Pam Weaver - For Better For Worse

There was a pretty amethyst brooch in the shape of a flower. It was in a blue box, the kind her father used in the shop. Henry must have been saving it for her for when the baby came.

The papers were completely incomprehensible, a neatly folded pile which looked as if she’d need the services of someone like Mr West to decipher them. There was one marked Southern Rhodesia Tobacco Company, which looked like it had something to do with shares belonging to Grenville Hartley. She also found a life policy in her name with the SunRise assurance company, the house insurance and her wedding certificate. She had known about the SunRise assurance company because the man came once a month for the premium.

The photographs were of Henry with another woman. Should she tell the police about that? Henry was much younger and in swimming trunks. He stood next to the woman who was wearing a one-piece bathing suit. She had a long cigarette holder in her hand and her hair was tied up in a white turban. She seemed vaguely familiar although Annie knew she’d never met her. Perhaps she was a film star? She certainly could have passed for one with her slim figure and long legs. Annie didn’t recognise the beach but it looked hot and sunny. They were both laughing and looked so happy that Annie couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, but she would keep that to herself no matter what. The other photographs were of people unknown to her; a man in a deck-lounger in a field and another of Henry standing next to the same man with the woman, this time without her turban. There was something written in pencil on the back of one of the photographs. ‘Priory Road, Chichester, August 1927.’ Having looked at them for some time, Annie decided that the unknown man was probably the woman’s husband and that they were friends of Henry’s from before she knew him.

Annie remembered feeling uncomfortable and a little bit angry as well. This was a part of Henry’s life that she knew absolutely nothing about. Who were these people? Had they died in the war? Were they relatives or just friends? Why hadn’t he told her about them? Pushing the photographs back into a pile, she’d wiped a renegade tear away from her cheek and stood up. The bank book had been a pleasant surprise. It was in their joint names and there was a healthy £500/14/6 in the account. £500! She couldn’t believe her luck. This, she had felt sure, would keep her very well until Henry was released. Of course, she would use it frugally, but it did mean she could travel to Lewes by train to see Henry as often as she wanted. A wave of relief had swept over her. Everything was going to be all right after all.

Considering that the lock on the drawer was already broken, she tucked the wedding certificate, the brooch and the bank book into her handbag for safekeeping and put everything else back into the drawer.

It didn’t take her long to get ready to go back into town. She had planned to take the wedding certificate to Mr West as soon as she had drawn some money from the bank. She’d never actually written a cheque before but she had seen her father do it hundreds of times. She’d handed it to the cashier who’d studied it for a few seconds and then stood up. ‘If you will excuse me Mrs Royal, I have to check something with the manager.’

Annie was puzzled. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, yes,’ the cashier assured her, ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He’d left the counter for a few minutes and came back with the bank manager. The manager was very polite as he asked her to step into his office. Annie thought it a little odd, but as they were both being so pleasant, she didn’t dream anything was amiss.

‘Is this your bank book?’ he’d asked. Annie sat opposite him at the desk.

‘Mine and my husband’s,’ Annie smiled pleasantly. ‘My husband has had to go away on business and I need a little cash.’

‘I see,’ said the manager. He was turning the book over and over in his hands. ‘I was a little concerned because the signature in the book and your signature are different.’

Annie returned his gaze. ‘My husband usually draws our money.’

‘This book hasn’t been used for ten years,’ said the manager, ‘and to be perfectly frank, I don’t believe it’s yours. You’ve stolen it.’

Annie leapt to her feet. ‘That’s not true!’ And at the same time a policeman walked into the office. The two men conferred together while she protested her innocence, but it was no use. She had been asked to accompany the policeman to the station, which was a few doors away and where she now waited. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. How much longer were they going to keep her here?

She replaced her compact and closed her handbag just as two men in plain clothes came into the room. They put a file onto the table.

‘My name is Detective Sergeant Hacker,’ said the first one, ‘and this is Detective Constable Green. I’m sure that in your present condition you don’t want to be here any longer than you have to, so I’ll get straight to the point.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Annie nodded.

‘Good,’ said DS Hacker. ‘So perhaps you would explain to me why you tried to access someone else’s account at the bank and how you came to have that brooch in your handbag.’

So Annie told them. She told them that Henry was on remand, and that he was innocent. ‘It’s all a terrible mistake,’ she said quickly as the policeman raised his eyebrow. She told them about his locked drawer and her desperate need of money. She told them about Mr West and that she had only gone to the bank to get two guineas for him and a few shillings for her own needs. She pointed out that the size of the cheque she had written was tantamount to proof of that. Wouldn’t she, she asked them, have written a cheque for the whole of the five hundred pounds had she been a thief? They listened without interruption until she sat back in the chair.

‘Umm,’ said DS Hacker, looking sceptical. ‘There’s only a couple of small problems with all that, Mrs Royal. The names on the bank book are for a Mr and Mrs Royale, spelt with an “e”, and the brooch has been reported stolen.’

*

Whenever Sarah saw Mrs Rivers now, the older woman hurried on her way without speaking to her. Sarah was deeply hurt. They had been such friends before. Nat seemed to enjoy creeping up behind her in the butchers or the pub and shouting ‘Boo!’ or something silly like that. If only she could do something about him. She was sure he was still knocking his mother about but she knew that until Mrs Rivers made a personal complaint, the police treated all such incidents as ‘domestic’.

One ray of sunshine in a series of dark days was the fact that Mr Lovett had secured several orders. The number and the timescale was a bit daunting – six romper suits and five dresses in a little under three weeks – but if he paid her as well as he had done before, Sarah would give it a go. However, she was shrewd enough not to show her excitement just yet.

‘I’ve no money for materials,’ she said. They were in Mrs Angel’s shop and there were no other customers because Mrs Angel had pulled down the blind for a few minutes so that they could speak in private.

‘Just tell Mrs Angel what you require and I’ll settle up with her later,’ he said.

The relief Sarah felt was palpable. If she could carry on with this, life would be so much easier for herself and the girls. All she had to do was get through the next few weeks on what little money she did have, although after seeing Henry’s lovely house, it galled her that she still had this perpetual struggle. It wasn’t right that she and the girls should be scrimping and scraping, barely able to keep body and soul together, while Henry and that trollop lived so well.