Down an English Lane

by Margaret Thornton

  Ted scratched his head. ‘Aye, that’s a problem, isn’t it? Ne’er mind, I’ll think of something. I tell you what, let’s go and get some chips, shall we? It’s a bit parky tonight and they’ll warm us up.’

  The fish and chip shop round the next corner was a haven of comfort and warmth, with the boiling fat sizzling away and the appetising smell of frying fish in crispy batter, and golden brown chips. They joined the short queue standing against the gleaming chrome and glass counter, and the pale blue tiled walls decorated with patterns of seashells and seaweed and multi-coloured fish.

  ‘Two penn’orth each, please, salt and vinegar,’ said Ted when it was their turn. ‘Unless you’d like a fish an’ all. Would you Maisie?’

  ‘No thanks, chips’ll be fine.’

  ‘Mushy peas?’ enquired the plump fresh-faced woman in a white overall and cap.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Maisie again. ‘Just chips.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Ted, ‘I’ll have some mushy peas, an’ I’ll share ’em with you, Maisie. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to treat a lady.’

  The woman dished out two portions of chips on to greaseproof paper, with a sheet of newspaper underneath, and Maisie and Ted added their own vinegar, and salt from a large metal container. The bright green mushy peas were in a waxed carton and the woman provided them with two wooden spoons; the chips had to be eaten with fingers.

  ‘Thanks very much; come again,’ she called as they left the shop.

  Chip shop chips were a treat for Maisie as her mother did not often buy them. ‘They’re yummy!’ she pronounced, blowing on the hot chunks of potato before savouring their delicious crispness. ‘And so are these,’ she added, taking a spoonful of the green gooey substance, as much liquid as solid. ‘My mum never buys these.’

  ‘No, nor does mine,’ said Ted. They stood against the wall at the back entrance to Lily’s shop, finishing off the remains of their snack.

  ‘Here, give me the rubbish, and I’ll put it in the dustbin,’ said Maisie, making to open the back gate. ‘Thanks ever so much for tonight, Ted. I’ve really enjoyed myself.’

  ‘So have I,’ he replied. ‘I can see you again…can’t I?’

  ‘Yes, of course…’ said Maisie.

  ‘When? Next week? Or this weekend…?’ asked Ted eagerly.

  ‘I’m not sure. The thing is… I’m rather busy at the moment. There’s all the practices, y’see, for the pantomime; you’ll know about that, with Doris being in it. As well as choir practice, and I’ve…all sorts of other things to do as well.’ She did not mention homework, as she thought it would make her sound like a schoolgirl, which, of course, she was… And the fact remained that she did have her homework to do. ‘I’m not making excuses, honestly,’ she said, realising that it sounded very much as though she was. ‘I would like to see you again…’

  ‘OK then…’ said Ted. ‘I understand.’ He looked at her a little plaintively, then he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I’ll get in touch with you soon, Maisie…’ He nodded and smiled and then he was gone.

  Maisie realised that it would be rather nice to see him again. He was an uncomplicated young man and she had enjoyed his company. She also realised that her thoughts had hardly strayed at all to Bruce Tremaine, except when Ted had mentioned the farm. She must be getting over it…

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘What about Christmas, darling?’ asked Bruce. ‘Isn’t it time we were making plans?’

  It was a Saturday evening in early December and he was spending the weekend with Christine, in her flat in Bradford. He found he was able to see her most weekends by careful scheming and by promising to do reciprocal favours to obliging colleagues, should the need arise. Bruce was a popular member of his squadron, relating well not only to his equals but also to senior and lower ranks.

  ‘Christmas?’ Christine raised her eyes from the pages of her Woman’s Own, looking quizzically at Bruce in the opposite armchair. He had opted not to sit next to her because she was smoking. He smoked occasionally; it was a habit that Christine had got him into, but not one of which he was proud. He tried not to let her know, however, that her addiction – which he feared it was fast becoming – was starting to be objectionable to him. The smell which clung to her clothing, to his mind, detracted from her femininity. ‘Christmas? What about it?’ she asked. ‘I wasn’t aware that we had any plans in mind.’

  ‘No, we haven’t; that’s why I’m asking you now. My mother will be expecting me home for Christmas as usual. I’ve managed to make it each year, even whilst I’ve been in the RAF. And this year, of course, she will be expecting you as well. You will be very welcome, darling; you know that, don’t you? As you always are.’

  ‘It seems to me that the plans have already been made,’ observed Christine, ‘without consulting me at all.’ She tapped a half inch of ash from her cigarette into the glass ashtray at her side. ‘You are taking it for granted that I will fall in with your arrangements…or your mother’s arrangements, I suppose I should say.’

  ‘Oh, come on, darling; it’s not like that at all. It isn’t as if you have anywhere else to go, have you? Obviously we will be spending Christmas together, you and me, and what else would we do except go to my parents?’

  ‘What else indeed?’ said Christine. ‘Don’t forget, though, that I have plenty of friends. I’m not poor little orphan Annie, all alone in a storm.’

  ‘No; you are my fiancée now, aren’t you? And soon to be a member of my family…’ He looked at her concernedly. ‘What’s the matter, darling?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing…’ she said. ‘On the other hand…everything, I suppose. Yes, I’m your fiancée, Bruce, and I’m so happy about it, darling. So glad that we’re going to be married. But I don’t want to marry you just so that I can be a member of your family.’

  ‘No, of course you don’t. I haven’t said that…have I?’

  ‘No, but it’s what you imply. Or what your mother implies, at any rate. How proud I must be to be joining the great Tremaine family…’

  ‘Hey, steady on, darling…’

  ‘But you must admit that she wants to organise everything, Bruce. You know how she’s trying to take over the plans for our wedding. But that’s not what I want. I want it to be just about you and me.’

  ‘Well, it is, isn’t it, deep down? Just you and me; nothing else really matters. Don’t you understand, Chrissie, it’s you that I want. I’m not bothered about anybody else.’

  ‘That’s what I want to believe,’ said Christine, looking at him steadily. ‘OK then; how about you and me spending Christmas on our own? We could go away somewhere, just the two of us.’

  He stared at her. ‘But…why? We’ll have all the time in the world to be together, after we’re married. It’s only for a couple of days, darling. There’s no point in upsetting everyone at Christmas, just because we want to be on our own.’

  ‘No point in upsetting everyone…’ repeated Christine. ‘I see… But the point is this…’ She paused, then, ‘I’m pregnant, Bruce,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ A panoply of expressions passed over his face in the few seconds following her words; shock, horror, disbelief, fright… ‘But…you can’t be!’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, but I am. I can assure you, Bruce, that I am.’

  ‘How…how do you know?’

  ‘How does a woman usually know?’ She gave a sardonic laugh. ‘I’ve missed a period. I’m more than two weeks overdue, and that is something that never happens to me. I’m as regular as clockwork. Anyway, I just know.’

  Bruce now looked simply bewildered. ‘But we’ve been so careful. You asked me to take care of…of that side of things, and I have done. It was something I had never done before, going in a shop and asking for them, but I did it so that we would be all right. I can’t understand what has gone wrong.’

  ‘Obviously they are not always foolproof,’ said Christine. ‘Don’t worry, darling. It’s not your
fault. You’ve done all that you can. Besides, does it really matter?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Does it really matter that I’m pregnant? Good gracious, darling; you look as though you’ve been handed a death sentence, not news of a birth. We’ll just have to get married sooner, won’t we? A lot sooner than we intended.’

  ‘But what will we say? To my mother…and to everyone?’

  ‘I might have known you would say that!’ Christine snapped at him with what she considered righteous indignation. ‘Your mother… It’s always your mother, isn’t it? What are you afraid of, Brucie? That Mummy will know you’ve been a naughty boy, not waiting until you were married?’

  ‘No, of course not! Don’t be so nasty, Christine. Mother knows we’re engaged, so surely she must realise that we… But nobody needs to know just yet, do they, that you’re pregnant? When will it be? Do you know?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ she replied casually. ‘The end of August, I should think.’

  ‘Well then, what is there to worry about? We could go ahead with a spring wedding, like we had in mind…’

  ‘Like your mother had in mind, you mean,’ said Christine. ‘Or was it June that she fancied? With me as big as a house side! Oh no, Bruce; that won’t do at all.’

  ‘Well then…what do you suggest?’

  ‘I suggest that we get married first and tell them afterwards. That’s why I don’t want to go for Christmas, because I would have to pretend… It wouldn’t be right to deceive your parents,’ she said, assuming an expression of concern. ‘Your mother would be full of wedding plans, and I would feel dreadful knowing that it wasn’t going to happen like that.’

  ‘So…what are we going to do then?’ He seemed so utterly dumbfounded that she felt like shaking him. She wished at times that he would be more decisive and sure of himself. She knew he could be so with his comrades, and with her, too, on occasions, but when it came to his family, particularly his mother, he was always so afraid of causing offence. Now, though, in his present bewildered state, she realised he was putty in her, Christine’s, hands, and that was just what she wanted.

  ‘Tell your parents that you can’t manage Christmas this year,’ she said. ‘You’ll think of something; you’re not able to get leave…or whatever. And we can go away somewhere on our own, or stay here if you like?’

  ‘You mean…we could get married at Christmas time?’

  ‘I was thinking about the New Year, actually. It would have to be at the Register Office, here in Bradford, I suppose. They won’t need much advance warning, not like a church wedding. And then we can let your parents and everybody else know when it’s all over. Tell them that that was the way we wanted it to be, without any fuss.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps that’s the best way,’ replied Bruce stoically. ‘It’ll be an awful shock to them, but…yes, that’s what we’ll do.’

  A couple of weeks later Bruce made the journey to Middlebeck on his own. ‘It’s an early Christmas visit,’ he told his mother and father, forcing himself to be jovial and to act as though everything was quite normal, except, of course, that he would be unable to come home for Christmas that year.

  ‘I suppose it’s only fair,’ he said ruefully, when his parents, particularly his mother, expressed their extreme disappointment. ‘I’ve been lucky so far, haven’t I? I’ve always managed to get home in the past; but this year it’s my turn for Christmas duties.’ They didn’t ask what those would involve and so he didn’t enlighten them. It was only a half lie, or half truth, whichever way you wanted to view it. He was hoping to get away from the camp for twenty-four hours at least, which would be spent with Christine.

  ‘My colleagues have been very obliging recently,’ he added, ‘since Christine and I got engaged, so now it’s time for me to return some favours.’

  ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Christine, would it?’ His mother regarded him a mite suspiciously. ‘It isn’t her idea, is it, that you should stay away this year?’

  ‘Of course not, Mother,’ he replied. ‘Why should it be? She’s just as disappointed as I am.’ He crossed his fingers tightly behind his back as protection against the lie, something he had done ever since he was a small boy. ‘She is always telling me how welcome you make her feel.’

  ‘Is she? Well then, that’s good,’ said his mother, with what Bruce felt to be a hint of sarcasm; or was he, in his present nervous state of mind, imagining it? ‘Perhaps you will both come and see us after Christmas then? Early in the New Year, maybe?’

  ‘Yes, of course we will.’ He seized on the suggestion with a show of eagerness, although he knew that the next time he and Christine came to Middlebeck it would be as a married couple. He badly wanted to tell his mother of their plans right away and be hanged to all the secrecy; not to say that Christine was pregnant, of course, but that they wanted a quiet ceremony without any fuss. But he knew how angry his fiancée would be if he did so. ‘We’ll come just as soon as we can arrange a suitable weekend,’ he told his mother.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said Rebecca. She smiled fondly at her son. ‘I must admit though, Bruce, that it’s nice to have you here on your own, for a change.’

  ‘Yes, so it is,’ he agreed, smiling back at her. He realised that his words were no less than true. Things were soon going to be very different, and he knew that what he and Christine were about to do might hurt his mother, and his father, very much indeed.

  From her place in the choir stalls Maisie felt her heart give a jolt as she caught sight of Bruce sitting in one of the front pews with his parents. And her heart gave an extra beat when she saw that Christine was not with him. Could it possibly be that they were not together any more? No; that would be too much to hope for, after that big fuss over their engagement just a few weeks ago. She became aware that he was smiling at her a little curiously, and she realised, too, that she had stopped singing. That would never do, losing concentration and staring at him like a fool, when she should be helping to lead the worship with the rest of the choir. She smiled at him briefly, then looked away, fixing her eyes on the words and music of the Advent hymn.

  ‘Rejoice! Rejoice, Emmanuel

  Shall come to thee, O Israel…’ she sang lustily.

  ‘It was a few days later that she heard the news, through the local grapevine, that Bruce would not be home for Christmas this year, but that he and his fiancée – so it was still on then? – would be making a visit to Middlebeck early in the New Year. Would that be in time for the pantomime, she wondered? She remembered how, at one time, he had said he would be sure to come and see it. But in a way she hoped he would not be there. It would only unsettle her again, just as seeing him in the Sunday morning congregation had unsettled her. She was trying so hard to put him to the back of her mind – which she found she was now able to do, sometimes for a whole day at a time – and concentrate on her new friendship with Ted Nixon.

  She was enjoying Ted’s company, now that she was able to persuade him to talk a little more. They only talked about day to day happenings in the neighbourhood, however, and about how the approaching season of Christmas was making each of them busy in their own way. Maisie was occupied with her end of term activities – which she tried not to mention too much to Ted – and the forthcoming Carol Festivals at church, and the New Year pantomime; and Ted was extra busy on the farm as they harvested the Brussels sprouts and turnips, and fattened up the Christmas turkeys and chickens and the largest sow. Poor creatures, Maisie thought, not wanting to dwell on the details of the gruesome business, because she enjoyed her Christmas dinner as much as anyone.

  When it came to other matters she sometimes felt that he was rather in awe of her. ‘I’ve never been much of a one for books an’ all that sort o’ thing,’ he told her, when he discovered that she made frequent visits to the local library; she had long been an avid reader. She told him that she too, however, read the Daily Mirror and People on a Sunday, and that as well as enjoying some classical an
d choral music, she also liked the popular stuff just as much as he did. They discovered that they both had the records of Glen Miller – ‘Moonlight Serenade’, ‘In the Mood’, and ‘American Patrol’ – played and played on their wind-up gramophones until they were quite scratchy with overuse.

  She hadn’t been able to see him as much as he would have wished, but he had taken to meeting her from choir and pantomime practices. They would walk slowly to her home, sometimes calling at the chip shop on the way, and say goodnight at the back gate with a few kisses. After that first time he had kissed her more lingeringly, and she had not protested.

  She had not yet invited him to her home, but she had been invited to a party at the Nixons’ farm early in January. She would most likely have been invited anyway, as Doris’s friend, but this time, Ted impressed upon her, she would be there because he had invited her; as his girlfriend, he implied.

  Next week they were going to the cinema again, to see yet another re-run of Holiday Inn – with Bing Crosby singing everyone’s favourite, ‘White Christmas’. Lily didn’t seem to mind Maisie going out with him, ‘so long as it doesn’t get too serious,’ she kept reminding her daughter. ‘You have a lot of studying to do yet, Maisie, as well as having the rest of your life ahead of you. So think on, and don’t do anything silly.’

  Maisie assured her that she wouldn’t. She was quite happy for things to stay just the way they were. It was up to her, she knew, to set the pace and to make sure that Ted kept in line.

  ‘You will come and act as a witness for us at the Register Office, won’t you?’ Christine asked her friend, Sadie, just before Christmas. ‘It’s all arranged now; eleven o’clock in the morning on the second of January.’