Time to Say Goodbye (23 page)

Furthermore, the weather was kind and very soon their rooms were full, her mother had been persuaded to start cooking breakfasts and Rita had informed her that she now intended to return to the Canary and Linnet. ‘You, Lizzie and Matt can manage very well without me now,’ she said. ‘Lizzie is quite happy to have a shakedown in the box room, since her own home was bombed. Don’t pull such a face, Mam. You know very well that if I came home for good I’d insist on having my own room and that would be one less for you to let.’ Rita grinned to herself at the look on her mother’s face. Mrs Jeffries was fat and lazy and did not like being forced to work. Once I’m gone poor little Lizzie will find herself doing Mam’s work as well as her own, Rita thought, but I’m damned if I’ll stay here to become Mam’s slave. I’ll be off on the first train tomorrow, so I’d best drop Auntie a line; maybe someone will meet me, you never know!

Back at the Canary and Linnet, Rita reflected that the experience had taught her a lesson: she knew that when the war ended she would not want to become a house slave to her mother. Before then I’ll have a talk with Auntie – or maybe with Jill – to see whether I might be able to get a job somewhere locally, she planned. It’s not that I don’t love my mother, I think it’s more her way of life that I don’t like. Now if I ran Bide-a-Wee, I’d charge a bit more, but I’d give a bit more as well. Look at Lavender Lodge. Mam hates Mrs Stern because they’re successful and I know they take a lot of people who would otherwise come to us, but Mam doesn’t seem to notice how beautifully clean the Lodge is and how businesslike, yet friendly, the Sterns are. They’re foreigners of course, taking the bread from our mouths you could say, but Mam just lets it happen and never fights back. If I were in charge I’d put it about that Lavender Lodge is owned by a Jew-boy, and say the food was poor and the accommodation none too clean. All’s fair in business, they say, and I bet Mrs Stern tells her boarders that our place is a real rat-run. It would be quite fun to run a successful hotel, but no fun at all to run a scruffy boarding house. Still, no point in worrying; I’m back where I want to be, and Mam won’t winkle me out again without a fight.

It was mid-May and Laurie and his fellow pilots from the Lincolnshire airfield to which he and Dave had been posted when they finished their training had been attacking targets on the Continent when Laurie’s plane was heavily damaged by flak whilst overflying Paris. The next time he and Jill spoke on the telephone he told her that his aircraft was in for repairs, which meant he might get a forty-eight at the weekend; was there any chance of her coming over to Lincolnshire so they could spend some time together?

Auntie, smiling at her niece’s eagerness, agreed only a little ruefully, the girls promised to be extra helpful and Woody said he would come over if needed to undertake tasks such as chopping wood, carting coal and helping the cellar man, jobs he considered too much for the girls’ feeble strength. ‘It’s odd, when you think we’re only a few years younger than Jill, yet it still takes two of us to carry in the log basket, or a big sack of spuds, whereas Jill can do it with one hand tied behind her,’ Rita said after school on Friday as she and Imogen tottered across the yard with a sack of swedes to put into the woodshed. ‘Of course I want Jill to be able to see her boyfriend, but—’

‘He’s not . . .’ Imogen began, and then seeing the look in her friend’s eyes changed what she had been about to say, ‘he’s not able to get away often,’ she substituted. ‘And it’s nice to know Jill will be enjoying herself, and not just working like a slave to keep us all fed and watered. And a forty-eight isn’t very long.’

‘True,’ Rita said absently. ‘It’s a pity Laurie can’t come all the way to the Linnet . . . then you’d get a chance to see lover-boy in person, and—’

‘Shut up!’ Imogen screamed. ‘If you start, Rita Jeffries, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’

But Rita, laughing, said she was sorry and diplomatically changed the subject.

And then when they retraced their steps a surprise awaited them. They burst into the kitchen, already asking Auntie who owned the rather natty sports car which was parked only feet from the back door, to find Jill and two men in RAF uniform sitting at the big kitchen table and drinking tea whilst Auntie placidly buttered scones.

‘Laurie!’ Imogen squeaked, then put her hands over her hot cheeks. ‘Jill! How ever . . .’

‘I got a lift from a friend,’ Laurie explained. ‘So you won’t have to lose Jill after all. Auntie says she can put me up for a couple of nights.’

‘And the car?’ Rita said, voicing Imogen’s thoughts. ‘Is it yours, Laurie? Will you take me for a spin?’

‘I wish it were mine, but actually I’ve only got an eighth share in it,’ Laurie explained, and Imogen, who had not seen him for many months, saw that he was pale and strained, not at all like the Laurie who had fought to keep Britain safe in his little Hurricane, and had never seemed conscious of danger. ‘Oh, I should introduce you.’ Laurie struck his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Ricky, the fair one’s Rita and the dark one is Imogen. Girls, Ricky’s my tail gunner and it was his idea to car-share. So when the CO said we could have a forty-eight we worked out a route across country, and when Jill telephoned me this morning I told her not to set off because I was coming to the Linnet instead of her coming to me. We arrived half an hour ago.’

‘And now you know as much as the rest of us,’ Auntie said, glancing fondly at her pink-cheeked niece. ‘Debby is upstairs, making up the bed in the spare room, and you two can make yourselves useful. Ricky here – I’m sorry, Ricky, I don’t know your surname – has just popped in for a mug of tea and a scone, and then he’ll be on his way and you can have Laurie all to yourselves.’

Rita was beginning to say that no doubt he and Jill would catch the bus into town and see a flick, or go dancing, when Debby came clattering down the stairs and burst into the kitchen. She beamed at the assembled company, dusted her hands rather ostentatiously, and slid into a vacant chair.

‘Bed made up, floor brushed and furniture dusted,’ she announced. She turned to the two young men. ‘It was my turn, you see. We do everything by turns: housework, a bit of cooking – Jill taught us to make bread and butter pudding, with chopped up carrots instead of sultanas – and yard work, like feeding the pigs and the poultry . . .’

‘And shopping,’ Imogen broke in eagerly. She shot a sideways look at Laurie under her lashes. He was grinning, and looked, she thought, more handsome than ever.

‘Very praiseworthy; the sharing, I mean,’ Laurie said. He took a scone off the plate Auntie was offering. ‘Thanks very much, Auntie.’ He turned to Ricky. ‘You’re in for a treat; these ladies make the best scones I’ve ever tasted. God knows how they do it with rationing and restrictions and all; I suppose they have some secret recipe.’

Auntie put the plate of scones down in the middle of the table and grinned. ‘That’s right; the hens have been laying well,’ she said, not bothering to explain further that scones made with eggs were extra rich. She smiled across the table at Ricky. ‘I understand from the lad here that you weren’t able to get in touch with your mother to tell her you were coming, so I’ll give you half a dozen scones which she may be glad of. And Imogen here can make you a couple of sandwiches to eat on the way.’

Imogen jumped eagerly to her feet and went across to the pantry, returning with a newly baked loaf, a pat of butter and a jar of strawberry jam. ‘We all went in the cart to the Ellises’ farm and picked the strawberries, so Mr Ellis gave Auntie a big basketful to make into jam, because we’d all worked so hard,’ Imogen said, addressing herself to Ricky, though she was well aware of Laurie’s laughing eyes on her and felt the heat rise in her cheeks once more. ‘At the village school they call us the strawberry dodgers, because we don’t have to attend classes when we’re helping on the land.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw Laurie grinning.

‘From what I’ve heard you lasses don’t just help with the strawberry harvest at Ellis’s, you throw yourself into any farm work that’s needed,’ he told her, ‘because of course it’s more fun than lessons. Jill said . . .’

Jill interrupted hurriedly. ‘Don’t tease them, Laurie; they work like slaves, and so do the boys up at Pilgrim Farm. Any time now they’ll be cutting the hay and the girls will be first at the field to turn the crop as soon as it’s ready.’ She watched approvingly as Imogen sliced and buttered bread and spread strawberry jam with a prodigal hand. ‘Don’t know where we’d be without our excuses,’ she finished.

‘Wish we could take time off for harvesting,’ Laurie said wistfully.

Imogen lowered her eyes to her task. She was terrified that Laurie might realise how she felt about him, and brought up another topic of conversation. ‘Oh, that reminds me: how’s Dave?’

She was looking at Laurie as she spoke, and saw his lips quiver before he turned his gaze away from her and across to Jill. There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, and then it was Jill who replied. ‘Hopefully, in a German POW camp. I didn’t tell you before, girls, but Dave was shot down somewhere over France. But Laurie saw his parachute open, didn’t you, Laurie? And he saw British Spitfires follow him down. Only it takes time for news about POWs to get through.’

There was a shocked silence in the kitchen. Imogen could hear the clock on the wall ticking and a blackbird, the one that nested in the lilac tree which grew against the outhouses, giving his strident alarm. She could hear her own breathing and the thump of her heart. She longed for someone to break the silence, yet could not do so herself, and it was Debby who finally spoke.

‘What do you mean, the fighters followed him down?’ she asked, and Imogen could tell that she was keeping her voice level with an effort. ‘Why should they do such a thing? It seems very strange.’

Again, there was a silence before Laurie answered. ‘In the heat of battle . . .’ he began, then hesitated, and Ricky swallowed his mouthful of scone and answered for him.

‘Some of the Huns see a parachute open, know it’s from a British plane and chase it down, guns blazing,’ Ricky said cheerfully. ‘It’s not always the easy option, baling out,’ he added.

There was a shocked silence before Imogen, forgetting that she did not want to draw attention to herself, spoke. ‘You mean they’d deliberately kill one of our chaps who had jumped because his plane was on fire or something?’ she asked in an incredulous voice. ‘I shouldn’t have thought even a German could be that wicked.’

‘Oh, mostly they’re too busy trying to down the big bombers,’ Ricky assured her. ‘I’m sure Dave reached the ground safely.’ He turned to Laurie. ‘He went down over occupied France didn’t he?’

Laurie nodded. ‘Yes, and as soon as we have definite news we’ll let you know,’ he assured the company. ‘And now you’d best be on your way, Ricky.’

Ricky grinned, getting to his feet and taking the neat packet of sandwiches and the bag of scones which Imogen was holding out. ‘Thanks very much,’ he said. ‘My mum will be glad of the scones. Laurie, don’t forget I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock on Sunday.’ He opened the back door and everyone accompanied him outside to watch him get behind the wheel of the little sports car and drive out of the back yard with a cheery wave.

Jill and Laurie decided that they would catch the bus into the town, see a film or simply have a wander round the shops, and stay out for supper. Imogen, who had been told to feed Pandora and clean out the pen, ably assisted by Rita, began work at once. She waited for Rita to make some remark about Laurie and when it came, as it inevitably did, she parried it by saying smartly: ‘I saw your face when Laurie said Dave was probably a POW. I didn’t know you’d got a crush on him!’

Rita began to deny that she had any interest in Dave other than friendship, ending reproachfully, ‘You shouldn’t joke about someone who might be dead or injured. We all like Dave . . .’

‘. . . and we all like Laurie,’ Imogen said defiantly. ‘And now let’s get on with the work.’

By the time Jill and Laurie returned the girls felt well pleased with how they had coped. When the pub opened they collected empty glasses and took orders from the drinkers which they passed immediately to Auntie behind the bar, and at ten o’clock, when they would normally have been in bed for at least an hour, they were glad to greet Jill and Laurie and tell of their helpful work.

Imogen said very little whilst Rita and Debby filled Jill and Laurie in on the evening’s happenings, though she had worked as hard as anyone. She was still shy of saying too much in case Laurie guessed how she felt about him.

Auntie smiled complacently round the shiny kitchen and caressed Rufus’s soft ears. ‘Everyone pulled their weight, even Rufus here,’ she reported. ‘Old Mr Weatherspoon came up from the village with a message for one of the customers and was paid for his trouble in cider, which is strong stuff. I wouldn’t have liked to see him trying to make his way back to the village alone, so I lent him Rufus. I told him to keep the dog by him until he reached his own cottage and then to tell Rufus to go home, which he did.’ She beamed at the company. ‘How about that for intelligence, eh?’

Everyone agreed that Rufus was bright as a button and worth his weight in gold. Very soon after that Auntie sent the girls off to bed, for it had been a long and tiring day – a day which Imogen hoped to relive, particularly the bits with Laurie in them, before she went to sleep.

Imogen was awoken from the middle of a pleasant dream in which she was swimming in beautiful calm blue water, surrounded by fish, with seagulls floating above her head. Sighing regretfully, she buried her head in her pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Woody had taught her to swim, more or less, but they still had not managed to find a sufficiently private stretch of water where she could be taught proper strokes instead of the rather desperate doggy paddle which was all shallow water allowed. But as everyone knows, sleep does not always follow the rules so, although disappointed, she was not particularly surprised when she remained wide awake. She glanced across at the alarm clock; gosh, it was midnight. She had gone to bed soon after ten and must have plunged straight into not only sleep, but also the dream sea. What a nuisance! Previous experience told her that she would probably lie awake for at least an hour now, since her mind would assume it to be morning. She glanced at the two other sleepers, thinking that if one of them were awake she might tell her about the swimming dream, but it was pretty obvious that the day’s hard work had affected her friends quite differently from the way it had affected her, for they were fast asleep. Debby was even snoring gently, and Rita suddenly gave a snort and turned her head restlessly on the pillow.