The Pearl Locket (10 page)

‘And do you have anything else to say in your defence, young lady?’

Oh, she had plenty that she could say. But better to meekly shake her head, keep her eyes downcast, and let his anger abate. It worked. He sat down.

‘I forbid you to see him again. If you do, I shall take my belt to you. You are not too old for a whipping, child.’

‘Yes, Father.’ If he ever did that she would run away from home, and he would never see her again.

‘Right. Well. Go up to your room and consider what I have said. I shall see you at dinnertime and not before.’

‘Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.’ She gave a small nod. He’d probably prefer her to curtsey, he was that old-fashioned. She backed out of the room and closed the door as softly as she could, then heaved a sigh of relief. It was over.

Mags was waiting in Joan’s bedroom upstairs. ‘Who was the boy you were seen with, Joanie? Was it that boy from the dance, the Canadian?’

‘No! No, not him at all.’ Joan shuddered. She shook her head and sat on the bed beside her sister, picking up her old teddy to cuddle. ‘Mags, I need to tell you about what happened at the dance, and how I met Jack, the boy Father saw me with in town today.’

Mags eyes lit up, but her tone was sympathetic as she took Joan’s hands. ‘Go on, then. Spill the beans.’

Joan told her everything—how her head had been turned by the handsome Freddie, how he’d plied her with gin and then led her to the backstage area, how he’d forced himself on her but Jack had arrived in the nick of time and stopped him. How she’d felt such a fool allowing it to happen.

‘I saw the fight—the Canadian, Freddie, and that boy with spectacles. Was he this Jack, then?’ Mags’s eyes were wide as the story progressed, though she squeezed Joan’s hand tightly in support.

‘Yes, that was him. And he got into the fight to defend me. Oh Mags, his poor face, his lip was split and his glasses all broken.’

‘So what happened when you went home?’

Joan told her then how Jack had walked her home, and how they’d sat and looked at the moonlight. Then she told how he’d come to the WVS and taken her out to tea, and how Father had caught sight of her and dragged her away.

Mags leaned back against the headboard of the bed and regarded Joan, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. ‘Joanie, darling, I do believe you’re in love.’

In love? Was she? Joan considered this carefully. She’d never been in love before, and wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. But certainly, just thinking of Jack made her tummy feel as though it was full of fairies dancing, and when she remembered how it felt to snuggle up next to him on the cold promenade bench in the moonlight she couldn’t help but smile to herself. And imagining a future in which she never saw him again was, she realised, totally unbearable. ‘Oh, Mags. Yes, I think I am. But I am forbidden to ever see him again.’

‘Pah. You know what Father’s like. He gets all heated about something but he’ll forget what it was all about in a day or so. As long as you take care that he never sees you with Jack again, you’ll be all right. You were daft going to Lyons—it’s far too near Father’s offices. Keep away from that part of town, or wear a headscarf. And don’t hold hands in public. If you’d been just walking alongside him Father would not have realised there was anything in it.’

Joan smiled at her sister. Mags had never walked out with a boy, as far as she knew, but she was so much wiser than Joan. This was all good advice. Perhaps, if she followed it and was super careful, she would be able to keep seeing Jack.

‘What was all the shouting about?’ Elizabeth entered the room, without so much as a tap on the door. ‘I heard Father giving a lecture. Who to? What was it about?’ She came in and sat on the bed beside Joan. ‘Was it to you, Joan? It usually is.’

Joan opened her mouth to speak, but Mags got there first. ‘I suppose you want all the juicy details, Betty. Well, you shan’t have them. It’s nothing to do with you, so you can keep your nose out of it.’

Elizabeth scowled. ‘You two are always ganging up on me. It’s not fair. I’ve a good mind to tell Father.’

‘What, that we won’t tell you why he was shouting? I don’t suppose that would go down too well with him, would it?’ Mags laughed, and Joan tried to suppress her giggles. She was glad of Mags’s support. She didn’t want Elizabeth knowing all the details, but sometimes it was hard to stand up to her eldest sister. Betty was far too much like Father, and used her seniority to boss Joan around at times.

‘Well, I’ll find out one way or another,’ said Elizabeth, as she flounced out of the room. Mags jumped up to close the door after her, and then fell onto the bed giggling. Joan joined in, enjoying the feeling of relief after all the unpleasantness. All was not lost. She could count on Mags to help her find a way to see Jack again. She was in love. Oh, what a feeling!

During dinner Joan kept her head down and said not a word. Father was complaining about their neighbour’s dog, who’d apparently got through a loose fence panel at the bottom of the garden, and had dug up some onions. ‘Darned nuisance. That fence panel is Mrs Johnson’s responsibility. She should get it fixed and keep her dog under control. I’d have it shot if I could.’

Joan fought hard to stop herself saying anything. She was fond of Mrs Johnson’s little terrier, Kimmy.

After dinner Father summoned the family into the sitting room for the evening news bulletin, followed by light entertainment programmes on the wireless. It was a family tradition for evenings when they were all at home. They listened to the solemn newsreader recounting news of a huge bombing raid over Berlin.

Mother looked terrified. ‘Oh my goodness, what if the Germans retaliate by bombing us here next?’ She looked at Father for reassurance.

He scoffed. ‘This town is hardly an important target. It’s just a small seaside town, of no military importance.’

‘We’ve been a target for plenty of bombing raids, Father. What about that terrible night last May, when the Metropole Hotel was bombed?’ Joan couldn’t help herself. They may not have been hit as hard as other towns on the south coast but they certainly had not escaped unscathed, and the air-raid sirens still went off occasionally, sending them scurrying to their cellar to take shelter.

‘I’m aware of the bomb damage we’ve had, thank you very much, Joan. I lost a good clerk at work when the cinema was hit. But I believe we are unlikely to be targeted again, for which we should consider ourselves fortunate.’

‘Of course, and we do. Don’t we, girls?’ said Mother. They all nodded, as she went on, ‘I must admit I am fed up with the blackout. I wish we could have the streetlamps back on. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if the war ended by the summer, and that awful mangled metal was removed from the sea so we could go bathing again.’

‘The war will not end by the summer. We’ve a long way to go yet. You mark my words.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Father, but we can dream of peacetime, can’t we?’ said Joan. Father glared at her. Time perhaps for her to be quiet again, for fear of incurring his anger once more. Mags, sitting beside her on the sofa, clearly thought so too, for she surreptitiously pinched Joan’s inner arm.

‘Dreaming is a waste of time. Isn’t that so, Father? We should act rather than dream,’ said Elizabeth, looking pleased with herself for repeating one of Father’s favourite sayings.

‘Absolutely. Thank goodness
one
of my daughters has grown up with a modicum of sense. Now then, let’s have some hush. It’s time for the Tommy Handley programme. We could all do with being cheered up a little.’

The wireless stayed on for another hour, but Joan switched off. She allowed her thoughts to return to Jack, the warmth of his hand in hers, the dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled his lopsided smile at her, the floppy brown fringe falling over his glasses, which he’d mended with sticky tape. His broad shoulders and loping gait. His wishes for a land of peace, somewhere over the sea, which you would reach if you could only follow the moonlight avenue.

The next day Joan was working at the WVS. Thankfully Father had been pleased by the news of her new job running the playgroup. He’d sniffed a little bit when she described herself as ‘a kind of nursemaid’ but she’d quickly backtracked and rephrased her job as ‘managing the children’s drop-in centre’ and he seemed happy with that. He didn’t need to know the job involved getting down on the floor and playing train sets and tea parties with toddlers. If he had the impression she sat at a desk and wrote reports on children under her care then so be it.

Mags laughed when she told her this. ‘You’re learning how to handle him, at last! It makes for an easier life. I suppose he can’t help being prejudiced. He’s from a different generation, and so old-fashioned in his thinking. We can’t ever change him, you know, and it’s better not to try.’ She was right, of course, but Joan couldn’t help but imagine an ideal world in which her father treated everyone on their merits, regardless of their gender or class.

At the WVS Mrs Atkins handed her a letter, with a wink and a smile. ‘Your young man was here first thing, and left this for you. He’s very polite. I rather like him.’

Joan tucked the letter into her bag to open when she had a tea break and a few moments away from the children. It was a brief note, apologising for having got her into trouble with her father, and asking if she could meet him on her day off. He would wait, the note said, on the bench on the promenade where they’d sat before, from ten o’clock. He hoped she would be able to come out, and he very much looked forward to seeing her again.

Joan’s heart soared as she read the note. He wanted to see her again! And on her day off, which was in two days’ time. That would give them a good number of hours together. She began plotting what her excuse would be to slip away that day. Mags might have some ideas. She would ask her this evening.

Over breakfast on her day off, with the whole family sitting around the table, Mags suddenly sighed loudly. ‘Oh, if only I didn’t have to go to work today. I’ve heard that Flanagan’s has got some Seville oranges in stock!’

On cue, Joan spoke up. ‘Well, it’s my day off. Why don’t I go and see if I can get some?’

Father frowned. ‘That shop is miles away. It’ll take you hours.’

‘I can get a bus there. I’ve nothing else to do today. I’ll help Mother with some housework first, then go over and queue for the oranges. If all works out, we’ll be making marmalade by the time you come home from work. I know how much you like home-made marmalade.’

‘Well, I suppose if you help your mother first, you may go. Do we have enough sugar?’

Mother smiled. ‘Yes, we’ve been very frugal with our rations. I think we can spare enough. It would be marvellous to be able to make some marmalade again.’

Joan grinned at Mags. What a wonderful sister she was! Mags had been over to Flanagan’s the day before, taking a long lunch break from work, following up on the rumour. She’d queued half an hour for the oranges, which were now safely stowed beneath her bed. Joan would sneak them out under her coat, carry them around with her, and then return home triumphantly in the afternoon with tales of queues snaking around the block.

Jack was waiting on the promenade just as he said he would be. His eyes lit up when Joan arrived, and her own tummy-fairies began a little dance of joy. She reached up and kissed his cheek, then stepped back blushing. It had just felt such a natural thing to do. He was blushing too, and she giggled.

‘It’s so good to see you again, Joan,’ he said. ‘But why have you brought a bag of oranges?’

She explained her cover story, and he grinned. ‘I hope you don’t get into trouble again. I’d hate that. I couldn’t bear it the other day, when your father dragged you away, knowing I was the cause of it.’ He gazed at her with worried eyes. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

‘No, not at all. He shouted a bit, but it was soon over. Don’t worry. I know how to handle him and I won’t let him stop me from seeing you, Jack.
Nothing
will stop me.’

Jack smiled, sadly she thought. ‘Come on, let’s walk,’ he said. ‘I thought we could walk the length of the promenade and loop round and come back along the riverside.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ she replied, linking her arm through his and relishing his warmth. ‘We can’t go over the open ground at the end of the prom though. Isn’t it still closed to the public?’

‘Yes, they’ve mined it, sadly. But we can go to the end of the promenade and then cut inland. It’s a shame. The top of the hill was always one of my favourite places. I love the way you have a view in every direction from up there. It’s like you’re on top of the world.’

Joan laughed. ‘I love it too. My sisters and I used to ride our bikes there in the summer. But did you ever notice how it was always windy on the top? There might be no wind at all at the foot of the hill or on the beach, but it would be blowing a gale on the top. We thought it had its own magic.’

‘I think it does. It’s a very ancient place. In the Iron Age it was home to a fort.’

‘So much history, all around us.’

‘Yes, and history being written over in France as we speak. Makes you feel small and insignificant, doesn’t it?’

She looked up at him. Jack, a small and insignificant person? No. His was the biggest heart she had ever come across. And in her life, he was fast becoming the most significant person. But it seemed too presumptuous to try to put these thoughts into words. This was, after all, only the third time they had met.

They walked arm in arm eastwards along the prom to the end, with Jack insisting on carrying the bulky oranges, then climbed the small flight of steps up to street level. From here they cut inland across fields towards the river, where they found a bench and rested for a while. A pair of swans were gracefully paddling around near the riverbank, occasionally poking in the weeds in search of food.

‘I wish we had something we could feed them,’ Joan said. ‘We often used to bring stale bread here for the birds.’

Jack laughed. ‘I bet there’s no such thing as stale bread in your house any more. There certainly isn’t in my aunt’s house, what with the rationing.’