by Annie Murray
They heard Frances in the hall and Ruby went out to her.
‘Mrs Hatton, I’m ever so sorry. I know I’ve let you down – and Marleen, and you’re looking after her so well.’
‘Well, never mind that,’ Frances smiled wearily. More sharply, she added. ‘But she really does need you to be reliable, Ruby.’
‘I know.’ Ruby looked despondent for a moment. She hung her head. ‘I know I ain’t much of a mother. And it’s not easy with Mom off touring round at the moment.’
‘If you want a late night out, we could arrange it from time to time,’ Frances said. Edie watched her, stunned by her generosity and tolerance. She felt like giving Ruby a slap for being so irresponsible! ‘Then if Marleen’s staying the night, we can get her settled into bed at the proper time.’
‘Oh no – I shouldn’t,’ Ruby said. ‘I mean, it’s too much for you – you’ve had her all day.’
‘Didn’t seem to worry you earlier,’ Edie murmured.
‘Now,’ Frances said firmly. ‘It’s late. Leave her here for tonight and think about what I’ve said.’
‘Oh I will,’ Ruby said. ‘You’re so kind, Mrs Hatton. I’ll try and do better – I really will.’
Ruby walked home to Glover Road. There was a whiff off woodsmoke in the air and the chilly night cooled her flushed cheeks. She felt a little ashamed of herself – after all, Frances Hatton had really been very kind to her. But the way they were all staring at me like that when I went in! Edie looking like the wrath of God! She let out a giggle. Anyone would think I was the Scarlet Woman or something! I mean I’d only been out for a quick drink. What harm’s that to anyone? Staying in with a babby night after night’s enough to drive anyone round the bend.
Ruby had found the first four months of staying at home after Marleen’s birth quite enough, and as soon as she could get her to take some formula from a bottle she went back to work. Frank had come home when Marleen was a month old. Ruby saw how little interest he took in her. Maybe, she’d thought, if I can get back to normal, and Frank and I can have some time alone together, give him more attention, things’ll be all right again. After all, it was from the time I was pregnant that everything went wrong, wasn’t it? He didn’t like me when I was carrying and I wasn’t giving him what he needed. Next time he comes I’ll see if she can stay with Frances. Frank had just finished his tour of operations and was not being sent on bombing raids. He would be more relaxed. They could start again.
But the next time Frank came home on leave he brought two pals with him, Australians who’d been posted to the base and were keen to see a bit more of the country. One of them stayed with Frank at his mom’s: he asked Ruby if the other could stay with her. So instead of her own husband staying in her house, Ruby found herself with a stocky Australian bunked up in George’s old room. George and Dorrie had been married soon after Marleen was born and were living in Bournbrook with Dorrie’s mom.
It came home to Ruby fully, then, that her marriage really was over. When she managed to get Frank on his own, though, she could never get him to talk about it, as if he couldn’t face the fact that he’d ever been married at all. Ruby felt very hurt and foolish. I’ll show him, she thought. He’s been no husband to me anyhow. Why do I need him?
So she’d taken to going out on the town as often as she could, occasionally with George and Dorrie, though they were so staid, like a middle-aged couple, or with Jessie Baker from number ten who was back living with her mom while her husband was away. Ethel was barely ever at home now, but Alf was eleven and he, Perce and Billy were old enough to look out for each other. At least she could get out and have a drink to cheer herself up!
She’d never let it get as late as this before. But that’s because I hadn’t met Wally before, she thought, hugging herself as she walked down Oak Tree Lane.
She and Jessie had been sitting in a tavern on the Bristol Road. Sometimes the older men in the pub stared at them, seeing the place as their territory, but Ruby would just outstare them or give them a wink. I like to get out of an evening as well, her look said. And where else am I s’posed to go?
‘Can I get you something to drink, ma’am?’ The soft, very polite voice came from somewhere above her. The fingers of his huge hand rested on the table and Ruby looked up to see what seemed like a giant standing over her. He was broad and stocky, with a squarish face and clear blue eyes.
‘Ooh – I’ll have a rum and black please!’
He frowned. ‘You might have to explain that?’
Ruby laughed and told him what she’d like.
‘And your friend?’
Jessie said she’d have a ginger wine and gave Ruby a wink as the man went to the bar, pulling out his wallet. ‘Looks like you’re in there, Ruby. Shall I make myself scarce?’
‘Well – we’ll see,’ Ruby grinned. ‘Have your drink first, anyway.’ Ruby was grateful to Jessie. She was the one person who didn’t behave disapprovingly to her about going out and having a laugh.
‘Frank’s treated you disgracefully, I think,’ Jessie said to her sometimes. ‘Deserting you and leaving you to bring up his child. You deserve some fun – and with this war going on none of us knows how long we’ve got, do we?’
Ruby flicked her hair back over her shoulders, smoothed her skirt and arranged a welcoming smile on her face for when the young GI came over carrying their glasses. Ruby pulled out a chair for him and he swung down on to it with muscular ease.
‘Well – nice to meet you ladies.’ He held his hand out. ‘I’m Walter Sorenson – folks usually call me Wally.’
Ruby put her hand into his enormous palm. It was leathery and warm.
‘Ruby Gilpin,’ she said, glad she’d taken off her wedding ring.
‘Well, hi there, Ruby.’
Jessie introduced herself, but Ruby wondered if she imagined that he quickly switched his attention back to her. She felt attractive tonight. True, she was in her old red dress (though he didn’t know it was old, did he?). But her hair was clean and felt soft and glossy, pinned in a roll at the front and hanging loose, Veronica Lake style, and she’d made herself up, a touch of rouge and lipstick. She felt Wally’s eyes lingering on her ample figure.
Wally offered round a packet of Lucky Strike and the three of them lit up and sat in the clouds of smoke chatting amiably. Wally told them about his family in Fairmont, Minnesota – one sister left behind with his parents who ran a store – and a brother who was also in the forces in England.
‘But he’s down in the south somewhere – in Corn– wall?’
‘Yes.’ Ruby laughed at the way he pronounced it. ‘Cornwall – that’s right.’
Soon after she’d finished her drink Jessie winked at Ruby and said, ‘Well – better be off. See you, Rube! Nice to meet you, Wally.’
‘’Bye, Jess!’ Ruby gave her a wide smile. What a pal! No doubt Edie would have stayed to make sure she didn’t get up to anything, she was so flaming strait-laced these days.
‘Your friend in a hurry?’ Wally asked.
‘Oh – she doesn’t like to stop late,’ Ruby told him. ‘Her husband’s in the RAF and she feels a bit bad if she goes out and about too much.’
‘So what about you, Ruby? You have a husband?’
‘No – I don’t.’ Ruby crossed her fingers under the table. God forgive me! she thought. But you couldn’t call Frank a husband these days, could you? After all, he never even made a pretence of coming to see her any more. She was as good as telling the truth. ‘And you?’ She felt herself being flirtatious. ‘Is there a nice girl back in Fairmont, Minnesota?’
Wally’s shoulders shook with laughter. ‘Plenty of nice girls – oh yes,’ he said. ‘But I don’t have a special sweetheart, if that’s what you mean. Come to think of it, I haven’t met any girl as lovely as you, Ruby.’
She loved the way he kept saying her name like that, looking straight into her eyes. It was very warming, like a verbal caress, and she felt herself blossom under his attention. They chatted on
for quite a time, Wally laughing in his relaxed way at things she said. He really seemed to listen to her as well, she thought, not like Frank. And he was very intrigued to hear that Ruby’s mom was ‘on the stage’. Ruby dressed the situation up a little. She didn’t want to admit that Mimi had been dragged out of retirement in quite the way she had.
They had a couple more drinks and stood up to go. Ruby felt herself swaying slightly and Wally took her arm in a gentlemanly fashion. She felt excitement rising in her. Would he put those big strong arms round her, now they were out in the darkness? She wanted him to. She liked him, desired him. But she didn’t want him to think she was fast. He seemed full of homespun courtesy. She’d better hold back, wait and see.
‘Thanks ever so much for the drinks,’ she said when they stopped on the corner of the street.
‘You’re more than welcome. I enjoyed the company.’ He seemed reluctant to release her, and turned to look at her, holding the top of her arm firmly. ‘Say, I’ll be around for a while, Ruby. I’d like to see you again if that’s all right with you?’
‘Yes. Oh yes – I’d like that.’ She ticked herself off for sounding too eager. In the last threads of evening light she could see him looking down at her and she met his gaze, raising her face to his. ‘Wally?’
‘Yes?’
She didn’t say anything more, just gazed at him, her lips parted.
‘We-e-ell,’ he said, caressingly, the strong arms drawing her to him at last. They were standing by someone’s garden wall, topped by a small hedge.
‘You’re quite a girl, aren’t you?’ She felt his hand stroking her back and he let out a soft, admiring whistle, his hands moving down, pulling her in closer.
Twenty-Four
Janet hurried through Bournville along the dark road, her nose and cheeks stinging in the cold air.
Will there be anything today? Will there . . .?
The question burned in her mind every day, amid the clack of typewriters while she was at work. She let herself into the house and went straight to the hall table. Nothing. She hung up her hat and coat. Maybe her mother had put it somewhere else . . .
She could hear Marleen’s screams from the kitchen and went through to find Frances reaching over the table, trying to stop the little girl slapping her hands furiously in a spreading pool of milk. Davey was watching, wide-eyed, from the other side of the table, one arm shielding the drawing he had in front of him from the advancing milk. Janet rushed for a cloth while Frances airlifted the furious child from her seat.
‘Oh dear, like that is it?’
‘Not really, only just the last few minutes.’ Frances raised a finger at Marleen, who looked as if she was thinking of running off. ‘No, madam – no moving yet. She’s getting tired, that’s all.’
‘Ruby’ll be along soon, I expect.’
‘Oh I’m sure she will.’ Ruby had been turning up as regularly as clockwork over the past few weeks.
Ignoring the child’s grating screams, Frances said, ‘Tea’s ready – Edie’ll be in in a minute as well.’
Janet wondered how on earth her mother could remain so calm with all this ghastly racket going on. It would drive her round the twist. And she did look very tired. But Frances assured her that despite it being demanding, she was enjoying looking after the children.
‘Keeps me young,’ she kept saying. ‘And what else can I do for the war effort except for knitting socks for sailors?’
At last, trying not to sound too desperate, Janet asked, ‘Was there any post today?’
Frances wrung out the cloth over the sink. ‘No, darling – I’m sorry.’
Janet leaned over and ruffled David’s hair. He was busy colouring in a picture with a thick red crayon. ‘That’s very good, Davey! They’ll be pleased with you when you get to school.’
‘The post from overseas is terrible at the moment.’ Frances hadn’t missed the tear-thickened tone of Janet’s voice. ‘Everyone’s saying so, love. Try not to read the worst into it. Martin’s a good chap and I’m sure he’s doing his best.’
‘I know,’ Janet wiped her eyes but more tears came. She was feeling very low today. ‘But it’s been so long and he feels so far away. I mean if I even knew where he was it’d be easier. I could picture him there . . . Oh I’m sorry, Davey. It’s all right, don’t you worry.’ She kissed the top of the little boy’s head as he looked up anxiously, hearing the upset in her voice. ‘Look – I’ll just go up and pull myself together. I don’t know why, but I really had a feeling I might hear from him today.’
She went up to her room and lay on the bed, giving in to a short, sharp weep to release her feelings. Bunching up the eiderdown, she hugged it close.
‘Oh Martin – where are you, my love?’ she whispered. ‘Why don’t you write? Just let me know you’re all right and you still love me – please.’
The last letter had come five weeks ago. Martin had held her in his arms in the dying days of 1941 and told her he loved her, loved her so much. They had walked half the night in the freezing darkness, talking, touching, kissing. And she knew then that she had found the love of her life. She ached with longing for him when he’d gone, sailing off into the first days of 1942. All she knew was that he was with SEAC – South East Asia Command. No post was sent from the ship until they reached their destination, wherever it was, and the voyage had taken about two months. She worried herself sick in that time, constantly on edge for news of sinking vessels. When his first letter came she wept with relief. He was safe! But the letters were so heavily censored – even mention of the weather was barred – that their contents seemed flat and impersonal. Martin could not breathe any colour and atmosphere into them for fear of giving away his whereabouts and he expressed his frustation about this. What she fed on were his words of love and how much she meant to him, how he longed to be with her again.
Those first weeks she’d been happy just knowing they loved each other. But by now almost two years had passed since they had parted and she had to work hard to keep the image of him and his love alive. She struggled to see his face in her mind. Who was he, really, that stranger who left her all those months ago? Was he real? How could she love someone whom she could barely remember? Why could love never be straightforward in her life? She had lost Alec, the baby, and now Martin had been snatched from her as soon as she had found him.
She had started knitting a big navy blue sweater for Martin, each stitch an act of love. She imagined him wearing it across his broad shoulders. It felt like a physical link with him.
She lay trying to recall the feel of his lips on hers, that overwhelming look of love in his eyes.
‘I love you,’ she told the image. ‘I do. I’m waiting for you, Martin darling. Only please write and tell me you love me. If it wasn’t for this wretched war, we’d be together – maybe even married by now.’
She heard the front door open and Edie and Ruby came in together. Janet lay listening to the assorted sounds of the two of them and the children. Once Ruby had gone, she heard Edie coming upstairs, and sat up, wiping her eyes.
‘Janet?’ Edie’s voice came through the gloom. ‘Are you in there?’
‘Yes.’ She tried to sound normal. It was only then she realized she’d been lying in the dark.
‘Goodness, I can’t see a thing!’ Edie groped her way across the room and Janet felt her sit on the bed. ‘Frances said you were upset. Nothing from Martin again?’
Janet tried to speak but only a sob escaped.
‘Oh Janet – oh dear!’ Edie’s arms were round her immediately, letting her cry it out. She knew how Janet was suffering, week after week. ‘You poor thing . . . I wish I could make a letter come for you!’
‘Oh – I’m just being silly. But it all wells up sometimes. Sometimes I think I dreamt him.’
‘Well, you didn’t,’ Edie said fiercely. She stroked Janet’s back. ‘He really loves you. And you’re so brave about it. I wouldn’t be, I know.’
‘Oh, you would,’ Janet
said, thinking how many times she’d admired Edie’s quiet strength, her devotion to people she loved. ‘I’m sure you would.’
On Sunday, as the day was bright and calm, Edie took Davey for a walk to the park while Frances and Janet were still out at the Friends’ Meeting House. Sometimes they went along as well, and Edie enjoyed the serene silence of the hour, but she had not made any commitment to go all the time and today she felt like getting out in the fresh air. She was always pleased to get some time to herself with Davey, to walk through the park to the boating lake. It was nice not having Marleen around, screaming and carrying on every time something didn’t go her way. They walked down past the Bournville School with its carillon in the tower.
‘Will the bells ring?’ Davey’s serious face turned up towards her.
‘Not now – it’s not the right time.’ Edie smiled down at him. He had grown into a beautiful child, pink-cheeked, with long-lashed brown eyes and dark curls. She had cut his hair yesterday though and he suddenly looked older. A proper little man, she thought.
‘How many bells are there?’
‘Well now – d’you remember, Frances told us this?’ Davey was always asking earnestly, how many, how much of everything. ‘They built it again, in 1934, and added some more bells. There are forty-eight now.’
Davey’s brow wrinkled. ‘How many were there before?’
‘Oh dear – I can’t remember exactly. We’ll have to ask Auntie Frances again. But I do remember she told us that the biggest bell weighs three tons!’
‘Is that very heavy?’
‘Yes – ever so heavy.’
‘How heavy?’
Edie tutted. She sometimes felt that although Davey was not even four, he was already in some way beyond her.
‘Very, very heavy, sweetheart. Not even a big strong man could lift it. Come on – let’s go down to the water.’
