Cousins at War

by Doris Davidson

  Clutching his knife tightly, he could cheerfully have slit Olive’s throat, but he nodded. Not by one word could he let Freda suspect that Olive’s letters were anything other than cousinly, for it would raise doubts in her mind. His panic abated. Surely Olive wouldn’t write anything stupid now he was engaged? She must know when she was beaten.

  But Olive hadn’t finished. ‘He always used to take me out once or twice when he was on leave, but I suppose . . .?’

  ‘We’re going dancing tomorrow night, so why not come with us?’ Freda looked a trifle smug at being so magnanimous.

  Before Neil could say anything, Martin objected. ‘No, you don’t want Olive tagging along. Two’s company, you know.’

  Casting a murderous glare at her father, Olive turned to Freda, ‘Dad’s right. I’d only be a gooseberry.’

  Hetty jumped in here, ‘Yes, you would, when they’ve just got engaged. Now, does anyone want a second helping?’

  For the remainder of the evening, they talked in a light-hearted manner, Olive, having scored one small victory, even going as far as to tell them of the work done in the medical laboratories, but Neil was itching to get away. As soon as he could, he said, ‘It’s time we were leaving, Freda. These people want to go to bed.’

  ‘It’s early yet,’ Martin smiled but Hetty frowned at him. ‘They want to be on their own.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Neil blustered. ‘It’ll take us a while to walk home and Mum and Dad’ll likely be waiting up for us.’

  The walk home took much longer than it should have done but even wearing his engagement ring, Freda parried Neil’s attempts to seduce her in the first secluded spot they came to. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to,’ she explained, ‘it’s a matter of principle.’

  On fire with need, Neil persisted for some time before he mumbled, ‘I suppose I should be grateful. If you won’t let me make love to you, it proves you won’t let anybody else do it either.’

  She seemed horrified at him for even thinking she might, so he gave her one last kiss and they carried on walking to King Street, where his parents were indeed waiting up.

  ‘How did it go?’ Gracie asked. She had worried all evening about what was happening at Rubislaw Den and Neil’s rather glum face alarmed her.

  ‘We had a most enjoyable time,’ Freda smiled. ‘They had a pleasant surprise when they knew we were engaged.’

  ‘Pleasant surprise’ was not how Neil would have described Olive’s reaction, but it was another half hour before he was able to plead over-indulgence in Martin’s brandy and they all dispersed to bed. Taking off his uniform, he hoped that Freda hadn’t noticed Olive’s tension, but what on earth had possessed her to tell his cousin to keep writing to him? It was a foot in the door for Olive, and she was cunning enough to make use of it. She had been prevented from going dancing with them, thank goodness, but if she wanted to get her own back at him nothing would stop her.

  He lay down and pulled up the blankets, wishing that his leave was over. He would have to arrange his wedding as soon as he went back – it was the only way to prove to Olive that she had no claim on him and it was no hardship for him. He wanted to marry Freda now, more than anything else.

  Olive hauled her dress off and flung it down on the floor in a temper. Damn Neil! She would never forgive him for putting her in such a terrible position. She had primed herself to face his girlfriend, but it had been a thousand times worse to learn that it was his fiancée. She’d had no time to think of anything to show Freda that she wouldn’t have things her own way, that she would have a fight on her hands.

  Her mood changing, Olive gave a giggle. The trusting fool had played right into her hands though, telling her to keep writing to Neil. It wasn’t much of a loophole, but it could be enough. Should she tell him that she was brokenhearted? It might stir his conscience but it might be better not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she still carried a torch for him. A torch? It was a great, bloody beacon she was carrying. Maybe she should play it slowly and just tell him how much she missed him. . . or would he find that amusing? She would have to think it out very carefully, weighing all the pros and cons, before she did anything.

  Engagements were made to be broken, and she would do her damnedest to get him back . . . or to take her revenge for that despicable trick he and Alf had played on her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Freda had told Neil to wait for a while before he asked her father if they could be married. ‘I’d like to get used to being engaged first,’ she explained, ‘and there’s no rush.’

  As far as he was concerned, there was every need to rush but he let her have her way. As long as it wasn’t more than a few weeks, he could wait. She sprang it on him one night less than a week later, when he was not expecting it. It was raining heavily, with a hint of snow in it, when he called for her and she asked him to come inside. Her parents were sitting by the fire in the living room, the woman stout and red-faced, the man wiry and weatherbeaten. ‘Dad,’ she said, ‘Neil wants to ask you something.’

  Taken by surprise, Neil stammered, ‘I . . . I’d like to marry F . . . Freda as s . . . soon as you’ll let us, Mr Cuthbert.’

  His hopes were knocked on the head by Freda’s mother, who was clearly head of the house. ‘She’s far too young yet and I wouldn’t let her marry in haste, anyway. What would people think? I’ll tell you,’ she went on, before Neil could open his mouth, ‘they’d say she had to get married.’ She turned to Freda suspiciously. ‘You’re not expecting, are you?’

  Neil felt like shouting that she would be if he’d had his way but he just said, very deliberately, ‘Your daughter is still as pure as the driven snow, Mrs Cuthbert.’ The devil, always lurking inside him, made him add, ‘Unfortunately.’

  Mrs Cuthbert was so relieved that she overlooked this last word. ‘She has been brought up to have the same ideals as I had, never to let a man touch her until he marries her, and I insist on at least a full year’s engagement, then a church wedding, with all our relations there . . . and yours.’

  ‘Oh, Prissie . . .’ her husband began but she rounded on him before he finished. ‘I insist, George.’

  He said no more, and Neil was hard put to it not to smile at the woman’s name. It would be Priscilla, but Prissie was absolutely made for her – she was as prissy as they came. He looked at Freda’s expressionless face and felt annoyed that she had shown no spark of independence. If she really loved him, she would be as anxious to get married as he was but maybe she didn’t want to marry him. She might be quite happy just to remain engaged, to show off the ring to her friends as proof that she wasn’t going to be left on the shelf. One thing was sure, however. He wasn’t going to try arguing with her mother – that would get him nowhere.

  Walking back to camp, his anger subsided. Freda might give in to him yet, if he caught her offguard, if he plied her with enough drink to make her forget her mother’s teachings. She was getting him into such a state that at times he felt like going out and getting drunk himself, picking up a nice bit of fluff and quenching his biological needs. Freda would never know . . . but he couldn’t deceive her like that. She was sticking to her mother’s principles, doing what she believed was right, and he should admire her for it.

  The only good result of his engagement, as far as he could see, was that Olive seemed to have come to her senses. Her letter had been so innocent that he had given it to Freda to read and she’d said, ‘You told me she was a pest but she’s really quite a nice girl. I can’t see what you have against her and you should be glad I told her to keep writing.’

  On Christmas Day, Queenie was still trying to get over the shock of Neil’s engagement, and she was glad when Patsy came home in the evening and gave them an excited account of what had gone on in her ward. ‘One of the doctors dressed up as Santa Claus with a sack and he dished out little gifts to the patients. I’d always thought he was snooty, but he isn’t really, he can be very good fun.’

  ‘I think you
fancy him,’ Queenie smiled.

  Patsy gave a small giggle. ‘All the nurses fancy him, even Sister goes all fluttery when Doctor Repper comes round, but he’s married, worse luck. Still, there’s quite a few heartthrobs among the young doctors, as well as a few creeps that can’t keep their hands to themselves.’

  Frowning a little, Gracie said, ‘I hope you let them know you’re not . . .’

  ‘I let them know, all right. I slap their hands or glare at them so they don’t bother me for long, but some of the other girls encourage them. They’d go like a shot if any of them asked them out.’

  Queenie waited until they were in bed before she put her question. ‘Don’t you ever wish you’d a boyfriend?’

  Patsy didn’t need to consider, ‘I do, sometimes, but I’d never go out with anybody unless I liked him and none of the doctors I like have ever asked me.’

  ‘What about patients? Have you ever fancied any of them?’

  ‘One or two, but when they’re discharged, I never see them again.’ Patsy hesitated, then said, ‘Have you fancied any of the boys you meet at the varsity? I know how keen you were on Neil, but now he’s engaged . . .’

  ‘I’m still keen on him,’ Queenie admitted. ‘Not just keen, I can’t stop loving him.’

  ‘But . . .’ Patsy broke off, then began again. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it had gone as far as that. Did Neil know?’

  ‘Yes, and he did love me for a while before he met Freda and . . . oh! I’m being silly, but I can’t help hoping he’ll . . .’

  ‘Oh, Queenie, it’s not silly, but you shouldn’t go on like that. I know you’ve been hurt, and I know it’ll be hard, but you should try to forget him and find somebody else.’

  ‘I suppose I should. Maybe . . . some of the girls go to the Students’ Union quite a lot.’

  ‘Well, there you go. A ready-made supply of men to choose from. Don’t jump at the first one who smiles at you, though. Take your time and wait till you meet somebody who really appeals to you.’

  ‘OK, I’ll start looking after the holidays.’

  When Patsy fell asleep, Queenie thought over what she had said. Even if she did meet another boy would she be able to forget Neil? She would see him, and Freda, every time he was home on leave, and the agony would start again. If only she could get away. That would be the ideal solution, but where would she go? The answer struck her in a blinding flash. She had almost forgotten that she’d wanted to go into the forces and she would be eighteen in April. Neil would be home again before she could leave but surely she could bear seeing him just once more?

  On New Year’s Day 1943, Gracie hosted the family dinner once more. Hetty had wanted to have it at Rubislaw Den but had agreed that, with Neil back near Alnwick, Raymond somewhere in the south of England and Patsy on duty for the day, the seating arrangements would be easier.

  When the Potters turned up in the afternoon, Joe said, ‘I think Martin and me should go for a walk. We’ll only be in the road here.’

  Gracie, hot and bothered from all the cooking, nodded her head. ‘That’s a good idea, and take Queenie and Olive with you. Hetty can give me a hand to get everything ready.’

  Having gone down Urquhart Road and reached the promenade, Joe and Martin were walking in front of the two girls who, although they were both at university, had only ever had one interest in common – their cousin, Neil. After a protracted silence, Queenie remarked, as brightly as she could, ‘It was great about Neil’s engagement, wasn’t it?’

  Olive shot her a suspicious glance, ‘I didn’t think you’d have found it great, any more than I did, but you never had any chance with him, of course.’

  ‘I’d more chance than you!’ Queenie had made up her mind not to quarrel with Olive but had been provoked into it.

  ‘I’ve told you before. He only took you out because he was sorry for you but you don’t want to understand.’

  ‘He was never sorry for me,’ Queenie declared, her hackles up, ‘and I know perfectly well it was your fault he turned against me for a while and fell for Freda.’

  ‘My fault?’ Olive demanded. ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘You told him some lie about me – don’t deny it.’

  ‘You’ve a good imagination, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Anyway, it didn’t work the way you hoped. When Neil told me he was in love with Freda, he said he cared for me more than he should. I bet he never said that to you, Olive Potter, so even if you try to break his engagement, and I wouldn’t put it past you, it’s me he would turn to, not you.’

  A bitter north wind had whipped the sea to a churning mass of huge white-crested waves which reared up and crashed down before rushing onto the sands, but the two girls neither saw nor heard, and their red-hot anger saved them from feeling cold. Olive was searching for words scathing enough to banish any hope that might linger in the other girl’s mind, and Queenie was preparing to fend off the expected attack. They walked thus until Olive, unsuccesful in her quest, gave a rather high-pitched laugh, ‘I’ll get him back.’

  ‘How? By telling him more lies? You’ll never get him back, Olive, because you never had him in the first place, and I’m glad he’s happy with Freda, so you’d better not try anything to drive them apart. I don’t believe you could, anyway.’

  Stung, Olive tossed her head. ‘I could and I will . . . some day soon.’

  Queenie, aware that her cousin was unsure of herself, let the matter drop and they carried on without saying anything until they reached the end of the prom, at which point, Joe turned round. ‘We’ll go back by St Clement Street and up to the Castlegate. That’s a nice circular tour, but we’d better put a step in, for it’s getting blooming cold. You two OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ Queenie assured him and he took Olive’s silence as an agreement.

  By the time they got back, the dinner was ready, and they took their places at the table while Hetty helped Gracie to serve. The others did not need Joe’s order to ‘Tuck in,’ but Olive, having something less mundane than food on her mind, only toyed with each course, which alarmed her mother but did not bother Gracie who had always thought that Olive was a queer fish. Queenie, still smarting from Olive’s remarks, sneaked a quick glance at her and felt gratified that she looked miserable. It had been idiotic to argue with her but it had made her think.

  Gracie suddenly caught Olive glaring at her malevolently and wondered what she had done to annoy her. ‘Would you like tea, Olive?’ she asked as cordially as she could, ‘or would you rather have lemonade?’

  Olive’s lips turned up scornfully. ‘Tea, if it’s not too much trouble. I’m twenty now, remember, not a kid.’

  Feeling like wiping the sneer off her face with a smack, Gracie said, ‘I know that. You’re the same age as Neil.’

  This remark led Martin and Joe to reminisce about the time of the births in the Gallowgate and Gracie breathed easily again. She shouldn’t let Olive upset her. It was a waste of time trying to fathom out the imaginary insults the girl was harbouring against her. Olive’s thinking had no reason.

  At the end of the meal, Joe further upset Olive by saying, ‘You and Hetty sit down, Gracie. Let the girls clear up.’

  Both Queenie and Gracie expected an outburst at this but none came. Olive just stood up and started stacking dishes although it was clear that she was inwardly fuming.

  Gracie had to wait until their guests left before she told her husband what she thought of him. ‘Did you have to tell Olive to dry the dishes? She was in a bad humour anyway.’

  Joe gave his usual grin. ‘I could see that, that’s why I did it. She needs to be reined in a bit, that one, and when she finds a man, she’ll have to learn to do dozens of things she’s never set her hands to before, though God help the poor bugger that ends up with her.’

  The swearword made Gracie scowl but Queenie prayed that whoever ended up with Olive, it wouldn’t be Neil.

  When the new semester began, Queenie threw herself into the business
of finding someone to replace Neil. She went out so many nights that even Joe remarked on it. ‘I can’t see where you find time to do any studying.’

  She pretended to laugh at his ignorance. ‘We all study in the Common Room when we’ve spare time, or at the Union at nights, helping each other with notes and essays.’

  ‘Not copying from each other?’ This was a crime to Gracie.

  ‘Not really, we’ve all our own ways of putting things and the lecturers are quite happy.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Gracie said unnecessarily.

  Queenie didn’t altogether like it herself but she would be leaving in three months so it didn’t matter. She had met some nice boys in the Union – a small place in Broad Street, crowded and so smoky that her eyes nipped every time she was there – but hadn’t gone out with any of those who’d asked her, although she might start one day soon. Until she left Aberdeen, and probably afterwards too, she would have to pretend that she was having fun, put on a face to the world. She would never stop loving Neil but that didn’t mean she should go into a decline. He had found his true love in Freda and they would live happily ever after . . . as long as Olive did nothing to spoil it.

  Neil had to put up with much teasing from his friends about his engagement, especially from Alf, who had said, ‘She got you hooked, then? She’ll have the ball and chain round your neck in no time.’

  Neil took it all with a laugh, but he didn’t tell Alf that his marriage would be in the dim and distant future – that was what it seemed to him – nor that Freda kept him at arm’s length as far as sex was concerned. He couldn’t get her to understand that there was nothing rude about it, nothing to be ashamed of. ‘If you can’t wait till we’re married,’ she had said last night, ‘I’d better give you your ring back.’

  That had shaken him, and thinking about it again, he knew that she had meant it. Could he wait a year or would he be better to cut his losses and run? No, by God! He couldn’t do that, he loved her too much. He would wait . . . but it might be worth trying again in a little while. She couldn’t hold out against him for twelve whole months.