by Anne Douglas
‘Addie?’ she whispered. ‘And Jess? Oh, it’s good to see you!’
‘Please don’t stay long,’ a nurse said, placing two chairs, one at either side of Moyra’s bed. ‘No more than half an hour. Mrs Beattie has to rest.’
Oh, yes, Moyra had to rest, Addie and Jess silently agreed, for the way she looked, lying in her white bed, any movement would have been too much for her. Yet her cheeks were flushed, and her large shadowed eyes showed brightness, as she lifted her hands to take theirs.
‘Moyra, pet, how are you?’ Addie asked, as Jess sat, glancing briefly at the other patients in the ward. They had no visitors themselves and were showing little interest in Moyra’s. But how must she and her mother seem to them, anyway? Two beings from another world? A world the patients had once known, but might never inhabit again?
No, no, Moyra, at least, was said to be feeling better. She would come back to the world. She must.
‘They never say,’ Moyra was answering Addie now. ‘We never ask.’
‘But how do you feel?’
‘I’m . . . I’m no’ too bad. But tell me about you folks, eh? Tell me what you’re doing – tell me about Marguerite . . . and everybody.’
For a short time, they talked of that outside world. Of Jess’s husband up in Kenlin, and Marguerite’s husband in the Borders. Of Marguerite herself and how she was enjoying being in the WAAFs. Of Addie and her camouflage work, and of Jess and her cinema work. Of the films that were being shown – The Wizard of Oz and Goodbye Mr Chips, war films and musicals. Laurel and Hardy, the Crazy Gang.
‘People will watch anything to keep their minds off their worries,’ Jess said, smiling, and Moyra smiled too, and said, ‘I bet.’
But she was growing tired, her features drooping, her flush not fading but deepening, until Addie knocked Jess’s arm and nodded her head towards the door.
‘We’d better go,’ she whispered to Moyra. ‘We’ll come again, though – very soon.’
But Moyra, with surprising strength, suddenly caught at Addie’s hand and held it.
‘Addie, will you promise me something?’
‘Anything, pet. Just ask.’
‘Will you . . . look after my Derry?’
‘Look after him?’ Addie repeated, glancing in a puzzled way at Jess, who was sitting without moving. ‘You mean, do some cooking for him, Moyra? I do already. I often take him a bit of stew or something I’ve made . . .’
‘No, no, I don’t mean cooking. Just, after I’m gone, will you see he’s all right? Take care of him, because he’s no good on his own.’
‘Moyra, what are you talking about? You’re going to get better. You’ll be looking after Derry yourself.’ Addie’s face was as flushed as Moyra’s own, her eyes as bright. ‘Now, don’t let’s hear any more talk about going. That’s an absolute piece of nonsense!’
‘Just promise me,’ Moyra said, still clinging to Addie’s hand. ‘Set my mind at rest.’
‘She will,’ Jess leaned over to say quietly. ‘She’ll do what you want, Moyra.’
‘That’s good,’ Moyra whispered, letting Addie’s hand fall. ‘That makes me feel better. Thank you, Addie. Thank you.’
While Addie was still staring in astonishment, the nurse returned.
‘Time for your nap, Mrs Beattie,’ she said briskly. ‘Goodbye, ladies, thanks for not overstaying your time.’
And as Moyra obediently closed her eyes, Jess and her mother quietly slipped away.
‘Well, what do you make of that?’ Addie cried, when they were away from the ward. ‘Why on earth should Moyra ask me to look after Derry? I’m just a customer!’
‘You’re a friend, Ma,’ Jess told her. ‘Moyra knows that.’
And it was true, she was thinking, Moyra knew. Perhaps more than Addie herself. A wife’s eyes could be sharp.
‘All right, I suppose you could say I was a friend. Doesn’t mean I’d have to look after him!’ Addie pulled out a hankie and wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, that poor lassie, then, thinking she’s going to die! She’s getting better, eh? She said she felt better.’
‘Ma, why don’t we have a cup of tea? I saw a notice – there’s a canteen here that visitors can use.’
‘No, no, Jess, I don’t fancy anything here. Let’s go to that nice wee cafe near Stockbridge library. Then I’ll just go home.
‘And I’ll go back to the Princes. I’ve a few things to do.’
They didn’t talk much over the tea, each feeling too depressed, and parted soon afterwards to go their separate ways, with Jess promising to see her mother again soon.
‘Aye, I’d be glad if you would,’ Addie said in a low voice. ‘I could do with company.’
‘Just don’t go worrying about Derry, Ma.’
‘It was you who made a promise for me, Jess. Now, what am I supposed to do?’
‘Just carry on as usual.’
‘And if Moyra dies?’
‘She’s going to get better, you said.’
‘As though I’d know!’ Addie cried, hurriedly walking away towards a bus stop, while Jess turned her steps towards the town, so deep in thought she didn’t see Ben Daniel approaching until he called her name.
Twenty-Seven
It took her a moment or two to recognize the tall man in air force uniform standing in her path and putting out his hand.
‘Jess, don’t you know me?’ he asked, as she stood blinking in the sunlight. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve changed already. It’s Ben. Ben Daniel.’
‘Ben!’ She was blushing with embarrassment. ‘Of course I know you! It’s just the sun – your face was in shadow.’
‘Oh, God, now I’m only a shadow? Oh, but it’s grand to see you, Jess. Haven’t set eyes on you since I joined up.’
‘It’s lovely to see you too, Ben. But what are you doing here? Are you on leave?’
‘Had a couple of days owing – came over to see Dad. He’s got his chest trouble again, but don’t worry, he’s not too bad. I’ve got him a couple of library books and I’ll do a bit of shopping for him later.’
‘Don’t you want to do the shopping now?’
‘No, I want to take you for a cup of tea and have a good old chat.’
‘Oh, Ben, I’m sorry, I’ve just had some tea with Ma. I’m going back to the Princes now.’
‘OK, I’ll walk back with you.’ He smiled as they fell into step together. ‘It’s such a hot day, you’ll be ready for another drink at the Princes cafe, won’t you? Marguerite tells me its pretty terrible these days but I expect they can still do a lemonade?’
‘A lemonade would be grand,’ Jess said, trying not to find anything remarkable in Ben walking beside her, trying not to be pleased, even, that he should want to spend time with her. All she’d once felt for him was dead and buried, that was for sure, but then he was her brother-in-law. Maybe it was right she should be glad to see him.
Over the lemonade in the crowded cinema cafe, she covertly studied him in a way she had not been able to do for some time. The long, handsome face was unchanged, except perhaps that there were tiny lines beside the sensitive mouth; lines she hadn’t noticed before and thought might be the result of his recent disappointment.
Should she mention that? Say she was sorry that something wrong had been found with his eyes? Those fine brown eyes, so nearly black, resting on her now? No, it would be a mistake. Ben was a proud man. He’d hate to be reminded that he had any defect, especially as it had prevented his being aircrew.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said quietly. ‘I expect Marguerite told you about my eyes, didn’t she? Now you’re wondering why they look just the same and I’m not carrying a white stick?’
‘Ben, no! How can you talk like that?’
‘Sorry, I’m just rather bitter, that’s all. It’s not as if I can’t see perfectly well, you know. They turned me down just over night vision – but I swear it was OK anyway.’ He finished his lemonade and banged the glass down. ‘So, unlike Rusty, I’m not going to be allowed to do
what I want to do.’
‘It’s a shame, Ben. A real shame.’
‘Yes, well, let’s say no more about it. How is Rusty, anyway? Living it up in Kenlin?’
‘He’s doing well. Or at least, he was when he came over in May. I haven’t seen him since then.’
‘And I haven’t seen Marguerite.’ When Jess shook her head over his case, Ben took out a cigarette and lit it. ‘We’re like Box and Cox, aren’t we? When one gets leave, the other doesn’t. What it is, then, to have a wife who’s in the air force too?’
Jess was silent, not sure what he wanted her to say. That Marguerite should have stayed at home, waiting for him? She had a right to join the forces if she wanted to.
‘I worry about her, you know,’ Ben was saying, keeping his voice down, though only Joan Baxter would have remembered him at the cafe, and she was not in evidence. ‘Can’t help it.’
‘Marguerite’s in danger?’ Jess cried.
‘No, no, when I say I worry about her, I’m really worrying for myself.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Come, on, Jess, you know how Marguerite attracts people. Attracts men. So, who’s at Drem?’ Hs dark eyes burned. ‘Men, Jess. Marguerite is surrounded by men. Don’t you think I should be worried?’
‘No! That’s ridiculous! Why, you’re newly-weds, like Rusty and me. Marguerite would never get interested in someone else. She loves you!’
‘Oh, I know. I know she does. But I’m not at Drem and other men are. That’s the problem. Propinquity. That’s the thing.’
‘Isn’t it the same for you, then? How many WAAFs do you see every day?’ Jess sat back in her chair, her brows drawn together, her gaze on Ben cold. ‘Don’t you think Marguerite could be worried about you? Only, she trusts you.’
For some moments he stared at his cigarette, then stubbed it out.
‘I suppose I deserved that. Suppose, if I’m worrying about her, I’m not trusting her.’ Suddenly, he reached for Jess’s hand and pressed it. ‘Thanks, Jess.’
‘I haven’t done anything.’ She slowly removed her hand from his.
‘Yes. Yes, you have.’ Ben looked at his watch and stood up, Jess with him. ‘Glad I met you today. And not just for what you said. I’d better get back to Stockbridge now, for Dad’s shopping. Hope there’s something left.’
‘I hope your Dad’s all right,’ Jess said a little stiffly. ‘Give him my best. It was nice seeing you, Ben. Take care, then.’
‘Wish we could have met again, but I haven’t got long. Oh, but listen, I forgot to congratulate you on your new job. Assistant manager, eh? I knew you’d do well.’
She thanked him, relaxing a little, and asked if he wasn’t planning to go up and speak to the stand-in projectionist. Maybe give him some tips?
‘No, I’d better not interfere. And the funny thing is, I’ve no interest in my old job at present. It’s as though all I’ve got has to go into my war effort, even if I can’t do my best job, because the powers that be won’t let me.’ As his mouth twisted a little, she saw again the lines around it, and was saddened.
‘You’ll do your best work, Ben,’ she said gently. ‘Because you always do.’
‘And you, Jess, always say the right thing, don’t you?’
Giving her a swift, brotherly kiss, he paid for the lemonade and left her, marching from the cafe as though on parade, while Jess still stood by their table. And then Joan Baxter did appear and came bustling up.
‘Was that Ben I saw just then? Now, why didn’t he come in and have a word? And has he paid the bill? Should have been on the house. Can’t have our staff forking out now, can we?’
‘You’ve never let me off,’ Jess remarked.
‘Why, you’re not serving in the forces, are you, dear? When you come in with your Rusty, I’ll let you off too.’
Come in with Rusty. How Jess wished she could. With Rusty, she’d be safe.
Twenty-Eight
The year moved into July and high midsummer, yet still there was no sign of the ‘phoney war’ turning real. What was Hitler up to? There was no doubt that he would attack Great Britain some time. Of all the countries on his list for invasion, it would probably be the one he most wanted to conquer. Soon, then, invasion would come. And there were those who rather wished it would, so that they would know what they had to face. Jess, though, just wished with all her heart that they could keep going as they were. No bombings, no invasion, no deaths. She knew it wasn’t possible.
One thing that cheered her up was the arrival of Sally on leave, looking wonderfully well in her ATS uniform, though, as she blithely admitted, she hadn’t lost a bit of weight!
‘Och, no, I’m struggling with my skirt band every day, but so what? I’m enjoying myself, and so is Arnold, judging from the letters he writes. Just wish he could’ve got leave with me, but no luck this time. Got two stripes already, though, would you believe?’
‘Why is everyone having such a good time in the services?’ Jess asked, as they had coffee in the cafe. ‘Rusty, Marguerite – now you. I thought folk would be pining for home.’
‘Thing is, as my mother used to say, the weight’s not on yet. Now, what she meant by that was, the real test is still to come.’ Sally shrugged. ‘And that’s true, eh? We’re all just training. We’ve no’ done any fighting yet.’
At the look on Jess’s face, she quickly touched her hand. ‘Ah, don’t worry, dear. Rusty’ll be fine. He’ll come through, sure he will. But I noticed, just then, you didn’t mention Ben. What’s up with him? Isn’t he enjoying his RAF days?’
‘Didn’t make aircrew. Something wrong with his eyes for night flying. He’s upset.’
‘I bet, knowing Ben!’ Sally, having ordered second coffees for them both, grandly threw a saccharine tablet into hers. ‘Just a sop to the diet, eh? Well, there’s no’ much sugar anyway.’ Her face grew serious. ‘Tell you who’s no’ looking so well to me, Jess, and that’s George. Oh, my, his face is either like a pasty or a beetroot, eh? And he’s that out of breath! Can you no’ get him to slow down, then?’
‘You know what George is like, Sally. He just calls me a fusspot and goes his own way. Does take his tablets, though.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ As she studied Jess, Sally brightened. ‘Ah, but it’s grand to see you, Jess – doing so well and all! I bet you’re really keeping everything going, eh?’
‘George does that, Sally. I do what I can to help.’
‘And that’ll be plenty. But marriage is suiting you as well, eh? Even though you’ve been separated already. What a start for you both – and Marguerite and Ben too. That Hitler has a lot to answer for, and no mistake.’
‘Think something will happen soon, Sally?’
‘Arnold says any time, but more likely the autumn. Hitler will have made all his preparations by then.’
‘Autumn,’ Jess repeated. ‘That gives us a bit more breathing space, then.’
It was some days later that Mr Hawthorne called Jess into his office. Panting a little, he sat at his desk studying his desk diary, and motioned to her to take a seat.
‘Got a little visit planned for us, Jess.’ Smoke from a cigarette he’d rested in an ashtray wreathed his face as he grinned. ‘Not anywhere you won’t know.’
‘A visit? Where?’
‘Leith.’ He took up his cigarette, gave it a last puff and stubbed it out. ‘I did say you’d know it. But do you know the Clarion cinema?’
‘The Clarion? Off Commercial Street?’ Jess frowned. ‘It’s closed, isn’t it?’
‘It is, but our owners have asked me to take a look at it. With business booming, they’re thinking they might take it on. Want to come with me to see what it’s like?’
Her expression a little cagey, Jess hesitated.
‘The problem would be to find staff for it, George. You weren’t thinking of asking me to transfer?’
‘You? Good God, no!’ George’s eyes were round with horror. ‘You know I can‘t do without you here. No, John Syme’d have to scratch round
to find folk, and it might not work out anyway, but I said I’d tell them what I thought. There’d be money in it for the owners, if they could get it going.’
‘There would. These days, people can’t get enough of the pictures.’
‘Want to come, then?’
‘Yes, I’d like to.’ Jess smiled. ‘As long as you don’t want me to leave the Princes.’
George, rising, shook his head.
‘Never worry about that, Jess, it’s out of the question.’ He picked up his desk diary again. ‘So, let me see – what day shall we go? How about . . . the afternoon of July the eighteenth?’
‘That’d be fine.’
‘Right.’ He laughed. ‘Think they can manage here for a couple of hours without us?’
‘Of course they can.’
Jess, already looking forward to her outing – the first with George that she could recall – made her way to the door, while he, sitting down heavily at his desk, was already lighting another cigarette.
As planned, in the late afternoon of July eighteenth, they left the Princes together and boarded a tram for Commercial Street, there being no sign of the taxi George would have preferred. High above them, in the clouds, a lone plane circled, but they had no idea it was there.
Twenty-Nine
‘Did you ever go to the Clarion?’ George asked Jess, as they approached Leith.
‘Of course! I went to all the cinemas. I remember seeing Snow White there before the war.’
‘What was it like, then, as a cinema?’
She shrugged. ‘All right, I suppose. Pretty run of the mill.’
‘John Syme told me the owners had lost money on some other enterprise and just sold everything they’d got. Only nobody bought the Clarion at the time.’
‘I think myself it’ll need too much doing to it. And where will they get the men to work on it, anyway?’