The Postmistress

by Maggie Sullivan

  ‘What about Julie?’ Vicky said eventually, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘Have you told her you’ll be going away?’

  ‘No, not yet. I shan’t tell her until the last minute,’ he said. ‘My parents will look after her, of course, and at least it’s a relief to know she won’t have to be uprooted or evacuated to live with strangers. And before you ask, my father will be taking over my general practice.’ He managed a chuckle. ‘He already knows most of my patients, so people like your father will probably get better attention than I give them. Treatment is bound to include the odd game of cards.’ He said this jokingly but Vicky didn’t join in with his laughter and for a few moments there was an awkward silence.

  ‘Can I ask when you are going?’ Vicky said eventually.

  ‘I have to report to the training camp at the end of next week. Soon after the dance really.’ He stood up. ‘I don’t suppose I can persuade you to change your mind about that, if not about the letter-writing?’

  Vicky shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry. That place holds too many memories of Stan.’ She gave an involuntary shudder.

  Roger drew in a breath sharply. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought. There’s not much else to say then,’ he said.

  At that there was the sound of a key being turned in the lock of the back door and a second later Arthur walked into the room as if on cue.

  ‘Roger was just leaving, Dad,’ Vicky said pointedly as the two men shook hands. Vicky also put out her hand. ‘I wish you all the very best of luck, Roger,’ she said softly and she turned away as her eyes misted.

  ‘Good heavens! What was all that about?’ Arthur said when Roger had gone. ‘Did I come in at a bad time?’

  Vicky frowned.

  ‘You wouldn’t have guessed you two were friends,’ Arthur said, ‘you both looked so glum. I thought you were supposed to have been out for the day. Didn’t you have a good time?’

  ‘Actually, we did, thank you,’ Vicky responded automatically. ‘We had a lovely time.’

  ‘Then why the long faces?’ He jerked his thumb in the direction of the closed door.

  ‘Roger wanted me to go to the Ritz in Manchester next week for some special dance and I told him I can’t go.’ She tried to sound casual.

  ‘That’s a shame. It’s not every day you get the chance for a night out like that. Couldn’t you change your arrangements? It might be fun.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with my arrangements.’ Vicky lowered her voice. ‘That place has bad memories for me and I’ve no intention of ever going back there.’

  ‘Ee, lass …’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Don’t you think it’s time to give up on your memories? Either tell them to get lost or lock them away somewhere. They’re a thing of the past and that’s where they belong.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Vicky retorted.

  ‘You can’t let them keep getting in the way of your life, now.’ Arthur sat down and put his head in his hands, his breathing sharp. ‘And here was I thinking the two of you were really beginning to get somewhere at last, like.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that, Dad.’ Vicky cut in. ‘The dance is for soldiers, essentially to say welcome to the new recruits who are stepping up for training so that they’ll be ready to go when the war really gets started. What Roger came to tell me is that …’ She hesitated before saying the words. ‘What he couldn’t tell me this afternoon in front of his daughter was that he’s joined up.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ Arthur sat back and looked at her sadly. ‘I suppose it’s only to be expected, a young man like him, and a fully trained medic. It’s a shame, though. Just when you were getting along so well.’

  ‘Yes, it is a shame, but life’s like that, isn’t it? I think I’ll ask for “Bad Timing” to be carved on my gravestone.’ Vicky got up. ‘Shall I mash us some tea?’ she called behind her as she stepped into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve a real thirst on.’ She rinsed out the teapot. ‘And it must be a while since you’ve had your dinner, so what can I get you for your tea?’

  ‘I’m not hungry, thanks,’ Arthur mumbled. ‘Just come back in here and sit down and tell me what’s really bugging you. There’s got to be more to it than you turning down an invitation to a dance.

  ‘Nothing’s bugging me, as you so delicately put it,’ Vicky said, as she came into the living room and placed two steaming cups of tea on the table.

  ‘But if the look on that young man’s face was anything to go by, I’d say you sent him away with a flea in his ear.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she protested.

  ‘Then why did he look like that? I’ve never seen him looking so miserable before.’

  Vicky sat down again at the table and stared into her lap. ‘It’s probably because I told him we had no future,’ she said softly. ‘And I told him I wouldn’t write to him.’

  Arthur’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Why did you do that? I thought the two of you were—’

  ‘Because we don’t have a future,’ Vicky interrupted again. ‘We’ve got no chance of getting together and I don’t want him hanging on to any false hopes that we do.’

  ‘Do you not like him?’ Arthur frowned. ‘Is that it? Only, I thought …’

  ‘No, I do like him, but that’s the problem.’ She drew a deep breath that sounded more like a sob. ‘Don’t you see? I can’t let myself fall in love with someone else who in all probability’s going to be killed. I just can’t.’ She let out what sounded like a strangled moan. ‘I couldn’t stand losing one more person I love to another stupid war! The very thought of it tears me apart.’ She squeezed her eyes shut but it didn’t stop the tears spilling onto her cheeks.

  Arthur said nothing. He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The room was quiet save for the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and Vicky’s heaving sobs that she was desperately trying to bring under control.

  ‘I’ve never heard you talk like this before, Victoria,’ Arthur said eventually. ‘You don’t know that he’s going to be killed. Just because Stan was unlucky. Roger’s not going to cop it any more than … any more than our Henry.’

  As he said the words they both stopped, but then Arthur ploughed on, ‘You of all people should know how unpredictable life is. We can’t say for certain what’s going to happen to any one of us.’

  ‘Yes, Dad, I do know that, and that’s what upsets me so much.’

  ‘Then you also know that some of us do come back.’ He took a deep, rasping breath, ‘Even if we’re damaged.’

  Vicky rushed over to him and embraced him in a huge hug. ‘Oh, Dad! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’

  ‘Would you have written me off before I went? Or perhaps you’d rather I’d not come back once I’d been injured?’

  ‘No, of course not. Don’t be silly!’

  ‘What if your mother had given up on me when I signed on because there was a chance I could come back like this? I shudder at the thought.’ He shook his head and began to cough. It was several minutes before he could continue. ‘And would I not have married her knowing that she wasn’t going to survive long after the war?’ he said at last.

  Vicky didn’t say anything and she went back to her seat, but she couldn’t look at him as she sat down again at the table.

  ‘You know your mam and I didn’t have very long together, but I would rather have had them few years with her than to have missed out on what we did have together, including bringing you and our Henry into the world.’ He chuckled and his face broadened into a smile.

  Vicky fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly.

  ‘We none of us know anything about the future, Victoria,’ Arthur went on. ‘And mostly we don’t get any choice.’

  ‘No, I suppose not, when you put it like that,’ she said.

  ‘That’s why we’ve got to grab with both hands anything that we do get. Think about it,’ he said. He reached out acro
ss the table and took her hand in his. ‘Now tell me honestly: do you like him?’ He stared into her eyes.

  Vicky lowered her gaze. ‘Yes, I do. I like him very much,’ she whispered. ‘I think I love him.’

  ‘Then I’d have thought you should try to seize every chance of happiness that might come your way, without trying to second-guess how long it might last for. First love doesn’t have to be last love, you know. Of course it’s tough, but perhaps it’s time you accepted that your Stan’s long gone.’

  Vicky began to cry again. ‘But I can’t go through it again, Dad. I’m not strong like you. I don’t think I can survive losing anyone else that I love and it’s not fair to ask me to.’

  At this Arthur gave a wry smile. He took out a freshly ironed handkerchief from his own pocket and passed it across the table without comment. ‘We never know how much strength we actually possess until it’s put to the test,’ he said. ‘And then we’re often surprised.’

  ‘Is this supposed to be my test? Is that what you’re saying?’ Vicky said. ‘I’d have thought I’d had my fair share of trials already.’ She sat back in her chair for a moment, thinking about when she had last been tested on what she considered to be the worst day of her life. It was the day she really had hit rock bottom, the day she’d lost everything, and it had begun when she’d received The Letter.

  It was Stan’s parents who had written to her. She’d been well into her pregnancy by then and had already fallen in love with the new life that she could feel stirring within her, knowing it was as much half of Stan as it was half of her. It had not been easy for her since Stan had gone to Spain. As Stan had suggested, she had tried desperately to convince her father that, even though she was pregnant, she was still respectable, just unfortunate, and that Stan had honourable intentions.

  ‘I promise we’re getting married, Dad,’ she had pleaded with her father, ‘and Stan told me specifically to tell you that he promises too. He was going to write to you but as you must know from the newspapers the post from Spain is very uncertain. But we’ll be married the minute he sets foot on English soil again. We don’t want our child to carry an illegitimate stigma all its life, any more than you do. We’ll get a special licence.’ It was then she had resorted to tears. ‘Please don’t throw me out onto the street; I’ve nowhere else to go.’

  At first her father had been adamant. ‘No daughter of mine is going to become an unmarried mother. I’ll not stand for it. And I’ll not have any so-called grandchild of mine born out of wedlock. If you’re going to give birth to a bastard, you’ll have to put it up for adoption. I want nothing to do with it. Mind, I’ll still want you out of this house. You’ve brought shame on the family. I’m only pleased your mother isn’t here to see it.’

  Vicky had been heartbroken at that. She was sure her mother would have understood. But it was young Dr Buckley, as she had thought of him then, who had finally convinced Arthur not to act on his cruel words and he’d made a special visit to their home one evening.

  ‘If you throw her out onto the street, Mr Parrott, you’ll be forcing her into the kind of life no young girl should have to live. She doesn’t deserve that. And think of the poor baby. Whether you like it or not it will be your grandchild. What kind of a start will he or she have in life? Do you really want to punish an innocent child because its father was courageous enough to go away to fight for a cause he believed in?’ Roger Buckley had stood his ground and eventually Arthur Parrott had relented. That was why it had felt particularly cruel, as she had stood reading the letter, for Vicky to realise that, despite his honourable intentions, Stan would not be coming back to marry her and he would never get to see his own child. The tears welled as she thought of her plight. She had tried to fight it but she knew at that moment that for the baby’s sake she would ultimately have to give in and agree to an adoption.

  But as she had stood reading the short letter, over and over, Vicky’s knees had suddenly given way and she’d sunk to the ground, feeling as if her life’s blood was draining away. The young Dr Buckley had been sent for and he’d insisted on immediate bed rest.

  ‘It’s the only chance you have, I’m afraid, of saving the baby,’ he’d told a stricken Vicky. But the shock of Stan’s death and the continuing arguments with her father were too much for her and Vicky had suffered a miscarriage. She lay in bed for several weeks, knowing that mentally as well as physically she had reached her lowest ebb.

  Ironically, it was Roger who had arranged for her to be cared for and Roger who had persuaded her father to allow her to come back home afterwards, in an attempt to start rebuilding her life. Perhaps it was the memory of that that made her father want to champion Roger’s cause now, for he had not only saved Vicky’s life, but had saved the Parrott family from complete disintegration. His warmth and his compassion were certainly among the attributes that had drawn Vicky to him, for he had never passed judgement, had never referred to that day or those difficult times ever again – and he had never betrayed her trust. Having played such an important part in her young life she had only recently realised how much she had been enjoying getting to know him, adult to adult. And it was those same qualities that had made her realise now that she actually loved him. But in her mind that was all the more reason why she had to let him go, for she knew she would not be able to bear it if anything happened to him now.

  Chapter 22

  Sylvia asked Rosie so many times to invite Trevor round for Sunday tea that Rosie found it impossible to keep making excuses.

  ‘I think it’s high time I really met this young man you seem to be walking out with,’ Sylvia said on several occasions, until finally she would be put off no more. ‘I’m beginning to think you have something to hide, Rosie. How about we agree on next Sunday?’

  ‘OK, I’ll ask him,’ Rosie said, not at all sure how Trevor would react and she was relieved that Claire immediately offered her apologies that she would not be available to join them.

  ‘Oh, Claire, you don’t have to go out just because Rosie’s young man is coming, does she darling?’ Sylvia said, looking directly at Rosie. ‘After all, you are part of the family. Wouldn’t you like to meet him too?’

  Rosie didn’t endorse the notion and Claire was quick to confirm that she had already made arrangements to meet Penny on that day. ‘I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities to meet him,’ Claire said with a knowing look to Rosie.

  ‘What time will he be coming?’ Claire asked Rosie afterwards, when the two girls were alone. ‘I’ll make sure to be gone well before then.’

  ‘Thanks Claire, I do appreciate that; it will certainly make life easier if I tell him there’s only my mum he has to deal with. I’ll do as much for you some day,’ Rosie promised. ‘And there’ll be no need for you to hurry back, unless you feel the need to grill him too.’ She grinned and Claire laughed. ‘Is that what you’re expecting your mother will do, grill him all afternoon?’

  ‘What else are mothers for? She sees it as her God-given right,’ Rosie said with a sigh, and she turned her gaze heavenwards and said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be residing up there that Trevor wouldn’t have to meet her father until the couple were safely married.

  ‘And you still don’t intend to tell her you’re engaged?’ Claire asked. ‘Not even when he comes here?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Rosie was adamant. ‘I’ve told you, not until Trevor can get me a ring. That’s the only thing that will be really meaningful to her.’ Claire lifted her hands, palms upwards, then pressed her index finger firmly against her closed lips.

  On the Sunday, Sylvia took out and washed the best china from the glass cabinet, together with the silver cream jug and sugar bowl, the only items of any value that she’d managed to salvage from what was left of her inheritance from her mother. She always liked to produce them on the rare occasions she had visitors, and despite Rosie’s arguments to the contrary she was eager to treat Trevor like a special guest.

  ‘It’s important th
at he should see that you come from a nice, respectable family,’ Sylvia said when Rosie tried to let her down gently that such an honour would be lost on Trevor. She didn’t want to tell her mother about the rundown back-to-back cottages in the poor end of Greenhill that Trevor had told her he came from.

  The afternoon went better than Rosie might have hoped, with Trevor being more polite than she had ever seen him. She was surprised at how he seemed to know exactly how to flatter Sylvia, so that she was soon fluttering round him like a butterfly, even offering him cigarettes that Archie had forgotten to take with him from his best box of Navy Cut, and by the time the tea was over it was obvious that her mother was impressed with him. Rosie was almost sorry she had agreed to keep their engagement secret.

  ‘It sounds like you have an important and responsible position at the factory,’ Sylvia said when Trevor had outlined, with only minimal embellishment, some of the jobs he was expected to cover on the factory floor.

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Trevor said proudly. ‘So much so that it’s unlikely I’ll get called up into the forces if they begin conscription if we really do go to war.’

  Sylvia was keen to hear more, but the more he elaborated, the more anxious Rosie became that her mother would soon be angling to ask him what his intentions were towards her daughter. She knew he would have no wish to divulge their secret but she preferred not to open up too many opportunities for telling lies.