Chapter Twenty-Three

Annie was tired so after helping Billy to wash up she made her excuses and came home. His words, “She's seen her dad at his worst,” played over and over in her head. What did that mean? Did Billy Lawson have a dark side? Annie poured a glass of water to take up to bed with her but noticed that the cupboard where she'd stashed Betty's box was slightly ajar, as if calling her. She didn't remember leaving it open. She convinced herself that maybe it was a sign. The box was asking to be opened. Annie dropped it carefully onto the table and sat down. She lifted the lid and placed it on the table behind it then quickly picked it up again when she spotted some writing etched into the wood. The word Esme had been scratched into it. Annie couldn't think of anyone she'd heard Betty or anyone else mention by that name. She was sure that Betty was an only child, too, so it couldn't even be a sister. Her mum's name, whom Betty cared for until she died, was Edith, so it couldn't be her box either. Annie was mystified as she reached inside to browse the contents. On top was a neatly tied assortment of papers and letters. Part of Annie wanted to respect Betty's privacy but the majority vote went to her curiosity. Annie carefully untied the beautiful red ribbon and lifted the first letter out. She was shocked to find it dated from 1943; the envelope was fragile and Annie feared she would tear it as she removed the letter. She clasped a hand to her mouth when she realised it was a love letter and wondered if Betty once had a sweetheart who didn't come home from war and was struck by the sadness of it. She didn't have to read far too see that, that was not the case.

My darling,

Until I met you, I didn't know what real love could be. Douglas is a good man and he takes good care of me and Robert, but I wish that he could be away like the other men of the village. I trust you when you tell me that Gladys will keep our secret because if our love became known to Douglas, he would not be able to forgive my betrayal. She is a good friend to you. Our stolen moments have changed me. They've brought me to life and without you, I would again be dead inside. Until the next time.

All my love

Esme x

Annie carefully folded the letter back into its envelope and laid it into the box. So Gran kept Betty's secret love just like Kate had kept hers. No wonder Betty was never able to find the right man. It was there in black and white that no man would ever be right. Who was Esme? At the bottom of the box was a pile of diaries which Annie didn't hesitate to pull out onto the table now. She wanted to know if Betty ever found someone to make her happy, and did Douglas ever find out about Esme's infidelity. Annie was disappointed to find the diaries were from the 1950s and not from the period of her love affair with Esme.

2 June 1950

Mother invited the postmaster's son to tea again today. She says now that I'm thirty people are asking why I'm still unmarried. Harry Baker is a very pleasant man and has a good job and yes, he even took great care of his wife before her passing, but I can't bring myself to marry. It wouldn't feel right to lie to him when my heart lies with another. How I wish my life was as simple as the life Gladys has found. Gordon is such a bonny baby and he's a good boy, too. I don't think I've ever seen him cry, not once. Gladys is a natural mother but I fear I'm not. I wish Mother and Father could understand.

Annie smiled at the thought of her dad being described as bonny. At the back of the diary, Betty had taped a photo of herself with Gladys and bonny little Gordon in his huge pram. The two friends were so pretty when they were young. They'd stuck together through thick and thin, and even right up to the end, Betty took care of her best friend the best way she could; against the odds stacked against them when Gladys became ill and stopped recognising her good friend. Betty never gave up on her. Annie swallowed back the lump in her throat and turned the page.

18 June 1950

Harry is becoming persistent and says he thinks about me all the time. How can I tell him? How could I tell anyone? Mother doesn't understand, of course. She thinks I'm just playing it coy. Maybe I should do what's expected of me. It would make life so much simpler, but the thought of lying with a man fills me dread. Gladys is such a good friend, she listens and doesn't judge. Her advice has always been to do what I can live with and not what others expect of me. Harry's wife was never able to give him children and I know how much he longs for a son, but I'm not the one to fulfill that dream.

Annie snapped the diary shut when Betty's pain oozed off the page too much for her to bear. As she bundled the diaries and letters back into the box, she became aware of knocking coming from the front door.

“Who's that at this time?” she muttered while she walked along the hall.

Annie grinned at Billy as he stood on the doorstep with a bottle of whisky and two glasses in his hand. He didn't have to say anything. She was pleased to see him and opened the door wide with a beaming smile growing on her lips.

“I felt awkward about how we left things…” Billy held up the bottle. “Do you fancy a night cap?”

Billy frowned at the open box on the kitchen table as he poured them each a generous nip.

“I found it in Betty's wardrobe when I was tidying out the cottage. It's so sad, Billy.”

Annie felt tears well up as she spoke, “Betty did love someone once, but they weren't able to be together.”

“How come?” Billy lifted the letter from the top of the pile. “Let's see, shall we?”

Billy's eyes widened at the identity of Betty's true love. Annie watched Billy become absorbed in Betty's life through her diary. She struggled to take her eyes off him and mentally questioned what he meant by, “at his worst.”

“Wow,” Billy said as he laid the diary back down. “Poor old Betty. That must have been so difficult for her during a time when being gay was so unacceptable, criminalised even.”

Annie replaced the lid and put the box back into the cupboard.

“I think I've invaded her privacy enough,” she raised her glass high in the air, “I propose a toast: to Betty Mason, the kindest, sweetest, best friend anyone could ever have.”

Billy reciprocated then drank a huge gulp of whisky in her honour while Annie sipped and screwed up her face.

“Whisky's not really your tipple is it, Annie Marshall,” he teased then took the glass from her hand and kissed her.

Instead of allowing herself to succumb to his sexual advance, Annie pulled her lips back from him.

“What did you mean, she's seen her dad at his worst?” Annie quizzed nervously then waited.

Billy sighed and moved backwards and sat down at the table then patted one of the other chairs.

“Come on, sit down.” He poured another nip into his glass and offered Annie a top up which she declined with a brief shake of her head.

“I'm sorry; look, it's none of my business…”

Annie wondered if things were better left unsaid.

“Annie, sit down.” His face creased a serious expression which made Annie sit obediently next to him.

Billy downed his whisky in one large swig then refilled his glass.

Shit, Annie thought, this must be bad.

She listened to his breath, deep and slow, and so wanted to just take him to bed instead.

“I told you that I met Juniper's mum in Germany and we split when Juniper was six or seven.” This time he sipped from the glass before resuming, “My battalion was sent to Iraq and some bad shit happened there, you don't need the details, believe me. One of my mates was…” Billy's voice wavered slightly before he recovered his composure with a cough, “…when we got back, I hit the bottle then found that it was cannabis I needed to help shut out the crap.”

Annie listened quietly knowing that she was slowly falling in love with him more and more as he poured his heart out to her.

“Eventually, Agatha had enough and asked me to go.” He refilled the glass for the fourth time. “I'm not proud of it but I got into some trouble with the police and then the military police, and I was discharged on medical grounds because of PTSD and drug addiction.”

Billy searched Annie's face for reassurance that she didn't hate him now.

“I slept rough for a few years then…”

Annie's eyes widened as far as they would stretch and she clasped her hand to her mouth.

“Billy, that's awful, I'm so sorry.”

Billy sniffed and gave a tiny chuckle. “Why do people say that? It's not your fault.”

“It wasn't so bad. I didn't have a roof, but I had connections that got me some work and a shower. Katie, who owned the greasy spoon café near where I slept, kept me fed in return for odd jobs, you know. I was a big boy and it was my own fault that I ended up on the streets.”

He pulled his hands back. “Right, now it's your turn. I know about your affair with Danny Randall. Are there any other skeletons in Annie's closet I should know about?”

Billy stood up and cradled the bottle of whisky closely. “Come on, let's take this conversation somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”

Annie followed him into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa next to him to begin her life story.

“I guess I should begin with what happened after my hasty exit after what happened to Lisa. I moved in with Aunt Rita, went to college, then university, and have spent the past few years teaching primary school kids.”

“You're a school teacher, that's cool, Miss Marshall.”

He raised his glass in appreciation then rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. His rapid consumption of malt whisky caught up with him so Annie covered him with a blanket and clicked off the light then went to bed; alone.