by Mary Wood
‘Are you alreet, Simon? You’ve been at staring into space this good while.’
‘Oh, you know. Just thinking.’
‘Aye, I knaw. I’ve been thinking an’ all, and it don’t help none. Look, we’ve both got two days off next weekend – well, we will have if we crack on and get this last batch sorted. Why don’t we go up to London, eh?’
‘I can’t. I—’
‘As Mrs Leary says, there no such thing as “can’t” – “can’t” means “don’t want to”. I knaw you don’t wish to, but I think you should use all of your courage and do it. I’ve sommat in mind for us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Aye. I’ve been thinking about it ever since we helped out the night we were all caught up in the bombing, and before that, if the truth be known. I’m thinking we could volunteer to help the Sallies or the WRVS.’
‘Ha, you’re priceless, Flo. You do know that the WRVS is a women’s organization, don’t you? I think it will have to be the Salvation Army – or the Sallies, as you call them.’
‘You’re not against the idea, then?’
‘No. I really enjoyed helping that night. I’d love it. But, well, Roland . . .’ He hated how he’d felt compelled to whisper Roland’s name.
‘Roland can come an’ all.’
Flo had also lowered her voice.
‘Oh, I wish, but I’m afraid he can’t get away early enough. He’s joined the ARP and he has to be on duty on Friday night through till Saturday morning.’
‘Reet. I’ll go to London then, and I’ll get things set up for us. That’s if I can stay in your flat? It has to be this weekend, as I’m going up north on Boxing Day, if I can get transport. I’ve three days off then. It’ll give me a much longer break with Mrs Leary and Kathy, and we’re planning another Christmas Day for Kathy, so she can open my presents for her.’
‘Of course I don’t mind. Flo, I was going to ask you, would you help me to clear out Lucinda’s flat when we get a couple of days off after Christmas?’
‘Aye, I’ll do owt to help you, you knaw that. I wish you could hear from your mam, an’ all. It’d settle you some.’
‘Yes, poor darling, I don’t know if she’s even received the letter I sent. I know there’s no good way to hear the news, but I do keep wishing that I could have gone to India to tell her and Lucinda’s father, myself.’
‘Eeh, Simon, it’s all very sad. I still can’t take it in. It don’t seem reet, especially as we’ve had no funeral.’
Simon fell silent.
‘By, me tongue goes away with itself sometimes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—’
‘No, please don’t be. I feel the same, as if there hasn’t been an ending. As if we’ve been told what happened, and we have to get on with it. Maybe a memorial service would help, but I’m not inclined to hold one until I hear from Mother. It would be bad cheese of me to finalize everything without her, or without giving her a chance to have her say about how the service should be conducted.’
‘How about me, you and Roland go to church next time we are all together? We could ask the vicar to mention Lucinda and ask for prayers for her soul, and then we could plant a rose tree or sommat in a pot and have it stand next to the steps of your house.’
‘That sounds excellent. Thank you, Flo. Look, I will come with you.’
‘Eeh, that’ll be grand. I feel as if I’ve sommat to look forward to now.’
‘Yes, I do too. It’s a feeling there are things we can do for Lucinda, and that helps. I think I’ll get my car out of the garage on Saturday, and we can drive out to the market gardens in Essex. I love the idea of the rose. I have a full tank of petrol, as I haven’t had Bells out for a long time.’
‘Bells?’
‘Ha, that’s my nickname for my car. I – it comes from something Lucinda said once when we drove out of London together for a picnic. It was a nice day, I had the roof off and the wind was lifting her hair. As we came to a more rural area, church bells were ringing and she put her hands in the air and shouted, “Che bel suono!” It’s Italian for “what a beautiful sound!”’
He couldn’t continue. Without him knowing it had happened, his eyes had brimmed over and wet his cheeks.
‘By, that’s a lovely memory. You knaw, I’d love to learn to speak another language – they have such lovely words.’
Simon wiped his huge white hanky over his face. Flo was right; it was a lovely memory. It had referred to the time that he and Lucinda had been in Venice and the church bells were ringing out. He had a sackful of memories of his beautiful Lucinda, and hoped that one day they would give him more joy than pain to revisit them. For now, he was grateful to Flo for changing the subject. ‘I’ll teach you. We’ll start with Italian. I have a feeling about Mussolini. I think he will be trouble in the future and we need to be ready for him. As far as I know, I’m the only one here who can translate from Italian at the moment.’
‘Eeh, that’d be grand as owt.’
A small smile curved Simon’s lips as he wondered at his suggestion. He ought to be teaching Flo to speak the King’s English, not another language, but he knew he would miss her lovely sayings and the sound of her natural accent.
At first it had worried him as to how the staff would take to her, but a lot of them had warmed to her and she had their respect. They showed admiration and trust in Flo’s work, even though some of them could be toffee-nosed. Flo wasn’t like them at all. They were highborn – the daughters of dukes, lords and the noted wealthy, and extremely well educated too, especially those working here in Hut 6. However, they recognized Flo’s intelligence, even if they fell short of actually socializing with her or including her in any of their conversations.
Flo didn’t seem to mind. He knew it mattered to her that her ability and the work she did were acknowledged, but she wasn’t one for trying to be something she wasn’t.
They stood outside Simon’s house just over a week later. The cold drizzle of the evening dampened them, but neither moved towards the shelter that going indoors would give them. Flo knew she should take the lead, but the sense of the moment strangled her ability to act.
A gloved hand took hers, seeking comfort. She peered into Simon’s devastated face and felt a moment of guilt. It’s too soon for him . . . too soon. What was I thinking?
‘Let’s do this.’
‘Aye, it’ll be good to be in the rooms that Lucinda loved so much.’
‘She did like my flat, didn’t she? I suppose I was selfish to have bagged it. She was here much more than me, once war broke out.’
‘Naw, she loved her own rooms more. And she had the run of the place when you weren’t here. She told me she often lived downstairs, and used just her bedroom when she was here on her own.’
‘That makes me feel even worse.’
‘Aw, you’re just that way inclined. She only did it as it was better than having an empty space below her in the daytime. She loved that it was yours. She wanted to keep it reet for you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry – I’m picking at everything you say.’
His arm came round her. Flo smiled up at him. ‘Reet, let’s get the blackouts down.’
‘Yes, stand where you are, so that when I close the door I don’t bump into you. It’s really dark in this hall at night.’ As Simon said this, she could hear him moving about and knew he was locating the torch he kept on the hall windowsill.
A small beam lit enough of an area for her to follow and adjust the blinds, as they moved around the flat. Once that was done, Simon flicked the switches and flooded the rooms with light.
He stood for a moment in the doorway of the front room and looked around. Flo’s involuntary shiver prompted him into action. ‘The fire’s laid – I’ll just put a match to it.’
‘Aye, I’ll go through and put the kettle on.’
It seemed to Flo that something other than the lingering spirit of Lucinda was making them stilted with each other. She daren’t give her mind to what it might be.<
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When she came back through to the lounge, carrying the tray holding the teapot and cups, milk and saccharine, she met Simon coming down the stairs. His face looked grim. ‘It was always going to be difficult, Flo.’
‘Eeh, I knaw. Let’s go in and settle down with a cuppa, then I’ll make you sommat to eat.’
‘That sounds like a good idea. I’ve fixed the blackouts upstairs, and Mrs Peterson, our daily, has remade the bed and left the fires up there ready. I’ve put a match to them, so it will be warm enough for you. That’s if you’ll be all right sleeping up there?’
‘I will, if old Hitler doesn’t send us any bombs tonight. Otherwise we’ll both be in the shelter anyroad.’
‘Yes, better prepare for that.’
‘I have done. There’s a flask of cocoa made. Eeh, where Lucinda got cocoa from, I don’t knaw, but I’m glad she did.’
The evening was awkward. Their conversation felt forced. In the end, after a supper of fried potatoes and fried egg, Flo – thinking that coming down here had been a big mistake – excused herself and went up to have a bath and get into bed. She was tired enough to know that she would sleep. And she would find comfort from being in Lucinda’s flat.
It surprised her, the next morning, to find that she’d slept right through the night. Why no siren had sounded, she couldn’t imagine. Maybe an early warning had thwarted the bombers, or the air force had fought them back. She could think of no other reason why the bombers hadn’t come.
‘Are you awake, old thing?’
Flo pulled the covers up under her chin. ‘By, Simon, don’t you knaw it’s rude to come into a girl’s bedroom?’
‘Yes, but I don’t care.’ He plonked himself on the end of her bed. ‘Sit up. I’ve a cup of tea here for you. It’s a peace offering. I was a pig to be with last night. I’m sorry.’
‘Eeh, naw. There’s no room for “sorry” in them circumstances. We’re friends, and I knaw how you were feeling. I’m just glad that I was here for you.’
‘I am, too.’ The tone of this lit something in Flo. She’d felt the same tension last night, but now it was tangible, as if she could touch the feeling that was passing between them.
Looking away, she sipped her tea, letting the action bring her some composure. ‘Reet, skedaddle, I need to get dressed – we’ve a lot to do today.’
‘Yes, we have, and for that we need sustenance. I’ve been out and managed to get a loaf. We have some home-made marmalade from Mrs Peterson – it’s not made of oranges, but of marrow and ginger. It’s delicious. I’ll make us some toast by the fire.’
Marrow marmalade . . . Flo hadn’t ever heard of that. She marvelled at how resilient housewives were these days. They couldn’t get oranges, but what the heck; they wouldn’t go without their marmalade and so they invented, or dug into historical recipes and made do.
The delicious smell coming from downstairs made Flo realize how hungry she was. She was dressed in no time, choosing to wear the new pair of slacks she’d bought in a little shop in Bletchley. It had felt good to be able to buy some quality clothes. The salary the Wrens paid her was far more than she needed and enabled her to buy these extra treats for herself.
She topped the navy slacks with a pink twinset. The soft wool of the short-sleeved jumper, with its wide waistband, cushioned her skin from the itchiness of the mohair cardigan that went with it.
As she brushed her hair, the low winter sun shining through the window highlighted the golden strands that peppered the chestnut sheen. After each stroke of the brush, her hair bounced back into curls, so Flo decided to leave it hanging loose. She made a side-parting and held it back from her face with a clip. Applying a light layer of lipstick and hanging a strand of cultured pearls around her neck, she stood back to admire the effect. Would Simon think she looked nice? She shook her head as if to banish the thought, grabbed her gas mask and her coat and ran down the stairs.
‘Ready for anything, sir! And reporting for duty.’
Simon turned on his haunches. He was crouched in front of the fire. The flames had put a blush on his face. He’s beautiful.
‘You look stunning, darling. Come and sit down and have some toast.’
The light voice in which Simon said this could have meant he was talking to anyone. He called everyone ‘darling’. Why it should matter to Flo, she didn’t know. But it did. Making a joke, she said, ‘By, I don’t think “stunning” is the right word, but as long as I’m presentable . . . No one with a nose like mine can be called stunning.’ She giggled at her own words.
‘It’s a lovely nose. The best bit of you.’ Simon turned back to the flames, only to lose his balance. Swinging his arm up to regain it caused the bread on the end of the fork to plunge into the flames and catch fire. This sent him into a panic. He skipped around the room screaming out, ‘Help, help!’
Flo was helpless with laughter. ‘Calm down. Simon! You’ll have the room on fire. Chuck it into the grate. Eeh, you’re an idiot.’
Simon’s laughter joined hers. The silly moment put them back once more at the level of their easy friendship. Flo felt relieved it was so. She couldn’t understand the undercurrents that had crept into their relationship since they’d arrived here. She didn’t want it to be like that. She didn’t know how to cope with it, and was glad they could sit together and enjoy the toast with lashings of the scrummy marmalade in an easy atmosphere.
Finding the Salvation Army wasn’t difficult. Although there hadn’t been an air raid around their part of London during the night, there was work to do every day for the charities that worked in the area.
Just around the corner from the church over near Vauxhall Bridge they saw some activity around a van, the type they knew was used as a soup kitchen. ‘I’ll pull up here, you go and talk to them – you have a way with you. They might think I’m a time-waster.’
Simon’s maroon Jaguar glided to a halt across the road from the van. Most people standing around the van turned and stared. Flo felt an attack of nerves as she walked towards them. One young ’un called out, ‘What’s the toffs want with bleedin’ roadside charity?’ A woman Flo assumed was his mother clipped his ear. ‘Stop bleedin’ swearing, you.’
Flo felt a giggle bubbling up. She smiled at the onlookers. ‘Hello, I’m looking to offer help and wanted to talk to the—’
‘Flo! Me lovely northern girl. Gawd love us, you’re here again.’
‘Pauline! Eeh, it’s good to see thee. I were going to pop round to yours later. So, you’re working with the Sallies now, eh?’
‘I am. I’ve had a lot of help from them, and now that I’m on me feet I wanted to give sommat back.’
Pauline disappeared from the serving hatch that she’d poked her head out of, and then reappeared from a door around the back of the van. Flo opened her arms and then felt that she’d smother the tiny Pauline. Standing her at arm’s length, she looked into the face she’d come to love in such a short time. ‘By, lass, you’re looking grand. You have colour in your cheeks, and your hair – well, I didn’t realize it was so blonde. It’s lovely.’
Pauline flushed. ‘Give over! I’ve been putting a little bleach in me rinsing water. Ha, gotta keep up appearances. Me man might come home at any time, yer know.’
‘Really!’
‘I wish. But we live in hope, and keeping busy helps. What was that you said about volunteering then?’
Flo told Pauline her plans.
‘So, you’re settled now? I’m proud of you, girl. I won’t ask you what you do – I’ve been schooled in the protocol of war by the Sallies, and you warned me last time I saw you not to do that. I’m the same with me customers. No matter who comes to me window, I serve them with a smile and a comforting word, if needed, but I never ask who they are or what’s their business.’
‘You’re very wise. It can be awkward, and dangerous, to question folk these days. I sent you a letter; did you get it?’
‘No, not yet, but everything’s topsy-turvy, and the post is t
aking weeks longer than it used to. Except for bleedin’ bills. They find their way through, no matter what.’
Flo laughed with Pauline and gave her another hug. ‘You knaw, you can always come to me if you need help. I put me address in the letter. Though I never did find out if it was possible for you to be evacuated with the kids. Sorry about that. I explained in my letter about me mate, Lucinda, who I was going to ask.’
‘Yer look sad, lav. Is anything up?’
Flo told her about Lucinda. ‘No wonder you’re down. Well, I reckon as this kind of work will help you, and her brother.’ Pauline reached for Flo’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Don’t worry about me and the kids. I’ve sent them off with me mum. It don’t seem so bad, her being with them. They’re in Wales. A place called Aberfan. They’ve been housed in a little cottage together and are loving it. I’m going to visit next week – I can’t wait. In the meantime, I do war work three days a week. I work at a factory that makes uniforms. Then I do this, an’ all.’
‘That’s grand. I’m reet pleased for you, Pauline.’
‘Right, back to the business of you helping us. There’s one question I will ask: how much notice do you and yer mate have, when you have time off? Only that might be a factor in whether they accept yer.’
‘Oh, usually plenty, as we have a rota system. But it can be messed with, so it might be difficult to commit to a schedule. If you tell me where to go, I can tell them in charge our position, and see how it goes.’
‘I’ll take yer, if yer like. Here, Gladys, can yer manage for a while? I’ll just be a mo.’
To this there was an answering reply: ‘Of course, you take all the time yer need.’
‘Right, come with me, Flo. The man who organizes us only lives around the corner and as much as I’d love a ride in yer mate’s nice car, we can walk there.’
‘I’ll see that you and the kids get a ride one of these days. When this lot’s all over, we’ll go for a picnic. Eeh, that’d be grand.’
‘It would. I’ll look forward to it, lav. And like yer say, it’d be reet grand.’