The Telephone Box Library

by Lucas, Rachael

  They climbed out of the car and made their way across the shaggy grass towards the building. It was long, the roof flat and covered with cracked black bitumen, which curled in places where tangles of weeds grew in clumps.

  Bunty walked ahead, and peered in through the narrow glass of the window.

  ‘They used it after the war as a store, I think.’

  ‘And what did you do here?’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Bunty, and she gave a sudden shout of laughter that startled a little robin who’d been perched on a fence post, looking at them inquisitively. ‘Now that would be telling.’

  Back in the car, Bunty glanced at Lucy as she edged the vehicle carefully down the rough track towards the road. She was a sweet girl, taking her up here on a whim. Goodness knows how many times she’d driven this way in the past, and not once had she felt the urge to go and look at Signal Hill and remember. It was the diary that had triggered it, she expected. The round, excited writing of the girl who’d poured all her secrets into that little hard-backed black book, keeping it hidden from Len all the years they were married. He wouldn’t ever have looked, mind you – he was such a peaceable, easy-going sort. It was peculiar that Gordon had grown up with his nature, considering.

  Lucy drove them on through the countryside towards town. Tractors were already beginning their preparations for winter – fields which had been sheets of gold only a few weeks ago were now being ploughed and turned over to thick ridges of dark earth. A flock of geese flew over – early this year. That usually meant a cold winter was on the way, and of course there was another sign in the rowan trees laden with berries as they stopped at the junction. Another housing estate was going up in a field where she’d once walked with Harry and Milly and the evacuee children, taking them on a picnic. They’d lain on the grass, gazing up at the sky, waiting for planes to fly overhead. Bunty closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face as they drove, imagining the hum of the car engine was the distant noise of approaching aircraft.

  Harry had been in an odd mood that afternoon. She could still remember every word of that entry. It had been prescient, somehow.

  September 5th, 1941

  Lovely afternoon taking the kiddies for a picnic. Milly grumbled about having to spend her day off with children, but she certainly brightened up when Harry turned up with his friend Luke. He’s Australian, tall and handsome and very funny – and she definitely took a shine to him. Mrs B made us some fish paste sandwiches and some lovely lemon cake (I think she might be warming to him) and we had an apple each, as well. The kiddies dashed around trying to catch butterflies and we stretched out on the grass and looked up at the sky. Harry was in an odd sort of mood.

  We lay side by side on the meadow, our fingers just touching. As always, there was the constant hum of planes passing overhead.

  ‘You seem quiet,’ I said. I turned to look at him and he gave a heavy sigh, then rolled over on his side, propping himself up on his arm.

  ‘Bit of bad news. Three of the guys I know FTR from a flight over the Channel last night.’

  ‘FTR?’ I was puzzled by the terminology.

  ‘Failed to return. Bought it.’

  It took a moment for it to dawn on me what he meant. I sat up and took his hand in mine. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t be. It’s the nature of the beast.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ I went quite cold, just thinking about it. ‘I don’t want something to happen to you.’

  He squeezed my hand then, and laced his fingers through mine. ‘You don’t need to worry. I’m on rest from operations.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I frowned. My head knew that everyone had to do their bit – but my heart – well, it was saying something else altogether.

  ‘I’m here for six months, training pilots. Safe as houses – well, safe as we can be.’ He gestured to the sky, where three Blenheims were passing overhead.

  ‘And once the six months are up?’

  ‘You don’t have to think about that, honey. It’s a long time away.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ Milly shouted, breaking the mood. ‘The boys want to play a game of rounders.’

  Harry sprang to his feet, offering me a hand to pull me upright. I dusted off my skirt and we dashed over to join them. There’s no point in worrying about what might be when there’s so much fun to be had right now. I’ve decided to make that my motto.

  Fortunately the traffic into Bletchingham was quiet and, after finding a parking space down a side street, Lucy and Bunty hit the shops. Bunty headed for the chemist, and as she stood in the queue, she watched as Lucy crossed the High Street to visit the little art gallery and gift shop she loved. They met up again and spent a lovely half hour browsing in the little book shop, where Lucy bought a couple of books on World War Two to add to her collection. Bunty looked at the clock tower.

  ‘It’s almost twelve.’ Her legs were beginning to tire and she fancied something nice to eat before the lunchtime rush started. ‘Shall we have a bite?’

  They went to the old almshouses, which had been converted into a bright, sunny cafe, and sat down by the window opposite the old castle. Lucy had thought Bunty was tiring, so it was a relief that she’d been the one to suggest lunch. She was such a strong, independent character.

  ‘Here you are, ladies.’ A cheerful woman dressed all in black appeared, holding two menus. She passed one to each of them and poured out two glasses of water.

  ‘There are definitely some things I don’t miss about teaching. I don’t miss the headaches,’ Lucy carried on, looking at the menu. ‘Or the waking up in the middle of the night worrying about Ofsted inspections.’

  ‘There seems to be so much of that these days.’ Bunty looked thoughtful. ‘Of course, there was none of that when Milly was teaching. Just as well, really. She had so many children and gosh, they could be a handful. I used to go in if I had a day off during the week, and we’d take the class out for a walk so they could find wildflowers and do some sketching. All we really wanted was the chance to have a natter about what we’d been up to.’

  Lucy had enjoyed a long talk with Hannah, Helen Bromsgrove’s retired housekeeper, about just that. She’d been an evacuee to the village in early 1940, and had stayed on afterwards. Her mother had been widowed in the Blitz and she’d come to live in Little Maudley, taking a job working for the big house just outside the village where Len, Bunty’s husband, had been the land agent. (‘Lovely man, he was. Very steady,’ she’d said. Lucy had felt, oddly, that there was something unsaid about Bunty in that statement). They’d lived in a cottage provided by the landowner, and when Hannah had grown up she’d carried on in the same position. It was more common than she’d thought. Several of the evacuees had gravitated back to the village as they’d grown older, spending their later years enjoying the peace and quiet they’d remembered.

  ‘Can I take your orders?’ The woman returned with a notebook and pencil.

  ‘Of course,’ Bunty went on, after she’d left, ‘we had so many evacuees at one point that they used to have to divide the school day up into halves. Poor Milly was worn out. One lot of pupils first thing in the morning, the second after lunch. And the state of some of the children . . . they were absolutely filthy when they came to us, riddled with head lice and all sorts.’

  ‘Must have been hard for them, coming from the city and ending up in a tiny village.’

  ‘I think lots of them had a ball, once they got over the homesickness. Sometimes their parents would come and visit for the weekend – the Crown was always packed with families. There were a fair few who didn’t want to go back after the worst of it, as well. They stayed all the way through and never left. Old Brian Turner on the village committee was one of them. Did you talk to him yet?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I’ve interviewed a couple of women from the WI, and collected some lovely wartime memories. It’s funny how many of them mention you.’ There was a long pause, during which
time the waitress returned, putting down cutlery wrapped in paper napkins, and made a lot of fuss over refilling their glasses of water. Lucy shifted in her chair, and waited.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to be interviewed? It would be nice to have you featured in the commemorative book, too.’

  Bunty looked at her through shrewd blue eyes and shook out her napkin, placing it carefully on her lap.

  ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘But you’ve told me so many interesting things. If we just gathered all of those memories together—’

  ‘Here we are,’ said the waitress, cheerfully. Lucy rolled her eyes behind her back. After she left she tried again.

  ‘It wouldn’t take long.’

  ‘I don’t think so, dear. I don’t mind talking to you, but I don’t want old memories raked up. The past is the past.’

  For a few minutes they were silent as they ate. Lucy noticed Bunty looking across the window, lost in thought.

  ‘I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

  Bunty shook her head. ‘Not at all, Lucy. It’s just that there are some parts of history that are best left there. Things were different back then. We were – well, it was a very different time.’

  They ate lunch and chatted about safe subjects, like the new family who were moving into the house along the road, and talk of the big house being taken over by the youngest son of the family after some dispute over inheritance.

  ‘Of course, Len always said that family were quite batty.’

  ‘Your husband? Susan told me he was the land agent there during the war.’

  ‘He was, yes. Left not long after and became an accountant when Gordon was still in short trousers.’ Bunty smiled faintly. ‘I think he found it easier to manage numbers than he did the unpredictable nature of a huge estate, especially after the war. It was requisitioned and used as a hospital, and it was in a terrible state afterwards. Took them years to get it back to – well, it never really went back to the way it was.’

  ‘I’d like to go and look around. I wonder if they’d let me.’

  ‘Goodness, yes. Tell them I sent you. They always send me a Christmas hamper, even now. Jam and cheese.’ She looked out of the window. ‘Very nice biscuits,’ she added, as an afterthought.

  ‘So you stayed in the village after the war? You weren’t tempted to go back to London afterwards?’ It slipped out before she even realized. After Bunty’s reticence earlier, she was treading on dangerous ground to probe.

  Bunty shook her head. ‘No. Nothing to go back to. My sister was killed in the first wave of the Blitz, and my parents were killed in the second. The whole house was gone. Nothing left. ’

  ‘Oh, Bunty. I’m so sorry.’ Lucy felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. The idea of losing everything in one fell swoop was just unimaginable.

  ‘Long time ago now. Luckily Mrs Brown was happy to keep me on once the war work was done, and of course then there was Len.’

  ‘And you’ve lived in the village ever since?’

  ‘No. After he stopped working as a land agent, he had to give up the little cottage on the edge of the estate – that was a wrench. I loved that little house. It was my escape.’

  Lucy glanced at her for a second, noticing once again that Bunty had that faraway expression. Escape – that was a curious choice of word. She was certain that there was a lot more going on than Bunty would admit to.

  ‘And then we lived in a little house right here in Bletchingham for a long while, until Gordon was finished at the grammar school. And then Mrs Brown died, and she left me – well, us – the cottage. It was a tremendous shock. She didn’t have any family to speak of – her daughter died young, and she didn’t want it going into the hands of some distant relative or being sold off. Milly was gone to Australia by then, of course. So we moved back – I was delighted. Len rather less so,’ she added.

  ‘Len didn’t like village life?’

  ‘I think it always had some . . . memories he’d rather forget.’

  ‘Oh?’ Lucy tried not to look too interested.

  Bunty scratched her ear, and looked down at her soup. ‘I’m blethering on. Now, tell me about your plans. Are you going to return to the same school, do you think?’

  Lucy’s heart sank – not only because Bunty had clammed up again, but because she herself didn’t want to think about what she would do in the new year when it was time to leave the village and return to Brighton.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She chewed her lip. ‘I’m going to see my old head teacher next week and have a chat with him.’

  ‘Well, that sounds very sensible.’

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’

  What Lucy didn’t want to admit was that the thought of returning to her old life in Brighton made her feel scared, rather than excited.

  Chapter 16

  The gorgeous late summer weather didn’t last. The heavens opened that afternoon and it poured for a week, bringing in an early, chilly autumn. And with the new term, Lucy knew her time in the village was beginning to come to a close.

  She left the cottage a few days later with the weather matching her mood. Rain pelted down, trickling down her neck as she shoved her bag in the boot. Hamish was safely curled up by the Aga in Bunty’s house, where she’d have quite cheerfully joined him.

  ‘Are you off somewhere exciting?’

  Helen, in a pair of expensive-looking wellies and a matching umbrella, was standing on the opposite side of the road, just outside Sam’s house.

  ‘Popping down to Brighton to speak to my boss.’

  The head of her school had been in touch, saying that he knew it was early days but he wanted to have a meeting to discuss her return in January. She’d only been in the village for a couple of months and somehow she felt time was gathering up, as if a string somewhere was being tugged. The first few lazy weeks in Little Maudley had gone on forever. It wouldn’t be long before the shops were full of Hallowe’en decorations and then Christmas ones, and the autumn term would be over and she’d be – she shook herself. She was overthinking things. All he’d done was ask if she’d be able to drop in for a meeting. And she couldn’t carry on floating around doing nothing forever, lovely as it was. She closed the car boot and looked across at Helen, whose expression was concerned.

  ‘Well, I don’t like the sound of that. We’d like to keep you right here, thank you very much. I’m just going to see Sam about the shelves. They’re coming to take away the interior fittings of the phone box this week. It’s all very exciting.’

  Lucy smiled, but felt wretched.

  ‘I’ll hear all about it when I get back.’ She waved briefly, then climbed into the car.

  The traffic wasn’t on her side, either. She’d arranged to meet Tom for lunch before he set off on a trip to New York, but – she tapped irritably at the steering wheel – that wasn’t going to happen. She arrived at their flat with enough time to say a quick hello before he shot out to climb into a waiting Uber, suitcase and passport in hand. His new girlfriend Kate – the one who’d finally tamed him, as Lucy teased him on the telephone – smiled apologetically and kissed hello and goodbye.

  ‘Lovely to meet you in real life at last.’ She was tall and pretty, with dark hair cut in a gamine style that emphasized huge dark brown eyes.

  ‘Sorry it’s such a flying hello. I’m sure we’ll catch up properly another time soon.’

  Tom beckoned to Kate. ‘Got to go.’

  ‘Have an amazing time.’

  She shooed him out the door and closed it, leaning back against the wall. After the cottage, it seemed huge and airy, the bright white of the hall and stairs dazzling after the muted old-fashioned shades of dull cream and the stone walls.

  She opened her phone and looked at her messages. Having heard she was back in town, a couple of her teaching friends had got in touch asking if she wanted to go for a drink. She’d hardly heard from them while she’d been away – it was often the case
in the holidays, when everyone retreated to their own lives away from the staffroom, but Lucy felt a bit guilty that she hadn’t made much of an effort even when they had been in touch. Somehow, taking a step away had made her realize that the friendships she had were based mainly on their mutual hatred of the head teacher, and their dread of Ofsted inspections. Sipping a glass of overpriced white wine in a bar in town just brought that home to her.

  * * *

  ‘So what’s the story with village life? Apart from hanging out with ninety-year-olds, what’ve you been up to?’

  Mandy, a fellow history teacher, smiled at her over the top of her glass. She looked exhausted already, as if the six-week holiday hadn’t happened. Of course, Lucy thought, she’d probably spent a fair amount of it on prep work. The idea that they got thirteen weeks off a year was one of the staffroom jokes.

  ‘Well, I’ve—’ she began, but was cut off by Harriet, Mandy’s best friend, who appeared from the bar. She gave Lucy a brief kiss hello and launched into a torrent of gossip, shouting to be heard over the pounding music. Had it always been this busy in Brighton, Lucy wondered, or had she just somehow forgotten what city life was like? She thought fondly of the pub in Little Maudley, and of sitting in the beer garden having a glass of Pimm’s with Mel and Sam the other night. Mel had been regaling them with tales from her latest dog training class, which had them crying with laughter.

  ‘Oh my God, I have to tell you what happened last night. I went out with Jamie and Sally and we went to the Arches and—’

  An hour later, Lucy had heard all about the gossip from the staffroom, the latest on who was sleeping with who, and she could feel her temples beginning to pound in a way they hadn’t for a long time.

  ‘I’m just going to nip to the loo.’

  Mandy nodded, looking down at her phone before she’d even turned away.

  In the bathroom, Lucy ran cold water over her wrists, letting the water cool her skin. Then she put her hands to her face, pressing against her eyes. It was weird being back – like she’d stepped out of sync with Brighton life after only a few months.