A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (26 page)

They walked into a sitting room strewn with children’s toys, the woman gesturing them to a sofa. After sitting down they looked up at the little boy sheltered in his mother’s arms, his thumb stuck in his mouth as he stared down at them. Sally gave him a cheeky wink and was rewarded when he removed his thumb, giving her a wide, wet smile.

‘There, Daniel,’ the woman said, putting him gently down onto the floor. ‘Play with your toys, darling.’

He tottered across to a wooden train, squatted down and grabbed it in his chubby hands. Rising unsteadily he stumbled towards Sally, dumping it on her lap. ‘Choo, choo,’ he gurgled.

Sally picked up the toy, chatting to Daniel in an effort to fill the strained silence, and getting chuckles in reply.

The door opened and they all turned their heads as Harry walked in, followed by a little girl. ‘Bloody hell – Mary!’ he exploded. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your other wife?’

‘Harry, tell me it isn’t true! Tell me you aren’t still married to Mary?’

He lowered his eyes guiltily. ‘Sheila, I …’ His words were cut off as with an anguished wail, she ran from the room. The little girl moved to follow, but Harry put a detaining arm around her shoulders, and she flinched at his touch.

Oh, no! Sally thought, her stomach churning. The little girl’s eyes met hers, and – in that moment – she knew.

Jumping to her feet, unaware of her actions and acting purely on instinct, she flew across the room. ‘Don’t touch her,’ she screamed, grasping the child’s arm and pulling her out of his reach.

Daniel began to howl, his little face bright red, lower lip trembling. ‘Mama, Mama,’ he sobbed, his arms held out.

It was Mary who came to the rescue. Bending down she swooped the child up, throwing a puzzled look at Sally as she left the room, saying, ‘I’ll take him to his mother.’

White-faced, Harry stumbled towards a chair and almost fell into it, while the little girl edged closer to Sally.

Seeing the distress on her face, Sally crouched down, and taking her in her arms, she could feel her thin body trembling.

Mary came back into the room then, staring at Harry distastefully. ‘Your so-called wife is putting your little boy to bed.’ She turned to look down at Sally, her eyes widening as comprehension dawned. ‘No … oh no! He hasn’t, please tell me he hasn’t!’ she cried, her voice rising hysterically.

Standing up, Sally placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘Please, calm down, Auntie. Can’t you see how upset she is?’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just so awful,’ Mary gasped, struggling to compose herself.

‘I’ll take her out of here and you can talk to
him
,’ Sally nodded her head in Harry’s direction. Then, turning her attention back to the child, she asked, ‘Where is your bedroom, darling?’

Finding her room, Sally sat down beside the little girl on the bed, saying softly, ‘My name’s Sally. What’s your name, sweetheart?’

‘Linda,’ she whispered.

Seeing that she was still shaking, Sally reached out and took her hand. ‘Listen darling, I promise that Harry will never touch you again.’

Linda’s eyes were like saucers, as though unable to believe what she was hearing. She gave a small cry, throwing herself into Sally’s arms as a dam of pent-up emotions burst from her lips. ‘He … he …’ she stammered, struggling to speak through her wracking sobs.

‘Shh … it’s all right,’ Sally whispered, her own eyes full of tears. ‘I know, sweetheart, but you’re safe now.’ She rocked her back and forth, reliving her own experience at her uncle’s hands, realising it had been nothing – nothing compared to what this child might have been through.

As she stroked Linda’s hair, the child’s sobs slowly turned into soft little hiccups that finally stopped altogether. Then, laying her gently back onto the pillows and covering her with an eiderdown, Sally sat quietly beside her, relieved when she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Closing the door softly she stepped onto the landing, coming face to face with Sheila. Feeling her anger flare, she hissed, ‘I want to talk to you about Linda.’

With a puzzled look, Sheila gestured them into another room, and seeing a double bed dominating the space, Sally’s mouth curled in distaste.

‘You said you wanted to talk to me about Linda?’ Sheila asked.

‘Yes I do,’ she snapped. ‘Your little girl’s in a terrible state. Don’t you know what Harry’s been doing to her? Couldn’t you see?’

‘See what? I don’t understand.’

‘My God, you must be blind. Harry’s a paedophile and he’s obviously been interfering with your little girl. Surely you suspected something?’

The colour drained from Sheila’s face. ‘No … no, you must be mistaken. Harry loves Linda, he would never do anything like that.’

‘I can assure you I’m not mistaken. You see, as a child I had personal experience of his sick perversion.’

Sheila collapsed onto the side of the bed. ‘Oh, this is too much,’ she wailed, bending forward as though in pain. ‘First I find out that my husband is still married to someone else, and now you’re trying to tell me that he … he … oh God, I’m going to be sick.’ She rushed out and soon afterwards, Sally heard dreadful retching sounds from the bathroom.

The anger she felt began to dissipate, leaving her feeling drained. It isn’t over yet, she thought tiredly. There’s still Harry to sort out. She tentatively approached the bathroom. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

Sheila was leaning over the sink, splashing her face with cold water. She grabbed a towel from the rack and roughly dried her face. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again,’ she croaked. ‘Please, leave me alone. I must go to my daughter.’

Sally made her way downstairs, hearing raised voices as she approached the sitting room. She paused in the narrow hall; there was a telephone on a small table. Picking up the receiver, she dialled 999.

The next morning, sitting on the train on their way back to London, Sally turned to her aunt who appeared both mentally and physically exhausted.

‘Thank goodness it’s all over,’ she said.

‘No, my dear, I’m afraid it isn’t. There will be many more questions and the trial to face yet.’

‘I still don’t know if we did the right thing, Auntie. Maybe we should have told the police that Harry’s been interfering with Linda.’

‘Darling, I know how upset you are, but it’s her mother’s decision – and anyway perhaps she’s right. The child has been through enough and dragging her through the courts would be a dreadful ordeal.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling sorry for Sheila. The poor woman’s all alone in the world without parents or other relatives to offer their support.’

Sally, remembering the venomous look Harry had thrown at her as the police led him away, shivered. Her aunt hadn’t noticed, she had been too busy comforting Sheila, and instead of bitterness and hatred, Sally had seen a closeness developing between the two women. It had been well past midnight when Sheila insisted that they stay; telling them it would be impossible to find a B&B at that time of night.

The morning had brought fresh tears when Sheila had gently questioned her daughter, finding her worst fears realised. It appeared that Linda might have suffered abuse for quite some time, but she was reluctant to tell them, obviously still in fear of Harry.

Then when Mary warned that Harry might be let out on bail, Sheila had frantically insisted on packing his suitcases, throwing them out onto the doorstep with her mouth set in a grim line. ‘He’ll never set foot in this house again,’ she told them, determination in her voice and the set of her shoulders.

‘Sally, do you remember when not long after I came to live with you, we had our little talk about Harry?’ her aunt asked now, breaking into her thoughts.

‘Yes, of course I do. It was when you told me he was a paedophile,’ Sally answered.

‘I noticed the way you looked at him yesterday, and there was so much hatred in your eyes. No, don’t interrupt me, my dear, let me finish,’ she urged. ‘I don’t blame you for hating him, I do too. But I’m still worried about how his abuse may have affected you.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m all right,’ Sally assured her. ‘It only happened once, don’t forget. I didn’t suffer over a period of time like Linda.’

‘I know, my dear. Oh, that poor child, how will she ever get over it?’

‘I don’t know, Auntie. Perhaps Sheila will get her some professional help.’

They both fell silent then, Sally still thinking about Linda, and hoping the child’s life wouldn’t be ruined as they feared. Her thoughts then turned to herself, and for the first time she faced up to her own abuse and how it had affected her. Yes, it had made her frightened of men, but they weren’t all like Harry, she realised that now. Take John for instance, he was so gentle and kind, and for the first time she didn’t flinch at the thought of what would happen when they were married. It would be all right, she was sure. John was wonderful, so caring, and she was sure that with his help, she would be able to overcome her fears.

As the train swayed, Sally glanced at her aunt and saw that she had fallen asleep. Her own eyes grew heavy, and behind closed lids she once again found herself thinking about her uncle. He’s got away with it again, she thought. Yes, he would get a prison sentence for bigamy – but what about when he got out?

S
ally was standing on a chair, stretching out to remove the paper-chains that festooned the ceiling. Her mother was busily sweeping up pine needles that had fallen from the Christmas tree, complaining as she did every year that they were lodged into every nook and cranny.

Climbing down, Sally gazed around the room, finding it bare now that it had been stripped of decorations. The house felt empty too since her aunt had returned to her own home in Tooting. Still not totally recovered from her depression, but without an income from Harry, she had gone back to work, finding a job as a receptionist in a doctor’s surgery.

It had been a dreadful few months and they still couldn’t believe that Harry had only been sentenced to eighteen months in prison.

He had a good lawyer who had enlisted the sympathy of the judge when her aunt had given evidence. In the witness box she appeared cold and hard, and under cross-examination had been forced to admit that the marriage had never been properly consummated. Only those who were close to her knew how much Mary was suffering, her demeanour just a front, hiding her real feelings.

Both her aunt’s and Sheila’s humiliation had increased when the national newspapers got hold of the story. The women had been besieged by reporters, the Blackpool bigamist making the front pages. Yet they had united in their shared adversity, becoming close friends. Now, for a few more weeks, Sheila and the children were in London, staying at Mary’s house, and Sally hoped that 1960 would be a better year for all of them.

She glanced at the clock. John was due soon, and they were going to visit his aunt in hospital. ‘Can you manage now, Mum? I had better get myself tidied up.’

‘It’s all done now, love, you go and get ready.’ Ruth grinned, nodding her head towards Sadie, asleep in a chair by the fire. ‘Look at the state of that – she’d sleep through a hurricane, wouldn’t she?’

‘Oi, I heard that, you cheeky mare. I was only having forty winks. Now then,’ Sadie added, smacking her lips hopefully, ‘a cup of tea would go down a treat.’

‘Bleedin’ hell, Mum. Don’t you know that slavery’s been abolished?’ Ruth admonished, yet unable to hide her smile.

‘Of course I do, but don’t forget I’m a poor old lady who needs looking after,’ she replied, with a sly wink at Sally.

‘Old lady, my foot,’ Ruth retorted. ‘You’re still a spring chicken, Mum.’

‘More like an old broiler,’ Sadie chuckled. ‘Now come on, how about that cup of tea.’

Laughing, Sally left the room. What a pair, she thought fondly, as she mounted the stairs.

Sally’s heels tapped on the pristine floor as she and John entered the ward, making their way to Lottie’s bedside. She was lying on stiff white pillows, her face, devoid of make-up, looking pale and drawn.

‘Hello, children,’ she whispered.

‘How are you, Auntie?’ John asked, placing a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums on the bed.

‘Not too bad, darling. Thank you for the flowers, they’re lovely but we’d better move them in case Matron comes round. Honestly, the woman’s an absolute dragon and she keeps everyone on their toes.’ Picking up the flowers she turned to Sally. ‘Would you mind asking the nurse to put them in water for me?’

Sally nodded her assent and approached a nurse sitting at her desk in the middle of the ward, handing her the chrysanthemums. Her uniform – blue dress, crisp white linen apron, drawn in at her trim waist by an elastic belt and fastened with a gleaming silver buckle – made Sally smile in admiration. She loved her white linen hat too; resplendent with crisply starched pleats fanned around the edge.

The ward was quiet with only the gentle hum of voices as Sally made her way back to Lottie. ‘Mission accomplished,’ she said. ‘When are you having your operation?’

‘Tomorrow morning, I think.’