When We Meet Again

by Caroline Beecham

  She bit her lip to stop it from quivering, and her eyes flicked up at the ceiling as she tried to keep them dry while she spoke, managing to stay composed as she gave a censored version of the preceding months and he scribbled in his notebook. Finally, she told him about the advert in the Daily Mail and the couple who now had Eadie, downplaying her mother’s involvement because she still couldn’t comprehend her actions or know whether they could place her behind bars. “So,” she said, “you can help me . . . can’t you?”

  “I’m going to ask one of our women officers to come talk to you, Miss Cotton. A4 usually deals with the juvenile cases, and I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable going through the details with her. Just wait here, if you don’t mind.”

  After he left the room she watched and listened to the hands of the clock tick noisily for fifteen minutes. Her breasts grew more painful and she became increasingly uneasy, close to despair at the thought of another woman feeding her newborn.

  Constable Relf returned accompanied by a young woman in a dark skirt and belted tunic, whose unruly red hair sprung from beneath a police hat. “Hello, Miss Cotton, I’m Sergeant Mildred Burns from the Women’s Branch. We deal with all juvenile cases and crimes relating to children, and first, let me say how very sorry I am.” She sat down next to Constable Relf, then leaned forward so Alice could see the freckles that mapped her pale face. “I can assure you that it’s a priority to prevent crimes against children, and in particular to stop these unlawful adoptions.”

  Alice sighed, relieved that someone finally wanted to help.

  “That said, I have to ask you not to set your expectations too high.”

  “But you just said you can help me.”

  “We can look at the Juvenile Index to see if there’s any record of your daughter,” she said, exchanging a look with Constable Relf, “although I think it’s unlikely that she will be on it. We will certainly investigate further, but I want to make sure you know that before we can make any arrests we need to have enough evidence. It’s then up to the courts to decide whether to prosecute—it’s not up to us. I just want you to know that, Alice. We will try to get justice for you, but it’s not entirely in our hands.”

  “I don’t care about that. . . . What I mean to say is that it’s not about getting justice. I just need to find my daughter—quickly.”

  Constable Relf and Sergeant Burns exchanged another look, then the policewoman glanced down at the papers in front of her. “I suggest that I take your statement and then you contact the National Council for the Unmarried Mother and Her Child. They may have resources and ways to help that I’m afraid we don’t.”

  “So, what are you actually going to do?” Alice asked, growing frantic.

  “As I said, I’ll take a statement and we’ll investigate.”

  “But how long do you think it will be until—”

  “Look, Alice, it’s frustrating for us too, but we’re having to enforce the blackout, help with evacuations and restore communications, all things we didn’t have to do before the war, and many of our staff are police pensioners and War Reserve officers.”

  Alice could see what she said was true, and that she was genuinely trying to help, but it wasn’t enough.

  “What about the father, is he going to help?” Constable Relf asked.

  She’d decided not to name him, but her disappointment now threatened her resolve. Could he be any help? She reminded herself of how little he’d cared about her. “Come on, Alice, don’t be a bore,” he’d said, temper flaring when she’d refused to go out with him the last time he’d asked. “I don’t want to force you to . . .” His eyes had blazed with desire, a look that she’d once been attracted to. That day she’d felt scared and had stood her ground, and he’d eventually left her alone. “Fine, there are plenty more fish in the sea,” he’d said, and laughed.

  “I . . . don’t know. He’s not in the country anymore . . .”

  “Is he serving?” Sergeant Burns asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I see,” she said, looking searchingly at Alice.

  Alice thought of Rupert’s reputation, of his society links and his large group of friends, and then she thought of her own and how her situation would look to an outsider. She didn’t name him.

  * * *

  It was lunchtime when Alice left the station and made her way to Primrose Hill. As she traversed the wasteland between Oppidans Road and King Henry’s Road, staircases disappeared into open ground, doors lay horizontal, shattered walls exposed musty cellars, and she realized this was a real battlefront. There was a lingering metallic smell in the air, but in among the chaos a group of children played on precarious-looking rubble, making a game of throwing rocks into the ornamental pond of a former grand garden. Alice thought about warning them off, shouting to them to be careful, but she knew it wasn’t her place. Can’t they see how dangerous it is, how fragile everything has become?

  Penny’s café had always been tucked between a grocery shop and a hardware store, yet Alice searched the streets for several minutes trying to get her bearings and calm her nerves. It was hardly surprising that the area was unrecognizable; with its anti-aircraft guns on one side and the main railway line from Euston on the other, it had never stood much of a chance. Even the silver-tailed barrage balloons at the nearby Lord’s Cricket Ground couldn’t have done anything to deter the Luftwaffe. What surprised Alice was that Penny’s family had stayed instead of going to the countryside, but Penny had insisted she couldn’t leave the community and that Chalk Farm Underground station was as good a place as any to take shelter.

  It took Alice a while before she realized she was going in the wrong direction, and she had to retrace her way to the junction of Regent’s Park Road and its familiar row of white houses. She recognized the parade of shops instantly, except enormous chips of granite had been gouged from the curbside, the iron lampposts were dented and most shopfronts were boarded up, the rough edges of hastily sawn planks still visible.

  Just across the street, kids played hopscotch outside Penny’s café, socks around their ankles, their noisy shrieks of laughter incongruous with their game. Before Alice had started working at Partridge, she had been a regular visitor here since it was so close to the zoo. But time had slipped away, and she hadn’t seen Penny for a year; she wasn’t even sure which kids were Penny’s.

  She crossed the road without looking and peered through the café window; she couldn’t see Penny behind the grime-coated glass. Perhaps she’d been wrong to come, she thought, although she had nowhere else to go, and her friend had been so insistent when she’d telephoned to ask if she could visit, perhaps even stay for a few days.

  The café was crammed into the downstairs of a Georgian terraced house, a low set of stairs leading off to another salon at the back while a steeper staircase led to Penny’s family home on the two floors above. There were more tables and chairs than Alice remembered, and the once-full bookshelf across the back wall was now populated with mismatched cups and saucers, china ornaments and jars of dried flowers. Framed photographs of popular actors and sweethearts decorated the walls, some bearing autographs.

  Penny stood behind a brass counter, squawking orders at a waitress, her light-brown hair twisted into a loose bun with a pencil sticking through it. “Alice!” she shrieked when she noticed her. “How long have you been here?”

  Remembering her new shape, Alice quickly clasped her hands in front of her and attempted to smile. “Long enough to see you haven’t changed—still just as bossy.”

  Penny raced across the room and hugged her so tightly that Alice thought she’d have to ask her to stop. “It’s so good to see you,” Penny said as she released her.

  Alice felt the same way—in fact, she wished she could keep hugging her friend, but she wasn’t sure she could do it without breaking down. “I’m sorry it’s been so long . . .”

  �
��It doesn’t matter, you’re here now. Anyway, I’ve been just as bad. I could have called you.” Penny took hold of her small suitcase and placed it on a chair. “Come sit down, we’ll have a proper catch-up once the lunchtime rush is over.”

  “Thank you so much for letting me stay, you’ve no idea how much it means to me—” The words stuck in her throat, but she caught herself and managed not to cry.

  Penny was beaming at her. “It’s fine. More than fine, it’s wonderful. Say, are you hungry? You do look a bit peaky,” she said, her smile fading.

  Alice had barely eaten in the last few days, and she did feel rather unsteady on her feet. “A little something would be nice.”

  “Right, I’ll be back in a tick. I’ll just fetch some tea.”

  Penny’s family came from Yorkshire, and Alice never tired of the soft landing her friend’s words made on her ears—or her northern hospitality.

  “Sure, take your time,” Alice said, forcing a smile. “I don’t want to interrupt.” But she was desperate to talk to her old friend. Something about seeing her had unlocked all the emotion she’d been struggling to contain, and she would have to try hard not to cave in and tell Penny everything. Some time ago Alice had confided in her that something was going on with someone at work, and Penny had told her to be careful.

  Alice watched as she organized her staff and chatted with the customers. Should I tell Penny the truth about everything? She and her husband, Michael, had been childhood sweethearts, and Alice didn’t want to bring her sordid drama into their home. There was a part of her that wanted to keep their friendship pure and untainted, honest and safe like it had always been.

  Somehow she needed to get through the next few days—the next few hours, even—but the café was uncomfortably noisy: ragtime played loudly on the radio, and voices crowded her in. Then came the rising panic, an unfamiliar sensation that threatened to overwhelm her, making her feel the need to escape. She moved to a more secluded seat nearer the bookcase and tried to focus on the few books while she waited. It was an eclectic selection of old fiction and classics, shabby editions of highbrow literature and poetry muddled in with the distinct golden spines of Reader’s Digest books. A noticeboard advertised local community events along with a regular book group held at the café that Penny had invited her to on more than one occasion.

  A young serviceman at the nearest table caught her eye and smiled, so she averted her gaze, quickly turning back to the shelf. She pulled out a random book, its withered spine nearly disintegrating as she opened it and very carefully turned the pages. If she concentrated hard enough on the story, she was sure it would stop her from crying—but her vision misted, and the words blurred into each other.

  “Which one would you recommend?” the serviceman asked.

  It would be rude to ignore him, but she didn’t want a conversation either, so she replied without looking up. “I’m not sure I could recommend any of them.”

  “Seen better days, haven’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, trying to hide her distress as she traced a finger along the barely readable spines. She came to a copy of To Have and Have Not in passable condition. “I’d probably try this. Have you read any Hemingway?”

  “I’m more of a Dickens man—The Pickwick Papers . . . Bleak House. I like reading about home rather than foreign places.”

  His Cockney accent was clearer now, and she passed him the book. He looked barely twenty with his baby face and slicked, parted hair.

  “Yes, I know what you mean,” she said, and smiled.

  “I tried A Farewell to Arms, but I couldn’t get into it,” he said. “I just wish there was a bit more choice.”

  “You know, there are book clubs you can join.”

  “Yes, but they run out of books too quickly.”

  Alice thought of her brother and was about to remind the young man of the subscription libraries when she realized that servicemen weren’t around long enough to benefit. It was all right for the public to rely on book lending by the local and circulating libraries, and the big four—W.H. Smith & Son, Boots Book-Lovers’ Library, Harrods and the Times Book Club—but if he was only home for short periods he wouldn’t be able to make the most of them.

  “I wouldn’t have survived my first tour if I hadn’t had a book,” he said solemnly. “Lots of the chaps are the same. It’s the only way to lose yourself . . . to forget what’s really happening.”

  This was what William had always said, and why she had sent books to him whenever she could. In fact, this man reminded her of Will, only he was even younger.

  “So,” she said, “what do you like to read so you can forget?”

  “It depends. I don’t always like a book when I first start it. Sometimes it takes me a while to get into it.”

  She knew what he meant; it was something she’d given a lot of thought to over the past couple of years. A novel didn’t really begin until the reader was engaged enough to want to accompany the characters on their journey. Ursula told her that her instincts for such things would help make her a good editor. Of course she’d appreciated Ursula’s faith in her, but she knew that would never happen now. Anyway, those roles were usually reserved for the Oxbridge candidates, of whom there were already plenty behind the desks of London’s publishing houses.

  Penny reappeared with a tea set and a plate with nearly a whole Victoria sponge cake.

  The serviceman smiled shyly at Alice. “It was nice talking to you.”

  “You too,” she replied.

  Penny glanced back and forth between them. “Sorry, I’m not interrupting anything?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  Penny sat down noisily and dragged her chair toward the table, then cut off a large chunk of cake and nudged it toward Alice. “So, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, really fine . . .”

  “Suits you, by the way,” Penny said, looking her up and down. “I always said you were too skinny.”

  Alice opened her mouth but wasn’t sure what to say, so instead she took a bite of the cake. She pretended to enjoy it, but the whole process felt like a betrayal. How could she possibly enjoy dessert when another woman was breastfeeding her baby? It just wasn’t right or natural.

  “And how’s your mum?” Penny said, leaning her elbows onto the table and resting her chin on her hands.

  Alice struggled not to choke and keep the food in her mouth.

  “Sorry, take your time.” Penny wiped the crumbs from the side of the plate then licked them off her fingers.

  Penny had spent a lot of time at Alice’s house when they were children, and she knew Ruth well—so well that Alice was tempted again to tell her what had happened. But would she even believe it? Alice barely could herself. She took another mouthful and eyed her friend thoughtfully, considering what a relief it would be to share her burden. Together they could try to fathom what her mother had done. And, most important, they could search for Eadie.

  “Mum’s still the same,” Alice said at last, mustering a smile. “Still praying for Will’s return.”

  “But I thought—”

  “No, he won’t be coming home, but she still refuses to believe it,” Alice said firmly. Then her lips began to quiver and she pressed them together, biting back tears.

  Penny placed a hand on hers. “I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s fine. It’s not your fault. I just miss him.”

  A look of concern passed over Penny’s face, then she suddenly became animated again. “Vicky and Peter should be home soon. You won’t recognize them.”

  “I think I might have seen them playing outside.”

  “Probably, they’re not allowed to go far,” Penny said, rolling her eyes.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, one of their friends was killed at the wasteland. A phosphorous b
omb went off as they were collecting shrapnel for a game.”

  “Oh God, that’s awful!” It must have been in the ruins she’d walked past.

  “There are signs with warnings all over the place, but I suppose they’re just kids, aren’t they?” Penny sighed. “You can only tell them so many times.” She looked tired now, fine lines around her eyes and mouth showing the strain of the past few years.

  “Yes, I thought it might be them. They’ve changed so much.”

  “It’s been nearly a year, Alice.”

  “I know . . . I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t mean anything by it.”

  Alice forced another smile.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Penny asked, squeezing her hand.

  “Yes, really, I’m fine.” She searched Penny’s pretty green eyes, trying to decide whether she should confide in her.

  “You seem . . . I don’t know . . . sad, I suppose. You would tell me if there was anything wrong?”

  “Yes, of course.” Alice placed her other hand over Penny’s. “Of course I would.” She attempted another mouthful of cake, chewing slowly, but she started to cry and couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Alice, what is it?”

  She took a deep breath and sniffed, then looked Penny in the eye again. “Well, there is actually something that I have to tell you . . .” And then she told Penny about the events of the past year: the seduction, without identifying Rupert, then the pregnancy and being banished to the seaside, and, finally, her mother taking the baby. Penny’s eyes grew wider, her jaw dropping open.

  “So, you see,” Alice sniveled, “that’s why I need to keep looking.”

  Penny didn’t say anything, she just lunged forward to wrap her arms around Alice, holding her close for what seemed like hours but must have only been minutes. Alice let her friend’s love flow through her. Definitely a radiator, she thought as she allowed herself a half smile, remembering Ursula’s comparison of her mother to a drain.

  As Penny pulled away, she looked Alice directly in the eyes and clasped her hands. “We’re going to look after you. Have you seen a doctor?”