Down an English Lane (25 page)

She was enjoying Ted’s company, now that she
was able to persuade him to talk a little more. They only talked about day to day happenings in the neighbourhood, however, and about how the approaching season of Christmas was making each of them busy in their own way. Maisie was occupied with her end of term activities – which she tried not to mention too much to Ted – and the forthcoming Carol Festivals at church, and the New Year pantomime; and Ted was extra busy on the farm as they harvested the Brussels sprouts and turnips, and fattened up the Christmas turkeys and chickens and the largest sow. Poor creatures, Maisie thought, not wanting to dwell on the details of the gruesome business, because she enjoyed her Christmas dinner as much as anyone.

When it came to other matters she sometimes felt that he was rather in awe of her. ‘I’ve never been much of a one for books an’ all that sort o’ thing,’ he told her, when he discovered that she made frequent visits to the local library; she had long been an avid reader. She told him that she too, however, read the
Daily Mirror
and
People
on a Sunday, and that as well as enjoying some classical and choral music, she also liked the popular stuff just as much as he did. They discovered that they both had the records of Glen Miller – ‘Moonlight Serenade’, ‘In the Mood’, and ‘American Patrol’ – played and played on their wind-up gramophones until they were quite scratchy with overuse.

She hadn’t been able to see him as much as he
would have wished, but he had taken to meeting her from choir and pantomime practices. They would walk slowly to her home, sometimes calling at the chip shop on the way, and say goodnight at the back gate with a few kisses. After that first time he had kissed her more lingeringly, and she had not protested.

She had not yet invited him to her home, but she had been invited to a party at the Nixons’ farm early in January. She would most likely have been invited anyway, as Doris’s friend, but this time, Ted impressed upon her, she would be there because he had invited her; as his girlfriend, he implied.

Next week they were going to the cinema again, to see yet another re-run of
Holiday Inn
– with Bing Crosby singing everyone’s favourite, ‘White Christmas’. Lily didn’t seem to mind Maisie going out with him, ‘so long as it doesn’t get too serious,’ she kept reminding her daughter. ‘You have a lot of studying to do yet, Maisie, as well as having the rest of your life ahead of you. So think on, and don’t do anything silly.’

Maisie assured her that she wouldn’t. She was quite happy for things to stay just the way they were. It was up to her, she knew, to set the pace and to make sure that Ted kept in line.

‘You will come and act as a witness for us at the Register Office, won’t you?’ Christine asked her friend, Sadie, just before Christmas. ‘It’s all
arranged now; eleven o’clock in the morning on the second of January.’

‘Yes… I will,’ agreed Sadie. She had only been told of the hastily arranged marriage a few days previously and had said that she needed time to think about her friend’s request that she should be a bridesmaid; well, a sort of bridesmaid. ‘And Roland will be able to stay an extra day, that is if you are still sure that you want him to be a witness as well?’

‘Yes, we’re sure.’ Christine nodded. ‘We’re very grateful to you both for agreeing to do it, but there’s no one else, really, that we could ask…’ She paused, aware of Sadie’s silence, and realised that her remark was not very tactful. ‘Well, you know what I mean, don’t you?’ she went on. ‘Of course I would want you to be my bridesmaid. We decided that long ago, didn’t we, you and me? I don’t want Roland to think we are just making use of him, but under the circumstances Bruce can’t ask any of his mates to stand for him.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Sadie. ‘Hasn’t he any friends at the camp? Somebody that he flew with during the war?’

‘I’m sure he has friends, although I haven’t met any of them yet. I know one of his best mates was killed… No; we agreed that it should be as quiet as possible, and the less people who know about it the better. They’ll all find out soon enough.’

‘I’m still rather unhappy about what you are
doing, Chrissie,’ said Sadie. ‘This isn’t exactly going to endear you to your in-laws, is it? And you don’t want to cause a rift between Bruce and his parents, do you?’

‘Oh, that won’t happen. His mother thinks the sun shines out of his…his behind, to put it politely! They might be upset for a little while, but they’ll get over it. I’ve told you; I couldn’t face all the fuss and palaver up there in Middlebeck. It isn’t as if we’ll ever go to live up there. It’ll be goodbye to Middlebeck and to Bradford.’

‘Christine…are you pregnant?’ asked Sadie, as though the idea had just that moment occurred to her. Christine smiled; she was surprised her friend had not asked her the question before now. She nodded.

‘That’s what I’ve told Bruce,’ she answered. Sadie looked at her searchingly.

‘But…are you, really? This isn’t a trick, is it, to get him to the altar? Well, not the altar; to get the ring on your finger, I mean?’

‘Now why ever should I do that?’ asked Christine in wide-eyed innocence. ‘Bruce and I are engaged, and we would have been getting married later in the year. We’ve just had to put it forward a few months, that’s all. Bruce doesn’t want to tell his folks about the baby, though, not yet. We’ll have to wait and see how things work out.’

‘I see…’ said Sadie, raising her eyebrows and regarding her a mite distrustfully. ‘And has it been
decided, now, where you are going to live? Has Bruce been able to get married quarters?’

‘Oh yes, of course. Quite a nice flat, from what he tells me. But we’re hoping it might be only a temporary measure. He wants us to have our own house as soon as we can. There are a few quaint little villages near to the camp, and Bruce has just bought a car – a Ford Prefect, only a couple of years old – so he will be able to get around more easily.’

‘He is able to drive then?’

‘Of course! Bruce has piloted a plane, so driving a car is child’s play to him. Yes; his father taught him to drive years ago.’

‘I thought you were dead against living in quaint little villages,’ Sadie remarked, with what Christine thought was a touch of asperity. ‘You’ve had enough to say about Middlebeck, and it sounds a lovely place to me. You don’t want to end up in the back of beyond with only what you call “country bumpkins” for company.’

‘Oh, we’ll be very near to Lincoln,’ said Christine, ‘and Nottingham’s not all that far away. Besides, I shall be with Bruce, won’t I? And that’s what we want, just to be together, him and me.’

‘And the baby…’ Sadie reminded her.

‘Well yes, of course…eventually. But that’s a good while off yet. Don’t tell anyone about it, will you, Sadie? I mean, we won’t be broadcasting the fact that that is why we are getting married.’

‘My lips are sealed,’ replied Sadie. ‘But you can’t
blame people if they draw their own conclusions.’

‘Don’t sound so disapproving,’ said Christine, aware that she did not have her friend’s wholehearted support. ‘You must know what it’s like. I’m sure you do, you and Roland. We love one another very much, Bruce and me. That’s why…it happened.’

Sadie smiled. ‘I don’t disapprove; not about that, at any rate. Yes, I do know what it’s like… But I hope everything works out all right for you.’ She looked around the flat where the two young women had spent many companionable hours together. ‘So you’ve told Mr Hardacre that you’re leaving here, have you? And you’ve given in your notice at the mill?’

‘Yes, to both questions,’ said Christine. ‘It’ll be a whole new way of life for me, living in Lincolnshire.’ The biggest regret she had was about leaving Sadie behind. She was not entirely without finer feelings and she knew that her friend was genuinely concerned for her. ‘I won’t forget you, though,’ she told her. ‘I shall miss you, Sadie; we’ve had some good times together. And I’ll still be your bridesmaid in February, that’s if you still want me.’

‘Of course I do…’

‘Well, that’s OK then. I know it’ll be a grand affair…not like mine. But we’re going to try and make ours as much like a proper wedding as we can, but without all the fuss. I’ve ordered some little sprays of flowers for you and me and buttonholes
for the men. And Bruce has booked a meal for the four of us at a nice place on the road to Bingley.’

‘Will Bruce be wearing his uniform?’ asked Sadie. ‘I could ask Roland to wear his as well. They are both still serving officers, aren’t they?’

‘So they are…’ agreed Christine. And if she felt a pang of regret that no one else would be there to see them, it was only a fleeting thought.

There was one person Christine decided she must see before she married Bruce, not because she particularly wanted to see her or even considered it to be her duty to do so; but because she wanted her to see how little Christine Myerscough, raised in the worst area of Bradford, had bettered herself and moved up in the world.

It was on New Year’s Eve that she took the trolleybus up Manningham Lane towards the suburb of Shipley, alighting at the stop near to the ‘Ring o’ Bells’. Her mother, she recalled, worked there as a barmaid or, rather, had used to do so. She had not heard anything about Myrtle’s doings recently, neither had she bothered to try and find out. The pub was closed, however, as it was mid-afternoon, so she made her way to the semi-detached house, only a few minutes’ walk from the pub, which was now the home of Fred and Myrtle Myerscough. When they had left Lumm Lane they had lived in a small cottage-type property, then
moved to their present house in the early years of the war. Christine had visited them there only a couple of times, the last one being just before she joined the WAAF.

She opened the gate with the sunray design, which denoted that the house was fairly modern, dating from the early Thirties. She noticed that the green front door with the fanlight of coloured glass, also in a sunburst design, was glossy with new paint and the chromium-plated letter box and handle gleamed with recent polishing. No one could ever say that Myrtle was a slut, at least not so far as the cleanliness of her home was concerned. She had always prided herself on keeping a well scrubbed doorstep and shining windows, even when she had lived in one of the meanest streets in Bradford; one characteristic, possibly the only one, that she had inherited from her mother, Christine’s beloved gran.

The door opened a few moments after Christine’s knock. Her mother, clad in a red satin dressing gown stood there, staring at her with, at first, little sense of recognition. Then, ‘Chrissie…’ she said. ‘Well, I never!’ Her silver-grey eyes, so like Christine’s own, lit up for a few seconds with what seemed to be a smile of welcome, but then, just as quickly, they changed. Her expression and her voice were quite hostile as she said, ‘And to what do we owe this honour, may I ask? God knows how many years and we see neither hide nor hair of you, and then you turn up on the doorstep…’

‘Like a bad penny, Mother,’ said Christine, determined not to be cowed. ‘Aren’t you going to say you’re pleased to see me?’

‘You’d best come in, I suppose,’ said Myrtle. ‘It’s been so long I hardly recognised you. You look older, Christine, a lot older than when I last saw you. Is the world not treating you well?’

‘Very well, as a matter of fact,’ answered Christine, feeling hurt and cross. ‘Actually, I’ve got some news for you. Stupendous news…’ How dare her mother say she was looking old? It was not true; it was just that it had been…several years. And during those years it seemed to Christine that her mother had scarcely aged at all. Her hair was still the same blonde colour, too brassy and obviously dyed, but immaculately set and waved; her make-up was perfectly applied on a face that showed no hint of lines or crow’s feet; and her dressing gown, clearly an expensive one, was tightly belted around a curvaceous, but still quite slim, figure.

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Myrtle. ‘Come in then, into the lounge, and you can tell me all about it, if you’ve a mind to…whatever it is.’

Christine followed her into the front room, which her mother called the lounge – Myrtle was a great one for the niceties – and sat down on a large red plush armchair. Everything in the room was red, of slightly differing, though complementary, tones; a cherry red three-piece suite, dark red velveteen curtains, and a red carpet, the same design as the
one in the hallway, with a pattern of yellow and brown leaves. The display cabinet in the corner held an assortment of china cups and saucers decorated with red and gold roses, china figurines, and various silver – or EPNS – items. It all suggested that a fair amount of money was coming into the house, one way or another. Christine had to admit to herself that the room was cosy, with a coal fire burning brightly in the tiled hearth.