Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (41 page)

‘You’re right, the house is getting too bloody quiet! Gives me too much time to think…’

The young women fell silent. Only the rhythmic rocking of the crib and the soft breathing of the baby intruded on their thoughts. They sat sipping their tea, until Lily went to a small kitchen cupboard. She drew out a tin and brought it with her to the chair by the fire.

‘I had a letter from Jock,’ she said. They were in the habit of reading their letters to each other, leaving out what Lily called ‘all the lovey-dovey stuff’. Nellie grew excited; the boys were in the same battery, riding the same six-horse team that transported the heavy guns wherever they were needed. A letter from one generally meant that a letter from the other would not be far behind.

‘Does he say anything about leave?’ she asked eagerly.

Lily shook her head. Looking glum, she unfolded the letter and read, ‘“
My darling wife Lily
…”’ Lily pulled a face at Nellie. ‘You don’t want to hear all his sweet nothings, do you, love? “
I know you’ll be as happy as I am, when I tell you that I will be home and in your arms, this time next week!”
’

Nellie jumped up, wagging an accusing finger at her friend. ‘You little mare, you!’

Lily laughed. ‘Surprised?’

‘I can’t believe you kept me in the dark all this time I’ve been sitting here!’

‘Well, I wanted you to get the baby asleep first, didn’t I?’ she joked.

‘Oh, Lily, you always get the letters first. Do you think that means Sam’s got leave too?’

‘’Course it does. They drive the same team. Stands to reason they’ll all get a rest together, don’t it?’

Nellie could hardly wait to get home to see if she too had a letter, even though she knew it was now far too late for a delivery. She was impatient all the next day, and when no letter came, she began to despair. Perhaps Lily had been wrong and the boys wouldn’t be on leave together after all. If Jock’s letter had taken two days to get from France, Lily could expect him as early as the end of that week. But the week dragged on and still there was no letter from Sam. Nellie’s misery was obvious to the whole family.

On Friday night, Alice was going out to the Time and Talents Club with her friends. ‘Why don’t you come too, Nell?’ she asked gently, during tea. ‘It’s no good sitting in worrying, is it?’

‘No, love, you go and enjoy yourself with your friends. Don’t worry about me.’

Soon after Alice had left, Matty came home from the Arsenal and began her usual Friday night routine, dashing to get ready for the evening performance at the Star, curling her hair, dressing, eating and practising her song all at the same time. She was like a fiery whirlwind and Nellie knew not to get in her way on ‘turn’ nights. She dashed through the kitchen, kissing Nellie briefly on the cheek,

‘I’ll be late tonight, Nell. Don’t wait up,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Bernie says we’ve got an American scout in, looking for singers!’ Matty’s eyes shone, and she turned at the door. ‘Might end up in vaudeville, you never know!’

Nellie smiled. If only Sam could see this confident, radiant young woman now, he wouldn’t recognize his little Matty.

‘Well, I
will
wait up, and don’t make it too late!’ Nellie called, but the front door had already slammed closed. Nellie stayed in the chair, letting the quiet emptiness of the house settle around her. She thought of Matty, all unquenchable youth and hope, and all she could say to her was, ‘Don’t make it too late!’ She sounded like an old mother hen, which, she had to admit, she was. But all the same, at twenty-one, wasn’t she still entitled to dream of a life full of promise, as Matty did?

The clock ticked away and the spring sunshine finally gave up the day, casting a warm orange glow through the front kitchen window and across Nellie’s folded hands. Into the silence, a scraping sound intruded. It was coming from the scullery, behind her. Nellie started up. Was someone in the house after all? She darted through into the scullery, to find the back-yard door swinging wide open. The golden evening light filled the doorway and spread across the scullery’s tiled floor. The sound was coming from outside. Going gingerly to the door, she saw a figure scraping his boots on the step. He must have heard her intake of breath: looking up from his task, he said, ‘Hello, Nellie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!’

Nellie, fearing that she had indeed seen a ghost, flung herself forward into Sam’s arms and squeezed him tightly to her. He certainly felt like solid flesh! His body against hers was warm! His chest rose and fell with the breath that spoke of life and she felt it, there it was, his breath soft on her cheek. She was certain this was no phantom.

‘Sam, you’re really here! You’re home!’

Nellie wouldn’t let go and Sam didn’t seem to want her to relinquish her hold on him. He tightened his arms round her and for a long time they simply rocked back and forth, reassuring each other that they were indeed both real. By the time Nellie’s tears had soaked through Sam’s tunic, the sun had set. Finally, he lifted her face from his chest and dipped his head to meet her lips with his own. It was their first lover’s kiss and if Sam had not been holding her so tightly, she was certain her legs could not have supported her. A mutual passion, fuelled by absence and peril and long denial, came on with the night and shone brighter for Nellie than the rising moon and all the sky full of stars. How long they kissed, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she loved and felt most completely and satisfyingly loved in return.

When Sam went to move away, she clasped him more tightly still. ‘Not yet, Sam. Don’t go away yet,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve made us wait so long… Since you’ve been gone, all I could think of was how much time we could’ve had together. I was such a fool.’

Sam chuckled gently. ‘I’m going nowhere, Nellie, not now I’ve got you in my arms! And you mustn’t blame yourself, this is perfect. Oh, Nellie, love, if you only knew how the thought of this has kept me going out there…’

He buried his face in her abundant chestnut locks. ‘Ahhh, your hair…’ he said. ‘I’ve dreamed about your hair...’

A breeze began to swirl around the little back yard and she shivered. Sam eased her away gradually and looked into her eyes.

‘We’ll have to move some time, my sweet girl, and you’re getting cold.’

Reluctantly, she let go and allowed him to pick up his pack. Once they were inside, she made him sit down in her father’s old chair, while she made him tea and toast. While he ate and drank, she sat on the floor next to him and plied him with questions.

‘Why didn’t you let me know you’d got leave? I could have had everything ready for you!’ she chided.

She looked up as she spoke, not wanting to take her eyes off him. She thought she must look very foolish, but she didn’t care, nothing seemed more important to her at this moment than Sam’s next word or look. All the world was reduced to the little circle that encompassed Nellie and Sam, and from the way his eyes followed hers, she was certain he inhabited that same bubble. He put down the tea on the tiled hearth and leaned forward, seeming to want to feel her lips as much as she wanted to feel his.

‘Ah, Nellie…’

And then she remembered he hadn’t answered her question. ‘Jock sent Lily a letter.’

‘Didn’t you get my letter, then?’ he asked, as though he’d only just registered her question.

Nellie thought it was very strange, the way they each seemed to be reacting at a dreamlike pace. She gave up trying talk sensibly about anything and allowed herself to surrender to his kisses. Words could wait.

She knew that their first few magical hours were over when Alice’s key turned in the front door. They looked at each other, reluctantly letting go of each other’s hands and moving apart. Sam rose to greet Nellie’s sister. Alice’s shock was almost as great as Nellie’s own and shortly afterwards, when the boys all tumbled through the back door, poor Sam had to repeat everything over again. He’d come down from the line a fortnight ago: men and horses were in bad need of a rest, he said. Nellie read in his expression untold reasons why they needed that rest and resolved to ask him more later. He and Jock had sailed together from Boulogne the previous evening and caught the military train to Victoria. They’d been lucky enough to cadge a lift on an army truck travelling through to London Bridge and the two friends had walked from there. It was only after they’d exhausted him with their questions that he asked: ‘Where’s our little canary?’

Sam insisted on waiting up for her and when the others went off to bed, Nellie stayed with him. It was after midnight when Matty came home, calling from the passage, ‘Oh, Nellie, I told you not to wait up!’ She walked into the kitchen and her hands flew to cover her mouth.

‘Sam!’ She let out a cry. She was across the room before he had a chance to get up. Draping her arms round his neck, she sat herself on his lap just as she had as a little girl.

Sam laughed. ‘Little canary’s not so little any more! Look at you, in your finery!’ He lifted her off his lap, and letting go of his hands she stood before him. She was wearing a new gown, which she’d paid for in weekly instalments. The pale green chiffon draped fashionably across her shoulders and at her throat she wore a gold and green choker.

Sam couldn’t hide his pride and astonishment. ‘Matty, you’re beautiful!’ he gasped.

She twirled round for him. ‘You won’t say that when you see me in my Arsenal cap and trousers. I look like a chap!’

Sam’s face darkened. He was about to say something when Nellie gave the merest shake of her head. He stopped short and said instead, ‘Well, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do in the morning. Where am I kipping down, Nellie?’

She was grateful he’d taken the hint. She didn’t want this precious homecoming spoiled by a tussle with Matty. Sam might not realize it but his little sister had changed, and not only physically: her naturally strong will had grown with her. Nellie doubted that Sam would any longer have the power to tame it.

‘Charlie’s going on the floor, he says you deserve a bed to yourself.’

She knew how bone-tired he was when he didn’t argue. He groaned, pushed up from the armchair and shouldered his pack.

‘I’ll stow this upstairs. Come on, then, my two beautiful girls, escort me up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire!’

They all three linked arms and squeezed up the narrow staircase, giggling and stumbling in the flickering amber gaslight. At the top Matty slipped into their bedroom, leaving Sam and Nellie just enough time for one precious goodnight kiss.

The next morning Nellie was up early: she wanted Sam to have a decent breakfast. He didn’t have to tell her how badly he’d been fed, for his once-f boyish face had been chiselled away by too many hungry days, and as she’d held him tight the night before, she’d distinctly felt each rib. How they could expect men to fight when they were half-starved was beyond her. If she could do nothing else, she was determined to send him back with some flesh on him.

Before the house was awake she dashed round to Spa Bakery, keen to get there before the bread queue formed; by mid-morning it was usually snaking down Spa Road. The pre-war mounds of golden-crusted bloomers, which had always filled the bakery shelves, were in short supply now. Most of the bread was bulked out with potato flour and called ‘war loaves’, but she knew there were still a few of the genuine variety to be had. She’d known Big Mo, the local baker, since childhood, and when he came out of the back bakery with a tray of rolls, he smiled at her.

‘Nellie, you’re early, love!’ He slid the tray of rolls into a basket, wiping his floury hands. She stood, holding her purse, looking up at him and hesitating, before asking for the favour.

‘What can I do you for?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got Sam home on leave, Mo. I wanted to give him a proper bit of bread with his breakfast,’ she said hopefully.

Mo nodded, tapped his nose and ducked back into the bakery behind the shop. Soon he came out with a wrapped loaf and a bag of rolls. ‘Here’s a special for the boy.’ He winked, shaking his head as she dipped into her purse. ‘Go on, love, tell him it’s on me, will you?’

Nellie nodded and thanked poor Mo, who had lost his only son last year. As she made her way back down Vauban Street, she noticed something flapping at the upstairs window of her house. It looked like a broom handle, stuck out like a crazy flagpole with a full set of army underwear, tunic, trousers and puttees attached, all blowing about in the breeze.

What the bloody hell’s he done that for?
she wondered, easing open the front door. She was surprised to see Matty already up and poking at the range.

‘I thought I’d make Sam a good breakfast!’ She smiled brightly.

‘Beat you to it, love.’ Nellie put the bread on to the kitchen table and Matty gave her an affectionate squeeze.

‘You love my brother, don’t you?’ she said mischievously, and Nellie, too shocked to reply, playfully shoved her off.

‘Leave off, Matty! Just help me get some bacon on, smell of that’ll get him out the bed quick enough!’

But Matty wouldn’t be put off. ‘I could tell last night, you two couldn’t take your eyes off each other! No sense denying it, Nellie, it’s all over you!’

‘You be quiet, or I’ll get your brother to sort you out!’ Nellie ducked her head as she sliced the lovely new bread, but she could feel the blush spreading up her neck.

‘Well, before he gets up, I wanted to say thanks, Nell, for last night.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You stopped him jawing at me about the munitions work.’

‘I didn’t want no trouble his first night home, but you know he’s going to have it out with you, sooner or later.’

Matty flipped the sizzling bacon in the pan. ‘I don’t like him being cross with me. If you could have a word…’

Nellie pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘I can’t help you there, Matty. I don’t want you working at the Arsenal either.’

Matty looked up at the clock – it was almost six.

‘I’ve got to rush, the early tram’s always packed for the Arsenal.’ She grabbed her bag and, as she kissed Nellie, decided to give her a second. ‘That one you can give my brother for me when he’s up.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously, then the little canary flitted out, singing softly to herself, ‘The boy I love is UP in the gallery!’