There’s Always Tomorrow

by Pam Weaver

  On Thursday, when she and Dottie went to Mary’s, the first thing Patsy did was to gather the kids into a circle and share some of her booty with them.

  ‘Isn’t she a lamb, love her,’ said Mary. ‘I’ve run out of sweet coupons. They wouldn’t have had any sweets this week if it weren’t for her.’

  Dottie was on her way to Mariah Fitzgerald’s. ‘It’s good of you to say you’ll have her, Mary,’ she said. ‘Are you sure it’s not going to be too much?’

  ‘No trouble at all,’ said Mary. ‘You’ll have a cup of tea before you go?’

  Dottie pulled up a chair and sat down.

  ‘We’ll be collecting stuff for the bonfire this weekend,’ Mary went on. ‘Tom will be on hand to help us build it properly.’

  ‘Sounds fun.’

  ‘Don’t sound too enthusiastic,’ said Mary disappointedly as she pushed a cup of tea in front of her.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Dottie. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing really,’ said Dottie. Seeing her friend’s face fall, she added quickly, ‘Curtains for Edna, stuff like that.’

  Mary sat in the chair opposite and warmed her hands on her cup. ‘Reg all right?’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Fine.’ Dottie lied with ease. ‘Are you having any food at the bonfire do?’

  ‘I thought we’d do a few baked potatoes, a bit of bread and cheese, that sort of thing.’

  ‘We’ll give you a few spuds,’ said Dottie rising to her feet. ‘Thanks for the tea, Mary. I’ll be back at one.’

  Mary’s parting words were, ‘Don’t work too hard, hen.’ As Dottie walked back down the path, she let out a hollow laugh. Mariah was getting ready for a family invasion. After she’d hung the new curtains and furnishings in the bedroom, it meant a thorough clean throughout and Dottie wasn’t in the mood for a hard slog.

  Saturday morning heralded a crisp bright day. Dottie and Patsy dressed warmly but long before they’d finished the two-mile walk to the hill, they were already peeling off their gloves and scarves. Under her best coat, which had seen very many better days, Dottie was wearing her new bat-wing blouse. She’d managed to get it finished only the evening before but she was quite pleased with it. It was midnight blue and it went very nicely with the plaid skirt she’d made last year. Patsy was in a pretty lightweight blue woollen dress with a dainty white Peter Pan collar and dark blue appliqué leaves on the left shoulder and the right hem.

  Dottie’s ribs were still tender. It was probably her own fault. She shouldn’t have needled him.

  ‘You might at least ask how Patsy got on at school,’ she’d snapped as she put his supper on the table the night before. ‘She’s your daughter, Reg. You were the one who insisted on bringing her all the way over here. The least you can do is show a bit of interest.’

  ‘I will when that bloody letter comes.’ He’d folded his paper against the HP sauce bottle and carried on reading.

  Anger surged through Dottie’s veins. ‘That’s all you want, isn’t it. The money! Well, there isn’t any. Sandy was broke.’

  He’d glared at her for several seconds, then stood up. ‘You never told me a worse thing,’ he snarled.

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ she shouted but he suddenly lashed out, knocking her off balance, and she’d fallen against the other chair, the wooden back digging into her ribs. Then he’d thrown his meal over her head and stormed out. Dottie shook her head at her own stupidity. She shouldn’t have dropped it in his lap like that.

  The walk would do them both good. Patsy was in fine form, her appetite for knowledge forming question after question.

  ‘What are those berries?’ She was pointing to the front of a cottage where a shrub, smothered in vivid red berries, covered the walls. ‘Can you eat them?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Dottie. ‘It’s called Pyracantha and it’s just to look at.’

  ‘Pie-be-Katha?’ Patsy struggled.

  They spent the next few minutes saying it together, ‘Pyra-can-tha,’ until Patsy could say it perfectly.

  ‘Is the King going to die?’ the child suddenly asked.

  The question was a bit unexpected, although the reports of George VI’s operation had dominated the news on the wireless. Nobody had actually said what was wrong with him but the papers said he’d had to have the whole of his left lung removed.

  ‘I don’t know, love, but he is very ill.’

  Dottie had read in the paper that the Archbishop of Canterbury had held a special service in Lambeth Palace for the King’s recovery and Clement Attlee had cut short his holiday. Prime ministers don’t do that unless it’s serious.

  ‘My mummy had cancer. Do you think the King has cancer? Aunt Mary says he has.’

  ‘She’s probably right.’

  ‘I expect he’ll die then.’

  Dottie shot back with, ‘We all have to die one day, love.’ Oh crumbs! She shouldn’t have said that. Dottie chewed her bottom lip anxiously.

  Patsy looked up at her. ‘Did I tell you I got eight out of ten for my spellings?’

  Dottie smiled. ‘That’s very good,’ she said, marvelling at the girl’s ability to swap so effortlessly from death to spellings. ‘Which two did you get wrong?’

  ‘Government and necessary.’

  At the very end of the platform on Durrington-on-Sea, Reg was waiting for the London train to Victoria. To avoid awkward questions, he had deliberately chosen to leave by another station and he’d waited until Dottie and Patsy were on their way up to Highdown Hill before setting out. He had thought long and hard about returning to his old stomping ground. He had worked hard at making a new life but just lately, the tug in his heart had become stronger than ever.

  The truth was, he missed the big smoke … the noise, the bustle, the cries of the barrow boys, the black cabs honking their way through the narrow streets, even the bloody pigeons … Just lately they’d all taken on a rosy hue. He’d thought a lot about his old mates too. They’d got up to some wonderful tricks in the old days when he’d managed to avoid conscription for several months by ignoring his call papers and keeping on the move. When the authorities got closer, he’d even got some chap who’d failed his medical, a bloke with chronic asthma, to impersonate him. Paid twenty quid for the honour but he was scuppered when the bloody army doctor recognised him. In the end, Reg had been forced to respond to his 442 and he’d been put into the Royal Engineers.

  In no time at all he’d gained a reputation for insubordination, but then his army days ended abruptly after he was caught for nicking the lead. Reg managed a wry smile as he remembered that pompous ass of a CO telling the judge, ‘Unless the court deems it absolutely necessary, M’Lord, the army does not want him back.’

  Reg stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared down the line. Where was this bloody train? By the time he got up to London, it would be time to come back again. He sighed. He’d tried the honest life and where had it got him? No money, a prissy wife and now he was stuck with Sandy’s kid. It was time to move on but he didn’t want to just up and leave. For a start, he had no money and nowhere to go.

  The porter came out of his office and put out the boards. The train was on its way.

  Reg jingled the money in his pocket. It was a stroke of luck finding the cash she’d hidden in the bottom of the wardrobe. She must have put it there for some reason but he didn’t bother to ask why. As far as he was concerned, what was hers was his so he could help himself whenever he wanted. The sweets the kid had been saving would come in handy too.

  The train rumbled into the station.

  She was off up to Highdown with the kid. What better day for him to go to London and look up a few old pals?

  As the train stopped, Reg opened the door and stepped inside with purpose.

  John Landers had parked his car in the lane and was waiting for them at the top of the hill. He was dressed casually in a long-sleeved blue and white check shirt, tweed jacket and grey trouser
s. Dottie’s heart lurched. As soon as he saw them he took off his Tyrolean hat and waved before setting off down the hill to meet them.

  ‘Dr John, Dr John!’ Patsy ran to him and he lifted her up in his arms, swinging her around as they laughed with the sheer joy of meeting again.

  ‘You look fantastic!’ he cried as he set her down. He smiled at Dottie and held out his hand in a more formal way. ‘Pleased to meet you again, Mrs Cox.’

  ‘Oh please,’ she laughed nervously, ‘call me Dottie, everyone does.’

  ‘Then you must call me John,’ he said softly. His eyes lingered on hers for a few seconds more, making her heartbeat quicken and then he turned his attention back to Patsy.

  ‘I’ve brought a friend for you to play with,’ he said. ‘Someone I think you’re going to like very much.’

  Patsy looked around. ‘Where? Where is she? I can’t see her.’

  John chuckled. Dottie couldn’t see anyone either but as they walked back to his car, a little white head peeped out over the steering wheel.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Patsy as a delightful West Highland Terrier wagged its tail and barked excitedly.

  ‘Come along, Minnie,’ he called and the dog jumped down and bounced all around them.

  ‘Minnie?’

  ‘After Mickey Mouse’s girlfriend,’ he smiled.

  ‘Oh, she’s lovely,’ cried Dottie, bending down to pat her. The dog was jumping up at Patsy, licking her face and wagging her tail so hard Dottie wondered that it didn’t fall off.

  ‘Can I play with her?’ Patsy asked.

  ‘Of course you can.’ John handed her a yellow ball. ‘I tell you what, she’ll be your best friend for life if you throw this for her to catch.’

  As the two of them bounded away, Dottie and John followed.

  ‘I’ve never been up here before,’ said John, breathing in the warm afternoon air. ‘It’s a lovely spot.’

  ‘You get a wonderful view of Worthing from the top by those trees,’ Dottie told him. ‘On a clear day, you can see the Seven Sisters to the east and the Isle of Wight to the west.’

  ‘When I told Mother I was coming here she said something about it being a radar station during the war.’

  Dottie smiled. ‘That’s all gone now. There’s just the grass, the chalk pit at the top and the Miller’s Tomb.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing,’ he said.

  They watched Patsy throw the ball for the dog. ‘So tell me all about Patsy,’ John went on. ‘She certainly looks well. Do you think she’s settling in all right?’

  Dottie prattled away, telling him again about Maureen, Patsy’s best friend, and the rest of the Prior children. She told him how much Patsy liked feeding the chickens and how she’d made a pet out of their pig, christening him Porker.

  ‘And what about Mr Cox?’ John asked. ‘I got the feeling that he was a bit shocked when he saw his daughter in Southampton – does he get along with her now?’

  For a second, Dottie panicked. She couldn’t tell him the truth, could she? Patsy didn’t seem to worry about her father’s gruff behaviour and Dottie was hoping that because she was such a lovely girl she’d win him round in the end. If she told Dr Landers – John – how things really were, he might take Patsy away. Keep your mouth shut, she told herself, and it’ll all come out right in the end.

  ‘Reg is quite busy at the moment,’ she said cautiously, ‘but once the winter sets in, and we have those long cosy evenings by the fire, I’m sure they’ll be spending a lot more time together.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he said and Dottie felt a pang of guilt.

  They passed the Miller’s Tomb under a spreading oak tree but, just as they were going to read the inscription, a lone rider coming out of the woods distracted them.

  ‘Patsy,’ John shouted. ‘Keep hold of Minnie’s collar, and stand still until the lady on the horse has gone by.’

  Patsy called the dog to heel and crouched down beside her. They waited as horse and rider cantered on. Dottie watched her with a smile. She was such a good girl.

  Standing with his back to the ancient Iron-Age fort at the top of the hill, John was over awed by the view. The weather was fairly clear and Dottie pointed out the local landmarks; the spires of St Mary’s in Goring and St Andrew’s in Tarring, and the gasometer in the far distance near Worthing hospital.

  ‘I’ve got a picnic in the car,’ he said suddenly. ‘If I had known it was so lovely up here, I would have brought it up.’

  ‘Never mind,’ she smiled. She turned towards him and as his dark brown eyes searched hers, Dottie felt her face flame.

  ‘Tell you what!’ he cried. ‘You and Patsy take your time to get back to the Miller’s Tomb and I’ll run on down to the car and fetch it.’

  ‘It’s a long way to go back,’ she protested.

  ‘Nonsense,’ he chuckled. ‘If you can walk all that long way from the village, running back down the hill isn’t going to kill me, is it? I’ll meet you back there in ten minutes.’

  He set off a steady jog. Dottie watched him go. What a lovely man. So kind. Such fun to be with. No wonder Patsy loved him. She sighed. If only Reg was like that …

  The sound of the dog barking brought her out of her daydream, and she called Patsy back from the chalk pits where she and Minnie were playing chase. By the time they reached the Miller’s Tomb, John was puffing his way back up the hill with a basket in one hand and a blanket over his arm. They spread out the blanket under a tree and Patsy and Minnie sat down on it with expectant faces.

  John laughed. ‘Let’s see what I’ve got here,’ he said, unstrapping the basket.

  Dottie gasped with delight as he threw back the lid. He had prepared quite a spread. Chicken paste sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, three large apples, a whole fruitcake – ‘I can’t take credit for that,’ he smiled, ‘my mother made it’ – some shortbread and a flask of tea. Minnie was delighted to discover he had also packed a juicy marrowbone. She found her own corner of the blanket and set about chewing it.

  They ate the sandwiches and relaxed on the blanket. ‘This is my best ever picnic,’ Patsy sighed happily, as she wiped some of the fruitcake from her mouth with the back of her hand.

  It was for Dottie as well. John was delightful company and for the first time since Patsy had arrived, she was experiencing one of those family times she’d so long dreamed about. If time could be trapped in a bottle, she thought to herself, this would be one of those moments to capture forever, especially if she could share it with John.

  ‘You said your mother made the cake,’ said Dottie, kneeling up on the blanket to wipe Patsy’s face with her handkerchief. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Funnily enough, since I’ve been back,’ he said, ‘she’s rallied. She still needs to rest a lot, but she looks a lot stronger.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Dottie.

  ‘Can Minnie and I play again?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘I think you should let your tea go down first,’ said Dottie.

  John was looking at Patsy and chewing his bottom lip. ‘Dottie,’ he began. ‘I’ve told my mother all about Patsy. How would you feel if I took her to meet her?’

  Dottie struggled to control her feelings. Reg would go bonkers. ‘I’m not sure how my husband would feel,’ she began cautiously.

  ‘Oh please, Auntie Dottie,’ said Patsy. ‘I want to go to Uncle John’s house.’

  Dottie turned her head away. What was she going to do?

  ‘I tell you what,’ said John, as if he sensed her discomfort, ‘you have a think about it. I’ll give you my telephone number. If you should decide to let her come, don’t worry about getting the bus or the train or anything. I’ll come for you both.’

  ‘You mean, you want me to come too?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. She had to turn away again because she had butterflies already.

  ‘Now, come on, you two, I can’t possible take any of this picnic back home or my mother will accuse me of starving you bot
h. Have another paste sandwich.’

  ‘I really couldn’t manage another thing,’ Dottie laughed. ‘The whole afternoon has been wonderful.’

  ‘So has the company,’ he said, looking directly at her. Dottie busied herself tidying the plates back in the basket.

  The watery sun was beginning to get lower in the sky and it was definitely getting cooler. Patsy and Minnie played one last game of ‘fetch’ with the ball.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift back home,’ said John as he packed away the picnic things.

  ‘No!’ He raised an eyebrow and she knew she’d reacted too quickly. ‘Please don’t worry about us. We’ll enjoy the walk.’

  ‘At least let me take you part of the way.’

  Dottie did some quick thinking. They were unlikely to bump into anyone on the way back and she was a bit tired. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘Drop us at the crossroad.’

  The driver of the car behind them leaned on his horn as John slowed down.

  ‘Damn stupid place to stop,’ he shouted at the windscreen.

  As he overtook the car in front, he glanced in his rearview mirror. A woman and her child were climbing out of the car and waving to the man behind the steering wheel. Michael’s father, Gerald, was slightly surprised to see that the woman was Dottie Cox. She had a little girl with her. Must be the one she and Reg had adopted. He wondered vaguely what she was up to. The three of them seemed very chummy.

  As he looked ahead again, Gerald jumped as he realised he was going too fast to take the bend in the road. Braking sharply, he only just managed to get round in one piece.

  Skimming the grass verge, he straightened the car again and settled down again. Should he slow down and offer her a lift? He eased his foot off the accelerator, but then he thought better of it. No. If Dottie was up to no good, she wouldn’t thank him for spotting her. They would be turning the corner any minute. Concentrating on the road ahead, Gerald pressed his foot down hard and headed for home.