by Jenny Holmes
‘I mean it – you shouldn’t be here.’ Brenda listened out in vain for other sounds in the building. ‘Don’t you have to be somewhere else, with your men?’
‘They went on ahead. I’m the only one left, so I guess it’s just you and me.’ He stood up slowly and advanced towards her.
Quickly she flung her fleece-lined jacket around her shoulders then slipped her arms into the sleeves. She held it tight across her chest, shaking her head as he drew close.
He reached out and put his arm around her waist. ‘Lucky, huh? Just me and you, alone together.’
She twisted out of his grasp then backed away. She felt grit beneath her feet on the cold stone floor, heard the low hiss of the toilet cistern as it slowly refilled. There were two ways out – up the wooden steps onto the stage or out of the back door into the football field.
Guessing what she was thinking, Mac lunged at her and took hold of her wrist. ‘Come on, little Miss Judy Garland – no one’s going to know.’
Brenda swung her free hand and smacked him hard on the cheek.
He tightened his grip and backed her towards the open door of the toilet. ‘We can make it nice and easy or we can make it hard – either way suits me.’
His lazy drawl frightened her more than anything else – more than the strength of his grip or the mocking look in his eye. This was obviously something he’d done before. Raising her right foot, she aimed and kneed him hard in the crotch, felt him let go of her wrist and saw him double up in pain then recover quickly enough to catch her again before she could reach the door. This time, breathing hard and swearing, he used his full weight to push her down on the floor.
She lay face-down on the doormat, her legs splayed. He put his foot on the small of her back.
Brenda smelled mud and rot, felt the cold wind on her face as it whistled under the door. The weight of his boot on her back told her he was not going to change his mind.
Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw a woman’s legs on the wooden steps, heard her name, felt Mac lift his foot and spin around.
Kathleen jumped down the steps and ran at him and beat him with her fists – pounding his chest, his face – anywhere she could reach. She screamed at him and told Brenda to get up. She screamed a second time for Mac to get out, to leave and not come back.
Slowly Brenda picked herself up. Her ribs ached where he’d pressed with his boot, breath came short but she staggered towards Kathleen, who caught her and held her up as Mac sprang up the steps and disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Once Brenda had struggled into her trousers and sweater, Kathleen led her out of the changing room into the main hall. She left her sitting on the edge of the stage while she went to check in the kitchen.
‘It’s all right – he’s cleared off,’ she told Brenda when she came back. ‘I heard a car engine and looked through the window in time to see him drive away.’
Brenda stared straight ahead at the Christmas tree at the far end of the hall. She felt dazed and hollowed out, unable to make sense of what had just happened.
Kathleen hoisted herself onto the stage and sat next to her, her legs swinging, hands folded in her lap. ‘I’ve had my eye on Mac all night. I don’t trust him. That’s why I came back to see if you were all right, and I’m glad I did.’
Brenda didn’t reply. Her thoughts whirled inside her head, unable to find expression.
‘Don’t worry – we’ll report him to his squadron leader. This time he won’t get away with it.’
Brenda took a shuddering breath then turned her head towards Kathleen. ‘This time?’
Biting her lip as if unsure how to go on, she hesitated.
‘Has he tried it on with you?’
‘Not me – no.’
‘Who, then?’ Their voices echoed in the empty hall. The piano lid was down, the chairs stacked to one side – silent reminders of the evening’s lively entertainment. ‘Come on, Kathleen, what are you trying to say?’
‘It was something you said yesterday – late last night, as a matter of fact, when you were telling Una and me about you and Mac.’
Brenda remembered with a flash of shame how she’d sat on her bed and crowed about her visit to the Penny Lane base – laughing about how she’d gone into the storeroom and lapped up his whisky and compliments. ‘I gave him the wrong idea,’ she muttered. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘No.’ Kathleen’s reply was loud and firm and she rearranged Brenda’s jacket to make sure that it sat more comfortably around her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t you who brought this on, Brenda. What bothered me was that Mac told you that you were his dream girl.’
‘Yes – that’s when you took umbrage.’
‘It was those two words that upset me and at first I didn’t know why. Then, when I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, it all fell into place. I’ve heard the same thing before – only back then it wasn’t you being thrilled to bits because Mac had called you his dream girl, it was Eunice.’
‘He said that to her?’
‘The exact same thing. She swore me to secrecy, and of course she didn’t tell who the man was or a single thing about him. She just mentioned that she was walking out with someone – a handsome chap who sweet talked her and called her his dream girl. It’s not a phrase you hear every day around these parts – only when you go to the flicks or see a play.’
‘I see.’ Brenda’s heart thudded.
‘She seemed over the moon about it so I was surprised when she never mentioned him again. Then I forgot all about it because it was around the same time that Frank Kellett started pestering her. And of course it was only a few weeks afterwards that Eunice …’
Brenda took a deep breath to try to calm herself. ‘I thought it was Frank’s fault that she seemed generally down in the dumps, and later I suspected Lorenzo was the culprit. Eunice struck me as the quiet type – she didn’t give much away – but then I had no time to get to know her.’
Though the hall was empty, Kathleen leaned sideways and spoke in a whisper. ‘I think we’ve all suspected Frank and Lorenzo at various times. But, don’t you see, this throws a different light on things? Suppose Mac was Eunice’s handsome chap and she was his dream girl. Suppose he did to her what he just tried to do to you.’
‘Only he got the better of Eunice and …’
‘And the worst happened. She fell pregnant and didn’t feel able to tell a single soul.’
‘Because she was ashamed.’ Brenda’s voice was hardly audible.
‘Yes, and especially because of the way she was brought up. Did you know her father was a Methodist minister – very strict, by all accounts?’
‘I didn’t know that.’ Brenda relived again the moment when she realized what Mac was about to do – the arrogant look in his eye, the smile that turned to a sneer on his lips when she’d grabbed her jacket and used it to shield herself. The sense that this was not the first time he’d planned to do something like this.
‘Do you see what I’m saying? I think Mac was the father of Eunice’s baby.’
‘And not Frank.’ Brenda jumped down from the stage and strode the length of the hall, past the piano and stacked chairs, under the festive paper streamers. ‘Even if it’s true, Mac will never admit it,’ she said as she came slowly back.
‘But that still doesn’t stop you from reporting what happened here tonight.’
Brenda closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘No – what does stop me is thinking that I’m at least partly to blame. I could have, should have behaved better!’
‘And what difference would that have made?’ Kathleen had never seen Brenda like this – unsure of how to act and crippled by self-doubt. She even seemed to have shrunk inside the big jacket and her face was deathly pale. ‘If you can’t face going to Penny Lane, you could report it to Mrs Mostyn instead.’
Brenda ignored her and stared down at her hands, still grimy from contact with the muddy doormat. ‘I feel
dirty. I can’t breathe properly.’
‘We could do it now,’ Kathleen insisted gently. ‘Her house is only a little way down the street.’
Brenda sighed and shook her head. ‘No, not now.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s late. She’ll be in bed.’ Shame and humiliation beckoned. No matter what Kathleen said, Brenda envisaged how this would be bound to work out. John Mackenzie would deny it outright. In the village there would be sideways glances and mutterings – her word against his. And every time she cycled out to work on the farms, she would be known as the Land Army girl who played fast and loose with the Canadian airman and got what she deserved.
Christmas Eve was declared a day off for all the girls at the Fieldhead hostel. The few, including Elsie, who had planned to travel home to spend Christmas with their families, were able to set off a few hours early, while the rest could safely put their feet up in the common room or spend their time wrapping gifts and writing last-minute cards.
Before Elsie left to catch the bus from Burnside, she popped her cheerful face around the door of Una’s room. ‘I wanted to wish you a happy Christmas and to give you this card.’
‘Come in.’ Una was half regretting her decision not to go home for Christmas. She was staying out of Ivy, Dorothy and Jean’s way and quietly grieving over Angelo’s imminent departure.
‘We put on a good show last night.’ Elsie joined her at the window. ‘I’d say the audience got a “kick” out of our little number, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, it went down well.’ Looking down on the yard and the row of outhouses brought a chilling reminder of Frank’s recent presence, so Una backed away as she opened Elsie’s hand-made card. They chatted about how long her journey to her home in the East Riding would take, the unreliability of the weather forecast and the latest news on the wireless about Allied progress in Benghazi.
‘Chin up, eh?’ Elsie said as she prepared to leave. ‘Angelo may be on the move up to Scotland, but he’ll still be able to use this address to write to you.’
‘Yes. Ta, Elsie.’ Following the well-meaning advice, Una decided to try to make the most of her extended Christmas holiday. She went downstairs with Elsie and stood at the front door to wave her off on her bicycle ride into Burnside. ‘Happy Christmas!’ she called.
‘Ta-ta!’ Elsie waved back and pedalled off down the lane.
‘Well, well.’ Ivy came out of the common room as Una closed the front door. She was still in her dressing-gown and slippers. ‘I bet you don’t have a lot to say for yourself without Brenda, Joyce and Grace to back you up.’
The sight of Ivy with a mug of cocoa in her hand, leaning against the door jamb and sneering at her, set Una’s teeth on edge. It was time to have it out with her, she decided. So, instead of retreating to her room, she went up to her without realizing that Dorothy and Jean were lurking in the common room. ‘Listen, if you have anything to say to me, say it outright and to my face.’
Ivy raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you hear that?’ she called to the others, who came up behind her. ‘Una wants to know what we think of her. Shall we tell her?’
Dorothy took up the cudgels. ‘What – that she’s a sly one who looks as if butter wouldn’t melt, but that really she doesn’t have a loyal bone in her body and if it was left to her she’d let Jerry run circles around not just us but the whole country?’
Their malice took Una’s breath away and she stared back at them without speaking.
‘Jean, do you know what makes girls like Una tick?’ Ivy called for reinforcements. ‘Is it just that she can’t resist a handsome face – as simple as that? Or is there more to it?’
Jean, not one to relish confrontation, put a restraining hand on Ivy’s arm.
‘Well?’ Dorothy continued to lean on the door post – an insolent posture that indicated how little she thought of her opponent. ‘Did you or didn’t you?’
‘Did I do what?’ Una’s blood was well and truly up. Drawing herself up to her full height, she barely came to Ivy’s shoulder. ‘No – don’t bother. I won’t lower myself to frame an answer. All you need to hear is that I’m as loyal to my country as you are.’
‘If not more so,’ Joyce added. At the sound of raised voices, she, Brenda and Kathleen had come quietly downstairs, along with three of the other girls.
Una’s confidence was boosted by their presence. ‘I came to Fieldhead to do my duty and help feed my country instead of letting Hitler starve us all to death. I answered the call, just the same as everyone else in this building and like thousands of other girls across the whole of England and beyond. And I intend to be here for the rest of the war, down on my knees grubbing for turnips or working the threshing machines, hedging, digging ditches, milking, collecting eggs – whatever Mrs Mostyn asks me to do.’
There was another murmur of approval from Joyce and the others. Jean quietly retreated from view while Dorothy pushed past Ivy and continued to sneer. ‘The worm turns,’ she muttered melodramatically. Then, ‘You can work your fingers to the bone for King and country, but it doesn’t alter the fact that you fraternize with the enemy and you don’t even try to hide it. Can anyone here tell me I’m wrong?’
Brenda would have jumped to Una’s defence, but Joyce shook her head. Una was doing just fine.
‘Oh yes? And am I passing on secret information about how many sacks of potatoes I’ve filled or how many yards of ditch I’ve dug? Does Angelo send on this information via Rome to German high command? No – I don’t think so.’
‘Ask her about her friend, the gunner,’ Ivy muttered. ‘Let’s see what she has to say about helping Jerry to escape.’
Una jumped in before the question could be posed. The time of doubting herself was behind her, thanks to Brenda. ‘He was not my friend. I didn’t help him. I did what anyone else would have done to survive those hours out on the fell – the same as you, Dorothy, Jean or anybody.’
Jean heard her name spoken and drifted back into view. Looking past Dorothy and Ivy to the small figure confronting them and then to the group of supporters hovering in the hall, she felt a withering sense of shame and regret.
Una wasn’t finished yet. ‘And here’s the proof: he’ll be locked up out of harm’s way for the rest of the war. He won’t be dropping any more bombs on Thornley Dam – or anywhere else, for that matter.’ She felt six inches taller and buoyed up by the power of her reasoning, easily the equal of Dorothy and her pals.
There was a hum of assent behind her and a dawning realization on Dorothy and Ivy’s face that they had better back down, however ungraciously.
‘When you look at it like that …’ Ivy conceded.
‘You could have told us all this in the first place and set the record straight.’ Fury boiled inside Dorothy, scarcely concealed beneath her conciliatory remark. She hated to lose any argument and knew that this one would eat away at her for weeks and weeks.
‘You might have taken the trouble to ask me.’ Una spoke in a lower, more even tone. She recognized Jean’s hangdog look and knew there was little pleasure to be had by rubbing salt into the wound. ‘Anyway, let’s forget all about it, shall we?’
‘Yes – let’s.’ Jean came forward, nodding eagerly and with new respect for Una, while Ivy and Dorothy still hung back.
Joyce smiled at Brenda and Kathleen, then watched the other girls crowd around Una with more questions – was the Dornier still carrying any of its bombs when it came down, had she known there was anyone left alive before she climbed in, hadn’t she been afraid that the whole thing would blow sky-high?
‘Good for her,’ Brenda murmured. Una had raised her spirits a little after a night spent tossing and turning over John Mackenzie’s attack.
‘Let’s invite Grace to cycle over here then we can all go out for a walk,’ Joyce suggested. ‘Now that the show’s out of the way, we can concentrate on Frank Kellett and plan where to start our search.’
‘Frank hasn’t vanished into thin air,’ Grace told them a
s they walked through the elm wood. The snow was beginning to melt and patches of black earth had started to show, though there was a cold wind sighing through the branches overhead. ‘Edgar told me that he’d spotted him two nights on the trot – once close to Fieldhead on the night the plane came down and then again the following night, outside the pub.’
‘Then there’s every chance he’s still trailing around after Una.’ It was clearer than ever to Joyce that they should use the rest of the day to track down Frank. ‘I did mention his name and gave his description to a couple of people in the audience last night – Angelo and Lorenzo promised to keep their eyes peeled while they’re packing up at the camp and getting ready to leave. Mac said he’d pass the word around, too.’
Brenda didn’t manage to hold back a shudder and Una asked her what was wrong. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No. I’m all right, ta. Let’s keep our minds on the job in hand.’ She walked on ahead but stumbled into a drift clinging to a hollow on the bank of a small stream. Grace and Joyce pulled her out and helped to brush her down. ‘I’m not saying we should change our minds about going after Frank …’
‘But?’ Grace prompted.
‘But I have heard something that could make a difference.’ Brenda was cagey about the circumstances in case it led to her having to speak about Mac. ‘I don’t want to go into the whys and wherefores – only that Frank might not be the villain we’ve been painting him. In other words, he might follow girls around but not actually do anything to harm them.’
‘But he stole Una’s things,’ Joyce pointed out before she turned to Grace. ‘We’ve asked you for your opinion once before – is Frank a danger or not?’
Grace rested against a tall tree trunk then looked down at the trickle of water running between the steep banks. ‘We need to hear more, Brenda. What’s made you change your mind?’
She took a deep breath before she spoke. ‘It turns out he didn’t have anything to do with Eunice being pregnant. That’s what everyone has been thinking for these past few weeks – that Frank was the father and so he was the reason why Eunice couldn’t go on. But he wasn’t. It was someone else.’
