Memories of You (4 page)

‘Well, I hope they know how lucky they are getting a place in Haven House.'

‘I'm not sure if they do. That's why I'd like you to do me a favour and keep an eye on them while I nip into the buffet for something to warm me up.'

‘Afraid they might run for it?'

‘That's about it.'

‘Go on, then. Get yourself a drink.'

‘I won't be long.'

Mr Jenkins hurried off to the buffet with alacrity and, although Constable Robinson didn't actually stand over them, he was not far off. If they scarpered Joe guessed that one blast of his whistle would bring the other coppers running. And in any case, where would they go? No doubt by the time they got home Aunt Jane would have gone and taken Helen and Elsie with her. Mrs Andrews was a canny body but she wouldn't be able to take them in. And even if she could she probably wouldn't be allowed to keep them.

He turned to look at Danny to see how he was taking it. All their lives Joe had looked out for his younger twin. He wasn't sure how it had started. He couldn't remember ever making a conscious decision. It had just happened. And if Joe was a natural leader, then Danny seemed happy to follow. So it was all the more surprising to see that Danny, without being told, had taken the sandwiches from the bag.

He sensed Joe's glance and looked up and smiled. ‘Ham and pease pudding. Just the ticket. Let's eat them now while we're waiting.'

A minute or two later Constable Robinson glanced over and saw the two boys eating as if they hadn't had a good meal for days. He studied them closely. Eleven or twelve, he thought, about the same as his own son Derek. And they were bonny lads, that was for sure, with their attractive young faces topped by a mop of unruly dark blond hair.

By the look of them they had been well cared for. Loved. They both seemed confident although in different ways. One looked ready to take on the world. The other seemed more easy-going, as if ready to deal calmly with whatever life threw at him.

He wondered how they would settle in Haven House. The establishment wasn't exactly an orphanage. There were boys there who had been taken away from their families for their own good. Founded by a God-fearing industrialist in the last century, the home aimed to educate the lads sufficiently to make them suitable for employment. Although what employment was to be found in these hard times God alone knew.

Nevertheless, while they were there they would be fed and clothed and if there was no mother's love to be had, at least they would be better off than the hopeless youngsters with pinched, malnourished faces who infested the station.

An impulse took Constable Robinson to the newspaper and confectionery kiosk where he bought a bottle of pop.

‘Here you are, lads,' he said a moment later. ‘Dandelion and burdock to wash your sandwiches down.'

One twin looked up suspiciously but the other smiled with surprise and said, ‘Thank you.' He nudged his brother.

‘Oh, yes, thanks,' the other lad said. Then added with a formality that belied his years, ‘It's very good of you.'

‘Well, then, I'll leave you to it,' the policeman said and, as he walked away, he took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, cursing himself for a sentimental softy.

‘Where did you get that?'

Mr Jenkins stood over them frowning accusingly.

Danny, who had just taken a swig from the bottle, gulped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Keep your hair on,' Joe said. ‘We didn't nick it if that's what you're thinking. Your pal the copper gave it to us.' Their inquisitor raised his eyebrows and Joe added, ‘Go on – ask him.'

Mr Jenkins took the bottle of pop from Danny and turned to seek out Constable Robinson in the crowded concourse. The policeman caught his glance and, seeing the pop bottle held aloft, grinned and gave the thumbs up.

‘All right then, I believe you,' Mr Jenkins said. ‘But you must learn to speak to me in a more respectful manner.'

Joe stared up at him. This man who had hardly spoken to them since they had left home and who had seemed so mild-mannered as he sat in the front parlour eating their sandwiches and fruit cake might, after all, be tricky to deal with.

‘Well, then?' Mr Jenkins said and, as he leaned over him menacingly Joe smelled the alcohol on his breath.

‘Well what?' Joe asked and received a dig in the ribs from Danny. ‘Oh, yes,' he mumbled. ‘Sorry.'

‘Sorry,
sir.'

‘Sorry,
sir
.
'
Joe tried his best to keep the belligerence from his tone. For Danny's sake he sensed he must not antagonize this man.

‘Very well, then. Pack up your sandwiches. We have to get along to the platform.'

Joe and Danny followed Mr Jenkins over the footbridge over the tracks as their train pulled alongside the platform. As the engine passed under the bridge it sent up a jet of steam that made Joe blink. The soot made his eyes water. At least that was what he told himself. He rubbed at them with closed fists and forced back the howl of anguish that would have revealed to the world that he was not as tough as he had thought himself.

‘Hurry up,' Danny said softly. ‘We'll eat the rest of our sandwiches on the train and pretend it's a picnic like Helen said we should.'

Joe grinned and nodded. The moment had passed. Whatever lay ahead, Danny would need him to look out for him, wouldn't he? And Joe was determined not to fail him.

 

Hugh stood with his arm round Selma and looked down at the sleeping child. He caught his breath. Just as Selma had told him he would be, he was stunned by her beauty. The soft light from a pink-shaded bedside lamp revealed eyelashes like dark crescents lying on slightly flushed cheeks. One softly rounded arm lay across the rosepink eiderdown and all that could be seen of the other was a hand lying palm upwards on the pillow beside her face. There was something about her – an odd sense of familiarity – that both puzzled him and stirred his emotions.

The warm glow from the fire in the hearth pervaded the room which Hugh must now learn to call the nursery. He pulled Selma close and she sighed contentedly as she rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. Her slender body fitted into the curve of his arms and her hair, brushing against his chin, felt as silky as a baby bird's feathers. She smelled of the light floral perfume that suited her so well.

Her happiness was so intense that Hugh thought it could be felt physically. Nevertheless he was uneasy. He had grown used to how impulsive Selma could be. Lost kittens, rescued dogs; over the years all had been welcomed into the household, and then found other homes if they had been troublesome. Now she had brought home a child. He wondered if she understood what a serious matter this was.

Selma pulled away. ‘What is it, Hugh? I sense that you are unhappy.'

‘No . . . I'm not unhappy.'

‘Uneasy, then?'

‘A little. I understand your instinct to help the orphaned family, but bringing one of them into our home is quite a responsibility. Are you sure you've done the right thing?'

‘Darling, just look at her! What do you see?'

‘A very beautiful child.'

Selma pulled away impatiently and turned to look up at him, eyes bright with eager emotion. ‘Yes, yes,' she said impatiently. ‘But look closely. Who does she remind you of?'

Of course, that was the thought that had been hovering on the fringes of his mind. The child looked like Selma herself. A young, unformed Selma, but with the same fragile bone structure, darkfringed blue eyes and silky fair hair. ‘You,' he breathed.

‘Yes, darling. She could be my daughter.'

Hugh caught his breath. ‘Selma . . . you're not proposing that we—'

‘Adopt her?' Selma's eyes were shining. ‘That's exactly what I'm proposing.'

‘But we don't know anything about her.'

‘Yes, we do. She's nine years old and she's from a perfectly respectable family.'

‘Nine?' Hugh was surprised. ‘She looks much younger.'

‘I know. Isn't she sweet?'

Hugh controlled a spurt of irritation. ‘Selma,
sweet
has nothing to do with it. What do we know about her family?'

She smiled. ‘I knew you would ask that. I'm not as simple as you seem to think I am.'

‘I don't think you're simple. You are impulsive. Sometimes dangerously so.'

‘Hush, we might awaken her.' Selma drew away from the bed. ‘I had enquiries made about the family. I knew you would ask.'

‘Enquiries?'

‘I asked old Arthur to find someone.'

‘Arthur Garwood? My solicitor?'

‘Who else? I told him the matter was urgent and he obliged by putting an enquiry agent on the case.'

Despite himself Hugh had to smile at his wife's choice of words. ‘You sound like someone in a movie,' he said. ‘
On the case
, indeed.'

‘Yes, well, he did.'

‘And what exactly did you tell Arthur?'

Selma frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘What reason did you give for wanting to know?'

‘I told him the truth, of course. He knew about the accident.'

‘No one has suggested that John was in any way responsible.'

‘Of course not. But it was our car and in some way that does make us responsible for what happens next. I told Arthur that we wanted to help this family so we needed to find out more about them.'

‘You didn't mention adoption?'

‘Not at that stage.'

‘But you have mentioned it since?'

‘Well, of course. Once the report came back saying that the Norton family were poor but utterly respectable I did . . .' she faltered, at last sensing that Hugh might deny her her wish. ‘Well . . . I did suggest that we . . .' Selma turned in his arms, put her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him beseechingly. ‘Oh, Hugh, darling, you're not going to say no, are you?'

He returned her look and his own eyes were troubled. ‘And if we have a child of our own?'

She shrugged impatiently and her voice hardened. ‘Don't worry. In the unlikely event of that happening, you don't think I would stop loving the child, do you?'

Hugh had spoken to Charles Harris after Selma's recent appointment and his old friend had assured him that there was nothing wrong with either of them. Physically, that was. He had suggested that Selma's deep unhappiness about her childless state might actually be preventing her from conceiving. If adopting this child would make her happy, then so be it. Whether or not they eventually had a child of their own, his wife's happiness was of supreme importance to him.

He saw tears welling in her eyes and he pulled her close again. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against him for a moment. Then she pulled away just enough to look up into his face.

‘Well, then?' she asked softly.

Even though he still doubted the wisdom of it, Hugh capitulated. ‘Very well. You shall have your way.' He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

‘Oh, darling. You won't regret this. Just think how wonderful Christmas will be!'

‘Christmas?'

‘Don't look so puzzled. Yes, Christmas! We shall have holly and mistletoe, and paper garlands and the biggest tree we can find. You shall help decorate it and arrange the presents around the base. And we can build a snowman in the garden and go sledging on the Town Moor!'

At this Hugh laughed.

‘What is it? What have I said?'

‘I can promise you the tree and the presents, my darling, but only God can send the snow.'

‘Well, then, we shall just have to pray! I am determined that Elise will have the best Christmas she's ever had.'

Hugh frowned. ‘I thought her name was Elsie.'

Selma smiled. ‘Yes, it was. But I have decided to change it to Elise. Elise Partington sounds so much more – well, so much more fitting than Elsie Partington, doesn't it? I mean,
Elsie
! That's so old-fashioned and just a little . . . well, just a little common.'

‘I don't agree. My favourite great-aunt is called Elsie.'

‘I know, Hugh darling, but the old girl is positively antediluvian. Elise is so much more modern.'

‘I suppose so.' Hugh looked doubtful but nevertheless he smiled. Then something occurred to him. ‘What if the aunt doesn't agree?'

Selma looked puzzled. ‘We needn't tell her that we think her name old-fashioned. Why would we?'

‘I didn't mean that aunt. I meant the child's aunt. What if she doesn't agree to the adoption? After all, I suppose she must be the legal guardian if she's the only remaining relative.'

‘Oh, she'll agree, all right,' Selma said. ‘As long as we pay her enough.'

Hugh looked shocked. ‘Pay her? We can't buy a child. I'm sure it must be illegal.'

‘No, I didn't mean we would buy her. We will give Mrs Roberts a nice little sum of money to help her to look after the older girl – and to compensate her for having to do so.'

Hugh took hold of his wife's arms and stood back a little as he studied her. ‘Where did you learn to be so cynical?'

‘I'm not cynical, darling. I'm practical. Now, what's the matter?'

‘If you have such a low opinion of the woman why are you happy to leave the older girl with her?'

Selma looked troubled for a moment. ‘Do you think I should find her a place with a good family?'

‘You mean, ask one of our friends if they want to adopt her?'

‘Of course not. Helen Norton is fourteen years old. I meant, find a family to take her in as a domestic.'