Chapter Four #3
Stanley wasn’t happy about their separation, and could have cited desertion himself to get a divorce.
But the truth was, he was a mean man who wanted his wife back home, where he could treat her as badly as he liked behind closed doors.
He’d even been round to the shop several times, demanding her back.
The last time, Sheila and Violet had given him what for while Maggie laid about his head with a rolling pin.
But Stanley was a persistent beggar, so they always kept an eye out for him.
‘There’s Aunt Margaret … Is she coming with us to the Harvest Supper, then?’ Violet looked annoyed.
Her daughter didn’t like Maggie much, and for good reason.
Stanley had behaved shockingly towards young Lily when Violet and the two girls had stayed with them on first coming to Cornwall.
Despite the two women making peace since then, it was clear that Violet had still not forgiven her aunt for turning a blind eye to her husband’s abusive ways.
She hadn’t even wanted Margaret working at the shop.
But Sheila had paid little attention, giving her sister a second chance.
‘Yes, so keep your thoughts to yourself.’ Sheila waved to her sister. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Maggie, love.’
‘Evening, all.’ Her sister came out of the shop doorway, a basket of vegetables hooked over her arm and carrying a bag of spuds. ‘I hope this will be enough for the harvest raffle.’
Maggie was wearing make-up and dressed smartly, with a navy-blue jacket buttoned up against the cold and a headscarf knotted under her chin. But when Sheila complimented her on her outfit, her sister didn’t reply. She was unsmiling and agitated, in fact.
‘’Ere, what’s up, Maggie love?’ Sheila put a hand on her arm. ‘Not sickening for something, are you?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘He’s here,’ she hissed in Sheila’s ear, peering up and down the street. ‘I think he’s going to the Harvest Supper.’
Sheila felt cold creep down her spine. ‘Stanley?’
Ernest had helpfully lifted the bag of spuds out of Maggie’s hands. Now he took one look at her face and asked swiftly, ‘What is it, Margaret? Your husband causing trouble again?’ he guessed, being no fool. ‘Walk with us. He won’t come near you, I swear it.’
‘Thank you,’ Maggie said breathlessly, and fell in beside Sheila. But she still looked worried. ‘He banged on the shop door earlier and shouted at me through the letterbox. Slurring his words and weaving all over the place.’
‘They won’t let him in at the Harvest Supper,’ Violet said shortly. ‘Not if he’s been drinking.’
‘That’s right,’ Sheila agreed, though her heart sank.
Stanley could cause trouble for them in the village, where he still had friends.
She hated the thought of people gossiping about their family.
‘Plus, you’ve got me and Violet, Joe and Ernest, all willing to send that wicked beggar on his way. So there’s no need to fret.’
Maggie smiled tremulously around at them. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance. And I know he’s been rude to you, Ernest, just because you’re half German. There’s no call for that sort of thing, not now the war’s over. And he knows it.’
Ernest cleared his throat. ‘I don’t mind. Besides, he won’t be able to play that game for much longer.’
Puzzled, Sheila glanced at her son-in-law. ‘Whatever do you mean, Ernest?’
‘I’ve had a letter from London. I’m needed there urgently for some … translation work, let’s say. I’ll be leaving in a day or so, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
They had all stopped, staring at him.
‘You don’t mean it, Ernest?’ Joe rubbed his chin, perplexed. ‘Going back to London? With so little warning?’
Ernest shrugged, his smile apologetic. ‘That’s the way it goes sometimes in my business.
Anyway, I’ll be staying with Alice, at least initially.
So I’ll be able to write and tell you how she and Patrick are getting along.
I know you worry about your granddaughter, Sheila, so I hope this will sweeten the blow. ’
Mulling it over, Sheila didn’t know what to say at first. Over the past year, Ernest had become one of the family again after being missing, presumed dead for most of the war.
But she knew his work was vitally important to the security of their country, and there weren’t many folk who could say that and mean it.
‘Well, that’s hard news, and we’ll miss you, Ernest,’ she said, linking arms with him as they trudged after the Land Girls. ‘But whatever you’ve been asked to do by our government,’ she added in a lower tone, ‘I know you’ll do your best for Britain, just as you done in the war.’
‘Thank you, Sheila. That means a great deal.’ He paused. ‘I shall try to visit you all in the spring, if Violet and Joe don’t mind.’
‘You’ll always be welcome at Postbridge Farm,’ Joe told him, and Violet nodded.
Ernest smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you both.
No promises, mind you. I may be required to stay in London for some time.
Regardless of the cheerful propaganda in the newspapers, I’m afraid Britain is in a fragile state,’ he added, his tone turning sombre, ‘and we are all skating on very thin ice, indeed.’