The Glory Girls (9 page)

‘I won the talent competition, Walter,’ she said and he looked at her
as if she had spoken in Chinese before it registered.

‘Oh, I forgot about that. You won it? Well done, pet. What did you get as a prize?’

‘Ten guineas and …’ she hesitated, ‘and a kiss from Dr Craig.’

‘Oh!’ Then his heavy brows came down as he studied her closely. ‘Mary, now that I’m probably going to be sent away overseas … well, away from the north-east, anyway ….how about us getting married? We can get a special licence and …’

‘What? Oh, Walter, I don’t know … I …’

Mary had never felt so flustered, or so pushed into a tight corner. She stared at him, her tongue flicking in and out, as she tried to moisten her dry lips.

‘We can get hitched before I have to go to Catterick training camp. Come on, lass. We’ve waited long enough.’

Mary glanced around the table, glad that nobody else had heard. They were all too busy watching the gyrations on the floor, laughing
hysterically
at the antics of some folk who threw themselves around and called it dancing.

‘Not here, Walter … please …’ Mary said as the music changed and Jack Langley was introducing the last waltz. ‘Let’s dance, eh? It’s the last waltz and I haven’t had a dance all evening.’

‘Aw, bloomin’ heck, Mary. Give over, will you.’ Walter pulled his arm away from her grasp as she tried to haul him up on his feet. ‘I hate
dancing
. You know that. Why don’t you get up with somebody else, eh?’

‘Who do you suggest, Walter?’

She hadn’t spoken the words too loudly, but one or two heads turned and she felt her cheeks burn. However, it wasn’t the head-turning that she found disconcerting. It was the fact that Dr Craig was standing right beside her. In fact, she had bumped into him, rather heavily as she stood up. He gave her that enigmatic smile of his that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he was looking at Walter.

‘Would you mind,’ he asked Walter, ‘if Mary danced the last waltz with me?’

‘Aye, go on then,’ Walter said, after a moment’s hesitation, then he added the word ‘sir’ on seeing the doctor’s army rank.

The short walk between table and dance floor was completely lost on Mary. She couldn’t remember how her legs had carried her the distance. It was as if she had been magically transported. One minute she was trying to persuade Walter to dance and the next, well, here she was whirling in the arms of Dr Alex Craig who looked so good in his captain’s
uniform and danced so well. And she was determined to enjoy the
experience
, since it might be the last time she would ever see him.

‘You dance as beautifully as you sing, Mary,’ he said, his warm breath wafting across her forehead, stirring stray tendrils of hair that she had tried in vain to straighten and capture in a blue slide to match her dress.

‘Thank you,’ she said, thinking that she sounded like a star-struck little girl, and feeling exactly like that. ‘So do you, Dr Craig ….er … Captain Craig …’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’d prefer it if you dropped all titles and called me Alex, since it’s my last night here.’

‘Oh, but …’ She raised her eyes to his, conscious of his arm
tightening
around her and again the firm squeeze of his hand. Goodness, was he flirting with her? No, she was sure it wasn’t that, but … ‘Shouldn’t you be dancing with your wife … Alex?’

A cloud came over his face. A dark, unfathomable cloud. She thought she must have said the wrong thing and he was angry with her, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost like a caress.

‘My wife prefers to be elsewhere, Mary. I’m being selfish, but please, just humour me for the rest of this dance.’

The rest of the dance was too short by far. Mary wished with every step that it would last for ever. And in the same breath, she told herself how stupid it was to feel like this about a man she hardly knew, and could never have.

‘E
EH
, when we all stood up and sung ‘Auld Lang Syne’ I wept buckets!’

Jenny West was chattering merrily about Saturday night’s benefit as she and Mary dished out the Christmas Day lunch for the family
gathered
about the table in the living-room. The old table had been extended as long as was possible and everybody was squeezed in, elbow to elbow, but they didn’t mind. It was Christmas and they were all putting the war on hold and enjoying themselves.

‘You weren’t the only one, Mam,’ Mary said, spooning sage and onion stuffing on each plate as her mother sliced off more turkey. ‘There were quite a few tears and not all of them were from women either.’

‘A bit more stuffing on your dad’s plate, Mary,’ Jenny said, inspecting the row of plates that were lined up on every available surface in the scullery, which was full of steam and the succulent smells of roasting meat and boiling vegetables. ‘And give him an extra roast potato. He needs building up with all the extra work he’s doing these days. I don’t know. In the pit all day, patrolling the streets at night. He’ll knock himself up.’

‘He’s wiry, Mam. He’ll be all right. Anyway, I’m sure it makes him feel better, knowing he’s doing his bit for England.’

Mary’s father had been one of the many veterans of the First World War to stand to attention with tears welling up in their eyes as the band had played the very last tune of the night at the benefit. Mary herself had found it hard to get the emotional wobble out of her voice as she sang the words to ‘God Save the King’.

As she sang, she had turned and found Alex Craig’s brooding eyes on her. Something in his expression touched her heart, reaching into her innermost being. She felt a deep sorrow for all the men and boys who were going out to fight for their country in a foreign land. Many of them, she knew, would never come back. But what she felt for this young
doctor was something she could not explain, except to say that when she regarded Walter, that special feeling wasn’t there.

‘And you say Walter’s not going to join us today, pet?’ Jenny asked for the umpteenth time. ‘There’s nothing wrong between you and him, is there?’

Mary blanched, picked up two plates without looking her mother in the eye, and headed for the table.

‘Of course there isn’t, Mam,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘He just felt he should spend his last Christmas with his mother before going off to Catterick.’

‘Here, come back. You’ve forgotten the sprouts.’

She went back for the missing vegetables and saw her mother looking at her in an oddly wise and penetrating way.

‘What’s up with you, our Mary?’ Jenny said. ‘You’ve been acting funny ever since the benefit. I know you were a bit put out because Walter came so late and then wouldn’t dance with you, but … No, there’s something else, isn’t there? You’re not getting all het up over that Dr Craig, are you?’

‘Mam! You do say the daftest things.’

‘Do I?’ Jenny was wearing her concerned mother’s expression. ‘Maybe it’s daft, maybe it’s not, but I saw the way he looked at you on Saturday night.’

‘Oh, Mam, stop it. He was just being pleasant.’

‘Aye, and you were lapping it up, my girl. I don’t want any daughter of mine going out of her way to flirt with a married man. Do you hear me, Mary?’

‘Yes, Mam, but you don’t have to worry. Anyway, Alex comes from a very different background.’

‘So, it’s Alex now, is it? And never mind the different background. Men are men the whole world over and if a girl shows herself to be
willing
, well … you know what can happen. Just look at that Sadie Hurst. What a disgrace. Saddled with a bairn and no man to support her because he was already married with a family of his own. Just you think about that, hinny.’

‘Yes, Mam.’ Mary felt her cheeks burning hotly. ‘Is that it? Can I take these plates in now before everybody starves with hunger?’

‘Oh, go on with you.’ Jenny tapped her daughter’s behind as she walked away. ‘I know you’re a good girl, really. You’ll always do the right thing.’

‘I hope so, Mam,’ Mary muttered under her breath as she handed out the plates and went back for more to shouts of ‘Where’s mine?’ and ‘That
Walter doesn’t know what he’s missing, the daft begger!’

Mary joined them at the table as they pulled their crackers, donned silly paper-hats, blew on plastic whistles and generally acted like children. She enjoyed the fun, but her mind kept wandering. She didn’t think that Walter would ever excite her the way Alex Craig had in that briefest of moments. And she couldn’t suppress the burning desire to do something more challenging than keeping the ledgers up to date at the War Pensions Office. Both issues would have to be addressed, and soon.

In the Graham household the atmosphere wasn’t quite so jovial. Alex did his best to pretend that all was well, but he wasn’t fooling anybody, least of all himself. A part of him couldn’t wait to leave. The sooner he removed himself from his flawed marriage the better. He regretted
leaving
his uncle in the lurch, alone to cope with a busy practice; and Aunt Maggie was like a second mother to him. Neither of them wanted him to go, although they said very little on the subject, which meant they
probably
understood more about his situation than he had given them credit for.

Fiona had said little to him, other than ‘Brave old you!’ when he told her he had enlisted. They hadn’t spoken of it again in private. In the company of others she tended to keep her own counsel and replied to enquiries on how she felt with a resigned shrug and an acquiescent smile. At a guess, she would be glad to see the back of him. There was already someone waiting to slip conveniently into his shoes – in fact, already had, if Alex’s suspicions were correct. Fiona hadn’t admitted to having an affair, but it didn’t take a genius to work out what was going on.

‘Are you all right, son?’ Maggie Graham gave him a searching look as they stood in the kitchen together, drying dishes. Fiona was lying down on the spare bed with a migraine. ‘You seem a little quiet.’

‘I’m fine, Aunt Maggie,’ Alex assured her. ‘Don’t you go worrying about me.’

‘Do you really think the war will go on for much longer?’

‘Quite honestly, I think it’s only just beginning.’

Maggie shook her head, her eyes clouded with troubling thoughts. She put the last of the dishes away and relieved him of his tea-towel.

‘You shouldn’t be in here with me,’ she said gruffly. ‘Go and spend some time with your wife.’

He gave her a wry smile. The rupture in his marriage, he felt sure, was such a tangible thing it must be obvious to all and sundry that things were not going well. Nobody liked the idea of divorce and the stigma that was
attached to it. Alex hoped it would not come to that. Perhaps an enforced separation was all that was needed to get them back on track again.

‘I think, if you don’t mind,’ he said, kissing his aunt on her warm cheek, ‘I’ll go out for a wee walk and breathe some good fresh Felling air. My head’s full of things that need sweeping out.’

‘Alex…?’ she said, but when he raised his eyebrows, she shook her head again. ‘Go on, then. Things do always seem better for a walk. But mind you come back in time for tea. I’ve baked all your favourite things.’

‘Custard tart?’

‘Aye, and lemon-meringue pie,’ she said. ‘And there’s a salmon salad to start with.’

‘I’ll be back, don’t you worry,’ Alex grinned.

He stood on the doorstep for a few moments, breathing in the crisp December air, then decided to head for the park. Usually, it was quiet down there, but this was Christmas Day and there were a number of fathers and grandfathers with young children on new toboggans.

He listened to their elated laughter as they were dragged over the ground or skimmed screaming with excitement down the frozen slopes, narrowly missing the trees and falling off and rolling around as they stopped. Perhaps he would have a child of his own, one day, to buy a toboggan for, though he doubted it somehow. Fiona had made her views on the subject crystal-clear. There was, of course, the possibility that she would see things differently after the war.

An unexpected tightening of his throat surprised him. He quickened his step almost to a march as he headed back up the hill, but went a different way towards Victoria Square. The place was deserted except for one or two old miners sitting around the memorial fountain in the centre, putting the world to rights. They nodded across to him, called out seasonal greetings, which he returned automatically. He was
experiencing
a tremendous feeling of belonging, yet did he really think he was coming back here? Was there a life here for him after the war? Would there be a life anywhere? Even if he survived it, what would he come back to? A wife who didn’t want him. But then, Fiona wasn’t entirely to blame, was she? To be honest, they had never been an ideal couple. After the first flush of passion had died, they had been left with nothing on which to build a marriage or a future.

As he started to turn back towards his uncle’s house, Alex caught sight of a familiar figure trudging cagily through the snow that had deepened overnight and showed no sign of melting, regardless of the fact that the sun was shining down from a blue sky.

‘Hello, there!’

The girl must have been deep in thought, for she pulled up so sharply that she skidded and would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed hold of a nearby gatepost. Her soft hazel eyes blinked at him, then her expression became like that of a startled deer as she recognized him.

‘Oh …. Dr Craig! H-hello! Merry Christmas!’

‘Merry Christmas to you, Mary … and it’s Alex, remember?’

‘Alex … yes … only it feels funny calling my doctor by his Christian name.’

‘If it makes you feel uncomfortable, then don’t,’ he said, walking up to her and taking her arm, for she was still looking unsteady as her feet struggled to gain purchase on the patch of ice beneath her.

‘Oh, it’s all right … I mean….’ Mary clamped her lips together, then gave a shy laugh. ‘It’s just unusual, that’s all.’

‘We’re living in unusual times, Mary,’ he said, helping her to walk a few steps away from the ice and on to less precarious ground. ‘Where are you off to?’

‘I’ve been invited to my friend’s for tea,’ she told him. ‘Iris and I work together at the War Pensions Office.’

‘You’re not spending the day with your fiancé, then?’

He detected a small hesitation and she averted her eyes, though it might have been because the afternoon sun was blinding her. ‘No. Not today. Walter’s planning to join up and his mother’s upset about it. He thought it would be best staying at home today.’

‘I see.’ Alex cupped her elbow in his hand as they moved forward, away from the square and down The Drive, where his uncle lived. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you, Mary?’

‘Of course not.’ She looked up and frowned. ‘When do you leave?’

‘In a few days.’

‘Oh, I see. How awful.’

‘I wonder … could I ask you a favour?’ They had come to a halt and he turned to face her, telling himself that he was crazy to expect anything of this rather nice young woman who would probably marry the local butcher, have numerous children with him, and be a faithful and loving wife. ‘Would you write to me, Mary?’

‘Write to you? But won’t your wife be—’

‘She hates writing anything, especially letters. Please say you’ll write to me, Mary … unless you would find it too much of a chore.’

He saw her swallow and ponder on what he had requested. It
obviously
bothered her in some way, and yet her eyes were bright and keen.

‘No, really, I’d love to write to you. My address—’

‘I know your address, Mary.’ He wasn’t going to tell her that he had already noted it and it was at this very moment sitting in his wallet, in his inside breast pocket. ‘I’ll drop you a line once I get settled. Letters have to go through the British Forces Postal Office. They’re censored,
apparently
, so don’t worry if you can’t read all the words. And I might not always be able to reply straight away.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Mary said with a bright smile that gave a lift to his heart. ‘I’ll wait.’

He wished it were his wife telling him that she would wait, not just for his letters, but for him to return. He wished that his wife could be more like Mary and less like the girl he should never have married.

‘I enjoyed dancing with you on Saturday night,’ he said, his voice roughening slightly in his throat.

‘Me too,’ she said and took a step away from him. ‘Well, I’d better get along or they’ll think I’m not coming.’

‘What about the black-out? It’ll get dark pretty soon.’

‘It’s all right. Iris says I can stay the night.’

‘That’s all right then. Take care, Mary.’

‘I always do, Alex.’

The street was deserted, except for the two of them. He knew it was a damned foolish thing to do, but suddenly she was there in his arms and he was kissing her. Oh, it was a tender kiss, at first. Tender and, almost, innocent. Then, when there was a sudden rise of heat between them, he felt her pull away, heard her gasp.

‘Oh, God, Mary, I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me do that, but we may never see each other again. I just felt impelled to ….well, never mind. I apologize. Are we still friends?’

She was staring at him, her eyes as big as dinner plates swimming with light, her mouth slightly open and her breath coming in gusts with every rise and fall of her chest. She swallowed hard before she could get her words out.

‘It … It’s all right … really. I … I’m glad you did it … I …’ Her forehead creased and then she gave a wan smile that twisted his heart. ‘It is Christmas, after all, and you’re going off to the war and … I
will
write to you, I promise.’

And with those words she hurried away, leaving him standing there feeling cold and empty, and utterly ridiculous.

In between the clicking of knitting needles and the hiss of a copper kettle
on the old gas-ring in the church hall kitchen, the ladies of the Social Services Club chatted spasmodically. They were there for a variety of reasons, but mostly to help the war effort, turning up come rain or come shine ever since war had been declared.