Poppy's War (25 page)

‘No, but …’

His cocky smile faded. ‘Look, Poppy. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but Joe’s my best mate. I wouldn’t do anything that’d upset him, or you for that matter. I know you’re just a kid, and I’d treat you just the same as if you was me little sister.’ He held up his hands, twisting his face into a comical parody of sadness. ‘Anyway, you can run faster than me with me gammy leg.’

Poppy covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to suppress a chuckle. ‘What’s wrong with your leg? I didn’t like to ask until you mentioned it.’

‘Polio, love, had it when I was five. Me sister, Joan, died but I was a tough little bugger and got over it, except for having one leg a couple of inches shorter than the other. That’s why they won’t have me in the forces. I’m a bit of a freak.’

‘No, don’t say that,’ Poppy said, moved almost to tears by his admission. ‘I’d love to go to the pictures with you, Dennis. I haven’t seen a film since I was evacuated to the country. It would be a real treat.’

The trip to the cinema exceeded Poppy’s expectations and was just the thing to take her mind off the horrors of the Blitz, if only for a couple of hours. It was wonderful to step into the glitzy world of make-believe; purple carpets, gilded plasterwork on the
walls
and ceilings and the warm fug of cigarette smoke and damp overcoats as people packed into the auditorium under the surveillance of a commissionaire wearing more gold braid on his peaked cap than an admiral of the fleet.

Dennis bought her Rowntree’s Dairy Box chocolates, which was an absolute luxury, and they sat side by side in the dark watching the heart-warming love story of the shy schoolmaster who fell in love with a beautiful young woman while on holiday. The stuffy schoolmasters at the public school were astounded when dull old Mr Chips turned up with a charming young bride, and it should, in Poppy’s opinion, have had a happy ending and she sobbed into her handkerchief when Greer Garson died in childbirth. She consoled herself with the fact that Mr Chips went on to lead a worthy life and was much loved by everyone, but she could not quite get over the tragedy of his lost love. When the lights went up in the interval Dennis bought her a tub of Eldorado ice cream, and he sat and smoked Woodbines while she licked the creamy vanilla ice off the tiny wooden spatula. Pathé News followed and then the atmosphere lightened with a series of Mickey Mouse cartoons. Dennis walked her home and left her at the garden gate, thanking her for her company and saying they must do it again some time. Poppy watched him shamble off with his awkward gait and the glow of his cigarette was the last thing she saw before he was enveloped by
darkness
. Mabel had waited up for her, with the excuse that she had come downstairs for a cup of cocoa, but Poppy suspected that her sister-in-law was simply making certain that Dennis kept his word and behaved like a gentleman. She was able to reassure Mabel on that score, and they huddled round the dying embers of the fire in the front room sipping cocoa while Poppy described the scenario in detail.

When she finally went to bed she dreamed that Guy was Mr Chips, but now the schoolmaster was a dashing RAF officer, and it was she herself who was playing Greer Garson’s role and not Amy who was conveniently absent, presumably living in style half a world away. In the morning she was still Poppy Brown and the reality was walking to work in the rain, clambering over piles of debris to get into the hospital, and pitching in to restore cleanliness to the undamaged departments and wards.

In the months that followed Poppy settled into a routine of work and evening classes, interrupted by frequent air raid warnings and dashes to the nearest shelter. Dennis was a frequent visitor to the house, and their trips to the cinema became a weekly outing for Poppy. He proved to be good company and there was never a hint of anything other than friendship in his attitude towards her. Mabel’s initial worries seemed to have been forgotten, or maybe it had something to do with the small gifts that Dennis brought her every time he called at the house. It
could
be anything from a bar of milk chocolate to a bunch of flowers, and he always had a packet of Kensitas cigarettes for Mrs Tanner, who said that the doctor had advised her to smoke as it calmed her nerves. Poppy had grown familiar with Mrs Tanner’s nerves, which Mum would have said were just an excuse for bad temper, but it would be a brave person who voiced that opinion to Mabel’s irascible parent. Dennis was the only one it seemed who could charm her into smiling, and he even made her laugh on occasions. Mabel hung on every word when he recounted stories of his boyhood escapades with Joe. Poppy was amazed that Dennis and her brother had not been arrested for some of their less worthy capers, and she was glad that Mum and Dad had been blissfully ignorant of their son’s activities.

On Poppy’s fifteenth birthday, Dennis had offered to take them all out to dinner at the Seven Ways Restaurant, a mock Tudor building overlooking a busy roundabout at Gants Hill, which was within easy walking distance. He had borrowed a wheelchair, and although Mrs Tanner said she would not be seen dead in such a contraption, when faced with the alternative of being left alone and having to get into the Morrison shelter unaided in the event of an air raid she changed her mind, but that did not stop her grumbling. In the end, Dennis, who was limping badly himself, gave the chair a hefty push, shouting, ‘Whee. Off you go, ducks. Let’s see you get there under your own steam.’

Mabel uttered a shriek of protest. ‘Catch her, Dennis. For the love of God, she’ll be killed.’

Mrs Tanner’s language was choice as Dennis caught up with the chair and drew it to a halt. Mabel clapped her hands over Poppy’s ears, but it did not drown the string of expletives.

‘Now, now, Ma. You enjoyed the thrill,’ Dennis said, chuckling. ‘Admit it, Maggie. You ain’t had such fun since Granny was a boy.’

Wielding her handbag like a morning star, Mrs Tanner caught him a blow on the shoulder. ‘Shut up, you hooligan. I’ll have the law on you for mistreating a poor old woman.’

Dennis took a packet of Woodbines from his pocket and lit one, handing it to Mrs Tanner. ‘Have a fag to calm your nerves, ducks.’

‘Ladies don’t smoke in the street,’ Mrs Tanner said, snatching it from him. She inhaled deeply. ‘Doctor’s orders,’ she added, glaring at Mabel. ‘I’ve had a terrible fright thanks to that – that cripple, who ought to know better.’

‘Dennis isn’t a cripple,’ Poppy cried angrily. ‘That was a horrid thing to say.’

‘It’s okay, love.’ Dennis took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I know what I am, and I have to live with it.’ His serious expression melted into a grin. ‘Come on, girls. This is meant to be a celebration. We’re on a night out, no expense spared.’ He seized the wheelchair handle. ‘Okay, Maggie. I won’t give you no more frights and on the way home you can push me.’

Puffing a smoke ring, Mrs Tanner glared at him over her shoulder. ‘I’ll push you into the boating pond, you bugger.’

‘You two are awful,’ Mabel said with feeling. ‘I hope you’re not going to spend the whole evening bickering like a couple of kids.’

‘Not me, honey.’ Dennis winked at Poppy. ‘I’ll be a gent just like Ashley Wilkes in that film we saw last week at the flicks.’

‘It was wonderful,’ Poppy said, sighing. ‘Scarlett O’Hara was so beautiful and she had all the men falling at her feet. You must see it, Mabel.’

‘I have seen it,’ Mabel said breathlessly as she quickened her pace in order to keep up with them. ‘Joe and I treated ourselves to a performance in the West End the night before our wedding.’

‘Poppy looks just like her,’ Dennis said, smiling. ‘Vivien Leigh, I mean. She’s our own little Scarlett.’

Mabel shot him a warning glance. ‘Don’t talk soft, Dennis. You’ll give her ideas.’

‘I’m starving,’ Mrs Tanner said plaintively. ‘Can’t you go no faster, Dennis? There’ll be nothing left on the menu if you lot don’t stop gassing on about film stars and all that soppy rubbish.’

He made a move as if to send the wheelchair off on its own again, but Poppy caught the handle, shaking her head. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she whispered, smothering a giggle. ‘And stop teasing Mabel. You’ll have her turning grey before her time.’

‘Who says I’m joking?’ For a brief moment his
hand
covered hers and the expression in his eyes startled Poppy, but it also sent thrills running down her spine. She withdrew her hand hastily. There was an earthy quality about Dennis that, combined with his sense of humour and undeniable good looks, made it possible to forget his lack of stature and his physical disability. She found it all very confusing. ‘I wonder what they’ve got on the menu,’ she said, turning to Mabel. ‘I hope there’s cake.’

The restaurant was crowded but Dennis had reserved a table in the window and the waitress who served them, a buxom, dark-haired woman called Betty, obviously knew him as a good customer. As if to make up for teasing Mrs Tanner, he made a fuss of her, lifting her bodily from the wheelchair so that she could sit at the table. He took her coat and Mabel’s, complimenting Mabel on her dress. It was the one she had worn on her wedding day, but Dennis did not appear to recognise it. He said that particular shade of blue matched her eyes exactly and Mabel blushed, giggling like a schoolgirl as she took her seat. Poppy had slipped off her tweed jacket, but Dennis took it from her with a smile that would have melted the hardest heart. ‘You look a treat,’ he said softly. ‘You’re a real smasher, Poppy Brown.’

‘He fancies her,’ Mrs Tanner said grimly as Dennis went to hang the coats on the stand by the door. ‘You’d better watch him, Mabel. He’s like a dog on heat.’

‘Mum,’ Mabel said in a shocked undertone. ‘Stop it. You don’t know what you’re saying.’

Poppy picked up the menu, pretending not to hear them. She had felt a bit self-conscious in a dress that had belonged to Mabel before she began to put on weight. It had taken several evenings of painstaking needlework to alter it to fit Poppy’s slender frame. The eau de nil figure-hugging rayon had the feel of silk. Gathering beneath the bust emphasised her tiny waist and the skirt ended just below her knees, swirling sinuously with every step she took. She might not be as gorgeous as Scarlett, but Dennis seemed to think she looked pretty. It was slightly embarrassing, but it was also flattering to be taken seriously by an older man. He must be all of twenty-three, the same age as Joe and Guy. Her heart did a funny little flip inside her chest.

She had done her best to put Guy from her mind. In her busy life working at the hospital and spending evenings at class, she had had little time to dwell on the past. It was still there, of course, tucked away in a secret compartment of her memory; a place sacred to her mind’s eye to be savoured and relished in moments when she was alone. She had not always been happy at Squire’s Knapp and the memories might be bittersweet, but they were still very much a part of her life.

‘Well, now, ladies, what’s your poison?’ Dennis said cheerfully as he took his seat. ‘A drop of mother’s ruin for you, Maggie?’

‘Cheeky blighter,’ Mrs Tanner muttered. ‘I’ll have wine. White and sweet.’

‘That will do for me too,’ Mabel said hastily. ‘You order, Dennis. You know what’s what.’

Poppy sat back watching Dennis as he ordered their food and wine as if he did that sort of thing every day of his life. In deference to Mrs Tanner he chose a sweet white wine that tasted of grapes and sunshine, and although Mabel frowned when she saw him fill Poppy’s glass he forestalled her by saying that a drop or two on her birthday was quite in order. ‘She’s fifteen, not five years old,’ he said, topping up Mabel’s glass. ‘Give the kid a break and let her grow up.’

Mabel took a sip of her wine, shooting him a resentful glance. ‘She’s my responsibility while Joe’s away.’

‘I wish you’d stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ Poppy said, frowning.

Dennis reached across the table to pat her hand. ‘Sorry, ducks. We’re just trying to look after you, although Mabel here thinks I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’ He grinned and winked at Mabel. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I wouldn’t do nothing to harm a hair of her pretty head. My little Scarlett O’Hara.’

‘Well, you ain’t Rhett Butler,’ Mrs Tanner said, glaring at Dennis with narrowed eyes. ‘And don’t look so surprised. I’ve read all about it in
Picturegoer
. Now where’s that fish and chips I
ordered?
Call that waitress over, and tell her to hurry the food along before I faint from lack of nourishment.’

Luckily for everyone Betty appeared at that moment, expertly balancing four plates of food on her upturned arms. Poppy held her breath in case she dropped one, but Betty had obviously done this many times before and she served the food without mishap. Mrs Tanner had her cod and chips, and even though she complained that the peas were like bullets it did not prevent her from clearing her plate, downing three glasses of wine in the process. Mabel and Dennis both had the meat pie, although Mabel complained that there was more carrot and swede in it than meat. Dennis had no complaints. Poppy had fish pie. There was more potato than fish but the cheese sauce was tasty and she was hungry. They all chose the jam roly-poly pudding for dessert with a generous helping of custard. Whether it was the food or the second bottle of wine that had helped it go down, Mrs Tanner was in a spectacularly good mood. She even thanked Betty for waiting on them and complimented her on her clean fingernails, which Poppy found excruciatingly embarrassing, but Dennis made up for it by leaving a tip large enough to make Mabel’s eyes widen.

‘That’s too much, Dennis,’ she hissed.

‘Makes his money on the black market I should think,’ Mrs Tanner said in a voice loud enough to turn heads. She pointed at Dennis, mouthing ‘spiv’
and
shaking her head as if to disassociate herself from him.

Dennis lifted her into the wheelchair. ‘I love you, Maggie. Will you marry me?’

‘You’re only saying that because a wife can’t give evidence against her old man, you cheeky blighter.’

‘Let’s get you home, Mum,’ Mabel said, smiling apologetically at the woman on the next table who looked distinctly affronted. ‘She’s had a drop too much. Sorry.’