Where the Heart Is Page 8
‘Here, let me have a look at you,’ Jean demanded, holding her eldest daughter at arm’s length. ‘Your face looks thinner.’
‘Well, if it is it isn’t for any lack of food,’ Grace assured her, as Jean turned to hug Seb. ‘You’d never guess what a difference it makes living in the country, Mum. I had a farmer’s wife come round the other day and bring me some of her own butter as a thank you for me bandaging up her little boy’s leg after he had fallen almost outside our frontdoor. I suppose I should have refused, but, well, with me coming home I thought that you could use it.’
‘I dare say you should have said “no”,’ Jean agreed, her eyes widening as she saw the good half-pound of butter Grace was handing over to her. Two ounces was the ration, that was all. ‘But I have to admit that I’m glad you didn’t. Best not say anything to your dad, though, love. He’s just gone down to the allotment to water his lettuces but he should be back any minute. He’s been asking me since first thing what time you were due.
‘I hope she’s feeding you properly, Seb,’ she smiled warmly at her son-in-law.
‘Impossible for Gracie not to be a good cook with a mum like you,’ Seb assured her.
‘Where are the twins?’ Grace asked, as she took off her coat and the pretty, rather gay little hat that had been perched on top of her curls–both 1939 buys, but Grace had a good eye and was now learning to be clever with her needle, thanks to treasured copies of Good Housekeeping that one enterprising member of the WVS had organised to be handed on to those who put their name down on the requisite list and paid a penny for the privilege of reading it.
Jean’s expression changed immediately to one of disquiet. ‘We got a letter from Lou on Thursday telling us that she’s been put on a charge, ‘she began as she went to light the gas under the kettle she had filled earlier. She was using her special tea set, the one that Grace had given her for Christmas the year she and Seb had got engaged.
Grace and Seb exchanged glances.
‘You can imagine how your dad reacted to that, Grace. I’m just glad in a way that Lou wasn’t here, because he’d have torn a strip off her and no mistake.’
‘What did she do? To get put on a charge, I mean?’ Grace asked as she went to get the milk from the cold slab in the larder to fill the milk jug, mother and daughter working harmoniously together. Grace was a housewife herself now, after all.
‘Well, as to that, from what she wrote–and of course the letter had been censored–it seems she was involved in some sort of prank that went wrong. It’s like your dad said, that’s Lou all over, acting first, without thinking, being too high-spirited. I don’t know, Grace. I just wished she’d talked to us first before going and joining the WAAF. She’s never taken kindly to rules and regulations and I’ve been dreading something like this happening. I just wish …’ Jean looked out of the kitchen window, her hand still on the handle of the teapot she had just filled.
Grace knew what her mother wished: that Lou had stayed at the telephone exchange with Sasha.
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Seb tried to re-assure Jean, stepping in in a calm reassuring way that made Grace smile gratefully at him. ‘The services are tough on sticking to the rules, but they aren’t the place for people with no back bone, and Lou has plenty of that.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ Grace agreed quickly, picking upon Seb’s attempt to cheer her mother up. ‘And from what Lou wrote to me in the letter I got the other week, she’s taken to this course she’s on like a duck to water.’
Jean had begun to lift the teapot but now she put it down again, smoothing her hand absently over the scarlet poppy embroidered on the starched white linen tray cloth. The tray cloth and its matching napkins had been a Christmas present from the twins before the war.
‘Oh, well, yes, but that’s another thing. Your dad isn’t happy at all about this business of her training to mend aircraft. He doesn’t think it’s women’s work at all.’
Grace pulled a face, setting about buttering the bread her mother had already cut and covered with a cloth.
‘Well, you know Dad, Mum, but the fact is that women are having to do men’s work because the men are fighting for this country, and I dare say that the pilots and crews are glad enough to have their aircraft working properly not to turn up their noses at a woman doing that work.’
‘You’re right, of course, love, but it might not be a good idea to say too much to your dad.’
Grace had been married less than four months but already she seemed to have grown up so much, no longer a girl, but a woman with her own opinions and ready to state them, Jean thought, torn between a sense of loss and pride.
‘Your dad’s temper’s a bit on the end at the moment, with all this bad news from the desert,’ she warned Grace.
‘Have you heard from Luke recently?’ Grace asked immediately.
‘We had a letter in March saying not to worry and that he’s well, but of course we do worry.’ A look at both Seb and Grace’s sombre faces confirmed to Jean that they shared her feelings.
‘Rommel’s a first-rate commander,’ Seb said at length, ‘but our lads are good fighters, good men.’
Jean nodded. Of course they were good men–her Luke was one of them–but being ‘good men’ wasn’t going to keep them safe from Rommel’s tanks, was it?
‘I’ve got to admit that I’m still ever so sad about Luke and Katie splitting up,’ Jean told them in a valiant attempt to take their attention away from the desert and the fact that the British Army was being beaten back by Rommel and his tanks. ‘I’d have liked to keep in touch with her but, bless her, being the thoughtful girl she is she said that it wouldn’t be right or fair to Luke …
‘Oh, we’ve got Vi and Bella coming round for tea. Vi’s running poor Bella ragged, and her with that nursery to run. Not that I don’t feel for Vi, I do, but she doesn’t make it easy for herself or for anyone else. Anyway, Grace, love, tell me your news. Are you liking it at the hospital in Whitchurch?’
‘Yes, I love it,’ Grace answered her truthfully. ‘I wasn’t so sure at first, because it’s so much smaller than here, but you do get to see a bit more variety. Mind you, I had ever such a moment a few weeks back, Mum. We had a POW in, a German–a nice chap,’ she emphasised when Jean frowned. ‘Speaks good English and seemingly wasone of those forced to enlist. Anyway, he was sent in by a local doctor because he’d got a puncture wound to his leg that had gone bad. The POWs are sent out to work for the local farmers and this chap had had a pitchfork in his leg–an accident. I really thought he was going to lose his leg and it brought it all back to me how Seb had been so poorly with his own wound.’
‘So what happened to the POW?’ Jean asked, concerned on the man’s behalf in spite of herself.
‘Oh, he’s made a full recovery. The doctor is a friend of a friend of someone who wanted to try out this new stuff. Penicillin, it’s called. It’s like a miracle, Mum, but it’s all a bit hush-hush at the moment.’
‘Well, I dare say it’s all right giving him something like that, since he’s got better, but I wouldn’t have wanted them trying it out on one of my own. Say it hadn’t worked?’
Grace exchanged looks with Seb. She loved her mother dearly, but Jean could be a bit old-fashioned about some things.
Emily could hardly believe what had happened. It was like something out of a book, or a film–well, almost–and she was still all aflutter over it. She’d hardly slept last night and now here she was, all fingers and thumbs over her knitting, as she set about making socks for Wilhelm, who had come round yesterday afternoon to say especially to her how much he appreciated the pair she had already knitted for him, and asking her if she would let him come back to work on the garden. If she minded! A pink glow warmed her face, a slightly dazed but very happy smile curving her mouth.
Who would have thought yesterday morning, when she and Tommy had set out for church together, what the day would bring?
Of course, there’d been a good turnout for the elev
en o’clock service, it being Easter Sunday, and not just from the congregations. All the scouts and guides and the like had been there, along with the Boys’ Brigade and a band. Those members of the WVS who had wanted to do so marched into church in their uniforms. Emily had chosen instead to wear her own clothes and stay with Tommy, but she had still felt a thrill of pride seeing her fellow WVS members looking so smart and businesslike.
There’d been a handful of young men and women in uniform, those lucky enough to have leave, and of course there’d not been a dry eye in the church when, after the service, their vicar had read out the names of the newly fallen from the parish.
It hadn’t been until after the service, when people were chatting outside the church, that Emily had allowed herself to look discreetly in the direction of the POWs with their uniformed escort. Wilhelm hadn’t been to church since she’d given him the socks, and she had known why. It was because he hadn’t wanted to see her.
But then yesterday he’d been there, and she’d been so taken by surprise to see him that she’d flushed up like a fool and looked the other way, wanting to get Tommy away before he noticed and said something or, worse, wanted to go over and talk to Wilhelm.
Shamefully she hadn’t even noticed that Wilhelm was using a crutch until Ivy from next door had commented on it, saying, ‘Well, I never. There’s that POW that used to come and do your garden, Emily, and he’s been in some kind of accident, by the looks of it.’
Of course, that had her forgetting her own feelings and turning round immediately to look anxiously at Wilhelm. And sure enough, there he’d been, standing with the other men.
She’d seen often enough at the pictures what she had thought of as daft scenes in which a couple would look at one another in silence whilst some soppy music played and you’d just know that this was IT, but she’d thought it was all so much nonsense, especially after her experience with her own husband. A right one for giving those kind of looks, he was, and to any pretty girl who took his eye. But then Wilhelm had looked right at her, and she’d looked back, and then he was saying something to the soldier guarding them, who had looked across at her and nodded, and then Wilhelm had come towards her, and Ivy had given her a bit of a nudge in the back and said, ‘Go on, he wants to say something to you and you surely aren’t going to make him walk all the way with that bad leg?’ And somehow they had met in the middle of the lane, still thronged with churchgoers, and he had explained to her about having had a nasty accident and being too poorly to come to work, and she had been so concerned that she had asked him a lot of anxious questions and then she had been jolted by someone by accident and Wilhelm had reached out to steady her–he had ever such a lovely touch–the feel of his hand on her arm warm and steady and kind.
Of course, when he had asked if he could come back to continue doing her garden she couldn’t have said ‘no’ even if she had wanted to, could she, as she had said to Ivy, not with him having that bad leg, and her worrying about Tommy missing out on his fresh veggies.
And it had been then that he had said them, the most wonderful words, just as though somehow he had known, which of course he couldn’t have done, and right in front of Bridget, who being the busybody she was had made sure that she got close to them to find out what was going on.
‘The doctor told me that I was very lucky that the pitchfork missed my vein, and I have your kind gift to me to thank for that. The socks you knitted for me spared my life with their good strong wool and your excellent knitting.’
Oh, what a moment that had been. Emily’s chest swelled with pride and joy just to remember it.
But that hadn’t been all.
‘I have the socks still,’ Wilhelm had told her quietly, the words for her ears alone. ‘They are my good luck and I shall treasure them always.’
‘I’ll knit you another pair,’ Emily had promised, half dizzy with happiness and the triumph of it all.
Tommy, who had been playing with some of his school friends, had arrived then, delighted to see Wilhelm and demanding to hear the whole story.
Emily had been itching to ask Wilhelm back to have lunch with them, but she had known betterthan to do so. He was a POW, after all, and rules were rules. He’d be having his dinner at the POW camp with all the other men there.
But today, even though it was Easter Monday, he was coming round. Just to check the state of the garden, of course. What a bit of luck it was that she’d had just enough butter and sugar put by to make that bit of a cake. She’d sent Tommy up to the farm to beg some cream, and she’d got the jam she’d made in the autumn.
It had been a lovely afternoon at Auntie Jean’s, even if her mother had refused to enter into the spirit of things and had insisted on reminding them all of how badly done to she was, Bella reflected, as they walked the short distance from the bus stop to her mother’s house. Auntie Jean’s home was always so cosy and welcoming, and Bella had had a lovely chat with Grace and had accepted an invitation to go to Whitchurch to visit her there as soon as the weather warmed up a bit. There was nothing like being part of a loving family to give you a warm happy glow, Bella acknowledged. Her inner reflections made her glance ruefully at her own mother, looking more like her old smart self these days now that Bella was there to encourage her to take a pride in her appearance again. What a shame it was that her mother wasn’t closer to Auntie Jean. Her aunt had done everything she could this afternoon to make them welcome, and Bella felt that her mother could have made more of an effort at least to look as if she was enjoying herself.
They had reached the house now, and as they walked up the short drive Bella saw that Lena was sitting inside the open porch on one of the small stone benches that ran either side of the inside walls.
Immediately Bella ran forward, exclaiming worriedly, ‘Lena, what are you doing here?’
Lena, her face pale but set and determined, answered, ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Bella.’
‘Something’s wrong?’
Lena’s expression confirmed that she was right.
‘What is it?’ Bella demanded. ‘Is it Janette?’
Lena’s expression immediately softened into a maternal smile. ‘No, Janette’s fine. I’ve left her with Gavin.’ Lena reached for Bella’s hand and held it tightly. ‘I need to talk to you on your own,’ she told Bella quietly, her expression so grave that Bella’s heart lurched.
‘What’s going on? What’s she doing here?’ Vi demanded.
‘You go inside, Mummy,’ Bella instructed her mother, quickly unlocking the door and urging her mother in before closing it again.
‘Lena, what is it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Your hands are cold. You shouldn’t have waited outside like this. How long have you been here?’
‘Not long. Oh, Bella!’ Lena lifted her free hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. ‘There’s been such a terrible thing happened. I don’t know how to tell you, I really don’t.’
Bella’s heart was now pounding. Had something happened at the nursery? They were closed overthe Easter holiday but there could have been a fire or—
‘I … I didn’t want to telephone. Me and Gavin talked it over and he agreed that I should come,’ Lena interrupted Bella’s anxious train of thought.
‘Is it the nursery?’ Bella asked. ‘Has there been some kind of accident? Lena, please tell me what it is.’
‘Oh, Bella, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this. It’s the most dreadful thing.’ Lena shuddered. ‘Your Jan’s mam and sister came round just after dinner, I mean lunch, Lena corrected herself, whilst Bella refrained from picking her up on ‘your Jan’ for fear of delaying hearing what had happened even longer.
‘Jan? Something has happened to Jan?’ she demanded frantically.
‘Not Jan,’ Lena gulped. ‘They was wanting to see you but when I told them that you had moved back in with your mum and that you’d gone over to your auntie Jean’s for the day they told me and asked me if I would tell you so as you’d know.’
‘Well, if it isn’t Jan, then—’ Bella began.
‘It’s Jan’s wife, Bella. She’s dead. Got knocked down and killed by a car.’
Jan’s wife! Jan’s wife was dead. Her relief that it wasn’t Jan was quickly swamped by guilt for that relief, as Bella sank down onto the other stone bench, her hand to her lips, repeating almost pleadingly,‘Oh, no, Lena …’ When Lena didn’t respond Bella said shakily, ‘I dare say you’ll think that I’m just pretending to be sorry and that really—’
‘As if I would think any such thing, me as knows how good and kind you are,’ Lena assured Bella stoutly. ‘And your Jan’s ma and sister don’t think that either, before you go saying that maybe they do.’
‘Lena, you mustn’t call him “my Jan”,’ Bella begged her weakly. ‘He isn’t and he never was.’
‘He loves you and you love him, and don’t you go telling me any different because I saw how he looked when he talked about you.’
She didn’t feel glad that Jan’s wife was dead, and that he was now free, Bella knew. Instead she felt numb–numb and anxious and desperately shocked.
‘Was … was Jan with her? Did they say … ?’
‘All they said was that there’d been this accident, although …’
When Lena hesitated, Bella looked at her, her anxiety suddenly intensifying. There was something that Lena hadn’t told her yet, something that Lena was reluctant to tell her.
‘Although what?’
‘Well, it was Jan’s sister, Bettina, who told me. Took me on one side on purpose, I reckon, whilst her mother was making a fuss of Baby. She said that the driver of the car that hit her said as how she’d walked out in front of him deliberately.’
‘No! No, Lena, tell me that isn’t so?’
‘I’m ever so sorry, Bella, but Bettina said that it was best that you knew. She said to say as wellthat the poor lady had been having medical treatment because of how she was mentally, and that the doctor had got a nurse staying at the house with her because he didn’t think it was fair to her dad that he had the worry of it all whilst Jan wasn’t there, but that the nurse said she’d slipped out without her noticing. Of course, for the family’s sake it’s best that it’s left as an accident, but Bettina said she thought you ought to know.’