The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Oh, we were far too busy for that sort of thing.’ Bunty picked up the photographs and stacked them neatly. Something in her face seemed to shut down. ‘Anyway, that’s enough nonsense from me for one day. You don’t want me droning on about the past.’

  And she stood up. It was clear to Lucy that the conversation was closed. It was strange – there were moments when Bunty seemed to want to let the stories from the past out, but then – there was so much that had happened in the past, and her memory wasn’t what it was. Perhaps it was tiring just remembering it all.

  ‘Hello?’

  There were footsteps in the hall, and a dark head popped round the kitchen door. Bunty brightened immediately. ‘Ah, hello!’

  ‘Hi, Bunty. Oh, and hi, Lucy,’ Sam added when he spotted that Bunty had a guest. ‘Have you recovered from the Abba extravaganza?’ He stepped into the kitchen. He was so tall that his head was close to skimming the wooden beams on the low ceiling.

  ‘I have.’ She wondered how much Mel had told him about their evening when she went back to his house after the pub. ‘Did the girls enjoy their sleepover?’

  He laughed, ducking his head and pushing his hair back from his face, looking at her with his dark brown eyes. She noticed a fan of lines at the corner of each eye – a nice sign, Lucy thought, of someone who doesn’t take life too seriously.

  ‘Wasn’t much sleep involved, but yes. I ended up being cornered into making bacon rolls for them and Mel when she turned up. You should have joined us. Wouldn’t have been any trouble to make an extra one.’

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin and yawned widely. ‘God, sorry. I’ve been working all hours trying to get this project finished, and it’s taking forever.’

  ‘Sam, you should show Lucy what you’ve been up to.’ Bunty looked proud. ‘He’s been working on something for Janet in the village. Janet and Mick foster a number of children with disabilities – they’re a lovely family.’

  ‘What are you making for them?’ Mel had explained that the hedgehog houses were something Sam did on the side, but Lucy was still in the dark about what he actually did for a living. She didn’t like to pry, not least because she didn’t want Mel thinking she was interested – which she definitely wasn’t. But when he’d parked across the road, she’d managed to make out a painting of pine trees though the thick layer of mud that covered the side of his Land Rover. A tree surgeon, perhaps?

  ‘I’m building a treehouse.’

  ‘Go on – take her to see it now,’ said Bunty, firmly. ‘I’ve had enough of going over the past, and I want to get on with the crossword.’

  ‘I – oh, what about Hamish?’

  Hamish, having got over his initial (and in Lucy’s view completely acceptable) fear of Stanley, was asleep on a rug beside the Aga.

  ‘He’s absolutely fine here. Off you pop, you two, and give an old woman some peace.’

  ‘I came to ask if Freya could come over later and help with the animals.’ Sam rolled his eyes at Lucy. ‘She’s still in bed.’

  ‘She’s fourteen. It’s what young people do these days.’

  ‘You’re the expert,’ he said, smiling at Bunty. ‘I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. Daughters are a lot harder work than I expected.’

  ‘Shoo, both of you.’ Bunty waved them out the door, closing it firmly behind them.

  She waited until they’d walked along the lane and were well out of sight before she turned back to the kitchen table. Amongst the photograph albums, thick with dust, was her old, battered diary. She wiped it with her sleeve, looking at the familiar rough material, running a finger over it. Then she picked it up, closing her eyes, and inhaled, as if somehow she might soak up the memory of the girl she’d been back then. It was strange – it had been sitting there untouched for so many years, but talking to Lucy had brought it all back. Memories seemed to be popping into her head at the most inconvenient of times. Perhaps if she just had a look . . .

  She opened the pages. The ink had faded with time, and her writing, although still familiar, was girlish and rounded. Lucy was desperate to hear all about her war, but – Bunty leafed through the pages – there were stories in there that had been locked away for more than seventy years.

  Turning the pages, she looked down at an entry she’d written with a pen that had run out of ink halfway through. It started in black and ended in faded sepia. Gosh, she could remember that day as if it was yesterday – it was the day it all began. She’d settled into life at Mrs Brown’s and the routine of cycling the three miles out of the village to work each day. And then . . .

  August 13th, 1941

  Such a lovely night. I don’t even mind one bit that I’m going to be falling asleep all day tomorrow. We went to the beetle drive at the village hall. I wore Milly’s green dress and borrowed her pretty crochet cardigan, and wore my silver and blue brooch. Even though my stockings had a darn in the toe that rubbed all night I didn’t notice, because there was such a handsome Canadian pilot there with his friend. They were at the table next to ours and his friend kept making little asides that had us in stitches all night. But mine (ha!) was quieter – a bit shy, I thought.

  Anyway, Milly whispered that he was making eyes at me and when I went to spend a penny he turned and said hello. I smiled and said hello back but kept on walking, because Milly says ‘keep them on their toes’. But when they moved the tables at the end and put some music on the gramophone, his friend came and asked me if I’d like to dance with him. I said he could ask me himself if he wanted to. I thought I might have pushed my luck then, because he didn’t.

  I danced right past him with Milly and she couldn’t help but giggle, and he caught my eye for a moment then looked away with a little smile. Afterwards, I had to wait because Milly left her glove inside and he came up and said he didn’t much like dancing, but if I wanted to go for a walk sometime, he’d like that. And then he and his friend walked me and Milly home. He’s called Harry – I’ve always rather liked that name. Then Milly went inside, and we stood outside on the village green by the telephone box talking until almost midnight. He’s stationed at the aerodrome, where he’s teaching chaps how to fly Blenheims. He asked me to a dance there next Friday evening. I can’t believe it. Oh my goodness. I don’t think I could sleep tonight even if I wanted to. I’m just going to lie here and relive it over and over again.

  Bunty closed her eyes for a moment, putting a hand to her chest. That breathless, excited girl she’d been. It felt like more than a lifetime ago – as if she was someone else. She picked up the diary and held it to her face, inhaling as if somehow she’d be able to breathe in the freshness and excitement she’d felt back then. War had seemed like an adventure to them – even rationing didn’t really affect them in the same way as it had back home in Walthamstow. There were fresh eggs, and butter, and home-baked bread for breakfast every day. She had missed her sister and even her parents – her mother wrote every week, telling her how they’d dug over the garden and planted cabbages, and how Dad had made a chicken run and next door’s dog had got in and bitten the head off one and they’d had it for the pot that evening. But even the nights when the ARP warden’s whistle went off and they had to hide in the shelter felt exciting – especially if she made sure she wasn’t next to one of the old fuddy-duddies from the village. They’d play cards and tell stories and sing songs and listen for the roar of the planes overhead.

  The village was never hit, thankfully. There were a couple of near misses, mind you – like the time they’d overshot their mark and dropped something in a field, killing three heifers. And oh, the calamity when Mr George’s greenhouses were hit by a stray bomb! He was mourning the loss of his tomatoes for months. It had been years later that one of her friends in the village had told her all about the dummy airstrip, designed to fool the Germans. She chuckled to herself. There were some parts of the war that had felt like an adventure. Perhaps she’d show Lucy, after all.

  But could she really trust her with the truth a
bout what had happened back then? She had kept it to herself for all these years. Was there any reason to share it now?

  ‘Bunty doesn’t mess about when she’s had enough, does she?’ Lucy observed as they walked down the garden path.

  Sam gave a rueful smile. ‘I think she’s earned the right to have no filter. When I’m her age, I’m going to speak my mind all the time.’

  ‘It’s funny, we were having a lovely chat about her war – she was actually starting to open up – and she just decided that she’d had enough.’

  ‘That sounds like her. She’s a bit of a dark horse, our Bunty.’

  The air was filled with the scent of the roses that curled round the door of Bunty’s cottage. They both stepped back as a string of vintage cars appeared out of nowhere and processed slowly down the lane.

  ‘Oh, those are beautiful.’

  ‘There’s a festival somewhere near here this weekend. They all drive through the villages en masse. Gorgeous, aren’t they?’

  ‘Amazing.’

  A shining, dark green Rolls-Royce brought up the rear. Its owner doffed his cap and gave a honk of the horn as he passed them.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, I’m sorry Bunty’s tried to palm me off on you. Don’t worry, I’ve got loads of work to do.’

  ‘I’m not worried.’ Sam thrust his hands into his pockets and stood facing her. He cocked his head and smiled. ‘Come on, it’s a gorgeous day. Too nice for work. I’ll show you what I’ve been up to. Maybe you can give me some parenting tips.’

  ‘Me? I don’t have any children!’ Lucy fell into step beside him.

  ‘No, but you’ve had loads of experience teaching whole classes full of them. Freya has been dead easy until recently, but these last few weeks she’s just been glued to her phone. I worry about it.’

  Freya seemed pretty easy-going to Lucy. She had a good friendship with Camille, Mel’s daughter, which was always a good start. Having someone to confide in made all the difference, especially when her mother didn’t seem to be around.

  ‘Adolescence hits them all in different ways. I think thirteen/fourteen is the hardest time. They’re still quite little, really, but they’re under all sorts of pressure to grow up.’ They stopped for a moment to let a tractor rumble past. The driver gave them a friendly wave and then turned in to a field up ahead. As they carried on walking Lucy watched him climb out of the cab and lean against the wheel, taking out his phone and making a call. It seemed strangely incongruous against the timeless background of rolling fields.

  ‘Even farmers are permanently online. No wonder I can’t get Freya off her blooming phone,’ Sam laughed, following her gaze.

  They turned left, down a narrow lane lined with trees. The road was a single track, banked with grassy verges and dappled with sunlight.

  ‘It’s down here. It’s not far.’ Sam stepped behind her so they were walking in single file on the road.

  ‘From what I’ve seen, Freya seems pretty laid-back to me.’

  ‘Yeah, she has been. Y’know, it’s hard when you’re doing it all yourself to know if you’re doing an all right job of it. I mean, it’s not like her mum’s around . . .’

  ‘You’ve got Mel, though,’ Lucy said, without thinking. She didn’t want to sound as if she was fishing for information.

  ‘Yeah, Mel’s a good mate. But it’s not the same as having her mum.’

  ‘No. Mel mentioned Freya’s mum isn’t really on the scene.’

  The road widened, and he stepped up to walk alongside her again. His arm brushed hers and she felt a little rush of warmth that seemed to blossom and fill her chest. God, she was so out of practice at being in the company of men that her body had clearly lost all sense of perspective. She must get a grip.

  Sam shook his head. ‘No, she most definitely is not. Motherhood wasn’t ever really on the agenda for Stella. I dunno what made me think we could make it work.’

  ‘How does Freya feel?’ This was more like it – back on familiar ground. Lucy had seen her fair share of kids who had absent parents, and knew that a lot of how they coped depended on how the parents coped.

  ‘She’s been fine. Although she did ask me a question about her mum the other night, and I didn’t know what to say. I clammed up. Now I can’t get near the subject because I handled it so badly. I’ve tried a couple of times, but she just goes silent on me – says she doesn’t want to talk about it.’

  He opened a heavy wooden five-barred gate. ‘This is us. Sorry, I don’t mean to offload all my woes on you.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Lucy smiled at him. Butterflies hovered around the lavender and rose bushes that lined the driveway. ‘Won’t they mind you bringing me along?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No.’ He opened another heavy metal gate, typing in a code. ‘They’ve got a place down in Minehead. The whole gang of them are away for the week. Janet’s amazing. She just loads them all in their minibus and off they go.’

  ‘It’s very high-security, isn’t it? Like Fort Knox.’

  ‘They get their fair share of tricky children, so they have to make sure the kids can’t run away. She works wonders with them. It’s why I wanted to do this – give something back.’

  Lucy followed him down a neatly mown grass path that had been strimmed through a meadow seeded with long grasses and wildflowers. The air was heavy with the lazy humming of bees and the scent of flowers. It made her feel drowsy, as if she could lie down and have a rest herself. Sam’s back was broad in his grey t-shirt, she noticed, and narrowed into a slim waist and a very nice bum in faded jeans – she shook her head. God. The heat was getting to her.

  ‘Here we are.’ He turned and looked at her. She felt her cheeks turn pink, as if he’d been reading her mind.

  Standing at the edge of a field full of tall ox-eye daisies and blue forget-me-nots was a broad oak tree with wide branches. It supported a beautifully crafted ladder, leading up to a treehouse that looked like something from a fairy tale.

  ‘You go first.’ He stepped back, waving an arm in an old-fashioned flourish.

  Lucy climbed the ladder, her heart thudding against her ribs – she hated heights. It’s only a six-foot drop, she told herself. She clung onto the side of the railing. It felt secure, at least.

  ‘You okay?’ Sam’s voice came from behind her.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded breathless. She climbed the final rung onto a little platform, and stepped into the most beautiful treehouse. The walls were hung with tiny, sparkling fairy lights and a window looked out to the rolling countryside beyond the village, which looked just like something from a picture book. She felt Sam’s presence just behind her and turned, crashing into the solid wall of his chest.

  ‘God, sorry.’ Her heart was still thudding.

  ‘It’s not quite finished.’ He looked at her with concern. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  Lucy sat down on a wooden chair. ‘Fine. Just a bit –’

  ‘You don’t like heights?’ He squatted down, looking her in the eye. ‘You should have said.’

  ‘It didn’t really occur to me. I mean, it’s not like standing on top of the Empire State Building.’

  ‘Yeah, that wouldn’t be a great idea if you don’t like heights.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ She laughed. ‘Going up that thing was the most terrifying hour of my life.’

  ‘What? You’ve been up the Empire State Building?’

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a shudder of recollection. ‘With my friend Anna. It was awful, I couldn’t even make it out onto the viewing platform. Did you know you have to queue to get back on the lift to get down?’

  ‘They don’t have an emergency exit, you mean?’ He was teasing.

  ‘No.’ Lucy made a face which made him laugh. ‘Honestly, it was hideous.’

  ‘This is nothing in comparison, then.’ He held out a hand, and helped her up. ‘Look, I’ll stand beside you and you can look through the binoculars from the peg, here. If you look to the right and focus, you’ll
see Helen’s house.’

  Lucy took a deep breath and held the binoculars to her eyes. She could feel the warmth of his arm through the loose cotton of her top.

  Sam touched her hand and moved the binoculars slightly. ‘Try that way – left a bit. Look closely and you might see Helen bossing David around. She’s probably schooling him in the paddock.’

  Lucy snorted with laughter, her fear now forgotten.

  ‘Oh, yes, there they are –’

  ‘And does she have a lunge whip and boots out?’

  Lucy burst out laughing. They were tiny little figures, but there was no mistaking Helen. ‘No, she’s standing at the bottom of a ladder and he’s at the top, and she’s waving her arm around in a very authoritative manner.’

  ‘Of course she is.’

  She shifted her gaze, looking out over the village. If she twisted the focus she could see – there it was – the church and the horse-chestnut trees, already laden with tiny, spiked fruit that would become conkers after summer had passed. She lowered the binoculars and turned to Sam.

  ‘I think Helen’s heart is in the right place, don’t you? I mean, she was really nice about asking me to join in with village stuff the moment I got here.’

  ‘Oh, definitely. And every village needs a Helen, or nothing would get done. Has she helped with your war research stuff? Mel was saying you’ve gone from planning to do something on your own, to getting roped into helping with the WI guidebook or something?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, Susan asked me help write something for the village WI’s eightieth anniversary.’

  He rolled his eyes and laughed. ‘And she cornered you, I bet, so you couldn’t say no.’

  ‘She did a bit. But it all ties in with the bit of history I’m interested in – the little everyday stories that don’t always get written about.’

  ‘It sounds good when you put it like that. I might have paid attention in class if I’d had a history teacher like you.’

  He gave her a sideways look which made her stomach flip over.

  ‘I’m very strict, actually.’ She said it without thinking and started laughing at exactly the same time as Sam did.