War Orphans (15 page)

A plan had formed in her mind that excited her almost as much as the time she'd set her cap at Tom. In a war situation it played to hedge your bets. Tom might not come back and Miranda might die. It might or might not happen. In the meantime she had no intention staying in by herself night after night. She adored male company too much to do that.

It might be a bit too soon for snaring him, but she decided to play her first hand.

‘Fancy coming back for a sandwich?'

He shook his head laughingly. ‘You don't need to do that, Elspeth.'

‘Sorry I'm sure,' she said petulantly.

Arnold Thomas knew instantly that he'd upset her. His conscience pricked him to make amends. He was already feeling guilty for leaving his wife at home ill in bed. Now he had upset the only person who listened to his troubles.

‘Look, I wasn't being rude and I don't want to put you to any trouble . . .'

‘It's no trouble,' Elspeth interjected. ‘You're alone. I'm alone and we're friends. That's all.'

In normal circumstances she would have ran her hand through his sandy hair, but guessed he'd find it embarrassing.

For a moment he looked indecisive but she knew that as long as she maintained her sugary smile and the look of concern in her eyes, he would tumble.

It turned out she was right.

‘I will accept your kind offer though it does rather depend on what you're offering. A cheese sandwich would not be welcome. Not at all!'

Elspeth raised her puzzled eyebrows. On seeing them Arnold began to explain. ‘Because Miranda eats so little, I tend to cook as little as possible and usually end up with a cheese sandwich.'

‘Bacon?'

He shook his head. ‘I don't eat meat.'

She thought that peculiar, something that in time she would change once she had her claws in him, but for now she would pander to his every predilection. In the meantime she mentally scoured her larder.

‘How about fish? I'm sure I've got a tin of pilchards in the larder.'

It took her by surprise when his face lit up. ‘Yes, I wouldn't mind a plate of pilchards.'

Just like Tom, thought Elspeth. How disgusting men could be.

Outside the frost-covered ground sparkled beneath the light from Arnold's torch as arm in arm they made their way along St John's Road and up The Vale.

Feigning a fear of slipping, Elspeth clutched Arnold's arm tightly, her steaming breath as much due to excitement as to the exertion of walking uphill.

They had little conversation. Both were saving their energy so they might get up the hill safely, a fact Elspeth was grateful for.

He was hardly the first man she'd brought home since Tom had gone to war, but he was the most special, and with that in mind the last thing she wanted was for a nosy neighbour to hear them come home.

Before leaving the house she'd told Joanna to wash up and tidy the house. With hindsight she wished she'd done a bit more herself but if she had to put up with the child she might as well got some use out of her.

She so badly wanted to make a good impression and she'd done all she could. Joanna was suitably cowed to be obedient, and she knew beyond doubt the child would have followed her instructions to be in bed by nine o'clock.

It was ten o'clock and as she pushed open the front door. She was pleased by the silence that met her. A little bit of discipline and the girl did as she was told. That was the trouble with Tom. Her husband had been too lenient with the kid.

The living room was warm and the fire was banked up, the fireguard placed in front of it. All was neat and tidy. Goodness, but she almost felt it in her heart to praise the girl in the morning.

Arnold stood nervously by the living-room door.

Elspeth waved at a chair. ‘Take a seat.' She was about to add that she wasn't going to bite him, but sensed he wouldn't
appreciate such a vulgar insinuation. He wasn't the type of bloke she usually picked up. Arnold was the closest thing to a gentleman round here therefore she would make the effort to watch her Ps and Qs.

‘While you make yourself comfortable, I'll put the kettle on and make us a bite to eat. Pilchards, you said?'

‘If you could,' he said, as he removed his hat and slid his arms out of his overcoat.

A thrill of excitement shot through Elspeth. Even the dingy kitchen seemed that bit brighter. This man excited her. He was so special, and even though he was married, she reminded herself he had good reason to seek company. Yes, she'd do all right by him.

Out came the best teacups, the ones that used to belong to Joanna's mother. They had red flowers on them and a wavy edge trimmed with gilt. There used to be six but she'd taken four to the pawnshop. She had planned to take the other two before very long, but was now glad she had not. Arnold wasn't the type to drink from a chipped enamel mug.

There was milk, tea and enough sugar. She sliced the bread, scraped some butter on each slice, then went to the larder.

Because of her dislike of all things fishy, the tin of pilchards had been pushed to the back of the larder. Bottles, tins and packages were moved around the shelf like chessmen on a board, but no matter how hard she looked there was no sign of the pilchards.

Elspeth frowned. The excitement she'd been feeling was severely dented. Her dismay intensified when she realised the only suitable sandwich filler was a piece of mouldy cheese. Arnold was fed up with cheese. What could she do?

Not a cheese sandwich. He was well and truly fed up with that, but how about if she toasted the cheese?

Taking a deep breath she picked up the two teacups and went into the living room, her beaming smile ably hiding the burgeoning disquiet she was feeling inside.

‘Arnold, I am so sorry. It seems as though my daughter had eaten the pilchards for her supper.' She shrugged apologetically. ‘You know how it is. I'm working all these hours so she has to fend to herself to a great extent.'

He nodded and waved his hands, a sign she took as dismissal of the problem. ‘We all have to manage with what we have. Forget what I said. Cheese will do nicely.'

Thank goodness for that! She almost felt like singing. He certainly wasn't one to be inconvenient! All the same she made the instant decision to still go one step further.

‘How about cheese on toast? At least it's warm and I can mix a bit of butter in it and top it with . . .' She laughed. ‘Silly me! I was going to say I could top it with bacon, but you've already said you don't eat meat.'

‘Cheese on toast would be very welcome. And thanks for the tea.'

She made him two pieces of cheese on toast even though it would leave her short for the morning. Although she had considered rewarding Joanna for having the place looking so clean and prepared for visitors, it was Joanna who would have to go without. No toast. She would have to make do with porridge

Oh well, she thought to herself as she listened to Arnold go on and on about his job. He didn't seem very put out not to be eating pilchards for his supper. Veiling her thoughts she listened with a smile on her face while in her mind she made more plans to get to know him a bit better.

‘Bit of music?' she asked brightly.

‘That would be nice.'

‘And another cup of tea?'

He handed her his cup and saucer. ‘Only if you can spare it.'

‘Of course I can. My daughter doesn't drink tea so we have enough.'

‘Does she go to my school?' he asked.

‘I thought you were the headmaster of the boys' school?'

‘I am. I meant does she go to Victoria Park?'

‘Yes. She does.'

Elspeth handed him his second cup of tea. She'd used the same tea leaves, merely adding water to the pot and it a good stir. She'd also poured into his cup first, ensuring he would get the strongest.

‘Is she doing well?'

‘Well, I couldn't really say. She never tells me anything about school, and quite frankly she is a bit wild. Sometimes I just can't break through. In my opinion she needs a bit more discipline than she's getting. A few raps across the knuckles never did me any harm when I was at school.'

Arnold looked down into his tea as he took a slurp. ‘That's a pity. We don't like inflicting corporal punishment, even on the boys. I'm sorry to hear your daughter has gone off the rails. Still, there are places you can put her where they are trained to deal with problematic children.'

‘Are they very far away?'

Arnold shook his head and drained his tea before answering. ‘The children live in. It's a wrench sometimes for both the children and the parents, but in certain situations it's all for the best.'

Her face fell. Arnold winced.

‘Elspeth, I didn't mean to upset you.'

Her eyes were very wide and bright and there was an odd serene expression on her heavily made-up face.

‘You didn't, Arnold. You could never do that. And as you say having her sent away might do her some good. Sad but true.'

The sigh she heaved was too intense to be real, but Arnold didn't seem to notice. He was too worried he might have upset her.

The fact was his life had become more lonely and routine over the past few years. His job lasted most of the day. The time he spent with his wife when she stayed awake long enough to listen to the details of his day and relate the details of hers, such as it was, was minimal. It wasn't that he had actively
sought the company of a woman. He'd just needed a little company and some time away from his home that smelled of carbolic, disinfectant and sickness. Something was bound to break and, although he had held his natural urges at bay, he wanted company, and when he was at his lowest ebb, along came Elspeth.

‘Shall we meet again?' she asked him as she handed him his hat and helped him into his overcoat.

He looked a little guilty. ‘Well. It's been a wonderful evening, but . . . I wouldn't want people to talk . . .'

Elspeth pressed a finger against his mouth.

‘We're just friends. That's all.'

The tension left his face. ‘In that case I see no reason not.'

Whatever guilt he might be feeling, she thought she knew the antidote. But not yet. She told herself to give him a little more time.

He paused before she opened the living-room door and looked down into her face. ‘Thank you again for a lovely evening. I've really appreciated your company.'

Her bright red lips spread in a smile that displayed nicotine-stained teeth.

‘You're welcome. I enjoyed it too. Goodnight,' she whispered, keen for her neighbours not to hear as she switched off the light before opening the door.

Arnold said goodbye in similarly hushed tones. He had no wish to be seen frequenting the house of a woman who was not his wife.

And then he was gone. She couldn't watch him striding off down the path because of the darkness and there was no point in waving. The night took him.

Smiling to herself she ran her hand down the closed door. Everything had gone very well. Very well indeed, though it was a shame about the pilchards.

The smile faded from her face at the thought of them. She'd told Joanna to have cheese on toast for supper. Obviously the
child had fancied the pilchards – the tin of pilchards that Arnold Thomas would have enjoyed.

The sparkle that had lit her eyes was replaced by a hard look that failed to reflect any light at all. The corners of her mouth turned down. Joanna had defied her. Luckily she had charmed Arnold into eating cheese on toast and he'd seemed genuinely pleased with her offering. But that was hardly the point. From the very start of her relationship with the child's father, she had deeply resented the child. She had wanted a man to herself, but marrying Tom meant she would have a roof over her head and three square meals a day, unlike where she had come from.

From a very young age she had lived on the streets, too scared to go home to her drunken father and her violent brothers. There had been no question of procuring a respectable job. She had been trained to live on her wits, to smile at the stupid sailors and Lascars that came aboard ships to Tiger Bay, Cardiff. She'd known what they wanted, but had been swift on her feet. Sometimes she had stolen their money and legged it before their befuddled brains realised what she was doing. Sometimes she exchanged the money they offered for her body.

Fed up with her life Elspeth had taken it on her head to strive for better things. She wanted nice clothes and a roof over her head that wasn't letting in the rain. She'd also wanted a man who wouldn't beat her if she refused to go out and sell her body on the streets.

Just a few months after running away and coming to Bristol, she was pretty well set up. She had a job as a bar maid in a pub called The Hatchet in Bristol city centre.

The customers had liked the singsong Welsh lilt of her voice and her sweet voice.

Her hair had been mousy back then and her skin clear. The landlord she worked for had queried whether she was old enough to serve behind a bar. Not wishing to lose her job she'd dyed her hair and used more makeup. The overall effect was to make her look older. Nobody questioned her age again.

There had been no shortage of suitors. Young as she was, she knew the difference between those who were genuine and those who wanted merely a bit of fun.

Then she'd met Tom. She had recognised at once a lonely man who missed his wife and had a guilt complex about how best to look after the child. He accepted that a man alone was useless at being a mother as well as a father. Recognising a man in need of a companion rather than straightforward sex, Elspeth decided to reel him in.

She'd told him she was from a small Welsh village in the Wye Valley and that she had no living relatives. ‘Died in the mines you see.' She wasn't sure there were any mines in the village of Tintern, the one she'd selected, but he didn't press her for more details.

Elspeth never told Tom about Cardiff and her real life. Nor did she ever admit that she disliked children and he never questioned her on the subject. Like most men he assumed the maternal instinct came naturally to every woman. He couldn't have been more wrong. It was cruelty that came naturally to her it having been the norm in the shamble of a home she was raised in. Tom would never have understood that.