While We're Apart (10 page)

‘You're very kind, Auntie Barbara. Thank you so much.'

Barbara kissed her cheek. ‘We're just glad to give you a home, Mary, and to provide some love and comfort at this very sad time.' She got up from the bed and smiled down at her. ‘Now you sort yourself out, then come and find me in the kitchen.'

Once Barbara had left, Mary drank her tea and tried very hard to contain the overwhelming emotions she was experiencing after the night's events. Nibbling on the delicious buttery toast, she marvelled at the love she'd been shown by Jack's parents, and knew she could never hope to repay such kindness.

Determinedly blinking back the tears, she took in her surroundings. She had been coming to Jack's home since she was a small girl, for Emmaline had often been too busy with her charity work to mind her all day, and Barbara had gladly taken her in. She could remember having delicious teas in the large warm kitchen, and sitting with Jack on one of the sagging couches in the snug sitting room while Barbara cuddled them and read them stories, or let them listen to
Children's Hour
on the wireless. She could also remember hectic games of hide and seek amongst the barns and sheds, and how they'd dressed up from the large collection of coats, caps and boots that were scattered about in the chaotic and cluttered boot room. And yet she'd never been upstairs before.

The bedroom had the same warm, homely feel about it as the rest of the house, for it was snug beneath a sloping beamed ceiling, with blackout-lined sprigged curtains pulled over the small diamond-paned window, and a home-made patchwork quilt covering the sturdy iron bedstead that was made up with crisp white linen and downy blankets. The walls were whitewashed between the beams, the wooden floor dipping towards the window where a small dressing table stood in the narrow alcove. A heavy wardrobe took up most of one wall, and beside the bed were an upholstered nursing chair and a small chest of drawers.

Mary finished her breakfast in bed – a luxury she'd never had before – and, refusing to let her emotions get the better of her again, hitched up the long nightdress and padded barefoot across the creaking floor to the window. Drawing back the curtain she saw that the sky was lightening into a grey dawn, and she could make out the cobbled yard below, and the collection of sheds and barns that stood on the edge of the field. Beyond that, stands of trees and lines of hedgerows led to the rolling hills of the South Downs. It must have rained again, for the corrugated iron roofs of the outbuildings gleamed wetly and there were puddles in the cobbles which the land girls were splashing through in their heavy boots.

She turned from the window and hesitantly made her way out of the bedroom and along the corridor in search of the bathroom. The bath proved to be a vast cast-iron tub with brass taps that took up most of the small room. There were towels on a rail, warming by the broad brick chimney breast that rose from the large kitchen range through the centre of the house, and a soft mat to stand on by the bath. A bar of soap, a sponge and a small bottle of shampoo sat on the wooden chair beside a neat pile of clothes, and there was a new toothbrush and tube of paste waiting for her on the basin. Mary was quite overcome by it all, for it was far removed from the arctic wastelands of the bathroom in the rectory.

Not wanting to dwell on such things, she quickly bathed, mindful of the small amount of water allocated for such purposes, and then got dressed. The knickers were as big as barrage balloons and the brassiere was so large it was of no use at all. Barbara's old worn dungarees swamped her and she had to hitch them up at the waist and use the belt to keep them – and the knickers – up; the knitted vest hung almost to her knees, but was an added layer against the cold, as were the blouse and bulky sweater. Pulling on the thick socks, she tied the laces on her shoes and then, pushing back the stark realisation that she owned only the clothes she'd been wearing the night before, and a battered bicycle, she cleaned her teeth.

Returning to the bedroom, where Barbara had laid out a brush, comb, hairpins and face powder on the dressing table, Mary avoided looking in the mirror, standing at the window to brush out her hair. The cows were moaning as they were herded out of the milking sheds by the land girls and harried back into the field by the dogs. The sky was pearly grey now, the distant hills clearer. The new day had begun, and she knew she must face it with the courage and strength that her father would have expected of her.

Mary made the bed and carried the stone hot-water bottle down the narrow winding wooden stairs to the kitchen. A large scrubbed pine table and a dozen chairs took up a good deal of the central space, the grey flagstone floor had also been scrubbed, and a huge pine dresser laden with crockery took up an entire wall. Pots and pans hung from hooks above the gleaming black range in the chimney hearth, and a stone sink and wooden draining board stood beneath the iron-framed window that looked over the yard. Black Briar Farm hadn't changed since she'd come here as a toddler, and as always it seemed to wrap itself around her like a lovely comforting blanket.

Barbara smiled in greeting as she continued to stir something in a large black pot on the range. ‘You look better,' she said comfortably. ‘Nice bath?'

Mary smiled back. ‘It was lovely,' she replied rather shyly. ‘Thank you for the toothpaste and soap and everything. And for the clothes.'

Barbara's smile broadened as she regarded her get-up. ‘It looks like we'll have to kit you out from the WVS,' she said. ‘I can't possibly let you go about looking like that, and as I'm on duty this afternoon, we can go together and find something that actually fits you.'

Mary didn't really care what she looked like, for it didn't matter, but she nodded and went to empty the hot-water bottle into the sink. Barbara was being so kind, but the realisation that she would have to rely on charity until she found her feet again made Mary fret. If only she was qualified to do something, she thought in despair, she wouldn't have to be so reliant on people such as the good-hearted Joseph and Barbara.

Barbara must have read her thoughts, for she left the range and came to stand beside her. ‘Mary, I don't want you worrying about things,' she said softly. ‘I realise you feel lost and terribly adrift at the moment, but you aren't alone, my dear. Joseph and I will look after you.'

Mary could only nod, for tears were threatening again.

Barbara took the stone bottle from her and placed it on the drainer. ‘Now, I know things are going to be difficult for a while, but Joseph and I will see to all the arrangements and deal with the authorities. We'll sort out a new ration book and identity card for you, and deal with any legal or insurance matters. Joseph is very good at that sort of thing, and will make sure you get what you're entitled to.'

Mary hadn't given a thought to such things, so deep was her grief, and she looked at Barbara in confusion. ‘The rectory belongs to the church, and I doubt Father had the money to pay any life insurance,' she said. ‘But I'll do my best to find some work so I can at least give you some rent.'

Barbara put a comforting arm about her shoulders. ‘Bless you, love. You don't have to think about things like work – not for a while yet. It's best to settle and come to terms with the situation first, then we can all sit down and discuss what you might do.'

‘That's the problem,' Mary replied, her voice rasping with frustration. ‘I'm no good at anything, and without my teaching certificate I won't be allowed to take any classes.'

‘As I said,' Barbara spoke with infinite patience, ‘we'll sort all that out another time. It's far too soon to be making those sorts of decisions.'

Mary nodded, for she knew she was right, but the thought of being a burden, of stretching the housekeeping and rationing even further, worried her. ‘Then I'll do the housework and cooking for you,' she said. ‘I know how to do that, and I can do the shopping, which will save you from having to queue for hours.'

‘We'll see,' murmured Barbara.

Mary wanted so badly to help, to be useful. ‘I'll go to the rectory later and see if I can salvage anything. You never know, there might be furniture or crockery, or . . .' She tailed off as she saw Barbara shake her head.

‘I'm sorry, Mary, but everything has gone, including most of the church. Joseph went down there at first light, and all he could find was an old tin trunk.'

Mary stared at her, unable to absorb the fact that both the rectory and the church had been destroyed. ‘Daddy's trunk?' she breathed finally. ‘But how? He kept it under the stairs, so it must have been right in the heart of the fire.'

Barbara shrugged. ‘I don't know. It's a bit buckled, bent and scorched, but it seems to have come through. Joseph put it in the small barn out of the way until you're ready to look through it.'

Mary took a steadying breath. ‘I don't know if I can face it just yet, but I doubt there's anything of interest in it,' she said sadly. ‘Daddy only used it to store old parish records.'

‘Well, you know where it is,' Barbara murmured.

A silence fell between them, and Mary knew it was time to ask the question that had been troubling her all night. ‘Where have they taken my parents?'

‘The ambulance people took them to the hospital morgue in Hillney. They will remain there until we've made the arrangements with Mr Clough the undertaker.'

‘I see.' Mary remembered her vow to be strong and blinked back the tears. ‘I'd like the service to be held in Daddy's church,' she said. ‘It's what he and Mother would have wanted. Is it really in ruins?'

Barbara's expression was solemn. ‘I'm sorry, love, but the church won't be used again. But I'm sure we can arrange for them to be laid to rest in the churchyard.' She gave Mary a gentle hug. ‘We'll see to that, never you worry.'

Mary nodded, unable to speak for the knot of tears in her throat.

‘Come on,' coaxed Barbara, ‘let's get our coats on and scrub out the dairy. There's nothing like a bit of hard work to keep our minds off things, and I don't trust those city girls to clean it properly. If it isn't up to scratch, I'll have the milk inspector round here complaining, and he's a horrid little man with a Hitler moustache and a total lack of humour.'

Mary dredged up a wan smile and trudged after her into the cluttered boot room. Being brave and stoic was much harder than she could ever have imagined, but she was determined to do her very best.

Peggy had lain awake for what seemed like hours after Jim had fallen asleep. She revelled in the lovely warmth of his long, strong body lying beside her and the soft snores she'd missed for such ages. But her mind was racing, despite his many assurances that he'd be far from harm's way, and her dread for him had deepened as the night wore on.

India was on the other side of the world, and even the journey there was fraught with danger, for the seas were the hunting grounds of the enemy U-boats which had caused such devastation to the supply convoys. It would take weeks to get there, and home leaves would be a thing of the past – for perhaps months, or even years. The thought of being apart from Jim for so long, and the realisation that Daisy was so young she might not remember him when he finally came home, tore at her heart.

And what of her other children? Bob and Charlie were miles away in Somerset with Anne and baby Rose Margaret, and none of them would get a chance to see him before he left. This war was tearing her family apart, scattering them to the four winds, and although she could take a little comfort from the fact that Cissy was a WAAF at the nearby aerodrome and could visit during his leave, she knew the girl would be heartbroken to learn of her father's overseas posting.

She must have fallen asleep at one point, for she woke to the sounds of Daisy grizzling and Jim's heavy snoring. Sliding quietly out of bed so as not to disturb him, she rammed her feet into her slippers, pulled on her dressing gown, and went to the cot. Lifting Daisy out, she bundled her in a blanket against the howling draught which came under the bedroom door and around the loose-fitting sash windows, and carried her into the warm kitchen.

Having stripped off her sodden nappy, Peggy bathed her in the sink and quickly dressed her in her prettiest knitted outfit – not that it would stay clean for long, she thought wearily, for Daisy was crawling now and getting into everything. She drew back the blackout curtains to find that it was barely past dawn and there were already dark clouds scudding across the sky – not a good omen for the day ahead.

Having heated up some milk, she gave Daisy a cuddle while she drank from her bottle, and was soothed by the weight of her in her arms, and her lovely baby smell. The house was quiet but for the usual creak of old timbers and the rattle of ancient pipes, and Peggy was glad to have these few moments alone with her baby so she could gather her wits, prepare for the day, and put on a brave face for everyone.

The back door slammed and Harvey came racing up the cellar stairs, tail wagging as he greeted Daisy by licking her cheek, at which she gurgled in delight and batted him with her tiny fist.

‘Good morning, Peggy girl,' said Ron as he stomped into the kitchen. ‘Get down ye eejit dog,' he rasped. ‘Daisy doesn't need you washing her face.'

‘Morning, Ron,' Peggy replied as she wiped Daisy's face clean of slobber. ‘I haven't had time to put the kettle on, or start on the porridge. This one was up and grizzling, so I needed to keep her quiet in case she woke Jim.'

Ron stumped across the kitchen in his dirty wellingtons and put the kettle on the hob. Then he rattled the fire into life and added some more wood. ‘So, how is the boy?' he said as he reached for the teapot.

‘He's fine,' she replied.

Ron paused and looked at her from beneath his wayward brows, his blue eyes penetrating in their intensity. ‘What's the matter, Peggy?'