Cousins at War (7 page)

‘I was disappointed that you never answered my letters . . . but maybe you didn’t have time?’

‘No, I didn’t. When we weren’t drilling, we were so tired we fell asleep.’ It wasn’t exactly true, but near enough to sound honest.

‘Oh, my poor Neil.’ She laid her hand sympathetically on his arm for a moment. ‘Never mind, you won’t be so busy when you go back.’

Neil gritted his teeth. He would never feel like writing to her, whether he was busy or not. It was a great relief to him when Martin appeared and he could turn away from her.

‘Olive’s like a tiger waiting to pounce,’ he told Gracie when he went home. ‘One false move, and she’d eat me up.’

His mother’s laugh was a trifle brittle. ‘She’s not as bad as that. She’s just interested in what you do, that’s all.’

‘Well, I wish she’d interest herself in somebody else and leave me alone.’

After her son went to bed, Gracie turned to Joe. ‘I hope Olive’s not serious about Neil. They’re first cousins, and inbreeding causes imbeciles. You’ve only to think
about the kings and queens of long ago to prove that.’

‘What a woman you are for worrying,’ her husband laughed. ‘You know as well as I do that Olive’s the last girl in the world Neil would think of marrying.’

‘Maybe, but it’s her that worries me. She never rests till she gets her own way and if she wants Neil . . .’

‘Ach, she doesn’t want Neil, not in that way. She likes to be made a fuss of, that’s all.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ Mainly to show Joe that she had stopped worrying, Gracie made Neil pay another visit to his aunt before his leave was up, and he was pleased that Olive
wasn’t so overpowering as before. Maybe she had seen how annoyed he had been or maybe her mother had said something to her, but whatever it was he could cope with her like this. He did feel
guilty now for not answering her letters, but he really hadn’t had anything to say, so what would have been the point of writing?

January ended with bad storms, and ten days into February, Aberdeen had the worst snow storm of the winter. Six inches fell in two hours, and the Corporation Transport
Department had difficulty in keeping tram lines cleared. ‘Lorries can’t get through from anywhere with supplies,’ Joe sighed. ‘If it keeps up for long, God knows what
I’ll do.’

‘You’re always complaining,’ his wife said, tartly. ‘If it was you that had to eke out the rations I get for four of us you’d have something to complain
about.’

‘You’ll get nothing at all in a week or two if the weather doesn’t clear up.’

Fortunately for all Aberdonians, and people elsewhere who were in the same dire position, the weather did clear before stocks of food ran out.

Gracie was making the girls’ bed when she heard the postman pushing something through the door. She’d been worried that Helene’s letter hadn’t come
yesterday, but Joe had told her the mail had probably been held up, and she had pushed her fears aside. He’d been right, she thought, as she picked the letter off the mat. It was only a day
late.

Her heart came into her mouth when she saw that it was not Helene’s rounded, backhand writing after all. It was a much older hand, an angular hand, and the envelope was addressed to her,
not Queenie. She was shaking all over as she took it into the kitchen, unwilling to open it. Telling herself not to be silly, she ran her thumb along the flap, but her worst fears were to be
realised. Thankfully, the letter was direct and not over-sympathetic.

The letter fluttered from Gracie’s nerveless fingers down to the table. Her heart felt frozen, her whole body felt frozen and she couldn’t even weep. If this was
what it did to her, what would it do to poor Queenie? She had no one to go home to when the war ended, no parents, no grandparents. If only Helene hadn’t been so determined to go back to
Donnie . . .

After several minutes, Gracie dragged herself to her feet. She couldn’t sit there all day, but how was she going to tell Queenie? While she carried on mechanically with her housework, she
toyed with a few simple sentences, words which would take the sting out of what she had to say, words to help the girl to understand how quickly it had happened. As she prepared vegetables, set
pans on the cooker, laid the table – tasks needing no conscious thought – phrases whirled round in her brain, but how could anybody break such bad news gently?

Joe was first to appear at lunchtime and had just read the letter when Queenie came running in, followed immediately by Patsy, who had recently been promoted to typist. ‘Miss Watt said
this morning that my typing had improved,’ she said, a little boastfully. ‘I know I wasn’t very good at first. She used to hold up whatever I’d typed to the light, to see if
I’d scraped out any mistypes and I usually had but I can rattle things out now without any mistakes . . . hardly any.’

Queenie smiled at this, then turned hopefully to her aunt. ‘Did Mum’s letter come today?’

Joe’s hand shot out to cover Gracie’s as she leaned weakly on the table. ‘Queenie,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be very brave. Your mum
and dad . . .’

Before he could go any further, she whispered, ‘You don’t have to tell me, Uncle Joe. They’ve been . . . killed, haven’t they? I . . . knew it would happen. I just knew
it.’ She turned blindly towards the door, her hands up to her mouth.

‘Oh, God!’ Gracie followed the girl, and Joe stretched out a restraining arm to his daughter who had made to go after them. ‘No, Patsy, leave it to your mum.’

Gracie sat down on the edge of the bed to take Queenie in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Your house got a direct hit, and your mum and dad . . .’ She had to swallow before
carrying on. ‘They wouldn’t have known anything. They didn’t suffer at all. Take comfort from that, if you can. I was trying to think how to tell you and maybe you think Joe was
cruel . . .’

‘It’s God who’s been cruel,’ Queenie said in a low, flat voice, ‘but I knew it was bound to happen. Our house was too near Croydon Aerodrome, that’s why we
got so many air raids, that’s why Mum and Dad wanted me away.’ A sob started in her voice. ‘Why, Auntie Gracie, why? They were the best mum and dad in the world and what’s
going to happen to me now?’

‘Listen, Queenie. Your Uncle Joe and I promised your mum we’d look after you if . . . this is your home now, and you’ll be another daughter to us. That’s right, my dear,
let it all out, you’ll feel better for it.’ She rocked the girl to and fro until the harsh sobbing eased. ‘Never feel you’re alone for we love you as much as we love Patsy,
and never be scared to tell me anything or ask me anything, the same as you’d have done with your mum.’

After a short, pensive silence, Queenie looked round. ‘Was it my grandma that wrote to tell you about it?’

Gracie had forgotten that the girl hadn’t been told the rest. ‘Queenie, dear, Joe was right when he said you’d have to be very brave. It was a Mrs Bertram that wrote. You
likely know her – she lives beside your grandma and grandpa – well . . . their house was hit two nights before, and they’re . . . both gone, too. I’m sorry, Queenie, but I
can’t hide it from you. It would have been a lot worse if I’d waited to tell you that, wouldn’t it?’

She held the girl even tighter as the frail body began to shake violently. No amount of comfort or sympathy could make up for what the girl had lost and only time would blunt the heartache.
‘You’ve had an awful shock, lass, and you need a cup of strong, sweet tea to help you get over it. Will you be all right till I go and make one?’ The nod was very weak but Gracie
stood up. ‘Maybe you’d like Patsy to come through to you till I come back?’

At the second faint nod, she made her way to the kitchen, her legs weak and shaky. ‘Patsy, will you stay with her till I make a pot of tea?’

Joe waited until Patsy went out. ‘Maybe I should have left you to tell her but I was trying to save you the worry. How did she take it?

‘She took it quietly to start with but she got the tears out at last, then she asked if it was her grandma that told me and I had to tell her about Mr and Mrs Lowell. She’s in a
terrible state now but it’s not surprising, is it?’

‘Poor lassie. We’ll need to be extra gentle with her for a long time.’ His face darkened. ‘Bloody, bloody war! Why do innocent men, women and children have to
suffer?’

When the tea masked, Gracie filled a cup and added three spoons of sugar. ‘You’d better take your dinner, Joe, before it’s spoiled.’

‘I couldn’t eat. I’ll just help myself to a drop of tea.’

When Gracie carried Queenie’s cup through, she found her and Patsy sitting close together, arms round each other, and she was relieved to see that the younger girl’s shaking had
stopped and her face had regained a touch of colour. ‘Go and get your dinner, Patsy. I’ll stay here.’

‘I’d rather have Patsy, Auntie Gracie, if you don’t mind?’

‘I don’t mind, but Patsy’s got to go back to work.’

‘Couldn’t I stay off this afternoon?’ Patsy pleaded. ‘Miss Watt would understand.’

‘I’ll phone her and explain.’ Gracie was guiltily relieved that her daughter had taken over the role of comforter. For years, Patsy’s knack of gentle reasoning had
smoothed over awkward incidents in their family, had even settled quarrels between Ishbel’s two boys when they were little, before they emigrated to New Zealand. Olive was the only one who
could hold out against her. Olive never listened to anybody.

‘I’ve left Patsy with her,’ Gracie told Joe after she had made her telephone call. ‘She didn’t want me.’

‘Patsy’ll cope with her. I’ve often thought she’d make a good nurse, she’s got the right touch.’

‘Oh, Joe, don’t put that idea in her head. I don’t think I could stand it if she went away, as well as Neil.’

Joe stood up. ‘I feel awful about not going to London, but there’s nothing we can do.’

Gracie poured herself a cup of tea when he went out. There was nothing they could do, but that was another Ogilvie gone now. The tears which had refused to come before rushed to her eyes now. It
was terrible to think that Donnie had been the last son – the last who would bear the Ogilvie name, for it was a girl-child he’d had, and Queenie would marry one day and change it, the
same as all his sisters had.

Gracie sat up. She would have to let her sisters know, but she couldn’t phone Hetty until she came to herself, and she’d have to wait until she could think straight before she wrote
to Flo and Ishbel in Wanganui and Ellie in Edinburgh. Ellie, next to Donnie in age, had been closest to him, and would be worse hit than any of them. Telephoning her would be the kindest thing to
do, but the call to Hetty would be as much as she could bear.

Concentrating on thinking what to say to her sisters her tears came to an end but, for the first time since their mother’s death, she felt resentful that they all looked on her as a
mother-figure, even Ellie and Flo, who were older than she was. It had started because she had been living in the family home, but she had left there almost two years ago and she was as vulnerable
as they were. That was exactly how she was feeling – vulnerable and alone. The tears flowed again, self-pity mingling with grief for her brother and his wife. She was saddled with Queenie . .
. no, responsible for her until she had a husband to take over the duty. But the girl wasn’t sixteen till April, and she would have to stay on at school till she passed her Highers, like
Donnie had wanted. That would be a year or more yet, and another two or three until she earned enough to support herself. And what if she wanted to go to the university? It would be even longer
till she was working.

Gracie’s musings came to an abrupt stop. What on earth had got into her? It didn’t matter how long it was. Queenie was part of the Ferris family now, not a hated encumbrance but a
beloved addition, to be cherished and loved like their own daughter, until they both married or until she herself died. She pulled out her handkerchief to dry her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let
Queenie see that she’d been crying. The poor thing needed someone to depend on, not an unstable, nervous wreck.

It was almost an hour later before the two girls came into the kitchen, both faces showing signs of the trauma they had been through. ‘Mum,’ Patsy said, her teeth chattering,
‘can we have a cup of tea, please? We’re both freezing.’

Gracie jumped to her feet. ‘I should have lit the gas fire for you, but I didn’t think. Sit down and heat yourselves at this fire and I’ll put the kettle on.’

Sitting on one of the old armchairs, Queenie said softly, ‘Can I see Mrs Bertram’s letter, Auntie Gracie?’

‘Do you think you should? Maybe you should wait a while.’

‘I’d like to read it now. I want to know . . .’

‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ Gracie took the letter out of the dresser drawer and handed it over, watching anxiously as her niece read it.