Chapter 7
Dot insisted on coming to accompany Ronnie on the bus back to Whippingham.
‘I would have been perfectly all right by myself, I could have ridden my bike anyway. It’s still in the bike shed at Saunders-Roe,’ Ronnie said.
‘Well, there’s no point in you carrying on about it.
I’m here now. And riding a bike after a head injury doesn’t sound sensible to me,’ Dot replied.
‘You can collect it when you start work again. Now let’s get on our way.
Amelia’s making her special chicken-and-ham pie for lunch and you, my dear, will spend the next few days doing exactly as you’re told.
Mr Farthing has said you’re not to return to work until you’re fully recovered. ’
For Ronnie, a few days seemed like an interminable time to be stuck at home and fussed over. He would allow them to mollycoddle him over the weekend and then, on Monday, he fully intended to go back to work.
Ronnie understood why Dot mothered him. She had been like a mother to him since they’d left Micklewell.
Dot had supported her family in times of hardship and had raised Ronnie and Tilly with the help of Amelia Clarence, her mentor and friend.
She’d had to make compromises and marry her then-fiancé, William, in secret, or she would have lost her job as a teacher.
Ronnie thought it a strange sort of marriage.
It was hard on both her and William, but they saw each other when they could at his home in Southampton where he worked for a shipping company.
Somehow, they seemed to make a success of it.
As the bus got closer to home, Ronnie’s mouth began to water.
He was looking forward to eating one of Amelia’s speciality meals.
She was a wonderful cook and he couldn’t wait to taste what was in the oven.
There were benefits to being looked after, he told himself.
He resolved not to be a grumpy patient. Giving in gratefully to a plateful of home-cooked pie and vegetables was not a huge difficulty after all they had given to him.
Ronnie could smell the aroma of steak-and-kidney pie when he stepped inside the schoolhouse. Amelia rushed through from the kitchen as soon as they closed the door.
‘Ah, here’s our hero,’ Amelia said. She embraced him and immediately wanted to hear all about what had happened. ‘Now, let’s all have a nice cup of tea while you tell all,’
Dot put the kettle on while Amelia cross-examined Ronnie, wanting to know all the details of his heroic act. Ronnie had regained some of his memory and he was able to recall the moment when he’d reached the boy and handed him up to the boatman.
‘But then it’s all rather hazy,’ he said.
‘Well, you’re home now, all safe and sound,’ Amelia said. ‘And we’re so relieved. I expect the boy’s mother was extremely grateful that a brave young man was at the right place at the right time. Her son might have drowned.’
‘So grateful that she turned up at the hospital to thank him apparently. And by the sounds of it, our Ronnie is quite smitten.’ Dot grinned.
‘What do you mean?’ Ronnie said, his face turning pink.
‘I mean that you talked profusely about how lovely she looked and waxed lyrical about her beautiful red hair,’ Dot replied.
‘I might have mentioned her appearance and how distinctive she looked, yes.’
Dot interrupted him. ‘And you noticed the colour of her eyes, a dazzling green, you said,’ she teased.
‘She’s twisting my words,’ Ronnie protested. ‘I simply described how she came close to me and held my hand to thank me. Actually, she’s invited me to tea to show her gratitude.’
‘And you accepted, I’m sure, being the gentleman you are,’ Amelia said, taking Ronnie’s side. ‘Of course, she wants to show how grateful she is for risking your own life to save her son’s. The young woman must have been distraught when she saw her child disappear beneath the waves.’
‘Well, I’m sure her husband would like to thank you too,’ Dot said, placing the tea tray on the table.
Ronnie made no comment. It wasn’t necessary to disclose any further information and invite more comment from Dot. She was too adept at jumping to conclusions.
* * *
Ronnie returned to work the following Monday as he had planned.
He spent the day being lauded and applauded by his colleagues for the local newspaper had reported on the incident.
Local man saves child from drowning, the headline said.
Mr Farthing had cut out the piece from the paper and shown it to everyone at Saunders-Roe, including the managing director who called Ronnie to his office to congratulate him on his quick thinking.
Ronnie had become the centre of attention and it made him feel quite embarrassed.
When the weekend finally arrived, he began to feel nervous about visiting the young woman and her child.
He arrived at exactly the appointed time.
He opened the main entrance door at number 3 York Avenue and stepped inside.
Ronnie could see that he was standing in a dingy passageway, painted in a gloomy dark-green paint.
A bicycle was leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and there was a smell of boiled cabbage.
He looked across the passageway and saw a bold number 1 on the door to the right of the stairs.
Not Sarah’s room, then. As he paused, the door opened and a shrivelled old woman in a loose-fitting cardigan stood there, stooped over her walking stick.
‘Good afternoon,’ Ronnie said. ‘I’m looking for number two.’
The old woman held onto the door frame and waggled her stick in the direction of the bicycle.
‘Thank you,’ Ronnie said.
‘You’re not the usual one as comes,’ the woman hissed through her teeth. ‘He’s usually drunk and wakes me from my afternoon nap with his cussing and swearing. I’m pleased to see she’s found herself someone more respectable,’ she continued, looking Ronnie up and down.
Ronnie was taken aback by her comments, but simply thanked her again and turned to negotiate the bicycle that blocked the passageway.
‘That’s the ne’er-do-well at number four. I’ve told him that it gets in the way, but he pays no attention,’ the old woman grumbled. ‘I can’t get to the backyard with my washing some days, but you can’t tell him. Ignorant he is.’
Ronnie knocked on Sarah’s door. She answered with Anthony clinging to her skirts.
‘Come in, please come in.’ She welcomed Ronnie with a smile. ‘I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure if you would.’
She stepped back and Ronnie entered a cosy, well-lit space, with a small sofa scattered with brightly coloured cushions, and an occasional table with three wooden chairs.
There was a fire burning in the grate, which gave a warm glow, although Ronnie couldn’t help but notice there was very little coal in the scuttle to replenish it when it burned low.
‘Let me take your coat,’ Sarah said.
Ronnie took off his coat and handed it to her. She hung it behind the door, next to hers.
‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ she continued, ‘while I get the tea. Anthony, you can show Mr Locock your box of toy soldiers. I’m sure he’d love to see them, wouldn’t you, Mr Locock?’
‘I would indeed,’ Ronnie replied. ‘And please call me Ronnie.’
‘All right, Ronnie.’
When Anthony disappeared behind the curtain, Ronnie sat down and took in the rest of the room.
It was clear that Sarah had made every effort to make the small space homely.
There was a painting on the wall of a seascape with a rather battered frame and there were a few pictures on the mantelpiece, which he assumed were Sarah’s family.
The table was covered in a seersucker cloth in a checked pattern of pinks, green and blues, and was set with mismatched cups and saucers and a plate holding rock cakes.
There was a bread board with a loaf, a glass butter dish and a jar of jam.
The small kitchen area where Sarah was preparing the tea was at the back of the main living space.
Beside it was a curtained-off area. The curtain was a heavy brocade material that Ronnie noticed must have been luxurious when new, but was showing signs of wear and was faded in places.
He guessed that was where Sarah and Anthony slept.
Anthony reappeared with the box of soldiers and proceeded to set them out on the table.
‘Not there, Anthony,’ Sarah said. ‘There’s not room. Set them out on the floor.’
They’d only just got them into position when Sarah called them to the table.
‘This all looks very good,’ Ronnie said.
They sat in a companionable silence, occasionally meeting one another’s eye as they lifted their cups to their lips.
Ronnie couldn’t help but notice a small cake crumb in the corner of Sarah’s mouth.
Every time he looked at her, he found himself wanting to remove that crumb and touch her moist lips.
They talked about how they had both arrived on the Isle of Wight, neither of them born there, not native islanders.
‘So, you came when you were a child,’ Sarah said.
‘I was a young woman. You have had time to get to know people, form friendships. I really don’t know many people at all, just my neighbours and the people I work with and most of them are so wrapped up in their own lives, they don’t even really notice me much.
But tell me some more about you. You live with your aunt Dot, you say, a teacher, and a Miss Clarence. Who’s she?’
‘The headmistress of the school in Whippingham. We all live together in the School House. My sister, Tilly, lives there too, but she’s training to become a nurse in Ryde hospital and she’s there most of the time now.
Technically she’s my aunt, but we’re the same age.
My mother is Dot’s sister, so I’m really Tilly’s nephew. It’s confusing, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, very. I think I follow what you’re saying, though. Life can be complicated sometimes, can’t it?’
‘We came from a small village near Stoke — Micklewell, it’s called.
My parents and my grandfather couldn’t look after us.
They were finding it difficult to cope. Money was short, jobs were scarce and wages were low.
I wasn’t aware of it at the time we left, of course.
I was only six years old. I just knew that we had to go and live somewhere different.
That I was to go on a long boat journey with Tilly and that we would live on an island with Aunty Dot and Miss Clarence,’ Ronnie explained.
‘You must have been upset at leaving your mum and dad,’ Sarah said. ‘And your parents must have been distraught at seeing you go. I can’t bear to think of having to let Anthony go far away from me.’
‘They had no choice,’ Ronnie replied, his eyes filling with tears. ‘I can see that now, but at the time I remember wondering why my baby sisters could stay and Tilly and I couldn’t. Now it’s your turn. So, you weren’t born on the Isle either. What brought you here, then?’
‘I came to find work. There was a lot of unemployment in Wales and I needed to find a job to support Anthony and myself. I wrote to my aunt Joan — she lives with her sister, May, not far from here. They told me that their neighbour works at the docks and there were always vacancies for women to work in the canteens and in the components factory. I didn’t fancy factory work, so I went for a job at one of the canteens and got it.
When I got back on my feet, I found this place and Anthony and I moved in. ’
‘Wouldn’t you have been better off staying with your aunties?’ Ronnie asked.
‘They are both so kind and wouldn’t ever have asked me to leave, but the house is small and a young child, even a reasonably quiet one like Anthony, can be quite exhausting.
Aunt Joan is still fit, but May, is not in the best of health.
So, as soon as I could I moved here. I couldn’t have managed it without a bit of financial help from them, though. I owe them a lot,’ Sarah replied.
‘Forgive me for asking, but Anthony’s father, what happened to him?’ Ronnie asked.
Sarah felt her heart leap. She couldn’t answer him right away. What would he think of her?
‘We’re separated. It’s a long story, Ronnie,’ she eventually said. ‘I will tell you sometime. We weren’t getting on. It was best for all of us, including Anthony.’
Ronnie decided not to press her any further. She would tell him in her own good time.
They talked on through the afternoon, gradually revealing a little more about themselves to each other. When they’d finished their tea, Sarah stood to remove the tea tray. She loaded it with the cups, saucers and plates, and bent to lift it.
‘Here, let me take that for you,’ Ronnie said and, in his enthusiasm to take the tray from her, their hands touched.
They stood for a moment, both tongue-tied.
Sarah let Ronnie take the tray and they moved to the sink to stack the dishes.
The afternoon passed very quickly and by the time Ronnie left, he had secured Anthony’s confidence by playing not only with the soldiers but with his building bricks.
He read Anthony a story and could feel Sarah’s gentle presence as she washed up the dishes, humming quietly to herself.
‘You will come again next weekend, won’t you?’ she asked as he departed. ‘Anthony likes you. You have a gentle, quiet way with him.’
‘I hope you like me too,’ Ronnie replied.
Sarah blushed. ‘Of course, I do,’ she whispered.
‘Then, of course I will come again. If you would like me to.’
‘We would, wouldn’t we, Anthony?’ Sarah asked.
Anthony took his mother’s hand and nodded.
‘Then I will,’ Ronnie said.
‘Next Sunday, then?’
‘Yes, next Sunday.’
Ronnie came away feeling uplifted that everything was going so well. His feelings for Sarah were beginning to grow. In time, he hoped she would reveal more about her past. He sensed there was something there she found hard to talk about.