The Forget-Me-Not Summer (36 page)

When the door was answered, however, her aunt's grim mouth softened a little, though she said accusingly: ‘Slummin', ain't you?'

‘Don't be nasty or you shan't have your Christmas present,' Miranda said promptly. ‘I haven't come all this way to be insulted, you know.'

Her aunt sniffed. ‘You haven't come all this way very often,' she said, but in a milder tone. ‘If you remember, young lady, you left without givin' us your new address, so you're lucky to get any sort of present off of Beth and
meself. However, bein' the souls of generosity, we've bought you a little somethin' in the hope that you might deign to come round, bein' as it's the season of goodwill and all that.'

‘I'm sorry, Aunt Vi, but we're so short-staffed at the office now that it's all I can do to get my messages and have a sleep,' Miranda explained. ‘Well, I reckon you must understand, because a few weeks ago I met Beth in St John's fish market, and she told me she was working in a factory making parachutes, so I guess her time off is pretty limited too. And I did tell her I lived in a flat over a bicycle shop on Russell Street; didn't she pass the news on to you?'

Her aunt sniffed again but stood aside, beckoning her niece to enter. ‘I dunno as she might have done,' she admitted grudgingly. ‘Fact is, Miranda, that she ain't here all that often; she kips down with a pal when she's on a late shift so she's only under my roof, oh, one week in four, I suppose.' She pulled her mouth down at the corners. ‘Truth to tell, I gets lonely, so if you're ever lookin' for a place to lie your head there's a spare bed here you'd be welcome to use.'

Miranda had to bite her lip or she might have reminded her aunt of the way she had been treated when she had lived in Jamaica Close, might also have added that if the factory making parachutes was too far from Jamaica Close, her own place of work was even farther. Instead she said: ‘Thanks, Aunt, I'll remember your – your kind offer.' Then she rooted around in her pocket and produced the presents, both well wrapped. ‘Not to be opened until Christmas Day; yours is the one in red paper and Beth's is in the green,' she said, with a gaiety she was far from
feeling. One glance round the dirty neglected kitchen and one sniff of the smell of stale food and rotting vegetables was enough to convince her that her aunt had not changed. She was still lazy, greedy and a bad housewife, and she, Miranda, would have to be desperate indeed before she crossed this threshold again.

Outside once more, she took a deep breath of the icy air and was approaching the Mickleborough house when Steve emerged from it, giving her his broadest grin. ‘Didn't think you'd hang around there for long,' he greeted her. ‘I bet the old biddy hasn't changed at all. Did she ask you to come over and cook her Christmas dinner? I bet that was her first thought!'

‘You're not far out; apparently even Beth doesn't spend much time at home now. Did I tell you she was making parachutes at a big factory on the outskirts of the city? No, probably I didn't, because of the censor. Well she is, and Aunt Vi says she kips down with a pal when she's on late shifts. She said she and Beth had a present for me, but whatever it was she didn't hand it over. Now, what else did Granny Granger say about your mam and the kids coming home for Christmas?'

‘Norra lot,' Steve said cheerfully as they swung into the main road and headed for the tram stop, ‘just that Mam didn't mean to come until the day before Christmas Eve, so she's still got time to make up her mind. But I think she'll be sensible; my mam is sensible, wouldn't you say?'

‘She's very sensible,' Miranda agreed. ‘What'll we do today? If you're not too tired I've got some last minute shopping to do, and this evening I really would love to go dancing. It's difficult for Avril and me, because of
Gary. Those two really are in love and want to marry as soon as they've saved up enough money to rent a couple of rooms somewhere. Avril used to love dancing but of course Gary can't do even the simplest steps, though he tells Avril that he wouldn't mind if she wanted to dance with other blokes, but she won't do it. You can understand why, can't you, Steve?'

‘Course I can,' Steve said at once. ‘She's a grand girl, your Avril. But I take it she won't mind if you and I go dancing? I'm no great shakes, but there was a girl in Texas who took me in hand and now I can waltz and quickstep with the best of 'em, though the foxtrot and the tango are still beyond me. Do you think Avril will want to come with us? Even if she won't dance for fear of hurting Gary's feelings, I suppose she could watch.'

‘And play gooseberry?' Miranda said scornfully. ‘Of course she won't, you idiot. Besides, she's very pretty, you know, even if she is a tiny bit overweight. She'd be besieged by offers and turning a chap down can be really uncomfortable. No, if we go dancing it will just be you and me.'

They caught a tram into the city centre, Steve admitting that he had heard so much about the shortages in England that he had scoured Texas for any foodstuffs or luxuries he could afford, to give to all his loved ones as Christmas presents. ‘So we've no need to go shopping on my account,' he assured Miranda. ‘Where do you want to go for yours?' He glanced at the heavy watch on his wrist. It had several different dials, which had intrigued Miranda until he had explained its various uses. ‘Ah, but it's twenty to twelve; we'd best make tracks for Lewis's and a really good, pre-war lunch!'

Avril and Miranda were in Miranda's room, Avril sitting on the bed and watching as her friend tried on a dance dress she had borrowed from a pal whose own boyfriend was on one of the ships in the transatlantic convoy and would not be back home in Liverpool for another two weeks at least. And anyway, the dress would never have fitted her, Miranda thought to herself, remembering how her plump little pal had sighed as she handed the dress over in a stout paper carrier, explaining that her mother, a first rate needlewoman, had made it herself several years before the war started, and had only worn it twice. Miranda, pulling the soft chiffon out of its bag, had gasped with pleasure. It was a smoky blue-grey shade with a low-cut bodice and floating sleeves, and with it her friend's mother had worn delicate blue silk sandals. These were too small for Miranda, but her own white sandals looked almost as good, and when she turned to Avril her friend's widening eyes was all the confirmation she needed that the dress both fitted and suited her. Carefully she picked up the gossamer stole with its embroidery of silver stars and turned once more to Avril. ‘Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?' she enquired breathlessly, ‘I shan't dare to have a drink even if I die of thirst, because suppose I dropped a spot on it? I could never replace it, not if I had all the money in the world. Oh, Avril, do you think I should just let Steve see me in it when he arrives and then change into my old green dress? After all, Steve hasn't seen the green one either.'

But Avril, though she laughed, shook her head. ‘No way! Your pal meant you to enjoy it, and anyway the only drink they serve at the Grafton is weak orange
squash. You could probably pour a gallon of that stuff down your front and it would come out the minute you put the dress in water. So stop worrying and enjoy yourself.'

Presently a knock on the door heralded Steve's arrival and his expression, when Miranda floated into the kitchen in the borrowed dress, was almost unbelieving. ‘Oh, queen, you look like the Queen,' he gabbled. ‘No, you look like a film star! God, I know they say love's blind, but I'm tellin' you, you're bleedin' well beautiful and I never knew it before.'

Not surprisingly, Miranda bridled. ‘They say clothes make the man, and I suppose you're telling me they make the woman, too,' she said frostily. ‘It's not me or my carroty hair that's beautiful, but my pal's dress.' She regarded her swirling skirts proudly. ‘It is fantastic, isn't it? Her mother made it for a Masonic function before the war, and only ever wore it twice. My pal is quite a lot heavier than either her mum or me, so I doubt she'll ever get to wear it, but I'm going to treat it like gold dust, see if I don't.' She grinned at Steve. ‘So you'll have to learn to dance without actually laying your greasy hands anywhere on this wonderful creation.'

Laughing, Steve promised to scrub his hands within an inch of their lives as soon as they reached the ballroom. Then he and Miranda told Avril to be good and to have the kettle on the boil by eleven o'clock, and clattered down the steep iron stairway. At the foot of it they met Gary, carrying a parcel which he explained was a bag of sprouts. ‘I've a pal with an allotment out at Seaforth, and he told me that the sprouts are ready to eat after the first frost. It's a cold old job cutting them, though, so he said
if I'd give him a hand I could have a bag of them for our Christmas dinner.' He stared at them inquisitively. ‘You off somewhere?'

‘Oh no, I always wear my best shoes to queue for fish and chips,' Miranda said sarcastically. ‘I know my dress is covered by my old winter coat but surely you can see my elegant footwear!'

Gary grinned. ‘So you're off for a dancing session, are you? Great news, because that'll give me a whole evening to keep Avril company,' he said at once. ‘I was supposed to be on shift this evening but because of cutting the sprouts I did a swap with Billy.'

‘Nice for you and even nicer for Avril, because she thinks she's going to spend the evening alone,' Miranda said. She slipped her hand into the crook of Steve's arm and they set off across the courtyard. ‘Cheerio, Gary. See you later I expect.'

The pair of them hurried, carefully, along the icy pavement. Above them the dark arc of the sky blazed with stars, reminding Miranda of the stole around her shoulders. They reached the dance hall and joined the line of people waiting for admittance. Steve greeted a couple of old friends from school further up the queue whilst Miranda rubbed her cold hands together, stamped her chilled feet and wished she had done as other girls did and worn her boots, bringing her dancing sandals in a paper carrier to change into inside. But already the queue was beginning to move and very soon she and Steve were rushing to claim a couple of the little gilt chairs set out around the gleaming dance floor. As soon as the orchestra struck up they tipped their chairs forward to indicate that they were taken, as was the small round
table, and set off. It was the first time they had ever danced together and Miranda found it a very pleasant experience, but unfortunately, without thinking, she said something which spoiled the moment for them both. ‘The last time I was here with Gerald . . .' she began, her cheek resting comfortably against Steve's tunic, and was astonished when she found herself suddenly pushed away from him and held at a distance.

‘Did you have to say that?' Steve growled, giving her an admonitory shake. ‘When did you go dancing with Gerald? Why didn't you mention it in any of your letters?'

Miranda, jerked out of her pleasant daydream, scowled at her companion. ‘Don't be so silly, Steve. I've danced with all sorts of people these past months . . .'

She stopped speaking as Steve put a hand across her mouth. ‘What was that noise?' he asked curiously. ‘A sort of wailing noise. And why is everyone streaming off the floor?'

Miranda gasped and grabbed his hand. ‘That was Moaning Minnie,' she said. ‘In other words, the air raid warning. Sometimes the men on watch don't see the planes till they're almost overhead, though, so we must get a move on or we shan't get into the shelter. If we were in the flat we could go down to the basement under the cycle shop, but it's too far to go from here.'

They joined the pushing, jostling crowd and once on the pavement Miranda pointed at the moon, brilliant in the blackness of the night sky. ‘See that? I expect you know it's called a bomber's moon. Well, with luck they'll be heading for some other destination, but you can't take chances. Here comes the first wave. Quick, give me your hand and run like hell.'

Steve complied, saying as he did so: ‘I've often heard the expression bomber's moon, and now I understand what it means. It's as light as day, I bet those buggers up there can see us clear as clear, like ants scurrying out of an anthill when a foot comes too near the nest . . .'

He stopped speaking and Miranda, gazing up, saw that the first planes were indeed overhead. The ack-ack guns were blazing away; she saw one of the enemy aircraft stagger, then seem to recover, saw something descending to earth, and dragged Steve hastily into the shelter of a shop doorway. ‘Incendiaries,' she told him, as the dreaded firebombs began to rain down. ‘Oh, come
on
, Steve, run before the next lot come over. Look, there's a warden. He'll tell us which shelter to make for.'

The warden, uniformed and helmeted, came towards them, and had to raise his voice to a shout above the whistle of descending bombs. Just as he reached them there was an almighty explosion somewhere in the vicinity of the Adelphi Hotel, an explosion violent enough, Miranda knew, to have caused enormous damage. The warden reached them and grabbed Miranda's arm, then peered into her face and grinned. ‘Oh, it's you. Not fire watchin' tonight, then? There's a shelter not twenty yards ahead; you'll be all right there. Gerra move on, though. This is no night to be out on the streets.'

‘Thanks, Jim,' Miranda said, and would have set off at once, but Steve held her back.

‘Is there anything I can do to help, mate?' he asked as the warden turned away. ‘I'm on leave, but . . .'

The warden laughed. ‘Get into the bloody shelter and stay there until you hear the all clear,' he commanded. ‘Once the raid's over . . .'

Another enormous explosion rocked the three of them, and caused Miranda to give a yelp of impatience. ‘Do as the man says and get a move on,' she commanded. ‘This war doesn't need dead heroes. Ah, I can see the shelter and the feller in charge is beckoning us . . . come
on
, Steve!' To their right a large building was already in flames, the firelight competing with that of the moon, but neither Miranda nor Steve so much as glanced towards the conflagration. They pushed aside the smelly sacking curtain at the bottom of the shelter steps and entered into the usual scene of confusion: children howling, mothers trying to quiet them, and old people, eyes dark with fright, trying to pretend that this was all part of a day's work. Miranda glanced sideways at Steve, remembering that this was his first experience of a severe air raid – and she knew from the number of dark shapes overflying the city that this was a severe raid indeed. Steve caught her glance and grinned sheepishly, taking his place on one of the long wooden benches which lined the shelter. Miranda sat down beside him and took his hand.