Only a Mother Knows (8 page)

Her mother’s protective arm around her quaking shoulders was just too much right now and she shrugged it away. She didn’t want to be cajoled or coaxed into being calm. She wanted to scream, she wanted to throw herself on the floor, to kick, and beat her fists. She couldn’t bear it! She would die!

‘Come on, my darling.’ Her mother’s voice came from somewhere a long way off. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Tilly sobbed; her head buried in the crook of her elbow. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ The crumpled letter she had received from her darling Drew was crushed in her shaking hands. He’d sworn to her in church that he would love her forever and she so wanted to believe that as her trembling fingers turned the ring that was now obviously on the third finger of her left hand, the one that she had proudly showed off when she and Drew arrived home from holiday. Tilly had ignored the pained expression on her mother’s face, willing her to be as happy as she was. Drew’s promise to love her and be with her forever more was still deeply etched on her memory.

‘Oh, Mum, how will I be able to carry on without him?’

‘You will find a way, my darling, we women always do.’ Olive rose from where she had been sitting on the corner of Tilly’s bed and went to her daughter’s side, cocooning her in a loving embrace. Hadn’t she, too, had to endure the departure of the man she loved at an early age? ‘I know you are hurting,’ Olive said, rocking Tilly back and forth, ‘but you must be strong. Drew will come back, I’m sure.’ But even to her own ears the words didn’t sound convincing.

‘I don’t think I will ever see him again, Mum,’ Tilly cried, ‘and it’s not just the war. As soon as he gets home he will be back in his father’s clutches again.’ Her voice wavered as the fragrance of summer grass, still clinging to her clothes, reminded her that only a few short hours ago she and Drew were the happiest couple in Hyde Park – or so she had thought. When he’d gently outlined her face with his fingertip and lovingly stroked her hair, was he trying to find the words to tell her he was going away? Or was he counting the minutes knowing his flight would be leaving soon?

‘Shh, my darling, don’t cry,’ Olive whispered, worrying now if Tilly had the strength and maturity to carry on alone, without him. She hoped so, otherwise the girl was lost.

All Olive could do was be there for her heartbroken daughter, and see her through this painful episode as best she could. As a mother she knew she would do everything in her power to prevent the pain and suffering Tilly was going through now.

Only a Mother Knows

‘Dulcie,’ Olive called up the stairs, ‘you have a letter here.’

Dulcie pulled the blanket high up to her chin, wondering if she had truly heard Olive calling her, or if she was still asleep; that luxurious pastime seemed to be in short supply since her work at the munitions factory took up most of her waking hours of late. She wasn’t sure if it was the repetitive drilling of holes and riveting metal or the long, laborious shifts that robbed her of her stamina. But whatever it was she intended to finish her sleep today.

‘Dulcie!’ There was no mistaking Olive’s voice this time. Dulcie opened one blurred eye and tried to focus on the little alarm clock she had managed to save from the salvage people, who took everything they deemed necessary to go towards the building of airplanes and ammunition.

What time was it, she wondered as the muzzy wakefulness began to irritate her. Or, more importantly – what day was it? She had been sent home from the factory yesterday because of a stomach upset, in case she passed it on to every other worker. Thankfully Olive let her rest when she said that she felt so ghastly and also telephoned the munitions factory from the call box at the end of Article Row to say she wouldn’t be in today either.

‘Dulcie, did you hear me?’ Olive called again. ‘There is someone here to see you.’

‘Ohhh, go away,’ Dulcie groaned, feeling nauseous now. If she moved quickly she was sure she was going to disgrace herself and throw up all over Olive’s clean linoleum. She must have eaten something that didn’t agree with her from the newly installed canteen, or maybe it was the whelks her mother had plied her with when she went to see her on Sunday for church. Whatever it was she doubted she could hang on to it much longer.

Olive had chanced a little tap on the door earlier, giving Dulcie an old-fashioned look when she made no effort to get up, then she put a sanitary towel, a Beecham’s pill and a glass of water on the bedside table, and told her she would be back later. Dulcie had said she just needed a long sleep; she didn’t need any pads or powders today, thank you very much.

Thoughts were lazily drifting through her rising consciousness, and as she became more alert questions formed. When was the last time she had been in need of a sanitary pad? Sitting up quickly in bed, she realised it must have been about seven weeks ago! She put her lateness down to the upset caused by Wilder running off with her sister, Edith.

She knew she wasn’t the world’s most regular girl so it didn’t bother her too much that she hadn’t seen her ‘visitors’, as she always called her monthly period; after all, nothing had happened between her and Wilder. She’d made sure of that, and now she was glad the cheating airman hadn’t been able to chalk her up as another willing English girl eager to catch herself a handsome, love-’em-and-leave-’em American. And she was sure that Reece Redgrave didn’t count.

Dulcie had put her air-raid shelter tryst with the young airman down to nothing more than an accidental misunderstanding. It had only been the once and everybody knew that girls could not get caught the first time – and anyway, it had only lasted for moments, not even minutes. Nobody got caught that fast. Dulcie’s heartbeat raced, and beads of perspiration broke out on her top lip and her forehead. You couldn’t get caught that easily, surely?

‘Dulcie, did you hear me? There is someone here with a letter for you.’ It was only when she heard Olive’s obvious impatience that she realised the urgency. Her mind automatically darted to her brother, Rick, whose regiment had been deployed to the desert; she knew because she had actually seen him on the Pathé newsreel at the pictures. His regiment was in Tobruk and had been taken by surprise and captured by the Axis forces. They had got word that he had been taken as a prisoner of war.

Dulcie’s mind was racing as she pulled back the sheets and blankets. She knew that the authorities would send a telegram to her parents if anything had happened to Rick – but they had moved from the East End! Scrambling from the bed her foot got caught in the bedclothes making her stumble. What if he had been involved in an accident? Surely his platoon sergeant would come to her in person. No! They would go to Edith now. Her parents! What if something had happened to them? Oh lord, she thought, there was a war on, people were dying and she was laid up with a stomach bug! She had to do her bit, no matter what. Keep calm and carry on, that’s what the posters said. What if something had happened to her family? The niggling voice persisted. All self-pitying thoughts suddenly went out of her head now as she scrambled into her pink dressing gown she’d bought second-hand from a stall in Portobello market.

Berating herself for her unkempt appearance as she lurched from the room, Dulcie felt her stomach heave again. She hadn’t felt this bad since … In her haste to be downstairs she realised she had never felt this bad. Tying the belt of her dressing gown around her so tightly she could hardly breathe, she saw Olive at the bottom of the stairs.

‘There’s a young American airman in the front room and he wants to see you.’ Olive looked calm and motherly now as Dulcie almost fell on the final step.

‘Who is he?’ Dulcie asked as her heart began to race. Olive knew Wilder so it couldn’t be him. She watched as her landlady shrugged her shoulders. ‘What does he look like?’ She surmised Reece Redgrave had come to visit. Well, she thought, if he had she would give him a piece of her mind. Coming here unannounced and uninvited! How dare he!

Turning, she checked her appearance in the oval oak-encased mirror on the wall opposite the stairs, then, grabbing the comb that was kept on the little occasional table, she ran it quickly through her hair and grimaced, wondering if she looked sufficiently ill to garner a tremendous amount of sympathy. Taking a deep breath and smoothing down the pink imitation-silk dressing gown she strode, head high, shoulders back, towards the front room like a leading lady about to make her Broadway debut.

Sweeping through the door she was dismayed to see that it wasn’t Reece Redgrave who was sitting on Olive’s best settee. As soon as she entered the room the airman stood up and offered his hand to Dulcie, whilst in the other he had an envelope.

‘Hello, ma’am, my name is Joe; I’m a friend of Reece Redgrave …’

‘Oh, he’s sent you to do his dirty work, has he?’ Dulcie said, angry now that he wasn’t who she thought he would be.

‘I don’t know about that, ma’am,’ said the surprised American, ‘but he’s been moping around the barracks, he didn’t go out nor nothin’. This letter is for you, it has your name and address on it so I thought I would deliver it …’ The rest of his words were left unsaid as Dulcie seized the letter he was holding out.

‘I suppose it’s a grovelling apology. Well, if he thinks he can get around me by sending his messenger he’s got another think coming because I’m not won over that easily.’ She was so annoyed that Reece had sent one of his buddies to give her the letter. ‘Some English girls have more pride than to fall at the feet of the next American airman who winks his eye and snaps his fingers, and another thing,’ she began as she roughly tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

‘I’m afraid he’s dead, ma’am,’ the airman said simply.

Dulcie heard a gasp and she realised that Olive was standing behind her.

‘This was in his locker; it was sealed and addressed to you so we thought it only right that it should be delivered. I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, ma’am. He was shot down off the coast of Northern Ireland.’

Dulcie’s hands shook so badly she almost dropped the letter, and after hurrying up the stairs she slammed the bedroom door and cried bitter tears until she was physically sick. She was still sobbing when Olive knocked a couple of minutes later.

‘Can I come in?’

Dulcie barely choked her consent and she couldn’t even utter the words screaming inside her head. Reece was dead. It was a nightmare. She’d met him fleetingly. She’d forgotten that she told him where she lived because she was so proud of her address. She hadn’t expected him to remember it so vividly, but, she recalled, he had no family, but he must have somebody – anybody. Surely she wasn’t the only girl he had been friendly with?

Dulcie cried as she tried to make out his neat, copperplate handwriting that told her he was sorry he had mistaken her friendliness for something else and that he really did like her a lot. He went on to say that although he had never been loved like that before he would always treasure the memory and he hoped that she would too. He really liked her and thought she was a great gal, and if he could summon up the courage to ever send this letter he would love to ask her out and start all over again …

Dulcie quickly wiped away her tears with the pad of her hand. He must have written the letter just after … She couldn’t bring herself to think about the time in the air-raid shelter. She had been so wanton, so decadently immoral and … drunk! But not drunk enough to forget.

Dulcie could not ignore the fact that she gave Reece his first and probably his last thrill of a woman’s body. And now he was dead.

‘Here, drink this,’ Olive said as she sat on the bed and handed her the glass of water. Dulcie looked into Olive’s kind, motherly eyes and without any need of proof, she knew for certain now that she was carrying Reece’s baby.

‘Oh, Olive,’ Dulcie cried, ‘is Sally home?’

‘No, Dulcie, she isn’t,’ Olive said, ‘but judging by the look of you I think I’d better call Dr Shaw.’

All morning Sally carried out her duties with a smile on her face, a spring in her step and a song in her heart. The sun was shining through the sash windows of the Nightingale ward where injured servicemen were recovering in regimented rows of iron beds whilst a few of them had actually commented on her sunny personality.

‘You look like the cat what’s got the cream, Nurse,’ said one Geordie wag before she briskly popped a thermometer in his mouth and plumped his pillows.

‘You can’t beat a lovely sunny morning,’ Sally smiled, giving nothing away. Everything could have been so different if George had accepted back his engagement ring and they had actually broken up, when they’d had their big discussion earlier in the year. She had been so sure he wouldn’t want a ready-made family, and she couldn’t have rejected baby Alice after all she had been through. It wasn’t the child’s fault, after all, that she had been born into such a treacherous family.

However, George had proved he had a heart of gold when Sally returned home to Article Row to find him playing in the back garden with baby Alice and reassuring Sally that nothing could diminish the love he felt for her.

‘There’s a dark cloud coming over that horizon though,’ said a patient on the other side of the men’s surgical ward, ‘so I’d enjoy it whilst it lasts if I were you, Nurse.’

‘Don’t be such a pessimist, soldier,’ Sally laughed, knowing nothing could dampen her spirits today. When her morning shift was over, George was meeting her for lunch, as he had come to Bart’s to see her, having a couple of days off from the Queen Victoria, and she couldn’t wait to see him. They were going to the National Gallery, as Olive was taking Alice out for the afternoon. and she was so looking forward to their time together.

But an hour later as she and George left Bart’s, the soldier’s forecast became reality when the clouds burst and a powerful downpour came so quickly and so forcefully it bounced off the pavement and had them running for the nearest shelter.

‘Let’s get something to eat before we go to the gallery,’ George said, pulling up the collar of his Crombie overcoat and lowering the brim of his herringbone-patterned trilby against the deluge, whilst Sally wrestled with her umbrella against an unseasonal sudden gust of wind. George took the umbrella and opened it with ease before Sally linked her arm through his. His long, rapid strides caused her to almost run to keep up with him.