‘Did the postman bring anythin’ interesting this morning?’ she asked.
Maggie shook her head as her eyes strayed to the two rather bedraggled postcards propped up on the mantelshelf.
‘No, nothing since those postcards came with the twins’ addresses on them, although I have written back to them. But then the post is all over the place at the minute. So I suppose I’m expecting too much too soon. I would love to hear from them though.’
‘Of course you would, and you will,’ Jo told her softly as she heard the longing in her friend’s voice. ‘Look at it this way: at the minute, no news is good news. I’ve no doubt there’s many a poor sod out there tonight who would do anything not to have had a telegram today. And at least you know they’re safe.’
Maggie nodded more cheerfully as she thought on her words. Jo was quite right, of course, but it didn’t stop her missing them.
As David looked around him he felt as if he were caught in the grip of some ongoing nightmare. A carpet of corpses spread before him, and although it was still night the sky above was alight with tracers. His eyes darted from side to side. All day he had been looking out for his twin brother, but up to now he had seen no sign of him, although he knew that Sam was there somewhere. There was a need in him to speak to Sam. To tell him that he loved him despite the fact that they had never been close. Perhaps it was because as time passed he had the uncanny feeling that his days were numbered.
Hearing someone behind him, he turned and opened fire. The bullet got the German by chance in the centre of his forehead and the soldier, who David now saw was no more than a boy, looked mildly surprised as he sank to his knees before dropping face down.
David felt nothing. Just a few short months ago he would never have believed that he could kill someone, but now it was kill or be killed. He paused to rest his aching feet. The skin had long since peeled off them through a combination of the rigid Army boots he was forced to wear and the wet, sodden fields he had traipsed across. It was as he was standing there that he became aware of another figure stumbling towards him through a haze of gunsmoke. He had just raised his rifle to fire again when a familiar voice floated to him on the cloying air.
‘David . . .’
His finger hovered on the trigger as Sam’s soot-blackened face appeared out of the mist. Relief washed over him as he lowered his rifle.
‘I’ve been looking for you. I was worried that you didn’t make it.’ He had to shout to make himself heard above the bedlam that was going on all around them.
As they silently faced each other, David was shocked to see the hatred burning in his brother’s eyes.
‘Don’t yer mean yer were hopin’ that I
hadn’t
fuckin’ made it?’ Sam grated. ‘It would have left the way clear fer yer to head fer home an’ take me family with a clear conscience then, wouldn’t it?’
‘Don’t talk such rubbish!’ David snapped. ‘This is hardly the time for talkin’ about ridiculous things like that. They are
your
family. Maggie made her choice many years ago. You’d do more good to concentrate on stayin’ alive at the minute. Chances are, neither of us will get home the way things are goin’ here.’ He ducked as a bullet whistled past his head but Sam stood his ground with his rifle aimed at his brother. As David became aware of his brother’s intentions, his eyes stretched wide with alarm.
‘Don’t be such a bloody fool, man.’
The words had scarcely left his lips when the sound of another bullet, briefly illuminated by a Verey light, whizzed past him. Sam jerked like a puppet on a string. One of his hands clutched at his stomach and David watched in horror as blood began to seep through his brother’s fingers to stain the mud that was caked on his uniform.
‘Oh, my God.’ For a second he was rooted to the spot, but then as Sam’s knees began to buckle he sprang towards him with tears streaming down his face. It was then that Sam fired with the last of his remaining strength and a burning pain ripped through David’s arm, causing him to drop his rifle into the putrid mud. The blast lifted him from his feet and knocked him flat on his back, but then somehow, he managed to roll over and crawl across to Sam. The short distance between them seemed to take forever as sweat stood out on his brow, but at last he reached Sam, and dragging himself up onto his one good arm he gazed down into his twin’s face. Sightless eyes stared up at him and he knew instantly that his brother was dead.
‘Sam . . .’
His voice was no more than a whisper as he felt his life’s blood seeping out of him. It shouldn’t have been like this. They had grown in the same womb side by side and should have been friends; should have loved each other. Instead, Sam had tried to kill him.
He had always imagined that he would die in his own comfortable bed, or perhaps in an easy chair at the side of a roaring fire, an old, old man with a loving family gathered around him. Not on some godforsaken field miles away from home. Suddenly he didn’t want to fight any more. Sam was out of his pain and David wanted to join him. Delicious warmth stole over him as a picture of Maggie and Lucy flashed in front of his eyes. Laying his head on his brother’s still chest he waited for death to claim him. They had come into the world within minutes of each other. It was only right that they should leave the same way.
Mrs Massey was washing the front windows with vinegar and water when the sound of a bicycle trundling down the street distracted her. Dropping the cloth back into the bucket, she looked up and the sight she saw made her heart skip a beat. A young man on a bicycle was bearing down on her. Instantly she knew that he was bringing a telegram, for his eyes were scanning the door numbers of Clay Lane as his feet pumped at the pedals. She prayed that he would go straight past, but her prayers went unanswered, for when he was only a couple of doors away he slammed on his brakes and slewed the bicycle to a halt. Her heart was thumping so loudly now that she was sure he would hear it as she thought of her two boys.
Propping his bike against the wall of the house he asked, ‘Mrs Bright?’
Relief made her knees go weak as she shook her head. It appeared her boys had been spared for now, though the telegram he was clutching in his hand didn’t bode well for Maggie.
‘This door here,’ she told him, and nodding, he stepped past her and rapped on it loudly.
Mrs Massey wanted to disappear and leave Maggie in privacy for the ordeal ahead, but her legs seemed to have developed a will of their own and she stood there as if she had been rooted to the spot.
The whir of Maggie’s sewing-machine, which could vaguely be heard out on the pavement, stopped abruptly, and the next second she heard the bolts being drawn back and Maggie appeared with a mouthful of pins and a length of parachute silk slung across her shoulder.
The colour drained from her face as her eyes became riveted on the paper in the boy’s hand.
‘Mrs Bright?’
She nodded numbly, unable to speak through the mouthful of pins.
He handed her the telegram. ‘There you go then, ma’am. I’m sorry.’
Turning away, he clambered back onto his bicycle and rode off as Maggie stared in disbelief at the piece of paper in her hand. Her mind was in turmoil. Had something happened to the twins - or was it Sam?
Seeing her bewilderment, Mrs Massey suddenly leaped towards her and, taking her elbow, drew her back into the privacy of her front room. Up and down the street, net curtains were twitching as women thanked God that the dreaded telegram hadn’t come for one of them.
‘Shall I make yer a nice strong brew, love?’ she offered for want of something to say.
Maggie seemed not to hear her and stood there as if she had been cast in stone. Pressing her down onto the nearest chair, Mrs Massey ruffled Lucy’s curls before hurrying away to put the kettle on. When she returned, Maggie was sitting exactly where she had left her with the telegram, still unopened, clutched in her hand. She raised her eyes and looked beseechingly at Mrs Massey, who gently took it from her.
‘Shall I open it for yer?’
Maggie nodded, so placing her thumb beneath the edge of the envelope Mrs Massey slit it open and withdrew the telegram within. Time stood still as the older woman’s eyes scanned the page, then she turned towards Maggie. At that moment the door burst open and Ellen appeared. The neighbours had wasted no time in telling her that Maggie had received a telegram and she had run across the Lane.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked breathlessly as she put a protective arm about Maggie’s shoulders.
‘It’s Sam.’ There was a catch in Mrs Massey’s voice. She had never professed to be a lover of Maggie’s husband. In fact, there had been times when she had thought him to be a right bastard - but she wouldn’t have wished anyone to die like this. ‘I’m afraid he’s been killed in action, love.’
A wealth of emotions flitted across Maggie’s face as she leaned heavily against her mother. Sam was dead. The words whirled round and around in her head yet somehow they wouldn’t sink in. Sam
couldn’t
be dead. He hadn’t even wanted to go to war in the first place. There must be some mistake.
‘He . . . he can’t be,’ she stuttered. ‘They must have got it wrong.’
Mrs Massey shook her head sadly. ‘I’m afraid there’s no mistake, love. Here - read it fer yerself.’
As Maggie’s eyes flew across the page, tears started to spill down her cheeks.
It is with great regret that we write to inform you that your husband, Corporal Samuel Bright, was killed in action whilst . . .
The rest of the page became a blur as tears gushed from her eyes.
‘There, there, love,’ Ellen comforted her, tears standing in her own eyes. ‘It’s a wicked shame that a man so young should be cut down in the prime of his life, but at least you have the comfort of knowing that he died for King and country.’
Maggie’s tears suddenly turned to hysterical laughter. ‘That’s a joke. They almost had to
drag
him there, kicking and screaming!’
Mrs Massey and Ellen exchanged a worried glance above Maggie’s head. It was common knowledge that Maggie and Sam’s marriage had never been a bed of roses. But all the same he had been her husband, for better or for worse, and this was not going to be easy for her.
‘What am I going to tell the children?’ Maggie exclaimed in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like her own.
‘Don’t get frettin’ about that fer now,’ Ellen advised. ‘Let’s just cross each bridge as we come to it, eh? You have to get used to what’s happened yourself, before you even think about what we’re going to tell the little ’uns. They’re safe an’ sound an’ well out of it, thank God.’
Maggie prayed that her mother was right. Somehow, she would get over this. She knew she would, but if anything were to happen to the children, she didn’t know how she would cope. The initial feeling of shock began to ebb away and guilt quickly took its place. She and Sam had never even said a proper goodbye. In truth, she had known that she’d lost him on the night he left the house to hide at his mother’s, but at least he had still been alive out there somewhere. Her thoughts turned to David. Was
he
still alive?
She sprang out of the chair with tears still wet on her cheeks. ‘I have to go and tell Sam’s mother,’ she gasped. ‘I don’t want her hearing the news from someone else.’
Ellen agreed in principle with Maggie’s comment, but all the same she didn’t want Maggie to go alone after the shock she had just received. The thought of going with her struck terror into her heart. Since the death of Maggie’s father she had never ventured farther than over the road to Maggie’s house, and even though Beryl Sharp lived only a few streets away, to her mind it appeared like a mammoth journey.
Forcing herself to stay calm she said, ‘I’ll come with you,’ but thankfully, Maggie shook her head.
‘No, Mam. I appreciate the offer but this is something I have to do on my own. It’s not going to be easy for her and she might not like to have anyone else around. It knocked her for six when she lost Sam’s father seven years ago, but this is going to be even worse for her to cope with. You somehow don’t expect your children to die before you, do you?’
Ellen guiltily swallowed the relief that had risen in her throat as she nodded understandingly. ‘If that’s what you want, love. You get off and take as long as you like. Lucy will be fine here with me, won’t you, sweetheart?’
Thankfully, Lucy was oblivious to everything that was going on and smiled disarmingly up at her gran as Maggie walked from the room to get ready. Whilst she was upstairs she heard the back door open and Jo, who was on her lunch-break, appeared, closely followed by Mr Massey, who was looking for his wife.
Maggie heard the whispers as her mother solemnly told them what had happened and Jo’s gasp of dismay. When she re-entered the room, Jo flew across to her and wrapped her in a friendly embrace. ‘I’m so sorry, Maggie.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s one of those things, isn’t it? No doubt I’ll not be the only one to get a telegram today.’ Her eyes came to rest on Mr Massey. He was about to leave to do his stint for the ARP, and was standing turning his tin cap in his hand near the door, his eyes fixed firmly on Jo.
Suddenly his eyes almost started from his head as it finally came to him where he had seen Jo before. Ever since she had moved in with Maggie, it had been preying on his mind but now it finally came to him.
‘
Good God above
. You were the one that used to stand on the end of Beagle Street of a night!’ he exclaimed tactlessly. ‘An’ don’t bother to deny it, ’cos I used to work wi’ a young bloke that were one o’ yer regular customers. Many a time I told him, “Mind what yer doin’, son. Yer never know what yer might pick up from these street girls.” Maggie - were you aware that you had a prostitute livin’ in yer house?’
A stunned silence settled on the room. Jo shrivelled with dismay. She’d hoped that she had managed to put her past behind her, but now here it was, ready to smack her in the face again.