Rowena, too, was in a state of turmoil. She and Mario only managed to meet under cover of darkness now, and that was proving more and more difficult. The women had invested in a stout bicycle for her but still it was a long haul up hill and down dale to the farm, and the light summer evenings meant she couldn’t leave for her rendezvous until gone ten o’clock. Added to this was the worry that Vincent would find out about their love affair and make things difficult, although to date this had not happened. Mario had reported that Vincent was treating them well but then it was in his own interests to do so. After his cavalier dismissal of the three women, the authorities had refused him more prisoners of war or land girls.
With the retention by the new Labour government of wartime disciplinary powers of enforced supervision and ultimately dispossession for farmers who did not meet their quotas, Vincent must be a worried man. Everyone who knew him, with maybe the exception of Gladys, thought he deserved whatever he got. It wasn’t often payback time came so swiftly.
As autumn slipped past, the wartime slogan ‘Dig For Victory’ became ‘Dig For Victory Over Want’ as more and more food restrictions began to bite. With German and Italian prisoners of war working on farms and Polish servicemen being recruited as coal miners, Britain was doing what it could to survive, and by the beginning of December Abby and the others could already see signs that their venture was going to be successful. Large gardens, family estates and even allotments had suffered during the war. The enemy’s bombs had played their part in this, but even more importantly, lack of labour had meant that glasshouse repairs had been neglected, paths became overgrown, plants had been left to run wild or were lost altogether, and private stocks of seed were dissipated. With the prediction that bread, cakes, flour and oatmeal would be rationed in the New Year, every household was desperate to make the most of any land they had, however small.
Yes, everything had changed, one way or another, and there was no going back.
The first day of December found Abby alone in the house for the first time since moving into her new home. She had been laid low with influenza over the last few days and was still feeling awful but had struggled out of bed that morning, anxious about all the work to be done. On reaching the kitchen and finding she didn’t have the strength of a kitten, she hadn’t protested too hard when Gladys had scolded her roundly and sat her in the ancient rocking chair in front of the fire. Even Clara had ticked her off. Her face solemn, she’d stood by the chair and said, ‘You’re being very silly, Abby. You’ll make yourself much worse if you try and get up before you’re ready, now then. I’ll help as soon as I get back from school and all the jobs will get done, I promise.’
Abby had smiled but it had dawned on her that Clara was growing up fast. She was twelve years old now and was as pretty as a picture, as Gladys often said.
After Clara had left for school, the others all went about their various jobs, Gladys declaring she would help out in the greenhouse for a while before returning to see about the dinner.
Abby sat staring into the red glow of the fire. She ought to put some more wood on but her limbs felt like lead and it was too much effort to move, swathed as she was in an old blanket which Gladys had insisted on tucking round her as if she was an old woman in a bathchair. There was a muffled hush over the house which she attributed to the snow which had begun to fall early that morning. Already it was inches thick outside and the forecast was not encouraging, predicting more of the same over the next few weeks.
When would she hear from Ike? She shut her eyes, leaning back in the rocking chair which creaked violently at any movement. His last letter had stated he had things to see to at home before he could come and see her, and she didn’t understand this. She’d expected he would come immediately he was demobbed. She pushed the old fear that he would rethink their situation and decide she wasn’t worth waiting for to the back of her mind with some effort, telling herself sternly she didn’t intend to go down that route again. She had to trust him, had to believe that what they had was real and would stand the test of time and anything else thrown at it.
She wasn’t aware of drifting into sleep but she must have done because when she next opened her eyes, Ike was sitting in the old stuffed armchair opposite her. She blinked once, then again but the apparition didn’t dissolve. ‘Ike?’ Then he was kneeling by her chair, his arms round her as he murmured, ‘My love, my love, I didn’t want to wake you.’ He took her lips in a long, hungry kiss that left no doubt he was very real.
Abby clung to him, responding so fiercely that they were both gasping when their mouths reluctantly drew apart and even then Ike’s lips couldn’t leave her face and nose and ears, covering her skin in quick burning kisses while he muttered incoherent words of love.
It was minutes later before he rose to his feet and then he gathered Abby up in his arms before sitting down with her on his lap in the armchair. She was feeling light-headed, dizzy. ‘When? How? I mean, what . . . what are you doing here?’
‘Loving you,’ he said very softly, kissing her again. He gazed at the lovely face he had pictured so often in his mind in the worst of the mayhem. It had been thoughts of Abby and the dream of a future spent with her that had got him through and he knew it, otherwise he’d have gone mad like so many poor devils had done.
‘I . . . I look awful.’ Abby raised a shaky hand to her hair which hadn’t been washed for a week. When she’d imagined herself welcoming him into her arms it had never been with lank hair and a shiny nose.
‘You’re beautiful.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Just beautiful.’ He kissed her eyelids. ‘And kissable, so, so kissable. ’ He kissed her mouth. ‘Delicious in fact.’
‘But you’re in America.’ She sat up a bit straighter.
‘Clever ole me.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I had things to sort out. They’re sorted.’ He pulled her into him again. Her cheek rested against his and her arms were round his neck. She drank in the clean fresh smell of him; the aftershave he always wore had never smelled so heavenly. ‘So now I’m with my girl, for good if she’ll have me.’
‘Ike—’
‘Marry me, Abby.’ He turned her round on his lap, reaching into his pocket with one hand and drawing out a tiny box. ‘Be my wife. Soon. And before you say anything,’ he put his finger to her mouth as she went to speak, ‘I understand how things are here which is why I’ve sold up back home and have got my tail across the Atlantic. Hell, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, eh, honey? We’ve thousands of GI brides trying to get into the States so one American doctor moving country for love isn’t too big a deal. I think I knew the day I met you this relationship was never going to follow traditional lines.’
She stared at him through misty eyes and when he opened the box and took out a ring, she couldn’t see it clearly for a moment or two. She blinked rapidly. He slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand and for a second, just a second, she remembered that other occasion and the smiling, confident young man who had thought he was invincible and would be coming home for her. And then she ruthlessly put the memory from her. This was Ike’s moment, and hers, and it didn’t belong to anyone else, not even her darling boy.
She looked down at the ring and an enormous solitaire diamond glittered back at her, its magnificence making her hand look tiny and fragile.
‘I love you, Abby.’ His voice was thick and throaty and now there was no lightness in his tone. ‘I’ll love you till the day I die. I want to cherish you, adore you, protect you and worship you. Will you have me?’
She looked into the craggily handsome face, lifted the hand with the ring and ran her fingers through his hair, which was much greyer than when he’d left. ‘Yes please,’ she said.
Over the next few days Ike was heard to laughingly remark that he thought he’d found a cure for influenza, and certainly from the moment she had seen him Abby had felt much better. They’d decided on a Christmas wedding, and since Ike was staying at a hotel in Whitby, all the legal niceties and preparations were left to him. At first Abby had wanted the quietest of weddings, just Ike and herself, Clara, her three friends and little Joy, but when Ike had gently informed her his parents and brother and sister and their families would expect to be present, she had to face the fact that she must inform her own relations in Sunderland. But not her mother. On that she was resolute. If her mother caught wind of her wedding she’d spoil it. Somehow she’d ruin the day, besides which she never wanted to set eyes on her again.
Abby pondered the matter for some days. She’d all but lost touch with Audrey and she knew this was partly her fault, but not altogether. When she’d discovered the truth about her parenthood she’d felt unable to correspond with her aunt as she had been doing, but Audrey had never written to enquire what was wrong or whether everything was all right, which was strange. It wasn’t like her aunt. It was almost as if Audrey herself had been relieved their contact had waned. Nevertheless, Abby did feel her aunt would be upset if she married without at least giving her the chance to be present. Wilbert was no letter writer but they had written to each other once or twice and she loved her brother dearly. She would ask him to give her away. He could tell their mother he was coming to visit her for Christmas. Her mother wouldn’t like it but she could hardly stop him.
And Ivor? She no longer thought of him as Uncle Ivor. If her aunt came, he’d no doubt accompany her. Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. But just let him try and act the benevolent uncle and devoted husband and she’d give him what for! Not in front of her aunt though; her aunt was the last person she wanted to hurt and it was possible Audrey would never recover if she found out her beloved husband had had an affair with her own sister.
And so the arrangements continued. If Ike or any of the others thought her attitude regarding her mother a little hard, they didn’t say so. Abby felt she couldn’t explain the true facts to anyone, not even her future husband, and so she simply stated they’d had a falling out and that reconciliation was not an option. It was only Clara who mentioned Nora, and then to say, ‘I’m glad you’re not telling Mam about you getting wed, Abby.’ The two of them were standing in the greenhouse planting seeds before Clara had to leave for the village school.
It came out of the blue and the two sisters stared at each other before Abby said, ‘She’d try and spoil things, wouldn’t she?’ and Clara nodded. Their eyes held some moments longer, both thinking of their father and the way he had died, and then Abby said, ‘I want you to be my bridesmaid. Would you like that?’ and the moment passed and Clara whooped and hugged her. They had never discussed the manner of their father’s passing since the night Clara had blurted it all out, but that morning Abby realised Clara thought about it as often as she did, which was a comfort of sorts.
Abby had decided not to get married in the Catholic church at Whitby. Ike was not of the faith, in fact he declared himself to be an agnostic. She’d looked this up in the dictionary and found it to mean a person who believes that nothing is known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena. Immediately she’d read it she knew the term was not right for Ike. In the past he’d admitted that when his wife was dying he had railed against God constantly, one moment begging Him to heal her and then asking Him to take her quickly to end her suffering. He’d wrestled long and hard with the manner of Eleanor’s death and the distress and pain he’d seen in others since, and the result was a bitter resentment towards the Almighty for allowing such agony. Abby could understand this. She felt confused and angry herself that a lovely man like her father who had never hurt a living soul had been treated the way he had by people who were alive and well and had got off scot-free. It was monstrously unjust. And there was her mother acting all holy and toadying round the priest, her reputation as a good Catholic unblemished. It made Abby feel sick. Which was maybe why the decision to marry at Whitby’s register office was set in concrete as far as she was concerned.
The wedding was due to take place the morning of Christmas Eve, which was a Monday. On the Saturday afternoon Wilbert, along with Audrey, Ivor, Leonard, Bruce and Jed, were due to arrive at the smallholding and Abby was beside herself. She knew the others were surprised she was so het up, especially as she had managed to meet all Ike’s relations, who had arrived the previous day, with complete poise and calm, but the thought of seeing Ivor, of having to look into his face, made her feel ill. But she’d get through, she told herself, staring into the speckled mirror on the dressing table in the bedroom she shared with Rowena. On Monday Rowena would move into the room Gladys had previously had to herself. Winnie, Clara and Joy occupied the third bedroom in the smallholding. All three bedrooms were large and spacious, which was fortunate.
It was also fortunate, Abby thought, that there were no spare rooms in the property because this meant all the guests had to stay in town. Ike had insisted on treating everyone to a top-notch hotel, both his relations and Abby’s, and when she’d protested about her side he’d cupped her face in his large hands and smiled at her. ‘I can afford it,’ he said softly, ‘and there’s no your side and my side, at least not from Monday anyway. They’ll all be ours, like everything else. OK, honey?’