Hope at Holly Cottage (23 page)

Ethel and Mabel were the last mourners to leave. Everyone else was long gone, but Anna’s dear friend and her mum had stayed as late as they could. But they had to catch the bus down to Tavistock, clamber up the steep hill to Tavistock North Station and then take the train down across the Bere Peninsula and eventually to the station at Ford.

‘I just wishes us ’ad room in our ’ouse for you an’ Charlie,’ Mabel declared for the second time as she collected her handbag. ‘But we’m packed in like blooming sardines as it is.’

‘Yes, I know. It’s a very kind thought, though, thank you,’ Anna answered, jiggling a tired Charlie in her arms. She’d been hiding behind a mask of politeness during the wake, a reaction against the agonising torment of the funeral service and the burial itself. She felt cross with herself that this sensation of detachment extended to Mabel as well, but she supposed it was her way of coping.

If she was honest, she was rather pleased that the chaotic
little house in Ford was already bursting at the seams. It would save her the embarrassment of having to decline any offer of a home with the Shallafords. She loved them dearly, but she was used to the calm if humble surroundings of Holly Cottage, and the wild, savage beauty of the open moor. She couldn’t imagine bringing up Charlie in the claustrophobic maze of backstreets, or the dingy, nicotine-stained rooms at Number Sixteen. And she was sure the choking fug of cigarette smoke would be bad for Charlie. She had noticed more than ever the sharp, stinging odour of cigarettes that radiated from Mabel. Even as she gave Anna a goodbye hug and began to walk down the short lane to the road, she was already fumbling in her bag for her packet of Player’s Bachelor Tipped.

‘An’ I just wishes Bert an’ me was married an’ you could live wi’ us,’ Ethel chimed in as she and Anna went to stand together on the threshold.

‘Yes, that’d be lovely,’ Anna agreed, although in truth she wasn’t sure about playing day and night gooseberry to a newly wed couple, either. ‘But don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere. We’ve got a few weeks yet. Olive’s been asking around for me. And Deborah Franfield, the doctor’s wife, she’s keeping her eyes open in Tavistock for me, as well.’

‘Well, you knows where us is. Bye-bye, Charlie. Be good for Mummy. See you soon, Anna. Take care.’

Ethel kissed Charlie on the cheek, and in trying to copy her, the little chap only succeeded in blowing a raspberry which made both girls laugh instead of saying what might have been a tearful farewell. Anna watched Ethel catch Mabel up and then they both waved as they turned the corner of the lodge and were gone.

‘Just you and me now, Charlie,’ Anna whispered, and as she closed the door, it really felt as if she was closing the door on her old, contented life. And she truly didn’t know what would happen next.

Half an hour later, she had settled Charlie down for the night, and when she came back into the kitchen, the silence struck her like walking into a brick wall. After all the people who had crammed into the cottage, it suddenly seemed horribly quiet. The large church of St Michael and All Angels in Princetown had been almost full, for over her lifetime Queenie had been well known and loved by all. So many faces that Anna didn’t recognise had come to pay their respects, but only those who had been particularly close to her came to the graveside and back to Holly Cottage. Olive, of course, the Crow sisters, the lady from Bolt’s, four members of the extensive Cribbett family, the postman, the woman from the farm up the hill behind them, and even Clifford had all squeezed into the kitchen.

Now a deathly stillness hung in the cottage, and Anna flung open the door to let the warm, summer evening flow inside. There were still remnants of the wake to clear away, the odd used cup she had missed, crumbs on the floor. But when all was done, that vile emptiness enshrouded her again, setting her stomach churning, and for once, she wished vehemently that she had a radio or a record player like Carrie’s. It was odd, that. She hadn’t heard a word from Carrie. She had expected her to come to the funeral, but perhaps she had gone on holiday and received neither the telegram nor the short note Anna had sent her. It was the summer and the holiday season, after all. Perhaps Carrie, Jeffery and the baby had gone to stay with Carrie’s parents in Surrey. Yes, that was probably it.

Anna shut away the goats and the hens for the night and then sat down outside the front door on the old bench she had so often shared with Queenie, watching the evening fade and listening to the world gradually silencing into night, a blackbird winging home to its nest. All so familiar. The world would go on, even if Queenie was no longer in it. A half-moon floated upwards into the deepening velvet of a clear sky, its silver glimmer reflecting the myriad stars that were scattered across its indigo eternity. Was Queenie’s soul up there somewhere, smiling down benignly on her? She hoped so.

Anna shivered and pulled her cardigan more tightly around her. She realised she must have been sitting there for a couple of hours, not wanting to face the loneliness of the night. It must be nearing the witching hour, as Queenie always called it, and Anna reluctantly went inside. Still she didn’t want to go to bed, and she read for half an hour in the dim lamplight. But the words were dancing up and down on the page, and she kept going over the same line again and again. She really should go to bed.

She slid between the cool sheets and closed her eyes, images of the day chasing each other round in her head, a little like a jumbled Pathé News at the pictures. The faces of those who had come to the funeral, the vicar’s solemn words, the cheap wooden coffin, since, though Deborah Franfield had given it another name, this was a pauper’s burial. Anna had insisted the undertakers drape over the ugly box the pretty patchwork quilt that Queenie herself had made. Anna couldn’t afford flowers from the florist, but had made a posy from the garden, roses from Queenie’s two bushes by the front door, sprigs of lavender, the last tall spray of deep-blue
delphinium. It had been placed at the head of the coffin during the ceremony, and then had been put aside as Queenie was lowered into her eternal resting place. Anna had glanced up, and through her tear-blurred vision, caught Deborah’s encouraging half smile. Despite the arrival of her daughter and new grandchild from America, and her son’s imminent marriage, the good lady had found the time to catch the bus up to Princetown for the funeral, though she hadn’t come back to the cottage. Queenie’s cottage. And now Anna’s. But not for much longer.

She turned over. Heard an owl hoot. Somewhere a fox barked eerily into the night. Oh, Queenie. She tried to conjure up other pictures in her mind. Charlie as a tiny baby. Or playing with the goats. But Queenie’s face kept floating back, smiling, laughing. Cold and still. Anna’s silent tears soaked into the pillow. Still awake. A pigeon cooed. At once, a blackbird answered, the loud shrill of tweeting sparrows. The window became a lighter square in the gloom. Dawn was breaking, and lulled by nature’s chorus, Anna finally slept. But not for long.

‘Mummy!’

Oh, dear. Anna dragged herself awake, her head thudding with a headache. She crawled out of bed in a daze to start the new day. Moving mechanically, her muscles aching. At least the sun was shining again, the sky a pale, duck-egg blue that would deepen as the hours passed. Things to do. Clinging to the daily routine. Household chores, the goats, the hens. Charlie. Thank God for Charlie.

She sat him on the potty, for this weather was ideal for potty-training. ‘Oh, Charlie, what are we going to do?’ she sighed, so tired that she couldn’t think straight. And then she
noticed that Charlie had indeed performed into the potty.

‘Oh, good boy!’ She stood him up, pulled up his new pants and hugged him. He was such a good little fellow, apt to be cheeky and, it had to be said, with his father’s charm. It made Anna think of Frankie’s letter. Gilbert seemed to be over his anger, and she was so pleased for them both.

‘We’re going to Tavistock tomorrow,’ she told Charlie, who blinked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘We can look for a new home.’

But what could she afford? A room in someone’s house with a gas ring in the corner? Sharing a bathroom with strangers? Nowhere for Charlie to play when he was used to having the field to run in, or the entire moor when she took him for a walk? And would anyone take her in, an unmarried mother with a young child – even if she pretended she was a widow? Oh, Queenie. Why did it all have to end?

Thursday dawned bright and clear once more, promising another glorious day. After a week virtually without sleep, Anna had finally succumbed to exhaustion and slept well, feeling much better when she woke up. There was so much to do before they caught the bus down to Tavistock. The goats would have to remain locked in their pen while they were out, as would the hens, but the goat shed and the coop would both need their daily clean. Indoors, Anna had let the washing-up pile up, and she felt she must see to that, too.

By the time Anna got to the café in Tavistock, it was gone half past twelve and she only just managed to get a table. She even had to fold down the pushchair as much as it could go and stow it in the corner behind her, the place was so crowded. She sat Charlie on her lap, and hoped Frankie would indeed be able to get away.

‘Anna!’ Frankie’s face wrinkled with anxiety as she came towards her. ‘You look rough. Has something happened?’

Anna felt her soul cave in and crumble. ‘Oh, Frankie, I’m so glad you managed to come. Yes, something awful
has
happened. Queenie’s dead.’ There, she had said it. Raw and blunt. But there it was.

Frankie’s face tightened into taut lines. ‘Oh, my God. I don’t believe it. When?’

‘Last week. The funeral was Tuesday. I feel … oh, I don’t know how I feel. And now I don’t know which way to turn.’ She stared up at Frankie, helplessly and yet expectant, as if she expected her friend to have an answer.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? You helped me so much, and I hope I can help you back.’ She glanced at Charlie as she sat down, and smiled. ‘Hello, Charlie. How are you?’ She reached across to tickle his tummy, and he laughed gleefully, drawing up his chubby knees. It was a happy moment, and eased away any tension before Frankie’s expression became serious again. ‘Poor Queenie. What on earth happened?’

Anna lowered her eyes wistfully at the stab of pain. ‘It was a heart attack. So sudden.’

‘Oh, gosh, how dreadful!’

‘Yes, it was. In the middle of the night, too. It was just like a nightmare. I still can’t believe it. And to make matters worse, the cottage has been condemned and we’ve got to move out. Queenie was in such a state about it, I think that’s what brought it on. And now I don’t know where Charlie and I are going to live.’

It was just then that the waitress came over, interrupting their conversation to take their order, but as soon as she had done so, Frankie asked, ‘So, what’ve they said about the cottage?’

‘Hang on just a second. Charlie’s getting fidgety. I’ve brought his favourite picture book. That’ll keep him quiet.’ Anna reached into her bag and brought out the gaily coloured cardboard book which Charlie opened at once.

‘He’s going to be intelligent,’ Frankie observed with a smile.

‘Yes, he’s a bright little thing.’ Her voice trailed off again in a thread of sadness, and Frankie bit on her lip.

‘Tell me what they’ve said about the cottage,’ she prompted.

Anna’s lips twisted in bitter resignation. ‘It’s been condemned, not having mains
any
thing. And they won’t pay out to modernise it, so we’ve got to move out. Only with the small allowance I get for Charlie and me, I can’t afford much.’

‘’Ilma!’ Charlie grinned, jabbing his finger at a picture of a goat in his book, and he swivelled his head to look up at Anna in expectation of praise.

‘Yes, it looks just like Wilma, doesn’t it?’ she answered absently, and then she added half under her breath, ‘I suppose I’ll have to get rid of the goats and the hens somewhere, as well.’

‘Well, I can’t help you with that, I’m afraid, but I do have money of my own, now,’ Frankie announced, her pointed chin jutting out firmly. ‘My father’s money is all being held in trust until I’m twenty-five, but I came of age since I saw you last, and now I get a very generous allowance from it. All my own. Nothing to do with Gilbert. So, I’ll send you a cheque every month.’

Anna’s jaw fell open. ‘Frankie, you can’t—’

‘It’s for Charlie, not you. Can’t have him being brought
up somewhere awful. Would there be anywhere up on the moor, do you think?’

‘I can’t find anywhere suitable,’ Anna told her, trying to ignore the matter of Frankie’s astounding offer. ‘I did enquire about the place Queenie had been offered in Princetown, but as soon as they’d heard she’d died, they let it to someone else. Not that I could’ve afforded it.’

‘Well, you could’ve done now. Here’s twenty pounds. You may have to pay a month’s rent in advance. Go on, take it, I insist.’

‘It certainly would help.’ Anna chewed on her lip as she fingered the two crisp notes. ‘On one condition. That I pay you back one day. When Charlie starts school, I’ll get a job.’

‘If it’ll make you feel better! Now, if I’m not mistaken, that’s our lunch arriving.’

For the first time since Queenie’s death, Anna felt hunger pangs gnawing at her stomach. With a good night’s sleep under her belt at last, a full meal inside her and Frankie’s moral and financial support, she suddenly felt able to cope. Queenie had been dead little over a week and the raw pain still ate into Anna’s heart, but she was starting to feel positive about the future.

After lunch, Anna made her way to the letting agency in Duke Street that the waitress had directed her to. She told the man at the desk what she was able to afford, upping it a little now that she had swallowed her pride and accepted Frankie’s generous offer. The fellow balanced his hornrimmed spectacles on the end of his bulbous nose and looked down at her disdainfully.

‘There’s not many places will take a young child with a … hurrump … mother on her own,’ he said, clearing his throat.

‘I’m a widow.’ Anna lifted her chin, meeting his gaze steadily. ‘And I believe the rent I can afford is quite adequate.’

He pushed his ugly lips forward. ‘Hmm, well, let me see.’

In the end, he showed her three possibilities. One was a flat above a shop in Brook Street that Duke Street ran into. But although a good size, it could be noisy and there was no garden. A large room with a private bathroom in an even larger, detached house in Courtenay Road – with use of the garden
if the child can behave itself
– was also up for rent. But Anna wasn’t sure she could live with the landlady! The only place that tempted her was a two-bedroom terraced cottage near the top of Bannawell Street, with its own little back garden that caught the afternoon sun. But it really would be pushing her finances, even with Frankie’s help, and so she went away to think about it.

She was feeling exhausted again, her head reeling. It really was quite a task trying to find somewhere decent to live! Fortunately, Charlie had been as good as gold, and then he had nodded off in the pushchair as she walked back down the steep hill into the town centre. Perhaps she should look in the local paper, but she mustn’t leave the decision about Bannawell Street too long or it might be snapped up by someone else.

Her brain was whirling with conflicting thoughts. It was quite a responsibility, and one, if she considered it, she hadn’t been faced with before. She needed time to think. And someone to talk it through with. Not Frankie, because she wasn’t sure when they would meet again. She couldn’t speak to Ethel as the Shallafords didn’t have a phone, and Ethel didn’t know Tavistock anyway. Carrie did, but …

Perhaps Carrie was back now from staying with her parents or wherever else she had been. It was worth a try. It wouldn’t be much out of her way to cut through Bank Square and across to Carrie and Jeffery’s house in Exeter Street.

The road was dusty, the air tainted with the smell of tarmac that had been baked in the sun for days on end. It was not unpleasant, and Anna pondered that, unusually, they hadn’t had rain since before Queenie had died. Had the good weather helped, or had it seemed incongruous that the world was bathed in sunshine when Anna’s soul was dark with grief? She wasn’t sure, but then she didn’t feel sure of anything anymore.

As she approached Carrie and Jeffery’s house, she noticed a car parked by the kerb, and a middle-aged couple were unloading some shopping and other items from its boot. Anna didn’t pay much attention until, as she drew nearer, she realised that the front gate to Carrie’s house was open and the man seemed to be aiming for it. Then the woman, who had been leaning towards the back seat of the car, emerged with a little girl in her arms. At the same moment, Carrie appeared at the open front door, looking pale and drawn and so unlike her usual, merry self that Anna stopped in her tracks. Carrie came down the short garden path, and when she glanced along the road and saw Anna, her eyes widened with surprise.

‘Anna!’ She rushed through the open gate and out onto the pavement. ‘Oh, am I glad to see you!’ And then she burst into tears and flung herself into Anna’s arms.

Anna was astonished and awkwardly patted her friend’s back. ‘What on earth’s going on?’

‘It’s … it’s Jeffery,’ Carrie gulped between sobs, and
pulling back, she tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Oh, Anna, I’m sorry.’

‘Jeffery? What—?’

‘He’s in hospital.’

Anna’s confused frown deepened. ‘Oh, Lord, what’s happened?’

‘Oh, Anna, he’s … he’s got TB.’

Anna gasped, and something like ice trickled through her, despite the afternoon heat. Dear Lord, hadn’t she had enough shocks lately? ‘TB?’ she muttered. ‘Oh, good God.’

‘Yes, he—’

‘Hello, dear. Are you Anna?’ the woman with little Polly half asleep in her arms came up behind Carrie smiling, but with a tired look in her eyes. ‘I’m Carrie’s mum. Sorry I can’t shake hands.’

‘Oh, yes, hello, Mrs … er …’

‘Call me Rene, and this is Roger,’ she nodded over her shoulder. ‘The two Rs.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Anna repeated, still bewildered.

‘I think we’d all better go inside and we can explain everything.’

‘Yes,’ Anna said yet again.

They all trooped indoors and Anna negotiated the pushchair over the threshold. She left Charlie asleep in the cool hallway while Rene herded her and Carrie out into the garden.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she smiled kindly. ‘Roger’ll keep an eye on the little ones.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

The girls sat down in two deckchairs that were already out in the shade of the only tree in the garden. Anna noticed even
more how awful Carrie looked, her eyes shadowed in a grey face. They must make a right pair, Anna thought glumly, as she’d glanced her own reflection in the mirror that morning and saw how drained she looked herself.

‘So, tell me all about it,’ she prompted, though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know what Carrie was going through. ‘TB? I can’t believe it. Not Jeffery. He’s always so fit.’

‘I know. I can’t believe it, either.’ Carrie shook her head, looking close to tears again. ‘He’d not felt well and had this persistent cough for weeks. And then he started coughing up blood, so he went to see Dr Franfield. He ordered an X-ray and some tests, and there it was. He got Jeffery into the sanatorium straight away. And then among all the chaos, your telegram arrived. I’m so sorry about Queenie, really I am. But I just haven’t had a minute to contact you.’

‘I don’t suppose you have. I thought it was strange I didn’t hear from you. I thought you must be on holiday. Oh, golly, what a time we’ve both had. But, I hardly dare ask it, how is Jeffery?’

Her heart strained as she saw the desperation on Carrie’s face. ‘Well, he’s in the main building at the sanatorium which is where new patients start. Has his own room with huge doors opening to the outside, so it’s like being outdoors all the time. They say he’ll recover, but it’ll take time. Oh, but, Anna,’ she squealed as her eyes filled with tears again, ‘what if they’re wrong? What if —?’

‘You mustn’t think like that,’ Anna heard herself say. God, that sounded such a cliché.

‘If only he’d been immunised,’ Carrie despaired, and Anna noticed her wringing her hands. ‘You know we had it when
we were at school? But Jeffery’d already left school when they started doing it. And then there’s Polly. Dr Franfield gave her a little test injection like we had at school. He’ll test her again in six weeks, and if it’s still negative, he’ll vaccinate her to be on the safe side. And then he’ll have to test her again six weeks after that because it doesn’t always take in young children.’

‘Oh dear, it all sounds pretty complicated. But how on earth did Jeffery catch it? You think of TB and overcrowded slums in industrial cities, not living
here
and with a decent standard of living.’

‘That’s what I thought, but you can pick it up anywhere. Jeffery did a wiring job a while ago and the old man was coughing all over the place, so perhaps it was that.’

‘But I’m sure Jeffery’ll be all right,’ Anna said confidently. ‘Dr Franfield is so good.’

‘Yes, I know. He was absolutely wonderful. You know, it was the same day Queenie died.’

‘Ah, that must be why Dr Franfield didn’t come back in the evening when he said he would. Not that there was anything for him to do. It was just him being kind. I’m surprised Deborah – that’s his wife – didn’t tell me about Jeffery. She knows we’re friends, and she came up to the funeral.’

‘Not allowed to, I don’t think,’ Rene said as she came out carrying a tray. ‘Patient confidentiality, I think it’s called. Now, I thought you might actually prefer cold drinks rather than tea. Lemon squash with ice out of the fridge, but I can brew up some tea if you prefer.’

‘Squash’ll be fine for me, thank you,’ Anna answered gratefully. ‘I’m so hot traipsing around the town and an ice-cold
drink’ll be just the ticket. So where’s the sanatorium, then?’

‘Didworthy. It’s a mile or so outside South Brent going up onto the moor.’

‘Golly, that’s a long way, and an awkward journey. How are you getting there to visit?’

‘Dad’s been driving me.’

‘Oh, of course. How silly of me.’

‘Well, we came as soon as we heard,’ Rene said, declining Anna’s offer to have her deckchair and sitting down on the dry grass instead. ‘I’d just got in from work – I’ve got a little job in a dress shop, just part-time in the afternoons – when the phone rang. I was so shocked, as you might imagine. Roger was still at the bank, so I rang him there. He couldn’t just drop everything and leave, especially if he was going to be away for some time. So he had to stay late to organise things. I packed a case while I was waiting, and we left as soon as Roger got home. Got here about two in the morning, I think.’