Gunner Girls and Fighter Boys (47 page)

May nodded and flung the blanket back over her head. Since leaving Bermondsey, she’d only ever wanted to defend her home and help end the war. She’d never imagined that it would be love rather than the enemy that would lay her so low. In the darkness beneath the blanket she allowed hot tears to turn her face red and puffy, and even the threat of being on a charge couldn’t stem the flow of her self-pity. From under her pillow she pulled out the birthday card Bill had sent her. In his letter he’d told her that the words of the card spoke his love far more eloquently than he ever could, but May disagreed. His own sweet words were always the best.

Soon she heard the other girls tramping back from breakfast, their boots thudding on the duckboards, Emmy’s voice the loudest. ‘Move your arse, Rube!’ May heard her shout. ‘It’ll be stone bleedin’ cold by the time you get there!’

A blast of cold air invaded the hut as the door banged open and her friends hurried in. They came over to her bed and Bee peeled back the covers, while the rest of them shouted ‘Happy Birthday, Corp!’

May sat up, bewildered, as Ruby spread a towel over her lap and placed a covered plate on it. ‘Breakfast in bed for the birthday girl!’

She removed the cover with a flourish to reveal sausage, bacon and beans, with a slice of fried bread and, most surprising of all, a real egg.

‘Oh, you lot are amazing! How did you wangle this?’

‘We bribed Enid in the NAAFI with Bee’s chocolate ration,’ Emmy said, handing May a knife and fork. ‘Here’s your irons. Tuck in before Sarge comes for hut inspection!’

They all sat on the bed, watching as May ate, and when Ruby’s hand reached out for the fried bread, Mac slapped it away. ‘Keep your paws off, greedy guts, it isn’t you needs cheering up.’

‘No, nor fattening up,’ Bee drawled, raising an eyebrow.

‘Thanks, girls, you’re the best,’ May said, after she’d cleaned the plate.

‘And tonight you’re coming with us to the dance in Barkingside, no arguments!’ Emmy said.

And though she hadn’t felt like living, let alone eating an hour ago, just knowing that she had friends like these, who simply wouldn’t allow her to sink into despair, made it easier to face the future. She flung off the blanket, and set about barracking her bed, ready for inspection and a new day on the guns.

*

She caught the night train alone to Moreton-in-Marsh, Pat having travelled up earlier with Mark, who was on leave. She spent the night wrapped in her greatcoat, fur boots and grey sheepskin mittens, which she knew from their ingenious flapped design had come out of the Alaska fur factory opposite Garner’s in Bermondsey. She wiggled her fingers into the fine sheepskin and blessed the girls in the factory, working treble shifts to keep the forces supplied with winter gear. There were no seats to be had, so she sat on her kitbag and jolted into an uncomfortable slumber in the unheated corridor. A pewter day was just dawning as she tumbled unsteadily off the train, but she was lucky enough to pick up an army lorry at the station, which dropped her at Bourton-on-the-Hill. Bare trees, rimed with a silent frost, lined the road and, as she mounted the hill to Angelcote House, silver steam rose from pale green fields. The silence was broken only by the scraping of her steel-tipped boots on the frosty road, and the cawing of some rooks in a black-branched tree. But then a sharp crack startled her. Gunfire! She knew the sound well, though her guns boomed rather than snapped. She peered over the hedge and saw the familiar trilby hat. The major was abroad and he already had six rabbits strung on a pole. He lifted his hat.

‘For your ma!’ the major said.

Bill would be pleased.

Later, that first night at the cottage, snow fell, and she woke to views of hills, piled up like white pillows on a feather bed. Ice had frozen on to the insides of the windows and she ran across the landing to Mrs Lloyd’s room, jumping into bed with her.

‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.

‘I am now.’ Her mother groaned and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.

‘Mum, I was wondering, do you think you’ll stay in Bermondsey?’

Her mother sighed. ‘I don’t know, love. Perhaps, if our Peggy’s really bad.’

‘Don’t you want to go home?’

‘It don’t feel like home to me any more, May.’

*

But after two days in the snow-shrouded peace of the country, it was time to leave for Bermondsey. Stepping off the bus in Southwark Park Road, the contrast between the frost-encrusted, fairy-tale landscape of Angelcote and that of Bermondsey was stark. Snow had fallen on London too, but here the trees lining the streets were often truncated, broken by bombs and torn by shrapnel, their jagged snowladen arms pointed accusing fingers at the ashen sky. May led her mother in a halting progress along Southwark Park Road. She had the benefit of her army boots, but Mrs Lloyd’s feet slipped continually on the packed snow and May could feel her trembling as she leaned heavily on her arm. Eventually they came in sight of their pathetically isolated house, its cracked walls buttressed with timber on either side, like some abandoned fortress. An involuntary gasp escaped her mother’s lips.

‘Oh, me neighbours have gone, we’re all on our own!’ she said, and May felt her grip tighten.

‘It’ll be all right, Mum, I promise.’ She urged her forward. ‘There’s been no raids to speak of for ages, and inside the house is quite cosy again.’

This was stretching a point. The house had a roof and Peggy, before her bereavement, had taken trouble to make it more comfortable. But it wasn’t the home her mother would remember.

‘I just want to get in and see our Peggy.’ Mrs Lloyd pulled herself upright and set her chin. ‘Come on then.’

A couple of their neighbours, tottering along the icy street on their way to the shops, looked up in surprise at seeing her mother back home and, though they wanted to stop and talk, it seemed Mrs Lloyd had no energy for anything other than reaching her front door. May had already begun to wonder if it was a mistake for her to have left the haven of Angelcote.

But as soon as Mr Lloyd opened the front door a change came over her mother. The family had gathered in the front room, including Granny Bryon and her grandfather. There was a fire in the grate and the best plush tablecloth covered the table, on which was laid what counted as a feast these days. Mr Lloyd fussed over his wife as if she were returning royalty. But as she was plied with tea and Granny Byron’s mince pies, May could see her eyes darting towards the passage.

‘Where’s our Peg?’ she asked eventually. ‘Hasn’t she heard us come in?’

‘She’s upstairs seeing to the baby,’ Granny Byron explained.

‘I’ll go and fetch her.’ May went upstairs, intending to volunteer to get Pearl to sleep, but when she crept into the bedroom her sister was standing at the window, looking down into the street, and Pearl was already slumbering peacefully in her cot.

‘Hello, love, it’s me. Mum’s downstairs,’ May said.

Peggy slowly turned to her and it was obvious she’d been crying.

May stood beside her at the window and took her hand. ‘I know. You must miss him so much,’ she said, thinking of her own separation from Bill. ‘But Mum’s really worried about you. She never would have left the major’s otherwise. Come down, she’s dying to see you, Peg.’

Her sister brushed a tear away. ‘George offered to take me back, you know.’

‘No! What did you say?’

She heard Peggy swallow. ‘I told him I’d think about it.’

No wonder her sister had been crying. ‘You did
what
? Surely you don’t want that, do you, Peg?’

‘Don’t be stupid – of course I don’t!’ her sister snapped. ‘But I haven’t got much choice, have I? My wages don’t keep me and Pearl, and I can’t expect Dad to bail me out forever.’

‘But what about Pearl?’

‘He said he’s willing to take her on.’

Peggy’s willowy body sagged and she leaned her pale forehead against the windowpane. May tried to imagine her sister forcing herself back into that prison.

‘Well, he’s changed his tune. What’s come over him?’ May asked.

‘I don’t know what changed his mind.’ Peggy spoke to the fat flakes of snow that had begun to fall. ‘But just the thought of going back to him made me feel like I’d lost Harry all over again. Perhaps he was trying to rub my nose in it. He knows I’ve got nothing left.’

Her sister placed her palm against the steamy windowpane and the gesture reminded May of something. She saw her grandfather, placing the flat of his hand against George’s chest, pushing him back into the Technicolor face of John Mills on that film poster.

‘As a matter of fact I don’t think it was George’s idea at all. I suspect someone might have leaned on him... literally’

‘What are you talking about? Who?’ Peggy stood up straight, suddenly alert.

‘Grandad! Remember last time I was on leave? Well, I saw him giving George an earful. I reckon he was reminding him of his responsibilities.’

‘That just makes it worse. I don’t want George’s pity, or Grandad’s interference! I wish people’d just leave me alone.’

Peggy went to sit on the edge of the bed.

Her sister’s bitterness had shocked May. ‘You can’t say that about everyone, Peg. You might not want to go cap in hand to George, but what would you do without Mrs Gilbie? You couldn’t have gone back to work at all without her, could you?’

Peggy gave a weak smile. ‘Nell Gilbie is different. She’s the only one who doesn’t look at me as if I’d lost me marbles. And she’s good for Pearl. Sometimes I wish she was my mum.’

‘Peg!’

‘Well, it’s true. Mum will just get into a state and we’ll end up having to run round her. I bet she thinks I’m as doolally as she is herself.’

‘Oh, Peg, don’t say that. You of all people should know what it can do to you when you lose someone, but Mum’s better now. She might not be as strong as Bill’s mum, but at least she’s come back to see how you are. And if you want her to go away again, then the best thing you can do is come down and put a brave face on it.’

May led her to the dressing table and powdered her sister’s face with Atkinson’s Black Tulip, then she took out a stub of red lipstick and made Peggy purse her lips, finally dabbing behind her ears with California Poppy.

‘There. Atkinson’s finest, you’re like a walking advert. Come on, love.’

And when Peggy made her entrance, May had to give it to her: it was a star performance. Her sister looked so much the picture of groomed grit, it was like watching Greer Garson in
Mrs Miniver
.

*

Towards the end of the day, May took Granny Byron to the scullery on the pretext of washing up. Her grandfather had passed out on the sofa, cuddling a bottle of rum, and Mr Lloyd was playing the piano, keeping his wife entertained with some of her favourite songs.

‘Did you know George offered to take Peggy back?’ May whispered.

Granny Byron raised her eyes. ‘I’m not surprised. It’s Lord Byron in there, thinks he can turn up out the blue and put the world to rights. Frightened the life out of poor George he did, told him he’d end up tied to the bottom of a Thames barge if he didn’t do the right thing and give her back her home.’

‘It’s made her even worse. Now she thinks she’s got to go back to him!’

‘Well, that’s a load of old cods. She don’t have to do nothing she don’t want to.’ Her grandmother flicked the tea towel vigorously round the cup.

If only
, May thought,
we were all so sure of ourselves as Granny Byron.

But she said no more about it, deciding to make the most of her family being together this Christmas, simply glad to spend time with them until later that evening, when she decided she must make good her promise to Bill and visit his parents. Two rabbits and a chicken had made the journey with her from Moreton-in-Marsh and she retrieved them from the safe. The cold weather had kept them fresh, but they needed to be delivered today. Peggy looked as though her forced cheerfulness was beginning to slip, so May asked her to come too, and together they made their way through the blacked-out streets to St James’s Road. Moonlight bounced off the banked snow on either side of the road, and the white hoops round the trees helped to guide their way. When they arrived at the Gilbies, there was a party in full swing. May was greeted by Bill’s mum and dad as if she were already their daughter-in-law, and Peggy was enveloped in a warm embrace by Mrs Gilbie.

‘You two must be frozen. Here.’ Mr Gilbie handed them both a glass of sherry. ‘That’ll warm you up. Come and say hello to our Sammy and Albie. At least we’ve got two of our boys with us for Christmas.’

Poor Mr Gilbie looked mortified as he saw May’s face fall. ‘Sorry, love, foot-in-mouth disease, me.’

But it did May good to be around Bill’s family. It made him seem closer, especially when Mrs Gilbie took her aside and they compared notes from his letters.

‘My Sam’s of the opinion Bill will be going to the Far East, just from reading between the lines. Our Bill’s asked for some calamine lotion, and he’s not very good in the sun, so he’s heading for somewhere hot, we know that much.’

It was such a small thing to hold on to, and even if it was wrong, it was comforting to picture him going towards
somewhere
. Now she could at least fix him in space and time. Mrs Gilbie asked after her mother and then looked over her shoulder at Peggy, who was laughing at a story Mr Gilbie was telling about Jack.

‘This business with George has really shook her. It’s none of my business, but I don’t think it’ll do her ’apporth o’ good.’

‘I agree, Mrs Gilbie, but she’s trying to think of the future.’

‘I’ve told her I don’t mind how long I have Pearl, she can work all the hours God sends to make up her money, and to be honest, I think it’ll be the best thing she can do. Keep herself busy.’

May nodded, wishing with all her heart that hard work was enough to ease the pain of Peggy’s broken heart.

‘What’s going to happen about Jack? Has anyone from Harry’s family been in touch?’

‘Only an old uncle in Camberwell, but he’s got no kids – he’d be no good looking after a toddler. Harry never talked about his wife’s family. I don’t think they ever got on. So, unless we hear otherwise, love, it looks like it’s down to us.’