In the summer of 1917 he had become ill with dysentery and was sent to a field hospital, but they needed the beds for the wounded, so as soon as he began to recover, he had been sent home on two weeks’ leave to recuperate. That leave had been precious. He was weak and he would not talk about the war; he knew, like it or not, he had to go back, so they made the most of it, having what he called a second honeymoon, which was silly because they had never had a first. The result was the miracle she had been praying for.
She remembered how she felt on being given the news. It had been blustery and cold, threatening rain, but she hardly noticed it. The dreadful reports from the front, the daily lists of casualties, the Zeppelin raids all dwindled into insignificance as she walked home to that horrible slum in Prince Albert Lane, treading on air. At last, after years of trying, of thinking she could not have children, she was pregnant. In the middle of the carnage, she was going to bring a new, precious life into the world – all the more precious because she thought it would never happen.
As soon as she got home, she had written to tell him. ‘Dearest Tom. Wonderful, wonderful news. After all this time I’m expecting a baby. The doctor confirmed it today. I can’t wait to hold my own child in my arms and I do not care if it’s a boy or a girl, though it would be nice for you to have a son. So, come home safely, my darling, and share my joy…’ The letter had meant so much to him he had kept it. She’d found it among his things after he died, creased from much unfolding and folding. In the thick of the fighting at Ypres, the news that at last she was pregnant had helped him to endure it, he said, and he couldn’t wait to come home to be with them both.
He had come home, but he was not the same man she had seen go off to war. Once slow to anger, he had become morose and quick-tempered and sometimes he coughed his heart up. It had been difficult to settle down into civilian life, especially as he was no longer fit for his job as a docker and had to take work as a storekeeper in one of the dockside warehouses. He was always punctual, reliable and polite, and gradually, over the years, he was given more responsible work, somehow hiding the fact that his eyesight was not all it should be, and they had left the slum that was Prince Albert Lane and rented this house. Her dream home. And he had not lived long enough to enjoy it, nor to see Laura grow up into the lovely woman she was. Sighing, Anne put the picture down, put on the blue silk dress, did her hair and went downstairs to the sitting room.
Laura was pacing the room. It was difficult to sit still but there was a good half hour before she needed to finish getting ready and she did not want to crease her dress. Anne had just joined her when the doorbell rang. ‘It’s never the car already,’ she said. ‘It’s much too early. It must be the postman.’ She disappeared into the hall.
Laura heard low voices, then a long pause, which made her wonder what the postman could have brought. Another gift perhaps? Her mother returned. Behind her Laura saw the tall bulk of Steve Wainright. He was twisting his cap in his hands. ‘Laura…’ Her mother started and then came to a stop.
‘Steve, what are you doing here?’ Laura jumped to her feet. ‘You’re supposed to be going to the church with Bob.’
‘Laura.’ Her mother tried again and moved aside so that Steve could step forward. ‘Flight Lieutenant Wainright has something to tell you.’
Laura looked from Anne to Steve, a puzzled look on her face. He gave a little cough to clear his throat. How could he say it? How could he break her heart? She was looking achingly lovely in the white satin gown. It contrasted so sharply with the raven hair and the creaminess of her skin, it made her look almost ethereal. He was silent, struggling with the words.
‘What is it? What has happened? Tell me, for God’s sake.’
‘I don’t know how to,’ he said. ‘It’s Bob. He’s—’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I spoke to him. He said he was down safe and sound. He said…’ She stopped. The rest of what he had said was for her ears alone and centred round the fact that the next night they would be man and wife and they could make love all night if they chose. They would wake up together with nothing to do but walk and eat and do it all again.
‘It was cloudy early on and we were recalled, which was when he rang you, but it cleared and the bombers came back in huge numbers. We scrambled again. Every available fighter was in the air.’
‘He’s hurt, in hospital somewhere?’
‘No. I’m sorry, Laura, so very sorry, but I saw him go down. He was harrying one of the Stukas when he saw a Messerschmitt on the tail of one of the new lads and went after it. Another dived out of nowhere and got him. I yelled at him to bail out, but he couldn’t hear me.’ He hoped she would assume that Bob had died instantly.
It was a full minute before the impact of what he had said suddenly hit her. ‘No! No! No!’ She screamed and ran towards him, thumping his chest with her fists, as if it was all his fault. He grabbed her wrists and held her until she subsided into noisy sobs, putting her head on his shoulder and soaking his uniform. He put his arms round her and looked helplessly at Anne, who stood like a rock, almost as shaken as Laura. She caught his eye and went to her daughter.
‘Hush, Laura, hush.’ She took her from Steve’s arms and led her to the sofa, where she drew her down and sat rocking her. She did not know what to say to comfort her, could not tell her not to cry, that life must go on, that she would get over it. Laura would not even hear her, much less listen. She simply sat with her, holding her tight.
Steve looked on, saw the weeping girl in her beautiful white dress, the bouquet of white lilies lying on the table beside a pile of gifts, and was near to tears himself. He pulled Bob’s letter from his pocket and put it on the arm of the sofa, meeting Anne’s eyes as he did so. She nodded and he backed away quietly until he was in the hall again. He had lost his friend, shattered the dreams of a lovely woman and he could do nothing. Now was not the time to go into the details of how Bob came to be shot down. It was a moment’s inattention, something so alien to the man who had led the squadron so ably. Steve could only assume he had been thinking of his wedding and not what he should have been doing. He had shouted a warning, but it had been too late. Bob’s aircraft went spiralling out of control, smoke pouring from one wing. ‘Bob, get out!’ he had yelled.
There had been no answer, but he knew Bob was still conscious because the Hurricane seemed to straighten out and head for the coast, though still trailing smoke. They had been over Canterbury at the time and the foolish brave idiot was trying to avoid coming down on houses. Steve had followed him, while keeping an eye out for more trouble, hoping against hope that Bob would bail out and he could pinpoint the spot for a rescue. But then they were over the sea and the Hurricane had burst into flames and gone down like a spent firework. Bob was gone and only an oily stain on the water showed where he had gone in. There was no time to mourn even for a second; he had turned in a fury to hunt down the doer of the deed and was soon involved in a battle of attrition which only ended when he shot down one of the enemy fighters. Whether it was the same one, he could not tell. His anger and his fuel spent, he had returned to base and a debriefing. It was only after that, when he went back to their room, that the full impact of what had happened hit him.
There was Bob’s best uniform pressed and ready to put on, his shoes polished until you could see your face in them, his bag half-packed, ready to go on leave. His locker was still littered, but a photograph of Laura that he had had framed and which had been standing on it, had been popped into the open top of his bag. That would be sent to Bob’s parents along with all his other belongings. Steve picked it up and sat on the bed with it, running his fingers over the smiling face. He knew Laura would be dressing for her wedding. She would be happy at the prospect, laughing with her mother, putting the finishing touches to the food for the reception, which was to be held at her home. It was then that tears pricked his eyes. He had lost many friends and colleagues since this war started and though he was always sorry, there was never time to grie
ve, no time to dwell on the young lives lost. Indeed, it would be considered unhealthy and unhelpful. But Bob had been special and Laura was special. He knew he would have to be the one to tell her.
Now, in the room behind him, the sobs continued as if they were never going to stop, and Anne’s voice soothed ineffectually. He had never witnessed such grief, never felt so futile. Ought he to go? But supposing they wanted him to do something to help? He turned to go back, hesitated, then made his way to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and searched around for the teapot and tea caddy. He found milk on the floor in the larder, standing in a bowl of cold water to keep it fresh. There were cups and saucers already set out on the sideboard and he fetched two of these to the table. There wasn’t a lot of room to put them down; the table was laden with food covered with clean tea cloths. Friends and relatives and Laura herself would have had to contribute their rations to provide it.
The doorbell rang and, after a moment’s hesitation, he went to answer it. A car stood at the curb, white ribbons tied on its bonnet.
‘I’m afraid the car won’t be needed,’ he told the uniformed man on the step. ‘There’s been a bereavement. How much are you owed?’
‘Serviceman, was he?’
‘Yes, a pilot.’
‘Then there’ll be nothing to pay. And offer the lady my condolences.’ He touched his cap and turned away. Steve shut the door and returned to the task of making tea. Practical considerations like what was to happen to the feast could be left until later, though the arrival of the car had reminded him that someone would have to go to the church and tell the vicar and the congregation. He could offer to do that for them. He poured two cups of tea, added a good dash of brandy from a bottle he found in the sideboard, and took them into the front room. Laura had stopped crying from sheer exhaustion, but she lay in her mother’s arms, looking like a ghost. She was clutching Bob’s letter in her hand.
‘Bless you,’ Anne said, seeing the tray in his hand. ‘Was that the car?’
‘Yes. I sent him away. He said there’d be no charge.’
Anne touched Laura’s wet cheek. ‘Sweetheart, the flight lieutenant has made us a cup of tea. Sit up and drink it, there’s a good girl.’
Dutifully, she sat up and took the cup and saucer from him, but she was not really there; she was in a land and a time of her own. He handed the second cup to Anne. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked round vaguely. ‘I can’t think of anything but Laura.’
‘I understand. You know, someone should go to the church. Would you like me to go?’
‘Oh, would you? I would appreciate it. Tell them… I’m sure you’ll know what to say. But don’t let anyone come back here, not today. Tomorrow perhaps.’
‘I understand.’ He picked up his cap.
‘Can you come back though? Tell me what everyone said. In a little while we’ll have to sort things out.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He left them to their grief.
‘Mum, what am I to do?’ Laura sobbed. ‘I can’t think straight. All I can think of is Bob and I won’t ever see him again. I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. I keep hoping it’s someone’s idea of a sick joke and he’ll walk through the door and laugh at me.’
‘No one would joke about that, Laura, and certainly not Steven. You could see he was in a state himself.’
‘I know. I was clutching at straws.’ She paused to sip her tea, it was hot and strong and tasted of brandy. ‘But there are things to be done, aren’t there? I’ll have to cancel the wedding and tell our friends. And the cottage. I don’t have the address. Do you think his parents would know it?’ Her voice broke on a sob but she gallantly pulled herself together. ‘I’ll have to send the presents back.’
‘Steve has gone to the church for us and there’s time enough to see to everything else tomorrow. Why don’t you go and lie down? You’re exhausted.’
‘Perhaps I will.’ The brandy in the tea, together with her natural exhaustion, was having its effect. She climbed the stairs like an old woman, hanging on to the rail and pulling herself wearily from step to step. Anne followed, helped her out of her dress, then settled her onto her new bed and pulled the eiderdown over her.
‘Call if you want me,’ she said, bending over to kiss her daughter’s paper-white cheek. ‘I shan’t be far away.’
Her heart was heavy for Laura’s grief; she felt the pain of it herself, reliving the day Tom had died. But he had been ill a long time and died in his bed. In some ways it had been a merciful release. Would Laura ever feel that this was a release? Somewhere, hidden in places where she kept all her dark secrets, Anne felt a frisson of relief that she had her daughter back. It was wicked but she had never felt this marriage was right. In that she agreed with that dreadful snob, Lady Rawton. ‘Forgive me,’ she whispered as she went back downstairs and began wrapping up the sandwiches, the sausage rolls and the canapés in little greaseproof paper packets. She would give them to anyone who had contributed to the food, and return their presents. By the time Laura came downstairs again, all trace of the wedding must have disappeared.
Steve came back while she was doing it. ‘How is she?’ he whispered, when she had let him in and gestured for him to take a seat.
‘Trying to rest. She’s worn out, poor dear.’ She put the kettle on. ‘Did you see everyone?’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘Except Bob’s parents weren’t there, none of his family that I could see. Of course, they are his next of kin and would have been informed officially by the wingco, who was going as a guest in any case. They would have known not to go.’
‘They might have had the courtesy to let us know.’
‘I expect they assumed someone would tell Laura.’
‘Then I am doubly glad you came. It would have been ten times worse if the poor dear had got as far as the church.’
‘I would not have let that happen.’ He paused. ‘Everyone was milling about the churchyard, wondering what to do. They were on the point of sending someone to find out when I arrived.’
‘Thank you. I don’t think either of us could have coped with a deputation.’ The kettle whistled and she poured water on the tea leaves. ‘When do you have to go back?’
‘Tonight, but I’ve a late pass. Is there anything else I can do?’
‘It’s an imposition, I know, but could you ask Bob’s parents if they know the address of the cottage he and Laura were meant to be going to tonight? Laura’s worrying about it. Someone will have to ring or write and explain why they haven’t turned up.’
‘I’ll do it. Put it from your mind.’ He paused as she resumed wrapping up parcels of food. ‘What are you going to do with those?’
‘Give them to the people who gave me the stuff to make them.’
‘Don’t you think that might offend them?’
‘We can’t eat it and I can’t let it go to waste, can I? Food is precious. That’s understood.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘They nearly all live in this neighbourhood. If I gave you a list, would you take it to them?’
‘Of course.’ Steve sipped his tea, a little surprised at her coldness, as if she could not get rid of the evidence of the wedding fast enough. But everything would dry up and spoil if left on the table, so perhaps she was right.
She turned on him as if she had read his thoughts. ‘What do you expect me to do? Crumple in a heap like my daughter? Sit and howl and let everything moulder away like that woman in Dickens’ book?’
‘Great Expectations,’ he prompted.
‘Yes, well… If she comes downstairs and sees all this food and those presents, it’ll set her off again. Better they should be gone. And if that sounds hard and unfeeling, then I’m sorry—’
‘I don’t think you are unfeeling, Mrs Drummond. It is obvious to me that you love your daughter.’
‘More than you or anyone will ever know. She has been my whole life. When she was ill as a chi
ld, I nursed her; when she was sad, I comforted her. In good times and bad, and there were plenty of those, we soldiered on, but this is something altogether different. Somehow I’ve got to get her over it. She has to put it behind her.’ She had disposed of all the food and all that was left was a heap of little parcels. The cake still sat under its cardboard cover. She took it out and put it in a cake tin. ‘It’ll keep for Christmas. Oh, the flowers! I forgot them.’ She dashed into the front room and came back with the lilies and the posy of carnations. The latter had wilted badly and she put them in the bin under the sink. The lilies she dismantled and put into a vase of water. ‘I’ll put them in the shed for now and take them to Tom’s grave tomorrow. Laura was going to do that anyway.’
Steve sat sipping his tea while Anne bustled outside with the flowers and the cardboard cake, half of him wishing he could go and leave this unhappy house behind him, half of him wanting to see Laura again and do what he could to comfort her. But why would she take comfort from him? As far as she was concerned he was simply Bob’s friend, who was to have been his best man. He ought to go. But he had not yet been given the names of the people to take the food to, and so he sat and waited for Mrs Drummond to come back.
It was growing dusk and she carefully pulled the curtain over the door after shutting it, then lifted the wooden frame on which she had tacked blackout curtaining, intending to fasten it on the window with the butterfly nuts that had been screwed into the frame. He took it from her and did the job for her. She switched on the light. ‘Are you hungry, Flight Lieutenant? I’ve kept some of the ham. I could make you a sandwich.’
‘No, thank you. I really should be on my way.’
‘Oh, the names and addresses.’ She went to the dresser drawer and pulled out a notepad. ‘Some sent presents too. Laura’s already written a list of those. She was going to write and thank them personally when she came back from her honeymoon. You could take some of them back with the food. I’ll sort the rest out later.’
Summer House Page 5