The Way Ahead (36 page)

‘Guildford,’ said Tim. ‘Hospitalized with a smashed left arm. Happened four days ago. Bloody marvellous journey home, nurses kissing me all the way. What a sacrifice! I was five days unshaven, six days sweating, filthy togs and all over lice and BO. I tell you, getting kisses from those nurses must have
cost
them something. Mind, I think they shut their eyes and held their noses, but it was still a sacrifice.’

‘Tim, is your arm badly smashed?’

‘Well, it’s a mess and it hurts a bit, and I won’t deny it,’ said Tim. ‘I’ve given up being a brave bloke, I go in for hollering when there’s pain about. Luke – Colonel Lucas – was close by when I caught my packet. He asked me what the hell I was bawling about. I asked him if he’d seen my arm. He said I was still wearing it, wasn’t I? He took a look and said he didn’t know what I was fussing about, that there wasn’t all that much blood. I said see that, it’s a piece of my armbone. All right, shove off and get it seen to, he said. He’s an uplifting brother-in-law.’

‘Tim, I think you’re telling me you’ve got an arm that’s in crisis,’ said Rosie.

‘Oh, they’re trying to put the pieces back in place,’ said Tim. ‘I’ve had my operation, and my bedside nurse, Captain Daisy Bell—’

‘Daisy Bell?’ said Rosie.

‘Well, she’s a Daisy, so I’ve hung a bell on her,’ said Tim. ‘She’s given me a bedside phone today, and I’m sufficiently compos mentis to be able to use it. Rosie, is Felicity around?’

‘Tim love, yes, she is,’ said Rosie, and wondered just how bad his arm was. He’d been severely wounded during the war in the desert, and she hoped to God that if he was returned to duty, lightning wouldn’t strike a third time. ‘I’ll get her.’ She could have told Tim something, but no, that had to be Felicity’s own special moment.

Tim heard her call.

‘Giles? Giles, bring Aunt Felicity to the phone, will you, darling?’

Felicity answered.

‘Rosie, if I can’t get myself to the phone, I’ll spit.’

‘Not in front of the children, old thing,’ said Rosie.

‘Who’s calling, anyway?’ Felicity was on the move.

‘Guess.’

‘My mother, bless her?’

‘No, your husband, bless you.’

A little yell sprang from Felicity.

She was at the phone moments later.

‘Tim? Tim?’

‘Hello, Puss, how are you, you darling woman?’

‘Where are you, where are you?’

‘Guildford.’

‘
Guildford?
’ Felicity did half a jump. ‘
Guildford!
’ It was almost a shout.

‘Rosie will tell you all about it—’

‘No, you tell me.’

‘All right, Puss,’ said Tim and repeated much of what he had told Rosie. And, of course, Felicity asked the same question as Rosie, just how bad was his arm. ‘I can’t see,’ said Tim, ‘there’s all these bandages, but better some holes in an arm than holes in the head. Holes in the head are fatal, and I’ve seen some. Meanwhile, for the time being, I can’t get out of here to see you, but I’ll give you a daily phone call.’

‘Tim, if Rosie will look after all the kids and I can get Polly to drive me, can I come and see you?’ asked Felicity.

‘Can you do that?’ asked Tim.

‘See you?’ said Felicity. ‘Well, curses that I still can’t even see my hand in front of my nose, but I can sit with you, can’t I?’

‘It shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Tim, ‘I smell better now that I’ve been scraped and bathed.’

‘Then I’ll ask Polly to drive me to Guildford,’ said Felicity, ‘I’m sure she’ll say yes.’

‘Tell her she can’t say no, she’s my mother,’ said Tim.

‘Stepmother,’ said Felicity, ‘but don’t call her that, she’s got a thing about the frightful curse of being anyone’s stepmother or mother-in-law.’

‘She’s still a flapper,’ said Tim, ‘and I’ll always regret I never saw her doing the Charleston in half a dress, which is what the flappers wore, didn’t they?’

‘I was an infant at the time,’ said Felicity. ‘Tim, I’m dreadfully sorry about your arm, but grateful you’re being looked after not too far away from me, and you’ll beat all the gremlins, won’t you?’

‘There’s an armistice at the moment,’ said Tim, ‘but I’ll be hollering as soon as they start firing their burning arrows again.’

‘Little devils,’ said Felicity.

‘Nothing compared to those you had to suffer,’ said Tim. ‘And still do, don’t you?’

‘Now and again in my waking moments,’ said Felicity. ‘But Tim, I’ve something to tell you. I’m pregnant.’

‘Felicity?’

‘Yes, it’s a fact.’

‘You’re going to have a baby?’

‘Yes. You and me.’

‘Who said so?’

The doctor.’

‘What doctor?’

‘Our village doctor, a few days ago.’

‘How does he know?’

‘He’s a doctor. Tim, what’s up with you?’

‘I’m punch-drunk,’ said Tim.

‘In a celebratory way?’

‘Look, Puss, am I really going to be a dad?’

‘Yes, about January.’

‘And you’re going to be a mum?’

‘Yes, about the same time.’

‘Well, we did talk about it.’

‘We did more than that,’ said Felicity.

‘And you’re sure you can cope?’

‘We talked about that too.’

‘What a woman,’ said Tim.

‘Your kind, Tim?’

‘My kind, Puss.’

My dear Polly
,

I expect the radio is keeping you up-to-date with events, and you won’t need any forbidden details from me about present operations. I can tell you French wine by the case has become available to Corps headquarters, but that Scotch seems to be in short supply. Enjoyed the sea trip only up to a point, and I’ll stick to the Thames in future, or just the bath. When you’ve seen one wave as high as a house, there’s a dread feeling you’re going to see a lot more. Everyone damned glad to get ashore. Had a rousing welcome from the Jerries, but nothing like their
bombardments
of our other war. Had a suspicion the
RAF
were giving their batteries a hard time
.

Corps Commander jovial about progress, yours truly not so jovial. Someone’s made off with headquarters’ last bottle of Scotch, an unspeakable crime. On the unexpected side, had a report from our forward units that when several German prisoners were being escorted out of a certain village, two young French ladies threw stones at our men. It seemed that liberation didn’t count as much with these mademoiselles as the fact that they were engaged to two of our prisoners
.

Thinking of you and the twins, thinking of joining you in our post-war garden and growing marrows. They’re big but friendly. We’re all overdue for a friendlier world, and I’ve a feeling the people who’ll need it most, eventually, will be Bertha and Fritz
.

Have you heard from Tim? Let me know if you have. Kiss Gemma and James for me, and tell them I hope to be home for Christmas. All my love, Polly
.

Ever yours

Boots

Christmas, thought Polly, Christmas? Not until then? Doesn’t he realize I’m getting older week by week? He’ll arrive on Christmas Eve, look at me, look at the twins and say, ‘Who’s the old lady, Santa Claus’s grandmother?’

An RAF truck pulled up outside a cottage in a small Wiltshire village. A pilot-officer, sitting beside the
driver
, jumped down and pulled two laden valises from the back of the truck.

‘
Ciao
,’ he said to the driver.

‘You’ll get arrested, sir, using that kind of language,’ said the driver. The truck moved off. The door of the cottage opened, and Annabelle, expecting the caller, showed herself.

‘Hooray,’ she said, and a smile lit up her face.

‘You look good to come home to,’ said Nick.

‘Give me the bad news first,’ said Annabelle.

‘No bad news, Annabelle, I’m promoted to training duties at Cranwell,’ said Nick.

‘That’s my best present ever,’ said Annabelle, ‘so drop those valises and let’s have a cuddle. Come on, don’t just stand there.’

The valises were still on the doorstep twenty minutes later. Annabelle and Nick were making up for lost time while their children were still at school. It was that kind of a cuddle.

Sammy, home from the office, was having a word with Susie.

‘Considering things are looking better, Susie, and considering there’s benefits to be had from a change of scenery—’

‘You’re after something I’m not going to agree with,’ said Susie.

‘Susie, have I ever—’

‘Yes, frequently,’ said Susie, ‘like cornering markets, consorting with spivs and giving me a Christmas present last year of a black nightie you could see through.’

‘Well, Susie, you’re still—’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Susie, ‘but see-through nighties aren’t for respectable wives and mothers, and your mum would faint if she saw me wearing it, and I’ll have you know I only ever wear it under protest.’

‘All the same, Susie, it shows you’ve still got a lot of Hollywood oomph,’ said Sammy.

‘My oomph is nothing to do with Hollywood,’ said Susie, ‘it was born and brought up in Walworth, which I’m proud of. Anyway, I’m nearly forty and you shouldn’t talk about me having – Sammy, have I really still got a lot?’

‘Yes, both of ’em,’ said Sammy.

‘Where’s my egg saucepan?’ said Susie.

‘No, listen, Susie, I’ve been thinking about you being a deserving woman, and seeing the war’s beginning to make Hitler cry his eyes out, I’m suggesting a holiday down in Cornwall as soon as Paula and Phoebe break up.’

‘Sammy, oh, yes,’ said Susie, delighted.

‘I happened to be conversing with me contractual friend, old Blenkinsop of the Air Ministry,’ said Sammy. ‘He’s got a large cottage by the coast of North Cornwall, and says he’d be pleasured to offer us use of it for two weeks. You, me, Paula, Phoebe, Daniel, and Jimmy and Bess, plus Chinese Lady and our stepdad. Plenty of room for nine of us, Blenkinsop said. We pick up Jimmy and Bess from Devon on our way, and at the end of the holiday, we bring ’em back here, which I think would be safe to do now, especially seeing Bess had been pointing out lately in her letters that Paula and Phoebe are permanent here. She wants to come home. The
holiday
would be a nice change, wouldn’t it, and I’d buy you a new bucket and spade.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice,’ said Susie, glowing. ‘But we can’t all drive there in the car.’

‘I’ll ask Daniel to go on the train with his grandparents and keep ’em company,’ said Sammy.

‘I’m sure he will,’ said Susie, ‘he’s a kind boy.’

Sammy coughed.

‘I know you’re his loving mum, Susie,’ he said, ‘but haven’t you noticed he’s been wearing long trousers for a few years, that he’s a working bloke and what you’d call a young man?’

‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Susie, ‘don’t one’s children grow up quick, Sammy?’

‘Patsy?’ Daniel was on the phone that evening.

‘This is you, Daniel?’ said Patsy.

‘I think so,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, I’m sure it is. How’s your good old Pa?’

‘Having a ball about Normandy,’ said Patsy, ‘and I’m fine myself, thanks. That’s in case you were going to ask.’

‘Granted,’ said Daniel.

‘What d’you mean, granted?’ asked Patsy.

‘Yes, I was going to ask,’ said Daniel.

‘I like you over the phone,’ said Patsy, ‘it does things to your baritone.’

‘Hope you like me off the phone,’ said Daniel. ‘Listen, we’re off to Cornwall for the last week in July and the first week in August. Dad’s got the use of a large cottage by the coast. Would your Pa let you come with us, and if he would, would you like to come?’

‘Gee whizz, I’m really invited?’ said Patsy.

‘I pointed out to Mum and Dad I’d be sorrowful if we left you behind,’ said Daniel. ‘It’ll be beaches and sand, buckets and spades, and swimsuits. Got a swimsuit?’

‘Daniel, no, I don’t go swimming here.’

‘Never mind, make do with your bra and knickers,’ said Daniel.

‘You’d like that, would you?’ said Patsy.

‘Well, I would,’ said Daniel, ‘but Grandma wouldn’t. She’d give you a talking-to.’

‘I’ll get fixed up,’ said Patsy, ‘I’m not going to miss out on Cornwall.’ Her Pa had agreed to let problems rest, and to wait on the outcome of the Normandy campaign. ‘Daniel, it sounds great, and you’d really like me there with you?’

‘I’d miss you if you weren’t,’ said Daniel.

‘Daniel, do you like me a lot?’

‘A lot and some more,’ said Daniel. ‘Don’t you know that by now?’

‘Oh, I guess I just need telling,’ said Patsy, ‘and now that you have, do you know where I could buy a really sexy swimsuit, if clothes rationing hasn’t sunk them?’

‘I’ll ask my dad,’ said Daniel, ‘he’s tops in the rag trade, and knows where to find stuff that’s still floating.’

‘Would you do that for me, Daniel?’

‘Ask Dad about a sexy swimsuit? Yes, when my mum’s not listening,’ said Daniel. ‘Oh, and when can I come round and measure you?’

Patsy shrieked.

Her English fun guy was a hoot.

Mid-June

At various sites along the coast of Northern France, sites that had escaped Allied destruction, German scientists were just about ready to launch a deadly new weapon at London.

The flying bomb.

THE END

Mary Jane Staples
was born, bred and educated in Walworth, and is the author of many bestselling novels, including the ever-popular cockney sagas featuring the Adams family.

Down Lambeth Way

Our Emily

King of Camberwell

On Mother Brown's Doorstep

A Family Affair

Missing Person

Pride of Walworth

Echoes of Yesterday

The Young Ones

The Camberwell Raid

The Last Summer

The Family at War

Fire Over London

Churchill's People

Bright Day, Dark Night

Tomorrow is Another Day

Year of Victory

The Homecoming

Sons and Daughters

Appointment at the Palace

Changing Times

Spreading Wings

Family Fortunes

A Girl Next Door

Ups and Downs