‘Does this mean I’ll be an auntie soon?’
‘Patricia, behave yourself and congratulate them properly.’ Leonard spoke sternly but he failed to hide a smile.
Patricia hugged her sister, then Will. ‘It’s lovely news, really it is. I’m very happy to have you for a brother-in-law, Will. I just know you’ll be happy together. I wish you lots of luck. Please God this war will end soon and we can have a real celebration.’
Talk went on around her, and in a lull she added, ‘Am I one of the bridesmaids? And will you invite Jacky Davies and Vanessa if she’s calmed down, and Matthew?’ She drifted into a daydream of Jacky taking Vanessa and leaving her to walk in a beautiful gown, with Matthew.
The following day, as she finished her shopping, she decided on impulse, to call on Vanessa. She had probably calmed down now, their friendship had withstood worse outbursts than this one. She knocked on the door and it opened onto a scene she had not expected. Mrs Drew was dishevelled and fighting back tears, still wearing a dressing gown. Vanessa was sleeping, or unconscious, on the couch and the room was filled with people she didn’t know. In the kitchen she could see a policeman’s uniform. ‘What on earth has happened now?’ she asked no one in particular.
‘Who are you?’ The policeman came out and put an arm up to stop her entering.
‘Vanessa’s friend. What’s happened?’ she repeated.
‘There’s been a death,’ the policeman said.
‘Not Vanessa!’
‘No, she’s sleeping. The doctor gave her something to make her sleep. She was hysterical and he thought it best.’
‘What happened?’
‘Mr Drew I’m afraid. A heart attack I’d guess.’
‘Oh, poor Mrs Drew!’ She went to comfort the grieving woman but the policeman held her back. ‘Look, Miss. You’ll have to come back later. I have to talk to her, do my report.’ He smiled politely but ushered her out and she stood for a long time staring through the door at Vanessa’s still form. How will Vanessa cope with this new disaster? She thought of Jacky’s comments and wondered somewhat guiltily if Vanessa would use it as an excuse for further illness. But no, she’d support her poor mother. Of course she would.
* * *
Marion Lloyd had many boyfriends, she wrote to several of the local boys when they were called to serve in the armed forces. She dated them on their leaves and had to juggle them around at times and avoid bumping into one while out with another. Patricia was constantly called to be her alibi when one would insist he had seen her out when she had told him she was in washing her fair, abundant hair. Like her sister Elizabeth, Marion was fair. Only Patricia had the dark eyes and black hair of their mother.
Patricia called every day to see Vanessa but was never invited inside. A bulletin of sorts was passed around the village, and with that she had to be content. She was used to rushing through the housework and shopping to spend hours at the farm. Now she had hours of spare time each day. Being unwelcome at the Drew’s household added to her boredom.
‘I’ll have to find another job,’ she told her father. To her surprise he had a solution.
‘Why not help Sally Drew at the flower shop?’
Sally was in agreement, and it was arranged that as soon as the doctor signed her off as no longer sick she would work each morning serving in the shop, and perhaps, begin to learn the art of bouquet and wreath-making.
Vanessa called to see her one day and her mother was with her.
‘I’ll never get over losing Daddy so suddenly,’ she said wiping tears from her cheeks, ‘Who’d have thought he’d have a heart attack like that. We never know what’s ahead of us, do we? Look how close to death I was that awful night in Cardiff.’
Patricia noticed she referred to her own brush with death but not hers or Roland’s but she said nothing.
‘I have to be brave to help Mam,’ Vanessa went on. ‘I can see how it’s worse for her. I’ve got Matthew, haven’t I? Oh Patricia, it’s made me realise how precious he is. I’d kill myself if someone took him from me.’
‘Come on, don’t talk about dying. It’s marrying you ought to be thinking about, and sooner than two years time.’
In February, only weeks after the devastating air raid on Cardiff, Vanessa was invited to sing at a concert given in aid of comforts for the forces. She was persuaded by her parents to accept. During the week before the concert, Patricia, Matthew and her mother were constantly needed to reassure her that there was no danger. Sadly other towns were now suffering the wrath of the enemy bombers.
The concert was in Swansea and the choir and the soloists were to travel by train. Vanessa’s mother went with her, the pair of them dressed in mourning black. Patricia and Matthew declined to go, as the evening would end late.
The weather was cold, and a thin layer of snow was on the ground. Wearing a long black dress and wrapped snugly in her mother’s black fur coat and with her feet tucked into black, fur-lined boots, Vanessa was comfortable. Although she had moments of panic at sudden noises, she seemed well able to cope with the evening.
Mrs Drew clutched the box of tablets in her pocket. Danger of Vanessa succumbing to despair had receded; caring for her daughter helped her cope with the loss of her husband.
Swansea had suffered a serious air raid just two days before the concert and they kept news of this from Vanessa. She was still distressed at any news of bombings and Mrs Drew knew that her daughter’s recovery, interrupted by the death of her father, was still fragile. This concert was a way of restoring the girl’s confidence, she was certain that facing it would improve her daughter’s health.
She relaxed as they reached the platform. Vanessa was standing quietly talking to others in the group and although white, she seemed well in control. With only minutes before their train was due, Vanessa suddenly began to groan and hold her stomach. ‘Mam, I can’t. I keep thinking of the air raid,’ she muttered.
‘Come on, lovely. You know it won’t happen again. And it’s Swansea we’re going, not Cardiff,’ her mother coaxed.
‘Swansea has its docks and there have been raids there. I can’t go, Mam.’
‘But you’ll be letting people down. Vanessa, think of the people who have bought tickets and of the charity that hopes to benefit.’ Mrs Drew fumbled in her pocket for the box of tablets. Vanessa had already taken two but perhaps another might do the trick. But even with the extra tablet, swallowed with a cup of tea from the station café, Mrs Drew’s words were wasted. No matter how she pleaded, flattered and cajoled, Vanessa insisted on going back home, and eventually became so distraught that Mrs Drew relented and accepted the inevitable.
The date was the nineteenth of February, the night that Swansea suffered the first of three nights of fearsome bombing. The strategy was different from what had gone before. Instead of flares and incendiaries followed by high explosives, the planes alternated between the two. Men and women faced extreme danger as they attempted to douse fire-bombs before being forced to run for shelter. More fires and more high explosives followed in seemingly endless destruction and death. The three nights of terror flattened the town centre, killed more than fifty people and injured almost a hundred more.
It was whispered that Vanessa, besides being musically talented and beautiful, was also psychic. She was irrationally afraid of the danger and refused to go out except to college where she had to be escorted by her mother.
Vanessa had simply lost her nerve at the thought of being out in a strange town at night but the occurrance of the raids on Swansea allowed her to pretend a premonition. During the two nights following, while Swansea was blasted almost out of existance, she sat in a chair rocking to and fro, shivering and wailing, once news of the raid in progress reached them. The town suffered bravely and she pretended to suffer with them.
Once, after a day in which Vanessa showed particular anxiety, an air raid took place and a solitary bomb dropped close to the town. It was enough to give strength to the foolish stories which Patric
ia half believed and Jacky and many others did not.
From then on Vanessa rarely performed in public, often agreeing to appear but collapsing within minutes of the moment she had to leave the house. Patricia consoled and comforted her, assured her she wouldn’t be blamed, that being so sensitive meant that no blame was attached to her. Matthew mouthed similar words and only Jacky laughed at Patricia and accused her of exacerbating Vanessa’s problems by her support.
‘Just look at the girl,’ he pleaded. ‘Watch her eyes and you’ll see the pleasure she can’t fully hide. Grow up, Patricia. Or you’ll spend your life being a prop to others.’
One night, when Patricia was undressed and preparing for bed, there was a knock at the door. Heavy rain had thickened the darkness and there was a chill, dank feel to the evening. Only Patricia and Marion were in. Elizabeth was up at Caradoc’s farm visiting Will’s father. Leonard had told them he was going to the pictures with Nelda Roberts.
‘Who can that be?’ Patricia looked at her sister, as if Marion could explain before opening the door. It was Matthew.
‘Patricia, can you come, it’s Vanessa, she’s unwell and her mother’s out and she won’t listen to me and I thought…’
Before he had explained, Patricia ran upstairs, quickly dressed and reached for a torch.
The door of the Drew’s house was open, although the place was in darkness. There was no sign of Vanessa.
‘Where can she have gone?’ Matthew looked about him in alarm tinged with exasperation. ‘She was here, semi-conscious. I’m wondering if she’s taken some tablets, you know what a household this is for tablets. Tablets for headaches, for a cold, for not having a cold, in case you get a cold – I ran for the doctor and he’s on his way, then I came for you. I haven’t been out more than a few minutes. I had to go for help. I had to leave her.’
‘The cottage? Would she have gone there?’ Patricia asked. ‘I’ll go, shall I? You wait here in case the doctor or her mother comes.’ Glad of the excuse to do something rather than stand around waiting, she didn’t wait for Matthew’s reply but ran out once more into the gloomy evening.
The lane leading off the track to the farm was muddy, water crisped with frost stood on the surface and filled the depressions caused by the farm vehicles. The cottage looked less attractive in the murky light and she was apprehensive as she tried the door.
Vanessa was not there. The door was unlocked but there were no damp marks on the floor tiles to reveal the entry of anyone. She still searched each room, peering nervously around each door, swishing the torch around the empty walls and sighing with relief when the room was empty. She pulled the door shut and hurried back down the lane to the main road.
Breathlessly, she hurried back to the Drew’s house to find Vanessa standing between her mother and Matthew, laughing in that special, vivacious way up into Matthew’s face. They were all talking, laughing; Matthew telling her what a fright he’d had, Mrs Drew saying how she’d panicked on reaching home and finding Matthew there and no Vanessa. Mrs Drew’s parents were there too, sitting on the couch, smiling at their granddaughter as if she had just done something clever. No one really looked at Patricia as she stood, panting with her efforts.
‘Vanessa!’ she complained. ‘I was getting ready for bed when Matthew called saying you were ill. I ran all the way here, then on to the cottage and back again.’
‘Oh, Patrica, I’m sorry I gave you all a fright. I was so tired, then I woke and thought I’d go and join Mam at Uncle Henry’s, she wasn’t there, I’d just missed her.’ She smiled up at Matthew again. ‘See? Silly old you, there was nothing to worry about at all.’
The memory of Jacky’s words shouted in Patricia’s ear and she knew in that moment that he was right. She’s far from oblivious to the panic she had caused, Patricia thought with bewildered surprise. She was only too aware. Whatever the real reason for her ‘illness’ and disappearance, the effect as always, was more attention and declarations of love.
No one noticed as she turned and went home.
* * *
On one of the rare spring-like days February sometimes produces, Patricia walked through the village to where Rose Cottage stood. The garden was already partly tamed and a wheel barrow overloaded with dead branches was standing against the hedge. She waited a moment wondering if the lady who was coming to live there had arrived. There were a few changes to suggest she had. Hedges tamed, new curtains at the windows.
‘Can you please help me, or are you content just to stand and watch?’ The voice came from the wheelbarrow and to her alarm, Patricia noticed that a pair of wellingtons were visible under the far side. She ran and, apologising profusely, helped the woman to her feet.
‘There’s sorry I am! I didn’t see you. I don’t know many people who dress in wheelbarrows to do their gardening,’ she chuckled. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m not hurt, but the weight of the barrow was stopping me from getting up. Lucky you passed by. I don’t see many people here in the back of the village.’
‘You settling in then? I saw you on Boxing Day, remember?’
‘I remember. Now, d’you have time for a cup of tea? I think I need one.’
‘So do I. Thanks. For a moment there I thought I’d met a talking wheelbarrow!’
They talked happily for more than an hour, then Patricia explained that although her sister Marion had promised to cook dinner, it would almost certainly be left to her. ‘Boyfriends, you see,’ she explained. ‘Marion has them by the dozen. Army, Navy and Airforce, she writes to them all. When they come on leave her movements are more complicated than the railway timetables.’
‘Take this. I’ve just made it.’ The lady, whose name she had learnt was Julia Llewellyn, handed her an apple tart. ‘Only dried apple rings I’m afraid, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.’
Mrs Llewellyn wanted to hear all about the village and its occupants, particularly her part in it. She laughed at Patricia’s account of her family’s activities. They were both sorry when it was time for Patricia to leave and she promised another visit, soon.
As she was walking along Ebenezer Street on her way home, Patricia saw a man in airforce uniform standing looking around him in a confused way, clutching a piece of paper. It was dangerous to give information to strangers, she knew that. The enemy might have sent spies to search out likely places for invasion and for bombing raids, but he was in R.A.F. uniform and rather handsome, so she put aside the warnings and asked if he needed help.
‘I’m looking for Rose Cottage,’ he said, showing her the piece of paper with a plan drawn on it.
‘There are at least three,’ Patricia laughed. ‘That’s almost as bad as standing in the middle of Cardiff and asking for Mr Jones. What name are you looking for?’
‘Not Jones, thank goodness,’ he smiled. ‘I want a Dr Llewellyn.’
‘Well there’s a thing! Now this minute I’ve left her! And if you were hoping for apple tart then you’re too late!’ She lifted the cover and showed him the still warm tart. She directed him and walked on home. He was tall, well over six feet, and powerfully built, his eyes were dark and his full mouth had the nicest smile. Perhaps he was Mrs Llewellyn’s son? No, too young for that. Perhaps a grandson? No, she decided. Too old. She glanced back with a slight frown. There was something about him that was familiar. Could she have met him before? If she had, how could she have forgotten?
A family conference that evening took her mind off the handsome stranger and Mrs Llewellyn.
After they had eaten a meal of omelette made with fresh eggs from the farm, followed by the delicious apple tart, Nelda arrived.
‘We want to talk about our plans and as they concern you three, we thought it best to discuss them here when we’re all together,’ Leonard explained nervously. He looked at Nelda and she said quickly. ‘We have a problem, see, and we hope you will help us solve it.’
‘Your father and I want to marry, but, I don’t think this house is big enough for us all and you
r father doesn’t want to leave you and find somewhere else for us to begin our married life.’
‘Four bedrooms, two living rooms and a garden you could play cricket in, where’s the problem?’ Patricia asked in her forthright way.
‘The problem is that I don’t want to just become a part of this already established family. I want your father and I to build a place or our own.’
‘We can’t just disappear!’
‘Patricia!’ Leonard warned.
Patricia shrugged, and looked at her sisters, tight-mouthed and resentful. Jacky’s advice was soon forgotten. This wasn’t the way to make Nelda think they were on her side.
‘Elizabeth?’ Leonard asked.
‘It doesn’t affect me as much as Marion and Patricia. Will and I are marrying in about a month. I will be moving out as soon as the war ends and going to live at the farm.’
‘You could go earlier,’ Patricia suggested, ‘then she’d only have two of us under her feet.’
‘I’ve had three proposals,’ Marion said with a glance at her father. ‘Not that I’d accept, mind!’
Leonard said very little, he knew he would never ask his children to find somewhere else to live. He couldn’t. He loved them too much and couldn’t deprive them of a home until they were ready to go, even though his future happiness might depend on their leaving.
The debate went on for an hour, during which most of the words were spoken by Nelda, quietly determined, and Patricia openly rebellious. When their father left to take Nelda home, Patricia and Marion tearfully hugged each other.
‘Don’t act like orphans of the storm in some Victorian melodrama,’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘If I read Dad correctly, he won’t do what Nelda asks. She’ll have to come and share with us if she really wants to marry him.’
* * *
Elizabeth had asked Patricia to carry some early wedding gifts up to the farm where she and Will would be making their home. On the way back, early one evening in late February, Patricia met Matthew. As always, she felt an immediate joy in seeing him. It was raining and rivulets of water were running down the lane washing over her wellingtons and gurgling into the ditches at each side, which eventually took the surplus water into the stream.
Ice Cream in Winter Page 6