Rising Summer (13 page)

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What are you doing out here with an NCO of the Wac?’

‘Showing her the countryside, sir.’

‘I hope I’ve arrived in time to save her. All right, stuff
her
bike into the boot. I’ll take her back to BHQ.’ He called to her.

‘Major?’ said Kit.

‘Climb aboard, Sergeant Masters,’ he said. ‘Can’t let you walk.’

Kit hesitated. The Dalmatian licked its lips again. The major gave me a look. I took the hint and opened the passenger door for Kit. Jupiter thrust his jaws out. The major cuffed the hopeful animal and it scrambled over on to the back seat. Kit got in. I closed the door.

‘See you,’ she said and gave me her warmest smile yet.

‘The major made off with his treasure a few minutes later, the bike sticking out of the boot. Pity, I thought. It could have been a lingering evening, I could have begun to do some learning on my own initiative.

Acceptable learning.

I biked back. When I approached BHQ, there was a girl waiting some twenty yards from the gates. Minnie in a bright Sunday dress and with sparks in her eyes. She made me stop, by plonking herself in my way.

‘Now what?’ I said.

She tossed her head and her hair whipped and flew like an angry banner of August gold. ‘Where is she? You been out with her, you been out on bikes with her. Oh, you Tim, you’ve never been out on bikes with me and I’m goin’ to push ’er face in. Where is she?’

‘Probably putting her feet up in the ATS quarters, or taking a shower,’ I said. ‘And how d’you know I’ve been out with her?’

‘Someone said, didn’t they?’

‘Who?’

‘I ain’t saying, am I? I know, that’s all.’ Minnie was flushed and upset. ‘Fancy goin’ out with someone like that, I never seen anyone more ugly. Aunt Flossie says I’m easily the prettiest woman in Suffolk—’

‘Now, how could she say that about a scatty schoolgirl?’

‘Never you mind, she did say it.’ Minnie kicked the front tyre of the bike. ‘Why can’t you take me out on Sundays instead of someone ugly and with rotten legs?’

‘She’s got good legs.’

‘Oh!’ Minnie let out a cry of fury. ‘You’ve been lookin’ at them in some field, you never look at mine and they’re easy better than hers!’

‘Oh, come on, Min, pack it up, you know you’re just putting it on and playing games with me.’

‘I ain’t, I’m not, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t! Oh, you wait till I’m sixteen and the Yanks line up to take me out, I’ll go out with hundreds of them I will and send you all dotty and grief-struck with jealousy. You’ll want me for your best girl then, when you can’t ’ave me.’ She eyed me woefully. ‘I just don’t know why you can’t say you love me.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’m grown up nice, ain’t I?’

‘A terror, more like,’ I said.

‘You didn’t say that at rising summer.’

‘Leave off about that, Min, there’s a good girl.’

‘All that lovin’ and all,’ she said.

‘All that imagination, you mean.’

‘I won’t say anything, will I? Don’t want Dad to go for you with ’is chopper, do I?’

‘Holy cows,’ I said, ‘you’re making holes in my head.’

‘Just don’t take that ugly old American woman out any more, that’s all,’ said Min. ‘Just come round when I’m sixteen and take me out.’

‘I’m going to have to talk to your dad about you.’

‘And I’m goin’ to talk to that boss-eyed, bandy-legged sergeant woman,’ said Min. ‘I’m goin’ to tear all ’er rotten hair out.’ And off she went in high dudgeon.

I walked down to the pub with Cassidy, Cecily and Frisby later. Top Sergeant Dawson seemed to have got lost in a rural backwater somewhere, so Cassidy said she’d like a nice quiet evening. Going through the high street, young Wally Ricketts called me. I went back to see what he wanted.

‘’Ello, Tim,’ he said, ‘I can get yer a pair tomorrer, say, seein’ yer didn’t wallop me that time.’

‘You can pinch another helping of bunny rabbit, can you?’

‘Dunno what yer mean,’ said Wally. He was far browner than he probably ever was in the East End. His freckles were a burning gold. ‘I can get ’em dead honest for you, Tim.’

‘I’ll let you know, Wally. I need someone who’s going on leave to deliver ’em.’

‘You ask anytime, Tim, you’re me mate,’ said Wally, ‘and ain’t that Minnie Beavers an eyeful? Is she stuck on yer? Cor, I wouldn’t mind bein’ you. Seen yer wiv ’er at risin’ summer.’

‘What d’you mean, you saw her with me at rising summer?’

‘Kissin’ and all,’ said Wally, a grin on his face.

‘You were in bed.’

‘Well, I was for a bit, then I got up,’ he said. I could imagine that. The sounds of revelry and the inclinations of an adventurous boy. He’d want to get a look at what was going on.

‘How would you like to be pushed under a train?’ I asked.

‘’Ere, I wouldn’t tell on yer, Tim,’ he said. ‘Could yer lend me a tanner so’s I can send me dad a birfday card?’

‘Meet me at the pond in half an hour, when it’s dark,’ I said.

‘Can’t yer lend me the tanner now?’ he asked.

‘I’m not going to lend you a tanner, I’m going to drown you,’ I said.

‘Me? I ain’t done nuffink, Tim.’

‘All right, here’s tuppence,’ I said. The trouble was I had a blank mind about Min that night. I supposed I might have gone in for some heavy kissing while inebriated up to my eyeballs. Wally accepted the copper coins with a boyish smile.

‘Yer me best mate, Tim,’ he said. ‘I ’opes yer flattens the ’ole German Army by yerself. I wouldn’t ’arf be proud.’

‘Flog off,’ I said and went to join Frisby and the Wacs in the pub.

I WAS GLAD
to get out one evening, after several days of having Major Moffat on my back. He meant to get me for something, even for having a button undone.

I walked to the village and knocked on Jim’s door. Minnie answered. In her gymslip. She blossomed into smile, a forgiving one.

‘Oh, you Tim, you’ve come to take me out?’ she said.

‘Well, no, not yet, Min, you’re still not eighteen.’

‘No, when I’m sixteen – sixteen. That’s when I can start goin’ out. Oh, Mum heard you were comin’ round this evening.’ It was almost frightening. I’d said to Frisby I was popping down to the village, did he want to come with me. He’d said he had a date to walk about with Cecily.

‘Just how did your Mum get to know that?’ I asked.

‘Dicky bird flew in again, didn’t it?’ said Min. ‘But we ’aven’t heard you’ve gone out with that ugly old American sergeant again. It’s best you don’t, Tim, I’ll get ever so cross if you do. Oh, I couldn’t have come out with you this evening, anyway, I’m goin’ to Aunt Flossie’s again. Mum said to give ’er a bit of company.’

Missus was up to something again. Minnie was being got out of the way.

‘Well, be good,’ I said.

‘Rather be good with you,’ she said, ‘good an’ lovin’.’

‘Wouldn’t be good, would it, if I got run in for it.’

A gurgle of laughter issued. She looked over her shoulder. There was no-one in the little hall. ‘Kiss, then,’ she said and pushed herself close.

‘Get off—’ Too late. Her arms were around me, a warm girlish mouth clinging. I was aghast. I thought of the village eyes that were always at the ready behind curtains. Young Minnie was incriminating me on her doorstep in the light of the summer evening. And what a figure she had. One like that should be forbidden to girls of her age.

She let go. A little noisy breath escaped her. For a moment an actual blush seemed to show. ‘Oh, you Tim, ain’t you bliss to a girl?’ she breathed.

‘Min, I’ll thump you. Don’t do things like that at your front door, they’ll be written down by old Mother Goggle opposite and used as evidence.’

‘Course they won’t,’ said Minnie, ‘everyone knows I’m goin’ to be your best girl.’

‘Oh, everyone’s had a visit from a dicky bird, have they?’

‘No, me,’ she said. ‘Told everyone, I ’ave.’

‘Everyone? The village bobby as well?’

‘He likes me. He likes you too, said you were a good ’un.’

‘You little monkey, the stories you make up.’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Minnie. She smiled, then turned and called. ‘Dad, Tim’s come round. Mum, you can take your apron off, Tim’s ’ere.’ She was away to Aunt Flossie’s then. Down the street she whisked, a threat to
civilization,
although I’d heard from her mum that she was doing so good at school that her teachers thought she could be an asset. Yes, I thought, to the Windmill Theatre.

Jim and his old hat and pipe appeared. He drew me into the parlour. ‘Min’s gone off, I reckon,’ he said.

‘Gone off at fifteen?’

‘Eh?’ said Jim.

‘What? Oh, see what you mean, gone off to Aunt Flossie’s.’

‘Well, Aunt Flossie’s fond of ’er,’ said Jim. ‘’Elping to bring ’er up.’

‘Some help. Aunt Flossie sounds a dubious old haybag to me.’

‘Now that ain’t nice, Tim lad. You come to see Missus, to enjoy a nice talk with ’er and so on?’

‘I don’t mind a nice talk, I’ll fight any so on.’

‘Well, I tell yer, Tim, ’er mind’s made up to be educational to you an’ she always sees any job through to a good finish. Likes to do things proper.’

‘You’ve got some gall, you have, using a word like proper about something that’s indecent.’

‘Ain’t indecent, Tim,’ he said. ‘Nothing more natural than a good woman bein’ special ’elpful to a young bloke.’

‘Natural?’ I said. ‘Pornographic, more like. It’ll take us all over.’

‘Won’t ’ave time to, I reckon,’ said Jim. ‘Your lot’ll soon have to go an’ start firin’ yer guns again. Still, there’ll be time enough for you to get some good learning in. Friend of the fam’ly, you are.’

‘I’ll talk to Missus. But before I do, can I inspect your shed?’

‘Now that ain’t no place for learning, lad. Cushions an’ things, that’s best.’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I just want to see what’s in your shed. I’m after some wood.’

We went around to his garden shed. It was as big as his cottage. In it he stored everything he collected, lifted or otherwise acquired. It was a little bit like a run-down bargain basement.

‘What kind o’ wood?’ asked Jim.

‘Just an old three-feet door that nobody wants and some other junk not worth anything.’

‘Ain’t got no stuff like that,’ said Jim, ‘it’s all got a price. I ain’t Father Christmas.’

‘We’ll see,’ I said and I searched around. He had enough old seasoned timber to build a new Ark, with lifeboats. ‘This’ll do.’ I spotted a solid three-footer with peeling paint. ‘It’s for a crippled old war widow in Elsingham. It can’t be worth more than a pint of old and mild. And I’ll have some of that rotten stuff there as well.’

‘Ain’t rotten,’ said Jim. ‘Them’s high fence posts, four by four.’

‘Just right. I’d like two eight-foot lengths to use as doorposts. Nice you’ve got a van and can cart the stuff over.’

‘She’s a widder you said?’ enquired Jim. ‘What widder?’

‘Mary Coker, Beech Cottage.’

‘’Ere, she ain’t old nor crippled, she’s a lively London
body
and I ain’t sure I can deliver to Elsingham with a war on. It ain’t our parish. But if I can get to cart it over, it’ll cost yer, lad. Anyway, we’ll see, eh? Missus is in the kitchen.’ He sloped off to the pub. I was left with the choice of standing up to Missus or running another mile. Best to do some standing up.

I did it in the kitchen. Missus was just taking her apron off.

‘So there you are, Tim. Come right in, ducky.’

‘It’s no go, Missus. It’s kind of you, I’ll say that much, but it’s not decent.’

Missus smiled. In a yellow button-up blouse and a brown skirt, she was a countrified knockout. ‘Tim, you’re shy again, love.’

‘No, I’m not, I’m like iron. You’re my best friends here, you and Jim. So it’s not on.’

‘No, course it isn’t, love, not in the kitchen. Kitchen’s for cookin’, not cuddlin’. You go and sit yourself down on the sofa and I’ll be with you directly. Oh, by the way, our Min wasn’t hardly too pleased you cyclin’ up Elsingham way with that lady sergeant of yours on Sunday. I told you she’d get jealous, Tim. Kicked your bike over, did she?’

‘Nearly. Well, Missus, for the sake of our friendship—’

‘Yes, friendship’s valuable, like, ducky. You go and sit down and I’ll come and be nice and valuable to you. Oh, and come to tea Sunday.’

Her mind was made up all right. So I slipped silently out of the cottage and ran a fast mile.

*

On Sunday morning I looked for Kit. Finding her, I asked if she’d like another afternoon bike ride. We could call on Mary again I said and let her know Jim Beavers was going to deliver a door and some timbers. Kit said shoot, I should have asked her earlier. She was otherwise engaged. I asked who with. An higher-up, she said. I suspected it was Major Moffat. I had a feeling he was after her, although not in the same way he was after me. However, Kit did say she’d keep next Sunday open. I said OK, next Sunday.

I read a book in the afternoon. Gunner Dunwoodie showed me his face at four-thirty. It was wearing an idiot’s grin.

‘Yer wanted, Tim,’ he said.

‘Who by?’

‘Jim Beavers’ girl.’

‘Tell her I’m ill.’

‘Can’t, can I?’ said the idiot. ‘I already told ’er you’re in the pink.’

‘Well, tell her I’ve had a sudden breakdown.’

‘Can’t, can I, because you ain’t, ’ave yer?’

What a twit. I had to go. The terror was waiting outside the gates, in her best Sunday dress of pastel blue.

‘Well?’ I said.

Minnie, her bike propped against the hedge, let a smile run about all over her face of honey. ‘Crikey, don’t yer look manly, Tim? Ain’t yer grown up lovely?’

‘What’re you after?’ I asked.

‘Mum sent me. Go an’ find our Tim, she said, he
should
be here by now, ’e knows I invited ’im. See what’s keepin’ ’im. Oh, am I glad it’s not that fat American sergeant.’

‘Now, Min, she’s not fat—’

‘She will be,’ said Min, looking triumphantly certain. ‘Mum ’eard they eat more starch than elephants an’ Dad said that at the Yanks’ base there’s some Wacs nearly as big as elephants. Six feet big ’e said an’ nearly as wide. Can you get a bike out of your stores now and ride ’ome with me? Mum’s goin’ to do a nice tea.’