by Pam Weaver
‘I guess he wanted me out of the way so that he could get his hands on the house,’ Dottie went on. ‘But why kill Patsy? Why poor Patsy?’
‘She was simply in the way,’ said John quietly. ‘My problem is trying to understand why, when it was so obvious she wasn’t his child, he kept up the pretence that he was her father.’
‘Knowing Reg,’ said Dottie bitterly. ‘He thought there was money in it somewhere.’
John reached out and gripped her hand for a second time.
‘She was so happy that day we went along the seafront, John,’ said Dottie. ‘She roller skated the whole way. And you should have heard her giggle while we ate that silly picnic on the floor.’
‘There will be other happy times,’ he said, pulling up at a crossroads.
‘I should have tried harder. I should have saved her.’
‘How could you? You were both drugged. Those sleeping pills were quite powerful, you know. Thankfully, you’d pushed her by the door. Enabling her to breathe sweet air while unconscious undoubtedly saved her life.’
The road cleared and he pushed the car into gear. Dottie’s mind drifted over the most recent events. Mary had told her that the friends were planning a surprise party for Patsy.
‘Did you know about the party?’
‘I didn’t think they were going to tell you about it,’ said John.
‘I don’t think they had much choice,’ Dottie laughed. ‘People kept turning up on the doorstep with food!’
‘The last time I went to see Patsy,’ John said, ‘she asked me about it. She was scared she’d missed it.’
‘Then it wasn’t much of a surprise,’ Dottie observed. ‘Anyway, we’ll do it another time. Too much excitement for Patsy may not be good for her so soon after being in hospital.’
They drove on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. John was thinking about his new post. He had spent some time looking for a practice in need of a GP and had been delighted to find one in nearby Littlehampton, badly in need of a third partner. Drs Green and Noble seemed amiable enough and their practice was growing. The location couldn’t have been better: Littlehampton was close to both Worthing and Yapton.
No, he had told them, he had no family commitments, but he had been nursing an aged mother who had been ill, but was now recovering. Yes, he thought he would settle in the area. Every third weekend off sounded reasonable, and he wouldn’t mind being on call a little more often than the others. And yes, he could start at once. He was due to start the following Monday and after all this time, he couldn’t wait to get back into the swing of things. Apart from being called upon a few times to help out as a locum and writing an article for The Lancet, he hadn’t done very much since he came back from Australia.
He glanced over at Dottie again. He still had to tell her something else. Was she up to hearing more bad news? In the end, he decided it would be better to tell her now, while they were still alone. Mary’s house was chock-a-block full with children and visitors, and once Patsy was with them it would be impossible to have an adult conversation.
Dottie was thinking about the future. She’d wondered whether to go back to work for Mariah Fitzgerald, and Janet Cooper. The thought wasn’t very appealing, but she’d have to do something if she was going to support Patsy by herself. She knew what she’d like to do – her furnishings – but was she right to take a gamble at such a time as this? And what about John? Once this was all over, would she ever see him again?
‘Dottie,’ John interrupted. ‘I found out something else. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, but I think it’s important that you should know.’
She turned her head.
‘I’ve discovered that Reg Cox wasn’t even his real name. He stole it from a dead man. The real Reg Cox was killed at the end of 1942. Ernest Franks, your tramp, told Kipper.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Dottie. ‘When Patsy came, you gave us a case full of papers, remember? That first night, I went through it and I came across a beautiful love letter from Reg to Sandy. I knew straight away that my Reg hadn’t written it. Apart from anything else, the handwriting was a dead giveaway.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I didn’t want to upset Patsy. She’d come all this way and I thought it would hurt her deeply if she realised from the outset that Reg wasn’t her father. I kept hoping he’d come round.’
‘I can’t imagine your Reg writing a love letter.’
Dottie gave a hollow laugh. ‘Neither can I.’
‘Oh, Dottie, I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, kicking himself for being so thoughtless.
‘Don’t be,’ she smiled. ‘At least we’ve still got it, that and a picture of Sandy with Patsy in her arms. Reg burned almost everything else.’
‘A picture of Sandy with Patsy in her arms?’
‘The one of her in the nurse’s uniform,’ said Dottie.
John frowned. ‘I’ve seen that. Kipper showed me, but that’s not Sandy. That’s Brenda.’
‘Brenda!’
‘She brought Patsy into the world,’ said John. ‘That’s how they met, Brenda and Sandy, on the maternity ward.’
For a moment, Dottie was completely dumbstruck. ‘But Reg told me it was Sandy.’ She paused. ‘That proves beyond a shade of a doubt that he never knew her, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ John agreed.
‘The real Reg must have loved Sandy very much.’
‘I think he did,’ said John, ‘but she knew her family would never accept him. He’d lived in this country much of his life, but Reg Cox was half-caste. Ernest thought he was Jamaican but his parents came from East Africa, a place called Zanzibar. His father, Almas Jaffer, was the skipper of the Al Said, which used to be called the SS Drake and was bought for the Zanzibar Protectorate back in 1934. I found a whole article about him in The People.’
Dottie was intrigued. ‘Really?’
‘It was unusual to see a black man in those days,’ John went on, ‘let alone a whole shipload of them. The press invited the crew to Croydon airport and they watched West Ham play against Plymouth at Upton Park.’
‘And you say this Almuck …’
‘Almas Jaffer.’
‘… was Reg Cox’s father?’
‘So it would seem,’ said John. ‘According to The People, he had two fat wives back home, one a native, the other a white missionary’s daughter. Almas Jaffer brought Reg, who was about twelve at the time, back to this country to be educated. I suppose the family must have changed his name to spare their blushes.’
‘And when he grew up, Sandy fell in love with him.’
‘She had his child and kept it a secret because of her family, but as it turns out, he was killed in an air raid. I guess poor Sandy never knew that.’
‘How sad,’ said Dottie.
‘It gets worse,’ said John. ‘I looked up the newspaper reports at the time. Apparently, as he lay on the ground, he was robbed. He was still alive when the medics got to him, but died some time later.’
Dottie gasped. ‘You mean, you think Reg took his ID and left him for dead?’
John nodded. ‘Looks like it.’
Dottie felt the shame. ‘I can’t believe the brass neck of the man!’
‘Did you keep the love letter?’
‘Of course. I hid it where I knew Reg would never look for it, behind the picture of Aunt Bessie. I knew, given half the chance, Reg would get rid of the picture as soon as he could, which was why I had to get it as soon as possible. Thank God for little Billy.’
‘Indeed,’ John agreed.
‘Between us,’ Dottie went on, ‘Ernest Franks and I have given Kipper the cast-iron evidence he needs to prove that Reg was a fraud.’
‘Oh, Dottie,’ said John quietly, ‘there’s one more thing you don’t know.’
‘What?’
‘Ernest Franks is dead.’
For a few moments Dottie was silent. ‘Poor man. He suffered so much.’ She sighed.
‘Rest in peace, dear Ernest.’
‘He’s with his beloved Eileen and Bobbie now.’ John waited a second or two then asked. ‘Do you think Reg attacked Ernest?’
‘He did,’ Dottie nodded, ‘with a hammer. I found it all wrapped up in a piece of cloth in Reg’s shed. Of course, I didn’t know then but something made me hide it in the henhouse. Mary and Ann told me it was in the well, so when Reg went back to the house that morning, he must have thrown it there.’
‘I guess he thought the weight of the hammer would take the whole lot, chickens and all, to the bottom,’ said John. ‘He couldn’t have known the well was collapsing.’
‘None of us expected that,’ said Dottie. ‘But Kipper had the hammer checked: Ernest’s blood was on it. In actual fact, Ernest came to the house twice.’
‘Twice?’
‘The first time Ernest came back, the time he left the note on the windowsill, he had no idea Aunt Bessie was dead,’ Dottie said. ‘He told Kipper he’d come back to tell her he’d made a new life for himself. That’s why he left a note saying ‘I did it!’
John nodded sagely.’ And the second time?’
‘It was because he’d seen a newspaper cutting, and he knew that Reg was lying when he told the police he wasn’t there on the day Aunt Bessie died.’
‘I never did work out why Reg killed your chickens,’ said John.
‘Who can understand a warped mind like Reg’s,’ Dottie observed.
The Royal Alexander Hospital for Sick Children was in Dyke Road, Brighton. They parked the car and walked quickly to the ward where Patsy was.
‘Do you think she’ll blame me?’ Dottie asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ he assured her. ‘No, not at all.’
All the same, Dottie’s hands were trembling and her knees like jelly by the time they’d made themselves known at the desk.
‘Ah, yes,’ said the sister. ‘Nurse Doughty is just getting her dressed.’
There was a footfall in the corridor, and Patsy cried out, ‘Uncle John, Uncle John.’
They turned and there she was. A little pale, but she was beaming from ear to ear and clutching Suzy, her toy elephant. John put his arms out and she ran to him. Dottie smiled as he swept her off her feet and twirled around. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her head in the folds of his coat.
‘Come on now, young lady,’ said John. ‘Let’s get you home.’
Patsy pulled away from him. ‘Where’s Auntie Dottie?’
‘I’m here, love,’ Dottie squeaked. Her throat had closed and she could hardly speak.
Patsy reached around and put out her arms towards Dottie. Dottie took her from John and hugged her tightly. Oh, the joy to have her in her arms once more! Dottie’s eyes brimmed with tears and she let out an involuntary sob.
Patsy leaned back and looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Auntie Dottie, why are you crying?’
‘Because I’m so happy to see you,’ Dottie laughed.
Patsy put her hands on either side of Dottie’s face. ‘Don’t cry. I was all right. I had Suzy to look after me.’
‘Of course, how silly of me to worry,’ said Dottie, swallowing hard. She took a deep breath. ‘Come on. Uncle John is taking us home.’
As Dottie put her back on the floor, Patsy looked around anxiously. ‘Where’s Uncle Reg?’
Dottie stiffened. ‘Uncle Reg has gone away,’ she said.
‘Is he coming back?’
‘No.’
‘Not ever?’
‘Not ever.’
‘Good,’ said Patsy, as she skipped towards the door. ‘I don’t like that daddy.’
Forty-Six
They reached Mary’s house just as the baker’s boy was making a delivery.
‘Are we going to live with Auntie Mary?’ asked Patsy.
‘No, we’re going home,’ said Dottie, ‘but we thought you’d like to see your friends first.’
Maureen and Susan emerged from the house and rushed down the path, crying, ‘Patsy, Patsy …’
Billy hung back by the door. He had his hands in his pockets. He kicked an imaginary stone on the step as he watched his sisters jumping around Patsy. Dottie noticed a slight smile playing on his lips.
‘Hello, Billy,’ said Patsy. ‘I’ve been in hospital.’
Billy stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. ‘You all right now?’
He dug out a sweet and handed it to her. ‘I’ve been saving it for you,’ he said. ‘It’s got a bit of fluff on it, but I ain’t sucked it, honest.’
Patsy laughed. ‘Thanks,’ she said, popping it in her mouth.
As they walked in the door, Mary handed Dottie five pounds.
‘What’s that for?’
‘Gerald brought it round. It’s what he got for the pig.’ She grinned, ‘Minus a bit of commission.’
Dottie laughed.
There was a white box on the kitchen table. ‘This has just come for you.’
Maureen and Susan edged up to them. When Dottie lifted the lid she gasped. It was a cake covered in pink and white icing with a large pink rose on the top.
John caught his breath. ‘Where did that come from?’
Maureen beamed. ‘Patsy done it, didn’t you, Pats?’
Patsy frowned crossly. ‘O-oh! It was supposed to be for the ’prise party.’
Maureen’s smile died and she looked apprehensive.
‘Ummm,’ Susan said to her sister. ‘You shouldn’t have told.’
‘Where did the cake come from?’ Dottie asked gently.
Susan and Patsy went red and stared at the floor.
‘Me and Patsy went to the cake shop,’ Maureen piped up. ‘Patsy said for it to come today and the lady wrote it all down.’
‘But how did you pay for it, love?’ asked Dottie. ‘You don’t have any money.’
‘Are you cross with me?’ Patsy asked.
Dottie crouched down. ‘Of course not, love,’ she said. ‘It’s the nicest thing anyone ever gave me.’ She opened her arms and Patsy went to her.
‘Patsy used a whole pound note,’ said Maureen. ‘Didn’t you, Pats? She got it off that old lady.’
‘My mother,’ whispered John. ‘Remember …?’
Then Dottie remembered Laura giving the child a pound note that first day they went to the cottage. Buy something special, Laura had told the child – and she’d spent every last penny on a cake for her! Immediately the tears sprang into her eyes and she had a lump in her throat the size of a grapefruit. Her heart was overwhelmed with love for this beautiful child.
‘Come on, you two,’ said Mary briskly, putting her hands in the small of her daughters’ backs. ‘Come out to the kitchen with me.’
‘Maureen told Patsy about the party, Mum,’ said Susan.
‘I never!’ Maureen protested.
‘Oh yes, you did … I said you’d get told off.’
‘I never, Mum,’ Maureen insisted.
‘It’s all right, m’duck. Nobody’s cross with you.’ Their voices faded as Mary closed the door.
Dottie reached for her handkerchief. ‘Auntie Laura meant you to have that money for yourself, darling,’ she said dabbing her eyes. ‘But thank you for doing that. It’s lovely.’
‘Can I have some?’
Dottie laughed. ‘Of course you can.’
Patsy wriggled out of Dottie’s arms. ‘Can I go and play with Maureen now?’
Dottie stood up. ‘Off you go then.’
She hurried out of the room and in a short while Dottie could hear the girls giggling. Dottie looked down at the cake again.
‘Oh John, I’ve been an absolute idiot. I didn’t really want her in the first place but Patsy is such a lovely child. And I wanted so much to believe that Reg would come round. I kept thinking, perhaps not today, but there’s always tomorrow.’ She broke off and looked away.
‘Everyone was fooled,’ said John softly. ‘It’s not your fault that you always look for the good in people.’
&n
bsp; ‘I married a monster.’
‘Ah, there’s one more thing I haven’t told you,’ said John cautiously. ‘I’m not sure if you even realise, but you two were never even married.’
She frowned.
‘Because he used a false name, that makes your marriage null and void,’ said John. ‘And besides, he already has a wife under his real name.’
Dottie raised an eyebrow.
‘That woman he had in your house,’ said John, ‘his accomplice. Her name is Joyce Sinclair.’
Dottie let out a hollow laugh. ‘How ironic,’ she said harshly. ‘All I ever wanted was to be a respectable married woman with a family. Now I turn out to be the bigamous wife of a would-be murderer. How far from respectable can you get?’
‘None of this is your fault,’ said John.
‘Do you think they’ll ever catch him?’
‘He’s as slippery as an eel, that one,’ said John. ‘Only one thing is for sure, he’ll be far, far away by now.’
Dottie’s chin quivered as she ran her finger along the top of the cake. She sighed. ‘What a lovely thing to do.’
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘Can we come in, Uncle John?’
John grinned. ‘I suppose they have been waiting a very long time,’ he said glancing at his watch. ‘At least fifteen seconds.’
‘More than a lifetime,’ she laughed.
She watched the children swarm over him. He was wonderfully patient and he’d make a terrific father one day. She glanced down at the inscription on the cake again, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt her heart soar.
The pink icing said it all. ‘For Mummy Dottie.’
In the week before Christmas, Mary, Edna, Ann and Peaches decided to go ahead with the welcome party. Christmas Day fell on the Tuesday and everybody agreed that after the usual family affair, they would gather in Edna’s barn for a barn dance and make it a Christmas to remember.
They spent Christmas Eve decorating the barn with paper chains.
‘Whoever thought up that idea deserves a medal,’ Mary declared. ‘It kept the kids quiet all day.’
Janet Cooper finally got rid of the box of balloons left over from the VJ Day celebrations. Gerald, Tom and Jack swept out the barn and Michael arranged some bales of straw around the edge for seating. By the time the caller arrived, the trestle tables borrowed from the village hall groaned with leftover Christmas fare and plenty more besides.
