Читать книгу Annie Groves 2-Book Valentine Collection: My Sweet Valentine, Where the Heart Is - Annie Groves, Annie Groves - Страница 15

‘Morning, Mrs Robbins.’

‘Morning, Barney,’ Olive responded with a warm smile pushing back the stray lock of hair that was being tousled by the boisterous March wind.

She’d seen Sergeant Dawson and Barney heading for Article Row as she turned out of it. She was on her way to meet up with Audrey Windle and some of the other members of their WVS group. They were going to help out at one of the refuge centres organised by the Government to provide assistance for people made homeless by the bombing.

She hadn’t planned to stop. Nancy’s warnings to her about her widowed status, and her own shameful thoughts – and feelings – about Sergeant Dawson had made her feel self-conscious about anyone, including Sergeant Dawson himself, thinking the wrong thing, but since Barney was virtually standing in front of her she had no choice.

No amount of washing and ironing of his clothes on the part of Mrs Dawson had managed to tidy him up completely, Olive thought ruefully. The collar of his shirt, in contrast with the immaculate neatness of Sergeant Dawson’s shirt, was slightly crooked at one side, one sleeve of his Fair Isle pullover baggy and stretched, whilst his knees, below his grey short trousers, were distinctly grubby.

‘I was wondering,’ he said, eyeing her determinedly, ‘if you would mind if I was to go into your garden to see if there’s any shrapnel there?’

Olive smiled again. Collecting shrapnel had become something of a hobby and a contest between young boys in the aftermath of the bombing.

‘Of course not, Barney. In fact, I’m sure that Sally would be very pleased if you were to remove any shrapnel that might be there from our veggie bed.’

Barney’s answering brisk nod of his head was so very much in the manner of Sergeant Dawson, and so obviously copied from him, that it really touched Olive’s heart.

‘You go and tell Mrs Dawson that we’re on our way, will you, Barney?’ the sergeant instructed. ‘I want to have a few words with Mrs Robbins.’

‘He’s settled in really well,’ Olive commented when Barney nodded his head again and set off for number 1.

‘Yes, he has. It hasn’t all been plain sailing, though. We’ve had Nancy round every week since he came to us, and sometimes more than once a week, with some complaint or another. Her latest is that she found him in her garden. Told me that she thought he was looking to see what he could steal.’ The sergeant’s voice was grim with protective indignation. ‘I told her that he would only have been looking for shrapnel. Of course, he should have asked her first, but he’s a boy who hasn’t had anyone in his life to show him how things should be done until now. The truth is that he pretty much ran wild and did as he pleased. I keep telling Mrs Dawson that we’re going to have to be a bit stricter with him, help him to understand that rules are there for a reason, but the minute my back’s turned she’s ignoring what we’ve agreed.’

‘I expect she just wants him to be happy,’ Olive responded. After all, wasn’t that what all parents wanted – for their children to be happy? Happy and safe. It might be nearly a month since Valentine’s Day but things were still not back to normal between her and Tilly. Not really. Tilly hadn’t said anything but there was a distance between them that hurt, and so far Tilly had rebuffed all her attempts to bridge it.

A sudden gust of March wind caught at Olive’s headscarf, whipping it away before she could grab hold of it. Sergeant Dawson, though, was faster, snatching it up as the wind whirled it around and handing it back to her.

‘I couldn’t find my Kirbigrips this morning,’ Olive told him, as she thanked him and took her scarf from him. ‘You can’t buy them any more because of the war.’

Their hands touched briefly, Olive immediately pulling her own hand back.

Archie Dawson’s hands were those of a man who worked hard with them: good strong hands. A true man’s hands, Olive recognised. The kind of hands that belonged to a man who would do all those things about the home that a woman couldn’t always do for herself, no matter how practically-minded and determined to be independent she might be. The kind of hands that belonged to a man who would always try to keep those he loved safe. Her Jim’s hands had gone so frail and thin in the last weeks of his life. His sickness had taken all the strength from them so that he hadn’t even been able to hold a cup to his lips. Olive had had to do that for him.

‘Why I wanted to have a word with you was to tell you that we’ve got the stirrup pumps at last. The best thing would be for me to bring one round, show you how it works and then leave it with you, seeing as you’re the one who’s going to be in charge of our local fire-watching group,’ he told her.

‘Oh, yes …’

Of course Archie Dawson’s only reason for talking to her was to do with something official. And that was exactly what she herself wanted. What she wanted and the way things must be.

‘I could come round tomorrow evening after I come off duty, if that suits?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Olive agreed.

‘It’s very good what you’ve done sorting out a fire-watching group for Article Row, Olive.’

His unexpected praise pierced her guard. Before she could stop herself she heard herself telling him, ‘Nancy doesn’t think so. In fact, she disapproves. She told me that she didn’t think that Jim’s parents would have approved.’

‘That’s nonsense. For one thing, knowing how Jim’s ma felt about her house, I can’t see her not welcoming someone making an effort to make sure that Article Row is kept safe.’ He paused and then said, ‘Jim would have been proud of you, Olive.’

‘Would he?’ She wasn’t sure. Sometimes now Jim seemed so far away from her that she found it hard to think what he would have felt had he been here now.

‘Of course he would. You’ve been a wonderful mother to your Tilly and— What is it?’ he asked when Olive made a small distressed sound and shook her head.

‘Nothing,’ she fibbed. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer. Mrs Dawson will be wondering where you are.’

‘I doubt it. She complains that I’ve kept under her feet now that she’s got Barney to look after.’

‘Oh dear.’ Her immediate stab of sympathy took Olive’s thought away from her own worries. ‘Is she finding Barney a bit too much?’

‘No, she dotes on him. I’m the one who she’s finding a bit too much. She says that I’m too hard on the lad – you know, about having a set bedtime and that kind of thing.’

‘All children need rules,’ Olive agreed.

‘I think so, but Mrs Dawson doesn’t agree with me. In fact, I’m in the doghouse right now for telling her that being so soft on Barney won’t do him any good in the long run. She’s afraid, you see, that he won’t want to stay, and she’s taken to him that much that she can’t bear the thought of him going.’

‘I’m sure things will work out,’ Olive offered.

The sergeant gave her another rueful look but made no comment other than to say, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening. About seven?’

Holding on to her headscarf, Olive nodded before they went their separate ways.