Far From Home (21 page)

With a glance towards Adam, she smiled at Mary. ‘I thought he looked a bit better this morning,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

Mary smiled back. ‘He’s breathing much easier and Mr Fortescue has reduced the dosage of morphine. He hopes that by doing so, Adam will wake up. But it’s a slow process, as you very well know, and it’s vital the medication is not withdrawn too quickly.’

Polly couldn’t help grinning at the news as she made her way down the ward, and it seemed her mood had been caught by the other men as they cheerily greeted her.

Adam’s skin had taken on a better hue, but he was still unaware of everything. She sat down and took his hand. ‘It’s been a really hectic day,’ she began, and then proceeded to tell him everything that had happened, and to describe the house and the people where she lived, in the hope that he might be able to hear her.

The hour seemed to fly by, and when the bell went for the end of visiting, she reluctantly kissed his chin and prepared to leave. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she promised as she softly put his hand back on top of the blanket before turning away.

‘Polly?’

His voice was cracked and hesitant, but it was unmistakeable, and Polly whirled back to him. ‘Adam? Oh, darling, yes. I’m here. I’m here.’ Her heart was thudding and she could barely speak through her tears of joy as she took his hand and felt the answering grip of his fingers.

‘Polly,’ he sighed. ‘I knew you’d come.’

Mary bustled over, took his pulse and his temperature and grinned. ‘Welcome back, Adam,’ she said with soft delight. She turned back to Polly. ‘Well, it looks like our sleeping beauty has finally woken up. I’ll need to keep a close eye on him if you don’t mind, but you can stay a few minutes more, Polly, as it’s such a special occasion.’

Polly grinned up at her before returning her attention to Adam. ‘That was Mary,’ she said. ‘She’s the ward sister who’s been very kind to me by letting me come in out of visiting hour.’

‘She sounds nice,’ he muttered with a terrible weariness.

Polly grinned again as Mary checked his notes. ‘She’s got lovely brown hair and eyes and a smile that warms your heart,’ she told Adam.

‘Why can’t I see?’ His free hand tentatively touched the bandages. ‘What’s happened to my eyes?’ His voice rose and trembled as his fingers made a more desperate search of the bandaging.

‘They put the bandages on to cover your head wounds,’ Mary explained quickly, stilling his hands. ‘They’re over your eyes to protect them from the bright lights. You’re not blind, Adam. I promise you.’

‘Polly?’ He turned his head towards her, seeking reassurance.

‘It’s true, my darling,’ she said, battling her tears. ‘The bandages are only temporary.’

He sighed and lay still. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘It’s Monday the sixteenth of September, 1940, and it’s ten past seven in the evening. I’ve been in Cliffehaven for two days, and they tell me you’ve been asleep for about a week.’

He digested this for a while in silence, his grip never lessening on her fingers as if he was afraid she might not be real – might disappear at any moment. ‘Where’s Alice? Is she with you?’

Polly licked her lips as she glanced up at Mary, and decided it wouldn’t do Adam any good to know everything – not yet, anyway. ‘I didn’t bring Alice, my love. She’s with Mum and Megan and the boys.’

‘So, she’s safe?’

‘Of course she is,’ she soothed, hoping to God she was telling him the truth.

‘I’m tired, Pol,’ he sighed. ‘So tired. Love you.’ His head slumped on the pillow and he began to snore.

Polly giggled. Adam’s snoring had always been a bone of contention, for it had often kept her awake at night, but today she wouldn’t have minded if he snored forever.

‘You’d better go,’ said Mary quietly as she checked his pulse again. ‘One of my nurses has just seen Matron go into the ward up the corridor.’

‘But …’

‘Go, Polly. You can come in tomorrow at ten-thirty for a few minutes while she has her tea break – but if she catches you here now, then I can’t promise anything.’

‘He will be all right, won’t he?’

Mary’s expression softened. ‘He’s sleeping naturally. He’ll be fine. How about we meet up at the Daisy Tea Room after our shift, and I can fill you in on what the consultant says tonight?’

‘He’ll come in?’

‘Mr Fortescue ordered me to let him know if Adam woke up. Now shoo, or we’ll both be in deep trouble.’

Polly kissed Adam and almost danced down the length of the ward. Adam was going to get better – and once this war was over and Alice was safely back in England, they could be a proper family again, and put all this behind them.

The week had flown by, and although the household routine had been interrupted constantly by raids day and night, Peggy was at peace. The house was still standing, although the front windows had been boarded up, and she was very proud of the new front door which Jim had carefully painted a lovely blue. The chimney had been swept, the rug beaten, and her dining room had been returned to what passed as normal these days.

Now it was Sunday, and although it was gloomy and cold, with the sea crashing against the defences and the gulls screaming as they hung like kites in the wind or squabbled on the rooftops, Peggy was finding the long bicycle ride back from the church bracing.

She always enjoyed morning mass, and didn’t mind at all that the clouds were lying thick above her, the wind was threatening to steal her headscarf, and that it was getting harder and harder to pedal against it. She felt at peace and optimistic about the weeks ahead, the wind blowing away the cobwebs and setting her up for what she hoped would be a happy afternoon.

It had been a lovely week, she thought, as she turned off the seafront and swung down from the bike so she could push it up the long, steep hill to Beach View Terrace. Sally and Pearl, who’d once billeted with her, had come for their regular Saturday visit the previous day, and they’d chatted for hours over cups of very weak tea as they discussed Sally’s forthcoming wedding, caught up with the gossip, read the children’s letters and planned what to send them as a treat.

The thought of her sons stilled her for a moment and, as she leant on the bicycle’s handles and caught her breath, she stared up the hill to the crater, and acknowledged that although it was hard not to have them home, they were much safer in Somerset. Since tight travelling restrictions were in place she couldn’t go and visit them, see where they lived, or be a part of their lives again, if only for a few days. They had to be growing up fast, growing away from her – and this had always been her greatest fear. And yet she had to keep faith that the ties of love and family would remain no matter how far apart they were, or however long it would take before they could come home. Their letters were proof that they thought of home often, even though their new lives were fulfilling, and she silently blessed Sally’s aunt for all her kindness in taking them in and loving them as her own.

Continuing at a slower pace, she dismissed these darker thoughts and smiled at the memory of how happy Sally was now that her John was making such a rapid recovery from the terrible wounds he’d sustained at Dunkirk.

He’d promised Sally he would walk unaided down the aisle in two months’ time, and Peggy knew he wouldn’t break that promise. She had known John Hicks since he was a boy in short trousers, and he’d become the sort of man who would always defy his injuries and make the best of his new tin leg – why, he’d already gone back to work at the fire station as an area co-ordinator, and was proving to be just as efficient and hard-working as he’d always been as a fireman.

Peggy circumnavigated the crater which had only been partially filled in. The buildings on either side were just piles of rubble now, but at least no one had been killed. Her bicycle wheels jolted over the rough surface of what had once been a pavement, making her handbag and gas mask bounce about in the wicker basket that was strapped to the handlebars.

As she reached the smoother tarmac, her thoughts turned to Polly. Adam also seemed to be making a recovery, but it was painfully slow, and although the girl’s whole demeanour had lightened, her laughter ringing out as she joined in the fun with the other girls, Peggy had seen the shadows behind those bright smiles and knew Polly still fretted over the rest of her family.

There had been no news of the convoy in the papers or on the radio, no letters or cards arriving at Beach View, and Peggy understood the agony of not knowing – she’d experienced it when Jim and his brother Frank had gone with the armada of little boats to Dunkirk, and there had been no news for five days. But, she reasoned, Polly’s family would surely be in Canada any day now, and no doubt would write as soon as they were settled.

She reached the end of Beach View Terrace and stood for a moment taking in the yawning gap at the other end where once there had been four houses. Boarded-up windows looked blindly out on the street where garden walls had toppled and weeds had pushed their way through the paving slabs. It was a sad sight.

Peggy experienced a moment of blinding clarity as she looked at the street she’d known all her life. In the devastation lay hope, for, like her, the inhabitants of Beach View Terrace were proof positive of what was being called the ‘bulldog spirit’. They still fought on, living each day to battle with air raids, dust, rationing and every other privation and inconvenience so they could win this war. People all over England were falling in love, getting married, having babies and making plans for the future – to think otherwise would be to give in to the enemy. As Churchill had said in one of his rousing speeches, ‘There will be no surrender.’

She hoisted the bicycle up the steps and smiled as she dug into her handbag for her door key. Even Danuta seemed to be slowly coming out of her shell now she had new clothes, and Cissy had given her a very fetching bobbed haircut. The Polish girl at last seemed to be settling in and, despite the difference in age, had built a real rapport with Ron as they’d tramped the hills and come home victorious with rabbits, hares, pigeons and blackberries. It was as if she’d found a new lease of life, and Peggy was delighted that it had been Ron and Harvey who had provided it.

Peggy was still smiling as she opened her new front door. Mrs Finch had proved an absolute whizz in the kitchen, and Peggy had happily left her to it on the three afternoons she helped at the WVS, and on the other days while she got on with her other household chores.

It was amazing what people could turn their hand to in times of crisis, she thought, as she took off her hat, gloves and coat and put them away in her bedroom. But what on earth they were going to feed those young Australians this lunchtime, she couldn’t think. Their promise of meat was all very well, but what if they couldn’t get any? A few wood pigeons wouldn’t be enough to feed them – young men that age had hollow legs!

A burst of laughter rang through the house as she crossed the hall to the kitchen. Curious, she hurried to see what was going on.

Fran and Suzy were standing barefoot on the kitchen table, their skirts lifted up to their cami-knickers as June and Danuta carefully applied some sort of brown stain to their legs.

As Peggy stood in the doorway and gazed upon the scene with amazement, she began to join in the laughter, for Cissy was now inexpertly attempting to draw a pencil-line from the top of Suzy’s newly tanned thigh to the heel of her right leg.

‘Do keep still, Suzy,’ Cissy admonished. ‘You’re making the line all wobbly.’

‘It tickles,’ protested Suzy, her wild red hair springing around her head as she twisted and turned and tried to see the effect. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Cissy? To be sure that looks terrible crooked.’

‘It wouldn’t if you stood still,’ retorted Cissy, who still had a bit of a black eye, and a bandage round her ankle. ‘And as this is my best eyebrow pencil, I’d appreciate it if you’d do as you’re told.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Suzy executed a mock salute and stood ramrod straight for all of five seconds.

Peggy sidled into the room and went to sit next to Mrs Finch, who was watching all this with a twinkle in her eye. ‘What are they using to colour their legs?’ Peggy asked over the babble of voices and laughter.

‘Gravy browning.’

‘But there’s hardly any left, and I’m going to need it for tomorrow’s stew.’

‘Suzy managed to get some the other day. Don’t fret, Peggy, there’s plenty more where that came from.’

‘But gravy browning? Won’t it run the minute it rains?’

‘Of course it will,’ said Mrs Finch with a chuckle. ‘That’s half the fun.’

Peggy watched as Cissy finished drawing the lines and stood back to admire the effect. ‘They can’t possibly think anyone could be fooled into thinking they were wearing stockings, surely?’ she murmured.

‘You’d be surprised,’ Mrs Finch replied dryly. ‘I remember doing much the same thing with cold tea back in 1919, when there was a shortage of decent stockings.’ She stuck out her spindly legs and grimaced. ‘Not much point now,’ she muttered. ‘No one would give these a second glance any more.’ She heaved a sigh and fondly watched the lovely young girls who were so unaware of how beautiful they were in their youthful exuberance. ‘I used to have legs like that.’

‘Youth is a wonderful thing,’ Peggy murmured, thinking of the varicose veins that now threaded her own thighs.