Where the Heart Lies (31 page)

She took off her headscarf and pushed back her hair from her sweaty forehead, then pulled off her apron. It was hot and stuffy in the little kitchen
with the range blazing away, but Pauline liked to have all the windows closed once the shadows closed in.

The wooden cottage was at the end of a row of five, nestling at the foot of the hill amongst the pale pink fronds of wild tamarisks, which grew in abundance amid the tussocks of long, windswept grass and knots of gorse and stunted trees. The kitchen led into a sitting room with French windows leading out onto a veranda, and had an uninterrupted view of the tiny bay. There were three bedrooms upstairs, and Frank had rigged up a copper boiler and an enormous enamel bath in a lean-to at the side of the house. Lobster pots, nets, fishing rods, old anchors, grappling hooks and discarded bits of machinery littered the space beneath the veranda, and Pauline had long given up trying to get Frank to sort it out and clear it away.

Peggy checked the pot of fish stew and took it off the hotplate. She didn’t want it to spoil, though she doubted if Pauline or Frank would feel like eating very much tonight. The kitchen was neat, with the pile of logs that Jim had cut this morning stacked tidily by the range, and the shoes Ron had polished earlier were lined up on newspaper by the door. Satisfied all was in order, she walked into the shabby sitting room.

Pauline was chain-smoking as she sat on the sagging couch facing the French windows and watched Frank messing about on his fishing boat in
the twilight. He’d been out there most of the day, his face set, talking to no one, and clearly reluctant to return to the house where the atmosphere was heavy with mourning and the memories of his boys.

Both women understood that he needed time to himself, especially this evening, for the next day they would have to get through the ordeal of the memorial service. To make matters worse, there was still no sign of Brendon, despite the authorities assuring them he’d been given compassionate leave and was on his way home.

Peggy placed a gentle hand on Pauline’s shoulder. ‘Alf will be here soon,’ she said quietly. ‘Is there anything else you need me to do before I leave?’

Pauline was a fair-haired little woman who was only a few years older than Peggy, but her prettiness and vivacity had been wiped away by tragedy. She sat thin and ashen-faced, staring out of the window, probably not seeing Frank, or anything much, lost as she was in her stupor of grief. ‘You’ve done so much, Peg,’ she said brokenly. ‘I don’t know how I’d have coped without you.’

Peggy knew that Pauline would have liked her mother to be there, but the old lady was far too frail to travel such a long distance, and probably wouldn’t have been much help anyway. Peggy sat down next to her and took her hand. ‘We’re family, Pauline, of course we want to do everything we can to help.’ She stroked the thin, cold hand. ‘I’ve ironed your black dress and Frank’s shirt, and brushed down
his best suit,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re hanging up in your bedroom.’

The narrow shoulders shuddered, but Pauline remained dry-eyed. ‘Brendon’s not coming, is he?’ she managed.

‘There’s still time,’ murmured Peggy, ‘but you know how upside down everything is, and how far he has to come. I’m sure he’s doing his very best to get here.’

Pauline nodded, her gaze still fixed on the view from the window. ‘He knows how much we need him here,’ she muttered. ‘Frank won’t settle until he knows for sure that he’s safe.’

Peggy heard the whine of an engine approaching. ‘That’ll be Alf,’ she said. ‘I’d better not keep him waiting.’ Pauline struggled to get out of the couch, but Peggy pressed her back. ‘Stay there, love,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Pauline just nodded as she stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, lit a fresh one and returned to her vigil at the window.

Peggy went back into the tiny kitchen where she slipped on her coat and gathered up her string bag and gas-mask box. She could see Alf’s truck making its ponderous way down the steep, rutted slope. He’s such a kind man, she thought as she opened the front door and stepped outside. She and Jim must find a way of repaying him.

She waved as he pulled up by the gate and was about to shut the front door behind her when the
passenger door opened and a handsome, dark-haired young man in the uniform of the Royal Naval Reserve stepped down.

‘Brendon,’ she breathed as he strode towards her and wordlessly gathered her into his arms. ‘Oh, Brendon,’ she sighed against his broad chest. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you. We didn’t think you’d make it in time.’

‘How’s Mammy and Da?’ he asked, his dark blue eyes shadowed with worry as he released her.

Peggy blinked away her tears, her heart full of thankfulness. ‘They’ll be better for seeing you,’ she murmured, patting his cheek and giving him a kiss. ‘Your mother’s indoors and Frank’s on the beach. I’ll leave you to it.’

She stood on the step just long enough to hear Pauline’s joyous cry of welcome, and then closed the door. They didn’t need her any more tonight.

Breakfast had been a solemn, almost silent meal which hardly anyone had touched. Ron and Jim had left soon after with Harvey to walk the hills, and everyone else saw to the housework and the babies, glad to be kept busy before they could escape the bleak atmosphere.

Julie was due to help Michael at the free Saturday morning clinic he’d set up for mothers with young babies at the Town Hall and, as Rose and William were due for their check-ups, she’d donned her uniform and taken them both with her.

Feeling rather guilty at how good it was to escape that house of mourning, Julie wheeled the pram up the High Street, her starched apron crackling beneath the warm cloak. It was a dull sort of day, but there were patches of blue amid the scudding clouds which promised a better afternoon, and the salty wind revived and refreshed her.

She reached the Town Hall and willing hands helped her up the steps with the pram. Smiling and chatting as she headed for the big room that was set aside once a week for the clinic, she realised she’d become a familiar face in Cliffehaven and was now considered an intrinsic part of the community. This knowledge warmed her, and she was smiling as she parked the pram in a corner and took off her cloak.

‘Hello, Julie.’ Fay and Jess, the two young volunteer aides, came and peeked into the pram. ‘Oh,’ Fay cooed, ‘aren’t they just adorable?’

‘So sweet,’ murmured Jess, gently pulling back the blanket. ‘You are lucky they’re so good.’

Julie chuckled. ‘You should hear them at five in the morning,’ she said. ‘But yes, they are perfect, aren’t they?’

‘What do you mean by bringing those babies in here?’

All three girls turned to find Eunice glaring at them. ‘Dr Michael gave me permission,’ said Julie. ‘William and Rose are due for their monthly check-up, and because of the memorial service no one else is free to bring them.’

Eunice’s jaw was working, and her eyes were like flint. ‘See to it they don’t disrupt your duties,’ she snapped before turning on her heel and bustling away.

‘It’s time someone taught that one some manners,’ said Fay darkly. ‘And why does she always pick on you, Julie? Anyone would think you were her worst enemy the way she goes on.’

Jess grinned as she took off her coat and adjusted her neat starched cap and apron. ‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘She’s waited for ages for Michael to notice her and along comes Julie, who’s prettier and far nicer – and who Michael notices immediately.’

‘If that’s the case,’ said Fay, ‘then I’d watch it, Julie. Eunice is not someone I’d like to upset, and that’s a fact.’

‘Thanks,’ Julie murmured as they began to lay out the weighing scales, the blankets and examination tables. ‘But don’t worry about me. I can handle Eunice.’

Yet, as they continued to set out all the paraphernalia for the clinic, Julie wasn’t quite so sure that she
could
handle Eunice. The woman had made her dislike clear from the offset, and now this perceived relationship Julie was supposed to have with Michael was making things worse.

As the doors opened and Michael came striding in, Julie noted how his gaze went straight to her – and that Eunice had noticed it too. Julie could feel her animosity from across the room as she shot him
a distracted smile and hurriedly turned away to sort through her patients’ notes. She would have to talk to Eunice and clear the air, but also make Michael aware of what was happening. Was he really so blind that he couldn’t see the adoration in Eunice’s eyes every time she looked at him; did he not notice that she made little biscuits to go with his morning coffee, tidied his surgery and sewed the loose buttons on his jackets? Julie gave a deep sigh. Men could be so dim at times.

The clinic was as busy and chaotic as every Saturday morning, with Jess and Fay trying to keep the toddlers amused with the big box of toys while mothers gossiped and babies wailed. Eunice, Michael and Julie worked throughout the morning, weighing the babies, checking that all was well, filling in charts and notes and giving advice on breastfeeding and the hundred and one other concerns that new mothers fretted about.

Julie realised the same apocryphal stories were going round as the ones in London, the same vying to prove their baby was more advanced than any other – and the same sniggering and whispering as they exchanged the latest bit of scandal. Julie felt right at home, and if it hadn’t been for Eunice glaring at her every five minutes, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the morning.

‘Right,’ said Michael as his last patient joined the rest of the women who were going in search of a cup of tea and a further natter. ‘That’s it for the
morning. I’ll see to Rose and William now if you’d like to bring them over, Julie.’

‘
Sister
Harris still has Mrs Owen to see before she helps to clear things away,’ said Eunice rather forcibly. ‘I’ll get the babies for you.’

Michael frowned. ‘No, that’s all right, Sister Beecham. You see to Mrs Owen. I need Julie here while I examine both babies.’

Eunice’s lips formed a thin angry line as she shot Julie a venomous glare and rather brusquely ordered Mrs Owen to hurry up and bring her squalling baby to her examination table.

‘Whatever’s the matter with Sister Beecham this morning?’ asked Michael as Julie brought Rose to him. ‘It’s not like her to be so sharp with everyone.’

If only you knew the half of it, she thought. ‘I expect she’s just feeling a bit out of sorts after the raids last night,’ she said as she undressed the gurgling Rose and settled her in the scales.

He eyed her thoughtfully and then shook his head, turning his attention to little Rose, who was waving her sturdy arms and legs about. ‘She’s putting on weight nicely,’ he murmured, lifting her out of the scales and placing her on the examination table. He checked her ears, mouth and throat, listened to her heartbeat and ran his fingers over her skull and down her spine, before testing her joints and reflexes. ‘All is well,’ he said with a beaming smile. ‘You and Peggy are to be congratulated.’

Julie chuckled as she dressed Rose and put her
back in the pram. ‘It’s a joint effort from every woman at Beach View,’ she said. ‘With so many “mothers” to call on when they need something, the pair of them are in danger of becoming spoilt.’ She plucked William from the pram and nuzzled the sweet spot in his neck which always made him gurgle.

‘I understand Anne will be discharged within the next two weeks, so that should lift some of the responsibility from your shoulders.’

Julie wasn’t so sure, for although it would mean Peggy didn’t have to go to the hospital every day, Anne’s leg would still be in plaster and she’d be unable to do very much at all. ‘It will certainly give Anne more time with Rose,’ she murmured as she gently placed William on the scales. Sliding the weights back and forth until they balanced, she let out a sigh. ‘He’s hardly put on any weight at all.’

Michael lifted him out and began to examine him. ‘His ears have cleared up nicely.’ He reached for his stethoscope. ‘But he’s certainly still underweight for his age. I presume he’s taking more solids now to supplement his milk?’

Julie nodded and watched anxiously as Michael listened to William’s chest. William was still far too small and, in fact, looked undernourished after the plump little Rose. Was there something wrong with him, or had he simply inherited his mother’s slenderness?

Michael hung the stethoscope back round his
neck, his expression thoughtful as he felt William’s hands and feet.

‘I can never seem to keep them warm,’ said Julie, ‘even with two pairs of bootees and mittens and a hot-water bottle at night.’

He nodded, his expression still solemn. ‘You can get him dressed again,’ he said, reaching for the grey folder that was on the table beside him.

Julie read William’s name on the front of that unfamiliar folder, and her hands trembled as she struggled to dress a squirming William. She didn’t like the way Michael was frowning over what could only be William’s medical notes. ‘What is it?’ she asked fearfully.

He closed the folder. ‘These were sent down a couple of weeks ago from London with a covering letter from Mr Philips, the surgeon who delivered him.’ He looked bashful. ‘It seems they got mislaid in the mess in my office, because I only found them this morning. I can’t think how they ended up at the bottom of my desk drawer – but then I’ve been so busy, it’s hardly surprising I’ve become a little absent-minded.’

Eunice dealt with the post every morning and, as Julie didn’t want to even consider that she’d stoop so low as to hide the notes, she dismissed the suspicion. ‘Is there something in there that I should know about?’ she asked with dread.

Michael looked at William, snug in Julie’s arms, and nodded with clear reluctance.

‘What is it?’ she breathed, her pulse racing.

‘Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this back at the surgery.’

Julie shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘If there’s something wrong then I want to know now.’

Michael regarded her solemnly and then gave a sigh. ‘Mr Philips detected a slight heart murmur,’ he said softly, ‘but put it down to the trauma of his birth and the fact that he was a little premature.’