But she just glared at him, wondering where all the money went, and before she could stop herself, she asked, ‘Maybe you could get a normal job, rather than taking on these business ideas that never lead to anything.’ She glanced at the squabble of tools and locks, the old motorparts from his last enterprise. ‘Or you could mend some of those, sell them.’
As soon as she’d said it, she pulled back instinctively.
‘You know how much I wanted that big locksmith contract with the hospital,’ he muttered, hurt. ‘I still don’t know why they changed their mind.’
Caroline knew the probable reasons. He’d turned up late or without the right tools. It had crossed her mind that he might not even know how to change a lock, despite all his talk.
All his moneymaking schemes were the same. He’d make a million, he swore, all he needed was a little money up front to buy some tools or products. Only it always folded within a year or two. He’d brood about it for a few months before a mate in the pub or at the races sold him onto the next bright idea. Secondhand bicycles still littered the back garden, antique clocks in the guest room, and she was sure he was involved in the black market, selling rationed sugar in a local stall.
She saw the look in his eyes, his face reddening as he took a step toward her.
‘That’s the trouble with you, Caroline. You just don’t understand the ways of the world, how hard business can be.’ He tapped the side of his forehead, that withering look on his face, as if he were so patient for putting up with her stupidity. ‘You never think, do you? You don’t know all the sacrifices I make, the stress I’ve had, living with you, with your daughter.’ His eyes went to the door and he added in a low voice, ‘We both know how much I’ve had to put up with, keeping quiet and looking after you all these years.’
‘I know, and I’m so grateful—’ she began.
But he held up a hand to stop her, a look of disgust on his face. ‘You need to look at yourself, remember how you’d been on the verge of ruin, and think about who was there to rescue you.’
She looked at her feet, tears swimming in her eyes as she felt that familiar dull weight of guilt and shame pressing down on her. ‘I’m sorry. I know how much you sacrificed for me, how grateful I’ll always be.’
‘I gave you my name, my respectability, and this is how you repay me?’
Rapidly murmuring, she pleaded with him to calm down. ‘You’ve done so much for me, for us. I can’t think how stupid I was, fixated on the beach at a time like this. I’m really sorry.’
For a moment, he stood glowering at her, and it might have gone either way. But then he seemed to rally, putting an arm around her. ‘I’m your knight in shining armour, love. Everything will be fine, provided we stick together. Remember that we promised never to let anyone else know the child isn’t mine – I did that for you, Caroline, for us. Not many men would have, and now you need to be a good girl about it.’ The smell of the sizzling meat wafted through from the kitchen, and he propelled her back inside. ‘Now, why don’t you get on with dinner.’
On the way back to his red chair, he scooped upThe Sporting Life.‘Don’t worry, love. I’ve backed an absolute winner, a lovely filly called Dreamweaver.’ With that, he turned on the radio for the racing results.
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she tried to focus on the cooking. She owed him so much. How could she be so ungrateful?
‘I could do some extra hours on my day off,’ she called into the other room. ‘They need more staff with the coronation coming up.’
‘Yes, that’s more like it,’ he called back.
‘I’ll ask in the morning.’ Only then she began worrying how she’d cope with more hours at work. Her day off was already busy with laundry, shopping and housework. She got up at five every morning as it was.
But they’d never been away. Something had always come up, not enough money or a big new scheme keeping Frank at home – and heaven forbid she and Annabel should go without him.
A sound of footsteps at the door floated through from the corridor, and Caroline’s heart leapt as Annabel ran in, straight into her arms.
‘Mum, I wrote a letter to the new queen! We all did, wishing her well for her coronation. The teacher said we might get letters back!’ she gushed, her eyes bright in the dim light. Her arms reached around Caroline with a bracing tightness, and Caroline felt herself reconnectwith their shared world. She wrapped herself around her girl as if trying to absorb her energy, her spirit.
‘Keep quiet, sweetheart. Dad’s listening to the radio, but he’s going out later.’ She grinned. ‘You can beat me at chess again.’
But hungry as ever, Annabel pulled away. ‘What’s for dinner?’ As she danced into the kitchen, her bush of dark-red curls fluttering behind her, Caroline watched, enjoying the best moment of her day. She listened to Annabel’s delighted chatter and her only thought was that she would do anything in the world for that girl.
Anything.
MIRANDA MILLER
...
JOURNALIST
THE BELLEVUE HOSPITAL
MATERNITY WARD,NEW YORK
January 1953
