enough to go to grammar school. As he stood there twitching for an answer, she guessed why he’d come. There was obviously some hitch back at the house and he’d run all the way, keen to do an errand regardless of whether he might get a sixpence for his trouble. He was a good boy, Billy Prior. Conscientious. Just the sort of son any mother would be truly proud of.
‘She says it’s a pair of teef that you come,’ Billy ventured again.
Puzzled, Dottie repeated, ‘It’s a pair of … Oh!’ she added with an understanding grin, ‘you mean it’s imperative that I come?’
‘S’right,’ he nodded.
‘You can go back and tell Mrs Fitzgerald I’ll be there directly.’
‘If you please, Auntie Dottie …’ Billy began again, as she turned to go back indoors. ‘Mrs F said it was urgent.’
Dottie’s fingers went to her lips as she did some quick thinking. Should she leave a note on the kitchen table and go back with Billy? Her mind raced over the preparations she’d already made for the wedding party taking place the next day. Everything was under control; she’d left nothing to chance. Whatever Mariah Fitzgerald wanted, it couldn’t be anything serious. Dottie smiled to herself. People like her always needed to feel in charge. To Mariah, any slight hitch seemed like a major disaster. Dottie looked down at Billy’s anxious face and her heart went out to him. ‘Has there been a fire?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see an ambulance at the house?’
Billy frowned. ‘No.’
‘In that case, Billy,’ she said, ‘the message is the same. Tell them I shall be there directly.’
Billy sniffed and wiped the end of his nose with his hand, palm upwards. He seemed rooted to the spot.
‘Off you go then.’
He turned with a reluctant step. ‘It’s urgent,’ he insisted.
‘I know, I understand that. It’ll be all right, Billy. I promise I will come as soon as I can.’
She watched him go back down the path, worried in case he walked too near the old disused well. Even though Reg had put a board over the top, and weighted it down with a stone, she didn’t like anyone walking too close.
Billy’s shoulders slouched, so as he reached the gate she called, ‘Just a minute, Billy.’
He turned eagerly, obviously expecting her to run all the way back with him. Instead, she went back inside and reached up onto the mantelpiece where Reg kept his Fox’s Glacier Mints in a tin. She took it down and looked inside. There were still plenty. She’d filled it up the day before, but he’d been busy last night so most likely he hadn’t had time to count them yet. Should she risk it? He could so easily fly into one of his rages if she touched his things. She could hear Billy kicking the doorstep as he waited anxiously, scared of getting into trouble. Should she? Yes … she’d take a chance. She went back to the door and held the tin out in front of the child. ‘A sweetie for your trouble.’
Billy’s face lit up. By the time he’d reached the gate again, the treat was already in his mouth.
‘And don’t throw the paper on the floor,’ Dottie called after him. She chuckled to herself as she watched him quickly change the position of his hand and slide the paper into his pocket.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck five. She’d better get a move on. Reg would be back home soon, another ten minutes or so. If she had to go back to the doctor’s house, she’d be there half the night. She’d better tidy up her sewing and shut up the chickens right now. Reg would see to the vegetables after he’d had his tea. With all the rain they’d had lately, they might not even need watering. According to the wireless, 1951 had seen the coldest Easter for fourteen years, the coldest Whitsun for nine years and, with the height of summer coming up, things didn’t look so promising for that either. Everybody grumbled and complained – everyone except Reg. He didn’t seem to be too worried.
‘All this rain is good for the celery,’ he said. ‘And it’ll help keep down the blackfly on the runner beans. Save me buying Derris dust this year.’
Dottie folded away the pink sundress she was working on and put it in her sewing box. The potatoes were beginning to boil. As she grabbed a handful of chicken feed from the tin by the back door, she turned down the gas and hurried down the garden.
Dottie had lived in their two-up-two-down cottage on the very edge of the village for eleven years. At sixteen, she’d come to live with her Aunt Bessie and now, nearly two years on from Aunt Bessie’s tragic death, she lived here as Reg’s wife. She smiled as she recalled her wedding day. How handsome he’d been in his uniform. He’d been so nervous, his hands had trembled as he put the ring on her finger. If she had been tempted to practice philosophy, Dottie would say that in life some are the haves and others the have-nots and, despite the sadness of the past, she was still one of the haves. She had come from nothing and now she had a nice little home, good health and – if she was careful – Reg was all right … Apart from the times when his horrible moods got on top of him, and he couldn’t help that, could he? What was it Aunt Bessie always used to say to her? ‘You make your bed and you must lie in it.’
She opened the gate leading to the chicken run and closed it behind her, calling as she went. The chickens clucked contentedly around her ankles, clearly recognising her position as provider.
‘Chick, chick, chick …’
She opened the door of the henhouse and threw in the seed. Most of the hens scrambled inside straightaway. She had only to coax a few stragglers to go in before she closed and locked the door. They were still noisy and agitated, but they’d soon roost on the perches and quieten down. Satisfied that all was well, Dottie turned back to the house. She saw that Reg had arrived and was putting his bicycle into the shed. Her heart beat a little faster. He had lost some weight since his illness but he still had his good looks and his hair was still as black as jet. She paused, waiting to see what kind of mood he was in.
‘Got the tea ready?’ he said cheerfully.
With a quiet sigh, Dottie relaxed. Thank God. He was in a good mood tonight.
‘Of course,’ she smiled.
‘What are you grinning about?’
She punched the top of his arm playfully. ‘Just pleased to see you, that’s all, silly.’
Something flickered in his eyes and she knew she’d gone too far.
‘Oh, silly, am I?’
Her heart sank and she chewed her bottom lip anxiously. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Reg.’
As she brushed past him, he grabbed her left breast and pushed her roughly against the back door. His other hand was already up her skirt, his fingers pressing into her bare flesh above her stocking top. His breathing became quicker as, with one deft movement, he undid her suspender. She felt her stocking slip. As his urge became more acute, he pressed his body against her and she heard a crinkling paper sound coming from her apron pocket. Her heart almost stopped. She still had his letter! Her mind went into overdrive. He mustn’t know. Please, please don’t let him feel it. Please don’t let him ask, ‘What’s that noise … What have you got in your pocket?’
