After he returned to base, they’d exchanged letters almost daily. At that time he was stationed at Squires Gate, Blackpool, which before the war had been a holiday camp but was now used for army training. Barely able to put him from her mind, she’d gone out with him at every opportunity. Most wonderful of all, when he was granted a week’s leave before being sent overseas early in 1943 following weeks of training in Silloth, he’d presented her with a ring.
‘I wish I could afford to buy you something more splendid, but the thought of not seeing you again is devastating. I need to be sure that you’ll be here, waiting for me, when I return.’
‘Oh, I most certainly will,’ she’d assured him with love and pity in her heart, utterly thrilled and excited by his proposal.
Sadly, she hadn’t seen him since, or received quite as many letters as she would have liked, but then he’d been stationed in Egypt, and goodness knows where else. Now he was coming home at last, and she could hardly wait to become his wife.
Cathie’s new-found happiness was very slightly curtailed as she considered what his reaction might be to the fact that this little one now occupied a large place in her heart too. She certainly had every intention of keeping her, not least because she understood how it felt to be deprived of parental love. And she owed it to her sister. For little Heather’s sake, and to celebrate Alex’s homecoming, Cathie fully intended to push these concerns from her mind and make this the best Christmas ever.
‘It may only be October but Christmas will be here before you know it, which means I must start shopping and preparing right away, as rationing makes everything so difficult,’ she told her giggling niece, as she popped her safely back in her cot.
Oh, she really couldn’t wait to welcome Alex home, and to be in his arms again. He too had no doubt lost friends and loved ones, maybe suffered injuries in battles and campaigns he’d been involved in. So surely he would appreciate how necessary it was to move on and live with the consequences of whatever this dreadful war had thrown at them. Cathie was quite certain he would come to love her little niece as much as she did.
‘Never in a million years,’ said her mother later that day when Cathie showed Rona the letter and spoke of her intention to ask Alex to agree they adopt little Heather. ‘No man is willing to take on another chap’s child. Why would he agree to do such a thing?’
‘Because Alex is a lovely kind man. Why would he not?’ As so often when dealing with her mother, Cathie felt instantly irritated by Rona’s sarcasm and negative attitude. She had always been a dogmatic, stubborn person, obsessed with her own needs and busy social life, with little thought or care for those she was supposed to love. Even her show of grief had been entirely self-centred, worrying more about how she would cope without Sal’s help in the house, rather than any genuine sense of loss.
‘Who’ll do the washing and ironing now?’ she’d moaned. ‘Who will clean the house, mop the floors, make the beds, and keep the fire going? You’re not half as good at housework as our Sal was.’
‘Who cares about such things?’ Cathie had sobbed in her distress. ‘It’s losing my lovely sister that hurts, like a knife in my heart, not the loss of the work she used to do around the house.’ Sal had been like a mother to her, as well as an elder sister, something Rona never could be.
‘Well, someone has to do it, and I’m certainly not up to all that hard work any more,’ had been her mother’s sharp response, and still was to this day as she made herself comfy now in her chair by the fire. She began filing her already perfect nails as she patiently waited for Cathie to tell her when tea was ready. She was an attractive woman, despite being well into her forties, with her smoothly styled blonde hair and blue eyes, lovely oval face completely wrinkle-free, pencilled brows and red lipstick. She would even rub some of the lipstick on to her powdered cheeks. Not for a moment did it enter her lazy head that perhaps she should help, if only to lay the table, let alone peel the potatoes.
‘You could brew the tea,’ Cathie politely suggested, striving to keep her temper.
‘You’re the one standing by the stove, so why don’t you do it? And you’re the one with energy, being young, so be quick about it as I’m meeting Tommy at seven o’clock at the Pack Horse.’
Cathie stifled a weary sigh, all too aware it was a complete waste of time and energy to argue with Rona. She had no real objection to dealing with household chores, but a little assistance now and then would help. Unfortunately, nothing would persuade Rona to take the slightest risk of breaking a nail, or spoiling whatever pretty dress she happened to be wearing. Nor had she ever lifted a finger to help care for little Heather, or shown the slightest interest in the child, despite being her only grandchild.
It was Cathie who fed the baby, changed and washed her nappies, and got up with her in the night when she was hungry or teething. Fortunately, she was a good baby, but the work was exhausting nonetheless. It was Cathie who wheeled the pram to the nursery on her way to the factory each morning, and collected the baby on the way home at the end of her long working day. If Rona was on the early shift at the local cotton mill, it never brought forth an offer to pick up her grandchild, or to make a contribution towards the cost of her care.
As for offering to babysit, that hadn’t happened in the entire seven months since Sal’s death. Not that this troubled Cathie one bit, as she’d been far too sunk in grief to be interested in going anywhere. But things would need to change in the future, and she had every faith that Alex would support her, as well as provide her with the love she’d always longed for.
‘You haven’t even agreed to meet him yet, so how can you possibly judge?’ Cathie said, returning to their original difference of opinion as she placed two plates of corned beef hash on the table.
‘Men are men and not interested in babies. You are such an innocent. It’s long past time you grew up and entered the real world.’
‘I think the war ensured I did that, Mam,’ Cathie sharply responded. ‘I’m twenty-two, if you recall, no longer a child.’
‘So you are, and with a face on you like a line of wet washing. Stop sulking, girl.’
‘Actually, I’m feeling much better, really quite happy now that Alex is on his way home.’
‘Aye, well don’t be too naïve, or expect too much from that fella of yours. He’ll have his own plans for the future, whether you like it or not.’
‘I’m sure he will, but I’m entitled to my wishes too.’
‘Ooh, what an independent little madam you’ve turned into.’
‘That could be the result of the war too,’ Cathie said, thinking that she really hadn’t been given much choice in the matter with a young baby to care for, a useless mother and a living to earn.
After lifting Heather into her high chair and tucking a bib about the baby’s neck, she began to feed her the soft hash from her own little dish and let her mind drift away from her mother’s nagging. Despite her ignorance so far as baby care was concerned, the nine-month-old was doing well. She’d sat up at six months, and was now showing every sign of wanting to walk. Precious little Heather had been successfully weaned and was doing well with her eating, though she did have a tendency to fling her dish on to the floor if she didn’t care for whatever was on offer, or grew bored with the process. Today, she seemed to approve of the mush she was eating, which was a great relief. Feeding spoonfuls to the baby as she ate her own food, Cathie focused her thoughts upon her happy news.
The biggest worry she and Alex faced was where they would live when they did marry.