‘I thought you were my friend.’ Nancy’s image began to fade.
‘I am your friend, Nancy. Please don’t go,’ Margot cried, but Nancy had turned into Bert.
‘Run for your life Margot, the Nazi bugger is after you,’ he shouted.
As she turned to run she saw Dave Sutherland. Eyes the colour of pitch, his fat mouth slobbering beneath his stupid moustache. She began to scream. She couldn’t get away, the fog was thicker now. It wrapped itself around her like a filthy blanket and held her in its disgusting grip. ‘Bill, I can’t breathe,’ she gasped. ‘Help me, I’ve lost my shoe. Bill!’ she screamed. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here, Margot. Sweetheart, it’s all right, you’re safe,’ Bill said, ‘you’re safe.’
Clinging onto him, Margot opened her eyes. She looked around the compartment as if she was seeing it for the first time. ‘Safe,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, my love, you’re safe. It was only a dream. A bad dream, but you’re safe now.’ Bill held Margot tight and rocked her until she stopped crying.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In torrential rain, with the wind cutting across the platform, Margot’s older sister Bess helped her from the train while her father helped his son-in-law with the suitcases.
‘Welcome home, lad,’ Thomas Dudley said, shaking Bill’s hand. ‘You look all in!’
‘I’m all right, it’s Margot who isn’t well,’ he said, looking at her through the sheeting rain. ‘She looks so small in Bess’s arms.’
‘There’s never been more than an ha’porth of meat on her. Don’t worry son, she’ll soon have some flesh on her bones, her mother’ll see to that.’ When Bill and Thomas Dudley caught up with the sisters, Margot turned to her father and broke down in tears.
‘There, there, Margaret love.’ Her father dropped the suitcase he’d been carrying and wrapped his arms around his sobbing daughter. ‘You’ll be home soon; home and safe. Come on, let’s get you out of this rain.’ Margot didn’t argue. She let her father take her by the arm and steer her to the tunnel leading from the platform to the road. Protected between her father and her sister, she left the station, followed by her adoring husband.
‘Your mother’s looking forward to seeing you.’
‘She’d have come,’ Bess said, ‘but there wasn’t room in the car. She’s made stew and dumplings.’
‘Don’t ask where she got the meat,’ Thomas said, winking at Bill. ‘There’s enough to feed an army, so I hope you’re hungry.’
‘I haven’t got much of an appetite, but I’m sure I’ll manage something.’
Holding Bill’s hand in the back of the car, Margot gazed out of the window at the familiar landmarks: the churches, houses, and farms. The countryside was not so familiar. As far as the eye could see, land which only a few years ago had been pastures where sheep and cattle grazed had been ploughed. Inhabited now by scarecrows and haystacks, the lush green meadows that Margot remembered were furrows of brown soil.
Having driven though several small villages between Rugby and Lowarth, the River Swift and The Fox Inn public house came into view. ‘Next stop Foxden,’ Bess said, turning right onto the Woodcote Road. ‘You won’t recognise the estate, Margaret. I’ll show you round as soon as your ankle’s up to it. You’ll love the land girls. They work really hard, but they have fun too. Mrs Hartley’s looking forward to seeing you. Oh look, Margaret!’ Bess shouted. ‘Look out of Bill’s window and you’ll see the land girls working.’
Margot leaned across Bill. ‘Good Lord. The meadow’s gone. It’s--’
‘Hay. It’s the last to be harvested. You should see the rest of the estate. It’s all arable land.’
‘Even the meadow where Mam used to send us to pick mushrooms?’
‘Yes, it’s potatoes now.’ Bess laughed. ‘If you’re still here in November you can go up there and do some potato picking.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Margot whispered into Bill’s ear, before nibbling it.
‘Shush,’ he said, doing his best not to laugh.
She hadn’t eaten properly for weeks but she didn’t want to upset her mother, or cause an argument, so Margot made an effort. She ate a small bowl of stew and a slice of bread – and felt better for it. When they’d finished eating, Bess cleared the table with her mother and took the dishes into the kitchen.
‘I’ll take the cases up, Dad,’ Bill said. ‘Which room are we in?’
‘The girls’ room. Claire’s been seconded to some sort of special RAF task force because of her languages. She’ll not be home on leave while Margaret’s here or she’d have let us know. And Ena’s gone into Tom’s room.’ The creases on Thomas Dudley’s forehead deepened. He looked worried. ‘Tell you the truth we don’t know where Claire is, and the last letter we had from Tom, he said he was going overseas.’
When Bill left the room, Margot put her feet up on the old settee in front of the fire, leant her head on the arm and stared into the flames. Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Hey now,’ her father said, ‘what’s all this?’
‘I can’t stop crying, Dad. I keep seeing Bert, the stage doorman, lying in the road. And then I look up and I see Nancy in the black cab. She looked as if she was awake, because her eyes--’ Margot wiped away her tears. ‘I keep wondering if she knew what was happening, if she felt anything. Bill said she wouldn’t have, that she was killed outright, but how can he know?’
Thomas Dudley lifted his daughter’s legs, sat down beside her, and put them on his lap. ‘From what Bill told me, your friend--’ Margot’s father stopped speaking and cleared his throat. Then he nodded as if he had found the right words. ‘The first piece of masonry that fell on the cab would have killed your friend. And because she couldn’t have seen it falling, she wouldn’t have known anything about it, Margaret.’
Margot looked up and searched her father’s face. Looking into his eyes, she held his gaze. His face was kind and honest. ‘Thank you, Dad.’ She knew her father wasn’t just saying it to ease her pain. He was telling her the truth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’m tired now, Dad, but one day I’ll tell you all about Nancy. You’d have loved her. Everybody loved Nancy,’ she said, closing her eyes.
Thomas Dudley took a handkerchief from his pocket and dried Margot’s face. ‘Why don’t you go up and have a lie down?’ he whispered.
‘What about Mam? What will she think if I’m not here when she and Bess come through?’
‘She won’t mind. I’ll tell her you’re tired. Do you want me to help you up the stairs?’ Margot shook her head. ‘You go up then,’ he said, lifting her legs from his lap. ‘I’ll be here when you’ve had a rest. I’ve taken a couple of days off. We can go for some gentle walks. Strengthen your legs and put some apples back in those beautiful cheeks.’ He helped her to her feet.
Margot limped across the room. At the door she turned, and with great almond-shaped tears in her eyes she said, ‘Thank you, Dad.’ Her father smiled, but Margot could see in his eyes that he was worried; that he was hurting because he couldn’t take away her pain. Only time could do that. ‘Thank you, Dad,’ she said again, and left.
‘I’m bored, Bess,’ Margot said.
‘Come up to the Hall, then. I’ll give you so much work you’ll never be bored again.’ Margot didn’t reply. ‘What about it?’
‘I don’t know…. I’ll see how I feel. Perhaps I’ll come up later.’
‘Right. I’m off.’
‘Do you really have to go?’ Margot whined. ‘The harvest’s in. What else is there to do?’ Bess, open mouthed, put her hands on her hips. Sensing her sister was losing patience, Margot said, ‘Sorry. Stupid question.’
Bess came back into the room and sat next to Margot on the settee. ‘It’s been weeks now, Margot. Lying here day in day out, wallowing in self-pity, isn’t going to bring your friend back and it won’t make you feel any better about her dying either, believe me.’ Bess waited for Margot to say something, but she didn’t speak. ‘I’m sorry,
Margot, but somebody has to say it. There isn’t anything Dad, me, Mam, or anyone else can say to make you feel better about losing your friends. But helping those who are worse off than you might help you to feel better about yourself.’
‘You’re right.’ Margot lifted her head from the cushion and sat up.
Bess put her arm round her sister’s shoulder and drew her near. ‘You were very lucky, you know. If you’d have been five minutes earlier…’ Bess shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. So, Miss Margot Dudley, remember how lucky you are and get on with your life. You only have one, get out there and live it!’ Bess glanced at the window. ‘Talking about getting out there, I’d better go, or it’ll be too dark to do any work. Will you be all right?’
‘Yes, you go.’ Margot got up and followed Bess out of the room and along the hall to the front door, where she watched her put on her wellingtons.
‘You know where I am if you change your mind,’ Bess said, opening the door and stepping out.
A gust of cold air blew in and Margot shivered. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll stay in the warm,’ she said, and she closed the door.
In the living room, Margot knelt on the armchair under the window and stared into the rain. It was only three o’clock in the afternoon, but the sky was bulging with charcoal-grey storm clouds. It was so dark it could have been six, or even seven in the evening. Margot turned her back on the window. It was gloomy outside. It matched her mood. She threw herself onto the settee and read again the letter she’d received from George that morning.
‘Still here, Margaret?’
Margot jumped. She quickly put the letter back in her pocket. ‘My name is Margot now, Dad.’
‘You’ll always be Margaret to me. Margaret, after young Princess Margaret Rose, same as Bess after Princess Elizabeth.’
‘Hang on! I’m not allowed to be called anything other than Margaret according to you, but Bess has always been called Bess, even though she was christened Elizabeth. That isn’t fair.’ Margot thought for a moment. ‘You old fibber,’ she said to her father. ‘Bess and I weren’t named after Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret, they were born after us.’
‘Well I’ll be blowed.’ Margot’s father scratched his head. ‘The King must have named his daughters after you and your sister, then.’ Thomas Dudley laughed. ‘All right, I give in. Have it your own way, Margot, you usually do.’
‘Thanks Dad. You may not be royalty, but you’ll always be a prince to me – plus you’re the best dad in the world.’
‘So long as I keep letting you have your own way.’ Margot’s father kissed her on the top of her head. ‘But don’t expect your mother to call you Margot.’ He walked across to the kitchen and put his head round the door. ‘Where is she?’
‘No idea!’
‘Right, I’m off to the Hall to help Mr Porter clear out the old foaling stables. We’re going to turn them into a winter feed store for the livestock. It’s too wet to cart any more bales across the Acres to the store barn – besides, it’s almost full.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at the foundry today?’
‘I asked for a couple of extra days. With all this rain, Bess needs help up at Foxden. Why don’t you come up with me? See Mrs Hartley. The land girls have their tea about now. Come and say hello.’
Margot thought for a second. ‘All right! If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’
Her father shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘It’s between me and our Bess. Don’t ask!’
At the front door, Margot put on a small pillbox hat the colour of autumn leaves. She looked in the hall mirror and tilted her head this way and that until she was satisfied with the angle. Reaching up, she took her cream-coloured coat with red fox fur collar and matching trim from the coat hook. After giving it a shake, she swung it round as if it were a matador’s cape. ‘Perfect,’ she said, as the coat fell onto her shoulders. After sliding her arms down the sleeves, she reached for the door handle. ‘Are you coming, Dad, or what? If we don’t go now it’ll be too dark to do anything,’ she winked.
Thomas Dudley stood open-mouthed. ‘You can’t go up to the Hall in those shoes, Margot. You won’t get as far as the gate before those high heels--’
‘Kitten heels,’ she said. ‘Aren’t they lovely? They came from Paris.’
‘Never mind what they’re called, or where they came from. They’ll get stuck in the mud and break off, and then they won’t be any kind of heel. And what about your ankle? It’s only just got better. One twist and you’ll be back where you were three weeks ago. Where’s your common sense, child?’
‘Left it in London, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Margot’s mother said, striding through the gate. ‘Wait a minute and you can have my wellingtons. And when you see Bess, ask her to lend you some. She’s got half a dozen pairs up at the Hall. She’s bound to have some your size.’
Newspaper carpeted the front hall floor. Standing on it, Margot’s mother kicked off her wellingtons. ‘I’ll leave this paper down, so as you don’t get mud on my clean lino when you come home. And don’t forget to bring my wellies back,’ she said, sliding her feet into her old slippers before disappearing down the hall to the living room.
‘Thanks, Mam.’ Margot took off her shoes and put on her mother’s wellingtons. They were cold and caked in mud – and so were the centre pages of the Lowarth Advertiser.
Trudging along behind her father in footwear that was too big for her, holding her shoes by their heels in one hand and her handbag in the other, Margot wondered which was worse for her ankle – wellingtons that were two sizes too big, or shoes with heels. Not much in it, she decided.
‘You’re quiet,’ her father said, when she caught up with him.
‘I was thinking.’
‘About the letter you were reading earlier?’
Margot laughed. ‘No flies on you, Dad. Yes, it was from my friend George Derby-Bloom. She and my friend Betsy Evans are going to try to get into ENSA.’ Margot paused to pluck up the courage to tell her father that they wanted her to go with them. They walked on for a few minutes without speaking. Then Margot laughed. ‘George wants me to join them. Betsy said we should call ourselves the Albert Sisters, after the theatre. We’d be touring air force and army bases, singing songs mostly, to cheer the lads up. We’d probably do the odd comedy sketch…’ She realised she was rambling and stopped talking. ‘Dad?’ She put out her hand and caught her father’s arm. He stopped walking. ‘Tell me what you think?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think, Margot. What matters is whether you are ready to go back.’
‘I think I am. I hope I am.’
‘Thinking and hoping doesn’t make it so, love.’
Margot looked up at her father. ‘Is that right?’
They both laughed. ‘Well in your case, it probably does. You’re a headstrong girl, Margot Dudley. All you girls are.’
They walked on for a few minutes, and then her father said. ‘Is it what you want, Margot? To go back to the theatre?’
‘Yes it is. I’m just not sure I can do it any more. I suppose if I spend some time with the girls, working with ENSA, I’ll find out.’
‘What does Bill think?’
Margot didn’t answer until she felt her father’s step begin to slow. ‘He doesn’t know. I’m due to ring him tomorrow. I’ll tell him then. I don’t suppose he’ll like it. He’ll think it’s too soon, like you do.’ Her father gave her a sidewise glance and tilted his head, as if to say he didn’t know whether or not it was too soon. ‘But I’m better. I’m eating well, sleeping through the night, and I haven’t had a nightmare for weeks. My only worry is whether I can still do it.’
‘Why don’t you ask your friends to come up here? You could put on a show for the lads at the Hall, as a practice for ENSA, and then you’ll know.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea, Dad. You clever old stick,’ Margot said, tugging on her father’s arm. When he turned she kissed him. ‘I’ll teleph
one George in the morning and invite them up. And if all goes well, I’ll go back to London with them.’
‘You’d better telephone your husband first and tell him your plans,’ her father said, shaking his head.
Bill felt so strongly that it was too soon for Margot to go back to work that despite his crippling workload he asked for leave. His boss, aware that Margot had been hospitalised after being injured in a bombing raid, granted him twenty-fours. He left for Foxden immediately.
When she heard Bill’s motorbike, Margot ran out to meet him. ‘Hello, you’ve made good time,’ she said, throwing her arms around him.
Leading him to the door, Margot shouted, ‘Bill’s here! Mam and Dad are dying to see you. Mam’s put some food up, so I hope you’re hungry. Dad’ll be back soon. You can stay till he gets home? He’d be sorry if he missed you.’ Margot took Bill’s jacket and hung it up. ‘I’ve got lots to tell you,’ she said, ‘but come into the living room and have something to eat first.’
‘Margot, stop! We need to discuss this ENSA thing,’ Bill said, closing the front door. ‘Stop trying to bamboozle me with lots of chatter.’
Margot bit her bottom lip. ‘Sorry, it’s just that this is important to me.’
‘It always is!’ he said.
Margot’s mother opened the living room door. ‘Come in, lad, it’s draughty out there. You must be starving,’ she said. ‘Margaret, get Bill’s plate from the larder.’ Margot did as she was told, relieved that, for the time being at least, the discussion about ENSA had been postponed.
‘You’re not strong enough, Margot. Look at you. You need to put some weight on before you even think about going back to the stage. And sleep? Are you sleeping?’
‘Yes. And I haven’t had a nightmare for months.’
‘You haven’t been here for months, Margot.’
‘Weeks then!’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I’m better, Bill, physically and mentally, really I am. I’ve enjoyed it up here, but I want to come home. I want to be with you,’ she pouted.
Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2) Page 17
