‘Hello?’
Freya’s voice carried through the hall. Bunty turned to look at her.
‘I had some cabbage leaves. I thought I’d bring them over for the guinea pigs.’
‘Oh, that’s kind of you, dear.’
Freya passed her in the hall, and slipped out into the garden. Bunty stood at the window and watched her unfastening the hutch and pausing to say hello to both of them before popping in some leaves and closing their doors.
‘Thank you, Freya. Now, shall I have a look in my cake tin and see what we’ve got hidden in there? I seem to remember there was some ginger cake left from yesterday . . .’
‘Yes please.’ Freya beamed. ‘I’ll make some tea, shall I?’
They sat together in a peaceable silence for a while, drinking tea. Freya smoothed the leathery skin of Stanley’s head and he basked in the attention, his eyes half closed.
‘Lucy really doesn’t understand Stanley, does she?’
‘She thinks he’s going to eat me in my sleep,’ Bunty laughed.
‘She’s nice, though, Lucy.’ Freya scooped up some crumbs with a finger.
‘Have some more. It’ll only go stale, otherwise.’ She cut another slice and watched as Freya took a huge bite. The girl was as thin as a lathe; goodness knows where she put it all. She’d been the same at that age, mind you.
‘I think Dad likes her, you know.’
‘Lucy?’ Bunty looked at her for a moment, sizing her up before she replied. ‘I think you might be right.’
‘But he’s completely obsessed with the idea that he has to stay single to look after me. Like I’m some sort of precious object he can’t let out of his sight.’
‘That’s because your –’ Bunty stopped mid-sentence.
‘Because my mother left.’ Freya finished it for her. ‘I know. But that doesn’t mean he has to live like a monk forever. Unless he’s waiting for her to come back.’
‘I don’t think it’s that.’ Bunty had a recollection of the normally even-tempered Sam arguing with Stella over the top of a motorbike. They’d always sparked, and not in a particularly good way. They were a terrible match. If it hadn’t been for Stella getting pregnant with Freya, Bunty suspected she’d have been gone long since. But she’d stuck around, trying in her own way to do the right thing. It had been like trying to catch smoke. She was the direct opposite of Sam’s steady easy-going nature: impetuous and careless, wild and always looking for trouble.
‘I wonder if he secretly still loves her.’
‘Your mother?’
Freya nodded. ‘Maybe that’s why he’s not interested in Lucy like that.’
‘I don’t think so, dear. I think what he wants is for you to be happy. That’s always been his priority. You come before everything in his book.’
Chapter 20
Walking back along the lane, Sam barely noticed the rain that was still falling in a light, misty drizzle. He was listening to Lucy talking about her teaching job.
Her eyes lit up when she talked about the pupils, and her hands were gesturing in the air as she described what it felt like to work with a class of the most difficult pupils and feel like you were making progress.
‘You must miss it like mad.’
She nodded. ‘I do. But actually, being here – and going back to Brighton – made me realize I don’t miss the stress, or the headaches, or being rushed into hospital for that matter.’ She made a face. She’d told him and Mel a while ago about the incident that led to her coming to the village.
‘Maybe if you weren’t working in such a high-pressure school?’
‘Possibly. I’ve thought about it.’ Her mouth curved into a secretive smile, and she looked beautiful as she spoke – lit up from inside, confessing. ‘I’ve looked at the local paper. They’ve been advertising for cover staff at Freya’s school.’
‘Oh, she would love that,’ Sam said, laughing. ‘She’d enjoy showing you off. And she’d be hoping for good grades, too.’
‘She gets good grades anyway, from what I can see.’
‘She does. She’s a smart cookie. Not like me.’
‘Dyslexia doesn’t stop you being smart. Look at the gorgeous treehouses you’ve built. And you work with the boys, giving them a chance in life. And run a business.’
‘Stop, you’re going to make me big-headed.’
‘I’m serious.’ She stopped, lifting her chin and looking up at him.
Her hair was misted with a halo of raindrops and right then, if he could have, he would have leaned over and kissed her. She looked so passionate and so determined, and he realized it would be very easy to fall in love with someone like Lucy, if you were looking. Which – he reminded himself, firmly – he was not. Because whatever she said about cover staff, in a couple of months she was going back to Brighton. She didn’t belong here, and his life and all his roots were very firmly planted in the village.
‘I’ve spent years working with teenagers – boys, usually – who think that they can’t do school, who’ve been written off because they have learning difficulties like dyslexia or challenges at home. And you know what? With love and support, they have all flourished. You need to stop being so hard on yourself and start realizing how amazing you are.’
His heart thudded hard against his ribs and he brushed a lock of wet hair back from his forehead, looking at her.
‘Okay. I will recognize how amazing I am, if you promise me you’ll at least consider going in to Freya’s school to talk about your book stuff. I think it would really inspire them. I’m friends with Dave Hill, who is head of the English department – we went to school together. If I put you in touch, will you give him a shout about going in to talk about your research?’
‘Deal.’ She grinned at him. ‘And now let’s get back. I am soaked, and freezing, and I really, really want a hot bath.’
Sam tried to put the idea of Lucy in a bath out of his head, and fell into step beside her. If nothing else, he told himself firmly, he was lucky to have her as another really good friend.
Chapter 21
A couple of weeks passed. As well as transcribing the conversations she’d had, Lucy wrote a potted history of Little Maudley during the war. She managed to weave in quite a bit of the detail Bunty had shared, even though Bunty still didn’t want her story to be officially included in the booklet, and the whole thing was going to the printer’s in Bletchingham shortly. Susan was delighted with how it had turned out.
Lucy had become accustomed to her routine of popping in once a day to see Bunty – it was something that they both enjoyed. Mel was busy with work, but always happy to pop round for a coffee in the afternoon, or to take an evening off to drive to the little independent cinema in Bletchingham to watch a film. Sam too was always busy working during the day, and was rushing to get the snagging done on the luxury treehouse in Lower Maudley before the weather changed, which had caused a hold-up in the finishing of the telephone box library. Lucy’s mornings with Bunty were a time for them to have a chat and for Lucy to pass on all the village news, which Bunty always loved hearing.
‘Helen’s on the warpath about the telephone box delay,’ Lucy explained as they pottered around in the garden, planting tulip bulbs for next spring.
‘Oh dear me,’ chuckled Bunty. ‘I hope Sam’s ready for her.’
‘He told me he’s planning to switch his phone off and not answer the door. I don’t think Helen hears “no” very often.’
‘I shouldn’t think she does. Well, it won’t do her any harm.’ Bunty put the trowel down, having patted the soil on the raised bed back into place. Lucy, who was on her hands and knees, shuffled along on the wet grass, filling in the trench she’d dug.
‘Margaret asked me why I was bothering to plant these, you know.’
Lucy looked up at Bunty, who was removing her gardening gloves carefully, one finger at a time.
‘Doesn’t she like tulips?’
Bunty laughed. ‘No, she said – I promise you, no word of
a lie – that she couldn’t see the point of gardening at my age, and didn’t I think it was a waste of time.’
‘My God.’
‘I know. I told her that I had no intention of popping off any time soon, and most certainly not before these tulips have come out. They cost a fortune from the garden centre.’
Lucy giggled. She stood up, arching her back, and looked up at the sky. It was grey again, and threatening rain.
‘I think we’ve got these in just in time. Shall we go and have some lunch?’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea.’
In the kitchen, she busied herself making some cheese sandwiches and heating up a tin of soup for them to share. Bunty sat in the tall chair at the end of the dining table, leafing through the local paper. They ate lunch together in a peaceful silence, chatting occasionally about nothing in particular. It was nice, after all this time, that they’d reached a place where they could be quite comfortable in each other’s company. It was hard to recall quite how cantankerous and difficult Bunty had been when they’d first met back in July.
Once they were finished Lucy cleared the table, and Bunty stood up. She hesitated for a moment, then went across to the dresser and took down the diary from the shelf.
‘I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You know, I’m not going to be around forever, and it struck me that I’d rather like the right of reply. If I’m going to share my story, I’d prefer to be around while it’s being read. If you’d like to read it, that is.’ She placed it carefully on the table in front of Lucy. ‘I think I can trust you with it. And then, afterwards, perhaps we can talk about what’s inside.’
Lucy’s heart thudded. She didn’t dare reach out for the diary, because she was terrified that if she did, Bunty might snatch it up, saying she’d changed her mind. But after a moment, Bunty tutted disapprovingly.
‘Don’t you want to read it?’
‘Of course I do!’ She picked it up.
‘Well, off you go, then.’
Chapter 22
Lucy read long into the night. The early entries made her laugh. She could hear Bunty’s acid tongue and her sharp sense of humour, and her observations of life settling into a village that was far removed from the city she’d grown up in were all too familiar. Bunty had taken Lucy under her wing, and appreciated that living in Little Maudley was a shock to the system after living in Brighton.
She shifted on the sofa. She’d been sitting there for ages, and her leg had pins and needles. She got up and let Hamish out into the garden for a sniff and a wee. Then she poured herself a glass of red wine, put another log on the log burner – the evening was cold as well as damp – and curled up to carry on. Bunty had worked so very hard. But oh, the romance of meeting Harry at the telephone box! No wonder she hadn’t wanted it to be taken down and replaced with a boring old bench.
30th May: Meet me at the telephone box Friday 1800hrs.
A note! Oh my goodness. You should have seen Mrs Brown’s face. Her eyes were out on stalks and she crossed her arms very firmly and reminded me, young lady, that she was responsible for my good name, and that I shouldn’t be doing anything my mother wouldn’t approve of. But how could Mother have disapproved of something so lovely?
We walked all the way to Preston Bissett and back, chatting the whole way. He’s so kind and thoughtful – he brought me toffee sweets, and told me all about his mother and sister back home in New Brunswick. He said they’d love me. He’s promised that the next time he flies over the village he’ll fly down low and wave. Oh, my heart. I have to go to sleep now, because Milly is fussing about the light again. I don’t think I can possibly sleep. I’m too excited for words.
Lucy could imagine a young Bunty, lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling thrilled with the prospect of romance in the midst of all the drudgery of her daily life. Harry must have seemed like a breath of fresh air.
She read sweet stories of stolen kisses and brief meetings, dances at the aerodrome and even dinner with a reluctantly welcoming Mrs Brown, who apparently chuntered disapproval until she too was charmed by Harry’s sunny, open nature. Lucy sighed happily at the romance of it all. Outside it was pitch dark now, and the log burner was almost out. She drew the curtains, called Hamish in and headed upstairs to carry on reading in bed.
June 15th, 1941
The most terrible, unthinkable news. Bombs fell again and I’ve had word that both Mother and Father are gone. I can’t believe that I will never see their faces again, or hear Mother fussing on the telephone asking if I’m wearing warm underclothes and keeping myself nice. This wretched war is taking everything away. I can’t bear it. I saw Harry tonight and he wrapped his arms around me. It didn’t make anything better, but it was such a wonderful feeling to know that there was someone who was there who cared for me. It’s such a blessing to know that amongst all of this, he’s here safely with me for the next few months at least.
June 19th, 1941
Given leave, but I don’t see much point in taking it. What would I do? There are no bodies to bury, and our little family is all but gone. Aunt Mabel is in Essex, my cousin Sarah in Edinburgh. We have a war to win, and people all over the country are losing people left, right and centre. It seems self-indulgent to take time off to grieve when the work still has to be done.
Poor Bunty. She sounded so alone. But time had a different quality in those dark days. The weeks passed, and she started to sound more like herself.
September 3rd, 1941
I was standing in the back garden yesterday, hanging out sheets for Mrs B, when two bombers approached, flying so low that I thought they must surely hit the oak tree at the end of the garden. I looked up, out of fear, and realized that at the window, aviator cap and goggles pushed up off his face, was Harry. He gave a huge wave. It cheered me up no end. And then today there was a note pushed through the letterbox. Meet me at the telephone box, it said, and bring your gumboots in case of rain. Mrs B was most intrigued – despite the fact that she’s given him the seal of approval, he still sneaks notes into the telephone box because it’s our little secret – and Milly thinks it’s unbearably romantic. I do too. Going to have to borrow her gumboots, though, because mine have a hole in. There has been such a rainstorm today, if I go out in shoes I’ll be soaked through in moments and end up with trench foot. That wouldn’t be unbearably romantic.
(still the 3rd but only just – it’s ten to midnight, and I’m writing this by candlelight)
I arrived with Milly’s gumboots in a kit bag I’d sewn years ago for school, and there he was waiting at the telephone box, looking absolutely dashing in his uniform. He asked how I was feeling and we chatted about everything under the sun, and when I cried he gave me his handkerchief and told me I could keep it. It smells of his cologne, and I’ve put it under my pillow. Oh, it was absolutely wonderful to spend time together, despite the drizzling rain. We walked miles, and eventually the sun came out and we spotted the most beautiful rainbow. Eventually we arrived at a tiny little stone hut in the middle of a clearing in the woods – ‘I noticed it the other day when I was on training,’ Harry told me, ‘And I thought we could investigate.’
Inside it was full of dried leaves with grass growing around the spaces where the window had been, but it was dry and cosy. It felt like we were having an adventure and that we’d left real life far behind us. Harry had brought a picnic rug, rolled up in his pack, and a picnic of fruit cake, some cheese, apples and even some ham. It tasted absolutely wonderful, the way that food does when you have it outside, but even more wonderful was the feeling of being together and so, so comfortable in each other’s company. He even had a little hipflask of brandy and we shared that, too – it burned my throat and made me feel quite giddy. And then – well, perhaps I’ll keep that to myself. But oh, my. I don’t know what came over me – afterwards I thought of Mother telling me to keep myself nice, but then I remembered that there was nobody there to make sure I did any more, and anyway – well, I’
m glad I did it. I kept looking at the others over dinner, wondering if they could tell that I had. Harry walked me all the way home to the cottage and kissed me on the cheek outside the gate. Oh, and I almost forgot – we bumped into two of the Land Girls on the way back, Hilda and Eunice, and they gave us The Look and went off giggling after saying hello. It wasn’t until I got back to Mrs B that I realized the collar of my dress was all crushed and sticking up at the back. I looked as if I’d been rolling in a hayfield, which made me blush absolutely scarlet, because, oh, dear diary – I suppose I had.
There were several more pages, filled with the outpourings of a young girl who had clearly fallen quite madly in love with her handsome Canadian airman. Lucy, sitting up in bed with the curtain not quite pulled to, found herself gazing across the lane at a light glowing upstairs in Sam’s cottage, wondering what he was doing there.
The Telephone Box Library Page 23