Maggie's Girl (9 page)

‘That was kind of you, dear.' Adèle managed to straighten her face before she spoke.

‘Kindness be blowed! What did you expect? I should hang
and quarter the boy? The damage is done. I told you there'd be trouble.'

‘So you did,' she agreed amiably, ‘And how nice to be proved right.'

‘I never wanted the house overrun with boys!'

‘I know you didn't, darling. But we didn't have a choice.'

‘There's a war on,' they said together, and a smile tugged at his mouth.

What would he say if he knew she'd seen right through him! She reached up to straighten his cravat.

‘I wish people could see you now,' she murmured.

‘Meaning, exactly?' He raised his eyebrows.

‘Meaning – I wish people could see you now!' She smiled. ‘I'll go and see what they're up to out there.'

She reached up and kissed his cheek, then went out. He heard her laughing. What a strange mood she was in this morning!

‘Dashed if I'll ever understand women,' he murmured.

He rocked back on his heels, listening intently to the resumed noise of the robust game being played outside.

That lad reminded him of Harry, his great-grandson. Maggie's lad.

John Bertram wasn't interested in Bradshaw's. Who else had he, other than this secret side of the Bradshaw family tree – little as they knew about it?

Harry and Holly – and Maggie, of course.

Silas chewed his lower lip.

But Adèle knew nothing about it, so there was no more he could do. Yet.

Straightening his shoulders, and settling his features back into their usual grimness, he cast a last sorrowful look at the
shepherdess
and followed his wife.

‘It seems an age since I've seen John,' Mary Bertram complained. ‘It feels as if I'm hardly married sometimes. No wonder I get lonely!'

She wondered for the umpteenth time that evening why Laurence Templeton was so quiet.

‘John's a good man, Laurence. I wish you knew him – you'd like him, I think. He's loyal and honest – a decent man. He deserves better than me.'

For Mary, it was a rare moment of truth. She was under no illusions. Perhaps she couldn't love another person better than she loved herself, for if she could, she should certainly love John.

They were walking home from Tony's Place together, early for once. Laurence had to be back at the RAF station once he'd seen her home.

She watched him curiously, head tilted. It was twilight, with a pale slim moon. It had rained earlier, wafting the scent from the hedgerows.

How romantic it would be if she were here with John! And what a surprising idea that was!

‘Is something the matter, Laurence? You're quiet.' In a sudden, unwarranted burst of understanding, she added, ‘It must be pretty odd, landed in a strange country, knowing no one.'

Laurence hailed from Montreal, and had volunteered to fly in Lancaster bombers. She couldn't imagine a starker and drearier contrast than with sleepy Castle Maine, where nothing ever happened. Even the war had left it untouched. Why, if it wasn't for the Food Office, where she worked, and the voluntary work, cheering the troops …

Laurence's gaze, normally so steady and forthright, was
avoiding hers tonight.

‘I'd like to get to know you better, Mary.' He was looking at a clump of hollyhocks, bursting from the hedgerow like gaudily painted ladies.

‘And so you shall!'

‘I've never met anyone like you.' His voice held an odd kind of urgency that made her stop.

He sounded so … not himself! The war, she supposed. It did strange things to people.

‘I mean – I really like you, Mary.' Abruptly he reached for her hand.

‘Laurence, stop it, do!' She disengaged herself. ‘Whatever's got into you?'

‘What do you think?' he asked, his gaze burning down into hers, startling her with its intensity. ‘Have you no idea how I feel? Don't tell me you don't feel it, too!'

She shook her head and stepped back.

‘Laurence, you've got this wrong! John—'

‘Ah, John!' His eyes were full of pain.

‘I'm married, Laurence. You know that.' She'd continued seeing other men all the time John had been away, but she'd always been faithful. She'd had no idea Laurence had been harbouring such wild imaginings.

‘We're lonely, Laurence! You're hundreds of miles from home, while I'm stuck here, my husband the Lord alone knows where.

‘Us – this – it's only ever been for companionship! What gave you leave to think otherwise?'

Too late, he saw that she meant what she said, and stood in the middle of the road, regarding her wretchedly.

‘What a fool I've been. I've embarrassed you! I don't know what came over me.'

All at once, he pulled his cap from his uniform pocket, rammed it on his head and began to march off back down the road, while Mary stared after him.

She didn't want him to leave. Why throw everything away because of some silly misunderstanding?

‘Laurence! Wait!'

Suddenly she was careering after him, tripping in her best shoes. He stopped, and as she hurtled towards him, he put out his hand to steady her.

‘Laurence, please don't go like this.'

‘I've made an idiot of myself. You don't have to tell me. I had no right letting my feelings get the better of me.'

The words were simple and spoken from the heart, and her heart responded.

‘Please don't think that.' She stopped, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. ‘I want things to stay the same. What harm's been done? Let's forget it, shall we? Please don't go like this.'

His hand dropped away from her arm, and he looked at her almost coldly.

‘Didn't you understand a word? How can things be the same?'

What he said next went right through her.

‘Oh, hang it, Mary, I've fallen in love with you, and you expect me to keep everything casual?' He shook his head. ‘It's best to go. We needn't see each other again.'

That was the last thing she wanted. Mary's hand stole from her side to lie softly against his arm, as if that were where it belonged.

He was trembling, she could feel it through his uniform.

Suddenly he had moved closer, and in one single motion
scooped her into his arms, his touch burning through her like fire. His lips crushed down on hers.

She sank against him, exchanging passion for passion, consumed by the most overwhelming emotion of her life.

Self preservation came to her aid at the last. With growing desperation, she tore her lips from his.

‘This isn't what I want,' she cried. ‘It's not right, Laurence.' She pushed him away with a force that shocked them both, and turned to walk away.

When she turned the key in the lock, there was a letter from John face up on the doormat.

Mary groaned, but she wasn't even surprised. It was almost as if she'd guessed it would be there, this letter she'd been eagerly anticipating for days.

Wearily, she stopped to pick it up. In the sitting-room, she sat down, still in her coat, to read the single page.

Mary could read no more. Tears blurred her eyes.

Why had she responded like that to Laurence? What had
happened? She was married to John! Had she gone and fallen in love at last, with the wrong man?

Guilt consumed her, a guilt that shook her in its intensity. She rocked backwards and forwards in the chair, sobbing bitterly, John's crumpled letter clutched to her breast.

Maggie took one deep steadying breath, and pushed open the door to Tony's Place. Outside a dim light lingered, but she was late; she'd been delayed.

There was a crowd in tonight, the last thing she needed. She already had the beginnings of a headache.

‘Where've you been?' Tony signalled at once to the barman, came round the bar and gazed anxiously into her face, seeking his answer already.

She looked away. She still had no idea what she was going to tell him.

‘I wondered what had happened to you,' he said, leading her to a table.

‘Sister Aspen, that's what happened.'

There'd been an emergency. She could hardly refuse to stay and help, but it had meant she'd had to wait for a taxi in a queue a mile long.

He handed her a drink – he never got her mood wrong. But this time she left it, and looked at him.

It was just a normal night in the club, except that it wasn't. Sometimes she thought things would never be normal again.

His eyes fastened on hers hungrily, and then suddenly
sharpened
, and she knew then that he knew her answer, the same moment she'd made the decision.

‘Tony, I'm sorry – it doesn't feel right. I don't know why exactly.'

How could she dress it up to sound any better? It was hurtful – she hated doing this to him.

‘Sometimes feelings can't be put into words,' she went on. ‘Perhaps it's better they're not.'

‘Try!' he demanded.

‘I only know that you deserve much more. Someone who can love you properly. I suppose. That's not me – I wish it was.'

How wretched she was making him! Her hand reached for his, but he snatched his away as if her touch would have burned him.

‘You don't love me.'

‘I do, only – not enough.'

‘How do you know if you won't even try?' For the first time, there was anger in his voice, and she couldn't really blame him.

‘I should have told you long ago. But I suppose I was hoping against hope—' She stopped, unable to bear the sight of the hurt she'd just inflicted.

Listlessly, she turned to watch the dancers. People were having fun, oblivious of what was happening here in this quiet corner.

‘I'm sorry,' she said almost to herself.

‘I can't fight a losing battle, Maggie!' His voice was bitter. ‘You can't let go of Hughie. I don't believe you ever will.'

Maggie's eyes stung suddenly. He was right, of course. She'd wasted enough of Tony's life already. She pushed back her chair, desperate to get away.

At that moment the music stopped, leaving a crescendo of happy voices mingling with the clink of glasses. People were simply taking the chance to relax and enjoy themselves.

But there was something else, too … She sank back into her chair and looked across at Tony.

There was a dull, indistinct rumble, swelling ever louder, until it grew into the all too recognisable throb of an engine.

Everything happened in a split second after that, and yet in slow time. There was a roar, then a rattling whine. The walls shook – the dance floor waved about as if it were water instead of wood.

‘Everyone down!' It was Maggie's own voice as she dived for cover, reaching desperately for Tony's hand and dragging him after her.

‘Gran – Gran! Whatever is it?' Harry shot downstairs, and straight into Daisy's open arms. She clasped him to her thankfully just as a second explosion resounded up the valley, making the pair of them jump. Daisy had never heard a bomb blast before in her life, but she knew exactly what it was.

‘Oh, dear Lord!' She clung to Harry, unsure who was holding up whom. ‘Don't worry, pet. I've got you.'

‘Are we being bombed?' Holly rushed down, fastening the tie on her dressing gown. Her face under the hall light was pale with shock.

A third, more muffled explosion came, proving her fears all too true, and prompting Daisy into action.

‘Under the stairs!' she ordered, pushing them roughly towards the cubby-hole.

‘I'm not going in there!' Holly declared hotly.

‘You'll go where it's safe,' Daisy snapped, her voice harsh with worry. ‘And don't you dare move until I get back!'

She thrust them both in, still protesting, and slammed the door behind them, blessing the morning she and Maggie had spent emptying the cupboard. Not that they'd ever thought to use it in a million years!

She turned and ran through the hall, her heart pounding against her ribs.

They'd seen what was happening in London, in Birmingham and Coventry, even. Had they thought they were immune from Hitler and his blasted Luftwaffe?

She fumbled with the lock on the front door, throwing it open at last, and rushed outside.

What she saw took her breath away. Castle Maine was on fire.

She stopped and steadied herself, concentrating on the dull, unnatural light pulsing out against the growing darkness in the heart of the valley. There was something wrong with the skyline.

Where was the factory chimney?

The factory chimney had gone, as if a giant hand had
obliterated
it. Had the factory gone up, and all the poor souls inside it?

The siren sounded at last, shattering the air, rising up the valley towards her.

Her eyes followed a line towards a more terrible glow, burning orange. At the end of the High Street, that might be.

One thought followed hot upon another, and Daisy's hand flew to her face.

Tony's Place! Dear Lord, Maggie had gone to Tony's! And Tony's was on fire … 

‘O
h, my dear Silas! My poor dear man …' Adèle Bradshaw stumbled from the taxi bringing her to the factory and gazed in complete disbelief at the chaos before her.

The factory chimney, proud emblem of Bradshaw's throughout Castle Maine, had collapsed like a child's stack of bricks, smashing into the machine room and reducing the main block to a nightmare of tortured metalwork and rubble.

The dust and debris had scarcely had a chance to settle. As dawn strengthened, a thick pall hung over the place, as if to hide it from view.

Adèle's husband lurched towards her across the piles of debris.

‘The town's been hit, and badly,' he said, almost to himself. ‘Do you know that third bomb hit the church?'

A fine film of dust covered his hair and clothes – Silas, who was usually so immaculate! Gazing into his eyes, Adèle thought he seemed to have the weight of all Castle Maine on those willing shoulders.

‘How many have been hurt?' she asked quietly.

‘Here? We've lost Mellor and Gilbert – Walter Dobson, too. There's a lass from the floor – it's still touch and go. The rest are fractures mainly.

‘Dolly Bailey has concussion, but it'll take more than a bomb from Hitler to break that one's pate.'

‘Silas, those poor men's families!'

‘I'll see them right. Thank God it happened at break.' He stabbed his hand angrily towards the destruction. ‘Not five minutes earlier and the whole back-shift—' He stopped, his voice breaking.

‘It doesn't bear thinking about,' he finished quietly. ‘But we're not done for yet!' His hands balled into fists at his sides.

Behind him, the morning shift had begun the painstaking task of clearing the site – women and girls in the main, attacking the job with gusto.

‘Roll out the barrel …' someone was singing. Other voices began to join in, tremulously at first, then gaining in strength. Silas turned to watch, feeling humble at such resilience. Half an hour since, everyone had been in despair.

‘Tea, oh, thank you!' It was Adèle's voice, but someone else put a thick, steaming cup into his hand. Without thinking, he drank. By, it was good! Hot and sweet.

The girls were shaking their heads at the tray of cups.

‘We're fresh. Find the other back-shift folk – they'll be gasping for a hot drink.'

Leaning against a pile of masonry, Silas looked up at the brightening sky. It was going to be a beautiful day, yet out of this clear blue had come a stick of bombs from a stray German pilot. God should never have countenanced such a thing, he thought, surveying the ruin of his dreams.

How could he put this right?

And yet – he thought back a few hours, when that fresh young voice had interrupted his thoughts.

‘We want to know if there's anything we can do, Mr Bradshaw.'

The young lass had obviously been selected by the rest of the day-shift to approach him. She reminded him of Holly, somehow.

He'd been miles away, wishing hopelessly that Ned and Clifford were still here. He'd never needed his sons, nor felt their lack, as he did at this moment, while the smoke still rose from the ruins of his factory.

‘What can you do?' he demanded. ‘Can you put my factory right?'

She must have courage, for she stood her ground, refusing to let him bully her.

‘Don't give up, Mr Bradshaw! We're all lost if you give up.' She was near to tears. And then, amazingly, she reached out and touched his arm, disconcerting him completely.

What had he left to give? He had nothing in common with these girls! Every second until he got things up and running again was money lost. Profit margins loomed large in his mind, and he couldn't change the habits of a lifetime.

But, looking at this girl, seeing the state she was in, his mood was tempered by a feeling he scarcely recognised.

‘Do you want to work?' He leapt to his feet, so that she jumped back, startled.

‘I do, Mr Bradshaw!'

‘Then we'll work, lass. We'll get stuck in.'

They followed his orders willingly, happily retrieving loose bricks and masonry and the smaller debris, whatever they could manage to lift, passing it down in orderly fashion, hand to hand.

It was hopeless, of course, but they had to start somewhere.

What else could he do but join in? He was proud of every last one of them.

‘Come home, Silas. You look done in.' Adèle plucked at his sleeve. ‘You're too old for this kind of work!'

‘Someone has to do it!' He was exasperated that she failed to understand. He had a responsibility to these people, this town. So much depended on him. He was full of a demented energy – but something in Adèle's face made him pause.

Was she right? How could someone his age find the strength for this?

‘You've done enough for now, that's all I meant.' She stepped back to watch the girls at work. ‘There's plenty here to carry on, dear. Surely you could make better use of your time at home?'

Silas wavered, seeing the sense of what she was saying, but not wanting to admit it. There was, indeed, plenty he could be getting on with at home – favours to call in, machines to borrow, a place to put them in until the factory was up and running again.

He made up his mind.

‘I have no intention of taking a rest, mind,' he said, limping towards the car, and Adèle breathed a sigh of relief as she followed him.

Daisy Bridges laid her cheek against the cool glass, looking into the women's ward beyond. The nurse had just drawn the curtains round Maggie's bed.

It was a miracle she'd got out of the shattered remains of the club at all, that anyone had.

‘How are we going to tell her, Peter?' she murmured to her husband, her face still pale with shock. ‘Why now, when she and Tony had everything going for them? He was so happy when I last saw him.'

Tony had called round to pick Maggie up, and Daisy, sitting for Harry, had just made the tea.

Her eyes were suddenly full of tears.

‘Did you know he was going to ask her to marry him?'

He hadn't needed to tell Daisy that. There had been
something
in the way he'd looked at her daughter when she'd come downstairs that night – Daisy had seen it, and her heart had almost burst with happiness. There was nothing she wanted more than to see Maggie settled.

And now they'd got to tell her she'd never see Tony again.

Peter put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

How calm he was! How reassuring! She closed her eyes, leaning into him.

‘Gran – me mam?' Holly moaned, and Daisy straightened up at once, dabbing her eyes.

She'd almost forgotten the children! Billy, too, standing a little awkwardly to one side, not knowing what to do with his bandaged hands, hurt when he'd rushed to help get people out, and she only knew that because the ambulance driver had told her.

Billy, modest as ever, had never breathed a word.

Harry stood near his uncle, doing his best to feign
indifference
, but needing someone to tell him his mam was going to be all right.

They'd lost one parent. They wouldn't lose another! Daisy hugged Holly with one arm and drew Harry into the circle of the other.

‘She's going to be fine.' She wished she could believe it, but what else could she say?

‘Where's our Mary?' Billy demanded. ‘Oughtn't she to be here by now?' 

‘Happen she's not heard yet.' Peter had wasted precious time looking for her before following Daisy and the children to Nottingham.

Mary wasn't in her flat. No one seemed to know where she was.

‘Stop fretting, love. She'll have gone off on a whim!' he soothed. ‘You know Mary!'

They all knew Mary. Daisy bit back the sharp retort. If she could count the sleepless nights the blessed girl had given her …

‘Peter, I can't bear anything else to go wrong,' she said grimly. ‘This family's had about as much as it can take.'

At that moment, Andrew Hardaker came out of the ward, and Daisy moved swiftly towards him, planting her body firmly in his path.

‘Andrew, we've heard nothing yet.'

The others joined her, and a tight knot of worry barred his progress. Andrew sighed. They weren't the only ones who'd been up all night.

‘Our biggest concern is the knock she's taken to the head.' He gave in with as good a grace as he could muster. ‘We won't know how bad this is until she comes round, I'm afraid. She has three broken ribs and a fractured ankle, but they'll heal. The burns on her hand and arm are superficial.'

He sounded professional and soothing, but he couldn't disguise his worry. Daisy saw it, and her heart sank.

‘She's not out of the woods yet, you mean?'

His eyes flicked towards Harry and Holly, and then back to Daisy's face.

‘We're doing all we can. I'll let you know as soon as we've news. And get some rest,' he chided gently. ‘All of you! You're really doing no good here.'

Daisy stepped back with a little snort of impatience. He touched her arm briefly, and was gone.

‘Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?' a soft voice asked.

Mary! Relief flooded through Daisy, coupled with a large chunk of anger.

‘Where have you been?' She sounded sharper than she'd intended. Mary was safe!

‘Tell me how Maggie is.' Mary's eyes were huge, filled with anxiety, which Daisy did her best to allay.

Once she'd told her the little they knew, Peter rushed in.

‘Do you realise we've been worried sick? You weren't at the flat – we had no idea what might have happened! As if we hadn't enough!'

‘We're going for a breath of fresh air!' Daisy seized her daughter's arm and marched her briskly off out of harm's way.

Peter didn't lose his temper often, but he was brewing up for an argument this time. They were all worried, but it wasn't fair to take their frustration out on Mary.

The corridor was a hive of activity – hospital staff and Services people roped in to help with the emergency, together with ladies from the WVS dispensing tea and directions.

Round the corner, Daisy found a quieter spot and leaned against the wall.

‘Do you want to tell me where you were last night?'

‘In the shelter, where else?' Mary looked about her, then walked on, hips swaying in the way that drove her mother mad – and the men, too, by the looks of it.

An ARP warden pushing a trolley turned to watch, and nearly collided with a nurse. Daisy bit her lip in vexation, then hurried after her daughter.

‘I didn't know what to do when the bombs came,' Mary said. ‘We rushed outside. I was scared, Mam; I couldn't think they'd bombed us.'

She blinked, seeing it all again as if she was still there – the rush of people from flats and houses, the flames, the shrieks, and that acrid smell of burning that seemed to get everywhere.

In that desperate moment, Mary thought the whole place had gone up …

She'd stood looking down towards Castle Maine, feeling the ground reverberate beneath her feet. She expected another explosion, knew she was too exposed, but fear had rooted her to the spot.

She'd wanted her mam as she'd never wanted her.

‘I was worried, Mam.' Mary darted a quick glance Daisy's way. She couldn't look her mother in the face, though, so she walked on quickly, a conversation running in her head
meanwhile
, as if she were telling her what had really happened.

I was in the air-raid shelter, settling down for the night; it seemed safest even after the All Clear had gone. All the noise, the mayhem – people running helter skelter – I couldn't bring myself to go back out again.

And then Laurence was there and …

Oh, I never meant for things to get out of hand!

She'd seen her Canadian airman once already that evening, but then he'd come back with a party of volunteers from the RAF station to see what help they could give. Laurence would do anything for anyone.

Eventually he'd found the time to make his way up to her flat, to discover her missing. He'd searched all over Castle Maine, ending up finally at the shelter in which she'd taken refuge. The relief on his face when he'd seen her! She'd not forget that in a hurry, nor how she'd felt when he put his arms around her.

And, of course, one thing had led to another …

Hot tears sprang into her eyes. She couldn't tell her mother any of this, she simply couldn't!

But her mother knew.

‘Mary, if there's something wrong I wish you'd tell me.' Daisy's voice doggedly broke into her thoughts. Trust her to notice.

‘Is everything all right with John?' Daisy felt duty bound to ask, even if she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

‘John's fine!' Mary's voice rose, attracting curious glances from the people they passed. ‘What do you care? You never wanted me to marry him.'

‘He's a Bradshaw!' Daisy snapped, shocked at how angry she felt.

They were both tired and upset. Mary took a deep breath, and spoke more reasonably.

‘John's his own man, Mam. He loves me—'

‘And do you love him?' Daisy didn't need to wait for the reply – she already knew what the answer would be.

She was Mary's mother, and she loved her, but that didn't blind her to her faults.

For the first time in her life, Daisy felt sorry for a Bradshaw. Poor John Bertram. Mary loved herself more than anyone else!

At least she and Mary had talked – which was more than they'd managed for some time. She took what comfort she could from it.

The main hall was full of bright sunshine. Daisy had almost forgotten it was morning. How odd, when a short distance away Maggie lay fighting for her life.