Fools Fall in Love

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I – I know. I’m her granddaughter.’ The words had popped out of her mouth before she could stop them, sounding strange and awkward, even to her own ears. They certainly produced a startling effect upon the neighbour.

  The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness! You must be Rolf’s daughter.’

  ‘Rolf?’ Patsy tried out the name. Rolled it on her tongue. Was that her father’s name then? Rolf Matthews. So what about her mother?

  The neighbour invited her in for tea and cake, for which Patsy was deeply grateful. She’d had no breakfast, no lunch, nothing to eat since supper the night before.

  ‘Call me Shirley, dear, I don’t hold with formality. Unfortunately there’s not much I can tell you. I only learned the story second hand,’ the woman sadly informed her, having listened to Patsy’s entire life story and wiped away a few sympathetic tears. ‘My husband and I retired here only a couple of years ago so I hadn’t known Mrs Matthews very long. She was a lovely old lady, but rather sad; kept herself very much to herself, looked after by a dragon of a housekeeper. Goodness knows where she’s gone now. Pity we don’t know, or we could have asked her for a few details.

  ‘All I know is that Mrs Matthews had a son, though whether he’s still alive I really couldn’t say. Apparently his wife walked out on him and their young baby before the war. Mrs Matthews told me he went to America. How strange though that he should leave you behind. So you were adopted, you say? How very odd.’

  ‘Fostered,’ Patsy corrected her. ‘If I am that child. That’s what I’m trying to discover.’ Inside she was shaking. This was the place she might have lived, gone to school, been brought up by her parents, or her grandmother anyway, if she’d not been sent away.

  Why hadn’t her grandmother wanted her? Why had her mother left? Why hadn’t she taken her child with her? Her father too had apparently abandoned her. Why had no one wanted her? Patsy wondered, feeling the rejection more keenly than ever in this moment of revelation.

  The neighbour, busybody though she undoubtedly was, couldn’t seem to leave the subject alone and kept on going over and over it, while Patsy sank deeper into depression.

  What did it matter? Her grandmother was dead. She was too late. And what on earth did she do now? Where should she go? She was homeless.

  Shirley was still chattering away, explaining when and how she’d come to Southport, how she and her husband had bought this house from a doctor. ‘Before that it was owned by the Higginson family . . . Oh! I’ve just remembered something.’

  ‘What? Something important?’

  ‘Stay there, dear, pour yourself another cup of tea. Have another cake. I’ll just nip down the road to speak to my friend Betty. There’s not much goes on round here that she doesn’t hear about.’

  Heavens, Patsy thought, two nosy neighbours. Maybe she’d struck lucky after all.

  When Shirley had returned, nearly an hour later, she’d proudly announced that her research among various older residents in the avenue had paid off. ‘I’ve learned quite a bit more about the Higginsons.’

  Patsy experienced a spurt of disappointment. She wasn’t interested in the Higginsons, only in Mrs Matthews, her grandmother.

  But Shirley was in full flow and continued undaunted by Patsy’s gloom. ‘The Higginson parents are long dead apparently but, according to my friend, they had two daughters and the younger one did have a child, although it’s not certain whether or not she was ever married. And certainly she was very friendly with Rolf Matthews.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that she, this Higginson person, might be my mother?’

  ‘It’s a strong possibility, dear. You must bear in mind there was gossip at the time that perhaps she wasn’t married, so if they were lovers, as seems likely, you might be illegitimate.’ The woman looked sympathetic, but when Patsy didn’t react, went on with her tale. ‘No one ever saw the baby or learned the child’s name as the sisters were living abroad around the time it must have been born. Very common to go away, dear, rather than risk scandal. Nor was Mrs Matthew’s son around then either, so we can only surmise that either they did marry, perhaps because she fell pregnant, or else he abandoned her and ran off to America to avoid his responsibilities, the cad.’

  Patsy couldn’t think of a thing to say in response to this startling observation. Her head was beginning to ache and her heart was racing with emotion, a sick feeling creeping through her stomach, and spreading into her limbs, so that it felt like she had pins and needles in her feet and hands.

  ‘The sisters came home sometime during the war. And when their parents died, they sold up and went to live in Manchester, apparently to run a hat stall on one of the markets, though no one could remember which. Quite a come down for them, I should think. But they might have moved on somewhere else by now.’

  Could this Higginson woman really be her mother? Patsy had wondered. Could she herself be that child? She’d been almost too excited to breathe. It all fitted perfectly. Her parents must have simply dumped her on old Mrs Matthews, then gone their separate ways to continue with their lives as if she’d never been born. Perhaps they’d been so wrapped up in their own quarrel, they’d no love left for her. Not a pleasant thought. Patsy shuddered.

  But at least she had a clue to follow up, somewhere to go next in her quest.

  The nosy neighbour generously offered Patsy a bed for the night, a substantial supper and breakfast the following morning. Patsy had thanked her most sincerely for this and also for the packet of sandwiches and train ticket Shirley had provided for the onward journey. The woman had proved to be the kindest person she’d met in a long time. But when Patsy had thanked her, she’d dismissed her gratitude as unnecessary.

  ‘Every child deserves to find their mother. It’s quite shaming that you weren’t told about your grandmother, or allowed even to visit her.’

  ‘Obviously she didn’t want me,’ Patsy said, feeling the raw pain of this knowledge scald her heart.

  So that’s how she came to be here, still feeling that pain yet stubbornly seeking out the truth in spite of it. More than anything Patsy needed to know who she was, and who her mother was. As if anybody in the entire world cared.

  But in order to do so, like it or not, the sisters’ curiosity had to be faced at some point, so that she could ask some questions of her own.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amy had been condemned to live in obscurity for the entire winter, largely because her mother wouldn’t allow her back home until Chris gave up calling. Not a week went by without him coming knocking on their kitchen door. Over and over again he obstinately demanded to know where Amy was, to be given her address or telephone number.

  Fran knew he was driving her mother demented by his persistence.

  If it weren’t for Molly’s vow not to speak to the George family she would have gone across there, sleeves rolled up, the battle light in her eyes, and played holy hell. Poor Mam had expected Chris to crawl away into some sort of black hole, or fix himself up with a replacement girl friend in double quick time, but it simply hadn’t happened.

  Recently, she’d even started talking about bringing Amy home again, since it was hard for them to cope without her. Robert had the new kitchens up and running and Poulson’s Pies was going from strength to strength, but costs had to be kept down and an extra pair of hands would come in useful.

  Not for a moment would Mam see this as an admission of defeat on her part. Fran had written to her sister to tell her as much, and in spite of the warning had received a heart-wrenching letter back, begging her to put in a plea for her return.

  Amy had complained more than once over Fran’s refusal to slip a letter to Chris, but Fran was adamant that she’d no wish to get involved. Didn’t she have enough on her own plate? And, of course, poor Amy couldn’t risk writing to him, because his mum and dad would be sure to see the enveloped.

  If she wasn’t so concerned for her own situation, Fran might even have found the time to feel sorry for her
younger sister. As it was, Mam was creating problems for her too.

  First there’d been the episode of the tyres, which Fran was quite certain had nothing to do with the neighbourhood youths. Now their precious moments together were ruined by Eddie complaining bitterly that Molly was ruining his life. She’d damaged his new motor car, smashed up his garden and even sent him a dead mouse.

  He seemed more annoyed that Josie, his silly wife, might have opened the envelope and been upset by it. Fran had been hard put to not to laugh at that. As if she cared what his wife thought? But she did see that it wasn’t in the least amusing to have her mother sticking her oar in where it wasn’t wanted, the interfering old bat.

  Now there’d been an anonymous letter, which fortunately his wife had torn up and thrown away, treating it as lies told by some mischief maker, according to Eddie. He’d been pretty good about that really, although they were both quite certain who had caused this particular piece of mischief.

  Fran had had enough. It was getting beyond a joke. She went straight to her mother and they rowed about it for days. ‘You’ve got to stop this, Mam. I’m twenty-one, nearly twenty-two, old enough to please myself. Stop interfering in what doesn’t concern you. You’ll only make things worse.’

  ‘Then give him up, stay away from him.’

  ‘I’ll please myself what I do. Keep your interfering nose out of my business, all right?’

  Fran was so desperate she felt driven to call upon her father for assistance. ‘Don’t just sit there, picking your nose and doing nothing, can’t you stop this daft cow from interfering in other people’s marriages?’ She took care not to use the word affair, since it would be less likely to invoke his sympathy.

  ‘Don’t call your mother names,’ he chided her, but, to her immense surprise, Ozzy was indeed on her side for once. ‘The lass is right though, you can’t be sending anonymous letters to a woman you don’t know, Molly love. You’ll get yourself arrested. It’s a criminal offence.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Big Molly huffed and puffed, as she generally did when she knew she was in the wrong, hacking slices off a loaf she held clasped to her bosom as if she wished it were Fran’s head. ‘Anyway, who are you to accuse me of being a criminal? You’ve been no saint in your time,’ and then recalling the flapping ears of her daughter, she turned on Fran with increased venom, wagging the bread knife in her face. ‘You’d be glad enough of my help if you ever found herself in trouble.’

  ‘You’re not in trouble, are you, lass?’ Ozzy asked, less certain of his ground now.

  ‘No, I’m not! I’ve more sense.’

  Molly said, ‘Watch your lip, girl. Let me tell you here and now, if you do get yourselves up the duff, you’ll be out on your ear, make no mistake about it.’

  Thank goodness she’d gone to the clinic, Fran thought, though she must try to remember always to put the damn thing in. Being determined to live life on your own terms was one thing; acting stupid, as she had recklessly and foolishly done a few weeks back, was quite another. She’d got away with it twice now. She might not be so lucky next time.

  Amy was brought home in time for Easter and instantly locked in her room, not with any hope that she would stay there indefinitely, but mainly because Molly couldn’t think what else to do with her. She believed that it would be necessary only for a few days at most, just long enough to make her point. She certainly wasn’t prepared to put up with any more nonsense, despite Amy being back from exile.

  ‘Okay, I get the message loud and clear,’ Amy conceded in a tired voice. A long cold winter spent being watched like a hawk the entire time had nearly driven her to the brink of insanity. Nobody could class her home on Champion Street as either commodious or comfortable but living conditions at the farm had been like something out of the dark ages, cold and cheerless; and her Aunt Jess no more sympathetic to her lot than her mother was.

  A tough, hard woman, widowed and childless, Jesse had little patience with romance. She certainly showed no sign of grieving for own loss, and since her opinion of men was even lower than her sister-in-law Molly’s, Amy didn’t care to think what Jess’s late husband might have been like. Aunt Jess was also very set in her ways, managing the farm with only a couple of labourers to help with the heavy work. And she too hated the George family.

  ‘We don’t talk to that lot, or about them,’ had been her blunt response to Amy’s first efforts at seeking an explanation.

  But over the long winter, by dint of sheer persistence and with little else for them to do but brave the bitter winds by day to feed cows and sheep, and sit night after night in the farm kitchen, huddled round the stove for warmth with only each other for company, Amy had finally dragged out of her aunt the story behind the feud.

  It proved to be even more terrible than she’d feared, and she couldn’t wait to tell Chris what she’d discovered. They had some big decisions to make.

  Not that she had any intention of allowing her mother to guess that she knew. Aunt Jess had been adamant that this must remain a secret between them.

  ‘If she ever found out that I’d told you, my life wouldn’t be worth living. I’m very fond of my dear sister-in-law, she can be a good laugh can Molly. But she’s had a hard time of it over the years, a tough life one way or another. She’s a very private sort of person, your mam, and once someone has let her down, she’s not strong on forgiveness. She ruthlessly cuts them out of her life - that’s if she hasn’t cut their throats.’ The laughter following this attempt at a joke, didn’t sound genuine, there being far too much truth in the jest. ‘As for our Ozzy, he’s useless, bless him. As we all realise.’

  Amy had every intention of complying with her aunt’s terms, since she felt a great deal of sympathy for her mother’s situation. How could she fail to, after what she’d learned? If only Mam would show the same compassion for her own situation. Tragic as her mother’s life had been in many ways, a person couldn’t live in the past. Everyone knew that it was totally unfair to blame one generation for the sins of its forbears.

  Amy had little hope that life would be any better now that she was back home. Yet somehow, against all odds, she managed to hold on to her faith that Chris would find a way for them to be together, otherwise what was there left for her to live for?

  She’d missed him so desperately. All these weeks and months apart, with not even a letter or a postcard to cheer her. And deep inside her as the cold winter had progressed, the fear had grown that he might give up on her.

  Fran had allayed that fear to some extent by assuring her that Chris kept on pestering her mother week after week for her address, but not until he was holding her in his arms would Amy feel entirely happy. She loved him so much, she needed to be with him every single day. Nothing less would do.

  ‘You’re going to keep me locked up here until when? Till I agree to give up the man I love? That could be a life sentence.’

  Molly looked into her daughter’s steady and determined gaze and almost quailed, very nearly backed down. Amy was an awkward little madam, every bit as stubborn as that young man had proved to be, drat it. Oh, but didn’t she love the bones of her? Why couldn’t the daft cow see how foolish and obstinate she was being?

  But then Molly remembered the reasons why she’d put her there, and tightened her resolve. Failure was out of the question, must not, could not, be tolerated. The pair had to be kept apart until it finally sank in that no son of the George family would ever be allowed to married any daughter of hers. The lad was selfish and stubborn, that’s all it was, wanting to have his own way.

  There were plenty of other young men, after all, who would be glad of the opportunity to have Amy on their arm.

  It was essential that Molly remain tough. ‘The choice is yours. You can stay in there for a few days, or forever, depending on how much sense you show.’ And she walked from the room, turning the key in the lock.

  ‘Where am I supposed to sleep while all this is going on?’ Fran demanded to know, when she heard of th
is new arrangement.

  ‘With your sister, where you’ve always slept.’

  ‘Behind locked doors? Never!’

  ‘That way I get to control both of you, with one key.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft. You can’t keep our Amy locked up indefinitely. In any case, we need her on the stall, or else in the new kitchens. Our Robert is stretched, he’s said as much. And I’m fair worn out doing her shift as well as me own. This can’t go on, Mam, you have to bow to the inevitable. We’re both women now, and can do as we please.’

  ‘Not under my roof you can’t. Anyroad, you lasses today don’t know the meaning of hard work. You’ve never had to suffer as we suffered.’

  ‘Oh, don’t start going on about the war again. I know you had to bake pies largely from vegetables, how we’d no sugar to make cakes, or petrol for deliveries. How the family business was in danger of going under.’ Fran rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Well, things are different now. The war’s over, in case you haven’t noticed, and we’ve moved on.’

  Molly sat warming her legs before the fire, skirt drawn up to reveal a pair of none-too-clean Directoire knickers which she’d bought cheap on the market, her large hands resting on knees flattened from too many years of kneeling and scrubbing. One good reason, in Molly’s opinion, not to do any more. Dashing a mop or a vacuum cleaner around was good enough these days, and not too often at that.

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, the pair of you, or you’ll learn what it means to suffer. Mark my words.’

  Ozzy cleared his throat, wanting to put in his two pennyworth but his back and hip had been giving him gyp all day, he’d lost a packet on the three-thirty which he still hadn’t told his wife about, and he’d really prefer to remain invisible. But then he thought of his lovely Amy, locked upstairs in her room, and how if she was around, she’d run down to the pub for him and help him win the cash back. The dog was good company, but it couldn’t put a bet on for him.