An Independent Woman

Julia, still pleasantly muzzy from the champagne, wondered why it was that the best man had had the time to say goodbye to her. If he’d gone with the Professor, then surely the Professor could have found the time to do the same? She would think about that when her head was a little clearer.

Life had to be reorganised now that Ruth had left home; they missed her share of the housekeeping, but by dint of economising they managed very well.

Until, a few weeks later, Monica came into the house like a whirlwind, calling to Julia to come quickly; she had news.

George had been offered a parish; a small rural town in the West country. ‘Miles from anywhere,’ said Monica, glowing with happiness, ‘but thriving. Not more than a large village, I suppose, but very scattered. He’s to go there this week and see if he likes it.’

‘And if he does?’

‘He’ll go there in two weeks’ time. I’ll go with him, of course. We can get married by special licence first.’ Then she danced round the room. ‘Oh, Julia, isn’t it all marvellous? I’m so happy…!’

It wasn’t until later, after they had toasted the future in a bottle of wine from the supermarket, that Monica said worriedly, ‘Julia, what about you? What will you do? You’ll never be able to manage…’

Julia had had time to have an answer ready. She said cheerfully, ‘I shall take in lodgers until we decide what to do about this house. You and Ruth will probably like to sell it, and I think that is a good thing.’

‘But you?’ persisted Monica.

‘I shall go to dressmaking classes and then set up on my own. I shall like that.’

‘You don’t think Oscar will come back? If he really loved you…?’

‘But he didn’t, and I wouldn’t go near him with a bargepole—whatever that means.’

‘But you’ll marry…?’

‘Oh, I expect so. And think how pleased my husband will be to have a wife who makes her own clothes.’

Julia poured the last of the wine into their glasses. ‘Now tell me your plans…’

She listened to her sister’s excited voice, making suitable comments from time to time, making suggestions, and all the while refusing to give way to the feeling of panic. So silly, she told herself sternly; she had a roof over her head for the time being, and she was perfectly able to reorganise her life. She wouldn’t be lonely; she would have lodgers and Muffin…

‘You’ll marry from here?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but very quietly. We’ll go straight to the parish after the wedding. There’ll be just us and Ruth—and Thomas, if he can get away. No wedding breakfast or anything.’ Monica laughed. ‘I always wanted a big wedding, you know—white chiffon and a veil and bridesmaids—but none of that matters. It’ll have to be early in the morning.’

Monica’s lovely face glowed with happiness, and Julia said, ‘Aren’t you dying to hear what the vicarage is like? And the little town?You’ll be a marvellous vicar’s wife.’

‘Yes, I think I shall,’ said Monica complacently.

Presently she said uncertainly, ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Julia? There has always been the three of us…’

‘Of course I’ll be fine—and how super that I’ll be able to visit you. Once I get started I can get a little car…’

Which was daydreaming with a vengeance, but served to pacify Monica.

After that events crowded upon each other at a great rate. George found his new appointment very much to his liking; moreover, he had been accepted by the church wardens and those of the parish whom he had met with every sign of satisfaction. The vicarage was large and old-fashioned, but there was a lovely garden… He was indeed to take up his appointment in two weeks’ time, which gave them just that time to arrange their wedding—a very quiet one, quieter even than Ruth’s and Thomas’s, for they were to marry in the early morning and drive straight down to their new home.

Julia, helping Monica to pack, had little time to think about anything else, but was relieved that the girl who was to take over Monica’s job had rented a room with her: a good omen for the future, she told her sisters cheerfully. Trudie seemed a nice girl, too, quiet and studious, and it would be nice to have someone else in the house, and nicer still to have the rent money…

She would have to find another lodger, thought Julia, waving goodbye to George’s elderly car and the newly married pair. If she could let two rooms she would be able to manage if she added the rent to the small amounts she got from the greetings card firm. Later on, she quite understood, Ruth and Monica would want to sell the house, and with her own share she would start some kind of a career…

She went back into the empty house; Trudie would be moving in on the following morning and she must make sure that her room was as welcoming as possible. As soon as she had a second lodger and things were running smoothly, she would pay a visit to Ruth.

A week went by. It was disappointing that there had been no replies to her advertisement; she would have to try again in a week or so, and put cards in the windows of the row of rather seedy shops a few streets away. In the meantime she would double her output of verses.

Trudie had settled in nicely, coming and going quietly, letting herself in and out with the key Julia had given her. Another one like her would be ideal, reflected Julia, picking up the post from the doormat.

There was a letter from the greetings card firm and she opened it quickly; there would be a cheque inside. There was, but there was a letter too. The firm was changing its policy: in future they would deal only with cards of a humorous nature since that was what the market demanded. It was with regret that they would no longer be able to accept her work. If she had a batch ready to send then they would accept it, but nothing further.

Julia read the letter again, just to make sure, and then went into the kitchen, made a pot of tea and sat down to drink it. It was a blow; the money the firm paid her was very little but it had been a small, steady income. Its loss would be felt. She did some sums on the back of the envelope and felt the beginnings of a headache. It was possible that Oscar was behind it… She read the letter once again; they would accept one last batch. Good, she would send as many verses as she could think up. She got pencil and paper and set to work. Just let me say on this lovely day…she began, and by lunchtime had more than doubled her output.

She typed them all out on her old portable and took them to the post. It would have been satisfying to have torn up the letter and put it in an envelope and sent it back, but another cheque would be satisfying too.

The cheque came a few days later, but still no new lodger. Which, as it turned out, was a good thing…

Thomas phoned. Ruth was in bed with flu, could she possibly help out for a day or two? Not to stay, of course, but an hour or two each day until Ruth was on her feet. There was a bus, he added hopefully.

It meant two buses; she would have to change halfway. The hospital wasn’t all that far away, but was awkward to get to.

Julia glanced at the clock. ‘I’ll be there about lunch-time. I must tell Trudie, my lodger. I’ll stay until the evening if that’s OK.’

‘Bless you,’ said Thomas. ‘I should be free about five o’clock.’

Trudie, summoned from a horde of toddlers, was helpful. She would see to Muffin, go back at lunchtime and make sure that everything was all right, and she wasn’t going out that evening anyway. Julia hurried to the main street and caught a bus.

The house was close to the hospital, one of a neat row in which the luckier of the medical staff lived. The door key, Thomas had warned her, was under the pot of flowers by the back door, and Julia let herself in, calling out as she did so.

It was a very small house. She put her bag down in the narrow hall and went up the stairs at its end, guided by the sound of Ruth’s voice.

She was propped up in bed, her lovely face only slightly dimmed by a red nose and puffy eyes. She said thickly, ‘Julia, you darling. You don’t mind coming? I feel so awful, and Thomas has to be in Theatre all day. I’ll be better tomorrow…’

‘You’ll stay there until Thomas says that you can get up,’ said Julia, ‘and of course I don’t mind coming. In fact it makes a nice change. Now, how about a wash and a clean nightie, and then a morsel of something to eat?’

‘I hope you don’t catch the flu,’ said Ruth later, drinking tea and looking better already, drowsy now in her freshly made bed, her golden hair, though rather lank, it must be admitted, neatly brushed. All the same, thought Julia, she looked far from well.

‘Has the doctor been?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Dr Soames, one of the medical consultants.

Someone is coming with some pills…’

Thomas brought them during his lunch hour. He couldn’t stop, his lunch ‘hour’ being a figure of speech. A cup of coffee and a sandwich was the norm on this day, when Professor van der Maes was operating, but he lingered with Ruth as long as he could, thanked Julia profusely and assured her that he would be back by five o’clock. ‘I’ll be on call,’ he told her, ‘but only until midnight.’

‘Would you like me to keep popping in for a few days, until Ruth is feeling better?’

‘Would you? I hate leaving her.’

He went then, and Julia went down to the little kitchen, made another hot drink for Ruth and boiled herself an egg. Tomorrow she would bring some fruit and a new loaf. Bread and butter, cut very thin, was something most invalids would eat.