скачать книгу бесплатно
Better Days will Come
Pam Weaver
When Bonnie runs away from home she leaves her mother Grace and sister Rita heartbroken. Each of their lives are in turmoil but their love for each other will see them through the most troubled of times.Worthing, 1947Widowed Grace Roberts comes home from her factory job one day to find that her eldest daughter Bonnie has run away to London. Utterly distraught she has no choice but to carry on with her life, struggling to make ends meet for her and youngest daughter Rita. Her boss, Norris Finley is a powerful and calculating man. He promises to assist Grace, but his help will come at a hefty price…Pregnant Bonnie arrives in London eager to be reunited with George so they can begin their new life together. But while she waits anxiously on the platform at Victoria station, he never turns up. Unable to return home as she can’t bear the thought of bringing shame to her family, she is left to fend for herself and her unborn baby.Disturbed by the apparent relationship between her mother and Norris, Rita flees home and meets Emilio who she marries. Yet Emilio is guarding a deep secret and when Rita uncovers the truth, she is left heartbroken.Caught in the very worst of times and separated from one another, can the strong bond of family love eventually bring Grace, Bonnie and Rita back together again?
PAM WEAVER
Better Days Will Come
Copyright
AVON
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2012
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright © Pam Weaver 2012
Pam Weaver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9781847562685
Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2012 ISBN: 9780007453283
Version: 2018-07-23
Dedication
To my two beautiful daughters, Cathy and Maggie.
I am blessed beyond measure to be their mum.
Contents
Cover (#ua5f19d5c-de03-5093-8811-65cdd3819fea)
Title Page (#u6d4dbfa9-3880-51cc-b76c-0ffe8f02b12c)
Copyright (#u2beab009-054b-55ef-a7f5-a44331d7769a)
Dedication (#u5556f928-7cfb-5c1b-ba37-83fce805e257)
Prologue (#uaa652fb8-94a5-5c47-9e25-857ffd5da2d4)
Chapter One (#u63698824-af4a-5a0f-923c-1ad9ad9832bd)
Chapter Two (#uc81938d3-ca05-5622-b11f-f8a433ddd420)
Chapter Three (#uf7482ba9-ea26-5049-8b72-bc139dbc6f4d)
Chapter Four (#u12be298c-0ab2-52d0-9b23-a29ea05fea13)
Chapter Five (#uf7ba2034-b56b-511d-9c19-3e9dc24d0ec1)
Chapter Six (#u65f499be-e99a-5a8c-b37a-d007cfdba4f2)
Chapter Seven (#u3cb8a6f1-d8ee-55cd-acbf-9f09d9c79340)
Chapter Eight (#u379a7650-d7d0-56c8-bc11-4637c4f5a2d8)
Chapter Nine (#u5a193f82-89a3-5e39-98d1-eeb001ee813d)
Chapter Ten (#u7086160d-78f2-553d-8fa7-35b901b9fff1)
Chapter Eleven (#u4a04716e-dc8c-52f0-956f-52b3d450d614)
Chapter Twelve (#u59c8ff17-42ff-567a-b041-796005786b9b)
Chapter Thirteen (#ua10eabea-44da-5918-afc2-23a1ac7e8b14)
Chapter Fourteen (#ufc141b1e-9a8b-522d-a772-ad423219ab2f)
Chapter Fifteen (#uf78f4f2a-8206-52e9-afab-10e73c53f72e)
Chapter Sixteen (#u88d143df-08ad-5a26-a195-0cc5eac3ab08)
Chapter Seventeen (#u95ae660a-d650-5a90-94b4-7b0e0852b574)
Chapter Eighteen (#u95dae8d8-cdae-52cd-b1aa-2628eccacd8f)
Chapter Nineteen (#uf41be9b8-3f90-582b-91d9-7631b829f2e6)
Chapter Twenty (#u4565db9f-3d89-5f30-a7d3-ca024b09814d)
Chapter Twenty-One (#ubd8077f3-44e2-5559-b6c7-6fd0495fc3f7)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u76220877-8471-5dbc-b04c-87dec8106a20)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u6407fd93-1380-5a42-8da1-1e129c8e95b5)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u2baa0718-0e23-5d92-8bef-0a346c76315f)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#udf91b440-e0ee-565c-bda6-93df2461bee7)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#ue9a83e74-8bc5-54c1-9a50-295826d58c7b)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u09dd8221-2b65-548c-ac4b-11b54582d529)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u3353455d-27d8-5c1d-a90b-266c0b587b44)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#uf607be08-a232-50d5-a0af-1e0c894c8aa9)
Chapter Thirty (#u235d5799-567e-54e1-bf53-7282380f2c0d)
Chapter Thirty-One (#uddfc4197-b12a-5252-b14c-c3a5126fa007)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#u6625dd24-f03f-5280-9339-753956569e9b)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#u0947d04e-0a31-5c62-b023-023d42ab6379)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u621b079b-f546-511a-b275-5d580d44b5c8)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u32d4ee1d-817c-58fb-ac04-5a34e2893fae)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#u416646d2-f234-5580-9dc8-3e362360ae44)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#u96c66384-4bc8-574c-8440-5a3ec33f5fa4)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u24ddb0b7-78f5-5890-b2cd-55b6813a12dd)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#u772873c8-ede9-5f1f-aee0-d3791e121d38)
Chapter Forty (#ue9d748c9-c51d-5a3d-ae6e-de82d6aa9444)
Chapter Forty-One (#u744534d2-574f-58c3-91e2-c7c27ca2d9c9)
Grace’s Cut and Come Again Cake recipe (#u6ec0d62e-69c6-5f6c-b060-989881aeb9f0)
Giving up Baby (#u1254020a-a20f-5070-a506-7bcdaebd08d0)
Just the Ticket (#u8136be1b-efdc-5740-9c79-2985bbf691e4)
Acknowledgements (#u730cf0f1-0135-5f51-bb5d-49c53982fb95)
About the Author (#u5b8c2ff1-2dcf-5783-8998-f14f949a1fc0)
By the same author (#u5f829654-dd6b-5c5a-9ce1-faf7ea564414)
About the Publisher (#udfbd6ccc-ccc3-510a-97f8-e89cc0b89271)
Prologue
He was fingering the chain, letting it run through his fingers. Was it time to let the locket go? Would he ever need it? After all, nobody suspected a thing. Why should they in a sleepy backwater like Worthing? He might not have the heady power of previous years but that was no bad thing. When you reached the top, there were any number of people wanting to take you out. It had been a stroke of genius living here. The best place to hide was where everyone could see you. Which brought him back to the locket and the little secret inside. Keep it, or ditch it? He held it up to the light and realised that he wasn’t ready to burn all his bridges just yet. All he needed was somewhere safe.
One
Worthing 1947
‘Looks like they’re going to make a start on repairing the pier at last,’ Grace Rogers called out as she entered the house but there was no reply. She pulled her wet headscarf from her head and shook it. Water droplets splattered the back of the chair. She ran her fingers through her honey blonde hair which curled neatly at the nape of her neck and then unbuttoned her coat and hung it on a peg behind the front door.
She was a small woman, with a neat figure, pale eyes and long artistic fingers. She’d missed the bus and had to wait for another, so she was soaked. Someone had said that the Littlehampton Road was flooded between Titnore Lane and Limbrick Lane. She wasn’t surprised. The rain hadn’t let up all week. She kicked off her boots. Her feet were wet too but that was hardly surprising either. There was a hole in the bottom of her left shoe. Grace pulled out a soggy piece of cardboard, the only thing between her foot and the pavement, and threw it into the coalscuttle.
The two reception rooms downstairs had been knocked into one and the kitchen range struggled to heat such a large area. The fire was low. Using an oven glove, Grace opened the door and put the poker in. The fire resettled and flared a little. She added some coal, not a lot, tossed in the soggy cardboard, and closed the door. Coal was still rationed and it was only November 12th. Winter had hardly started yet.
‘Bonnie?’
No response. Perhaps she was upstairs in her room. Grace opened the stair door and called up but there was no answer. She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Almost three thirty. It would be getting dark soon. Where was the girl? It was early closing in Worthing and Bonnie had the afternoon off, but she never went anywhere, not this time of year anyway, and certainly not in this weather. Rita, her youngest, would be coming back from school in less than an hour.
Grace dried her hair with a towel while the kettle boiled. Her bones ached with weariness. She’d jumped at the chance to do an extra shift because even with Bonnie’s wages, the money didn’t go far. When Michael died in the D-Day landings, she’d never imagined bringing up two girls on her own would be so difficult. Still, she shouldn’t grumble. She was a lot better off than some. Even if the rent did keep going up, at least she had a roof over her head, and the knitwear factory, Finley International, where she worked, was doing well. They were producing more than ever, mostly for America and Canada. The war had been over for eighteen months and the country needed all the exports it could get. A year ago they had all hoped that the good times were just around the corner but if anything, things were worse than ever. Even bread was rationed now, and potatoes. Three pounds per person per week, that was all, and that hadn’t happened all through the dark days of the war.
Her hair towelled dry, Grace glanced up at the clock again. Where was Bonnie? She said she’d be home to help with the tea. She screwed up some newspaper and stuffed it into the toes of her boots before putting them on the floor by the range. With a bit of luck they’d be dry in the morning.
Grace brushed her hair vigorously. She was lucky that it was naturally curly and she didn’t have any grey. The only time she went to the hairdresser was to have it cut.
The kettle boiled and Grace rinsed out the brown teapot before reaching for the caddy. Two scoops of Brooke Bond and she’d be as right as ninepence. She was looking forward to its reviving qualities. She sat at the table and reached for the knitted tea cosy.
The letter was underneath. It must have been propped against the salt and pepper and fallen over when she’d opened the door and created a draught. Grace picked it up. The envelope was unsealed. Was it meant for her or Bonnie? And who had put it there? She took out a single sheet of paper.
A glance at the bottom of the page told her it was from Bonnie. Grace sighed. That meant her daughter was either staying over with her friend from work, or she’d decided to go to the pictures with that new boy she was always going on about. Grace didn’t know his name but it was obvious Bonnie was smitten. They’d had words about it last night when Grace had seen her with a neatly wrapped present in striped paper and a red ribbon on the top. Bonnie had sat at the table and pulled out a dark green jewellery box. Grace knew at once that it had come from Whibley’s, a quality jeweller at the end of Warwick Street. Although she had never personally had anything from the shop, they advertised in every newspaper in the town and the box was instantly recognisable.
Before Bonnie had even lifted the lid, Grace had stopped her. ‘Don’t even be tempted,’ she cautioned. ‘Whatever it is, you can’t possibly keep it.’
Bonnie looked up, appalled. ‘Why ever not?’
‘You’re too young to be getting expensive presents from men,’ said Grace.
‘Oh, Mum,’ said Bonnie turning slightly to lift the lid. ‘I already know what’s inside. I just wanted to show you, that’s all.’
Grace caught a glimpse of some kind of locket on a chain before closing the box herself. ‘I mean it,’ she’d said firmly. ‘You hardly know this man and I’ve never met him. How do you know his intentions are honourable?’
Bonnie smiled mysteriously. ‘I know, Mum, and I love him.’
‘Don’t talk such rot,’ Grace had retorted angrily. ‘You’re far too young …’
Bonnie’s eyes blazed. ‘I’m the same age as you were when you met Daddy.’
‘That’s different,’ Grace had told her.
