The Lost Days of Summer (4 page)

Above the range, the mantelpiece supported a biscuit barrel, a clock whose fingers pointed to midnight, and an old photograph, browned and curled with age, showing a smiling man with one arm slung round the neck of a very large horse. Nell was wondering whether the man was her aunt’s late husband and whether the horse in the photograph was the one which had brought her from the station when the door opened and her aunt reappeared, struggling out of a much patched overcoat.

Nell now saw the older woman properly for the first time. She was tall and angular, her face tanned and her mouth set in a firm line. Nell’s mother and her Auntie Lou, as well as several other relatives, were blondes, but Auntie Kath’s abundant hair was white as snow and, Nell thought, could be described as her one beauty. But as her aunt kicked off her gumboots and turned towards her niece, Nell saw that she had been mistaken, for Auntie Kath also had beautiful eyes, large and heavy-lidded and fringed with black lashes, echoing the shade of her eyebrows. Nell would have liked to ask her if her hair had been dark before turning white but did not quite dare to do so, knowing Mam and Auntie Lou cursed their fair lashes and brows and would not have dreamed of leaving the house before applying eyebrow pencil and mascara. Of course it was possible that Auntie Kath, too, darkened brows and lashes, but after a quick glance at her aunt’s grim face Nell dismissed the idea. She did not think that her aunt would have cared if they had been bright blue. Instead, she said tentatively: ‘If you’ll sit down, Auntie, and tell me where you keep your tea caddy and your milk, I’ll make the tea for both of us.’

Her aunt gave her a searching look. ‘Getting your feet under the table, are you?’ she asked disagreeably. ‘You’ll need to do more than make a cup of tea to get round me.’

Nell opened her mouth to reply hotly that she had no such intention, then changed her mind. ‘Do you want me to waste my time searching for the tea caddy?’ she asked, her tone every bit as cold as her aunt’s had been. ‘Naturally, if you want to make the tea yourself, you have only to say.’

She half expected her aunt to snap her head off, but instead the older woman gave her a grudging smile and Nell saw that there was a strong family likeness between Kath and the other Ripley sisters. Auntie Kath’s hair grew in a widow’s peak just like Trixie’s and Lou’s, her nose was straight, and she had a determined mouth, right now set once more in a tight line. Her skin was good, her ears were small and flat to her head, and somehow, Nell thought apprehensively, you could see she was used to being in command and would brook no interference from anyone.

But her aunt was speaking again. ‘No need to lose your rag, girl. See that door over there? It’s the pantry; the milk’s on the cold slab under the window and the tea caddy’s on the dresser. Sugar’s beside it; I take two heaped teaspoons.’

Nell went to the pantry and fetched out a blue and white jug half full of milk. She reached for the tea caddy and the sugar, put tea leaves into a brown pot, added water from the hissing kettle and, whilst it brewed, poured milk into two enamel mugs. Then, as much to make conversation as anything else, she turned to her aunt. ‘Sugar’s going to be rationed in the New Year, they say, and probably other things as well. I like sugar in my tea, but then I like it on my cornflakes and porridge as well.’ She laughed, picking up the teapot and beginning to pour. ‘It’ll be strange having to choose between sugar on my porridge or in my tea, but I suppose it will be the same for everyone, so I mustn’t grumble.’

Auntie Kath sniffed. ‘I keep bees; honey’s good on porridge. Like it, do you? Besides, Ireland isn’t at war with anyone and Eifion – my farmhand – has a younger brother on the ferries. Shan’t be short of much we won’t, wi’ Merion to help out.’

Nell thought that this was cheating but said nothing. After all, there was no rationing of anything as yet, though her mother had warned her it was bound to come. ‘I remember your gran saying that most nice things were rationed during the last war,’ she had told her daughter. ‘It’ll happen in this one, you mark my words. I’m going to buy loads of dry goods and tinned stuff, enough to see us through for a good while.’

Nell had thought this an excellent idea and knew that her mother’s hoarding, as the newspapers called it, had started almost before Mr Chamberlain’s declaration that the country was at war. But now, of course, the tins, packets and bottles had had to be relinquished to other members of the family, since Mam was not allowed to take them with her to the training centre. ‘Kath lives on a farm, so she should be pretty self-sufficient,’ Trixie had said, busy packing a box of mixed groceries to sell to her sister Susan. ‘But I’ve got you two pounds of sweets from Kettles on the Scottie, so you’ll have something to suck on your journey.’ As if I were still a kid, Nell had thought crossly, and had told her mother loftily to divide the sweets amongst her sisters. Mam had pouted and said Nell was ungrateful, but had done as she asked.

Thinking back to her rejection of the sweets, Nell grimaced to herself now, regretting her high-handed reaction. It would have been nice to offer a bag of humbugs or toffees to the other passengers in her compartment. She could have given some to her aunt as well, since that lady clearly had a sweet tooth. I wanted to make Mam unhappy because she had made me pretty miserable, and I don’t believe I succeeded. In fact it was what’s called cutting off your nose to spite your face, so I’ll be well served if there’s no sweet shop in the village.

‘Well, miss? Are you goin’ to hand over that paned – tea, I mean – or am I to go to bed dry as a desert?’ Her aunt’s words were accompanied by an impatient tapping of her fingers on the wooden table. ‘And you never said if you liked honey. Rude you are.’

‘Sorry,’ Nell said hastily, feeling her cheeks grow hot. It seemed that she must watch her tongue constantly until she grew accustomed to her aunt’s ways. ‘Of course I like honey; doesn’t everyone?’ She poured the tea, added sugar to her aunt’s mug and pushed it across to her. ‘I’m afraid I was dreaming; it’s been a long day. I was up before six, and to tell you the truth all I’m really fit for is me bed.’

Her aunt grunted. ‘I hope you’re not a dreamer,’ she said censoriously, ‘but it’ll be a miracle if you ain’t. Dreamin’ runs in families, and it don’t go with farm work. You have to keep your mind on your job when there’s stock involved.’

‘Stock?’ Nell said. She wished she could tell her aunt how hungry she was and ask for a biscuit or some bread and cheese before bed, but before she could frame a request her aunt was speaking once more.

‘Stock is what we call the beasts: cows, pigs, poultry and sheep.’ She picked up her mug of tea and took a long drink, then glared at Nell over the rim of the mug. ‘Drink up, and no more dreaming. Not here for a rest cure you are. Finished? Right, I’ll take you to your room.’

Following her meekly, Nell hoped that her aunt would not expect her to learn Welsh, for it was obvious that English no longer came readily to the older woman’s tongue. But no doubt she’ll find it easier once we’ve spent time together, Nell told herself optimistically as she climbed the stairs in her aunt’s wake. And you never know; maybe I’ll pick up the Welsh language quickly too. On that thought she followed her aunt into the room which was to be hers whilst she lived at Ty Hen.

Having seen her niece off to bed Kath went quietly down the stairs again, put on her thick winter coat, wrapped a scarf round her head and a muffler round her neck and headed for the back door. She was hot and bothered simply by another’s presence in her house; now she needed the cold freshness of the farmyard to recapture the peace which had gone with the wind when Trixie’s daughter had stepped into the cart.

Cautiously, Kath opened the back door. The cold rushed to meet her, so she went right into the yard, shutting the door behind her. After the comparative warmth of the house the air actually stung her nostrils, squeezed her lungs, but she told herself that a little cold never hurt anyone and pulled her muffler over her mouth to dull the chill. Then for a moment she just stood there, getting acclimatised, looking up at the arc of the dark sky, at the twinkling stars and the moon, whose light cast half the yard into brilliance, the other half into velvet shadow. Kath sighed with pleasure, and it was only then that she began to think. What had she done? She, who had for so long been sensible, had cast sense aside and agreed that Trixie’s wretched brat might come to Ty Hen. She, who had deliberately cut the bonds between herself and her family and even friends who lived in the crowded courts off the Scotland Road, had not only opened and read the letter from her youngest sister, but had agreed to that sister’s request, which was to take in her daughter for the duration of a war that was already complicating Kath’s life quite enough.

It was all very well telling herself that it was not the girl’s fault – Kath knew that. A girl of fifteen did as she was told and must damned well continue to do so, Kath thought with more than a trace of spite, no matter what Nell might think. I can cope with her, she told the unheeding stars above her. It’s Trixie who might cause trouble. Her sister might think having her daughter actually living at Ty Hen was the thin edge of the wedge, might start insinuating herself into Kath’s quiet but busy life. Kath could just imagine Trixie turning up at Ty Hen one day, all smiles and apologies, saying she simply had to see Helen, or Nell, or whatever the girl called herself. Blood was thicker than water Trixie would say, with the sweet, crooked smile which had made her so popular with the boys two decades ago. And then, because she was Trixie, and leopards, as is well known, do not change their spots, she would start interfering, making suggestions, charming people. And pushing Kath aside.

Well, I shan’t have it, not this time, Kath told the indifferent moon. This is
my
house and
my
business and no one tells me what to do or how to do it. The thought gave her a pang; Owain had not been grudging with his knowledge when first she had come to Ty Hen. He had taught her everything she needed to know with all his usual generosity, insisting that his workers treated her as the boss when he was not available, never instructing or contradicting her when others were present. He had taken her side when the Jones family had shown their disapproval of this strange English girl he had foisted upon them, never blamed her when she had refused, at first, to learn Welsh, had finally taught her the rudiments of the language in the long winter evenings and as they worked around the farm.

But Owain was dead and his family had disowned her long ago, and now all the responsibility was hers. She had managed well enough when she had had the young men working for her, but now she and old Eifion often found they had to be in two places at once . . . not easy. She had heard talk of land girls but did not relish the prospect, so when Trixie had written, fairly begging her to let young what’s-her-name come to Ty Hen, she had agreed to it. Now, she wondered whether she had made the biggest mistake of her life or whether the kid would really put her back into the work. After all, she’s my niece, so she may have it in her to work like a slave on the land – I did, Kath reminded herself. Oh well, the die is cast; I told Trixie I’d keep her girl for six months and then make up my mind, and I’ll do just that. Six months isn’t a lifetime, after all.

For a moment longer she stood in the yard, no longer thinking but just enjoying the quiet, even the cold. Then she turned decisively back towards the kitchen. Time would tell, she told herself, opening the back door and going into the warmth. Time would tell.

With quiet contentment she moved about the room, doing the small tasks she did every night before bed. She always left the kitchen ready for the following morning, with the breakfast things set out, the table laid, the kettle filled. Tomorrow, however, it would not be just herself and Eifion who would sit down to breakfast, but her niece and her worker’s grandson; she must remember to lay the extra places.

Presently, satisfied that all was in order, she made up the fire in the range and damped it down so that it would be easy to get it going again in the morning. Then she headed for her bedroom, which was opposite her niece’s. She just hoped the kid wouldn’t have nightmares, or hear something frightening and come through to her room to wake her up. I need my sleep, she told herself grimly. I shan’t be best pleased if she interferes with that.

It was not until she was in bed and drifting towards slumber that she remembered she had not told Nell which door led to her own room. She smiled to herself. It had been a mistake, but at least it should ensure her a good night. No young woman was likely to go knocking on strange doors in the wee small hours to complain that she was cold or wanted a hot drink.

Soon, Kath slept. And, immediately, dreamed.

The dream began as her dreams so often did: she was a girl again, her night shift at the hospital just finishing. She came out on to the pavement to find the sky still dark, though the eastern horizon was streaked with flame and gold, the promise, she hoped, of a fine day to come. It had been stuffy on the ward but out here it was pleasantly cool, the breeze from the Mersey salt-laden and fresh. Kath breathed it in deeply, then set off towards home and the bed which she had longed for ten minutes earlier but which now lacked a certain appeal. The day ahead looked like being a fine one, and despite the earliness of the hour Liverpool was already humming with girls going to work in the factories which had sprung up when the war started back in 1914, men off to their jobs in the shipyards, streaming down to catch the ferry which would carry them to Birkenhead and Laird’s, others off to queue for the trams which were going to Tate’s, the sugar manufactory, or to a hundred different workplaces.

Tired though she was, Kath kept a lookout for friends and family and presently fell in with cousin Lottie, who worked at the Bryant and May match factory. Lottie, too, had been on a night shift and the two young girls greeted one another gleefully.

‘I gorra night off tomorrer – today, I should say,’ Lottie squeaked as soon as the two met. ‘So after I’ve had me head down for a bit I’m off on the razzle-dazzle. Wharrabout you, queen? There’s a good few of us goin’ to New Brighton; fancy comin’ along?’