‘What do you have in mind, Rose?’
‘I don’t know. Could I be put in charge of the gardens maybe?’ She was animated at last. ‘I could look after them when he’s not here and help him when he is.’
‘What about the roster? Everyone likes an excuse to get outside and help.’
‘Fine, don’t help me then—but I think I would rather be lonely my whole life than see him come and go all the time and never be with him!’
Chapter Thirty
A good high tea or supper should include either
a raw salad or a correctly cooked vegetable
dish and one of the body-building foods
such as cheese, egg, bacon, meat or fish.
Ministry of Food, War Cookery Leaflet No. 7
He could hear his own breathing, the push and pull of his chest muscles, the air whistling in and out his nostrils; with his telephone conversation finished it felt too quiet—he needed to hurry up and leave before Maggie found him here. Quickly wiping the condensation from the receiver, he replaced the handset and folded the paper into his pocket.
Stefan had been to see him twice since their meeting at the Polish Club and had finally given him an ultimatum: tomorrow was when they wanted to make the drop. The layout of the restaurant hadn’t been a problem, he knew it like the back of his hand, but they hadn’t been satisfied with his diagrams and he had to come back to double-check they were right. There were only a few more details that he needed to give them and then he would have delivered on his promise. Then he was going to tell Maggie everything; he would tell her what happened to his family and he would explain what Stefan had asked him to do. He would promise her that it was only a few days and then the goods would be gone. Then he would ask her to go out again, regularly.
He checked the desk, making sure that nothing was out of place, pushing the papers back where she had left them, when he caught her reflection in the glass of a picture frame.
‘What are you doing here?’
When he turned, her expression was so pained that it made him want to tell her everything right away.
‘I’m sorry, I should have asked . . .’
‘Yes, you should.’
But he couldn’t tell her anything now; he needed to get away, make sure the rest of the arrangements were in place, leave her before he lost his resolve, but the small room trapped them together and he was unable to pass.
‘Who were you calling?’
She was only inches away and, distracted by the scent of her skin, at first he couldn’t answer.
‘My cousin; we are trying to find out what happened to his brother. No one will give us answers.’
He couldn’t look into her eyes, not like he had at dinner. And he couldn’t lie to her either.
‘Maggie, I have to tell you something . . .’
‘No, let me go first.’
‘You need to let me tell you how I feel.’
Only one side of her face was illuminated, as if it were only a fragment of her that was really there.
‘No, listen to me,’ she insisted. ‘I want you to know that I couldn’t have done this without you. I haven’t said it before but you helping me . . . having you here, means more than you will ever know . . .’
Her voice cracked and he heard her swallow as she paused.
‘But I have to ask you to leave now. Please don’t ask why.’
He didn’t believe her; maybe he hadn’t heard right.
‘I’m sorry, Janek—you can’t come here anymore.’
After all he had planned, the decision he had made; she was going to come first in everything.
He moved closer, forcing her to look at him.
‘Why?’
‘I have my reasons.’
Rain battered the roof and he hoped he had misheard but she repeated the words.
‘I’m sorry—you have to go.’
He tried to look at himself through her eyes, at the man who ran from his responsibilities; he had feared this day would come, when she would see him for the coward that he really was. It was the only explanation. But why now, after their evening together, when he was more certain of how she felt than he had ever been?
‘What have I done wrong? Please tell me.’
She turned her head away; he couldn’t even read her face anymore but he saw her body tremble.
‘It’s nothing to do with you, Janek. It’s me.’
He waited for more but she didn’t say anything, so he took the Bible from his pocket and removed the prayer card. The picture of the Black Madonna facing upwards, benevolent eyes turned towards his, and on the back the inscription:
True love requires courage and triumphs in the friendship it brings.
‘I will do what you ask of me, Maggie, but please . . . remember these words.’
And he pressed the prayer card into her hand.
It wasn’t hard to fill the days after Janek left; she had to make sure everything was up to scratch for the ministry’s last inspection barely more than a week away, and she threw herself into training to keep up morale. It had become routine for the women to start the morning around one of the warming stoves, listening to the news service on the wireless, hands cradling mugs of steaming tea with the whole of the day’s sugar ration in it. Just in the last week the weather had turned even more bitter and she noticed it was taking them longer to get back to work, particularly now with events worsening in the East. Each day there was news of Japan’s belligerence and threats and it felt as if it would surely only be a matter of days before an announcement came of their attack. She had managed to keep going as if nothing were wrong, but she couldn’t help glancing up every time there was a knock at her office door, or when she heard the groan of the back gate or someone called her name. She’d thought Janek would come back, but he hadn’t.
‘Come on, Maggie, you’ve not even touched your tea this morning.’
‘No, I’m fine, really. Thank you, Tom.’
Standing around drinking tea wasn’t going to solve any of her problems, or theirs. The energy to feign cheerfulness had deserted her and it was an effort to join in the conversation. It was an unusually excited exchange, with everyone huddled around Maeve, congratulating her on passing her cook’s test, but Maggie struggled to feel pleased for her and felt worse because of it. She couldn’t help herself; as Maeve received a letter confirming her future as a cook adviser, Maggie was waiting for one to confirm whether she could even continue working as a cook. Robbie was recovering with his mother in the countryside, there was no more Janek and soon there may be no more restaurant; everything that she had cared about was gone.
She slipped out into the garden, where the sight of tiny shoots poking from the earth and new buds usually cheered her, but now there was only the cold white glare of frost. The plot was barren where once fruits and vegetables had thrived, and with no Janek or Robbie to maintain it, the weeds would soon take over. Even the glow of sunrise looked menacing rather than being a friendly reminder of a new day. The noise of buses on their commute down Upper Street intruded but she had lost interest in the people on them or in providing sustenance to them as she once had.
After a short while she heard the door close and Eliza’s voice behind her.
‘Penny for your thoughts . . .’
‘You don’t want to know, I assure you!’
Maggie turned her face away so that her friend couldn’t see the tears that never seemed to stop falling of late.
‘I know it’s a strain, Mags, but you’ve got to keep going. We all must.’
‘What’s wrong with me, Eliza? I can’t even find two kind words to say to Maeve. I’m not the same person anymore.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve had a lot to deal with, huge pressures. You’re the only woman I know who could have held it together and come this far; others would have crumbled months ago.’
‘I don’t feel anything though, Liza. It’s worse than feeling jealous or angry; I just feel
numb. What’s wrong with me?’
Eliza pushed the stray strands of hair from Maggie’s face and tucked them behind her ear.
‘There is nothing wrong with you. You’ve just realised that Maggie Johnson is human too, that’s all.’
But it wasn’t just that. She hadn’t even been that kind to Eliza and Mike when they had announced their engagement, instead wondering how they could have been so selfish and done it at a time like this. It wasn’t just the restaurant; she had lost Peter and now she had lost the only other people she cared about and who had made her want to carry on.
She looked into her friend’s eyes. ‘I should never have done it, Eliza. I told you I couldn’t.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘It’s true—look at the damage I’ve done: Robbie nearly poisoned, Rose is miserable and hates me, I drove Janek away and now I’m going to let down everyone who relies on me for a job, customers who depend on us for their meals. We could be closed down this time next week and then where will they all go?’
‘You are overreacting now. No one is going to close us down—and as for Rose and Robbie and Janek, they’re all fine. They’ll be back, you’ll see.’
But Maggie couldn’t. As far as she was concerned, she had driven them all away. Everyone she had ever cared about had been harmed or had left: Ernest, her mother, Peter, and now Janek and Robbie. Mr Boyle was right all along: she wasn’t capable of running her own kitchen, and the sooner they took it away from her the better.
Chapter Thirty-one
Puddings and sweets are a delightful addition
to a main meal but should only be regarded as
such. Children particularly should be encour-
aged to eat their first course of meat, fish
or cheese, etc., potatoes, vegetables or salad
before they are allowed the sweet course.
Ministry of Food, War Cookery Leaflet No. 13
According to Robbie his sisters always wore their long blonde hair in pigtails and his mother was one of the shortest people you were ever likely to meet, but as Maggie blew onto her gloved hands, she wasn’t sure she would recognise any of them in the swell of passengers that pushed past.
For nearly an hour she had watched keenly as each train arrived, as the platform emptied and refilled, and the crowds funnelled through the gates and onto the concourse behind her, but there was no sign of Robbie and his family.
There were no guards around to ask, and since departures and arrivals were no longer advertised at stations, she could only hope that nothing had happened and that the train would arrive soon, otherwise she would have to go back to the restaurant.
Two female ticket collectors stood near the gates, long black coats and hats making them quite indistinguishable from the suited businessmen and women that swarmed the platforms. And just inside the barrier, a small group of shivering children clutched their gas masks and suitcases. One of the helpers bent to attach a London Evacuation Scheme label to the coat of a girl whose arms were wrapped around an overstuffed teddy bear. On the other side of the barricade the mothers watched, their faces half hidden by handkerchiefs clutched tightly between fingers. Maggie was still crying at the slightest thing and the sight of them made her eyes well up; she couldn’t imagine how these poor women felt. She had seen Gillian fall apart when the girls went away, and how she still missed them now. Each new letter that arrived was read aloud in the staffroom and carried around in Gillian’s apron pocket until the next one came, the change in each new handwritten letter or numeral analysed, the improvements praised. And she talked about them endlessly, never an opportunity missed to footnote a conversation with: ‘Shepherd’s pie is Molly’s favourite’, or ‘Beatrice tried making scones once’, or ‘I can never get Alex to eat cabbage’.
Maggie made her way over to a small kiosk that nestled between a newspaper stand and a mobile kitchen selling tea and sandwiches. The kiosk displayed a collection of goodies that she could see from where she stood; packets of Parma violets and lemon bonbons, small bags of wrapped Fruit Salad sweets and Black Jacks, which were Robbie’s favourite.
She took a shilling from her pocket and picked up a packet of Parma violets for herself and a bag of Black Jacks for Robbie.
‘Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to know which platform the Bristol Temple Meads trains come in at?’ she asked the vendor.
‘That one over there.’ He took the coin she proffered and pointed to a platform that was already choked with thick white clouds from the arriving train.
‘Thank you,’ she said, pushing the sweets into her pocket and setting off in the direction of the platform.
The carriage doors were barely visible but she could hear them slam as the passengers disembarked and began to throng along the platform. It was only a short time that Robbie had been gone but it felt as though there was so much to tell him, so much he had missed. He would be as surprised as they had been by Mike and Eliza’s engagement and at Maeve’s new appointment, but she still hadn’t worked out what to tell him about Janek. She knew how much Robbie would miss him and how upset he would be that Janek hadn’t said goodbye. For now, she would just stick to news of Mrs Foster’s new chicken and the Hitchcock film playing at the Screen on the Green.
She pictured Janek emerging from the steam, striding down the platform towards her, head and shoulders above everyone else, but as the air cleared and the crowd thinned there was only a short woman holding a carpetbag in one hand and a brown suitcase nearly as big as her in the other. Two young girls either side of her wore plaits, just as Robbie had described, and a few feet behind was Robbie himself, struggling under the weight of two cases even larger than the first. He looked as though he had grown; even his face seemed altered, the shape and features elongated so they were not all crammed into the centre anymore. Her instinct was to rush over to help, but there was something about seeing him here with his mother that made her hold back.
Then he noticed her and broke into his lopsided grin. Dropping the bags, he ran towards her and threw his arms around her waist.
‘My, look at you . . . I think you must have grown at least two inches,’ she said, standing back and straightening herself up. ‘I told you the country air would do you good.’
‘You can breathe it easy enough, but you’d die of boredom if you stayed in it too long!’
‘So you must be Maggie?’
Robbie’s mother moved to stand next to him. She was the mirror image of Robbie, with her features set in exactly the same way; not too close together or too far apart. Her nose was slightly too pointed, but the long lashes framing her dark eyes made feminine an otherwise plain face.
‘I’m Nancy. It’s lovely to meet you—I’ve heard so much about you,’ she said, grasping Maggie’s hand. ‘Thank you for looking out for him.’
‘I haven’t, really. He’s been helping me.’
‘I know what you’ve done for him. He’s told me. He couldn’t’ve stayed here if it wasn’t for you. And I know what a little bugger he can be, so it’s no mean feat keeping him out of strife.’
‘He’s been no problem,’ Maggie assured her. She dared not mention the stolen truffle or the black market foods and hiding from the police.
‘It’s meant so much for him to be here for his dad.’
‘Is there any news of your husband?’
‘No, no news, but we’ve made the decision that we’re all going to be together from now on.’
‘Oh, is Robbie staying in Bristol?’
‘No. We’re all coming back.’
Nancy leaned over and patted the smallest girl’s head. ‘Beth, this is Maggie. Say hello.’
‘Hello, Maggie.’
The little girl gave a gap-toothed smile and Maggie kneeled down so that she was eye level with her.
‘You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. Is it real gold?’
Beth giggled.
Nancy pushed the other girl forward. ‘And this is my older girl, Emily.
’
‘Hello, Emily,’ said Maggie. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m seven and Beth is only four.’
‘Well, she is lucky to have you. I only had brothers.’ Maggie stood up. ‘And how was your journey?’ she asked Nancy.
‘It was good; these two slept and Robbie and I played I Spy, didn’t we? Kept beating me though!’ She leaned over and planted a big kiss on Robbie’s cheek.
The effect of this simple maternal gesture on Maggie surprised her. She had never tried to fill Robbie’s mother’s shoes, but the relationship they had formed was the closest thing to motherhood she had ever known and felt she was ever likely to. They had been through a lot in the last few months, but as she watched him now she realised that things would be different; he would be permanently back at school and unable to visit so often. And he had his mother back.
As if reading her mind, he pulled away from his mother and threaded his hand through Maggie’s.
‘I’ll be starting school again on Monday, but I’m going to come and help every afternoon when I finish.’
‘Now, Robbie . . .’ his mother cautioned.
‘It’s fine, Ma, I’ll manage.’
‘You’ll have homework to do.’
‘It’s okay, I can do both.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Maggie. ‘You should listen to your mother, Robbie.’
‘It’ll work out,’ he said confidently. ‘Anyway, where else am I going to get a decent meal!’
His mother tapped his head lightly and laughed, and Maggie twisted the top around the bag of sweets and pushed it down deep inside her pocket.
Chapter Thirty-two
COOKING FOR ONE:
Eke out the bacon ration by serving it with
fried, mashed or sliced potato; mixing a
little chopped cooked bacon with mashed
potatoes and form into cakes before frying
or grilling; adding bacon to scrambled egg.
Ministry of Food, War Cookery Leaflet No. 31
Maggie’s Kitchen Page 27
