Our Yanks (37 page)

He finished the toast.

‘You want some more, kid?'

He had one more slice before he went on his way. They chucked him over two Hershey bars at the door. ‘One for you and one for your brother. You come back soon, kiddo.'

He took the letters for the other guys round to the Yank post office and left them there. They knew him there now and one of them gave him a packet of Wrigleys. As he was coming out, Chester came up on his bike and stopped.

‘Hey, Tom, you still taking letters to the village?'

‘Sure.'

‘Can you take this for me? It's for Sally.'

‘Sure.'

‘What's the charge?'

He hesitated. Everybody was gossiping about Sally. ‘Do I just give it to her, or is it a secret?'

‘You can just give it to her straight.'

‘It costs a farthing, then.'

Chester paid him. ‘Well, I guess I won't be seeing you any more, Tom. I'm being transferred out of here.'

He was very sorry about that. ‘I hope you come back.'

‘Yeah, maybe one day – after the war.' He got back on the bike. ‘Well, so long, kid. It's been swell knowing you. Good luck.'

‘Good luck, Chester.'

He stood and waved as he rode away.

‘Ed's back, Mum,' he said when he got home. ‘They told me up at the base.' She was scrubbing shirts on the washboard in the dolly tub and he saw by the way her face lit up that she was as pleased about the news as he was. ‘That's nice, Tom. I didn't think we'd ever see him again.'

He told Alfie and he was pleased too.

‘He'll come and see us, won't he, Tom? Bring some more washing?'

‘'spect so.'

‘I hope he brings some more sweets.'

Just as he'd thought. ‘The Yanks in the radio shack gave me a Hershey bar for you.' He handed it over. ‘I don't know why they did, though.'

Alfie looked smug. ‘Cos they liked me.'

‘How's your dad now, Sal?'

‘He's better.'

‘Been really poorly, hasn't he? Must have been if you had to close the bakehouse for all that time.'

It had been a big mistake to let Doris in. She was as nosy as the rest. They'd shut the door against the lot of them while Dad had been ill, except for the rector and Dr Graham who'd both been ever so kind. They'd been kind about the baby, too – not a bit like the cow of a district nurse who'd told her she should be thoroughly ashamed of herself. ‘Your father will be all right,' Dr Graham had said. ‘He just needs time to get over things and get his strength back.' She wasn't sure if Dad would ever get over Roger being killed in action, though. Mum wasn't sure, either. She didn't think any of them would. He'd been the best brother anyone could have and she knew he wouldn't have minded about the baby.

‘He's all right now,' she told Doris firmly. ‘And I don't want to talk about it.'

‘I was ever so sorry about Roger, Sal. Everybody was.'

‘I don't want to talk about that either.' She could see by Doris's disappointed face that both those things were exactly what she'd come to talk about. ‘What've you been up to, then?'

‘Nothing much. Just working at the Manor, same as usual.' Doris brightened up. ‘You know what, one of the Yanks is after young Lady B.'

‘Well, they would be, wouldn't they? She's beautiful.'

‘He's a colonel. I think he's the one who's head of it all up there, so he must be very important. He's not exactly handsome, but he's ever so attractive, if you know what I mean. Sort of like Humphrey Bogart. He makes me go wobbly at the knees when I open the door to him. And he's got a lovely smile.'

‘How do you know he's sweet on her?'

‘Well, he's been round to the Manor and taken her out in a car. I've watched them go off alone together and I've seen the way he looks at her, and how she looks at him. You can tell, can't you? They don't have to say anything. Only trouble is, I think he might be married because he's got a ring on his left hand. Still, I expect it happens a lot with the Yanks when their wives are so far away.'

‘How's Hal?'

‘Well,
he's
not married, if that's what you're wondering.'

‘Has he asked you yet?'

Doris pulled a face. ‘No. I'd say yes, quick as anything. I've been going to the dances at the Aeroclub and we do a lot of snogging outside, but that's all. I don't think he wants to settle down, that's the trouble.'

‘Maybe the trouble is he doesn't love you.'

Doris looked hurt. ‘Well, I've been very nice to him.'

‘That's got nothing to do with it. I wasn't very nice to Chester.'

‘No, you weren't, were you? Poor Chester, I used to feel really sorry for him. He thought the world of you. I expect he still does. Did he ever find out about the baby?'

‘He came to the bakehouse and Dad went for him about it.'

‘
Sal
! That must have been awful. And he'd've known straight away it'd be his.'

‘He thought it was for a bit. Then I said I'd been with some other Yanks, too. Four of them, I said, and it could be any of them. I didn't know which one.'

Doris gasped. ‘What did you go and say such a dreadful thing for? It's not true.'

‘So Chester couldn't be sure it was his and so Dad couldn't try to make me marry him, like they both wanted.'

‘Whatever did your dad think about it?'

‘He thinks I'm a whore. That's what he said.'

‘No wonder he got ill. What with that and then Roger getting killed. Do you know what happened?'

‘I told you, I don't want to talk about Roger.'

‘Sorry. Have you seen Chester since?'

‘Not since then. He's stayed away, like I told him to do. Tom Hazlet brought me a letter from him the other day. He said he'd asked to be transferred and they were sending him away somewhere else.'

‘So that's that, then. You'll never see him again. That's so sad, Sal. He was ever so nice. And he'll never see his baby. I think he'd've been a lovely father.'

‘Be quiet, Doris. I don't want to talk about it.'

‘You don't want to talk about anything.' Doris looked resentful. ‘It's not the same any more.'

‘No, it isn't,' she said. ‘I'm sorry but it never will be.'

It was kind of weird to be back. A trip through time again to Merry Olde Englande. Not so merry these days and now that he took a long, hard look after spending time in the US he could see how badly battle-scarred the old country was and how weary. On her knees after five years of war. From the train window he saw people in the back streets of bomb-scarred towns looking like ragged scarecrows, thin kids staring up with pale, unhealthy faces. He wondered what would have happened if the Yanks hadn't joined the party. OK, they'd been late, but they'd got there in the end.

But, boy, was he glad to be back. That was the other weird part of it. Any guy in his senses would have thanked his lucky stars to have been home, stateside, away from it all, but, as Ben had told him, he was nuts. His family had thought he was nuts, as well, and there'd been a whole lot of weeping and wailing and hand-wringing about it, Italian style, with most of the folks in the neighbourhood joining in. They'd all made a real big fuss of him, as though he'd been winning the war single-handed, and he'd eaten like a king, and drunk like one. Must've put on pounds. When he'd had a moment to himself, he'd called Ben's family in LA and spoken to his mother. He'd tried to say something that might help but she could hardly speak for crying.

At the end of his leave, he'd got roped in by the Air Force to do some talks to people who wanted to hear the US was winning the war in Europe and to see some guy who'd just been over there, doing it. He'd spoken at bond drives and scrap drives and to kids in school saving defense stamps and he'd done visits to aircraft factories and told the workers there what a great job they were doing.

And, all the time, he'd thought of Agnes: kept on seeing her face and hearing her voice, even when he was with other girls.

When he'd finally arrived back he'd almost gone straight round to the rectory before he'd stopped himself. No change in the rules that he could see. His second tour hadn't even begun and the war wasn't over by a long shot. He could still hear the sound of Ben's mother sobbing.

He took a bag of laundry down to Mrs Hazlet, driving the jeep fast down the hill, skidding round under the railroad bridge and on into the village. The high street was just as he'd left it. Still the same beautiful old stone houses, the butcher's, the baker's, the grocer's, the candy store. Still some old woman tottering slowly across the street, getting in his way. One or two people waved at him and he waved back. They hadn't done that at the beginning – or not those sort of waves. Goddamit, he thought, grinning to himself, it's like coming home.

Tom's mother looked real pleased to see him too, so pleased she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Nell had grown big and was running around. He picked her up and gave her a kiss and some candy.

‘Tom and Alfie are at school, Ed, but they'll be out in the playground just now.'

‘I'll swing by there. See if I can see them.'

He drove down the high street and turned into School Lane. The kids were out in the playground – girls in one half, boys in the other, separated by a mesh fence. The girls were playing nice quiet games like skipping and hopscotch; the boys running around yelling and fighting. He stopped the jeep and got out and looked through the railings. Alfie saw him first and came tearing over, beaming all over his face.

‘Hallo, Ed. We heard you were back.'

‘Hi there, kid.' He tossed him a pack of Wrigleys through the bars. Some of the others started crowding round. ‘Got any more gum, mister?' ‘Sorry, guys. Next time.'

‘We won the Conker Battle,' Alfie said, chewing away. ‘Tom and me and our side.'

‘That's great.' He'd no idea what a Conker Battle was, but it sounded important.

‘Robbie and Dick and Seth and all their gang ran away.'

‘Good for you, kid. I'd take you on my side any day.'

He looked round for Tom and saw him coming over, kind of shy and dragging his feet. ‘Hi, Tom. Good to see you.'

‘Hi, Ed.'

‘You OK?'

‘Sure.'

He was tickled to hear the way the kid could speak American now. ‘Got a brand new P-51 Tom. A new Bashful. You coming up to the base to take a look soon?'

‘Gee, thanks . . . that'd be great.'

‘You do that. Don't forget.' He searched the playground. ‘Are the kindergarten kids out here?'

Tom shook his head. ‘They don't let them out the same time as us, case we knock them down. They're indoors.'

‘Well, I'll just go by there and say hello. See you guys later.'

He went in through the gateway and walked round to peek through the window. They were all in there, sitting at the little tables, busy painting pictures, and Agnes was leaning over helping one of them. He saw Jessie lying nearby, her head on her paws. Charlie, who was fooling about painting his fingers blue, caught sight of him. He watched him run up to Agnes and she turned around. By the time he'd got to the classroom door and opened it they were all there, waiting. They gathered round him, jumping up and down and squealing like a litter of piglets while Jessie bounded about, barking. Little Joan tugged at the sleeve of his A2 and he bent down and swung her up high into the air so that she squealed louder still.

Agnes had stayed standing just where she was. He looked at her over Joan's chubby arms which were wound tightly round his neck.

‘Hallo, Miss,' he said.

The smell of pork roasting was delicious. Miss Cutteridge sniffed the air appreciatively and her mouth watered. Roast leg of pork with crisp crackling, roast potatoes, apple sauce and winter cabbage, steamed the quick way advised in the
Kitchen Front
recipe book, rather than Brussels sprouts because she knew Joe hated those.

She had laid the table in the dining room in honour of this very special Sunday lunch: a celebration of Joe's twentieth birthday. The best dinner service – and she didn't care if any of it got broken – the solid silver knives and forks, all polished up, and the double damask table napkins. She had put her present for him beside his place and dressed in her best day dress, with her pearls and her mother's cameo brooch.

She opened the oven door again to baste the joint. If it had been Porky Pig, she would never have been able to cook, much less eat, any part of him. But this wasn't him. This was some unknown pig that she had never met in her life and so it was quite a different matter. Joe had found the solution to the terrible dilemma. ‘See here, ma'am,' he'd said on one of his visits. ‘You can't keep Porky here for ever. Sooner or later he's got to go and the way I figure's best is for you to give him over to the butcher and ask him to give you another one, already slaughtered in his place. Get him to come round when you're out and that way you won't have to see Porky go, or anything like that.'

She'd had a word with Mr Ford and he'd been most understanding. ‘Don't you worry, Miss Cutteridge, you just leave it to me and don't think about it any more. I'll bring you a nice joint of pork and some for you to keep. As much as you can manage.' He was such a nice man that she felt that all the poor animals who passed through his hands would be kindly dealt with. He had come round on the day she had taken the train into Peterborough to visit the dentist and when she had come back, there had been a leg of pork in the larder and a side all salted down in the scullery. She had walked down the garden to the empty Anderson shelter and wept for Porky Pig but it had been for the best.

She checked the oven again and turned the potatoes. The cabbage would only take ten minutes with the
Kitchen Front
method and everything would be ready on time. Back in the sitting room, she glanced at her reflection in the glass above the mantelpiece. She saw the face of an old woman, to be sure, but one who looked lively. Happy, one could say.