Rising Summer (24 page)

‘Sorry, Min.’

‘So you should be,’ said Min. ‘You know I don’t go with any of them GIs. They all look the same to me, they all never stop chewin’ gum – ugh, fancy bein’ kissed by someone with a rotten wad of gum in ’is mouth. Tim, you do like me a bit, don’t you?’

‘You’ve got me licked, Min, I’d like you even if you fired a rocket up me waistcoat.’

Her laughter burst. ‘Oh, ain’t you something, Tim? You never say soppy things like the Yanks do, like hiya, baby, you’re the cream in my coffee. I never ’eard anything soppier. And Hollywood, what a laugh, I bet most of them come off chicken farms in Kentucky and we’ve got our own chickens and I bet Suffolk’s nicer than Kentucky. Tim, I don’t mind about the two years, then, I don’t mind waitin’ till I’m eighteen if it means—’ She stopped.

‘If it means what, Min?’ I asked, feeling I’d set a trap for myself.

‘If—’ The darkness came and wrapped itself around us. ‘If it means you could fall in love with me.’ She was still serious. It amazed me that any girl still at school could think like this. They were all over the place, girls of sixteen. Walworth was thick with them. Too young to be called up, they were either at school or working in their first jobs and they were all gigglers and they all
had
crushes on people like Clark Gable or Gary Cooper. Yet here was Minnie Beavers talking about waiting until she was eighteen for me to fall in love with her. And compared to Clark Gable, I knew I wasn’t just nobody, I was almost invisible.

‘Well, I’ll come knocking, Min.’

‘Honest?’

‘I’m banking on the war being over, of course.’

‘Kiss?’ she said.

‘All right, for old times sake, Min.’ I gave her a kiss. She didn’t go mad, she actually gulped a bit. ‘Good night, Min.’

‘I don’t mind waitin’,’ she said again and ran up the front path and home.

IT WAS ANNOUNCED
next day that all leave was stopped. I was lucky, I’d recently had mine, but it put anticipation right up the spout for other men here and on site. And it had to mean something uncomfortable was about to arrive.

On Sunday, Frisby took out a chit, a pass and a bike and rode over to see Cecily. In possession of identical items, I cycled to see Mary and to get away from it all.

Mary was an uncomplicated woman. Whereas Missus thought sex should be thoroughly gone into, Mary said it was something that was all right when you were in the mood, but in a sixteen-hour day it would never take up more than a few minutes of your time. The other eight hours you were asleep. So what was all the fuss about? Two people had to think seriously about what they had in common for sixteen hours less a few minutes a day, or they’d end up boring each other.

‘Why did you want to know?’ she asked, having answered my enquiry. I’d made it after saying hullo and so on.

‘Well, I’m naturally interested in what it’s all about,’ I said. ‘I might get married one day.’

‘Oh, you loon,’ said Mary, ‘it all happens natural, like.
If
it doesn’t, you’d better get unmarried. Let’s have a nice cup of tea.’

Over a very nice cup of tea, she said she’d do a cold chicken salad for proper tea later. Had she cooked one of her chickens, then? Mary said no, she jolly well hadn’t, she couldn’t ever eat one of her own chickens, she’d feel like a cannibal eating a family friend. The chicken she’d cooked was one of Fred Plummer’s. She didn’t mind eating one of his and he and Mrs Plummer likewise didn’t mind eating one of hers. I said the chickens in question probably appreciated that kind of thoughtfulness.

The August afternoon was warm, her garden inviting, so I offered to trim the edges of her lawns, front and back. Mary said that as it was hot I could take my army things off if I liked and she’d find me one of her late husband’s cricket shirts, which would be cooler for me. Also a belt.

‘Just a shirt and belt, Mary? I’ll look a bit undressed, won’t I?’

‘You great lummox,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t mean take your trousers off as well. I’ve got neighbours, I’ll have you know.’

‘Everyone’s got neighbours. It’s a problem for some people.’

In the open-necked cricket shirt and belted khaki trousers, I began work on the front lawns.

I nearly trimmed my left foot off when a jeep pulled up outside the cottage and Kit emerged legs first. She unloaded a bike from the jeep and spoke to the driver, a corporal. He nodded and charged off. Kit came down the path, wheeling the bike.

Mary appeared, smiling in welcome. ‘What a nice surprise,’ she said.

‘You don’t mind?’ said Kit, who was taking no notice of me.

‘Mind? Of course not, it’s lovely to see you,’ said Mary. ‘Tim’s come too.’

‘Yes, I heard he was here,’ said Kit. ‘Is that him, the guy in the white shirt?’

‘I let him borrow it,’ said Mary. ‘Tim, hold Kit’s bike for her, I expect she’d like to tidy up.’

‘She looks tidy enough to me,’ I said, ‘and I’m already holding these trimmers.’

‘Just put it somewhere for me, thank you,’ said Kit, getting rid of the bike by leaning it against me, then disappearing with Mary through my porch door. Typical. And why had she come? The bike, I noticed, was one of ours. I put it with mine at the side of the cottage and resumed my pleasant labours. Kit reappeared after a while, her jacket and cap off, her military shirt in clean crisp contact with her disciplined bosom.

‘That shirt’s too big for you,’ she said.

‘Oh, the shirt’s all right,’ I said, ‘it’s my flat chest that doesn’t fit. What’s brought you here?’

‘A jeep took me to your BHQ,’ she said. ‘Deirdre told me you were here. She helped me to help myself to one of your bikes. I thought you and I could ride back together. The jeep’s picking me up at BHQ at eight this evening. Is that explanation good enough for you?’

‘Sounds all right,’ I said. ‘Sounds as if we’re friends again.’

‘What a cosy little war you’re having,’ she said.

‘I’m hoping it stays that way. I’m sold on a peaceful post-war future. There ought to be more people like me, then there wouldn’t be all these muck-ups every so often.’

‘Don’t give me hysterics,’ said Kit.

Elsingham was sunny, quiet and sleepy. The sky was quiet too. Flying Fortresses seemed to be having a rest day.

‘What are you doing with those things?’ Kit asked.

‘Trimming the edges of Mary’s grass.’

‘Let’s make a fresh start,’ she said.

‘On the edges?’

‘No, you idiot, let’s you and I make a fresh start. Did you bring Mary anything?’

‘Oh, a bit of tea and a bit of sugar that were going spare in the ration stores,’ I said, wondering exactly what was on her mind.

‘You crook,’ said Kit. ‘I’ve brought her a few things from our PX stores.’

‘What a kind sergeant you are,’ I said.

‘I hope your conversation can improve,’ she said. ‘Well, I guess I’ll go and talk to Mary now and leave you to your good deed. See you when she serves tea.’ She disappeared again. She was a Chinese puzzle to me.

I did the trimming, back and front and got rid of some weeds. The chickens clucked as I dumped the weeds on the compost heap. Mary called that tea was ready. We took it inside. She said there were too many wasps about to have it in the garden.

It was a first-class Sunday tea, a chicken salad on a day when summer had risen to a peak, plus a cake that
was
a masterpiece considering the wartime shortages. Mary and Kit gassed, of course. Kit said angel cake was an American favourite. Mary asked what the recipe was. Oh, you don’t need a recipe, said Kit, the mixture comes in a carton that you buy at a store. Mary asked was that a dried fruit mixture and Kit said no, a cake mixture.

‘Fancy buying a cake mixture’, said Mary. ‘I like to mix my own.’

Kit said ready-made cake mixtures were labour-saving.

‘It’s all to do with efficiency, Mary,’ I said.

‘Yes, fancy that,’ said Mary and asked Kit if there was food rationing in America. Kit said oh, sure, but nothing like there was in England. According to the letters she received from her parents, they were still living quite well and her father was overweight.

‘Too much cake mixture, I suppose,’ I said.

Mary laughed. Kit looked sorry for me. But there it was, the conversation was all like that, she and Mary gassing and me throwing in bits and pieces.

We left at six-thirty, at Kit’s insistence. Mary said how nice it had been and to come again. We cycled fairly companionably. Kit stopped when we reached the spot where the little wood was visible, the wood that reminded her of a Constable painting.

‘That’ll do,’ she said.

‘Do for what?’ I asked.

‘I don’t want to rub noses here, in the road,’ she said, ‘we’ll get run down by a truck.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Wake up, old buddy, we’re making a fresh start, aren’t we?’

‘Is this serious?’ I asked, as we wheeled our bikes over the verge and began to descend the gentle slope.

‘Well, I thought you were,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll make myself clear. On the day you dropped Cassidy off, I was in the office and one of the girls said the door handle had come loose. I said, “Oh, get Tim to fix it.” “Who’s Tim?” she asked. I came to then, in a worried way. I asked myself why the worry should be about you. Then Cassidy came in with some story about a jeep that had run out of engine power and how you and your good old mousetrap appeared and gave her a lift. I asked where you were and if you were coming in and she said she thought you were already on your way back. I couldn’t believe it. After giving you the best months of my life, you weren’t even bothering about me. That was hard to take.’

‘Was it?’ I asked. ‘Why?’

‘I wish you’d wake up,’ said Kit. We reached the little wood and the stream that ran through it. Kit led the way, trundling her bike along the path that skirted the trees. Finding a gap, she entered. I followed. I had a feeling something very unexpected was going to happen.

She stopped and we propped the bikes against a tree. She turned to me. ‘Will this help?’ she said and she wound her arms around my neck, lifted her face and kissed me warmly on the lips. Giddy, it was. I kissed her back. Her lips were very receptive, her body warm and firm against mine. Her eyes were closed. She sighed as I released her lips to draw breath.

‘Is this happening?’ I asked.

‘It’s not happening yet,’ she murmured, ‘but you want to, don’t you, if I’m the only sergeant you’ve ever loved?’

‘Pardon?’ I said.

‘Be my lover,’ said Kit.

I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘Here and now?’ I said. I wasn’t even sure about the exact procedures.

‘Honey, I’m sorry I gave you a rough deal,’ she said. ‘I was a supercilious bitch to you and the roof fell in on me when you didn’t bother to come in and see me the other day. Serve me right. But I’m glad that you love me, so be my lover.’ She pressed herself close again. It charged me with adrenalin, but I wanted the whole thing to be right.

‘I can wait, Kit,’ I said. ‘I can wait for a church wedding with you in virgin white.’

She stared at me. ‘That’s a serious proposition?’ she said.

‘It’s a proposal, Kit,’ I said.

‘That’s awkward,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Well, honey, for one thing, I’m not a virgin.’

That shook me and it shook all my old-fashioned ideas as well. ‘How did that happen?’ I asked.

Kit wrinkled her nose. ‘A sergeant instructor at my enlistment camp. A guy, not a Wac. I thought him everything a girl could ask for. It was my first affair and over before I was posted. He wasn’t everything, after all.’

‘Sounds like a hooligan to me,’ I said, feeling deflated.
‘I
don’t know, what a war this is, it’s mucking up everything that’s decent.’

‘Don’t go over the top, honey,’ said Kit and wound her arms around my neck again. ‘We don’t have to talk about marrying, in any case, do we?’

It all fell apart then, the picture I’d had of her as my little woman cooking for me and doing the ironing. It had struggled valiantly to stay in its frame. It gave up now.

‘Oh, well,’ I said, ‘it was worth a try. Shall we go?’

‘Go? Now?’ Kit looked mystified. ‘But we haven’t got anywhere yet.’

‘Well, there’s not much point, is there?’

‘That’s another serious comment?’ she said.

I felt then that the whole thing wasn’t very important to her. It was just going to be sex. I was only going to rate as her second affair. I wasn’t going to like that. ‘Let’s get going,’ I said.

Abruptly, she disengaged, her mouth compressed. We wheeled our bikes in silence up to the road and resumed our ride to BHQ, where she was to pick up her transport back to base.

After a while she said, ‘What went wrong?’

‘I’m old-fashioned, like my Aunt May,’ I said. She knew about my Aunt May.

‘Oh, shoot,’ she said, riding beside me in the light of the dipping sun. The fields and farms were radiant with colour. ‘I know what’s wrong, I know what’s bugging you. Every man thinks every woman should only make love with him alone. It’s the male ego. You’ve all got it. You’re sore because the sergeant instructor beat you to it.’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ I said, ‘you sound like a tart.’

‘I think you’d better take that back,’ said Kit.

‘I didn’t say—’

‘You called me a floosie.’

‘I didn’t. I only said you sounded like one. I’m sure you’re not, but I just don’t get it, I don’t understand someone like you having a casual affair. I’d have thought you’d have been dead against it unless the two of you had marriage in mind.’

‘Oh, you’d like to write the rules for me, would you?’ she said.

‘I’m just telling you what I think.’

‘You’re a prig, Hardy, a prig first-class, with a very tiny mind. Goodbye.’ And she cycled away fast.

I let her go, knowing there was no point in trying to catch her up. I felt her store in Boston was her first love, that it was always going to be her main interest and that in other fields she’d make do with an affair from time to time. I wondered if there had been anyone else after the sergeant instructor. She’d said he’d been her first affair. I wondered if Major Moffat had taken a turn.

I didn’t go back to BHQ. I rode on to the village, feeling like a drink at the pub. Minnie was outside her front door, cutting gladioli blooms from the border running parallel with the path. She straightened up when she saw me. A quick smile flowered. I stopped.