Chapter Sixteen
Sheila was pink-cheeked with triumph as the last of the villagers trooped out of the parish hall after her soup-and-sandwiches social.
She had shaken so many hands, and patted children’s heads, and listened to folk and their unhappy stories of need and neglect since the end of the war, that she felt quite dizzy.
But the event had been a roaring success, and she and Mrs Treedy now had a list of likely candidates for the parish fund, all of them equally in need of financial help.
She mentally thanked Mrs Newbury-Holmes for her useful suggestion of a social event like this. It had indeed been just the thing to bring their small community together.
‘Have a wonderful Christmas!’ she called after the last couple and their gaggle of children, all looking happy and full after their hot soup and plate of sandwiches.
Sheila turned back to Mrs Treedy, who’d helped her organise the event, only to find her talking to Hazel Cotterill.
Her baby boy nestled comfortably on her hip, Hazel was holding young Lily by the hand – the child she’d named after Sheila’s own granddaughter, who’d delivered the baby single-handed after Hazel had gone into labour prematurely during an air raid.
‘Oh, Hazel,’ she said, her voice hoarse after all the chatting she’d done over lunch.
‘Thanks for helping us out today. It was very kind of you.’ Hazel had been slaving away behind the scenes, keeping the soup hot and making extra sandwiches to order.
‘I didn’t think you’d have time, what with Dickie and Lily to care for. You must be run off your feet.’
‘I’ve always got time for a charitable cause,’ Hazel insisted, ‘and I was happy to do it.’ She was wearing her glossy brown hair longer than in the summer, when she’d still been expecting, and looked curvier than ever and contented with it.
‘How’s Charlie? Still working as an apprentice?’
‘He’s well, thank you, and yes, he’s in his final year. I wanted him to come home for Christmas.’ Hazel’s face fell. ‘But he says it’s too difficult, what with the cold weather and money being so tight. So we won’t be seeing him until spring now, most likely.’
‘Oh, bless him, poor thing … That must be hard on the boy, as well as you and your husband. How’s George doing these days?’
Sheila had a soft spot for George Cotterill.
He’d been kind enough to employ Violet and Lily as cleaners at Eastern House when they’d first come to Cornwall, allowing them to live in a cottage in Porthcurno more usually set aside for military personnel.
There hadn’t been much space in the tiny cottage, especially once they’d taken on three evacuee kids as well, but it had provided them with a cosy home for a spell, and they’d been grateful for it.
‘He’s in good health,’ his wife said fondly, and nodded to Mrs Treedy. ‘We were just discussing George, in fact.’
‘Gossiping, eh?’ Sheila laughed, winking at Mrs Treedy.
‘He’s your boss, ain’t he?’ When Mrs Treedy had first approached her for work in the spring, she’d twisted George’s arm to give the lady a job at Eastern House, since she herself couldn’t afford to employ her.
‘How are you getting on with that, by the way?’
‘Eastern House is a lovely place to work.’ Mrs Treedy was enthusiastic.
‘And Mr Cotterill is such a kind boss, always letting me go home early if one of the kids is feeling poorly. Though it’s been hard work recently, what with all the shortages and the power cuts.
I’m working in the kitchens now, and it’s near impossible to come up with tasty meals for the staff with next to nothing in the pantry and the electricity going off every five minutes. ’
‘We’re all in the same boat,’ Hazel agreed sadly.
Sheila touched her arm. ‘You wouldn’t fancy coming onboard with the parish fund, would you, love?’ she begged. ‘I still need a few more bodies on the committee, and you’ve a good head for figures, ain’t you?’
‘Not too bad,’ Hazel agreed, but glanced uncertainly at Dickie on her hip. The baby boy seemed to be falling asleep, his lids closing drowsily. Lily, by contrast, was shifting restlessly from foot to foot and dragging on her mother’s hand. ‘The thing is …’
‘You’re too busy. Of course you are. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No, I’d love to join you.’ Hazel smiled shyly. ‘But would it be possible to bring the children with me to committee meetings if George isn’t home to keep an eye on them? He works late some evenings, you see.’
‘I won’t mind if you bring the kiddies, love. Goodness, we can all take turns looking after them.’ Sheila winked. ‘The more the merrier, eh?’
A few days later, Sheila was washing up breakfast dishes when she heard raised voices in the snug.
She tried not to listen, for it was only Joe and Violet arguing again, and what went on between a man and wife was their own business.
But as the row grew more heated, she caught a note of distress in her daughter’s voice and frowned, stopping to listen with her hands sunk in warm soapy water.
What on earth was the matter with those two? They’d been snapping at each other for months now. She’d tried asking Violet about the situation, but her daughter was as closed as an oyster when it came to Joe.
Sheila had often lost her temper with Arnie over some nonsense, and it had always blown over quickly. Whatever was going on between her daughter and son-in-law, it didn’t sound like nonsense.
Joe came stamping out of the snug with a furious expression.
Seeing her there, he muttered, ‘I’d best check on them new lambs,’ and whistled for his dogs to follow.
Before she even had time to dry her hands, Joe was in his coat and boots, and striding across the yard towards the lower field where they kept ailing and vulnerable animals during winter months, such as pregnant ewes.
Violet came out of the snug, dabbing at her eyes with a hanky. Spotting Sheila, she stopped dead, flushing. ‘Mum? Oh … I thought you’d gone down to the shop.’ She checked the wall clock. ‘Running a bit late, ain’t you?’
‘Yes, but Maggie will be holding the fort. I thought I’d wait a bit before going down today. It was so cold and dark this morning, I couldn’t face trudging down the lane before it was properly light.’
Without comment, Violet took up a tea towel and began drying the breakfast bowls, gazing out of the window.
Sheila hesitated, then returned to the washing-up, also in silence. They’d had porridge again that morning, which was still mercifully plentiful, but Sheila was having the devil of a job scraping gluey, stuck-on porridge off the bottom of the pan.
At last, she could stand it no longer.
‘Vi, whatever’s going on between you and Joe these days?
’ Sheila burst out. ‘And don’t tell me to mind my own business, my girl.
When the two of you are going at it hammer and tongs every day, it is my business.
I live in this house too, you know. As do them poor Land Girls.
It’s not nice, being made to listen to people constantly sniping at each other. Fair sets my teeth on edge, it does.’
Violet said nothing, drying a bowl with her fair head bent. But her shoulders shook.
Feeling guilty at having made her cry again, Sheila dropped the porridge pot into the sink and put a comforting arm around her daughter.
‘Oh, you silly thing. Tell your old mum what the problem is. You never know, I might be able to help.’ She drew out a chair at the kitchen table and pushed her daughter down onto it, then sat beside her, holding Violet’s hand. ‘Come on, out with it.’
Violet pulled a face, not meeting her eyes, then said reluctantly, ‘Oh, you might as well know … I’ve been nagging at Joe for us to have another child.’
Sheila breathed more easily. She had feared something more serious was amiss. Perhaps even an affair, though Gawd knew Joe had no time to be messing about behind his wife’s back. ‘Is that all? Of course you want another baby, what’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing,’ Violet agreed, her tone aggrieved.
‘The war’s over and we should be looking to the future.
Only, Joe refuses to see it like that. He says we can’t afford to feed another mouth, especially not with food shortages.
I told him that’s rubbish. It would be a good two years before a baby was born and weaned from the breast …
Surely we won’t still have shortages by then? ’
‘He’ll come around soon enough, love. Once we’re into the spring and things are looking up, you’ll see.’
‘No, he won’t.’ Violet became tearful again. ‘Do you remember how sick I got when I was carrying Sarah Jane?’
Sheila grimaced. ‘How could anyone forget? You were laid up for days, and I ended up doing most of your chores.’ She saw her daughter’s face stiffen, and added hurriedly, ‘Not that I begrudged doing it. I was happy to help out, love.’
‘Well, Joe’s worried it’ll happen again if I fall pregnant.
He says there’ll be no one to look after Sarah Jane when I’m sick, and besides, who would do the cooking and cleaning for me now you’re at the shop most days?
I’ve told him straight, I’ll look after Sarah Jane and get all the housework done when I’m expecting again, even if I have to do it on my bloomin’ hands and knees.
But he won’t listen,’ she finished bitterly.
Sheila considered this. ‘You should tell him, if it’s a boy next time, you might not get so sick. It’s girls that make you queasy. When you’re carrying a boy, they say it ain’t so bad.’ She hesitated. ‘I only had you and Betsy though, so I can’t know for sure.’
‘Sounds like an old wives’ tale to me.’
‘But you can be sure those old wives knew a thing or two about having a baby.’ Sheila gave her a wink. ‘Anyway, don’t give up hope. Babies have a way of coming along regardless.’
‘What does that mean?’