Fighting with Shadows

by Beryl Matthews

  Angie watched Danny curled up on the settee, asleep at last, his face wet with tears. He had refused to leave her and go upstairs to bed, so she had let him settle down here. He was clutching a battered teddy bear in his arms. He had abandoned this a few months ago, declaring that he was too old for the toy, but tonight he was a grief-stricken little boy who needed the comfort of something loved and familiar. He would be her responsibility now, and one she would take on gladly. How she wished he had some grandparents who would love and spoil him, but the war had put an end to that pleasure for him.

  Damn the war! She didn’t think she would ever be able to forgive the Germans, who had bombed London night after night. It had been a clear Friday night in December 1940 when their parents had been killed. They had gone to the pub in the next street: a bomb flattened the place, killing all inside. Angie relived that time in her mind. They had been heartbroken and frightened at being left on their own. Jane had been twelve and she fourteen. After the death of their parents they had been evacuated to Bridgewater in Somerset. The Sawyers had taken the two distressed and grieving girls into their home and hearts. The beauty of the farm and the love given to them by John and Hetty Sawyer had helped them to heal. Jane had eventually settled down, but Angie had been restless, missing her home. After six months she had returned to Stepney and her parents’ house, which was still standing, as was Jane’s a few doors away. She had gone to work in a factory, making small metal things, though she never did find out what they were for. Something vital for aircraft, she had been told. The work had been repetitious and boring, but she’d stuck it out, and looked after their two houses until the end of the war and Jane’s return home.

  Angie ran a hand over her eyes and sighed. And what a shock that had been. It was Christmas 1945 before Jane had returned home, seventeen years old and four months pregnant. She had stubbornly refused to say who the father was.

  Now she was dead.

  The tears began to flow again as she remembered how Jane had involved her in every day of Danny’s life. As he’d started to toddle, Jane had even let him stay with her overnight when she had time off from her job as a typist. Her cousin had always been unselfish, and it hadn’t seemed strange. It was just Jane wanting to share the joy her son had brought to both of them. Danny may not have a father, Jane had told her, but he’s got two mothers who love him. And it was true. Angie had loved the little boy from the moment he had been born.

  Since the Doctor had told her about the state of Jane’s heart, Angie was beginning to wonder if this had been a reason for sharing Danny. She must have known how ill she was. Had she been preparing Angie to take on the job of bringing up her son? Had she known she was going to die young?

  She dried her tears and gazed at the sleeping child, a feeling of certainty filling her thought. Yes, Jane had known!

  How sad she must have been, aware that she might not live to see her son grow up. Jane had done everything in her power to make these early years as happy as possible for her son …

  Angie stood up, a determined look on her face as she gently scooped up Danny to take him upstairs with her. She wouldn’t let Jane down. Danny would have a happy life with her.

  2

  Two days after the funeral and Angie knew she was going to have to tackle the painful task of going through Jane’s personal papers. She had been putting it off, telling herself that there was too much to do: arranging the funeral and looking after a sad little boy. But it couldn’t be avoided any longer. There was so much to sort out. After their parents were killed, Angie and Jane inherited the two houses they lived in. When Jane returned home, Angie suggested they live together and sell one of the houses, but Jane insisted that she wanted to keep it to pass on to her child. The houses were close enough for them to look after each other, so they lived separately. They came to an arrangement that worked very well for them. Angie had a good job as a typist, and, as Jane wasn’t able to work, she kept them all. There wasn’t any money to spare, but they managed and were very happy.

  Jane had often said that there was a biscuit tin in the bottom of her wardrobe that contained all her important papers. It was time to collect it and find out what was to be done with the house. Her cousin was a sensible girl and, knowing she was ill, would almost certainly have left a will. Then she must see about legally adopting Danny. She didn’t want his father to turn up one day and take him away from her. That was something she was never going to allow anyone to do! Danny was hers now, and she was sure that’s what Jane would have wanted.

  Angie gazed at Danny having a nap on the settee. He had abandoned the teddy bear immediately after the funeral, but he still wouldn’t let her out of his sight. She gave a sad smile as she remembered how brave he had been at his mother’s funeral. His little face serious, lips tightly pressed together in dogged determination not to cry. And he hadn’t. She had been so proud of him, and his courage had enabled her to hang on to her own composure.

  Seeing he was fast asleep, she made up her mind. Moving quietly, she left the house and ran to Jane’s, opened the door, hurtled up the stairs and found the tin. It had taken her less than five minutes. Danny was still asleep.

  Once she’d got her breath back, she sat at the table and removed the lid. Right on the top was the thing she’d been hoping for – a will. Quickly scanning it, she breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had been left to Danny, and there was a request that Angie adopt her son and manage his affairs until he was old enough to do this for himself. The document had been drawn up by a solicitor and was irrefutable proof of her cousin’s wishes.

  ‘Bless you, Jane,’ Angie murmured. Her cousin had left everything in good order.

  ‘Auntie Angel!’

  ‘I’m here, darling.’ Danny, half awake, was calling for her, as he often did since his mother had died.

  Rubbing his eyes, he slipped off the settee and clambered on the chair next to her. ‘What you doing?’

  ‘I’m going through your mummy’s papers. We’ve still got a lot of sorting out to do.’ He couldn’t read it, but she spread the will out in front of him. ‘She’s left the house and everything to you, and has asked that I adopt you. Would you like that?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ He looked slightly alarmed.

  ‘It means you will be my son and I’ll look after you.’

  He knelt on the chair and leant across the table to peer at the document, then turned his head and gave a dimpled smile. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Good, that’s settled, then.’

  ‘What else is in the tin?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s have a look.’ Angie removed a bundle of letters and saw that they were the ones she had written to Jane during the war when they had been apart. Next was Danny’s birth certificate, and Angie read it eagerly to see if there was any mention of the father, but there wasn’t.

  ‘My goodness! I didn’t know your mummy had given you another name.’ She grinned at the child. ‘Your full name is Daniel Cramer Harris.’

  ‘That’s a funny name.’ He didn’t look impressed.

  ‘It’s unusual, but I think it’s nice.’

  He shrugged, more interested in the contents of the tin. Shoving more papers out of the way, he gave a cry of triumph and dived in his hand. ‘Look what I’ve found.’

  Danny was holding up a small wooden truck, obviously hand carved and painted in bright blue. He jumped down and began to push it along the floor. ‘Look, Auntie, the wheels go round. Isn’t it good?’

  ‘Yes, it’s very nice.’ Angie frowned. What on earth was that doing in Jane’s box of special things?

  Danny stood up and ran back to her, his eyes bright with pleasure. ‘I ’spect Mummy bought it for my birthday and forgot to wrap it up.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what must have happened.’ Angie knew that couldn’t be true. It had been put away, and must have been something very special to Jane. But why would a cheap toy be that precious to her?

  He clambered back on the chair and
put the toy on the table in front of him, gazing at it with such a sad expression. ‘Do you think it’s all right if I have it now?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  His face brightened and the dimples flashed again. ‘What else is in the box?’

  ‘Some photographs.’ She pushed two towards him. ‘That’s your mummy and me when we were children. And these were your grandparents.’

  He moved his truck out of the way so he could look closely. ‘That really you and Mummy? You’re very little, aren’t you?’

  ‘We were small like you once.’ She couldn’t help smiling when he looked at her in disbelief.

  He turned his attention to the picture with four adults sitting by the sea. ‘Mummy said my grandparents were dead.’

  ‘They are, darling. They were killed in the war by a bomb.’

  ‘Nasty war. Shouldn’t drop bombs. They look nice.’

  ‘They were.’ Angie felt her throat close with emotion. Even after nine years it still hurt.

  ‘What’s in that?’ He was pointing to a small white envelope.

  Angie opened it and removed another photo.

  ‘That’s Mummy,’ Danny declared; his bottom lip trembled but was quickly brought under control. ‘Who’s that with her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looked closely, but the picture wasn’t very clear. All she could make out from the bad black and white print was that the man was tall. It looked as if the light had got in the camera, almost obliterating the image of the man, though Jane was quite clear. Was that some kind of uniform he was wearing? She shook her head. Jane was looking up at him and laughing, obviously happy. Was it Danny’s father?

  ‘It’s a nice picture of Mummy. Can I have it beside my bed?’ Danny was running his finger over the image of his mother.

  ‘I’ll find a frame for it.’ The request gave her hope. Danny had refused to sleep in his own room, but if he had this picture by his bed perhaps he would do so now. The sooner he got back to a routine the better it would be for him.

  He flashed her a smile of thanks and got down to play with his new toy again.

  The next morning Angie and Danny headed for the solicitor Jane had named as executor of her will. Mr Simpson’s office was only a ten-minute bus ride away, and on the second floor of a rather smart building. Jane had obviously taken the trouble and expense to engage a reputable solicitor.

  The secretary looked up when they entered and immediately smiled at Danny. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello.’ The boy returned the greeting politely.

  ‘We’d like to see Mr Simpson, please.’ Angie glanced at Danny standing quietly beside her and was so proud of him. There was never any problem taking him anywhere. He always behaved impeccably, and not because of any badgering from his mother. It seemed as if he had been born a gentleman, and even his young age couldn’t hide the innate quality.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  Angie looked up. ‘No, I’m afraid not, but it’s most important I see him at once. My name’s Angie Westwood, and I’m Jane Harris’s cousin.’ She explained briefly about Jane, and the will she had found.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ The secretary was on her feet and heading for the solicitor’s office. ‘Please take a seat.’

  She had hardly disappeared before a man of around forty strode out. ‘Miss Westwood, this is sad news indeed. Please come in.’

  There were two chairs in front of his desk and Angie settled Danny on one of them and then sat down as well.

  Mr Simpson took his seat behind his desk and shook his head. ‘When did this happen?’

  Angie explained, and told him she had only found the will yesterday.

  The secretary came in with a tray of tea and a glass of milk. She gave the glass to Danny and was rewarded with his best smile. She then handed Mr Simpson an envelope. ‘Miss Harris’s papers, sir.’ After pouring them both a cup of tea, she left the room.

  The solicitor removed the papers and spread them out on his desk, then sighed and sat back. ‘I must ask you for some identification before we proceed.’

  Angie fished in her bag and pulled out her identity card. ‘Will this do?’

  He checked the details with the ones on the will and returned it to her. ‘That’s fine, Miss Westwood.’

  ‘And this is Jane’s son, Danny.’

  Mr Simpson smiled at the boy. ‘I know. We’ve already met, haven’t we, Danny?’

  He smiled politely at the solicitor and wriggled his feet about. It was obvious from his face that he didn’t remember.

  Mr Simpson turned his attention back to Angie. ‘You know the contents of the will, of course.’

  ‘Yes, I read it yesterday. Everything goes to Danny.’

  ‘Your cousin left this with me for safe keeping.’ He held out a sealed envelope with her name on it.

  Angie slit it open, fighting back the emotion as she read Jane’s words.

  Dearest Angie,

  If you are reading this, then I have died. The Doctor has warned me that my heart is not too good. I might live for many years if I’m careful, and I pray that I do, but if the worst should happen I want to be sure Danny will stay with you until he is old enough to make his own way in life.

  I am so sorry I didn’t have the courage to prepare you for this, but I didn’t want to worry you. It was selfish of me, but the three of us have been so happy and I didn’t want to spoil that.

  I have left the house and contents to Danny, but if he is too young, I appoint you as his guardian and trustee. Adopt him, please, Angie, and give him a secure home with someone who loves him as much as I do. I give you authority to sell my house and put the money in a savings account for him, if you think that is the best thing to do.

  The next part made Angie gasp.

  I never told Danny’s father I was expecting. He had great problems and had to return home. He wanted to stay in touch, but, knowing the state of my health and the risk that the baby would never be born, I thought it best if we parted. I loved him too much to cause him more pain. As I’ve watched his son grow more like him every day, I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing, but I have no idea where he is now. It has worried me that I have deprived my son of his father, and the father of his son. I only did what I felt was right at the time. I beg your forgiveness, and the forgiveness of his father, should he ever find out.

  I know you love Danny. Look after him for me.

  My eternal love to you both,

  Jane

  Angie blew her nose, fighting the tears. Then she handed the letter to Mr Simpson.

  He read it quickly, nodded and asked, ‘Do you want me to handle the adoption for you?’

  ‘Please, and as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Miss Harris has made her wishes very clear. When she came to me and explained the situation, I advised her to have a legal paper drawn up stating the supportive role you have played in the child’s life from the moment he was born, and that it would be in his best interests to be adopted by you. This has been done and I have it here.’ He glanced up. ‘Is there any prospect of your marrying in the near future?’

  ‘Well, I have a steady boyfriend. We’ve been going out for about six months, but he hasn’t proposed or said anything about marriage.’ She clenched her hands with tension. ‘Is being single going to be against me?’

  ‘It isn’t usual for a single person to be allowed to adopt.’

  Angie felt the blood drain from her face.

  ‘But this situation is unusual,’ he continued. ‘We don’t know who the father is, or where he can be found. And, even though your cousin had doubts, she still has not named him. He has never been a part of Danny’s life, and you are, therefore, his only known relative.’

  ‘That isn’t strictly true.’ She was twisting the strap on her handbag in agitation. ‘We do have an uncle, but we’ve never met him because the family refused to have anything to do with him. I don’t know why. Only that they had a big row over twenty years ago and never spo
ke to him again.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem, then. Now I will explain what will happen. We will put in the application straight away. Someone will come to your house and talk to you and Danny. If they are satisfied, there will be a hearing at the Magistrates Court. Once the adoption has been agreed, you will receive a new birth certificate showing Danny as your child.’ He smiled.

  ‘Please don’t look so worried, Miss Westwood; I’m sure everything will be all right. You have a lot of advantages. You own your house and have supported the child from birth. Now, what are you going to do about the house?’

  Having composed herself with difficulty, Angie glanced at Danny, who was sitting quietly on the chair with the wooden toy in his hands. Because it had been found in his mother’s special tin, he kept it with him all the time. She was determined to talk to him about everything. Great changes were taking place in his life – in both their lives – and she wanted him to understand.

  ‘Danny, your mummy has left the house to you. Do you want us to live there or would you rather stay in my house?’

  He thought about it for a while, then said, ‘We’ll live in your house.’

  Angie was relieved by his decision. It would have been so painful for them if they had moved into Jane’s house – a house full of memories. She turned back to the solicitor. ‘What do you think we should do? Sell?’

  ‘Why don’t you rent it out? That way you would keep Danny’s inheritance and also get an income from it.’

  ‘Oh, that might be just the thing to do. I could put the rent money away for him.’

  Mr Simpson pursed his lips. ‘Have you thought about your own financial situation? I know you have supported Miss Harris and Danny, but how are you going to be able to work with a young boy to care for?’

  That had been worrying Angie as well, but she’d decided to sort everything out before she tackled that problem. She had a small amount of savings, but she was going to have to hang on to it until she knew how much the solicitor’s costs would be. After Jane’s death she had taken a week off work, and that was stretching into two. Her boss wasn’t going to stand for much more and she expected to be sacked at any moment. She wouldn’t leave Danny in anyone else’s care when he was so vulnerable.