by Lizzie Lane
Her father’s face was like stone. ‘I expected you to be here when your nephew came home.’
‘Sorry. But I can see him now, can’t I?’
Smiling as though she didn’t have a care in the world even though nobody had actually replied to her question, she felt the teapot. ‘Oh lovely. It’s still warm. I could just do with a cuppa. Would anyone else like one? Dad?’ She poured herself a cup before waiting for an answer.
‘I expected you to be here,’ her father repeated. His iron-grey brows beetled so they met just above the bridge of his nose.
Ruby stood holding her cup and saucer with both hands. The warmth was welcome after the ride back on the motorbike, her hands clinging to Ivan’s body.
‘I’m sorry. I promised Ivan I would meet him and I did. I’m seeing him again. On Saturday.’ She looked tellingly at Mary. ‘Tonight he told me how dreadful it was in Poland before he managed to escape and come here. The Germans just marched in. He’s very brave. I felt I couldn’t turn him down.’
‘What about Johnnie?’ said Mary.
‘He’s not here. Ivan is.’
Nobody made comment and despite her father’s displeased expression, she was determined not to back down.
Bettina Hicks attempted to struggle up from her chair, but didn’t succeed. Her arthritis was getting worse of late. ‘She’s young, Stan. Just like we once were.’
There seemed just a beat when a pin could have dropped and been heard as though it were a hammer striking the floor.
Ruby maintained her buoyant attitude. ‘So! Where is he?’
Bettina smiled. ‘Where all babies should be at this time of night. In bed. How about you and me go up and see him? I’d love another look at him. If you don’t mind giving me a hand up from this chair …’
Bettina reached for Ruby’s hand.
‘Right,’ Bettina said resolutely as they headed for the stairs. ‘Let me have one more look at the lovely child.’
Ruby helped Bettina along, conscious of her father’s eyes dark with disapproval. At the bottom of the stairs Bettina let go of her arm.
‘I’ll go first shall I?’
Ruby watched as Bettina climbed the stairs. Suddenly the stiff joints didn’t seem as pronounced as they’d been in the kitchen. Ruby followed her up.
The baby was in her father’s old room, which had been turned into a makeshift nursery. It smelled fresh and clean and also of something else, something warm and milky and quite indescribable; it smelled of baby.
Stan Sweet moved up into Charlie’s old room up in the attic. The twins and Frances had helped turn what had been their parents’ room into one fit for a baby. The floorboards were painted blue and a yellow, beige and green rag rug lay beside the cot.
There were new yellow curtains hanging at the window behind the blackout curtains, cut down from an old pair that used to be hanging at the living-room window of Stratham House. When it came to fabrics, Bettina Hicks appeared to have an Aladdin’s cave of riches!
The cot was set against the wall next to the small cast-iron fireplace. It was made of beech and although its original colour had glowed like honey, it was now darkened in places thanks to the sticky hands of the children who had once slept in it.
The light shining into the room from the landing was just enough to see by. Bettina stood at the head of the cot, her smile beatific, and her surprisingly small hands resting on the rail.
‘Take a look,’ she said softly. ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’
The moment she set eyes on her nephew, Ruby was dumbstruck. For the first time that day all thoughts of Ivan flew from her mind and she felt regretful that she hadn’t been here the moment he came through the door.
She couldn’t drag her eyes away from the pink cheeks, the downy soft head of hair, the plump fists clenched as though he might take a jab at the people who’d killed his parents. And who could blame him? she thought to herself. Something changed inside her then and something fierce was born, the kind of fierceness a tigress acquires once she’s given birth to her cubs. Ruby was not the mother of this child, yet the fierceness was there.
She stroked each little fist in turn and then each flushed cheek, amazed at the softness of his skin, the creamy freshness of his complexion. And the smell. That beautiful smell.
‘Please God. Once this war is over, please don’t ever let there be another.’ The words had welled up inside her and were out before she knew what she was saying. She didn’t want this Charlie to go to war and die as her brother had.
Gradually she sank to her knees and put her hand through the bars of the cot, touching his hands again, feeling how soft and warm he was beneath her fingers. So fragile. So vulnerable. Suddenly a tear squeezed out from the side of one eye.
‘Dear Charlie. What a pity you’re not here to see this.’
She’d almost forgotten Bettina was there until she felt her hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m sure he knows.’
Ruby nodded. She had to believe that he did – wherever he was.
‘Was he awake when he arrived?’ Suddenly she had to know what she’d missed.
‘No. At this age babies sleep a lot and he’s a good baby. He was sound asleep. Mary put him to bed. I helped her – well, not physically. I just gave her advice.’
‘Please forgive me. I wish I’d been here,’ Ruby whispered, addressing the child. ‘I wish I’d been here to say hello.’
Bettina smiled. Ruby was talking to the baby. There would be no falling out between father and daughter. Whatever happened they would remain a tight-knit family. She was glad of that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE DAY BEFORE Mike came home on leave, Bettina Hicks made herself scarce, on the pretext of visiting an old friend named Grace. Mike and Mary were left with the run of the house.
‘Does she really have a friend called Grace?’ Mary asked.
Mike confirmed there was indeed such a person though had never met her. ‘Though I understand she wants to meet me – when I’m ready – whatever that means.’
Just after supper, they’d eyed each other. It was almost bedtime. An unspoken message passed between them: Mary needed more time. Mike gritted his teeth and proclaimed his intention to check on the chickens.
‘You can go on up,’ he said to her. ‘I won’t be long.’
She knew what he meant: he was giving her time to get undressed before he came up. So far he had not seen her naked and she could not bring herself to let him see her.
She visited the bathroom before finally undressing and slipping her nightdress over her head.
Even once she was under the bedclothes, she couldn’t stop shivering. Perhaps if she closed her eyes? If she couldn’t see him come into the room, if she couldn’t see his naked body, perhaps then things might happen. She got out of bed and turned off the light. There! She couldn’t see him even with her eyes open. That might help.
The bedroom door creaked open; Mike was back. She heard him sigh. He probably didn’t like the fact that the light was off. It was further confirmed when he hit his toe against the end of the bed. She heard him swear.
She felt him slide into bed beside her. His torso felt warm though the rest of him was cool on account of having been outside.
His breathing moved closer.
She lay on her back unable to move. He kissed her cheek. His hand caressed her jaw, turning her face. She didn’t flinch when he kissed her lips, but her heart was pounding. She suspected his next move. He would place his hand on her breast next, and then slide it beneath her nightdress. She could just about bear that. She could also bear him rolling up her nightdress to expose her thighs.
‘Take it off.’ His demand was unexpected.
‘No.’
She clung to the rolled-up material even though it was now above her breasts and his penis was throbbing against her thigh.
She heard him sigh – an angry sigh – a frustrated sigh.
‘Okay. Okay.’
He spoke to her
softly, as he might to a wild creature that he wished to tame. Only he didn’t wish to tame her. He merely wanted to make love to his wife. He stroked her breasts and her belly in an effort to calm her, to prepare her for what would come next. She relaxed until the moment he attempted to stroke between her legs.
‘I can’t do it!’ She clamped them tightly together.
He sighed, still patient but still persistent. He followed the same movements all over again, his touch gentle and slow, casually stroking, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth and her breasts.
Slowly, she released the tension in her thighs. She gasped when his hand stroked her, arched her back and closed her eyes. The moment was pleasurable.
Mike responded to her arousal, mounting her, his knee forcing her legs apart. She froze. The pleasure died, her legs moving tightly back together.
He threw himself off her turning the other way, ramming his head into his pillow.
‘Like making love to a block of wood!’ he muttered to himself.
He never mentioned it the next morning or the next night, talking as though everything between them was normal, if not wonderful. He made no attempt to touch her. He told her he had plans for them both and it was all to do with them having their own place.
‘It’s a cottage. Guy said we could have it as long as we liked. You’ll love it – roses around the door, thatched roof, black and white walls …’
Mary was lying beside him, flat on her back, one hand fluttering over the shoulder of her nightdress. Her body was tense, her tone of voice brusque. ‘Half-timbered. It’s called half-timbered.’
‘What? Okay. Half-timbered. Anyway, a real pretty place.’ He didn’t mind her correcting him. It meant she was listening.
Mary was filled with alarm. The cottage was being offered as married quarters close to RAF Scampton. It meant her moving away from her family to Lincolnshire.
As he talked he began to trail his fingers through her hair, teasing it back from her forehead in silky rivers. She loved her head being caressed. It made her feel sleepy. Baby Charlie loved it too. When she caressed his head, his eyes fluttered before he fell asleep.
He’d been teething, waking in the middle of the night, hot tears running from his squeezed-up eyes. Caressing his scalp soothed him to slumber.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said to him. ‘Not at this moment in time. There’s Charlie to consider now.’
Mike sighed and kissed her ear. ‘You could bring the baby with you.’
A sense of panic immediately enveloped her. She shook her head, her hair fanning out over the pillow. ‘I’m not sure Dad would like that.’
Mike drew away from her, turning on to his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. There was a space between them in the bed yet she could feel the heat of his body, anger simmering just beneath the surface. This was his second night back. The first night had been bad enough. Tonight he’d hoped for better.
Nothing was going right for them. He wanted her to move so she was closer to him, even though she still couldn’t bring herself to let him make love to her.
Tonight he’d tried a different strategy. Tonight he’d told her about the cottage in Lincolnshire.
‘Ruby can look after him. She’s the one who’s still single, for God’s sake!’
For his part, Mike figured he’d been patient for long enough. How many other brides refused their husband their rights? Not that he saw making love to her as his right. He loved her, he wanted her, and it had seemed she loved and wanted him, but when it came down to it, she froze. Forcing her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was tempted. If it went on for much longer he just wouldn’t be able to help himself.
Propping himself up on the pillows, he reached for his cigarettes, opened the packet, took one out and lit up. There wasn’t much else to do except smoke and look around the room. The bedroom they were in at Stratham House was square-shaped and the ceiling fairly low.
Mary was distraught. She’d told herself she would stop this stupidity and really try being a wife. Alas, she’d made that resolution before. Tonight she had done the same as before, undressing alone before he was in the room.
Tonight he hadn’t attempted anything other than to kiss and caress her, to run his fingers through her hair as he told her about the cottage.
She kept apologising. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I can’t help it. Please,’ she said pleadingly, turning her head towards him. ‘Give me a little time. Just a little time. That’s all I ask for.’
Mike expelled a smoke ring, watching it curl and sway as it floated gently upwards. ‘I suppose we rushed things. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.’
‘No, Mike. Not just yours. Mine too. I’m just not that worldly wise with men. I’ve never … well … you know. I’ve not even had a boyfriend. Not a proper one. I never seemed to have time. And then you came along.’
He held the cigarette as far away from her as possible and kissed her cheek. His lips were cool.
‘I do love you. I wouldn’t have married you if I hadn’t. I would still have been Mary Sweet – or Mary Sensible as some people used to call me.’
‘Mary Sensible?’ He laughed. ‘That’s what drew me to you. I thought you’d understand how I was feeling, the need to want to live every moment because it might soon be my last. But … well … I should have slowed down a bit. It’s my fault. I rushed things. But moving into this cottage might help. It’ll be just the two of us, no outside interruptions. I think we need to get to know each other better, and we can’t do that with all these miles between us. We need to be together.’
Mary hid her rising panic and spoke very carefully. ‘I’ve lived in this village all my life. My father is here, my sister too, and then there’s Frances and the baby. My family and my friends …’
‘You’re my wife. I want you near me. I want us to be as happy as your father was with your mother. Do you want to hear more about the cottage, or what?’
Although his words were softly spoken, she sensed they were merely a velvet coating for the stronger, harsher emotions he must be feeling, the frustration as he tried to ease her into making love but all to no avail. She knew she was being unreasonable and going on like this could end in divorce. Divorce! The idea was abhorrent, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. Looking back at Mike’s proposal the last thing she’d expected was to discover she was frigid the moment she was married. She knew she should confide in Ruby if no one else. Her sister might be able to give her some advice that would help.
‘Yes. Tell me more about the cottage.’ It took a lot of effort to sound intrigued, even enthusiastic.
Mike leaned over to the bedside table stubbing out his cigarette in the glass ashtray so determinedly he looked likely to make a hole in it. Slumping back on to the bed, he lay flat on his back, his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. As though he were dead – or just not here any more.
Seeing him like that she had a sudden urge to touch him, to stroke his chest. Would that be too forward? The truth was she didn’t know what to do. She studied his armpits, curiously aroused by the sight and smell of them, a masculine smell. It would appear to him that her eyes were lowered. She was glad of that. She didn’t want him to know she was studying him – getting to know him, though furtively – just in case it was the wrong thing to do. The one thing she could study with impunity was his voice; she loved the sound of his voice, the way the words seemed to reverberate in his larynx before he said them – like a deep echo though it occurred when he spoke not after he’d spoken.
‘You can see the airfield from the back windows,’ he said finally. ‘We’d see each other every day – more or less – except when I’m on Ops. Can you imagine that?’
His voice had become suffused with boyish excitement. Yes. She could imagine herself staring out across the flat fields of Lincolnshire at a wide expanse of sky full of black shapes flying eastwards and wondering when – and if – they were all likely to come back.
&
nbsp; ‘I could throttle back my engine and flash my navigation lights as I flew over the cottage roof so you’d know it was me. Not for long though. We turn our lights off once we near the coast.’
Mary was touched. What he was saying sounded so very romantic.
She rolled on to her side. His hair was tousled. His skin glistened. He’d lit another cigarette and was blowing more smoke rings into the air, his eyes following each one as they rose to the ceiling. She guessed smoking helped him cope with everything – including her.
‘When does your friend want an answer?’
She thought she saw his profile stiffen, his eyes narrow. ‘I’ve already said I would take it. I thought you’d be pleased.’
Mary lowered her eyes just in case he looked into her face suddenly and saw the depth of her dismay. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave Oldland Common or her father and family. The old saying, home is where the heart is, sprang to mind. Was it so very wrong that her heart was with her family not with her husband?
‘I need to tell Dad. It’s going to be hard for him, what with looking after Charlie and the bakery. Unless Ruby gives up giving talks and demonstrations and she won’t want to do that. She is a bit of a gadabout and poor little Charlie needs a mother—’
Mike’s chest heaved with a monster sigh. ‘For Christ’s sake, Mary! You’re not Charlie’s mother! You’re my wife! Love, honour and obey, in sickness and in health and all that. Your place is with me, and before you again mention looking after your nephew, the idea is that we have our own babies – though at present there seems to be little bloody chance of that happening!’
Mary rolled away from him, lying on the other side, her fists gripping the corner of her pillow. Squeezing her eyes shut she bit her bottom lip so hard she was sure she could taste blood.
She felt him roll to face her back, which he proceeded to stroke with softly tickling fingers.
