Maggie's Girl (8 page)

‘She's had nearly a year.'

‘But you knew how she felt about the Bradshaws!' Holly understood how her gran felt, even though she also understood John couldn't be blamed for who his family was.

‘John isn't a Bradshaw,' Mary pointed out.

‘He's still Silas Bradshaw's grandson.' Holly swung her feet to the floor. No wonder everyone was so at odds!

‘How old are you exactly?' Mary exclaimed, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice. ‘Sometimes you seem so young, and yet other times – well, I wonder who's older, you or me!'

Sometimes Auntie Mary didn't make much sense, Holly thought.

‘Where were you going, anyway?' She'd been meaning to ask since she got here. And why was she so dressed up, with John the other side of Europe?

‘Oh, you know. Just out.' Mary looked away, defensively, it seemed to Holly.

‘You do look nice,' she went on slowly. ‘I expect you're going to Tony's?'

‘Not exactly.' Mary's cheeks fired up, and Holly's heart sank.

‘You're going to meet someone, aren't you?' she asked abruptly, and hardly needed to wait for the answer.

‘Of course not!'

‘How could you?' Holly treated the denial for what it was worth. ‘Auntie Mary, I can't believe you'd do that to John!'

‘Do what, for goodness' sake?' Guilt was written all over her face. ‘I'm meeting someone for a drink, if you must know, and there's no need to make such a fuss.

‘He's a Canadian gunner in a Lancaster bomber, and he knows no one here. I'm just someone to talk to …'

‘But it's not fair on John!' Holly sprang up from the sofa, her good humour gone. Mary could swear it was nothing, but Holly had seen that look on her face too many times.

‘I was never cut out for the single state, Holly! You don't understand! How could you? I hate being stuck in this flat on my own. It's making me ill.'

‘It isn't right, though,' Holly persisted, and they glared at each
other. Auntie Mary had always been too headstrong for her own good.

‘I'd best get off home,' Holly concluded miserably. ‘I'll come and see you next week if you like.'

Mary wouldn't like, not now she'd rumbled what she was up to. She'd never forgive her.

Holly trailed outside, suddenly sunk in gloom.

It wasn't as if she was surprised. She knew Auntie Mary still liked to go out after work, and why not? But as for seeing other men! Holly couldn't wait to get home. She needed to talk to her mam.

At the bridge foot by Bradshaw's factory, she turned away from the tow-path by the river and went on into town – it was the quicker way.

Nearing the elegant grey stone façade of the town council offices, she could scarcely fail to notice a large group of people outside the entrance, some carrying placards.

As she drew nearer she could hear them, too, chanting.

‘No to Churchill – down with war! No to Churchill – down with war!'

The banners were identical – the single word
Peace
, with a picture of a dove beneath. It must be the Peace Pledge Union. Holly knew of them because they so incensed her Granddad Peter, who maintained their views were muddled and wrong headed.

A group of wrong 'uns, he called them. Fighting for your beliefs was the only way. This war, to Peter's mind, was a fight for
democracy
, for the right for people to live their lives as they pleased.

Holly saw the hole in his argument, even if she'd never dared voice it. Hadn't Peace Pledgers the right to live as they wished, too? Wasn't that what this war was all about?

Blocking her path on the pavement was a well-built young man with curly hair, and a heavy wad of papers slung across his arm. He turned towards her, intent on pushing a leaflet into her hands, and both of them jumped back.

‘Billy?' Holly couldn't believe her eyes.

Her uncle didn't say a word. Holly shook her head, and hurried on. Uncle Billy a Peace Pledger? Whatever would Granddad say?

There was going to be a row …

‘Mind if I join you, Maggie?' Andrew Hardaker slid his cup of canteen tea on to her table.

Maggie smiled and sat back, for the first time that day taking the chance to relax. She liked and admired Andrew Hardaker, who'd been a good friend to the family over the years, and she was inordinately pleased he wanted to join her.

The canteen was crowded. From around the room came the busy hum of people with too much to do and too little time to do it – nurses, doctors, porters, all taking a welcome break.

‘I've got you on your own at last.' Andrew was watching her face, and Maggie knew at once that his joining her had been anything but accidental.

‘I hope I'm not in for a lecture!'

He was happy to see her smile again.

‘That obvious, is it?' He grinned back, and plunged straight in.

‘You're doing too much, Maggie. You look washed out.'

‘There is a war on, you know.' Her smile this time showed the deeper wrinkles round her eyes.

She'd lost weight, and her skin was stretched tautly over the fine bones of her face.

‘Is there anything you'd like to talk about?'

Maggie stared into the muddy depths of her tea. When she looked up, there was fresh determination on her face. This was Andrew. She knew instinctively she could trust him.

‘I can't help remembering Dunkirk. I can't get Diana out of my mind.' Her eyes were pale blue, opaque almost, and filled with pain.

‘Tell me about her,' Andrew said. ‘You need to talk about it, Maggie. I should have realised, I'm sorry.'

‘Don't be … Why should you have thought?' She lifted her tea and drank, barely tasting it.

‘She was a brave girl,' Andrew ventured.

‘Foolhardy, some would say!' The vehemence of her words startled him – she sounded so bitter.

‘Why Diana, Andrew? Who decides such things? It could so easily have been me who stayed in the water and helped the others on board. I did what Diana told me and got in first …' Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘I should have been the one who stayed behind!'

‘You're a mother, Maggie. She had no dependants—'

One of the tears spilled over, and she brushed it away.

‘I didn't have to do as she said! By the time we got the men on board it was too late. She never had the chance to get in!

‘Who knows what happened? All I know is she never got off the beach. It's so unfair, Andrew!'

Andrew's hand covered hers.

‘It's war, Maggie. It's what happens in war. It does no good whatsoever apportioning blame, or even trying to understand. You were no more to blame than – than any one of us sitting in this canteen.'

He handed her a clean handkerchief and watched as she mopped up.

‘Please believe me,' he urged, and to his great relief, she nodded.

Once she'd returned to the ward he sat on, forgetting his urgent meetings, the patients he'd keep waiting, staring down into the dregs of his tea as if he might find an answer hidden there.

What had he been thinking? Maggie Bates was an attractive woman, of course. Why should that concern him?

He drained his cup, and hurried back to work….

Talking to Andrew had done her good, Maggie realised, even if it hadn't dispelled the ache that was her constant companion nowadays.

Calling a hasty goodnight to Sister Aspen, she grabbed her bag and hurried out for the last bus.

Her luck was in. She sat down, breathing a sigh of relief, and pulled off her headscarf. She had to meet Tony at the club, though all she wanted was a cup of hot milk and early bed.

Her mother was looking after Harry so that Maggie could ‘have some fun for a change', as Daisy put it. Somehow, though, since she'd got back, fun seemed a thing other people had, not herself.

The bar at Tony's Place was crowded, the room blue with the fug of too many cigarettes, stale beer and the slinky vibes of the Count Basie Band. Servicemen and women lounged on chairs and bar-stools, stood up to dance, or took the chance to flirt madly with whoever took their fancy.

Life was short and to be enjoyed. Time was too precious to waste.

Having fun had become the national pastime. It was perfectly understandable. No wonder Maggie felt so out of kilter with things.

She couldn't fail to see the way Tony's face lit up as she hove into view. He reached for the bottle he kept secreted under the bar and mixed her a gin and bitters, watching affectionately as she sipped it.

‘You're looking tired. Are you all right?'

‘As right as I'll ever be!'

At this flash of the old Maggie, Tony's face relaxed.

‘Is it Daisy?'

‘Why should it be?'

‘Come on, love.' He paused to serve a young pilot officer. ‘This is your mother we're talking about.'

The smile left her face. How odd that she'd been able to tell Andrew how she felt about Diana, yet she'd never told Tony what had happened to her in France. He talked to her about less consequential things. If her family's newly-discovered
relationship
to the irascible Silas Bradshaw could be called less consequential.

‘I suppose things are strained.' Maggie sipped her drink. ‘I haven't really forgiven her.'

‘Is this the business about your real dad?' Tony leaned his arms on the bar and watched her in amused exasperation. ‘Isn't it time you laid that old ghost to rest, love? Does it really matter?'

‘Peter's my real father, of course!' Maggie agreed hastily, but she still looked unhappy.

‘C'mon, spill the beans. Tell your uncle Tony …'

Maggie frowned. There was that hard line between her brows Tony was too used to seeing of late.

‘There's something else?'

‘Oh, I know it doesn't matter, but she never got round to telling me – as if it were none of my business, I had no right to know. My own father, Tony!

‘I feel angry with myself that I never asked in all the time I was growing up, but I'd never really wanted any other father than Peter anyway. But letting me work up at the Bradshaws' all that time and never even breathing a word!'

She shook her head.

‘And if Gramps hadn't told me, I doubt if I'd know even now, though Mam says she was going to tell me.'

He was right in one respect, though. She and her mother should have sorted things out long since. There wasn't the same openness between them.

‘It's time to let go,' he prompted gently. ‘What is it with you two?' He was looking at her like that again, and she glanced away, wishing he wouldn't. She'd thought the time away in France would have given her a chance to sort her feelings out, yet here she was a year later, as confused as ever.

An image of Hughie drifted before her eyes. She sipped her drink and tried to dispel it. Hughie had been a once-in-a-lifetime love – she shouldn't expect it again with anyone else.

‘Maggie, I worry about you sometimes …' She saw his face crease with concern.

‘Don't, Tony, please.'

‘Why shouldn't I?' he asked softly. ‘I love you, and of course I worry.'

It wasn't the first time love had been mentioned between them. Usually she managed to avoid getting too deep, but this time he had a glint in his eye.

‘Maggie, I need to talk to you.' He beckoned to one of the men nearby to take his place behind the bar, and led her towards the door to the office. Already her heart was sinking.

‘What is it, Tony?' Maggie was tired, afraid she couldn't cope with much more.

She let him take her hand, trying to muster her patience for whatever might be coming next.

‘This isn't the place I envisaged asking you, once I'd finally plucked up courage.'

Maggie's heart began to thump. Too late to duck out of this now, and she'd known it must be inevitable.

He took a deep breath and blurted it out. She closed her eyes, but she couldn't close her ears.

‘Maggie, I love you. I've always loved you. Will you marry me?'

H
ow odd it felt to Maggie to be walking in Castle Maine meadows early next morning, a bright sun already climbing the sky, the fields full of buttercups – a carpet of gold!

She'd agreed to meet Tony first thing to give him her answer. How pale he was – on edge. She'd been chattering on, anything to avoid the subject, but at last she'd run out of things to say. The silence between them was growing painful.

‘My papers have come,' Tony said at last. ‘I caught the post as I came out.'

‘Well?' she demanded when nothing else was forthcoming. ‘Oh, Tony, for goodness' sake! Are you going to tell me or not?'

He stopped.

‘I'm to be Bevinned.'

‘Down the pit? Oh, Tony!'

‘It wasn't exactly what I'd imagined, either. I shall hardly cut a dashing figure.'

‘But the miners do a wonderful job!' She was desperate to reassure him. ‘And at least you'll be safe. We couldn't fight the war without coal. Will it be our Billy's pit, do you know?'

‘Don't know yet.' He kicked a loose stone from the tow-path into the river, and water splashed up. A sparrow hawk hovered
high in the sky, waiting to swoop, and he looked up at it, frowning.

‘I feel relieved, if you must know. I have to do something. You may think I don't care just because I've never rushed to volunteer.'

‘Tony, that's unfair!'

‘I'm doing my bit running the club,' he burst out. ‘I shall have to get someone in to run things. I can't do both.'

‘You'll sort something out.' She had every faith in Tony.

She dawdled near the river, gazing down into the muddy water. Upstream, constrained by the weir, these slow, still waters would be angry and full of surging life, thanks to her
grandfather
's factory.

Glancing up, she saw in Tony's eyes the desperation he was trying to hide. Her heart went out to him. He deserved better than someone incapable of coming to a decision.

‘I wish I could say yes.'

‘Why can't you?' He pulled a stalk of grass from the verge and twisted it between his fingers. ‘How long must you keep me waiting? You've been dithering since France.'

Tony had never wavered, whereas she – she didn't even know how to say it without hurting him.

They'd never talked enough … not as she had with Hughie. Talking to Hughie had been like holding a conversation with herself. She'd told Hughie everything.

‘Hughie and I—' she stumbled, feeling his name on her lips, longing suddenly, desperately to have him back. It was the meadows. Why had she arranged to meet here, of all places?

‘Maggie, please get it out of your head that I'm trying to replace Hughie! I know how much he meant to you …' He took her by the shoulders, and would have drawn her close if she'd let him.

‘I love you,' he said, sounding exasperated.

‘I know,' she answered dully.

‘Oh, Tony—' She stopped, dried up, struggled for words. ‘I do love you. I'm just not sure if I love you enough.'

‘But we could work at it!' he said eagerly. ‘Why throw away all the good we have? I want to try and be a father to the
children
, Maggie! We could be a proper family.'

‘I can't force my feelings,' she answered quietly, and Tony let go of her hands.

‘You're turning me down?'

‘I'm not sure what I'm doing. I will give you an answer soon, I promise.'

‘I can't cope with this any longer, Maggie. I don't know any man who could! I can't eat … sleep … Have you any idea what you're doing to me?'

‘I'll tell you tonight,' she said firmly. ‘I promise. I'll get Mam to sit in, and call at the club later.'

Holly walked slowly up her grandmother's path. Usually she burst in full of some tale or other to entertain them with, school, her mam, what their Harry was up to, but today she was desperate to talk to Billy – alone.

With a little luck Gran would already be at work, Granddad preoccupied with his garden, and she'd be able to catch her uncle before he left for his shift.

Inside, following the smell of breakfast through into the kitchen, she found Billy alone, filling his flask with tea. Something in the way his face set told her he wasn't pleased to see her.

‘I thought you might turn up.'

‘What else did you expect? What's my granddad going to say when he knows you've joined the Peace Pledge Union? I bet you've never told him.'

With great deliberation, Billy screwed the top on his flask and leaned back against the sink, folding his arms.

‘It's nothing to do with you,' he said firmly.

‘It is!' She faltered. Why was he behaving like this? ‘Don't you want to join up?'

‘Why should I? I'm down the pit, ain't I?'

‘I'll join up myself once I'm old enough. It's right what Granddad says, sometimes you have to fight, though you don't want to.'

He was watching her warily, trying to take her measure, she supposed.

‘There's no earthly need for this war, in my opinion. There's plenty of other measures we could have taken.'

‘Like what?' This wasn't Billy talking. Who had put these ideas in his head?

‘There's negotiation, for one!' It sounded like a well-rehearsed argument. ‘Too many people wanted this war!'

‘No one wants war.' She shook her head. ‘If Granddad could hear you now—'

‘Holly, drop it! You're not old enough to understand, and why should I have to explain? I'm entitled to my own opinion!'

She came further into the room and dropped her satchel on the table.

‘I don't know you any more.' She wanted the old Billy back, the one she could have a joke with, who took her to the football and helped her with her homework.

At that moment, her grandfather opened the back door from the gennel and came into the kitchen. He looked from one strained face to the other.

‘Is someone going to tell me what's going on?' he asked.

‘Nothing, Granddad.' Holly developed a sudden interest in
her shoes, scuffing one against the other, feeling Billy watching the two of them stonily.

‘Isn't it time you were at school?' Peter suggested, going over to the sink to fill his watering can. ‘Your gran's already gone, if it's her you're looking for, love.'

‘I'll catch her later.'

Peter turned, and for the first time in her life Holly couldn't look her granddad in the face. And it was Billy's fault!

‘I'll tell her you've been, then, shall I?' Peter went out again, frowning.

‘You'll have to tell him,' she said as the back door closed, but Billy busied himself with the rest of his snap – bread, a twist of sugar wrapped in paper.

‘Do you think I don't want to? You've only to mention the PPU and it's a red rag. He'd never understand.'

‘You won't know if you don't try.' She ran her finger along the table edge, wishing she could think how to persuade him
otherwise
. How could she bear to know and never say a word? It wasn't right.

‘Is that why you've stayed down the pit? Because you don't want to join up?'

‘I'm not a coward, if that's what you mean!' A fierce light burned in his eyes, and relief surged through her. She'd known he wasn't a coward.

‘Then why?' she implored.

He fastened the straps on his bag.

‘Being stuck in the dark all day, that's why. Not that I expect you to understand, but it makes a man think.' He gave a short, dry laugh, without any humour in it at all. She saw only the pain in his eyes.

How awkward it all was, and complicated – not at all as she'd
imagined. Her heart went out to her uncle.

‘It's made me realise how precious life is.' He turned to look at her. ‘I can't help how I think, Holly. Please try and understand me! I care about everything up here in the sunshine. I could no more take another man's life than – well, than my own.'

‘Billy, I do understand.'

‘Do you?' he asked roughly.

She didn't know. She wanted to comfort him – she wanted to shake him!

‘I'd best go,' she said. ‘Or I'll be late.' She went out and left him to it, more confused than ever.

‘What's the matter, Maggie?' Andrew Hardaker followed her into the sluice room. How distracted she looked – her cap askew, hair untidy. Sister Aspen had kept up a constant barrage of
criticism
that day.

‘I don't like my nurses looking harassed and under pressure, even if they are,' she'd said.

Maggie tipped a tray of bandages into the waste, giving herself time to think. She told Andrew most things, but could she tell him this?

‘I'm all right.' She washed her hands at the sink and reached up to straighten her cap.

This was Andrew, though. He knew her too well to be fobbed off with less than the truth.

‘Sorry,' she added. ‘I felt so much better, too, after our talk yesterday.'

That decided her.

‘Tony's asked me to marry him,' she said. ‘I'm supposed to give him my answer tonight – if I ever make my mind up!'

‘No wonder you look worried.'

Andrew's eyes were full of an instant sympathy, and
something
else, too. Was he displeased?

He probably thought her an idiot needing time at all. Suitors were hardly falling at her feet, a widow with two children.

‘It's that obvious, is it?' She tried to smile but some of her tension began to dissolve. Andrew was an exceptionally good listener.

‘Don't rush things,' he advised. ‘Make him wait if you're not sure.'

‘I'm not sure, Andrew, and that's about the top and bottom of it. Though I do like him a lot.' She was suddenly weary of the whole subject.

‘Is like enough? Things aren't always easy, or exactly black or white. It's a big decision, Maggie.'

‘You're telling me.' She noticed the little frown of worry creasing his warm, good-natured face. She'd been so wrapped up in her own problems of late, she'd scarce paid attention to anyone else.

‘Are you OK, Andrew?'

He shrugged, smiling as if she'd found him out.

‘I have a decision to make as well,' he confessed. ‘I'm thinking of joining up – if I can find someone to take the practice over. It's been on my mind for some time.'

‘Oh, Andrew, I wish you'd told me! Though – I'm not surprised. I wondered if you might.' She was upset, though. She enjoyed working with Andrew, and she'd miss him.

Doctors like Andrew were few and far between, war or no war.

‘I suppose you must do what your conscience dictates, but – Sister Aspen?'

‘Sister won't be happy,' he agreed, managing a chuckle.

‘I wouldn't like to be in your shoes!'

‘I've got some thinking to do.' He looked down into her face, his heart contracting to see the weariness in her eyes, the dark smudges beneath that he wanted to reach out and smooth away.

He stepped back instead, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his white coat.

‘We've both got things on our minds, Maggie. You won't do anything until you're sure, will you?'

Maggie shook her head. The problem was, Tony wouldn't wait for ever. She was running out of time.

‘See what they've done now, Adèle! Mother's figurine's broken!' There was outrage, disbelief and a world of regret in Silas Bradshaw's voice.

Adèle, who had just come into the drawing-room, found her husband on his knees picking up the pieces of a shepherdess whose usual station in life had been on the mantelpiece. By his side lay a leather football, and the French windows were open wide.

‘Oh, Silas,' she chided gently, sorry to see him so upset. ‘I did warn you to move things.'

‘And I warned you what would happen if we allowed a horde of savages into the house!' He was furious she'd been proved right.

Adèle took the pieces from him and laid them carefully on the table.

‘They're boys, Silas, that's all. Boys sent far away from home because of the war, looking for a little fun.'

Something in his face stopped her. Silas had been inordinately fond of his mother, and inordinately fond of this piece of china, too.

‘I'll see if Stokes can do anything,' she consoled.

At that moment, a small boy appeared at the window, hopping from one foot to the other. Silas stooped down and scooped up the ball.

‘Yours?' he demanded gruffly, proffering the offending article with the icy calm that used to quell an unruly boardroom.

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.' The boy came in, blushing fiercely. ‘Mr Perkins sent me to apologise, sir, and—'

He looked across at the table, and spotted the broken
ornament
.

‘Anything else?' Silas followed his gaze, and felt his loss anew.

‘No, sir. That is—' He looked at Silas beseechingly. ‘Oh, can I have the ball back, sir? We're having such a topping game! We're only a goal behind, and Mr Perkins has gone in goal and – I never meant to break anything, sir!' He stopped and hung his head.

‘I am sorry.'

Adèle knew what the upshot would be, but watched her dear husband's struggle with sympathy.

His pain at losing a cherished reminder of his mother and his natural irritability came up against the innate kindliness, a child of his middle age, which flourished despite his best endeavours to stifle it. Knowing of its existence would have shocked his colleagues, factory employees and household alike.

‘Oh, take the thing!'

Adèle bent her head to hide a smile as, hardly daring to believe his luck, the boy took the ball from Silas's outstretched hand and ran back outside.