by Amy Miller
‘Gwendolen,’ said Audrey, ‘you’re in no fit state to go inside. That home-distilled alcohol you’re drinking, it’s very strong and could be dangerous.’
‘And what’s that got to do with you?’ she said, slurring and stumbling over onto the grass.
Audrey rubbed her forehead in dismay, then helped pick up the old lady. With one hand firmly holding her arm, she led her to a bench, where a seagull was perched. Audrey flapped her arm at the gull and it flew into the sky, cawing at the top of its lungs.
‘Eh?’ said Gwendolen, her eyes narrowed. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Audrey, with a sigh. ‘Look, I’m sure you have your reasons for being so angry with the world, but this is Maggie’s big day. If you go inside the church like this, she will be mortified. You can hardly stand up.’
‘But I want to tell her what I think…’ she cried. ‘I’ve not even met this George, and in my experience these fellas are bad news!’
‘Why don’t you sober up a bit and come along to the food and drinks reception in the café afterwards?’ Audrey said. ‘I can walk you back to the bakery now where I work, if you like, and you can have a nap? I’ll make you a brew and find you a slice of cake too. Come on, let Maggie enjoy her day. There’s not much for young women to enjoy at the moment, is there?’
Grumbling, Gwendolen consented, and though Audrey was desperately disappointed to be missing the wedding ceremony, she walked the old lady back to the bakery. After settling her down in a comfortable armchair, with a cup of tea and a slice of gingerbread cake, Gwendolen softened considerably. Audrey realised the poor woman was vulnerable and probably needed a bit of looking after. She told her that she planned to return to the wedding, but that Uncle John was in the bakehouse, should she need any help. The next moment Gwendolen fell into a deep sleep – the cake plate sliding to the floor with a crash. Clearing up the shards of broken porcelain, then quietly closing the door on the snoring old lady, Audrey walked back to the church as quickly as she could.
On her way there, she thought of her own wedding day, when Daphne and Victor hadn’t attended, much to her huge disappointment – yet now they wanted to make amends. In the same vein, there was hope for Gwendolen changing into a nicer woman, wasn’t there?
By the time Audrey got back to the church and crept through the cool stone entrance into the congregation, the ceremony was over and Maggie and George were embracing and kissing.
Once everyone was back outside in the church grounds, Elsie caught up with Audrey.
‘Where did you go?’ Elsie said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ said Audrey. ‘Just making a thirsty person a cup of tea.’
Both women were watching Maggie, the picture of happiness, as she turned her back to the assembled gathering and prepared to throw her bouquet. Maggie’s sisters were elbowing each other out of the way to find the best position for catching the posy, shrieking and laughing.
Audrey caught Isabel’s eye and smiled, so glad and grateful for the joy of weddings when all the other news in the world was so depressing.
‘Thank you,’ mouthed Isabel.
‘What do you mean, a thirsty person?’ said Elsie, frowning. ‘Gwendolen?’
‘I’ll explain another time,’ said Audrey, her eyes following the posy, which was soaring through the blue sky, tumbling this way and that, and heading towards Elsie. ‘Oh Elsie, look out! Catch it!’
Elsie raised her hands in the nick of time and caught the flowers, collapsing into shocked laughter. A small cheer and a smattering of applause went up from the crowd, and she looked bashful as William kissed her on the cheek.
‘You two are next,’ said Audrey, smiling.
* * *
The reception afterwards was in the community hall, decorated with bunting and where Audrey had set out the food on borrowed tablecloths and Maggie’s sister, Isabel, had strung up a banner saying ‘Congratulations’ over the entrance. It reminded her of the wedding party she had arranged for Elsie and William’s wedding the previous year that never happened, but she tried to push that thought aside.
George’s parents had had to return to the city due to travel restrictions, and all of his brothers were overseas, but several of his peers were there, determined to enjoy the party.
‘This war has made every party even more fun!’ one pointed out.
Gwendolen, who had sobered up and was clearly feeling ashamed of herself, sat looking perplexed in the corner of the room. Earlier, she had approached Audrey and muttered her apologies, which Audrey quickly accepted. Like many of the older people, she wore too many layers and must have been boiling hot, but she refused to take off her coat. George, bless him, treated the old woman like a member of the royal family, collecting a plate of food for her, before sitting down next to her and engaging her in conversation.
‘Whatever can he be talking to her about?’ Maggie asked nervously, biting into a beetroot and horseradish savoury split. ‘Goodness knows what she’s saying about me. She’s never had a nice word to say where I’m concerned…’
They both watched George and Gwendolen for a moment. It seemed George was doing all the talking while the old lady was shoving sandwiches in her mouth, ten to the dozen.
‘She doesn’t look like she’s saying much at all,’ said Audrey. ‘It’s not every man that would have the heart and patience to talk to a woman who has been so cruel to his beloved. You’ve got a good one there. And hopefully your grandmother will see the error of her ways. I think she’s perhaps just lost her way a little.’
‘She’s an old bag,’ said Maggie, her voice low. ‘But I know she has her reasons. She lost my grandfather in the Great War. She never really moved on from that. Then when my parents died, she was left to look after us girls and couldn’t take any more.’
‘Poor old dear,’ said Audrey, suddenly noticing that William was sitting on his own at a table, staring into a glass of beer. Though he seemed to be on the mend now that he’d patched things up with Elsie, there were still moments when she felt desperately worried about what was tormenting him. Occasionally he just seemed to disappear somewhere else in mind, if not in body. Here, where everyone seemed delighted to be able to enjoy a few hours of celebration, a welcome relief in wartime, toasting Maggie and George’s happiness, his sombre mood made him stick out like a sore thumb.
‘Why don’t you go and ask your new husband to dance, Maggie? I suspect he’d like to be rescued from your grandmother!’ Audrey said. ‘I’m going to check on William, then I’d better get back to the bakery.’
* * *
As the gramophone record played out, a cheer rippled through the room, and people began to dance. From his seat at the table William glanced up to see Elsie talking animatedly to Lily, as they danced together. William was taken aback by Elsie’s beauty. Her glossy black hair piled high on her head and dark eyes seemed so definite – if this were a painting hanging on a wall, she would leap off the canvas, having been painted in the boldest, brightest colours. He, on the other hand, felt as if he were a shadow in contrast. Watching her move with energy and grace, he suffered a tremor of doubt about whether he could be a good husband to her. Did he have what it takes? He hadn’t told her what a coward he had been overseas – and if she knew, would she still love him?
Pull yourself together, he told himself, rolling his shoulders and sitting back in his chair. You need to let this go.
‘William?’ said Audrey, suddenly by his side at the table and taking a seat. ‘Are you okay? It can’t be much fun watching everyone dance. Where’s Elsie? I should probably get back to the bakery if you’re okay here?’
William smiled and cleared his throat, placing his hands flat down on the table, while he nodded towards Elsie in the throng. ‘She was just dancing with Lily,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m okay. I was thinking…’
‘About…?’ Audrey asked, looking at him questioningly, but William flapped his hand dismissively in the air.
‘Noth
ing,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing at all. Or should I say, all and nothing.’
Brother and sister sat for a moment together in silence, when Elsie rushed over, grinning broadly. She sat on William’s knee and pulled off her shoes, wriggling her toes and pulling a relieved face.
William tried to iron out the frown he knew he was wearing, forcing himself to smile.
‘These shoes are giving me blisters!’ she said, holding up her heeled bow court shoes. Slinging an arm joyfully around William’s neck, she kissed him on the cheek and he felt himself melt.
‘I hope you’re not having second thoughts,’ she said to William, half smiling.
He put his arm around her waist and hugged her tight, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, suppressing the emotion that was threatening to wash over him, catching the hand of a drowning man.
‘Never,’ he said into her ear, breathing in the lavender scent of her shampoo.
‘I can feel another wedding cake waiting to be baked,’ said Audrey, laughing and standing, then winding her way through the revellers to find little Mary and take her home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was late when Elsie cycled home from Maggie’s wedding on her Raleigh, her head full of songs and dancing. Maggie had looked beautiful in her ‘going away’ outfit, accessorised with a silver fox fur, thoughtfully gifted by the groom, Elsie thought, as she opened the front door. George was such a handsome groom too, in his made-to-measure suit – single-breasted, of course, since double-breasted jackets and turn-ups on trousers had been prohibited by the Board of Trade.
‘What a day!’ she said to her mother, Violet, as she placed the posy of flowers she’d caught on the kitchen table, where Violet was sewing an elbow patch onto her overall. She sat down on a creaky chair, which rocked slightly on uneven legs, and sighed happily. In the background, the wireless droned on with the Home Service news reporting on the German invasion of the Soviet Union – but Elsie didn’t want to listen. Instead, her mind was brimming with thoughts of her own wedding to William. They didn’t want anything big, couldn’t afford anything grand – they just wanted to be together and put the uncertainty of the last eighteen months behind them and face the future hand in hand.
‘Maggie looked beautiful tonight,’ she told Violet. ‘It’s made me so excited about my wedding. I can’t wait to be married to William, Mother. Some certainty in these uncertain times would be good, wouldn’t it?’
Violet glanced up at Elsie from her sewing with her big brown eyes – full of concern and love – before putting down the fabric and needle for a moment, and drinking the cool remains of her earlier cup of weak tea.
‘Those poor people in Smolensk,’ she said, not picking up Elsie’s thread of conversation. ‘Hitler will stop at anything. I sometimes wonder what his mother thinks of him. Apparently, she was an unmarried kitchen hand, would you believe?’
Elsie raised her eyebrows. She’d never really thought about Hitler as a person before, someone who had parents and maybe brothers and sisters. He was a crazy monster and a dark force who seemed to stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Murmuring her response, she stood and moved over to the wireless and switched it off, even though her mother objected with a tut.
‘I need a break from the war,’ she explained. ‘Just for tonight. It’s all I hear on the buses, it’s all people want to talk about.’
Flickering her eyes around the small kitchen, Elsie’s high spirits suddenly dipped. Though Violet did her best with Elsie’s help to keep on top of things, the house needed attention. In her father, Alberto’s, absence, Elsie made a mental list of all the jobs that needed doing: she needed to get pot-menders from the ironmongers to repair the hole in the kettle; all the chair seats needed re-webbing; the enamel milk jug needed fixing with sealing wax; the cupboard handles needed tightening up and even the rug on the floor needed patching up. On top of her job as one of Bournemouth’s ‘clippies’, plus her fire-watching duties and helping take care of her sisters, there weren’t enough hours in the day.
‘I think I should wear the dress I was meant to wear last year, do you?’ Elsie continued, returning to her seat, but her mother didn’t respond. ‘I’ve heard there’s some parachute nylon available and girls are making their own dresses, but I will wear the one—’
‘He must have been born under a blood moon,’ Violet interrupted, before reciting a line from the Bible: ‘Before them the earth shakes, the sky trembles, the sun and moon are darkened, and the stars no longer shine.’
Elsie shook her head and rested her head in her hands for a moment, before pulling in her chair, closer to the table and putting her palms down flat. ‘Mother,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you want me to marry William or something?’
Violet looked pained and picked up her sewing again, accidentally jabbing her finger with the needle. ‘Ouch!’ she cried, before sucking the dot of scarlet blood from her finger. ‘It’s not that I don’t want you to marry him,’ she continued, ‘it’s just he’s messed you about something rotten. Last year he didn’t come to his own wedding, this year he broke off your engagement and now it’s on again. In my mind, love is straightforward, and he’s made it more complicated than it should be. Can you be sure you can trust him? I do so wish your father was here.’
Elsie knew her mother was just wanting to protect her from further heartbreak, but she felt herself bristle. Was it that she was voicing concerns in the deepest, darkest depths of her own mind? No, she told herself firmly, that wasn’t it at all. William had been through a difficult time – more difficult than she could possibly imagine – and he was doing his utmost, now, to find his equilibrium.
‘Did I tell you that the clippies’ uniform is changing?’ said Elsie, deliberately ignoring Violet’s question. ‘Girls have been wearing whatever they want under the ticket punching machine, the cash bag and the cap, but that’s going to change. The uniform is now going to include slacks.’
Her mother stared up at her, with a small, knowing smile on her face. ‘Just you take care,’ she said. ‘That’s all I’m saying. Take good care of your heart. You can be pig-headed at times, Elsie.’
‘Slacks are much more convenient for running up and down the stairs,’ said Elsie. ‘More than eighty-five per cent of clippies voted for slacks over skirts.’ She looked affectionately over the table at her mother, giggling into her hand.
‘You…’ said Violet, shaking her head and joining her daughter in laughter.
* * *
William returned to the bakery after the wedding reception to work in the bakehouse alongside John. Rhythmically preparing trays of tinned dough to prove, he felt his mind slip into the familiar black hole that was his all-too recent memories of the battle in France. It seemed whenever he let his mind run free, it returned to the same place, to the same suffering and bewilderment that nothing could have ever prepared him for.
‘I love her, you know, John,’ he said suddenly, not pausing from his work. ‘I mean, I love Elsie.’
The bakehouse was warm from the heat of the raging ovens, dimly lit and hazy with flour. The bread peels, like boat oars, leaned up against the brick walls, and a broom for sweeping up the flour stood alongside. It was a hot night, anyway, and William worked in a vest, with a white apron over the top, while John wore a pristine long-sleeved shirt, apron and cap. Clipped to his apron were his spectacles, which he occasionally lifted to his eyes, to check the dough.
‘I know that,’ said John, who was now turning his attention to sweeping the flour from the floor with the broom. ‘That’s clear for anyone to see.’
Without facing John, William continued to work and talk – he had to tell someone what was burdening him. ‘I think I need to tell her about what happened when I was away. What I did in France, it has changed me—’ he started, but John slammed the broom down.
‘I’ve told you about this, son,’ he said, pulling at William’s shoulder so he was forced to face him. ‘You can keep going back, living in fear
of what you’ve done, turning it over and over in your mind, or you can bury it. Lock it away and throw away the key. We all do bad things – we all have regrets – but we’re ’uman. Let yourself off the hook, young man, let yourself off the hook! You’re a good man with a good heart. You have a beautiful fiancée. Don’t trouble her with what’s behind you and what you cannot change. Get on with your life, William – it’s no good fighting for freedom if you come back a prisoner.’
William nodded and, sighing deeply, he chewed on his bottom lip, throwing all his frustrated strength into his work, until his back ached and his right leg throbbed. He repeated John’s words to himself: It’s no good fighting for freedom if you come back a prisoner.
* * *
Audrey frowned as she stood outside the bakehouse door, a pile of freshly laundered and pressed dishcloths in her hand. It was very late now, and she was tired after the wedding knees-up, but she’d heard William and John’s conversation and felt suddenly wide awake. What was William talking about? What terrible thing had he done in France – and what did it have to do with Elsie? Just when she thought things were coming together, was this a sign they were unravelling?
She sighed. She would have to talk to him about it, to get to the bottom of what was bothering him. Of course, it must have been the awful fighting he had seen and been involved in – nobody would be able to forget it and especially not someone like William. Oh gosh, Audrey could hardly stand to think of the violence! What was Charlie going through this very minute? The last letter she’d had from him said he was in Crete, where the newspapers had reported on ‘unparalleled ferocity’ and said that thousands of the British military had been captured. She shivered. It seemed so very far away, she thought, looking at the sepia photographs of Charlie’s relatives who had started up Barton’s bakery hanging on the wall.
