Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘No, love, of course we can’t.’ He sighed heavily. ‘But it’s just so sad that all these innocent young lives are being wasted in the process. And only twenty years after the last lot. Another generation of young fellers.’

  They sat in silence for a moment, until he pulled himself together and said, ‘What was it you wanted, love?’

  Fleur explained about the air raid and the damaged gravestone.

  ‘Tell you what, love, I’ll take you back tomorrow and see what I can do.’

  ‘Oh, Dad, would you really? That’d be lovely – but not a word to Mrs Jackson, mind. We haven’t told her. I’m just hoping no one else does before we can get it mended.’

  ‘Aye, we’ll have a family outing. Mebbe your mum’ll come too. And Kenny.’

  But Betsy was determined to play the spoilsport. ‘I’ve too much to do to go gallivanting about the countryside. And you shouldn’t be using petrol to go jaunting.’

  ‘I’ve enough petrol to take my daughter back to camp without endangering the war effort and to do a favour for an old lady,’ Jake replied, keeping his tone deliberately mild.

  ‘You shouldn’t be having to take your daughter anywhere. She should be here at home doing her duty. And now, because of her, I’ve likely got to put up with having strangers living here. Land Army girls, indeed. And townies! What are they going to know about life in the country, I’d like to know.’

  Betsy went back into her kitchen still muttering darkly, whilst Jake winked at Fleur. ‘Well, I tried. She can’t say she wasn’t asked to come, now can she?’

  It was a merry little party that set off in Jake’s boneshaker of a car the following morning. Just the three of them – even Kenny had not been able to persuade Betsy to come along.

  ‘You shouldn’t be skipping school,’ she admonished. ‘Not if you want to get into agricultural college . . .’

  Kenny opened his mouth to retort that he had no intention of going to college and never would have, but, guessing his intention, Jake cut in, ‘Half a day won’t hurt, love. And I really need his help.’

  They bowled along, singing at the top of their voices, above the chugging of the noisy engine, but when they arrived at the churchyard their spirits sobered as they viewed the damage and saw the five freshly dug graves, side by side.

  Kenny put his arm around Fleur’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. He said nothing, but his action spoke volumes. That could have been you, Sis, he seemed to be saying.

  Jake cleared his throat and became suddenly brisk and businesslike. ‘Right then. Where’s old Arthur’s grave, Fleur?’

  She led them around the end of the church that had been damaged. They paused for a moment looking up at the gaping hole in the roof. ‘That’s going to take a bit longer than a day’s work,’ Jake declared. They moved on to stand before Arthur Jackson’s headstone.

  ‘Well, there’s one good thing,’ Jake said, after he had examined it carefully. ‘It’s a clean break. I reckon a bit of cement will sort that out. You’ll still see the crack, I’m afraid, but that’ll maybe weather in time.’ He glanced up at Fleur. ‘Do you think she’ll know yet?’

  ‘Only if someone’s told her while I’ve been away. Ruth won’t, but Harry might if he finds out.’

  ‘Right then, we’ll see what we can do.’ He straightened up and began to move back towards the car. ‘Give us a hand, Kenny, will you?’

  They carried all the paraphernalia that Jake had brought with him in the boot of the car through the gateway and set it all on the grass beside the grave.

  ‘See if you can find us some water, Fleur. There’s usually a tap somewhere in a churchyard.’

  Fleur picked up a bucket and set off in search of water. She’d walked all the way around the church and arrived back at the main door when the vicar appeared from inside the church.

  ‘Oh, hello, Vicar. Where can I find some water?’

  ‘For flowers?’ Revd Cunningham asked.

  Fleur shook her head. ‘We’re trying to repair Mr Jackson’s headstone. It got broken the other night and I know it’ll upset poor Mrs Jackson if she finds out about it. I’ve just been home on a couple of days’ leave so my father’s brought me back and come to see what he can do.’

  The man, who had led the most difficult funeral service only a few days earlier, beamed at Fleur. ‘How very kind of him – and of you to think of it. The tap’s over there, my dear, near the wall a little way along from the gate. I’ll go and have a word with your father.’

  Fleur followed the line of his pointing finger and saw the tap. ‘Thanks, Vicar.’

  When she returned, it was to find the three men talking and laughing together as if they had known each other for years.

  ‘What a great bloke,’ Kenny said when Revd Cunningham had excused himself and left them to their repairs. ‘I thought all vicars were stuffy and superior. But he’s a smashing chap.’

  ‘He gave a lovely service last week,’ Fleur said. ‘At the funerals, I mean. It can’t have been easy for him. But he seemed to know just what to say somehow. I can’t remember a word he said now, but I know it was both moving and comforting at the same time.’

  Jake had finished the mix of cement and had smeared it on top of the broken edge. ‘Right, Kenny. Help me lift this up and when we’ve got it in place you can hold it whilst I put a couple of iron strips on the back of the headstone. Cement alone won’t hold it. I don’t know what it’ll look like, but it’s the best I can do.’

  A little later they all stood back to assess Jake’s handiwork. ‘I’m afraid the crack still shows badly.’

  ‘At least Arthur’s got his headstone back,’ Fleur said as they gathered everything up and reloaded the car.

  ‘Now, do you think your Mrs Jackson could find us a cup of tea and one of those delicious scones she makes before we set off back?’

  ‘Of course, she will. But not a word about what we’ve been doing.’

  ‘Actually, love, I think we should tell her now. She’s bound to hear about it and it’ll soften the blow, perhaps, if we tell her what we’ve tried to do.’

  Fleur sighed. ‘Yes, I expect you’re right.’

  Mary Jackson not only made them a cup of tea, but also insisted that they should share the stew she had made.

  ‘We can’t take your precious rations,’ Jake insisted at first, but then from the back seat of the car he carried in a box of a dozen eggs, half a pound of butter and a wedge of cheese.

  ‘How very kind of you,’ Mrs Jackson said. ‘Now I insist you stay for your dinner. Besides, Harry would never forgive me if I let you go without him seeing you again. Ah, that’ll be him now. Come away in, Harry. We’ve got visitors.’

  After the meal, whilst Fleur cleared the pots away and washed up in the scullery, Jake sat beside the old lady and, taking her hand in his, explained gently the reason for his visit.

  ‘We’ve done the best we can, my dear. I’m afraid I can’t say it’s as good as new, though.’

  Mrs Jackson dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron, but she was smiling through her tears. ‘How kind of you to come all this way to do that for me. You really shouldn’t have, but I am glad you did. Thank you, Jake. Thank you very much.’

  Twenty-Six

  The next few weeks were a flurry of excitement, marred only by Betsy’s obstinate mood. Meg, blithely ignorant of the depth of the trouble within Fleur’s family, offered to make not only the bride’s gown but also a bridesmaid’s dress for Ruth. When the girls couldn’t get to Nottingham for a fitting, Meg travelled by train and bus to the village where they were billeted, lugging a suitcase full of paper patterns and material samples with her.

  Fleur hurried down the path to meet her. ‘Oh, this is so good of you. Neither of us can get leave at the moment.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, love. It’s nice to get away for a while.’ She laughed gaily. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love Pops dearly, but with working at home as well I never seem to see anything but those same four
walls.’

  ‘I can guess what you mean. How is Pops? Is he better now?’

  ‘As good as he’ll ever be. He’s got a bad chest and he’s only to pick up a cold and it’s bronchitis or even pneumonia. Hence the stay in hospital. Still, he’s much better now the warmer weather’s here. Edie, next door, is keeping an eye on him today. She’ll fuss round him and he’ll enjoy that.’

  ‘Here, let me take that case for you . . . Goodness!’ Fleur exclaimed. ‘Whatever have you got in here? It weighs a ton.’

  Meg chuckled. ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Come along in and meet Mrs Jackson. She’s a sweet old dear and getting so excited about the wedding. Did Robbie tell you, we’ve booked the church here for Saturday, the sixth of September? And we’ve both applied for a week’s leave.’

  Following Fleur down the narrow path and round the side of the house, Meg asked quietly, ‘Don’t you want to be married in South Monkford?’

  Fleur paused, her hand on the back doorknob, and turned to glance back at Meg. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘It’ll . . . it’ll be easier here. We’re resident in this parish and . . . and . . . well, it’ll be better all round. Dad and Kenny can get here and . . .’

  Meg was staring at her. ‘What d’you mean? Your dad and Kenny? What about your mother?’

  Fleur kicked herself mentally. She hadn’t meant to tell Robbie’s mother yet. Of course, she’d find out eventually but . . . Anyway, she’d said it now. She sighed and said flatly, ‘She won’t be coming.’

  ‘Won’t – be – coming?’ Meg was scandalized. Then, after a moment’s thought, she pursed her mouth. ‘That’s because of me, is it?’ She sighed and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that Betsy’s bitterness went quite so deep. So deep that she won’t come to her own daughter’s wedding.’

  Fleur stared at Meg for a moment before she took a deep breath. ‘I don’t understand it at all. What is she so bitter about?’

  Meg lifted her padded shoulders, but she was avoiding Fleur’s candid eyes as she forced an offhandedness. ‘My dear, I really have no idea.’

  And there – for the moment – Fleur had to let the matter drop. She didn’t want to risk upsetting Robbie’s mother. She knew Meg was lying, or at least avoiding the truth, but she couldn’t question her – not as much as Robbie would be able to do. And even he hadn’t wanted to press matters any further than he already had done. He had his mother’s reassurance that he and Fleur were not related and that was all he needed – or wanted – to know. As long as he could marry his lovely Fleur, that was all that mattered to him. So, Fleur took her lead from him, and instead of asking the awkward questions that still tumbled around her own mind, she smiled brightly and opened the back door. ‘Come in. Mrs Jackson’s so looking forward to meeting you. She’s very fond of Robbie.’ Fleur leant towards Meg to whisper. ‘She gets all girlish when he’s around.’ She forbore to say that it was more that Mrs Jackson mothered him, perhaps remembering her own lost son.

  Meg laughed. ‘Well, he’s a handsome boy, even if I say it myself.’

  The awkwardness of a few moments ago was pushed aside, if not quite forgotten. At least, Fleur had not forgotten. Silently, she promised herself: one day I will find out what all the mystery is.

  Very soon the old lady’s kitchen table was spread with paper patterns and scraps of material.

  ‘Now then,’ came Harry’s voice as he knocked on the back door, opened it and came in. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘Harry,’ Fleur called, winking at Mrs Jackson. She guessed the old man had seen Meg arrive and the sight of the pretty, smartly dressed stranger had aroused his lively curiosity. ‘Come on in and meet my future mother-in-law.’

  Harry stood just inside the doorway and stared at Meg. He stroked his white moustache and chuckled. ‘You can’t be young Robbie’s mother. You’re not old enough.’

  Meg’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she held out her hand. ‘I assure you I am. And you must be Harry? I’ve heard a lot about you from Robbie – and from Fleur too. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise, Mrs – er . . .’

  ‘Meg.’ Her eyes twinkled merrily at him. ‘Please call me “Meg”.’

  Unbidden, her mother’s words came into Fleur’s mind. ‘It’ll be some poor old fool she’s set her cap at.’ Quickly, she pushed aside the unjust thought. She must not allow her mother’s prejudice to influence her.

  Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Fleur sighed as she fingered the pieces of silk and satin that Meg had brought. ‘But how am I to raise enough coupons for any of these fabrics?’ Fleur murmured. At the beginning of June clothing coupons had been introduced.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Meg said. ‘I’ve a trunk in the loft at home full of old dresses I’ve collected over the years. You know, when people have been getting rid of them. There are at least three silk dresses up there. I’m sure I can turn one of them into something for you if we can’t raise enough coupons for new material. Only trouble is,’ Meg said with disappointment, ‘they’re not white.’

  ‘You can have my clothing coupons, dear,’ said Mrs Jackson. ‘I won’t need them all.’

  ‘And mine,’ Harry put in. ‘You can have all mine. Long as me good suit’ll still fit me for the big day, I don’t need no coupons for new clothes.’

  Meg smiled at him archly. ‘You’ll have to try your suit on, Harry, and let me know if it needs any alteration.’

  The old man chuckled, his eyes sparkling. ‘Well now, I’m sure it’ll need summát doing. It’s a long time since I wore it.’

  Fleur shuddered as once again her mother’s words pushed their unwelcome way into her thoughts. Stop it! she told herself sharply. She’s only being nice to the old boy. We all have fun with Harry. Even Mary Jackson teases him and Ruth positively flirts with him.

  But now, Fleur could not help thinking, Ruth might have a rival for Harry’s affections.

  ‘That’s very generous of you,’ Meg was saying, pulling Fleur’s thoughts back to the moment. ‘But it’s not only the coupons, it’s finding the right material too.’

  ‘Er . . .’ Mrs Jackson seemed suddenly hesitant. ‘Er . . . there is my wedding dress. It was white. You – you could have that, dear.’

  Fleur stared at her. ‘Oh, Mrs Jackson, no, I couldn’t. It must hold such memories for you. I wouldn’t want to . . .’ Her voice faded away as Harry moved forward and put his arm around the old lady’s ample waist. ‘There now, Mary, that’s a kind thought. A very kind action. And I’ll match it. They can have my Doris’s things, an’ all. Time we stopped clinging to the past, eh, and let the young folks mek what they can of the present.’ He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘I reckon they’re earning it, don’t you? Besides’ – he chuckled and winked at Fleur – ‘Ruth’ll be pleased to hear I’m getting rid of some more rubbish.’ And they all laughed.

  ‘You’re right, Harry. My Arthur would agree and I know your Doris would have turfed all her old clothes out ages ago.’

  The old man laughed again. ‘She would that. I bet she’s up there shaking her fist at me for letting the house get in such a mess. Anyway, thanks to young Ruth, it’s bright as a new pin now. Doris’d’ve been pleased to help you, lass.’ He nodded towards Fleur.

  ‘And wouldn’t Arthur be chuffed with his garden?’ Mary Jackson was not quite finished with her reminiscing yet. ‘And I owe that all to you, Fleur dear. So, yes, if Mrs Rodwell here . . .’

  ‘Meg,’ Meg interposed.

  Mrs Jackson smiled. ‘If Meg here can do anything with my wedding dress, you’re very welcome to it.’

  ‘And I’ll get young Ruth to sort out all Doris’s clothes and let you have them.’

  Mrs Jackson was already moving stiffly towards the front room of the cottage that was now her bedroom. ‘It’s in here. In a trunk . . .’

  But when they unearthed Mary’s wedding dress, it was sadly yellowed and moth-eaten. The old lady fingered the
material with tears in her eyes. ‘What a shame. Such a happy day we had.’

  Meg glanced at Fleur and at Ruth, who had now arrived home. Then she put her arm around the old lady’s shoulders. ‘It’s a good job our memories last better than material, isn’t it?’ she said gently.

  ‘But I thought it’d help Fleur

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Meg reassured her. ‘I know just what we can do. We’ll scrape together enough coupons for Fleur to have a brand new dress.’ She looked at Ruth. ‘And I’m sure I can alter one of the dresses I’ve got, or one of Doris’s, into a bridesmaid’s dress for you. And some of the lace on this dress of yours, Mrs Jackson, is perfect. I can dye it to match whatever dress we decide on for Ruth.’

  ‘Pink,’ Fleur said.

  ‘Blue,’ Ruth insisted and fluffed her blonde curls. ‘I look all wishy-washy in pink.’ She made a moue with her mouth.

  Meg regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You know, Fleur, I think blue would suit her better, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Fleur smiled. ‘Of course I don’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t care what anybody wears as long as Robbie turns up.’

  They all laughed now, but Meg said very seriously, ‘Oh, he’ll turn up all right, I promise you that.’ Though it was not spoken aloud, the thought was in everyone’s mind. Just so long as he’s able.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘I’m here again,’ Meg trilled as she opened the back door of Mary Jackson’s cottage.

  ‘Come in, love, come in,’ Mary said, struggling to her feet.

  ‘Please don’t get up, Mrs Jackson,’ Meg said as she heaved the huge suitcase through the back door. As the old lady sank back thankfully into the armchair, Meg added, ‘But I could do with a cuppa. Mind if I make one?’

  ‘Of course not, love. Help yourself.’