The Runaway (40 page)

‘Pass me the glue.’

Dana and Polly were sitting one on each side of the kitchen table, making paper chains and other decorations, for Christmas was now only days away and everyone was determined that, rationing or no rationing, they would enjoy themselves to the full. So Ernie and Jake had been invited to share a chicken dinner, and Jake had reciprocated with an invitation to come to the small house he and Ralph had shared for a celebration supper. ‘Ralph’s not allowed out of the training centre so there’s no chance of his joining us,’ he said regretfully. ‘But I dare say we’ll manage to enjoy ourselves well enough, and Ernie must come too, of course.’

Now Dana clicked her fingers impatiently. She was making paper chains from old cinema posters which she had cut into strips, and Polly was painting the tips of fir cones with silver glitter. Polly looked into the glue pot then shoved it towards her friend, saying as she did so: ‘Sorry, queen, I’ve used the last and the silver glitter’s run out too, so shall we call it a day? If so I’ll put the
kettle on and make our drinks.’ She glanced up at the clock on the mantel and whistled beneath her breath. ‘Phew! It’s quite late enough to leave off working. We’d best talk about what presents we need to buy for everyone, ’cos there’s queues for everything these days.’

‘You’re right there. I’ve bought Mam and Johnny’s present but I’ve got nothing yet for Donny. Tell you what, Polly, you know a lot more about kids than I do, so you can tell me what would be a suitable present for a little boy of Donny’s age. Until the war sent them all off into the country Temperance Court buzzed with kids and you knew them all. I’m ashamed to admit I couldn’t have named one of the scraggly little brutes, apart from the chap who whacked a cricket ball through our living room window. He was Jackie Wilmot, I know that much.’

Polly chuckled. ‘I bet he remembers your name an’ all, as well as the clack round the head you gave him,’ she said.

Dana laughed. ‘Good thing I’m not planning a family of my own yet. But I’d like children one day.’

Polly laughed too. ‘A good thing indeed,’ she said. ‘Ernie and I don’t mean to have kids until we’re quite old – mid-twenties at least, Now, let me think; you say your little brother isn’t yet two. Wooden toys are always popular, but I happen to know someone who’s trying to sell a model train set. Now that’s a present and a half; it’d keep him occupied for hours, give your mam a bit of a break. How old is she anyway?’

‘She’s forty-three or four; what’s wrong with that?’ Dana asked aggressively. ‘You don’t have to be young to have a baby, you know.’

‘What a twerp you are, taking offence over a simple
question,’ Polly said, imitating Dana’s scowl. ‘If you think it’s rude to ask a daughter her mother’s age, then you’re even dafter than I thought! It’s just that babies are hard work, even for grandmothers.’

Dana jumped up as the kettle began to hiss. ‘I’m an idiot, always was, always will be,’ she said contritely. ‘How much is your friend asking for that train set?’

‘I’ll find out,’ Polly said equably. ‘And now I’m taking my cocoa to bed. I’m fair wore out; it’s been one hell of a day.’

Dana had had a busy but productive day, for one of the old ladies who sometimes came up to the cafeteria whilst waiting for her bus had looked out an old recipe book she had used during the last war. ‘Rationing were bad enough,’ she had told Dana, ‘but shortages were the worst. It were all right for rich folks, of course, same as it always is. They could pay for steaks, sides of bacon, trays of eggs and bags and bags of sugar, but for the rest of us it were make do and mend, and that included foodstuffs of course. Us poor folk passed our recipes around, so if one woman made a good fruit cake which were mainly grated carrot and another boiled bones for stock and made a pie what tasted like heaven it was soon being copied by half Liverpool.’

Dana had thanked her, not believing she would find the old exercise book at all useful, but flicking through it whilst she waited for the evening rush she had realised she was mining gold. From Mrs Batley’s Christmas cake made without dried fruit, marzipan or icing to a steak pie made entirely with vegetables and stock, the book would be invaluable when she was only able to use
ingredients which could be obtained from British sources.

Thinking of this kept Dana awake for quite some time, but suddenly she found herself crossing the courtyard at Castletara and heading for the stables, knowing that Con was ahead of her and already saddling up both the tall chestnut gelding, Troubadour, and her own sweet-tempered but frisky gray.

As she crossed the paving she looked around her. It was early in the morning, for the sun was only just edging up over the distant hills, but she could feel its warmth, faint but delicious, when she turned her face up to the sky. Feeling contentment and a sort of lazy anticipation – for she and Con would be hacking out, riding for pleasure, since neither of them would have dreamed of selling their darlings – she pulled open the stable door and slid inside. The warm sweet smell of horses and hay met her and she drew in a deep, ecstatic breath. Lovely to have a day off, for much though she enjoyed the work of the stud it would be grand to ride knee to knee with Con, chatting idly of anything that occurred to them, not bothering to kick her mount into a canter and then a gallop but merely enjoying the creak of leather and the feel of the reins in her hands.

‘Con?’ He was just lifting her saddle off its peg and turned to greet her, and for a moment, inexplicably, she felt a stab of such sadness that she gasped, but before she could analyse the feeling it was gone and she was happy once more. ‘Oh, Con, you’ve already started to saddle up. Shall I do Troubadour?’

Con placed the saddle in position and started to tighten the girth, and Cloudberry, the gray, began to puff herself
out. Dana giggled as Con dug his knee into the mare’s round belly, causing her to exhale indignantly. Then he offered the reins to Dana. ‘I did him first. Just get hold of these reins and take her into the yard and we’ll be up and off before you can say knife.’

‘And before Feena or Daddy can change their minds about our day off,’ Dana said, smiling to herself. They led the horses out of the stable, mounted without using the block and headed for open country, since, as Con was quick to explain, neither horse had been ridden for several days and would be all the better for a gallop on the downs to shake the fidgets out of its legs.

Dana agreed eagerly and suddenly they were on the downs and the horses were competing to see who could get ahead, necks stretched, eyes wide with the excitement of the race, whilst Con and Dana shouted encouragement, laughed, and when at last the beasts slowed patted sleek, sweating necks and praised each other’s mounts. Then they were in a lane, riding between high banks upon which grew hazels, their branches meeting in places over the rider’s heads. Con reached up and snatched a handful of nuts, cracking one open with strong white teeth and offering the kernel to Dana; she took it, but said he was not the only one to find free food. Bending down, she began to pick a handful of the little wild strawberries, realising with only the faintest surprise that to find ripe nuts and ripe strawberries at the same time was, to say the least, unusual. She turned to Con and he was smiling at her, but suddenly she read sadness in his smile and even as she held out her handful of berries they disappeared. Startled, and suddenly more than a little afraid, she saw that the day had turned grey and the sunshine
had disappeared. Had Con taken the berries? But before she could even ask him he had put a detaining hand on her reins, pulling both their mounts to a halt.

‘What’s the matter, alanna?’ he said softly. ‘This is our day off. You’re supposed to be enjoying it, not worrying about wild strawberries or hazelnuts.’

‘But – but they shouldn’t come together,’ Dana stammered. ‘Strawberries are spring and nuts are autumn. How come we’re gathering them at the same time?’

Con’s smile this time held nothing but a sort of gentle, mocking amusement. ‘Why, hadn’t you realised? This is just a dream,’ he said matter of factly. ‘And it’s got to last us for a long, long time, dearest Dana. A long, long, long, long …’

‘Don’t go, Con! Oh, Con, don’t go!’ Dana begged, her voice rising as her eyes filled with tears. ‘What do you mean, it’s got to last us for a long time?’

But the scene was fading and Con was growing misty, though when she reached out and grabbed his hands he seemed, for one moment, as solid as she. She gripped his fingers fiercely, repeating the words he had uttered, but then she was awake in her own bed and the church clock was striking the quarter.

Chapter Fourteen

THOROUGHLY AWAKE NOW
, Dana touched her cheek and was not surprised to find it wet. What an extraordinary dream! It had been so real, and so delightful, until the moment when she had bent down to pick the wild strawberries. And Con had been so real, not angry with her, not even disappointed in her, but simply accepting her for what she was: his loving companion. Lying there in the dark she tried to make sense of what he had said; that this meeting – had he meant a meeting? – would have to last them for a long, long time. But why on earth was she worrying? It was a dream, damn it. Dreams are neither logical nor real. If only she had thought, she would have realised earlier, when they had suddenly arrived at the downs without threading their way through lanes and across meadows. And they had reached the lane leading back to Castletara in an equally unreal fashion. She was being a complete fool. The truth was, she had longed so passionately for Con to reply to her last letter that he had forced his way into her sleep, upsetting her as his letter had upset her. She really must do as he said: put him out of her mind, forget him completely and get on with living her own life. But it occurred to her that though they might not plan to meet,
meetings can happen unintentionally. Next time she returned to Castletara Con might already be there, on leave from his airfield and giving a helping hand. As for dreams, who was he to say that they could not meet again in dreams? I’ll jolly well dream of him if I want to, Dana told herself crossly. I can dream about anyone if I set my mind to it; bloody Conan Devlin is no exception! And on the thought she turned her head into the pillow and surprised even herself by falling immediately asleep.

She did not dream.

Christmas was over and Dana was back in the cafeteria preparing for the rush of customers who always arrived as soon as the main feature finished. She looked up as the swing doors were violently opened and Ernie burst into the room.

‘Hey, Dana! If I get fish and chips can I come to supper with you and Polly? They’ve made me up to supervisor at the perishin’ factory, which means a rise in pay of ninepence an hour, so I want to celebrate.’

Dana, who was making a big pile of Spam and HP sauce sandwiches, stopped work to go over and give him a congratulatory handshake. ‘Well done, old Ern,’ she said, beaming at him, for she was well aware of how he longed to be able to sport a uniform and talk of his war service. But sensible Ernie was making the best of it and she knew he must have worked like a dog to get promotion. ‘Won’t Polly be tickled pink, though? Perhaps the two of you might get married even sooner than you’d planned; why not? You’ll both be earning good money—’

‘That’s it!’ Ernie said excitedly. That’s what I’m going
to suggest to Poll when we meet this evening and I tell her about me promotion. But right now I’m going to buy me sixpenn’orth of dark.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Polly’s usheretting in the circle tonight, isn’t she? If it’s a quiet night we’ll mebbe have one of the double seats to ourselves. Ooh, that’d be grand, that would!’

‘It would probably lose Polly her job,’ Dana said severely, but with twitching lips. Ernie had been courting Polly for a while now but Dana knew he would never overstep the mark. He had once told her that Polly was too precious for such things, and besides, she deserved to have all the pomp and splendour of a white wedding even though, if they married in wartime, she would have to buy a second-hand dress from Paddy’s market and probably sell it back immediately after the ceremony.

‘Only joking,’ Ernie said now, grinning. ‘See you later then, Dee.’

It was another couple of hours before the two girls finished work that night and they were glad of Ernie’s escort, for Liverpool was a busy port and there were always seamen coming ashore and hoping to meet a young lady who, for a small sum, would become a ‘friend’ for an hour or two. In Ernie’s company, however, they knew they would be unmolested. Polly had been delighted with Ernie’s news, though she said that a rise of ninepence an hour did not seem a great deal when you considered the responsibilities of the supervisor’s job. The three of them walked along, chatting idly, and presently caught a tram going in the right direction. They were soon at the front door of the flat in Temperance Court, and when they had let themselves in to the hall Polly immediately dived into the wire basket beneath
the letter box to sort out their post from that of other tenants. Because it was so late, however, the only mail left in the box was for the girls. Polly scooped it up, gave a little squeak of satisfaction and handed Dana two envelopes. ‘Two for you and one for me,’ she said gaily, inserting her key into their lock and thrusting the door open. ‘Gosh, them fish and chips smell so good I swear I could eat the lot, newspaper an’ all.’

Dana bustled into the room, which was deliciously warm after the icy breath of the December wind, and opened up the front of the stove so that the room grew even warmer. Then she went to the Welsh dresser, got down three plates, cutlery, salt and vinegar and set them out on the kitchen table whilst Ernie pulled the kettle over the flame and began to warm the pot. ‘I’ll brew the tea …’ he was beginning when he noticed Polly staring at the envelope with her name upon it as though it were a poisonous snake about to strike. ‘What’s the matter, Poll?’ he asked curiously. ‘Hopin’ if you stare hard enough you’ll see straight through the envelope, is that it? It ‘ud be a lot easier to open the perishin’ thing.’