Better Days Will Come (12 page)

‘Rita, go and get Mr Harper and then Mr Warren.’

Cyril Harper lived at the end of the street. He worked as a rag-and-bone man and kept his horse in a stable at the back of his little place and put it out to graze on a piece of waste ground between the houses. The children loved it and many a time, Bonnie and Rita had gone up there to stroke him and give him a carrot or an apple.

People said that beneath Cyril’s shabby coat there beat the heart of a very rich man. When it came to buying, he had a reputation as a man who struck a very hard bargain.

‘Good God, Missus,’ said Cyril as he walked in the door. ‘Whatever happened to you?’

Grace didn’t elaborate. ‘How much will you give me for the grandmother clock?’ she said getting straight to the point.

Cyril umm-ed and ah-ed and scratched his head. ‘Five pounds.’

‘Done,’ she said. Cyril looked surprised. He’d obviously expected some haggling.

She took the cup from the mantlepiece and put it into Cyril’s hands. He always wore Ebenezer gloves; no one had ever seen him without them, winter or summer. Cyril ran his long fingers over the silver and then took an eyeglass out of his threadbare waistcoat pocket and examined the hallmark.

‘Ten bob.’

Grace frowned. ‘I want at least thirty.’

Cyril pulled a face. ‘Twelve and six.’

‘Mum,’ Rita protested. They both knew it was worth far more than that.

‘Rita, don’t,’ said Grace firmly. ‘I have to. A pound. I can’t let it go for less than a pound.’

Cyril turned the cup over in his hands, held it at arm’s length as if he was checking to see if it was straight, held it up to the light and then set it down on the table in front of them. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. He continued to stare at the cup in the nerve-racking silence for several minutes before saying, ‘Fifteen bob and that’s my last offer.’

Grace held out her hand and he shook it. Rita cried silent tears. Her mother picked up the cup one last time and kissed the inscription.

A sharp rap on the front door broke the charged atmosphere and when Rita opened the door Mr Warren came in. While Cyril left with his purchases, Grace thanked the newcomer for his help the previous evening.

‘I’m sure I would have been seriously hurt if you hadn’t have come along.’

Mr Warren waved away her gratitude. ‘It was nothing. Anyone would have done it.’ But they both knew he had been the saving of her.

When she finally got down to the business of selling Michael’s battered leather chair, she was too choked up to remember to offer Mr Warren a cup of tea.

As he examined the chair, Grace realised she would get next to nothing for it. The stuffing was coming away under the seat. Even with all her thorough cleaning, she hadn’t noticed that, and the leather was badly cracked on the arms. It was perfectly understandable. The chair had belonged to Michael, to his father and his father before that.

‘I can offer you five pounds,’ he said eventually. ‘It will need a lot of work on it before I can sell it.’

Grace nodded stiffly and they shook hands. It was a firm shake and she saw the sympathy in his eyes.

‘One other thing,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion, ‘that chair belonged to my husband and I don’t want to see it go. Rita and me will go upstairs and then you can take it.’

Mr Warren’s expression didn’t change. He nodded.

They didn’t get up the stairs. Grace and Rita began to climb but then they sat together on the third stair. The stair door automatically closed slightly and they sat in the gloom with their arms around each other.

Rita cried softly into Grace’s shoulder. ‘Oh, Mum …’

‘It’s just a chair,’ said Grace, her voice tight and wavery. But of course it wasn’t just a chair. It really was their last link with Michael … Michael with his laughing eyes and his cheeky grin; Michael her lover and the father of her girls.

‘Has he gone yet?’

Rita wiped her eyes and listened. They heard the sound of coins rolling on the kitchen table and someone making a neat pile. Grace closed her eyes and leaned her head back in an effort to keep control of her emotions. Then it went very quiet.

‘Is he still there?’ Grace whispered.

Rita peered through the crack in the door and nodded her head.

Grace looked through the crack and he was still standing in the middle of the kitchen stroking his chin. ‘What on earth is he doing?’ she whispered.

All at once, the stair door opened and Mr Warren put his head round. All three of them jumped because he hadn’t expected them to be on the stair and they hadn’t expected him to open the door.

Grace blew her nose with her hanky. She put the hanky up her sleeve, tugged at her dress, put her shoulders back and stood up with her head held high.

‘I’m afraid I can’t take the chair right now, Mrs Rogers,’ saidMr Warren. He stepped back into the kitchen and Grace followed him. ‘You see, I’ve been thinking about it and I just don’t have enough room in the shop at the moment, so I think it best to leave it here.’

‘But you will be collecting it,’ said Grace uncertainly.

‘Oh yes.’ He walked to the front door and with his hand on the latch he paused. ‘Something’ll go right for you, Mrs Rogers,’ he said softly. ‘Better days will come. Your five pounds is on the table.’

The double gates of Holly Acres were shrouded in late afternoon fog. The house was almost invisible, as Lady Brayfield stepped out of the taxi which had brought her from the station. She paid the driver and told him to come back in an hour.

Holly Acres was a two-storey building, with black and white paintwork and a wide portico entrance. In the gathering gloom, she could see the lawns stretching away to the right with a single swing and a climbing frame in the distance. She rang the doorbell and after a few minutes a young girl in a shapeless grey dress opened the door. Lady Brayfield was politely asked to wait in the hallway. The sound of children’s voices was coming from all parts of the house. Lady Brayfield played with the hair left exposed by her hat. The mist had made it damp and it clung to her forehead.

Harriet Bennett was surprised to see her visitor. Not many of her friends called at her place of work, especially not on a Sunday and so close to Christmas.

‘Marion, how lovely to see you.’ The two women embraced lightly. ‘Let me take you to my living quarters.’

Lady Brayfield followed her through what seemed like a maze of corridors until at last, just beyond the kitchen and the laundry room, they stepped outside again into a small courtyard. Here the children’s shrill voices, dulled by the closing of the back door, finally faded altogether.

‘We live in a cottage over what was once the stables,’ Harriet called over her shoulder. ‘It’s such a lovely setting here. Tommy and I are quite settled at last.’

Her friend, a trained nurse, had been imprisoned by the Japanese during the war. She and her husband had been in Singapore when they had overrun the whole area in 1942. Regarded as vital to the protection of the Empire’s Commonwealth possessions in the Far East, the British military base had been upgraded in 1938. What no one had expected was that the Japanese high command would push up through the jungle and mangrove swamps of the Malay Peninsula, and with all the British defences pointing out to sea, there had been little chance of gaining the upper hand when they finally appeared.

The RAF had already lost nearly all its aircraft by the time the Japanese air force had attacked the airfields in December 1941. The British planners shifted their confidence to the battleship
Prince of Wales
and the battle cruiser
Repulse
but on December 10th both ships were sunk by repeated attacks from Japanese torpedo bombers. Even with these setbacks, morale was high and so was confidence. After all, the British, Indian and Australian troops led by Lieutenant General Arthur Percival numbered some 90,000 men, whereas the Japanese only had 65,000. In the final showdown, on January 31st 1942, Percival spread his men across the entire coastline of the island, a distance of some 70 miles. This was a disastrous mistake. He had grossly underestimated the strength of the Japanese and the British were soundly defeated.

The Japanese took 100,000 people prisoner in Singapore, including Tommy and Harriet Bennett. The pair spent the next three years interned less than five miles from each other, but never once in all that time did they meet. In fact, neither had any idea if the other was still alive. Harriet seldom spoke of the unspeakable horrors they had endured but the ravages to her body meant that she had lost the ability to have children.

When they returned to the UK, Tommy had been invalided out of the army, but the still relatively young Harriet had taken on the responsibility of this children’s home near Kingston Upon Thames.

‘Come in, come in.’

The flat itself was warm and cosy; Harriet had a flair for homemaking. She showed Lady Brayfield into a small sitting room with a cheerful fire in the hearth. There was a sofa and two deep armchairs covered in a floral chintz material and hand-embroidered scatter cushions. Lady Brayfield remarked how nice they were.

‘I saw them in a magazine,’ Harriet smiled.

The middle of the room was carpeted and the surrounds were deep oak-coloured wood. Her sideboard was covered with photographs of family and friends.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ Harriet said. ‘I’ll get us some tea.’

Four decades ago the women had been at boarding school together, sharing the same dorm. They had remained friends, a comfortable relationship which had not been altered by the war. Occasionally they met together in London for afternoon tea but this was the first time Lady Brayfield had been to Kingston.

‘How’s Tommy?’

Harriet was clattering away in the kitchen. ‘Doing quite well,’ she called. ‘He spends a lot of time out of doors in the garden.’ She reappeared in the doorway with a tray of cups and saucers. ‘He can’t bear to be confined, so he’s become quite an expert gardener. He’s quite content.’

Marion nodded. ‘Doesn’t he want to return to the diplomatic service?’

Harriet shook her head. ‘Actually, he’s thinking of taking holy orders. You know, I think we’re the happiest we’ve ever been. You must let me take you on a tour of the nursery before you leave. Our living companions are a lot smaller than we’re used to but I don’t think I would swap my life now for the heady existence we had before the war.’

Marion laughed. ‘You certainly look well on it.’

Harriet went back into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with the teapot. They made small talk, catching up with news of old friends, and Harriet sympathised with Marion over her daughter.

‘On a more optimistic note,’ Marion said, ‘she may be allowed out of the nursing home for Christmas.’

‘Oh Marion, that’s wonderful.’ She handed her friend a cup of tea and indicated the sugar bowl.

Lady Brayfield nodded. ‘She’ll have to go back Boxing Day, but it’s a small step, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a bloody big step,’ Harriet enthused. ‘Excuse my French. I can’t imagine how you’ve coped.’

‘Which brings me to the reason why I’m here,’ she said. ‘It would take me far too long to tell you exactly how it came about but I have found this wonderful Girl Friday.’

Harriet gave Marion her full attention as she told her about Bonnie. ‘She’s quite turned Richard around. He’s polite, enthusiastic about his schoolwork and I sometimes hear him laughing again. He’ll never be top drawer of course, but in a very short space of time, the girl has done wonders.’

‘She sounds like a real gem,’ smiled Harriet. ‘You should hang on to her.’

‘I wish I could,’ said Marion. ‘There’s only one small problem … she’s pregnant.’

‘Ah,’ said Harriet pausing with a homemade biscuit halfway to her mouth.

‘And that’s where you come in,’ said Marion.

‘Surely you’re not suggesting I take her in?’

Lady Brayfield nodded. ‘Hear me out, darling,’ she said. ‘You’ve always said you want to make a difference to those less fortunate than ourselves. This girl is capable and kind. She’s made an error of judgement but she’s contrite. I honestly believe she should be given a second chance.’

‘Then let her give her baby up for adoption.’

‘Adoption is all well and good, but I wonder what damage it does to both mother and child being separated. The maternal bond is very strong. If the war taught us anything, it taught us that a mother will go to any length to care for her child and so long as the child has its mother, it can face any deprivation with courage.’

Harriet looked thoughtful. Marion was right. She’d seen it for herself in those terrible camps. She sat back in her chair. ‘When is the baby due?’

‘April.’

‘Tell her to come to me then and I’ll see what I can do.’

Lady Brayfield looked pensive. ‘Darling, if we’re going to do this, I think we need a better commitment than that.’

‘I’m not sure the council will allow it,’ Harriet frowned. ‘Who is going to pay for the upkeep of the child?’

‘I’ve already looked into that,’ said Marion undaunted. ‘There’s a government allowance she can apply for and if you deduct her board and lodging and her child care from her salary, I don’t see why she shouldn’t live on the premises with her child.’

Harriet opened her mouth but her friend raised her hand and continued. ‘Why shouldn’t an unmarried mother take full responsibility for her child? Think of it, Harriet. We could be starting a new era of responsible parenting. These girls have their babies and someone else takes the responsibility. If girls had to face up to their responsibility, I’m sure there would be fewer illegitimate births. And besides, what could be more natural than keeping a child with its birth mother?’

Her friend looked thoughtful. ‘It won’t be easy,’ she said. ‘How will she find time to care for the baby and work at the same time?’

‘I’m sure you could come to some sort of mutual agreement,’ said Marion. ‘This is a nursery, for heaven’s sake.’

Marion looked thoughtful. ‘I can foresee problems further down the line as well,’ she said. ‘The girl will favour her child above the others. It’s only natural.’