Lost & Found (25 page)

‘Why not? She’s dead because of your neglect,’ he snapped.

Mavis didn’t know what to say, what to do as she looked at her husband. He threw her a look of disgust and then marched from the room. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and, helpless, she slumped onto the chair again. As she had feared, Alec blamed her for his mother’s death, and, no matter what Jenny said, he was right.

Mavis hunched forward, shivering, fearing the future, fearing living with a man who had looked at her with such hatred. Alec would probably make life intolerable for her now—but then she’d neglected his mother and it was no more than she deserved.

By the end of August, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she had more freedom now, Mavis knew that she wouldn’t have been able to stand the strain. The atmosphere when Alec was at home was awful, his grief still manifest in the anger he directed towards her.

He marched into the kitchen now, his drawings of her allotted tasks for the day in his hand. ‘Make sure you clean these two bedrooms thoroughly. My mother loved this house and had high standards. I want them kept up.’

‘Yes, Alec,’ Mavis said as she placed his breakfast on the table. She had hoped to see what had once been the living room on his list, but so far he had refused to let her touch it. Edith’s bed remained where it was, the side table, and even her commode untouched.

Mavis knew grief, knew that Alec still rightfully blamed her, and tried to make allowances, but she
was worried about the children. Alec barely acknowledged their presence and when he did it was just to snap at them. She shielded them as much as possible and during the school holidays took them out to the park or the common, but there was only one week left before James started his new term and Grace returned to nursery.

Both children were withdrawn when Alec was at home, unnaturally quiet, as if instinctively knowing not to disturb their father. It worried her, but at least he hadn’t laid a hand on them. If he did, Mavis didn’t know what she’d do. As long as he took his temper out on her, she could just about bear it, but not if he started on the children.

‘Pour me another cup of tea,’ Alec demanded.

She did his bidding, and then quietly leaving the kitchen Mavis went upstairs to look in on the children. They were in James’s room, sitting on the floor and playing with his Meccano set. ‘Has Daddy gone yet?’ James asked.

‘Not yet, but soon,’ she said.

‘Don’t like Daddy,’ Grace whined, her expression sulky.

This was Grace’s usual refrain now and Mavis had given up trying to explain that her daddy didn’t mean it when he was sharp with her, that he was just sad and missing his mother. Grace and James had no concept of death and, once told that
their grandmother was in heaven now, they barely mentioned her.

The children, like Mavis, enjoyed being able to go out now, and yesterday they had ventured to Peckham again. They had now been a few times, and even though Pete’s initial description that he looked like a boxer had proved to be accurate, the baby was so adorable. Her brother might only be her half brother but Mavis already loved him dearly.

As though aware of her thoughts, James said, ‘Can we go to see Robert again?’

‘Not today, darling, but perhaps on Friday. We’ll go to the park today, and maybe Jenny will come with Greg.’

‘Goody,’ James clapped, but then hearing Alec calling her, Mavis swiftly left them.

‘I’m going to work now,’ he said, standing at the bottom of the stairs as Mavis walked down them. ‘The kitchen looks a mess so you can add it to your list.’

‘Yes, Alec,’ she said. The kitchen wasn’t in a mess, there were just his breakfast things to clear up, but she didn’t argue. It was simpler that way.

At last the door closed behind him, and immediately the children came running downstairs. ‘Can we go now, Mummy? Can we go to the park?’ James begged.

‘Not yet, darling. I’ll need to do a bit of housework first, but it won’t take long,’ Mavis told him.
She knew that Alec would check to see if the rooms had been properly cleaned, but she had learned how to cut corners now, which parts he’d inspect and which she could leave.

The two bedrooms could be done in under an hour and so, ushering the children into the garden, she began to wash up the breakfast things, just as anxious as they were to get out of the house.

On Saturday, Alec began going through his mother’s things. After her death, the will had been easy to find, and there had been no surprises. She had left him this house, and from her annuity a yearly income, but now he had finally found the strength to sort out other old files and papers.

His mother’s death still haunted him: the thought of her lying alone, fighting to raise herself up, while Mavis chatted on the bloody telephone. He would never forgive his wife, could barely look at her, and when he did his anger rose up inside him.

Forced to sleep downstairs, his mother hadn’t used this bedroom for years, but her clothes still hung in the wardrobe, her other things in drawers. Alec could barely bring himself to look at them, and maybe he should instruct Mavis to clear them out; but for now he pulled out one of his mother’s dresses, burying his nose in the lingering smell of lavender perfume.

At last Alec hung the garment up again, but then, as he looked at the top shelf, he thought he could see something tucked in the corner. Unable to reach it, Alec dragged a chair over, and standing on it he pulled forward an old wooden box. It was something he hadn’t noticed before, and puzzled he lifted it down. It was locked, but though Alec looked in all the drawers, he couldn’t find a key. What was in it? As it was locked, surely it was something of importance.

Alec ran downstairs and, Mavis being in the garden with the children, the kitchen was empty. He pulled open a drawer, found a screwdriver and then hurried back upstairs again where he impatiently worked at the lock until, at last, it opened.

Inside Alec saw what looked like an old diary, and intrigued he sat on the side of the bed to open it, instantly recognising his mother’s beautiful, flowery handwriting. For a moment he had to blink back tears of emotion, but then, as he began to read, his feelings turned to anger. No! No! It couldn’t be true—but there was no denying his mother’s written words. Alec surged to his feet. Everything his mother had told him about his father was a lie! Her whole life had been a lie!

Fury blazed in his eyes as Alec tore the diary to shreds, but the act didn’t have the power to calm him. Still livid, still burning with anger, Alec ran
downstairs. ‘Mavis, come here!’ he yelled as he flung open the back door.

‘What is it?’ Mavis asked nervously, closing the door behind her as she walked into the kitchen.

‘Did you know? Did my mother tell you about my father?’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t remember her ever mentioning him, except to say he died of tuberculosis.’

Alec was sure he could see a shifty look in Mavis’s eyes and didn’t believe her. ‘Tell me the truth! What did she say?’

‘Alec, she didn’t say anything.’

‘You’re a liar! You’re as bad as my mother. In fact, women are all the same—all rotten, lying bitches,’ Alec shouted as he laid into Mavis, impervious to her cries of pain as, careful to avoid her face, he punched her again and again.

‘Daddy! Daddy, don’t…’

Alec spun around and seeing James standing in the kitchen doorway, Grace hovering behind him, he spat furiously, ‘Get out of my sight!’

Mavis pushed past him, hurrying over to the children. ‘It’s all right, James. It’s all right. Go back into the garden, both of you,’ she urged, pushing them outside and quickly closing the door.

‘I’ve a good mind to give the pair of them a thrashing too.’

‘No, Alec! No! You can do what you want to
me, but if you touch the children, I…I’ll leave you.’

‘Huh, and go where?’

‘I don’t care, anywhere,’ Mavis said, her voice quavering.

‘Just try it, Mavis. Just try it,’ Alec warned, surging forward to hit her again. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me! You’re useless, an unfit mother, and if you try to leave with my children, I’ll drag you back.’

‘All right, but please, Alec, please stop,’ Mavis begged as she cowered from his blows.

At last, his temper cooling, Alec slumped onto a chair, hardly aware that Mavis had fled back outside. He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts returning to his mother’s diary, hate replacing the love he had once felt for her.

On Monday, Lily was holding her son, gazing down on his face. There were none of her features—Robert was the image of his father, and Pete was already spoiling him. She stroked Robert’s soft cheek, her heart swelling with love, a love that had been born with him, from the moment she’d heard his first cry.

‘Are you busy, Lily?’

She glanced around to see Marilyn at the back door. ‘No, come on in.’

‘Gawd, Lily, are you sure you don’t want me to bleach your hair? You’ve got inches of root showing.’

‘No, I told you, I’m growing it out.’

‘Yeah, but how are you gonna feel if it comes through grey?’

‘Don’t be daft. I’m not old enough for grey hair.’

‘I’m only three years older than you, but look at that,’ she said, bending over in front of Lily to part her frizzy curls. ‘Oh, ain’t he gorgeous.’

‘He looks just like Pete,’ smiled Lily.

‘Yeah, but on him, it looks cute.’

‘Oh, so a flat nose doesn’t on Pete?’

‘Gawd, that didn’t come out right,’ Marilyn blustered, her cheeks red.

‘It’s all right,’ Lily chuckled. ‘I know Pete’s no oil painting.’

‘Looks ain’t everything and he’s a smashing bloke.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Lily agreed. Along with Robert’s birth had come a deep fondness for Pete, and though she didn’t know if it would turn to love, she was happier now than she’d been in a long time. When Ron was alive, deep down she had always been waiting for him to come back, but he was gone now and somehow it made it easier. Mavis would always keep his memory alive, and every time Lily saw her daughter she was reminded of him, but at least since Robert’s birth it was now without grief.

‘It was nice to meet your daughter the other day. She’s a beautiful girl, Lily, and them kids of hers are lovely too. Mind you, she doesn’t look much like you, or Pete.’

Lily was about to find an excuse, to say that Mavis resembled her late mother, but then decided that it would make life less complicated if she told Marilyn a version of the truth. ‘Mavis isn’t Pete’s. She’s a child from my first marriage.’

‘What? You’ve been married before?’

‘Yes, and I married Pete after my first husband died.’

Marilyn frowned. ‘So was your Mavis just a nipper at the time?’

‘Yes, she was,’ Lily said, and, though it was a lie, at least it was a small one. ‘Here, take the baby and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

Marilyn cooed over him, and while she made the tea, Lily thought about her daughter. It was lovely to see Mavis with baby Robert. She was totally enchanted with her new half brother and her kids adored him too, but they had yet to explain that Robert was their uncle.

It was nice that Mavis had time to pay them the occasional visit now, but she still avoided inviting them to her home. Lily was sure there was something wrong, something going on, but every time she tried to talk to Mavis, the girl clammed up.

Still, at least the girl had a life of her own now, instead of being nothing but a slave to Edith Pugh. Oh, it was sad that the woman had died, and from what Mavis had said her funeral had been awful, with just the two of them there.

Alec must still be in an awful state, and Lily knew how hard it was to lose a mother, her own grief having devastated her. Yes, maybe that was it, Lily thought. Maybe Mavis felt that Alec wasn’t ready for visitors yet.

Jenny sat next to Mavis on a bench, both of them watching the children as they raced from swings to roundabouts, the slide and the seesaw. ‘Mavis, is Alec still blaming you for his mother’s death?’ Jenny asked gently.

‘Yes, of course he is, and he’s right.’

‘No, Mavis, he isn’t—I’ve told you that before.’

‘I know you have, but I still think I should have seen earlier that she was dying.’

‘All right, let’s say you did. Let’s say you noticed when you first got up that morning. She would’ve been in hospital a few hours earlier, but do you really think that would have made any difference?’

‘Alec said it would, but something else seems to be on his mind now. He was sorting out his mother’s things and asked me if she’d ever mentioned his father. I told him that she hadn’t, but he’s been in a terrible mood ever since.’

‘Did you ask him why?’

‘There’s no talking to him nowadays.’

‘So you’re just going to go on allowing him to make your life a misery?’ Jenny snapped. She was fed up with this. Since Edith Pugh had died, she often popped round to visit Mavis when Alec was at work. She had seen the lists Alec left every day, the drawings of housework he demanded Mavis carried out, the meals he insisted she cook. Alec even told her what shops to go to, how much to spend, and like an idiot Mavis obeyed his every
command. All right, the man was still grieving, and maybe he needed someone to blame for his mother’s death, but to lay it on Mavis just wasn’t fair.

‘I’m all right, honestly, I am,’ Mavis insisted.

‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Jenny replied, deciding that it was no good, she’d never convince Mavis that she hadn’t done anything wrong and might as well give up. One day she hoped both she and Alec would come to their senses, but for now all she could do was to be a friend—there as always if Mavis needed her.

Alec knew he had let standards slip in the office, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. When his mother died he’d been unable to pull himself together. He’d been to see Dr Hayes, the man telling him that it wouldn’t have made any difference to the outcome if his mother had been admitted earlier, yet still he had blamed Mavis.

Now though, he didn’t care if his mother had been neglected or not. It wasn’t grief that made him angry now. It was his mother’s diary. Lips tight, Alec threw down his pen. He hadn’t been able to believe his eyes, and had searched frantically for a wedding certificate. Of course, he hadn’t found one, the proof had been in the diary, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. His mother had
lied to him, said his father had died of tuberculosis when he was just a baby. All lies—and now he didn’t even know if Pugh was his real name or one she had manufactured to put on his birth certificate.

The telephone rang and Alec snatched it up. ‘Yes, what is it?’

He paused as he listened to the receptionist, then spat, ‘No, I can’t talk to him now. Tell him to ring back later.’

Alec heaved a sigh of annoyance as he sat back in his chair. He had told Dulcie not to disturb him unless it was important, but the blasted girl still tried to put calls through. There was a stack of correspondence on his desk waiting to be dealt with but he irritably pushed it to one side.

God, he had worshipped his mother, put her on a pedestal, and had deeply admired the way she had worked to bring him up without the support of his father—his father, a man he now knew was already married, one who had paid her off. The house she’d said had been left to her in an aunt’s will, the money she had supposedly left that had been invested to provide an income—fabrication, it was all fabrication. Instead, according to her diary, she’d been paid off for her silence, and handsomely.

Teeth clenched in fury, Alec knew that if it wasn’t for the diary he’d never have known. There was no paperwork, the transaction obviously destroyed,
and no reference to his father’s name either, just the initial
C
, and that could be either a Christian or surname.

Alec’s lips now curled in disgust. His mother had had high moral standards, had instilled them in him, but it had all been a sham. She was nothing but a tart and he was a bastard! He stood up. It was no good. He had to get out of there, to breathe fresh air and his back was rigid as he marched out of the office.

‘Mr Pugh…Mr Pugh, can you take a look at this please?’ one of the girls called.

Alec ignored her. He hated women now, all women, and would never trust another one for as long as he lived.