by Annie Murray
Ian joined in her laughter, though a bit grudgingly, she thought. ‘I’m beginning to feel jealous. It makes my work seem very dull.’
‘No! It’s just . . . the people are different from what you’re used to.’ Sylvia thought about Ian’s quiet, formal family. Everything in the Westley household was in its place and just so. What on earth would they make of some of her workmates? She thought about Madge and the intimate punishments she threatened to inflict on Froggy Bainton and started to giggle again.
‘What’s up with you?’ Ian asked, seeming a little irritated by her enjoyment and all the new things she was experiencing.
‘I’d better not repeat it,’ she said, suddenly solemn. ‘You wouldn’t approve.’
Ian gave an annoyed sigh and sat back, letting go of her.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sylvia sobered herself, feeling she had been tactless.
‘Oh, I don’t know – this damn war.’ He frowned. His thin face had a creased, dusty look. ‘I just wish it was over. It’s changing everything. I just want to be back how we were – you and me. And for us to get married now and settle down.’
Sylvia was touched by this. ‘Oh, I know – I want that too. But we’re going to, aren’t we – very soon?’ They often discussed their wedding plans. ‘And even if we just have to rent a room somewhere, it’ll be ours until we can afford something better. Just you and me – and one day there’ll be no bombs, no war . . .’ She cuddled up to him again.
‘Oh, we shan’t need to rent,’ Ian said, as if it was all decided. ‘Ma and Pa will put us up for as long as we need. They’ve plenty of room over there.’
‘Really? But I thought we—’
‘Of course it makes perfect sense,’ Ian said. ‘It can’t come too soon, as far as I’m concerned.’ He sounded so gloomy that she did not like to argue, but her heart was sinking very low at the thought of living with Dr and Mrs Westley.
‘I just loathe all this,’ Ian was saying. ‘All my pals going off, most of them anyway. Awful things happening.’
‘Like Raymond.’
‘Yes, exactly – like Raymond.’ Ian had met Raymond Gould several times and had liked him. ‘And it’s turning you girls into . . . Well, you’re not like you were before.’
‘But I am,’ she said, twisting round to kiss his cheek. Sometimes the age gap between them seemed even greater than it was. ‘Don’t be so grim. I’m exactly as I was before. Just in slacks sometimes.’
‘That’s just it.’ Ian held her tight again, seeming vulnerable suddenly. ‘At least you’ve got a skirt on now. Like the first time I saw you.’
She giggled. ‘That was a dress.’ She had worn a pretty summer frock that day at the fete when they met. Ian had called at the house soon afterwards. At first Sylvia was a bit awed by him, but she realized he was shy and awkward with women, and even his mother admitted that she had brought Ian out of his shell.
‘All right, dress – it’s all the same. That’s my girl,’ he whispered. His hand slid round and lay over her right breast. Sylvia squirmed with pleasure, turning her face up to his. Ian kissed her. His hand closed round her breast more tightly.
‘God, Sylvia,’ he broke off after a few moments. ‘You’re such a special girl. Don’t change, will you, and become all mannish, like some of them? I couldn’t stand that.’
‘No, of course not,’ she said, reaching up to stroke his smooth hair. ‘Just because I have to wear trousers to work doesn’t make me a man! Imagine trying to clamber in and out of those wagons in a skirt.’
Ian was looking intently at her. ‘Oh God!’ He took in a deep breath and let out a sigh of frustration. ‘You know I believe in waiting – that it’s the decent thing . . . But sometimes I wish – God, woman, sometimes I just want you so much.’
Her own body was full of longing. She could feel him underneath her as she sat on his lap and knew he was always trying to hold back, to do the right thing. She often imagined how it would be to be fully naked with Ian, to see his long, slender body and make love to him. And she also felt a bit sorry for him. Somehow she thought it was harder for a man to hold back and deny his urges. But it was unthinkable to go any further when they weren’t husband and wife.
‘Oh, Ian – I want you too.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Look, we will be married. It’s only a few months now.’ With a pang she thought about the fact that she was going to have to give up work when she married him. And she had only just begun! Thank goodness it wasn’t quite yet.
‘Yes, and I suppose we’ll have to have a wedding cake with cardboard on top, instead of icing, like everyone seems to be doing now?’ he said scornfully. ‘I don’t want that for you, Wizz – I mean, Sylvia. I want us to have a better wedding, with everything how it should be.’
Wondering what had made him quite so grumpy tonight, she said gently, ‘It doesn’t matter about cakes and dresses, Ian, really it doesn’t. It’s you I want, for my husband.’
‘Oh, Sylvia . . .’ Ian was just reaching up to kiss her again when the kitchen door opened. A bar of light came in from the hall, and Jack appeared with exaggerated cautiousness.
‘Hello, hello, hello . . . ? Is it safe to come in?’
‘Oh, buzz off, Jack,’ Sylvia said, leaning away from Ian and straightening her skirt, which had ridden well up her thighs. ‘What are you after?’
‘Hello, Jack,’ Ian said, in a slightly forced way.
‘Just come to make Pa and me a spot of cocoa,’ Jack spoke in a mocking posh schoolboy tone, which he often put on. The hall light brought out the red sheen of his hair. ‘Pater says it’s time for beddy-byes.’
‘Go on then – get on with it.’ Sylvia scrambled off Ian’s lap. ‘Would you like a drop too, Ian? It’ll be watery of course.’
‘No, thanks. I’d best be off in a minute – while the coast’s still clear out there. How’re things with you, Jack?’
‘All right,’ he said. They started talking about football, and then Ian asked if Jack was doing rugby this term. Sylvia looked gratefully at Ian. Now that the Gould boys were gone, Jack didn’t get much attention. He had been overjoyed when Laurie came back on a couple of days’ leave and had dragged him off to the park to play football.
As they were talking, the front door opened and Pauline came back in. Sylvia was struck by how pale and tired she looked, standing at the kitchen doorway. She greeted Ian.
‘All right, Mom? Jack’s about to go up.’
‘I am indeed,’ Jack said, holding up his cocoa as if it were a tankard of ale.
Pauline tutted, leaning on the doorframe. ‘Bit late. Still, least it’s quiet so far.’
‘There’s a drop of cocoa.’
‘Wouldn’t say no.’
‘How’s Mrs Gould?’ Sylvia handed her the cup.
Her mother sighed and sank down at the table. ‘Not good. Doing her best – you know Marjorie. Stanley’s so—’ She cut herself off, making a frustrated sound. ‘Still, he’s not going to change. It would just’ve been better if Laurie hadn’t left as well. Marjorie barely knows what to do with herself, the poor woman.’
Sylvia could see that her mother was all in. Ian stood with his coat on, holding his hat.
‘Sorry, love,’ Pauline said. ‘Mustn’t dwell on misery.’
‘Not at all,’ Ian said, giving one of his stiff little bows. ‘But I must be off.’
Sylvia went to the front with him to say goodbye. Ian held her close, his cheek against her forehead.
‘Don’t change, will you?’ he said quietly, drawing back to look down at her.
‘I’m not going to change, silly!’ She laughed it off. What was he so worried about? ‘I love you, Ian,’ she added seriously.
‘Oh, I love you too.’ He rallied and gave his sudden broad smile. ‘See you as soon as we can.’ He leaned down to kiss her again, seeming more light-hearted.
Nine
A few evenings later Sylvia answered a knock at the front door to find Laurie Gould on the step. He stood, with a sud
den stiff shyness, in the dusk. Though it was March it was trying to snow, and a few flakes drifted down all around him, settling on his pale hair.
‘I’ve got a couple of days’ leave,’ he said. ‘We’re being re-posted for flight training.’
‘Gosh!’ Sylvia said, then felt immediately foolish. ‘Look, come in. It’s so cold out there.’ As he came through the door she added, ‘So are you going to be a pilot?’
‘Oh,’ Laurie gave a little laugh, ‘I don’t know. They have to try us out and see whether we’re fit for it.’ He was putting on a brave face, but she could sense how much he had changed. He was thinner in the face, his boyish cheerfulness had become subdued and he seemed more serious.
They stopped in the hall for a moment. Sylvia felt her cheeks burn pink and was glad that it was rather gloomy. ‘I just wanted to say,’ she said, ‘I’m so very sorry about Raymond. I never got the chance to talk to you properly, after the service and everything—’
‘It’s all right,’ Laurie stopped her rather abruptly. Before he looked down at the tiles of the hall floor she saw the pain in his eyes. ‘I mean, it’s not all right, is it? But I don’t know what there is to say.’
‘Yes,’ Sylvia said, seeing how difficult it must be, with everyone else’s sorrow coming at him. ‘Of course not.’ As they stood there it felt so unfair that she was happy, having Ian and so many things to look forward to, while he was sad. And he was living so far from home now. Thank heaven Jack was not old enough to go, she found herself thinking. She realized she wasn’t used to dealing with Laurie as an adult. She thought of him more as Jack’s age, though of course he was quite a lot older.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘Jack’s out the back sorting out the rabbits, and Mom’s here. Come on through.’ She led him to the back of the house. Pauline was in the kitchen stirring a pot on the range with her sleeves rolled up. ‘Mom, Laurie’s come round to say goodbye. He’s off in a couple of days.’
‘We’re going to Canada,’ Laurie said.
‘Canada!’ Sylvia gasped. ‘You never said . . . My goodness, Canada. Why?’
‘They do most of the flight training over there.’ Laurie shrugged as if it was all the same to him wherever he was.
Pauline looked stricken. ‘Oh, so soon,’ she said. Sylvia could see her biting back the words, your poor mother. ‘But I suppose if you’ve got to go, then you’ve got to.’
‘Yes,’ Laurie said, in his quiet way. ‘That seems to be how it is.’
‘Come out and see Jack,’ Sylvia said, as the atmosphere was growing more awkward all the time. She could see that Laurie, still grieving over his brother, was also in a state of nerves about all that lay before him.
They all ended up in the garden. Jack was chasing the rabbits back into their hutches in the gloom. Mr Piggles was already safely shut up for the night. One of the others had got out, and Jack was tearing down the garden after it.
‘Oh dear!’ Laurie said, attempting to sound jovial.
‘Yes, it never ends,’ Pauline said. ‘We’ve had to put chicken wire all along the bottom down there, to stop them getting onto the railway.
Laurie went and joined in the chase, glad to have something to do. The snow was still whirling in the air. Sylvia ran in and fetched coats for herself and her mother and they stood huddled up, watching. Once they caught the rabbit, Laurie and Jack started trying to fool about together as they always did, but there was very little space left. It seemed sad, as if they had outgrown the garden. It was another sign that everything had changed.
Watching them, Sylvia found herself close to tears. She had never taken a lot of notice of Laurie, since those days when they were very little and had read books together. Laurie had soon left her behind and was forever reading or writing something. But he had often come round to their house, especially in the summer after Jack had gone to the grammar school and become keen on cricket. She thought of all those summer evenings, the sound of the ball on the bat, the clouds of gnats in the air, the boys’ voices in the garden as the sun went down. Her heart ached at the thought of all those happy times when none of them had thought of dying young. She knew her mother was probably thinking much the same, but they stood in silence, their breath coming out in clouds on the air.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Laurie?’ Pauline called eventually.
‘Oh, no thanks,’ he said, turning from laughing with Jack. Now, with his face lit up, he looked like the boy they knew, not solemn and tense. ‘I’d better go. Mom wants me back.’
‘Yes,’ Pauline said sadly. ‘I’m sure she does.’
Laurie and Jack gave each other friendly goodbye punches. ‘See you,’ Laurie said.
‘Goodbye, love,’ Pauline said gently. ‘And tell your mother: she’s knows I’m always here. Pop in before you leave, won’t you?’
‘I will. It’s very kind of you, Mrs W.’
Sylvia could hardly speak when they got to the front door, there was such a lump in her throat. ‘Good luck,’ she said and almost added, ‘Come back, won’t you?’ but bit the words back.
‘Thanks.’ Laurie turned towards home, then stopped and gave a little wave. ‘See you!’
And as he turned at the gate Sylvia felt as if their childhoods were walking away from them with him.
As Laurie left the Whitehouses’ door, knowing that Sylvia was standing on the step, he felt a powerful impulse to turn back, but did not do so. He was too aware of the distance between himself and Sylvia. The fact that he had joined up and was going off to another world made the gulf even greater.
Laurie could not tell whether Sylvia had any real idea of the huge change that was facing him now. How could she, or any of them? Like Dad, with all his brisk remarks about the technical side of it. But that was the easy part to imagine – the classes, learning how to operate the planes. The rest felt like looking over the edge of a cliff, into a void. He faced it with dread. He did not want to leave home and go halfway round the world, yet the thought of being here now, caught in the wash of his parents’ grief, was too much to bear. He could no longer stand his father avoiding mentioning Raymond; or looking into his mother’s face and seeing the raw pain etched on it. It made him feel utterly helpless. And he could never be any sort of compensation for their loss of Raymond. For his mother, her offspring were like a three-legged stool – her boys. Now, one of the legs of that stool had been sawn off, and the stool could not stand. Why even pretend that it could?
But Sylvia . . . He had always seen her as a kindly older sister. She was that pretty, sweet (especially compared with Audrey), rather timid girl who had been one of the constants of his childhood. He realized that he felt more pain at leaving her, and all the memories she evoked of summer gardens and games and carefree childhood, than at leaving his parents, who were now darkened by shadows of pain and regret.
He stood for a moment at his front door, knowing that Sylvia had not yet gone inside, but still shy of looking or saying anything more. Was she watching him? A second later he heard the click of the latch and knew she had gone. The street felt desolate, suddenly empty of her presence. In that moment a powerful sense of yearning twisted inside him. He longed for her to come out again. Was it just that he was going away that caused this heightened feeling towards Sylvia? All he wanted to do at this moment was go back to the Whitehouses’ door, knock to be let in and settle down with Sylvia, see her smile and talk about old times. She felt like home, like everything he needed.
Trying to pull himself together, he went inside to where his mother was instructing Paul to lay the table for tea. Tea – such a childhood word, of crumpets and cake, and all of them together around the table in the cosy light. For a second his eyes filled, before he swallowed the tears away.
‘All right?’ His mother’s voice was determinedly cheerful. She looked up from the handful of knives (only four now, when it had always been five) that she had put down on the table. Laurie saw how thin her face had become, the skin closer to her bones. ‘Did you see the
m?’
‘Yes.’ Looking down, he picked up the knives to lay them. Paul gave a yelp of protest.
‘Let him do it,’ his mother said.
Laurie handed Paul the knives. He looked up at his mother and, in spite of her fighting against it, her eyes were full of tears.
Ten
When she met Kitty Barratt that mucky winter morning, Sylvia had been at Hockley Goods Yard for about three weeks.
Hurrying to an early shift, she left Hockley passenger station and walked round to the Goods Yard entrance. A straggle of other people were going in the same direction. It was still dark and there was a sleety rain. Sylvia pulled her collar up and bent her head into the wet, trying not to let the miserable weather drag her spirits down. Everyone was hungry, almost all the time. The food available was never enough and she was often seized by a low, sinking feeling that could make her feel quite faint.
She had had a late night last night as well. There were fewer raids now and she and Ian had risked going out to a dance. It had been lovely to get dolled up in her pretty red and black frock with its swirling skirt, and see the pleased grin on Ian’s face. He looked very dashing himself in his brown jacket and trousers, with a red scarf tucked in at the neck, his fine brown hair carefully combed back.
‘Gosh!’ He kissed her and looked her up and down approvingly. ‘That’s my girl. What a stunner!’ From his jacket pocket he produced a red silk rose. ‘For you, my dear.’
‘Oh, Ian!’ Sylvia cried. ‘It’s beautiful – and it matches my outfit. Where on earth did you get it?’
‘Well, to be honest, it was my mother’s. She said I could give it to you.’
‘How nice,’ Sylvia said, surprised. She didn’t think Mrs Westley liked her very much, but she was touched. The rose looked lovely pinned at the neck of her frock.
Sylvia smiled to herself, thinking of the smoky dance hall, the band playing ‘South of the Border’ and the ‘Java Jive’ and so many of their favourite songs, and Ian holding her close to his strong, lean body. He was a rather awkward dancer, but she knew he was trying his best for her. She loved the feel of his muscular back under her hands as they danced, and they had some fun, though Ian did get a bit tetchy because she knew all the dances better than he did. It had almost been possible to forget the war for a bit, until they stepped out into the cold and the blackout again. She was feeling extra weary now, but it had definitely been worth it.
