War Widow

by June Francis

  ‘Your house would be a bit crowded,’ he said drily. ‘And I’d object. Having this Stephen as a rival is bad enough.’

  ‘I haven’t slept with him,’ she said, frowning. ‘It’s only you that’s made me a fallen woman.’

  ‘It takes two to jitterbug,’ he murmured. ‘And hopefully we’ll have time for another dance when we get back.’

  ‘Is sex all you think about?’ she said in feigned disapproval.

  ‘Not where you’re concerned.’ His voice was emotionless. ‘But it’ll do till something better comes along.’

  ‘You’re thinking of marriage again,’ she accused, folding her arms across her breast. ‘I’ve told you –’

  ‘Sure, I know it’s a No Man’s Land,’ he said, staring out of the window. ‘But all’s fair in love and war.’

  She would have liked to have asked him what weapons he’d bring into play but they had come into a station and an elderly woman got into their compartment. She began to talk about the weather and was soon in full flood concerning its awfulness.

  They had only been in Flora’s house five minutes when Kathleen arrived with Vivien. ‘Is he all right?’ demanded Kathleen, her thin face anxious.

  ‘He’ll survive.’ Flora smiled to reassure her.

  ‘Mam’s been,’ said Vivien gloomily. ‘She was with a man.’

  ‘Who was it?’ Flora exchanged a quick glance with Mike. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘She didn’t tell me,’ said Vivien, pulling a face. ‘But he was tall, dark and handsome and she seemed made up with herself.’ She rubbed her gloves over the oven door to warm them and then she and Kathleen went out again, slamming the front door behind them.

  Mike and Flora looked at each other.

  ‘I wonder –’ began Flora quickly, then shook her head, not wanting to believe that the man could be Kevin Brown.

  ’It couldn’t be Stephen?’ said Mike, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Steve’s scarred. They had to dig shrapnel out of his face,’ informed Flora absently. ‘Besides, Viv knows him well. I was wondering whether it could be my boss.’

  ‘You’ve got a tall, dark, handsome boss and you never told me about him either?’ he said, his grey eyes flint-like.

  ‘Only because I didn’t think him worth mentioning.’ She went over to him, putting her arms about his waist and rubbing her body against his. ‘It was almost instant dislike on my part. Just one of those feelings you get sometimes about people.’ She kissed him and was aware of a slight resistance. She was suddenly fearful. ‘Why don’t we dance?’ she whispered against his mouth, swaying in his arms. ‘Viv shouldn’t be back for at least half an hour.’

  ‘Suits me,’ he drawled. ‘A waltz or a quick step?’

  Her mouth lifted at the corners. ‘With only half an hour it’ll have to be a quick step.’ She went over to the window and drew the curtains, and began to undo buttons.

  ‘Have you time for a cuppa and a slice of that savoury mince pie I made this morning?’ said Flora, ushering Mike into the chair closest to the fire.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Just about. But don’t spoil me. I just might get used to this domesticity.’

  ‘I like spoiling you.’ She handed him the Sunday paper.

  ‘But not on a permanent basis,’ he said soberly.

  ‘Mike! You said you understood.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound the least apologetic.

  She let it go, not wanting to spend the short time they had together in disagreement.

  Maggie was shocked when Flora told her what had happened to George the next morning. ‘Lads!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s never any knowing what they’ll be up to next. But as long as he’s going to be okay, that’s the main thing.’ She squeezed past Flora with an empty wooden tray and collided with the boss who had come quietly into the shop, carrying more bread. One of the cobs was sent flying out of the tray. ‘Sorry, Mr Brown. Did I hurt yer?’ Her voice was flustered. ‘I’m all fingers and thumbs this morning.’ She bent to pick up the loaf.

  ‘You can’t sell that now it’s been on the floor,’ he said irascibly. ‘You’re a fool, Maggie, not looking where you’re going. You’ll pay for that.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Brown,’ she said, looking dismayed as she brushed the loaf with her sleeve. ‘But it isn’t dirty.’

  ‘You can’t sell it,’ he repeated. ‘Your trouble, woman, is that you spend far too much time gossiping instead of paying attention to your job.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Brown,’ she stammered.

  ‘Maggie’s a hard worker,’ intervened Flora quietly. ‘And it was me that started her talking. I was telling her about my son’s accident.’

  ‘Don’t interfere, Mrs Cooke. This is a disciplinary matter and I don’t want you putting your oar in.’ He turned away then twisted round again, looking at her with a faintly malicious gleam in his dark eyes. ‘Your sister was telling me that you’re going out with a Yank. I thought you’d have had more sense than to be in their company.’

  For a moment she was taken aback, then irritation coloured her voice. ‘What I do outside work is none of your business, Mr Brown. I’m a big girl now and my sister is no longer my keeper.’

  He shrugged and said sarcastically, ‘You’re a member of my staff. I like to take a friendly interest.’ There was a brief pause before he added: ‘How is your son, anyroad?’

  Her tone was less angry. ‘George is going to be flat on his back for the next six weeks. So you can tell Hilda that if you see her before me.’

  ‘I’ll be seeing her tomorrow. She’s washing her hair tonight.’ A smile lit his handsome features. ‘She knows how to have a good time, your Hilda.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Flora dispassionately.

  ‘Right.’ He smiled and placed the tray on the counter. ‘Get on with your work. I won’t have any slacking.’ And he walked into the back room.

  Flora exchanged looks with Maggie, whose brow was furrowed. ‘Are yer really going out with a Yank?’

  She nodded and folded her arms, realising that Maggie’s opinion of her mattered. ‘You’re not going to tell me that you’re prejudiced against every Yankee soldier, sailor and airman because of a few?’ she said lightly.

  ‘No,’ said Maggie, shaking her head vigorously, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘I met an American soldier once. He was a darkie an’ had lost a leg. It was during the Great War an’ there was quite a lot of them convalescing near our school. I think I was around ten years old an’ I used to get to walk past where they used to sit out an’ get fresh air. He gave me sum candy an’ would ask me how I was.’ She busied herself as she talked. ‘An’ then one day he was just not there any more. An’ I wus real upset. I always prayed, though, that he got back to his own country.’

  His own country, Flora thought uneasily. Mike’s home, America. Huge, and thousands of miles away. Land of gangsters, home on the range, and musicals! Of Harold Lloyd, Bing Crosby and Bette Davis! Of popcorn, chewing gum and doughnuts! What was real life like there? Did they have scouse and bread and butter pudding as well? Could she fit in? Would she feel at home ever?

  She shook her head. What was she thinking about? Going to America was impossible. And there were other things to worry her now – such as getting to the hospital that evening.

  It was sleeting on the way home and Flora was not sure whether she felt dismay or relief when she found Stephen waiting in his car outside her house. ‘I thought you might like a lift to the hospital,’ he said.

  She hesitated before saying, ‘Thanks.’

  He smiled. ‘I won’t be able to do it every day. You know there’s petrol rationing?’ She nodded. Who didn’t! ‘But this evening I thought I’d save your feet.’

  Getting into the car she felt slightly guilty, knowing that Mike would not like the idea of her being with Stephen. But the thought of the long journey in the dark made her feel tired just thinking about it.

  Stephen asked her whether she had seen George yesterday and she told him how h
e had been.

  ‘I can get him some scrap paper if he wants to draw,’ he said, his eyes on the road. She thanked him and fell silent.

  The silence stretched until they came to the Mersey tunnel. Then he broke it. ‘Have you ever thought of coming back to the old firm, Floss?’ He glanced at her, his craggy face eager. ‘We’re really busy now and I’d pay you a decent wage.’

  It was the first time he had asked her to go back since the day he had told her about Tom being a deserter, and she did not know what to say. The money would be better than it was working in the bakery and that was tempting – but she would see too much of him.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s coming up to Christmas and Maggie said it can be real busy. It wouldn’t be fair on my boss,’ she excused herself.

  He looked disappointed but only said, ‘I can understand that. You think about it then – but don’t keep me waiting too long or I’ll have to find somebody else.’ She nodded, glad of the reprieve in making a decision.

  The car came out of the Mersey tunnel and passed Cammell Laird the shipbuilder’s on the other side, heading towards the Wirral.

  The visit to George started fairly well, although his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his darkening tawny hair when he saw Stephen. Flora had brought him his only classic book, Treasure Island, bought by his grandfather, which he had never managed to read to the end. He seemed glad to have it. ‘Nurse Connelly said that she’ll fix me up with this contraption with a mirror above that reflects the page of the book lying flat on the bed,’ said George.

  ‘That sounds a handy gadget,’ said Stephen in a jocular voice. ‘But what a pity that you had to act so damn silly as to go climbing into bombed houses and giving your mother the fright of her life.’

  George went red. ‘I’ve told Mam I’m sorry,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘And she knows I am.’ The sight of Stephen with his mam worried him. ‘Anyway, I don’t see what it’s got to do with you. I don’t know why you’ve come because you’ve never liked me.’

  ‘George!’ rebuked Flora.

  ‘That’s not true.’ Stephen’s ears had turned red.

  ‘You don’t have to lie,’ said George, stubbornly determined not to have this particular visitor coming to see him again. ‘I’m not a kid like Viv. I know you’d have me out of the way if you could. At least Mike likes me.’

  ‘That’s enough, George.’ His mam’s voice sounded embarrassed. ‘I know you’re frustrated, being stuck in bed, but there’s no need to be rude to Stephen. Say you’re sorry.’

  George hesitated, his brown eyes gleaming moistly. He did not want his mam getting too annoyed with him. He stretched his arms behind him to clasp the iron bars of the bedstead. It was a little bit of exercise and loosened the tight feeling in his chest. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  But Stephen had already got to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you with him, Flora. I’ve seen for myself that there’s nothing much wrong with him that rest won’t cure.’

  ‘He has said he’s sorry,’ she said quickly, looking up at him. ‘You could make allowances for him. He could have been killed.’

  Stephen’s mouth tightened and he rammed his hands in his pockets. ‘His own fault, Floss. I’ll wait for you in the car.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Flora stared hard at George. ‘See what you’ve done now! He probably won’t bring me again.’

  ‘Sorry, Mam,’ he said cheerfully, easing his arms down and searching with his hand for the chocolate on the cover.

  ‘You said all that on purpose,’ she said strongly. ‘It was wrong of you.’

  ‘But it’s true, Mam.’ He broke off two squares of chocolate and held them out to her.

  ‘No, you eat it – your grandfather gave me the money for it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He smiled at her and said in a coaxing voice: ‘You aren’t going to marry Stephen, are you, Mam?’

  ‘Is that what this is all about?’ she asked, frowning, and shifting on the hard chair close to the bed.

  He shrugged. ‘We’re all right as we are. And it’s his fault that Rosie –’

  ‘Yesterday you blamed yourself, and we agreed that it’s best forgotten now. Stephen wasn’t to know what would happen.’

  George said nothing, but he was worried again as he broke off some more chocolate. She was defending Stephen. An uneasy silence fell.

  ‘Kathleen Murphy gave me a letter for you,’ said Flora.

  He twisted his mouth wryly but watched with a certain amount of anticipation as she took the closely written sheet out of her handbag and gave it to him. He read it carefully. Kathy’s handwriting was all over the place and she couldn’t spell, but it appeared that she was missing him – loved him. This she had written in her own blood, and he must swear not to tell his mam ’cos she’d tell her mam, who’d belt her for doing such a thing. He grinned and read on. Mike had called at their house after his accident before going on to George’s house and staying in his bed. His smile vanished and he read that last line again. He liked Mike but he hadn’t lived next door to Mrs Bryce for nothing. Not that he thought his mam was really like Lena Bryce. His mam was decent which meant getting married, and if it was Mike she married that meant – America!

  George slowly folded the letter.

  ‘Any message?’ Flora said, smiling.

  ‘Tell her I’ll write,’ he said, screwing up his face and slipping the letter into Treasure Island. ‘And if you’ll be seeing Mike again, could you ask him about me comics?’

  ‘I’ll be seeing him,’ she murmured, and suddenly there was a new softness in her voice and a warmth in her eyes.

  George was worried and angry. Viv had been right about his mam having boyfriends. For the rest of the visit he answered her only in monosyllables.

  Flora left the hospital, not looking forward to the drive home with Stephen. Even from a distance she could see him pacing up and down beside the car, a definite sign of his unrest.

  ‘Your George –’ he began.

  ‘No,’ she interrupted, shivering slightly in the frosty air, and seeing her breath turn into vapour. ‘I’m not going to discuss my son all the way home. We’ve had this out before, Steve, and it gets us nowhere.’

  ‘He’s too like Tom,’ he continued as if she had not spoken.

  ‘No, he’s not,’ she said defensively. ‘He’s my son as well and I don’t think I’m without some fighting spirit.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that he’s a coward,’ he said with every sign of discomfiture.

  She stared at him, muffled up in his navy blue overcoat, scarf and trilby, and was annoyed because she was cold and in no mood for such a discussion. ‘I accept that you didn’t mean that,’ she said abruptly. ‘So you’d better accept that if we’re to carry on being friends then you’ll have to stop bringing Tom into nearly every conversation we have.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘It’s just that I can’t forget that you and he –’

  ‘Forget it.’ Her voice was hard. ‘You killed my memories of him. I’ve never felt the same about him since you and our Hilda had a go. I accept that he wasn’t a hero, or even faithful to me. Now can we get in the car?’

  He gazed at her, his mouth gaping, before hurrying to open the door for her.

  They drove for some time before speaking, then suddenly he said, ‘Who’s Mike?’

  ‘A friend.’ She had been waiting for him to ask ever since George had mentioned the name.

  He glanced at her. ‘Anybody I know?’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Known him long?’

  ‘A few years.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned him.’

  ‘Why should I? I hadn’t seen him for a while.’

  ‘And now you’re seeing him again.’ He sounded annoyed.

  ‘I’m a free agent, Steve. I’m grateful for this lift but I can have what friends I like.’ She turned her head abruptly and stared out of the darkened window.

 
‘It’s because I’m jealous of any man you go out with,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t say any more,’ she said emphatically. ‘Talk about work – or the Russians – or the Lease and Lend Agreement. Anything that’s not personal.’

  There was a silence, then he said sulkily, ‘All right. What d’you think of the Lease and Lend Agreement? Bloody Americans! They’ll have us in debt to them for years.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be so many houses getting built without their help,’ she said calmly. ‘And rations would have been cut even worse. As it is, they’re below the wartime average.’

  ‘At least the paper shortage has eased up.’ He went on to talk about work, and the rest of the journey passed amicably enough on the surface.

  He dropped Flora off outside her house without mentioning coming in, and she knew then that he was still annoyed. She thanked him once again and hurried inside, intending to light the fire before going for Vivien.

  But the light was on and the fire already lit.

  ‘You’ve been long enough,’ said Hilda, putting down the Red Letter magazine. ‘I was just thinking of going.’

  ‘How was I to know you were here?’ Frowning, Flora hung her coat on the back of the door. ‘You should give me your key back. It’s not right your coming and going when you feel like it in my house.’

  ‘Have you something to hide?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  Hilda leaned back against the back of the cut moquette chair. ‘Would you rather I climbed through the coal hole and arrived all mucky in your kitchen? Just when I’m showing an interest in my nephew’s welfare. I thought you’d appreciate that.’ Flora gave her a look and her sister smiled. ‘How is George?’

  ‘He’s flat on his back and likely to stay that way till Christmas – as Mr Brown would have told you tomorrow. You and him going out together is all very sudden, isn’t it?’

  Hilda’s smile barely lifted her mouth. ‘None of your business, Flo. But, yes, we’re both quick workers.’ She flicked ash into the flames. ‘How’s your love life? Mike looked done in when I saw him on Saturday.’