by Milly Adams
She kicked him. ‘Get away from me, I never want to see you again. You’ve taken everything, because I can’t go home, can I? Not when I hate them, not when they’ve done what they always wanted, just like Verity’s parents. You’ll be killed, like Will.’
Suddenly there was nothing. No anger, no anything. She stopped hitting, she stopped speaking. Yes, it would be the same all over again. Just like Will, Saul’d be killed, and now they’d all lied to her, there was no one left. Saul let her arms go. She turned, looking along the bank, both ways. Dog sat by her side, leaning against her leg. Polly said to her, ‘At least I have you.’
She heard Saul say, standing close, ‘Yer have us all. We all love yer, I tells yer, Polly. I didn’t think they’d really ’ave me, so I said to say nothing, cos I say again, I didn’t want to cause yer pain if I didn’t have ter. I’ll be back, I promise I’ll be back, cos I will never stop lovin’ yer. So where would that love go, if I didn’t come home, my Polly?’
He touched her shoulder. She shrugged him off. ‘Get your train, and do what you like with your love.’
She turned away, heard Saul’s sigh and then his footsteps diminishing. She waited until she could hear them no longer, and then she trudged towards the Marigold to pack all her clothes, not looking for a last sight of him. But Sylvia and Verity blocked the lay-by. She sidestepped, and they came with her. She sidestepped the other way. Again they blocked her.
Polly dug her hands in her pockets. ‘I’m leaving the cut. You can run the ruddy boats yourselves. You knew and said nothing, and now Saul’s gone, on a whim, because of your damned boyfriend, Verity. That’s who he’s copying, and you all helped him and never told me.’
Verity opened her mouth, but it was Sylvia who came up close, staring into Polly’s face. ‘You know perfectly well, Polly Holmes, that it has been tearing at him for a while – probably for months, if not years. Something is about to happen, we all sense that, and Saul did, too. Look at the activity we see on the bridges as the military pass over them; think of the loads we need to haul, the hours people are working at the factories. Your Saul was driven by something deep, something with which he agreed, and you can call it what you will, but for him it was duty.’
Polly tried to push past. It was Verity who held her back now. ‘Listen, darling, to the oracle, because she’s right. And do stop this unseemly tantrum; you are making a perfect fool of yourself, and of all of us women boaters. Tom’s gone, too, and many others.’ Verity raised her head as though to breathe, then looked her friend fully in the face. ‘Polly, do grow up. You’ve had him for this long, now you have to let him go.’
Sylvia added, ‘After this ridiculous display, you can see why he didn’t want to tell you, because he knew how much it would hurt. And what if the powers-that-be had said no, or the doc had said his leg wasn’t up to it? Nothing was certain, and you’d have hurt like this earlier and all for nothing. If you let him go like this, it’s you who is absolutely in the wrong. You should admire Saul, and love him, for his protection of you. Yes, it might have been wrong, in retrospect, but it is how it is. We’re sorry if it’s made it worse, aren’t we, Verity? But it was from the best of motives. As it was for everyone.’
Verity had pulled out her cigarettes and was frantically lighting two. She passed one to Sylvia, who miraculously took it and stuck it in her mouth, took one drag and choked. She handed it on to Polly. ‘I wish I smoked just at this moment, but I don’t, so perhaps you should have it, calm you down.’
Verity checked her watch. ‘He’s probably gone, but it’s worth getting a wriggle on, to make amends. Chop-chop.’
Polly shook her head, dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out with her boot. ‘I don’t want anything of yours.’ Even to her, it sounded ridiculous.
The other two girls now stood to one side, and Verity gestured Polly past. Sylvia said quite clearly, ‘If you don’t go, it will dog your life. Saul is so fortunate to agree with what he is being asked to do.’
Verity muttered, ‘Enough of all that twaddle, Sylvia. Let me just say, Polly Holmes, you’ll regret it, if you go away. But if you do, I’ll pack your bloody clothes for you and chuck them – and you – in the cut. You can then drag yourself out, dripping and as wet as you already appear, and tantrum off to heaven-knows-where, with my boot up your arse.’
Polly stood her ground. ‘Well, let me tell you that I won’t be going to my parents, because they helped Saul in order to separate us.’
Verity slapped her now, right across the face. It knocked Polly back on her heels, and stung.
Sylvia gasped, ‘Verity, that’s uncalled for.’
‘Well,’ Verity said, ‘it’s what you do to hysterical idiots, isn’t it? For pity’s sake, idiot, get yourself after that fine young man, because you might never see him again – just like many, many thousands might never see their loved ones again. After doing so, you can then feel sorry for yourself. But I warn you, we have pheasant for supper and you’re needed here, in this crew.’ Her tone changed. ‘We really do need you, darling; you’ve held us together, and up on our feet, so let us do the same for you. Besides, we’re seasoned boaters with a reputation to uphold, you know that. And don’t be absurd. Your parents accept you and Saul; why, they’ve even taken on Joe.’
Polly cried then, great gulping sobs. Yes, she did have somewhere to go; yes, the cut was here for her, and her memories, just as she had memories of Will; and yes, she was behaving like a complete and utter idiot. She ran then, still crying, along the lay-by and through the yard. The guard at the gate called, ‘’E hung about for a bit, for yer, but he’s gone on. Has a train to catch, ain’t ’e?’
She tore through Southall until the breath was ragged in her chest. What had she done? But all the time her thoughts were saying that Saul might have felt he had to go, but her parents had done nothing to talk him out of it. She saw her mum’s outraged face when she first realised that Polly and Saul were in love; heard her words of disapproval. Yes, she had taken in Joe; yes, she had asked Saul for lunch when Joe first arrived, but she had never spoken of any future for Saul and Polly. Her mum’s words still resonated, clearer now than ever: ‘Marry up – marry a solicitor, someone like Mr Burton, but younger.’
She pounded along the pavement. What if he’d gone? But then she spotted his back view, his grip in his hand, his head hanging down. ‘Saul, Saul.’
He swung round, dropping the grip, unsure, smiling and then not. She saw him brace himself for more wounding words, but instead she flung herself into his arms.
‘I love you. Come back when it is over, do you hear me?’
His kiss was gentle. ‘I will. Yer know I will.’
She knew nothing of the sort, but nodded.
‘I’ll write to yer, cos I can do that, thanks to yer and Verity. She’s yer friend, and Sylvia, yer remember that; and don’t leave the cut, we need the cargoes.’ He picked up his grip. ‘I have to go.’ He was backing away from her. ‘Love yer parents, Polly, like they love yer. I wouldn’t let ’em tell you, I made ’em promise, but I’ll thank yer ma for the rest of our lives, because she ’elped me do it, cos she knew I must.’
Polly listened, watched and loved him, but her fury hadn’t really died, and as Saul disappeared into the station, past the stinking sandbags, she made for the telephone box, the pain tearing her into pieces.
She asked for the number and pressed Button A. ‘Mum?’
‘You know, don’t you, about Saul?’ her mum asked. ‘I’m sorry, but he needed to go and didn’t want you hurt unnecessarily, so requested secrecy.’
The pain was worse now. ‘You could have said Mr Burton wouldn’t help. But oh no, Saul’s gone and you have a replacement son, Joe; and I have a space for someone to fill – someone more suitable. I hate you. I will never see you again, or Dad.’
‘Polly.’ It was a shriek, full of pain.
Good, because it couldn’t begin to match her own feelings. She slammed down the receiver, resting her head on the gl
ass of the telephone box. Her mouth tasted sour, her mind ran in circles. She was tired, and the holiday seemed a sham, and she walked out of the telephone box and back to the depot, and work.
Chapter 20
Sunday 30 April – a trip to Howard House, Sherborne
Verity woke in Marigold, dressed and crept from the cabin. It was dawn and she’d hoped she’d sleep in, but the habit of early rising was ingrained, damn it. She stood on the counter and stretched; they were still on leave, but what on earth were they to do with their time? She didn’t dare to go off to London again and leave Polly, who was doing her best to be the Sulky Sue of the universe. Even the pheasant casserole that Sylvia had produced yesterday evening, plus the cider, which went with it so well, hadn’t perked the wretched girl up.
She levered herself onto the cabin roof, sitting and thinking for a moment, and then rolled a cigarette, wondering why she tried to alternate between Woodbines and roll-ups. Yet another habit, she supposed, but they were trying to cut down anyway, and roll-ups took longer. She lit up, picking a shred of tobacco from her tongue. A mist hung over the cut, and smoke curled from the chimneys of the moored boats.
She sighed. Well, they could all go into London and try another show? She and Sylvia had used the darts-kitty money for their tickets last time, and had also put a pound into the collection box at the station, for those who had been bombed out in the Blitz. There was still plenty of money left and so, to be fair, Polly should use some, if there was anything she wanted to do.
Bombs, eh? Been a long time since one was dropped, but the transport of the troops they were witnessing all the time brought the war into sharper relief. Did all the activity really mean the invasion of Europe? Would that lead to more bombing of British cities? But how, when the Luftwaffe would be kept busy trying to stop the advance? She shut off her mind. It didn’t do to trespass into the world of ‘what if?’ which led to ‘would he be safe?’, ‘would he return?’
The smoke from the cigarette rose straight into the air. No wind, then. The trouble was – and it was what Sylvia and she had talked about, after Polly had gone to bed – Polly knew the harsh reality of war only too well, and platitudes wouldn’t help. Poor Will. Verity wished she had known him, but by knowing Polly, she realised she probably had.
The cabin door of the butty squeaked open. Sylvia stepped onto the counter and beckoned Verity across. They huddled together, Sylvia waving Verity’s cigarette smoke away. ‘I’m simmering the kettle.’
Dog pushed open the motor-cabin doors and jumped onto their butty counter. ‘Let’s go to the lavatory and then walk Dog, shall we?’
Sylvia nodded her agreement. ‘Come on, Dog.’
Dog ran along in front of them to the yard and waited patiently for them outside the lavs. As Verity washed her hands and face, her fingers brushed the chain that held her ring. Well, she could get the ring made smaller at the very least, and Polly her ring too, even though Saul had bought her a chain. She stared in the mirror. Had Saul asked Polly’s parents for her hand? He was going to once he knew, and he’d be phoning Joe from Catterick, if that’s where he was destined. But there were too many questions with no answers. She tucked the ring away again.
She met Sylvia in the yard, but was deep in thought about Mrs Holmes, who was nothing like her own mother. Mrs Holmes was kind – look how she’d taken on Joe – so surely she wouldn’t hope to split up Polly and Saul? On the other hand, Mrs Holmes had been disappointed that Polly hadn’t made her relationship with Reggie, the RAF bomber pilot, work; the one who had a good future in the engineering industry, if he survived. Verity shook her head; life was ridiculously complicated.
Sylvia and she walked back with Dog, who was dancing about the place, joining in with the children who were running wild, before their ‘imprisonment’ on their parents’ boats. Verity found herself studying them, and the mothers who were watching with eagle eyes in case the children strayed too near the water. What was it that had happened between herself and her own mother? Was there really something ‘other’? Was it her mother who had been cross and unkind? It must have been, because surely it was her nanny who had been kind, and she must have been the one who smelt of camellias; her mother wore Worth perfume.
Dog brought back a stick and dropped it at Sylvia’s feet. How interesting, Verity thought. Dog has suddenly decided Sylvia’s one of the pack. Well, perhaps they all had. Sylvia threw the stick. ‘We could all see White Horse Inn – if we can get tickets, that is,’ Verity suggested.
They were drawing close to Marigold. Sylvia said, ‘Well, we could ask Polly, I suppose. We can’t just do nothing or she’ll sink even further.’
It was then that they saw Polly on the counter, her arms crossed as she watched them approach. She snapped, ‘Why don’t you just ask me if I want to see White Horse Inn? You forgot to whisper, you realise. And I’ve helped myself to tea, and yours is here.’ She pointed to the cabin roof. ‘Drink it up quickly, because I don’t want to go to the theatre. We have another few days’ holiday. Verity, Tom wanted you to find out about your family, so while we’re facing up to home truths, we’ll go down and sort it out – all of us – and see just how brave you are? I don’t want to stay here. I want to achieve something, then we can get back to work. Think about it.’
She stepped off the motor, called Dog and walked along the lay-by towards the lavatories, where else.
Verity watched her dearest friend, who had been stony-faced, her eyes almost bruised from crying, and whose words were not suggestions, but barked orders.
Sylvia said, ‘She’s accepted it, and she will come to terms with whatever her mother’s real motive was, but in her own time. Personally, I believe her mother is a good, kind woman, but Polly has to be cross with someone. And she also feels she’s made an awful fuss, which she has, and doesn’t quite know how to climb back from it.’
Verity kept her eyes on Polly, who was storming off, and hid a smile. Ah, Sylvia was on the case, too, and there was comfort in that.
Sylvia said, ‘Don’t worry about Polly. It’ll get sorted in time. Let everyone settle down and say nothing more, until they know what to say.’
Polly had reached the yard, and was walking at a lesser pace. Perhaps she had walked off some of her angst. Verity looked carefully at Sylvia. ‘Your orphanage was run by nuns, wasn’t it? Did you learn how to advise people from them? I always think nuns look wise.’
‘We all learn from the people we live with, don’t we? But perhaps the Sisters don’t always know what’s best for people, any more than anyone else does.’ Sylvia finished her tea, took Verity’s mug and stepped up onto the counter of the butty. ‘I’m going to sort out the cabin.’
Verity thought that sometimes life was like a conker shell: prickly. She sighed. Well, she would write and tell Tom that she was following things through with her parents, and then perhaps they would stop off at Woking, and Polly could talk things through with her mother. She sighed again.
The train to Dorset was full of troops, and slow, because they pulled in at sidings to let other trains pass, loaded with military vehicles covered in camouflage. Verity heard one soldier say, ‘They usually move the buggers at night, so what the—’
‘Harry, shut it,’ he was warned. ‘Yer don’t know who the ’ell’s listening.’
At last the train drew into Sherborne and they hurried out of the station to the bus stop, after Polly barked, ‘There’re no soldiers heading to London to give us a lift, like last time, Verity.’ She added, her voice softer as they trundled along the highways and byways, ‘I wonder if the GIs who gave us a lift had a good time in London town?’
Verity laughed. ‘Who knows, but they were delighted to be free of us and our Waterway Girls smell. Do you remember how they opened the windows the moment they dropped us off at the gates?’
Polly did.
The bus left them at the top of a T-junction. They plodded along as Sylvia muttered, ‘I suppose it would have been polite to polish our boots,
as we’re visiting a rather grand house with upper-class people in it.’
Verity and Polly laughed, and it was the first time Polly had done so since Saul left. Verity flung her arm around Sylvia’s shoulders. ‘By the time we’ve hacked up the drive and our boots have been scratched to bits by the gravel, all the dirt will have been shaken off. Anyway, if we polished them, it would only show up the rest of our clothes.’
It was two o’clock, and they were all hungry and hadn’t thought to make some spam sandwiches before they left, because they’d been too busy finding a dog-sitter. Eventually they had pinned down Mary who worked in the canteen kitchen and lived near the depot. What’s more, she loved Dog. Their last sight had been of Dog lying in a cardboard box on a blanket, by the cooker in the canteen, looking like the cat who’d got the cream. All quite against the rules, but who was going to tell on Mary? She’d have their guts for garters.
They reached the high, imposing wrought-iron gates of Howard House, which were slightly open. They entered, Sylvia whispering, ‘What will they say when they see there are three of us?’
Verity shrugged. ‘I have no idea, because I haven’t told them I’m coming, let alone you two.’
Polly and Sylvia grimaced. They walked on. Polly asked, ‘I know the drive is a quarter of a mile long, but how much land have you?’ She waved to the parkland on either side of the drive.
‘Oh, several hundred acres, I’m not really sure. Tell you what, we’ll take this path to the left and slip round to the back, and grab some lunch from Mrs B. She’ll be pleased to see us, anyway.’ Verity heard her own nervousness. She almost marched up the path that skirted alongside the silver birches her grandfather had planted, though she doubted he had actually dug anything. He probably just gave his orders.
She and Tom had used this path when they returned from the pub. It led to the side and the rear of the house. Did he actually know what lay behind her mother’s behaviour? Or did he just know something? Or perhaps he didn’t know anything, but simply sensed it. Come to think of it, that’s what he had said really. Well, she was here to find out more, but already her courage was waning. Just then she felt Polly’s hand on hers, and she loosened fingers which had tightened into a fist.