Better Days Will Come

by Pam Weaver

John felt his throat constrict.

  ‘I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt,’ she went on, ‘but there wasn’t a moment in your whole life when you weren’t truly loved.’

  He felt so emotional he could hardly speak and he could barely believe the level of self-sacrifice meted out on his behalf.

  ‘Let’s talk of happier things,’ she said changing the subject. ‘Tell me what you’ve found out about your mother.’

  ‘I haven’t met her yet,’ he said, ‘but I have found my half sister.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ she cried. ‘It wasn’t right that you were an only child. Tell me about her.’

  ‘She’s training to be a nursery nurse,’ he said. ‘I am to be godfather to her child.’

  ‘So you’re an uncle too.’ She gave him a quizzical look. ‘You’re keeping something back. I want you to tell me everything. The time for keeping secrets is over between us.’

  It was relief to tell her about Bonnie and Shirley and the incident in the London flat. ‘We weren’t sure why, but Father threatened her and her daughter. Now that you’ve told me what he did, it’s obvious to me why he wants the letter my grandfather wrote to Grace Follett. I’ve seen it and it clearly states that my grandfather acknowledges me as part of his family.’

  ‘Bring it all out into the open,’ his mother said.

  ‘But what about you? I don’t want you to be in trouble with the law.’

  ‘I wasn’t the one to falsify the record,’ she said. ‘I can always plead ignorance and with a good lawyer, I can stand up for myself. That man doesn’t scare me any more.’

  ‘I’ve never heard you sound so confident before,’ he remarked.

  She smiled mysteriously. ‘There are going to be a lot of changes around here. I’ve had your father trailed and I have plenty of grounds for a divorce.’

  John reached for his wallet. It was very flat but hopefully he would find a few quid in there to help her out.

  ‘No, no,’ she cried. ‘I don’t need any money, really I don’t.’ She looked at him with an expression he’d never seen before. ‘Your father would be furious, but I’ve made myself a very wealthy woman.’ She lifted the pile of glossy magazines from the chair and handed them to him. ‘Look at the middle page on that one, and page nine in that one.’

  He turned to the middle page and found himself looking at a sweet little house. On page nine there was a two up two down cottage which had been completely transformed and modernised. The before and after pictures were stunning.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve gone into property,’ said his mother. She giggled like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Your father will be livid.’

  John’s jaw dropped. ‘I don’t understand. It’s difficult enough for women to get bank accounts without their husbands knowing.’

  ‘Not if you’re called “Finley’s Holdings Co”,’ she smiled. ‘That sounds very masculine.’

  ‘Mother …’ John grinned.

  ‘A year ago, the magazine sent a photographer round,’ she went on. ‘He’s very good, isn’t he?’ She pushed some more magazines under his nose and he glanced at some of the other transformations she’d done. ‘I’ve written a book about it,’ she said. ‘A sort of “how to” book. They say they’ll be all the rage one day. Anyway, I came up to London today to sign a contract from a book publisher and Sebastian says …’

  ‘Sebastian?’

  ‘Oh didn’t I tell you?’ his mother teased. ‘Sebastian took the pictures. I hope you’ll like him, dear. He’s become rather important to me.’

  With that, John threw back his head and laughed. He was still laughing when Dinah came.

  Grace was sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a pile of letters when Rita came in from work. It was obvious that her mother had been crying.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Sit down, love,’ said Grace. ‘It’s about Bonnie.’

  Rita’s heart sank. She lowered herself into a chair, all the while watching her mother’s face. What now … not more bad news.

  ‘Miss Reeves’s niece came round,’ said Grace. ‘Your sister was writing to Miss Reeves and she’s found the letters.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ gasped Rita. ‘So where is she living?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Grace fighting back the tears again. ‘She used a box number.’

  ‘But we can still write to her,’ said Rita eagerly. ‘She’ll keep checking the box, won’t she?’

  Grace blew her nose. ‘I suppose so.’

  Rita shook her mother’s arm. ‘Come on, Mum. Don’t give up yet. We’ll find her. We’ll be a family again one day.’

  Grace put on a brave smile. ‘There’s a letter for you on the mantelpiece.’

  Rita tore open the official-looking envelope eagerly. ‘It’s about the divorce. I have to go to court on Thursday.’

  There was a sharp knock at the front door. When Rita opened it, Snowy fell in.

  ‘My God, Grace, have you heard? The police came to the factory today looking for Norris Finley.’

  Norris was beside himself with worry. When he’d got back to the flat, the concierge refused to let him in and threatened him with the police. He’d waited outside all day but neither Bonnie nor her wretched kid had turned up. He had to get that letter and destroy it.

  He’d sorted everything else from the safe. He should have destroyed it all but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were so enjoyable to look at. Shame about little Polly. She was a little peach but he dared not risk taking her to a hotel again. He’d foolishly given her a couple of pieces of his wife’s jewellery so he’d created a row and she’d thrown them back into his face. He smiled to himself. Women were so predictable. He had planned to accuse Polly of theft when he grew tired of her and that would have bought her silence.

  He was the first to admit he’d gone too far with the Wilcox girl. He’d been as shocked as the next man when she’d taken herself over the bloody cliff. What did she do that for? It was only a bit of fun. He never would have gone to the police about the gold watch. He was only making sure she kept mum.

  He would have liked a bit more of Grace Follett but she hadn’t come back to the factory after her mother died and besides, he’d picked up with Polly by then. The only thing he’d never found was that locket. Somehow or other, Grace had got it. Well good luck to her. If she did manage to open it up, it would silence her for good. Just touching that stuff was deadly.

  He’d told Grace the locket was her daughter’s but of course it wasn’t. What would a kid like that be doing with a Nazi suicide pill on a chain? No, it belonged to Manny Hart. Manny had dropped it in the factory on the day he’d done for that boy so he’d kept it as insurance in case Manny tried to pin the blame on him for George’s death. He never should have got involved with the man but loyalty to the party and the good old days had clouded his vision. They’d never expected someone like George Matthews to work out who Manny was. That’s why he had to be silenced. It was pure luck that George had telephoned Norris with the revelation that he’d recognised Manny at the station. Norris had arranged to meet George at the old factory but as soon as he’d put the phone down, he had rung Manny. Manny said he’d deal with it. Norris shuddered. He’d never wanted to be a part of murder, but what could he do?

  He looked at his watch again. It was almost seven. The girl wasn’t coming back, was she? He jumped as a bobby on the beat tapped his nearside window. Norris wound it down.

  ‘You seem to have been here rather a long time, sir?’

  ‘Yes, officer,’ said Norris willing his voice to sound casual. ‘I’m beginning to think she’s stood me up.’

  ‘Better move along then, sir,’ said the policeman touching his helmet. ‘Only we’ve had a report that a gentleman was harassing one of the residents in this block of flats.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Norris sympathised. ‘I hope she’s all right?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said the bobby. �
�Probably gone home to Mother by now.’

  Norris started the car.

  Thirty-Seven

  When she came out of the front door first thing in the morning, the fog was so dense Rita couldn’t see the end of the street. She had been on 7 till 2s for a few days but today she was on earlies. It was 5.15 and everywhere was deserted. Her footsteps sounded muffled as she walked towards the bus depot along the sea front.

  Along the High Street, Bob came out of his house and fell into step beside her.

  ‘Nice day,’ he smiled.

  ‘Grand.’

  Rita was a person of few words first thing in the morning but she and Bob had worked together for long enough for him to be used to her abrupt manner. They walked in what seemed like a companionable silence the rest of the way. She liked being with Bob. He made her feel so … comfortable.

  When they finally arrived at the depot, the few drivers, conductors and conductresses who had turned up were gathered in a huddle by the office door. Joseph Thompson, the area manager, was busy allocating the routes.

  ‘We’re still going out then?’ said Bob.

  ‘I think you should cancel,’ another driver said, shaking his head. ‘You can’t see a thing out there.’

  Joseph shook his head. ‘We’re supposed to provide a service to the public no matter what the weather,’ he said gravely.

  There was some mumbling but they all knew he was right.

  Rita and Bob were put onto the Horsham run. ‘Take it steady,’ Joseph cautioned. ‘If you’re late, you’re late, but for God’s sake get there in one piece.’

  The fog hung around for most of the morning. Rita and Bob did the first run to Horsham with few passengers and managed to arrive more or less on time. It wasn’t until the mid-morning return that it began to lift in places, but if the fog was easing off elsewhere, it was much worse inland. By the time they reached the outskirts of Findon, Bob had to slow the bus down to less than twenty miles an hour, even less as they headed towards the village. On this run they had quite a few passengers and everyone was good-natured even though the bus was already fifteen minutes late.

  Visibility was down to three to four yards and as they turned into the high street a wall loomed out of the fog. Bob slammed on the brakes. Fortunately, all the passengers were seated but Rita was propelled at breakneck speed down the aisle.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ Her concerned passenger was a middle-aged woman in a thick Harris Tweed coat buttoned right up to her neck. She and her companions had been swapping horror stories about London pea soupers.

  ‘I’m fine thanks.’ Rita straightened herself up and tugged at her jacket to put it back in place. She had been tipped sideways, but fortunately the moneybag had stayed upright, which was a relief. The thought of scrabbling around on the floor for loose change wasn’t very appealing. She made her way back to the back of the bus and got off.

  ‘Everybody OK?’ Bob asked as she stood outside his cab.

  ‘Yes. You all right?’

  He was busy rubbing his right hand. ‘Bashed my finger on the wheel.’ Bob looked around. ‘I’m all over the road. Can you see me back?’

  ‘Are we still going on?’

  ‘I think we have to,’ said Bob. ‘It’s further to go back than on. Just help me get straightened up.’

  Rita made her way back to the platform and told the passengers what was happening. Leaning out on the pole so that Bob could see her in the mirror, she waved him on calling, ‘Wowah!’ when he’d finally reached the right side of the road. Bob straightened the steering wheel and they set off again.

  As he pressed his foot on the accelerator to go through the village, a car careered out of the fog on the wrong side of the road. Bob swerved but, being a little uncertain of the contours of the road, his nearside wheel hit a low wall and the bus came to another abrupt halt. He heard several passengers cry out in panic and the middle-aged woman leapt up and banged long and loudly on the window of his cab.

  Bob tut-tutted. Passengers were not supposed to distract the driver. Irritated, he glanced in his mirror and gasped with horror. Rita lay sprawled across the pavement, her head against a red pillarbox.

  By the time Bob had leapt down from his cab and got to her, several passengers were already leaning over Rita.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Bob pushing them out of the way. ‘You all right, Rita?

  ‘She looks as if she’s fainted,’ one passenger observed.

  Bob said anxiously, ‘Somebody get an ambulance, will you?’

  Rita could hear Bob’s voice close to her ear as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. The back of her head was throbbing and she had a thumping headache.

  ‘It’s OK, Rita,’ Bob was saying. ‘Keep still. We’re getting some help.’

  Rita opened her eyes. Where was she? She wasn’t in the bus. She was outside, on the pavement with everyone from the bus crowding around. What had happened? Panic rose in her chest. Bob was leaning over her with an anxious frown. She could feel him stroking her hair with the tips of his fingers and she relaxed.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ It was a woman’s voice. Rita looked above Bob’s head and the middle-aged passenger in the Harris Tweed coat leaned over him. ‘That was a nasty knock you had.’

  Rita tried to get up.

  ‘Don’t move!’ Bob yelled, then seeing her eyes widen he added in a softer voice, ‘You’d better stay where you are, Rita. You don’t know what damage you’ve done.’

  She shivered. Bob pulled off his jacket and put it over her.

  ‘Well, it can’t be doing her any good lying about on the wet pavement,’ the Harris Tweed woman remarked. ‘She’ll catch her death.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Rita struggling into a sitting position. As well as a headache, her shoulder hurt too.

  ‘Bring the young lady inside,’ called a man’s voice somewhere in the distance.

  ‘That’s Wilf Barber,’ the Harris Tweed woman said. ‘He runs the Black Horse.’

  ‘I’ll get you a drop of brandy.’ Wilf Barber was closer now. ‘Brandy’s very good for a bit of a shock.’

  ‘We’ve all had a bit of a shock,’ said the Harris Tweed woman, ‘if you’re offering.’

  ‘You’re welcome to come in,’ said the landlord.

  The Harris Tweed woman smiled. ‘Here,’ she said to Rita, ‘let me help you up, dear.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Bob. ‘I’ll take her.’

  ‘No,’ Rita protested feebly, but before she could stop him, he had swept her up into his arms and was carrying her towards the Black Horse.

  ‘I’ve picked up all the money,’ someone else said. ‘I’ll bring it in for you.’

  The small party of passengers followed hard on Bob’s heels.

  Rita’s head was banging like a drum and she felt a bit sick. Her heart was pounding but she couldn’t make up her mind if it was as a result of her fall or the fact that she was in Bob’s arms. She looked up at his face and felt her heart strangely warm.

  Once inside, he laid her gently on one of the horsehair benches in the snug while the rest of the party headed for the bar.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Bob curtly to one of the passengers. ‘I’ll see to her now.’

  ‘Thanks for picking up the money,’ Rita whispered.

  The swing door closed and they were alone. Bob took his coat and rolled it into a pillow. Lifting her head, he pushed it gently underneath.

  ‘God, Rita, I had such a fright when I saw you on the pavement like that.’

  Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Rita’s heart was racing but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  ‘Rita,’ he whispered. He bowed his head towards her. ‘Oh Rite … I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.’

  His first kiss was as light as a feather on her lips. Closing her eyes in a moment of pure ecstasy she told herself she was helpless to stop him but that wasn’t true. She could have stopped him if she’d
wanted to …

  When she opened her eyes again he was still looking at her. She made no protest, no attempt to stop him, so he bowed his head once more. His kisses were full of passion and she responded. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl. She had never been kissed like this before, certainly not by Emilio. Her blood pounded in her head and her heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest. Then the judge’s face swam before her eyes and Rita pushed Bob in the chest, turning her head away. ‘No, Bob, no.’

  He looked down at her with a look of mild surprise.

  ‘You … we mustn’t,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’m still married to Emilio.’

  ‘But I thought you said you were getting a divorce,’ said Bob.

  ‘Who told you that?’ she snapped angrily. He looked away. ‘It was my mother, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Sorry, Rita,’ said Bob. ‘It was just that when you moved back home, I thought …’

  Her expression softened. ‘When I’m free …’ she promised.

  ‘Oh, Rita …’ he said huskily.

  They heard a movement by the door and the landlord burst in with two glasses of brandy. ‘Here you are, son.’

  Bob stood up quickly. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What happens now?’ said Wilf. ‘I mean, you can’t carry on with an injured conductress.’

  Bob shook himself into action. ‘I’d better ring the depot. They’ll send a relief bus and an inspector.’

  ‘The coppers will be here soon,’ said Wilf. ‘The wife phoned up as soon as the crash happened.’

  ‘Did you see what happened?’ asked Rita.

  ‘Some lunatic came out of the fog on the wrong side of the road,’ said Bob. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Gone,’ said Wilf, with a shrug.

  ‘I didn’t stand a chance. He was driving like a bat out of hell.’

  Rita pulled herself onto her elbow and sipped some brandy. She probably shouldn’t be drinking it, not with a head injury, but it was warming.

  ‘I’d better not have a drink,’ said Bob apologetically. ‘It’s really decent of you to offer but if my governor thinks I’ve been boozing on the job …’