Home Sweet Home (30 page)

‘
We
wanted you,' Ruby exclaimed. Her expression was one of alarm.

Frances heaved another sigh.

Ruby raised her eyebrows and glanced sidelong at her suffering cousin. Yet another sigh? Goodness, sighing was actually becoming quite an art form on her cousin's part. Still, she thought, how would I feel if I were in her shoes?

‘If your mother was alive and you had some idea where she was, what would you do?'

The question hit Ruby off balance. The answer was a foregone conclusion, though bearing in mind who she was speaking to and the circumstances thereof, she worded her response carefully. ‘My mother's dead. So that's that.' She paused, imagining how things might have been if she'd lived.

‘So how would you feel if my mother was your mother and had abandoned you? What would you do?'

Ruby had to concede that she would have endeavoured to find her, to face her and have her explain her actions.

‘Exactly!' Frances exclaimed, satisfied that a fundamental point had been made. ‘She could at least have said goodbye.'

It not being her nature to rub salt into an open wound, Ruby said no more. Although she maintained an aura of indifference, she understood the misgivings and obsessions of a young girl. That was me, she said to herself, not so long ago.

Frances stared out of the kitchen window as if the view contained a pretty garden rather than the vegetable field it had become. Before the war, there had been a vegetable patch at the end of the garden, but vegetables now filled the whole garden with the exception of the rose bush, Charles Stuart, bought for her cousin Charlie the Christmas before he was killed.

‘You don't think I'll get a reply, do you?' Frances said suddenly. ‘You think I'm just a silly child.'

Ruby felt a pang of remorse that she had used such words. Her cousin was at a sensitive age. ‘No. I can imagine how you feel and I truly hope your letter touches a chord with your mother's landlady and that she replies soon.'

What she wanted to say was perhaps it might have been a good idea if she'd passed it to her to read first, just to make sure it sounded right.

‘It was a good letter,' Frances stated, as though she'd read Ruby's mind. Yes, she could have had her check it, but it was
her
letter to
her
mother. Not only had she wished to keep it private, she'd wanted it personal, no other hand having touched it or eyes reading it.

The letter she'd sent had been carefully considered, though to the point. With meticulous precision, Frances had listed what her uncle had told her. Name, previous address, appearance, marital status, even to details of a coral necklace Mildred always wore. Stan Sweet thought the necklace had been bought overseas during the Great War, though he couldn't be sure.

‘You'll know her by that alone,' he'd said to Frances.

She'd relayed that particular piece of information to the landlady at her mother's last known address. The letter had to come soon, but still she waited, heart racing like a greyhound at the prospect of seeing her mother again.

Two weeks of waiting finally paid off. On a cold summer morning, the postman paused at the front door so he could remove one knitted glove before rummaging around in his bag. Frances dashed out to the shop door and jerked it open.

‘Well, that's jolly nice of you,' said the postman. ‘Saves me bending down and shoving it through down there. Ever thought of getting it repositioned?'

Frances had no more liking for the postman than anyone else.

‘I wasn't thinking of you bending down. I just want our post,' she said sharply. ‘I'm waiting for a very important letter.'

Melvyn Chance smirked. She knew he was surmising she was awaiting a letter from a sweetheart but had no intention of confirming either way.

Two long weeks of waiting had passed since she'd written her letter; two weeks dwelling on whether she would receive a letter at all. It had also been two weeks of sensing that her waistline was expanding, if the waistbands of her skirts and dresses were anything to go by. She didn't want her cousin Ruby to notice what was up before she had a chance to put her plan into action.

However, it appeared she was in luck, and besides, she felt well and confident that everything would work out for the best. There was nothing to worry about. Only in the dead of night did fear clench at her stomach and the details of a frantically confusing dream drift back into her mind.

In the meantime, all that mattered was finding her mother, and at last she had a response.

Once she'd scanned the Bristol postmark, her heart quickened. If she was lucky, her mother might still be there at the address she'd given Uncle Stan some time ago.

Heart continuing to race like a steam train, Frances held the plain brown envelope in both hands. Eager to open it, though scared at what it might say, she willed her heart to cease its frantic rush. She must be calm – or as calm as she could be. She also wanted to read it by herself.

‘I'm going into the kitchen. Will you be all right here in the shop?'

‘I'm coming through too. My cup of tea is still sitting on the kitchen table and must be getting cold by now. We'll hear the bell if somebody comes into the shop.'

Frances knew better than to argue with her cousin. She could see by the look on Ruby's face that she was almost as curious as she was to know what was in the letter.

‘She's had a reply,' Ruby said to her father, who only grunted and did his best to look uninterested. Inside he was seething. No matter Frances's feelings, he would never feel anything but condemnation for the likes of his sister-in-law. Not that Frances would listen. Not at present. But he would give it one more try. He had to get the message through to her.

Ruby pulled up a chair to the table. She gestured that Frances should do the same, but her cousin ignored her.

‘Well, go on, you silly goose,' said Ruby, sipping her tea, eyes fixed on the letter.

Stan stayed silent, sitting in his favourite armchair, toasting his feet in front of the fire and pretending to read the paper. He flicked the page he was reading so it made a cracking sound, but he did not look up.

Ruby gave extra attention to scraping excess margarine from her toast. Not that it needed scraping off. It was just something to do while she waited to find out what the infamous Mildred had to say – if she was still at that address, of course.

Frances took a deep breath before taking a butter knife and running it along the seam of the envelope. With a steady hand, she brought out and unfolded the single sheet of paper within and began to read.

Her eyes skidded over the words. The strongest willpower in the world could not prevent her heart hammering.

Stan only glanced at her face. Ruby stayed fixed on it. Both could see that the letter was disappointing. Mildred Sweet was no longer at that address.

‘She's not there.' Disappointed, Frances's face fell and her hands dropped into her lap.

‘I did tell you it was years old,' said Stan from behind his newspaper. ‘She's gone on to pastures new. Some other bloke that she's latched on to. Mildred always did like a bit of variety in her life. And I don't mean just with regard to location!'

Frances smarted at the harsh words. Her mother might be a tart, but she was still her mother.

Stan Sweet looked down to the empty breakfast plate sitting on his lap, as though, like Oliver Twist, he wanted more. But he didn't want more. It was on the tip of his tongue to say a lot more about his dead brother's wife but he made a big effort to control his expression. It wouldn't be fair to let Frances see how relieved he was feeling. He'd long entertained the opinion that his sister-in-law wasn't worth finding, and his opinion had not changed. He'd never forgiven her for the way she'd treated his brother, dallying with other men when Sefton was at death's door.

Guessing what he was thinking, Ruby frowned at him in reproach. Her father squirmed under the intensity of her warning look before retreating behind his newspaper. His plan to put his opinion of her mother to Frances broadly and simply was still on the cards. It had to be done, no matter how it might upset the girl.

Ruby squeezed her cousin's shoulder. Her voice was gentle. ‘Didn't she leave any forwarding address?'

Frances shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the contents of the letter.

‘Can I read it?' asked Ruby.

Frances shook her head. ‘There's no point.'

Ruby placed an arm around her cousin's shoulder and gave her a hug. ‘I'm so sorry, Frances. But still, perhaps it's all for the best.' She looked at her father, took in the headlines about rockets landing on London and suddenly saw red. This was not the time to hide behind a newspaper! ‘Dad! Is there nothing you can say about it?'

With an air of reluctance, he came out from behind the glaring headlines, took off his spectacles and folded the newspaper into one hand. He sighed before saying, ‘Frances, your mother's not the sort to stay in one place for long. She's like a butterfly, fluttering from place to place. That's the way she was and probably still is.' His face was like thunder. ‘I'm telling you now, Frances. If you want to leave this house and go looking for that woman, then you're on your own! I'll wash my hands of you and you will not be welcome back!'

Frances winced.

Ruby could not believe her ears. ‘Dad! You can't mean that!'

‘Yes, I do. I'm putting my foot down on this matter.' His stance was rigid, his voice unkind.

Ruby stared at him, unable to recognise him as the man who had brought them up without a harsh word. And now this.

‘Come on, Dad,' her voice was placating despite the anguished surprise seething within. ‘My mother's dead and gone, but if she were still alive, I would be doing exactly the same as Frances. I would want to know where she was and if she was well. After all, it's only natural.'

‘I call it ungrateful. I brought you up, Frances, not your mother. If you persist in going to find her, then I'm finished with you. I've made my mind up and that's an end to it.'

Although hurt by his words, Frances was adamant. ‘I don't care what you think. I only know what I feel. I want to find her and that's it.'

Stan stood up and put his back to the fire, legs parted, fingers knotted behind him. All the hurt he'd felt at the time of his brother's death came flooding back. If there'd been no Great War, his brother would likely be here now. He might never have married Mildred and might never have been hurt by her. The wounds ran deep and Stan could not ignore them.

Ruby knew her father well. He'd been mother as well as father to her for many years, the unchanging lighthouse in the shifting sea of life. ‘Dad, do you know where she might have gone?'

He remained unmoved.

Ruby tried again. ‘Dad, Frances needs to know.'

‘Even if I'm no longer welcome in this house,' added Frances.

Ruby looked at her cousin, suddenly alert to the fact that she
was
no longer a child. This was a brave new Frances, a young girl on the threshold of life who needed to know her mother in order to know herself.

‘Please,' whispered Frances, turning the full force of her velvet brown eyes to him. ‘If you know where she is …'

There was a guarded look in his eyes when he shook his head. ‘No, I don't,' he said firmly. ‘That was all the information I had. She left here. She didn't ever get in touch again, and that's an end to it! If you want to go searching for her, then go. But as I said, if you do go, then never darken my door again.'

‘Dad! That's terrible!' Ruby was beside herself.

Frances eyed him more coolly. She glared at him, suddenly angry and wondering if she did in fact hate him. At this moment, it certainly felt that way.

Her anger came pouring out. ‘She probably knew you didn't like her! That was why she ran away, wasn't it! Because you hated her!'

Alarmed at her outburst, Stan took a step back. As he did so, the corner of the newspaper he held in his right hand went too near the fire.

‘Now look what you've done.' He was shouting at the top of his voice and at the same time attempting to beat out the flame on the top of the kitchen range. Deducing that his newspaper was beyond rescue, he crumpled it between both hands, opened the door of the range and threw it into the fire.

‘There! Satisfied now?'

Her anger undiminished, Frances glared at him. He'd never shouted at her like that before. She felt as though he'd slapped both sides of her face.

Being threatened with banishment might have frightened some people, but not Frances. All Stan had done was make her angry and more determined to find her mother. There was always a way out, always an option to pursue. That was what Declan had told her.

‘Never mind facing a problem head on. Take a side step. Sneak up from behind,' he had counselled.

Frances folded the letter up and slid it back into the envelope.

The silence in the room was deafening and outside wasn't much better. The feel of thunder was in the air. Clouds shielded the promising sun. The dull day and the difficult silence persisted.

Frances headed for the stairs. ‘Well, at the moment there's nothing more to be done so I might as well go up and make the beds – while I'm still here.'

Ruby attempted to follow. ‘I think I should go upstairs and give you a hand …'

Stan Sweet intervened. ‘No. Leave her on her own for a while. Give her chance to get over it.'

Ruby wasn't so sure, though she certainly hoped so. She might have defied her father, but Charlie's behaviour intervened.

‘Charlie!'

Ruby grabbed the spoon with which he was supposed to be eating his porridge. Instead, he was spooning it into his hair.

A jug of water was poured from the kitchen tap, an old towel borrowed from the bathroom, and a comb with big teeth borrowed from the top of her father's tallboy.