There’s Always Tomorrow

‘But I want a family of my own!’ she blurted out.

Reg leapt to his feet and struck her across the mouth. Dottie tasted blood as her lip split under the force of his blow. ‘Maybe this is the closest you’re going to get,’ he snarled. ‘I can do it with a real woman, but I can’t do it with you. I can’t do it in this house. Doesn’t that tell you something? Eh?’

Dottie leaned against the dresser, utterly crushed.

‘We’re going to get my baby over here,’ Reg said sitting back down again with the photograph, ‘and we’re going to be a real family. Me, Patsy and you.’

Dottie opened her mouth but no sound came out.

He turned and glared at her again. ‘That’s why I don’t want you going near that Gary see? I can’t have my Patsy getting polio.’

Ten

‘You’re very quiet today, Dottie.’

Janet Cooper, Dottie’s Monday and Tuesday employer, gave her a concerned look as she filled the kettle for their afternoon break.

Dottie had been miles away. She couldn’t get the events of the previous weekend out of her mind. Worried about little Gary and upset by Reg’s revelations and rantings, she had gone about her work as quickly and as quietly as she could. She hadn’t stopped for her mid-morning break, neither had she stopped to eat the sandwich Janet had prepared for her as she closed the shop for the lunch hour. Dottie didn’t want to be drawn into a conversation in case she said something she might later regret. She was glad today was Monday and not Tuesday. Dottie helped in the shop on Tuesdays and it was easy to be drawn into long conversations between customers. Janet loved a little gossip. Starved of excitement in her own life, she thrived on the misfortunes of others and had a clever way of weeding juicy bits of gossip out of someone, no matter how reluctant the person might be to part with them. Had it been Tuesday, Dottie would have told her about their day in Littlehampton and little Gary’s illness and, before the day was over, it would have been all over the village. Fine if Peaches told friends and neighbours, but Dottie didn’t want people to hear it from her lips first.

Janet cut across her thoughts again. ‘I see Ellen Riley’s daughter is on the bottle again.’

Dottie gave her a quizzical look.

‘There was a definite bulge in her coat pocket when she came into the shop this morning,’ said Janet, clearly enjoying her tasty morsel of gossip. ‘Want a biscuit with your tea?’

Dottie shook her head and wished Janet a million miles away.

‘It’s the kids I feel sorry for,’ Janet went on. ‘If you can’t be a responsible parent, you shouldn’t have children, that’s what I say.’

Dottie switched off. Monday was the day she cleaned the Cooper house from top to bottom. Upstairs, she changed the beds, hoovered the rooms and dusted. Then she’d come down and spend the rest of the morning putting the dirty sheets in the washing machine. You had to stand over it when everything went through the wringer, but it was a great help and if the weather was kind she would end the day by ironing the same sheets she had changed in the morning.

With the washing on the line, the afternoon was spent cleaning and dusting downstairs. It was one of her heaviest days and yet with the weight of everything on her mind, she hardly noticed the time passing.

She’d been up early that morning. Reg was still in bed when she’d left for the Coopers. After another outburst about not seeing Gary the night before, she had poured him his usual cup of tea in the morning, but instead of making sure he was awake, she’d crept upstairs, being careful not to disturb him. She’d left the tea on the bedside table. He’d groaned and rolled over when she put the cup down and she’d panicked, but she stood very still and almost immediately he’d begun to snore again. Dottie hurried downstairs and out of the house. She didn’t want … couldn’t face talking to him again. Why did she always take him a cup of tea anyway? It had started when he first came home. He was ill then. He was fine now. Well, he could get his own tea from now on, she told herself defiantly.

All day long she’d gone over and over the things he’d said and she was surprised to realise that, for the first time in her whole life, she resented the idea of looking after someone else’s child. If Patsy was already eight, there was no way she could pretend the child was hers. What was she going to say to the people in the village? She hated the thought of everybody talking behind her back.

‘Of course, you know that poor Dot Cox can’t have any children.’

Dottie bristled at the thought of being an object of pity.

‘Can’t blame a man for wanting his own child, can you?’ they’d say.

And what about the child? When she had been conceived, she and Reg were already married. Everyone would know he’d been with another woman. War or no war, what sort of a man goes with another woman within a year of his marriage? What did that say about her? And what about the child herself? Poor little thing. She didn’t ask to be born, did she?

‘Dottie …’ Janet said.

Dottie frowned. She refused to feel sorry for the child. Why should she? But while she was ironing, she found herself wondering what she looked like. Reg had black hair but only out of a bottle to hide the grey. The woman in the picture was fair. She imagined Patsy all peaches and cream, a little Shirley Temple with pretty blonde curls, who smelled of talcum powder and Gibbs toothpaste. Dottie folded and shook a sheet viciously and banged the iron down on it. She had to stop doing this. She didn’t want her. She didn’t want Reg’s kid. She wanted her own child. And another thing, why should he rant and rave on like that, expecting her to like the idea? She’d be nothing more than an unpaid servant. She was his wife, for goodness’ sake. Why should she open her home to his … his bastard!

‘Dottie!’ Janet Cooper’s voice brought her abruptly back to the present. ‘You’ve ironed that sheet to death. Sugar in your tea?’

‘Er, no. I’m sorry,’ Dottie said. ‘I was miles away.’

‘So I see,’ smiled Janet. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘I was wondering …’ Dottie began hesitantly, ‘would it be possible for me to go early today?’

Janet Cooper looked at the clock. Normally her cleaner left at four. It was now ten to three. She frowned. Dottie didn’t usually ask favours but she’d have to be careful. Give these people an inch … the last thing she wanted was Dottie taking liberties.

‘I came in at eight instead of nine,’ Dottie pointed out, ‘and I haven’t taken any breaks.’

Janet hesitated. ‘Is it Reg?’ she asked.

Dottie chewed her bottom lip. She didn’t like telling lies but she could see by her face that Janet Cooper needed a good reason to let her go. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh my dear, why didn’t you say so? Of course you must go. We can’t do too much for those of our brave boys who came back. Yes, put the rest of that ironing away and off you go.’

Fifteen minutes later, Dottie, feeling somewhat ashamed and guilty, was hurrying to the next village. Durrington was easily a mile and a half away and she decided not to catch the bus that stopped outside the shops. She didn’t want anyone from the village telling Reg they’d seen her catching the bus. It was a bit of a rush, but she was fit and knew she could do it.

‘How was the trip to Littlehampton, Reg?’

Marney handed him a chipped enamel mug of tea. Reg was acting as ticket collector today, although there were few passengers on a weekday afternoon. He put the steaming mug to his lips and slurped in a mouthful of tea. ‘Not bad.’

‘Kids enjoy themselves?’

‘Reckon so.’

‘The wife wanted me to take her over for the torchlight procession and the fireworks,’ Marney went on, ‘but our Jean and her hubby came by. We all got chatting and then it was too late. Was it good?’

‘We were back before 8.30,’ said Reg. ‘Mary’s boy wasn’t looking too clever, so Peaches and Jack took him to the doc’s.’

‘Shame,’ said Marney. ‘All right now, is he?’

‘Suppose so,’ Reg shrugged.

‘A bit of a fuss about nothing, I expect,’ Marney observed. ‘It usually is where kids are concerned.’

Reg grunted.

‘Still,’ Marney ploughed on, ‘I expect Dottie enjoyed herself.’ Reg gave him a puzzled look. ‘Well, the girls like a bit of a get-together, don’t they? Have a bit of a chat and a laugh. It does them good.’

They could hear the 3.32 in the distance and Marney turned to go. The door of the ticket office clicked shut behind him, leaving Reg alone on the platform. He frowned. Another day out? Oh, no. Of one thing he was perfectly sure, he wasn’t going to be putting up with another day like that in a hurry. He only agreed to it to butter Dottie up. Well, enough was enough. From now on, Dottie would have to understand that her place was in the home, not gadding about with the likes of Peaches and that fat cow Mary.

As the 3.32 was pulling onto the platform of West Worthing station, Dottie was heading into the Isolation Hospital.

‘Visiting hours are 2 to 2.30,’ said the sister haughtily as Dottie arrived. The clock hanging on the wall behind her said a damning 3.25.

Her heart sank. ‘But I couldn’t possibly come then,’ she said. ‘Please let me see him. Just for a moment.’