For All Our Tomorrows (9 page)

Bette rolled her eyes, as if to say, here we go again on another lecture.

‘Others retreat more into themselves and can’t be quite so heedless, that’s all I’m saying. It isn’t always possible to judge how people really feel, or to say how anyone should cope with this kind of trauma. We all do the best we can. For Hugh it involves working extra hard to do his bit, so who am I to criticise, or expect more from him than he can give?’

‘Why shouldn’t you expect more? He’s quick enough to criticise you if he thinks
you
haven’t come up to scratch, and yet expects you, even now, to carry on doing the brunt of the work behind the scenes, without any fun whatsoever.’

‘You’re far too hard on him.’

‘On the contrary, not hard enough. Any you’re far too soft.’

Sara was saved from defending herself as Jenny came up and wanted the string on her kite untangling. ‘Can we fly it now, Mummy? Drew says his will go higher and I’ve bet him mine will.’

‘Of course you can, darling, but you must keep a tight hold on the string.’

Bette continued to make her point as the pair of them attempted to sort out the kite. ‘The marines who regularly come to the pub every night are already asking where you are. They say you explain the money to them better, which they never can understand, and they miss your sweet smile. Don’t you miss it too?’

Sara looked suddenly sad. ‘Surprisingly enough, I do.’

The two sisters spread out their mackintoshes and made themselves comfortable on a hump of grass while Jenny and Drew set about flying their kites; putting on their head scarves and fastening their cardigans against a breeze that had sprung up. ‘I used to complain that I had too much work to do, now the opposite is the case. I don’t have nearly enough.’

‘So what are you going to do about it? You surely don’t want to work at the salon with Mam and me? She drives
me
mad, don’t
you
get involved for goodness’ sake.’

Sara laughed. ‘Certainly not, I don’t have your skills with hair for one thing. Actually, I don’t have skills of any sort to speak of.’ She was frowning, looking quite doleful. ‘I mean, what can I do besides cook, clean, pull pints and mind children? Good for nothing, that’s me.’

‘Don’t be daft, there must be something, lots of things you could do. If you like children, why not help out at the school? You could dig for victory on Fred Pullen’s market garden, collect salvage, raise money for War Weapons week, or join the WVS. They are always in need of help.’

Sara’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, I never thought of that. Do you think they’d have me?’

‘Of course they would. Nora Snell is always complaining to Mam how she needs someone to sort clothes, pull back old knitting so she can hand out balls of wool for the children to knit scarves or whatever.’

‘I’m not sure I’d be any good at knitting but I could certainly sort clothes and things, or perhaps provide transport for people, if and when needed, assuming the WVS can supply the extra petrol coupons.’ Sara was beginning to get quite excited at all the possibilities. Perhaps she wasn’t so useless, after all. ‘And there’s to be a Salute the Soldier Week next year, I believe, so I could perhaps help fund-raise for that, organise a concert or something.’
 

‘That’s the ticket. There you are, loads of things you can do. Hugh will be proud of you.’

It was as if a balloon had burst. ‘Oh dear, he might object to my borrowing the car, or getting too involved with war work.’

‘For goodness sake, why on earth should he? He does his bit, why shouldn’t you do yours?’

‘You’re right, of course.’ But Sara still looked doubtful.

Bette put her arms about her. ‘You deserve better, Sis. I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. It does no good at all to have a husband telling you what to do all the time. It worries me how he bosses you about, but he isn’t always in the right, you know. You said he was out the other night till the early hours, well the rest of the life-boat crew were in Safe Harbour, having a knee’s up.’

Sara thought about this for a moment before answering. ‘It must have been the coast-guard patrol he was on then, or one of his other jobs. Like I say, he works hard and is involved in so many things. And I can’t ask questions, can I? It’s not allowed.’

Bette sighed with exasperation. ‘Whatever he gets up to, he keeps you tied at home on a very short lead, won’t even let you talk to a few lonely soldiers. It’s ridiculous.’

‘Now who’s over-reacting? He may be a bit of a fuss-pot but Hugh is a caring, considerate husband who wants only the best for me. All right, so he’s over-protective but he can’t help being a bit jealous, it’s in his nature, and I
do
adore him.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Say it often enough and you might come to believe it.’

Sara ignored the jibe. ‘What’s more, he’s your brother-in-law don’t forget, so do try to be nice to him, for my sake.’ She playfully tweaked her sister’s nose.

Bette pulled away, irritated by her sister’s lack of confidence in herself and not wishing to have her comments so lightly dismissed. ‘You’re always ready enough with advice to me, so let me hand some out for a change. Give yourself a chance, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows what you might be capable of, if you don’t try.’

They were different in so many ways. Sara so quiet and sensible, a caring mum who always put her husband and children first, with no thought for herself, while she as the younger, unattached sister was, according to Hugh, a complete scatter-brain whose only object in life was to enjoy herself. Maybe his judgement of her was correct, but Bette knew that she also possessed a fierce determination to explore and experience life to the full, and not to be put upon by anyone. Least of all a man. She only wished Sara would show the same sort of spirit.

Sara interrupted her thoughts. ‘What about this Chad then? Is he
the
one?’

Bette gave a casual shrug, tossing her auburn curls with a studied air of nonchalance. ‘He might be. Then again, he might not. We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ and she giggled. ‘There are so many fanciable men around, it’s hard to choose. His mate is cute too. Barney Willert, he’s called. Maybe I’ll try him next.’

‘Oh, Bette, what am I to do with you? You’re man-mad.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’ said Bette with a grin. ‘Now why don’t Chad and I sit with the children tonight, and you and Hugh go out for a romantic supper, just the two of you. Do you good.’

The suggestion quite perked Sara up. ‘That does sound rather nice. Would you mind?’

‘Of course not. What are aunts for but to indulge their niece and nephew with a bit of spoiling once in a while. We’ll play Ludo with them or, Snakes and Ladders. What do you say? And you can go out and enjoy a candlelight supper, somewhere grand like the Fowey Hotel, just the two of you.’

Sara’s face was alight with hope. ‘It does sound a lovely idea. I’ll speak to Hugh.’

Chapter Nine

Hugh dismissed the idea as quite impossible. ‘I have training tonight.’

‘Tomorrow then, I shouldn’t think it makes any difference to Bette, though I’m not sure about Chad.’

‘Chad? That marine? No, Sara. Absolutely not! I’m not having a Yank in my house, not at any time. Your stupid sister is bad enough, utterly irresponsible. The last time she sat with the children, they got so over-excited they hardly slept a wink and she let them make some sort of liquorice juice which they spilled all over the sofa.’

Sara giggled. ‘It’s a very old sofa, and it washed off quite easily.’

‘That’s not the point. Anyway, I’m out tomorrow night too.’

‘Oh.’ Sara was deeply disappointed. ‘But how will Iris manage on her own?’

‘She can’t, so Sid Penhale is going to lend a hand. He’s helped out at the Lugger and various other pubs in the town, so he’ll slip into the job quite easily.’

‘I assume by that, you are still against my doing a stint behind the bar then?’

‘Absolutely, Sara, on that point I am adamant.’ But then he softened slightly, as was his wont. ‘But you’re right, we do need more time alone. I’ll take you to the Fowey Hotel for lunch on Sunday.’

But even that was denied her, as they discovered that the hotel had been taken over by the military and was being used as a galley and mess hall and goodness knows what else besides.
 

Sara was welcomed by the WVS with open arms and Nora Snell soon put her in the picture. ‘Collecting is what we are renowned for, dear. Newspapers and cardboard, aluminium and all kinds of scrap metal from milk bottle tops to saucepans and kettles, used to build ships, don’t you know. Then there’s waste food for the pigs, rose hips for the vitamin C, blackberries for the jam making and any piece of second hand clothing we can lay our hands on.’

‘Goodness, that sounds like a great deal of work. What could I do?’

Nora considered. ‘Well, I expect you are already saving food scraps and the like. Can you knit? Women and children are always needed to knit socks, scarves, helmets and mittens.’

Sara admitted that she couldn’t, but offered to do a stint at pulling back old pullovers so the wool could be recycled. She also sorted clothes for a while, and came across a rather good overcoat that had been donated by Mrs Glynn, who lived in one of the big houses on the Esplanade.

‘Do you think she’d mind if I kept it for Hugh?’ Sara asked Nora. ‘I could put one of his old ones in its place.’

‘Not at all, dear. One overcoat is very much the same as another so far as I am concerned.’

Hugh was of a different opinion entirely and raged at her when she made the suggestion. ‘You certainly will not give away my old overcoat.’

‘But it’s very worn, and the one Mrs Glynn has sent was made by a London tailor in very fine worsted. They are quite wealthy, you know.’

‘I will not wear their cast-offs,’ Hugh briskly responded, going quite pink with anger. ‘I’m surprised you even ask. This work you are doing is utterly demeaning. I will not have it. I shall have to speak to Nora Snell and demand she find you something more respectable.’

‘No, no, it’s all right. I’m sorry I even thought of it. Forget the overcoat. It was a silly idea, obviously, but I never meant to insult you.’

Hugh did indeed speak to Nora and sorting second hand clothes was banned from that moment on.

Nora was almost apologetic as she promised to find some other, more appropriate job for her to do. ‘Can you drive dear?’

When it was discovered that Sara could, and had use of a vehicle occasionally, she was moved on to collecting salvage, which Sara gladly agreed to. Newspapers were surely safe and the total collected was published each week as there was fierce competition between the villages.

Driving between Par, Lanlivery, Gollant and Fowey, it was amazing how often she passed American army vehicles. She would find herself checking on the driver to see if it was First Lieutenant Charles Denham, then chide herself for being foolish. On one occasion she thought she’d spotted him and almost waved, but then thought better of it. It could have been anybody, and it wasn’t at all the thing for a married woman to be seen waving at American Marines.

Most of her time was spent making up parcels to be dispatched to the local Cornish boys serving in H.M. forces. As well as the knitted items there were tins of food, home baked cakes and preserves, provided mainly by the ladies of Fowey who were veritable experts at pickling, salting and baking.

Sara also went round the shops, begging for unsold stock or small treats which might be suitable and the shop keepers were, without fail, generous to a fault.

She kept looking for Charles there too. She sometimes left off his full title, whenever she thought of him these days. Perhaps because the only private place she had, was in her head. And then one morning, on her way into the chandlers, there he was on his way out, just as if she’d conjured him out of her thoughts.

‘Oh, hello.’ She could feel her cheeks growing pink, and hated herself for this weakness.

His face lit up into a delighted smile. ‘It’s good to see you again. We do so miss seeing your cheery face behind the bar, and hearing your merry laugh,’ which made Sara’s cheeks turn an even brighter crimson. ‘What are you doing with yourself these days that’s so much more important than serving beer to tired soldiers?’

He’d taken her by the elbow and was leading her away from the shop, much to curiosity of the group of men waiting to be served, not to mention the woman who ran the drapers next door.

I really must be careful, Sara thought, though she didn’t quite know which scared her the most, local gossip reaching Hugh, or her own vulnerability.
 

‘How about a cup of your wonderful tea? I’ve got an hour to kill before I have to get back. No, don’t even think of refusing. I absolutely insist.’

He led her firmly to the Odd Spot, a tiny café so called because it was on the very edge of town, catering mainly for dockers; their great shovels, which they used for loading the clay, leaning up against the wall outside.

He took off his cap and placed it on the table, his hair ruffled and untidy, refusing to be slicked down as it really should be. She resisted an urge to smooth it and folded her hands into her lap, to make sure they behaved.