by Pam Weaver
The dress rehearsal went well. They were a bit late getting back home, but surprisingly Mr Oliver was all right about it. Shirley vaguely wondered why he wasn’t ranting and raving, but in truth, her mind was on the days ahead, when they would be doing the play in front of an audience. If the dress rehearsal was nerve-wracking, what would it be like to perform in front of the whole village?
‘Did you see them? How were they?’ The words tumbled out of her mouth as Betty welcomed Doreen into the cosy warmth of her sitting room. ‘Here, let me take your coat. You make yourself at home and I’ll get the tea. I want to hear all about it.’
She bustled out of the room. Doreen lifted the snoozing cat from the chair and sat down. As she warmed her hands by the fire, she could hear the clink of teacups coming from the kitchen and the kettle whistling. A few minutes later, Betty came back with a tea tray and some home-made scones. ‘You must be famished,’ she said. ‘Have one of these for now and then I’ll go to the fish-and-chip shop a bit later on.’
She poured the tea into their cups and handed one to Doreen. ‘Help yourself to sugar.’ There was a minuscule silence. Then she said, ‘So how are they? Has Tom grown any taller? I reckon that boy will be over six foot by the time he’s a man. Has Shirley still got her lovely dark curls?’
Doreen shifted awkwardly in her seat. Betty stopped prattling and stared at her with a startled expression. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘I didn’t see them,’ said Doreen.
‘Didn’t see them?’ Betty squeaked. ‘What do you mean, you didn’t see them? He wrote and told you to come, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Mr Oliver told me to meet him at Goring-by-Sea Station,’ said Doreen. ‘I thought it was a bit odd because the next station is called Angmering and that’s their address, isn’t it? But in his letter, he said Goring-by-Sea was nearer the farm.’
‘So? Didn’t he bring the children with him?’
Doreen shook her head.
‘But he took you to the farm?’
Again Doreen shook her head. ‘He met me off the train and we sat in the waiting room. There was a lovely fire in there, and for the most part, we were quite alone.’
Betty frowned. ‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’
Doreen met her gaze. ‘I suppose it is, but it didn’t seem like it at the time.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He was utterly charming,’ said Doreen. ‘Smartly dressed, although his suit and tie had seen better days. Oh, and he wore a hat. I remember that because he took it off and kept turning it round in his hands.’
‘So what explanation did he give . . . for the children not being there?’
‘He said their teacher had taken the whole class on an outing because it’s Christmas. He said he was sorry and that he should have insisted that they came with him, but he hadn’t told them I was coming.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘He said he’d wanted to surprise them,’ said Doreen, ‘but when he saw how excited they were about the outing and how much they were looking forward to being with their friends, he hadn’t the heart to disappoint them.’
Betty and Doreen looked at each other. ‘I suppose when you put it that way,’ said Betty, ‘it was nice of him to think like that.’
Doreen nodded. ‘He did seem very sincere, and he spoke very highly of them both.’
‘Did you give him the suitcase?’
Doreen nodded. ‘He even asked me if I would like him to post it back when they’d emptied it, but I said not to bother. After all, it is Florrie’s case.’
Betty handed her a scone. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘Only that Tom loves being with the animals and that Shirley has become very close to his wife,’ said Doreen. ‘He says his family have been working that farm for over two hundred years.’
They bit into their scones. ‘These are lovely,’ said Doreen, and Betty glowed.
‘I suppose I could have stayed the night in Worthing or something,’ said Doreen. ‘That would have given me a chance to see the children in the morning, but I didn’t even think about it until I was on the way back here.’
Betty leaned forward to stoke the fire. ‘Maybe you could have stayed,’ she said, ‘but from what you’ve told me, he seems a nice man, and we wouldn’t want Mr Oliver to think we didn’t trust him, would we?’
CHAPTER 11
When the post arrived the next morning, Shirley and Tom were delighted to see Mr Oliver walk into the kitchen with a brown-paper parcel addressed to them. Shirley ripped off the paper to find a neat pile of their old winter clothes. It was a slight disappointment, but it was a welcome sight as well. The few things they had brought with them were becoming very shabby. Her dresses were only thin cotton material, and Tom’s shirts were all frayed at the collar. Shirley’s knickers were far too tight, and she was in desperate need of a different bra. It was good to have them, but as she looked over the pile, Shirley wondered if any of Tom’s old winter clothes would even fit any more. He had grown so much bigger since he’d been doing all that physical work on the farm.
Her mother was still in hospital as far as she knew, so the parcel must have come from Auntie Betty. Shirley hoped to find a letter but was disappointed. Her heart sank a little. The pair of them went to their bedroom to put everything away.
‘They don’t need old stuff,’ said Janet when they’d gone. ‘They need new clothes.’
Gilbert, who was stuffing the brown-paper wrapping from the parcel into the fire, looked up sharply. ‘Don’t look at me.’
‘There’s a jumble sale in the village hall on Saturday,’ Janet said pointedly. ‘That boy needs long trousers for a start.’
‘If they needs clothes,’ said Gilbert, ‘they must ask their mother.’
‘Didn’t their mother send any money?’
Gilbert shook his head.
‘You get money from the government for keeping them,’ said Janet, glaring. ‘Use some of that.’
‘Eight and six a week,’ Gilbert spat. ‘It costs more than that to feed that boy. I’m the one who’s out of pocket.’
‘You can spare five bob each for some new things.’
Gilbert jumped to his feet, his face black with rage, but Janet was unmoved. ‘You can call it their wages for that unpaid work they do.’
He stomped out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him, and took himself off to the stables, taking his temper out on the dog as he walked by. The dog yelped in pain and snarled helplessly at his receding back. Alone in the stables, he leaned against the door to calm himself down. How dare she put him on the spot like that? Of course, she didn’t know it, but the family had sent money. In total, he had six pounds in postal orders waiting to be cashed, but he needed it more than they did. He had enough kale to feed the cows for a while, but then he’d have to start buying animal food before long. He’d never make it through the winter with what he had in the barn, especially now that the rats were coming in from the cold. That money would come in handy for animal feed. Janet just didn’t understand. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The kids’ mother had told them to use the first postal order to buy something for him and Janet, but if he gave it to Shirley, what would she do with it? Most likely buy something daft, like a box of chocolates or some flowers. No, he needed that money for the farm, not frivolous fripperies.
When he’d brought the suitcase home, the kids were still at school and Janet was out, so he’d opened it himself and found another three-pound postal order on the top. There was a note saying that it was from Auntie Betty, Auntie Doreen and Mum, and that Shirley was to buy herself and Tom something for Christmas. He’d pocketed that with the other one and burned the note.
The stuff inside the suitcase was a bit of a problem, until he remembered some old brown paper Elizabeth had kept in the cupboard. She always preserved things like wrapping paper and string, in case they became unavailable. It had
been a while since he’d been in Elizabeth’s room and he felt uncomfortable being there. It made him jumpy and a couple of times he was spooked by a sound. Nothing had changed except perhaps the bookcase. He counted them. One was missing and he felt the hackles on his neck rise. Someone had been touching her things. Then he remembered Shirley. She always had her nose in a book, didn’t she? She had no money to buy books, so where did she get them from? His nostrils flared slightly and he clenched his fists. The little madam had been in here, hadn’t she? He looked around, but as far as he could see, she hadn’t touched anything else. Well, she wouldn’t come in here again.
He found the brown paper. It had come from a Christmas parcel her mother had sent a few years before. The address was still on it, so he went downstairs and piled the clothes onto the paper and folded it with the address still showing. He tied it with string and then added, ‘To Miss S. Jenkins and Master T. Jenkins, c/o,’ over the top of the place where it said, ‘Mr and Mrs Oliver.’ When it was done, he felt quite pleased with himself. The only thing that might give him away was the ancient postmark, but who would look closely at that? Shirley, Janet and Tom were none the wiser than the aunt who had come to see them, and he’d made another three quid for himself, and he had no intention of sharing it. If they needed clothes, that was nothing to do with him.
He put the parcel in the postman’s pail outside the gate. It was a bit of a squeeze, but it went in. The suitcase was upstairs in his room, hidden from view. Nobody ever went up there anyway. All he needed to do was produce the parcel after the postman came the next morning. He’d timed it very well, and the plan worked perfectly. He began harnessing the horse. It was time to start the ploughing in the bottom field. He would spend the day turning over the top layer of ground to bring the goodness to the surface and at the same time bury the weeds and allow any of the previous crop to break down. There was always something to do on the farm. Now that Tom was capable of using the threshing machine, he could start slicing turnips for cattle feed. Once the ploughing was done, that left Gilbert free to cart the manure and mould away from the sides of his hedges; at the same time, he could take a look at his fences. He might even manage to do some quick repairs.
But as he worked, he began to feel uneasy. If the evacuees looked half naked, someone might complain to the authorities. That being the case, they might even be taken away. He couldn’t afford that. They were a useful pair of hands to have around. By the end of the morning, Gilbert had grudgingly decided to give Shirley ten bob to spend at the jumble sale, but he’d see to it that she didn’t go into Elizabeth’s room again.
Florrie spent a miserable couple of days with the screens round her bed. Tears came easily, and despite her resolve not to, she had begun to feel sorry for herself. The trip to the treatment room had been a bitter disappointment. She had been feeling so much better and was utterly convinced that her lung was healed. It came as a shock to discover that she would have to endure weeks, if not months, more bed rest. If that wasn’t bad enough, she began to worry about the expense. Betty was doing well in the shop, and her savings were steadily mounting, but how long would the money last? Being part of the government scheme had saved her a ton of money, but when Dr Scott had accepted her on to it, he’d said they would have to discuss it again in a couple of months. She had been here for three and a half months already and so far her treatment was a failure, so what would happen now? She had an insurance policy, of course: everyone in the country had something. Her policy paid out for twelve weeks’ hospitalization. When she’d taken it out, twelve weeks seemed ridiculously long. Who would have to be in hospital for twelve weeks? Now, of course, it was no time at all. Should she cash it in or leave it a bit longer? What if one of the children had to go to hospital? What would she do then? She wished she had someone to talk to – someone like Len. If only she could have brought herself to tell him why she held him at arm’s length, but she couldn’t, could she? Florrie sighed. She missed her little chats with Len.
The more she thought of it, the worse it seemed. It would cost at least four guineas a week for the cheapest nursing home, but that didn’t cover the cost of X-rays and other treatments. It probably didn’t include the cost of the doctor’s visits either.
After two days on her own, the nurse pulled back the screens and Florrie was able to see the other girls on the ward. Jill, who was still in the bed next to her, turned her head. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Glad you’ve joined us again. How are you feeling?’
Florrie managed a wan smile. ‘I don’t think I want to go to the Palais with you tonight if you don’t mind.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ said Tina, walking towards them. ‘I’ve heard that the band is bloody awful and the singer’s got laryngitis.’
‘The blokes aren’t up to much either,’ Jill quipped. ‘Either fifteen or fifty-five. Everybody else has gone to France.’
Florrie chuckled. Tina sat on the chair between them and they talked of other things. ‘I’ve had a letter from the children’s home,’ Tina said eventually.
Florrie was suddenly anxious for her, but Tina reached into her pocket and pulled out a small photograph. It was of two little girls sitting on the floor, the bigger one cuddling the smaller one. It had been taken with a Box Brownie, so the quality wasn’t that good, and it was quite dark because it had been taken indoors only with available light. However, the children looked happy. They were both clean and tidy, the older girl with a huge bow in her hair, and the baby, clearly distracted by someone off camera, was smiling broadly.
‘Oh, Tina,’ cried Florrie, ‘they look lovely. What did you say they were called?’
‘Vera and Ann,’ said Tina. ‘The nurse who took it says they’re both happy and healthy, which is the main thing.’ There were tears in her eyes as Jill passed the photograph back, and Tina kissed it before putting it in her pocket.
‘That should put your mind at rest again,’ said Florrie. ‘I shouldn’t think they would send you a picture if they were going to take the girls from you.’
Tina nodded. ‘That’s what the nurse said. All I have to do is get well again.’
You and me both, thought Florrie.
‘I never showed you, but I’ve started on a present for each of them,’ she said. She went to her bedside and rummaged in her locker. ‘What do you think?’ She held up two partially made rag dolls.
‘Oooh, I think they’re lovely,’ said Jill. The dolls were well on the way. Tina had made the body and was working on the features. One doll had dark hair (wool, sewn onto the head and plaited at each side), and the other had yellow.
‘I’ve got some pink flowery stuff for this one and some blue striped material for that one,’ said Tina.
‘They’re fantastic,’ said Florrie. ‘They’ll love them.’
Tina coughed.
‘Don’t overdo it, Mrs Cook,’ said a passing nurse. ‘I think you’d better get back into bed again.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Tina in between coughs.
‘Bed,’ insisted the nurse.
As she went, Tina pointed out that Florrie had two unopened letters on her locker. Florrie opened them eagerly. Betty had written to say that all was well in London, and Doreen had written to tell her about her visit to Worthing. While Florrie was disappointed that she hadn’t actually seen Shirley and Tom, it comforted her to know that Mr Oliver was such a kind and considerate man.
‘Did you hear the news?’ Tina called out as Florrie looked up from her letters. ‘Nurse Baxter is getting married.’
‘Really?’ Florrie was delighted.
‘It’s all very quick because her fiancé is being posted to North Africa,’ said Tina, ‘but everybody’s been thinking about what we can give her.’
‘Gladys is making some chair-back covers,’ said Jill, ‘and Madge down the far end has almost finished that latch-hook rug she’s been making. I think she’s going to give it to her as a wedding present.’
‘They’re getting marr
ied three days before Christmas,’ said Tina, sinking wearily back onto her pillows.
Florrie leaned back and smiled. A wedding – how lovely. A wedding made everybody feel good. She didn’t feel like it right now, but as soon as she was able, she’d get them to sort out some paper for her. She’d make Nurse Baxter a rose or two, and if she was well enough, she might even manage a whole bouquet.
The show went well. The village hall was packed to the gunnels, with standing room only. The undoubted star of the show was Gwen Knox, who, it turned out, had the most exquisite singing voice. Shirley got an extra round of applause, and Tom managed to sit through most of the performance, but the music in the finale got a bit much for him and he went outside. Nobody minded because by then he’d already seen his sister’s performance.
To Shirley’s great delight, Janet and Granny Roberts came to see the show. Granny was in her element, meeting up with old friends and catching up with the news. Some of the villagers greeted Janet like a long-lost friend, but Shirley noticed that a few looked a little po-faced or preferred to stand in little huddles whispering behind their hands.
‘You must be near your time,’ said a robust-looking woman in a heavy tweed suit. Shirley stared fascinated as a ribbon of spittle gathered at the top of her lip and attached itself like a piece of elastic to her bottom lip. Her bright red lipstick only served to draw attention to it. The woman was totally unaware of it, because she never once licked her lips to get rid of it. In her reply, Janet was polite but not very forthcoming.
‘Is everything working out well?’ said the woman.
‘I have no regrets,’ Janet said rather pointedly, and the woman seemed satisfied.
