Coming Home (103 page)

‘I think we should turn it into another spare bedroom,’ Phyllis was saying. ‘Mrs Somerville's in the only one there is, and supposing someone else wants to come and stay?’

But Judith did not agree. ‘Another spare bedroom is just a waste of space. I think we should give it to Anna as a nursery. We can put a bed up for her to sleep in, and a few shelves for her books, and perhaps an old sofa. Sofas always look so cosy. And then she can use it as a playroom and have somewhere to make a mess if we have a wet day.’

‘
Judith.
’ It was turning into an argument. ‘We've already
got
that great bedroom. This is
your
house, not mine. You can't give us all this space…’

‘Well, what about when Cyril gets leave? He's going to want to be with you and Anna. So he'll come here too. Unless, of course, he'd rather go and be with his mum and dad.’

‘Oh, he won't want
that
.’

‘Well, you can't all sleep together. In the same room. It wouldn't be proper. Anna's not a tiny baby any longer.’

Phyllis looked a bit embarrassed. ‘We managed before.’

‘Well, I don't want you managing in
my
house. There's no need. So it's settled. This room's for Anna. It's time she learned to sleep on her own. And we'll get a proper-sized bed, so that if I do have another house guest, we can turn Anna out and the visitor can sleep in
her
bed. How's that for a compromise? And we'll get carpeting for the floor…’

‘Bit of lino would do.’

‘Lino's horrible and cold. It must be a carpet. Blue, I think.’ Imagining the blue carpet, she looked about her. The attic was spacious and airy, but there was only one small dormer window, and the combed ceilings made it a bit dark. ‘We'll paint the walls white, that'll lighten it up, and perhaps put a Peter Rabbit frieze round the walls. The only thing is, there's no fireplace. We'll have to think up some plan for heating it in the wintertime…’

‘Paraffin stove would do…’

‘I don't like paraffin stoves. I always think they're a bit dangerous…’

‘I love the smell of paraffin stoves…’

‘But Anna might knock it over, and then we'll all go up in smoke and cinders. Perhaps…’

But she got no further, because from downstairs came the sound of the front door slamming shut and a voice, high with excitement, calling her name. ‘Judith!’

Loveday. She and Phyllis went out onto the landing and hung over the banister, and were rewarded by the foreshortened view of Loveday pelting up the staircase.

On the first landing she paused. ‘Where
are
you?’

‘Up in the attics.’

She came on, up the attic stairs, her face red with exertion and warmth, her curls bouncing, her violet eyes wide with the ecstasy of delight. Half-way up, she was already telling them. ‘…you won't believe it. Gus has just phoned…’ She was gasping for breath, as though she had run the whole way from Nancherrow, not just simply up The Dower House stairs. ‘…he phoned about half an hour ago. From Southampton. Hospital. Wounded. He's on crutches. But he's all right…’

Carpets, lino, heaters were all forgotten. Judith let out a yell of triumph, and was waiting with her arms open. They hugged and kissed and danced about like children, and Loveday was still in her filthy old corduroys with her shirt-tails loose, and she still smelt of cows, and it didn't matter, nothing mattered except that Gus was safe.

Finally, they stopped dancing about, and Loveday collapsed onto the top stair. ‘I've got no breath left at all. I bicycled to Rosemullion, and left my bike by the church yard, and I promise you, ran all the way up the hill. I simply couldn't wait to tell you.’

‘You could have phoned.’

‘I wanted to be
here.
I wanted to see your faces.’

Phyllis's face, however, was concerned. ‘Wounded? Is it serious? How was he wounded?’

‘I don't know. Shot in the leg, I think. He's on crutches, but it didn't sound
too
dire. We didn't have time to talk. Just a moment or two and then we got cut off. But he's going home to Scotland tomorrow, and he's going to write…’

‘How on earth did he get out of France?’ Judith wanted to know. ‘How did he get away?’

‘I've just told you, I don't know anything. There wasn't time to tell. Just that he's safe and alive…’

‘It's like a miracle.’

‘That's what I thought. I went all weak at the knees. And Mummy says you've all got to come down to Nancherrow this evening, and Pops is going to open some champagne. All of you, Phyllis and Anna and Biddy, so that we can have a real party…’

Biddy. For an instant, reading thoughts, they all fell silent. Gus was safe, but Ned would never return. Even Loveday's joy was, for a moment, quenched.

She said, lowering her voice, ‘Where is Biddy?’

‘In the kitchen.’

‘Gosh, I hope she didn't hear me, bursting in and screaming out my tidings like that. I should have
thought.
But I just didn't think.’

‘Of course you didn't think. Why should you? We can't stop being happy. Even Ned being dead can't stop us being happy for you. I think we should all go down now and tell her. She's so generous, even if she does feel a bit miserable and bitter, she'll never show it. She's so much better now; even saying Ned's name in quite an ordinary sort of voice. And if she does start looking a bit blue, we'll tell her about the champagne party and take enormous interest in her elderflower cordial.’

Ardvray House,

Bancharry,

Aberdeenshire.

Friday, 21st June.

My dear Loveday,

At last there is a moment in which to write. When I got back to Aberdeen, I was shoved into hospital again, but everything seems to be going well and I'm home, still on crutches but convalescing. My mother has got a nurse in to do dressings, et cetera…she's built like a wrestler and talks all the time, so I hope she doesn't have to be here for too long.

It was wonderful to talk to you, and I'm sorry we were cut off so abruptly, but the hospital switchboards were pretty strict about rationing our calls. It took me a couple of days of trying before I could get through at all, because it wasn't a home-call. If it hadn't been for the fact that, at the moment, I'm not particularly fleet of foot, I'd have jumped the fence, caught a train and come to Cornwall to see you all. Cornwall is much nearer to Southampton than Scotland is, and the long train journey back to Aberdeen took forever.

I got away a day before the capitulation. Responding to the General's directive
of sauve qui peut,
a number of small groups made their way to the little port of Veulles-les-Roses, about four miles east of St Valéry. Amongst these groups were some French troops, and men from the Lothians and Border Horse. We went by night, and four miles has never seemed so long, nor so fraught with peril, but when dawn came, we could see the dim shapes of Royal Naval vessels lying offshore (the fog wasn't so bad at Veulles). The cliffs there are tremendously high, but gullies lead down to the beach, and we had to form a queue and wait our turn, because the Royal Navy were landing beach parties, despite the fact that they were already being shelled from St Valéry.

One or two chaps were too impatient to wait their turn and went over the cliffs with improvised ropes. By the time it was daylight, the Germans were shelling from both sides, machine guns and snipers as well

The beach was littered with dead men, and I got hit in the thigh before I'd gone more than a hundred yards. Two jocks in front of me saw what had happened and came back to help, and between them, I managed to lurch and hobble along the two miles of beach to the boats. Just as the three of us got into a boat, the bombers came and one boat was sunk with about thirty men in it. The ships put up a terrific barrage, and two of the bombers were shot down. Finally, soaked to the skin and covered in mud (me covered in blood as well), we were hauled aboard the destroyer, and no sooner did we think we were safe than the enemy started shelling from the cliff-tops. But we stayed until it was decided that no more men could possibly be on the beach or the cliffs, then pulled anchor and sailed. That was about ten o'clock in the morning of the twelfth of June.

We docked in Southampton, and I was wheeled ashore on a stretcher and taken to hospital where the bullet was removed from my leg, and all strapped up, et cetera. It didn't penetrate too deeply, and doesn't seem to have done any lasting damage. Now, it's just a question of it healing.

I don't know what will happen now. There is talk of the Highland Division reforming. If so, I should like to stay with them. But the powers-that-be may have other plans for me.

I send my love to you and all your family.

Gus

This was one letter. But there was another in the envelope, a single sheet, unheaded and undated.

Dearest Loveday,

I thought your father might like to read the enclosed account, but this little note is just for you. It was so wonderful to hear your voice answering the telephone. I thought about you all the time I was waiting to get on that hell-hole of a beach, determined that I was going to make it. It is such a beautiful day here, and the hills are all bloomy in the morning light, and the sunshine sparkling on the river. When I am able to walk a bit better, I shall go down to the bank and try to catch a fish. Write to me and tell me everything you are doing. With all my love, GUS.