The Girls They Left Behind (14 page)

more ordinary. Not that air-raids were ordinary, though her

dad and Uncle Frank both reckoned they were going to be.

But there hadn’t been another one since 11 July after all,

though there’d been plenty of fighter planes coming over, and

having dogfights with the RAF up there in the sky.

Graham nodded. ‘Knocker White. He didn’t actually come

from there - his auntie lived there. But his mum always went

round on a Thursday and we came up that way the next day

and found the house bombed flat.’

The family had already heard the story. Graham had told

them on the evening he had arrived. Later on, he’d told them

that Knocker and his oppo Arnie had gone on to his mother’s

house and found the two women there, safe enough but a bit

battered by the explosion. They had sheltered under the

stairs when the raid started, too frightened to make the dash

down the garden for the shelter, and had been found half

buried in plaster and rubble, scratched and bruised but

otherwise unhurt. The auntie had moved in with her sister

now and was sleeping in Knocker’s room.

Supper was over at last. The two girls washed up while

Annie made Ted’s sandwiches for next day and wrapped

them in greaseproof paper. Ted and Graham read the

newspaper and discussed the war, and then they all sat down

together again. There was a moment’s silence and Graham

glanced at Betty. Perhaps now they’d be able to go back to the

front room for the rest of the evening.

Annie caught the look and saw the blush on Betty’s cheek.

She sat up and said brightly, ‘How about a game of cards?’

‘Cards?’ Ted said. ‘On a Friday?’ The family often played

cards, but it was usually on a Sunday evening, and more often

in winter than in summer. He looked out of the window. ‘I

was thinking of walking over to the allotment for an hour.’

‘What, on Graham’s last evening?’ Annie saw his look of

astonishment and almost laughed at herself. Why ever should

Ted want to stay at home, just because it was Graham’s last

evening here? He didn’t even like the boy all that much. And

that’s as good a reason as any, she thought grimly. If he

doesn’t want Graham Philpotts as part of the family, he’d

better play his part. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing wants doing over

there that can’t wait till tomorrow.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Chapman,’ Graham said. ‘I’m not all that

keen on cards myself. I’d just as soon sit and talk for a bit.’ In the front room with Betty, preferably, he thought, by

ourselves and not doing all that much talking either.

‘Oh, I’d like a game,’ Betty said quickly. ‘It’ll be something

to remember when you’re away, Gray. A nice family evening

together.’ She avoided his eye. She could feel his disappointment

and felt sorry about it, but she knew now that she

would do almost anything to avoid being alone with him. Oh,

Graham, she thought, I do love you - I’m sure I love you - but

I’m just not ready …

Annie was already getting out the cards and in a few

minutes the family found themselves sitting back at the table,

sorting out their hands. They’d play Rummy, Annie declared,

that was a nice game for five people since you couldn’t play

whist or solo. And after that they played Sevens, and then a

game that Olive knew but couldn’t remember the name of

and then some silly game that involved putting a handful of

farthings in the middle of the table and grabbing them. It made them laugh a lot, especially Betty and Annie, but the laughter was forced somehow and when the game was over they were all quiet, as if there was nothing left to say.

‘Look at the time!’ Annie said. ‘I suppose you’ll have to be getting back to the ship, Graham. Lucky it’s not dark yet, or you might get lost!’

‘I expect I’ll find my way all right,’ Graham said. His voice was flat. He knew, they all knew, that he’d have to leave in half an hour, not because he had to get back to his ship - he didn’t have to be on board until six in the morning, an hour before sailing time - but because at ten o’clock the family would be starting to go to bed and the Chapmans would insist he was out of the house before then. And that didn’t leave enough time for anything bar a few kisses. By now, he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to kiss Betty anyway.

He refused Annie’s offer of a cup of cocoa and she finally allowed them to go into the front room for their last goodnights. He shook hands with her and Ted, gave Olive an awkward peck on the cheek, and then followed Betty through the door. They stood in the front room, as ill at ease as if they had only just met, and then Betty looked up at his face and said, ‘I’m sorry, Gray.’

‘Yeah, I reckon you are.’ He couldn’t help his voice sounding bitter. ‘I didn’t notice you saying no to a game of cards.’

‘I couldn’t, could I? Mum knew what was up, she was set on us not being in here too long together. She’d have found some other way. We ought to have gone out for a walk.’

‘And taken the whole family with us,’ he sneered. ‘Be honest, Bet, you were glad. You never did want us to do it, did you? You said as much. I just wish you’d said before, that’s all’

‘I did, Graham! You know I did.’

‘You been leading me on,’ he continued as if she had not spoken. ‘You wanted to get engaged, not me, you wanted a ring. What does all that mean, eh? What was it all about?’

‘It was because I loved you,’ she said, her voice quivering. The tears welled up in her eyes and trembled on her lashes. ‘I do love you, Graham. It’s just ‘

‘So why don’t you prove it? Why don’t you show me you love me?’

‘But I do! Didn’t I knit you a Fair Isle pullover? Didn’t I make you a chocolate cake? Didn’t I —’

‘Cake!’ he exclaimed. ‘A pullover! Bet, I’m not talking about cakes and pullovers, I’m talking about ‘

‘I know what you’re talking about,’ she said, casting an anxious glance towards the wall that separated the front room from the room where the rest of the family were sitting. ‘Please, Gray, don’t shout, you’ll have our Dad in here wanting to know what’s going on. I’ve told you, I can’t. I’m not ready for it. And I’m scared.’

‘You don’t trust me,’ he muttered. ‘And you don’t love me. I’ve got to go away to sea tomorrow and I might be killed, never knowing what it’s like. D’you realise that, Bet? I might never, never know what it’s like.’

‘Oh, Graham,’ she said, and the tears poured down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Graham, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’

She moved closer and put her arms around his body. She could feel his warmth through the white cotton shirt. She pressed her face against his chest and felt his heart beating under her cheek.

‘If only there was time,’ she said miserably. ‘I’d do it now. I really would, Gray.’

But there was no more time. Already they could hear Olive’s footsteps on the stairs and the movements in the next room as Annie and her husband prepared to go to bed. In a few minutes one of them would knock on the wall, and Betty would have to go back.

‘I love you, Gray,’ she whispered, and lifted her face. ‘I really love you.’

He bent and kissed her lips. ‘You’ll write to me, won’t you, Bet?’

‘Every day.’

‘And you won’t get off with some farmer’s boy?’

‘I hate farmers’ boys!’ she declared, and they both laughed shakily.

Annie’s knock sounded on the wall and they held each

other tightly, with sudden passion. Graham groaned and

kissed her hard. He felt his frustration well up inside him and

clenched his teeth with the despair of it. Betty burst into fresh

sobs and dug her fingers into his shoulders.

‘Oh, Graham, I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to

go’

‘I know. I know.’ He almost tore himself from her arms.

Annie’s knock sounded again, a little louder. ‘But if I don’t go,

your Dad’ll be in here with a horsewhip.’ He held her away

from him, gave her a crooked grin and then one last fierce

kiss. He wrenched open the door and blundered out into the

street.

Betty followed him to the front door. It was still light and

she watched through her tears as he strode away up March

Street. At the top, he turned and waved, and she lifted her

own hand and blew him a kiss. And then he was gone.

She stood for a moment, feeling the emptiness around her

where only a few moments before Graham had been. She

looked at her hands, still able to feel the warmth and shape of

his body on their skin. She wrapped her arms about her own

body, trying to imagine that she was holding him still.

He’d been here, close to her, alive and warm and real. And

now he was gone, and she didn’t know when she’d see him

again, when she would be able to touch him.

If she ran to the top of March Street she would still be able

to see him, walking along September, tall and proud in his

matelot uniform. But it would only be a few more seconds

before he was once again lost to sight. It was as if she would

never be able to catch up with him again.

The door behind her opened and Annie came out on to the

step. She slipped her arm around Betty’s waist.

‘Don’t stand out here fretting, love,’ she said gently. ‘He’s

gone. And you did the right thing.’

Betty didn’t have to ask her what she meant. And she knew

that without her mother’s help, or interference, depending on

how you looked at it, she might very easily have done the

wrong thing.

I suppose I’ll be glad about it after a while, she thought

drearily as she followed Annie back into the house. But just at

that moment I wish I’d been doing the wrong thing all this

past month, and given Graham something better than a game

of cards to remember when he’s at sea.

Graham walked swiftly until he had turned the corner into

September Street, and then his footsteps slowed.

Bugger Betty’s mum! If it hadn’t been for her, he and Betty

could have spent a couple of hours in the front room, snug as

you like behind the net curtains, and she’d have given him

everything he wanted. He knew she would. She’d promised,

and Betty wasn’t one to go back on a promise. But Mrs

Chapman was too sharp, she never had trusted him, and

she’d made sure they had no chance. And now he might never

know…

‘Hullo, it’s young Ginger Philpotts, isn’t it? What’s the

matter with you, lost a shilling and found sixpence?’

Graham looked up, startled, and recognised Tommy

Vickers. He was a smallish man with wavy fair hair and a

cheeky grin, who lived at the top of April Grove, by the

allotments not far from the Chapmans’ house, and always had

something to say about whatever was going on. Graham knew

him from the days when the Philpotts family had lived in

September Street, before they went to live ‘over the water’ in

Gosport. Tommy Vickers had been a popular figure with the

children, always ready with a pocketful of toffees to scatter

amongst them or a joke to tell.

‘Hullo, Mr Vickers,’ he said. Tm all right, just said

goodbye to Betty, that’s all. We’re sailing in the morning.’

‘Oh, so that’s it. And you’re feeling a bit chocker.’ Tommy

had been in the Navy - the ‘Andrew’, he always called it — in

the last war. ‘Well, if you’re not in a hurry, why not come and

have a drink?’

‘A drink?’ Graham said stupidly, and Tommy grinned.

‘You’re a sailor, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you don’t know

what pubs are for. Come on.’ It was a Brickwoods house, and

he pulled Graham through the door. The smell of beer came

to meet them. There was sawdust on the floor and raucous

laughter in the air. Graham started to feel better.

‘What’ll it be? Can’t offer you pusser’s rum.’ Tommy

chuckled and Graham grinned back. Naval rum was stronger

than any other kind and he had his tot every day in the mess.

‘Best thing about the Andrew, the daily tot of rum,’ Tommy

said, ‘but you can’t get it outside. Well, you can -‘ he laid his

finger against his nose and winked’- but you got to know the

right people. So what is it? Pint of bitter?’

Graham nodded. Beer was another thing he might not get

for a long time. The Navy gave you rum, but any other booze

was absolutely forbidden, at least for the lower deck. Officers

just about swam in pink gin, so he’d heard, but none of it ever

filtered down to Jolly Jack.

Tommy brought the glasses over to a small table and they

sat down. There was a short silence while they downed the

first half. Graham had been half afraid that Tommy would

suggest ‘oncers’ and expect him to drain the whole lot in a go,

but he said nothing. Not that Graham couldn’t have done it,

but it would have meant he’d have to buy the next round and

he was painfully conscious that he had very little money in his

pocket. He set down his glass and wondered what to say.

Tommy Vickers was never at a loss for words. He cocked a

bright blue eye at Graham and said, ‘So you’re off to sea

tomorrow. How d’you like the idea? This is your first ship,

isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. I’m a writer.’ When he told people that, they

thought it meant he wrote books but he didn’t have to explain

to Tommy that all it meant was a clerk. Even ships had offices

and paperwork, even when they went to war, perhaps more

so, he thought.

Tommy nodded. ‘I was a cook. A good one too. Nobody