‘But why is he unsuitable, as you put it? If only you’d tell me then perhaps I could understand.’
Jake’s mouth was a hard, unyielding line. ‘I’ve told you once and I won’t tell you again.’ It was as if she were small again and he was chastising her for some childish escapade. ‘It’s not my secret to tell.’
‘Are you sure?’ Fleur cried passionately, no longer able to stay calm. ‘Are you quite sure it has nothing to do with you?’
The bleak look on her father’s face tore at her heart and when he pulled himself free of her grasp, picked up her bag and marched towards the car, she knew it would be fruitless to ask any more questions.
‘I just hope Robbie’s having better luck with his mother,’ she muttered angrily as she followed Jake.
They drove all the way from Newark to South Monkford in an uncomfortable silence. As he drew the vehicle to a halt in the yard, Jake said, ‘Not a word to your mother about all this. You hear me?’
If she didn’t want to spoil her leave completely, Fleur gave the only answer she could. ‘Yes, Dad.’
Thirteen
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Well, that’s a nice greeting, Mum, I must say.’
‘What do you expect?’ There was no smile from Betsy, not even a hug. ‘It was bad enough you leaving us in the lurch, but now Kenny’s taken it into his head to come cycling over to see you every spare minute instead of helping your father.’
‘Mum, he’s been over once …’
But Betsy was in no mood to listen. ‘He says it’s to help some poor old dear with her gardening.’ She gave a disapproving click of her tongue. ‘But there’s more to it than that.’ She wagged her finger in Fleur’s face. ‘He’s done nothing but talk about a girl called Ruth. Who is she, I’d like to know?’
Fleur took off her uniform jacket and hung it up on the back of the door. The teapot – as ever – was standing on the hob in the range. She picked it up, moved to the table and poured herself a cup of tea.
‘Well,’ Betsy demanded impatiently.
Fleur sighed as she sat down at the table. ‘She’s the other girl in the billet with me and the old lady is our landlady. She’s a sweet old dear, but she’s crippled with arthritis. Her husband used to keep the garden lovely, but since he died three years ago, it’s been neglected. I just thought I’d help tidy it up in my spare time, get some veggies growing. You know, like the government’s always telling us to do.’
‘It’s here you should be helping.’ Betsy prodded her forefinger towards the floor. ‘Not digging some stranger’s garden and enticing your brother away from his duty too.’
‘I didn’t entice him, as you put it,’ Fleur said wearily. ‘I didn’t even ask for his help. He came over to visit me and saw what I was doing.’
‘Huh! And I expect you’re trying to set him up with this Ruth girl? He’s far too young to be thinking about girls. He’s still at school, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Only because you’ve made him stay on. Still want him to go to university, do you?’
‘No,’ Betsy said promptly. ‘Agricultural college.’
Fleur raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s a new idea. I’ve not heard that before. When did you think that one up?’ Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she stared at her mother. ‘Oh, I get it. You think it will keep him out of the war, don’t you?’
Betsy wriggled her shoulders. ‘Can’t blame a mother for trying.’
Fleur was about to say, No, though you’re trying much harder to stop Kenny going than you ever did with me. But she bit back the retort. It was the mother/ son thing. She knew that. She sipped her tea in the tense silence.
Almost as if she had read her daughter’s thoughts, Betsy blurted out, ‘I’d’ve thought you’d have done what your dad wanted, even if you’d take no notice of me. But no, you had to go, didn’t you?’ Tears filled Betsy’s eyes. ‘And now there’ll be no stopping Kenny.’ Her voice rose hysterically. ‘He’ll go and it’ll be all your fault. If you’d stayed here at home, he would’ve done an’ all. But now …’
Fleur set down her cup with deliberate care. ‘I know you won’t believe me, Mum, but I’ve asked him not to go. But I don’t think anything any of us can say will make any difference. And – and he said he’d go anyway – that it has nothing to do with me …’ She saw her mother’s sceptical glance but ploughed on. ‘He doesn’t want to be thought a coward. He says he gets some funny looks even now because he’s not in uniform – because he’s so tall for his age.’
Now Betsy leant over the table towards Fleur, almost menacingly. ‘I’d rather him be thought a coward,’ she said slowly, emphasizing every word, ‘put in prison for it even – if it keeps him alive.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Now Fleur’s eyes filled with tears as she felt an overwhelming pity for her mother. ‘That’s not our Kenny. Can’t you be proud of your son that – that he wants to do his duty for his country?’
Betsy banged the table with her fist. ‘His duty’s here. Helping his father on the land. Why else would the government make farming a reserved occupation? He’ll be helping his country just as much. More, if truth be known, than becoming cannon fodder.’ Fleur gasped as her mother ranted on. ‘I’ve been through all this before, you know. Your father was in the last lot. Oh, he married me before he went – so that I would get his pension.’ Her face twisted. ‘His pension! What good is a pension compared to a lifetime of loneliness?’
‘But Dad came back.’
‘Aye, he did. I was lucky …’ For a moment her eyes glazed over and she was lost in the past. ‘I was lucky he came back – that he came back to me – that he stayed with me.’
Fleur felt as if ice-cold water was running down her spine. ‘Mum – what d’you mean – came back to you.’
Betsy blinked, back in the present. ‘Eh? Oh – oh nothing. Nothing.’ She bit her lip and turned away, murmuring, ‘Yes, you’re right. I was lucky.’ And then adding ominously, ‘That time.’
The atmosphere lightened noticeably when Kenny breezed in from school, slung his satchel in the corner, hugged Fleur and then lifted his mother in a bear hug and swung her round. Betsy laughed and slapped him playfully. ‘Oh, you bad boy! Put me down, put me down. I’ve your tea to get …’
She bustled about the kitchen and scullery with renewed vigour, a smile on her face now that her beloved son was home. She placed an overloaded plate of hot food before him, fussed around him, stroking his hair and patting his shoulder.
How does he put up with it? Fleur thought, gritting her teeth, realizing that she was glad she was not her mother’s favourite if that was what she would have to put up with. She glanced across the table at her father, but Jake was eating his meal, outwardly placid, his face expressionless. But she wondered what exactly he was feeling inside.
‘How’s Ruth?’ Kenny mumbled, his mouth full of meat and potato pie.
Before Fleur could answer, Betsy, sitting down next to Kenny, said, ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full and never mind about her. Did you see the careers master today? Did you ask him about agricultural college like I told you?’
Kenny stopped chewing and laid his knife and fork down on his plate, though his meal was only half eaten. He swallowed.
‘Mum,’ he began, his face unusually serious. He put his arm along the back of her chair and touched her shoulder. ‘I don’t want to go to college or university or anywhere. Not yet. When I leave school, I’m going to join the RAF. I want to be a pilot. A fighter pilot.’
For a moment there was complete stillness in the room until the air was rent with Betsy leaping to her feet, pointing at Fleur and screaming. ‘See? See? I told you. It’s all your fault. If it hadn’t been for you, he’d never even have thought of the RAF. If – if he’s killed, it’ll be your fault. All your fault.’ She swung round towards Jake. ‘And you’re no better. You should have forbidden her to go. But you’re too soft, too – too …’ Betsy couldn’t find the words to describe what she felt about Jake. S
he sank back into her chair, covered her face with her hands and broke into noisy sobbing.
‘Oh, Mum, don’t.’ Kenny hugged her awkwardly, but it was to no avail.
Above the noise, Jake said, ‘Betsy, now that’s enough. You know I won’t interfere with what either of them wants to do. I went myself last time, didn’t I? I can hardly start playing the heavy-handed father this time round. Besides, if you want the truth, I’m proud of them. Proud of them both that they want to do their bit.’
Fleur and Kenny gaped at him, a mixture of emotions on both their faces. Gratitude for his understanding and because he’d spoken up in their defence, but at the same time shock because it was the first time they’d ever heard him criticize their mother. At least, in front of them. What perhaps passed between their parents in private they weren’t to know.
Betsy’s sobs subsided and she let her hands fall away from her face. In a flat voice she said, ‘Then you don’t care if they get hurt or even killed?’
‘Of course I care.’ Jake’s voice was rising in anger now. ‘How can you accuse me of not caring? But the whole country is in the same boat. Every mother’s son is in danger.’ He looked at Fleur and added, ‘And a lot of fathers’ daughters too.’
‘I don’t care about anyone else,’ Betsy said and now her quiet tone was more frightening than her screaming. ‘I only care about my own.’ And she leant towards Kenny to emphasize just where her concerns lay.
‘Then that’s very selfish of you, Betsy.’ Jake pushed back his chair and rose. As he was about to turn away, his wife said, ‘I bet she’s only bothered about her own precious son.’
Jake was very still and Fleur held her breath. Slowly he turned back to look down at Betsy. There was sadness on his face, a sorrow that was far deeper than disappointment in his wife’s attitude. He was struggling to hold his tongue, to end the argument, but he lost the battle as he said quietly, ‘He’s a fine boy.’
Betsy stared up at her husband, her eyes wide with shock, whilst Fleur and Kenny could only watch in silence, mystified by what was being said. ‘You’ve seen him?’ she whispered. ‘You – you’ve met him?’
‘No, but I saw him – at a distance.’ Without thinking, his glance went automatically to Fleur. It was enough for Betsy.
‘He was with her? At the station? You saw him there? Today?’
Jake sighed. After all his warnings to Fleur, it was him who’d let the secret out. ‘Yes, he was.’ His eyes were hard as he held his wife’s gaze. ‘He’s a fine-looking boy, Betsy.’
‘I bet he is. Oh I bet he is.’ Tears ran down her face once more. ‘I expect he’s just like his father!’
There was a breathless pause before Jake said, with surprising calm now, ‘Yes, Betsy, he is. He’s the spitting image of his father.’
Fourteen
‘I seem to say nothing but “I’m sorry, darling”, don’t I?’ Robbie said ruefully.
They had arranged to meet in Newark and travel back to Wickerton Wood together.
‘So – I take it you didn’t get to ask your mother?’
Robbie shook his head. ‘I felt very guilty asking for compassionate leave when the old boy had got no more than a cold, but in actual fact, when I got home, he was in hospital. Pneumonia, they say.’
Fleur gasped. ‘Oh no! Will he be all right?’
‘I hope so. Ma will be devastated if anything happens to him. Specially now with me … You know?’
There was no need for him to say more: Fleur knew exactly what he meant. If anything happened to Robbie, then the old man was the only person his mother would have to cling to.
Interrupting her thoughts, Robbie said, ‘I just couldn’t worry her at the moment.’
‘Of course you couldn’t.’ Fleur was quick to reassure him. ‘But there is a glimmer of hope.’
‘Really?’ His eyes lit up.
Over their tea, Fleur recounted the strange, mystifying argument between her parents. ‘And when Mum said she expected that you’re just like your father, Dad said, “Yes, he is. He’s the spitting image of his father.”’ She reached across the table and clasped his hands, leaning towards him to say earnestly, ‘But you’re nothing like my dad. You’re fair and he’s dark. He’s starting to go a bit grey now, but he has brown hair. You’ve got blue eyes – really bright blue eyes – and his are brown. You’re tall. He isn’t particularly. So, where’s the resemblance? I can’t see it. Admittedly, your face creases up when you smile, a bit like his does, but then so do a lot of people’s.’ She paused and laughed. ‘Old Harry’s does, for a start.’
Robbie’s face creased as he chuckled. ‘Yeah, but he’s got a lot more laughter lines on his face than I’ve got at the moment.’
‘At the moment’. How poignant that simple phrase was. In these dangerous days how many handsome young men would never grow old enough to have a wrinkled face like Harry’s?
Fleur deliberately tried to lighten their thoughts. ‘Laughter lines, you call them?’ she quipped. ‘Nothing’s that funny!’
Returning to the comparison between Robbie and her father, she went on, ‘You’ve got a much squarer jaw than my dad and …’ Suddenly, her voice faded away as she stared across the table at Robbie.
‘What? What is it? Grown another nose, have I?’
Fleur shook her head, but she was still staring at him. ‘You know, you do remind me of someone. Not my dad,’ she added hastily, ‘but someone … But for the life of me, I can’t think who.’
Robbie grinned. ‘Some handsome film star, I’ve no doubt.’
Fleur laughed out loud so that one or two folk at nearby tables smiled fondly. It was good to see two young people in uniform enjoying themselves.
‘Of course,’ Fleur teased. ‘That must be it.’
They rose from the table, put a tip beneath the plate for the waitress and left the cafe, their arms about each other, suddenly a little freer to let their feelings show. And yet, they wouldn’t be certain, not absolutely certain, until Robbie had spoken to his mother. Not until then would they allow themselves to be real girlfriend and boyfriend. Until then, they must act like the brother and sister that – God forbid – they might really be.
‘You really are a grand pair of lasses to be helping us old folk like you are,’ Mrs Jackson said as she shuffled across the room to set the table in time for an early tea. Both Ruth and Fleur were due to report back to camp for the evening shift. The lads – including Robbie – were flying tonight.
‘It keeps us out of mischief,’ Ruth laughed. ‘I mean, if we weren’t doing that we’d only be down the pub—’
‘Or dancing—’
‘Or shopping—’
They glanced at each other in mock horror.
‘What are we thinking of?’ Ruth said and Fleur giggled.
Ruth put her arm round the old lady’s ample waist. ‘Don’t you fret, Mrs Jackson. I’m one of these strange people who actually enjoy housework. And – if I’m not mistaken – Fleur is going to get a lot of satisfaction when she sees leeks and potatoes and whatever else she’s going to grow in that garden of yours.’
Fleur nodded. ‘I’ve got it all planned out. I was asking my dad for advice when I was home at the weekend and he’s given me a list of what to plant and when to plant it. I’ve written it all down in an old diary. I’m going to plant carrots, potatoes and cauliflowers, maybe leeks and onions too. And that rhubarb patch we unearthed when we cut the grass needs looking at. And I’ll start a compost heap in the far corner. And in the other corner, I’m going to build you an Anderson shelter, Mrs Jackson.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I don’t think I could get there quick enough anyway. Someone did come a while back, but I told ’em I’d go round to Harry’s if we got a bad raid.’
The two girls stared at the old lady. ‘But … but Harry hasn’t got a shelter either,’ Ruth said.
Now Mrs Jackson looked suddenly sheepish. ‘No, I know. He wouldn’t accept any help from anyone and he promised the a
uthorities he’d build one himself.’
‘But he never did.’
Mrs Jackson shook her head. ‘I don’t think he ever intended to, the awkward ol’ devil!’ She smiled fondly.
‘Well, you really ought to have one,’ Fleur said firmly, ‘especially living so close to the airfield, so we’ll build one for the two of you. We’ll put it in the corner of your garden nearest his and cut a hole in the fence for him to get through and you can share it. All right?’
Mary Jackson smiled. ‘If you say so, dear.’
‘Right – that’s settled then,’ Fleur said firmly. ‘I’ll make enquiries as to how to get hold of what we need to make one.’
‘The local ARP people might know,’ Ruth suggested.
‘That’s a good idea. Only thing now is – I could do to find a farmer nearby with a lot of pigs, and maybe cows and chickens as well.’
‘Pigs!’ Ruth exclaimed. ‘You’re not thinking of keeping pigs at the bottom of the garden, are you?’
‘Mr Clegg at Top End Farm keeps pigs,’ Mrs Jackson put in. She was smiling as if she’d already guessed what Fleur was talking about. ‘All the villagers keep their scraps for pigswill for him. He collects two or three times a week.’
Fleur’s face lit up. ‘Great!’
‘But what do you want them for?’ Ruth persisted. ‘You’re not seriously thinking of having some here, are you?’
‘I dont actually want the pigs, I just want what they produce. For the garden.’
‘What they—?’ Ruth’s face was a picture as realization dawned. ‘Oh my! Well, now I’ve heard it all!’
The bombing mission that night was a difficult one and the planes encountered heavy flak both over the target and along the route home, especially near the enemy coast. Fleur was careful to hide her anxiety as the bombers limped home, some with aircraft so badly damaged that it was a miracle they got back at all.
Wish Me Luck Page 10
