Sweet Caroline

Sweet Caroline

by Shirley Heaton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Shirley Heaton 2017

The right of Shirley Heaton to be identified as author of this work asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the author.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims damages

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Books by Shirley Heaton

(Medical Romance Series)

Love Will Find A Way

A Prescription for Love

A Private Consultation

The Turning Tide

(Contemporary Romance)

Chance Encounter

A Lesson in Love

A Break with The Past

Oceans Apart

Relative Strangers

(War and Romance)

Futile Glory (Writing as S L Heaton)

(Historical Romance)

Till the End of Time

Off the Edge

Helen’s Tomorrow

Prologue

1969

It was her thick glossy mane of golden hair tumbling carelessly over her face that first attracted William. He was curious to see her but her features were not visible. She was poring over a large notepad and scribbling away furiously. Occasionally she swept back her hair with the palm of her hand and glanced at the text book resting on the seat beside her.

William, now mesmerised, continued to gaze in her direction and when, eventually, she lifted her head and stared pensively into space he felt himself flush with pleasure. He took in her high cheekbones and the delicious curve of her mouth. Her eyes, a rich shade of green flecked with amber were enormous, almost luminous, and slightly tilted at the corners. They were eyes he would never forget. She was gorgeous; she was stunning.

He took a deep breath and gazed at her full length kaftan in swirls of pale greens and lemons. The colours were more subtle than most, but the daring side-slit revealed bare legs, shapely and slightly tanned. He drooled. Nature girl!

Peter, his life-long friend, turned and followed William’s gaze before coughing to gain his attention and prodding him sharply in the ribs. ‘Catching flies?’ He pointed to William’s mouth and grinned. ‘Shut it, Will!’

William exaggeratedly nipped his lips together with his fingers. But he had to admit to himself he was taken aback. She had to be a new student; either that or the common room was not one of her usual haunts. He must try for an introduction. And pretty soon – like yesterday!

‘She’s a cracker all right, Will.’ Peter paused. ‘Challenge?’ he suggested, widening his eyes and arching his eyebrows in anticipation.

Still in somewhat of a daze, William stared back at his fellow student. What’s new, he thought to himself. That’s the name of the game with Pete. Life was one enormous challenge for him and sometimes he went over the top. It would have led to their expulsion from boarding school had it not been for Peter’s father, a vicar and a solid citizen, who had smartly redeemed the situation.

‘You’re on,’ William concurred, although in truth his heart was not in it. Not in that way. For him it was not a mere game of winners and losers, a simple challenge. It was something more serious. He was developing a fascination for the girl by the second and it was difficult for him to look away from this vision of beauty.

But bravado won out.

William watched as Peter stuck his thumb in the air, turned and crossed the room.

‘Who’s a busy little bee then? Time you took a break, sweetie.’ He held out his hand. ‘Peter Smithson, theology. Nice to meet you,’ he added, oozing arrogance and confidence. ‘Fancy a cappuccino?’

She lifted her head, looking directly at him but ignoring his outstretched hand.

‘Sorry, love.’ Her accent was northern and her response was patronising. ‘I’d prefer not to be disturbed, thank you very much.’ Her face showed a slight hesitancy; her smile was weak. ‘I need to finish this assignment.’

‘Come off it, poppet. You have to take a break at some time. Let me bring you one over,’ he continued in a blustering, garrulous manner. William was aware Pete was used to having his own way.

She stared him in the face and frowned. ‘You don’t seem to understand,’ she replied, her smile disappearing rapidly and replaced by a look of annoyance. ‘I said no thank you!’ She enunciated the words slowly and deliberately.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Peter mumbled and, trying to charm his way out of it, he backed off and grinned apologetically. But, judging by the hang of his head and the slouch of his shoulders, he was obviously feeling foolish. He was a big fellow, slightly over six foot tall and a prop forward in the university rugby squad. But he was inches short of his best mate, William and the rest of the team for that matter. They were gargantuan in stature.

William laughed, knowing Pete could take it and, when the girl looked up again, he coughed nervously. She was so, so lovely and he was captivated by her. The question was, did he stick to the challenge or not? The trouble was it might spoil his future chances and permanently too. It would be a pity to make the same mistake as Peter.

And common-sense prevailed. ‘I think I’ll give it a miss on this occasion, Pete. We might get another ticking off if we carry on.’ He turned a strained smile towards his friend. ‘She obviously didn’t rate your approach.’

‘Maybe not but don’t tell me you’re backing out, Will. Not when I’ve broken the ice.’ He shook his head. ‘You must be cracking up!’

William’s jaw clenched and he felt a sudden surge of irritation at Peter’s immaturity. But he didn’t respond. He watched the girl close her text book, shuffle her papers and slip them into a plastic carrier bag. She turned and touched the arm of the dark-haired girl next to her.

‘I’ll see you, Linda.’

‘Don’t forget tonight,’ Linda replied. ‘About seven, Carrie,’ she urged as she spread her papers beside her across the now vacant upholstered bench to give herself more space.

‘I definitely won’t!’ Carrie replied and she crossed the common room, giving neither William nor Peter a second glance. Turning her back to the swing door she gently pushed it open with her shoulder. But the pressure on the plastic carrier bag, full to the brim, was too much of a strain. It slipped from under her arm rapidly spilling out its contents.

Within seconds William was there grovelling at her feet, scrabbling to collect the items from the common room floor. There were papers, books, a hairbrush, a lipstick and a small diary. He looked up, pushing back his thatch of blond hair, his eyes now seeking hers. And when he took in the scent of her a thrill raced through his body. He gazed into her eyes as though in a trance. But, anxious not to be tarred with the same brush as Peter, he quickly looked away.

He examined the bag. It was split down one side.

‘I’ve a feeling you’ve overdone it on this occasion.’ He held the bag in the air. ‘I think maybe it’s past its shelf life,’ he offered, handing it over to her and smiling as he started to collect the papers. He laughed and she joined in.

‘I think you’re right,’ she echoed, her lovely face framed by the glorious hair as she bent down to help him with the task.

He could feel her closeness and he wished he could stretch out and take her hand in his. But he pulled his thoughts together sharply and, when he began to straighten the papers he noticed most of them showed diagrams of the naked human body or skeletons. He stared at the top sheet which showed both the male and the female reproductive organs neatly drawn and labelled. Hot blood surged to his face and patches of colour appeared on his cheeks.

She looked across at him and made eye contact. He noticed her eyes were soft and they lit up to a kind of warmth that reflected humour.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. It’s nothing unique. You must have seen that sort of thing before.’ She gave him a knowing smile.

‘I’m not embarrassed,’ he managed to stutter and he looked away. But his voice was husky and the blush accelerated. He tried to smile away his discomfort but his lips seemed to be paralysed. He collected the rest of the contents and handed them over to her before standing up, shaking his legs to straighten his trouser flares and dashing the dust from his hands. She took the papers from him, rolled them into a tube and tucked them under her arm.

The papers had taken him by surprise, but not as much as the look in her eyes. Desire seemed to throb through every inch of his body. That feeling of warmth and the buzz he felt were almost tangible. There was something about her, something that made his whole body tingle. He had a sudden urge, an overwhelming temptation to put his arms around her and hold her tight. He wanted to kiss her, savour the warm smell of her skin and the silky feel of her hair against his face.

But he knew he wanted more than that. He reprimanded himself and made a valiant effort at self-control.

There was a deep silence for several tense moments as they studied one another intently, and then a wide grin spread across his lively face and his eyes began to glow with excitement. He held out his hand. ‘William Ravel. Fancy a drink?’

Her smile disappeared, and the look on her face was like thunder. ‘What is it with you? A competition or something?’ she asked through set lips. ‘I’ve already told your friend I’m not interested.’ She spat out the words with finality. ‘The answer for the last time is definitely, NO!’

He’d overstepped the mark and, inwardly, he cursed his lack of control. He should have stuck to his earlier decision not to get too involved but he had obviously got his signals crossed and he stared after her as, far from happy, she set off down the corridor. And then, as an obvious afterthought, she turned.

‘By the way, thanks for helping.’ Wide-eyed with amusement now, she smiled, waved the papers in the air and disappeared.

His heart lurched violently in his chest and he took a deep breath. But he must stop this foolishness. He tried to tell himself this Carrie meant nothing to him. Nothing at all! But he wished he meant something to her.

Part 1

Chapter 1

1951

The first sharp twinge came in the middle of the night and Helen awoke abruptly. She was familiar with this early signal and she released her grip on her husband’s shoulders and, turning over onto her back, she struggled for comfort. She sighed. That position was no better and, as dawn brightened into daylight, she lifted her gaze towards the window and felt the early morning sun casting its peach glow through a chink in the curtains onto her face.

But enough was enough and, after the discomfort of tossing and turning for most of the night, she decided to go downstairs. Checking that her husband was still sound-asleep, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stepped onto the soft carpet. There was nothing to be gained by disturbing Charles at this early hour. He desperately needed the rest after a long day in the operating theatre and despite delegating some of his theatre load to his new registrar he would be facing another full day’s list when he arrived at the hospital later that morning.

Helen put on her dressing gown and slippers and, silently turning the door handle, she let herself out on to the landing. Closing it quietly behind her she glanced into the girls’ bedroom. It was far too early for them to be awake and, as she anticipated, they were both fast asleep. They would be up soon enough and Gladys would have them organised for school in no time.

The contractions became more regular but Helen decided it would be futile leaving for the hospital too early. From past experience she had learnt that the later she left it, the less tedious it would be hanging around.

Her first priority was a cup of tea. She leaned over the sink and filled the kettle but, as she switched it on, she heard the creaking of the kitchen door. Startled, she turned. It was Charles.

‘What on earth are you doing downstairs without waking me, darling?’ There was a sense of urgency to his voice; his brow was deeply furrowed and anxiety filled his eyes. He wound his arms around her and held her against him, brushing his lips on her cheek. ‘Now tell me straight,’ he continued, pushing her to arms’ length, ‘have the contractions started? I want the truth!’ He focused on her eyes and, with total absorption, held her gaze.

She smiled lovingly and drew herself away from her dreamy state. It was so easy to lose herself when she looked into his eyes, so blue and intense.

‘Stop worrying, Charles. You’re the expert. You should be staying calm,’ she replied, a hint of amusement in her tone at his apparent nervousness. She pressed her body closer and, lifting her arms, she slipped them around him, clasping her hands at the back of his neck. Kissing him fiercely on the lips she let her head droop and nuzzled her face into his chest. When she pulled away she felt a warmth flow through her.

Charles took her hands. ‘I’ll tell you this, young lady, you’re going down to maternity this very minute, like it or not. It’s no use trying to cover up. The signs are unmistakable,’ he stressed, holding the palm of his hand on her swollen belly. He strode purposefully into the hall and removed her camel coat from the cloakroom, slipping it around her shoulders and squeezing her. ‘I’ll check if Gladys is around.’

‘I’m here, Mr. Ravel. I’m coming!’ Gladys, a slim, dark-haired woman of about fifty five, tripped nimbly down the stairs. ‘I thought I heard someone stirring. Don’t worry about a thing, Mrs. Ravel. Just get yourself off and let them sort you out. The girls will be safe and sound with me.’

‘I’ve never had any doubts about that, Gladys. And I’m perfectly all right,’ she assured her. ‘It’s my husband who’s laying eggs in case the baby arrives before we reach the hospital,’ she joked, smiling broadly and flicking her glossy, chestnut curls over her shoulder with the back of her hand.

She thought about her first husband, Jim, father of her two girls. She had loved him dearly but he had died in tragic circumstances several years earlier. But there was no doubt he would have approved of her marriage to Charles after years of loneliness.

Her mind reverted to the child she was carrying, her third but Charles’s first. She fully understood that, like most prospective fathers, Charles would naturally be nervous, despite his medical background. It was understandable he would be anxious to get her to hospital as quickly as possible and in the hands of the specialists.

‘Isn’t that always the case?’ Gladys replied. ‘Joseph was the same when Gordon was born all those years ago,’ Gladys added as she gazed into space. ‘He’s thirty-two now. How time flies.’

Helen smiled. ‘You can say that again.’

Charles took her hand in his. ‘Come along, my love,’ he said anxiously. ‘There’s no time to waste.’

They left Llanypen and set out for Chadwick Hall. Helen glanced up at the menacing grey clouds scurrying across the sky and covering the pale winter sun. It had now lost its peach glow and was lingering ominously behind the clouds, playing the teasing game.

‘There could be snow up there,’ she maintained, but she crossed her fingers in the hope they would arrive before it began.

Charles drove the Jaguar skilfully and swiftly along the narrow lanes and through the soft rolling hills encircling the village. Soon they arrived at Chadwick Hall and he swung the car into the cobbled drive that led to the front of the hospital.

Sir Michael Stephens, a close friend of theirs, was consultant obstetrician and they had every faith in him that all would go well.

‘You’ve been very quiet, Helen. How are you feeling?’ Charles murmured. He checked the contractions and she gripped his free hand, remaining still and breathing deeply until the contraction had passed. ‘That was a strong one,’ he maintained. ‘Let’s get you down there.’

‘I’ll be glad when it’s over,’ she confessed, telling herself it wouldn’t be any more difficult than when the girls had been born.

‘I’m going to stay with you. The girls will be fine with Gladys, and my theatre list doesn’t start until later.’ He opened the passenger door and, gently easing her from the seat, he helped from the car.

Once settled into the private ward, she rested whilst the basic checks were carried out. In her opinion such fuss was unnecessary and, although she was reluctant, she was unable to stop either Sister or Charles from insisting they introduce Trilene as a gentle analgesic when the contractions became more regular. Charles held Helen’s hand and she looked into his clear, blue eyes. How she loved this man.

Shortly before eight o’clock in the morning on the first of March, William Charles Ravel, weighing in at eight pounds, twelve ounces, took his first breath and uttered his first cry. Charles took the child in his arms and a wonderful smile danced around his mouth. With a thrill of satisfaction, Helen took in the vision of her husband and son. She could tell by the look on his face he was ecstatic as he glanced at the new-born; his first child, and a boy too. Myriad emotions seemed to swirl in the depths of his sparkling eyes as they lit up to gaze into hers, an expression of absolute joy on his face. Encapsulated in the moment, Helen couldn’t hide her elation. Charles smothered her with kisses. ‘Thank you, my darling. Now our family is complete.’

Almost beaten by the steep hill and breathing heavily, Bessie Spooner struggled valiantly towards the brow. A well-cushioned, homely body in her late fifties, Bessie wasn’t used to Jack’s stiff pace, and beads of perspiration gathered along her forehead, trickling randomly down her florid cheeks.

‘Come on, Sister Spooner,’ Jack called out. ‘Better look sharp.’ He didn’t look around but pressed on ahead pushing his rusty old bike, his only means of travelling to the midwife’s cottage in Florence Row. It was a mere stone’s throw from her cottage in Holmbridge to Skellan Heights but Jack realised the gradient back up there made an ordeal of the climb for Bessie who reminded him of his ma, an amply proportioned woman maybe ten years older than the midwife. Thinking about his ma brought her words to mind. I reckon Maureen will be a couple of weeks late it being her first so to speak, not counting the miscarriage of course. And now it seemed his ma had been right about the bairn.

Jack’s thoughts reverted to earlier that morning. It was half past four when he opened his eyes and realised Maureen was missing from the bed. Another couple of hours and he’d have left for the mill. He rolled over ready to settle down again but he realised he’d probably get it in the neck if he didn’t go downstairs and see if Maureen was all right. She would only tell her ma if he didn’t toe the line and check out what was happening. And that was the last thing he wanted. He’d had enough stick from Ma Platts already! His stomach churned. Had Maureen gone into labour? With no alternative than to check things out, he stretched and jumped out of bed.

Back to the climb and, checking his thoughts, he turned around and noticed Bessie was struggling. He took the bike one-handed, waited and linked his arm through hers, gently helping her towards the brow. ‘We’ll get you there, Sister,’ he promised.

But when they stopped for Bessie to catch her breath, Jack sighed impatiently. He wanted to get this over and done with. He had hoped he wouldn’t need to be involved when Maureen started in labour. But no such luck. He couldn’t get out of it now.

Bessie turned her gaze on him. ‘Don’t you be trying to rush me, lad. I’m doing me best,’ she muttered, appearing irritated as she wheezed and gulped in air.

‘I’m not rushing you, Sister. I thought it might help because I think Maureen was well on when I left,’ he reasoned, a wave of undisguised panic in his voice.

‘Come on then, lad. Get yourself moving,’ she ordered, taking in a succession of deep breaths and striding out.

Jack shook his head in disgust. Women could be such contrary beggars. Here he was trying to give the old lass a gentle hint and she had the cheek to make out he was the bloody slowcoach!

But he was only too relieved he’d managed to get Sister Spooner to attend to Maureen. If he’d been on his own when she’d started to give birth he’d have been absolutely flummoxed. He knew nothing about bairns. After all said and done, even though it went against the grain, he had owned up eventually when she’d told him she was pregnant with the first one. What more was he expected to do? Granted he had tried to put the blame on George Bradshaw but Maureen insisted George was banged up in Armley Gaol at the time she conceived. Even though he’d put up a fight, Jack hadn’t expected to have his back against the wall facing her ma with the big guns firing! What a bloody palaver it had been. Ma Platts had dragged Maureen to his ma’s house and confronted them. Maureen was crying her eyes out and on top of all that his own ma had given him a right stuffing. In the end between them they’d cornered him. Done and dusted! He was forced to marry Maureen. He hadn’t a leg to stand on.

When the dust-up was over Maureen took it all in good humour. There was no doubt about it, he could have done worse. Shortly afterwards he was lucky enough to swing the new job at Starkey’s. His ma hadn’t been too happy about him having to move to Huddersfield but a job was a job and, as she pointed out later, it stopped the neighbours from gossiping when he had to marry Maureen – out of sight, out of mind was his ma’s motto.

Jack dwelt on the outcome with sadness. Shortly after they’d married at Kidsworth Registry Office Maureen had miscarried the bairn. His ma and Dolly Platts had cried bucketsful, even though when they’d first discovered Jack had put Maureen in the family way, the whole issue had been shameful for them.

But Maureen had soon fallen pregnant again, and not out of wedlock this time. That kept the old lasses happy. His ma was as proud as Punch. She couldn’t wait for her first grandchild to be born. Visiting Jack and Maureen in Huddersfield had been a day out for Agnes. It was tuppence return on the bus to Huddersfield, three ha’pence on the tram to Jesmond Park, and the same to Skellan Heights on the single decker; eight pence in all. And as far as Agnes was concerned it was money well spent.

Thinking about money, Jack had always told his ma she was lowering herself doing a bit of cleaning a couple of times a week for old Ma Dorrington and all for the extra few shillings. He had asked her to pack it in. He was willing to pay the eight shillings rent for her. But she wouldn’t hear of it.

He pulled his thoughts up sharply and opened the garden gate. In the hope that Maureen was all right, he took a deep breath and turned the door knob.

‘Jack, is that you?’ Maureen called out feebly. ‘You’ll never believe what’s happened!’

Jack’s heart sank to his boots. ‘What’s up, lass?’ he replied, a sense of panic in his tone. But Maureen didn’t have a chance to clarify the matter. Her words had Sister Spooner putting on a spurt, treading heavily through the kitchen into the living room.

Dreading the scene in there, Jack held back, hoping Bessie would sort things out.

‘Ee, lass. You’ve done right well,’ Jack heard Bessie say. ‘I’ll have to put BBA on your card though, love – born before arrival. They’ll not like that down at clinic!’ she shook her head, sucked in air and whistled through her teeth, beaming proudly at Maureen before pointing her finger towards Jack who was now hovering in the doorway. ‘Hot water and towels, lad and be quick about it!’ she ordered. She took the baby and weighed it. ‘It’s a girl!’ she called after him. ‘Six pound, two!’

‘Spitting image of our Jack,’ Agnes Bean announced proudly as she dusted a vase in Mrs Dorrington’s sitting room. ‘Well I’m saying that but, of course, Dolly Platts reckons it’s their Maureen she favours.’

‘When was she born, Agnes dear? And have they decided on a name?’ Sarah Dorrington enquired pleasantly.

‘Twentieth of March, early morning,’ Agnes confirmed. ‘Yes, they’ve decided on a name. Our Jack wanted Valerie Anne but Maureen wouldn’t have it. She said she wanted something more regal, if you know what I mean. So she’s picked Caroline. It’s after one of the queens of England I believe. Of course, you’ll know all about that, Mrs. Dorrington.’ Agnes smiled.

‘I do believe she was the wife of George the Fourth,’ Sarah replied rather haughtily.

‘Yes, of course. Jack seems happy enough with Caroline, although Maureen’s not too pleased when he calls her Carrie.’

‘I must say I think the girl is right to chastise him. Caroline is lovely but Carrie…’

Agnes ignored Mrs Dorrington’s comment and continued. ‘Our Jack says he doesn’t care two hoots as long as the bairn’s healthy. He dotes on that baby. I can tell you, he’s amazed me cos I wouldn’t have thought he was cut out for it. But he gets her bottle ready and changes her nappy. He does Maureen proud.’

Sarah frowned. ‘Goodness me! I wouldn’t have thought that was a man’s job, Mrs Bean. But each to his own, I suppose.’ She huffed.

Agnes looked down at her hands. She’d done it again, opened her mouth and said too much. She might learn one of these days to keep things to herself. But at least she hadn’t told Mrs. D that the wedding was a rushed job and that Maureen had been pregnant at the time. She had mentioned Jack needed to move away quickly to start his new job in Huddersfield. It didn’t do to broadcast these things. Least said, soonest mended was her motto. But then of course Maureen had miscarried so it turned out to be a ‘storm in a teacup’ according to both Agnes and Dolly.

‘But I’m delighted for you,’ Sarah continued. ‘The little ones make all the difference to your life. Helen’s little one, William is a cherub. He’s absolutely adorable.’

Agnes continued with the dusting, lifting the precious Dresden figurines carefully and more absorbed in her own thoughts than anything Mrs. Dorrington had to tell her. ‘Our Jack wants me to pack in working but, as I said to him, it makes a break for me to come out during the week. And it’s not just the money, although it does come in handy, but the job keeps me going with the bit of exercise. It stops me from getting rusty, if you know what I mean,’ she admitted, smiling broadly.

‘I do hope you don’t decide to leave, Agnes dear. I’d be lost without you, and I do indeed know what you mean. That’s why I like to go out into the garden and do a little weeding now and again. It keeps your hand in, so to speak.’

Agnes could have laughed her hat off! Gardening now and again Mrs. D had said? Who does she think she’s kidding? Bloody garden would be full of weeds if it depended on her.

Although Jessica and Sylvia were filled with pride at having a new baby brother, Helen knew she needed to give the girls her undivided attention when they came home from school, making sure they were not overshadowed by the new baby. Thoughts of Jim flashed briefly through Helen’s mind. It was almost four years since the tragedy. For her two girls the memories of their daddy were slowly fading but she knew that if she failed to give them the love they needed they would never lose that sense of insecurity. Charles made up for their loss to some extent. He was so affectionate and caring towards the girls; they called him Daddy now and he was like a second father to them. He loved them as his own. No-one would have guessed he was not their natural father.

‘Can I hold William?’ Jessica asked. ‘I won’t drop him,’ she