by Milly Adams
They had used a wire brush on the rust from the chains that held the seat, and then on the uprights. ‘I need to see if it’s sound,’ Kate had said. ‘I can’t have you hurting yourself unnecessarily. What on earth would your mum and dad say when they come home?’
She tested the seat by sitting on it and bouncing up and down. ‘If it will take my great weight, it will take yours.’
Lizzy watched closely. ‘It’s all right, Aunt Kate. I can’t even hear it creak.’
‘I’ll give it a go, just to make sure.’ Kate had pushed with her legs, taking the swing back and letting herself go, swinging higher and higher, feeling the air rushing through her. Higher, flying up and back, up again, looking over the gardens. Fran was clipping the hedge with the shears. ‘Send the children round,’ Kate called, before she swung down.
She heard Fran say, ‘Where are you?’
She swung up again. ‘Here,’ she laughed, dipping down again. Lizzy was screaming with laughter.
Kate heard Fran’s guffaw, then her shout, ‘You’re nothing but a big child.’
Up she had swung again. ‘Come on, Fran, send the children, and come too.’ She was whizzing back down.
Lizzy was jumping up and down. ‘It’s safe. You can see it’s safe for me. Stop now, let me have a go.’
The music of their laughter in their garden drowned out the early owl, and the faint shouts of support from the bowling team as they played their latest league match. Fran and the children had arrived, and it had been fun. Milly, Sandra and Tim were round here again this evening, and their laughter drowned the poor old owl, yet again.
Kate returned to her darning, weaving the needle in and out. ‘Well, Mum, who’d have thought I’d be here, at the same kitchen table, darning your granddaughter’s socks.’ She found that she talked to herself rather too much these days, but it was so strange, finding little bits of her past in the simplest of things. Behind her, the wireless muttered. At nine the news might carry details of the bombing of Bristol yesterday. They’d heard the planes flying over and, as Percy’s ARP underling, Kate had stood, as ordered, in the streets blowing her whistle while Percy shouted, ‘To the shelters.’ Everyone ignored them.
‘The planes are too high; they’re on their way to some other poor people, Percy,’ Mrs Martin had muttered, while Stella Easton had just stood, staring at the sky, despair on her face. Poor girl. Was her fiancé Bradley safe in a POW camp?
The sock was finished. Kate held it to her face. This was her child’s; somehow the shape of Lizzy was in the sock, in her shoes. To hug them to her was the closest she allowed herself to get to Lizzy, because she was no longer her child, and there was only so much she could bear. One day all this would come to an end, when Sarah returned, or Derek, because two in the same family couldn’t die. Tom Rees’s God wouldn’t be so cruel. Or would he?
There was a knock at the door. She checked the clock: eight twenty-five. Was it Fran? But she’d just walked round the side, into the garden. Kate replaced the sock in the mending box and headed for the front door. She opened it, and there was Tom Rees.
‘I thought of you – or your God, actually – and here you are. Does this make me a witch, or some sort of pagan? Are you going to duck me in the village pond?’
He stepped back off the step. ‘Are you cross with me, or just cross?’
He looked better these days. His skin was tanned, and his sermons were lively and shorter, which was always a good thing, when Kate was there under sufferance.
She smiled. ‘Neither, or perhaps a little bit of – just cross.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Good with a mangle, are you? I have a pile of washing to finish tomorrow, as Little Worthy only likes washing out on a Monday, or so I was reminded by Mrs B yesterday.’ She crossed her arms. What did Tom want?
‘Ah, Mrs B. Should I have a word with her on your behalf?’
‘What, and tell her that she has nothing to be bitter about? That two children dead and a bolter of a husband are no cause for complaint?’ There it was again, the sharpness that somehow came to the fore with this man, and she didn’t know why, except that today her back hurt even more than usual and she was sure the damned mangle was implicated. ‘Her children would be eighteen and nineteen now, old enough to be in the army, so perhaps they would have died anyway, but that won’t help her.’
He was looking at the rose that grew in the centre of the front garden. The darkness was falling fast, and the colour could only be imagined if you didn’t already know it was red.
Kate said, ‘Mum would not allow red and white flowers in the same vase. Bandages and blood, so therefore bad luck.’
‘You miss her?’
He was bending slightly, and running his hand through the lavender that grew along the path, right up to the porch. The scent was released into the warm evening. Kate murmured, ‘I miss her. She loved me.’
Tom Rees, his dog collar clearly visible in the dusk, said, ‘Most parents do.’
She did not answer, but said, ‘I reckon that dog collar is a breach of blackout, Vicar.’
Fran called from the front gate. ‘Send ’em back, would you?’
To Tom’s raised eyebrows, Kate said, ‘Not your collars – the children. They’re in the garden playing on the swing. I suppose I have to ask you in, because you’re not going to go away, are you?’
He laughed and shook his head.
Kate said, ‘Follow me then.’ She waved to Fran. ‘I’ll prise them off and send ’em packing. I’ll watch until they reach your gate, and you can herd them in from there. Come along, Vicar, your collar can light the way. Go on through to the kitchen.’
She stood to one side. Tom headed for the kitchen where she indicated one of the kitchen chairs, before hurrying into the garden. ‘Bedtime for Mrs Billings’s bunch, now, if you please; not in a minute. Lizzy, you’d better come in too and head for bed.’
The children knew better than to argue and ran through the house, with Kate in hot pursuit. They dashed out of the gate, leaving it swinging.
‘Not so fast – were you born in a barn? Come and shut this, one of you, if you please.’
Milly did, before taking off after the others, who were haring into their own front garden. How on earth would they feel when they returned to London? Kate shook her head. She didn’t allow herself to think of London, now that she had Brucie’s key to her flat safely back in her possession. She had read his accompanying letter, full of protestations and apologies, and had torn it up, letting the pieces flutter into the waste bin. After a moment she had grabbed them out and burned them in the sink. Lizzy had watched the smoke spiralling up and said, ‘He’s made you cross, hasn’t he?’
‘It will pass,’ she had said, knowing that if it didn’t pass, it would fade. Things did.
She looked up at the sky; the moon was hidden by scurrying clouds. Was rain on the way? The gardens could do with it, or she’d have to raid the water butt again. She hurried inside. Lizzy was talking to the vicar, who was pouring water into the kettle. He waggled a little screw of paper at Kate. ‘I’ve brought unused tea leaves: better than gold dust, nicer than diamonds.’
‘Indeed, and this sounds like a potential bribe. What do you want? It must be something big.’ She placed the teapot on the draining board. ‘You started, so you can finish while I chase Lizzy up the wooden hill.’
Lizzy grumbled, but ran up the stairs. They ran two inches of warm water, not hot. It was not cold enough to have the range on full blast and, besides, Kate wanted to preserve their logs. She had collected a load of fallen branches from the woods and sawn them up, but many villagers had similar ideas, so it was definitely the early bird that caught the worm.
It was time for teeth, then into bed. Kate listened as Lizzy read a story. It must help her reading, surely? She thought of Tom in the kitchen. They hadn’t really talked since she had flounced out of the annexe, and the memory of her overreaction to his comment about lying embarrassed her.
She gave this
enchanting child a swift kiss. Not quick enough, for Lizzy caught her in a hug, her arms around her neck, pulling her close. Kate did nothing, unable to bear it. After a moment Lizzy released her, disappointed, turning on her side. ‘Goodnight, Aunt Kate.’
‘Sleep well.’ Kate left. She shut the door and leaned back, smelling Lizzy’s hair, feeling the pressure of those arms.
She hurried downstairs and into the kitchen, pulling out a chair. The back door was shut, the blackout drawn, a light on. She said, ‘Not a chink. But dear old Percy is disappointed, because everyone is so good these days. Even you.’
Tom grinned. ‘Well, I put my foot in it last time, without in any way meaning it, so I thought I must improve.’
She ignored his words, because she didn’t want to have to comment. Instead she toasted him with her cup of tea and sipped. ‘Ambrosia. Now what’s the going payment for tea?’
The clock on the wall was ticking. The range gurgled; it needed feeding. She found a log from the basket and tossed it into the furnace, and then a second, because it really was very low. She slammed the range door shut and returned.
Tom was drawing a couple of sheets of paper from his pocket, and a pen, the top of which he unscrewed. He laid both on the table.
She said, ‘Today’s reading is from … what, Tom?’
He cleared his throat. She almost blanched. It surely wasn’t going to be a sermon, because this is what he did when he was about to launch into his message for the week. Last Sunday it had been on sorrow: Psalm 77. ‘Will the Lord cast us off for ever? Is his mercy clean gone for ever? Hath God forgotten to be gracious?’ She had been sitting at the back of the church, wishing that Stella Easton had come to sit with her and had not closed herself off in her sadness. Kate feared she would one day break completely in half, so rigidly did she hold her body.
Tom had then discussed one of John Donne’s devotions, droning on about how Donne had lost all that he held dear. She had been annoyed because Donne suggested that suffering makes people pay attention, forcing them to look to God, who might seem the only source of comfort. Tom had leaned on the pulpit. ‘Perhaps, even when we cry out in our suffering that God isn’t here, we reveal our longing for Him.’
He had looked around the congregation, and did she imagine it or did his gaze linger on Mrs B, on Stella, on Adrian Fletcher, who sat at the back with his mother and wife. Lastly Tom had looked right at her, for goodness’ sake. He boomed, ‘But let us not forget that mere mortals – in other words, people – can be here to soothe, love and support, and surely that’s an example of God at work. Yes, let us not forget that.’
He was fiddling with his dog collar now, picking up his pen, twiddling, replacing it. Finally she said, ‘Look, Vicar, do get on with it, there are only so many hours in the day, and I’m growing older and more wrinkled by the minute.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You, Katie Watson, will never be old or wrinkled. Someone will strangle you long before that.’
‘Not a suitable remark from a man of the cloth, methinks.’ She finished her tea and refilled both their cups. ‘You or me to have the tea leaves?’
He said, ‘You.’
‘Good, then you may have some milk.’
He laughed again and drank, before replacing his cup carefully in the saucer. ‘My mother always likes to drink tea from a bone-china cup.’
‘Well, that’s enormously interesting, and I will bear it in mind if she ever comes knocking, but why are you here?’
‘I’ll get to the point.’ He moved his pen from the sheets of closely written paper. ‘I have concerns.’ He paused and looked up at her.
Kate swallowed. What had Lizzy said? Where had she been going wrong? Would the child be taken from her?
He continued, ‘Stella Easton is, I believe, in the midst of great misery and lack of direction. She saw me today to tell me she feels she cannot continue at the school, let alone bring the fund-raising Anything Goes into even the first stages of production. We have, as you know, already started auditions and are some weeks into the school term, so it will be disastrous. Added to that, we have, as you well know from our similarly disastrous discussion not so long ago, Mrs B, who seems unable to move into any sort of light. And then there is Adrian Fletcher, who is similarly mourning, though possibly in a confused way, and needs … something.’ He waved his pen in the air. The gold nib was ink-stained. ‘Finally, we come to Miss Kate Watson.’
She put up her hand. ‘I am perfectly all right, thank you very much, and Lizzy is—’
This time it was Tom who put up his hand. ‘Exactly, and you are the only one who can work a miracle for Little Worthy. Don’t you see, this show is the answer to everything? Mrs B plays the piano and can accompany any songs. Adrian Fletcher? Well, we can find him a role, even if it’s only helping to make scene sets. And Miss Easton … Now, Kate, if the wind changes, you’ll stay looking like that, and it will make you more of a gargoyle than me. Now, I say again: you are the only one who can get to work and save Stella, who must continue with the school and the production, for her own well-being.’
She said nothing.
Tom was running his finger down the page. ‘Yes, what I need from you is to convince Stella that we need her to keep both the school and the production going. After yesterday’s bombing of Bristol and the earlier bombing of Yeovil, the villagers don’t know if they could be next. They are hungry and sugar-starved; their menfolk and some of their daughters are heaven knows where; and some are already dealing with loss. Nonetheless they collect paper, metal. The WI grubs in rubbish tips for Kilner jars, or whatever jars they can find. Winter is coming, and Christmas will be without much ruddy cheer.’
She smiled. ‘Heavens, Vicar, you’d best wash your mouth out with soap, swearing like that.’
His smile was broad. Was it her imagination or was his lip becoming more flexible at the corner? He continued, ‘You must convince Stella that she has a duty to stick with it, rather than turning tail and running away. After all, surely we all need something to work towards, other than war. Through her efforts she will help to bring light to our darkness, and money into the coffers.’ He sat back, his finger having reached the bottom of the page.
‘I thought you were going to say “money into the coffins”,’ Kate said.
He laughed, patting the sweat from his forehead. ‘I do find you infuriating. Would you just answer me with a “yes”? Please.’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, but it’s a “no”. I will talk to Stella by all means, but I have no clout in the village, so I can’t persuade her – or anyone – to do anything.’
He sighed, and now he looked at his second sheet. ‘I thought you might say that, so on I go. We have children in the village who have had to leave their homes and live with strangers. Are they to lose their school, and a loved teacher as well?’
She reached across and snatched the paper from beneath his finger and waved it at him. ‘You should be talking to Stella, for heaven’s sake.’
Tom Rees snatched it back. It tore, leaving a corner in Kate’s hand. He said, ‘Now look what you’ve done.’ He gave her no chance to reply, but sped on. ‘You did tell her you would do whatever you could for the school and the show.’
She raised her hand again. ‘I did, several times. She turned me down each time, saying she could manage.’
He shook his head. ‘She patently can’t. She’s been in this adrenalin panic, keeping frantically busy, and inevitably she’s crashed. I can’t do more than help with Religious Studies at the school, such is my pastoral work, but with Lizzy at school, you have the time to take on the three Rs, at least for the small ones. But most importantly, you are the only one with the experience to help steer the all-important show.’ He checked the page again, then threw it to one side, looking up at her.
Kate shook her head again. ‘No.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, don’t be so bloody difficult. I need you to shove your way in to Stella’s side, bec
ause she likes you – heaven knows why.’ He folded the paper. ‘The village needs her, and I need you, and I’m not going until you agree.’
Kate stared at his pen, which was rolling very slowly towards the edge of the table. Tom scooped it up.
She stood. ‘Turn out the light when you go. I’m off to bed.’
She turned towards the door. Lizzy stood there, her teddy under her arm. ‘You have to do it, Aunt Kate. You’re so good. I saw her at the club, Vicar. I peeped round the corner and watched; she made me want to cry, but I don’t know why, and I never wanted it to end. Poor Miss Easton. You should help, because I think you’re the only one who can. And besides, I don’t want to go to another school if she leaves. I didn’t know her name is Stella.’
Kate sighed and said, ‘You mustn’t call her that. Now go to bed.’
Tom Rees made his way back to the vicarage in the dark, smiling. Would he have swung it on his own? He doubted it, and blessed Lizzy, because the reason he had to involve Kate was that he was sure sorrow and confusion were buried deep inside her, and he was determined that she must be helped. Therefore Kate had to have another role in the village – something that would not only use her skills, but would gain her the support and liking of everyone. Yes, there had been improvements in the attitude of some, but this was his village and he was intent on helping where he could.
He whistled as he walked, his hands in his pockets. He would create a pool of healing, all being well, and Hastings would be proud of him. He looked ahead and saw the slit headlights of a car drawing to a halt outside the vicarage. He lengthened his stride. It was past ten o’clock, so who on earth?
He saw a figure emerge from the car, with a suitcase. He heard the voice that thanked the taxi driver. It was Pauline, his ex-fiancée. He waited for his heart to leap, but it did not. She saw him and ran, flinging her arms around his neck. ‘Darling, say you forgive me. I made a terrible mistake and I have come back to you.’
Still he felt nothing, but that was absurd. He held Pauline close and kissed her cheek, searching for words, trying to accommodate his surprise.
