There'll Be Blue Skies (31 page)

My mother has taken Father’s death very hard, and being the only son, it is my duty now to pay the bills and look after her. As it is still uncertain whether I can continue my job with the fire-service, it will be vital to find other employment. Because of this, I must ask you not to write again, or hope that we can have any kind of future together
.

Sally stifled her sobs with her hand as she curled in the chair. The pain was deep, cutting her like a knife. He didn’t love her.

Time ticked by and she finally had the courage to finish this awful letter. The words were blurred, but that didn’t soften their cruelty.

I’m sorry, Sally, but I hope that one day you will understand why it is so necessary, and forgive me for any pain I might have caused you. What we had was very special, and I shall carry the memory of it always – but as the weeks have passed and I can see things more clearly, I realise I haven’t been fair to you
.

You’re a lovely girl, Sally, but you are very young, and I blame myself for any false hope I may have given you. One day, God willing, you will make some lucky man a wonderful wife – but it won’t ever be me
.

Keep safe, sweet Sally
,

John
.

Sally crumpled the letter in her fist, crawled into bed and smothered her heart-rending tears with the blankets. The agony of knowing he didn’t love her – had probably never loved her – was almost too much to bear.

Chapter Twelve

‘It feels odd without Pearl and Edie in the house,’ murmured Peggy. Like Anne and Mrs Finch, she was sitting in a deckchair on the only patch of back garden that hadn’t been planted with vegetables. It was a hot August day and they were shelling peas and slicing beans.

‘Yes, I quite miss Pearl’s chattering. I wonder how Edie’s getting on in Wiltshire? I never had her down as a country girl, but at least she’s got her mother and sister with her. It must be a relief to know they’ve escaped Croydon now the real bombing’s started.’

Peggy continued slicing beans. ‘At least Pearl still visits. I think she gets lonely in that little house with Billy away, and it’s nice to have her here.’ Her hands stilled and she stared across the garden. ‘She’s asked Sally to move in with her, you know – and although I’ll miss her and Ernie terribly, I’ve encouraged her to make a fresh start. I think it’s a good thing. I worry about that girl, I really do,’ she finished on a sigh.

‘Yes, she seems to have lost her sparkle since she got that letter from John.’

‘I suspect he broke things off. It can be the only explanation.’

‘Poor Sally,’ Anne sighed. ‘I do feel for her. It’s been almost two months, and yet I still catch her crying in some corner where she thinks no-one can see.’ She slit the pod and thumbed the peas into the bowl with some asperity. ‘I’m surprised at John letting her down like that. He seemed really taken with her.’

‘I agree. And that’s why his ending things doesn’t feel right.’ Peggy finished slicing the beans and put down the bowl. Adjusting Mrs Finch’s sunhat so she wouldn’t get sunburnt as she dozed, she leant back in her chair. ‘I’ve tried contacting his mother, but the neighbour told me she’d gone down to Devon and rented a place there while he’s in the convalescent home. She has no idea when they might get back.’

She sighed and sank lower in the deckchair. ‘The officer in charge at the fire station wasn’t much help either – but I got the feeling he knows more than he’s letting on.’

‘It sounds as if his injuries are worse than we thought,’ murmured Anne.

‘I wondered that,’ she replied, turning her face to the sun, relishing its warmth. If she closed her eyes to the bomb-damaged garden wall and the missing roof of the house next door, it could almost be like a normal summer. ‘But with no-one to ask, we’ll have to wait until he gets back to find out what really happened.’

‘After listening to Dad’s horror story, it’s a miracle anyone survived Dunkirk. But with the terrible bombing over the past week, it feels as if we’re all living on a knife-edge – especially those of us with sweethearts in the Air Force.’

Peggy regarded her daughter through her lashes. The girl still had the glow of a woman in love, but she knew she was finding it hard to be living at home still, never knowing when she might see her husband again. ‘When do you expect him to get leave?’

‘I have no idea,’ sighed Anne. ‘His squadron are on constant alert, and they’re flying almost daily missions. When he does have leave he’s so fired up and impatient to get back to the airfield, I wonder why he bothers – but he’s exhausted, Mum, and spends most of his leave asleep.’

‘Poor man. They must all be under a terrible strain now the bombing raids have increased and the shipping in the Channel is coming under fire.’

Anne nodded. ‘It’s not just the men who are stressed,’ she replied, softly. ‘Every time I hear the planes take off, I wonder if it’s Martin, and if I’ll ever see him again.’

Peggy grasped her hand. She had no words that could comfort her daughter, even though she longed to take away the awful anxiety she could see in her eyes. This war had a lot to answer for.

‘It was nice to see Alex again the other night,’ said Anne, breaking the silence and changing the mood. ‘He seems less intense somehow; perhaps it’s because he’s been given a squadron to lead and finally feels he’s a real part of the action – instead of being stuck on base, training the young ones.’ Anne blinked in the sunlight, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘And they are young, Mum, so very young, with only a few hours of flying time under their belt before they’re sent out into the thick of it.’

Peggy had no intention of letting the conversation deteriorate into sadness again. ‘Alex was certainly more cheerful over supper – but I suspect that had something to do with the vodka he brought.’ She chuckled. ‘Jim and Ron were absolutely legless by the end of the evening, but his gifts of sugar, butter and flour were a godsend now the rationing is getting even tighter – and I can understand that they all needed to let off some steam.’

‘He and Martin get on very well, and Martin says the Poles are the bravest, most daring pilots he’s had the privilege to fly with.’ She smiled. ‘They seem to lead charmed lives, but they have the most awful prangs – and with so few aircraft available, Martin wishes they wouldn’t be quite so gung-ho.’

‘I didn’t like to spoil the mood the other night by asking about Alex’s family. I don’t suppose Martin knows if he’s had any further news of them?’

‘I asked Martin, and he said there’d been no post for Alex since that last awful letter from his sister. But those who still have contacts inside Poland say that things have reached crisis point.’

‘Then we must make sure he knows he has a home here, and people who care for him. Tell Martin next time you see him, and make it clear that Alex is welcome at any time – although I’m sure he already knows that.’

Anne was about to reply when they heard the latch click on the back gate. ‘Granddad must be back from his hunting trip,’ she muttered. ‘Let’s hope he’s got a pheasant, or something for the pot, or we’ll be eating vegetable soup again.’

But it wasn’t Ron who stepped into the back garden. It was someone quite different, and it was clear right from the start that things at Beach View were about to change – and not for the better.

Sally loved being in the hills with Ron and the boys. She’d found freedom in the vast expanse of empty land, and a sense of well-being which came with the salty wind that blew from the sea even on the warmest days. Out here in these great rolling hills and deep valleys, Sally had found an inner peace, and discovered a side to her that she had never suspected she’d possessed. For here she felt at home – at one with the grandeur.

It hadn’t always been so. The first time Ron had persuaded her to join them she’d been wary of that emptiness, of the feeling of isolation and danger that seemed to lurk in the dark thickets and spiny gorse. And yet, guided by Ron’s knowledge and calm education, she’d gradually begun to understand and appreciate that this wild, empty land was not only beautiful, it could enchant and provide.

Now the crowded, poor streets and alleyways of Bow were a world away, and she wondered if she could ever return there – could ever survive the smog after breathing such clean, clear air, and feeling so free.

She tramped purposefully up the hill in the old dungarees she’d cut down to fit, the hessian sack of firewood heavy on her back. Her leg muscles no longer complained and her breathing was steady. These regular outings after the long stints at the factory were making her strong, and her mirror told her she’d been tanned by the sun and looked healthier than ever. But the sadness inside lingered, and she tried not to think of John – yet every now and then she wondered where he was, and whether he ever thought of her.

‘It’s not a race,’ muttered Ron, who was striding along beside her, Ernie on his shoulders, two brace of poached pheasant hidden in his pockets and a hare in his hand. ‘Take time to look around you, Sally. You never know what you might be missing.’

He nodded towards Bob and Charlie, who had smaller sacks of twigs and were racing ahead of them, Harvey at their heels. ‘Their only thought is for their tea,’ he said, ‘but at that age they’re always hungry.’

She grinned at him, hitched the sack more comfortably over her shoulder and slowed her pace. She was hungry too, but the pleasure of taking in her surroundings made her forget that hunger as she gazed about her. Because of Ron, she and Ernie could now name most of the wild flowers that grew in the windswept grass – could recognise rose-hips, sloe, elderberry and blackberry, and distinguish the different calls of the birds, from the creaky-gate cry of the pheasant to the melody of the song thrush. They collected berries now it was summer, and Ron had carefully taught them which mushrooms to pick last autumn. Nature’s larder provided many a treat – and it was all free.

In the spring, Ron had taken her and the boys to watch fox cubs and badgers at play, and very early one morning he’d led them to the edge of a silent glade, where they’d sat entranced as a magnificent stag had warily led his doe and fawn to drink from a dew pond. They were sights and memories that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

As they breached the final hill before home, she heard the rapid hammer-drill of a woodpecker along with the soft coo of the wood pigeons. In a world of turmoil, this countryside she had come to love was an oasis of peace, and she would always hold a special place in her heart for this old man who so generously shared it with her.

She turned her thoughts to Pearl and their plans for the following weekend, when Sally would move out of Beach View and into the little terraced house Billy had inherited from his grandfather. She was excited at the prospect, hoping that a change of scenery would help her to forget John and get on with her life. Her home-dressmaking business could flourish in Pearl’s front parlour, they could share the care for Ernie; and when Billy came home on leave, Peggy had assured her she could always return to Beach View for as long as she wanted. For someone who’d had so little before she’d arrived in Cliffehaven, Sally felt blessed.

The sack seemed to grow heavier the nearer they got to Beach View and, as Ron lifted Ernie down and the boys pushed through the back gate, she gratefully took it from her back and dragged it into the garden.

‘Blimey, Sal. You look like some gyppo. What you done to yerself, gel?’

Sally froze in shock as the heavily made-up peroxide blonde rose from the deckchair and smoothed away the creases in the garish red and orange summer frock that clung to every curve. ‘Mum?’ she managed, hitching the dungaree strap back over her shoulder. ‘What you doing here?’

‘Well, that’s nice, ain’t it? I come all the way from the Smoke, and all I get is “what you doin’ ’ere?”’ She folded her arms, the plastic bracelets clacking on her wrists. ‘Ain’t yer even gunna say hello, then?’

‘Mum, Mum.’ Ernie was struggling to reach her. ‘I knew you’d come,’ he yelled, as he hobbled towards Florrie, flung his arms round her hips and buried his grubby face in her frock.

‘Hello, luv,’ she cooed, patting his shoulder and kissing the air above his head. ‘At least someone’s glad to see me,’ she said, her accusing gaze aimed at Sally.

‘You took your time getting here,’ retorted Sally. ‘It’s nearly a year since we left, and neither of us has heard a thing from you since.’

‘I ’ad things to do,’ she said airily, ‘and you know I don’t find writing and stuff easy.’ She grimaced as Ernie sniffed and buried his head deeper into her side.

‘You could have got someone to write a card for you – you could even have telephoned. I put the number on my letters. Didn’t you get them?’

‘Course I did, but I ain’t got time to mess about reading letters and making phone calls. There’s a bloody war on, or ’adn’t you noticed?’

‘Did you send our address to Dad? Have you seen him?’

‘He ain’t been ’ome much,’ she said rather vaguely. ‘But ’e knows where you are, right enough.’ Florrie prised Ernie’s dirty hands from her hips with a look of disgust. ‘Go and ’ave a wash, mate. You’re filthy, and this is a new dress.’

Ernie’s little face collapsed with disappointment. ‘But I …’