The Hills and the Valley (58 page)

‘Will you at least think about it?' she begged.

Mrs Cooper rose, enjoying her new found power.

‘All right, I'll think,' she agreed. ‘But I'm promising nothing. Me and Joe have got to talk, haven't we, sugar?'

‘We sure have, honey. When will the kids be back, ma'am? Seems to me they ought to be included in this. And I'm kinda keen to meet them.'

‘Jack is bringing them back on Saturday,' Margaret said. ‘Do you know when you will be able to come down again?'

‘Not offhand, no. All depends on my duties. But we'll make it soon as we can.'

‘It would be best if you telephoned first,' Margaret said. ‘That way I can be certain you won't be disappointed again.' And be prepared myself, she added silently.

‘Well, there you go!' Joe held out a big hand, squeezing hers, but though Mrs Cooper smiled tightly she did not offer her hand and Margaret was aware of the thinly veiled animosity. More because she had dared to criticise her treatment of the children in front of the man she wanted to impress than because of any jealousy, Margaret thought – and yet perhaps that was part of it too. Unwilling to put herself out in any way for them, she resented Margaret for doing just that.

When they had gone, walking down the hill arm in arm, Margaret found herself seeing again that hard calculating over-made-up face and hating the woman with a depth of dislike she had not realised she was capable of feeling. It wasn't her nature to take so violently against another human being. She was more likely to make excuses for them and their behaviour whatever they did. But she was quite certain that Mrs Cooper was the shallowest, most selfish person she had ever come across.

She did not want her children but she would be prepared to use them as pawns in her game to be whatever Joe wanted her to be. If it suited her she would happily abandon them for years on end and if it had not been for Joe, Margaret felt sure she would have agreed to the adoption. But Joe was a typical Yank, big-hearted and enthusiastic about family life. He plainly did not care for the idea of his wife leaving her children in England and if he said as much Margaret had the uncomfortable feeling that Mrs Cooper would go along with him rather than risk his disapproval.

Margaret climbed the stairs and went into the room that had been the girls' domain for the last four years. It was tidy now, tidier than it ever was when they were there, for she had taken the opportunity to give it ‘a good going over'while they were away but their things were still very much in evidence – the rag dolls she had given them last Christmas propped up on their pillows, a heavy book in which Marie was pressing wild flowers weighted down by the leg of the dressing table; colouring books and crayons neatly stacked to await their return.

A terrible weight of emptiness flooded through Margaret. Dear God, how she would miss them – particularly Marie. She knew what had happened, of course. They had come into her life just when she had been at her most vulnerable after the loss of her baby and she had let them take his place in her heart. Stupid of her really. They were not hers and she should never have allowed herself to care so much. But she had so much love to give and they seemed to have had so little. How could she have cared, for them day after day, sorted out their problems and looked after them, and
not
come to feel this way? If their mother had come to see them it might have been different. Margaret would have seen them together and known she was a temporary replacement only. But she had not come and without any formal recognition of it, without really realising it herself, she had come to think of them as her own. Now, she saw all too clearly that they were not and the knowledge ached in her painfully.

‘Oh Marie – oh Elaine!' she whispered.

She reached out and picked up one of the rag dolls. Then, cradling it to her, she sank down onto the bed and wept.

Harry was in a temper. Margaret had seldom seen him so angry.

‘What do you mean, you told their mother you'd adopt them? Have you taken leave of your senses?' he demanded. Margaret twisted the tea towel between her hands, saying nothing. ‘It's madness!' he went on. ‘Two scruffs from the East End who don't even know the meaning of the word honesty!'

‘That's not fair,' she objected. ‘Marie has never done anything dishonest and Elaine has been much better lately. She's changing for the better, Harry, living here with us. But if she goes back to her mother she'll be back to square one again. And Marie won't want to go. I know she won't. She thinks of this as her home.'

‘And what about me?' Harry asked. ‘This is my home too. You've gone ahead and suggested this without even consulting me.'

‘We talked about it ages ago,' Margaret said. She was close to tears.

‘Exactly. Ages ago. And I thought I made it clear then what I thought about it. But you've never mentioned it since. Not once. I imagined you'd seen sense.'

‘I haven't talked about it but I've thought about it often enough. I love them, Harry. I've come to love them as my own. If they go now I don't think I can bear it.' The tears were streaming down her face. She could not stop them. She seemed to have been crying all day. ‘Oh Harry, I'm sorry. I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm sorry! If we had a child of our own I expect I'd feel differently. But we haven't. And I'm beginning to think we never will have.'

Harry shifted impatiently. ‘That's stupid talk.'

‘Is it? It's not for the want of trying, is it? I'm beginning to think something happened to me when. I had the accident. Something they didn't tell me about.'

He did not answer. In truth the same thought had occurred to him.

‘Look, Margaret, when this war is over and we have a General Election, there's always a chance I might be a Member of Parliament,' he said after a moment. ‘No, don't look so incredulous. It could happen. The whole country is ripe for change and this constituency is there for the picking. If that happens you'll have far too much on your plate to worry about those girls.'

‘Oh!' she flared. ‘And I suppose that means you don't want a child of your own either!'

‘Of course it doesn't,' he said. ‘There's nothing I'd like better. But Elaine and Marie aren't ours. And what if Elaine starts stealing again? Or running away and telling cock-and-bull stories about us? Can't you see what an embarrassment it would be to me?'

‘I see. Now we're getting down to it. It's your reputation you're thinking of. How can you be so selfish, Harry?'

‘Selfish? Well, I like that! You want to bring two children, one of whom I don't even like, into my home, make me responsible for them – and you have the nerve to call me selfish? And what about them? You haven't ever asked them what they want, have you? Oh no, you just go steaming ahead with your plans to disrupt four – no six – lives because it happens to be what
you
want. If you ask me, it's you who are the selfish one!'

‘Oh!' The shock of his words cut through her haze of self-pity. Her hands flew to her mouth, staring at him with tearful eyes over the tips of her fingers. ‘Oh Harry, I'm sorry. It's just that … you're right, I am being selfish. But Elaine and Marie – well, it's as if they took the place of my baby …' Her voice wobbled, she wrapped her arms around herself and suddenly she was sobbing as if her heart would break. ‘My baby! Oh, I want my baby! I want my baby so much …'

His anger died. He reached for her, pulling her roughly into his arms and she wept on his shoulder.

‘My baby …' The pain was sharp in her, as sharp as it had been the night she had lost it, a steel band tightening around her, squeezing out breath.

The depth of her grief frightened Harry. He had not realised how painful it still was for her; for him the baby had never been real. He had been upset, of course, when she had lost it, but his main concern had been Margaret, that she would come through, and his regret over the loss of his son and heir had been tempered by thankfulness that she was going to be all right. As time had passed he had accepted the loss and he had imagined that she had too. Now he saw how wrong he had been. Margaret had accepted nothing. She had simply bandaged the wound and concealed it and the analgesic she had used for the pain had been concern and love for two little London girls whom she had accepted into her heart and her home as her own.

‘Oh Marg!' he said, feeling utterly helpless. Oppressed miners who brought their grievances to him he could deal with; bullying blustering bosses he could deal with; sharp political opponents he could deal with – or at least, have a damn good go at it. But his wife, his dearly loved wife, in such a state as this … this was something Harry did not know how to deal with.

After a while her sobs subsided, a few moments longer and she raised her face, ravaged by tears but calm now.

‘I'm really sorry. I'm being stupid, I know.'

‘No, you're not,' he said awkwardly. ‘I didn't know, Marg, you felt this way. I thought you'd got over it. I should have realised.'

She wiped her cheeks with her fingers.

‘Perhaps I should have told you. But I didn't want to sound self-pitying. And besides, it's not always this bad. Since we've had the girls …' Her voice faltered again.

‘I know,' he said. ‘Well, I suppose that's it then. If it means so much to you, I suppose we'll just have to keep them. If they want to stay that is – and if their mother agrees.'

‘Really?' Her eyes were starry bright again, shining with tears still but happy tears now. ‘We really can keep them – you don't mind?'

‘I suppose I'll get used to the idea. But Marg, please don't go building up your hopes again. Their mother may decide to take them.'

‘Oh, I'm sure I can persuade her. She really doesn't want them. They're just an encumbrance to her.'

‘They might not want to stay.'

‘Marie will want to. I know she will.'

‘Well, first I think you should ask them how they feel. And after that there are still a lot of bridges to be crossed.'

‘Yes, yes – I know …'

But hope was springing again. She couldn't help it. She had to have something to cling to. And that something was Marie.

She told them on their return from Minehead. They had arrived with Jack and Stella during the afternoon brimming over with excitement over the week they had just spent, the walks along the beach, the trips onto Exmoor, the new and different flowers Marie had pressed for her collection. Looking at them Margaret found herself thinking how little resemblance they bore to the two thin pale children she had taken in. The pinched look had gone now, their faces tanned to a healthy glow by the fresh sea air and the good food they had grown used to over the last four years had filled out their skinny frames. But if they went back to their mother how long would it be before they were deprived urchins once more? Perhaps if they went to America with her and Joe it would be all right, Joe seemed well-meaning enough, but that might be something which would never happen. Plenty of English girls were picking up with the American GIs and believed they were heading for the promised land, but Margaret thought some of them might yet be disappointed. A pretty girl to ease the loneliness of a foreign country was one thing, especially with the aura of war to enhance the romance of it. But there would be those who would see things differently when the time came to go home. Not all, she was sure, had the affluent backgrounds they boasted of, and there were those with a little more responsibility than they would admit to, in the shape of girlfriends and wives. Joe might not be one of them but how long would it be before he saw through the surface charms of Mrs Cooper was anyone's guess. It could be that she and the girls would find themselves left alone in London for a very long time.

When Jack and Stella had left to visit Charlotte and Margaret was alone with the girls, she decided to have a talk with them.

‘You had a visitor while you were away,' she began, setting plates of bread and butter and their favourite seed cake on the table in front of them. ‘Your mother.'

Two pairs of eyes widened. ‘Mum – here?'

Margaret nodded. ‘She was very sorry to have missed you. She had something to tell you and someone she wanted you to meet.'

She had expected them to bounce up and down with excitement, instead she encountered suspicion. ‘Who?'

‘A friend of hers. A man.'

‘Oh, she has lots of those,' Elaine said off-handedly.

‘This one was rather special,' Margaret said carefully. ‘It seems he is going to be your stepfather.'

That aroused their interest. They gazed at her wide-eyed.

‘His name is Joe and he's in the American army. Your mother and he are planning to get married and after the war is over they want to take you to America to live with them,' Margaret said.

The girls looked at one another.

‘America?
Us?
'

‘Yes. It's rather a surprise, isn't it? What do you think of it?'

‘America!' Elaine repeated. Her eyes were huge. Marie said nothing.

‘What is it like in America?' Elaine asked.

‘Well, I don't really know since I've never been there. But they certainly have a lot of things we don't have here at the moment, like chocolate and candy. And everything is much bigger, so they say – the houses, the towns, the open spaces …'

‘Oh!' Elaine said. ‘I'd like that!'

‘Would you?' Margaret hesitated. ‘Better than being here?'

‘Oh yes. If there's chocolate …'

‘I wouldn't,' Marie said. She looked as if she might be about to cry. ‘I don't want to go to America with Mum. I don't care how much chocolate there is. I don't want to go!' She reached out suddenly and caught at Margaret's skirt. ‘I want to stay here with you, Auntie Marg! Can't I stay with you?'