Women on the Home Front

by Annie Groves

  Grace had just been returning from her dinner break with her friend when Hugh had called to her before she’d entered their office building. He’d obviously been loitering in the vicinity with the intention of ambushing her.

  ‘I’ll just go on up, shall I?’ Wendy was letting her friend know she’d stick around if Grace wanted her to.

  ‘It’s alright,’ Grace sighed and tipped her head towards the door of the building, indicating Wendy should get back to work on time.

  ‘I’ll cover for you if you’re a bit late back,’ Wendy called from halfway up the steps towards the entrance.

  ‘I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry,’ Grace said pithily, whipping around to confront Hugh.

  ‘Don’t go mad, Grace,’ he said quietly, putting out his hands in supplication. ‘I just wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Don’t go mad? Just wanted to speak to me?’ she hissed. ‘Why shouldn’t I go mad? And why d’you want to speak to me? What could we possibly have to say to one another now?’

  ‘Well, I could say sorry …’

  ‘Sorry! It’s a bit bloody late for that isn’t it!’

  ‘I want to make it up to you …’ he continued, shoving a hand through his light brown hair.

  Enlightenment suddenly transformed Grace’s expression of fury and incomprehension into one of cynicism. ‘You’ve broken up with her already, haven’t you? Chucked you out, did she, when she discovered you were only interested in her money?’

  Grace tried to whip past him and enter the building but he gripped her arm.

  ‘I knew getting married was a mistake from the start, but she kept on about it. I should never have left you,I know that now …’

  Grace shook off his fingers. ‘Go and whine to somebody else, Hugh. I’m really not interested.’

  ‘I know you lost a lot of money when everything was cancelled.’

  Grace spun about on a step. ‘Going to offer to reimburse me, are you?’ she asked sarcastically.

  ‘If you want, I’ll pay you back.’ He gave her a crooked smile. ‘We could have a drink after work. I’m still working at Carruther’s in Moorgate. We could meet up and discuss it, if you like.’

  ‘Get stuffed.’ Grace enunciated the phrase quietly and hurried on up the steps to the entrance.

  By the time she’d settled at her desk and loaded her typewriter with several sheets of paper, interleaved with carbon for the flimsy copies, she’d calmed down a bit. She could see Wendy peering sideways at her from her desk and she simply shook her head, implying there was nothing urgent or interesting to report.

  But hard as Grace tried, she couldn’t put from her mind that it had taken her many years to amass the savings that Hugh Wilkins had wasted for her overnight when he’d jilted her. A tiny part of her believed he owed her that money, and if there was a way she could get it back without having to pander to the swine, she knew she’d be very keen to hear about it.

  ‘If that was me I’d meet the rat like a shot and get every penny I could out of him. He owes you it.’

  ‘He’s probably lying about reimbursing me just as he lied about everything else.’

  Grace and Wendy were in the ladies’ washroom getting ready to leave work. Wendy had kept on about what had gone on with Hugh until Grace had told her. She’d also let her know that it seemed Hugh’s marriage was in trouble already and he was sniffing around her again.

  ‘You going to tell Chris that Hugh lay in wait for you today?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘He’s got enough on his plate with his work and his moth …’ She bit back what she’d been about to say. She never discussed with anybody that Chris was hoping to be reconciled with his mum. Grace had been overjoyed on hearing the news that Pamela had accepted Chris’s bouquet of flowers and had let him know she didn’t object to seeing him again.

  Knowing Chris the way she did, he’d probably offer to meet Hugh for her, just so he could ram the two-timing swine’s money back down his throat.

  ‘What you looking so broody about?’

  ‘Sorry …’ Grace smiled. ‘Didn’t know I was.’

  ‘Want another drink?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘How’s your dad’s fancy teas going?’ she asked conversationally, determinedly putting Hugh Wilkins from her mind.

  Chris put down his tankard and smiled. ‘Sold out of scones the other day. He reckons those are firm favourites, so are home-baked biscuits, and if he could get a bit more sugar he could double his takings.’

  ‘Has he done any dinners?’

  ‘A few pies and Spam fritters with mash and cabbage. But he says people are careful with their cash and sticking to afternoon teas is best ’cos there’s more profit.’

  ‘You’re making me feel hungry …’

  ‘Fancy a bite to eat?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘Best be getting back; work tomorrow.’ She emptied her glass and put it down, frowning, wondering if Hugh would again materialise outside her office in the morning. He’d been there yesterday when she’d arrived in Lombard Street and she was sure she’d seen him hovering on the opposite pavement when she and Wendy went for their dinner breaks, despite the fact she’d told him earlier to clear off and leave her alone.

  ‘What’s up?’ Chris asked quietly as he helped her out of the van outside her house.

  ‘Nothing …’ Grace smiled up at him, giving him a final kiss on the lips.

  ‘You might as well tell me; you will in the end, you know that,’ Chris persuaded huskily.

  Grace sighed. ‘It’s just that … Hugh’s been making a nuisance of himself, but I’m not bothered,’ she quickly added, having sensed a sudden tension in the muscled arms enclosing her. ‘I can handle the creep.’

  ‘Yeah … but I reckon I can probably handle him better. Where does he live?’

  ‘That’s why I haven’t told you,’ Grace said immediately. ‘It’s not a big deal …’

  ‘It is to me.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t have to be, you know. I don’t want you causing any trouble.’

  ‘Sounds like he’s causing trouble, not me. What’s he want? I thought you said he was married now.’

  ‘He is, but it looks like things are going sour there, and serves him right. I expect his wife’s found out he’s a money-grabbing bastard.’

  Chris looked thoughtful as he stepped away from her to lean back against the van. ‘Why haven’t you told me before?’

  ‘I said. I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Has he said he wants to get back with you?’

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘What words has he used?’

  ‘He said sorry … and that he knows I lost a lot of money when all the wedding preparations were cancelled. I did too. I lost nearly every penny of my savings.’ Grace frowned and stuffed her hands in her pockets. She knew she’d sounded too grasping. ‘Forget about him. I asked Mum about Christmas Day.’ She quickly changed subject.

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Well, she had a moan as she always does, but in the end she said she’d like to come over to your uncle and aunt’s. I knew she’d agree, even if it is just to be nosy and have a look about their big house.’ Grace bit her lip. ‘The thing is … I don’t like to think of my nan being on her own. She usually comes to us for her Christmas dinner, you see.’

  ‘’Course she can come as well,’ Chris said.

  ‘Hadn’t you better ask your aunt and uncle first, if it’s all right.’ Grace sounded doubtful.

  ‘I’ll ask them, but I know what Faye and Rob’ll say … the more the merrier.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘I didn’t think we’d all fit in to the dining room …’

  Faye, looking slightly hot and harassed, sat down at the table, the last to do so, and glanced about with a satisfied smile at the festive scene. The snowy-white linen cloths were decorated with flaming tapers and sprigs of holly and ivy. Just in front of her husband, seated at one end, was an enormous turkey that
had one side carved down close to the bone. The other succulent breast was still protected by crisp bronze skin. Bowls filled with roasted vegetables, stuffing and other yuletide trimmings were lined along the centre of the table and the air was heavy with savoury scent.

  ‘I’ve had more people than this in my couple of rooms back in The Bunk,’ Matilda proudly proclaimed, straightening her paper hat before digging in to her Christmas dinner once more.

  ‘We did too, back in the old day, didn’t we, Mum.’ Alice Chaplin gave her mother a grin as she also cut into her turkey and stuffing. ‘Remember the sing-songs we used to have on a Saturday night round the piano?’

  ‘Remember it like it were yesterday,’ Matilda replied gruffly. ‘Yer dad bashing away on the old joeyanna and all the neighbours singing and jigging about in a space where you wouldn’t think you could swing a cat.’

  ‘And old Twitch, the copper, yelling up to us to keep the noise down, or he’d come and sort us out,’ Sophy Lovat, Matilda’s eldest daughter, chipped in. She glanced at her husband, Danny. In the olden days the Lovats had lived next door to the Keivers in Campbell Road and they’d been childhood sweethearts. ‘Remember it, Dan?’

  Danny grinned. ‘Couldn’t ever forget it. I’d’ve liked to see that old sod Twitch try to put a stop to those Saturday shindigs. Geoff, God rest him, used to enjoy those nights.’ His voice sounded full of gravel as he remembered his younger brother, lost to the Great War.

  ‘On that note, I reckon it’s time for a toast,’ Rob said. He picked up his wine, waiting for the assembled company to join him in raising their glasses before solemnly announcing, ‘Absent friends …’

  ‘Absent friends …’ rippled as a single murmur through the room.

  ‘Has everybody got enough turkey?’ Ever the vigilant hostess, Faye rose slightly in her chair to take a look around at the numerous plates, to spot where a refill might be needed. ‘You look as though you’re ready for seconds, Chris. Rob, carve a few more slices in case anybody wants some more.’

  Robert and Faye Wild’s usually spacious and elegant dining room was crammed with furniture and people. The main long table had several others coming off it at right angles to accommodate the crowd of kith and kin who had gathered for a big Christmas get-together in Islington.

  Matilda and her four daughters were present with their husbands, although her grandchildren and great-grandchildren were spending most of their Christmas Day in their own homes. Many of the extended family would turn up in the evening for the boozy party that went on into the small hours of Boxing Day.

  Daisy Wild was sitting next to her brother Adam and it was the first time Grace had met him. When they’d been introduced earlier she’d thought him a handsome, amiable young man with a quiet, slightly reserved manner, unlike his father’s boisterous side of the family, but the spitting image of his mum.

  Grace had been made to feel very welcome by everybody, as had her mother and grandmother. Nan Jackson got on with most people and had settled comfortably into her plush surroundings. Grace knew her mother was a bit overwhelmed by evidence of the Wilds’ luxurious lifestyle, but was trying hard not to show it. When they got home later, no doubt Shirley would attempt to nitpick over their faultless hospitality despite the fact that Grace had observed her fluttering her eyelashes at Rob on a couple of occasions. The pash her mother had admitted having for him as a young woman had obviously not completely withered away. He was a charming host to everybody but quite clearly besotted with his wife.

  ‘Pull a cracker?’ Chris leaned across the table and held out a shiny red cracker towards Grace.

  ‘Reckon you’ve already pulled one there, son,’ Stevie said with a wink at Grace that made her blush. Stevie and Pearl were seated next to one another, steadily sipping festive spirit, and already quite merry.

  ‘Stop embarrassing the girl, Stevie,’ Lucy rebuked her cousin.

  Lucy was Matilda’s youngest daughter and still youthfully attractive despite having turned forty. She gamely tried to draw Shirley into the conversation.

  ‘You live in Tottenham, don’t you, Shirley? Are your family Tottenham Hotspur supporters?’

  ‘We only support Arsenal in this house,’ Stevie warned, wagging a finger.

  ‘My Wilf used to support the Arsenal,’ Shirley said, putting down her sherry. ‘Me and Grace aren’t really keen on football, are we, Grace?’

  ‘You know your dad was a staunch Tottenham man, Shirley.’ Nan Jackson neatly placed down her knife and fork with a pat on her full stomach. ‘He had no truck with the Arsenal, I’m afraid to say …’

  ‘That’s fighting talk!’ Stevie adopted a fierce expression for the tiny elderly lady.

  ‘Enough about bloody football,’ Beth said. She was another of Matilda’s daughters and had married a man from The Bunk. She glanced at her husband. George was a staunch Gunners fan, as were most men who had grown up in Campbell Road, and all of them were still smarting at having lost the Cup Final that year.

  ‘Talking about religion and politics used to be taboo in company; now it’s football as well.’ Faye shook her head in mock despair. ‘Turn on the wireless, Rob, and let’s listen to some carols before things get heated.’

  ‘Queen’s making her first Christmas speech,’ Matilda announced. ‘We can’t miss listening to that.’

  A general opinion undulated around the room that the new queen’s first Christmas speech was undoubtedly the highlight of the day.

  ‘And talking of the queen we’ve got a few plans to put in place for our big Coronation Day party next June.’

  ‘Plenty of time for that,’ Stevie said. ‘Ain’t got Christmas over with yet.’

  ‘We should make it a good street party; it’ll be the last.’ Faye’s comment started off much solemn nodding and grimacing from the assembled company. Everybody knew that The Bunk would soon be no more.

  ‘Will you be home, son?’ Rob asked Adam. ‘Be good if you were about and could come to the Coronation Day do.’

  ‘Hope I don’t miss it, Dad, but too soon to tell if I’ll get leave or not.’

  ‘And you must bring Geraldine.’ Faye mentioned her future daughter-in-law who today had gone home to spend Christmas with her folks in Kent.

  ‘I’m getting together a list of addresses for you two gels.’ Matilda pointed at Daisy and Grace. ‘You’re the clever ones in the family and can do the honours when it comes to writing to old acquaintances to let them know what’s going on. I’ve never been no great shakes at me letters but I don’t mind using one of you lot’s telephones and making a call if I’ve got the number.’

  ‘Saw Sarah Whitton the other day, Mum, and told her what you’re planning,’ Alice chipped in.

  ‘Still with that layabout Herbert, is she?’ Matilda asked. Sarah Whitton and Herbert Banks had been on and off as a couple since schooldays. They were now in their fifties and no closer to tying the knot than they had been as teenagers.

  ‘I said she could bring him along, if she wants,’ Alice replied. ‘And she’s asking her sisters too.’

  ‘I reckon Jeannie Robertson’s still going strong with Johnny Blake though I ain’t spoke to her in a while.’ Matilda mentioned a woman who had once been a neighbour, and a very close friend. ‘We sort of lost touch during the last war, but I’ve got an address in Mayfair for the two of ’em. I reckon they’re still living there, if the house survived the bombing. Beautiful place that were; good as yours, Rob,’ she said, glancing around at her stylish surroundings. ‘Went there a few times to see Jeannie; you visited her once too, didn’t you, Al?’ Matilda paused to reflect on that time in her youth when her husband Jack had been fighting on the Somme.

  ‘Me and Sarah Whitton went to visit her,’ Alice replied.

  ‘And I’ve roped Beattie Evans in to help with the party preparations.’ Matilda’s thoughts had quickly returned to her favourite subject. ‘She’s got a few people to contact. And of course, Margaret’s gonna pitch in.’ She grinned at Danny as she mentione
d his mum. ‘Numbers could run into the hundreds if everybody who’s asked turns up.’

  ‘I’m planning on going up The Mall on the big day and wave me flag as the queen’s coach goes by,’ Pearl announced. ‘We’ll shut up shop that day,’ she told Stevie.

  ‘Stevie ain’t allowed to go.’ Matilda winked at her nephew. ‘He’s doing all the grub for the party so will be busy all day long in the street.’

  ‘Who’s paying for all this?’ Stevie suddenly enquired.

  Index fingers suddenly appeared from all sides of the tables. Most were pointing at their host.

  ‘Thanks fer that,’ Rob said, exceedingly dryly.

  ‘Shouldn’t we have a whip round?’ Grace had piped up with that, conscious of the injustice of expecting Chris’s uncle to stump up for all of it.

  ‘’Course we’ll have a whip round, love,’ Rob told her gently. ‘They always like to pull my leg.’

  ‘We weren’t,’ was chorused back at him with much laughter.

  ‘Right, who’s for Christmas pud and mince pies?’ Faye asked brightly, noticing Grace looking bashful for not understanding a longstanding family joke. Rob was wealthy and the family, without rancour, often brought it to his attention.

  ‘Need a bit of a blow first.’ Matilda leaned forward to spear a Yorkshire pudding from the bowl on the table. ‘I will say, gel, you do make a decent bit of batter,’ she told Faye. ‘Can’t let these go to waste. I reckon I’ll have my plum pud by the wireless in the front room, while I’m listening to the queen. And I’d like a sixpence in my bit, please …’

  After dinner, when everybody was crammed into the front room, seated in a semi-circle, awaiting the start of Queen Elizabeth’s first Christmas speech, Chris beckoned to Grace to join him at the back of the gathering.

  ‘Want to speak to you,’ he whispered in her ear, then followed up by brushing his lips against her rosy cheek. He took her hand and they slipped from the room, along the hallway, and into a kitchen that was filled with washed and stacked crockery, baking trays, and an aroma of sage and onion stuffing.