Only a Mother Knows Read online

  Only a Mother Knows

  ANNIE GROVES

  Only a Mother Knows

  Only a Mother Knows

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  Also by Annie Groves

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Only a Mother Knows

  In memory of Penny Halsall

  24 November 1946 – 31 December 2011

  Only a Mother Knows

  Foreword

  The news of Penny Halsall’s illness came as a great shock. I had been her editor for a number of years at HarperCollins and she was one of my favourite authors. I’d worked with Penny both on the books that she wrote as Annie Groves and on some of the ones that she had written as Penny Jordan – she really was a joy and was much loved by everyone here. Her books were special, they were full of heart and it was impossible not to fall in love with the characters she created. It felt like a great honour to be working on her novels; her books had sold millions and millions of copies all around the globe and she was a legend. It was such a thrill when a new, complete manuscript landed in my inbox and I was eagerly anticipating the next book that she was due to send to me in a few months’ time.

  Penny had been working on the Annie Groves Article Row novels, all of which are set in and around the Holborn area of London and all featuring the hopes and heartaches of Tilly, Dulcie, Sally, Olive and Agnes. We had just published My Sweet Valentine, the third in a planned series of five books, it had been a bestseller and there was lots of excitement about the future. Penny and I had recently had a long and fruitful conversation about what she was planning next for the girls of Article Row and I couldn’t wait to read the next instalment. Penny was completely rooted in her characters and had very definite ideas about where they were all going. She spent an awful lot of time researching all of her books and one of my abiding memories of Penny is watching her head off determinedly on a research mission to Holborn after a business lunch in town. Penny constantly thought about her characters and was always playing around with ideas about what the war would hold in store for them all. I was full of anticipation.

  When her sister, Prue, broke the news about Penny’s advanced illness, it came completely out of the blue. Penny was such a consummate professional and had never given any indication that she was ill, despite living with cancer for some time. There was little chance to digest this information properly when the devastating news came shortly after that she had died over the Christmas holidays in late December 2011.

  At Penny’s funeral, the church was completely packed, not just with family but also with fellow writers, friends, fans and publishing colleagues. But despite the sadness there was laughter too. Penny loved a party and when her favourite song was played – The Maverick’s, ‘I Just Want to Dance the Night Away’ – we were reminded of what a wonderfully happy and positive person she was.

  Once back at my desk in London, my mind turned to the difficult issue of what would happen now. My Sweet Valentine was in the middle of the series and Annie Groves’ fans would be desperate to know what was going to happen to those much-loved characters. I had many long talks with Penny’s brilliant agent, Teresa Chris, and both of us agreed that Penny would have wanted nothing more than to have the series completed – she really had put her heart and soul into every page and it would have meant so much to her. Teresa approached Penny’s wonderful sister, Prue, and to our delight, she was a keen supporter of getting the series completed. She allowed me the great privilege of access to Penny’s files, so early one spring morning in 2012, I made the trip up to Prue’s house in Cheshire to see what I could find. We already had some idea of what Penny had in mind, but it wasn’t a complete picture and I knew there were some big gaps. Penny couldn’t have left things in better shape – not only was there a large chunk of manuscript in her files but there were also detailed notes and plot outlines that would help us to complete the puzzle. Penny was such a trouper!

  The last piece to be put in place was to find somebody who would be able to marry all of the pieces together and to turn all of this into a narrative that was worthy of Penny. We were almost running out of ideas when Teresa discovered the writer Sheila Riley. Not only did Sheila have something of Penny’s style, but she also hailed from Penny’s beloved Merseyside – without her, this book could never have existed – thank you, Sheila. We were also lucky enough to have the services of Susan Opie, copy editor extraordinaire, and someone who knows the Annie Groves books inside out.

  So, some months later and after quite a lot of effort from many marvellous people, I’m sitting here writing this and explaining how this book, and the one to follow it, have come about.

  Penny was an amazing person for so many reasons. There was an old-fashioned dignity and modesty about her, and one of the reasons she was so successful was that she knew, instinctively, that although life can sometimes deal you a rotten hand, with guts, determination and plenty of love and kindness, everyone has the power to change their fate. Only a Mother Knows and A Christmas Promise (publishing autumn 2013) really deliver the authentic Annie Groves experience, and I know that you, Reader, won’t be disappointed.

  HarperCollins would like to extend their heartfelt thanks to Sheila Riley, Teresa Chris, Susan Opie and especially to Prue Burke and the Halsall estate for their tremendous help in finishing the Article Row series. They have all done Penny proud.

  Kate Bradley

  Editor

  Only a Mother Knows

  ONE

  June 1942

  ‘… So you let her swan off with her young man … on her own … without as much as a by-your-leave? Well! I must say.’

  ‘I’m very well aware of what you must say, Nancy,’ Olive sighed with thinning patience, honed from years of living next door to the local busybody, wondering how much more carping she could take from her next-door neighbour, whose watchful eyes and razor-sharp tongue made her a woman the rest of the street avoided at all costs.

  Olive had noticed lately how her other neighbours dipped back behind their front doors when Nancy was at large. However, she didn’t feel the need to worry about what they all thought or did; Olive was far too busy minding her own business and getting on with her war-work, collecting and sending parcels out to the troops from the Red Cross shop as well as her fire-watching duties and driving the WVS van to unfortunate beleaguered bombed-out victims who were so traumatised half the time they didn’t even know their own name. And even though the war had worn her saintly patience a little thin it didn’t give her the right to take it out on Nancy. Olive knew that she might have become a bit quick tempered of late, but with the war – no, that was no excuse, she realised. Too many people were blaming their shortc
omings on the war and she didn’t want to be one of them.

  With a weary sigh Olive, who didn’t have the luxury of standing around all day indulging in idle gossip, made to move but the other woman seemed to be bursting with things to say. Given that every time she left the house Nancy was out in a flash, Olive wondered if her neighbour kept a permanent lookout from behind her front-room curtains but she didn’t voice her thoughts. Live and let live, that was her rule in life – and it usually stood her in good stead where her next-door neighbour was concerned.

  She had to silently congratulate the woman on her tenacity; she would have been a boon behind enemy lines as she missed nothing. Olive smiled to herself. Nancy must have that new radar they were talking about on the wireless this morning, the Radio Detection and Ranging system that had been brought out last year and was, according to the Home Service, the country’s best chance of winning the war in the Pacific. Olive, her mind wandering a little, was surprised that it had been made public as so much was hidden from them.

  Nancy must have the system installed on her wall, because Olive could not make a move towards her own sandstone scrubbed step without the woman being out waiting for a chat. No matter how much the posters told them to ‘Keep Mum and Save Dad’ her loose-lipped neighbour still got her twopenny-worth in. But this time she was not there just to pass on some gossip, she was trying to make a point, and Olive wanted no part of it.

  Bridling now, something she hadn’t experienced much before the war, Olive suspected Nancy wanted to talk about her daughter, Tilly, who had been getting away from the bombing raids in the city and having a few quiet days in the countryside with her young man, Drew, whom they had feared had been badly injured – or worse – in the last raid. Olive had decided it was just the tonic Tilly needed after such a shock. She had assumed the worst, well, they all had. It was only being so busy looking after baby Alice, the new addition to the family, that had kept Olive’s mind from conjuring up what could have befallen Drew that night, and that really didn’t bear thinking about. Tilly adored him so much she would have been devastated if even a hair on his head had been damaged.

  No, thought Olive defiantly, this time her domestic arrangements were her own concern and not up for debate whatsoever with Nancy Black.

  ‘… So I said to Mrs Denver, you know the woman who lost her husband when he was on fire watch in the Blitz …’

  ‘Yes, of course I know Mrs Denver.’ Olive, growing impatient, cut off Nancy’s diatribe in mid-sentence knowing she would only repeat the awfully tragic story of Mr Denver being blown to smithereens on the roof of a dockside warehouse and whose remains were never found, even though they had all been with Mrs Denver when she received the terrible news.

  ‘… So I said to her … I said …’ It was obvious Nancy was not going to be silenced, but Olive didn’t have the time to stand around on her spotless step that had been scrubbed only that morning, and she didn’t want to hear Nancy’s views on how Tilly should or shouldn’t behave.

  ‘… I said to Mrs Denver, “the way these young girls carry on these days, running around, fast and loose” …’

  ‘I hope you are not insinuating that my Tilly …’

  ‘… No, of course not,’ Nancy patted Olive’s arm, ‘certainly not your Tilly; she’s a good girl, she is.’ Nancy shook her head, making the steel dinky curlers under her turbaned scarf rattle. If Olive had been mean-minded she might have wondered how Nancy managed to keep the curlers from going for scrap, along with every other superfluous household item, to be used in the war effort to make aircraft for the RAF, but she wasn’t that way inclined and the irrepressible Nancy had started again.

  ‘… I was just saying to Mrs Denver, it’s not right. It’s not the way we behaved when our chaps were at the Front in the Great War …’

  ‘Great War!’ Olive spluttered. ‘What was so “great” about it?’ She almost spat the words, she was so angry now. ‘No war is “great”, Nancy, young men dying is not great, losing loved ones is not great, yet you seem to wear the war like your own personal badge of honour.’ Olive took a deep breath, knowing she was in danger of saying things she would later regret, but the milk of human kindness would sour in Nancy Black’s breast, she was sure, and she didn’t know how she stopped herself from saying so.

  However, taking a deep sigh, she was immediately sorry for the outburst she had kept locked inside for so long. Nancy would try the patience of a saint, everybody knew that. ‘My Tilly knows how to behave,’ she said determinedly.

  It was not her place to go taking it out on Nancy just because she was upset at not seeing Tilly much lately. When the girl told her of her plans to spend a few days with Drew Olive had been shocked, initially, that her unmarried daughter would contemplate going away for a few days with her young man, alone. Yet she knew Drew was a level-headed young man and he would keep Tilly as safe as was humanly possible. Olive was convinced that nothing untoward would take place, unlike her narrow-minded neighbour who only saw the wrong in people, it seemed.

  Olive had consented to Tilly and Drew having a short holiday because she didn’t want any more of Tilly’s strained silences. She didn’t like it when she and her only child were at loggerheads, she wasn’t used to it. Also, Olive had to think of the effect it had on the newest member of the household; Sally’s baby half-sister depended upon them all so much now after her parents had been killed in an air raid in Liverpool and she’d had to be brought to London by Callum, who had been Sally’s sweetheart before his sister married Sally’s father. It was complicated, Olive knew, but luckily the child was now blissfully unaware of the circumstances behind her move to Article Row.

  Thankfully Alice was the least of Olive’s worries at the moment. It was becoming more and more difficult to satisfy her pristine requirements around the house, with cleaning utensils being rationed and requisitioned for the war effort, and with dust and smoke everywhere it was a job and a half to keep things as clean as she would like. With all these things vying for attention, in the end, it just seemed easier to let Tilly have her few days with Drew – and now she wondered what she ever worried about.

  Tilly had looked so happy when Olive said yes. Starry-eyed, she promised they would have separate rooms and a landlady who would give Hitler a run for his money. Everything would be proper and above board, there would be no hanky-panky. Olive gave an involuntary, indignant shiver at the thought, and … if she was honest, she had a sneaking regard for her daughter who was being open about her devoted feelings for the man she loved. To say nothing of the decent way she had been brought up; her daughter was a credit to any mother.

  Her only nagging concern was that Drew would still love and respect Tilly when she came home. But why shouldn’t he? she thought, knowing her daughter was head-in-the-clouds happy with adoration. Although Olive realised it was possible that Tilly’s judgement could be clouded, she also understood that wartime had a way of clarifying one’s heartfelt emotions. Life was precious and, above all, love was precious too. It must be nurtured and protected at all costs, Olive sighed.

  ‘Well, let’s see if she does know how to behave when she’s away from home,’ Nancy Black said, her eyebrow cocked, ‘away from the confines of a protective mother’s watchful eye.’ Straightening her back Nancy clasped her hands under her voluminous bust, her mouth scrunched like a wrinkled prune.

  ‘Time will tell, Nancy,’ Olive said suddenly, not really caring what her neighbour thought any more.

  ‘Well I never!’ Nancy exclaimed, blowing a long stream of outraged air from ballooning cheeks.

  ‘Oh go on, you must have done!’ Olive, feeling reckless now, bit her lips together to stop herself from saying anything else she might repent later, and for once Nancy seemed dumbstruck, lost for words. If it were any other time Olive would have been thrilled. But all too soon Nancy recovered her equilibrium and sallied forth regardless.

  ‘Well,’ she gasped, ‘I must say!’

  ‘Yes, Nancy, I know you mu
st and everybody else knows it too.’ Olive could not stop herself now, her words, like water through a ruptured dam, bursting uncontrollably forth. ‘And let me tell you something, you are an interfering busybody whom everybody tries to avoid, and if it’s all the same to you I’ll bid you good day!’ At that Olive pulled on her gloves and, with her head high, she slammed her front gate firmly behind her and marched straight-backed up the street. Nobody, but nobody, was going to cast aspersions on her daughter.

  Olive had just reached the top of the street when she literally bumped into Sergeant Archie Dawson, who was ambling around the corner. She was heartily glad that Nancy had retreated into her own house as he caught her deftly around the waist to stop her stumbling into the road and into the path of a horse and cart. Olive could imagine only too well what her vindictive neighbour would insinuate about her innocent friendship with the upstanding policeman. Feeling the warmth of colour rising to her cheeks, she chided herself for being so gauche. She wasn’t a girl any more, with a head full of starry dreams; she was a grown woman with a grown-up daughter … who was having starry dreams of her own right now.

  ‘Oh, hello, Archie, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ Olive could feel her heartbeat quicken and reprimanded herself for being foolish. However, she didn’t want to dwell on what Archie, a married man and serving police sergeant, would think. Instead she concentrated on a couple of children stretching a length of rope across the street and wondered where they came about such a good length, as everything was needed for the war effort.

  ‘Hello, Olive,’ Archie Dawson said with that usual warmth in his kind, mellow voice as he held her securely until the cart had passed. ‘You look a little flushed, is everything okay?’ He used the latest expression that seemed to be doing the rounds due to the huge influx of American soldiers, who the young ones referred to as GIs on account of the initials on the padded shoulders of their very smart uniforms which stood for Government Issue.