Now the War Is Over (22 page)

But in the meantime there was this interval of excitement, of this secret bliss, of being listened to, looked at like that, wanted . . . As the car carried them along, she was on the point of
lapsing into another daydream.

‘Mom,’ Tommy said. Then louder, ‘MOM!’

‘Shh, Tommy – what?’ She knew she sounded irritable. Her nerves were at screaming pitch. She ticked herself off. Her boy was beside her, Tommy who needed her – and all
she could think of was her . . . Her what? What should she call Michael? Words failed her.

‘Miss – said I’m – very – good at – typing.’

She took a deep breath, praying for patience as Tommy reached for the words.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘That’s ever so good, Tommy. You know, Miss said to me the other day that you’re one of the boys she thinks might be able to get a job somewhere
one day. That’s good, isn’t it?’

Tommy’s eyes watched her face. ‘A – job?’

‘Yes – in a firm or something. You’re good with figures, and if you can type . . .’

‘Did she – say – that?’ He looked worried and pleased at once. Such a thought had never crossed his mind before, she realized, feeling tender towards him. He had written
himself off.

She squeezed his hand. ‘She did, love.’

And all the time she was talking to him her heart was beating hard and she was thinking, soon, in half an hour, I’ll be with him
. . .
But she had to tell Michael today, had to.
It had to stop – her being there, the way they looked at each other and where it might lead. She had to prick the bubble of this dream. She was sorry, but . . . Or if not today, very soon,
perhaps one more week or two . . . She felt as if her life was whirling away from her, out of control.

Last night, in the privacy of the attic, Danny had finally said to her, ‘I feel as if you’re just not here most of the time, Rach.’ He looked really hurt. ‘What’s
going on?’

‘I’ve told you,’ she said. She could hear the hardness in her voice. When had she ever spoken to Danny like this before? Just once – when he came home, after disappearing
after the war, when she was the one who was hurt and bereft. She thought he had settled since then, that everything about their life was solid. But now it felt as if he wanted to leave her all over
again and the thought of it sat between them like a mountain.

‘I don’t want to go to Australia. I don’t want you to go.’ Tears came into her voice. ‘You’re wrong to try and make me, Danny. It’s cruel of you to try
and force me.’

A long silence followed.

‘I don’t want to force you,’ he said. ‘I just want you to come with me.’

She turned over and refused to say any more.

Walking to Michael’s house, she watched her feet, in her well-polished navy shoes with neat heels, taking one step after another, as if they were someone else’s.
She always felt as if she was in another world over here.

The whole city was still in recovery after the bombardment of the war and years of neglect. Harborne was grimy and shabby like everywhere else. But even so, it was a much neater, nicer place
than where they lived. There were more trees and houses and far fewer factories. She ached to be somewhere like this, instead of the cramped, industrial streets of Aston, their scrubby bomb pecks
and squalid yards of houses. In her mind there played a fantasy: what if she was to stay here, with Michael? Just disappear and never go back?

Her mind filled with memories of him holding her hand, of his eyes on hers and the shock of desire his looking at her sent through her body. As she walked towards his door, her limbs felt weak.
She knew she could barely trust herself, as if she had no will to stop events and was being swept along.

The door was dusty black with its dull brass knocker. There was no woman in the house to polish such things and Michael did not make time for it or even notice.

I am outside, she thought. In a minute I’ll be inside and what will happen will happen . . .

She raised her hand and knocked. The door opened seconds later. She knew he would be waiting.

‘Rachel,’ he said, trying to sound ordinary and calm. But in his voice she could hear a catch of something that was anything but calm. ‘Come in.’

In the hall they were too close for a moment so she stepped away. Things had come to a pitch between them over these weeks of talking, of sitting together in a small room, of eyes meeting.
Neither of them could seem to help themselves. And now, more than ever, there was an atmosphere of things unspoken, of feelings tangible in the air.

‘Nice to see you,’ Michael said, in his polite way. ‘Cup of coffee? Tea?’

‘I’ll have tea – thanks.’

Michael took her coat and they went into the back room. Following him, she was aware of every line of him, the slender body moving within his clothing, the way his hair sat above his collar at
the back.

‘Ellen all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, she’s doing well. Getting over that cold. She’s a very patient girl, really. Always has been.’

Patient like her father, Rachel thought, standing in the kitchen. She had a feeling still that she was in the dream again, watching Michael fill the kettle. A tap indoors, water there whenever
you wanted it! She burned with longing for a new life, for everything to be different. He put the kettle on the stove and turned, before lighting the gas.

Their eyes met. Rachel felt a plunge of acknowledgement inside her. The way he was drinking her in: surely there was no mistaking it, the look in his eyes? He opened his mouth, as if about to
say something, and then closed it again. A moment later, he managed to speak.

‘I –’ he looked down in confusion – ‘I try not to think about how things really are . . . D’you know –’ he looked up at her again, a desperate
expression on his face – ‘what I mean?’

Slowly, she nodded, not looking away. She knew it was wrong, she was wrong. She ought to walk out of this kitchen, away from this man with his sad, longing eyes, and never come back here again.
But she could feel the force of the need in him that matched the need within her.

The second he stepped towards her, she knew there was no stopping it. They had both waited. They were both already so primed that as soon as they stepped into each other’s arms they were
lost. She felt his arms around her, smelt him, a mixture of soap and tobacco, felt the force of him against her and they kissed with hungry urgency.

Her mind was caught up in him, the taste of him, the feel of his back under the white shirt, of the heat and press of their bodies and the way desire built on itself, each needing more because
of the need in the other. But at the same time, there was the strangeness of it mixed with desire, the realistic little thought creeping into her mind – I have never kissed any other man
except Danny – until now. And now, what does this make me?

Michael drew back and his tawny eyes looked into hers. ‘Please,’ he murmured. ‘Come upstairs with me, will you? I know I shouldn’t even ask. But I just ache for you
– all the time. I can’t seem to think about anything else.’

She took his hand, walking slightly behind him as they climbed the narrow stairs. The dream continued. Who was this woman, following a man upstairs who was not her husband, not Danny? With every
step she thought, I shouldn’t be here, I should stop, say no, turn round . . . But she was caught up in Michael, filled with desire to see him naked, for him to see her, for them to discover
each other . . . The sense of daze continued as they reached the top of the stairs and she was looking through the door of a bedroom: a chair under the window with a black jersey folded and hung
over the back, a cupboard, at a wide, marital bed with a pale green coverlet . . .

‘No!’ She stalled at the door. ‘Oh, God, Michael, no! I can’t. I’m sorry . . .’ She gabbled at him. ‘I can’t go on like this! Look –
I’ve got to go home.’ She pulled away and turned to go down the stairs again. ‘Just – I don’t know – forget all about me. I don’t want to lead you on. I
just can’t . . .’ She was close to tears.

‘Rachel – wait.’ He took hold of her forearm while she was on the top step, before she could retreat down the stairs. ‘Look – it’s all right. I’m
sorry.’ He sounded miserable, but not angry.

He looked down into her eyes. Already she knew her gaze was clouded with shame and she could see the same in his face as well. She had pricked the bubble of the dream. He kissed her cheek
gently.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘Oh, God . . .’ He sounded utterly wretched. ‘What a way to behave.’

‘No,’ she said gently. ‘It’s not your fault – it’s just both of us. It’s how things are.’

Now that they had pulled back from the moments of acute desire, he felt strange to her again, as if she had been through something and had now passed out the other side. Michael’s body was
alien to her. They did not belong. He was a nice man but he was not her man, however much she liked him. Danny was her man, had always been.

He had let go of her. They were not touching now. She stepped up to stand beside him, on the tiny landing at the top of the stairs. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I must go. We
mustn’t—’

‘No!’ he agreed. ‘We absolutely mustn’t. God, you’re a married woman . . .’ This was the first time they had ever acknowledged this openly.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. He looked down, embarrassed. ‘I just miss it – I miss being married.’

‘It wasn’t just your fault,’ Rachel said. ‘It was mine as well. And we mustn’t do it again. I can’t keep coming round here – not when Ellen’s not
here, or it’ll just keep happening, won’t it? And I should be at home really, looking after Ricky. But Michael –’ she leaned to him and kissed his cheek –
‘you’re a nice man. Please let’s be friends.’

‘The problem is –’ he looked down at the floor in a troubled way – ‘I’m not sure if I can now. It’s ridiculous, I know. But every time I see you
I’ll just want . . . This – and more. Maybe it’s because I’m a man. We’re just a bit, I don’t know, primitive like that.’ He looked back at her again and
his dark eyes were sad. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to see you, it really isn’t. It might just be better . . . Well, not for a good while, anyway.’

Rachel nodded. However much she understood, this felt hurtful, as if she was being rejected. Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them impatiently away. The dissolving of the dream had left
an emptiness behind.

‘All right,’ she said. Her tone was flat, she couldn’t help it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘You’re right.’ She began to go down the stairs and he followed. ‘I know you are.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘I know we’ve been wrong, but
I’ll miss talking to you, Michael.’

She felt him touch her shoulder briefly, in acknowledgment.

They did not kiss goodbye. Walking back along the street to the bus stop, Rachel looked down at her feet again. Everything felt different now, the street quiet and in some way sad. Things were
back to normal, with no dream, and she had to face it exactly as it was. Danny was her husband and she his wife. She had to go home to him and bring him home to her.

‘Danny.’

She lay in bed and he stood and looked down at her. Even in the poor light of the candle she thought he seemed wary of her, as if wondering whether she was going to have a go at him.

‘Let’s . . . You know.’

‘Oh?’ His voice was bitter. ‘Want me now, do yer?’

She had lain turned away from him so many nights, refusing even to speak to him, angry with him. She had dreamt of Michael, of lying in his arms.

She held her hand out. ‘I want us to be . . . To be
us.
The way we should be.’

There was a long silence. In a husky voice, he said, ‘So – you won’t come with me?’

She felt anger flare in her again but she swallowed it down. She felt sorry for not wanting something he wanted so badly.

‘I just can’t. I’m sorry.’

He sank down on the bed with a sharp sigh. ‘I want . . .’ He trailed off. ‘Something . . .’ He made a frustrated sound and slapped his thighs. ‘I can’t say
it. I just want more, that’s all. More life – outside of here.’

She laid a hand on his back, on his familiar body and it felt right, felt like home.

‘I want more too. Just not the other side of the world. Why do we have to go so far? You might hate it and then what? We’re not that poor, Danny, not like some people. Auntie could
have moved out of here to a better house ages ago, but she stayed because of Mo and Dolly. But now . . .’

Danny turned his head. ‘Everything’s changing.’ She wasn’t sure if he sounded pleased about this.

‘Don’t be angry, Danny.’

After another silence, he said, ‘You’re my missis.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

He turned and knelt on the bed, still in all his clothes, looking down at her and she looked back.

‘Don’t leave me,’ he said softly.

‘I won’t, Danny.’ She was astonished. What had he sensed in these weeks to make him say something so deeply vulnerable, to acknowledge this fear that he would never normally
admit to? ‘Why would I leave you?’ She tried to keep things light. ‘Where d’you think I’m going to go, eh? I thought you were the one who was going to leave
me.’

‘No.’ He lowered his head for a moment, then looked up at her again. ‘No. We’ll have to think of summat else, won’t we?’

A postcard arrived one morning for Rachel.

Rachel showed it to Gladys.

‘Got your marching orders then,’ Gladys said, after reading it.

‘Well, she could get herself over here if she wants to see me that badly,’ Rachel grumbled. Guiltily, though, she realized she hadn’t seen her mother for weeks. She’d
been too busy, too caught up with Michael and everything else. Peggy didn’t even know she had another baby on the way.

Gladys frowned. ‘What’s up with Cissy?’

‘How should I know? She hardly ever darkens our doors these days.’

But they were all very fond of Cissy, even if she was exasperating. Rachel wondered what was wrong. Wouldn’t Cissy have come to her, her big sister, if she had a problem? When I get a
minute, she thought, I s’pose I’ll have to traipse all the way over there and see what’s going on.