A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she croaked. ‘It must’ve been dreadful. But you mustn’t keep these things to yourself. It’s good to talk. Get it off your chest.’

  Ralph nodded, his eyes still lowered, but then he suddenly turned to her, his face alight with anguish. ‘Oh, Meg, I love you so much,’ he muttered.

  Meg knew he was going to break down as he reached out for her, and she spread her arms to wrap him in her embrace. He shuddered against her, and she tried to soothe him while she had to bite back her own tears.

  She waited patiently for his wrenching misery to pass. God knew she’d had enough experience of her own to know that these moments didn’t go on forever. You became so saturated in your own sorrow that you couldn’t absorb any more, and the tears would eventually dry.

  Sure enough, Ralph’s shoulders slowly ceased heaving, and he drew back, knuckling at his wet cheeks. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I feel such a fool.’

  ‘No, love, don’t say that,’ Meg answered softly. ‘You’ve been flying these missions for too long. You need a break.’

  Ralph nodded, sniffing. ‘Yes, I suppose so. It gets to you after a bit. But,’ he smiled awkwardly, ‘I shouldn’t have brought it to you. And I promise I won’t again. I really want to enjoy this time with you.’

  Meg returned his smile. ‘So do I. But you can always tell me things, you know. A problem shared, and all that. And things are starting to turn a bit with the war, aren’t they?’ she said optimistically, trying to lift their mood.

  ‘Maybe. And the Yanks are bringing more and more troops over here. There’s a lot coming in via Plymouth, I think. I reckon they’re gradually building up to something big. Even if not for a long while. And what Nev and I do will be more important than ever. Information, preparation, supporting the Resistance.’

  ‘What, for invading France?’ Meg’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘I can’t see that we’re anywhere near it yet. But I reckon the time will come. Not for ages yet. Maybe next year, I don’t know.’

  Meg blinked at him. The war had been going on for so long, it almost felt as if it would never end. But it couldn’t last forever, could it?

  ‘Meg! Ralph! Oh, there you are!’

  They both looked up as a slight figure hurried towards them, weaving its way through the trees. Meg saw Ralph hastily wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, relieved that the tearing moment when his tense emotions had broken out had passed before someone had come looking for them.

  It was Doris, her red curls tied in bunches that streamed out behind her. ‘Oh, good, I’m glad I found you!’ she panted as she came up and stood squarely before them, her face a jubilant smile. ‘Thought you’d want to know the news. Your pals in Bomber Command, Ralph, overnight they destroyed two big dams on the Ruhr and damaged others, knocking out their electro-power stations. So they won’t be able to make any more bombs or anything there for ages. And it’s messed up the water supply to their canals so they can’t use them for transport, either. Great news, isn’t it? Maybe it’ll all be over soon, and my daddy can come home!’

  As she skipped away, Meg’s smiling glance snagged on the ironic look on Ralph’s face.

  ‘Sadly, just one small step,’ he sighed. ‘And it’ll take more than that to stop Hitler. Remember how quickly Wig got the factory going again after it was bombed. The Germans will repair the damage in no time.’

  ‘Surely it’ll take them months if it’s as bad as that? It’s got to make a difference.’

  ‘To an extent, I’m sure. But what about the Japs?’

  Meg bit her lip. Yes, Ralph was right. And there were bound to have been innocent civilians drowned when the dams were breached.

  ‘Well, let’s try to feel encouraged, anyway,’ she said optimistically, calling to the dogs as she rose to her feet. ‘And let’s enjoy the rest of our walk while it’s still nice.’

  She held out her hand to Ralph and he took it, standing up with a playful smile. ‘Yes, miss,’ he teased. ‘And by the way, I don’t think I said, but I think you look rather fetching in short white socks. Reminds me of the little girl you were when we met.’

  ‘Ralph Hillier!’ Meg laughed in mock horror, and laced her arm about his waist.

  Twenty-Eight

  Up in her room at Home Farm, Meg took the photograph of Ralph from the bedside table, stroked her fingers across his cheek and kissed the glass before setting it back in its place. The popular song, ‘I Just Kissed Your Picture Goodnight’, by the American artist, Phyllis Jeanne, went round in her head as it did every night, making tears of fear and sadness well up in her eyes as she snuggled down between the sheets.

  She hadn’t seen Ralph again for months, though he had managed to ring the farmhouse on occasion. He told her that things were all right, but she could sense the tension in his voice, and their conversation was stilted. Dread still inched its way into her heart. For how long could Ralph’s luck last?

  The shrill tone of the telephone ringing down in the hallway of the silent farmhouse sent a barb of terror darting through her chest. Oh, dear God. Who would be calling at this late hour? Ralph. Her thoughts at once shot forward, crippling her, cramping her stomach so that she was ready to vomit. A burning plane falling from the sky. Oh, Christ, no!

  She held her breath, pulse cracking inside her skull, as she listened to Alan Fenshaw padding down the old stairs. The familiar creaking. Oh, please God, no.

  When Alan came back up and tapped on her door, the pain in her chest paralysed her, and she felt herself swoon.

  ‘Meg? Meg, your Clarrie’s on the phone. You’d better come.’

  Clarrie? Nothing to do with Ralph, then. They’d have rung Home Farm, not Robin Hill House. She felt giddy with relief as she shot out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown. But if not Ralph, what…? Oh, Lord, she hadn’t heard anything in the distance, but had there been another unexpected raid on London? The factory? Wig?

  She nodded at Alan, flying down the stairs to the phone, and hearing Thimble’s claws clicking on the bare wood steps as she scampered down after her. ‘Clarrie?’ Meg said as she picked up the receiver, her stomach turning sickening cartwheels. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh, Meg,’ she heard Clarrie’s faltering voice at the other end of the line. ‘It’s Nana May. I’m pretty sure she’s had a stroke. I’ve called the doctor, but she seems bad to me. You couldn’t come?’

  ‘Of course.’ The words tripped off Meg’s tongue without a second thought. ‘I’ll get there as quickly as I can.’

  She replaced the receiver in its cradle, pausing for a second or two to gather her emotions together. Dear, dear Nana May. It was strange, but she’d always felt as if the old lady would be there forever. She’d been in Meg’s life for so long, a stalwart rock when Meg had lost her parents and come to Robin Hill House as a rebellious stranger, having to make her own way in a hostile world.

  ‘It’s Nana May,’ she told Alan briefly as she regained the top of the stairs. And now Maggie joined her husband on the landing. ‘It sounds bad. I must go.’

  ‘Of course. If only I had some petrol, I’d drive you there in the lorry.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got the bike,’ Meg said, her thoughts racing ahead of her. ‘You’ll take care of Thimble for me?’

  ‘Least we can do. But you take care, love. Don’t really like the idea of you cycling all that way on your own at night, but there’s nothing else for it. Give us a call when you get there so we know you’ve arrived safely, eh?’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ Meg promised, disappearing into her room to throw on some clothes. Five minutes later, she set off into the October night, pedalling through the darkness as fast as she could by the glimmer from the slit in the cardboard over the bicycle’s front light. Damn Hitler and his bombs! There weren’t many nowadays, but you still couldn’t break the blackout rules, not even for Nana May.

  When she finally flew up the driveway at Robin Hill House, the doctor’s motorcar was parked outside. Exhausted from pedalling so quickly thr
ough the pitch-dark lanes and yet fired by anxiety, Meg propped the bike against the wall of the house. Finding the front door unlocked, she slipped swiftly inside, opening and shutting the door in a split second. At once, she bumped into Clarrie who was showing the doctor out.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Stratfield-Whyte,’ he was saying. ‘There’s nothing much more I can do. It’s in the lap of the gods now, but it doesn’t look good. I’ll call again in the morning, but I must warn you, I’m not sure she’ll make it through the night. Just keep her as comfortable as you can.’

  Clarrie nodded, and Meg saw her lips twist as she clamped them tightly against her anguish. In the pale glow from the veiled table lamp, the older woman’s face looked white and strained as the doctor stepped out into the darkness.

  ‘Oh, Meggy.’ Clarrie slid into her arms, gulping down her fears. Just for a second. She needed this young girl, her Meg, in order to force the next breath into her lungs.

  ‘Wig?’ Meg ventured, feeling tears pooling in her own eyes.

  ‘I’ve phoned him. He’s going to the station to see if there’s any way he can get back. If only he still had the car. As it is, he probably won’t be able to get here until morning. But… you heard what the doctor said. It might be too late. But you go on up,’ Clarrie said, forcing a smile as she rubbed Meg’s arm. ‘Mary’s sitting with her. Penny’s just put the kettle on in the kitchen. I’ll bring you up a cuppa when it’s ready.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Meg nodded. ‘But I’ll just give Maggie a call before I go up, if that’s OK? She wanted to know I’d got here safely.’

  Clarrie nodded, and then wandered off towards the kitchen, running her hand distractedly through her hair. Meg watched her go, and then, after quickly making the telephone call, she hurried up the servants’ staircase.

  But when she reached Nana May’s room, she hesitated outside the door. She suddenly felt herself falling into the deep, dark hole where she’d been once before. It had all happened so quickly that she’d never had the chance to say a proper goodbye to her parents after their tragic accident. Now she suddenly felt that if she was about to say farewell to the dear old lady who was part of her family now, it would feel as if she was bidding a final adieu to her parents at the same time.

  Grief surged through her as she girded up her failing courage to open the door. A row of nightlights flickered on the mantelpiece as if echoing the life that was draining away from the figure in the bed. A comforting log fire glowed in the small grate, and Meg’s mother-in-law was sitting in the armchair pulled up to the bedside. Mary stood up as Meg came in.

  ‘How is she?’ Meg whispered.

  Mary shook her head. ‘I expect you’d like a few minutes with her on your own,’ she answered. ‘I’ll just go down to the kitchen for a while.’

  As Mary left the room, Meg lowered herself into the chair. The ache she’d felt so many times before ripped through the back of her throat, and her vision blurred with moisture. Nana May was propped up on a mound of pillows, her skin sallow in the glimmer that cast eerie shadows on the walls. She was utterly still but for a slight, irregular rise and fall of her chest, her mouth partially open and drooped to one side.

  Meg reached out and stroked the back of her wrinkled hand. It already felt cool, the skin paper thin. And Meg felt her own mouth clench in an ugly grimace as she battled against her tears.

  ‘Thank you for everything, Nana May,’ she croaked. ‘You’ve been so good to me. To everyone. We all love you so much.’

  She bowed her head, sniffing back the tears that were starting to trickle down her cheeks and drip onto their joined hands. In the still silence of the night, she gasped when she suddenly felt movement. Nana May’s finger tapped almost imperceptibly on her hand, and when she glanced up, the old lady had managed to lift her eyelids a little.

  ‘Cla-rrie,’ she rasped almost inaudibly through her drooping lips. ‘Daugh-ter.’

  The two words had clearly cost her a huge effort, and Meg’s heart fractured. ‘Don’t talk now, Nana,’ she said, trying to sound as normal as possible but knowing that her voice seemed strange. ‘Save your strength. And yes. I know. Clarrie’s been like a daughter to you. And she loves you like a mother, too.’

  She paused, choking on the brutal pain that raked her throat. Her entire being. Were those to be Nana May’s last words? Would she be the last one ever to hear her voice? And then those kind eyes were forced wide open as the dying woman looked at Meg, her gaze burning and intense.

  ‘No!’ she spoke determinedly, her voice strong even though her mouth wasn’t working properly. ‘Clarrie. You!’

  Meg blinked at her, taken aback. Nana May was trying to tell her something, but what? She shook her head, brow pleated in a desperate frown. She had to understand!

  ‘W-what?’ she questioned. And then a torch of light burst inside her. ‘You mean… Clarrie thinks of me as her daughter?’

  The old lady’s eyes shone brightly and she gave the tiniest nod. But there was something else, something fiercely questioning on her face. And suddenly Meg understood.

  ‘Yes. And she’s like another mother to me, too. I really will let her be a mother to me. I promise you.’

  She saw the half-paralysed mouth move into a lopsided smile, and the old head nodded, relaxed back onto the pillow, eyes closed. Face content and peaceful. Meg sensed that she’d said what she needed to say. And that now she was ready to go. And watching her, Meg was blinded by her tears.

  Later, Nana May’s breathing became more laboured, chest rattling rhythmically with each gasp. She didn’t speak again. Nana May Whitehead, faithful servant and companion, slipped away peacefully at five o’clock in the morning with Clarrie and Meg, who she looked upon as her daughter and granddaughter, by her side, and Mary Hillier standing at the foot of her bed. Wig arrived shortly after nine, devastated that he’d been too late to say goodbye to the dear woman who’d taken care of him since the day he’d been born.

  For a long time, Robin Hill House was a very sad place. And yet it would grow in strength and love. Because Nana May had shown them all the way.

  Twenty-Nine

  1944

  ‘Good luck, then, both of you. Take care of yourselves. And I hope, well, you know.’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie. And thanks for coming to the station with me.’

  ‘Least I could do.’

  ‘Well, we’d better get on this train before it goes without us.’

  Meg dragged herself away, and she and her mother-in-law, Mary, climbed up into the crowded carriage, each with her little suitcase and gas-mask box. There were whistles and a few catcalls from a group of soldiers as Meg forced her way down the packed corridor – instantly muted by the fierce glare of the older woman obviously travelling with her!

  They managed to squeeze into a compartment with mainly civilian passengers, and Meg tripped over their feet to get to the window in order to wave to Maggie Fenshaw as the train lurched and began to move forward. She was anxious to get going, and yet she reared away from this journey she’d prayed she’d never have to take. Maggie had been a rock over the last few hours, and tears stung at the back of Meg’s eyes as she threw her friend a watery smile and gave a little wave of her trembling hand.

  As the train gathered speed, the other passengers moved along so that Meg and Mary could sit down. It was a bit of a squash, which led to some smiles and light-hearted chatter, but neither of the two women was in the mood for conversation. They were both nervous about the journey, the longest either of them had ever made. But the main thing on their minds was exactly what they’d find at the end of it.

  Meg had felt sick ever since she’d received the telegram the previous day. The flimsy paper shook in her hands and she’d stared at it, numb with shock, unable to tear it open. It was Maggie who’d helped her find the courage. The letters had danced before her eyes, refusing to make sense until Maggie read them aloud. And then Meg’s stomach had cramped so tightly that something inside her collapsed and she sank to
her knees.

  Ralph’s plane had crashed and he was in Plymouth’s Royal Naval Hospital. It was all the telegram said, and Meg’s mind had been turning wild circles ever since. Ralph had survived so far, but Meg imagined his injuries must be severe. So as Meg and her mother-in-law boarded the train, they had no idea if they’d find him still alive when they got there.

  There’d been so much to organise. Meg had telephoned Robin Hill House straightaway. Jane, blossoming since she and Eric had recently become engaged, had answered at the other end. She was equally shocked by her friend’s news, and had run off to find Clarrie all in a fluster.

  As Meg waited, she suddenly yearned desperately to hear Clarrie’s voice again, and Nana May’s dying words echoed in her head. Yes. Kind as Maggie had been in the last ten minutes since the dreaded telegram had arrived, it was Clarrie that Meg wanted to turn to. They’d helped each other through so much in the past, but it ran much deeper than that. Clarrie seemed so fragile at times, yet when it came to helping others, she could be so calm and collected. Could it be that Meg recognised the same balance of emotions in herself? Did they really share some affinity that almost made them like mother and daughter, just as Nana May had intimated in her dying breaths?

  Gabriel was in bed with ’flu and a raging temperature, but of course Mary was desperate to see her son and had arranged to meet Meg at the station. Clarrie herself wouldn’t come down to Plymouth. She had her responsibilities at Robin Hill House, and would also need to take care of Gabriel and their young evacuee, Ed, in Mary’s absence. Though dear Penny would be willing enough, Clarrie felt it would all be too much for her to cope with. To top it all, they were about to have poor old Topaz put to sleep, and Clarrie knew Doris was going to be devastated and she wanted to be there for the young girl. And besides, it was fitting that Meg and Mary, as Ralph’s wife and his mother, should go alone.