The Lost Days of Summer (3 page)

‘Told you the tunnel would wake you up,’ her companion said triumphantly. ‘It’s enough to waken the dead, ain’t it?’ She had had to bawl to be heard above the roar of the engine. But then the train left the tunnel – Nell could see the stars sparkling in the dark night sky and knew her companion had been right; they had reached the island at last.

* * *

Darkness had fallen when the train finally drew in to a small station and a porter came along the platform shouting, ‘Valley, Valley,’ in a cracked and weary voice. Because of the blackout it was almost impossible to pick out any details, but Nell, with her haversack slung on one shoulder and her precious handbag clutched close to her chest, simply jumped down as soon as the train stopped and turned to look back at Mrs McFarlane. She could see the older woman’s face only dimly in the faint blue light, which was all that was allowed.

‘Goodbye, and thank you very much,’ she shouted above the noise of the engine, preparing to start off on its final leg. ‘Good luck for the rest of your journey!’

Mrs McFarlane shouted thanks back and then withdrew her head as the train began to move, and the last Nell saw of her was a large white hand, waving rhythmically.

Nell stood on the platform, watching the train until she could see it no longer. Despite the fact that it was very late indeed the moon and stars shone brightly, illumining the little station and the gleaming rail tracks. For a moment, panic seized her. She had never felt so alone, so totally friendless. Where was her aunt? The little railway station might have been put down in the middle of nowhere, for she could see no dwelling of any description. Despite her resolve, tears came to her eyes and trickled down her cold cheeks. In this alien landscape she simply longed for the sights and sounds with which she had grown up: the rattle of trams as they careered along on their shiny rails, the voices of passers-by, even the now hooded lights, blue-grey and ghostly, of cars and lorries as they traversed the streets of Liverpool. Although she considered herself to be an adult, Nell had never been out by herself since the war started, and now she was not only alone but also frightened, sure that the arrangements her mother had so hastily made had gone awry, that she would be forced to wait until it grew light and she could summon aid.

No one else had alighted from the train, but the porter was closing the big white gates so Nell turned and followed him, crossing the track as he did and finding herself in what must be the main village street, with the dark shapes of houses on either side. There was a signal box to her left and she guessed that it must be manned; should she appeal to the signaller or to the porter? But when she glanced round, the porter had disappeared.

She was turning back towards the signal box when she heard a soft clopping sound and saw a large horse and cart drawing up alongside her. Relief flooded her; even if it was not her aunt driving the equipage it was another human being, someone to whom she could explain her predicament. Uncertainly, she moved towards it just as a figure – she could not see whether it was a man or a woman – leaned down and addressed her. ‘You a young person by the name of Whitaker?’ it said.

Nell’s heart lifted a little; it was a woman’s voice, which meant, she imagined, that her aunt had come to meet her in person. ‘Yes, I’m Helen Whitaker,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘And you must be my Auntie Kath, Mrs Kath Jones.’ She held out a hand. ‘How do you do? I’m sorry the train was so late, but the guard said it’s quite usual.’ Since the woman made no reply but simply stared down at her, she added uneasily: ‘Mam said you’d probably come and meet the train, so . . .’

The woman didn’t seem to have noticed Nell’s outstretched hand, but this was not surprising since the moon had slid behind a cloud and for a moment the darkness was total. ‘Ellen, did you say?’ the woman asked in a lilting Welsh accent, and her voice sounded doubtful. ‘I misremember what your ma called you in her letter, but it wasn’t Ellen . . .’ She gave an impatient sigh, then indicated the cart with a jerk of her head. ‘Jump up; I had to fetch some cattle cake so I brought the cart rather than harnessing up the pony and trap. You can tell me what your name is as we go. Your ma did rattle on a bit; might have muddled you wi’ one of your sisters, I suppose.’

Nell scrambled into the cart, but as soon as she was settled on the hard wooden seat she said what was uppermost in her mind. ‘I don’t know what my mam said in her letter to you, Auntie, but my name’s Helen, with an h, and I’m usually called Nell. As for the names of my sisters, I’ve not got any, nor brothers neither. I’m an only child.’

Her aunt gathered up the reins and clicked her tongue. ‘Not got brothers or sisters?’ she said incredulously as they moved forward. ‘But your ma’s letter went on about Cissie and Molly, or some such names, anyway. When I answered her, I just said send the eldest. Truth to tell I read the letter that quick – it was the only letter she ever sent me – I can’t say I took much heed of it; why should I?’

Nell was silent for a few moments, puzzled. Surely . . . ‘Mam does run on sometimes and I suppose she said something about Auntie Lou’s kids and you thought they were hers – my mam’s, I mean – and got confused. The fact is that when Mam and Auntie Lou joined the WAAF the landlord didn’t fancy my cousins living in his house with no mother to keep an eye on them, so Marilyn and Milly – that’s their names – got lodgings out near Long Lane. That’s where they’re working, making munitions I think. They’re a lot older than me; Marilyn’s twenty and Milly’s going on for nineteen. Were you expecting one of them? If so, perhaps I’ll be no use to you. I’m only fifteen, and small for my age. Oh dear, I’m so sorry for the muddle.’

The older woman grunted. ‘I did expect someone older, but I don’t know as it matters,’ she said gruffly. ‘We’ll have to see how you get on.’

Nell felt her cheeks grow hot. She was horrified by the misunderstanding and unable to clear her mother of blame. Trixie would have rambled on, forgetting the main purpose of the letter, and now here was Nell, miles and miles from the city that had been her home, with an aunt who had thought the girl with whom she had agreed to share her house was a big strong eighteen- or twenty-year-old, not a skinny kid. Nell cleared her throat. ‘I know I’m not very old, but if you wanted one of my cousins . . .’

The moon reappeared at this moment and in its light she saw her aunt frown and shoot her a quick glance. ‘I can’t say I wanted anyone,’ she said gruffly. ‘Oh, I don’t deny there’s work enough, but manage we could. The truth is I don’t want no more evacuees dumped on me. I had ’em earlier; two limbs of Satan they were. I was that relieved when they went home and never came back. So when your ma’s letter arrived I thought better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. And here you are.’

‘But you don’t know me at all,’ Nell pointed out, after a short pause. ‘However, I’m quite strong, even though I’m small for my age. Still, if I’m no use, I can go back to Liverpool; though Mam isn’t there any more, I’ve a heap of relatives living in Bootle and Everton, and I’m sure one of them would take me in. In fact I could go home tomorrow if you’d give me my fare. But it does seem a long way to come for nothing, and at school they said I was a quick learner. If – if you’d like to give me a try I would do my best for you, really I would.’

Even as she spoke, Nell wondered what on earth had got into her. She didn’t want to stay here; she longed for the hustle and bustle of Liverpool. But rejecting her aunt and the island was one thing; being rejected was quite another. Besides, Liverpool without her beloved mam, she realised, lacked a good deal of its appeal. And if she were honest, she doubted that any of the aunts would want to take her in. They would say it must be her mother’s decision, and Mam would ask her why she had not lived up to her promise to stay with her aunt for at least six months. So now she waited anxiously for Kath to reply.

The horse had been proceeding at a shambling trot, but in response to the hand on the reins it slowed to a walk. As the moon emerged from behind a bank of cloud her aunt turned to look searchingly at her, then gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Right, we’ll give it a try,’ she said brusquely. ‘We’ll mebbe get on. And now you can tell me just what Trixie is up to.’

‘Up to?’ Nell asked blankly. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She shuffled her cold feet and dug her hands into her coat pockets. The journey in the train had seemed interminable, and she was sure the horse had been ambling along for hours without indicating by so much as pricked ears or turned head that they were nearing their destination. The moon dodged in and out of the clouds, the harness creaked, her aunt slapped the reins impatiently on the animal’s neck, and still there was no sign that they were about to turn off the road and make for human habitation.

‘I mean what was your ma up to when she got in touch. Trixie wouldn’t have writ to me without a good reason,’ Auntie Kath replied gruffly. ‘She said something about “essential war work”.’ She snorted. ‘A right little good time girl your ma was; it’s to be hoped you’re different.’

‘People say I take after my father,’ Nell said rather grudgingly. ‘But as I’ve already said, if I’m no use to you I’m sure I can go back to Liverpool. And – and I’d rather you didn’t think of Mam as a good time girl, because she isn’t, not a bit. She’s had to bring me up alone since Dad died and she’s got – or rather she had – a very important job with a big insurance company. I don’t know what she was like when she was young, but—’

‘All right, all right, forget I mentioned it,’ her aunt said impatiently. ‘We’ll give it a try. But you can still tell me what your mother’s up to when she can’t look after her own flesh and blood.’

‘I told you she’s joined the WAAF,’ Nell said shortly. ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’

Her aunt tutted. ‘Don’t be cheeky,’ she said sharply. She clicked to the horse and it broke into a trot once more, turning into a narrow lane with tall banks on either side and stumpy trees almost meeting overhead. Nell gave a little shiver. The moon shone on large puddles and on branches already bare of leaves, yet still not on houses or farm buildings. But she took a deep breath and prepared to apologise for defending her parent.

‘Sorry, Auntie Kath,’ she mumbled. ‘And I know what you mean; that she could join the WAAF without sending me to you. Only she couldn’t if she had what they call a dependent child. She wants to do her bit for the war effort, so she had to send me away before the WAAF would let her join up.’

‘I see,’ Auntie Kath said drily. ‘Convenient I am, then. What would Trixie have done if she’d not remembered her oldest sister?’

By now Nell had realised that her mother had deceived her daughter as well as her elder sister, pretending that Auntie Kath had written to her first, instead of the other way round. But there was no point in making a fuss – crying over spilt milk, as the saying went – and it had been a long day. Presently, despite herself, she found that she was nodding and had hard work to keep her eyes open. Even in her drowsy and exhausted state, however, she was aware of the horse’s hoofbeats and the creaking of the harness, the rumbling of the wheels on the rough track, and the swaying of the vehicle in which they travelled. Soon be there, she told herself, soon be there . . . and could no longer resist the desire to tumble thankfully into sleep.

‘Wake up, girl, we’ve arrived. Come along now, stir yourself! Got to be up early tomorrow, I have.’

Nell was dragged out of a deep sleep by her aunt’s peremptory tone as much as by the hand shaking her shoulder. She sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes and staring around her, not knowing for a moment where she was or how she had got there. She expected to see the whitewashed walls and the pretty floral curtains of her room in Liverpool, but instead she saw a series of gaunt grey buildings, and in place of her bedroom ceiling the dark night sky arching above her and blazing with stars.

‘My goodness, if you’re that difficult to wake as a rule, I’ll keep a wet flannel by your bed I will, and slap it round your chops to get you goin’ of a morning,’ the voice said, bringing Nell abruptly to a realisation of her surroundings. She was in the cart, which was drawn up in the farmyard of what must be her aunt’s home. Muttering an apology and assuring her aunt in a sleep-blurred voice that she normally woke at the first ting of the alarm, she picked up her handbag and looked round wildly for her haversack, but could see no sign of it.

She was beginning to ask her aunt the whereabouts of her luggage when she saw, in the moonlight, that Kath had slung the haversack round her own shoulder and was holding out a hand to assist her niece to alight. Nell stood up, grabbed the proffered hand, jumped down on to the cobbles and followed her aunt towards a lighted doorway. ‘You’re showing a light, Auntie Kath!’ she squeaked. ‘You’ll be in trouble if the warden spots it.’

Auntie Kath slowed her pace. ‘There’s no warden round here. This is the back of beyond, this is,’ she said, her tone almost contemptuous. She pushed open the door, ushered Nell inside and pointed. ‘This here’s the kitchen; put the kettle over the fire and we’ll have a hot drink when I’ve seen to the horse.’

She left the room on the words, shutting the door firmly behind her, and Nell began to take off her coat, scarf and gloves, hanging them on one of the hooks beside the door. It was lovely and warm after the cold outside – Nell rubbed her nose at the memory, amazed that no icicle hung there – and approached the range, holding out her hands to its warmth. It was good to be indoors, she told herself, and looked wistfully at a couple of comfortable basket chairs, but remembering her aunt’s instructions she picked up the kettle, made sure it was full, and put it over the flame. Then she began to glance around her in the light of the old-fashioned lamp which hung from the ceiling.

She was glad of this opportunity to satisfy her curiosity, for had her aunt been present she would have felt it rude to stare. The kitchen was enormous, its floor covered in red quarry tiles, its walls whitewashed and the curtains at what must be a large window shabby and faded from their original bright floral print. There was a scrubbed wooden table, half a dozen sturdy ladder-backed chairs and the two comfortable-looking basket ones, each filled with cushions whose floral chintz echoed that of the window curtains. Against one wall was a vast Welsh dresser upon which a variety of china was stacked, as well as an untidy heap of pans. Nell saw that there was a proper rack upon which the pans should have been hung, but someone, presumably her aunt, had not bothered with such niceties, no doubt thinking that it was better to have them within easy reach.