Home Sweet Home (20 page)

Preoccupied with the events of the evening and Charlie being rushed to hospital, Ruby failed to notice that anything was amiss.

‘Frances! I don't want to hear it. Just get into bed and go to sleep!'

Frances slid thankfully beneath the bedclothes. ‘You're not undressed.'

‘I'm too tired,' Ruby snapped.

It was an expedient truth: she was tired but knew sleep would be elusive.

She heard Frances plumping up her pillows, lying first on one side then the other. Springs twanged and the cast-iron joints of the bed creaked against the bolts that held them in place. The metallic noise was accompanied by a series of sighs and a sob.

Guessing Frances would be tossing and turning all night, Ruby was unable to console her cousin. There was nothing she could say that would ease her pain, and anyway, she couldn't ease her own. Feeling drained and defeated, she closed her eyes and thought about Johnnie Smith. In one instant she cast her mind back to that day they'd made love, a time when neither of them had imagined him in prison thousands of miles from home.

Please God he gets through this.

For a time there was only the ticking of the alarm clock, before Frances spoke.

‘Will Charlie die?'

Ruby's eyes flashed open. ‘No! Of course not.' Ruby refused to admit it could happen. She would not admit it. ‘Don't talk so silly! He'll get well. He'll be home soon.'

Her stomach churning with apprehension, she waited for Frances to raise another question. She wondered what time her father would be home. Perhaps not until breakfast time.

Ruby stared into the darkness, a thick, all-consuming darkness thanks to the lack of streetlights and the thickness of the blackout curtains. Closing her eyes took her halfway to sleep, and perhaps she might have had a short time of half-baked dreams.

Muffled sobs from the next bed drew her back to full wakefulness. Her heart went out to her young cousin. Frances had done her best to be brave, but no matter how much her cousin insisted she was an adult, Ruby believed she was still a child.

Her own eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip and choked back the sobs that threatened. We must be brave, she thought to herself, but knew she wouldn't be if she let Frances know that she was still awake and just as upset as she was. Somebody had to be strong.

Half an hour, perhaps more, and the sobbing had ceased, replaced by gentle breathing interspersed with a heartfelt sniff.

Unwilling to wake her cousin, Ruby slid quietly off the bed, her toes groping for her shoes. They had chunky heels and rubber soles. Noisy shoes. Fingers replaced toes. She found the worn leather around the heels that had caused her blisters. With a mind to the noise the mattress could make, she rose gently from the bed and with shoes in hand headed for the bedroom door.

The warmth of the bread oven met her halfway down the stairs. The oven was still warm from yesterday's bake. A flick of a switch and the gas pilot light would bring it into life for the loaves of bread waiting their turn to be baked.

Even though she was used to the smell of bread being baked, she never tired of its comforting smell. Today was different. Its rich aroma was unaltered, but the events of the evening before had changed everything.

Young Charlie was ill. She wouldn't feel comfortable until he was home again.

It was four in the morning and dawn was lighting the night sky to dark grey when the American army Jeep pulled up outside Sweets' Bakery. Stan alighted, the dawn light enough for him to see his way. Before leaving them, he thanked his new-found friends.

‘It's much appreciated,' he added, just a little bit wobbly on his legs. ‘That whisky was strong.'

‘Irish whisky,' proclaimed Joe. ‘Take care, old timer.'

Stan shook his head. The lad had called him old timer! They were right. He was – and just as a new day was breaking, that was exactly how he was feeling. Very tired, very worried and very old.

He told them to drop in whenever they were passing.

‘Sure we will. What did you say your daughter's name was?'

The other guys laughed. Stan took it in good part but added, ‘Excuse me, young man, but didn't you say you were getting married and having a dozen children when you get home?'

The young solider laughed and said he was glad to be reminded of it. ‘Maybelline has one hell of a temper, pop. Thanks again for reminding me.'

On hearing the sound of a vehicle, Ruby had ventured into the shop, peering out from behind the closed blind, the shop black behind her. Motor vehicles were rare enough in the village, so to hear one at this time was even rarer. Although dawn was breaking, she refrained from turning the light on.

When she saw her father get out of the Jeep, she barely restrained herself from going out and demanding how Charlie was and where he was. She said nothing until her father was in the shop, the door shut tightly behind him.

‘How is he?' Not wishing to wake Frances up, she kept her voice low.

‘They'll let us know. I take it nobody's called?'

She shook her head. ‘Nobody.'

Feeling a trifle disappointed, Stan removed his hat as he came inside.

Ruby locked and bolted the door behind him. It was still early and no customers were due until they opened at seven.

Stan threw his hat on to the counter, hung his head and sighed disconsolately. ‘It's all my fault. I should have got him vaccinated.' He shook his head. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.'

He would have repeated the same word a hundred times over, but Ruby touched his arm. ‘Dad, you weren't to know.'

He looked down into her eyes, wondering when it was she'd grown to look like Sarah.

He sighed heavily. ‘I should have paid when it was suggested and had him done. All this because I couldn't stand the sight of needles when I was in the army. Things have improved since then. Medicine has moved on and I was too pig-headed—'

‘Dad! Stop it right now! Come on through to the kitchen. The kettle will have boiled by now.' Ruby was adamant, her voice fierce.

Obediently, hat retrieved from the counter, the brim rumpled beneath his firm grasp, he followed her into the kitchen.

He noticed the stiffness in her shoulders as she marched into the kitchen, the swift movements as she reached for the kettle, the teapot, the cups and the saucers.

‘I see all the bread's in the oven.'

‘It was my first priority.'

She did not report that she'd not slept all night. It was enough that she was here for him – that they were here for each other.

‘I'm tired,' he said. ‘I had to walk.'

‘Why didn't you come home with Dr Foster?'

‘He left before I wanted to. Said he had other patients to see.'

‘I see you didn't walk all the way.'

‘No. I did not.'

He slumped heavily down on to a kitchen chair and jerked his head in the direction of the front of the bakery and the road that passed its door.

‘I was picked up by three young American soldiers. They were on their way back to Siston but took it into their heads to make a detour. I think they thought I was too old to be out by myself.'

Ruby stood with her back to the kitchen window, an aluminium teapot – one she hadn't given for scrap to make aeroplanes – clutched in her hands. ‘It's a long way to walk. It was kind of them.'

Her father looked done in. His voice was low but steady. ‘Yes. It was kind of them.'

His head drooped over his hands and his smile was sad and thoughtful. ‘Young men full of bravado and out to have fun. I hope they survive the day when the allies retake Europe.' He shook his head. ‘It won't be easy.'

‘Drink your tea. I've put two sugars in it.'

‘I'll drink this then help you finish the baking.'

‘You're too late. I've already done it.'

Surprise shone through his tiredness.

Ruby took advantage of the situation. ‘And here's some toast. Eat it up and drink your tea, then get up to bed. It's enough having Charlie being ill without having you poorly as well. I've got enough on my plate, thank you very much!'

Although taken aback by Ruby's manner, just for once Stan did as he was told. Once he'd obeyed orders, he took himself upstairs, his limbs tired, his brain full of plans that included his grandson, once the boy was out of danger.

Despite his concern, despite his plans for the time when Charlie was home again, he fell asleep. In his dreams he was watching Charlie running through the long grass flying a kite. And then he was gone and the kite had turned into a Lancaster bomber and the sky was full of fire.

News of Charlie being whisked to hospital raced through the village like wildfire. No newspaper could spread the word as swiftly as the village gossips, and no matter what was going on in the world, local news took precedence over everything else. The shop had filled up quickly.

‘It was just after midnight. The little'un, is it?'

Ruby ducked away from one customer, took the money, placed it in the cash register, her finger trembling as she stabbed a key. ‘Here's your change.'

She took hold of the woman's hand and with the other one, poured the pennies into it.

The woman's face soured. ‘Well, I never! In a bit of a rush this morning, aren't we?'

‘Yes,' snapped Ruby, while moving swiftly on to the next customer.

‘Are they here to buy bread or what?' muttered Frances, her face as creased as a crab apple through lack of sleep and bad temper.

Ruby sighed. She had to agree with her cousin. Their concern was appreciated, but attacking everything she did at speed helped her cope. Another customer. Another loaf of bread sold. They were knee-deep in customers.

Metal curlers rattled over foreheads. A few smoked, totally ignoring Stan's edict that the puffing of fags should be done outside the shop door. Shabby coats straining around broad bosoms, lips devoid of any artificial colouring pursed and puckered with hushed words, the women queuing exchanged information.

‘It's Stan. Doing too much, that's what it is. What with running a business and taking care of a family, first his own babes and now his grandson.'

‘There's a lot of stuff going round at the minute. Always is this time of year. My Betty had scarlet fever this time last year.'

‘Mine had chicken pox.'

Feeling a bit left out, those at the back of the shop went on exchanging what information they had. A baby nestling in the crook of her arm, Mrs Gates proclaimed that she'd seen it with her own eyes. ‘I saw Mr Sweet get in behind the little'un. I'm sure I did.'

Following the statement of somebody who appeared to have witnessed the arrival of the doctor, concern rumbled from one woman to another.

Ruby eyed them sardonically, her mouth set in a grim line.

‘My youngest had mumps,' exclaimed one of the other women. ‘Have your kids had mumps?'

‘My kids are over in Wales,' said Mrs Gates. Mrs Gates had opted to leave them there for now.

‘No, they're not,' declared Frances. ‘They're in the Forest of Dean with Ada Perkins.'

Mrs Gates's face dropped.

‘The Forest of Dean is in Gloucestershire, which is in England, not Wales,' stressed Frances, in no mood to be civil.

The woman was peeved. ‘Sorry, I'm sure!'

Ruby was getting equally fed up, a factor partially fuelled by her anger.

‘If you all must know,' she said, her tone as sharp as her actions, ‘Charlie has been taken to hospital with suspected diphtheria.'

Once she'd properly confirmed the problem, sympathy was duly expressed, murmuring from one woman to another.

‘I expect he'll be all right. All kids get something,' said Mrs Gates, who had six kids the last time they'd been together to be counted.

‘They don't need to get diphtheria,' Ruby snapped as she took her place behind the counter, her eyes shining with missionary zeal. ‘There's a vaccination available which means they don't get it. I would suggest all of you with children should look into it.'

A stony silence followed before the older women expressed their views; some were sensible views while others bordered on ignorance.

‘I don't hold with it myself,' said Mrs Martin. ‘I never lost any of my kids, and they caught just about everything.'

‘Not all of us can be that lucky,' Ruby remarked.

Mrs Martin attempted a lofty expression that only served to make her look like one of the cows that deigns to go to the shed at milking time. ‘Well, I don't hold with it.'

‘It's not one of your kids in hospital!' Ruby shouted.

The women fell to silence at Ruby's raised voice. Even Frances looked surprised.

‘Right,' stated Ruby, at last making the effort to calm down. ‘Who's next?'

Bettina Hicks looked out of her door just after breakfast. The sight of a clear sky and the prospect of a warm day brought a smile to her face. Her joints weren't so stiff when the weather was dry. On a very good day she was even able to walk the length of the village without her stick.

Today, however, would not be one of those days. All she needed was a loaf of bread. She also needed to get out from within the four walls of Stratham House and find somebody to talk to.

Stan had come in the day before to turn the earth around the early runner beans, and she'd invited him around for tea this afternoon. A secretive smile danced lightly on to her lips. Not that they drank that much tea, much preferring a slice of cake with a glass of sherry. Her husband had laid down a considerable amount of wine and spirits before he'd died. Bettina had rarely indulged until Stan had come on the scene. Their conversations were always accompanied by a little tipple to ‘warm the cockles of their hearts', as Stan was so fond of saying.

The sound of the birds in the trees gladdened her heart. Despite everything, they were nest building. Life went on, thank goodness. Birds of a feather flock together, like all those young men from all over the world flying together in the Royal Air Force.