Polly's Angel (55 page)

Polly, with a sandwich halfway to her mouth, frowned across at him. Until that moment he had seemed calm, sure of himself. Now for some reason the colour in his cheeks had darkened and he looked ill at ease, as though he thought that she must have a guilty secret which he did not much wish her to reveal. So it was rather sharply that she said: ‘In trouble? Me? No, indeed, Tad, I'm fine, so I am. What about you?'

He grinned, but did not answer her last question. ‘Well, all right, you're fine and just came up here to – to renew old acquaintance. Is that right?'

‘Yes,' Polly said baldly. She would have left it at that, gone on to talk of other things, but suddenly a sort of wild defiance took hold of her. Why should she be ashamed to tell Tad that she was no longer going out with Sunny? Why could she not tell him that far from thinking of him as a brother . . . Hastily, before she could change her mind, she spoke. ‘Tad, you once said you wanted us to be more than pals. Do – do you still feel the same?'

He looked at her then, round brown eyes rounding still further, looking first astonished and then, to her chagrin, slightly amused. ‘Well, next t'ing I know you'll be proposin' marriage, Poll, and it's not Leap Year for a while yet!'

Polly felt so annoyed with him that for two pins, she told herself, she would have leaned across the table and rammed his sandwich down his self-satisfied throat. But she remembered Diane's cautions and spoke calmly, or as calmly as she could. ‘I'm proposin' nothing, Tad Donoghue, I'm just asking you. Do you or do you not want to – to be a bit more than just pals?'

This time Tad neither laughed nor turned away. He gazed thoughtfully at her, clearly considering his reply, and when at last he spoke it was seriously, with no lurking smile. ‘Look, Poll, you might have been right when you said – well, that I'd been like a brother to you. The truth is, I loved you when you were a little girl, a kid of three or four, but now you're a woman, and as you said earlier, we've both changed. I – I think I'd like to get to know this new Polly better, that's what I think. So how about it? I know we're a long way apart but the war's going to end soon, everyone knows it, and in the meantime we can ring each other up, write letters – well, no, all right, I'm a lousy correspondent, you've telled me so – and meet up now and then. I have leaves and so do you; we could meet halfway, or if I've got a week I could come over to the ‘Pool and if you've got one you could come up to Lincoln. What do you say?'

Polly stared at him, two entirely different emotions warring within her. In one way she was glad of his suggestion, because he was right, they had both changed and she felt that she needed time to get to know this sturdier, more self-confident Tad. But her other emotion was that of pique that he had almost thrown her attempt to get close to him once again back in her face. Polly had had a great many boyfriends, a great many young men had vied for her attentions. Never before, she realised, had any of them suggested that they ought to get to know one another better before going on dates and canoodling at dances. Still, she could see Tad's point. If, as seemed possible, he had only loved her with what they called puppy love, then clearly he was going to have to get to know her all over again before embarking on a more serious relationship. So finally, having thought it over for at least five minutes, she heaved a sigh and nodded. ‘Right you are, Tad. But how will I know when to ring? I mean, you're flying at night and sleeping during the day . . . and I can't say ring me, because we aren't on the telephone at home – did you know I was living at home now? – and I'm hardly ever at the depot, not now I'm despatch riding.'

‘You just have to phone the mess, and if I'm not there I'll leave a message that Polly O'Brady's to be told when I'm available,' Tad said, so blandly that once more, Polly's fingers itched to give him a ding round the ear. ‘I could drop you a postcard when I've got leave, if I've not been able to speak to you on the telephone. Would that do?'

‘I suppose so,' Polly said grudgingly, and began to concentrate on her sandwiches and beer. The beer wasn't too bad, she discovered, if you stopped breathing through your nose, swallowed hard and quickly jammed a hunk of sandwich into your mouth. She felt let down, with a sort of inner ache in the pit of her stomach, because she had had such romantic ideas of this meeting. She had been going to run into Tad's arms and their lips would have met and they would have – have melded into one person, love enveloping them in a warm glow, every eye softening with tears, mouths trembling into gentle smiles . . .

Still, there you were. It was not going to be so easy, but that didn't mean she intended to give up. She had made up her mind years and years ago that one day she would marry Tad, and though she had gone astray a bit in between, the resolve was strong in her again now. Tad was doomed, whether he knew it or not, and she, Polly, would simply have to make the best of every opportunity to see him so that he fell under her spell once more and wanted to marry her as badly as she wanted to marry him.

So the two of them drank their beer and ate their sandwiches and in between bites Tad told her a little of his life in the Air Force. His work was often highly secret, and always interesting, because his Beaufighter was what they called a pathfinder, which meant that he went ahead of the heavy bombers and their fighter escorts and saw the attackers safely to their targets. Sometimes he dropped leaflets over enemy territory, sometimes he carried a photographer, sometimes he simply went on reconnaissance flights. He talked so interestingly that Polly almost forgot to eat, but it occurred to her, uneasily, that what he did was very dangerous. Even now, with peace looming, he was in danger, she thought, whenever he flew. Of course she had known that flying was dangerous, as she had known that Sunny's voyaging through the Arctic waters on his way to and from Russia was dangerous, but she had never really thought of it quite like this. Tad's sturdy, self-reliant body could as easily spiral down to earth in a blazing plane as anyone's . . . I'm going to worry now every time I think of him night-flying, Polly thought with deep foreboding. Oh, if something were to happen to Tad I just couldn't bear it, whether he'll be my proper boyfriend or not. I wish I hadn't come, then I wouldn't have known . . . but then I wouldn't have seen him, wouldn't even have had a chance of getting close to him again, and that would have been worse, much worse. Everyone worries in wartime, she concluded, drinking the last of her horrible bitter, so why should I be any different?

When the sandwiches were eaten and Polly had told Tad a bit about her own life and work they went and saw a flick, and Tad had not even held her hand in the sad bits. He had bought her an ice cream in the interval and passed her his handkerchief when she began to snivel a bit, but that was the closest he had come to touching her. And then, when they came out of the cinema and walked back to her lodgings, she had meant to invite him in and see if he would try to kiss her, either in the privacy of her bedroom, if her landlady was not around, or on the hard little sofa in the ugly, overfurnished front room if she was. But before she could even open the front door with the key the landlady had lent her, Tad had taken her hand, squeezed it between both of his, and told her, in an infuriatingly avuncular manner, to run along in now, since he would have to belt across the city to get the bus back to camp or he would be late for his briefing and that would never do.

Polly had stood and stared after him as he had hurried away, almost unable to believe what was happening to her. This was Tad, who adored her, who had always tried to please her, who had vowed undying love at least twice when they were both stationed on Anglesey. But then the front door had opened behind her and her landlady had said: ‘Are you coming in now, Miss O'Brady? I'm making meself a cup of tea, you're welcome to share the pot if you're not on your way out again,' and pride had stiffened her backbone, driven the tears out of her eyes, and got her into the kitchen to drink the proferred cup.

And now, sitting in the train chugging back to Liverpool, she wondered rather dismally where it would all end. Not, she thought glumly, with her having to fight Tad off, that at least was plain. She was going to have to woo him, by the looks of it, and she was not at all sure that she wanted to do any such thing. It was his job to woo her, not vice versa!

But oh, it had been good to see him! The way his hair fell, the deep, wicked dimple which came and went in one cheek when something truly amused him, even his habit of cracking his knuckles when he was embarrassed . . . Yes, it was worth fighting for Tad, she decided, suddenly remembering the voice on the phone asking her if she were Jenny. She had not managed to cross-question Tad about Jenny . . . but she could drop an artful little question or two into their very next telephone conversation, at least she could find out whether Jenny was competition, or merely an acquaintance.

And then there was the worry; worrying over his safety, she could see, was going to become a part of her life until this wretched, horrible war ended. She felt strongly that no one should be expected to worry over the safety and well-being of a fellow who was not even prepared to make a play for you, but there it was. When you loved someone, you worried about them whether you wanted to or not. It was even possible, she supposed, feeling a little glow of satisfaction at the thought, that Tad would worry about her now. After all, she was dashing around on a motorbike, living in a port, a prey to all sorts of dangers – oh yes, Tad ought to worry about her, all right.

Satisfied on that score, Polly leaned back in her seat and prepared to work for Tad, as well as worry over him.

Tad returned to the airfield feeling extremely pleased with himself. Dear little Polly, how cast down she had been at his apparent lack of interest, and how her eyes had sparkled as, he guessed, she decided that he
should
fall in love with her whether he wanted to or not! The truth was, he knew, that he had never stopped loving her, but he had realised long ago that Polly, little darling though she might be, did not value what came easily in the way she would value something she had had to fight for. So he had not told her he loved her and wanted her desperately, had not told her that Jenny, nice little WAAF that she was, was only a friend. In fact, he had told her he was flying tonight though he would not be doing so for another forty-eight hours. It had gone to his heart to deceive her, but if she believed she had competition for his affection, it would make her value him more.

So he felt like dancing as he made his way to the mess; he felt that his life was on course once more.

Sunny got the letter when he next came ashore, and was far less troubled by it than Polly had anticipated, in fact it relieved his mind considerably. For a start, she had said she intended to make friends with Tad again, and this, he thought approvingly, was a good thing. He had been aware for some time that Polly missed Tad and wanted to get back on good terms with him, and he had been equally aware that he was no longer the boy who had once talked of sharing his future with Polly. The war had changed them both. Indeed even the peace, when it came, was uncertain because he was going to have to make up his mind what he wanted to do after the war, and he was not at all sure that he could face up to Civvy Street. Nor, when he came to think about it, did he altogether want to do so. His skipper had suggested that Sunny might carry on with his job, for a while at any rate, and Sunny thought that it might be the best thing to do. Once peace was declared, he assumed that the need for the Russian convoys would cease, but that did not mean that ships would not be wanted.

So Sunny wrote back, saying despite her letter he hoped they could still be friends and promising to come and see her the next time he was in Liverpool.

Chapter Seventeen

From the moment that Mr Churchill announced that Tuesday, 8th May was to be ‘Victory in Europe Day', and that everyone would have a day off in order to celebrate, Snowdrop Street became a place of wild excitement, with everyone planning what they should do.

Folk had known that the moment would come, of course, they just had not known exactly when, and they had been saving up goodies for weeks. Months, in some cases, Deirdre said proudly, fishing her little hoard out from the tin box under the lowest shelf in the pantry. There was to be a street party, and a bonfire, despite the fact that the government had said bonfires were forbidden. ‘Who'll be on the watch if everyone's to have a holiday?' Deirdre had said when Peader had been doubtful about the bonfire. ‘Besides, how else can we get rid of the beastly blackout if there's no bonfire to burn the blinds on?'

Church bells, which had been silent for the whole war, only to be sounded in case of an invasion, would ring out once more. Lights would blaze, flags would fly, folk would sing and dance and there would be a spread the like of which none of the kids in the street had ever seen.

Polly had been as wildly excited as everyone else, and had done all she could to help, both because she was looking forward to the celebrations and because of a private reason of her own. She intended, a day or so before the great event, to ring Tad at his Lincolnshire station and invite him to spend his leave – he would surely have leave? – at the house in Snowdrop Street. They would be together at last. She was in a mood of wild exhilaration, making plans for what they would do now that the end of the war had at last arrived. And in that atmosphere of gaiety and victory, surely it would be no particularly hard matter to persuade Tad to forget the bad times and remember only the good? There was the wretched Jenny, of course, but Polly always tried to put Jenny out of her mind. Tad had assured her Jenny was ‘just a friend', and by and large she believed him. There was no doubt that Tad liked Jenny. He said she was great fun to be with, even-tempered and easy to please. Naturally, in view of this, Polly had sometimes suppressed a desire to say something sharp to Tad and had been as mild and biddable as possible, and she was sure it must be paying off, and that Tad would, very soon indeed, succumb to her charms and tell her that he loved the new Polly as much as the old and ask her to be his wife. Dreamily, she contemplated a future shared with Tad and looked in jewellers' windows at engagement rings.