Above Us the Sky

by Milly Adams

  She fell asleep again, her mouth open, her chest rattling.

  Married? Phyllie thought. I was to marry Sammy, no one else. She walked round the bed and felt Miss F’s forehead with the back of her hand. Hot, but not roaring. She pulled a face. ‘She’s turned the corner, I reckon,’ she whispered to Joe. Married indeed. She looked at Joe’s face as he reached forward and held Miss F’s hand. Phyllie watched as Miss F’s fingers tightened around his. Married? Any day now, she reckoned, but not her. She half laughed, and left.

  Over lunch she talked to Jake, and Dan, who was staying for the day. ‘So, we’ve reached the decision point. Jake, you really need to think very seriously if Ron is to live with us. You would have to share the friendship you have with Dan. You never know what will happen in London, Mrs Cummins could be killed, and Ron would be with us for ever …’

  Dan was poking the sprouts that Phyllie had picked this morning, from the bottom of the garden. He tucked them neatly beneath his knife and fork, saying, ‘Yes, he could. Think of the six in our class who have gone to live with their aunties, after their mums were killed by bombs. Or his dad could be killed. He’s in the desert and the Germans are doing well there, aren’t they, Miss Phyllie?’

  She and Jake exchanged a glance. Phyllie nodded gravely, and Jake smiled approval as she said, ‘Indeed, Mr Cummins is away fighting. War is a messy business, Dan, as are uneaten sprouts, which poke out either side of a knife. Eat two of them, and I’ll let you off the rest. But I still haven’t had your answer, Jake. You have an opt-out, because Jack Thompson has found a family in Swanwick who would take Ron.’

  Jake watched aghast as Dan stuffed both sprouts into his mouth and chewed, almost retching. Absorbed in the sight, he muttered, ‘Yes, yes, I keep saying he should come. The horses like him, Phyllie, and they only like good people so something in him has changed. He lets me show him how to do things, and he never would have before. Francois doesn’t growl any more either.’ He reached down and stroked his dog. Phyllie hid her grin. It seemed that animals were to be the arbiters of Ron’s fate.

  ‘Very well.’ Phyllie was watching as Dan’s bulging cheeks slowly resumed their normal shape, and with a final swallow, he was back to normal.

  ‘I don’t like sprouts,’ he muttered.

  ‘I think we gathered that. I will bear it in mind for the next time you’re here, but not tomorrow, because you will be in church, and we’ll be on our ramble.’

  Jake was playing with the salt and pepper, and he shrugged. ‘No, I think I’ll go to morning service. Mr Jack tells me he always reads a psalm, and they’re Old Testament, and the church is a nice place, and Ron is doing a solo in the choir. He told me Mr Jack said he could have a decent pair of gumboots if he joined, so he did. I’ll see him with that white frilly thing round his neck and it’ll make me laugh.’

  School opened on the Tuesday, and as the children sang the hymn ‘God Speed the Plough’, which was traditionally sung to celebrate winter farm work, Phyllie stood in Miss F’s place and felt yet again that she truly was home. There was no money with which to pay her, of course, or her cover would be blown. It didn’t matter, she had the interest from the shares, and the rent from the cottage, and felt truly blessed in the man she had loved and who had provided for her and their child. As the children ended the hymn she realised just what she had thought. Had loved? No, still loved, and always would.

  At lunch break she slipped home, with Jake, to check on Miss F. The WI did the mornings, and prepared lunch, while Joe babysat in the afternoon. They hurried upstairs, hearing voices. Sitting around the bed were Andy, Joe and Mrs Symes, and of course, Francois, who had taken root on the rug by her bed. Miss F was picking at a bacon and egg pie. She looked pale.

  Andy leapt to his feet. ‘We only came ten minutes ago.’ He looked like a naughty schoolboy.

  Joe held up his hand. ‘Brought the invalid some extra milk, put hairs on her chest, it will, underneath the poultice.’

  Miss F said, ‘That is a vision I’d rather not contemplate. They’re just leaving; you too, Symes. I need my sleep.’

  They all trooped down behind Phyllie, with Jake bringing up the rear, as though they were herding the visitors, which in a way they were. Joe stayed behind in the kitchen for a moment. ‘I’ll be back in an hour, to guard her majesty,’ he said. ‘Tell her I’ll be downstairs, so’s not to bother her unless she needs something. But Ron?’ he muttered, an eye on the back door, in case Mrs Symes had suddenly developed extraordinary hearing.

  ‘Jake and I are seeing him this evening, and the decision will be his, though there will be house rules.’

  Joe’s face split in a smile. ‘That’ll please her upstairs; so you best nip up and let her know. I gather Mrs Speedie is coming this afternoon to prepare tea, which is when I’ll nip off. They’re a good lot, and don’t mither on too long. You’ve a bit more colour in your cheeks too, girl. Shame you have to keep it quiet that you’re back at school; darned authorities.’

  There was a knock on the door, and this time it was Andy who stuck his head round, when she had expected it to be Dr Nicholls. ‘Come on, Dad, let the girl spend some time with Miss F, she’s got a school to run now.’ He grinned at Phyllie and she saw the likeness to Joe for the first time. It was in the way the skin crinkled round their eyes when they smiled. Andy was smiling much more, too.

  Miss F was dozing, as Jake and Francois sat by her bed. Jake watched Miss F, and Francois watched Jake. Phyllie sat alongside the boy and pondered Francois’ reaction to Ron full-time. Well, it would have to work out, and that was that.

  After school, Phyllie made the offer in the kitchen of Myrtle Cottage, sitting around the table over mugs of cocoa. Ron coloured, looked at his hands tightly clasped around his mug for a long time, but said nothing.

  Jake murmured, ‘We’ve started clearing your room, me and Dan. You can help after school tomorrow if you like, then you can decide where you want your bed. Mr Andy lifted the heavy stuff for us.’

  ‘How long will I be able to stay?’ Ron asked. His mousy hair was long, and flopped in his eyes. He was pale and drawn.

  Phyllie pushed the plate of honey biscuits towards him. ‘For as long as you like, Ron. We have rules, of course, but we want you here. You helped Jake, and that cancels out anything else.’

  There was silence, except for the ticking of the clock. Ron said, ‘Yes please. I’ll try to be good.’ His smile brought his face alive.

  The next evening Andy and Joe gave both boys time off from the horses for ‘more important work’. Dan met them in the kitchen as Phyllie prepared an egg custard for Miss F, with eggs from Atticus, who was one of the two hens Mr Milford had given them, along with a hen house. All three boys pounded upstairs and scraped furniture across the floorboards, until Miss F banged the walking stick that Joe had given her to attract attention. Phyllie hared up the attic stairs, as fast as Charlie would allow, suggesting that they lifted things, and making a mental note on the way down to deal with Joe, and his walking stick, in the fullness of time.

  There was already a bed in the attic, and the mattress had been well wrapped and was adequate. Over the next few days the WI members brought various pieces of linen. The next Saturday, on the day Ron moved in, they put together the final touches. Ron found a spare oil lamp in a cupboard up there and this was placed on the bedside table. At the windows Phyllie hung blackout blinds, although Jake, Dan and Ron called, together, ‘Miss F said not to stretch.’

  ‘Don’t tell her, then,’ Phyllie puffed. ‘Now for the rug.’ She followed them downstairs, to find the rug that Andy had brought, along with some vegetables. He had left it in the front room, which was never ever used.

  She followed the boys in, and they hesitated at the darkness caused by the drawn curtains. There was a smell of old age, gloomy heavy wallpaper, the equally heavy furniture. ‘Blimey, miss,’ whispered Ron, ‘we could get a fair whack for this.’

  ‘Ron.’ Her tone was thick with warning.

  H
e turned. ‘I didn’t mean nothing. Honest I didn’t.’

  She thought she believed him, but saw that Jake and Dan were wondering too. Yes, she thought to herself, it will take time. She smiled. ‘Let’s just take the rug, and leave the room as it is. Miss F will know when she wants to do something with it, if ever. That’s the time to call on your ideas, eh, Ron?’

  ‘It’s a deal.’ He was pulling the rolled-up rug onto his shoulder, and turned, almost knocking an ugly dog off the sideboard. Jake grabbed the dog, while Dan caught the end of the rug. After supper and when the boys were in their respective beds, she kissed Ron on the forehead. He flinched because it was something totally foreign to him. She just smiled.

  She helped Miss F downstairs for the first time later that evening, to listen to the news on the wireless. Miss F felt dizzy, but that was only to be expected, and the poultice slipped as she eased herself into her chair. ‘There, that’s better.’ She changed her mind as they heard of the Japanese advances in South East Asia, the continued bombing of British cities … ‘Switch it off, Phyllie dear. I will fight them on the beaches when my cold is better, but not now. The war will have to wait.’

  They both laughed quietly. ‘How will it go, do you think?’

  Miss F raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Our grubby angels, I suppose you mean?’ Phyllie shifted to get comfortable. Charlie was kicking. ‘I feel it will be good for them both,’ Miss F went on. ‘A bit of rough will toughen Jake, and a bit of smooth will soften Ron. Incidentally, I heard what was said about my furniture. He’s right, you know. Why on earth am I hanging onto it all? It was Mother’s, you know. She had me – and no husband – and the village closed ranks, and I had no idea until I was about to be married, during the Great War. She thought I’d be an old maid, but I was choosy and waited until I was thirty for Robert. It was then she felt I should know, and my husband-to-be as well. Robert couldn’t have given a toss, bless him. He was never found and is still out there, like your Sammy; neither with a grave. Not one that we can visit, anyway, but we don’t need that, do we? They’re always here.’ She touched her chest.

  Phyllie asked, ‘Tucked inside your poultice?’

  They laughed together. ‘Exactly. The difference is that I didn’t have a Charlie, but I have a Ron and a Jake, to share with you, and soon a Charlie. But, of course, you will marry again, and then you will take your brood, and I will be a granny, visiting. When that day comes, you will go with a light heart. Now help me up, I’ve had quite enough for one day, though you’ll be pleased to hear I’m on the way to being fighting fit.’

  ‘Oh Lordy,’ Phyllie muttered, easing herself up, and going to the aid of Miss F who said, ‘I heard that.’

  Together they made their way upstairs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sunday 29 March 1942, Little Mitherton

  THE SCHOOL CHILDREN were on a rota to feed the lambs but Phyllie lay in her bed, while the boys were in the kitchen, supposedly doing homework. Miss F informed her that in fact they were pacing like a pair of worried fathers. Phyllie couldn’t give a damn who was pacing where, she just wanted this over. Another longer pain came, and the midwife called, ‘Breathe.’ Phyllie feared she would slap the woman if she said it again. It had been hours, and she was tired. At last the pain faded, but almost immediately there came another, and she felt she must push.

  ‘Don’t push, not yet.’ Good grief, the woman was a monster; it was like trying to stop a runaway train.

  ‘I must.’

  ‘You must not.’

  She didn’t.

  ‘Pant, don’t push.’

  Phyllie groaned, sweat pouring from her. Miss F patted her shoulder. ‘It will be all right, it’s all perfectly natural. Think of those lambs, they drop like a cake mixture off a spoon, no trouble at all.’

  Phyllie stared at her. ‘Shut up,’ she shouted, because she’d slap her too. What did she mean, no trouble at all, when she was being torn apart? Why hadn’t anyone warned her? She gasped out the question.

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ the midwife told her, ‘you’d never have believed us.’

  Here was another pain, and she had to push. The midwife was shouting, ‘Yes, push, come on, Phyllie. Push.’

  Why didn’t she make up her ruddy mind? But this thought faded, as the pain grew and became like a huge wave, and there was only that, and the pushing, and if any man came anywhere near her ever again, she’d cut it off, too bloody right she would. The push faded, the pain too. She wept. ‘I can’t, I’m too tired.’

  ‘Nonsense, it’s only been twenty-four hours.’ It was Dr Nicholls, entering. He had his bicycle clips on, of course.

  Miss F said, ‘If you’re coming anywhere near her with those filthy hands you can think again. Go and wash this minute.’

  ‘Just observing, dear lady.’

  Phyllie looked wildly from one to another. The pain and the push began again, and she heard Dr Nicholls tell Miss F that Joe and Andy had arrived. Oh God, they should sell tickets. She groaned, and suddenly saw Sammy, just as he had been on the platform, his face, his smile, and she felt his kiss, and now she cried because he should be here to see Charlie. He should be here. For the next twenty minutes she pushed and groaned and wept, and hated herself for making a fuss, but when Dr Nicholls took her hand with his freshly washed one, she groaned, ‘Sammy should be here.’

  He said, ‘I know, my dear child, but we’re all here to stand in for him.’ It was almost enough.

  Charlotte was born at three twenty-three on 29 March 1942, six weeks or so after Japan had taken Singapore, though a British convoy had broken through the blockade around Malta and delivered supplies. There would have been submarines there. God keep them safe, she thought, as she held her daughter in her arms, a daughter who even at this early age looked very like her father. She gazed through the window and up at the sky. It was a fresh blue, and a bird flew across her field of vision.

  The midwife left, and Dr Nicholls also. Miss F fled the room for a moment, to bring up the boys. Jake and Ron stood in the doorway, their eyes big.

  Phyllie smiled. ‘Come in, say hello to your sister.’

  Their socks were down round their ankles. Had they lost their garters again? Their knees were grubby, and bits of straw were tangled in their hair. Jake’s hair was so dark, and Ron’s a light chestnut and no longer looked mousy. Charlotte’s was dark, just as Sammy’s had been. They tiptoed across in their plimsolls, and looked down. Ron said, ‘Ain’t she small, Miss Phyllie?’

  ‘She’s red,’ Jake added. ‘And look at her little hands.’ He held his finger against hers. ‘See, she’s tiny.’ Her fingers unfurled and gripped his. The boys looked at one another, grinning. ‘She’s strong.’

  Miss F stood behind them, smiling as though her face would split in two. ‘They say that they can hang from your fingers, and take the weight, even when they are a few hours old. They’re like little monkeys.’

  Ron frowned. ‘She ain’t like a monkey; she’s pretty. I reckon your Sammy would be right pleased if he could see her, don’t you, Miss Phyllie? I wonder if she’ll play table tennis. I reckon he’d have been good, with me teaching him.’

  Phyllie leaned forward and stroked first Ron’s cheek and then Jake’s. ‘I think he’d be really pleased if he could see my family, including Miss F, and you know what, I think he can. And Isaac, too. I just feel it.’ That lump was back in her throat, her voice sounded strange. Oh, Sammy.

  Charlotte sneezed and released Jake. The boys nodded. Jake said, ‘Mr Andy was downstairs. He was really worried, and Joe had to tell him to sit down or he’d drive him right bloody mad and wear the flagstones out.’

  Miss F was shooing them out now, saying, ‘Phyllie needs some rest.’

  As Ron was leaving the room he said, ‘Mr Andy left when he heard you were all right and the baby was too. Joe wanted him to stay, but he said he had to look after the sheep, and besides, you wouldn’t want a lot of people poking their noses in.’

  Jak
e said from the landing, ‘I said that Mr Andy wasn’t people, but he still went. He left you some flowers, so he did. Joe put them in a jam jar. They look funny, just stuck in that …’

  His voice faded as Miss F herded them downstairs, and Phyllie heard her say, ‘Phyllie will be really tired for a while, but you can talk to her again soon.’

  It was Joe next. He didn’t come in but stood in the doorway, his cap off for once. He was twisting it in his hands. ‘You’ve got a grand tiddlin there, lass.’

  She eased herself on the heaped pillows. ‘Don’t stand there, come and say hello to Charlotte.’

  He tiptoed across, his socks still full of holes. Someone needed to get out a darning needle, she thought, and soon. When were the pair of them going to get their act together? He peered down. ‘Reckon she’s a belter. Reckon your Sammy’ll be right pleased, cos he’ll know, lass.’

  Her eyes blurred. ‘I hope so, I feel he will, but sometimes I forget his face, Joe. I can hear his voice, but I forget his face.’

  Joe reached out and touched Charlotte’s cheek. ‘Their skin is always so smooth. With our Andy I couldn’t feel his skin, it was so bloody smooth.’ She thought he hadn’t heard what she had said, but now he focused on her, not the baby. ‘It’s to make room for the rest of your life. That’s not to say you’ll forget him, no, not at all, and you’ll never stop loving him, but there’ll be room for others. It’ll be different, but there’ll be room. You see, Phyllie …’ He hesitated.

  She prompted him, ‘Go on.’

  He tiptoed to the window now, looking out over the fields behind them, as though he was seeing them for the first time. Well, he probably was, from this bedroom. ‘You see, I was thinking about our old bag.’ He stopped as the stairs creaked and Miss F called, ‘Time up, Joe. The girl needs her sleep, they both do. Put Charlotte in her basket, for Phyllie, and come on down, at once.’