Daughters of Cornwall

by Fern Britton

  Shirley took Edward’s arm, ‘And it’s time for us as well, Teddy.’

  ‘And you, Toots,’ Edward said to me. ‘You’ve had a long day. Come on.’

  There wasn’t much I could do. ‘I’ll just get a glass of water.’

  ‘Would you bring one up for me too?’ I could tell David was spinning the time out. ‘Yes, yes. I’ll be up in a minute.’

  Greg was settling himself on the sofa and saying nothing.

  ‘Toots,’ Edward said. ‘You go up. I’ll bring the water.’

  I knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. ‘Goodnight, Greg,’ I said. ‘I hope you sleep well.’

  His eyes were closed already. ‘I will. Night, night.’

  In bed I cursed my big brother. He had humiliated me and what had I done? Obeyed.

  I thought of Greg downstairs. Was he asleep already? Did he have no thoughts of creeping up the stairs to find me? To be fair, that would be very dangerous as he had never been upstairs before and wouldn’t know which door I was behind.

  Could I wait for another half an hour until Edward, Shirley and David would probably be asleep, then creep down to Greg’s sofa and seduce him? Supposing he was asleep and screamed when I woke him? It was a risk. But a risk worth taking?

  I waited until I was sure I could hear Edward’s snores above me. The house was certainly very quiet. I waited for another five minutes and then inched my way out of bed, across the floor, through the door and downstairs. By the light of the lamp in the lane beyond our back door, I could just make out Greg’s sleeping form. I kept still again. Ready to lie if anyone found me. ‘I was just getting another glass of water,’ I would say.

  I stood stock-still in the silence and counted another minute in my head. Everyone was definitely asleep.

  ‘Greg?’ I whispered. ‘Greg? Are you awake?’

  He moved under the blanket. ‘I have been waiting for you,’ he whispered back. ‘Come here.’

  I slipped under the blanket and his lips felt for my mouth. The passion rose quickly in me as his fingers stroked my breasts, slipping inside my pyjamas.

  ‘I have been thinking about this,’ he whispered. ‘Thinking about you. Ever since you promised me on the beach this morning.’ He moved so that his weight was almost on top of me. ‘Hannah, I can’t get enough of you.’

  ‘Darling, Greg.’ I trailed my fingers down his spine, his nakedness exciting me further.

  ‘Oh shit!’ He moved suddenly and began to grip his thigh. ‘Cramp.’

  He fell off the sofa and tried to flex his leg. ‘Grip my toes, would you?’

  I did as he asked and after a few seconds he relaxed. ‘Sorry about that.’ I could see his teeth as he smiled in the dark. ‘Maybe this sofa is a bit too small. Is there anywhere else we could go?’

  ‘Not upstairs. Sorry.’

  ‘What about the shop?’ He began to nibble my neck.

  ‘OK.’

  In the darkness, the shop enveloped us with the erotic scents of Far Eastern silks, and the sensual, drowning silence of rich fabrics.

  He took my hand as he walked me into the middle of the shop floor. ‘Where is best?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never done this before.’

  ‘Good.’ He held my face and kissed me deeply. ‘I want to be the first one. Cushions. Are there any in here?’

  ‘Yes. On the stools behind the counter.’

  ‘Ahh. The counter.’

  ‘You mean …?’

  ‘Yes, I do mean. Wouldn’t that be naughty? What would all your customers think if they knew?’

  He found three soft cushions and laid them on the glass counter top. ‘Hello.’ He was looking behind me and my heart skipped a beat as I imagined Edward seeing us like this.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A nice big mirror.’

  It was our old cheval mirror that Mum used during fittings. He picked it up and carried it to the side of the counter. ‘Now we can watch ourselves.’

  He lifted me onto the counter and laid me down gently. ‘See how beautiful you are?’

  In the dark I could see my eyes, wide with desire. ‘I want you,’ I breathed.

  ‘And I want you,’ he said.

  We finally parted, him to the sofa, me to my room, very late. My childhood bedside clock told me it was after four. Under my cold sheets I felt changed. Loved. My body worshipped. Greg had made love to me in a way no other man had. Selflessly. Passionately. I knew that he loved me and I loved him and that we were meant for each other. There was a future full of happiness and love ahead of us.

  Shirley woke me with a cup of tea at 8.30.

  ‘Morning sleepyhead.’ She kissed the top of my head. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’ I stretched my arms above my head. ‘Is Greg up yet?’

  ‘He’s gone. Had to get the early train. He left a note.’ She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. ‘Here you are.’

  Hannah. Thanks for everything. Greg x

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hannah, Trevay

  December 1947

  In the days after Greg disappeared, I tried every means I could to contact him. I even went to London and waited outside his flat for him to come home. I watched from early morning to late afternoon, until a young woman, pushing a pram, walked up to the front door, fumbled for her key and let herself in. When I rang the doorbell asking for Greg, she told me that she and her husband were the new tenants, and no, there was no forwarding address for anyone called Greg.

  A month later, I read in a magazine: The young and upcoming talented society photographer, Greg Snow, is engaged to the Model of the Moment, Francine Wallis. Mrs Wallis is divorcing her husband of three years and tells us that she has never been happier.

  The photo showed them with their arms around each other, leaning against a balcony covered in an exotic flowering climber with a sparkling sea behind them.

  That was the first time I threw up.

  Two months after that, I knew I was pregnant.

  How could I tell Mum? Edward? Shirley? David? The whole of Trevay?

  In the end I didn’t have to. Mum heard me one morning.

  As I rinsed my mouth over the bathroom basin, I felt her standing behind me.

  ‘Darling?’ she said softly. ‘Are you OK?’

  I briskly wiped my mouth on the hand towel. ‘Fine, Mum. Bit of a tummy bug. What are you doing out of bed, anyway? You know you need to rest. Doctor’s orders.’

  ‘I am fine. But you? You don’t have a bug, do you? It’s morning sickness.’

  ‘Mum. What a thing to say!’ I tried to brush past her and get downstairs. She blocked my way. ‘Mum, please. You go back to bed and I will bring you up a cup of tea. What would you like for breakfast? Toast and marmalade?’

  She stayed where she was. ‘You can’t fool me. How far gone are you?’

  ‘Honestly, Mum, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘No. I haven’t. Have you seen a doctor? Tell me the truth.’

  The weeks of anxiety and anger had exhausted me. The room began to spin and I sat on the edge of the bath. ‘No. I haven’t seen a doctor.’ I sounded weak and silly.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  I put my head in my hands. ‘Oh Mum, you don’t know how many times I nearly did. I wanted to tell you but …’

  She sat down next to me. ‘Who else knows? Does the father know?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nobody knows.’

  ‘My poor girl.’ She put her arm around my shoulders. ‘You and I will go to the doctor together.’ I laid my head on the comfort of her bosom, my tears wetting her nightdress.

  ‘Have you thought about what you might do?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tears slid down my face.

  She hugged me a little tighter. ‘Listen to me. I think it’s too late to stop it now and anyway, you don’t have to. The baby has all of us. A ready-made family. You are not the first or the last woman to
find herself alone and pregnant, and, here’s a secret that is true, you don’t need a husband to raise a family. Every baby is a blessing.’

  ‘You’re not angry with me then?’

  ‘Why would I be?’

  ‘Because, I’ve let you down.’

  She raised my chin and looked straight into my eyes. ‘Listen to me. You will always be my baby, but tonight we are two women sharing this together. I see you, Hannah, for the woman you are, and I love you.’

  I clung to her as she rocked me gently. ‘Oh Mum. I am so sorry. I have tried to get rid of it. I ran a hot bath and sat in it drinking gin. During the war, the girls I was with always said that was the best way, but nothing happened, and I’m not brave enough to find a woman to do … you know … the knitting needles … Oh Mum, I am so sorry. Will you tell Dad?’

  She put her hand under my chin and raised my face to see hers. ‘We don’t need to tell Dad just yet. What is he going to do? You are going to have this baby and keep it.’ Her eyes sought mine, ‘You do want to keep the baby?’

  ‘Would you mind? What would you tell people?’

  ‘We will tell people, without shame or regret, that we are proud of you. This baby is a chance for us all to do the right thing.’

  ‘But it’s not the right thing. I will be an unmarried mother. Sullied. A slut. An idiot.’

  She smiled. ‘Or you could be a great mum to a much-wanted child.’

  ‘Aren’t you ashamed of me?’ I asked.

  ‘Not as much as you would be ashamed of me.’ She reached for a towel and wiped my eyes, ‘Now, I think we need that cuppa.’

  Before telling the rest of the family, Mum took me to the doctor’s to be examined. A new doctor had joined the surgery, a woman, Dr Sally Finch.

  ‘When was the date of your last period, Hannah?’ she asked kindly.

  I told her and she counted the weeks on her desk calendar. ‘I make that about fifteen weeks. No spotting or bleeding?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Now, if you would just lie down on the bench, I’ll have a feel for baby and see if I can find its heartbeat.’

  As I lay down, I saw that Mum was wiping her eyes. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  ‘You remind me of me when I was expecting for the first time.’

  Dr Sally looked up. ‘And was your first baby quite big, Mrs Bolitho?’ she asked.

  I smiled. ‘Edward is well over six foot and a rugby player. I don’t expect he was tiny.’

  I looked over at Mum and saw something – some memory, perhaps – flit across her eyes. ‘Edward was big. All my babies were big. Why?’

  ‘Because this little one,’ Dr Sally put her hand on my bump, ‘feels a good size. Like daughter, like mother.’ She picked up a small wooden ear trumpet and pressed it to my abdomen. ‘Aha. Yes. There’s a good heartbeat there. Hannah, your baby is doing very well.’

  I was dreading Edward’s reaction and asked Mum to tell him, Shirley and David, while I stayed upstairs.

  It was Shirley who came to find me first.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked.

  ‘I really wanted to, but I was scared.’

  ‘Of me?’ Shirley sat on the bed where I lay. ‘You must have felt so alone.’

  ‘Ashamed really.’

  ‘Is it Greg’s?’

  ‘Shh.’ I looked anxiously towards my open bedroom door. ‘Please don’t tell anyone. Edward would kill him.’

  ‘I could kill him. Does he know?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t find him and now I don’t want to.’

  ‘He’ll never be happy with that skinny bitch.’

  I reached for her hand. ‘I don’t want him to know.’

  ‘He’s a fool.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘No, you are not! He should have used protection.’

  ‘I am as much to blame for that.’

  ‘And he gets off scot-free. While you …’

  Her anger on my behalf was kind but I didn’t need it. ‘While I have a loving family to bring this baby into.’

  Tears formed in her eyes. ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘Is Edward very angry?’

  ‘He’ll come round.’

  ‘What about David?’

  ‘He’s excited about being an uncle.’

  ‘Bless him.’

  ‘Bless us all, Hannah. Bless us all.’

  It was over Christmas that Mum’s cough came back. She had gone back to smoking and refused to go back to the doctor.

  ‘I am not bothering Dr Cunningham over his Christmas holiday,’ she said. ‘He’ll have enough on his plate. I’ll see how I go.’

  I felt guilty because my bump was growing well but Mum was wrapping me in cotton wool. The midwife had told me to put my feet up when I could. Mum took that as an order and virtually had me under house arrest.

  I wasn’t even allowed to help make the Christmas cake. ‘It’s not good for your blood pressure,’ she kept telling me.

  ‘But, Mum, the baby isn’t due until the end of May early June. I am not even half way.’

  ‘Never mind that.’ She coughed. ‘You take the rest while you can.’

  Poor David, he ended up with a lot of my jobs to do.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ I told him one afternoon as I had my feet up by the fire and he was carrying in a basket of logs.

  ‘Just as long as I have a very big, very expensive Christmas present, I don’t mind. And Mum says I am in charge of the Christmas tree this year, which I have never been allowed to do before.’

  ‘Just don’t hang toy cars and tractors all over it,’ I joked.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. Thanks, sis.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh.’ I hung onto my tummy. ‘You’ll start the baby.’

  ‘Hot water! Towels!’ David teased, making me laugh even more.

  Mum came through from the shop, ‘What’s all the hilarity about?’

  ‘Just David,’ I said, hitching myself up to make a space for Mum. ‘Come and sit down next to me. David, pop the kettle on, would you?’

  He groaned theatrically, ‘Why me?’

  ‘And bring some cake,’ I added.

  Mum sat down and pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘What a day.’

  ‘Busy?’ I asked.

  She nodded and began to cough. It sounded different. Chesty with a long rattle. Each time she managed to catch a breath, the cough that came after was harder and took longer to recover from.

  I sat up and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her lungs. ‘Mum. You really must see the doc. This is getting worse.’

  She shook her head, unable to speak. She looked almost grey.

  ‘Mum, come on. Try to take a deep, slow breath.’

  She tried but another cough, different again, brought up a clot of blood the size of a two-bob piece.

  ‘Mum! David, call Dr Cunningham.’

  It felt as though I was just getting to know my mum, and I was terrified of what might come.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hannah, Trevay

  December 1947

  ‘I am not spending Christmas in hospital,’ Mum told Dr Cunningham.

  ‘Clara,’ he said, winding up his stethoscope and putting it in his bag, ‘you have no choice. You have a very bad chest infection. Possibly pneumonia.’

  ‘I can go in after Christmas.’

  ‘No, you can’t. The hospital has a bed waiting for you and you are going today.’

  ‘But I am fine.’

  Dr Cunningham looked over his glasses at her sternly. ‘I am your doctor and what I say, you do. Understand? Your family are quite capable of looking after themselves and Christmas in hospital is quite fun. The nurses have decorated the wards and you’ll get a stocking at the end of your bed.’

  He picked up his bag. ‘Edward will drive you and I will be there to meet you.’

  I showed him out and thanked him for coming so quickly. ‘So you think it’s pneumonia?’ I asked quietly, mindful that Mum’s ears
were as sharp as a bat’s.

  ‘I hope it is.’ He placed his hand on mine. ‘But she is a smoker and that can cause all sorts of problems.’

  The first tendril of fear twisted through me. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll know more once the hospital run their tests.’ He looked down at my rounded stomach. ‘And how are you doing?’

  ‘I am fine.’

  ‘Very good. It can’t be easy for you.’ He put his hat on, ‘Right, I’d best be off. And don’t worry, I will look after your mum and you look after yourself.’

  Looking back, that Christmas was one of the happiest we’d ever had. Shirley took over the shop, the cooking, the present-buying, and supervised David’s festive decorations. Only once did she display any irritability, and that was when David had helped himself to her cotton wool to use as snowballs glued to the shop windows.

  Edward drove us every day to the hospital and helped to translate some of the more complicated medical terms used by the medics.

  Mum was looking so much better as well. She had been put on a medicine that eased her chest considerably but also caused some weight gain. The irony was, she looked fitter than ever.

  On Christmas Day, Shirley insisted that we parcel up the cooked turkey and trimmings and take them in to eat together around Mum’s bed. It was so silly but such fun. The nurses handed out crackers to everyone on the ward and we all sang carols with our paper hats on.

  On New Year’s Eve we even smuggled a bottle of sherry in, singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at midnight.

  Two days later the doctor called us into his hospital consulting room. ‘Your mother is doing well, but we have found several small tumours in her lungs.’

  ‘Cancer,’ Edward said.

  ‘I don’t want you to think that this is all bad news.’ The doctor opened Mum’s file. ‘We think that a course of radiotherapy could kill the tumours without need for operating.’

  Shirley took my hand. ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘There are many options open to us, but I would strongly recommend we try the radiotherapy as soon as possible,’ the doctor continued.

  Edward was thinking. ‘How about you operate to remove them and then do the radiotherapy to kill off anything you missed?’