For Better For Worse. Pam Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ Mrs Holborn, a woman of fairly mature years, spent her time looking after her sick husband. She also had the responsibility of caring for her aged mother-in-law who lived a couple of streets away and, on top of that, she had three strapping but lazy sons living at home. Annie was easily twenty-five years her junior, but the two of them enjoyed their little chats together.

      ‘How’s your Oswald?’

      ‘Much the same. He’s coughing up blood now.’

      Annie frowned with concern. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’ Since the advent of the new National Health Service, it was so much easier to get medical help. Annie knew that if this had happened only a year ago and Mrs Holborn had to pay for the doctor to come, Oswald would have waited in vain.

      Mrs Holborn nodded. ‘He’s sleeping now so I can’t stay for more than a minute or two today. They’re taking him up to the sanatorium in a couple of days, so I won’t be able to have you over for coffee on Thursday.’

      Annie squeezed her hand. ‘Oh, Mrs Holborn, I’m so sorry … for your husband, I mean.’

      ‘It’s for the best, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘I know it was Oswald’s wish to die at home but it can’t be helped. The TB has got a terrible hold on him now.’

      Annie knew Henry wouldn’t like it if he knew Mrs Holborn was here. Because her husband was so sick, Henry was afraid she might ‘pass something on’ to the baby and had forbidden Annie to be with her, but how could she turn away a friend in need? Mrs Holborn had been so kind when they’d moved in and had given her such a lot of friendly advice. There was so much more to being married than she’d realised, and Henry liked everything just so. Annie had been at a bit of a loss to begin with, and when Henry got annoyed, she’d cried bitterly. Mrs Holborn had helped her master the New World cooker and had given her tips on how to make the rations go further. It wasn’t easy managing on an ounce of bacon, two ounces of butter and a shilling’s worth of meat a week, and Annie welcomed Mrs Holborn’s inventiveness when it came to making interesting meals. Her own mother hadn’t been near the place, but Mrs Holborn had not only been on hand to give her motherly advice, but she’d also been a pal to laugh with and sometimes a shoulder to cry on. Now the tables had turned and it was her turn to be there for her friend.

      As they sat in Annie’s immaculate kitchen, Mrs Holborn took a small package out of her apron pocket and pushed it across the table. ‘A little something for the baby,’ she smiled.

      It was wrapped in blue tissue paper, and when she opened it, it was a tiny matinee jacket with matching booties knitted in snow-white wool.

      ‘It’s beautiful!’ cried Annie. ‘Whenever did you find the time to do it?’

      Mrs Holborn blushed. ‘Actually I didn’t. My mother-in-law can’t get around like she used to but she’s still a good knitter. I bought the wool and the pattern and she did it for me.’

      Annie fingered the lacy pattern. It was so soft, so snowy white, just perfect for her baby.

      ‘How long have you got now?’ asked Mrs Holborn.

      Annie put her hand over her bump. ‘Two and a bit months. It’s due in the middle of November.’

      ‘About the same time as the royal baby then,’ Mrs Holborn grinned. ‘I wonder which one of you is going to be the first to tie the good news on Buckingham Palace gates?’

      Annie chuckled. The whole country was already excited about the forthcoming birth of the Princess Elizabeth’s first child, and King George VI’s first grandchild. The papers had gone quiet since the announcement and the princess hadn’t been filmed or photographed since the summer, but everyone knew the baby was due in November.

      ‘Did you notice that woman was back?’ said Mrs Holborn suddenly. ‘She was waiting across the road again this morning.’

      A feeling of unease wrapped itself around Annie’s stomach. ‘What woman?’

      ‘Attractive, well dressed. She looked as if she was worth a bob or two,’ Mrs Holborn went on. ‘I saw her hanging around a couple of weeks ago.’

      Annie frowned. ‘Is she still there then?’

      The two women, their eyes locked, stood up together. They walked quietly to the sitting room and, standing well back from the window, scanned the street, but there was no sign of her. Annie was secretly relieved. She had no idea who the woman was, but it was a bit disconcerting having her outside the house.

      ‘The car’s gone too,’ said Mrs Holborn, sounding surprised.

      ‘What car?’

      ‘I saw her heading towards a car at the other end of the road,’ said Mrs Holborn.

      ‘She must have been waiting for someone,’ Annie remarked.

      ‘Maybe,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘I get the feeling that she’ll be trouble.’

      ‘Ah well, thank goodness she’s not there now,’ said Annie, steering her back to the kitchen.

       Three

      On Thursday afternoon, Annie washed up her cup and saucer and wiped the draining board. Her jobs were all done, the house was spotless and the ironing basket was empty. What on earth was she going to do for the rest of the day? Once the baby came there would be plenty to think about, but right now, with no friends living nearby, she was bored, bored, bored. If only one of her friends from Worthing would answer her letters. She wrote nearly every Sunday and Henry posted them on his way to work, but it was as if she faced a wall of silence. A glance through the window told her that the rain was holding off, so she decided to go for a walk. Maybe she’d take a sandwich, buy herself a magazine and sit in the park for a while.

      Annie put on her swagger coat and sensible shoes. She decided against an umbrella, but she took a ten bob note from the emergency jar. She wouldn’t spend it all of course, but she might buy something from the shops … some chocolate or maybe an ice cream. Surely Henry wouldn’t object if she treated herself now and then? Feeling suddenly daring, she kicked off the sensible shoes and reached for her high heels. She hadn’t worn them for ages but they did make her feel more feminine. Just because she was pregnant, she didn’t have to be a complete frump, did she?

      Annie had no problem finding a seat in the sunshine. Earlier in the month when they’d held the Horsham Festival and the fairground rides were there, you could hardly put a pinhead between the people on the grass, but there were few in the park today.

      It was a lovely place. If she had been with Henry and she wasn’t pregnant, they might have gone to the outside swimming pool or played a game of miniature golf followed by cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea at the park café. Today, she’d bought a quarter of coffee crunch for Henry and had been daring enough to buy a naughty cake. She settled down to eat it. Henry would have been annoyed if he’d seen her. ‘Eating in the street?’ he would’ve said. ‘How slovenly,’ but for the moment, she didn’t care. She bit into the sponge and the imitation cream tickled her nose. Delicious. Her magazine was enjoyable too and she was soon engrossed in a story about an actress who felt miscast as a housewife (oh, how she sympathised), when a shadow fell across the page. When Annie looked up, the elegant woman she’d seen in the street the СКАЧАТЬ