Always in my Heart

by Pam Weaver

  The door banged against the wall and they all jumped. ‘Are you lot coming in or what?’ Hazel was holding the cloakroom door open. ‘Come on, girls. There’s loads of blokes waiting for dances out here.’

  Their little chat broke up, and when they got back in the hall, Janet hardly had time to sit down before someone else was coming up to her to ask for a dance. Shirley and Marilyn, who put on a very brave face, had their fair share of dances as well. Shirley accepted most offers and had great fun. Halfway through the evening, the tea hatch was opened and for once she didn’t have to go into the kitchen. Tea and biscuits were served, but neither Janet nor Shirley had to pay. In fact, they could have had six or more cups each, the amount of offers they had.

  Janet leaned over towards Marilyn. ‘I’m so sorry about what you went through,’ she said.

  Marilyn shrugged. ‘At least I know now that Reuben didn’t desert me.’

  After the interval, the local lads turned up and they seemed rather put out. Apparently, the visitors didn’t understand the English strategies for getting a girl, namely that it was unmanly to go into the hall before the interval and it was expected that you should be tanked up before asking anyone to dance. The Canadians had already made their mark, and few girls were interested in a half-cut local when they had glamour from Toronto, Calgary or Ontario.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Hazel asked in a rare moment when she and Shirley had time to talk.

  ‘I’d say,’ said Shirley.

  ‘They have a dance every month,’ said Hazel. ‘You must put a note in your diary.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Shirley laughed as a handsome Canadian called Clay whisked her off again, this time to dance the quick-step. She had very little knowledge of the dances, but she was learning fast.

  ‘Where do you come from?’ she asked Clay.

  ‘Newfoundland,’ he said.

  ‘You’re a very good dancer,’ she said.

  ‘We do a lot of what we call Newfy dancing,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit like Scottish dancing or English square dancing, so this is easy to me.’

  At ten, when the dance wrapped up, Marilyn had already slipped away. Hazel and Bobbi were walking home with a couple of Canadians, while Shirley and Janet made for their bicycles. They had plenty of offers to walk home, but they had agreed beforehand that they would refuse them all and bike back together.

  ‘Can I see you again, Shirley?’ Clay asked as she headed round the back of the hall, where the bikes had been left.

  Shirley’s heart was racing, but she wasn’t sure what to say. He was very good-looking.

  ‘They tell me there’s a dance at East Preston Village Hall next week,’ he persisted. ‘Can I meet you there?’

  Shirley nodded shyly and he leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. His kiss was soft and gentle, and she breathed in the smell of him. It wasn’t like the smell of carbolic soap or of stale underarm sweat that she was used to from English boys. He smelled of cinnamon and spice, an altogether intoxicating smell. She felt her knees buckle slightly.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to walk you home, honey?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Shirley a tad reluctantly, ‘but I may see you next week.’

  ‘That was amazing,’ said Janet, when they were well away from the centre of the village. ‘I had the best time.’

  ‘Me too,’ Shirley said dreamily. The memory of Clay’s kiss was still on her lips. She caught sight of Janet looking at her and laughed. ‘And I’m worn out as well. I don’t know how I’m going to catch the bus tomorrow to see Mum.’

  Shirley was still holding her mother’s hand. She had been sitting next to her in the convalescent home for the best part of half an hour and she still couldn’t let go.

  The bus ride had been enjoyable. After dancing until ten and then having the bike ride home and the chores to do in the morning, Shirley thought she would doze for a while, but in fact she enjoyed looking out of the window at the passing English countryside. Because the bus route was designed to attract as many customers as possible, they had gone through several pretty villages: Arundel, Ford, Yapton, Walberton and, finally, Fontwell. When they got out, the conductor told them to cross the road and turn left off the lane. There were no road signs: they had all been removed in case of an invasion. Tangmere and Ford airfields were very close by and the constant drone of engines filled the air. However, after a ten-minute walk, they could see the big house in the distance.

  Tom, who had been very restless on the bus, managed to give his mother a quick hug, and although he hadn’t stopped smiling, he couldn’t manage eye contact with her. Once the greetings were done, he stood by the window looking out over the grounds, every now and then turning his head to steal a glance at his mother. If she looked up at him, he’d look away quickly.

  Shirley was really worried about her mother. She had lost a lot of weight and she still seemed rather weak. It was only now that she began to appreciate just how ill Florrie had been.

  ‘So,’ said Florrie, relaxing back in her chair, ‘what have you two been doing?’

  Shirley hardly knew where to begin, but anxious not to worry her, she was selective in what she told her. She began with the potato crop and how they hoped to lift it soon. When she mentioned the cows, Tom turned round.

  ‘I milk the cows,’ he said, ‘but we’ve only got six now.’ He reeled off their names, ending up with ‘Buttercup died, and Iris hurt her leg.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Florrie.

  ‘And I take care of the pigs,’ Tom announced proudly. He told his mother their names as well. ‘They have to be fattened up to give us bacon.’

  ‘Seth and Vince are very pleased with what Tom has done with the animals,’ said Shirley. ‘He really loves life on the farm.’

  ‘And what about you?’ said Florrie.

  A small smiled edged its way onto Shirley’s mouth. ‘I don’t like the mess,’ she admitted, ‘but I’ve enjoyed organizing things, and I’ve been trying my hand at growing a bit of veg and stuff. It’s very satisfying.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Florrie. ‘I’ve been doing the same. Shall I show you?’

  They stood up and Florrie took them outside.

  ‘How long do you reckon you’ll be here, Mum?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘I can’t afford to stay much longer,’ her mother admitted. ‘It’s expensive and I don’t want to use all our savings. Maybe another week or so.’

  Shirley looked thoughtful. ‘Is Auntie Betty still at the shop?’

  ‘Yes, but I was wondering if you would help out when I get home,’ said Florrie. ‘I don’t think I can do it all on my own. Not just yet.’

  Shirley’s heart sank. She had expected as much, but she’d hoped against hope that it wouldn’t happen. It would probably be the end of all her dreams for the future. They had reached a greenhouse and Florrie showed her children where she pinched out the tender plants and potted the stronger ones on. Her pride and joy was a tomato plant that groaned with ripening fruit.

  ‘I like tomatoes,’ Tom said.

  ‘These are amazing, Mum,’ said Shirley. ‘Much better than the ones you grow at home.’

  ‘I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been here,’ said Florrie. ‘You know, about feeding them properly and looking out for disease. Before, I just used to stick them in the pot and hope for the best.’

  They laughed.

  ‘I was so proud when you passed that exam,’ said Florrie as they strolled back. She’d threaded her arm through Shirley’s. ‘Do you still want to go to college?’

  ‘Yes, I do, but can I ask for something else first? Would you mind if Tom and I stayed on at the farm until the harvest? Janet needs all the help she can get. It’s a big job for a woman on her own.’

  ‘On her own?’ said her mother. ‘But where is Mr Oliver?’

  Shirley felt her face flame. Blast! She hadn’t meant for her mother to know that. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted
them. ‘On holiday,’ she said, but at the same moment her brother said, ‘In prison.’

  Florrie stopped walking and stared at them wideeyed.

  ‘He shot the dog,’ said Tom.

  Florrie took in a breath. ‘Shirley?’

  ‘Let me tell Mum, Tom,’ said Shirley. ‘Mum, it’s all right. The dog bit him and his gun went off, but somebody thought he was trying to shoot them, so they arrested him. He was found not guilty, anyway.’

  ‘But Tom said he was in prison.’

  ‘He was sent to prison because he was rude to the judge, Mum, that’s all.’

  Florrie continued to stare. ‘How long before he’s out?’

  ‘He gets out at the end of October,’ said Shirley. ‘Janet needs help for the harvest before then. I thought, considering how kind they’ve been to Tom and me . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Florrie. ‘Of course you must help.’

  ‘We’ll leave straight after.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave the farm, Shirley,’ said Tom.

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but we have to go home to help Mum.’

  Florrie’s heart constricted.

  They sat for a while longer; then Shirley said they had to go for the bus back. It was hard saying goodbye again, but all of them felt better for the visit. Florrie was on the mend, and her children were thriving in the fresh country air. She watched as they ran down the drive and into the lane. Good job Len was coming soon. She desperately wanted someone to talk to.

  CHAPTER 26

  ‘I’ve got somewhere to go,’ said Janet.

  They were sitting at the table in Granny Roberts’s place. The old lady looked up from her sewing. She was making a dress for Lucy out of the skirt of an old dress. The dress itself was old-fashioned, but the material was attractive. Lucy was asleep in her pram, and Shirley and Janet were waiting for Hazel and Bobbi to come up from the village; then they were all going to another dance. This time, the Canadians were sending a truck for them, but they had to be by Patching Pond at six-thirty, where they would be picked up. It was already ten past six. Bobbi and Hazel were late.

  ‘What do you mean, you’ve got somewhere to go?’ asked Granny.

  ‘When I leave here,’ said Janet. ‘I’ve been accepted as a cook in a residential nursery in Surrey.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Shirley. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Janet. ‘Gil will be out in a matter of weeks.’

  ‘Where exactly?’ asked Granny.

  ‘I don’t want to tell anyone,’ said Janet. ‘I still want to keep in touch with you, but I’ll set up a Post Office box number you can write to. That way, what you don’t know you can’t let slip. I’m scared Gil will come after me, especially when he finds out we’ve used the money from the tin.’

  ‘Only to keep the farm going,’ said Shirley.

  ‘He won’t see it like that,’ said Janet.

  ‘What’s it like?’ said Granny. ‘The nursery.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Janet. ‘It’s a big house set in its own grounds. Lucy and I will have our own room.’

  ‘But you can’t look after her while you’re working in the kitchen,’ said Granny. ‘She’ll be crawling about soon.’

  ‘I won’t have to,’ said Janet. ‘She’ll be with all the other children in the nursery during the day. I’ll have her when I finish work and on my day off.’

  ‘Sounds ideal,’ said Shirley. ‘When do you go?’

  ‘If we start lifting the potatoes next week,’ said Janet, ‘I’ll go as soon as everybody’s been paid.’

  ‘Loads of people say they’re going to help,’ said Shirley.

  They heard the sound of a bicycle bell outside. ‘About time too,’ said Janet. ‘Come on or we’ll miss the truck.’

  Shirley set off behind her with a feeling of foreboding. It was fun going to the dances, but Clay wanted to monopolize her all the time and that spoiled it a bit. She liked him and he was very good-looking, but she didn’t want to be ‘his girl’, as he put it. She didn’t want to be anyone’s girl. As they hurried down the road to meet the truck, she had made up her mind. Tonight, she wasn’t going to beat about the bush any more – she was going to tell him straight and he could like it or lump it.

  It was Wednesday again. The sun was in her eyes when Florrie looked up, but her heart leapt almost out of her body. Len stood in front of her. For days she had dreaded that her disclosure the last time they’d met would have driven him away, but here he was. He’d come back!

  ‘Hello, my lovely,’ he said. ‘How are you?’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’

  She became aware that someone stood directly behind him, totally obscured by him. He stepped to one side and there was Ruth. ‘But how . . . ?’ Florrie began.

  ‘I saw her address on the piece of paper she’d left on your locker,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Oh, Ruth,’ cried Florrie. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’ She pulled herself up straight and leaned forward, but Ruth stood rooted to the spot. The expression on her face was frozen, but her eyes were less hostile than they had been last week.

  Len fetched a chair. ‘Have a seat, Ruth,’ he said, manoeuvring the chair so that it was directly in front of Florrie.

  Ruth pushed the chair back a few feet before lowering herself onto it. ‘Len says you have something more to tell me,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ve agreed to listen, but I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference to the way I feel.’

  Florrie hardly knew where to start, but with a little coaxing from Len, she tried to do her best. It wasn’t easy voicing things she’d never spoken of, things that had churned around her head for years and yet she’d never breathed a single word about them to a living soul. When she’d tried to tell Sid, his reaction had meant she’d never told him the full story. Would Len and Ruth be willing to wait until she’d finished?

  ‘Ruth, I’m not your mother,’ she began. ‘I’m your half-sister.’

  Ruth took in her breath and her face coloured.

  ‘Father went to war in 1915,’ Florrie went on. ‘I was fourteen years old. I didn’t understand everything, but after he had a period of training, he went to France.’

  Ruth took off her white cotton gloves and laid them on her lap. She looked very elegant in her pale green dress. At first glance it looked as if it had its own lightweight coat with a green and white striped dress peeping out at the front, but that was the way it had been made. Her hat matched perfectly, and she had white peep-toe shoes. Seeing the relaxed way Ruth crossed her legs as she sat helped Florrie to relax too. Perhaps she was going to stay after all.

  ‘Father only came home on leave twice,’ she continued. ‘The first time, he slipped back into normal life quite easily, but the second time, he was a changed man.’

  Ruth’s expression was impassive. Len seemed more sympathetic.

  ‘He paced the floor for hours,’ Florrie went on. ‘He cried a lot too. I’d never seen a man cry before.’

  ‘This is all very sad,’ said Ruth stiffly, ‘but what has it got to do with me?’

  ‘There is a reason,’ said Florrie. ‘You need to know everything.’

  Ruth sighed pointedly.

  ‘Some time after my father went back to the trenches at the end of 1916, he went AWOL. He was captured and put in prison.’

  Neither of them said anything, but she knew what they were thinking. Back then, people had only contempt for deserters and cowards. ‘He was lucky they didn’t shoot him,’ said Florrie, voicing what she was sure was going through their minds. ‘I think it was because he’d saved the life of an officer not long before he walked away, but he had to be punished as an example to the other men, so he was sent to prison and his army pay was stopped for three months.’

  Len frowned. ‘But that would have left your mother destitute.’

  Florrie nodded. ‘I had to leave school and go into service. Mother took in lodgers.’

  ‘It seems a bit harsh,’ s
aid Ruth, mellowing a little.

  Florrie shrugged. ‘And one of our lodgers was Captain Faversham-Wood.’

  Ruth took in her breath and leaned forward eagerly. ‘My father? What was he like?’

  ‘Very good-looking,’ said Florrie. ‘Charming, witty, kind. He’d been invalided out of the army with a wound to his leg. He worked for the Foreign Office.’ She paused. ‘It didn’t take long for Mother to fall in love with him, but they were very discreet. At the time, not even I knew what was going on.’

  Florrie’s narrative was interrupted by the nurse coming round with the tea trolley. When she saw her patient’s visitors, she eyed them suspiciously. As she poured three cups of tea, she asked, ‘Are you all right, Mrs Jenkins?’ Florrie nodded, but it was obvious that the nurse was still concerned. Looking directly at Ruth, she added, ‘Only, we’d rather not have a repeat of what happened the last time your visitor came.’

  Ruth’s face coloured, but she said nothing. When the nurse had moved on to the next patient and her visitors, Florrie continued as if nothing had happened.

  ‘One day, Captain Faversham-Wood asked my mother to take a letter to a friend of his. He explained that the friend lived in a house with a long flight of steps leading up to the front door and walking up them aggravated his bad leg.’

  ‘Why didn’t he post it?’ Ruth asked.

  Florrie shrugged. ‘I said that, but he said he didn’t trust the post and wanted a cast-iron guarantee that it was delivered.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Posting those letters became a regular thing for my mother.’

  ‘What became of him?’ asked Len.

  ‘Captain Faversham-Wood?’ said Florrie. ‘He left our house in June of that year. Later on, we heard a rumour that he’d died in the flu epidemic.’ Ruth made a small sound and Florrie looked up. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear. That was thoughtless of me.’ Embarrassed, she looked away as Ruth sniffed loudly.