by Fern Britton
The war seemed a very long way away now and the life I had been resigned to losing, in those dark days, now spooled ahead of me. The men I had given myself to were nothing. We had to believe we were alive to stay alive. Comfort found where comfort was. And now I had Greg. A man who truly loved me. A man I truly loved and the man for now and for ever.
I shared the last crumbs of my teacake with a young seagull that had joined me, drained the lukewarm drops of tea from the little brown pot, left my payment on the saucer and walked home as if on air.
‘Hi Toots.’ Edward looked up and smiled as I walked through the shop door from the street. ‘How’s Mum?’
I filled him in with all the good news. ‘Shop been busy?’ I finished.
‘Dead.’ He stretched his shoulders where he sat behind the counter. ‘Oh, this came for you.’
He found an envelope that was hidden under a ball of egg-yellow wool.
‘Why do we even stock that?’ I asked. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘Mrs Peters is knitting a cot blanket for her expected grandchild.’
‘Poor little sod.’
I took the envelope he passed to me. My heart skipped a beat as I recognised Greg’s handwriting.
Edward was moving towards the curtained entrance to our sitting room out back. ‘I’m going to grab forty winks before I start tonight’s pub shift.’
I wanted to read my letter before he left me to look after the shop. ‘I’ve bought steaks for supper. I’ll cook you one before you go to the pub, but let me put them in the pantry first to stay cool, and I need to powder my nose.’
Reluctantly he turned back. ‘Steak. Pushing the boat out, are we? I’ll have some of that.’
‘Yes, well, it’s to celebrate Mum’s all-clear from anything nasty.’
I hurriedly put the steaks away then slunk off to the lavatory, the only room with a lock, where I could read Greg’s letter in peace.
Darling Hannah,
I like the idea of you in one of those bathing costumes. I would have it off you in a matter of moments, or maybe not. Maybe I’d let you tease me a bit first.
Actually, I suggested Cornwall as a location for a shoot in Woman’s Own. The art director loves the idea. So, how are you fixed for next Thursday? Fancy being my Girl Friday? Then, when the shoot is over, I will stay down for the weekend. How does that sound? Know any romantic little B and Bs?
I’ll call you when I arrive.
G xx
I read the letter twice more, thrilling to every word he’d written. With a bit of luck, Mum wouldn’t be back home until Monday or Tuesday.
I took great care cooking the steaks, and served them up with fried onions and potatoes the way I knew would please Edward.
‘Very nice, Hannah,’ he said, mopping the plate clean with a piece of bread.
‘Delicious,’ added Shirley.
‘I’ll have your spuds if you don’t want them,’ said David to Shirley.
‘Go on then.’ She pushed them onto his plate with her knife. ‘I’ll do the washing up.’
‘No. Let me.’ I stood up and collected Edward’s plate. ‘You’ve been working all day.’
She smiled gratefully. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I might go for a bath and an early night.’ She stretched her arms over her head. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Teddy?’
‘I’ll try not to wake you when I come in from the pub.’ He got up and kissed the top of her head, fondly, then reached for his coat hanging on the back of his chair. ‘See you later.’
When he’d gone I said, ‘I’ll make you a cuppa if you want one, Shirl. I’ll bring it up to you when I’ve finished down here.’
‘Would you?’
‘Of course. Now, up you go. And, David?’
‘You want me to dry up for you,’ he said sullenly.
‘No. I was thinking you might like to listen to that comedy on the wireless that you like.’
He was amazed. ‘Mum doesn’t like me listening late.’
‘Yes, well, Mum’s not here, is she.’
‘Blimey, thanks, sis.’
I washed and dried the dishes and tidied the kitchen, then took Shirley’s tea up to her. She was still in the bath so I sat on the edge while she drank it.
‘Such good news about your mum,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it? She was looking so much better this morning.’ I yawned theatrically. ‘The worry has been awful.’
Shirley lay back in the water. ‘You must be exhausted, Hann. You’ve been so good looking after us and the shop.’
‘I am a bit tired.’ I rolled my head from shoulder to shoulder.
‘I’ll look after everything this weekend,’ she said sweetly. ‘You put your feet up.’
‘I couldn’t let you do that,’ I whispered, rubbing my neck.
‘Have you got a headache?’ she asked sympathetically.
‘A bit.’
She sat up quickly, slopping the bath water over the rim and over my skirt. ‘Careful,’ I shrieked.
‘But, I’ve had a great idea! Pass me the towel, would you.’
I handed it to her and she stepped onto the thin bath mat, wrapping the towel around her. ‘You need a break.’
‘Ha!’ I said, as if it were an impossible idea.
‘No really!’ She was looking very pleased with herself. ‘Get hold of Greg and tell him to come down for the weekend!’
I laughed the notion off. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I am absolutely serious.’ She finished drying herself and sprinkled a handful of talcum powder under her arms. ‘Could you pass me my nightie? It’s on the back of the door.’
‘Where would he stay?’ I said, shrugging my shoulders.
She pulled her nightdress over her head and reached for her toothbrush, smiling and pointing it at me. ‘Why don’t you say that you have been invited to stay with an old ATS friend further down the coast!’
‘But who?’ Again I made it sound impossible.
‘Ermm, Faye?’
‘I haven’t spoken to her in months.’
‘And you don’t have to. Listen,’ her voice became low and conspiratorial, ‘I’ll tell Teddy that you have been invited to spend a couple of nights with Faye. I’ll say that you really need a break before your mum comes home.’
‘And …?’
‘And what you will actually be doing is having a nice little Mr and Mrs Smith time in a cosy hotel with Greg!’
I put my hand to my mouth as if in shock. ‘I couldn’t!’
‘You can if you want to. I won’t spill the beans. Careless talk costs lives, remember?’
I laughed as if astonished. ‘Shirley! You naughty woman!’
She smirked, ‘Nothing that Edward and I didn’t do before we married.’
‘I don’t wish to know!’
‘Oh, come on. I know you had your moments too. We thought we’d be killed at any minute. Remember? Life is for living, sister.’
I properly laughed. ‘Oh Shirley. You are so wonderful.’
Getting into bed that night, I felt only a slight guilt at having manipulated Shirley so easily.
Greg phoned two days later. He was coming down on the train the next day, while Francine Wallis would be driven down by her husband, Maurice.
‘He’s a terrible little man, but very rich,’ Greg told me. ‘I can’t stand him and he doesn’t trust Francine to be away from him for a night, let alone two nights. Poor little cow. By the way, darling, are you any good with a make-up brush? The usual bloody girl has got herself up the duff and had to get herself sorted.’
‘Sorted?’
‘Yes, you know … “See the doctor”; some quack, I expect, but at least she’ll be back at work next week.’
‘Oh no. How awful.’ I thought of the girls who had been in a similar bind during the war. We had heard later that one girl had actually died.
‘Well, they shouldn’t be so damn stupid, should they?’ He sounded so mat
ter of fact. ‘What do these girls expect if they don’t look after themselves?’
I was surprised that he should think that way. ‘I suppose.’ I thought of my own narrow escapes. Some of the men I had known refused to use French letters and it was almost impossible for women to get hold of them, unless they were married and had an understanding doctor. I couldn’t imagine going to our Dr Cunningham to ask him. He’d known us all for too many years.
‘That reminds me …’ Greg lowered his voice seductively. ‘I had better do some shopping myself if I have got you all to myself this weekend.’
I blushed. Not with embarrassment. With passion. ‘Yes, you’d better had.’
‘That’s my girl. Right. Meet me off the train at lunchtime and try to look like a make-up girl. OK?’
‘OK.’ But he had already rung off.
I told Shirley about the updated plan.
‘Lucky you.’ She grinned.
‘Can you explain it to Edward for me?’ I pleaded.
‘Of course. Let me just get this word perfect. Greg’s coming down a couple of days early for a photo shoot and you are going to earn some pin money as the make-up girl. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then, on Friday night Greg is getting the train back to London while you get the train to Penzance to see Faye for a couple of days.’
‘Yes.’
‘But actually you and Greg will be on a train together for a dirty weekend?’ She curtseyed as I applauded her.
The story sounded so plausible that even Mum believed it, and was actually pleased that I would be getting a little break before she came home.
‘You deserve it, darling, after all you have been doing for the family while I’m stuck in here.’
Guilt nibbled at my ribs that afternoon and in bed that night I was fidgety. My conscience nagged at me until I gave up on sleep and went downstairs for a very early cup of tea. I took it outside and sat on Mum’s old chair, watching the dawn break over the back of the house. We had a nest of sparrows under the eaves on top of a drainpipe, and I listened as the babies woke and began squawking. I watched as their parents flew out and off in search of tasty morsels for their breakfast. I remembered we had some Rich Tea biscuits left in the tin and I went to collect a couple to break into crumbs. When Mum was home, she was always the first one up and she had told how she could feed the birds from her hand.
Settling myself back in the garden chair, I threw a few crumbs a little way from me and watched as the two birds landed on the wall separating us from our neighbours. They cocked their heads from side to side, beadily checking me out. I kept quite still, and after a few minutes they came down, tucked in and flew up to the nest to quieten the children’s chatter. Gradually with each journey they got closer and closer until one hopped onto my open palm and snatched a crumb. I imagined sitting like that in the garden of the house Greg and I would live in. A cottage, hunkered down in its own pretty garden, the sea sparkling beyond the gate. I would take fresh lemonade and warm homemade bread outside for Greg and we would sit in the sun teaching our children, a son first and then a daughter, about the wildlife around us. Greg would build dens for them and I would introduce them to the birds. I rubbed the last of the Rich Tea crumbs from my hands and counted the chimes of the church clock. Six of them.
The sun was climbing and the sky was the palest blue. Greg would be pleased. His photographs should look wonderful.
Back in the kitchen I laid the breakfast table.
Edward was down first.
‘You’re up early,’ he said as he did up his tie. ‘What time does Greg get in?’
‘Midday.’ I went to the stove. ‘Egg on toast do you?’
‘Lovely.’ He went to the mirror over the mantel and checked his collar. ‘You’re keen on Greg, aren’t you, Toots?’
I kept my back to him. ‘He’s all right.’
‘Listen.’ He turned to face me. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but watch yourself.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ I checked the toast under the grill and cracked four eggs into the frying pan.
Edward sat down. ‘I don’t want you getting hurt, Toots. Greg is fun and all that but I’m not sure I want him fooling around with my sister.’
I reached for the fish slice and turned the eggs. ‘You make me sound like an inexperienced teenager. He’s not fooling around with me. I like him and enjoy his company.’
‘I am just saying he has a reputation as a love them and leave them merchant.’
I laughed. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake. I am a grown woman who knows how to live her life. I know exactly what kind of man Greg is.’
‘Do you? To be honest, I don’t like him much. I used to but, well he’s not exactly the man he pretends to be.’
I was furious. ‘I will be the judge of that.’
Edward held his hands up in peace. ‘All right, all right. I’m just glad he is not hanging around for the weekend, that’s all. Mum wouldn’t like it.’ He reached behind him to turn the wireless on.
‘Mum wouldn’t like what?’ Shirley appeared dressed and freshly made-up.
I took the toast from under the grill and handed her a knife. ‘Butter those, would you? Eggs are nearly ready. Edward was saying that if Greg was going to stay this weekend, Mum wouldn’t like it.’
Shirley gave me a covert look under her mascaraed lashes. ‘Why ever not? He seems a trustworthy chap.’ She smiled at Edward, who was listening to the news. ‘Hannah,’ she went on, loud and clear for Edward’s benefit, ‘what time is your train to Penzance on Saturday?’
‘Oh, it’s just after the one Greg’s catching back to London,’ I said innocently.
‘Oh yes,’ she said, giving me a big wink while Edward started to eat his eggs. ‘I expect you and Greg can share a taxi to the station. He can help you with your bag.’
‘That makes sense,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think, Edward?’
He looked up, ‘What? Sorry, miles away. Any tea on the go?’
I spent the morning making beds and straightening the house to salve my guilt for the wicked weekend I was about to embark on.
I collected a few things together and put them in my small suitcase and tucked it under the bed ready for Saturday morning.
I washed my hair and shaved my legs; now all I had to do was put a little make-up on, red lipstick and powder, and get dressed. If I was going to be Francine Wallis’s make-up girl, I had to look the part. I had bought a pair of denim trousers ages ago, just for knocking about in, but then had seen Marilyn Monroe wearing a pair in a magazine photo, looking sensational. Apparently, they were called jeans; I wondered if that was after Norma Jean. Anyway, I put them on with Mum’s old pink gingham work shirt and belted them tightly at the waist. Checking myself in the mirror, I rolled the sleeves up and undid another button. Pretty good. Then I dug around in my wardrobe for my old pair of canvas beach shoes and rolled up the hems of the trousers. I looked even better.
All I had to do was put together a convincing set of cosmetics (powder, rouge, eyeliner and mascara), a brush and some hair lacquer, and I immediately felt like a professional cosmetician.
I arrived at the station with half an hour to spare, found a bench and turned my face to the sun. If I still had any qualms about what I was doing, they cleared like mist in the heat as soon as the London train squealed and hissed its way into the station. I saw Greg step off the train and onto the platform. He was so handsome my heart skipped. His hair had grown a little and was pushed up by the sunglasses he wore on his head. He was wearing loose cream trousers, a white shirt and a navy pullover around his neck. I watched as he stepped down with his camera bag and small duffel bag and put them on the platform. I began to jog towards him and was about to call his name when an elegant, female hand stretched down from the train door and I heard a woman’s voice saying, ‘Darling, G. Help me down, would you?’
A slender silk-stockinged leg appeared next, followed by the model-slim body of Francine Wallis. Greg re
ached up and effortlessly lifted her down. Their eyes never left each other.
‘Hello,’ I said, walking right up to them. I held my hand out to Francine. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Wallis. I am Hannah, your make-up artist for the next two days.’
Greg jumped and almost tripped over his bags.
‘Hannah.’ He gave me a small peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you for helping out.’
I gave him a wide smile. ‘Dearest G. You call and I come running. You know me!’ I pointed to the two suitcases waiting at the train door. ‘You had better bring Mrs Wallis’s bags out before the train goes off with them.’
Irritably, he did as he was told.
Francine looked me up and down and proffered a limp hand. I shook it heartily, hoping to at least dislocate her shoulder.
Greg, breathing heavily after lifting the enormous cases down, had hidden his eyes with his sunglasses now and said tersely, ‘Dear Hannah. It really is sweet of you to meet us.’
I ignored him. ‘I had no idea you were travelling by train, Mrs Wallis. Greg told me you would be motoring down with your Mr Wallis?’
‘Did he?’ she answered with narrowed eyes. ‘Unfortunately my husband is kept in London with business.’
‘What a shame.’ I smiled, then slid my arm around Greg’s waist and kissed his lips. ‘You always have so much on your mind. Don’t you, darling?’
He laughed loudly. I could tell he was nervous.
‘So, where are you staying, Mrs Wallis?’ I signalled to a porter to collect the bags. ‘I will get the taxi to drop you off.’
‘Where are we staying, Greg?’ she purred.
‘Oh damn. Didn’t Maurice book you into somewhere?’
‘How should I know?’ Her peevish tone pleased me very much. If she was my competition, I would give her a run for her money.
‘Well, there are always rooms above the pub,’ I told her. ‘It’s very homely. I’m sure they could fit you in and they do an excellent breakfast.’
She shuddered. ‘I haven’t had breakfast in seven years.’
Following the porter, we left the station and he whistled up one of the waiting taxis. ‘Where to, sir?’