Wartime Family

by Lane, Lizzie

  Harry came home on leave and managed to repair a few windows and build new walls. The smell of blackened timbers persisted, but at least the old place would be cosier for the winter. While summer lasted, great swathes of sunlight warmed the rooms by day and turned them red at sunset. Mary Anne sat with her eldest son on the old chaise longue, staring out the window with their arms around each other.

  ‘We’re like rich people on the Queen Mary watching the sun go down as we cross the Atlantic,’ said Mary Anne wistfully.

  Harry’s arm tightened around her shoulder and he kissed her hair. ‘There are only troops on the Queen Mary these days.’

  ‘How sad. I’d like to take a trip on her one day.’

  ‘After the war,’ he said, hugging her close. ‘When the world’s at peace and you’re juggling another grandchild on your knee.’

  Mary Anne sighed. ‘I keep asking Lizzie about her beau, but she doesn’t let on. She says she’ll be off abroad before very long, but won’t say where she’s going. I’ll worry about her, of course, but …’

  Harry felt her shrug beneath his arm. He wanted to say to her that it wasn’t usual for women drivers to go abroad into a battle zone, but he kept his mouth shut. Lizzie’s letters had been few and far between of late, but now she was saying that her posting was so top-secret that she wouldn’t be able to send any at all. Had his beloved mother noticed that Lizzie was sending conflicting stories? It seemed strange to him, but he wouldn’t tell her that. She had been through enough. All he wanted was for her to be happy.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Lizzie threaded a piece of elastic through her skirt’s buttonhole and around the button. ‘Breathe in,’ she muttered to herself.

  The waistband fastened – just. There was no full-length mirror in the room she shared with Margot and Annabelle, a new girl with sleek blonde hair and a confident manner. She and Margot had hit it off right away. Lizzie had felt left out at first, but was now glad of being left alone a bit more. They still spoke but although Margot made comments about her putting on weight, she didn’t dwell on the subject. ‘Stodge and more stodge,’ she had said, referring to their daily diet.

  Lizzie had joined in with her own comments about suet pudding and potato pie. Once Annabelle was in the room, her presence seemed to fade into the background.

  Margot came into the room just after Lizzie had secured her skirt. She brushed briskly at the front of it as though she were only removing crumbs, not flattening it over her stomach.

  ‘I’ve got leave. Isn’t that marvellous?’ she said, adopting her happiest voice as she ran a red lipstick around her mouth.

  Margot stood wavering by the closed door. ‘I suppose you’re off with Wing Commander Hunter this weekend.’ There was something about her tone of voice that stabbed at Lizzie’s heart. She controlled the sudden shaking in the hand holding the lipstick.

  ‘That’s right.’

  There was a beat or two of silence before Margot said, ‘Have you told him yet?’

  Lizzie felt her heart beating harder. ‘Told him what?’

  Margot was standing beside her now, her expression serious, her eyes intent. ‘You can’t fool me, Lizzie. That skirt is too tight for you. And don’t tell me it’s purely suet pudding. It’s a pudding alright, but not a suet one.’

  Lizzie spun round on her. ‘It’s none of your business. It’s between me and Guy.’

  ‘Of course it is. So what does he say about it?’

  Lizzie reached for her gas mask and her handbag. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she repeated.

  Once outside the door, she regretted snapping at Margot. She stalled, her hand remaining on the door handle as she tried to decide whether or not to apologize. No, she thought. I’ll do that I’ll break down and tell her everything, just as Margot told me all about Major Bradley when they split up.

  ‘He’s not terribly good in bed, darling,’ she’d said. ‘I need a more physical man, truly I do.’

  The word romance rarely came into Margot’s conversation, but Lizzie found her amusing and valued her friendship.

  It was two weeks since she’d told Guy that she was pregnant. They’d been on the boat. The day had been beautiful, the red russet of an early autumn glowing against a blue sky. Mornings had been crisp and fresh; the evening sky streaked with a salmon-pink sunset. So romantic, she’d thought. The time was ripe to tell him. But he’d just stared at her, a look of total incomprehension on his face. ‘Are you sure?’

  She caught hold of his hand, pressing his palm against her stomach. Feeling a sudden flutter, he winced and withdrew it. ‘That’s … amazing,’ he said.

  The look in his eyes had changed immediately. The old shielded look came back to worry her. She’d told herself that he merely needed time to get used to the idea.

  ‘You’ll have to bring your divorce forward,’ she said, laying her head against his shoulder and hugging him tight.

  ‘I’ll certainly have to make some plans, for sure,’ he’d said.

  They’d been busy during the last two weeks, back and forth to London, acquiring more and more paperwork as they went. During this time they’d only managed to snatch a couple of hours alone at a pub or parking the car while they took a breath of fresh air.

  ‘Things are hotting up in the east,’ he’d said when she’d suggested they take a room in a hotel and sleep together. He’d frowned as he’d looked into the distance, as though he were seeing a far worse war looming than the one they’d experienced so far.

  ‘Will the Americans get involved?’ she’d asked, more by way of conversation than anything else. This war was the reason they’d met, yet its importance lessened with the growth of the child within her.

  ‘Could be.’ He looked at her strangely then, unnerving her. Sensing he wasn’t comfortable with the subject, she grasped an excuse from thin air.

  ‘You’ve got a lot more paperwork,’ she’d said as though that were the reason she’d mentioned the Americans. The sky clouded over suddenly. Lizzie shivered.

  ‘We’d better go,’ Guy said.

  She’d picked her way back over the grass verge, her shadow falling ahead of her. Suddenly she’d realized he wasn’t with her. She’d stopped and looked back to see him, hands in his pockets, head down as he kicked thoughtfully at a clump of bright-red poppies.

  She was thinking of this incident now as she made her way to his room on the first floor of Ainsley Hall.

  ‘Randall!’ Lizzie saluted Sergeant Pauline Cropper, a good-natured young woman with a country complexion and a broad bosom. ‘Adjutant wants to see you in his office.’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

  A freckly ginger-haired girl came out of the office just as Lizzie was about to knock. The adjutant saw her and beckoned her with a crooked finger.

  ‘Come on in, Randall.’

  Lizzie saluted and stood to attention.

  The adjutant sat back in his chair. ‘At ease, Randall. Take a seat.’

  The queasiness of her condition intensified. Since when had the lowest in the pecking order been offered a seat? Something was up. A whole range of tragedies funnelled through her mind. Had something happened to Guy? To one of her family? Or was it something really mundane, like being posted elsewhere? She would refuse, of course. She had to be here for Guy. She was his girl, his own driver, and he was getting divorced so he could be with her.

  The adjutant sighed and rested his clasped hands on his substantial belly. ‘I’m sorry to inform you of this, Randall, but you’re being transferred to a non-sensitive unit dealing mostly with the transport of medical supplies and suchlike.’

  She asked him to repeat what he’d said. He did so, but even then she couldn’t believe it.

  ‘You’re insinuating that I’m a security risk?’

  The adjutant eyed her over the top of his horn-rimmed spectacles. ‘Not me, Randall. The wing commander.’

  She felt as though her body, her limbs, right to the tips of her fingers and toes, had been t
urned to ice. This was total betrayal! Her greatest fear had been realized.

  ‘There must be some mistake!’ she cried.

  The adjutant raised his eyebrows, peering at her over the top of his glasses. ‘No. There is not.’

  Her stomach churned and the child seemed to turn with it, the living weight easing from one side of her body to the other. ‘But Wing Commander Hunter said that I was to drive for him and him alone.’

  ‘The wing commander requested that he be reposted to the Far East. I believe that he and his family are to be stationed in Singapore.’

  ‘His family? His parents are going to Singapore?’

  ‘His wife and children, Randall. I believe he has four children and another on the way.’

  Yes, of course he has another on the way, and I’m the mother! The thought screamed in her brain but did not make it to her tongue. For now and for a long time to come, she would be drowning in hurt. He had four children. He’d lied. How could he do this to her?

  She gulped back the hurt, though was certain it showed on her face. ‘Sir, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why do I have to be transferred to a non-sensitive unit?’

  The adjutant gave his stern look again. ‘Wing Commander Hunter felt you were asking too many questions about his work. He thought it better that you were reassigned to a less vulnerable situation where asking too many questions wouldn’t do too much harm. But I must warn you, Randall, your behaviour will be monitored. Be like Dad. Keep Mum. OK?’

  It was as though the blood had drained to her feet and flooded from her toes. He saluted. She was expected to return his salute, but her legs turned to jelly as she got to her feet. She slumped back down in her chair, then made a second attempt and crumpled to the floor.

  She awoke in a world of white. Slowly the whiteness turned to cream. A hospital screen surrounded the bed she lay in. She heard voices outside. Someone was asking a question. Someone else was answering.

  ‘I’ll see if she’s awake.’

  A round face framed by a crisply starched head dress appeared from behind the screen.

  Cool fingers circled her wrist. ‘How are you feeling?’ At the same time as asking her the question, the nurse studied the minute hand on the fob watch hanging from her breast.

  ‘I’m fine. I think. What happened?’

  ‘You fainted. Understandable, given your condition. Five months gone and nobody noticed. I’m astounded.’

  Lizzie closed her eyes and tried to recall where she’d been when she’d fainted. Or was that all a dream? Had the adjutant really told her that Guy, along with his wife and four children – and another on the way – were being posted to Singapore?

  ‘You have a visitor,’ said the nurse, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m only supposed to allow close family to visit you, but he says he’s your fiancé, so on this occasion …’

  Lizzie’s heart thudded against her ribs. It was all a dream – of course it was!

  ‘He’s here?’

  The nurse smiled. ‘I’ll let him in. No doubt he wants to make sure that mother and baby are doing well.’

  Lizzie glowed with happiness. Guy had come back – no, he’d never gone away. It was just a dream.

  ‘Alright, Lizzie?’ said a familiar voice – but not the one she wanted to hear.

  Lizzie’s smile froze on her face. The nurse brought Patrick a chair. He looked brown and healthy, a tan left over from an assignment abroad.

  ‘Ten minutes only.’

  ‘I won’t tire her,’ he said cheerfully, his teeth blazing white against his brown skin. His smile wilted away once he’d studied Lizzie’s look of surprise. ‘I’m sorry. I can see you were expecting someone else. Perhaps I should go.’

  Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears trickled out anyway.

  ‘I take it he’s left you.’

  She gulped. There were no words, only emotions sitting like lead in her chest. Patrick loved her. Of that she had no doubt. She knew what he was thinking, knew what he would say if she confirmed the facts.

  ‘The baby should have a father,’ he went on, and looked sheepish when he said it. ‘I love you, Lizzie. I’ll marry you. I’ll give the little ’un a home.’

  Eyes squeezed shut, lips quivering with silent sobs, Lizzie shook her head. Her misery was history repeating itself, yet she couldn’t tell Patrick that. Her mother had told her about the child she’d given away following the death of her sweetheart in the trenches. Henry Randall had married her, unaware of the child’s existence. Trusting him to understand, her mother had told him the truth. From then on Henry Randall’s true character had come through. The blame was always there. She couldn’t go through that; it would be like letting her mother down and Mary Anne Randall had quite enough to worry about.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That wouldn’t be fair. It’s my life and my mess. I won’t ruin things for you.’

  He glanced around him before leaning forward and whispering, ‘I’d tell your mother the baby was mine. She wouldn’t have to know anything else.’

  ‘No, Patrick. I won’t do that, and I don’t want Mum to know. You must promise … promise me you won’t tell her.’

  ‘But …’ He’d been about to say that her mother would be worried, but the look in her tear-filled eyes stopped him. She looked scared, as though some ghost was only inches from her pillow. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Do you believe that the same sin can run in families?’

  He frowned, flicking at the corner of his eye as he thought about it. ‘I couldn’t say. I suppose it’s possible – like red hair and green eyes can be passed on, so perhaps behaviour and making the same mistakes can be, but there again …’

  He’d been about to say that he was nothing like his mother, but presumed he was more like his father, though of course he couldn’t say. He’d headed for new horizons years ago.

  Lizzie interrupted him with a question. ‘You’re still posted abroad?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  She thought carefully but swiftly before asking him a favour. ‘I want you to say you’ve seen me in the same location as you’re stationed and to send them my love. Will you do that?’

  He hesitated to answer, wondering what she was planning, but finally said simply, ‘I will.’

  ‘Good.’ She closed her eyes again.

  Patrick felt an ache in his guts that wouldn’t go away. He wanted to help her in any way he could. He didn’t care if it was wrong, didn’t care that he was lying. If that was what Lizzie wanted, that was what he would do. But what would she do about the baby? He had to ask her.

  Her eyes flicked open suddenly and she pushed herself up on to her elbows. ‘There’s a girl I used to know who left the unit because she was pregnant. She’d booked herself into a place where she could have the baby without anyone knowing, though she ended up telling her parents, but she wanted it adopted. It turned out that she didn’t need it in the end, but if you can get hold of Margot, she’ll get the details from the girl.’

  ‘And until then?’

  Until then. She fell back on to the pillows, thoughts falling into place one by one. ‘Until then I’ll be here.’

  ‘I mean, where will you be until you have the baby?’

  ‘I’ll find somewhere to stay until then.’

  ‘Is there anything I can get for you?’

  She fixed her eyes on the top of the screen surrounding her bed, almost afraid to look into his eyes in case she agreed to everything he offered. ‘My friend Margot. Can you ask her to come in and see me as soon as she’s got the address?’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Michael swept into the Red Cross shop, past Gertrude Palmer who opened her mouth to say something but didn’t get the chance. The customer she was serving was demanding her full attention.

  ‘These bloomers were my mother’s best ones, but I’m sure you’ll make good use of them,’ said the mousy woman in the pillbox hat. Determined to assist the war effort to the best of her
ability, Gertrude plastered her smile back on her face.

  ‘Of course we will,’ she said absently.

  Mary Anne stopped cutting the hem off an evening dress and dropped the scissors when she saw him. She was dreaming, surely she must be dreaming!

  ‘My,’ said the woman, her attention diverted by the sight of Mary Anne and Michael embracing in the middle of a pile of second-hand clothes. ‘What a delight! And what a homecoming! I believe every one of our serving men should get a welcome home like that. Don’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gertrude through a thin-lipped smile.

  ‘Come,’ said Michael. ‘We’re going home.’

  ‘But I’ve work to do.’

  Michael indicated the neat pile of what had been car blankets, thick enough and good enough to make into winter coats. Someone who used to drive out regularly in the draughty old-fashioned cars had brought them in. ‘Is this more mending?’

  ‘Alterations,’ said Mary Anne. ‘I’m making them into winter coats.’

  ‘I’ll carry them home for you.’

  He swept the lot up beneath one arm, kitbag beneath the other and even managed to open the door to the street. Her face covered in smiles, Mary Anne followed on behind him.

  Edith and the others smiled knowingly as she passed. Even Gertrude’s stiff countenance softened.

  ‘Lucky you,’ whispered Edith, her bright eyes sparkling through the wrinkles. Mary Anne blushed.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to change the bed,’ said Mary Anne as Michael swept her into their old bedroom. Lavender polish and a glass vase full of Michaelmas daisies helped overcome the residual stench of burned walls.

  ‘But I’ve managed to get some cream distemper for the walls,’ she explained, but her words were stifled with kisses. He peeled off her clothes as she rubbed her tear-stained cheek against his stubble. When had she started crying? She couldn’t recall. She didn’t care. Michael was home.