Vicky hoped none of the neighbours had heard the horn or were watching her as she ran out to the waiting car. All the shops on the parade were closed now and most of her neighbours were already in their living quarters at the back. Vicky felt grateful that she didn’t live in an ordinary terraced street because the net curtains would have been twitching wildly by now, she thought. Although there was someone watching. She thought she saw Mrs Boardman from the newsagent’s next door standing at the upstairs bedroom window. She glanced up and realised she was right; it must be Caroline Boardman because she waved. Vicky didn’t wave back. She strode across the pavement and ducked her head into the car as Roger opened the passenger door for her.
‘I thought it was going to rain,’ he said as he jumped into the driver’s seat beside her. ‘I’ve brought my coat in case it does.’
‘Me too,’ Vicky said and she gave a nervous laugh, amused that they had begun the evening talking about the weather.
Roger had bought the more expensive tickets in the rear seats of the cinema but Vicky was relieved to see as he led the way that he chose to sit in the first row of the best seats rather than in the back row itself. There, courting couples were already entwined even though the lights had not yet been dimmed in the auditorium. Vicky looked round before she sat down, wondering if there was anyone in the theatre that she knew. When she thought she caught a glimpse of one of the Post Office regulars, she pulled the brim of her fedora-style hat low over her forehead and took her place quickly next to Roger who stood up to help her off with her coat. He had bought a small box of Dairy Milk chocolates and he handed them to her as she sat down. ‘A little something to keep us going,’ he said, stripping the cellophane cover off the box so as not to make a noise once the film started. Almost immediately, the lights went down and Vicky clasped her hands together tightly underneath her coat that lay folded in her lap.
Vicky was surprised how engrossed she was by the film and had to blow her nose hard into her handkerchief several times. She quickly swiped away the few remaining tears as the lights came up on the magnificent shots of the sacking of Atlanta that signalled the interval. Roger went off almost immediately in search of ice creams and by the time they had finished them, the second half was about to begin.
They talked about the film all the way home, Roger seemingly delighted that Vicky had enjoyed it so much.
‘I can certainly see why there has been so much fuss about it,’ Vicky said. ‘I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Scarlett in the end, even though she was so nasty to Rhett, taking him for granted like that.’
‘The acting was superb – and I agree, you couldn’t help being won over by her in the end, and at least it wasn’t too sentimental,’ Roger said. ‘I would say it was a pretty fair summary of what the ravages of war can do to society.’
‘It does make you think,’ Vicky said.
Roger nodded. ‘And I think we should do this more often,’ Roger said as he pulled up outside the Post Office.
Vicky gave him a shy smile. She was surprised how much she had enjoyed the evening. ‘It’s always great to see a good film,’ she said.
Roger was about to get out of the car to open the passenger door but he stopped. ‘Feeling hungry?’ he asked. ‘I see the fish and chip van’s still open for business.’ He pointed to the stall that stood in front of the fresh fish shop where Barry and Wendy Hargreaves sold hot battered fish and chips with mushy peas every Saturday night. But Vicky refused automatically.
‘No, thanks all the same. I’d better get in and see how Dad is,’ she said and she tried to make a hasty exit out of the car.
Roger laughed. ‘I’m sure you don’t have to worry about him; he’s in good hands, you know. It’s not as if you left him on his own.’
‘I know but …’ Vicky felt embarrassed, because it was true and it wasn’t as if she was really worried; she hoped she hadn’t offended him.
‘My father might have retired a few years since but he knows how to handle sticky situations should Arthur not feel well. But I bet everything’s been fine. There’s not too much to get worked up about over a hand of gin rummy,’ he said and chuckled.
‘No, I suppose not,’ Vicky conceded. ‘Things have calmed down generally now that Henry’s gone, even though I know Dad does miss him.’
‘And what about you?’ Roger asked. ‘I bet you miss him too?’
Vicky shook her head. ‘Henry’s a pain, to be honest with you. We were always arguing so he’s no loss as far as I’m concerned. Quite the opposite, actually; it’s nice to have some peace in the house,’ she said, her jaw set firm. ‘Will you be taking your daughter fishing tomorrow?’ She changed the subject.
‘It’s unlikely to be tomorrow, but I’ve promised I will take her soon. Didn’t you say you used to enjoy fishing in the park when you were young?’
‘Yes, I did,’ she said
‘You should come with us sometime, then.’
Without replying, Vicky hurried out of the car and down the side passage to the back door and Roger followed several steps behind.
The two older men were supping tea and the playing cards were stacked to one side of the table.
‘Good film?’ Cyril Buckley asked.
‘Excellent.’ It was Roger who answered. ‘We had a lovely evening, didn’t we?’ He turned to Vicky but she’d slipped up the stairs to remove her hat and coat.
‘So who won?’ Roger asked.
‘He beat me hollow.’ Arthur pointed to Cyril. ‘But he’s promised me a rematch, to give me a chance to win my money back.’
Roger heard the crackle of gravel under the tyres as he drew the car into the driveway and smiled as Cyril got out. A satisfactory evening all round. He certainly hoped he’d be able to persuade Vicky to do it again. There were several films he had heard about that might tempt her out of an evening and he knew he would have no problem persuading his father to have a round or two of cards with Arthur Parrott. He watched Cyril cross the path and almost immediately his substantial figure was silhouetted as the front door opened and light flooded out from the hallway. He could hear his mother’s voice calling him to hurry.
‘It’s for you, Roger,’ he realised she was saying. ‘It’s Mr Bowdon, the greengrocer from the Greenhill parade. He wants to speak to you urgently about his daughter Ruby. I was just going to take a message.’
She held out the telephone receiver from the phone that stood on the hall table by the front door and Roger quickly grabbed it from her hand. He had only recently seen Ruby after she’d been discharged from the hospital. She was recovering well from polio and he was pleased that she’d been making excellent progress.
‘Dr Buckley,’ he said, anxiously checking the time on the grandfather clock that said it was close to eleven. He sat down hard on the hall chair and listened carefully to what Ruby’s anxious father, Billy, had to say.
‘All right, Mr Bowdon,’ he said. ‘But firstly let me assure you that that is highly unlikely. She— You—’ he unsuccessfully tried to butt in. ‘Yes, you’re quite right to let me know and I promise you I will come around to the house so that I can check her out. The thing is not to panic. Keep doing what you’re doing. Cold compresses and a cooling sponge bath, they’re just the thing, and make sure she doesn’t have too many blankets. Give her a chance to cool down and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He stood up and hung the receiver back onto the base. ‘I have to go out again, I’m afraid, as you’ve probably gathered,’ he said to his parents who were regarding him anxiously. ‘You probably remember hearing about Ruby; she was the young girl who had polio not so long ago.’
‘I thought I’d heard she was recovering well?’ Freda Buckley said.
‘She was … she is, but it seems she’s developed some kind of fever and, not unnaturally, the parents are extremely anxious, as you can imagine. I’d better go and check.’ He went into the first room off the hallway and came out with the leather Gladstone bag that he always carried when he was working. It had be
en a present from his parents when he’d graduated from medical school. ‘I think it’s best if I go now to find out what’s going on. I can’t afford to leave it until the morning in case …’ He didn’t complete the sentence. He’d learned the hard way that you never could be one hundred per cent certain. ‘That way, if necessary, I could take them to the hospital. They’d have no easy way of getting there at this hour of night.’
‘Sounds like a sensible precaution. ‘I’ll drive you over,’ Cyril offered immediately, and Roger didn’t refuse. He saw his mother’s mouth open as she seemed about to protest, but she hastily closed it again as Cyril picked up his hat.
Chapter 10
Rosie was surprised her mother had said nothing more to her about Claire or her relatives and had never actually shown her the contents of Hannah’s letter. She began to wonder how much her father knew about her mother’s background and what he thought about having an apparently Jewish wife and daughter. But she decided she would not be the one to broach the subject at home. She didn’t feel the need to share the secret of her recent discovery with anyone else as she had indicated to Claire when she had sworn her to secrecy.
‘I’ll say you’re a friend of friends from London if I have to introduce you to any of our friends and neighbours,’ Rosie said firmly. ‘People will understand that I’m sure, as lots of people are heading out of London in case of war for safety. I don’t have to say you’re my cousin. Least said, soonest mended, I always say,’ she added.
If Claire felt hurt by Rosie’s reluctance to acknowledge her heritage, she tried not to show it and didn’t raise any objections. Everyone knew about the first Kindertransport which had arrived in Britain the previous December and there had been major debates in Parliament about it. The stories circulating about people who were fleeing Europe and were now seeking a safe haven in Britain were very disturbing and she knew Rosie had heard them too. But Rosie seemed to be convinced that so long as she avoided any discussion about the ugly situation that was developing on the continent then she could deny that it was actually happening and Claire realised there was little she could do to change Rosie’s mind.
Rosie certainly had no wish to discuss the topic with any of her colleagues at work either. In the past she had heard several disparaging remarks about the perceived power of the Jews who were usually all branded as being rich and greedy, even those whose desperate poverty was clearly catalogued, and she had no wish to become the centre of such misconceived attention. She had declared a tentative truce with Penny and her friends who worked on the same bench in order to make the time they spent together more tolerable, though she made it clear by her actions that she had no intentions of heeding their warnings regarding Trevor Jones. She refused to talk about any such personal matters and reduced the opportunities for social chit-chat by keeping out of their way as much as possible. She usually shared breaktimes and dinner-times with Trevor alone, when the two of them chose to eat their sandwiches together in a quiet corner of the canteen, followed by a cigarette in the courtyard.
Neither did she deem it necessary to reveal anything about her Jewish family to Trevor. The thought did occur to her to tell him but she suddenly felt afraid as she had no idea how he might respond. They never discussed any serious matters beyond the daily happenings on the shop floor and she realised that she didn’t know anything about his political or religious leanings, if indeed he had any. They had been getting along well together, at least superficially, and she had no wish to test out his reactions regarding important political matters now. She was enjoying the idea of having a boyfriend – her first of any significance – and wanted to continue basking in his unadulterated attention for as long as possible. She had begun to relax and to feel almost carefree when she was with him, which was most evenings now that the days were longer and lighter.
Rosie was flattered that Trevor almost seemed to take for granted that they would spend time together outside of work as part of their regular routine. They would usually meet in the park after tea to go for a walk. And as he didn’t seem to mind where they went, she would find different paths to follow that steered them well away from her mother’s shop and the other shops on the parade. She had no wish to be seen by anyone she knew. However, she couldn’t resist his offer of a trip to the funfair that had been set up in the local park prior to the Whitsuntide holidays and would stay there for a few weeks. By that time, she had begun to feel as though they were ‘stepping out’ as her mother might have put it, although so far she had not actually told Sylvia about her new boyfriend, always claiming that she was going out with unnamed friends from work.
‘Well, that was fun,’ Rosie said, trying to catch her breath as she and Trevor climbed down from the swing boats. ‘Even if it did make me feel a bit sick.’
They had met as usual in their own special place down by the river then Trevor had suggested they head off in a different direction to see what the funfair had to offer.
‘I don’t feel so much sick as thirsty, all that flying about,’ Trevor said. ‘What do you say to us going down to the pub?’
Rosie held back for a moment, thinking that the nearest pub was the Stoat and Weasel where her father usually drank. Not that he was home at the present time, so there was no danger of bumping into him by accident. He was in Derbyshire, where he seemed to be spending most of his time these days. But she didn’t really want to meet any of her neighbours who would most likely be only too eager to report back to her mother that they’d seen her.
‘I’m hardly dressed right,’ she said evasively, but that made Trevor laugh.
‘You don’t have to dress up or owt like that to go to your local. Have you never been to the Stoat? It’s nowt posh.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘What do people wear then, in pubs? I’ve not been before. I don’t want to show you up,’ she said, though she knew it sounded like a feeble excuse.
‘You could never do that, darlin’,’ Trevor said with a grin. ‘You always look perfect to me.’ To her surprise he brushed her cheek affectionately with his hand.
‘Really?’ she asked, feeling as if she had been lit up from inside by a warm glow.
Trevor didn’t reply but there was a flirtatious glint in his eye.
‘I haven’t told my mum I might be late …’ she began.
‘Then the earlier we go the earlier we can get you home. Come on, let’s go,’ he said and she could think of no other objections.
Rosie didn’t know what she expected of a pub with a name that was evocative of the countryside, but she was disappointed the moment she stepped over the threshold, for the first thing she was greeted by was what felt like a wall of smoke. The air was so thick and hazy she could hardly see to the other side of the room.
‘Gosh! Does it always smell like this?’ she couldn’t help exclaiming.
‘Like what?’ Trevor looked puzzled. ‘All pubs smell the same to me. Here, have a fag.’
Before she could say anything further he lit two cigarettes at once, Humphrey Bogart style, and handed one to her. The gesture made her want to giggle but she didn’t want to embarrass him by making any comment. She took hold of the cigarette and inhaled. It suddenly felt like a very grown-up thing to be doing and she hoped that she looked as sophisticated as she felt. Trevor found two free stools with a small table between them and indicated she should sit down.
‘What are you having?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. What do ladies usually drink in a pub?’
‘You mean you were serious that you’ve really never been in one before? I thought you were kidding and it was just this pub you were talking about.’ His look was incredulous and she felt her cheeks redden.
‘No, I honestly haven’t been in any pub before,’ she said, wondering if she had made a mistake admitting that, not wanting to let him down.
‘You could have a beer, say a half of bitter or a lager and lime, or a port and lemon. I dunno, what do you fancy?’ He sounded slightly irritated.
/> Rosie looked at the women sitting close by and noticed several of them seemed to be nursing a long dark drink in a tall glass with slivers of lemon floating on top.
‘How’s about one like that?’ she asked. Trevor nodded and went straight off to the bar.
It seemed like an age before he came back and put two drinks down on the table. Then he began to search in his pockets.
‘Well, that was embarrassing,’ he said. ‘I seem to have spent every last penny at the funfair. Can you lend us a couple of bob? I owe the landlord.’ He held his hand out and didn’t look in the least embarrassed.
‘Two bob? Were they that much?’ Rosie was shocked.
‘No, but it saves me having to ask you every time I need to get a round in,’ he said and he nodded towards the bar where someone she recognised from the factory raised his glass to her.
Rosie felt her cheeks flame but she scavenged in her handbag and eventually handed him a florin, ashamed lest any of the people nearby had heard their exchange.
Trevor went back to the bar several times after that though she continued to sip slowly on her first drink. ‘Do you always drink this much?’ she said when he came back with yet another fresh glass.
‘Who’s counting?’ He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. ‘In fact, next time I’ll get you another one, it won’t do for you to be so far behind.’
The Postmistress Page 11
