For Better For Worse

Annie fingered the lacy pattern. It was so soft, so snowy white, just perfect for her baby.

‘How long have you got now?’ asked Mrs Holborn.

Annie put her hand over her bump. ‘Two and a bit months. It’s due in the middle of November.’

‘About the same time as the royal baby then,’ Mrs Holborn grinned. ‘I wonder which one of you is going to be the first to tie the good news on Buckingham Palace gates?’

Annie chuckled. The whole country was already excited about the forthcoming birth of the Princess Elizabeth’s first child, and King George VI’s first grandchild. The papers had gone quiet since the announcement and the princess hadn’t been filmed or photographed since the summer, but everyone knew the baby was due in November.

‘Did you notice that woman was back?’ said Mrs Holborn suddenly. ‘She was waiting across the road again this morning.’

A feeling of unease wrapped itself around Annie’s stomach. ‘What woman?’

‘Attractive, well dressed. She looked as if she was worth a bob or two,’ Mrs Holborn went on. ‘I saw her hanging around a couple of weeks ago.’

Annie frowned. ‘Is she still there then?’

The two women, their eyes locked, stood up together. They walked quietly to the sitting room and, standing well back from the window, scanned the street, but there was no sign of her. Annie was secretly relieved. She had no idea who the woman was, but it was a bit disconcerting having her outside the house.

‘The car’s gone too,’ said Mrs Holborn, sounding surprised.

‘What car?’

‘I saw her heading towards a car at the other end of the road,’ said Mrs Holborn.

‘She must have been waiting for someone,’ Annie remarked.

‘Maybe,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘I get the feeling that she’ll be trouble.’

‘Ah well, thank goodness she’s not there now,’ said Annie, steering her back to the kitchen.

Three (#ulink_6759fba5-f5cb-57af-8e0f-686061ae7231)

On Thursday afternoon, Annie washed up her cup and saucer and wiped the draining board. Her jobs were all done, the house was spotless and the ironing basket was empty. What on earth was she going to do for the rest of the day? Once the baby came there would be plenty to think about, but right now, with no friends living nearby, she was bored, bored, bored. If only one of her friends from Worthing would answer her letters. She wrote nearly every Sunday and Henry posted them on his way to work, but it was as if she faced a wall of silence. A glance through the window told her that the rain was holding off, so she decided to go for a walk. Maybe she’d take a sandwich, buy herself a magazine and sit in the park for a while.

Annie put on her swagger coat and sensible shoes. She decided against an umbrella, but she took a ten bob note from the emergency jar. She wouldn’t spend it all of course, but she might buy something from the shops … some chocolate or maybe an ice cream. Surely Henry wouldn’t object if she treated herself now and then? Feeling suddenly daring, she kicked off the sensible shoes and reached for her high heels. She hadn’t worn them for ages but they did make her feel more feminine. Just because she was pregnant, she didn’t have to be a complete frump, did she?

Annie had no problem finding a seat in the sunshine. Earlier in the month when they’d held the Horsham Festival and the fairground rides were there, you could hardly put a pinhead between the people on the grass, but there were few in the park today.

It was a lovely place. If she had been with Henry and she wasn’t pregnant, they might have gone to the outside swimming pool or played a game of miniature golf followed by cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea at the park café. Today, she’d bought a quarter of coffee crunch for Henry and had been daring enough to buy a naughty cake. She settled down to eat it. Henry would have been annoyed if he’d seen her. ‘Eating in the street?’ he would’ve said. ‘How slovenly,’ but for the moment, she didn’t care. She bit into the sponge and the imitation cream tickled her nose. Delicious. Her magazine was enjoyable too and she was soon engrossed in a story about an actress who felt miscast as a housewife (oh, how she sympathised), when a shadow fell across the page. When Annie looked up, the elegant woman she’d seen in the street the day of Henry’s birthday was standing right in front of her. Immediately her pulse rate shot up and the baby kicked inside of her.

‘Excuse me. Is your husband Henry Royal?’

The woman’s voice was soft and well educated and yet she didn’t appear to be at all toffee-nosed. All the same, Annie didn’t want to talk to her. Snatching up her magazine, Annie stuffed it into her bag. She didn’t know why but this woman was unnerving her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the woman. ‘No, no, don’t get up. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Who are you?’ Annie challenged. ‘And what do you want with my husband?’

The woman made as if to speak and then seemed to change her mind. As she moved her arm, a waft of expensive perfume filled the air. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’ she said softly. ‘Somewhere a little more quiet. A café or some tea rooms?’

Annie’s heart was bumping as she looked the woman up and down. She was older than she was; mid-thirties or perhaps more. She was dressed in orange and brown. Her hair under her lopsided burnt orange hat was curled, but it looked natural rather than a permanent wave. Her complexion and make-up were flawless. She wore an orange and white spotted blouse underneath the jacket of her brown suit, which had a long line pencil skirt ending way beyond the knee. Her dark brown suede court shoes sported a neat bow on the front. She wore elbow-length gloves which matched her hat and she carried a lizard-skin clutch bag. The woman was polite enough and her voice was gentle but somehow Annie didn’t want to hear what she had to say. ‘I can’t stop now,’ she blurted out. ‘I have to get home and get my husband’s tea.’

‘You’re pregnant,’ the woman said as Annie pulled her coat around herself. She sounded a little surprised.

‘Yes I am, but I don’t see what business that is of yours,’ Annie said haughtily.

‘It makes things a little more difficult,’ the woman conceded, ‘but I still need to talk to you.’

‘Not now. Not today.’

In the distance, the town hall clock struck the half hour. ‘It won’t take long and it is rather important.’

‘I have to go,’ said Annie, wishing she’d worn the sensible shoes now. Hurrying in high heels which she hadn’t worn in ages was not a good idea, but she couldn’t bear to be near the woman a second longer. Annie didn’t look back as she hurried away. She was shaking inside and she’d gone most of the way home before she’d managed to calm down. Thankfully the woman hadn’t followed her.

As she turned the corner of the street, there was an ambulance outside Mrs Holborn’s and when a stretcher came out of the house, she saw Oswald, pale-faced and with sunken cheeks, under the blanket, blinking up at the sky. He looked terrible and Mrs Holborn was crying. Annie didn’t have time to say anything to them but she did stop to give her neighbour an encouraging smile before the ambulance doors were closed on them both. As it roared away, she somehow knew that was the last time she would ever see Oswald Holborn. The woman in the park had shaken her up, but her discomfort was nothing compared to what poor Mrs Holborn was going through.

When she got indoors, Annie hid her shoes at the back of the cupboard and put the radio on full blast. Henry didn’t like a lot of noise, but Annie wanted to shut out the memories of Oswald’s pain-filled face and every trace of that woman in the park. The one thing she couldn’t stop were the questions reverberating around in her head. Who was that woman? Why did she keep coming back and what did she have to do with Henry?

Before long the potatoes were peeled and the cabbage ready in the pan. Tonight Annie was going to cook lamb chops as a special treat. She had just laid the table when there was a sharp rap at the back door. Her neighbour, Mrs Holborn, must be back from the hospital already. ‘Come on in,’ she called.

The door opened and a woman she’d never seen before stepped into the kitchen. Annie jumped and gasped in disbelief. Now what? Her first thought was that the woman was a gypsy, perhaps selling pegs or lucky heather, but a more considered look told her this woman was no gypsy. How strange, and what were the odds against two completely different women accosting her on the same day? She was just about to shout at her and threaten her with the police when she noticed she had two little girls with her – one was in her mother’s arms while the other leaned against her body.

Annie felt her blood run cold. ‘Who are you? What do you want? My husband will be here at any minute,’ she said, hoping to frighten the woman away.

‘Your husband?’ Sarah sneered.

Her words seemed to hang in space. Annie put her hand protectively over the baby under her floral apron. The woman stared at her bump and Annie held her head high.

‘You don’t know, do you?’ said the woman. ‘You haven’t a clue.’

‘Don’t know what?’ said Annie, doing her best to sound in control of the situation.

‘Henry Royal isn’t your husband,’ said the woman, the words tumbling out. ‘My name is Sarah Royal. I’ve never been divorced, so you see Henry can’t be your husband – because he’s still mine.’

A deafening silence crept between them. Annie, still holding the salt and pepper pots ready to put on the table, was conscious that she was staring at this stranger with her mouth open. Clearly she must be quite mad. She’d got Henry mixed up with somebody else. In a couple of weeks it would be their wedding anniversary. A year ago, they had had a proper wedding with a registrar and witnesses. And wasn’t her marriage certificate in the drawer? Her husband came home every night and was with her every weekend so how could he possibly have another wife and family? As the silence deepened, the smaller child wriggled in her mother’s arms to get down. Her mother put her onto the floor and straightened up again.

‘I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible mistake,’ said Annie, taking a deep breath and willing herself to stay calm. She continued with putting the condiments on the table and tried to sound firm yet gentle. It was obvious that the poor woman must be deluded. Annie had heard of things like this before. The war had only finished three years ago and there were stories in the papers all the time about women who still believed their husbands were coming home even after they’d been officially informed to the contrary. Annie chewed her bottom lip. ‘Please,’ she began again. ‘I know you are upset but I really must ask you to go. My husband …’

They all heard a key turn in the front door and a blast of cold air propelled the kitchen door open and tugged at the tea towel hanging over the back of a chair. Annie and the woman stood facing each other, their eyes locked. At the same moment Henry called, ‘Darling, I’m home.’

The older child beamed. ‘Daddy!’ she cried and as she darted towards the hallway, her mother grabbed her arm. ‘No Jenny, wait.’

‘But that’s Daddy,’ she cried. ‘I can hear him.’

Annie’s stomach went over. She looked down at the girl. She was about six years old with light brown hair done up in plaits. Her pinched face had an earnest expression. She was clean and tidy but thin and pale. Her coat was far too small for her. The sleeves ended above the wrists and the buttons strained across her middle. It barely reached her knees. The other little girl looked about eighteen months old.

Henry’s heavy footsteps echoed along the passageway. ‘Didn’t you hear me call, darling? I’m home.’