An Unsuitable Mother

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Once settled side by side, looking out to sea over their kneecaps, Nell leaned against Billy, lost in reverie. ‘Where shall we live? London or York?’

  ‘I don’t give a fig, so long as I’m with you,’ he answered, rocking her back and forth, their flesh stuck together in the August heat.

  In total agreement, Nell imbibed a deep lungful of all the scents that wafted by – the brine, the shellfish, the donkeys, the frying of chips, the honest sweat – and felt her spirits soar as high as the brilliant sun. Squinting at its reflection glittering on the waves, she exhaled a rapturous sigh. ‘We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, could we? I just wish it didn’t have to end.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He squeezed her gently. ‘But we’ve got most of tomorrow as well.’ Then, as his eyes swept her curves, he became aware that her shoulders were quickly turning pink. ‘Lord, you’re going to have to watch it with your delicate skin.’

  Raking her damp fringe from her brow, Nell puffed out her cheeks and fanned her face. ‘Yes, I should’ve brought a hat.’

  ‘Allow me!’ said Billy, and, reaching to his pile of clothes, he pulled out his forage cap and stuck it on her head at a jaunty angle. ‘There you are, Mrs Kelly! How do you like that titfer?’

  The recipient looked proud at first, but then she sniggered and covered her mouth. ‘Nelly Kelly – won’t Mother be delighted!’

  And they found themselves laughing gleefully again, as Billy exhorted, ‘Come on, let’s go for a dip!’ And, ignoring their audience, they ran yelling into the ice-cold sea.

  * * *

  By the end of an exceptionally fine day, which was to include an abandoned spell of jitterbugging on the dance floor, whilst Billy’s olive skin was to assume an attractive shade of tan, Nell found herself crimson. She had won a photographic award as the girl with the most sunburned back on the beach, but it didn’t feel much of a privilege now. Even a hastily purchased pot of cold cream failed to ease the fire, and by bedtime she was radiating such heat that her lover could not get near without causing dis comfort – hardly conducive to unrestrained passion. All the same, she vowed that there was no way this would prevent her from being in Billy’s arms for their final night together.

  Afterwards, reluctant to go to sleep, draped only in a sheet, for Nell’s burnt skin could bear nothing more, they lay with the curtains apart and their bodies lit by the moon, loath to miss any expression on the other’s face, holding hands and murmuring into the night.

  ‘I’m dreading leaving you,’ Billy voiced his mixed feelings, gently playing with her fingers throughout, ‘but I’m rather glad to have this chance to see my old mum’s all right.’

  Nell softly agreed. ‘You must be worried, and she about you.’

  ‘Yeah, her little baby,’ he grinned.

  Nell smiled too, knowing that he was the youngest, almost twenty years younger than his eldest sibling. ‘I’m more worried in case they send you back to Europe.’

  His tanned body heaved a sigh. ‘Well, they’ll send us sometime, that’s for certain. I’ll almost be glad in a way …’

  ‘Oh, Billy, don’t say that!’ She knew a little of what he had been through, for in their quieter moments she had coaxed it from him: how he hadn’t known where he was going or what was happening, had just done what he was told and gone where he was sent, only to end up on a beach with thousands of his comrades, their backs to the sea; there to wait for days under murderous fire until the rescue boats came; and even more days whilst others boarded ahead of him, forced to watch them sail for England, whilst in the meantime he lost everything – his comrades, his rifle, his equipment, half his uniform, and all personal possessions, even a little china ornament for his mum. As the brave boats had continued to come, he had waded out until the sea lapped his chest, only to wade ashore again when there was no more room aboard; and when his wrung-out carcass was eventually hauled onto a craft and given the tastiest jam sandwich and the best mug of tea he had ever consumed, this was promptly interrupted by a dive-bomber, forcing him once more over the side to swim for his life …

  At her first cry of anguish, Billy had lifted his head from the pillow. ‘No, I mean, if I have to fight ’em, I’d rather it be over there than on our own doorstep – oh, I don’t know what I mean, Nelly, it’s hard to explain …’ Allowing his tousled head to fall back, he hesitated for long moments, before proceeding to admit his shame over the benighted inhabitants of Belgium and France. ‘Those poor bloody wretches, thinking we’d come to save them – well, we thought we had too,’ he interjected a bitter laugh, ‘lapped it up, I did, being thought of as a conquering hero, taking souvenirs off the girls – none of them as pretty as you, mind,’ he added quickly.

  Secure in his love for her, Nell showed this with her smile.

  ‘Didn’t think we’d be running for our lives with our tails between our legs,’ added Billy, picking absently at the sheet that draped them, ‘and leaving the poor blighters to their fate.’

  ‘But you gave of your best, you’ve no need to be ashamed!’ Nell felt tears prick her eyes. Hating that raw anguish, she tried to stroke it away, her hand upon his cheek.

  He turned to meet her gaze for a second, love and pity in his eyes, before averting it to the ceiling. For how could he tell her the real story? That it had been every man for himself. That he had stepped over dead and dying comrades in his haste to escape the blazing hell of Dunkirk. How could he violate such innocence of mind? How could he share with this tender-hearted young thing the sights he had seen: of men’s limbs blown to fleshy rags, of their screaming pleas to be put down; how he had clamped his hands over his ears to try and block out their piteous cries of ‘Mother’ as they died; how he’d frantically dashed their blood and brains and bone from his uniform, as if that would erase the intense humiliation he felt as a soldier, as a man. The ceiling became a battlefield, the whole of it ablaze, he could taste again the smoke, his lungs choking with it, his ears filled with the terrifying shriek of the Stukkas and the hellish shrieks of men, his heart and body leaden with exhaustion and overwhelming loss …

  All he could murmur now was, ‘You’ve no idea how powerless I felt, Nelly. No idea, and I pray with all my heart you never do, my darlin’. Never.’

  Her fingers encased in a grip of steel, Nell tried to ease them out so that she might comfort him, making Billy suddenly aware that he was hurting her.

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ He was immediately attentive, yet his face remained etched with atrocious memories.

  ‘No, no … I’m not hurt.’ And with her hand freed, she was able to stroke him tenderly, trying to impart that she understood, that she loved him more than any other person on earth.

  Forgetting her burnt skin, a distraught Billy reacted by hugging her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Then, just as quickly, he apologised again. ‘I just love you so much, you make everything better …’

  The minutes leaked away, their voices becoming drowsier. Gripped by an awful premonition that she would never see him again, that these were the last moments they would ever share, Nell refused even now to look away, for that would propel her towards the sleep she was trying so hard to fight.

  Even after Billy had gradually succumbed, her eyes remained on his dear face, allowing every detail to be imprinted on her memory, gazing, listening to his breath, feeling it on her cheek …

  She had fallen asleep after all. Her head felt like a ball of fire, and her eyelids were stuck together, but the blinding sun which pierced them told that it was morning. She turned away from the source in discomfort, but could not escape the punishing light that streamed in through the window, and so lay there for a second, rubbing her eyes and attempting to prise them fully open.

  Then, feeling the heat of Billy close by, she roused him gently with a kiss, privately wincing under his instinctive caress, for her face was still as a beacon in contrast to the white linen pillowcase. Yet, they made love again, for it need not be said that this might be their last opportunity fo
r a very long time.

  ‘How long do we have?’ she later enquired softly, cherishing every second.

  Bill lifted an arm to grope on the bedside table. ‘Oh, bloody Nora, me watch’s stopped. I can smell breakfast, though, so it must be about seven.’ With a hasty kiss, he rolled onto the edge of the bed, forwarded the hands of his timepiece, and began to wind it, chatting to her over his shoulder as he did so, before exclaiming, ‘Sod it, now I’ve over-wound the perishing thing!’ He gave the wristwatch a hearty shake, then tapped it on the table, but nothing could get it started again.

  ‘Good!’ beamed Nell, rolling across the mattress to imprison him. ‘We can stay here forever then.’

  ‘’Fraid we can’t!’ Giving her a kiss, then an eye-watering slap on the rear that almost sparked a fight, Billy chivvied her into getting dressed, then both went down to breakfast. His guess had been imprecise, for it was actually closer to eight, and forty-five minutes later they were back in their room, reluctantly, to pack.

  This done, Nell took a final look at the bed, her half-wistful gaze noting that the sheets were covered in black hairs from Bill’s chest and arms. ‘Gosh, it looks like a ruddy dog’s slept in it!’ And with a false laugh, she made a last-minute effort to brush them off.

  ‘Here, don’t forget your budgie box!’ Billy noticed her gas-mask container and quickly hooked it over her shoulder. ‘Whoops, sorry, forgot about the sunburn!’ He gave an apologetic wince, then reminded her, ‘Must get your ration book from the landlady as well.’

  ‘Do I have to give this back?’ Reluctant to depart, protective of the wedding ring he had given her, Nell was gazing at it now, still upon her finger.

  ‘Are you telling me you want a divorce already?’ he scolded with good humour, drawing forth a negating laugh from her. ‘’Course you must keep it – and take good care of it till we can use it for real. Here!’ He took a chain from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘I bought you this so’s you can thread it through and keep wearing it, even if it ain’t on your finger. Don’t do it yet, though!’ he warned with a smile. ‘Else the landlady’ll be calling us a pair o’ dirty dogs.’

  ‘You are so romantic!’ quipped Nell, despite her low spirits. Then she heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and catch our bus then …’

  Downstairs, though, there was to be a reprieve. The landlady, who had shown such kindness all along, now proposed that she look after their luggage so they could catch a later bus, and so, ‘Make the most of your honeymoon,’ she whispered.

  Though at first deeply obliged, and exhilarated at being allowed this extra time together, by the time evening came around the young couple were forced to accept that it might have been better to leave as planned. For this had merely been a stay of execution. Due to Nell’s blistered skin they had constantly been forced to seek out shade. Not that it really mattered, for their spirits already resided there.

  It was almost a relief to arrive back in York. When they alighted in Exhibition Square, it was to be surrounded by the dozens of airmen and soldiers waiting to catch their buses back to camp after an evening out, all extremely merry. Without aid of a street lamp, which were all painted black, Billy held on tight as he steered Nell towards her bus stop, there to wait with her.

  ‘Leave you on your own and give one of these rag-bags a chance to interfere with you? I don’t think!’ And he insisted on catching the bus with her, even though it would mean a return trip to town for himself.

  But it was merely prolonging the agony. Hand in hand, their pace becoming slower and slower as they followed the white line of the kerb to the end of her avenue, Nell finally drew to a halt and turned to him, her face saying everything. Wearing a similar expression, Billy gave a sigh, at the same time nabbing an automatic look at his watch, forgetting that it was useless.

  He gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘I’ll have to see if Mr Precious can do anything with it – he does a lot of delicate work with instruments so he might be able to. Well, I reckon I oughta go …’ Implanting a last wistful kiss, then holding Nell at arm’s length and gazing into her eyes, he pledged that they would see each other before too long. ‘Keep your chin up, gel.’ Then, reluctantly, his hands released their hold, and their owner made tracks for his billet.

  Unable to bear the poignant departure, her suitcase in hand, Nell immediately turned and hurried for home.

  ‘Ah, the wanderer returns!’ announced her father in a pleased manner as she entered. ‘We can go to bed.’ But as he turned off the wireless and rose, he thought to ask, ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Then he chuckled at her mother. ‘From the colour of her face it certainly looks as though she did.’

  ‘Oh yes, it was smashing,’ replied the luminous Nell. ‘But I’d better not keep you and Mother up any longer.’ Case in hand, she made for the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll look forward to it,’ supplied her mother, rising to pat the cushions. ‘Heavens, your skin does look angry – dab some calamine on before you go to bed.’ Then she made a pensive addition. ‘You know, you wouldn’t think a weekend is long, but we really missed you, didn’t we, Father?’

  Touched, and rather guilty at deceiving them, and already pining for Bill, Nell felt her eyes start to burn. Hence, she increased her pace. ‘I missed you too – goodnight then!’

  A lump in her throat, she tried her best not to let it get the better of her as she undressed and climbed into bed. But the moment she laid her head upon the pillow, the image returned of Billy walking away. Then she buried her face under the covers, and quietly sobbed.

  3

  The next day it was boring old work as usual. Nell was thankful that there would soon be a new career to take her mind off things. But there was a week to get through before then.

  How time crawled. It felt like a year had gone past and it was still only Monday teatime. Ever despondent over Billy’s departure, Nell sat at the table, nibbling on the home-grown salad, trying to take her mind off him by watching her parents, wondering what was going through their minds as they ate in silence – had it been just herself and Billy at the table she was sure they would have never stopped chattering. Drat! There she was, thinking of him again already.

  Only the clicking of Father’s false teeth was annoying enough to lure her mind away. Mr Spottiswood had developed the ability to clean the underside of his artificial palette without removing the dentures. Using his tongue to whip any debris from beneath, he rolled the clackers from cheek to cheek and around his entire mouth, giving them a thorough vacuum before fitting them back into place again. Why did he persist in doing that, as if it were some sort of art form? Skilful it might be, but the way it warped his face, the dentures jutting forth as if to pop from his mouth at any minute and making him look like a camel, and that awful clickety-clacking they made, it was so uncouth. Did he assume he was being discreet in not actually removing his teeth, or did he just not care?

  Nell’s eyes flickered to her mother, who found it as irritating as she did, she could tell that by the slight flare to her nostrils. Yet her mother never dared criticise him, even when he did it at someone else’s house. Poor Mother, dying to be considered as a pillar of the community due to her prominent role with the WVS, purchasing its uniform so she could stand out from lesser women, yet brought down to earth by a husband who did not know how to eat in polite company. And that was not all. Mother had tried to allude that it was not the done thing to sit at the table in one’s shirt sleeves, but there was Father, lord of the manor, with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Nell could not say she blamed him in this heat, but it obviously grated on Mother. How awful to feel that way about someone you were married to: wanting to change them. Nell couldn’t ever envisage being annoyed by anything Billy did. She loved the way he walked and talked and ate, the way his giggles shook his entire body – he was a proper giggler, her Bill – all his little fads, such as picking the strands of orange peel out of the
marmalade before spreading it on his toast …

  Trying not to sigh, she crunched the last radish on her plate, laid down her cutlery, and attempted to make conversation.

  ‘One of the girls at work said they found a German parachute in the field at the back of their house after the other night’s raid.’

  ‘And would she know what a German parachute looked like if it fell on her?’ enquired her father in a supercilious tone. ‘No. You want to tell her to watch it, or she’ll find herself locked up for spouting such rubbish.’

  ‘It’ll be fifth columnists who’ve planted it,’ explained her mother. ‘Don’t let it frighten you, dear.’

  Nell gave a nod and fell silent again. Then, when her parents had also finished, she helped her mother to clear the table, whilst Father seated himself in his armchair with the evening newspaper.

  Her mind far away, wondering whether Billy had reached London yet, she was helping her mother to wash the pots when a disgusted exclamation drew both women’s curiosity, and they wandered back to the sitting room.

  ‘What is it, dear?’ Thelma asked her husband, tea towel still in hand.

  Nell’s father regarded her for a moment, the expression on his face turning from annoyance to disgust, as he announced in a tart and slightly melodramatic voice. ‘I was going to ask what you enjoyed best about your weekend in Scarborough, but I won’t trouble you now, for it’s quite evident!’ And he bequeathed the newspaper, suitably folded to display a laughing photograph of a group of young people in swimming costumes, with Nell at their centre, under the banner: Girl with the most sunburnt back.

  Nell’s heart leaped as her father stabbed a finger at the dark-haired man beside her in the photograph and mouthed sarcasm. ‘One didn’t imagine your friend Barbara to be so hirsute!’