Читать книгу An Unsuitable Mother - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 6

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What an intolerable burden, to be adopted by unsuitable parents. It was at times such as now that the holder of this view had a burning need to find the woman who had given birth to her. Whatever had made her abandon her baby, she could surely not be as insufferable as the one whose disembodied voice invaded this room.

Nell formed a weary reply to it now. ‘Ye-es, almost ready!’ When in fact she was not ready at all, but lounging on her bedroom windowsill, observing the newcomers moving in across the avenue; infinitely more fascinating than what lay in store.

‘You needn’t think dragging your feet’s going to help,’ inveighed Mrs Spottiswood. ‘And please don’t speak to me in that tone of voice! You’re coming to Ronald’s party, so get on with it.’

Some party, thought Nell, whose brown eyes remained fixed to the semi-detached house opposite, as yet another item of furniture was transported between the wooden rising-sun gates, and along a drive lined with hydrangeas. Her cousin’s send-off to war promised to be the dullest affair. Never mind that all involved had pooled their rations to concoct a good spread, with Aunty Phyllis in charge it would hardly be an electric occasion. At least, though thought Nell with a resentful sigh, there would be a do of sorts for the son of the house. Her own mother’s idea of a good send-off was to supply clean knickers, a flask of tea and a packet of sandwiches.

It was hard to believe there was a war on, with this dazzling August sunshine that lingered well into evening. No barrage balloons over York to mar the blue sky, nor even the faintest drone from one of the airfields that surrounded the city. Other parts of the county might be getting hammered, in southern skies British pilots battling desperately for what could be their final days of freedom, but the only bit of excitement around these parts came in the shape of foreign men seeking billets. None of them were around today, though, more’s the pity.

Nell closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, whilst waiting for the newcomers to reappear, and dreamed of the venue she would rather be attending, had she not been dragooned.

‘Eleanor!’

I am not an Eleanor, I am a Nell, came the irritated thought.

‘Coming!’ Sounding gay, but inwardly peeved at having to tear herself away, she went to grab a box of mascara from the dressing table. Spitting on the dwindling brown block inside, she worked it into a mud with the little brush. Then, determined not to miss anything, she repositioned herself by the window with her compact mirror, and began a hasty application to her lashes.

Whilst she was doing this, a figure entered her peripheral vision. In the hope that it was one of the new neighbours, and thus distracted, Nell poked herself in the eye. ‘Ooh, sod and blast!’ She was forced to cease everything, with a handkerchief pressed to her eye until the stinging receded.

And to cap it all, the figure had been no one important, only Geoff from next door, about whom she knew everything, for they had grown up together, though he was three years her junior. Fifteen: it seemed so long ago. She recalled herself at Geoff’s age in her final year at school, the trip to the hairdresser to lop off her plaits and reduce her dark-brown hair to jaw length, in preparation of starting work. But surely she had never been so childish as this boy? Certainly she had grown up very quickly in these last three weeks. A secret smile twitched her lips.

Still waiting for her right eye to stop smarting, tweaked by thoughts of other things, she continued to watch Geoff with her left. In his Boy Scout uniform, he was practising lobbing grenades, ripping out the pin with his teeth, and generally playing the big warrior. Except that the grenade was a potato. Stifling laughter, Nell leaned again on the windowsill to maintain her one-eyed surveillance, as, time and again, Geoff cantered with manly strides up the path, like a spin bowler hurtling for the wicket, his mouth emitting an explosion upon hitting the target.

Then his mother came upon the scene. ‘Geoffrey, what have I told you about wasting food?’ And, much to Nell’s further amusement, she cuffed him sharply round the head, ignoring his protests that he was only following orders.

Biting her lip in sympathy for poor Geoff’s plight, though still tickled, Nell finally managed to adorn her lashes with mascara, and added a quick smear of rouge to her lips and cheeks. At her mother’s further shout of impatience, she snatched a last look in the mirror, heaved in dissatisfaction for the tall and well-built figure reflected there, with its heavy breasts and thighs – such a big girl – then she prinked a dark-brown wave, smoothed the white sleeveless blouse and blue skirt, and tripped to the stairs.

But before she was halfway down, her mother witnessed a crime. ‘You are not leaving this house with bare legs!’

‘All my stockings are laddered!’ With no need to impress relatives, Nell had been hoping to save her one decent pair.

‘Then you can wear ankle socks!’

She turned back with a grumble. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll go and have another look …’

‘And close your window whilst you’re there!’

Nell’s white sandals stopped in mid-track. ‘It’ll be stifling!’

‘Why do you have to argue with every single request I make?’ It was Thelma Spottiswood’s turn to sound weary now. ‘Close it! It’ll be after blackout when we return, and I’ve no intention of leaving an open invitation to every crook in York. Anyone who’d stoop to pinching the lightbulb out of a public lavatory would have a field day in here.’

Nell wanted to complain that, if previous so-called family parties were anything to go by, they would be home well before nine thirty. Nevertheless, she went back to her room to don stockings and to pull down the sash – which was criss-crossed with brown tape as a safeguard against being shattered by bombs, even though York had been virtually free of those after almost a year of war – for it didn’t do to upset Mother. Be prepared, that was Thelma Spottiswood’s motto, as testified in her stock cupboards, her first-aid box, the stirrup pump forever at hand, and the thermos flask close to the kettle ready to fill with hot water in case of an air raid. So, being a considerate girl at heart, Nell did as she was told, finally arriving downstairs to present herself with a smile.

But her heart was to sink, as her father ordered dispassionately, ‘You can get that muck off your face for a start.’ Making ready for his stint as a member of the Home Guard, and changed from his shirt and tie into its newly issued khaki, Wilfred Spottiswood bent to put on his bicycle clips. But just because he would not be attending the party did not mean he would allow his daughter free rein. ‘You look like a trollop.’

With no expectation that Mother would spring to her defence, a dutiful but inwardly hurt Nell rubbed at her lips with a handkerchief, hoping not to blot away too much of the colour. That was one of the drawbacks of having elderly guardians – no, positively ancient, thought Nell, who still found it astonishing that they had been children at the time of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee – how could one expect them to understand a modern girl’s outlook? Father would quite gladly spend all weekend in his garden, or painting the house, and keeping both immaculate – but woe betide if his daughter should attempt to embellish her looks. Checking the pockets of his battledress for his identity card and his manual, and slinging a rifle over one shoulder and a gas mask over the other, he finally deigned to spare her another, rather resentful, glance. The fact that he made no comment informed Nell that she was classified as fit to leave the house.

Father, though, was the first of them to depart, saying, ‘Have a good time at your party, but don’t be too late home.’

‘That’s if we ever get there,’ sniped his wife, with an accusing glance at their daughter.

Good time indeed! A grouchy Nell knew where she would rather be. Waiting now for her mother to don hat and gloves, she wandered to the window and watched her father push his bicycle to the footpath, where he paused to run a critical eye over his newly clipped privet. What could possibly be out of place? Why, it looked as if he had used a blasted spirit level on it! Then he cycled off, a grey, reserved and unhealthy figure, who spared not a wink of curiosity for the folk who were moving in. This was no surprise to Nell, for, outside work, the only human being to whom he paid lip service was her mother. Mother was a marvel at everything, possessing the ability to whip up a delicious meal despite this rationing, and would have it on the table the moment Father came in, and treated him as lord and master. As for their daughter, they seemed to think it sufficient that they were donating every material comfort that Father’s good position at the insurance firm could endow: a room of her own in a well-furnished house; a family car – even though it might be stuck in the garage most of the time due to wartime restrictions on petrol; elocution lessons to oust any trace of Yorkshire accent that they themselves retained; a grammar-school education, and a decent job to follow it. Yes, Nell was grateful for their sacrifices, and it was perhaps understandable when they had endured twelve childless years before adopting her that they wanted to be constantly involved. But did they have to be such old miseries?

‘What are you sighing at now?’ came the testy demand.

Made aware that she had been thinking out loud, Nell turned to see that her mother was ready: solid, large-bosomed and respectable-looking in her navy spotted dress, navy shoes, white gloves and white straw hat, she cut a shapely figure – but shapely in the manner of a cooling tower, thought Nell, everything rigidly confined and uninviting. She donned a smile, and explained, ‘Oh, nothing, I was just envying those new people across the road their lovely French table.’

‘So that’s what kept you so long upstairs!’ Beads of perspiration had begun to seep from the menopausal brow. ‘I don’t know what there is to envy, they can’t be so well off if they’re having to do the removals themselves. Sunday night and still they’re at it!’

Nell’s focus had by now turned back to the street. ‘Ooh, look, there’s the lady of the house again! At least I think it is, but she looks far too young to have children – maybe they’re not hers, maybe they’re only nephews and nieces come to hel—’

‘For goodness’ sake!’ Thelma Spottiswood came to smack her away from the window. ‘I’ve already waited an hour for you to get ready, I’ve no wish to hang around further whilst you invent people’s life stories.’

‘I’m just interested …’

‘That’s obvious! I wish you’d show as much enthusiasm for your cousin as you do for the antics of strangers. I don’t know where you get your nosiness from – now go and fetch your gas mask then let’s be off to this blessed party, Nebby Nora!’

Hurrying to comply, Nell wondered, too, from whom she had inherited her boundless curiosity in mankind, how she could be so intrigued with what went on in others’ homes, not just in material concerns, but in their relationships, and how they coped with this war. Had her real parents been writers, artists, actors even? Often detached, her adoptive ones showed not the slightest interest in anyone outside their sphere. As anticipated. Thelma Spottiswood hooked her gas-mask container over her shoulder, and, in the same aloof manner as her husband, left the house with nary a peek at the newcomers or their furniture, discreetly nipping her daughter’s arm when Nell turned to stare.

Few words passed between them as they walked along the tree-lined avenue to the nearest main road. In fact, the avenue ran between two main roads, one end being quite genteel, almost countrified in appearance, and enclosed in its view a quaint redundant windmill upon a rise – having once formed a village west of York, prior to urban spread. But with their house being situated nearer the more industrial highway, it was there they must head. Nell’s aunt lived in the adjacent district, about a mile or so away. Before the war they might have walked there on an evening such as this, but now, with a thought to conserve shoe leather, they went only so far as the nearest bus stop.

Being Sunday, there was little traffic about, though still enough army vehicles to irritate Nell, who remained piqued at having her own jaunt vetoed. On the opposite side to the bus stop, behind a wall that extended from the carriage works, ran a vast network of railway lines, at this point in the road some of them bulging out from the main track, like an aneurism in a blood vessel, to serve another part of the city, before joining the chief artery again. Even today, the locomotives made for a great deal of soot, and Thelma Spottiswood puffed gently at her white glove to expel such a fleck.

Nell had something to broach to her mother, but it might not go down too well. Anyway, the bus came then.

There was a wasp on board, floating up and down the aisle and generally causing a nuisance, until a grim Mrs Spottiswood rose and squashed it with her bag against a window.

Five minutes later, mother and daughter alighted, to undergo the rest of their trek along a straight, wide avenue that had lesser groves branching off to right and left, the occasional shade of a tree, and a variety of building styles, some Edwardian, but most of them modern semi-detached residences, with leaded lights and neatly planted beds of marigolds, roses, white alyssum and blue lobelia. The avenue was around a mile in length, though Nell and her mother did not have to walk half so far.

Upon reaching her aunt’s gate, there was a warning. ‘Stop making it so obvious you’d rather be somewhere else! I won’t have your aunt and uncle offended. You never know, you might enjoy it.’ With Nell tagging behind, Mrs Spottiswood approached a door not dissimilar to their own, Buckingham green, half-glazed, with a circular formation of stained glass, and a cast-iron letterbox. Singing could now be heard from behind it, which presaged a livelier affair than usual.

‘Goodness, Phyllis,’ Thelma Spottiswood announced above the rowdiness upon entering, with a smile to her sister-in-law, ‘you do have a full house!’

Nell perked up too, there being several more guests than she had anticipated, her main focus being the young men in uniform who had commandeered the gramophone, and were leading a rousing chorus of ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, to which Ronald and his sisters and other relatives were happily singing along.

At such extraordinary sight, her mouth fell open. Whilst she continued to gawp, her mother waved and smiled to family members, and enquired somewhat dubiously over the din, ‘Are those Ronald’s army colleagues?’

‘Yes – at least two of them are,’ mouthed her sister-in-law, a mousey dumpling of a woman, not half so smart as the other Mrs Spottiswood, with a kinder though less intelligent face. Then, unable to speak without having to shout, she drew Thelma and her daughter aside, and divulged, ‘The others he met in town and just hit it off with. They were billeted in York after Dunkirk. Such grand young chaps. I don’t think any of them is over twenty, I could weep when I think what a terrible time they must have had, but they’re putting such a brave face on it – as you can hear!’ She issued a quick laugh. ‘And what with them being so far from home – from London, two of them – Ronald thought it would be nice to extend some local hospitality. He’s such a thoughtful boy. Look at our Daphne and Margaret, can’t even peel themselves away to greet you. I’m sorry about that – and the noise. I’m afraid they’re all rather merry, let’s hope they’ve left you something to drink – you should have come sooner.’

Missing Thelma’s blameful glance at Nell, Aunt Phyllis tried to catch her husband’s eye, waving above the sea of heads and summoning him. Eventually he came, holding his bottle aloft as he forged a passage towards the latecomers, a similar height and build to Nell’s father, though less poker-faced.

But even as Nell returned his kiss, she was gazing intently over his shoulder at the others.

‘Right, let me go and collar them!’ Upon the final line being hollered, Phyllis wobbled back to the gathering. ‘Settle down, boys, settle down!’ Then, with order half-restored, she led forth her sister-in-law and the mesmerised Nell to introduce them. ‘Ronald, I don’t want to curtail your fun, but let me just acquaint your pals with Aunty Thelma and your cousin.’

Tall and bony, the image of his father, except with pimples, Ronald bade a cheery greeting to the new arrivals, as did his sisters – all three cousins older than Nell, in their twenties – whilst their mother turned to those in khaki and began counting them off on her fingers. ‘Now, let me see if I can remember all their names – no, don’t tell me, Margaret!’ Her elder daughter had been about to leap in. ‘This is George, Sid – no, Stan, oh, I’m so sorry! – John, Reg, and last, but by no means least, Billy.’

Nell’s heart was already spinning, having flipped over in shock at her first glimpse of the latter, who epitomised the phrase ‘tall, dark and handsome’ – if a little chubby. Formally introduced to the young soldiers, she could only blush as Billy extended a confident handshake to her mother, his accent most definitely from the heart of London.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Then, just as quickly, whilst Nell remained slack-jawed, he grasped her hand too and shook it firmly, smiling with genuine warmth – some might say impishness – into her face. ‘You too, Miss Spottiswood.’

‘Nell.’ She managed to find her voice, and smiled as she withdrew her hand, which felt as if it had touched a live wire, then moved it along the row to be shaken by the rest, one after another.

‘It’s Eleanor,’ corrected Mrs Spottiswood, though her exasperation was mild, and to her sister-in-law and the rest of the gathering she jokingly complained, ‘Really, you give your child a lovely name and what does she do but adulterate it!’

‘A rose by any other name!’ Billy’s eyes were warm and mischievous as they rested on Nell’s blushing face, only to receive a mute warning for this blatancy.

But her mother seemed very taken with the tall and good-looking young man, indeed with all of those who surrounded her, beaming in that coy fashion which always embarrassed Nell. ‘You’re not from round here, Billy!’ She wagged her plump finger at him. Nell wanted to drag one of Aunt Phyllis’s antimacassars over her head.

‘Ah, I can see there’s no fooling you, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Billy, with his sparkling blue eyes, had one of those faces that looked as if it were permanently laughing, but there was such kindness in it too, that no one could take offence at its teasing. ‘No, I have to confess I’m one of your perishing southerners – so is Johnny here.’

‘Nonsense!’ tinkled Thelma Spottiswood. ‘We’re very happy to have you in our midst, all of you.’ Inconveniently overwhelmed by a hot flush, she shed her hat and tried to fluff up the dark-grey waves beneath, which were soaked in perspiration, at the same time wafting her face. ‘Goodness, I thought it was hot enough out there – do excuse me!’

‘I’ll fetch you a drink of water!’ Billy shot off, soon coming back to press a glass into her hand. A crimson-faced Thelma sipped at it gratefully until recovered. Following which, the bout of polite interrogation continued, most of it directed at the handsome Billy, with whom she was obviously smitten – as were Margaret and Daphne, saw Nell, for they clung on his every word.

‘And are you and your friends liking it in York?’

‘Oh, you bet,’ vouched Billy, with a smiling glance at Nell. ‘Not to mention it’s a darned sight safer than the capital at the moment, what with Jerry creeping nearer by the day. Can’t help worrying about my old mum, though.’

Thelma Spottiswood sympathised; Nell, too, managing to display similar condolence, as he looked at her quite brazenly.

At his mention of the enemy, Daphne’s plain face had turned anxious. ‘I heard some people at church this morning saying the Germans’ve already landed and the government’s kept quiet about it.’

‘Don’t you think we’d have seen them by now?’ Touring the room with his bottle, her father remained calm and kind, though there was a hint of anger in his eye for those who had caused such disaffection. ‘Come on, I thought this was meant to be a party?’

With his words, it was back to another singsong, Margaret and Daphne swooping on their handsome visitor, one either side of him as they caroused. Provided with food and drink, Nell and her mother were to sway happily in time to the music, though Thelma didn’t actually know many of the words. Despite being sandwiched between his hostesses, Billy seemed unable to keep his eyes off the attractive dark-haired girl who stood out from the rest, not only because of her height, and though she persisted in turning her back on him, Nell herself could not resist sneaking an admiring look.

‘Well, I’m glad to see you’ve shed that maungy expression,’ observed Thelma, causing her daughter’s face to snap up from her glass. ‘Kicking up such a fuss about wanting to traipse around town on a Sunday, looking into closed shop windows – I told you you’d have a much better time here. See? Mother knows best!’

Sorry for all the horrible thoughts she had entertained earlier, Nell smiled warmly for her mother – the one she genuinely regarded as Mother, and not the faceless one who had given her away – and had to agree that it was a more enjoyable evening than she could ever have forecast.

So enjoyable, in fact, that she and Thelma were still to be found there at ten o’clock.

Then – ‘Hush, everyone!’ A tousle-haired Uncle Cliff urged the roisterers to stop. And they heard that ominous wail that all had come to dread.

‘Oh bother!’ exclaimed Thelma. ‘I was just about to suggest we make a move.’

But there were more fragile souls to be comforted, Uncle Cliff laying a firm hand on Daphne’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, love, it’ll only be another false alarm.’

‘Will it, though?’ Her pasty face had turned even whiter, and her behaviour nervy. ‘This could be it.’

‘Be assured, Daphne,’ laughed her Aunty Thelma, a stalwart of the Women’s Voluntary Services. ‘In the unlikely event that they were to breach our defences, there are millions of us ready to take up arms before we’d allow them to get to our children. Your uncle’s showed me how to use his gun, and God help the first German who tries his bullying tactics on Eleanor!’

Mimicking this bold example, despite her own twinge of nerves, Nell gave her cousin a reassuring smile, and assisted her to the exit.

With others taking care of Daphne, Cliff put on his tin helmet and herded everyone towards the Anderson shelter in the garden. ‘By, it’s going to be a tight old squeeze tonight.’

‘Some of you’d better come in ours!’ summoned a next-door neighbour, invoking the group to split in half and move after him. ‘Bring your glasses with you if you like!’

‘Er, not the bottles as well!’ Cliff objected, but in vain. He uttered a groan, then, after going round turning off the gas and electricity supplies, hurried after the others.

It was dark outside. With those around her toting glasses of beer or sherry, Nell found herself guided by competent male hands towards the even darker interior of the shelter, which smelled of damp earth. Uncle Cliff had rigged up a light of sorts, but they couldn’t turn it on yet, and as they filed in, everyone seemed to be tripping over everyone else’s feet as well as the items of comfort that had been deposited here in case of a drawn-out siege: bottles of water, a torch, a paraffin stove, a kettle, cups, magazines, tins and boxes of essentials. Her mother’s plump bottom directly ahead of her, head down and bent almost double, Nell shuffled and groped her way in, intending to take a seat beside her mother on one of the bunks that Cliff had fitted on two sides. But somehow, amidst all the fumbling, one of the young soldiers managed to engineer a place for her elsewhere, leaving her sandwiched between him and the one called Billy. Then, with ranks of bodies squashed together, the unnerving wait began.

The light had been turned on now, though it was still very dim. There was desultory chat as they sipped their drinks and waited. Nell herself remained speechless, for she had just felt the back of Billy’s hand caress her thigh. Jammed into place, it was impossible for her to move out of range, and so she remained stiff as a poker on the edge of the bunk, hiding her discomposure in her glass and trying not to flinch, as the hand continued its secret stroking.

With no word to the contrary, Billy seemed to take this as an invitation to go further. To her shock, whilst casually chatting to the others, and unnoticed in the poor light, he worked his arm round behind her and tugged her blouse from under the band of her skirt, slipped his hand beneath it, and began to caress her bare back. Nell developed instant goose bumps, and dared not move as the hand grew ever more adventurous, stroking its way underneath her perspiring armpit and brushing the tips of its fingers against her breast. Outraged at his nerve, Nell immediately clamped her arm down on it to prevent any further indignation, growing redder and redder, and trying to retain her look of interest as Aunty Ethel related each step of her recent medical procedure.

Undeterred, a twinkling Billy – obviously greatly enjoying this assault – managed to release his trapped digits from beneath the moist heat of her arm, and diverted his efforts. Nell shivered in anticipation as his hand meandered seductively downwards over her spine and began to invade the waistband of her skirt. She bent forward as if to attend to some interesting morsel of conversation, though her intention was to prevent this rude foray. She half succeeded. The waistband too tight a squeeze, Billy had to content himself by wiggling a finger against the swell of her buttock. Then, a press stud burst with an audible pop. As alarmed as she, Billy quickly withdrew his hand and pretended to examine the sleeve of his battledress.

Everyone looked at him. ‘Was that you, Billy?’ laughed Aunty Phyllis.

‘Yes, I don’t think this uniform’s quite up to my bulging biceps,’ joked Billy, the object of some amusement. ‘I shall have to get out me needle and thread when I get back to billet.’

Phyllis glanced around for her emergency sewing box. ‘Oh, I’m sure one of us can do it while we’re wait—’

‘Thank you very much, but don’t you go bothering yourself, Mrs Spottiswood!’ he cut in hastily. ‘They teach us how to do that sort of thing in the army – it’s nothing much anyway. And if my seam’s the only thing that explodes tonight I’m sure we’ll all be heartily glad.’

But the ensuing ripple of laughter was curtailed upon the rumble of a distant explosion, and at once everyone’s attention was back on the threat.

A faint burst of machine-gun fire had Daphne almost hysterical. ‘What if there’s gas?’ In the claustrophobic surroundings, she was already gulping for air.

Those around were quick to douse her shrieks. ‘You’ll hear the rattle,’ said her father calmly. ‘And we’ve got our masks. Don’t worry.’

Even so, the tension became palpable, each ear pricked for imminent disaster. With one arm tightly around Daphne, Uncle Cliff took quiet possession of his wife’s hand and gripped it, each of the other men doing likewise with the woman who was seated next to him.

Billy went further. Appointing himself as Nell’s protector, he clamped his arm around her soft flesh and leaned intimately towards her, whilst she was forced to sit there with a rapidly beating heart, as much intent on Billy as on the bombers, wondering what he would get up to next, and if her skirt would fall down when she finally rose to leave.

After what seemed like only minutes to a stimulated Nell, but an interminable wait to the others, the all-clear finally sounded. Thoroughly relieved, the occupants dribbled from the musty shelter into the garden, breathing in sweet air, extending their upper limbs to a sky that was not black but a very deep and romantic shade of blue, stamping their cramped feet, and handing round cigarettes. A secret smoker, Nell was forced to decline as a packet was handed to her, knowing her mother would criticise. Still unnerved herself, not by the bombers but by what had occurred in the shelter, she deftly refastened the press stud on her skirt, and in kindly fashion enquired if her mother was all right.

‘Of course I am!’ announced Thelma with bravado. ‘It’ll take a lot more than that to frighten me – but thank you for asking, dear.’

Nell squeezed her mother’s plump arm, but even as she did this, her eyes were darting around to pinpoint her impudent assailant.

He was behind her, saying in a quiet murmur to his friend John, ‘Wonder if anyone copped it – sounded not too far away. I hope Ma’s all right.’ He spoke not of his mother, but their landlady on the other side of the city.

‘We really must be going now,’ Nell’s mother was saying. ‘It’s terribly late and I want to make sure Wilfred’s safe – he’ll be concerned about us too.’

‘Stan says he and the boys’ll escort you home, Aunty Thelma,’ piped up Ronald.

‘Well, let’s all have another drink first to calm the nerves,’ motioned his father, still with his arm around his whey-faced daughter, and coaxing everyone else indoors to be bolstered with what little alcohol was left.

Lagging behind, so as to give Billy a telling-off, Nell found herself dragged to the rear of an outbuilding, where the boldest of kisses was delivered to her lips. Her protest stifled, she had no option but to kiss him back with equal passion, pushing her mouth against his and squashing her whole body against him.

It was darker behind the asbestos shed, but not so dark that their fumbling outline could not be seen. Though she was enjoying this with every fibre of her body, Nell soon broke free and rebuked him heartily, thumping his chest in playful dissent.

‘You rat!’ she hissed at his laughing face. ‘You sat beside me only days ago and said nothing whilst I grumbled on about having to come to this blasted party instead of being out with you – why didn’t you tell me you knew Ron?’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’ Billy giggled merrily at having incited such a display, then gasped and chuckled as she thumped him again.

‘You certainly did that! I almost had kittens.’

‘So you’re not pleased to see me then?’ Lower lip jutting, he rubbed his chest as if winded.

‘You rotter, you know I am!’ And she kissed him again, even more zealously this time, the heat of it travelling to her groin. Feeling his hand cup her breast, she squeaked from the side of her mouth, ‘Behave – we might be caught!’ But Billy only shook with mirth, and continued to press his ardour, and she to return it.

Drawing breath, Nell glanced around quickly to check they were still unobserved, then asked with eyes agleam, ‘Did I do a good job of pretending we were strangers?’

‘Impeccable.’ He tugged her groin back against his, wriggling in pleasure.

‘And no thanks to you!’ She physically berated him again.

‘Oy! I’ll have you for assault and battery.’ Billy faked offence. ‘Your mother seemed to like me well enough. Maybe I should change the object of my affections.’

Laughingly dismissing this, Nell pressed her face into his warm chest and hugged his khaki-clad form for all she was worth, breathing in the scent of tobacco and beer and the man himself.

‘Seriously, though, your mum did seem to like me,’ put in Billy. ‘Why don’t we just –?’

‘No!’ Nell forestalled him. ‘I know what you’re going to suggest, and coming clean would be the biggest mistake ever. Don’t let Mother fool you. She might well approve of you as a champion of our nation, and so might Father, but once they’ve been alerted that I have a chap my life will become even more regulated. And that’s the last thing I want – oh, I still can’t get over this lovely surprise! My dear, gorgeous Bill.’ She hugged him tightly and he hugged her back, not one trace of self-consciousness between them, as if they had known each other for years instead of just three weeks.

It had been one of those breathtaking events that happen out of the blue. Nell had not gone looking for love at all. In fact, she had been quite disposed to spend that particular evening in more serious pursuit at her first-aid class. It was from there that she and two pals had been ambling home through town, heading innocently for their bus stop, when a group of soldiers had – there was no other word for it – a pounced on them, and, the boys linking the girls’ arms in a firm hold, had commandeered their company for the rest of the night. They had been such a friendly, jocular lot that their cheek could not possibly give offence – not to mention that the girls were eager to seize any bit of excitement on offer, and had readily accepted the soldiers’ invitation for drinks at Betty’s – even though Nell had never entered a bar in her life.

It was to be the first of many dares she had accepted during this brief enthralling period. Madly in love with Billy, and being compelled to face her own mortality like countless others, Nell wanted to taste everything life had to offer. She had known nothing whatsoever about sex prior to meeting him – did not really know the whole of it even now – for neither her mother nor her school had enlightened her about such an unthinkable subject. But the passion he engendered within her, the overwhelming urge to discover, was almost unstoppable tonight …

Then, in a trice Billy’s smile had faded, and his voice was reticent as he stroked her and admitted, ‘I’ve another surprise, only part of it good, I’m afraid. The boys and me have been called back down south.’ At Nell’s utterance of dismay, he gripped her arms and drove the sombre expression from his face as he added, ‘But at least they’ve given us a weekend leave before we go! It means you and me can … well, you know … if you want to.’ His eyes probed hers, brimming with enticement. ‘Will you come away with me?’

In that bittersweet moment, Nell did not know whether to cry at his leaving, or rejoice at this opportunity to spend the night together. She chose the latter, giving breathless reply. ‘Oh, Billy, do you have to ask?’ And her expression poured with willingness as she gazed into that fine-looking face that shone with love for her.

‘I hoped you’d say that, so I’ve already booked a place in Scarborough – actually, a pal’s arranged it for me, it belongs to his aunty. I got him to say we’ll be on honeymoon.’ He shared a grin with her. ‘It’s nothing posh, I’m afraid, and it’s full of evacuees, but everywhere else is taken by the army.’

‘It doesn’t matter, so long as we can be together!’ Nell performed a little dance of joy. There followed a brief run-through of Billy’s secret plan – where to meet, what to bring – then Nell voiced her one worry. ‘I’ll have to fabricate an excuse for my parents …’

‘Oh, well, that’s it then, we’ll have to call it off.’ He was obviously joking.

She pressed herself against him, seduction in her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare! Seriously, though, it’s going to be very cloak and dagger, they always want to know my every movement.’ She had only managed to meet him by coinciding their assignations with her first-aid classes and pretending she would be staying behind to chat with female friends.

Billy thought of something else. ‘Would they open any letters I might send?’

‘What do you mean might send?’ she scolded. ‘I’ll expect one every single day – that’s how often I’ll be writing to you.’

Billy grinned, and said that of course he would.

Nell told him then, ‘No, they don’t go so far as to open my mail, but one never knows what they might do if they’re suspicious, so maybe you could send them via Mrs Precious.’ This was Billy’s landlady in York, with whom she was acquainted. ‘Then I could collect them on my way home from work.’

But then her eyes misted over, and she clung to him, her joy over the weekend tryst overshadowed by the thought that it would signal his departure. ‘Oh God, how am I ever going to exist without you?’

Billy was trying to quash her look of despair with a beer-flavoured kiss when a male voice called, ‘Are you out there, Eleanor?’

Both of them instantly alert, Billy gestured for her to remain silent, then stepped from behind the shed and greeted the intruder. ‘No, just me, I’m afraid, chum, enjoying the last of me fag.’ He drew Ronald to him and kept him occupied, allowing Nell to sneak around the far side of the shed, and along the gap between that and the fence. On tenterhooks as her feet encountered dried and crackling branches, she finally managed to reach the outside closet.

A few moments later there came the sound of a clanking chain and flushing, and Nell emerged. Ronald turned at the sound and exclaimed, ‘Ah, there you are! Aunty Thelma’s keen to be off, I think.’ Then all three went back into the house.

‘We do have indoor facilities,’ chided Aunt Phyllis when it was announced where Ronald had found her, obviously embarrassed at being thought of as the poor relation in front of visitors, and especially her sister-in-law Thelma, who always displayed the best.

Noticing bits of foliage stuck to her clothes, Nell brushed them away and looked flustered. ‘I just thought as I was out there – right, I’m ready when you are, Mother.’

Stan moved forward to fulfil his guarantee, but: ‘We’ll all escort you,’ put in Billy, and, grinning encouragement, he crooked each arm and invited the women to link theirs with him. ‘Jerry won’t dare harm you with us in tow.’

Nell felt a rush of warmth, but looked to her mother before making a move.

Thelma appeared similarly pleased, though tendered, ‘Is it not out of your way, boys?’

‘No! We’ll be heading towards town anyway.’ And so, at Billy’s generous insistence, Thelma and Nell hooked their arms through his.

‘How come you always get the girls?’ teased his army pals as they made their exit, yawping goodbyes as they left.

With everyone slightly tipsy, weaving a rather uneven route through the blackout, the soldiers continued to be good company on the way home. With her mother obviously taken with their repartee, Nell sought to enlist the young men as support, and aired the topic she had been wanting to put forth for a while.

She began with a positive comment, trying to sound chatty as they ambled along with the others close behind and the whiff of cigarette smoke on the air. ‘Mrs Benson thinks I should easily get my first-aid diploma. Apparently I’m one of her top pupils.’ It was not in Nell’s character to brag, but in her mother’s case it always paid.

‘I should hope so.’ Thelma withdrew a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed it over her perspiring brow, adding to the man on her arm, ‘Eleanor had a very good education, Billy. She was always top of the class – and head girl of her school. We’re very proud of her.’

‘I can tell that, Mrs Spottiswood.’ Billy smiled through the dark, and secretly squeezed Nell’s arm in the crook of his, as his sweetheart continued:

‘She says, that it seems such a waste not to make full use of it, and that I should volunteer for one of the first-aid posts on an evening, but I’ve been thinking, I’d like to do something even more positive for the war effort – certainly do more than sit behind a typewriter.’ Nell worked in an office of the civil service, but was still on the lower rungs of the ladder. ‘You know, to feel that I was really doing something tangible to help – like you and father, and these brave chaps here. So what if I applied to become a nurse?’

‘As a full-time occupation?’ quizzed her mother doubtfully. ‘After your father went to all that trouble to get you the job? Throw away your typing and shorthand qualifications?’

‘They wouldn’t be wasted!’ Nell hated her working environ ment, but for now sought to cajole her mother with the premise, ‘I can always return to the office after the war.’

‘That’s true, Mrs Spottiswood!’ chipped in one of the squaddies from the rear. ‘They’re crying out for nurses. My sister’s gone to be one, and very proud of her we are.’

Thelma glanced round briefly at the speaker, and then back at her daughter. ‘Yes, but the training would take years, wouldn’t it? The war might be over –’

‘Oh, I don’t mean to go on the register,’ said Nell quickly. ‘That would take years, yes. I just mean in an assistant capacity.’

Her mother tutted. ‘Why not be a proper nurse? That’s just like my daughter!’ She glanced around to roll her eyes at the soldiers. ‘Always goes for half-measure because she can’t be bothered!’

Nell felt belittled, and was glad of Billy’s support.

‘I can’t believe that, Mrs Spottiswood. She strikes me as very capable.’

‘Yes, I agree, she is, when she puts her mind to it – and she’d want to be, the money that’s been spent on her,’ laughed the woman on his right, using his arm to steady herself as she tottered off a kerb, in spite of there being a white line to define it.

Nell jumped in, craning her neck around Billy to exclaim, ‘Well, that’s partly what swayed it, Mother!’ She had to box clever here, for Mother was touchy on the subject of finances, there must be no intimation of poverty, even though any reduction in Nell’s wage would mean hardship. The Spottiswoods had sacrificed much in their pursuit of their daughter’s betterment. ‘I wouldn’t be able to pay my way if I had to fork out for the registration fee, the textbooks, the exams, pencils, et cetera …’

‘And if you want her to go back to secretarial work after the war, Mrs Spottiswood –’ began Billy.

‘Of course we do, she has a fine career ahead of her!’

‘Until she marries, naturally,’ added Billy, receiving a swift dig from Nell’s elbow.

‘That will definitely be a long way off,’ laughed Thelma. ‘We’ve invested so much in her, the last thing we want is for her to throw it all away by tying herself to the first young man who comes along, and to become a dull little housewife.’

‘But you’re a housewife and you’re not dull,’ flattered Billy.

Nell’s mother gave a simpering laugh. ‘Oh, you’re so gallant, dear! But no, Eleanor’s father and I have agreed – he’s very progressive that way – the further she climbs in her career, the more assured her future. If she does choose to marry, when she’s much, much older, well, by then she will be able to raise her sights considerably.’

Billy seemed unfazed, laughing as he asked, ‘What if she has other ideas?’

Again Nell dealt him a nudge that warned, I’m going to kill you if you don’t shut up! But to her mother she said, ‘We’re getting off the subject here! As Reg said before, Mother, they’re crying out for nurses of any variety. Mrs Benson tells me the time I spent helping you look after Grandma should ensure that I can attain my certificate of home nursing.’ For the last couple of years until her grandmother had recently passed away, of her own volition Nell had helped her mother tend the bedridden old lady. It had been her own idea, too, to attend the first-aid course. ‘I do so want to do my bit, and I just thought you’d prefer it if I kept my options open for after the war …’

With Mother still looking unsure, perhaps a little dig was warranted. ‘Of course, with the wage being only two pounds a week, I realise that would leave you short –’

‘It won’t make that much difference.’ Thelma turned airy.

‘So you don’t mind then?’ badgered Nell.

‘Oh, I suppose it’s a reasonable enough suggestion,’ decided her mother, wanting to leave the subject behind, for the lateness of the hour had just caught up with her. ‘I’ll speak to your father about it.’

‘Oh, good!’ Guessing it would have met with blank refusal had the soldiers not been there, Nell grinned at Billy in relief, and experienced a surge of enthusiasm at the prospect of taking a genuine part in the defence of Britain. ‘I’ll apply as soon as I can get my certificates and references then.’ In fact she had already filled in the pink application form of the Civil Nursing Reserve.

Almost to the avenue where they lived, Thelma showed reluctance to leave the young soldiers. ‘Well, boys, it’s been thoroughly marvellous having your company, but we’ll say goodnight to you here, so as not to delay you. Thank you so much for accompanying us.’

‘The pleasure’s all ours, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Billy released her arm, and to murmurs of agreement from his friends, added, ‘We hope to meet you again sometime – oh, I almost took this one by mistake!’ Pretending that he had been about to move off with Nell still attached to his arm, he donned his wide, attractive smile and made great ceremony of handing the daughter over. ‘That’d earn me a right ticking off, and no mistake!’

And upon Thelma’s laughing agreement, he managed to slip a secret wink to Nell, before he and his friends melted into the night.

‘They were nice sociable chaps, weren’t they?’ opined her mother, as she and Nell undertook the last fifty yards through the darkness unescorted. ‘Especially Billy. And so good-looking – distinguished, even. I wonder what he did before the war?’

Her mind still crammed with thoughts of her loved one, the smell and touch of him, Nell responded without thinking. ‘He’s a carpenter.’

‘I never heard that arise in conversation,’ frowned Thelma.

Realising her mistake, Nell said quickly, ‘I think I overheard Ronny mention it.’

Her mother issued a sage nod. ‘Yes, I thought with that accent it had to be something, well, practical shall we say – not that it matters,’ she added charitably, ‘he’s the salt of the earth.’

It would matter if you knew I was planning to marry him, though, came Nell’s grim thought.

‘With chaps like him we’re sure to win – oh, thank goodness, your father’s safely home!’ Thelma had noticed that the gate was open. Her husband always did this, no matter how many times she went to close it after him, and in the knowledge that he was unharmed, her next comment was tinged with displeasure. ‘I do hope he hasn’t brought the stench of beer and cigarettes home with him again. Your Aunty Phyllis might not care that her upholstery reeks like a saloon bar, but I do. He seems to have gone completely wild since he joined that Home Guard.’

Nell clicked the latch behind them. ‘Do you mind if I rush straight to bed? Or I’ll never get up for work in the morning.’

As she headed upstairs, her mind and body were ticking over at the thought of her coming weekend with Billy.