When the Bough Breaks (9 page)

Jessie looked doubtful. ‘They're not men,' she answered. At least she could be sure of
that.
She sped back to where the visitors were waiting in the front porch, having knocked on the door.

‘Mum says you can come and see her out here. We're very busy, you see, so she is getting the vegetables picked ready to take to Mr Hopkins. Come on. I'll show you.'

The two girls looked at each other enquiringly as they followed Jess between the long rows of runner beans. This wasn't a bit as they'd imagined a job interview would be.

‘Hello,' Kathie greeted them, wondering if perhaps she could have been wrong in assuming they'd come in answer to her advertisement. ‘Can I help you?'

‘We read the card on Mr Etherington's board.' Girl No 1 told her. ‘We left school at the end of last term. I'm Sarah Mitchell and this is Sally Brent. We're sixteen and we're both ever so fit and strong.'

‘Are you both from the village?' Kathie wanted to know.

‘Yes. My dad keeps the Rose and Crown. Sally lives in Rupert Street, along by the chapel. Her father often preaches there.'

Was that thrown in as a point in their favour? Kathie wondered.

Sally Brent envied her friend the easy confident way she could talk, but she was embarrassed. They had come asking for work and Sarah was chattering as if they were on a social visit.

‘We are sixteen, Mrs Hawthorne.' Sally spoke the words she had been practising in her head despite the fact that Sarah had got in before her. ‘We haven't been to work before, but we want to learn and we are both quite strong.'

‘We haven't got a garden at the pub,' Sarah took up the story, ‘so I don't know one plant from another. But, like Sally says, we are keen to learn. And honestly we're not the sort to lean on our spades all day and just chatter.'

Kathie laughed, her initial disappointment that they weren't a pair of strapping lads disappearing by the second.

‘I didn't know anything when I came here, but in the beginning that isn't as important as enjoying being in the open air and having bags of energy. It's easy enough at this time of year but not so jolly on frosty January mornings or on wet days; and we get plenty of those. The work has to be done come what may.'

‘You don't mind us being girls?' Sally was still uncertain that they could be the sort of applicants Mrs Hawthorne had hoped for.

‘To be honest, I had hoped for a couple of brawny lads. But the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of an all-girl team – you two, Jess and me. My husband was in the Terriers; so were the two lads who worked here – well, they were lads when they started, but that was years ago. So all of them have gone into the army and that leaves just Jess and me. It's hard work, so don't accept the job with any illusions on that score. But it's . . . it's . . . well, at any rate in my opinion, it's
great.
I can only pay you fifteen shillings a week each to start off with and you might earn more if you went into a shop or an office but this is a good life. We have to work hard but there's a feeling of freedom.'

‘Sounds great to me,' Sarah said with a beaming smile. ‘Better than being cooped up in a classroom – and getting a Saturday shilling from Dad for pocket money.'

‘I expect we shall get pretty dirty, shan't we? I mean, we shall have to come to work in old clothes?' Sally may have been just as excited as her friend, but she was determined to be practical.

‘If you take the jobs, I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll give you some money so that you can catch the bus into Deremouth in the morning and each get a pair of dungarees. Then, when you get to work each day you can change and keep your ordinary clothes tidy. How would that be?'

One look at the girls gave her their answer. So all four of them went back to the cottage, Jessie and her skipping rope bringing up the rear. Hidden behind two Christmas puddings made the previous year and kept at the end of the ‘preserves shelf' (which Den had transferred to the new kitchen when the warm room became a dining room) was Kathie's emergency savings. And this came under the heading of an emergency. So she climbed on the chair and brought out her tin, carefully counting out fourteen shillings for each of them.

‘That should cover your fares and the dungarees. I saw them in the window of Meakers a week or so ago at ten shillings a pair. You really ought to have two pairs each but this is all the spare cash I have in the house, so it'll have to do for a start.'

To see the girls, both so fresh from school and only used to meagre weekly pocket money, took her back to her feeling of independence when she'd gone to work for the Blackwells. Sarah appeared to be the leader of this duo, a tall, slim girl with honey gold permed hair. She was a pretty girl – and clearly she knew it and meant to make the most of her good fortune. By contrast Sally was – the word podgy came into Kathie's head, but she pushed it away – plump? No, not that either. But no one could call her slim; comfortable might be the word. Whereas Sarah's rosy cheeks were largely due to the rouge pot, Sally was a picture of health. The whites of her blue eyes were clear, her teeth would have been like an advertisement for toothpaste but for the fact that she had chipped a tiny corner off one in the front. Her bust looked heavy, but that was probably no more than puppy fat. The two girls were so unalike and yet it was apparent they were close friends.

‘We'll get the five to eight bus to Deremouth and be as quick as we can,' Sally said. ‘Then we'll come straight here and be ready to start work. Gosh!' Words failed her.

Watching them disappear out of the front gate and set off back along the lane Kathie imagined how they must be chattering, she knew exactly their feeling of excitement; in fact, to her surprise, some of it had rubbed off on
her.
It was still only Tuesday afternoon, only two days since they'd listened to the Prime Minister's words that had changed their world, no more than twenty-four hours since Den had been driven away from Sedgewood. An all-female establishment, and what a challenge it would be. Yet, despite the deep misery that Den had gone, she was conscious that it wasn't determination alone that made her so sure she wouldn't be beaten by what fate had thrown at her. It was enthusiasm.

‘Come on, Jess,' she called to the little girl who was climbing on the front gate as she watched the departing visitors, ‘we must get the rest of the spinach in the basket and then run the stuff along to Mr Hopkins. Tomorrow's a big day. Sarah and Sally will be starting work.'

‘You know what, Mum? I wish school didn't start till next week so I could be here to help you show them what to do.'

The little girl's words seemed to bring Den very close. How proud he would be of her. Well, Kathie vowed silently, we'll see to it that he is proud of all of us – just like we are proud of him. But her new-found confidence took a huge knock that evening when she went up to bed. Jessie's door was always left partly open and as she came to the top of the stairs she heard the sound of muffled crying.

‘Jess love, what's the matter?'

‘Want Dad,' Jess gulped. ‘What did he have to go away for? Don't know when he's coming back. It's horrid without Dad. Wanted to say goodnight to him.'

Perhaps there are limits to everyone's bravery. All day Jess had been bright but now the façade had fallen. Bravery? Bravado more likely, just as Kathie knew her own was no more than bravado. Sitting on the bed she held the sobbing child close.

‘You know what, Jess?'

‘What?'

‘As soon as he can he'll phone us, so let's make a plan. We'll fix a time with him – let's say a quarter to eight every evening – and no matter where any of us are or what we're doing, that will be our special time of all being together.'

‘Can't be together. He's miles and miles away.'

‘Oh yes, I know. But thoughts don't get held back by distance, not even thousands of miles. If we think about him and he thinks about us, then our spirits, our souls will be together. We'll try it the first quarter to eight after we've spoken to him and we'll all get that lovely warm “know we're loved” feeling.'

‘Wish we could do it tonight.'

‘We could try. I bet he's thinking of us this very minute, imagining what we're doing, imagining you fast asleep.'

The final hiccup of her tears sounded almost like a chuckle.

Thursday teatime Jessie came home from her first day back at school full of excitement to tell Kathie that she had been put in charge of a girl she called Beth.

‘She's nice, Mum.
I
know she's nice cos I share my desk with her, so I whisper things to her and she seems pleased. But she doesn't say anything to anyone, not even to Miss Brown. She sort of sits screwed up as if that way no one will see her.'

‘Poor little soul. Just think if it were you, Jess. What must it be like to be taken away from your home and sent to live with strangers. Does she talk to
you
?'

Jess nodded, her serious expression assurance that she was giving it her full thought.

‘Not quite
talk.
But she sort of whispers when I ask her about things. But, Mum, you know what? She's bilted – some word like that –
she
didn't say it, Miss Brown told us that the new children had been bilted on people in the village. Funny word, but it means that they've been sent to live with people. I asked Beth if the people were nice where she is bilted and she seemed to sort of shrivel up even more and her face went all twitchy. She didn't cry. I think she was too frightened even to cry.'

‘Where is she billeted? Billeted, that's the word, Jess.'

‘Yes, that's what it was. Anyway, about Beth. She's got to live with the people at the post office. And Mum you know they're old and sort of cross looking. Lots of people have got children to live with them. Why didn't they let us have one?'

‘We don't have a spare bedroom.'

‘But my bed is huge. Mum, why can't we have Beth to live with us here? Better even than a baby sister, cos she's just the same age as me. She's ever so sad. And she's nice; I'm sure she's nice.'

Kathie looked at Jessie's pleading expression and wanted to hug her. But Jess would have considered that demeaning when she was trying to hold a grown-up conversation and was waiting for an answer.

That's when common sense got the upper hand and Kathie thought of the extra hours of work she had to cram into her day already without taking on extra responsibility.

‘She's bound to be sad to start with wherever she is billeted. I bet they are all sad. But Jess, she will settle and I expect she has friends amongst the other evacuees.'

That was another word for Jess to remember.

‘If you'd seen her you would know, the others aren't like Beth. D'you know what? She hadn't any socks on, just heavy winter-day shoes, like Dad calls “plodabouts”. And – I don't want to sound horrid cos I know it's not her fault – but her cardigan had a hole in the elbow. She's the same age as me, but she's ever so skinny and small. Mum, why can't she come here?' Then, approaching the idea from another angle, she said, ‘She could help us with the jobs. Please, Mum.'

‘We can't just take her away from the Bullinghams at the post office. You'd better take the basket and get the eggs, love. When you get to school tomorrow you'll find Beth has started to feel better.'

For all her cheerful reassurance to Jessie, she couldn't put the image of the waiflike child out of her mind. Long into the night sleep eluded her. By next morning her decision was made, although she gave no sign of it to Jess. After all, she still had to persuade the authorities to transfer a homesick child and it was more than likely her request would be refused. There must be thousands of homesick children.

With Jess in school and her two new helpers occupied cropping the autumn fruiting raspberries, she cycled down the lane and turned right towards the village. She had heard that the team billeting the children had worked in the village hall, but when she got there she found it was locked. Their job was finished. So her next hope was to call at Fred Dawkins' own house in Darnley Street.

‘But your husband was most emphatic that you had no room. I have the list on the table here. Westways – two bedrooms, both in use.'

‘And that's true. And for anyone other than the child who has been billeted at the post office I would leave it at that. At school Jessie, my daughter, has been put in charge of her. They could share a double bed. It must be so lonely for a five-year-old with Mrs Bullingham busy in the post office until it's time to lock the door.'

He didn't much care for an outsider trying to alter his arrangements, but to be honest he had felt sorry for the solitary and frightened child being put into the Bullinghams' home.

‘I'll go along to the post office and have a word.' And he had no doubt just how welcome that word would be. He had been tempted to put the Bullinghams down as having no room, but she had made such a fuss trying to wriggle out of taking an evacuee that he had wanted to make her realize she was in no position to argue with authority. ‘After all the work there has been in trying to sort the billets out, I don't mind telling you I could do without all this mind changing. Better leave it with me. I'll deliver her to you after school when she's had time to put her things together to bring.'

‘Thank you for being understanding, Mr Dawkins.' Kathie gave him her friendliest smile which allayed some of his irritation. ‘Now I'll get home and sort out the bedroom so that they can both squeeze in.'

‘Nothing like a bit of company the same age to settle a child down,' he said. ‘Your Jess won't mind having to share? I've had children, I know just how possessive they can be about a bit of private space.'

‘Jess will be delighted; in fact it was her idea. Don't forget, she's an only child. Now I must fly. I have a market garden to run.'