There’s Always Tomorrow
When Dottie’s husband Reg receives a mysterious letter through the post, Dottie has no idea that this letter will change her life forever.Traumatised by his experiences fighting in World War II, Reg isn’t the same man that Dottie remembers when he is demobbed and returns home to their cottage in Worthing. Once caring and considerate, Reg has become violent and cruel. Dottie just wants her marriage to work but nothing she does seems to work.The letter informs Reg that he is the father of a child born out of a dalliance during the war. The child has been orphaned and sole care of the young girl has now fallen to him. He seems delighted but Dottie struggles with the idea of bringing up another woman’s child, especially as she and Reg are further away than ever from having one of their own.However, when eight-year-old Patsy arrives a whole can of worms is opened and it becomes clear that Reg has been very economical with the truth. But can Dottie get to the bottom of the things before Reg goes too far?A compelling family drama that will appeal to fans of Maureen Lee, Lyn Andrews, Josephine Cox and Annie Groves.
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Pam Weaver
There’s Always Tomorrow
Copyright
AVON
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 77–85 Fulham Palace Road Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2011
Copyright © Pam Weaver 2011
Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847562678
Ebook Edition © MAY 2011 ISBN: 9780007443284 Version: 2014-12-12
Dedication
This book is dedicated to David, my husband, my lover and
my best friend, who never stopped believing in me.
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
One
Dottie glanced at the clock and the letter perched beside it. It was addressed to Mr Reg Cox, the stamp on the envelope was Australian and it had been redirected several times: firstly ‘c/o The Black Swan, Lewisham, London’, but then someone had put a line through that and written ‘Myrtle Cottage, Worthing, Sussex’, and finally the GPO had written in pencil underneath, ‘Try the village’.
Australia … who did they know in Australia?
She picked it up again, turned it over in her hands. Holding it up to the light, she peered through the thin airmail paper at the letter inside. Of course, she wouldn’t dream of reading it. It was Reg’s letter – but she couldn’t help being curious.
There was a name on the back of the envelope. Brenda Nichols. Who was she? Someone from Reg’s past perhaps? He never talked about his war experiences, but perhaps he’d done some brave deed and Brenda Nichols was writing to thank him …
There was a sudden sharp rap at the front door and Dottie jumped.
Nervously stuffing the letter into her apron pocket, she opened the door. A boy with a grubby face stared up at her. ‘Billy!’
‘Mrs Fitzgerald wants you, Auntie Dottie.’
Billy Prior wiped the end of his nose with the back of his hand. His face was flushed, a pink glow peeping out from the mass of ginger freckles, and colourless beads of perspiration trickling from the damp edges of his hairline. He was very out of breath.
Dottie smiled down at him but she resisted the temptation to tousle his hair. She knew he wouldn’t like that any more. Billy was growing up fast. He’d take the eleven plus next year and maybe he’d be clever enough to go to grammar school. As he stood there twitching for an answer, she guessed why he’d come. There was obviously some hitch back at the house and he’d run all the way, keen to do an errand regardless of whether he might get a sixpence for his trouble. He was a good boy, Billy Prior. Conscientious. Just the sort of son any mother would be truly proud of.
‘She says it’s a pair of teef that you come,’ Billy ventured again.
Puzzled, Dottie repeated, ‘It’s a pair of … Oh!’ she added with an understanding grin, ‘you mean it’s imperative that I come?’
‘S’right,’ he nodded.
‘You can go back and tell Mrs Fitzgerald I’ll be there directly.’
‘If you please, Auntie Dottie …’ Billy began again, as she turned to go back indoors. ‘Mrs F said it was urgent.’
Dottie’s fingers went to her lips as she did some quick thinking. Should she leave a note on the kitchen table and go back with Billy? Her mind raced over the preparations she’d already made for the wedding party taking place the next day. Everything was under control; she’d left nothing to chance. Whatever Mariah Fitzgerald wanted, it couldn’t be anything serious. Dottie smiled to herself. People like her always needed to feel in charge. To Mariah, any slight hitch seemed like a major disaster. Dottie looked down at Billy’s anxious face and her heart went out to him. ‘Has there been a fire?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see an ambulance at the house?’
Billy frowned. ‘No.’
‘In that case, Billy,’ she said, ‘the message is the same. Tell them I shall be there directly.’
