A Daughter's Courage Read online

  KITTY NEALE

  A Daughter’s Courage

  Copyright

  Published by Avon an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street,

  London, SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018

  Copyright © Kitty Neale 2018

  Cover photographs © Getty Images/ Alamy

  Cover design © Debbie Clement 2018

  Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of 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: 9780008191702

  Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008191719

  Version 2017-11-24

  Dedication

  For my dad, the first man I ever truly respected.

  You’ve always been there for me offering quiet strength, dependability and security.

  Thank you for everything you have done for me, and for your continued support.

  We rarely share soppy sentiments, but I know you love me very much and you’re proud of me. I love you dearly too, and am so proud to call you my dad xxx

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Keep Reading…

  About the Author

  By the Same Author:

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Battersea, London, 1956

  Crimson nail polish was the only splash of colour in the dank kitchen as Dorothy Butler painted her nails in preparation for her date with Robbie Ferguson. It was mid-September and she was sitting at the battered kitchen table. While waiting for the varnish to dry, she watched as her mother, Alice, flicked soapy suds from her hands before wiping them down the front of her washed-out apron.

  Now twenty-two years old, Dorothy had been a child when her father returned from fighting in France, a broken man, unable to resume his work as a groundsman in Battersea Park. Since then, with only a small army disability pension to live on, her mother had taken in washing, which helped to pay the rent and buy the coal needed to warm the house during the long winter months. It was all Alice could manage as her fear of going outside kept her a prisoner in her own home. However, constantly leaning over the sink and scrubbing clothes had damaged her back, and Dorothy saw her grimace as she stirred the three cups of tea she’d just made.

  Dorothy winced at the sight of her mum’s hands. They looked blistered, red raw, and she wished she could do more to ease her burdens. Her own job as a baker’s assistant didn’t pay well and, though they had sufficient to eat, there was only just enough money left to pay the bills.

  ‘Dottie, be a love and take this cuppa through to your father, will you?’ Alice asked.

  Dottie blew on her freshly polished nails, hoping they were dry, as she obligingly took the weak tea which had seen the leaves stewed three times. She carried it through to the sparsely furnished front room. She wasn’t surprised to find her father Bill in his usual place, sat on a faded brown wing-backed armchair, staring up at the bare light-bulb hanging from the ceiling rose. Dorothy knew that her mother didn’t believe in luxuries, neither could she afford them. If it wasn’t practical or didn’t serve a purpose, then it wasn’t needed, and lampshades came under the latter heading.

  ‘Here you are, Dad,’ Dorothy said gently as she knelt next to her father’s chair. ‘I’ve brought you a nice cuppa.’

  She studied her father’s pale face. His skin was almost translucent and etched with lines. He had an especially deep furrow across his brow which Dorothy thought had been caused by a constant frown. He looked in a permanent state of anguish and rarely spoke or acknowledged anyone. She wondered if her father even knew who she was. It had broken Dorothy’s heart when she had first seen him in this state, but it was something she’d now become accustomed to.

  Having got no response from her father, she returned to the kitchen, where her mother was putting some freshly washed clothes through the mangle. For the umpteenth time she tried again to challenge her.

  ‘Mum, why won’t you let Dr Stubbs get some treatment for Dad? He’s not getting any better and this has been going on for over eleven years now. It’s pretty obvious that he’s out of his mind.’

  Alice wiped her forehead with the back of a ravaged hand as she turned to look at her daughter. Her greying hair was held in a loose bun with thin strands hanging scraggily down. Though only in her forties, the hard life she’d been forced to live had prematurely aged her, and she said wearily, ‘I’ve been through this with you before, Dottie. I won’t have your father put in one of them places ’cos you know what they do to them in there. They electrocute them! He just needs lots of love and patience from his family. You’ll see, one day we’ll have your dad back to how he was, but if he goes into that nuthouse, that’ll be the last we ever see of him.’

  ‘What if you’re wrong, Mum? What if he never gets better?’

  ‘He will, love. You know that Mrs Brigade, the woman from up Lavender Hill with the nine boys all with ginger hair, well, I saw her the other day in the haberdashery shop. She told me that three of her sons had come home from the war as very changed young men and it took years to get back to normal. The point is, they did eve
ntually, and remember they’re a lot younger than your father, so of course they would get better quicker. But mark my words, gal, your father will be back to his silly old self soon enough.’

  Dorothy wasn’t convinced and would rather have put her trust in modern medicine but she didn’t want to push her mother any further. ‘If you say so, Mum. I reckon it’s a bloody travesty though. The army should never have sent him home like that. They should have sent him to one of those centres first, you know, the ones where they have special head doctors to sort out soldiers with that combat stress thing.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, love, but at the end of the day they washed their hands of him. Many years ago I did apply to have his pension increased, but they turned the application down.’

  ‘You could try again.’

  ‘No, love, your dad isn’t physically disabled and, as they sort of hinted that he could be putting it on, it would just be a waste of time.’

  ‘Of course he isn’t putting it on,’ Dottie said indignantly.

  ‘You know that and I know that, but I’m not going to put him through one of those medicals again. Now come on, go and do something with your hair before that lovely young man of yours arrives. Is he taking you dancing tonight?’

  Dorothy couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Robbie, even though she knew her mother was changing the subject, which she always did whenever Dorothy brought up her father’s health or his pension. ‘He is, and tonight there’s a band on who sound just like Bill Haley and His Comets. I’ve made myself a smashing pencil skirt to wear, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to dance very well in it.’

  ‘I don’t know, you youngsters and your funny fashions. Don’t get me wrong, Robbie’s a lovely lad, but those trousers he wears are so blinking tight they’re nearing indecency, and as for his daft floppy hair …’

  ‘His hair is just like that film star Tony Curtis, and I don’t hear you knocking him. And as for his trousers, well … I think he looks dishy in them!’

  ‘Dishy? What sort of word is that?’ Alice asked, laughing.

  Dorothy joined in and then left her mother at the mangle as she skipped up the stairs to her bedroom to change her clothes and plait her long blonde hair.

  Alice was so pleased to see the joy Robbie had brought to her daughter’s life over the past few months. After all, the girl didn’t have it easy. She worked long hours in the bakery and deserved a bit of fun.

  A pang of guilt struck Alice again, the same feeling she’d harboured since Dottie first started work aged fifteen. Her daughter was such a beautiful girl and could easily have been a model, but instead she’d had to take the job with Bertie Epstein, the baker in town. Dorothy never failed to hand over most of her wages and she never complained about it. Alice tried hard to contribute herself, but couldn’t earn enough to cover all the household expenses from taking in washing.

  She was grateful to her neighbours for helping her out. It wasn’t as if most of them could afford the privilege of someone to do their dirty laundry, but still they rallied around, paying a few pennies where they could for Alice to wash their clothes and sheets. She had a couple of clients from the posh houses facing the park, but they were proper skinflints and didn’t pay much. She wanted to ask for more, but was too scared of losing the work. She paid a lad threepence to pick up the laundry and return it, and though it ate into her earnings, she was reluctant to add to her daughter’s load by asking her to take on the task.

  It was a hard life, but Alice wouldn’t grumble. Bill couldn’t help being how he was. He was all right physically. He could walk and with a push from her he would wash, dress and feed himself, but she knew that left to his own devices he would just sit in his own muck.

  Alice sighed. It wasn’t as if he’d deliberately sent himself mad, and when she tried to imagine what her husband must have witnessed to send him over the edge, a shudder went down her spine. He’d always been such a good provider, but when war broke out, being loyal to King and country, he had immediately put himself forward to ‘do his bit’. Yet look at him now, rocking backwards and forwards in his chair, mumbling to himself and still screaming out in bed when the nightmares haunted him.

  Alice yearned to help him recover but Dorothy’s questions still rang in her ears. What if he never gets better? Alice stiffened with resolve. In sickness and in health, that’s what she had vowed on her wedding day, and come what may she would stick to her promise to Bill.

  Chapter 2

  Dorothy’s heart was beating nineteen to the dozen as seven o’clock approached. Robbie would be calling for her and butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she checked her reflection in the cracked mirror on her small oak dressing table. She applied a slick of red lipstick, using it as blusher too to rosy her cheeks. Her blue eyes were framed with jet-black mascara and a red satin bow held her long plait in place. She was strikingly pretty, with long legs that put her three or four inches taller than most of her friends, yet she was a humble girl who didn’t realise how attractive she was to men.

  Satisfied with her appearance, Dottie went over to the window and saw Robbie walking along the street, his hands tucked firmly into his trouser pockets and a roll-up hanging from the corner of his mouth. With a clap of glee, she grabbed a cardigan before racing down the stairs to open the front door.

  ‘Hello, Dottie,’ Robbie greeted her, flashing a wide smile. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes! You look ravishing as always. Come here and give me a kiss.’

  Dorothy giggled and pulled away from Robbie’s tightening clinch on her. ‘Pack it in, will you, my mum’s just round the door,’ she said, indicating with her head at the front room. ‘She’ll hear you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t mind if she does. I’ll tell her what a gorgeous daughter she has and how I can’t keep my hands off her lovely bum.’

  Hoping her mother hadn’t heard Robbie’s remark, Dorothy yelled a hasty goodbye, grabbed her coat and quickly closed the front door behind her as she heard her mother call back a warning. ‘Don’t be late and behave yourself!’

  Robbie and Dorothy both held their breath until they got safely out of earshot, but then burst out laughing. ‘Behave yourself,’ Robbie parroted as he pulled her into his arms again. ‘I hope there’s no chance of that.’

  Dorothy tingled as Robbie lowered his head to kiss her passionately on the lips, and she squirmed with excitement as his tongue explored her mouth. Breathless, she untangled herself from his arms, aware and embarrassed that the neighbours might see them cavorting in the street. ‘Let’s get a move on,’ she urged. ‘We don’t want to miss the best dances.’

  Robbie threw his arm over her shoulder and led her down the street. She felt so proud to be with him. He was different, well spoken and from a nicer part of the borough than where she lived. She admired him, though she’d heard rumours about Robbie seeing other women. She quickly quashed her niggling doubts, looking forward to meeting up with their friends in the local church hall.

  As they got closer to the dance venue, the sound of rock ’n’ roll floated through the air. Dorothy felt her excitement increase and was eager to dance with Robbie, but then she heard shouting over the sound of the music and recognised the raised voice of her friend Jimmy. It sounded like he was having an argument with Kimberley, his old school sweetheart who was now his wife.

  Robbie and Dorothy rounded a corner and came face to face with the quarrelling couple. She noticed that Kimberley quickly hung her head.

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ Jimmy spat.

  ‘It sounds like you two are having a bit of a tiff,’ Robbie said.

  ‘I wonder why that might be,’ Jimmy answered sarcastically. ‘Care to shed any light on it?’

  Robbie shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Rob. I’ve heard all about you sneaking round to mine when I’ve been out and getting up to all sorts with my missus.’

  ‘I haven’t been getting up to anything,’ an
swered Robbie as he took Dorothy’s hand and pulled her towards the entrance of the church hall, ‘and if your missus says any differently, then she’s a lying bitch.’

  Jimmy arched his shoulders back. ‘Don’t talk about my Kimberley like that.’

  ‘Huh, one minute you’re accusing her of doing the dirty on you and now you’re defending her. Get your facts straight, Jimmy. I popped round last week to help her out with a leaky tap which it seems you couldn’t fix. I was just doing you a favour, mate.’

  There were a few moments’ silence and Dorothy looked again at Kimberley, who, with her head still hung low, quickly flashed her a sideways glance. In that split second Dorothy was sure she had seen something in Kimberley’s eyes … something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  Jimmy broke the silence. ‘Is that true, Kim? Was that all he was doing?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kimberley answered quietly, her head still low.

  ‘Then why didn’t you just say so?’

  It was Robbie who answered. ‘She never said anything because she didn’t want to hurt your pride. Come on, Jimmy, get a grip.’

  ‘All right, all right. Just don’t keep stupid secrets from me again, either of you,’ said Jimmy, looking back and forth between Robbie and Kimberley.