by AJ Pearce
‘Harold and I were at college together,’ said William. ‘He’s now in the Royal Engineers. Bomb disposal.’
He said it with admirable pride. It was never easy for William to be reminded that all his friends had joined up, but he hadn’t made the cut. Bunty worried incessantly that he thought himself a failure and while I always told her she was wrong, we both knew she wasn’t.
And now here he was, doing his best to show off his behemoth of a chum, in case I should like him and because if I did, it would make Bunty happy. It was actually terrifically kind and I couldn’t be cross with any of them. Harold was far from a dismal article.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Harold,’ I said, making Bunty look faint with joy. ‘Shall we take a walk over towards Kensington?’
Everyone declared this The Most Tremendous Idea. Harold said he’d heard that the bookshop had been blown up the night before last but no one had been hurt, and we all agreed this was a huge relief. Then William chipped in to say that a man with a ukulele had been entertaining the people sleeping in Kensington Tube and we all said this must be an absolute tonic. The four of us were making a lovely effort to be gay about things, even though the news reports about the raids had made sobering reading. By the time we got to the High Street, we were a cheerful party indeed.
Harold seemed a good egg, even if his laugh did make your ears ache. He even made a decent fist at being interested in Woman’s Friend, and he put up with silences when I couldn’t think of anything to say. But I didn’t go weak at the knees or want to flutter my eyelashes at him.
I reasoned that quite probably he wasn’t awfully interested in me either. All I’d done was grin a lot as directed and talk about the people at work. I hoped he wouldn’t think I was an entire dud though as William had made the effort to introduce us and I didn’t want to reflect badly on him.
‘How funny that we ran into you,’ I said, walking next to William as we went past Barkers department store and I remembered I had run out of blue cotton. ‘Are you coming with us to tea?’ I asked, giving in to the fact that everything had already been planned.
‘Only if you want,’ he said, brown eyes earnest. He looked over to where Bunty was telling a funny story to Harold. ‘Bunty wanted to see if you two might like each other. I’ve told Harold we’d just go for a stroll. You should give him a chance, Emmy. He’s a good chap. Saved tons of his men. Awfully brave.’
I sighed. Bravery was the most important thing in the world to him.
‘Bill darling, I want to show you this coat,’ said Bunty, dragging him away from me. Harold and I looked at each other for a moment.
‘SHALL WE WALK?’ he suggested loudly. ‘IT’S TOO COLD TO STAND.’
‘Let’s,’ I said, adrift for something to say.
‘We’ve been set up, haven’t we?’ said Harold at very nearly normal volume.
We looked at each other again. He pulled a rueful face and I burst out laughing.
‘Sorry about this,’ he said. ‘I met Bill in the pub the day before yesterday. He talked about Bunty a lot and suggested we meet up with you both. Is this very awful for you?’
‘Oh no, not at all,’ I said. ‘Is it for you?’
‘DREADFUL,’ he said, back at usual pitch and then laughed just as loudly. ‘NO, OF COURSE NOT. DON’T FEEL BAD,’ he added as I winced. ‘I’M RUBBISH AT ALL THIS. GIVE ME AN UNEXPLODED BOMB TO SORT OUT ANY DAY. BY THE WAY, AM I SHOUTING?’
‘You are a bit,’ I said.
‘SORRY. RINGING NOISE IN THE OLD LUGS. NOT PERMANENT. I’VE GOT TWO WEEKS OFF UNTIL IT GOES AWAY.’
‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,’ I said, mortified I’d thought he was a shouter.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, lowering his voice right down again. ‘It happens. Work gets a bit loud and all that. Shall I whisper for a bit or does it make me sound like a maniac?’
I laughed again. Harold was nice. I still didn’t feel a blossoming romance, but I was pretty certain neither did he so that was all right.
‘Sort of,’ I said.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Would it be very rude if I suggested we just become friends?’
I could have kissed him. It was such an enormous relief.
‘HAROLD,’ I shouted and three pedestrians turned round. ‘I SHOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO BE FRIENDS. THANK YOU.’
‘MARVELLOUS,’ he shouted back, looking delighted and relieved in equal measure.
We marched back to Bunty and William, and I broke the distressing news of our non-starter courtship. Bunty took it bravely and Bill asked Harold if he should like to go to the pub. They walked us to the Tea House and I braced myself, knowing that as soon as they left I would be at the mercy of Phase Two of Bunty’s interrogation about Woman’s Friend.
‘Come on, Bunts,’ I said as we waved them goodbye. ‘I’ll buy tea. All the buns you can eat.’
‘All right,’ said Bunty, who had assumed an ominous look. ‘But bribery won’t work. I’m crestfallen about Harold.’
I nodded, thinking I had been let off the hook.
‘And don’t forget,’ said Bunty. ‘I want the whole story about what you’ve been doing at work.’
CHAPTER TEN
Please Call Me Charles
Craning our necks to try to see what cakes the Tea House might have mustered up, we joined the back of a long queue to be seated. The line moved terribly slowly, which was dispiriting, especially as we were both now ravenous, so Bunty and I grumbled and threw hard looks at the people already sitting down.
‘Look at those two,’ said Bunty. ‘A table for four and they aren’t even eating.’
I looked over to where she was jabbing her forefinger and had rather a shock.
‘Good grief, it’s Mr Collins,’ I said, because it was.
He was sitting facing us, dressed in his tweed suit but with slightly neater hair than usual. The two men – the other in uniform with his back to us – were chatting, and Mr Collins was nodding in a sympathetic way, which threw me completely.
Bunty scrutinised them. ‘Your Mr Collins?’ she said, and I went unnecessarily red.
‘He’s not my Mr Collins,’ I said, and before I could say anything else, he glanced away from his friend and saw us. For a moment he seemed not to be able to place me. When he did, after a moment’s pause he gave a small, but friendly wave. Then he turned back to his friend, said something, and to my astonishment, beckoned us over.
I waved back feeling self-conscious and Bunty rose to the occasion by giggling and saying, ‘Well it looks as if you’re his Miss Lake,’ which was uncalled for and I quite rightly ignored.
‘Go on,’ said Bunty. ‘It might mean we could join them and get out of this queue. I say . . . who’s that chap he’s with?’
The man in the uniform had turned in his chair to see who Mr Collins had rashly gestured at. He had the same dark hair and slim build as Mr Collins but was lots younger, in his late twenties perhaps.
Bunty and I made our way over to their table.
‘Miss Lake,’ said Mr Collins politely as both men got to their feet. ‘How nice to see you.’
‘Hello, Mr Collins,’ I said. ‘This is my friend Miss Marigold Tavistock.’
‘How do you do?’ said Bunty, quite beautifully. ‘Please call me Bunty, everyone does.’
‘How nice to meet you, Bunty,’ said Mr Collins, shaking her hand and being chivalrous to the point where I wondered if I had the wrong person. ‘May I introduce my half-brother Captain Charles Mayhew? Charles, this is Miss Lake, who works with me. I may have mentioned she is the young woman presently giving Henrietta a run for her money.’
I felt rather self-conscious at the thought of being Mentioned and we all shook hands and Captain Mayhew said Please call me Charles, and Mr Collins said Everyone Does, and we all laughed. It was odd thinking that Mr Collins had a brother or any kind of life outside of the office. One always had the feeling he existed purely to sit at his desk writing furiously and in a terrible mess.
With t
he four of us standing up, none of the waitresses could get past and we were in danger of causing a scene.
‘Ladies,’ said Mr Collins, going berserk and saving the situation. ‘This is dreadful etiquette as most of us have only just met, and Miss Lake and I are colleagues, but may I invite you to join us? I am in danger of boring my brother to the stage where he will throw himself out of the window if someone young doesn’t speak to him soon. We have ordered cake,’ he finished, with a flourish.
‘That’s very kind. Thank you,’ said Bunty, smartly wiping out any chance of a decline.
I was mortified to be having a spontaneous tea with a senior member of staff and his brother, on a Saturday and everything. Kathleen would go into shock, and Mrs Bird would probably burst. But I was terrifically hungry.
‘Thank you, Mr Collins,’ I said, grateful that at least he had not entirely taken leave of his senses and said Please call me Guy which I knew was his first name, as then I should have died. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Thank heavens for that,’ said Mr Collins. ‘We can stop this hovering.’
With the speed of a panther, Bunty whipped her hat off and shot round to sit next to Mr Collins, leaving me to sit next to Captain Mayhew who I didn’t yet feel I could call Charles.
‘I should like to say,’ said the Captain, who had a quiet but friendly voice, ‘that I am not in the least bored. Although it is lovely to have you join us, of course,’ he added quickly. ‘Have you been out walking, ladies?’
Mr Collins had now lapsed into one of his silences. Anxious to avoid a conversational lull, I felt compelled to try to appear interesting and not let him down.
‘We have been walking,’ I confirmed. ‘We’ve had a look at the book shop that isn’t there now, and before that we threw bread at the ducks. Bunty managed to hit one,’ I added, which made it sound as if we had been doing it on purpose.
‘Actually it was two. I wasn’t even trying,’ said Bunty attempting to rescue things, but making it worse.
‘Right,’ said Captain Mayhew, desperately. ‘That’s, um . . .’
‘One of the milder blood sports,’ said Mr Collins.
Bunty motored on.
‘Really,’ she said. ‘It was only the crusts that would have hurt them and we’d eaten most of those on the way.’
‘We didn’t have any lunch,’ I said.
‘Good God,’ said Mr Collins, flagging down the nearest member of staff. ‘Waitress, could you please double up on our order with some urgency, if you would? Thank you. My treat.’
He gave Bunty a look that suggested he thought she was about to start rooting around in a dustbin for food.
‘Oh, how terribly kind,’ she said with the most enormous dignity, and giving him her loveliest smile. ‘They were only very small crusts.’
I turned to Captain Mayhew, feeling I should apologise. But before I could say anything, I realised he was trying terribly hard not to laugh.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, failing and letting out a guffaw. ‘But this is like having tea with Flanagan and Allen doing one of their skits. Not to look at, of course. Oh dear, that’s come out wrong.’ He stopped abruptly and looked horrified at himself.
‘Do forgive me,’ he said, blushing. ‘I just meant that you’ve really cheered me up. My regiment has had a bit of a time of it and poor Guy has been saddled with a misery guts all day.’
‘Don’t worry, Captain Mayhew,’ I said, thinking how decent he seemed. ‘You must think we never get out.’
‘Not for a moment,’ he said. ‘Though please call me Charles.’
‘All right, Charles,’ I said, feeling reckless. ‘And please call me Emmy. Shall we all start again?’
‘Let’s,’ said Charles and Bunty at the same time.
‘Do we have to?’ said Mr Collins. ‘I’m not sure I can face the story about the duck for a second time. Oh thank God, here’s the waitress.’
He waved absently at the girl who had arrived with a full tray of food, and then gave us all one of his most theatrical glares.
‘Now come on you lot, stop being so jolly polite and tuck in.’
He raised a teapot at us.
‘Ladies, I salute you. This is the first time I’ve seen my brother laugh since he came home. Now, who wants first dibs at the mustard and cress?’
*
With the ice broken and the prospect of food, Bunty and I regained our faculties and stopped acting as if we were blithering oafs. Although it was odd to be chatting to Mr Collins and I couldn’t help but think at any moment he might bellow BLOTTER, MISS LAKE, I told myself we could all get blown up by tomorrow so we might just as well enjoy ourselves. Captain Mayhew was quieter than his half-brother and seemed a little shy, but he joined in the conversation, which as ever with people you don’t know was terrifically genial. We all downplayed anything to do with the Blitz (‘My aunt’s friend Gwyneth was bombed out, and lost everything, but then they found the cat – what a boon!’) and stayed on safe ground.
‘Are you going to be in London very long, Charles?’ asked Bunty.
‘A few more days,’ he said. ‘If my brother can put up with me for that long.’
‘Won’t you be fearfully bored?’ Mr Collins asked, looking genuinely concerned.
‘Guy,’ said Charles fondly. ‘You’re forty-six. That’s hardly the Elgin Marbles. Ladies, please ignore him.’ He took a sip of tea and raised an eyebrow at me over the brim of his cup. I smiled.
‘Do you like the cinema?’ Bunty blurted, out of the blue.
I looked at her in alarm.
‘It’s just that we’re planning to see The Mark of Zorro after tea and I wondered if you might like to come? You’d both be welcome of course,’ she added looking at Mr Collins and not meaning it.
Charles laughed. ‘Thank you, Bunty, that’s terrifically kind. I shouldn’t want to gate-crash the party though, or desert my brother.’ Bunty said Of Course Not very gaily, and Mr Collins said Not At All and looked pleased.
‘That’s sorted, then,’ said Mr Collins. He frowned. ‘You know it could be a heavy night, don’t you?’
‘That’s all right,’ I said, gathering my things. ‘We know all the shelters on the way home.’
‘I must say I admire your pluck,’ said Charles. ‘I find it more alarming back here than when I’m away.’
‘My brother says that too,’ I said. ‘But I reckon you may as well be a moving duck as a sitting one.’
‘Miss Lake,’ said Mr Collins. ‘Even if you do enjoy being a moving duck, it will make me feel better if Charles is with you. I should be most annoyed if you were blown up. I’ll settle things here. Be careful,’ he said to us all, and as we thanked him profusely for tea, with a Continental wave of his hand he sent us on our way.
The blackout had started and it was pitch dark outside, but we all had torches and Bunty and I had on our white scarves to avoid getting flattened by a bus. Nonetheless, Charles insisted on walking on the outside of the pavement.
‘Chivalry’s all very well,’ I said through my scarf, as we walked carefully along. ‘But if you get run over it won’t be any good for the war effort.’
‘I’m not going to get run over,’ said Charles in a kind voice. ‘And anyway, you are both important to your jobs and it would be just as bad if it were you.’
‘I just type things,’ I said as Charles said I’m Sure There’s More To It Than That, and Bunty shot me a stern look as if to say I Haven’t Forgotten Our Earlier Conversation, You Know.
We walked on in amicable silence for a while and not for the first time today did I wish I had my sensible pullover on. It was wretchedly cold. The weather had been poor for the last couple of weeks, but tonight the sky was clear as anything. Mr Collins was right: the Germans would be busy later.
As older people and those with children had gone home before dusk, the bus was full of young people like us, chatting and looking forward to their Saturday night. Shop girls who had put on their lipstick and heels before lea
ving work talked about boys and dancing, and boys in uniforms discussed girls and the war. As the bus crept its way cautiously around Hyde Park, Bunty quizzed Charles about the army, while I looked out of the window into the darkness.
Once we had arrived at the Odeon and found our seats Bunty announced loudly she had to visit the lavatory and was gone ages, so Charles and I watched the newsreels which were relentlessly upbeat about everything. There was a short film about the girl drivers in the ATS, showing them opening up lorry bonnets and confidently poking around engines. When it came on, a group of people in the front stalls cheered and someone shouted, ‘That’s you, Mavis,’ and a female voice said, ‘No it’s not, Vincent, I’m thinner than that,’ and everyone in the cinema laughed.
But I felt self-conscious, especially sitting next to Charles in his uniform. During tea I’d told him about the fire station and now I whispered to him that I had been wondering about becoming an AFS motorcycle courier one day if I could get on the course.
‘Good for you,’ Charles whispered back. ‘Very exciting.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I just need to learn how to ride and then I’ll be in, though I think it’s a bit of a wait.’
Then Charles spoke again, in a light fashion.
‘I could teach you if you like. If you don’t mind learning on quite an old bike.’
‘I say,’ I said, overcome. ‘That’s awfully nice of you.’
At that moment, Bunty finally returned to her seat.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked surreptitiously.
‘Yes of course,’ said Bunty as if being in the lavatory for twenty minutes was perfectly acceptable.
‘Charles is going to teach me to ride a motorcycle.’
‘Gosh,’ said Bunty with a level of awe which suggested he was organizing a day out to the moon.
I turned to look at her. She was staring fixedly at the screen where Max Miller was cheering up a canteen full of nuns. He must have been on first-rate comedy form because Bunty was grinning about as broadly as was possible for a face.
