We'll Meet Again

by Patricia Burns

‘Oh—yes, that is, nearly—’

  Tom tightened the last nut and shut down the bonnet. His father was standing there, jingling his keys in his pocket.

  ‘Come on then, shake a leg. You’ve been away in cloud-cuckoo-land ever since you came back from that holiday of yours,’ his father complained.

  ‘Yes, right, sorry. I’ll just put the tools away,’ Tom said, gathering them up and hurrying over to the racks at the side of the repair bay.

  They walked home past groups of black-faced men coming off shift. The pit was working full blast to keep up with the need for coal for industry. No more worries now amongst the colliers about unemployment. Quite the opposite, in fact. There weren’t enough men to fill the jobs. Past the rows of grimy cottages they went and up the hill to Amber Drive, where they lived in a solid semi with three steps leading up to the front door.

  His mother had tea all ready on the dining room table. As they walked in the door, she poured the boiling water into the pot. Now that the men were here, the family could sit down to their meal. Tom didn’t bother to take much notice of what was said around the table. A couple of times someone had to say something to him twice before he heard them.

  ‘Away with the fairies again?’ his father said. ‘You want to buck up, lad.’

  ‘Hmm, well. Maybe it’s not fairies we’ve got to worry about,’ his mother remarked.

  The edge to her voice failed to penetrate Tom’s consciousness. But he did realise something odd was going on when his mother sent his sister off to play after the meal was finished instead of getting her to clear away the dirty pots. His father fiddled with his pipe—filling it, tamping it down.

  ‘What’s up, love?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s Tom, that’s what,’ his mother said.

  She set down her teacup abruptly, so that it rattled in the saucer.

  ‘Oh, Tom, how could you do this to us?’ she asked, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. ‘How could you be so deceitful? I was never so shocked in my whole life.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Tom lied.

  Guilt and anger churned in his gut. She knew. His mam knew. Who had given him away? If he found out, he would kill them.

  ‘What’s our Tom supposed to have done?’ his father asked, striking a match.

  ‘There’s no supposed about it. He’s been lying to us. He never did go on that cycling tour. That was all a great pack of lies.’

  His father remained calm. He drew on his pipe, trying to get it to light.

  ‘Come on, now, love. He went off with all the others. We saw him go.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but he didn’t stay with them. Oh, no. He went off by himself, and I know where. To Wittlesham.’

  ‘Wittlesham?’ The match his father was holding burnt down to his fingers. He dropped it with a quickly suppressed curse.

  Tom was almost as shocked. How did she know that? He had told nobody where he was going, only that he was off to visit a friend.

  His mother fixed him with a resentful look.

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it, Tom?’

  His mind raced, trying to decide whether to deny everything or admit to it and let them do what they liked about it.

  ‘Wittlesham?’ his father repeated. ‘What the heck were you doing there, lad?’

  His mother reached into her skirt pocket. She slapped an envelope down on the table. Tom felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Even before his mother lifted her hand, he knew. It was a letter from Annie, the first she had sent him since he’d got back.

  ‘That’s mine,’ he cried. ‘You’ve got no right to open it.’

  The thought of anyone else reading Annie’s letters was horrible—horrible. It was like having his head opened up for everyone to see what he was thinking about.

  ‘I’ve not opened it,’ his mother told him with injured dignity.

  Tom collapsed inside with relief. He snatched the letter and thrust it into his own pocket.

  ‘Will somebody please tell me what is going on here?’ his father demanded.

  Tom said nothing. His mother took a deep breath in through her nose, pursing her mouth. Then she began.

  ‘Tom wasn’t the only person in this household to get a letter from Wittlesham today. I got one as well. From that nice Mrs Sutton—’

  Tom went cold. Those flaming Suttons! There was no use denying it now. He had been dropped right in it.

  He became aware of his mother looking at him, expecting a reply.

  ‘Oh,’ was all he could think to say.

  ‘Oh, indeed,’ his mother said. ‘First I hear from Mrs Sutton that you’ve been having tea with them in Wittlesham when you should have been out over the Peaks somewhere, then that arrives from that girl, and it’s easy to put two and two together, isn’t it? You lied to us, your parents, and went off all by yourself to see her!’

  There was a chuckle from the other end of the table. Tom and his mother both stared at his father. His eyes were twinkling.

  ‘Well, well—been trekking halfway across the country to see a girl, have we? I hope she was worth it!’

  His mother went scarlet. ‘She is a nasty common little thing, which is why Tom had to deceive us in order to go and see her!’

  That did it. Tom jumped up, knocking over his chair.

  ‘She is not nasty or common. You’re only repeating what that Sutton woman said to you. I knew you’d taken against her, I knew you wouldn’t approve, that’s why—’

  He broke off. It was no use. They would never understand.

  ‘That’s why you went off without telling us,’ his father stated.

  ‘All right,’ Tom said. ‘All right, so I did go to Wittlesham instead of with the cycle club, and if I deceived you I’m sorry, but if I’d asked you, you’d’ve said no, wouldn’t you? Because you treat me like a kid all the time, as if I haven’t got a mind of my own and I’m too stupid to look after myself. But I’m not, see—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ his father said. ‘You’re upsetting your mother.’

  Tom looked at her. Her mouth was drawn down and she was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  ‘I’m only doing what’s best for you,’ she sniffed.

  Tom was stopped short by guilt and exasperation.

  ‘I know,’ he said, trying to lower his voice, ‘but if you will listen to what other people say—’

  ‘That’s no reason for lying to your mother,’ his father said. ‘Or me, for that matter. We expect better of you, lad. Why couldn’t you tell us you wanted to go and see this girl—what’s her name?’

  ‘Annie,’ his mother supplied. ‘Annie Cross. She works on a farm.’

  He hated hearing her say Annie’s name like that, in that disparaging way.

  ‘It’s her father’s farm,’ he said. It went against the grain, bringing Annie’s father into this and using his mother’s snobbish standards, but he needed all the weapons he could get.

  ‘Family firm, then,’ his father pointed out. ‘Nothing wrong with farming. Farmers are keeping the country fed.’

  His mother saw the argument slipping away from her. She sniffed.

  ‘We trusted you, Tom,’ she said with a broken sob.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have let me go. You treat me like a kid,’ Tom repeated.

  ‘Are you going to let him get away with that, Bert?’ his mother demanded of his father.

  His father sighed. ‘Of course not. You’re gated till the end of the month, Tom. No going out except to come to work with me—’

  ‘What?’ Tom spluttered. ‘That’s so unjust—’

  ‘That clear?’ his father rolled on. ‘And you’ll apologise to your mother for upsetting her.’

  His mother was sitting there looking martyred. Tom sighed. She always did that, whenever he did something wrong. She’d done it ever since he was a little kid. But he wasn’t going to let her control him like that any more.

  ‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ h
e said with as much sincerity as he could muster. ‘But I’m not sorry I went to Wittlesham.’

  With which he walked out of the room before anything else could be said and went upstairs to his room.

  Locking the door against all intruders, Tom flung himself on his bed and pulled out Annie’s letter. He turned it over in his hands. Annie understood, even if nobody else did. His family might gang up against him, but he could always rely on Annie. He slit the top and drew out the sheet of paper. Only one sheet. He felt a slight sinking of disappointment. He lay on his back to read it.

  Dear Tom,

  How could you do it? I thought I could trust you.

  He sat up abruptly. The words were such an echo of what his mother had just been saying that he could hardly believe what he was reading.

  I’ve been having a really horrible time since you left, but I kept thinking, well, at least I’ve still got Tom even if he has gone back home, and then I went to meet Gwen after work and Beryl was there.

  With a sudden horribly clarity, Tom realised what was wrong. Beryl had told her about his going to tea with her family. Why hadn’t he admitted to it at the time? He might have known that she would find out. With doom pressing on his heart, he read on.

  How could you go to her house and be all nice as pie to her horrible mother and her stupid brother? You know Beryl Sutton is my worst enemy. How could you say such nice things to her and promise to come back and see her again? How could you?

  ‘What nice things?’ Tom said out loud. ‘I never said anything much to her at all.’

  He thought back to that afternoon. The mother had gone on and on, questioning him, and he’d played with the little’un. But Beryl? He couldn’t remember exchanging more than half a dozen words with her.

  And then not to say anything to me about even seeing them, let alone going to their house. That was like lying tome. I just can’t believe you did that. I thought you were my friend. I don’t know if I can ever believe anything you say again. I don’t know if I even want another letter from you. I don’t know if I’ll post this even. Yes, I will, because you ought to know how much I hate you.

  Annie

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Tom muttered.

  It seemed as if all the women in his life were ganging up on him, and all because they didn’t like other women in his life. Not that he counted Beryl Sutton as someone in his life. She was just a nuisance. But even so … what a fuss! What were they all getting in such a state for?

  He heaved a great sigh and flopped back on the bed again with his hands clasped under his head. Roll on December, when he would get away from all this, from parents and girls and all this mess and join the RAF. Then he would have real work to do. He would be flying planes, shooting down Nazis. They would all get off his back then, all these stupid women. For a long time he lay there, picturing himself soaring through the skies, taking part in dogfights. Then he picked up Annie’s letter and read it through again. She’d been having a really horrible time. That must mean her father. And he should have told her about how Beryl’s old bat of a mother wouldn’t take no for an answer. The anguish in the last paragraph seeped into his heart. She really was hurt. He hadn’t meant to do that. She needed protecting, not hurting. I thought you were my friend. He was her friend. And the very last thing he wanted was to lose her.

  He sat up and got a writing pad and fountain pen out of the drawer in his bedside table. He sat frowning at the blank page for a while, then he began to write.

  Dear Annie,

  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  July 1942

  ‘WE’RE going to work all day Saturday from next week,’ Gwen said. ‘There’s that much work on, we can’t get it all done. Mr Sutton got us all together and asked us if we’d do the extra afternoon, for the war effort, like, and we all voted yes.’

  She and Annie were sitting on the low wall outside Sutton’s Bakelite, making the most of the summer sunshine before Gwen had to go back in for the afternoon session.

  ‘Do you really want to work all that extra?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Well, it is more money. We can all do with that.’

  ‘Yes.’ Annie sighed.

  For the umpteenth time she wished she had a wage like Gwen. It must be so wonderful to have money of your own. She worked seven days a week and all she ever got was what little her mother could spare from her dressmaking earnings.

  ‘The only trouble is, Beryl’s there as well,’ Gwen said.

  ‘Beryl?’

  ‘Yes, she’s sixteen just like us, isn’t she? She’s left school now. Doesn’t half give herself airs. Just because she’s in the office and we’re on the floor. You’d think she was Lady Muck.’

  ‘She always did think that,’ Annie said.

  ‘Yeah, but now she’s worse. When we were at the elementary, it was like—school belonged to all of us, didn’t it? Even though some of us come from richer families and some didn’t. But Sutton’s is her family’s firm. Her dad’s the boss, so she thinks she can say what she likes. It isn’t just me, neither. She’s awful to all of the girls. We call her Princess Peril.’

  Annie laughed because it was expected of her but even the thought of all those girls giggling at Beryl behind her back didn’t lighten her view.

  ‘I’ll never forgive her for trying to come between me and Tom—never,’ she said. ‘She nearly ruined it all, you know.’

  ‘You shouldn’t’ve gone flying off the handle at him. You might’ve known it was just her stirring it,’ Gwen said.

  There were times when Gwen was just too blooming sensible.

  ‘He should never’ve gone to her house in the first place,’ Annie said. That still rankled, even though it was nearly a year ago now. ‘He knows how much I hate her,’ she added.

  ‘Oh, Tom, Tom, Tom—! We’ve been over all that a million times. Give it a rest, for Gawd’s sake,’ Gwen said. ‘Or I won’t give you something I’ve got for you.’

  ‘You’ve got a letter? Already? Oh, Gwennie, darling, darling, Gwennie, give it to me now!’

  ‘You got to promise to come to the pictures with me and the girls on Friday,’ Gwen told her.

  ‘The girls?’ Annie said.

  ‘Yeah, the girls from the factory.’

  ‘Oh—I don’t know—’

  ‘Come on, Annie. You know most of them. We was all at the elementary together. What’s the matter with you? You’re like one of them what’s-its-names—a recluse. You don’t meet hardly anyone. What’s the matter? Your precious Tom told you you got to stay in and be faithful to him?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘It’s my mum. I don’t like leaving her.’

  Gwen cast her eyes up to heaven with exasperation.

  ‘Oh, come on, Annie. You say she ain’t ill. Surely she don’t mind you going out every now and again? It ain’t a lot to ask.’

  ‘I know—’

  Annie couldn’t explain about her mother. Since the miscarriage, she seemed to be walking around within a blanket of fog. There was no spark of life in her face or her eyes and her voice was flat and expressionless. It was as if her body was still there—cooking, cleaning, sewing—but the essential person had gone. Telling Gwen that, though, would make it sound as if her mother was off her head.

  ‘Right, then, so you’ll come?’

  ‘All right. As long as I can get away.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘Outside the Toledo at half past six, then. It’ll be good. We’ll have a laugh.’

  The other Sutton’s workers, mostly older women and young girls, were hurrying back into the factory now. They waved and called to Gwen as they passed. Some of them, girls she had been to school with, spoke to Annie as well. She watched them with envy, aching for company her own age, for sheer cheerfulness.

  ‘What about my letter?’ she asked to distract herself. She might not have lots of wor
kmates, but she did have Tom. Or Tom’s letters, anyway.

  ‘What letter?’ Gwen said with wide-eyed innocence.

  ‘You said you had a letter,’ Annie protested. If this was one of Gwen’s so-called jokes …

  ‘I said I had something for you. I never said I had a letter,’ Gwen teased.

  ‘Gwennie …’

  Annie pushed her, trying to get her off the wall. Gwen struggled back.

  ‘Tut-tut. You’re not fighting, I hope? Not on Sutton’s premises.’

  Annie and Gwen both whirled round. There was Beryl, glaring at them in disapproval just like a teacher.

  ‘Ooh—it’s Miss High and Mighty. I can do what I like. You can’t tell me what to do. I don’t work for Sutton’s,’ Annie told her.

  ‘She does,’ Beryl retorted, looking at Gwen.

  If Gwen was worried about her job, she didn’t show it. Instead, she shrugged. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ she taunted.

  ‘Yes, what are you going to do about it?’ another voice chimed in.

  This time all three girls looked round. There, grinning at them, was Jeffrey. Annie hardly recognised him at first. He wore long trousers now. He had grown taller than his sister and his face had sprouted a beaky nose and spots. But he was the same old Jeffrey, standing there with his hands in his pockets, ready to score points off whoever was around.

  ‘Go away, Jeffrey. This is nothing to do with you,’ Beryl cried. Her face had gone pink with anger.

  ‘I work for the firm as well,’ he said.

  ‘Only in the holidays,’ Beryl retorted.

  ‘Ah, but when I do start full-time, I’ll be doing a proper job, not just filing and addressing envelopes like some people,’ Jeffrey told her.

  That was too good for Annie to leave. ‘Is that all you do, then?’ she asked Beryl.

  Beryl went from pink to scarlet.

  ‘Of course not! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I have a very important job in the office.’

  Jeffrey snorted. ‘In a pig’s ear,’ he said, and sauntered off. As he went, he took one hand out of his pocket and raised it towards Annie and Gwen. ‘Bye, girls!’

  ‘Ta-ta, Jeffrey,’ they chorused.