Kitabı oku: «Home is Where the Heart Is»

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Also by Freda Lightfoot

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

Endpage

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

1945

Cathie gave a squeal of joy as she read the letter that had arrived that morning. ‘Alex is coming home!’ she cried. She’d waited so long for this news she couldn’t quite believe it. It must be nearly two years since she’d last seen her fiancé and now the war was over he’d be home for good, at last. She quickly scanned the letter again to make sure she’d read it correctly. ‘He says he hopes to be home by Christmas.’

There was no one to hear her exciting news except for the baby, bouncing up and down on her chubby little legs in her cot, holding fast to the rail and giving a happy gurgle as if to echo Cathie’s delight.

Gathering the child in her arms, Cathie screwed up her nose and chuckled. ‘I think you need changing, sweetie.’ But even as she smiled into the baby’s soft blue eyes, her own filled with tears. ‘Oh, I do wish your mummy was here, and your daddy, of course. It’s so desperately sad that you’ll never get to know or love them. I shall tell you all about them as you grow, of course. Particularly Sally, my dear sister, who loved you so much, and was very much a part of my life.’

At least a baby did not experience the pain of grief that she had suffered, Cathie thought, as she laid the infant on a towel-covered table to strip off the wet nappy and set about cleaning her plump little bottom.

What a dreadful war it had been. First her sister had lost her beloved husband, who’d gone down with his ship in August 1944 when it had been sunk by a U-boat. Tony had never even learned his wife was pregnant, let alone seen his child. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her mind flew back to that dreadful day, barely a month after the birth of her beautiful daughter, when Sal had gone with her friend Rose to the Gaumont Cinema on Oxford Road to see Judy Garland in Meet Me in St Louis. Cathie might well have accompanied them, but somebody needed to stay home and look after the baby. She’d happily volunteered for the task as she hoped the film might lift her sister’s depression. Still enveloped in grief, Sal had been in desperate need of an afternoon out.

Cathie had been happily sitting feeding little Heather with her bottle when the door had burst open. She’d glanced up with a smile, fully expecting to see her sister now that dusk was falling. Instead, she saw their mother standing rigid, her face as white as a ghost.

‘She’s gone.’

Cathie recalled how something inside her had jolted as she’d stared in shock at Rona. ‘Who has?’

‘Our Sal.’

Her memory became a blur after that, as a cold numbness came over her. Cathie had felt strangely detached. Everything went silent, even the sound of children playing in the street, and the odd passing car or motorcycle. It was as if she was standing outside of herself, watching as she gently set down the baby’s bottle and patted little Heather’s back to settle her tummy while the horror of what Rona was saying slowly penetrated.

It seemed that on their way home the driver had lost control on the icy roads and the bus had tipped into an old bomb crater, killing many on board, including her beloved sister.

Now the pain of her loss resonated afresh as, staring out of the window, Cathie watched two young women walking arm-in-arm past the bomb-damaged houses opposite, laughing and chattering. The pair reminded her so much of how she and Sal used to step out together, whether as young girls trotting off to school, or grown women going shopping or to a dance together. So many treasured memories.

The sad irony was that they’d come close to death many times during this last six years with constant air raids on the nearby railway, warehouses, wharfs and canals, and once when their own house had been bombed. A terrifying incident that Cathie still fiercely blocked from her mind.

The effects of war could be devastating and so long lasting.

Cathie stopped this train of thought in mid-track. To lose her beloved sister was bad enough, but for it to happen just as the war was coming to an end was even more heartbreaking. Sal’s death had left a huge hole in her life that nothing and no one could ever fill. It felt as if a part of her too had died as well as their family having been decimated.

Blinking back tears as she smoothed talcum powder over the baby’s soft skin and began to pin on a fresh nappy, Cathie’s heart was swamped with love and pity for her niece. With scarcely any family left, what kind of future could this little one be facing?

Not that they’d had much of a family to begin with, their father having left home while both girls were very young. And their mother, Rona, was not an easy woman. Cathie felt she’d endured a dreadful childhood: a selfish mother with a string of lovers and an absentee father whom she hadn’t seen in years. Sal had been the one person to give her the love she’d so badly needed. Cathie certainly had no wish for little Heather to suffer a similar fate. And who else was there to care for the poor child but herself? A responsibility she’d accepted without question.

Were it not for having to care for the baby, she might never have found the will to carry on, or even get up in a morning. She’d needed to locate a nursery, of course, to look after the child during the day, as Cathie couldn’t afford to give up her job at the tyre factory down by the docks. She’d also queued at the Citizens Advice Bureau for hours, to ask them if she was entitled to extra clothing coupons for the baby. They’d agreed that she was, and had told her to ask for form CRSC/1. All such a fuss, but money was tight and Cathie had very little in the way of savings in the post office.

There was a tidy sum stashed away in an account left by dear Sally and her husband, but that was for their precious daughter when she grew up, not to be wasted on trivial bits and bobs now.

Breathing in the sweet scent of her as she cuddled the baby in her arms and kissed her soft cheek, Cathie murmured, ‘You were so loved by your mummy, and if Sal were still with us, she’d be celebrating Alex’s return along with me, despite having lost your lovely father. I promise that you will never feel unwanted, sweetie, even if there are only a few of us left. The war is over and it’s time for a fresh start.’

But how would her fiancé react to taking on someone else’s child? Did she even know Alex well enough to be certain? Of course he would, as he was such a kind, sweet man. As Cathie warmed some milk for the baby’s morning porridge, she kept glancing across at his letter, her heart radiating with hope and pride. She’d loved Alex Ryman from the moment she’d met him over three years ago, back in 1942.

One Saturday, as Sal’s husband Tony had been home on leave, they’d treated themselves to a night at the Palais. It wasn’t cheap, being ninepence a ticket, but it proved to be worth the expense when this gorgeous man had approached her to ask for a dance.

‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You are so lovely with your long curly red hair, that smattering of freckles on your cute little nose, and the sweetest smile,’ he’d said.

Cathie remembered how she’d flushed with pleasure at the compliment, never for a moment having thought of herself in such terms. ‘Not strictly red, more a strawberry blonde,’ she corrected him, with a smile more shy than sweet, or so she thought.

‘Still beautiful, however you describe it, as are your hazel eyes. I’m not the greatest dancer in the world, but please would you do me the honour?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ and, taking his hand, she’d allowed him to lead her out on to the dance floor. She felt entranced by the fact that this tall handsome man, with his crop of short brown hair, chestnut brown eyes and square jutting chin, could be at all interested in her. His quiet conservative manner, and the respect he showed her, also proved him to be the perfect gentleman.

They danced almost every dance, the feel of his arms wrapped about her slender body, as if she were too precious to let go, filling her with joy. Was this how it felt to fall in love? Something she’d never experienced before. By the end of the evening, Cathie happily accepted an offer of a date, all too aware of a dazed longing in her eyes as she cast him a shy sideways glance from beneath her lashes. Could this be the man of her dreams? It most certainly felt like love at first sight for both of them.

After he returned to base, they’d exchanged letters almost daily. At that time he was stationed at Squires Gate, Blackpool, which before the war had been a holiday camp but was now used for army training. Barely able to put him from her mind, she’d gone out with him at every opportunity. Most wonderful of all, when he was granted a week’s leave before being sent overseas early in 1943 following weeks of training in Silloth, he’d presented her with a ring.

‘I wish I could afford to buy you something more splendid, but the thought of not seeing you again is devastating. I need to be sure that you’ll be here, waiting for me, when I return.’

‘Oh, I most certainly will,’ she’d assured him with love and pity in her heart, utterly thrilled and excited by his proposal.

Sadly, she hadn’t seen him since, or received quite as many letters as she would have liked, but then he’d been stationed in Egypt, and goodness knows where else. Now he was coming home at last, and she could hardly wait to become his wife.

Cathie’s new-found happiness was very slightly curtailed as she considered what his reaction might be to the fact that this little one now occupied a large place in her heart too. She certainly had every intention of keeping her, not least because she understood how it felt to be deprived of parental love. And she owed it to her sister. For little Heather’s sake, and to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, Cathie fully intended to push these concerns from her mind and make this the best Christmas ever.

‘It may only be October but Christmas will be here before you know it, which means I must start shopping and preparing right away, as rationing makes everything so difficult,’ she told her giggling niece, as she popped her safely back in her cot.

Oh, she really couldn’t wait to welcome Alex home, and to be in his arms again. He too had no doubt lost friends and loved ones, maybe suffered injuries in battles and campaigns he’d been involved in. So surely he would appreciate how necessary it was to move on and live with the consequences of whatever this dreadful war had thrown at them. Cathie was quite certain he would come to love her little niece as much as she did.

‘Never in a million years,’ said her mother later that day when Cathie showed Rona the letter and spoke of her intention to ask Alex to agree they adopt little Heather. ‘No man is willing to take on another chap’s child. Why would he agree to do such a thing?’

‘Because Alex is a lovely kind man. Why would he not?’ As so often when dealing with her mother, Cathie felt instantly irritated by Rona’s sarcasm and negative attitude. She had always been a dogmatic, stubborn person, obsessed with her own needs and busy social life, with little thought or care for those she was supposed to love. Even her show of grief had been entirely self-centred, worrying more about how she would cope without Sal’s help in the house, rather than any genuine sense of loss.

‘Who’ll do the washing and ironing now?’ she’d moaned. ‘Who will clean the house, mop the floors, make the beds, and keep the fire going? You’re not half as good at housework as our Sal was.’

‘Who cares about such things?’ Cathie had sobbed in her distress. ‘It’s losing my lovely sister that hurts, like a knife in my heart, not the loss of the work she used to do around the house.’ Sal had been like a mother to her, as well as an elder sister, something Rona never could be.

‘Well, someone has to do it, and I’m certainly not up to all that hard work any more,’ had been her mother’s sharp response, and still was to this day as she made herself comfy now in her chair by the fire. She began filing her already perfect nails as she patiently waited for Cathie to tell her when tea was ready. She was an attractive woman, despite being well into her forties, with her smoothly styled blonde hair and blue eyes, lovely oval face completely wrinkle-free, pencilled brows and red lipstick. She would even rub some of the lipstick on to her powdered cheeks. Not for a moment did it enter her lazy head that perhaps she should help, if only to lay the table, let alone peel the potatoes.

‘You could brew the tea,’ Cathie politely suggested, striving to keep her temper.

‘You’re the one standing by the stove, so why don’t you do it? And you’re the one with energy, being young, so be quick about it as I’m meeting Tommy at seven o’clock at the Pack Horse.’

Cathie stifled a weary sigh, all too aware it was a complete waste of time and energy to argue with Rona. She had no real objection to dealing with household chores, but a little assistance now and then would help. Unfortunately, nothing would persuade Rona to take the slightest risk of breaking a nail, or spoiling whatever pretty dress she happened to be wearing. Nor had she ever lifted a finger to help care for little Heather, or shown the slightest interest in the child, despite being her only grandchild.

It was Cathie who fed the baby, changed and washed her nappies, and got up with her in the night when she was hungry or teething. Fortunately, she was a good baby, but the work was exhausting nonetheless. It was Cathie who wheeled the pram to the nursery on her way to the factory each morning, and collected the baby on the way home at the end of her long working day. If Rona was on the early shift at the local cotton mill, it never brought forth an offer to pick up her grandchild, or to make a contribution towards the cost of her care.

As for offering to babysit, that hadn’t happened in the entire seven months since Sal’s death. Not that this troubled Cathie one bit, as she’d been far too sunk in grief to be interested in going anywhere. But things would need to change in the future, and she had every faith that Alex would support her, as well as provide her with the love she’d always longed for.

‘You haven’t even agreed to meet him yet, so how can you possibly judge?’ Cathie said, returning to their original difference of opinion as she placed two plates of corned beef hash on the table.

‘Men are men and not interested in babies. You are such an innocent. It’s long past time you grew up and entered the real world.’

‘I think the war ensured I did that, Mam,’ Cathie sharply responded. ‘I’m twenty-two, if you recall, no longer a child.’

‘So you are, and with a face on you like a line of wet washing. Stop sulking, girl.’

‘Actually, I’m feeling much better, really quite happy now that Alex is on his way home.’

‘Aye, well don’t be too naïve, or expect too much from that fella of yours. He’ll have his own plans for the future, whether you like it or not.’

‘I’m sure he will, but I’m entitled to my wishes too.’

‘Ooh, what an independent little madam you’ve turned into.’

‘That could be the result of the war too,’ Cathie said, thinking that she really hadn’t been given much choice in the matter with a young baby to care for, a useless mother and a living to earn.

After lifting Heather into her high chair and tucking a bib about the baby’s neck, she began to feed her the soft hash from her own little dish and let her mind drift away from her mother’s nagging. Despite her ignorance so far as baby care was concerned, the nine-month-old was doing well. She’d sat up at six months, and was now showing every sign of wanting to walk. Precious little Heather had been successfully weaned and was doing well with her eating, though she did have a tendency to fling her dish on to the floor if she didn’t care for whatever was on offer, or grew bored with the process. Today, she seemed to approve of the mush she was eating, which was a great relief. Feeding spoonfuls to the baby as she ate her own food, Cathie focused her thoughts upon her happy news.

The biggest worry she and Alex faced was where they would live when they did marry. The idea of moving in with her mother as newly-weds was too dreadful to contemplate, even supposing Rona would agree to such an idea. Cathie had already made a few enquiries about finding a house to rent, so far with no luck. So many homes had been destroyed by the bombing that they were in very short supply. ‘Homes for Heroes’ they’d been promised by the government, but there was little sign of any so far, apart from a few prefabs. She could but hope something would turn up soon.

Everything would work out just fine, she was sure of it. Father Christmas was about to deliver the best present possible by sending Alex home to her. Now she would give her fiancé the best present she had to offer, her love forever, and a beautiful ready-made family to start their wonderful life together.

CHAPTER TWO

The next day being a Saturday, Cathie set off early to Campfield Market, intent upon making a start on her preparations for Christmas. Most of their food was purchased from the local Co-op where she could benefit from an annual dividend and other special offers. At Christmas they would allow customers a little extra sugar, butter and a tin of condensed milk. But she still loved to visit the market for bargains.

Cathie had carefully written out a list, which included little gifts to put in crackers and some sticky strips to make paper chains. She already had a box of Christmas tree baubles and ornaments that she and Sal had collected over the years, many of them home-made. Later, Cathie meant to buy a small tree, which she would decorate. Right now she must find the right ingredients to start cooking. Dried fruit for mincemeat and a Christmas cake, dried egg, prunes or dried apricots, spices and vanilla essence to make everything taste good, and ground rice for some mock marzipan. Hopefully there’d be an end to rationing soon, but while it continued, this would not be an easy task; so the sooner she started searching, the better.

The food shops and stalls were mainly in the top section between Tonman Street and Liverpool Road, and that was where she headed first. A brisk wind made her tighten the scarf about her neck, sending scraps of grubby paper bags and rotting cabbage leaves flying everywhere. But the baby was tucked up safe and warm in her pram with the hood up and the apron clipped in place over the blankets.

Cathie decided she would try ordering a goose from one of the butchers, although sometimes it was better to come to the market late, just before it closed as prices were cheaper then. The problem with that was there might not be anything left, and Cathie really had no wish to make do with another mock goose comprised mainly of lentils and onions. If this was to be the best Christmas ever, to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, genuine poultry was essential.

Cathie loved exploring the market, with its huge iron girders arching across the roof beneath a range of dusty windows, the supporting pillars beautifully decorated with red roses in patriotic honour of Lancashire. She would lovingly stroke a hand over one as she passed by, as if to bring herself luck, something she still felt in need of despite the war being over. Outdoor stalls jostled for space from here on Tonman Street right across to Deansgate, many of them piled high with second-hand goods, as anything new and cheap was quite rare with rationing still in place.

As always the market was heaving with people: harassed mothers scolding their children for wandering off, old men in flat caps and mufflers huddled together by the hot baked potato cart, no doubt busily putting the world to rights. Perhaps discussing how the General Election in July had brought a Labour landslide with Clement Attlee now Prime Minister in place of Churchill. The terrible bombs that had been dropped since on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the fact Britain was pretty well stony broke.

Nevertheless, morale remained high, despite the threat of austerity and restrictions growing ever tighter as young men returned from the war. It was true that ex-servicemen were not always in one piece, or a happy state of mind, often damaged either physically or mentally. But families were delighted to see their loved ones safely home.

Cathie could barely wait to see Alex again.

She studied various grocery, vegetable and biscuit stalls, happily pausing to watch a man in a bowler hat cleverly juggling pots, pans and plates, appearing to let one fall then easily catching it in order to gain people’s attention. ‘I’m not asking five shillings. I’m not asking one shilling. I’m not even asking sixpence. A threepenny bit and this beautiful plate is yours,’ he shouted to the large crowd gathered about his stall.

Smiling at his showmanship, Cathie queued at her favourite butcher’s stall, where she was a regular customer, and bought a few sausages for tea. He gladly took her order for a goose, offering to give it priority once he heard that her fiancé was returning from the war.

‘Can’t promise it’ll be big, mind, but I’ll do my best, and let you know if I don’t find one.’

Thanking him, Cathie moved on to the Maypole Dairy, which sold margarine, butter, cheese and bacon, also nuts and dried fruit. Checking her purse, she made a mental note to choose with care, as she certainly couldn’t afford to buy everything at once. But after careful browsing, and a very helpful shop assistant, Cathie purchased the necessary ingredients to at least bake a Christmas cake. She’d worry about the mock almond paste, icing sugar and mince tarts later.

Having finished her shopping and carefully negotiating the pram between the crowds of shoppers, Cathie went to meet up with her two best friends for a snack at the market café, as they loved to do on a Saturday. After greeting each other with hugs and a few moans about the cold weather, the three of them gave their orders then sat drinking tea together while Cathie told her good news.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Brenda said, instantly sharing her friend’s excitement.

‘When does he arrive?’ Davina politely enquired.

Davina Gibson, who worked on a second-hand clothes stall, was new to the area, having moved into Castlefield just a couple of months ago. Cathie had met her while buying some clothes for baby Heather. She’d been sympathetic of her loss, and so helpful in allowing Cathie to negotiate a low price on everything she needed, they’d become firm friends ever since. Brenda Stuart, on the other hand, was a best friend of some years’ standing, as she and Cathie had been in the same class at school all those years ago, and worked together at the rubber factory producing tyres for motor cars, army vehicles and trucks.

Both these women had been left widowed by the war, as had so many others. Davina was something of a beauty with her voluptuous figure, long dark hair, green eyes beneath winged brows, and full lips. While dear Brenda claimed to be a plain country girl with scraggy brown hair, plump figure and puffy cheeks. But her round face nearly always wore a smile, and there’d generally be a twinkle in her downward-sloping dark eyes.

‘I’m not sure, but in time for Christmas, or so he hopes. It’s so exciting. I can hardly wait to see him again.’

‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ Davina asked, the corner of her mouth twisting into what might pass for a smile. She wasn’t the most exuberant or lively friend Cathie might have hoped for, being slightly cool and distant. Whatever she’d suffered during the war had clearly badly affected her.

‘Not yet, but I know Alex is keen for us to marry as soon as possible.’

‘I do hope I receive an invitation,’ Brenda said, eyes sparkling at the prospect.

‘If and when it happens,’ Davina added.

‘Of course it will happen, fairly soon, I hope. How would you both feel about being bridesmaids? I have some lengths of parachute silk, which Mam managed to buy cheap from the mill. It has one or two flaws in it, which is disastrous for a parachute, but will scarcely show in a dress. We could sew them together.’

Brenda whooped with joy. ‘That would be wonderful, so long as you teach me how. Never was much good at sewing but I’m willing to learn.’

Looking slightly stunned by this request, Davina murmured, ‘Oh, that is so kind of you to ask me, Cathie, but I’m not sure I could cope with attending a wedding so soon after losing my own husband.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. I’ve no wish to upset you.’

‘When and how did you lose him, darling?’ Brenda asked. ‘You never did tell us.’

Davina’s lips tightened. ‘I don’t care to speak of it.’

‘Ah, I can fully sympathise with that feeling,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Painful things have happened in my life that I cannot bear to remember either. I’ve locked them in a box in my mind, never to open them again. However, sometimes it helps to talk.’ When no response came, Brenda leaned over the pram to tickle the baby’s nose, making her giggle. ‘So what about this little one, Cathie? Have you told Alex that you now think of her as your own?’

‘No, not yet,’ Cathie admitted with some reluctance. ‘I told him of Sal’s death and that we were safe, of course, but didn’t go into any details about her child.’

‘Why ever not?’

Taking a bite of the cheese rarebit the waitress had just brought her, Cathie took her time to chew on it for a moment before answering. Her old friend knew her better than most, how she tended to be far too cautious and wary of making a mistake in life. She’d been this way ever since watching her parents’ marriage collapse after years of rows. Having Sal to cuddle her close in bed as they listened to them yelling and screaming at each other had been the only way to deal with her misery. The sisters had made a pact never to involve themselves in these arguments, and never to discuss what they’d heard.

Giving a pragmatic shrug, she said, ‘Letters to the Front need to be upbeat and cheerful. Mine to Alex were generally asking how he was coping, and chatting a little about myself, which was what he wanted to hear. I put in no bad news that might depress him. Besides, like Davina, I’d no wish to talk about Sal’s death.’

Davina said, ‘Keeping silent about painful subjects may be commonplace in these difficult times, but being open and honest with Alex about what you hope to do for the baby is surely very necessary.’

‘I’m afraid she has a point there,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Did he never ask about the child?’

Cathie frowned, struggling to remember. It had indeed been painful, a time of complete anguish. The weeks following Sal’s death had passed in something of a blur, almost as if she were locked behind a pane of frosted glass and not part of the real world at all. ‘I don’t think he did. But then I’m not certain I ever mentioned that she’d given birth to a daughter, as Heather was barely a month old when her mummy died. My memory of that time is very hazy. Then Mam kept putting me off, insisting it wasn’t right to dump this problem upon him when he had enough to deal with fighting a war.’

‘I’m sure he did have enough on his plate,’ Davina agreed. ‘Still, he does need to know, so the sooner you tell him the better.’

‘I’m ashamed to say that the longer I left it, the harder it became to broach the subject. I could never quite find the courage, and finally decided it would be better to wait and tell him in person, once he is home and can see for himself how adorable she is.’

Smiling down at the baby, Brenda gave her cheek a gentle stroke. ‘You might be right. She certainly is adorable, how could anyone resist her?’

‘Mam is not convinced Alex ever will accept her, which is absolute nonsense. He’s a real gentleman, so why wouldn’t he?’

‘Men can be a bit sniffy about such matters, certainly where children are concerned,’ Davina pointed out, rubbing a hand over her face, which Cathie noticed was suddenly looking rather pale and strained. What other problems did she have? she wondered. Her new friend’s past life was something of a mystery as she was reluctant to speak of the war, not unusual these days. Even so, Cathie had made several attempts to ask Davina about her past, where she’d lived before, what job she’d done, and what had happened to her. But for some reason she always avoided answering such questions. And, as she was still grieving for the loss of her husband, Cathie had decided not to pursue the matter for fear of upsetting her further. Their shared grief was what had cemented their friendship in the first place. Just as her own reluctance not to keep going over Sal’s death was perhaps the main reason why she had neglected to tell Alex the whole story.

Brenda, however, was the absolute opposite. Despite having lived in France during the German occupation, and becoming one of many British women arrested and confined, apparently for no other reason than her nationality, she firmly believed that talking about problems helped you to cope better. Even so, Cathie was aware of occasions when Brenda too would clam shut and find it impossible to speak of past pain, as she herself had just admitted.

‘I do agree that Alex must be told soon. Once he’s settled in, I’ll explain everything,’ Cathie said, with a smile that appeared more confident than she actually felt.

‘I think you should write and tell him now,’ Davina suggested. ‘If he’s going to be this child’s father, you’ll surely need his agreement and support in order to achieve that wish, or it won’t ever happen.’

These words had a disconcerting effect upon Cathie. It was kind of Davina to be so concerned for her, although echoing her mother’s negative comments was not exactly what she’d wished to hear. Poor Davina’s expression was looking even more pinched and doleful, perhaps because she was facing the prospect of life with no hope of a child of her own, as her husband had not survived the war. So many atrocities, so much grief. Cathie had to confess that the timing of Sal’s death couldn’t have been worse, not only because the war had been in the process of coming to an end, but as she herself was about to be married.

Brenda gently patted her hand. ‘I can understand that you might feel a little nervous about telling Alex of your wish to keep Sal’s child, but be brave, darling. He loves you, so not for a moment do I imagine he’ll refuse to accept her.’

‘Oh, you are so right, he does.’ Her worries and sadness dissolved as joy ricocheted within once again. With no one ever expressing any love for her but Sally, Cathie could hardly believe her good fortune. ‘And he is such a kind man.’

‘There you are then, no problem,’ Brenda said, kissing a cheek damp with the odd stray tear.

Davina put her arms around Cathie to give her a hug that felt just a little stiff and awkward. ‘Please know that I’m here to offer support too, should this Alex give you any problems.’

‘Thank you so much! You are both such good friends to me. Not that I think I will need your help, as I have every faith in him.’ The baby began to whimper and squirm, and Cathie got quickly to her feet. ‘Now, I really must go and see to some food for this little madam.’

Brenda jumped up too. ‘I’ll walk back with you, darling, at least as far as my gloomy little bedsit.’ And, saying their goodbyes, the pair walked off, Cathie oddly aware of Davina standing watching for some time as she wheeled the pram away. Something was troubling the girl, but she couldn’t make out quite what it could be.

CHAPTER THREE

Over the coming days and weeks, Cathie continued to work hard at the factory as well as take care of the baby. She also busied herself with cleaning and tidying the house from top to bottom, much to her mother’s irritation as she was moved from room to room, not offering to even lift a duster to help. Buying a pot of brown paint from the ironmonger, Cathie gave all the doors a quick coat, hoping the landlord would not object. But, as they’d been bombed out of their own home, and were now renting in a ramshackle street in a rather poor area of Castlefield, Cathie was anxious for the house to look as respectable as possible when Alex arrived home. She felt rather pleased with the result, and proud of herself for having picked up quite a few skills over these last years.

‘It costs very little to at least be clean,’ said her Aunt Evie, not for the first time when Cathie popped in to fill her in on what was happening, and ask her advice. Her aunt too had suffered a horrible war, not least by the fact her children had been evacuated.

‘Your Uncle Donald hasn’t been demobbed yet, although no longer a POW. He’s undergoing some help, or so I’m told, by the Resettlement Service or whatever they call themselves. But my little ones will be home soon too,’ she said, cuddling baby Heather on her lap. ‘Not that they’ll be little any more, and goodness knows what they’ll think when they see me again. I’ve turned into a real old crow.’

‘Don’t be silly, they adore you,’ Cathie said with a smile. Evie, her father’s younger sister, was very maternal, the kind of mother Cathie would have loved to have. ‘So when do you think I should tell Alex about little Heather?’

Her aunt considered the question with a frown. ‘Not easy to answer. Judge your moment when it feels right. Believe in yourself, sweetie.’

It felt like good advice, and surely her courage and sense of independence had increased throughout this long war. Or had it all vanished again with the loss of dear Sal? Uncertainty and panic swelled in her, which yet again had to be quelled as Cathie resolutely devoted the entire afternoon to baking a Christmas cake, and thinking positive thoughts about the future. It was admittedly rather plain but at least it had real fruit in it and not just prunes, as was the case last year. Wrapping it in greaseproof paper and storing it in a cake tin, she hid it safely away on a top shelf in the larder where Rona wouldn’t find it. Next, she set about making paper chains and tiny Chinese-type lanterns, which she strung up around the front parlour.

‘We need the house to look good as Father Christmas will be here soon,’ Cathie explained to the baby, as the pair of them sat together on the rug. Heather’s soft little lips pursed in concentration as she tried to help by flicking bits of paper about, some of them sticking to her little fingers, which made Cathie laugh. She’d also bought a tree, which she now decorated with home-made Christmas crackers, a few baubles and pipe-cleaner dolls dressed in scraps of wool and cotton that she and Sal had made when they were small.

Stepping back to admire her efforts with a glow of satisfaction, in her mind’s eye she could see Sal standing on a stool as she fixed a fairy to the top of the tree. As the elder of the two, her sister had always insisted on this being her job, carried out when the tree had been fully decorated. The thought that this would be the first Christmas without Sal, filled Cathie with fresh pain. Brushing away her tears, she strived not to dwell on past memories.

‘What do you think?’ she asked her mother, keeping her voice deliberately bright and with a cheerful smile on her face.

Rona gave a careless shrug. ‘The tree’s a bit small but I expect it will do. But all them decorations seem like a lot of effort for just the two of us.’

‘The war is over, and there won’t be just the two of us. Alex is coming home, remember, and it’s Heather’s first Christmas. I mean to make it very special.’ Cathie fully intended to honour Sal’s memory by giving her precious child a wonderful time. Even if Heather was only a baby and had never even heard of Father Christmas, Cathie had already found her a stocking to hang up, and bought a few small toys to put in it, together with a few jelly babies and chocolate creams.

‘Don’t expect me to look after the nipper over Christmas, even if your boyfriend does get home in time. I have my own plans, and it doesn’t include going back to child-minding and washing nappies. I had my fill of all that with you two.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of expecting you to,’ Cathie caustically replied, feeling this comment proved what a neglectful mother Rona had been. ‘I did wonder though, if you would be willing to babysit for one evening at least, so that we could go out for a meal together to celebrate his homecoming. I haven’t seen Alex in nearly two years.’

‘I’d need to meet him first, to give my approval. Why don’t you ask him to join us for tea one day, or Sunday dinner perhaps?’

Whenever he’d walked her home after they’d been out on a date, he’d never actually stepped inside, claiming a reluctance to intrude upon her life. In reality it may well have been the lack of welcome from her mother. Now, despite them living in a much shabbier property, Cathie smiled with relief. ‘That would be lovely. I’ll do that. I’m quite certain that you’ll like him.’ She made to give her mother a kiss in gratitude, but Rona moved quickly away, as ever resisting any show of affection from her daughter, although she rarely refused a kiss from a man.

Fortunately, Cathie reminded herself, she no longer depended upon her mother for love, not now she had Alex, and the baby. She ached with longing to see him again, but everything was ready: the goose ordered, mince tarts made, and having failed to find any icing sugar she’d coated the Christmas cake with a mock butter cream. Cathie had even treated herself to a new dress in Christmas rose red, and Davina had trimmed and styled her corkscrew curls for her. Half her personal savings were gone, but Cathie was delighted with all the preparations she’d made.

When later that day the postman delivered a second letter from Alex asking her to meet him at Victoria railway station at eleven o’clock the Sunday before Christmas, her heart turned over with happiness. She rushed to tell her friends at the very first opportunity.

‘So pleased for you,’ Brenda said, giving her a delighted hug.

‘How exciting. When does he arrive exactly?’ Davina coolly enquired.

Cathie read out the necessary details from her precious letter, without revealing his private comments to her. ‘I can hardly wait.’

Now her life would truly change for the better.

At the end of the week, as she clocked in as usual at the tyre factory to start her morning shift sharp at eight, she found a note from her boss. Answering his call to enter, she breezed into his office with a happy smile on her face, her heart feeling as if it was bouncing with happiness. ‘You wanted to see me?’

Glancing up from the account sheet upon which he was working, he removed his spectacles and gave a brief nod. ‘I wish to thank all you ladies personally for the sterling work you’ve done throughout the war, and can now release you from those labours as the men are returning.’

Cathie stared at him in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The war is over, if you haven’t noticed. The soldiers, sailors and airmen are all coming home and need their jobs back. So while you women have done splendid work, you are now free to return to your domestic duties.’

Her mind in a whirl at this unexpected announcement, the last thing she’d wanted to hear right now with a baby to feed, Cathie couldn’t think of a polite way to protest, however much she might feel the need to defend her own rights. Women who had refused to take a war job back in 1941 had been threatened with prison. She’d been happy to do her bit, young as she’d been at the time. She’d loved her work, the independence it had brought her, as well as the companionship of other women. ‘I do appreciate what you say, boss. Of course fighting men have the right to get their jobs back, but do women need to be dismissed entirely in order to achieve that? How are we supposed to survive without a wage coming in?’ she asked, attempting to sound reasonable.

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I hear you’ll be married soon, Cathie, so what’s the problem? A woman’s role is to produce babies and support her husband.’

‘And no doubt clean fire grates, knit baby clothes and mend socks,’ she said, with a sharp edge to her tone. ‘But what if I have no wish to be confined to the kitchen sink?’

He seemed to find this remark so amusing he laughed out loud. ‘That is something you must discuss with your dearly beloved. I’m sure hubby will take you out from time to time. And, as it’s Friday, the job ends today, so don’t forget to collect your final wages and card on your way out.’ Having said his piece, he put his spectacles back on and returned to the task of adding up company profits, which might well drop now they’d be paying higher men’s wages.

Walking back to her bench in a complete daze, Cathie felt tears prick her eyes. How on earth would she cope without any money coming in? It felt as if a whole different world was opening up before her, one where she would have very little say over her own future. But once she’d listened to the woes of the other women, many of them war widows with children of their own to feed, she swallowed her own worries and said very little. She, at least, would have a loving husband to depend upon, one who would be home in just over a week.

‘How on earth can I continue to pay the rent without a wage coming in?’ Brenda snapped, also complaining bitterly about being sacked. ‘I certainly have no wish to return to my late husband’s family home out on the Pennines.’

Judging by the expression on her friend’s face, Cathie thought it wise not to ask for an explanation on that point, and instead gave her a consoling hug. ‘I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find other work, even if it’s only part-time. We do have considerable experience at our fingertips, after all. Surely all these years of hard work we’ve done must count for something?’

‘I do hope so. We should have seen this coming, of course. Those brave soldiers do deserve their jobs back. I’d just never got around to thinking how that might affect me. Nor did I expect it to happen so suddenly.’

‘Me neither. A little warning might have helped, or better still an alternative offer of a job here in the factory, one that involved us in work we know so well.’

According to the general conversation buzzing around them, other factories were likewise laying off women workers, so a new job might not be easy to find. And thinking of the busy week ahead in preparation for Christmas, helping with a charity event at the local Co-operative Society, and with a goose to pay for, Cathie attempted to mentally calculate how much money she had left to live on.

As for Alex’s homecoming, her feelings were becoming increasingly muddled. Much as she longed to see him, she really had no wish to be dependent on her fiancé from the outset. In any case, war might have badly affected him too, and she had no wish to add to his distress by expecting him to be entirely responsible for earning all the money they would inevitably need. It was necessary to be practical as well as supportive and loving.

The rest of the day passed largely in gloomy silence and, as the factory clock chimed six strokes, the women packed their bags, collected their wages and walked out grim-faced, into what they’d believed would be a brave new peaceful world, and now wasn’t looking quite as good as they’d hoped.

‘Have you considered asking for a job here at the Co-op?’ This question came from Steve Allenby, an old friend who had returned from the war some time ago with serious injuries. Cathie was helping him to organise a Christmas concert in the Co-operative Society rooms above the shop, and had casually mentioned the fact that she’d lost her job, although she felt she really had no right to complain too much. A V1 rocket had exploded close to an airfield where Steve was working in Holland. It had so badly damaged his leg an amputation had been necessary. He now had an artificial limb on his right leg from the knee down, and walked with a slight limp. He was making a good recovery, if still suffering from pain and post-war traumas, looking even thinner and more raw-boned than when he was a scraggy kid. But then losing a leg was far more serious than being dismissed from a job, however worrying that might be for her.

In between blowing up balloons that were piling up all around them, she turned the idea over in her head, a little hope lighting up within. Could that be a possibility? She wondered. Cathie knew that in the past the Co-operative movement had supported workers during strikes, as well as throughout the war, keeping tally sheets for folk who couldn’t settle their household bill till their next wage was paid. Whether they would be willing to offer her a job was another matter entirely.

‘I’m not intending to work here for ever,’ Steve was saying. ‘I do have other plans. But Cyril Leeson, the manager, generously kept my job open and I’m proud to be employed by a business that has been in operation since the mid-nineteenth century and an important part of the community. They are expert at juggling prices to suit customers’ needs, give dividends, and run holiday clubs in which money can be saved for Wakes Week. Generally a week in Blackpool, as we know.’ He laughed.

‘I do approve of their Christmas club, which has helped me to finance this expensive season by saving up in it week after week,’ she said, thinking of her dream to make this the best Christmas ever for Alex. ‘Unfortunately, my skills are more concerned with checking tyres.’ She gave a dry little laugh. ‘Can’t see that being of any use slicing bacon, butter and cheese, let alone keeping track of people’s accounts. I’d be hopeless.’

‘Probably you would at first, but with a bit of effort you might at last learn to count, and even add up.’

‘Cheeky!’ she snapped, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

He laughed as he ducked, in case she tried again. ‘I trained as a junior instructor in the army and eventually became a trainer myself, doing a lot of work with small arms. What has that got to do with cheese? You’d soon get the hang of it, Cathie. It’s plain to see that you’ve grown much more confident and capable as a result of this war.’

Was that true? Cathie rather hoped it may well be. She had changed quite a lot over the years, gaining considerably more courage and faith in herself. Had Steve noticed that in her, or was he playing her for a fool yet again? They’d been friends from childhood, as he came from the same rough area as herself. But although he was fun to work with at these charity events, she still had her reservations about him.

She recalled how once he’d built them a tree house down by the River Irwell, and persuaded her to climb up and sit in it. Then he’d dashed off to play with his mates, leaving her stuck up the tree, too afraid to climb down without assistance. Hours later, soaked to the skin from a downpour of rain, she was rescued by Sal who came looking for her. Steve claimed he’d meant to return but forgot. Knowing how he loved to play endless practical jokes and tricks upon her, she’d never entirely forgiven him, refusing to speak to him for months afterwards. They’d fallen out countless times over the years due to her innate caution, while Steve, on the other hand, had always been a bit reckless and impulsive, lively and ruddy-cheeked.

Now his face was drawn and pale with a bleakness to his blue-grey eyes. Out of pity for the pain he was suffering, their friendship was slowly improving. But not for a moment could she ever feel the same way about him as she did for Alex, who was much more handsome, smart and sweetly polite. Steve would never be anything more to her than an old friend, but at least he was trying to be helpful now.

‘Maybe I should make a polite enquiry, just in case.’

‘Good. I’m sure you’ll find another job, Cathie, assuming you decide you need one.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Why would I not?’

‘I heard that Alex will be home soon. You must be looking forward to seeing him again, and may soon be busy raising a family instead.’ He glanced across at little Heather, contentedly asleep in her pram with her thumb in her mouth.

They both fell silent as Cathie considered this point. Was she eager to have children of her own? She hadn’t thought that far ahead, obsessed only with seeing Alex again, as well as caring for Sally’s little one. But a job could well prove to be unnecessary if they married quickly and she fell pregnant. Did she want that to happen? ‘It’s certainly true that I can’t wait see him. It’s been two years or more.’

‘Let’s hope he soon settles into Civvy Street. I found it difficult at first,’ Steve admitted, as he gathered the balloons into a net. ‘Once everyone has welcomed you home by buying you a pint, they tend to forget all about you. Life can feel a bit flat after that, and rather lonely to suddenly find yourself without all the mates you’ve lived and worked with for years, let alone shared untold horrors.’ He drew in a deep sigh, a frown marking his too thin face. ‘And some of them I’ll never see again.’

Cathie was filled with sympathy as she waited for him to reveal more of his war story, but as always his mouth clammed shut. Could it be that grief overwhelmed him, the pain of remembering being too much to bear, or was he holding back some secret he wished to keep to himself? ‘It must have been very difficult for you, Steve. But I’ll be there for Alex, as I’m sure his family will too.’ Not that she knew anything about his family, never having met them.

‘He’s a lucky man to have you. I was not so fortunate.’

‘Maybe you will be one day.’ Tucking the blanket over the baby’s sprawled chubby body, Cathie decided it was time to change the subject. ‘Will Father Christmas be coming to this charity concert?’

‘I’ve written to invite him,’ Steve replied in all seriousness. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without him, would it? He’s promised to call in towards the end, with presents for all the children. There’s a special group coming from Styal, St Patrick’s and other local orphanages.’

Glancing again at Heather, thankful that her niece hadn’t ended up in such a place, she smiled. ‘That’s wonderful. I always feel so sorry for all the poor orphans created by this dratted war.’

Steve gave a grim little nod. ‘Yes indeed. At least we can provide them with a good Christmas party, thanks to the generosity of the Co-op. And a fun concert.’

Before leaving, Cathie called at the office downstairs to ask if by any chance they did have any vacancies, and was politely informed that sadly that was not the case.

‘Hope you didn’t mind my asking, Mr Leeson. Admittedly, I don’t have any experience as a shop assistant, but I’m willing to learn. Should there ever be one, do please let me know.’

‘Of course,’ the manager, said. ‘Keep your eye on our window, Cathie, which is generally where we post vacancies. Although people tend to hang on to their jobs rather a long time these days.’

Over the next few days, having had the idea of being a shop assistant planted in her head, Cathie enquired about work at several other shops too, only to receive the same response. She called in at warehouses and factories, explaining her skills and experience during the war, forced to walk away as heads were shaken. She chose not to apply at the cotton mill, as working with her mother did not appeal.

Only a short time ago they’d been celebrating the end of the war with ticker tape and dancing, street parties, funny hats and flags. Now everyone seemed to have sunk back into a gloomy depression. Except that in two days time she’d be welcoming Alex home, which lifted her heart afresh. Their future together was surely all that truly mattered now?