A Woman's Courage Read online

  Erica frowned. ‘It sounds . . . almost as if he was holding you hostage. ’

  It was. That was exactly how it was.

  ‘He was upset, as you can imagine,’ Pat said. An understatement. ‘I don’t regret going, I just wonder whether he would still be alive if I hadn’t. ’

  If I’d stayed with him, summoned help. If I’d done the right thing. Instead of leaving him to die.

  Erica said, ‘He ’d been drinking, hadn’t he? It could have happened whether or not you were here. You mustn’t torment yourself. ’ She paused. ‘I would never wish what happened to Bob on anyone, but he’s gone and there’s nothing you can do to change it. ’

  Not now. But, at the time, perhaps . . .

  ‘We tend to want all the answers,’ Erica continued. ‘When someone dies we’re always left with questions, all those what ifs. ’

  What if . . . I had called an ambulance?

  ‘You could drive yourself insane. You mustn’t. ’

  Pat felt a sudden urge to tell Erica everything, to swear her to secrecy. She was loyal; she had told no one about Marek. Pat knew she could trust her. ‘If I told you,’ she began – but then the shrill whistling of the kettle on the stove interrupted and reality sank back in. She shook her head, took a breath. ‘You’re right, I can’t change what happened. ’

  ‘Then let it go,’ Erica said gently.

  Chapter 10

  I

  NSPIRED BY THE WI committee meeting, Alison had decided to sort through her clothes, and a pile of unwanted items now lay neatly folded on the bed in the spare room. At last she had dealt with George’s belongings. For too long she had held onto them as if they were part of him, but now she could see that they were just ‘things’. Her memories would stay in her heart for all time. As she went through everything, she had also found a number of perfectly good garments she had forgotten about, among them the embroidered blouse and pleated skirt she now had on for the first time in years. She ran a comb through her hair and checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the wardrobe. The new outfit made her look quite different, and for a moment her confidence wavered. She was expecting John, and didn’t want him to think she had made more effort than usual just for him.

  Even though Alison had been unwilling to admit as much to Teresa, she knew she was growing extremely fond of John. He was kind, respectful. They never ran out of things to say to one another. He made her laugh. It was true what Teresa had said about finding a connection, something that rarely happened. She had felt it with George, and never thought she would need to find it with anybody else. They were going to spend their lives together. Everything had been planned out.

  And then the Great War came.

  Like so many others, she ’d had to forge a future that bore no resemblance to the one she had once envisaged. It had not been easy. George had been her world. His confidence and optimism had rubbed off on her, but once he was gone she became altogether more subdued. It was likely that she would be on her own from now on, she had decided. She had better get used to the idea.

  Alison had always thought of herself as a practical person, the kind of woman to cope with whatever life had in store for her. But at times, over the years, she had been lonely. Boris had made a difference, true – but still, sometimes she craved human company. What she would have given sometimes for someone to have breakfast with, a companion thoughtful enough to bring her a cup of tea while she worked. Someone to talk to even when she had nothing very interesting to say. Simple companionship. Being part of a unit, part of a team. Those were the things she missed most of all.

  Having Teresa stay with her had made an enormous difference. Alison had found herself looking forward to her lodger arriving back each afternoon with stories about her day at school and the sometimes hilarious exploits of the children. For a while, the house had felt more alive. Teresa’s presence had made Alison aware of how serious she had become. It was not easy, after all, to find things to laugh about on one’s own. She missed Teresa dreadfully. The house was an altogether more joyful abode with another person in it.

  Not that she had much to complain of. She ’d had a good life. And at least she had found love with George, even if he was taken from her too soon. She had memories of him to treasure, moments of joy that would never leave her. Not everyone was as fortunate; she knew very well that there were some who would never know what it was to love and to be loved.

  But now, perhaps, she had a second chance, something she would never have thought possible. She didn’t think she could be misreading the situation – after all, she saw the way John looked at her. She knew very well that it was her alone he made an effort to come and see, that he had no reason to leave Liverpool now that the bombing had stopped.

  No reason, apart from her.

  She wandered into the garden, and was met with the scent of lavender and mint, the gentle humming of bees at work as they went from one flower to the next. She stopped for a moment, watching a bumble bee as it lumbered about. Another landed on the sleeve of her cardigan and rested for a moment. She was so busy watching the bees she didn’t notice John arrive.

  ‘Good day to you. Not interrupting, am I?’ he said, tipping the trilby hat he always wore.

  Alison smiled. ‘Not at all – the bees just caught my attention. The lavender’s alive with them. ’

  He made no move towards the garden. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ Alison asked.

  ‘In a minute. I’ve something to show you first. ’

  Alison gave him a curious look.

  ‘I hope you’re going to like it,’ he added uncertainly.

  He bobbed briefly out of sight, reappearing a moment later with a skinny dog on a makeshift lead. The dog, a terrier of some kind, had coarse brown and white hair. It gazed in Alison’s direction. ‘Come and meet a very special friend of mine,’ John told the dog, giving a slight tug on its lead. The animal trotted obediently up the path beside him.

  Alison was perplexed. ‘You have a dog?’

  ‘I found her, wandering in the city, looking lost. ’ He bent and scratched the dog’s head. ‘Shared a bit of food with her, and next thing you know she followed me home. I’m guessing she was on the doorstep all night, because when I came out this morning there she was, waiting. Jumped up soon as she saw me. ’

  ‘She must belong to someone. ’

  ‘Seems to think she belongs to me now, don’t you, girl?’ The dog gave him what might have been interpreted as a hopeful look. ‘I asked around, but no one knows whose she is. Might be her family moved on and left her behind. In the street I found her, half the houses have gone. Bombed out. I don’t reckon she’s got a home now. ’

  ‘But you can’t keep her – how can you?’

  John smiled. ‘That’s just it. I was thinking . . . maybe the two of you might get along. Company for one another. She’s a good dog – walks on the lead, comes when you call her. Can’t see she ’d give you any trouble. ’

  The dog flopped down on the path and closed its eyes, its chin resting on the toe of John’s shoe. Alison hesitated. She did not enjoy being put on the spot. It was not so much the idea of another dog she objected to; rather that she seemed to have no say in the matter. As if John, in that gentle and courteous way of his, was backing her into a corner.

  Even as the thought came to her, she knew she was being unreasonable. She loved dogs. She missed Boris. John knew that, and had thought she might like the company, had come with the dog as a kindness.

  Still, the glow she had basked in all morning in anticipation of his visit all but evaporated.

  She imagined heads turning as John made his way through the village with the dog. Speculation as to where he was headed. Her name being mentioned. She felt a sharp prickle of humiliation at the thought.

  ‘You’re assuming rather a lot, thinking you can foist a stray on me without warning,’ she said. She sounded sharper than she had intended.


  John looked taken aback. ‘No, that’s not . . . I meant no offence, Alison. I was thinking of you. I hoped you might be pleased. ’

  ‘I wish you’d at least had the decency to ask before simply arriving on my doorstep with a mongrel on the end of a bit of string. ’ John seemed to flinch. For her to imply he was anything less than decent was, she knew, grossly unfair.

  ‘If I’ve overstepped the mark, I’m sorry. ’ He sounded bewildered. At his feet, the dog sighed and turned onto its side. ‘Of course I wouldn’t presume to . . . I think you know how much I respect you, Alison. ’

  They gazed at each other. It was the closest they had come to falling out – and over something trivial. Alison took a deep breath, and thought of what Teresa had said. The last thing she wanted was to fall out with John, but somehow the thought of accepting the dog, of what that might mean between them, seemed almost too much. ‘I’m just not sure I want another dog,’ she said, softening her tone. ‘Boris was a one-off. I doubt that any dog, even one as good-natured as yours seems to be, can replace him. ’

  He nodded. ‘I can take her back. ’

  Alison hesitated. ‘Look, come inside. ’ She turned back towards the house, glancing over her shoulder to make sure John was following. The dog came after him.

  ‘I didn’t intend to be so sharp,’ Alison said, drawing up a chair at the kitchen table. ‘As you’ve now seen for yourself, I’m not very good with surprises. ’

  The dog crawled under the sideboard, looking up at them from its hiding place.

  John gave her a long look. ‘I thought you knew me better than to think I was the kind of man who ’d use a friend. ’

  Alison sighed. She could see she had hurt his feelings. ‘You did the right thing rescuing the dog and bringing her here. ’ She wondered how many others would have done the same. Liverpool had suffered dreadfully. Lives lost, homes destroyed. She could understand why a pet might be abandoned. Most strangers would have left it to scrabble around and survive as best it could. But not John. He had stopped and shown kindness – and she had taken him to task for it.

  ‘The dog can stay,’ she said softly.

  He gave her a wary look. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want? I wouldn’t want you to feel you’ve no choice. ’ He hesitated. ‘If it comes to it, I could take her to a shelter. ’

  Alison was inclined to think the poor dog would not last long in such a place. She looked down at the creature, her soft fur and wagging tail. There was something about her keen expression that reminded her of Boris.

  ‘I’m sure. I’d like to keep her. ’

  *

  The following morning, Alison came down to find the little dog curled up on the chair once occupied by Boris. She stroked its head before going into the kitchen and filling the kettle. When she turned round, the dog stood in the doorway, looking up at her. Alison was used to Boris pushing his snout at her, letting her know he was hungry. The new arrival was still shy.

  ‘I suppose you want breakfast,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to see what I can give you. ’ She made a generous helping of porridge and ate hers while she waited for the remainder to go cold in the bowl Boris had once used. The moment she put it down, the dog began to eat, taking dainty little mouthfuls. Nothing like Boris there either, who used to attack his food as if he were permanently starving.

  Alison sat at the table with a cup of tea, thinking back to the day before. It niggled her how sharp she had been with John. She had regretted it and softened soon enough, but things were still a little awkward between them when he ’d left. He was a good listener – like George. No, she didn’t want to compare him to George. She longed to explain it all, her horror of being the subject of gossip, her anxiety about her feelings for him, how people might view their friendship – but she couldn’t say any of that without telling him how she felt, and that she could never do.

  In the end, when she had begun a stumbling apology and attempt at an explanation, John had said: ‘You know, Alison, you’ve no need to explain yourself to me, or to anyone. I only need to look at you to know there’s nothing bad. ’

  She could say the same of him.

  Chapter 11

  S

  ARAH EMERGED FROM HER shift at the telephone exchange into bright sunshine. She stood for a moment, feeling the warmth on her face. It was too nice a day to go straight home, she decided. Perhaps she could take a walk and get some air.

  As she made her way through the village, she spotted Joyce Cameron on the opposite side of the street, striding briskly in her direction. Straight-backed, head held high, wearing a jacket with gleaming brass buttons, she had an almost military air. Her hat was angled to protect her face from the sun, and had a clutch of feathers sprouting from it. She raised a hand in greeting and Sarah crossed over to speak to her.

  ‘What do you think of the gaping hole in our village?’ Joyce asked.

  Sarah was momentarily thrown. What gaping hole? she wondered. For a second she thought of the Spitfire crashing into the doctor’s surgery, of buildings ripped apart. A knot of panic seized her. But before she had a chance to speak, Joyce gestured at the far side of the High Street. ‘Our abandoned greengrocer’s, now reduced to a shell. Is there anything that speaks of neglect more than whitewash on windows? An absolute tragedy, if you ask me, and not just because of the look of the thing, although that is bad enough. We have lost a valuable resource. ’ She sighed. ‘It seems a great pity the Collinses felt compelled to run for the hills. ’

  ‘Not the hills, as such,’ Sarah said. ‘Edinburgh, I heard, to be with family until the war is over. ’

  Joyce tore her gaze from the offending windows. ‘In troubled times, tempting though it may be to run away, I am yet to be convinced about this notion of pastures new providing sanctuary. It’s something of a myth, I’d say. Better to hold fast to what you know. ’ She gave a wry smile. ‘As I am able to testify from personal experience. ’

  Shortly after the outbreak of war, Joyce and her solicitor husband, Douglas, had moved out of Great Paxford and gone to live in Heysham, not far from Morecambe, on the north-west coast, because it was considered safer. Weeks later, Joyce returned to the village. Alone. Her husband, she said, had stayed behind to pursue his ambition of becoming a Member of Parliament. Sarah had never been convinced by this explanation but, like everyone, would not have dreamed of challenging it, or seeking to press Joyce for further details. There was gossip, of course, but not even Mrs Talbot would have dared ask Joyce. She could be rather intimidating when she wanted to be.

  ‘You’ve no regrets about moving back, then?’ Sarah asked tentatively.

  Joyce looked thoughtful. ‘Do you know, you’re the first person to have asked,’ she said. ‘But no. My only regret is leaving in the first place. I knew at once it was a mistake, and I’m glad I was in a position to put things right. In all honesty, I found the coast a rather gloomy place. It was somewhat depressing. There is a great deal of talk about sea air being good for you, but it did nothing for me. I would never have settled there. ’

  Sarah hesitated. This was the most she had ever heard Joyce speak on the matter, and she did not want to miss an opportunity. What if, after all, Joyce had only kept quiet about her reasons for returning because her friends had never asked? She glanced around, to make sure they were alone in the street. ‘It must be very different, though, living alone?’

  She caught Joyce’s look of surprise and at once feared she had strayed into territory that was off-limits.

  ‘Douglas certainly thought I wouldn’t manage it,’ Joyce said slowly. ‘And it is different. But then, I would never go so far as to say that marriage, in itself, necessarily guarantees a greater degree of happiness than a solitary existence. It rather depends on the marriage, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, of course. ’ Sarah felt somewhat thrown off-balance. This was, she thought, one of the longest conversations she had ever had with Joyce. All their prev
ious conversation had tended to lean towards the superficial – matters concerning the WI, or bland pleasantries on the subject of the weather. Sarah had at times found Joyce rather superior, something of a snob – especially so when Joyce and Frances were engaged in a tussle over who was best suited to lead the WI. Certainly, she had never felt inclined to forge a friendship with Joyce.

  It was true that when Joyce returned to the village, Sarah had detected a certain vulnerability that was not there before. It was almost as if she had been left bruised by her seaside experience. No matter how she chose to dress things up, the fact remained that she and her husband had parted company, and that could not have been without its difficulties. Sarah had chosen not to get involved, telling herself she didn’t know Joyce well enough to pry into her private affairs.

  Was it possible that Joyce was not the impenetrable force she appeared to be; that beneath the somewhat brittle exterior was an altogether more thoughtful woman than Sarah had imagined? She knew well enough that everybody had a side they presented in public – an armour, a means of concealing weaknesses. This morning, Sarah felt she had been allowed a glimpse of what might well be the real Joyce.

  ‘Of course, the position you now find yourself in is entirely different,’ Joyce went on. ‘You must feel your husband’s absence acutely. To be separated not by choice but by circumstance is never an easy matter. There’s something about longing that seems to cause a good deal of heartache, and of course the uncertainty . . . I am sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I only meant that I realise it must be hard. I hope it’s of some comfort to know how many of us are thinking of the Reverend Collingborne. ’

  ‘It makes a great deal of difference. ’ Her gaze went to St Mark’s in the distance, that had been a solid and reassuring presence for six hundred years. For many, it represented the heart of the village, a focal point where the community could gather and find comfort in one another. But like everything and everyone, it was by no means invincible. When the Spitfire crashed into the village, it had only narrowly avoided demolishing the church tower.