A Girl in Wartime (25 page)

She smiled up at him as he came to stand at her desk, but his own smile had vanished.

‘Sorry to ask,' he began, ‘but have you said anything to your family yet?'

The question sounded cold, as if he were addressing someone about business. She took a deep breath and tried to control the quivering in her chest, which was partly from love, partly from fear and anxiety.

‘I was about to,' she began. ‘I'd made up my mind to on the bus on my way home.' She was drawing out the dread moment. ‘But Mum said they'd had a letter from the hospital, that they're sending Ronnie home. He's far from better but they need the room for worse cases than his. And Mum was all of a dither and Dorothy was excited and frightened at the same time, not knowing how he'll be and how she'll cope with him. I couldn't push my news on them at the same time, Stephen. I just couldn't.'

She was gabbling and he stood there listening to it all. At any minute he would turn on his heel and walk off – a signal that it was all over between them. Then what would she do?'

She heard him take a deep breath. Now he'd tell her that it was all over between them. But how could it be after what they had been to each other? How could he say goodbye to what they'd had together?

She heard him exhale slowly. ‘Well,' he said. ‘Maybe another time.'

What did that mean, maybe another time? In a small voice she posed the question and heard him reply quietly, ‘We can talk about it over lunch. We need to get this cleared up, Connie, once and for all.'

Someone at his office door was beckoning to him. ‘Must go,' he said tersely, but as he turned, his hand touched her arm briefly. That small touch spoke volumes: warmth and reassurance.

She couldn't wait for the morning to pass. Sitting at her desk, sorting out the filing which she would do between assignments, the next hours seemed to creep by.

It was wonderful sitting with him in their cafe, all the more wonderful seeing as only yesterday she was thinking that this would never happen again. But she could eat only little of the small lunch, toying with it as he ate heartily.

‘Not hungry?' he asked at one time, as if nothing had ever gone on between them.

‘I can't eat,' she said. This obviously spoke volumes as he put down his knife and fork and pushed away the plate to gaze at her.

‘Right then, my love, I can see you're never going to be able to do this on your own. I know it's only Wednesday, and that I gave you until Friday to tell them, but I will come with you. We'll have this out with your parents together.'

Connie felt conflicted. On the one hand, it would be wonderful to have him with her, so her parents could see the kind of man he was. On the other hand, seeing them together would highlight the difference in their ages. ‘No, Stephen!'

‘Yes, Connie – before your brother comes home. We have to get this matter sorted. If not, I cannot see a future for us.' That frightened her more than anything, the tautness of his jaw muscles proof enough that he meant what he said.

Giving herself no time to think, she burst out, ‘Friday, then!'

She saw his shoulders droop ever so slightly, revealing that he'd been going through just as much tension as she, and her heart went out to him.

‘We'll see my parents together,' she repeated, though in her heart she trembled to think what their reaction might be: the shock on her mother's face, the frown on her father's. But they would have had to know eventually.

When she and Stephen had dinner together on Saturday, they would at least have lighter conscience, having their cards on the table and able to go on from there. But she was not looking forward at all to Friday.

The timing couldn't have been worse. After work, she came home to absolute turmoil. Some time mid-afternoon Ronnie had been brought home, completely out of the blue, by a Voluntary Aid Detachment person. As she entered, Ronnie sat in Dad's chair staring into the fire, his head jerking at intervals.

Seeing Connie, the VAD worker looked up from where he had been sitting close by him, talking to him in a quiet tone, while Mum and Dorothy sat at the parlour table not knowing quite what to do.

‘I'm glad you're home,' the man said. ‘I take it you're his sister.'

‘Yes,' she answered, staring at Ron, not knowing what else to say.

‘I am just waiting for your father to come home,' he went on. ‘Then I'll have to leave. I've explained to your mother what is needed and I will also explain to your father. But the good news is that your brother is doing well, and I shall convey this to your father when he appears.'

Connie nodded as she took off her coat, laying it over the back of a chair, and placed her hat and handbag on the table on which empty tea cups resided.

‘Shall I make some more tea?' she asked ineffectually.

She saw Ronald look sharply up at her and saw in his eyes the most startled look she had ever seen, as if he had suddenly been confronted by an enemy soldier. It made her blood run cold for a second or two.

She made herself smile gently at him. ‘It's really, really lovely to see you, Ronnie. We've missed you so much.'

She watched the look slowly fade. During her time on the paper she had sketched so many expressions of trauma, but never one like this. She wanted to kiss her brother's cheek but instinctively knew that such an action would only make him flinch.

‘Tea?' she queried again.

Mum's voice said, ‘That'll be nice, love.'

She found herself glad to get out into the kitchen away from them all. It was there that she burst into quiet tears, tears which continued to fall as she set about making the tea.

Not long after she'd brought the tea in for them all, little Violet began to cry from where she lay in her cot upstairs. Instantly Dorothy leapt up, which made Ronnie jump, although she didn't see it as she made for the stairs. Moments later she brought the baby down and then, doing something that surprised them all, she quietly moved towards her child's father and gently placed the baby in his arms. He automatically held out his arms to receive the little bundle. It was like watching a small miracle. Oblivious to everyone looking on, he held the child tenderly, bent his head and kissed her on the forehead.

Violet didn't cry. She was looking up at him as if she knew him, her wide blue eyes taking her father in. He lifted his head, still holding the baby very gently, and looked at them all one by one, with not one jerk of his head.

‘She's absolutely lovely,' he said in a steady voice and Dorothy came forward to kiss him too. His free arm opened out to bring her closer to him – a little family united. It was as if he'd never been to war, had shells bursting all round him, had lost his leg to one, had become shell shocked by his experiences.

Although it didn't last. He finally had to release his hold on his precious little family and Dorothy took the baby from him, stepping back to the parlour table. On his own again, they saw his head jerk several times in quick succession; his eyes were closed, hiding from Connie any expression there might have been in them. The VAD man was smiling.

‘I think he's going to be all right,' he whispered. ‘But it will take time.'

He might have said more, but the crash at the back door heralded the entrance of her father and the onset of another round of emotional turmoil that would last long after the VAD worker had left.

It was two days until Connie and Stephen were to tell her family about their relationship, and the hours dragged by. Several times she wondered if she should at least drop a hint, but her courage always failed her at the last minute. It was all too easy to put a spanner in the works. Nothing must spoil her chances. And the sight of Ronnie sitting by the parlour window staring blankly out, head jerking, not speaking unless forced, only coming alive when Dorothy and the baby were with him, would have stopped her before she'd begun.

On Friday, as she and Stephen were getting out of a taxi at her door, she noticed how tightly he was holding her hand. Or was it she holding his?

It was a relief to see it was her mother who had come to the door and not her father.

‘You're late—' she began then broke off once she saw Stephen. As Connie introduced him by name, adding that he was her boss, her mother drew in a startled breath. ‘What's the matter, love?'

‘Nothing's the matter.' Already she could feel the tension. ‘No bad news. It's just that me and Ste—Mr Clayton, have something we need to tell you.'

Her mother stepped back. ‘Well, don't stand there, come in.'

Dad's voice came from the parlour, where he was enjoying his pipe: ‘Who is it?'

‘It's our Connie and a young man, her boss.'

‘What's 'e want?' Connie felt suddenly ashamed of her father's rough Cockney voice.

‘We'll tell him ourselves,' she said hurriedly, letting Mum lead them into her humble parlour. At least the room would be clean and tidy; Mum was a house-proud woman, thank God.

It was all so different to what she had once dreamed about – she introducing Stephen to her family, he politely asking permission for her hand in marriage. That dream was so lovely in its traditional formality.

Now they stood in the parlour, her mother saying, ‘This is Connie's boss who she works for. He says he's got something he wants to say to us, love.'

Connie was somehow strangely relieved that Ronnie wasn't here at the moment but in Mum's front room where he and his little family now slept, he no longer able to manage the stairs any more. How would it have been, Stephen seeing him for the first time, her brother hardly able to keep his head still as he gazed into space?

Her father had got up out of his chair to come towards his visitor with an enquiring stare. ‘Ain't nuffink wrong, is there, Mr …'

‘Clayton,' Stephen said readily. ‘Nothing is wrong, nothing at all.'

‘I'm sorry,' her father was saying. ‘Don't mean to be rude, Mr Clayton, but if nuffink's wrong, why're you 'ere?'

Connie wanted to hold Stephen's hand and blurt out that they'd become engaged. Instead she stood at his side, inwardly cringing at her father's rough speech. Although she loved both her parents, she had always – perhaps unconsciously – tried at least to make an effort to speak as well as the sort of people she'd have liked to be. Not making a great job of it, but certainly better than her mum and dad.

‘Nothing is wrong, Mr Lovell,' Stephen said. ‘This is a personal thing. You see, I—'

‘What d'you mean, personal thing?' her father interrupted.

Connie could contain herself no longer. ‘Dad,' she burst out. ‘Mum. Mr Clayton and I … Stephen … he's not just my boss, we've been going out together for quite a time now. And … well, there's this.' Pausing, she reached down into the neckline of the jumper she wore and dragged out the ribbon. ‘I've had this for this some time. But I didn't want to—'

Mum came forward and took the ribbon in her hand to gaze at the ring dangling from it. ‘A ring?' she exclaimed. ‘A ring with a diamond.'

‘It's an engagement ring, Mum. Stephen and I couldn't – we couldn't tell you. You see there were certain things I couldn't find the courage to tell you. But sooner or later I supposed I'd have to.'

‘Engaged?' her mother repeated. ‘And you never thought to tell us?'

‘'Ow long's this bin goin' on?' interrupted her father, his voice a deep growl, signifying an explosion at any minute. Connie felt her stomach tighten but Stephen spoke for her.

‘I apologise sincerely, Mr Lovell, springing this on you and Connie's mother, but—'

‘'Ow long?'

‘Several months.'

‘So why now? You and 'er – you bin up to no good wiv 'er – takin' advantage of her 'cos she's employed by you? You ain't got 'er—'

‘No I have not, Mr Lovell.' Stephen's tone was sharp. ‘Connie was just worried about telling you earlier in case you forbade her from seeing me.'

Dad was glaring. ‘What you mean, worried? What you got to 'ide?'

Stephen took a deep breath, putting a calming hand on her shoulder as she made to speak, aware that he knew it was he who needed to explain, not her.

‘Because I am a bit older than Connie – by nine years – and because I was married before.'

Dad had grown angry even as he smirked derisively. ‘Got rid of the little woman, did you? She slung you out or did you sling 'er out so you could get you 'ands on my daughter? Prettier is she, our Connie?'

‘I lost my wife several years ago, Mr Lovell.' The quiet reply was low, steady. ‘It was cancer. No one could save her.' Connie saw the fleeting look of pain cross his face. ‘I met your daughter when she came to an interview but it was a long time before we became attracted to each other. I'm sorry that she said nothing to you in all that time but she was worried about what you would say. I gave her the ring several months ago but she felt, as appears to be proving correct, that you wouldn't give permission for us to marry, and she insisted on keeping it out of sight. Mr Lovell, I want to marry your daughter. Will you give your consent?'

‘Not till she's twenty-one,' was her father's flat reply.

Connie couldn't help herself. ‘Then we'll go off somewhere and get married without your consent, Dad!'

Stephen's restraining hand on her arm again stopped her from saying anything more. ‘If you feel that way, sir,' he said politely, ‘then so be it. But—'

‘No!' Her mother moved forward more briskly than Connie had ever seen her move before. ‘No, she's old enough now to know her own mind, and if they've bin seein' each other all this time, then I—'

She stopped as the parlour door opened very quietly. There stood Ronnie, with Dorothy and the baby behind them. The room fell silent. Leaning on his crutches somewhat unsteadily, his head jerking more than Connie had ever seen in the short time he'd been home, he cut a pitiful figure. Staring fixedly at the floor, he negotiated his way awkwardly around the table to the upright chair by the window which in the short time he'd been home, he had silently claimed as his.