The Lost Days of Summer (23 page)

‘Ask me again when we’re back on the island and don’t try to blackmail me,’ Nell said severely. ‘Now settle down, because I want to tell you about my trip to Church Bay. Auntie gave me a day off, so I went the way you said and saw the Swtan—’

‘Church Bay? You went there without me?’ Bryn looked outraged. ‘I thought we’d arranged that I’d take you there when I got leave from my ship.’

Nell opened her mouth to say that he had been presumed drowned, then closed it again. How tactless could one get! Instead, she said: ‘Yes, I know, but you weren’t around and, as I said, Auntie had given me a day off, so I thought I’d follow that marvellous map you made for me and explore.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot the map,’ Bryn said, clearly mollified, for he could scarcely claim that she had promised not to go to the Bay without him when he had actually mapped out a path for her. ‘Like it, did you? I knew you would. When I get home—’

‘Yes, I loved it. And I went to the longhouse you told me about – the Swtan. It’s pretty run down now, isn’t it? I thought I saw an old man coming out of the door, but Auntie Kath said it was just my imagination and I suppose she might be right.’ She had already decided that the old woman she had half glimpsed really was just a figment of her imagination.

‘Perhaps it was a ghost,’ Bryn said. ‘No one lives in the Swtan, for a very good reason: they say the place is haunted by an old woman, a witch, who puts spells on those who treaspass or spy on her.’

‘Oh, very funny,’ Nell scoffed. ‘What a good thing I’m not superstitious.’ But even as she spoke, a little chill ran along her spine as she remembered that faint, wavery figure which had hovered in the cottage doorway. Had it been the witch? But she certainly did not mean to let Bryn know he had shaken her. She moistened her lips and spoke steadily. ‘And you’re certain there isn’t anyone living in the longhouse? I was pretty sure I saw an old man . . .’

‘I tell you no one lives there. If you really did see someone, then he was probably looking for something to steal,’ Bryn said. ‘And now let’s talk about something more interesting – me!’

Nell laughed, but at that moment the door of the day room opened and a man came in. He was the occupant of the bed next to Bryn’s and was known as Curly, which Nell thought was a splendid nickname because he was as bald as a coot. He grinned at the pair of them and sketched a salute. ‘Mornin’, young lovers! Awright if I has a crafty fag while there’s no nurses about?’

Nell said that was all right by them; they would be glad of his company since the conversation was becoming boring, she said, adding rather frostily that she could see no young lovers in the room, only Bryn and herself. At this, Bryn jumped to his feet with an exclamation of annoyance and marched out, saying over his shoulder that he was going to fetch the bag of peppermints his grandmother had left for him and would be back in a trice.

Curly lit up, then raised a brow. ‘In a perishin’ rage again? That young feller of yours is always either up in the clouds or down in the dumps, though he’s a deal better than he was. Before you come he used to have awful nightmares; woke the lot of us up shrieking that the water was comin’ in, or the sharks was circlin’, or someone was beatin’ a drum close agin his lughole. But there’s not been a sound out of him since you and the old lady arrived, so we oughter thank you on our bended knees, I reckon.’

Nell smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you. But I really do think I shall have to go home now that he’s so much better. If only I could make him see how unfair he was being . . .’

‘Oh, he’s not a bad lad,’ her companion said laconically. ‘Tell him that at his age he’s a man, not a perishin’ kid, and a man doesn’t hang on to a woman against her will. He’ll see reason in the end, see if it ain’t so.’

And a couple of days later, Curly was proved right. Nell pounced on the young doctor as he finished his ward round and explained that she was needed at home but that Bryn was desperate for her to stay with him until he, too, could leave the hospital. Dr Graham grinned at her and ran a hand through his thatch of dark hair.

‘He’s exceeded all our expectations,’ he admitted. ‘His broken shoulder is healing at a far faster rate than is usual, and though it will never be perfect the sight in his right eye is beginning to improve as well. That’s what bothers him most, I’m afraid – he tells me that he wanted to train to be a signaller and of course the RNVR insists upon twenty-twenty eyesight in that job. But there are many other openings for a young man such as himself.’

‘What will happen to him next?’ Nell asked anxiously. ‘He was hoping to get a transfer to the Gors Hospital on Anglesey . . .’

The doctor grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘The Gors? Afraid not. He’s to have a month in Blackpool at a rehabilitation centre, learning to use his arm again and to get fit generally. Then he’ll be sent home and no doubt his company will get in touch with him.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘He’s very keen on you, young lady, but you mustn’t let him use his injuries as blackmail to get his own way. He’s young for his age, but war matures us all.’

‘I know he’s young for his age,’ Nell said gloomily, ‘but he likes to think that he and I are sweethearts, which is ridiculous. We’re both far too young.’

Dr Graham cleared his throat and looked guilty. ‘Mrs Graham and I were childhood sweethearts, as it happens. We met at Sunday school when we were both seven and we’ve neither of us ever looked at another.’ He grinned sheepishly at Nell’s expression. ‘Don’t look so horrified. I promise I won’t tell your young man.’

Later, when she returned to the house in Easby Street, Nell told Mrs Hughes that she meant to accompany her when she want home in two days’ time. ‘I know I was a help to Bryn at first, just by talking Welsh to him and interpreting for the nurses and doctors,’ she said. ‘But now he really doesn’t need me, so I’m simply wasting my time hanging about the ward.’

Mrs Trelawney, who was dishing up supper in her large, well-fitted kitchen, nodded. ‘I shall miss you, but as they keep sayin’, there’s a war on and we’ve all got to do our bit,’ she said. ‘If you tell your young man that gettin’ himself fit again is his war work, like, then he oughter agree to you leavin’, and no more fuss and high-strikes.’

Nell laughed. ‘I’m sure you’re right, and I’ll do as you say,’ she promised. ‘But oh, how I long to be back at Ty Hen!’

Despite her hopes, however, it was another week before she was able to bid goodbye to Mrs Trelawney, pack her haversack, and shake the dust of the city from her heels. This was because she had visited Kingfisher Court, meaning to tell her relatives that she was going back to Anglesey in a couple of days, and had learned that her aunt Lou was coming home on leave. Lou was returning, Auntie Carrie informed her niece, for two reasons. One was to accompany Grandma Ripley on a search for a quiet country lodging. The other was because Nell herself had written to her, saying that she would be in Liverpool for a few days, and would very much like to know just what her mother was doing.

Auntie Lou had come to the house in Easby Street the day after old Mrs Hughes, after a tearful parting with her grandson, had left for home. On hearing the front door knocker, Nell had jumped to her feet, meaning to answer it, but before she could do so the landlady had risen, gestured to her guest to remain seated, and disappeared into the hall. There had been a murmur of voices, then the swift patter of footsteps, and Auntie Lou, looking very smart indeed in her uniform, had come breezing into the room, given her niece a hug and then stepped back, holding Nell by the shoulders and fairly beaming at her.

‘Well, well, well! You’ve growed like a perishin’ beanpole,’ she had said cheerfully. ‘I got your letter and I were due for some leave so I spoke to the wing officer, explained a thing or two, and she give me a whole three days off.’ She had grinned across at Mrs Trelawney, taken off her cap and put her kitbag down on the dresser. ‘Ooh, a hot cup of tea! That’s just the ticket . . . did I say ticket? I don’t mind if I do!’

Mrs Trelawney and Nell had chuckled at this reminder of a popular wireless programme, and then the landlady had got another plate from the sideboard and without a word put a generous helping of meat pie on it, added potatoes and peas, and gestured to a chair. ‘Sit down, my dear,’ she had said. ‘I’ve always got grub to spare for a member of our services, rationing or no rationing, especially when she’s also our Nell’s aunt.’ She had turned to Nell. ‘We introduced ourselves on the doorstep. Now there’s plums and custard for afters, and though the custard’s made wi’ dried milk it’s none the worse for that. We’ll round the meal off wi’ a cuppa, and then the two of you can go into me parlour and have a crack.’

Half an hour later, Nell and her aunt were seated in the parlour with a large mug of tea apiece, and Nell was asking her first question.

‘Auntie Lou, is Mam really going to marry that feller? And where is she now? I worried at first, but Auntie Kath told me I should remember that Mam’s never been particularly reliable, and that like as not she’ll chuck this chap and everything will go back to normal. She also said that by the time the war is over I’d be looking to live away from Mam anyway . . .’

‘Aye, she’s right there,’ Auntie Lou had agreed. She had taken a long drink of her tea, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘My, I needed that! Your mother is still in Scotland, I believe. I’ve not had a letter for ages, but Kath is right. Trixie’s always been – well, I’d best say a bit of a goer – and she don’t change. She’s got this feller, half her age he is, under her spell, though, and I reckon he’ll do right by her, in the finish. Just you stay with our Kath and bide your time and one of these fine days your mam will turn up on the doorstep full of apologies for not writing and give you a great big hug . . . and you’ll forgive her, same as we’ve always done.’

‘Ye-es, but I wish she’d write, just to let me know she’s well and happy,’ Nell had said. ‘And of course I’ll stay with Auntie Kath; I’m planning to go back to the island now that I’ve seen you. You see, the boy I worked with when I first went to Ty Hen . . .’

She had told the story quickly, but at the finish her aunt had looked worried. ‘I’m rare glad you’re happy, chuck, but I’ve a favour to ask you. I’m trying to get Grandma Ripley to move away from the court into the country, and she’s finally agreed to go, if I can find a pal to go with her. I’ve kept suggesting various relatives, but she doesn’t like any of ’em. And tomorrow’s my last full day.’

‘How about Great-aunt Vera?’ Nell had suggested. ‘And have you thought of that little village – I can’t remember the name – where Uncle Matt went when he retired from being a coal heaver?’

Her aunt had stared at her, speechless for a moment. Then she had slapped her knee and begun to laugh. ‘But Grandma and Auntie Vera hate each other, queen! They spend more time proving each other wrong . . .’

‘Yes, but it gives them an interest,’ Nell had pointed out. ‘If the two of us tell Grandma Ripley that it’s Great-aunt Vera and Uncle Matt or nothing . . .’

‘Right, we’ll give it a go,’ her aunt had said. ‘And do you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve hit on the solution! You come to the court at eight tomorrow morning and we’ll go straight round and put it to Gran, and Aunt Vera too.’

‘I’m on,’ Nell had said briefly. ‘I shan’t have time to go to the hospital and tell Bryn what we’re doing, but I dare say he’ll just think I’m shopping. You’d better go back to the court, though, Auntie, and get some rest. Tomorrow may be a trifle difficult!’

In fact, however, the day had gone extraordinarily well. Uncle Matt, who lived alone in a tiny house in Parkgate, had said the two old ladies could lodge with him if they agreed to cook his meals as well as their own, and help him keep his house and garden tidy. Grandma Ripley had sniffed but having examined the house minutely said that it would do for now, and Great-aunt Vera, eyeing the neat rows of vegetables in the small back garden, had said she had always wanted to grow things and would be happy to help her nephew with his digging, weeding and planting.

But what had been even more satisfactory than having sorted out the two old ladies had been the fact that Bryn had thought Nell had gone home and far from pining or fretting himself into a fever, as he had threatened, had been found later that evening playing cards in the day room and laughing uproariously over something one of the other men had said.

Nell had taken Auntie Lou to see Bryn and explained where she had been all day, and had then reminded Bryn that she would be leaving Liverpool the next afternoon. ‘So I popped in to say goodbye,’ she had told him, half expecting a scene. When none followed, she thought Auntie Lou’s presence was probably responsible for Bryn’s polite, unemotional farewell.

‘Your young man’s a charmer,’ her aunt had said as they left the ward, and raised her eyes heavenward when Nell had almost shouted her reply.

‘He’s bloody well
not
my young man, Auntie Lou, he’s just a perishin’ friend, and I’m beginning to think he’s not even a friend, because he keeps pestering me to marry him as soon as we’re old enough.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Auntie Lou had said, but a smile had lurked. ‘You aren’t a bit like our Trixie, young woman. She would have taken one look at his blond curls and blue eyes and agreed to every word he said, so it’s probably a good thing that you’re different. Now, are you sure you’ll be all right seeing Gran and Auntie Vera to Uncle Matt’s tomorrow before you go? I’d stay to help if I could, but I have to catch the early train or I’ll never get back in time. So I’ll say goodbye now, queen – and good luck!’

Kath was sitting at the kitchen table, frowning over government forms, when she heard the bus grinding slowly along the main road, if you could call the winding lane a main road. For a moment she stopped her work and listened, head cocked. Would it stop at the end of their lane or would it go chug-chugging on to the next village? She had listened for it so often, and it had not stopped . . .

Now, it drew to a halt with a grinding and squeal of brakes and Kath got to her feet and hurried over to the kitchen window, which overlooked the yard. Then she sighed and returned to her place. She was being ridiculous; Nell would have written, or sent a telegram even, had she been able to leave Liverpool, so that someone could meet the train. She would not simply leap aboard it on the off-chance that the bus might be passing, so to speak.