Rising Summer (33 page)

‘Where’s Min?’ she asked.

‘Up in her room. She’s a bit fed-up.’

Missus looked at me a little sadly. ‘You surprised?’ she said. ‘Well, you’re not usin’ your sense, are you? You’ve got a bit of manly sense by now, haven’t you? You think a proud girl like Min is goin’ to let you see what she really feels about you goin’ off to marry that American Wac?’

‘All right, let me have it,’ I said.

‘I’m not sayin’ it wasn’t a pleasure that you dropped in, Tim. But the way you did it, out of the blue, like, well, it all started up again for Min. Still gone on you, she is. Always has been, always was from the day she met you. Won’t look at no-one else. Can’t grow out of you, that’s what’s up with her. She might have stood a chance if you’d kept away, if you hadn’t turned up like this. She said to me after comin’ back from the bike ride, she said, “I can’t stand it, Mum, send him away.” That’s what she said, Tim.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ I said and Missus looked sadder.

‘Of course, I couldn’t send you away,’ she said, ‘not after I’d said stay for high tea. Wouldn’t have been right. Can’t be helped, it’s not your fault the way a girl gets
a
fixation and you’ve got your own life to live. But Minnie’s not goin’ to come down and give you a smile and wish you luck, that would be askin’ too much of her. Min’s my love and it’s her who can do with some luck.’

‘I know, Missus.’ I felt sad myself. ‘I hope she gets all she wants. She’s had a rough ride. Oh, hell. Give her my love, anyway. See you again sometime.’

Missus bussed me with warm arms and warm bosom. ‘Off you go, Tim. Don’t think Jim and me don’t appreciate you remembered us. Go on, off you go now to your Aunt May.’

‘Blessings, Missus,’ I said and went.

I LET MYSELF
in. The light was on in the passage. I put my valises on the floor and closed the door. Aunt May, hearing the sounds, came out of the kitchen into the passage. We looked at each other and she drew a little breath. She had told me her story and I knew she wished she hadn’t. But who couldn’t have understood her natural wish, under the circumstances, to let me know what our relationship truly was? And perhaps she had felt I’d be resilient enough to accept the fact of being the son of an unwed mother. That aspect hadn’t bothered me at all. What difference did it make to me that some young and promiscuous idiot hadn’t married her? It didn’t make any difference, even if I was a puritan in some respects. I’d been brought up by a woman who, having made a sad mistake as a girl, had impressed on me that decent behaviour was more civilized than the antics of randy intellectuals. All in all I felt privileged that the woman I’d always known as Aunt May was my mother.

‘Hullo, Mum old love,’ I said, ‘I’m home.’

She swallowed. I thought what an attractive woman she was and that Bill Clayton was going to get a gem.

‘Tim—’ She swallowed again. Then, with a smile, she said, ‘You’re a day or so earlier than I expected.’

‘Better earlier than later,’ I said.

‘Bless you, lovey,’ she said and gave me a kiss and a cuddle in her affectionate and customary way. ‘Tim, I have to be sorry about—’

‘Don’t be,’ I said, ‘that’s all over, that’s just between you and me and it’s something I’m very happy about. So bless you too. And you’re still my lovely old Aunt May, just for the record. Right?’

‘Just look here, I’m not old,’ she said, game to play the moment lightly.

‘You don’t look it, either,’ I said. There was one certain thing that would guarantee we could get together in our former way. A pot of tea, even if I was going to drown in it before the day was over. ‘How about some tea?’

‘Oh, I’ll make a pot,’ she said, looking glad at the suggestion.

‘Come on, then.’ I took one valise into the kitchen and while she put the kettle on I extracted presents for her. French perfume, a white lace tablecloth from Belgium, two large tins of American blueberries, a cameo brooch from Italy and six pairs of fully-fashioned stockings. The stockings and blueberries were from American buddies I’d met around Falaise. Aunt May gazed at the array of gifts with eyes quite dizzy.

‘Oh, Tim,’ she said and she looked misty-eyed then.

‘Just something in recognition of you know what, Aunt May.’

‘You don’t feel hurt?’ she said.

‘No talking, not about that, I like our little secret. Make the tea, love, and let’s have an old-fashioned chat. It’s only nine o’clock and we’ve got time for a long talk.’

‘Tim, all these lovely presents—’

‘For your bottom drawer, but not the blueberries, they’re for making pies.’

She was in a bit of a tizzy, but in a glad way and she made the tea and it helped us to chat away without constraint. She told me that her wedding to Bill was arranged for Saturday fortnight. They’d felt I’d be definitely home by then. I was to give her away.

‘I wasn’t going to get married unless you were there,’ she said.

‘You’re happy about Bill?’

‘Yes, I am, love, and I’m happy about you too,’ she said.

I told her I was seeing Kit tomorrow, when I hoped to fix our own date. She said what a handsome young lady Kit was and very brainy. I’d have a lot to live up to in America.

‘America?’ I said. ‘I’m not going to America.’

‘Oh, I felt from the way she talked that you were going to set up home there,’ said Aunt May.

‘That’s not my scene,’ I said, ‘she’ll get me fixing things in her store.’

A little laugh escaped Aunt May.

‘You look like yesterday, I’m happy to say,’ remarked Kit.

‘Yesterday’s dog’s dinner?’ I said. We were in an Oxford Street restaurant, where you could get a fairly eatable three-course lunch for the limit of five bob that had been imposed by the Ministry of Food and where
you
could mix with officers without the risk of military Redcaps butting in and putting you on a charge. Redcaps could be very interfering.

‘You simply look as if you only left yesterday,’ said Kit. ‘Oh, sure, you’re a good advertisement for the popular war hero look, but you’re still the same old lanky lump of British beef.’

‘You’re lovely too,’ I said. She looked a picture in her tailored olive-green, a perfect example of how to reach the rank of captain without getting worry lines on the way. Stunning, she was, with her American smile and her visible air of excitement.

‘I like you, honey, you know that?’ she said.

‘That must mean something,’ I said.

‘Well, love is surely necessary to a marriage, of course, but if you have loving and liking both, that’s a guarantee of a really great relationship.’

‘It rates?’

‘Top billing, Tim. I know it sounds corny, but did you miss me?’

‘All the time and Sunday afternoons especially. Sunday afternoons always reminded me of the way you took Suffolk to your bosom.’

She laughed. She wasn’t eating much. We’d plumped for the day’s speciality. Country omelette, made with powdered egg, of course, mixed with parsley and chopped bacon rind. It wasn’t bad, but we were more interested in each other than in food.

‘You haven’t seen it yet,’ said Kit.

‘Haven’t seen what?’

‘My bosom,’ she said.

‘Well, don’t show me now,’ I said, ‘not here and not when you’re in uniform. It’s against Uncle Sam’s regulations, isn’t it? Wait till we’re on a train or bus. Anyway, can we talk about when you’d like us to start life together?’

‘I wrote telling you I was going to be good to you,’ she said. ‘First off, lover, I can apply for a discharge whenever I like. I thought a New Year wedding would be just fine. In Boston. We’ll do that, shall we? I’ve been in touch with my parents about it and they can’t wait to meet you. I’ve also told my father how good you are at fixing things and he’s going to give you a position that will suit you perfectly. Could your Aunt May come over for the wedding? We’d love her to, she could travel with us a week before Christmas. My father will arrange first-class tickets on the
Queen Mary
for us—’

‘Hold on.’ I felt that while her vision of the future was clear and uncluttered, mine had become slightly blurred. ‘What position?’

‘My father’s in packaging,’ she said, enthusiastic in her ambition for me. ‘He owns the Masters Packaging Company Incorporated.’

‘What’s packaging?’

‘Merchandise wrapping,’ said Kit. ‘Cartons, boxes, wrappers, anything you can put around any kind of consumer goods to make them look more attractive on a store shelf. There’s a job waiting for you in the design department. And there’s something else. My father has his eye on a house for us, just outside Boston and not far from our family home. We only need to say and we’ll be able to move in as soon as we’re married. My father
will
arrange the loan through his bank, which likes dealing with real estate business.’

‘We’re going to live in America?’ I said.

Kit smiled. ‘You weren’t thinking of China, were you?’

‘No, I was thinking of a cosy little cottage in Suffolk.’

‘Not seriously, were you?’ she said. ‘Tim, England is so run-down. You know it is. It’s exhausted, the war has worn it out, it can’t offer any real opportunities to guys like you. You’ll do so well in the States.’

‘What’s a design department in a packaging company?’ I asked.

‘It’s where you’ll work on ideas for new packaging, honey, while Effie and I pour new ideas into our store. We’ve been exchanging thoughts and suggestions by mail for months.’

‘Aren’t we going to have a family?’

‘Oh, I guess we can discuss and analyse our feelings about that later on,’ said Kit.

‘How long is later on? When we’re both past wanting to bother about being a mum and dad?’

Kit regarded me with the mystified air of a woman who knew she had worked everything out with maximum advantage to both of us, so why was I trying to pick holes in it? ‘You want to make alternative suggestions, Tim?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, giving up my half-eaten omelette. ‘Let’s stay here. The old UK may be a bit worn out, but it’s earned a try from some of us. I’m willing to give it a go. Let’s live in Suffolk. I know of a cottage going cheap. Mary’s. We only need enough to keep us in food, drink
and
socks. I can earn that much by starting a joinery and house repairs business with my gratuity.’

‘Joinery? House repairs?’ Kit looked astonished.

‘Fixing doors and things,’ I said. ‘I don’t think much maintenance has been done to too many properties during the war, what with the shortage of materials and labour. I’ve a feeling there’s going to be a large demand for maintenance work. I like carpentry and nails and hammers and jobs like putting in new window frames and redecorating. And look, this store of yours. You don’t need that. That’s not what wives are for. Wives are for building homes and families not stores and if you change all that you’ll change family life. My suggestion is that we buy Mary’s cottage and that you stay home, have some babies and do the cooking.’

‘Tim, you’re goofing,’ said Kit and I had to admit that as a Wac captain she didn’t quite look as if she’d fit the role of a village mum. She did have the right shape, but would probably lack application. Still, I had to try.

‘You could have a go once you got out of that uniform,’ I said. ‘Have you thought that if you run a store you’ll come home each night whacked out? You’ll get headaches. You can cook and bake, can’t you?’

Kit laughed. Cooking and baking obviously didn’t rate with her. ‘Do you want a wife or a kitchen slave?’ she asked.

‘Well, I’ll be a joinery and redecorating slave, so what’s wrong with you being a kitchen slave?’

‘It doesn’t appeal to me,’ she said. ‘You’re asking me to channel my creative energy down a kitchen sink.’

‘Selling ankle socks to kids is creative?’ I said.

The blur had gone. I knew what I wanted and what I didn’t want. I wanted an old-fashioned life and someone warm and cuddly to come home to. I wanted to come home to the aroma of baking cakes, I didn’t want to be dragged off to America and organized. I knew now why it hadn’t felt right, leaving Jim and Missus and Minnie to come to London and meet Kit. Jim and Missus and Minnie were my kind, I’d lived among that kind all my life. Kit was an all-American beauty, a goer, a professional. She’d leave me behind. I’d been in love with a hope and with what I wanted her to be, not with what she was. My instincts had warned me right at the start, but I’d let infatuation take over. What I wanted, what suited me, was up in Suffolk.

‘You don’t want to be a conventional housewife, Kit?’ I asked.

‘Tim, if you only knew how unexciting that sounds.’

‘OK, you and Effie get fixed up, then. I think that’s top billing for you. I don’t think you really need me. Let’s call it a day, with no hard feelings.’

Kit actually flushed. ‘Listen, you kook, I want a lover as well as the store,’ she said angrily. ‘I want you as my lover. Legal lover. And you want me, don’t you?’

‘No, I want a homely wife who’ll iron my shirts for me.’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Kit. ‘There aren’t many women who are going to fall for that iron age stuff, not after a war like this one, when millions of us have come out of the kitchens.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Oh, shoot, I’ve got to go.’

‘Yes, I’ve a feeling you’ll always be saying that, Kit.
You
were right two years ago when you said let’s just be friends.’

‘Oh, shoot,’ she said again, angrier than ever.

When we left the restaurant she told me to call her. She said we had to talk this through. I said it would be better if we parted now, while we still liked each other.

‘No, call me,’ she said, ‘we’ve got to meet again, we’ve got to talk.’

I didn’t say I would, because I knew I wouldn’t. I just said I’d think about it. She hailed a taxi. She was still angry.

‘So long, Kit, it’s been—’

‘Call me!’ she said.

I watched the taxi as it took her out of my life, then I walked to a bus stop. Oxford Street was crowded, but it had lost its pre-war look and taken on an atmosphere of austerity. Shoppers were looking for what wasn’t there. London didn’t look as if we’d won the war. But in Suffolk it was peaceful at least and the scars of war didn’t show up there. I had to get to Waterloo Station and from there to the Guildford demob centre. Tomorrow, I had to go back to Suffolk. This evening, I had to tell Aunt May I’d changed my ideas and my plans. I had a feeling she’d just smile and tell me to do what I thought best.