Monday Girl (31 page)

‘None whatsoever.’

‘That’s good. Now, if I’ve to go to the Registry Office tomorrow, I’ll need to get all the details.’ He fished in his breast pocket for a pencil. ‘Have you a sheet of paper handy?’

‘You’ll need your birth certificates,’ Anne told him. ‘I’ll go and get yours, Renee.’

‘I haven’t got mine,’ Glynn remarked as Anne went out.

‘But I think my army paybook should be sufficient evidence of my age and unmarried status.’

‘How old are you?’ Renee had never thought to ask before.

‘I’ll be thirty in September.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘I’ll only be nineteen at the end of August.’

They looked at each other uncertainly. Eleven years of a difference? Then Glynn chuckled. ‘You’re still a child, but I’m quite happy about it, as long as you’re prepared to saddle yourself with an old man?’

‘You’re not old, darling. What’s eleven years?’ Renee kissed the tip of his nose reassuringly.

They jumped apart when Anne came back. ‘Caught you!’

she said, wagging her finger teasingly at them.

Renee stuck out her tongue cheekily as her mother handed the document to the young man. ‘Mum, we’ve just discovered that Glynn’s eleven years older than me. It’s funny, we never spoke about ages before.’

Anne looked anxious. ‘Does it worry you?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘That’s all right, then. Age doesn’t make any difference, really. Not eleven years, anyway, and it’s on the right side. Of course, if you’d been thirty years older than Renee, I wouldn’t have been so ready to agree to this, Glynn.’

The wedding was arranged for Monday, 3rd August

1942, which was the first available date the Registrar could give them.

‘So many young couples are getting married quickly now, in case the bridegroom is sent away on active service,’ he explained.

‘Thank goodness we’ll have a few weeks to come to terms with all this,’ Anne remarked, a few days later. Fred had gone home to Pirbright on leave, and Glynn was on duty, so the two women were alone in the house that evening.

‘There’s nothing to come to terms with,’ Renee said sharply. ‘We love each other, and that’s all that matters.’

‘Have you thought of where you’re going to live?’

‘Oh.’ The girl looked thunderstruck. ‘We hadn’t thought about that. There’s no room here, is there? We’ll have to look for a place somewhere.’

‘The only spare bed is that settee,’ Anne said sadly.

‘It would do at a push . . . if we haven’t found anywhere else by the time we’re married.’ Renee was so deliriously happy that she would have settled to sleep on a church pew, as long as Glynn was there beside her.

After a moment’s silence, Anne said, ‘I’d better tell you something.’

A flash of dread shot through the girl. ‘Yes?’

‘When I told Fred about you two, he asked me to marry him.’

‘Oh, Mum, that’s great!’ Renee’s face reflected the relief and pleasure that the information had given her. ‘Will we have a double wedding, or do you and Fred want a separate day of your own?’

‘I said no.’ Anne’s lips were drawn together in a straight line, and her fingers drummed on her knee.

‘Why? I thought you loved him.’

‘I do love him, Renee, but he’s being posted shortly, and I don’t want him to feel tied to me.’

‘You’re as bad as Tim.’ One of her mother’s words suddenly registered fearfully in Renee’s brain. ‘Posted? Is Glynn likely to be posted, too?’

‘I don’t think so. Fred didn’t say anything about that, anyway. They’re not in the same . . . troop, unit, whatever they call it.’

‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t have to go for a long time yet. But, Mum, you should have accepted Fred’s proposal. You can’t just let him go away. Are you sure about what you’re doing?’

‘Quite sure. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks and I knew Fred would ask me some time, and I had to make up my mind what to do. I’ve told him that I do love him, but I can’t marry him.’

‘He might be killed.’

‘Oh, Renee, that’s exactly why.’ Anne spread her fingers out on her knee and studied them. ‘I couldn’t face being made a widow for a second time. Can you understand that?’

‘I suppose so, but if you love him, you’d feel just as much grief and shock if he was killed, even if you weren’t his wife.’

‘No, there is a difference. I can’t explain it.’ Anne made her hand into a fist and hit her knee. ‘Don’t keep on, Renee. I’d a hard enough time trying to make Fred understand. He wanted to tell his mother when he went home that we were going to be married, but I can’t say yes.’

‘You’re only thinking about yourself. Why don’t you think of poor Fred?’

‘I told him I’ll marry him after the war, if he comes back and still wants me.’

The girl let out an exasperated sigh. ‘That’s just dangling a carrot. It’s cruel.’

Anne’s taut nerves made her snap. ‘That’s quite enough!’

They went to bed that night in silence, each regretting some of the things they had said.

That Saturday, Peter McIntosh produced a bottle of whisky when Renee and Glynn announced that they were going to be married.

‘I’ve been savin’ this up for a special occasion,’ he smiled.

‘But there’ll never be a mair special occasion than this.’ He took out five tot glasses and laid them on the table. ‘Nae till the war finishes, ony road.’

Maggie watched him unscrewing the cap of the bottle. ‘I canna stomach neat whisky, tak’ oot tumblers for Renee an’ Annie an’ me, so we can ha’e water in oors.’

Her husband shook his head impatiently. ‘Weemin!’ he said to Glynn, but returned to the cupboard for the larger glasses. ‘Jist wastin’ the good stuff,’ he muttered as he ran the cold water into them.

Glynn helped him to hand them out, then sat down with his own glass in his hand, waiting to see what would happen next. Peter had kept standing, and he held up his glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to yer health an’ happiness, Renee an’ Glynn.’ He downed the contents in one go, and set the tiny glass on the table.

Even with water in it, the whisky was too strong for Renee, and she shuddered at her first taste of her national drink.

‘Tak’ it slow, like me,’ Maggie advised her, and raised her glass. ‘A lang, happy life together an’ may good fortune smile on ye.’ She took a dainty sip.

‘Your health and happiness.’ Anne barely wet her lips, but her face contorted, even at the diluted spirits.

‘Och!’ Peter sounded enraged. ‘They dinna ken how to drink whisky.’ He looked at Glynn, who was still twisting his glass in his hand uncertainly. ‘Swig it ower, like I did.’

His first three words were incomprehensible to the Welshman, but the second three gave him the clue he was waiting for, so he took one large gulp, then spluttered as if he had choked.

Peter smiled in pity. ‘Ye’ll ha’e to learn to drink like a Scotsman, laddie, if ye’re goin’ tae bide in Aberdeen.’

‘Leave him be,’ Maggie warned. ‘Dinna learn him bad habits.’

When the visitors were leaving, Maggie beckoned to Renee. ‘What aboot yer mother an’ Fred? Ony word o’ them tyin’ the knot?’

‘Fred’s going away shortly,’ the girl told her. ‘He did ask her to marry him, but she refused.’

‘Oh.’ Her grandmother’s eyes widened. ‘That’s that, then.’ The old lady sounded quite disappointed, and Renee knew that she, too, had hoped that Anne would find happiness with Fred Schaper.

When Tim Donaldson turned up one evening during the next week, with Moira, he expressed his pleasure at meeting Glynn.

‘Renee’s been telling me about you in her letters,’ he said.

‘From the very first time she mentioned you, I knew she was serious about you.’

Glynn smiled and held Renee’s hand. ‘It’s funny how fate works. We met because Fred took me here with him one night, and it turned out to be love at first sight for us.’

‘The same as Moira and you,’ Renee added, without stopping to think.

Tim glanced quickly at Moira, whose wry expression made him look away hastily. ‘Well, I wish you all the happiness in the world,’ he said.

Renee hoped that she hadn’t upset the other girl by her innocent remark, since Tim was apparently still determined not to ‘tie Moira down’, but Glynn proceeded to step in with both feet.

‘Thank you, Tim,’ he smiled. ‘It’ll be your turn next.’ Tim frowned, but Moira said, carefully, ‘Tim doesn’t think too highly of marriage, I’m afraid.’

‘It’s not that, at all,’ Tim burst out suddenly. ‘It’s just . . . I’m unsettled and I feel it’s not fair to . . .’

Anne tried to pour oil on the troubled waters. ‘It’s between Moira and Tim, and nobody should try to interfere.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Glynn’s face had turned red, and he looked at Tim, not knowing what else to say.

The other young man laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it, Glynn. It happens all the time, with Moira’s mum, and all her relations. I’ll likely give in one of these days, but . . . I don’t like being pushed.’ He laid his hand on Moira’s knee.

‘She knows how I feel about her.’

The love in Moira’s eyes showed how she felt about him, too. ‘I know, Tim, and it’s not me who’s doing the pushing.’

‘Are you still in the Shetlands, Tim?’ Anne rescued him because she could sympathise with his feelings, for wasn’t she doing the same thing with Fred? The atmosphere cleared and the talk gradually divided into two different conversations, Glynn and Tim discussing the war, and Anne and the two girls speaking about the progress Mike’s baby son was making.

After the young couple left, Glynn said, ‘Tim’s a good, honourable person, and I’m sorry I made things uncomfortable for him.’

‘You weren’t to know,’ Renee said hastily. ‘He says he doesn’t want to tie Moira down, but he’s being cruel, really. Like somebody else I know,’ she added, bitterly, glancing at her mother.

Renee was quite upset when Glynn told her that he hadn’t applied to have his leave changed. ‘I thought I should go to Porthcross, so I could tell Mam about you and the wedding,’ he defended himself. ‘It’s going to take a lot of diplomacy.’

‘Haven’t you written and told her?’ She sounded shocked.

‘I’ve told her I’ve been visiting your house with Fred, and about your mother and you, but not that . . .’

‘I suppose you made out that my mother was a do-gooder, feeding lonely soldiers and making a home-from-home for them?’ Her eyes were glittering like steel, now.

Glynn had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I suppose I did. But, darling, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure that you wanted to marry me.’ He paused for a moment, then obviously decided to tell her everything. ‘You see, she’s still annoyed at me for not asking Eiddwen to marry me at the start of the war. Mam loved her like a daughter, and she says it’s my own fault that Eiddwen fell in love with that Australian.’

‘But your mother’ll surely be pleased that you’ve found happiness now?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘If it was with a Welsh girl, yes, but she hates the English . . .’

‘I’m not English,’ Renee interrupted. ‘I’m Scottish, there is a difference.’

‘Not to my mam. Anyone who’s not Welsh is a foreigner, as far as she’s concerned. So it’s better that I tell her about you face to face, so she can see how much I love you. Then perhaps she’ll come to our wedding.’

The girl’s anger dissolved. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. You’ll have to go to her, but it means that we won’t be able to have a decent honeymoon, and I was really looking forward to it.’

‘We’ll have a few days away,’ he consoled her, then he winked. ‘And nights.’

She laughed then, knowing that the nights were to be far more exciting and fulfilling than the days, and as long as they were together, it didn’t matter where they were.

Two days after Glynn went to Porthcross, Renee arrived home at teatime to find Jack Thomson in the living room. He stood up to shake hands with her, but she suddenly burst out laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ He sounded slightly put out.

‘I was wondering what was different about you,’ she giggled, ‘and I’ve just realised . . .’

‘Oh.’ He stroked his upper lip proudly. ‘My moustache, do you mean?’

‘Is that what you call it?’

‘That’s what I call it, for that’s what it is.’ He pretended to be offended, but his eyes were now filled with amusement, too. ‘At least, that’s what it’ll be in another few weeks. What do you think of it . . . honestly?’

Trying to keep a straight face, she studied him with mock seriousness. His cow’s lick still stuck up from his sandy head, his face was still fresh and boyish, and the appendage he was nurturing, a thin uneven line, looked incongruous.

She fought back her mirth and said, ‘I suppose it suits you, Jack, but it was a bit of a shock, and . . . it’s ginger!’ She howled with laughter again.

‘Renee!’ Anne, who had come through from the scullery, looked reprimandingly at her daughter. ‘It’s not that funny.’

The girl was still helpless with laughter and Jack ruefully joined in. ‘It is that funny, Mrs Gordon. I’ve known it ever since I started to grow it.’

‘Why don’t you shave it off ?’ Anne couldn’t understand why he would keep it on if he didn’t like it himself.

‘It’s a matter of principle, you see. A girl I know bet me that I wouldn’t have the nerve to grow a bushy moustache, and I want to let her see that I have.’

At the mention of the girl, Renee stopped laughing. ‘Are you serious about this one, Jack?’ She hoped he was.

He screwed up his face. ‘Not really, but we have a good time together.’

Anne went to answer the doorbell, and ushered in Fred.

‘I’ll leave you to do the introductions, Renee. The girls’ll be home in a few minutes.’

Jack couldn’t hide his astonishment when the girl said,

‘This is Fred Schaper, Jack. He’s Mum’s friend. Fred, this is Jack Thomson. You’ve heard us speaking about him.’

The two men shook hands and smiled to each other, then Fred said, ‘I’ll just go and help your mother, Renee.’

The girl turned to Jack. ‘I wish you could have met Glynn, too, but he’s off home on leave just now. We’ve set the wedding for the third of August.’

‘So you were serious about the Welshman?’ There was no hint of jealousy. ‘You’ve mentioned him so much in your letters that I thought you must be.’ His smile was quite genuine. ‘I’m very pleased that you’ve found somebody at last, and I truly hope you’ll both be very happy.’