Wait for Me

by Caroline Leech

  Lorna waited for Iris to crumple, to lower her head and apologize, but instead, Iris lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to Lorna,” she said, “and why is that so strange? Today is a historic day and we’ve been best friends a long time.”

  “But you promised not to come up here unsupervised.” William was talking to Iris as if no one were listening. “For your own safety, of course.”

  Nellie snorted with laughter. “Safety, my arse,” she muttered, but William didn’t seem to hear.

  Lorna was about to tell William to get lost when Iris let Lorna’s hand drop and took a step toward him.

  “Yes, I know I promised, but that was then.” Iris seemed to have grown at least an inch. “But I wanted to come because the war is over now, and John Jo is safe, and frankly, we should be celebrating that. And anyway, Lorna’s my friend and I simply wanted to see her. I’m sorry if it slipped my mind to ask your permission to talk to my best friend.”

  Was that sarcasm? Good for Iris!

  Lorna didn’t bother to hide her smile at William’s startled expression, though he quickly rearranged it back into one of superiority and disdain.

  “Of course you don’t need my permission, but—” he said.

  “Well that’s fine then,” Iris interrupted, clearly enjoying her newfound gumption. “And why were you asking for Mrs. Mack?”

  “Mrs. Mack?” he said. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Mack. Yes, I came to make sure that she knew about the tea tomorrow for the Victory in Europe celebration, for VE Day.”

  William scanned the kitchen for Mrs. Mack. Instead he found Paul, and again his expression faltered.

  Paul stood perfectly still, watching William. Again, the mask had come down, and Lorna could see the rounded muscles in his shoulders tense beneath his once-white cotton shirt, but this time Paul didn’t look like he would run. He looked like he might fight.

  Lorna’s father stepped in front of Paul.

  “Victory celebration tomorrow? Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together, almost gleefully. “So what’ll you be asking Mrs. Mack for then?”

  “My mother asked me to tell Mrs. McMurdough that she will be requiring at least three sponge cakes for the afternoon tea, and as many scones as Mrs. Mack can provide for the bonfire party in the evening. With jam, strawberry, if possible.”

  Lorna’s father studied William. “Your mother requires that, does she?”

  His tone was loaded, and William shifted from one foot to the other.

  “That is, my mother expects Mrs. McMurdough to bring . . . I mean, she would like Mrs. McMurdough to bring—”

  “That’s a bit more like it,” Lorna’s father said, before turning toward the scullery. “Mrs. McMurdough, have you a moment?”

  Mrs. Mack came in, still wearing her coat, and seeing William, she raised her eyebrows.

  “Can I help you, son?”

  William glanced first at Lorna’s father, then uncertainly at Iris. To Lorna’s annoyance, Iris moved beside William, tucking herself slightly behind his shoulder as if to bolster him against a strong wind.

  William immediately looked bolder and stood straighter.

  “Mrs. McMurdough, my mother sent me to ask you whether you would be”—William’s glance at Lorna’s father was almost imperceptible—“kind enough to contribute some of your delicious baking for the Victory celebration party tomorrow. On the Sea Green. Tomorrow. To celebrate the victory. In Europe.”

  Before Mrs. Mack could respond, Lorna’s dad slapped his hand onto William’s back, making William flinch.

  “A Victory party, Edna,” Lorna’s father declared. “But it won’t be much of a party without some of your legendary cakes, I’d say.”

  Mrs. Mack chuckled.

  “I don’t know about the ‘legendary’ bit, but aye, son, go tell your mother I’ll do what I can.” She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece and grimaced. “And I’d better get on with it.”

  She headed for the door, suddenly remembering that in her hand was the kettle, not her bag.

  “I’ll forget my head one of these days,” she said, handing the kettle to Lorna and picking up her carpetbag from the chair. “Now, there’s cold tongue and tatties in the pantry for your tea, Lorna, since I’d better be getting home to make these cakes for Lady Muck . . .”

  She glanced, only a little sheepishly, at William.

  “. . . I mean, for Mrs. Urquhart.”

  As she left, Lorna’s dad turned to Paul.

  “Aye, and if there’s to be some slacking off for a party tomorrow, you and me had better get some work done today then, laddie.”

  Lorna’s father gestured for Paul to follow Mrs. Mack out of the door, then winked at Lorna.

  “And if you ever get round to making that cup of tea, lassie, we’ll have ours out there.”

  As the door clicked into place behind the two men, William coughed.

  “And we should go, Iris?”

  “Actually,” Iris said, “I’m going to stay here with Lorna for a while.”

  The temptation to cheer was almost too much for Lorna. Iris sounded so self-assured.

  For a second or two, William looked dazed, as if he’d just woken up from a sleep and had no idea where he was.

  Iris stepped forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “But you can come back later, if you like, to walk me home.”

  “But Mother needs me to—”

  Lorna couldn’t keep out of it any longer.

  “Of course your mother needs you, William,” she said, mimicking Iris’s kindly tone, “so Iris will have to find her own way back. But don’t worry, I think she knows the way by now. And if she’s worried, I can always ask our farmhand, Paul, to walk her home.”

  Iris giggled at this—actually giggled—and then pinched Lorna’s arm, as if they were six again. Lorna shoved her away, laughing. Iris was back—her Iris—for a while, at least.

  William looked furious, but short of dragging Iris down the road by the arm, he seemed to realize there wasn’t a lot he could do. He turned on his heel and left.

  Lorna copied Iris, fondly waving to him from the stoop, but Iris smacked her friend’s hand down.

  “Stop it, Lorna, we mustn’t tease him.”

  “Why not? He deserves to be teased. He’s a pompous ass, and I don’t know how you don’t want to tease him all the time.”

  Iris stopped laughing.

  “I don’t tease him,” she said, “because I love him.”

  Lorna groaned, but Iris took hold of her arm.

  “But I do. I really do. I know he can be a bit silly sometimes, and a bit pompous, but underneath, he really is very sweet. He wants me to be safe, that’s all.”

  “And why wouldn’t you be safe when you’re with me?” Lorna asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because of Paul. William’s been trying to get between you and me for months now. And he’s managed it.”

  “But remember, Lorna, he’s an only child and his mother has treated him like a little prince all his life. You and me learned to share because we had brothers and sisters, but William, well, William got to keep all his toys to himself.”

  “Is that what you are to him?” snorted Lorna. “A toy that he won’t share with anyone else?”

  “Oh, Lorna, you know I don’t mean that. I was being, you know, metaphorical.”

  “Metaphorical?” Lorna snorted. “Or ‘ridiculous’? I don’t know how you put up with him. He split us up, and you just let him. How could you do that?”

  Iris’s face was so sad that Lorna almost wished she hadn’t spoken. Except that it had to be said. Lorna had to make Iris understand how hurt she had been.

  She went into the kitchen and Iris followed her inside a few moments later.

  “I did it because I was in love,” Iris said. “And because all I could think of was William. And because, well, because I suppose I took it for granted that you would always be there for me, no matter what.”

>   Iris was looking at the ground now, her voice quiet.

  “And I know what I did was wrong, and that I hurt you by telling . . . by doing what I did. But please don’t judge me, Lorna.” Iris lifted glistening eyes. “Because I think you know how easy it is to do something you regret, because you’ve fallen in love with someone.”

  “But William is so . . .” Which word should she use?

  “Are you really going to lecture me about falling in love with the wrong boy?” Iris asked, with unexpected fire.

  Suddenly, Iris was standing up to Lorna in the same way she’d stood up to William.

  “And don’t you think that you hurt me sometimes too?” Iris continued, “the way you always put William down, the way you ridicule me for liking him? That’s not what friends do, Lorna.”

  Lorna bowed her head. How could she have been so mean about William, and still expect Iris to be on her side about Paul?

  “Iris, I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . .”

  There was a moment’s pause.

  “I know,” Iris replied, “me neither.”

  Then the two girls hugged each other tight, as if it would make up for all those weeks apart. And in a way it did.

  When Lorna stepped back, she saw Iris differently, and not just because of her tears.

  “Please tell me we are best friends again. Proper best friends, who won’t let all this other stuff get between us ever again.”

  “Of course we are,” whispered Iris. “We always have been, but we forgot to remind each other about it along the way.”

  Lorna hugged Iris again. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  Lorna felt like a load had been lifted from her back. The war was over, not just the war in Europe, but the one between her and Iris too. And that was certainly reason to celebrate.

  “Actually, can I tell you something?” asked Iris after a few minutes. “Something about after school, you know, the future.”

  “The future?” Lorna gave a mock shudder. “I’ve been avoiding thinking about that.”

  She tried to sound like she was joking, but really, what had she planned? Not much. Actually, nothing at all.

  “But I thought you and William were rushing off to get married,” Lorna said. “Oh God! That’s not what you’re going to tell me, is it?”

  “No! Well, not yet anyway.”

  “Thank goodness for that! But won’t you work with your mum, doing the old seamstressing thing? That’s what you’re best at. How does your mum put it? ‘Clothing coupons won’t be here forever . . .’”

  “‘. . . but fashion will be,’” Iris finished off with a roll of her eyes. “That was Mum’s plan, but Mrs. Murray had another idea, you know, before Gregor . . . She pushed me to be more ambitious.”

  “More ambitious? How?”

  “She thinks I could be a real fashion designer, or at least, work in the fashion industry. She helped me put my dress designs into a portfolio and write the application.”

  “You applied somewhere?”

  A huge grin spread across Iris’s face.

  “To the Edinburgh College of Art! And I got in!”

  “Oh my God, that’s wonderful!” cried Lorna. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to jinx it, and then you and I . . .” Iris coughed. “And I didn’t think I’d be good enough, but last week they offered me a place in the fashion course after the summer.”

  “You’re brilliant, Iris! Congratulations! And William must be pleased for you?”

  “Actually, I haven’t told him yet.” Iris looked shamefaced. “I haven’t told anyone, other than Mum and Dad, and Mrs. Murray, and now you.”

  “But surely he’ll be as thrilled for you as I am,” said Lorna.

  “Hmmm, I hope you’re right. I’ll just have to find the right time to tell him, somewhere quiet where we won’t be disturbed. Yes, I’m sure he’ll be fine about it.”

  Iris took Lorna’s hand. “So what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What are you going to do next?”

  “Oh, who knows? I’ve refused to think about it. But I should start or I’ll end up stuck here for the rest of my life.”

  “There are worse places,” said Iris.

  “Oh, I know, but I want to see the world. Mrs. Murray’s been working on me too, pushing me to read English at the university. But how could I even think about doing that when Dad needs me at home? Except, maybe it’s different now the war’s over.”

  The kettle was whistling, so Lorna poured the boiling water into the teapot.

  “Mrs. Murray gave me some leaflets about a secretarial school,” she continued as she splashed milk into the cups, “so that might be an option, because other than farming, what can I do? I suppose I’m good at arithmetic. And I can bake a cake and knit a scarf.”

  Iris pulled a face.

  “Well, sort of. And thanks to the Red Cross, I can wrap a tight bandage and seal a sucking chest wound with a powder compact. But other than that? Not much, except make a cup of tea.”

  “So be a nurse,” said Iris, taking Lorna’s joke seriously. “They’re always looking for trainee nurses, aren’t they? You’d be wonderful, you know you would. And perhaps that would let you travel.”

  Nursing? That might be worth a thought.

  Lorna passed a teacup to Iris and picked up the tin mugs to take out to her father and Paul.

  “What was that line of Scarlett’s, right at the end of Gone with the Wind?” Iris asked, out of nowhere. “I know. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ That’s what she said. Don’t you think we should say that too?”

  And Lorna realized that Iris might well be right—corny, but right. Tomorrow really could be, for her, for Iris, for Paul, another day.

  Twenty-Eight

  Lorna was sure she could smell the peace in the warm spring air as she came out of Mrs. Mack’s cottage carrying a tin box full of of jars of chutney and jam. School was closed for the VE Day holiday, and all of Mrs. Mack’s grandchildren were frantic with excitement about missing school.

  Lorna had arrived early at Mrs. Mack’s with some of that morning’s milk, fresh eggs, and butter so she could help bake scones, shortbread, and sponge cakes. Neighbors from around the village had gathered up what flour, sugar, and powdered egg were left from last week’s rations so Mrs. Mack could work her magic. Rationing would not be over anytime soon, but this wasn’t a day to scrimp and save.

  They’d left some of the baking in the cottage, to be picked up before the bonfire that evening, but Mrs. Mack’s daughter Sheena now handed each of her children a basket or cardboard box full of goodies for the afternoon tea party, with strict instructions on how to carry them.

  “No swinging, banging, or shoogling,” she said. “Granny has worked very hard, so carry it gently. We’ll give it to Mrs. Urquhart down in the big tent, and maybe, maybe, if you’re very good, nice Mrs. Urquhart will let you have one of the biscuits when we get there.”

  Sheena made a face at Lorna that said, Or more likely the old bat won’t.

  They set off down to the Sea Green, where the Boy Scouts had erected an ancient tent in one corner of the wide-open grassy field by the beach. The tent was patched and stained, retaining a depressingly dour appearance, even with red, white, and blue bunting hung around it.

  Bunting had appeared overnight in crisscrossing strings throughout the village, the triangular flags fluttering in the light breeze. It must have been in storage since King George’s coronation in 1937, for there had been little to celebrate since then. It looked festive, though, with all the Union Jacks and the photos of the king and queen hanging on front doors and in windows. Someone had even wrapped a flag around the mercat cross.

  Aberlady had been shaken out of its torpor by the news of the German surrender. Everyone was out on the streets, chatting, hanging decorations, or carrying furniture and baskets down to the Sea Green. It was as if the sun had come out for the first time in almost six years. Everyone was ha
ppy.

  Or almost everyone. Mrs. Murray’s little white-walled cottage on Sea Wynd lay silent and bare of decoration. The heavy curtains remained pulled tight, as they had been for almost a month. Her own very private blackout.

  “Do you think we should knock?” Lorna asked Mrs. Mack as they walked by.

  “No, dear, I think not. It’ll be hard enough for her knowing that the end of the war came just too late for young Gregor, so let’s give her a wee bit more time. Mrs. Hastie’s been keeping an eye on her, and I popped in to see her yesterday. She’s doing as well as we can expect, but for now, let’s leave her be.”

  The Sea Green was already awash with children dashing around, and adults unfolding chairs and tables, stacking pallets near the tent, and generally contributing to the chaos.

  Lorna approached the tent with some caution, letting Sheena herd the children inside first. Just because Iris seemed to have forgiven Lorna for befriending a German, it didn’t mean that the rest of the village had.

  She was surprised, however, to be greeted with no more than a few nudges and whispers by the ladies in the tea tent. Peace seemed to have brought with it a certain spirit of forgiveness, though Lorna doubted it would last much longer than the cakes and scones. Scottish people were not quick to forget a slight, she knew.

  Out on the field, a raucous game of British Bulldogs was just finishing, the younger children in a frenzy, stirred up by the older ones, just as John Jo, Gregor, and Derek had done to Lorna and her pals at the annual Sunday School picnics before the war.

  She had always loved being with the older boys for those games. For Lorna, the more rough-and-tumble the better, even—perhaps, especially—when Gregor Murray had tickled her into submission with painful giggles and joyful tears.

  Gregor. So lovely, so handsome, and so much fun. What a waste!

  Setting down the tin box where Sheena pointed, Lorna looked to see if Iris had arrived already and found her sitting with some of the little girls, making necklaces from the early daisies.

  Iris glanced up and waved to Lorna, beckoning her to come make daisy chains, but Lorna shook her head. She didn’t want to make daisy chains; in fact, she didn’t want to be here at the party much at all, she realized. She wanted to be back at Craigielaw with Paul.