by Jill Barry
“Don’t forget to give Eleanor the spare key,” Charlotte called as he put on his coat and flat tweed cap. “You never know, I might be out delivering a can of petrol to some stranded motorist when she arrives and I don’t like leaving my house key lying around.”
Mr Moore returned from his evening outing bearing a perfectly packaged cake and in sparkling form. Charlotte was determined to talk about anything but her father’s imminent departure so the bedtime cocoa routine happened earlier than usual, with the unspoken agreement that an early night would be a good thing
They needed to get a move on next morning and Charlotte, ignoring the lump in her throat, made another trip to the station where, determined to remain cheerful, she waved goodbye to her father, trotting along the platform for as long as she could. The sight of her, blonde curls bouncing round her face, brought smiles to the faces of everyone in her father’s compartment and instead of shedding a tear or two she found herself giggling helplessly as she waved a fond farewell to her dad and five total strangers.
Back home, she decided to put the remainder of Don’s abandoned clothing in to soak then go round to the garage and see how George Costello and Jack were coping. Almost through the door, she decided George could probably do with a cup of tea and she daren’t leave Jack out either. Smiling to herself, she filled the kettle and lifted it on to the ring. Some things didn’t change and if keeping the flag flying and the home fires burning were important factors to remember, then so was the provision of a hot, strong cuppa.
Back at the garage, Charlotte found Robert’s dad and Jack in the workshop. The young apprentice was putting a battery on charge and looked up eagerly as she appeared in the doorway, balancing the old tin tray enamelled with red poppies that, although dented, was what they always used for the tea run.
“How are you getting on?” She put down the tray on the workbench, shifting a cardboard box of screws to make room. It was always a mystery to her how anyone found anything once the tools and sundry items needed to keep a vehicle roadworthy were scattered all over the place.
“So far, so good,” said Jack. “Thank you, Charlie.” He hesitated. “It is all right to call you Charlie, I hope?”
“Of course it is, Jack. I’m only sorry you’re having to grow up in a hurry but looking on the bright side, you’re learning a trade and earning a bob or two.”
“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss, um, Charlie.”
She caught George’s eye and laughed as the lad blushed. “Sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t laugh at you. We’re all learning new things and getting to know new people. We’ll get there in the end, I’m sure.”
George’s attention seemed to be elsewhere, his head cocked to one side. She heard a car pull on to the forecourt but George was on his way before she could move. The aches and pains Robert had worried would cause his father problems didn’t seem to be troubling Mr Costello at the moment. Long may that continue, thought Charlotte as she pointed out the ginger biscuits to Jack.
“This won’t happen every day,” she warned. “Rationing’s going to make sure of that.”
“Hello, Charlotte,” called a familiar voice.
She turned to face the open door where Mr Graham stood smiling at her.
“Is everything all right?”
“My goodness, yes. Your new mechanic told me he detected something not to his liking as I drove up the road. Turns out Ophelia needs a new fan belt! He’s probably saved me a lot of inconvenience considering I’m taking the wife to see her sister tomorrow.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched. It was fortunate she knew their customer called his car by a pet name. “My father thinks a lot of George Costello,” she said. “He’ll be pleased he’s got off to a good start.”
Mr Graham nodded. “So it’s you, George and Jack holding the fort, ay?”
“Not forgetting Mrs Costello who’ll be helping with the paperwork side. Pearl who normally does the books for us, is off soon to a new job at RAF Kimberley.”
The corners of Mr Graham’s mouth drooped. “With your dad, your brother and your friend all having to leave you, things won’t be easy. But you’re a hard worker. You’ll come through, of that I’m sure.”
Charlotte hesitated but didn’t point out Robert’s name should be added to the list. She didn’t feel abandoned by her family and friends. She felt proud to be where she was and proud of them too, for rising to the challenge. There’d be tricky times to come but woe betide anyone who didn’t think she could handle whatever was thrown at her. Her inner qualms about her abilities were personal and wouldn’t be voiced to anybody except maybe Eleanor.
Mr Graham signed his customer card and drove off with a cheerful wave. Charlotte, with a hundred and one things on her mind, went into the office to check there was enough change in the till. Counting the takings and going to the bank was at least one duty she was accustomed to handling.
When George and Jack left at six o’clock that evening and Charlotte checked all was secure before locking the side door behind her, it seemed strange to think of someone else being in the kitchen at this time of day. But she welcomed the smell of food cooking.
“Hello,” called Eleanor as Charlie let herself in. “I’ve got a meat pie in the oven.
“I can tell. You must have worked fast.”
“I rubbed up the pastry this morning and left it in the bowl. What I need is to get used to this big monster of a stove after my little one.” She smiled at Charlotte. “How did you enjoy being in charge for the first time?”
Charlie yawned and stretched both arms above her head. “Oh, sorry, Eleanor. I think things must be catching up on me. Today was fine, thanks. Robert’s dad looks as if working in a garage comes easily to him.”
“Good. What about the lad?”
“Jack’s anxious to please. We’ll see how he does when the gloss wears off.” She began unlacing her shoes. “I’ll go up and have a wash if you don’t want me for anything.”
“I think it’s all in hand. I’ve been listening to the Home Service. Your set’s a big improvement on mine as well as your stove.”
“Well if you get fed up with the wireless, I’ve got plenty of records. I know you like Bing but there are plenty of big bands as well.” Charlotte headed for the door. “Gosh, all of a sudden I’m starving.”
“Good,” said Eleanor. “I reckon we can eat in twenty minutes.”
How long would it be, wondered Charlotte as she headed upstairs, before she and Eleanor might cross swords. Her godmother might have been in Charlotte’s life forever but this sudden close proximity was unusual. Then, these were unusual times, she told herself. If only her mother was still alive. She’d have still been doing the bookkeeping as well as looking after the household side. They could still have taken on George Costello and Jack and things would have been sorted out.
A little voice in her head told her not to conjure up possible problems where none existed. Eleanor was giving up her comfortable flat to stay with her. If they got on well, that would be a bonus. But if they didn’t, Charlotte wouldn’t be afraid to suggest her godmother moved out again. Every problem had a solution was something her mum used to say. Worth remembering, thought Charlotte as she wriggled out of her dungarees.
“I wonder what our soldiers are having for their tea,” said Eleanor as the two women tucked into meat pie, boiled potatoes and cabbage a little later.
Charlotte and Robert had never shared a meal together because their time together as a couple had been ridiculously short. Now she pictured him sitting at a long table in a canteen, knife and fork at the ready while he demolished maybe sausages and mash and carrots. “I expect we’ll hear soon when one of them gets round to dropping us a line,” she said. “Don’s a bit of a gannet. Food will be very high on his list of priorities.”
Eleanor drank some water then put her glass down with a little thump. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, her voice sounding breathless. “It’s just that we haven’t talked about letter writing.”<
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Charlotte frowned, fork midway to her mouth. “What is there to discuss?”
“Well,” said Eleanor. “You’ll be writing lots of letters to Robert, I imagine.”
“Of course. I expect I’ll write once a week to Dad and Don as well. You know Pearl’s going to write to Don, don’t you? I’m very pleased about those two getting together.”
Eleanor nodded. “Raymond told me how upset Don was when that other girl let him down so badly. I don’t think Don will be expecting to receive any letters from yours truly but I know your father will be.”
Charlotte stared across the table, her thoughts whirling. “I hadn’t given it much attention, to be honest.”
“Your dad will be longing to hear how you’re all getting on with the business,” Eleanor said softly. “I can’t possibly tell him much about that side of things.”
“I see what you mean,” Charlie said. “We don’t want to be saying the same things in our letters so if I stick to details about the garage and the customers and how the men are coping, you don’t need to mention the business at all.”
Eleanor smiled. “You’re the boss. You’ll do a far better reporting job than I could even dream of. He won’t be interested in how many customers’ heads I’ve permed but I expect he’ll be glad to hear how other traders are doing. Not to mention whether you and I have bitten one another’s heads off.” She shot Charlotte a quizzical glance.
Charlotte lifted her chin. “We’d better make sure that doesn’t happen, then.” She hesitated. “I think back now and then to when Mum was alive. She and I got on pretty well, you know.”
“I do know,” said Eleanor. “She was forever singing your praises.”
“Really? Charlotte slowly shook her head. “She kept trying hard to coax me into doing things like dancing lessons or taking up embroidery. Fortunately I did let her teach me how to cook basic meals. I could be stubborn sometimes.”
“I can assure you she was well aware your heart belonged under a car’s bonnet rather than inside a sewing box. She was convinced you’d be running the garage one day, in partnership with your husband and Donald.”
Charlotte’s mouth became a round O of surprise. “I’ve never ever thought about it. Don’s not said a word to me.”
“Of course not. Nor would he be thinking about it at this time. We none of us know what the future holds.”
Charlotte took advantage of the moment and placed both elbows on the table, propping her chin in her hands.
“Thanks for saying that, about Mum’s thoughts, I mean. Sometimes if I got in a mood, I’d snap at her. I wish now I never had.” She sighed. “I wonder what she’d have thought of Robert.”
“She knew him, didn’t she? As Don’s greatest friend?” Eleanor rose and removed their plates.
Charlotte nodded, watching her godmother ladle stewed plums into two bowls. She got up and grabbed a tea towel, wrapping it round the handle of the custard jug standing at the back of the stove.
“I hardly took any notice of Robert in those days,” she said. “I can vaguely remember him helping around the rides when Mum took Pearl and me down to the fair. But that wasn’t often and then the day came when we decided we were too grown up for roundabouts.” She pulled a face. “Dad put his foot down and decided we weren’t old enough to be allowed into the amusement arcade on our own. Then came the Girl Guide years.”
“I can remember you in your blue uniform.” Eleanor helped herself to custard and passed the jug across the table. “You seemed to have plenty of badges.”
“I liked the outdoor things best of all. But I did try hard. Looking back, I think I liked to please the grown-ups.” She chuckled. “Not all the time, though!”
“I always envied your mother, having such a lovely family.”
“Nothing lovely about Don,” Charlotte said. “Or me for that matter.”
Eleanor ignored the interruption. “A family of my own wasn’t to be. That’s one of the reasons I agreed to Raymond’s suggestion that I move in here with you. Your mother and father were good to me, especially when Stephen didn’t come back from Normandy.”
“I’m so very sorry. This rotten war must bring back lots of memories for you.”
“For many people,” Eleanor nodded. “But this is a different era. The trench warfare was horrific. Nobody wants that kind of thing to happen again.” She rested her spoon in her bowl. “What I’m trying to say, my dear, is I’m not trying to take your mother’s place. Not that I ever could – but I think I need to make that clear to you. What I intend to do is support you every way I can. I believe Noelene would have wanted that. So if I do something to upset you and you snap at me for any reason, I shan’t walk out in a huff.”
Charlotte sat back from the table. “Ditto,” she said. “Come to think of it, I don’t know where I’d walk to.”
“Well, let’s make sure it never comes to that, love. Now, I’ll wash up while you go and write to that nice chap of yours.”
Three days later, the postman brought a letter card for Charlotte. She recognised the familiar handwriting immediately and tore at the perforated strips to read her father’s words, realising just in time her fingers still bore the marks of the oil she’d measured and poured for the last customer.
“Bother,” she said, hearing another car pull up on the forecourt. She tucked the letter into her pocket and set off to greet whoever was outside. She’d need to wait until she could wash her hands, making sure first that Jack could take over the pumps for her. He was assisting George in the workshop and she didn’t want to interrupt his training session.
As soon as she could, she rubbed her greasy hands with a cloth then visited the lavatory and rinsed her hands under the cold top, using carbolic soap and wrinkling her nose at the same time. This wasn’t her favourite smell but her father and Don would have laughed their heads off if she’d suggested placing a tablet of Camay beside the washbasin.
Charlotte peered into the workshop. Jack caught her eye. “Do you want a break, Charlie?”
George straightened up. “Jack’s quick to learn,” he said. “We don’t want him getting a swollen head though.”
Charlotte laughed. “No chance of that here,” she said. “I’ll pop round home and put the kettle on.” She tapped her pocket. “Letter here from the real boss waiting to be read.”
“Our Robert’s not been in touch yet,” said Mr Costello. “His mother’s on the fidget. I’ve told her not to fret – he’ll not have a minute to himself except when he’s sleeping.”
Charlotte stared at him. She longed for a letter. How could she have failed to remember Mrs Costello might too be pining for news of a certain young man? Aware of her cheeks turning pink and relieved not to be quizzed by Robert’s father in front of the apprentice, Charlotte turned away. “Tea’s up in a few minutes.”
How many pots of tea will I have made for the men by the time this war’s finished, she wondered. How many letters were being written at this moment to sweethearts, sons and sisters? In the meantime, news of her father would be very welcome. This evening, she’d find out whether Eleanor too was the recipient of a letter from Raymond. How strange it was to think of her godmother’s heart lifting in anticipation as she, in her turn, ripped open a letter card or envelope. This war heralded change in more ways than one.
Charlotte forced herself to fill the kettle and set it upon the stove before sinking down at the kitchen table. The house was always quiet at this time of day so it didn’t seem odd to be alone. By contrast, reading the words ‘My dear Charlotte’ seemed very strange when they were on the page in her father’s surprisingly clear for once, handwriting.
Greedily she scanned the close-written lines, looking for anything that might stand out as a major problem. She hadn’t realised how protective of her father she’d become since the loss of her mother. Despite her affection for her godmother, Charlotte also looked for any hint of her father’s burgeoning feelings for Eleanor. There was a brief, bread and butter r
eference right at the end where her father hoped she and El were finding their feet and keeping each other company.
Charlotte began at the beginning then, reading properly, smiling here and there as her father mentioned how he’d always known khaki suited him or talked about the buzz of conversation in the mess hall seeming strange after quiet meals at his own kitchen table. He’d forgotten how partial he was to steamed marmalade pudding with custard. Then he added how much he missed the fruit pies Charlotte made and how she’d inherited her mother’s light touch with pastry.
At that point she got up to warm the teapot before the kettle began to whistle. Why had he never told her that before? It was good to think she’d inherited at least one skill from her mother.
He went on to say how strange it was to sleep in a narrow bunk after years in the old double with the feather mattress. Some of the men described the Army mattresses as biscuits but her dad had been so tired the first night he’d fallen asleep quickly in the solitary cell he was allocated as a sergeant. A rather rusty sergeant, he joked in the letter.
This whole affair’s going to be a real test of character, thought Charlotte folding the page up again. The war would test all of them, civilian and military, for every single one of them walked a tightrope and nobody knew who’d make it to the other side and who wouldn’t.
She bit her lip. It was time to stop brooding and time to start working again. Her dad’s letter brought back too many memories. She needed to look to the future and found herself thanking her lucky stars she had Eleanor to help her through the next weeks and months. Further than that, Charlotte didn’t dare wonder about.
Eleanor hadn’t received a letter from Raymond.
“He’ll have writer’s cramp if he tries to keep up with both of us at once,” she said when Charlotte asked her godmother if she’d heard anything.
“You can read my letter,” Charlotte offered when they sat down to tea.
“No, my dear,” Eleanor said. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You can give me the gist of it though. I hope he’s not too homesick.”
