A Strong Hand to Hold

by Anne Bennett

  Bob saw her anxious face and said, ‘Look, sweetheart, it doesn’t matter.’

  It did matter though. Anthony had told her how superstitious many pilots were, and about the good luck charms many carried with them, even into the cockpit. It put a blight, a restraint over the rest of the evening, and Bob felt it too, Jenny was sure.

  He was as courteous as ever, though, as they walked to the tram stop. Jenny wished she could go to the station with him to see him off, but she knew she’d never get home if she did. As it was, Bob felt bad that he wouldn’t be able to see her right home. ‘It’s all right,’ she assured him. ‘Really it is.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Bob seemed ill-at-ease, Jenny thought, and she wondered at it, as he usually appeared so confident. She was totally unprepared for his next question.

  ‘Jenny, will you … will you write to me?’

  ‘Write to you?’ Jenny couldn’t believe what Bob had asked. She would have thought he’d never want to think of her again, but here he was asking her to write to him.

  ‘I’ve copied my address out,’ Bob said, pressing a piece of paper into her hand. ‘Will you write?’

  ‘Of course, if you want me to.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. The tram came clattering towards them and he bent and kissed Jenny – a soft, almost tentative, kiss on her lips. ‘God bless, Jenny. See you soon,’ he said. Jenny, her eyes blurred with sudden, unexpected tears, stumbled up the stairs of the tram.

  ‘Careful, ducks,’ the conductor said with a wide grin, holding out a hand to steady her. ‘Should take more water with it.’ He rang the bell and the tram gave a lurch and rattled away. When Jenny was able to look out of the window next, Bob was nowhere to be seen.

  Almost a week after her meeting with Bob, Jenny spotted a letter on the mat addressed to her as she descended the stairs. Unfortunately the living-room door opened just then and Eileen scooped up all the post. Jenny knew the letter was from Bob. She’d written to him on the Sunday afternoon, thanking him for the pleasant evening and day that they’d spent together, and said how much she enjoyed it. This must be his answer. She went into the living room and saw that Eileen had handed the letter to Norah, who seemed to be studying it intently.

  Jenny felt anger bubbling inside her. ‘I think that’s mine,’ she said.

  ‘In my day, young ladies’ letters were always read by their mother,’ Eileen said.

  Jenny snatched the letter from her mother’s hand and retorted, ‘Good job it’s not your day then, isn’t it, Grandmother? Or that I’m not a young lady either, but an ill-mannered, inconsiderate bitch?’

  ‘Jenny, what an expression!’ Norah complained peevishly.

  ‘It’s only what you say about me,’ Jenny said. ‘It might be couched in different terms, but it means the same.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, really I don’t,’ Norah said. ‘All this fuss about one letter. I bet it’s from that airman. And we know nothing about him.’

  ‘You liked him and he was Anthony’s squadron leader, for goodness sake! Anyway,’ she went on, ‘half the girls in Dunlop write to servicemen.’

  ‘Well, you know what I think of those hoydens you mix with down there.’

  ‘Do you know what?’ Jenny said angrily. ‘I’m sick of your “I’m better than everyone else” attitude and I’m sick of your bad-mindedness. Now if you don’t mind, I will go upstairs and read my letter!’

  Jenny stormed out. When she reached her bedroom she was shaking with anger. She was so tired of fighting over every blessed thing. Surely she should be afforded a little privacy at her age?

  In the end, the letter was a bit of an anti-climax. Bob wrote that he’d been delighted to have had her company, and maybe they could do it again the next time he had leave. He signed it All the best, Bob.

  Jenny crumpled the letter up in disappointment and tossed it into the bin. Then she took it out again and smoothed it out, not willing to give her mother or grandmother the chance to read the almost cursory note. What did she expect, she asked herself. That Bob would swear undying love for her and say he could no longer live without her? Really, Jenny thought, I need my bloody head examined.

  On 22 January 1941, British and Australian troops captured 25,000 Italians in a battle to regain Tobruk, as Jenny told Linda when she went into the hospital later. ‘Where are they going to put them all?’ the girl asked.

  ‘According to Beattie, Sutton Park,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Don’t be daft!’

  ‘I’m not, I don’t say those prisoners, but certainly some,’ Jenny said. ‘She told me not long ago that the displaced persons’ camp in the park was being strengthened to house prisoners-of-war. There will be camps all over the country, I expect. I mean, you can’t just give them a smack on the hand and release them.’

  ‘No, I know that,’ Linda said, ‘but it means we have to feed them and look after them, and that?’

  ‘Well, what would you do – starve them to death?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Linda had to agree, reluctantly. ‘But I wonder if they get the same rations as us. I bet they get more. There’s probably laws and that, saying they’ve got to have stuff we can’t get because they’re soldiers.’

  ‘I don’t know, Linda,’ Jenny said with a smile, and added, ‘but, I suppose I could enquire when they’re in residence.’

  ‘Oh you,’ Linda said with a laugh as she gave Jenny a push.

  Jenny was glad to see Linda was recovering the good spirits that had brought her through so much. One day a nurse brought in a pile of wool for her to knit balaclavas for the troops, and another brought old issues of comics she’d collected from the local newsagent.

  But really she lived for visitors, and Jenny did her best to go as often as possible. Beattie still went, of course, and Gran O’Leary was always willing to pop along and help cheer the child up.

  But Peggy no longer had much spare time, for the doctor pronounced her fit for work at the end of January. With the BSA burnt down and the workers dispersed to other factories, Peggy applied to change her job and Jenny got her set up in one of the offices in the Dunlop. Peggy was glad to be back at work and earning, and began to put something away each week for her bottom drawer. Jenny was pleased to have the girl’s company there and back as they travelled to work on the tram.

  Peggy’s hair had grown again now and looked quite respectable, but much shorter than before, as she’d had the rest bobbed to match the regrowth. Both Linda and Jenny thought the short bob suited Peggy, but she wasn’t sure herself and said she hoped it would be long enough to have it shampooed and set before the wedding day. Linda listened avidly as they talked about the bride’s dress and those of the bridesmaids, and the head-dresses and the flowers and the guest list. She just about remembered her mother marrying Ted Prosser, not that there was much to remember really, just a man mumbling things in a little room full of chairs. Only Beattie and Bert were there, and afterwards there was a sort of party in the Norton pub. Linda had hated it all, like she’d hated Ted’s mates and their slack lips and beer breath and their big sweaty hands pawing at her.

  But Peggy’s wedding sounded like the fairy-tale wedding she’d dreamed of for herself, and she was determined to do whatever it took to help her be there for the big day.

  Even Bob appeared to be caught up in the excitement of it all, and he wrote and told Jenny that he might have leave the weekend of the wedding. He didn’t know how much, or even if it were definite yet, but he’d let her know. Jenny hugged herself with delight at the prospect of seeing him again.

  Then the doctor told Jenny that Linda would definitely be well enough to attend the wedding. ‘Her right leg will have a calliper fitted, because that leg is much weaker than the left,’ he said. ‘It sustained a nasty injury. But as long as she’s able to return to hospital for treatment, there’s no reason any more for her to occupy a bed.’

  ‘So she can go home?
’

  ‘After the wedding, certainly.’

  Jenny couldn’t wait to tell Linda the good news. She was over the moon, though she did complain sometimes about the physiotherapy she’d begun as soon as the plaster casts had been removed. She told Jenny how much her legs ached afterwards but Jenny knew, despite that, she’d think it all worthwhile now that she was definitely going home at last.

  Linda was singing ‘Ave Maria’ at the wedding. She wasn’t at all sure how they’d managed to talk her into it. It had all been connected with her excitement at knowing that by the end of March, she would be living with Jenny for good. Then Peggy came to see her and told her it would make her day if she’d sing and Linda could see that Jenny wanted her to as well. They both sang the piece to her so that she had an idea of the tune, and copied out the words, and suddenly she found herself saying she would do it.

  Later, she wished she hadn’t agreed, because there were deep ugly scars running down both her legs. The right was worse than the left, but the calliper hid most of that. And that was another thing, her calliper. It was heavy and ungainly, and very difficult to walk with. In the beginning, she had listed to one side to compensate for the weight of it, and she still wasn’t certain that she walked completely straight.

  She was sure she’d make a complete fool of herself, but she’d have to do it now. If she complained, it would sound as though she was thinking just of herself, but she’d give anything to be hidden in a church pew along with everyone else. If only she had a long dress to wear! But then she could hardly ask Jenny to provide one, not after all of those clothes of Vicky’s that she’d been given.

  Jenny had noticed Linda’s slight restraint when she visited, and also the way she’d seemed to lose interest in the wedding preparations, but her gran had said maybe she felt a little out of it not being involved. Jenny supposed that was right. She didn’t ask her. She knew Linda wouldn’t like to think she’d offended her in any way and if she spoke about it, Linda might think she’d upset her. So she said nothing and Linda worried about it and wished the day was over and done with.

  There were just five days to go to the wedding when Peggy’s youngest sister, Maria, fell down some cellar steps and broke her leg quite badly. Peggy was understandably upset and so was the girl, who had been due to be one of the bridesmaids. Jenny felt very sorry for her and called to see how she was getting on the following evening. Peggy had just got in after visiting her in the Children’s Hospital where she’d been taken and told Jenny she was very depressed about the whole thing. The doctor had said she’d definitely not be well enough to attend the wedding, let alone be a bridesmaid. ‘It’s not to be wondered at,’ Jenny said. ‘It must be a great disappointment with the bridesmaids’ dresses made and everything.’

  ‘There’s no help for it,’ Peggy told Jenny, and went on with a sigh, ‘Maria was upset, but as I said, she has another sister and three brothers to go yet. She’ll have her turn as bridesmaid again before she’s much older I’d say. Our Leonie is courting strong, so Mammy told me last time I was over.’

  Jenny still felt sorry for the little girl who was probably bitterly disappointed, but she didn’t bother saying anything at home. She’d told them about Peggy, and how she was to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, but they went on as if she hadn’t spoken, so she said no more about it. But still, she thought, as she let herself in later, I’ll have to tell them that the wedding takes place this Saturday, and that Linda’s coming to live here permanently from the night before. Whatever they say, it will not make the slightest difference.

  ‘It was your gran’s idea,’ Peggy said next day on the tram. ‘After all, the dress is made and it’s a shame to waste it, and Linda is singing so she is part of the service anyway.’

  ‘It won’t fit her, will it? Your Maria is only ten.’

  ‘Aye, but she’s quite a bit bigger than Linda I’d say,’ Peggy said. ‘We can measure it up against the clothes you altered for her at Christmas. That’s not a problem, the point is, would she like to be a bridesmaid?’

  ‘She’d like the dress – what young girl wouldn’t?’ Jenny said. But would she like hobbling down the aisle with everyone watching her? She didn’t know the answer to that. ‘I’ll ask her tonight.’

  But Linda was delighted. It solved the problem of her scarred legs and the calliper; both would be hidden under the layers of petticoats and pale apricot satin which would fall to the floor. She could picture the dress for she knew it was exactly the same as Jenny’s, and Jenny had described it in detail.

  ‘We wondered whether you might feel awkward walking down the aisle?’ Jenny said.

  ‘Not really,’ Linda said. ‘I’m getting better every day. I just have a slight limp now and I’ve got two more days to practise, because you’re not fetching me until after work on Friday, are you?’

  ‘No. Dr Sanders has offered his services again,’ Jenny said.

  ‘I reckon he’s sweet on you,’ Linda said. ‘Bob had better watch out.’

  ‘Linda!’ Jenny cried. ‘What a thing to say! The doctor is just being friendly, that’s all, and Bob is just a friend as well.’

  ‘Oh yeah, course he is,’ Linda said sarcastically.

  ‘You need your bottom skelped, young woman,’ Jenny said, but with a laugh.

  Afterwards, she told herself Linda was being ridiculous. She was just a child still and everyone knew they had funny notions. It was just coincidence that she’d bumped into Dr Sanders sometimes in the hospital as she was visiting Linda, and the brief visit he’d made to the house at the weekend was merely to offer his services to bring Linda home on Friday evening. Jenny had been grateful to him for the offer, and he’d never said anything awkward or even mildly suggestive to her.

  Not that he was an unattractive man. He wasn’t old either, she was sure, for though the beard and moustache made him look older than his years, his eyes were young and, she’d noticed last time, deep set and so dark they looked almost black. But she knew Peter Sanders was definitely not interested in her. She wasn’t even sure if Bob was, not in the way Linda meant. But then Linda was still of an age to believe in fairy stories, such as that of the prince marrying the beggar girl and living happily ever after. Jenny was only too well aware however, that life seldom worked out like that.

  Yet, when she got into the doctor’s car after work on Friday evening, Linda’s words reverberated in Jenny’s ears and she smiled at the doctor a little self-consciously. ‘All right?’ he said, as she slid into the seat beside him.

  Jenny nodded.

  ‘A bit nervous, I suppose?’

  ‘Not really,’ Jenny said, a little puzzled and added, ‘nervous of the wedding, you mean?’

  ‘No, not that. I meant nervous of having Linda home for good?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ she said, but she didn’t speak the truth.

  Dr Sanders wondered if Jenny knew how bad she was at hiding her feelings. He heard enough estate gossip to know how much Jenny’s mother and grandmother were disliked, and the decision to have Linda to live there had little to do with them, but much to do with the young girl beside him, no matter what they told him the first time he called. ‘Linda’s terribly excited,’ he said. ‘I popped in yesterday.’

  ‘I didn’t see you.’

  ‘You’d long gone by then,’ Peter Sanders said. ‘I had to have a patient admitted last night, and I went in the ambulance with her because she lived alone. While I was there, I nipped along to see Linda. She should have been asleep, but she was too excited.’

  ‘She’d better sleep tonight or she’ll be like a wet rag tomorrow,’ Jenny said grimly.

  ‘And isn’t she performing too?’

  ‘Well, I suppose you could call it that. She’s singing “Ave Maria”.’

  Dr Sanders nodded. ‘She told me,’ he said. ‘I might just come and listen. Linda has asked me to. Eleven o’clock, she said?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jenny said. ‘At St Saviour’s Church in Ward End, which w
as Peggy’s church before she went to live with Gran and where the rest of the family go. She moved over there yesterday, to stay with a neighbour till after the wedding.’

  ‘Well, the bride and groom could hardly leave from the same house.’

  Jenny smiled and said, ‘It wouldn’t be very traditional, would it?’

  ‘And terribly bad luck for the groom to see the wedding dress too soon.’

  ‘So they say.’

  Dr Sanders cast a quizzical eye at Jenny and said with a smile, ‘Can I take it you scorn these old customs, madam?’

  ‘Let’s just say I think a happy and successful marriage has more to do with love and compatibility, than catching a glimpse of a wedding dress.’

  ‘Ah, there speaks the voice of experience.’

  Jenny laughed out loud. ‘OK,’ she conceded. ‘I know little about it, I suppose. But that’s my opinion.’

  ‘And have you anyone you love and feel compatible with?’

  Jenny was surprised by the direct question, then quite annoyed. The doctor had no right to ask such things. It wasn’t any of his business. Despite herself, she felt her face flush and was glad the inside of the car was so dim. Into the silence that had fallen between them, Peter Sanders said, ‘Sorry Jenny, out of order. I had no right to ask. Forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Jenny said. She thought of Bob and wondered did she love him? She was happy to see him certainly, and her heart seemed to beat faster when she was near him, but she didn’t know if that was love. And she had no idea how he felt about her; and as for compatible, how much did either of them know of one another after such a short acquaintance? She only knew that at this moment, he was probably on a train travelling to the Midlands from the South, in order to spend his leave attending the wedding of her friend because she’d asked him to.

  ‘It was just that if you have no one special, I’d like to take you out one evening,’ Peter said. ‘I’m sure I could get tickets for the theatre, if you’d like that?’

  Jenny sat in stunned silence. Linda was right, she thought, he has got designs on me. She looked across the car at the doctor and wondered how old he really was. Only about thirty, she decided, certainly no more, and quite a handsome man, distinguished-looking. She wondered how and why he’d become attracted to her. Surely he couldn’t just be being kind, like Bob? She wondered briefly if Bob would mind her accepting a date with the doctor, but then why should he? It wasn’t as if he was her real actual boyfriend, as if they were going steady or anything, and he probably dated other girls when he was at the camp. She’d just never asked him, thinking it wasn’t her business.