by Roland Moore
“Why?” Iris asked.
“He’s my brother.” Evelyn shook her head, as if that was enough of a reason, before continuing falteringly, “Truth is, he helped me. When I was younger. Our father was -” She shook her head again, tears in her eyes. She wasn’t willing or able to finish what she was saying, but Iris got a sense that another dark shadow was hiding in the Storey family history. And this was payment of a sibling debt. Evelyn shook away her hand and left the room. Iris leaned back on the bed and tried to sleep, despite the insistent throbbing in her fingers. She knew she should rest as much as possible, conserve energy, if she wanted to save Finch.
By late afternoon, Frederick Finch had turned the air of the kitchen at Pasture Farm blue. He had tried to iron his own shirt, but the sleeves were still creased. He didn’t know how Esther did it. But because she wasn’t here, he was forced to tackle it himself, although he had tried to collar Joyce, who flatly refused. She said it was enough that she had to iron her own clothes, without doing his as well. Finch finished fastening his shirt and gave the sleeves several tugs, in the hope that it would straighten out the creases. He decided that he would keep his jacket on. That would be easiest and it would avoid having to wrestle with the iron again. A thin sheen of perspiration had formed on Finch’s forehead. It wasn’t just the exertion. He was nervous as so much was resting on tonight.
Going to Evelyn’s house for dinner. The perfect time to take charge of his future by asking for her hand in marriage.
Finch checked that he had the ring in his pocket, wrapped in a clean handkerchief. It was the eighth or ninth time he’d checked and to his relief it was still safe.
He stomped his way to the bathroom and checked his appearance in the mirror. Suddenly seeing a foolish middle-aged man looking back at him, his shoulders slumped. Was he doing the right thing? If only Esther was here, he could ask her advice. She’d be against him marrying Evelyn, but she might give him some encouragement, knowing it was what he really wanted. But Esther wasn’t here and the house was empty as Joyce, Dolores and Shelley were working at the hospital at Hoxley Manor tonight. Finch walked to his room and found an old photograph of Billy, his son, holding his grandson, William. He looked at his son’s young face.
“You took a risk marrying that Bea,” Finch said softly to himself. “Lots of folk said you were mad and that it wouldn’t last. Including your old dad. But that worked out fine, didn’t it?”
Finch sighed, putting the photograph back in his drawer. That worked out fine. He glanced at the bed, kindly made up by Esther before she left for Northampton. It was a double bed and Finch remembered his wife lying on her side of the bed, gazing at him as the morning sun came through the windows. The excitement of living on the farm as a young couple, the idyllic walks to the pub in the evening, running through the fields in the summer. Even after all these years, Finch still mainly slept on the other side of the bed. His side. He noticed the broken catch on the window frame; something he had promised Agnes that he would fix. It was a job that had never been done and probably never would be. Instead life had moved relentlessly along as the days were eaten by months and the months were eaten by years. And here he was, about to take a terrifyingly uncertain gamble. Would Evelyn say yes? And if she did say yes, what would their life be like together? What would happen next? Finch couldn’t handle thinking about all that at once. He had to get through the proposal first. And if she said yes, then he could worry about the next steps. Well, they could worry about it together, that’s what couples did.
Finch was about to leave the room when he realised he needed a tie. Even though he hated the things - feeling they were like patterned nooses - he recognised that they finished off a suit, added a level of respectability. And he wanted Evelyn to think he was respectable when he asked her to marry him. As he went to the wardrobe for a tie, he was surprised to see one on his wife’s bedside table. It was a maroon-coloured tie with a tasteful pattern of tiny silver rectangles. He wasn’t to know that it had been left there after Martin rejected it and Esther forgot to put it away as she hastily made the bed before she went out. To Finch, it was a sign from Agnes.
“You want me to do it?” Finch said, deeply shocked by this apparently unexplainable sign, his eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.” The wave of relief was palpable. Agnes consented to him moving on with his life. She was happy to encourage him to marry Evelyn. Finch fumbled the tie around his neck and after several attempts pulled it into a ramshackle Windsor knot.
Taking one final look at himself in the bathroom mirror, Finch pulled a wry smile. He radiated respectability and his eyes were shining with purpose. Filled with renewed confidence, he knew he was going to ask her. Tonight would change his life.
Iris had no way of knowing the time. She didn’t wear a wristwatch and although the room had an alarm clock, it hadn’t been wound up. So she had to make vague guesses based on the amount of light outside, the positions of the shadows and the position of the sun. The guesswork was made harder because, with nothing to do, each minute stretched into what seemed like ten. But she thought that it was late afternoon. She stood by the window, watching the wild birds as they flew into or past the garden, as it was the only thing to do. She envied them their freedom, but each time she thought of her own freedom, a queasy feeling of unease washed over her, filling her stomach with huge butterflies. Time was ticking down to her release, but it might result in the death of a man she liked. Iris had spent a lot of time thinking about what Vernon and Evelyn wanted her to do, wondering if there was any other option, any wrinkle in their plan that she could exploit. They wanted her to run to Pasture Farm, find the map, and run back to the cottage. It seemed simple, but she had no idea where she was, or how far it was from Pasture Farm. How far would she have to run? And what if Frank didn’t have the map any more?
Oh, why didn’t she bring it with her like she planned?
Then Vernon could have found it in the suitcase, taken it and he and Evelyn could have left her alone.
She continued to stretch the muscles in her legs, trying to get herself into some state to run.
Suddenly, she heard the scuffing of feet on the stairs and the metallic click of the key in the lock. She tensed as the door opened and Vernon stood there, his face dark and brooding. In his hands, he held a tray with a plate and a fork on it. It was another appallingly made omelette.
“You’ll need to eat this, to give you strength,” he said, placing it on the bed, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.
“What time is it?” Iris asked. Vernon was about to question why she needed to know, so she explained. “If you want me to run there and back, I need to know what time it is. I need a watch.”
Vernon mulled this over, as if she was trying to trick him. Then he unfastened the old wristwatch that was on his arm and handed it to her. She recoiled, as if it was an engagement ring. “It’s the only watch you’re getting. Take it and don’t be stupid.”
“Thanks. And it keeps good time?”
Vernon nodded with a shrug.
Reluctantly, Iris took the watch and fastened it on her wrist. Even on the smallest setting, it didn’t fit tightly, and the watch face hung loosely on her wrist. But at least she knew the time. Frank had taught her to read numbers fairly early on, so she knew it was five o’clock in the evening. They said Finch would arrive at seven. And just before then she would set off. Iris moved to sit on the bed to eat her food. She eyed Vernon with contempt, not wanting him present to watch her eat. Why couldn’t he leave?
“I wish I’d killed you, Iris,” he said softly. Instantly, Iris lost her appetite, feeling panic rise in her throat. “Back at my house. Would have made everything easier. No one would know what I did to my poor boy, I wouldn’t have to skulk around as a travelling labourer and I’d still be at Shallow Brook Farm.”
“You didn’t kill me, though, did you? You messed it up,” Iris said, defiantly.
“If I could turn the clock back …” Vernon glared at h
er.
Iris felt angry. She wanted to shout that even when this was over, when Finch was safe, she would ensure he was hunted down and made to pay for his crimes. But something inside, some self-preservation, stopped her from voicing her feelings. He had killed his own son and was prepared to kill Finch. Her life would mean nothing to him if she provoked him. So Iris stayed silent, in the hope that Vernon would just leave. But he wasn’t finished yet. Vernon moved towards her.
“If I get a chance to, I will. Deal or not. I don’t care,” he hissed.
Iris couldn’t disguise the shock and fear on her face. She backed away, but before she could reply in any way, Evelyn appeared in the doorway, appraising the situation. By the heavy atmosphere, she knew that something unpleasant was happening, and she knew that her brother was probably orchestrating it.
“Vernon, don’t upset the girl,” Evelyn said. “We need her to get the map and come back, that’s all.”
“Even if you have the map, how will you get whatever is buried? You won’t be able to go back to Shallow Brook after tonight.” Iris immediately wished she hadn’t voiced her question, as Vernon’s face darkened further.
“Never you mind about that, girl.”
“If you get back in time, Finch won’t know anything has ever happened, will he? So I can bide my time, carry on courting him, carry on going to Pasture Farm and I can use the map when I get a chance,” Evelyn said, seemingly the calming presence in the Storey family.
“But I’ll know. What, do you expect me to be silent?” Iris noticed that Evelyn momentarily broke her gaze, unable to look at her. That tiny action unnerved her more than Vernon saying he wished he’d killed her. Evelyn couldn’t look her in the eye! She couldn’t lie to her face. What were they planning? How would they ensure that Iris didn’t spill the beans at a later date?
A dreadful thought tried to gain a foothold in her mind. They would kill her anyway. She couldn’t ignore it and her pulse started to race, her heart thumping with adrenaline in her chest. She couldn’t breathe fast enough, aware that she had started to make desperate sounds, like a dog panting on a hot day. Iris couldn’t get enough air, she started to feel faint, pin-sized stars filling her vision. She was aware of Evelyn by her side, holding her, trying to get her to calm down; aware of Vernon shouting at his sister to do something. Iris felt the glorious rush of blackness as she passed out.
Were it not for Vernon’s watch, Iris wouldn’t have known that she was unconscious for only four minutes. It seemed like longer, much longer. When she opened her eyes, blearily taking in the horribly familiar confines of her room, she realised that she was alone with Evelyn. Vernon had gone. When Evelyn saw her eyes open, she leaned over and started to talk.
“You’ve got to focus on getting the map. That’s all.” She sounded drained from the whole thing.
“But he - you can’t let me go back to Pasture Farm, can you? Not afterwards. Because I’ll know!”
“Calm down.” Evelyn looked back towards the door, worried that Vernon might be listening.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“I won’t let him hurt you,” Evelyn said, a note of fear in her own voice. “I’ll tell him that we can keep you here afterwards, and let you go after we’ve dug it up. How does that sound?”
“So I come back and I’m a prisoner?”
“Yes, but only until I can use the map to find what we need.”
“Would he agree? To keeping me here?”
“I won’t let him kill you.”
Iris didn’t feel any more reassured. She knew she couldn’t trust this woman, and even if she could, she wondered how Evelyn could stop Vernon from hurting her. With his temper, he wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way. But Iris didn’t have the opportunity to ask any more questions, because Evelyn left the room. Iris was left with a deep feeling of foreboding. But what could she do?
At six-thirty, the door was unlocked and Vernon entered. Without saying a word or acknowledging her existence, he walked slowly to the wardrobe and took down her suitcase. Bringing it towards the bed, Iris moved her legs to accommodate it. Vernon opened the case and took out Iris’s Women’s Land Army uniform, the dungarees, jumper and shirt that had become her constant companions since arriving at Pasture Farm. The shirt still had a beetroot stain on it.
“Get dressed,” he said, leaving the room. She could tell he was nervous, worried about what would happen. It wasn’t just her future that would be decided, his would be too. If it went wrong, he could face the gallows. If it went according to plan, he could get away. Iris didn’t know how much thought they had put into their plan. If she was late back and they murdered Finch, what would they do with his body? Iris wondered if they would bury it in the garden outside.
Maybe that’s what Vernon had planned for her too.
What would happen to her? Would Evelyn really make sure she was just kept at the cottage? With all the upheaval and displacement caused by the war, it was easy for people to vanish or go missing. As people could slip through the cracks, Iris knew that missing person cases were difficult for the few remaining police officers to investigate. So if she or Finch disappeared, it would be unlikely that Evelyn would be caught as no one would even start looking for her until the war was over.
Iris finished getting dressed, pushing her strapped hand through the tight armhole of her jumper. She winced as she caught some of the splinted fingers. It was agony. She was sure that her fingers were broken, but she had to put it out of her mind. That was for worrying about later.
Iris looked around for something to put on her feet and realised that the only footwear was her wellington boots. Like it or not, it looked as though she would have to run in them. As she slipped them on -
- Black, patent-leather shoes -
- “Can you do it, darling?” -
- Iris tried to shut out all the other thoughts. All the distractions and noise that were building in her head. All those yesterdays. They would only get in the way, dragging her down.
When she was dressed, Iris stood up, shakily on her feet. She glanced at the watch. It was nearly a quarter to seven. It was nearly time to run.
Margot Dawson had wanted to talk more, so Esther waited at the factory until she finished her shift and then the two of them walked together back to Stanley Street. Margot explained that Northampton had been lucky so far during the war, with only one bomb having fallen on the Duston area of the city. It was surprising, given its proximity to Birmingham that it hadn’t been hit more, but Margot was thankful for small mercies. She saw Esther glance at a gaggle of children, all under 10 years old, running the other way.
“Evacuees,” Margot stated. “Because we’re considered a fairly safe place, we get a lot of them. Mind you, I don’t trust it. My other kids are away.”
They reached the door to Margot’s house and she let them inside. She hadn’t seemed inclined to talk about her missing daughter on the way home, but Esther assumed that she would now they were in private. Margot made a pot of tea and uncovered half a fruit cake that was in the larder. She brought them to the table, allowing Esther to fetch the cups and saucers from the kitchen. The front parlour was a small, neatly furnished room, with a large radio having pride of place on the sideboard. The single downstairs window that Esther had seen from outside served this room. She noted that there were only three dining chairs around the table, rather than the customary four, as she pulled one out to sit down.
“So what do I do? About my Iris?” Margot asked, pouring out tea that should have spent more time in the pot.
“It’s an unusual situation.” Esther sighed. It certainly was unusual, all right. She’d never found herself managing the search for a missing Land Girl before, and she wasn’t sure what to say. She knew what she should say. The Women’s Land Army treated desertion seriously and offenders would be reported to the authorities. But Margot wasn’t worried about the legalities of desertion. She had lost a daughter and just wanted to know how to
find her. Esther wanted to get the formal issues out of the way so they could concentrate on Iris. “I should make a formal note to my superiors, but I think we should give her more time to turn up and do the right thing.”
Margot nodded, grateful for that small mercy, even though, as Esther had suspected, she hadn’t been thinking about that side of things at all. “This is so unlike her. Where could she have gone?”
“I’m afraid that she wasn’t at Pasture Farm when she disappeared.”
“Where was she?”
“Another farm. Jordan Gate,” Esther said. “I’d just written to tell you about the move, but I don’t expect you’ve got the letter yet.”
“No,” Margot replied. “Do you know if she was unhappy at this new farm?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry.” However, Esther guessed that Iris probably was unhappy, having been sent away.
“Why was she there? I thought she liked it at Pasture Farm.”
Esther pondered whether she should tell Margot the full story. About the drinking, about the confrontation with Finch’s lady friend, about her having to send Iris away. But Esther thought that Margot didn’t need to know that yet. Perhaps in time, but not right now. “Sometimes the girls are moved around, depending on the workload at various farms.”
Margot nodded, accepting Esther’s explanation. Esther realised that Margot had no grounds to doubt it, believing her young daughter was happy and enjoying her life on the farm. She wondered if Iris had told her mother about the whole ordeal with Vernon, but assumed she hadn’t. Iris didn’t contact her mother often. She had phoned only once from the farm and had spoken to Margot at a neighbour’s house. Iris sometimes got Frank to write a dictated letter home, but Esther didn’t think Iris would have unburdened herself about Vernon via a third party. She suspected that Iris might tell her mother, but only face to face when she came home on leave. And as she hadn’t been eligible for any leave since she had joined, she thought it unlikely it had happened. Esther decided to keep quiet.