by Pam Weaver
Dottie looked up sharply, searching her friend’s face with a mixture of horror and disbelief. ‘I thought as much,’ her friend said in a softer tone. ‘What is it then? What’s your version? He pushed you into it and then changed his mind?’
That beaten feeling crept over her again. Dottie looked down at her teacup and blinked away the tears that threatened. ‘Something like that,’ she conceded.
‘I don’t understand why you don’t just kick him out.’
She looked up again, this time with a frown. ‘Oh, Mary! Don’t you start. Have you been talking to Sylvie?’
‘Why should I talk to Sylvie?’ said Mary. ‘Listen, hen, this is a small place. If you don’t turn up for work for two days and your old man sits in the pub with a face as black as thunder, what do you expect? People love a bit of gossip and I’ll tell you right now, Janet Cooper is having a field day.’
Dottie picked up a glove belonging to Phyllis. ‘And I suppose Ann Pearce has been round to your place spreading rumours as well,’ she said bitterly.
‘Now don’t you go thinking bad things about Ann,’ Mary said firmly. ‘Right now she’s the one friend you’ve got, hen. Yes, she told me, but she only came to see me because she was so worried about you. She heard him crashing around, didn’t she? Shouting the odds and everything. She wanted to come round but she knows he’d do his nut if he saw her.’
Dottie’s chin began to quiver and she was having difficulty in seeing.
‘It’s all right, hen,’ said Mary gently. She patted the back of Dottie’s hand.
‘It’s such a mess, Mary. Reg says he doesn’t even want to be under the same roof as her,’ Dottie said quietly, ‘but I can’t send her back, can I?’
‘What? Because she’s coloured? The stupid man.’
‘She’s a lovely little girl,’ said Dottie fiercely.
‘What on earth made you choose a kid all the way from Australia in the first place?’ said Mary, pouring herself some more tea.
‘I didn’t …’ Dottie protested but then thought better of it. How could she tell Mary the whole story? What if Mary let slip that Patsy was supposed to be Reg’s child with someone else? It would be all over the village in no time. Of course, they’d never be able to explain why Patsy had coloured blood, but then, she didn’t know the whole story herself. If only Reg hadn’t burned what was in that suitcase. ‘I want to tell you, but I can’t,’ she said brokenly.
Mary moved her great bulk from the chair opposite Dottie to the one next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s all right, hen. You tell me as much or as little as you want. I won’t ask any more.’
Dottie’s eyes met hers with mild surprise.
‘And don’t look at me like that,’ Mary went on. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends don’t need to pry. They just need to be there for you.’
Dottie blinked back her tears. ‘Oh, Mary,’ she blurted out. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’
Billy burst into the kitchen. ‘Can I have a drink, Mum?’
‘No you can’t,’ said Mary irritably.
She shushed him away but Dottie stood up. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, manufacturing cheerfulness. ‘I’ve got some cherryade out the back.’
‘Cherryade!’ cried Billy.
‘Get the enamel mugs out of the cupboard,’ she said, blowing her nose and being very careful to keep her back to him, ‘then you can go back in and make everyone sit down, Billy.’
Billy gathered the mugs and clattered his way back into the front room shouting excitedly, ‘Hey, sit down, you lot. We’re having cherryade.’
Dottie came out of the scullery carrying a large, bright red bottle.
‘Pregnant?’ said Mary. ‘Oh my dear …’
Dottie stopped to squeeze her shoulder. ‘Come on,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion, ‘let’s see what they’re up to.’
When they reached the front room, all the kids were sitting in a circle and Patsy was teaching them some kind of clapping game. Dottie and Mary stood in the doorway, Mary restraining her excited son, lest he break the game up too soon.
Patsy looked up.
‘Go on, dear,’ said Dottie.
‘Who stole the cookie from the cookie pot,’ Patsy chanted rhythmically. At the same time, she clapped her hands together once, then slapped her knees. She looked around at the children, and started a second chant, ‘Maureen stole the cookie from the cookie pot.’
Maureen giggled and when she’d finished she beat out, ‘I didn’t steal the cookie from the cookie pot.’
‘Then who stole the cookie from the cookie pot?’ Patsy went on.
Dottie smiled. All of Mary’s kids were having a great time, even the little ones, even though they couldn’t possibly understand what a cookie was. They did it for some time until eventually Patsy turned around again.
‘Cherryade!’ Billy announced at the top of his voice and they all cheered.
He and Patsy organised the mugs and poured the drinks. Dottie and Mary returned to the kitchen.
‘How far gone are you?’ asked Mary as soon as they were alone again.
‘A couple of months.’
‘So there’s still time to get rid of it.’
‘I don’t think I can do that,’ said Dottie.
‘I know a woman in East Worthing …’
‘No, Mary.’
Mary curled her lip with distain. ‘You mean you’d really have his child?’
Dottie rolled her eyes heavenward and pressed her lips together. ‘It’s my baby as well.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘I just want a child,’ Dottie whispered.
Mary sat down in the chair heavily. ‘I don’t know what to say, hen. You’ve been to the doctor of course.’
Dottie shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then,’ Mary began brightly, ‘it may not be …’
‘I’m ninety-five percent sure,’ Dottie insisted. ‘It happened the day of Michael’s wedding.’
‘You know actually when it happened?’ Mary gasped.
Dottie felt her face redden. ‘I can’t go to the doctor, not yet. I need all the money I can get and the minute she knows I’m pregnant, Mariah Fitzgerald will ask me to go. Don’t you understand, Mary? I’ve already got one child to provide for. I’m all she’s got. Don’t say anything, please.’
‘All right, hen,’ sighed Mary. ‘But just remember I’m here for you. We both are. Tom and me.’
‘Thanks for everything,’ said Dottie blowing her nose again.
‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ said Mary.
‘You have,’ said Dottie giving her a squeeze around her ample waist. ‘You’ve done more than you can ever know.’
‘A few toys and some hand-me-down clothes,’ said Mary with a shrug.
‘And a pram full of courage,’ said Dottie quietly. She blew her nose again and stood up to look at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. ‘Lord, I look a sight!’ Reaching into the drawer for a comb, Dottie pulled the pins out of her hair and let it down.
‘You may not realise it but your coming here has helped me make a decision,’ she went on with a loud sniff. ‘Patsy’s been here almost a week and I’m determined she’s not going anywhere else. She’s my little girl now.’
‘But she’s not yours, is she?’ Mary observed.
‘I’ll adopt her,’ said Dottie vehemently. ‘As soon as I’ve got enough money put by, I’m going to a solicitor.’
‘But if Reg refuses to let you have her, how can you?’ cried Mary. ‘Besides, a woman on her own, adopting a child? It’s impossible.’
‘Well, she’s certainly not going to be put in a children’s home,’ said Dottie, pulling her hair into French plait. ‘This is her home. Aunt Bessie did it for me, remember?’
Mary nodded. An only child, Dottie’s mother had died when she was sixteen. Rose Thornton had taken the identity of Dottie’s father to the grave and so Dottie had been sent to live with her maiden aunt who owned th
e cottage. Dottie had told Mary many a time how alone she’d felt as she rode up the road from the station. Aunt Bessie had met her with the pony and trap, which was enough to excite any little girl, but Dottie had hardly noticed. She was terrified that Aunt Bessie wouldn’t like her so she’d made up her mind to work as her skivvy if necessary. But she needn’t have worried. Aunt Bessie may have been a little eccentric, but she was a sweetheart and, despite never having had children of her own, the whole village knew she had given Dottie a really happy life.
‘There is a difference,’ said Mary. ‘That was wartime, and you two were related.’
‘I don’t care, Mary,’ said Dottie. ‘What she did for me, I shall do for Patsy.’
Mary glanced up at the clock. ‘I’d better be going. Tom will be wanting his tea.’
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Mary as they said their goodbyes on the doorstep. ‘The whole village is having a joint bonfire for November 5th. We’ll probably do it on the 3rd, that’s the Saturday before. We’ve got that bit of waste ground next to the nurseries. Bring Patsy along, won’t you?’
‘I might not have money for fireworks.’
‘A packet of sparklers will do.’
‘Me and Raymond Green are doing penny for the guy,’ said Billy proudly.
‘I’ll look out for you,’ said Dottie attempting to give him a wink. ‘And if I think it’s good enough, I might even give you a tanner.’
‘Cor, thanks, Auntie Dottie,’ Billy beamed.
Dottie hugged her friend hard. ‘You’re a real pal, Mary.’
‘Go on with you,’ said Mary giving Dottie a peck on the cheek, and whispered her parting remark in her ear. ‘You keep hold of your money. You’ll need all you can get from now on, hen.’
Halfway down the street, Billy looked up at his mother. ‘What’s the matter with Auntie Dottie’s face, Mum?’
‘She accidentally walked into a door,’ said Mary looking straight ahead.
Christopher took his thumb out of his mouth. ‘Naughty door.’
Billy said nothing. His mother always said, ‘Tell the truth and shame the devil.’ It wasn’t often his mother lied, but he knew she was lying now.
‘You’re right, m’duck,’ said Mary to Christopher. ‘Naughty door.’
Billy could see that his mother was gripping the handlebars of the pram so tightly, her knuckles had gone white. Billy was no fool. Auntie Dottie hadn’t walked into a door, had she? It was Uncle Reg. He must have hit her. Bristling with anger, Billy kicked a stone along the pavement. When he was all grown up, he’d give Uncle Reg a black eye and then he could jolly well see how much he liked it.
Twenty-Four
When Dottie came downstairs on Thursday, her black eye was a lot less noticeable. She glanced anxiously at the shed door. Was Reg still in the shed getting his bike out?
A quick look around told her that he’d already left for work. He’d made an attempt to cut himself some sandwiches. The loaf, hacked to pieces, lay on the table beside the empty cheese dish. The shed door remained closed. He’d gone.
She moved about gingerly. She should make an effort to go back to work today. She had really enjoyed her time with Patsy. Everything was so much better when Reg wasn’t around and it had given her and Patsy a chance to get to know each other. She was such a lovely child, easy-going and polite, and they seemed to have quite a lot in common. They both enjoyed sewing and Dottie had discovered a tray cloth Patsy was embroidering in the suitcase that had gone straight upstairs the day she came.
‘I used to sit by Mummy’s bedside when she was ill,’ she said matter-of-factly, leaving Dottie with a catch in her throat. ‘She was going to show me how to crochet around the edge.’
‘I can do that,’ said Dottie. Patsy gave her an uncertain look, and Dottie added quickly, ‘But only if you would like me to.’
The evening before, they’d spent a good deal of time at it and Patsy had already made good progress. It was still in the chair where she’d left it last night before she went to bed. Dottie picked it up and fondled it between her fingers before dropping it into her sewing box.
Dottie mixed up the chicken food and walked down the garden. Clucking noisily, the chickens dashed out of their hut as soon as she opened the door. The pig grunted and put his snout over the top of the fence. He was getting so big, it wouldn’t be long before he broke it down and ran amok. She’d have to mention it again to Reg some time. He’d probably forgotten all about the pig. He hardly ever came down here now.
Patsy was up and dressed when she walked into the kitchen. ‘Are we going to my new school today, Auntie Dot?’
Dottie smiled. ‘Yes, we are. Let’s hope they’ve got room for you in the classroom.’ As the child’s face fell, Dottie was seized with remorse for having teased her. She put her hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they will.’
Mrs Stone, the headmistress, didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, but she did agree to have Patsy in her school.
‘It just so happens,’ she said crisply, ‘that a pupil has just moved away. Patsy can have her place but you should have applied in writing and given me more notice.’
Dottie apologised profusely and Mrs Stone seemed placated.
‘Will you have school dinners?’
Dottie’s face coloured. She hadn’t even given that a thought. ‘Yes … how much are they?’
‘A shilling a day,’ said Mrs Stone, ‘payable on Monday mornings.’
They looked around the school and Mrs Stone agreed to have her after the half-term holiday. After that, she seemed to have warmed to the child because she invited Patsy to stay for the rest of the day.
Dottie felt a lot happier now. She knew that once she’d got herself into a routine, she would be able to see her way through all her problems. All that remained now was to apologise to Janet Cooper for letting her down and then she could go on to Mariah Fitzgerald and fit in an extra hour at the end of the day to make up for arriving at work late.
Janet gushed all over her and Mariah was eager to hear all about Patsy. Dottie told them as much as she wanted them to know and left them to guess the rest. Thankfully, nobody thought to mention Reg.
The second Sunday after Patsy came to live with them, Dottie wrote a letter to Dr Landers. As she sat at the table, she tried to imagine him sitting opposite her. She remembered his twinkling eyes and the line of freckles over the bridge of his nose and the way his face lit up when he smiled. He was a nice man. She decided not to tell him how horrible Reg had been but she did go as far as suggesting that he was having a problem adjusting to parenthood.
We have gone from being on our own to being a complete family overnight, she wrote, but you are not to worry. Patsy is very happy. She has made friends with several children around here, in particular Maureen Prior, the daughter of a dear friend of mine. Maureen is a bit younger than Patsy but they have so much in common. They play dollies and schools. Patsy has taught Maureen some Australian games and Maureen has taught Patsy how to skip. They can keep it up for hours!
The letter was only about one and half pages long, but she kept it chatty and warm. She reasoned that if he knew Patsy was content, he would feel the same way. It came as a shock, then, to receive a letter almost by return of post in which Dr Landers asked if he could see Patsy the following Saturday.
Dottie was immediately thrown into a flat spin. What was she going to do? Try as she might to make things right between them, Reg stubbornly refused to let it happen. If he was in the house with Patsy, he would talk over her head – ‘Isn’t it time she was in bed?’ – or dish out his instructions through Dottie – ‘Tell her to get her feet off that chair.’
The solicitor’s letter was a long time coming. Reg spent his evenings in the Jolly Farmer and on the days when his shifts gave him the opportunity to have time off during the day, he would go out. Dottie was never sure where he was, but a couple of times he set off somewhere all spruced up and came back very drunk. One good thing was tha
t he hadn’t been near Dottie since the night Patsy had arrived,
She knew he hated interfering busybodies as he called them, so how would he react if Dr Landers turned up? Dottie couldn’t bear the thought of him ranting and raving on, demanding that the kid be taken back and telling the doctor that he didn’t give a stuff about her. Though she’d been with her for only two weeks, it seemed as if Patsy had been here forever. Dottie couldn’t bear the thought of losing her and she hated the thought of her languishing in some huge rambling old place, euphemistically called a children’s home, more with each passing day.
No. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to keep Reg and Dr Landers as far apart as possible. Having come up with a solution, she wrote back to the doctor. Once the letter was in the post, all she had to do was find the right moment to speak to Reg. It came sooner than she had anticipated. She waited until he was settled on his side of the bed and then whispered in the darkness, ‘Reg, I thought I would take Patsy for a walk up to Highdown on Saturday.’
‘Do what you bloody well like, woman. Now shuddup and go to sleep.’
Half-term week seemed destined to give Dottie a problem. She still had to go to work, but Patsy needed someone to look after her. Reg wouldn’t help and, anyway, she wasn’t happy about leaving Patsy alone with him.
Much to her relief, Janet Cooper said Patsy could come with her to the shop. Patsy helped out, doing little jobs, and Janet enjoyed basking in the limelight. Her customers bought little gifts for the child, something guaranteed to make Patsy a favourite with Janet. Patsy would thank them, and then they would linger longer in the shop, plying her with questions which she answered politely and honestly.
‘Do you miss Australia?’ ‘What’s it like?’ ‘Have you ever seen any of them savages?’ ‘Bit ’ot over there, innit?’
Sometimes Patsy didn’t understand what she was being asked and most people seemed to forget that she wouldn’t be able to remember much before she was five. But by the time Dottie finished work on Tuesday, she had quite a collection of colouring books, pencils and storybooks. She also had a large stash of sweets, which she stored in an old shoebox under her bed.
