Kitabı oxu: «For Better For Worse»

One

July 1948

It was gone. Really gone. She’d spent the past hour hunting high and low for it, but it was no use. She couldn’t find it anywhere. She’d tried all the usual places first: the drawer, the kitchen dresser, her coat pocket, but she quickly drew a blank. She’d even been outside and looked down the street in the hope that it hadn’t fallen from her pocket, but she couldn’t see it. Her stomach was in knots. After everything else, this couldn’t be happening. Having tried the obvious places, for the past ten minutes she’d been looking in the pram, the toy box and the outside lav, places where she knew it couldn’t possibly be, and yet she hoped against hope that she’d find it.

‘Have you seen Mummy’s purse?’

Jenny pushed her silky brown hair out of her eyes and looked up at her mother with a blank expression. She was a pretty child with long eyelashes. Born in the middle of the war, she was Sarah’s first child.

‘My purse,’ Sarah said impatiently. ‘Have you taken it to play shops?’

‘Oh, Mummy,’ her daughter tutted, one hand on her hip and her mother’s scolding expression on her face, ‘I’m not playing shops. This is dolly’s tea party.’

Sarah frowned crossly. ‘Don’t get lippy with me, young lady. I asked you a question. Have you seen my purse?’

Her daughter looked suitably chastised. ‘No, Mummy.’

Sarah’s heart melted. She shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. She wasn’t having a good day either. Just an hour ago, Jenny had come into the shared kitchen with a worried frown. ‘Mummy, Goldie isn’t very well.’

Sarah had followed her back up to the bedroom and sure enough, her pet goldfish was floating on the top of the water. Slipping her arm around her daughter’s shoulder, Sarah had to explain that Goldie wasn’t ill; she had died and gone to heaven.

Jenny had stared at her mother, her wide eyes brimming with tears. ‘But why?’

Why indeed, thought Sarah. ‘It just happens, darling. Fish get old and die. It was Goldie’s time to go.’

‘Is that what happened to Daddy?’ Jenny’s words hung in the air like icicles and Sarah had swallowed hard. Her heartbeat quickened and she felt very uncomfortable. It was at that moment she realised she should have talked to her daughter before. She had no idea the poor little mite had been thinking that Henry was dead. ‘No, darling,’ she’d said, drawing her closer. ‘Daddy isn’t dead. Daddy went to live somewhere else.’

‘Why Mummy? Didn’t he like living with us?’

Sarah had taken in a silent breath, wondering how on earth she could answer that. She didn’t really understand herself, so how was she going to explain to a six-year-old why her father had simply packed his bags and walked out? Up until that moment she had thought Jenny was coping well. She’d seemed to accept that Henry had gone away, but as they’d talked Sarah could see that that Jenny hadn’t really understood after all.

‘I’m sure Daddy loved living with us,’ she’d said, kneeling down to look into Jenny’s face, ‘but he had to go away.’

Suddenly, Sarah’s youngest daughter Lu-Lu crashed into them and tried to kiss her big sister. Jenny laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Did it hurt?’

Sarah frowned. It was hard to follow the child’s reasoning. ‘Did what hurt?’

‘Did it hurt Goldie when she died?’

By now Sarah had drawn her arms around both her children. ‘No. I don’t think it did and I’m sure Goldie had a very happy life.’

Jenny had put her hands on the goldfish bowl. ‘Can we bury her?’

‘Of course,’ smiled Sarah. ‘I think I’ve got a little box we can put her in and we’ll bury her in the garden.’

They laid the fish on a bed of cotton wool inside a box which once held three man-sized handkerchiefs and Sarah put the lid on. Goldie was all ready for burial, but they couldn’t do it there and then. It was raining hard and Sarah didn’t have anything suitable for digging in their tiny courtyard garden so she promised Jenny they would bury the goldfish after school the next day.

‘Can I ask Carole to come to Goldie’s frunrel?’

Sarah hesitated. Her sister Vera made her feel that Henry’s disappearance was somehow her fault, and although Jenny and her cousin Carole got on well, she wasn’t too keen to have her sister around.

‘Please, Mummy. Please,’ Jenny pleaded.

Sarah nodded reluctantly. ‘I’ll talk to Auntie Vera,’ she promised.

It had brought a lump to her throat as she watched her daughter drawing a picture for Goldie, so she decided to give the girls a little treat. It was almost lunchtime, and the corner shop closed from 1 p.m. until 2 p.m. Sarah still had some coupons and if Mrs Rivers next door would take them in, she just had time to run and get some sweets.

Mrs Rivers was only too glad to have the girls. She was fond of Jenny and she loved spoiling Lu-Lu. Sarah had promised to be as quick as she could. She’d used her sweet ration for the first time in months to buy them a small bar of Cadbury’s each. Given their normal circumstances, it would have seemed extravagant, but with the guinea Mr Lovett had pushed into her hand, she told herself it was only 3d a bar and she knew the girls loved chocolate. The purse had been in her basket when she came out of the shop because she remembered stuffing it down the side. After that, she couldn’t remember seeing it again. She’d collected the girls and come home, so somewhere between the sweet shop, Mrs Rivers’ place and home, the purse had been lifted or dropped out of the basket. She shifted the pile of papers on the kitchen table. She’d already searched through them once but she was irresistibly drawn back to look yet again. The purse wasn’t there.

Lu-Lu toddled across the floor and sat down to eat a crumb which had fallen from the table. At fifteen months, everything went straight into her mouth. Sarah bent to take it from her hand before she put it in her mouth, and as she lowered herself back onto the chair, the terrible realisation dawned. Her purse with all her money in it was well and truly lost. What was she going to do? That purse contained the coal money and everything they had to live on for the next week. There was no nest egg to fall back on, no Post Office book with a secret stash, no money in the jar on the top of the dresser. She couldn’t ask her sister to help either. Since her brother-in-law had landed a job with Lancing Carriage Works, Vera had become rather sniffy. She’d been friendly enough when Sarah lived in the house in Littlehampton, but since she’d come to Worthing, Vera’s attitude had changed. If she didn’t know better, Sarah might have thought she was ashamed of her.

Lu-Lu asked to be picked up and Sarah pulled her onto her lap, kissing the top of her golden hair as she did so. Jenny had inherited her mother’s light brown hair and hazel eyes but Lu-Lu had blue eyes and fairer hair. Cuddling her daughter, Sarah shook all thoughts of Henry away. She felt the tears prick the backs of her eyes, but what was the use of crying? That never solved anything. She hadn’t cried when he’d buggered off and she wasn’t going to start now. Besides, it was no good going back over what might have been. That was all in the past and right now her most pressing problem was what to do about her missing purse. She didn’t have a lot before it went and now she had absolutely nothing. How was she going to manage? As a woman deserted, she had no widow’s allowance. Henry contributed nothing towards the care of his children. Every penny they had was what she earned. Thank God she’d already got the rent money together. That was tucked into the rent book on the dresser, but she still had the children to feed.

Their home was two rooms on the first floor of a run-down fisherman’s cottage in Worthing where they shared the downstairs kitchen and toilet with another tenant. They were just across the road from the sea, but being at the back of some larger buildings meant that there was little incentive for the landlord to improve the property. The old woman who lived below them had been taken to hospital a few weeks ago and it was Sarah’s greatest fear that she wouldn’t come back. If that happened, there would be new tenants. The landlord had intimated several times that once the other tenant, an old family retainer, passed away, he planned to sell the property. Even though the place was damp and badly in need of decoration, Sarah had done her best to make it a nice home.

‘A bit of soap and water works wonders,’ she told her sister Vera when she’d first moved in, but she couldn’t help noticing her sister’s look of disdain. It was a far cry from the lovely house Sarah had shared with Henry, but without his wage, and because of a steep rise in the rent, it was impossible to carry on living there. Sarah and her girls had moved here three months after he’d gone, and up until today, everything had been going fairly well. To save money, Sarah had always made the children’s clothes and it had been her lucky day when she went to Mrs Angel’s haberdashery shop to get some buttons and bumped into Mr Lovett.

The shop was a jumble of just about everything. There were the usual buttons and embroidery silks, but Mrs Angel also stocked ladies’ underwear in the glass-topped chest of drawers under the counter and a few bolts of material. She would also allow her customers to buy their wool weekly and would put the balls away in a ‘lay-by’ until they were needed.

‘Madam, I have a proposition to make to you,’ Mr Lovett had said as he spotted Jenny’s little pink dress.

‘Mr Lovett has been admiring your handiwork,’ Mrs Angel explained. ‘I told him how popular your little kiddies’ clothes are.’

‘If you could make another little girl’s dress like that and a boy’s romper suit,’ Mr Lovett went on, ‘I think I could find a London buyer.’

‘It takes me a week to make one of those,’ Sarah had laughed. ‘The smocking takes ages.’

‘I can tell,’ he smiled. ‘And before you say anything, there will be no monetary risk to your good self. I shall supply all the materials.’

Sarah hesitated. Could she trust this man?

‘I’m sure Mrs Angel will vouch for me?’ he added as if he’d read her mind.

‘Mr Lovett is a travelling salesman,’ Mrs Angel explained. She was a matronly woman with a shock of white hair. Rumour had it that it had turned that colour overnight after her beloved husband was killed by lightning on Cissbury Ring.

Sarah had been slightly sceptical, but with Mrs Angel only too keen to provide the cottons and any other material she needed, the deal was struck. When she’d finished making the dress and romper suit, Mr Lovett was as good as his word. He’d been right. He’d had no trouble selling her handiwork to a shop in London where rich women were willing to pay the earth for things of such good quality. She knew he’d kept back some money for himself, and yet each time he’d taken an order he’d given her a whole guinea, more money than Sarah had had in a long time. He’d extracted a promise that if the customer liked her work, she’d be willing to do some more. Sarah didn’t need much persuading, even though, without a sewing machine, she’d had to sit up all hours to get them finished on time. She’d been so pleased with the money she’d saved, she’d decided to buy half a hundredweight of coal.

Outside, a lorry drew up and the driver switched off the engine. Lu-Lu wriggled to get down. Sarah let her go and looked out of the window. Oh no, Mr Millward was here already. She couldn’t take the coal without paying for it. How frustrating. Wood never gave out the heat that coal did, and after the horrors of the winter of 1947, she had thought that this coming winter was going to be one when they didn’t have to worry about keeping warm. Think, she told herself crossly. Where did you last have that purse?

There was a knock on the kitchen window and Peter Millward, his wet cap dripping onto to his face streaked with coal dust, smiled in. ‘Shall I put it in the coal shed then, luv?’ He was a kind man with smiley eyes, skinny as a beanpole, and at about thirty-four, was five years older than her. He had been married but his wife had died in an air raid, which was ironic because Peter, who had seen action in some of the worst places, had come through the war unscathed.

Sarah shook her head and rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, throwing wide the front door which opened onto the street. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I’ve changed my mind. I shan’t need any coal today.’

‘Shan’t need …’ he began with a puzzled expression. ‘But you only came to the yard and ordered this stuff an hour ago.’ He waited for an explanation and when one wasn’t forthcoming he said crossly, ‘I can’t be doing with being mucked about.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry.’

He stood for a second staring at her. Lu-Lu headed for the open door and Sarah bent to pick her up. The child was wet.

‘Was it Haskins?’ he blurted out. ‘Has he given you a better deal? Normal price is five bob a bag but I can knock another tanner off for the summer price.’

‘No, no,’ Sarah cried. ‘It’s not that. I won’t be needing it, that’s all.’

‘If you leave it until winter I may not be able to help you out,’ Mr Millward persisted. ‘And you won’t get it at the summer prices either.’

‘I know,’ said Sarah.

As she began to close the door, he said, ‘If it’s about the money, I can’t give you the whole five bags but I could let you have one if you and I could come to some sort of arrangement.’ He raised an eyebrow.

Sarah felt her face flush and taking a deep breath, she said haughtily, ‘I shall not be requiring your coal and I’d thank you to keep your special arrangements to yourself, thank you very much Mr Millward,’ before slamming the door in his face.

He was raising his hand as the door banged and he called out something through the wood, but Sarah turned the key in the lock and took Lu-Lu upstairs to her bedroom to change her nappy. As she washed her daughter’s bottom with a flannel, Sarah smiled at her child but inside she was raging. How dare he? What was it with men? Ever since Henry had gone, half the male population of Worthing seemed to think that she was either ‘up for a bit of fun’ or ‘gagging for it’ or available for ‘an arrangement’. Little did they know that after the way Henry had treated her, she didn’t care if she never saw another man again.

Putting the baby down, Sarah had another thought. Maybe Lu-Lu had taken her purse out of the basket while she and Mrs Rivers were having a cup of tea. She hadn’t stayed long because Mrs Rivers’ son, Nathan, had come home a bit earlier than usual, but there had been plenty of time for Lu-Lu to carry it off somewhere. As soon as Mr Millward’s lorry had gone, Sarah popped Lu-Lu into her playpen at the bottom of the stairs and knocked next door again.

‘Please don’t take this the wrong way,’ she began as she stood in Mrs Rivers’ doorway, ‘but did you find a purse after I’d gone?’

‘No, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘Why, have you lost one?’

‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘I had it in the shops … obviously, but when I got back home and looked in my basket, it wasn’t there.’

The door was suddenly yanked open and Nat Rivers pushed past his mother. Sarah jumped. She didn’t like him. He was a big man with a generous beer belly, a mouth full of brown teeth and greying stubble on his chin. She’d never once seen him looking smart. Today he was wearing his usual grubby vest, no shirt and his trousers were held up with a large buckled belt. Nat Rivers had been in and out of prison all his life.

Mrs Rivers looked up at him anxiously and slunk back indoors.

‘Are you accusing my mother of pinching something?’ he snapped.

‘No, no of course not,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s just that …’

‘Then bugger off,’ he said as he slammed the door.

Sarah turned away despondently. She’d never be able to prove a thing of course, but she couldn’t help noticing that Mrs Rivers was looking rather flushed as she spoke – and her son’s attitude wasn’t exactly neighbourly. Almost as soon as the door closed, she could hear the sound of raised voices and what sounded like a slap. She hovered for a second, wondering if she should knock on the door again, but then she thought of the children. What good would it do if Nat came out into the street and hit her in front of them? It was a relief when everything went quiet.

Back home once more, Sarah had a heavy heart. It was so hard not to become bitter. She had thought that she and Henry were doing all right. He’d been looking forward to the birth of their second child. In fact, the whole time she’d been pregnant, he’d been like a big kid himself. He’d fussed over her and bought her flowers. He’d helped with looking after Jenny when her ankles swelled. Towards the end of the pregnancy, he’d taken Jenny out every Saturday so that Sarah could have a rest. When she and Henry were alone, he’d spent hours with his hand on her belly talking to his unborn child. He was so sure it would be a boy and she knew he was more than a little disappointed when Lu-Lu came, but she was such a beautiful baby right from the start.

‘You’re as good-looking as your daddy,’ she’d told Lu-Lu, knowing that Henry took pride in himself. He fancied that he looked like Ronald Colman with his light-coloured hair slicked down and his pencil-thin moustache. Sarah couldn’t see it herself but didn’t contradict him. Henry wouldn’t like that.

As Sarah told him time and again, it didn’t matter that they hadn’t got a son yet. The baby was healthy, that was the main thing, and eventually he seemed to accept that she was right. But then one day she came home from picking Jenny up from school to find that he wasn’t there. She’d reported him missing but the police seemed to think that because he’d taken a suitcase, there was nothing amiss, so she was left to soldier on by herself. She had hoped he would return, but it had been almost ten months now and she had to accept the fact that he wasn’t coming back.

Sarah was terrified that the welfare people would come and take the kids away, which was why it was imperative that she ask no one for money. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was an inadequate mother. She was determined to provide for them whatever happened. Over the months since he’d been gone, Sarah had pawned everything of value and only kept body and soul together by earning the odd shilling or two by cleaning the local pub in the morning and a couple of big houses during the day. It wasn’t easy because she had to take the baby with her and sometimes Lu-Lu was fractious because she had to sit in the pram all the time. Her sister had slipped her the odd five bob in the beginning, but she hadn’t offered anything lately and Sarah hadn’t asked. Mrs Angel had seen her skill with the needle and given her the occasional job mending a petticoat or making a baby dress, so when the children were in bed, she’d carried on working. In short, Sarah was willing to do anything which would raise a few extra funds provided it was honest, which was why meeting Mr Lovett had seemed like a godsend. All she could do now was hope and pray that he came back quickly with another order.

Despite how she felt about Henry, Sarah had kept the few personal things he had left behind. There was a brown suit, a little old-fashioned with turn-ups, a couple of jumpers she’d knitted him and a silver cigarette case. It was hallmarked and she’d often wondered why he hadn’t taken it with him. There was an inscription inside, Kaye from Henry. She had no idea who Kaye was and Henry had certainly never mentioned her. Sarah turned the case over in her hands. It was time to let it go. She could get good money for it and it would do far more good helping to feed her children than gathering dust at the back of the wardrobe. If he came back she would explain and hope that he would understand. She searched through the pockets of the suit and found a pair of baby’s booties. They looked brand new but she didn’t recognise them. The girls had never worn them and she could only surmise that Henry had bought them intending to give them to her but forgot. They would do for Jenny’s dolly. With determination in her heart, Sarah bagged everything else up ready to take it to the second-hand shop. She’d take the cigarette case to Warner’s antique shop by Worthing central crossing in the morning.

‘Vera,’ Sarah called out to her sister as they dropped their children off at school in the morning. ‘Could I have a quick word?’

Vera glanced around as if to see who was looking. Sarah quickly explained about the goldfish and the funeral Jenny had planned for it and Vera agreed to bring Carole along. ‘Only for a minute, mind,’ she cautioned. ‘Bill will be expecting his tea.’

Back home, Sarah used a tablespoon to dig a hole in the postage stamp garden. When she’d finished, she’d stared down at it hoping it was deep enough. It definitely wasn’t the regulation six feet, but that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? How deep do you need to go for a fish? When she’d got up that morning, Jenny was already up and decorating Goldie’s coffin. She’d drawn flowers all over the sides and she’d even stuck some bits of ribbon on the lid. There was a note as well. Sarah’s eyes pricked as she read, ‘Gudbi Golldy.’

The rest of Sarah’s day was full. She took Lu-Lu to the pub where she cleaned the bar and toilets. Lu-Lu sat in her pram playing happily with some old beer mats and eventually fell asleep. After work, she took Henry’s suit and other things to the second-hand shop on North Street, where Lil Relland gave her five bob for the lot. The man in Warner’s valued the cigarette case at twelve shilling and offered her ten. Sarah was in no mood to argue. She took the money.

After school, Vera and Carole came around and Jenny organised everybody for the fish’s funeral. As they stood in the small yard, Lu-Lu in Sarah’s arms, Carole read a poem something along the lines of:

No more Goldie swimming round and round the water,

swimmin’ like a little goldfish aughta …

while the two sisters, in a rare moment of shared pleasure, struggled to keep a straight face. Then with a clear voice, Jenny put her hands together, grace style, to say thank you to God for Goldie.

‘Dear God, please look after Goldie in heaven. I know it’s a big place and she might get lost if the angels don’t look after her. And … please remember she gets scared if she’s left on her own. Amen.’

Sarah dared not look at Vera as she put Lu-Lu down and began to fill in the hole.

‘Wait a minute, Mummy!’ Jenny turned to run indoors. Sarah looked at Vera and gave her an exaggerated shrug. They waited, each avoiding the other’s eye, until Jenny came back out with the metal bridge from Goldie’s goldfish bowl. Everybody watched as Jenny knelt reverently beside the hole and placed it on top of the box. ‘She likes to swim around that,’ said Jenny.

As she stood up, Sarah pushed some earth over the edge with her foot and eventually the hole was filled.

When it was all done, Carole wanted to sing a hymn, so they plumped for All Things Bright and Beautiful. As they sang, Sarah’s heart was heavy. Not so much for the little fish lying there but for her little girl, having her first encounter with death and loss. What with Henry going, Sarah wondered how this might affect Jenny. Would she become terrified that she was going to lose everyone she loved? Vera sniffed (or was it giggled?) into her handkerchief. They marked the grave with the only piece of wood Sarah could find. Made out of two broken pieces of fence panelling and held together with a six-inch nail, the cross was ten times the size of the little body in the ground.

After the service was over, Sarah gave Jenny the baby booties for her dolly, hoping it would soften the blow. Apparently it did, because before long, the two older girls were playing out on the street, while their mothers sat at Sarah’s table with a cup of tea. Sarah held Lu-Lu on her lap. Vera seemed very quiet, so Sarah took the initiative. ‘How’s life treating you?’

‘Very well,’ Vera beamed. ‘Bill has just got a promotion. He’s foreman in the coach works now and since they nationalised the railways, the firm thinks they’ll get a lot more work.’

‘That’s good,’ said Sarah.

‘Well, you can’t have a railway without carriages, can you?’ Vera joked. She frowned. ‘I hardly like to ask, but any news of Henry?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘Not a dickie bird.’

Vera tutted. ‘I still can’t believe it. The swine. He took us all in, didn’t he? I mean, fancy leaving you in the lurch like that. He always seemed such a nice man. You didn’t say anything funny to him did you?’

‘No!’ Sarah frowned crossly. Vera only knew the half of it. She’d never told her sister how demanding Henry had become and how difficult to live with. When he’d left, he’d taken all the money in the house, including the rent money and the emergency money in the jar.

‘Bill is still convinced something’s happened to him,’ said Vera. ‘They were such good mates.’

Sarah shrugged and stared into the depths of her cup. ‘The police said he’d gone of his own volition.’ What else could she say? As far as she knew, Henry had never contacted any of their friends or relations, and yet before the war, the four of them had had some good times together before the kids came along. As soon as Jenny and Carole were born, the men became occasional drinking companions, sometimes in Littlehampton and other times at the Half Brick. She smiled as she remembered one occasion when they lived in Pier Road, Henry came home on his bicycle, telling her that on the way to the pub he’d nearly fallen off when a lone Home Guard stepped out into the road and put his hand up.

‘Whatever for?’ she’d gasped.

‘He wanted to know what I was doing out at this time of night,’ Henry had chuckled. ‘I looks at my watch. “It’s only 9.30,” I says and then he wants to know where I’d been. “To the pub,” I told him. “Aren’t there any public houses nearer home?” he asks me.’ By now, they were both laughing.

‘But why on earth would he do that?’ Sarah had wanted to know.

‘He was a just a rookie having a bit of a practice,’ Henry had chuckled.

‘If you were a ruddy German,’ she had laughed, ‘you’d hardly invade the country on your own … and on a pushbike.’

Vera interrupted her thoughts. ‘You seem to be managing all right then?’

‘Oh yes,’ Sarah smiled. Pride prevented her from telling her sister just how hard things really were. She couldn’t bear to hear her sister say, ‘I told you so …’

‘If you need a few bob,’ said Vera, reaching for her bag, ‘I suppose I might be able to spare …’

‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah interrupted as she felt her face heat up. Perhaps she could have done with a few bob, but Vera’s grudging and condescending manner meant that her pride got in the way. If the boot was on the other foot, she thought darkly, would I embarrass you the way you embarrass me? I think not. They drank their tea in silence. Sarah had little to say and the atmosphere between them had become rather awkward.

‘Did I tell you we’re moving?’ Vera asked.

‘No?’

‘We’re buying a house in Lancing,’ Vera beamed. ‘Annweir Avenue. The railway is helping us with getting a mortgage and Bill wanted to be closer to the carriage works anyway. I can’t wait.’

Sarah swirled the tea in her cup. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Bill is going to do it up and we may take a lodger. You know … someone respectable.’

Vera’s husband had done well for himself in the Lancing Carriage Works and the workforce was a close-knit community. During the war years, they had been kept busy repairing bombed-out carriages because the shortage of petrol meant that the railways had to be kept going whatever the cost. Henry had worked in a jeweller’s shop in Littlehampton until he was called up. It was through his friendship with Bill and the local cricket club matches that he and Sarah had met in the first place. Life was strange. It may have dealt her a bad hand but she was happy for her sister. They seemed to be doing really well.

‘The new British Railways have some brilliant new ideas,’ said Vera. She was on a roll now. ‘There’s talk about having an open day next year and inviting families and friends to come and have a look around. If they do it, you must come too.’

‘Sounds fun,’ said Sarah.

‘It’s free but they’re raising funds for the Southern Railway Servants’ Orphanage and Homes for the Elderly. You will come, won’t you?’

‘Try and keep me away,’ said Sarah, stifling a yawn. It was becoming more and more difficult to talk to Vera. As they’d got older, they had less and less in common. She felt uncomfortable and the conversation was always very one-sided. ‘How long before you leave Worthing?’

Vera shrugged. ‘Two weeks, a month? There’s still a bit of paperwork to do but the house is already empty.’ She stood to leave, calling her daughter to her and explaining that she had to get back for Bill’s tea.

‘It was lovely seeing you again,’ said Sarah, planting a kiss on Vera’s proffered cheek.

‘By the way,’ Vera said in a rather loud voice as she stepped out onto the street, ‘I’ve got a few bits and bobs you can have that belonged to Carole when she was a baby. They’re a bit worn but they might come in useful for Lu-Lu.’

A couple of her neighbours were walking by. Sarah averted her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly as she felt her face colour. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She couldn’t say no. The children needed clothes and she knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but did she have to tell the whole street? She closed the door, grateful that Vera and Carole had gone.

Later, when the children were in bed and asleep, there was a knock on the door. Sarah was surprised to see Mrs Angel and Peter Millward, the coalman, on her doorstep. Mrs Angel looked much the same as she always did, with her snow-white hair falling from her loose bun, but Peter was all spruced up. He was wearing his demob suit, a white shirt and a black tie. His thinning hair was slicked down and he was holding a bunch of lily of the valley.

‘May we come in Sarah, dear?’ said Mrs Angel.

Tight-lipped and angry, Sarah kept her back to them as she made a pot of tea. If Mr Millward had been there on his own she would have slammed the door in his face, but having Mrs Angel by his side meant that she felt the need to be polite. She’d carelessly cast his bunch of flowers onto the draining board without a word of thanks. In fact, she hadn’t said a word since the pair of them walked in the door. How dare he come back! And how dare he get someone as nice as Mrs Angel involved as well. She put a cup of tea in front of them, making sure she slopped some of Peter’s drink in the saucer, and sat at the table, her eyes fixed on Mrs Angel.

‘Peter wants to ask you something,’ said Mrs Angel.

‘Does he now,’ said Sarah coldly. ‘Well, I’m sure I have nothing to say to him.’

Mrs Angel put up her hand. ‘It seems there’s been a terrible mistake, dear.’

Sarah opened her mouth but then Peter said, ‘I’m a man of few words, missus, and sometimes they come out all wrong.’

Sarah turned to give him a cold hard stare.

‘I need a bookkeeper,’ he blurted out.

Sarah blinked in surprise. ‘A bookkeeper?’

He nodded.

‘I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before, dear,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘It’s something you could do from home. What I mean is, you wouldn’t have to get someone to look after the children.’

‘A bookkeeper,’ Sarah repeated. ‘I used to be good at sums at school, but I’ve never done anything like bookkeeping.’

‘Perhaps not, dear,’ said Mrs Angel, ‘But I can help you get started and there’s nothing to it. You just have to be methodical.’

Sarah’s gaze went to Mr Millward. ‘I can’t pay you,’ he began. ‘I’ve only just started out myself, but I could pay you in kind.’

Sarah felt herself relaxing. ‘With a bag of coal?’ He nodded furiously and she began to laugh. ‘You know what,’ she said. ‘You’ve got yourself a bookkeeper.’

Mr Millward beamed.

‘I owe you an apology,’ said Sarah, but he waved a hand and shook his head. ‘Yes, I do,’ Sarah insisted. ‘It’s just that since my husband disappeared, a few people have made some rather improper suggestions.’

Mrs Angel looked away but Mr Millward continued to stare. ‘Henry has disappeared?’

‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘Didn’t you know? He walked out on me and the children some time ago.’ She picked up her cup and tried to appear nonchalant. ‘I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.’

‘A terrible thing to do,’ said Mrs Angel, shaking her head. ‘Those poor little girls need a daddy.’

‘But your Henry hasn’t disappeared,’ Mr Millward exclaimed. ‘I’ve seen him.’

Sarah was aware that her mouth had dropped open, but the news had rendered her speechless.

Mrs Angel clutched at her throat. ‘You saw him?’

‘My old Mum lives in Horsham,’ said Mr Millward, addressing Mrs Angel. ‘I go to see her every week. I was there last Sunday and I saw him just down the road from Mum’s place. He didn’t see me, but I saw him.’

Sarah took in a breath. ‘Did he look all right? I mean, was he well?’

‘Yeah, he looked fine.’ But as he looked at Sarah, the colour in his face rose and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, missus, but he wasn’t alone. He was arm in arm with some young woman.’