Читать книгу Thursday's Child - Tracey Friday - Страница 6

Chapter One

Iris was enjoying her stroll as she made her way back from the village store. It was a perfect spring afternoon and the air was pleasantly scented with the heady aroma of honeysuckle. Savouring the moment, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes as she faced the warmth of the sun. Her curly brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders as she smiled and breathed in deeply.

“Honeysuckle, my favourite,” she said, now facing the abundant hedgerow. “I’ll pick a bunch for the kitchen window sill, what do you think?”

There was no reply from her daughter Maggie. She was searching for a four-leafed clover within a tuft of grass in the middle of the lane.

“Mind you,” Iris continued, “we’ll have to make sure there are no white fly or other bugs, don’t want them crawling all over the kitchen, do we?”

Again, there was no reply.

Iris reached over to the hedgerow, mindful of not standing too close to the deep ditch. Being only five-foot-three inches tall, she needed to stand on tiptoe to reach a good-sized stem at the base and flicked it over. The stem made a satisfying popping sound as she pierced it with her thumbnail and felt the cool juice splash under her nail and trickle down to her palm.

Suddenly, the peace and tranquillity turned to sheer panic.From all around the country lane flocks of birds, that had just seconds ago been snoozing, instantly catapulted skywards in unison. Their collective flapping and squawking was drummed out by the roar of the village air raid siren.

Iris immediately tossed the honeysuckle aside and sprinted the short distance to reach her daughter. As she passed her bicycle, her foot collided with the stand and the bicycle toppled over causing her to stumble, but thankfully, remain upright. “Maggie, quick,” she said, as she grabbed her daughter’s arm and they ran together to the ditch.

The bicycle wheels rotated horizontally at tremendous speed from the impact and the few groceries that were in the basket scattered from the force. The bag of flour, that had cost precious ration stamps, burst open and sent a small white cloud upwards. This was closely followed by a red ball of yarn that un-rolled itself as it sped down the lane as if to say, ‘it’s okay, follow me’, before coming to a stop.

Even though Maggie was familiar with the siren’s shrill tone, at five years old, it was still terrifying. She covered her ears trying to block out the deafening noise as hordes of planes flew overhead on their way to London. The vibration alone felt like the village brass band and drums were playing inside her chest and the ground seemed to jump under her feet.

Iris quickly assessed the groups of stinging nettles in the ditch. Cradling Maggie in her arms she hoisted her skirt up and over, encasing Maggie entirely. Her petticoat would offer some protection from the nettles as she jumped in. They landed, miraculously without injury, with Iris still shielding Maggie from possible bomb debris. For Maggie, jumping into ditches was the fun part, the vibration and thunderous noise was not.

The spring had been relatively dry, so there was no water awaiting them at the base. Even though the stench was initially stifling from the damp vegetation closest to the soil, that was not Iris’s main concern right now. Still holding Maggie in her skirt cocoon, she crouched and tried to sit as comfortably and carefully as she could in the confined space. She lent backwards slightly with her back supported against the far side of the ditch and her feet wedged against the other side. Maggie was crying from the over-head noise more than the restraint.

“For goodness sake Maggie, stop crying,” Iris shouted over the roaring noise, “we’re safe here,” although she wasn’t too sure.

Being where she was made Iris recall another time when she had un-expectantly landed at the bottom of a ditch. As a young child she had one day leaned a little too far over the side to pick some wild strawberries. Even though her reach was stretched to the limit, she frustratingly found the tempting cluster was still a whisker away. But, holding her breath she was able to lean a touch more…

That touch more caused her to over-balance and tumble down the side, landing tummy down in shallow putrid water. Not only was she facing a clump of slimy frogspawn, but she had nearly swallowed a water-boatman bug when she suddenly gasped in, realising that the shallow water was home to hundreds of tadpoles swimming all around her. It gave the illusion that her lovely white Sunday dress had pulsating polka dots.

She had managed to grab a handful of wild strawberries as she tumbled, but they had been crushed from the impact. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw deep red oozing from her hand and as she slowly unclenched her fist she realised it was not blood but the once succulent fruits were now a messy pulp.

Coming back to the moment it suddenly occurred to Iris that she always seemed to want things out of arm’s reach. And she wasn’t talking wild strawberries or honeysuckle here. She thought of the man she truly wanted but couldn’t have, however much she tried to ignore her feelings and desires as she continued to battle her wayward morals that bubbled below the surface.

Maggie gave another cry.

“Shhh, hush,” Iris said impatiently, trying to settle her own frantic breathing, she was scared too. Why did the child have to fuss all the time? As she tried to concentrate on possible impact if the Germans decided to offload any bombs on the way to the capital. She waited and prayed for the by-pass to be over and prayed for an end to this awful bloody war.

“Keep going, please keep going,” she whispered over and over as she rocked Maggie gently from side to side. Soon the roars of the engines faded, and Iris continued to strain her hearing until she could hear them no more. The all-clear siren came a few moments later.

Her immense relief quickly turned to stabbing pain as she realised that she had brushed against the stinging nettles. The tell-tale signs of large white bumps appeared on her forearms and lower legs. She was no stranger to being stung, the pain was bearable under the circumstances but finding some doc leaves would alleviate the stings.

She spotted a cluster a few feet away to her side. When she sat up straighter to try and peer over the top of the ditch she found that she was still too far down to see the lane but was just able to see the tops of the bicycle wheels that were still spinning. The spokes caught the sunlight and cast small shooting lights upwards.

“Nothing like announcing we’re here, Mr Jenkins of the Home Guard will have something to say about that,” she said, as she uncovered and boosted Maggie up onto the lane then reached out grasping a handful of doc leaves as she climbed up and out.

“Hey Maggie, it’s alright now,” Iris said calmly as the leaves instantly soothed her stings.

“You’ve been stung,” said Maggie, “does it hurt much?” She sniffed and brushed her long brown hair away from her face. “Do you want more doc leaves?”

“No, it’s all right now.” Iris reached into her skirt pocket and replaced the doc leaves for her handkerchief positioning it over Maggie’s nose. “Blow Maggie, come on, but not too hard, you don’t want to pop your ears.” She then gathered the end of her skirt and dabbed her daughter’s teary eyes.

Trial and error had proved that in the long run it was better to placate rather than shout and scald as it tended to stop Maggie’s snivelling much quicker.

“What a kerfuffle,” she said tickling Maggie’s tummy causing the youngster to giggle. A quick glance told her that the bicycle was not too damaged as she retrieved the now half empty bag of flour.

Maggie, ever resilient and realising the danger had passed, skipped after the ball of wool. “That was scary, but not as big as last time,” she announced, rolling the wool up as they made their way home. “The last one was really big.”

“You mean when we were at grandma’s?”

“Yes.”

They both looked at one another and burst out laughing at the memory of when they had cycled up to grandma’s house for tea. Iris hated her interfering mother-in-law but tolerated the odd afternoon there to keep the peace and it was during the last visit that the air-raid siren had sounded.

Iris had quickly ushered Maggie and her mother-in-law out of the kitchen and through the small door under the stairs. The three of them sat under the narrow staircase in silence on old creaky apple boxes, there for that very purpose. Their knees huddled together in the cramped space being mindful not to fidget too much to get any splinters from their makeshift seats.

Maggie knew that the raid was big because she could feel the vibration intensify. It seemed that hundreds of planes were continually flying overhead. She imagined that a huge monster had stomped into her grandma’s garden and was roaring down on the house to scare the people inside.

Afternoon sunlight had seeped underneath the little door because it was at least three inches short of the floor. From those shards of light all that Maggie could focus on was her grandma’s hair. The sheer vibration from the overhead had caused some plaster dust from the stair slats to land on top of her grandma’s bun and over her shoulders. Even though Maggie was terrified by the noise she was more mesmerised by her grandma who looked like she had been sprinkled with snow. Maggie had tugged lightly on her mother’s apron to bring it to her attention. Her mother didn’t say anything but nudged Maggie’s leg with hers and giggle-coughed a couple of times.

The reference to that afternoon was just the ticket Iris and Maggie needed to deal with today’s raid.

“Come on Maggie, let’s go home and find your father.” Iris suddenly felt the need to see William. Even though the air raid today was relatively small, compared to some, it still unnerved her. This had been the first time she had been out in the open, without the security of the Anderson shelter. She was also frightened because she wasn’t with William, and this made her realise that she didn’t want to die without him. So many confusing thoughts entered her head as she lay with Maggie waiting for the danger to pass. She honestly and truly believed that she would die today.

It suddenly dawned on Iris how much she took William for granted and how heavily she depended on him. She had never told him she loved him. Perhaps she did in her own way, but it was always conveniently avoided. Whenever William told her he loved her, she either smiled or said she knew or changed the subject completely. It was the way she had been brought up, as her parents had never told her they loved her, always stating that showing emotion was showing weakness.

Iris knew William, who was five years older than she was, had almost given up hope of them ever having a child. She had begrudgingly endured years of trying for a family until William had finally conceded that some things were just not meant to be. Iris knew as she got older that the chances were slimmer than slim and that made her inwardly jubilant. She welcomed her monthlies with open arms, however painful they were.

Then at forty-one years of age, the worst day of all happened when Iris discovered she was pregnant. Maggie arrived just three years before the start of the Second World War. Iris felt there was not a person on earth who she could share her deepest secret with.

Iris had married William for an escape; it was as simple as that. She had purposely omitted to tell him that she never wanted children in case he wouldn’t marry her. She believed children were too demanding and that she wouldn’t be able to do what she wanted. They seemed too much trouble and bloody hard work. But when she realised she was pregnant she knew she had to get on with it. She had considered an abortion but living in a small village where everyone knew everyone’s business she had decided it wasn’t worth the risk of being ostracised.

Life was damn cruel and unfair sometimes.

After so many years of trying for a family, she was unsure whether it had been a natural thing that she had taken so long to conceive with William or the likely possibility that her lover had fathered her unfortunate child.

She and William had been married for twenty years and lived in a tied cottage owned by the Squire of Primrose Farm Estate. William had come from generations of Kentish farm workers where, more often than not, the tied cottages stayed within the workers’ family and were passed down from generation to generation. Fifteen cottages were tied in with the estate and Iris and William lived at number 1 Primrose Cottage. William was the farm manager who took over the role upon his father’s death some years before.

Iris tolerated farm life. It was boring, hard work and rough on the hands, but she had to chip in and make the best of it. By nature, she was a lazy creature but accepted this was the life she had chosen. Given the alternative, Iris knew deep down that she was onto a good thing here although it didn’t stop her wanting more.

Tongues wagged, so to avoid unnecessary attention she excelled at putting on an act and became so good that at times she almost believed herself. Whenever she was particularly melancholy she admonished herself wishing that she had waited a little longer to capture a more upmarket man with better prospects then she wouldn’t have had to work at all.

In the beginning, she would have done anything to escape her childhood home. Home? It wasn’t a home, just four walls. The crux was that an abusive upbringing had disintegrated her heart and soul. As soon as she laid eyes on William she put her plan for freedom in place. It was all about freedom and escape, nothing more.

She had never felt love so wasn’t totally sure what it really was, although her lover made her feel alive and desirable. Over the years, she had grown fond of William and they did have some good times and outwardly they seemed relatively compatible.

They were married within five months of meeting much to William’s mother’s doubt of Iris’s intentions. Iris alienated William’s friends and pushed him to assist more in his father’s role while she waited patiently for his father to turn up his toes.

In the meantime, while his parents were out at work all day it sometimes enabled her to lie in bed until way after ten. Yes, she had to work a little on the farm as well but there were ways, means, and the odd liaison to skip the boring routine. In the early days, it was heaven. It was the freedom and easy life she sought.

Despite William’s parents, she had her own little home and most importantly she was out from under the roof of her bastard father who had always been cold towards her but warm to her bitch of a sister. He had used his fists all too often where her mother had been too cowardly and weak to intervene. God, how she hated her mother for it and this was the reason she hadn’t seen her in years.