Authors: Margaret Dickinson
‘No.’
‘So, you’re going to have to choose, aren’t you? Me – or your boys.’
Again tears filled her eyes and she nodded wordlessly, unable to speak.
He closed his eyes and gave a deep-throated groan. ‘I can see you’ve already decided. But, oh my darling, please be sure you’re doing the right thing. They’ll marry, have
families of their own. Are you really sure that you’ll be content to live your life through them? Don’t throw away the rest of your own life, Jeannie.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry. But I love them both as my own sons. I couldn’t bear to lose them. Not now, when they’ve come through so much.’
Robert picked up her hand, traced the tiny scars on her fingers, the hardened callouses. Then he pressed it to his lips and murmured against her palm, ‘I thought you were made of stronger
stuff, Jeannie.’
That hurt. Oh, how that hurt her. She snatched her hand away, angry now, and pulled herself free of his embrace. She stood up. ‘How would you know what it feels like to be a mother? Or
even a father? You’ve never had children of your own.’
She saw at once by his bleak expression, how much she had now hurt him. But there was no taking back the words. They were said and could not be unsaid. He rose and gave a stiff little courteous
bow towards her. ‘If that is your final answer,’ he said, his words clipped, ‘I will take my leave of you.’
‘Robert, please, try to understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘But you are hurting me, Jeannie. And, worse still, you’re hurting yourself just for the sake of two selfish young men who don’t know the meaning of love yet.’
He turned away then and left the house without another word, leaving her bereft and empty, with a pain inside her too deep for tears.
Three days later, she received a letter from him. ‘
My darling, I can’t bear to part with you in anger. I just want you to know that I will always love you and
always be here for you. If ever you should need me, you know where I am . . .
’
The loving, forgiving words brought tears to her eyes, tears that now spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Impatiently, she brushed them away. He was right, she thought. She was made of sterner
stuff than this. She had never been the weepie sort and yet here she was, allowing others to dictate her life.
I will go to him, she decided. I will marry Robert. Joe and Sammy will come around to it in time. Without stopping to think any more – she had done enough thinking over the past weeks, she
told herself – she hurried to put on her hat and coat.
She caught the bus to the outskirts of town and then marched purposefully along the road until the houses petered out and she was in the countryside, heading for the lane where she remembered
Robert’s fine house lay. Frost lay on the hedgerows and the February wind was bitter, but Jeannie scarcely felt the cold.
She couldn’t wait to see him now, couldn’t wait to tell him . . .
She came to the gate. A wooden, five-barred gate had replaced the fancy wrought-iron one she remembered seeing on the last occasion she had come here. The war effort, she supposed, had taken
them. It seemed so long ago now, since she had last stood on this spot. The two boys had been but bairns. She paused, her hand resting on the top of the gate. She was staring at the house set
against a backdrop of trees, the long windows leading out on to the front terrace, the heavy oak front door, yet she was not really seeing it or the beautiful, well-kept gardens or the surrounding
countryside with its flat, panoramic views.
She was remembering Joe and Sammy as babies and reliving the feel of their chubby arms clasped tightly about her neck or a sticky kiss planted on her cheek. She remembered the day they walked
for the first time, those first faltering steps, the wide grin on their faces at the sense of achievement. Joe had been first and a week later, not to be outdone, Sammy had followed suit. In those
first few years they had grown together believing themselves to be brothers. Oh, they had squabbled like any siblings, but not until the day Joe had told Sammy about the circumstances of his birth,
had the resentment between them begun to fester.
Yet now, they were the closest they had ever been, united in their hatred of the Gorton family and so fervently opposed to her involvement with Robert.
They were so passionately set against him with the sureness of youth that they were right, that she knew they would never come around.
If she were to marry Robert Gorton and come to live in this grand house, she would lose her boys for sure.
There was a lump constricting her throat as she let her gaze wander over the house for the last time. She knew now that she would never live there. Much as she loved Robert, the heartbreak
marrying him would bring would blight their love and cast a shadow over their lives. In time, it would eat into their love like a canker. Of course, she was sensible enough to realize that in time,
resentment might creep into her relationship with the boys for they were forcing her to make the most difficult decision of her entire life. But now, at this moment, she could not guess to what
extent that might happen.
Tears blurring her vision, she turned away. As she did so, she thought she caught sight of a figure standing at one of the first-floor windows. This time she made no effort to wipe away her
tears.
This time she had good reason to weep.
‘Mam, this is Thelma.’
Jeannie rubbed her hands down the front of her overall, held out her hand and smiled a welcome towards the girl who was standing nervously in the doorway. She was tall and thin, so thin that
Jeannie could have believed the girl hadn’t eaten for days. And she stooped slightly, her shoulders rounded. Her dress was faded, the type a smart woman might have worn before the war and
Jeannie guessed it was either a hand-me-down from a better-off relative or maybe even from the second-hand clothes shop. But her eyes were bright and sharp and her long fair hair curled around her
face.
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ Jeannie said kindly. ‘Come in, hen.’
The girl’s eyes widened and she giggled at the unfamiliar endearment. ‘Oh, you’re Scotch.’
Jeannie bridled at the misnomer but let it go. ‘And you’re a local lass?’ she said instead.
‘Oh yeah. Born an’ bred in Havelock. Me dad’s a fisherman, just like Joe.’ The girl’s eyes turned towards Joe and Jeannie could see at once the adoration in her
expression. ‘He’s a skipper, just like Joe’s going to be one day. Aren’t you, Joe?’
Joe grinned, his arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘I reckon.’
Jeannie smiled at the young man’s confidence.
‘The sea’s me life,’ he was saying, ‘Always will be. Thelma understands that, bein’ brought up in a fisherman’s family. She won’t mind being a
fisherman’s wife.’
‘Wife?’ Jeannie was surprised.
‘We’re getting engaged, Mam. There’s a little house come up for rent at the end of Wessex Street. Just ideal. We don’t want to miss it. If we get it, we’ll be
getting married straight away.’
‘This is a bit sudden, isn’t it?’ She felt aggrieved. It was only five weeks since she had turned her back on Robert. Then, Joe had been ecstatic, picking her up bodily and
dancing around the kitchen with her. ‘We’ll look after you, Mam. Me an’ Sammy,’ he had said. ‘You’ve done the right thing. It’ll be just the three of us.
You’ll not regret it, I promise.’
She was regretting it already. He had the audacity, she thought, only weeks later to waltz into her kitchen and calmly announce that he was leaving home to get married.
She looked at him keenly. ‘Is that the only reason or is there something else you should be telling me?’
Joe’s brow met in an angry frown. ‘No, Mam. She’s not expecting, if that’s what you’re meaning.’
Beside him the girl gasped and turned bright red.
‘I’m sorry, hen,’ Jeannie said swiftly, gesturing towards the girl. ‘But you’ve got to admit that it all seems a bit of a rush. How long have you been walking out
together?’
The couple glanced at one another.
‘A month?’ Joe muttered.
‘A month!’ Now Jeannie was scandalized. ‘And you’ve been away at sea for the past three weeks.’
‘But we’ve known each other a lot longer than that,’ the girl put in. ‘’Aven’t we, Joe? I’m a barmaid at the Fisherman’s and—’
‘A barmaid?’ This was getting worse by the minute. Once upon a time, Aggie’s girls had worked behind the bar at the Fisherman’s.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ The girl bridled. ‘It’s hard work there and long hours.’
Jeannie pursed her lips and said nothing, but she knew her expression would give away her disapproval. Then she realized she was being unfair. She should not judge this girl by what had happened
years ago. She turned away, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Well, there doesna seem to be anything I can say. You seem to have made up your minds, but I hope . . .’ she turned back briefly to
face Joe once more and knew that he would understand the meaning behind her words, ‘I hope
you
know what you’re doing.’
It all happened so fast that Jeannie hardly had time to draw breath. Joe and Thelma got the house and were married on Joe’s very next shore leave. And, as if not to be outdone, Sammy
produced a girlfriend and, whilst he made no announcements of engagements or impending marriage, when he was home from the sea he was hardly ever in Jeannie’s home.
In the once bustling, over-crowded Lawrence household, Jeannie was now alone and all the days of the rest of her life stretched before her, empty and meaningless.
Oh she had neighbours, and soon, she would no doubt be a grandmother, but was that all she could hope to look forward to?
It wasn’t enough. Not for Jeannie.
On a fine spring morning, Jeannie locked the door of the terraced, back-to-back house in Baldock Street and walked away from it. In her handbag was more money than she had ever carried before.
From the wooden box under her bed she had taken her life savings. Shillings and sixpences scrimped and saved over the years. Saved for a rainy day or for that promised trip back to her homeland.
Well, the rainy day had never come nor had the trip to Scotland. Today was a bright, glorious morning and she was going to spend the lot on herself. What was that saying she’d heard someone
say once? ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’
Oh yes, indeed it was. And from now on, this was how it was going to be.
‘Are you sure, madam?’ The sales assistant sounded very doubtful. ‘I mean, are you going to a wedding? That’s the sort of dress and coat and hat that
you’d wear as – well – the mother of the bride.’ The woman’s face cleared. ‘Is your daughter getting married, madam?’
‘No,’ Jeannie said shortly and offered no further explanation but inside she was laughing, hugging the secret to herself. ‘No, I just thought I’d spoil
mysel’.’
The woman eyed Jeannie’s own sober, serviceable coat and hat lying across the chair in the fitting room. ‘Come up on the pools, have we, madam?’ There was an edge of sarcasm to
the woman’s tone, almost of jealousy. But nothing could ruffle Jeannie’s feathers today.
‘No, it’s my savings.’
Now the woman looked worried and eyed Jeannie suspiciously.
Maybe she thinks I’ve been to the Fisherman’s, Jeannie thought. She’ll be sniffing my breath next. Then she almost laughed out loud as another thought struck her. Maybe she
thinks I’ve stolen the money. But the woman merely said, ‘And I thought the Scots were supposed to be mean.’
‘No’ mean, hen, just canny,’ Jeannie countered, still not offended. She twisted this way and that, eyeing the new Jeannie Lawrence reflected in the long mirror. ‘Aye,
I’ll take it.’
Now the woman brightened. It would be, Jeannie surmised, her best sale of the week.
‘Thank you, madam. Shall I wrap everything for you?’
‘No, no. I’ll keep it on. If you’d just remove the labels.’
‘Then shall I – er – wrap your own garments?’ There was a distinct look of distaste on the assistant’s face now.
Jeannie chuckled. ‘No, hen, you can throw them away.’
And with them, she thought, would go the aroma of fish that she had lived with for the whole of her life until this moment.
‘But you can do one more thing for me?’
‘Yes, madam?’
‘Where is the underwear department?’
Jeannie spent the rest of the morning and half the afternoon in the store. In the hairdresser’s, she had her hair restyled, curled and wound up on to the top of her head.
It was the most sophisticated style she had ever had and, though she doubted she could repeat it herself in front of her own bedroom mirror, just for today she felt as if she had stepped off the
front cover of a fashion magazine.
As she left the store, Jeannie’s step was light. Clad in new clothes from the silk underwear that felt deliciously smooth against her skin to the new dress and coat that fitted snugly
against her still slim figure, and her new hat set at a jaunty angle, she walked the full length of Main Street with a smile on her mouth. She could still turn a few heads, she thought.
She caught the bus heading out of town and within half an hour she was walking down the lane towards Robert’s house. As the sun dropped behind the far horizon, she approached the gate once
more. Her heart was beating rapidly. She stood again with her hand resting on the top bar and let her gaze roam slowly over the house. Twice before she had stood here and then turned away, back to
her life near the dockside.
But this time was different. Now she took a deep breath, pushed open the gate and walked through it.
‘We’ll buy another house, my darling. I’ll put this on the market and . . .’
But Jeannie was standing in the centre of the huge drawing room, her hands clasped in front of her, turning slowly, taking in everything around her. Then she walked to the long French windows
and stood looking out across the smooth stretch of lawn to the copse at the end of the garden. He came and stood beside her, putting her arms about her waist and resting his chin on her
shoulder.