Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (70 page)

‘You’re right, m’duck,’ said Mary to Christopher. ‘Naughty door.’

Billy could see that his mother was gripping the handlebars of the pram so tightly, her knuckles had gone white. Billy was no fool. Auntie Dottie hadn’t walked into a door, had she? It was Uncle Reg. He must have hit her. Bristling with anger, Billy kicked a stone along the pavement. When he was all grown up, he’d give Uncle Reg a black eye and then he could jolly well see how much he liked it.

Twenty-Four

When Dottie came downstairs on Thursday, her black eye was a lot less noticeable. She glanced anxiously at the shed door. Was Reg still in the shed getting his bike out?

A quick look around told her that he’d already left for work. He’d made an attempt to cut himself some sandwiches. The loaf, hacked to pieces, lay on the table beside the empty cheese dish. The shed door remained closed. He’d gone.

She moved about gingerly. She should make an effort to go back to work today. She had really enjoyed her time with Patsy. Everything was so much better when Reg wasn’t around and it had given her and Patsy a chance to get to know each other. She was such a lovely child, easy-going and polite, and they seemed to have quite a lot in common. They both enjoyed sewing and Dottie had discovered a tray cloth Patsy was embroidering in the suitcase that had gone straight upstairs the day she came.

‘I used to sit by Mummy’s bedside when she was ill,’ she said matter-of-factly, leaving Dottie with a catch in her throat. ‘She was going to show me how to crochet around the edge.’

‘I can do that,’ said Dottie. Patsy gave her an uncertain look, and Dottie added quickly, ‘But only if you would like me to.’

The evening before, they’d spent a good deal of time at it and Patsy had already made good progress. It was still in the chair where she’d left it last night before she went to bed. Dottie picked
it up and fondled it between her fingers before dropping it into her sewing box.

Dottie mixed up the chicken food and walked down the garden. Clucking noisily, the chickens dashed out of their hut as soon as she opened the door. The pig grunted and put his snout over the top of the fence. He was getting so big, it wouldn’t be long before he broke it down and ran amok. She’d have to mention it again to Reg some time. He’d probably forgotten all about the pig. He hardly ever came down here now.

Patsy was up and dressed when she walked into the kitchen. ‘Are we going to my new school today, Auntie Dot?’

Dottie smiled. ‘Yes, we are. Let’s hope they’ve got room for you in the classroom.’ As the child’s face fell, Dottie was seized with remorse for having teased her. She put her hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they will.’

Mrs Stone, the headmistress, didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, but she did agree to have Patsy in her school.

‘It just so happens,’ she said crisply, ‘that a pupil has just moved away. Patsy can have her place but you should have applied in writing and given me more notice.’

Dottie apologised profusely and Mrs Stone seemed placated.

‘Will you have school dinners?’

Dottie’s face coloured. She hadn’t even given that a thought. ‘Yes … how much are they?’

‘A shilling a day,’ said Mrs Stone, ‘payable on Monday mornings.’

They looked around the school and Mrs Stone agreed to have her after the half-term holiday. After that, she seemed to have warmed to the child because she invited Patsy to stay for the rest of the day.

Dottie felt a lot happier now. She knew that once she’d got herself into a routine, she would be able to see her way through all her problems. All that remained now was to apologise to Janet Cooper for letting her down and then she could go on to Mariah
Fitzgerald and fit in an extra hour at the end of the day to make up for arriving at work late.

Janet gushed all over her and Mariah was eager to hear all about Patsy. Dottie told them as much as she wanted them to know and left them to guess the rest. Thankfully, nobody thought to mention Reg.

The second Sunday after Patsy came to live with them, Dottie wrote a letter to Dr Landers. As she sat at the table, she tried to imagine him sitting opposite her. She remembered his twinkling eyes and the line of freckles over the bridge of his nose and the way his face lit up when he smiled. He was a nice man. She decided not to tell him how horrible Reg had been but she did go as far as suggesting that he was having a problem adjusting to parenthood.

    
We have gone from being on our own to being a complete family overnight
, she wrote,
but you are not to worry. Patsy is very happy. She has made friends with several children around here, in particular Maureen Prior, the daughter of a dear friend of mine. Maureen is a bit younger than Patsy but they have so much in common. They play dollies and schools. Patsy has taught Maureen some Australian games and Maureen has taught Patsy how to skip. They can keep it up for hours!

The letter was only about one and half pages long, but she kept it chatty and warm. She reasoned that if he knew Patsy was content, he would feel the same way. It came as a shock, then, to receive a letter almost by return of post in which Dr Landers asked if he could see Patsy the following Saturday.

Dottie was immediately thrown into a flat spin. What was she going to do? Try as she might to make things right between them, Reg stubbornly refused to let it happen. If he was in the
house with Patsy, he would talk over her head – ‘Isn’t it time she was in bed?’ – or dish out his instructions through Dottie – ‘Tell her to get her feet off that chair.’

The solicitor’s letter was a long time coming. Reg spent his evenings in the Jolly Farmer and on the days when his shifts gave him the opportunity to have time off during the day, he would go out. Dottie was never sure where he was, but a couple of times he set off somewhere all spruced up and came back very drunk. One good thing was that he hadn’t been near Dottie since the night Patsy had arrived,

She knew he hated interfering busybodies as he called them, so how would he react if Dr Landers turned up? Dottie couldn’t bear the thought of him ranting and raving on, demanding that the kid be taken back and telling the doctor that he didn’t give a stuff about her. Though she’d been with her for only two weeks, it seemed as if Patsy had been here forever. Dottie couldn’t bear the thought of losing her and she hated the thought of her languishing in some huge rambling old place, euphemistically called a children’s home, more with each passing day.

No. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to keep Reg and Dr Landers as far apart as possible. Having come up with a solution, she wrote back to the doctor. Once the letter was in the post, all she had to do was find the right moment to speak to Reg. It came sooner than she had anticipated. She waited until he was settled on his side of the bed and then whispered in the darkness, ‘Reg, I thought I would take Patsy for a walk up to Highdown on Saturday.’

‘Do what you bloody well like, woman. Now shuddup and go to sleep.’

Half-term week seemed destined to give Dottie a problem. She still had to go to work, but Patsy needed someone to look after her. Reg wouldn’t help and, anyway, she wasn’t happy about leaving Patsy alone with him.

Much to her relief, Janet Cooper said Patsy could come with her to the shop. Patsy helped out, doing little jobs, and Janet enjoyed basking in the limelight. Her customers bought little gifts for the child, something guaranteed to make Patsy a favourite with Janet. Patsy would thank them, and then they would linger longer in the shop, plying her with questions which she answered politely and honestly.

‘Do you miss Australia?’ ‘What’s it like?’ ‘Have you ever seen any of them savages?’ ‘Bit ’ot over there, innit?’

Sometimes Patsy didn’t understand what she was being asked and most people seemed to forget that she wouldn’t be able to remember much before she was five. But by the time Dottie finished work on Tuesday, she had quite a collection of colouring books, pencils and storybooks. She also had a large stash of sweets, which she stored in an old shoebox under her bed.

On Thursday, when she and Dottie went to Mary’s, the first thing Patsy did was to gather the kids into a circle and share some of her booty with them.

‘Isn’t she a lamb, love her,’ said Mary. ‘I’ve run out of sweet coupons. They wouldn’t have had any sweets this week if it weren’t for her.’

Dottie was on her way to Mariah Fitzgerald’s. ‘It’s good of you to say you’ll have her, Mary,’ she said. ‘Are you sure it’s not going to be too much?’

‘No trouble at all,’ said Mary. ‘You’ll have a cup of tea before you go?’

Dottie pulled up a chair and sat down.

‘We’ll be collecting stuff for the bonfire this weekend,’ Mary went on. ‘Tom will be on hand to help us build it properly.’

‘Sounds fun.’

‘Don’t sound too enthusiastic,’ said Mary disappointedly as she pushed a cup of tea in front of her.

‘Sorry,’ said Dottie. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing really,’ said Dottie. Seeing her friend’s face fall, she added quickly, ‘Curtains for Edna, stuff like that.’

Mary sat in the chair opposite and warmed her hands on her cup. ‘Reg all right?’ she said cautiously.

‘Fine.’ Dottie lied with ease. ‘Are you having any food at the bonfire do?’

‘I thought we’d do a few baked potatoes, a bit of bread and cheese, that sort of thing.’

‘We’ll give you a few spuds,’ said Dottie rising to her feet. ‘Thanks for the tea, Mary. I’ll be back at one.’

Mary’s parting words were, ‘Don’t work too hard, hen.’ As Dottie walked back down the path, she let out a hollow laugh. Mariah was getting ready for a family invasion. After she’d hung the new curtains and furnishings in the bedroom, it meant a thorough clean throughout and Dottie wasn’t in the mood for a hard slog.

Saturday morning heralded a crisp bright day. Dottie and Patsy dressed warmly but long before they’d finished the two-mile walk to the hill, they were already peeling off their gloves and scarves. Under her best coat, which had seen very many better days, Dottie was wearing her new bat-wing blouse. She’d managed to get it finished only the evening before but she was quite pleased with it. It was midnight blue and it went very nicely with the plaid skirt she’d made last year. Patsy was in a pretty lightweight blue woollen dress with a dainty white Peter Pan collar and dark blue appliqué leaves on the left shoulder and the right hem.

Dottie’s ribs were still tender. It was probably her own fault. She shouldn’t have needled him.

‘You might at least ask how Patsy got on at school,’ she’d snapped as she put his supper on the table the night before. ‘She’s your daughter, Reg. You were the one who insisted on bringing her all the way over here. The least you can do is show a bit of interest.’

‘I will when that bloody letter comes.’ He’d folded his paper against the HP sauce bottle and carried on reading.

Anger surged through Dottie’s veins. ‘That’s all you want, isn’t it. The money! Well, there isn’t any. Sandy was broke.’

He’d glared at her for several seconds, then stood up. ‘You never told me a worse thing,’ he snarled.

‘It’s not my fault,’ she shouted but he suddenly lashed out, knocking her off balance, and she’d fallen against the other chair, the wooden back digging into her ribs. Then he’d thrown his meal over her head and stormed out. Dottie shook her head at her own stupidity. She shouldn’t have dropped it in his lap like that.

The walk would do them both good. Patsy was in fine form, her appetite for knowledge forming question after question.

‘What are those berries?’ She was pointing to the front of a cottage where a shrub, smothered in vivid red berries, covered the walls. ‘Can you eat them?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Dottie. ‘It’s called Pyracantha and it’s just to look at.’

‘Pie-be-Katha?’ Patsy struggled.

They spent the next few minutes saying it together, ‘Pyra-can-tha,’ until Patsy could say it perfectly.

‘Is the King going to die?’ the child suddenly asked.

The question was a bit unexpected, although the reports of George VI’s operation had dominated the news on the wireless. Nobody had actually said what was wrong with him but the papers said he’d had to have the whole of his left lung removed.

‘I don’t know, love, but he is very ill.’

Dottie had read in the paper that the Archbishop of Canterbury had held a special service in Lambeth Palace for the King’s recovery and Clement Attlee had cut short his holiday. Prime ministers don’t do that unless it’s serious.

‘My mummy had cancer. Do you think the King has cancer? Aunt Mary says he has.’

‘She’s probably right.’

‘I expect he’ll die then.’

Dottie shot back with, ‘We all have to die one day, love.’ Oh crumbs! She shouldn’t have said that. Dottie chewed her bottom lip anxiously.

Patsy looked up at her. ‘Did I tell you I got eight out of ten for my spellings?’

Dottie smiled. ‘That’s very good,’ she said, marvelling at the girl’s ability to swap so effortlessly from death to spellings. ‘Which two did you get wrong?’

‘Government and necessary.’

At the very end of the platform on Durrington-on-Sea, Reg was waiting for the London train to Victoria. To avoid awkward questions, he had deliberately chosen to leave by another station and he’d waited until Dottie and Patsy were on their way up to Highdown Hill before setting out. He had thought long and hard about returning to his old stomping ground. He had worked hard at making a new life but just lately, the tug in his heart had become stronger than ever.

The truth was, he missed the big smoke … the noise, the bustle, the cries of the barrow boys, the black cabs honking their way through the narrow streets, even the bloody pigeons … Just lately they’d all taken on a rosy hue. He’d thought a lot about his old mates too. They’d got up to some wonderful tricks in the old days when he’d managed to avoid conscription for several months by ignoring his call papers and keeping on the move. When the authorities got closer, he’d even got some chap who’d failed his medical, a bloke with chronic asthma, to impersonate him. Paid twenty quid for the honour but he was scuppered when the bloody army doctor recognised him. In the end, Reg had been forced to respond to his 442 and he’d been put into the Royal Engineers.