Maralinga (13 page)

‘I'm glad you came home for Christmas, Elizabeth.'

The words resonated for a moment as a brief image of childhood Christmases flashed before Elizabeth's eyes – a series of nameless restaurants and faceless people. She'd always felt just a little self-conscious admitting to her schoolfriends that she'd had Christmas dinner in a restaurant. Any minor embarrassment had been outweighed, however, by her superior knowledge, from a very early age, that Father Christmas did not exist – it had seemed to Elizabeth quite a fair exchange.

‘Christmas doesn't mean much in the Hoffmann household,' she said.

The train's engine pulled into the platform and, as the carriages snaked past, the crowd edged forward, eyes following each door, trying to pick which one would stop nearest, like the lucky draw on the slowing spin of a chocolate wheel.

‘Christmas isn't why I came home, Danny.'

The train stopped. Doors slammed open. ‘All aboard,' the guard called.

She kissed him, and with a squeeze of the hand was gone, swept away amongst a sea of commuters. All he could make out was an auburn bob and the upturned collar of a trench coat.

Moments later, the doors slammed shut and the guard's whistle sounded. He waved to the train as it pulled away from the platform. Just in case she could see him.

Two months later, towards the end of February, Daniel and Elizabeth told their respective parents of their engagement. Alfred and Marjorie Hoffmann were not in the least surprised and both were delighted. Kenneth and Prudence Gardiner were completely taken aback and both had their reservations. Daniel was bemused by their reaction. He'd thought that he'd well and truly signalled his intentions during the Christmas break, when, it had seemed, he'd talked of nothing but Elizabeth, to the point where his younger brother, Billy, had accused him of being besotted. ‘I most certainly am,' Daniel had readily agreed.

‘I thought she was just a girlfriend,' his father said bluntly. ‘You're far too young to get married.'

‘I'm twenty-two – exactly the same age you were when you married Mum. And we're not going to get married for at least a year anyway. Elizabeth needs to establish her career.'

‘You said she's Jewish …' Prudence got straight to the point.

‘I said that her father is. I don't think Elizabeth –'

‘You know that the children of Jewish women must be brought up in the Jewish faith, don't you? You are
aware
of that fact.' Prudence was clearly of the opinion that he wasn't.

‘I really don't think it'll be a problem, Mum.' As his parents exchanged a dubious glance and, as he sensed his mother about to continue, Daniel held up his hand signalling no more discussion. ‘Let's just wait until you've met her, all right?'

‘No offence intended, son,' his father said. ‘Your mother and I only have your best interests at heart.'

‘I know, Dad. I know.'

Daniel couldn't help feeling disappointed by the lukewarm reception of his news, but deep down he was not surprised. It wasn't that his parents were anti-Semitic, but rather they were wary of those who were ‘different'. Both from staunch Protestant families, they'd grown up in the same country town, been childhood sweethearts, and were products of their own closeted upbringings. Daniel was aware of all that. When his father talked about the war, as Kenneth did vociferously, his heartfelt slogan was
live and let live
– ‘Bloody Hitler's why we fought this war, and he's why we won! Right over wrong! Live and let live!'
–
but in his private life, Kenneth Gardiner did not happily embrace change, and nor did his wife. Preferring to follow their own well-worn path, and preferring others maintain theirs,
live and let live
really meant
to each his own.

‘My parents are very conservative, Elizabeth.' During the train trip to Crewe for their planned long weekend, Daniel felt it necessary to caution her.

‘So you've said – several times.'

‘No, I mean
very
conservative. Very set in their ways.' He wanted to warn her that she may find them narrow-minded, but he loved his parents and felt disloyal in his criticism.

‘Oh.' She was a little surprised. ‘Do I take that as a warning? Am I to be on my best behaviour?'

‘Good God, no,' he said, and laughed. ‘Don't you temper your behaviour for a minute, I want you to be as outrageous as you wish.'

‘Excellent. I'll take it as a dare then.' Her smile assured him that she would do no such thing, but there was a challenge in her voice as she asked, ‘So what have you told them about me?'

‘Everything. Well, no, not quite everything,' he corrected himself. ‘I haven't told them about E. J. Hoffmann.'

‘I should hope not.'

 

Elizabeth suppressed a smile as she caught Daniel's look across the table.
I did warn you,
his eyes said, but at the same time they told her to respond in her own way.
Go for it, Elizabeth,
he was saying, and he even gave her the slightest nod of encouragement.

She returned her attention to his father.

‘… Traitorous talk in my opinion – traitorous talk from those with short memories.' Kenneth, a large man in his forties with a well-built body that made the ungainly limp of his right leg just that bit more shocking, was currently mid-tirade. ‘Winnie led our boys to victory and saved this country – there are some who are too quick to forget that these days …'

Kenneth himself had brought up the subject, referring to a recent article in
The Manchester Guardian
about a possible general swing in popular opinion. It seemed that many, particularly amongst the younger set, favoured the current foreign secretary, Sir Anthony Eden, over Prime Minister Churchill as leader of the Conservative Party.

‘Dad reads most of the major newspapers,' Daniel had remarked meaningfully to Elizabeth, ‘including
The Times
and
The Guardian.'

Daniel seemed determined to stir her into action, but she remained unmoved.

‘Where do these journalists get their statistics from anyway?' Kenneth continued. ‘The average man in the street supports Churchill. At least the average man from around these parts does, I can assure you.'

The small coterie of Kenneth Gardiner's friends who met at the pub on a Friday night being like-minded war veterans, it was doubtful their opinions would have been representative of the average local, but Kenneth was sincere in his belief that they were.

‘Who's for more beef?' As her husband drew breath, Prudence seized the moment and rose to her feet. She was a pleasant, tidy woman, her matronly figure neatly compacted in place thanks to the corsetry she wore at all times. ‘Dan?' she queried, carving fork poised over the platter of sliced meat.

‘Thanks, Mum.' Daniel slid his plate across the table.

‘Help yourself to gravy and pudding. And Ken, dear …' Turning to her husband she continued in the same motherly tone, ‘Do eat up. You've hardly touched your food and it's getting cold.'

To Elizabeth's complete amazement, Kenneth Gardiner did just as he was told. He ceased his tirade and, like a large, obedient child, applied himself diligently to his dinner.

‘Excellent as always, Mother,' he said after several mouthfuls, and he beamed at his son. ‘There aren't many who can serve up a baked dinner like your mother, eh?'

Daniel nodded and helped himself to another perfectly puffed Yorkshire pudding.

Elizabeth was intrigued. The compliment was obviously a mealtime ritual, but it seemed out of character for a man like Kenneth Gardiner. As the meal progressed, however, and as the state of play became apparent, she realised Kenneth Gardiner was not the martinet she'd assumed him to be upon first meeting. Like many of his generation, he was set in his views, which to Elizabeth's mind rendered some areas of discussion pointless, but he seemed a nice enough man who genuinely appreciated his hard-working wife.

How clearly defined the roles of the two were, she thought. Kenneth obviously deferred to his wife in all matters domestic, and Prudence, who appeared a non-subservient and highly capable woman, acknowledged her husband as the undisputed head of the house. Elizabeth was bemused by her own reaction to a patriarchal system she'd expected to find irksome. There was something surprisingly comfortable about the Gardiners. They worked well as a team.

As she made her observations, Elizabeth was unaware she herself was being observed. Daniel found the degree of fascination with which his fiancée was studying his parents amusing. Perhaps for the very first
time, he thought, Elizabeth was witnessing life as lived by the masses. Perhaps in their own marriage they might find the perfect balance – somewhere between his parents' conformity and the eccentricity of hers. Not that it mattered. Whatever the outcome, Daniel couldn't wait to marry Elizabeth. His weekend leave visits to London had become an increasingly tantalising taste of the life he so longed to share with her.

Each fortnight for the past two months, Daniel had booked into a bed-and-breakfast lodging in South Kensington, just several blocks from Sumner Place, where Elizabeth rented a cheaply converted basement flat in a once-grand terrace house. They spent their days together exploring London from the tops of double-decker buses or walking tirelessly through the parks and along the Thames embankment, Elizabeth taking great pleasure in showing him the London she knew so well.

A visit to the theatre had become the regular outing on a Saturday, and one night, having returned to her flat from the West End and having shared their customary pot of tea in the kitchen, Elizabeth had protested when he'd risen to go.

‘It's ridiculous, honestly,' she'd said. ‘It's late and you're tired, why don't you stay?'

The look he'd given her had been one of mock outrage, and she'd laughed.

‘I'm not propositioning you,' she'd said. ‘We can make up a perfectly comfortable bed on the sofa.'

But he'd refused the offer. She was known to the other tenants in the building, he'd said, word would get around amongst her neighbours, she'd be compromised.

Elizabeth's response to such a remark would normally have been ‘Damn the neighbours, who cares what they think?' But on this occasion she'd made no such retaliation. Instead, she'd kissed him, very lovingly, and with just a hint of her own sense of longing.

‘Goodnight, Danny.'

‘Goodnight, Elizabeth.' Oh God, how he'd wanted to stay. But not on the sofa, and they'd both known that.

They planned to marry in the late spring. Elizabeth was sure that by then
The Guardian
would accept her work on a freelance basis, enabling her to write her feature articles from wherever her husband was stationed.

‘Well, they may not accept
my
features the way I'd hoped,' she'd wryly admitted, ‘but they'll accept E. J. Hoffmann's – he's become very popular. And if they insist upon my staying in London and slogging it out as a staff reporter, I shall resign and sell E. J. Hoffmann's work elsewhere.'

Now, as Daniel watched her watching his parents, he realised how assiduously he was counting the days. Two months down, he thought, another two to go.

 

‘I believe you're a journalist, dear.' Prudence decided it was time the conversation was directed towards their guest. Elizabeth had politely refused the offer of a second helping, the men were both happily tended to, and Kenneth was no longer intent upon ranting from his soapbox. But then he'd just been showing off, Prudence thought, the way all men did in the presence of a pretty girl. And this one was more than
pretty, she was downright handsome. ‘How very modern and adventurous of you to have a career,' she said admiringly.

Prudence approved of the new trend that allowed young women a degree of life experience prior to marriage. It couldn't help but strengthen their character before household duties and motherhood claimed them.

‘And journalism seems such a very bold choice,' she added. ‘I must say, I'm lost in admiration.'

‘What do you write about?' Kenneth asked with a bluntness that could have sounded aggressive, although this was not his intention; he was merely bewildered. To Kenneth, a woman journalist was a contradiction in terms.

Elizabeth refused to look at Daniel as she answered. ‘Fashion parades and flower shows for the most part.'

‘How thrilling.' Prudence was hugely impressed. ‘Fancy being paid to go to fashion parades and flower shows – you must be the envy of every young woman you know.'

‘Yes, I suppose I must be.' Elizabeth smiled. ‘I've never really thought about it like that, but you're probably right.'

‘Of course I am.' Prudence laughed. ‘Dear me, if I were a young woman I'd be green with envy. What a wonderful career you've chosen, Elizabeth. You must be very proud of your achievements. Don't you agree, Ken?'

‘Yes. Oh yes, yes, I do.' Kenneth's response was gruff and a little too pat, but he made the concession willingly enough, he and Prudence having talked about the situation. Kenneth Gardiner did not at all
approve of young women having careers. ‘Not if they want to get married,' he'd said. ‘They can't have it both ways – it's demeaning to men.'

‘It's
temporary,
Ken, that's what it is. She'll give up her career when she gets married.'

‘Dan obviously doesn't think so. It seems to me like he doesn't even
want
her to.'

‘Oh, she will, dear, of course she will. Every woman does – especially when the babies come.'

‘Even so,' Kenneth had pursued the broader argument, ‘a woman journalist isn't right in the first place. That's a man's job. She's taking a man's bread and butter, depriving a man's family of his wage. She wouldn't like having it done to her now, would she?'

Prudence had agreed in principle – indeed, she'd found herself unable to refute the argument – and they'd quickly called a truce, as they always did. She'd convinced her husband to draw a veil over their future daughter-in-law's career, given its very temporary nature, and Kenneth had agreed that it was their duty to welcome their son's fiancée into the household.

Prudence was glad now that Elizabeth had proved so personable and so distractingly good-looking, but she decided not to push too hard. Her husband had graciously acknowledged the girl's career, which was all that was necessary, so she changed the subject.

‘What a pity Billy couldn't be here. You'd so like Billy, wouldn't she, Dan?'

‘She certainly would,' Daniel agreed. ‘Damn shame they've landed him with weekend manoeuvres, but that's typically Sandhurst.'

Billy, two years Daniel's junior, was in his second year at military college. ‘We're following in Dad's
footsteps, I suppose,' Daniel had told Elizabeth, ‘but we made our own decisions. It's what we both wanted.'

‘I feel I know Billy already,' Elizabeth replied, ‘Daniel's talked about him such a lot. You're quite a military family, Mr Gardiner.'