Freda Lightfoot - Home is Where the Heart Is

Born in Lancashire, FREDA LIGHTFOOThas been a teacher and a bookseller, and in a mad moment even tried her hand at the ‘good life’. A prolific and much-loved saga writer, Freda’s work is inspired by memories of her Lancashire childhood and her passion for history. For more information about Freda, visit her website: www.fredalightfoot.co.uk

Historical Sagas

LAKELAND LILY

THE BOBBIN GIRLS

THE FAVOURITE CHILD

KITTY LITTLE

FOR ALL OUR

TOMORROWS

GRACIE’S SIN

DAISY’S SECRET

RUBY MCBRIDE

DANCING ON

DEANSGATE

WATCH FOR THE

TALLEYMAN

POLLY’S PRIDE

POLLY’S WAR

HOUSE OF ANGELS

ANGELS AT WAR

THE PROMISE

MY LADY DECEIVER

The Luckpenny Series

LUCKYPENNY LAND

WISHING WATER

LARKRIGG FELL

Poorhouse Lane Series

THE GIRL FROM

POORHOUSE LANE

THE WOMAN FROM

HEARTBREAK HOUSE

Champion Street Market Series

PUTTING ON THE STYLE

FOOLS FALL IN LOVE

THAT’LL BE THE DAY

CANDY KISSES

WHO’S SORRY NOW

LONELY TEARDROPS

Women’s Contemporary Fiction

TRAPPED

Historical Romances

MADEIRAN LEGACY

WHISPERING SHADOWS

RHAPSODY CREEK

PROUD ALLIANCE

OUTRAGEOUS

FORTUNE

Biographical Historical

HOSTAGE QUEEN

RELUCTANT QUEEN

THE QUEEN AND THE

COURTESAN

THE DUCHESS OF

DRURY LANE

LADY OF PASSION

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Also by Freda Lightfoot

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

Endpage

Copyright

1945

Cathie gave a squeal of joy as she read the letter that had arrived that morning. ‘Alex is coming home!’ she cried. She’d waited so long for this news she couldn’t quite believe it. It must be nearly two years since she’d last seen her fiancé and now the war was over he’d be home for good, at last. She quickly scanned the letter again to make sure she’d read it correctly. ‘He says he hopes to be home by Christmas.’

There was no one to hear her exciting news except for the baby, bouncing up and down on her chubby little legs in her cot, holding fast to the rail and giving a happy gurgle as if to echo Cathie’s delight.

Gathering the child in her arms, Cathie screwed up her nose and chuckled. ‘I think you need changing, sweetie.’ But even as she smiled into the baby’s soft blue eyes, her own filled with tears. ‘Oh, I do wish your mummy was here, and your daddy, of course. It’s so desperately sad that you’ll never get to know or love them. I shall tell you all about them as you grow, of course. Particularly Sally, my dear sister, who loved you so much, and was very much a part of my life.’

At least a baby did not experience the pain of grief that she had suffered, Cathie thought, as she laid the infant on a towel-covered table to strip off the wet nappy and set about cleaning her plump little bottom.

What a dreadful war it had been. First her sister had lost her beloved husband, who’d gone down with his ship in August 1944 when it had been sunk by a U-boat. Tony had never even learned his wife was pregnant, let alone seen his child. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her mind flew back to that dreadful day, barely a month after the birth of her beautiful daughter, when Sal had gone with her friend Rose to the Gaumont Cinema on Oxford Road to see Judy Garland in Meet Me in St Louis. Cathie might well have accompanied them, but somebody needed to stay home and look after the baby. She’d happily volunteered for the task as she hoped the film might lift her sister’s depression. Still enveloped in grief, Sal had been in desperate need of an afternoon out.

Cathie had been happily sitting feeding little Heather with her bottle when the door had burst open. She’d glanced up with a smile, fully expecting to see her sister now that dusk was falling. Instead, she saw their mother standing rigid, her face as white as a ghost.

‘She’s gone.’

Cathie recalled how something inside her had jolted as she’d stared in shock at Rona. ‘Who has?’

‘Our Sal.’

Her memory became a blur after that, as a cold numbness came over her. Cathie had felt strangely detached. Everything went silent, even the sound of children playing in the street, and the odd passing car or motorcycle. It was as if she was standing outside of herself, watching as she gently set down the baby’s bottle and patted little Heather’s back to settle her tummy while the horror of what Rona was saying slowly penetrated.

It seemed that on their way home the driver had lost control on the icy roads and the bus had tipped into an old bomb crater, killing many on board, including her beloved sister.

Now the pain of her loss resonated afresh as, staring out of the window, Cathie watched two young women walking arm-in-arm past the bomb-damaged houses opposite, laughing and chattering. The pair reminded her so much of how she and Sal used to step out together, whether as young girls trotting off to school, or grown women going shopping or to a dance together. So many treasured memories.

The sad irony was that they’d come close to death many times during this last six years with constant air raids on the nearby railway, warehouses, wharfs and canals, and once when their own house had been bombed. A terrifying incident that Cathie still fiercely blocked from her mind.

The effects of war could be devastating and so long lasting.

Cathie stopped this train of thought in mid-track. To lose her beloved sister was bad enough, but for it to happen just as the war was coming to an end was even more heartbreaking. Sal’s death had left a huge hole in her life that nothing and no one could ever fill. It felt as if a part of her too had died as well as their family having been decimated.

Blinking back tears as she smoothed talcum powder over the baby’s soft skin and began to pin on a fresh nappy, Cathie’s heart was swamped with love and pity for her niece. With scarcely any family left, what kind of future could this little one be facing?

Not that they’d had much of a family to begin with, their father having left home while both girls were very young. And their mother, Rona, was not an easy woman. Cathie felt she’d endured a dreadful childhood: a selfish mother with a string of lovers and an absentee father whom she hadn’t seen in years. Sal had been the one person to give her the love she’d so badly needed. Cathie certainly had no wish for little Heather to suffer a similar fate. And who else was there to care for the poor child but herself? A responsibility she’d accepted without question.