Dancing on the Air Raid Shelter

By Yvonne Maynard

Spanning sixty years and set against the backdrops of WWII, the Coronation of Elizabeth II and the subsequent Diamond Jubilee, two women try to find the happiness and harmony they crave.

Julia, stifled in a loveless marriage, is driven to commit the ultimate transgression and set in motion a series of events which will lead either to self-destruction or salvation.

Lucy is tormented by the spectre of the other woman and desperate to uncover the secrets between her husband and the beautiful Grace Irvine. Determined to put an end to a lifetime of deception and lies, she learns that the truth lurks in a dark and sinister place and that despite the passing of years, Grace is as dangerous as ever.

As fate plays its hand and the lives of the two women collide, a story emerges of a murderous obsession, cold and calculated revenge and the irrepressible power of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Dec 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781803134284

Yvonne Maynard

Yvonne Maynard is a teacher with over thirty years’ experience. She has lived in the Middle East, The Netherlands and Ireland teaching both primary children and English language to adults. She is now living in Cheshire with her daughter and cat. This book is her debut novel.

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Epilogue

Prologue

May 2012

Edward Seymour scribbled some notes on the pad in front of him, stealing yet another glance at the seventy-nine-year-old patient.

Is it really him?

‘The hospital will be in touch,’ he said, pushing back his chair and standing up. ‘You should hear something within the next month or so.’

Tom Ashworth pulled on his flat cap and walked to the door with his wife. ‘Thank you very much, Dr Seymour. I appreciate your time.’

‘My pleasure.’ The surgeon pasted on a tight smile. He wasn’t a ten-a-penny GP for goodness’ sake, he was a highly trained specialist. The title was on the door of his office: Consultant cardiologist.

As the two men shook hands and their flesh connected, Edward felt a wave of contempt wash over him. This was the moment he had both longed for and dreaded in equal measure. He briefly studied Tom Ashworth’s clothing. The coat had seen better days and the frayed collar of his shirt hung loosely around his neck. There was no sign of the swagger and charisma Edward had always imagined him to possess, but then again, Tom Ashworth was an old man now, way past his prime.

‘Thank you, Dr Seymour.’ Mrs Ashworth smiled warmly as she buttoned up her coat and hitched her handbag into the crook of her elbow.

Edward flinched again. ‘Not at all; enjoy the rest of your day.’ Before she turned away to follow her husband, his trained eye noticed the faint trace of a scar down the left side of her face.

Closing the office door behind him, Edward sat down at his desk and opened the manila file marked Tom Ashworth. He scanned through the personal details once more.

It must be him.

His pulse quickened as he leaned back in his leather chair to consider the moral and ethical implications of what had taken place. It had fallen to him to repair an elderly man’s failing heart. There was nothing unusual in that; his priority was unquestionably the wellbeing of his patients. But Edward’s dilemma was not whether he could successfully carry out the surgery – it was whether he would.

He took off his glasses and massaged his tired eyes, feeling his breath being compressed in his chest as he began to contemplate the unthinkable.

The patient he had just agreed to operate on was the one person he hated most in the world.

The one person he wanted to see dead.

His father.

Chapter One

It was just before 10 a.m. and the supermarket was already busy. Julia pushed a ringlet of dark hair off her face as she wandered down the baking aisle and scanned the shelves for the ingredients of the coffee and walnut cake. It was her husband’s favourite and if all went to plan, the welcoming smell of homemade baking should ensure he was in a pleasant mood for the rest of the evening.

Julia was desperate for Edward to be in good humour for once; she could count on one hand the number of times they had enjoyed an evening together. His profession as a cardiac surgeon had been a tremendous attraction when they had met two years ago. She hadn’t cared that he was short and balding and, at fifty-six, almost twenty years older. She had fallen in love; it was as simple as that. Or was it? Lately, she had started to hate the stress and anxiety his work caused him and most of all how short tempered and introverted he was becoming. Whatever she did or said, she couldn’t seem to change things for the better; her husband appeared to be shutting her out bit by bit. After their whirlwind courtship and low-key wedding, she had been swept along on a tide of euphoria, giving up her job as a school secretary and telling herself that their life would eventually adopt a conventional pattern and children would inevitably follow.

Neither had.

Increasingly frustrated, she had started to doubt the wisdom of marrying a man in such a demanding profession, but such thoughts had alarmed her – hence the cake; it was an attempt, albeit a small one, to be more positive about their relationship. She tossed a packet of crushed walnuts into her basket and searched for the coffee essence, wondering how her marriage had veered so badly off track. The warning signs had appeared on her wedding day, two years ago, when the cries of a young child had visibly irritated her new husband and he had made several scathing comments about what a nuisance children could be. She had chosen to ignore them at the time, putting the remarks down to the stress of the occasion, but now it seemed prophetic. Julia put the bottle of coffee essence into her shopping basket and absentmindedly took another bag of crushed walnuts off the shelf.

Then she heard it.

If ecstasy had a sound, this was it. She turned to see a gurgling baby, its chubby arms and legs kicking with gusto from within the depths of its pink car seat which had been wedged in the front of a shopping trolley. Transfixed, Julia stared at the wide-eyed creature in front of her, thinking that nothing looked so perfect. She smiled and pulled a silly face, prompting the baby girl to kick and gurgle even more. Julia laughed and looked around for the mother.

‘Mind out, missus!’

A spotty youth in a high-vis jacket was pushing a full tower of bread crates towards her, peering anxiously round the side of his precariously balanced load. Julia noticed the top crate starting to wobble and instinctively pushed the trolley with the baby out of the way. Unperturbed by the sudden movement, the child kicked her legs and flailed her arms even faster, opening her mouth in a crooked smile. Julia’s heart melted and she reached out to gently stroke her tiny hand. The skin was soft and warm, and she felt a tidal wave of emotion surge up from deep within as the baby wrapped its delicate fingers around her own. At that moment, nothing else mattered but this tiny, fragile life in front of her. As she continued to coo and cluck at the baby, she became aware of a commotion around her.

‘Is that her?’

‘Rainbow!’

Julia looked down at the baby she was cuddling in her arms and then up at the crowd of shoppers surrounding her. All at once, the lights of the supermarket seemed incredibly intense and there was a loud ringing in her ears. Her pulse started to race as euphoria was replaced by dread.

What have I done!

As she opened her mouth to speak, a man in a suit stepped forwards. He spoke slowly and carefully.

‘Let me take the baby from you, please.’

‘I was just trying to help.’

‘I know. Just pass the baby over to me. Let’s not hurt her.’

Confused, Julia frowned. ‘I’d never hurt a baby.’

‘Of course. Let’s give her back to mum, shall we?’ He gently lifted the child out of her arms and handed the baby over to its tearful mother.

‘Rainbow! Oh, thank God, you’re safe.’

There was a collective sigh of relief and then the crowd turned angry.

‘Evil cow!’

‘She was trying to steal the baby.’

‘Sad bitch!’

Julia shook her head, looking earnestly at the tearful, young mother hugging her baby. ‘I was just moving her out of danger. The crates …’

A female shopper pointed to the exit sign. ‘Trying to make off with her, more like.’

‘What was you doing with her in your arms, then?’ yelled a young woman with a pushchair. ‘Trying to steal ‘er?’

Julia shook her head, ‘No, I would never do that. Please believe me.’ She took a few steps towards the baby’s mother.

‘No you don’t!’ said the woman, blocking her way with the pushchair. ‘You should be locked up for what you did.’

‘I think we should call the police,’ said someone else. ‘What if she tries it again with someone else’s kid?’

An elderly woman with a kind voice stepped forwards. ‘Please, everybody. All this shouting isn’t helping.’ She smiled at Julia. ‘Are you okay, dear?’

The gentle tone brought tears to Julia’s eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Laying a hand on her arm, the woman turned to the gathered shoppers. ‘No harm’s been done. We should let her go home.’

There was a disgruntled murmur but slowly and reluctantly the crowd began to disperse.

‘Thank you,’ muttered Julia as she hurried out of the store and burst into tears.

***

Edward was hastily rearranging strands of hair over his bald spot as he marched towards the reception desk at Ashdene nursing home. He was greeted by Stacey, one of the care home’s nurses.

‘Good evening, Mr Seymour. How are you today?’

‘Good, thank you,’ said Edward as he signed the Visitors’ Book.

‘Your mother’s been a little off-colour today. She hasn’t left her room.’

Edward frowned. ‘Is she awake? Does she need to see a doctor?’

‘Don’t worry, hon,’ said Stacey. ‘She was examined this morning by Dr Banney, who said she just needed some rest.’

Irritated by the familiar tone, Edward’s reply was curt. ‘I’d like to see the doctor’s report.’

‘Of course, silly me. I keep forgetting you’re in the business.’ Stacey rummaged through the piles of paper on the shelf behind her. ‘It’s here somewhere.’

Edward sighed. In his eyes, Frogton would always be a provincial backwater. He had moved up to Lancashire from London several years ago, initially working as a consultant surgeon at Garnley hospital thirty miles away. If he hadn’t recently gained a senior position at the excellent cardiac unit at Frogton Hospital, he doubted he would have stayed in the north of England for this long. But now that the health of his seventy-nine year old mother was rapidly deteriorating, any thoughts of moving away had been pushed firmly to the back of his mind. The only consolation prize, if it could be viewed as that, was that his mother had signed over the family house to him and he was now the owner of one of the most impressive properties in the area.

Without bothering to wait for Stacey, he headed towards the stairs and up to the second floor. He walked straight into his mother’s room. The curtains were partly drawn, but in the half-light he could see that she was sleeping, her head propped up by an over-sized pillow. He pulled up a chair and gently brushed away a strand of silver hair from her face.

As she slept, Edward looked around the room that had become his mother’s world since she had moved out of the family home. On her request, it had been furnished with her favourite possessions, the most noticeable being a large, glass-fronted cabinet that was packed with framed photographs. There were a few of Edward as a boy but most of them were of Grace, evidence of the privileged life she had lived, and a testament to the beauty she had been.

He walked over to the cabinet and peered inside, his eyes resting upon a black and white photograph of his mother in a silk, off-the-shoulder ballgown; she was looking wistfully into the distance. Almost all of Grace Spencer’s photographs were posed and formal, designed to display her fabulous gowns and jewellery. As a young child, Edward had been proud of his glamorous mother, but looking at the photographs now, he saw only sadness in her eyes and the dark secrets they were hiding.

‘Teddy, darling. How long have you been here?’

He returned to his mother’s bedside and gently took hold of her hand. ‘Just arrived.’ Her paper-thin skin felt cold despite the stifling temperature in the room.

‘I need to tell you about the new doctor who came to see me.’ She spoke with her eyes half-closed as if the effort of opening them fully was too much. ‘He can’t be much good; he’s far too young.’

‘Dr Banney?’ Edward arched an eyebrow. ‘He’s in his mid-forties.’

‘He looks as if he’s just out of school.’

‘I think you need to wear your glasses more often.’

Grace sucked in some air between her yellowing teeth. ‘Eyesight’s the least of my problems. I’m fading away in here, Teddy.’

Edward hoped she wasn’t going to begin one of her endless complaints about the standard of care she was receiving. It was costing him a small fortune keeping her in the nursing home with its twenty-four-hour care. Besides, he had enough to contend with at present, fielding the endless grumblings of his wife. As if on cue, his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and frowned. It was from Julia.

Call me as soon as you can. x

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. She would have to wait.

‘Is that work, Teddy?’

‘No. Nothing urgent.’

Grace raked in another breath. ‘You look worried, darling. Is everything alright?’

Edward took hold of his mother’s hand again, his heart pounding. For the first time in his career, he was about to breach patient confidentiality, but it was the only way to be sure. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. ‘A strange thing happened at work today; I met a new patient. His name is Tom Ashworth…’

As soon as the words had left his lips, a dark shadow passed over Grace’s face, confirming Edward’s suspicions. ‘Why bring up that name after all these years?’

‘It’s probably not the same person; I just thought it was a coincidence, that’s all.’

Grace grimaced, exposing even more yellow teeth. ‘That man’s pure evil.’

Shocked by his mother’s reaction, Edward started to backtrack. ‘As I said, I’m sure it wasn’t the Tom Ashworth; stupid of me to mention it, really.’

Refusing to be placated, Grace moved her head from side to side, sucking in sharp, staccato breaths. ‘What does he want with you after all this time?’

‘It was a medical matter.’ Concerned at his mother’s agitated state, Edward reached for the paperback on the bedside table, desperate to change the subject. ‘Shall I read to you?’ He pretended to study the front cover. ‘A Summer of Love. It looks interesting.’

‘Was she with him?’

‘Let’s not talk about it anymore.’

‘Does he know who you are?’

Edward sighed and put the book down. He should have known that his mother wouldn’t let the matter drop so easily. ‘How could he know me – if, indeed, it was him. You’ve always said that he never wanted to see me, and in any case, I’ve changed my name and lived away for nearly forty years.’ Although Edward had never really understood why his natural father had abandoned them, he had long ago accepted the fact and had never felt the urge to contact him. For most of his life, Edward had considered his biological father to be beneath contempt and, as far as he was concerned, might as well have been dead.

But that was before today.

‘Besides,’ said Edward, ‘the real Tom Ashworth is doubtless dead and buried by now.’ In an attempt to signal an end to the conversation, he took out his phone and began to scroll through his messages.

‘He’s alive, alright, as is that scar-faced floozy he married.’ Grace heaved in several more rattling breaths and ran her bony finger down the left side of her face. ‘It was a present from her dad.’

Recalling the mark on Mrs Ashworth’s face, Edward felt his pulse quicken.

‘That man is the reason we suffered,’ said Grace as she stared at her son.

‘All that’s in the distant past. Let’s not open old wounds.’

Grace’s voice was now a low lament. ‘He dumped us like we were rubbish.’

Desperate to calm her, Edward got up and poured out a glass of water, supporting her head as she drank. When she had finished, she lay back against her pillow, her eyes glazed, her expression distant.

‘Was it really him?’

Edward replaced his mother’s hand under the covers and wiped away the saliva that was seeping from her open mouth. ‘No,’ he lied. ‘It was just a cruel coincidence.’

Chapter Two

‘You did what?’

Edward looked in disbelief at his wife. They were standing in the kitchen, the freshly baked coffee and walnut cake lying untouched on the worktop. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

‘I was simply moving the baby to safety.’ Julia pushed back some of the dark curls that had fallen in front of her face. ‘I was mortified when I realised what I’d done.’

Edward took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘How could you not have known that you were walking away with somebody else’s child?’ He raised his hands in despair. ‘You might have been arrested. Imagine the damage that would have done to my reputation!’

Julia glared at her husband. ‘Is that all you care about – your career?’

‘My career is what keeps this expensive roof over our heads.’

‘Perhaps if we had a child of our own, it wouldn’t have happened.’ Julia’s eyes filled with tears. This wasn’t the way she had intended the evening to go. They were supposed to be having a romantic dinner and an early night. All that looked extremely unlikely now.

Edward lowered his voice. ‘You know what I think about children. I’ve worked too hard to have interruptions to my career. And besides, I’m far too old.’

‘But I’m not and I’m the one who gets pregnant!’

Edward shot his wife a scathing look from over the top of his glasses. ‘You know full well it would impact on my work. I need a calm homelife to do what I do.’

‘But don’t you think it would make us happy?’

‘Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve told you about my childhood?’

‘I’m sorry for what you went through,’ Julia softened her voice. ‘No child should suffer like that, but that was a long time ago.’

‘The hurt never goes away,’ murmured Edward, recalling the way his mother had reacted earlier that day.

‘I realise that, but …’

‘Anyway, just look at what you’ve got.’ Edward gestured around the kitchen with his hand. ‘You live in one of the premier properties in Frogton. I’ve spent a fortune on this kitchen; it’s got granite worktops and an island, for god’s sake! Are you now saying this is not enough?’

Julia sighed. It always came back to her need to be grateful for being rescued from the one-bedroom flat she had lived in before they met. But the truth was that she hated the old house and in particular the way it constantly reminded her of Edward’s mother, making Julia feel like a guest in her own home. Apart from the new kitchen and the dining room that was currently being redecorated, most of the rooms still had the dark furniture and heavy drapes that Grace had chosen years ago. For a second, Julia pictured herself hiring a skip and dumping the whole lot in it, but instead said dutifully, ‘It’s lovely,’ adding quietly, ‘although it would be even better with children.’

‘Children! How many do you bloody well want?’

‘A child – I meant a child. I’d be happy with just one.’

‘Evidently,’ said Edward as he walked out of the kitchen. ‘You nearly took one home from the supermarket.’

***

They were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Vicky had made the mercy dash to Julia’s house after dropping the kids off at school and was listening to her friend’s recount of last night’s disastrous events.

‘And you haven’t spoken since?’ asked Vicky.

‘Not a word over breakfast and he left the house early. He’s punishing me with the silent treatment.’

‘I see.’

‘He thinks I’m deranged after the supermarket incident.’

‘The only person who’s deranged is the mother who called her daughter Rainbow! I mean, what sort of name is that for a child?’

Julia laughed; she could always count on her friend to lighten her mood.

‘Okay, this is what you’re going to do.’ Vicky’s tone was part friend, part military commander. ‘You’re going to put the child stealing episode behind you.’

‘I wasn’t trying to steal her!’

Vicky raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you were a bit, but now you’re mindful of it, you won’t do it again. So, learn and move on.’

Julia pursed her lips. ‘Okay, how?’

‘Be goal orientated.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘You need to be a little more inventive; think outside the box.’

‘What?’

‘Blue-sky thinking.’

‘I’m not following.’

Vicky’s eyes darted left and right as she considered the options. ‘I’ve got it!’ she said. ‘A sperm donor!’

‘Pardon?’

‘Or a one-night stand.’

‘Seriously?’ shrieked Julia. ‘That would never work.’

‘Which one?’

‘Both of them.’

‘Well, you could always get help from the little blue pill.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Viagra.’

Julia shuddered. ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t.’

‘You don’t need to.’

‘He would never agree. Edward’s very particular about the type of medication he takes and anyway, part of our problem is that we don’t really, you know …’ Julia felt her cheeks burning as she mouthed, ‘do it.’

‘Ah, okay.’

‘He just doesn’t seem that interested anymore. I think he’d prefer to read one of his medical journals or watch a gardening programme.’

Vicky nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Ian and I barely manage it once a month now and sometimes that’s more out of duty than anything else.’

‘No, Vicky,’ said Julia slowly as if speaking to a child, ‘we almost never do it.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Julia looked earnestly at her friend. ‘Well, say something for goodness’ sake!’

‘Nothing? Ever?’

‘Once every two to three months maybe and then it’s always with, you know, protection.’

‘Right, I see,’ said Vicky raising an eyebrow. ‘Let’s not worry yet about whether the old man comes to the party dressed or not; we just need to focus on getting his urges back.’ She got out her phone and starting scrolling. ‘This calls for shock and phwoar!’

‘What?’

‘This.’ Vicky turned the phone towards her friend who let out a high-pitched scream.

‘You must be joking!’

‘Extreme circumstances require extreme measures. And when you’re finally pregnant, you’ll know it was all worthwhile.’

‘Give me the phone.’ Julia scrolled through the pictures of the Victoria Secret models. Surely this was never going to work. She was a plump housewife, well on her way to forty with her best years most definitely behind her. She loved food, had size seven feet and thighs that an ex-boyfriend had once joked could kick-start a jumbo jet. Perhaps a hundred years ago she might have been desired for her child-bearing hips, but in today’s world she felt awkward and clumsy; the exact opposite of the women parading around on Vicky’s phone.

Child-bearing hips. If only. She sighed and looked again at the lithe, scantily clad women wearing next to nothing. ‘Are you sure this isn’t lingerie for prostitutes?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Vicky, ‘but dressed like that, they’ll be fighting off the men.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I’m free until twelve.’

Julia walked to the window and stared at the empty lawn that by now should be strewn with children’s toys. She felt an unbearable weight of sadness and despair. The need to be a mother grew like the bindweed that proliferated in the garden, growing ever stronger until it threatened to choke and slowly kill her hopes and dreams.

She needed to do something. Grabbing her handbag and car keys she ushered Vicky out of the kitchen. ‘Just don’t make me try on anything in front of you.’

Chapter Three

The patient on the operating table in Theatre Number One of Frogton Hospital Cardiac Unit had started to haemorrhage. As the machines monitored his vital signs and the nursing staff and anaesthetist struggled to stabilise him, David Pembroke, a senior cardiologist, worked resolutely to stem the flow of blood coming from his patient’s