Only a Mother Knows

by Annie Groves

  A dry sob shook her body as Tilly realised yet again how special he really was, how considerate of the feelings of others who were suffering even when his own emotions were being put to the test.

  Unable to hold it all together any longer, the dam of Tilly’s sorrow burst forth and scalding tears coursed down her cheeks. Alone in her room she dared not let her mother see her until her tears had subsided and she didn’t think that would be for a good while yet.

  However, she realised when she could think more clearly, lying still and calmer now, it wasn’t Drew’s mother she had cried for – she didn’t know the woman – but she did know that Drew would be deeply shocked and saddened. And it was he who was deserving of her commiserations now. Tilly knew he felt things more keenly than most people. He cared deeply for those he didn’t even know, so she could only imagine how his mother’s passing would devastate him. He would be suffering so much and she was heartbroken that she could not be by his side to comfort and console him. And this grieved her more than words could say.

  Feeling a little reckless and with Olive’s encouragement still ringing in her ears Sally knew she wasn’t going to let George go as easily as she first imagined she would. Slipping the key he had given her earlier into the Yale lock, Sally vowed she would coax him with her own method of loving, which would persuade him that she and Alice were the only family he would ever need. And as Drew had gone back to America she knew they wouldn’t be interrupted.

  Silently opening the sitting-room door Sally wasn’t surprised that the only sound in the house was the heartbeat tick of the clock on the mantelpiece, and knowing George would be concentrating on his files in the study she crept in so as not to disturb him. However, as she stepped into the room another unexpected sound could be heard.

  The clink of a bottle hitting the rim of a crystal glass was followed by the gentle glug of liquid being poured, and Sally wondered, all of a sudden, if she was intruding. Maybe George had company? Her heart beat accelerated.

  ‘Hello, George,’ Sally managed to say quietly when she saw him at the sideboard and realised he was alone. George had been oblivious to her presence it seemed, going by his astonished expression when he wheeled around and spilled some of his drink. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ But it wasn’t his look of amazement that gave Sally cause for concern – it was the realisation that he was absolutely stumbling drunk.

  ‘Shally.’ George slurred her name and raised his glass, giving her a lopsided half-smile. ‘Come and have a little drinky with me.’

  ‘I think you’ve had enough, George.’ She had left him not more than an hour ago. How could he possibly have got himself into this state in such a short space of time? He must have drunk the alcohol like water.

  ‘C’mon, let’s have a little drinky and then …’ His eyes had a glassy gleam she had never seen before, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. He flapped the brandy bottle in the air and invited her, with a come-hither wave of his other hand, to join him. Sally wasn’t even sure he could see her properly, he was so drunk. However, he wasn’t so drunk he didn’t notice her hesitation. Slowly, with great concentration, he placed the bottle on the sideboard, then, taking a deep breath, he said in slow, measured tones, ‘Shally … let me exshplain … hic …’ His intoxicated state had led to an outbreak of hiccups, which he found quite amusing – even though Sally did not when she recognised he was so sloshed he couldn’t make it back to the sofa unaided.

  ‘Here, let me help you before you fall over.’ Sally wrinkled her nose as he tried to give her a big wet slobbery kiss on the cheek and succeeded in landing in a dishevelled heap on the sofa, scattering cushions and laughing inanely at nothing in particular. She knew George wasn’t a heavy drinker; in fact neither of them cared much for alcohol. Instead they much preferred going to the pictures or the theatre, but most of all they liked to keep a clear head. So for George to get into this state Sally knew he must have something very disturbing on his mind.

  ‘I’ll get you a cup of black coffee, George, it might sober you up a little,’ Sally said in her most professional, no-nonsense voice which she used to settle unruly squaddies who tried it on. She turned to leave the room, but felt herself being held back by her wrist, and as she quickly turned she found herself being pulled towards George, and landed on top of him with a thump. For as much as she loved him and would usually welcome such an intimate embrace, Sally wasn’t too keen on the strong brandy smell that seemed to emanate from his every pore, nor the one-eyed stare as he tried to focus.

  ‘Let me get you that coffee, darling,’ Sally said in her most soothing tones as she scrambled to her feet. There was absolutely nothing George could do to stop her as he couldn’t get to his own feet in such an inebriated condition, and in fact he was so far gone he couldn’t keep his other eye open either.

  When Sally returned moments later with two cups of black coffee, George’s head was hanging over the side of the settee, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and he was snoring like an overstuffed pig. Sally noticed the brandy glass, balanced precariously between his fingers, was spilling its contents onto the carpet. George, she noted with concern, was dead to the world and experiencing no pain, but Sally couldn’t guarantee he would feel that way when he woke up later; in fact she would lay money on him feeling very sorry for himself.

  Looking at him now, even in this drunken state, she knew she would forgive him, eventually. However, she worried it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

  ‘What if you vomited in your sleep?’ Sally asked the unconscious George. ‘You could choke to death. What if you tried to climb the stairs? You could fall down and break your neck!’ No, she thought, there was nothing for it but to stay until he was safely awake. ‘And when you wake up later with a screaming hangover there will be words, George, and most of them will be coming from me.’

  It was late and growing dark when George began to stir, and Sally could tell just by the putty-coloured tinge around his gills that he was suffering an explosive hangover.

  ‘Feeling queasy, George?’ Sally asked, secretly satisfied he wasn’t feeling up to answering her back. ‘You have slept like a dead man for hours, I daren’t leave you.’ She hoped that Olive wouldn’t be too cross about looking after Alice all this time, but it was imperative she made sure George was safe. ‘I’ve taken advantage of Olive’s good nature for too long already, George,’ she said, watching as he leaned forward and buried his head in his two hands. ‘I can’t expect her to look after Alice indefinitely.’

  ‘Sally, darling, can you just be quiet for one moment.’ George had never so much as disagreed with her before now, and she was shocked to the core to hear him telling her to shut up now. She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation and then, thinking better of it, she closed it again. How could he speak to her like this? Was this the proof she needed that he had gone off her after all and decided to drink himself into oblivion before he could break the bad news? ‘I’ve joined up,’ he said simply, looking defeated. Momentarily, not one single thought passed through Sally’s dumfounded brain. Then the realisation began to creep in. Joined up? Joined up!

  ‘But George, you have a job here!’

  ‘A safe job, you mean!’ George looked so angry when he said that and then he told her he had enlisted in the Royal Navy that very morning as a ship’s surgeon and no matter how many times he tried to get it into her head that he was doing the honourable thing Sally would not listen.

  She was so angry she left him standing in the middle of the room looking dishevelled and smelling like a brewery whilst she went to make him some black coffee. Once she had gathered her thoughts together she would decide on what to do next.

  ‘Don’t you understand, Sally, I need to do this.’ George followed her to the kitchen ‘I cannot let my fellow countrymen down and hide behind the privilege of a consultancy – oh, did I tell you I got the consultant’s job? – Today, would you believe.’ He gave a hard, almost bitter la
ugh; Sally knew he’d waited so long for the position.

  ‘But, George, you are needed here!’ Her words, so strangled, were barely audible.

  ‘Tell me, Sally, who needs me more than those poor brave men torpedoed out of the water?’

  ‘I do, George,’ Sally answered, all her fight depleted now.

  Only a Mother Knows

  SEVEN

  Drew knew there were two ways to go to the mall. There was the lower east side, which was the shortest route and the one everybody usually took. That meant passing where all his old buddies hung out, who would no doubt want to know about England or ask about his mother’s funeral yesterday and he didn’t want to talk about it. Then there was the longer way round, which of course took longer.

  Although, he silently reasoned, if he took the short route he wouldn’t need to take the car his father had bought him as a bribe to keep him in the States. However, the guys would stop him for catch-ups on every corner and he didn’t need that today. His mind made up, he decided to take the Chevrolet Sedan to the mall.

  Feeling unusually unsociable because he was missing Tilly so much, Drew knew Al’s Diner was the only place he could get a burger on rye and a fresh cup of coffee without being badgered for information about his trip overseas. As the car glided to a halt outside the diner, he wanted to think about the wonderful girl he’d left in London.

  Sitting on the high stool at the counter waiting for his order he settled, once more, into the familiar smell of hot percolated coffee and fresh doughnuts that had been absent in England. But it was Tilly, so keenly missed, that he wanted right now.

  He wondered how long it would take for her mail to reach here, knowing he couldn’t go much longer without hearing from her. His mind was in turmoil. What if she got hurt – or worse? A pony-tailed girl in bobby socks, carrying school text books, sat next to him and smiled. Drew, not having the heart to ignore her, smiled back, but heck, he wasn’t in the mood for talking right now.

  ‘Say, didn’t you used to live in England?’ she asked and Drew nodded. ‘My brother’s over there,’ she continued in a forthright way, ‘he’s in Liverpool – have you heard of it?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it.’ Drew said, shrugging his shoulders. He was glad when her girlfriends came into the diner drooling over the latest Frank Sinatra photo in a magazine. Drew sighed with relief.

  His father had used every trick in the book, Drew knew, short of actually having him arrested to keep him here. But he was determined when he’d finished the latest harebrained assignment his father set for him he was going back to Tilly. His wonderful mother was gone now, so what did he have to stay here for?

  His thoughts drifted back to London and girls no older than the ones in the booth across the shiny blue-and-yellow tiled floor sharing a soda, who would be working in munitions factories or driving buses. They would be on fire-watch duty like his Tilly, or manning ack-ack guns like the girls in the Forces, dressing the open, livid wounds of their brave countrymen like Sally or keeping essential services going like Agnes, brave women one and all …

  Distracted, he took a peek at the newspaper his father published. It was being read by a large truck driver sitting next to him who didn’t lift his head when he called to the waitress for eggs over easy, whilst the young girl across the floor dropped a dime in the juke box. Everything was so normal here, a million miles away from the devastation in London. He listened to the haunting melody of Glenn Miller’s ‘At Last’ fade to be replaced by the whirr and click of another record dropping on the Wurlitzer juke box, with its flashing lights and glass-domed top.

  Drew managed to sit at the diner counter only long enough for the beautifully melodious tones of Vera Lynn’s voice to tell him there’d be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover, which caused a restriction so tight in his throat he could hardly swallow. The last time he’d heard that song he and Tilly were dancing together, making plans for their future. It was all too much and he couldn’t take any more.

  ‘Skip the order,’ Drew managed to say to the waitress behind the counter who didn’t bat an eyelash at his request as they would have done in England, he noticed, for the simple reason that rationing hadn’t hit here. Maybe it never would, he thought, who knew?

  All he did know was that there was no shortage of food and drink at his mother’s funeral, which had been like a who’s who of his father’s shallow supporters. All of them in the business of lightening his load if he wished to avail himself of their services, all of them his ‘yes’ men.

  Listen to yourself. Drew angrily crossed the sidewalk to the Sedan. You’re already beginning to sound like one of Dad’s people, who use ten words where two will do.

  ‘Oh, Tilly, I gotta get outta here!’ Drew said aloud, ignoring the suspicious stares of people passing by. ‘Oh, honey, why do we have to live so far apart?’ He was so deep in thought he didn’t even see the truck coming, nor hear the screams of the women who tried to grab his arm to stop him walking into the road. He didn’t feel a thing.

  ‘Get outta my way!’ The doctor dressed from head to toe in theatre whites didn’t care if he ran people down as he rushed the stretcher towards the operating theatre after another seizure had gripped Drew Coleman’s body, stopping only momentarily to tell his father he would do everything he could.

  ‘You’d better do more than that!’ Andrew Coleman had growled over a chewed-up twelve-inch cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. But as doctors later gathered around Drew’s bed in the large, pristine Chicago hospital, they shook their heads in concern. Drew had been unconscious since he came in – he was someplace else, somewhere they couldn’t reach. The best medics in the country had fought to save his life after he was hit by an oncoming truck getting into his automobile two blocks from his own home.

  The daily letters from London, England, were dispatched to the huge safe in his father’s office and remained there. Unopened.

  Surely, thought Tilly, Drew would at least have written telling her he wanted his Harvard ring back if he’d decided their love was over? But what else was she to make of the complete lack of letters from him? Her fingers caressed the gold band she wore around her neck. They had made a pact that he would not ask for it unless he wanted nothing more to do with her, and she vowed she would not part with it unless she found somebody else. And that would never happen. Nobody could replace her wonderful, kind-hearted sweetheart. Nobody.

  Tilly took comfort from the fact that Drew hadn’t asked for the ring back and until he did she had no intentions of returning it. In her heart a small flicker of hope still burned.

  Every night before she went to sleep she took out the band of gold that had initially been a sign of their good friendship. Then later inside the small country church cocooned within the moon’s silver rays this ring had come to symbolise something that had become a deep abiding love between both of them, she was sure. She didn’t know how she knew but she was certain that when Drew was ready he would come back for her one day. And when that day came she would be waiting for him, knowing he could only have been so earnest if he truly loved her, and when he said that he would love her until the days beyond forever she believed him. Drew had also been so steadfast that Tilly had no choice but to believe him. Surely he would have had to be an actor of great magnitude to be able to convince her he was true to his word if he really didn’t love her? How could his love have been a sham?

  It was impossible. Drew loved her and she loved him. They had a special bond that couldn’t be broken no matter what anybody said. Drew was her one true love. Her soul mate. If they died tonight they would meet again in another life. He was the other part of her. Without him she was incomplete.

  Only a Mother Knows

  EIGHT

  ‘Aren’t you going out tonight, Agnes?’ Olive had just finished listening to Valentine Dyall, owner of the deep sepulchral voice known to avid wireless listeners across the country as ‘The Man in Black’, who brought dark stories to his plucky audience.
Agnes shook her head.

  ‘I’ve just been listening to Appointment with Fear.’ She paused for a moment and then a thought struck her. ‘Oh. Agnes. is that why you spent so long in your room?’ Agnes nodded her head and gave a little smile as she took her seat on the other side of the fireplace.

  ‘I would have changed the station if I’d known you were staying in.’ Olive thought it unusual for Agnes to be home on her night off, but knew she would never listen to ghost stories. The girl was frightened of her own shadow half the time.

  ‘I don’t mind, Olive, honestly. I was polishing my shoes for work tomorrow.’

  Usually when Agnes and her chap, Ted, had a night off they went to the café with their own seat near the window, and spent hours over one cup of tea each or they went for a walk along the Embankment; anything that was cheap – or even better, free – suited Ted. But she shouldn’t think unkind thoughts. Olive gave herself a silent reprimand. He had a family to support, a mother who needed almost all of his money from what Olive could gather from her own observations; not that Agnes ever said anything, she thought the sun shone out of Ted – the only problem was, so did his clingy mother and she had the upper hand right now by the looks of it.

  ‘I thought you and Ted would go out, seeing as there haven’t been many night raids of late.’

  ‘Nancy from next door,’ Agnes said conversationally, ‘told me the Allies were having a hard time of it at Tobruk, where Rick is serving.’ She picked up the evening paper.

  ‘I know, it’s terrible. I really feel sorry for Dulcie now, especially since her American friend was killed; she has been very quiet since she got the news.’ Olive shook her head, knowing she had initially been quite wrong about Dulcie; the girl wasn’t flighty at all. Yes, she liked to give the impression that she had been everywhere and done everything and had men falling at her feet to take her to the Saturday night dances, but if the truth be known, Dulcie was just like any other girl trying to get by in these strange times. She had settled into the dangerous work at the munitions factory without carping, which surprised Olive no end.