The Postmistress

by Maggie Sullivan

  Sylvia barely had time to hide the glove box under her winter boots before she heard her husband shout her name from the bottom of the stairs. She locked the wardrobe door and slipped the key into her pocket.

  ‘Come down here, woman! Why are you hiding?’ he yelled.

  ‘I’m not hiding.’ Sylvia braved to go as far as the top of the stairs, trying desperately to keep her legs from trembling as she carefully made her way down.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she said as pleasantly as she could when they drew level.

  ‘They do a halfway decent cottage pie at the Three Jolly Tars,’ Archie said. ‘We should go there sometime, really.’ His tone was genial but Sylvia was not so easily fooled.

  It was obvious he had been drinking – she could see most of the usual telltale signs, like the way he fixed her with a glass-like stare and ambled aimlessly and unsteadily about the room. But for once his speech wasn’t slurred and his clothes looked reasonably pressed and presentable.

  ‘What do you need to tell me that couldn’t wait till tomorrow?’ Sylvia asked, wanting to get this over with. ‘Do I need to sit down?’ She wasn’t sure why she added that but she caught him smiling.

  ‘That’s up to you and how you take the news.’

  ‘Why? Bad news, is it?’

  ‘Depends which way you look at it.’

  ‘Are we going to play games all night or are you going to tell me?’ Sylvia’s anger gave her false courage.

  ‘Oh, I’ll tell you all right. I’ve come to pack my bags. I’ve decided not to wait for conscription. A mate of mine said that if I volunteer I’d be able to choose what service I go to. And as I’ve always fancied seeing the world – preferably at someone else’s expense – I’ve signed up for the Merchant Navy.’

  Sylvia gasped. ‘But you can’t swim!’

  ‘Better to drown than be stuck in a muddy trench, like them poor buggers in the last war,’ he said.

  ‘Where will you be going?’

  ‘I’ve no idea and I don’t really care. I’m just looking forward to getting away.’

  Now Sylvia looked at him pityingly. Was he really so stupid? Did he really think going to war would be that simple? ‘When do you leave?’ She was trying not to show her relief.

  ‘Tonight. I’ll be stopping over with a mate of mine for a few days and I have to report on Wednesday. You won’t see me round here for a bit and I bet you won’t be sorry.’ He gave a chilling laugh.

  She was afraid to answer as he was so close to the mark so she said, thinking that the occasional letter in his direction would be a small price to pay, ‘Shall I write to you? Do you have an address?’

  ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I find out, then you can send me food parcels – decent ones, like.’

  Sylvia couldn’t help raising her eyebrows at that but thought it safer not to respond directly. ‘How long is this war business going to last, do you think?’ she asked. ‘That’s assuming it really does get started.’

  Archie shrugged. ‘Dunno. But I might find that I like travelling the world so much I’ll not want to come home.’ He chuckled, but Sylvia should have known better than to relax her guard for his hands suddenly shot out towards her like the poisonous fangs of a snake. Sylvia automatically recoiled but not quickly enough. Archie encased her chin painfully in the palm of her hand. ‘Will you miss me?’ He leered at her as his hands gripped her jawbone and spitefully pinched her cheeks.

  ‘Of course I will.’ She struggled to speak and hoped she sounded convincing. ‘You’ll let me know you’re all right?’

  Archie didn’t reply but suddenly let go of her and ran up the stairs. She could hear him moving about in their bedroom and when he came down he was carrying the large duffle bag he usually kept on the top of his tallboy; she could see that it was stuffed full.

  ‘The girls are in bed, I take it?’ he said. ‘Say goodbye to them for me. I never did get to know my niece. Some other time maybe. But let me give you something to remember me by. It might be the last time for quite a while.’

  To Sylvia’s horror he grabbed at her once more but this time his arm encircled her waist so that it was more difficult for her to avoid being caught in his grip. She did manage to twist partway out of his grasp but she was too slow to turn away completely and he caught hold of her as soon as she put one foot on the stairs. As he pulled her back down, she could hear the ripping sound of her skirt. This time he held on to her tightly with one hand as he popped the buttons of her blouse with the other before sliding his hand inside her underwear. Then he undressed himself only as far as necessary before he slammed his body into hers.

  It was some time later, when she was convinced that Archie was long gone, that Sylvia finally stirred and painfully made her way up the stairs. But the sight that greeted her in the bedroom made her sit down heavily on the bed and weep. The lock on the wardrobe door had been prised open, leaving the doors hanging at an uncertain angle. Her shoes and boots were scattered across the floor together with her clothes, but most upsetting of all was when she trod on something hard and felt it snap beneath her foot. She looked down to see what had once been a sturdy cardboard lid and she realised that her precious glove box was empty.

  Rosie hardly noticed that her father had gone because she had seen so little of him lately and no one talked about him either at home or in the shop. She wasn’t sure what Claire had picked up about the night of his departure but neither she nor her mother referred to it or mentioned his name.

  After the summer house debacle, Rosie worried that Trevor might not want to see her again and she spent time thinking of ways in which she might be able to make the first move to approach him. But before she had devised a workable plan she was surprised at the end of a shift to find him loitering by the wall the way he had when she had first come to work at the factory.

  He was standing in among a crowd of his mates, on the same spot where she had first seen him, and she had the distinct impression that she had been the topic of their conversation. As soon as he saw her, Trevor detached from the pack and approached her with his arm outstretched. His fingers held a lit cigarette that he was shielding with his palm and he held it out towards her like a peace offering. She took it without comment and inhaled deeply.

  ‘Were you waiting for me?’ she said.

  ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘Though I wasn’t sure if you were in today. Shall I walk you home?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ she said, smiling coyly, glad that he had made the first move and they walked on in silence for a while.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want to see me again,’ Rosie said eventually, hoping that the colour of her cheeks was not giving away the turmoil that was whirling in her head.

  Trevor shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I told you I love you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You did.’

  ‘And you said you loved me,’ he countered.

  ‘That’s right, I do.’

  ‘Well, then, how about we …?’ He put his arm round her and gave her a squeeze, while at the same time brushing her lips with his.

  ‘Oh, aren’t you the daring one?’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I’ve told you before, I’d like to show you how daring,’ he said flirtatiously, ‘if only you’ll let me.’

  Rosie stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I told you, I don’t intend to let anyone … Not until we’re married, and I mean it. So you can stop calling me a tease.’ Her face creased into an exaggerated frown.

  Suddenly she felt a rush of heat to her cheeks as she realised it sounded as if she was actually proposing and she was glad there was no one else nearby to hear or see them. She pulled her shawl more closely over her shoulders and continued walking in the direction of home. She was pleased when Trevor ground out what remained of his cigarette with the metal cap of his shoe and followed her.

  ‘Why do we need to wait till we’re married?’ He quickly caught up with her. ‘I’ve already told you I love you. Isn�
�t that enough?’

  He stepped in front to face her and Rosie looked into his eyes. They were still the same steely grey with the provocative glint that always made her blood race faster and right now they were issuing a challenge.

  ‘I really don’t understand. You say you love me and yet you’re not willing to prove it,’ he said. ‘If you really loved me you’d want to please me.’ He reached out and took her hand in his, then he began rubbing his thumb across her palm. ‘Like I want to please you …’ He had to clear his throat. ‘A piece of paper, a ring, they’re not going to make any difference to how I feel.’

  ‘No, of course they’re not,’ she said, ‘but they tell the world I’m respectable and that you have honourable intentions.’

  Trevor didn’t say anything but began to inspect his fingernails. Then he spread his hands, palms upwards and shrugged. ‘If it’s that important to you, why don’t we get married then?’ he said.

  Rosie looked up and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, but I didn’t mean—’ she gasped, and looked flustered. She shifted her feet awkwardly as she looked down at the pavement.

  ‘Yes, you did. Don’t start pretending otherwise. But we could get married if you wanted, you know. There’s nothing to stop us.’

  Rosie began to tremble at the enormity of what had just happened. It wasn’t very romantic, but she didn’t care.

  ‘What with all the talk about war and bombs and the like, who knows what might happen,’ Trevor said. ‘So it might not be such a bad idea after all.’

  ‘Do you think you might be called up into the army?’ Rosie asked, terrified by the thought.

  ‘Could be, I suppose. Though don’t forget I’ve got a very important job helping to keep the factory going. But it makes sense that we should grab what we can, while we can.’

  ‘Even if it’s isn’t very romantic?’ The words were out before she could stop them.

  ‘I’ll get down on one knee if that’s what you want?’ Trevor said and suddenly he knelt down on the paving stones in front of her. Rosie was embarrassed and glanced desperately about her, but fortunately there was no one else on the street. Trevor grasped hold of both of her hands. ‘Will you marry me?’ he said, his voice pleading.

  ‘Do you really mean it?’ Rosie gasped.

  ‘Why should I not mean it?’

  He remained down on the ground.

  ‘Then yes, I will.’ Rosie whispered the words as if afraid to say them out loud and Trevor got up with a bright smile. He put his arms round her and kissed her lips briefly and Rosie felt her stomach turning familiar somersaults. This was the moment she had dreamed of so often … and yet, now that the moment had arrived, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘What will my mother say?’ she said at last, trying to picture announcing her engagement at home.

  Trevor put his arm round her and pulled her close. ‘If you’re worried, don’t tell her,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I shan’t be telling mine. It can be our secret.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Until I’ve saved up enough for a ring.’

  ‘Yes, that makes sense,’ Rosie said, finding the idea of a secret engagement strangely appealing.

  ‘We’ll know we’re engaged which is the most important thing after all. We can make it official once we’ve got the ring.’

  ‘Yes, I’m dying to show that off,’ Rosie said her voice full of excitement. ‘And I know my mum will love me to have one.’ She remembered her mother’s pawnshop story and resolved that she would keep a firm grip on hers.

  ‘Do you think she might offer to pay for the wedding, then? It doesn’t have to be anything fancy.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Rosie said, thinking about the recent events at home, ‘what with one thing and another she might not be in a position to pay for anything, not now my dad’s gone into the forces.’

  ‘Oh well, all we need is to sign the register, have a bit of a knees-up afterwards at the pub and Bob’s your uncle,’ Trevor said.

  Rosie didn’t answer immediately. It sounded so stark. She had always imagined she would have a big church wedding with all the trimmings to show off to the world that she was as good as any of the other girls in the street. She felt her eyes moisten. There was time to think about that. She held up her left hand and inspected her slender bare fingers; the first thing to do was to get a ring.

  She stopped and looked back at the pavement they’d been walking along, trying to fix a picture in her mind of the actual spot where Trevor had proposed. ‘There’s a jewellery shop opposite the library, isn’t there?’ she said brightly. ‘There’s no harm in us having a look in the window next time we pass, is there? As you say, it doesn’t need to be anything fancy.’ And she slipped her arm through his once more and gave it a squeeze.

  Chapter 19

  After their fishing trip, Vicky came in from Roger’s car and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. The evening shadows were lengthening but she didn’t bother to turn on the light. She was glad her father was out and she was free to sit and ponder on the events of the day. She felt as if Roger had managed to destroy all the pleasure she had taken from the whole day’s outing when he had asked her to go to the Ritz, although she could hardly blame him for her reaction. It wasn’t his fault that she had been so upset and, if anything, he deserved an explanation. He didn’t know the bittersweet memories that had been triggered by the mention of the well-known dance hall. He had no way of knowing that that was the very place where she had first met Stan, the place the two of them had returned to on Saturday 8th August, 1936. She would have to pluck up the courage to tell him that that was not a day that she was likely to forget, and that the ballroom was not a place to which she was eager to return.

  The year 1936 had been a year of peace in England and Vicky had assumed Stan had asked her to go dancing at the Ritz in order to celebrate the six-month anniversary of their meeting. It would also provide an opportunity for them to discuss in more detail the engagement and wedding they’d begun to plan. She enjoyed dancing and had readily accepted his invitation. She was looking forward to an evening of romance and fun. Vicky also had her own reasons for celebration, although she hadn’t told Stan yet, but she intended to before the night was out. However, halfway through the evening she’d found out that Stan had more serious things on his mind than anniversaries, none of which were romantic.

  They both began the evening in a bright and cheerful mood and they hadn’t missed a dance from the moment they’d arrived, wildly jitterbugging and Charlestoning their way through the big-band section of the programme until they were forced to pause when the band took a break for a drink.

  ‘This is such fun! A great way to celebrate our anniversary.’ Vicky beamed at Stan. ‘Though I am ready for a sit down.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I didn’t realise it was our anniversary,’ Stan said. He had to raise his voice in order to be heard above the general hubbub and he looked genuinely apologetic. ‘Still, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, because it might be a while before we can do anything like this again.’

  Vicky looked at him, puzzled. ‘Why’s that?’ she asked. Alerted by the serious tone of his voice she felt a sense of foreboding and she was inexplicably doubled over by a sudden stitch in her side. She felt an overwhelming need to sit down and Stan guided her to one of the tables surrounded by red velvet upholstered chairs that stood vacant in a quiet corner away from the dance area.

  ‘Can I get you anything, some water?’

  Vicky shook her head. He sat down opposite her and reached out to cover her hands with his. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he said, his voice full of concern.

  ‘I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.’

  ‘I’m sorry to do this to you, but there is something that I’ve urgently got to talk to you about; that’s why our anniversary went clean out of my head, I’m afraid.’

  Vicky frowned. She could see he was serious. Thankfully, the pain in her side had receded and she
was able to take a deep breath. ‘I’m listening,’ she said.

  ‘I know you’ve always thought I was kidding whenever I’ve tried to talk to you about the war that’s going on in Spain right now,’ he began. ‘You’ve never taken me seriously whenever I’ve tried to talk about the possibility of going over there to fight …’

  ‘That’s because I’ve never understood why it’s so important when Spain is so far away—’

  ‘It’s important because it’s critical for our future – if we’re to have a future,’ he said, cutting across her and Vicky was alarmed; he looked so earnest. ‘In fact, it’s vital that we stop the march of the fascists in Europe, otherwise they’ll be invading us next.’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s so important that I’ve signed up. I’m going to Spain to fight.’

  Vicky gasped. Above the din she thought perhaps she hadn’t heard him right, but Stan gazed intently into her eyes and tightened his hold on her hands. ‘I feel I’ve got to go to help the cause.’

  Vicky stared at him in disbelief. She’d always believed that boys like him were not born for soldiering; they were too gentle and peace-loving to willingly hurt others. Maybe she’d got it wrong.

  ‘You can’t really be serious?’ was all she said as she scoured his face, but she could see from the steel in his gaze that he was.

  ‘You should know me better than that,’ he said. ‘It’s not something I would joke about,’ he went on, though he gave a nervous laugh. ‘Several of the lads from the mill have already gone. We might have missed out on the Great War, but now we’ve got the chance to show that Franco what we’re made of.’

  Until that moment, Vicky had hoped that he might only be posturing but she couldn’t deny the determined look on his face or the strength of his grip.

  ‘The problem is, I’m afraid it’s all ending up being a bit of a rush,’ Stan said, ‘although that might be a good thing.’

  Vicky frowned. ‘Why? When are you going away?’

  ‘I’ve to report for training tomorrow morning and then—’

  Vicky pulled her hands free and quickly covered her mouth. ‘But you can’t!’ she blurted out, her voice breaking. ‘I thought we were supposed to be engaged to be married?’