For Better For Worse

‘That’s funny,’ Annie murmured to herself as she turned for the stairs.

*

She found herself trembling from head to foot and her heart was racing like the clappers when she saw him. She hadn’t expected to bump into him in the street. If she’d been on the same side of the road, she would have walked right into him. Luckily, when he’d come out of the gate, he’d had his head down and was brushing something from his trouser leg. That had given her just enough time to dart into the nearest garden, but she had watched him walking briskly down the street with his head held high until he’d turned the corner. Arrogant sod. Now that he’d gone and she was back on the pavement, she didn’t know why she hadn’t confronted him there and then. It would have been the perfect opportunity and they were quite alone in the street.

She hadn’t expected to see the girl either. So young … she only looked about sixteen. She threw the half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and hurried on. Tears were biting the backs of her eyes, but she wasn’t going to give way. She knew exactly what to do.

Her car was at the end of the street. She opened the door and threw in her handbag. Once in the driver’s seat, she fumbled for another cigarette. Drawing deeply, she felt the rage inside her subsiding slightly but not the anger. That was cold and calculating. Nobody wanted their dirty linen washed in public, but enough was enough. She was rational enough to want it all done properly and that would take time. He was not going to get away with it, not this time. It might be unpleasant, but he had to be stopped. Putting the key in the ignition, she revved the engine a couple of times and set off.

*

Sarah could hear raised voices next door. She tried to block out the sound because she was concentrating on Mr Millward’s books, but then she heard the sound of a loud thump, someone falling and Mrs Rivers crying out. Sarah took off her shoe and banged on the wall. She wasn’t brave enough to confront Nat Rivers face to face, but she wanted him to know that someone was listening. She heard him curse and a few moments later, the door slammed and he walked by the kitchen window. Sarah dashed to the front door and slid the large bolt at the top seconds before Nat tried the doorknob. Her heart was pounding as she turned the key in the lock and shot the bolt at the bottom of the door. On the other side, Nat kicked the wood. ‘You stay away from my mother,’ he shouted through the letter box. ‘Keep your interfering nose out of my business.’

Sarah pressed herself against the wall and said nothing, but as soon as he’d gone down the road, she went to the wooden partition between the kitchen and the scullery. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Rivers? Mrs Rivers? Shall I come round?’

‘I’m fine,’ her neighbour called shakily. ‘I dropped the coal bucket, that’s all.’

Sarah respected her wish not to be disturbed, but she wished she could have gone in to check.

‘Sarah dear?’ Mrs Rivers called a few minutes later.

‘Yes?’

‘I think it better if you don’t come round for a while. Is that all right?’

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Are you sure? I’m not scared of him.’ It was a lie of course, but there was nothing to stop the two of them getting together when Nat wasn’t around.

‘I think it’s best, dear.’

Reluctantly, Sarah went back to her paperwork, but her mind was all over the place. She hadn’t wanted to believe Mr Millward when he’d told her about Henry. She’d tried to tell herself he was wrong, or that it was a case of mistaken identity, but the man was adamant. He had definitely seen her husband in Horsham. All the same, Sarah had to see for herself. Her greatest problem was getting over there. She had no spare money for the bus fare and besides, who would look after the girls? She could try Vera, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to ask her for help.

It 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.

Three

On Thursday afternoon, Annie washed up her cup and saucer and wiped the draining board. Her jobs were all done, the house was spotless and the ironing basket was empty. What on earth was she going to do for the rest of the day? Once the baby came there would be plenty to think about, but right now, with no friends living nearby, she was bored, bored, bored. If only one of her friends from Worthing would answer her letters. She wrote nearly every Sunday and Henry posted them on his way to work, but it was as if she faced a wall of silence. A glance through the window told her that the rain was holding off, so she decided to go for a walk. Maybe she’d take a sandwich, buy herself a magazine and sit in the park for a while.

Annie put on her swagger coat and sensible shoes. She decided against an umbrella, but she took a ten bob note from the emergency jar. She wouldn’t spend it all of course, but she might buy something from the shops … some chocolate or maybe an ice cream. Surely Henry wouldn’t object if she treated herself now and then? Feeling suddenly daring, she kicked off the sensible shoes and reached for her high heels. She hadn’t worn them for ages but they did make her feel more feminine. Just because she was pregnant, she didn’t have to be a complete frump, did she?

Annie had no problem finding a seat in the sunshine. Earlier in the month when they’d held the Horsham Festival and the fairground rides were there, you could hardly put a pinhead between the people on the grass, but there were few in the park today.

It was a lovely place. If she had been with Henry and she wasn’t pregnant, they might have gone to the outside swimming pool or played a game of miniature golf followed by cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea at the park café. Today, she’d bought a quarter of coffee crunch for Henry and had been daring enough to buy a naughty cake. She settled down to eat it. Henry would have been annoyed if he’d seen her. ‘Eating in the street?’ he would’ve said. ‘How slovenly,’ but for the moment, she didn’t care. She bit into the sponge and the imitation cream tickled her nose. Delicious. Her magazine was enjoyable too and she was soon engrossed in a story about an actress who felt miscast as a housewife (oh, how she sympathised), when a shadow fell across the page. When Annie looked up, the elegant woman she’d seen in the street the day of Henry’s birthday was standing right in front of her. Immediately her pulse rate shot up and the baby kicked inside of her.

‘Excuse me. Is your husband Henry Royal?’

The woman’s voice was soft and well educated and yet she didn’t appear to be at all toffee-nosed. All the same, Annie didn’t want to talk to her. Snatching up her magazine, Annie stuffed it into her bag. She didn’t know why but this woman was unnerving her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the woman. ‘No, no, don’t get up. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Who are you?’ Annie challenged. ‘And what do you want with my husband?’

The woman made as if to speak and then seemed to change her mind. As she moved her arm, a waft of expensive perfume filled the air. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’ she said softly. ‘Somewhere a little more quiet. A café or some tea rooms?’

Annie’s heart was bumping as she looked the woman up and down. She was older than she was; mid-thirties or perhaps more. She was dressed in orange and brown. Her hair under her lopsided burnt orange hat was curled, but it looked natural rather than a permanent wave. Her complexion and make-up were flawless. She wore an orange and white spotted blouse underneath the jacket of her brown suit, which had a long line pencil skirt ending way beyond the knee. Her dark brown suede court shoes sported a neat bow on the front. She wore elbow-length gloves which matched her hat and she carried a lizard-skin clutch bag. The woman was polite enough and her voice was gentle but somehow Annie didn’t want to hear what she had to say. ‘I can’t stop now,’ she blurted out. ‘I have to get home and get my husband’s tea.’

‘You’re pregnant,’ the woman said as Annie pulled her coat around herself. She sounded a little surprised.

‘Yes I am, but I don’t see what business that is of yours,’ Annie said haughtily.

‘It makes things a little more difficult,’ the woman conceded, ‘but I still need to talk to you.’

‘Not now. Not today.’

In the distance, the town hall clock struck the half hour. ‘It won’t take long and it is rather important.’

‘I have to go,’ said Annie, wishing she’d worn the sensible shoes now. Hurrying in high heels which she hadn’t worn in ages was not a good idea, but she couldn’t bear to be near the woman a second longer. Annie didn’t look back as she hurried away. She was shaking inside and she’d gone most of the way home before she’d managed to calm down. Thankfully the woman hadn’t followed her.

As she turned the corner of the street, there was an ambulance outside Mrs Holborn’s and when a stretcher came out of the house, she saw Oswald, pale-faced and with sunken cheeks, under the blanket, blinking up at the sky. He looked terrible and Mrs Holborn was crying. Annie didn’t have time to say anything to them but she did stop to give her neighbour an encouraging smile before the ambulance doors were closed on them both. As it roared away, she somehow knew that was the last time she would ever see Oswald Holborn. The woman in the park had shaken her up, but her discomfort was nothing compared to what poor Mrs Holborn was going through.

When she got indoors, Annie hid her shoes at the back of the cupboard and put the radio on full blast. Henry didn’t like a lot of noise, but Annie wanted to shut out the memories of Oswald’s pain-filled face and every trace of that woman in the park. The one thing she couldn’t stop were the questions reverberating around in her head. Who was that woman? Why did she keep coming back and what did she have to do with Henry?

Before long the potatoes were peeled and the cabbage ready in the pan. Tonight Annie was going to cook lamb chops as a special treat. She had just laid the table when there was a sharp rap at the back door. Her neighbour, Mrs Holborn, must be back from the hospital already. ‘Come on in,’ she called.

The door opened and a woman she’d never seen before stepped into the kitchen. Annie jumped and gasped in disbelief. Now what? Her first thought was that the woman was a gypsy, perhaps selling pegs or lucky heather, but a more considered look told her this woman was no gypsy. How strange, and what were the odds against two completely different women accosting her on the same day? She was just about to shout at her and threaten her with the police when she noticed she had two little girls with her – one was in her mother’s arms while the other leaned against her body.

Annie felt her blood run cold. ‘Who are you? What do you want? My husband will be here at any minute,’ she said, hoping to frighten the woman away.

‘Your husband?’ Sarah sneered.

Her words seemed to hang in space. Annie put her hand protectively over the baby under her floral apron. The woman stared at her bump and Annie held her head high.

‘You don’t know, do you?’ said the woman. ‘You haven’t a clue.’

‘Don’t know what?’ said Annie, doing her best to sound in control of the situation.

‘Henry Royal isn’t your husband,’ said the woman, the words tumbling out. ‘My name is Sarah Royal. I’ve never been divorced, so you see Henry can’t be your husband – because he’s still mine.’

A deafening silence crept between them. Annie, still holding the salt and pepper pots ready to put on the table, was conscious that she was staring at this stranger with her mouth open. Clearly she must be quite mad. She’d got Henry mixed up with somebody else. In a couple of weeks it would be their wedding anniversary. A year ago, they had had a proper wedding with a registrar and witnesses. And wasn’t her marriage certificate in the drawer? Her husband came home every night and was with her every weekend so how could he possibly have another wife and family? As the silence deepened, the smaller child wriggled in her mother’s arms to get down. Her mother put her onto the floor and straightened up again.

‘I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible mistake,’ said Annie, taking a deep breath and willing herself to stay calm. She continued with putting the condiments on the table and tried to sound firm yet gentle. It was obvious that the poor woman must be deluded. Annie had heard of things like this before. The war had only finished three years ago and there were stories in the papers all the time about women who still believed their husbands were coming home even after they’d been officially informed to the contrary. Annie chewed her bottom lip. ‘Please,’ she began again. ‘I know you are upset but I really must ask you to go. My husband …’

They all heard a key turn in the front door and a blast of cold air propelled the kitchen door open and tugged at the tea towel hanging over the back of a chair. Annie and the woman stood facing each other, their eyes locked. At the same moment Henry called, ‘Darling, I’m home.’

The older child beamed. ‘Daddy!’ she cried and as she darted towards the hallway, her mother grabbed her arm. ‘No Jenny, wait.’

‘But that’s Daddy,’ she cried. ‘I can hear him.’

Annie’s stomach went over. She looked down at the girl. She was about six years old with light brown hair done up in plaits. Her pinched face had an earnest expression. She was clean and tidy but thin and pale. Her coat was far too small for her. The sleeves ended above the wrists and the buttons strained across her middle. It barely reached her knees. The other little girl looked about eighteen months old.

Henry’s heavy footsteps echoed along the passageway. ‘Didn’t you hear me call, darling? I’m home.’

Annie remained rooted to the spot. She didn’t know what to do. He’d be furious that she’d let this stranger in and even more annoyed that the uninvited woman in his kitchen was unhinged enough to be making such ridiculous accusations. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she hissed, but it was already too late.

A bunch of chrysanthemums heralded his arrival and then Henry himself stood in the doorway. When he saw the woman, his face froze. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he thundered.

‘Daddy,’ said the child again, but he ignored her.

Her mother pulled Jenny back to her side. ‘You know perfectly well why I’m here,’ she said defiantly. ‘How could you do this to us, Henry?’

‘Get out,’ he bellowed. ‘Get out or I’ll call the police and have you arrested.’

Annie gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

With a defiant look, Sarah squared up to him. ‘Why don’t you do just that,’ she retorted, but he’d thrown the flowers onto the kitchen table and was already bundling her roughly through the kitchen door. ‘Call the police,’ she shrieked as she was being manhandled outside, ‘and it’s you they’ll lock up, Henry.’

‘Get out, you witch, and don’t come back!’

‘You owe me, Henry!’

‘I owe you nothing.’

‘But we’ve got nothing. You’ve got to help us.’

By now both children were crying, but Henry didn’t seem to care. ‘Get out, get out, the lot of you …’ he shouted as he slammed the door after them. There was the sound of a fall and Annie listened in horror as the little girl tried to comfort her mother and sister.

‘Oh Henry, I forgot to bring the washing in,’ Annie cried. ‘She’s fallen over the tin bath.’

She ran towards the door but Henry grabbed her wrist and rounded on her. ‘Why did you let them in? Haven’t I told you time and time again not to have people in the house when I’m not here?’

‘I didn’t realise she was there,’ Annie protested. The wails outside began to fade and they both knew that the woman and her children were leaving. ‘I thought she was Mrs Holborn.’

‘And why would you think that?’ he bellowed.

Annie gulped. Why had she blurted that out? She dared not tell him that she and Mrs Holborn met on a regular basis.

‘You’ve had her in here, haven’t you?’ he cried, swinging his arm around and sending everything from the table onto the floor. The plates smashed and the knives and forks fell with a clatter as he yelled, ‘Why can’t you women do as you’re bloody well told?’

‘Henry …’ she said in shocked surprise. He’d been cross with her in the past but she’d never seen him in such a rage before. She gasped at the broken plates and the bunch of flowers scattered everywhere, but he was totally unrepentant. His feet crunching on broken glass, he stalked angrily out of the room.

Annie’s heart was thumping as she surveyed the mess. This wasn’t how she’d wanted the evening to be. A smell of burning chop wafted towards her and she realised too late that the dinner was ruined as well. Miserably, she began to clear up. When she opened the back door to put the pieces of broken crockery into the dustbin, the woman and the two children had long gone. There was no sign of them. The washing was still in the clean bath, so she picked it up and brought it in. Putting it onto a chair, Annie fought her tears and began to fold it ready for the iron.