Telegrams and Teacakes: A heartbreaking World War Two family saga, page 4
‘Budge up, Mary dear,’ said Audrey over her shoulder. ‘Make room for Betty. I’ll go and fetch her.’
Opening the door to Betty and welcoming her in, Audrey was once again struck by the girl’s threadbare dress and uneven haircut. Frowning slightly, she wondered how she could possibly mention it without offending her – she didn’t want one of the older customers to get in there first and hurt her feelings. Some of the ladies had tongues sharp as knives.
‘Come upstairs, Betty,’ she said. ‘We’re all in the kitchen, tucking into that honey cake I told you about.’
Opening the kitchen door, Audrey introduced Betty to the women and Mary, who all greeted her with smiles. Pat, standing to shake the girl’s hand, patted her on the head.
‘I’m Pat, Audrey’s mother-in-law,’ she said. ‘I see you’ve cut your own hair, lovey? I think that needs straightening up. I know, I know, there’s no time for going to the hairdresser’s in wartime and it feels like too much of an indulgence, doesn’t it, but I’m as good as any hairdresser. Let me get my scissors.’
Audrey, blushing on Betty’s account, murmured in protest, ‘Well, I…’ but Pat was insistent.
‘Sit down, Betty,’ she instructed.
‘I… I…’ said Betty, her pink cheeks turning scarlet.
‘It won’t take me a minute,’ said Pat, gently pushing down on Betty’s shoulders so she sat down on a chair. ‘This is Elsie, Audrey’s sister-in-law. That’s Lily, Audrey’s stepsister. This is Mary, who came to us as an evacuee but is now one of the family, aren’t you, Mary? Then this is Christine, who’s Lily’s friend. She’s here from Bristol; the local convalescent home offered respite to mothers with babies who had suffered during the Bristol Blitz, poor mites.’
Audrey watched Betty turn even redder as she nodded and smiled at the group. The poor girl seemed desperately shy, Audrey thought, and the last thing she needed was Pat cutting her hair in front of an audience. There was no telling Pat though; she was a force to be reckoned with. Audrey would have to think about a way to give Betty a new dress without embarrassing her further – some folk were very proud about that kind of thing.
‘Pat, maybe this isn’t the…’ started Audrey, but Pat was already snipping at Betty’s hair. Audrey smiled apologetically at the young woman. She set out a slice of cake for her and placed a cup of tea in her hand. Betty mouthed a ‘thank you’ and carefully sipped her tea.
‘There,’ said Pat after a couple of minutes. ‘You’re all straight now. When you’re working front of house in the bakery you have to look the part. Our older customers are very fussy about appearances. Why don’t you tell us all about yourself. Where are you from?’
Betty felt the bottom of her newly clipped hair and after a strained ‘thank you’, sat with everyone at the table. She had her back half-turned to Christine, who was chewing the inside of her cheek and narrowing her eyes, as if she was trying to remember something.
‘I’m staying in a rented room in Lansdowne, but I’m here from Portsmouth—’ started Betty, but Christine interrupted.
‘I thought you were going to say you’re from Bristol, like me,’ said Christine. ‘I could swear I recognise you from somewhere. Maybe the tobacco factory? Have you ever worked there?’
‘No,’ Betty said vehemently, shaking her head. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘Oh,’ said Christine coldly. ‘That’s odd.’
Audrey felt the atmosphere in the room change, as if an icy wind was blowing in from the sea. She moved over to the window and slammed it shut. A sudden silence fell over the room and, detecting Betty’s discomfort, Audrey felt confused. Something was going on between those girls but she didn’t know what. Lifting down her sewing basket from the dresser, she coughed to gain everyone’s attention.
‘Shall we begin knitting and darning?’ she asked. ‘Betty, you can work on this bakery smock, so you’ve something to wear when you come in tomorrow. It used to belong to Maggie. It needs a small patch here to strengthen the elbow, that’s all. I’m going to try to drop the waist on Mary’s school dress here, to keep pace with her growing!’
Audrey patted Mary’s head and kissed her cheek, quietly delighted that Mary was growing like a weed and flourishing in her care. All those hours spent digging in the allotment and those spoons of rosehip syrup had put roses in Mary’s cheeks. She was going to be a lovely older sister to the baby when he or she was born too.
‘Remember, ladies, in these times no economy is too small,’ said Pat.
Elsie laughed affectionately.
‘You sound like those announcements on the radio from the Board of Trade,’ said Elsie, then, sitting straighter and speaking in an upper-class accent: ‘Every woman is her own clothes doctor!’
Everyone laughed, then they all started to pick up needles and threads and the project they were sewing, while Christine sat still as the stocks, staring at Betty in confusion.
‘I just know I recognise you from somewhere,’ she muttered, frowning. ‘I can’t work it out. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies!’
But Betty just smiled and shrugged as if she didn’t know what Christine was talking about and, with her head down so her hair fell over her face, started sewing the bakery overall until Christine lost interest. Only Audrey noticed that Betty’s hands were trembling as she began to stitch. Briefly resting her hand on Betty’s shoulder, she smiled at her.
‘There’s no rush,’ she said kindly. ‘Take your time, love. Oh, and I’ve got a couple of dresses that might fit you if you’d be so kind as to take them off my hands? They’re no good for me anymore, but I think they’d be lovely on you, with a little nip and tuck. I’ll just fetch them from upstairs. They’re wasted hanging in the wardrobe and never seeing the light of day.’
‘You need to slow down, young lady,’ said Pat, gently grabbing Audrey’s wrist. ‘You’ve not stopped since we got here. Let me or Mary get the dresses for you.’
Audrey tutted, waved her hand in the air dismissively and went up to her bedroom. In the quiet of her room, which smelled faintly of her Pond’s face cream and of the cologne that Charlie used to wear on special occasions, she let her gaze rest on the framed photograph of her and Charlie on their wedding day. From nowhere, her eyes filled with tears, and she wiped at them in frustration. She missed Charlie dreadfully and it pained her that he hadn’t even acknowledged the letter that she’d sent to tell him she was pregnant. What if he didn’t know she was with child? What if all he ever was to this baby was a photograph? How she yearned to talk to him, to hear his firm but gentle voice, to feel the warmth of his arms round her…
‘Oh, stop it, you daft thing,’ she told herself. You could be in a constant state of bad nerves if you didn’t control yourself.
Opening the wardrobe door, she pulled out two day dresses that she thought would fit Betty. They weren’t anything special, but something gave her the feeling that the girl probably only owned the dress she stood up in, so these would do her a good turn. Draping them over her arm, Audrey stopped suddenly as a sharp pain dug into her abdomen and lower back. Her face paled with the pain as she bent over and pressed her fingers into her lower stomach. Hobbling to the edge of the bed, she rested for a moment on the mattress until the pain subsided. Stricken with panic, she hoped to goodness that the baby was safe and healthy. What if she really was doing too much? Pat’s words repeated in her head: You need to slow down, young lady.
Betty didn’t fully breathe again that evening until she was back in her rented digs, having raced up the communal wooden staircase and slammed shut the door to her tiny, dank bedroom on the second floor of the shabby hotel that had seen better days. She leaned against the door and locked it. Her heart pounded in her chest and goose-bumps erupted on her arms as Christine’s words echoed in her head.
I just know I recognise you from somewhere. Of course she did recognise her from Bristol. Christine’s husband, Dick, was a friend of Robert's – they’d gone drinking together before the war. Betty knew that Christine would quickly cotton on to her lie, probably already had. She wondered if she should try to tell Christine the truth about Robert? Perhaps she would understand… or would she still tell Dick, and then Dick would tell Robert where Betty had gone. Oh dear, it was all such a mess!
‘I should never have gone there this evening,’ she admonished herself aloud. She almost hadn’t, but the promise of a homely evening with Audrey and her family had been too tempting to forgo. With shaking hands, she draped the dresses Audrey had kindly given her over the back of a chair and moved over to the narrow bed, kicking off her shoes and quickly undressing to her slip before climbing under the thin eiderdown. Shivering, she rested her head on the envelope-thin pillow, blinking in the darkness, trying to work out what she should do for the best. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of aircraft, and Betty held her breath for a moment, dreading the wail of the air raid siren. Trying to keep calm, she reminded herself that there was a shared shelter in the basement of the hotel so she didn’t have far to go to safety. When the siren didn’t sound and the sound of aircraft faded, she sighed in relief, forcing the terrifying memories of the Bristol Blitz from her mind.
Tossing and turning in bed, Betty couldn’t stop worrying about Christine. If she hadn’t already, how long would it be before she remembered who Betty was? Perhaps she shouldn’t even turn up to the job at the bakery tomorrow. Perhaps she should move on to another town instead and disappear again. But she’d already paid a non-refundable month’s rent up front on this room, and she wouldn’t want to let Audrey down after all she’d done for her. No, she thought, trying to get comfortable in the bed, which squeaked and creaked when she moved, she would either have to speak to Christine and tell her the truth about why she’d run away, or avoid her at all costs and hope that she forgot all about Betty.
Just as she was beginning to drift off to sleep, she was disturbed by a heated discussion, followed by laughter, between a man and woman in the room next to hers. Instantly, her thoughts went to Robert and Doris. Thinking of them together, clinched in an embrace, her heart ached, and she pulled her bony knees up to her chest, hugging them tight. She felt so utterly betrayed by Robert, who she had loved so much; and now, even in Bournemouth, his wrongdoing was still affecting her life. What made it all the more terrible was how silly she felt for not having known that he was married to another woman and a father to three young children. Was she really stupid and short-sighted enough to have missed the signs? Of course, now that she knew the truth, when she looked back she saw signs everywhere – the nights he was away with no explanation, the lack of money, the exhaustion and irritability…
‘What a fool I am to have trusted him!’ she said out loud into the empty room, shocked by the fury in her own voice.
At least I have his savings, she thought bitterly, but that fact did little to cheer her up. Besides, his savings wouldn’t last long. As she slipped into a blank, dreamless sleep, she made a vow to herself: I will never trust a man ever again. Not ever.
Chapter Six
With Joy fast asleep in her small bed, Lily tried, for the fourth night since he had written, to write a reply to Jacques. With the blackout blind down and just a flickering oil lamp for light, her eyes were watering with strain and tiredness as she tried to find the right words, but she felt she must reply to him before another day passed.
It was almost midnight and though she could hear Uncle John working in the bakehouse, preparing the dough for tomorrow’s bread, she suspected the rest of the bakery was asleep. Tomorrow she would be at the library early, helping to teach a group of refugees to speak English. Tonight was the only opportunity she had to reply to Jacques, but her mind was blank. There was so much to say – too much. After thinking Jacques was dead for over a year, how could she convey the joy she felt on hearing he was alive in just a few words? And how did she confess to him that when they’d met she’d been pregnant, after having an affair with a married man – a socially unacceptable sin other girls had been locked up for in the mental asylum. Lily shivered, counting her blessings that Audrey had taken her in and been so understanding. But would Jacques be as understanding?
Maybe I should make up something more palatable, she thought, before quickly dismissing the idea. It would have to be the truth, or nothing – but perhaps she could buy herself some time.
Sighing deeply, she tried again, this time writing a brief message to say how delighted she was to receive his news. I have a great deal to tell you, she wrote, but it can wait. Signing off and quickly folding up the letter, she tucked it into her book, feeling disappointed in herself. Preparing to blow out the oil lamp and get some sleep, she stopped when there was a gentle knock on the door. She tiptoed across the room and opened it to find Elsie standing there in her long cream nightdress, her hair falling over her shoulders in long black tendrils.
‘I can’t sleep,’ she whispered. ‘Can I come in?’
Lily welcomed her in and both girls sat on the bed, covering their toes with the blanket. Before Elsie had married William, the girls had shared a bedroom and spent many a night talking into the early hours.
‘I can’t tell Jacques about Joy just yet,’ Lily admitted. ‘I can’t blurt out everything in the first letter I send. He says he’s thought about me every day since we met. I’m scared to burst his bubble.’
Elsie smiled in understanding and nodded. ‘How do you feel about him? Have you thought about him too?’
‘Yes,’ said Lily. ‘But I thought he was dead, so I deliberately tried not to think about him. Remember that drawing he did of me? I still have it. I’m worried because what if he expects more from me? I suspect he thinks he wants us to be together, one day, but he doesn’t know about Joy and well, even if he did accept her, which he won’t, I don’t know if I want to be married to anyone.’
‘Married?’ said Elsie with a smile, nudging Lily gently with her elbow. ‘Aren’t you getting ahead of things there? He’s only written to you to tell you he’s still alive – don’t worry, he’s not proposing marriage just yet!’
‘I know, I know, but remember the love letter he wrote after we first met?’ Lily said. ‘I think he’s built me up into someone I’m not. I don’t think I’d make anyone a good wife. I don’t think marriage is for me.’
‘Why?’ asked Elsie. ‘Have I put you off?’
‘No.’ Lily laughed. ‘It’s more that I have other plans for Joy and me. I want to be independent and able to provide for Joy myself. I want to have the freedom to work and show her that women don’t have to take the conventional road in life. I don’t see myself as a wife, scrubbing doorsteps and ironing collars. I don’t want that for Joy either.’
Elsie chuckled, leaned her head against the wall and yawned.
‘I don’t think scrubbing steps is what being a wife is about any more, not in wartime,’ she said. ‘It’s about being a friend. It’s about trying to understand what your husband has endured if they’ve been in battle and supporting them through it all. That’s what I think, anyway. Not that I’m doing very well on that front, I have to admit.’
Elsie rubbed her face with her palms and sighed.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Lily. ‘You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Is there a problem you’d like to talk about?’
Elsie shrugged and sighed. ‘Oh, I… yes, it’s William,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, I can’t seem to reach him. I thought he was feeling better, but he’s not, and he won’t tell me what’s troubling him, despite me asking. Sometimes he won’t get out of bed or even speak to me. He was once so full of life.’
Lily smiled sadly at her friend, who she could see was desperately troubled, but she had little advice. She thought about her own father, Victor, who, after losing his wife – Lily’s mother – had completely shut down, as if he’d closed his emotions off like a tap. There had been no way to reach him either.
‘I think some men don’t like to dwell and they need to be left to get on with it, perhaps?’ said Lily. ‘Audrey said that when Charlie came home on leave that time, he didn’t want to talk about what he’d seen on the front line at all. Like it was all a bad dream that he could leave behind him.’
Elsie nodded, but her eyes misted over. ‘I understand that,’ she said. ‘But William’s bad dreams are spilling over into his days. They’ve caught up with him and are making him unhappy and I don’t know what to do to help him.’
Lily reached for her friend’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
‘You said it yourself,’ she said. ‘Be his friend.’
Elsie crept back into her bedroom, trying not to disturb William. He would have to get up soon to join John in the bakehouse but was having a few hours of sleep while he could. Their bedroom, the attic room, was always warm and cosy, being at the top of the bakery – even the floorboards were warm underfoot – and it smelled faintly of the apples that Audrey had kept in the room in crates to dry out over the winter. She tiptoed across the dark room, the warm boards creaking as she moved, and lifted up the sheet to climb in next to her husband. In the darkness, she gently brushed her fingers across his scarred face.
‘Darling William,’ she whispered as she lay down next to him and rested her head on the pillow and her hand on his chest. Trying to empty her head of her worries, she closed her eyes and was allowing her tired body to relax when—
‘GET OFF ME!’ William bellowed at the top of his lungs, sitting bolt upright in bed and forcefully shoving Elsie off. ‘GET AWAY FROM ME! LET ME OUT! I CAN’T BREATHE!’
‘William!’ cried Elsie, half-crying and with her heart racing as she landed in a tangle of sheets on the floor, banging her arm and hip on the side of the bed. ‘William, stop!’
