by Sally Wragg
Silas Bradshaw knew everything there was to know about her and Ned! Hot colour flooded her face.
‘You promised you’d never tell him.’ She turned to Adèle, her voice full of reproach. ‘How long has he known?’
‘That’s the second occasion someone’s asked me that today,’ Silas said drily.
‘I deserve an answer.’ She straightened her back.
The words already forming in Silas’s defence died on Adèle’s lips, as she caught a sudden movement from the bed.
Maggie’s hand had moved … Or had she imagined it? Was she getting so desperate she was beginning to see things?
‘Quiet, the pair of you,’ she snapped, and they turned to look at her.
She stared hard at Maggie’s hands, praying it would happen again. Adèle went to church, but often because she had to. She didn’t often pray, but now—
Her eyes widened. One finger had moved.
And then Maggie’s hand moved upwards before fluttering back down. Her eyelids were flickering.
Adèle’s cry of delight rang out just as Maggie’s eyes sprang open.
‘Mam? What’s happened?’ She gazed round in shocked surprise.
Chapter Nine
‘Maggie Bates! You’ve been told to rest,’ Daisy warned, coming down from making the beds to catch her daughter hobbling across the room with the paper in her hand.
‘Give over, Mam!’ Maggie eased herself into the chair. ‘I’m a nurse, remember. Fetching the newspaper’s not taxing my strength.’
She was smiling, Daisy was happy to see, and had some colour about her face.
If it hadn’t been for that second operation to set her ankle right, Daisy believed she’d be well on the road to recovery by now.
Physically, at least. She tipped the last of the potatoes Peter had dug this morning into the sink. The mental scars were something else.
It was over three months now since the raid on Castle Maine, and on the surface things were back to normal.
Maggie was home, and Daisy was looking after them all. It was anyone’s guess how she managed to juggle work, two houses and two fractious grandchildren, never mind their even more fractious mother!
‘Have you had a chance to have a talk to Holly yet?’ she said over her shoulder.
‘I don’t need to talk to her, Mam. She’s not joining the ATS, and that’s that!’
It wasn’t like Maggie to be so adamant. Usually she went her children’s way whenever possible – making up for Hughie’s absence, Daisy supposed. She filled the potato pan and turned back towards the room, keeping her tone deliberately light.
‘I think you might at least talk to her, love.’
‘Schooling’s more important,’ Maggie retorted. ‘She’ll never get a second chance.’
‘She’ll never have a second chance at doing something useful, either.’ Daisy cursed herself, too late. Why couldn’t she keep a civil tongue in her head?
‘I want more for her than factory work,’ Maggie muttered, rattling the paper.
Now they were getting to it!
‘More than I gave you, you mean?’ Daisy took a deep breath and swallowed her rising anger.
‘This war won’t go on for ever, love. Holly wants to do something, and you can’t blame her. Be careful, or she’ll end up resenting you.’
‘When she grows up with the chance of a good job and the qualifications to do it with, she’ll thank me. She’s stubborn, Mam! She’ll grow out of it.’
That was true enough. Daisy dug the peeler into a deep-set eye. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she knew where she’d got it from.
She finished peeling the rest of the potatoes, then lit the gas and moved the pan across.
If only her relationship with her own daughter was better! Since the explosion, Maggie had grown even more reserved, exposing a growing brittleness.
‘We’ll have a bit of dinner shortly.’
‘I’m not hungry, Mam.’
The usual response. It seemed Maggie couldn’t be bothered with food. No wonder she’d lost weight.
Sensing her mother’s thoughts, Maggie folded the paper and gave up even the pretence of reading. She’d been unable to concentrate on anything for long. There was little she could do, bar sewing or helping Harry with his homework. She couldn’t stand for five minutes unaided.
‘I wish I could get back to work, Mam,’ she fretted.
‘You will, love! Give it time.’
Maggie settled back in her chair, trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankle. If only she could return to work she could forget, doing something useful for a change!
Sometimes, even now, she forgot, and expected to see Tony come striding up the path …
‘Love, you are all right, aren’t you?’
Daisy, drying her hands on the tea-cloth, was looking worried. If only Maggie could tell her how she really felt – but lately she just couldn’t talk to her mother. And there was no one else. Andrew Hardaker had left to join the RAMC – the one person in the world she could say anything to! Maggie had never felt so lonely.
‘Tony deserved better than me, Mam.’
She’d said it.
‘Who could he have had better than you?’ Daisy was perplexed. ‘You’d only to see the way he was with you.’
Maggie shook her head.
‘No, Mam. Tony loved me, but I took him for granted. He asked me to marry him, and I turned him down.’
Maggie wished immediately she’d kept that to herself. She could see her mother was shocked.
If Maggie had guessed what was going to happen just after she’d told him, would she still have turned him down?
Her pain must have shown in her eyes, for Daisy’s hand reached out towards her helplessly.
‘There’s more.’ Maggie ploughed on, needing to get this out into the open.
‘We fell out when I told him. The last thing he ever said to me was I’d never got over losing Hughie.’ Her voice rose in anguish.
‘He was right, Mam! I haven’t. It was a dreadful thing I did, leaving Tony hanging on!’
‘He wouldn’t have wanted you remembering that, and nothing else,’ her mother told her. ‘Think of all the good times you had!’
‘Why Tony, Mam? What had he done wrong?’ She was demanding an answer to the unanswerable, and Maggie knew it.
‘It must be me,’ she finished quietly. ‘First Hughie, then Tony. I’m not safe to be with!’
At last the healing tears began to fall. Daisy crossed the kitchen and knelt to draw her daughter’s unyielding body into her arms.
Then there came a sharp rap on the door. Cursing the untimely interruption, Daisy went to see who it was.
Silas Bradshaw stood uneasily on her doorstep, his two broad hands resting on the walking stick that had become so much a part of him.
‘Daisy. May I come in?’
She stood back to let him through. This wasn’t entirely unexpected – Adèle had been to see Maggie several times since she’d come home, and mentioned Silas might come up.
‘He isn’t as bad as you think, Daisy. Losing the boys has much to answer for the way he is.’
Daisy understood what losing both sons to a senseless war must have done to both the Bradshaws. Now he was here, but what timing. Just when Maggie had opened up for once.
‘Ah, there you are, Maggie! I was just passing; I thought I’d call.’
As an attempt at joviality, it failed miserably. Maggie sat up quickly, kneading the palms of her hands against her eyes, her distress still clearly visible.
‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’ Daisy forced herself to speak civilly, because this was Maggie’s grandfather – a fact now out in the open, whether she wished it or not.
‘Thank you, but I’m not staying,’ Silas answered. ‘Are you sure you’re quite well, Maggie?’
‘Well enough, thanks.’ How cold she sounded. She eased her damaged leg from the footstool, and stood up.
She knew he meant well, bu
t she couldn’t forget she’d once been nothing more than a servant in his house, and now he wanted to pretend none of it had happened. He wanted to lay claim to her.
The look she threw his way was anything but welcoming. How could she ever feel for him an iota of what she’d felt for Gramps?
‘I have things to do upstairs.’
She reached for the stick resting against the chair, but Silas got to it first and held it out. She took it from him silently and hobbled away, leaving him to stare after her retreating back.
An embarrassed silence fell as they listened to Maggie’s awkward gait manoeuvring up the stairs.
‘You can’t blame her!’ Daisy blurted out. ‘It’s a hard thing for her to accept. I should have told her about her father – long before now.’
If the confession surprised her, it seemed to surprise Silas, too.
‘You must have had your reasons. It couldn’t have been easy.’ His gaze swung back to her.
‘I didn’t make it easy,’ he added.
‘You certainly didn’t!’ Daisy was stung by thoughts of how difficult this man had made things.
‘You didn’t make it easy for your son, either.’
She would have recalled the words, but the damage was done. Silas was hurt, she could see.
‘I – I loved him,’ she mumbled. The realisation of how much she’d loved Ned Bradshaw washed over her anew. ‘I really did love him.’
‘Aye, I suppose you did.’
‘There was no suppose about it,’ Daisy snapped.
Silas’s hand momentarily gripped the edge of the table.
‘It may surprise you, but the fact you loved him and he loved you happens to be something I’m grateful for! I’m pleased my boy had a little comfort in his life before—’
‘Comfort! Is that what it was?’
Talking about Ned had brought back things she’d rather not think about, even after all this long time. How dare this pompous old man sit in her father’s kitchen and talk to her of comfort, when scant comfort he’d afforded either of them?
‘I put it badly.’ Silas saw she was upset, and paused, collecting his thoughts.
‘Confound it, woman! Do you want me to spell it out? I’m pleased Ned found someone to love. You gave him happiness, and I’m grateful for it.
‘How could I regret anything that brought Maggie into the world? She’s my grandchild!’
The fact of saying it out loud seemed to give him great satisfaction. His head, with its white mop of hair, nodded rapidly.
‘I only wish something had come of it long before now,’ he added.
‘Aye, well, if wishes were horses. Perhaps we all do.’
They watched each other curiously, a little warily, shocked at how much they had revealed.
Silas recollected himself first, reaching for his stick.
‘I’ve a lot to do. I’ll call again when she’s not so busy?’
Was that what he called it? Daisy nodded. But Ned’s father had shown her a side to his nature this morning she hadn’t guessed at till now. Who would have thought Silas Bradshaw would be soft as butter inside?
‘You must be busy,’ she said. ‘You’ve a lot on with the factory?’
Even Silas Bradshaw couldn’t hold back time, and she saw how cautiously he got to his feet.
‘They’re getting on with it!’ he said. ‘I’ve rented a warehouse in Amberside. The machines are up and running. I bus the workers in and out.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. The man was worn out.
‘You’re doing too much,’ she said daringly, and was astonished to see a twinkle in those piercing eyes.
‘Nonsense, woman!’
At a noise from upstairs, he glanced up.
‘Give her time! She’ll come round,’ Daisy said gently.
Bidding her a brief ‘Good morning’, Silas let himself out of the house. She watched him hobble off down the path. He stopped at the gate, his hand gripping the gatepost. Was he ill? Feeling faint?
In the time it took her to wonder if she should run down, he’d pulled himself upright and walked stiffly on towards the car.
Stokes opened the passenger door, Silas eased himself inside, and the car rolled smoothly away.
He must have been all right.
Daisy sniffed. What was that burning? The potatoes! She turned and rushed inside.
The bus swung to the far side of the road, slowing as it passed the Home Guard platoon. The driver stuck out a cheery thumb, and at the platoon’s head, Peter Bridges saluted smartly.
As the men receded into the distance, Holly Bates lifted her head from the back seat.
That had been a close call! If Granddad had spotted her he’d have been straight to Gran, and then wouldn’t she have been for it. Bunking off school was a hanging offence in Gran’s eyes – never mind what her mam was going to say when she discovered her only daughter had upped and joined the ATS!
A bubble of laughter rose in Holly’s throat. Stretching out slender legs, she lay back in the seat, dwelling on the agreeable thought of how grown up she’d look in uniform. Not a child any more, but a woman, with a mind of her own! A mind to leave school and do something useful with her life.
And serve her mam right, too. There was a war on.
Little stone villages interspersed with endless stretches of fresh green countryside puttered by the window. Any other time, she might have enjoyed her jaunt, but today she was only relieved when the bus finally jolted into Derby bus station.
She went to the ladies’ cloakroom to change into the fitted skirt and blouse she’d brought with her.
Lipstick – yes, that would do. She dropped her bag, with her school uniform inside it, at the left luggage office, crossed the road and walked smartly up St Peter’s Street.
Past the church, and here was the recruitment office on the Spot. She ground to a halt – she hadn’t expected to be nervous.
‘Are you going in or not?’
A boy of roughly her own age was watching her curiously.
‘Of course I’m going in!’ she declared huffily. ‘I’m joining up.’
‘Are you sure you’re old enough?’ He leaned against the door frame, arms folded, disbelieving. He had dark curly hair, wide, long-lashed eyes, and film star good looks.
‘I’m twenty!’ Holly heard herself saying.
‘I believe you.’
He so obviously didn’t that she could have slapped him.
‘I’m joining up today.’ His eyes were sparkling with mischief. ‘Take you for a cup of tea afterwards to celebrate?’
There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice, and at any other time she might have taken heart from it – given the fact her heart was already taken.
‘You needn’t bother,’ she muttered, following him inside, up a steep and narrow staircase to two rooms at the top of the landing. She was thankful to see that here they parted company.
‘Good luck,’ he whispered grinning broadly.
‘How old?’
The voice registered incredulity. It appeared the large, brisk lady recruitment officer didn’t believe her either.
Holly had sat on in the cluttered little office for what seemed hours, sipping lukewarm tea from a regulation mug, until her name was called.
The interview had been going swimmingly until the officer stopped shuffling papers long enough to look at her properly.
‘You must be all of sixteen.’ Holly could see sympathy in the steely blue eyes.
‘I never am! I’m seventeen and a bit!’ The words rushed out before she had a chance to think.
‘I’m old enough to know my own mind. Why shouldn’t I join up?’
The officer sighed, delved amongst the debris on her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper.
‘Ask your parents to sign this consent form, and then we’ll see.’
Her voice was not unsympathetic, but Holly found herself outside on the pavement clutching the consent form, her plans in r
uins. Her mam would never agree to sign it!
Tears filled her eyes, plunging the world into hazy relief, so she didn’t even see her tormentor from earlier follow her out.
‘Are you all right? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you …’
‘You didn’t.’ She wiped her eyes, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment for the second time that day.
‘I really would like to take you for a cup of tea,’ he suggested and this time there was no mistaking the approval in his voice. His eyes, too. He had incredibly nice eyes, Holly realised. And she could murder a cup of tea!
The day took on a rosier hue.
Billy dipped the rag into the blacking tin and applied it vigorously to his pit boots, averting his gaze from the mirror over the fireplace. A black eye did nothing to improve his looks.
He wouldn’t forget the face of the Tommy who’d delivered it, a thick-set man with fists to match.
‘Conchie!’ he’d hissed, before drawing back his fist and letting fly.
Billy had wanted to belt him back, but that was human nature, wasn’t it? His beliefs stopped him. Fighting was never the right way – wasn’t that what this was all about?
That group of Tommies had had nothing better to do than go looking for trouble, and they’d unfortunately found it at the Peace Pledge meeting.
They’d coped with the heckling. They couldn’t cope with the broken bottles, smashed crockery, chairs thrown across the room.
Someone across the road had called in the coppers. The biggest wonder was Billy hadn’t ended up in a cell for the night.
Not all Tommies were like the one who’d thumped him, Billy knew. Many were prepared to live and let live, despite their passionate desire to beat Hitler.
Billy paused, his hands still for once, his worries crowding in. Were they right? What made one man disposed to let things be, while another—
The back door slammed, and he hastily averted his head, reapplying himself to his boots as his father came in. He’d managed to get out of the house before Peter was up this morning.
He watched in the mirror as Dad carefully removed his Home Guard tunic and draped it over the back of the chair. Did he have to make such a thing of his blasted uniform? If Hitler ever got over here, these old men thought they could see him off single-handed!
