Northern Girl

by Fadette Marie Marcelle Cripps

  ‘You read me too well, Maddie,’ Tom answered sadly.

  ‘I expect it,’ she said bravely, carrying on walking, but not raising her eyes from the pavement.

  Tom pulled her round to face him, and tenderly lifted her chin. ‘Look, Maddie, we can write to each other,’ he said encouragingly, trying to hide his own unhappiness.

  ‘Oh, Tom!’

  Tom remembered being touched at the way despair made her French accent stronger.

  ‘When?’ she asked, not really wanting an answer.

  ‘We demob the day after tomorrow. But we won’t be allowed off camp after today.’

  ‘Oh, mon Dieu! So soon!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, mon cheri.’ Tom used the expression he’d heard so often from her own lips. He took her hand and cajoled, ‘Come on, Maddie, this is our last day together. Let’s make it a good one!’

  When she looked up at him with tears in those big brown eyes he thought his heart would break there and then.

  ‘OK,’ she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. ‘Come with me to give this dress.’ She held out the parcel she was carrying. ‘I have sew it for Madame Declemy. Then maybe we walk … no? It is a beautiful day.’

  ‘Let’s do that!’ he answered enthusiastically, before taking both of her hands in his. He leaned forward, and, without another word, they’d kissed gently, before moving on together hand in hand, making brave attempts at their usual light-heartedness; both equally miserable about the imminent parting.

  Madame Declemy saw them approach – she was working in her garden. Tom and Maddie smiled at the sight of her head bobbing up and down in the middle of her raspberry cage.

  ‘Bonjour, madame!’ Maddie called, trying to stifle her amusement as she opened the wooden gate into the garden.

  ‘Ah! Bonjour, Madeleine, et bonjour, monsieur,’ Madame Declemy answered, looking at Tom appreciatively.

  ‘Madame Declemy, this is Tom, my friend, and he is going back to England very soon,’ Madeleine said, in rapid French.

  ‘Oh, well, you won’t be wanting to hang around here for too long, then, Madeleine,’ Madame Declemy replied, equally rapidly. She winked. ‘I will get your money, and thank you for doing the work for me so quickly.’ She took the parcel before disappearing off into the comparative darkness of her house.

  While they waited in the bright sunshine, on impulse, Tom bent forward and kissed Maddie full on the lips, as he’d done so many times before. Except this time, it was different. The kiss was deeply passionate, and he knew that Maddie felt it. They pulled away slightly, still wrapped in each other’s arms. Their eyes locked, and both of them knew what was going to happen next.

  As the bus jogged along, Tom allowed himself a wry smile, remembering how they had sprung apart like two naughty children when Madame Declemy came out with the money. And how, aware of their embarrassment, she had immediately said, ‘Now run along, mes enfants, and make the most of the time you have left together.’

  She’d turned to look at Tom, who’d smiled in response to her cheeky wink, even though he hadn’t been sure what she’d said. But he’d seen that she approved of him, and was maybe even a little envious of their love for each other. I’ll bet she was a right lass! he’d mused at the time.

  ‘Come on,’ Maddie’d nudged him, ‘Let’s walk! We walk to Tante Lucy’s farm, and she gives us a ride. Horace pulls us in the cart. It will be funny, and I think we need … to be happy?’ She looked up into his face her eyes aching with sadness.

  Tom enfolded her in his arms, and their kiss was even deeper.

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ he said, reluctant to release her, and fighting the urge to have her there and then. ‘I would like to see your family before I leave, anyway,’ he said gently, though he wanted to yell, ‘God, Maddie! I don’t care where we go, as long as we can be alone together!’

  Maddie led the way over a stile and into a field, explaining, as she hit at the long grass in front of her with a stick, how it was a short cut to Tante Lucy’s. They worked their way along the path, which they could just about see. It meandered round the ragged remains of previous crops, and was so narrow that, in parts, they had to walk in single file. Tom, who was walking behind, became increasingly dizzy with desire. And as he watched Madeleine beat back the grass, he was unable to think of anything but her bare, suntanned arms and legs, her lithe body in the thin summer dress, or the way her hair curled damply in the heat. Sensing a change in his mood, she stopped and turned to him, asking, ‘Tom, you are OK?’

  He didn’t answer, but took her in his arms again, and her heart pounded so heavily against his chest that it felt like his own. He had to clear his throat to answer, ‘Yes, I’m fine, but …’

  Before he could say any more she had pulled his head down to her mouth and kissed him full and hard. They kissed, and kissed again, until they could breathe no longer. He moved away to kiss her forehead, her nose, her chin – and the only word he was capable of uttering at that moment was her name, over and over again. It was when she responded by repeating his name that he lost the little control he had left. And when he fumbled with the tiny buttons at the front of her dress, she brushed his hand away and did it for him, allowing him to slide one side of the dress from her shoulder. He felt her shiver as, with the palm of his hand, he caressed her skin. Then, hearing her moan as his fingers ran the length of her spine, he kissed her again, full on the mouth.

  When he thought about the way he’d felt at that moment, he realized it had been strangely like the violent fever he’d had after contracting malaria in the Middle East. Then Madeleine sank down into the long grass, and he fell on top of her. He remembered how firm her body felt, and how lush the green grass was beneath her. Her chestnut hair tumbled in a mass of waves around her face, and the bright autumn sunlight threading through it momentarily made him think of a painting he’d seen in church as a child. How mesmerized he’d been by that painting, in which the girl’s hair had spread out behind her, so full of light that she’d appeared to be flying! In a dreamlike state he took up a handful of Madeleine’s hair, and it felt like silk as he held it against his cheek.

  When Maddie turned her head slightly to face him her expression changed: she no longer looked like a young girl, but like a woman. A woman who knew what she wanted. And when she lifted her hands to cup his face her touch made him tremble.

  ‘I love you, Tom,’ she said softly.

  It was then that he’d lifted himself on his arms, releasing the pressure of his body on hers, and looked into her pleading brown eyes. He hadn’t the courage to tell her that he loved her. How could he, when he knew that he had to leave? Instead, his voice hoarse with desire, he said, ‘Maddie. Are you sure you are ready for this?’

  ‘Shh, Tom. Yes, I am sure,’ she answered with undisguised urgency.

  Tom hesitated, but Maddie seemed to have lost all trace of her usual modesty, and begged him, ‘Please, Tom!’ And by that time, with her there in front of him, writhing in the grass, wild horses couldn’t have stopped him.

  He couldn’t say how long they lay there afterwards, naked, abandoned – and totally content. All he remembered was a strange feeling of completeness. It was then that he realized that this hadn’t been just sex; for the first time in his life he had made love. This knowledge was almost frightening, and for a split second his sense of self-preservation made him want to run from it – but his heart wouldn’t allow that; and as he held Madeleine close in his arms his mind had been in turmoil.

  Even though there had been many other, earlier opportunities to make love, they hadn’t taken them. They’d managed to curb their desire, as much out of respect for Maddie’s parents as anything else. But this time had been different. Tom wasn’t sure whether it was because he was about to leave, or whether it was simply that they had resisted for so long that they couldn’t fight it any more. When the euphoria of the moment subsided a little, he lay there with an overwhelming feeling that he’d betrayed someone,
but he wasn’t sure who.

  Thinking about it now, he realized that it was her family’s trust that he had betrayed: they had treated him as one of their own. He hadn’t dared ask Maddie how she was feeling, because he’d been afraid of the answer. Although, when he’d helped her do up all the tiny buttons on her dress, which a little earlier she’d so urgently opened for him, she’d sensed his concern and assured him, ‘Is OK, Tom. I am OK.’ And before Tom could answer, she’d gripped his hand tightly, and looking straight into his eyes, reiterated, ‘I am!’

  But this time when she’d smiled, Tom had been aghast to feel a tear sting his eye, and silently said to himself: For God’s sake not now, don’t bloody cry now! He’d quickly got to his feet and held out his hands towards her, pulling her up from the ground and into his arms, where she’d stood on her toes and kissed him gently on the lips.

  They hadn’t spoken again, and they’d walked off, not in the direction of Tante Lucy’s farm, but towards Maddie’s home …

  ‘EVENWOOD! BANK TOP!’ The bus jerked to a halt, and the shrill yell of the conductress penetrated Tom’s thoughts so sharply that he jumped, almost knocking Dominic off his seat. He glanced at Dominic, who looked scared, as if he’d been shaken awake. ‘Ay, come on, man, we’re here,’ Tom said, grabbing Dominic’s arm while Dominic quickly picked up his valise. As they ran towards the stairs at the back of the bus Tom said, ‘Eee, I’m sorry, mate! I wasn’t concentrating. Got lost in me thoughts, like.’

  ‘Me too,’ Dominic said, looking more than slightly flustered.

  With a grin, Tom slapped him on the back. They clattered down the stairs, and as soon as they’d jumped off, the bell dinged and the bus disappeared off into the distance. Tom and Dominic glanced at each other in mutual understanding of what lay ahead, before setting off on the short walk to Glamis Terrace.

  Chapter 17

  Evenwood, England

  Monday, 3 December 1945

  ‘Mam!’ Tom called as he entered the house just ahead of Dominic, ‘Mam! Are you there?’

  ‘Eee, lad, ah wuz on the lav, and ah wasn’t goin ter shout from there now, was ah?’ Hannah rushed in through the back door, and came to a sudden halt. ‘Oh …!’ She clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of the nicely dressed fair-haired lad standing in the middle of her front room.

  ‘Mam, this is Dominic. And Dominic …’ Tom smiled, extending his arm towards his obviously embarrassed mother ‘… meet me mam.’

  Hannah quickly collected herself and walked towards Dominic. ‘Come ’ere, lad,’ she said, holding her arms out towards him.

  Dominic, feeling slightly bewildered by this strange greeting, nervously put his case down while glancing uncertainly towards Tom. Tom nodded and Dominic walked into Hannah’s outstretched arms.

  ‘Ay, this is a right to-do. What are we goin’ ter do, lad?’ she questioned, as she hugged him. ‘Yer mam and dad must be beside themselves an’ all,’ she added – more as a comment than a question – before releasing him.

  Dominic answered the bit that he’d understood. ‘Yes, Madame Dawson, not only Maman et Papa, but the whole family is worried. And no one has an answer.’ He bent to pick up his case – he’d no idea why.

  Hannah, noticing his agitation, implored, ‘You put that down, lad.’ She looked at Tom and asked, ‘Will yer take it upstairs for ’im, Tom, please?’

  Tom did as he was bid, while Hannah rushed to build the fire up ready for boiling the kettle. She said to Dominic, ‘You’ll have a cup of tea, won’t yer, lad?’

  He understood ‘cup of tea’ very well from Tom’s constant desire for one when he’d been in France, and he could tell that she wouldn’t be expecting no for an answer, so he said, ‘Yes, madame, thank you.’

  ‘Good, well, you sit yerself down here,’ she said, ushering him to a chair beside the now roaring fire. Then, with a smile, she added, ‘And as nice as it sounds, there’s no need ter call me madam, me name’s Hannah.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Madame Hannah,’ Dominic replied, looking concerned, ‘but in France it is a sign of respect to address our elders as madame or monsieur.’

  Hannah looked up, aware of Tom coming down the stairs, and said, ‘Well, it’s very polite, I’m sure! It’s a shame we don’t have the same custom here. A few good manners wouldn’t go amiss sometimes—’

  ‘Aw, come on, Mam!’ Tom interrupted, ‘No one’s got more respect for their mam and da than me and our Rene!’

  ‘Ah know, pet. Ah was only tryin’ ter make light of the difficult situation we’re in here,’ she answered, with concern.

  There was no response to that, either from Tom or Dominic.

  But once supplied with a cup of tea and a very strange gateau, which Madame Hannah called an ‘iced bun’, Dominic did begin to relax a little. He felt comfortable enough to describe his family to Tom’s mother, and the thought of meeting Monsieur Dawson, and Tom’s sister, Rene, began to seem slightly less daunting.

  While he talked he studied Tom in his home surroundings: he fitted in there so well that it was hard to imagine him living in France. That thought reminded Dominic that he had promised to send a telegram to his parents when he got to Glamis Terrace, but it was too soon to be able to tell them anything other than that he’d arrived. And he didn’t think there’d be any significant discussion until the whole family were assembled, anyway.

  What a mess! he thought. Here were two families from totally different worlds, who would never have known of each other’s existence if it hadn’t been for the war. But they were going to be forced together, and it seemed that Tom’s kindly mother thought that everything could be solved over a cup of tea! Or maybe that was just her way of coping.

  He realized that he was going to have to develop a taste for tea, as the famous English drink seemed to be served at any time of the day. Aware that his mind was wandering, he made himself listen more closely to what Hannah was saying. She was talking about how her friends and neighbours had all clubbed together to provide food when they’d known Tom was coming home.

  ‘Well, Mam, I should think so, too, after all the running around you do for that lot,’ Tom butted in. ‘I expect it’s their way of repaying you.’ Then, looking at Dominic, he added, ‘You should have seen the spread she put on for us on the day I arrived home! We’re still wading through it now!’

  ‘Stop yer exaggeratin’, our Tom.’ Hannah glanced kindly at Dominic, adding, ‘Anyway, if ah’d known which day you were comin’, ah would have put on a spread for you, an’ all!’

  ‘A spread?’ Dominic assumed a puzzled expression. It had hardly been off his face since he’d arrived.

  Tom smiled. ‘It means loads of grub, mate!’

  Not much wiser for the explanation, Dominic couldn’t help wondering how on earth Madeleine would manage here, with her limited knowledge of the language. He had been pleasantly surprised at the way her English had improved after meeting Tom, but this! This bore little relation to what they’d been taught in school. His mind was churning. Mon Dieu, Madeleine! he thought. I pity you. He stared through the front window into the neat little front gardens, noticing how different this view was from the one at the back, which simply looked out on to an identical row of houses.

  While the kettle had come to the boil, Tom had taken him out into the small concrete backyard and shown him the outside toilet and the coal house. This last had a small, waist-high door, called a hatch, which opened on to the back street. Tom had explained how the coal was delivered by a man with a horse and cart. He’d tip the coal outside in the street, where it formed a gleaming black heap. Then each householder would open up the hatch door and shovel the coal through into the shed. On delivery days, by the time everything was safely shovelled inside, not only was the coalman covered from head to toe in coal dust, but so were the inhabitants of each street.

  Tom had explained that the family took it in turns to fill up a bucket with coal from the shed, as and when it was needed. ‘And it’s all free, cause me da�
��s a miner,’ he’d said. Dominic had sensed bitterness in his voice at that last remark. He assumed it was because Tom felt free coal was the least the mine could do for his father. But, not really understanding the coal mines himself and how they worked, Dominic had said nothing. If he was honest, all he could think about at the moment was this very different lifestyle. He simply couldn’t picture his sister living here.

  He was brought back to earth by Hannah suddenly getting up and putting her coat on. ‘Ah won’t be long, ah’ve ter go collect our Jeannie from school,’ she said.

  ‘That’s our Rene’s girl,’ Tom explained to Dominic.

  ‘Yes, I remember you talking about her with Madeleine,’ Dominic answered.

  Tom looked from one to the other, and said to Hannah, ‘I think we’d better pretend that Dominic is a friend from France who is over here on business when our Jeannie gets in, eh?’ Hannah nodded her head in agreement before closing the back door behind her.

  Noticing the loud ticking of the grandfather clock, Dominic walked over to look at it. Fascinated, he opened the small door on the front, which housed the pendulum and the chain, and after watching the pendulum for some time, as it swung hypnotically with each tick, he suddenly turned to Tom and asked, ‘Do you mind if I wash, and maybe shave, Tom, before the rest of the family arrive?’

  ‘Of course not, mate. Sorry, I didn’t think of offering,’ answered Tom, momentarily distracted from his own painful thoughts. ‘I’ll put the pan on to heat the water up. It won’t take long with a fire like that.’ He gave the blaze another poke. He filled the pan before showing Dominic into the small scullery behind the kitchen. ‘There’s a bit of a mirror over the sink, for your shave,’ he said. ‘And, look!’ There’s even a drop of warm water left in the kettle.’ He poured the tepid water into the sink. ‘There, lad, how about that?’ he exclaimed, well satisfied.

  Dominic did his best to hide his horror at the primitive arrangements, and thanked Tom. How strange this family were, not to clean themselves at washstands in the privacy of their own bedrooms! Madeleine had always been so fastidious and discreet, and this – this cold scullery with no locks on the doors – was where she would have to wash if she lived here. And he knew that she would have to live in this house if she came over, because it would probably be a long time before Tom could afford a place of his own.