For All Our Tomorrows (43 page)

She knew what his answer would be, without even needing to ask. He would never agree, never.

She could walk away, of course, if she so wished; go off to America with Charlie without Hugh’s permission. Except that Hugh could claim that having enjoyed an affair with her lover she was an unfit mother, and since they had spent a weekend together how could she prove her innocence, that nothing at all had happened between them?

Sara might well win her divorce, but lose her children, which didn’t bear thinking about. She folded the letter and put it back in her pocket.
 

Making the children their tea, giving them their baths, washing their hair and doing all the ordinary, everyday things with them, brought home to her how very important it was for her to keep them safe and a part of her life. Not for a moment would Sara contemplate losing them. They were far too precious.

They sat in their plaid dressing gowns, drinking their cocoa while they played Ludo, then a rowdy game of Snakes and Ladders. Drew cheated a few times, as he loved to do, pretending he’d forgotten that you couldn’t go up snakes and hoping no one would notice.

Jenny kept shouting, ‘he’s done it again, Mummy, tell him!’

Laughing, Sara rumpled his hair. ‘He’s a cheeky monkey but it’s time for bed now, so come on both of you, clean your teeth then I’ll come and read you some more of Rupert Bear.’

A chorus of moans had already started up but mention of their favourite story book character changed these swiftly to oohs of delight and the two children scampered off eager to hear if the dragon would catch Rupert, and how Bill Badger, Algy Pug and Edward Trunk would help. Perhaps he might even take to the air in his little plane.

Sara sat by Jenny’s bed with Drew on her knee and read quietly to them, always a favourite part of her day. She couldn’t ever remember Hugh putting them to bed, not in all their married life. He claimed it was her job, part of the role of a mother, as if he were somehow not involved in his children’s welfare.

When their eyes were drooping closed, she quietly closed the book, kissed Jenny’s sleep-flushed cheeks before carrying Drew, already limp with sleep, to his own room where she sat and looked at him for a long time before going back downstairs. No indeed, whatever the sacrifice, her children must come first but it was worth one last stab at happiness before she quite abandoned all hope.

She damned well would ask him. He could only say no.

‘I’d like to talk to you Hugh, if you don’t mind.’ He was sitting reading the paper, as he seemed to do a great deal these days, now that he wasn’t constantly out on his missions. His temper had grown ever more irascible, his moods blacker and more morose of late and as Sara took the chair opposite she tried to appear calm, even though her heart was pounding and her hands were trembling. She clasped them tightly in her lap,

‘I don’t think we can go on like this for much longer, hardly speaking to each other, do you? We lead largely separate lives, sleep in separate beds and . . . ‘

‘If you are complaining again about our sex lives, Sara, that is entirely your fault, not mine. I never wanted us to sleep apart, that was your choice. I can’t say I enjoy it in the least.’

Sara momentarily closed her eyes in a gesture of despair. ‘Let’s not go over all of that again. The fact is, even in our love making, if you can call it that, we are no longer compatible. We seem to have a different needs, a completely different way of looking at things. You constantly criticise and disapprove of everything I do, while I want to go my own way, do things outside of the home now that the children are older. I’m afraid I haven’t been happy for some time, Hugh. I’m not blaming you entirely but . . .’

‘I should think not, since you were the one who had the affair, not me.’

Sara was taken aback by the venom in his tone, had to force herself not to lose her nerve. After all, she suspected him of having an affair himself, with Iris, although it seemed fruitless to argue that point now that the girl had gone back home. She steadied her breath, tried again.

‘Charlie and I didn’t actually have an affair, not in the way you imagine. But it is true that I love him. He loves me too, very much, and . . . well, what I’m trying to say is that if you would be good enough to grant me my freedom, we intend to marry.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Hugh tossed aside his paper and stared at Sara, eyes wide with disbelief, brows climbing right up into that shock of fair hair which still fell over his brow. ‘Grant you your freedom? My dear girl, what are you saying? Can you be serious?’

‘Very. We need to be together.’

‘You
need
to be together?’

‘Do please stop repeating everything I say. It can’t come as any great surprise to you. You’ve known for some time that I’m not happy. Our marriage isn’t working, Hugh, and it’s time we accepted that fact.’

‘I accept nothing of the sort. The problem lies with the war, with women taking on roles that don’t in the least suit them, like driving buses, joining the Armed Services, and other such jobs that they were never meant to do. The problem lies with GIs who steal our wives and sweethearts, not with hard working husbands who are trying to do their bit.

‘I also blame Nora Snell and her damned committee. On top of all of that, you’ve now got yourself embroiled this nursing nonsense up at the hospital.’ He got up, carefully folded his paper and slapped it down on the polished mahogany coffee table.
 

‘The trouble with you, Sara, is that you’re never satisfied. You are always imagining that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.’

Sara gasped. ‘I don’t think that’s quite fair.’

‘Fair? Fair? You have a lovely home, children, even a husband who loves you, and a business we used to happily run together, but that apparently is not enough. You want fun and excitement, romance and illicit sex. Now you apparently also want your freedom. To do what? Run off to America with a Yank like your stupid sister? I don’t think so, Sara. I don’t think that would be a very good idea at all.’

At this point in his unstoppable lecture, he leaned so close to Sara that flecks of spittle from his mouth cascaded over her as he spat his next words at her. ‘Let’s put it nice and plain, so that even you, dim as you are, can understand. If you leave me, Sara, I shall never, ever, allow you to take the children. Got that? Have you hammered that simple fact into your thick skull?’

Sara stared at the notice as she had done a dozen, a score of times over the last few weeks, with unseeing eyes.
The public may use and bathe from this part of the beach but at their own risk. Beware of barbed wire and other obstructions. Do not touch any suspicious objects.
 

It was dated 25 July, 1944, by the garrison commander.

Readymoney Beach was being returned, at least in part, to the people of Fowey. Did this mean that life too could now return to normal? Somehow she didn’t think so. Sara couldn’t imagine ever feeling as carefree as she once had, before the war, when she had been young and full of hope and optimism.

She turned over the conversation she’d had with Hugh the previous night and knew, in her heart, that the result had been entirely expected. In a way the decision had been made for her long since. She’d no choice but to stay, because of the children. Nothing, not even her love for Charlie, would induce her to risk losing them. She was trapped, with no way out.

But living with Hugh once the war was finally over would be very far from easy. It was going to be every bit as dangerous as crossing the wrong part of this beach. An absolute mine field.

Chapter Forty-Two

Chad was spending a couple of weeks out in the forest, sleeping under the stars, hunting the odd turkey or the white, red-eyed quail, and licking his wounds. The peace and quiet gave him much needed time to think and recover from the shock of Bette’s betrayal, and he’d come to the decision that perhaps he’d been a bit hard on her.

Both Bette and Barney must have believed that he was dead. No information to the contrary could possibly have come through because he’d been in that coma for weeks, and the army had been at great pains to keep everything hush-hush, under wraps.

Besides which, Barney could charm the birds from the trees, if he set his mind to it. Was it fair to blame Bette if she fell for his flattery while beside herself with grief? The poor girl probably didn’t know what the heck she was doing, what with the baby coming an’ all.

And it still
could
be his. He’d made love to her first. How could Mom be so sure that it wasn’t? Didn’t all new babies look alike? He hadn’t so much as glanced at the poor creature, or made any attempt to form his own opinion on the matter. Bette must think him entirely heartless. It wasn’t the baby’s fault, after all, and the poor thing would need a pappy.

The question he had to ask himself was, did he still love Bette? Did he want her to stay or should he assume that this whole marriage was a sham and call an end to it? What would happen then? Divorce? It didn’t bear thinking about.

The answer came back to him clear and strong. He did still love her and although he felt badly hurt and let down, by his best buddy as much as his wife, he supposed Bette at least deserved the opportunity to explain. Maybe even a second chance, if he thought she still cared for him some.

Harry and his father were out on the land somewhere and only his mother and Mary-Lou were sitting at the kitchen table, peeling vegetables when he walked back in, carrying his bag. Peggy half glanced up, nodded at the bag and asked, ‘Turkey?’’

‘Sure is.’

‘Just in time for thanksgiving. You feeling hungry, son?’ She wiped her hands on a cloth and got up to slice a loaf of bread, fresh baked that morning.

‘No, I’m fine. Had me some beans. I need to see Bette right away.’ Dropping his bags he pulled open the door and was half-way up the stairs when Peggy called up to him.

‘She ain’t there.’

‘Why not? Where is she?’

‘She packed her bags, took the baby and left. Harry ran her to the station, like she asked. Gone back to where she came from, I imagine, and good riddance.’

How long had she been here? Bette couldn’t quite remember. That had been her first mistake then, not to start a calendar and keep a track of the days. Her second, and far more serious, was to believe that the loaded boxes of food were the result of generosity on Peggy’s part. Now she understood that they weren’t anything of the sort. The food had been meant to last her for weeks because she was stuck in this cabin, miles from civilisation with a new baby and no transport. Once that food was used up, Bette hadn’t the first idea how she would survive.

Surely the woman wasn’t so heartless and unfeeling as to leave her to starve?

Yet despite all appearances to the contrary, Bette remained steadfastly optimistic, clinging to the hope that Chad had perhaps been away from home, down in Carreville on business for his father. She felt quite unable to believe that he would abandon her completely.

‘He will come today, Matthew,’ she would say to the baby whenever she woke to yet another empty day.

She’d given up walking down the lane. There was no point, nowhere to go.
 

Bette busied herself cleaning the cabin, giving it a good bottoming as Sadie would call it, making it as comfortable and homely as possible. She even picked some of the golden rod and aster to make the place look loved and cared for.

She found an axe and split some of the logs from the wood-pile. By dinner time she had quite a stack.
 

Next, she set about trying to make the cabin weather-proof. With the weather likely to worsen, every hole and possible source of draft must be stopped up. She used rags, cardboard, some of the newspapers she’d found, anything to make the place cosy and sound.

The roof rattled ominously in the wind and the chimney seemed to howl and whistle, as if in pain. The stove was always difficult to light and get going and sometimes she would be blinded by smoke, her eyes stinging, nostrils filled with the stink of it. She must take such care. Once it was burning well though, her cheeks would glow from the heat and the fire would smoulder happily on very little wood for hours. The smell of the pinewood was soporific and in the evening she would find that it had warmed the loft above, which helped her to sleep.

After that she scrubbed the old cooker in the out-kitchen and was so pleased when she got it working again. Now she could cook and each day she would make something good and tasty, once boiled ham and mashed potatoes, another day a delicious roast chicken which she and Chad could enjoy together just the moment he arrived. She even baked an apple pie.

One afternoon she set a dish of spicy chicken legs to bake in the oven, then went out into the garden to enjoy the late sunshine, rocking Matthew’s crib gently as she passed by.

‘Now you sleep well and be a good baby. This could be the day that your daddy comes. I feel sure of it.’

Leaving Matthew asleep in his crib just by the back door, she wandered idly down the length of the back garden, curious to see what grew there, to explore the woodland of oak, beech and birch which ran along the bottom of it. The day was pleasantly mild and warm, and in any other circumstances she would enjoy a walk in the woods.