Darkest Before Dawn (25 page)

As for Seraphina, she had been able to start at teacher training college, but was obviously unsettled. Sometimes she talked wildly of joining the WAAF, as friends of hers had done, clearly hoping that this might bring her closer to Roger, but at other times she talked of the schools in which she would most like to teach, even saying that after the war she meant to go to university and get a degree.

Evie could not make her eldest sister out. Toby wrote regularly, telling the Todds all about his life in the army, but so far as she knew, though Seraphina read the letters, she never wrote back, leaving this task to her mother and younger sisters. It was strange because Seraphina still maintained that she liked Toby, though only as a friend. And if I liked someone who had joined the army and been sent off to France I'd write to them, no matter what, Evie told herself. But, of course, there was Roger. He was about to start training to be a pilot and Seraphina had told them that he was almost certain to be sent abroad in order to do this. ‘Some of the chaps go to Rhodesia, and others to Texas,' she had informed her family grandly. ‘But before they go, the young men are given something called embarkation leave. When Roger gets his, I shall take time off from my course and we'll have a little holiday together.'

Seraphina had said this whilst they were having their evening meal and Evie had glanced anxiously at her mother's face, sure that she would disapprove. She had been right; Martha had said: ‘I don't think that's very wise, love. Oh, I know you're engaged to Roger, but you aren't married. I know young men always promise to behave with respect and so on, but you've your reputation to consider. Teaching's a responsible job . . .'

Seraphina had tightened her lips and looked mulish. ‘But Ma, he's going hundreds of miles away; we may not meet again till the end of the war,' she had pointed out. ‘Besides, you're being most dreadfully old-fashioned. You brought me up to know how to behave. I wouldn't dream of allowing any funny business, if that's what you're afraid of.'

‘Yes, but I didn't bring
him
up,' Martha had said, rather repressively. ‘What you're suggesting sounds remarkably like honeymoon first and marriage later, which is never a good idea, because once a young man gets what he wants and thinks a girl is easy—'

But Seraphina, her cheeks flying scarlet flags, had interrupted. ‘Roger isn't like that and nor am I,' she had said furiously. ‘You know what you're doing, don't you, Ma? You're pushing me into marriage, because if that's the only way I can be with Roger, then I'll marry him just as soon as it can be arranged. And if you think he isn't keen on the idea, you couldn't be more wrong. He's pestered and pestered me to set a date, only I wouldn't. But I'm telling you, Ma, I'll do it rather than have to disappoint him over his embarkation leave.'

Evie had felt very uncomfortable and a glance at Angie's face showed her that her sister felt the same. Martha had begun to answer but Angie interrupted. ‘I think Evie and I will go out for a little walk,' she had said, her voice unnaturally high. ‘You and Fee are trying to have rather – rather an important talk, which is none of our business, so we'll just go for a stroll whilst you get it off your chests.'

Evie had agreed with alacrity, but Seraphina had shaken her head. ‘No indeed; you shan't go out on my account. Ma and I have said all we want to say. Evie, if you'll start clearing the table, then I'll begin washing up.'

Right now, however, Evie and Percy were sauntering along Great Homer Street, weaving their way between the fascinating stalls which lined the pavement. They had already purchased small gifts for brothers and sisters and were looking for something for their respective mothers. They each had half a crown left – a great deal of money – and Evie meant to buy Martha a silk scarf to wear tucked inside her grey dress, and a small box of chocolates. She had already bought, and despatched to Toby, five Woodbine cigarettes, and knew that Percy had also bought cigarettes for his father, though she had tactfully pretended to believe his story that ‘the fags are for me Uncle Nat'. She would have liked to tell him that he had every right to buy his hateful father a Christmas gift, but the words stuck in her throat. Mr Baldwin had been convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to fifteen years in prison, since it had been impossible to prove that he had deliberately pressed the release on his machine to send the heavy crate crashing on to Henry Todd. He had admitted he had meant to scare the other man, but strongly denied murderous intent. Evie was secretly glad of this, for Percy's sake really. Whilst the trial had been in progress, she had had dreadful nightmares and knew she was not the only member of her family to be relieved that Mr Baldwin had not gone to the gallows for his crime. ‘Pa wouldn't have wanted it,' Seraphina had said, white-faced, when they had been told that Mr Baldwin would not hang. ‘He never did believe in “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”, even though it's in the Bible.'

‘Oh, look, Evie!' Percy clutched her arm and pointed. ‘I wonder how much that is? Me mam would love one of them.'

Evie followed the direction of Percy's pointing finger and saw a small statuette of a very beautiful lady wearing a swirling frock, the skirts of which she held away from her body with two hands. She stared at the tiny, perfect features, the delicate fingers and the polished marble of which the little figure was made, and shook her head reprovingly. ‘She's probably five or ten bob, but don't forget what we said, Perce. Our mams need useful stuff, and you can't use an ornament, no matter how pretty. Besides, you said if I were getting my mam something to wear, you'd do the same.'

Percy agreed, rather glumly, that he would do as they had decided, and presently they came to a stall selling bright, silky squares with tasselled edges for a price they could afford. Percy bought a vivid scarlet one with white polka dots, and Evie purchased a similar one in blue. Then they went into a nearby sweet shop and bought two quarter-pound boxes of Black Magic. Having completed their purchases, they turned their steps back towards Scotland Road once more.

‘What'll we do tomorrer, queen?' Percy said as they dodged along the busy pavement. ‘My mam says she hates it when Christmas Eve is on a Sunday, 'cos none of the shops is open and there's nothin' to do but go to church, or sit at home, all miserable like. My mam says she won't lerrus wade into the Christmas grub and she won't cook 'cos she don't want to spoil our Christmas dinner next day, so it'll be bread 'n' jam an' weak tea for us.'

‘So it will for us, only I know very well what I shall be doing tomorrow afternoon, and it'll be a deal nastier than just hanging around,' Evie assured him. ‘The government's been and gone and put sugar and meat on ration; it'll start after Christmas. Wilmslows' don't sell fresh meat, of course, but Mr Wilmslow wants to bag up a whole load of sugar so when folk come in with their ration books he won't have to do so much weighing up. Mam said we might as well all go down and give a hand – many hands make light work, she says – but Fee's going off out somewhere and Angie's busy with a lacy jumper which she wants to wear at Christmas, so it'll just be me and Mam.' She did not add that the family would want to visit their father's grave in Burscough after church on Sunday morning, because to make such a remark to Percy would be somewhat tactless, but that was why the sugar-bagging would be done in the afternoon. As for his being buried at Burscough, Martha had been sure it was what Harry would have wanted. ‘If he'd been able to live out his time as we'd planned, we would have moved to Burscough, spent the rest of our lives with other canal folk, and died there,' she had told the girls. ‘I shall feel he's amongst friends, even though it'll be a tad more difficult to visit than if he were buried in one of the Liverpool cemeteries.'

‘I'd offer to give you a hand only I know old Wilmslow would chase me out of the shop and call me names,' Percy said gloomily, interrupting her thoughts. He shot a diffident sideways look at Evie. ‘And on Boxing Day we – we're going prison visiting.'

Evie nodded and made a lightning decision. ‘We're going visiting Sunday morning; going out to Burscough to put a big wreath of white lilies on our dad's grave,' she said, trying to sound casual but not succeeding very well. ‘It's – it's hard for Mam at Christmas. She misses him all the time, of course, we all do, but it's worse at Christmas. When we were aboard the
Mary Jane
, we had such very good times. Even if it was snowing a blizzard or blowing a gale, we'd snug us down in the cabin and have a wonderful roast dinner, and we'd all sing carols . . . oh, Percy, don't look like that!'

Percy wiped his nose on his sleeve, then knuckled his eyes. ‘At least you had good times,' he said gruffly. ‘When I think of past Christmases, it's always me dad getting drunk and me mam cryin', an' dinner being spoilt 'cos she dared not serve up till he come home. I reckon this Christmas will be better'n that, even though our chicken's so little it's more like a sparrer, and the puddin' will be one of them real plain ones that Samples make an' sell cheap. But I dare say it'll be better grub than them poor devils are give in the forces.'

‘I don't believe they do badly; Toby says they have huge cookhouses and some of the food's quite good,' Evie said. ‘I'm going to write to him again when I get home . . . I wonder what he's doing now?'

‘Hey, Toby, come over here a minute. You've got two letters and a parcel; wharrit is to be popular, eh?'

Toby had been tired, cold and stiff after a long day driving his ten-ton truck back and forth between the front line, which was pretty well against the Belgian frontier, and the rear, where the troops rested when they were off duty. When he had entered the long rickety hut, with its corrugated iron roof and ill-fitting windows, he had felt exhausted and depressed, but at the sight of the small square parcel and the two letters, his tiredness dropped from him like an unwanted cloak, and he hurried forward, grinning at his friend John Boyce, commonly known as Boysie. ‘Two letters!' he said, taking them and the parcel from Boysie's outstretched hand. ‘Somebody loves me . . . probably me mum.'

He sat down on his bed and slit open the first envelope. It was indeed from his mother and contained several sheets of closely written script. Toby's eyes skimmed briefly over it, checking that all was well with everyone, before he pushed it into his locker drawer; he would read it later when he had time to assimilate all the news without having to rush. The second letter was from Angela, and he slit it open still hoping against hope that Seraphina might have added at least a line, or sent him best wishes for Christmas. It seemed ridiculous that two old friends could completely ignore one another but he supposed that Seraphina, having cast him out, intended to forget all about him as speedily as possible.

Sitting down on his bed, he began to read. Angela was working in a uniform factory and told him that she enjoyed the work and felt she was making some contribution towards the war effort.

I was considering joining the ATS because I'm sure they need women almost as much as they need fighting men
, Angela wrote.
We are all doing our best to help our country in our own ways. Evie has been collecting silver paper and clipping stamps off envelopes for ages now and also knitting – mostly blankets, fortunately, since she is shockingly bad at it. She's very impatient and when she drops a stitch, which is often, refuses to go back and pick it up, but simply makes a new one so that, at the end of the day, the object she is making is covered in what looks like moth holes.
Of course she can't afford to buy wool in skeins or balls, but goes along to Paddy's market and begs ragged and useless woollen garments from the stallholders. She brings them home and Mother or I unravel them and put them through the wash. Then Evie gets out her needles and begins work.

I expect Seraphina writes to you herself with all her news, but she is very busy at present with end of term exams so I will just tell you that she is doing very well and though she left her job in Lyon's Corner House, she has taken work on a Saturday in Blackler's, where she sells gloves, scarves and hats to ladies who have need of such things. As you know, she and Mr Truelove – he is a pilot officer in the Royal Air Force – have got engaged. He seems a very nice young man – he has told us we must call him Roger – and I am sure
he will be a pleasant addition to the
family. If I may speak frankly, Toby, I think we all had hopes for you and Fee, but recently I have begun to see that perhaps it might not have worked out. Fee is still the dearest of sisters but our father's death changed her more than it changed either me or Evie. She has grown a hard shell and it is difficult to know what goes on beneath it
.

Toby stared down at the letter. Seraphina had never written him so much as one word since their quarrel, so he had no idea that she was contemplating marriage with horrible Roger Truelove and felt a little sick at the prospect. How could she, he thought wretchedly? Compared to their relationship, which had lasted for years, she and Truelove were strangers. Toby had known that Seraphina had a young man because Evie had mentioned him once or twice, but of course he had refused to let himself believe that the fellow was anything but a casual acquaintance who took Seraphina dancing and to the cinema from time to time. Out here in France, his own chances of any sort of social life were virtually non-existent, but then he had no wish to take out anyone except Seraphina. He had been in love with her for years and though she might be able to turn away from him, he could not follow suit. I'm pathetic, he told himself angrily, but I suppose it's just the way I am. So far as I'm concerned, there's only one woman in the whole world for me. I wish it were the same for Seraphina but it obviously isn't. And the worst of it is, it's all my own stupid fault.
Why
,
why
didn't I write? It wasn't as if my job was a particularly demanding one because, looking back on it, it was a piece of cake as the RAF fellows say; certainly no harder than what I'm doing at the moment. Yet now I write two or three letters a week and always find something to say. I know it's useless crying over spilt milk but it does seem hard to lose her altogether just because I was never much of a letter-writer.