Now the War Is Over (41 page)

‘Have you got any flowers?’

‘What for?’

‘Wally’s grave, of course.’

‘Oh – no. I never thought.’ He gave a laugh. ‘Never mind – he’d’ve called me a right cissy turning up with a bunch of flowers. Mom comes every week with
some.’

Leaving the car, they walked amid the quiet stones to the grave of Walter James Morrison, the dates 1933–1954 telling the story of a life cut short far too young. There were already fresh
yellow chrysanths on the grave in a stone vase. From the corner of her eye Melly saw Reggie lower his head for a moment, then look away. She wondered if he would cry; if he ever did cry.

She thought about Wally, a big, grown-up man to her, when she was young. Now she realized that when he died, he had been less than two years older than she was now. The thought tore at her
heart. Hardly thinking, she reached for Reggie’s hand. He glanced at her, startled, then gripped hers back. They stood there for several minutes, the warmth of their hands increasing in each
other’s. His hand felt big, very solid. When they turned to leave, they let go.

‘I want to say I’m sorry, Reggie,’ she said. ‘That it happened and everything.’ No words seemed the right ones, but some had to do. She was glad she had been a
nurse even for a little while. It taught you that you can at least say something. ‘It seems a bit late. And a bit . . . I mean, not much to say, that’s all. I never said it then –
you were in hospital and everything.’

‘Thanks.’ They walked back towards the gates. Reggie shook his head. ‘It was the worst time I can remember. I wanted to die myself, I really did. But now – well, I
don’t feel that any more.’

‘Good,’ she said, though this seemed even more inadequate than what she had said before. She felt as if she might weep again, but she swallowed the feeling away.

Their eyes met for a moment and they both smiled shyly. Reggie’s face, so familiar, so loved once, stirred something in her. A warmth spread through her, a gladness at being here with
him.

Reggie looked at her, seeing the tears in her eyes. He seemed moved. He looked down, then back at her. ‘Melly . . .’ he began. But he could not seem to finish. ‘Come on
–’ he started walking again – ‘Mom and Dad want to see you.’

Even now, Melly was amazed by the house in Moseley. They swept into the elegant road of enormous, ornate Edwardian houses, set back from the road with front gardens. As they
drew up she saw Mo straighten from where he was bending over a flower bed. He waved, a grin spreading across his face.

Melly beamed back at him, full of affection. Mo had always been in her life somewhere, like a good-natured rock. She remembered him saying, ‘They dain’t know what’d hit them in
this street when we arrived. But I think they decided we don’t bite.’ It was certainly a posh street compared to what they were used to, and Mo and Dolly were immensely proud of their
lovely house. They kept their garden neat and did their best to be neighbourly and respectable. Even though they did not mix naturally with their neighbours, they seemed to have settled in well
enough.

‘Dolly – look who’s here!’ Mo called through the front door.

Dolly appeared looking lovely as ever in a navy frock, daubed with bright colours – red, green and yellow – with a full, swinging skirt. She wore her hair shoulder length, parted on
the left and curled up at the ends. As usual she had a cigarette in her hand.

‘You look like a model!’ Melly said as Dolly flung her arms round her, wreathing her in smoke.

‘Hello, bab!’ Dolly squeezed her tight. ‘Ooh, it’s lovely to see you! Gladys’s told me all about how you’ve been getting on. She said you’d been
poorly.’ Dolly stepped back and her brown eyes searched Melly’s face. ‘How’re you feeling, darlin’? You still look a bit pale and peaky to me.’

‘I’m all right,’ Melly said. ‘She’s the poorly one now.’

‘Poor old Glad.’ Dolly steered her, an arm round her shoulders, into the elegant, tiled hall and through into the back. Dolly and Mo still spent most of their time in the huge
kitchen with its red quarry-tiled floor and a big table. It always felt cosy in there.

‘I’ve made nice beef stew and you, my girl, are staying to have some tea with us.’

‘She still cooks as though there’s an army of us living at home,’ Reggie said. ‘No wonder our Donna’s getting fat.’

‘Don’t talk so silly,’ Dolly said. ‘She’s not.’ She looked at them both, wide-eyed. ‘Did you go? Are my flowers . . . ?’

‘They still look nice, Mom,’ Reggie said.

‘Call your father in,’ she said. ‘It’s all ready – Mo’s picked some of the new spuds and they’re lovely. Bit of mint in them. Freddie’s out,
Melly. There’s just Donna here.’

Donna Morrison was now fifteen and not far off leaving school. Melly had not seen her in a good while and when Donna walked into the room she actually gasped. Black-haired and brown-eyed like
her mother, she had always been pretty but now she had developed into a stunner. Fat she definitely was not. She had a beautiful, curving figure.

‘Oh, Donna – you look lovely!’

Donna blushed. ‘Thanks,’ she said, shyly slipping on to a chair. They all sat round the table. ‘You all right, Melly?’

‘Yeah, ta.’

‘Mom said you’re not doing your nursing any more.’ Donna had a soft, husky voice. ‘Have you given it up?’ she asked.

Melly looked down, trying to think what to say. At home everyone just took it for granted that she was now going to keep working on the market and in some other job – any old thing. There
would be no more nursing now. She hardly dared ask herself this question.

‘I don’t really know,’ she said, blushing.

Luckily they were interrupted by Dolly bossing them to pass things and telling Mo to go and scrub his nails. Melly sank into the comfort and familiarity of it all.

The kitchen was lovely, with light sloping through the big window and all Dolly’s pans on shelves and pots of herbs growing on the windowsill, a starched white cloth on the table. And
everything was as it should be – Dolly ordering Mo about and him thriving on it. They were both so kind. They ate Dolly’s delicious cooking and chatted and reminisced and Melly slowly
began to feel better, as if something was unknotting itself inside her and she was growing back into a whole person, instead of the drab, half-alive thing she had been all this time. She found she
was laughing more easily and with Mo about, there was always laughing to be done.

‘So is Glad on the mend?’ Dolly asked, leaning towards her, elbows on the table. ‘I must get over there.’

‘She’s better, but she’s none too happy,’ Melly said.

‘Oh, she’ll come round,’ Dolly said. ‘Poor old Glad, she’s been hanging on to that old place long after she should’ve gone. It’s so run down and the
neighbours aren’t . . .’

‘They aren’t what they used to be, is that what you’re saying, Doll?’ Mo laughed, topping up his glass of ale. ‘Not the class of person old Glad’s used to,
eh?’

‘Well, they aren’t!’ Dolly laughed. ‘It’s not like it used to be in the old days. We had to pull together – especially during the war. But those cramped old
bug-ridden wrecks of houses! She can find herself a much better place to rent over your way.’

It was a lovely, relaxed evening and when Melly said she ought to be getting back, Dolly hugged her again.

‘Now next time, I want to see you with more colour in your cheeks. And –’ she picked up a strand of Melly’s hair – ‘we’ll do summat about this. I can
give it a cut for you – liven you up a bit, eh, bab?’

It was impossible to take offence at Dolly. ‘All right,’ Melly said, smiling. ‘If you like.’

Reggie drove her home. Things felt friendlier than yesterday as they parted.

‘Thanks, Reggie,’ she said, when he dropped her off. ‘I’ve had a lovely time. It was nice to see them.’

Reggie was quiet for a moment. He kept his hands on the steering wheel.

‘Tell you what,’ he said. He stared out through the windscreen. ‘Tomorrow’s my last night. Why don’t you come over again? Our mom’d love it. She can cut your
hair and we could go out somewhere.’

Melly looked at him with a sense of wonder. She realized he was afraid to look at her, in case she said no. She had a moment of acute awareness of him next to her, every line of him, the man she
had known for so long. Who would have thought she could have ended up here, sitting beside him.

‘Go on, say yes,’ he said softly. ‘After that I’ve got to go and I need to know . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Just say you’ll come.’ He turned to her.
‘Little Melly.’

She looked into his eyes, moved by the tenderness in his voice. She saw an earnestness that meant he was not playing with her. And how lovely it had been today with him. But she mustn’t
expect anything more. She didn’t want to go through all that again. Tomorrow would be the last time and then he would be gone. He would forget about her.

‘All right then.’ She kept her voice light, protecting herself, pushing the car door open. ‘Ta, Reggie. See you tomorrow.’

By the time Reggie called at the house, Melly was pacing up and down in the kitchen, waiting jumpily for the knock at the door.

While her mind was sternly telling her one thing – Reggie would soon be gone and none of this meant anything – she had found herself dashing home from work to brush out her hair, tie
it back in a swinging ponytail and put on her favourite clothes. Reggie had said something about going out and she wasn’t going in that dismal old grey work skirt!

It was a warm evening and she wore a cornflower blue cotton skirt and a white blouse with three-quarter length sleeves. She had a navy cardigan to go over the top. It was the first time in a
long time she had paid any attention to her appearance.

In the mirror her face still looked pale and pinched, but it suited her having her hair back and she saw a light in her own eyes that had not been there before. She did not dare to ask herself
why she was taking so much trouble, why she felt so excited.

‘Oh!’ Rachel said when she went downstairs. Melly was taken aback by how surprised and pleased she seemed. ‘You look better. Where’re you off to?’

‘Just going out with Reggie for a bit.’ Her face covered in blushes, she lowered her head, pretending to adjust her hair.

‘What – again?’ Rachel’s voice was full of meaning.

Melly flung her cardigan over her arm and hurried to the front door. As she stepped outside, Reggie’s car was roaring along the road towards her. She found a shy smile spreading over her
face.

‘She’s deadly serious! She said to come, didn’t she?’

Reggie had announced that they were going over to Moseley so that his mom could wash and set Melly’s hair.

‘But she must be busy – and how does she know how to do it, anyway?’

‘Oh, you know our mom – she can do anything like that.’ Reggie was looking over his shoulder as he reversed the car. Turning, he pulled out and they roared away. ‘If I
don’t take you, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

Melly heard a giggle come from inside her. The speed of the car rushing along and the prospect of a hairdo from Dolly made her feel bubbly and happy.

Reggie glanced at her, then back out of the windscreen, a smile on his face.

‘You all right?’ he said.

She looked at him. She was surprised
how
all right she felt suddenly, as if at last she was emerging into the light. ‘Yes.’ She said happily. ‘Ta.’

Within minutes of being inside the house, Dolly had led Melly up to the bathroom and had her leaning over the bath, tipping jugs of warm water over her head.

‘There you go, bab. You’ll feel better for a good new head of hair. That’s it – give it a good rub. We’ll do it in the kitchen – I can sweep up easier
there.’

To Melly’s surprise, Reggie did not make himself scarce while this women’s business was going on. He made a pot of tea, plonked it on the table and sat watching as Dolly combed out
Melly’s hair in between puffs on her Player’s No. 6. The smoke smelt reassuring. It felt like home.

Dolly left the half-burned cigarette in an ashtray on the table, beside a bowl full of blue and pink mesh curlers with hairpins stuck through them. She had slipped her shoes off and Melly saw
her neat stockinged feet, with just a hint of bunions appearing, moving round the chair she was sitting on. There was a lingering smell of onions in the kitchen as well as the curling warmth of
something simmering on the stove. And there was Reggie watching her. She could feel him looking, all the while Dolly was working her way round her hair.

Melly felt Dolly’s intent brown eyes on her as well, as she stooped, snipping at the ends of her hair. Dolly smelt of cigarettes and scent. Sometimes she put her hand on Melly’s head
as she worked. Its warmth was reassuring. Melly relaxed. She couldn’t stop yawning. She felt suddenly safe and warm and loved. She wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep and sleep.

‘Am I keeping you up, bab?’ Another puff on the cigarette. ‘How’s Glad today?’

‘Still coughing a lot,’ Melly said, forcing her eyes to stay open. ‘She’s not been up much yet.’

Dolly stopped cutting, her dark brows pulled into a frown. ‘That’s not like her.’

Donna wandered in with a shy ‘hello’ and stopped to watch, smiling. She had a mysterious, exotic look to her.

‘You’ll look like a glamour queen when she’s finished with you,’ Mo said, passing through and out into the garden.

‘Donna, stir the soup,’ Dolly instructed. ‘Now,’ she said to Melly. ‘I’ve got it cut all neat – so let’s get you looking lovely. We’ll have
another cuppa while you set. Donna – kettle.’

She went to work with the curlers, pulling out the ends of Melly’s hair, rolling up to the bottom of her ears and pinning. The pins scraped Melly’s scalp but she kept quiet. Dolly
plugged in her hairdryer.

Melly walked out to the car with Reggie, proud of the bouncy swing of her hair. Dolly had sprayed the curled-up ends so that they hung, tacky and stiff to the touch, each side
of her face, curling under. She thought it made her look older and rather mysterious. Dolly had also looked down at Melly’s feet in her white sandals and handed her a bottle of cherry red
nail varnish. ‘Here you go – put a bit of that on.’