The Forget-Me-Not Summer (34 page)

The tram drew up beside them and the two girls got in. The long narrow bench seats were already full but the girls were used to strap hanging and continued their conversation as the tram rattled on. ‘I believe the weather in Texas is really warm,' Miranda said with a shiver. ‘Poor Steve, having to get used to our dear old English climate all over again! Of course I told him how lovely the weather was in the summer but there was so much I couldn't mention that I think my letters became rather stilted. And his letters were rather stilted too, because he had to admit he'd had no luck at all in finding my mother.'

‘Well, you know he tried; he sent you copies of the advertisements he'd put in the papers,' Avril reminded her friend. ‘And if you're talking about things like the fall of France and the evac—'

‘Shurrup, you moron; loose lips sink ships,' Miranda reminded her. ‘But yes, the American papers will have had all the major war news in every detail. No, what I meant was the things that had happened here – the raids
last month, for instance. Liverpool will seem like a foreign city compared to the one Steve knew.'

The tram skidded to a stop on the icy rails and Avril gave a squawk as the man next to her stumbled, his elbows swinging round to catch her on her upper arm. ‘Sorry, chuck,' he said, not sounding sorry at all. ‘But it weren't my fault, the bleedin' tram driver needs a lesson in brakin', if you ask me. You gettin' off here? It's the station.'

‘Oh, crumbs, so it is,' Avril gasped. ‘You can't see a thing in the perishin' blackout, and it don't do to miss your stop with the pavements so slippery an' all.' She jerked on Miranda's arm. ‘Come on, queen, gerra move on. Chances are you'll still be waitin' in an hour or two, but on the other hand the train really might be on time for once.'

The girls descended from the tram, crossed the pavement and dived into the concourse. As usual it was crowded, but Avril collared a passing porter and was told that the cross-country train for which they waited was a mere forty minutes late. ‘Have yourself a cup of tea and a wad, and by the time you've queued for it and ate it, your feller will have arrived,' he said jovially.

Avril sniffed. ‘I hope my feller is safely tucked up in his factory startin' the night shift,' she said, to the porter's retreating back. ‘Why does everyone assume that if you're meetin' a train it must have some man on it what you're busy pursuin'?' She turned to Miranda. ‘Look, love, if it's forty minutes behind time now, the chances are it'll be an hour and forty minutes by the time it gets here. There's no point in me hangin' around waitin' that long for a feller what's your concern and not mine. I'll go back
to the flat, light the fire and get the place warmed through, and see if I can make some sort of meal for Steve, just in case his train don't get in till after the chippies close. Shall I make up the bed in the living room in case he wants to stay over? It'd be no trouble.'

Miranda pondered for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, don't bother. As you say, it only takes a couple of minutes. What have we got in the pantry if the fish and chips shops are all closed?'

The girls took it in turns to cook their main meal of the day, which was generally eaten at around seven o'clock in the evening, and since it was Avril's week she had done the marketing, though rationing made shopping a chore. Standing on the concourse with people all around them Avril ticked the contents of the pantry off on her fingers. ‘Some sausage meat, a big onion, a few carrots and enough flour and marge to make a pastry case,' she announced. ‘Will that do, chuck?' When Miranda nodded, she said, ‘Righty ho; see you later.'

Glumly, Miranda headed for the refreshment room. As she went she glanced around her; how good it would be to see some member of the Mickleborough family or a friend from school, but all the faces seemed strange. Sighing, she joined the queue. At least if you bought a cup of tea you might be able to sit down whilst you drank it!

By the time Steve erupted from an overcrowded carriage it was well past ten o'clock. Miranda did not recognise him at first, seeing merely the only tanned face under an RAF cap, a tan which made his teeth look astonishingly white. He must have seen her at once, though, because
she was still looking wildly around her when she felt herself seized and hugged. ‘Oh, you good girl; how I love you!' Steve's voice said in her ear. ‘My poor darling, you must have been here for hours, because in my telegram I said my train would be arriving at seven o'clock, not twenty past ten. Now why don't you put your arms round my neck so that you can give me a welcome home kiss? And don't start talkin' nonsense about bezzies because I'm as good as a Yank, I am, and we expect kisses and hugs from every girl we see.'

Miranda obediently put her arms round his neck, but dropped her face to snuggle against his tunic. ‘I feel stupid,' she mumbled. ‘You've changed. Goodness me, Steve, you've grown! You're actually taller than when you went away.'

‘And broader, though it's mainly across the shoulders,' Steve said complacently. ‘Oh, it's so grand to see you, Miranda. I've missed you something awful.' He caught hold of her hand as she released his neck, swung it up to his face and kissed the palm, and this made her give a little gurgle of shocked astonishment, which made Steve laugh. ‘You daft kid,' he said affectionately. ‘And my mam's comin' home for Christmas despite my tellin' her I'd rather she didn't. The Luftwaffe are bound to get Liverpool's measure sooner or later, and when they do, believe me, honey, they'll smash the place to smithereens. Oh, I know Churchill says we won the Battle of Britain, that two German planes were downed to every one the Royal Air Force lost, but the truth of the matter is we're still building up our defences and retraining the BEF, so I'd rather my mother and the kids were tucked away safely in Wales.'

He bent and picked up his kitbag, which he had tossed aside in order to have both arms free for Miranda, and began to lead her out of the station. ‘Where am I spendin' the night?' he asked. ‘I'm quite happy to share your bed, pretty lady, if that's the only accommodation available. As you know, my gran stayed in Jamaica Close when Mam and the kids were evacuated, and she's there still, but she's awful old and gets confused. A neighbour does her marketing, lights her fire and cooks her food, though Gran bustles about and helps a lot, or so she claims. But even if she was told that today was red letter day, she'll probably have forgotten by now and won't have so much as a sardine in the pantry to keep my strength up. So how about if I come back to Russell Street? Any chance of a bite? And I don't necessarily mean food either.'

‘You've got awfully cheeky, Steve, since you've been away,' Miranda said reprovingly. ‘Of course you're very welcome to come round to Russell Street for a meal, but no biting, if you please. I had meant to buy fish and chips but I reckon all the chippies will be closed by now. However, I think Avril means to make a sausage turnover and cook some carrots and that to go with it. Then there's the remains of a junket Avril and I had for tea, standing on the slate shelf in the pantry. What do you say to finishing that? I suppose you'll have to spend the night, because the trams will have stopped running by the time we've heard each other's news.'

Steve agreed eagerly that this was a great idea, and when they reached the flat and found Avril fast asleep in bed, but the sausage turnover still warm from the oven, he took off his greatcoat, cap and scarf and settled down eagerly to attack the plate of food Miranda placed
in front of him. Whilst he ate she read him Missie's latest letter, which was almost equally divided between pleasure at being in her own home again and apprehension for her friends across the seas. After that, she asked about America, and tried not to feel jealous when Steve described the parties, dances, barbecues and picnics which had been arranged by local girls for the entertainment of their British guests. She told herself firmly that to feel jealous was absurd because Steve was not her boyfriend, but presently, when he had eaten and drunk everything Avril had provided, they settled on the couch for a nice cosy cuddling session whilst they talked into the night, and told each other of the more exciting events which they had not been able to share in letters.

Miranda was in the middle of a description of a dog fight she had watched between a Messerschmitt and a Spitfire when something in her companion's breathing made her stop speaking and stare into the deeply tanned face so near to her own. And not only deeply tanned, but deeply asleep. Miranda smiled and thought about what he'd said that night. He'd told her he loved her and she felt confused. Did she really think of him as a brother? Oh, she was too tired to think about it now. She closed her own eyes and wondered how much wearier poor Steve must be! He had come all the way from Texas in a troop-carrying plane, not renowned for its comfort. Then he had had a hectic debriefing session and an introduction to the Lancaster aeroplane. After that he was given a seven day pass and had undergone the hell of a cross-country journey in wartime. Meeting her must have been quite as much of a trial for him as it was for her, because he must have been as conscious as she of the
changes that had taken place during their year apart. And now, well fed and warm, it had been the most natural thing in the world for him to fall asleep. But of course it would never do. They had not made up the sofa into a bed so the bedcovers were still rolled up beneath it, and soon enough the fire would go out, leaving the room as cold as the icy courtyard below. Clearly, it behoved her to wake him up and either set him on his way to Jamaica Close or get him to give her a hand to make up a bed on the sofa. Thinking of this, she realised that she was already feeling somewhat chilly and, with infinite care, reached under the sofa and dragged out a couple of blankets. She threw them over Steve, causing him to give a sleepy mutter, and then pulled them over herself. The sofa cushions would make a lovely pillow, but of course she could not actually lie on the sofa the way Steve would, once it was converted into a bed. Miranda wriggled into a more comfortable position and found rather to her surprise that her head fitted most comfortably into the hollow of Steve's shoulder. Anyone would think we'd been married for years, she told herself sleepily. For years and years and years and years . . . and Miranda was asleep.

Steve awoke. For a moment he lay perfectly still, thoroughly puzzled. Over the past ten days or so he had woken up in so many different places that he could scarcely count them, but this waking was different from all the rest. He shifted a fraction, forced himself to open his heavy lids and looked around him. It was still dark though he could see light coming through a gap of some sort; not very much light, and not the golden sunshine to which he had become accustomed in Texas. This was
a faint bluish light, as though the moon was shining directly on the outside of what he now realised must be a blackout blind. He frowned; if he was in his hut at Church Stretton then the window had got up and moved during the night, which seemed unlikely. So if he was not in his hut, where the devil was he? He remembered the long cold journey in the train and the ecstatic moment when he had descended on to the platform at Lime Street Station, and had opened his arms to Miranda . . .

Miranda! At the mere recollection of her name, memory came flooding back. They had been too late to buy fish and chips but had returned to the flat in Russell Street and found a delicious supper which Avril had cooked for him. Avril had already been in bed and asleep, so he and Miranda had moved into the living room, intending to have a goodnight cuddle . . .

Cuddle! With the word, his arms tightened around Miranda's warm body, curled up against his chest. Guiltily he realised that the two of them must have been so tired that they had fallen asleep, and here it was, early morning, and they were still cuddled up on the sofa. Steve could not help grinning to himself. In future he would be able to claim that he and his girl had slept together, and at the very thought he felt pleasure and guilt in equal quantities assail him. She would be furious, of course, if he teased her by telling Avril that they had spent the night together, even though he would explain that it had been an accident, that sheer weariness had caused them to fall asleep. At the thought he dropped a light kiss on the side of Miranda's face, thinking he would tell her that, as in all the best fairy stories, his kiss had
wakened her, but in fact he was unable to do so since Miranda slumbered on.

Steve had half risen on his elbow but now with infinite care he lay down against the sofa cushions and let his mind go back to the very first time he had seen Miranda. She had been standing in Jamaica Close staring up at the great twenty-foot wall whilst her lips moved soundlessly. He had thought she looked as though she was reciting some magical rhyme which would cause a door to open in the wall, so that she might go through. Steve remembered with shame that he had jeered at the scrawny kid with her topping of carrot-coloured hair, had teased her by pretending she was just a dog, but a dog who had managed to slip its leash. Then they had talked about their parents and he had seen the wistful resignation in her large hazel eyes and had offered her friendship, an offer she had grabbed with real enthusiasm. There were no boys in Jamaica Close around his age so palling up with the new kid was sensible, and he very soon realised that she had spunk, plenty of it. Despite the fact that she was younger than he they got on very well, and it was not long before he was proud to consider her his bezzie. In fact, he thought now, with the soft sweet-smelling length of her in his arms, he had fallen in love with her long ago without actually realising that his emotions had changed and deepened.

Her introduction to Jamaica House had been intended as a test but all it had really proved was that she was a lot braver than he, and from the moment that the two of them had begun to help Missie he had known that being bezzies would never be enough. She might not have known it then – might not know it now – but she was his girl and always would be.