An Orphan's Hope

Book 4: Battersea Tavern

by Kitty Neale

Genres: Sagas; Family Life

Synopsis

1952. With smog blanketing London, little Grace is in trouble. Her grandmother is dangerously ill but she doesn't want Grace to tell anyone as she's worried they will take her away. But with no money and their food supplies dwindling, what's a little girl to do?

Winnie Berry knows something is wrong when she catches Grace trying to steal some food. And she soon realises it won't be long before Grace is alone in the world. The big-hearted owner of Battersea Tavern, Winnie has taken in more than her share of waifs and strays. But will this orphan child be more trouble than she's worth?

The fourth standalone saga in the beloved Battersea Tavern series, AN ORPHAN'S HOPE is impossible to put down.

Release date: August 1, 2024

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 448

Sample

Cautiously edging slowly forward and using a wall to feel her way through the thick smog, thirteen-year-old Grace Lockwood baulked when a stranger loomed out of the murk in front of her.

‘Beg your pardon, miss,’ the stranger muttered, stepping around her.

Grace hadn’t seen the man coming towards her which was hardly surprising considering she couldn’t see as far as her hand in front of her face!

Her eyes stung. The foul-smelling smog burned the back of her throat. Grace wanted to turn and run back home but it was imperative that she got to the post office. So, with one hand on the wall, and another holding a handkerchief over her mouth, Grace pushed forward. Her stomach growled with hunger. It was the only sound she could hear. The smog had muffled the noises of everything around her. Battersea had never been so silent. She didn’t even hear the bus approaching and could barely see its dimmed headlights. The heavy smog blanketing London had blocked out the light from the weak, morning, winter sun. And Grace noticed that the fog, mixed with the smoke of a thousand chimneys, had a peculiar yellow tinge.

Eventually she reached her destination, grateful to be out of the suffocating atmosphere. Yet even inside the post office, the smog hung in the air. Approaching the counter, Grace saw that the postmaster had a scarf wrapped across his face, covering his mouth and nose.

‘You caught me just in time,’ he said. ‘I was about to close. Early, I know, but I can’t imagine that many folks will venture out in this today. Now, what can I do for you, young lady?’

Grace pulled out her grandmother’s old-age pension book from her coat pocket and slipped it towards the postmaster. ‘I need to collect my gran’s pension,’ she answered, her chin jutting forward.

The postmaster looked inside the book, shaking his head. ‘You can’t. Your grandmother will have to collect it herself or nominate an adult to collect it on her behalf.’

Dismayed, Grace insisted: ‘But I have to get it! My gran can’t come out in this peasouper, and she really needs her pension money!’

‘Sorry, dear, thems the rules.’

‘Please, mister. Can’t you just cash her pension this once? I won’t never ask again. Please.’

The postmaster shrugged. ‘I can’t. I mean, how do I know that you haven’t stolen this pension book, eh?’

‘I ain’t a thief!’ Grace blurted, indignantly.

‘I’m not suggesting that you are, but the rules are in place for a reason. You see my point?’

‘Please, can’t you break them?’ she implored.

The postmaster shook his head again and Grace knew that he wouldn’t change his mind.

Deflated, she headed back towards home, a small two-up, two-down terraced house that she shared with Bertha, her grandmother. Grace had lived with the elderly woman for as far back as she could remember. Her mother had died giving birth to Grace, and her father had passed away a year later. She didn’t know the cause of her father’s death. The man had been Bertha’s only child and the woman refused to talk about how he’d died. But, since Grace had been orphaned, Bertha had taken care of her, providing her with a comfortable home and nurturing her with love and affection. Now that the woman was poorly, it was Grace’s turn to take care of her beloved grandmother.

‘I’m back, Gran,’ Grace called, quickly closing the front door behind her, hoping to keep the smog out. Traipsing up the creaky stairs to her gran’s bedroom, she wasn’t looking forward to explaining how the postmaster had refused to cash the pension.

As she walked into her gran’s room, Grace’s heart plummeted at the sight that met her. Bertha was on her side, hanging out of the bed, coughing as she gasped for breath.

‘Oh, Gran, what are you doing?’ Grace asked, dashing to the bed.

‘Fags,’ Bertha croaked weakly, lifting her thin arm to point towards the bedside cupboard and the packet of five cigarettes on it.

Helping her gran back into bed, Grace admonished, ‘You can hardly breathe, Gran. I don’t think you should be smoking.’

Bertha rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. Her thin, white hair lay in wisps around her wrinkled, pale face. ‘No point giving up the fags now,’ she wheezed, struggling to pull air into her damaged lungs. ‘Did you get me money?’

Grace sighed as she slumped into a chair beside her gran’s bed. ‘He wouldn’t give it to me,’ she replied. ‘But don’t worry, Gran, I’ll think of something.’

‘Need coal,’ Bertha said, and coughed again. ‘Food and rent an’ all.’

‘I know, Gran, but I said don’t worry. You just concentrate on getting better.’

Bertha reached out her gnarled hand which Grace quickly took in hers.

‘I ain’t gonna get better, Gracie. But you’ve got to promise me something …’

Gently squeezing her grandmother’s bony hand, Grace choked back a sob that had caught in her throat. ‘Don’t say that, Gran. Of course you’re gonna get better. It’s this smog that’s making you ill. It’ll pass, it always does. And then you’ll be as right as rain.’

‘You’ve got to face facts, dear. I’m dying, and I’m worried sick about you. Promise me, Gracie, promise that you won’t call the doctor or an ambulance. It don’t matter how bad I get, promise you won’t tell a soul.’

Grace’s brow creased and her eyebrows knitted together. Yanking her hand from her grandmother’s, she tucked a strand of her raven-black hair behind her ear. ‘Don’t talk like that, please, Gran.’

‘I must. I’m worried sick about what will happen to you, Gracie. If anyone finds out how poorly I am, they’ll take you from me. I can’t stand the notion of you going into one of those children’s homes. So, promise me, Gracie. Promise me that no one will find out about me.’

Grace gulped. She didn’t like the idea of a children’s home either, but worse, she couldn’t face the thought of losing her dear grandmother.

‘Promise me,’ Bertha urged, her voice frail.

Grace nodded to appease her grandmother. ‘I promise. But you ain’t gonna die, Gran. You’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

Winnie Berry stood behind the bar of the Battersea Tavern. With her hands on her wide hips, she glanced around her pub, tutting.

‘Tell me you’re not thinking of opening up today, are you? This London particular is about the worse I’ve ever seen,’ Carmen stated.

Winnie rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t seem worth it. Who in their right mind would come out for a drink in this smog? Look at it, Carmen, it’s seeping in everywhere. Give me a hand to wet some towels. We’ll put them under the door and around the windows to try and keep it out.’

‘It’s making a right bleedin’ mess,’ Carmen moaned, wiping her finger across the bar and holding it aloft to show Winnie. ‘Everything is covered in a layer of greasy, black stuff. I’ve seen some peasoupers in my time, but never anything as bad as this!’

‘Let’s hope it passes soon,’ Winnie sighed.

They heard a hammering on the door and exchanged a quizzical look.

‘Who the flippin’ ’eck could that be?’ Winnie thought aloud as she came from behind the bar and pulled back the locks on the pub door.

Piano Pete stood there, his flat cap pulled low, and his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. ‘It’s bloomin’ freezin’ out here,’ he grumbled, a roll-up cigarette stuck on his bottom lip, as usual.

Winnie ushered him in. ‘Come on, get inside, hurry up. Don’t just stand there. You’re letting all the smog in with you.’

Quickly closing the door behind him, Winnie waved her hand in front of her face in a miserable attempt to disperse the vile stench of the smog.

‘Cor, Win, you oughta see it out there!’ Pete exclaimed.

‘No thanks, it’s bad enough in here.’

‘I’ve never seen nothing like it. And do you know what? Even the smoke out of the Battersea Power Station is blowing downwards. Fancy that, eh? It’s blowing right down on all of us. No wonder the hospitals are full of dead people.’

‘What are you on about?’ Carmen demanded.

Pete looked past Winnie to Carmen, explaining, ‘The hospitals. They’re packed. They ain’t got no spare beds and the mortuary is overflowing. There’s dead bodies lined up in the corridors.’

A cold shiver crept down Winnie’s spine. ‘Are you sure? How do you know?’

‘Me sister told me,’ Pete answered, adamantly. ‘She’s a cleaner in the hospital.’

Winnie turned to Carmen. ‘This don’t sound good,’ she said, gravely.

‘There’s even kids dying, Win,’ Pete added with a note of sadness.

Winnie looked towards the ceiling. Her grandchildren were upstairs. Twelve-year-old Martha and Benny, the same age, lived above the Battersea Tavern alongside Rachel, Carmen, Maureen and herself. The thought of anything dreadful happening to her grandchildren left Winnie’s heart plummeting. ‘We ain’t opening today, Pete. Every time that door opens, more of that muck from outside blows in here. Carmen will get you a drink, but then you’ll have to leave.’

‘No, it’s fine, thanks, Win. I didn’t come in for a drink. I just popped by to make sure you’re all all right?’

‘Aw, thanks, Pete, that’s kind of you. And yes, love, we’re all fine.’

‘Good, I’ll get off then and hope that I can find me way home. It’s worse than the blackouts during the Blitz, this is. I bumped into three people on the way here and nearly knocked an old dear to the ground.’

‘Would you like a flashlight, Pete?’

‘Nah, it’s all right, thanks, Win. I ain’t got far to go.’

Once Pete had left and the door secured behind him, Winnie and Carmen set to work with wet towels. They were a good team and Winnie often questioned how she’d manage the pub without Carmen, especially as she was getting on in her years and her bones were beginning to ache. Mind you, Carmen was no spring chicken either, both of them approaching sixty. Nonetheless, they worked well together, and Winnie had never had any regrets about bringing Carmen to live with her and work in her pub.

‘That was nice of Pete,’ Carmen smiled.

‘Yeah, he’s a good egg. What he said about the hospitals is worrying, though.’

‘Push it out of your mind, Winnie. You’re all right, I’m all right, Maureen’s all right and Rachel and the kids are fine too. None of us are strangers to smog and, just like all the others, this will blow over soon enough.’

‘I suppose so. But like it or not, I’m gonna have to go out.’

‘What on earth for?’ Carmen questioned.

‘My kitchen cupboards are like Old Mother Hubbard’s. I’ve got to get some groceries in.’

‘Oh, Winnie, I’m sure we can manage until Monday.’

‘I doubt it, love. Benny is eating us out of house and home. There’s nothing to feed the boy.’

Carmen smiled. ‘That grandson of yours is a growing lad.’

‘It’s funny, that. He’s not really my grandson, not by blood, though I’d never treat him any differently. From what Rachel tells me, Benny’s mother was as skinny as a rake and his father was on the thin side too. I don’t know where the boy gets his sizable frame from. And bless him, he’s growing outwards instead of upwards,’ Winnie giggled. Then patting her rotund belly, she added, ‘I’m a fine one to talk! You’re lucky you’ve still got a trim figure.’

‘I’m the same size I was before I had my kids, many, many moons ago now. Not that it makes any difference. Slim or fat, I’m not interested in the fellas.’

‘Well, love, at our age, I reckon we’re past it. Contented widows, that’s us. We’ve got each other for company, and we can look after each other in our dotage.’

Winnie always managed to put on a happy face, but in truth, she often caught herself longing for affection. Just a cuddle. A light kiss on the cheek. Someone to give her a compliment and to snuggle up to in bed and keep her warm on the cold, winter nights. During the war Tommy had offered her a new life with him in a quiet, country cottage, but Winnie had decided to stay put in the Battersea Tavern. She sometimes daydreamed, imagining how her life would have been if she’d accepted Tommy’s hand in marriage. She didn’t regret turning down the ex-copper, but she doubted that she’d ever receive another marriage proposal. This was her lot, Carmen, Rachel, Maureen, the grandchildren and Hilda. Though only blood-related to her granddaughter Martha, Winnie thought of them all as family, and her family were enough for Winnie – most of the time.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Carmen asked, snapping Winnie from her thoughts.

‘Eh? Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about what I need from the grocers. Not that there’s ever much choice. I can’t bloody wait for rationing to end. How long’s it been since we won the war?’

‘Too long,’ Carmen replied. ‘I thought Britain would have been back to normal by now. But it’s been years and years of ration books and shortages. I’m sick to my back teeth of it.’

‘Me an’ all, love. Me an’ all.’

‘Are you sure you need to go out today?’ Carmen checked.

‘Afraid so.’

‘I’ll go, Winnie.’

‘No, love, thanks. I’ll be fine. I’ve got lungs like bellows. It’ll take more than a bit of smog to knock me off my horse.’

Later that day, Winnie looped her empty shopping basket over her arm.

‘Here,’ Carmen called, hurrying to the back door, ‘if you will insist on going out, then put this over your face,’ she suggested, handing a silk scarf to Winnie.

‘Thanks, love, but it’ll get ruined.’

‘I don’t care. It’ll help stop you breathing in that filth.’

Outside, Winnie was shocked at just how bad the smog was and her heart thudded in fear as she walked the familiar route to the grocery shop. But with such poor visibility, feeling disorientated, she couldn’t be sure that she was going in the right direction. The kerbs were almost impossible to see. Winnie had tripped twice, both times stumbling but managing to save herself from falling flat on her face.

The short journey to the grocery shop took her twice as long as it normally would. By the time she arrived, her eyes were sore and streaming with tears.

‘Good morning, Mrs Berry,’ the grocer chirped.

‘I think you’ll find it’s afternoon now. I’m surprised to find you open although I’m glad you are, I thought I might have been wasting my time.’

‘You know me, Mrs Berry, I’ve never lost a day’s trading, not even during the war. I don’t often see you in here on a Saturday. Is the pub closed?’

‘Yes, I’ve not opened today and I shan’t tomorrow if it doesn’t clear up.’

‘I’m sure it’ll blow away soon. What can I get you?’

Winnie fished in her pocket and pulled out a shopping list which she handed to the grocer. As he collected her goods from the shelves behind the counter, Winnie heard the bell above the door ring as it opened. She turned to see a young girl enter along with a mist of smog. The girl had her mouth covered with a grubby handkerchief and she looked around with big, dark eyes.

The grocer hummed a Perry Como tune which Winnie thought was quite modern for him … As he busied himself preparing her shopping, she glanced over her shoulder again at the girl. To her disbelief, she saw the girl take two tins of Spam from a wicker basket near the window and shove them in her coat pockets before scarpering out the door. Snapping her head back round to look at the grocer in disbelief, it was clear that he hadn’t seen the theft.

‘I’ll be back in two ticks,’ Winnie called as she dashed to the door and then out onto the street.

Looking left and right, it was impossible to see which way the girl had run. Instinctively, Winnie headed left, walking as fast as she could, hoping to catch the little thief. Then, through the murkiness, she saw a small figure and Winnie knew it was her, the girl she’d witnessed stealing from the shop! Picking up her pace, she caught up with the youngster and grabbed the girl’s arm, yanking her around.

The girl stared back at Winnie with her big, dark eyes.

‘I saw what you did,’ Winnie accused, firmly.

The girl tried to wriggle her arm free, but Winnie had a tight grip.

‘Get off me!’ the girl protested.

‘I’ve a good mind to march you down to the police station!’ Winnie retorted.

The girl snarled. ‘You can’t prove nothing,’ she spat.

‘What’s this then?’ Winnie said, and reached for the girl’s coat pocket.

The girl snatched her arm free and spun on her heel before running off into the dense smog.

Winnie stared after her, but she was soon out of sight. Turning back towards the shop, she hoped that being caught stealing had been lesson enough to stop the girl from doing it again. Though somehow she doubted it would be. But something about the girl’s dark eyes had struck Winnie. She’d seen fear in them and sadness, too. It occurred to Winnie; the girl hadn’t been much older than Martha. Had she been stealing food out of desperation, and she’d had no choice? It was a sobering and heart-wrenching thought.

Grace ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She couldn’t see clearly where she was heading and hoped she didn’t bump into something or someone. Her heart felt as though it would pound out of her chest – the old bag who’d seen her pinch the Spam had threatened to take her to the police station!

Rounding a corner, Grace stopped and bent over, resting her hands on her legs just above her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Looking behind, she felt confident that the woman hadn’t followed her. Thank Gawd, she’d gotten away with two tins of Spam – dinner for tonight for her and her gran and breakfast in the morning too. They would have full bellies, but they’d be freezing cold unless she could get some coal. And the rent that was due … Grace pushed her woes from her mind – she wouldn’t think about the rent money now.

Back at home, she dashed up the stairs to her gran’s room and quietly tiptoed across the floorboards before peering down at the woman. Even in sleep, Bertha’s breathing was laboured, and Grace noticed her lips looked a blueish colour. Oh, Gran, she thought, wishing that Bertha would allow her to call for a doctor. Gently stroking her gran’s wispy hair off her forehead, Grace could feel the woman’s clammy skin and knew that she had a fever. ‘Please don’t die,’ she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Please don’t leave me, Gran.’

Pulling herself away, Grace padded softly down the stairs and placed the tins of Spam in the almost bare larder. She took the last two rooted potatoes, but then she put one back on the shelf to save for tomorrow. Standing over the kitchen sink that only had a cold tap, she peeled the skin from the spud. And though she was ravenously hungry, Grace decided that her gran should have the chips with the Spam. Grace would go without chips, and she hoped that a good meal would give her precious gran the strength to get well again.

Rachel stamped into the kitchen and pulled out a chair at the table, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder.

‘What’s given you the ’ump?’ Maureen asked.

‘This flippin’ weather,’ Rachel replied, more huffily than she’d liked to have sounded. ‘I’m losing business. I can’t open my stall in this smog.’

‘Don’t worry, love,’ Winnie soothed. ‘It’ll be gone soon and you’re not exactly short of a bob or two, are you?’

‘No, I’m doing all right, but that’s not the point. What’s causing it? Why is it so bad?’

‘Gawd knows,’ Carmen answered. ‘But Piano Pete said that the hospitals are full, and people are dying. So, I shouldn’t worry about losing a day or two trading. After all, there’s worse things that could happen.’

Rachel swallowed hard. Carmen’s words had made her feel selfish. Londoners were losing their lives and she’d been moaning because she couldn’t set up her shellfish stall outside the pub.

Winnie poured a cup of tea and pushed it across the table towards her. ‘We’re all safe indoors so long as we can keep the smog out. I hope you’re not planning on seeing Roy tonight?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘I was supposed to, though I probably won’t now.’

‘Good. I had to go out earlier to get some shopping, but I don’t want any doors or windows being opened unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

Maureen looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, Winnie, I was going to do the shopping yesterday, but I got caught up in an order for a christening gown that I’m making for Mrs Firth.’

‘Don’t worry, love, we’ve all been busy, and it’s done now. I must say, I had quite an adventure on my travels. It was rather challenging navigating my way to the shop and then I caught a little imp stealing a couple tins of Spam.’

‘What did you do?’ Maureen asked.

‘I chased after her, but she got away. Then I thought to meself, how desperate must she be to be stealing Spam, eh? Spam … yuk! The poor love was only about Martha’s age. I can’t imagine Martha having to steal to eat. If I’m honest, well, the thought of it broke my heart.’

‘I’ve been there,’ Carmen said, ‘when Harry died. Not a pot to piss in. My useless husband left me penniless. We do what we must do, sometimes.’

‘Indeed,’ Winnie sighed. ‘I wish I’d given her a shilling or two instead of threatening her with the coppers.’

‘You’re too soft, Win,’ Rachel smiled. ‘But that’s why we love you.’

Maureen reached across the table for Rachel’s hand. ‘Let’s have another look at your engagement ring,’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Rachel proudly showed off the gold band with a small but sparkling diamond. Maureen was still married to Brancher Fanning who was locked up behind bars and had been for years. The man had ruled over Maureen and made her life such a misery. Life for Maureen had been so awful that she’d thought it would be a better option to throw herself off a bridge into the River Thames. Thankfully, she’d been stopped, and then Winnie had shown her usual compassion and had taken Maureen in. Years later, the old Maureen had gone, replaced by a confident, bubbly woman. And though Maureen said she didn’t want romance in her life, Rachel suspected that she craved the love of a good fella.

‘I still can’t believe you’re getting married,’ Maureen lamented. ‘And it’s a smashing ring,’ she cooed.

‘And Roy is a smashing fella too,’ Winnie added.

‘He is,’ Rachel beamed, bursting with pride. ‘Rachel Russel … what do you think? Mrs Rachel Russel. I quite like the name.’

‘You could have been Mrs Rachel Garwood if you’d married my brother,’ Maureen smiled, cheekily. ‘But Rachel Russel has a nice ring to it.’

‘Yeah, well, it never really got going with me and Stephen and then Roy came along and swept me off my feet.’

‘I would have loved for you to have been my sister-in-law, but it wasn’t meant to be. Anyway, Stephen seems happy enough. And you couldn’t ask for a nicer bloke than Roy. You landed on your feet with him.’

‘How are your wedding plans coming on?’ Carmen asked.

‘I thought I’d get Christmas out of the way and then book the registry office. I don’t want a big do, just us lot and my mum.’

‘And Roy’s family,’ Winnie interjected.

‘Unfortunately, yes, Roy’s family too. To be honest, I wish we didn’t have to invite his brother and his dad. I can’t stand the way they talk to Roy.’

Winnie nodded. ‘I know what you mean, love. They ain’t got any manners and only half a brain between them, but they’re the only family Roy has. We’re lucky. We ain’t real kin but we’re a real family. And soon Roy will be a part of our family too. Mind you, I shall miss you and the kids when you move out.’

‘You’re not moving out, Rachel, are you?’ Maureen asked, looking upset.

‘Of course she is,’ Winnie replied. ‘She’ll be a married woman and will want to set up her own home, ain’t that right, love?’

‘Yes, but I won’t be moving far from here. And I’ll still be outside every day, on my stall, selling my cockles and winkles.’

Maureen looked surprised. ‘Is Roy going to allow you to carry on working once you’re married?’ she asked.

‘It’s not up to Roy, it’s my decision.’

‘Good for you,’ Carmen encouraged. ‘All the women around this table have had husbands who’ve treated them badly. Take my advice, Rachel, you make sure you stand up for yourself from the start. Don’t let Roy get his ring on your finger and take control of you.’

‘I doubt there’ll be much chance of Roy controlling Rachel,’ Winnie guffawed. ‘She never does as she’s told, and never will. Rachel is her own boss.’

‘Did you hear that?’ Carmen asked, shaking her thumb towards the passageway. ‘Someone is knocking on the back door.’

Winnie blew out a long breath. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ she moaned, ‘I wanted to keep the doors closed. Go down and check, Rachel – it might be your mum.’

‘I doubt it,’ Carmen said, ‘Hilda wouldn’t be daft enough to come out in this smog.’

Rachel scraped back her seat and hurried down the stairs. When she opened the back door, she was delighted to see Roy standing there.

‘Quick, get in. Winnie ain’t pleased about the door being opened.’

Roy stepped inside and unravelled the knitted football Chelsea supporter’s scarf from around his head. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t stay away. I had to make sure that you and the kids are all right.’

‘Oh, you silly sausage. You didn’t have to worry about us. You know we’re fine here.’

Pulling Rachel into his arms, he gazed down into her eyes. ‘I know you’re all fine here, but the truth was, I couldn’t stay away from you, and I just wanted to see you,’ he said huskily.

Rachel looked lovingly back at him, staring into his brown eyes, but then she frowned when she noticed a red mark above his eyebrow. ‘What happened there?’ she asked, concerned, gently touching the bruise.

‘Nothing.’

Rachel felt his body tense and his expression hardened. She assumed either his older and much larger brother, Alan, or his bullying father, Douglas, had given Roy a thump. Her heart broke for the love of her life. Roy was a gentle man, not a thug like his brother and father. He tried to act tough and be like them, but Rachel knew that Roy wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t push the matter of the mark above his eyebrow any further. Experience had shown her that Roy would clam up rather than talk about it.

Cleverly changing the subject, she smiled. ‘I’ve been looking for houses to rent and with your wage as a clerk and my earnings from the stall, we’ll be able to afford a nice place when we’re married.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Roy enthused, and kissed her forehead.

An excited voice from the top of the stairs called down. ‘Is that Roy?’

Rachel chuckled. ‘Your biggest fan has rumbled that you’re here.’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ Roy called back up the stairs. ‘I’m coming, Martha.’

Following Roy up, Rachel whispered under her breath, ‘Martha gets more attention from you than I do.’

Roy looked over his shoulder. ‘Are you jealous?’ he grinned.

‘No. I’m happy that my kids love you as much as I do, and you love them back.’

‘Roy!’ Martha squealed, ‘Me and Benny are playing cards. Do you want to play too?’

Without waiting for an answer, Martha took Roy’s hand and led him into their bedroom.

‘I’ll bring you a cuppa,’ Rachel called.

In the kitchen, Winnie, her lips pursed, asked, ‘I take it that was Roy at the door?’

‘Yes, sorry, Win. The door was only open for a second.’

Now smiling, Winnie mused, ‘And I suppose Martha has collared him already?’

‘Yep. They’re playing cards.’

‘The man’s a fool to come out to see you in this weather, but love makes fools of all of us. How is he?’

Rachel lowered her voice. ‘I reckon Alan or Doug has given him a thump again.’

Winnie sucked in a long breath. ‘The sooner you two are married, the better. He needs to get out of that house and away from them bastards. ’Scuse my language, but the thought of Alan and Doug picking on Roy makes my blood boil.’

‘I know, Winnie, me too. His mother and his twin sister would be turning in their graves.’

‘Huh, I doubt it,’ Winnie scoffed. ‘Well, his sister, maybe, but not his mother. From what I remember of her, she was a lovely woman, really kind but she was a little mouse. Mrs Russel would never have stood up to her husband. I reckon your Roy takes after her.’

‘Well, I’m glad he doesn’t take after his father like Alan does. Hopefully, once we’re married, Roy won’t have to see much of them.’

‘I hope so, love, for both your sakes.’

Grace placed a steaming plate of Spam and chips on Bertha’s bedside table. Gently shaking her, she coaxed, ‘Wake up, Gran. I’ve cooked you a nice meal. Come on, Gran, wake up!’

Bertha groaned but didn’t stir.

‘Gran, come on, it’s time to eat.’

Nothing.

Grace shook the woman a little harder. ‘Please, Gran, wake up now and eat your dinner before it goes cold.’

Bertha’s eyes remained closed.

Worry knotted in the pit of Grace’s stomach, and so did hunger. ‘All right, Gran, I’ll leave you to rest for now, but you’ll have to wake up later for some food.’

Picking up the plate, Grace trudged back down to the kitchen. Rather than waste the food, she sat at the small table and a