Wartime Friends, page 21
Phyllis turned to face him, her face contorted in fear and anger. ‘No fool like an old fool, is there, Mr Frank? She’ll take you for every penny she can. And what’ll be left for your own family then, eh?’
‘I won’t . . .’ Beryl was in tears now. ‘I wouldn’t.’
But neither of them were listening to her; the quarrel was now between Phyllis and Frank. He was icily calm. ‘And was that why you were so keen for your son to marry Carolyn? Did you think he’d be set for life by marrying my granddaughter? Phyllis Carter, you’re a mean-spirited woman and vicious with it. The wonder is that you’ve given birth to a young man as nice as Peter. He’s a good lad and, if it wasn’t for him, I’d be giving you notice this minute to leave your cottage. But he’s fighting for his country and I won’t turn his mother out of her home while he’s away. But I don’t want to see you here again. You’re done working for me.’
Phyllis’s face turned first deathly white and then bright red. She flung her arm out towards him. ‘You see? You see what she’s done? You’re turning your back on someone who’s given you loyal service for over twenty-five years. Me and my husband, before he was daft enough to volunteer and get himself killed. And then my son. My family’s devoted themselves to you and this is how you repay me when a little slut worms her way into your life.’ She stepped towards him and shook her fist in his face. ‘Just you wait till my Peter gets home on his next leave. You haven’t heard the last of this.’
Her anger carried her out of the dairy but not towards her own home. Instead, she headed towards Lilian’s cottage while, in the dairy, Beryl was still crying. Frank put a kindly hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t waste your tears on that woman. She’s showing her true colours now.’
‘I don’t want to cause trouble amongst your family and friends, Mr Atkinson.’
‘You aren’t doing, lass. Not amongst those who matter to me. And do call me “Mr Frank”.’
‘But – but I didn’t want her to get the sack. I mean, a lot of what she says is true and it’s what a lot of other people will be saying.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Even my own family.’
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. ‘I promise you I’m not a gold digger. I’m very grateful for all your kindness and generosity, helping me over a bad patch, but once I’m on my feet, I’ll be on my way. I’ll have the baby adopted and then I’ll be free to do whatever I like – or whatever they’ll let me. Maybe they’d even have me back in the ATS.’ She gave a wry little smile. ‘I am very good at what I was trained to do, even though I say it myself.’
Frank looked sorrowful. ‘Don’t make any hasty decisions about the bairn yet, love. It’s a big thing to give away your own flesh and blood. Adoption’s a big step. You’re not allowed to know who has taken the kiddie and you’d probably never see them again. Do you really want that?’
Beryl shrugged. ‘Do I have any choice? An unmarried mother with a child is always going to be shunned.’
‘Not by everyone,’ Frank said quietly. Then, more robustly, he added, ‘Just promise me one thing.’
Beryl looked up at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. ‘Anything, Mr Frank.’
‘That you’ll wait until the baby is born and give yourself a bit of time afterwards before you make such a huge decision.’
‘I . . .’ Beryl hesitated. She didn’t want to go against Frank’s advice, not after everything he was doing for her, ‘But I might get fond of it and then – and then I wouldn’t want to give it up.’
Frank said nothing. He just smiled down at her and touched her cheek and Beryl understood. That was exactly what Frank was hoping would happen.
Thirty-Two
‘Lilian! Lilian!’
‘Whatever’s the matter, Phyllis? Has a bomb dropped somewhere?’
‘You could say that.’ Phyllis sat down at the kitchen table and made herself at home, ‘Your father’s only gone and sacked me, that’s all.’
Lilian gaped at her. ‘Why?’
Phyllis wriggled her shoulders. ‘Cos I had a go at that little slut that’s trying to worm her way into his life – and take all his money, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Lilian sat down slowly, her gaze still on the woman who was sometimes a friend, sometimes an enemy. Phyllis was a strange woman. The way she was talking was as if she was jealous . . . And then Lilian realized. That’s exactly what Phyllis was. Jealous. Now she recalled all the times when Phyllis had been there to help Frank after his wife had died. How she had cleaned his house for no payment in the early days, cooked him nice meals, done any shopping in town he’d needed. Lilian had suspected as much before but now it was obvious. It had been Phyllis who had been trying to ingratiate herself with Frank. Although she was a good few years younger than he was, it would have been quite understandable if he had wanted to take a second wife in his loneliness. And Phyllis had put herself into the position of being prime candidate. But now there was a younger, much prettier girl actually living in the same house.
Lilian smiled inwardly as she delivered what she knew would be a fatal blow to Phyllis’s hopes. ‘Don’t worry. No one could ever take my mother’s place in my father’s eyes or in his affections. I think this thing with Beryl is exactly what it seems; he’s just trying to help a young lass who’s got herself into trouble.’
Phyllis wasn’t about to give up so easily. ‘He’s lavishing a lot of money on her. A brand-new cot and it’ll be a new pram next, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Lilian shrugged. Inside she was still aggrieved, but she’d decided not to share her own thoughts and feelings with Phyllis anymore. She no longer trusted the woman; if, in fact, she ever had.
‘You’ve changed your tune, Lilian. You weren’t too pleased when I was helping Eve to paint the rooms for her coming.’
‘So, why were you helping, if you’re so against her coming here?’
Now it was Phyllis’s turn to be evasive. ‘It was what your dad wanted and I – I was only trying to please him.’
I bet you were, Lilian thought grimly, but she said nothing.
‘I thought he was just trying to freshen the rooms up a bit,’ Phyllis went on. ‘Like you would for anyone, but I didn’t realize he was going to start spending his hard-earned money – your inheritance, Lilian – on her like he is doing. After all these years, after all that me and my family’s done to help him, this is how he treats me over a little slut like her. Just wait till my Peter comes home on leave. He’ll have summat to say about all this.’
‘Have you heard anything from him lately?’
‘Yes, he hopes to get a seventy-two-hour pass in a few weeks’ time. He’ll be coming home for a couple of nights then. Just wait till I tell him what’s been happening. He’ll not stand by and let his mother be treated like this, I can tell you.’
At Beaumanor, in her off-duty hours, Carolyn was lonely. She missed Beryl more than she would have thought possible. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t formed other friendships. Noreen was a good friend; they got on very well together and she now shared the bedroom with Carolyn. They grew closer in the days after Beryl left – but she wasn’t Beryl. She hadn’t got Beryl’s spark that had always made Carolyn laugh and keep her spirits up through the hardest of times. There had been – still was – a very special bond between the two girls who had met at the very start of their time in the ATS. They had been lucky to be able to stay together through all that time. There were other girls, too, with whom Carolyn was friendly, but no one could take Beryl’s place. So now, rather than mope, Carolyn looked for other interests that were available during their off-duty hours. She had always enjoyed cycling, even to and from work in Skegness on the coldest of winter days. It had never appealed to Beryl, so now Carolyn bought a second-hand bicycle and joined the Beaumanor Cycling Club. They went out into the surrounding countryside and to Bradgate Park. When someone found out about her typing skills, she was persuaded to help out with the publishing of the Beaumanor Staff Magazine, though she shied away from actually writing articles or producing drawings for it. So her days were busy, but she still couldn’t help missing her best friend.
She and Noreen went often to one of the cinemas in Loughborough or to concerts in Leicester or Nottingham but neither of them wanted to go dancing very often.
‘I’ve got a boyfriend back home,’ Noreen explained. ‘Well, sort of. I don’t want to risk getting close to anyone else. Alan and I are very fond of each other and if the war hadn’t got in the way, we’d probably have been married by now. But . . .’ she sighed, ‘when he went into the RAF, we both decided not to take it any further. Not yet. He’s on bombers and they – they . . .’ She hesitated and swallowed hard. ‘Don’t have a very good survival rate.’
‘Oh Noreen, I’m so sorry. But, actually, it suits me too.’
Carolyn had told her a little about what had happened that day, but not every detail. She just said that they’d had a falling out after lunch and he had ridden off on his motorcycle leaving her to find her own way back to Beaumanor. Noreen accepted Carolyn’s explanation though the girl was shrewd enough to guess that there was more to it than just that. But, wisely and kindly, she asked no more questions.
Strangely, Carolyn missed Michael too. They’d had some good times together before – her mind shied away from remembering. Keeping busy was her salvation and there was always work to do. She took on extra shifts if needed. Just to fill her time. But a couple of weeks after Beryl’s departure, Noreen said, ‘Are you off on Saturday evening, Carolyn?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘A small group of us are going dancing in Loughborough. Would you like to join us?’
‘Well . . .’ Carolyn paused. It was high time, she told herself sternly, that she buried her demons. Going to the same place where she had gone so often with Michael would be painful, but it should be faced. ‘Yes, I would,’ she said before giving herself any more time to think about it. ‘Thanks for asking me. Who else is going?’
‘A couple of the other girls we work with and three of the lads, but no strings. We just want to have a good time. Personally, I don’t believe in wartime romances. They can end so badly.’
The girl was fishing for information, but Carolyn didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she said, ‘You’re absolutely right, Noreen.’
‘What really happened between you and Michael?’ Noreen was no longer trying to be subtle. ‘He doesn’t come around anymore.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t working out. We had a big row when he took me out to lunch and he just went off on his motorbike.’
‘Yes, you told me that, but you came back that day in such a dreadful state.’
Carolyn forced a smile. ‘If you remember, I got caught in a thunderstorm.’
Noreen eyed her sympathetically. She obviously guessed there was more to the story than Carolyn was telling, and she was worried about her friend. ‘Has he gone away? Servicemen – or women – can’t just up and leave. Not unless they’re pregnant, of course.’ That was a bit of a dig at Beryl, Carolyn knew, but again she chose to ignore it. ‘Did he get a posting and, if so, how did he wangle that and so quickly?’
‘Honestly, Noreen, I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen him since. When I surfaced again after being ill for a while, he wasn’t around. I think they were both – Michael and Jeff – stationed at Hucknall, so it’s far enough away from here for us not to bump into each other. ’
‘He wasn’t around at all after that day you came back in such a state. He never even came to see if you were all right.’
Carolyn shrugged. Now, at least, she could be completely truthful. ‘I’ve really no idea where he went or what happened. Jeff told Beryl that he’d got compassionate leave to go home. A death in the family, I think.’
‘You sound as if you don’t care.’
Now Carolyn met her gaze. ‘I don’t,’ she said shortly.
Noreen shrugged. ‘Oh well, you’ll be all right on Saturday. Bill’s going. The one you usually take over from at work and who brought you home that day. He’s a bit older than us, but he’s really nice. You’ll be quite safe with him.’
And she was. Bill stuck to her side all evening. He danced with her for most of the evening and bought her drinks, shepherding her to the buffet when it was served. But he was comfortable to be with. Carolyn didn’t feel any pressure; he was just being friendly and nice. They talked and talked, telling each other about their homes and families when they sat out for one or two of the more energetic dances. ‘I can’t do this one,’ Carolyn said when a tango was played. ‘But please ask someone else if you want to.’
‘I don’t,’ he laughed. ‘I can’t do it either and this sort of dance doesn’t suit my size-twelve feet. I’m best with a waltz or a quickstep at a push. So,’ he asked as they watched the dancers from a small table at the side of the room, ‘what did you do before the war came along and put a stop to all our ordinary lives?’
Carolyn told him how she came to be at Beaumanor Hall. There was no need for secrecy between herself and Bill; he still worked on the same shift and she took over from him when it was her turn. There wasn’t usually much time for chat, only occasionally, when the traffic was quiet, did they have the chance to talk.
‘So, what did you do?’ Carolyn asked him when she had come to the end of telling him her life story to date.
He grinned lopsidedly. ‘You’re never going to believe this, but I come from a farming family too.’
‘Never!’ Carolyn laughed aloud. ‘Now, don’t tell me it’s in Lincolnshire. Let me guess . . . Norfolk, because just now and again, I catch a Norfolk accent.’
‘Guilty, m’lord. We’re pig farmers with turkeys for Christmas. We do grow crops, but they’re mainly for feeding the animals. We have a few cows as well, but the focus is pigs.’
‘I like pigs. They’re lovely creatures. Grandad has a few, but not many, and a few cows and sheep.’ She was quiet for a moment and then she murmured, ‘It’ll be lambing time next month. That always starts in February on my grandfather’s farm. I shall miss being there.’ Suddenly she felt very homesick. She’d always loved that time of the year.
They talked for the rest of the evening, dancing occasionally when there was a dance they both knew. How different he was to Michael, Carolyn thought. She couldn’t help making a comparison. Michael had been so controlling. Everything had to be done just his way. And his varying moods were like a switch being flicked. One moment he’d been all charm and courtesy and then the next, when something didn’t go just his way, he’d been moody with ill-concealed irritation. In contrast, Bill was easy-going. At the end of the evening, they dispersed back to their billets with no more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. Only one couple disappeared into the darkness to be alone together for a few minutes.
‘Don’t get caught, you two,’ someone called after them cheekily. ‘Sarg might be on the prowl.’
‘It’s been a lovely evening, Bill. Thank you.’
‘We’ll do it again some time,’ he said casually. ‘Good night, Carolyn.’
‘So?’ Noreen demanded as they got ready for bed.
‘I had a great evening.’ Carolyn smiled. ‘Thanks for asking me along, Noreen.’
‘But what about you and Bill?’
‘What about me and Bill?’
‘Well, I mean, is there a blossoming romance there?’
‘No, there isn’t. He’s very nice and I’d like him as a friend, but no more. What about you?’ Adroitly, Carolyn avoided telling Noreen what Bill had already confided in her earlier that evening. He was a lovely man, but now she knew they would only ever be good friends.
‘I told you, I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m not looking to get serious with anyone here.’ Noreen yawned. ‘But it was a good evening. Night, Carolyn.’
‘Night, Noreen, and thanks again.’
Thirty-Three
When Carolyn took over from Bill at the start of her next shift, he whispered, ‘I’ve got two free tickets for a concert on Sunday at the De Montfort Hall. Would you like to go with me? It’s Anne Ziegler and Webster Booth.’
Carolyn’s face lit up. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard them on the wireless, but I’ve never seen them live. They’re married, aren’t they? To each other, I mean.’
‘Not sure, but I think so.’
‘I’d love to go. Thank you, Bill.’
‘We put a list up on the noticeboard for anyone interested to add their names and there’s already enough for us to get transport there and back.’
It was a wonderful evening. The magnificent music in the beautiful hall transported them far away from the tensions of their work and from thoughts of the war.
‘And you still keep telling me there’s nothing going on between you and Bill,’ Noreen teased when Carolyn crept into their bedroom late that night.
‘Oh sorry, did I wake you?’
‘No. Not at all, I’ve been reading. To be honest, I’m a bit like a mother hen. I can’t settle until my chick is safely back home.’
Carolyn could have been irritated by Noreen’s fussing, but she wasn’t. Instead, she laughed and said jokily in return, ‘That’s nice of you, Noreen, but please don’t turn into my mother, will you?’
Noreen, with good grace, laughed too. ‘No, I promise. It’s just that I knew you were going into Leicester and with the bombing and everything . . .’ Her voice faded away but, without meaning to do so, Noreen had brought the war back into Carolyn’s mind.
While Carolyn had been sitting in the De Montfort Hall listening to the wonderful singing, Steve had been knocking on the door of her parents’ cottage.
‘Come in, Steve. Have you time for a bite to eat? I’ve kept a plate back from teatime for you,’ Lilian said as she opened the door. ‘Tom says he’s going to be a bit longer tonight. Evidently, he thinks he’s picked up something that could be quite important.’
‘Righto, Mrs Holmes.’ He hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t say “no” to a bite, thank you, but you really mustn’t do it every night, you know. I’m starting to feel very guilty about eating your food with all this rationing.’
