Summer House

by Nichols, Mary

  Helen’s mind flew back to Oliver. How easy it had been to fall in love, to let her emotions get the better of her good sense. She smiled. ‘I cannot condemn her for that, can I?’

  ‘No. I didn’t think you would. Others do. It’s one reason why it’s important that she has someone to turn to.’

  ‘You can rely on me.’

  ‘Even if she is awkward about it?’

  ‘Even then.’

  The two women rose. Anne turned and walked away, her head hunched into bowed shoulders. Helen, watching her go, was struck by how slowly she moved, like someone defeated, and all the bitterness she had been harbouring over the years melted away. She should be grateful. She was grateful. Grateful enough to spend some of her dwindling resources making sure Anne ended her days in comfort. It was little enough to pay for getting her daughter back. She would not think of the mountains they would have to climb, the obstacles they would have to overcome, before that happened.

  ‘Steve! Fancy seeing you. Come in.’

  He stepped inside and removed his cap. ‘I nearly didn’t knock when I saw the boards.’

  ‘They haven’t got round to putting in new windows yet. Apparently glass is scarce.’ Laura laughed suddenly. ‘If you don’t count the broken stuff you have to walk on in the streets; there’s plenty of that. Come through to the kitchen. We’ve got windows there. I was just making a cup of tea.’

  He followed her through to the room at the back, where she filled the kettle and put it on the gas stove. ‘I went to the hospital first in case you were on duty. They told me you had left.’

  ‘Yes.’ The gas lit, she turned towards him and he saw her properly for the first time. He did not know why he was so shocked, so dismayed, but he was. She must have seen his reaction in his face because she gave a little laugh. ‘You can see why.’

  He gulped. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re disgusted.’

  ‘It’s not for me to judge.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ She turned from him to warm the pot and put a couple of spoonfuls of tea in it. ‘But I’ve decided I’m not going to hide my head in shame, nor the bit of me most people will notice.’ She turned back to him. ‘I loved Bob with all my heart and if we had been married, no one would have said a word. They might have thought we were foolish to bring children into this crazy world, but they would not have condemned me. To me, there is no difference.’

  ‘Oh.’ He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, wishing he had not come. ‘What does your mother say about it?’

  ‘Nothing. What did you think she said? “Go from this house and never darken its doors again”?’

  ‘It would be a cruel mother who did that. But, forgive me, how will you manage?’

  ‘Oh, we’re managing. I’ve got a part-time job in a local factory, sorting resistors; all sizes, all the colours of the rainbow. It’s boring as hell, but I can do it sitting down and they need workers so they’ll keep me on until I’m too big to waddle about. I’m not exactly the most popular girl on the shop floor, but I can live with that. I’ve got to.’

  ‘You are very brave.’

  ‘Or brazen.’ She put a cup of tea in front of him, poured herself a cup and sat down opposite him. ‘I’m getting used to being cold-shouldered. People I’ve known nearly all my life walk by on the other side of the street, and if I stand in a queue in a shop, I’m given a wide berth. But I don’t care. My baby is everything to me. It is all I have left of Bob. You can understand that, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He supposed he did. She wanted her child so badly, she was prepared to take a boring, repetitive job and endure the silence of her workmates and the disapproval of her friends. But the birth of a baby would not be the end of it, only the beginning. She still had to bring it up, feed and clothe it and shield it from the infamy of bastardy. She was far from stupid, so she must know that. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘No, thanks all the same. Tell me about yourself. What have you been up to?’

  ‘The usual. I’ve asked to be transferred to bombers. I’m fed up with being on the defensive. I want to hit back.’

  ‘Someone’s got to defend us.’

  ‘Yes, but there are new pilots becoming operational all the time now and they all seem to want to fly Spitfires. I’ve been doing it too long. One of these days my luck will run out.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ she said softly. ‘I wouldn’t want to lose you too.’

  He was considerably heartened by that, though his answer did not betray it. ‘Nice of you to say so.’

  ‘Mum will be in soon, will you wait and see her?’

  ‘I’m afraid not; I’ve got to get back on duty.’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘It was only a flying visit.’

  She saw him to the door. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  Steve left, wondering why he felt so let down. He had no claim on her, no right to judge her. But he knew, in his heart, he had judged her. She had proved herself less than perfect and that was why he felt so disappointed. You build someone up in your head to be a superior being, put them on a pedestal, and then blame them when they prove to be human after all. He didn’t like himself for his reaction, but he couldn’t help it. Worse, he had let her see it.

  Anne came into the house with a cheerful smile. She had been wearing that smile for days now, ever since she had told Laura about the operation, pretending it was nothing to worry about. It didn’t deceive either of them. ‘You’ve had a visitor?’ she said, noticing the two cups.

  ‘Yes, Steve came. He was only here a few minutes. I’m afraid he was dreadfully shocked, though he did his best to hide it.’

  ‘Funny, I wouldn’t have expected that.’

  ‘Nor me. I don’t know why, but I felt hurt. Silly, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Is there any tea left in the pot?’

  ‘It’s gone cold. I’ll make some more, shall I?’

  ‘No, put some more boiling water on the leaves.’

  ‘Where’ve you been? Standing in queues again?’

  ‘No. I went to buy myself a new nightdress for when I go into hospital and then I bumped into an old friend I haven’t seen for years and forgot all about shopping. We had tea at Lyons’ and talked and talked.’

  ‘Do I know her?’

  ‘You met her once when you were a toddler, but I don’t expect you remember her. We met during the last war, got to know each other well, but then we lost touch.’

  ‘That’s not like you.’

  ‘No, but we were poles apart in every way. She came from a wealthy background; her father was a lord or something and she lived in the country, and what with looking after you and your dad, I never did take up her invitation to visit her. To tell the truth, I would have felt uncomfortable—’

  ‘Why should you? You’re as good as she is any day.’

  ‘Oh, she isn’t a snob, Laura. Far from it. You’ll like her, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll like her?’

  ‘I’ve asked her to come for a meal.’

  ‘Mum, are you well enough? You should be resting, not entertaining.’

  ‘I’d like you to meet her.’

  ‘Why particularly?’

  This was the tricky bit. Anne sipped her tea while she formed the words. ‘She is a friend, one to whom I owe a lot; she helped me when your dad was away in the last war. Besides, she has a huge house in the country and if we are ever bombed out of here, it will be somewhere for us to go.’

  Laura laughed. ‘Oh, Mum, you are as transparent as glass. You want me to evacuate myself into the country. I wouldn’t go before and I certainly won’t go now when you have to go into hospital. What sort of daughter would that make me?’

  ‘I don’t mean now, I was thinking about after the operation. We could both go. I could convalesce there.’

  Laura remained unconvinced. She had no idea what her mother was up to, but she was up to something. For someone who had steadfastly refused to budge, she had suddenly developed a yen t
o live in the country with an old friend, one of the upper classes, whom she purported to despise, someone she had never mentioned before. It took a lot of swallowing. ‘When is she coming?’

  ‘Next Tuesday, for lunch, then she can catch a train back home before the sirens go.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to think about what we are going to give her to eat. If she’s posh—’

  ‘She won’t want anything special. I told you, she’s not a snob, she’ll take us as she finds us.’

  That was bravado on Anne’s part; she was worried to death and the nearer the time came, the more agitated she became. Laura noted it and wondered…

  Helen took a taxi from Liverpool Street to Axholme Avenue. It was a suburban street of semi-detached houses, all much the same, all with small front gardens and bay windows, except that many of the windows had lost their glass and were nailed up with plywood. Some had lost tiles from the roof and one a chimney. But they were infinitely superior to those hovels in Prince Albert Lane.

  ‘Here you are, missus,’ the taxi driver said, stopping outside one, boarded up like the others. She paid him and, taking a deep breath, made her way up the path. This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for and suddenly she was afraid. She stood a moment to gather herself before lifting her hand to the knocker.

  ‘Helen, you came.’ Anne stood there looking tiny and anxious.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

  ‘No. Come on in. Let me take your coat. We’ll go through to the dining room. We’ve still got windows in there and a good fire. You must be perished.’

  ‘No, it was quite warm on the train.’ She had deliberately not worn her fur coat, which would have kept her warm; it didn’t seem appropriate somehow. She handed over the blue herringbone tweed she had had for years, aware that someone had come out of a room at the far end of the hall. Heart thumping, she turned to face her.

  Here was a young Helen Barstairs, heavily pregnant and defiant. Here was the same dark hair – though she noticed a slight sheen of auburn which was so like Oliver’s – the same widow’s peak and amber eyes. It was so startling, she almost gasped, but managed to turn it into a smile.

  Anne looked from one to the other and suddenly wondered if she was doing the right thing. But it was done now. ‘Laura, this is Lady Helen Barstairs.’

  Helen moved forward and offered her hand. ‘How do you do,’ she said. ‘Your mother has told me so much about you.’ She was amazed how normal she sounded.

  ‘Nothing bad, I hope.’ Laura’s hand was warm and firm.

  ‘No, all good, I assure you.’

  ‘Go through to the dining room. Lunch is nearly ready.’

  Laura went back to the kitchen, leaving Helen to precede Anne into a small room in which a coal fire burnt. The table was laid with a white cloth and sparkling cutlery and glasses. Besides four dining chairs, there was a sideboard and a drinks cabinet. Helen moved over to stand looking out of the window at the back garden, somewhat lifeless in the middle of winter. There was an Anderson shelter halfway down it.

  Anne came to stand beside her. ‘We spend most of our nights in there.’

  ‘It must be frightening.’

  ‘You get used to it. You get used to anything in time. What do you think of her?’ The last was said in an undertone.

  ‘What do you expect me to think? She is my flesh and blood and I’d love her whatever she looked like or whatever she did. She reminds me of me when I was expecting her. What have you told her?’

  ‘Only that we were friends in the last war and lost touch. I didn’t say how we came to be friends, you’ll have to think of something.’

  ‘Driving ambulances?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Laura came into the room behind them bearing two tureens.

  ‘We weren’t whispering, we were reminiscing about our time driving ambulances,’ Anne answered.

  ‘Is that how you met?’

  ‘Yes,’ they said together.

  ‘Come and sit down to eat and tell me all about it.’

  Helen could not remember afterwards what they ate, or even if she ate at all; she joined in the fiction of the ambulances, letting Anne do the talking since she knew what she was talking about. When she was asked about herself, she spoke of Beckbridge Hall and her life in the village, of her parents and Richard, but it was a kind of waking dream. She felt that if she pinched herself she would wake up in her own bed.

  ‘You never had children, then?’ Laura asked.

  Helen was startled. It was a question for which she was not prepared. She glanced across at Anne who was looking troubled, no doubt expecting her to blurt out the truth. ‘I had a daughter,’ she said slowly. ‘But I lost her in infancy.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. It must be terrible to lose a child.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Have some more vegetables, Helen,’ Anne put in suddenly.

  Helen declined politely and turned back to Laura. ‘When is your baby due?’

  ‘Towards the end of March. And before you ask, I’m not married and never have been.’

  ‘Laura!’ Anne protested.

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ Helen said. ‘It’s your business.’

  ‘I think she should get out of London to have it,’ Anne said, moving to safer ground. ‘What with the air raids and everything—’

  ‘Mum, you know we are making no decision about that until you’ve had your operation.’

  ‘You are both welcome to come and stay with me,’ Helen said.

  Laura laughed. ‘Has Mum put you up to that?’

  ‘Not at all. I have a big house and no one to share it with. In fact, I have been thinking of offering it as a nursing home for recuperating servicemen. I believe you are a nurse. You could help me set it up – after the baby is born, of course. In fact, your being there would help me. The WVS have been asking me about taking in a bombed-out family. I would be able to say I’m making private arrangements to utilise the house.’ She was making it up as she went along but she noticed the look of gratitude Anne gave her.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Anne said. ‘We’ll think about it, won’t we, Laura?’

  Laura felt she was being driven into a corner, but the proposition made sense. And it would be lovely to be nursing again, something she had not thought would be possible with a child to look after. ‘Yes, we’ll think about it, but let’s get Mum’s operation over with first. Has she told you about that?’

  ‘Yes. If I can do anything—’

  ‘Thank you,’ Anne said. ‘I’ve been advised to find a hospital away from London. Many of the London ones have been badly damaged and, in any case, they’ve got their hands full looking after casualties. Trouble is, I’m not sure where.’

  ‘What about Addenbrooke’s in Cambridge?’ Helen suggested. ‘That’s considered a safe area and it’s easily reached from London. I have connections there. I could make enquiries and let you know.’

  ‘Would you? That would be very kind.’

  Laura looked from one to the other. She could not help feeling that this was all a put-up job, that the words were carefully rehearsed. It was all to do with getting her out of London, she was sure of it. She also knew that her mother was seriously ill and the operation might not be the end of it. She guessed her mother knew that too, though she pretended otherwise; they both did. And why did Lady Barstairs look so familiar? Mum had said she had met her when she was a toddler; did that mean the memory had stayed in her subconscious over the intervening years and that was why she felt she ought to recognise her?

  The meeting had been a strain on all of them and Helen, seeing how tired Anne was becoming, did not stay long after the offer had been made. She ought not to have felt disappointed. After all, she could hardly have expected Laura to fall on her neck. She had been polite, friendly, hospitable, and that was all she could expect. Laura was no longer a child, she was a grown woman, soon to be a mother herself; the
baby Helen had called Olivia was lost for good and the years could not be grabbed back.

  The man standing on the doorstep with his kitbag at his feet was in the uniform of a petty officer. ‘Dad!’ Donny yelled. ‘Lenny, Dad’s here.’

  Kathy came to the door when she heard Donny’s shout and smiled at the man who had lifted Donny off his feet and was whirling him round. Lenny flew past her and flung himself at his father, who was almost toppled over by the onslaught. He hugged them both and then turned to Kathy. ‘Mrs Wainright?’

  ‘Yes, you must be Petty Officer Carter.’

  Kathy shook his hand and invited him into the kitchen, where William was just taking off his boots and Alice was stirring the gravy on the top of the stove. Kathy introduced them and invited Alec to eat with them, since she was about to dish up Sunday lunch. He had a week’s leave, he told them, and he wanted to spend it with the boys. ‘Do you think they’ll let them off school under the circumstances?’

  ‘I’m sure they will. You can ask my daughter when she comes in. She’s one of their teachers. Have you got anywhere to stay?’

  ‘No, I was hoping you might recommend somewhere, the local pub perhaps.’

  ‘You are welcome to stay here. You can have Steve’s room. He’s away in the RAF.’

  ‘Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble. I’ve got my ration book.’

  ‘Donny, go and tell Meg and Daphne I’m dishing up,’ Kathy told him, as Jenny came in.

  Introductions were made all round and it was a happy party that sat down to eat roast pork and apple sauce and a mountain of home-cooked vegetables. The boys talked nineteen to the dozen; Kathy hadn’t seen them so animated since they learnt of their mother’s death.

  Afterwards, they took their father on a tour of the village and showed him the church, the school, the shops and the common. ‘Anyone can go on it, but it’s not a park, ’cos the grass ain’t cut and there are cows and horses on it,’ Donny told him. ‘Lenny was afraid of the cows to start with—’

  ‘So were you.’

  ‘No, I weren’t!’