by Vicki Beeby
‘Nothing.’ Evie was immediately on the defensive. ‘I had flu.’
‘In August? They can’t be treating you right.’ Dora fed another pillow case into the mangle; the bearings screeched with every turn of the handle. ‘If you’d only got a bank job—’
Evie didn’t wait to hear more. Muttering something about finding oil, she darted into the shed but soon realised her mistake. The mingled scent of linseed oil, wood shavings and pipe smoke evoked her father’s presence so strongly, she could almost believe he was there beside her. A wave of loss threatened to overwhelm her, the last thing she wanted when she needed unclouded wits to face her mother.
She closed her eyes. Oh, Dad. You always used to keep the peace between me and Mum. How am I going to get through the week without you?
She hadn’t seriously expected any reply, but a sudden deep sense of calm washed over her, and the scent of pipe tobacco grew stronger. In that moment Evie could almost imagine her dad was beside her, his arm around her shoulders, telling her everything would work out for the best.
She breathed deeply, drinking in the peace and the feeling of reassurance. She was unwilling to leave this feeling of her father’s presence – she’d missed him so much – but she couldn’t put off a proper talk with Dora for ever. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she picked up the dusty oil can and returned to her mother, braced for more criticisms. However, Dora remained silent while Evie oiled the mangle.
Evie stepped back. ‘There. Try that.’
The handle turned with ease. Dora picked up a sheet and put her hand to the handle. Then she glanced at Evie and gave a tight smile. ‘Thank you, Evie. You’re a good girl.’
That was far more than Evie had expected. Offering silent thanks to her father, she started to peg the washing on the line. She looked around the garden as she worked. In the months before her dad had died, he hadn’t been strong enough to keep the garden under control. It had fallen to Evie and Dora to do the weeding and planting and kneeling side by side, pulling up weeds and planting seeds for the following year’s harvest gave them their rare times of companionship. Now, nettles and thistles grew strong and tall in all the vegetable beds and choked the entrance to the Anderson shelter by the back fence. Carrot, beetroot and onion stalks peeped through in places, but it was clear her mother hadn’t touched the garden since Evie had left.
Dora finished wringing the last of the laundry then helped Evie peg it out. ‘I’ll make tea,’ she said when it was done.
Evie had to swallow back the tears again when she came downstairs from a quick wash and change and walked into the back room. She half expected to see her father in his chair; it was a punch to the gut to remember he would never again be there. She sat in her usual seat and took the cup and saucer from Dora with a weak smile, trying not to look at the space where her father should have been.
‘I’ll never get used to not seeing your dad in here,’ Dora said, sinking into her chair with her own cup of tea. It was as though she had read Evie’s mind. ‘I miss him so, Evie.’ She paused, her cup halfway to her mouth. ‘I…I’ve missed you.’
Still no apology. No admitting that her actions had sent Evie away. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Evie could almost hear her father’s voice. One step at a time, Evie, my girl. Give her time. Some of her resentment drained away. ‘I’ve missed you, too, Mum. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone with all this.’ Evie made a gesture that took in the empty chair and through the window to the jungle of a garden.
Dora leaned forward and squeezed Evie’s hand. ‘I’m glad you’re home.’
Evie didn’t press for more. Tomorrow was time enough to air their differences. Today she’d be grateful for the fragile peace.
* * *
The next morning, Evie woke to the slam of the front door. A glance at her watch told her it must be Dora leaving for work. She stretched, enjoying the luxury of a whole day to herself. She could do what she liked, wear a cool cotton dress instead of her uniform and, best of all, she had a few hours’ grace before she had to face her mother again.
Her happiness lasted until she went to look in the pantry for breakfast. Dora had always kept it well stocked, even if with plain, simple food. Now the large marble slab under the stairs had more space than produce, and what it held didn’t look appetising. There was a saucer holding a sweaty piece of cheddar, a few tins of pilchards and corned beef and a small loaf. The jar of oats was nearly full, though, and there was milk, so Evie made a bowl of porridge and sweetened it with a teaspoon of honey. She gazed out thoughtfully at the garden while she ate it and sipped her tea. Rationing had only just begun when she’d joined the WAAF, so she hadn’t experienced its full effect. Nevertheless, she was sure she would have heard if rationing was making food this scarce.
A lump of lead settled in her chest, and the porridge turned to ashes in her mouth. She had joined the WAAF in a fit of anger without considering how it would affect her mother, and this was the result. Dora had aged beyond her years and she wasn’t looking after herself properly. Well, she had a week to put it right. To start with, she needed to arrange some nourishing meals. She could also sort out the garden. There were good vegetables growing there, if only they could be rescued from the weeds.
She drained her cup, scraped up the last of the porridge from the bowl and went into the galley kitchen to wash up. Once everything was dried and put away, she picked up her gas mask case which, following Jess’s example, she now used as a handbag, and went to the local shops.
She returned an hour later with a string of sausages, two pounds of potatoes, runner beans, onions and a punnet of cherries. She unloaded the goods in the pantry, unable to resist popping one of the cherries into her mouth and relishing the explosion of tart sweetness. Fresh fruit had been in short supply at Amberton – it was always stewed beyond recognition by the time it reached the plate. Then she donned an old skirt and blouse and set to work in the garden. She would have loved to visit Cornelia, but that would have to wait. She had neglected her mother, and the least she could do was get the garden into some kind of order.
There was something therapeutic about pulling up weeds, the sun warming her back and the scent of turned earth and bruised leaves filling her nostrils. It recalled happier times, connecting her with her father, who had first laid out the vegetable patch, and also her mother, who had taken over work on the garden when Stan had become too ill. A sense of peace stole over Evie, like the feeling she’d had in the shed the previous day. A feeling that her dad was nearby, telling her everything would sort itself out. A blackbird trilled its liquid song from its perch on the fence, bringing a lump to her throat. Stan had loved to listen to the birds and even when he was too ill to go out, he would sit by the open window so he could hear the birdsong.
She lost all track of time, only stopping when the slam of a door dragged her back from her thoughts. She straightened and turned, wincing as her back and shoulder muscles protested. Dora stood beside the back door, mouth agape as she took in the cleared vegetable beds, the orderly rows of vegetable stems that could now be clearly seen, and the basket heaped with carrots, beetroot and onions, the soil still clinging to them.
‘I see you’ve been hard at work,’ Dora said. This was in the same sharp tone Evie had become accustomed to over recent years. Evie braced herself for the criticism that inevitably came when her mother used that tone with her. But Dora’s voice softened, and she said, ‘Are you sure you’re well enough?’
Evie grasped at the offered olive branch and smiled. ‘I’m sure. The MO ordered me to get plenty of fresh air.’ She gathered an armful of weeds from the pile she’d created and carried them across to the compost heap behind the shed.
She jumped when an aircraft roared overhead. Her heart calmed when, glancing up, she caught sight of the RAF roundels on the underside of each wing.
Dora had clapped a hand to her chest. ‘Bless my heart, these Spitfires make a terrible racket. I don’t know how you can live by an
airfield.’
‘It’s a Hurricane,’ Evie corrected. ‘And you get used to it.’ She smiled. ‘My friends and I have decided we can’t sleep now when the airfield is quiet. The noise is kind of comforting.’
Dora narrowed her eyes. ‘You sound like you actually enjoy the WAAF.’
Evie brushed the earth from her hands and joined her mother by the back door. ‘I love it,’ she said. ‘It’s hard work, but I’m doing something useful. Making a difference.’ Hesitantly she placed a hand on Dora’s arm. ‘I would never have been happy, shut up in an office, moving piles of paper from one side of the desk to another.’ She had a sudden flash of understanding of Alex’s frustration while serving in Ops. Much as she feared for him, he needed to be active, feel he was doing his part.
Dora patted her hand. ‘I know, dear.’ Then, as though she’d shown enough gentleness for one day, she said, ‘Now get a move on and take that veg to the pantry. Then go and get changed while I make lunch. Although what I’m supposed to do with those sorry excuses for sausages you’ve gone and bought, I don’t know. More bread than meat, if you ask me.’
When Evie came downstairs, dressed again in the cotton frock she’d worn to the shops, she was greeted with the appetising aroma of frying sausages and onions and the sound of Dora’s voice raised in song. It struck her then that she hadn’t heard her mother sing in years. When Evie was a child, Dora had sung constantly as she went about her work but gradually, as Stan had become sicker and she’d had to make up for his loss in income by taking on more cleaning jobs, the songs had stopped. But Dora had a beautiful voice, high and pure, and hearing her sing ‘Early One Morning’ brought a lump to Evie’s throat.
‘Do you have to work this afternoon?’ Evie asked as they sat at the dining table and tucked into a hearty lunch of sausages and onions accompanied by potatoes and runner beans. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a meal so much.
Dora shook her head as she swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. Evie was relieved to see her eat with more relish than she had as she’d picked at last night’s meal. ‘This is the afternoon that I usually clean for Miss Gould, but she’s away, so won’t be needing me.’
‘Cornelia’s away?’ Evie felt a rush of disappointment. ‘I wanted to visit her.’
‘I think she comes back this weekend.’ Dora gave her a soft smile. ‘She’s always thrilled to get your letters. She’s so proud of what you’re doing.’ Then she added so quietly that Evie wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly, ‘As am I.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Evie could hardly force out the words, her throat was so tight. ‘I’m so sorry I—’
‘No. Never be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. I…I was just so scared for you.’
‘Scared? Why?’ Evie gazed at Dora in astonishment. Dora had always been so sure of her opinions, so forceful. She couldn’t imagine her ever being scared.
‘Because you reminded me so much of your father.’ Dora gripped Evie’s hand, squeezing tight. ‘You have to understand – your father and I had such high hopes when we married. He was an apprentice mechanic, with a bright future ahead of him. And then all it took was’ – her face crumpled – ‘was one bloody gas attack.’
Evie struggled for words but failed. In all her years, she’d never known her mother to utter more than an irritated ‘oh dear’ when things went wrong. She’d become accustomed to coarse language at Amberton but it was something of a shock to hear it from her mother.
‘When you did well at school, I was proud. So very proud,’ Dora continued. ‘But then when you won your scholarship to Oxford High and set your sights on Somerville… I was haunted by your father’s high hopes, and his disappointment when his health didn’t let him fulfil them. I didn’t want the same to happen to you.’ Her last words ended on a wail, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
‘Oh, Mum!’ Evie reached blindly for her mother, unable to see through shimmering tears. She clutched her in a hug, unable to hold back the sobs when Dora squeezed her tight in return.
‘Can you forgive me?’ Dora choked. ‘I’ve written to Somerville, you know, explained what I did. The dean wrote me a lovely letter in return, said there would be a place for you after the war.’
‘Oh, Mum, you didn’t have to do that. Of course I forgive you.’ It was as though a huge pressure lifted from her chest. In the dark days following the funeral and her mother’s confession, she’d longed for a sign of contrition from her mother. Only now did she realise her anger and resentment were long gone, and she didn’t need an apology. ‘It’s all worked out for the best. I’m happy in the WAAF. It wouldn’t have felt right, being at Oxford while others were sacrificing so much.’ And that was the truth, although it hadn’t struck her until now.
Dora stepped back, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s done you good. There’s a confidence about you now that you didn’t have before. You’re obviously doing well there.’
‘I love it. And Alex – he’s one of the squadron leaders – he even thinks I could make an officer.’
Dora gave her a sharp glance at the mention of Alex, and Evie felt her cheeks burn. It was as though his name had been poised on her lips, waiting for the slightest excuse to be spoken. But she couldn’t think of Amberton without thinking about Alex. She braced herself for an acerbic comment, but all Dora said was, ‘Well, you can tell me all about it while we finish the weeding this afternoon. It’s high time I got back in the garden.’
Evie didn’t know when she’d last enjoyed her mother’s company so much. She chatted about her life in Amberton, telling her all about May and Jess, while trying not to mention Alex again. Dora surprised her by confessing she was considering taking a job at the Morris works.
‘They’re crying out for women to work in the Civilian Repair Unit now most of the men have been called up. It pays well, and they give full training. It would be my way of doing my bit. What do you think? Maybe I’d end up repairing planes from Amberton.’
‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ The last of her guilt fell away. Her mother was going to be fine.
At the end of the afternoon, Evie was covered in earth with burrs snarling her hair and scratches up both arms, but she was smiling broadly as she carried yet another basket of produce into the pantry. She’d just placed everything into cardboard boxes on the floor when she heard a knock on the door.
‘I’ll get it,’ she called to her mother, who was making tea.
She wiped her hands down her skirt as she strode down the narrow passage, trying to brush away bits of dried leaves, but she only succeeded in smearing more dirt into the cloth.
She opened the door and nearly slammed it shut in shock.
Alex smiled at her and took off his cap. ‘You’re a hard lass to track down, Evie Bishop.’
Chapter Sixteen
Alex had never seen a woman as beautiful as Evie looked right now. A shaft of sunlight lit her from an open door behind her, lighting the coppery tendrils of hair that had come loose and framed her face with a halo. Instead of the uniform he was used to seeing her wearing, she had on a light cotton dress, sprigged with delicate green leaves. It emphasised her narrow waist and revealed more of her shapely legs than her heavy uniform skirt.
Her hand had flown to her mouth when she’d opened the door, but now she let it fall. ‘Alex. What are you doing here?’
Before he could answer, a woman’s voice called from the room at the end of the narrow passage. ‘Is it Mrs Forester, Evie? Don’t keep her standing on the doorstep. Invite her in. The kettle’s on for tea.’
‘It’s not Mrs Forester,’ Evie called over her shoulder. Alex was intrigued to see a dried leaf snarled in a lock of hair at the nape of her neck. ‘It’s… Oh.’ She faced Alex again. ‘You’d better come in.’
He followed her down the passage in silence, his footsteps ringing on the quarry tiles. He caught a glimpse of a woman – Evie’s mother, he supposed – through the open door, placing teacups on a tray, then Evie opened a door on the left
and led him into a shabby but cosy room, lit by the bright sunshine pouring through the open windows. There was a small round dining table beside the windows, covered in a yellowing lace cloth, with four Windsor chairs arranged around it, their dark wood scratched in places but gleaming. The main feature of the room was the fireplace, with its plain wooden mantelpiece. Two armchairs with worn upholstery stood on either side of it. The only other furniture was a small table to the left of the fireplace, holding an ancient wireless.
The ponderous ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece punctuated the silence. Alex had rehearsed what he would say to Evie on the flight to Oxford and polished his speech while searching the streets of Cowley, but now his mind was as empty as the sky had been on his flight here.
‘What are you doing here, Alex? How did you find out where I lived?’
He didn’t know how to answer the first question, so he grasped the second one gratefully. ‘I remember you saying you’d worked at a grocer’s in Cowley, so I did a tour of grocery stores until I found the right one. The man there gave me directions.’
‘But why—?’
‘Wait.’ It was as though his body took over while his mind still refused to work. He reached out and tugged the withered leaf free from the tangled lock of hair. Standing this close, he could breathe in the scent of soap that lingered on her skin, see the quiver of her pulse point at her throat. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, and she shivered.
Quite what would have happened next, Alex didn’t know, but the woman he’d seen in the tiny kitchen walked in, cups and saucers rattling on the tea tray she held. ‘Tea, Mrs—? Oh.’
Evie sprang back, her hand going to the back of her neck. ‘Mum, this is Al— Squadron Leader Alex Kincaith. He’s…’ She turned to him, a delightful pucker forming between her brows. ‘Why are you here?’ Her cheeks glowed crimson.
Now the words sprang to his mind. I came to tell you I love you. That life is too precious, too fragile to waste a single moment. But with Evie’s mother in the room, he had to fall back on another answer. ‘I’ve brought my kite to the CRU for repairs. It got shot up yesterday.’
