‘Thank you, Mrs Tollett.’
‘Gladys, dear.’ Mrs Tollett turned and looked at Abby and Rowena. ‘I think it’s high time you called us by our Christian names, don’t you, girls? Josiah and I couldn’t have got harder workers, that’s for sure, and with all that’s happened I don’t think we’ll stand on ceremony any longer.’
They all smiled, and Winnie looked as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Mrs Tollett bustled over to the haybox which had been cooking the morning porridge all night. ‘I think we could all do with a bowl of porridge before we go out this morning,’ she said briskly. ‘And then I’ll get breakfast as normal once you’ve done the milking and so on. And Winnie?’ She turned, her voice low as they heard Clara clattering down the stairs. ‘You make sure you have plenty of cream on it, lass. All right? That little ’un needs to be fat and healthy when it’s born, living up here.’
As they all sat down at the kitchen table, Abby caught her friend’s eye and they grinned weakly at each other, relief on both their faces. This result was better than they could have imagined. They could sort out how they were going to break the news to Winnie’s mam and da later; they didn’t need to say anything at all for the time being.
Clara joined them, still in her nightie and her face flushed with sleep, and Abby felt her whole body relax. Clara was safe and it looked as though Winnie was going to be set up here. After all the horrible events of the last few months, things were looking up.
PART FOUR
Gum, Nylons and GIs 1943
Chapter Fourteen
The wind was whipping over the docks from an icy North Sea and whistling down the streets of Sunderland, losing none of its power as it negotiated houses and factories. To anyone other than a northerner it would have been hard to believe this was the beginning of May, but a harsh winter followed by a cold spring wasn’t anything unusual to the tall man preparing to knock on the door of 12 Rose Street. Besides, with bombed-out buildings everywhere, so many ships and men lost in March and the war seeming to get worse and not better, who cared about the weather? It had been hoped that the Americans coming in would turn things around but there was no sign of it yet.
James Benson took a deep breath, clearing his mind of everything but what he was about to do. He lifted the brass knocker in the shape of a grinning elf and knocked firmly on the door three times. He was not wearing his uniform; he had not worn it since returning to England, although some men who were invalided out of the forces had continued to wear theirs. He couldn’t understand that. He had been glad to be done with the army and everything connected with it. He felt no satisfaction, no pride in having fought in a war where mass slaughter seemed the order of the day.
The door opened and Nora Vickers stood staring at him. He knew Abby’s mother was alone in the house, his father had ascertained that when he had come to the house immediately after hearing that his son was alive two weeks ago. His father had tried to get her to give him an address or contact number for Abby but although she had asked him in and even made him a cup of tea, he had been unable to get anything out of her.
‘Mrs Vickers? I don’t know if you remember me.’ He had decided to play it cool and calm at first, but he was determined he would get nasty if he had to.
‘Of course I remember you.’ In truth Nora had to admit that, but for the visit of his father preparing her, she would not have recognised the man in front of her as James Benson. He looked years older for one thing, his hair liberally streaked with grey and his skin patchy and a funny colour. But she had been grateful Dr Benson had called, even though it had been a shock to learn James had been a prisoner of war these last years when they had believed him to be dead. It had given her time to think and decide on the best tack to take. Now she took him aback as she had known she would when she said, ‘Come in, lad. It’s fair bitter out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had more snow even now.’ She stepped back into the house and he joined her in the hall. ‘Take your coat off and hang it there, that’s right, and come through to the kitchen where it’s warm. You don’t mind sitting in the kitchen? The front room is like an icebox with fuel being rationed so tight. They don’t give enough to keep body and soul together.’
He struggled a little as he slipped off his overcoat. He still found his useless left arm something of a trial but he had learned to walk in such a way that the limp caused by the injuries to his left leg was no longer noticeable. Not that he was complaining, he thought, as he followed Abby’s mother into the kitchen where the range was giving off a comforting glow. He was only too grateful he’d survived with both arms and both legs, and wasn’t reliant on a hook where his hand should be like some of the poor devils in the hospital he’d been sent to on arriving in England.
Nora pulled out a chair for him and didn’t speak until he had sat down at the table. Then she turned to the hob.
‘I’d just made a brew, so that was lucky, wasn’t it? You timed it just right.’ Her voice was almost gay.
His brow wrinkled. Whatever he had expected it wasn’t this friendliness. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Vickers.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I suppose you know why I’ve come.’
‘Your father asked me for Abby’s address.’ Nora swung round with two mugs of tea and brought them across to the table, placing the milk and a small bowl containing a white powdery substance in front of him. ‘It’s sugar substitute, I’m afraid,’ she said with another smile. ‘I’ve no sugar but then who has these days? It’s not very nice but better than nothing.’
‘Just milk is fine.’
Before he could say anything more, she fetched a tin containing rice cake to the table, talking all the time. ‘This is where the last of my ration of sugar went this week so you must have a slice. Dried eggs of course but I’ve found if I sieve it in with the dry ingredients before water’s added it makes a fairly good cake. Anyway, we can’t complain in these times, can we? Not about eggs, at least.’
‘No, no, I suppose not,’ he said, a trifle dazed, as Nora put a piece of cake on a plate and placed it next to his mug of tea.
‘Of course some of the bairns hereabouts go guleging. You know, collecting gulls’ eggs. They’re as big as duck’s eggs and very nice, so I’m told, but without any bairns at home and me working fulltime now I have to rely on the dried egg ration.’
He had to stop her talking, it was driving him mad. ‘Mrs Vickers, I need to know Abby’s address,’ he said very quickly when she paused for breath. ‘I have to write to her or go and see her as soon as possible.’
Nora stared at him before lowering her eyes. Thousands, tens of thousands of lads and men killed in the war and this one had to survive. She’d hardly been able to believe it when his father had told her that a mistake had been made. He had been badly injured, Dr Benson had said, and with his identification gone and James being in a coma for weeks, he’d been shipped off to one of the German camps and that had been that. When his identification had been found amid the carnage of what had been men before the shells had hit, the obvious had been assumed. She had wanted to knock the smile off his father’s face but she’d restrained herself, knowing what she said or did could influence the way this thing went. And it would go the way she determined - by, it would, or she’d die in the attempt. She didn’t intend her upstart of a daughter to come up smelling of roses.
‘I have something to tell you, James,’ she said very softly, wondering if she should reach out and put her hand on his but deciding that was taking things too far.
‘Tell me?’ She saw his skin turn a shade greyer. ‘About Abby? Is she all right?’
‘Oh, she’s well enough, don’t fret about that.’ She chose a tone in which sorrow blended with embarrassment. ‘It’s just that - oh, I don’t know how to tell you! She wrote to say she’s getting wed this very week.’
‘Married?’ He put his head forward as if he hadn’t heard her clearly. He couldn’t take it in.
‘Yes, in fact it’s probably done a
nd dusted by now. You know she went to Yorkshire as a land girl, to a farm? Your father told you about that?’
He nodded, just the slightest inclination of his head.
‘Well, the son of the farmer and Abby . . . She thought you were dead, of course, you understand that. I’m so sorry, James.’
‘I - It can’t be.’
‘It’s a beautiful farm, I understand, although I’ve never been, but she’s got Clara there with her. I can’t remember if I told your da that, but Abby took her after Raymond went. You know my husband passed away?’ She didn’t wait for an answer but continued, ‘And they took to Clara right away. But of course she’s so much like Abby that’s not surprising. So the pair of them are safe and happy, which is everything in these terrible times, isn’t it, and of course Abby marrying into wealthy farming stock means Clara will be set up when she’s old enough to think about settling down.’ She hesitated for the merest moment. ‘I thought it would be best to explain things face to face rather than tell your father. I hope you think that was the right decision. ’
‘What? Oh yes. Yes.’
‘And of course it has been, what, three years? You can’t blame her for making a new life.’
He ran his tongue round the inside of his lips. This was his worst nightmare come true. How often had he tortured himself, wondering if she was with someone before he’d reminded himself it was Abby he was talking about. His Abby. She loved him and he loved her and it was a lifetime thing for both of them. But she’d thought he was dead. He hadn’t known he’d been given up for dead until recently. Suddenly it made everything worthless - the escape from the camp and the beatings and brutality he’d endured in that hellhole, even when he’d been struggling with injuries which should have killed him, the weeks of endless walking in the dead of night when two in their party of five escapees had died of hypothermia and starvation.
He had to make an enormous effort to speak. ‘Could ... could I still have her address, please? I’d like to write, for old times’ sake.’ He didn’t know if he would write, he admitted silently. He needed to think things through somewhere quiet. But if he got the address now, at least it was an option if he felt he wanted to. He wouldn’t be able to face coming back here again.
Nora’s voice was very gentle when she said, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, James, and I don’t think you will when you’ve had time to think about it. I know this must be a terrible shock for you, but you are not the man you were and she’s not the girl she was. Three years is a long time, even without the war and everything you’ve endured. And she is a farmer’s wife now. Everything is different. If you contact her or go to see her, her husband might not like it; in fact he’s bound to resent it, knowing you were engaged once.’
‘He knows about me?’
Nora inclined her head. ‘And men can be very jealous,’ she said softly, ‘even though there would be no reason, not now. It wouldn’t be fair to Abby. You must see that. Far better to leave things as they are. She’s made a new life and you will too, I’m sure of that.’ She had interjected a bracing note and now stood up, her mug in her hand. ‘Would you like more tea?’
He felt a roaring in his ears, the same sensation that overcame him when his mind went dizzying away from him. Sometimes he went back into a past which was much more real to him than his present world, losing an hour at a time as he relived horrors. The doctors had said he had to apply mind over matter and that it would pass, he had to keep employing his will to keep his mind in the present and only the present. There would be a time, he’d been assured, when he could think of everything that had happened without bitterness and hatred. He had almost laughed in their faces when they had said that. But they were right about one thing, he had to exercise control and never more than now in front of Abby’s mother. But she had been kind, he had to give her that. Unease stirred. Too kind?
Nora saw the change in his face, the flicker of disbelief. She kept her voice easy when she said, ‘Of course it’s no secret Abby and I never got on, and I have to say that lonely though I feel here since poor Raymond died, I wouldn’t want her back. We’d only argue.’ She smiled a sad smile. ‘But the war does bring one’s values into perspective. She is my daughter after all, flesh of my flesh, and with Wilbert away fighting I’m so glad two of my bairns are out of harm’s way.’ She stared at him. Had she said enough? Dare she play her trump card or would he take her up on it? If he did, she’d just have to brazen it out somehow, say she couldn’t find the address or something similar.
She took a deep breath. ‘Look, lad, I can’t tell you what to do. If you really want to risk upsetting her marriage and everything that’d entail, I’ll give you the address but, like I said, three years changes people.’
She loved someone else. She’d married someone else. Had she ever really loved him like he’d loved her? James knew he was being unfair but the disappointment and sense of loss was so acute he didn’t know how he could bear it. He stood up, thrusting his mug towards Nora instead of placing it on the table.
‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Vickers.’ He had to get out before he started to cry. That would be the ultimate indignity, to bawl in front of this woman. ‘Perhaps you’d remember me to Abby sometime.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that, lad.’ Nora felt a surge of joy and triumph which made her turn her back and put the mugs on the hob, frightened he’d read what was in her face.
She followed James out of the room, and he didn’t stop to put his coat on before he opened the front door. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Vickers,’ he said flatly, barely conscious of a woman entering the house next door as he stepped onto the pavement.
‘Goodbye, lad.’ Nora held her breath as she watched James walk away, head bowed. When no figure suddenly re-emerged from next door, she breathed a sigh of relief. Who would have thought her dear sister would have chosen that precise moment to come home? But even if Audrey had glanced at him, she doubted her sister would have equated the gaunt, middle-aged-looking scarecrow of a man with the young handsome suitor James had once been. She herself would never have recognised him if she’d passed him in the street, that was for sure.
She shut the door quietly and then leaned against it for a few moments, smiling widely. She had done it, and it had all been much easier than she had anticipated.
Still smiling, she walked through into the kitchen and made a fresh pot of tea, allowing herself two slices of cake to celebrate.
Audrey hadn’t even glanced sideways as the door to Nora’s house opened. Since Christmas she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her sister and that was the way she wanted it.
She walked straight through to the kitchen, past the now empty front room, and as always when she entered the house, she thought, I’m glad I made it up with Da before he went. She hadn’t been able to talk to the old man for a few days after the revelation about Nora and Ivor, but then one day she had broken down when she was handing him his tea and he had held out his arms and cuddled her as if she was a bairn again. And after that everything had been all right, between them at least.
Her mouth hardening, Audrey slung her coat on a chair and set about bringing the glowing embers in the range to a decent blaze. Once that was accomplished she put the kettle on the hob and stuck two jacket potatoes into the ashes of the fire where they would bake slowly. She would eat hers before Ivor got home, leaving his and a tin of Spam ready for him when he got in. And he was lucky to get that, she told herself bitterly.
Working fulltime at the munitions factory had proved very tiring in comparison to the four hours she’d done before her father had died, but overall she liked the company and the lack of time to think. The foul language and blue jokes which were commonplace among certain of the women as well as the men she’d more or less got used to now, along with having to wear mannish dungarees and a headsquare turban all day.
When she had told them at the factory she could do fulltime, the manager had asked if she’d consider the job of putting the caps on the detonators of
bullets. It was classed as highly dangerous and the eight pounds per week she would earn reflected this, but that wasn’t what had persuaded her to agree. It was that the management advised such workers to wear no jewellery, not even wedding rings, and that suited Audrey’s state of mind exactly.
She mashed the tea, drinking two large cups without milk or sugar. She’d lost nearly three stone since Christmas, and she liked her new figure. She had let herself go when she had got married, she realised that now. Perhaps it was what happiness and contentment did to you.
The thought brought hot tears stinging to the back of her eyes and she stood up sharply. ‘None of that, Audrey lass,’ she said out loud. ‘He’s not worth it.’ She squared her shoulders before walking through to the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom in which she now slept alone.
The night it had all come out she had bolted the bedroom door against Ivor, and the next evening he’d come home from work to find all his things moved into the boys’ room.
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