Cousins at War (31 page)

The following morning, Olive found herself sitting next to Polly in the lecture room, and decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Can I have a private word with you later?’

‘I’m going to Woollies at lunchtime for some pencils and a bottle of ink, so you could come with me if you like. We can talk on the way.’

‘OK, thanks.’

That night, Olive gave serious consideration to what Polly had advised her to do. She really could not have this baby and abortion seemed to be the only answer. It was dangerous as well as
illegal, but she would have to take the risk and Polly knew a woman who would do it. ‘She’s terminated quite a few that I know of,’ Polly had said, ‘with no ill effects. It
would be as well if you stayed away from home for a night to get over it, but you can come to my digs, if you want.’

Recalling this, Olive came to the most momentous decision of her life. She could never face Neil again, not after she got rid of his child, and especially not if he had his wife with him, so she
would have to leave home . . . she would leave Aberdeen altogether. She would have the abortion, stay with Polly for one night, then go to a YWCA somewhere until she made up her mind what to do
after that. Volunteering for the forces might be the ideal solution.

If only Neil knew what she was doing for him, it would be easier to bear, but no matter how much she still loved him, she was determined not to ruin his marriage. If this was the penalty she had
to pay for making his life a misery before, she would face up to it, and perhaps, by devoting her life to the service of her country, she could eventually forgive herself for the wicked things she
had done. Before she did anything else, however, there was still one thing she had to do for Neil. Sitting down at her desk, she began to write.

Freda was feeling extremely upset about the previous night’s quarrel. Neil had been totally unreasonable and it had all started because she had refused to let him make
love to her without any protection. It had only been her excuse, though, because she was afraid that her mother would hear them, not afraid of falling pregnant. As quarrels do, it had escalated out
of all proportion, ending in a shouting match that her parents must have heard.

As she pulled on the men’s baggy trousers she wore to work in the gardens, she remembered yelling, ‘That’s all you ever married me for! Just to satisfy your cravings for
sex.’

‘I sometimes wish I’d never married you! I got a lot more satisfaction from the sluts I used to go with.’

That was what had hurt most. He should be pleased that for at least one night a week, she had tried to forget her fear, but he went off the deep end regularly, and the set-to last night was the
worst ever. She couldn’t help being the way she was, and if he would give her more time, she might come to enjoy his nightly advances instead of dreading them.

Freda was smoothing down her oversized woollen jumper when her mother came in. ‘A letter for Neil from Aberdeen,’ she announced, laying it down on the chest of drawers, ‘but
it’s not his mother’s writing.’ Mrs Cuthbert made sure that Neil was not in the room, then added, ‘What were you two arguing about last night? Is he . . . making too many
demands on you?’

Flushing, Freda shook her head. ‘It was nothing like that, and I’d rather not talk about it.’

Not believing the denial, her mother went on, ‘Your father was the same when we were first married but I soon put him in his place. Just do what I did – refuse him till he stops
bothering you.’ Having delivered this advice, she swept out.

Neil came in a moment later, still as angry as when he went to wash, and Freda eyed him coldly. ‘Mum took through a letter for you. It’s on the chest of drawers.’

‘It’s from Olive,’ he muttered, as he picked it up. ‘She never writes anything worth reading, and I haven’t time now, I’m late as it is.’ Unbuttoning
the breast pocket of his tunic, he slipped it inside, and only then did he look at her. ‘We’ll have to do some serious talking tonight, Freda. You can’t go on the way you’re
doing.’

‘The way I’m doing?’ she gasped. ‘It’s you that’s causing all the trouble.’

‘It’s your bloody problem that’s the trouble,’ he snarled, and stalked out.

She heard him telling her mother that he hadn’t time for any breakfast, then she crossed to the window in the hope that he would wave to her like he usually did. She watched until he went
out of sight round the corner of the house and waited for him to wheel out the old BSA motor cycle he had bought for taking him to and from the camp. It was five minutes before he appeared again,
and she was sure that he had been reading Olive’s letter in the outhouse he used as a garage. Why couldn’t he have read it in front of her? Olive hadn’t written to him since he
was married, so why was she writing now? There surely wasn’t anything between them? But he had said that he had taken her out twice when he was home on his own and he’d meant to see her
a third time, and she’d been naive enough to believe him when he swore there was nothing in it.

Without looking round, Neil leapt on the seat of the BSA, revved the engine and roared away, leaving her seething with what she realised was a black jealousy.

The soft, warm air against his burning face did not have the usual exhilarating effect on Neil – his mind was on other things. He would have to do something soon . . . but what? He still
loved Freda, even after last night’s barney, but they would never be really happy until he got her away from her mother. He sped recklessly along the narrow, winding road, his knees skimming
the rough surface as he took the series of sharp corners at full throttle. Coming to the last but one hairpin bend before the camp gates, he was so involved in his thoughts that he did not hear the
rumble of the heavy Scammel coming from the other side, and he only avoided it in the nick of time by swerving on to the bank and coming a heavy cropper against a wire fence.

He was in an entirely different frame of mind when he went home that evening. If he had not had the presence of mind to swerve when he did, he would be lying on a mortuary slab now and his
second brush with death had made him see how petty he’d been with Freda. The problem lay at his own door as much as hers.

Mrs Cuthbert looked at him with dislike when he went into the house that night but he walked past her to the bedroom where he threw his arms round his wife. ‘Freda, darling, I’m
sorry I was so nasty. It’s all my fault, and I’ll never badger you again. I love you so much, I couldn’t live without you.’

Her jealousy having increased the more she thought about it, Freda drew away, stiffly. ‘What did Olive have to say in her letter?’

‘Olive? What’s she got to do with us?’

‘I don’t know but there’s something you haven’t told me.’

Drawing the letter from his pocket, he handed it over. ‘I don’t understand what you mean but read it for yourself.’

Her expression changed as she scanned the single page, and she turned to him in remorse when she came to the end. ‘I’m sorry, Neil. I thought there was something between you, but I
see it was all on her side.’

Having been apprehensive himself before he read it, Neil had been astounded at what Olive had written. Olive, who had never apologised for anything, who had thought of no one but herself all her
life. He took the letter back from his wife and read it through again.

‘There is one thing more I should tell you,’ he said as he tore the letter through the middle.

Freda placed her fingertips over his mouth. ‘No, Neil, I don’t want to hear. I’ve been thinking all day about us and I know that it’s my . . . failing that makes us
quarrel, so I’ve decided it would be best if we found somewhere else to live. It’s been the thought of my mother hearing us that . . .’

‘Oh, my darling.’ Neil drew her gently towards him. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’

‘I’m positive, so we can begin looking for a room. I don’t mind where or what, as long as I’m with you.’

Their kiss was interrupted by Mrs Cuthbert, who said, in tones of deep disgust, ‘When you’ve finished your nonsense, your tea’s ready.’

‘Bugger off!’ Neil retorted, kissing his wife again with even more ardour than before as the woman scuttled out, her face scarlet. ‘I know she’s your mother,’ he
said, in a few moments, ‘but she’s asked for that since we were married.’

Freda gave a nervous giggle, ‘How are we going to face her when we go through for our tea?’

He grinned. ‘I’m not hungry, are you?’

‘Not really.’

‘Well, I’m quite enjoying this reconciliation business, so I vote we carry on. I’m damned sure she won’t come in again without knocking.’

Olive went down for breakfast as her father was making ready to go to his office. ‘You’re late,’ he accused. ‘It’s time you bucked up your
ideas.’

‘I’m not going in today, I’ve a bit of a headache.’

‘All you young girls are the same, you stay at home on the slightest excuse. Well, some of us have to work. Cheerio.’

‘Goodbye, Dad.’

Disappointed at his daughter’s lack of commitment to the career she had chosen, Martin did not recognise the anguish underlying those two words, and neither did Hetty, who was regarding
the girl with some concern. ‘You don’t look well. Should I phone the doctor?’

‘No, it’s nothing.’ Olive ate only one slice of toast with a cup of tea before she went back upstairs. She had packed a few things last night and had scribbled a note of
farewell when she rose, which was why she’d been late for breakfast. She knew that by sneaking out she would distress her mother, but she could not bring herself to tell her face to face.
There would be tears, pleading for explanation, maybe even realisation, and she couldn’t risk that. It had to be this way. A clean break . . . for ever. No letters.

She took her coat out of the wardrobe, then glanced round the room, the bedroom which had been hers since her family came to Rubislaw Den . . . nearly eighteen years ago. She would never see it
again – there would be no coming back. Lifting her small case with a shuddering sigh, Olive went out on to the landing to make sure that her mother was safely out of earshot in the kitchen,
then crept downstairs and out by the front door.

When Gracie wrote to say that Olive had left home and that Hetty had no idea why or where she had gone, Queenie’s heart went out to the cousin who had also loved and lost
Neil, but she did wonder if this was another trick. Had Olive really given up on him, or would she interfere in his life again?

Queenie, herself, felt more drawn towards Les Clark every time they went out, but not in any romantic way. He was good company whatever they did on their evenings together, he had helped her to
get over Neil, and she hoped that he would ask her to keep in touch when they went their separate ways. It would be a pity to let their friendship lapse once more.

When his time at Padgate came to an end, Les told her that he would write, and before her own leave came up, seven days later, he had sent two letters from South Norwood. She said nothing about
him when she went home, in case Gracie and Joe jumped to the conclusion that he was her boyfriend, and she didn’t think of him like that – not yet, anyway.

After one unsuccessful attempt to find out if there was a boy on the horizon, her aunt wanted to know what she had had to do on her training, and Patsy was too anxious to tell her about her
Canadian to bother about anything else. ‘Jake said he didn’t try to contact me when he left Foresterhill first because he wasn’t sure if I wanted him to, but he’d thought
about me so much that he finally had to write. We’ve been going out for four weeks now.’

‘Aye,’ commented Joe, dryly, ‘Jake’s all we hear about day in, day out, and you should think yourself lucky you’re not here to have to put up with it,
Queenie.’

‘Och, Joe, don’t exaggerate,’ his wife warned. ‘It hasn’t been as bad as that.’

That evening, as Joe had agreed to take over the duties of an air raid warden who had died suddenly and Patsy was on night duty, Queenie was left alone with her aunt. ‘What do you think of
Patsy going steady?’ she asked.

Gracie shrugged. ‘I’m not against her having a lad, but I can’t say I’m happy about this Jake.’

‘Don’t you like him?’

‘I haven’t met him yet, but if they’re serious about each other, he’ll likely want to take her to Canada after the war and we’ll never see her again.’

‘I see what you mean,’ Queenie nodded. ‘Do you think they are serious?’

‘I’m near sure Patsy is, and I wouldn’t let her know how I feel if she does want to marry Jake, for he’d be a real good catch. His father’s got a big business,
three branches round Quebec and two in Montreal, as well.’

Thinking, a little wryly, that no one could say Les was a good catch – his father was only a labourer – Queenie found that there was some truth in the saying that absence makes the
heart grow fonder. She was even thinking of him in terms of a future husband now. ‘Has Hetty had any word from Olive yet?’ she asked, to change the subject.

‘No, and she’s really worried. She can’t think what made her walk out without a word, for they hadn’t had a row, not lately, anyway, and she says Olive hadn’t been
looking well for ages. She thinks she was upset because Neil got married so soon after he went back, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to it than that, for she took her time about
leaving.’

‘What about Raymond? Where’s he just now?’

‘Oh, you didn’t know, of course. He didn’t tell his mother when he was home that it was embarkation leave, but he wrote after he went back. They were being sent to the Middle
East, or somewhere, so it’ll be a while before she hears from him again, no doubt. Poor Hetty, she’s not had her troubles to seek, has she? I’m lucky, for I know where every one
of my family is.’