Mum,’ she’d mumbled sadly. ‘I know, I know,’ said her mother, holding out her arms to her. ‘Hurry up, you two. We haven’t got all day,’ her father shouted up the stairs, startling Annie and her mother into action again. All her clothes were in the suitcases her mother carried and as Annie had left the bedroom she picked up the case containing the baby’s layette. ‘What’s that?’ said her father as he took the case from her at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Baby clothes,’ said Annie. ‘Well, you can leave them behind,’ he said gruffly. ‘You won’t be keeping it, will you.’ For a second, Annie was taken aback. She didn’t want her baby dismissed so lightly. It made her feel uncomfortable. And she certainly wasn’t going to give him up. She must have looked startled because her mother’s expression softened. ‘Even if she isn’t keeping it, Malcolm,’ she’d said, ‘the clothes might come in useful for whoever has him.’ Her parents walked on ahead as Annie stood in the small hallway for the last time. She was exhausted and drained. More than anything, she wanted to get away because this home only held sad memories now. Her father was overbearing and strict but she welcomed the stability he was offering. She had no choice, what with no money and no husband and a baby on the way, and yet she knew she was a lot luckier than most girls in her position. She went back into the sitting room, opened the damaged drawer and slipped the shares certificates, along with the photographs of Henry and his friends into her pocket. Closing the drawer, she took a last look around. Just as she was about to leave, she heard a soft knock on the front door. It was Mrs Holborn. Her face was grey and Annie knew instantly what had happened. Glancing back at Annie’s parents, Mrs Holborn shook her head. They didn’t need words. As their eyes locked, Annie opened her arms and Mrs Holborn went to her. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Holborn,’ said Annie. Her neighbour had swallowed hard and nodded curtly. ‘Thank you, my dear. In the end, he went peacefully and we were all there. All the best to you and the baby and I’m sure everything will all turn out fine.’ Annie had slept on the back seat of the car on the way back to Worthing. As she woke, her first drowsy thought was of Henry. She loved him and she couldn’t bear the thought of being a lone parent. She would write to him. It wasn’t over yet, was it? He was only on remand. The jury would find him innocent and they could start again. Maybe they could find a new place to live. Eastbourne was nice, or Bognor Regis. But the next day, after sleeping late and mooching around her parents’ home all day, her thoughts were beaded on another string. It was going to be a long and unbearable three weeks until the trial. How was she going to survive without him? * Sarah worked hard to get the baby clothes finished. There were times when her eyes hurt and her back ached, but gradually the romper suits and dresses took shape. Life was a struggle. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, she was still living hand to mouth. It had taken a while to recover from the loss of her purse and now a loaf of bread had gone up to fourpence h’penny. Everything seemed bleak until one afternoon after she’d collected Jenny from school, she’d found an envelope pushed through her letter box with a ten bob note inside. There was nothing written on the envelope but she knew where it had come from. Mrs Angel was such a dear and she certainly lived up to her name. It was a lot quieter next door as well. Mrs Rivers had gone to stay with her sister, although the neighbour who told her didn’t know her address. Sarah’s need to keep going was relentless. Cleaning the house, doing the washing, making sure her girls were clothed and fed, queuing at the shops, the walk to school and the walk back again, working in the pub and the big houses, and once the children were in bed, sewing, sewing, sewing. Sarah knew she was exhausted but she dared not stop. It didn’t help matters much that the newspapers were full of gossip about the beautiful Princess Margaret. Whenever Sarah wiped the tables in the pub and someone had left their paper from the day before, she would see the princess smiling up at her from the Daily Mirror or the Evening News. Sometimes she was pictured doing the rumba or being welcomed by some dignitary somewhere. Eighteen years old, Sarah thought ruefully, and never done a day’s work in her life. How the other half live … She made plans. She would put some of the money Mr Lovett gave her by and save up for a sewing machine. She’d seen an advertisement for a Singer treadle for ?23/18/6, way beyond her means of course, but she’d ask the rag-and-bone man to look out for a second-hand machine. She’d be methodical and stick to it. When she got the machine she would put a card in Mrs Angel’s window, something like, Seamstress, alterations and children’s clothes at good prices. If she worked hard she could start a little business. In the meantime, Lil Relland had plenty of second-hand clothes in her shop. It wouldn’t take much to cut some of them down for baby clothes, and once she’d got a little capital behind her, she could buy some new material in the market. It might take a year or two, but with a bit of luck she need never be beholden to anyone again. The police asked her to go back to the station to make a statement. It seemed to take a long time, but when it was over, she was glad it was done. Thankfully, Vera had dropped her a note to say she would look after the girls on the day of the trial. Sarah had a sneaky feeling it was only for the money, but she said nothing. If she confronted Vera, she knew her sister would turn her back on her and she wouldn’t be able to find anyone else. Sarah had had plenty of friends before she’d married Henry, but he’d never wanted her to continue friendships. ‘You’ve got me now,’ he’d say with that puppy-dog look of his. ‘Why do you need anyone else?’ So gradually she’d lost touch with her friends. It wasn’t until he was out of the picture that she’d realised how isolated she’d become. Since then, there wasn’t time for anything else except keeping her head above water. She had to keep going for the sake of the children. The thing she hated most was that she was becoming very short-tempered with them. If Lu-Lu messed about while Sarah struggled to get her dressed, they’d both end up in tears. It hurt her beyond words when Jenny brought a picture she’d painstakingly painted home from school called ‘My Mummy’. It was the usual childish attempt with a big woman standing outside a red-brick house and smoke coming out of the chimney. ‘That’s my house,’ said Jenny pointing, ‘and that’s you.’ ‘Oh, it’s lovely, darling,’ said Sarah, pinning it to the wardrobe door with a drawing pin, but she was disturbed by the picture. The woman staring back at her looked very cross, when all she wanted was for her children to have a happy childhood. Sarah had heard on the grapevine that the old lady who had lived in the two rooms downstairs wasn’t expected to live. With that news came more uncertainty. The housing shortage was so acute in the town that she knew she would have new tenants before long. What would they be like? Or worse still, what if the cottage was condemned and pulled down? The landlord had never bothered to repair the leak on the stairs, no matter how many times she’d asked, and it was obvious that he didn’t care about the damp creeping up the walls in the kitchen. What would she do if he pulled the place down? Peter Millward turned up at her door one early evening to say he had recommended her bookkeeping skills to a couple of other friends. Once she’d sorted out the muddle he’d got himself into, it was easy enough to look them over once a month, but although Sarah would have welcomed the income, and she was grateful for his kindness, she had to explain that she would be hard put to find the time to do anything else. ‘I hardly have a minute to myself as it is,’ she explained. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked and Sarah hesitated. What if Mr Lovett couldn’t sell any more of her things? Could she afford to turn down another source of income? ‘Let me take you out,’ he said suddenly. Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m a married woman,’ she began, her face colouring. What a stupid thing to say. She wasn’t married at all. ‘That doesn’t stop you and the girls from having a treat,’ he smiled. ‘Come on. Nothing elaborate and no strings attached … fish and chips in a caf??’ Sarah hesitated. The girls had never been in a caf? before and it would be so nice to have somebody else cook for her. ‘Good,’ said Peter, sensing his victory. ‘I’ll call for you on Friday at six,’ and with that, he lifted his hat and was gone. It turned out to be a lovely time. The caf? was noisy and crowded but the fish and chips were delicious and the children were as good as gold. Sarah watched her girls tucking in and, for the first time in months, she felt relaxed and happy. ‘You look better already,’ he told her. Sarah smiled. ‘This is very kind of you.’ ‘Not at all,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’m just looking after my own vested interests.’ Lu-Lu threw her spoon on the floor and they were distracted while Peter got a clean one. ‘I’m getting another two lorries,’ he went on once they were settled again. ‘The business is expanding quite rapidly. Don’t suppose you’d like a full-time job as a secretary?’ Sarah hesitated. It would be so much easier to have one job rather than racing about from one thing to another. Men always got far more money than women, she knew that, but she thought Peter would give her a fair wage. It would most likely be enough to cover the cost of living, but would it be enough to pay the rent? And what would she do with Lu-Lu? Jenny would be at school, but she knew without asking that Vera wouldn’t have her. Besides, she’d have to get her all the way over to Lancing and then fetch her after work if she did. If she had to fork out on bus fares, she’d probably end up back where she’d started. ‘If you’re worried about the little one,’ he said, pre-empting her protest, ‘I know a really good woman who would look after her.’ Sarah frowned. A stranger looking after her baby all day? She wasn’t sure about that … but perhaps … ‘Tell you what,’ said Peter, ‘think about it. I don’t need an answer straight away.’ Sarah watched him as he went back to the counter to buy mugs of tea for them both, an ice cream for the girls and to pay for their meal. He was such a kind man. A lump formed in her throat. Oh Henry … why? Why? * ‘We’ll have to put in place a few ground rules about this.’ Malcolm Mitchell had gathered his wife and daughter in the sitting room of his comfortable home near the Thomas A Becket public house, about two miles from the centre of Worthing. He was anxious to regain control of a tricky situation. His good name was at stake. As a member of Worthing Borough Council, his reputation had to be squeaky clean, and as a Freemason even more so. They had let Annie sleep late as usual and now that breakfast was over and the maid was in the kitchen, where she could no longer eavesdrop on the conversation, he was anxious to decide on their next move. ‘Your mother will arrange a place for your confinement and for the adoption society to take the baby as soon as it’s born. You must stay indoors until the trial comes up. We don’t want the neighbours or the gutter press making your predicament into a public spectacle. I think if you keep a low profile, there’s no reason why you can’t pick up the threads of your life again once the birth is over.’ Neither woman spoke. Annie sat on the edge of the sofa staring at her hands, while her mother sat in the armchair gazing somewhere into the middle distance. Her father stood by the fireplace. ‘Of course,’ said her father, slipping his thumbs either side of his waistcoat and thrusting out his generous stomach, ‘if you had listened to me in the first place, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this situation.’ Annie’s face flamed. He just couldn’t resist, could he? He had to keep reminding her that it was her own headstrong actions that had brought all this to pass. ‘You seem to forget,’ Annie mumbled, ‘that I didn’t know he was already married.’ ‘That’s as maybe,’ said her father, ‘but I knew he was a thief and I’m going to make damn sure he pays for his crimes.’ Annie’s head jerked up. ‘You knew? But you never said anything!’ ‘I was trying to protect you,’ said Malcolm. Already the atmosphere between them was heating up. ‘He and I had words when that brooch went missing. Of course he denied it, but I knew it was him.’ So it was the brooch that had brought them to the police station, not his own daughter’s desperate need. She’d been too miserable to ask why they were there. DS Hacker had said the brooch was stolen, but Annie didn’t think for one minute that it had come from her father’s shop. ‘You should have said something in the first place,’ she said. ‘And would you have listened?’ he challenged. ‘No. You were too besotted with him to take any notice of anything I said. Well, from now on, my girl, things will have to change around here. If you are going to live under my roof,’ he was wagging his finger now, ‘I want you to promise that you will do as I say.’ Annie remained silent. Looking at his pompous face and wagging finger, it occurred to her that her father could be insufferable at times. ‘I’m only doing this for your own good,’ Malcolm Mitchell insisted. ‘If you do as I say, when this has all blown over, and people have forgotten what happened, you’ll probably be able to find a decent young man who will forgive your past and take you as a wife.’ Annie could feel her heartbeat quickening again. ‘None of this was my fault!’ she cried. ‘And I wouldn’t have run off with him if you’d given him a chance, Father.’ ‘Oh, I think you already knew something about his character,’ her father spluttered. ‘That’s why you didn’t invite your mother and me to the wedding.’ ‘You hated him from the word go,’ she cried. ‘And I did invite you. You chose not to come.’ ‘I never hated him,’ Malcolm insisted. ‘But I knew he was no good.’ Annie said nothing. ‘If the chairman of the Borough Council gets to hear of all this …’ ‘You don’t give a damn about me, do you?’ Annie cried. Judith’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Annie,’ she gasped. ‘Language …’ But her daughter wasn’t listening. ‘All you can think about is how this looks to your snobby friends.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Malcolm snapped. ‘You never had time for Henry,’ Annie blundered on. ‘All those snide remarks.’ ‘And which one of us turned out to be right?’ her father demanded. ‘Eh? Which one?’ ‘Malcolm, dear,’ Judith Mitchell interjected, ‘I don’t think this is helping.’ ‘Oh, here we go,’ her husband bellowed. ‘Somehow I thought you’d be sticking up for her before long.’ ‘I’m going to my room,’ said Annie, getting to her feet. ‘Sit down!’ her father spat, but Annie ignored him. Calmly walking from the room, she closed the door. She could still hear him shouting, ‘Annie? Annie, come back here this minute …’ as she closed her bedroom door and lay on the bed. It was still a couple more weeks until the court hearing, but she’d made up her mind she wasn’t going to get into any more arguments with her father until it was over. She’d give the baby up like they said. Not because her father wanted it but because it wasn’t fair to bring a child into a world where its grandparents were warring with its mother and its father was in jail. To have it adopted was by far the best thing. That way the baby could have a mother and father who loved and wanted it. ‘It’s the best I can do for you,’ she told him, as she ran her hand wearily over her bump. But when the baby moved in response to her touch, she knew she could never do it. Eight (#ulink_ae39ae34-8042-51b2-9e63-b30892a86338) The courtroom in Lewes was on the High Street. When Annie first saw it, she thought it an imposing building. It dated from Victorian times and was made of Portland stone with a portico of four pillars which covered the steps leading to the three doors at the top. Above the steps, a single Victorian lamp lit the way. Lewes had had its share of famous trials and most notably had gained notoriety as the place where Patrick Mahon was tried for the murder of Emily Kaye in the infamous Crumbles murder case, a case which had been handled by none other than the famous forensic pathologist, Sir Bernard Spilsbury. Annie only knew all this because there had been a lot in the paper about him when Spilsbury had died at the end of 1947. With the castle itself as a backdrop, Annie wished she was here as a tourist rather than a wronged woman. Flanked by her parents, she was hustled through the doors and into a waiting area where she sat down. Her father prowled the corridors, jangling the coins in his pocket, and her mother, a bag of nerves, kept going to the toilet. Their drive to Lewes had been uneventful, and although she knew it really worried her mother, Annie had little to say. She found her silence acted as a defence mechanism because talking only encouraged her father’s constant ranting about Henry and how he knew all along that he was a bad lot who would eventually come to a sticky end. It took all her willpower not to react but she refused to kowtow, knowing that this was by far the best way. With only a month to go of her pregnancy, Annie no longer had the energy to argue or defend herself, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing how much her refusal to respond irritated her father. She had been there about ten minutes or so when she saw the woman who had come to her house on that fateful day and accused Henry of being her husband. This time, dressed in a brown suit with patchy velveteen cuffs, she was on her own. The two of them made eye contact and as the woman gave her a nod of recognition, Annie turned her head away before working her mouth into a thin half smile. They sat apart, the woman sitting primly with her handbag clutched tightly on her lap and Annie staring at the floor. ‘You’d think they’d have a proper waiting room,’ her father complained. ‘How much longer have we got to hang around here?’ Annie didn’t see Henry until she was in court about an hour later. As she stood in the witness box, he sat opposite the judge in the dock. He looked pale but he was smartly dressed in his best suit. Her heart lurched and as she looked at him he mouthed, ‘I love you.’ She felt slightly bewildered. The inside of the courtroom was even more imposing than the outside, although the wood panelling behind the judge’s seat and along the walls made it seem rather dark. The ornate vaulted ceiling gave the room a kind of conservatory feel. In the centre under the judge’s bench was a large table where a woman stenographer sat listening to and recording the proceedings. The jury sat in front of her. Annie scanned their faces. They were all men and, judging from their dress, from all walks of life. Three of them seemed very old and one man sported a huge walrus moustache. As she was sworn in, Annie recognised Mr West, but the man who spoke up for Henry was new to her. Somewhere along the line she had been told his name was Mr Collingwood, King’s Counsel for the defence. She was asked to give her name and then before Mr Hounsome, the KC for the prosecution, began his questioning, the judge interrupted. ‘If the jury are at times constrained to think that there might be an element of humour about bigamy, they should remember that there is another side to the case which is more important and has no humour whatsoever.’ Annie drew her grey and black swagger coat around herself and the members of the jury stared at her with concern. Turning to her, the judge said in a less severe tone of voice, ‘Considering your condition, Mrs Royal, would you like to sit down?’ Annie nodded, but the moment they brought a chair was the moment she felt her greatest humiliation. She still wore her wedding ring and yet even as she put her right hand on the Bible, it felt as if she was telling lies. Her coat slipped open and her advanced pregnancy was obvious to all. Every eye in the courtroom was upon her. She could see the gentlemen of the press at the back of the court scribbling in their notepads and, worst of all, her father who had already given his evidence about the missing brooch and his toxic relationship with Henry, glowering from the public gallery. A woman in a fur coat and broad-brimmed black hat was sitting to the right of her father. Annie had never seen her before but she stared down at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. Could this be the other woman who had made a complaint against Henry? Annie answered the questions put to her with dignity and truthfully. Yes, she had married a little over a year ago. Her marriage certificate was passed around. No, when she signed the certificate, she had no idea her husband was still married. ‘He told me his first wife had died in the war,’ Annie explained. There was a murmur in the gallery and she glanced up to see her father shaking his head in disbelief. Her mother, sitting to the left of him, was dabbing her eyes. ‘You met when the defendant worked in your father’s jeweller’s shop?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You had a speedy courtship?’ ‘Yes. We met and married within three months,’ Annie smiled. ‘And you set up home in Horsham where your husband then got a job working for another local jeweller,’ said Mr Hounsome, luring her on. His tone was gentle and concerned. Annie began to relax. ‘Yes. He was very well respected,’ she said proudly. ‘Henry likes things done just so, and they gave him a promotion almost straight away.’ ‘In other words, you noticed that he brought home more money.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Did your husband ever bring items from the shop back home?’ ‘Yes. There wasn’t always time to finish what he was doing so he brought bits and pieces back home. He often worked late into the night.’ Mr Hounsome showed her a watch and some jewellery. ‘Have you seen these before?’ ‘Yes. That was one of the watches he was cleaning, and the necklace had a broken clasp. My husband repaired both of them one evening.’ ‘He brought them home, but did he take them back the next day?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘How do you know?’ Annie chewed her lip thoughtfully. She had presumed the items were in his briefcase when he left in the morning. ‘Mrs Royal, how do you know for sure that your husband took the items back to the shop?’ ‘I trusted him,’ Annie said stoutly. ‘I’m sure that’s what he would have done.’ ‘But he didn’t, did he? The watch and the necklace are here in the courtroom.’ Annie frowned. ‘They were found in your home. Hidden in your husband’s wardrobe.’ She began to realise that Henry was charged not only with the theft of the brooch from her father’s shop but with other thefts too. ‘Someone had broken into the drawer of the dresser, Mrs Royal.’ ‘That was me,’ she said quickly. ‘You broke into your own dresser?’ ‘Yes. I was looking for money,’ said Annie. She glanced towards Henry and noted his look of disapproval. ‘I wanted to go and visit my husband in prison and I knew he kept money in the drawer.’ ‘Why not use the key?’ ‘My husband had the key.’ ‘Were you looking for money, or perhaps you thought that with your husband in custody you could help yourself to a watch or a necklace or two?’ ‘No!’ cried Annie desperately. In the public gallery her mother stood up to leave. ‘M’lord,’ Mr Collingwood protested. ‘Mrs Royal isn’t on trial here.’ ‘It is my client’s contention that she drove him to steal, to satisfy her constant demands for more money.’ ‘That’s not true!’ Annie cried helplessly. ‘I never did that.’ ‘Proceed with another line of questioning, Mr Hounsome,’ said the judge. Mr Hounsome pressed her on other matters; her negligible social life, the loss of friendships and her lack of contact with her parents; all, he suggested, was the result of Annie wanting to have Henry to herself. She protested heatedly that everything he’d said was so negative and blatantly untrue. Annie could hardly believe her ears and although she tried to keep ahead of what he was saying, the questions came so thick and fast it gave her no time to think. But one thing she understood all too clearly; he was implying that somehow Henry’s plight was her fault. When Mr Hounsome finally sat down, Annie had told the truth, but she had a sinking feeling that she had only made matters worse. In his defence, Mr Collingwood had her tell everyone what an excellent husband Henry was and how well he looked after her. She told them of her shock when meeting the first Mrs Royal and how she was convinced that there had been a ghastly mistake – but it was to no avail. She could tell from the stern faces of the jury that she had done little to help Henry and that she had probably sullied her own reputation to boot. She left the witness box with a heavy heart. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. 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