While We're Apart (23 page)

The third communication told her they'd finally set sail. He'd been sleeping in his clothes ever since he'd embarked, the soap wouldn't lather in the salt-water showers, and he had a nasty cold. Apart from that he'd discovered two old mates from Cliffehaven were on board, and although he was delighted to be with them, the talk of home had made him think about her all day.

The final airgraph described mountainous seas and high winds. One look at Jim's breakfast of liver had sent him rushing on deck to be sick, and he'd found sailors, marines, soldiers and airmen lying about on the decks feeling just as bad. He reckoned he'd never spent a worse day in his life, and was beginning to yearn for good solid land as well as the comforts of home and family.

‘So, how is that rogue of yours doing?' asked Cordelia.

‘He's managed to wheedle his way into being a Batman for a couple of senior officers so he's been excused all other duties, and I think that apart from being horribly seasick, and winning at cards, he's getting a bit bored.'

‘It strikes me that young Jim will always wangle an easy ride. He has only himself to blame if he's bored.' Cordelia sniffed and tried to look disapproving, but the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her.

Peggy chuckled. ‘You know him too well,' she replied. ‘So, what's your news?'

‘Both my sons should have retired by now, but they've kept running the family construction business while their boys are fighting in Africa, and their wives are occupied with various war-effort charities. Their three girls have all gone into nursing, and two of them are actually working overseas, one in a hospital ship, the other at the combined forces hospital in Cairo. The family photograph was taken just before war started. Two of my granddaughters are working in an aeroplane factory, and the third is at home looking after two young babies while her husband is flying with the RCAF.'

Peggy was about to question her further when the telephone rang. Leaping to her feet, she raced into the hallway. ‘Hello,' she said breathlessly.

‘Hello, Peggy, Vi here. Anne's had a beautiful baby girl.'

Peggy did a little dance. ‘Oh, Vi, how lovely. Did everything go all right?'

Violet's voice sounded as clear as a bell, despite the fact she was living miles away on a farm in Somerset. ‘Anne's perfectly fine, if a bit tired, and the birth was quite normal. Emily Jane was born at seven this morning, and weighed in at seven pounds two ounces.'

‘Good grief,' muttered Peggy. ‘Poor Anne. No wonder she's tired.' She sat down on the hall chair, suddenly feeling most put out that another woman had been with her daughter through the entire thing, and even knew the baby's name before she did.

Then she reminded herself how very kind Sally's Aunt Vi had been to take on Anne and Peggy's own two boys as well as Ernie and Rose Margaret for the duration – and felt utterly ashamed at her momentary jealousy. ‘Emily Jane, what a lovely name. When did she decide on that?'

‘She and Martin had long talks about names, and they'd got it down to two or three. Then the moment she saw her baby she decided she was a perfect Emily Jane.'

Peggy couldn't help but be relieved that Vi hadn't known after all. ‘Who does she take after?' she asked wistfully.

‘It's hard to tell at the moment,' said Vi with a chuckle. ‘All babies look like Churchill to me for the first few days. But she's got dark hair and a snub nose and a pair of lungs on her that would drown out any air-raid siren. I took Rose Margaret in to see her for a few minutes this morning, and she's quite thrilled about the whole thing. I think she regards Emily as her new and rather exciting dolly.'

‘Tell Anne I'll write tonight, and give her my love, won't you?' Peggy swallowed the tearful lump in her throat. ‘And give Emily and Rose a kiss for me.' She sniffed back the tears, determined not to let it all get on top of her. ‘How are my boys? Have they grown much?'

‘I should say,' said Vi cheerfully. ‘Bob is as tall as me now and has joined the Scouts to learn first aid and map reading. Charlie's growing like a weed and is in the Cubs with Ernie, who is doing extremely well without the calipers and hardly ever uses his walking stick. It seems he's beaten the polio, and is as rambunctious as any boy of his age. The pair of them decided to build a fort down by the duck pond so they can play at being soldiers. I've had to confiscate the slingshots, I'm afraid. They killed two ducks and a moorhen.'

Peggy was having the most awful time trying not to cry. ‘Oh, dear,' she managed hoarsely. ‘They are a pair of scallywags, aren't they?'

If Vi had heard the quaver in her voice, she didn't remark upon it. ‘They certainly are. Your Charlie is still fascinated by machinery, and he took it into his head to strip one of our tractors down to see how it worked.' She added drily, ‘Luckily for me, Fred, our local mechanic, knew how to put it back together.'

‘Oh, Vi, I'm so sorry.'

‘There's no need to apologise,' laughed Vi. ‘Curiosity is a marvellous thing, and he's learnt a lot from that little adventure. Fred made him help put each piece back, so he now knows more about tractors than I ever will.'

‘Are they there? Can I speak to them?'

‘I'm sorry, Peg, but they're both at school, and tonight is their Cub and Scout meetings. I'll try and get through again at the weekend, but you know what communications are like, so I can't promise.'

The pips went and Peggy gripped the receiver. ‘Tell them I love and miss them and—' The line went dead, and she replaced the receiver and burst into tears. God, she hated this bloody, bloody war.

THINGS HAD ADVANCED
at a remarkable pace once Mary had set her plans in motion. She had telephoned the college in Lewes, and was surprised and delighted to be given an interview the following day. The principal looked as if she would be stern and no-nonsense, but she'd heard about the tragedy that had befallen Mary's family and was kindness itself.

The outcome of the interview was that Mary would start the teaching course the following September, and move into the college accommodation block for the first year. Delighted at her success with this first and most important part of her future plans, Mary had travelled back to Hillney on the train and ridden her bike to Black Briar Farm in a haze of happiness.

As for her plans to go to Cliffehaven, they had moved on swiftly too, but not without some trouble along the way. Mary had gone to the labour exchange in Hillney and at first the woman behind the counter had been most unhelpful, for she simply wouldn't accept that Mary wanted to find work so far away. Mary had been forced to tell her about the bombed rectory and the loss of her parents, and had insisted that she needed a new start far from home. The real reason was none of this woman's business and Mary wasn't about to enlighten her.

The woman had relented finally, and after a great many telephone calls managed to get her a job with the Post Office at the Kodak factory, which she would start on Monday next. Accommodation would be with a Mrs Williams, and she was assured that it was a perfectly respectable home in a good area of the town. There were some other girls billeted there, and as they also worked on the factory estate, this would ease her into things quite quickly.

The birth certificate proved far more difficult, for in answer to her enquiry she'd received a very nice letter from someone called J. Collins who was frightfully apologetic, but who couldn't possibly be expected to track it down with so few salient details. J. Collins did suggest she might try and find her father's birth certificate if she had any idea of when he might have been born, but that wouldn't really help as he almost certainly wouldn't still be living at the same childhood address.

Mary had to accept that that was as far as she could go with this line of search, and although the lack of a birth certificate might prove to be a stumbling block later on, at least she had her official identity card to see her through any awkwardness now.

It was the end of the first week in November, and Mary would be leaving early the following morning on the train which would take her to Cliffehaven. The lady at the billeting office had advised her to spend a couple of days with Mrs Williams before she started at the factory so she could get to know the other girls in the house, find her way round the town, and not feel quite so alone and new to everything.

‘I do wish you weren't going,' said Barbara as they finished washing the supper dishes. ‘I hate to think of you all alone in a strange place. And what with Christmas only round the corner . . .' She gave a deep sigh. ‘You will write, won't you, and let us know how things are going?'

‘Of course I will. Please don't worry about me, Auntie Barbara. I've managed to sort out everything so far, and I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable and safe with this Mrs Williams.' Mary put her arm round Barbara's plump shoulders. ‘And if I can, I might even try to get back for Christmas.'

‘Have you told Jack about your plans?'

‘I've written nearly every day, telling him about my progress, and giving him my new address. He's a bit dubious about it all, I think, but he understands why I have to go.' She gave a shaky little laugh. ‘After all, we're both on a sort of quest, aren't we, what with him signing up to see if he can make the grade in the Commandos, and me off to try and find out who I really am and where I came from.'

Barbara gave another sigh. ‘I worry about the pair of you, really I do. I just want you both home and safe, and if it wasn't for all my commitments here, I'd be on that train with you tomorrow morning.'

Mary rather wished she could be, for nerves were knotting her stomach and she was beginning to realise the enormity of what she was setting out to do. ‘I know you would,' she soothed, ‘but I'm eighteen now, and it's time I grew up and learnt to do things on my own.' She gave Barbara a brave little smile. ‘And I haven't done too badly so far, have I?'

‘No, you've managed very well,' agreed Barbara. She poured the tea and lit a cigarette as she leant against the rail of the large black cooking range. ‘Did you and Pat have fun in Hillney this afternoon?'

Mary was glad of the change of subject, for the arrangements and plans had taken up her every thought over the past week. She nodded and smiled. ‘We walked round the shops for a bit and then went to the flicks and saw
Gert and Daisy's Weekend
, which was so funny we were both in tears. After that we treated ourselves to coffee and scones in the High Street tearooms.'

‘That was nice,' said Barbara.

‘Yes, it was. We had a really good gossip, and we were both sad when we had to go our separate ways. But she's promised to write, so I won't miss out on everything she gets up to.'

Barbara raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Pat Logan is in danger of getting herself a bad reputation,' she remarked. ‘I do wish her mother would take more interest in what she gets up to and put a stop to it.'

‘She's not really up to anything more than a lot of the other girls,' said Mary loyally.

Barbara's lips twisted in disbelief, but she didn't pursue her condemnation. ‘Did you tell Pat the real reason you're leaving?'

Mary could feel herself reddening as she shook her head. ‘I'm ashamed to tell anyone outside these walls that I'm illegitimate,' she confessed. ‘I just repeated what I'd said to the woman at the labour exchange – that I needed to get away and make a fresh start.'

‘That was probably wise.'

Mary chewed on her bottom lip in distress. ‘I hate keeping things from her. Pat's been a good friend, and we've always shared our secrets before. That revelation has changed so many things, Auntie Barbara. It's like a stone dropping into a pool and the ripples spread and spread and spread.'

‘You did the right thing, keeping it to yourself,' Barbara replied as she patted Mary's hand. ‘There are those who, unfortunately and unfairly, see such things as shameful and make judgements they have no right to make. I'm not saying Pat would be like that,' she added hastily, ‘but gossip spreads so quickly, and you have quite enough to contend with already.'

Mary fully understood how the stain of her illegitimacy could so easily ruin her life, for it was considered a most heinous crime. Even though the sin had been of the parents' making, it was their innocent child who became the scapegoat. It was all terribly unfair, and Mary was finding it extremely hard to accept this shadow hovering over her.

They sat in the warm kitchen as the rain pelted against the windows, and Mary turned her thoughts to tomorrow. The journey itself didn't really worry her, for she only had to change lines once and then it was a clear two-hour run straight to Cliffehaven. But she did worry about her billet and Mrs Williams, and the fact that she'd never worked before, let alone in a factory. It was certainly going to be a huge upheaval, for she would be amongst strangers in an unfamiliar town, and she would have to keep her wits about her, especially when she started asking about Cyril.

‘If you're having second thoughts, then stay here. It won't take more than a telephone call to cancel everything,' said Barbara.

‘It's not that,' Mary replied. ‘I was just thinking about Cyril, and what sort of man he is. I've read that bit in Daddy's diary about their meeting over and over again, and there's something about it that doesn't feel quite right.'

Barbara's eyes widened in surprise. ‘What do you mean?'

Mary chose her words carefully. ‘I know how tender-hearted Daddy was, and I'm afraid to say he was also rather gullible. Cyril's story certainly pulled the heartstrings, but there was something about the whole thing which makes me wonder if he was all he seemed to be.'

‘He seemed to me to be a man at the end of his tether,' said Barbara. ‘And although he certainly laid it on a bit thick, he had no reason to lie about any of it.' She smiled comfortingly at Mary. ‘I think you should trust Gideon's judgement, and accept that Cyril was a rather weak, emotional man who simply couldn't cope.'