Starlight

by Anne Douglas

  Slowly, with her mother’s help, Jess thawed. Began to feel again, to let the thoughts she so dreaded sweep in to her mind; to face the images she’d always known she’d have to face.

  ‘Now, it’s just as I say, Rusty’s no’ dead, just missing,’ Addie kept telling her. ‘What you have to do is hope. Cling on to hope. And don’t give in, till – well, till you know what’s happened. Here, pet, have some more tea.’

  ‘No, I don’t want any more tea.’ Jess rose to her feet, feeling as stiff as though she’d run a mile. ‘I think I’ll go into work after all, Ma.’

  ‘Never! You’re too shocked, Jess. You’ll never be able to concentrate.’

  ‘I will. It’ll be good for me, it’ll help. If I stay here, I’ll just think the worst.’ Jess’s voice thickened with tears. ‘I’ll keep seeing Rusty – as he might be – and if I go to work, I’ll have to look at other things.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Addie was dubious. ‘But tonight, come to me, eh? Don’t sit here on your own.’

  ‘All right, I will.’ Jess was on her way to the bathroom to splash cold water over her face, comb her hair, try to seem as usual. ‘Thanks, Ma.’

  ‘I’ve got a nice bit of stew ready, and Derry will be bringing some vegetables. He’s coming up for his tea.’

  ‘Derry?’ Jess paused. ‘Is he feeling better, these days?’

  ‘I’d no’ say that. But I often give him a meal – it’s easier than carrying stuff down.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I’ll come round then, after work.’

  Oh, poor lassie, thought Addie, wiping her eyes and clearing away the teacups. Oh, poor Jess. Didn’t help at all, did it, that so many folk were in the same boat?

  Forty-Two

  Everyone was so kind. All her staff – Edie and the usherettes, Flo and Netta, Trevor and Fred, Joan from the cafe, Ron and Hughie from the projection room – all came to hug her, murmur words of comfort, even share tears.

  ‘Now should you have come in?’ Trevor asked solicitously. ‘We’d have managed, you know.’

  ‘Aye, we’d have kept going,’ Ron agreed. ‘The film’s OK – niver a break this time, you ken.’

  ‘Thank heavens it’s not a war film,’ Joan Baxter whispered to Flo. ‘Pride and Prejudice – that’ll not make things worse for poor Jess.’

  ‘I wanted to come into work,’ Jess told them, so grateful for their concern, yet suddenly longing to be alone in her office. And of course, they understood, and left her to deal with her loaded desk on her own, while Edie quietly slipped in coffee and went out again with her hankie to her eyes.

  But then Marguerite arrived, and the sisters fell into each other’s arms, tears flowing, and more coffee was served, as Marguerite smoked a cigarette and said she’d got a lift from Drem with the Wing Commander, who’d come in on business. Dear man, he was, too, and so sad to hear about Rusty – well, as everyone was at the airfield.

  ‘But the Wing-Co sent a message, Jess,’ Marguerite told her. ‘He said no’ to give up hope, even though it might be some time before you hear what happened to Rusty. Information comes very slowly from enemy forces, you see, and when a fellow is captured . . .’

  ‘Captured,’ Jess repeated faintly.

  ‘Well, yes, that’s what we’re hoping for, isn’t it? So, when somebody’s captured, he gets taken to a temporary camp for formalities and such, has to give his name, rank and number, before he goes to a proper prisoner of war camp. So it all takes time, but if you don’t hear anything for a while, it’s good news, really.’

  ‘I suppose Rusty could try to escape,’ Jess murmured. ‘I mean, before he was captured.’

  ‘Very few get away. Imagine, trying to get through Germany! But, listen, I managed to phone Ben and he says just the same as the Wing-Co. Don’t give up hope, Jess. There’s every chance that Rusty’s all right. Ben’s going to try to ring you here himself.’

  ‘It’s good of him. And good of you to come, Marguerite. Means so much.’

  ‘Good of me to come? What else would I do? I know you’d want to be with me, if anything happened to Ben. Well, of course, something did, but thank God he’s recovered now. The scars have faded and his leg’s OK. Not a hundred per cent, but it works – that’s all that matters.’

  Putting out her cigarette, Marguerite said she’d better go, she’d arranged to meet the Wing-Co in George Street for her lift back.

  ‘Keep your spirits up, Jess, and remember, we’re all with you.’

  The sisters kissed and embraced again, then Marguerite went hurrying away, and the phone rang with Ben on the line, saying how devastated he was at the news, but repeating all the Wing-Co’s advice.

  ‘Anything I can do, Jess . . . no, I mean it . . . let me know. I’m thinking of you and Rusty all the time.’

  ‘I know, Ben, and I’m grateful. Thanks for phoning – I do appreciate it.’

  ‘And the minute you hear anything, you’ll let me know?’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  As soon as she’d put the phone down on a fond farewell, it rang again and this time it was Sally. Her mother was going to look after baby Magnus, and was it all right if she came round?

  ‘Just have to see you, Jess. Just for a wee while, all right?’

  ‘That’ll be fine, Sally. Come any time. Bring Magnus too, if you like.’

  Magnus, Sally’s pride and joy, had been born in January, was the image of Arnold and a deeply happy, placid baby; everyone at the Princes loved to see him.

  ‘That’s all right, dear, Ma’s keen to take him. Oh, but you’re being so brave, aren’t you? Oh, I can tell. But let it go, if you want, then. No point bottling it up, is what I say.’

  ‘You’re probably right. But just now, it’s a help to be here.’

  ‘It would be, dear, it would be. See you soon, then.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  Oh, how kind everyone was! Jess, putting down the phone, laid her head down, too, on her desk, and let her thoughts wash over her. How kind. How they all wanted to help. But they knew and she knew that no one could help. This was for her alone.

  Where was that hope, then? How long would she have to keep going, with only hope to sustain her? Time stretched away from her into infinity, for she couldn’t imagine ever being free from this state of limbo in which she found herself. All she could do was keep going. Run the Princes. Do her best. And as Sally’s knock came on her door, she gathered herself together as she would so often have to do, and went forward to greet her.

  In the event, she didn’t have to wait as long to escape from limbo as she had expected. Halfway through April the unbelievable news came that LAC Russell MacVail was alive. Alive and uninjured, and with the rest of the crew of his plane, now a prisoner of war in a Stalag Luft, a camp for captured aircrew run by the German air force.

  Hope had triumphed. Prayers had been answered. For a while, Jess walked on air. Until reaction set in, and she began to wonder how Rusty would cope with losing his freedom for the rest of the war. Would he have enough to eat? Could she send food parcels? And, at the back of her mind, was the question she didn’t even want to frame – how would he manage without alcohol?

  ‘Why, it’s the solution to his problem!’ Ben cried, when they next met. ‘Your worries are over!’

  ‘I hope so,’ Jess answered, thinking there it was – hope back in her life. And must remain, while she and Rusty separately lived through the long years ahead, until the war was over and they could be together again. Always providing, of course, that their side won.

  Forty-Three

  And their side did. But only after years of fighting. Long hard battles on several fronts across Europe, ending with Hitler’s suicide in his Berlin bunker and the declaration of victory for the Allied forces in May 1945.

  Victory! Instant happiness seemed assured. Certainly, there was rejoicing at first. Singing and dancing and flag-waving. But it wasn’t possible to keep on dancing, and gradually, the questions began. Where was th
e end of rationing? Why was it taking so long to see all the troops back home again? And why had so few of the prisoners of war in Germany been repatriated so far?

  Everything, it seemed, was going to take time. There were formalities, you see, for bringing an end to war. Paperwork. Demob suits to be made, for returning service personnel. Gratuities to be worked out. And getting prisoners of war repatriated from their camps – well, that wasn’t so easy. Sometimes the Russians were involved. Had to tread carefully. But all in good time, everyone would be back home, and one day, the food situation might improve as well. People would just have to be patient. Oh, and perhaps remember that there was another part of the war not yet finished, and that was in the Far East. Spare a thought for the relatives of those involved in that!

  ‘I do worry about the war in the Far East,’ Jess told her mother. ‘All the prisoners of the Japanese – the men still fighting. I know we’ve been lucky.’

  ‘Aye, that’s true,’ Addie agreed. ‘But it’d be nice if we could see your Rusty home, and Marguerite and Ben as well. At least I’m back at the ladies’ club, eh? No more camouflage nets for me!’

  ‘That’s one bit of good news, all right. When’s the grand re-opening?’

  ‘July, and we’re all working flat out to get it ready. Then I’ll be back to my cooking again, though what I’ll find to cook with is anybody’s guess.’

  ‘You’re well known, Ma, for making something out of nothing.’

  ‘Maybe, but it seems to me things are no better on the food front than when we were at war. And Derry says he’s no idea when we’ll get imported fruit again. How he’s managed that shop of his, in all the shortages, is a miracle!’

  ‘It is,’ Jess said, hiding a smile at the mention of Derry’s name. Nothing was ever put into words concerning the relationship that had developed between her mother and Derry Beattie, but both Jess and Marguerite knew that one was there. It might have been that they simply didn’t want to take on the commitment of marriage, both having lost partners they’d dearly loved. Or that they were just comfortable with what they had – shared lives that amounted to marriage in all but name. Whatever the truth of the situation, the sisters had never seen their mother so content, and that was all that mattered to them. If she didn’t want to confide in them, so be it. Everyone was entitled to a secret or two.

  ‘Aye, well, we’ll just have to be patient, I suppose,’ Addie sighed. ‘Like they’re always telling us. But one of these days, you’ll see, they’ll all come walking in. You’ll have the girls back at the Princes, Marguerite in the cafe again, and Flight Lieutenant Ben in the projection box with dear Rusty. Then it’ll all be like they’ve never been away.’

  ‘Think so?’ Jess asked. ‘I wonder if they’ll want to come back to things exactly as they were before?’

  ‘Course they will! I’m glad I’ve got my job back, I can tell you. And maybe they’ll find things aren’t exactly the same anyway.’

  ‘What’s different?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Why, you’re the manager, Jess, instead of Mr Hawthorne. I’d say that was different for a start!’

  Of course she was right. Jess wondered why she hadn’t thought of it.

  ‘All come walking in,’ Addie had prophesied, and it was true. One by one, the pre-war staff came back from their war work to the Princes, giving Jess the sad task of saying goodbye to their replacements.

  ‘Och, don’t worry about it!’ Sadie Munn cried. ‘We always knew we’d have to go when the war was over.’ She laughed a little. ‘And we’re no’ the only ones losing our jobs – look at Mr Churchill losing the election, and Labour getting in! Who’d have thought that?’

  ‘They say the forces wanted a change after the war,’ said Jess, who’d been as surprised as the rest of the country by the defeat of the prime minister. ‘A new Britain to come back to, maybe.’

  ‘Aye, well, it’ll be a change for me to be at home again, and I’ll no’ mind. Nice for you to have your girls back as well, eh?’

  Renie, Edna, Faith; Pam, Kate, Ruthie – all the familiar faces were around again, though there had been a few changes. Renie, Edna and Pam now had husbands, though Faith, who’d married a sailor, had already left him.

  ‘Aye, it was one o’ thae wartime romances, eh?’ she told Jess with a laugh, on first returning. ‘Didnae last five minutes, so here I am back at the dear old Princes and glad of it!’

  ‘But haven’t you done well, Jess?’ Renie exclaimed. ‘You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when I heard you were manager now!’

  ‘So surprising?’ Jess asked a little coolly.

  ‘Jess was always going to do well.’ Sally, now sharing work at the box office with Netta, was quick to spring to her defence. ‘And Mr Hawthorne wanted her to take over from him, when he fell ill.’

  ‘Oh, I’m no’ saying you weren’t the best one for it,’ Renie said hastily. ‘You being so good at figures and that. We always knew you’d end up running something.’

  ‘So, when’s your sister coming back?’ Edna asked Jess. ‘And handsome Ben?’

  ‘Any time now, I should think,’ Jess answered, adding in a lowered voice. ‘And maybe Rusty, too.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ Sally said firmly, as the usherettes fell into sympathetic silence. ‘That poor laddie should be home by now.’

  Oh, so he should! But Ben and Marguerite came back first, both giving the slight impression that they weren’t as ecstatic as they might have been about being once again in their old jobs.

  Ben, fully recovered from his injuries, had ended the war as a Flight Lieutenant, and was obviously finding it a bit of a shock to be back in his projection box, especially with Ron Clerk, who got on his nerves and was no substitute for the absent Rusty. While for Marguerite, after the exciting days in the WAAF, being a waitress again had clearly lost its appeal. There was often a frown on her smooth brow, and a petulant droop to her lovely mouth, but she never spoke of what she was feeling, and Jess thought it better not to comment.

  ‘Maybe the time’s come for Marguerite to have a baby?’ Addie hopefully suggested to Jess. ‘Now that Ben’s poor dad has passed away, they’ve got the house to themselves and all the space they want, eh? Some folk’d give their eye teeth to have a bairn in a nice place of their own like that.’

  ‘I don’t see Marguerite with a baby, somehow,’ Jess remarked.

  ‘Well, can I see you?’ her mother asked.

  ‘Maybe one day. Got other things to think of now.’

  Other things to think of. Or a person. But as the weeks went by, Jess had almost given up hope. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe to do with the Russians, or something. Had Rusty’s camp been moved to Siberia? Oh, what a piece of nonsense! Don’t get carried away, Jess told herself. It’s just red tape, it’s just the paperwork. He’ll come walking in, like Ma said. And then it’ll be as though he’d never been away.

  On a warm summer’s day, she was in the foyer, putting up a publicity notice for The Picture of Dorian Gray, a coming attraction. She stood back and looked at the photographs of the star, a handsome, black-haired actor named Hurd Hatfield, who had, she thought, rather a look of Ben. Then she permitted herself to smile. It was a long time since she’d kept seeing likenesses to Ben in film stars. Heavens, what a child she’d been in those days! Ben looked like himself, that was all there was to it.

  Suddenly, behind her, she heard a voice speak her name.

  ‘Jess?’ And then again, as at first she was too stunned to reply – ‘Jess?’

  Slowly, she turned her head. Was it possible? After all these years? Of not knowing, not seeing, of sending off letters and parcels and only occasionally receiving a few lines back – ‘soup was thin, bread was black, good to have the socks’. Was it possible, the long wait was over and that this was . . .

  ‘Oh, Rusty!’ she cried, bursting into tears, and putting out her arms to him. ‘You’re home!’

  Forty-Four

  He’d always been thin, but now he
was just walking bones. As she took him in her arms, Jess could feel his shoulder blades like knives through his shirt, and the face looking into hers was so gaunt, so fleshless, it seemed a stranger’s. Yet the eyes, so painfully large, were Rusty’s eyes – she would have known them anywhere.

  Still, she cried out at how thin he was. What had happened to him? Why hadn’t he let her know he was coming?

  ‘Meant to, Jess, but it’s all been . . . so difficult. It’s all taken . . . so much time.’

  ‘And you’ve nothing with you, Rusty, no’ even a jacket. Where’s all your stuff?’

  ‘At home. I went there first. Had no key, but Mrs Fox let me in.’

  Mrs Fox. Their upstairs neighbour, who held a spare key. What a shock she must have had, seeing this strange, emaciated man on her doorstep!

  ‘Thank God she was in – oh, poor Rusty!’

  She stepped back, her eyes bright on his face, gazing so long he gave a faint smile.

  ‘Did I not ask you once, Jess, if you’d know me again?’

  ‘I know you, Rusty. I just can’t believe you’re here. Are you real?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Things haven’t seemed real to me for a long time.’

  ‘I am, though?’ She caught at his hands. ‘Look at me, Rusty! I’m here, I’m real.’

  They held each other again, kissing lightly, not passionately – oh, nothing about this homecoming, it seemed to Jess, was as she’d imagined it. Releasing herself from Rusty’s thin arms, she looked anxiously round the foyer, which was still empty. There was still no one around to see them. But it would be opening time soon and everyone would be arriving.

  Sally, whose turn it was for the box office, and Renie and Edna for the auditorium; Trevor for the cinema organ; Fred to open up; customers to see the film. Just at that moment, she didn’t want to see any of them, only wanted to be alone with Rusty, to try, somehow, to make sense of this reunion she’d wanted for so long.