Home Is Where the Heart Is (19 page)

‘Is the little lamb all right?’

Goodness, it almost sounded as if her mother actually cared. ‘I’m not sure. She may still be teething, or suffering from bad dreams. Thanks for coming for me, Mam. Alex is as drunk as a lord, yet again, so I was most grateful for your help. I really don’t understand why on earth he drinks so much, night after night.’

‘That’s what ex-servicemen do, chuck. It blocks the horrors they’ve suffered from their minds. Happen he’ll get over it, given time. As to whether he’ll agree to father
that child, I still have me doubts. Anyroad, goodnight. I need my sleep.’

So do I
, Cathie thought, taking Heather into her own bed, and cuddling up beside her. There were times when her stupid mother did speak sense, even if those last words had filled her with fresh doubt and fears. Perhaps what Alex had suffered in the desert was causing him to drink. How long would it take for him to recover from whatever was troubling him? And her hopes that he might come to adore little Heather didn’t seem to be working either.

It was as Cathie changed the bedding in the baby’s cot the following morning that she came across a scattering of dust and plaster beneath the bottom sheet. How on earth had that got there? Looking up at the ceiling she wondered if it had rained down from above, but could see no sign of any cracks. Hadn’t she given the entire place a coat of whitewash just a few months ago? No wonder the poor love had woken up screaming and crying, and been quite unable to settle. She must have felt so uncomfortable with bits of plaster and rubble sticking into her back and little bottom. It was most odd. And why hadn’t she noticed this while singing her to sleep?

‘Have you been messing with Heather’s bedding?’ she demanded of Rona as she slapped a plate of toast and jam on to the table before her. Alex, fortunately, was still asleep, so Cathie felt free to challenge her mother. ‘I found
plaster and dust in Heather’s cot. Have you any idea how that could have happened?’

‘Nay, why would I?’

‘I’ve no idea, but you’ve rarely shown any interest in her, despite the fact she’s your grandchild.’

‘Mebbe that’s because I can’t bear to remember her real mother is dead.’

Stunned by the sadness in Rona’s eyes, Cathie sank on to the chair beside her, then quietly murmured, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mam. I should allow for the fact that you too are grieving for our Sal.’ This may well account for Rona’s black moods, although she’d never been the most affectionate of mothers, even when they were young. She was always far too obsessed with her own needs, and having a good time. Cathie wished she understood her mother better, and then she might feel closer to her. Yet Rona did love Sally; there had never been any question about that. In a way she was her favourite daughter, and would often say to Cathie: ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’ never quite appreciating Cathie’s own strengths and qualities. Rona must miss Sal greatly, as did she. And everyone had their own ways of grieving; anger being a major part of the pain involved.

‘I’ll admit you’ve been much more helpful lately, allowing me some time off now and then, although I did wonder if that was more to please Alex rather than any love you feel for little Heather.’

‘It’s not that I don’t care, chuck. I never was the maternal sort, and it’s too late for me to change now.’

‘It would seem so, as you aren’t even prepared to adjust your shifts to share the job of childcare.’

‘I can’t. I need the income if I’m not going to be a burden to you as I get older. Anyroad, it’s not
my
lack of help for this little lass you should be worried about, it’s the reactions of the man you are keen to make into her father.’

This remark stunned Cathie into silence as she concentrated on assisting Heather’s attempt to feed herself, while nibbling her own toast. Was that the reason she hadn’t returned to Brenda’s flat? Her indecision and dread of struggling to cope alone sending her demented? And possibly the reason for the rubble in the baby’s cot lay in this ramshackle house they were renting. All of which should encourage her to try all the harder to find a better job. She needed a good income too. But on the plus side, for the first time in years Cathie felt something akin to a closeness with her mother.

A day or two later, Cathie received a letter from a local orphanage thanking her for her enquiry and saying they did now have room to take her sister’s child.

C
athie stared at the letter, perplexed. What on earth were they talking about? She hadn’t made any such enquiry. Had her mother done this? Dear God, she’d give her a piece of her mind if she had. When challenged, Rona denied any knowledge of such a letter.

‘What are you accusing me of now? None of this has owt to do wi’ me,’ she responded indignantly.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I never chucked you in an orphanage, did I, even though I had to bring the pair of you up all by myself?’

That was certainly true, even if she hadn’t been the most wonderful mother, Rona had always provided them with a comfortable home.

‘There must be some mistake then.’

So what was going on? When Cathie called round to the orphanage later that day to inform them she had made no such enquiry, the young woman in the office looked somewhat puzzled.

‘We did indeed receive a letter. Here it is.’ And opening
her filing cabinet she drew out a sheet of paper, which she handed to Cathie.

Reality dawned, rather like a shower of cold ice sliding over her. This wasn’t her handwriting, or her signature. Nor was it her mother’s. Nevertheless Cathie recognised it instantly. Hadn’t she received a number of letters written in this hand over years, not as many as she would have liked and often in batches with long pauses in between, with some of the words blocked out by black pencil? There was no mistaking the sender. What had possessed Alex to do such a thing?

When asked he looked stricken with guilt. ‘I thought that was what you wanted, to be free of the responsibility of being the foster mother to a child that is not yours.’

‘I’ve never said that. I
love
her. Heather
is
my child, in every respect but one. I did not give birth to her.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t understand. Bit confused. Will you forgive me?’

It was difficult to find it in her heart to do so. As he took the child from her arms to give little Heather a cuddle, fear escalated inside her yet again, instinct warning her not to irritate him further. He was so impulsive, his moods unpredictable and irrational, much as he might claim to love her. It was as if he was jealous of this little one’s demands upon her attention. Perhaps she should encourage him to spend more time with Heather, and learn a little more about childcare. But would that work? Could she trust him? Cathie sent up a silent prayer that he’d come
to love the child as much as she did. Finding a solution to this problem was going to take time.

Parenting, Cathie discovered as little Heather’s independence grew, was not simply a job but more a way of life, and one that would last for ever. Oh, but she loved the bones of her, and was gaining increasing confidence as a mother. She had established a good routine, knew not to overexcite the child as bedtime approached, and when and how to put her down to sleep. She’d even disposed of her dummy yet again as she didn’t want the toddler to damage her teeth. Instead, the little girl would chatter away using her own made-up words, or sing herself back to sleep, which was a delight to listen to. And whenever she threw herself into a tantrum Cathie would stand by and let her get on with it, finding that she generally grew bored after a few minutes and would start playing with a toy instead, as if to distract herself.

But, as Rona had predicted, persuading Alex to take an interest in the child was not proving to be easy. He showed very little patience. On one occasion when Cathie had left him in charge for no more than ten minutes while she slipped out to the corner shop, she’d returned to find he’d plonked her into a cardboard box under the stairs, just because she’d started crying the moment Cathie had gone. They’d had a furious row over that.

‘If children don’t behave they need to be punished,’ he snapped.

‘But not locked up in the dark,’ Cathie shouted back. ‘Don’t
ever
do that again.’

‘Don’t you tell me what I can or cannot do!’ He’d stormed off, but had returned later with a bunch of violets, looking most contrite. ‘Sorry, sweetie, I’d had a tiring day so lost patience.’

Doing what? she wondered, but didn’t dare enquire. He was far too unpredictable to argue with. Cathie accepted his apology with good grace, but doubted she would ever leave Heather alone with him again. Although if that were the case, how could she even consider marrying this man? Their relationship seemed to be going from bad to worse. What was it that made him lose his patience so easily? On other occasions he could be the sweetest, most generous person, often providing her with unexpected gifts of clothes and cash. One minute he could be raging with temper, the next loving and caring. Was that genuine or a ploy on his part? Or perhaps all part of the healing process. Maybe she just needed to be patient too.

Today he’d brought home some fillets of haddock, which a fisherman friend had apparently given him.

‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Cathie told him as she happily set about cooking it. ‘You’re so clever the way you keep finding us good food, and something different to eat.’

Heather, however, was less impressed and refused to eat it, spitting out every mouthful with a sour expression on her little face. Alex was not pleased.

Cathie merely laughed. ‘She’s never had haddock before,
or fish of any kind. I expect it takes time to acquire a taste for it. Never mind, I have one or two eggs left; I’ll boil one of those instead. She loves boiled eggs.’

‘No, she must eat this. She’s a silly child, and has no right to waste perfectly good food,’ he barked. He picked up a spoon, scooped up a morsel of fish and attempted to shove it into her mouth. Heather stubbornly resisted, clamping her plump little lips together and turning her head away. ‘You naughty girl!’ he yelled, standing over her and jabbing a finger in her chest.

‘Stop that!’ Cathie cried, pushing him away, utterly horrified by such behaviour. ‘You’ll hurt her.’

‘She must learn to do as she’s told.’

For once Heather did not start crying. Instead, she seemed to have frozen, her little mouth still clamped shut, an expression of wary distrust in her blue-eyed gaze. Cathie found this reaction even more disturbing.

‘Please, Alex, as we’ve already discussed, you need to exercise a little more patience. You’re expecting her to behave like a five-year-old, but Heather isn’t even eighteen months yet. Right now she needs loving comfort; rules and punishment can come later when she’s old enough to understand.’

‘She never will understand if we aren’t firm with her.’

‘You are
too
firm.’

‘Nonsense, you should have seen how my father behaved towards me.’

‘Then don’t repeat his mistakes upon Heather.’

‘I’ll do as I damn well please!’

‘No, you won’t,’ Cathie patiently responded, stifling a sigh. ‘As I am her foster mother, she is
my
responsibility, not yours.’

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she instantly regretted them. Hadn’t she once agonised for months over how to tell Alex she wanted him to help her adopt the baby? Now his mouth twisted into a curl of sarcastic amusement, and he laughed. ‘We’ll see what good that does you.’

Finishing the rest of his meal in silence, he then picked up his hat and marched off to the Pack Horse, as he did most evenings. Cathie heaved a sigh of relief, even though she knew he would no doubt come home the worse for drink. Rather than settling into a civilian way of life, Alex seemed to be battling against it.

The next day Alex was out and about, as usual. This time hovering close to various jewellery shops, trying to decide which one to try. Perhaps the smartest part of the city would not be a good idea, certainly not St Ann Street, as he was too well known by the shopkeepers there. He had, however, adopted a disguise of sorts by wearing a large pair of spectacles and a false beard, plus the kind of bowler hat he would normally never wear. He walked along Deansgate, and various roads and streets leading off it, and then wandered over to Piccadilly, which was
something of a blitzed site still, as most of the warehouses had been damaged or destroyed by bombs.

The city was bustling with activity, and he quickly dashed across the road as a cart passed by, loaded with great churns of milk. Stalls and hawkers’ carts lined Oldham Street but it was a prosperous shopping area with many fine shops, popular with Mancunians. And in one of the streets just off it, he soon found what he was looking for: a small shop selling new and second-hand jewellery.

The bell rang as he strolled inside, and a grey-haired stockily built man with a ruddy complexion emerged through a curtain at the back of the shop. He was cleaning a pair of spectacles, which he then perched on to his long nose.

Alex kept his own glasses firmly in place, squinting at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Good morning,’ he said with a polite smile. ‘I’m seeking an engagement ring for my fiancée. In theory we’ve been engaged for some time but because of being sent overseas during the war I never got around to buying her a ring.’ Not true, but this man had no way of knowing that. ‘Sorry, I don’t have too much money, I’m afraid, but wondered if you could help.’

‘Be happy to,’ the shopkeeper said, and instantly began pulling trays of rings out from under the counter. ‘Would she like a sapphire, ruby or …?’

‘Diamond. She loves diamonds.’

A few trays were set out before him and, as he examined each one, Alex made a careful note of the prices, which
were reasonably low. ‘Perhaps I could see some rings with stones a little larger and more valuable. Actually, I’m not totally without funds and this lady is the love of my life.’

A couple more trays were brought out, at a much higher price. ‘If these are too expensive, sir, I could show you some priced between the two,’ the man assured him.

They were indeed far too expensive, but, giving a wry smile, Alex lifted one or two rings to examine them more closely under the light of a lamp. ‘I can see why. They are quite beautiful, but perhaps something a little less costly would be more sensible. Have you a solitaire, perhaps?’

‘Of course,’ he said, pulling out yet another tray. It was as Alex reached for it that he managed to ‘accidentally’ knock one of others on to the floor. ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry,’ he cried, instantly bending down to start gathering up the rings scattered about.

‘Yi, yi, yi!’ The old man threw up his hands in horror and came scuttling quickly round the counter to help. It took no more than a matter of moments to collect up all the rings and set them back upon the tray, then Alex chose one of the cheaper imitation diamond rings. ‘I think I’d better stick with this one,’ he said with an apologetic grimace.

The chosen ring was swiftly put into a box, the shopkeeper informing Alex as he handed over the money that if he brought his fiancée in the ring could be resized to fit her finger.

‘Thank you, you’ve been most kind.’ Then, glancing at the trays on the counter, now in something of a muddle, he
again apologised profusely and calmly left. Once outside, he slipped his hand into his pocket to find the ring that had just happened to fall into it. It was amazing how foolishly trusting some people were. Cheating, he’d discovered, was so easy and extremely profitable. But then he’d always had a talent for deceit.

Chuckling to himself as he turned the corner back into Oldham Street, Alex quickly removed the bowler hat, spectacles, beard and even his raincoat, and dumped the lot into a dustbin behind a hawker’s cart, just in case it dawned on the shopkeeper that he’d been robbed. Then he strolled into a pub for a pint of beer to celebrate.

It was a beautiful sunny spring day and Cathie was walking along Back Irwell Street towards Deansgate, thinking she might enquire at Kendal Milne to see if they had any vacancies, when she spotted Brenda approaching. Her friend was smartly dressed in linen trousers with a tailored jacket, a broad grin on her face and her arms outstretched. Cathie instantly raced over to give her a hug, the baby bouncing in her pram. ‘Oh, there you are, Brenda, how lovely to see you back. How I’ve missed you.’

‘Good to see you too, darling. Shall we go and find Davina to enjoy our usual cup of tea and a gossip?’

‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’ve so much to tell you. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through.’

Brenda frowned. ‘Not more problems?’

‘I’m afraid so. What about you, are your family legal problems resolved?’

Brenda pulled her face. ‘I hope so. Come on, let’s go and eat.’

It took no time at all for Cathie to pour out her heart to her best friend as they linked arms and headed for their favourite café on Campfield Market. She was as ever loyal, supportive and deeply sympathetic.

‘I always thought there was something fishy about that girl,’ Brenda said with a snarl of ill temper. ‘She turned up out of the blue one day, yet never said a word about her past, not even where she’d been born or anything about her family, let alone the war. What a madam she must be.’

‘She took such pleasure in revealing their affair, and telling me she was carrying Alex’s child, with not a word of apology even though I’d always looked upon her as a friend.’

‘You poor darling, that must have been awful. Have you seen her since?’

‘No, not a sign.’

‘There’s no sign of her today either,’ Brenda said, glancing over at the second-hand clothes stall where she normally worked. ‘You order tea and a sandwich for us while I go and ask.’

Cathie watched as Brenda bustled over to chat with the owner, who seemed to be shaking her head. Did she even need to know what had happened to Davina? she asked herself.

‘The stallholder says she’s no idea where she is. Davina didn’t even bother to hand in her notice, just disappeared, maybe back to wherever she came from.’

‘Well, it’s of no interest to me where she’s gone,’ Cathie said with a sigh. ‘All that matters is that Alex and I are back together, well almost. Possibly. I’m trying my best to put all this mess behind me and see if it will work. Admittedly, it isn’t easy as he’s still not at all himself, and a bit too impatient with little Heather here,’ Cathie said, stroking the toddler’s fluffy blonde hair as she lifted her from the pram to sit her on her lap, then quickly told Brenda about his attempt to find Heather a place at the local orphanage.