by Pam Weaver
there the day she died. She wasn’t collecting holly for Christmas wreaths. She was running for her life. In the same way that she was, Elizabeth was on her way to the phone box for help.
EPILOGUE
December 1940
Shirley and Janet were on their way into the village. They had decided to walk together, although once they reached Angmering, they would go their separate ways.
Janet needed to order some pink paraffin from the hardware shop, and Shirley was on her way into Worthing on the bus to do some last-minute Christmas shopping.
Lucy was all wrapped up and sitting upright in her pram enjoying the ride. It had taken her a while to recover from the ordeal of that day three months ago. For some time afterwards, every time Janet sat in the chair with arms, she would cry and suck her fingers. It took a while to work out why she became upset, and after that her mother made sure she used one of the other chairs. Although Gilbert hadn’t physically touched Lucy that day, clearly his aggressive behaviour had made its mark and she remembered her mother’s distress.
‘She looks lovely in that pixie hat,’ Shirley remarked.
‘When I started knitting it,’ said Janet, ‘it looked enormous, but now that it’s made, I can see I’ll be lucky if it lasts the winter. You’re growing up too fast,’ she told her daughter as she tickled her to make her laugh. Lucy chuckled, showing off her two brand-new bottom teeth; then she clapped her hands and said, ‘Da-da-da.’
‘Such a lot has happened in her first year,’ Shirley said sagely.
Janet nodded. ‘Not all of it was bad. I’m glad you’re still here and that, in the end, I didn’t have to leave the farm.’
They fell silent, each lost in her own thoughts. Shirley was remembering the sickening crunch as Darby’s hoof made contact with Mr Oliver’s face in the stable. She dreaded to think what he had planned for her that day, but there was no doubt that Darby had saved her from God knows what. She had flown like the wind on her bike to get to the telephone box, where she had dialled ‘999’ for the first time in her life. Shirley explained what had happened as quickly as she could, before dashing back. Her first thought had been to find the key and release Tom from that awful contraption, but when she’d burst into the kitchen, she’d found Lucy screaming in terror and Janet on the floor, still tied to the chair. She’d been trying to get to her distraught child when the leg of the chair had struck an uneven flagstone and had toppled over. She wasn’t so much hurt as cross with herself for making a bad situation a lot worse. It took Shirley a second or two to get Janet upright, and only a few minutes to hack away at the ropes. As soon as Janet’s arms were free, Shirley put Lucy onto her lap while she tackled the ropes on her legs.
The key for the mantrap was next on the list. They took the large bunch from the hook, hoping against hope that it would be one of them. A quick look in the barn found Vince had recovered fairly well after being violently pushed when he’d tried to help Shirley, but the cut on his cheek looked nasty. Janet, still cuddling Lucy, helped him back to the farm, while Shirley headed for the stables. She found Darby standing over Tom, nuzzling him and nibbling at his hair. He was much calmer, although still anxious to be freed. Mr Oliver lay on the straw, moaning with pain.
The police and St John Ambulance wasted no time in getting to the farm, but despite their very best efforts, Gilbert Oliver didn’t survive. They got him to hospital within an hour of the call, but by then the swelling on his face was seriously restricting his breathing. He died shortly after being admitted.
Janet was remembering happier times, like when Mr Telford asked her to reconsider her decision to leave the farm. He had pointed out that as Gilbert’s wife, she’d inherit everything anyway and that there was no reason to be afraid any more. It had been a complete about-turn, but one she welcomed with open arms.
When they’d found Gilbert’s trophies, their worst suspicions had been confirmed. The one mercy was that nobody had to face the ordeal of a court appearance, and the fact that Gilbert had gone to meet his Maker thanks to an animal he hadn’t treated very well seemed to be plain justice.
Mr Telford had promised to be on hand should she need advice, but with Shirley staying on, and with Vince and Seth remaining on the farm, Janet felt confident that she would manage to make a go of it.
‘Oh, Shirley, I almost forgot,’ Janet said suddenly. ‘There’s a letter for you.’ She had tucked it under Lucy’s bedding, meaning to give it to Shirley straight away.
Shirley tore the envelope open as they walked. ‘It’s from Mum,’ she said. ‘She says she would love to spend Christmas with us.’
‘Oh good,’ said Janet. ‘Sounds like we’ve got a full house. Is Len coming too?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Shirley, ‘but he’s got a bit of leave coming up in January when Auntie Doreen and Popeye get married.’
‘An excuse for another party,’ Janet grinned. ‘Is your mother well?’
‘Very,’ said Shirley. The cottage in Goring had been just what Florrie needed. She’d made a cosy home and had already found a new lease of life working the grounds. She had chickens and a few ducks, which meant she had plenty of eggs, and she had great plans for planting in the new year. She also sold paper roses to a couple of shops. One was a funeral parlour, where they used them on wreaths, and the other was a florist’s, which used them for bouquets and bridal decorations.
One of the nicest things was that Ruth had come to stay with Florrie for a few days. It gave them time to get to know each other, and her mother had enjoyed being with her baby sister. Together, they had laid a few ghosts.
Len had been home a couple of times, and although Florrie hadn’t actually received any money yet, apparently the government was going to pay her up to £500 for the loss of her home and business, with the promise that after the war, she could apply for more. Florrie and Len had decided that when the compensation came through, they would make an offer to buy the cottage, an offer that, hopefully, couldn’t be refused.
As for Shirley herself, Janet had persuaded her to write down the story of the Birthday Thief and right now it was with a publisher in London. She was quietly confident that one day, despite the shortage of paper, she would hand a copy of the book to Tom. After all, it was telling and retelling it to her brother that had helped her to perfect it.
They reached the village and Shirley crossed the road for the bus stop. She was only just in time. The bus rumbled in almost straight away. Having manoeuvred the pram so that Lucy could see her go, Janet crouched down with her daughter and they waved to Shirley as she left. Janet knew she was so lucky to have such a good friend. Because farming was a reserved occupation, Shirley could stay on as long as she liked. She was still too young to join the WAAF, the Wrens or the ATS, so she was happy to remain. Janet knew that if the war was still going in 1943, which everybody said could never happen, Shirley might join up, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. The terrible bombing in London had gone on for fifty-seven consecutive nights, and thousands of people had been killed and many more injured. It had even reached closer to home, when the town hall in Worthing had been bombed, although thankfully with no loss of life. The upshot of it was that the resolve of the British people had been hardened rather than weakened, as Hitler had hoped.
Just as the bus trundled along Station Road and out of sight, a small group of Canadian soldiers came running down the hill. Janet was suddenly transfixed.
‘Have we missed it?’ one of them called. She recognized him as Clay, the soldier who had taken a shine to Shirley at the dances some months ago. She was glad Shirley wasn’t here.
‘I’m afraid you have,’ said Janet, trying not to stare but aware that her heartbeat was quickening.
‘It’s Jane, isn’t it?’ said Clay.
‘Janet,’ she corrected, barely glancing in his direction.
Clay looked at his watch. ‘What time is the next one?’
‘In an hour,’ said Janet and another soldier in unison
. Janet’s mouth had gone dry. The other soldier stared hard.
Clay was annoyed. ‘An hour!’ he complained.
‘You forget,’ said the newcomer, turning his attention to him, ‘they do things differently round here.’
‘Let’s go to the pub, then,’ said one of the others.
‘That doesn’t open until midday,’ said Janet.
‘Oh hell,’ said Clay. ‘This damned country is like living in the Land of Nod.’ He turned towards the grocery shop. ‘I need some cigarettes.’
Two of his companions followed him. The other man remained, his eyes locked onto Janet’s face.
‘Hey,’ Clay called. ‘You coming?’
‘In a minute,’ said the soldier.
‘Then let me introduce you,’ said Clay from the other side of the street. ‘Peter, this is Janet. Janet, Peter.’
Janet’s heart was thumping, and Peter hadn’t stopped grinning at her ever since Clay had said her name.
When Clay and his friends went into the shop, he turned to Janet. ‘I heard you got married.’
‘I’m a widow now.’ Her face was flaming.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she breathed.
‘When the war started,’ he said, ‘it made me question my loyalties. I couldn’t turn my back on the old place. I had to come over and help.’
‘It must seem strange to be back in England.’
‘It is a bit weird,’ he agreed, ‘but nice.’
‘How do you like Canada?’
Peter’s face lit up. ‘Oh, it’s a great place,’ he enthused. ‘Great country, great opportunities . . .’ He faltered. ‘But it doesn’t feel like home.’
As if on cue, Lucy clapped her hands and Peter smiled down at her. ‘Pretty kid. She’s got your eyes.’
Janet said nothing. He looked back at Lucy and an odd expression filtered across his face. He turned his head towards her mother. ‘She’s . . .’ he began. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s . . . ?’
‘Oh, let me introduce you,’ she said, mimicking Clay. ‘Peter, this is Lucy. Lucy, this nice man is your daddy.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book is dedicated to the late Barrie Arthur Stainer, a lovely, lovely man. His wit, wisdom and sense of fun are woven throughout this story. We shared the same mother and only found each other in 2013. Our time together as brother and sister was all too short but I want to thank his two sons, Brian and David, and their families, for making me welcome. I also give a special mention to his dear friend Margaret Bengtsson who, together with Barrie, left me with some precious memories of days out, parties and holidays, all seasoned with a lot of laughter.
I should also like to thank my agent Juliet Burton and my editor Caroline Hogg and the team at Pan Macmillan. Without you I’d still be locked in the broom cupboard and wishing . . .
Blue Moon
by PAM WEAVER
Worthing, 1933: Ruby Bateman works at the prestigious Warnes Hotel on Worthing seafront. She enjoys her job and the camaraderie with the girls at the hotel, but she also loves a day off . . .
On an outing to the Sussex Downs, Ruby meets handsome photographer Jim Searle and instantly falls for him. The only cloud to overshadow her otherwise perfect trip is the dark mood of her father when she returns home. It’s the first of many clouds to loom threateningly over the hardworking Bateman family.
When a tragic accident shakes each family member to the very core, Ruby’s older brother Percy turns to the Black Shirts – a group who have recently started making trouble in the town – for support. But when unrest escalates to violence, will he see right from wrong?
Ruby dreams of a life outside of the seaside town with Jim, but it falls to her to hold the Batemans together. However, a long-buried family secret may just undo all her hard work.
Love Walked Right In
by PAM WEAVER
Worthing, 1937: Ruby and Jim Searle run a guest house in Worthing, but the newly-weds have had a rocky start to their marriage. Their troubles are only set to get worse when Jim starts to unravel a dark secret from his past.
The guest house is in high demand, and Ruby is asked to take in two German schoolboys on a cultural exchange. She agrees, but when they arrive they seem more like grown men and their activities are far from innocent. The Germans’ arrival is followed by that of two Jewish refugees, and Ruby does as much as she can to help these young girls whilst they’re in her care.
As the country gears up for war, Ruby throws herself into war work as a distraction from her troubles at home. But revelations from Jim’s childhood continue to surface, with devastating consequences. And when war is declared, Ruby’s life is changed forever . . .
Praise for Pam Weaver
‘What a terrific read – Saga fans everywhere will love it and be asking for more from this talented author’
Annie Groves
‘An engaging and gripping post-war saga . . . a hard-hitting story of female friendship tested against the odds’
Take a Break
‘A heartrending story about mothers and daughters’
Kitty Neale
‘Pam Weaver presents us with a real page-turner – with richly drawn characters and a clever plot’
Caring 4 Sussex
‘The characters are so richly drawn and authentic that they pull the reader along through the story effortlessly. This book is a real page-turner, which I enjoyed very much’
Anne Bennett
‘An uplifting memoir told with real honesty’
Yours
Always in
My Heart
Pam’s saga novels, There’s Always Tomorrow, Better Days Will Come, Pack Up Your Troubles, For Better For Worse, Blue Moon and Love Walked Right In, and her ebook novellas Emily’s Christmas Wish and Amy’s Wartime Christmas, are set in Worthing during the austerity years. Pam’s inspiration comes from her love of people and their stories and her passion for the town of Worthing. With the sea on one side and the Downs on the other, Worthing has a scattering of small villages within its urban sprawl, and in some cases tight-knit communities, making it an ideal setting for the modern saga.
Also by Pam Weaver
Novels
There’s Always Tomorrow
Better Days Will Come
Pack Up Your Troubles
For Better For Worse
Blue Moon
Love Walked Right In
Featured Short Story
Christmas Fireside Stories
eNovellas
Emily’s Christmas Wish
Amy’s Wartime Christmas
First published 2017 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2017 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-7591-6
Copyright © Pam Weaver 2017
Design © www.blacksheep-uk.com
Pier © PPL Pictures of Yesteryear/Walter Gardiner
Girl © Trevilion
Bunting © Chanawit/Depositphotos
The right of Pam Weaver to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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