Summer House

by Nichols, Mary

  In the weeks since Steve had left, Laura had made what arrangements she could in advance. She had chosen her dress – not a white one this time, but pale blue. It was made from a ball gown of Helen’s. Helen never threw anything away and, as there was ample room in the huge house to store things she no longer needed, Laura had several to choose from. Jenny, Meg and Daphne had agreed to be bridesmaids and Robby would be a page boy. Kathy had made her a cake; Laura suspected Joyce had let her have more than her ration of dried fruit.

  There were last-minute things to arrange, of course, like the buffet reception and the flowers. Having organised it all, there was nothing for Laura to do but wait for the weekend and meet Steve’s train. It was then she worked herself into a panic. The other wedding day, the one she had schooled herself not to think about, kept coming back into her mind. At first she felt as if she were betraying Bob, but then she remembered his loving letter, telling her to be happy, and hadn’t Steve said Bob had asked him to look after her? He would approve. It was not that which worried her, but the terrible thought that something might happen to Steve at the last minute. She was never more relieved than when she saw him step from the train.

  ‘Steve!’ She ran all the way along the platform and hurled herself into his arms. ‘Thank God!’

  He rocked against the onslaught. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing now.’

  He understood. ‘I’m here, darling. It’s all right. I don’t have to go back until Monday morning. And by then…’ He stopped to kiss her, in front of everyone scurrying off and on trains, who smiled indulgently. ‘…you will be Mrs Wainright. That’s if you haven’t changed your mind.’

  She punched his arm. ‘No chance of that, you’re well and truly hooked, Squadron Leader.’

  The whole village had learnt about the wedding, and if they were not to be invited to the reception, they certainly intended to be at the church; it was packed to the doors. Lenny and Donny were kept busy acting as ushers, grown-up now in long trousers, grammar school blazers and their hair slicked down; butter wouldn’t have melted in their mouths. Robby was overexcited and not at all sure of his role, so Helen, who was giving the bride away, held tight onto his hand. Steve, in uniform, with Ken beside him, turned as Laura came down the aisle towards him, and he didn’t think she had ever looked lovelier. If he had had any doubts about people staring at him and wondering how a beautiful girl like Laura could fancy a man like him, his mother had nagged them out of him. ‘You are as handsome as the next man, so just be yourself. And you won’t be the only one who’s been in the wars, Laura tells me that every patient who’s fit enough to dress and get to the church, will be in the congregation. You will give them hope, don’t you see?’

  He did see; they were looking at him now, and every one of them was smiling. Several gave him a thumbs up sign. As Laura reached his side, he felt for her hand and the service began.

  Afterwards, they stood outside the church in the first really balmy day of the year and received the good wishes and congratulations of everyone, and then it was back to the Hall for the wedding breakfast. In the middle of it, someone asked her where they were going for their honeymoon.

  ‘I think that will have to wait,’ she said.

  ‘Oh no,’ Steve put in. ‘We’re off in the Humber tonight, and don’t ask where the petrol is coming from.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘That’s a secret too.’

  He had booked a room at the University Arms in Cambridge. They had stayed so long at the reception, they didn’t arrive until late, but that didn’t matter. They went straight to their room, drank champagne, made love, slept a little, made love again, had breakfast in bed and then made love a third time. It was better than either had dared to hope for.

  ‘We can’t stay here all day,’ Laura said dreamily.

  ‘Don’t see why we can’t, but if you think we should show ourselves to the world, then I’ve got something else planned.’

  She sat up. ‘What? Where are we going?’

  Steve tapped the side of his nose and got out of bed. He tied on a robe and went into the bathroom. When he came back he was tempted to begin making love to Laura all over again, but he was exhausted and sated and he didn’t think he could manage it, not before lunchtime anyway. ‘Go and get dressed, sweetheart. Wear something casual. Slacks and a jumper, it might be a bit cool.’

  She guessed they were going on the river and her guess proved correct. He rowed them up to the spot where they had picnicked before. They didn’t talk much, there was no need to, but they looked at each other a lot and smiled and kissed. It was blissful. They returned to the hotel in time for tea and then drove back to Beckbridge. She saw him off on the train that evening.

  He had hardly got back to his station when all leave was cancelled and travelling was restricted. Steve, who flew over them regularly, was aware that all roads leading south were clogged with military traffic. From The Wash to Land’s End, everything was on the move; weapons, ammunition, stores, medical equipment and men. Troops practised what they were expected to do without knowing where they were going to do it; paratroopers and gliders were prepared and ships were gathering in their thousands all along the Channel coasts. But still no one knew their final destination.

  On Sunday the fourth of June, the United States troops entered Rome, and on the fifth, the twins were woken by the sound of aeroplanes going over. They droned on and on and Donny scrambled out of bed to draw the curtains and look at them. ‘Lenny! Come and see. There’s hundreds of them. Thousands.’

  Lenny joined him at the window. The sky was black with aircraft. No sooner had one lot gone over than another appeared. ‘Cor! It’s the invasion.’

  They were not the only ones to come to that conclusion. William and Kathy were also awake and at their bedroom window. ‘Please God, look after them all,’ Kathy murmured. ‘And especially our boy.’ She turned to William and laid her head on his shoulder.

  He put his arm about her. ‘He’ll be all right, love.’

  ‘Yes, I know he will. He’s already done as much as anyone could ask of him and been through so much, God won’t ask more of him.’

  He hugged her against him, wishing he could have her simple faith. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’

  She turned towards him. ‘William, I do love you. I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but I’ve never regretted marrying you.’

  He kissed her fondly. ‘I know. And I love you.’

  They climbed back into bed and lay in each other’s arms, listening to the drone of the aircraft until they fell asleep.

  Laura and Helen and just about every patient who could get to his feet were at the windows of the Hall. The men were cheering as wave after wave of aircraft went over them. Robby had been woken by the noise and Laura held him in her arms as she watched. Steve was up there somewhere. She worried about him, of course, but she could not help being thrilled by it all. He would come through, she knew it. Robby, his face uplifted to the heavens, pointed a finger. ‘Daddy.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Daddy’s up there.’ Bob would look after Steve for her and one day, when Robby was able to distinguish one daddy from the other, she would explain everything to him. He would never be kept in ignorance. Keeping secrets could lead to so much unhappiness. But it was over now, her own personal battles had been won, and when the war was over she and Steve would decide where they would live, but for now Beckbridge Hall was home. ‘Come on, little one,’ she said. ‘Back to bed with you. No doubt we’ll hear all about it on the news in the morning.’

  Daphne was up before anyone to do the early milking. There had been a lot of activity in the sky during the night and she wondered if the second front had started. If it had, ten to one Alec would be involved. She prayed for his safety, as she prayed for the safety of everyone involved in this war. She couldn’t wait for it to be over so she and Alec and the twins could settle down as a family. They had made such plans, and it was the pro
spect of these coming to fruition that kept her going.

  Alec, a few miles off the Normandy coast, had never seen so many ships together at one time. There were thousands of them, of every shape and size: battleships; cruisers; destroyers; command ships; troopships loaded with men; landing craft, so low in the water they were swamped with every wave. The seas were mountainous. The assault had already been put off by a day because of bad weather, but now, in the hours before dawn on the sixth, it was going ahead. He felt sorry for the men in the little flat-bottomed boats who would be the first ashore; they were probably wondering if they would even get that far. And the troops on the larger ships were hardly better off; they would have to scramble down nets into boats for landing, or be lowered on davits. To men not used to it, that would be hazardous in itself, even before they reached the beach with its mines and deadly obstacles. At any rate, he and his gunners would give them as much covering fire as they could. Already the guns were red hot and their crews were hosing them down with sea water to keep them cool.

  Wayne watched the shore of Normandy coming closer and looked round at the men beside him. Nearly all of them had been seasick and were longing to get off that craft onto dry land, even if it was bristling with Germans. He should have gone back to Italy after his leave, but somehow had found himself drafted with the invasion force. No ship or aircraft to take him, he supposed; they were all here, the greatest invasion fleet ever assembled. There would be five separate assaults on five stretches of beach; two American to the west, and one Canadian sandwiched between two British on the east, each with their own objectives, the most important of which was to fight their way off the beaches where they were vulnerable and get inland. Paratroopers and gliders had dropped behind the lines the night before to secure certain roads and bridges for them, though he did not know how successful they had been. Ahead of him on the beach, a whole armada of strange tanks cleared a path. There were tanks that could swim, which were being off loaded before they even reached the beach; there were tanks with chain flails that beat the ground in front of them and detonated mines, there were tanks that rolled out a carpet of lathes, which made a firm base on which others could follow. He had been involved in getting those ready and now he would see how effective they were.

  To take his mind off his queasy stomach and the noise of battle ahead of him, Wayne thought of his parents. He had done a lot of that lately. Mom had done what she had for his sake, so that he could have a happy childhood, free of want and one where he would not be stigmatised for being illegitimate. He should not have been so angry with her. As for Pop, he had been the best father a boy could wish for. He had met him in London just before all leave had been cancelled and they had had a long talk. Pop had said he had forgiven Mom and they were going to stay together, and that was the best news Wayne could have had. He didn’t want to know who his real father was. All he had wanted to know was if the man had been married and would he inadvertently find himself with another sister. ‘No, son,’ Mom had told him. ‘He was single and he died in the war.’

  While the battle raged on the beach and he stood waiting to take his turn to go, Wayne thought of home and Canada, and the life he had led before the war and would, please God, one day lead again. He thought of his friends, his school and his co-workers at the garage, of Jean Carlton, the girl he had been dating before enlisting. He hadn’t thought of her for ages, but an image of her came unbidden into his head. Dressed in a plain cotton frock, her hair blowing all over the place, her piquant face was looking up into his, laughing because he had kissed her. Now, what he wanted most in all the world was to go back to her and do it again.

  The craft suddenly lurched as it hit the shore; the ramp was put down and the whole boatload of men, weighed down by their equipment, surged ashore, urged on by the sound of a bugle. This was it; this was the beginning of the end and he was going to survive to go back home.

  Steve, returning from a bombing mission in support of the troops, flew over the invasion force and could not help gasping at the size of it. From the air it looked like another Dunkirk, except everything was going in the opposite direction and there was a lot more of it. And, thankfully, the only enemy aircraft he had seen were two lone fighter planes. The pilots were either crazy or very brave because they zoomed down towards the men on the beaches and emptied their magazines, and though everything from ships’ guns to Sten guns were aimed at them, they had managed to reach the safety of the clouds and had disappeared. Steve flew back to base and touched down, his day’s work done, though he knew he would be up again the next day and probably the one after that. His first thought was for Laura, but before he could let her know he was safe, he had to go for debriefing.

  ‘This is the news, and this is John Snagge reading it.’ The voice, in its usual authoritative, unemotional tone, came over the airwaves at nine-thirty that morning. Almost everyone in Britain must have had their ears glued to a set somewhere. It was certainly true of those in the south, who had woken up that morning to find the army camps which had sprouted up all over their woods and fields in the last few months were empty and deserted. It was also true of the inhabitants of East Anglia, surrounded as they were by air force stations, whose aircraft had almost blotted out the moon the night before last. ‘D-Day has come. Early this morning, the Allies began the assault on the north-western face of Hitler’s European fortress.’ The bulletin went on with a report of the first landings, the organisation and preparation involved in the undertaking, and added that the weather had not been favourable: cold and cloudy with rough seas. Nothing was said of casualties, though every one of John Snagge’s listeners must have known they would be considerable.

  Joyce heard it in the post office, just before she set out to deliver the mail on her bicycle. By the time she had finished her round, no one was in any doubt that the second front had begun. Many were already out on the streets, waving flags. They knew it was not the end, that there would be more setbacks and casualties before the war was over, but it was what they had been waiting to hear for so long. When the church bells began ringing, they were not a bit surprised and left off doing whatever it was they had been working at and made their way down to the church, where the minister conducted a short service of thanksgiving and prayer.

  Steve had a job getting through to Beckbridge on the telephone but he persevered and was rewarded with the sound of Laura’s voice at the other end of the line. ‘Sweetheart, I’m OK. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, absolutely fine.’

  ‘Have you heard the news?’

  ‘Yes. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I’ve got some for you too.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’ She heard his joyful shout at the other end and smiled.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ll get home to you just as soon as I can and we’ll celebrate.’

  Laura chuckled to herself as she put the phone down and set off for church with Robby in his pushchair. She had more than most to give thanks for.

  Epilogue

  8th May 1945

  IT WAS OVER. The dreadful carnage in Europe had come to an end and the whole country had gone wild. People crowded onto the streets in great multitudes, cheering, dancing and singing, waving flags, climbing lamp posts, piling onto whatever vehicles were trying to make their way through the throngs that spilled onto the roads. The sound of church bells, whistles and hooters added to the noise. Flags were brought out from wherever they had been stored and were hung on public buildings and draped over the upper window sills of private houses. Half the people on the streets had a small Union Jack in their hands and others sported red, white and blue ribbons in their hair.

  The people of Beckbridge rejoiced with everyone else and gave thanks that so many of its inhabitants had come through alive, if not exactly unscathed. Steve and Ken, Wayne and Ian were all safe. There were those who mourned the loss of dear ones, and for them the day was tinged with sadness, and Laura, in thankfulness, uttered a prayer for Bob and all those who
had lost their lives on both sides.

  The last year had not been plain sailing. Hitler had taken longer to defeat than anyone had expected. After the D-Day landings the previous June, many had predicted the war would be over by Christmas, but it had dragged on. Hitler still had one or two surprises up his sleeve. The pilotless flying bombs, or doodlebugs as many called them, had terrified the population of the south-east, if only because of their unpredictability and the damage they caused, and these had been followed by the even more unpredictable V2 rockets. It was like the Blitz all over again, made worse in a way because the missiles had no specific targets. And just before Christmas the Germans had counter-attacked and held up the advance. Steve was in the air constantly bombing German cities and strategic targets; Laura had lived on a knife-edge until she knew he had landed safely on home soil.

  How he had managed to get leave, today of all days, she did not know, but here he was, home safe and sound, sitting beside her on the sofa listening to Winston Churchill on the wireless, telling them they could allow themselves a brief period of rejoicing before getting on with the task of beating Japan. Helen sat knitting on a chair on the other side of the hearth, while four-year-old Robby played with his wooden bricks on the floor at her feet, unaware of the tumultuous events that were taking place around him. Thomas, three months old, lay contentedly in his father’s arms. Steve kept looking down at him, a silly grin on his face. He could not help it; he just could not stop smiling. This child of his was so perfect, so adorable, with his mop of fair hair, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, shut now in sleep.