Pam Weaver - A Mother’s Gift

‘Dot?’ he said again.

She felt her mouth open but nothing came out. She was shaking. He was going to be angry with her, she knew he was. She never should have accepted the lift. And yet she’d been in the doctor’s car hundreds of times and he’d never so much as looked at her. Not in that way, anyway.

He came slowly towards her. She still had enough of her wits about her not to tell Reg what had happened. He was the type to do something stupid and face the consequences later.

‘What’s that all over your skirt?’ he accused.

She glanced at her clothes. Lumps of half-eaten wedding cake and salad cream hung from her dress and she had a big blob of egg on her stocking.

‘I … I …’ she faltered and swayed again. She felt sick. Whether it was the sight of the pig food or the memory of what had happened she wasn’t sure. The room was going round and round.

He grabbed at her arm and she flinched.

‘Come and sit yourself down,’ he said kindly. ‘You’ve obviously had a shock.’

Now she was bewildered, confused. Doctor Fitzgerald’s actions were hard enough to deal with, but it was a long time since Reg had been so considerate.

‘Did something frighten you?’ He had his head on one side and was looking at her for an explanation.

‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Yes, that’s it. Someone came up behind me and I dropped the bag of pig food.’

‘Pig food?’

‘Mrs Fitzgerald gave me the plate scrapings for the pig, but I dropped them.’

‘Who came up behind you?’ he demanded. ‘Did you see him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said touching her forehead with her hand. She felt something cold and gooey; looking at it, she saw, she’d got pig food on her hand as well.

‘I saw an old tin full of tea on the windowsill today,’ he snapped. ‘Have you been feeding that bloody tramp again?’

‘No!’ she began. ‘Well … yes, but I’m sure it wasn’t him.’

‘I’ve told you before not to give to them scroungers,’ said Reg. ‘Let them work for their bloody living, like I have to.’ He snatched up the poker.

‘What are you doing?’ Dottie cried out, horrified.

‘You stay here,’ he said as he ran outside.

‘But it’s raining!’ she called after him. ‘He’ll be gone now.’

But Reg was in no mood to listen. For one heart-stopping second she thought the poker might be for her but now he’d gone off in search of the tramp. Thank God the street was empty.

She got up wearily from the chair and put the bowl on the table. There was a little hot water in the kettle so she poured it in and began to wash herself. The fingers on her left hand were swollen and painful from when Doctor Fitzgerald had pressed them against the door handle. Although she knew he was long gone, she still trembled. What on earth had possessed him? It was so unexpected.

As she washed off the pig food, she pondered what to do. She couldn’t say anything to Mrs Fitzgerald. The woman probably wouldn’t believe her anyway. He was the village doctor, for heaven’s sake, and besides, Mariah Fitzgerald wouldn’t tolerate even the smallest whiff of scandal. She’d give her the sack for sure and that would have a knock-on effect. If she wasn’t good enough for the doctor’s wife, most likely her other employers would ask her to leave as well. And there was no way she could tell Reg what had really happened either. She’d have to think up some yarn for when he got back indoors. And then there was Ann Pearce. She must have recognised the doctor’s car. What if she told Reg? Dottie’s heartbeat quickened. No, she told herself, she wouldn’t. There was no love lost between those two. They weren’t even on speaking terms. Ann had been living with another man when Jack came back home and Reg was so angry about it, he’d reported her to the welfare people as an unfit mother, an accusation which was totally unfounded but which caused a great deal of heartache. For a time, Ann had been the subject of gossip and innuendo in the village.

‘She’s doing the best she can,’ Dottie told him but Reg made no secret of his dislike.

Reg reappeared at the back door. He was holding the soggy newspaper with the remains of the pig food inside. ‘I found this in the hedge just up the road a bit,’ he said. ‘I reckon the tramp must have fancied it and come up behind you. You running off like that, must have scared him. Obviously he didn’t want the law on him so he ran off.’

She gave him a faint smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re right, Reg. That’s it. That’s what must have happened.’ It seemed safe enough to blame the tramp. He never came near the cottage when Reg was there anyway. The doctor must have thrown the pig food into the hedge as soon as he’d turned the car around.

‘You sit yourself down, love,’ Reg was saying, ‘and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

He lifted the bowl of dirty water and took it outside to throw over the garden while Dottie plonked herself down in the easy chair. Reg was making her very nervous. She couldn’t face it if he wanted her tonight but he got so angry if she let him lose the urge when it came. Somehow or other, no matter what she did or didn’t do, he lost it every time, and then he’d get angry.

When he came back, she watched him busying himself with making her a cup of tea. Why was he being so nice? It should have been lovely being spoiled, but she couldn’t relax. It wouldn’t last. As sure as eggs is eggs, there would be a payback time.

Reg was in a good mood when he arrived back home for Sunday lunch. Dottie was busy carving the joint but he put his arm around her and gave her a beery kiss on the cheek. ‘That smells good.’

‘Sit yourself down,’ she smiled.

He belched in her face. ‘You’re bloody marvellous.’

She felt disgust at his crudity and yet a glow of pride at his compliment. It wasn’t often Reg said something nice to her. The people round here thought Reg a good sort, helpful and friendly. Good job no one saw what went on behind closed doors.

‘It wouldn’t be half as nice without your wonderful vegetables,’ she said modestly.

The meal, roast lamb, mint sauce, new potatoes and runner beans, with gooseberry fool to follow, was Reg’s favourite. They ate with the radio on and Two-Way Family Favourites and the Billy Cotton Band Show in the background.

‘I was talking to Jack Smith in the pub,’ said Reg as he made for his armchair and the Sunday paper. ‘I told him we ought to do something while the weather’s nice.’

‘Did you, Reg?’ Dottie hid her smile. So, Peaches had done it. She’d invited him on the outing.

‘The weather might have picked up by Saturday.’

‘About time we had some good weather,’ said Dottie putting the kettle on for some tea. ‘What shall we do?’

‘How about a trip to the seaside?’

‘Ooh, Reg,’ she cried, enjoying the pretence. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘I reckon we could all get in that lorry of his,’ Reg went on. ‘You and Peaches will be all right in the back with Gary, won’t you?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘but Peaches is pregnant’, but she knew he’d be annoyed – perhaps even change his mind. ‘Of course we will.’

‘I’ve offered him some petrol money,’ said Reg, settling down for a doze before he read the papers. ‘You’d better get round to Mary Prior’s to talk about the sandwiches.’ He yawned. ‘She’s coming too.’

Dottie hummed to herself as she did the washing up. An outing. How exciting! She hadn’t been on an outing since … since … well, she could hardly remember. It must have been before Reg came back home. Things were definitely on the up. Everyone needed a bit of cheering up. This year’s harvest had only been fair to middling and the August bank holiday had been a total wash-out with torrential rain. The papers said it was the worst on record and what with the train crash at Ford which killed nine people and injured forty-seven the Sunday before, a general air of gloom hung over the village.