by Rosie James
Abigail gazed out of the window, briefly admitting to a sense of depression. And she knew why. It was Emily talking about her daddy. The daddy she had never seen, the daddy who never knew his daughter existed.
Tears filled Abigail’s eyes. Luke … Oh Luke. If only I could see you, talk to you, just for an hour. If only I could feel your arms holding me … something I dream about all the time …
And if only I could put right the wrong which remains a terrible weight on my conscience. Because in the eyes of the world, Luke, our little daughter is anonymous, she is nobody. She has no birth certificate, no official document, there was no christening. Because my aunt could not bear the shame of an illegitimate child being born under her roof.
But one day … one day …
Then Abigail put away her hanky and began dusting the dressing table. They had been so lucky, she and Emily, lucky to be alive. After all, despite all those bombs falling on Bristol, they had escaped unharmed and there was little talk of future raids to come. The war was being waged much further afield, and local talk now was more about shortages and rationing and the general inconvenience of living in a damaged city.
And Emily? From the first moment that she and Eileen’s mother had set eyes on each other, her life seemed so full of hope. And now she was doing well at all her lessons – in fact, just before the Easter holidays, Miss Townsend had spoken to Abigail about Emily’s progress. ‘Your daughter is very quick to understand and to remember,’ Miss Townsend had said, ‘and seems to love being challenged. As does Jennifer Andrews who sits next to Emily and who seems to be just as eager to come top in all the tests. The two of them are such good friends – like confident sparring partners competing with each other all the time, which can be a very good thing.’
And the more Abigail thought about it, so many pieces of good luck had fallen their way.
Abigail instinctively glanced over at the holdall containing her precious belongings. After the exhibition had ended, her father’s paintings had been returned and they were here, safely with her again. And that should be encouraging her to do some more of her own, shouldn’t it?
She stood up, angry at herself for feeling dispirited. Of course she was going to do more drawing and colouring. Maybe she’d start again tomorrow.
Chapter 33
For the three war girls, memories of their time at the Royal Ordnance Factory would stay with them for the rest of their lives, but now that they were back at their jobs in the city, it was surprising how soon the comparative monotony of each day filled most of their thoughts. And the fact that the war at home was very quiet added to the feeling that they were now in a kind of backwater.
But for Carrie, her preoccupation was in constantly wondering where Mark was and whether he was safe. Very little news came her way despite the fact that she did receive the occasional letter. But it was obvious that the war was not over yet. And Eileen, too, shared Carrie’s anxiety, because she did not hear from Simon as frequently anymore.
As for Gladys Matthews, since September she’d started working at the school just two afternoons a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, teaching the Infants’ class. Emily had been thrilled that Mrs Gladys was going to be there on those days but, as she was very much a junior pupil, she only saw Eileen’s mother when they went home together at the end of the day. And it had been generally agreed that if Mrs Matthews found it too much, there’d be no hard feelings should she decide to end the experiment.
It was the last Friday in October, and at the end of the day Eileen, Abigail and Carrie were walking home from the bus stop, arms linked as usual. Eileen turned to the others.
‘What shall we do tonight?’ she enquired. ‘Anyone got any bright ideas?’
‘I’ve got a bright idea,’ Abigail said promptly. ‘Why don’t you two go out by yourselves for once, like you always used to, without me trailing around after you?’
‘You do not “trail around after us”, Abigail Wilson,’ Carrie said. ‘It’s not like that at all – and never has been.’
‘I suppose what I’m really saying,’ Abigail went on, ‘is that, at the moment, I don’t want to spend a Friday evening without Emily. Now that she’s at school I don’t see so much of her, obviously, and I’m sometimes late home from Janet’s … But you two are so good about including Emily in as much as you can, and I sometimes feel guilty that sometimes she is in the way and that, between us, we might have been spoiling your fun. The fun you two had together before we came on the scene, I mean.’ She glanced up. ‘I know that sometimes you used to have supper at The Royal Hotel on a Friday night. Why don’t you do that today and leave me to entertain my daughter – and give Mrs Matthews a break! The poor woman must be tired out answering Emily’s incessant questions whenever they’re together.’
Eileen tucked her arm more firmly into Abigail’s. ‘You don’t need to worry about my mother, Abigail. She hasn’t been in such good shape for ages – now that she’s a part-time working girl! And I know that she’s never happier than when Emily’s with her.’ Eileen shrugged. ‘It’s true that Carrie and I used to occasionally do something special on Fridays if we felt like it, but that was a long time ago and we don’t even discuss it anymore – do we, Carrie? And certainly not since we discovered Scrabble! Do you realise how competitive we’ve become, the three of us or should I say the four of us! One of these days I think it may even come to blows!’
Suddenly, glancing up at the others, Abigail said, ‘Do you ever think much about the factory?’
‘Not more than I can help,’ Eileen said stoutly. ‘If I do, that vile smell actually seems to fill my nostrils.’
Carrie agreed. ‘Yes, it’s funny how you can actually recall something as ghastly as that, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘And – although I don’t often think back to that time – I did find myself wondering if Daisy and Margaret are still there. Do you think they are?’
‘Probably,’ Eileen said, ‘because I expect they need the money.’ She paused. ‘I imagine that when Daisy considers they’ve had enough, they’ll both leave.’
Carrie shuddered briefly. ‘I will never, ever, forget hearing that poor girl screaming when she was nearly drowned in TNT! I dreamt about it for nights afterwards.’
They arrived at number six and Eileen moved forward to open the door. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘don’t let’s be maudlin – it’s Friday night!’
Hearing them come in, Emily ran straight up to greet them. Hugging her mother around the waist she said, ‘Supper is ready, and I laid the table … and are we going to play Scrabble tonight? Because I won last time, didn’t I?’
Eileen smiled at the others. ‘I think the decision has been made,’ she said.
Christmas 1943 was the fifth festive season the world had celebrated since the beginning of the war and, as usual, people were able to buy enough to make sure that there was sufficient food on the table, despite the rationing. It was sometimes a question of ‘making do’, but for many weeks before Christmas Day everyone had saved a little of their rather meagre supply to ensure there were one or two treats on the table. And, as ever, Christmas trees twinkled in most houses.
Eileen seemed to know which of the places still had any stock of toys and gifts and often in her lunch time she’d gone over to Bedminster, or up the Gloucester Road, where the smaller shops were, coming back with one or two more things so that Emily had another full stocking to open on Christmas morning and all the adults had something to open as well. And for weeks everyone had saved their sweet ration for Emily. So as they’d sat around the table on the 25th it was possible to push all thoughts of war to the back of the mind. And at Morning Service in church – which everyone at number six apart from Mrs Matthews had attended – Jonathan Waters had invigorated his full congregation with optimism and hope.
‘We must give thanks that the country – and certainly our city – has not received any attention from Hitler’s bombers all the year,’ he’d said. ‘And at this time of miracles, we go on hoping
and praying for another one. The miracle of peace in the world, and the safe return of our courageous men, wherever they are. And be reassured,’ the priest had said, ‘right will win the day. Don’t doubt it for a single moment.’
Later in the afternoon Carrie had joined them at number six, and they’d all played games and danced the palais glide in the kitchen and had had cold chicken sandwiches afterwards.
And as Abigail had finally tucked her daughter between the sheets, she’d said, ‘That was a lovely Christmas Day, wasn’t it, Emily? And you’ve had some nice presents, haven’t you? And in exactly one week’s time, Emily Grace Wilson is going to be seven years old!’
Emily had nodded happily. ‘Yep,’ she’d said, ‘and I’m having a little party, aren’t I, and Jennifer and little David are coming. But …’ Emily had made a face. ‘I wish we didn’t have two whole weeks’ holiday from school, Mummy, because I love school and it’ll be a long time before I see all my other friends.’
Abigail hadn’t gone downstairs straightaway, but had stayed there, watching Emily until she had fallen asleep – which hadn’t been long.
Oh, Luke, if only you were here with us, if only you could see your little girl, so content and so happy. And so beautiful. You would be proud of her, Luke, as I am, because she has been with me all the way on the massive journey we’ve taken. The journey I promised you I would make. And do you still love me, Luke, as you always said you would? Do you love me as much as I will always love you?
Chapter 34
April 1944
The weather that Saturday was cold and dry – as most of the year had been – but glancing from the bedroom window Abigail could just see a small shaft of sunshine coming through the clouds.
She turned away, wondering what to do next. Emily had been invited to have tea with the Andrews family and wouldn’t be home until later, so Abigail had time for herself. But for some reason she didn’t feel like doing any of her artwork – sometimes she just had to be in the mood and today she wasn’t.
Instead, she would go downstairs, and start preparing the vegetables for tomorrow’s Sunday roast. And she’d make a bread and butter pudding if they had enough of everything. She would have the kitchen to herself because Eileen had gone to the local shops for a few things they’d forgotten, and Mrs Matthews was in her sitting room having a rest.
Abigail had only just finished peeling the potatoes when the kitchen door opened and Gladys Matthews appeared. Looking fresh after her little nap, she smiled at Abigail and went over to put the kettle on.
‘Ah, I can see what you’re doing, Abigail,’ Eileen’s mother said, ‘so I will make us a cup of tea.’ She reached for the cups and saucers. ‘Emily looked so pleased to be having tea with Jennifer, didn’t she?’
‘They do seem to love being together,’ Abigail said as she covered the saucepan of peeled potatoes with cold water before starting to scrape the carrots. Then she sat down at the table with Mrs Matthews.
‘Isn’t it horrible that Carrie and Mark have seen so little of each other?’ Abigail said. ‘He had those two days off just after Christmas, but since then he’s been back on duty and there’s not a single mention of any more leave on the horizon. Nor for Simon, either, of course.’
Gladys Matthews smiled quickly. ‘No, but the letter writing between him and my daughter goes on unabated! And I notice that she’s always wearing that sweet locket he sent her. It was very kind of him.’ Then, after a moment, she added, ‘And is Janet still busy at the café?’
Abigail nodded. ‘Well, let’s just say she’s always pleased to see me when I get down there each afternoon. Even though I’m not there quite so much because of the extra hours they asked me to do at Blackwell’s.’
‘Yes, it’s lovely for you to be working there again, isn’t it?’ Eileen’s mother said. ‘You must have missed it when you were at that other place.’
‘Especially as Blackwell’s could easily have given my job to someone else,’ Abigail said. ‘But I slipped into it again so easily it was as if I’d never gone away.’
‘I think that my daughter feels exactly the same way at The Royal,’ Gladys Matthews said. ‘She feels that after the flurry of interest on her return, she’s being overworked and taken for granted as usual! But I can’t see her sticking there for ever … And who knows what my daughter has got up her sleeve for the future.’
The two exchanged smiles, and Abigail said, ‘Whatever it is, Eileen will succeed at it. She is always such a tower of strength. I think both Carrie and I relied on her at the factory.’
‘If you were to say that to my daughter, she would insist that she was relying on you two,’ Gladys Matthews said. ‘So it must have been the perfect arrangement.’
Just then, Eileen returned with the shopping.
‘Ah good, I see the tea has been made,’ she said cheerfully, ‘so I hope there’s enough in the pot for me because I bring cakes! They’re slightly strange things made of marshmallow, with hundreds and thousands on top. We might as well try them. Emily would certainly enjoy them, so we’ll keep a couple for her. Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Eileen reached into her shopping bag. ‘Your Evening Post, Mother,’ she said, plonking the newspaper in front of Mrs Matthews.
‘Thank you, dear, I’ll take it into my room where the reading lamp makes it easier for me to see the tiny print,’ Eileen’s mother said, getting up from her chair.
After she’d gone, Abigail said, ‘Doesn’t your mother look well, Eileen? She seems to look younger every time I see her.’
Eileen nodded. ‘Yes, she’s on good form again, thank heaven. And as you must be aware, Abigail, much of that is because of you two. Emily has given back my mother that part of her life which had disappeared. Not to mention her being asked to help out at the school of course – albeit gently. Doing what she always adored. When you said, last year, that you wanted to move out my heart sank.’
Eileen stood up to clear away the tea cups. ‘Anyway, thank heaven that little matter has been resolved, I hope, once and for all! You and Emily are part of our household for as long as you want it.’
Just then the kitchen door opened, and Gladys Matthews appeared looking flustered. ‘Oh, Abigail,’ she said, ‘there’s something here in the paper which you should know about. Oh dear …’
Both girls came forward immediately. This sort of reaction to anything was not like Gladys Matthews.
‘What is it, Mother?’ Eileen said, taking the newspaper in her hands. ‘What is it to do with Abigail?’
‘Look at the last page but one,’ Gladys Matthews said. ‘The column with personal announcements. The one next to Births and Deaths.’
By now, Abigail’s heart was racing. What on earth was this all about?
Eileen spread the paper out on the table and she and Abigail both peered at the column in question. And even before she’d finished reading it, Abigail’s hand flew to her throat. ‘Oh, oh no!’
The announcement was headed: Abigail Wilson.
‘Would Abigail Wilson, believed to be living in Bristol and last heard of in 1939, return to her old home address as soon as possible to deal with a matter of major importance.’
After a few seconds of utter disbelief, Abigail stood up. ‘Something must have happened,’ she said shakily, ‘because I never expected to see something like this in … in … a public newspaper. And it can only mean one thing. Trouble. My aunt must be ill or she must have had an accident.’ Abigail put her hand over her mouth. ‘I must get down there as soon as I can …’
The others could see that the message had really upset Abigail, and Eileen said lightly, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Abigail. It’ll be something simple and anyway, everything always looks worse when you see it in print. I mean, if there was anything really serious going on – like death or destruction – there would be more formal information from solicitors.’ Eileen just stopped herself from asking Abigail why she appeared to care. After all, from everything Abigail had told them, her aunt hadn’t given much
thought to her niece’s finer feelings over the years.
Mrs Matthews intervened gently. ‘Of course Abigail is worried, Eileen, and it’s obvious that she must get there as soon as it can be arranged.’
Abigail stared at the paper again. ‘The wording sounds exactly like my aunt – just enough but giving nothing away. Her miserly instinct. No, it must mean that something really bad has happened and she’ll expect us to go back permanently.’ Abigail shuddered. ‘That is never going to happen. Never!’
‘But aren’t you jumping the gun?’ Eileen persisted. ‘You don’t know that it’s about that, Abigail.’
‘No, but I know my aunt. This is not a loving or polite request or an invitation, it’s a command. So, I’ll obey her, as usual. One last time.’ She turned to Eileen.
‘I’ll go next Saturday. Would you like to come as well, Eileen? I’d like you to see Coopers after all I’ve said about it. And perhaps Carrie would agree to join us and have a day in the country.’
At nine o’clock the following Saturday morning, Abigail, Eileen and Carrie caught the train from Bristol Temple Meads, later to pick up the branch line, which would take them straight to the village.
It was a pleasant late-April morning and as they sat, looking out of the carriage window at the passing rolling fields, Abigail tried to stem her anxieties. She’d been on edge from the moment she’d read that newspaper, asking herself over and over again whatever was going on. And what was so vital that her aunt wanted her, Abigail, to be there? They’d parted company five whole years ago. And it was supposed to be forever. Her aunt knew that. So why had she gone to the trouble of advertising in a newspaper? The way it had been worded was deliberately evasive, which was just like Edna. ‘Come and find out for yourself. I’m not letting on.’
