There’s Always Tomorrow

by Pam Weaver

  Dottie had never seen this letter before.

  I am so sorry that your wife has been so ill. I hope the new treatment will soon restore her to full health and strength.

  Dottie frowned. For heaven’s sake, what lies had Reg been telling now?

  There was a sound outside in the yard and a long thin shadow fell across the doorway. She jumped and her heart began to pound. Oh flip! He was back! He’d come back early, and she was here, in forbidden territory. She stuffed the letter back into the envelope and switched off the torch. As she waited in the dark, to her horror, the shadow grew longer.

  Oh, God, help me, she panicked. He’s coming and I’m trapped!

  Twenty-Nine

  ‘Who’s there?’ The light from the kitchen made the person casting the shadow seem very tall and Dottie’s throat was so tight, her words were strangled.

  ‘Auntie Dottie …’

  Dottie almost fainted with relief when she realised it was only Patsy.

  ‘What are you doing back downstairs?’ she demanded.

  ‘I want to do big jobs.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say so before!’ Dottie snapped.

  Patsy’s eyes grew wide and her chin trembled. ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Dottie, her voice softer now. ‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to sound cross. You gave me a bit of a scare, that’s all.’ And while Patsy was in the toilet, she went back into the shed to push all the letters back into the drawer and replace the hammer.

  Reg turned up two days later. Dottie was getting ready for bed. As he came into the room and switched on the light, her heart sank.

  ‘Hello, Reg.’

  ‘Hullo.’ He stood at the end of the bed, swaying slightly.

  Don’t nag him, she told herself. Don’t ask him where the hell he’s been. The hard look in his eye chilled her. What was he planning to do? Her hand trembled on the bedclothes. Perhaps if she told him about the baby …

  ‘Reg, I need to talk to you …’

  He looked up at her, one leg outside his trousers. His eyes were bloodshot and she could tell he had a job focusing on her. He was drunk. Too drunk for a conversation like this. What a fool she’d been. She never should have started this now. In fact, where should she start?

  ‘Since you’ve been away …’ she began.

  ‘Oh, here it comes …’ he slurred.

  ‘The thing is, Reg … um, that night Sylvie was here …’

  His face darkened. ‘What’s that bloody woman up to now?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He pointed his finger at her. ‘You stay away from her, see? Bloody stuck-up bitch.’

  ‘Reg, this has nothing to do with Sylvie. I’m trying to tell you something.’

  He put his trousers on the footboard at the end of the bed and leaned over menacingly. ‘And I’m telling you,’ he said belching beerily, ‘if I want to go up to London for a few days to see some of my old mates, it’s got nothing to do with her.’

  ‘I don’t mind you going away, Reg. It’s nice …’

  ‘What d’yer mean it’s nice!’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Dottie protested.

  They stared at each other and Dottie’s heart sank. All at once he stripped the bedclothes back and grabbed her ankles. ‘Well, she ain’t here now, is she?’ he said as he pulled her down the bed, ‘so you’ve got plenty of time to show me what’s nice.’

  The next day, Dottie slept in late. It was 7.15 when she opened her eyes and 7.45 before she tumbled out of bed. Her stomach was churning. A wave of nausea swept over her. Dottie leaned out of the bed, grabbed the potty and was sick.

  ‘Auntie Dottie …’ Patsy called anxiously.

  ‘It’s all right, love,’ said Dottie before she threw up a second time.

  She moved around gingerly. Halfway through the nightmare of last night she’d decided not to tell Reg about the baby. It would be hard keeping it from him now. She kept wishing, God forgive her, that what he was making her do would make her miscarry.

  And now that she had spent time with someone like John, she couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of her life with Reg.

  As he left for work that morning, she’d pretended to sleep, sneaking a look while he dressed with a mixture of disgust, resentment and anger. She hated herself for being so scared of him. She’d been utterly terrified when Patsy’s shadow fell across the shed doorway and she still shuddered at the thought of what he’d have done if he’d caught her pushing all those revolting photographs back into the drawer.

  It had been agreed that today Patsy could play with Maureen and Susan.

  ‘I want to walk to Aunt Mary’s by myself,’ she announced.

  ‘I’ll go with you as far as the corner,’ Dottie agreed, ‘and then you can go the rest of the way.’

  After she’d waved Patsy goodbye, Dottie returned home to clear up her kitchen but all the time her problems were going round and round in her head. If she left Reg, who would look after Patsy? If she and Patsy set out on their own, how were they going to survive? She would get something from Aunt Bessie’s inheritance in the middle of next year, but the little bit of money she had now wouldn’t last that long. Perhaps she should do what Sylvie suggested and give him his marching orders, but she knew he would never go. As galling as it was, she would have to let Reg stay where he was, and as soon as she could afford a solicitor, fight in the courts to get the house back. And how long would that take? It may be the fifties, but it was still hard for a woman like her to strike out on her own.

  Maybe she should go round to the sweet factory and see if she could get a full-time job … but what would she do if Patsy was ill? She couldn’t keep asking for time off.

  In the end she decided she would have to give up the luxury of Wednesdays at home. If she charred on Wednesdays she could bring in another ten bob a week. She’d write and ask Sylvie to find her a place to stay and as soon as she could, she’d take her meagre savings and her Post Office book. She and Patsy wouldn’t starve. Once the place was tidy and she’d stopped for a cup of tea, Dottie felt much better.

  Upstairs, Dottie opened the wardrobe door. But when she lifted the loose board at the back, the cavity underneath was empty. The things she’d hidden from Patsy’s case had gone too. Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, no … dear God no! Her moneybox was gone! Frantically she searched every drawer but it wasn’t there. Where was it? There was no sign that they been burgled. Reg must have taken it. She had always been safe in the knowledge that he knew nothing about her little nest egg, but who else would have taken it? Her thoughts flew to the Post Office savings book. At least he couldn’t touch that. It needed her signature to draw the money out. But that was gone too. Slowly the realisation dawned. All those days off he’d had. The days he’d gone away. The overnight stays … he must have been using her money.

  Her heart pounded and her knees went weak. She sat on the edge of the bed, hot tears springing into her eyes. How she hated him now. His vindictiveness and cruelty knew no bounds. How could he use her body one minute and be so calculating and devious the next?

  Patsy had never said anything but it must be obvious even to her that he wanted nothing to do with her. He kept out of her way, ignoring her if they were together in the same room. Dottie had been careful not to make a sound last night in case it frightened her, but the child was no fool. Poor little girl. To lose her mother was bad enough, but to come here to this was even worse. In her heart of hearts, although Dottie knew it wasn’t her fault, she somehow felt responsible.

  What was she going to do? She didn’t need to look in her handbag to know that her purse was empty bar a few coppers. She had nothing. Not a penny. The money Mariah Fitzgerald gave her for making the curtains had gone on clothes and toys for Patsy. Oh God, what was she going to do …?

  She began what she was sure would be a fruitless search in every handbag and every pocket. Her coat pocket and an old jacket yielded five and eleven pence ha’penny. In
a bag she hadn’t used since Aunt Bessie’s funeral, she found a ten-shilling note. There was sixpence in her apron pocket and in another apron, one she hadn’t worn for ages, she found the letter Reg had written to Sandy. She’d slipped it in there the night that Patsy had arrived. She would read it later.

  It was while she was looking through every pocket that she could think of that she came across the torn pieces of Peaches’ letter in another apron. Not the bit with the address on that she’d written down last night. This was the envelope Reg had said Peaches had torn up and shoved back through the letterbox. She sat on the bed again and stared at it.

  A tear rolled down Dottie’s cheek and she sighed. She blew her nose and stared again at the envelope. How long ago had she posted this? She studied the stamp and that’s when it struck her. There was no frank. She turned it over and pieced the envelope together again. There was nothing on the back either! The letter had never even been posted. She frowned. It must have been. She remembered now, she’d put it behind the clock and Reg said he was going right past the post box. Perhaps the postman who was supposed to stamp it missed … or more likely it had never been posted at all. Her hands were trembling and she could feel the anger rising in her again. Peaches had never even received this letter. How could he? How could Reg do this to her? Sylvie said she had sent letters which Dottie obviously hadn’t received. So it must be true. Reg had been interfering with her mail for some time.

  She took out the other letter, the one Reg had written to Sandy, and turned it over in her hands. It was signed ‘all my love, Reg’. Almost immediately Dottie realised it was a love letter and she felt slightly intrusive reading such a private correspondence.

  My own true love …

  She stopped reading and caught her breath. My own true love, she read again.

  Dottie’s eyes filled. Never once in the whole time they’d been married had Reg ever addressed her in such loving terms. Reg must have loved Sandy very much.

  I can’t stop thinking about you, my darling. I have to see you again. Eric says he’ll look out for you if we go overseas. We shall soon be on the move again, but I’m not allowed to say where. As soon as I can, I will write to you again. Please don’t forget me, Sandy. When this war is over, we will get married. I shall never feel about anyone else the way I feel about you. Every night I lie awake remembering our last night together. Darling girl, I love you with all my heart. Take care of yourself, all my love, Reg.

  Such a pretty letter. Moved by its tenderness, Dottie wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  She needed to talk to someone, but who? What a mess. Where could she start? Dottie held her arms tightly around her middle and rocked herself gently. Oh damn you, Reg. Damn you to hell!

  Fifteen minutes later, Dottie hurried into the telephone kiosk and telephoned Sylvie. As soon as Dottie pressed button B, Robin answered.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sylvie isn’t here at the moment,’ he said. ‘Can I take a message?’

  Dottie chewed her bottom lip anxiously. ‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Robin. ‘She’s gone up to London. She’s staying with an old friend.’

  Dottie knew what that meant even if Robin didn’t. She was meeting her lover, Bruce.

  ‘I’ll ring her tomorrow,’ said Dottie.

  ‘I’m not sure that she’ll be back before the middle of next week,’ said Robin. ‘Her friend is leaving the country.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘It was all very sudden. Poor Sylvie was quite upset. They’re very close, you see.’

  Dottie hesitated, unsure what to say.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’ said Robin.

  Dottie swallowed hard. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said willing her voice to stay strong. ‘I’ll ring some other time.’

  Thirty

  It was proving to be difficult trying to contact Sylvie. Dottie’d called three times since the weekend with no luck, and she was beginning to worry. If she had to launch out completely on her own, getting away from here was going to be more difficult than she thought. It was crucial that Sylvie find her a place to stay. Dottie didn’t fancy trudging the streets of a strange town with two suitcases and Patsy in tow, looking for a room to rent. She also needed to ask Sylvie to lend her some money, now that Reg had pinched all her savings.

  Dottie inserted four pennies and dialled the number. ‘Hello?’

  Sylvie! She was there at last. The pips went and Dottie pushed button B. ‘Sylvie! Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice.’

  ‘Dottie! Robin said you had rung. Is everything all right? Has something happened?’

  ‘I want to leave him,’ Dottie said. ‘Can you help Patsy and me find somewhere to live? Somewhere down your way?’

  ‘Come and stay with us.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Dottie. ‘As soon as he realises I’ve gone, your place will be the first place he’ll look.’

  ‘All right, darling. Leave it with me.’

  The pips went again. ‘I’ve got no more money,’ Dottie cried. ‘I’ll ring at the weekend.’

  ‘Give me the number of the box,’ cried Sylvie, ‘and I’ll ring you back …’ But already Dottie was listening to the dialling tone.

  Dottie had made up her mind that this afternoon after school would be their last with John.

  The weather prevented them from going for a walk. It was drizzling. Laura took Patsy into the kitchen to prepare the tea, leaving Dottie and John alone in the sitting room. He came towards her.

  ‘Careful,’ she cautioned. ‘Your mother …’

  His gentle kiss stopped her mouth. Dottie felt a yearning far more powerful than anything she had experienced before. The voice in her head kept telling her no, no, you are a married woman, think of Patsy, think of what this might do to John’s reputation … but her heart was begging him to kiss her again. As she closed her eyes, she felt so alive, so very, very happy.

  ‘Oh, John,’ she whispered as she lay her hands on the top of his. ‘It’s no use. Can’t you see? We must not let this happen.’

  ‘I’ve made a lemon drizzle cake this time.’ Laura’s voice in the passageway and the rumbling of the trolley wheels heralded the return of his mother and Patsy.

  John went towards the fire and fanned his fingers.

  ‘Are you cold, dear?’ his mother asked as they crashed into the room. ‘Put some more coal on the fire.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said gently. ‘Here, let me give you a hand with that.’

  ‘I put the icing on the sponge,’ said Patsy proudly.

  Dottie slipped her arm around her shoulder admiringly. ‘And it looks absolutely scrummy.’

  While Laura and Patsy arranged the trolley as they wanted it, Dottie glanced over the tops of their heads and smiled at John. He blew her a kiss, making her heart leap and her knees go to jelly again.

  ‘After tea,’ Laura was saying, ‘you’ll have to go up in the attic and get some of your old toys down for Patsy.’

  ‘Mother,’ John laughed, ‘I don’t think a little girl would be remotely interested in playing with tin soldiers.’

  ‘What about the draughts board?’ said Laura, piercing a crumpet with the toasting fork. ‘And Ludo. We could join in with that.’ She handed the fork to Patsy. ‘Now hold this in front of the fire, like so, and when it’s brown, we’ll do the other side.’

  Patsy sat cross-legged in front of the fire and before long the delicious smell of toasted crumpet filled the room.

  Later on, after they’d all done the washing up, they left Laura to rest by the fire and the three of them climbed up to the attic.

  ‘It’s an age since I was up here,’ said John switching on the light. ‘I can imagine it’s pretty disgusting.’

  Considering it was a dumping ground, it was surprisingly orderly. A few cobwebs were draped between the boxes and old furniture stacked around the edges, but it was obvious it wasn’t as dirty as John’d imagined i
t would be. Patsy spotted his old rocking horse at the back and immediately made a beeline for it. Dottie laughed aloud as she sat astride it crying, ‘Gee up, gee up, you good for nothing old donkey.’

  John began a thorough search. ‘The boardgames should be somewhere in these boxes.’

  Dottie picked over a few things. They held no memories for her, but it pleased her to think that these were all part of John’s life. She tried to picture him as a small boy playing with his fort with its working drawbridge, or reading the Enid Blyton Sunny Stories she’d found tucked away in a box of soft toys. She wondered what he might have looked like … a little boy with scuffed knees and a runny nose. He must have cuddled that squashy teddy bear when he went to sleep at night …

  ‘Can I have a go, Uncle John?’ Patsy’s voice brought her back to the here and now. She was holding up a single roller skate.

  ‘You can have them if we can find the other one,’ he laughed.

  Their search became a little more earnest, but Dottie settled down on an old chaise longue with a photograph album. She opened it and there he was. She recognised him straight away. A small boy aged about ten, in big Wellington boots, and a serious expression. He was holding a fish in front of him. The caption underneath read, ‘Freshwater trout caught in the Adur, 8th April 1930’. She also found a picture of a family group. She had no idea who the people with him were, apart from Laura of course, but she didn’t really care. She only had eyes for John, aged about five, sitting on his mother’s lap in the centre of the picture.

  ‘Here it is!’ cried Patsy. She held up another roller skate. ‘Can I have a go now?’

  ‘Not today,’ he said. ‘It’s too dark now and it’s wet.’

  Dottie ran her finger over the photograph of John and a gnawing attraction engulfed her. She kissed the end of her fingers and placed them over his face.