The Pearl Locket (12 page)

‘Now, now, that’s enough. Be off with you, back to your work. You’re leaving early but that doesn’t mean you can shirk your duties this afternoon. You’ve three little ones all wanting their noses wiped by the looks of things.’ Mrs Atkins unwound Joan’s arms from her neck and pushed her away gently.

There were two hours to go until Jack was due to arrive. The afternoon dragged—Joan could have sworn the hands on the clock were not moving, but it matched her watch, and she supposed it was unlikely that both had stopped at exactly the same time. She took her mind off things by getting down on the floor with the toddlers and inventing a riotous imaginative game involving all the dolls and teddies from the toy box.

Finally the clock creaked its way to three o’clock, and Mrs Atkins came to take over running the playgroup for the last hour. ‘I do believe your young man is already waiting outside,’ she told Joan. ‘And give him this slip of paper—that’s my address for the letters.’

Joan kissed her, fetched her coat and ran outside. Jack was indeed already waiting on the steps of the church hall. When she saw him, she felt suddenly shy. Was he really her ‘young man’ as Mrs Atkins had said? It seemed so grown-up to have a boyfriend. She still felt so young, so inexperienced in these things. She really wasn’t sure how she was supposed to behave.

‘Hello, you,’ Jack said, taking her hand. ‘My aunt has invited you to tea today. We could catch the bus, or walk if you prefer?’

‘Oh, let’s walk,’ said Joan. It wasn’t raining and she felt she would have Jack more to herself walking than if they were sitting on a bus.

He smiled at her. ‘I hoped you’d say that. We can cut through the parks. Come on.’

The time and miles passed quickly though Joan was alert to everything, trying to savour every moment with Jack. She couldn’t bear to think about the weeks ahead, when he would be away training to be a soldier.

All too soon they arrived at a pleasant-looking Edwardian semi-detached house, with a neat front garden and net curtains at the windows. A couple of houses opposite showed evidence of bomb damage.

‘They were hit last year,’ Jack said, nodding at them. ‘Thankfully no one was hurt, as the occupants were all out at the pub that evening, celebrating someone’s birthday.’

‘That was lucky.’

‘Well, here we are.’ Jack took out his key, opened the door and ushered her into a tidy hallway, with gleaming floor tiles and polished wood panels on the lower half of the walls. ‘Aunt Marion! We’re home!’

A tall, neat-looking woman came out into the hallway, kissed Jack and held out her hand to Joan. ‘You must be Joan. Welcome! I’ve heard a lot about you, all good, and I’ve been longing to meet you. Please, go inside and take a seat. I’ll bring the tea things in shortly.’

‘Thank you, it’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs Simmons.’

‘Call me Marion, please. Or Aunt Marion if you prefer. Right then, give me five minutes in the kitchen and I’ll join you.’

‘May I help you at all, Marion?’

‘No, dear. You sit down with Jack and make the most of him. I can’t believe he’s going away…’ Marion bit her lip, and turned abruptly away, heading down the hall to where Joan supposed the kitchen must be. She followed Jack into the front sitting room.

‘Sorry about that. Poor Aunt Marion. She didn’t want me to sign up. I could have got a college place studying engineering and made myself exempt from the call-up but I didn’t want to. I’m all she has, and she’s terrified I’ll get myself shot or blown up.’

‘I don’t blame her. I’m terrified of that, too.’

Jack took her hands in his, and gazed into her eyes. ‘Don’t be scared. I’ll keep myself safe, and I’ll come back to you, I promise. And for now, let’s not think ahead. Let’s just live for the moment. All right? Promise me you won’t worry about me while I’m away? I don’t want to be worrying about you worrying about me, if you see what I mean.’

She laughed. ‘No, and I wouldn’t want to be worrying about you worrying about me worrying about you. So we won’t either of us worry about the other one, then.’

‘It’s a deal!’

‘What’s a deal?’ asked Marion, coming in pushing a tea trolley laden with scones and cakes.

‘We’ve agreed we’re not going to worry about each other while I’m away,’ Jack explained. ‘Gosh, look at all that food!’

‘Well, it’s your last night here, so I’ve splashed out with the ration book. I’ll be dining off worms and grit for the rest of the week but never mind. Nothing but the best for my favourite nephew.’

Jack stood and gave her a hug. ‘Your only nephew, but I’ll accept the accolade. Now then, shall I pour?’

‘Thanks, love.’ Aunt Marion smiled at him and patted his shoulder. Joan felt a pang of jealousy. How wonderful it must be to have a parent or guardian who really cared about you and was proud of you. Her father was a bully who only cared about his favourite, Elizabeth, and her mother was weak and spineless and seemed only to want to get through life without making her husband cross. Jack may not have his parents around but Aunt Marion had clearly more than made up for his loss. Joan warmed to her instantly.

Teatime passed pleasantly, and after Joan had helped wash up, Marion announced she needed to go out on an errand. She slipped on her coat, kissed Joan and left, calling after her that she’d be at least an hour.

‘Bless her, she’s giving us a bit of time alone,’ Jack said. ‘You don’t mind, do you, being alone in the house with me? I wouldn’t…well…you know. Take advantage or anything.’

‘Of course you wouldn’t!’ Joan took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I think I know you better than that, now. I really like your aunt. She’s lovely.’

‘She is, yes. She’s wonderful. Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you. Stay here.’ He pulled his hand from hers, leapt off the sofa and ran out of the room and up the stairs. Joan could hear him moving around upstairs, and a moment later he was back, his hands behind him.

‘Close your eyes.’

She did, and he placed something in them. A small square box. With her eyes still closed she ran her fingers over it. It seemed to be made of leather. What was he giving her? She couldn’t guess.

‘All right, open your eyes now. And open the box.’ Jack was grinning at her, but behind the grin he looked nervous, as though he was scared she wouldn’t like the present.

The box was maroon leather, quite worn with scuff marks on the corners. Carefully she hinged it open. Inside was a small gold locket, set with mother-of-pearl in the shape of a flower, hung on a delicate chain. She gasped. ‘It’s beautiful!’

‘It was my mother’s. Aunt Marion kept it for me, and suggested I give it to a special girl.’ He sat beside her, took the locket from her and gently fastened it around her neck. ‘Joan, darling, you’re the special girl. The only person I could imagine wearing my mother’s locket.’

‘Oh, Jack, I…I’m flattered! Won’t Aunt Marion mind you giving it to me?’

‘Not at all—she knows how much I care about you. Will you promise me you’ll wear it always? You said you’d wait for me to come back. This is to remind you of me when I’m not here.’

‘Of course I’ll wear it always. It’s lovely, really lovely, and I can see how much it means to you. But now I feel guilty, because I’ve nothing to give you.’

‘I don’t need a gift. I can just close my eyes and bring you to mind.’

‘Even so, I wish I had something… Ah! I know!’ Joan had a sudden idea. She pulled out her handkerchief, which was, thankfully, clean. ‘Do you have some scissors?’

Jack fetched a pair from his aunt’s sewing basket. Joan first cut away part of the lace edging of the handkerchief. Then she snipped a lock of her hair, from underneath at the back, placed it on the hanky, and bound one end of it with the lace edging. She folded the hanky around the hair, tucking one corner inside the other so it would stay in a neat parcel, and gave it to Jack.

‘There. It’s not much, but I give it to you with love.’

He received it reverently, and held it to his face. ‘It smells of you, too. Your perfume. And it contains a part of you. It’s the perfect present.’ He put it into his inside jacket pocket. ‘There. I shall keep it next to my heart at all times. But wait! I have your hair—you need a piece of mine, inside that locket. Cut a piece off—it’ll all be shorn short tomorrow anyway.’

She did as he asked, twisted the hair into a ring around her finger, and tucked it inside the locket. ‘We’re bound together, now. We should seal our bond…with a kiss.’ She leaned into him, and felt herself melt as he snaked his arms around her back and pulled her close. His lips were warm and soft on hers, and the longer the kiss went on the more she felt as though she were part of him.

Finally he broke away, and she smiled shyly at him. ‘You must think me very forward, being the one to ask for a kiss first.’

‘I think you’re beautiful,’ he replied. ‘And I’m glad you asked, as I was being too shy. I’ve wanted to do that since the moment we first met, but after…well, after what happened with that Canadian I thought you might have been put off that kind of thing.’

‘I was put off the Canadian, not kissing!’ she giggled. ‘Kissing you is lovely.’

‘Yes, it really is,’ he murmured, as she covered his mouth with hers for a second time.

All too soon they were disturbed by the sound of a key being jiggled noisily in the lock, the front door opening, and a lot of stomping on the doormat and coughing.

‘She’s back,’ whispered Joan with a grin, as she reluctantly untwined her arms from around Jack’s neck. ‘And I suppose it is time I went home.’

‘You mustn’t get into trouble with your father,’ said Jack. ‘Write to me, won’t you? I leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be home again in a couple of months.’

She sighed. ‘So long! Of course I’ll write. Every day. Don’t forget me, will you?’

‘Never. Come on then, I’ll walk you home.’

Chapter Eleven

October 2014

As Kelly sat on the train on her way to college, she couldn’t stop thinking about the letters. She’d read them over and over—the little bundle of brittle yellowed papers tied with a ribbon they’d found in the box in the cellar. They were all from Jack, to Joan, and had apparently been sent while he was doing his basic training after joining the army in 1944. The letters reminisced about their time together, and mentioned a kind-hearted Mrs Atkins who seemed to be championing their relationship. There were mentions of Jack’s aunt Marion, and descriptions of the barracks, the training regime and the other young recruits, in particular a boy named Mikey, who seemed to have become Jack’s best friend over the time period the letters covered.

She envied Joan her closeness with Jack. She could tell from the way he’d written his letters that she was the world to him. Theirs was a deep and lasting love, one which survived separation and the hardships of war, and which would continue for ever. Kelly considered her own relationship with Matt. It was good; at least it had been good. She hadn’t seen much of him lately—she’d been too tied up with other things. Matt was a lovely boy, but they certainly didn’t have the intensity of Joan and Jack’s romance. There was definitely something missing. She sighed. Life in the twenty-first century seemed so much more superficial than in the 1940s. Things were too easy now—there was nothing to test and deepen a love.

The letters also mentioned Joan’s job, looking after small children at a playgroup, and Jack wished her good luck with all the little ones. ‘You’re doing so much good,’ Jack had written. ‘Such a useful job. I’m proud of you, my darling.’ How wonderful to be doing a useful job and to be making your loved ones proud!

What had happened to Joan and Jack? The last letter was dated 5th June 1944. The day before D-Day. Kelly was fascinated by Joan and Jack. She couldn’t wait to go to visit Great-gran again, to hear the end of their story. What was this dark secret, which meant Great-gran’s father had forbidden everyone to ever mention her again?

She was studying the Second World War in history—the effects of the war on daily life and how it influenced that generation’s politics and beliefs for years afterwards. These letters were a wonderful insight into that period. But increasingly, studying at college seemed a bit of a pointless activity. She envied Joan and her meaningful job looking after small children. If only she could do something like that. Make a difference to other people’s lives, give something back, become a valued and useful member of society. Well, there might be something she could do about it. She spent the rest of the journey mulling it over, and came to a decision, a big one, just as the train pulled into the station near her college.

She was due to have lunch with Matt today. Once a week they treated each other to a cooked lunch from the college café, rather than the usual sandwiches or snacks. She realised she hadn’t seen him since the previous week’s lunch date, and hadn’t replied to his last few texts. Should she tell him her decision? Maybe. She’d see how he was at lunchtime. It wasn’t as easy to talk to him these days. She couldn’t talk about the one thing that was uppermost on her mind—Leanne’s reaction to her mention of the presence of Joan in the house had put her off telling anyone else about it. They’d think she was going mad.

‘OK, everyone, homework for today is to write an essay on the ethics of the Milgram electric shock obedience experiment. I want you to cover the background of the experiment, with reference to Nazi war criminals’ defence of their actions during the Holocaust. Three pages, to be handed in after half-term.’ The bell for the end of the lesson had gone, and the psychology teacher had to shout the last words over the sound of books being snapped shut and chairs being scraped back. Kelly smiled. Everything these days seemed to have some kind of connection to the war and the 1940s. She stuffed her books in her bag, pulled her cardigan off the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders.

Matt was already waiting in the queue. She eased past a few people to join him. ‘What’s on the menu? Oh. Pizza or pasta. Why don’t they ever have any English food?’

‘Like what? Thought you liked Italian.’

‘I do, but it’d be nice to have something more traditionally English. Beef and dumplings. Rabbit pie—that kind of thing. It’s what they’d have eaten during the war. Never mind. I’ll go for the fish and chips.’