by Sally Wragg
She watched him curiously, head tilted. It was twilight, with a pale slim moon. It had rained earlier, wafting the scent from the hedgerows.
How romantic it would be if she were here with John! And what a surprising idea that was!
‘Is something the matter, Laurence? You’re quiet.’ In a sudden, unwarranted burst of understanding, she added, ‘It must be pretty odd, landed in a strange country, knowing no one.’
Laurence hailed from Montreal, and had volunteered to fly in Lancaster bombers. She couldn’t imagine a starker and drearier contrast than with sleepy Castle Maine, where nothing ever happened. Even the war had left it untouched. Why, if it wasn’t for the Food Office, where she worked, and the voluntary work, cheering the troops …
Laurence’s gaze, normally so steady and forthright, was avoiding hers tonight.
‘I’d like to get to know you better, Mary.’ He was looking at a clump of hollyhocks, bursting from the hedgerow like gaudily painted ladies.
‘And so you shall!’
‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’ His voice held an odd kind of urgency that made her stop.
He sounded so … not himself! The war, she supposed. It did strange things to people.
‘I mean – I really like you, Mary.’ Abruptly he reached for her hand.
‘Laurence, stop it, do!’ She disengaged herself. ‘Whatever’s got into you?’
‘What do you think?’ he asked, his gaze burning down into hers, startling her with its intensity. ‘Have you no idea how I feel? Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too!’
She shook her head and stepped back.
‘Laurence, you’ve got this wrong! John—’
‘Ah, John!’ His eyes were full of pain.
‘I’m married, Laurence. You know that.’ She’d continued seeing other men all the time John had been away, but she’d always been faithful. She’d had no idea Laurence had been harbouring such wild imaginings.
‘We’re lonely, Laurence! You’re hundreds of miles from home, while I’m stuck here, my husband the Lord alone knows where.
‘Us – this – it’s only ever been for companionship! What gave you leave to think otherwise?’
Too late, he saw that she meant what she said, and stood in the middle of the road, regarding her wretchedly.
‘What a fool I’ve been. I’ve embarrassed you! I don’t know what came over me.’
All at once, he pulled his cap from his uniform pocket, rammed it on his head and began to march off back down the road, while Mary stared after him.
She didn’t want him to leave. Why throw everything away because of some silly misunderstanding?
‘Laurence! Wait!’
Suddenly she was careering after him, tripping in her best shoes. He stopped, and as she hurtled towards him, he put out his hand to steady her.
‘Laurence, please don’t go like this.’
‘I’ve made an idiot of myself. You don’t have to tell me. I had no right letting my feelings get the better of me.’
The words were simple and spoken from the heart, and her heart responded.
‘Please don’t think that.’ She stopped, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. ‘I want things to stay the same. What harm’s been done? Let’s forget it, shall we? Please don’t go like this.’
His hand dropped away from her arm, and he looked at her almost coldly.
‘Didn’t you understand a word? How can things be the same?’
What he said next went right through her.
‘Oh, hang it, Mary, I’ve fallen in love with you, and you expect me to keep everything casual?’ He shook his head. ‘It’s best to go. We needn’t see each other again.’
That was the last thing she wanted. Mary’s hand stole from her side to lie softly against his arm, as if that were where it belonged.
He was trembling, she could feel it through his uniform.
Suddenly he had moved closer, and in one single motion scooped her into his arms, his touch burning through her like fire. His lips crushed down on hers.
She sank against him, exchanging passion for passion, consumed by the most overwhelming emotion of her life.
Self preservation came to her aid at the last. With growing desperation, she tore her lips from his.
‘This isn’t what I want,’ she cried. ‘It’s not right, Laurence.’ She pushed him away with a force that shocked them both, and turned to walk away.
When she turned the key in the lock, there was a letter from John face up on the doormat.
Mary groaned, but she wasn’t even surprised. It was almost as if she’d guessed it would be there, this letter she’d been eagerly anticipating for days.
Wearily, she stopped to pick it up. In the sitting-room, she sat down, still in her coat, to read the single page.
My Darling Mary,
If I could only write how much I love you. I haven’t the words. You know words were never my strong point.
This blasted war! Here am I hundreds of miles away, thinking of you constantly, hating every second we’re apart. But if it weren’t for the war perhaps you’d never have married me?
I do so look forward to hearing from you. Will you write to me? Any old thing! Just let me know you’re there, you’re thinking of me now and then and you don’t regret our marriage too much.
Whatever happens, you must know our marriage was and is the single most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me …
Mary could read no more. Tears blurred her eyes.
Why had she responded like that to Laurence? What had happened? She was married to John! Had she gone and fallen in love at last, with the wrong man?
Guilt consumed her, a guilt that shook her in its intensity. She rocked backwards and forwards in the chair, sobbing bitterly, John’s crumpled letter clutched to her breast.
Maggie took one deep steadying breath, and pushed open the door to Tony’s Place. Outside a dim light lingered, but she was late; she’d been delayed.
There was a crowd in tonight, the last thing she needed. She already had the beginnings of a headache.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Tony signalled at once to the barman, came round the bar and gazed anxiously into her face, seeking his answer already.
She looked away. She still had no idea what she was going to tell him.
‘I wondered what had happened to you,’ he said, leading her to a table.
‘Sister Aspen, that’s what happened.’
There’d been an emergency. She could hardly refuse to stay and help, but it had meant she’d had to wait for a taxi in a queue a mile long.
He handed her a drink – he never got her mood wrong. But this time she left it, and looked at him.
It was just a normal night in the club, except that it wasn’t. Sometimes she thought things would never be normal again.
His eyes fastened on hers hungrily, and then suddenly sharpened, and she knew then that he knew her answer, the same moment she’d made the decision.
‘Tony, I’m sorry – it doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why exactly.’
How could she dress it up to sound any better? It was hurtful – she hated doing this to him.
‘Sometimes feelings can’t be put into words,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps it’s better they’re not.’
‘Try!’ he demanded.
‘I only know that you deserve much more. Someone who can love you properly. I suppose. That’s not me – I wish it was.’
How wretched she was making him! Her hand reached for his, but he snatched his away as if her touch would have burned him.
‘You don’t love me.’
‘I do, only – not enough.’
‘How do you know if you won’t even try?’ For the first time, there was anger in his voice, and she couldn’t really blame him.
‘I should have told you long ago. But I suppose I was hoping against hope—’ She stopped, unable to bear the sight of the hurt she’d just inflicted.
Listlessly, she
turned to watch the dancers. People were having fun, oblivious of what was happening here in this quiet corner.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said almost to herself.
‘I can’t fight a losing battle, Maggie!’ His voice was bitter. ‘You can’t let go of Hughie. I don’t believe you ever will.’
Maggie’s eyes stung suddenly. He was right, of course. She’d wasted enough of Tony’s life already. She pushed back her chair, desperate to get away.
At that moment the music stopped, leaving a crescendo of happy voices mingling with the clink of glasses. People were simply taking the chance to relax and enjoy themselves.
But there was something else, too … She sank back into her chair and looked across at Tony.
There was a dull, indistinct rumble, swelling ever louder, until it grew into the all too recognisable throb of an engine.
Everything happened in a split second after that, and yet in slow time. There was a roar, then a rattling whine. The walls shook – the dance floor waved about as if it were water instead of wood.
‘Everyone down!’ It was Maggie’s own voice as she dived for cover, reaching desperately for Tony’s hand and dragging him after her.
‘Gran – Gran! Whatever is it?’ Harry shot downstairs, and straight into Daisy’s open arms. She clasped him to her thankfully just as a second explosion resounded up the valley, making the pair of them jump. Daisy had never heard a bomb blast before in her life, but she knew exactly what it was.
‘Oh, dear Lord!’ She clung to Harry, unsure who was holding up whom. ‘Don’t worry, pet. I’ve got you.’
‘Are we being bombed?’ Holly rushed down, fastening the tie on her dressing gown. Her face under the hall light was pale with shock.
A third, more muffled explosion came, proving her fears all too true, and prompting Daisy into action.
‘Under the stairs!’ she ordered, pushing them roughly towards the cubby-hole.
‘I’m not going in there!’ Holly declared hotly.
‘You’ll go where it’s safe,’ Daisy snapped, her voice harsh with worry. ‘And don’t you dare move until I get back!’
She thrust them both in, still protesting, and slammed the door behind them, blessing the morning she and Maggie had spent emptying the cupboard. Not that they’d ever thought to use it in a million years!
She turned and ran through the hall, her heart pounding against her ribs.
They’d seen what was happening in London, in Birmingham and Coventry, even. Had they thought they were immune from Hitler and his blasted Luftwaffe?
She fumbled with the lock on the front door, throwing it open at last, and rushed outside.
What she saw took her breath away. Castle Maine was on fire.
She stopped and steadied herself, concentrating on the dull, unnatural light pulsing out against the growing darkness in the heart of the valley. There was something wrong with the skyline.
Where was the factory chimney?
The factory chimney had gone, as if a giant hand had obliterated it. Had the factory gone up, and all the poor souls inside it?
The siren sounded at last, shattering the air, rising up the valley towards her.
Her eyes followed a line towards a more terrible glow, burning orange. At the end of the High Street, that might be.
One thought followed hot upon another, and Daisy’s hand flew to her face.
Tony’s Place! Dear Lord, Maggie had gone to Tony’s! And Tony’s was on fire …
Chapter Eight
‘Oh, my dear Silas! My poor dear man …’ Adèle Bradshaw stumbled from the taxi bringing her to the factory and gazed in complete disbelief at the chaos before her.
The factory chimney, proud emblem of Bradshaw’s throughout Castle Maine, had collapsed like a child’s stack of bricks, smashing into the machine room and reducing the main block to a nightmare of tortured metalwork and rubble.
The dust and debris had scarcely had a chance to settle. As dawn strengthened, a thick pall hung over the place, as if to hide it from view.
Adèle’s husband lurched towards her across the piles of debris.
‘The town’s been hit, and badly,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Do you know that third bomb hit the church?’
A fine film of dust covered his hair and clothes – Silas, who was usually so immaculate! Gazing into his eyes, Adèle thought he seemed to have the weight of all Castle Maine on those willing shoulders.
‘How many have been hurt?’ she asked quietly.
‘Here? We’ve lost Mellor and Gilbert – Walter Dobson, too. There’s a lass from the floor – it’s still touch and go. The rest are fractures mainly.
‘Dolly Bailey has concussion, but it’ll take more than a bomb from Hitler to break that one’s pate.’
‘Silas, those poor men’s families!’
‘I’ll see them right. Thank God it happened at break.’ He stabbed his hand angrily towards the destruction. ‘Not five minutes earlier and the whole back-shift—’ He stopped, his voice breaking.
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ he finished quietly. ‘But we’re not done for yet!’ His hands balled into fists at his sides.
Behind him, the morning shift had begun the painstaking task of clearing the site – women and girls in the main, attacking the job with gusto.
‘Roll out the barrel …’ someone was singing. Other voices began to join in, tremulously at first, then gaining in strength. Silas turned to watch, feeling humble at such resilience. Half an hour since, everyone had been in despair.
‘Tea, oh, thank you!’ It was Adèle’s voice, but someone else put a thick, steaming cup into his hand. Without thinking, he drank. By, it was good! Hot and sweet.
The girls were shaking their heads at the tray of cups.
‘We’re fresh. Find the other back-shift folk – they’ll be gasping for a hot drink.’
Leaning against a pile of masonry, Silas looked up at the brightening sky. It was going to be a beautiful day, yet out of this clear blue had come a stick of bombs from a stray German pilot. God should never have countenanced such a thing, he thought, surveying the ruin of his dreams.
How could he put this right?
And yet – he thought back a few hours, when that fresh young voice had interrupted his thoughts.
*
‘We want to know if there’s anything we can do, Mr Bradshaw.’
The young lass had obviously been selected by the rest of the day-shift to approach him. She reminded him of Holly, somehow.
He’d been miles away, wishing hopelessly that Ned and Clifford were still here. He’d never needed his sons, nor felt their lack, as he did at this moment, while the smoke still rose from the ruins of his factory.
‘What can you do?’ he demanded. ‘Can you put my factory right?’
She must have courage, for she stood her ground, refusing to let him bully her.
‘Don’t give up, Mr Bradshaw! We’re all lost if you give up.’ She was near to tears. And then, amazingly, she reached out and touched his arm, disconcerting him completely.
What had he left to give? He had nothing in common with these girls! Every second until he got things up and running again was money lost. Profit margins loomed large in his mind, and he couldn’t change the habits of a lifetime.
But, looking at this girl, seeing the state she was in, his mood was tempered by a feeling he scarcely recognised.
‘Do you want to work?’ He leapt to his feet, so that she jumped back, startled.
‘I do, Mr Bradshaw!’
‘Then we’ll work, lass. We’ll get stuck in.’
They followed his orders willingly, happily retrieving loose bricks and masonry and the smaller debris, whatever they could manage to lift, passing it down in orderly fashion, hand to hand.
It was hopeless, of course, but they had to start somewhere.
What else could he do but join in? He was proud of every last one of them.
‘Come home, Silas. You look done in.’
Adèle plucked at his sleeve. ‘You’re too old for this kind of work!’
‘Someone has to do it!’ He was exasperated that she failed to understand. He had a responsibility to these people, this town. So much depended on him. He was full of a demented energy – but something in Adèle’s face made him pause.
Was she right? How could someone his age find the strength for this?
‘You’ve done enough for now, that’s all I meant.’ She stepped back to watch the girls at work. ‘There’s plenty here to carry on, dear. Surely you could make better use of your time at home?’
Silas wavered, seeing the sense of what she was saying, but not wanting to admit it. There was, indeed, plenty he could be getting on with at home – favours to call in, machines to borrow, a place to put them in until the factory was up and running again.
He made up his mind.
‘I have no intention of taking a rest, mind,’ he said, limping towards the car, and Adèle breathed a sigh of relief as she followed him.
Daisy Bridges laid her cheek against the cool glass, looking into the women’s ward beyond. The nurse had just drawn the curtains round Maggie’s bed.
It was a miracle she’d got out of the shattered remains of the club at all, that anyone had.
‘How are we going to tell her, Peter?’ she murmured to her husband, her face still pale with shock. ‘Why now, when she and Tony had everything going for them? He was so happy when I last saw him.’
Tony had called round to pick Maggie up, and Daisy, sitting for Harry, had just made the tea.
Her eyes were suddenly full of tears.
‘Did you know he was going to ask her to marry him?’
He hadn’t needed to tell Daisy that. There had been something in the way he’d looked at her daughter when she’d come downstairs that night – Daisy had seen it, and her heart had almost burst with happiness. There was nothing she wanted more than to see Maggie settled.
And now they’d got to tell her she’d never see Tony again.
Peter put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
