Читать книгу We'll Meet Again - Patricia Burns - Страница 11

ON THE very last day of the holiday, Tom’s family went out to lunch at the Grand Hotel. It was far too stiff and starchy a place for Tom or the children to find enjoyable, but the grown-ups seemed to like it, and talked a lot about keeping up standards despite there being a war on. In the afternoon it rained and Tom was dragooned into playing an interminable game of ludo with the others. And then they had a visitor, or, rather, two visitors. Beryl and her little brother came tramping on to the veranda in their macs and wellingtons. Tom’s heart sank when he heard their voices, but the mothers greeted them kindly.

‘Beryl, dear, how nice to see you. And Timmy too. Is your mother coming?’

‘No, she’s gone to the Whist Drive, so she asked me to look after Timmy. He wanted to come here so much that I had to bring him. I hope you don’t mind,’ she said.

‘Of course not. The children love playing with Timmy,’ Tom’s mother said.

‘Perhaps you’d like some lemonade,’ his aunt offered.

‘I’d rather have a cup of tea,’ Beryl answered.

And so it was that Tom found himself sitting with Beryl and the grown-ups drinking tea. He glowered at her across the table. How could she sit there so calm and po-faced when she’d gone and told on him and Annie?

The two mothers chatted on about Wittlesham and holidays.

‘We’ve enjoyed it so much here at Silver Sands that we’re thinking of coming back next year,’ Tom’s aunty Betty said.

‘That’s nice. My mother will be pleased to hear that. Not many people are going on holiday this year, on account of the war. We haven’t got any more bookings for Silver Sands this summer. My mother thinks you’re all very brave to be coming away,’ Beryl said, looking at Tom.

Tom looked away.

‘We’re not going to let that Hitler stop us from having our usual family holiday,’ Tom’s mother said. ‘That would be giving in to bullying.’

‘Lots of people are letting him stop them. It’s really quiet here this summer. Of course, we don’t depend on the lettings. My father has a factory, you know, making parts for the radios in bombers—’

Both women looked suitably impressed. Tom did not.

‘So Silver Sands is just a sideline. My mother says it’s her pin money project, but it’s a good thing it’s within walking distance as we can’t run our car any more. My father’s stood it up on bricks in the garage. For the duration, he says.’

Tom could see why Annie loathed her. She was out to impress them at every turn. When his mother mentioned the Grand, Beryl had been there too, and went on about only going to the best places. What was more, she seemed to be directing it at him. She was for ever looking at him as if to see what sort of an impression she was making. It was time to put her in her place.

‘The rain’s stopped. Coming to the top of the sea wall?’ he asked the moment tea was over.

As if pulled by strings, Beryl sprang out of her chair.

‘All right,’ she said, and trotted after him as he ran down the steps and strode out of the garden. Once outside, he didn’t make for the sea wall, but instead skirted one of the other chalets, so that nobody at Silver Sands could see them. Then he stopped so suddenly that Beryl nearly cannoned into him.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he demanded.

Guilt was written all over her face.

‘W-what?’ she said.

‘It was you who was spying on me and Annie. Prying into other people’s business and then going and telling.’

Just talking about it made him furious all over again.

Beryl tried to make her face look blank.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, yes, you do. It was your mother who came and told my mother, and someone must have told her. You’re the only person who knows both of us, so it must have been you. Made you feel good, did it? Sneaking on other people?’

Beryl went red. ‘It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it! It was—it was my brother, Jeffrey. He’s always doing things like that. He’s a real little snitch. He likes getting people into trouble—’

‘I don’t believe you. I’ve never met your brother Jeffrey. You’re a liar as well as a sneak,’ Tom accused.

‘I’m not a liar! It’s true!’ Beryl cried. ‘He—he came up here a couple of times and watched your family through the fence. Spying. He likes spying. And then he saw you the other evening, with—with—her, and he went and told my mother. She thought she ought to tell your mother, because Annie Cross is such a common girl, but I said she shouldn’t. I said it wasn’t fair and Jeffrey shouldn’t go round telling tales and I said it wasn’t right that my mum should tell your mum and get you into trouble for being with a little guttersnipe like her. But you know what mothers are. They stick together. She went and came up here and told—’

Tom was staring at her, trying to see inside her head.

‘You’d better not be lying,’ he said.

‘I’m not, I’m not! I tried to stop her—honest!’ Beryl squealed.

Still Tom wasn’t convinced.

‘Now you listen to me,’ he said, ‘and you listen carefully. First, Annie Cross is not common or a guttersnipe. She’s a thousand times better than anyone in your family. Second, you tell your brother to keep his nose out of my business, or I’ll have his liver and lights and hang them up to dry. Have you got that?’

‘Y-yes,’ Beryl stammered.

She looked terrified. Shame nibbled at Tom’s anger. He shouldn’t be shouting at a girl like this; it wasn’t right.

‘Right, now go and get your other brother and clear off.’

‘Y-yes, right—but it wasn’t my fault, Tom. Really it wasn’t. I tried to save you—’

‘All right, all right, so it wasn’t you. Just tell your brother.’

‘I will, really, I will—’

He didn’t want to hear any more. He turned away and ran back past Silver Sands and up the sea wall. From there he ran as fast as he could along the top, until he was out of breath. As he ran he looked out across Marsh Edge Farm. Somewhere down there was Annie, and this evening he would see her for the last time. No one—not Beryl, not his mother—was going to spoil that.

‘You all right, Mum? Can you manage?’

Annie hurried to help her mother with the heavy galvanised bucket of water to scrub the kitchen floor.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ Edna assured her.

But she winced as she lowered herself on to her knees.

‘It’s not right. He shouldn’t treat you like that, the bully. That’s what he is, a vicious bully,’ Annie burst out.

Edna looked frightened. ‘Don’t talk about your father like that, love. A few bruises don’t matter. Men are just like that. It’s their nature. They can’t help it.’

‘Not all of them,’ Annie said.

Tom wasn’t like that, she was sure. And Gwen never came to school with bruises on her.

‘He’s a good provider. That’s what matters.’

Was it? Was that all that a man had to do—provide for his wife and children? Gwen’s dad did that, and he was nice to them all as well. Beastly Beryl’s dad was a much better provider, come to that, with enough money to run a car and send them all to the grammar. Did he beat Mrs Sutton and Beryl and the younger boys? She didn’t think so.

Annie sighed. ‘Right, Mum,’ she agreed.

Because it was no good trying to discuss it with her. She’d tried it before, many times, and got nowhere. Her mother simply accepted the beatings as her lot. Sometimes she even claimed to have deserved them, because of her own shortcomings.

The one good thing about her father’s explosions of temper was that for a few days afterwards he was always calmer and quieter. Annie had no trouble getting away that evening to meet Tom. She put on a shirt with a high collar to hide the bruises on her neck and shoulders and set off for Silver Sands, practising controlling her hurt side so that she did not limp. Last—day—last—day—her feet went as she hurried across the fields. Tomorrow Tom was going home, back to the magic land of Noresley, and she might never see him again. It didn’t bear thinking about, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. Now—she would just think about now, and the next hour or two.

When she was nearly at the last gate, Tom suddenly appeared from round the side of one of the other chalets. He took hold of her hand and started pulling her along.

‘This way,’ he said, ‘where they won’t be able to find us.’

‘Who won’t—?’ Annie asked, trying not to flinch as he tugged at her poorly arm.

‘My beastly family. They know to look for us over the sea wall. And if we go along the prom that Beryl girl or her ferrety brother might be spying on us.’

‘Beryl? What’s Beryl got to do with it?’

Tom opened the gate to the chalet garden.

‘This one’s just right. I had a recce this afternoon. They can’t see us from Silver Sands.’

He spread a raincoat on the wet grass and sat down in the shelter of a tall patch of willowherb. Annie eased herself down beside him, carefully arranging her bad leg.

‘What’s up? What’s this about Beryl?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing, according to her, but I’m not so sure. She says her brother saw us on the prom the other evening, and he told his mother, and she told my mother. Then my mother said I wasn’t to see you again.’

‘Not see—?’ Annie was appalled. This was a disaster. ‘But why?’

The next time she saw Beryl and Jeffrey, she was going to give them what for.

Tom looked uneasy.

‘Oh, you know what mothers are like. They get these bees in their bonnets. She went on and on about me being too young.’

‘Too young?’ Annie was mystified.

‘To—er—to have a—you know—girlfriend,’ Tom said gruffly. He could not meet her eyes for embarrassment.

Girlfriend? She was his girlfriend? Like people in the pictures? Annie could feel herself going all hot.

‘That’s stupid,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ Tom looked relieved. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? If we want to be friends, then we can. Never mind what they say.’

‘That’s right,’ Annie agreed, though her stomach sank with disappointment. Not a girlfriend then, just a friend.

‘Not a good day, yesterday, was it?’ Tom said. ‘First my mam trying to put her oar in, then a problem up at your place. What was going on? You looked terrified. I was really worried about you.’

Years of covering up what went on in her household came into play. Part of her wanted to confide in him, but a larger part was ashamed to reveal what her family was like.

‘Oh—nothing. My dad was in a bit of a temper, that’s all.’

‘Really? It looked like it was worse than that, as if you were afraid something dreadful might happen,’ Tom said.

‘No, no … it’s just … like you said—they get bees in their bonnets, parents. If he’d seen you, he might’ve blown his top.’

‘So you’ve not—’ Tom hesitated. ‘I thought, well, you were limping when you came out to see me, and I thought your dad might’ve hurt you. He didn’t, did he?’

‘No, no—’ Annie shook her head to emphasise the point, and caught her breath as pain shot from her neck right down her bruised side.

‘He did!’ Tom’s voice was filled with concern. ‘Was it bad? Come on, show me.’

‘No, really—’

Annie tried to move away, but Tom took hold of her hand and carefully undid the cuff of her shirt. Dying of embarrassment, Annie watched his face as he drew back the sleeve. Horror was closely followed by anger as the ugly purple bruises were revealed.

‘Annie, this is terrible—you poor thing—and this was your father? How could he? Are you hurt anywhere else?’

‘No, really—it’s nothing—’

Annie tried to move away, but Tom let go of her arm and caught her foot. He pulled back the leg of her working trousers, which she had kept on today in order to be covered up. He drew in his breath sharply as more injuries came to light.

‘Annie, Annie, how can he do this to you? We’ve got to stop this. We’ve got to tell someone. The police—’

‘No!’ Annie squealed. You mustn’t—my mum’d die of shame—’

‘He hits your mum as well?’

Silently, Annie nodded.

‘The bastard—Oh, I’m sorry, Annie, swearing in front of you, but—I want to go and tear his head off—’

Tom’s hands were balled into fists. His face was contorted with anger.

‘Don’t—’ Annie cried, seized with fear. ‘Don’t—you look like him when you say that—’

Tom looked ashamed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

‘I’m sorry—it just makes me so mad, to think of you getting hurt like this. I want to help you, Annie. What can I do to help, to stop it?’

‘Nothing,’ Annie said flatly. ‘There’s nothing. My mum says it’s just the way he is and we have to put up with it because he’s a good provider.’

‘But there must be something.’

‘No. Maybe one day I’ll be able to go away. But till then … Look, it helps just to have you as a friend.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a lot of use,’ Tom said gloomily.

‘It is, really,’ Annie assured him. She tried to put her feelings into words. ‘It’s been really … nice … coming to see you each day. It’s made everything sort of … brighter … you know? Knowing I’ll talk to you at the end of the day.’

Tom’s face was glowing now. ‘Yes! That’s just it! It’s made everything different, knowing you. Like—even very ordinary things like walking along the prom are special when I’m with you …’

He stopped abruptly, scarlet with embarrassment.

‘That sounds right daft,’ he muttered.

‘No, it doesn’t. It’s—nice. It’ll be a nice thing to remember when—well—things are bad,’ Annie told him.

A phrase from the Bible came to her. She treasured it up in her heart. She would treasure up those words of his in her heart, and warm herself with them when life was cold.

‘Look—we’re not going to let them stop us, are we?’ Tom insisted. ‘It’s like in Romeo and Juliet. They didn’t let their families stop them.’

‘Who are they? Were they in a film?’ Annie asked.

‘No, it’s Shakespeare.’

Shakespeare. He’d written things, she knew that much. Plays. They’d never done them at the elementary, but she would get them from the library and find out what Tom was on about.

‘Yes, of course it is,’ she said, to cover her ignorance.

To her relief, Tom did not pursue it any further.

‘We’ll write to each other. Would you do that? Write to me?’

Delight bubbled through her.

‘Oh, yes! That’d be wonderful. But …’

She thought through the difficulties. Her father always sorted through the post, since it was mostly bills and stuff for him. She could not explain away a personal letter to herself from Nottingham.

‘… send them to my friend, Gwen, and she’ll give them to me.’

‘All right. Where does she live?’

Annie recited Gwen’s address. Tom committed it to memory.

‘What about your mum? Is it all right to send to your house?’ Annie asked anxiously.

‘I said I’m not going to let her stop me and I’m not. You write to my address,’ Tom insisted.

Annie repeated it after him till she had fixed it in her head.

Satisfied that they had done all they could, they talked and talked until the light had drained from the sky.

‘I’ve got to go,’ Annie said reluctantly.

This was it. The last moment.

‘I suppose so.’

A whole year till they saw each other again. It was so long that she could hardly bear it. Going back to life without seeing him at the end of each day was like a prison sentence.

Awkwardly, they got up. They looked at each other in silence. Then Tom swooped forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips.

‘Remember—write to me!’ he said.

‘I will,’ Annie promised.

And as she walked home alone with his kiss still warm upon her mouth, loneliness stalked beside her, cold and dark and bleak. She refused to let it in, pushing it away by holding on to the thought that she still had Tom as a friend, even if he was far away. It wasn’t like having him at Silver Sands, but it was something. Whatever else happened, Tom thought she was special.

She began planning the first letter she would send to him.