by Annie Groves
‘Let me tell you something, my girl, if you do anything to harm that child I will have you arrested – have you got that?’ The feeling of satisfaction Dulcie experienced then more than made up for all those years of hurt when Edith was the favoured child.
Without another word Edith turned on her heel and slammed out of the flat as Dulcie slumped onto the opulently upholstered sofa. She knew how callous her sister could be but that took the biscuit. Why did everything have to be me, me, me with their Edith?
‘George’s ship, HMS Netherton, was sunk by a U-boat, torpedoed off the Tobruk coast,’ Sally explained to Olive a few weeks later when she’d learned a lot more of the details surrounding her fiancé’s death. She could bring herself to talk about the devastating news only to Olive, who was after all like a mother to her. ‘It was a last-ditch attempt by the Germans to gain superiority. But they were already beaten so why did they have to do this?’
‘How awful,’ Olive said, as tears stung her eyes. She liked George; he was a good, kind man who was in the process of becoming a great surgeon. ‘Did they manage to tell you anything else?’ They being the naval officers and friends of George who came to see Sally when they’d eventually returned to England.
‘Only that George was so brave, saving everybody he could and not giving a thought for his own safety.’ Sally could hardly speak for the tight knot in her throat. ‘They said he did all he could … would receive a medal without a doubt,’ she managed before the flood barrier broke. She could only turn to Olive and bury her head on the older woman’s shoulder to release the pent-up devastation that had been so well controlled for the last few weeks. ‘What good is a medal when he isn’t here, Olive?’ Sally cried, and remained in Olive’s protective arms until she felt strong enough to tell her the rest of what she knew.
‘There was an explosion aft … George had gone to save another man who was trapped. He knew it was dangerous … He didn’t hesitate, they said …’
‘That was George, always thinking of others before himself,’ said Olive soothingly.
‘They tried to drag George up top but the water was coming in fast by then … There was another explosion … .’ Sally stared into the grate but didn’t see the dancing flames, nor did she take in the condolence cards that lined the mantelpiece.
‘There’s also a letter from Callum,’ Olive said gently when Sally was calmer and they were drinking their tea at the table. Sally didn’t answer; instead she just stared into her cup as confused thoughts tumbled through her head, making no sense. She didn’t want to think of Callum right now. She didn’t want to remember the feelings of elation she got when one of his letters dropped on the mat enquiring about her and Alice. George deserved all her attention now. If she didn’t give him the loving thoughts he deserved since he went into the navy then surely he deserved the dignity of her attention in death.
‘George knew I didn’t want him to join up,’ Sally hesitantly told Olive, feeling as if she was betraying his memory talking this way. ‘I thought he’d gone off me but didn’t like to tell me – as you said, he was so kind he didn’t like to hurt people’s feelings …’
‘I understand what you mean,’ Olive said, giving Sally’s hand a gentle pat.
‘In some ways I find that a comfort.’ Sally realised that she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she had to tell someone and who better than this woman.
‘I have to tell you something, Olive, and please don’t be angry with me … you see, I feel so wretched about writing to Callum. I wish I hadn’t – especially now.’
However, to her relief Olive didn’t look angry or hostile; instead she took hold of Sally’s hand and said, ‘You were only letting Callum know how Alice was faring, which is natural.’
‘Is it?’ Sally asked. She wasn’t sure about anything any more.
Only a Mother Knows
TWENTY-SEVEN
Olive was hurrying down Article Row, busy as usual. She was amazed at the mildness of the January weather; it was almost as if spring had come early, which was not a bad thing, she mused, given Sally’s terrible news. Yet she was amazed at the girl’s stoic resilience, recognising that it must be her nurse’s training coming to the fore.
She had thrown herself back into her work at Bart’s shortly after the sad news of George’s tragic death. Olive also realised that the presence of little Alice, being a lively, curious child who didn’t take too well to glum faces, meant that Sally had to put her first and not wallow in her own misfortune. So for the child’s sake Sally had no choice but to put on a relaxed if not happy face.
After a morning at the church hall sorting the large quantities of clothing known as ‘Bundles for Britain’, which were sent over by the American Red Cross and distributed from WVS Emergency Clothing Stores for people in desperate need, Olive was looking forward to a rare afternoon off-duty, wondering if she had enough egg powder to make a custard tart for after tea.
The weather was so mild of late that Barney had decided to put the chickens outside during the day to get them used to the great outdoors, he’d said. Olive smiled. He was a tonic to the female population of Article Row; nothing was a trouble to him and he would run as many errands as were requested of him – a credit to Archie’s patient and fatherly guidance. Thinking of Archie now brought a little glow of pleasure to Olive’s heart; he was so kind and had suffered so much that he deserved a little contentment too.
Opening the front door she noticed an airmail letter on the mat and her spirits sank. Picking up the envelope Olive saw that the letter was from America. However, it wasn’t addressed to Tilly as she had first thought, recalling all the heartache and anguish her daughter had suffered – it was her own name scrawled across the envelope.
In the first week of February, as arranged, Olive stepped into the plush London hotel and immediately felt out of place. She was wearing her best coat with the fox-fur collar but beside the minks and ermines that were paraded around the polished marble foyer by diners going into the restaurant, Olive knew her clothes were shabby at best. Looking around, she felt her nerve begin to leave her. This is what prey must feel like when caught in the gaze of its captor, she thought as a sharp-suited concierge came to her aid.
‘Can I help you, madam?’ he asked, not in the least as imperiously as she had expected in a place like this. In fact he seemed quite friendly and put her at her ease immediately.
‘I am looking for a man named Coleman, Mr Andrew Coleman,’ said Olive in a voice that she hoped didn’t show how nervous she was. The airmail letter she had received had been from Drew’s father; he wanted to meet up with her as he had some very important information and wanted her advice. Olive could not think of a single thing about which she could advise a man like Mr Coleman.
‘Certainly. Mrs Robbins?’ Olive nodded as he put out his hand palm side up to show her the way before proceeding. ‘He is expecting you.’
Olive said nothing as she followed the long strides of the man in front of her.
She had vacillated about telling Tilly about the letter and then decided she would wait until she had actually met Drew’s father, to see what he had to say for himself. But no matter what he had to say, it would be a poor excuse for the way Drew had treated her daughter, not even replying to her letters and breaking her heart. Olive surmised that, although Drew saw their romance as being over, he obviously still wanted to remain in contact with her daughter. But sending his father to do his dirty work indicated to Olive that he might not have been as honest and courteous as she had once assumed.
‘Ahh, Mrs Robbins, I’m Andrew Coleman, please excuse me for not getting up,’ said the large man who was actually sitting in a wheelchair. Olive was surprised as Drew had never mentioned this to her; but why would he?
‘May I call you Olive?’ he asked, taking the huge cigar from his mouth and placing it in a heavy-looking round glass ashtray.
‘Mrs Robbins is fine,’ Olive said, thinking the imperious American a tad forward for assuming sh
e liked to be called by her Christian name when they had only just met, especially as he had demanded his son go back to America. She watched as, confidently smiling, he pulled his wheelchair closer to the table, making himself comfortable before summoning the drinks waiter.
‘Brandy?’ he asked, presumptuously, irritating Olive no end.
‘I’ll have tea, please.’ Olive gave a tight smile. She wasn’t going to be soft-soaped by this man; she wasn’t a young flibbertigibbet who could be easily flattered by Americans rich enough to toss their money about on booze, as they called it, nor did she want her judgement clouded by alcohol, which she hardly ever touched anyway.
‘As you know, my son Andrew came home when he discovered his mother was sick.’
Olive nodded and waited for him to continue; he seemed to be taking rather a long time of it.
‘Sadly,’ said Andrew Coleman, looking anywhere but in her direction, ‘she died.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Olive, shocked at the news. Mr Coleman acknowledged her condolences with a dismissive wave of his hand.
‘That isn’t what I wanted to see you about,’ said the straight-talking American as their tea was brought to the table. He was silent as it was poured and when the waiter left he continued, examining his delicate porcelain cup all the while. ‘You’re probably wondering why my son hasn’t been in touch with Tilly for over six months …’
‘Not really,’ Olive lied. ‘Young people grow apart all the time – especially these days.’ She was not going to sit here and listen to this brash American lording it over her and gloating at his son’s shortcomings. Her Tilly was as good as any of them!
‘You are right, but …’ His voice faltered, momentarily surprising Olive. ‘Well, it’s like this. Almost the day he got home, he was involved in an accident … so sudden,’ he said as if now talking to himself. ‘The truck came out of nowhere, rammed right into the side of his car, trapping him.’
‘Oh, my word! Is he …?’ Olive’s hand flew to her lips to stop the flood of questions she was dying to ask.
‘It happened the day after his mother’s funeral …’
Olive could see that Drew’s father was really upset now and her compassionate heart went out to him. He raised his hand just a little as if to assure her he was all right.
‘I blame myself,’ Andrew Coleman said, wiping his brow with a large white handkerchief. ‘I bought him a Chevrolet Sedan in the hope that it would show him what he was missing back home … .’
‘Oh, no.’ The words slipped unintentionally from Olive’s lips. She hadn’t been able to give Tilly a new coat for Christmas, never mind a massive car.
‘His back was broken, his spinal cord trapped between the fractured bones, leaving my son crippled from the neck down and entirely dependent on others for his every need …’
Olive could see the tears welling in his eyes but the painful constriction in her own throat prevented her from voicing her genuine distress. Tilly was going to be devastated when she told her the awful news.
‘Andrew told me about a special girl named Tilly who he met here in London and all about her wonderful family.’
‘Oh, she is going to be dreadfully upset … She thought … we thought …’ But Olive could not finish telling Mr Coleman that she believed Drew had unceremoniously dropped her daughter and she had advised her to have nothing more to do with him.
‘He doesn’t want her to know about his accident. He said it would be better for her to think he had run out on her – let her get on with her own life instead of the drudgery of looking after an invalid for the rest of her days.’
There was a long, painfully strained pause and Olive, without thinking, grabbed hold of his hand as a gesture of compassion, giving Mr Coleman a reassuring nod of her head. Maybe it was for the best if Tilly remained unaware, because she knew her daughter’s tender heart would convince her that it was her duty to care for Drew for the rest of his life, no matter how badly disabled he was.
‘Have you have come all this way just to tell me that Drew has been badly injured and Tilly mustn’t find out?’ Olive said in her no-nonsense way.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I am over here because he had an operation with a top pioneering surgeon at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. It’s our only hope of Drew walking again – the operation took place on Christmas Day as an emergency. I won’t know if it’s worked until the plaster comes off his back in March and then he will have a long period of recuperation …’
‘Would you like me to visit him?’ Olive asked, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.
‘I have to go back to the States for a short while but he has people with him … I’m afraid he doesn’t want anyone to see him the way he is now,’ Mr Coleman sighed, unable to hide his pain.
‘I understand,’ Olive said, nodding her head, ‘but please don’t hesitate to let me know if there is anything I can do …’
‘I just wanted you to know he isn’t a cavalier love-’em-and-leave-’em type of guy.’
‘I know that.’ Olive’s voice was barely above a whisper as this latest news caught her unaware and took the wind right out of her sails – how could she ever have doubted such a decent human being as Drew?
‘But Tilly mustn’t know; it would finish him for sure.’
‘I will not say anything,’ Olive promised and then after a few moments, her head still reeling, she got up to leave. And as she walked from the hotel Olive had a completely different view of Andrew Coleman to the one she had been harbouring and now her heart went out to him.
Only a Mother Knows
TWENTY-EIGHT
To stop herself from dwelling on Andrew Coleman’s revelation and her obvious feelings of guilt at deceiving her daughter, Olive promised to do a more hours in the WVS canteen, a meeting point for servicemen on home leave, and prayed that Drew’s operation would be a success.
The canteen proved busier than she had thought it would be and she was glad; it kept her occupied with less time to worry or ponder on what might have been as heavy heads and bloodshot eyes seemed to be the order of the day for soldiers on a forty-eight hour pass. Servicemen from all over gathered to share their stories and enjoy the luxury of a bit of bacon on toasted bread courtesy of the community pig, before haring off to catch their trains to who knew where.
All year round the WVS women from the canteen had saved and donated any scraps of food and vegetable peelings to go towards fattening ‘their’ pig, which was then slaughtered for customers coming into the canteen. It was almost at an end now.
‘Oh, would you look at that gale brewing up,’ said Audrey Windle, the vicar’s wife, looking up from pouring steaming hot tea into earthenware cups to watch people being eddied along on a fierce wind, hanging onto their hats.
‘That wind whipped up a bit sharpish and so strong it’s making that soldier run,’ Mrs Worthington said with a laugh, gazing through the criss-cross tape that would hold the large glass window together if there should be a bomb blast.
‘It was a good thing he could run,’ thought Olive, although she didn’t voice her melancholy thoughts, trying not to force her miserable considerations on others.
‘Are you all right, Olive?’ Archie asked as he came into the canteen for his morning cup of tea and a catch-up with whoever was in need of a natter, keeping up community spirits.
‘Well, to tell the truth,’ Olive said quietly, ‘I have got something on my mind. You go and sit over there and I’ll bring you a cup of tea – I’m just about ready for a break now.’
Without further enquiry Archie went and took his usual seat near the door, knowing it would be far away from Nancy Black’s prying ears. Moments later Olive took the seat opposite and in a low voice she told him all about Drew and what had happened.
‘Will you tell Tilly?’ Archie asked, noting Nancy’s poisonous glares aimed at Olive’s back.
‘I can’t,’ said Olive, anguish obvious in her tone. ‘She will be devastated and Mr Coleman promised that
he will not get in touch with her either – it is better that she just forgets Drew now, as she is young enough to find another love.’
‘That’s as maybe, Olive,’ said Archie, his face etched with concern, ‘but don’t you think that is her choice? I know you are doing this with the best of intentions but …’
‘It is for the best, Archie,’ Olive cut in. ‘She isn’t old enough to fight her heart’s desire.’
‘It’s a good thing she is old enough to fight for her country, then,’ Archie said, unusually sharp as he stood up and retrieved his waterproof from the stand by the door. ‘It would be something to take her mind off matters of the heart.’ Archie made his way towards the canteen door but before he left he turned.
‘She’s a big girl now, Olive, you must sever the apron strings.’ And with that he saluted the other WVS women and left Olive wondering if she was doing the right thing after all?
‘They looked nice and cosy,’ Nancy Black, who had come in for a cup of tea and a bit of a warm to save her own coal rations, said to Audrey. ‘It’s all right for some hobnobbing with the local constabulary with free cups of tea. Since the shortages there’s no chance of getting anything unless you’re in the know.’
‘Mrs Black, has it never occurred to you to have a little compassion for the plight of others? Olive must be out of her mind worrying about Tilly.’ Audrey was in no mood for Nancy’s insinuations.
‘She’s only billeted in Whitehall,’ Nancy exclaimed, ‘not exactly a hive of danger!’
‘That is one of the most dangerous places in England, I should imagine.’ But their observations were cut short when Olive returned to the counter.
‘Mind how you go with that sugar, Nancy,’ Olive said. ‘You’re shovelling it like sand, don’t you know there’s a war on?’
‘You’re telling me,’ Nancy said as she quickly scooped another half a teaspoonful into her cup before Olive removed the basin.
‘My nephew’s in the desert,’ said Audrey, taking the coppers from Nancy and putting them into the wooden drawer they used for a makeshift till.
