tell me something Joe Pomfret. How do you know it’s not yours? Go on, tell me,’ she screamed. ‘How can you be so heartless? Well bugger off again… and this time, don’t come back.’
At the bottom of the stairs Betty and Ellen stood hand in hand. ‘They’re falling out again…already...and he's only just come back.’ Ellen was disappointed and worried at the same time.
‘They’re falling out over the baby, Ellie.’
‘What baby?’
‘Our new baby, I already told you, didn’t I? I heard Granny Sefton and mum talking. Shuddup we’re not supposed to know about it.’
‘But why are they falling out about our new baby?’
‘Shut your gob kid, and mind your nose, it’s nothing to do with us. Come back outside… they’ll go mad if they catch us listening.’
The commotion in the back bedroom eventually subsided with Joe half-heartedly agreeing to a compromise; he would look after Florrie and there’d be no more arguments as long she gave up the baby as soon as it was born.
*
Christmas, a quieter affair than last year came and went, and apart from her parents and Hettie, nobody guessed that Florrie was expecting. She hadn’t put on that much weight and at times even she wondered if all this was just a dream. Joe hadn’t mentioned the baby again, having convinced himself that things were settled. Her own feelings had become a confusing mixture of trepidation and anger, and an overpowering tenderness for the unborn infant kicking inside her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
1942
Joe took the single sheet of notepaper from its envelope; Florrie leaned over his shoulder and together they read,
Dear Joe and Florrie,
I hope you are all keeping well. I just wanted to let you know I have lost Frank. It was an accident when he was working on a bomb. It was a bomb that killed him. I never even got the chance to see him before he left Blackburn that last time but I thought I had better write and tell you. You were both very good to him.
I would have written before, but I have been busy. I am expecting sometime this summer. Frank would have liked that and been proud but now he will never see it grow up. He always wanted a son but I shall have to wait and see what it is.
Yours Janie.
‘Poor bugger, poor old Frank,’ Joe passed the note to Florrie and blew his nose hard, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘A grand lad like Frank… ‘e didn’t deserve this, did ‘e?…blown to smithereens and ‘er expecting, an’ all.’
Florrie’s tears dripped on to the letter until it became an inky blur. Just five words jumped out, as bold as the moment Janie’s pen had scratched them on to the page, a bomb that killed him. Joe’s arm went round her, crushing her to him, trying in vain to still her trembling.
‘Frank were a good pal Florrie, a damned good pal… one of the best. He’d never let anybody down…an’ now, thanks to that bugger Hitler…’ the words stuck in his throat.
Overcome with fury he snatched a white pottery King Charles spaniel off the piano and smashed it against the wall. Florrie struggled to take it in, the headless ornament on the floor, its once-identical mate, smugly intact on the opposite end of the piano. The ornaments had come down through the family as a pair and might have been worth a bob or two one of these days if they weren't damaged. She knew Joe would glue the dog back together as soon as his temper was spent, no doubt about that , but as for selling them, well thanks to him they’d be worthless now. By concentrating her mind on this relatively commonplace event she was able to regain some self-control. She reached for the box of Cephos powders.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, flatly,
By the time she'd brewed the tea Joe was down on his knees retrieving fragments of pottery from beneath the piano,
At the bottom of the stairs Betty and Ellen stood hand in hand. ‘They’re falling out again…already...and he's only just come back.’ Ellen was disappointed and worried at the same time.
‘They’re falling out over the baby, Ellie.’
‘What baby?’
‘Our new baby, I already told you, didn’t I? I heard Granny Sefton and mum talking. Shuddup we’re not supposed to know about it.’
‘But why are they falling out about our new baby?’
‘Shut your gob kid, and mind your nose, it’s nothing to do with us. Come back outside… they’ll go mad if they catch us listening.’
The commotion in the back bedroom eventually subsided with Joe half-heartedly agreeing to a compromise; he would look after Florrie and there’d be no more arguments as long she gave up the baby as soon as it was born.
*
Christmas, a quieter affair than last year came and went, and apart from her parents and Hettie, nobody guessed that Florrie was expecting. She hadn’t put on that much weight and at times even she wondered if all this was just a dream. Joe hadn’t mentioned the baby again, having convinced himself that things were settled. Her own feelings had become a confusing mixture of trepidation and anger, and an overpowering tenderness for the unborn infant kicking inside her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
1942
Joe took the single sheet of notepaper from its envelope; Florrie leaned over his shoulder and together they read,
Dear Joe and Florrie,
I hope you are all keeping well. I just wanted to let you know I have lost Frank. It was an accident when he was working on a bomb. It was a bomb that killed him. I never even got the chance to see him before he left Blackburn that last time but I thought I had better write and tell you. You were both very good to him.
I would have written before, but I have been busy. I am expecting sometime this summer. Frank would have liked that and been proud but now he will never see it grow up. He always wanted a son but I shall have to wait and see what it is.
Yours Janie.
‘Poor bugger, poor old Frank,’ Joe passed the note to Florrie and blew his nose hard, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘A grand lad like Frank… ‘e didn’t deserve this, did ‘e?…blown to smithereens and ‘er expecting, an’ all.’
Florrie’s tears dripped on to the letter until it became an inky blur. Just five words jumped out, as bold as the moment Janie’s pen had scratched them on to the page, a bomb that killed him. Joe’s arm went round her, crushing her to him, trying in vain to still her trembling.
‘Frank were a good pal Florrie, a damned good pal… one of the best. He’d never let anybody down…an’ now, thanks to that bugger Hitler…’ the words stuck in his throat.
Overcome with fury he snatched a white pottery King Charles spaniel off the piano and smashed it against the wall. Florrie struggled to take it in, the headless ornament on the floor, its once-identical mate, smugly intact on the opposite end of the piano. The ornaments had come down through the family as a pair and might have been worth a bob or two one of these days if they weren't damaged. She knew Joe would glue the dog back together as soon as his temper was spent, no doubt about that , but as for selling them, well thanks to him they’d be worthless now. By concentrating her mind on this relatively commonplace event she was able to regain some self-control. She reached for the box of Cephos powders.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, flatly,
By the time she'd brewed the tea Joe was down on his knees retrieving fragments of pottery from beneath the piano,
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