Forgive and Forget

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Polly said nothing, thinking of her own wedding night, of Roland’s shyness, his tentativeness and his consideration for her.

  She blotted out the thought of what a wedding night with Leo might have been like and tried to concentrate on the problems she could foresee for her sister. She hoped she was wrong, but she had the horrible feeling she wasn’t.

  Fifty

  But Polly’s new brother-in-law was full of surprises. The very next day – Sunday morning – he set off with Roland in search of the man who might have a property to rent out. He walked with a newfound swagger, whistling cheerfully. He was a married man now, with a pretty little wife – even if she did have a sharp tongue at times – and he was with his son. Micky had decided to acknowledge Michael as his own and for the last few months had made no secret of the fact. Everyone believed it anyway; Violet had made sure of that from the start and in his heart of hearts he knew it to be true. He’d only gone along with what his father had said to avoid being trapped into a hasty marriage. But recently, realizing that there really was no chance with Polly, he’d grown very fond of Violet, and Michael was a boy to be proud of. Besides, it was time he settled down.

  Roland’s contact had had a flat available until the previous week.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate, I’ve let it. The folks are moving in tomorrow.’ He pondered a moment and then said, ‘Have you asked Albie? Him what runs the material stall in the market.’

  ‘I know Albie,’ Micky said at once. ‘I work on the markets. Why?’

  Roland nodded too. ‘And Polly knows both him and his wife.’

  ‘He rents out two rooms in his house. There’s only him and his missus. They never had no kids and I reckon their last lodgers have just left. See him.’

  As they walked away, Micky muttered, ‘I don’t reckon Albie will want owt to do wi’ me. I ain’t got a good name round the market.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Roland murmured. ‘Perhaps we’d better go on looking then.’

  They did, but when dusk began to fall, they trudged home without having found any other leads towards getting the newly married couple a place of their own.

  ‘Mebbe we could stay at yours, Roland? Vi could help Polly and they could still look after the rest of the family together.’

  Roland was doubtful. He liked to see the best in people, but he was not stupid. He’d seen the looks that Micky gave Polly, had seen the flash of desire in them at rare moments when Micky thought no one else was watching. To his relief, though, he’d seen Polly turn away in disgust and knew that, whatever Micky’s feelings for her were, they were certainly not reciprocated.

  ‘It’d be better if you could find a place of your own. After all, it’s not as if there’s just the two of you. There’s Michael too.’

  At the thought of his son, Micky smiled. ‘D’you know, Roland, I wouldn’t admit it to everyone, but he’s the best part of all this. At last I get to live with my son.’

  ‘So you do acknowledge he’s yours, then?’

  Now Micky shoved his hands in his pockets and had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I was scared, Roland. We were both so young and me dad – well – he said I should deny it. But I reckon it was more to get at William than anything else. He wanted to see the Long-dens brought down. He’s always thought the whole family’s too high and mighty.’

  Roland said nothing for they had reached the Long-dens’ home to find Polly and Violet waiting with a hot meal for them and anxious questions.

  Micky related the events of the morning and, to Roland’s surprise, left nothing out.

  ‘I could ask Selina – Albie’s wife – if you like,’ Polly offered. ‘We’ve become quite friendly.’

  Micky shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t mek no odds, Poll. Albie’d have the final say and it’d be a “no”.’

  Polly regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then said, ‘No harm in asking. If they do say no, it’ll be no more than you’re expecting.’

  Micky pulled a face.

  ‘Maybe it would be best if you asked Albie, love,’ Roland suggested. ‘You know him well too, don’t you?’

  As they finished their meal and Violet spooned the last of Michael’s dinner into his mouth, Polly promised, ‘I’ll go first thing tomorrow morning. And as long as Roland doesn’t mind, you can stay here a night or two longer. We’re all right at Dad’s.’

  She would never have admitted it out loud, but she was quite enjoying being back with Stevie and Miriam; she still missed the youngsters.

  Early the next morning Polly approached the market nervously.

  ‘Hello, lass,’ Albie greeted her. ‘Now I’m glad I’ve seen you. I’ve got some lovely bits of material for you. Perfect for rug making.’ He grinned at her. ‘But maybe you’ve got all you want now?’

  Polly smiled weakly.

  Albie peered at her. ‘Summat wrong, duck?’

  ‘Er – not exactly. But I’ve come to ask you something and I’m afraid you’re going to say no.’

  ‘Spit it out then.’

  ‘It’s about my sister and – and Micky Fowler.’

  ‘Oh – him!’

  His tone didn’t sound promising and Polly’s heart sank.

  ‘They’re looking for a place to live. Just – just rooms or a small flat or house. And Roland heard that you let out a couple of rooms in your house.’

  Albie regarded her thoughtfully. ‘There’s a babby, ain’t there?’

  ‘Yes. Michael. He’ll be three in August, but he’s a good little chap.’

  ‘It’s not that, Polly.’ Albie sighed heavily and there was sorrow in his eyes.

  ‘It’s Micky, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. Actually it’s not him either, though I do have me doubts about that young man.’

  There was a pause whilst Polly waited impatiently. She bit her lip to stop herself saying, ‘What then?’

  Albie let out a deep sigh. ‘It’s the kiddie – ’

  As Polly opened her mouth to defend her nephew, Albie put up his hand. ‘Oh, I don’t doubt what you say, but you see, duck, it’d be heart-breaking for my missus to have a little ’un about the place. We – we desperately wanted children, Polly, but it never happened and it’s been a great sadness to us all these years. I’d’ve taken a risk on Micky – really I would – but I couldn’t do that to my Selina.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Polly said huskily. She turned away, nodding her thanks.

  Both of them forgot all about the remnants of material which Albie had carefully put on one side for her.

  Violet and Micky spent one more night at Polly and Roland’s home, whilst they again stayed with William, Stevie and Miriam.

  Just before her bedtime Miriam climbed on Polly’s knee and wound her chubby little arms around her older sister’s neck. ‘Have you come home, Polly? I miss you. Violet never gives me cuddles like you do, or tells me bedtime stories. She’s always too busy.’

  ‘Huh! I don’t know what with, the house is a tip,’ William groused. ‘And the meals she cooks, well, I’ve seen stray cats turn their noses up at the leftovers.’

  Polly hugged Miriam to her. ‘You can come round to our house any time you like for a cuddle and a story.’

  ‘Can I come and live with you?’

  ‘No, no, your home is here with Dad and Stevie. But Violet, Micky and Michael are going to get a home of their own, so you’ll have to help Dad around the house. And when you’re a bit older, you can learn to cook.’

  ‘I can make gingerbread men now. Mrs Halliday showed me.’

  Polly was startled and glanced at her father. William moved uneasily in his chair and avoided her gaze.

  ‘Miriam goes down the road to see her sometimes,’ he muttered.

  Polly nodded, not in the least surprised that Bertha Halliday held no grudges against the innocent young girl. The only people to blame for her son’s unhappiness were Polly, and William for being the cause of his daughter’s refusal to forgive and forget.

  Fifty-One

  Polly was
back in her own home and cleaning vigorously. Violet and Michael were back at the Longdens’ home and Micky had been banished to the Fowlers’ house – much to his disgust.

  Polly was singing cheerfully at the top of her voice and scrubbing her scullery floor when she thought she heard a sound. She stopped to listen and then it came again. Someone was knocking at the door.

  She threw her floor cloth into the bucket and pulled herself up. As she did so a wave of nausea overwhelmed her and she clutched the edge of the sink to steady herself. This was the third time it had happened in as many days and she’d felt very queasy each morning. But at least now she knew the reason. She staggered to the back door to open it.

  To her surprise, Selina Thorpe was standing there.

  ‘Good lord, girl. You look as white as a sheet. Let me help you to a chair.’

  Whilst Polly leant back and closed her eyes, Selina made herself at home by finding everything she needed to make a cup of tea. When at last she sat down opposite and regarded the girl steadily, she said, ‘Albie told me your sister’s looking for a place.’

  Polly drank the hot tea gratefully and nibbled the biscuit Selina had put in her saucer. The nausea began to subside a little.

  ‘She is, but – ’ She hesitated.

  Selina nodded. ‘I know what he told you, but he got it wrong.’ Although there was still a deep sadness in the woman’s eyes, she was smiling. ‘I’ve learned to live with it, Polly. And do you know, I’d love to have a little one about the place. If we get to know each other, I’d like nothing better than to look after him whilst Violet goes out to work – if she wants to, that is, now she’s got a husband to look after her.’ Selina pulled a face. ‘Though she’d do well not to rely on that scallywag too much.’

  ‘Oh, but – ’

  ‘I know you look after little Michael for her, but – ’ Selina’s smile broadened. ‘If I’m not mistaken, and I’m not often wrong, one of those kiddies I said you’d have one day, is already on its way.’

  Polly’s cup rattled in its saucer as her hand trembled. She stared at Selina.

  ‘How on earth did you know?’ Was the woman really a witch as some of the folks around here called her? ‘I’m not far on yet. I’m not even showing.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ the older woman said and the two women laughed together. ‘I bet your hubby’s tickled pink, ain’t he? Now,’ Selina went on briskly, ‘about Violet. Albie and me are prepared to give it a go. We suggest a month’s trial for both sides. At the end of the month, if it’s not working out for either of us, then they can find somewhere else.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure? I mean Micky’s not exactly Albie’s favourite person. There’s been some trouble at the market, hasn’t there?’

  ‘Oh, several times,’ Selina said airily. ‘But Albie’s prepared to give Micky a second chance. The lad got in with Vince Norton when he was young and got led astray. It’s easy done. The market folk are good people, Polly, in general but you always get the odd bad apple. Maybe, given the chance, Micky will mend his ways. If not . . .’

  She said no more, but the threat left hanging in the air was obvious.

  Second chance? Forgive and forget? Such words haunted Polly. Why was it she was so steadfast in her hatred of Leo? Why couldn’t she have given him a second chance? But it was too late now; she’d made her bed and she would have to lie in it.

  Resolutely, she looked to the future, counting the days to when she would hold her own child in her arms.

  ‘I wish we could hear news of Eddie,’ William said mournfully. Polly was at home, ironing for the family with an old blanket spread on the table and two flat irons heating alternately on the hob.

  ‘He’s probably abroad, Dad. Well out of harm’s way. He’s best where he is.’ Under her breath, she added, ‘Wherever that is.’

  She too longed to hear news of Eddie. Despite the trouble he’d always caused her, he was still her brother and she cared about him and hoped he was well and happy.

  ‘There’s talk of war, you know. Ever since that Archduke or whatever he was and his wife got assassinated at the end of June, they reckon there’s going to be a war.’

  ‘It won’t involve us, will it?’

  William shrugged. ‘They reckon it might.’

  ‘And who’s “they”?’

  ‘Fellers in the pub.’

  ‘Oh, a lot of drunks. I wouldn’t take any notice of what they say.’

  He cast her an angry glance. ‘It’s in the papers, an’ all.’

  Polly pursed her lips and slammed her iron down harder on the shirt she was ironing as if to make her point. She wanted to say, ‘You’d do better to try and find some proper work than worry about politics over which you’ve no control.’ But she held her tongue.

  ‘Roland, is there going to be war?’

  Polly still read the paper every day now that she had her own and she’d read for herself the talk of war in the press. But she’d wondered if it was eager reporters trying to make the headlines. Roland’s anxious eyes answered her question without him needing to speak a word. Polly clutched her throat. ‘And – and will we be involved?’

  ‘This country may be, but I don’t know about us personally.’

  ‘But – but Eddie? If – if he is in the army, then – then – ?’

  Roland nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I’m afraid he would be.’

  By the time Polly’s baby was due in early August, the war clouds were gathering over Europe. Roland and Polly spent the August Bank Holiday quietly; the hot weather made her uncomfortable.

  ‘We could go to the park if you feel able,’ Roland suggested tentatively. Polly was sitting in their kitchen, wiping the beads of perspiration from her forehead. ‘It might be cooler there.’

  ‘I don’t think I could walk that far, Roland.’ She smiled. ‘Besides, what would me mam have said about me walking out in public when I’m the size of an elephant?’

  Tentatively, Roland put his hand protectively over her swollen belly. ‘You look beautiful, Polly dear.’

  Polly grimaced. ‘To you, maybe, but then I’m carrying your son.’

  Roland chuckled. ‘You’re sure it’s going to be a boy then?’

  Polly shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. ‘I’m sure,’ she said tartly. ‘Only a boy would cause me so much discomfort. And besides, Selina said it was going to be a boy.’

  ‘And you trust Selina’s gift?’

  Polly chuckled. ‘Implicitly!’ And they laughed together.

  ‘Not long now, though,’ Roland comforted. ‘When did Mrs Halliday – ’ there was still a change, a constraint, in Roland’s tone whenever he mentioned the name Halliday – ‘say the baby would come?’

  ‘Second week in August, she thought, but he could come any time now.’ She sighed and moved restlessly again. ‘I just wish he’d hurry up and get it over with.’

  Roland got up and went to fetch a cooling drink for her, and for the rest of the day he watched her with anxious eyes. He, too, wished it was all over.

  Polly woke with a start; the sky was just beginning to lighten over the rooftops. She reached out and gripped Roland’s arm, waking him at once.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think you’d better fetch – someone. Maybe – Nelly Rawdon.’ Despite that pain that was coming in regular waves now, she was still sensitive to Roland’s feeling. He wouldn’t want Leo’s mother in his house and certainly not delivering his child.

  But Roland was generous to the last.

  ‘You’ve been seeing Mrs Halliday,’ he said as he swung his legs to the floor and began to dress hastily. ‘So Mrs Halliday it shall be.’

  ‘But – ’

  ‘No buts, Polly. She’s the best – you’ve always said so – and I want the best for you and – and for our baby. Whoever that person might be.’

  As another contraction racked her, Polly argued no more.

  Leo opened the door to Roland’s urgent knocking. For a brief moment they
stared at one another, shocked to come face to face.

  ‘It’s Polly,’ Roland blurted out at last. ‘It’s the baby.’

  ‘I’ll get Mother,’ Leo said and turned away to shout up the stairs. ‘Mam, it’s Mr Spicer. Poll – Mrs Spicer’s gone into labour.’

  Roland heard Bertha’s voice. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. Tell him the usual . . .’

  Leo turned round and came back to the door.

  ‘The usual,’ Roland asked. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Get plenty of water on the boil and cover the bed with old sheets and towels. I expect Poll – your wife . . .’ he hesitated, ‘will have got everything ready. You’d best get back to her.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Good luck.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Roland took the proffered hand and shook it. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply before turning away and running back up the street. He paused only to rap on the Longdens’ door and to tell William, who was already up and about, what was happening.

  ‘Owt I can do, lad, you just let me know. Mebbe we’re best out of the way, so if you want to go to the pub later . . .’

  ‘I’ll see,’ Roland said as he hurried away. Talking about wetting the baby’s head already was a mite too early to his mind.

  Despite their differences, Bertha came at once to the house and stayed with Polly until the baby – a boy, as Polly had expected – fought his way, kicking and screaming, into an uncertain world.

  When it was all over and the baby was nestling in her arms, Polly watched Bertha moving around the bedroom, tidying away all traces of the birthing before she allowed the new father into the room.

  ‘Mrs Halliday, thank you for coming. It – it can’t have been easy for you.’

  Bertha blinked at her. ‘What? Oh – that? No, Polly, it’s not that. I’m not one to bear grudges, specially where there’s an innocent little life concerned. No, it’s – it’s summat else.’

  ‘What?’ Polly felt a sudden fear and her tone was harsher than she’d intended as she demanded, ‘Tell me.’