A Step Too Far (19 page)

     ‘
I think Reuben has already provided us with the answer to that.
’ Conroy had smiled briefly. ‘
Did he not say that sometimes he left the house at night, that it was during one such escapade he observed crates being brought out from the “Shadow Factory” and loaded onto narrow boats? This will also be the way he discovered the operations taking place on the golf links, materials being taken away under cover of darkness.
’

     Miriam saw again the quick lift of her son’s head, the frown preceding the question: with no building present on that land, how was it to be supposed any existed?

     ‘
It is not unknown for quite extensive construction to be placed underground
,’ Conroy had returned, ‘
we need only to remember London’s Underground Railway system
.’

     ‘
. . . This is what we hope will be believed from your sketch
,’ Conroy had continued, ‘
We want it thought that beneath that expanse of empty land there is a factory so secret no evidence of it must be seen to exist, a producer of materials so vital to the outcome of the war they can only be brought out at night. If . . . no . . .
’ he had shaken his head
, ‘. . . when you are questioned . . . and we can have no doubt you will be . . . you must say you could find nothing more, that when you asked your grandfather he got angry, told you to stop asking questions and warned you stay away from the golf links. You must sound convincing, Reuben, so much depends on you achieving that.
’

     ‘
That’ll be no problem, sir
.’ Reuben had grinned. ‘
I’ll need only to mention the strap, the teachers all know the respect us lads have for that
.’

     Reuben had left the living room saying he would re-draw his plan of the town to include Conroy’s asked-for addition. Then their visitor had turned to herself and her father.

     ‘
Mrs Carson, Mr Eldon
,’ he had said, his voice kept deliberately low, ‘
the Ministry recognises you deserve an explanation, a fuller understanding of the happenings which have led to asking Reuben’s continued assistance, but before I can give that explanation, I have to ask you both to sign the Official Secrets Act.
’

     Isaac nodded agreement to the request.

     ‘
You understand
.’ Conroy had returned the signed documents to his briefcase. ‘
Nothing of what you are about to hear must pass beyond these walls
.’

     ‘
Reuben?
’

     The sharp question had been her own.

     ‘
Your son has already demonstrated the fact of his dependability
.’ Conroy had answered. ‘
We are convinced it is a quality he will retain. Reuben is a sensible lad, Mrs Carson, you can be proud of him.
’

     Sensible! Miriam rose from her chair. What sense was left in a world where children were called upon to do such things?

She would see him again tonight, see Earl, the American pilot who called her ma’am, who rose from his chair when she left her seat to go to the Ladies. Caught in her own romantic dream, Becky Turner walked alongside her mother. He would ask her to dance, hold her in that special way, close against him yet gentle as if she were some precious thing he valued above all else. Then in the interval, that half hour of the band taking a break from playing, he would suggest a breath of fresh air; that was the part she liked most. Heart lurching at the thought, Becky hid it with a small shake of her shoulders, as if the sharp promise of frost pervading the afternoon reached through her coat. Her mother must not suspect! Hiding a tremor was easier than hiding the bloom of colour thoughts of Earl always sent rushing to her cheeks. Thank heavens today was cold, her mother would see that as responsible for any blush.

     ‘Best go get the groceries first. Lord, another queue!’ Her mother’s irritated remark went unheeded until she pushed ration books into Becky’s hands. ‘You stand an’ I’ll go see if there be aught at the butchers as don’t be needin’ o’ no coopuns.’

     Tonight the dream could come true. Wedged into the line of women patiently waiting their turn to be served, Becky slipped back into her reverie. Earl would take her out of that hot crowded dance hall, away from the press of people; he would find a secluded spot shielded from prying eyes and there he would draw her into his arms, whisper her name as his mouth closed over hers  . . .

     ‘If you don’t be in no ’urry to get served then shift y’self outta the way an’ let others be seen to!’

     Accompanied by the jab of a finger between her shoulder blades, the woman’s words rang around the shop. Stammering apology, Becky handed the ration books across the counter. One day all of this would be over, war would end, rationing, standing in endless queues for everything would be no more than a memory and she . . . Becky breathed against the delicious trickle invading her stomach . . . she would be in America.

     ‘
You’re so pretty with those gorgeous blue eyes and lovely smile, any man would be proud to have you for his wife.
’

     Becky nodded to the shop assistant, watched the woman’s lips move but it was Earl’s voice she heard, the husky whispered words as his mouth had brushed her ear.

     He had held her against him, his arms tightening his voice harsh with pent up emotion.

     ‘
. . . I’d sure as hell be proud to take you back with me to the States but  . . .
’

     But! How that word, that pause had hurt, how it smashed into her hopes, shattered her longings and then  . . .

     ‘
. . . I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t ask you to leave everything you have ever known, your home, your family, I . . . I think too much of you, Becky, to cause you the pain that would bring, yet if  . . .
’

     Becky’s number nine cloud floated higher. Earl thought too much of her. He loved her, Earl
loved
her!

     Ration books returned, groceries packed into the crude Hessian bag, its plaited string handles biting into her palms, Becky left the shop.

     Would there be stalls lining each side of the street in Earl’s home town? Miami. Becky hugged the name to her.

     ‘
Miami
.’ He had smiled. ‘
Beaches blonde gold as your hair, fringed by an ocean blue as those luscious blue eyes and sunshine, sunshine every day of the year; you would love it there Becky, I just know you would
.’

     He had sat that first evening of meeting her, his own deep brown eyes gleaming softly, his tone quiet almost reverential as he described the place he had come from, a place so different from Wednesbury. And now he had said he would be proud to take her there, except for its causing her the pain of parting from her home, of leaving the town she had grown up in. But what was there to grieve over by leaving Wednesbury? Glancing again over the assortment of market stalls huddled beneath smoke palled skies, skies made darker by threat of leaden snow, Becky knew her question needed no answer; leaving this town for Miami, exchanging her home for that which Earl would give would cause her no pain at all.

     She would take such delight in telling him so tonight. He would ask her tonight, he would say, those few precious words which he would have said last week had Alice not called her to leave.

     ‘Be you a’ listenin’!’

     Laced with aggravation, her mother’s irate question snatched at the dream, scattering it like snowflakes on the wind.

     ‘. . . Twice I spoke to you, twice, an’ no answer neither time, where be that head o’ your’n I’d like to know!’

     Taking the extra shopping bag thrust at her, Becky followed the figure darting with the certainty of an arrow toward O’Connel’s greengrocer stall. Should she tell her mother where her head had been? Tell her where the rest of her daughter would be in a few weeks’ time? Tell her of the man who tonight would ask her to be his wife?

     The past few weeks had been fortunate in her and Alice being able to swap late evening shift on Saturday for double shift on Sunday. But she would not be doing that much longer, she would be spending all of her Saturdays and Sundays, every single weekend of the year, lying with Earl on the sun drenched beaches of Miami.

     ‘That were a stroke o’ luck, another couple o’ minutes an’ there would ’ave been none left.’ Stuffing several onions and a swede into the bag Becky held, her mother gloated triumph. ‘Go nice wi’ that bit o’ liver I got from the butcher, that be supposin’ I can find it, be that little; but I wouldn’t have got even that hadn’t I seen him slip a packet across the counter to that fancy piece along o’ Russell Street. He thinks folk don’t know what be goin’ on ’tween ’im an’ that one, but we ain’t everyone o’ we blind and we ain’t dumb neither.’

     Thoughts warm and golden as the imagined sun, Becky’s glance fell on the window of Boot’s Chemist shop. Maybe, just maybe, she would be lucky enough to find a lipstick or even a bottle of Amami Wave setting lotion.

     Daydreaming had caught her off guard. Her mother wanted to know why Becky hoped to buy cosmetics. ‘I . . .’ she faltered under the questioning stare, ‘I . . . told Kate I would try to get some for her, and take them with me when I went to her house tonight.’

     ‘Won’t be no goin’ along of the Hawleys’ tonight, I needs you to sit along o’ the little ’uns!’

18

‘
I needs you to sit along o’ the little ’uns
.’

     The bell of doom rang in Becky’s’ head, sounding the end of everything, of hopes and dreams.

     Tears of disappointment gathered thick in her throat. Earl would think her not turning up at the dance was because she didn’t want to see him. But she
did
! She wanted to be with him more than she had ever wanted anything in her whole life! The cry loud in her heart, Becky bit it back from her tongue. Her mother would not understand, she would not believe a couple could fall in love so quickly; but Becky knew it was the real thing and Earl’s eyes, whenever he looked at her, showed he knew it too. They loved each other, it wasn’t fair they be kept apart, that the few precious hours they could be together was taken from them so she could child-mind. She had waited all week! She thought of it the whole time at the factory, talked of it with Alice as they ate their sandwiches in the canteen, and again while they made their way home together. That was nearly as much a delight as actually being there in the dance hall, both of them giggling at the charade played out before ever arriving. They had to make it look as though there was no more to the evening than passing it with Kate Hawley, which meant leaving Cross Street with faces scrubbed clean, best dress hidden beneath an everyday one, almost irreplaceable rouge, face powder, lipstick and eyebrow pencil and her cherished nylons secreted in a brown paper shopping bag and dropped into the yard from a rear bedroom window to be collected as they left the house, then dart quick as their legs would carry them away along the Holyhead Road. But the transformation had to wait until the safety of the Ladies room allowed for everyday dresses to be removed, make-up applied and finally hair (which had spent the day tightly bound in steel curling pins beneath turbans) to be combed and coaxed into a preferred style. Becky brushed hers to fall long and loose to her shoulder with one deep wave sweeping down over the brow, seductively half covering one eye exactly as worn by the American film star Veronica Lake. But it was the dresses they dreamed of most, dresses they imagined themselves wearing, gowns beautiful as any those screen stars wore but which she and Alice could only dream of. Becky sniffed back tears. That was all it could ever be so long as she remained here in Wednesbury, imagination and broken dreams.

     She could refuse to babysit! She could follow Alice’s example and flatly refuse, give her own mother the same ultimatum that had been given Mrs Butler.

     But Alice had not been subjected to the restrictions of church.

     Becky felt the surge of resolve melt away.

     It would have been much easier for Alice to deny her mother, to tell her ‘no’ for Mrs Butler did not have the reinforcement enjoyed by Mary Turner, that of a priest backing her every word.

     ‘
It is the duty of the child to obey the parent
.’

     She had heard those same words from earliest childhood, heard them with each weekly visit the Father made to the house, listened to them every Sunday in Saint Mary’s Church, it had even been given as a reminder upon completion of her Confession though all she had felt the need of owning to had been the fact she had nothing at all to confess.

     But what of now!

     Guilt poured fresh waves of colour on Becky’s cheeks. What of the deceit she was practising? The pretence of spending Saturday evenings at the Hawley house when in truth she was visiting a dance hall, and more than that – she shivered against the cold touch of sinfulness suddenly fingering her spine – she spent those hours with a man, a man who kissed her, a man whose emotions, whose affection for her spoke in his every smile, the tenderness of his feelings glowed soft in his eyes, and the love, the love she felt throb strong and hard when he drew her close in the privacy of those dark obscured corners.