An Orphan’s Sorrow

‘Good afternoon, Sister Norton,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you came in. I wanted to thank you for all you did last night. I was afraid to leave the shop in case the bastards came back to finish the job – excuse my language, ma’am – but I was so angry over it. Grandfather doesn’t make a fortune out of this place, he never has, just a few pounds to keep him going.’

‘I doubt if a small shop ever earns much,’ Jean said sympathetically. ‘Some of the kids here don’t know right from wrong. Their fathers are probably out of work and their mothers can’t control them – but it still doesn’t excuse what they did.’

‘I know how bad things have been,’ Phil Forrest agreed. ‘My parents had their hard times, same as others, and that’s why Dad wouldn’t let me work on the docks. He told me the army was the place for me and he was right. I’d hate to live round here again – but I think the world of Grandfather and I visit as often as I’m able.’

‘You haven’t heard anything more?’

‘No. I’ll go to the hospital when I finish up here, but I didn’t want him to lose more than he already has so I opened up as usual. I’ve had a lot of folk in and they all say how sorry they are and they hope he’ll be back soon, but I’m not sure he can ever return to what he was.’

‘There’s no way he can afford to employ a full-time assistant?’

Phil shook his head. ‘The shop doesn’t earn enough, Sister Norton. I think he may have to sell up and go to live with my parents. My mother will happily take him in but she’s got two children still at school and Dad to look after, so she couldn’t manage the shop as well.’

Jean nodded her understanding and made sympathetic noises. She knew there was no comfort to be given in such a case. Mr Forrest was old and if he could no longer run his shop, he would need to sell it and move in with his daughter-in-law and son. The alternative did not bear thinking of for an independent man.

She bought a few things and walked back home just as the schools were emptying. As she entered Pail Street, she saw Jamie Martin walking towards Marth’s house, looking furtively over his shoulder. Moving quickly to catch up with him, she tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped in fear, his eyes wild as he looked at her.

‘Is something wrong, Jamie?’ she asked and he shook his head but she saw a bruise on his cheek. ‘Are you afraid of someone – one of the boys from your school, perhaps?’

Jamie hesitated and then nodded looking at her and now she saw a different expression, which she suspected, might be shame. ‘Yeah,’ he said at last. ‘It’s a gang, Sister Norton. They gave me a bit of a ’iding last night – they’re bullies and all the kids are scared of them. Arch ain’t, but he ain’t ’ere.’

‘I see …’ She pursed her lips. ‘Isn’t there anyone you could talk to about it – your teacher or a policeman perhaps?’

Now Jamie looked really frightened. Instead of answering her, he took to his heels and sprinted the few yards to Marth’s house, disappearing around the corner and no doubt into her kitchen.

Jean frowned, considering what to do for the best. Should she follow him into Marth’s kitchen and insist on the whole story or leave him to make up his own mind how to deal with the bullies? She sighed and walked past, knowing that she couldn’t interfere unless he asked. Jamie was staying with Marth, his unofficial foster mother, who had promised to contact his brother as soon as they had word of his whereabouts. Jean had no authority and no right to make him tell her his story if he didn’t wish to.

She was still thoughtful as she approached her cottage and saw, to her surprise, that she had a visitor waiting. George seldom came to her home, because they’d decided at the outset it wasn’t sensible. To meet for a drink or a coffee was one thing but to be alone together in her home was quite another and would undoubtedly cause gossip.

‘Jean!’ George came to meet her as she approached and she saw that he looked bothered – annoyed and worried. ‘I’m glad to have found you. Matron told me you were at home so I came but there was no answer.’

‘I went to the shop,’ she said. ‘Come in, George, I wasn’t expecting to see you before the concert next week.’

‘I know – but …’ He glanced round, as if wondering who was watching or listening. ‘I’ll tell you inside.’

Jean unlocked her back door and they went into her neat kitchen. It smelled slightly of her toast from earlier and she frowned, opening a window to let some air in. Then she turned to look at him expectantly.

‘George, you wanted to tell me something?’

‘It’s Lilian …’ He paused and took a deep breath. Lilian was his wife and Jean prepared for the worst, because when he spoke of her it was usually to cancel an arrangement or complain of her tantrums. ‘She wants to go and live with her sister in Bournemouth. The kids are at boarding school and Lilian is miserable. She says she’s had enough of me and wants me to give her a divorce – she says she knows I’m having an affair and it is up to me to make it easy for her.’

Jean pulled out a chair and sat down, her breath suddenly gone. She felt shaken. Divorce was such a shocking thing and she didn’t actually know anyone who’d been through one. It was usually the product of scandal and the other woman in the case inevitably lost her reputation. Everyone was always on the side of the wife. If Jean was named, she would be known as a scarlet woman!

‘We aren’t having an affair,’ she said, ‘so how can she know anything? We’ve had a drink together and been to a concert a couple of times as friends – but nothing more!’

‘Of course not,’ George said nodding in agreement. ‘I might wish it was more, but we’ve been sensible. I told her it was nonsense but she says she’s had a private detective follow me and he has photographs of us together and unless I agree she will go to your employers and make a fuss – and she would, Jean. I’m so sorry, my dear. I thought I had been careful but she smelled your perfume on a handkerchief and …’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘I don’t even know how it got there.’

Jean frowned as she wracked her brain for the memory and then nodded. ‘You took a piece of grit from my eye and wiped a tear from my cheek – it was when the men were working on the road and some dust blew into my eye.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘Such a tiny thing …’

‘I never wear perfume at work,’ Jean said with a frown. ‘She couldn’t have smelled it – perhaps my soap …’ She looked at him, seeing the flush in his cheeks and guessed that her wife had accused him more in hope than knowledge and he’d given himself away. George had made it clear he wanted an affair on several occasions. Jean had resisted, mainly because of past hurts, but also because she hadn’t wanted to be the cause of a divorce.

‘I thought I should warn you,’ George said and looked uncomfortable under her accusing stare. ‘You won’t be named, of course. I can arrange something – pay a prostitute and get someone to take pictures. If it means I’m finally free we could—’

‘Don’t, George!’ Jean said, sounding sharper than she intended. ‘We are friends – and I shan’t deny I’ve been tempted to let it be more – but that doesn’t mean I want to get married!’

‘Oh …’ He looked crestfallen and disappointed and Jean wondered why she’d said it. Only a few days ago she thought she would have been pleased that he would soon be free of the wife he’d long disliked. ‘I thought … you know how I think of you, Jean.’

‘Yes, and I am very fond of you,’ she replied and sighed. ‘I didn’t mean to be sharp, George. You caught me at a bad time and – and I’m upset that I might be accused of being an adulteress.’

‘Yes, of course. You look tired …’ He looked at her, belatedly seeing the signs of strain. ‘What’s wrong, old girl?’

Jean ignored the form of address, though it irritated her. ‘I was up all night with a patient and he is very ill – he may die and he is someone I rather like. Most of the locals do. We all visit his shop at least once a week, because we don’t want him to give up – though perhaps he should have done after his wife died.’

Jean found herself telling George all about the break-in. He shook his head sadly and then nodded. ‘It happens all too often when the shopkeepers get too old,’ he said. ‘I’m always being asked to defend little blighters who’ve been stealing sweets and cigarettes from elderly men and women who eke a living from these tiny corner shops. I get paid a few quid for getting the kids off with a caution or a fine when they ought to send the rogues off somewhere and teach them a lesson – a spell in the army would be as good as anything, if they were old enough.’

‘Sergeant Forrest thinks it was schoolchildren.’

‘That’s the trouble,’ George shook his head. ‘If the police find them and go to the parents, they’ll lie through their teeth for them, and even if there’s irrefutable proof, some busybody will come along and say they should be given a rap on the knuckles and let off. Nowhere to send the blighters that’s the problem. What few remand institutions for underage offenders exist, are filled to bursting.’

In his capacity as a solicitor for criminals, George was well aware of the situation and Jean did not doubt his word. They’d met when she’d sought a solicitor on behalf of one of her neighbours, who was being threatened with eviction by her landlord because she owed two weeks’ rent. A collection amongst friends and neighbours had paid the arrears but still the landlord had wanted Millie Jenkins out of her cottage. However, George had soon put the domineering landlord in his place and Jean had invited him for a drink to thank him for his help. They’d liked each other from the start and George had been honest about the state of his sterile marriage. Jean had told him who and what she was, but her secrets had never been discussed – with George or anyone. The hurts she’d suffered when she was a young nurse, straight out of training and full of belief, remained buried deep inside and that was the way she intended them to stay. No one needed to know that Jean had been deceived, betrayed and discarded but it wasn’t going to happen again.

‘Well, I’d better go,’ George said and looked reluctant. ‘If I stay it may be added to the list Lilian is preparing to use against me.’

‘This divorce …’ Jean looked at him anxiously. ‘Are you sure my name won’t be used?’

‘I’ll do my utmost to stop it,’ he promised and came towards her. He reached out for her and then bent his head to kiss her. Jean felt the tickle of the little moustache he’d grown. She smiled and let him kiss her. She was quite fond of him, though it wasn’t the blinding, all-consuming love that she’d once known and lost. George smiled down at her and then lifted her chin. ‘I haven’t been able to court you as I should – but when this horrid business is over, I’ll show you how I really feel.’

‘Let’s wait and see how you feel once you’re free,’ she suggested and smiled at him. ‘I am very fond of you, George, but I don’t think we should meet until it is over.’

‘No,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘I took a risk today but I changed buses three times and I don’t think I was followed. It means abandoning our trip to the concert but I’ll let you know when it is over.’

‘Thank you.’ Jean went to the door with him, waved and then returned to her kitchen. For some reason she was close to tears. She’d enjoyed meeting George sometimes, but would she really want him here in her home every day and all night? She wasn’t sure it would suit her to play the part of a dutiful wife. Her job was important to her and she didn’t imagine she could have a successful marriage and carry on working full time at the infirmary.

Sighing, she went to the dresser drawer and took out a paper pattern. She had some material to make a dress that she’d bought more than a month earlier and put away. That evening she would cut out the pieces of one of her favourite styles. She’d used it many times before and knew it suited her tall, slightly thin frame. The neckline was modest and she normally added collars, either of lace or white linen, double stitched to make it stiffer. With long sleeves, a fitted bodice and a semi-straight skirt that ended just above the ankles it made her look elegant but respectable. A woman in her position needed to be careful and dress modestly. Anything too frivolous and the women of the lanes around her would start to speculate. She could imagine what a few of her neighbours would be thinking of George’s visit as it was – and smiled as she realised that they would be counting the minutes and wondering if he’d been there long enough to have committed an indecent act with her …

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