by Sally Wragg
Billy was the last person she would choose to know her secrets, especially this one. He and Mam were far too close.
She stared at him defiantly, then shut the gate behind her and started to walk off down the road, her too-high heels clattering. He ran after her and caught her by the shoulders.
‘What would me mother say?’ he demanded angrily, and she looked away, angry now, too.
They both knew Daisy had a thing about the Bradshaws. She’d go mad if she knew Mary was seeing Silas Bradshaw’s grandson.
The silly thing was, she hadn’t meant John to happen. She’d gone one Saturday with Dora to Tony’s Place, the new jazz club in town. She’d just finished with one of the lads at the factory and needed cheering up.
Mary had never been able to resist attention in whatever form it came; she needed attention as some needed sunshine.
She looked up at her brother’s too-serious face and realised with a sinking heart that understanding would be the last thing she’d get from Billy. He was too wrapped up in other things.
She didn’t really care what he thought, other than he shouldn’t tell her mother, so she gently disengaged herself.
‘Why shouldn’t I see him?’ Her voice softened. ‘You mustn’t tell our mother, Billy. It wouldn’t be fair. I’d do as much for you.’
She would, too.
John was good-looking, handsome even – until she’d seen him in RAF uniform, she hadn’t realised quite how good-looking he was.
‘Did you know he’s joined up? He’s got his wings already. He’s only waiting for a posting.’ She bit her lip. ‘He will be safe, Billy? Tell me he’ll be safe?’
‘How should I know?’ But then Billy was sorry he’d been brusque. He worried about Mary all the time; Mam didn’t know the half she got up to. This needed careful handling.
‘I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t agree with you seeing him, but I understand you must be worried.’
Mary looked up at him, her eyes wide.
‘Aren’t you afraid, too, Billy? None of us knows what’s going to happen….’
It seemed, suddenly, a terrible and frightening thing to be young.
She thought of John waiting, wondering why she was late, thinking that she might have changed her mind … It was best not to think. It was best just to enjoy life whilst you could.
‘I’m thinking about you, that’s all,’ Billy said softly. ‘You’ll get into trouble if me mam hears.’
‘Do you think I don’t know?’
Daisy Bridges was a good mother, but she had an edge on her tongue like steel. They smiled at each other, remembering a childhood shared, evading the sharpness of Mam’s tongue.
‘Mary, don’t go! There’s something I need to talk about.’
‘What now, our Billy?’ Her impatience rose. ‘I mustn’t keep him waiting.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ His face was guarded again as usual, the moment gone. ‘I won’t tell Mam.’
She smiled, grateful, only briefly wondering what else it was he’d wanted to tell her. If they’d been closer, she would have asked, but all she could think of now was John waiting in the River Gardens.
‘Tell me later.’ She waved, and hurried down the road. He wouldn’t, of course, but who cared? She walked even faster, unable to wait a second longer to see John….
‘I don’t like to leave Mother long today, so I’ll go back, Holly. She’s upset,’ Maisie said. She and Holly had just reached the entrance to the River Gardens. They usually walked through together and parted at the other end, but this afternoon they were unusually subdued.
Like everyone else, they’d listened to the wireless that morning, Maisie’s father, who was in local government, hurried off into work after it – on a Sunday! And not even staying for his dinner!
They’d eaten a sober meal with only Maisie’s mother for company, none of them with any appetite.
‘Chin up, Maisie, things can’t be that bad.’ Holly squeezed her arm. ‘We’ll give Hitler what for; it’ll be over before we’re old enough to get involved.’
She sounded more confident than she felt as she watched her friend trudging back up the hill. The world was all at once a huge and terrifying place. Who could tell what would happen?
Holly passed through the arched gates and hurried heedlessly past formal beds of late flowers. The gardens were here by courtesy of Jedediah Brown, the town’s patron and benefactor.
Holly turned along the wide path by the river. In the distance Silas Bradshaw’s factory loomed, solid and dependable somehow. It had been there all Holly’s life, and she found its permanence strangely comforting, without knowing why.
During the week, workers from the factory used the gardens for their dinner breaks, but now it was the turn of all the townsfolk in their Sunday best. More than usual, too, as if they’d come out in defiance of Hitler, determined to carry on as normal. One or two of the men were already in uniform, and looked so sturdy and sure that Holly felt a bit better.
The sky was bright blue and cloudless, the sun was shining. This wasn’t really happening!
‘Holly? Don’t look so worried!’
John’s voice! She looked round in glad surprise, but then there was Auntie Mary clinging to his arm, looking for the entire world as if she had a perfect right to be there.
Almost as if she were laying claim to him? Holly’s heart was suddenly thumping.
Seeing John like this brought the reality of war home to her more than anything. Then another, sickening thought rushed through her mind like a steam train, nearly undoing her completely.
She wouldn’t think about it. She lifted her chin and spoke directly to John, ignoring her aunt.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m visiting the aged ones. They have to say goodbye to me some time!’ John laughed easily, disengaging himself from Mary, who looked put out.
‘Don’t you think he looks fine, Holly?’ There was a challenge in Mary’s eyes, as if she was daring Holly to say anything about her being with John Bertram.
Auntie Mary was going with the man Holly had always loved! Something inside her crumpled. What hope had she of competing with someone as glamorous and sophisticated as Auntie Mary?
‘He looks very dashing,’ she answered lightly, hiding her hurt. John hadn’t a clue how she felt.
‘And talking of which, I must dash myself.’ Mary gazed up at John. ‘I said I’d call round and see Dora.’
‘Must you?’ His eyes held hers. ‘I’ll still see you tonight?’ Holly hated the urgency in his voice.
‘Of course you will. Around eight? We’ll go to Tony’s. There’s a good band on tonight.’ Mary leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, then walked away with that natural sway of the hips.
‘You like her, don’t you?’ Holly asked him dully, unable to help herself.
‘You always were a sharp little miss!’ John laughed, reaching out and pulling her hair as he’d used to when Holly was a very little girl.
‘Don’t, John.’ Couldn’t he see how she felt?
Mary went through the gates at the far end of the gardens and disappeared from view. John sighed, and looked at Holly for the first time.
‘Like some tea?’
There was a pavilion just before the sluice gates. Holly nodded eagerly, her spirits lifting a little at the thought of some time in his company. They took their tea to one of the tables on the terrace. The sun was making the water sparkle. It could have been any afternoon in late summer; they could have been any young couple. Holly had imagined this a thousand times.
At the small jetty, rowing boats for hire were tied up. Sometimes, in her dreams, John took her rowing, too. How cruel that it seemed dreams were all she was to have!
‘Don’t tell anyone you saw us, Holly, will you?’ He stirred his tea.
She shook her head. She’d do anything for him – he must know that.
‘I love her, Holly.’
He had no idea how much pain those word
s caused.
‘I know what she’s like,’ he added. ‘I don’t suppose for one minute she feels the same.’
‘She must be mad.’ Holly muttered to herself, but she might never have spoken. She could see love written large on his face, and it tore at her heart.
‘She’s two years older than I am. Two years is a long time, especially for a girl. At least now I’ve left university, she’s had to accept this isn’t some sort of a schoolboy crush!’
‘Age shouldn’t matter, John.’ Holly did her best to cheer him, realising he couldn’t help the way he felt, any more than she could.
‘What does my grandmother think about this?’ she asked, curious.
‘Daisy doesn’t know!’ he exclaimed, horrified at the mere idea. ‘She’s the reason why you mustn’t say anything! She doesn’t like me, I know that much.’ He looked up, his eyes puzzled.
‘Why is that, do you think? After all, her daughter looked after us when we were little, you and I virtually grew up together. Yet she doesn’t even like your Harry playing with Cliff.’
‘I think it’s some old feud between our families.’ Holly took a sip of tea, and put down her cup. ‘I’ll ask my mother, if you like.’
He smiled.
‘You’re a good girl, Holly.’
Well, he liked her, at least, enough to confide in her. She tried to take what comfort she could from it, like a young bird pecking at crumbs dropped from a picnic table.
‘Things will work out, John.’
He smiled and pushed his cup away.
‘I’d best get off, or the old folk will be wondering. Granddad hasn’t come to terms with me joining up yet. I’ll be in for a wigging, I expect. I can hardly blame him.’
He meant Silas Bradshaw had lost both his sons because of the last war. Holly didn’t want to think about that, not now.
‘He worries about you.’ Me, too, she wanted to say, but didn’t.
‘Do you want a lift home?’ he offered, but she shook her head, suddenly miserable all over. When would she see him again?
‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ She couldn’t help saying it, and he knew exactly what she meant.
Unexpectedly, he leaned across and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her hand flew to her face in surprise.
‘Of course I will!’ he said. ‘I’ll write if I get time. Don’t worry – any trouble, I shall duck!’
He rammed on his hat and left, walking smartly through the gates into the factory yard, where he’d parked his car.
If only John would look at her in the way he’d looked at Mary – if only he saw her as more than a child!
But he had kissed her, and said he’d write. Wonderingly, her fingers traced the curve of her cheek, remembering how soft his lips had felt. How would it feel if he kissed her properly? Like heaven, she guessed.
Pushing the thought from her mind, she crossed the main road in front of the factory, retracing her steps along the bridge and jumping nimbly down through the stile to the path by the meadows.
John had kissed her. It was something to dream about, even if it meant no more to him than a greeting between friends.
‘The leg’s looking fine, Mrs Pettit. We might make a Rams player of you yet!’
‘Aye, well, and I’d be better than anything they’ve got at the minute!’
The elderly woman in the bed looked up at nice Dr Hardaker and chuckled, her eyes bright. Andrew winked at Maggie, who suppressed a smile with difficulty. Derby County always had their problems.
She switched into professional mode and began to re-bandage Madge Pettit’s leg. The ulcer had been in danger of infection, but they’d drained the excess fluid and kept the leg up. The patient was well on the road to recovery.
‘Told you,’ she whispered, patting Madge’s hand.
Maggie had seen Andrew do this so many times – take a fretful and anxious patient, and reassure her until she was relaxed enough to share in his banter. He was a good doctor, one of the best.
Women’s Surgical was a soft burr of activity. Outside the world was at war, but inside the walls of the hospital, life continued much the same.
What a relief it was to get back to work!
She wheeled the trolley through to the sluice-room and began to clear up.
‘Do you want a lift home?’ Andrew’s cheerful face appeared around the door. No wonder the patients all felt better for seeing him! Maggie turned and smiled.
‘Thanks all the same, but Tony’s waiting for me.’
He lounged against the door, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his white hospital coat, watching her.
‘It looks like that’s it, then. We’re at war.’
‘The very worst news,’ she agreed. ‘I can’t bear to think—’
‘Don’t,’ he said instantly, ‘at least not too far ahead. I shall have to get an older man in to run the practice, if I can. Easier said than done, but there’ll be more work here than they’ll have hands for.’
Maggie’s eyes were troubled.
‘Just take things a day at a time,’ Andrew encouraged. ‘And don’t forget the staff meeting tomorrow!’
She nodded. She hadn’t realised the effect the war was going to have on all their lives. Andrew was right; it didn’t do to think too far ahead.
She finished up, and went to have a quiet word with Sister Aspen about Madge Pettit. She grabbed her bag from the back of the staffroom door, and made her way out to the car-park.
‘There you are!’ Tony dropped a light kiss on her cheek and opened the car door for her – he did have nice manners.
And yet … did she really love him? Perhaps the war had brought things to a head; the matter had loomed in her mind of late.
She felt, somehow, that Tony had coerced her into this relationship, being so persistent, demanding her attention so often.
Why has she got involved with him if she didn’t feel the time was right? She was a grown woman, and Hughie was long in the past. One thing was for sure – if this wasn’t right with Tony, it would never be right again.
‘You’re quiet.’ He nosed the car through the hospital gates.
‘Just tired, I expect.’ She kicked off her shoes, stretching out her feet.
‘We’re all on edge at the minute, love. Is it any wonder? Blast Hitler! Come to the club for a drink?’
‘Oh, not tonight, Tony! I’m simply too tired.’
He was staring intently at the road ahead. She’d disappointed him again. But though she liked the jazz club, Maggie was tired, and besides, she didn’t really care for Gus, Tony’s business partner – there was something about the way he looked at her she didn’t like, especially when Tony wasn’t around.
But Tony had said people needed diversion, and he’d been proved right. How else could he have persuaded a sound-headed businessman like John Bertram’s stepfather to back the venture?
He played jazz and yet more jazz – Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Duke Ellington on record, and sometimes he arranged for bands to come up from London to play – Tony could spot talent. Castle Maine had taken to the new venture with gusto. Most evenings the club was thronging; by the weekend it was hard even to get through the door.
Maggie wouldn’t dream of telling Tony she found the atmosphere in the smoky cellar claustrophobic. He was happy. How could she spoil that? But equally, how could he expect her to want a night out after a momentous day like this one?
‘It’ll be over before we know it,’ he said, reading her mind, his eyes firmly on the road.
She smiled, feeling the comfort of his hand solid round her own. She more than liked him, but did she like him enough?
Maggie’s head was spinning. She needed to get home and think.
By the time Maggie opened the door, Holly had the tea on. Gramps and Harry hadn’t as yet got back from Grandma’s, though Holly had been to the door often enough to look out.
Harry was like enough out with one of his friends, and had forgotten all about the time, whereas G
ramps was probably nattering on and on to Grandma about the war.
Midway between the pantry and the table, Holly stopped, engulfed in a fresh wave of despair. John was already lost to her, and to Auntie Mary, of all people!
‘Goodness, love! Are you all right?’ her mother asked, taking one look at her face.
‘Of course I am, Mam.’ Holly gathered herself together enough to put the bread-board down.
‘Try not to worry!’ Maggie said at once, chastising herself for her lack of thought. This morning’s news had been so mind-numbing, she hadn’t even got round to considering the effect it must have had on the children. What a frightening place the world must seem to the young!
‘We’ll get through it,’ she encouraged, but Holly was still downcast.
‘Mam, I saw John today.’
Comprehension dawned on Maggie’s face.
‘Waiting for his posting, I expect? He’ll be fine, love.’
How could she possibly know John Bertram would be fine? But Holly was altogether too young to look like this.
‘He has no idea where he’ll end up. Somewhere safe, I hope!’ Holly muttered.
She began to butter the cut side of the loaf furiously as if she could keep from even thinking about John going into danger.
‘Mam, why doesn’t Grandma Daisy like John?’
Maggie was surprised at the question. She filled the kettle and set it on the gas-stove to boil, dropping the used match back in its box.
‘She never liked me working for Silas Bradshaw, nor working for Connie either. I expect it’s just that old thing with Gramps. Silas wasn’t very good to Gramps once upon a time, you know.’
‘But I thought it had all been settled?’ Holly licked butter from her fingers, her face puzzled. She knew all about the money in trust for herself and Harry, after Silas had settled a fairly hefty sum on Gramps to make things right.
Too little and too late, Grandma had said, though Gramps told her it put an end to the matter at last.
It puzzled Holly still that Auntie Mary and Uncle Billy’s trust funds weren’t as much as hers and Harry’s. Why should she and Harry get more than Grandma’s other children?