Sheila considered this. ‘You should tell him, if it’s a boy next time, you might not get so sick. It’s girls that make you queasy. When you’re carrying a boy, they say it ain’t so bad.’She hesitated. ‘I only had you and Betsy though, so I can’t know for sure.’
‘Sounds like an old wives’ tale to me.’
‘But you can be sure those old wives knew a thing or two about having a baby.’ Sheila gave her a wink. ‘Anyway, don’t give up hope. Babies have a way of coming along regardless.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Only that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ She patted her daughter’s hand. ‘Make up with Joe, love. Be a bit nicer and stop snapping the poor man’s head off. And maybe buy yourself one of them lacy new nighties we saw in that magazine the other day.’ She grinned. ‘After a while, you might find he’s more open to the idea of another child.’
‘Seduce him, you mean?’ Violet blushed.
‘Well, why not? You still love him, don’t you? And Joe loves you, that’s obvious. Besides, what’s wrong with a bit o’ hanky-panky between a married couple? Oh, don’t look like that … It’s not just for newly-weds, you know.’ Sheila chuckled. ‘Why do you think you were born so long after Betsy? Sometimes a man just needs a little gentle persuasion.’
Violet jumped to her feet, clearly flustered by this intimate turn in the conversation. ‘I’d best go and check on Sarah Jane. I left her playing upstairs nearly an hour ago and she’ll be up to all sorts by now.’ Lips pursed, she glanced at the wall clock again. ‘And you need to get down to the shop, Mum, before Aunty Margaret thinks you’ve got yourself in trouble.’ Her sharp blue eyes flashed a warning to let it go before she turned away.
With a shrug, Sheila gave up and said no more on the topic. But she was determined to grab a quiet word with her son-in-law as soon as possible. Because it seemed to her thatJoe would have to choose between a few extra chores around the house and a wife giving him daggers for the rest of their marriage. Assuming it lasted much longer, that was …
Down at the village shop later that week, Sheila found her sister Maggie deep in conversation with Jack’s mum, Mrs Treedy. On her return from visiting Lily in Penzance, her sister had given her a glowing account of Jack Treedy as a helper, saying, ‘He was ever so useful, and such a hard worker too. I don’t think he’s as wild as folk have made out.’ Impressed with this, Sheila had taken Jack on as a Saturday boy to help with jobs Maggie usually undertook, like sweeping out the shop, taking inventory, and stocking the vegetable crates. The lad had thanked her most politely. But she’d seen his unhappy expression and knew he’d been hankering after longer hours, if only to help out his widowed mum with the household bills.
She couldn’t afford to take Jack on full-time, though, and could only hope he’d find better-paid employment in early spring when farms began taking on labourers. Now the war was over, most farmers were beginning to look to men again to take over from the Women’s Land Army. Even Joe had mentioned the idea, much to their own Land Girls’ disappointment.
‘Morning Maggie, Mrs Treedy,’ she called out cheerfully, unwinding her scarf. ‘Has the shop been busy this morning?’
‘Not too bad,’ her sister said and handed her a buff envelope. ‘This came for you. Postie couldn’t be bothered to bicycle up the hill to the farm, so left it here.’
Sheila glanced at the London address on the back and eagerly tore open the envelope, not even bothering to removeher hat and coat first. ‘’Ere, it’s from that ex-MP … Mrs Newbury-Holmes. The lady I met in Penzance. I wrote to let her know about that soup and sandwiches social event that went off so well for us.’ She spread out the folded sheet and read it. ‘Blimey,’ she gasped, ‘she says it sounds like I done a good job, and she’s even written down a few other ideas for me. Ways to bring the community together and raise money for good causes. What a smashin’ lady, eh? To go to all the trouble of writing to me … I never thought for a minute that someone posh like her would remember my name, let alone write back.’
‘You can be quite memorable on occasion, Shee,’ her sister remarked.
Mrs Treedy said nothing but merely stared.
Gawd, she was acting as giddy as a schoolgirl, Sheila realised with a start of embarrassment. Hurriedly, she put away the prized letter in her handbag and took off her coat at last. She would read it through again later when she was alone.
‘Anyway,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘how’s your Jack, Mrs Treedy? He did a bang-up job of helping my sister while I was away in Penzance. You must be very proud of the lad.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Newton,’ Mrs Treedy replied, sounding far from happy. ‘In fact, it’s Jack we’ve been talking of.’
Removing her hat, Sheila hung it up behind the counter and donned her work apron. ‘Oh yes, how’s that?’
Mrs Treedy bit her lip, looking pale and wan, and said nothing.
With a sad shake of her head, Maggie answered for her. ‘It seems Jack’s been saying “strange things” lately,’ her sisterexplained carefully. ‘Poor Mrs Treedy’s beside herself. She doesn’t know what to do for the best.’
Sheila, who had begun to check the takings for the week, stopped and looked round at her sister in bewilderment. ‘Strange things? What on earth do you mean?’
‘Jack’s got an odd idea in his head,’ Mrs Treedy said unhappily. ‘And I don’t know where it came from. No doubt all them newspapers he’s been reading, ever since you taught him his letters.’ She gave a muffled sob. ‘He talks of nothing but politics and the government. It fair drives me up the wall. Only now he’s started going on aboutAustralia.’
‘Eh?’ Sheila was baffled.
Maggie put a hand on her arm. ‘He’s thinking of emigrating, Sheila,’ she said plainly. ‘To Australia, of all places.’
‘No … You’re pulling my leg.’ Sheila looked at them dubiously. She recalled spelling out a few newspaper articles with the lad about British citizens making the decision to move to Australia for a better life now the war was over. Remembering how hard life had been in London’s bombed-out city streets, she could understand an urge to start again. But she’d never imagined that someone in a lovely spot like Porthcurno would contemplate a new life down under. It left her feeling a little guilty too, worried that her reading lessons might have been what had put such an idea in his head in the first place.
‘It’s true,’ her sister insisted. ‘Jack told me himself. I meant to mention it to you, but I didn’t think he was serious. Only here’s his mum now, saying he’s looked into the cost of a passage.’
‘Well,’ Sheila said slowly, ‘the boat fare can’t be cheap. I doubt he could even scrape the fare together.’
‘I hope you’re right, Mrs Newton.’ Mrs Treedy picked up her shopping basket. ‘I’d best get on.’
