by Pam Weaver
‘Dr John, Dr John!’ Patsy ran to him and he lifted her up in his arms, swinging her around as they laughed with the sheer joy of meeting again.
‘You look fantastic!’ he cried as he set her down. He smiled at Dottie and held out his hand in a more formal way. ‘Pleased to meet you again, Mrs Cox.’
‘Oh please,’ she laughed nervously, ‘call me Dottie, everyone does.’
‘Then you must call me John,’ he said softly. His eyes lingered on hers for a few seconds more, making her heartbeat quicken and then he turned his attention back to Patsy.
‘I’ve brought a friend for you to play with,’ he said. ‘Someone I think you’re going to like very much.’
Patsy looked around. ‘Where? Where is she? I can’t see her.’
John chuckled. Dottie couldn’t see anyone either but as they walked back to his car, a little white head peeped out over the steering wheel.
‘Oh!’ cried Patsy as a delightful West Highland Terrier wagged its tail and barked excitedly.
‘Come along, Minnie,’ he called and the dog jumped down and bounced all around them.
‘Minnie?’
‘After Mickey Mouse’s girlfriend,’ he smiled.
‘Oh, she’s lovely,’ cried Dottie, bending down to pat her. The dog was jumping up at Patsy, licking her face and wagging her tail so hard Dottie wondered that it didn’t fall off.
‘Can I play with her?’ Patsy asked.
‘Of course you can.’ John handed her a yellow ball. ‘I tell you what, she’ll be your best friend for life if you throw this for her to catch.’
As the two of them bounded away, Dottie and John followed.
‘I’ve never been up here before,’ said John, breathing in the warm afternoon air. ‘It’s a lovely spot.’
‘You get a wonderful view of Worthing from the top by those trees,’ Dottie told him. ‘On a clear day, you can see the Seven Sisters to the east and the Isle of Wight to the west.’
‘When I told Mother I was coming here she said something about it being a radar station during the war.’
Dottie smiled. ‘That’s all gone now. There’s just the grass, the chalk pit at the top and the Miller’s Tomb.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ he said.
They watched Patsy throw the ball for the dog. ‘So tell me all about Patsy,’ John went on. ‘She certainly looks well. Do you think she’s settling in all right?’
Dottie prattled away, telling him again about Maureen, Patsy’s best friend, and the rest of the Prior children. She told him how much Patsy liked feeding the chickens and how she’d made a pet out of their pig, christening him Porker.
‘And what about Mr Cox?’ John asked. ‘I got the feeling that he was a bit shocked when he saw his daughter in Southampton – does he get along with her now?’
For a second, Dottie panicked. She couldn’t tell him the truth, could she? Patsy didn’t seem to worry about her father’s gruff behaviour and Dottie was hoping that because she was such a lovely girl she’d win him round in the end. If she told Dr Landers – John – how things really were, he might take Patsy away. Keep your mouth shut, she told herself, and it’ll all come out right in the end.
‘Reg is quite busy at the moment,’ she said cautiously, ‘but once the winter sets in, and we have those long cosy evenings by the fire, I’m sure they’ll be spending a lot more time together.’
‘That’s good,’ he said and Dottie felt a pang of guilt.
They passed the Miller’s Tomb under a spreading oak tree but, just as they were going to read the inscription, a lone rider coming out of the woods distracted them.
‘Patsy,’ John shouted. ‘Keep hold of Minnie’s collar, and stand still until the lady on the horse has gone by.’
Patsy called the dog to heel and crouched down beside her. They waited as horse and rider cantered on. Dottie watched her with a smile. She was such a good girl.
Standing with his back to the ancient Iron-Age fort at the top of the hill, John was over awed by the view. The weather was fairly clear and Dottie pointed out the local landmarks; the spires of St Mary’s in Goring and St Andrew’s in Tarring, and the gasometer in the far distance near Worthing hospital.
‘I’ve got a picnic in the car,’ he said suddenly. ‘If I had known it was so lovely up here, I would have brought it up.’
‘Never mind,’ she smiled. She turned towards him and as his dark brown eyes searched hers, Dottie felt her face flame.
‘Tell you what!’ he cried. ‘You and Patsy take your time to get back to the Miller’s Tomb and I’ll run on down to the car and fetch it.’
‘It’s a long way to go back,’ she protested.
‘Nonsense,’ he chuckled. ‘If you can walk all that long way from the village, running back down the hill isn’t going to kill me, is it? I’ll meet you back there in ten minutes.’
He set off a steady jog. Dottie watched him go. What a lovely man. So kind. Such fun to be with. No wonder Patsy loved him. She sighed. If only Reg was like that …
The sound of the dog barking brought her out of her daydream, and she called Patsy back from the chalk pits where she and Minnie were playing chase. By the time they reached the Miller’s Tomb, John was puffing his way back up the hill with a basket in one hand and a blanket over his arm. They spread out the blanket under a tree and Patsy and Minnie sat down on it with expectant faces.
John laughed. ‘Let’s see what I’ve got here,’ he said, unstrapping the basket.
Dottie gasped with delight as he threw back the lid. He had prepared quite a spread. Chicken paste sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, three large apples, a whole fruitcake – ‘I can’t take credit for that,’ he smiled, ‘my mother made it’ – some shortbread and a flask of tea. Minnie was delighted to discover he had also packed a juicy marrowbone. She found her own corner of the blanket and set about chewing it.
They ate the sandwiches and relaxed on the blanket. ‘This is my best ever picnic,’ Patsy sighed happily, as she wiped some of the fruitcake from her mouth with the back of her hand.
It was for Dottie as well. John was delightful company and for the first time since Patsy had arrived, she was experiencing one of those family times she’d so long dreamed about. If time could be trapped in a bottle, she thought to herself, this would be one of those moments to capture forever, especially if she could share it with John.
‘You said your mother made the cake,’ said Dottie, kneeling up on the blanket to wipe Patsy’s face with her handkerchief. ‘How is she?’
‘Funnily enough, since I’ve been back,’ he said, ‘she’s rallied. She still needs to rest a lot, but she looks a lot stronger.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Dottie.
‘Can Minnie and I play again?’ asked Patsy.
‘I think you should let your tea go down first,’ said Dottie.
John was looking at Patsy and chewing his bottom lip. ‘Dottie,’ he began. ‘I’ve told my mother all about Patsy. How would you feel if I took her to meet her?’
Dottie struggled to control her feelings. Reg would go bonkers. ‘I’m not sure how my husband would feel,’ she began cautiously.
‘Oh please, Auntie Dottie,’ said Patsy. ‘I want to go to Uncle John’s house.’
Dottie turned her head away. What was she going to do?
‘I tell you what,’ said John, as if he sensed her discomfort, ‘you have a think about it. I’ll give you my telephone number. If you should decide to let her come, don’t worry about getting the bus or the train or anything. I’ll come for you both.’
‘You mean, you want me to come too?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. She had to turn away again because she had butterflies already.
‘Now, come on, you two, I can’t possible take any of this picnic back home or my mother will accuse me of starving you both. Have another paste sandwich.’
‘I really couldn’t manage another thing,’ Dottie laughed. ‘The whole aftern
oon has been wonderful.’
‘So has the company,’ he said, looking directly at her. Dottie busied herself tidying the plates back in the basket.
The watery sun was beginning to get lower in the sky and it was definitely getting cooler. Patsy and Minnie played one last game of ‘fetch’ with the ball.
‘I’ll give you a lift back home,’ said John as he packed away the picnic things.
‘No!’ He raised an eyebrow and she knew she’d reacted too quickly. ‘Please don’t worry about us. We’ll enjoy the walk.’
‘At least let me take you part of the way.’
Dottie did some quick thinking. They were unlikely to bump into anyone on the way back and she was a bit tired. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘Drop us at the crossroad.’
The driver of the car behind them leaned on his horn as John slowed down.
‘Damn stupid place to stop,’ he shouted at the windscreen.
As he overtook the car in front, he glanced in his rearview mirror. A woman and her child were climbing out of the car and waving to the man behind the steering wheel. Michael’s father, Gerald, was slightly surprised to see that the woman was Dottie Cox. She had a little girl with her. Must be the one she and Reg had adopted. He wondered vaguely what she was up to. The three of them seemed very chummy.
As he looked ahead again, Gerald jumped as he realised he was going too fast to take the bend in the road. Braking sharply, he only just managed to get round in one piece.
Skimming the grass verge, he straightened the car again and settled down again. Should he slow down and offer her a lift? He eased his foot off the accelerator, but then he thought better of it. No. If Dottie was up to no good, she wouldn’t thank him for spotting her. They would be turning the corner any minute. Concentrating on the road ahead, Gerald pressed his foot down hard and headed for home.
Funny, he thought to himself as he skirted the village. I never would have had Dottie Cox down as the type to play around.
Twenty-Five
Reg hadn’t come home last night.
When Dottie woke up in the morning, her first reaction was pure joy. She lay on her back, watching the curtains fluttering in the light breeze coming from the open window. For the first time in a long time, her bed felt warm and cosy.
The church bells began their peal and Dottie wondered vaguely where Reg might be. There was no note on the table when they got back last evening, but then she didn’t expect one. She was the one who left notes. Reg never told her his plans. In fact, he hardly even bothered to make conversation these days and if he felt she had talked too much, he’d be just as likely to thump her.
For some reason, he blamed her that having Patsy hadn’t worked out. He was determined that she be the one to ask the authorities to take the child away, but she was just as determined not to. Dottie was no fool. She knew something was wrong somewhere, but she didn’t want to think about it. Something told her that if she tried to work it out, she would be forced to send Patsy away and she was beginning to love the child.
The wardrobe door was ajar. Reg had gone in his best suit but nothing else was missing. He hadn’t packed a case or anything. She felt a little guilty that she wasn’t bothered about him. He was probably lying drunk in a gutter somewhere. Ah well, if that was the case, he’d be home soon enough and until then she and Patsy could do what they liked.
Dottie jumped out of bed and pulled open the curtains. Even though it was the end of the month, it was going to be a glorious day. Spoilt for choice, she couldn’t decide what to do. Jump on a bus and go to Brighton, go to the beach, walk up to Titnore woods? She wished John Landers was coming again. He’d made even a simple picnic such fun …
Hearing voices, she looked down into Ann’s garden. Brian and Phyllis were squabbling over a ball and a sudden thought struck her. If Reg wasn’t around all the time, the two of them would be firm friends. Perhaps they could all do something together. Throwing open the sash-cord window, she called out, ‘Brian, ask your mummy if she could come round a minute, will you?’
The offices of Brown, Son and Knightly were on the corner of Liverpool Terrace in Worthing, in a large imposing Victorian building badly in need of repair. Reg had been putting it off since he’d got back on Monday but by Thursday he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d biked down to the town in his lunch break to be shown into the waiting area which was dominated by a large settee that looked to be as old as the building. The leather was cracked and dry and some of the horsehair was coming out of one of the arms. Uncomfortable in his surroundings, Reg sat on a hardbacked chair next to a small wicker table covered in old magazines. He ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar and swallowed loudly. The only sound in the room was the slow tick tock of the railway-sized wall clock.
He wouldn’t have thought of doing this if it hadn’t been for Joyce. What a stroke of luck finding her again. He’d been wandering around his old haunts when he’d bumped into Molly Scrace. Bit of a shock at first. Her hair was grey now and she wore gold-rimmed glasses, but apart from that she’d looked more or less the same.
‘You still the barmaid at the King’s Head?’ he’d asked.
‘Nah … but I still goes there for a glass of stout now and then.’
‘Any of the old crowd still there?’
She’d named a few names, some of which he remembered but others he couldn’t put a face to. ‘I’m on me way there now,’ she said. ‘Fancy a pint?’
And the first person he saw when he walked through the door was Joyce. She’d gained some weight, but she still had that bleached blonde hair he admired so much, although close up he could see the dark roots. She was no Jane Russell but every time he looked at her something stirred in his loins. He was gutted when she told him she was with someone else now. Herbie Bawden. A bookie. Only to be expected after all this time, he’d supposed, but she’d given him the nod and they’d each made their excuses to leave, he for the toilet and she to go home and make Herbie’s tea. They’d met up in the back alley.
‘I can’t stop long,’ she’d told him but she’d lifted her skirts while he unbuttoned his flies and she stopped long enough. When it was over, he’d grabbed a handful of hair. ‘I want you back.’
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve,’ she’d snapped. ‘When you got locked up, I wanted to wait for you but you told me not to.’
‘I was an idiot,’ said Reg. He kissed her hard on the mouth.
She pushed him away. ‘What about you? Have you got somebody else?’
‘There’s no one,’ he’d lied. ‘I’m on me own, or as good as.’
She’d looked him straight in the eye. ‘Herbie may not be love’s young dream, Reg, but he keeps me comfortable. You and I have had one for old times’ sake but I’m not on the game any more.’
‘I got me own house,’ he boasted. Her eyes lit up. ‘But I got a sitting tenant at the moment. You can move in as soon as I get rid of her.’
Joyce seemed unconvinced. She put her head back and her hand on her hip. ‘And how long will that take?’
‘Not long.’
‘I’m not hanging about, Reg.’
‘You won’t have to,’ he promised.
Even thinking about her in this sterile office waiting room made him shift in his seat. That woman could do things to him nobody else could do. If he was to get her back, he needed money … which was precisely why he was here in this office.
The sound of squeaking shoes came along the polished lino floor in the corridor and a woman appeared in the doorway. Her blouse was buttoned to the neck and her pale face looked washed out in the dark grey suit she was wearing. She peered at him over the top of her glasses.
‘Mr Cox? Mr Knightly will see you now.’
He followed her down the corridor and into Mr Knightly’s office.
When Reg first clapped eyes on him, he was surprised. Seeing as how his name was last on the polished brass nameplate outside the door, he had expected him to be a much younger man. Mr Knightly wa
s about fifty or fifty-five, with heavy jowls and a very discoloured nose – probably, Reg thought, from drinking too much port after dinner.
Reg introduced himself.
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Cox,’ said Mr Knightly pleasantly. ‘And how is Mrs Cox? Well, I hope?’
Reg assured him his wife was the picture of health. ‘She and I are planning our future,’ he said, getting straight to the point. ‘I want to talk to you about the terms of her late aunt’s will. We got plans.’
Mr Knightly raise his hand. ‘Let me stop you there, Mr Cox. I’m afraid I am not at liberty to speak to you in a business sense. Mrs Cox is our client.’
Reg’s mouth tightened. ‘But I’m her husband. What’s mine is hers and what’s hers is mine.’
‘That may be so, Mr Cox, but I’m not at liber …’
‘Yes, yes, you already said that,’ Reg cut in. ‘It’s about the wife’s inheritance.’
‘As you already know,’ Mr Knightly continued with a sigh, ‘the house is in your wife’s name so I can only accept instructions for her.’
‘But that’s bloody ridiculous!’
Mr Knightly gave Reg a disapproving look. ‘That’s not for me to say, Mr Cox,’ he said sitting back down at his desk. ‘All I can tell you is that, without formal instruction, I cannot do business with you. Good afternoon, Mr Cox.’
His face purple with rage, Reg had no option but to turn on his heel and march back down the corridor. Damn and blast it! That bloody Aunt Bessie was still ruling his life from the grave.
What was he going to do? He had to have money if he was going to get Joyce back but Dottie was in the way. He only put up with that kid because of the promise Sandy put in the letter. ‘In my will, I’ve left everything to you …’ Life would be so much better without the pair of them.
Back home that evening, Reg suddenly announced that he was going away for a couple of days at the weekend.
