Always in my Heart

by Pam Weaver

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he said as he leaned against the trunk. She was just about to say, ‘Fine,’ when he stopped her. ‘And I want the truth, mind.’

  So she told him that Betty’s death had hit her hard, that with the shop gone, she’d lost everything and that she didn’t know which way to turn. Len listened without interruption and held her close to him as she wept. When his handkerchief as well as her own was well and truly sodden with her tears, he said quietly, ‘And where do I fit into all this, my lovely?’

  His question startled her. It wasn’t remonstrative or critical, but he had a point. She hadn’t given him a thought, apart from wanting to spare him the worry.

  ‘If we are going to be together,’ he went on gently, ‘I want to be included. You don’t need to do this on your own.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘and you’re right. I should have talked things over with you. It’s just that I’m so used to being independent.’

  ‘I understand that, Florrie,’ he said softly, ‘and let me make it quite clear now – I am not like some husbands. I will never insist that you do what I want all the time. It was your confidence that attracted me to you in the first place, but I should like us to tackle our problems together.’

  Florrie relaxed against his chest. What a lovely, lovely man. She could hear the steady thud, thud of his heart beating beneath her ear. ‘You’re right,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘I just didn’t think—’ The rest of her sentence was silenced by his tender kiss, arousing within her the deep, deep love she felt for him.

  After a minute or two, they relaxed in each other’s arms again. ‘I have a bit put by,’ he said. ‘It won’t be enough to buy a house, but it will get us a nice place to rent, and you won’t have to go out to work.’

  Florrie sat up. ‘Oh no, Len, I can’t—’ she began, but then seeing his raised eyebrows and the teasing smile on his lips, she laughed. ‘All right. We’ll do it together.’

  He stroked her chin with his thumb and she knew what was coming, but before his lips covered hers, he whispered, ‘I’m glad that’s settled, my lovely.’

  CHAPTER 33

  The next few days were very busy. Janet and Shirley counted the days of Mr Oliver’s sentence and worked out that he would be released on October 22nd. Janet’s new job commenced on October 1st. That gave a decent hand-over period and she would be well away from the farm before her husband turned up.

  Florrie and Shirley spent their time looking around for a place to live, and eventually Florrie settled on a two-up, two-down fisherman’s cottage in Jefferies Lane in Goring-by-Sea. It was perfect. It needed a bit of work doing to it, but nothing more than a lick of paint, a broken window latch to mend and a few missing tiles on the roof to be replaced. The owner promised to get the repairs done before Florrie signed the rent book.

  She was already dreaming of what it might become. The garden was very long, and in her mind’s eye Florrie could see the potential. It would take a couple of years to get it established, but she was confident it could become a smallholding. Cabbages, runner beans, peas and carrots would make the bulk of her produce, but she might keep a few chickens and sell the eggs. It wouldn’t make her rich, but she could keep the wolf from the door and make a home for Len to come back to once the war was over. He was back with his regiment working for the Pay Corps in Aldershot. It wasn’t on the doorstep, but it was certainly closer than Yorkshire, and they were both hopeful that if he had the occasional forty-eight-hour pass, he would have time to get home to see her.

  There were glasshouses and open fields all around Goring, and a chance conversation opened up an opportunity for Tom. About half a mile down the road was a blacksmith’s forge owned by Sam Haffenden, who was looking for someone to take care of the horses when they came to be shoed. What could be more perfect? The cottage was also within walking distance of the station, and the frequent trains meant that it would be convenient for Shirley to do her training. The family were to move in on the first of the month.

  Because Janet was leaving before Gilbert returned, arrangements had to be made for Oliver’s Farm. Janet contacted Mr Telford again. Although he was still upset that she was going, and did his best to persuade her to stay, he soon found a temporary tenant farmer who would arrive on September 26th and take over the place as soon as possible.

  ‘I want a cast-iron guarantee that he’ll keep Seth and Vince on,’ said Janet. ‘I want it written into the contract.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Mr Telford. ‘I’ve seen their work and I’m happy to let them stay.’

  ‘What will happen when Gil gets out?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll discuss the situation with Mr Oliver,’ said Mr Telford, ‘but judging by his past record and his lack of cooperation, I doubt that the government will allow him to stay.’

  ‘He does own the property,’ Janet cautioned.

  ‘We are aware of that,’ said Mr Telford, ‘but with a war on, we have been granted emergency powers, and if necessary, the farm will be requisitioned.’

  ‘I think you should know that he won’t take this lying down,’ said Janet.

  ‘I know Mr Oliver has volatile nature,’ said Mr Telford, ‘and for that reason we’ll be taking his guns. Please don’t worry yourself on our account, Mrs Oliver. You and your team have done a capital job here. I only wish you would reconsider your decision.’

  Gilbert Oliver was one of three prisoners being released. He washed and shaved for the last time and walked through unlocked doors into the discharge room. Here, he changed back into his civilian clothes and waited to be signed out. Everything he’d had with him on the first day of his incarceration was tipped out of a box and checked against a list the prison officer had fixed to his clipboard. Gilbert accepted and signed for everything without a word. He desperately wanted to get out of here, but he had enough sense to realize that one defiant move might mean delay. His wallet contained £2 5s. 6d. He’d forgotten why he had so much cash on him when he was brought into prison, but he was glad to have it. With a bit of luck, he would catch a train straight back to Angmering and be at the farm by early afternoon.

  Once he’d reached the safety of the outside world, he turned and gave the prison officer two fingers before heading for the station. He arrived back in Angmering at a quarter past one and made his way through the village on foot.

  As he reached the Lamb Inn, Bert Cummings hailed him. Gilbert had never liked the man much, but the offer of a pint to ‘wet your whistle and celebrate your homecoming’ was too good to resist. Once inside, several villagers greeted him with surprise.

  ‘Thought you was in for six months,’ someone said.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Then by my reckoning, you should have got out next month,’ said the landlord with a chuckle. ‘What did you do, break out of jail?’

  ‘They take into consideration the time already served,’ said Gilbert, reaching for his pint. He took a long gulp and carried the glass to his usual place by the fireside. He didn’t notice the rest of the regulars giving each other nervous glances.

  ‘You’ll notice a big change when you get back,’ said Bert. ‘Those women of yours have worked wonders.’

  Gilbert kept his eyes on his pint.

  ‘I reckon they made a packet on selling the spuds alone,’ another voice piped up.

  ‘They deserved every penny,’ said someone else. ‘I’ve never seen women work so bloody hard.’

  There was a rumble of agreement, but still Gilbert said nothing.

  ‘Course, the man from the Ministry,’ Bert went on, ‘what’s ’is name . . . ?’

  ‘Mr Telford,’ said the landlord.

  ‘Mr Telford,’ Bert continued. ‘He’s been advising them and ’e’s more than happy. Shame they won’t be there to greet you.’

  ‘Who won’t be there?’ said Gilbert, looking up for the first time.

  ‘They’ve all gone to Florrie’s place to clean it up afore she moves in.’

  ‘Florrie?’
said Gilbert, feeling slightly foolish that everybody knew more about his business than he did.

  ‘Young Shirley and Tom’s mother,’ said Bert.

  Gilbert’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘They’re still here, then?’

  ‘Not for long,’ said the landlord. ‘Although you’d be daft not to hang on to them. From what I hear, it’s that Shirley who’s worked wonders. You’d never believe she’s only sixteen.’

  ‘Bright girl,’ said someone standing by the dartboard.

  Gilbert downed the rest of his pint and got to his feet.

  ‘Another?’ asked Bert, but Gilbert shook his head and left.

  Nobody spoke for several minutes, and then Bert picked up his cap. ‘Ungrateful sod,’ he said, staring at the door.

  ‘You should have told him about Reuben, Bert,’ one of the regulars called.

  ‘Oh bugger,’ said Bert. ‘I forgot. Well, I ain’t chasing after ’im.’

  ‘He’ll find out soon enough,’ said the other man.

  ‘Happen he already knows,’ said the regular.

  ‘He didn’t look too happy, did he?’ the landlord observed and, glancing up at the clock, he rang the bell and called, ‘Time gentlemen, please.’

  As he left the Lamb, Gilbert congratulated himself that he’d kept calm. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he headed along Water Lane. His thoughts were angry. If he’d had a bit a sense, he’d have got rid of that Shirley right away. The dimwit was useful. He was strong and he’d do as he was told, but his sister – she always did have too much to say for herself. Made a packet, had they? Well, he’d soon remind them that it was his farm, his produce and his money. Good job they were moving on. Good riddance. But they wouldn’t be taking anything with them. And as for Mr Telford, he’d enjoy seeing him off. He wouldn’t be daft enough to get out the gun again, but it was about time everybody knew the land was his and nobody was going to dictate what he should do with it.

  The place seemed deserted when he walked in. He called out, but there was no answer. His first thought was to check his hidden places. He stared up at the mantrap on the wall, now transformed into Hitler’s bum with a dartboard in the central position. It didn’t amuse him. Instead, he could feel the panic in his mouth. If they’d been mucking about with the trap, had they found the tin?

  Snatching the dartboard and the voluminous pants down, he pushed the lever forward and then up. He knew it was difficult to work out how to get the thing down, but once released, the whole contraption was fairly easy to get off the wall. The trick was forward and up when everything about it said to push down and along. The worry was, had they worked it out?

  Now that the footplate was out of the way, the wall safe was obvious. He took the key from its hiding place on a bunch of others and unlocked the door. To his immense relief, it was all still there: the money, the deeds to the farm, everything. Next came the dresser. He pulled it from the wall and pressed the spring-loaded catch. The secret drawer flew open, but it was empty. Gilbert let out a cry of rage and thumped his fist down, making the cups rattle. Thieves and robbers, the lot of them. ‘That was my money,’ he shouted aloud. ‘Mine. You had no bloody right.’

  He turned and legged it upstairs. When he burst into his bedroom, his rage knew no bounds. She had moved her stuff in here! He was faced with her cot, her clothes, her shoes. It even smelled of her. He flung himself around the room emptying drawers and cupboards, piling everything and anything into a heap on the floor. Finally, he pushed the bed to one side to lift one of the floorboards. He always kept his piss-pot on it to deter thieves. There was no pot there now. He prised up the board, getting a splinter in his thumb for his trouble. Once it was up, he rummaged around inside the hole. They were still there, his trophies: Stephen’s cap, Elizabeth’s handbag and Reuben’s keys. He should have got rid of them ages ago, but he liked the power it gave him knowing they were there. Alive, they’d all thought he was stupid. They thought he didn’t know what they were up to, but he knew all right. They’d thought he was weak, but he was the strong one, not they. Stephen had told him he needed help. He’d even suggested seeing some doctor who dealt with nutcases, and when Gilbert had got angry, he’d seemed surprised. ‘Only trying to help,’ he’d said.

  When his brother had been trampled to death by the cows, it was an accident. He had to admit he’d pushed Stephen, and when he was down, he could see that all the shouting and waving his arms about was spooking the stupid cows even more, but he’d never intended for Stephen to die. That made it an accident, didn’t it?

  Reuben had been shifty for ages. He’d seen him sniffing around Elizabeth, whispering things in her ear and patting her arm. It didn’t take much to work out what was going on. Of course, when he’d confronted the man, he’d denied it, but then he would, wouldn’t he? Gilbert had never felt such rage before. After he’d done it, he was disgusted to find that he was salivating and his chest hurt to breathe, but he’d pushed the body all the way into the culvert. The space was so small it had nearly killed him to do it, but he’d managed to get Reuben halfway along at least. He’d kept the keys, first as a trophy, but then later on they served to remind him that he really had done it. Reuben was never found. Nobody even missed the man. Everybody just assumed that he’d moved on to pastures new.

  As for Elizabeth, he’d made plans for her, but then he’d caught the stupid bitch walking out with her suitcase. He’d pleaded with her not to leave him, playing the heartbroken husband, but she was having none of it, so they’d rowed and he’d threatened her.

  ‘If anything happens to me,’ she’d told him, ‘I’ve left something behind and everyone will know it was you.’

  It had taken some doing, but eventually she said she’d stay and he’d promised to be a good husband. The only trouble was, she didn’t mean it. A couple of hours later, he’d spotted her racing down the lane towards the pond. He’d caught her easily enough and pulled her into the water. She couldn’t swim, he knew that, so once she was out of her depth, it was easy. She’d screamed and flapped about, and he’d panicked when he’d caught sight of some people walking by. They stopped to look, so he’d shouted for help. It had the desired effect. They all thought he was trying to save her. She was still when they dragged her out. His heart was in his mouth when they tried to revive her, but thankfully, it was too late. While they were struggling to bring her back, he just had time to kick her handbag into the bushes and then he’d played the distraught spouse. He was better at it than James flipping Mason. He’d made a pretty good job at the funeral as well. Nice touch that, flinging himself over the coffin and begging them to bury him with her. The only fly in the ointment was the timing. According to the insurance policy, Elizabeth had died three weeks too early for him to make a claim, and suicide (he had to make it look like that to avoid suspicion falling on himself) rendered the policy null and void anyway. He’d been gutted. All the lovely plans he had made for the money had come to nothing.

  ‘If anything happens to me, I’ve left something behind . . .’

  He stared at the handbag again. He’d tipped it out and gone through everything. He’d come back to the house and searched her room high and low. Time and again he told himself she’d been making it up, but there was always that niggling doubt in his mind.

  As revenge on the insurance company when they wouldn’t pay up, he planned the same demise for Janet. He hadn’t worked out how to do it yet – push her under a train, maybe – but he’d do it right this time. This policy would pay out in full if she died after they’d been married for a year, so all he had to do was hold on to her for a few short months just to make it look good. He’d had a go at the brat shortly after she was born, but that nosy Shirley had almost caught him.

  Dropping the handbag back in the hole, he headed for Elizabeth’s room. One more search, he told himself . . . you never know. As he opened the door, he felt another explosion of anger. She had moved in. Shirley. The minute his back was turned, she’d helped herself to his dead
wife’s room. Damn, damn, damn. Had she found whatever it was Elizabeth had hidden?

  He treated Shirley’s things with the same contempt that he’d shown for Janet’s. Everything was tossed on the floor. He even made a sweep of her dressing table with his arm, sending everything crashing and smashing onto the floor. Bloody women. They would not get the better of him. Indeed they would not!

  Back downstairs, he carried the mantrap outside and covered it. Returning to the kitchen, he moved a brick at the back of the cooking range. Putting his arm deep inside, he drew out an old army handgun.

  CHAPTER 34

  Tom and Vince had spent the day working in the bottom field. The remains of the harvest had been ploughed back into the soil in preparation for spring. Once the stable manure had been worked in, the frosts and the winter weather would do their work. Darby and Joan worked steadily, and for the first time, Tom had done the whole field on his own. Vince was close by, working to clear silted ditches and cutting the occasional deep furrow to draw excess water away at the edge of the field. The hedge had been trimmed as well. They returned to Oliver’s Farm tired but content that it was a job well done. Stopping at the barn, Vince unhitched the plough and pushed it inside under cover, while Tom took Darby and Joan on to the stables.

  ‘Give them some oats as a treat, Tom,’ Vince called. ‘They’ve worked well today.’

  Vince was a tidy worker and always cleaned his tools before leaving them. He was rubbing a rag along a blade when he became aware that he wasn’t alone. Whose shadow was that? He thought he heard breathing. Someone was creeping about the barn. He began to rise to his feet, saying, ‘Who’s there?’

  There was a sudden movement to the left of him and he half turned to see a man with a long piece of wood in his hand. He didn’t see the blow coming. He only had time to say, ‘What the devil—’ before everything went black.