Forgive and Forget (51 page)

She put up her hand as if to ward him off and said yet again, ‘Please don’t, Micky.’

He said no more, but after he’d gone Polly was left feeling even more lonely and unsettled.

Everyone was telling her that she and Leo should make up, but since Roland’s death the one person who’d been nowhere near her was Leo.

It was the end of September when he finally came to see her, almost six months after Roland’s death.

‘How are you, Poll? Though I don’t really need to ask. I’ve been kept well informed.’

‘Really? Who by?’

He gave a sideways grin. ‘Oh, just about everybody you could think of.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘My mother for a start, then your dad, Violet – even Micky. And Stevie and Miriam weren’t to be left out either, and then there’s been – ’

‘Stop, stop!’ She put her hands over her ears, laughing. When she lowered them she was serious again. ‘But I did wonder why you didn’t come yourself.’

He sat down uninvited as he said quietly, ‘I thought it best. I had to wait a decent interval, Poll – you know that – and I’m sure you feel the same. But now it’s time we had a good talk and – ’ he took a deep breath – ‘and I told you what it was that Roland said to me.’

Slowly, she sat down too and waited, her fingers twisting in her lap.

‘He was so very sorry for what had happened between you when he first came home after the war and, by the end, Poll, he was the old Roland.’

She nodded as tears constricted her throat.

‘All his concern was not for himself but for you and for Jacob. He regretted that he hardly knew his son and that too, he said, had been his own fault. He could have come home on leave a few times, and when the war ended he could have made more effort, he said, to get close to the boy, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own depression that he’d no thought for anyone else. Not you, not Jacob – not anyone.’

Still Polly said nothing.

‘But, like I say, at the end there he was thinking of you both. He – he told me that you’d been a wonderful wife to him, even though he’d always known that you couldn’t love him in the same way that he loved you. But he said you’d devoted yourself to him and to making him happy.’

Polly gave a sob and pressed her hand to her mouth.

‘He knew that you loved someone else. He – he knew you loved me and all he wanted was for you to be happy after he’d gone. He asked me if I still cared for you and I told him I still loved you with all my heart and I always would.’

Tears now ran down Polly’s face, but Leo went on, ‘“Then marry her with my blessing and take care of my son,” he said.’

Polly buried her face in her hands and wept openly. Now Leo moved across the space between them and knelt by her side. ‘Polly, my dearest, darling Polly, will you marry me?’

For some time, Polly could not speak and then she heard herself saying, ‘I can’t, I can’t.’

‘Why not, darling? You do still love me, don’t you?’

‘You know I do.’

‘Then why? Are you afraid of the gossips, because – ?’

‘No, no. I – I just feel so guilty that I brought the flu to the house, that he caught it off me.’

‘Oh, darling.’ Leo was actually laughing, confident he could allay her fears, but they were far too deeply embedded to be brushed away so lightly.

The guilt of years, the blame she’d carried for most of her young life, would not allow Polly to let herself be happy. She could forgive others, but she couldn’t forgive herself.

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Violet stormed at her. ‘You’ll lose him for good if you don’t watch out. Even Leo won’t wait for ever. How he’s waited this long for you, I don’t know. I’d have found mesen someone else years ago.’

Polly smiled weakly, but still Violet couldn’t persuade her. None of them could.

Nelly had her say too. ‘If you’re bothered about the Hetty Fowlers and the Ida Nortons of this world, then you can forget them, duck. We all know them for what they are.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘Even Bert knows what his wife’s like. Why, he said to me the other night in the pub, “When do you reckon there’s going to be wedding bells, then?” Now would he say that if half the neighbourhood weren’t expecting it?
And
wanting it for you and Leo.’

But Polly could not be persuaded. At last, when they’d all tried, Selina said calmly, ‘Why don’t you go up to the cathedral? It’s a lovely place to sit and think. Or go to a service on Sunday, if you like. We’ll have Jacob.’

Polly smiled. The woman would do anything to get Jacob to herself for an hour or two.

As she went home that evening, she paused at the end of her own street and looked up at the cathedral. She’d always wanted to see inside, but life had been so hectic she’d never made the time; now she felt drawn to it, felt the need to see for herself inside the building that stood guard over the city.

She lay awake that night, a strange feeling of excitement that she couldn’t explain keeping sleep at bay. She didn’t fall asleep until dawn was already creeping through the new curtains that now hung at her window, thanks to Selina’s tuition with the sewing machine.

And once again, she decided, she would take the older woman’s advice.

Polly went alone and told no one. Jacob was playing happily at the Thorpes’ house and didn’t even ask where she was going, though she thought that Selina guessed.

She walked along the High Street and climbed Steep Hill, the cathedral drawing her closer and closer. At last she stood in the square, staring up at the majestic building. She’d never been this close before, never even been to the top of the hill. She’d known it was big, but it towered into the sky, reaching up to heaven, Polly thought fancifully. She passed slowly through the archway and approached the huge door. From the interior, she could hear singing. She hesitated; she didn’t want to intrude upon a service. She just wanted to see inside, to sit a while and think.

A man in clerical garb came to the door. ‘Come in, my child. You’re very welcome.’

‘Is there a service going on? I don’t want . . .’

‘No, no. It’s only choir practice. You’ll not disturb them, I promise.’

She stepped into the cool vastness and looked about her in awe.

‘Your first time?’ the man asked gently. When she nodded, he chuckled. ‘It does take your breath away, doesn’t it? Now, can I help you at all?’

Polly shook her head. ‘I – just came to see it.’

‘Then have a good look around, my dear, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered and the sound seemed to echo all around her.

Polly wandered through archways and along the worn flagstones. She stepped into St Hugh’s choir and marvelled at the intricacy of the carved dark wooden stalls. She caught her breath at the magnificent rose windows, the smaller stained-glass windows and the stone effigies. She even searched for the imp – a stone gargoyle – and found him sitting cheekily at the top of a pillar. Then she sat down in the nave and stared around her at the vast splendour. She’d never imagined it would be so beautiful and regretted all the years that had passed when she’d revered the cathedral from afar but had never made the effort to visit it.

She sat there for a long time, listening to the choir singing, until the cold seeped through her clothes and began to chill her. And then, without really forming proper words, proper sentences, she began to pray. It was more a feeling that crept into her, a sensation of peace enveloping her. The burden of guilt she’d carried for years slowly rolled away. Just as she had found it in her heart to forgive others, she felt herself forgiven and, most of all, she could forgive herself.

At last she walked outside and lifted her face to the sky. She closed her eyes and revelled in the warmth of the bright September day. When she opened them and began to walk towards the archway leading to the top of Steep Hill, she saw a familiar figure leaning against the stone wall. She caught her breath and her steps faltered. He made no move, but his gaze was fastened on her face. Oblivious of everyone around them, Polly walked slowly towards him until she stood only a few feet away. Then she lifted her chin and said, ‘I love you, Leo Halliday. And, yes, I will marry you.’

He pushed himself off the wall, strode towards her and swept her into a crushing embrace, raining kisses on her upturned face. She laughed and clung to him, returning his kisses.

Gone were all her doubts, gone was all the misery of the past few years. Laughing, and with their arms around each other, they walked to the top of the hill and paused to look down over the city.

‘We’ve all been through so much,’ Leo murmured, sweeping his arm wide as if to embrace the city they both loved. ‘But we’re the lucky ones. We’ve survived. We’ll never forget those we’ve lost, but we’ve so much to look forward to now.’ He turned towards her and cupped her face with both his hands. ‘And we’ll never let anything or anyone come between us ever again.’

‘No, we won’t,’ Polly breathed, her face alight with a newfound joy at the thought of the happiness to come.

Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape.

Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twenty-four further titles including
Plough the Furrow
,
Sow the Seed
and
Reap the Harvest
, which make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy. Many of her novels are set in the heart of her home county, but in
Tangled Threads
and
Twisted Strands
the stories included not only Lincolnshire but also the framework knitting and lace industries of Nottingham. The Workhouse Museum at Southwell in Nottinghamshire inspired
Without Sin
and the magnificent countryside of Derbyshire and the fascinating town of Macclesfield in Cheshire formed the backdrop for the story of
Pauper’s Gold
.
Wish Me Luck
returned to Lincolnshire once more and the county was also the setting for
Sing as We Go.
Part of the story in
Suffragette Girl
took place in Davos, Switzerland, but
Sons and Daughters
was set solely in the flat marshlands near the East Coast.
Forgive and Forget
centres on the rich history of the beautiful city of Lincoln.

A
LSO
BY
M
ARGARET
D
ICKINSON

Plough the Furrow

Sow the Seed

Reap the Harvest

The Miller’s Daughter

Chaff upon the Wind

The Fisher Lass

The Tulip Girl

The River Folk

Tangled Threads

Twisted Strands

Red Sky in the Morning

Without Sin

Pauper’s Gold

Wish Me Luck

Sing as We Go

Suffragette Girl

Sons and Daughters

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The characters in my story are entirely fictitious, but I do like to place them in real events. The research for this novel has been fascinating and I have learned so much more about the city I have always loved.

My grateful thanks to Ann Yeates-Langley (formerly Wright) for all her wonderful help with some of the background material for this story. Ann is the co-author, along with Christopher Bray and Kirsty Grantham, of
The Enemy in Our Midst, the Story of Lincoln’s Typhoid Epidemic.

I am also indebted to the
Lincolnshire Chronicle
newspapers of the time, which gave a wealth of factual information on all the events.

I would also like to thank the staff of the Museum of Lincolnshire Life in Lincoln, Lincoln Central Library, Lincolnshire Archives and Skegness Library for their wonderful help with my research. Thank you all.

And last, but never least, my love and thanks to those members of my family and friends who read and comment on the scripts. Your help is invaluable and always appreciated.

First published 2011 by Pan Books

This electronic edition published 2011 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-1-447-20085-7 PDF
ISBN 978-1-447-20067-3 EPUB

Copyright © Margaret Dickinson 2011

The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.