For All Our Tomorrows (8 page)

‘Give her time, she’ll come round.’

‘Why do you always have to see the best in people? Sickening.’

Sara looked startled. ‘I don’t. I’m not. Is that how you see me? How awful. Maybe I just try harder than you, to be understanding of other people’s problems, I mean.’

‘Too understanding by half.’ Bette stopped titivating her hair long enough to glance across at her sister, then looked more closely. ‘Hey, what is it? Have you been crying? Not that bloody husband of yours again? Hugh hasn’t left you, has he? Or better still, you’ve left him. Tell me that it’s suddenly dawned on you what a useless bugger he is.’

Tears spurted in Sara’s eyes and Bette was instantly contrite. ‘Oh, lord, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. Look, I was just upset over Mam.’

‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’

Sara instantly turned to her children, recognising the anxiety in their little faces as they saw their mother upset. ‘It’s all right darlings, Mummy has a bit of a cold, that’s all.’ Then she gave them each a penny and told them they could go and buy themselves a lollipop. When they’d run off, giggling excitedly, she turned back to Bette. ‘He’s given me the sack.’

‘What?’ This was the last thing Bette had expected to hear. ‘What are you talking about? How can he sack you, his own wife?’

Sara sighed. ‘I mean, he’s told me that he doesn’t want me to work behind the bar any more. He’s going to employ Iris instead.’

‘For heaven’s sake, why? No, don’t tell me, I can guess. He was against your helping with the fish supper, wasn’t he?’

Aware that her husband and sister had never been exactly bosom pals, yet it troubled her that Bette could be so hard on Hugh, who was nowhere near as bad as she made out. ‘He’s concerned that I not be taken advantage of. And if he’s overreacted, well, he’s tired and overworked, that’s all.’

‘As we all are. He’s jealous as hell that you are popular and he isn’t. That’s the real reason. So he denies you the most sociable and liveliest part of the job, the part you most enjoy, and puts that fancy piece, Iris Logan, in your place.’
 

‘She’s very good at the job, actually. And she’s glad of the money since rumour has it she’s saving up to marry a sailor.’

‘No doubt you’ll still be expected to do all the cooking and cleaning, as per usual?’

‘Of course.’

‘Bastard!’

‘Bette!’ Sara was shocked.

‘I’m sorry, but he really does take the biscuit. So damned selfish, and you just stand back and let him walk all over you.’

Sara stared at her sister. ‘Is that how you see me, as a door mat?’

‘So prove to me that you aren’t. You’ve danced to his tune ever since you stupidly walked up that aisle, far too young to know your own mind. It’s time to do something
you
want for a change, without asking the wonderful Hugh’s permission first.’

Seeing the distress in her sister’s face, Bette put her arms about Sara and hugged her close. ‘Go on, why don’t you be brave and start thinking for yourself, for once. Now’s your chance, lovey. View this decision as a blow for freedom, as the moment for you to strike out and do something off your own bat at last. What do you fancy, then? What have you always yearned to do with your life but never been able to do because you were always too busy?’

Sara scrubbed at her eyes. ‘I haven’t the first idea.’

‘Then you’d best start thinking about it, start making some decisions of your own. Be yourself at last.’

Sara looked at her sister and half laughed at the earnestness of her expression. ‘You might well be right, love. Perhaps it’s long past time that I did.’

Chapter Eight

The Americans were made most welcome in Fowey. They might object to the moist Cornish weather but the hospitality of the natives was greatly appreciated and the Yanks loved the green hillsides, the woods and secret creeks, Cornish pasties, and, of course, Cornish girls. They’d whistle at anything in a skirt, and were particularly impressed by bus conductresses, land girls, in fact any female in a uniform.

People opened up their homes to them, invited them in to supper to enjoy some home cooking, not that they always appreciated such dishes as bubble and squeak or Woolton pie.
 

‘Where’s the meat in this pie?’

‘There isn’t any, actually.’

‘You call this coffee?’

‘Camp coffee. The bottled variety.

‘Why is it called camp?’

‘No idea. Perhaps you’d prefer tea?’

‘You got any Coca-Cola?

A shake of the head. ‘Sorry.’

But they accepted it all in good spirit. If they thought that wartime rations were sparse and tasteless, the patched up clothes people wore drab and colourless, and the tiny cottages with their smoky coal fires a bit cramped, they never said as much. They happily joined in family sing-songs around the piano or listened to the wireless, laughing along at ITMA.

In return, the GIs provided tinned goods the like of which Fowey folk hadn’t seen in years. Peaches and pineapples and Spam. And for the children there were candy bars, chewing gum and peanut butter, and the inevitable Coca-Cola.

The next dance was held in the Armoury, which was situated at the top of the town above Place, the ancestral home of the Treffrys. Thankfully, Sara was not responsible for running it this time. It was simply one of the normal, run-of-the-mill dances that were held regularly for the entertainment of the soldiers, sailors and marines who were stationed in Fowey. And very popular they were too, the small hut so packed with people that many were compelled to dance outside or were forced to climb out of the window just to get some air.

Bette went with Chad, of course, but, as a married woman, it would have been quite inappropriate for Sara to go with her sister. Not that she had any wish to do so, much as she might love dancing.

She’d thought a good deal about what Bette had said, and deep down agreed with every word. She did need to be more independent and not give in to everything Hugh told her to do. Putting this decision into effect, however, was quite another matter.

Yet when she listened to Bette telling of the fun she’d had, Sara experienced a strange sort of heartache. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hugh had had fun, or enjoyed any sort of relaxation. There was certainly no point in asking him to come to the Armoury with her, or to take her to any other dance for that matter. He was far too occupied with running the inn and with his more important ‘missions’, whatever they might be.

Only the other night he’d stayed out till the early hours, apologising for waking her as he slipped between the sheets.

‘It’s all right, I wasn’t properly asleep. But I’m glad you’re home safe.’

Sara had put an arm around him to warm him up and kiss his cheek before sleepily asking where he’d been all night to get so cold. She instantly sensed a tension in him and felt a burst of regret that she’d said the wrong thing yet again.

He pulled away and switched on the small lamp by the bed to look down at her so fiercely that he seemed quite unlike himself. ‘Don’t you realise how dangerous it is to ask questions? Haven’t you learned that much by now?’

Sara quailed, almost as if she were confronting a stranger. ‘Sorry, I was simply trying to show an interest. I wasn’t expecting details. I thought at least you could say whether you were with the lifeboat or on patrol with the coastguard, or whatever.’

‘If I were to tell you I was out on the lifeboat, and let drop where we’d gone, let alone what rescue operation we’d been involved with, who knows how far the information might spread, or who might pick up useful knowledge about the British Fleet.’

Sara felt herself flushing with embarrassment for his point was a fair one. She’d simply jumped to the conclusion that Hugh was yet again trying to make his war-work sound important, rather as Cory did, and that more than likely he’d been involved in nothing more than a training exercise which had gone on too long, or ended up in the Lugger and stayed on drinking with his cronies. ‘Sorry, but you know that I wouldn’t breathe a word. You don’t imagine I would talk to a German, do you? Or even exchange gossip with Nora Snell?’

‘Careless talk costs lives,’ he sanctimoniously reminded her, and, sighing, Sara was forced to agree that, hurtful as his lack of trust in her might appear, in theory at least, he was probably correct.
 

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Do lie down, darling. You’ll catch cold, if you haven’t already.’

Reluctantly, he switched off the light again and lay stiffly beside her, saying nothing.

Sarah tried again, whispering softly in loving tones. ‘My reason for asking was entirely selfish, I will admit. I thought maybe some night when you are not called out, or on some training exercise or other, we could perhaps ask Iris to look after the bar on her own, which would give us some time to go out by ourselves for once.’

She could sense him looking at her, even in the semi-darkness, just as if she’d suggested they fly to the moon. ‘Take time off? There is a war on, Sara.’

‘Other people still manage to have fun, dance, go to the pictures, or simply enjoy a walk together, or have a picnic. It would be so nice.’

‘You can walk with your sister, picnic with the children, though it’s November and I never liked picnics at the best of times, let alone in winter. You know that.’

‘I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you, my lovely husband, not just with my sister or the children,’ and she kissed him affectionately. ‘You need to relax too, darling. It’s not good for you to be working all the time. Not good for either of us.’ Sara snuggled up to him in the bed, tried kissing the profile of his cheek, since he still hadn’t responded. ‘Will you at least think about it? I do love you, you know.’
 

He turned to her then, moved by her words at last, almost contrite, and agreed that he would think on the matter. When he made love to her this time, it was with a greater tenderness, making a little more effort to please her by not rushing things quite so much. Even so she would have liked more in the way of kisses and caresses, and when he was done and lifted himself off her to fall instantly asleep, Sara was again left with a strange sense of dissatisfaction; the feeling that he hadn’t really been aware who he’d been making love to at all.

Today was one of those mellow autumn days which Cornwall did so well. It felt as warm as summer and the two sisters were walking over the headland from where there was a grand view of the river. Not that the view was quite what it had once been. At one time in Fowey’s past the river would have been filled with tall ships and fishing boats. Before the war, the small harbour had bristled with the masts of pleasure yachts and was a highway for the great ships that sailed upriver to the docks to be loaded with china clay. These last remained, but the pleasure craft were all gone.

The two sisters tried to look beyond the views of barbed wire and Nissen huts and see the wider vista, although even the shine of blue sea was blotted by minesweepers, gunboats, tugs and ammunition barges. Even the trawlers were armed and the sky sulked with grey cloud, as if to echo the mood.

But the weather was mild and dry, and Bette had a free afternoon as the salon closed at lunch-time on a Saturday. Sara had rather too much free time on her hands these days and was feeling very much at a loose end, so was grateful for the company. And she was absolutely determined to at least give the children a little fun.

They couldn’t traverse the headland with quite the freedom they’d enjoyed before the war, since severe restrictions were in place, but they slipped up through the woods behind the ruins of St Catherine’s castle, and keeping low between the gorse bushes, enjoyed a decent enough walk over the headland, revisiting old haunts.

Jenny and Drew were eager to fly their kites, while Sara carried a basket with a flask of tea, bottles of fizzy lemonade and fish paste sandwiches, plus some Cornish splits which she’d made just that morning and a small jar of home made strawberry jam.

They were aiming for a spot overlooking Combe Bay, a tiny cove where they’d used to swim and picnic often before the war, though they wouldn’t risk going right down into it now, because of the possibility of mines.

Sara was still thinking about her conversation with Hugh, remembering how there’d once been a time when they would often go off together on a Sunday for the whole day, to walk and swim and relax. They’d regularly go as far as Polridmouth Bay close to the woods by Menabilly, or further still and visit the Rashleigh Arms for lunch.

Once, quite early in their marriage, they’d enjoyed a few days away in Torquay, and after Drew was born, a whole week in the Scillies. The war had changed everything, for some more than others.

As if reading her thoughts, Bette said, ‘Why doesn’t Hugh take you out any more? He’s such an old misery boots these days.’

‘He’s working hard in the pub, and he has his other duties several nights a week, training and such like. It isn’t easy for him to get time off.’

‘Nothing is easy at the moment, with the war, but other people manage to enjoy life along the way. Why doesn’t he?’

‘There are always those who seem able to carry on regardless, dancing, drinking, having fun; those who become completely reckless in their pursuit of pleasure because tomorrow they might go out on their ship or aircraft and not come back. You should bear that in mind, Bette, when you’re out with your marine.’