Authors: Doris Davidson
‘Have you never looked in the mirror?’ The clever riposte surprised both girls. Queenie had uttered it spontaneously and Olive was speechless at her nerve. ‘You’re as
hard as nails,’ she muttered, at last. ‘Not a thing gets through to you, does it? But don’t think you’ll get away with this.’
Although her inside was bubbling up like a kettle on the boil, Queenie knew that she had won and that she would be wise to stop now, to bottle up the words she wanted to spit out, the tears she
had almost shed. Olive’s threat was empty – she could do nothing – and there was no truth in anything she had said. Taking out her fountain pen, Queenie pulled a jotter out of her
bag and began to write, noticing out of the corner of her eye and with some satisfaction, that her cousin was hunched up in the armchair glaring at the fire, her scowling face dark and
brooding.
When the others returned, Patsy was the only one who was conscious of the repressed animosity in the room, but could say nothing until she was alone with Queenie in their room. ‘Olive
looked a bit huffy, like she’d come off second best at something. What had she been up to?’
Queenie shrugged, ‘If I tried to find out what was wrong every time Olive was huffy, I’d never be done.’
‘Did you get peace to finish your homework?’
Queenie did not look at her, ‘Yes, I got everything done.’
‘Did you not let Olive help you? That’s maybe why she was annoyed.’
There was a small intake of breath. ‘She thinks she knows everything, but she’s wrong.’
Patsy was satisfied that Olive had been offended because her offer of help had been refused and tired, from her walk, she soon fell asleep. Queenie, however, was still taut with the anger she
had not had a proper chance to vent. It wasn’t true that Neil felt sorry for her. He hadn’t acted as if he felt sorry for her. He had enjoyed himself as much as she had – and he
did like her, in spite of what Olive said. It was Olive he didn’t like. That’s what Patsy had said, and she would rather believe Patsy than that supercilious Olive Potter. Anyway, she
would find out when he came home on his next leave. If he didn’t ask her out again she would know that he’d been sorry for her before, but she was almost sure that he would.
The kiss Neil had given Queenie hadn’t been like the one he had given her, Olive thought in distraction. He had desired her and he wouldn’t desire a girl he
didn’t love. For years she had thought she loved him – Alf had been a passing fancy – but that kiss had awakened her emotions properly, and she knew now what love really was. What
did Queenie know about a woman’s feelings? She was still a silly young girl, and Neil had likely given her a little peck and she had jumped to the conclusion that he loved her. She
didn’t know what a proper kiss was and how it affected a girl’s whole being.
Olive turned cold. If Neil kept on taking Queenie out and kissed her every time, even lightly, he could easily imagine he was in love with her and that would be disastrous. What could she do?
How could she turn him against that sweetie-sweet kid? She’d have to think of a way before he came home again; forget all about making him declare his love for her and concentrate on finding
out how he felt about Queenie. It might be that she had made a mountain out of a molehill and was worrying for nothing, but it would be best to make sure.
Although Neil had not told her that he loved her – not in so many words – Queenie was practically positive that he did. He had asked her out when he was home at the
beginning of March, but having thought a lot about Olive’s warning, she refused at first, making the excuse of having to study for her exams in May, and it had been Joe who told her not to be
silly. ‘A young lassie shouldn’t be sitting in every night.’
She was glad that he had persuaded her to change her mind. Being with Neil again had been wonderful, even if she’d been unable to put Olive out of her mind. On their way home from the
Palais, Neil had said, ‘You’ve been quiet tonight. Did I say something to annoy you?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sure something’s wrong – just tell me.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ But she couldn’t keep up the pretence. ‘Well . . . there is something. Olive said you only took me out because you were sorry for me.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! You shouldn’t believe anything Olive says. She loves making trouble.’
‘It wasn’t true, then?’
‘No, it wasn’t. I did feel sorry for you when your mum and dad were killed, but that was the only time. I wanted to get you on your own, to get to know the kind of girl you were away
from the house and I enjoyed being with you, couldn’t you tell?’
‘I hoped you did but I wasn’t sure, then Olive said . . .’
‘Damn and blast Olive! I only take her out because . . . well, Hetty asked me. Just till she gets another boyfriend.’
‘Honestly?’
‘As sure as I’m standing here – walking here,’ he added with a grin. ‘So come on, let me see you’re still my girl.’
The tender look in his eyes had told her that he was only half joking, and recalling how he had stroked her hair as he kissed her – such gentle, loving kisses – Queenie knew that it
wouldn’t have taken much for him to say that he meant it, that he did look on her as his girl. It would have been much better if he had told her he loved her, but he would surely tell her the
next time he came home.
Feeling quite let down because they had been sent back near Alnwick after their leave, with no prospect of going abroad, Neil lay on his bed to think about what had happened
when he was home. He hadn’t meant to ask either of his cousins out, but Hetty had slipped him some money with a pleading look and he had been forced to make a date with Olive. Nobody had
forced him to ask Queenie out, he just hadn’t had the willpower not to. He was certain now that she loved him as much as he loved her, but he hadn’t said anything to her because she was
still only sixteen. In any case, he had the feeling his mother would be against it – she often reminded him that Queenie was his cousin – but what did that matter when they loved each
other? The real fly in the ointment was Olive and he wished he had the courage to tell Hetty that the deal was off, that Olive had no intention of looking for another lad. She had seemed shocked
when he told her off for being nasty to Queenie and had sworn blind that she hadn’t done any such thing and, while he couldn’t altogether believe her, he did wonder if Queenie had
misunderstood her.
He was ashamed at the way he had kissed Olive before and had been relieved that she’d been more subdued this time and hadn’t expected him to do it again. Her letters since he came
back had been chatty and humorous – maybe she was growing up at last. After all, she was nineteen now.
Olive Potter was in a very bad humour. She should never have let Polly persuade her to go the auditions for the Students’ Show. It was so humiliating that she’d
felt like walking out after the first five minutes, but they wouldn’t believe her protests that she would feel a fool cavorting on stage in a skimpy costume and it had taken over an hour to
convince them that she was serious. It was after eight and very dark when she reached the tram stop outside Falconer’s store, her coat already soaked by the lashing rain. There was a long
queue and water dripped on to her shoulder off the umbrella of the woman in front but she was past caring. She had to think. Queenie had gone out with Neil again in spite of the warning, and had
told him what she, Olive, had said. She had denied it, of course, when Neil accused her, but she wasn’t sure that he believed her. Worse even than that, it had been horribly clear that he
cared for Queenie a lot more than he had ever done for her. It must be stopped.
Having been jostled by several people hurrying home to get out of the rain and thinking dourly that nobody ever gave an apology, Olive lifted her head in surprise when a young man said,
‘Oops! Sorry.’ About to say that it didn’t matter, she suddenly recognised the girl walking alongside him. Queenie! It was just as well that her cousin was too busy talking to the
boy to look round, for she didn’t believe she could have been civil to her. The two young people were soon swallowed up in the darkness of the dreich March night, but Olive was juggling with
an idea that had occurred to her. They had not been holding hands, nor walking arm-in-arm, but Queenie had been with a boy! It was all Olive needed and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of
it before.
When the tram pulled up, the conductor’s arm barred Olive from boarding. ‘Next tram, please,’ he called, giving three bells to the driver to show that the vehicle was full, and
she didn’t feel in the least annoyed. She was first in the queue now and it gave her more time to figure out what she could write to Neil to put him off Queenie. Just saying that she’d
been walking with a boy wouldn’t do; it had to be much stronger than that. . . much more condemning.
When another letter from Olive arrived, Neil opened it with expectations of being amused by more tales about patients in Cornhill Mental Hospital, where she had to spend some
of her time as part of her medical training, but his smile vanished when he read what she had written.
15 March, 1942
Dear Neil,
Here I am again, though I haven’t time to write much. I’m kept busy at home writing theses for Medical School, but not too busy to write to you. I’m
looking forward to seeing you, as always.
I’ve been wondering if I should tell you this and please don’t think I’m doing it out of spite but I feel it’s my duty to let you know. I was waiting for a tram
tonight outside Falconer’s and I saw Queenie with a boy. I thought it was somebody she knew casually but they disappeared into the Adelphi – you know, the dark little alley that
goes through on to Market Street? I thought they might be taking a short cut, though it’s not on her way home, but they weren’t. This is difficult for me to write because
you’ll think I was spying on her, but I wasn’t. I know you like to keep an eye on her, and I wanted to make sure there was nothing funny going on, so I ran along to the top of
Market Street but they didn’t come out farther down, and I ran back to the Adelphi. I won’t go into the graphic details of what I saw, but I can tell you that Queenie isn’t a
virgin any longer. I’m sorry if this shocks you, but it’s better to know these things, isn’t it? Please don’t let her know that I’ve told you, because she would
never forgive me.
Now, I’ll get on to something cheerier.
Sickened, Neil read no further. Nothing would cheer him now, and even Olive wouldn’t stoop so low as put something like that down on paper if it wasn’t true. What a
fool he’d been to trust Queenie. Ripping the letter and envelope into small shreds, he stuffed them into a rubbish receptacle on his way to the workshop, thankful that he’d be busy over
the next few hours, which might keep his mind off it. He wouldn’t let Queenie know that Olive had told him – he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of laughing at him. To hell with
her. From now on he’d paint the town red. Any floozie would do if she gave him what he wanted for he’d been too long without it, and all for a worthless tart who opened her legs to the
very first boy who asked . . . or had that one not been the first?
It gnawed at Neil’s mind for days yet even when Alf asked what was bothering him, he couldn’t speak about it. His stomach heaved when he thought of what Queenie had done – he
knew he should stop thinking about it but he couldn’t – and his anguish increased until it was almost more than he could bear. It came as something of a relief, therefore, when Alf said
one afternoon, ‘That’s the third time you’ve put back the plugs on that ruddy truck without looking at them. Don’t tell me love has grabbed you by the balls at
last?’
Neil grimaced, ‘It did, but not any more.’
‘So that’s it? What went wrong?’
‘She found somebody else.’
‘Did you have it bad?’
‘Bad enough,’ Neil said guardedly.
‘I’d the feeling there was some dame in Aberdeen but good God, man, there’s plenty of fish in the sea. Forget about her and we’ll pick up a couple of dollies tonight.
What about it, eh?’
Forced to smile at Alf’s solution to his heartbreak, Neil decided to give it a try. ‘You’re on, boy. Look out, girls, Neil Ferris is on the rampage again.’
Alf slapped him on the back, ‘That’s the spirit!’
For the next few weeks, Neil went wild, not admitting that it wasn’t the same as it had been before. The only times he felt at all happy was when he took one of the motor cycles out on the
road. They were what he loved now. They could be depended on not to stab him in the back.
Eyeing her sister’s steadily-enlarging figure, Gracie asked, ‘How do you manage on the rations?’
Hetty shrugged, ‘I get by.’
‘How? I’m always worrying about what to have for dinners and the girls and I have had to stop taking any sugar in our tea, haven’t we, Queenie?’
‘I’m used to it now,’ her niece smiled. ‘In fact, if I do forget and put in a spoonful, it tastes awful.’
Hetty gave a little smirk. ‘I know a man who lets me have two pounds now and again . . . off the ration, you know?’
‘Black market?’ Queenie suggested.
Gracie looked horrified. ‘Hetty Potter! The black market? Fancy you cheating like that.’
‘It’s not cheating. What’s the harm in buying extra when you can? I get butter and eggs from him too and a bit of beef sometimes, or pork. Of course, he charges more than the
shops, but they wouldn’t give me so much.’
Gracie was speechless . . . for a moment. ‘Money always talks, doesn’t it?’ she burst out, her face red with indignation.
Trying to pacify her, Queenie said, ‘Everybody does it, if they think they can get away with it.’
‘Just them that can afford it, not us ordinary folk that have to make one penny do the work of three.’ Gracie turned on her sister again. ‘We’ve to survive on bare
rations and we hardly ever see fresh eggs, just that dried stuff Lord Woolton dishes out. Anyway, the black market’s against the law. I’m surprised at Martin for letting you do
it.’