The Woolworths Girls (27 page)

Alan rose to his feet. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not just about flying planes. I’m going for a walk.’

‘If you wait until I’ve washed up and tidied around a bit, we could go together. It would be lovely to walk down by the river and get some fresh air.’

‘I’d rather be alone,’ he said, walking from the room.

Sarah collected the empty plates and headed to the scullery. She’d clear up and then make herself presentable. Perhaps when Alan came back, he would be in a better frame of mind and they could make a fresh start with the day.

Sarah put her knitting to one side. It was starting to get dark outside, even though it was only mid-afternoon. She needed to check the blackout curtains were secure before turning on the light. Her fingers felt numb from knitting for so long, but it helped stop her from pacing the floor worrying about where Alan had gone and why he had not returned. Freda had popped round earlier with a basket of food from Ruby, so at least she didn’t have to think about what to prepare for their evening meal. Slices of roast beef with vegetables would see them through until they went to number thirteen on Christmas Day. Freda had not questioned Sarah about Alan once she explained that he’d gone for a walk. Thank goodness Maisie had not accompanied her, as she would have seen through Sarah’s bright smile and Alan going out alone.

Knowing that she would be away over Christmas and that Sarah would be staying at Ruby’s, Maureen had not bothered putting up her few decorations or bringing in the tree from the garden, where it had been planted the previous year. The greetings cards on the mantelpiece did not make the room look at all festive and Sarah switched off the wireless with a sigh. The carol service that had been playing had done nothing to lighten her mood.

She’d just picked up her knitting when she heard a key turning in the lock of the front door.

‘Alan, is that you?’

There was no response. Surely it wasn’t Maureen come home early from her visit to her family. Sarah prayed it wasn’t, as she was bound to notice the difference in her son and Sarah could not face the questions. She picked up the poker from the hearth and crept into the darkened hall. The door had swung open. Sarah jumped as she spotted Alan sitting on the floor.

‘Alan, whatever are you doing down there?’ She pushed the door closed, retrieving his key, which had been left in the lock. Flicking on the hall light, she tried not to laugh at the state of her husband.

‘Sorry, love,’ he slurred, finding it hard to form his words. ‘I bumped into young Ginger and we stopped off at the New Light for a pint. He’s home for a few days before he’s shipped out. Look, I won the raffle.’ He held up a rather bedraggled-looking chicken. ‘It needs plucking.’

Sarah helped him to his feet and he staggered to the over-stuffed horsehair sofa, sitting on Sarah’s knitting, which she’d left when she went to investigate the intruder. ‘I’ll make you some food and then I think you should lie down for a while,’ she said, retrieving her knitting and checking that Alan hadn’t knocked any stitches from the needles. ‘I’ll take this as well,’ she added, prising the chicken from her husband’s arms. He lay in an untidy heap, his head dropping onto his chest as he started to doze off. She had no idea what to do with the bird, or if it would remain fresh for when her mother-in-law returned home. She’d leave it in the pantry and ask Nan for advice.

Returning to the front room ten minutes later with sandwiches made from the beef that Freda had dropped off earlier in the day, Sarah found Alan snoring loudly on the sofa. She pulled off his shoes and jacket, retrieved his cap from the floor and made him more comfortable. Despite the way she had to roll him over to get his arms out of the jacket sleeves, he didn’t wake. It was pointless making a proper meal, as it was unlikely Alan would wake for a few hours and it would be wasted. It was better he slept off his excess of ale. She frowned. She’d never known him drink this much before.

Sarah topped up the coal fire and picked up her knitting. Christmas Eve would be quiet for once, but at least Alan was home and safe.

18

‘Happy Christmas, darling. Where is that handsome husband of yours?’

Sarah hugged her mum and pulled off her coat, checking her hair in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘He’s chatting with Dad in the garden.’

‘I just hope they are seeing off that mangy dog that’s been hanging around. I read in the newspaper the government are putting down all dogs so they aren’t a burden on the country while we’re at war. Someone should do something about that animal before we all catch something or he attacks us in our sleep. Now, shall I pour Alan a sherry, or do you think he would prefer a glass of beer?’

‘Mum, I don’t think the dog is a danger. He’s quite sweet really.’

Irene frowned. She didn’t look convinced. ‘I’ll have a word with your father about it. Now, how about that sherry?’

‘Perhaps wait and ask him when he comes in?’ Sarah doubted Alan could face alcohol today. After trying unsuccessfully to wake him the night before, she’d covered him in a blanket and spent the night alone in their large double bed. It had taken some urging the next morning to have Alan pull himself together enough to wash and shave, let alone eat the breakfast Sarah placed in front of him. He’d picked at the poached eggs and toast before turning rather green and heading to bed for another hour. By the time he materialized, Sarah was ready to walk the short distance to number thirteen and start the Christmas festivities.

Alan had gone back into his shell and was as uncommunicative as he had been the previous day. Sarah had hoped that by letting his hair down at the pub, he would return to his old self, but no, Alan was a stranger once more.

‘Hello, my love. Give us a kiss for Christmas.’ George swept his daughter up in a big hug and swung her round.

‘Good grief, George. Have you been on the rum again? Put the girl down and hand out the presents.’

‘Whatever you say, dear.’ George winked at his daughter and reached under the tree, pulling out two parcels. ‘The large one is yours, Sarah, and this is yours, Alan.’

Sarah passed two packages to her parents. ‘These are from the two of us. I made them myself.’

‘How quaint,’ Irene said as she pulled out a pale pink shawl. ‘Fancy you making this. You’ve turned into a proper little housewife. I’m sure I will find a use for it.’

George was pulling on the woolly scarf and gloves he’d found in his parcel. ‘Perfect, my love. Just what I need for these cold days.’

Sarah grinned. ‘I’m so pleased you like your presents. Freda had to help me with the fingers on your gloves, Dad, as I went wrong and you only had three fingers on the left one.’

George kissed his daughter. ‘I’m sure I’d have loved them with six fingers. You are a clever girl.’

‘I’ll never be a perfect knitter, but I wanted to give it a go. The government says we mustn’t overspend, so I thought by making presents I’d be doing my bit.’

‘That is very commendable, my dear. Now, open your presents from us. I’m afraid they are not home-made, but I’ve put a lot of thought into them. I wish I had time to be the perfect housewife and make things, but my life is just too busy.’

Sarah flinched. Mum had long ago perfected the art of the put-down while giving a compliment, but it still hurt. She undid the string round the large box and the paper fell away. She didn’t know what to say.

‘They are the best of their kind, Sarah, and should last a lifetime. I always say invest in quality and it will last.’

Sarah gazed at the shiny set of saucepans and summoned all her strength to put a smile on her face. ‘Saucepans. Thank you very much.’ She did her best to look pleased, but did her mum not recall being told about Alan’s romantic proposal and Mr Benfield’s generous gift on behalf of Woolworths?

She fixed the smile on her face. It was Christmas; she would try not to get upset. ‘Open your present, Alan.’

Alan picked at the knot on the small package until a small jewellery box was uncovered. He pulled back the lid to reveal a smart set of gold cufflinks. ‘Thank you, Irene and George. I don’t know what to say.’

Irene waved away his thanks and reached for her sherry. ‘You have a new social standing, Alan – you need to be turned out correctly. Now, sit down here with me and tell me all about your fellow pilots. Do they come from good families?’

Sarah sighed. Was this how her future was going to be? She would be the housewife, while Alan was the key to her mother mixing with the upper classes? She couldn’t quite believe that the RAF was full of the upper classes, whatever Alan and her mum seemed to think. Then again, if Alan was mixing with a different class of person, then that could be why he wasn’t happy to be back in Erith or, more importantly, with her. ‘I’m going to help Freda and Maisie with the vegetables.’

‘I’ll give you a hand, love. Unless your mother wants to. Irene?’

Irene Caselton gave her husband a horrified look. ‘Not in this outfit, George.’ She turned to continue to question Alan about social gatherings and mixing with the officers’ families.

‘It’s just me and you, then, love,’ chuckled George. In the hallway, he turned to stop Sarah entering the kitchen, where Freda was in control of the women, who were peeling sprouts and scrubbing carrots. ‘I’ve got something else here for you, just in case you weren’t over the moon with the saucepans. I mentioned you already had a set, but . . .’ George shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your mother means well, but she gets some funny ideas in her head sometimes.’ He handed her a small brown envelope. ‘Sorry. You know I’m no good at wrapping presents.’

Sarah opened the envelope and a pair of earrings slipped into her hand. ‘Oh, they are beautiful.’ She held up the dainty golden hearts so the light caught them, before hugging George. ‘Thank you, Dad. I love them.’

‘I know you women love saucepans, so these are just a little stocking-filler,’ George laughed, ‘and you make sure Alan shares those pots and pans – don’t keep them to yourself.’

‘Dad, you are funny. I love both my gifts.’

‘You don’t have to fool me, Sarah. Now, let’s go sort out those sprouts or we won’t be eating before the King makes his speech.’

‘Oh my goodness. I don’t know what to say.’ Sarah looked at the pile of presents in front of her. She’d thought that once she was grown up and married, Christmas wouldn’t be so exciting, but this year was different to the Christmases she’d spent at number thirteen as a child. Ruby, aided by Maisie, had put up the paper chains that had been stored in the loft. Freda had dug up the tree from the garden and decorated it, and Sarah had purchased some new Chinese lanterns from Woolies. With cards hung on string from the picture rail and a roaring fire in the hearth, it was Christmas as Sarah remembered from her childhood.

Aided by George, the girls had helped Ruby prepare the dinner before sitting down for ten minutes to exchange gifts, while George stepped outside to smoke his pipe. Irene had banned him from the house, as she didn’t like the smell. Alan sat quietly nursing a large whisky that George had poured earlier. He was gazing into space and taking no part in the festivities. He may as well not be here, Sarah thought sadly. He is usually the life and soul of a party. Then she felt guilty for her thoughts. She would hand out the presents she had carefully chosen for her friends and try to remain cheerful.

Freda gasped as she opened her parcel and found a small jewellery box inside. ‘I love it. Thank you so much, Sarah.’

‘You have somewhere to put your pieces of jewellery now, Freda,’ Sarah smiled.

‘However did you manage to find this?’ Maisie shrieked, jumping up to kiss Sarah. ‘I’ve not been able to find my favourite face powder for over a year.’

‘I spotted it in a chemist’s window in Whitstable when we were on our honeymoon. I’m so happy you like it.’

Sarah ran her hand over the soft wool she found in her parcel from Freda.

‘I know you’re keen on knitting, now you’ve learnt how to do it, but I’ll make up the cardigan if you like?’ Freda said. ‘You too, Maisie.’

‘And Maisie said she’d help you run this up into a winter dress,’ Ruby added, as Sarah shook out some deep red woollen fabric, which had been carefully wrapped. ‘I picked it up at Woolwich Market. The colour caught my eye as soon as I spotted it on the stall.’

‘It’s lovely, Nan. Thank you so much.’ Sarah jumped up from where she was kneeling by the coal fire to hug and kiss Ruby. ‘Now open your present, Nan. It’s a joint gift from me, Maisie and Freda.’

Ruby opened the small package to reveal a navy-blue silk scarf with a delicate white pattern round the edge. ‘Why, it’s beautiful. I do believe it is pure silk. Fancy that! Thank you so much, girls. I’ve never had anything so posh before. I can see this didn’t come from Woolworths.’

‘Nan, you have to shake out the scarf and see what it’s hiding,’ Sarah urged.

Ruby carefully removed the whole of the scarf from the wrapping and carefully shook it. Four pieces of paper fell into her lap. ‘Oh my goodness, whatever can this be?’ She peered closely at the wording on the tickets. ‘“
Cinderella
at the London Coliseum.” Well, I’ll be blowed. I’ve not seen a panto in many a year.’