Authors: Lizzie Lane
Charlotte looked surprised and started to stammer.
Janet reached out and laid her hands upon her mother’s arms. ‘I saw you with him, Mother. I ran away from school one more time. I ran back again when I saw the two of you …’ She paused. ‘But I don’t blame you, not the way things were between you and Daddy.’
Charlotte looked down at her feet, looked away to the left, trying not to blush like a schoolgirl. All she could say was, ‘I don’t think I should see him. It wouldn’t be right – not yet. Not just yet. Your father isn’t long gone …’
‘As you told Geoffrey and Dorothea … life must go on.’
Charlotte nodded. ‘Do you think you can cope with things by yourself?’
Janet smiled. ‘Am I not my mother’s daughter?’ She looked at her watch and said, ‘I think it’s time. Are you ready?’
Colin had arranged everything. It was a Saturday and Polly was going to look after the children for the day. She knew what was going on, but would not bring it up unless someone mentioned it to her.
Polly got the children to sit around the table with colouring books and crayons that Billy had got hold of for her. She didn’t ask where he’d got them. She made a point of showering Susan with attention. Even so she saw the way the little girl checked to see where her mother was.
‘Bloody hospital,’ said Polly under her breath. What sort of place was it that separated children from their parents?
‘Now, come on. Who wants to do colouring and who wants me to make them some cut-out dolls?’
Peter wanted to colour in a picture of a cowboy on a rearing horse that he’d found. Pamela continued to scribble absentmindedly, her gaze flitting between bright red scribble and the task Polly and Susan were bent over. Polly had always been good at drawing. A bit of white card, a pencil and some crayons, and a cut-out doll would be on the table.
As she buttoned her coat, Edna nervously approached the table. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’
Polly was adamant. ‘Of course we will. Won’t we, Susan?’
Susan nodded. Edna was surprised. She’d assumed that Susan would kick up a fuss at her going out without her and without an explanation. But she couldn’t put today’s events into words. There was too much emotion involved.
‘You smell nice,’ Polly said almost as an afterthought.
Edna knew what she meant. Of course she’d put on a touch of Evening in Paris, but that wasn’t really what Polly was referring to. The tang of bleach was less noticeable now, even around the house. Today deserved perfume.
Charlotte sat in the driving seat of her car outside Temple Meads Railway Station. Janet had leaned against the driver’s door studying her mother’s tense expression. ‘I need a cigarette,’ said Charlotte.
‘You don’t smoke.’
Charlotte swallowed her nervousness. ‘Until now.’
Janet squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t worry. I can manage.’
Charlotte looked down at her lap and sighed deeply. ‘Yes. I know you can.’
Janet glanced up at the station clock as she made her way up the incline to the entrance. Twelve forty-five. The train from London Paddington was due in at one o’clock, though it wasn’t likely to be on time. For her mother’s sake she hoped it was. Charlotte was not the type usually given to nervousness and neither, for that matter, was Janet. But this was an exceptional occasion for everyone, more specifically for Edna and Colin.
Moderately audible loudspeaker announcements gave out information regarding departures, arrivals and likely platform numbers. Children clutching tin buckets and wooden-handled spades fidgeted as they waited for the seaside excursions to Clevedon, Severn Beach and Weston-super-Mare.
Heat shimmered beyond the station canopy where the rails gleamed gold in the sunlight. The weather promised a warm Whitsun. Out in the car Charlotte felt cold and strangely excited.
Like a woman in love.
But I’m not in love. I wasn’t in love.
Was I?
Surely it wasn’t wise to go back? No one could. That’s why she was sitting here in the car, waiting for Janet to see things through.
Closing her eyes and blowing out a cloud of blue smoke, she cast her mind back and tried to remember what he looked like, what he had said, and what he had felt like, especially the latter.
He’d been kind. She remembered that most of all. He’d been a U-boat commander, a man who had sank much Allied
shipping, but had still remained human. No doubt he had his own ghosts and guilt, just like the rest of them. And now? What did he look like? What would he think of her? What could she say to him about her life and everything in it? There was so much to think about, so much they could talk about.
Suddenly, she could stand it no longer. She got out of the car, ran up the incline, and weaved through the crowds to where Janet was standing trying to hear what the station announcer was saying.
Janet turned and saw her. She did not register any surprise. ‘You changed your mind?’
‘Perhaps.’
An inaudible announcement came over the flaring trumpets of the loudspeaker system that gave Charlotte an excuse to change tack. ‘Was that for the London train? What platform did he say?’
‘I’ll find out.’ Janet marched up to a porter who was loading racing pigeons onto a parcel dray that had a heavy metal drag bar at one end. He pointed her in the right direction for the incoming train. Mother followed daughter down the steps to the subway.
‘Tea?’ asked Janet once they’d reached the right platform. ‘And if you feel you don’t want to be involved …’ Her voice trailed off as she waited for her mother to make up her mind.
Charlotte looked to where Janet was pointing. Was it her imagination or was the clock turning back? She wasn’t seeing the cafeteria as it was now, crowded with happy families off for a day at the seaside. She was seeing as it had been when she’d first met Edna and Polly in December 1945. Faded Christmas decorations had hung limply between the bluish glare of aged bulbs. She recalled Edna’s apprehension. At first she’d thought it was to do with Colin’s injuries. Later she had found out about Sherman and Edna’s uncertainty as to whether she should tell
Colin before marrying him. And Polly, who had set her sights on achieving another world and had simply ended up with another man.
‘Mother? I asked if you wanted some tea while we’re waiting.’
Charlotte’s thoughts returned to the present. ‘Yes,’ she said, and wished her stomach would stop churning.
Edna wore a navy dress with a very full skirt and a wide, white collar that covered her shoulders.
‘You look wonderful,’ Colin said.
She could see from his eyes that he meant it, but it did nothing to lessen the knot of nerves that was strangling her from the inside out. It suddenly got the better of her.
‘I can’t go in! We should go home. Susan might be crying for me.’
Colin shook his head and paid the taxi driver. Neither he nor Edna was in a fit state for driving, besides, he’d guessed she’d try to call the whole thing off and leave the formalities to Charlotte or Janet. But he didn’t think that was right. This was her son, her responsibility.
‘Susan will be fine. Polly’s a born entertainer.’
Edna stopped at the entrance to the station looking as though she were about to be devoured by an open mouthed monster. ‘I … I …’
Colin gently put his arm around her. ‘It’s for the best, for all of us. We agreed.’
She looked at him wide-eyed as if searching for the strength to go on. ‘Colin. I haven’t hurt you terribly, have I? I never meant to, it’s just that I’m not so brave as you and—’
‘This was my decision, Edna.’ He looked lovingly into her face, the same face he’d looked at in a photograph that he’d taken halfway round the world in his navy days. And he
told himself he was doing the right thing. This was right for him, right for their children, and most certainly right for Edna.
‘I don’t know what to say to him.’
‘You’ll know what to say when you see him.’
With a hissing of steam and a screaming of brakes against metal wheels, the train pulled into the station just as Colin and Edna came up the steps and onto the platform.
At the exact moment that they arrived, Janet got up from the table in the cafeteria and looked down at her mother. ‘Are you coming?’
Charlotte demurred, her lips moving but not speaking.
‘Stay here then,’ said Janet and made for the door.
Edna and Colin turned the corner just as Janet came out of the cafeteria.
Noting their nervous expressions, she smiled warmly at them. ‘How are you both?’
They muttered minimum greetings. Janet expected nothing else. She was apprehensive enough herself. Goodness knows how they were feeling.
Carriage doors creaked open. Expelled steam squealed onto the platform like a series of strangled sighs.
‘I expect they’ll be in First Class,’ Janet said to Colin.
Edna’s eyes scanned the length of the First Class carriages. Her heart beat twenty to the dozen. Her legs turned to jelly. Suddenly, it was all too much. ‘I can’t do this.’
She’d gone no more than a few yards when Janet grabbed her arm. ‘You have to meet him.’
‘I can’t!’
Janet flinched as Edna’s tear-filled brown eyes looked into hers and her voice quivered. ‘What would you think if your mother had given you away to strangers?’
Janet paused to collect her thoughts before answering. How often had she condemned her mother? How often had she told herself that her mother didn’t care about her, that other people’s problems were more important than hers? She now knew the truth and could reply with confidence.
‘At first I might not understand, but in time I would appreciate why it was done. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Everything working out all right in the end.’
‘A happy ending?’
‘Something like that.’
Behind the grimy glass of the cafeteria, Charlotte eyed the two of them – her daughter and her friend. She saw Janet laying her hand on Colin’s arm as if sensing his anxiety.
Her decision was sudden. The chair legs squealed as she pushed it behind her.
I have to be there, she decided. I have to be with them.
She pressed a half crown into the waitress’s hand and rushed out of the door.
To begin with, she saw only Edna, Colin, Janet. There was no one else – at first. And then there was. Two other figures appeared out of the steam, one adult and one child.
She saw Josef before he saw her, said nothing, but stood immobile and just stared and stared.
Almost as if he sensed she was there, he turned, took off his hat and gazed at her with joy in his eyes. ‘Charlotte!’
The years fell away like the pages of a well-thumbed book.
‘Josef.’ She said it softly, not much more than a whisper.
He came closer and smiled. ‘It is good to see you.’
‘It is good to see you too.’
There was no time to say much, to reminisce or compliment each other on how well they both looked. There was a job to be done.
Janet’s eyes began to water as she watched her mother. The
wear and tear of almost fifty years seemed to fall from her face.
Edna and Colin were less interested in her or Josef than they were in the dark-skinned boy standing at Josef’s side wearing short trousers, a striped blazer and a navy blue cap.
Each of them waited for the magic words that would set them all free. When they came they were spoken with soft resolution, a slight accent and a hint of wonder.
‘Good day, madam. Are you my mother?’
Edna’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears threatened, but she held them back. All the same, her eyes were moist. Sherman! She wanted to say Sherman. But he wouldn’t know the name she’d given him. It wasn’t his any more.
It was hard, very hard, but she swallowed the old name and forced herself to call him by the only name he truly regarded as his own.
‘Carlos!’
Her first instinct was to run to his side. Instead she stopped, turned to Colin and took hold of his hand. Stiff-legged, his face beaming and his eyes moist, Colin walked forward with his wife to embrace the child that was hers, but would also become his.
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Epub ISBN 9781448147793
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First published as
A Penny for Tomorrow
in 2003 by Orion
This edition published in 2013 by Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
A Random House Group Company
Copyright © 2003 Jeannie Johnson writing as Lizzie Lane
Lizzie Lane has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
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