Chapter Three

July

Heading up the long driveway to the Sunderland Borough Lunatic Asylum, Helen sighed to herself. It had been over a fortnight since her ‘chat’ with Dr Claire Eris, when she’d told Helen to stay clear of Dr Parker or else she’d let the cat out of the bag about Henrietta, about her real identity and how she’d been incarcerated under false pretences.

Helen wished she’d been able to tell Claire to go ahead and do it. She would revel in seeing her grandfather brought to some kind of justice. But of course, she couldn’t. Claire had no idea that should she tell the world the truth about Henrietta, it would not be just Helen’s grandfather who would suffer, but others too. For Charles Havelock would make sure he wreaked his revenge before he went down with the sinking ship. He would expose all the women welders’ secrets: Dorothy’s mother’s bigamy, Angie’s mam’s adultery, and the truth about who Martha’s birth mother was – a child killer whose crimes were folklore in these parts. He would destroy the lives of all those he perceived to have done him an injustice, starting with his former scullery maid Pearl Hardwick, now Mrs Pearl Lawson, joint licensee of the Tatham Arms, and her daughters, Bel and Maisie. He had already threatened to expose Maisie as a working girl, along with the bordello where she worked.

Pulling up on the gravelled driveway, Helen didn’t bother checking herself in her little compact as she would normally. There didn’t seem much point. She wasn’t seeing John. Wasn’t sure when she would see him again. Wasn’t sure what she was going to do about John. Every day, she woke up hoping that an answer would come to her. But it hadn’t.

Henrietta, though, was a different matter. Helen knew exactly what she wanted for her grandmother. So much so that she had devised a plan. And it was a plan she was going to start putting into action today.

Getting out of her beloved green sports car, Helen slung her handbag over her shoulder and grabbed a copy of The Times she’d brought with her. Walking up the stone steps of the Gothic red-brick building and through the main front doors, she spotted the elderly receptionist, Genevieve. Helen wondered if she ever left the asylum. John had told her that Genevieve not only worked at the town’s mental institution, she lived there as well. There were staff quarters towards the back of the hospital. The entire place was more or less self-sufficient, with its own bakery, kitchens and two large farms. John had described it as being more of a hamlet than a hospital.

God, she missed him. It might only have been a couple of weeks since she’d last seen him – not so unusual, as their work schedules often meant they went without seeing each other for weeks at a time – but the knowledge that she could not love him in the way she knew they could love each other made their time apart seem so much longer. So much more painful.

Helen smiled at Genevieve, sitting behind the large receptionist’s desk, and followed the now familiar route to her grandmother’s room. The place had felt like a maze when she’d first started coming here seven months ago, but now she could probably find her way blindfold.

Knocking on the heavy oak door, which had been left ajar, Helen heard the familiar tinkle of her grandmother’s voice, alongside a song playing on the wireless.

‘Come in, come in!’ Henrietta trilled.

‘Hello, Grandmama.’ Helen stepped into the room and smiled on seeing Henrietta. She guessed she’d been bored today as she had piled on her make-up. Blue eyeshadow, rouged cheeks, white-powdered face, thickly drawn eyebrows, and a deep crimson on her lips. Her hair looked a slightly darker red than normal.

‘You look like you’re ready to hit the town, Grandmama?’ Helen smiled, giving her a gentle hug. She was always careful not to squeeze her too hard for fear she might break. Henrietta reminded her of a china doll. Very beautiful, very colourful, but also very fragile.

‘Do I really?’ Henrietta put her hands on her ankle-length silk skirt, under which there was layer upon layer of tulle. She turned slowly, like the little ballerina figurine in a musical box.

‘Any reason why you are looking so splendid today?’ Helen asked as she sat down at the round table in the middle of the high-ceilinged room.

‘I have just taken receipt of some new make-up,’ Henrietta said, bringing the jug of water over and pouring them both a glass of what they pretended was Russian vodka.

‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one,’ Helen said. ‘I know some women would give their right arm for some new make-up. Any make-up, come to think of it.’

Henrietta looked confused. Helen had tried to tell her grandmother about rationing and what was happening in the world outside the asylum, but she didn’t think she really understood.

‘And I’ve had my hair dyed with henna,’ Henrietta informed her.

‘Well, it looks lovely,’ said Helen.

‘So, tell me …’ Henrietta took a sip of water and grimaced a little as if it really was neat vodka ‘… why do you not have that sparkle about you today?’ She put up her hand to stop Helen speaking. ‘No, let me guess … No rendezvous with your doctor friend?’

Helen sighed. ‘Grandmama, you are very perceptive … You’re right. I haven’t seen John today.’ She paused, unsure how much to say. ‘Actually, I probably won’t be seeing much of him at all from now on.’

‘Oh, my dear.’ Henrietta put her hand on top of Helen’s. ‘Why ever not? Have you two had a lovers’ tiff?’

Helen gave a sad smile. Her grandmother was of the belief that Helen and John were courting, or at least having some kind of illicit romantic affair. If only.

‘Tell me, tell me everything,’ Henrietta coaxed. ‘We have an entire hour. I want to hear.’

The song playing on the wireless changed and the unmistakable voice of Bing Crosby filled the room.

The sad, forlorn vocals swirled from the wireless and over the barriers she had tried to erect around her heart. It was as though the lyrics had been written for her.

The voice and the beautiful orchestral music caused a well of tears.

‘Darling!’ Henrietta reached up and wiped away a tear that had escaped and was starting to make its way down her granddaughter’s cheek. ‘Tell me what has happened.’

Helen blinked back more tears, took a deep breath and told her grandmother of her heartbreak: how she and John had been good friends, how he had helped her through some bad times, and they had become close. But she had not thought that John’s feelings for her went beyond the brotherly kind and had learnt too late that she’d been wrong.

‘But there’s nothing I can do about it now,’ Helen said. ‘He’s in a relationship with another woman.’ She purposely left out that the other woman was Dr Eris, Henrietta’s psychologist.

‘But I don’t understand why you can’t still tell John that you love him. If he’s not engaged or married to this other woman?’ Henrietta asked.

Helen smiled. ‘That’s where it all gets a little complicated, Grandmama. You see, John’s sweetheart has something on me – something that’s stopping me from telling John how I feel.’

‘Oh, dear me,’ Henrietta said, taking another sip of her drink and putting it back on the coaster. ‘It sounds as if you’ve been boxed into a corner.’

Helen nodded. ‘I have. And worst of all, if I let John know how I feel, it won’t be me that gets hurt, but others. Innocent people who don’t deserve it.’

‘Well, we must do something!’ Henrietta said, alarmed. She shifted around on her seat, as though getting ready to take action. ‘What is it this woman has on you?’

Helen took her grandmother’s pale, sinewy hand. She could never know the truth that it was she who was being used to blackmail Helen.

‘There’s nothing we can do. There’s certainly nothing you can do.’ Helen smiled sadly. ‘But what you have done and what has helped me – a lot – is that you’ve listened to me, and I’ve been able to confide in you.’ Again, Helen felt the sting of tears. She looked at her grandmother and thought how different things might have been had Henrietta been a part of her life growing up.

‘No more about my wretched love life,’ Helen said determinedly, sitting up straight and putting a smile on her face. ‘I thought it might be a good idea for us to swap our book-reading for a browse of the newspapers.’ Helen looked at her grandmother, who was eyeing up the paper as though it were the enemy. She wondered if she’d been purposely shielded from life beyond the asylum.

‘I’ve been thinking I need to know more about what’s happening in the world,’ Helen went on. This was a white lie. Every day, she had a quick glance at The Times and the Sunderland Echo, and in the evening she tried to catch the news on the BBC Home Service.

‘All right,’ Henrietta agreed. ‘If it’ll help you.’

Helen moved their glasses and the jug off the table so as to be able to spread out the paper. They looked at the main headlines about the V-1s, Hitler’s jet-powered flying bombs, which were presently decimating parts of London as well as other areas of the south-east.

When they started reading an article about Minsk being liberated by Soviet forces, Henrietta’s eyes glazed over a little, although she perked up when they flicked through the rest of the paper and came across a feature on new Make Do and Mend tips and Utility fashions.

As they continued to chat, Helen’s mind kept wandering to thoughts of her mother, Miriam. She wondered when she would be back. She’d have thought she’d want to return to sort out her divorce.

As Helen watched her grandmother read out an article that had taken her interest, she thought how strange it was that Henrietta was Miriam’s mother. You couldn’t get two more different women.

Miriam was most definitely her father’s daughter.