by Amy Miller
* * *
Returning home with sore feet and aching legs, Audrey found Lily, John and William sitting at the kitchen table. They all looked at her with expectant, anxious faces, clearly hoping to see Mary. Audrey shook her head and walked over to the window, staring out.
‘She wasn’t anywhere,’ said Audrey. ‘What shall we do? Should I go to the police station and speak to an officer?’
John poured Audrey a cup of weak tea and patted the chair next to him. ‘Come and sit here, love, and have a cup of tea and a slice of bread and jam,’ he said.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t eat,’ said Audrey.
‘Do as I say, young lady,’ said John. ‘You wait here and gather your strength, while I go out looking for her. William will take care of the ovens until I’m back. I’ll ask Old Reg to telephone the police station.’
Audrey slowly sat down and John rested his hands on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze.
‘She’ll be back,’ he said gently. ‘She wouldn’t be without you, now, Audrey. You’re a mother to her, make no mistake.’
Audrey patted John’s hand in thanks, and gulped back the tears that were threatening to fall. John’s words were true – she had become a mother to Mary and she loved the little girl with her whole heart. She realised it now with crystal clarity – she didn’t need to have a baby of her own, she had Mary.
‘I just love that little girl so much,’ she said falteringly. ‘As if she was my own.’
When the others had left, Audrey stayed in the kitchen, pacing the floorboards and straining to think where Mary might be, stopping dead every time there was a noise. By the middle of the night, her eyes were almost closing and, resting her head on her arms at the kitchen table for a moment, she briefly fell to sleep. Waking with a start minutes later, the silence in the bakery filled her with empty dread and she cried, longing for Mary to be found, or to come home.
‘Oh, I can’t sit here any longer!’ she said to the empty kitchen. Grabbing her torch, she told William, who was in the bakehouse, that she was going out to search again near the river, where the boats were.
‘But—’ he started, a panicked expression on his face.
‘I’ll not be told otherwise,’ she said, marching off before he could say anything else.
Walking towards the river, where the weeping willows rustled in the breeze, Audrey’s heart jumped in her chest when she saw a flash of torchlight in the near distance. Running towards it, she stopped dead when she realised it was the man from the Home Guard, on night patrol, who had found Joy in her pram on the beach months before.
‘Where are you going?’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be out. You’re not wearing white and you don’t even have your gas mask with you! Don’t I recognise you?’
‘I’m looking for my little girl, Mary,’ said Audrey, stuttering. ‘She didn’t come home after school.’
‘Now I know who you are!’ he said. ‘You’re from the bakery, with that other young lady who left her baby on the beach! You’re not very good with losing your littl’uns! You should take more care, madam!’
‘Oh, do be quiet, old man!’ Audrey snapped. ‘I love my family more than I can possibly say and I’d do anything for them. Now let me past, so I can check the quay. It’s the one place I haven’t checked.’
‘I better come with you,’ he said.
Audrey shrugged, wishing he would just go away, as he huffed and puffed beside her, trying to keep up with her pace.
When they’d walked further along the river, much further than she’d walked with Lily, Audrey shone her torch over a group of three rowing boats bobbing on the water, moored near to the riverbank. One was covered in tarpaulin, which she felt sure moved.
‘Shh,’ she said, stopping and pointing at the boat. ‘I’m sure it moved.’
Audrey strained to focus on the ancient-looking rowing boat, not knowing what to expect. What if it was the enemy? Heart in mouth, she called out Mary’s name in a quivering voice. Moments later, Mary’s little head poked out from under the tarpaulin and, when Audrey shone the torch directly into her face, she froze like a rabbit in headlights. A wave of relief and anger washed over Audrey as she marched closer to the rowing boat. Thoughts and images of what might have happened took her breath away. The girl could have drowned, or drifted away and out to sea, all alone in the darkness.
‘Mary!’ she said. ‘Come out of there at once!’
‘No, I shan’t!’ shouted Mary, grabbing one of the oars and trying to push the boat away from the edge. Audrey was taken aback. It was probably the first time the child had defied her – she was normally such an obedient and sweet little thing.
The old man, from the Home Guard, muttered under his breath and waded into the water. He pulled Mary from the boat and carried her, kicking and screaming, onto the riverbank.
‘Now look here, young lady, just you stop kicking…’ he started, setting her down, but she pushed him so hard, he stumbled backwards.
‘Mary!’ said Audrey. ‘Stop it at once.’
‘I’m not coming home!’ Mary shouted. ‘I’m never coming back!’
She started to run away from Audrey, through the bulrushes, but Audrey was quick to react and soon caught her up, grabbing the little girl’s arm.
‘Let go of me!’ Mary screamed, but Audrey didn’t let go. Instead, she clung to Mary for dear life, wrapping her arms around her frame and pulling her close to her.
‘Calm down, Mary,’ soothed Audrey. ‘Calm down and tell me what you’re doing here. Were you running away? Has something upset you?’
She had a sudden flashback to the evening she’d found Mary outside the kitchen. Had she overheard Charlie talking about her?
Mary, who had stopped struggling, started to cry and enormous fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘Tell me what the reason is,’ said Audrey. ‘You can say whatever you like, it won’t matter because I’ll still love you.’
With her lips wobbling, Mary spoke: ‘I heard Charlie say I was hard work and that he wanted a son of his own to follow in his footsteps and be a baker,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t really want me either – you’re just being nice. Nobody wants me. That’s why everyone I love has disappeared.’
Audrey’s heart broke into a million pieces. Poor child, she thought, she doesn’t believe that I love her. Taking a deep breath, she wanted to say something that would leave her in no doubt she was loved.
‘In my mind, you are my daughter,’ said Audrey. ‘I’m not leaving you and you’re not leaving me, we’re in this together. To tell you the truth, Mary dear, I can’t have babies, and so Charlie’s dream of a son is just a dream. I would have set him straight, but he’s got to go off to fight in the horrible war, and I didn’t want to crush his dreams. Sometimes dreams help keep us going, don’t they? Now, why don’t you come home? Your rabbit will be wondering where you’ve got to.’
After mulling over Audrey’s words, Mary seemed visibly relieved. The old man from the Home Guard lifted his hand in dismissal and stormed off, leaving Audrey and Mary together. The sky was beginning to lighten and birds were beginning to sing – Audrey’s thoughts flew to the bakery.
‘It’s almost morning,’ she said. ‘We need to get back, my love.’
‘What about the bread?’ Mary asked, as if reading her mind. ‘Have I ruined the bread order? We need to get back to the ovens so you can put the rock cakes in.’
‘You see,’ said Audrey, folding her arms across her chest and grinning, ‘you’re going to make a fantastic little baker one day. There’s no doubt about that. Later on I’ll write and tell Charlie as much.’
And Audrey stayed true to her word. Yawning with exhaustion after a sleepless night, later that day she sat down at the kitchen table and wrote the longest letter she’d written to Charlie since he’d left. She told him that Mary was one of the family now and that she would never let her go. The bakery family, though unusual in shape and size, was what he should keep in mind when he was i
n battle. That she loved him and missed him more than there were words to describe. That he could rest assured that the Barton’s bread was light and porous as ever, the crust golden and crisp. Just as it should be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Hold still,’ said Violet to Elsie, as she fastened up her borrowed wedding dress. ‘It looks like you’ve lost a few pounds since last year – this is loose on you. Perhaps I should take it in a bit? You want to show off your lovely figure on your wedding day, be the belle of the ball.’
Standing barefoot on a chair in her mother’s living room, in front of a roaring fire, Elsie flicked her black curls out of the way, and twisted round to see how much spare fabric Violet had pinched in her fingertips. It wasn’t enough to make a visible difference. After wearing her ‘clippies’ uniform all day, every day, consisting of slacks and jacket, this dress was feminine enough.
Her little sister June peered up from behind a book she was reading, a leaf from a beech tree that she used as a bookmark falling out and fluttering to the rug, where she sat cross-legged, humming, ‘Here Comes the Bride’.
‘No, Mother, it’ll be fine,’ said Elsie irritably. ‘It’s only a small do, nobody will notice. Be quiet, June!’
June stopped humming and put her nose back in her book.
‘And what will you wear for warmth?’ Violet said. ‘It’s autumn now, you’ll be shivering if you go without a jacket or coat. I have that fur stole you could borrow, or perhaps you could wear a cloak until you get in the church? And what about your hair? Will Maggie be doing it—’
‘Stop fussing!’ interrupted Elsie. ‘I’ll wear my overcoat and I’ll put my hair up myself. I have a little bit of lipstick left and some powder. I don’t want a lot of fuss, Mother, you know that.’
She climbed down off the chair and sat on a chair near the fire, tucking her feet under her bottom, and stared into the embers. Without saying anything, Violet took off her spectacles and came to sit next to Elsie, resting her hand on her daughter’s arm.
‘What is it, love?’ she said. ‘There’s something on your mind, I know it. Is it that your father is away? I know, I miss him terribly and I can’t wait for the day he’s returned home. Or is it something else, probably just nerves?’
Elsie stared at the engagement ring on her finger for a long moment, before lifting her head and meeting her mother’s concerned gaze. Her creamy complexion and rosy cheeks shone in the firelight, and she radiated a natural beauty few girls had.
‘How can I be sure he loves me?’ she asked quietly. ‘He was so distant when he first came home. Even though he says he wants nothing more than to marry me, how can I be sure? There’s something he’s hiding from me, I’m sure of it.’
She thought of the times she’d popped into the bakery and, despite him now working hard in the bakehouse with John, and being more affectionate towards her, William sometimes drifted off into his own troubled world.
Violet sat back in her chair, stretching out her legs in front of her and linking her fingers across her stomach. ‘Do you love him?’ she asked, to which Elsie nodded, in an ‘of course I do’ sort of way. Violet smiled. ‘Marriage isn’t just about loving each other. It’s about understanding, not always easy with menfolk, but he’s clearly been suffering,’ she said. ‘And as someone clever once said: “What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?”’
Elsie leaned into her mother’s shoulder and digested her wise words, staring into the fire, watching the flames leap and dance in the grate, her anxiety and nerves dissipating and a feeling of certainty growing in her heart.
* * *
‘I don’t know who it was,’ said Audrey, setting out the ingredients on the kitchen table, ‘it could have been my granny, or it could have been Mrs Simpson for all I know, but someone once said that if a bride ate wedding cake made by a baker with love in his heart, she’d have a long and happy marriage. And if the baker had an empty, cold heart when he mixed the cake ingredients, her marriage would be miserable as sin. I wonder if it made a difference how much she ate?’
Mary, whose hair hung past her shoulders, laughed, while Lily, who was giving Joy the juice squeezed from raw blackcurrants, twisted in her chair to fix Audrey with a quizzical stare.
‘Whatever’s up with you?’ asked Lily, affectionately. ‘You’ve lost leave of your senses!’
‘Wha-at?’ asked Audrey, laughing. ‘I heard that when I was a girl, and that’s the truth of it. Oh, ouch, I have such a headache this evening! Must be a storm brewing.’
‘There you go again with your old wives’ tales,’ said Lily, good-humouredly.
‘In my view there’s none that speak more sense than old wives,’ Audrey grinned and rubbed her temples with her fingertips, waiting for her throbbing head to ease.
She scanned the array of tins and packets of ingredients on the table through narrowed eyes. The wedding was just days away and the customers had talked of little else all day, wanting to wish William and Elsie well, or dropping off small wedding gifts – some of them made from bits and bobs in the home. Mrs Cook had made Elsie a tea cosy out of offcuts of wool, and Mr Newton, the ARP warden, had fashioned a bracelet out of an old silver teaspoon. ‘She can use it to stir her tea while she’s wearin’ it!’ he had quipped when he handed it to a bemused Audrey.
Audrey’s gift would be the food: a spread of cold finger food and, of course, the wedding cake, though, with ingredients now even more scarce and rationing worse than ever, just baking a tasty fruit cake was quite a challenge.
‘Raisins, loganberries, cherries, sultanas and dates,’ she said, tipping the remainder of her dried fruit stocks into a bowl. ‘That’s just about every bit of dried fruit I have left until the next consignment arrives. Mary, could you do the honours with the honey?’
Mary picked up a pot of honey and poured spoons of that into the mixture too, for sweetness, before Audrey handed her grated carrots to add for moisture and gravy browning for colour.
‘Gracious me,’ she said, winking at Mary and thinking of the rich and indulgent, intricately iced celebration cakes she’d made before the war. ‘This wedding cake is going to be unique, I have to admit. Let’s hope it tastes good!’
‘It will,’ said Lily, picking up Joy, who was starting to grizzle. ‘I better get this one upstairs to bed, before she brings the house down.’
But Lily’s dejected expression didn’t go unnoticed and Audrey gently patted her back to make her feel better. She knew that Joy’s crying wore her down, but it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing lasted forever.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Audrey, ‘she’ll grow through it. At least we know she has a good, healthy pair of lungs on her. Why don’t you go up to bed too, Mary?’
Audrey gave Mary a hug and kissed her cheek, conscious that the little girl still needed plenty of reassurance that she was truly loved. When the girls left, William came in and helped himself to a glass of water. While Audrey was finishing off the cake, he sat down on a wooden chair near the fire, his leg outstretched. With his gaze firmly fixed on the flames, he looked deep in thought.
‘Are you well, William?’ Audrey asked, a memory of the conversation she’d overhead, where he had told John he had done some terrible things while away, popping into her head. Was he thinking about that now?
‘There’s been more talk of an invasion this autumn,’ he said, leaning forward to stoke the fire. ‘Churchill has met with Roosevelt, of course, so the Americans are getting involved, but still they warn of invasion. I try to stay positive, but sometimes the news gets the better of me.’
Audrey put the cakes in the range, murmuring her agreement and watching him put down the fire poker out of the corner of her eye. From the expression on his face, she knew he wasn’t in the kitchen to talk about military operations, but of course she would humour him until he was ready to share what was really on his mind. She sat down on a chair next to him, waiting for him to continue.
Pulling his mouth
harp from his pocket, William lifted it to his lips and started to play, but then, after playing a few dud notes, quickly stopped and stuffed it in his pocket with a deep sigh. Audrey opened her mouth to talk to him, but he spoke before she could.
‘I need to tell you something,’ he said, lowering his voice. Audrey nodded once and remained silent, her heartbeat quickening, waiting for him to continue. ‘When I was in France, I made a decision I live to regret.’
She nodded again, biting down on her lip. Still looking straight ahead into the fire, he carried on with his story.
‘I came face-to-face with a German soldier and I should have shot him instantly,’ he said. ‘That’s what we’re trained to do. I had the opportunity to shoot him, but I looked into his eyes and I saw a man just like me, no older than me, probably with a fiancée, like my Elsie, at home. I didn’t shoot him, Sis. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I was too cowardly.’
He pressed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger and sighed a ragged, exhausted sigh, as if the load he was carrying was crushing him with its weight. Though Audrey wanted to get up off the chair and fling her arms around her brother to console him, she sensed there was more to come. What he needed most, she knew, was to get the problem off his chest and for her to listen, but she couldn’t stand for him to be thinking of himself as a coward.
‘That makes you human,’ she said carefully. ‘It doesn’t make you a coward.’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ he interrupted, shaking his head. ‘That soldier, the man I didn’t kill, the man whose life I saved, ran away from me, before turning around and shooting and killing my friend, David. I watched David die in agony and he died because of me. I was helpless and hopeless. I tried to stem his bleeding as he lay there, but nothing I could do helped. I put the thrupenny coin in his palm, the one you gave me for luck – how futile!’