by Sally Wragg
‘You were saying – about Andrew?’ She shot Maggie a keen glance.
‘He phoned me this morning.’ Maggie was for some reason absorbed in arranging the sandwiches.
She took a deep breath, turning to her mother. It was increasingly hard to keep anything from Mam nowadays, but in any case, she needed to talk.
‘He should be home tomorrow, all being well.’
‘You two seem to be getting quite thick.’ Daisy plunged her hands into water.
‘It seems that way. I mean, I think he likes me, Mam, but he’s not exactly said so!’
She knew the doctor liked her, of course, from the looks she sometimes caught, the way he spoke to her – almost as if he was talking to himself. What, heaven forbid, if she was imagining it?
She stopped what she was doing, thinking about Andrew Hardaker in general and where exactly this was going. How could she know what he was thinking when he wouldn’t tell her?
‘And how do you feel about him?’ Daisy propped a plate on the draining-board to dry. It seemed an odd thing to her, Maggie and the doctor. Times were changing, and that was a fact.
Maggie leaned back against the sink, arms folded.
‘I like him a lot, Mam,’ she answered truthfully.
There was nothing to dislike – a good man doing his bit for the war. But as to anything else – they were great friends. Why spoil it?
‘I suppose I’ve been a bit too much on my own,’ she mused. ‘Bringing the children up alone – it’s made me too independent.’
Her mother glanced at her.
‘Isn’t it time you learned to depend on someone else?’
They looked at each other, and suddenly Maggie smiled, a great rush of love for this bright, energetic little woman flooding through her. How grateful she was things between them had changed for the better!
‘Any scraps going for Dolores?’ Peter appeared from the yard with a bundle of kindling.
‘Under the sink.’
Dolores, the large, vicious-tempered pig housed next to the hen-coop up at Maggie’s, was an animal they’d all learned to their cost to treat with respect.
‘You’re never going up there now?’ Daisy chided. ‘Go and give our Mary a hand. It sounds like she could do with it.’
The screams from the front room were reaching boiling point. Peter didn’t need telling twice.
In the front room, he set the sticks by the fire, then lifted Eddie from his high-chair and swung him round until the little boy screamed with delight.
‘And how’s young fellow-me-lad?’
He popped him back in the chair, then stooped and ruffled Mattie’s hair. The little girl stared haughtily at her grandfather through wide blue eyes. Already she was the bossy half of the partnership.
‘She’ll be a heart-breaker, this one,’ Peter chuckled.
Mary was at the mirror, fretting she’d no clip to tidy her hair. Something else impossible to get hold of! And as for these thick stockings – she looked down at her legs ruefully! She wouldn’t have been seen dead in such things once upon a time.
Her gaze returned to the mirror, fastening on the twins’ reflection, and her heart filled with a rush of love.
‘You’ll spoil them, Dad.’
‘Aye, and I’m not the only one.’
Mary had transformed herself into a doting mother, but Peter saw there were dark circles under her eyes.
There was no doubt the twins were proving a handful, but he knew instinctively something else was bothering her, too – had been for a while.
‘Fretting over John,’ was Daisy’s conclusion. Poor lad, in the thick of it, hardly seeing his children …
Peter only wished he could help.
‘Is everything all right, love?’ he enquired tentatively, and was dismayed to see the hard, bright Mary of old return instantly.
‘Why, what do you mean?’
‘You mustn’t be too disappointed if John hasn’t been able to get over here.’ He was probing, clumsily, perhaps, but he was only saying what they all thought. The lad should be overjoyed to have two such bonnie children.
‘I never said I was.’ His daughter turned back to the mirror with a pout.
‘It’s not his fault he’s hardly seen his own bairns.’ He stood beside her, warming himself at the fire. Something was wrong. He could see it a mile off!
‘There’s a war on, Dad, remember?’ Mary stared hard into the mirror, remembering the last time she’d seen John. Six – seven weeks ago?
He hadn’t been expected. No one knowing the circumstances could possibly have blamed John Bertram if he’d never wanted to see her or the twins again.
He’d stood in their tiny flat, looking down at the pair of them, fast asleep, with such an odd expression on his face.
Mary knew exactly what he was thinking – if only they were his! Why didn’t he pick them up, hold them?
He’d moved away suddenly, flinging himself down in the armchair, removing himself from temptation, it seemed.
‘How are you?’ he asked, looking at her at last.
‘All right, John. I – how are you?’
All the things she’d wanted to say to him, and she couldn’t say one! John was the one wronged; the one who had to decide where they went from here.
‘About this other man,’ he began at last. The one thing he wanted to ask! Mary’s heart sank.
‘Laurence was never the man for me, John. He’s at a different RAF station now. He doesn’t even know about the twins – I never told him.’ She paused.
‘It was – madness, that’s all. If it weren’t for them—’ she gazed at the babies ‘—I’d wish it had never happened.’
What good would it have done to tell him, after all? But John wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Mary had turned away, wanting nothing more than to fling her arms around him and tell him she was sorry….
Her hands were trembling now. She gave her hair a final pat and turned back to her father, doing her best to smile.
‘Aye, well, fatherhood can be a bit of a shock,’ Peter observed. He tried to convince himself this must be the problem – John was taking a while to adapt to being a father.
‘Not long now.’ Maggie came through with the sandwiches. ‘Mam’s put the kettle on.’
‘We’ve only dried milk left!’ Daisy called from the kitchen. What was she to do about the trifle? She stood, hands on hips, by the pantry door, looking about her helplessly.
‘Will this do, Mam?’ She turned to see their Billy, the very last person she’d expected, grinning sheepishly and pulling two precious tins of peaches from his coat pocket.
‘Surprised to see me?’
‘Of course I’m not!’ She stopped, blushing, unable to lie. Of course she was surprised! The way things were between him and his father, Billy was the last person she’d expected to see.
‘You didn’t really think I’d miss the twins’ first birthday party?’ He dropped a light kiss on her cheek, looking pleased with himself.
‘Oh, lad, I am glad you’ve come.’
All the same, she glanced nervously towards the living-room.
‘Remember telling me one of us has to be big enough to make the first move?’ he reminded her gently. ‘I’ve missed him, Mam!’
‘He’s missed you, too.’
If only Peter wasn’t too stubborn to admit it! She could only watch, heart thumping, as her youngest child braced his shoulders, winked broadly and stepped past her to face his father.
‘What the blue blazes!’ Silas Bradshaw erupted from his study, a blur of fury. The group of boys taking it in turns to slide down the ornately carved banister into the hall quietened immediately as he stormed to a halt, face red with anger.
‘Ah, there you are, dear.’ Adèle, who had been expecting this all morning, appeared instantly, gliding downstairs to take control. The boys were sent scattering in one direction and Silas gently but forcefully propelled towards the drawing-room.
‘How much longer must we p
ut up with this?’ he snapped.
‘Only a day or two more, dear,’ she soothed. Castle Maine Grammar was on holiday for a week, leaving the evacuees with nothing to do but irritate her husband. She’d been worried about Silas’s nerves all week.
‘Blasted boys should be outside where they belong!’
‘Darling, it’s raining. How can they?’
‘Fiddlesticks! When did a drop of rain hurt? I was never such a namby-pamby child …’
The thought of Silas as any sort of child! Suppressing the smile that would only have inflamed the situation, she steered him into his favourite chair, relieved him of his stick and kissed his cheek, all in the smooth movement that denoted years of practice. She received a cold and furious stare for her pains, but that was Silas. She was used to it.
Stamps had lit the fire earlier. A good blaze burned in the grate, and she stood watching it as he relaxed into the chair. When the high colour left his face, she breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I’ll make us some tea,’ she suggested gently.
‘Ring for Stamps!’ he barked, instantly jerking upright. ‘I pay him enough, don’t I?’
His lack of thought suddenly irritated Adèle.
‘Of course I must make the tea! In case you’ve been too busy to notice, dear, Stokes is getting old, too! This place is too much for one man to cope with alone.’
‘Stokes, then.’
‘Stokes has his hands full with the garden.’
‘The daily?’ he offered.
‘Silas!’
He smiled at her sweetly.
‘I do love a woman with a temper,’ he growled.
He’d wrapped her round his little finger, as usual. The man was incorrigible!
‘This place is too much though, Silas,’ she coaxed, seizing her courage in both hands.
‘What do you expect us to do? Move?’
Precisely what she wanted. The most she could hope for at this stage was to sow a seed or two of doubt, and wait.
She moved behind his chair, partly so he shouldn’t see her face, partly because she loved to run her hands through his hair, thick and abundant as it ever was. He leaned back, enjoying it.
‘Poor Stamps, Silas,’ she wheedled.
‘Poor Stamps, fiddlesticks! What are you up to, Adèle?’ He turned, looking into her face.
‘Aren’t you happy?’ His voice was deceptively soft – she should have been warned.
‘Don’t be such an old grump, darling.’ She took his hand. ‘And stop looking for compliments! How could I fail to be happy? You know how much I love you.’
She was surprised to find her hand seized in a grip of iron.
‘Do you think I don’t know?’ His gaze lingered on hers, deepening to something that took her breath away.
‘I love you, too.’ A slow smile curled his lips. ‘Don’t you ever forget it.’
How could any woman forget being loved by Silas Bradshaw?
As if he read her thoughts, he smiled smugly and released her, satisfied.
‘Go and make some tea, woman,’ he barked. The twinkle was back in his eye. The moment, whatever had occasioned it, was gone.
Adèle went to put the kettle on, her heart overflowing. Silas loved her, and that was enough. It had always been enough.
The siren had just gone again. Stumbling along the little street on the way back to barracks, Holly Bates gazed up at the two wide arcs of yellow light already sweeping the sky. The moon was out, there were a few bright stars and the cold took her breath.
She stopped, listening intently to the rumble of planes. Just about overhead. Bombers?
The sound of the Ack-Ack guns told her exactly which. Cursing her luck with words Daisy Bridges would have been shocked to hear on her granddaughter’s lips, Holly felt her way along the rough stonework. Some nights the fires lit by falling bombs were so bright that it was more like day.
All at once there came a whistling and whooshing. An incendiary bomb tumbled from the heavens, then another, the sounds merging. She hugged the wall, her eyes squeezed tight shut, her body braced for impact.
There was a roar, a screaming. The ground shook.
Streets away; she’d been lucky. She straightened up, sucking in air, relieved to be still in one piece. She remembered the shelter at the end of the road, a complicated structure made of several Andersons bolted together. Most residents preferred the five-minute walk to the Underground, but she hadn’t the time.
She hurtled through the doorway as another bomb hit, its force hurling her to the floor.
She scrambled up, a tangle of gas mask and Army shoulder bag, retrieving her tin hat, which had blown off. Too close for comfort, that one….
At that moment, the burly shape of a man stumbled through the door. He stood swaying, pulling a box of matches from the pocket of his coat and striking one, cupping his hands around the flame.
‘Who ’ave we ’ere, then?’
Holly moved backwards, feeling the cold rim of the shelter against her back, stale fumes of alcohol drifting towards her. He lurched forward, his hand gripping her wrist and yanking her towards him.
Abruptly, the iron grip released, catapulting her backwards just as her assailant was sent spinning. He almost fell, recovered, and fled out into the night.
‘Are you OK?’ a concerned voice asked.
‘I think so.’ Holly wasn’t entirely certain.
Her knight in shining armour helped her to her feet, before turning to the table bolted to the centre of the metal floor. There was a flicker and the candle someone had so thoughtfully left sprang into life, illuminating corrugated walls and a bundle in one corner; heavy snores indicating they weren’t the shelter’s only occupants.
The newcomer grinned cheerfully. He turned out to be a young RAF officer with a mop of straw-blond hair and an engaging smile. She liked him instantly.
‘You’re sure you’re all right? As if dodging Jerry isn’t bad enough!’
‘Good job you turned up.’ She sank down on to the bench along one wall before her legs gave way completely.
‘I ought to thank you,’ she added.
‘Don’t fret yourself!’ He grinned, sitting down by her side. There was a sudden loud blast, sending a cloud of debris through the opening and propelling them, heads bent, into each other’s arms.
The world stopped spinning eventually. Another near miss! They sat back, laughing sheepishly. He searched for a cigarette from his pocket, dangling it between his lips to light it with shaking fingers.
‘Like one?’ he enquired amiably, and recklessly she accepted, bending her head to light it from his.
She wished immediately she hadn’t, as the smoke hit the back of her throat and she choked instantly.
‘Tommy Ferris. I’m a wireless operator on Lancs.’ He held out his hand. ‘In London on a few days’ leave.’
‘Oh – Holly Bates, Private, ATS.’
They shook hands solemnly, content for the moment to sit and watch the candle dim and flare, making strange shapes in the darkness.
Tommy leaned his head back against the shelter.
‘Can I tell you something?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Tell me anything you like,’ Holly agreed instantly, wondering what it could be.
‘I’m scared.’ He took another furious pull on his cigarette. Smoke curled upwards as Holly nodded, understanding at once.
‘I’m scared, too.’
There was no point in not admitting it. Who wouldn’t be scared? She understood his need to say it, too. The relief between them was palpable.
‘This war isn’t what I thought,’ Holly said. ‘I couldn’t wait to finish school and join up, yet now I have – I’m not a bit brave!’
Tommy’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. A thin bead of sweat glistened on his brow.
‘I’m sick with nerves before I go out on a raid. Most of the lads are.’
‘That makes you brave men, I reckon. I’d be sick, too.’
‘Once you’
re back, you forget for a while. Have a drink. Go mad, I expect. It’s still there under the surface, though; you can’t run away from it.’
She puffed on the cigarette and looked down ruefully at the glowing tip. Who was she trying to kid? This boy, her equal in every scared thought she’d ever had? She dropped it to the floor, grinding it out under her heel.
‘What shall you do after the war?’ he asked.
‘After it? Goodness. I haven’t exactly thought. Get married and have six kids, I expect!’ Her face lit up at the thought.
‘You’ve got someone?’
She nodded shyly; Alec was in the thick of the fighting in the Middle East.
‘But I never meant to be serious about him,’ she admitted. What right had Alec to make her fall in love with him?
‘That’s how it happens.’ Tommy grinned cheerfully. Had it happened to him, too?
‘I expect I’m a sort of safety net for him – a hold on normality, if you like,’ Holly explained hastily. ‘Someone to give him the belief he will come back.’
She and Alec had seen so little of each other of late. They wrote often, warm, funny letters, chivvying each other along.
He wrote that he loved her, and she wrote back instantly that she loved him, but where did that leave them?
‘What if he doesn’t want me any more?’ she said blankly.
‘He’ll still want you.’ Tommy grinned. ‘I’d be serious about you if you were mine!’
His broad smile took any hint of intimacy from his words, but she knew he meant it – he could like her a lot.
‘You’ll marry,’ he urged, ‘have loads of kids.’
The All Clear sounded, making her jump, and the bundle of clothes in the corner grunted and stirred.
Holly jumped up, gathering her gas mask, putting on her tin hat, waiting as Tommy stooped to blow out the candle.
He put on his cap and followed her outside, to the pungent smell of burning.
‘Looks like the factory’s gone up.’ He nodded towards the bright orange flames two streets away.
At once she was aware of Tommy close by her side.
‘I know this is a colossal cheek,’ he faltered. ‘But would you mind – I mean – hang it, Holly! Can I give you a kiss?’
