A Woman's Courage Read online

  She gazed at the burial mound. It amazed her, sometimes, that she had spared him – that she had kept up the pretence to the end. Even Joyce, who had seen them at close quarters every day until recently, knew nothing about the true state of their marriage. Pat had seen to that, covering for him, making out all was well. She wondered if Joyce would have held him in such esteem if she ’d had the slightest idea who he really was. Would she have wept for him?

  No. Pat knew she would not. Yet she had made sure Bob kept his reputation, despite all that he put her through. She saw to it that he went to his grave the respected man of letters he considered himself to be.

  It was more than he deserved.

  She bent to remove the rotting flowers. She would have to arrange a headstone soon. She had been putting it off, unable to decide on a suitable inscription. Husband and Writer, perhaps, or a quotation, if she could think of something appropriate.

  One thing she was certain of: there would be nothing to suggest love, or sorrow at his passing.

  ‘Don’t worry, Bob,’ she muttered, ‘I’ll find a form of words you won’t object to. The world will never know what you put me through. ’

  The sound of footsteps made her whip round. Joyce, a bunch of bright pink dianthus in her arms, was approaching. ‘I was on my way to do the church flowers when I saw you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t intend to interrupt a private moment. ’

  Pat shook her head. ‘You’re not interrupting. I was just about to leave. I’ve actually just moved back into the village, and I’m getting the new house organised. ’

  Joyce hesitated. ‘I didn’t realise you were moving. Can I help in any way?’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but there’s not much to do. As soon as I get things straight, you’ll be very welcome. ’

  Joyce nodded. ‘I shall look forward to it. ’

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  ‘I can’t begin to imagine what you must be feeling,’ Joyce said at last. ‘Life can indeed be cruel at times, dangling happiness in front of us, only to snatch it away without notice. I just can’t comprehend it. It seemed you and Bob had an abundance of riches in store. So much to live for. ’ She fixed Pat with a look of despair. ‘It’s the unfairness of it all I struggle with most. A new home, Bob on the cusp of great things with his writing, the two of you so happy . . . ’

  You have no idea.

  ‘I can’t afford to dwell on what might have been,’ Pat said. ‘It doesn’t help. ’ She glanced at Joyce. ‘I don’t mean to sound hard-hearted, but wallowing, harbouring regret . . . it seems wrong. Almost as though it would be lacking in gratitude for the life I have. After all, I’m still here. I have to do the best I can. If there’s one thing Bob’s death has taught me it’s the value of appreciating the here and now. In the end, it’s all we have. ’ She took a breath. ‘And Bob wouldn’t have wanted me moping about, being miserable, would he?’ Sometimes it was easier to tell people what they wanted to hear.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Joyce said. ‘I envy you your wisdom, my dear. You have great dignity. It’s truly remarkable that you’re coping so well. ’

  Pat gave a wry smile. ‘I’m no different to anyone else. We live in uncertain times when no one can be sure what each day will bring. And there’s so much loss, everywhere you look. The unfairness you spoke of – it more or less sums things up, doesn’t it? We all know there’s nothing remotely fair about war and what it does. None of us need look very far to see examples of sacrifice and suffering, or lives cut short. And there’s precious little we can do other than face whatever comes our way and manage as best we can. ’

  *

  At home, Pat found she couldn’t settle. Her visit to the grave and the encounter with Joyce had got her thinking, made her realise how much about herself she would forever have to keep inside. For years, so much of her life had been shrouded in shame and secrecy. The truth of how she had lived – well, some of it – was known only to a few close friends, but even they had no real idea. The visit to Bob’s grave had reminded her how little even he knew about her innermost thoughts. He had shown precious little interest and she had rarely been able to be honest with him.

  She sat at the table, pen in hand, a blank sheet of paper in front of her, mulling over what it was she wanted to say. Then, finally, she began to write.

  There are things I wish I’d been able to tell you, Bob, and now I’ll never have the chance. You made a point of silencing me. As far as you were concerned, my opinion was of no consequence. In our marriage you were the only one that mattered. I had no voice. For years, you made me feel that I was nothing. As if not one thing I could say or think or feel mattered. Everything you did was designed to diminish me. I can see that now. For so long I believed I was the problem, that there was something wrong with me, that somehow I provoked you because I wasn’t a worthy wife. I truly thought that if only I tried harder, things would change, get better. They never did. I convinced myself you must have had good reason to despise me and, over time, came to believe it was because I was a disappointment. Not good enough. Plain, not pretty. Too dull, slow-witted. I could never hope to hold the interest of a man like you. A man like you.

  I know differently now. The problem wasn’t me . . . it was you.

  You’re the one who was damaged. I simply had the misfortune to get in the way.

  Pat put down her pen. Her hands were shaking, her breathing hard. It eased something in her, to write like this, to be honest, somewhere, somehow, even if only to herself. And yet something about directly addressing Bob made her anxious, too, as though he might be hovering over her shoulder, able to read her words.

  She had not quite come to terms with the fact that she was no longer in thrall to him. She was so unused to speaking out that a small part of her still feared it was dangerous, even on paper, away from prying eyes. It would take time, she realised, to get used to the idea that she was now free, free to let go of the guilt she still harboured at having left him to die. She was not quite there yet.

  She stood up quickly, folded the paper and placed it out of sight in a drawer.

  Chapter 13

  T

  HERE WAS A GOOD turn-out for the monthly WI meeting in the village hall. News that the branch intended to tackle clothes rationing had been greeted with enormous enthusiasm.

  ‘Fear not, ladies,’ Frances was given to saying, as she went about her business in the village, ‘we’ve come up with a rather exciting initiative to beat the dreaded clothes coupons. All will be revealed at Thursday’s meeting. Don’t miss it. ’

  As a consequence, members packed into the hall, keen to find out more.

  ‘You do realise you’ve got the whole village fired up,’ Sarah said, as she and her sister entered the hall.

  ‘Which was exactly what I intended,’ Frances replied.

  ‘Expectations are certainly running high. ’

  ‘I’m convinced we’ve tapped into something of concern to everyone,’ Frances said.

  Even Joyce, who had initially expressed disappointment that the WI committee had failed to come up with anything more imaginative than ‘the usual jumble sale’ swiftly changed her mind once she realised Pat was behind the initiative.

  ‘I happened to be in Brindsley’s the other day and the conversation was all about tackling alterations and carrying out repairs. One or two of the younger ladies were saying they wouldn’t know where to begin. ’

  ‘I’m hoping this might be a chance to brush up on my “invisible” mending, which has always been a little too obvious,’ Sarah said, with a laugh.

  ‘Then you’re a perfect candidate. I think several of our members will find sewing lessons extremely useful. ’

  *

  Teresa arrived at the hall a minute or two before proceedings were due to get under way. She was feeling much better than she had of late – almost human again. To her great relief, for the first time in weeks, she had made it through an entire day
without being overcome by sickness. Earlier, to Nick’s delight, she had managed a sandwich without any ill effects. ‘Success!’ he ’d declared, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head, as if she ’d just done something momentous. ‘Well done, darling, I’m very proud of you. ’ She couldn’t help but smile. It seemed rather excessive given that all she had done was eat a sliver of cheese between two pieces of bread. Still, considering how unwell she ’d been, it did constitute something of an achievement.

  She found a seat next to Alison near the front of the hall.

  ‘You made it,’ Alison said, with a smile. ‘I take it you’re feeling better?’

  ‘Hugely. ’ Teresa laughed. ‘Like a different woman. ’

  Alison looked at her closely. ‘You look much brighter, there’s definitely some colour back in your cheeks. The last time I saw you, you seemed a little pale. ’

  Teresa nodded. ‘I woke up this morning feeling transformed. I’m finally able to face food. ’ She gave Alison a meaningful look and lowered her voice. ‘For the first time in ages I was free of the awful nausea that’s been plaguing me. ’ She placed a hand gently on her stomach.

  Alison’s eyes widened as the penny dropped. She too spoke quietly. ‘How wonderful. I can see why there’s such a glow about you. ’ Her eyes shone as she reached over and gave her friend’s hand a squeeze.

  Teresa mouthed, ‘Thank you, we’ll speak properly later. ’

  The women stood for their customary rendition of ‘Jerusalem’.

  ‘And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England’s mountains green . . . ’

  Frances felt a sudden swell of pride. The joy on the upturned faces as the women’s voices rose, singing as one, never ceased to move her. For a time, when she and Joyce had been at loggerheads over the running of the branch, several of the members had stayed away. Now it was clear that any rift there once had been was truly healed, the women again united in a common cause.

  ‘. . . Till we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land. ’

  As Frances began to address the meeting, the chatter in the room fell silent. ‘It’s wonderful to see such a good turn-out,’ she said. ‘As you know, ladies, we’re facing a new challenge on the domestic front. ’ She gazed around the room. ‘Clothes rationing has been introduced, something none of us much likes but must simply get used to. ’ There were one or two murmurs. ‘It is not the worst thing in the world, admittedly, but it is still a source of inconvenience for many when times are already hard enough – especially those with children, who do seem to grow at a somewhat alarming rate. ’

  Frances knew this well enough from Noah, who was always rapidly outgrowing his clothes. It seemed to happen almost overnight. A perfectly good shirt or a pair of shorts were suddenly too small and in need of replacing. Everyone she spoke to assured her that all children were the same. She had mentioned it in passing to Claire, her housemaid, who had once worked for Joyce, only to find herself out of a job after voting for Frances in preference to her employer as chair of the WI. Frances had swiftly taken her on. Claire was young, in her early twenties, and Frances was fond of her. She was hard-working and eager to please and had made an excellent job of letting down the hem on a pair of Noah’s shorts. She must have said something to her husband Spencer, Great Paxford’s postman, who approached Frances a day or two later with a suitcase containing some of his own old childhood clothes.

  ‘My mother was in the habit of keeping what she called my Sunday best outfits,’ he said, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘Said they might come in handy when I had children of my own. She hung onto everything. Some of it looks good as new. I’ve gone through what there is and sorted out a few things that might do for Noah. ’ Among the ‘few things’ was some of the most exquisite knitwear Frances had ever seen. A great deal of work had clearly gone into making the sweaters with their complicated cable patterns. She was greatly touched. ‘You must keep them,’ she had said, but Spencer was adamant. Noah, who worshipped Spencer, was much taken by the idea of wearing clothes that had once been his.

  Frances concluded by saying, ‘I’m going to let Pat explain what we thought we might do. ’

  Pat thanked Frances and stood up. She ’d made a few notes so that she wouldn’t forget anything, but as she looked around the hall, she felt a sudden attack of nerves. She slowly rested her papers on the table so that no one would see that her hands were shaking.

  It was the first meeting she had been to following Bob’s death, and she suspected that at least some of the members might view her return as rather premature. Several were on the conservative side and no doubt held very particular ideas regarding what constituted appropriate behaviour while mourning. Her decision to throw herself back into the WI so soon and with such enthusiasm – not even having the grace to take a back seat – would, she suspected, lead to some criticism.

  Joyce, seated near the front, gave her an encouraging smile. Joyce could be a formidable opponent and Pat felt fortunate knowing she was on her side. A few rows behind, Gwen Talbot was scowling. Pat looked down at her notes.

  ‘I think it’s best if I get straight down to business,’ she said. Then she stopped. She had intended on talking only about the project ahead of them, not mentioning her own situation, or making reference to Bob. And yet, she knew not everyone here was well disposed towards her. She took a deep breath. ‘But before I do,’ she said, ‘I wanted to thank you all for the kindness you’ve shown me in these last difficult weeks. ’ She hesitated, seeking to take the temperature of the room. ‘Without my friends in the WI, I wouldn’t feel able to be here tonight. ’ She aimed a grateful nod at Joyce. ‘The support and understanding each and every one of you has shown means a great deal to me, more than I’m able to put into words. ’ She looked at Gwen Talbot, whose scowl had been overtaken by a look of surprise. ‘I wanted to let you know how extremely grateful I am. ’ Several of the women murmured their approval. Pat glanced at Frances, who nodded at her to continue, while Sarah mouthed, ‘Well done. ’

  She knew that not everyone would approve of her, but she could only do what she felt to be right. There would always be people willing to find fault in the actions of others, no matter what. Having spent so many years trying and failing to win Bob’s approval, she knew better than anyone that, sometimes, trusting in your instincts was all you could do. It felt right to be here tonight, making a contribution, rather than shutting herself away to mourn a man who had done all he could to rob her of any chance of happiness.

  She took a deep breath and began outlining the plans for her sewing classes and the ‘Fashion on the Ration’ extravaganza.

  Chapter 14

  A

  FTER THE MEETING, ALISON walked home with Teresa and went inside for a cup of cocoa. ‘How long have you known?’ she asked, as Teresa warmed milk in a pan.

  ‘A little while. ’ Three months, almost. ‘I woke up one morning feeling horribly sick, thinking I must have eaten something that disagreed with me, and then it dawned on me I might actually be pregnant. ’ Teresa smiled. ‘It was a bit of a shock, to tell the truth. We’ve always talked about wanting a family, but I suppose I hadn’t imagined it would happen quite so soon. ’ Teresa hesitated. ‘I’m not ready, Alison. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. ’

  ‘You’ve time to get used to the idea. When’s the baby due?’

  ‘In the New Year. ’

  ‘Nick must be thrilled. ’

  Teresa laughed. ‘You should see him. Thrilled is putting it mildly. He’s utterly, completely overjoyed. He’s counting down the days. It’s all he talks about. We’ve already been discussing names, even though it’s ages off. ’

  Alison nodded. ‘Do you want a boy or a girl?’

  Teresa smiled. ‘A healthy child, that’s all I care about. Boy or girl, I won’t mind a bit. ’ The milk started to rise in the pan and she whipped it off the heat and poured it into cups. ‘I’m
still getting used to the idea, in all honesty. A baby! Me! I always thought that motherhood was out of reach, something that happened to other women. ’ She glanced at Alison. ‘You know very well why I never thought of it as something I ’d experience. Without you, steering me in a direction I ’d otherwise never dreamed of taking, I suspect my life would have been very different. Less fulfilling, perhaps. I wouldn’t be with Nick, married with a child on the way. ’

  ‘All I did was offer some encouragement. ’

  ‘You did so much more than that. ’

  They sat in silence for a moment. ‘And Nick – he’s still flying?’ Alison asked.

  ‘They need all the fighter pilots they can get, he tells me. ’

  ‘But haven’t the bombing raids all but stopped now? Has that not made a difference?’

  ‘I hoped it would. I prayed that things would go back to how they were before, with Nick on the ground co-ordinating things – but he’s still going up. They all are – and pilots are still being lost. Don’t ask me about the ops, Nick won’t say. The Germans might have given up bombing our cities, but it doesn’t seem to have got any better as far as I can make out. ’

  ‘This war,’ Alison said sadly. ‘We’ll all of us come through it changed. ’

  ‘As long as we emerge intact. ’ Teresa sipped at her drink, deep in thought for a moment. ‘That’s my news, anyway. Now, tell me yours. How are things with John?’

  Alison sighed, not sure where to begin. ‘Well, he arrived the other day with a dog he ’d found wandering the bomb sites in Liverpool. Half-starved little mite, lost-looking. Probably been through all sorts. He wants me to look after it. ’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t very gracious about it. ’