Cousins at War (28 page)

‘I bet she’d have been glad of another woman there, not just two men.’

Joe patted her shoulder. ‘But one man was her husband and the other man was her son.’

Understanding why the girl’s mouth tightened, Neil said, ‘I’m sorry, Queenie. I’m sure Mum would have been glad if you’d been there, too, but they were away in the
ambulance before I realised you were still sleeping and there was no point in wakening you then. But you can come to the hospital with us at night.’

‘Are you sure you want me to come?’

With a low moan, Joe flung his arms round her, ‘Queenie, lass, she’ll need all her family round her and you’ve been a daughter to us as much as Patsy.’

The trembling of his voice made her burst into tears and he held her, his own eyes moist, until she calmed. Watching them, Neil had a sudden longing to have her in his arms, to wipe away her
tears. There was nothing sexual in it, but he knew how easily this could change if he dared to touch her.

When he was left alone, he took the wrapped-up ashes down to the rubbish bin in the backyard, then made his telephone call to Rubislaw Den. Martin, after expressing sympathy for Gracie, went on,
‘Hetty’ll want to visit her, but I’ll tell her to wait until tomorrow, when you’ll be away.’

‘Thanks. Em . . . Martin, I’d arranged to meet Olive tonight, but will you tell her I can’t make it after all?’

‘I’ll call her down and you can tell her yourself.’

‘No, it’s OK.’

‘Right, I’ll pass on the message.’

‘Thanks again.’ Neil hung up, hardly daring to think what Olive’s response would be, but he couldn’t cope with her on top of everything else.

When Joe came home for lunch, his face was less strained. ‘There’s nothing like being kept busy to take your mind off trouble. What have you been doing with yourself?’

‘I went to the butcher’s. I forgot meat was rationed, but he gave me half a pound of mince when I told him Mum was in hospital, and I got two mealy puddings in case that wasn’t
enough. Then I cooked it, made your bed and mine – Queenie had made hers – and I did some sweeping and dusting.’

‘He’s a good lad, isn’t he, Queenie?’ Joe observed.

‘I’d have done the housework at teatime,’ she protested.

Neil laughed, ‘I’d nothing else to do.’

‘We’ll need all our time tonight,’ Joe reminded them. ‘We have to be at the hospital for seven, so we’ll have our tea at twenty to six – Jim can manage on his
own till six – just something quick.’

Giving a grinning salute, Neil said, ‘Yes, sir! What does sir fancy, sir?’

‘I meant to bring up eggs, but I forgot, so just make up a pan of that dried stuff.’

When they arrived at Foresterhill Hospital at ten minutes to seven, a large queue was already waiting, but the door was not opened until precisely seven o’clock. The uniformed doorman, a
stout officious individual, allowed in only those who had the cards which were issued to visitors and was adamant that others would not be admitted, even if they had travelled great distances to be
there.

‘Only two to each patient,’ he repeated, and Neil could hear several people near them arranging to come out at half time and hand their card over to a third person so that he or she
could get in. He was about to suggest this to Queenie when it was their turn to face the tyrant but didn’t have to. ‘Members of the forces don’t need a card,’ the man told
them, surprising Neil by smiling at him as they went inside.

When they reached her ward, Gracie’s face still bore some evidence of what she had gone through, but her smile was warm and loving. To allow his parents some privacy, Neil and Queenie went
to sit in the corridor after fifteen minutes – filling in time by watching the steady stream of nurses and visitors – and went back when the bell rang to mark the end of visiting time.
‘Cheerio, Mum,’ he said, ‘I’ve to go back in the morning, so I won’t manage to come again, but I’ll be thinking about you. Get well soon.’

Olive had no time to think properly until she went to bed. She had spent most of yesterday planning what she would say to Neil tonight and he’d actually cancelled their
date. To be fair, it was Gracie’s fault, not his, but it meant that she had no opportunity to carry out her scheme for his last night. She had meant to act the lovelorn girl, to weep on his
shoulder in the hope that he would succumb to her pleas, and if that didn’t work, she had intended to turn nasty, to threaten to tell Freda. She had not thought beyond that. She had been
positive that he couldn’t hold out against her for long, that she could wear him down . . . but this had happened.

When she was given Neil’s message, she had said, ‘I’ll go to Foresterhill to meet him after visiting time,’ but her father had forbidden it. ‘He’ll be wanting
to be with Joe since it’s his last night. He’ll be upset about his mother and you’re not to pester him. At least he had the decency to phone as soon as he could to tell you he
couldn’t meet you.’

It wasn’t decency, Olive mused, it was cruelty, maybe even fear, after what they had done on Saturday night. She would never forgive him for not keeping their date, and she would never
forgive Gracie. They’d all conspired against her, even her own father. Mum hadn’t said anything but she’d been too afraid that her sister might die. Olive’s heart gave a
leap. If Gracie did die, Neil would need somebody to console him and who better than the cousin who had loved him for as long as she could remember? That could be the answer to the maiden’s
prayer . . . though she wasn’t a maiden any longer.

It was quite late before Neil arrived back at the camp so, as Freda had known, it was Wednesday evening before he went to see her, still undecided as to whether or not to tell
her about Saturday. As he neared her home, he was struck anew by the quaintness of the low, roughly hexagonal cottage, which, according to Mr Cuthbert, had once been the lodge for Duffin House,
burned down in the late 1800s – the ruins could still be seen in one of the fields. He had also said that the walled part of his gardens had originally been the kitchen garden for the manor
house.

When Freda opened the heavy, latched door, her face still looked rather pinched, but her eyes glowed as she gave him a welcome-back kiss. ‘We’ve something to tell you,’ she
said softly, her voice charged with excitement, and dragged him inside. He was disappointed that she hadn’t given him a more substantial sign that she had missed him, but her father was
saying, ‘Sit down, Neil, and I’ll pour out some sherry.’

Obeying, Neil wondered what was going on. There was an air of conspiracy, even Mrs Cuthbert looked less forbidding than she had done before, and her husband was making something of a ceremony of
the simple task of opening a bottle. Whatever they had to tell him, it couldn’t be anything bad, so he let his eyes travel round the small, cosy room. He had only been inside once before,
when he asked if he and Freda could be married, and he had been so much taken aback by her mother’s refusal that he had paid no attention to the room, but it was just perfect for such an
old-fashioned lodge. The beamed ceiling was low and there was chintz everywhere: the curtains, the loose covers on the armchairs, the cushions on the wicker chair, twin of the one he was sitting
on. The table and the dresser, where Freda’s father was engaged in filling four stemmed glasses, were of solid oak. It was a homely room, a comfortable room, but he felt anything but
comfortable when he met Mrs Cuthbert’s calculating eyes.

‘Now, Neil,’ Mr Cuthbert boomed, handing round the sherry, ‘I suppose you’ll be wondering what all this is in aid of. We do not often indulge in drink, but we could not
let . . .’

‘Get on with it, George!’ his wife snapped.

Neil gathered that she was not in favour of ‘it’, whatever it was, but Mr Cuthbert was not to be deterred from making the speech he had prepared. ‘We could not let this
occasion pass unmarked. It’s the only time we will have the chance. I had always imagined myself . . .’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ his wife said, exasperation getting the better of her. ‘Can’t you get to the point without all this rigmarole?’ She turned to Neil.
‘I don’t often climb down over anything, but you can marry our Freda as soon as you want. She was miserable all the time you were away and . . . my daughter’s happiness has always
come first with me.’

‘B – but,’ Neil stammered, ‘I thought you said we’d to wait at least a year . . .’

‘Have you changed your mind about marrying her?’

‘Oh no!’ The full realisation of what she had said dawned on him now. ‘This is great! Do you still want the wedding to be in the church or have you climbed down over that,
too?’

Freda broke in, ‘I persuaded her to let us have it in the registry office in Newcastle, and it’ll only be your mum and dad and mine there. No fuss, no white dress, no
anything.’

‘I’m not happy about it,’ Mrs Cuthbert stated, needlessly, ‘and to prevent you treating the marriage lightly since it will only be a civil ceremony, we will all go to
church on the Sunday, so that it can be blessed properly. I trust that your parents will not object to that?’

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t, but I don’t think they’ll be able to come. Mum had an operation on Monday morning to remove a kidney stone and she won’t be fit to
travel for a while.’

‘Oh, Neil,’ Freda sighed, ‘does that mean we’ve to wait?’

‘Mum wouldn’t want us to postpone our wedding. I’ll write to her tonight and tell her. I’m sure she and Dad won’t mind not being here.’

George Cuthbert, having stood patiently with his glass in his hand, had obviously decided to carry on as if there had been no interruption. ‘I had always imagined myself leading my
daughter down the aisle, but I know times are changing, and I suppose church weddings will soon be a thing of the past. Be that as it may, I now raise my glass in a toast. To Freda and Neil, a long
and happy life together, and may all their troubles be little . . .’

‘To Freda and Neil.’ His scowling wife interrupted in time to stop his indelicacy.

Because Freda seemed disinclined to leave her parents at such a momentous time, Neil remained with them until it was time to go back to camp, but she offered to walk a little way with him.
‘Mum was worried about me not picking up after the flu,’ she confided, ‘and I said I was missing you and that’s why she changed her mind.’

‘I missed you, too.’ His conscience stirred, but perhaps not deeply enough. ‘By the way, I took Olive out a couple of times when I was home. I hope you don’t
mind?’

‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘I was going to see her on my last night, as well, but I called it off because of Mum.’

‘That would have been three times, and you always said you didn’t particularly like her.’

There seemed to be no annoyance in her voice but, to be on the safe side, Neil spoke firmly. ‘I’ve never liked her. You’re not jealous, are you, darling?’

‘No, you Scottish chump.’ She hesitated for a moment, then said, wistfully, ‘You’ve never actually proposed to me. I’d always dreamt of a romantic . . .’

Neil whirled her round to face him. ‘Dearest darling, will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

‘This is so sudden,’ she said, with feigned coyness. ‘I’m only a poor little virgin and . . .’

‘I know that!’ he exclaimed wryly. ‘But not for long now. And that’s not the reason I want to marry you . . . well, it’s part of it, but I do love you, with all my
heart.’

After several ardent kisses, Freda pulled away. ‘I’m sorry about your mum and when you write, tell her I hope she’ll soon be on her feet again. Now, I’d better go before
Mum and Dad think we’ve eloped.’

‘A letter for you, Mrs Ferris.’ The auxiliary nurse handed an envelope to Gracie who glanced at it and smiled. ‘It’s from my son. He’s in the REME
and he was home on leave when I was taken in here. He just went back on Tuesday night.’

‘He’ll be wanting to know how you are.’

‘Aye.’ Gracie had been intending to write to Neil today in any case, because Joe hadn’t brought her writing pad in when she asked him. He’d a mind like a sieve and
Queenie was as bad. The house would be in an awful state by the time she got home. Sighing, Gracie opened the letter.

Noticing that Mrs Ferris was wiping her eyes, the kindly nurse hurried over. ‘Not bad news, I hope?’

Gracie gave a watery smile. ‘No, it’s good news, the best I could have had. My son’s getting married and I’m so happy I couldn’t help having a little
weep.’

‘You mums! Getting sentimental when your little boy takes a wife. You won’t be losing a son, you’ll be . . .’

‘I know, gaining a daughter-in-law. Freda’s an awful nice girl and I’m really pleased about it.’

While she was writing to Neil, Gracie wondered if it would be better not to tell Hetty yet, though there was no point in keeping it from her. Olive had to know, sooner or later.

When Joe came in with Hetty – Queenie waited outside – he said, ‘Did Patsy manage to come and see you today?’

‘Yes, the same time as yesterday, when she came off duty.’

‘Neil phoned this morning to see how you were and I told him you were coming on fine.’

Gracie smiled. ‘Didn’t he say anything else?’

‘Just that he’d had a tiring journey back . . . oh, and he said he’d written to you. Have you got his letter?’

‘Yes, this morning. Read it.’

In a few minutes, Hetty was expressing as much delight at the news as Gracie and Joe, and if Queenie’s later echoing of their happy sentiments was not quite so honest, no one noticed. She
resented the fact that Neil had said nothing to her when he was home. They had been quite close at one time, and he should have told her.