by Pam Weaver
Funny, he thought to himself as he skirted the village. I never would have had Dottie Cox down as the type to play around.
Twenty-Five
Reg hadn’t come home last night.
When Dottie woke up in the morning, her first reaction was pure joy. She lay on her back, watching the curtains fluttering in the light breeze coming from the open window. For the first time in a long time, her bed felt warm and cosy.
The church bells began their peal and Dottie wondered vaguely where Reg might be. There was no note on the table when they got back last evening, but then she didn’t expect one. She was the one who left notes. Reg never told her his plans. In fact, he hardly even bothered to make conversation these days and if he felt she had talked too much, he’d be just as likely to thump her.
For some reason, he blamed her that having Patsy hadn’t worked out. He was determined that she be the one to ask the authorities to take the child away, but she was just as determined not to. Dottie was no fool. She knew something was wrong somewhere, but she didn’t want to think about it. Something told her that if she tried to work it out, she would be forced to send Patsy away and she was beginning to love the child.
The wardrobe door was ajar. Reg had gone in his best suit but nothing else was missing. He hadn’t packed a case or anything. She felt a little guilty that she wasn’t bothered about him. He was probably lying drunk in a gutter somewhere. Ah well, if that was the case, he’d be home soon enough and until then she and Patsy could do what they liked.
Dottie jumped out of bed and pulled open the curtains. Even though it was the end of the month, it was going to be a glorious day. Spoilt for choice, she couldn’t decide what to do. Jump on a bus and go to Brighton, go to the beach, walk up to Titnore woods? She wished John Landers was coming again. He’d made even a simple picnic such fun …
Hearing voices, she looked down into Ann’s garden. Brian and Phyllis were squabbling over a ball and a sudden thought struck her. If Reg wasn’t around all the time, the two of them would be firm friends. Perhaps they could all do something together. Throwing open the sash-cord window, she called out, ‘Brian, ask your mummy if she could come round a minute, will you?’
The offices of Brown, Son and Knightly were on the corner of Liverpool Terrace in Worthing, in a large imposing Victorian building badly in need of repair. Reg had been putting it off since he’d got back on Monday but by Thursday he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d biked down to the town in his lunch break to be shown into the waiting area which was dominated by a large settee that looked to be as old as the building. The leather was cracked and dry and some of the horsehair was coming out of one of the arms. Uncomfortable in his surroundings, Reg sat on a hardbacked chair next to a small wicker table covered in old magazines. He ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar and swallowed loudly. The only sound in the room was the slow tick tock of the railway-sized wall clock.
He wouldn’t have thought of doing this if it hadn’t been for Joyce. What a stroke of luck finding her again. He’d been wandering around his old haunts when he’d bumped into Molly Scrace. Bit of a shock at first. Her hair was grey now and she wore gold-rimmed glasses, but apart from that she’d looked more or less the same.
‘You still the barmaid at the King’s Head?’ he’d asked.
‘Nah … but I still goes there for a glass of stout now and then.’
‘Any of the old crowd still there?’
She’d named a few names, some of which he remembered but others he couldn’t put a face to. ‘I’m on me way there now,’ she said. ‘Fancy a pint?’
And the first person he saw when he walked through the door was Joyce. She’d gained some weight, but she still had that bleached blonde hair he admired so much, although close up he could see the dark roots. She was no Jane Russell but every time he looked at her something stirred in his loins. He was gutted when she told him she was with someone else now. Herbie Bawden. A bookie. Only to be expected after all this time, he’d supposed, but she’d given him the nod and they’d each made their excuses to leave, he for the toilet and she to go home and make Herbie’s tea. They’d met up in the back alley.
‘I can’t stop long,’ she’d told him but she’d lifted her skirts while he unbuttoned his flies and she stopped long enough. When it was over, he’d grabbed a handful of hair. ‘I want you back.’
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ she’d snapped. ‘When you got locked up, I wanted to wait for you but you told me not to.’
‘I was an idiot,’ said Reg. He kissed her hard on the mouth.
She pushed him away. ‘What about you? Have you got somebody else?’
‘There’s no one,’ he’d lied. ‘I’m on me own, or as good as.’
She’d looked him straight in the eye. ‘Herbie may not be love’s young dream, Reg, but he keeps me comfortable. You and I have had one for old times’ sake but I’m not on the game any more.’
‘I got me own house,’ he boasted. Her eyes lit up. ‘But I got a sitting tenant at the moment. You can move in as soon as I get rid of her.’
Joyce seemed unconvinced. She put her head back and her hand on her hip. ‘And how long will that take?’
‘Not long.’
‘I’m not hanging about, Reg.’
‘You won’t have to,’ he promised.
Even thinking about her in this sterile office waiting room made him shift in his seat. That woman could do things to him nobody else could do. If he was to get her back, he needed money … which was precisely why he was here in this office.
The sound of squeaking shoes came along the polished lino floor in the corridor and a woman appeared in the doorway. Her blouse was buttoned to the neck and her pale face looked washed out in the dark grey suit she was wearing. She peered at him over the top of her glasses.
‘Mr Cox? Mr Knightly will see you now.’
He followed her down the corridor and into Mr Knightly’s office.
When Reg first clapped eyes on him, he was surprised. Seeing as how his name was last on the polished brass nameplate outside the door, he had expected him to be a much younger man. Mr Knightly was about fifty or fifty-five, with heavy jowls and a very discoloured nose – probably, Reg thought, from drinking too much port after dinner.
Reg introduced himself.
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Cox,’ said Mr Knightly pleasantly. ‘And how is Mrs Cox? Well, I hope?’
Reg assured him his wife was the picture of health. ‘She and I are planning our future,’ he said, getting straight to the point. ‘I want to talk to you about the terms of her late aunt’s will. We got plans.’
Mr Knightly raise his hand. ‘Let me stop you there, Mr Cox. I’m afraid I am not at liberty to speak to you in a business sense. Mrs Cox is our client.’
Reg’s mouth tightened. ‘But I’m her husband. What’s mine is hers and what’s hers is mine.’
‘That may be so, Mr Cox, but I’m not at liber …’
‘Yes, yes, you already said that,’ Reg cut in. ‘It’s about the wife’s inheritance.’
‘As you already know,’ Mr Knightly continued with a sigh, ‘the house is in your wife’s name so I can only accept instructions for her.’
‘But that’s bloody ridiculous!’
Mr Knightly gave Reg a disapproving look. ‘That’s not for me to say, Mr Cox,’ he said sitting back down at his desk. ‘All I can tell you is that, without formal instruction, I cannot do business with you. Good afternoon, Mr Cox.’
His face purple with rage, Reg had no option but to turn on his heel and march back down the corridor. Damn and blast it! That bloody Aunt Bessie was still ruling his life from the grave.
What was he going to do? He had to have money if he was going to get Joyce back but Dottie was in the way. He only put up with that kid because of the promise Sandy put in the letter. ‘In my will, I’ve left everything to you …’ Life would be so much better without the pair of them.
Back home that evening, Reg
suddenly announced that he was going away for a couple of days at the weekend.
‘But you’ll miss the bonfire,’ Dottie cautioned.
Reg shrugged and went back to his paper. Dottie supposed she should ask him where he was going but in truth she didn’t care. Another couple of days without him would be wonderful. She was just happy to be left alone.
On Friday morning she packed him a suitcase and some sandwiches and he went off in his best suit. He didn’t kiss her goodbye. She didn’t care about that either. As soon as she was sure he was really gone, her heart fluttering with excitement, Dottie went to the phone box and telephoned John Landers.
By six thirty on Saturday, Tom Prior and Michael Gilbert had set up the last of the Catherine Wheels and checked that the rest of the fireworks were safely stored in the big tin. The womenfolk and kids hadn’t arrived yet but it was already getting dark. They had cordoned off the bonfire and Tom had laid the potatoes on a sheet of corrugated iron at the base. Earlier in the afternoon, they’d sent Steve Sullivan’s terrier in to check that there weren’t any hedgehogs or stray cats sleeping inside and now everything was ready for the off.
‘We’re having a do for Patsy later on,’ Tom said.
Marney nodded approvingly. ‘Any excuse for a good old shindig.’
‘Mum suggested a barn dance,’ said Michael. ‘She’s left it all to us to organise.’
‘How do we go about doing that then?’
‘My Freda asked the bloke who played the piano-accordion at our wedding. His brother plays the fiddle,’ Michael told them. ‘Apparently Don Patterson from Findon is available and he’s a good caller. It should be a cracking night.’
‘Oh, “my Freda” now, is it?’ Tom teased.
Michael felt his face flame and turned away. Yes, surprisingly it was ‘my Freda’ now. From the moment they’d been married, he and Freda had got on well together. She made him feel good and he was happy.
‘Terry Dore says he’ll give us a barrel, so us shan’t go thirsty …’ Tom was saying.
‘What about the food?’ asked Michael.
‘Oh, leave that to the womenfolk,’ said Tom dismissively. ‘We’ve done the most important bit.’
They carried the guy in procession from Janet Cooper’s shop through the village and past the church, a crowd of elated children following behind. Patsy, her eyes bright with excitement, skipped alongside the old pram which was being pushed by Billy.
‘The only time I’ve ever known him willing to push the darned thing …’ Mary muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
Dottie laughed. The two friends held the hands of the little ones. Dottie had Connie and Maureen, while Mary hung on to Christopher and Susan. Everyone was well wrapped up although the evening wasn’t that cold.
When they reached the field, the children ran off and by the time Dottie and Mary came the men were hosting the guy, now tied to a three-legged chair, onto the top of the bonfire with ropes. As soon as he reached the top, albeit at a drunken angle, there was a ragged cheer from the crowd and the sound of muffled clapping from their gloved hands. Dottie and Mary gathered the little ones behind the roped-off area and waited.
‘They’ve done it very well,’ Dottie remarked.
Mary smiled proudly. ‘Tom is always very careful when it comes to the kids. You will give me a hand giving out the jackets when they’re done, won’t you, Dottie? They won’t take long. I started them off in the oven.’
Michael was given the honour of lighting the first Catherine wheel. Patsy was mesmerised as it shot out a shower of coloured sparks which eventually made it turn at great speed on the nail and she gasped with pleasure as the colours merged into one bright yellow and orange blur.
The men moved about silently lighting the positioned fireworks in a pre-arranged sequence. They held things on a tight rein, the only hiccup occurring when Billy’s friend, Raymond Green, threw a jumping jack into the crowd, terrifying little Connie and making the other girls scream. Raymond was rewarded with a clip round the ear from PC Kipling and then another from his father standing nearby. Dottie picked up Connie and tried to calm her down. The child clung to her, trembling and burying her face into Dottie’s coat.
Within a few minutes of the start of the fireworks, Tom plunged a lighted torch into the middle of the bonfire and it quickly took hold, the glowing embers soaring high into the night sky. When the rockets went up, everyone – including Connie – looked up, their ‘Oooh’s and ‘Ahhh’s echoing all around the field.
Dottie became aware of someone standing right behind her and a pair of gloved hands covered her eyes. ‘Guess who?’ said a woman’s voice.
Dottie didn’t need to second-guess. With a cry of joy she pulled herself away from the gentle restraint. ‘Peaches!’ And the two of them laughed and hugged each other with Connie in between.
‘How are you? Is the baby here? What about Gary? How’s he getting on?’ The questions just spilled from Dottie’s lips.
‘Hey, steady on,’ Peaches laughed. Jack took Connie from Dottie’s arms and, with a wink, left them to it. ‘Everybody’s fine. Oh Dottie, it’s so good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too,’ cried Dottie. She was aware that Patsy had crept beside her and was looking up at them in mild surprise. Dottie put her arm around Patsy’s shoulders. ‘You haven’t met my Patsy yet, have you? Patsy, this is your Aunt Peaches.’
‘Hello, Patsy. I’ve heard all about you.’
‘Hello,’ said Patsy.
Maureen wiggled between them. ‘Mum’s got some sparklers for us to hold,’ she told Patsy and the two girls ran off to find Mary.
Edna pushed a baked potato wrapped in newspaper into Peaches’ hand.
‘Tell me about Gary,’ Dottie insisted. ‘I heard they transferred him to Courtlands.’
‘It’s a smashing place,’ said Peaches. ‘He’s got to stay there another four to five months, but he’s breathing on his own now and he’s getting stronger every day.’
‘Oh Peaches,’ said Dottie helplessly.
‘It’s all right. We’ve got used to it now. We’re just really pleased he’s got this far and the doctor is hopeful that he’ll make a good recovery.’
‘What about his leg?’
‘It’s a bit skinny,’ said Peaches, picking at her potato with her fingers. ‘It could have been a lot worse. At one time the doctors said he might never walk again.’
Dottie took in her breath.
‘It’s all right now. They say the exercises will make it strong again.’
Dottie regarded her shape. ‘And I heard you had a little girl.’
Peaches smiled. ‘We’ve called her Mandy.’
‘Where is she now? Is she all right?’
Peaches nodded. ‘She weighed seven pounds three ounces, and she’s got Jack’s eyes and my hair.’
‘I’d love to see her,’ sighed Dottie.
Peaches lowered her eyes. ‘The fact is, Dottie, after the way I treated you …’
Dottie squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘It’s all water under the bridge now.’
‘I know now that you did go to see Gary,’ said Peaches. ‘I only found out when we took Ivy and Brumas back.’
‘The bears …? Oh, didn’t he like them?’
‘He wouldn’t be parted from them,’ said Peaches, ‘but we thought they belonged to the hospital. He kept saying, ‘Auntie Dottie gave them to me.”
Dottie smiled. ‘I’m surprised he even remembered.’
‘I didn’t believe him,’ Peaches went on, ‘but the nurse said someone brought them in for him on that first day, and she described you. Dottie, why didn’t you say? Why did you pretend you didn’t go?’
‘Reg didn’t want me to go to the isolation hospital,’ said Dottie with a sigh. ‘He was convinced I would get the polio and then we wouldn’t be able to have Patsy.’
Peaches squeezed Dottie’s hand. ‘She’s a lovely little girl, Dottie. Mary said she comes all the way from Australia. She’s …
she’s very dark.’
‘We’ve got her because Reg knew someone out there,’ Dottie said, repeating yet again the well-rehearsed story. It slipped off her tongue easily these days. ‘If we’d gone through one of those adoption agencies, we’d have to have medicals and they’d ask questions and,’ she added with a nervous laugh, ‘you know how much Reg hates all that red tape!’
‘It’s a shame you’ve never had children of your own.’
‘As a matter of fact …’ Dottie said confidentially; drawing Peaches closer she whispered, ‘don’t say anything just yet but I think …’
Peaches beamed. ‘Oh Dottie … how exciting …’
‘Don’t breathe a word,’ Dottie cautioned. ‘I haven’t even told Reg yet.’
Peaches looked around. ‘Where is Reg?’
‘Give us a hand, Dottie!’ came a cry.
Dottie started and then the realisation dawned. ‘Oh my lord … Sorry, Peaches, I promised Mary I’d give her a hand dishing out the spuds.’
Reg’s heart was pumping. He stared at the closed door, wondering what delectable morsels were being prepared on the other side.
When he’d arrived, Joyce had been annoyed when he told her the money was a bit tied up.
‘I’m not going to be poor all my life,’ she’d pouted. ‘If you want me, Reg, you have to pay for it. I’m not giving up what I’ve got for nothing.’
When she’d said that he’d lost his rag. They’d fought like cat and dog until he’d punched her to the ground. After that, they’d had passionate, exciting and violent sex. He couldn’t be without her again. She did things to him that no other woman ever did. She teased him until he was in a frenzy of desire and when she gave herself to him she didn’t mind experimenting – she had no inhibitions and she’d try anything he fancied. She even came up with some wild ideas herself. She was all woman and he was putty in her hands. Why couldn’t they all be like her?
