The Way Ahead (13 page)

‘Frankly, I would,’ said Nick.

‘Go and use the public phone by the Post Office, then,’ said Annabelle, ‘because I’d like it myself if you’d find out how your friends are.’

Nick went. He was back in a while and able to tell her that injuries were extensive, but all patients were stable and not in danger. Bloggsy was the worst, with a damaged chest and a fractured pelvis. Broken bones and fractured ribs had laid a painful curse on the others, while Johnny Gardner also had a hairline skull fracture. But he was notoriously thick-headed, said Nick, and just some sticking-plaster would be enough to mend him. Annabelle accepted that comment as an attempt at light relief.

‘They’re all in no real danger, Nick?’ she said.

‘They’ll live,’ he said, ‘but God knows how long it’ll be before they can fly again.’

‘Don’t let’s worry about that,’ she said, ‘let’s begin to enjoy your leave now.’

‘Every minute of it,’ said Nick.

‘I miss you very much when you’re away, you know,’ said Annabelle. ‘I value the companionship of marriage.’

‘Can you hang on until we’ve settled with Hitler and his jackboots?’ asked Nick soberly.

‘Yes, if I can trust you not to take unnecessary risks,’ said Annabelle, and Nick thought of the instinct that had induced him to get out of the car and catch the bus.

‘I’ll never take the chance of throwing away what means most to me,’ he said, ‘you and the kids.’

‘The point is, love, we’d like our post-war future to include you,’ said Annabelle.

Three days later, Nick was on his way back to the war in Italy, travelling by air in company with other pilots of his squadron.

Annabelle found consolation in her children, as she always did, as she always had to, when Nick was away. Was this war never going to end?

President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill were presently set on bringing it to a conclusion inside the next twelve months. They not only had millions of war-weary people to consider, they also had Joe Stalin on their backs. The dictator of the Soviet Union had a fixed belief that only the Red Army was fighting the war.

Saturday, 8 May

THE PHONE RANG
down in Dorset.

‘Phone, Mummy!’ called little Gemma.

‘It’s ringing,’ said little James.

‘Yes, I’ve called Mummy,’ said Gemma.

Polly, appearing from the kitchen, picked up the hall phone.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’ The masculine voice was deep, warm and vibrant.

‘You old darling, it’s you, isn’t it?’ said Polly.

‘Your lord and master, so I believe,’ said Boots.

‘Don’t crack the whip, O Mighty Sultan,’ said Polly, ‘or I’ll speak to your mother.’

‘As you did a while ago,’ said Boots.

‘Noticing my cowed look, she dragged it out of me. However, I’ve assured her I’m still fighting.’

‘You’re still fighting what?’ asked Boots.

‘My weakness for bowing down to you,’ said Polly.

‘Let me know when your next attack is coming on,’ said Boots, ‘I’d like to be there.’

‘Unless you are here, it won’t happen,’ said Polly.

‘And if I am, and if it does,’ said Boots, ‘watch out for fireworks.’

‘Oh, m’lord, could you get here in ten minutes?’ begged Polly. Boots laughed. ‘I hope you don’t think that’s funny,’ said Polly.

‘What’s she saying?’ asked Gemma of James.

‘Dunno,’ said James.

‘Well, who’s she talking to?’ demanded Gemma.

‘Daddy,’ said James.

‘Crumbs,’ said Gemma.

Polly was now listening, Boots letting her know he wasn’t returning to Italy, that he’d been transferred to 30 Corps. She stopped listening to interrupt.

‘Where is this corps?’

‘Here at home, Polly.’

‘Oh, really, old sport? In your stepfather’s back garden?’

‘Hardly,’ said Boots, keeping to himself the fact that he was now in Essex, and that the corps was constituted of units strongly equipped and ready for the greatest adventure of the war. No specific details had been given to him by a General Richards of the War Office, only that he’d be obliged if Colonel Adams would accept the transfer, since the corps, in view of what lay ahead of it, was in urgent need of one more staff officer of proven experience. When Boots asked exactly what did lie ahead, General Richards replied that was a question the Corps Commander would answer at the right time. Boots felt he did not need an answer, that what lay ahead was the opening of the Second Front. ‘Not to worry, Polly.’

‘Not to?’ said Polly. ‘But I do. Listen, old warhorse, you’re mine, not the Army’s. Their claim on you is secondary, so don’t let them muck you about. I’m against you coming back to me and the twins with a hole in your head. Saints and sinners, do you realize the women of your family are living on their nerves instead of relaxing happily with their knitting or whatever? Rosie, Eloise, Annabelle, Lizzy, Vi, your mother and myself? That’s a whole tribe of worrying women.’

‘Bake a cake,’ said Boots.

What a man, thought Polly. She’d given him a hundred words to think about, and what had he said in response? Bake a cake? Dear God, she thought, is this a man who could listen to Hitler delivering a thousands words all at the top of his voice, and then tell him to take an aspirin? Yes.

‘I’m a frightful cook, you know that,’ she said.

‘Never mind, Polly, give it a go,’ said Boots. ‘I’ll keep you posted. Kiss the cherubs for me. Must hang up now.’

‘Wait, isn’t there something else?’ asked Polly.

‘Yes. Love you.’

That night, roads leading to the South of England rumbled again to the passing of troop-carriers, tank-carriers, mounted guns and a host of other armaments. From the West of England, where concentrations of American troops had been conducting manoeuvres for many months, travelled the formidable units of the Stars and Stripes.

‘Pretty at night, ain’t it, this old island?’

‘You seeing in the dark, Felix?’

‘I ain’t Felix. Who the hell’s Felix?’

‘A cat that can see in the dark.’

‘Listen, it ain’t a question of seeing, Ratty, you can smell it’s pretty.’

‘Murphy, you dope, that ain’t this island, that’s Sergeant Tucker.’

‘Who said that? Answer up, that man.’ No answer. ‘Gimme his name, Murphy.’

‘Honest to God, sarge, all I know is that one of us guys has just jumped out of the truck, and it ain’t me. Hell, sarge, did you hear that?’

‘Did I hear what, Murphy?’

‘A squelch. I guess he’s just been squashed by a gun carriage. Who’s gonna tell his Ma and Pa?’

‘Private Ratcliffe?’

‘Here, sarge.’

‘Private Ratcliffe, shoot Private Murphy.’

A letter for Felicity.

‘Read it to me, Rosie?’ she said, and Giles came up to listen. Emily toddled up behind him. ‘Is that Giles and Emily?’

‘Afraid so,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, if I know my bounder of a husband,’ said Felicity, ‘there’s sure to be something your innocents shouldn’t hear.’

‘Let’s risk it,’ said Rosie.

‘Up to you, you’re their mother,’ said Felicity.

‘Here goes,’ said Rosie. ‘“
Dear Puss
—”’

‘Typical,’ said Felicity.

‘
I am at present in the throes of being given the run-around by other ranks who’ve got aggravating ideas
that
I was commissioned by Girl Guides, not by courtesy of His Majesty Georgie. As you know, or should know, I was brought up in a family believing in respect, and I’m getting none right now. Just some shocking language. I’ll set down here a list of words you’ve probably never heard of and some of which are even new to me. Rosie will read them out, I suppose
.’

Rosie paused.

‘You pass, I pass,’ said Felicity. She heard Emily close by and reached for her. The child turned and Felicity brought her up onto her lap. Emily wriggled until she was comfortable, then settled. ‘What’s up, Rosie, has the letter caught fire?’ asked Felicity.

‘Tim’s cheated,’ said Rosie. ‘All he’s put down are rows of dots.’

‘That’s not cheating,’ said Felicity, ‘that’s Tim remembering for once that he’s an officer and gentleman. Oddly, I think I like him best as a bounder.’ She applied a little hug to Emily’s warm body. Her world of darkness was still a bitter world at times, but Rosie’s children and Rosie herself were always able to brighten the darkness. ‘Carry on, Rosie.’

Rosie carried on.

‘
Of course, suffering does lead to a bit of blasphemy, but I keep telling these cowboys it’s all necessary if they want to grow hair on their chests. You should hear what they say to that – correction, no, it’s not fit for your hearing. While I’m prepared to reason with them, my brother-in-law Luke – Colonel Lucas – prefers to break a leg or two, which lets them know
they
’re in a war, not a netball match. It’s a special kind of war in this outfit, meaning as ever, and as you’ll remember from Troon, that anyone with a broken leg is still expected to complete a forced march in full kit What our next objective is I don’t know, but I think it’s something like wiping out Berlin and bringing Hitler back with us. I understand it’s a fact that Churchill wants a word with him. I think I’ll go sick and stay where I am. It’ll be safer
.’

‘Rosie,’ said Felicity, ‘if they’re training for something unusual, what’s your guess?’

‘I’d like to guess it’s going to be a month’s leave,’ said Rosie, ‘which is about as unusual as you could get, but they don’t train for leave, do they?’

‘You can do better than that,’ said Felicity.

‘There’s only one thing that’s obvious to me,’ said Rosie, ‘an objective that’s overdue.’

‘Second Front?’ said Felicity.

‘Don’t you think so?’ said Rosie.

‘It’s going to be—’ Felicity wanted to say ‘bloody desperate and dangerous’. No, not in front of Giles, who’d be quick to pick the word up. ‘For something like that, Rosie, they’ve all got to be hairy-chested men. Finish the letter, there’s a sweetie.’

Rosie concluded.

‘
I enjoyed my time with you, Puss, very much I did, and with all of you, so if you’re reading this, Rosie, consider yourself a sister who’s always been the best ever to me, and tell Giles and Emily I love ’em. I can’t wait to see all of you again, but I don’t think it’ll be tomorrow. If it’s summery when I do arrive, let’s go
on
seaside picnics, and bring your swimsuit, Felicity
.
Love you all over, as you well know
.

Yours ever, Tim
.’

‘Rosie, has he put that down in black and white?’ asked Felicity.

‘Put what down?’ asked Rosie with a smile that made her children beam at her.

‘The “all over” bit,’ said Felicity.

‘Yes, what’s wrong with it?’

‘Some things are private, and the swine knows it,’ said Felicity.

‘But it’s lovely, isn’t it, for the swine to say so?’ said Rosie.

Felicity laughed.

‘Rosie, he’s my kind of swine,’ she said.

Rosie thought of the first letter she’d received from Matt since his arrival in Italy. He’d said several things like that in his long missive, and she’d loved them all, except that she wondered if an Army censor had seen them.

She was waiting now for another letter.

Wives waited. Husbands served. Children asked after them. War did its best – its worst – to keep families divided. That was something Grandma Finch considered more upsetting than many other consequences of war.

‘Let’s harness Humpy to the dogcart and all have a ride to Tolpuddle, shall we?’ she said.

‘Oh, could we, Mummy?’ begged Giles.

‘Count us all in,’ said Felicity.

‘Up, everyone, up, up, on your feet,’ said Rosie, ‘and let’s enjoy the great outdoors.’

Leah entered Sammy’s office to place a cup of tea on his desk.

‘Well, ta muchly,’ said Sammy, who’d been wading through the more artful clauses of a new set of regulations from the Ministry of Supply. They might have been framed by Civil Servants in stiff collars, but they were still the work of blokes who knew the advantages were all theirs in the matter of giving out contracts. ‘That’ll cure my headache.’

‘Oh, d’you have a headache, Mister Sammy?’ said Leah.

‘Sometimes, Leah,’ said Sammy, ‘I’d be better off leaving my head at home, where Susie could look after it with a piece of old-fashioned affection, which is one of the things married wives are good at. When you’re a married wife—’

‘But all wives are naturally married, Mister Sammy,’ said Leah. She called him that in the office, as the other girls did. Outside of that, she called him Uncle Sammy, for he’d been like an uncle to her and Rebecca for as long as she could remember. ‘You can’t be a wife unless you are married.’

‘I can’t?’ said Sammy, taking a welcome mouthful of hot tea.

‘No, not you, you’re a man,’ said Leah.

‘I’m glad you said that,’ murmured Sammy. ‘By the time I get home some days, I feel like a fairy penguin with no flappers.’

‘Mister Sammy, stop making me giggle,’ said Leah.

Sammy took a kind look at the lovely young lady, so like her mother at her age.

‘How’s your love life, Leah?’ he asked.

‘Mister Sammy?’ said Leah, slightly pink.

‘Well, you and Edward are still going strong, are you?’ said Sammy.

‘You don’t mind about us, do you?’ said Leah.

‘Mind?’ said Sammy.

‘Well, there’s our differences,’ said Leah.

‘What’s that got to do with young love?’ asked Sammy. ‘Listen, if Susie had been a Buddhist nun, would that difference have made me back off? Not on your Nelly. I’d have broken into her Chinese nunnery, carried her off and married her at the first church we reached in Hong Kong, even if she’d yelled it was against her vows to wear wedding garters and a frilly nightie.’

‘Oh, my life, Mister Sammy, stop making me giggle more,’ begged Leah.

‘I can’t hear you giggling,’ said Sammy.

‘Well, you will in a minute,’ said Leah. ‘Suppose Edward asked me to marry him—’ She let that hang in the air.

‘I happen to have heard that’s a possibility,’ said Sammy. ‘Edward’s mum and dad mentioned it to me and Susie. Leah, I seriously recommend you don’t let differences muck your life up. You and Edward can both do your own kind of praying. What’s the biggest difference between people in this country? Conservatism and Socialism. Sometimes they could beat each other to death with spiked copper sticks. But some Conservatives do marry Socialists, male and female respective, of
course
, and they get happy beating each other with rolled-up pamphlets. Rolled-up pamphlets are more loving than spiked copper sticks. You got that, Leah?’