Wartime Brides (6 page)

Their marriage had always been good, even after the children had come along and his private practice in Bristol
became
ever busier. His partners took over his workload when he declared his intention to go to war. He needn’t have gone. Doctors, of course, were a reserved occupation.

A regency house in Royal York Crescent, Clifton became their home. On Sundays, in that far-off peacetime, they had walked on Durdham Downs, a vast expanse of grassland bequeathed to the city by wealthy benefactors. From there they would gaze in awe at the Clifton Suspension Bridge, nearly one hundred years old and spanning the three-hundred-foot drop of the Avon Gorge.

The children had kept her busy, and although David had been adamant that they should attend boarding school he relented when she threw a tantrum that was completely out of character. To his mind children attending day school was at least worth his wife’s happiness though, unknown to him, she still had trouble finding enough
useful
things to do to fill her days. The war had changed that. She hadn’t told David all that she had done and all she intended to do. She had, of course, outlined some of her activities in her letters, but not all, just the things she thought might lift his spirits and let him know she was doing her bit.

Even though she had been beside herself with excitement at the thought of his return, she had feared telling him that she intended pursuing a career, the roots of which had been put down in the war years.

Now he was home and she wasn’t sure she knew him any more. In the drabness of a December dawn she watched him sleeping and tried to remember how he
would
have reacted to her plans before the war. It would have definitely caused a scene but he would have attempted to understand. She knew that much. But how would he react now? He had got used to giving orders, to being in charge. And he expected those orders to be obeyed. The horrors he’d seen on the battlefields could only be guessed at. But at least he was physically fit. Perhaps the fact that he had ravished her was purely because he had only just arrived home. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished it were so. He’s not been with a woman for a long time, she told herself.

In the morning she presumed she was the first up and was just about to go along to the bathroom when she noticed that a draught was blowing up the stairs. Leaning over the mahogany banister rail, she saw that the front door was ajar. The bathroom would have to wait. Either someone had got in or someone had gone out. It had to be one of the children.

The garden was shrouded in a damp mist that made greens look grey and left the stoutest of plants limply hanging their heads.

She shivered, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her while deciding who had found it necessary to venture forth at this hour.

Her daughter was prime suspect. Janet was young and her enthusiasm for young American soldiers had known no bounds from the first moment they’d given her gum, chocolate, and then stockings as her tastes and her looks developed.

GIs were encouraged to rise early by sergeant majors who took pride – and sadistic pleasure – in tipping men out of warm beds and into a damp dawn. But there weren’t too many of them around nowadays. Those that weren’t mopping up in Europe and the Far East were waiting for ships to take them home.

‘Geoffrey?’

There was no reply so she took a look in the hall cupboard. She sighed once she’d worked out which coat was missing and to whom it belonged.

‘Geoffrey!’

She closed the door and went back into the kitchen where Mrs Grey, a woman with a jolly red face caused by acne rather than accident, was putting the kettle on and sorting out breakfast.

‘I saw ’im go out,’ she said. ‘Said he had something to sort out.’

‘I see.’ Boys always had something to sort out – conkers, cricket, swapping cigarette cards with one of the other boys in the Crescent.

She went back into the kitchen. There was enough to think about without worrying about her son. In the hope of easing her anxiety, she began checking Mrs Grey’s shopping list for the week but her mind wasn’t really on it. How could it be after last night? Although she looked good, she certainly didn’t feel it. She ached all over and already purple blotches were rising on her inner thighs and on her back.

The items on the shopping list jigged up and down like a conga of madly dancing matchstick men. And all
waiting
in queues, she thought with worn amusement. One thought above all others predominated. What David had done and why he had done it. Had she done or said anything to deserve it? She didn’t think so. She couldn’t have!

Wrapped up in her own confusion, she didn’t hear Mrs Grey asking her a question until she repeated it.

‘I said, how’s Doctor Hennessey-White? Glad to be home, is he?’

Charlotte put down the pencil she had been chewing, forced a weak smile and nodded, her chin dropping a little lower each time she did it. ‘He’ll be fine given time. It takes a while to get over a war.’

‘Oh yes!’ Mrs Grey exclaimed knowledgeably. ‘When my George came back he didn’t speak to me for three months. Just stared out the window he did. Stared and stared and stared. What he was seeing, I just don’t know. And when he finally snapped out of it and I asked him what he’d been thinking about, he looked at me as though I was mad. “What you talking about?” he said. Didn’t remember a thing you see. Didn’t want to remember!’

Funnily enough, what Mrs Grey said did make Charlotte feel better. Give David three months and he’d be right as rain and she’d be fine too. Of course, there was still the small matter of her intended career, but she convinced herself that things would be fine. She imagined the scenario in her mind, he taking her out to dinner to make up for his extraordinary behaviour, and she taking advantage of the opportunity to outline her plans for the
future
–
her
future. Again she became aware that Mrs Grey had said something and had had to repeat it.

‘I said I thought I heard someone going up the stairs.’

‘Geoffrey!’ Charlotte marched towards the kitchen door and reached for the handle. Before her fingers had touched it there was a bellowing cry from upstairs then a scampering of feet.

She opened the door in time to see half a dozen of Geoffrey’s friends running down the stairs, sprinting past her and out of the door. Geoffrey brought up the rear. Charlotte grabbed him.

‘And what have you been up to?’

His face was flushed and his eyes were wide with fear. ‘I wanted to show them that I had a dad too.’

Charlotte, aware that a curious Mrs Grey was loitering behind her, looked at him in disbelief. ‘You showed them?’

He nodded.

Mrs Grey began to laugh. ‘Imagine! The doctor waking up and seeing all them eyes looking down at him.’

Charlotte had to control her amusement until after she’d given Geoffrey a shake. ‘Don’t you dare do it again. And you’d better apologise when your father gets up.’

Only after he’d been told to get into the bathroom and wash his face did she allow herself to laugh.

‘That’ll cheer Doctor Hennessey-White up,’ said Mrs Grey as, still chortling, she turned back towards the kitchen and the precious egg she’d just cracked into a cup.

Charlotte decided to brave taking her husband’s breakfast up on a tray. What Mrs Grey had said made
sense
. His son’s pranks had made David laugh before the war and there was no reason why they shouldn’t now.

She went up the stairs, opened the bedroom door, then stopped dead in her tracks.

‘David! No!’ Her hands shook and the crockery on the breakfast tray rattled. Her heart didn’t want to believe it, yet her eyes took in the set of his jaw and the unearthly gleam in his eyes.

‘Where is that little swine?’ David growled, his brows knitted in a deep, dark frown. ‘It’s time the little bugger got some discipline. I’ve been away too long and you’ve been too soft with him.’

‘David, you can’t!’ With sinking hope for what might have been, Charlotte froze as David slowly wound the end of a leather belt around his fist.

Chapter Five

GAVIN HADN’T COME
home and Polly was not going to put a hold on her life because of that.

She was not tall but jutting out her chin like an aggressive prizefighter gave her a determined look. And that was certainly how she was feeling as a few days later she marched towards the bus stop, the rabbit-skin collar of her black coat turned up against the chill evening air.

Gavin had not been on the train and her mind was made up. She had given both him and God this last chance and both of them had let her down. Now it was up to her to take care of her future. If he couldn’t take care of her and Carol, then she had to find someone who could. But the chances of fulfilling her dream were lessening. She had to act quickly.

Time was ticking away. The war in Europe was over and the American and Canadian troops were going home as fast as the job could be done.

‘And what good is that to me!’ she muttered as she marched along. Soon there would be no more GIs left in
Britain
and her chance to escape to something better would be gone.

After some persuading Aunty Meg had agreed to look after Carol even though she had taken care of her for most of the day. But Polly had been resolute.

‘I’m too young to be stuck in with a kid for the rest of my life!’

‘You should have thought of that earlier,’ said Meg.

Polly had avoided her aunt’s eyes and bolted upstairs where she slid into her favourite dress, a long-sleeved black number with a white satin collar and matching cuffs.

Her friend Mavis was waiting for her at the bus stop. Mavis was at least five inches taller than Polly, dark-haired and slim enough to fit into Polly’s clothes if it wasn’t for the fact that they’d be far too short on her to be decent.

‘Brass monkeys tonight, innit,’ Mavis stated, shrugging her shoulders and nestling her chin further inside the old fox fur whose rigid claws rattled like dry bones each time she shivered.

Polly grinned and nodded at the glazed eyes and black nose of the dead fox. ‘Must be. Killed ’im dead for a start.’

They laughed. A bit more gossip and a bit more banter and Polly’s thoughts about Gavin were forgotten. Her determination to find a suitable replacement was not.

There were about twenty people waiting at the stop by the time the bus came. Cigarette smoke mixed with steamy breath, a few coughs, and raucous laughter from single men just returned home and intent on getting drunk to celebrate the occasion.

Mavis nudged Polly. ‘They’re looking at us. I quite fancy ’im in the grey suit.’

Polly glanced quickly then just as quickly looked away. ‘They all got grey suits, stupid. Demobs! What the bloody ’ell do we want with them?’

Smirking, Mavis continued to give them the eye.

‘Control yerself,’ said Polly, grabbing Mavis by the sleeve and pulling her onto the bus.

‘Goin’ to take us out then, girls?’ one of the men shouted as they got on behind them.

Mavis looked over her shoulder and giggled.

Polly grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her inside the bus rather than going upstairs where they usually sat.

‘Polly!’ Mavis protested. ‘I wanted a fag. And I ain’t got a light and they …’

But Polly was adamant.

‘Don’t be so bloody common!’ She plumped herself down on a side seat and averted her eyes from the lecherous crew of ex-soldiers who had to go upstairs with their half-finished Woodbines.

‘I ain’t common. It’s just that I don’t want to be left on the shelf.’

‘And them upstairs suit you, do they? Well you’re easily pleased. Now me, I want something better I do, somebody that talks nice and got clean fingernails.’

‘You’ve ’ad it! Gavin ain’t come back.’

Polly pouted her full red lips. Mavis was exasperating because she was telling the truth. ‘Then I’ll find someone else.’

‘They’ll all be gone ’ome before long. Then what?’

‘Then I’ll hitch up with a decent sort in this country, one that can give me a bit of class in the world.’ Before Mavis had a chance to interject that she wasn’t likely to find one with Carol in tow, she said, ‘Now let me tell you about these posh people from Clifton that I met down at Temple Meads. A doctor ’e was. Even gave me a private appointment so he could examine my ankle.’

Mavis giggled. ‘Just your ankle?’

Polly threw her a superior expression and batted her eyelids. ‘My ankle got hurt, and ’e reckoned it was his fault for pushin’ the door of the railway carriage open too quick.’ She went on to explain about Dr Hennessey-White, his wife, the children, and the poor soul named Edna meeting her disabled sweetheart from the train.

‘I don’t think
I
could marry ’im,’ said Mavis, sheer horror written all over her face.

Polly shrugged. ‘Depends on the injuries I suppose.’ She smirked suggestively. ‘Can still ’ave children, can’t they? Ain’t as though anythin’ too vital got shot off!’

The Cat and Wheel, conveniently situated next door to the Bear and Rugged Staff near the spot where Bristol Castle used to be, dated from a time when no one grew much above five feet two judging by the ceiling height. Already crowded with off-duty servicemen and girls like Mavis and Polly, all out to celebrate peace in Europe and in the Far East, too. What walls could be seen were the colour of milk chocolate and the ceiling was stained dark ochre by years of cigarette smoke. Dark eyes scrutinised them as they entered. Polly paused then stepped forward.

‘GIs!’ Polly exclaimed.

Mavis nudged Polly. ‘They’re all Negroes.’

‘They’re all that’s left. Must be their turn tonight. Still GIs ain’t they?’

Anyone, thought Polly, as long as they were from the other side of the Atlantic. The colour of their skin was of no consequence.

‘Hi, gorgeous,’ said one.

The two girls nudged and smiled at each other.

‘You or me?’ said Polly

‘Me of course,’ said Mavis and dug her friend in the chest.

It was a nice feeling being surrounded by a horde of uniforms again.