For Better For Worse by Pam Weaver Page A

her thoughts. There must be a terrible mistake. That woman at the back door – Sarah was it? – seemed normal enough, but she had to be deluded. Either that or it was a case of mistaken identity. Henry probably reminded her of her lost husband. He must have said something, or walked the same way her husband walked, and the poor woman had convinced herself that he was the same man. Annie cast her mind back to the late summer of 1947 when she and Henry had first met and were strolling along a country lane. She’d caught sight of a girl with long red hair just up in front of her. From the back, the girl had looked just like Ellen Slattery and her heart had missed a beat. Annie had grown up with Ellen and knew her very well, but Ellen had been killed in an air raid in 1940. At the time, Annie hadn’t taken into account the fact that Ellen would have been five years older, and that when you lose someone, they stay in your memory exactly as when you last saw them. The woman who had knocked on her kitchen door must have done exactly the same thing. In the cold, hard light of day, surely she would realise her mistake?
    ‘Annie dear …’ Annie became aware that Mrs Holborn was standing over her. ‘I’ve made you a cup of tea. You look as if you could do with one.’
    ‘They took my Henry away,’ she said dully.
    ‘I know, dear,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘I saw them taking him away as I got off the bus. I wasn’t sure if I should come in …’
    Annie stared at the cup and saucer being pushed in front of her. ‘Where can I get a solicitor? He told me to get him a solicitor.’
    ‘I shouldn’t worry about that now, dear,’ Mrs Holborn soothed. ‘Plenty of time in the morning.’
    ‘Yes, but where would I find one?’ Annie persisted.
    Mrs Holborn shrugged. ‘I’d ask the police when you go to see him tomorrow.’
    Annie nodded dully and shivered.
    ‘Are you cold?’ asked Mrs Holborn. ‘I suppose you are. You had all the doors wide open. I’ll put the oven on and leave it open to warm the place up a bit.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s a bit late to light the fire in the sitting room. You’ll be going to bed soon I expect.’
    Her neighbour left the room and Annie looked up. The clock was already ticking its way towards 9.30 p.m. She blew her nose and sipped her tea. A few minutes later, Mrs Holborn was back with a hot-water bottle. Annie watched as she emptied it out and refilled it with hot water.
    ‘I’m sure everything will come right in the end,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘Your Henry is a good man.’
    ‘A woman came to the house,’ Annie began.
    ‘That woman we both saw in the street?’
    ‘No, a different one,’ said Annie. ‘She said Henry was her husband.’
    ‘Her husband?’ cried Mrs Holborn. ‘Well, that can’t be right, can it? Didn’t you tell me you were married in the registry office?’
    Annie nodded.
    ‘Well then,’ said Mrs Holborn. ‘She’s made a mistake. I shouldn’t worry, dear. The police will soon sort it out and he’ll be back home before you know it. I’ll just pop this hot-water bottle in your bed for you.’
    Annie listened to Mrs Holborn climbing the stairs. The baby moved and she rubbed her stomach. What if Henry really was still married to someone else? Her baby would be illegitimate, wouldn’t it? Her throat tightened. She was an honest woman. She’d been a virgin on her wedding night. Henry was experienced, but then you expected that, didn’t you? Young men and their wild oats and all that … But he wouldn’t have deceived her about something as important as having another wife, would he? Would he? Supposing he
was
still married? That would make her an adulteress, wouldn’t it? If she’d broken the seventh commandment and she didn’t know, would that still make her a sinner? He’d told the police he’d got a divorce. Annie never even knew he’d been married before. Why hadn’t he told her? That wasn’t the sort of thing a husband should keep from