Tom tapped on the kitchen window for Mary to let him in. The doors were always kept bolted after dark, even though passers-by were few and far between up here in winter.
She threw her arms about his neck before she realised how wet he was, then helped him off with his overcoat. He watched her hang it on the cupboard door handle near the fire to dry, drinking in the beauty of her as he would wine. God, if it wasn’t for the bloody war he would marry her tomorrow.
Mary poured the tea, strong and thick, into the two cups, then added milk and sugar and stirred it sitting at the table. Tom stood with his back to the fire. He remained silent for what seemed ages, until Mary felt herself blushing beneath his gaze.
‘Well, have you lost your tongue?’ She smiled.
‘To tell yer the truth I’ve so much to say to yer I don’t know where to start.’
‘Well, start somewhere.’
‘I love yer, Mary, so much it hurts just to look at yer, knowing that tomorrow I shall be leaving yer.’
‘Tomorrow? I thought we’d two more days? You said you were going on Thursday.’
‘I know, love. I didn’t want to upset yer more than I had to. It would only have spoiled yer weekend, and it wouldn’t have altered owt.’
Mary felt her eyes fill with tears, so she jumped up and busied herself raking down the fire so that Tom wouldn’t notice. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. She straightened up and moved closer to him, and he drew her into his arms, seeking her lips hungrily. Mary pressed closer. She would have got inside him if it had been possible. She felt him harden and her own body responded in a way she had never even dreamed of. She felt his hand stroking her neck, then moving to her breast, and starting to undo the tiny buttons on her dress. Impatiently she helped him until she could slip it down over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Tom felt the warm slippery satin covering her body and slowly guided her hand downwards towards him, hoping for relief. Mary felt the warm hardness in her hand, and was overwhelmed by her need of him. Then, suddenly, Tom pushed her from him. Bewildered, Mary wondered what had happened. Surely that wasn’t all there was to it?
Tom cradled her in his arms.
‘I’m sorry, Mary. I shouldn’t have done that – getting worked up like that, I mean, and you too. It wasn’t fair.’
‘Didn’t you want me, Tom?’
‘Want yer? I was going mad for yer, but I won’t spoil yer, Mary. It wouldn’t be fair – yer might regret it once I’ve gone. Yer could meet someone else, love. Yer only young, Mary, an’ I’m going to be gone a long time.’
Mary began to cry. ‘I don’t think you love me at all. If you did you’d have wanted me just like I wanted you.’
‘Don’t let’s quarrel, not tonight. Let’s have something happy to remember when I’m gone, and something to look forward to when I come back. That’s if yer still want me.’
‘Oh, Tom, I love you. I’ll always want you, even if I’ve to wait for ever.’
She suddenly realised she was undressed and reached down for her dress. He pulled her back.
‘’Ere, let me look at yer. I’ll never see pink satin again without thinkin’ of you. Still, I can’t wait to see yer without ’em.’
Mary giggled. ‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said, thinking suddenly about Joyce Bailey and feeling grateful to Tom for not putting her in the same position.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Have yer got something in the oven?’
Mary jumped up and flew to the oven. ‘The cakes,’ she shrieked, praying they wouldn’t be ruined. She lifted them out, noticing the currants were rather black on the top. ‘Just in time,’ she said. ‘Another few minutes and they’d have been ruined. It’s a good job the fire had burned low.’
‘Who needs a fire with you around?’ he said. ‘You’d melt a bloody igloo.’
‘Just wait till you get to know me better.’ She settled on his knee, looking at him with adoration. ‘I love you, Tom Downing, and I’ll wait for ever if necessary.’
The preparations for Christmas kept Mary occupied during the days, but nights were a different matter. Thoughts of Tom filled her with longing and disturbed her sleep, so that Dr Roberts became concerned at the dark circles beneath her eyes.
‘It’s only natural she looks peaky,’ said Gladys. ‘The girl’s in love. What’s more, she’s never stopped working since Tom left. Still, it may be the best thing for her.’
Mary had filled the cellar with pepper cakes, mince pies, cooked hams and Christmas bread, enough to feed all Longfield. The house had been scrubbed and polished from top to bottom, and decorated with coloured paper trimmings from the attic, and holly laden with scarlet berries from the garden. The spare rooms had been prepared for Rowland’s nephew, his wife and their two little boys. Christmas cards filled every available shelf and window ledge, and now on Christmas Eve Mary was trying to pluck the chickens while rising the Yule cake for tomorrow’s breakfast.
Gladys had disappeared upstairs on the pretence of resting, intent upon finishing the costume she was to give to Mary on Christmas day. Only the buttons needed to be sewn on and it was ready. She hoped it would cheer the girl up. It wasn’t like Mary to be so subdued. Still she was missing not only Tom but her family too. Perhaps she should have gone home after all in the circumstances.
The knock on the door caused Mary to swear to herself. What a mess she was in, with feathers clinging to her fingers and apron. Shaking her hands to be rid of the down, she reluctantly opened the door. Her shriek brought Gladys hurrying downstairs, but seeing Mary enfolded in Tom’s arms she climbed silently back up again, leaving them to get on with whatever the young lovers felt like doing. Gladys might be fifty but she wasn’t yet past enjoying a bit of hanky panky herself, nor one to deny anyone else the pleasure.
Tom had almost let the cat out of the bag in his letter to Mary. He knew he was entitled to leave after six weeks but he hadn’t been certain it would fall at Christmas, so he had kept silent rather than disappoint her. Now he knew he had been right to surprise her.
Dr Roberts invited Tom to spend Christmas day with them at Moorland House, but considerate as usual Tom thought about his mother’s delight at having him home and compromised, accepting the invitation to dinner, which was to be at two o’clock, and determining to go home afterwards to tea with his family. Gladys insisted Mary take the afternoon off so she could go with him.
At dinner Gladys enjoyed spoiling their nephew’s children, who were in high spirits, and Mary was reminded of her brothers, though it saddened her that they would never know a Christmas such as this. Afterwards they opened presents round the fire in the lounge, encouraging the little ones to sing for them the carols they had learned at school. Mary excused herself to reset the table for tea, slice up the hams and ensure Gladys had little to do later. Satisfied with her preparations, she slipped upstairs to change, impatient to try on the costume which had been hanging behind her door when she awoke that morning. At first she had felt ashamed that all she had for the Robertses were carpet slippers, but they had been as thrilled as if she had given them the crown jewels.
The costume fitted like a second skin, and the soft brown checks brought out the warmth of her eyes. Rowland had bought her a cream satin blouse to go with it. Mary hardly recognised herself in the wardrobe mirror and hoped she didn’t look too posh to fit in with the Downings. Still, she knew Tom liked her in satin. She giggled to herself as she remembered their last meeting, then hurried downstairs.
Yesterday’s rain had changed to a light sprinkling of snow during the night, and now the flakes were large and feathery, covering the countryside with a white blanket. Tom held her hand and they walked round the house, making footmarks in the virginal carpet. Old Pepper neighed a welcome even before Tom unlatched the stable door.
‘Happy Christmas, old boy,’ he said as the horse nuzzled his nose into Tom’s shoulder. ‘And happy Christmas to you an’ all, love,’ he said, drawing her inside the rough warmth of his
greatcoat and wrapping it round her. He knew that, for all his good intentions, nothing except resistance from Mary would prevent his giving way to the burning passion she roused within him.
It did not come. He kissed her slowly, removing her jacket, and then her skirt, folding them carefully, thoughtful even in his eagerness. Gently, he undid the tiny buttons of her blouse and slipped it from her.
He removed his coat and spread it on the hay, and as though in a dream Mary lay down. He lay beside her, caressing her sensuously, while she fumbled with the broad webbing of his belt.
And then, in the stable, sheltered from the cold Christmas afternoon, Mary discovered the miracle, the fulfilment of love.
Chapter Five
The snow continued well into the new year. Mary had thought the house beautiful in the August sun and the autumn mists, but now the sight of it snug in its snowy blanket filled her heart with an unbelievable serenity. Every morning a robin waited for the scraps she brought out. At first it grabbed its fill and escaped to a nearby rhododendron shrub; later, gaining confidence, it remained close by, so that by now it was almost meeting Mary on the doorstep. Icicles hung like crystal chandeliers on the laburnum tree, dripping in the weak midday sun only to freeze again in the late afternoon.
Mary was at peace at Moorland House. To her it was home now, and she knew that whenever or wherever she travelled in the future, this house, this winter, would remain vividly in her memory – the time when she had emerged from girl to womanhood. She thought of Tom every waking hour but now she could bear the separation, knowing she belonged to him and he to her. She dismissed from her mind the thought of what would happen once his training finished, thinking only of his next leave, praying the weather would mellow and make the village accessible before he was due to arrive.
Gladys had guessed immediately that the couple had made love. She had noticed the footprints leading to the stable whilst taking the little boys to see Pepper on Boxing Day morning, and even without that evidence she would have guessed anyway by the look on Mary’s face. Gladys remembered only too well the change she herself had experienced after her first sexual encounter with Rowland, the difference being that she and Rowland had waited until their wedding night. Still, things were different in wartime; no one knew what would happen from one day to the next. Gladys, more knowledgeable than Mary about the progress of the war, decided to say nothing. Soldiers were being shipped out every day to various destinations, and only God knew what horrors were awaiting them on their arrival. It was better for Mary to remain in ignorance of what Tom might have to face.
Tom’s next leave was spent quietly. The snow had been thawed temporarily to a squelchy mess by incessant rain, and this time, without the Christmas celebrations to distract them, the only thing on their minds was the uncertainty of when they would next be together. Everyone was unnaturally cheerful and only Tom’s mother showed her true feelings, starting to cry when little Douglas asked Tom, ‘Have yer killed anybody yet, Tom?’
‘Not yet.’ Tom laughed. ‘But just you wait. As soon as I see one of our enemies he’ll have a bullet up his arse and no mistake.’ A game of soldiers then began, with Tom chasing his little brothers round the table, drawing his mother’s attention away from her sadness at his approaching departure. Had it not been for the youngsters, Mary had the feeling that everyone would have just hung around waiting for Tom’s leave to end.
They didn’t make love again. It was as though something special had occurred, something too precious to spoil. Instead they held each other, touching, kissing, gaining satisfaction just from being together.
When the time came for Tom to return to his unit, Rowland took them into Sheffield in the car, driving erratically once he got amongst the other traffic, although he doubted if they noticed. He left them with a couple of hours to spare, promising to pick Mary up when it was time for Tom’s train. Then he drove to the infirmary, concerned about a patient who had been injured by a roof which had collapsed under the weight of the snow.
The couple strolled round the shops, laughingly choosing furniture, optimistic that it wouldn’t be long before they would be buying. Mary promised to fill her bottom drawer ready for Tom’s return.
‘And don’t forget the pink satin,’ Tom warned. Then he led her to Brown’s the jewellers, where instead of window shopping he took her inside. ‘I didn’t get chance to buy you a Christmas present,’ he said.
‘We’d like to see an engagement ring,’ he told the assistant who approached them.
Mary almost fainted, wondering what obligations went with becoming engaged. She’d never known anyone in real life who had done so, and she had no idea.
‘I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘I ought to ask my ma or somebody.’
‘Yer don’t need consent to become engaged. It’s just a belated Christmas present, and a promise that I’m going to marry yer. Or don’t yer want to marry me? Is that it?’
The assistant watched, hoping they weren’t going to walk out without buying. Trade had been quiet since Christmas and an engagement ring would boost her commission. She wanted her hair cutting in the new style and she would be able to afford it if they bought a ring. She glanced at Mary’s hand, guessing the size from experience, and plucked a sparkling ring from the tray.
‘Perhaps Madam would try this for size?’ She offered the ring to Tom. The realisation that she was being addressed as Madam so shocked Mary that she let him slip the ring on to her finger. It was a perfect fit.
‘Oh, Tom, it’s beautiful. But I can’t let you buy it – you can’t afford it.’
‘Who says I can’t? I’ve never been one to throw my money around, and anyway there’ll be nothing else to spend it on where I’m going. We’ll take it.’ He turned to the assistant, who visibly relaxed then uncertainly told him the price.
Tom fished for his wallet and counted out the money, then placed his arm round Mary’s waist and led her outside. He drew her towards him and searched her face closely, hoping to imprint the loveliness of her deep within his memory, knowing it would be a long time before he saw her again.
‘I love yer, Mary, never forget that. Whatever happens, however long I’m away, I love yer.’
Then he kissed her, right there in the street.
Suddenly she wanted to cry. Sadness swept over her, and than a sudden coldness, as though something terrible was about to happen. She clung to Tom, unwilling to release him. He gave her a final squeeze and then smiled down at her.
‘Come on, love,’ he said. ‘We should be celebrating instead of standing here with faces as long as fiddles.’ He threw his kitbag on his back. ‘We’ve just time for a cup of tea.’
They set off in search of the station refreshment room. ‘We should be drinking champagne instead of this stuff,’ he joked, when they were finally sitting at a table. ‘It tastes more like washing-up water than tea.’
Mary forced herself to smile, weeping inside, knowing that in another twenty minutes he would be on the train. How long would it be before she saw this beloved man again?
Chapter Six
Longfield might have been immune from the war. Only Tom and one other young man had been of an age to enlist. The older men were either working their own land or holding key positions in the steel mills and could not be spared. In Sheffield, women were recruited by the hospital to replace the men who had joined up, and the doctor was full of praise for them as they learned to drive vans and ambulances in preparation for the inevitable attack. Dr Roberts was rarely home now until late and to Mary the atmosphere of the house seemed to have changed.
At first Tom’s letters came frequently and then in April they suddenly ceased, leaving Mary anxiously awaiting news. She redoubled her efforts both indoors and out. The garden was turned over, the outbuildings whitewashed and the house spring-cleaned, and still Mary was left with a useless feeling. In the end she reluctantly revealed to Gladys her need to be doing something worthwhile.
‘Perhaps I ought to go home
and find a job there,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been treated like a daughter by you and Dr Roberts, but I don’t feel it would be right for me to take an outside job whilst I’m living here. After all, you only took me in in the first place as a servant.’
Gladys, who had half expected something like this to happen after Tom’s departure, chose her words with care.
‘Look, my love,’ she said, ‘maybe we did take you on to help in the house, but that’s all changed now. To us you are a daughter, and this is your home for as long as you want it. If you’d be happier doing some kind of war work then go ahead, so long as you come home each night. There’s not a lot to do in the house at present. You’ve kept it like a new pin, and now young Cyril Downing’s helping out a bit after school with the poultry and the garden we’re well organised, as you know. Why don’t you ask Rowland about doing something at the hospital?’
Mary considered that possibility, but found herself cringing at the thought of the hospital atmosphere. Instead, she discussed with Bessie the idea of going into the steel works at Millington; both Tom’s sisters worked there and apart from the five-mile bicycle ride there and back they seemed happy enough.
Gladys didn’t much care for the idea. She would hardly see Mary if they put her on shift work, and the long journey would mean a ten-hour day. She discussed Mary’s plan with Rowland, anxious that the closed-in factory atmosphere might not be good for her.
Rowland had been worried about Mary for some weeks. The girl hadn’t been herself since Tom’s departure. He had found her at the station buffet sobbing her heart out and although she had bravely tried to hide her tears he had taken her in his arms, and just like a father encouraged her to cry out her grief. Afterwards she had seemed calm enough, but he thought now it might be a good thing for her to get amongst some young company.
‘Well, I don’t like it at all,’ Gladys fretted. ‘What if her health deteriorates again?’
Christmas Past Page 4
