Homecoming

Homecoming

CATRIN COLLIER

First published in Great Britain in 2003 By Orion

First published in paperback in Great Britain in 2003 by Orion

This edition published by Accent Press 2013

Copyright © Catrin Collier 2003

The right of Catrin Collier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN 9781909840669

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Catrin Collier was born and brought up in Pontypridd. She lives in Swansea with her husband, three cats and whichever of her children choose to visit.
Homecoming
is the third novel in the highly acclaimed
Swansea Girls
series.

Works by Catrin Collier

The
Swansea Girls
series:
Swansea Girls
Swansea Summer
Homecoming
(and
Black-eyed Devils
– QuickReads)

Other series:
Hearts of Gold
Brothers and Lovers

Novels:
One Last Summer
Magda's Daughter
The Long Road To Baghdad

As Katherine John:
Without Trace
Midnight Murders
Murder of a Dead Man
By Any Other Name
The Amber Knight
Black Daffodil
A Well Deserved Murder
Destruction of Evidence
The Corpse's Tale
(QuickReads)

To Kathleen Ann Garland Churchill, née Richards, for her loyal and unselfish friendship over so many years, especially during my unhappiest time, my secondary schooldays. (Although in all fairness it was probably even unhappier for my teachers.)

And to Fiona Tromans, 1948-1969, who was a friend to us both.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Note

Today's world is very different from that of forty to fifty years ago. Growing up in the fifties and the sixties I became gradually aware that some girls suddenly disappeared from everyday life – school and college friends, neighbours and relatives of friends. Sometimes they reappeared after a stay in the country with an aunt, but no matter how hard they tried to conceal what had happened, the gossips inevitably discovered the truth, and not only the girl but her entire family would be shamed because she had given birth to an illegitimate child.

It is difficult for some people to imagine now, but the disgrace tore families apart, and practically everyone of my generation knows of a father – or mother – who threw their daughter out of the house as soon as her pregnancy was discovered. Young girls without money or the support of their families had no option but to enter a ‘charitably run' home or hostel, where they were forced to give up their child for adoption after the mandatory six-week nursing and breast-feeding period, a separation that must have been every bit as traumatic for the baby as it was for the mother.

I have talked to many women permanently scarred by the experience and adults who have spent years trying to trace their birth parents without success. While respecting their request for anonymity, I admire their courage and would like to thank them for sharing their heartbreaking stories with me.

Catrin Collier

Chapter One

Helen walked into her bedroom, set a couple of dry-cleaning bags on to the double bed and turned to the bank of pale oak wardrobes. As she opened the doors, she wondered why a gentleman's wardrobe had so many more fitments than a lady's. Deep drawers for socks, glass doors to keep the side shelves dust free, a pull out rack for ties, cravats and belts, a shallow, sliding tray for cuff links and tiepins. Did the manufacturers think a woman wouldn't appreciate the same care and attention, or did they provide a single rail in the expectation that everything other than a woman's costumes and dresses could be stored in a dressing table?

She opened the glass door and smoothed a crease from a vest; closing it she pulled out the sock drawer and looked down on a dozen pairs, all neatly folded and not a darn to be seen because they were new. Would Jack notice that she'd replaced practically all the clothes he'd left behind and would he be annoyed with her for throwing out everything she considered shabby? The only major items she'd kept were two suits he'd bought, one before and one just after they'd married; a grey mohair for their wedding and a black wool for her grandmother's funeral.

She opened one of the dry-cleaner's bags and unbuttoned the jacket and waistcoat of the grey mohair. Lifting them and the trousers from the wire frame, she transferred the suit to a wooden hanger before covering it with a cotton slip. She hooked it on the rail next to two white cotton shirts Jack had bought along with the suits. They were the only ones she'd hung up; half a dozen new ones, fifteen and half – his collar size – lay stacked in boxes on the top shelf. Opening the second bag, she drew out the black suit and tried to imagine Jack in it.

The only photographs he'd sent her during the last two and half years had been snapshots with his fellow National Servicemen. Inexpertly taken groups, often too dark or blurred to decipher individual features and, with every man dressed in khaki shorts and shirts, it had sometimes been difficult to work out which one was him.

She glanced at the silver frame on her bedside table and studied the photograph her father had taken outside Swansea Register Office on their wedding day. Slim, dark, handsome, his hair brushed into a quiff, Jack smiled down at her. Would he have changed? Had she changed?

She rushed to the mirror to compare herself to the girl in the photograph. Was it her imagination or were there wrinkles around her eyes? Had she put on weight? If anything she had lost it – would Jack think her too thin? Twenty-one was so much older than eighteen …

‘Helen!'

‘Coming.' She lifted another hanger from the wardrobe.

‘Helen! How long does it take to hang up two suits?'

‘Two seconds, Judy, I'm coming.' Folding a cover over the black suit, she hung it next to the mohair and closed the wardrobe door. She checked the room. The bedroom suite gleamed from the polishing she had given it. There was a light, pleasant scent in the air from the lavender bags she had placed in the wardrobe and chest of drawers, and the lavender water she had sprinkled over the sheets when she had ironed them. A bowl of crocuses chosen to match the floral bedspread and curtains was just coming into blue and yellow bloom on the dressing table.

She straightened the curtains that brushed the top of the window seat. Familiarity hadn't lessened the pleasure she took in the view. Darkness had fallen black and gleaming over the sea and in the distance a fairytale sprinkling of red lights outlined a ship's mast. But breathtaking view or not, the bedroom also faced the road and it was time to close the shutters. She folded them over the windows, switched on the electric fire and lamps either side of the bed and turned off the main light.

‘Helen!'

‘I'm there.'

‘You're not.' Judy stood in the doorway, her green eyes shining with amusement.

‘Just making sure everything's ready.'

‘Aren't you being a bit premature with the electric fire? Jack won't be home for another three hours and presumably he'll want to eat before you go to bed.'

‘It's hot in Cyprus,' Helen retorted defensively. ‘I don't want him to catch cold.'

‘He's been in Germany for the last two weeks and it's supposed to be colder than here.'

‘You and Lily ready to leave?' Helen picked up the wire hangers and the bags, and smoothed the bedspread.

‘We have been for the last ten minutes but, before we go, I'd like you to check that I'm only taking what you want me to.'

Helen went to the door but she couldn't resist one last look as Judy ran down the stairs. The bedroom looked pretty and inviting; she only hoped Jack would think so.

‘I caught Helen switching on the electric fire in the bedroom,' Judy announced to their friends, Katie and Lily, when Helen finally joined them.

‘There's nothing wrong with wanting to make everything comfortable for your husband.' Katie gave Helen a conspiratorial smile.

‘Thank you, Katie. Someone has to stick up for us married women.' Helen eyed the suitcase, vanity case and pile of boxes stacked by the front door.

‘That's right, pick on the outnumbered.' Judy emerged from the kitchen with another box.

‘Not for long with an engagement ring that size on your finger,' Helen observed archly.

‘We're in no hurry.'

‘That's not what Sam said the last time I spoke to him.'

‘Sam can wait until I'm good and ready.' Judy slipped on her coat.

‘You sure you have everything?' Helen asked.

‘My clothes, my books, the coffee set I bought and all my engagement presents. You're welcome to keep the coffee set …'

‘No, really, you take it,' Helen broke in.

‘I'll grant you, your house looks better without my clutter and with all your wedding presents unpacked and on show around the place.'

‘I just hope they're all right.' Helen frowned. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't have kept everything for two and half years. The guarantee has run out on the toaster and the radio.'

‘Once Jack gets here you won't have time to think about guarantees.' Lily helped Katie up from the sofa.

‘It only seems like yesterday the four of us were moving in here,' Judy murmured wistfully.

‘Some yesterday.' Heavily pregnant, Katie moved awkwardly around the furniture into the hall. ‘I've been married nearly two and half years and Lily two.'

Time's flown.' Judy felt in her pocket for her keys.

‘I can't understand why you keep putting Sam off, Judy.' Helen picked up a box. ‘You two have been going out forever.'

‘I like courting and I like my independence, which is why I'm moving into the flat above the salon, but living with Emily Murton Davies won't be like living with you.'

‘You'll miss me?' Helen asked, blatantly fishing for a compliment.

‘Your mess.' Judy picked up the suitcase, balanced it on her knee and opened the front door. Stepping outside, she set the case down behind the second-hand Morris Minor she had bought so she could drive between the hairdressing salons she and her mother owned.

‘You can hardly call the house messy now.' Helen dumped her box beside the suitcase.

‘I'll grant you that I've never seen it as tidy as it is at the moment.' Judy opened the car boot. ‘But then, you haven't had a husband coming home after two and half years away before.'

‘I tidied it because you were leaving, not Jack arriving.'

‘And I bet you ten shillings Jack won't even notice the effort you put into getting the place perfect for him.' Judy took a box Lily handed her and stowed it on top of the suitcase. ‘I'm going to miss living here. The view …'

‘You can see the sea from your flat above the salon.' Helen passed her another box.

‘Can't swim in Mumbles like you can here.'

‘You have a car, it's only five minutes' drive … hey, what are you doing?' Helen cried, as Katie came out of the house carrying Judy's vanity case.

‘It's light as a feather,' Katie declared.

‘Women in your condition shouldn't even lift feathers.' Helen snatched the bag. ‘Back in there, sit down and I'll make us a cup of tea.'

‘Listen to your stepdaughter.' Judy laughed but none of the others even smiled. It hadn't been easy for Helen to accept their friend Katie's marriage to her father, even after two and half years. Sensitive to the sudden silence, Judy checked both cases and all the boxes were in the car before closing the boot. ‘We'll be back in ten minutes.'

Helen shivered in the cold night air. ‘You and Lily can unpack if you like. Jack's train won't be in until nine.'

Judy glanced at her watch. ‘That only gives you two and three quarter hours of worrying time left.'

‘I am not worrying,' Helen countered.

‘Pull the other one,' Judy mocked, as she climbed into the driver's seat.

‘Jack won't have changed,' Katie reassured Helen, after Judy and Lily drove away.

‘I wish I could be as sure as you.' Helen wrapped her arm around Katie's shoulders and they walked back up the path to the house.

‘He sounded like the same old Jack in all his letters to me.'

‘And how many did he send you?'

‘Twenty-three besides postcards, Christmas and birthday cards.'

‘In two and half years.' Helen closed the front door and led the way into the living room. ‘I rest my case.'

‘He's only my brother. You're his wife. He wrote to you every week.'

‘Sometimes twice and once three times, but writing to someone isn't like seeing them face to face.' Helen unclipped the guard from the grate, set it aside, and heaped half a dozen lumps of coal on to the fire.

‘You'll soon get back to where you were before he went away.' Katie sank down clumsily on the sofa.

‘You don't look comfortable.' Helen replaced the guard.

‘I'm not.'

‘I knew I should have bought the three-piece with higher seats.'

‘It's not the sofa.' Katie swung her feet on to the pouffe Helen pushed towards her. ‘It's me. I feel like the pumpkin after it was transformed into Cinderella's coach.'

‘Not long now.'

‘No, but the midwife said first babies are often late …' Katie faltered, consciously stopping herself from launching into her favourite topic of conversation. Helen had lost a baby the day she and Jack had returned from honeymoon. More sensitive than Judy, Katie knew the pain of that loss had never entirely left her sister-in-law and Jack being called up for National Service practically the day she had been discharged from hospital hadn't helped.

Helen plumped up a cushion and handed it to her. ‘I've never asked, do you and Dad want a boy or a girl?'

‘We don't care, as long as it's healthy.'

‘Everyone says that, you must have a preference.'

‘None. I know that when you were pregnant, you and Jack wanted a boy,' she ventured hesitantly.

‘Jack wanted a boy.' Helen laughed a little too loudly. She didn't know what was worse, her friends carefully avoiding all mention of the baby she had lost, or times like this when they brought up the subject to show her that they hadn't forgotten any more than she had.

‘You'll have children. When Jack's home and you're settled –'

‘Want a cup of tea?' Helen interrupted abruptly.

‘No, thank you. Judy won't be long and I've prepared a meal for John. I don't want to spoil it. What have you got for Jack?'

‘Steak, chips, frozen peas and a chocolate cake.'

‘His favourites.'

‘They used to be his favourites.'

‘If half of what the boys have said about army food is true, Jack will have been dreaming of a meal like that for weeks.'

‘I hope you're right.' Helen left her chair and walked restlessly to the window. ‘Tell me something, truthfully?' She looked earnestly at Katie.

‘If I can.'

‘Do you think I've changed much since Jack left?'

‘Yes. You've much better dress sense for a start. That black sack dress looks great on you.'

‘You don't think it's plain and shapeless?'

‘It's certainly not shapeless with you inside it and I'd describe it as elegant and sophisticated, not plain. Jack will love it,' Katie assured her confidently. Helen had gone through seven changes of clothes earlier in search of the ideal welcome home outfit and it had taken the combined efforts of Judy, her and Lily to persuade her to settle on her newest and most fashionable dress.

‘I couldn't have had worse dress sense.' Helen smiled ruefully. ‘Do you remember that awful frock I stole from Dad's warehouse and wore down the Pier Ballroom the night Jack first asked me to dance?'

‘I don't think I'll ever forget it.' Katie looked critically at Helen for a moment. Her friend had changed radically from the wild girl her brother had married. Her long blonde hair was smoothed into a neat French pleat instead of hanging loose to her shoulders. The bright red lipstick, rouge and vivid blue eye shadow she had favoured in her teens had been replaced by softer shades, subtly and discreetly applied, that highlighted her classical features and flawless complexion. But the greatest change of all was in her personality. All trace of the defensive belligerence she had employed to disguise her lack of confidence had long since vanished. ‘You've learned how to make the best of yourself and you've a lot to make the best of,' Katie complimented sincerely. ‘You are more sure of yourself and your judgement, and it shows. You only have to look at the difference you've made to the fashion department in the warehouse since you took over as buyer. Half the teenage girls in Swansea are wearing clothes you've chosen, the turnover's skyrocketed and it's all down to you.'

‘Whatever a wicked stepmother is supposed to be like, you're not it.'