The Hidden Dance

by Susan Wooldridge

  Lily jumped to her feet. She was too nervous to keep lolling about. Brushing the grass from her trousers, she crossed to the edge of the orchard but still hovered in the shade under the bent apple trees. She looked across the courtyard to where the big old farmhouse stood solid. Recently it had struck her that the place had taken on the wistful appearance of one of the war-wounded itself, the glass criss-crossed with pasted strips of linen and the windows dankly framed in black-out material.

  ‘When I returned from the first war, this old place was dead,’ Johnnie had said when they’d first moved back from America five years before. ‘It had always been the hub of life but as every single farmhand had been killed, not surprisingly their mothers and sweethearts weren’t very keen on hanging round any longer.’

  But it’s full of life now, thought Lily. Once again. How she loved this house; it was home in a way Melsham had never been. She remembered the first time she’d been brought here by Sam and Mary. Battered and broken. Running away from Charles. And she’d woken in a strange narrow bed, in a room full of a musty dusty smell. A crooked little room under the eaves. A room full of many corners. How long had she hidden here that first time? Three days? Four? She couldn’t recall. Now ten years on, she smiled as she thought of Johnnie, awkward and distant during that first stay, all the charm of Sam and Mary’s wedding day totally absent. ‘I didn’t want you here,’ he’d admitted. ‘It felt like an intrusion, a demand. I was trying to push you away.’

  Though at the time, she hadn’t really noticed his mood nor minded. Life had been too dark; too dark to look around, let alone to look forward, to glimpse another possibility, a new future. The endless pain inflicted by Charles had become a drug, a habit. Inescapable. Even now, thinking back, she could feel her whole body sicken at the memory, the very thought of Charles bringing cold numbness to her veins, blankness to her mind and ‘absence’ to her heart. ‘Only nursemaids have pain, Lily.’ The old family training; Mother had taught her well. Her survival kit. No feelings…

  And yet here in this very orchard, she had started to feel again, to come back to life. Lily shaded her eyes. Dotted through the long grass, clumps of orange-snouted daffodils swayed and danced round the base of the old fruit trees, yellow balloons of forsythia billowing from the hedges. How lovely it was, so peaceful. No one would ever guess at the misery of war so close at hand.

  There was a clatter as Mary crossed the yard. Dressed in a floral printed overall, she came into the orchard, waggling a colander full of carrots. ‘I’m doing these out here, take advantage of this weather. I’ve laid out something cold for us, salad and that – you can have it before you walk down to the station.’

  She sat on the car-rug. ‘Mind, when the war’s over I’ll be that pleased never to look a beetroot in the face again. Nice bit of steak and kidney, that’s what Sam dreams of, with dumplings. I told him, “You’ll have to wait till Doomsday, Mr Garnet’s that mean with his suet.” And you’d think kidneys were more precious than rubies, the carry-on that was going on at the butcher’s yesterday.’

  Three children, a boy and two girls, roared out of the house and into the orchard. They made straight for the two women and started playing ‘tag’ around them.

  ‘Annie,’ cried Mary, ‘I’ll not tell you again – leave be!’

  The smallest girl, Annie, her pig-tails flying, stopped beside her mother and snatched a carrot from the colander.

  ‘Urgh,’ said the scrawny boy, and Annie, hurling herself forward, pushed the carrot up the boy’s nose. The boy ducked; Annie was after him. The third child, a small thin girl, pattered, bored, along in their wake. They all disappeared round the front of the house.

  The two women watched them go. Mary sighed loudly.

  ‘You’re not going to stop her,’ said Lily. ‘She’s so pleased to have those two to play with. And I must say, it’s heaven to have their noise even though the house is now fit to bursting.’

  She sat back down on the rug. ‘Come on, give me some of those, I’ll help.’ She reached into her trouser pocket for a penknife.

  The noise of the children echoed up and round; they were playing at being dive-bombing aeroplanes. ‘They seem happy enough, don’t they? After London, those two little ones must feel safer here.’

  ‘They don’t know how lucky they are, little blighters. Mind, Sam was telling me some of the billets round here for these evacuees are disgusting. Government shouldn’t allow it.’ Mary nodded towards the noise of the children. ‘They’ve got something planned later. In honour of our American guest! I could hear the three of them last night up in the attic.’ She slipped a handkerchief from her sleeve and mopped her brow. ‘Phew, it’s that hot.’

  Lily looked towards the outer edge of the orchard; there was a distant sound of water. ‘I might go for a swim in the stream later on. First of the year.’

  ‘Well, mind you wrap up after. I’m not having you in bed with pneumonia. What would Johnnie say if he gets back and you’ve caught a fever?’

  ‘I hardly think a quick dip’s going to kill me!’

  ‘Well, I don’t want any of those children going in – it’ll be mud-cakes and all sorts before you can say “blink”.’ She started to swiftly slice the carrots into the colander.

  Lily watched her out of the corner of her eye. In the last few years her friend had put on weight, despite the strictures of food rationing. Now she sat, a comfortably round middle-aged woman and Lily smiled, remembering how once she’d worn Mary’s clothes to escape. Sam, on the other hand, seemed daily to get thinner and thinner. ‘Jack Spratt and his wife,’ he’d announced only last week, coming in from the pigs. ‘She’s after a bit o’ fat and he a bit o’ lean.’ Mary had nudged him. ‘I’d like to see where I could lay my hands on “a bit o’ fat” these days.’

  ‘Right here, my lass,’ her husband had chuckled and pulled her to him.

  Lily put down her knife and checked her watch again. ‘I hope Johnnie and Anthea met up all right in London. They should be well on their way by now.’

  ‘Stop fretting. The train’ll not be on time anyhow. Good thing too, Johnnie and her coming down together. At least she’ll know where to get off. Unlike my sister. Remember that time she came? Wandering about the countryside half the night before she found us.’ Mary made a little clucking sound and shook her head. ‘Taking away all the station names! I’d like to know what the Government’s thinking of.’ A favourite theme of Mary’s, Lily left her to it. ‘I don’t know about them Nazi invaders but it’s certainly left us all baffled. And then the name painted out on the church noticeboard. I mean, I ask you.’

  By the time the train pulled into Freston Station, the platform was crowded. Soldiers spilled from the station buffet, a khaki sea thankfully obscuring the sign, ‘Is Your Journey Really Necessary?’, an admonition that had always got Lily’s infrequent journeys to see Johnnie in London off to a bad start. As the engine wheezed to a long sighing halt, Lily turned and turned about trying to catch the window from which Anthea or Johnnie’s head would emerge. Suddenly she saw a buxomly-built young woman throw open a carriage door and start to descend onto the platform. Lily pushed through the crowds towards her.

  ‘Aunt Lily. Aunt Lily!’ She became aware that the shout was coming not from in front of her but behind. ‘Aunt Lily. Here!’

  She turned to find herself confronting a slim young woman in a well-cut grey suit, no hat but short glossy brown hair, deep red lips and matching nails. A gas-mask, in its box, was slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Anthea?’ she said in disbelief, and saw Johnnie standing at the young woman’s side, beaming for ear to ear. ‘Is it really you?’

  The young woman nodded seriously and then her face, too, broke into a smile.

  ‘My goodness, how smart you look.’ Lily felt tears spring into her eyes. ‘Oh, forgive me. How stupid.’

  But Anthea wasn’t listening; she threw her arms around her neck. ‘Oh, Aunt Lily.’ And Lily hugged her back with all her might.
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br />   ‘We got seats all the way,’ Johnnie chuckled. ‘Thanks to this young lady looking such a smasher. I think they thought I was her elderly father and gave me one out of sympathy!’

  Slowly the khaki sea was sucked into the train and with only a scattering of passengers left on the platform, the engine gave a piercing whistle followed by a deep groan. The train sturdily started to pull out of the station. Through one of the windows, Lily could see a bunch of soldiers tussling with the leather strap. As the window finally lurched down, the soldiers crammed through, blowing kisses towards the three of them. ‘See you again, sweetheart.’ ‘Ta-ta, my lovely!’

  Anthea waved back happily. ‘Thanks for the ride, boys!’ Lily instantly caught the American twang, the girl’s North Country accent, seemingly no more.

  And where had all the puppy-fat gone? Trim, that was the word for her now. A real stunner. Mr Suggs, the porter who never stirred for anyone without a six-pence, rushed to the young woman’s side, swept up her case and whistled off down the platform, handing it back to her with a flourish at the barrier.

  They set off up into the village, the three of them walking arm in arm, each chatting, each with their own thoughts.

  She’s gotten older, Anthea was thinking. Her hair’s faded to pale yellow, no more ‘carrots’ as Gran used to call it. Mind, it suits her better cut short, shows her face. Her face isn’t the same either, so brown and freckly; looks like a schoolgirl. But her voice is the same; that hasn’t changed. Posh but not scary, that’s what me and Freddie reckoned, soft and posh. And Johnnie? Bald, completely bald! And that beard and tash make him look like the picture of the King we had at school. Nice eyes though, he’s still got those.

  ‘I can’t tell you how my standing will have gone up at the War Office,’ Johnnie was saying. ‘Crofty’s eyes were out on stalks when he went to collect Anthea from the reception desk. Didn’t believe his boss could know such a glamour-puss.’

  As they passed along the High Street, Lily saw it all through Anthea’s eyes. Most of the cottages needed a coat of paint, the windows criss-crossed with paper-strips, a few even boarded up, glass being in short supply. The Crown Hotel looked drab and not particularly welcoming, and the church, as always, stood sturdy, square and Norman. But people were friendly enough: bicycle bells ringing, Mrs Dauncey reminding Lily about a WVS meeting and the doctor’s wife asking Johnnie to re-join the choir.

  ‘No such chance, Pamela, I’m afraid. I’ve only managed to scrounge a forty-eight-hour leave this time.’

  They cut through the churchyard, rooks cawing in the high dark trees, and made their way between higgledy-piggledy gravestones, which stuck out like old teeth. They reached an iron kissing-gate in the far corner. ‘You do realise you’re being treated to the scenic route,’ said Johnnie, squeezing his way through after them.

  ‘Gee, it’s all so ancient. I’d forgotten how old everything is.’ There was wonder in the girl’s voice. ‘At home, we’ve got nothing older than ten years.’

  So ‘home’ is America, thought Lily.

  ‘Did your gran know it was today you were coming down?’

  ‘You bet. She’ll be hanging over her calendar. My suitcase is stuffed with presents from her.’

  ‘Oh, Nellie shouldn’t have, she’s so naughty.’

  ‘Just try stopping her, she’s been planning this trip for me for months.’

  Later that afternoon, Anthea presented various wrapped parcels. ‘Ooh, nylons! Oh Johnnie, look, how marvellous. But I’m going to keep them for best! And my favourite scent.’

  ‘Lucky Strikes, I say.’ Johnnie waved his present with delight. ‘And I’m not going to keep them for best.’ He lit up.

  ‘And this is chocolate for Sam and Mary, and chewing-gum for the kids. Gran says she hopes you won’t be cross with her if it gets stuck to the furniture! And, finally, there’s these.’ The girl handed across a paper wallet. ‘Gran’s wedding photos!’

  ‘No!’

  And indeed there was Nellie, resplendent, swathed in a gown of pale blue silk, a tiny hat like a white pie perched on the side of her head, a slip of veil hiding one eye. She looked wonderfully jaunty and radiant, standing with her arm wrapped through her new husband’s, the two of them grinning at the camera, both round as barrels.

  ‘He’s called Lee Spencer Junior – he’s still called “Junior” even though he’s fifty-six – and he owns an automobile tyre business. And because of the war, it’s made him a rich man, so Gran’s got herself a gold-mine in her old age!’

  ‘Marvellous!’

  ‘And that makes him – let me see – your step-granddad?’ guessed Johnnie.

  ‘Yup, though we still call him “Uncle Lee”. He’s a real nice old guy.’

  ‘Not so much of the old, if you don’t mind,’ said Johnnie.

  ‘Hey, shucks, I don’t mean you folks.’ Anthea looked crestfallen, and at that moment Lily glimpsed the serious pudgy little girl who had been so important on their journey to America.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s only teasing,’ she said. ‘Go on with what you were saying.’

  ‘Freddie’s working in the business an’ all – he just loves cars, any sorts. And Uncle Lee also has a son. He’s called Frank and he’s joined up even though he’s thirty. Not that that’s old,’ she added hastily. ‘Anyways, Frank’s been sent over here to serve. Some camp near Winchester.’ She pronounced the name in three even stresses.

  ‘You’ve become a real American “gal”. I can’t believe it.’ Lily shook her head. ‘Where’s that North Country accent I remember so well?’

  ‘Gran’s still got one. Uncle Lee and Frank tease her about it all the time.’

  Tea was a treat, with Mary’s cake gobbled up almost before it had left the larder and jam tarts made with ‘our raspberries from the garden’.

  ‘Lily’s pride and joy,’ said Johnnie. ‘No doubt you’ll be given a tour to see her goats and her kitchen garden tomorrow.’

  Lily pulled a face at him. ‘I’m just doing my bit. Digging for victory and making my cheese.’ The success of her vegetables and home-made cheese had come as a surprise to everyone. She was now growing all their own produce and also helping to supply the local greengrocers.

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t mention Doctor Carrot and Potato Pete,’ grumbled Mary. ‘We’re all heartily sick of them – and that Lord Woolton’s Pie. Bet he’s never had to eat it.’ She went off muttering. Sounds of the washing-up could be heard.

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve met her at last,’ said Anthea. ‘Her and Sam always seemed like characters in a movie.’

  Johnnie took out his pipe. ‘Well, I’ve a bit of news. Come back, Mary,’ he called through the kitchen door. ‘I want you to hear this as well.’

  She came in wiping her hands on her overall. ‘That washing-up won’t get done by leaving it in the sink, you know.’

  ‘I’ll do it later.’

  She looked askance at him. ‘Promise?’

  He grinned and pulled out her chair; he waited for her to sit down.

  ‘Now then. Some news came through last week “in the bag” from New York. I thought it’d be fun to tell you all together.’ He paused and pulled his tobacco pouch from his pocket.

  ‘Oh Johnnie, for goodness sake, what?’

  ‘The Slocombes have been arrested for fiddling war bonds.’

  ‘No!’ ‘When?’ ‘Serves them right.’

  He sat back letting their reactions come thick and fast, packing his pipe, until eventually Lily cried, ‘Shhh, the lot of you. Let Johnnie speak, I want to know more. Is there any more?’

  He nodded. ‘It seems their downfall came through an anonymous letter to the FBI.’ He held a match to his pipe. ‘It just surprises me, given Lavinia Slocombe’s record, the authorities took so long to catch up with them.’

  ‘Arrested by the FBI, it’s like the pictures – oh, I can’t wait to tell Sam.’ Mary looked overjoyed.

  ‘After all this time – horrible old bag.’ Anthea�
�s cheeks had gone bright pink and Lily saw the girl unconsciously rub the arm that had been scratched all those years ago.

  She reached across and took Anthea’s hand. ‘Yes, I have to say I fully agree with you there. She is a horrible old bag.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘We must tell your gran. Oh dear, if only we could use the telephone. I’ll write in the next couple of days and we can post it off at once.’

  The next morning, Lily asked Anthea, ‘Do you think you can face my vegetable garden?’

  They made their way through the yard and round to the side of the big old house, both carrying forks and buckets. The side lawn had been turned over to vegetables and along the far stone wall, which served as a windbreak, a cold frame had been constructed. The kitchen garden itself was laid out in strict rows, and although it was only spring, Anthea could see hardy rows of green appearing. At the edge of the planting ran the original path of flagstones.

  ‘I cleared all this two years ago. This is what saved my life,’ said Lily evenly. ‘After Nickie was killed.’ She looked at Anthea.

  The girl stood stranded, staring down at the ground. Tears began to flow down her face. She did nothing to stop them.

  Lily put her arms around the girl. ‘Oh, my dear. I know. Some days the pain is so extraordinary I think I won’t be able to breathe.’

  Anthea stood sobbing onto Lily’s shoulder, the fork and bucket still in her hands. The sobs came in hard short blasts.

  ‘Come on, come and sit down.’ She led the girl to the wall, sat them on a couple of wooden boxes and pulled out her handkerchief. ‘Here, have a big blow.’

  ‘I’m sorry, so sorry—’

  ‘Hush,’ said Lily. ‘No “sorrys”. Not allowed.’

  The girl tried to smile and began to cry even harder. ‘It’s why I had to come,’ she sobbed. ‘I miss him so much.’

  ‘I know,’ was all Lily said.

  Later they sat, Anthea all cried-out, both of them smoking. ‘It’s why I’ve come to England also. I want to become a Wren.’