Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,15

cup of tea. She’s lost somewhere, in her mind I mean.’

‘I understand, Finn.’ Dorrie smiled, her head on the side while Finn handled the baby as if he was experienced in infant care. ‘But that’s exactly how depression can affect you. Well, you’ve certainly mastered the art of bottle feeding, you’re a natural. Well done.’

Finn gazed down at his tiny sister’s downy face, and Dorrie was struck at how much love for the baby she saw in his strong, tired features. He was a different boy to yesterday, when he had panicked and worried over everything, afraid his mother would suddenly die and how he would cope alone and without an income. Dorrie and Nurse Rumford had been required to reassure him over and over again that he did not have to manage alone. ‘The villagers are very kind on the whole and when word gets round, as it inevitably does, many will offer you help. Please do the sensible thing, Finn, and accept the help and don’t think of it as patronizing.’ The truth of her assertion had been proved moments before when she had found a bag of baby clothes left anonymously on the doorstep. Nurse Rumford must have been seen coming and going on more than one occasion and the right conclusion had been arrived at. Dorrie had guessed the mystery donor might be Jean Vercoe, who was Denny’s wife, and a caring soul. Finn had said he was grateful for the thoughtful gift, and Dorrie had seen him relax a little more.

‘Nurse Rumford showed me what to do. She’s been a brick and so have you. She returned again in the evening and stayed the night and saw me through all the feeds and nappy changes. She’s going to show me how to bath the baby today. I’m as scared as hell about that.’

‘Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure you’ll manage excellently. Now have you had any breakfast? We keep our own hens and I’ve brought some fresh eggs and a few bits from my larder. Shall I cook you a meal and then see if I can tempt your mother to take a few bites of something?’

‘Oh, yes please,’ Finn replied enthusiastically, his sight rooted on his sister. ‘I’m ravenous. You might have to battle with the range. It’s temperamental. I’ve managed to slip out and scavenge some more firewood. I’m trying to keep this chilly place warm for Mum and the baby.’ He had grown serious. ‘Look, I can’t go on just referring to this little mite as “the baby”. She needs a name, and if Mum won’t name her then I will.’

‘Have you come up with anything?’ Dorrie put her apron on and produced an apple from a bagful for Finn to eat now. She bought enough apples and other fruit from The Orchards each autumn to last through the winter and spring.

‘Yes, I have actually. Eloise, the name of my first girlfriend. She was beautiful. I hated it when her parents moved away. She promised to keep in touch and we’ve exchanged the odd letter. I shan’t write to her again. I’m too ashamed to be living here and the reason behind it. I think you know all about us, Mrs Resterick.’

‘I do, Finn, but we needn’t mention it again. It’s your business alone. Eloise is a lovely name.’ Dorrie cooed over the baby as Finn gently wiped milk from her chin with a bib. ‘So you’ve had a girlfriend already. How lovely.’

‘Thanks, Mrs R, you’re brilliant. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. Would you like to suggest a second name for Eloise?’

Dorrie had protested but Finn had insisted. ‘Mum won’t mind, I’m sure.’

So that was how part of Dorrie’s precious daughter seemed a little bit alive to her again in Eloise Veronica Templeton. ‘My darling,’ Dorrie whispered, sending her daughter all her love across the road. ‘Tell your daddy how much I love you both.’

Faith’s Fare was a large sturdy hut built on the site of the long demolished tithe barn. It was run by the women of the village and had received its name from the suggestion of the redoubtable Mrs Mitchelmore, who owned the largest, although not the grandest, house in the parish. The whole thing had been Mrs Mitchelmore’s idea to provide a place every day, except Sundays of course, for the locals to gather in and bolster one another up throughout the bleak days of the war. The WVS, of which Dorrie had been a