Leave him to me, and let me have the girl too.
On a crisp early morning in May, a woman stood outside a weather-beaten old two-storey cottage in the outskirts of Leeds. The front steps had long ago given up the ghost and been hacked into firewood. A headscarf perched on her dark hair, braided in a tight ring around her head. She was kitted out in a padded workmans jacket, her waist cinched with an army belt, and a battered satchel hung from her shoulder. Her eyes darted nervously up to the windows of the first floor.
She took a deep breath, her gaze feverish for a moment, and stepped bravely over the threshold. Her legs felt like cotton wool as she climbed the narrow staircase and turned left down the landing.
This was the very room her husband had been given before the war, where little Maisie had been born.
Across the corridor, the enormous eyes of an ancient neighbour peered out from under a moth-eaten coat thrown over a nightdress; pasty, birdlike legs stuck out above a battered pair of wellies.
Now then! Lord above is that you back, Joan?
The woman squinted, recognised her neighbour, Mrs Crabtree.
Yes, its me. Joan.
I always said to Freddie, Watch out, Freddie, your wifell be coming home! Mrs Crabtree shook her head. Still breathing, then. Good Thats a relief.
Joan took a few steps closer. And howre you, Mrs Crabtree? Still pottering about?
How dyou call this living? Havent copped it yet thats about the best I can say. Starved all winter, we did. Oh, but your Freddie eats like a king, he does. Mind you, hes had it rough. Mangled his hand at the factory
What?
Didnt you know, love? Caught his hand in a machine. Lost half his fingers on the right. At least theres something left better than nothing. Kat brought him back round. Not tight-fisted, our Kat, works at the canteen, so theyre not going to starve, neither. Suddenly remembering herself, Mrs Crabtree shook her head. Listen to me, old gabbing on. Knock, love, theyre in probably still sleeping.
Mrs Crabtree galumphed down the stairs, muttering. Anxiety gnawed at Joans insides, but she brushed it away. Wasnt this her home? Shed learned about Freddies new arrangement at the camp. She hadnt believed it, not really, even now. It all seemed a misunderstanding. But their daughter, Maisie, had stayed behind with Freddie. And this was still her home in the eyes of the law not some random Kats.
Joan drew a deep breath and knocked smartly. Long, hopeless moments ticked by. No answer. The room was sealed up tight, as deaf to the rapping of her fist as to the thumping of her heart.
She knocked again. At last, a voice she knew hoarse, still thick with sleep drifted through the door. Who the devils waking us up? Give it a rest, will you! Its Sunday!
Joans throat clamped shut. She bit her lip, unable to get out a word.
Silence.
Mrs Crabtrees wellies thudded back up the stairs. What? Not letting you in?
Joan gave a little shrug, stepped aside, and leant on the wall. Mrs Crabtree banged on the door herself, pressed her wrinkled face to the crack.
Freddie open up, your wifes back!
A bedspring groaned, a cough, shuffling. Ill give you something to laugh about, old bat! The door unbolted, and there was Freddie, standing in vest and threadbare underpants.
He didnt notice Joan straightaway, slouched against the wall. Lost your head, have you? Its a weekend, let us sleep, for pitys He looked up, spotted Joan, and faltered. Joan! The word barely made it out.
He staggered, opened the door wider. Mrs Crabtree, crossing herself, shuffled back to her own flat.
So youre back, then, Freddie said, as if convincing himself. He stepped back to let her in. Joan brushed past, the forgotten smell of Freddies skin nearly knocking her sideways. Four years. Four long years.
She looked round same battered pine wardrobe, wobbly table with an immaculate white cloth, chairs with crocheted covers, a sewing machine, a makeshift bed for a child, cobbled together from an old chest. All clean and tidy.
Only there, screened off with a curtain on a sagging bit of string, another metal bed. The mattress creaked someone was getting up.
Maisie? Or?
Joan kicked off her heavy boots with relief theyd rubbed her feet to ribbons in the camp. Shed dreamt of ditching them forever once she got home.
The urge to rip open the curtain and gather her daughter in her arms was overwhelming, but the years in the camp had taught her patience, and it didnt really feel like a child was in there the childs bed was made up, unused.
She slumped on a chair, started undoing her belt, undressing.
Freddie ducked behind the curtain, there was a muffled exchange, then he reappeared, sheepish, dressed this time. He fished about in the wardrobe, slipped behind the curtain again for a moment, then came back and sat opposite her.
So youre back, then he repeated.
Yes, Im back. Amnesty. They let us lot with children out. Wheres Maisie?
Freddie straightened. Shes all right. Its Sunday, so shes gone to her grans for the morning have a bit of goats milk, that sort of thing. Shes started school, you know. They say shes doing grand, top marks
Which gran? Joan asked, voice tightening.
Kats mum. Thats well He faltered, nodded at the curtain. No guilt in his eyes, just the tired resignation of someone whos already made peace with himself.
At that, the curtain swept back and Kat appeared, calmly smoothing out the bedspread, gathering up her bag. She was a solid, full-bodied woman with neatly pencilled brows, black hair scraped into a tidy bun. She wore a blue jumper and a riotously flowery skirt. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she whisked the tablecloth off and started collecting her things.
You two sort yourselves out. Im off to work. Ill bring Maisie back after lunch. She bustled around, packing up, then vanished without a backwards glance.
Joan couldnt help but watch after her. Kat was young, glowing with health. Joan, after four years in the camp, looked at herself and thought no wonder Freddies heads been turned. Tall, yes, but now she was all angles and sharp elbows, shoulder blades poking out, nothing left of her old curves, skin rough and stretched over bone.
Her face was still sweet, though, with dark bags under her eyes that sleep never shifted.
Freddie was laying the table, working awkwardly with his good hand, slicing dried meat and pickled onions and bread. Joans stomach rumbled she hadnt had a proper meal in days, and she hadnt seen proper meat in years.
Hungry I bet? Come on, tuck in! Freddie said.
Joan washed her hands at the sink and dug in, fighting the urge to wolf it down.
Freddie watched her, concern flickering on his face. You werent writing much, these last months. I thought, well, maybe youd moved on.
I wrote. I didnt know Auntie Sally had died. Anyway what life? I just wanted to get back. Thought wed be a family again…
So Im the scoundrel, then?
Joan kept her eyes down, swallowing tea.
Freddie sighed, looked out the window. We were starving here, Joan. Maisie was tiny and I couldnt leave her home alone. She came to the factory with me, poor thing. Neighbours wouldnt help, not with food so short. She was wasting away. Kat started helping, snuck her snacks from the canteen. We were scared. You got sent down for what? Nothing. Kat was worried for herself too. But Maisie started looking healthier. Then this. He waved his ruined hand. Kat nursed me back, and we fell in together
And now? Joan asked softly.
Who Maisie? Oh, shes a right live wire, always bossing the lads about. Shes top of the class, Kat says.
We only got letters once a month. I wrote to Sally, told her to bring them to you. Then I heard after that shed died, and my letters never got through.
Shes been gone a good two years. I thought you were gone too or found someone else
You thought Id vanish, eh? Instead, here I am surprise of your life. Joan tried a wry smile.
Freddie sprang up. No, Joan! If Id known But I He came over, lifted her up, buried her in an awkward embrace, squeezing her skinny frame as though trying to fill her with life again.
They stayed like that a long time, his rough cheek pressed to the winding plait of her hair, his good hand stroking her head.
She looked up, eyes bright with tears. Bring me Maisie, Fred. Please, bring her to me
What are we going to do, Joan?
Just bring Maisie.
Freddie nodded and started to get ready.
Go on, have a lie down. Youre done in.
Will do.
Freddie, in a trice, had stuffed his feet into boots, nearly grabbed the wrong pair, wriggled into a jacket, cast a long look back as though making sure she was really there.
Joan stood by the window, watching his stooped figure disappear into the archway. He looked every bit as worn as she felt.
She sat on the little bed, leaning back, drinking in the faint scent left on Maisies pillow, coaxing her memory to work.
When she was sentenced, Maisie had been barely four. Now, shed be eight. Theyd found some corn hidden under her bed less than a sackful. An old workmate had dragged her to the station, where folk were pilfering whatever they could from an open wagon. It was desperate times Everyone took what they could, she just wanted to feed her child. Ten years they gave her. Eighty people from their little town went up before the judge that day.
Shed waved out through the wagon slat, watching Freddie holding Maisie tight, while Maisie scanned the crowd, not seeing her mother.
Freddie could barely read or write, so Joan had written through Auntie Sally. Shed only learned later, from her cousin, that Sally had died and her letters never got through.
Joan pulled off her jumper, went to the wardrobe. Everything in it felt like someone elses not really hers. She was home, but not home. Shed dreamt of it for years, convinced shed find peace there at last. She was only twenty-nine.
She stood at the wardrobe door, lost in thought, when Kat barged in, yanked off her headscarf.
Checking out my things, are you? Kat said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
Joan held up the jumper. Only wanted to put it away.
Kat briskly cleared a shelf for her. There you go.
Joan stuffed the jumper onto a high shelf. Kat flopped onto a chair.
I keep this place spotless, you know. Freddie and Maisie always clean and tidy.
I can see that, you do a good job.
Even the boss at the canteens shocked at how sparkling it is when Im on.
Fair play.
Suddenly, Kat sprang up and loomed over Joan. Just leave, will you? Go away, or take yourself off somewhere. Hes happy with me, cant you see? No one else will have him as happy as I do. Leave Maisie with us. Im not having any of my own, never will. Maisie calls me Mum, everyone does. School too. She doesnt remember you. Just go!
Kats voice was rough with feeling. Joan, entirely wrong-footed, struggled to grasp what she was hearing.
When she finally understood, she answered calmly, Im not going anywhere. Ive come home to my daughter, my husband, my house. Freds gone to get Maisie.
Kat let her hand drop, her scarf fluttering to the floor.
I know, hes popped into the canteen to warn my mum. Do you know how much she loves Maisie? Itll break her. Ill go see her tonight make sure she doesnt take it too hard.
Why should it be a tragedy for her mum to come back? Joan stepped nearer.
You wont go, then? Kat muttered, staring at the floor.
I wont, said Joan, stubbornly returning to sit on Maisies bed. Im not going anywhere. Where Freddie sleeps, thats for him to decide. But Maisie stays with me.
Kat threw her hand up. So thats it. Hell pick you, I know he will youre trickier than you look. What, you couldnt find anyone in prison? Plenty of men there, Im told. Dont pretend youre a saint. Just another lag. Kats words were like a slap.
Joan shrank, remembering the years of insults shed endured. At first, shed cried, but over time, shed learned from the best of them: to keep her dignity, to carry on.
As long as we have time, we can live decently, old Miss Edith from the camp used to say. Joan had stayed by her side and learned to hold herself together.
Youll regret this, Kat. Why are you doing it? She looked at Kat with sad pity.
Kat, ready for a row, expecting a shouting match, just flopped onto the bed and sobbed.
Oh, please! Dont take him from me! You managed for years without him, you can do it again and without Maisie. But Id be lost, Ive got nothing.
Joan wanted to grab her bag and run, but instead, she hid her face in her hands and stayed put. There was nowhere else to go, not until shed seen her child.
At last, Kat calmed down, blew her nose, scooped up her scarf, and left.
Joan wandered the room, at a loss, eyes darting everywhere. Was she jealous? The long separation had robbed her of any right. Oddly enough, she understood Freddie. Hed despaired, found someone to carry on with.
Should she take Maisie and leave? Move to Manchester? Her friend Pauline from prison had offered. She even remembered the address. Maybe that was best.
Joan gathered her things near the door, then slumped on Maisies bed again, exhausted, and drifted off.
She woke to the soft crunch of boots and muffled voices. Freddie and a long-legged little girl in a green checked coat and a fluffy white scarf appeared, chattering as they undressed.
Joan sat upright.
Here she is, Maisie! Your mums back.
Maisie looked just like Joan had at that age: heavy, tightly plaited hair, flashing eyes, hard little mouth.
Shed left a toddler, returned to find a schoolgirl. Joan couldnt believe her eyes. Shed rehearsed this moment a thousand times, but now she could only hold out her hands.
Maisie looked anxiously at her dad. Wheres Mum? she whispered.
Shell be home later, say hello to your your other mum, said Freddie.
Hello, Maisie muttered politely, eyes down.
Maisie! Joans voice croaked. Maisie, have you forgotten me?
No, I remember, the girl mumbled.
Joan realised it wouldnt do to rush her. She led the girl to a chair, sat close.
I remember you as a little tot. What do you remember?
I remember the roundabouts, and how you you took me sledging. She glanced at her dad. Is Mum coming soon?
Shes at work, you know that Freddie kept his gaze fixed away, awkward.
Whats out there? Maisie dashed to the window and waved to someone outside.
Following her, Joan saw Mrs Crabtree in her old fur coat hobbling off, glancing up nervously at their window.
Thats Kats mum, said Freddie quietly. I told her not to come, but She loves that girl, you know.
Maisie stayed by the window, and Joan realised how hard this all must be for her. The world had turned upside down. Suddenly, a stranger claiming to be her real mother arrives out of nowhere.
In that instant, Joan made up her mind. She whispered to Freddie, then went to kneel beside Maisie.
Maisie!
Maisie looked back, then lowered her head.
Maisie love, Im only here for a short visit. I missed you dreadfully, thats why Ive come. Tell me, are you happy here with Kat?
Maisie nodded.
Does she love you?
Another nod.
No one ever hurts you?
Maisie shook her head.
Thats good. You just stay as you are, work hard. Ill come to visit, help you if you need, I promise. Have you learned to read?
Maisie finally met her eyes, tears glistening. Yes, I can read.
Lovely. Ill write you letters, and you must write back, all right?
All right
Joan hugged Maisie, her precious girl, the daughter shed prayed for through all those brutal camp nights. The lump in her throat nearly choked her. She braced herself, grabbed her boots and jacket, picked up her bag.
Goodbye, Maisie, her own voice catching.
Out into the corridor, she pressed Freddies hand. Goodbye, Freddie. Take care of her.
He didnt even manage a word, just stared after her, cigarette glued to his lip.
She tore off down the stairs, through the yard, gulping the cold spring air, desperate to get away before despair flattened her. At the station shed shake it off, she told herself. Everything would settle.
She was halfway to the archway when a childs voice, clear as a whistle, sliced through the air.
Mum! Mum! Dont go! Mum!
Joan spun round. There was Maisie, half hanging out the window, and then gone again in a flash.
Joan bolted back, racing up the stairs. On the landing, they collided Maisie clutching her, cheek pressed to her side.
Mum! Mum, I remember you! Really, I do. I was waiting for you to come back
Maisie, my darling
No more words. No more.
Later, Freddie smoked and paced. Joan sat fully dressed, Maisie clinging to her side.
Its up to you, Fred, she told him quietly.
Theres nothing to decide. Youre my wife. Unpack. This is your home.
And Kat?
Ill sort it. Shes her mums house to go to.
He helped her off with her coat.
The next evening, Kat arrived, puffy-eyed, in a horse and cart.
Maisie ran out. Mum! Kat stroked her hair, went inside, started packing.
Maisie fussed around her, helping. Kat murmured instructions, picking over jumpers and socks.
You remember these tights? Still too big. The blue dress for parties. Youve outgrown the white one for New Years tell your other mum you need a new one.
Maisies eyes flicked between them. Joan made tea.
Kat packed only her clothes.
Anything thats yours, take it, Joan offered, pointing at the kitchen things.
Kat waved it off. She tied her sheets up and was about to leave when Joan stopped her.
Lets at least have a cup of tea together.
Theyre waiting for me, Kat shrugged, but all right.
They drank in awkward silence until Kat spoke.
Freddie prefers my stews, Ill tell you now. Wouldnt touch a watery soup. And his hands better used to keep me awake groaning. Dont give Maisie too many sweets. Her teeth are dodgy. And her ears tell her about winter, Maisie.
Thank you.
Joan helped load up the cart as neighbours gawped out their windows. When have you ever seen a wife helping the other woman move out?
But perhaps the war had smoothed rough edges, or everyone had grown more understanding when food was short. No one said much.
At the gate, Kat stood awkwardly. Forgive me if Ive done you wrong.
Already have. And Ill always thank you for Maisie. Wasnt easy, looking after her and an invalid.
Kat flushed. Joan, I swear to you, Freddies your man now. Ill never look at him again even though I love the daft sod. But I beg you, let me and my mum still see Maisie sometimes. We love her as our own Mums beside herself.
I promise, Kat. Youre family now. Let her visit as she pleases.
***
The next summer, Maisie was at the bench in the yard, gently pushing little Michael in his pram. Joan bustled in from the street, out of breath shed been to the clinic and was sure Michael would be missing her. But he was sound asleep. Joan sagged onto the bench.
Mum, Dads been, weve had dinner. You eat Ill mind Michael.
Ill have something here with Michael, thanks, love.
Im off to see Auntie Sheila. Shes got sorrel coming up, and I said Id help with the garden.
All right. Mind how you go.
Maisie skipped off towards the archway.
Maisie, darling her mother called after, give my best to Kat, will you? Tell her your mum wishes her much happiness in her new marriage!Maisie turned at the archway, her hair glinting in the sunlight, and flashed a gap-toothed grin. I will, Mum! Shes made gingerbread for ussaid I could have two pieces this time! She waved, already half-out of sight, and Joan waved back, heart swelling with something bright and acheful all at once.
She sat quietly, the hush of the little back yard settling over her. Michael snuffled in his pram, tiny fists curled, dreaming baby dreams. The world was changed nowpatched together out of hardship and kindness, old wounds and new beginnings.
Joan looked up at blue sky, paling at the edges as clouds drifted by. Somewhere a blackbird sang, undeterred by memories or regrets.
She pressed her hand to her heart and whispered, Thank you, God, for this second chance.
Inside the cottage, the clock ticked. Upstairs, there were two beds now: one for Maisie, one for Michael, side by side beneath the window.
Joan knew the old scars would never quite fadefor her, for Kat, for Freddie. But here, in this battered house with laughter in the rooms and childrens footsteps running between, theyd made something newa home with space for forgiveness.
As the first supper bell from the factory sounded down the street, Freddie shuffled through the gate, a loaf of bread under his arm. Joan stood and kissed his cheek, eyes meeting histhe same, yet softer than before.
Come on, love, she said quietly, lets go inside. Maisie will be back soon. And theres plenty for everyone.
As they crossed the threshold, Joan glanced back once and saw Maisie sprinting in from the alley, gingerbread in hand, cheeks flushed, Kats laughter ringing after her like a blessing scattered on the wind.
The door closed behind them, and inside, the little house breathed easy againfilled with the small, fierce joys of the living.
