She stuffed everything back in the envelope and put it where she’d found it in a flurry of despair. She was getting absolutely nowhere! Patsy was just about to close the trunk when she caught sight of something pink. She moved one or two things gently out of the way before reaching for it.
It was a baby’s slipper. Patsy cradled it in her hands in wonder. Made of pink and white silk, it seemed impossibly tiny, so very fragile.
Had this been her own slipper once? Had she worn it as a baby before Clara had left her husband or lover, whatever Rolf Matthews was to her; before she had walked out and abandoned her child?
Patsy found tears blurring her vision, one slid down her nose and plopped on to the slipper. Quickly, she wiped it off. It really wouldn’t do to spoil it. It had been wrapped in tissue paper and smelled of lavender. Carefully, she rewrapped the slipper and slid it back beneath the large brown envelope, then closed the trunk.
Patsy was so moved and upset by this discovery that she scrambled back down the ladder and ran straight out of the house, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Collapsing on the doorstep, she buried her head in her hands and wept. She’d no idea why, except that she was filled with an overwhelming sadness for what might have been.
She hadn’t been there more than a minute when a hand touched her shoulder. ‘Why do you cry, Patsy? Can I help?’
She looked up into a pair of gentle brown eyes. Instantly she scrubbed at her tears with the flat of her hands. ‘Oh, Marc, I didn’t see you there.’
He hunkered down beside her, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and when she didn’t protest or yell at him, risked sitting next to her on the step. ‘I shall wait quietly here, till you tell me.’
Patsy covered her face with her hands. ‘I c - can’t. No one can help. No one. Leave me alone, you don’t understand.’
‘How can I understand if you won’t tell me what is wrong? You won’t ever speak to me. But I make a good listener. Look at me, Patsy. Look at me.’
‘I must look a mess.’
‘Not to me.’ He held her face between his hands, smoothed away the tears with the heel of his thumbs and looked deep into her eyes. ‘You are in great pain, I think. Tell me what it is, little one. Let me share your burden. I can do that, at least.’
The next second he put his arms about her and Patsy buried her face into the warm hollow of his neck, and while she sobbed into his shirt, he held her close, murmuring soothing little noises against her ear. After a moment, the tears gradually subsided and she glanced shyly up at him, her small face pinched with pain, then out it all came, as if she was incapable of keeping the poignant discovery to herself any longer.
‘I found a slipper, a baby’s slipper. Pink and white silk. I think it’s mine, was mine when I was a baby. I believe that Clara is my mother but I can’t prove it. Oh, and I don’t know what to do about that.’
Marc was stunned by this revelation, as well he might be. He’d expected some silly feminine worry, a squabble with the sisters. Yet Patsy had confided in him something real and vitally important. His heart sang. After a moment, and still holding her in his arms, he softly asked, ‘Have you spoken to Clara about these suspicions of yours?’
Patsy shook her head. ‘Heavens no, I couldn’t possibly. I daren’t. I don’t want to be a nuisance to them, a burden. I mustn’t push my nose in where I’m not wanted. They might send me away altogether then.’
‘How do you know that you’re not wanted?’
‘Annie has just given me the push from my job so it’s pretty clear I’m only here on sufferance.’
‘That’s because of money, I should think, not because she doesn’t like you.’
‘You don’t know that, not for sure. She’s been against me from the start. I really should leave, but where would I go? I have no one. It’s right what you said the other day. I come from nowhere and I have nowhere to go.’
‘But I think you cannot go on like this, not knowing. Everyone has a right to be told who their mother is. Why would Clara keep such a secret? Are you sure you are right? Because if so, no wonder you feel neglected and depressed, a little bit sorry for yourself.’
Patsy was already beginning to regret having told him and this last comment instantly unsettled her. ‘I’m not feeling sorry for myself, and no, I’m not absolutely certain, but almost. I have a problem I can’t solve, that’s all. I don’t know why Clara doesn’t tell me, do I? That’s the whole point. I have any number of questions, but no answers.’
‘Then you must be brave and ask them. You have all my heartfelt pity, Patsy. I am fortunate to have the love of my family, you have not. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be alone in the world.’
She jerked away from him and jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t want your pity, heartfelt or not! It’s all right for you to hand out advice, since you do have a family: a mama and papa, brothers and sisters. What do you know about not belonging?’
‘That is what I am trying to say, Patsy, I cannot imagine how it must feel to be alone in the world.’ Marc felt helpless in the face of her distress. Why could he never find the right words to say to her? He was always so clumsy, so stupid. He stood beside her, trying to take her back into his arms but she resisted, pushing him away even as he told her again that he wanted only to help.
‘You can help best by leaving me alone. Go on, go back to your lovely family and take your heartfelt pity with you. I don’t need your sympathy, ta very much.’ Then she went back inside number twenty-two and slammed the door behind her.
Marc let out a heavy sigh of exasperation. Whatever he did was wrong.
Patsy had just about managed to stow the ladder away in the back yard and put the kettle on the gas when the front door opened and the two sisters walked in.
‘I do hope you haven’t been too bored on your own, Patsy?’ Clara said, glancing about her.
‘N-no, not all.’ Patsy was slightly breathless and doing her best to smile. ‘Fancy a cuppa? I’ve got the kettle on.’
It was midday on Saturday when Patsy came home for her dinner, that she found Clara waiting for her, a grim expression on her face, looking quite unlike her usual cheerful self. She wasted no time in revealing the reason for her anger.
‘Have you been looking through my things, Patsy?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t play games with me. How did you occupy yourself while we were out last night? Did you take the opportunity to go through my things? Because somebody has. I can tell that some of my personal possessions have been moved. Why did you do that?’
Patsy was filled with fear. Yet what else could she do but continue to deny it, even though she’d be lying? ‘I never touched your things. Why would I?’
‘I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking. And there’s a mark on the wall at the top of the stairs. Did you go up into the loft? Why on earth would you do such a thing? Tell me, Patsy. I’m not a fool. Tell me the truth.’
But she couldn’t. How could she possibly own up to seeking evidence to prove that Clara was her mother? It was quite beyond her. The very prospect of asking that question made Patsy go all sick and funny inside. Not just yet. Oh drat, why hadn’t Shirley found some genuinely useful evidence, then she might have found the courage to confront Clara with it? But how could she take the risk with nothing more than gossip and suspicion to go on?
It would be too easy for Clara to avoid answering, simply to dismiss the whole notion as pure fantasy on Shirley’s part, accuse Patsy of interfering and throw her out of the house. Come to think of it, why didn’t she save her the trouble?
Patsy began to shout: ‘You only ever see the worst in me. Right, well I’m off. I’ll pack my flipping bags this minute, and leave. I’m not staying where I’m not wanted, where people don’t believe a word I say.’ And she stormed upstairs to her room, slamming the bedroom door with a satisfying crash behind her. Then she sat down on her bed, struggling not to cry, hoping and praying that Clara would come upstairs and beg her to sta
y.
It didn’t take long. A tiny knock on the door, then a small voice saying, ‘Can I come in?’
Patsy leaped to her feet and quickly pulled open a drawer. She was tossing clothes on to the floor as Clara came in, trying to hide a small smile of relief.
Clara sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I do hope you don’t mean it, Patsy, about leaving. That’s the last thing I want.’
Patsy shrugged her shoulders. ‘What do I care? I can live anywhere.’
‘Of course you can. But I hope you’ll continue to live with us. Haven’t I said it’s important to me, because I . . .’ Clara hesitated, as if wanting to say more but not quite knowing how. And in the ensuing silence, Patsy feared – hoped – prayed that Clara might be about to reveal the truth, at last.
But the next second she was on her feet and heading for the door. ‘Perhaps I was wrong about you snooping through my things. Perhaps not. But we’ll say no more on the matter. I think you understand how I feel about my privacy now. I would also like you to remember that Annie has enough worries at the moment without your adding to them. I shall go and finish making dinner. Be down in two minutes, please.’
And she was gone.
Patsy felt a small spurt of triumph. She’d won! Probably because she’d made Clara feel guilty. It wouldn’t do the sisters’ reputation any good at all if they turned a poor homeless orphan out on to the streets.
Yet in her heart of hearts, Patsy hated herself for what she’d done, both for snooping through Clara’s things and for manipulating her into letting her stay. The sisters had been kind to her, even grumpy Annie, even if it was out of their sense of Christian duty. If only it didn’t have to be this way. If only they truly liked her instead of just being charitable, then she could be rid of this constant fear that they might at any moment ask her to leave. If only she belonged.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fran called in at the ice cream parlour the next day for a Chocolate Nut Sundae, and a quick word with Patsy. ‘Will you be free later? Only I’ve got a bit of a problem and I could do with talking things through, with a sympathetic friend like.’
Patsy was flattered to be considered both sympathetic and a friend of the more sophisticated, gregarious Fran. ‘Okay, when and where?’
Fran’s glance suddenly shifted over Patsy’s shoulder as she saw Eddie walk into the market hall. He didn’t often come near but there he was, large as life standing by the main door, clearly looking round for her. Fran was thrilled and instantly forgot all about Patsy. ‘I’ll let you know later. I’ve got to run.’ And she was gone.
‘Charming!’ That friendship didn’t last long, Patsy thought.
Fran practically flung herself into Eddie’s arms, would have done so had he not grasped her by the shoulders. ‘Not here you stupid girl. What are you thinking of? I can only spare a few minutes but we have to talk.’ Grabbing her wrist, he marched her out of the market hall, through the stalls and out onto Hardman Street where he’d parked his car.
She thought he might be about to drive her somewhere nice, out into the country perhaps, or to the park where they used to go, instead he drove through a mire of streets then parked up a back alley close by the docks. She could smell tar and wood shavings, the skyline nothing but brick walls and cranes. ‘My goodness, this is romantic!’
‘I’ve not brought you here for romance. We need to talk about this problem of yours, Fran.’
She looked at him. ‘It’s your problem too, Eddie. It’s your kid.’
He gulped. His face seemed pinched, she noticed, and his usual cockiness had quite deserted him. ‘The point is, what’re we going to do about it?’
Fran settled down in the front passenger seat, hitched up her skirt and crossed her legs so that they were displayed in all their glory. Then folding her arms across the fullness of her bosom, she stared up into the mesh of ironwork that girded the cranes, pretending to give deep consideration to the question.
‘Let’s see . . . we could pretend it doesn’t exist. But babies have a way of making their presence felt in the end, no matter how hard you might try to ignore them. I could rush to the altar with someone else, but I don’t know anyone willing to sacrifice themselves to protect my honour. So I guess we have no choice. You’ll have to be the one to make an honest woman of me.’
‘Don’t talk daft!’
‘Daft, is it, to want a father for our child?’
When he didn’t respond, Fran giggled and tickled him under his chin as if he were Buster the dog. ‘Go on, give us a smile, you know you still fancy me rotten.’ She swivelled about in her seat, and, curling herself up as best she could in the confined space, lay across his lap, pressing her breasts close against his chest. ‘We’re good together, you and me.’
‘I’m already married, Fran. You knew that from the start.’
‘So what? Marriages can be ended. Divorce her and marry me. Why not? You no longer love the silly cow anyway. You do nothing but complain about her.’
She flashed him a teasing, sideways glance from beneath mascara darkened lashes, trying to judge his reaction. In all the months they’d been together, never once had the word ‘marriage’ been mentioned. It just wasn’t on the agenda. Now it was, so far as Fran was concerned at least. But how would Eddie feel about this change of plan?
He didn’t move, didn’t touch her, simply sat staring at those blasted cranes as if he were in some sort of stupor. Just when she thought he never would speak, he said, ‘Josie is pregnant too, Fran. She told me last night.’
‘What?’ Fran sat up quickly, cursing when she banged her ribs on the steering wheel. ‘What do you mean she’s pregnant? She can’t be. You told me that you and she weren’t even – doing it!’
‘I lied. I didn’t want to upset you. She’s my wife, and she’s been desperate for a kid for years. Had two miscarriages already but wouldn’t give up trying. She’s over the moon, can’t believe how lucky she is.’
‘Lucky?’ Fran, struggling to right herself, pulled her skirt down over her knees, making it plain that if that was how things stood, he was no longer entitled to view the goods on offer.
‘I’m in an impossible situation, can’t you see that Fran love? Josie wants this kid - desperately. I can’t let her down or risk upsetting her, not right now, or she’ll lose it, like she lost the others. You’ll have to get rid of yours, there’s no other answer. I can probably find you the money. I don’t know how or where from, but I’ll manage it somehow.’
He looked like a man sleep-walking but Fran had no sympathy for him. She was feeling too sorry for herself. Anger was rising in her, hot and strong. ‘I don’t want your money. This is your kid we’re talking about here.’
His expression was colder than she’d ever seen it. ‘No, Fran, it’s your kid. Not my problem. I’m going to be the father of my wife’s child, not yours.’
‘So I can just disappear off the face of the earth, can I?’ Fran had never been so angry, so upset, in all her life.
Eddie turned the ignition key, kicked the engine into life. ‘I’ll take you back to the market. Soon as I’ve got my hands on a bit of cash, I’ll be in touch.’
Fran was flabbergasted. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. This wasn’t the way the story was supposed to end. ‘And that’s it, is it? That’s the end. You’re chucking me.’
He smiled at her then, ran a hand up the length of her leg and fondled her. ‘Course I’m not chucking you. I shall need you more than ever, with our Josie wrapped up in babies and nappies and stuff. It’s her that wants the kid, not me. You and me don’t need any of that baggage. Get rid of it, Fran, then we carry on as if nothing has happened, the way we like it, just you and me. God, you’re gorgeous.’
He turned off the engine then, pulled her towards him and began to kiss her hard. And despite her fury, Fran was soon whimpering with need. She just couldn’t seem to deny him.
Eddie very efficiently slid back the seat, relieved her of her panties and seconds later
was doing what he knew he did best. It never failed. The easiest way in the world to keep a woman happy.
Finding employment in Gretna Green was proving less easy than Chris and Amy had imagined. It was a surprisingly busy little town and they soon discovered that they weren’t the only couple hanging around waiting to get married. There were any number of young hopefuls looking for temporary employment.
Amy went back to their landlady to ask if she was in need of a chamber maid, or if she knew of anyone who might be. She named one or two possibilities but the only response Amy got to her enquiries were shaken heads and regretful refusals.
They’d found themselves a priest willing to marry them, filled in the right forms and served the proper notice. There was nothing more to be done now but wait. Every morning they counted their money to check how much they had left, discussed priorities, often forced to choose between soap powder or a meal.
Sometimes, when they were out shopping they’d smell fish and chips, or roast lamb being served at the corner café, and would stand at the window breathing it in like the Bisto Kids. There had been the odd occasion when hunger had driven them inside.
‘Hang the expense,’ Chris would say, taking in the pallor of Amy’s complexion, feeling the frailness of her over thin body pressed close against his side in the curve of his arm. ‘You need feeding up.’
Living in the woods, as they were, it became increasingly difficult to keep clean. They washed themselves carefully in the cold water of the stream every morning, laughing and splashing each other, but once or twice the water play had got a bit out of hand. Seeing each other like that, even if it were only partially naked, was too enticing, too tempting. One morning they’d fallen upon each other and very nearly broken their pledge not to make love.
Chris had pushed her down in the long grass on the bank and kissed her as he never had before, quite unable to resist. Then he’d got up and stormed off, as was his wont when he thought he’d gone too far, only to return hours later, silent and moody.
Fools Fall in Love Page 19
