Homecoming (28 page)

‘Let me know which you'd prefer and I'll pick up the brochures tomorrow.' Sam took the last piece of bread and butter from the plate set between him and Judy and bit it in half.

‘Mmm,' Judy murmured absently.

‘You haven't heard a single word I've said all evening,' Sam observed irritably.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.' Judy sat back, as the waitress placed two cups of coffee on their table.

‘Thinking about the salons again,' Sam commented acidly, handing the waitress their empty plates. ‘Bill please, when you have time, miss.' He turned back to Judy. ‘I was asking where you'd like to go for our honeymoon.'

‘Not Blackpool.'

‘I gathered that from the way you snapped at my mother when she suggested it.'

‘I did not snap.'

‘I don't want to argue about it, Judy,' he said wearily. ‘Just settle on a place we both want to go. What about my suggestion of Jersey?'

‘I don't know …'

‘Say you haven't had time to think about it and so help me, I'll scream.'

‘Jack and Helen had a good time in London,' she ventured.

‘You said you hated the place when you lived there.'

‘Living in a city is not the same as visiting it on honeymoon. There's so much to do there, we could see the sights, go to a show, visit the shops and the parks.'

‘Jack and Helen married in April,' he interrupted. ‘London in July is going to be hot and sticky.'

‘That's true,' she agreed, realising he was as set against the idea of London as she was of Blackpool.

‘Isn't there anywhere you want to go that you've never been to?'

‘Millions of places. My mother was so busy running the salon when I was small, the only holidays I ever took with her were the odd day trips she could fit in on Sundays, and always by bus or train. Generally we went down the Gower or to Barry or Porthcawl. I went to Weston once with Lily and her Uncle Roy and Auntie Norah for a week, but apart from my short time in London and a weekend trip to Blackpool, that's as far as I've been.'

‘I fancy somewhere warm and sunny, lying on a beach all day, looking at you in a bathing costume …'

‘Look at me, Sam.'

He propped his chin on his hand and gazed into her eyes.

‘I don't mean like that.' She pulled a strand of her hair forward. ‘What colour is this?'

‘Auburn,' he suggested tentatively, knowing how sensitive she was about her colouring.

‘Try red, which means I have white skin. Very white,' she emphasised, ‘as in white that burns bright red whenever I sit in the sun for more than five minutes.'

‘So no beach honeymoon.'

‘Not unless you want an untouchable lobster for a wife.'

‘I don't like the sound of untouchable.' He took the bill the waitress handed him. ‘One of the boys in work said he had a good time in Butlin's.'

‘On his honeymoon?'

‘He went with his wife and two children.' He took her coat from the stand and held it out.

‘I would hate to honeymoon in a crowded camp.' She turned her back to him and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat.

‘The schools don't break up until the second week in July so it wouldn't be that crowded, but if you hate the idea …'

‘I do,' she said firmly. He opened the door for her.

‘I'm beginning to wonder if you even want to go on honeymoon. Perhaps you'd prefer to run your damned salons.'

‘I only want us to go to the right place,' she explained, in an attempt to pacify him.

‘Please, tell me where that is and I'll book it. So far tonight you've turned down the Channel Islands, Blackpool, Butlin's and every beach in Britain, which cuts out just about every holiday resort I can think of.'

‘How about I call into the travel agents tomorrow and look at what they've got?'

‘How about why didn't you do that weeks ago?' he said crossly, refusing to be placated.

‘Because we have plenty of time to book a honeymoon.'

‘I have Wednesday and Thursday off this week. I suppose it's out of the question to ask you to visit my mother with me.'

‘Sorry, this week's impossible, Sam, but let me know as soon as you have your days off booked for the following week and I'll make a point of clearing them.'

‘My mother will want you to check on the bridesmaids' dresses. We also have to decide what to give them as presents. My mother thinks silver bracelets will be acceptable.'

Judy reined in her temper, as Sam continued to repeat the contents of his mother's latest letter. After a while, she didn't even hear his voice. All she could see, all she could think about was the photograph of Brian and her that she had found earlier that evening.

‘So can I?'

She looked up and realised they'd stopped walking because they were outside her door.

‘Can you what, Sam?'

‘Come up?' he snapped furiously, realising that she hadn't been listening to him – yet again.

‘I'm tired.'

‘Just five minutes.'

‘You can have a couple of hours on Wednesday after you visit your mother.' She felt for her keys in her coat pocket and kissed him lightly on the lips. Unlocking and slipping through the door, she closed it quickly behind her.

‘Jack, face facts, there is no way that anyone in authority will allow you to adopt a baby when you are living apart from your wife. And that's without bringing things like a house, money and someone to look after the child when you're at work, into the equation.'

‘With Maggie's help, I might be able to organise a private adoption,' Jack suggested hopefully. ‘And if you and Lily …'

Martin shook his head. ‘Leave Lily and I out of it. Quite apart from Helen being a good friend to both of us, there is no way that we can afford for Lily to give up work to have our own children at the moment, let alone look after someone else's.'

‘I could ask Katie …'

‘I wouldn't if I were you,' Martin said forcefully, leaving the table. ‘Once John finds out what you've done, he's bound to take Helen's side. I'm tired, and as Brian said, it's a big day tomorrow.' He picked up his cup.

‘Leave it, Marty,' Jack lit a cigarette. ‘I won't be able to sleep so I may as well make myself useful.'

Martin looked back at his brother. ‘I'm sorry, Jack. I really am.'

‘So am I.' Jack grimaced. ‘Remember what Mam used to say when we were kids? If there's a hard way to do things, our Jack will find it.'

‘It's a tough way to learn a lesson.'

‘It's tougher on Helen than me.'

‘You could try talking to her again when she's had time to calm down.'

‘There's no point.'

‘You don't know that until you've tried.'

‘You didn't see her face when she threw me out. Believe me, Martin, there's no point, no point at all.'

Chapter Fifteen

‘It's really not so bad in here,' Emily announced unconvincingly to Judy. They were sitting in a corner of Cartref's lounge during visiting hour. ‘Most of the girls are nice and friendly.'

Only three other girls had visitors that Judy could see. None looked particularly friendly and the half a dozen residents who were sitting grouped around a table in the centre of the room looked positively sullen. She opened her shopping bag. ‘I've brought you some magazines and chocolate and a couple of books. I know you said you didn't want anything in your letter, but I couldn't come empty-handed.' She passed them to Emily.

‘It's enough that you visit.' Emily took the gifts. ‘After all, it's not as if I'm ill or anything.'

‘I won't be able to visit next weekend because Sam has Sunday off and we're going to his mother's. She's organising the bridesmaids' dresses.' Judy wrinkled her nose at the prospect.

‘You don't look very happy about it.'

‘I'm not,' Judy agreed shortly. She didn't want to discuss her prospective mother-in-law because she suspected that once she started talking about Ena Davies she wouldn't stop. ‘But I'll visit you the weekend after and if there is anything you need in the meantime, phone or write to me and I'll post it on.'

‘There's nothing.' Emily clutched the books and chocolate close to her chest. ‘These books and magazines will last me for weeks. You don't get much free time to read in here.'

‘I thought you'd have masses,' Judy said in surprise.

‘We spend part of the day cooking and cleaning and the rest in classes. House craft, sewing, knitting – that sort of thing. We have to make a full layette for our babies, three of everything. The adoptive parents expect it.'

Judy thought it harsh to ask unmarried mothers to make clothes for babies they would have to give up but, very aware of the girls sitting around them, she muttered a non-committal, ‘I see.'

‘I'm hopeless at sewing,' Emily confessed. ‘I spend more time unpicking my mistakes than stitching anything new.'

‘I could buy a layette and smuggle it in,' Judy whispered conspiratorially.

Emily laughed nervously. ‘One girl's already tried that. The matron caught her sister handing it over. The girl was given a telling off and extra sewing classes in the evenings. I dare not risk it, one sewing class a day is as much as I can stand.'

‘Have you heard from your family?'

‘I've had letters from my mother and sisters and one from Larry. He's managed to keep my condition a secret from everyone except my aunt. A couple of people did telephone her house after I left Swansea, but she told them that my mother and sisters had moved on and she didn't have their address.'

‘Is Larry staying in Bournemouth?'

‘No, he's taken a job as a bank clerk in London. He couldn't stand Bournemouth. Apparently all my mother can talk about is my father and the disgrace he's brought on the family. She and my sisters hate living off my aunt's charity almost as much as my aunt hates dispensing it. The two eldest are looking for jobs, but according to Larry, not very hard. Thanks to my father's upbringing, they think work is beneath them.'

‘They'll learn,' Judy murmured philosophically.

‘From what Larry wrote, my aunt is trying to teach them. The one good thing is that they are all too immersed in their own affairs to think about me. Larry said they weren't pleased when he told them Robin had broken off our engagement because my sisters had ideas of coming back to Swansea to visit after we were married. Once they found out that I wouldn't be able to offer them free board and lodge at some future date, they were happy to swallow his story that I'd taken a job here as a hotel receptionist. It's one less thing for my mother to worry about and I never was that close to any of my sisters.'

Irritated by the muted whisperings of the other residents and their visitors, Judy glanced out of the window. The sky was grey and the wind was blowing piles of dead leaves around the lawns and flowerbeds, but the rain was holding off. ‘I know it's cold but it's dry. Do you fancy a walk in the garden?'

‘Yes,' Emily answered decisively. ‘Yes, I do.'

‘You don't need to get permission?'

‘Not in free time when it's dry. I'll just put these things in my locker and get my coat.'

As Emily carried the books, magazines and chocolate out of the lounge, Judy picked up her coat and empty shopping bag and wandered into the hall. Her footsteps echoed hollowly over the tiled floor and she wondered how she would cope if she had to surrender her independence and privacy to live surrounded day and night by strangers in a place like this. She suspected not all that well. For all of Emily's assertion that it wasn't so bad, there was a depressing institution feel to the house, a cross between the oppressively disciplined atmosphere of an all girls' school and a hospital. She thought she could even detect the overcooked cabbage odour that she would forever associate with her school days, among the baby smells.

‘I'm ready.' Emily ran down the stairs in her green duster coat and a blue knitted hat pulled over her short curly hair. She opened the door and stepped outside ahead of Judy.

‘You're behaving like an escaped prisoner,' Judy smiled.

‘Just glad to get out for five minutes. I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier. It might be cold, but at least no one can eavesdrop on our conversation, not that we were discussing anything scintillating.' Emily wound a scarf around her neck and took a pair of blue mittens from her coat pocket.

‘You sensed that everyone was listening to us as well?'

‘As Maggie says, there's nothing else to do in here except gossip and wait. I'll be glad when the next girl comes in, it will take some of the attention away from me.'

‘You've made a friend?' Judy and Emily walked through an archway that led from the paved front courtyard into the side garden.

‘Maggie – everyone gets on with Maggie. She's more like a sympathetic aunt than a resident. Apart from being at least twenty years older than the rest of us, she's the only one who has actually had a baby and knows what it's like.'

‘You afraid?' Judy asked perceptively.

Emily nodded. ‘Terrified. I've never been good at dealing with pain and it's supposed to be absolute agony.'

‘My mother told me it's an odd sort of pain, you forget it as soon as the baby's born and one of my friends who's just had a baby agreed with her. When she held her son …' Judy faltered, realising that discussing Katie's experience with Glyn was hardly tactful, not when Emily would have to hand her baby over to strangers six weeks after she had given birth.

‘Your friend is married.'

‘Yes.'

‘She's lucky.' There was more sadness than bitterness in Emily's voice.

‘Yes, she is. Her husband is years older than her but they are very happy together.' They walked around the corner of the house on to a patio fringed by wrought ironwork entwined with the shrivelled, blackened skeletons of trailing plants.

‘Jack!' Judy stared in astonishment. Helen's husband stood in front of her with a blonde, older woman.

He started guiltily and looked from Judy to Emily. ‘You're the last person I expected to see here.'

‘I came to visit Emily. She was my flatmate.'

‘I remember meeting you at a party years ago.' He nodded briefly to Emily. ‘If you'll excuse us.'

‘Of course,' Judy answered. It was difficult to determine who wanted to put an end to the chance meeting the most, her or Jack.

‘Is that going to make things difficult for you?' Maggie asked. Jack glanced back at Judy.

‘No more than they already are.'

‘I wish you hadn't visited.'

‘I told you why I had to come.' He offered her his arm and they walked in the opposite direction to the one taken by Judy and Emily. ‘And you still haven't answered my question. Can you arrange for me to adopt the baby?'

‘Even if I could, I wouldn't. It's a ridiculous idea, Jack. No one in authority would consider handing a baby over to a man. Especially one who has just left his wife.'

‘Not even when the child is his?'

‘I know you mean well but you would never cope with the day-to-day practicalities of looking after a child,' she added, in an attempt to soften the blow.

‘I could learn. After all, it's my baby too,' he broke in earnestly.

‘What would you live on?'

‘I have a job.'

‘And who would take care of the baby while you are at work?'

‘I'd find someone. My sister has just had a baby …'

‘And she'd welcome the opportunity to look after yours as well?' When Jack didn't answer, Maggie shook her head. ‘You have your own life, you should concentrate on trying to save your marriage.'

‘I told you it's over. Helen has thrown me out.'

‘Which is understandable because she's angry, Jack. But she won't be angry with you for ever. You admit you still love her.'

‘I'll never stop,' he said simply.

‘Then fight for her.'

‘How can I?'

‘You can start by going to see her and trying to explain what happened between us.' Emotionally and physically exhausted, Maggie sank down on to a wooden bench set facing the hills behind the house. ‘Tell her it didn't mean anything. That it would never have happened if either of us had been in our right minds.'

‘I've already tried.' He sat beside her.

‘Obviously not well enough,' she retorted impatiently.

‘You don't understand Helen, Maggie. I promised to love her and I betrayed her. She'll never believe in me or trust me again.'

‘If you two had a marriage half as strong as the one you described to me the night you came to see me in Cyprus, it isn't over, Jack. How can it be when you still love her? No.' She held up her hand as he tried to cut her short again. ‘Listen for a moment. Love isn't something anyone can switch on and off, no matter how much they may want to. If it were, the divorce courts would be full and all marriages would end the minute a couple hit their first rough patch. If you want my opinion, I think your Helen is feeling just as wretched as you are right now. So go and see her, talk to her, plead with her to forgive you.'

‘She wouldn't even open the door to me.'

‘You don't know that until you try. Why be so stubborn?' she persisted irritably. ‘All you have to lose is your pride and that's a small price to pay for a good marriage. If I had your chance, I wouldn't throw it away,' she added with brutal honesty.

‘Even if Helen took me back, she would never agree to take the baby and I can't give it up.'

‘It's not yours to give up, Jack,' Maggie said forcefully.

‘It's my child and I will take care of it properly. I'll see that it will want for nothing.'

‘I have no doubt that you'll set out to do just that, but I have children. I know just how demanding they can be and how difficult it is to bring them up. They need two parents, a mother and a father.' She faltered, her declaration bringing home the full magnitude of her loss.

Jack closed his eyes against an image of the sergeant as he had last seen him, his body broken and bloody, his lips blue as he had whispered Maggie's name. ‘I know I'm years younger than you, Maggie, but Helen will divorce me. Then I … we … we could …'

‘Don't even think it, let alone say it.'

‘He died for me,' he whispered.

‘Don't flatter yourself that it was personal. Gordon died protecting his men. You just happened to be one of them. He was doing his job, nothing more. If you had reached that grenade first, he would have been furious with you for usurping his authority. You do know that, don't you?'

‘Yes,' Jack said, realising that his sergeant would have been angry. It was the officer's place to act, the other ranks to stand back until given a direct order. He had a sudden vision of the sergeant shouting, ‘No' as he had tried to crawl towards the grenade – memory or imagination?

‘I told you in Cyprus that guilt is destructive. You can't keep carrying it around with you.'

‘Your children have lost their father and I can't help thinking that he died because of me.'

‘He didn't, and my children still have their mother and their grandparents.'

‘I could …'

‘I'm beginning to think the worst thing I ever did was to write to you.' She left the bench. ‘All you can do for me now, Jack, is forget me, and forget this ever happened.'

‘I can't. Not when you're carrying my baby.'

‘You'll just have to, because I have nothing more to say to you.' A bell rang within the house.

‘I'll come and see you next weekend.'

‘I'll tell them I don't want to see you,' she warned. He looked into her eyes and saw that she meant it.

‘Then I'll write. I won't give up.'

‘Jack, you're a lovely boy, but you're also a hopeless romantic who won't face facts. If you won't think of yourself and Helen, think of the baby and the kind of life you'd give it, passed from babysitter to babysitter while you work, no security, no continuity, no warm, loving family life. Then think of the adoptive parents the society will find. A couple who can't have children of their own and will love our child all the more because of that. You and Helen should have your own family.' The bell rang again. ‘I have to go in.'

‘I'll write,' he called after her. ‘And I will come again, you can't stop me.' He watched her enter the house. Then, squaring his shoulders, he walked to the courtyard where he'd parked his bike. Judy was standing next to her car.

‘Maggie was my sergeant's wife, in Cyprus,' he explained, feeling the need to say something.