by S Block
And yet, here she was, having their child.
Hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, each agonising contraction made her scream. She sounded wild, like an animal. Sweat ran off her and drenched the bedsheet. If she had somehow survived losing Nick, she could surely cope with anything. But this. Never before had she experienced anything like it.
The nurse attending her was joined by a doctor, a man with silver hair and spectacles, who examined her and said she was doing well, nothing to worry about.
Teresa gritted her teeth. What did he know about it!
‘The pain,’ she told him.
He nodded. ‘Nearly there,’ he said, sounding infuriatingly unconcerned.
The nurse smiled in encouragement. ‘Not long now,’ she told Teresa, echoing the doctor.
Teresa glared at them. What was wrong with these people, grinning like idiots? Were they all on drugs? Drugs. Of course! ‘Can’t you give me something?’ she begged. ‘For the pain. ’
They didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Nice big push,’ the doctor urged. ‘Well done. Deep breaths. ’
And think happy thoughts.
She shut her eyes.
Annie’s arms around her. Alison’s smile. Walking down the aisle on her wedding day. Nick, handsome in his uniform, looking at her as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
She had been the lucky one.
She strained and pushed and screamed so hard her throat hurt.
‘Congratulations, Mrs Lucas, you have a baby boy. ’
Teresa watched in a daze as the nurse gave her a tiny infant with a shock of dark hair. Like Nick.
Teresa cradled him, tears streaming down her face. ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘my beautiful boy. The best Christmas present I could have wished for. ’
‘Have you thought of a name?’ the nurse asked.
‘Nicholas,’ Teresa said. ‘After his father. ’
*
Alison hung back when the nurse showed them in to see Teresa. Annie seemed on the brink of tears as she gazed at the infant lying so peacefully in his mother’s arms. ‘He’s utterly perfect. ’
Teresa ’s eyes shone with happiness. She planted a tender kiss on his cheek. ‘Look who’s here, Nicholas. My best friends in all the world. ’ She looked up at Alison. ‘Would you like to hold him?’ she asked softly.
Alison glanced at Annie, who beckoned her forward. She carefully took the baby from Teresa. ‘Hello little one,’ Alison said, suddenly overcome. ‘Aren’t you the most adorable boy?’ Tears ran down her face, and she found herself laughing. ‘I’m only crying because I’m so happy!’
‘He seems to have that effect,’ Teresa said, beaming up at a tearful Annie.
‘Nicholas,’ Alison said. ‘A Christmas baby, what could be better?’
‘It’s the most perfect timing,’ Teresa said. ‘Although that wasn’t what went through my mind as I was about to go to church this morning and realised he was on the way . . . ’ She hesitated. ‘Alison, I wanted to ask . . . would you be his godmother?’
For a moment Alison was lost for words. ‘Are you quite sure?’ She felt honoured, deeply touched.
Teresa nodded. She looked up at Annie, who gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Of course, Alison. Of course. ’
Chapter 40
J
OHN WOKE AS SOON as Elsa started barking. He got up and pulled on some clothes, hurrying towards the door.
‘What’s going on?’ Alison asked, sitting up.
‘Just going to see what’s set her off,’ John said. ‘You stay here. ’
He hurried down the stairs and shushed the little dog. Elsa was at the front door, sniffing excitedly. ‘What’s up, girl?’ he said, keeping hold of her collar as he unlocked the door.
On the step was a box tied with string. A message, he guessed, like the ones he ’d had left for him from time to time in Liverpool. Entrails. A sheep’s head. Dog mess. Go home, darkie.
He shut Elsa inside and stepped onto the path, a flash of movement at the end of the garden drawing his eye.
‘Hey!’
In the grey half-light of morning, John couldn’t make out the figure that stopped then turned and came towards him. He heard the door open behind him and Alison calling his name.
‘Go inside,’ he told her, not taking his eyes off the figure that had stopped a few paces away.
John peered at him. Jim Morton. He felt a rush of anger, as the farmer took off his cap.
‘I brought you something,’ he said, looking up, glancing in the direction of the box.
‘I see that,’ John said.
‘What I thought about you – I was wrong. ’ He picked at the frayed edge of the cap. ‘I don’t suppose that’s an excuse for being so . . . abrupt the day you came looking for work. ’
John stayed silent. Abrupt.
‘Losing the sheep put me in a bad way. I swear, I thought you’d done it. Getting your own back after I chased you off the farm. Didn’t think it could be anyone else. ’ He looked John in the eye. ‘I regret that, I really do. ’ He cleared his throat. ‘I want you to know I’m sorry for the trouble you’ve had. ’
John gave a stiff nod. ‘I appreciate you coming. ’
Jim Morton seemed to have run out of things to say. He stood a while longer, twisting the cap in his hands. ‘So . . . ’
‘The box?’ John asked.
‘Something for you and Mrs Scotlock. ’ He put his cap back on, a sign the conversation was over. ‘I’ll leave you good people be, then. ’
Alison had put a coat on over her night things and was standing behind John in her slippers. They watched Jim Morton turn and stride away along the path at the edge of the woods.
Inside the house, Elsa was still barking. John carried the box in, put it on the kitchen table and undid the string. It contained a plump chicken, a dozen eggs, honey and a slab of butter – and a scrap of paper with a single scribbled line: Sorry for the trouble.
‘Well, well,’ Alison said.
John was shaking his head. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. ’ Elsa pawed at his leg. ‘No wonder this one was so worked up, fresh chicken meat on the doorstep. ’ He bent and stroked her head. ‘Easy, girl. ’
‘It makes me wonder . . . if Jim Morton’s changed his tune, perhaps it’s a sign people are finally getting used to having you here,’ Alison said hopefully. ‘It must surely have dawned by now how mistaken they’ve been in their view of you. ’
John shrugged. ‘You might be right. ’ He looked thoughtful. ‘And then again, they might just change their minds back again once I’m your husband. I can see at least some finding the idea of us living together as man and wife unacceptable. ’
Alison nodded. It was a conversation they’d had many times. What would people think? What did it matter? Whose business was it but hers and John’s anyway how they chose to live? At times she felt defiant. The village would have to get used to them; that was all there was to it. Great Paxford was her home, the place where her friends were, and her new godson, too. And she was stubborn, as well – not about to be dictated to when it came to deciding who she could or could not love. In a week’s time they would be married and she would be Mrs Smith. Alison had no intention of continuing the pretence that John was a paying guest. It was insulting when he had every right to be there.
Neither of them had anything to be ashamed of.
‘I respect the man for coming here,’ John said, ‘but Jim Morton having an attack of conscience doesn’t change a thing, not in the long run. ’ He took Alison’s hand. ‘I still think we’ve made the right decision. ’
She nodded. ‘I agree. ’
‘As long as you don’t feel I’m pushing you into something you’d rather not do. There’s time enough to change your mind if you’re having second thoughts. ’
Alison shook her head. ‘We’ve talked it through, haven’t we? We’ve made the decision together. The right decision. ’ She tur
ned to him and kissed him softly. ‘I have no intention of changing my mind. ’
Chapter 41
O
N THE MORNING OF their wedding, John was up early. He took Elsa for a long walk in the woods, enjoying the cold air. He knotted his scarf and tucked it inside his coat while Elsa ran ahead, picking up some scent or other, chasing after quarry she was never likely to catch. He watched, amused, as she skittered towards a squirrel that shot away up a tree before she got anywhere near.
‘Give up, they’re too fast for you, girl,’ he called after her.
They tramped on, the sun coming up, sharp winter light seeping through the canopy of oak and sycamore, Elsa returning to trot at his side.
‘Big day,’ he told her.
He had chosen the date, his mother’s birthday, wishing she could see him. He wondered what she ’d have made of his marriage to Alison. In his mind’s eye, he imagined her nodding her approval. I see I brought you up to have good taste. She ’d have been pleased for him, and proud too, unconcerned about so-called ‘convention’. Hadn’t she always urged him to follow his heart? She had drummed into him for as long as he could remember the importance of living life to the full. Had she still been alive, she ’d have been in no doubt how much Alison meant to him, or of the joy that came from the love they had for one another. At times, he could not quite believe his good fortune. The thought made him smile.
Alison was in the habit of saying the same thing to him.
Back at the house, Alison was making breakfast. She cracked eggs into the frying pan, where thick slices of bacon were already cooking. ‘I hope you’re hungry. ’
‘I’m not sure I can eat,’ John said, sitting down. The china teapot and the cups and saucers reserved for ‘best’ were out. There were folded linen napkins on gilt-edged side plates and soda bread, still warm from the oven. The centrepiece was delicate snowdrops from the garden in a jar. While he was out with Elsa, Alison had been busy preparing their pre-wedding breakfast.
‘Don’t say you’re complaining about my cooking already,’ she teased. She knew by now that John was a good cook, able to make something tasty out of a few uninspiring ingredients in a way she couldn’t quite match.
She put the plates of bacon and eggs on the table and sat facing him.
‘Nothing to do with the food, but my stomach’s all churned up. ’
‘Must be nerves. As long as you’re not having second thoughts . . .?’
John gazed at her. ‘Not me. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. ’ He reached for her hand. ‘I can’t wait to marry you, you know that. I love you, Alison Scotlock. ’
‘You won’t be able to say that for much longer. ’ John raised an eyebrow. ‘The Scotlock bit, I mean. Not long to go before I’m Alison Smith. ’
‘I’ll still love you the same,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘That’s all right, then. Now, eat up before your breakfast goes cold. ’
*
Pat had worked wonders with the dress. By the time she ’d finished, it looked as if it had been intended all along as a bridal gown; there was nothing to hint at its former life when Frances had worn it in the ballroom at the Ritz Hotel. Alison stepped into it and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the wardrobe door. The dress felt different. She felt different. During her fittings, she had spent a good deal of time marvelling at Pat’s cleverness, and not so much considering how the dress might make her feel on the day of her wedding. Alison was a practical person, and had been more concerned than anything that she might be about to ruin a perfectly good (expensive) dress by a celebrated designer. After all, did it really matter what she wore?
Now, she realised it did. It was her wedding day and everything mattered, including a dress she would most probably wear only once. She felt suddenly tearful and plucked a handkerchief from the drawer of her dressing table to dab at her eyes. Don’t cry!
The dress, with its hidden embroidery, Alison and John, 21 January, 1942, tugged unexpectedly at her heart. She took a moment to compose herself, straightened her shoulders and put on the earrings Frances had loaned her. I am about to change my life. In the spare room, John was busy dressing. She would need his help to do up the row of tiny buttons at the back. She heard him whistling, something she didn’t recognise, and called out to him, ‘When you’ve a minute, can you give me a hand?’
He knocked at the door. ‘Safe to come in?’ he said.
‘You’ll have to – I can’t manage the buttons on my own. ’
He stepped into the room, looking smarter than she ’d ever seen him, handsome in a suit, white shirt and dark tie. A silk handkerchief jutted from his breast pocket. He stopped abruptly and gave her a long look.
‘What do you think?’ she said, suddenly self-conscious, afraid the dress, so different from anything he ’d ever seen her in, might not suit her.
His eyes stayed on her. ‘What I think is I’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful. ’ He went to her and took both hands in his. ‘You ever see a grown man cry? Because you just might today. ’
Alison held his gaze. ‘It’s not . . . too much?’
‘It’s perfect,’ he said. ‘Just like the woman wearing it. ’ He began fastening the buttons. ‘All done. ’
Alison turned to face him and he gave her another appraising look. They stood side by side in front of the mirror. ‘Are we the finest-looking couple that registry office will ever have laid eyes on?’ he asked.
Alison smiled. ‘I think we just might be. ’
‘We’re missing one small thing. ’ She gave him a quizzical look as he took a leather box embossed with Lowe & Sons from his pocket. ‘This is for you. ’ Inside was a heart-shaped pearl on a delicate chain.
Alison was overwhelmed. ‘John, I don’t know what to say. ’
‘You like it?’
‘I love it – it’s a perfect match for the dress. Help me put it on. ’ He fastened the clasp at the back of her neck. The pearl sat at the base of her throat. ‘It occurred to me this morning I didn’t have my “something new” and I was wondering if it mattered. ’
‘Strictly speaking, it’s not new. ’ He had found it in a pawn shop, he said, which was how he ’d managed to afford it. ‘As soon as I spotted it, I knew it was just right – at least, I hoped so. It looks even better than I imagined. ’
‘Thank you, I’ll cherish it. ’
They stood a moment longer, watching their reflections. ‘Nearly time to go,’ John said at last. ‘Are you ready?’
Alison grinned.
They left the house hand in hand.
*
The ceremony itself was short, filled with promises and smiles, and Alison and John emerged into winter sunshine and a sprinkle of confetti. They led their guests, comprising Teresa cradling Nicholas, Annie, Frances, Sarah, Pat and Erica, the short distance to the Grosvenor Hotel, where a table had been reserved in a quiet corner of the restaurant. On the way there, John and Alison walked ahead holding hands, not caring who saw them or what people might think.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alison so happy,’ Frances said.
Sarah nodded. ‘She looks utterly radiant, and the dress is just right. I’m struggling to remember what it looked like before. Pat has worked wonders. ’
‘Did you see the way John was looking at her as they exchanged their vows?’ Frances said, smiling. ‘I thought my heart would melt. It’s obvious he adores her. ’
‘I’d say the feeling is definitely mutual. ’
At lunch, John thanked them all for coming. ‘There will be no speeches today,’ he said, ‘but we do have something to tell you. An announcement, of sorts. For a little while now, Alison and I have been talking about the best way to build a future together, a home of our own. ’ He took a breath. ‘And we think it makes sense to begin afresh, head for pastures new. It feels like the right thing to do. ’
Pat
’s eyes widened. ‘You’re considering leaving the village?’
Alison placed a hand on John’s. ‘More than that. We’ve made up our minds. ’
Frances started up. ‘But I don’t understand. Your home is in Great Paxford . . . it’s what you know, where all your friends are. ’
Alison sighed. ‘And I’ve been happy here, I really have, but all of us know there was what you might call a mixed reaction to John moving into the village. The moment Jim Morton started losing sheep, John was blamed. I hardly need spell out why. ’
‘Only a few people thought like that, and those that did were soon proved wrong,’ Sarah said. ‘That at least should make those same people think twice before they go hurling unfounded accusations in future. ’
‘Sarah’s right,’ Frances said. ‘The likes of Martha Dawson ended up looking extremely foolish. ’
Alison caught Teresa’s eye and smiled. She had already confided in her their plans to move, and Teresa now nodded her encouragement.
‘It’s not as though we’ll never be back,’ Alison said. ‘We’ll visit every now and then. ’
‘But it hardly seems fair that you should have to uproot yourselves and leave for the sake of a few petty individuals,’ Erica said.
‘We could stay and see what happens,’ replied John, ‘but it’s a risk. The next time something goes wrong and folk want a scapegoat, I’m an obvious target. I suspect I always will be. That’s why we want to move away before there’s another . . . incident. ’ He aimed a tender look at Alison. ‘The fact is, some of our neighbours might never accept us as a couple – and I might never find work. It’s a recipe for frustration, if nothing worse. ’
‘Where will you go?’ Pat asked.
‘London,’ said Alison.
‘I won’t stand out so much there,’ added John. ‘There are people I know, friends we can stay with until we get on our feet. And I’ll be able to find work. ’
‘But . . . ’ Frances hesitated. ‘London. It’s so busy and . . . anonymous. And is it safe? If the bombs start again . . . ’
