When the Lights Come on Again

by Maggie Craig

  ‘How dare you talk about these children like that!’

  She crossed the floor to stand by the Thomsons, laying a comforting hand on young Charlie’s shoulder. There was definitely something moving in his hair.

  ‘People couldn’t afford to supply half the things on that stupid list. That doesn’t mean they don’t care about their children. They care about them a lot. They’re not used to sending them away, that’s all. And how do you think you’d cope if you had to bring up a family in one room - your only washing facility a sink out on the landing, shared with several other families?’ Liz gave the woman a head-to-toe appraisal. ‘Not very well, I shouldn’t think.’

  There was a stunned silence. Nurse’s uniform or not, nineteen-year-old girls weren’t supposed to speak to their elders like that.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ said Amelia Buchanan quietly. She was digging in her handbag. Liz wondered if she was looking for her copy of the Riot Act, or perhaps a set of handcuffs - or a cat o’ nine tails.

  But she was wrong. With what could only be described as an air of triumph, Amelia found a brown leather horseshoe purse, extracted two half-crowns and extended them to her.

  ‘Would you take Charlie and his brothers and sister out for an ice-cream, my dear? Come back in about half an hour.’

  ‘Could I interest you in a cup of tea?’

  Standing on the breezy station platform waiting for the train which would take them back to Glasgow, Liz turned at the sound of Adam’s voice, forgetting for a moment he would be able to see that she’d been crying.

  ‘Don’t you want to sit in the refreshment room with the rest of them?’

  ‘No. I want to stand out here in the fresh air with you.’ He held out a chunky green Delft cup. ‘Not the delicate porcelain you deserve, but it’s wet and hot. One with sugar, one without. Which would you prefer? No saucers either, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Which do you want?’

  ‘I asked first.’

  ‘I like sugar in my tea.’

  ‘So do I,’ he said. Overriding her protests, he handed her the cup holding the sweetened tea. ‘You need the energy. It’s been a hard day. Fancy a seat?’ He indicated a bench behind them.

  Holding his cup carefully, he lowered himself down, tilting his fair head back against the stone wall of the station buildings and closing his eyes. ‘You’re not upset about the Thomsons, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  She’d come back from the ice-cream parlour to find that his mother had done the impossible and found someone prepared to take all four children. No, she wasn’t upset about the Thomsons. She was upset because she was tired and emotional and because of the argument she’d had with the stupid woman who wouldn’t take the children. And because things hadn’t worked out with Mario last night

  ‘Who was that woman who took them? She seemed a bit-’

  ‘Eccentric?’ Adam suggested, opening his eyes and giving her a tired smile. ‘She’s a friend of my mama’s. Mad as a hatter, but in the nicest possible way. Got this huge house further down the coast where she lives with a husband who plays golf all day, an aged father and an equally aged and usually bad-tempered housekeeper who cooks like Escoffier. Not to mention two huge and hairy golden Labradors and an army of cats. When you ask her whether she likes children, she gives you the W.C. Fields answer. You know,’ he said. ‘Boiled or fried?’

  ‘But will the children be all right there?’ she cried, alarmed by this description of the household to which the Thomsons were now heading.

  ‘They’ll have a whale of a time,’ Adam said confidently. ‘She actually loves children, but she didn’t volunteer to have any because she thinks she’s no good with them.’

  ‘Your mother used her legendary powers of persuasion on her?’

  ‘You might say that. In actual fact, she’s great with children. Treats ’em like little adults and they adore it - and her. Right now she’s probably asking Charlie if he’d care for a brandy and soda after the exertions of his journey.’

  Adam had closed his eyes again whilst he’d been speaking. Now he opened them wide, turned his head and looked Liz straight in the eye. ‘After she’s deloused him and the rest of his siblings, of course.’

  She sighed and took a gulp of tea, feeling the relief of the warm, sweet liquid sliding down her throat. ‘I know, I know. A few of them were verminous, a lot of them were pretty grubby, some of them had snotty noses - but that’s not their fault, Adam! You might even argue that it’s not really their parents’ fault. When you see the terrible conditions some folk live in, it’s amazing how well so many of those children today were turned out. They weren’t all toerags.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘A lot of them were very neat and clean.’

  ‘Some people have a real struggle. Lots of people need to be educated about things like hygiene.’

  ‘I know,’ he agreed again. She looked into his hazel eyes and thought that maybe he did.

  ‘Drink your tea,’ he said gently.

  They sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

  ‘We’re two nations, aren’t we? It’s hard to see how anything positive could come out of a war, but if the country’s going to ask everyone to get involved - men, women and children - then surely it owes something to those people when it’s all over. Perhaps we might even manage to get rid of the blasted class system.’

  He smiled at her look of surprise. ‘Much though it might astonish you, Miss MacMillan, I think it holds us back too. You don’t have to be a communist and want a revolution. There are peaceful ways of achieving change.’

  The train was almost empty. They found a vacant compartment quite easily.

  ‘I do like sugar in my tea,’ Liz confided, making conversation about nothing because she was so tired, ‘although I suppose I’ll have to give it up if rationing comes in. D’you think it will?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said vaguely. ‘I don’t know.’ His voice was thick with tiredness, and she could feel his body settling into lines of fatigue as they sat back together on the cushioned bench seat.

  Jim Barclay passed their compartment. He poked his head through the lowered window in the closed door.

  ‘I knew there was a reason why I’d bought this Glasgow Herald,’ he told Liz. ‘There’s a letter to the editor here suggesting that Britain and Germany should simply agree not to bomb one another’s cities. How very civilized.’ The sarcasm was heavy.

  ‘So have we all been engaged on a fruitless journey and an unnecessary effort today? We could have left the wee horrors where they were?’

  ‘I wish,’ said the young man wearily. ‘Going to find somewhere to stretch out, MacMillan. See you later.’

  He gave her a wave and passed on up the carriage. He wasn’t the only one who was dog-tired. As Jim had been talking to her, Adam’s head had been gradually nodding towards her shoulder. It came to rest, warm and heavy and solid. Was he asleep? She tried to squint at his face to find out, but it was too close to her own.

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Adam?’ she asked again.

  There was no reply. It would be cruel to disturb him. And on a day like today, when all of them thought they knew only too well what tomorrow might bring, there was something very reassuring about his closeness.

  He was still asleep when the train got to Glasgow. Liz had been unwilling to waken him until the very last minute. If she were writing a prescription for him and Jim she wouldn’t bother with sulphonamides or any new wonder drug. She’d go for regular meals and a few good nights’ sleep.

  As the train came to a halt she edged away from Adam a fraction - as much as she could with the weight of his head on her shoulder. Gosh, it was heavy. All that brain power, no doubt.

  Tired as he was, he did have to get off the train. Liz lifted her free hand to give him a shake. The door of the compartment shrieked its protest as someone pushed it open abruptly.

  Liz turned to give the noisy person a telling-off. The words di
ed on her lips. It was Mario.

  Twenty-four

  He looked very serious, but his sombre expression lightened when he saw the sleeping Adam, dead to the world and still slumped against Liz. She felt the beginnings of a blush as Mario stood looking down at the two of them.

  ‘Should I be jealous?’

  ‘Don’t be daft! It’s only Adam.’

  Ridiculous to think of anyone being jealous of her and Adam. Ridiculous that she was blushing. Why should Mario Rossi be jealous anyway? To cover her growing embarrassment she turned to Adam and gave him a shake.

  ‘Adam. We’re back in Glasgow. Wake up, Adam.’

  His eyelids fluttered open. He gave her the sweetest of smiles, murmured her first name and closed them again. Mario laughed, bent forward and physically hauled Adam upright.

  ‘Buchanan. You’re leaning on my girl’s shoulder. Shift yourself.’

  My girl? Liz rose to her feet, moving her freed shoulder up and down to relieve the stiffness in it. She turned awkwardly in the confined space and stood as far away as she could from Mario. Which wasn’t very far. It was a good job they had Adam to focus on.

  ‘What?’ He straightened up so quickly it was comical to watch. Then he sank back against the cushions again, blinking. His thick fair hair mussed up from the prolonged contact with Liz’s shoulder, he looked like a startled lion cub.

  ‘You’ve been asleep leaning on Liz, you idiot,’ said Mario, throwing a grin at her. She tried to smile back, but she imagined that she looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. Mr Rossi’s smile ought to be registered as a lethal weapon. Thank God, once more, for Adam.

  ‘What?’ he asked again, yawning hugely. He looked up at the two of them. ‘Sorry, MacMillan. I do beg your pardon.’

  ‘Nae bother,’ Liz said, smiling down at him. ‘Nae bother at all.’

  There was a commotion in the corridor outside. Mario stood hurriedly aside as Cordelia Maclntyre came hurtling into the compartment. She threw herself down next to Adam. One glance at her face was enough to know that she’d had some bad news: so bad she was incapable of expressing it in words.

  With a cry of ‘Oh, Adam!’ she turned her face into his shoulder, breaking into loud sobs. His arm came round her in an instant.

  ‘That’s what I came to tell you,’ said Mario. ‘Looks like Cordelia’s already found out. It’s been all over the wireless today.’

  ‘What has?’ demanded Liz, looking with concern at Cordelia weeping on Adam’s shoulder. She didn’t much like the girl, but she couldn’t witness such obvious distress and remain unmoved.

  Mario took a grim pleasure in being the bearer of bad tidings. ‘While you were having your trip to the seaside, my children,’ he told them, ‘enjoying the pleasures of the Ayrshire coast, the Germans were enjoying the pleasures of Poland. They marched over the border this morning.’

  Adam tightened his grip on the weeping Cordelia and looked up at Liz and Mario, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘So now it can only be a matter of hours.’

  Persuaded by silent messages from both men that the most tactful course of action was to beat a strategic retreat and leave Cordelia to Adam, Liz got off the train and walked up the platform with Mario. She’d expected hustle and bustle, but the big station was eerily deserted, the few passengers coming off the train dispersing quickly and passing out under the portico into the September evening.

  ‘Lots of trains have been cancelled, apparently,’ said Mario when she commented on the unusual emptiness of the station. ‘Most of the Clyde steamers are off too. They’re running a skeleton service for the folk who live on the islands, but there’ll be no pleasure trips this weekend.’

  Amelia Buchanan passed them on the concourse, giving them both a cheerful wave.

  ‘Is that why you came to meet the train?’ asked Liz, watching Adam’s mother going out of the station and disappearing round a corner out of sight. She must be heading for the taxi rank. Adam was probably going to drive Cordelia home to her flat in the West End once she had recovered. The Buchanans were a considerate family. She repeated her question.

  ‘Did you come to meet us to tell us the news?’

  ‘No.’

  Funny how one little word could carry so much meaning. Mario smiled when he saw how she was mulling it over.

  ‘Stop here for a minute,’ he said, indicating a large pillar. ‘Please?’ Liz put her back to it and waited for him to speak.

  ‘I came to apologize for last night.’

  She couldn’t think of what to say. He said it for her. At least, he articulated what he thought was the problem.

  ‘You’re very shy, aren’t you?’ His voice was soft. ‘With boys, I mean.’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ she managed, and dropped her eyes.

  ‘Look at me, Elisabetta. Please?’

  His voice was like dark brown velvet smooth, warm and comforting. She couldn’t resist it: especially when he called her by the Italian version of her name.

  ‘Would you like to try again?’

  ‘Not the pictures.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘No, not the pictures. I thought we might try it the Italian way. How about having a meal with my father and me? This Sunday maybe, after your stint at the hospital?’

  Liz liked the sound of the Italian way. A meal with his father as chaperone. She lifted her chin.

  ‘I’d love to. Thank you.’

  Before she had time to realize what was happening, a smiling Mario bobbed forward and pressed a swift kiss on her forehead.

  ‘What big eyes you’ve got!’

  He was laughing at her. Then he saw something in those big eyes which took the smile off his handsome face.

  ‘Och, Liz. Don’t panic. I’m not planning on going any further.’ What he said next sent goosebumps racing up and down her spine. ‘Not unless and until you ask me to.’

  Liz swallowed. ‘That might not be for a long time.’

  ‘That’s all right. I can be patient.’

  Could he? Perhaps that was all she needed. And if she could work at getting rid of these silly inhibitions, perhaps she need never tell him about Eric Mitchell. But was it fair to keep him hanging on?

  ‘Why are you bothering with me?’ she asked. ‘You could get any girl you wanted.’

  ‘I don’t want any girl. I want you. And don’t you ever look in the mirror, Liz?’

  That made her smile.

  ‘You’re as charming as your father - and as big a liar.’

  Adam and Cordelia were walking slowly towards them. He had his arm draped about her shoulders. ‘I’m taking Cordelia for a quick drink.’

  Mario looked concerned. ‘Should you not have something to eat as well, Cordelia? You look awfully pale.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be home too late,’ said Adam. ‘She’s very tired.’ Cordelia seemed content to let him speak for her. ‘You must be tired too, Liz,’ he added, turning to her. ‘If you want to come with us, I’ll drop you off after I’ve taken Cordelia home.’

  Liz shook her head. She couldn’t imagine that Cordelia would welcome her company tonight.

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine on the train.’

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ promised Mario. ‘See her safely on to it. How about we all come into town tomorrow night to see the blackout? We could meet up here.’

  Amusement lit up Adam’s weary face.

  ‘To see the blackout? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’

  Stumbling bleary-eyed out of bed on Saturday morning, Liz pulled on her dressing gown, thrust her feet into her slippers and padded through to the kitchen. She would make herself some tea and take it back to bed with her. With a bit of luck nobody else was up yet.

  Her hand on the round knob, she pushed the door open and stood there for a minute. Everybody was up: her mother, her father and Eddie. He gestured towards the Glasgow Herald, lying on the table in front of them, sliding the paper round so that she could read it The headline stood out in hea
vy black letters: GERMANY INVADES POLAND.

  Pulling out a chair, Liz sank down into it. ‘I haven’t been having a nightmare, then.’

  Eddie shot her the oddest of looks across the table. There was something almost mischievous about it.

  ‘No, you haven’t been dreaming, Liz.’ He gestured again to the paper. ‘It says here that they flew down the Vistula yesterday, bombing all the bridges.’

  ‘It’s wicked,’ said Sadie, shaking her head. ‘Wicked. May God forgive that man Hitler.’

  William MacMillan snarled at his wife. ‘What would you know about it, woman?’

  Sadie drew herself up and spoke with simple dignity. ‘I know how I would feel if it was the Clyde.’

  Liz gave her a silent cheer, and for a moment it was as if the Vistula was the river flowing past yards from the house.

  Finding his wife - for once - refusing to be his victim, William MacMillan glared at his son. ‘Why in the name of God should we go to war for a bunch of bloody foreigners? Even the Prime Minister said that, didn’t he? A faraway country of which we know little. Why? Answer me that!’

  There was a pause. Liz knew what the answer was. Because Britain and France had let Hitler get away with it for too long. Because the two great democracies had a moral duty to their weaker neighbours. Because they couldn’t simply stand by and watch as country after country fell under the jackboot of ruthless dictatorship. Because it was time to make a stand.

  She knew that William MacMillan wouldn’t understand any of that. She left it to Eddie to give his father the only answer which he could accept.

  ‘Because if we don’t, it’ll be our turn next, that’s why.’

  Later that morning Liz went up to Glasgow with her mother and Mrs Crawford to a special service at Glasgow Cathedral. On the journey up, Annie Crawford spoke briefly about her brother Alan, who had fallen at the Somme during the Great War.