Hello! Here are all the chapters for this week, I hope you have a really good weekend. In that same week, Frances found herself outside St Mary the Virgin Church in Chain Street. Elizabeth Adams had died in her sleep. Frances had dressed carefully that morning; she knew that most of the dignitaries of the town would be there, and also that Hugh’s wife Lavinia would probably attend. Frances thought it was kind of Celia to send a note inviting her. She had told her family that she was going, and they had gone quiet, waiting to see what Martha’s reaction would be. Martha eased the atmosphere by saying she was pleased she was going as she had been there for Frances when she needed her. She said nothing about how Elizabeth had treated her. Frances loved this church in Chain Street, with its chequer-board tower at one end and its pointed medieval windows down the sides. She idly admired its facade, until at last she came to the entrance, where she saw a man and a woman talking to the vicar. The woman was Lavinia Cawston and then she realised that the man standing next to her must be Hugh. Only it wasn’t Hugh, it couldn’t be Hugh, in Frances imagination he was still twenty-two, childlike, carefree and joyous. Who was this man, all broken down, lined and spent? Frances wanted to cry there and then, she felt betrayed. All those years she had spent going over and over in her mind the day she would meet Hugh again, it was not meant to be like this, and he was not meant to look like that. It was all spoiled. Frances felt someone squeeze her arm before she had a chance to escape. ‘Frances, where are you going?’ Celia came from behind and blocked her path. ‘I have to go home, I’m sorry for your loss.’ Frances tried to barge past, but Celia was too quick, she stood squarely in front of her. ‘What is it?’ Celia caught the direction that Frances kept glancing in. ‘Hugh?’ Celia was stunned. Surely Frances hadn’t been pining for him since the last war? ‘No, I just feel a bit giddy, that’s all.’ This time Celia let her pass, experiencing pity at last for the girl she had looked down on and eventually resented. Now all she saw was a middle-aged woman, parched and withdrawn, a life wasted. Celia sighed; it was a hell of a time for her to develop a conscience. She composed herself before entering the church. ‘I’m worried about you girl,’ said Bernard, suspended above the armchair where Frances was sitting mending Ronald’s trousers. ‘We all are.’ Martha and George came across to her too. ‘It’s been a difficult time for you, what with Ronald’s loss and Elizabeth leaving too,’ said Martha kindly. She stood closer to her daughter and put out her hand, intending to tidy up her hair and frustrated that she couldnt. ‘I’m fine Mother, don’t disturb yourself.’ Frances kept her head down; the unusual gesture her mother had just made touched her deeply, she was afraid that if she did look up, she would cry forever. ‘He’s still the same inside you know, just a little bruised,’ Lida commented. Martha, George and Bernard looked at her angrily; feeling it wasn’t the right time to discuss Hugh. ‘Who are you talking about?’ Oh, it was silly of Frances to think they didn’t know about Hugh, but it was her own private affair, her secret craving. ‘Lida, she doesn’t want to talk about that, is there anything we can do to help?’ It was wonderful to have her mother’s support yet again, and Frances was cheered by it. ‘I’m fine; really, I do feel a bit guilty that I’m not contributing more to the war effort though.’ ‘But you have the lad!’ Arthur blustered in, followed by his wife. ‘Yes I know but in the last war, I got out and mixed more and volunteered. It was nice.’ ‘You could go out for a little while surely, it would do you good!’ Frances noticed that her Uncle Bernard hated upset as much now as he had in his old life, but he obviously didn’t see it as an affliction that needed ironing out, maybe because he liked his own solution. His hand automatically went into his waistcoat pocket and produced a small flask of rum. ‘No, no I couldn’t, I like to be here to keep an eye on things.’ ‘You’re a good girl, Frances.’ George looked at his daughter with love and admiration and Frances bathed in his attention; it was as nourishing as a plate of food. CHAPTER TWELVE Frances joined the queue for Geary’s the butchers on the Crown Colonnade, London Road, half way down De Beauvoir Road. As her own road was just off of this, it crossed her mind that if things got any worse, she might end up joining the queue outside her own home. ‘Frances!’ Frances turned to see a lumpy, scruffy woman with red hair and a face to match; she was waving at her from the other side of the road. ‘I haven’t seen you in a good while!’ The woman crossed over the road to her, and as she came nearer, Frances saw the remnants of a beautiful, vibrant Irish girl that she used to know. ‘Geraldine?’ Frances tried to hide her dismay at her appearance. ‘Didn’t recognise me, did you? That’s what six kids does for you!’ ‘You haven’t changed that much,’ Frances said politely. ‘Yes I have but there we are, there’s nothing to be done about it.’ Geraldine eyed Frances up and down. ‘I can see by your figure you haven’t had a family!’ ‘No, it wasn’t to be.’ Frances lowered her head, almost in shame. ‘But you did marry that Alfie, didn’t you?’ Geraldine rearranged her undersized dress to cover her body as best she could. ‘No, I didn’t marry him or anyone else, but I do see him, he never married either.’ ‘That’s a terrible pity, especially with the two of you on your own.’ ‘I’m happy as things are, really.’ ‘That Adams woman ruined us all in her own way, didn’t she? I see she died, well, she had a good long life, unlike…’ Geraldine’s face clouded as she shuffled along beside Frances. ‘That was a long time ago,’ Frances interrupted, wishing she hadn’t bumped into Geraldine. Before the war, she could slip out for her shopping and rarely meet a soul she knew. ‘That doesn’t change what happened, if it wasn’t for Elizabeth Adams I would have had a different life, I’m sure of it. Now look at me! A drunken bum for a husband, too many kids and well, I don’t have to tell you about suffering.’ Geraldine looked at her with understanding and laid her hand on her arm. Frances was shocked by the warmth and solace her touch gave her. ‘I get by,’ said Frances quietly, but she didn’t pull away from Geraldine. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Ronald seldom talked of his mother, but he kept a picture of her in his trouser pocket and Frances was always careful to take it out and keep it safe when she washed his clothes. She tried to make Christmas a jolly affair by asking Alfie over for dinner and organising games, but it all felt brittle and pointless, and all three of them were happy when the tradition was over and they could go back to working through life in their own way. January 1940, brought little to celebrate either, but Alfie decided to take Ronald to the pantomime to cheer them both up. He didn’t bother asking Frances, he knew she wouldn’t come. They walked to the bus stop, each step lighter than the last, both looking forward to having some much needed fun. ‘Have you ever been to a pantomime before Ronald?’ ‘No, I was going to go once when I was seven but mum said the tickets had fallen out of her pocket when she was out. She’d had a skinful you see, and she was always losing stuff when she was pie-eyed.’ Alfie quickly glanced at Ronald to see if there was any sign of this event having been a traumatic moment for him but he looked perfectly at ease. ‘What’s going to happen to me when the war finishes?’ ‘Well, I…’ Alfie rubbed the back of his neck; he liked Ronald a lot, but he wished he didn’t just come out with things, it was very awkward. ‘Will I have to stay with Frances till I’m grown up?’ ‘I shouldnt think so; do you have any relatives, any family?’ ‘You mean ones that are alive?’ ‘Yes, yes.’ Alfie wished they were already at the theatre, where they would have to stop talking, but they had only just arrived at the bus stop on the London Road. ‘I think I have an auntie who lives by the seaside.’ ‘Which seaside?’ ‘The one that’s on the end of the land.’ ‘You don’t have an address then?’ ‘No, of course I haven’t, I’ve never met her and she had a fallout with Mother and Gran, so they didn’t know the exact place she lived either.’ ‘Do you want to stay with Frances?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Ronald looked thoughtful as he mulled over the idea. ‘She treats you well, doesn’t she?’ ‘Yes, she’s been much kinder since Mother and Granny got killed.’ ‘There you are then; it wouldn’t be such a bad option.’ ‘And I have gotten used to the ghosts.’ Ronald was warming to the idea. ‘You don’t want to think about that.’ Alfie grew uneasy again. ‘Theyre not scary ghosts, so dont worry about that! Frances lets me stay up a bit longer now because she feels sorry for me, she forgets I’m still up and then she talks to her family as if I’m not there, and from what I can make of it, they dont say anything bad.’ ‘You still can’t see the ghosts yourself?’ He eyed the boy carefully; either he was just putting up with Frances’ madness or she had made him an accessory to her shenanigans. ‘No I cant, but do you want to know something funny?’ Alfie didn’t answer, dreading to think what the boy was going to say next. ‘When the ghosts are around, Frances changes into another lady.’ ‘Is that right?’ Alfie felt colder than the penetrating January weather was already making him feel. He hunched down into his jacket, the join between his flesh and that of his wooden leg was beginning to chafe, and he wished the trolley bus would hurry up. ‘And who is this lady?’ Alfie asked, kicking himself for his morbid curiosity. ‘A happy lady!’ Ronald told him triumphantly. At last the bus arrived, and Ronald was too taken up with events along the route to talk any more. They trundled towards the town centre, and Ronald was more than occupied watching the bustle of shoppers and armoured vehicles and troops and wardens covering up road signs to confuse the Huns, should they make it as far as Reading. Alfie was left in peace to ponder, not for the first or last time, the goings-on in the Clarke household.
Posted on: Fri, 24 Oct 2014 19:59:15 +0000
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