by Anne Baker
That had been the first time Andrew had been under fire and experienced deadly danger. His neck had crawled with fear and he’d been very glad of Jeff’s support. He felt sick as he remembered how he’d done his best to say a prayer over his friend before his body was committed to the sea. He’d had to write to Graham’s parents after he’d got home and that had been painful too. Jeff had more stoicism, though they’d had little to say to each other that day. They didn’t find out they both came from Liverpool for some time.
‘It was not a luxury voyage,’ Jeff said, sitting back with his glass of beer in his hand. ‘There were twelve other deck passengers, mostly Malays and Chinese. At night it was cold and we lay down on deck to sleep under an old sail. During the day we were hot and sweaty and had nothing but a bucket of seawater to wash in and there was little shelter from the hot sun, but we had enough local food to avoid feeling hungry and we were evading capture. The boat made slow progress. Occasionally an enemy plane came over, circled to look at us but left us alone.’
‘You must have been petrified,’ Millie said.
‘We were both pretty much on edge,’ Jeff agreed, ‘suffering from prickly heat, indigestion and more than a touch of gastro-enteritis. When we reached Jakarta we felt the same oppressive dread that the Japanese were approaching and would soon engulf the city. Shops and homes were already being abandoned. We took a room in a shabby hotel on the waterfront while we tried to find some way out of the place. We were aiming for Australia by then.
‘We knew the Japanese were moving quickly but we no longer had access to a wireless and met nobody who could speak English, so we had no idea how near the enemy was. It took us a week or so to get on a junk heading for Bali. We intended to wait there until we could pick up a vessel to take us to Australia, but the Japanese were in control of the sea lanes so there was less shipping of any sort.
‘It seemed safer to hire a canoe to take us to Lombok, a nearby island that was much less developed, because the Japanese tended to occupy the towns and didn’t always penetrate the jungle areas beyond. Once there, we walked several miles out of the little town to live on the beach. The local fishermen fed us and showed us how to build a shelter and we spent our days helping them push their canoes into the waves and haul in their catch.’
Andrew met Millie’s gaze. ‘When I’ve told people that, they often say, “You must have enjoyed it. It would be like a long holiday, wouldn’t it?” But as the months passed and we grew bored, it felt as though we’d be there for ever.’
‘We spent hours telling each other about our homes and our families,’ Jeff said.
Andrew felt, as things turned out, that he’d said far too much.
‘We were both larger than the local men,’ Jeff swept on, ‘and stuck out like sore thumbs so we were scared of being picked up by the enemy. But we had no idea where they were, or whether that was likely or not until we met up with Hans, a Dutchman who came to the beach to barter his farm produce for fish. He spoke good English and as he also had a wireless he was able to tell us that the Dutch had surrendered and the Japanese now controlled Java and were advancing on through the islands of the Flores Sea towards New Guinea. We knew that by May, half of New Guinea had fallen to them. Hans was getting anxious about the safety of his wife and two small children.’
‘How old were they?’ Millie asked.
‘Two and four. Then at last we had a stroke of luck. Hans heard that an Australian fishing boat had to put in to Lombok for repairs and would be heading back to Darwin. He arranged with the captain to take us there, together with his wife and children.’
‘We were destitute,’ Andrew said, ‘but the Australian Army took care of us.’ He remembered the enormous wave of relief he’d felt then. He’d lost a lot of weight and felt his physical endurance had been tested to the limit.
Jeff was very jovial. ‘The first thing I did was to write to my wife to let her know I was safe. We were flown home on an Australian Air Force cargo flight.’
Jeff liked to talk about getting out of Asia; he saw it as a wartime adventure in his military career and he could give the tale a touch of drama. But then he’d returned home to a welcoming wife and family.
Andrew couldn’t bear to think of it. He’d written to Annabel too but for him the tale didn’t have a happy ending.
Just then he saw Marcus come into the pub with a sprinkling of snow on the shoulders of his overcoat. He took it off and sat down, and moments later the barman came with his drink. He hadn’t noticed them yet but he was looking round and suddenly he leapt to his feet, snatched up the coat he’d taken off and rushed away, leaving his glass of whisky virtually untouched on the table before him.
Andrew wondered why, he’d seemed to be looking in their direction but surely catching sight of him and Millie here would not make him hare off and leave his drink? He guessed then that it was seeing Jeff that had made Marcus scarper. His uniform and booming voice made him stand out. Had Marcus not recognised Jeff Willis as his cousin, or had he not wanted to?
Later, before they left, Millie went to the ladies’ cloakroom and Jeff said, ‘I meant to ask you about Marcus Maynard. He belongs to the other side of the clan. How does he get on with Millie? Are they friendly? Do they pull together at work?’
‘No, quite the opposite, he doesn’t like her, doesn’t think she’s good enough to be a Maynard.’
Jeff laughed. ‘We Willises aren’t good enough for him either. He doesn’t want to know us, but I gathered from Pete that even the true-blood Maynards have an occasional dust-up.’
‘Funny you should mention Marcus. He came in here a short time ago and then went off in a hurry.’
‘Well, it’s near the business, isn’t it?’ They could see Millie coming back to join them and Jeff said, ‘She’s all right. You must bring her round to have a drink with us some time.’
It had stopped snowing, but four or five inches had settled on the road and was showing tyre ruts and footprints now. Andrew took Millie’s arm to walk her back to the car park. ‘We’ve got two cars,’ she said. They had a covering of snow and were the only vehicles left.
‘Safer to leave yours here tonight,’ he said, trying the door handle to make sure it was locked. ‘I’ll run you home. Will you be able to get into work tomorrow? If the buses aren’t running, ring me and I’ll fetch you.’
He drove Millie slowly and carefully into town and they had dinner at the Stork Hotel in an almost empty dining room. Without Jeff’s ready flow of boisterous conversation, Andrew was trying hard to find something to say. He should have paid more attention to her and not let Jeff take over the first part of the evening.
But sitting opposite Millie’s smiling face cheered him up. This was what he’d wanted to do for a long time. She talked about her family and asked about his, but he couldn’t bring himself to mention his personal difficulties. He felt on safer ground talking about the business.
She asked, ‘What are you hearing about Nigel on the grapevine? Is it thought he’s settling in and taking some responsibility for running the business?’
That made him smile. ‘What they’re saying is that you are doing that. It’s you they go to when they’ve got a problem, not Nigel.’
‘But does he do any useful work?’
‘I don’t know what he does. Better if you ask Tom or Arthur. I know they think Marcus is a complete waste of space. Mostly, when they have anything to say, it’s to complain about him.’
‘Yes, I’d like to sack Marcus but that would bring his father’s wrath down on my head. I don’t know what to do about him. What can you suggest?’
‘I’ve absolutely no ideas to offer on that.’ He laughed.
On the drive home she said, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you with these business problems. But I have nobody else who would understand and be able to help me.’
‘M
illie, it doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I rather like it.’
At her garden gate she thanked him for what she called a very pleasant evening. He said, ‘I’m afraid Jeff rather took over the early part.’
‘That opened my eyes to how you spent the war. I don’t suppose you would have told me half as much.’
She was right about that, he wouldn’t have. He ached to take her in his arms, hug her and say, ‘We’ve both had our losses and disappointments but let’s put all that behind us. Together we could start afresh.’
But Millie gave no sign that she was interested in him, other than as a helpmate. She asked, ‘Would you like to come in for a drink, a cup of tea? Or I do have cocoa.’
He wanted to say yes, he wanted to prolong this evening. But already she was looking away, her mind on other things. ‘It doesn’t look as though Sylvie is home yet.’
‘Thank you but no,’ he said. ‘It’s time I went home.’
He waited until her front door closed behind her and then drove off feeling he never would find anybody willing to share his life.
Denis’s mother, Geraldine, welcomed Sylvie into the warmth of her home with a cup of tea and said, ‘Denis’s grandfather really took to your mother when she was a young apprentice like Denis is now. He said she was really interested in perfumes and seemed to retain everything he told her about them. Now she’s done the same for Denis.’
Geraldine was a jolly person and had plenty to say; Sylvie liked her. What she said about times past in the lab reminded Sylvie that she had been born on her mother’s eighteenth birthday. She decided she must be a slow starter because here she was at eighteen years of age having taken no interest in boys until now. Denis was her first boyfriend.
Savoury scents were coming from the kitchen making Sylvie’s mouth water and later on she sat down to a meal of steak and kidney pie with roast potatoes and cabbage. At home, Sylvie refused to eat offal of any sort but felt she couldn’t leave the kidney on her plate here, as Denis’s mother might take it as an insult, especially in these times of shortage. She ate it and found it delicious. Perhaps she’d been wrong about that too.
At eight o’clock Denis opened the curtains to see what the weather was doing. ‘It’s stopped snowing,’ he said, ‘it’s a lovely clear night now, but the snow’s sticking.’
‘Ring the bus depot,’ his mother said, ‘and find out if the buses are still running.’
The answer to that was no. ‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said.
‘Then you’d better start soon,’ his mother said. ‘It’s some distance and you’ll have to walk both ways. Why don’t you phone your mother, Sylvie, and tell her you’re setting out now? She could be worrying about you.’
Sylvie tried but her mother didn’t pick up the phone. It rang and rang until she had to assume that she wasn’t there. ‘I wonder where she’s gone on a night like this,’ she said. ‘She was worried about the snow.’
‘Do you have a key?’ Denis asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll make a start. She’ll probably be there before we are.’
Geraldine insisted that Sylvie borrow her wellingtons and gave her a carrier bag to put her high-heeled court shoes in. She also provided extra socks and a warm scarf to wrap round her head. ‘It’ll be freezing hard by now.’
It was a lovely moonlit night and every roof and tree had its thick covering of crisp snow. There was almost no traffic and nobody about. Their footprints were the first on the pavements. It was a delight, the snow had transformed the mundane streets into a fairyland, but the wind was icy against Sylvie’s cheeks and it was slippery underfoot.
‘Take care,’ Denis warned, and Sylvie felt his arm go round her waist to steady her. ‘I’ve got to get you home in one piece, haven’t I?’ She smiled and he stopped to kiss her. She could see love, adoration almost, in his dark eyes. She shivered with delight and put up her face to be kissed again. Whatever had made her think Denis wasn’t romantic?
Their progress was slow and it took more than an hour to reach her home. ‘Mum’s home now,’ she said. The lights were on in the hall and as they watched they saw the light go on in the kitchen. Denis gathered Sylvie in his arms to kiss her a final goodnight, but she kept him with her for another half hour and by then they both felt very cold.
‘Come on in,’ she said, ‘I could make you a hot drink to warm you up before you walk back.’ She felt him hesitate. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Why not?’
Millie met them in the hall. ‘Thank goodness you’ve got here. Denis, I rang your mother to tell you the buses had stopped running but she said you knew and had set out to walk home at eight o’clock. I was beginning to worry about you.’
‘We’re fine, Mum.’
‘Denis, you aren’t going to walk back again, are you?’
‘I’m going to make him a hot drink first,’ Sylvie said.
‘It’ll be midnight before you get home.’ Sylvie had to stifle a giggle at that. It wasn’t the walk that had taken so much time.
‘I suggest you stay the night with us,’ Millie went on. ‘Why don’t you ring your mother and tell her? We can make up a bed for you and you can come straight to work with us in the morning.’
Sylvie set about making three cups of cocoa while Millie found Denis a pair of slippers that had once been Pete’s so he could take his wellingtons off, and she took him up to the old nursery where the gas fire was popping and giving out welcome heat.
Sylvie fell asleep that night thinking of Denis, and the love for her she’d seen in his eyes. To think of him sleeping downstairs gave her a lovely feeling of security.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Andrew pulled up on the drive of his mother’s house and walked to the front door, he remembered that other time years ago when he’d done this. It wasn’t so much that he hated Jeff Willis retelling their Asian experiences but that it made the years roll back to 1942 and reminded him of how much he’d lost. He let himself in and found his mother had already gone to bed. He made haste to do the same.
He’d have been wiser to do what Annabel had asked of him in the first place, opt for the Pay Corps and the chance to stay in England with her. His life might have been different now if he had. How many times had he regretted that he hadn’t? Thousands as he’d fled from the Japanese, but many more times since he’d returned to England. That had been one of the blackest days of his life.
As soon as the plane bringing him and Jeff home had landed, they tried to ring their wives but were told to try again later as the lines were still being repaired after a recent air raid.
A British Army colonel congratulated them on escaping from the Japanese and granted them a month’s leave, telling them their salaries would be paid since the fall of Singapore. Andrew tried again to telephone Annabel but still no luck. Together he and Jeff boarded a train to Liverpool. Andrew thought of him now as a trustworthy friend; they’d parted in Exchange Station with a handshake and a promise to keep in touch.
It was the evening rush hour; there was a queue to use the phone booths and no taxis. Andrew boarded a bus to Mossley Hill, bubbling with anticipation. The bomb damage shocked him. There were stark ruins, gaps where he remembered buildings, windows boarded up, holes in the road and piles of rubble everywhere. He couldn’t wait to get home to Annabel and almost ran down the road to the semi-detached house they’d bought when they married.
Thank goodness these houses were undamaged but they looked shabbier than he remembered. The rose bushes he’d planted in the front garden were in full bloom and the little lawn neatly clipped; it gave him pleasure that Annabel had been taking care of things in his absence.
He dropped his bag on the doorstep to ring the bell, rattle the knocker and put his key in the lock. As soon as the door opened he caught the savoury scent of a good stew. His stomach rumbl
ed in anticipation. How marvellous!
Annabel came rushing up the hall to meet him, her dark hair flying out round her beautiful face. He put out his arms to give her a welcoming hug but she stopped dead as soon as she saw him and her mouth fell open. ‘Oh my God!’ she gasped. ‘I thought you were dead!’
The hall was spinning round him, he couldn’t get his breath. Her shock was palpable and he knew beyond doubt that his return was unwelcome. The bottom was dropping out of his world.
He stared at her half paralysed but managed to choke out, ‘Didn’t you get my letter?’ before he saw the man come to the dining-room door. They had been eating; their plates were still half full of stew.
‘Darling,’ he turned to Annabel, ‘who is this?’
She looked numb and was unable to answer. For the first time he noticed her thickening figure. ‘You’re pregnant?’ He felt as though he’d been kicked. Scalding vomit was rising in his throat.
He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t look at her beautiful slanting brown eyes. He couldn’t stop his fists clenching ready to punch the fellow who’d taken his place. He was older, taller, better looking, a civilian in a well-fitting suit. Andrew felt he was falling apart.
Annabel was weeping and trying to justify what she’d done. ‘You went away. You left me. I haven’t seen you for years. I couldn’t manage on my own, Victor rescued me.’
Victor was calmer than either of them and took over. ‘After the fall of Singapore, Annabel received a telegram saying you were missing believed killed. We really believed . . . I mean it’s now August.’ The official telegram was produced in evidence.
‘You didn’t write to let me know you were all right,’ she accused, near to hysteria. ‘What did you expect me to believe?’
‘I wrote to you when I reached Darwin.’ It was clear she’d never received it.
Andrew didn’t know how he got out of the house he’d thought of as his own. He couldn’t think. For an hour he walked the suburban streets not caring where he went. He still loved Annabel, still wanted her. He’d adored her, given her everything he could, but Annabel had rejected him. She’d turned her back on him, didn’t want any more to do with him.