Elizabeth sat at the table and looked at the meal of warmed up potatoes and vegetables. ‘Sorry Patricia but I don’t think I can eat this,’ she sighed. She didn’t admit that she had already eaten fish and chips in town, but looked pained and disappointed.
‘Sorry, but I didn’t know what time to expect you,’ Patricia huffed. ‘Next time leave a note and I’ll time it to the very minute!’
‘Well you have to admit it looks pretty horrible. If you can’t do better than this forget it!’
‘It wasn’t even my turn!’ Hands on hips, Patricia glared at her sisters. ‘Marion should have been here. Not that she’d have done any better!’
‘Now then girls!’ Leonard stood up and reached for his coat. ‘Patricia’s right, Marion. You must be fair. Fridays is your turn to wait in and cook.’
‘Fine excuse she has, daydreaming at home all day, while I’m working in a steaming hot warehouse!’
‘Enough!’ Leonard shrugged into his coat and opened the door. ‘I’m just off for a pint before meeting the rest of the troupe. Be back before half-ten.’ Friday was the night for Home Guard training.
He closed the door after him and Marion whispered, ‘Get him, with his ‘just off for a pint’! Going to see that Nelda Roberts he is!’
‘Not till nine o’clock. She’s taking cookery at the Youth Club. Fatless sponges they’re making tonight. Yuk!’ While her sisters discussed the continuing affair between their father and the school-teacher, Patricia slipped out and went to the school, where she helped at the Youth Club.
At nine, she saw her father waiting to take Nelda home, carrying her books and equipment. She called a cheery ‘goodnight’ then ran to the Drew’s house in Ebenezer Street.
Sounds of laughter greeted her as she reached the open door and her knock was not heard. Pushing the door she called out and it was Roland who came to see who was there.
‘It’s a bit late, but can I see Vanessa? Sick she was, so your Auntie Sally Drew told me.’
Roland was almost six feet tall and his slimness gave the impression of greater height. His hair was cut close to his head and being fair was almost invisible in the fading light.
‘Oh, Roland, get from under the light! You look prematurely bald,’ she teased as she pushed past him.
‘Cheeky child,’ he chuckled as he ran up the stairs.
Stepping into the living room, the silence settled as if the laughter she had heard had never happened. Vanessa, fair and frail-looking, was draped across a couch with a blanket half covering her. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes a cold blue; she looked far from ill.
‘What was all the laughter? What did I miss?’ Patricia asked, looking around the room. Vanessa and Roland’s mother were sitting near the fire and, standing in a corner, was Matthew.
Smiles creased their faces but Vanessa shrugged and said weakly, ‘Roland and Matthew are telling stories about their war. It seems boring to me, all that ‘all-pals-together’ stuff, but Mam enjoyed it.’
‘What war, Matthew? You haven’t even joined up yet!’ she smiled, but no one shared her attempt to tease. Sinking deeper into her pillows, Vanessa closed her eyes. Her mother watched her and Matthew went to sit beside her.
‘Are you tired? Shall I go?’ Seeing Matthew there, Patricia didn’t want to stay. Officially engaged to Vanessa, his presence filled her with dismay. He shouldn’t be sitting beside Vanessa but standing here, holding her hand, smiling into her eyes. She dreamed of his kisses and of the time they spent together in the cottage. And all the time a voice told her she was bad-wicked, stealing kisses from her best friend’s fiancé. But the internal scolding failed to reduce her longing. She had half removed her coat and she pulled it back on. ‘I’d better go, I have some ironing to do and there’ll be the dishes left I’ll bet.’
‘No, stay and talk to me,’ Vanessa said lazily. ’What have you been doing up at Caradoc’s today?’
‘How did you know I’d been there?’ Patricia asked.
‘You work there, don’t you?’
‘Not since I was injured during the air raid, no. And in fact, I won’t be working there any more. I’m starting in Cottage Flowers with your Auntie Sally on Monday.’ She wasn’t going to bother with an explanation but, angered at the indifference she added, ‘The doctor refuses to let me go back to the heavy farm work. If I do, this shoulder will never get right.’
‘Now there’s a thing, and I thought you were unharmed,’
Mrs Drew said. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt too?’
‘I thought I had,’ Patricia said dryly.
‘I suppose it was the worry about Vanessa. Like Roland’s, yours was a physical injury, far less worrying than Vanessa’s illness.’
Patricia didn’t want to talk about the air raid or Vanessa. Why couldn’t she talk about something really riveting… tell them she was in love with Matthew and ask what they were going to do about it?
‘I’m all right again now, Mam,’ Vanessa said. ‘In fact, I’ll be at school tomorrow without fail. Unless I oversleep. Make sure you call me will you?’
‘Patricia gets up at at six-thirty, you don’t have to start until nine, lazy brat,’ Matthew said affectionately. ‘And besides, tomorrow’s Saturday and for you, a lazy day. Not like me. Cows produce milk and hens lay eggs every day.’ As he spoke he was smiling at Patricia in a way that made her knees weak. ‘She’s one of the lucky ones, still able to study, isn’t she Patricia?’
‘I don’t think so. I’d be bored sitting inside and looking out of the window at the sky. I’ll miss the farm. I’d rather be outside, even if the work is heavy.’
‘Patricia has always been robust,’ Vanessa said and to Patricia, ‘robust’ sounded ungainly, awkward, clumsily powerful. Suddenly she wanted to be not robust but fragile and helpless and beautiful like her friend. She glanced across at Matthew and saw he was smiling as if he understood.
‘Strong. Capable maybe. But not robust, that sounds like an overloaded tractor,’ he laughed.
Roland came downstairs then, wearing his uniform, including his heavy great coat. He carried two canvas bags beside his rucksack. It increased his size so he seemed to fill the room. ‘I have to go,’ he smiled.
‘Ten more minutes?’ his mother pleaded.
‘I have to walk to the station, that will take half-an-hour. I daren’t miss my train.’
‘Why not cycle?’ Patricia suggested. ‘That will give you an extra ten minutes. I’ll come with you if you like and bring the bicycle back. I can easily ride one and guide the other, I’ve done it dozens of times.’
‘There, you see? Capable!’ Matthew said.
Suddenly Patricia had to get out of the room. Matthew was being so nice to her, defending her against the lightest of remarks and she couldn’t cope with it.
‘I’ll run back and fetch my bicycle, you have another cup of tea. I’ve some twine in my pocket. We can tie your bag on the back carrier, no trouble.’ She grabbed her old coat like a lifeline and hurried out, calling back, ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes, all right?’ This was the chance she had been waiting for. Now she would tell Roland about her and Matthew and bring everything out into the open.
* * *
In the gloom of the late evening, Roland tied his luggage on the carrier and gave Patricia a brief hug.
‘Thanks, Patricia. It’s kind of you to do this. Mam hates to see me go and the ten minute reprieve made her feel like she’s cheating the R.A.F. out of those extra moments.’
The lanes were dark with only a faint hint of light coming from where a moon rose weakly and made a hole in the sky. They cycled along in silence for a while, slowly making their way between the hedgerows where cow parsley would soon frill the edges with lace. The night smelled of damp earth but she detected a hint of early wild garlic in the air. An owl, early about his business, hooted close by and added to the atmosphere of the unusually mild, secret night. How could she spoil it for him, as he was going back to what ever hell awaited him?
‘Isn’t this wonderful,’ Patricia whispered.
‘Yes, I feel like a trespasser, don’t you?’
‘I often stand and just listen in the early hours. It’s a different world.’ Patricia pointed across the fields. ‘Over there is a badger’s sett and I’ve been fortunate enough to see them returning from the nightly foraging several times, trotting along in single file around the lip of the old quarry. I’ll show you one day, if you like?’
‘I’d love that. On my next leave. Right?’
A car passed them, barely visible, camouflaged against the hedges and with only slits of its headlights showing, they dismounted and pulled right into the hedge to allow it to pass.
‘Nuisance!’ Patricia groaned.
The station was wrapped in its sleepy semi-active state, with only a few more trains due to pass through before night closed it completely. Patricia saw only two other passengers waiting. Unsure of what she was expected to do, she stood while Roland untied his bag and put on his forage cap.
‘You needn’t stay,’ he smiled, his teeth oddly bright in the darkness.
‘Oh, I might as well see you off. Those two have someone to wave the train out of the station, I’d hate to think you were deprived,’ she joked. In truth she was reluctant to leave. The quiet journey through the darkness had been pleasant and she didn’t want to end the interlude until she had to.
She was disappointed when the train arrived on time and she stood while Roland found a seat, stacked his luggage and settled near the window. It wasn’t until the train had disappeared into the gloom with only an occasional spark revealing its presence that she turned to leave.
Roland felt inexplicable regret at parting from the happy young woman. The night seemed to get darker as she faded from his sight. He still stood at the window stretching out, hoping for one more glimpse long after the train had curved away and the station was gone from his view. He was smiling, imagining her struggling with the two bicycles and wishing he hadn’t left her to deal with them.
One of the people in the carriage asked, ‘Your girlfriend?’
‘No,’ he protested. ‘She’s just a child.’
‘Then my eyes deceived me. I saw a very lovely young woman.’
‘A friend of my sister,’ Roland offered as further explanation.
‘Lucky you, to have a sister with friends like her!’ Roland smiled and opened his book, but for a long time he failed to comprehend the words. Dancing before his eyes was a picture of a lively and rather beautiful young woman.
* * *
Patricia’s confidence at managing two bicycles faded when she attempted to ride her own and guide his. She had done it often, but not for many years and the skill eluded her. She was almost home, having walked most of the way before a brief downhill stretch gave her momentum and a short ride. It took her more than the thirty minutes it would have taken Roland to walk and it was past eleven when she entered the house.
‘Where have you been, Patricia?’ her father asked, rising from a chair near the fire. ‘I was worried.’
‘Sorry Dad. I went to the station with Roland on our bikes and thought I’d be able to manage to bring both bicycles with ease. I couldn’t!’ she laughed.
‘Let me know where you’re going next time.’
‘Yes. Sorry. Is there water in the kettle for a cup of cocoa?’ She lifted the kettle off the hob beside the dying fire and shook it experimentally. ‘Want a cup?’
‘You haven’t been with that Matthew, have you?’
‘Matthew? Vanessa’s boyfriend? Well, he was there, with Vanessa. Why?’
‘Vanessa’s fiancé he is, mind. Don’t get ideas about him, will you?’
‘Dad! Now, d’you want cocoa or not?’
In bed, the sheets cool against her warm body, she lay thinking about Matthew, wondering how her father had guessed how she felt about him.
* * *
Leonard Lloyd stayed near the fire for a long time, his brow furrowed with thought. Before meeting Nelda Roberts he had been to discuss his problem with Cyril Philips. The initial problem, that of age, seemed to have been dealt with. He was forty-four and Nelda, for all her maturity, was only twenty-eight. But they got on so well and the sixteen years difference hardly seemed apparent, except when others pointed it out. Now there was an insurmountable barrier. Nelda’s unwillingness to come and live here with his daughters.
But there was something else besides the decision as to where they would eventually live. She had been edgy for days and he was afraid she was going to end it. Every time they met he was tense, waiting for her to tell him it was over between them.
He lifted the cocoa Patricia had made and it was cold. He half-heartedly made another cup and that too remained untouched. A few minutes to midnight there was a knock at the door and he opened it, presuming Elizabeth had forgotten her key, but it was Nelda.
Surprised, he asked if something was wrong.
‘You could say that,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’
* * *
Elizabeth was busily squirrelling away items she would need to begin her home. Because she intended to live with Will’s father for a year or two at the farm, it was there that she stored her possessions. While Patricia worked there it had been easy for her sister to take anything she bought or was given, to put in the room at Caradoc’s farm that she and Will would share. Now, she had a collection of china bought from an itinerant trader who appeared at one of the street markets, plus some plain white sheets and pillow cases which she had embroidered.
‘Take them up, will you, Patricia,’ she pleaded, on the morning Patricia was to begin her first day at Cottage Flowers.
‘What, now?’
‘You have an hour for dinner, don’t you? There’s time to walk up there and back. I’ve so much to take, and I’ll be unable to get into bed if I don’t empty my bedroom soon.’ She could see her soft-hearted sister weakening and added. ‘I’ll get dinner if you do this for me.’
Patricia agreed to take it after work. ‘And you can buy me a new battery for my torch!’ she said.
Her first day at Cottage Flowers was fascinating. She only served in the shop, selling the flowers already bunched and priced by Sally, or took orders for the deliveries, which Sally did in her battered old car. In between customers she watched and learned as Sally worked. Sally was an untidy figure, with grey hair that was in constant disarray. She suffered from swollen feet from the many hours spent standing in her workroom, and she often delivered her beautiful flower arrangements wearing scruffy trousers covered by a clean apron and with feet ensconced in fluffy slippers.
Sally Drew was well over sixty years old and she hoped that Patricia would gradually take over and give her more time to enjoy some of the things she had been unable to do while running the busy shop single-handed. Rummy and whist were her passions and she had dreams of grasping the rudiments of Bridge once she was free to concentrate on the game.
In quiet moments, she would take out a pack of cards and play games of Patience, grumbling to herself when it didn’t work out and cheating to help achieve false victory.
Patricia didn’t want to go home for the hour that the shop closed for dinner and although Sally invited her to stay and have a sandwich, she declined. She wanted to tell Julia Llewellyn about her new job. So at five-past one, with the shop firmly locked, she walked through the main street of the village to Rose Cottage.
‘Do you really want to do this?’ Julia asked politely. ‘It can be a fascinating and profitable career, specially if you go to college and do it properly. But is it your choice my dear, or was it the first thing on offer?’
‘I don’t want a career!’ Patricia laughed. ‘You have to be clever, like Elizabeth, to have a career. I just want a job, until I marry.’ She hesitated to discuss Matthew. It wasn’t the right time.
Julia sighed and asked, ‘And do you have anyone in mind. Or will that also be the case of the first thing that offers itself?’
‘You didn’t have the incentive. If only you were fired by a desire for knowledge, became interested in something, then you’d achieve something really worthwhile.’
‘Perhaps the flowers will be my career. If I don’t marry.’
‘Shall I make enquiries about college courses?’
‘I don’t know that I want to. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?’
‘How old are you, Patricia?’
‘Eighteen this month. Time I was engaged at least, if I’m not going to end up on the shelf,’ she said lightly.
Julia sighed. ‘Don’t you see, my dear, you’re wasting precious time waiting for someone to come along and marry you? Time you could use to further your own interests, develop your skills.’
Patricia didn’t reply, although she was dying to tell her friend that she had found the man she would marry.
Julia sighed again. ‘Do something with your life. Make use of your talents and youth and vitality. It’s such a waste of today, waiting for some mystical “Tomorrow” when everything will be perfect.’
Elizabeth was true to her word and when Patricia arrived home after her first day, there was a meal waiting for her. Shop bought pies of dubious content, with mashed potatoes, fried onions, tinned carrots and bisto gravy. Having eaten, and cleared the dishes, Patricia set off to deliver the latest addition to Elizabeth’s ‘bottom drawer’ to Caradoc’s farm. She stayed for a chat with Mr Caradoc and Mrs Francis, the young woman who lived in an adjoining house.
Mrs Francis’ husband, Gwyn, had worked for Mr Caradoc since a boy. Mrs Francis had helped on the farm since her husband had joined the army. Gwyn Francis had been one of the first to volunteer. With a small baby to care for, Gwen Francis couldn’t do much, but she kept Mr Caradoc’s house clean, did some cooking and tended the vegetable patch. As she always had, she managed extra hours as seasonal tasks added to Mr Caradoc’s load.
Ice Cream in Winter Page 8