‘Stop fussing dear. Father knows best.’
Gracie looked at her mother askance. Back at the hotel Brenda had drawn her to one side and said quite the opposite; saying how much she hated him, how she really couldn’t cope, not on her own. She’d pleaded, nay begged her daughter to come home with them. Gracie had felt swamped by the bleakness in her mother’s gaze, the agonised tone of her voice yet had held firmly to her resolve to return to camp. She’d escaped the chains that bound her, and nothing would induce her to put them on again.
‘You can’t possibly get away with this. You’ll have to stop for petrol
some
time.’
‘Your father put two Jerry-cans in the boot. And we’ve plenty of food with us. I brought a hamper specially,’ Brenda informed her, her usually gloomy face for once wreathed in self-satisfied smiles.
Why was it that the one time in their lives her parents weren’t fighting each other, they were attacking her? ‘This is ridiculous. I can’t believe this is happening.’ But it was. Her own parents had kidnapped her and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. In the end, all Gracie could do was to sit back and accept the inevitable, grimly weighing up the possibilities and opportunities for escape.
The opportunity presented itself on the outskirts of Exeter when Brenda was compelled to stop the car in order to spend a penny. Gracie went with her, of course, and the moment the two women were alone, she wasted no time in exploiting the opportunity.
‘Mother, I can’t do this. I can’t come back with you.’ Gracie had been away from home scarcely a month but instinctively knew that if she gave in and went back now, before she’d even had the chance to prove herself, she might never get away again. She was young, with all her life before her, thirsty for adventure. Deliberately hardening her heart she persisted with her argument. ‘I
won’t
come home. I like what I do! I’ve made new friends and have the chance of a fresh start.’
‘If I thought you were leaving home for some good purpose, I’d be content. You’re an intelligent girl. You could make something of your life. You could be a teacher, a woman of importance and independence, as I'd always hoped. Why do you insist on wasting your life? It’s a crying shame. I do at least agree with your father about that.’
Gracie understood that these aspirations her mother held for her originated out of her own unhappiness and disappointment with life, yet she felt weighed down by this desperation, knowing that if she succumbed, in no time she would be back in exactly the same situation as she was before. ‘I’m not wasting my life. Keeping the country supplied with wood
is
important. Maybe when the war is over this job won’t be enough, and I might want something different. Who can tell what any of us will want by then? But for now, this is right for me. Can’t you - won’t you at least try to understand? Why can’t you see that I’m happy?’
‘Because the war won’t last for ever. You must think ahead. And it would help me so much if you came home, Gracie dear. Let’s support each other through the duration. After that I’ll feel more able to cope. You can’t leave me now. I need you.’
Gracie gritted her teeth, determined not to give in to emotional blackmail. ‘Whatever problems you and Father have, and I know they must be legion, they aren’t mine any more. They never were, not really. You have to find a way to resolve them yourself.’
Panic came into the older woman’s eyes. ‘I can’t, Gracie. You know how he is, how he treats me. So cold and condemning.’ She began to cry; desperate, heartrending tears which tore Gracie in two so that she felt bound to hold her mother awkwardly in her arms as Brenda sobbed quietly into her shoulder. Never close, yet the bond held. ‘I should never have married him. Perhaps I never would have, had it not been for you.’
‘Don’t be silly, it has nothing at all to do with me.’ She turned away to wash her hands which she found to be trembling but Brenda had no intention of stopping now. She grabbed hold of her daughter and swung her around, face wreathed in a veil of wretchedness.
‘I married him because I was carrying you. I thought I loved him, that it would be all right, that he cared for me but he was just doing what he thought was right. He always blamed me.’
‘For what? Getting pregnant? It takes two, Mother. I always guessed that I wasn’t premature, as you claimed. It’s hardly unusual, is it? What does it matter?’
The tears dried instantly on the sagging cheeks, as if scorched; the mouth so twisted with loathing that the once handsome face became distorted and ugly. ‘It matters because it’s contradictory to his beliefs. He says we might have married, or we might not; that I lured him into breaking his vow of chastity before he’d made up his mind. He sees you as a child born out of sin, that you are tainted in some way. He says that a child conceived out of wedlock is a child without purity.’
‘What a terrible thing to say! Is that how he sees me, as someone impure? Dear God!’ Gracie felt numb, unable to take in the full import of her mother’s words.
‘That’s why he’s so determined to keep you at home, to protect you.’
‘To protect himself more like, and his precious reputation.’
‘That too, I dare say. He’s always been fiercely determined to be a “pillar of society.” But he means it for the best. It’s just how he is. He says that if you come home, he’ll forget all about this bit of rebellion, pay you the going rate for your work in the shop and make you a partner in the business the minute you turn twenty-one. How would that be, love? If you don’t want to be a teacher, at least that’s better than roaming across the country in the freezing cold cutting trees, isn’t it? At least we could support each other.’ The tears were flowing once more, eyes puffed up, face blotched red.
‘You can’t do this to me, Mother. You can’t lay the blame for Father’s bigoted attitude on me. It isn’t fair. I didn’t ask to be born and I don’t see myself in the least bit impure or tainted. I need to make my own life, away from him, away from you both.’ Despite her brave words, Gracie was still reeling from these revelations, still struggling to make sense of it all. ‘He gets worse as the years have gone by, becoming increasing cold and remote. I could never do enough to please him.’
‘Because he’s afraid you’ll turn into a whore, like me.’
Gracie leaned over the sink, feeling suddenly wretched and sick. ‘How can he make such judgements, as if I’ve no control over my own behaviour. It’s so cruel.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have laid it on you so bluntly. I’ve kept it quiet all these years and now, out of selfishness I’ve let it out and spoiled things for you.’
Mother and daughter looked into each other’s eyes with new understanding. Gracie said, ‘No, you were right to tell me. You should have told me before. I’m glad I at last understand why he has always seemed to hate me, hated us both in a way. Why do you stay with him?’
Her mother’s expression was raw with pain. ‘Because at first I loved him and thought he would change. And then because I was weak and couldn’t find the courage to break free. Not like you.’
‘You have Aunt Phyllis. Go and live with her for a while. I’m sorry Mother but I can’t ever come home. I’ve my own life to lead, and I’m even more determined to live it to the full now that you’ve told me - all of this.’
Brenda opened her bag, drew out a comb and with a rock steady hand took off her hat and began to tidy her hair. She freshened her lipstick, powdered her nose, pinned back the hat, then snapping shut the clasp of her handbag, as if in that way she could shut away the pain of her past life, she turned to face Gracie. ‘Maybe it’s time a few things changed, eh? Time for new beginnings for us all.’ Her tone had altered, taken on a harder edge, a new resolve.
For the first time in a long while, her mother actually smiled. ‘You’re absolutely right to leave home. Howell’s the one who’s tainting you, with his nasty notions of what’s right and proper, and his twisted way of thinking. I’m glad you’ve joined up and that you’re happy. You do what you want, love. I reckon I just might go and visit our Phyllis. She drives me scatty with her potted plants and endless tales of woe but it can’t be any worse than life behind that bloody shop with your father.’
It was the first time Gracie had ever heard her mother swear, and it made her laugh. ‘Good for you.’ They held each other close for a moment, then Brenda patted Gracie’s shoulder, tugged her hat into place and winked.
‘We’d best go or he’ll think one of us has fallen down the lavatory pan.’ Face serious again, she said, ‘When you go love, go quick, and don’t ever look back.’
As they emerged from the public lavatories her father was waiting outside, as Gracie had known that he would be. He stood, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, face scowling with impatience as rain dripped from the brim of his trilby hat. Hating herself, Gracie threw one last apologetic smile to her mother who was nodding encouragingly to her and, before he’d realised what she was about, Gracie turned and ran. She heard his shout but did not pause for a second. She ran, as if her life depended upon it. Nor did she once look back.
Matron was standing in her favourite spot by the door on the dot of nine-thirty as usual. Lou was lying beneath the covers fully dressed, having just this second hurtled through the door and taken off nothing but her lipstick. Going to bed this early didn’t trouble her unduly, since they’d be up at first light as usual, but leaving Gordon certainly did. It was always hard. Tonight, they’d strolled through the woodlands by the River Fowey, dawdling by Respryn Bridge and then making their way back to the seclusion of the old summer house, which seemed like their own private kingdom.
She closed her eyes and relived those precious moments. The hardness of his body against hers, the hot demands of his kisses, the trail of excitement left by his exploring fingers; such utter bliss, just thinking about it made her stomach tie itself into knots. Whatever would she do if she couldn’t see him every week, speak to him every day? It would be purgatory.
‘And where is madam?’
The familiar stentorian voice at her side brought Lou from her reverie with a jolt and only at the last second did she prevent herself from shooting out of bed; which would really have given the game away, since she was still fully dressed in her glad rags, right down to her shoes. ‘Matron?’ Eyes wide in pretended innocence, Lou gazed with trepidation upon the moonlike face before her which seemed to quiver with rage, the eyes rock hard.
‘I said, where is she?’
‘Who? Me? I’m here. As you can see.’ Lou offered a tremulous smile of reassurance, aware of the stillness of her comrades in the beds close by, who seemed to have stopped breathing.
Matron hammered one fat fist on the upper bunk. ‘I mean this little madam. Your bossy friend. Where is
she
?’ Lifting the large watch which dangled upon her massive bosom, Matron consulted it with a narrowed gaze. ‘It is now twenty-one, fifty-seven, which means that Freeman is long overdue.’
Lou lifted her eyes to the bunk above, where she had assumed Gracie would already be ensconced and dead to the world. With great dexterity and no small degree of athletic skill, she held the blanket tightly to her chin while wriggling sideways to gain a better look. It was difficult to be sure but she saw enough to confirm that the bed above was indeed empty of its occupant. Even the blankets were still tightly tucked in. Her heart plummeted. Where on earth could she be? This wasn’t like Gracie at all.
Lou looked helplessly at Matron. I haven’t the first idea where she is. Do you think something could have happened to her?’
Unmoved by this genuine concern, Matron merely made a snorting sound deep in her throat, which wasn’t at all pleasant. ‘Something is definitely
going
to happen to her, if she isn’t back soon. The moment she arrives, the very
moment
she gets back, do you understand? You send her to me.’
Matron called at hourly intervals during that long night, each time growing more and more irate. Lou began to hope that Gracie never would come home, that way she might manage to survive.
When she felt it safe to stop running, Gracie stood bemused in the empty street, breathing hard, striving to ease the stitch in her side. What now? She bent over till it had eased slightly and she’d got her breath back. She couldn’t bear to think about how her father’s narrow minded attitude had stifled any love his wife had felt for him. For the first time in her life, Gracie felt sorry for her mother. And she couldn’t begin to consider how it might have coloured her own view of life. How dreadful to accuse an innocent child of being tainted, through no fault of her own. But now wasn’t the time to worry about all of that. Gracie urgently needed to get back to camp, without delay. After that, she could only hope that her charm with Matron still held.
To one side lay the city, row after row of featureless houses; to the other what appeared to be open country but could well have been nothing more than ruins laid waste by the bombing. It was hard to tell in the darkness. The small, hooded torch, which she’d learned to always carry in her pocket, could pick out few actual features in the blackout and Gracie was afraid to leave it switched on for too long in case she used up the precious batteries or somebody shouted at her ‘put out that light’. Deciding she’d no option but to continue along this road until she could thumb a lift from some passing motorist, as Gordon seemed to do with comparative ease, she set off again with fresh resolve.