Home Sweet Home (8 page)

He couldn't tell her anything, let alone the worst bit: that no matter how skilful their flying, they also needed the right night, as little enemy flak as possible, and an enormous amount of luck.

The Gates children tumbled out of the door of their cottage wearing the best clothes they had, all hand-me-downs from other families in the village. Baggy coats and cardigans of ill-matched colours were coupled with knitted balaclavas for the boys and berets for the girls. Even their hats looked too big for them – as a consequence most were held on with thin scarves or string and fastened under the chin. All of them were carrying scruffy-looking canvas satchels or brown paper carrier bags containing the requisite clothing for their time on the other side of the River Severn.

Ruby had arranged for the children to eat a hearty breakfast at the bakery before somebody from the US base arrived with the necessary transport. Feeling sorry for the Gates kids, the villagers had donated eggs, bacon and cheese. Although everyone was on rations, Ruby had persuaded a lot of people to give a little – and a little, certainly in this case, added up to quite a lot.

Stan had marvelled at Ruby's power of persuasion.

‘I just stated the facts. That's what the army does too. Declan did the same with the supplies people at the base. They've been amazing.'

Stan admitted he was impressed. ‘I take my hat off to them all.'

‘That's the way Declan is. He's a generous guy, and before you read anything between the lines again, we just enjoy each other's company. We're not in love, Dad,' she said with a sidelong smile. ‘One member of the family marrying a man from the other side of the Atlantic is quite enough, don't you think?'

She refrained from saying anything about her fears that Declan was smitten by her young cousin. She might be wrong, so for the time being at least it was best to say nothing.

For his own part, reference to Mary, her sister, made Stan wonder how long it would be before she moved to Canada with Michael. He nodded sadly as he tousled his grandson's hair. Young Charlie was enjoying the company of the Gates children, watching as they cleared the porridge and the villagers' bacon and egg rations from the table, before attacking the homemade jams and preserves, liberally spreading it on slices of toast already smothered with margarine.

Ruby had drawn the line at giving the kids their butter ration, predicting rightly that they wouldn't notice the difference once the toast was piled with jam.

The smell of freshly made loaves of bread being piled on to the shelves persuaded the kids to eat more than they should have. Ruby worried they would be sick if they went on the way they were going. ‘Perhaps I should call a halt.'

Stan told her not to. ‘They've been scrabbling about for food since their mother's been ill. Let them eat what they want.' The sight of so many cheery faces tucking into breakfast with gusto bucked him up no end, and even young Charlie joined in, cramming a crust of jammy bread into his mouth.

A loud honking on an army transport horn sounded from outside. Ruby, who was serving in the shop for the day, saw it pull up. ‘It's here,' she shouted over her shoulder.

Frances had been looking forward to her visit to the forest and shepherded the children out, though not before she had made sure everyone had been to the lavatory.

‘Right! Everyone get your gas masks. Those of you with carrier bags can carry them too. I'll take that,' she said to one little girl who was struggling with a bulging carrier bag.

The children followed her out, chattering and wiping away the jam they had smeared around their mouths.

Ruby followed behind Frances while her father stood waving by the door.

‘Now you're sure you'll be all right?' he asked Frances. She looked happy enough and, thank God, she hadn't mentioned anything about finding her mother while waiting for the trip to come together. It had taken quite a lot longer than they'd imagined. Perhaps she had already changed her mind.

Frances told him she would be fine before doing a swift head count of her charges.

‘I just want to make sure that I have the same number of children at the end of the journey as I do at the beginning.'

She noticed one of the Gates boys wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Peter, isn't it?'

‘Paul,' came the shouted reply.

‘Right. Do you have a handkerchief?'

He shook his head.

Frances sighed. She'd never expected this to be easy, but neither had she expected the whole exercise to make her feel so happy. She went back to counting and reeling off their names.

‘Paul, Patricia, Ellen and Maggie, and Patrick?'

The boy shook his head. ‘Lancelot. My name's Sir Lancelot.'

‘No, it isn't. It's Patrick.'

‘No. I'm Sir Lancelot!' The smallest boy was adamant that he'd been named after a knight of the Round Table.

Frances exchanged a brief glance with Ruby and sighed. ‘Okay. Be Sir Lancelot if you like, but just get in the back of the truck here. Unfortunately, we can't supply you with a horse.'

The driver's door of the small truck, a Jeep with a canvas-covered rear, opened and the driver stepped out. ‘Here. Let me help you kids get in.'

Ruby was taken aback. ‘Declan! You didn't say you'd be driving.'

Frances stared. She hadn't expected it to be Ruby's friend Declan either.

Declan shrugged in that casual, obliging way of his. His uniform looked to be newly pressed, and his boots shone to within an inch of their lives, as if he was going on parade or somewhere special, not shepherding a bunch of evacuees.

‘There was nobody else. The kids need help, so me and Uncle Sam are giving it. All I need is for somebody to show me how to get there!'

Stan Sweet shook the American's hand. ‘Frances knows the way.'

Dr Foster had also dropped by. He too took Declan's hand in both of his and gave it a hefty shake. ‘Glad to hear it. We really appreciate this.'

‘No problem, Doc. Happy to oblige.'

Frances couldn't help but be drawn to Declan's smile. It was the kind of smile that spoke a whole volume without the need for words. She had the impression that it was for her alone. That, and the roguish look in his eyes. She blushed.

Ruby was alarmed when she saw who was driving. If she could have called it off, she would have, though that was impossible. Everyone would think her mad and want to know a reason why. She was loath to do that. Nothing had happened between Declan and her cousin, but that didn't mean it wouldn't. Was she the only one who could sense the attraction between them, or was she just imaging things? She didn't think so.

Frances made a big effort to look unconcerned, as though she really didn't care much that she would be travelling for hours with a man who puzzled and unnerved her. She also had a sneaking suspicion that he had purposely arranged to undertake this journey, not only out of the kindness of his heart. She could feel something radiating from him, something that made her tingle from the top of her head to the tips of her toes; something she could not ignore.

‘We'd better get going,' she said, trying not to sound flustered.

‘Sure. I understand we've got a ferry to catch.'

Although his smile was controlled, she almost flinched at the challenging look in his eyes.

Ruby opened her mouth, about to say that they might not be able to get on it. The transportation of war commodities and military personnel had priority.

Uncle Stan voiced the possibility before she did.

Declan was a picture of confidence. ‘No need to concern yourself, sir. The army's made arrangements for us to be taken aboard. We
are
priority transport.'

Frances felt Ruby's eyes on her. Then Ruby was pulling her to one side, out of earshot of everybody else. ‘Frances, I think it might be better if you serve in the shop today and I go with the children.'

Frances eyed her accusingly. ‘My, my! Are you that jealous?'

Ruby winced at the comment and the defiance in her cousin's eyes. ‘No. Of course I'm not,' she hissed, keeping her voice low. ‘It's just that … well, a man like Declan …'

‘I can cope with Declan. Anyway, I know the way there better than you do. I know the forest and I know Ada. I want to see her. I
have
to see her. I'm going.'

Ruby leaned closer. ‘Sweetie, you don't understand. Declan is not like one of the boys you're used to, he's a man …'

Frances could barely keep her temper under control. ‘What you are saying is that he's
your
man. You want him for yourself!'

‘No,' Ruby hissed back. ‘That's not it at all. He's a man, Frances, and you're only a child!'

Frances shrugged off her hand, her manner indignant. ‘I am not a child!'

‘Frances, that isn't exactly what I meant to say!'

Declan O'Malley and the Jeep were surrounded by children. Fuming at being told she was still a child, Frances flounced away from her cousin. The bold smile she gave Declan was returned just as broadly.

‘Are we all ready?' She beamed up at him, no longer caring what anyone might think. Ruby might not want Declan for herself, but she was clearly jealous because Declan preferred her. That's all there was to it.

‘Come on, you kids. Here's the supplies for the journey.' He proceeded to hand out bars of chocolate into outstretched hands. Squeals of delight erupted from all concerned. The kids had already been furnished with rucksacks containing thickly cut sandwiches spread with margarine and jam, and a slice of cake made by Stan Sweet and an apple. The bars of chocolate disappeared into hungry mouths, though not before Ruby had instructed them to thank Declan.

Mouths full of chocolate, they all mumbled a muted thanks.

‘You should have saved the chocolate for the journey,' Ruby remonstrated. Her glare was enough to silence Hitler, but Declan ignored her. He was where he wanted to be, and despite Ruby's cross features, he was enjoying himself.

Deliberately playing to the crowd, both adults and children, he picked up a box from the vehicle's dashboard and waved it around. ‘Like any professional army out on manoeuvres, I brought reinforcements.' He handed out more chocolate bars to the children and threw a few more to the adults watching the event.

‘Very clever of you, Captain,' Ruby said. ‘Just don't make them sick. The River Severn can be very choppy.'

Frances laughed dismissively, though she knew Ruby was right. The River Severn that divided most of Wales from England could be quite choppy when the wind was blowing against the tide, and the tide itself was the second highest in the world. Frances had learned that at school, but she wasn't thinking about it at this moment in time. Still seething at being called a child, she resolved to be good company for Declan and for the children.

‘So let's get going,' said Declan. His first job was to help Frances into the front seat of the Jeep. The warmth of his hand on her elbow sent a bolt of electricity up her arm.

I will not blush, she thought to herself. I will act like a grown-up. I am no longer a child, after all.

After thanking him, she settled herself in the front seat, purposefully looking ahead through the windscreen, anything rather than stare at his chiselled features. Working out exactly how she felt about Declan wasn't easy; all she did know was that she felt comfortable if not entirely safe in his company.

Declan took his place behind the wheel, his thigh only inches from her own, making her heart tick like a time bomb.

Unconcerned that they were leaving their mother and the tumbledown cottage they lived in, the kids waved furiously, shouting and laughing at the start of their big adventure.

Frances covered her ears and shouted for them to be quiet. It didn't work.

‘Come on, kids. Settle down.' Declan had more luck. The noise subsided to a reasonable level.

‘They're just overexcited,' said Frances. She waved one last time before they pulled away. After that she didn't look back but knew beyond doubt that her cousin Ruby was stone-faced and probably about to voice her fears to anyone who would listen that something was happening between her cousin and Declan O'Malley.

Declan drove down on to the main road that would take them through Hanham Village, St George and Lawrence Hill, finally into the city centre where they would pick up the road to Avonmouth and ultimately the Aust ferry.

The noise that had dissipated for a short time resumed, though more loudly this time.

‘I don't think they'll settle down until we get to the ferry,' Declan pointed out. ‘Do you think you can keep your hands over your ears all that way?'

Frances had to admit that he had a point.

‘Right,' she shouted out. ‘Who knows the words of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm”?'

A raucous chorus indicated that they all knew the words, though Frances couldn't believe the very youngest of the Gates brood was actually telling the truth.

All the way into the city, heads turned to stare and smile at the singing children, the handsome American officer and the pretty young girl with the long dark hair sitting beside him.

‘Old MacDonald', ‘Daisy, Daisy', ‘Knees Up Mother Brown', ‘Ten Green Bottles', and a whole host of nursery rhymes and favourite hymns from Sunday School were sang at the top of their young and very loud voices. None of the children had ever strayed far from the village, except for an occasional trip to Kingswood where there was a greater variety of shops than in a country village.

Lulled by the motion of the Jeep, as they got closer to the ferry the younger children had fallen asleep or at least were resting their voices. Those left awake were playing I Spy, in between marvelling at the changing landscape.

Now the singing had finished and Frances could no longer join in with the songs, she fell to silence. Like the children, she viewed the passing scenery, the shops, the bomb damage, the green parks planted in Victorian times for the general populace to enjoy. At one time they'd been surrounded with iron railings – all gone to be smelted down for the war effort.