by Rachel Ennis
‘Choose?’ His voice cracked on a harsh laugh. ‘We didn’t choose. Helen wasn’t planned. Fiona’s cycle was never regular so she didn’t realise she was pregnant until it was too late for a termination.’
Jess bit her tongue hard. Words once spoken could not be recalled. But there was a deafening clamour in her head. He and Fiona were married, presumably loved each other, and could afford a child. To think of a baby as an inconvenience to be disposed of –
‘In any case, while I know all about a woman’s right to choose, I couldn’t have supported that.’
As she heard the words, Jess let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
‘Fi made me promise that once the baby arrived I would help and she could go back to work. I can’t break my promise. But the situation at the hospital … It’s not that simple.’
‘I appreciate you telling me, Rob. The thing is, though, it was your promise, not mine. Nor does it change the facts or my decision. My bookkeeping and my genealogy aren’t hobbies. They are work for which I am paid.’
For a moment she was tempted to ask where he had been after his father’s death while she dealt with losing her home, selling off furniture and dealing with creditors and endless paperwork. But that would be unfair. Those problems and responsibilities were hers. He had been putting in long hours at the hospital. Fortunately Fiona’s mother had come to stay for a month while Fiona recovered from the birth and Helen settled into a routine.
‘If it’s a matter of money, we can –’
‘Please let me finish,’ she said quietly. ‘When your father died I didn’t just lose my husband and our future, I lost my home and all my financial security. I’ve had to start all over again.’
‘I know that, which is why –’
‘But perhaps you’ve forgotten that I’ve been a carer all my life, Rob. For my grandparents, your father, you and Sam, then Grandpa Trevanion after his stroke. I don’t regret a moment. Looking after people I love was a privilege. But for the first time in my life I’m not responsible for anyone else and I have two small new businesses that I want to make a success. I’d love to have Helen one day a week. You can bring her at eight thirty and pick her up again at six and for that day she will have my undivided attention. But that’s all I can offer.’
She waited. The silence stretched.
‘I thought it was worth asking. You might have changed your mind.’
‘No, love. I haven’t.’
‘Right. OK. Fi will ring and sort out dates. Bye.’ He put the phone down before she could respond. For a moment she was tempted to call him back and tell him she would do as they wanted. But she hesitated, and that hesitation told her that though it might be right for Rob and Fiona, it wouldn’t be right for her.
She hoped that he didn’t regret opening up to her, and that he and Fiona would find a solution. Rob had never found it easy to confide his worries, a trait he had inherited from her. Granny had had no patience with what she called whining. Bad things happened. Life was often unfair. But you got on and made the best of it.
Returning to the screen, Jess checked the Register of Deaths and found that Steven Ludlow had died in hospital following a road traffic accident. Printing out the record she added Steven’s name and dates to Morwenna’s family tree. She would take a break, spend a couple of hours on Tom’s accounts, then look for Steven’s parents.
Chapter Six
Monday dawned cool, sunny and breezy. After a morning spent catching up with household chores, Jess needed a change of scene. Wrapped up in hat, scarf, and pink padded jacket, she walked along by the river to the marina, calling a greeting to John Preece who glanced up, gave a brief nod, then continued digging one of his vegetable plots.
Once a source of curiosity in the village, now John was simply accepted as odd and left alone. According to Gill, he had arrived in the village ten years ago to live in old Mrs Chamberlin’s cottage. As the Chamberlins had never had children, Gill guessed he was a distant relative who had inherited the property.
He sold his surplus fruit and veg through the village shop. He didn’t own a car and so transported it in a homemade box trailer towed behind his pushbike. He arrived at eight as soon as the shop opened and had returned home before anyone was about.
When Jess returned to live in the village she had expected questions. In small communities where everyone knew each other and families stretched back many generations, curiosity was as natural as breathing. Knowing how the village worked she had told Gill about Alex’s sudden death during one his working trips abroad and the additional shock of discovering he had left her with little money and a load of debt.
Gill had patted her hand. ‘Leave it to me, bird. I’ll say he was caught in the stock market crash. This time tomorrow it will be all round the village and no one will bother you.’ As usual Gill had been right.
After planting daffodil bulbs in her front garden the previous autumn, Jess had had a bagful left over. Ivy next door hadn’t wanted them. So on one of her walks to the marina she had taken the bag with her.
John was in his garden. When as usual he ignored her greeting she dropped the bag over the gate, shouted ‘daff bulbs’, and walked on.
Passing his gate on three subsequent occasions, she had called a brief greeting. He hadn’t looked up. Jess wasn’t offended. It was her choice to speak. He was not obliged to respond. He loved his garden so he would plant the bulbs. That was what mattered. While she didn’t share John’s desire for isolation, she understood it.
Refreshed by the walk, fresh air and beautiful view of dancing blue water and sepia-toned hills on the far side of the vast estuary, she headed home.
As she walked up the village street she saw an ambulance pull away from outside Morwenna’s cottage. Annie was talking to Fred and Mavis Honey on the pavement. She hurried to join them. ‘Brenda?
Annie nodded. ‘I called in to see her. I’ve got no time for the woman, but I didn’t want her lying there thinking up ways to have a go at Mor when she came in from work.’
‘How well you know her,’ Mavis said.
‘That was good of you, Annie,’ said Jess.
‘I did it for Mor. Anyhow, Brenda was unconscious. Looked like a stroke to me. I phoned for an ambulance then called Mavis.’
‘I packed a bag,’ Mavis said. ‘Fred is now going in to pick up Mor from work and take her to the hospital. He’ll wait and bring her home. I hope she don’t go blaming herself.’
‘Why should she?’ Jess asked, nodding to Fred as he came out.
‘For not being here.’
‘It wouldn’t have made a scrap of difference.’ Annie snorted. ‘Brenda weighed more than twice what she should. The only exercise she ever got was chewing food or nagging Mor.’
‘Dear life, Annie,’ Fred shifted uncomfortably. ‘You don’t take prisoners.’
‘I’ve known Brenda Crocker over forty years and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard her say a good word about anyone. It’s universal justice, Fred. What you give out you get back.’
‘Anything I can do, Mavis?’ Jess asked.
‘No, bird. I’ll lock up. Go on, Fred, Mor will be waiting for you.’
As Mavis went back into their cottage, Annie huffed out a breath. ‘Trust Brenda.’
‘Come on, Annie. She didn’t have a stroke on purpose.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’
Fred, Tom, and Annie took turns driving Morwenna in each evening. Ben went with her. Brenda remained unconscious. The village agreed this was for the best.
Jess traced Steven’s father. Born in 1914, Howard Ludlow married Irene and had two daughters before Steven came along. Howard was a dockworker, a reserved occupation during the Second World War. But as Jess discovered, dockworkers could be sent wherever they were needed, and Howard had been transferred to Southampton. His marriage certificate gave his father’s name as Trevor Ludlow, mechanical engineer in the Merchant Navy. His mother was Rose Wynn-Evan
s. Rose and Trevor had married in 1913.
Searching the National Archives to find Trevor’s certificate number, Jess requested a copy of the certificate from the National Maritime Museum website. Her eyes were stinging with tiredness. Satisfied with what she had achieved, she switched everything off, banked up the fire, and padded upstairs to bed.
By Wednesday afternoon the weather had worsened. Strong winds and torrential rain brought darkness early. Jess had switched on the lights by half past three. She finished Tom’s accounts and was making a cup of tea when the phone rang.
‘Jess, it’s Mor. The hospital’s just rung. Mother’s took a turn for the worse. They say I should get there as soon as possible. Ben isn’t home yet, nor is Fred and –’
‘Are you still at work?’
‘Yes. But there isn’t a bus until –’
‘Stay there, Mor. I’ll pick you up.’
Jess cut the connection and immediately dialled Tom’s number. If he was out or couldn’t come, she’d call a taxi.
‘Peters’ boat yard.’
‘Tom, it’s me. Mor’s just phoned. The hospital wants her there as soon as possible –’
‘On my way.’ The line went dead.
Jess replaced the receiver. Ringing Tom had been instinctive. She would need to think about that. She was the one playing it cool; asking for time. Yet in an emergency she instinctively turned to him. His response had been instant and unquestioning. With her surge of relief came the realisation that Alex would not have reacted that way.
For much of their marriage he had been abroad. She had dealt with household crises, patched up the boys’ injuries, sorted out her grandparents’ problems, and looked after her father-in-law following his stroke. These responsibilities had helped her tap into unexpected reserves of strength and self-reliance. She had expected Alex to be proud of her, pleased that she could keep everything running smoothly in his absence. Instead he had resented it …
She shook her head. Alex was dead. That part of her life was over. Except that it wasn’t, and wouldn’t be until her solicitor told her he was finally closing the file. Please let that be soon.
Quickly she saved her work, shut down her laptop, and stoked up the woodburner. She was putting on her jacket when she heard Tom’s pick-up arrive. She grabbed her bag, locked the door, and ran down the path through the rain.
Morwenna was waiting in the foyer of the builders’ merchants as they drove up.
‘This is some good of you, Tom.’ Her teeth were chattering as she climbed into the back seat of the crew cab.
‘Glad to help, Mor,’ he said over his shoulder before swinging the pick-up round.
Flooding forced them onto back roads. Rainwater rippled across the full width of the narrow road and tumbled in muddy streams down both sides. Tom changed down, using the engine to slow the pick-up rather than brakes, hoping to avoid a skid.
As they rounded a corner they saw a police car, blue lights flashing, parked behind a white van crumpled against the low hedge.
‘Probably took the corner too fast and aquaplaned,’ Tom said. An ambulance had its back doors open and two paramedics were loading a stretcher. On the verge a man shrouded in a waterproof talked to the officer crouching beside him. Another officer in a yellow high-visibility jacket waved them past the scene. Once they rejoined the main road, traffic had thinned out and twenty minutes later they reached the hospital.
‘You go on in with Mor,’ Tom told Jess. ‘I’ll find you once I’ve parked.’
As they hurried through the rain into the large reception area, Jess breathed in the instantly recognisable scent of hospital: warm air, disinfectant, wet carpet, and a trace of school kitchen. Rather than waste time trying to follow various signs and coloured arrows, she asked a passing nurse who gave her directions and pointed to the lifts.
Morwenna clutched Jess’s hand as they reached the reception desk outside the half-glassed wall that enabled nurses to see into a ward divided into small bays of three or four beds. Two beds were hidden from view by drawn curtains.
A young woman in a green uniform dress looked up from a computer screen. ‘Help you?’
‘Someone rang and said I should come right away. Mother’s here, name of Crocker?’ Morwenna’s grip on Jess’s hand was painfully tight.
An older nurse in dark blue looked up. ‘Miss Crocker.’ She smiled. ‘I’m the ward sister.’
‘We got here soon as we could. But there was an accident –’
‘Not you, I hope?’
Morwenna shook her head.
‘The main road from the village is flooded,’ Jess explained. ‘A van skidded into the hedge. The police were there and an ambulance was just leaving. It probably got here just before we did.’
The sister nodded. ‘A&E is always busy, but it’s even worse on nights like this. Come and sit down.’ She indicated a row of blue soft-seat chairs a little way from the desk where two more nurses were busy checking computer screens.
Morwenna glanced towards the glass wall and the swing doors. ‘Shouldn’t I –’
As the sister caught her eye, Jess said, ‘Mor – Miss Crocker has no other family, not locally. I’m a close friend.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The sister touched Morwenna’s free hand. ‘Your mother passed away a few minutes before you arrived. She’s still on the ward. I expect you’d like a few minutes with her to say goodbye.’
Morwenna hesitated, chewing her bottom lip.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ the sister offered.
As Morwenna nodded, Jess said, ‘I’ll wait here, Mor.’
‘She wasn’t in any pain,’ the sister said as she guided Morwenna through the double doors that swung shut behind them.
Tom arrived, talking quietly into his mobile. Ending the call he stuffed the phone into his pocket. Rain had soaked his hair and the shoulders of his waxed jacket. It ran down his face.
‘Thanks,’ he grinned as Jess passed him a couple of clean tissues and sat down beside her.
‘Granny’s training. And two boys always needing blood mopped up, mud wiped off, noses blown and tears dried.’
‘Brenda?’
Jess shook her head. ‘She’s gone. Just before we arrived.’
‘Best thing,’ Tom said.
‘The sister’s taken Mor in to see her. There might be some paperwork.’
Tom nodded. ‘Ben got the key from Mavis. He didn’t want Mor going back to an empty house.’
‘Oh, bless him.’
Morwenna came back, pale but calm, carrying a bag containing her mother’s things. ‘She looks peaceful.’
‘That’s a first,’ Tom murmured in Jess’s ear.
Morwenna shivered. ‘I’d better get on home and ring the undertaker.’
‘Ben’s waiting at your place, Mor,’ Jess said. ‘With a fire halfway up the chimney and the kettle on.’
‘He is?’ A tear slid down Morwenna’s cheek. She wiped it away with her knuckles, like a child. ‘I aren’t crying for Mother. The sister said her going like she did was for the best. She’d never have got over it. But I wasn’t expecting – not so soon. It’s just a shock, that’s all.’
‘Bound to be,’ Tom nodded, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘Now you listen to me. Ben wants to look after you, so mind you let him.’
After dropping Morwenna off, Tom parked on the road outside Jess’s front garden and walked with her to the door.
‘Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?’ she said over her shoulder as she turned the key and opened the door.
He hung back, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. ‘I wish I could, Jess. But with this gale blowing straight up the river I’d better get on home. I want to make sure everything’s tied down in the yard. ’
Surprised at the depth of her disappointment, Jess said, ‘Of course you do. I shouldn’t have dragged you away.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ Cupping her face between his hands he kissed her. ‘I’m glad you rang.’
‘
When Mor phoned, you were the first person I thought of.’
‘I should hope so.’ He kissed her again. Beneath the cold rain streaking his face his lips were soft and warm. ‘Go on inside. You’ll get drenched. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Sitting on the sofa cradling a mug of hot cocoa, Jess knew Brenda Crocker’s death was a merciful release both for the woman herself and for Morwenna. If she felt unsettled it was because the evening had stirred up painful memories she didn’t want to revisit.
She swallowed more cocoa. The heat curled in her stomach and spread comforting warmth through her limbs. Pushing herself up, she crossed to the table and opened her laptop.
Chapter Seven
When Jess woke at six on Thursday morning the gale was still howling. By seven she was washed and dressed, her bed made and the woodburner cleaned out and relit, and by eight she had done an hour’s work and had her breakfast, using the last of the milk. She zipped up her jacket and picked up her purse.
Reaching the street she saw Tom’s pickup parked behind the bread van. Tom was holding the shop door open for the delivery driver who carried a large tray of wrapped loaves. Hurrying to join him, Jess saw his hair was wet and tousled, his face drawn with exhaustion.
‘Is the yard OK?’ She had to shout and winced at the squeal of the swinging pub sign.
He nodded. ‘Good job I replaced the fence last autumn. We’ve had some damage, but nothing that can’t be fixed.’
‘What about your insurance?’
‘Not worth claiming. Doug and me will deal with it. I’ve been down at the marina since four.’
‘Bad?’
He nodded again, holding the door open for her. ‘Willie, Joe, and Arf got there soon after midnight.’ He closed the shop door, shutting out the wind noise. ‘They moved their boats upriver and beached them, then stayed on to shift the launches and dinghies from the pontoons. Willie and Joe took the ferry out to try and get a rope on board two big yachts that broke their moorings. I wouldn’t have done it, not in that sea.’
‘Did they save them?’
‘They got one, towed it up the river, and left it in the cove round the headland out of the wind. The other ended up smashed on the rocks. Nic came down at one, opened up the café, and sent one of the boys over to the 24-hour supermarket for supplies. Boss got there twenty minutes later. He put the word out for us to come in every hour or so for a hot drink and something to eat, all on the house.’
