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.’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules,’ said the sister. She began to walk away.
‘Sister, his mother isn’t able to come because she’s expecting,’ Dottie called after her. ‘She’s relying on me to help her out. I’ve been at work all day and I’ve had no meal breaks whatsoever in order to make sure I could get here to see Gary. Please. I can’t let his mother down.’
The sister pursed her lips and gave Dottie an irritated frown. ‘This is most irregular,’ she sighed. ‘The child has only just stopped crying. I’m not sure that a visit will be in his best interest.’
‘I would hate him to think we’ve abandoned him.’
The sister gave Dottie a long hard stare. ‘Very well.’
Dottie smiled with relief. ‘Thank you, Sister.’
‘But only five minutes and it mustn’t happen again.’
‘Of course. I understand,’ said Dottie. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s making progress,’ said the nurse. ‘Hopefully we can start his rehabilitation with the other children by the end of the week.’ She pointed down the ward. ‘He’s down there, next to the girl in the iron lung.’
Dottie hurried down the ward. In daylight, the ward seemed even gloomier than she’d remembered from the Saturday before. The dark green and cream paintwork was pretty cheerless and some of the tiles on the walls were cracked and chipped. But at least somebody had made an effort: although the curtains at the windows were dark blue and faded at the edges, the curtains on the screens that went around the beds had bright nursery rhyme pictures on them.
There seemed to be few toys. Of the children who were sitting up in bed, some were reading comics and others simply stared at her as she walked down the ward. One
