Meet Me Under the Clock

by Annie Murray

  She looked up into the darkness and thought about all the times Ian had been here lately. Was Kitty flirting with him? She was certainly her charming self with him, giggling at his jokes, full of life when he was about and smiling at him. But that was just Kitty being Kitty, wasn’t it? Audrey must just have got it wrong.

  But it was a long time before she slept, and even then she had shapeless, uneasy dreams.

  ‘Post – for you, Audrey!’ Jack called the next morning. Sylvia heard the conversation, though she was still in bed. Kitty had gone off to work, but she had the luxury of a lie-in.

  ‘For me?’ She heard Audrey run down the stairs, but Jack must have met her halfway up.

  ‘A postcard.’ Jack spoke teasingly. ‘From someone called Dorrie.’

  ‘Oh!’ Audrey sounded pleased. ‘She’s my friend – at the base.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Mom’s voice floated up from the hall. ‘You’ve only been away a couple of days.’

  ‘Not the same around here without you,’ Jack read, before Audrey snatched it from his hand.

  ‘Get off, Afterthought! It’s none of your business.’ She came upstairs again and shut herself in her room.

  Audrey was obviously very caught up in her WAAF life, Sylvia thought. She felt a little wistful, wondering if she should have joined up. But to do what? She was better off where she was, she knew that really.

  The rest of Audrey’s leave passed without any upsets. Sylvia did not want to fall out with her, so she said nothing more about Kitty. Audrey went back to the WAAF, promising to get home again for the wedding. Life hurried on, busy at the Goods Yard and at home, full of talk and laughter with Kitty and the family, and snatched times with Ian.

  When she next saw Ian, at the weekend, she found herself wanting him jealously all to herself. She insisted that they went out, leaving Kitty in the house. Sylvia wanted it to be a happy afternoon, like so many they had had before, but both of them were tired and out of sorts.

  ‘Let’s just walk,’ Ian said, once they’d left the house. ‘It’s a nice enough day.’

  Sylvia couldn’t think of a better suggestion. She felt tired and strangely lifeless. However much she told herself what Audrey had said about Kitty was utter nonsense, the creeping doubt had been eating away at her all week. But she was angry with herself for allowing Audrey to put bad thoughts about Kitty into her head, when Kitty had been nothing but a staunch friend.

  This was the time of year when the trees were in leaf and all the flowers were coming out and she was supposed to be full of plans. She and Ian were getting married in just a few weeks! But she felt as if she was shrivelling inside, and however much she told herself not to be so stupid, the feeling would not go away.

  Taking Ian’s arm, Sylvia walked along, trying to be bright and cheerful. Ian had his long coat on and his trilby and looked very distinguished. As ever she felt a surge of pride in being seen with him. She asked him bright little questions about his work – she had long since realized that he did not really want to hear about hers. Ian answered wearily. Things felt out of sorts. They walked the streets, hardly noticing where they were going.

  ‘Are there any other things we need to do for the wedding?’ Sylvia asked after a silence.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ian said. ‘All the important things seem to be under control. All that remains is the stuff you girls like to see about: dresses and suchlike.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose . . .’ Sylvia said. Ian seemed so absent-minded about it all. Was it just that? Sylvia asked herself. Or was she reading the worst into his every mood now? ‘Ian?’ She stopped him and made him turn to her. ‘Is everything all right?’

  He hesitated for a second, then put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Of course, Wizzy. Why not?’ But Sylvia felt there was a stiffness to his response.

  She looked up into his face, finding herself suddenly on the brink of tears. ‘You would tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn’t you? I’d hate to think . . .’ She couldn’t go on, her throat ached so much. ‘It’s just, you seem so far away.’

  He looked down at her and gave a tired smile. He squeezed her shoulders, then reached down and pecked her on the lips. ‘Not at all! I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. Blame work. Blame Hitler. One way or another, he’s wearing all of us out.’

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Sylv?’ Pauline asked, seeing her daughter staring into space as if she was in a trance. ‘You’re not having second thoughts – about Ian, I mean?’

  ‘Oh – no!’ Sylvia said. ‘I do feel a bit funny, though,’ she admitted. She could not explain it. It was as if there was something happening just out of her reach, like the whistle that a sheepdog can hear, too high for the human ear, but which alters the direction of the flock.

  ‘I don’t really know why. Wedding nerves, I suppose. Or just tiredness. Now the raids have stopped, maybe it’s a reaction.’

  The Germans had turned their attention to invading Russia. ‘Huh,’ Ted had said when they heard the news. ‘Those flaming Reds can have a turn for a bit.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Pauline spoke in a muffled voice, searching for something in one of the low kitchen cupboards. ‘The girls have been a bit peculiar as well. Isabella’s laying like mad and Victoria hasn’t produced for days.’

  Sylvia smiled at the way her mother measured everyone by the chickens. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m going to lay an egg, anyway,’ she said.

  Mom straightened up and gave her a look. ‘I should hope not,’ she said.

  A few days later she and Kitty travelled into work, chatting easily together. Over the weeks that had passed Sylvia had put her mind at rest over her silly suspicions and what Audrey had said. Trust Audrey to make a drama! She had just jumped to the worst possible conclusion. During those weeks Ian had been round and they had spent plenty of time together alone, and things had felt much as they always had. And now Kitty was talking excitedly about a soldier called Bill, home on leave, whom she had met last night when she and some of her fellow office workers went out for a drink in town.

  ‘Ever so dishy,’ Kitty enthused as she and Sylvia were getting ready for bed. She was pink-cheeked and lit up with excitement. ‘He’s blond and very tall. And he asked me for my address, so I’m hoping for some letters.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely, Kitty,’ Sylvia said, truly pleased for her. It was surprising that someone as lovely-looking as Kitty would not have a young man – except that there was a young-man shortage.

  Now, as they stood packed into the bus, Kitty was still talking about Bill. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to be writing letters – one of those long-distance relationships. All rather romantic, though!’

  ‘That’s one way of getting to know one another, isn’t it?’ Sylvia said. ‘And the boys in the forces love getting letters. Mom keeps going on at me to write to Laurie Gould.’ She rolled her eyes.

  Kitty frowned. ‘What – Mrs Gould’s son next door? I thought you liked him?’

  ‘Well, of course I do. Laurie’s all right. But I can’t imagine that he’d really want to hear from me.’

  When they got to the Goods Yard they parted and Kitty went to her office and Sylvia to the Amenities block to leave her things in the mess room.

  Elsie was in there and she greeted Sylvia. Sylvia felt a pang of guilt when she saw her. She would have liked to spend more time with Elsie, but she was so caught up with Kitty. Elsie had a look on her face of someone who knows something grim and wants to tell you about it.

  ‘Have you heard?’ she said, after a few moments. She leaned round from tightening her boot laces.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sylvia joked. ‘Or, if I have, it went straight past me.’

  Elsie stood up. ‘You know that bloke, the big Irish one who came and barged into the offices that day?’

  ‘Irish bloke? He’s not been round again, has he?’ Kitty certainly hadn’t mentioned there being any trouble.

  ‘No,’ Elsie said. ‘I don’t think
so. He had a thing about one of the girls down there. Thing is, Sylv, someone said that the name he was asking for was that girl who’s living with you: Kitty Barratt.’

  Though this was no surprise, a fat worm of unease turned in Sylvia’s stomach. Kitty had made light of what had happened, saying that he was just someone who had a bit of a thing for her. So far as she knew, everything had settled down long ago.

  ‘Well, he did cause a bit of a nuisance to her,’ Sylvia said. ‘What about him?’

  Elsie sat down on the bench. ‘It’s been going round that he was involved with some girl here: if not Kitty, then someone else. His wife’s not been well and . . . Well, apparently he got up the other morning and found she’d – you know . . . done herself in.’

  ‘No!’ Sylvia cried, appalled. ‘Oh no!’ She sank down on the bench beside Elsie, who was not a gossip-monger and looked genuinely upset.

  ‘I thought he looked quite a nice sort of a man,’ Elsie said.

  ‘How did she – the wife, I mean . . . ?’

  Elsie made a gesture towards the ceiling. ‘They say he had to cut her down quick, so his kids didn’t see anything. There’s six of them apparently. I mean, those poor kids . . .’

  Sylvia heard that Elsie was tearful, and the thought of all those bereft little ones made her feel like crying herself.

  All that day while she was working she kept thinking about the man, Joe Whelan, and his family, and the sadness of it weighed upon her. It was the shunters who had heard the news, because of Pat Sheehan being Joe’s cousin. Even amidst all the busy day’s work, the news dragged everyone down. With the war causing so many deaths, this one seemed especially cruel and unnecessary. Sylvia didn’t see Kitty until the end of the shift, but all the time uncomfortable thoughts were niggling at her. What the hell had happened, and what did Kitty have to do with it?

  ‘So,’ Sylvia said, stacking up the plates near the sink, where Kitty was getting ready to wash up. ‘You’ll have heard?’

  She deliberately started this conversation about Joe Whelan in front of her mother. She was starting to realize that when she was alone with Kitty she was so drawn in by her friend that Kitty could have told her anything and she would have believed it. She still reproached herself for feeling any suspicions about Kitty. But this was over something truly serious.

  ‘Heard what?’ Kitty said, casually swishing soap in the water.

  ‘About that guard, Joe Whelan.’

  She saw Kitty’s shoulders stiffen. Then she turned, her face full of a sad concern, which Sylvia found reassuring.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d heard. It’s absolutely awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Pauline asked. ‘Not more bad news!’

  Kitty turned and leaned her back against the sink, drying her hands on a cloth. ‘It’s so sad. There’s a guard, from Tyseley, who often used to be on the passenger train from Hockley. I haven’t seen him lately. He’s . . . well, quite a bit older than me. And I’m afraid he got rather keen on me, even though I kept telling him . . .’ Her eyes widened. ‘It was so difficult. There was a time, a few months ago, when he started following me about – turned up at the yard a couple of times. I don’t know if you ever saw him, Sylvia. I had to be quite hard on him and tell him to leave me alone.’ She looked down sadly for a moment.

  Pauline perched on one of the chairs at the table and Sylvia could see her mother listening attentively. It felt like a sweet moment, with them all talking and confiding together. Sylvia felt the tension begin to ease inside her. There was an explanation after all – Kitty was not responsible.

  ‘Anyway, he came back to the yard a little while ago. I’d almost forgotten about it all by then, so I got a terrible shock when he came bursting into our office, demanding to talk to me! Miss James, who’s in charge of our office, made him leave. I don’t know why he was behaving like that, but Miss James saved me from a very awkward situation.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Pauline said with a sigh. ‘Older men do make terrible fools of themselves sometimes. And you’re such a lovely little thing. Is it any wonder?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Kitty said. ‘But I do know that I never gave him any encouragement. But now . . .’ She put her hands over her face. ‘Oh, it’s so dreadful I can hardly bear to think about it!’

  Sylvia and her mother exchanged glances.

  ‘His wife’s taken her own life,’ Sylvia explained gently. She saw her mother’s face stretch in shock.

  Kitty burst into tears on hearing this and they moved close to comfort her, standing each side of her. Kitty sobbed for a few moments, then tried to speak, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  ‘I’ve been asking myself over and over again: was it my fault? I never asked for anything from that man – I just wanted him to leave me alone.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’ Sylvia asked, with her arm round Kitty’s shoulders. ‘You never told us you were having all this trouble.’

  ‘Well, it was embarrassing; and I didn’t want to bother you when you’ve been so kind.’

  There was a click and slam of the front door.

  ‘That’ll be Ted coming in,’ Pauline said.

  ‘Pauline?’

  ‘I’m in the back, love,’ she called.

  Ted appeared at the kitchen door, took one look at Kitty’s tearful face and the huddle of women and retreated, saying, ‘Oh good Lord!’

  They all rolled their eyes at each other.

  ‘Do you think it’s my fault, Mrs W.?’ Kitty said pleadingly.

  ‘Not by the sound of things,’ Pauline said on her way out to see her husband. ‘But it’s a terrible sad thing, that it is.’

  Twenty-Eight

  June 1941

  Kitty sat in her room, waiting for the rest of the household to settle down for the night. Since saying a yawning goodnight and going upstairs, she had changed from her usual skirt and blouse into a little black dress, which she had bought and kept hidden in the back of the wardrobe. She had redone her make-up and pinned her hair back. It looked both neat and stylish. She knew her new man: he liked women to be women. Not like poor old Sylvia these days. Those awful trousers that the lady porters had to wear made them look anything but ladylike.

  She got up and twisted this way and that in front of the cheval mirror. Oh yes, she thought, smiling at herself in the sleek black dress; yes, sir. She patted her hair, dabbed eau de cologne behind her ears and sat on the bed again, drumming her fingers on her thighs. Audrey’s alarm clock on the dressing table said a quarter-past ten. She had told him she would be able to get out by half-past at the latest. Time crawled. The clock’s tick seemed deafening and its sound increased her inner tension. She wished she could think of something to do – anything – to pass the time until she could risk creeping downstairs. Sylvia would soon be asleep, because work always tired her out. But tonight it seemed to take forever for Mr and Mrs Whitehouse to get themselves up to bed. Feet thumped up and down the stairs and Pauline’s voice came through her door, ‘Well, Ted, where on earth have you put it? It must be somewhere . . .’ and muffled replies from him.

  ‘Go to sleep all of you,’ Kitty hissed. At last the door of their bedroom closed.

  She drew in a deep, ragged breath. This is living! she thought, with a little smile. This excitement, of a man wanting you. It lit up everything: the gloom of war and the tedium of her office job. It made her feel she was doing what she was put on this earth for. Kitty Barratt – femme fatale. She giggled to herself.

  Finally, at almost half-past ten, she got up and checked her face and hair once more in the mirror, picked up her raincoat and shoes and clicked off the light. The door opened with a squeak, which make her wince. God help her, if Mrs W. or Sylvia came out! She’d find some excuse, though: she was good at that. Taking some of her weight off the stairs by leaning on the banisters, she slipped downstairs and out of the front door, quietly leaving it on the latch. It was a mild June night – damp, but not raining.

  As
arranged, she walked a little way along the street, towards Kings Heath Park, before she heard his voice, low and very cautious. ‘Kitty?’

  ‘Yes, coming!’ she replied, also very softly. There was a half-moon in the sky. In its light she could see a shadowy figure moving towards her, tall and handsome, just the sort of man she had always wanted. Ian Westley had come out to meet her, and her alone.

  As soon as he came close, he took her in his arms. ‘Kitty, darling! There’s a girl. You got out all right?’

  ‘Yes – I had a bit of a wait, but I think they’re all asleep.’

  He was looking down at her and in the dim, silvery light she could see his entranced expression.

  ‘God, you’re lovely,’ he said. ‘I’d have waited up all night to see you – don’t you worry.’ His lips sought out hers and Kitty kissed him back, enthusiastically. Ian held her close for a moment and then said, ‘It’s a bit awkward meeting like this.’

  ‘I know,’ Kitty said in a shamed voice. ‘But it’s so hard to know what else to do, in the circumstances. There’s nowhere to go really, is there?’

  ‘Come and walk in the park – it’s quite dry,’ Ian said, taking her arm. He glanced at the sky. ‘Not quite a bomber’s moon, but it’s clear enough. At least they don’t seem to be coming over nowadays.’

  ‘Or nowanights,’ Kitty added, and Ian laughed, squeezing her arm.

  ‘You’re a sparky little thing, aren’t you?’

  They walked to the end of the road and slipped into the park where the darkness was almost total, but where it felt safe and private. Kitty was electrified with excitement. She knew what Ian wanted of her. Sylvia had told her enough about his frustration with her; that he was an energetic man who needed a woman. And Kitty planned to give it to him, but not yet. It was much too soon. She didn’t want Ian to think she was fast. She would have to play her timing very carefully, because she had real designs on him. He was a catch – and she hadn’t got long. Ian was getting married. She must play things to the letter.