The Forget-Me-Not Summer (33 page)

‘If she's lost her memory the name Arabella Lovage will mean nothing to her, and I should add that she can't swim,' Miranda said gloomily. ‘But I've got to try; what else can I do?'

‘Tell me, queen, why did your mother insist on you calling her Arabella?' Avril asked.

‘I don't know what that's got to do with it . . .' Miranda began, and then, meeting Avril's eyes, she capitulated. ‘She didn't want people to know she had a daughter in
her teens because when she auditioned for a part she would always tell them she was in her mid-twenties.' She saw the beginnings of a smirk on her friend's face and hastened to disabuse her. ‘All right, all right, but as you've already said she doesn't look her age, and when you're auditioning for a part it's your looks they go on rather than the number of your years. Oh, Avril, I've tried and tried to put my mother's plight out of my mind, not to keep harping on about it, but I believe I'm getting somewhere at last!'

Avril agreed that knowing that Arabella was alive and living in America was a tremendous step forward. ‘But you've been patient for so long that by now being patient must be second nature to you, so don't try to rush things, but let life take its course,' she added. ‘Have you finished your bread and butter? If so, we'll start on the jam tarts.'

Miranda took a tart, but did not bite into it. Suddenly she knew that she wanted desperately to speak to Steve, to tell him all about the newsreel and how she was certain, now, that her mother was still alive. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, which read ten o'clock; would Steve be in bed? Would there be anybody still awake to answer the telephone in the Mess? She was telling herself that she would simply have to wait until the following day to call Steve when her hand, seemingly of its own accord, replaced the jam tart on her plate even as she got to her feet. She went across the kitchen, took her thick coat, headscarf and muffler down from their hook and began to put them on. From behind her she heard Avril's chair squeak as her friend pushed it back, but she did not even look round.

Avril's voice sounded almost frightened when she
spoke. ‘Miranda? Wharron earth are you doin'? Don't you go out like your mam did and get kidnapped by a beastly Nazi. It's bedtime – oh, damn it, if you must walk I suppose I'll have to go with you.'

Miranda, already at the door, turned and smiled at her friend. ‘Don't be so daft. I'm just goin' down to the box on the corner to give Steve a ring, tell him about the newsreel. Once I've told him I'll come straight back, so I shan't be more than ten or fifteen minutes at the most. And you aren't to even think about coming with me, Avril, because I'm not a child and I'm not sleepwalking either. Just stay there and watch the clock.' As she spoke she was opening the kitchen door, then glanced over her shoulder at the other girl. ‘It's all right, the snow's stopped. I've got my torch, though I shan't need it. See you later.' With that she closed the door upon Avril's half-hearted objections, clattered down the stair and ran all the way to the telephone box. Putting her money into the slot when the operator demanded it, she thought ruefully that she was being daft. Steve would have been in bed ages ago and she could not possibly ask for him to be told of her call because that would mean disturbing everyone else in his hut. Yet she had a strong feeling – you could call it a conviction almost – that he had not yet gone to bed, that in some mysterious way they were on the same wavelength, despite the distance which sep-arated them, and when it was he who picked up the receiver she was not even surprised, particularly when she did not even have to give her name, because Steve said at once: ‘Miranda? What's happened? I knew it must be you, ringin' at this ungodly hour, so what's new?'

‘Oh, Steve, you are wonderful, and I'm sorry to ring
so late,' Miranda gabbled. ‘Only I had to tell you, because I knew you'd understand. Avril and I went to the cinema this evening . . .'

At the end of the recital there was the shortest of pauses and then Steve's voice, warm and reassuring, came over the wire. ‘Don't worry about disturbing me; the chaps and I have been talking and we are all still up. It's fantastic news that Arabella is still alive, and I'm sure you'll manage to get in touch with her somehow. And you can stop feeling guilty, queen, now that you know she's all right.'

Miranda hissed in a breath; how had he known that it had been guilt over their quarrel which had made her so desperately eager to prove that Arabella was still alive? She had never admitted to a soul that the quarrel, even if it had only driven her mother to take that solitary walk, might have been Arabella's downfall. And now, having told Steve and received his understanding, she was aware that she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Avril had doubted her, but Steve had accepted every word of her story. Blissfully, Miranda realised that though she still meant to try to contact her mother it was no longer as essential to her happiness as it had once been. In the very nature of things she and Arabella would, by now, have begun to take their separate paths. Of course she meant to do everything she could to trace Arabella, but even if she failed she would know at least that Arabella lived, and, what's more, lived happily. But now Steve's voice spoke urgently in her ear. ‘Miranda? I was going to send you a telegram asking you to ring me, but I might have known you'd sense my urge to talk and ring me anyway. I've got some news of my own
which, as it happens, will affect you. In a week's time I'm being shipped along with a great many other fellers to America, where I'll be trained as aircrew; if I'm good enough, as a fighter pilot.'

For a moment, Miranda could not even speak. She felt as if all the air had been drained out of the telephone booth, leaving her gasping like a landed fish. But Steve's voice in her ear, sharp with anxiety, brought her back to life. ‘Miranda, where have you gone? Have you cut the connection? I was just telling you . . .'

Miranda and the operator spoke almost simultaneously. ‘Caller, your time is up.'

And Miranda's voice, small with shock and dismay: ‘Oh, but Steve, you can't go. I can't lose everyone I care about . . .'

Steve's voice echoed in her ear, sounding strangely unlike himself. ‘Can't change what's already happened . . .' he was beginning when there was a decisive click and the operator said crisply: ‘Replace your receiver please, caller. Others are waiting for this line.'

Very, very slowly, Miranda put her receiver back on its rest, automatically pressed button B although she knew she had used all the money the operator had required, then stumbled out of the box, apologising to the young man in naval uniform who had obviously been waiting for her to finish her call. He moved to pass her, then must have noticed her pallor because he caught her arm. ‘You awright, miss?' he asked. ‘Not bad news, I hope. You've gone that white . . .'

Miranda conjured up what she guessed must be a rather wan smile. ‘No, not bad news. But my boyfriend is being sent to America,' she said, and was about to add
the information that he was going to learn how to fly when she remembered the government posters and gave the young naval officer a watery smile. ‘I'm fine, honest to God I am. It was just the shock. But thanks for your concern.'

‘'Sawright, gairl,' the young man said easily. ‘Mind how you go.'

Miranda heard the door of the box click and stood for a moment, replacing her muffler, pulling on her gloves and doing up the top button of her coat, whilst the young man consulted a small notebook, spoke into the receiver and began to put pennies in the slot with a great clatter. Then she moved away when she saw his mouth move and knew he was in contact with the operator. No use hanging about whilst he got his call. Steve would probably be on his way to bed by now, and if the operator recognised her voice she might well refuse to put another call through; some operators were like that, thought themselves in charge of the whole telephone system.

Miranda was at the foot of the metal stair when the door above opened and Avril looked anxiously out, though the anxiety disappeared as Miranda began to climb. ‘Did you get through, queen?' she asked. ‘Poor old Steve, was he tucked up in his nice little bunk? I bet he cursed you, especially if whoever answered the phone had to wake the whole hut.'

Miranda trudged up the remainder of the stairs and was glad to enter the warmth of the kitchen and shut the door behind her. ‘He wasn't even in bed, but he had some news of his own,' she said wearily. She took off her outdoor clothing and turned to Avril, trying to
manufacture a cheerful smile and knowing that she failed. ‘In fact, he was going to send me a telegram because next week he's being sent to America with a batch of other men, who'll all learn to fly fighter planes.' She turned to Avril and felt the first tears rise in her eyes to the accompaniment of a violent sob. ‘Oh, Avril, it's true what I said when he first joined the air force; sooner or later, everyone leaves me. And now Steve's going so far away that there won't even be telephone calls, and letters which get sent from abroad are chopped to bits by the censor, if they arrive at all, which a lot of them don't. Oh, and convoys get attacked all the time; he could be drowned, or bombed . . . I can't bear it!'

Avril tutted. ‘These things happen in wartime, to everyone, not just you, so stop feelin' so perishin' sorry for yourself,' she said crossly. ‘When Steve was at your beck and call you kept denying that he was your boyfriend, but now he's going away you talk as if he were your only love. Be consistent, for Gawd's sake, you silly little Lovage. Pull yourself together!'

Miranda fished a handkerchief out from her sleeve, blew her nose resoundingly and then wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. She gave another enormous sniff and a watery giggle, then turned a calm face towards her friend. ‘First I find my mother isn't dead and am over the moon, then I find my best friend – and he's still my best friend and nothing more – is being sent half a world away. Next thing I know you'll be snatched up and sent off on a mysterious mission to Antarctica or somewhere and I'll lose you as well.'

Avril sniffed. ‘And of course they'll choose me since I
speak Antarctic like a native,' she said sarcastically. She handed Miranda her filled hot water bottle, which her friend immediately cuddled gratefully. ‘And now shall we go to bed before I drop in my tracks? If I'm tired – and I am – you must be absolutely jiggered.'

‘True,' Miranda admitted. ‘But I wonder why Steve isn't getting embarkation leave, like Julian? I remember that Julian came round and took you out for a meal before he took ship for Rhodesia. So why not Steve?'

‘Can't you guess? Whilst the awful weather continues all flights are grounded, and even the ships are mainly in port, here
and
on the other side of the Channel. That means your precious Steve should have a safer crossing than if he waited for a few weeks. Be grateful, girl.'

‘I
am
,' Miranda said. ‘Grateful, I mean. And you're a real pal, Avril, to take the worry off my mind.'

Later, snuggling down in bed, with her hot water bottle strategically positioned to de-ice her freezing toes, she began to think about her day and realised that, though she knew she would miss Steve horribly, the warm glow which she had felt ever since seeing her mother on the silver screen had not dissipated. In fact with every moment that passed it felt stronger, and she realised that her chief feeling was a very odd one indeed. Because her mother was alive she, Miranda, would be able one day to apologise to her for all the horrid things she'd said during the course of that long ago quarrel. And of course the fact that Steve might be quite near Arabella merely made the feeling even better. If I have to wait until the war is over I shan't mind so much now, she told herself, pulling the blankets up until only her eyes were clear of them. I'll be able to give Steve money from my savings
to pay for advertising in American newspapers – and he saw Betty Prince's picture, which was quite a good likeness. Yes, I'm sure Steve will run her to earth if anyone can.

MIRANDA AND AVRIL
joined the queue for the tram, shivering and stamping their feet, for it was a freezing cold December day. Miranda, however, had more important things than the weather on her mind: namely, getting to Lime Street Station in time to meet Steve's train, for he was coming home at last, after almost a year away.

‘Excited, queen?' Avril's voice was indulgent. ‘I know you won't let me call Steve your feller, but you've been . . . oh, I don't know, sort of lit up . . . ever since he arrived in England.'

That had been a week earlier, a week in which he had been too busy to telephone, for on arriving from the States he had been immediately posted to somewhere called Church Stretton, where they were taking pilots who had flown bombers – Wellingtons mostly – to retrain on to Lancasters, and had not been allowed off the airfield until he had been thoroughly debriefed, whatever that might mean.

‘Brrr,' Miranda said. ‘It's perishing brass monkey weather again. Thank you for saying you'd come to the station with me – it'll be much nicer than waiting on my own, though I'm sure that if any of the Mickleboroughs are at home they'll be on the platform as well!'

Avril laughed. ‘Well, you said his mam, Kenny and
the baby were coming home for Christmas, so if they're back by now I'm sure they'll be there. And his gran is still living in Jamaica Close, isn't she? So I take it she'll be feeding Steve whether or not his mam is here.'

Miranda shrugged. ‘Who can tell? What with no trains ever arriving on time and being so crowded with members of the forces that civilians scarcely ever get a seat, you can't say for certain where anyone will be at any given time. Tell you what, if Steve's mam isn't on the platform then we might as well buy fish and chips when he arrives and take him back to the flat. He can go on to his mother's place later.'