The Pearl Locket (22 page)

Joan followed her obediently into the kitchen and sipped the sweet tea Mrs Atkins made for her. Poor Mrs Atkins. It must be particularly hard to bear having a son fighting in this war after having lost her husband in the Great War.

‘Joan, what happened out there just now? You jolted so violently, almost as though you’d been shot.’

Joan regarded the older woman carefully. What harm was there in confiding? ‘It did feel as though I was shot. A sudden pain, right through my head, and then a terrible sickness. And, oh Mrs Atkins, there is something else but I am not sure I should say…’

‘You can tell me anything, my dear. I’m not sure if you realise it, but I’m actually a Miss. My Arthur and I never got the chance to marry. I moved away from my hometown when I heard he’d died, and pretended I was a widow. Being a young mother it was much more acceptable if people thought I’d been married before getting pregnant.’

Joan stared at her. ‘Oh! No, I never knew that. I’m so sorry. It must have been so awful for you.’ A thought struck her. What if Jack never came back? What if her sudden pain was a premonition of his death? She gulped.

Mrs Atkins took her hand and patted it. ‘It was all a long time ago. No one knows the truth here, but I thought it might help you to…well, to confide in me. If you want to, of course.’

‘You’ve guessed?’ Joan whispered.

Mrs Atkins nodded. ‘Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. I’ve been in your shoes, my dear, as I’ve now told you. Things will be different for you, though. Your Jack will come back and marry you, the war will be over soon, and you’ll have such a happy life together, the two of you and your little one, and perhaps many more after that. And you won’t forget me, of course—I would
love
an invitation to your wedding.’

Joan smiled weakly at her. She still had that terrifying feeling that something was very badly wrong with Jack. But Mrs Atkins was so sure that Joan’s story would have a happy ending, not like her own, that she didn’t feel she could say anything more. Too late, she felt the bile rising again and she rushed to the kitchen sink.

‘Oh, you are definitely not well today. There, now. After the first few weeks all this stops, you know.’ Mrs Atkins rubbed her back gently. ‘Listen, why don’t you go home? We’ve enough people here to cover for you today. Go home and rest. Come back when you’re feeling better. If you can get hold of some ginger biscuits they’ll help with the sickness. Go on, off you go now.’

Joan hugged her. ‘Thank you. Yes, I think I will feel a bit better at home. I’ll come back tomorrow.’

‘Only if you feel up to it, mind. And Joan, I think you should tell your parents. They need to know, and the sooner you tell them the better.’

The following morning Joan woke up early, turned over in bed and instantly felt sick. She rushed to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet.

‘Joan? Are you all right?’ Mags was standing behind her. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Yes, well, no, not ill exactly…’ she replied, as she rinsed her mouth over the sink.

‘Oh my God, Joanie, you’re not…’

Joan straightened up, dried her face and looked her sister in the eye. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I am.’

Mags clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘What are you going to do? Does Father know?’

‘Not yet. I’ll tell him and Mother today. Oh, Mags, will you stand by me while I tell them? Father’s going to be furious.’

‘Of course I will. But Joanie, dear Joanie, you shouldn’t have…’ Mags was shaking her head, her eyes wide with shock.

‘Please don’t tell me off. I couldn’t bear it if I felt you, of all people, disapproved. I know we shouldn’t have, but in wartime you have to take every chance you have at happiness.’ Joan clutched her sister’s arms. ‘Please say you don’t think badly of me.’

Mags put her arms around Joan. ‘Of course I don’t. I was shaking my head in disbelief rather than disapproval. I’ll be an aunty! That’s marvellous! And I will be right by your side when you tell the parents. Don’t you worry about that.’

Joan hugged her back. Thank goodness for Mags. With her sister and Mrs Atkins on her side, she felt she could cope with anything until Jack came back to her.

It was breakfast time before Joan pulled together the courage to tell her parents. It was a Saturday, so Father was not due at work, and the whole family had breakfasted together in the breakfast room. As Father lay down his newspaper to pour himself a second cup of tea, Joan took a deep breath.

‘Father, Mother, I have something I need to tell you both.’ Under the table Mags grabbed her hand and squeezed tight.

‘Go on, then,’ said Father.

‘The thing is, I…I met a boy, and we’re very much in love, and he has asked me to marry him…’ She’d decided on the spur of the moment to start with this, rather than her pregnancy. Mags smiled at her supportively. Across the table, Betty snorted dismissively. Jealous, Joan thought. As the oldest it ought to be Betty who was first to announce an engagement.

‘You’re too young. I forbid it,’ said Father, picking up his newspaper again.

‘Father, please, there’s more I need to say. I accepted him. I love him with all my heart, and when the war is over there is no one else I would rather be with. I would like your blessing, of course I would, but I’m afraid I will go ahead and marry him when it is possible regardless.’

‘And where is this boy now? Why has he not come to ask my permission?’

‘He’s in France, fighting the war.’ And pray God that he is safe, Joan thought.

‘Well, dear, this is all very sudden, and I must agree with your father that you are rather young for such a big step, and if your chap is away in France I can’t see how you can get married for some time. I don’t think the war is likely to finish any time soon, is it, Herbert?’ said Mother.

‘Not a chance.’ Father opened up his newspaper and held it up, a barrier between himself and Joan. Usually that was to be taken as a sign that the subject was closed and not to be reopened. But Joan had to go on.

‘Also,’ she began, but broke off as Father lowered his paper and glared at her.

‘There’s nothing more to say, girl. I’ve said no, and with the boy away at war and maybe not even coming back, there’s no point discussing it further at this stage anyway.’

Mother gazed at Joan, her eyes compassionate. ‘Perhaps when or if he does come back, he can come to speak with your father then.’

‘Yes, thank you. I’m sure he will.’ Joan wished they would stop saying ‘if’ he comes back. He had to come back; he had to!

‘What’s the boy’s name?’ Father barked.

‘Jack McBride. You met him once. I was walking home with him and you caught us up.’

‘That working-class fellow? I thought I forbade you from seeing him again?’

‘You did, but…’

‘You disobeyed me? That settles it. You will be kept in, every evening and every day off. You will not see him again.’

Joan looked down at her empty plate. This was not going the way she had intended, and she had yet to voice the news that would really make him explode with rage. ‘Sorry, Father. I love him so much. I can’t stop myself from seeing him whenever we get the chance.’

Betty looked at Joan’s hands and sneered. ‘How can you be engaged? You haven’t even got a ring.’

‘I have my locket. That’s just as good. Better because it belonged to his mother,’ Joan replied.

‘Rings, lockets, all mean nothing. You will not see him again,’ Father repeated, thumping the table.

‘She’s young, Herbert. Remember when we were courting and my father tried to stop us?’ Mother was standing up for her for once. Joan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Beside her, Mags made wide eyes at her, obviously also astounded.

Mother was silenced by a stern glare from Father. ‘You were older than Joan is now. It was quite different.’

‘Was it, though?’ Mother spoke quietly. ‘You were away fighting, and we disobeyed my father to spend time together whenever you were home on leave. Just as Joan is doing now. Let them have their time together. Lord knows what will happen to the boy, in France.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’ Joan said. Now. It was now or never. She’d won her mother’s support but she was well aware she was almost certainly about to lose that with her next announcement. Mags squeezed her hand again, in support. ‘The other thing is, I seem to be, well, that is, I am—with child.’ Such an old-fashioned, stuffy phrase. Why had she used that?

‘You are
what
?’ Father stood up, knocking the teapot over. It smashed onto the floor, splashing over Mother’s legs. She leapt up and went for a cloth at once. Had she even heard what Joan had said? Probably—and clearing up the mess was her way of blocking it out for a few moments more.

‘Pregnant, Father. With Jack’s child.’

‘Oh my Lord, Joan. What have you gone and done now?’ said Betty. There was a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. Mags kicked her under the table.

‘I should think it is pretty obvious what she has “done”, Elizabeth, and we don’t require your comments on the situation. Go up to your room. You too, Margaret. Your mother and I need to talk to Joan.’

‘You’re for it, now,’ whispered Betty as she left the room. Mags gave her hand one last squeeze and smiled sympathetically as she obeyed.

‘Stop that cleaning up,’ Father snapped at his wife.

‘My favourite teapot,’ Mother wailed.

‘Leave the bloody teapot, woman! Your daughter has brought shame on her family and you’re fussing about a bloody teapot! Joan, I’m appalled at you. I thought we’d brought you up better than that. To become a fallen woman, and at your age! Did he force himself on you? Is that it? I’ll give him what-for, I will, when I lay hands on him.’

‘No, Father, it wasn’t like that at all. We both wanted to. It was just the once, while he was home on leave. After we got engaged. It was…it was beautiful, Father, and I don’t regret it for a moment.’

‘You shameless hussy. I cannot believe what you are saying. Beautiful? Pah. It was fornication, outside of wedlock, and that is an ugly, sinful thing. So now we need to decide what we are going to do about your predicament.’

‘When he comes home, we’ll get married.’ Joan stuck her chin out defiantly.

‘I said before, and I will stick by what I said even with this disgusting twist in the proceedings—you are too young. You will not marry him.’

‘But, Herbert, she must marry if she has a child! She can’t be left on her own with the baby.’

‘She won’t be.’

For one brief moment Joan thought he was going to say that he and Mother would support her, that she wouldn’t be alone because she had her family. But no. Her father stared straight at her as he spoke his next words. ‘You’ll go away to have the child. To my sister’s, perhaps, in Shropshire. When the baby is born you will give it up for adoption.’ He thumped the table. ‘You will
not
marry this boy who thinks it is all right to take a girl’s virtue and then run off. I will not have such a coward as a son-in-law.’

‘He hasn’t run off!’ Joan screamed at him. ‘He’s gone to war, to fight for our country and for our freedom. As you did, Father, in the last war. He’s not a coward; he’s a hero!’

‘Is there no way, Herbert, perhaps if the war ends before the child is born and this boy comes back…’ Mother began, wringing her hands.

‘Chances are he won’t come back,’ sniffed Father. ‘He’ll either cop it out there, or think twice about taking on a child and a girl who knows nothing of life. Does he know about this, Joan?’

‘No, I’ve only just found out myself, and I wouldn’t want to worry him while he’s away. Oh, please don’t say he might not make it home. I can’t bear that thought.’ Tears streamed down Joan’s face. Father couldn’t make her give up the child, could he? No. She would fight him all the way. When Jack came home, and he
would
, he
must
come home, he would fight Father too. They would be a family, the three of them, one way or another.

‘You should have thought of that before you gave yourself to him so wantonly. You’ve only yourself to blame.’

‘Was that the doorbell?’ said Mother. ‘I’ll go. Goodness me, whoever it is we mustn’t show them in here with all the mess from that teapot. Dry your eyes, Joan, dear. Your father is right, of course.’ She bustled off to the front door.

Joan was left with her father, each glaring at the other. She would stand her ground. She would not be bullied into giving up this child, her child, Jack’s child. She’d run away if need be, somewhere Father couldn’t find her.

The breakfast room door opened, and Mother entered. The look of horror on her face hit Joan like a fist in her gut. Behind her was Marion Simmons, Jack’s aunt. Her face was drawn and grief-stricken, and she was clutching a telegram.

‘No,’ Joan whispered. ‘No, it can’t be, it isn’t…’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so very sorry.’ Marion rushed forward and took Joan in her arms, the two of them sinking to the floor amid the wreckage of the teapot. Joan howled with anguish, and buried her face against Marion’s shoulder. Not Jack, no, not her Jack!

Sobbing, Marion read out the telegram. ‘
Regret to inform you Jack McBride missing presumed killed by enemy action tenth June stop
. Oh, Joanie, he’s gone, but he’s a hero, do you understand? He has died a hero, fighting for his country. We must take some comfort from that.’

‘No! My Jack, taken from me! So young, so beautiful, I cannot believe it, Marion. Tell me they’ve made a mistake, a horrible, terrible mistake!’ Let it be some other boy killed, someone else called Jack McBride perhaps, not her Jack.

‘Oh, love, there’s no mistake. I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I got the telegram. I know how close you were to him. He told me, you know, that he planned to marry you as soon as the war was over.’

All their plans, all their dreams, all smashed to pieces by a telegram of a dozen words. Life was so unfair. And the baby, the baby! Marion didn’t know about the child. Joan opened her mouth to tell her, but Father interrupted.

‘Thank you for informing us. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs McBride…’

‘Simmons. I am—was—Jack’s aunt. I brought him up. His mother died and his father went to America when he was a baby. He has—had—lived with me ever since.’