Birmingham Friends (18 page)

Livy had looked healthy and full of life, showing off her uniform – ‘It’s definitely the smartest in the women’s services. Not like that awful drab ATS garb!’ – playing the piano, and we’d gone out dancing . . . And suddenly this oddness.

‘Dearest Katie,’ she wrote in December that year,

Guess what – I’ve been reposted! More responsibility, or so they tell me, though it doesn’t feel too arduous as yet. All in all though a new, big adventure.

How are things in grim old Birmingham? Life here is such a lark – as I’m sure I’ve said. I can’t think why I didn’t join up at the earliest opportunity! My life before the war seems deathly when I think back on it now. Of course we’re working fearfully hard as well, but I scarcely have a night in, except when we have to – dreary domestic nights which are a rule of the service. But at least it’s a chance to reset my hair!

I do hope you’re not overworking and burning yourself out with all your duties. Do remember to let up sometimes won’t you?!

Just dashing this off – must finish now. There’ll be a lot of disappointed faces at the dance tonight if I don’t turn up!

All love for now. Olivia.

After several letters like this I felt pretty browned off with her, and not just because her writing to me was so rare when I’d been making an effort to write regularly, but because the tone of them was always similar to this one. It didn’t strike me then that anything was wrong: I was just irritated by their shallowness. She felt so distant and it was as if we could no longer communicate about anything important.

Angus spent the Christmas of 1940 at home.

‘Oh, look at you!’ I greeted him, fingering the embroidered wings on his blue uniform. ‘A real airman!’

While he was home we announced to our families that we planned to marry.

‘We don’t feel we can plan a date,’ Angus explained to his mum and dad. ‘Not with things as they are. But as soon as I know I’m going to be back home . . .’

‘I can’t pretend I’m surprised,’ Ruth Harvey said, embracing me enthusiastically. ‘And I couldn’t be more delighted.’

Christmas slipped by far too quickly. Angus and I treated ourselves to one night away together, deciding not to worry what anyone thought. My parents couldn’t bring themselves to comment and Peter Harvey lent us his car. When we signed ourselves into a small country inn it was as Mr and Mrs Harvey. No doubt couples were doing something similar all over the country.

In the small restaurant we had a magnificent meal considering the time of year and strictures of rationing.

‘That’s the great thing about being in the country.’ I stared in wonder at the pheasant and generous helpings of vegetables on my plate. ‘And she said there’d be eggs for breakfast!’

‘Didn’t you see the chickens out at the back when we arrived?’ Angus said, smiling at my enthusiasm. ‘That’s what you really came for, wasn’t it – the food!’

‘Don’t be silly.’ I took his hand across the table. ‘But it’s all lovely.’

‘We don’t do badly for food. I think they give the services all the best.’

‘Well I’m glad they’re looking after you.’

We ordered a half bottle of wine and sat for a long time near the comforting fire in the inglenook, enjoying being with each other. Because my thoughts were often sad and questioning I didn’t want to voice them, and I sensed there were a lot of things that Angus was not saying, was keeping at bay. We sat quietly holding hands across the table, and when we did talk it was often about the past because it was safer.

‘D’you remember that day when your granny stripped off just as your mum was expecting all those parish bods round?’

I smiled back. That afternoon: Granny’s graphic display of her frustrations, Olivia’s strange mood – the start of so many more.

‘I thought your mother would burst she was so angry.’

‘Oh no. That’d be far too self-indulgent. She’s prepared to permit herself some emotions, provided they’re all brisk, positive ones.’

‘You’re very hard on her.’

‘I’ve had to live with her. Your mother’s so relaxed and warm compared with mine.’

Angus nodded, unable to contradict me. He watched me, head on one side. ‘How’s Livy getting on?’

‘Oh, like a house on fire apparently.’ I couldn’t help the bitter edge to my voice. ‘Taking the Wrens by storm, one long party, all marvellous . . .’ I spoke mocking the tone of those breezy notes which made me feel so cut off from her in their twittering, persuasive brightness.

‘So what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know who she is any more. As if we can’t ever tell each other anything. It used not to be like this.’

‘Don’t let it upset you.’ He squeezed my hands, his own cupped warm and comforting around them. ‘Everyone has different ways of getting through all this. Maybe that’s hers.’

I was staring down at the cloth. ‘It just feels as if I’m losing everyone – the people who really matter, anyway. Still – ’ I loosed one hand to take a sip from my glass, looking at the flames through the deep red liquid. ‘Mustn’t start feeling sorry for myself.’

‘Oh, go on – I was rather enjoying it,’ Angus teased.

‘At least you’re here – that’s the main thing.’

He shook his head slowly. His hair was so short now, clipped very precisely round his ears. ‘I’m not certain for how much longer.’ He spoke reluctantly.

‘What does that mean?’

He leaned forward and whispered, very close to my ear: ‘Strong possibility of an overseas posting coming up.’

‘Oh, Angus, no!’ I put my glass down, catching the base on the ashtray. Red wine bled slowly across the white cloth. I sprinkled salt on the stain and it turned a sickly pink. I felt tears rising in me. Angus going away, no home leaves, never seeing him. I cursed myself for being so self-centred.

‘Look – we haven’t actually heard anything yet.’

I looked across at him in silence. He took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Come on, Katie. Let’s go up.’

He teased me out of my despondency on the way up the dark staircase, trying to lift me up, sweeping me off my feet.

‘I wouldn’t have even attempted this a few years ago,’ he said, pretending to stagger across the landing. ‘You’re not quite such a lump nowadays.’

I kicked and protested, and high on the wine we found ourselves tangled, giggling on the bed in our little room. The fire was still alight, and we left the light off and settled in front of it. The playful mood lasted. Together we laid the eiderdown and a scratchy rug on the floor by the grate, then knelt opposite each other.

‘The first person to laugh has to forfeit one article of clothing,’ I said, immediately erupting into giggles.

‘Right,’ Angus said. ‘That’s you for a start. And the second rule is that the other person has to take it off for them.’

We didn’t hold back on our laughter, struggling slightly hysterically with buttons and fastenings until Angus said, ‘The only thing you’ve got left now is your specs.’

He lifted them slowly from my face, serious now, his grey eyes close to mine. His excitement was evident and I felt suddenly awed by it, by the responsibility each of us had for the other’s happiness.

‘I’ve missed you. I’ve wanted you so much.’

Our lovemaking that night was the least reserved I ever remember it. A fierce combination of need, fear and passion, not mindful of what was proper or permissible, only what was strong and right. He stayed out of me for a long time, not wanting to give himself up to it too soon, and we knelt together in the firelight, fingers on each other’s skin. The tautness of his mood excited me, his eyes closed, breathing me in, touching every part of me.

We lay together, then, on the blanket as the fire faded. I could see only the closest things: Angus’s face, his dark hair, chest pink in the light and the shape of my breasts falling heavily to one side as I lay beside him. He ran his hand very softly along my side, again and again, thigh, hips, waist, ribs, following the deep curves. He closed his eyes. Eventually we moved to make ourselves comfortable on the bed, lying tucked tightly together.

I woke later in the night to find him moving beside me, slight shifting movements of his head and limbs too controlled and conscious for sleep.

‘Angus?’

Silence at first, then his voice: ‘I think I’m going to die.’

Swiftly I turned over. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’ I could see only the faint outline of his face. I held him close to me.

‘We don’t talk about it – none of us. Best not to. It’s not the done thing. You can’t function if you think about it, so we joke about collecting scores, flying aces and all that. None of my squadron have seen much in the way of real action of course, but we’ve heard enough.’

Silently I listened, my arm crooked across his flat stomach. He spoke quietly into the darkness, in an even voice.

‘You can’t say the obvious, can’t share it. I’m shit scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave you, Katie.’

Our arms tightened round each other.

‘My darling, I love you,’ I told him helplessly. ‘I love you so much.’ We slept, clinging as if afraid that the other might slip away.

That room has stayed with me always. Waking the next morning: the white bowl and pitcher on the chest of drawers, powder-blue wallpaper with trailing pink roses, the pink eiderdown with satin finish, sun through that window overlooking fields. And the shadows of the place round us the evening before, the firelight: Angus’s face.

They embarked from Liverpool in early January 1941, on the
Empress of Australia
for Freetown, Mombasa, the Arabian Sea. At Bombay, the squadrons joined the
Aquitania
with its draft of a thousand service personnel bound for the nutmeg smell of Rangoon. In March the squadrons formed at Kallang Airport to aid the defence of Singapore, with their cumbersome Buffalo fighter planes.

Two days before he left, Angus sent me a postcard.

Thank you for a wonderful leave, my love. Something to carry with me in the darker days ahead.

Guess who I ran into last night – Olivia! At one of the local Naafis. We had quite a jolly time together. Good to see a familiar face in all this. Keep your spirits up, my darling. Thinking of you constantly. Love, Angus.

*

I ran into Elizabeth Kemp, forced the meeting, though I’m sure she would have preferred a pretence of not seeing me. Even her appearance grated on me. It was the spring of 1941, and the air raids were at last beginning to let up, but it had been a hard, heartbreaking winter for so many people. The city was peppered with bomb sites and we were all pale-faced, haggard from nerves and lack of sleep. But there was Elizabeth, sauntering along New Street dressed in what must have been a very expensive navy coat, stylish high-heeled shoes and an extravagant, wide-brimmed hat. So few people looked glamorous in the city. I couldn’t help thinking how typical it was of her, this inability to confront even the reality of the war.

‘Good morning, Mrs Kemp.’ I wouldn’t call her Elizabeth. I stood square in front of her in my flat nursing shoes and blue serge coat.

‘Oh! Katie!’ She recoiled slightly. ‘I didn’t see you.’

‘How odd. I could have sworn you were looking straight at me.’ I gave her a broad smile so that she was left unsure whether I was being sarcastic or not. I could feel her thinking what a frump I looked.

‘How’s Olivia? I don’t hear all that much from her.’

Elizabeth’s hands fiddled with the clasp of her glossy blue handbag. ‘To tell you the truth, neither do we.’ She looked down, watching the drab feet passing us. She had aged even since I last saw her. Her face was thinner, more lined. ‘I gather she’s getting along fine. Well settled in. Doing her bit – you know. To tell you the truth we thought she might soon find she’d had enough, but not a bit of it.’ She forced a laugh, still unable to meet my eye.

When she looked up again it was over my shoulder at the grand frontage of the bank behind me. ‘And how are you, Kate?’

We exchanged a few more pleasantries. As we said our goodbyes she looked at me directly for the first time, eyes slightly narrowed.

‘Was it you that put her up to joining up?’

‘Good heavens, no.’ I began to turn away. ‘Actually, I had the impression that it was your influence. Both of you.’

I didn’t see Olivia all that year and only heard from her occasionally. My letter telling her of Angus’s departure and our plans to marry provoked a brief note of congratulation. The year sped past. We were all so taken up by the war and all I could do was to hope she was safe. It wasn’t until November 1941 that I knew she was home. A freezing, windy day, the breath clouding back from her face as she stood on the step in Chantry Road.

‘Olivia?’ My face must have shown blankness or astonishment.

‘That’s not much of a greeting.’ She gave me a self-conscious smile. ‘Didn’t your mother tell you I’d called yesterday?’

She must have forgotten. Typical of her, to have let something so important to me slip her mind. Both my parents were, as usual, busy.

‘No. I’m sorry, Livy.’ I laughed, suddenly full of delight, and tried to hug her. ‘It’s so amazingly good to see you – it’s been such a long time. Are you on leave?’

‘Not exactly,’ she said abruptly.

I was full of questions, but Olivia stood stiffly in my embrace, and as she walked in past me I took in her extreme thinness and the exhausted sag of her face. Her black coat made her skin look very white and she coughed as her lungs met the warmer air of the house.

We sat in the living-room drinking tea. Livy toyed with the spoon on her saucer.

‘You look terrible. Have you been ill?’

She crossed one bony leg over the other, a tight gesture. ‘Yes – a touch of pneumonia.’ She spoke lightly. ‘The dear old navy took pity on me and sent me home to recuperate for a couple of weeks. I think I was really on the mend by the time I got here, though. Mummy and Daddy have been clucking over me of course, poor darlings.’

‘Why poor?’ I said tersely. ‘It’s not them who’ve been ill.’

‘Oh, they seem to be missing me rather a lot. The centre of their lives taken away by the war and all that . . . Actually – ’ She looked warily at me, then shifted her gaze down to her lap. ‘They were asking after you. They wondered if you’d come round some time, just for tea or something. It’s been a long time, Katie. It’d be so nice to have you in the house again.’