Goodbye for Now

by M. J. Hollows

  ‘We’re late, we had better go. Are you sure you want to come? It’ll just be my parents and us, my sister Catherine will be out, and Lizzie has been under the weather. I think, in some way, that will be even worse.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ She leaned in to him and they cuddled closer. ‘I want to meet your parents. Although it’s nice to just sit, and be.’

  ‘We can stay if you want? I can’t think of much better than sitting here with you.’

  He smiled at her, and they kissed. It struck him as amazing how natural that felt now. At first he had been awkward and nervous around her, but in a few short months they had grown closer and closer. Being with her felt like the most natural thing in the world, and he wondered how he had ever managed without her. For the first time in his life something gave him confidence.

  ‘No, we can’t,’ she said. ‘Your parents will be waiting, and I don’t want to anger them before I’ve even met them.’

  He couldn’t imagine how she could anger anyone, and smiled.

  Often, he would walk home, taking in the sights and smells of Liverpool and composing himself before interacting with his parents, but he didn’t want to have to make Anne walk all that way. They caught the tram from the city centre up the hill and just under half an hour later they were on his street.

  Joe put his hand on the front doorknob and left it there for a moment. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and breathed out. Anne noticed his hesitation and put a hand on his back. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she whispered in his ear. He nodded and turned the iron doorknob.

  The door opened to the familiar smells of his home, and he walked straight in.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ he said to Anne, smiling as best he could. He resisted the urge to go straight upstairs as he would have done if he were alone and instead walked towards the kitchen.

  ‘Joseph, is that you?’ his mother’s voice called from inside.

  Go on , Anne mouthed at him, and he pushed open the white painted door.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, as she turned around to face him. ‘I’d like you to meet Anne.’

  His mother shot up straight away from the chair she had been sitting in at the table and rushed towards them. Joe was taken aback by the movement, but his mother took Anne in a big embrace and hugged her with warmth.

  ‘Anne?’ she said. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. At last.’

  She eyed Joe and feigned anger.

  ‘I don’t know why he has been keeping you from us for so long. He’s probably ashamed of his humble upbringing. Still, you’re here now and it’s lovely to meet you.’

  ‘Oh now, Mrs Abbott. I don’t think Joe has been keeping me from you. We’ve both been very busy at the newspaper, what with the war on.’

  A look crossed his mother’s features that he didn’t quite understand. Was it anger? Confusion? Regret?

  ‘Joseph doesn’t tell us much about it, I’m afraid. When he’s here he’s sleeping, when he’s not, I presume he is at the newspaper with you.’

  She stopped and put a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Oh, where are my manners? Please, please have a seat. I’m not used to having company. I forget myself.’

  She pulled out the chair she had been sitting on further from the table and proffered it to Anne.

  ‘Thank you,’ Anne said, as she sat down. Joe sat down next to her and studied his mum. As usual she was keeping herself occupied so that she didn’t have to meet the frustrations and disappointments of her daily life.

  The front door banged shut, followed by the sound of a walking stick on the wooden floorboards of the hall. Joe’s mother’s face dropped.

  ‘I was just preparing some tea for the family. It’s not much, but I hope you’ll stay?’

  Anne looked at Joe, uncertain, and he shrugged. ‘I’d love to stay,’ she said, smiling at Joe’s mum, and patting Joe’s hand.

  The kitchen door creaked open wider and Joe’s dad’s footsteps signalled he was walking in. The walking stick appeared first, followed by the gaunt figure of his father.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, upon seeing Joe and Anne sitting down, and stopping in the doorway.

  Joe shot up straight away, not liking the feeling of being sat down in his father’s presence and the lack of control it gave him. He knew that his father didn’t like the idea of men lazing around; a real man should always be busy doing some task or another. Joe guessed that it was army training. The devil makes work for idle hands.

  ‘Dad,’ he said. ‘This is Anne, my…’

  He paused, not knowing how to introduce Anne. They had never spoken aloud about what they meant to each other. He had just assumed that she was his girlfriend and that they were in a relationship, but now that he was put on the spot, he hesitated. He could feel Anne’s eyes on his back, waiting to see what he would say next, but he was frozen.

  ‘Good afternoon, Anne,’ his father said, saving Joe from his hesitation. He breathed a sigh of relief. His father didn’t even seem to notice his consternation and carried on speaking despite him.

  ‘So you’re the woman that’s going to turn our Joseph into an honest man?’ He walked around the table click-clicking his cane against the floor, his every step the visage of pain in his eyes as he scowled. ‘Let’s get a proper look at you.’

  The smell of food wafted through the kitchen as Joe’s mother turned to Joe’s father, holding a stew pot in her hand. She frowned in his direction.

  ‘I’m nearly done cooking, Alfred. Leave poor Anne alone and find your place at the table. She’s intimidated enough as it is without you giving her a parade once over. She’s turned out delightfully, so why don’t you just leave her be?’

  ‘Sorry, dear,’ he said, and eased himself into the seat at the head of the table, inching slowly down so as not to jar his injured leg. This was one of the few times when Joe’s mother resembled the famed Northern Woman that was in absolute charge of her husband. Where, with a few choice words, she could force her husband to do her bidding. He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like this more often. Perhaps her upbringing had caused her to be more timid, but most of the time she acted as if she was her husband’s servant. So many times it had upset Joe enough that he had wanted to do something about it. Ultimately, he had yet to find a way to save her from his father, if indeed she needed saving at all. He still believed that, under that patina of fear, she loved his father dearly, and that separating her from him would do more harm than good. If anyone was capable of doing such a thing, should it be needed, then surely his Uncle Stephen would have done something by now.

  ‘So, Anne. How do you know our Joseph?’

  His father was busy sticking a napkin into the collar of his shirt. It was something he always did, and something that always drew a sigh of frustration from his wife. It wasn’t that he was a messy eater, but that he was fastidiously clean. Not a spot of food was allowed to touch his clothes, otherwise he would march himself away, or as close to a march as was possible given his injured leg, and change. Life in the army must be hard if it was always like that, and not for the first time Joe felt for George out at the front.

  ‘Well, Mr Abbott—’

  ‘Call me Alfred…’

  ‘Joe and I met at the newspaper.’ She smiled at Joe and he couldn’t help but smile back, until he caught his father’s expression of mild annoyance.

  ‘Oh yes? Did he write something about you? About your family or something? You’re dressed very finely. You must come from a very good, upper-class family.’

  ‘Oh, no. Not so high and mighty.’ She blushed, her cheeks going a ruby red through her pale skin. ‘That is, I mean to say, my family are all very good people, but you might call us middle class at best. My father is a teacher, and so was my grandfather and his grandfather, as far back as I can remember. It’s so good of you to welcome me into your home.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s how you come to speak so proper? As for me, I’ve got my lovely wife to thank for that. You should have heard me during my
army days.’

  Joe thought that his father was about to go on and tell one of his army stories, but instead he stopped and stared into the middle distance, remembering. Joe was shocked by how open his father was being with Anne. He had already taken a liking to her, and Joe couldn’t blame his father for that. He was thankful that Anne had said teacher, and not school master as her father really was. He wasn’t sure what his father would make of that, although he seemed to be warming to Anne.

  ‘My mother also made sure that I learned to read and write well, as well as to speak. She didn’t think anyone would take me seriously otherwise. She had quite… unusual ideas. She couldn’t help but fall in love with my father, but she runs the household.’ She blushed again.

  Joe couldn’t help but marvel at the similarities between himself and Anne. He had never thought to ask her about her family before. He had been so immersed and absorbed by her, he hadn’t had the time to think about the world around her. He had often wondered what had brought her to the newspaper, she was more than capable. Not many of their peers could read and write half as well as she could. He had the luck and benefit of the education that his wealthy uncle had paid for, and he guessed Anne had a very similar situation. He would ask her about it sometime, if the opportunity arose.

  ‘That’s all right, love,’ Joe’s mother said, setting a bowl of Scouse in front of Anne, and then Joe. The smell of the beef stew hit Joe’s nostrils and he felt warm inside. The smell of the local specialty always reminded him of happier times, of when he was a child and the prospects of work or the threat of war weren’t things he was conscious of. Of course, they had never served it at his school, the dish was too far beneath them. ‘We don’t care a jot about what class you’re from in this household. We’re all the same, flesh and blood.’

  Joe’s father made a ‘hmph’ sound.

  ‘I’ve been helping some of the Belgian refugees we took in with their English,’ Anne said. ‘It’s so satisfying being able to help them in some small way.’ Anne, growing more nervous, shot a glance at Joe for support.

  ‘We met at the newspaper, Dad. As in, Anne now works with me at the newspaper.’

  ‘A woman? Working at the newspaper?’ His father appeared shocked, which was surprising in itself.

  ‘A woman with a job?’ his mother countered, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘What a modern and fantastic world we are living in. Don’t stand on ceremony, love. Dig in.’

  She sat down at the table with her own bowl of Scouse, after giving her husband one.

  ‘Well, with the war on,’ he said, ‘we’ve lost a lot of the male workforce. Anne has been a great help, and more and more women are taking up the work as the men go to the front. We need more help trying to make people see sense.’

  He knew that what he had said had been a mistake as soon as he saw his father’s expression drop. He had been enjoying the food, lapping it up, but now his spoon dropped back towards the bowl as he stared at Joe.

  ‘I suppose you think this is acceptable?’ he said, emphasising the last word, looking at both Joe and Anne.

  Joe chose his next words with care, not wishing to elicit any further anger from his father. Over the years he had got used to thinking before speaking, otherwise he found himself in trouble.

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I think it’s more than acceptable, it should be standard. I wouldn’t be surprised if, after the war, women find themselves in more positions of responsibility.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I mean this anti-war talk you’ve been publishing. Men should be going out to fight, as is their right in all that is good and normal, and women should stick to what they know best. They’re needed in the war effort too.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Anne’s brow furrowed, and she wouldn’t break her stare with Joe’s father. In that moment Joe admired her, she was so strong and confident. That moment alone summed up everything he had come to love about her, and why he just couldn’t keep away.

  His father was not to be talked down.

  ‘Men, good men are dying out there. Why should anyone be any different? If we refuse to fight, then we will lose this war. Then what? Do you fancy speaking German, lass? I’m afraid I’m not very good at it!’

  ‘There are other things that help the war effort. A man needn’t fight to help us win this war.’

  ‘True enough, but do you really think writing articles for a newspaper amounts to that? What good is it doing? Especially that paper you two work for.’

  He scowled at Joe, who thought he could see actual pity in his father’s eyes. It shocked him.

  ‘The kind of newspaper that would publish defeatist and anti-war statements? How, precisely, is that helping the war effort?’

  Anne opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. She was struck by Joe’s father’s final comments. She didn’t know what else to say. She had made her argument and he was having none of it. She was trying to get Joe’s attention, but what could he do? What could he say that he hadn’t already that would change his father’s mind?

  ‘The best way to stop more men from dying is to end the war,’ he said.

  ‘And how do you propose you’re going to do that, Joseph? Hiding away in that warehouse of yours writing little articles with your friends?’ There was real venom in his father’s voice.

  He didn’t raise the fact that apart from Anne he didn’t have any friends, not since Frank had gone out to war.

  ‘I didn’t say I was going to do it on my own.’

  ‘Hmm, I don’t doubt it.’

  His father’s tone angered him. They would never see eye to eye. He didn’t even know why he was trying, but he wouldn’t back down from his stance, not now, not ever. That was what having morals was about. Believing in them without question. It was almost religious in fervour.

  ‘Millions of men are dying, and for what? We have to do something to stop it. It can’t go on, Father. Otherwise there will be no one left to fight. What happens when the only soldiers left are the old and the infirm?’

  ‘And I suppose you think that you’re going to be able to stop it?’ His father’s fist banged on the table, emphasising key words, as he stared at Joe, his gaze unflinching. He had an iron, soldier’s stare, and Joe forced himself not to break it while his father continued speaking.

  ‘You don’t have a clue, Joseph. Even with all your education, your book learning and your newspapers. You still don’t have a clue. Other, better men than you have tried to stop wars. The ultimate truth will always remain. The only way to win a war is to defeat your enemy. To stop your enemy from winning the war, you have to stop them wanting to fight.’

  He sighed and broke his staring match with Joe. He looked at his wife, and at Anne as if seeing her for the first time, then sighed again. ‘Do you think that if we stop fighting, that the Germans will just lay down their arms and go home?’ he asked.

  Joe hesitated. ‘I think that they may, given the chance,’ he said with caution.

  His father’s fist hit the table again, and he strained in his seat as if wanting to stand up, but he was struck down by his injured leg. ‘Then you’re an idiot! If we lay down our weapons and walk away then they will have won. We won’t have saved lives, we will have caused many more innocents to die. The only thing stopping them from walking into the French countryside is our boys at the front. Admitting defeat will only give them time and confidence to produce more arms, more ammunition and carry on their advance. They won’t put down their weapons any more than we should.’

  The room was deathly silent. Both Anne and Joe’s mother had stopped eating at his father’s outburst, their cutlery left forgotten on the side of their setting. They stared at him, concern on their face. Anne had never met his father before, but his mother had seen him angry plenty of times. However, neither Joe nor his mother had seen his father quite like this, ever. It had been an impassioned speech based on experience of fighting, and Joe was speechless, but he still couldn’t bring himself to agree with h
is father.

  Anne was blushing. He guessed it was because she was embarrassed.

  ‘Can we not just enjoy this food?’ his mother asked across the table at her husband with a stern look on her face. ‘I had to queue up to get that beef, and I want to enjoy it while it’s still warm.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear,’ his father said. ‘Of course.’

  He started eating again, staring at his bowl, and making motions to show he was indeed eating.

  ‘It’s delightful, Mrs Abbott,’ Anne said, trying to break the awkward silence that had arisen around the table in the aftermath of Joe and his father’s argument. ‘My mother’s cooking doesn’t come close.’

  Joe’s mum beamed at her. He had never seen her so happy. He was sure Anne had mentioned that her family had a cook. He wondered what it must be like to have someone to cook for you at your whim.

  ‘You’re too kind, love. It was the best I could do on short notice. Joseph didn’t tell me you were joining us until this morning. This was the best beef I could get once I had got to the front of the queue. It’ll do, but it’s not the best. These food shortages are getting worse and worse.’

  ‘It’s completely my fault, Mrs Abbott. I forgot to tell him I could make it.’

  ‘It’s no one’s fault, love. Just a matter of circumstances. We’re just happy to have you here with us. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.’

  The rest of the meal continued in silence, as Anne sneaked glances at Joe, and he tried his best to smile at her and reassure her. He almost wished he hadn’t brought her here, but she would have had to meet his parents at some point. Especially if they wanted to get married, which he hoped was a distinct possibility.

  After they were finished, the plates had been cleaned up, and his father had retired to the front room, Joe decided that they had had enough for the evening.