Always I'Ll Remember

by Bradshaw, Rita

  Audrey opened the wardrobe which now held only her clothes and stared at the contents. Some of the women she worked with complained constantly about getting by on sixty-six clothing coupons a year, but considering she’d done without all her life to make sure Ivor and the lads were clothed decently, she had never had it so good as the last months. With a previously undreamed of amount of money in her hand each week the black market had become easily accessible to her, and dress materials or actual clothes could always be had for a price.

  She selected a dress she had bought the week before and threw it on the bed. She took off her working clothes, a short-sleeved jumper and dungarees, and in her bra and knickers reached up to the top shelf of the wardrobe and brought down a bottle of Scotch and a small glass. She poured herself a measure, then sat down at her dressing table and surveyed herself in the old spotted mirror. She had never tasted strong liquor until the last few months and at first, when the other women from work had introduced her to it on one of their nights out, she hadn’t been sure if she liked the taste.

  Just her luck she’d developed a liking for it when it cost the earth, she thought now, staring at the bottle which had trebled in price to one pound and six shillings since the war. Still, she hadn’t bought this particular bottle. It had come via Hank, a GI she knew, along with two packets of nylon stockings and some bars of chocolate. She found the alcohol perked her up before Jed came home from his pal’s house - the mother looked after Jed once school finished and gave him his dinner for a small fee.

  She reached for a slip and pulled it over her head, followed by the dress. She didn’t bother with stockings; she would change again later before she went to meet the girls once Jed was in bed, and that’s when she’d make up her face and fiddle with her hair.

  She finished the whisky in one gulp and squared her shoulders as though preparing to do battle, even though Ivor wasn’t home yet. But that was how she felt immediately she set foot in this house, that it was a battleground.

  When Ivor came in from the late shift at the shipyard, Audrey was dressed and ready to leave. She stood up from where she’d been sitting waiting for him at the kitchen table but didn’t look directly at him as she said, ‘I’ve eaten and Jed’s in bed. Your meal’s on the hotplate.’

  He did not reply to this, saying instead, ‘You out again? This is the second time this week and it’s only Wednesday.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I had to answer to you.’

  ‘I didn’t say you had.’

  ‘It sounded like that to me.’

  ‘Don’t start as soon as I get in.’

  ‘Don’t shout, Ivor.’ It was cold. ‘You’ll wake the bairn.’

  She looked bonny. Ivor stared at his wife and the sickly odd feeling he always got when she went out with the crew from work, most of whom were no better than they should be, hit him. For a moment he felt as weak as a kitten. He had lost her, he knew he’d lost her even though she hadn’t physically removed herself from the house, but that was for Jed’s sake and all part of the act they put up in front of the child. Mind, he didn’t think Audrey’s explanation that his snoring had been keeping her awake and that was why he’d moved bedrooms had fooled their son.

  He raked back his hair with his hand and said, ‘It’s been months now. Won’t you at least let me try and explain how it was? Please?’

  Audrey looked fully at her husband for the first time. ‘You could talk until you’re blue in the face and I would never understand how you could do such a thing. You must have thought yourself such a canny lad, having your cake and eating it.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. The first time she took me by surprise and . . . and after, I swore to meself I’d never go near her again.’

  ‘But you did,’ she said with flat control.

  She had been about to turn and walk out into the hall when he suddenly flung himself at her, going down on his knees, his head bowed. She froze, looking down on the rich thickness of his hair as he sobbed that he couldn’t go on without her. ‘I love you, lass. I’ve never loved another woman in the whole of me life and I never will. Forgive me. Forgive me.’

  Forgive him? Her hands had moved away from her sides as though from something repellent but her face was pained as the sobs racked his body.

  She had never felt quite good enough for him. Deep, deep down in herself she had always been grateful he had loved and married her, and because of that theirs had been an unequal marriage. She had given too much, and she realised now that he had come to accept her adoration as his right. Perhaps there was an element of blame attached to her in all of this. But that didn’t lessen what he’d done. The sheer agony of it cut off her breath for a second. She hated him for it and would go on hating him until the day she died.

  Her complete stillness finally got through to him and as he raised his head and drew back a little to look up into her face, Audrey seized the moment. She spun round and out into the hall. He called her name but she flung open the front door and ran down the street as if the devil himself was on her heels.

  By the time she reached the Londonderry in High Street West where they’d all agreed to meet up, she was sweating and hot in spite of the cold night. She stood for a moment to compose herself before she went inside. Her hand was still clutching her heaving bosom when she noticed Hank and a few other GIs making their way towards her. Hank smiled when he caught sight of her. He looked as immaculate as always in one of the stylishly tailored uniforms all the American servicemen wore.

  ‘Hey, honey, you OK?’ He took her arm as he reached her in the easy friendly way all the GIs had, and for once she let herself relax against him, shaking her head. He must have motioned for the others to go in the pub because within moments it was just the two of them, and his voice was very soft when he said, ‘Trouble at home?’

  ‘How did you know?’ She was surprised into looking at him.

  He shrugged. ‘I asked about you. One of the other girls said you were married but that you never talked about your husband. He works in a shipyard, right? So . . . I guess I put two and two together.’

  She stared at him. He had asked about her. He had cared enough to ask about her. It felt good. She dropped her gaze from his. ‘I still don’t want to talk about him,’ she said in a small voice, looking at the ribbons on his uniform. But she didn’t move away from him.

  One hand came round her waist and the other tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. He had nice eyes, brown and heavily lashed. She had noticed his eyes before. ‘That’s OK by me, honey,’ he said softly. ‘But does it mean you don’t want to come dancing later?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ She had always refused to accompany the other women and the GIs once they left the pubs, even though she knew the Americans took them to the best local clubs and restaurants. But then with an American private receiving nearly three pounds and ten shillings a week compared to a British soldier’s fourteen shillings, the GIs could afford to splash out a bit, she reminded herself silently.

  ‘Great.’ He drew her closer with the hand at her waist. ‘I’ll give you your first lesson in jitterbugging if you’re good.’

  She smiled at him, his accent making the word even more quirky. The American dance craze had spread with such enthusiasm in the last year that many ballrooms and dance halls had had to ban it to protect their sprung floors. The jitterbug was for the uninhibited, like the GIs themselves. ‘And if I’m not good?’ she said lightly, hearing herself flirt with faint disbelief. From the age of fifteen when she had met Ivor she had never looked at another man, let alone played the coquette.

  ‘I’ll think of something else to do,’ he said just as lightly. She stared at him, the smiles fading from both their faces as their eyes held, and then he said, ‘Come on, you’re getting cold out here,’ as the shiver she gave transferred itself to him through their now joined hands. And it was like that, with her hand in his, that they entered the warmth and colour of the pub to join the others.

  Audrey had had more dr
inks than she should have by the time they left. She was drunk, she knew she was drunk because she was singing ‘This Is the Army, Mr Jones’ along with the other girls while hanging on to Hank’s arm with one hand and waving to all and sundry with the other. As they neared the three jeeps the GIs had come into town in, Hank put his arm round her shoulders, drawing her over to his vehicle and then opening the door for her. ‘Hop in.’

  When he came and sat in the driver’s seat she brought her gaze to bear on him with a penetrating stare before she said, ‘Well, what now? Where do you want to go?’

  Her directness obviously took him aback because he swallowed before smiling uncertainly. ‘You’re a different gal when you’ve had a few, aren’t you?’ he said, still smiling, and touching her hand to let her know he wasn’t complaining.

  ‘I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve had a few, as you put it. And,’ she gave a shaky laugh, ‘it’ll be the first time for anything else, besides with me husband, of course.’

  There was a short silence before Hank said, ‘I know where we can get a room if you like.’

  A room? Somehow she had never expected that. A quiet spot on the outskirts of the town maybe, but a room seemed to take the whole thing into a different sphere.

  Whether her face showed what she was thinking she didn’t know, but the next moment he’d taken her hands in his, his voice soft with the easy American drawl which was so attractive. ‘You know I like you, honey. I like you very much.’

  She wet her lips and swallowed before answering, ‘I like you too.’

  It was done. She sat very still as he started the Jeep and swung the vehicle round. They drove off in the opposite direction to the others.

  When they came to Queen Alexandra Road, she realised he had cut through the town and into Hendon, and found herself marvelling that the Jeep had taken such little time about it. He stopped the vehicle on the corner of one of the streets bordering Ryhope Road and the Sunderland cemetery. He jumped out and then helped her out with the old-fashioned charm all the GIs had and which made every girl they were with feel like a queen.

  Instead of the hotel or inn she was expecting, Audrey found herself looking at a perfectly ordinary house, and when she turned enquiring eyes on Hank, he said, ‘One of the guys at the base has an uncle or a cousin, something like that, living here. He’s away fighting and his wife and child are in the country somewhere, but he gave a set of keys to Abe for him to use if he needed a bit of peace and quiet, you know? Home from home.’

  He reached over and extracted a bottle from under one of the seats of the Jeep and then pulled her across the pavement and into the tiny front garden, which once would have had railings separating it from the pavement until they had been required for the war effort. After retrieving a key from under a pot, Hank opened the front door and ushered her through the hall into a very pleasant front room.

  ‘Drink?’ He raised the bottle of whisky in his hand and without waiting for her reply walked across to a small cabinet, on top of which was a tray with some assorted glasses. He poured two decent measures and handed her one, downing his in one swallow before he noticed she was still standing in exactly the same place, the glass clutched tightly in her hand. ‘Relax, sugar,’ he said softly.

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Sure you can.’ He guided the glass to her lips and when she had taken a sip, he smiled. ‘See? That’s great. We’ll have another in a minute but first . . .’ He walked over to the hefty sofa at the end of the room under the window and closed the thick velvet curtains. Then he bent down and slung the large cushions onto the square of carpet in the middle of the room. That done, he pulled the sofa up and then out, to reveal a bed covered by a thin mattress.

  ‘Come here.’ When she didn’t answer or move, he walked across and again tilted the glass to her lips, taking it from her once it was empty and putting it on the cabinet before leading her to the side of the sofa bed.

  When his arms went round her they were gentle, his whole embrace was gentle and his kiss was sweet and non-threatening. She stiffened at first but then, as he coaxed and soothed her with little kisses all over her face, she relaxed, she closed her eyes and put her arms round his neck. He eased her down onto the bed, their arms still wrapped round each other and their faces close. Why that moment should be the one that told Audrey she couldn’t go through with this, she didn’t know, but she found herself pushing him away as she struggled to sit up.

  She adjusted her clothing with shaking hands, her cheeks flaming but her head remarkably clear. ‘I’m sorry.’ She nerved herself to look at him. ‘Hank, I’m really sorry but I shouldn’t be here.’ She bit hard on the inside of her lower lip to stop herself bursting into tears.

  ‘You still love your husband.’ It was a statement, not a question. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat with his hands hanging loosely between his knees.

  This was awful, terrible. If he had shouted she would have felt better. She opened her mouth to deny the charge but instead she said, ‘Yes,’ as the truth hit her. And she wasn’t going to let Nora completely ruin their lives.

  ‘Does he know what a lucky son of a gun he is?’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’ And then she corrected herself in the next instant. ‘At least not till recently anyway.’

  His glance flashed to her then and he said, ‘You’re sure he’s not giving you the runaround?’

  The runaround? She thought of the scene earlier that night, of Ivor sobbing on his knees as he clutched her as though he was drowning. Suddenly all she wanted was to be with him. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, very softly.

  The house was in darkness when she let herself in and for a moment she stood in the hall, uncertain what to do next. Ivor would be fast asleep by now. And then some instinct she hadn’t known she possessed kicked in. He was not asleep. Right at this moment he was very much awake. What was she going to do? It was the same thought she’d had on the drive back to Rose Street, Hank’s reasonableness pouring coals of fire on her head.

  Even when she mounted the stairs she couldn’t have said what her next action would be, but when she reached the landing she walked to the door of the boys’ room without hesitation. The door was slightly ajar, and it creaked as she pushed it open. Ivor was sitting up in bed, his eyes tight on her.

  ‘I want a word with you,’ she said quietly.

  He followed her into what had been their bedroom without saying a word. She faced him and said without any preamble, ‘I nearly went with another man tonight.’

  He reached out and grasped the door frame. ‘Nearly?’

  ‘I couldn’t do it. I wanted to but for all the wrong reasons, the main one being a desire to get back at you. Can you understand that?’

  He nodded.

  She stared at him sadly for a moment. ‘I hate you, Ivor. I hate you and I love you.’ Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. ‘What are we going to do?’

  His shoulders were hunched and her name was wrenched up from the depths of him as he said, ‘Audrey, Audrey lass, I’ll spend the rest of me life begging your forgiveness if that’s what you want. I love you. Believe me, I do. I can’t go on without you.’

  ‘Nor me without you.’

  He became very still, staring at her in a silence which stretched. When she said, ‘I think it’s high time you moved back in here, don’t you?’ he didn’t stir for a full ten seconds.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mussolini had been deposed, the Germans routed south of Moscow in the greatest tank battle in history, and Hamburg virtually wiped off the map by RAF night bombers and the US Air Force, but none of these momentous events really touched the lives of the folk at Bleak Farm. The outside world with all its horrors seemed a million miles away as each member of the farm worked from dawn to dusk to meet the government’s quotas.

  When Farmer Tollett had requested another couple of land girls to replace Vincent, he’d been told he had to take Italian prisoners of war. T
his had sent his wife into such a spin he had refused, saying they would manage as they were. Even Clara had been rising at five o’clock in the morning and working before she left for school, and when she was home again in the evening the child pitched in until bedtime.

  Winnie was still working hard, in spite of looking like a balloon ready to pop, but inevitably she had slowed down as she’d grown more ponderous. The farmer and his wife were kindness itself to her, and it was clear they thought of her as part of the family and her child as their grandchild, the more so since they’d received a telegram in May with the news that their eldest son had been killed in action. Their acceptance of Winnie and her unborn child was in stark contrast to her father’s reaction. She’d written to him about her situation and his reply had been to the effect that the family would be informing neighbours and friends that she had married whilst in Yorkshire, and until this was indeed the case he didn’t expect her to show her face at home again. Winnie had cried for days.