‘Hello. Welcome to England,’ she said and held out her hand.
She gave him widest smile.
‘Thanks,’ came the reply, but no smile followed.
‘You look a little lonely,’ Maisie said, determined to make him feel welcome.
‘I like my own company and listening to the music.’
‘Your voice is familiar. Have we met before?’ she asked. ‘Not that I go anywhere, so it was a silly question really,’ Maisie said, rushing her words with an awkward shyness.
The soldier never replied and instead returned his gaze to staring at the roof.
‘Well, forgive me for trying. I’ll leave you to it.’ Maisie didn’t hold back her indignation and with a huff she turned away from him. She returned to the refreshment table and joined the others who were all busy offering jugs of weak orange squash. She’d seen some people pull small silver flasks from pockets or bags and pour the contents into their cups. She guessed it was alcohol of some sort since the dancing and chatting increased along with the noise levels.
‘I’m sorry.’
A voice cut in to a quiet moment between songs. Maisie turned her attention away from laying out cups on a tray, to acknowledge the speaker. She knew it was the young man she’d spoken to earlier by the softness of his voice.
‘Sorry for being rude or for liking only your own company?’ Maisie asked tartly. She didn’t need to retaliate in any way, but she wasn’t going to let him walk away so easily. He was not many years older than her, possibly two or three, certainly no more. She liked that his complexion was fresh-looking, not spotty like Charlie’s, and it was free from facial hair. Trying to avoid eye contact, Maisie glanced across his shoulder, and out into the crowd.
‘Lots of company out there for you to enjoy. Here, have a squash.’ She thrust a glass towards him and realised her mistake. Now she’d have to look at him, to see those large blue eyes stare back at her. Something about them made her want to know more about him. They invited her to ask.
His hand took the glass, but his eyes never left her face.
‘Thank you … um?’
‘Maisie. Maisie Reynolds, I—’
‘Maisie from the orphanage who has to go home now. Goodnight, soldier boy,’ Val’s slurred voice cut into the conversation and Maisie jumped guiltily.
With a dismissive flick of her hand towards the Canadian, Val followed it with raised eyebrows and he laid down his glass, turned heel, and left.
The burning of embarrassment scorched Maisie’s cheeks. She looked at his back hoping he’d turn around, but when he didn’t, she swung around to Val.
‘Why did you do that? You treated me like a little girl! And why tell him I’m from the orphanage?’
‘Well you are. Nothing to be ashamed of, is there? Anyway, you’re too innocent to be flirting with the likes of him. Mind you, he’s not that much older than you girls by the looks. Talking of girls, where’s the other one? Mine.’
Maisie shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t prepared to tell Val where Edith was – not that she really knew, but Val had annoyed her by saying she’d been flirting.
Flirting?
Maisie didn’t know the first thing about flirting, and it angered her to think that her being friendly to a stranger would be seen as such. He could have become a friend. Then it dawned on her … he was the man at the bus stop in Southampton. His voice was so familiar, and it was the only place she’d heard a different accent. She wanted to go to him and tell him. To ask if he remembered.
Shake away the thought, Maisie. Why on earth would he remember?
The sound of Val’s voice berating Edith cut into her thoughts, and Maisie sighed. Tonight was not turning out as she’d imagined. Singing, dancing, laughter – all things she’d never really experienced – were happening in front of her, rather than to her.
‘Get your coat,’ Val’s voice demanded, and Maisie grabbed her belongings, taking one last look across the room. She saw the young Canadian back in the same place, his leg propped onto the rim of a chair as he stared at the roof.
Was he as lonely as her? Did he want more from life too?
Don’t be daft. He’s already crossed the world to be in another country. He’s busy fighting a war. What more could he ever want?
Maisie’s inner thoughts challenged her. She wanted to ignore Val and stay longer, to enjoy the evening as she’d imagined – and if she was to be honest with herself, she wanted to speak with the Canadian again. He intrigued her. He made her experience feelings she’d never felt in the past. His quiet, almost moody personality drew her into wanting to know more about him.
Go with Val and forget tonight. Forget the stranger. He’s not interested in you.
Charlie had long gone and she’d only Val and Edith for company and their squabbling irritated and embarrassed Maisie as she headed out of the door behind them.
They continued to bicker on the walk home. As grateful as she was for the overnight stay, once inside Val’s home she suddenly felt suffocated. The rooms were small and filled with photographs and bric-a-brac. Laundry was draped on a clotheshorse in front of the fire, steaming up a large mirror on the wall. The fresh laundry smell reminded her there would, without an ounce of doubt, be a pile of ironing waiting for her the following day. As she climbed the stairs in the small terraced house, she realised she’d spent the majority of her life inside a mansion. Turning the corner onto the landing, she had a flashback vision of doing much the same as a little girl. She stood still and let the memories flood her brain. Edith was yelling at her mother from inside one of the rooms, and it brought back memories of two other women shouting in much the same way. She recalled hearing loud screeching voices inside a small room. She remembered thuds when objects hit the adjoining wall and the deep voices of men bellowing at them to be quiet. A flashback of a hand slapping her face made Maisie shudder. Her earliest memory was crying due to hunger and the noise around her – and then a stinging slap across her face with instructions to keep her mouth shut. For a moment, Maisie screwed her eyes shut against Val’s voice berating Edith’s. She took breaths to control the shock of the memory until eventually, her breathing settled into a calm rhythm.
The small box room where she was to spend the night was crammed with knickknacks and spare bedding. Maisie undressed and snuggled under the red and gold paisley eiderdown, far more luxurious than the coarse blankets of the orphanage. Her mind drifted back to the welcome party and she wished Charlie had stayed longer, but she knew he’d rushed off to see Joyce when she finished work. Joyce’s job was somewhere in the city outskirts and something so secret to the war effort that she was not allowed to speak about it. Although curious, Maisie and Charlie knew not to pressure her into telling them. Both Joyce and Charlie worked hard and deserved fun in their lives. She loved seeing him smile. He was a popular lad amongst the ARP team and Maisie felt fortunate to have him in her life.
She thought again of the young serviceman wanting to be alone. He and Charlie were two different young men possibly wanting different things, but the war had interfered with both their lives. Maisie drifted off to sleep knowing that she wanted a different life from the one she had, and soon the opportunity to find it would present itself. She curled under her covers but the strangeness of the room held her back from falling asleep. For so many years she’d shared a room with many others and always under the roof of the orphanage. To tempt sleep her way she tried making up names for the young Canadian she’d spoken with at the dance. It amused her to think he’d made such an impression when all he’d done was ignore her attempts to befriend him. Perhaps she was too young for him, or her hair colour and style were off-putting; perhaps she had come across as pushy. She pondered these and many other scenarios as to why he hadn’t considered her worthy enough to talk to, and, if Val hadn’t interrupted his apology, whether he and Maisie might have made it to the dancefloor.
CHAPTER 7
Maisie lifted boxes of old files onto a table and began the
task of replacing old folders with new ones and marking them with dates from before the Great War. Children abandoned by desperate mothers after the death of their spouse featured heavily in many of the first pages she read.
All the time she worked, she kept her mind focused on finding Jack’s file.
Four days of clearing and packing had brought her no closer to finding anything of use, and Maisie wondered whether Gloria had destroyed it, or perhaps it had been given to his new parents. Maisie resigned herself to letting go of the search since everywhere led to a dead end.
She was relieved to see the endless rain of the previous days had eventually stopped. The air was warm and damp on her on her skin. She needed a few lungfuls of fresh air so instead of taking the bus to town, Maisie headed to the common to see if Charlie was on duty. She met him just as he and his father were leaving for the Aldershot barracks.
‘Come with us. We’ll be back by four o’clock as we’re on fire duty at six,’ Charlie coaxed. His dad nodded his approval.
As eager as she was to see the place, Maisie hesitated.
‘I won’t be allowed inside. I’m not on any official duty or listing,’ she said.
‘True, but come for the ride out, it’s better than heading back home or walking through town. That place is heartbreaking. Bombed to its core.’
Jumping into the truck, Maisie settled between Charlie and his father. Maisie relaxed and listened to the father and son’s conversation. It dawned on her that the life she’d led had stifled her worldly knowledge. Her education had prepared her for homemaking and not much else. Charlie’s father spoke about the political situation and Charlie surprised her with his knowledge of the mechanical workings of a tank. He chatted excitedly about his second medical exam to check whether his previously injured knee would no longer prevent him joining the engineers.
Maisie was boring. She heard herself speak and was bored by what she had to offer. In an impulsive moment, she searched for anything to speak about in order to try to sound interesting.
‘I meant to tell you, I found my personal baby file a few months ago. I have J as my middle initial.’ The moment the words were out of her mouth, she felt foolish. ‘What I mean is, I didn’t know. I don’t know what it stands for. Haven’t a clue,’ she said.
‘You don’t know your middle name? Didn’t know you had one?’ Charlie asked.
Charlie’s dad tutted.
‘Who doesn’t tell a child their full name? Maybe the initial is your mother’s name? Was there anything about your family in the file?’ he asked.
‘That’s the odd thing, there’s nothing. All the files I’ve seen of the children I’ve sent on their way are full of information or official papers. Mine has one sheet with my name on it and the name of my mother scrubbed out.
‘How frustrating,’ Charlie said.
The vehicle came to a standstill outside a set of large gates.
‘Here we are then. You stay here, miss, and we’ll be back shortly. The weather is fair for the moment, so take a tarpaulin from the top box over there and sit on the grass until we return. I warn you, don’t move or they’ll shoot first and ask questions later. Understand?’
Disappointed she couldn’t join them and see what the inside of the camp looked like, Maisie did as she was told, tugged down a tarpaulin and watched as they drove away. She spread out her temporary seating on a grassy verge sheltered by the back of a tin hut that opened on the inside of the camp and sat down. Barbed-wire fencing surrounded the large field opposite, and people moved around at varying speeds, going about their business. Maisie made a game of guessing whose job was what, just to while away the time.
‘Odd place to have a picnic.’ A male voice interrupted her thoughts. She recognised the voice, and her stomach gave an excited flip. It was the Canadian soldier from the dance.
Although weak, the low spring sunshine shone in Maisie’s eyes when she lifted her head to look up at him. This time he wore a smile. A beautiful wide smile. The hairs on Maisie’s arms tingled and her hands itched to reach out and touch his lips. His smile was infectious. Captivating.
‘Hello again, Maisie from the orphanage. What brings you here, to sit outside an army camp – other than to make the residents sweat a little?’
Maisie noticed a particular tone in his voice. Something about his question suggested she was loitering in the hope of capturing the attention of the soldiers. She bristled slightly but then relaxed when she saw him give a mischievous wink.
‘Cheeky. I’m waiting for my friend Charlie and his dad,’ Maisie said, and struggled to her feet.
Extremely conscious of her shabby appearance in hand-me-down clothes, Maisie gave a bright smile to compensate. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her brown knitted stockings with plucks, or the thin skirt and blouse covered by a cardigan in forest green that was too large for her and a tweed coat that was too short. Never before had Maisie felt ashamed of what she wore. It had never occurred to her to want to look any different in her clothing during the day; it was usually her wild and unruly ginger curls which caused her the most embarrassment.
She took hold of the hand he proffered and shook it. ‘It is Maisie from the orphanage, but sadly, she’s not sure who you are as you didn’t have an embarrassing friend to speak out on your behalf at the dance,’ she said cheerfully, reminding him of Val’s rude interruption.
‘Harry Cameron at your service, ma’am. Cam to my friends.’ The soldier saluted. ‘And you were right, we had met before. You had cold feet as I recall. Grandma at the bus stop.’
The sun still stung her eyes so Maisie stepped to one side, taking advantage of the shadow Harry cast.
‘I knew it! Nice to meet you, Harry, and if I was enjoying a picnic, I’d offer you something to eat, but sadly I’m just along for the ride.’
‘I told you, it’s Cam to my friends. That night in Southampton, did you get your ride home?’ Cam asked.
‘The bus didn’t turn up and it was a long walk home during the bomb attack.’
Cam raised his brow and shook his head.
‘I hitched a lift with some guys heading back to barracks. You weren’t so lucky. Shame I can’t hang around a bit longer and keep you company but I’m on a mission – walking with weights.’ Cam indicated a backpack on his shoulders, with his chin.
Maisie peered around to the backpack.
‘It looks heavy. Have you carried it far?’ she asked.
‘Roughly ten miles. Farnham Castle and back,’ Cam replied.
‘Carrying all of that?’ Maisie waved her arm from his feet to his head. His gasmask was strapped to his leg, and the bulky backpack looked as if it housed all his worldly goods.
‘Yes ma’am. Sixty to seventy pounds heavy, and even heavier in the rain.’
Maisie had no idea how much sixty pounds would feel like on her back, but guessed it would not be comfortable. Cam’s politeness at stopping to say hello must be causing him some discomfort – not that he showed it in any way. She stepped to one side and pointed to the front entrance of the barracks.
‘I think you’d better keep walking before your legs give way. I feel guilty now. Besides, the drizzle is back again.’ She held out her hand, palm skyward.
Cam nodded. ‘I’ve another hill to climb this afternoon so I need to rest a bit and find something to eat. Nice to meet you again, Maisie. Take care.’
‘Bye Cam,’ Maisie said and raised her hand to wave.
She watched his straight back support the weight of his load, his shoulders as broad as his bulky backpack and admired his strength. His backpack finished just above a well-rounded rear, and Maisie noticed the firm thighs supporting the weight. He was a sight to be seen. At the gates he turned and waved, and she felt her cheeks flush warm with embarrassment at being caught out watching him.
Disappointed that their meeting had been cut short, Maisie waved back. She wanted to know more about Harry Cameron, to listen to his accent, to enjoy his calm and relaxed company. He interest
ed her, and as he side-stepped to allow Charlie’s father drive out through the gates, she couldn’t help but compare Charlie and Cam once again. She decided that she liked his rugged physique more than Charlie’s taller, skinnier one.
‘Climb up. We’ve got a treat for you,’ Charlie called out to her, and Maisie clambered into the truck. It was in Maisie’s mind to suggest that she’d just enjoyed a treat but thought the better of it; neither man would understand what she meant.
‘Apple pie, and a can of condensed milk. We were given one each, but we thought you’d like one to take home,’ Charlie’s dad said and handed her a small package wrapped in cloth.
‘That’s very kind, but …’
Maisie’s words were cut off by Charlie’s dad raising his hand to stop her talking.
‘No buts. My guess is that you don’t get many treats, Maisie, so we want you to have it.’
‘Your guess is right and thank you both. I’ll enjoy it this evening.’
Laughter rang out in the truck and Maisie enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere. Charlie’s dad insisted on taking her back to the orphanage when the rain began to fall more heavily the closer they got to Shirley. The moment the large building came into view, Maisie’s heart sank. Her day was over. She had no one to share her thoughts with and she so desperately wanted to talk about Harry Cameron with someone.
With the Music While You Work programme on the wireless in the kitchen, Maisie looked at the display of cosmetics on the table in front of her. Val and Edith had moved away from Southampton and, after a clear out, Val had insisted Maisie should have whatever they didn’t want to pack and take with them. Maisie was now the proud owner of a bottle of red nail polish, a tube of red lipstick, some rouge powder, a box of face powder with a puff, a mascara cake – which she apparently had to spit on before it was of any benefit to her lashes – and a nail file. Val had brushed aside her refusal to accept them and tapped the side of her nose, declaring she had friends in the right places to get more, despite rationing.
The Forgotten Orphan: The heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 historical novel Page 6