Pam Weaver - For Better For Worse

Henry had once accused her of being dippy and said that she wouldn’t be able to cope without him. Well, she’d proved him wrong, hadn’t she? She may not have such a grand house, but she’d kept a roof over their heads and the girls knew they were loved.

‘I take it that it didn’t go well,’ said Peter cautiously.

‘It didn’t,’ Sarah said. The only sound in the lorry was the hum of the engine.

‘I won’t pry,’ he said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road, ‘but just to let you know, if ever you want to talk …’

‘Thank you, Mr Millward,’ she said stiffly. ‘You’re a kind man.’

‘Peter, please.’

‘Peter,’ she said shyly.

And with that, he left her to her own thoughts for the rest of the journey. The minute Henry had pushed her and the girls out of the door, Sarah’s hopes and dreams had been finally dashed. In her haste to get away, she had tripped over a metal bath full of washing and fallen onto the path. Poor little Jenny was distraught. Sarah had hauled herself to her feet and, ignoring the graze on her leg, limped away, her only thought to get her children as far away from Henry as possible. For the first time since it happened, she became aware of a throbbing in her leg. She glanced down and in the headlights of a passing car, she caught sight of a dark stain creeping down her leg. Her stocking was shredded.

‘Do you need to stop and sort that leg out?’ said Peter.

‘No, I’ll be all right,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll wait until I get home.’

Jenny had already leaned into her mother’s side and promptly fallen asleep. Lu-Lu was dead to the world in her arms and although Sarah was dog-tired, she couldn’t sleep. Her brain was racing. Lu-Lu was far too young to understand, but how would her gentle Jenny survive knowing that the daddy she adored had no time for her now? How could he be so heartless and cruel? Sarah kissed the top of her daughter’s neatly plaited head. ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ she whispered to her sleeping child. ‘From now on, I promise to protect you. He may not want you, but Mummy loves you to bits.’ And, she thought to herself, Mummy will never let you down.

*

Mrs Holborn left soon after she’d put the hot-water bottle in the bed, making Annie promise to lock the door when she’d gone. The suitcase stood accusingly in the hallway as Annie wearily climbed the stairs. She would unpack it in the morning. As she undressed and crawled into bed, she wondered vaguely where Henry had been planning to take her. She turned out the lamp. It was lovely and warm between the sheets but already she missed Henry’s bulk beside her. Oh Henry … where are you now? They must let you come home soon. Her silent tears were making her pillow damp. She turned it over and closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind wouldn’t stop going over and over what had happened. When she finally drifted away, her last thought was of him. I need you, Henry. I simply can’t have this baby on my own.

Annie woke up with a thumping headache but there was no time to feel sorry for herself. Two aspirin with her cup of tea would have to suffice. By 9.15 a.m. she was already walking down New Street. She didn’t have a plan but she knew she had to do two things: one, to make sure Henry was all right; and secondly, to find a solicitor. As she reached the bus stop, a Southdown bus pulled up to let someone off. Annie climbed aboard. There was no room on the lower deck so she went upstairs, and how providential that turned out to be. As the bus turned towards the Carfax, she spotted a sign engraved on a first floor window. D.C. West, Solicitor and Commissioner of Oaths. Annie got off at the next stop.

The entrance was in between a café and a greengrocer’s shop and up a steep flight of stairs. A door at the top was open and Annie found herself in a small office. A woman behind the desk was typing but she stopped as soon as she saw Annie.

‘Can I help you?’

Annie stated her business and the secretary asked her to wait. She knocked on the glass of another door and a rather squeaky voice called ‘Enter.’

Mr West turned out to be an amiable man with a jolly face and a bald head. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit and when he offered her a handshake, she could see he had well-manicured fingernails. The first thing he did was to ask his secretary to bring some tea. As soon as she left the room, Annie started to explain what had happened when suddenly Mr West put up his hand.

‘Before I begin my consultation,’ he smiled, ‘I’m afraid I must ask you for two guineas up front.’

Annie swallowed hard. Two guineas? There wasn’t even a pound in the emergency jar and that was all she had. She had already eaten into the ten bob note when she’d seen the posh woman. Henry kept all their money in the bank.

‘My husband handles all our affairs,’ she faltered.

‘The balance can wait until the case is cleared,’ Mr West said, ‘but I need something on account.’

Annie opened her purse and, keeping back a florin, tipped five shillings onto the desk. ‘I’ll bring the balance tomorrow,’ she said firmly.

‘Two guineas,’ Mr West insisted. He leaned back in his chair and studied her face.

Annie stood up, moving slowly and exaggerating her bulk. ‘Then I’ll have to go home and fetch it,’ she sighed.

‘Perhaps …’ he began as she headed for the door, ‘er … um … in view of your condition, I could make an exception.’

‘Thank you,’ said Annie, lowering herself into the chair again.

For the next few minutes, she told her story and Mr West took everything down.

‘Do you have your wedding certificate with you?’

Annie shook her head. Ever since she got on the bus she’d had a feeling she should have brought it with her, but it was still in Henry’s drawer.

‘Bring it when you come back with the balance,’ said Mr West, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. ‘Like you say, I’m sure this is all a silly misunderstanding. Leave it to me, Mrs Royal.’

‘Next.’

The receptionist at the Old Town Hall was a tight-lipped woman with a severe hairstyle and a lazy eye. A young woman with a small child on her hip walked to the desk and began speaking in hushed tones. Annie, who was next in the queue, had been directed there from the police station after the desk sergeant had explained that Henry had been sent to the magistrate’s court which was held in the Old Town Hall. It was so annoying. If they had told her that straight away, she would have been here a lot sooner, but instead they had kept her waiting in a bare room for twenty minutes and then a detective had asked her a lot of questions. Had she seen the other Mrs Royal before that day? Did she know Mr Royal had been married before? Where did she meet Mr Royal? How long had she known him? The questions went on and on.

The young woman moved away from the desk and the receptionist called a second time, ‘Next.’

Annie explained that she had come here to see Henry. She addressed one eye before realising that the woman was actually looking at her with the other. It was most disconcerting and even more so when the woman told her she was already too late to see Henry.

‘Mr Royal has already appeared before the magistrate and is now in the cells,’ she said, lifting her head. ‘Next.’

Annie was aware of other people behind her in the queue but she hadn’t finished yet. ‘In the cells?’

‘He’s been sent for trial at the next Lewes Assizes,’ the woman said curtly. ‘And before you ask, no I’m afraid you can’t see him. Not in here anyway. Next.’

‘But how long will it be before the trial?’ Annie asked. A man shuffled towards the desk.