The Postmistress

by Maggie Sullivan

  ‘Yes, we are,’ he assured her. ‘Nothing’s changed.’ He reached across the table, trying to brush back the curls from her face. ‘The only thing is that we’ll have to put off the actual wedding for a few months. But that doesn’t matter. There’s no rush.’

  ‘Oh yes there is!’ Vicky cried out involuntarily. She could feel the blood draining from her face and she began to weep silently. ‘I’m carrying our baby,’ she sobbed.

  Stan sat back and she was surprised to see that his first reaction was to smile. ‘And you’ve been doing all that wild dancing? I think this deserves a proper drink.’

  Vicky shook her head. ‘Maybe a glass of water for now, that would be nice.’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ he said. ‘Am I allowed to say that it’s wonderful news? Just bad timing that’s all. I’m very excited, but are you sure? Have you been to the doctor?’ The words all seemed to tumble out at once.

  Vicky nodded. ‘Dr Buckley confirmed it this morning.’

  Stan sprang back. ‘Roger Buckley? Isn’t he your family’s doctor?’

  ‘Yes, and he’s been very kind and understanding.’

  ‘But does that mean he’s told your father? We haven’t even told him we’re engaged yet.’

  ‘No. My father doesn’t know. Dr Buckley has promised to keep it a secret for now and I’m sure we can trust him. I told him we’d be getting married soon anyway, and …’ she hesitated. ‘Of course I didn’t know anything about Spain then. I thought we’d have plenty of time to—’ Her voice broke and she couldn’t go on. ‘If my father finds out before we’ve had a chance to get married he … he’ll throw me out of the house!’ She was overtaken by tears.

  ‘Damn! It really is rotten timing,’ Stan said, ‘but honestly, Vicky, I’m sure your father will see sense when he knows we’re serious about getting married.’ He took her hands in his once more. ‘We’ll do it as soon as I’m home on leave. We’ll get a special licence and get married immediately, you can promise your dad about that.’

  The tears were still flowing freely but somehow Vicky managed to smile at the same time. ‘So, you did mean it?’ she said, the relief evident in her voice.

  Stan clasped both of her hands in his once more and reached up to brush away the tears.

  ‘Of course I meant it. I love you, never forget that, and I give you my word that we’ll do what’s best for our baby.’

  Vicky hiccupped something that sounded halfway between a chuckle and a sob.

  ‘I’ll make an honest woman of you before your dad has time to line up the sights of his shotgun,’ he said, and Vicky smiled at that.

  Stan put his finger under her chin and tipped her face towards him. ‘Hey, there’s no need to look so worried. Your dad will understand. I’ll write to him to explain the situation. I’ll do it tomorrow.’

  Vicky smiled more broadly this time, knowing that Stan would not let her down.

  ‘Tell me more about the baby,’ Stan said. ‘Our baby. I want to know all the whys and wherefores.’

  Vicky laughed at that. ‘I think you can work out the answers mostly for yourself. The only thing I can tell you is that I have another six months to go.’

  ‘Plenty of time for us to get married then. How are you feeling right now? I’m not at all sure about all that dancing. Shouldn’t you be sitting with your feet up?’ Stan said with sudden concern and he stood up as if they should prepare to leave.

  ‘No, really, I’m fine,’ Vicky said, pulling him back down again. ‘And I feel better now having told you. But look, the band’s back and they’re playing much softer music now. It’s all slow stuff. I think I’d like to dance some more before we go home.’

  ‘So long as you think it’s good for you – and the baby,’ Stan said and he came to her side of the table and gave a mock bow. Vicky stood up and she let him gently guide her onto the dance floor.

  ‘It’s a shame we can’t tell your dad tonight,’ Stan said as the bus pulled up outside the Post Office door a little later. ‘It would have been good to be able to deal with it while we’re here together.’

  ‘I’m afraid he must be asleep by now,’ Vicky said, ‘and the last thing we want to do is to wake him up, believe me.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Stan said. ‘We’ll do the deed just as soon as I can get home on leave and we’ll have a big party …’

  Vicky remained with her memories, seated alone at the table in much the same way as she had on that fateful August night almost three years previously, only then her father had been sound asleep upstairs. She sighed loudly as she remembered Stan’s promise and the tender way he had kissed her before he’d rumbled off home on his motor bike.

  How was she to have known then that, for them, there wouldn’t be a next time?

  Chapter 20

  Claire didn’t know what to do. She had never lied to her mother and she didn’t want to start now, but she was finding it more and more difficult to send a letter home that was filled with truthful banter and lighthearted news. There was only so much she could say about the knitting patterns she’d sold or the alterations she was making to customers’ clothes. It was not always easy to sound cheerful but she didn’t dare to admit to feeling as miserable and lonely as she did now, because that would reflect unfairly on her aunt’s hospitality when she knew Sylvia was trying her best to make her feel at home. What she really wanted to write was a list of questions regarding the family’s history, but she knew that under the present circumstances it wasn’t a good idea to put into writing things she suspected might be happening within the family she was now living with. But each week, as she desperately tried to find something to write about, she feared she was edging closer to betraying someone in the Barker household.

  It had been clear from the beginning that there were deep-rooted problems between her aunt and uncle and she had actually heard the two of them fighting on several occasions, though she usually pretended to be asleep; but that wasn’t something she could tell her mother about, even if she had known all the details. Thankfully, life had become less tense for everyone recently since her uncle Archie had left to join the navy and that was something she could write home about.

  What Claire really wanted was to ask her mother to let her go home, but as more and more Anderson shelters began to appear in people’s gardens, together with instructions for what to do in the event of an air raid, she knew that the possibility of her returning to London in the near future was becoming more remote. She would have to continue to put on a brave face and try to find something that she could tell her mother each week. Though it was a surprise to find Rosie providing her with the most interesting news for her next letter.

  Rosie had been out most of the evening as usual and when she finally clattered into the house it was time for her to say goodnight and go straight to bed. Her hair was down around her face, the original curls having dropped from their carefully pinned positions so that they hung limply and looked as if they might still be attached to their overnight curling rags. Rosie’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes looked unusually animated, and Claire noticed she was giggling as if she’d been drinking as she hung her jacket over the bannister.

  Sylvia raised her eyebrows. ‘You could invite whatever his name is to come here for a nightcap, you know, instead of always wasting money in a pub. We don’t bite.’ She glanced at Claire who shrank back into her chair, not wishing to be drawn in to this conversation, though she could see Sylvia’s point of view. ‘In fact, I’d love a chance to talk to him properly; I’m supposing he’s the one I met briefly before?’

  ‘Ta, I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’d love to come here sometime,’ Rosie said, not without sarcasm and she gave a wink in Claire’s direction that her mother couldn’t see.

  ‘What kind of a boy is he anyway, who’s always taking you to pubs? I presume that’s where you’ve been till now?’ Sylvia didn’t want to let it go. She stood up and wrinkled her nose as she confronted her daughter. ‘Between the cigarette smoke and the beer fumes it
smells like you’ve been there some time.’

  Rosie ignored the barb and gave an exaggerated yawn. Then she ran up the stairs before her mother could ask any more awkward questions.

  Claire followed shortly afterwards and was surprised to find Rosie was still very much awake. She was sitting up in bed reading a magazine and, as Claire entered the room, she actually looked pleased to see her. Rosie’s cheeks were still glowing pink and she wriggled her legs under the bedclothes, setting the magazine aside.

  ‘You’ll never guess what happened tonight!’ Rosie’s eyes were shining brightly.

  Claire waited, knowing better than to attempt a guess.

  ‘You know Trevor?’ Rosie said.

  ‘You mean the boy who took you to the funfair?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one,’ Rosie said. ‘Well, he’s only asked me to marry him.’ There was an excited chuckle in her voice and she held up her left hand where what looked like a paper tie had been secured onto the third finger.

  ‘No!’ Claire was startled into a reaction and peered closely at the tie.

  ‘Very definitely, yes! What do you think to that?’ Rosie said. ‘That thing’s only pretend for the moment, till we can get the real thing.’ She withdrew her hand hastily and hid it under the covers.

  ‘I’m very happy for you, Rosie. It sounds wonderful,’ Claire said. ‘I wish you all the very best of everything. But why didn’t you say something downstairs? Aren’t you going to tell your mother?’

  ‘No, it’s not official yet,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m only telling you because I’ve got to tell someone or I’ll burst. But it’s to be a secret from everyone else until Trevor can get the ring.’ She bounced up and down with excitement.

  ‘Gosh, I-I’m honoured that you’ve told me,’ Claire said uncertainly.

  ‘You are indeed. And I’m trusting you not to tell a soul.’

  ‘But I thought your mum had already met him anyway?’

  ‘She did, very briefly. Not enough to say that she knows him, though, and she’s bound to disapprove of him on principle.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true. You know she has your best interests at heart,’ Claire ventured, ‘and I think she’d love you to be engaged.’

  ‘That’s probably true, but she always asks so many questions,’ Rosie argued. ‘I accept that not everyone takes to Trevor immediately. Mostly they’re plain jealous, though not Mum, of course. But I don’t want to push my luck and have her misunderstanding his motives.’

  ‘Like how?’ Claire said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rosie was vague. ‘But promise you won’t tell her.’

  ‘I promise,’ Claire said solemnly. ‘When will the wedding be? Have you set a date?’

  ‘Not decided yet, but I’ll let you know,’ Rosie said, picking up her magazine again and hugging it to her chest.

  Claire took the hint and, as she climbed in between the sheets, she curled up with her back to Rosie and pulled the blanket over her head. She knew it would be a quite some time before she fell asleep.

  Rosie saw the ring the first time they looked in the jeweller’s window.

  ‘That one near the back in the black velvet box,’ she said, pointing to what looked like a ruby-red chip of a stone set in a nest of tiny pearls. ‘Don’t you think it’s pretty?’

  ‘I thought engagement rings had to be diamonds?’ Trevor said. ‘Or at least bits of glass that look like diamonds.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Rosie said. ‘You can have whatever you want and I happen to think coloured stones can look just as nice.’

  ‘That’s a relief, then, though that one looks expensive,’ Trevor said. ‘Do you think it’s real?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it does look nice. I could see something like that on my hand, couldn’t you?’ She had abandoned the paper tie and she held up her ringless hand as if expecting him to admire it.

  ‘Is there a price on it?’ he asked. ‘Then we’ll know if it’s real or not.’

  ‘No, there isn’t, but we can find out easily enough,’ Rosie said, though secretly she hoped it wasn’t expensive so that Trevor could never be tempted to put it in hock. ‘And there’s nothing to stop us going in and trying it on,’ she went on, pulling at his arm. She had suddenly realised that she was really excited at the thought of being properly engaged and she hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she would have a ring on her finger – maybe even that one.

  Trevor laughed as he resisted. ‘What? And find out how many years of saving it will take before I can afford it? I’m not sure I want to know. I’d like to get married before I’m an old man.’

  ‘Don’t be so pessimistic; it might not be so bad as all that,’ Rosie said, and she nudged her shoulder against the door.

  ‘What a pity, they’re closed,’ Trevor said, pointing to the sign Rosie in her eagerness had missed. ‘We’ll have to come back another time.’

  ‘Preferably before you’re an old man!’ she said.

  ‘OK then, I’ll make you a promise,’ he said. ‘We’ll get married as soon as I’ve paid for the ring.’

  Chapter 21

  Tension had been mounting throughout Britain, acknowledging the inevitability of the country being plunged into another war and no one was in any doubt about the devastating impact that it would have on the whole country in general and on a small community such as Greenhill in particular. Despite Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s optimistic announcement of ‘peace in our time’ on his return from Munich in September 1938, his policy of appeasement was proving to be unsustainable and ineffectual and it was becoming apparent that the Nazi war machine, having rolled through Czechoslovakia, was now amassing troops on the Polish border.

  But Vicky had been trying not to think about the impending war, or about her brother Henry who was poised to be shipped out with a British expeditionary force when war was finally declared. She was still thinking about that afternoon’s fishing trip: the delight of a little girl over a jar of muddy tadpoles, her own pleasure at spending time with Julie and her father, the simple picnic they had enjoyed together, and her ultimate disappointment that the day had not ended well. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting at the table when there was a knock at the back door and she was surprised to find Roger standing on the step.

  ‘Sorry if I’m interrupting anything,’ he said.

  ‘No, not at all. My father seems to have gone out and I was just sitting, thinking. Do come in.’ She held the door wide.

  ‘I really did need to get Julie home before I could think of anything else,’ Roger said. ‘She was spark out. But I wondered if now might be a good time to talk?’ He peered into the living room.

  ‘Yes, do go through, I’m on my own,’ Vicky said. ‘And I was wanting to talk to you as well, to apologise for dashing off like that without thanking you properly for such a lovely day. The least I can do is to explain why I can’t – or should I say won’t – go with you to the Ritz.’

  ‘I’m afraid I didn’t handle things well in the car,’ Roger said, ‘and … well, I’m sorry if I sprang it on you about the dance. I had meant to talk to you properly first, so it was no wonder you looked so surprised.’

  ‘The thing is—’

  ‘I wanted to say—’

  They began to speak at the same time and they both laughed.

  ‘You first,’ Vicky said, glad the tension had been broken momentarily, although she still wasn’t sure how much she should tell him.

  ‘I wasn’t being totally fair about the dance invitation,’ Roger began. ‘I don’t know if you’ve seen the posters?’ Vicky looked uncertain. ‘The point is,’ Roger said, ‘it’s a special farewell get together for the next round of soldiers who are going off for their initial training.’ Vickie froze. She’d seen the posters but once she’d noticed the venue she hadn’t read the details and as Roger spoke she was hit by flash of déjà vu.

  ‘Soldiers? Are you …?’ She felt the blood drain from her face.

  ‘That’s w
hat I was really wanting to tell you, but the thing about the dance slipped out first.’

  ‘You mean you’ve …?’

  ‘I seem to have got things the wrong way round,’ Roger apologised. ‘But the answer is, yes, I’ve enlisted. I reckoned that once the war actually begins they’ll start conscripting men of my age. And there’s no doubt they’ll be needing qualified medics …’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

  Vicky could feel tears prickling. ‘Sadly, that’s what war is all about.’ She was barely able to get the words out.

  ‘I don’t really hold with fighting,’ Roger said, ‘but I can’t claim to be a conscientious objector. I can’t stand by and do nothing. I can’t let people like Hitler and his fascist supporters march into any country they please. If we don’t stop them they’ll soon be trying to take over the whole world.’

  Vicky sat down. Weren’t these the same arguments – almost the same words – she’d heard before? Isn’t that exactly what Stan had said before going off to the Spanish Civil War? When would the fighting ever stop? Vicky felt as if her brain had seized up and she wanted to stop listening. How many more people have to die before men learn that wars are not the answer? she wanted to scream. All she could think about was that she couldn’t go through it all again. Then she realised Roger was still talking.

  ‘From a purely selfish point of view, it’s a rotten shame it’s such bad timing. I felt you and I were just beginning to get to know each other and I was hoping – that is, I was going to ask you if … may I write to you?’

  Vicky stared at him, too stunned to speak. Bad timing? When had she heard those words before? The pain was almost physical. She covered her face with her hands. ‘I – I’m afraid I wouldn’t make a very good correspondent,’ she said at last, though she didn’t look at him. ‘I couldn’t promise to write back.’

  She glanced up and his face registered his disappointment, but that couldn’t stop her saying what she had to say next. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry Roger, but if you’re going away it would be better if we make a clean break,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried hard to smile but didn’t quite manage it. ‘You should go to the dance though.’ She did her best to keep her voice light. ‘You never know, you might find someone there who’ll make a far better pen-friend than me.’ Now she did manage a smile, despite the accumulation of tears, but Roger didn’t engage or smile back and for a moment they sat in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.