‘She gets good grades anyway, from what I can see.’
‘She does. She’s a smart cookie. Not like me.’
‘Dyslexia doesn’t stop you being smart. Look at the gorgeous treehouses you’ve built. And you work with the boys, giving them a chance in life. And run a business.’
‘Stop, you’re going to make me big-headed.’
‘I’m serious.’ She stopped, lifting her chin and looking up at him.
Her hair was misted with a halo of raindrops and right then, if he could have, he would have leaned over and kissed her. She looked so passionate and so determined, and he realized it would be very easy to fall in love with someone like Lucy, if you were looking. Which – he reminded himself, firmly – he was not. Because whatever she said about cover staff, in a couple of months she was going back to Brighton. She didn’t belong here, and his life and all his roots were very firmly planted in the village.
‘I’ve spent years working with teenagers – boys, usually – who think that they can’t do school, who’ve been written off because they have learning difficulties like dyslexia or challenges at home. And you know what? With love and support, they have all flourished. You need to stop being so hard on yourself and start realizing how amazing you are.’
His heart thudded hard against his ribs and he brushed a lock of wet hair back from his forehead, looking at her.
‘Okay. I will recognize how amazing I am, if you promise me you’ll at least consider going in to Freya’s school to talk about your book stuff. I think it would really inspire them. I’m friends with Dave Hill, who is head of the English department – we went to school together. If I put you in touch, will you give him a shout about going in to talk about your research?’
‘Deal.’ She grinned at him. ‘And now let’s get back. I am soaked, and freezing, and I really, really want a hot bath.’
Sam tried to put the idea of Lucy in a bath out of his head, and fell into step beside her. If nothing else, he told himself firmly, he was lucky to have her as another really good friend.
A couple of weeks passed. As well as transcribing the conversations she’d had, Lucy wrote a potted history of Little Maudley during the war. She managed to weave in quite a bit of the detail Bunty had shared, even though Bunty still didn’t want her story to be officially included in the booklet, and the whole thing was going to the printer’s in Bletchingham shortly. Susan was delighted with how it had turned out.
Lucy had become accustomed to her routine of popping in once a day to see Bunty – it was something that they both enjoyed. Mel was busy with work, but always happy to pop round for a coffee in the afternoon, or to take an evening off to drive to the little independent cinema in Bletchingham to watch a film. Sam too was always busy working during the day, and was rushing to get the snagging done on the luxury treehouse in Lower Maudley before the weather changed, which had caused a hold-up in the finishing of the telephone box library. Lucy’s mornings with Bunty were a time for them to have a chat and for Lucy to pass on all the village news, which Bunty always loved hearing.
‘Helen’s on the warpath about the telephone box delay,’ Lucy explained as they pottered around in the garden, planting tulip bulbs for next spring.
‘Oh dear me,’ chuckled Bunty. ‘I hope Sam’s ready for her.’
‘He told me he’s planning to switch his phone off and not answer the door. I don’t think Helen hears “no” very often.’
‘I shouldn’t think she does. Well, it won’t do her any harm.’ Bunty put the trowel down, having patted the soil on the raised bed back into place. Lucy, who was on her hands and knees, shuffled along on the wet grass, filling in the trench she’d dug.
‘Margaret asked me why I was bothering to plant these, you know.’
Lucy looked up at Bunty, who was removing her gardening gloves carefully, one finger at a time.
‘Doesn’t she like tulips?’
Bunty laughed. ‘No, she said – I promise you, no word of a lie – that she couldn’t see the point of gardening at my age, and didn’t I think it was a waste of time?’
‘My God.’
‘I know. I told her that I had no intention of popping off any time soon, and most certainly not before these tulips have come out. They cost a fortune from the garden centre.’
Lucy giggled. She stood up, arching her back, and looked up at the sky. It was grey again, and threatening rain.
‘I think we’ve got these in just in time. Shall we go and have some lunch?’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea.’
In the kitchen, she busied herself making some cheese sandwiches and heating up a tin of soup for them to share. Bunty sat in the tall chair at the end of the dining table, leafing through the local paper. They ate lunch together in a peaceful silence, chatting occasionally about nothing in particular. It was nice, after all this time, that they’d reached a place where they could be quite comfortable in each other’s company. It was hard to recall quite how cantankerous and difficult Bunty had been when they’d first met back in July.
Once they were finished Lucy cleared the table, and Bunty stood up. She hesitated for a moment, then went across to the dresser and took down the diary from the shelf.
‘I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You know, I’m not going to be around forever, and it struck me that I’d rather like the right of reply. If I’m going to share my story, I’d prefer to be around while it’s being read. If you’d like to read it, that is.’ She placed it carefully on the table in front of Lucy. ‘I think I can trust you with it. And then, afterwards, perhaps we can talk about what’s inside.’
Lucy’s heart thudded. She didn’t dare reach out for the diary, because she was terrified that if she did, Bunty might snatch it up, saying she’d changed her mind. But after a moment, Bunty tutted disapprovingly.
‘Don’t you want to read it?’
‘Of course I do!’ She picked it up.
‘Well, off you go, then.’
Chapter Twenty-one
Lucy read long into the night. The early entries made her laugh. She could hear Bunty’s acid tongue and her sharp sense of humour, and her observations of life settling into a village that was far removed from the city she’d grown up in were all too familiar. Bunty had taken Lucy under her wing, and appreciated that living in Little Maudley was a shock to the system after living in Brighton.
She shifted on the sofa. She’d been sitting there for ages, and her leg had pins and needles. She got up and let Hamish out into the garden for a sniff and a wee. Then she poured herself a glass of red wine, put another log on the log burner – the evening was cold as well as damp – and curled up to carry on. Bunty had worked so very hard. But oh, the romance of meeting Harry at the telephone box! No wonder she hadn’t wanted it to be taken down and replaced with a boring old bench.
Oh, dear diary. A note! “Meet me at the telephone box Friday 1800hrs.”
Oh my goodness. You should have seen Mrs Brown’s face. Her eyes were out on stalks and she crossed her arms very firmly and reminded me, young lady, that she was responsible for my good name, and that I shouldn’t be doing anything my mother wouldn’t approve of. But how could Mother have disapproved of something so lovely?
We walked all the way to Preston Bissett and back, chatting the whole way. He’s so kind and thoughtful – he brought me toffee sweets, and told me all about his mother and sister back home in New Brunswick. He said they’d love me. He’s promised that the next time he flies over the village he’ll fly down low and wave. Oh, my heart. I have to go to sleep now, because Milly is fussing about the light again. I don’t think I can possibly sleep. I’m too excited for words.
Lucy could imagine a young Bunty, lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling thrilled at the prospect of romance in the midst of all the drudgery of her daily life. Harry must have seemed like a breath of fresh air.
She read sweet stories of stolen kisses and brief meetings, dances at the aerodrome a
nd even dinner with a reluctantly welcoming Mrs Brown, who apparently chuntered disapproval until she too was charmed by Harry’s sunny, open nature. Lucy sighed happily at the romance of it all. Outside it was pitch dark now, and the log burner was almost out. She drew the curtains, called Hamish in and headed upstairs to carry on reading in bed. Oh poor, poor Bunty. It was unbearable to read.
The most terrible, unthinkable news. Bombs fell again and I’ve had word that both Mother and Father are gone. I can’t believe that I will never see their faces again, or hear Mother fussing on the telephone asking if I’m wearing warm underclothes and keeping myself nice. This wretched war is taking everything away. I can’t bear it. I saw Harry tonight and he wrapped his arms around me. It didn’t make anything better, but it was such a wonderful feeling to know that there was someone who was there who cared for me. It’s such a blessing to know that amongst all of this, he’s here safely with me for the next few months at least.
Lucy wiped away a tear as she turned the page. Bunty’s writing was smaller and neater, as if it was taking everything she had to control how she felt.
Given leave, but I don’t see much point in taking it. What would I do? There are no bodies to bury, and our little family is all but gone. Aunt Mabel is in Essex, my cousin Sarah in Edinburgh. We have a war to win, and people all over the country are losing people left, right and centre. It seems self-indulgent to take time off to grieve when the work still has to be done.
She sounded so alone. But time had a different quality in those dark days. The weeks passed, and she started to sound more like herself.
September 3rd, 1941
I was standing in the back garden yesterday, hanging out sheets for Mrs B, when two bombers approached, flying so low that I thought they must surely hit the oak tree at the end of the garden. I looked up, out of fear, and realized that at the window, aviator cap and goggles pushed up off his face, was Harry. He gave a huge wave. It cheered me up no end. And then today there was a note pushed through the letterbox. Meet me at the telephone box, it said, and bring your gumboots in case of rain. Mrs B was most intrigued – despite the fact that she’s given him the seal of approval, he still sneaks notes into the telephone box because it’s our little secret – and Milly thinks it’s unbearably romantic. I do too. Going to have to borrow her gumboots, though, because mine have a hole in. There has been such a rainstorm today, if I go out in shoes I’ll be soaked through in moments and end up with trench foot. That wouldn’t be unbearably romantic.
(still the 3rd but only just – it’s ten to midnight, and I’m writing this by candlelight)
I arrived with Milly’s gumboots in a kit bag I’d sewn years ago for school, and there he was waiting at the telephone box, looking absolutely dashing in his uniform. He asked how I was feeling and we chatted about everything under the sun, and when I cried he gave me his handkerchief and told me I could keep it. It smells of his cologne, and I’ve put it under my pillow. Oh, it was absolutely wonderful to spend time together, despite the drizzling rain. We walked miles, and eventually the sun came out and we spotted the most beautiful rainbow. Eventually we arrived at a tiny little stone hut in the middle of a clearing in the woods – ‘I noticed it the other day when I was on training,’ Harry told me, ‘and I thought we could investigate.’
Inside it was full of dried leaves with grass growing around the spaces where the window had been, but it was dry and cosy. It felt like we were having an adventure and that we’d left real life far behind us. Harry had brought a picnic rug, rolled up in his pack, and a picnic of fruit cake, some cheese, apples and even some ham. It tasted absolutely wonderful, the way that food does when you have it outside, but even more wonderful was the feeling of being together and so, so comfortable in each other’s company. He even had a little hipflask of brandy and we shared that, too – it burned my throat and made me feel quite giddy. And then – well, perhaps I’ll keep that to myself. But oh, my. I don’t know what came over me – afterwards I thought of Mother telling me to keep myself nice, but then I remembered that there was nobody there to make sure I did any more, and anyway – well, I’m glad I did it. I kept looking at the others over dinner, wondering if they could tell that I had. Harry walked me all the way home to the cottage and kissed me on the cheek outside the gate. Oh, and I almost forgot – we bumped into two of the Land Girls on the way back, Hilda and Eunice, and they gave us The Look and went off giggling after saying hello. It wasn’t until I got back to Mrs B that I realized the collar of my dress was all crushed and sticking up at the back. I looked as if I’d been rolling in a hayfield, which made me blush absolutely scarlet, because, oh, dear diary – I suppose I had.
There were several more pages, filled with the outpourings of a young girl who had clearly fallen quite madly in love with her handsome Canadian airman. Lucy, sitting up in bed with the curtain not quite pulled to, found herself gazing across the lane at a light glowing upstairs in Sam’s cottage, wondering what he was doing there.
She read on, yawning despite herself, desperate to know what happened next. And then she turned the page, and her heart dropped.
September 22nd, 1941
The most awful, awful day.
Harry is gone. I have sat for hours trying to pluck up the courage to write those words. I thought perhaps if I didn’t that it might not be true. But no. I stood by the telephone box, waiting for him to arrive. I checked his note in case I’d got my days in a muddle – I even went home and laid out all the other notes he’d left for me in the telephone box, but no – it said very clearly ‘I will see you here at six – your loving H.’
At first I was cross, and then I was worried. And yet somehow, deep inside, I had the most awful sinking feeling that something dreadful had happened – I don’t know why.
In the end it was Len – dear, kind Len, my sweet friend – who told me. He’d seen me standing there, and walked past a couple of times before he asked if I was waiting for my Canadian chap. He bicycled off, and when he got back I was still there and he’d pulled some strings, asked what was going on at the airfield, and discovered there’d been a terrible crash during a training exercise. They’d been on a navigational flight, and something went wrong. Three Canadian airmen were killed outright. I’m weeping as I write that word. I can’t think of my Harry – my lovely, funny Harry, so full of life and kindness – as being gone. I can’t ever imagine getting over this.
Lucy had tears streaming down her cheeks. Poor, poor Bunty. She closed the diary and put it down on her bedside table. She’d read enough for one night.
The next morning she got up early and sat down on the sofa in pyjamas to carry on. She’d had a disturbed night, tossing and turning, her head full of confused dreams about Bunty and the man she’d loved and lost. And Sam seemed to be caught up in there, too. Lucy yawned and rubbed her eyes, stretching her arms out widely. She looked down at the diary again, imagining Bunty’s heartbreak.
A knock at the door made her jump and she stood up, hushing a barking Hamish. She pushed back the curtain in front of the door and opened it, wiping tears from her eyes.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ Sam said, looking at her with concern. ‘Is this a bad time?’
Lucy rubbed another tear from her cheek, and Sam reached into his pocket, handing her a white handkerchief made of cotton. She looked at it, startled, then dabbed at her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She went to hand back the hanky, but Sam shook his head.
‘You keep it.’
‘It’s just – oh God.’ She collapsed back onto the chair, motioning for him to sit down. ‘I’ve been reading Bunty’s wartime diaries, and they’re absolutely heartbreaking.’
He glanced across at the black diary, still open to the page that Lucy had just finished reading. He closed it, gently, and handed it over before Hamish tried to lie on it. He’d leapt onto the sofa beside Sam and was very insistently demanding that his tummy be rubbed.
‘I came to ask if you’d like to come to t
he pub quiz this evening, but if you’re feeling a bit –’ he inclined his head towards the handkerchief, lying on the side of the chair – ‘perhaps not?’
‘Yes, please.’
He gave a half smile. ‘I hoped you’d say that. Mel reckons you’ll be the secret to us finally being in with a chance of winning.’
‘I’m not sure about that. Does she know something I don’t?’
‘You’re a history teacher. That’s better than any of the rest of us.’
‘No pressure, then?’ She gave a self-deprecating smile.
‘None at all.’ Sam made a face. ‘I’d better get off. I’ll see you later.’
Lucy closed the door, made herself a coffee, and climbed back onto the sofa to finish reading Bunty’s diary.
She went next door after lunch. She’d read all the way to the end of the diary, which ended not long after Harry’s death.
‘Hello,’ Bunty said, and the expression on her face said it all. ‘You’ve read it, then.’
Lucy nodded. Bunty wasn’t the hugging sort, but she reached out a hand and squeezed her gently on the arm. Bunty smiled sadly.
‘I couldn’t sleep at all well last night, thinking of you reading it.’ She led Lucy through to the sitting room and sat down in her armchair. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The clock ticked the seconds away.
‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you shared it with me. There’s so much – you lost so many people that you loved.’
‘Oh, my dear. We all did. War is a terrible, terrible thing.’
‘It’s just – you all had to cope with so much. And working every day there, doing the same thing, crammed in that little building with the men.’
Bunty took a breath. She seemed to grow taller, as if she was preparing herself for something dreadful.
‘I’ve not been – altogether honest with you. You know, before I gave it to you, I read back over the words I’d written, and since then I’ve been thinking about the past. Something I saw the other day made me think about mistakes we make because we believe we’re doing the right thing.’
The Telephone Box Library Page 23