For Better For Worse (6 page)

‘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.

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 …’