Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Meg sat down opposite, but she was still on edge, listening for any sound that heralded Robbie’s return. As they sipped their tea the two women regarded each other. They each saw in the other’s face the changes the years had brought.

  They were each thinking that the years had been kind to the other. Louisa was dressed in smart clothes, well tailored and expensive. Whilst Meg wore a fashionable dress, she had made it herself from a length of material bought on a market stall. Louisa’s complexion was smooth and well cared for. She was the epitome of a doctor’s wife – serene and sweet and caring. Her hair, still black, was smoothed into a chignon and showed no sign of grey.

  And Meg’s too belied her age. Her luxurious red hair was swept up into waves and rolls and her figure was still slim; her legs beneath the short hem of her dress were shapely and she wore silk stockings. I wonder how she can afford those, Louisa thought uncharitably.

  She was the first to speak. ‘I met your son recently.’

  Meg felt a sudden flush through the whole of her body and her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure Louisa must hear it. ‘Oh?’ Her voice was unnaturally high and she fought again to control her feelings.

  ‘He was in a cafe in South Monkford with Fleur. Fleur Bosley.’ She laid emphasis on the name.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Meg forced a smile and set her cup and saucer on the tray. She was so afraid that her trembling hands would give her away. ‘Robbie brought her home. They’d bumped into each other – literally – on the station. In the blackout. She . . . she couldn’t get transport home that night so . . . so Robbie brought her here.’

  ‘What a coincidence!’

  ‘Yes, wasn’t it?’

  There was an uncomfortable pause before Louisa, staring hard at Meg, said, ‘He’s a very good-looking young man.’

  Meg managed to hold down the fear climbing into her throat and said, ‘I think so, but then I could be biased.’

  And then the question she had been dreading came.

  ‘He’s not like Percy, is he? Or you. So who does he take after?’

  Louisa was looking directly into her eyes, holding Meg’s gaze. It was so obvious that she had seen the likeness to her own husband in the young man’s features. As he had grown, Robbie had become even more like his natural father. It had been Meg’s ever-constant fear that one day someone from South Monkford would meet her son. And of all people it had to be Jake’s daughter.

  What a cruel and devious mistress fate was.

  Meg felt suddenly calm. She knew what she must do. She had thought she could tell the truth now and, as the saying went, ’shame the devil’. But she found she couldn’t do it. Once Robbie had the answer he wanted, he hadn’t pushed to learn more. And now, Meg doubted he would. So, for all their sakes, she must tell the biggest lie of her life and she must make Louisa believe it. She smiled, serene now in her decision. ‘He’s like my father.’

  Louisa looked startled. ‘Your father?’

  Meg nodded, growing more confident with each minute that passed and warming to her story. ‘Yes. He was fair haired and blue eyed, just like Robbie. Of course,’ she added, feigning innocence, as if she had just realized, ‘you never knew my father, did you? He lives with us now.’ She gestured to the room above them. ‘But he’s very frail. He doesn’t get up until dinnertime. Mind you.’ Meg forced a laugh. ‘You’d be hard pressed to see the likeness. He’s white haired and crippled with rheumatism. And he’s just home from the hospital. A nasty bout of pneumonia. We’re lucky he’s survived it.’ Silently, she prayed that her father would not choose this morning to get up earlier. There was no likeness to see between grandfather and grandson. Never could have been. Her father, Reuben, had had brown hair and eyes.

  ‘No,’ Louisa was saying, ‘I never met him.’ She was surprised to hear that the old man was living with his daughter. Had Meg really forgiven him – the man she had vowed never to see again? My goodness, Louisa thought, Meg really must have changed. She was tempted to ask more, but it was Meg’s son who interested Louisa. If what Meg was telling her was true, then perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps the gossip about Philip’s friendship with this woman all those years ago was unfounded. Maybe he’d been what he always said he’d been to Meg. Just a friend.

  Louisa set her cup down and clasped her hands in her lap. The whiteness of her knuckles was the only sign of her inner turmoil. Her voice was quite steady as she said, ‘We never had children, you know. It has been a great disappointment to us both, especially to Philip.’ She stared directly into Meg’s eyes as she added deliberately, ‘He’d have loved a son.’

  Meg returned her gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said gently. In those simple words there was a world of apology for everything that had happened in the past between them. All the misunderstandings, all the hurt. In the briefest of moments there passed between them a flash of understanding of the truth, though they both knew that neither of them would ever voice it. And Meg emphasized this again as, choosing her words carefully so that she gave nothing away but implied everything, she added, ‘It has always been my greatest sorrow that poor Percy did not live. Robbie’s father would have been so proud of his son.’

  They stared at each other for what seemed an age, before Louisa dropped her gaze and said, ‘Yes, I . . . I’m sure he would.’

  After a few moments, she stood up and took her leave. The two women kissed each other’s cheek awkwardly. At the door, Louisa said solemnly, ‘Goodbye, Meg.’ Then she turned and walked up the street, her head held high. From the doorway, Meg watched her go, knowing it was unlikely that they’d ever meet again. Nor would she ever meet Philip again. Louisa would see to that.

  Louisa’s step was lighter. She would never tell Philip about her meeting with Meg. She knew, in her heart, that Robbie Rodwell was Philip’s son, but Meg had given her a credible story: a story she herself would use if it were ever needed to confound the gossips. But strangely the truth was easier to deal with than the terrible doubts. Not knowing had been far worse.

  Louisa smiled. Now she knew what to do. When the war ended – and surely the end must come soon – she would encourage Philip to take a well-earned retirement and move away.

  The south coast perhaps, Wales or Scotland. She would let him choose. Just so long as it was miles away from South Monkford.

  Nineteen

  Fleur was counting the hours until Robbie got back from his leave and praying that, this time, he would be able to talk to his mother.

  The first night had passed quickly enough as she’d been on duty and now, on the second night, she had come home with her father and Kenny, and the time seemed to tick by so slowly. She said nothing to her parents, did not even mention Robbie’s name, but she was edgy and distracted, her thoughts miles away. Her forced gaiety, punctuated by long, uneasy silences, alerted both Jake and Betsy.

  ‘She’s still seeing him. I know she is.’ Betsy was threatening to become hysterical again.

  Jake tried to calm her. ‘Maybe so, love. But there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And you know what they say, the more parents try to stop their offspring doing something, then the more they’ll want to.’

  ‘Don’t I know it? Just look at them both. Won’t listen to a word we say, will they? What’s the world coming to, Jake? Just think what it was like for us as kids. They don’t know they’re born today.’

  They exchanged a glance. Their shared past was something they never spoke of – not even their children knew anything about their parents’ childhood.

  Jake sighed. ‘It’s not easy for them, love. Not with this war on.’

  ‘We lived through a war, didn’t we? We had to cope. You with the terrible life in those trenches. Me worrying every minute of every day, dreading the telegram or seeing your name in the casualty lists in the paper.’

  ‘I know. But this one’s different. It’s so much closer to home with the bombing. In the last lot most of it happened abroad, but this time it’s on our doorstep.’ He forced a smile. ‘Come
on, Betsy love, let’s not spoil the precious few hours we have with her. We’ll both take her to the station in Newark tomorrow morning and see her off. Then you can do a bit of shopping afterwards, love. How about that, eh? Time you had a trip out and a bit of a treat. Now, let’s get the supper on the table and have a nice evening – all of us together, eh?’

  ‘Well, maybe we could,’ Betsy said tartly, ‘if only Kenny would come home when he’s supposed to. Where is he now, I’d like to know? Dashed off out as soon as you all got home. He’s missed helping you with the evening milking again. I’ll clip his ear for him when he gets back.’

  ‘It’s all right, love. Fleur helped me tonight. I think she quite enjoys keeping her hand in when she’s on leave.’ It was the wrong thing to say and Jake could have bitten his tongue off the moment he’d said it, for it prompted his wife to say tartly, ‘She’d have been better “keeping her hand in” all the time instead of swanning off to become an officer’s ground-sheet.’

  ‘Betsy! I won’t have you talking about our Fleur like that or any other WAAF, if it comes to that. They’re a grand lot of lasses.’

  Betsy pursed her lips and said no more but the loud clattering of dishes in the scullery left Jake in no doubt of her feelings.

  Supper was ready on the table by the time the back door opened and Kenny burst into the house, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘I’ve done it! I’ve joined up!’

  Betsy gave a little scream, covered her mouth with her hand and sat down suddenly, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, but Jake and Fleur stared at him in puzzlement.

  ‘What are you talking about, lad? You’re not eighteen till next year.’

  ‘I know.’ Kenny was still beaming.

  ‘But . . . but they won’t take you till you’re at least eighteen,’ Fleur said.

  Kenny’s grin widened even further – if it were possible. ‘No – but the Home Guard will. They’ll take you at seventeen. I’ve joined the South Monkford Home Guard.’

  Everyone in the room relaxed and Betsy was so overcome with relief that she almost fell off the chair. ‘You bad boy – giving me a fright like that.’ She pretended to smack him and then was hugging him and kissing him.

  ‘Leave it out, Mum,’ the young man said, red in the face whilst Jake and Fleur, relieved too, smiled at his embarrassment.

  ‘So,’ Betsy said gaily as they all sat down at the table and she began to serve out the rabbit pie, ‘you won’t need to join the forces now, will you? If you’re in the Home Guard, you can stay here.’

  There was a moment’s silence as Kenny glanced at Jake and Fleur. ‘It . . . it doesn’t work quite like that, Mum,’ he told her quietly. ‘I’m still going to volunteer for the RAF when I’m old enough.’

  The plate Betsy was holding trembled slightly, and though she said no more, the light that had been in her eyes died instantly.

  Determined to change the subject, Jake said, ‘I think Blossom’s going to calve any day now and I reckon she’s carrying two.’

  Robbie saw the three of them standing together at one end of the platform. Quickly, he shrank back into the carriage lest Fleur should glance in his direction. He sat well back, watching them. Strangely, it wasn’t Fleur who captured his interest this morning, but her father. So this was the man who had perhaps loved his mother. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see him clearly, but the distance between them was too great. Robbie sighed. He’d dearly love to meet Fleur’s dad, but . . .

  The whistle sounded and uniformed men and women from all the services jostled each other good-naturedly as they rushed to board the train. Last farewells were said, hugs and kisses exchanged. Robbie stayed back until he saw Fleur look up and down the train, deciding which carriage to climb into. Then he moved to the open door of the carriage and leant out, calling her name and waving to attract her attention amongst all the hustle and bustle. She glanced round and, seeing him, hurried along the platform towards his carriage. Her father, carrying her bag, followed. Robbie held out his hand to her and hoisted her up into the carriage and then leant down again and held out his hand to take her bag. In that brief instant, he looked into the dark brown eyes of Fleur’s father. Recognition was instant. Jake knew who he was. Robbie saw the older man catch his breath as, almost in a trance, he handed up the bag.

  Fleur, standing beside Robbie, leant out too. ‘’Bye, Dad.’ Then she waved to the woman standing like a statue on the platform, her gaze fixed upon Robbie. Fleur’s wave faltered as her heart sank.

  Her mother had seen him too.

  The guard was moving along the platform, slamming doors and blowing his whistle. As the train began to move, there was no answering wave from her mother, nor, to Fleur’s disappointment, from her father either. Though not together, they were both standing quite still, their gaze on Fleur, yet neither of them waved goodbye.

  She ducked back into the carriage and sat down suddenly, her eyes filling with tears. Robbie sat beside her and took her hand.

  ‘They didn’t even wave,’ she gulped.

  ‘Darling – I’m so sorry. I should have stayed back out of sight. But . . . but I so wanted to travel with you. I couldn’t wait a moment longer to tell you . . .’

  Fleur’s head shot up and her eyes widened as she saw that he was beaming, it seemed, from ear to ear.

  ‘Oh, Robbie,’ she gasped. ‘Is it . . . is it really all right?’

  He nodded and then she was in his arms, and behind them in the carriage there were whistles and catcalls and ribald laughter. But neither of them cared. They were laughing and crying and hugging each other.

  As the train gathered speed and passed by the waving onlookers on the platform, through the window Jake saw it all. He sighed. Whatever Betsy wanted, he thought, nothing was going to keep those two apart. For a fleeting moment, he’d seen the joy on his daughter’s face when she’d first caught sight of Robbie and hurried towards him.

  It was the same joy he’d always felt when he saw Meg. And, deep in his heart, he knew that if she were to step onto the platform right this minute he would feel it again.

  ‘What did you say to her? What did she say?’

  As the train sped through the countryside towards Lincoln, Fleur was anxious for a verbatim report.

  Robbie, all his anxiety gone now, laughed. ‘This is like a debriefing. You sound just like Ruth.’

  ‘True,’ Fleur said, trying to adopt a stern tone. ‘So get on with it Flight Sergeant Rodwell.’

  He gave a mock salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Robbie recounted, word for word, what had passed between him and his mother. ‘She pretended to be a bit indignant that I’d even thought such a thing of her, but I could tell she was only teasing me. It was strange,’ he mused. ‘When I first broached the subject she was very edgy, but when I asked her straight out who my father was – was it your father - she laughed. Yes, Fleur, she actually laughed, and like I said she pretended to be indignant.’

  ‘But she denied it?’

  ‘Oh yes – and it was the truth. I could see it was. But there was still – well – something.’

  Fleur patted his hand. ‘Maybe she doesn’t like to be reminded of your father. Perhaps his death still affects her,’ she said gently, referring to Meg’s husband.

  ‘Mmm. Maybe.’ Robbie chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. ‘She doesn’t very often talk about him, come to think of it.’ Then he smiled, determined to put it all out of his mind. They had the news they wanted – why worry about anything else? ‘I’m sure you’re right, sweetheart,’ he murmured and, oblivious to the other passengers, he kissed her firmly on the mouth.

  Twenty

  Two weeks later, Fleur was busier than ever with the garden. The Anderson shelter had been constructed with the earth from the hole they’d dug placed back on top of it.

  ‘Mek it a good thick layer, lass,’ Harry had advised. ‘And then you can plant summat on top.’

  ‘Can I?’ Fleur had eyed it sceptically.

  ‘Aye, you c
an,’ Harry had nodded. ‘Lettuce or marrers. Summát that doesn’t need a great depth of earth to grow in.’

  So the area on top of the shelter was drawn in on Fleur’s plan of the garden that she’d sketched out and kept on the shelf of the little table beneath Mrs Jackson’s precious wireless.

  The gifts of seed and small plants from the old lady’s neighbours had been overwhelming, and now Fleur was anxious to get everything planted as soon as possible. ‘These plants’ll shrivel up if I don’t get them in the ground,’ she’d said, and had been working in the garden every minute of her spare time. Robbie still joined her whenever he could, but when a longer bit of leave came due, he said, ‘Darling, I must go home and see Ma and Pops.’

  ‘Of course you must,’ Fleur said at once. ‘And I should go home too, but I just can’t leave here until everything’s planted. I’m late with some of it now and it’d be so unfair to all the people who’ve been so generous not to use it all. Plants and seeds are very precious just now.’

  ‘I’m sure your mum and dad will understand.’

  Fleur grimaced. ‘Dad will, but I’m not so sure about Mum. Mind you,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘Dad did promise to come over sometime and see what I’m— Sorry’ – she grinned – ‘what we’re doing.’

  ‘I should think so too!’ Robbie pretended indignation. ‘Like you said I would, I’m still aching in muscles I didn’t know I’d got.’ His face sobered. ‘But I hate not seeing you for days on end.’

  They gazed at each other, their love spilling over. ‘I know,’ Fleur said, ‘but we’re luckier than most. We see each other nearly every day.’

  ‘I know, I know. I shouldn’t grumble. I’m not doing really, it’s just . . .’

  Now it was Fleur’s turn to say, ‘I know. I know just how you feel.’ She reached up to touch him, but then, realizing her fingers were grubby, she smiled ruefully and dropped her hand.

  ‘I can’t bear to be away from you – not even for a moment. Fleur,’ he said impulsively, grabbing her hands, oblivious of the earth clinging to her fingers. ‘Fleur – let’s get married. Now. Let’s not wait any longer. Oh, darling, do say “yes”.’