For Better For Worse. Pam Weaver
took quite a while to plough through the mountain of paperwork Mr Millward had given her, but gradually she made sense of the books. Over the past few weeks, he’d been delighted with her work and they’d become friends. He was no oil painting but he was a good man, she could see that now. He was ambitious too. He’d lost everything in the war, his wife and his home, so he had to start all over again. The coal yard, he’d told her, was only the beginning and now that his books were straight and he could see that he was doing quite well, it was time to expand.
Then this morning he’d turned up at her house unannounced. ‘I’m planning to go into the haulage business,’ he told her. ‘I’m not getting any younger and humping coal is a young man’s job.’
She’d smiled encouragingly as she’d passed him a cup of tea. What was he trying to tell her? That he wouldn’t be needing a part-time bookkeeper anymore? That she’d lost the position?
‘I need a couple of lorries,’ he went on.
Sarah stirred her tea, trying not to notice his protruding nasal hairs.
‘So I’m going to Horsham next Thursday,’ he said. ‘This chap I know can get hold of ex-army surplus stuff at a knock-down price.’
Sarah nodded. ‘I hope it’s all legit.’
‘It is,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked. The thing is, if you want to see that husband of yours, you and the kids can come with me in the lorry if you like.’
Sarah hesitated. Confront Henry outright? It was a tempting thought.
‘I have to pick Jenny up from school at three,’ she said cautiously.
‘I’m not seeing the bloke until six-ish,’ said Mr Millward. ‘I can pick you up after you’ve got the kiddie, if you like.’
Sarah’s hand went to her mouth. The timing couldn’t have been better. It was an opportunity too good to miss.
* * *
Annie Royal lifted the net curtain to dust the already dustless window ledge then glanced back at the clock. Ten thirty. Mrs Holborn from next door would be here at any minute. Annie returned to the kitchen to boil the milk in readiness for their morning cup of Camp coffee. She had only just put the pan of milk on the stove when there was a sharp rap on the back door. ‘Come on in, Mrs Holborn.’
Her neighbour took off her coat and hung it over the back of her chair and after swapping comments about the weather, the two women sat down. They were as different as chalk and cheese but their shared loneliness had drawn them together for their twice a week coffee times. On Thursdays, Annie would go next door to Mrs Holborn’s place and today, Tuesday, Mrs Holborn came to her. They were both housewives. Mrs Holborn, a woman of fairly mature years, spent her time looking after her sick husband. She also had the responsibility of caring for her aged mother-in-law who lived a couple of streets away and, on top of that, she had three strapping but lazy sons living at home. Annie was easily twenty-five years her junior, but the two of them enjoyed their little chats together.
‘How’s your Oswald?’
‘Much the same. He’s coughing up blood now.’
Annie frowned with concern. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’ Since the advent of the new National Health Service, it was so much easier to get medical help. Annie knew that if this had happened only a year ago and Mrs Holborn had to pay for the doctor to come, Oswald would have waited in vain.
Mrs Holborn nodded. ‘He’s sleeping now so I can’t stay for more than a minute or two today. They’re taking him up to the sanatorium in a couple of days, so I won’t be able to have you over for coffee on Thursday.’
Annie squeezed her hand. ‘Oh, Mrs Holborn, I’m so sorry … for your husband, I mean.’
‘It’s for the best, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘I know it was Oswald’s wish to die at home but it can’t be helped. The TB has got a terrible hold on him now.’
Annie knew Henry wouldn’t like it if he knew Mrs Holborn was here. Because her husband was so sick, Henry was afraid she might ‘pass something on’ to the baby and had forbidden Annie to be with her, but how could she turn away a friend in need? Mrs Holborn had been so kind when they’d moved in and had given her such a lot of friendly advice. There was so much more to being married than she’d realised, and Henry liked everything just so. Annie had been at a bit of a loss to begin with, and when Henry got annoyed, she’d cried bitterly. Mrs Holborn had helped her master the New World cooker and had given her tips on how to make the rations go further. It wasn’t easy managing on an ounce of bacon, two ounces of butter and a shilling’s worth of meat a week, and Annie welcomed Mrs Holborn’s inventiveness when it came to making interesting meals. Her own mother hadn’t been near the place, but Mrs Holborn had not only been on hand to give her motherly advice, but she’d also been a pal to laugh with and sometimes a shoulder to cry on. Now the tables had turned and it was her turn to be there for her friend.
As they sat in Annie’s immaculate kitchen, Mrs Holborn took a small package out of her apron pocket and pushed it across the table. ‘A little something for the baby,’ she smiled.
It was wrapped in blue tissue paper, and when she opened it, it was a tiny matinee jacket with matching booties knitted in snow-white wool.
‘It’s beautiful!’ cried Annie. ‘Whenever did you find the time to do it?’
Mrs Holborn blushed. ‘Actually I didn’t. My mother-in-law can’t get around like she used to but she’s still a good knitter. I bought the wool and the pattern and she did it for me.’
Annie fingered the lacy pattern. It was so soft, so snowy white, just perfect for her baby.
‘How long have you got now?’ asked Mrs Holborn.
Annie put her hand over her bump. ‘Two and a bit months. It’s due in the middle of November.’
‘About the same time as the royal baby then,’ Mrs Holborn grinned. ‘I wonder which one of you is going to be the first to tie the good news on Buckingham Palace gates?’
Annie chuckled. The whole country was already excited about the forthcoming birth of the Princess Elizabeth’s first child, and King George VI’s first grandchild. The papers had gone quiet since the announcement and the princess hadn’t been filmed or photographed since the summer, but everyone knew the baby was due in November.
‘Did you notice that woman was back?’ said Mrs Holborn suddenly. ‘She was waiting across the road again this morning.’
A feeling of unease wrapped itself around Annie’s stomach. ‘What woman?’
‘Attractive, well dressed. She looked as if she was worth a bob or two,’ Mrs Holborn went on. ‘I saw her hanging around a couple of weeks ago.’
Annie frowned. ‘Is she still there then?’
The two women, their eyes locked, stood up together. They walked quietly to the sitting room and, standing well back from the window, scanned the street, but there was no sign of her. Annie was secretly relieved. She had no idea who the woman was, but it was a bit disconcerting having her outside the house.
‘The car’s gone too,’ said Mrs Holborn, sounding surprised.
‘What car?’
‘I saw her heading towards a car at the other end of the road,’ said Mrs Holborn.
‘She must have been waiting for someone,’ Annie remarked.
‘Maybe,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘I get the feeling that she’ll be trouble.’
‘Ah well, thank goodness she’s not there now,’ said Annie, steering her back to the kitchen.
On