Love Walked Right In

by Pam Weaver

  Effie pursed her lips. ‘Well, if you don’t like it, Mrs Quinn, you can always resign,’ she said acidly.

  ‘I fully intend to,’ said Bea defiantly, ‘but not before I’ve had my say.’

  Effie began to collect her things. ‘And do you really think I’d be interested in hearing the views of a jumped-up madam like you? I think not. You may be a doctor’s wife now, but I know all about you. There was a time when you were nothing more than a common fishwife.’

  For a second Bea was thrown by her nastiness.

  ‘Speaking for myself,’ Miss Taylor interrupted, ‘I have enjoyed working with most members of the committee, but I shall not be continuing with my membership.’

  ‘Nor I,’ said Mrs Crockerton.

  ‘I’m afraid I am tending my resignation as well,’ said Mrs Raymond.

  ‘Please,’ cried Bea, regaining her composure, ‘don’t do anything hasty on my behalf. I really don’t give a fig for Effie’s opinions.’

  ‘So . . . you’ve all ganged up on me,’ said Effie. She turned to Bea and said savagely, ‘I’m assuming this was your idea.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. That’s not my style, so don’t you dare tar me with your own brush, Effie,’ Bea replied, over the murmur of protestation from the others. ‘I don’t manipulate people for my own ends. The only plan I had was to confront you with what you did to May.’

  ‘I did nothing to May,’ Effie gasped. ‘The child wasn’t there to present the bouquet and someone else stepped in, that’s all.’

  ‘She wasn’t there because you had asked her to fetch your jacket,’ said Bea. ‘You knew full well that she wouldn’t have time to get to the stage and back again before the presentation. You wanted to impress that woman. I call that manipulation.’

  The other women agreed.

  ‘Call it what you like,’ said Effie indignantly. ‘And if that’s the way the land lies, you can keep your stupid club.’ She turned on her heel, ready to sweep out of the room. ‘You’ll have my resignation before the next meeting.’

  She slowed as she reached the door, as if she expected someone to rise to her defence, but nobody moved. ‘After all I’ve done for you – you ungrateful bitches.’ Then, thrusting her head high, she stalked out of the room and slammed the door.

  Everyone was slightly stunned, but seconds later they heard footsteps coming from the stage area. Freda Fosdyke, her nose high in the air, sailed between them all and headed out of the door. ‘Effie. Effie, wait for me.’

  ‘Well, I never,’ said Miss Taylor. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ said Bea. ‘Mrs Fosdyke has always been very close to Mrs Rhodes.’

  ‘I meant Mrs Rhodes resigning,’ said Miss Taylor.

  ‘You don’t have to resign because of me,’ said Bea, looking around helplessly. ‘In fact, now that she’s gone, none of you needs to go.’

  ‘If we stay,’ said Mrs Raymond, ‘would you be our chairman?’

  Bea shook her head. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been asked to be involved with another organization. I’d still like to be a member of the TWG, but not quite so involved.’

  ‘That’s that then,’ said Miss Taylor.

  ‘I can tell none of you really wants to leave,’ said Mrs Wilmot. ‘Why don’t we give it another try?’

  ‘We still need another chairman,’ said Miss Taylor.

  ‘Then let’s put it to the membership,’ said Mrs Wilmot. ‘We’ve all done a really good job here today, despite Effie. I think we have bags of potential.’

  The women looked at one another, with an obvious sense of relief, and nodded.

  Jim was worried about Ruby. Edith had brought her home with a twisted ankle. He’d asked Ruby if she wanted the doctor, but she’d shaken her head and, when Edith left, she’d stayed in the kitchen, staring into space. He felt helpless. She seemed awfully upset about something, but when he tried to show his concern, it only made matters worse.

  ‘Talk to me, love,’ he said gently.

  Edith had told him that Ruby had fallen down a step in the print shop, but the way she was behaving made him sure it was more than that. Had she had a row with someone? Had someone pushed her? How could he help, if she wouldn’t say anything? Eventually he shuffled back to the sitting room and his writing.

  He’d had a measure of success with the crosswords, and – taking a leaf out of B. Simmons Jr’s book – was becoming something of a local celebrity with his letters to the Herald and Gazette. He complained about the lack of progress on the road-widening schemes in the Tarring area, where Princess Avenue was supposed to link up with the Littlehampton road. Progress was very slow, and Jim wondered what the council were doing about it. Once his letter had been published, several other people wrote in with the same complaint, prompting a comment from the Borough Council. He was anxious to keep fanning the flames with his next letter, but his mind kept drifting back to his wife. He was sure he could hear her crying softly.

  Ruby’s mother and father turned up at the guest house as soon as the craft fair was over. Jim shuffled back to the kitchen to join them. Bea’s pink paisley dress was smudged with cake stains and she had a piece of fluff near the waistline. As she was normally immaculately turned out, Jim realized she must have been working hard. She looked a little flushed and tired, but had obviously enjoyed the experience. Rex, dressed in a casual blue blazer and cream trousers, was as dapper as ever; and little May’s dress was covered in sticky sweet marks and ice-cream splatters. Apparently the whole day had been a success; and, when her mother told them, everybody enjoyed the tale about the bucket in the toilet and the incident with the plate of bread and butter.

  ‘How embarrassing,’ Ruby exclaimed. She was smiling again, Jim was pleased to see.

  ‘I’m sure that will find its way into their routine,’ laughed Rex.

  Everyone was very impressed with the way May had coped with losing her chance of presenting the bouquet.

  ‘I was a bit upset,’ she admitted, ‘but everybody else was so nice. Miss Taylor and Mrs Crockerton gave me a sweetie, and Mrs Hayward gave me some talcum powder.’ She produced a tired-looking tin that was probably only half-full, but everyone admired it and said they loved the smell.

  ‘Let me look at your ankle,’ Rex said to Ruby.

  May crossed the room to show Uncle Jim her trophy, while Rex examined Ruby’s ankle carefully and admired the bruise.

  ‘As soon as I got home,’ said Ruby, ‘I put some witch hazel on it.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Rex. ‘It’ll help reduce the swelling.’ He studied her face. ‘Are you all right otherwise? No other injuries.’

  Ruby avoided his eye as she shook her head. There was no cure for what she had done and her heart hurt more than her ankle. ‘Would you like to stay for something to eat?’

  ‘I think we’ve eaten too much already,’ said Rex, patting his stomach. ‘All that cake . . .’

  Ruby laughed.

  ‘How are you going to manage with the guest house and that ankle?’ her father asked as he re-bandaged it a little more firmly.

  ‘Fortunately we don’t have anyone here for a few days, and Lena has said she will come round tomorrow to give me a hand.’

  ‘You’d be lost without that girl, wouldn’t you?’

  Ruby nodded. ‘I certainly would. She’s a marvel.’

  * * *

  Tit-Bits Magazine

  Tit-bits from all the Interesting Books, Periodicals, and Newspapers of the World

  Where is baby Christine?

  The mystery deepens surrounding the disappearance of two-year-old Christine West, who has not been seen since she and her nanny, Miss Marlene Amberley, set out for a walk last March. Christine’s pram was found dumped in the West Moors river a few days later, but there was no sign of the child or her favourite toy, a grey rabbit with long stripy legs. Her mother, Mrs Agatha West, is pictured by the front gate of their home in West Moors.

  ‘Christine is adopted,’ t
he broken-hearted mother said. ‘As soon as we saw her, we knew we wanted her for our child. I love her as much as I would have done if I had given birth to her myself.’

  There has been a great deal of speculation as to what happened to Christine. Some have suggested that she was kidnapped for ransom; and one clairvoyant in America believes she has been abducted by aliens.

  * * *

  Ruby’s ankle took a couple of days to stop hurting, and a week before she could walk any distance on it. She was careful not to do too much, because by the end of the day it would be puffy and sore. After two weeks, with two new German girls arriving, she was faced with the problem of collecting the booklets from Caxton’s. She asked several people if they were passing that way, but it seemed nobody was. She would have to go herself.

  She planned the move carefully. She decided to go on Friday, giving herself only a very short space of time before she had to be back at the guest house for weekend visitors arriving. She would go on her bike, rather than on the bus like last time. It would be the perfect excuse not to stay – not that she would, of course. By the time she reached Portland Road, Ruby felt as nervous as a kitten. What if Bob invited her out to the back again? What if he touched her or . . . kissed her? What if he suggested they meet some other time? Her feelings were all jumbled up. One minute she was anticipating the thrill of seeing him again, and the next she was reliving the shame and guilt that had settled on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. It made her feel terrible. She knew it was wrong, but she wasn’t sure if she could resist him.

  Jim had been so kind when she’d hobbled in on Edith’s arm. That made her feel even worse. She told herself she didn’t want to think of Bob Knight and what they had done together; but then the memory of the way he’d touched her inner thigh, that engaging smile of his, the memory of . . . No, no, she mustn’t keep remembering.

  Her hand was trembling as she pushed open the shop door and the bell jangled. There was an older man behind the counter. For a second she was thrown, but she stated her business and waited whilst he found her order. The booklets were perfect. Small enough to slip into a pocket for easy and instant reference, and yet clear in their contents. Bob had bound each volume in a pretty green cardboard cover, and her name was on the front: ‘Hints and Tips for the Domestic by Ruby Searle’. The moment she saw it, she loved it.

  ‘Is Mr Knight here?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not, madam,’ said the assistant. ‘He’s taken an order to Fittleworth. Why, is there a problem?’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Ruby. Her heart sank. Fittleworth? That was miles away. ‘It looks wonderful. I just wanted to thank him, that’s all.’

  She paid her bill and the man handed her the books in a brown paper bag. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him.’

  Ruby looked up sharply. ‘Tell him what?’

  ‘That you were pleased with the order,’ said the man.

  * * *

  Eric pushed open the pub door. A warm wall of smoky beer-soaked air welcomed him in. A couple of men at the bar turned round and acknowledged his presence.

  ‘Hey up, Eric. What’ll it be?’

  But already the barman was reaching for his favourite mug and, before Eric reached the bar itself, was filling it with a pint of best draught bitter. Eric grinned. Life was good. This was what he had dreamed about, all those long months he’d spent in jail: he and Lena, with a place of their own, a good job and a bit of money in his pocket. He didn’t come to the pub every night, but as soon as he’d saved up enough money to buy himself a bike, a whole new world had opened up for him. He didn’t ask for much: a couple of pints, a game of darts and a bit of a laugh with his mates, that was all.

  He’d just been paid a bonus for his gardening job. His employer had been pleased with Eric’s hard work and his garden was now looking tip-top, even if he did say so himself. He’d started a bit late in the year, but the runner beans were almost ready for picking, and he’d managed to keep the cabbage and lettuces relatively bug-free. He’d covered the raspberry canes with netting, to keep the birds away, and he’d kept the grass mowed. The Missus had flowers for the house, and the hollyhocks around the front looked a picture.

  Eric had worked hard, but he’d enjoyed every minute and it gave him great pleasure to realize that he had brought not one, but two, gardens up to scratch – the one he was getting paid for and his own. He would use the bonus to give Lena and Jean a day out somewhere. Perhaps they could take one of those coach trips that were becoming so popular these days. The Devil’s Dyke sounded thrilling; or the New Forest, or maybe Beachy Head. He had no idea what any of them were like, but with a bit extra in his pocket, he could soon find out.

  The men waiting at the bar had become his mates. Eric enjoyed their company. He wouldn’t tell them about his bonus, but he would enjoy sharing a little.

  ‘Landlord,’ he said importantly, ‘the next round is on me.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Ever since the editor of the Gazette came in person to ask him to write a weekly piece under the banner ‘The way I see it’, Jim couldn’t wait to get started.

  ‘I’ll have free rein to bring up any subject I want,’ he told Ruby, ‘and so long as I am respectful of other people’s views, the editor doesn’t care if I stir up a hornets’ nest.’

  His first effort had been to make a comment on the Church of England’s new ruling to accept the theory of evolution. The response in the letters page caused hardly a ripple, but when he began a lively discussion on the state of the country and the solution to the problems in Europe, the editor’s postbag filled to bursting point. Some wrote of impending doom, especially as the daily papers were reporting an aurora borealis that stretched right across Europe as far south as Gibraltar, which had caused a great deal of alarm. Some people called it a ‘curtain of fire’, while others gave it a more religious significance, calling it a sign of God’s disapproval.

  Jim saw his opportunity to fan the flames. ‘Is this a heavenly sign?’ he asked readers. ‘Has Hitler got a hidden agenda?’ To back his theory, he recalled the school visits of the previous year when a coachload of German youths had stayed in the town, and he made a vague suggestion that all might not have been as it seemed. ‘Some of those Germans bicycled along the beach here in Worthing,’ he wrote. ‘Could they be “spy-clists”?’

  The suggestion had divided the town, and the letters poured in.

  Writing of a visit to Germany the year before the schoolboys came to Worthing, Mr R.G. Martin, the headmaster of the school, was quoted as saying, ‘We have a deep debt of gratitude to Germany. Those of us who went from Worthing to north Germany were received with the greatest friendship and open-handed generosity.’ And the mayor reminded everyone, ‘I told them I hoped that when they went back to their countrymen, they would tell them that the English extended the hand of friendship. We don’t,’ his letter continued, ‘want to go back to the old days.’ And a ‘Patriot of Goring’ wrote, ‘That visit was culturally inspired.’

  On the other hand, several readers were alarmed to discover that Germans were even being allowed into the country. Doris Avon of Durrington wrote, ‘My husband died of wounds he received at the Somme, after nearly twenty years of suffering. How can we offer a hand of friendship to such people? Hitler and his cronies are not our friends, and nor should they ever be.’

  With the drawers of his small desk already bulging, Jim kept everything important in an old storage box for 78 rpm records that Ruby had picked up for a song at a jumble sale. However, as he acted as both referee and agent provocateur, the post brought yet another envelope and a postal order even bigger than the last payment.

  Ruby couldn’t be absolutely sure when it started, but by the middle of November she could hardly face getting up in the mornings. There were a few guests – a couple of travelling salesmen, and of course the girls sent by the Deborah Committee – but having to cook a fry-up every morning was becoming a nightmare. The nausea came in waves and she felt dizzy and light-he
aded. Somehow or other she managed to cope, and was highly relieved to see Lena when she came to help. Most of all, Ruby looked forward to the days when she had nobody staying with them. On those days Jim had toast for breakfast.

  Ruby was pregnant.

  On a bad day she understood how Miss Russell must have felt all those years ago. Imogen Russell had been staying in Warnes Hotel when Ruby worked there as a chambermaid. She had found Miss Russell in a terrible state one morning: she had had a miscarriage, and Ruby helped her get to hospital without her father knowing. Now it occurred to Ruby, for the first time, that it was possible Miss Russell had procured an abortion. Ruby didn’t want to, but perhaps she should do the same. There was Jim to think about. He still needed looking after. How would she cope with a baby as well as her sick husband and running the guest house? And another thing: how could she tell Jim she was expecting a baby? It would destroy him. They’d only been a married couple for a short time before the accident, but she knew that, back then, he wanted a family. Could she ask him to help her bring up another man’s child? What if he divorced her? And what of Bob Knight? Everybody said he wasn’t the marrying kind, but just supposing she was free: would he be prepared to make an honest woman of her? The whole thing went round and round in her head until Ruby thought she would go barmy.

  A few days later she remembered Mrs Pickering, who had lived in the same road as Ruby when she was young and had looked after women who were in trouble. That was never talked about, but somehow or other, it was common knowledge. And so one Wednesday afternoon Ruby told Jim she was going out for a bike ride, and rode over to Newlands Road.

  When she got there, she leaned her bicycle against the wall and knocked on the paint-blistered front door. A few minutes later Trixie Pickering, a girl Ruby had gone to school with, opened the door. Immediately Ruby’s face burned with shame.

  ‘I’ll put your bicycle around the back, if you don’t mind,’ said Trixie cheerfully. ‘You don’t want anybody recognizing you, now do you? You go on inside. Mother’s in the kitchen.’