Authors: Rita Bradshaw

Always I'Ll Remember (14 page)

And so Audrey went off again in the second week of December, returning with an ecstatic pair of children who declared the country was boring, boring, boring! There were no fish and chip shops and no hot pie shops, no picture houses or parks, no port with great big ships and no Winter Garden with plants and birds and a pond full of goldfish. ‘There are just cows,’ Clara reported solemnly to Abby when she was home again. ‘And sheep. Lots and lots of sheep. And muck.’ She wrinkled her nose and rested her chin on Milly, the doll Abby had bought her.

‘Oh dear.’ Abby hugged her sister to her, her eyes brimming with laughter. ‘I don’t think it was all that bad, Clara. It looked all right to me.’ She and Wilbert had made use of the special ‘Visit to Evacuees’ cheap day returns at the end of October and gone to see Clara and Jed at the farm where they had been billeted, but the short visit had only made her miss the child more. The house had seemed horribly empty without Clara. Of course it didn’t help that since the Sunday when her sister had gone, their mother had been even worse than ever. She’d hardly spoken to anyone, even Wilbert, and had taken to slamming doors in their faces and refusing to be civil. The evenings had seemed to stretch into eternity. Abby had spent an increasing amount of time closeted with her grandfather in her aunt’s front room, reading to the old man and playing cards and telling him stories about her day, but it was her outings with Winnie which had kept her sane - that and the joy of James’s letters. Oh, James’s letters . . . He wrote nearly every day, wonderful outpourings of love interspersed with reports of training camp which he kept amusing in the main. And the best thing of all was that he’d be home for Christmas - only a four-day leave, but it was better, a thousand times better, than nothing.

Blizzards and snow made the days leading up to Christmas anxious ones for Abby, even though James assured her in his letters that he would walk the whole way home, and through six-foot drifts too, if it meant seeing her. But then it was Christmas Eve and she was standing on the platform in Central Station again, but this time with her face aglow and her heart bursting. He jumped from the train before it had stopped, striding towards her with his blue eyes sparkling and then they were in each other’s arms, murmuring incoherent words of love.

Even her mother’s refusal to have a Christmas tree or any decorations in the house didn’t dim the wonder of this particular Christmas for Abby. She had bought lots of presents for Clara and after wrapping them in gaily coloured paper put them in a bulging pillowcase at the end of her sister’s bed, and the two of them opened them together on Christmas Day. But most of Christmas Day and Boxing Day were spent at James’s house, and his parents - unusually tactful - made sure the young couple were left alone as much as possible.

But all too soon they were once again on the platform in Central Station. It had never looked bleaker to Abby, and this time she couldn’t prevent the tears from falling.

‘Hey.’ James’s voice was soft as he dried her eyes with his handkerchief before taking her face in his hands. ‘It won’t be long and I’ll be home on leave again with a bit of luck.’

Luck. He’d need luck if he was sent abroad now that his training was over.

‘You know the brooch I gave you for Christmas?’ he whispered, his thumbs stroking the silky skin of her neck. ‘Well, that wasn’t your real Christmas present.’

‘It wasn’t?’ She stared at him in surprise, one hand involuntarily touching the gold brooch pinned on her lapel.

‘No. I saved it till now, for this moment.’ He let go of her, stepped back a pace and then went down on one knee. Out of the breast pocket of his uniform he drew a tiny hinged leather box. ‘Will you marry me, Abby? Soon? I’d planned to ask you once I was fully qualified and in a position to give you everything you’d ever dreamed of, but now all that doesn’t seem so important.’

She stared at him, taking the box with trembling hands and opening it to find the most exquisite ruby and diamond engagement ring nestling in a bed of velvet. ‘Oh James, it’s beautiful, beautiful, and yes, I’ll marry you,’ she whispered. He rose to his feet and kissed her mouth, her eyes, her brow as their bodies endeavoured to merge. They were oblivious to the smiles and nods of other passengers waiting on the platform who had witnessed the proposal, until a voice at their elbow said, ‘An’ I’ll be your bridesmaid, all right, as long as you don’t want me in pink satin. I’d look like a blancmange in pink satin.’

‘Winnie!’ As James released her, Abby stared into the face of her friend. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Same as you, seeing someone off.’ Winnie inclined her head to a thin lanky individual who was standing some distance away, looking extremely embarrassed. Winnie had been seeing this lad for a few weeks. ‘He’s just got called up. I saw you as soon as we came but you seemed a bit ... busy.’ She grinned at them both, quite unabashed. ‘Congratulations,’ she added, before giggling, ‘I take it you
did
say yes?’

‘Course she said yes.’ James smiled. ‘You don’t think she’s hard-hearted enough to send me away with a broken heart, do you? Now you’ve said your congratulations, and I dare say you’re a sure bet for the bridesmaid bit, how about you leave us alone to say goodbye properly?’

‘Here?’ Winnie pulled a face. ‘You’re going to say goodbye
properly
here? And I thought
I
was a brazen huzzy.’

They were laughing as she moved off after a lewd wink. Then James reached for the box and slipped the ring onto the third finger of Abby’s left hand. ‘I love you, Abby. There’ll never be anyone but you all my life. Tell me you feel the same. Say it.’

‘There’ll never be anyone but you.’ She touched his face, her hand trembling. ‘Never. Oh James, I don’t want you to go.’

They were still entwined when the train came but then in minutes he was gone. Winnie joined Abby, slipping her arm through hers. ‘Come on, lass. Don’t take on. Look, how about we go for a coffee and cream cake at Binns, my treat? We can talk weddings and bridesmaids if you like.’

‘Oh you.’ Through her tears Abby was laughing. Then she held up her hand, the finger with the ring on it feeling heavy and strangely alien.

‘Isn’t it the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen?’ she said huskily.

‘It’s a corker, lass, and no mistake. You’ve got a good ’un with your James, I have to say that, and there’s not too many of ’em around from what I can make out. You’re a lucky girl.’

She knew she was. Abby wiped her eyes and blew her nose before settling her hat more firmly on her head. She was so, so lucky, and in spite of the fact that she didn’t know if she believed in the rigmarole which seemed to accompany every procedure in the Church, she’d go and light a candle for James every single night if it wasn’t for Father Finlay. She couldn’t stand the lectures he’d undoubtedly give her; and he’d be wanting to know the ins and outs of when they were going to get married and everything else if she knew anything about it. But she would go to confession and Communion tonight and pray for James, but maybe at St Peter’s with Father McGuigan.

‘So, coming for a coffee then?’ Winnie asked as they began to walk.

‘I can’t. I promised I’d get straight back to work once I’d seen James off,’ Abby said apologetically, pulling a face.

‘Later then. I could meet you out of work if you like.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, lass, but I need to get home. You know how Mam is.’ She didn’t add that it was less the fact that her mother might throw a tantrum if she was late, more the thought of leaving Clara alone with their mother for a minute longer than she had to which made her want to get home as soon as she could. She knew full well that from the minute her sister got back from school their mother made the child’s life a misery, and now Clara was at home all day for the Christmas holidays, Abby didn’t like to think about what went on. As Winnie’s face fell, she added, ‘There’s nothing to stop us going to the pictures after tea though if you want.’ She could make sure Clara was settled in bed before she left the house.

‘Aye, all right.’ Winnie was all smiles again. ‘With you just having got engaged and me just having given another bloke the old heave-ho due to this blessed war, I think we could both do with a night out.’

‘This one wasn’t worth waiting for either then?’

‘Who, Bernard?’ Winnie shook her head. ‘He was a long way from being the love of me life, lass. Too besotted with football for one thing. I’m sure if I was small and round and made of leather he’d have declared undying love from day one, but as it was . . .’ She shrugged, grinning. ‘I’m keeping me eyes peeled again.’

The love of my life. The phrase stayed with Abby long after she had left Winnie. That was what James was, the love of her life, and unless this war finished pretty quickly, he was going to be sent into danger and there was nothing she could do about it except light candles and pray for him. She hoped God wouldn’t hold it against her that it didn’t seem enough. She crossed herself and made up her mind to have a special Mass said just for him, even though it cost a bit.

But she had to remain positive and believe everything was going to work out. Some people were saying the war would be over before it had really begun, and although she wasn’t too sure about this herself, she wanted to believe it. It couldn’t possibly go on as long as the First World War anyway,
everyone
was saying that.

James home with her in time for Easter was what she’d wish for on New Year’s Eve this year. If she wished hard enough it just might come true.

Rationing began in the second week of January and this, combined with frost and heavy snow followed by a bitterly cold February which ruined the farmers’ crops of winter wheat, and had even the hardy northerners only venturing outside when necessity demanded it, all added to the frustrations of the ‘phoney’ war. Thick white lines were painted on kerbs and lamp posts but still cars continued to crash in the blackout, and the wardens who enforced the restrictions were roundly disliked. Ivor, who had volunteered to patrol an area encompassing Rose Street and several around it, was bitterly vocal in his objections to this unfairness, and when the
Daily Express
began a campaign against what it called the ‘darts and playing cards army’, he threatened to call it a day.

‘I’ve a good mind to chuck it all in,’ he said to Audrey after one particular incident when a neighbour had threatened to stick his torch up a certain part of Ivor’s anatomy where the sun didn’t shine. ‘If there had been any air raids we’d all be public heroes. As it is we’re called wasters and slackers.’

He stamped over to the range, throwing himself down in the dilapidated armchair in front of the fire and proceeding to unlace his boots before the lack of response from his wife registered. ‘What’s the matter?’ He glanced at Audrey who was sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of mending in front of her. ‘You bad or something?’

Audrey raised her head. ‘Don and Len have had their papers,’ she said flatly.

Ivor’s hands stilled and he sat staring at her for a moment, one boot on and one boot off. His two eldest called up? His guts twisted. And Bruce’s twentieth was in a few weeks’ time. The blighters could nail him too.

He rose swiftly and went to his wife, taking Audrey’s hands and drawing her gently to her feet. She put her head on his chest and began to cry as his arms went tightly round her. ‘Lass, you knew it was coming,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Two million or more they said in January and there’ll be more after this lot an’ all.’

‘I know.’ She clung to him a minute or so more before sniffing and wiping her face with her pinny. ‘Go and put your slippers on, your feet are soaked through, and I’ve a plate of stew and dumplings in the oven.’ Ivor had gone on duty straight from the shipyard that night and had missed the evening meal.

He didn’t immediately do what she said. Instead he reached out his hand and cupped her chin, lifting her swimming eyes to his as he said, ‘I love you, lass, and there’s not a better wife and mother in the whole of the country. I mean that. I’m a very lucky man.’ From the minute they’d been married she’d devoted herself to him and then the bairns, that’s what crucified him at times like this when the enormity of how he’d let her down with that she-devil next door swept over him anew. By, if ever a man had been a damn fool, he had.

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