There’s Always Tomorrow

by Pam Weaver

‘And here’s the Ludo,’ John cried. ‘And a couple of jigsaw puzzles you might like to do.’

  As Patsy clambered back downstairs with her trophies, John wandered over to Dottie. ‘I wondered what you were looking at. Heavens above, I haven’t looked at those in years.’ He began pointing out some of the people. ‘That’s my grandmother. She died at the beginning of the war. Killed while doing canteen duty for the WRVS. And that’s my friend Derek. He and I used to bike all over the country in the summer hols,’ he chuckled. ‘I got so saddle-sore, I couldn’t sit down for a week.’

  She smiled. Looking up at him, she noticed he had a cobweb complete with its tiny owner on the top of his head and reached up and lifted it away. His head was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheek. He smelled of crumpets and tea.

  ‘Oh, Dottie,’ he said hoarsely.

  She turned her head away and stood up. ‘No, John, please don’t.’

  He caught her arm. ‘Why do you never talk about Reg?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  She should tell him now. She should say, ‘I found this letter … I’ve found out something about Reg, but I’m frightened the authorities will take Patsy away from me … And I’m having Reg’s baby.’ She tried to tell him but her mouth wouldn’t work. Instead, she looked at him with a stricken expression and felt her knees giving way.

  ‘Dottie? What is it? What’s wrong?’

  Her throat tightened. She took a deep breath. ‘It’s no use. I must go.’

  ‘All I’m asking is a few moments with you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, John,’ she said, doing her best to be firm. ‘I’m married. Think of the scandal … your career …’

  ‘I don’t give a stuff about all that,’ he said fiercely.

  They heard a footfall on the stairs and Patsy called, ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘We’ll be right there, Patsy,’ she called. She held his gaze for a second and then pulled herself away. Replacing the album in the box, she stood up and saw Patsy’s head appearing over the edge of the floor.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘We’ve set up the Ludo and we’re waiting to play.’

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Dottie smiled. ‘I got carried away looking at some old photographs. We’re coming now.’

  Patsy turned around and raced back down, her shoes clattering noisily on the bare wooden stairs. John caught Dottie’s hand and swung her back into his arms. Gently but firmly, he kissed her. Her lips parted and his tongue filled the space between, sending her pulse racing and flooding her whole body with sensual desire. He lowered her onto the chaise longue and caressed her tenderly, kissing her eyelids, her mouth, her neck, her bare shoulder and finally opening a button at the top of her blouse to kiss the top of her breast.

  ‘Dottie, oh Dottie …’

  And Dottie melted in his arms.

  She must stop him … this mustn’t go any further … she had to stop him … But how could she? This was her moment. Up here among the flotsam and jetsam of John’s former life, she and he were together at last. She would remember this precious moment to the day she died. She was aware of the old boxes, a dressmaker’s dummy, a tennis racquet hanging from a nail driven into the rafters. Aunt Bessie once told her that when she loved someone, it would be truly wonderful, she would give herself willingly and with passion. Every part of her body was aching for him now. His strong arms pulled her close as his mouth covered hers again. Releasing her, he exposed her breast completely. Her nipple was hard as his mouth went over it and Dottie moaned with pleasure.

  The thundering footsteps were back and they sprang apart. By the time Patsy reached the middle of the attic steps, John was leaning over the top. Behind him, Dottie struggled to tidy herself up.

  ‘We’re coming,’ he said to the upturned anxious little face coming up to the attic. ‘Put the kettle on and we’ll have a cuppa while we play Ludo.’

  ‘Granny Laura says she doesn’t feel well,’ said Patsy.

  With an apologetic backward glance at Dottie, John rushed back downstairs.

  ‘Drop us at the crossroads,’ she said.

  ‘Dottie, it’s pitch black and it’s pouring with rain.’

  ‘Someone might see us,’ Dottie whispered.

  He reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t worry.’

  She looked into the back of the car. ‘Patsy’s asleep.’

  ‘Then I’ll take you to your door.’ He negotiated a bend in the road. ‘When can I see you again?’

  ‘I’ll write.’

  ‘Don’t make this goodbye,’ he pleaded. ‘Please …’

  A face appeared between them. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

  Dottie jumped. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘I was pretending.’

  Dottie and John exchanged an anxious look.

  ‘Will Granny Laura be all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said John. ‘All that excitement made her very tired, that’s all.’

  ‘She’s a very old lady, isn’t she?’

  ‘You’d better not let her hear you say that,’ John chuckled. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

  ‘Ooh, yes.’ Patsy held up the skates. ‘When you take me there next time, I’ll show you how I can roller skate.’

  They’d arrived at the cottage. Dottie climbed out and opened the door for Patsy.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Landers,’ Dottie said in a business-like fashion. As she went to close the passenger door, Patsy was already halfway down the path. She turned, and John was beside her.

  ‘Goodbye, Dottie.’ He leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek but Dottie fled.

  He stood beside the car dejectedly, the rain soaking his jacket, but as she opened the front door and switched on the light, Dottie didn’t look back.

  Dr Landers got back into the car, slipped it into gear and moved off.

  Neither of them noticed the curtains of the house opposite moving. ‘I reckon that Dottie Cox has got herself a fancy man,’ Vera Carter told her husband as she pulled them closed.

  Thirty-One

  The whistle went, bringing to an end the last playtime of the afternoon. Maureen, Susan and Patsy lined up with the others by the door.

  ‘I know a secret,’ said Maureen in Patsy’s ear. Patsy turned around and gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘The grown-ups all think we’re daft,’ Maureen went on, ‘but we know what they’re on about.’

  ‘Ooh, Mo,’ cried Susan giving her sister a poke in the back. ‘You said you wouldn’t tell.’

  ‘It’s all right to tell Patsy, you daft,’ Maureen retorted. ‘Patsy ain’t going to tell, are you, Pats?’

  ‘Tell what?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘They’re doing a surprise party for you.’

  ‘A party!’ cried Patsy.

  ‘Maureen Prior, turn around and stand still,’ snapped Mrs Stone.

  ‘Shh,’ said Maureen said, nervously putting her finger to her lips. ‘You mustn’t let on I told you.’

  Patsy’s eyes grew wide. ‘Why are we having a party?’

  ‘Because you are our best friend o’ course.’

  Patsy gave Maureen a rib-crushing hug. ‘Ooooh, thank you.’

  ‘Don’t let on, will you?’ Maureen warned.

  ‘I won’t,’ said Patsy, a surprise of her own forming in her mind.

  ‘Patricia Cox and Maureen Prior,’ Mrs Stone’s voice was sharp. ‘Will you both stand still!’

  Dottie stared at the blank piece of paper. Where should she start?

  Dear John.

  Well, that was as good a beginning as any.

  Patsy seems to be happy but I can’t go on pretending everything is fine. I’m sorry to let everybody down …

  She crossed that out and screwed up the piece of paper. Better to begin by asking about his mother.

  She didn’t want to write this letter but she had to. Even though she had agreed to one more meeting, she really couldn’t go again. It had to end.

  I hope your mother i
s well. She was so kind to us and we did enjoy our day with you both. Patsy is still a real credit to her mother. She’s no trouble and she seems to have settled down very happily.

  Dottie re-read what she’d written. She couldn’t send that either. She’d made it sound like everything was perfect. If only it was. She drew out her handkerchief and blew her nose. Writing this letter was breaking her heart, but it had to be done.

  She tried again.

  Reg doesn’t know that we are still meeting. John, I don’t know how to tell you this but I’m having a baby …

  Oh, this was hopeless. Dottie screwed up that one as well. She knew only too well that when she told John about Reg, he would be duty-bound to inform the authorities and they would take Patsy away. Poor little girl … she would have to face yet another radical change in her life. She had to be protected at all costs, but telling the authorities felt like a terrible betrayal. She hadn’t wanted the child in the first place, but now that she was here, Dottie loved her more than words could say.

  Then there was the dilemma of her own baby. How could she trust Reg when the baby came? She shuddered at the thought of him living under the same roof. What a fool she’d been to marry him. Aunt Bessie had tried to tell her but she wouldn’t listen. If she’d been single she might have been able to marry John – but on the other hand, if it hadn’t been for Patsy, she never would have met him.

  Her head was reeling from all these ‘what if’s but she had to face the facts and get on with it. She would have to run away with Patsy. It galled her to leave Reg in the house, but what did it really matter, as long as she and Patsy were free?

  I have made the right decision, she told herself firmly. She would move to the New Forest area, somewhere like Ringwood or Fordingbridge, and make a new start. Reg would take the cottage, but her inheritance was safe. At an appropriate time, she would come back and claim it. For the time being, no one need ever know she and Patsy weren’t related. They’d all presume they were mother and daughter. She could pretend Patsy’s father had been one of those coloured GIs.

  Dottie picked up the pen again. Would it be better to see John face to face? Would she be brave enough to say the words when he was looking at her?

  I have something important I have to tell you. I should have talked to you yesterday but I chickened out. Is it possible for you to meet me for a frank and urgent discussion …

  Did that sound stupid? No, she wanted it to sound formal. It had to.

  Where should she suggest that they meet? Not here. Not with Reg around. What about the Warnes Hotel, the place where Sylvie had taken her for that meal? She suggested that she would meet him there on Sunday.

  She signed herself formally, ‘yours faithfully, Dorothy Cox (Mrs)’ and sealed up the envelope. The post box was just down the road, a three-minute walk away, and she had to get it in the box before the last collection. She could be there and back in no time. She couldn’t leave Patsy alone in the house, so she called out, ‘Would you like to come to the post with me?’

  Patsy appeared in the doorway. ‘Can we go and see the horses too?’ They’d noticed two mares in Michael’s field a couple of days ago.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Dottie, helping her on with her coat.

  Patsy grabbed a couple of tired-looking apples from the fruit bowl. Dottie glanced at the clock. They’d have to hurry if they were going to catch the last post. Pulling on her old coat, Dottie hurried out of the door.

  On their way, they passed Ann Pearce coming home from work with her two children. Positive she could hear the post van coming, Dottie was anxious not to stop.

  Ann pointed towards the flowerbed near the fence. ‘Dottie, I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said, ‘but I’ve never seen that old well in your front garden looking as bad as that before. It looks to me like it’s going to cave in any minute.’

  Dottie was startled. Ann was right. Dottie hadn’t really noticed before but the ground around the old well had definitely subsided.

  ‘I should tell Patsy to keep away from it,’ Ann added. ‘You don’t want her falling in.’

  Dottie nodded. ‘I’ll tell Reg right away,’ she said dully.

  Ann felt uneasy as she watched her go. It wasn’t like Dottie to be so casual. Come to think of it, she wasn’t looking her normal self these days. Her hair looked lank and untidy and there were times when she seemed miles away. Ann shooed her children indoors. As soon as she got her wages at the end of the week, she’d buy Dottie a nice bunch of flowers and invite her and Patsy in for a cup of tea. It was the least she could do for someone who had been such a wonderful pal to her.

  When she and Patsy walked back indoors about half an hour later, Reg was making some tea in the scullery. Dottie’s heart almost stopped.

  ‘I heard the gate,’ he smiled. ‘Come on in and sit yourself down, pet.’

  Pet? Dottie was totally bewildered. What was he up to now? And where had he been? She hesitated. ‘I have to shut up the henhouse.’

  ‘All done,’ he beamed. ‘I’ve got us all fish and chips for tea. I thought it would save you cooking. You like fish and chips, don’t you, Patsy? Take your coat off, there’s a good girl, and sit up at the table.’

  After all these weeks, these were the first real words of kindness he’d ever spoken to her and although they were gentle enough, Patsy looked nervously at Dottie. Dottie gave her a reassuring smile and placed her hand in the middle of her back to guide her to the kitchen table.

  Out in the scullery, she got the plates out and he came to help her dish out the chips. They smelled wonderful and she suddenly realised how hungry she was.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, pet,’ he said as he shovelled the plates high, ‘I’ve been a bit unreasonable just lately, haven’t I?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, from now on, things are going to change.’

  ‘Oh, Reg …’

  He put his hand up to silence her. ‘No, no, fair’s fair,’ he went on. ‘I’ve given you both a hard time. But I’ve seen the error of my ways. From now on, I shall be a good husband to you and a good father to Patsy.’

  They walked into the kitchen with the three plates piled high.

  ‘There you are, Patsy, love,’ he said. ‘Daddy’s treat.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Patsy warily.

  ‘That’s my first treat and in a minute I’ll tell you about another one.’

  Dottie slid into her chair and picked up her knife and fork. ‘This looks so wonderful,’ she smiled. ‘There’s no need for anything else.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he laughed. ‘Oh, it’s no good, I’ve got to tell you now. Patsy’s here and we’re going to celebrate. Remember that place we went to on our honeymoon? Well we’re going back again. It’s all booked up. All three of us are going for a little holiday.’

  Patsy’s eyes danced. ‘A holiday?’

  ‘That’s right, my love,’ he beamed.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think …’ Dottie began.

  ‘Will we be back in time for the party?’ cried Patsy.

  ‘What party?’

  Patsy went red. ‘Nothing …’

  Reg tapped the side of Patsy’s plate with his knife. ‘Eat up, now. Don’t let it get cold.’

  Dottie’s head was in a whirl. He was getting Patsy all excited, and he hadn’t even told her why they were going. What was this all about? She was supposed to ring Sylvie tomorrow. ‘When are we going on this holiday?’ she said curtly.

  ‘Right away, pet. First thing tomorrow morning.’

  Dottie lay on her back staring at the ceiling. Reg’s snores filled their bedroom but that wasn’t what was keeping her awake. A holiday. She didn’t want to go away with Reg but she couldn’t bear to disappoint Patsy. It wasn’t as if it was the height of summer either. Who goes away in November? It was terribly short notice too. She’d have to get hold of Ann Pearce in the morning and see if she could do Mrs Fitzgerald’s and Janet Cooper’s while she was away. She felt confident Ann would agree. After all, it wa
s all money in her pocket and Christmas wasn’t too far away. Now that Reg had promised to be a model husband and father, perhaps Dottie didn’t need to feel so desperate about getting away from him. She would still leave him, but she could take her time, do it properly.

  She pulled the bedclothes up to her neck and turned over. The eiderdown kept slipping over towards his side. She stuck her arm out into the cold night air and yanked it back. What she needed was a heavy weight on her side of the bed to keep it over her own shoulders.

  Dottie’s eyes flew open and suddenly she was wide awake. The hammer. Why had he hidden that hammer in the drawer in his shed? She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Dottie held her breath. More to the point, where was the hammer now?

  Thirty-Two

  The clock on the mantelpiece said 2.20am and Dottie was downstairs in the kitchen. She was listening out to make sure Reg was still asleep.

  She had crept out of bed and down the stairs with her heart in her mouth. Call it a presentiment, or a hunch, she didn’t really understand why, but she had to make sure the hammer was still in the shed. Upstairs, a loud snore convinced her it was safe to go outside. She took her coat down from the nail on the back door. Outside, she opened the shed door gingerly, remembering that it sometimes creaked, and slipped inside. Opening the drawer, she shone the torch inside.

  The hammer was still there, wrapped up in the piece of sacking. Where should she put it? She couldn’t leave it where it was. She didn’t trust Reg. For her own peace of mind, she had to think of some place where no one would think of looking. The chickens. She’d put it in the henhouse. She’d have to ask Ann to look after the hens while they were away. Back indoors, she scribbled a note then, pulling her coat tightly around her, Dottie hurried down to the bottom of the garden.

  The pig was gone. Gerald must have taken it but she was surprised to see the door of the henhouse was wide open. Reg had said he’d done the chickens, so why was the door open? Good job she’d come down or the fox might have had them before morning. She walked inside softly so that they wouldn’t panic. There wasn’t a sound. She switched on the torch. Every perch was empty. Where were they? Had they all escaped outside somewhere? She felt sick. They were good egg-layers, and they would have eventually made good broilers. The torchlight picked out an old sack in the corner: something drew her to it. Cautiously Dottie went over and looked inside. She gasped in horror and almost dropped the torch.