Home is Where the Heart Is. Freda Lightfoot

you told Alex that you now think of her as your own?’

      ‘No, not yet,’ Cathie admitted with some reluctance. ‘I told him of Sal’s death and that we were safe, of course, but didn’t go into any details about her child.’

      ‘Why ever not?’

      Taking a bite of the cheese rarebit the waitress had just brought her, Cathie took her time to chew on it for a moment before answering. Her old friend knew her better than most, how she tended to be far too cautious and wary of making a mistake in life. She’d been this way ever since watching her parents’ marriage collapse after years of rows. Having Sal to cuddle her close in bed as they listened to them yelling and screaming at each other had been the only way to deal with her misery. The sisters had made a pact never to involve themselves in these arguments, and never to discuss what they’d heard.

      Giving a pragmatic shrug, she said, ‘Letters to the Front need to be upbeat and cheerful. Mine to Alex were generally asking how he was coping, and chatting a little about myself, which was what he wanted to hear. I put in no bad news that might depress him. Besides, like Davina, I’d no wish to talk about Sal’s death.’

      Davina said, ‘Keeping silent about painful subjects may be commonplace in these difficult times, but being open and honest with Alex about what you hope to do for the baby is surely very necessary.’

      ‘I’m afraid she has a point there,’ Brenda agreed. ‘Did he never ask about the child?’

      Cathie frowned, struggling to remember. It had indeed been painful, a time of complete anguish. The weeks following Sal’s death had passed in something of a blur, almost as if she were locked behind a pane of frosted glass and not part of the real world at all. ‘I don’t think he did. But then I’m not certain I ever mentioned that she’d given birth to a daughter, as Heather was barely a month old when her mummy died. My memory of that time is very hazy. Then Mam kept putting me off, insisting it wasn’t right to dump this problem upon him when he had enough to deal with fighting a war.’

      ‘I’m sure he did have enough on his plate,’ Davina agreed. ‘Still, he does need to know, so the sooner you tell him the better.’

      ‘I’m ashamed to say that the longer I left it, the harder it became to broach the subject. I could never quite find the courage, and finally decided it would be better to wait and tell him in person, once he is home and can see for himself how adorable she is.’

      Smiling down at the baby, Brenda gave her cheek a gentle stroke. ‘You might be right. She certainly is adorable, how could anyone resist her?’

      ‘Mam is not convinced Alex ever will accept her, which is absolute nonsense. He’s a real gentleman, so why wouldn’t he?’

      ‘Men can be a bit sniffy about such matters, certainly where children are concerned,’ Davina pointed out, rubbing a hand over her face, which Cathie noticed was suddenly looking rather pale and strained. What other problems did she have? she wondered. Her new friend’s past life was something of a mystery as she was reluctant to speak of the war, not unusual these days. Even so, Cathie had made several attempts to ask Davina about her past, where she’d lived before, what job she’d done, and what had happened to her. But for some reason she always avoided answering such questions. And, as she was still grieving for the loss of her husband, Cathie had decided not to pursue the matter for fear of upsetting her further. Their shared grief was what had cemented their friendship in the first place. Just as her own reluctance not to keep going over Sal’s death was perhaps the main reason why she had neglected to tell Alex the whole story.

      Brenda, however, was the absolute opposite. Despite having lived in France during the German occupation, and becoming one of many British women arrested and confined, apparently for no other reason than her nationality, she firmly believed that talking about problems helped you to cope better. Even so, Cathie was aware of occasions when Brenda too would clam shut and find it impossible to speak of past pain, as she herself had just admitted.

      ‘I do agree that Alex must be told soon. Once he’s settled in, I’ll explain everything,’ Cathie said, with a smile that appeared more confident than she actually felt.

      ‘I think you should write and tell him now,’ Davina suggested. ‘If he’s going to be this child’s father, you’ll surely need his agreement and support in order to achieve that wish, or it won’t ever happen.’

      These words had a disconcerting effect upon Cathie. It was kind of Davina to be so concerned for her, although echoing her mother’s negative comments was not exactly what she’d wished to hear. Poor Davina’s expression was looking even more pinched and doleful, perhaps because she was facing the prospect of life with no hope of a child of her own, as her husband had not survived the war. So many atrocities, so much grief. Cathie had to confess that the timing of Sal’s death couldn’t have been worse, not only because the war had been in the process of coming to an end, but as she herself was about to be married.

      Brenda gently patted her hand. ‘I can understand that you might feel a little nervous about telling Alex of your wish to keep Sal’s child, but be brave, darling. He loves you, so not for a moment do I imagine he’ll refuse to accept her.’

      ‘Oh, you are so right, he does.’ Her worries and sadness dissolved as joy ricocheted within once again. With no one ever expressing any love for her but Sally, Cathie could hardly believe her good fortune. ‘And he is such a kind man.’

      ‘There you are then, no problem,’ Brenda said, kissing a cheek damp with the odd stray tear.

      Davina put her arms around Cathie to give her a hug that felt just a little stiff and awkward. ‘Please know that I’m here to offer support too, should this Alex give you any problems.’

      ‘Thank you so much! You are both such good friends to me. Not that I think I will need your help, as I have every faith in him.’ The baby began to whimper and squirm, and Cathie got quickly to her feet. ‘Now, I really must go and see to some food for this little madam.’

      Brenda jumped up too. ‘I’ll walk back with you, darling, at least as far as my gloomy little bedsit.’ And, saying their goodbyes, the pair walked off, Cathie oddly aware of Davina standing watching for some time as she wheeled the pram away. Something was troubling the girl, but she couldn’t make out quite what it could be.

CHAPTER THREE

      Over the coming days and weeks, Cathie continued to work hard at the factory as well as take care of the baby. She also busied herself with cleaning and tidying the house from top to bottom, much to her mother’s irritation as she was moved from room to room, not offering to even lift a duster to help. Buying a pot of brown paint from the ironmonger, Cathie gave all the doors a quick coat, hoping the landlord would not object. But, as they’d been bombed out of their own home, and were now renting in a ramshackle street in a rather poor area of Castlefield, Cathie was anxious for the house to look as respectable as possible when Alex arrived home. She felt rather pleased with the result, and proud of herself for having picked up quite a few skills over these last years.

      ‘It costs very little to at least be clean,’ said her Aunt Evie, not for the first time when Cathie popped in to fill her in on what was happening, and ask her advice. Her aunt too had suffered a horrible war, not least by the fact her children had been evacuated.

      ‘Your Uncle Donald hasn’t been demobbed yet, although no longer a POW. He’s undergoing some help, or so I’m told, by the Resettlement Service or whatever they call themselves. But my little ones will be home soon too,’ she said, cuddling baby Heather on her lap. ‘Not that they’ll be little any more, and goodness knows what they’ll think when they see me again. I’ve turned into a real old crow.’

      ‘Don’t be silly, they adore you,’ Cathie said with a smile. Evie, her father’s younger sister, was very maternal, the kind of mother Cathie would have loved to have. ‘So when do you think I should tell Alex about little Heather?’

      Her