They clung to each other, exchanging desperate, hungry kisses, until Jack stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides. ‘No, this is too much for me, Renee. I’ve dreamt about this so long, and I’ve wanted you, like I’m wanting you this very minute, but . . .’
She flung caution, and her principles, to the wind. ‘I want you, too, Jack.’
‘No,’ he almost moaned. ‘We can’t. Remember Glynn. He’s a good, decent man, and I can’t do that to him.’
Their tormented eyes locked, their need for each other crying out to be relieved. ‘I’ll always remember this, Renee,’ Jack said, brokenly, at last. ‘It’s a memory I’ll carry with me wherever I go and whatever happens to me. But you’re married to Glynn, and there’s an end to it.’
‘You’re right,’ she whispered sadly. ‘I’m married to Glynn, and I do love him, as much as he loves me, but . . . I love you, too, Jack.’
‘Say it again, my darling.’
‘I love you, Jack.’
‘That’s something I never dreamed you would say to me, not since you were married, anyway, and it’ll stay with me for ever.’ He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. ‘You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, but I’ll have to leave you. Your mother’ll be wondering why you’re away so long. I’ve missed the last bus to Peterhead, as well. What a pair we are.’
They stared at each other for a second, then burst into near-hysterical laughter. ‘What’ll you do, Jack? Mum said you could sleep on our settee, remember, so will we just go back?’
‘Oh, no.’ His smile faded. ‘I couldn’t face your mother just now. She’d see straight away how much I love you, for I couldn’t hide it tonight, not after . . .’
‘Where’ll you go, then?’
‘I’ll get a bed in a hostel, or something, and go home in the morning.’
‘Will you come to see me on your way back from Peter-head?’
‘No, darling, I’d better not for all our sakes. Yours, mine, and especially Glynn’s.’ He pulled her out of the lane, but a bus was drawing in to the stop, so he had no time to say anything more than, ‘Goodbye, Renee. I love you.’
‘I love you, Jack.’ She watched him sprinting across the road and jumping on to the moving vehicle, to be carried away from her. Sanity returned then, and she walked slowly towards the house.
As she closed the front door behind her, she switched on the hall light and looked at her watch. It was nearly ten, and they’d gone out at half past eight. Her mother would know that something had been going on. Hoping that the cool night air had cooled down her burning cheeks, she held her head high as she entered the living room, praying that she wouldn’t be faced with a barrage of questions.
Anne was sitting in her dressing-gown, but her face was devoid of any accusations. ‘I was beginning to think something had happened to you, Renee. Where on earth have you been all this time? Did you go into town to see Jack on to the country bus?’
The excuse was a life-saver to the girl. ‘Yes, Mum. There was a bus coming when we went to the end of our street, and I went on without thinking. I’m sure Jack was glad of the company, though.’ More lies, she reflected, when she’d thought she was done with them, but she couldn’t tell her mother the truth.
She went upstairs, not daring to write her usual Sunday night letter to Glynn. She couldn’t think straight, after what had happened between Jack and her. In bed, she relived the time they’d spent in the lane. It
was
possible to love two people at once, she realised, but it usually meant that at least one of them would be hurt, maybe both.
She did love Glynn, that was still true, and she loved Jack, she had just rediscovered, and the only thing she felt guilty about was the falsehood she had told her mother. She shouldn’t have done that. She should have been honest and told her exactly what had happened, because they’d done nothing really wrong.
Yet a small voice inside her reminded her that it wasn’t due to her that she hadn’t committed adultery, and she flushed at the memory of her desire for Jack Thomson.
Chapter Twenty-Five
1st June, 1944
Darling Renee,
It’s bad news, I’m afraid. All leave has been cancelled, but I can’t say any more. It might be a long time until I see you again, and I’m really sick about it. We got a 48-hour pass last week, so I went to Porthcross again, as I didn’t have time to come to Aberdeen. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while, but remember that I’ll always be thinking about you, and that I love you with all my heart.
Your adoring husband,
Glynn.
Renee looked at her mother across the breakfast table.
‘Jack was right. All the leave has been cancelled, so Glynn won’t be coming home for a long time. I wish he’d been able to come here instead of Porthcross, though.’
‘At least he went to see his mother.’ Anne felt very sorry for her daughter, but tried to be sensible.
‘Yes, and I bet that had pleased her.’ Especially when he hadn’t had time to come to see his wife, Renee thought viciously, then realised that she was probably doing the poor woman an injustice.
Would Glynn have seen Eiddwen again while he was there? This was something which had worried Renee each time he’d told her he’d spent a quick weekend in Wales. His mother could have tried to throw them together, hoping to renew the old romance.
Could Glynn have fallen in love with Eiddwen again? Was he, like Renee herself, in love with two people at the same time? The thought hurt, and she knew how much it would hurt Glynn if he ever found out about Jack. She vacillated between regretting what had happened in the lane, and being glad that she’d sent Jack off happy, to face whatever lay ahead of him.
She was sure now that Glynn’s mother would never accept her. He didn’t refer to it all now, but he had told her in previous letters that he’d tackled his mother when he was there, asking her to invite Renee to Porthcross, to get to know her, but her answer had always been no.
Renee’s thoughts returned to what this letter was really telling her. Glynn must be involved in this ‘big push’ which Jack had mentioned, this invasion, and he would be in great danger. She turned cold at the idea of Glynn being killed. Even the memory of the heartaches he had caused her during most of their marriage – his inability to cope with her association with Fergus Cooper – couldn’t extinguish the flame of anxiety she felt for his safety now.
‘Don’t be so upset about it, Renee.’ Anne’s voice brought the girl out of her reverie. ‘I’m sure Glynn’s going to be all right, even if he is sent abroad.’ Her cheerfulness belied the sudden, tragic sadness which came into her eyes, and Renee remembered that her mother had good reason to be bitter about the war. Poor Fred Schaper.
And Bill Scroggie was dead, too, although that had happened in this country, and they had never learned the cause. She shivered at the thought of how precarious the life of a serviceman was in wartime, and prayed that nothing would happen to any of the soldiers she knew. They were all good men, like Fred and Bill had been.
The day after she received Glynn’s letter, the news was broadcast on the wireless, and splashed all over the front pages of the newspapers, that the Allies had made landings in Normandy on the 6th. It was the ‘big push’, an invasion on a scale that no one had foreseen. Renee followed the daily reports of advances, of setbacks, of losses, of victories, thinking all the time of Glynn, Jack and Tim – and of Mike, too, who would probably be amongst those making their way up through Italy.
It was four agonising weeks after D-Day before another letter came from Glynn. He wrote that she had likely heard about the invasion, and assured her that he was well. He ended his brief scrawl, ‘I miss you, darling. Your loving husband, Glynn.’
Her thankfulness at knowing he was safe was only temporary, because she realised he was still facing danger every day, every hour, every minute, and she fervently hoped that he would understand how worried she was and write as often as he could.
A few weeks elapsed before she received another letter from him, another short scribble, hoping that she was well and sending love. One sentence threw her into a panic. ‘I’m still alive – just!’ Things must have been pretty bad when he wrote that.
A visit from Moira Donaldson didn’t help matters. ‘Tim’s been wounded,’ the agitated girl said, as soon as she went in.
‘I’d a letter this morning, but somebody else wrote it for him because it’s his hands that have been hurt. He’s going to be sent to a hospital in this country as soon as he’s fit enough.’
‘Oh, Moira! That’s terrible,’ Renee burst out, while Anne said quietly, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not.’ Moira looked defiant. ‘I’m not sorry if it’s taken him away from the fighting. I won’t have to worry any more about him being killed, you see, and his hands will heal in time, I hope.’ Her expression changed. ‘Does that sound awful to you? That I’m glad he’s been wounded?’
‘No, no, Moira,’ Anne assured her. ‘I can quite understand how you must be feeling, and thank you very much for coming to tell us about him.’
‘I thought you’d like to know straight away, Mrs Gordon, you’ve always been so good to him. I’ve written to his mother and father, but I just had to get out of our house. I can’t say what I really feel in front of Babs, when she’s still so worried about Mike. Oh!’ She became embarrassed. ‘You’ll be worrying about Glynn, of course, Renee. I’m sorry, I just didn’t think. Have you heard from him lately?’
‘A few days ago. He doesn’t get much time to write, but even a line or two lets me know he’s still alive.’
‘I know exactly how you feel.’ Moira nodded.
When the other girl left, Renee thought sadly of Jack Thomson, who was also involved in the bitter struggle being fought in Europe. She had heard nothing from him since she had kissed him goodbye in the lane. Why hadn’t he written to her? Surely he couldn’t have been . . . ? No, no! He just hadn’t had time to write, that was all.
Two more letters came from Glynn over the course of the next three weeks, but still no word from Jack, and Anne had heard nothing from Mike Donaldson for some time, either.
‘Of course,’ she said to Renee one day, ‘he’d write to Babs any minute he’s got, and she’d have let us know if anything had happened to him.’
The anxious days crawled past, with the two women glued to the news bulletins on the wireless as often as possible, although they didn’t know which field of the struggle either Glynn or Jack were in.
‘No wonder some wives go off the rails,’ Renee remarked, after six long weeks of looking in vain for a letter from her husband. ‘This suspense is getting me down.’
At lunchtime three days later, her face blanched when her mother handed her an official envelope which had been delivered after the girl had left to go to work, and she turned it over and over in her hands.
‘Would you like me to open it for you?’ Anne asked, solicitously, having been tempted to do so many times before her daughter came home.
‘No, I’ll do it myself.’ Renee slit the envelope with trembling fingers and drew out a single, typed sheet. She began to read it aloud, her voice faltering and fading to a whisper by the time she had finished. ‘We regret to inform you that 15792, Sergeant Williams, Glynn, Royal Artillery, has been reported missing.’
‘Oh, dear God!’ Anne’s arms went round her daughter as she held on to the back of the nearest chair.
‘Oh, no!’ Renee said, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘It’s not true! It can’t be true!’
‘It must be true, before they sent the letter,’ Anne said, gently. ‘And it just says ‘‘missing’’ not ‘‘killed’’.’ Anne tried to sound optimistic, but her spirits were as low as the girl’s.
‘He could have been killed, though, if he’s missing.’ Renee’s whole body was shaking violently now, and her face and lips were blueish-white.
Anne recognised the signs of shock. ‘I’ll go and make us a cup of tea.’ She went to put the kettle on, and came straight back. ‘There must be some hope, you know, or they’d have put ‘‘missing believed killed’’.’
Renee stared at her blankly then said, ‘Yes.’
‘You must keep hoping. Never give up hope.’
‘No.’ Her voice was flat. Anne made the tea very sweet and carried through the two steaming cups. ‘Drink this. I’ve put sugar in to help you.’
Grimacing at the unaccustomed taste – she’d stopped taking sugar in tea when it became scarce – Renee sipped it obediently, and the colour gradually returned to her cheeks.
‘Would you like to go to bed? I could fill a hot water bottle for you?’ Anne hovered anxiously.
‘No, thanks. I’d rather sit here.’
‘I’ll turn off the oven, I think.’ The woman knew that neither of them would feel like eating the shepherd’s pie she’d made.
Renee kept wringing her hands until her mother could stand it no longer. ‘I’ll go along to the phone box and tell them you won’t be back to work this afternoon. Sheila’s got a different dinner hour from you, hasn’t she?’ When the girl nodded, Anne went on, ‘Will you be all right till I come back?’
The girl seemed to rally for a minute. ‘I’ll be all right, but don’t be too long.’
‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
When Anne passed on the sad news to Sheila Daun, the girl expressed her dismay, then added, ‘I’ll tell Old Bill she won’t be in. He’s quite good, really, so there won’t be any bother.’
‘Thanks, Sheila.’
Renee was sitting in the same position when Anne returned, sunk back against the cushions as if her spine had caved in.
‘That didn’t take long,’ Anne said breathlessly. ‘Sheila’s going to tell your boss, and she said to give you her love and say how sorry she is about . . .’
Renee lifted her head. She had been thinking while her mother was out, and now felt the need to unburden her soul. ‘Sit down, Mum. I want to tell you something.’
The words came spilling out: the tragedy of her wedding night in its entirety; the loveless nights of her honeymoon; the Monday-night punishments which Glynn had inflicted on himself and her.
Anne’s face had tightened in agony and disapproval during the recital of Renee’s secret, passionate meetings with Fergus Cooper, but at the mention of Glynn’s cruel behaviour, her expression softened in pity for her daughter.