There’s Always Tomorrow

Putting Elizabeth John’s letter in his lap, Reg unfolded the yellow sheet of paper. It was another letter, written with a child’s hand, complete with a couple of ink stains on the page.

Dear Father,

I hope you are well. I am well. I went to MULOORINA with Mrs Unwin in her truck. We ate ice cream. I am nearly nine. I can count up to 500. That’s all for now.

Your ever loving daughter,

Patricia.

Patricia … Reg leaned back on the orange box and closed his eyes. A letter from Patsy. He liked Patsy better. His stomach was churning, the way it always churned when he was nervous. An old ITMA joke slipped between the sheets of his memories. ‘Doctor, Doctor, it really hurts when I press here.’ ‘Then don’t press it.’ He’d have to stop thinking about the past. It only made him angry. Put it out of your mind and get on with it. That’s what the screw had told them. He’d bloody tried but he couldn’t. It was the guilt mainly. He never told anyone, but sometimes he did feel bad about what happened. He felt a draught in the back of his neck and turned his head sharply, afraid that someone was standing behind him, but he was quite alone. He re-lit his cigarette and forced himself to relax.

Lifting the envelope, he put the letter back inside. Something weighted the corner. He tipped it upside down and a small photograph fell onto the workbench. Just one look at that mop of blonde hair and it was obvious why she was called Sandy. She was standing outside a bungalow. It was a sunny day and there were some funny-looking flowers growing beside the door. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform. Her hair was loose and cut short. He couldn’t make out the detail of her face – the camera was too far away – but she was holding a bundle in her arms. Bloody hell. This must be Patsy.

He was aware of his heart thudding in his chest. His mouth had gone dry. How long he stared at the small photograph he never knew. What did the kid look like now? He squinted at the bundle. Tom Prior, weedy as he was, was the father of twins and stepfather to the three others from Mary’s first husband. He always made jokes about Reg and the lead in his pencil. If everyone thought this was his kid, he’d have no trouble from now on.

In the beginning, he’d been quite pleased to get Dot. She wasn’t a bit like the sort of woman he was used to but she was all right. He’d never gone in for all that soppy stuff, but until he’d met Dot, he’d never had a virgin either. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He’d tried to get her to do what he wanted, but she wasn’t having any of it. Yet she was desperate for a kid, even wept about it sometimes. She was careful not to do it in front of him but he’d heard her in the scullery. He didn’t even want her now. Since the old aunt died, she bored him.

The more he thought about being a father the more he liked it. The word sounded good. He was somebody’s dad. He had a daughter. Patricia. A nice name, Patricia, but he still preferred Patsy.

I have left everything to you … With a bit of luck Elizabeth Johns was well off when she died. For all her wealth, bloody Aunt Bessie hadn’t left him a bean. Well, this could be the big one. The only problem was Dot. She might not take too kindly to having his kid around. He didn’t want her to rock the boat so he’d have to play this one carefully. Plan it all out. And when he’d won her round, he’d have a nice little nest egg. After that, the future would sort itself out.

He opened the drawer again and took out his favourite photograph. The woman smiled up at him, her back arched and tits thrust out. She was better than Diana bloody Dors any day. He squeezed his crotch again. Right now he needed someone like her. Just the thought of her made his pulse race. She’d give him what he wanted … and more … He ran his tongue along her naked body and then shoved the photograph back in the drawer.

Taking another drag on his cigarette, Reg pulled out a writing pad and cleared a space on the worktop. For once he didn’t have to word his letter carefully in case other people read it first. All the same, he didn’t want anyone to start asking awkward questions. Licking the end of the pencil, Reg began to write.

Five

Dottie didn’t finish at the house until late. She was worn out. All she wanted to do was to get home and put a bowl of warm water on the kitchen floor to soak her poor tired feet. She was just about to set off for home when Dr Fitzgerald came into the kitchen.

‘A marvellous day, Dottie.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you seen my wife?’

‘I believe she’s gone upstairs to lie down.’

‘And you’re off home?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘There’s really no need,’ Dottie protested. She rolled the plate scrapings in newspaper for the pig and put it into the shopping bag.

‘Oh, but I insist,’ said the doctor. ‘It’s starting to rain again.’

They drove in silence, but this time Dottie didn’t feel very comfortable. The doctor seemed tense. He stared at the road ahead and his back was very straight. He’s probably driving like that because he’s had too much to drink, she thought, but it gave her little comfort. The only sound in the car was the whoosh, whoosh of the windscreen wipers.

He pulled up outside her place and as he put the handbrake on his hand brushed her leg. She gathered her shopping bag, anxious to get out of the car as quickly as possible. ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she said curtly.

‘Allow me,’ he said reaching across her to open the passenger door. Their hands met on the door handle and he pressed himself against her. ‘Oh, Dottie,’ he said huskily. ‘Dottie.’

Dottie was both shocked and surprised. ‘Dr Fitzgerald!’ she cried as his other hand squeezed her thigh gently.

‘Just a kiss,’ he was pleading. ‘One little kiss.’

His face was right in front of hers and his mouth was open. She could smell his whisky-soaked breath. She turned her head away and dug him in the ribs with all her might. Her bag fell to the floor and everything spilled out. ‘Get off me,’ she hissed. ‘How dare you!’

The wipers were still going and through the windscreen she could see the curtain in Ann Pearce’s bedroom moving. They didn’t get many cars in their street so obviously the sound of a motor drawing up had brought her to the window. The doctor accidentally touched the car horn and the loud and sudden noise seemed to make him come to his senses.

‘Oh God …’ he began. ‘Mrs Cox, I’m sorry …’

As he slumped back in his seat, Dottie scrambled to get out of the car. The door swung open and the light went on. As she stepped into the road, she looked up. Ann let the curtain drop, but Dottie knew she’d seen everything. Breathless and still panicking, she ran up the path. Behind her, the doctor’s car turned around in the road and drove off into the night.

She burst through the back door into the darkened kitchen and slammed it behind her. Thank God, Reg must still be at the pub. Heaven only knows what he’d do if he found out. Putting her head back, she leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Dirty old man …’

‘Dot?’

She jerked open her eyes and jumped a mile high. She swung round to see a dark shape in the chair. Dottie put the back of her hand to her mouth and let out a small cry. She fumbled for the switch by the door and the room was flooded with light. It was Reg. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and as he rose to his feet, the only thing that registered in her mind was the deep frown on his forehead.

‘What the hell happened? You look as white as a sheet.’

Dottie felt herself sway slightly. She hadn’t expected Reg to be sitting here in the dark. She wished now that she hadn’t put on the light. She must look a right mess.

‘Dot?’ he said again.

She felt her mouth open but nothing came out. She was shaking. He was going to be angry with her, she knew he was. She never should have accepted the lift. And yet she’d been in the doctor’s car hundreds of times and he’d never so much as looked at her. Not in that way, anyway.

He came slowly towards her. She still had enough of her wits about her not to tell Reg what had happened. He was the type to do something stupid and face the consequences later.

‘What’s that all over your skirt?’ he accused.

She glanced at her clothes. Lumps of half-eaten wedding cake and salad cream hung from her dress and she had a big blob of egg on her stocking.

‘I … I …’ she faltered and swayed again. She felt sick. Whether it was the sight of the pig food or the memory of what had happened she wasn’t sure. The room was going round and round.

He grabbed at her arm and she flinched.

‘Come and sit yourself down,’ he said kindly. ‘You’ve obviously had a shock.’

Now she was bewildered, confused. Doctor Fitzgerald’s actions were hard enough to deal with, but it was a long time since Reg had been so considerate.

‘Did something frighten you?’ He had his head on one side and was looking at her for an explanation.

‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Yes, that’s it. Someone came up behind me and I dropped the bag of pig food.’

‘Pig food?’