Now the War Is Over (51 page)

Melly shut the heavy book and slid it back on the shelf. A fat lot of good that was. The sense of utter dread that had come over her at the possibility of a baby was almost puzzling. She
didn’t want to be caught pregnant before she was married. But she loved Reggie, didn’t she? She didn’t want to stay working with Mrs Hughes forever, nor would Dorothy need her
forever. Marriage, family – it was all good. It was what she wanted.

But not yet, the thought throbbed through her. Oh, please, not just yet . . . Give me a bit more time . . .

She walked home in a sober state, calculating on her fingers the date of her last period and when the next one was due. Nothing was all that regular. And she was going to have to wait at least
two weeks to find out. That felt like forever.

At home, she found that an enormous man was sitting in the front room. His legs reached halfway across the floor. Seeing her, he drew them to him and stood up, straight as a
telegraph pole in a spruce black suit.

‘Hello there, my dear.’ Smiling, he greeted her, one hand outstretched, towering over her. Her hand disappeared into his palm. His face was craggy and kind looking, the grizzled hair
that she remembered clipped very short. He reminded her of a big, crumple-faced dog that looked sad until he smiled, as he was doing now, and all the lines pointed suddenly up instead of down.

‘You must be Melly.’ The voice was deep and big, like a tuba. ‘I’m Dudley Rainer.’

‘I saw you in the pub,’ Melly said, in some confusion. What was he doing sitting here on his own in the front room? What was he doing here at all?

‘I’ve come to visit your, er – aunt? Gladys Poulter.’ He was full of old-world courtesy and there was a light in his eyes that seemed to hold humour, or at least a
fondness for life in general. She warmed to him straight away. ‘She’s just making us a cup of tea.’

‘Melly?’ She heard Gladys call. ‘That you?’

‘Yes,’ she called back. Dudley Rainer released her hand. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said to him, and meant it.

Gladys was bustling about in the kitchen. The kettle was boiling and there was a tray on the table with a little embroidered cloth on it that to Melly’s bemusement she had never seen
before. The best cups were laid out and a vast, sticky fruit cake on a plate. The kitchen smelt of baking. Gladys had evidently been busy.

Gladys was also dressed up, in a black skirt and scarlet blouse with black piping at the edges. Her hair was dolled up, with tortoiseshell combs pressed into it. There was a new, quick purpose
to her movements. Melly watched, amazed. The old Gladys she remembered was back.

‘Goodness,’ Melly said. ‘Where’s Mom?’

‘What d’you mean, “goodness”?’ Gladys said huffily. But her glance darted at Melly. She could not conceal her excitement. ‘Your mother’s gone round to
see one of her pals – she took the three young’uns.’

Melly grinned at her. ‘He looks nice, Auntie.’

A sunset blush crept across Gladys’s face. She looked down and picked up the tray. ‘Oh, I know he is,’ she said, sweeping out of the room.

‘Shall I start cooking tea, Auntie?’ she asked her departing back. No one else seemed about to do it.

‘Ar – go on, then.’ Gladys was already gone.

Turning, Melly saw that on the table from where Gladys had picked up the tray, was another letter for Tommy.

As soon as he came home, Tommy grabbed the envelope and went outside. A bit later, with the tea simmering on the stove, Melly went out to find him. As she cooked a stew for tea
she had been fretting endlessly about herself. Could she be having a baby? Every time she thought of it she felt a bit sick. But as soon as she caught sight of Tommy, all her own problems left her
mind.

She could see straight away that there was something terribly wrong. Tommy was sitting on the wall, his head bowed, the letter in his hands. He must have been sitting in just the same spot for
ages.

‘Tommy?’

He didn’t even move. She went to him and bent to touch his arm gently and look into his face. It was already wet with tears. As his body began to shake with silent sobs, he handed her the
letter.

She could see immediately that the blue handwriting, normally so neat and careful, was bigger, hurried and agitated, and that there were smudges on the page as if Jo-Ann had touched it with wet
fingers.

Melly looked up at her brother, tears in her own eyes.

‘God, Tommy – she sounds a lovely girl. Oh, I’m sorry for you – I really am. But he can’t just stop her seeing you, can he?’

Tommy rubbed his right arm fiercely across his face. ‘I dunno,’ he said miserably. ‘But I – don’t . . .’ He kept having to stop for breaths. ‘Want to
– push in if – I’m not – wanted.’

‘But you
are
wanted. By her.’ Melly sat on the wall beside him. ‘She wants to see you. It’s just that – if only she wasn’t . . .’ She tailed
off.

‘A c-cripple?’

‘No. Well – it’d make life a lot easier,’ she admitted.

‘If – she wasn’t a – cripple, she – wouldn’t – want – me,’ Tommy said bleakly.

‘Oh, Tommy.’ She slung her arm round his shoulders. ‘How could anyone not want you – eh?’

He stayed silent, staring at the blue bricks at their feet.

‘She says she’s going to think of something,’ she suggested.

‘I – ought to – go. Just – drive – there . . .’ He sounded angry now, mutinous. ‘Who – cares – what
he
– says?’

‘Are you going to tell Mom?’

They looked at each other. Tommy shrugged. ‘Not – yet. I – want to – write – back first. He can’t – bloody – stop me – doing
that.’

Rachel walked in about half an hour later. Melly, in the kitchen, heard Ricky and the other two come in noisily. It went abruptly quiet as the front door banged shut. The sight
of Dudley Rainer and a vast fruit cake together in the same place seemed to have silenced the children. She heard her mother’s voice, followed by laughter and the sound of Dudley in the hall
as if he was taking his leave. A moment later Rachel came into the kitchen.

She looked round, still all smiles. She always seemed happy when she’d been with Gina. They were best friends and the kids played together.

‘Oh – you’ve done the tea then, have you? Ta, Melly.’ Humming, she went to the stove and lifted the pan lid. ‘Gina’s such a laugh – she really is.
D’you put plenty of onion in?’

Melly nodded. She’s got me just where she wants me, Melly thought. In the kitchen, getting married – all just like her. Nothing new. Nothing different. She was surprised by the force
of resentment that came to her out of nowhere.

‘Mom – Tommy’s upset.’

Rachel looked round, though Melly could tell she was only half listening.

She explained about the letter and what Jo-Ann had said.

‘Oh, dear,’ Rachel said. ‘Here – let’s lay up. The spuds are nearly done.’

‘
Mom!
’

Rachel put her hand on her waist. ‘Well, what d’you want me to say? I don’t know who these people are. They’re miles away. He’ll get over it.’

Melly got up and went over to her. Her intent face finally got Rachel’s full attention.

‘Mom – he’s up in my room writing a letter to her now. I’ve never seen him so heartbroken. He was outside crying his eyes out. Why shouldn’t they see each other?
They’re friends – and they’re not kids any longer, are they?’

Rachel folded her arms and looked away, thinking. She sighed and looked back at Melly.

‘I don’t know. If they don’t want him there . . .’

The door opened and Gladys came in with a smile nearly as wide as the door, bringing the conversation to an end.

Melly posted Tommy’s letter for him the next morning before going to Dorothy Hughes’s house. Tommy looked white and upset.

‘I feel – like – driving – over – there,’ he said. She could see all the pent-up emotion in him.

‘Don’t do anything rash, Tom,’ Melly said. ‘Maybe she can talk her mom and dad round – give it a bit of time.’

‘She – shouldn’t –
have
– to,’ he said, as he limped with his stick to the front door.

Walking through Harborne she thought of her brother, knowing he was in for a truly miserable day.

Her own was not much better. She felt distracted by her own worries – about Tommy and about herself. Was she carrying a baby –
was
she? Her head ached with tiredness from
not sleeping well. Both children seemed to sense her mood and were fractious.

‘Oh, dear,’ Dorothy Hughes said. ‘I do hope they’re not sickening for something. Victor does so hate it if the children wake at night and disturb his sleep. It’s
always worse if they’re ill.’

‘It must be difficult for him,’ Melly said, thinking in fact that Victor Hughes was a selfish old stick who had no idea about looking after the children he had produced with little
cost to himself.

‘I tell you what.’ Dorothy perked up. ‘Shall we have a little sing-song?’ She lifted the lid of the piano.

Melly held Ann and sat beside Peter while their mother played some nursery rhymes. Half her mind was on the singing, the other half thinking of the night before, Gladys’s radiant face,
Tommy’s pale, distraught one. Then Ann started off crying again, a sound which grated on her nerves more than usual.

Don’t let me be having a baby, she kept thinking. The idea of it made her want to cry herself. Please, no – not yet.

‘What’m I going to do with him?’

Rachel stood at the sink in her yellow Marigolds and pale blue spotty apron. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of bleach came up to meet her.

‘Who – Danny?’ Gladys said. She was at the table, sewing up the hem of a slinky frock in coppery colours.

‘No – for once. Tommy.’

Gladys shook her head. Rachel had already explained.

‘I don’t know, bab. Can’t really interfere, can you? We don’t know these people.’

Rachel stood with one hand in the water, the other pushing her hair out of her eyes. She felt reassured by this. She wanted to be told there was nothing she could do.

‘He’s nice, your Dudley,’ she said, watching Gladys with sudden fondness.

‘
My
Dudley?’ Gladys looked round at her. She spoke harshly but Rachel could see it was because she was shy about it all.

‘He’s mad on you,’ Rachel laughed. ‘He was round here like a dose of salts.’

‘Well . . .’ Gladys looked down at her sewing again. She held it further away from her. ‘I need my eyes seeing to . . .’

‘He is, isn’t he?’

Gladys turned to her again, blushing. Rachel saw that her handsome face looked firmer again, lifted and as beautiful, in its tough way, as it once had been.

‘We’ll see,’ Gladys said. ‘Hark at that – was that the front door?’

There was another tap, timid, but definite.

‘Who the heck’s that?’ Rachel pulled her apron off as she went, still holding it in her hand.

Outside she found an attractive woman with stylish dark hair curled under at her collar. There was a smile in her dark eyes, but she looked very nervous. They regarded each other for a
moment.

‘Yes?’ Rachel said. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

‘I . . . yes,’ the woman said. Rachel realized she looked more than nervous – she was suddenly close to tears. ‘I’m sorry . . . Are you Mrs Booker – the
mother of Tommy Booker?’

‘Yes.’ Rachel folded her arms. She didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but she felt immediately worried and defensive. She thought the woman must be from Tommy’s work.
‘Is he all right? What’s happened?’

‘It’s all right,’ the woman said. She really was nice looking, Rachel thought. She was pretty and seemed pleasant. ‘It’s not that. I’m – I’ve come
from Wolverhampton. My husband doesn’t know I’m here . . .’ The tears started to take over her voice.

Rachel stood back, beginning to grasp who she was. ‘You’d better come in.’

In the kitchen, Rachel said, ‘I’m Tommy’s mother. This is my husband’s aunt – Mrs Poulter.’

The woman greeted Gladys politely. She seemed so ill at ease that Rachel felt sorry for her.

‘I’m Mrs Halstead – Marjorie.’ She kept wringing her hands as she spoke. ‘I have a daughter called Jo-Ann. I don’t know whether you know, but she met your
son, Tommy, at one of the picnics for the . . . The people with the special invalid cars.’

‘I’ve heard a bit about it,’ Rachel said, starting to wish she had paid more attention.

‘Have a seat,’ Gladys said, pulling a chair out. ‘You’ve come all that way?’

‘Yes.’ Marjorie Halstead eased herself on to a chair as if being polite to it. ‘On the bus – well, two buses. It’s taken me a while.’

‘Get the lady a cup of tea,’ Gladys said.

‘Oh – thank you.’ As Rachel filled the kettle she spoke to Gladys. ‘My daughter, Jo-Ann, caught polio – ten years ago, you remember when it all happened . . .
Anyway, we’re lucky to have her with us still. She’s eighteen now, but she lost the use of her legs. And she and Tommy seemed to get along well – Jo is very attached to him, in
fact. But there’s been the most dreadful difficulty with my husband. He’s so very protective of her. It broke his heart when she fell ill. I’ve never seen him in such a state,
before or since. He’s a very organized sort of man, likes things to be – you know – just so.’