A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  Meg dropped onto her knees, narrowing her eyes as she stared at his hairy flank. She couldn’t see any movement, but sometimes a dog’s breathing when it was asleep was so shallow that it was hardly visible. So Meg felt him. He was still warm, but maybe not as warm as he should be.

  Meg glanced quickly about her, anxiety squeezing her brow as she noticed Mrs C’s stricken expression deepening, and she was glad when she saw Nana May appear in the doorway.

  ‘Pass me that small photo,’ Meg instructed. Mrs C looked a little bewildered, but obeyed without question. Meg held the glass of the frame over Patch’s nose, praying it would mist over. Maybe the glass wasn’t cold enough, but no moisture appeared on its surface. Meg bent down, then, to lay her ear on the little dog’s chest where his heart should have been beating. Nothing. She tried opening his eyes. Surely that would rouse him? But the third eyelids that all dogs have merely sat there, blank and unmoving.

  Meg felt a cold chasm open up inside her. Patch was gone, there was no doubt in her mind. Her heart went out to Mrs C. She knew what it was to lose a beloved pet.

  She took a breath to steady herself. There was no easy way to break the news. Patch had been a characterful little chap, but he was old and had died peacefully and naturally. But Meg knew that Mrs C was going to be heartbroken. The good lady had been so strong for Meg when she’d needed it, but Meg had always sensed Mrs C’s vulnerability. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs C,’ she said gently, fighting the lump that suddenly grew in her own throat. ‘I’m afraid I can’t find any signs of life.’

  She watched as Mrs C’s face twisted horribly and then she heard a suppressed howl as the woman sank on her knees. Mrs C’s trembling hand stretched out towards Patch, and then recoiled, as if she was too afraid to touch him. It was as if there was more to it than the death of a beloved pet.

  Slowly, carefully, with the utmost respect, Meg lifted Patch’s lifeless body and slid him into Mrs C’s arms. She bit back her own tears as Mrs C cradled Patch against her chest, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Nana May had stepped forward and placed her hand on Mrs C’s shoulder, and Meg bit on her lip. She’d have liked to put her arms about Mrs C. To offer her comfort. But it wasn’t her place. Perhaps Mrs C would be better left to grieve alone with Nana May who’d been her dearest companion for so many years, especially since Mr W was, of course, at the factory.

  So, quietly, Meg went to get up and leave the two older women alone together. ‘I’ll try and get through to Mr W at the factory to tell him,’ she said softly.

  But Mrs C lifted her tear-stained face. ‘Oh, Meg, please don’t go,’ she pleaded. ‘Not for a minute, anyway.’

  Meg nodded at once, and dropped back on her heels. ‘All right,’ she barely whispered, but watching Mrs C rock Patch’s body back and forth, she gave into her instincts and slid her arm about Mrs C’s shoulders. Mrs C glanced at her for just a second, a watery ghost of a smile on her lips, before she turned back to Patch, stroking his still head.

  *

  The following morning, they buried him in the rose garden next to Mercury, and Bob made another small plaque to mark the spot. All the staff and the evacuees came to pay their respects, since the little dog had carved out a place in everyone’s heart. The three young girls held hands, crying softly, and Ed felt able to sob into Mary Hillier’s skirt, he’d come to love and trust her so much. Meg noticed that even the twins, who always tried to act so grown-up, had unshed tears glistening in their eyes.

  Nana May and Meg had stood either side of Clarrie since Wig was going to be detained in London all over the weekend. As they walked slowly back to the house, Clarrie’s thoughts weren’t so much with the fury body in a little box beneath the earth as with another small coffin in a London cemetery. Nana May had squeezed her hand tightly, the only one who knew and who understood. On her other side was someone else who was more precious to her than gold, someone who couldn’t know just how much she meant to her, and just how much comfort her presence had brought her. Her dearest, darling Meg.

  *

  ‘Here you are, lad.’ Ada’s voice cracked as she brusquely thrust something wrapped in greaseproof paper into Bob’s hands. ‘It’s my best Christmas cake recipe. In case they don’t give you one. It’ll keep till then if you keep it somewhere dry.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs P. Ada.’ Bob nodded, his bottom lip folded over the top one as he pushed the cake into his army-issue haversack. As soon as he’d received his call-up papers, he’d taken the train up to his parents in Norfolk. Saying goodbye to them had been awful, and he hadn’t thought this could be as bad. But it was. Especially with Sally standing by his side, trying to be strong. It made him realise just how much she meant to him. They’d known each other barely a year, and yet when he came back – if he came back – he thought he might pop the question.

  ‘And here’s some paintings of the house and the grounds I did for you.’ Meg handed him a tiny bundle of three-by-two-inch pieces of sketch paper tied with a ribbon. ‘I made them really small so they wouldn’t take up too much room, but I’ve put a lot of tiny detail in them.’

  Bob nodded and grunted what sounded like thanks, clearly too choked to speak. Everyone was gathered in the hall, the people who’d become his second family. Even all the evacuees were there, since in the few short months they’d known him, they’d also become very fond of him. And this parting, not knowing what the future held, affected them all.

  Wig coughed delicately beside him. ‘And here’s a little extra funding. No, no arguing,’ he said as Bob went to protest. ‘Think of it as a bonus. You never know when you might need it.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got nuffing ter give yer but me prayers and me best wishes.’ As Sally stood aside, Penny enveloped Bob in a bear hug, squashing him against her voluminous bosom. When she finally let him go, his face was red from embarrassment and lack of oxygen.

  ‘If you can survive that, you’ll survive anything,’ Meg heard Ralph joke in Bob’s ear as they all trooped out into the December frost.

  ‘Cheers, mate.’ Bob managed a grim chuckle, and then the two young men embraced, patting each other on the back. They’d been friends for years, but Meg imagined that sharing a room for the last few months had brought them even closer.

  ‘In you get, then, or you’ll miss the bus,’ Wig urged, getting into the Daimler. ‘Don’t want to be put on a charge for being late reporting for duty on your first day.’

  Meg had to hold back the lump in her throat as she saw Bob’s chest heave nervously inside his itchy brown uniform. Mrs C stepped forward, hand outstretched. Bob shook it, but after a second or two’s hesitation, Clarrie gave him a brief hug, and then they nodded at each other in knowing silence. And then Sally disappeared inside his embrace for one last, brief moment, chin wobbling as she managed to fix a smile on her face.

  Meg lightly placed a hand on Sally’s shoulder and, concealing a sniff, the girl stepped back. Bob threw his haversack into the back of the car, blew Sally a final kiss and then climbed into the front passenger seat. Moments later, the car purred down the drive and turned out onto the lane. Waving arms dropped, heads shook, and slowly everyone turned back into the house. Meg slipped her arm about Sally’s waist and Ralph patted her shoulder. They knew what each other was thinking. It would be their turn soon.

  It was all too much for Sally. She hadn’t wanted to go and see Bob off at the bus stop. It would be too final. Too heart-breaking. She wanted to have her friends all around her when they said their last farewell. Normally a happy, confident soul, she turned to Meg now and buried her face against her shoulder, sobbing quietly. She was shivering, and hushing her gently, Meg walked her back inside into the warm.

  ‘There are times when I’m glad I’ve never had a sweetheart,’ she heard Louise mutter sadly to Ada. And Meg was grateful that Sally didn’t appear to have caught Louise’s words as they headed for the kitchen and the ubiquitous cure for all ills: a nice cup of tea.

 
Outside, Clarrie was left alone. First Vic had been called up, and now Bob. So far, not much had happened in this war. But it would. In the last war, she’d been lucky. Because of his expertise in designing machinery to make bombs – not just the shell cases produced in his own factory – Wig hadn’t been called up. He was too useful as a gifted engineer. And this time, he was too old. But he’d been contracted to design a machine to manufacture a small component for something top secret. Even he didn’t know what it was for. He’d simply been given the specification of the item that was needed. So, Vic and Bob had gone, and her darling Wig would stay safely at home. There was only one other among the household who was eligible to fight, and that was Ralph.

  Clarrie’s heart drummed in her chest. It was no secret how Meg and Ralph felt about each other. She’d seen them holding hands, snatching a quick kiss when they thought nobody was looking. It was like a dagger in Clarrie’s side. For what if, after all she’d been through already, her Meg were to lose Ralph as well? Oh, the poor child. Clarrie simply couldn’t bear to see her suffer like that.

  She turned back to the house, her heart dragging with fear.

  *

  ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ Father Christmas’s voice wobbled with jollity as he walked into the servants’ hall, brushing some pretend soot off his shoulder. ‘You need to get your chimneys swept for next year, you know! Now I wonder what toys I might have for some good little children,’ he said, swinging the old sack he was carrying onto the floor. ‘You have all been good, I hope?’

  A warm tide of happiness swept through Meg as she saw the wonderment on the little faces of the younger children. Bella stared up at the old man, thumb plugged in her mouth, while Johnny’s jaw dangled open in disbelief. Sammy’s, and even Ed’s, eyes were stretched wide, and the three girls were holding hands and jumping up and down in excitement.

  The hours that Meg and Mrs C had spent up in the sewing room after the children had gone to bed, straining their eyes in the poor light to stitch the costume together, had been worth every minute. Nana May had knitted scarves and woolly rag dolls and soft toys, and Meg knew that Gabriel had spent every evening for the past few weeks whittling wood into trains and cars for the boys and animals for the girls.

  ‘’Ere, that ain’t Father Christmas,’ Meg, to her horror, heard Leslie declare to his brother in an amused whisper. ‘That’s Mr Gabriel!’

  ‘Sh! Don’t spoil it for the little ones!’ Joyce hissed at him under her breath. ‘Anyway, it’s not Mr Gabriel. It really is Father Christmas. I’m going to believe in the magic anyway. You can do what you want.’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ Leslie grinned back good-naturedly. ‘’Ere, Father Christmas, shall I go up on the roof and give Rudolph a carrot for yer?’

  ‘Ho, ho, yes please, young man,’ Father Christmas answered with a cheery wave, and Leslie grabbed Cyril and dragged him outside.

  Meg shook her head with a chuckle, and glanced across at Ralph who was lounging by the door, laughing, as the twins pushed past him. He winked back at her, and a delicious little knot tightened inside her. He was so handsome in her eyes, so kind and strong and understanding. Oh, she was so lucky to have his love. He had even insisted on going with her two days previously on the long, long walk back to her home village to visit her parents’ graves, even if it had been bitterly cold.

  It had also meant he’d had to work extra hard on their return to bring in all the vegetables that were needed to feed so many mouths with as close to normal seasonal fayre as possible. Everyone, it seemed, had been striving to make Christmas as happy a time as possible for those who were spending it at Robin Hill House, away from their homes and loved ones.

  ‘Somehow it still hasn’t been the same this year, though, has it?’ Meg said later that evening when all the festivities were over and the children had all gone to bed. ‘Even though everyone’s worked so hard to make everything jolly and happy. I suppose it’s the uncertainty. The worry about what’s to come.’

  She and Ralph were wandering, arm in arm, around the lake, Ralph shining the slit of light from the masked torch onto the ground so that they could just about see their way. The dogs were racing about, sniffing and generally enjoying their last walk before bedtime.

  ‘Hmm, it hardly would be the same with Penny determined we were all going to have a proper East End party!’ Ralph grunted. ‘And it doesn’t take much to get the twins going, as well.’ Ralph’s tone nevertheless held much amusement at the fresh memory of all the children playing Blind Man’s Buff and Simon Says in the servants’ hall. ‘What a racket they were all making!’

  ‘It was good, though, to have the house full of fun and laughter. Especially for the children being away from their parents. I know those who could came to visit last weekend instead. And at last, Penny’s husband managed to get some time off from his shifts on the railway to come and visit his family. A nice chap, but as skinny as Penny’s fat!’

  ‘Yes,’ Ralph chuckled. ‘Look a bit like Laurel and Hardy together.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Meg couldn’t suppress a laugh. ‘Everyone had a good time, but it can’t have been the same.’

  ‘The twins’ mum and dad were noticeable by their absence,’ Ralph scoffed. ‘Never been back, have they, since that first time?’

  ‘I’m glad they haven’t, to be honest. Hard on the boys, though. And who knows what might have happened to their dad by next Christmas. To any of us, for that matter.’

  ‘Hmm.’ It seemed to Meg that Ralph paused thoughtfully before he went on, ‘We need to concentrate on the good things. The village children’s party, for instance. I hear it was absolute bedlam with all the evacuees as well.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Meg confirmed. ‘As patron of the village committee, Mrs C said that next year, they might have to organise two parties. Mind you, I think she should put Penny in charge of all the games. I mean, today she insisted, didn’t she, that we were all going to have a proper knees-up once the younger ones were asleep? She’s worse than Mrs Sofia would’ve been! And you know how much she likes a party!’

  ‘Especially when she’s had a few too many,’ Ralph commented with wry fondness, picturing Mr W’s glamorous sister-in-law whisking around the house in her film-star manner. ‘So maybe it was a blessing in disguise that Mr Perry cancelled at the last minute. And for the second year running.’

  ‘Well, last year they all went down with ’flu, so you can’t blame them for that. And this year, they were invited to some bohemian do somewhere, something to do with art that Mr Perry felt he shouldn’t miss. And art is his livelihood, after all. Pity, though. I like them both, and I’d have liked to see the boys again, too, even if they are a bit of a handful.’

  ‘Yes, they’re good lads at heart. Just never been disciplined. Expect they’ve both calmed down since they’ve been at that boarding school, mind. And they’re what? Fourteen and sixteen now?’

  ‘I guess so. And I’m sure they’ll all come to visit next year sometime. And at least Ada was pleased that she didn’t have to bother with all that blooming vegetarian cooking, as she put it!’

  Meg stifled a giggle and then leant into Ralph more closely. It had turned bitterly cold the last day or two, as if winter was about to start with a vengeance. Today had been a lovely interlude, the calm before the storm in more ways than one. And now that dreadful fear nobody dared speak of was niggling at the back of Meg’s mind again.

  ‘That wasn’t really what I meant, though, about things not being the same. I know we did everything we normally do. Brought the Christmas tree indoors and put the same decorations on it so that it looked just as magical as always. And we brought in heaps of greenery to decorate everywhere and make garlands. We were even able to have more or less the same food—’

  ‘That’s going to change, though, with German U-boats already starting to attack our merchant ships. It’s no wonder petrol was the first thing to go on ration. I wonder what’ll be next,’ Ralph put in grimly.

  ‘I know. That’s it, isn�
��t it? It’s there all the time, no matter what.’

  ‘Yes. And what with Vic having been called up early, and now Bob’s gone, as well.’ Ralph sucked in his lips. He still hadn’t been able to say what had been on his mind during the festivities. But he had to. And this was just the right moment. ‘Meg, you know when we all had to fill in those forms,’ he said quietly, ‘I told you I’d put down to join the RAF? Well, I got a letter yesterday. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to spoil your Christmas. But I’ve got to go and see them in a couple of weeks.’

  Meg felt a cold iciness take hold of her. She knew it had to come. But so soon? Her feet continued to move mechanically, placing themselves in front of one another. She couldn’t stop them. But her heart cramped so viciously that it caused her physical pain. She couldn’t look at Ralph, couldn’t speak, the inevitable ripping at her throat as she remembered another Christmas night when they’d stared up at the moon and Ralph had told her that he’d always dreamt of flying. Back then, it’d seemed a fantasy, but now…

  ‘Anyway, I can’t leave you, not knowing… if I don’t come back, not having known what it was like to love you. To love you properly, if you know what I mean. So, my darling,’ he said, his voice ragged as he dropped down on one knee, ‘will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  This time, Meg halted in her tracks. In another place, another time, she’d have shrieked with joy. But now a river of sorrow, of fear and sadness, streamed through her. Ralph wanted to marry her because he loved her. Because once he was called up, he might not come back.

  Meg’s head spun, her heart torn with indescribable joy and agonising fear. All she knew was that she loved Ralph beyond anything else in her life. And that the thought of losing him was unbearable.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ she barely whispered in reply.

  It was Ralph who let out a cry of delight, picking Meg up and twirling her round so that she became disorientated in the darkness. His happiness, though, was infectious, and she found herself laughing back.