War Baby

by Lizzie Lane

She didn’t know how she knew, but there was something just a little bit different about his manner. He was holding something back.

  Another long silence ensued.

  She glanced at his profile. ‘You didn’t write.’

  A shorter silence this time. ‘Neither did you.’

  ‘But you said …’

  ‘I hardly thought you’d want a letter from me after you met the bozo from the RAF.’

  ‘Bozo?’

  ‘The Polish flier.’

  ‘He is not a “bozo”, as you put it.’ She spat the words, she was that indignant.

  He grunted in a disparaging manner that left her in no doubt that he held her flier in contempt.

  ‘All right. Not a bozo. A charmer. Prince Charming in air force blue.’

  ‘He is not!’ Arms folded, face rigid, she turned her eyes to the passing hedgerows.

  Silence reigned again. She presumed it would be that way all the way home, but Corporal John Smith had other plans. All of a sudden, he pulled in front of a farm gate where the earth was packed hard and no grass grew. He switched off the engine and pulled on the handbrake. ‘Right. Let’s talk.’

  ‘Why?’

  She turned to face him, her eyes blazing.

  In a split second his arms were swiftly around her and she was devoured in the most voracious, passionate kiss, so intense that she was left breathless.

  ‘Well!’ Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath. What a kiss that was!

  He nodded. ‘That was good. Shall we do it again?’

  He didn’t wait for her answer, not that she was likely to protest. John Smith kissed her again. Again she was breathless, though not quite so breathless as with the first kiss.

  ‘I want to take you out tonight.’

  ‘I do have a boyfriend …’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I know. The Polish pilot.’

  A sullen look made both ends of his mouth turn down, but there was a determined look in his eyes. Usually they were bright blue, but today they seemed darker, as though the thoughts behind them were darker too.

  ‘Ye … sss,’ she said slowly. ‘The Polish pilot.’

  ‘Is it serious? Do you see him on a regular basis?’

  ‘Whenever he can get leave. About every two weeks depending on …’ She heard the evasive rambling in her voice and stopped. Why tell him? He was only her driver! ‘Look, I don’t think it’s any of your business …’

  She said it despite herself, despite the fact that she wanted him to kiss her again.

  ‘Pilots are like sailors,’ Johnnie proclaimed. ‘A girl in every port, or as is the case with the boys in blue, a girl for every night of the week – or for every night when they’re not flying …’

  ‘Now look here!’

  Suddenly she regretted those kisses, though only on account of not seeing Ivan the way Johnnie saw him. Ivan had told her he loved her, that she was the only girl he was seeing, despite days when she heard nothing from him.

  ‘I’m being posted.’

  His bald statement brought her up short. He was looking beyond her to the fields, the trees, the swooping birds diving after insects. ‘I’m just filling in driving you around this week. I might as well tell you I’m off to fight this bloody war pretty damned soon.’

  Ruby swallowed the angry comments she’d been about to make. His expression was vague, almost sad.

  Suddenly she felt guilty that she’d been thinking of Ivan. ‘Where are you going?’ Somehow John seemed to matter more.

  He looked at her then over her shoulder to the field beyond the farm gate. It was the end of September. The harvest had been brought in. Flocks of crows and other birds pecked and fluttered around the remaining stubble.

  ‘Malaya. Singapore. The bastion of the Orient, they call it. Should be safe enough. Plenty far enough from Germany anyway.’

  Despite his confident tone, her heart fluttered. The only thing she knew about Singapore was that it was on the other side of the world. ‘It’s a long way away.’

  He shrugged. ‘I have to go where they tell me to go. I applied for a posting and I got one.’

  ‘But …’ She’d been going to mention family, but remembered that John Smith didn’t seem to have a family. She wondered whether John Smith was really the name his parents had given him or had been given by somebody else, an orphanage perhaps, a simple name, the most basic of names for a child with a basic beginning.

  ‘So,’ he said, turning to her suddenly, his expression intense and his blue eyes turned to grey. ‘Will you come out with me tonight?’

  Despite her involvement with Ivan, she agreed to go out with him. ‘Though not tonight. It’s my turn to look after Charlie. How about we go on a picnic tomorrow once the shop’s shut?’

  His eyes lightened and he managed a tight smile. ‘Can I kiss you again?’

  She nodded, presuming he meant tomorrow, but he didn’t.

  Yet again he took her by surprise, not just with the speed of his reaction but the intensity of that kiss, its sweetness, and the way she was instantly aroused.

  It seemed natural to respond to him, to reflect his passion and not to protest when his hand slid on to one breast. Her own desire surprised her. John intrigued her like no other man had ever done, not even Ivan. He hadn’t fallen easily for her charms: he’d needled her, he was exasperating, and totally, totally beguiling.

  There was still Ivan to consider, of course, but he had slipped from her mind so easily. Anyway, he would never know any different.

  John called for her the next day, dead on time. She’d already put a picnic together; a few white cabbage, carrot and chutney sandwiches and a small chocolate cake made with cocoa and the little bit of sugar she had left down in the cellar.

  Thanks to the time of year, it was too damp to picnic in a field, so they compromised by taking their picnic down to the station where they could sit on a bench and watch the world – and the trains – go by. They wore warm coats.

  ‘Do you like trains?’ asked the stationmaster. That was after he’d eyed them up myopically, just in case they were strangers and working for the enemy. Recognising Ruby as being Stan Sweet’s daughter went some way to dispelling his fears. On top of that the young man with her was in uniform, though of course that didn’t mean anything. He narrowed one eye so that it was almost shut. Young Ruby had been a bit flighty in the past, but she was more responsible now. She ought to know the genuine article when she saw it.

  ‘Enjoy your picnic,’ he said to them, disappointed when they failed to offer him a bite. The chocolate cake looked exceedingly good. ‘Back to the bread and dripping sandwiches,’ he muttered to himself as he made his way back to his office, no more than the size of a pantry cupboard, but his very own domain.

  ‘I take it your brother-in-law’s gone back to Scampton,’ said Johnnie once he’d taken a generous slice of chocolate cake.

  Ruby eyed him with mock disapproval. ‘You’re not supposed to broadcast where he’s based. Careless talk costs lives. Haven’t you read the pamphlets or seen the public notices at the cinema? Mr Hitler might be listening.’

  She laughed and was surprised when he didn’t laugh. Corporal John Smith looked to be in one of his serious moods.

  There were two benches on the station, one beneath the canopy that served as a waiting room and the other two-thirds of the way along the platform. Both were empty. It seemed the only travellers that day were likely to be four hutches of rabbits and three of pigeons. In peacetime the pigeons would have been sent travelling by train, released at their destination to race back to their lofts. Now they were most likely being sent off for the table. Pigeon pie had become quite common in wartime whereas before it had been a delicacy reserved for a rich man’s table.

  ‘Will you write to me? When I’m in Singapore, will you write to me?’

  His hands were clasped in front of him and his gaze fixed on the embankment opposite the platform.

  She gave him a wry smile. He didn’t smile
back as she’d expected him to, but then she should have known better. When John Smith adopted a serious expression his eyes became intensely penetrating as though he were spearing her to the spot until she gave him an answer.

  She decided to keep her voice light and cheerful. ‘If you want me to. I’ll even throw in a few recipes so you can impress your mates in the mess, cook them up a decent meal when they’re far from home and their mum’s cooking.’

  ‘Don’t toy with me.’

  Her smile faltered. ‘I’m not toying, I was merely suggesting …’

  ‘Don’t write to me unless you want to. I don’t like being pitied. I don’t want you to write because you feel sorry for me.’

  ‘I’m happy to write to you.’

  For a moment he stared at her silently. She assumed he was contemplating her sincerity. She meant it. Of course she did. While waiting for him to speak, she tossed a mental coin as to what his response might be. Heads he would smile, tails he would get huffy, get up and walk away.

  It surprised her only momentarily that he did neither but sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze returning to the barbed-wire fence separating the railway embankment on the other side of the tracks from a field of Jersey cows.

  The wind blowing towards them brought the smell of manure and the rich peatiness of fertile earth from the field beyond the cow pasture.

  The rich gold and russet of early September had faded to moss green and grey.

  Ruby silently contemplated the scene. Soon all the leaves would be gone, and so would John Smith. John’s silences could often be intimidating, just as they were now. Ruby found herself disliking, almost fearing, the length of this one. She wanted to go on talking, eating sandwiches and cake, drinking the elderberry wine her father had made last autumn.

  It was usual with John to expect a terse, even a sarcastic response. She could cope with those. The silences were harder to endure.

  ‘I’ve got nobody else to write to me,’ he said suddenly. ‘No family. I was brought up in an orphanage for bastards.’

  She guessed he wanted her to be shocked, not at his background but because of the word he used. He wanted her to know the names he’d been called as a child and to share his bitterness. He wasn’t to know that she’d already guessed.

  ‘How about friends? Do you have friends?’

  She guessed the answer even before it came.

  ‘There’s no point in making friends in an orphanage. People move on. Friends come and go.’

  His jaw seemed to clam shut over the last sentence. She didn’t need him to confirm it had happened to him on a number of occasions.

  Ruby studied him as he maintained the same pose, studying his profile, the firmness of his jaw, the redness around his neck because his army issue collar was too tight. His shoulders were broad and when he was standing, they were laid-back and straight, a direct consequence of him having joined the army some time before the outbreak of war.

  ‘You’ve no family at all?’

  She tried not to say it too softly. John was not a man to be pitied. He was just lonely.

  ‘No family.’

  ‘No friends?’

  ‘Only in the army. It was the best decision I’ve ever made. I made some good mates in the army, some of them from a similar background to me.’

  She could tell by his tone that he wouldn’t elaborate. It was enough that she knew where he stood and where she stood. There had been no loving family in his childhood, even though he’d once hinted that there was – a rough and ready family from the East End of London.

  Ruby took a deep breath. ‘I’d like to write to you.’

  His gaze left her and returned to the fields beyond the barbed-wire fence. ‘Only if you want to.’

  ‘I said I did, didn’t I? You should know me well enough by now to know that I mean what I say. I’m going to write to you.’

  When he turned and looked at her, she fancied his features were less rigid. In fact, she discerned a look of relief in his eyes. Even gratitude, though God knows he wasn’t likely to admit to that!

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’d like that.’

  Ruby smiled. ‘Well, that’s settled then. Would you like another sandwich?’

  ‘No. But there’s something else I’d like.’

  She would have been disappointed if he hadn’t kissed her again. Kissing him was such a natural thing, spontaneous, not forced. The kiss lasted until she was breathless, but still she found it hard to break away.

  She pressed her hands against his chest so that a bigger gap opened up between them and tried not to think of what she wanted next, of suggesting that they go into that field opposite, away from the cows in the brush and the long grass, and make love there until it was time to go home.

  Instead all she said was, ‘That was nice.’

  She fancied he was as breathless as she was. Even as surprised as she was. She had to remind herself that he was a man who had arrived with a chip on his shoulder and become a friend. That’s what she kept telling herself, though the feel of his lips on hers still lingered; as sweet as wine, as soft as velvet. She found herself licking her lips as though she wanted to relive the sensation again and again.

  She jerked her head towards the stile next to the cow pasture. ‘There’s still some grass in that field.’

  He frowned at first, unsure of her meaning.

  ‘Enough to lie down on. I have a blanket.’

  He didn’t need to say anything. She could see by the look in his eyes that he would follow her when she got up from the seat, and he did.

  The stile was cramped between overgrown bushes. They’d had to cross the railway line to get to it, which was no doubt the reason why the hedges were overgrown. Great swathes of cow parsley snuggled for shelter close to the hawthorn hedge. Wheat grass, untouched by the plough, grew among it.

  They lay the blanket on the ground close to the hedge and took their coats off before lying down. Tall heads of cow parsley and spear-headed grass formed a barrier between them and the field.

  ‘We might get cold,’ said Ruby, pulling her coat over her.

  ‘It’s not that cold.’

  ‘It will be,’ whispered Ruby as she unbuttoned her blouse.

  Although they were not completely naked, it was enough to be half undressed, to feel at least some of their flesh meeting beneath the warmth of their coats.

  Their lovemaking was spontaneous, sweet and extremely satisfying. When it was over, Ruby lay on her back watching the clouds roll by. It wasn’t that she was inexperienced, but fear of pregnancy had always curbed her going so far as to make love. At the last moment she had considered what her father might say, how disappointed he would be. Perhaps it was because she was wary of men like Gareth Stead, or perhaps it was because Johnnie was unlike most of the men she knew, honest to a fault. Had she been reckless to give in now? What guarantee did she have that she wouldn’t get pregnant? None at all, but somehow she knew beyond doubt that Corporal John Smith would not let her down.

  ‘I wish we could capture moments in time, don’t you?’

  ‘Hmm,’ he grunted. ‘Now wouldn’t that be something.’

  ‘I think so. Then we could relive that moment over and over again. I think I would like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, pulling her back towards him. ‘I can’t be sure but I think I can feel a captured moment coming on. I’d better do it one more time – just to make sure.’

  It was an hour later when they finally walked silently back to the bakery, both engrossed in their own thoughts. It was hard not to feel perplexed. She’d thought she was falling in love with Ivan, but perhaps she was not. She’d thought it would just be a picnic with a friend, but it had not. She’d also thought it was just a kiss, just a tumble between a man and a woman, making love in a field.

  But you should fall in love with Ivan, she thought to herself. He’ll be here. Johnnie is going back into battle, on the other side of the world.
r />   It wasn’t until they were halfway home that she realised they were holding hands. Confused by mixed thoughts and feelings, she swiftly disengaged, shoving both hands into her coat pockets. John looked disappointed.

  ‘My hands are cold.’ A pathetic excuse, but the only one she could come up with. What was happening to her? How come things happened so easily between them? When had such things started happening?

  Once they were outside the shop they faced each other. John took hold of both her hands. His palms were warm around her cold fingers. ‘You will write.’

  He didn’t ask as such. Neither did he plead. He sounded as though he were giving her a chance to change her mind.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Remember to tell me the latest recipes. Army food isn’t all that special.’

  She smiled. ‘I will.’

  ‘And mind how you drive.’

  Ruby smiled and shook her head. She’d voiced her complaints about her drivers. He’d told her it was time to drive the car herself.

  ‘I’ll be fine. Shame I won’t have an assistant any more. Still, if the Far East needs you …’

  There was bound to be a goodbye kiss. When it came it was warm and along with the hug he gave her, quite memorable.

  ‘Take care,’ she said finally.

  ‘Don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  He touched the corner of her eye with his finger and brought it away wet. She hadn’t realised her eyes were that moist. She would miss him. Of course she would.

  She was still thinking of that kiss on Saturday night when she was getting ready to go to yet another dance with Ivan. On checking the mirror, she admired again how Mary’s dress fitted her perfectly, clinging provocatively in all the right places. Her eyes were bright, her hair brushed and bouncing around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed.

  Tentatively she touched the mole on her face.

  Ivan had referred to her mole as a beauty spot and she’d loved him for it. Funny, but John had never mentioned her mole. It was her he’d noticed above everything else. He saw the woman behind the face, the human being who interested him.

  She touched her lips. She could still feel John’s mouth on hers. She’d expected him to kiss her but certainly hadn’t envisaged ending up in a field on an October day. The picnic had turned into something quite special.