Now the War Is Over (46 page)

‘Yes.’

‘What?’ He leaned closer. ‘Say it a bit louder.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will, Reggie.’ She held a hand up to slow him down. ‘I want to marry you. I love you – I do. But Reggie, it’s all so fast. Can we
wait a bit?’

Reggie was grinning. ‘Oh, Melly! Will you? Will you really?’ He was overjoyed. She saw his whole body relax into relief. ‘You’ll be my girl – my wife? Oh, Melly.
Oh, Mom and Dad’re going to be
so happy
. They’ll be over the moon!’

She found a smile spreading across her face and a rush of warmth and joy inside her. Dolly and Mo: family, happiness, Melanie Booker and Reggie Morrison! And she would be Melanie Morrison! Of
course it was what she wanted . . . But it was still so fast and he didn’t seem to have heard the bit about waiting. He was in such a hurry!

‘There’s no rush, is there?’ She felt like a sober old matron, trying to be sensible and calm him down. ‘How about we wait – I don’t know, a year or
so.’

‘A
year
?’ His face fell. ‘Why? What’s the point?’

‘’Til the spring then.’ She added inventively, ‘I’ve always wanted to get married in the spring.’

‘Have you?’ He still seemed disappointed. ‘It’s such a long time away, that’s all. What – March?’

‘April or May would be nicer,’ she said. ‘It’d be warmer – wouldn’t it? And all the flowers.’ She reached for his hands across the table. ‘I do
love you, Reggie. I do. Only – I’ve been in a bit of a state. I want to make sure I’m better and get myself sorted out. Let’s not rush things – we can look forward to
it. And I want to make sure . . .’

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Make sure of what? She lowered her gaze to the table, at the astonishing, the terrifying ring. Make sure it’s safe, she might have said. That
nothing bad will happen. Not like before, with you and Wally, with Raimundo Alexander.

‘But you will?’ he insisted.

Melly looked up at him again and smiled. Excitement filled her. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Yes, Reggie. I want to be Mrs Morrison.’

Walking to the sweet shop now, she knew that soon they would have to tell everyone. As they sat in the restaurant Reggie had slid the ring on to her finger, so pleased and proud. Once home she
had taken it off again and hidden it away in its box. It had sat there, in her drawer, wrapped in a camisole vest, all the time she was helping Gladys fetch her things. It was still there . . .

She had not had the heart to ask Reggie not to say anything to his parents. He would, she knew. And surely telling everyone would make it all seem more real? But she had said nothing so far. She
wanted time to get used to the idea that her life had changed in this magical way for the better.

‘I’m going to marry Reggie,’ she practised in a whisper. Or, ‘Mom, Dad – Reggie’s got something he wants to say to you,’ or, ‘Yes, my name’s
Mrs Morrison.’

Tommy could not keep still.

Monday morning and he was back and forth to look at the front door no matter how many times he told himself not to be so daft. Nothing was going to come this soon, was it? This thought would be
followed by another, heart-sinking one: if anything ever did come. Maybe it wouldn’t. There would be no letters, ever. His excitement was all a wasted dream.

He had sat all the afternoon with Jo-Ann and her family on Saturday. They had kindly listened to him, patient as he formed his sentences. And he and Jo-Ann had talked just to each other –
these were the times he had loved the most, him and her talking like friends. The day had gone by like a wondrous dream. And he was completely, in-over-his-head, in love with Jo-Ann Halstead.

He had sat on the rug at her feet, only eating a few morsels of his sandwiches. He did not like eating in front of strangers anyway but now eating just felt like a waste of time.

The family were kind to him, in a polite way. He realized they were glad to have someone to keep Jo-Ann company. After they had polished off their sandwiches and coffee out of a Thermos and some
fruit cake which they offered him as well and he had politely refused, Philip asked his mom and dad to come and play with him.

‘Just hold on a few minutes, lad, while we let our food go down,’ Mr Halstead said.

To Tommy’s surprise, both Mr and Mrs Halstead got up and kicked a football back and forth, without much energy or skill, in the hot afternoon. A few others were up and about playing
games.

‘Philip’s mad about football,’ Jo-Ann told him. She did not have to say that she could no longer play with her brother, that her parents felt obliged to instead. ‘Are you
keen on it, Tommy?’

‘Not – very,’ Tommy said, squinting up at her. ‘I’ve never – played it.’

‘No, you wouldn’t have, I s’pose,’ she said. She gestured at the ground to her left. ‘Why don’t you move round here so that you’re not facing the sun?
No – hang on,’ she corrected. ‘I can shift myself.’

She started to move her chair forward, pushing on the wheels. It was difficult on the uneven ground.

‘Oh, Roy, look – help Jo-Ann, will you?’ Her mother’s voice, edged with worry, floated to them.

‘Jo-Ann – steady there!’ Mr Halstead came over half running, the worry in his face stretching to a little smile as he came up close as if to cover his panic.

‘It’s all right, Dad,’ Jo-Ann said. She was very patient but Tommy could sense her frustration. ‘I’m only moving so that Tommy doesn’t have to have the sun in
his eyes. I can do it myself – I really can.’

‘Well, I might as well help now I’m here, mightn’t I?’ Mr Halstead said in jolly tones. Tommy recognized this – the endless cheerfulness and pretending everything
was normal. Mom was like that a lot of the time.

Mr Halstead manoeuvred the chair to the other side of Tommy.

‘All right, pet?’ He leaned over her.

‘Yes. Thanks, Dad.’ She sat facing the front, not looking round at him.

‘Warm enough? And you, Tommy lad?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ they both said. It was hot as anything.

‘Well, I’ll just finish off with Philip . . .’ He moved away, almost guiltily.

Jo-Ann shook her head apologetically.

‘Are they – always – like that?’ Tommy asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Always, always.’

She looked down at him. He loved her face with the kind grey eyes, the mane of thick brown hair, her calm voice. He loved everything about her. Above all he loved the attention with which she
listened to him.

‘Nice – for – you to – work,’ he said.

‘Yes, I’m very lucky.’ She hesitated, looking away and across the green in front of them, trees in the distance. ‘I feel ungrateful saying this. I’m very lucky that
I can work for Dad the way I do. But . . .’ Again, she stopped. He could see she was fighting a sense of disloyalty and he knew how she felt. He knew he was a burden to his own family,
stopping them doing things for so many years, making extra work and worry. But how he yearned to get out, just to lead his own life.

‘I sometimes wonder, though,’ she said softly, turning to him again. ‘If . . . I mean, it’s no good thinking about the things I used to do. Tennis and – well, I
wanted to be a teacher. But I think I could work somewhere else, maybe. Somewhere not at home, always under Mom and Dad’s feet.’

She spoke the last words lightly, almost like a joke. Tommy was bewildered to find that his chest had gone tight, that he was fighting back tears. He swallowed hard, looking down to cover it for
a moment. When he looked up at her again, into those kind eyes, it was even more of an effort to speak because of the lump in his throat.

‘But you – were – born – normal. It must – be – worse. I never – had – anything else.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

The light went out in her eyes. It was the first time he had seen that. When her mother and father were there, she always seemed to be smiling. ‘I suppose so. I know two other polios.
There’s Micky, who’s on crutches. His legs are getting a bit better. And Lucy – she’s almost completely better now.’

‘No one – like you?’ he said. Hope flickered in his heart. He almost wanted her to be lonely, to need to be his friend.

‘No one exactly the same, not nearby anyway. What about you?’

He explained about Carlson House, that he had known some people for years. That everyone was different. He tried to convey that he had no one who was very close. Jo-Ann listened. It was bliss,
Tommy thought as the sun beat down around them and the shadows of leaves riffled by an occasional warm breeze danced on their faces. Sitting here with her was like going to heaven. It came to him
suddenly that she looked a bit like Melly, was kind like Melly.

‘This is so nice,’ she said, speaking his thoughts. ‘Talking to someone who understands. Where is it you live again, Tommy?’

‘Harborne – Birmingham.’

She looked downcast. ‘That’s a good way away.’

‘I’ve got – my – three-wheeler,’ he said, daring to hope. ‘I can – go anywhere. We could – meet . . .’

‘The trouble is –’ She eyed her parents. Mrs Halstead was walking over to fetch the ball again, in her neat white slacks. ‘They won’t let me go anywhere without
them. They don’t think it’s safe so they follow on in the car. Course, if I stop I can’t get out and walk. I tell you what, though!’ Her face brightened. ‘We could be
pen-pals.’ She looked stricken for a moment. ‘You can write, can’t you?’

‘Five – O-levels – remember?’ He grinned.

‘Oh, yes – sorry! Well, let’s swap addresses – would you do that? Will you write to me, Tommy? I promise I’ll write back. I’ve got a pen-pal in France who
I’ve never met, but I’d love to have a proper friend nearby to write to. Look – see my little bag over there? If you pass it, I’ve got a notebook.’

Tommy reached for the black leather bag, his heart overflowing. They managed to exchange addresses before Mr and Mrs Halstead came back with a red-cheeked, sweating Philip – and this felt
like a small victory.

He knew she would write. He trusted her as a person who would keep her word. But even if she had written a letter the moment she got home, which he knew was not likely, and got it into the post
on Saturday night which was even less likely, it still would not have got here by Monday. He would have to wait and he had started writing a letter himself.

Even so, when he was at work the next day, he could not stop thinking about the postman, all day long.

Melly had asked Reggie to wait, at least until the next weekend, to tell the families about their engagement, even though she knew Reggie was sore that she did not want to
shout it from the rooftops. She told him she just wanted to get used to the idea.

‘It’ll be our secret this week,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘It’s exciting!’

Once again, she ended up working in the Rag Market. Gladys seemed to be on the mend – her chest was clearer and she was not coughing. But progress was very slow and still she hardly left
her bed.

‘I don’t know what’s got into her,’ Rachel said, one morning that week, coming down with an armful of washing for the single tub they had now in the kitchen. It had its
own mangle fixed to the top. ‘There’s nothing the matter with her now so far as I can see. Lying about up there like Lady Muck and rest of us run ragged . . .’

Melly eyed her mother. Both of them knew this was not the point. Mom didn’t much want Gladys around downstairs either. She thought Gladys ought to be getting on and looking for somewhere
else to live. And she was grouchy because it was the school summer holiday and there was no job for her to go to until September. She had lost both her earnings and the company it gave her outside
the house.

Unlike her mother, Melly enjoyed caring for Gladys. But she was worried about her.

‘It’s not that she’s poorly so much I don’t think,’ she said. ‘She’s . . .’ She hesitated. ‘It’s as if she’s turned her face to
the wall, you know, like they say.’

Rachel made an impatient sound. ‘Well, she’d better flaming well turn it back again. She can’t go on lying about up there forever. She didn’t even go to church,
Sunday.’

‘She says they’re stuck up,’ Melly said.

She had been along to the parish church in Harborne with Gladys a time or two and she could see what Auntie meant. Gladys had been going to her church in Aston for years. It was home from home
and everyone knew her. It wasn’t that anyone said anything bad to her. They just didn’t say much at all. They were not her sort, in their smart clothes and hats, and she thought they
were looking down their noses at her, even if this was mainly in her mind and not true at all.

‘Maybe she should go to the Methodists,’ Melly said.

Rachel looked up, tutting. She had no time for religion. ‘You’ll have to work her stall again,’ she said. ‘If she’s not going to shift herself.’

Reggie arrived at the Bookers’ house on Saturday evening, once they had got home after the market and a drink in the pub. Melly hadn’t said he was coming. When he
arrived, the family had had tea and were watching
The Avengers.

Melly heard the knock at the front and ran to let him in. Part of her mind was still in the story on the TV which involved a ghost train and a hypnotist.

‘Shhh,’ she said, beckoning Reggie. ‘You’ll have to wait ’til it’s finished. It’s nearly over.’

Reggie looked rather hurt. But when he had kissed her and followed her into the front room, he could see what she meant. The entire family was silent and gripped, the pale light from the TV
flickering on their rapt faces – even Gladys. She loved telly programmes.

There’d be no sense from any of them now. Melly and Reggie stood by the door.

As soon as the credits were rolling, everyone surfaced.

‘Oh – hello, Reggie!’ Rachel said.

‘Hello, Mrs Booker,’ Reggie nodded. ‘Auntie.’

‘Didn’t see you there,’ Rachel said. ‘Go and stick the kettle on, Melly. And bring us in some crisps, will you?’ Crisps were a Saturday-night treat.

‘All right, lad?’ Danny lit a cigarette and held the packet out for Reggie to take one.

Reggie accepted and gave Melly a significant look.

‘Hang on, Mom,’ Melly said. ‘Dad – Reggie’d like a word with you.’

Danny looked baffled.