Читать книгу We'll Meet Again - Patricia Burns - Страница 14

‘ALL RIGHT, son, it’ll be safe with me. I’ll make sure no German spy gets his hands on it,’ the guard said, patting the saddle of Tom’s bike as it leant against the side of the van.

‘Thank you,’ Tom said, forcing himself to sound properly polite.

Why did grown-ups have to patronise you like that? he wondered. He wouldn’t do it when he was a grown-up. It was only a few months now before he would be able to join up. Then they would have to take him seriously.

He hurried down the platform, looking for a carriage with some space in it, but the train was packed. The one before had been cancelled due to lack of rolling stock, so everyone was crowding on to this one. In the end he had to make do with a space in a corridor. A group of soldiers piled on after him and soon he was wedged between khaki-clad bodies and bulky kitbags. It was all very different from the last time he had made this journey. Then he had been with his family and they had got a compartment to themselves. This time it was not exactly comfortable, but it was a whole lot more exciting. Around him the soldiers were laughing and joking and passing round cigarettes. He was on his own, making his way without anyone telling him what to do. The train started. This was it. The adventure had really begun.

By the time he got to London, Tom and the soldiers were the best of mates. Some of them were only a year or so older than him, and they had plenty to tell him about army life. They shared their cigarettes with him, he passed round the sandwiches his mother had made for the first leg of his cycle trip. Tom stopped worrying about whether his cycle club friends might inadvertently drop him in it. This was real life. He was no longer a kid. He was an individual, making his own decisions. Getting from King’s Cross to Liverpool Street when he didn’t know the way was going to be easy.

The journey took the best part of the day. He was starving hungry by the time he reached Colchester and wolfed down a pie and a cup of tea before finally boarding the Wittlesham train. Here he actually got a whole compartment to himself. At first it felt luxurious. Then he began to get nervous. Up till then he had had plenty of people to talk to. Everyone seemed very eager to talk to complete strangers these days. It was something about wartime. The journey across London had been easy enough, for people were more than willing to help a polite young lad and set him on his way. Now at last he actually had time to think about what he was doing.

Over the seats opposite him were two posters of Wittlesham, one showing the pier, the other the winter gardens. Wittlesham. All year, it had seemed like Shangri-La to him. Now he was actually going there. In between the posters was a small mirror. Tom stood up and studied his reflection. Was that a spot breaking out on his chin? He poked the place with his finger. It felt like it. Damn. He wanted to look—well—nice for Annie.

It set off a chain of anxieties. Would Annie still like him? Was it going to be like last time? She’d been working for a year now, up all hours looking after sick and calving cows, driving heavy machinery and the like, while he’d still been at school. Would he seem like a kid to her? He took out a comb and slicked back his hair. Was this all a big mistake? Maybe he should have gone on the cycle club trip after all, and kept it so that he and Annie were just pen-pals. But … he did want to see her again. He sat down on the stiff horsehair-filled seat and tried to remember exactly what she looked like—the wave of her hair, the expression in her eyes, her smile … and then there was the feel of her soft skin, the way her fingers curled round his … Yes, he did want to see her again. Very much.

He recognised some of the landmarks as the train rumbled into Wittlesham. There was the rock factory. There was the back of the Toledo cinema. As they pulled into the station, he let down the window panel on its leather strap and stuck his head out. Was she there? He was sure she would come and meet him if she could, but maybe she hadn’t been able to get away. Her father. Always there was her father, standing in their way. Tom understood. It wasn’t her fault if she couldn’t be there, but he really did want to see her waiting for him on the platform. It caught him by surprise, how much he wanted it. The lurch of hope clutched at his guts like a huge hand.

The train slowed to a halt with a squeal of brakes and a billow of steam. There were hardly any people on the platform. A mother and child, an old lady, a station official. Disappointment sank through him, sick and sour. Her bloody father. It was all his fault. Tom picked up his canvas knapsack and hoisted it over his shoulder, then jumped down and went to collect his bike from the guard’s van. He wheeled it after the straggle of passengers making for the exit and held out his ticket to the collector at the barrier.

‘Tom!’

He looked up. There, just beyond the barrier, flushed and breathless, was Annie.

‘Annie! You made it!’

Happiness surged up and spread a huge smile over his face. He hurried forward until they were standing within a foot of each other, each of them gazing at the other and smiling and smiling. She looked the same, and yet different. The same Annie, just as pretty, just as pleased to see him, but more grown up. Yes, that was it. More grown up.

Overcome with shyness, they shook hands.

‘I’m so glad you managed to get here,’ Tom said.

It sounded stupid even as it came out. He felt himself going red.

‘I nearly didn’t. I had to cycle like billy-o all the way,’ Annie told him.

Her hair was longer. That was it. And done in a different way, except that the cycle ride had blown it about. It looked nice like that, all wild round her face.

She saw him looking at it. Her hand went to her head, smoothing her hair down.

‘I look a mess.’

‘No, you don’t. You look very nice. Very … pretty.’

He stumbled over the compliment and felt even hotter. Why couldn’t he be suave and sophisticated, like someone in a film? He fiddled with the gear lever on the handlebars of his bike.

‘You look older. And you’re taller, too. I have to look up more than last year,’ Annie commented.

It was true. Sometimes he felt all legs and elbows.

‘It’s nice,’ she added. ‘I can’t really believe you’re here. I thought … I was really hoping you would be able to come, but when you said your family weren’t … and then all this about the cycle club and coming here instead, and I thought you’d never be able to make it but …’

‘Here I am!’ Tom said.

‘Large as life and twice as natural!’ Annie cried.

And then they were laughing, and it was all right. It was just like last year. Tom knew he could say anything and Annie would understand, just as it had been then.

‘I suppose I’d better go to the youth hostel first, and make sure there’s a bed for the night,’ Tom said.

‘Right. It’s up this way,’ Annie told him.

They walked along together, wheeling their bikes, talking away nineteen to the dozen. There was so much to say, all the things that they had written to each other to be expanded and explained. A mother with a pushchair passed them. Tom moved to let her by and his hand touched Annie’s. Her fingers clasped his. He stole a glance at her and saw that her face was pink with pleasure, and knew that his was just the same.

So much to say, and so little time to say it. After he had dropped his things at the youth hostel, Tom rode with Annie to where the farm track met the Wittlesham road.

‘See you tomorrow, then. Where shall we meet?’ Tom asked.

Annie considered. He watched the way she screwed up her face a little when she was thinking.

‘Silver Sands!’ she said. ‘Where else?’

‘Of course. Silver Sands,’ Tom agreed.

He hesitated. He knew what he wanted to do. Then he took a breath and swooped forward, planting a kiss on her cheek.

‘See you tomorrow!’ he said, and jumped on his bike.

All the way back to the youth hostel, he felt as if he could conquer the world.

All the next morning, Annie was bursting with energy, despite the fact that she had slept very little the night before. Whatever her father asked her to do, she breezed through it with ease. His bad temper just slid off her. The only problem was appearing as if everything was just the same as normal when the whole world was glowing with possibilities. She caught herself singing as she washed her hands for dinner, despite the fact that her father was scowling and growling behind her. Her mother shot her a puzzled look.

‘You’re cheerful,’ she whispered, when Walter was in the scullery.

‘Oh, well … it’s a nice sunny day,’ Annie said.

She sucked in her smiles and helped her mother bring the food to the table. During the meal she kept her eyes on her plate and concentrated on eating. But it was hard, when what she wanted to do was to dance round the room.

Through the long afternoon, she wondered what Tom was doing. Was he all right? Was he lonely? It wasn’t as if Wittlesham was much of a resort any more. At least it was nice weather, and he could be outside.

The evening chores had never seemed so lengthy. Annie seethed with impatience as her father checked that she had done everything right. As usual, he took issue with her over details and she had to do things again, but at last she was free.

‘I think I’ll just go for a walk down to the water,’ she said, as offhand as she could manage.

‘Waste of energy,’ Walter growled. ‘What about your ma? She want anything doing?’

‘No, no. I asked her and she said not.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes. Completely sure.’

‘Go and check.’

Annie swallowed down her howl of frustration. If she let him see how much it meant to her, he would invent something for her to do, or even simply forbid her to go.

‘All right,’ she agreed, and went to see her mother.

At last she was released. At lightning speed, she washed, changed, ran a comb through her hair and smoothed on some of the new lipstick. And then she was off, running across the fields towards Silver Sands as if her life depended upon it.

And there was Tom, waiting for her by the gate.

‘Seems funny to see the old place all shut up,’ he said after they had gone over their news of the day.

They were sitting on the sea wall, but not in their old place, the sea side. This time they were on the landward side, overlooking Silver Sands.

Annie lay back on the long dry grass. It was lovely to rest after the day’s work, to feel the last of the sun on her face, to have a soul mate to talk to.

‘It’s been shut ever since your family left. I was so mad when my dad didn’t buy it from Mr Sutton. I don’t even know who owns it now but, whoever it is, they haven’t done anything to it. I suppose they’re just waiting for the war to end before they can let it again.’

‘Might have a bit of a wait, then,’ Tom said.

‘Yes,’ Annie sighed. ‘Nearly two years now.’

‘At least we weren’t invaded. Remember last year, when the Germans were just over the North Sea?’

‘And the Battle of Britain was going on in the sky?’

‘We won that.’

‘We did. Good old RAF.’

‘I’m going to join the RAF.’

‘You said that last year.’

‘I know. I meant it then, but it seemed a long way away. Now it’s just over four months.’

‘What?’

Fear jolted through Annie. She sat up and stared at Tom. He was still looking at the chalet, a long piece of grass between his teeth.

‘Four months,’ he repeated. ‘Till I’m eighteen.’

Something seemed to be squeezing her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

‘But … but … you’re still at school,’ she said.

‘So?’ Tom threw the grass stalk away and selected another. ‘All the more reason to join up. Do something real. What’s the point of studying if the country might be conquered? I want to get out there and do my bit.’

Annie cast about desperately in her mind for an argument.

‘Well, of course you do,’ she said, ‘but—you don’t have to go yet. I know there’s talk of the call-up coming down to eighteen, but it hasn’t yet. Why not wait? You’re so lucky to be able to stay at school.’

‘For heaven’s sake! You sound just like my dad. I don’t want to stay at school. What I’m doing there is irrelevant. There are people out there defending our country and what am I doing? Studying stuff that has nothing to do with real life. Look at you—you’re doing your bit, you’re doing a man’s work on the farm, putting up milk production and helping feed the country. It just makes me feel useless.’