She nodded. ‘Brilliant idea,’ she said, grinning. ‘Anything that keeps me in this area close to Mario has got to be good.’
‘It’ll mean hard work, even harder than we’ve done here, at least to start with,’ Abby warned.
They both nodded, smiling.
‘I’ll go and tell Gladys.’ Abby stood up. ‘And you two start packing. If we can get our things ready and into the lorry before Vincent wakes up, I’ve a mind to borrow it again like we did once before. We’ll leave a note and tell him he can collect it in Scarborough behind the Empire.’
On the landing, Abby paused in the darkness. She had known before she said anything to the other two that she was committing to something big here. If Ike came back, if he asked her to marry him, if he hadn’t changed his mind - she shook her head at all the ifs. But if he did, she wouldn’t be able to up sticks and go to America, not for years and years anyway. So why had she followed through and put her idea to Winnie and Rowena?
She knew why. She sighed in the darkness. It was partly because it was a brilliant idea, like Rowena had said, and she could see it working in the present climate, but also because her friends needed this. Winnie was an unmarried mother who couldn’t rely on her family and Rowena was going to marry a prisoner of war. Both situations took them out of the normal. But she wasn’t being altogether noble here. She was doing this for herself too. Her mother had always called her an upstart and maybe she was, but she knew she could get her teeth into this and make it work and it excited her. She didn’t want to lose Ike - she bowed her head and bit hard on her lip as her heart twisted - but if he really loved her he would wait until she could leave England. Wouldn’t he?
Her head remained bowed a moment longer before it lifted, her chin thrusting forward. She would go and see what Gladys wanted to do now, and that was how she had to approach the next few months. One step at a time. She would deal with what needed to be dealt with, like Gladys. It was the only way. She didn’t feel her brain could cope with anything else.
Chapter Twenty-one
By the time VJ Day dawned in the middle of a hot August the price of victory and defeat could be counted in fifty-five million men, women and children having lost their lives. The nuclear bombs that fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended the war, but although the government declared a two-day holiday and the street parties and bonfires again covered England, Abby was not celebrating. She hadn’t heard from Ike in weeks and she was terribly afraid something had happened to him. Or - and here her stomach always turned right over - he’d decided it was not going to work out between them after she’d written about the proposed venture with Winnie and Rowena.
She looked up into the clear blue sky as she finished her second slice of toast standing at the back door of her new home. They had been with their kind landlady in Scarborough for eight weeks, during which time they had worked picking crops and helping with the harvest in neighbouring farms, before moving into the smallholding. After receiving one scribbled note from Ike there, obviously written in extreme haste and basically saying she must think things over very carefully and make sure of all her facts before she parted with hard cash, there had been nothing. She knew Mrs Fraser would pass on any letters for her and she’d written to tell Ike her new address immediately they’d moved in July, but still there was no news. And with the bloodiest land fighting of the war in the battle for Okinawa, and fierce attacks on Tokyo and other key Japanese cities in the weeks before the atomic bombs fell, she knew casualties on both sides had been heavy.
‘Come and sit down and have another slice of toast. You’re going to be on your feet all day so at least sit down when you can.’
Gladys’s gently chiding voice brought Abby out of her black thoughts. She turned, glancing at the three women and Clara sitting at the kitchen table and Joy engrossed in crumbling a piece of toast in her high chair, and smiled. ‘I’m all right, Gladys. And two pieces of toast is enough.’
‘Hmph.’ Gladys’s snort said it all. Each of them knew Abby was far from all right but they could do nothing to influence things one way or the other. They were all praying Ike was safe and well and that the lack of news was a breakdown in communications due to the chaos and mayhem over the ocean. ‘Well, have another cuppa then,’ Gladys persisted. ‘You’re getting like a lath.’
Abby’s smile widened. Dear Gladys. She had already forced a hearty cooked breakfast down her by the simple expedient of placing a heaped plate in front of her and standing over her till she’d finished. ‘I haven’t lost a pound, Gladys. How could I with you feeding us so well?’
The ‘hmph’ wasn’t so loud this time, which indicated Gladys was mollified. When Abby had first told her of their plans, Gladys had been torn between staying in her home with the son she’d secretly been mourning as lost for some time, and leaving with the granddaughter who was her sun, moon and stars. A week after Abby and the others had moved into the smallholding, Gladys’s mind had been made up for her once and for all. Vincent had brought his blonde home, stating that the woman was going to live with them from that point on and that his mother would give her the respect he demanded. Gladys had packed her bags the same day.
Wielding the teapot, she now said, ‘You wouldn’t join in the merrymaking yesterday so I don’t suppose you will today. Am I right?’
Abby nodded. The others had spent just a couple of hours in Whitby the previous day but had soon returned home, declaring it wasn’t the same without her, besides which they’d already done this once before.
Abby took a sip of her tea before she said, ‘We’ve got two seed-firm reps calling this afternoon and one of them said he’d put us in touch with some gardeners who are willing to barter the stock they have now in return for our next season’s potatoes.’
Gladys’s eyes were soft as she looked at the young woman she had a great deal of love and respect for. Nevertheless her voice carried a note of reproach as she said, ‘When are you ever going to relax? That’s what I want to know. You’re the first one up and the last to bed and in between you tear about like a blue-arsed fly.’
Winnie added her two penn’orth to the proceedings, chiming in with, ‘She’s right, lass, and you know it. You’re wearing yourself out and, whatever you say, you have lost a few pounds.’
Abby shrugged. She could have said she needed to keep going and fill each minute of every hour or she would probably go mad with worry about Ike, but she didn’t. She guessed the others knew anyway and to voice her concern wouldn’t help anyone. They all had enough on their plates without dwelling on the negative.
The smallholding had come with four large fields, an old crumbling barn and a couple of dilapidated byres and pigsties, although all the animals had long since been sold. The house itself was a ramshackle affair and they would be working to get it round for ages because they had no spare cash for such frivolities, but it was the massive greenhouse which came with the property which was the main focus and that was in the best condition of all. The fact that they were sleeping with buckets stationed at various points to catch the water trickling through the ceilings when it rained, and that every window in the place was rotten and falling apart didn’t matter.
‘We all agreed this was going to take some blood, sweat and tears. Right?’ she said, letting her gaze rest on each face in turn. ‘And it’s these early days that count. The bank didn’t think it was doing us any favours when they offered the loan for this place. They saw a return for their investment and I intend to prove them right.’
‘Aye, yes, Mam.’ Winnie’s voice was that of a cowering child.
‘Aw, you. Go on with you!’ said Abby, laughing in spite of herself as Winnie grinned at her.
That afternoon, just when Abby had come into the house for a cold drink of water - the greenhouse where she had been busy planting up some seeds was like a Turkish bath - there came a knock at the front door. She watched Gladys bustle away to answer it without any real interest. One seed representative had already come and gon
e, this was doubtless the other. The first man had been desperate for their custom which was why he was working when most of the country was celebrating; likely this one would be the same. She had done some business with the first and she would do some with this man too, but her heart wasn’t in it today. The smallholding had come complete with decrepit furniture and a hackneyed wireless which nevertheless had given them news all day of the riotous jollification across the country. Abby didn’t like to acknowledge she was resentful of the merrymaking, but she knew it to be the truth. Ike might have lost his life for this day and it wasn’t worth it.
Oh, stop it! The words were so loud in her head she thought for a moment she’d spoken them. If she carried on like this she’d turn into a bitter old hag and no one would want to have anything to do with her. And he was alive. She wouldn’t let herself believe anything but that.
She rinsed the glass in the deep white sink and turned to face the door into the hall. Gladys was standing there, her face working as she tried to speak. Then she just held out the telegram in her hand. Abby found her feet were glued to the flagstones. They stared at each other. Joy, who was having an afternoon nap on the old high-backed settle in a corner of the kitchen, stirred briefly, whimpering, before becoming quiet again, but still neither woman moved. Then Abby held out her hand and Gladys walked across to her. She placed the brown envelope in Abby’s fingers and then stood and looked at her, her hands clasped into fists at her mouth.
Abby’s whole body seemed to be shrinking. It was a long time now since she had experienced this feeling; it was a weird sensation. Before this day only her mother had been able to produce the shrivelling sense of cold dread. Numbly she opened the envelope and stared at the message it held. Then, shaking from head to foot, she blindly reached out a hand and felt her way into one of the rickety kitchen chairs. ‘He’s coming home, Gladys,’ she whispered through the constriction in her throat. ‘He’s safe.’
‘Praise be to the Lord, lass!’ Gladys found she had to sit down too. ‘When I saw that messenger boy standing there . . .’ She didn’t have to finish. They had both thought the same thing. Rousing herself, Gladys said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll have a cuppa to celebrate. Shall I go and fetch the others?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ Abby smiled. Her legs had turned to jelly and she couldn’t have stood to save her life. He was coming back to her. He was safe. He’d survived the carnage and they could be together for the rest of their lives.
After Gladys left, Abby sat quietly staring at a shaft of sunlight slanting through the kitchen window, dust motes dancing in its golden beam. It was only now she could admit to herself that she hadn’t dared believe he would come through. Always at the back of her mind she’d been preparing for the worst. But now, now the future was open to her. Marriage, children, grandchildren. She smoothed a lock of hair back from her brow with trembling fingers. She could embrace all the things she’d thought had for ever died with James.
‘Be happy for me, James,’ she whispered into the sunlit room. And then, although it might be fanciful, she felt she needed to say, ‘You’re my love, you know that, don’t you? You will always be my love. I do love this man but in a different way. He’s not you, my darling, no one could ever be you, but I think we can make a good life together and be content.’ And that had to count for something. After all the butchery and loss, she would settle for contentment.
And then there came the sound of running footsteps and Winnie and Rowena calling her name, their voices full of excitement, and Abby stood up to meet her friends, her legs steady again.
Chapter Twenty-two
James stared at his wife and he found he was battling with the desire to smile, such was the irony of the situation. After a few moments, he said, ‘You’re telling me you want a divorce?’ He’d hardly been able to believe his ears.
‘Yes.’ Phyllis returned his gaze, her pale eyes steady although her bottom lip was trembling.
He reached for his coffee cup and drained the contents before he carefully returned the bone china cup to its saucer. Settling back in his chair, he said, ‘Are you sure?’ His heart began to beat harder against his ribcage. She meant it. It was the last thing he’d ever imagined, but she meant it.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ She was twisting her hands together in her lap and she must have become aware of this because she suddenly placed them on the fine linen tablecloth, looking down at her manicured nails. ‘I’ve . . . met someone.’
‘You’ve met someone?’ She had amazed him twice in as many minutes.
She nodded without raising her head.
‘Where?’ She never went anywhere unless he accompanied her, she wasn’t like that.
‘He . . . Simon is a teacher. He was invalided out of the army twelve months ago and decided to return to teaching then. His wife was killed when he was fighting in France at the beginning of the war.’
James found he didn’t want the man’s life history. ‘And he came to your school?’
Again the pale head nodded.
She had floored him. He hadn’t thought it possible but she had actually floored him. He glanced at the table in front of him which still bore the remains of the excellent dinner Phyllis had served an hour before. How like her to wait until he had dined before she said anything, thoughtful and considerate to the last. But then it had been that intense drive to mother and look after him which had caused him to feel he was suffocating every day of his married life. Maybe if she hadn’t had the miscarriage a month after they had married, maybe if she had become pregnant again in those early days when he had felt so sorry for her and had tried to be the husband she needed, maybe then they might have had a chance. But he doubted it.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was soft, pleading.
His eyes rose to meet hers. ‘Don’t be, we both know this isn’t your fault.’ A ridiculous thing to say in the circumstances, he thought, and anyone listening to their conversation would wonder what on earth he was on about, but it was the truth nonetheless. No one could have tried harder than Phyllis to be a good wife, but when after a year or so he had found himself unable to perform his husbandly duty, even she had taken exception. He had understood but had been at a loss to remedy the situation. He’d gone to their family doctor who had referred him to a specialist, talked to the priest, even bared his soul to his father but still he had been unable to make love to her.
Impotency, the specialist had declared. A powerlessness to achieve sexual erection or orgasm. Common enough in men who’d been through what he had; the mind and body could be adversely affected for years, often with delayed problems like this one. But James had known it wasn’t that. The longer he had lived with Phyllis, the more he had struggled to keep his head clear of the stifling blanket she had persisted in trying to wrap round him every minute of every day.
Her love took the form of smothering, and to such a degree he had found himself working longer and longer hours just to delay the moment when he would have to walk through his own front door. It couldn’t have gone on. He had been telling himself that for the last few months, wondering how he could broach the fact that they must separate when he knew it would break her heart. But apparently he couldn’t have been more wrong there. The last thought prompted him to say quietly, ‘I had no idea, Phyllis. Why didn’t you speak to me before about this?’
Colour flooded her face. He saw her hesitate, and then she said, ‘I was hoping things would work out between us, I suppose.’
‘But if you love this man—’
‘I don’t love him.’ She cut into what he was saying in a most un-Phyllis-like way, and now she said quickly, ‘At least not like I’ve always cared for you, but . . .’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve had to accept you’ve never loved me like that. I thought when we got married I could make you love me but instead it’s driven you away.’
James didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t the type of woman to bare her soul and it was as painful for him as it was for her.
‘Simon wants me,’ she went on after gulping a couple of times, ‘even though he knows how I feel about you. It’s ... it’s my chance to have a family, children, to be a mother.’
‘I understand,’ he said very softly.
The look she now fastened on him carried sadness and a certain resentment in its depths. ‘I knew you would. Simon wanted to be here when I told you, he was worried you might react badly or get violent, but I told him he couldn’t be more wrong. You don’t care enough to get angry, do you?’
In truth he was feeling nothing but relief at this moment but he couldn’t very well say so. James cleared his throat. ‘I value your friendship very highly, I always have, and I do care about you.’
‘As a friend.’
There was nothing he could say.
She stared at him for a moment more before dropping her head, and now slow tears began to drip down her face. They sat in silence for a minute or two and then Phyllis wiped her face on her napkin and sniffed. ‘The parents will be horrified, of course. There has never been a divorce in our family.’
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