by Amy Miller
* * *
The day went quickly and cheerfully, with customers and neighbours keen to welcome Charlie home and shake his hand. Dressed to bake, wearing his long white apron and hat, a flour-covered Charlie quickly had his nose in the order and ledger book, the ingredients supply and paperwork from the Ministry of Food and the Bournemouth Food Office. He repaired a door handle that had broken, patched up a gap in the side of the Anderson shelter and strengthened the bunks, and had gone for a very quick ale at the Carpenter’s Arms with John and William to congratulate William on his upcoming wedding. He squeezed a lot into a few hours and by the end of the day, he was quiet and tired, but didn’t want to sit down and stop working.
When Audrey finally convinced him to sit down at the kitchen table, for a corned beef sandwich and a cup of tea, she couldn’t decide whether or not to broach the military action he’d seen overseas. Knowing Charlie, he wouldn’t want to talk about it, but she had to let him know she cared. Placing a hand over his and squeezing it gently, she just came out with it.
‘Charlie,’ she said, ‘no words seem right. How’s it been in the army? Are you… okay?’
Charlie rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands as if it were too heavy to stay upright on its own. He smiled a small sad smile at his wife. Written across his face she saw a myriad of emotions: fear, anger, regret, bewilderment, resignation.
‘I hope you will understand when I say I never want to talk about the war at home,’ he said. ‘I’m a man of few words, you know that better than anyone, but I don’t have the words to explain or make sense of what I’ve experienced. The one thing I can say is that this is not just a war of brute force, but also psychological. I’m trying, with everything I have, not to let my mind be crushed. Am I making any sense, love?’
After a long pause, where Audrey floundered for an answer, she nodded. ‘If that’s how you want it to be,’ she said, ‘then I respect that. As long as you know that I’m willing and able to share your troubles, if you want me to.’
She stood up from the table and put their dirty plates in the sink, where the dishwater had grown cold and grey.
‘I don’t know what this country would do without women like you,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re a good woman.’
She smiled at Charlie and, dunking her hands in the water, decided to broach the subject of Mary – and the possibility of adopting her.
‘I’m in agreement, if it’s possible,’ said Charlie, once Audrey had explained the situation. ‘Though I don’t know what will happen to me in the future. The responsibility might well fall on your shoulders, love.’
Audrey frowned. She knew he was talking about his own life and the danger he was in, but she refused to think the worst could happen. After the war, she told herself, Charlie, Mary and herself could be a family.
‘I still hope that one day we will have a child of our own,’ said Charlie, reading her mind. ‘It’s a lot of work for you, Audrey, taking on a stranger’s child. Mary’s a sweet girl, but she’s not our own flesh and blood… I have to be honest and admit that I dream of having a son to follow in my footsteps. A boy with baking in his blood.’
Rolling her eyes, affectionately, Audrey let Charlie dream about the son he’d always wanted, but deep down, she feared she would never fall pregnant and that adopting Mary was the closest they would ever get to being parents. Besides, she loved little Mary with all her heart. Charlie would come to accept that and love her just as much in time too.
* * *
Clutching the ankle of her precious but tatty porcelain and cloth doll in one hand, its hair skimming the floorboards as it hung upside down, Mary stood outside the kitchen door, hardly daring to breathe.
She’d heard every word Charlie had said with such clarity – it was as if he had been shouting through a megaphone. Involuntarily, as she stared at the closed dark brown door, Mary’s teeth chattered, despite it being a warm night and being dressed in a warm nightgown. Thoughts of her dead brother, Edward, her mother and father besieged her. Was Audrey now going to desert her too? Charlie’s words repeated in her mind: It’s a lot of work for you, Audrey, taking on a stranger’s child. Mary’s a sweet girl, but she’s not our own flesh and blood… I dream of having a son to follow in my footsteps. A boy with baking in his blood.
Moving her hand to the doorknob, the blood drained from her face as she felt warm liquid on her leg and noticed a small puddle on the floor, near her right foot. Blazing with embarrassment as she chastised herself for not realising she needed the privy, she quickly found some sheets of newspaper from the table in the corridor and mopped up the mess.
‘Stupid Mary!’ she hissed to herself, freezing when she heard noises in the kitchen.
‘Mary?’ she heard Audrey’s voice from within the kitchen. ‘Is that you out there?’
A big part of her wanted to burst into the kitchen and rush into Audrey’s arms, which were always warm and welcoming and topped with her smiling face, but the other part of her knew she should make a plan. Charlie didn’t want Mary. He wanted a son, born with baking in his blood – not one that had blown in from the slum district of London like a discarded paper bag.
Whispering her dead brother’s name, Edward, Mary tried to conjure him up, right there and then in the corridor, and for a second, she thought she saw a ghostly movement in the shadows. Sometimes she felt she saw him, and those sightings always made her feel better. He would come with her, wherever she had to go next. He would help guide her when she had packed up her bag, collected her rabbit and stole away from the bakery. A tremor ran through her when the door opened and the light from the kitchen spilled into the corridor, illuminating Audrey.
‘Mary, sweetheart, can’t you sleep?’ said Audrey, resting her hands on her shoulders.
The little girl gazed up at Audrey and shook her head, scrunching the damp newspaper up behind her. Audrey’s eyes skittered from floor to newspaper, and Mary crossed her fingers in the hope that she hadn’t noticed the accident.
‘Never mind,’ was all Audrey said, holding her hand and leading her up to bed, before tucking her in. ‘Chin up,’ she said, as always, and Mary lifted her chin. ‘Chin down,’ she said, neatly tucking the sheet under her chin.
I’ll miss this, thought Mary, as her heart ached with thinking about what she would do next. She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she could survive a whole night all by herself. Those babies in the convalescent home had managed it, she thought, so she could too.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘Where did the time go?’ Audrey asked Charlie, as she packed up a parcel of provisions for him to take, as he prepared to return to active service. Two doorstep sandwiches, a gingerbread cake and two fruit buns would keep him going, she thought, handing him the parcel. Knitted socks from Pat were in there too, as well as a new shaving stick. If Audrey had been able, she would have put everything he loved in there: the gramophone, the view of Southbourne beach, his chair by the fire, where he rested briefly on a Sunday afternoon, the fat seagull he called Captain and threw scraps of bread to. Herself.
Charlie and Audrey were in the kitchen after the bakery closed, with the window open to a beautiful view of the Overcliff and the sea beyond. Steeped in golden sunlight, that scenery was the backdrop to life in the bakery and both of them loved it dearly. Since he’d been home on leave, Audrey had seen her husband staring out at the view and sensed he was internalising it, perhaps so that when he was in the battlefields, he could visit home in his mind.
‘You blink and it’s over,’ she added, quietly batting away the tears threatening to fall, finding a teacup to take over to the sink and wash up.
Watching her husband polish his boots with a brush, the small tin of boot polish open and emanating a clean, crisp smell, Audrey’s heart contracted. She longed for Charlie to reach over to her and put his arms around her, whisper comfort and reassurances in her ear, tell her when he would next be home, but she knew he wasn’t able. He would never admit it
, but this parting was impossibly painful for him too. She could read the fear on his face, see it in the slight tremble in his fingers as he cleaned his shoes. Knowing this truth about him, she resolved to stifle the anxiety and sense of foreboding that had been threatening to consume her the whole day. Flo’s words rang out in her head: Some husbands never come home.
‘I’m not convinced the Vienna rolls are perfect today,’ Charlie said, finishing cleaning his boots but not meeting Audrey’s eye.
‘No?’ said Audrey, too quickly. ‘What do you think went wrong then?’
‘I think we proved the dough for too long,’ he said. ‘They’ve not risen quite how they should – William needs to watch out for that. The boy needs to pay attention, he does seem distracted. Oh, I’ve got pins and needles in my leg!’
‘Stamp it out, love,’ she said, demonstrating with her right leg. ‘Like this.’
Charlie watched her with a quizzical expression on his face. ‘I know how to stamp, Audrey love,’ he said, one side of his mouth twitching slightly as if he wanted to laugh. She stopped and blushed. ‘Come here, you daft thing,’ he said.
Audrey approached him with her arms outstretched and the two of them stood, leaning against one another, unspeaking, just being together for the last time in who knew how long.
‘So, are you going to say a proper goodbye this time?’ asked Audrey, still leaning against Charlie’s chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat. ‘I could get everyone up here and we could raise a toast to you, Charlie, for love and luck. It’s a shame you won’t be here for William and Elsie’s wedding.’
He rested his hands on her shoulders and held her away so he could look her in the eye and shook his head. She shook her hair back over her shoulders.
‘I can’t say goodbye and I don’t want to,’ he said, kissing her gently on the lips. ‘I’d rather just slip off, as if I was going out on deliveries, or up to see the miller, as if this was just an ordinary day.’
Choking on his words and letting his hands drop, he collected his bag, his food parcel and moved towards the kitchen door. Words of desperation bubbled up inside Audrey and, in her mind’s eye, she imagined herself flinging her arms around Charlie and not letting him go. Instead, she took deep breaths and ordered herself to be still.
‘Keep an eye on the bread, love,’ he said, winking at her. ‘The inside should be springy to touch, the crust, golden brown. Just as it should be.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on the bread,’ she said, smiling, forbidding the tears from falling.
Listening to him walk down the stairs and go out onto the street, she moved quickly to the window, where she watched him stride down the street, kitbag over his shoulder. Longing for him to turn around one last time, before he went out of view, tears sprang from her eyes when, at the corner of the road, he did so. She smiled and raised her hand in reply, before letting it fall as she watched him disappear from sight.
Some husbands never come back.
* * *
Turning away from the window, Audrey nervously twiddled her wedding ring up and down her finger. Glancing around the kitchen, she decided she should give the floor a thoroughly good clean, but just as quickly as the idea came, it evaporated. Standing on a chair and looking at the plates and pots on the top of the dresser, she decided to dust them all, but after lifting one plate, her motivation slipped. She sighed and, climbing down from the chair, picked up the shoe polish tin, breathing in the astringent scent, allowing herself a quick cry, before wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Pull yourself together, Audrey,’ she muttered, thinking of all the other women, just like her, whose husbands, sons and brothers were away on the front line. Finding courage in the thought of their courage, she made a mental list of what needed to be done. Mary would be home from school soon – expecting dinner – and hadn’t she promised the girl she’d show her the cake toppers that she might use on Elsie and William’s celebration cake?
Checking her pocket watch, she frowned: Mary should have been back by now, even if she had been blackberry picking in the hedgerows again. Popping her head out the open window, she glanced out into the yard to check if she was petting her rabbit, but the yard was empty. In the distance, she could see William helping John spread the coal ash on the neighbourhood gardens that had been turned over to vegetable growing, but there was no sign of Mary with them either.
‘That is strange,’ said Audrey to herself as she left the kitchen, checked Mary’s empty bedroom and concentrated on trying to work out where the little girl might be, a tangle of worries tying her stomach in knots. Had she been so involved with Charlie leaving she’d forgotten where Mary was?
Searching the Anderson air-raid shelter, followed by the bakehouse, the storeroom and the flour loft, Audrey lifted her skirt a little and navigated her way across the vegetable patch to where William and John were working. Both men stood up to greet her, William wiping his brow with the side of his hand.
‘Charlie gone, ’as ’e?’ said John, leaning on his spade.
‘Yes, he’s gone,’ said Audrey, trying not to show her emotion. ‘He wanted to go quietly – you know how he is. John, William, have you seen Mary? I can’t find her anywhere. She should have been back home by now for her tea.’
The two men shook their heads and, spotting Lily pushing Joy in her pram coming into the yard, Audrey ran over to her, asking if she’d seen Mary. Lily hadn’t seen her either, and with her heart now pounding in panic, Audrey rubbed her forehead.
‘Have you tried the hedgerows near the river?’ said Lily. ‘I’ve seen her with some children sometimes picking blackberries there – there’s such a glut this year. Shall we go and look? We’ll come with you.’
Audrey, Lily and Joy went quickly to the banks of the River Stour, where an overgrown path led from the bridge at Christchurch to Hengistbury Head. The light fading a little as storm clouds gathered on the horizon, they headed towards the blackberry bushes, where some children could be seen picking.
‘Mary!’ called Audrey as they walked, her panic rising, and then turning to Lily, ‘You know she can’t swim. I told her I’d teach her to swim in the river, since the sea was out of bounds, but I’ve been that busy, I’ve not got around to it.’
Audrey suddenly felt crushed by self-doubt. Maybe she wasn’t looking after Mary as well as she should be. Maybe she wasn’t good enough to adopt the child after all! Being entrusted with the welfare of an evacuee was a big responsibility, and some local women she knew had failed miserably at the task, doing nothing but complain. One local woman had even been fined five pounds for pretending to have an evacuee and obtaining, under false pretences with intent to defraud the evacuee authorities, ten pairs of curtains, a bedstead, two overlays, a bolster and other bits and pieces! Perhaps Audrey was just as bad.
‘This is all my fault,’ she said, biting her bottom lip. ‘What with the repairs on the bakery and Charlie coming home for a few days, I’ve been ignoring Mary, haven’t I? Just when she’s needed me most.’
She felt her throat thicken and she gulped, hating the thought that she might have neglected Mary.
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said Lily. ‘Maybe she’s just stayed out too long with the other children. Let’s look down here.’
‘Mary!’ they called together, walking along the riverbank but finding nothing and nobody, before Lily had another idea.
‘What about the Overcliff?’ she said. ‘Maybe she’s gone down to the beach – she likes it down there. She might just be looking for lizards.’
‘Yes,’ said Audrey, frowning, then forcing herself to smile. ‘Perhaps she’s there looking for lizards and it’ll be nothing more complicated than that.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
The light was fading by the time Audrey and Lily arrived at the beach, the orange sun hanging low in the sky and partially concealed by clouds. Though the flat and silver sea looked calm, she knew there were dangerous currents beneath the surface that coul
d drag a person under and carry them off, miles down the coast. With no sign of Mary on the beach or on the promenade, Audrey shivered with fear. What if she’d entered the water and gone in too deep?
‘I just can’t think what’s happened to her,’ she said to Lily, chewing the inside of her cheek, deep frown lines across her forehead. ‘She knows not to go in the water, but what if she did? Or what if she walked a different way home from school and got lost, or is laying injured somewhere? She’ll be hungry and thirsty by now and I bet she doesn’t have anything warm with her. What if the air-raid siren goes off? She’ll be petrified, poor lamb. Oh, Lily, I don’t know what to do! If only Charlie were here.’
Since Charlie had gone off to fight, Audrey had discovered that she could manage very well on her own, but now, with Mary vanished and after having had him home for a few days, she wished more than ever that her husband was here. While fear and anxiety was muddling her thoughts, his sensible, logical approach was just what she needed. For a moment, she felt she might collapse onto the sand in tears, but she took a deep breath and pulled herself together: Mary couldn’t have gone too far. Lily put her arm around Audrey’s shoulders and hugged her.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Perhaps she’s back at the bakery now. Should we go back, in case she is? She might be wondering where we are and waiting for her dinner!’
‘You go,’ said Audrey. ‘And if she’s there come and find me. I’ll walk a bit further, just in case she’s here somewhere. I need to find her before it gets any darker. We know only too well how dangerous blackout can be – and she’s not wearing anything white.’
Audrey watched Lily walk up the zig-zag path, back towards the bakery, hoping she was right, and that Mary would be at home, but something told her that she wasn’t. Briskly walking further, towards Hengistbury Head, she passed the ugly sea defences and rolls of barbed wire, her fear increasing with every step. ‘Mary!’ she called out as she walked, ‘Mary!’, but her calls were only met with the screech of a lone seagull, swooping overhead.