A Christmas Promise

by Annie Groves

  ‘How do you fancy doing a stint at the Red Cross shop with me this afternoon, Barney?’ Olive asked as she inserted a pin into the red hatband of her bottle-green WVS hat.

  ‘I’d love it, Aunty Olive, but I’ve just got to check for the eggs,’ Barney said, disappearing out of the back door. He had stayed with Olive and the girls at number 13 the night before, when Archie was working his night shift at the local police station.

  Olive smiled. She would have been proud to have a son like Barney. He had grown into a kind, thoughtful boy and had changed so much since Archie and the late Mrs Dawson took him under their wing. He stayed regularly at number 13 now; in fact, he was here more than he was in Archie’s house further up the Row, and he was marvellous with Alice, which gave Olive peace of mind, as she didn’t like him hanging around with the rough crowd from the East End he used to see a lot, and with whom he had got into a few scrapes.

  Even though Archie had gone through a lot of grief and heartache over the last years, he never gave up on the lad whose soldier father had never come looking for him. When Mrs Dawson died, Archie found comfort in looking after Barney; it gave him something to get up for in the morning when there seemed little else. Now the boy had developed the same wry sense of humour and thoughtfulness as Archie, bringing to mind a little saying Olive’s own father had used: ‘As the twig is bent so the tree will grow …’

  ‘They’ve been busy,’ Barney said, coming back in, unrolling the bottom of his sleeveless pullover that Olive had knitted with the navy-blue wool unravelled from an old cardigan. ‘There’s six here.’ His face was alight; he had never got over the excitement of going out to the chicken coop and finding the rare, delicious prizes provided by the hens each day, which were shared with neighbours and friends.

  ‘I’ll pass some over to Nancy. I’ve heard her little grandchildren in the garden; they must be staying for a while,’ said Olive as she went out to the back garden to hang up the galvanised bucket on a nail hammered into the wall.

  ‘Mrs Black collared me to ask how many eggs had been laid today,’ Barney told Olive, whom he now looked on as an additional parent. ‘I didn’t tell her, though; I pretended I didn’t hear her.’

  ‘Knowing Nancy, she’ll have heard every one of them being laid,’ Olive said, laughing and shaking her head in wonderment at how the older woman could move at lightning speed when she had a mind. Olive knew her covetous eyes would have devoured the precious eggs, even though she had a lot to say about Article Row turning into a farm-yard when Barney first brought the chicks home. But Nancy wasn’t slow off the mark when Olive shared the surplus eggs and was usually the first to offer to take any going spare.

  Olive shared them with Nancy, of course, but only after she had delivered them to those who deserved them, and who had pooled their potato peelings to boil up for chicken food and returned the shells to mix in with the mash and corn, which Nancy had been doing only recently – and now she knew why.

  ‘We can pass the eggs in to Nancy on the way to the shop,’ Olive said, checking her hat and giving a satisfied nod to her reflection they made their way to the front door.

  Olive was just locking the front door when she was stopped in her tracks at the sight of the young telegraph boy, not much older and considerably shorter than Barney, heading down the Row of three-story houses on one side and the backs of ivy-clad business premises on the other. She watched his approach with a hint of dread, secretly praying he didn’t stop at her front gate.

  In a flash, it seemed, Nancy’s door opened again and she was out by her own gate in no time at all. The two women looked fleetingly at each other as the telegraph boy approached the pavement outside their houses, and clenching his brakes before expertly swinging his leg over the crossbar of his bike.

  Olive watched him skilfully balance the pedal of the bike on the pavement and she felt her heart thrumming in her throat as the cold hand of fear clutched at her heart, while every nerve in her body was screaming, Please, Lord, don’t let it be Tilly … Please don’t let anything bad have happened to my precious daughter.

  ‘Mrs Robbins?’ The telegraph boy asked as fear screamed through her. Olive could only nod as words failed her. Then he handed her the dreaded telegram, every mother’s nightmare.

  *

  When Sally took her morning break she knew there was something she had to do before she even went for the cup of tea she was dying to drink. She looked at the clock: it was almost ten forty and if she was lucky she might just catch Drew before he was discharged.

  He hadn’t been given a bed on Men’s Surgical as his father had an arrangement with the powers that be to keep him in a private room where he could recuperate in peace, be waited on hand and foot, and have visitors at any time of the day.

  ‘Steady on your pins?’ Sally asked as she popped her head round the door and was glad to see Drew smiling. ‘All set to go?’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d be this nervous,’ he laughed. ‘Dad’s ordered a car, would you believe?’ Drew was dressed in a smart new suit, the likes of which could not be bought here in London for love nor money – and even if it was possible to find one to buy, Sally was certain nobody had enough coupons to splash out on just one suit. Drew stood tall. He had been practising with the doctors for weeks now, and was determined he would walk out under his own steam with the aid of one walking stick, which had been sent over from America by his father specially for this day and which Drew vowed would be a temporary attachment.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said proudly, standing to attention at the side of his bed, which he had made himself even though the whole lot would be scrubbed and cleaned as soon as he vacated the room, as it was after every patient.

  ‘Oh, very smart, I must say,’ Sally beamed, taking in the plain, good quality navy-blue material of his suit, the broad-shouldered, loose-fitting jacket worn over a pristine white shirt, which, she assumed, would be handmade.

  Drew’s father had all his clothes, even pyjamas, sent over from their tailor in America, and as Sally took in the plain but most certainly expensive gold cufflinks and blue silk tie, she said, ‘We’ll be sorry to see you go.’ Then she added, ‘I haven’t said anything … at home.’

  Drew nodded; he knew exactly what she meant and he was glad that she was so discreet. It would be so much easier. The room grew silent and Drew shifted a little, looking uncomfortable, Sally thought, and why wouldn’t he? He had been stuck in this place for months.

  ‘I’ve been working so hard for this day,’ he said, breaking the oppressive silence, vaguely patting his pocket to check for something that Sally could not distinguish. Then, as if satisfied, he beamed one of those handsome smiles that had all the young nurses agog.

  ‘Do I look all right, Sal?’ He seemed nervous all of a sudden.

  ‘You look great,’ Sally said, proud of the fact that he had endured the gruelling months of recovery with such fortitude. Such suffering as he had been through would have finished off a weaker man.

  ‘Do I look good enough to go to a wedding?’ It was apparent he was eager for her response.

  ‘Well, you’d have to put some shoes and socks on, of course.’ Sally laughed, looking down at his bare feet. ‘But you look good enough to go to the Palace, never mind a wedding – why, who’s getting married?’

  ‘I am,’ said Drew. and suddenly alarm bells rang in Sally’s head.

  *

  ‘Will there be a reply?’ the telegraph boy asked, and Olive shook her head. She didn’t have a clue what the telegram would say and she didn’t want to either. The young lad from the Post Office went back to his bicycle.

  Olive felt her throat constrict as Barney stood beside her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. For once, Nancy was silent, her gaping mouth covered by the four fingers of her right hand. Olive regarded the official-looking cable in her hand. Every instinct told her to rip it open, find out what it said. But she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking too much.

  ‘Shall I open
it for you, Aunty Olive?’ Barney said in that gentle, mature tone she had heard Archie use so often. Silently, too shaken to speak, she handed him the envelope. If anything had happened to her precious darling Tilly she didn’t know what she would do. How could she go on if her only daughter – her only child – had been injured, or … worse.

  She watched Barney slip his forefinger under the flap of the envelope as if she was watching a scene from the pictures. This was happening to someone else, not to her! His long, sensitive fingers, which handled the chickens so expertly, so tenderly, were taking out the piece of paper from within the envelope … and he silently read the words.

  He was quiet for a moment before he raised tearful eyes and said to Olive in a low voice, ‘It’s Tilly.’

  Olive took in an anguished, painful gasp of air. All she wanted to do was run. She didn’t know where she wanted to run to, but she knew she didn’t want to hear it if Barney had bad news for her. He put his hand on her arm as if to steady her and Olive knew she had to hear what the telegram said one way or the other.

  She couldn’t move as the painful cry caught in her throat and she found it hard to swallow … Then she saw Barney’s expression change … and he was smiling.

  ‘Oh, no, Aunty Olive – she’s not …’ His words were jumbled as he excitedly tried to explain. ‘She’s coming home! Tilly’s coming home – today!’

  Olive felt her legs buckle and, if Barney hadn’t been there to hold her up, she was sure she would have sunk to the ground with relief. Tears of joy coursed down her cheeks as she took the telegram and tried to make sense of the words.

  ‘Oh, thank you, God! Thank you! My darling girl is coming home for her birthday!’ Olive cried, hugging Barney, while Nancy, unbeknown to her, let out a long stream of pent-up breath.

  ‘Well, Olive, I never thought I’d see the day when you cried in the street,’ Nancy said, quickly regaining her equilibrium.

  ‘Nor me, Nancy.’ Olive was laughing now. She hadn’t heard from Tilly for so long that this telegram had suddenly become a godsend. Tilly couldn’t wait to see everybody again, it seemed such a long time since she was last home. As the train swayed from side to side the rhythm of the engine lulled her. Tomorrow was her twenty-first birthday – the day when she and Drew had planned to marry and live together as man and wife for the rest of their days. But it wasn’t to be. Drew had gone back to America last year and she had never heard from him since.

  Automatically her fingers sought the Harvard ring he had once placed on the third finger of her left hand. He had promised that he would never ask for it as long as he still loved her, and she had promised that she would never give it back as long as she loved him – and it still nestled on a gold chain close to her heart. Tilly felt her throat tighten as her head rested against the leather seat. She was tired and had been travelling for many hours, and the train was packed with soldiers and service personnel.

  ‘Is everything all right, Tilly?’ Rick asked as a slow smile played about his lips. They had been courting for a while now, and though they were happy enough, Tilly hadn’t felt that zing of breathless excitement when Rick put his arms around her as she had when … no, she mustn’t think of that any more. Drew had gone; he was in the past. Her future was a glorious journey of discovery. It was early days in her and Rick’s relationship and she didn’t want to rush things the way she had wanted to with Drew. Tilly nodded and gave a lazy smile back. She was tired now and she longed for the ease of her comfortable mattress back home, the pampering she knew she would receive from her mum and the welcome oblivion of sleep.

  She hadn’t been home for months and had missed everybody terribly, but she couldn’t keep in touch with Mum or the girls while she had been training at a top-secret place known only as Station X.

  Her work was strictly hush-hush and must never be spoken about to anybody, not even Mum. Maybe this would be her last leave before being sent somewhere else. Where that would be she did not know.

  ‘D’you fancy going to a dance tomorrow? Or would you prefer to have dinner at Quaglino’s?’ Rick asked. ‘Seeing as it’s your special birthday.’

  Tilly surmised he wouldn’t choose to take her to such an exclusive, high-class establishment; Rick preferred singsongs around an old piano in a public bar. But the mere mention of the restaurant name once again brought back memories of Drew, and how he had held her hand across the table. Then their eyes had locked as she felt herself cocooned in the deepest fathoms of his soul as his forefinger lightly traced the outline of her face. That was the Christmas they vowed to be together for ever. But it wasn’t to be. She knew that now.

  ‘Hey, daydreamer, are you listening to me?’ Rick nudged her elbow and Tilly could feel the heat rise to her cheeks.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ she said hurriedly. She gave a self-conscious laugh, knowing that she didn’t feel the same way about Rick as she did about Drew. But she was a fool to continue having feelings for a man who obviously didn’t care about her at all, and could forget her so easily when he was with his own people. Maybe it had been a narrow escape, she mused. How awful would it have been if she had travelled all the way to America to be with Drew, only to find out he didn’t want her as much as he had said he did.

  Looking out of the window, Tilly watched the countryside flashing past. Tomorrow was her twenty-first birthday and she would be legally old enough to call herself an adult and do exactly as she pleased. But would she? That was the question that was circling in her head.

  She had made the decision to serve abroad so that she could decide once and for all what kind of person she truly was, and the last few months had proved to her that she had outgrown her youthful ways. Nobody, in this day and age, had dreams beyond living another day, she was sure. And her girlhood dreams of a wonderful white wedding were now just a dream …

  ‘Hey, sleepy head, we’re nearly there …’

  Through half-closed lids Tilly saw Rick smiling at her from the seat opposite … How handsome he looked …

  SEVEN

  The news that Drew was getting married exploded all Sally’s hopes of him and Tilly ever getting back together again. She had heard from his nurses that he’d had many attractive young ladies visit him, and this was understandable, he being the son of one of America’s wealthiest families – he was bound to have elegant women around him.

  However, Sally would always think of him as just … Drew. Drew, who was welcomed into Olive’s home, as all their sweethearts had been. Wilder, Dulcie’s beau, who had been killed after her sister got her claws into him and before Dulcie married David, or George before he lost his life at sea, even Ted, who treated Agnes more like a sister than his fiancée – Olive had welcomed them all. But Olive had watched none of them as closely as she had watched Drew, imagining at first that he would break her daughter’s heart. And it looked as if she had been right. Tilly had heard nothing from this young man from the day he left her to go back to America over a year ago.

  On the advice of Drew’s father, Olive thought it best not to tell Tilly that Drew had been injured and was at death’s door: Tilly would be better off without the aggravation an invalid might cause. However, Sally knew how much in love the two young people had been, even if their parents had not, and she recognised how much they meant to each other. It shone from their souls every time they looked at each other, and she knew that they had eyes for nobody else in the room. So it was not surprising that the news of Drew’s impending nuptials caused Sally’s heart to sink now, as hopes of a happy ending for Tilly dwindled to nothing.

  ‘Well, look after yourself, Drew,’ Sally said, giving him a friendly hug. ‘It was a pleasure to have met you and I hope you are very happy.’ And before Sally could disgrace herself, she choked back her disappointment, and with a tear in her eye she gave Drew a quick peck on the cheek before hurriedly leaving the room.

  Taking deep breaths, she headed towards her office at the end of Men’s Surgical and closed the door behind her. Picki
ng up the cup of now tepid tea, which one of the young probationers had kindly made for her earlier, Sally sighed. It would have been so wonderful if Tilly could have had her fairy-tale romance. Who would have known how things would turn out at the start of the war, she thought as she recalled Tilly and Drew who, like the two star-crossed lovers Shakespeare had once written about, had been young and in love, and gave the impression that for them life would be happy ever after. If only life were like that, she thought.

  Looking through the small office window onto the ward, Sally could clearly see Callum, his head resting at an angle on the immaculately starched pillow, his dark unruly hair unusually neat, combed back off his forehead, showing three faint surprise lines and a splay of laughter lines around the outer corner of his eyes. He looked peaceful now, Sally noticed. As she watched his restful slumber, allowing herself the luxury of prolonged observation, the ghost of past anger seeped from her heart. In another time, given the chance, she had so very easily fallen in love with Callum.

  She experienced that zing of delight the first time she ever set eyes on him when Morag brought him from their native Scotland to her own home in Liverpool. She had never seen a man more handsome – and when he spoke: she remembered how the rich Celtic timbre of his voice washed over her and she thought she had died and gone to heaven.

  Sally sighed for lost chances. That was then.

  As she put back her cup on to the saucer she knew things were so much different now. She must put those silly thoughts from her head: they both led different lives now and the one person who had bound them together was gone.