The September Girls (25 page)

Anthony had broken Fergus’s young heart. That the boy with whom he’d been so close could drop him like a hot brick the minute he’d outlived his usefulness had cut him to the quick. The confidence gained from being Anthony’s friend had been completely sapped and he was reduced to being the timid child he’d used to be, terrified of his own shadow. He still hadn’t got over it and couldn’t imagine trusting another person again.

He was grateful when Mr Allardyce offered him a job as a clerk with H.B. Wallace. It was a better job than he’d ever expected, but he found clerical work as dull as ditchwater, yet was still there after eleven years because there was nothing else he wanted to do - not until there was talk of war and Fergus realized what he wanted more than anything was to join the Army and fight for his country.

But there was a problem. At about the age of eighteen, he’d noticed the figures he was reading were getting smaller and when he tied his shoelaces they looked very far away. A visit to an optician - Mam had insisted on coming with him and it made him feel dead embarrassed - had revealed the fact that he was short-sighted and needed to wear spectacles permanently.

Most young men would have been shattered at the idea of wearing glasses, but Fergus loved his. They provided a shield for him to hide behind, although they had then become a barrier to him joining the Army. Today, though, with the help of his sister and a great deal of guile, he’d climbed the barrier and was now a member of His Majesty’s Armed Forces. All he had to do was keep his head down and always follow the chap in front, after making damn sure it would never be him.

 

Lewis Brown, Eleanor’s new lodger, arrived in Tigh Street in a white, two-seater sports car, a silk scarf tied casually around his neck and wearing a red-and-grey striped blazer and baggy flannels, followed a few hours later by his furniture in a van: a gorgeous antique desk, a worn, but comfortable-looking leather armchair, a four-poster bed and a set of damson-coloured curtains that were almost too heavy to lift. He’d only brought the minimum, he explained, just a few favourite pieces, his friend, Oliver, having explained there wouldn’t be all that much room.

Lewis was about thirty-five, a well-built Scot, with dark tousled hair and smouldering black eyes, his romantic good looks reminding Eleanor of the poet Byron.

‘
Smouldering
eyes!’ Brenna hooted when Eleanor attempted to describe him. ‘You’ve been reading too many books, El, and seeing too many pictures.’

Perhaps Eleanor had for, within a week, she was a tiny bit in love with both her lodgers: Lewis Brown for his thoughtful silences that usually ended with him saying something terribly significant and clever in his deep, gruff voice, and Oliver Chandler for his tempting smile and extrovert manner. Both were utterly charming and the best of friends, and she felt incredibly lucky to have them in her house.

On Lewis’s first Sunday there, he and Oliver set to work and prepared a meal for the three of them - Jonathan had gone to play cricket - braised lamb followed by chocolate mousse accompanied by two bottles of wine. Eleanor recognized the label on one. ‘That used to be my favourite,’ she remarked. ‘It was one of the last wines to come out of France before the last war.’

‘I see you are a wine expert, Mrs Allardyce,’ said Oliver Chandler.

‘Hardly. I only remember this particular one. My father had an extensive wine cellar, which my husband inherited.’

‘What did your late husband do?’ Lewis Brown enquired.

‘He’s not late, we’re still married, but separated some years ago. He also inherited my father’s company and lives less than a mile from here.’

Was it just her imagination that both men looked slightly disappointed? Eleanor wasn’t sure, but later that day she resolved to ask Marcus for a divorce. He would almost certainly refuse, if only out of sheer spite, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

On Tuesday, she telephoned Nancy to see if Marcus would be in that night. ‘Well, pet, he’s not likely to tell me if he’ll be in or out, is he?’ Nancy said. ‘But I reckon he’ll be in. These days, he’s in most nights. I think he’s given up on that club of his.’

‘What about Sybil?’ She’d sooner her daughter wasn’t around.

‘Sybil’s just the opposite, she’s hardly ever in.’ Like Cara, Sybil’s hopes of becoming a Wren had also been dashed and both girls were leaving for a camp in Lincolnshire on Monday.

 

Eleanor felt the years fall away when she knocked on the door of Marcus’s study and he called, ‘Enter.’

She threw back her shoulders and went in, reminding herself that he no longer had any power over her and could do her no harm. Should he lose his temper or slam his fist on the desk then she was free to do the same. His head was bent over the papers on his desk and he didn’t look up, no doubt thinking she was Nancy and he would look up when he felt like it.

‘Good evening, Marcus,’ she said quietly. He looked up then and she was shocked by the thinness of his face and the haunted, terribly sad look in his grey eyes. She sat down quickly in the chair in front of the desk before he had the opportunity to nod in its direction, giving her permission, as it were, to sit: in the past, he’d often left her standing during one of his tirades about something or other. She’d intended coming straight out with her request for a divorce, but felt deterred by the look in his eyes. ‘How are you, Marcus?’ she asked instead. She’d bring up the subject in a minute.

‘Well,’ he said heartily, although he didn’t look it. ‘Very well.’

‘Good. I suppose the house is in an uproar with Sybil leaving for Lincolnshire in only a few days.’

‘You could say that. Are you likely to see her before she leaves, or have you forgotten you have a daughter?’ he asked coldly.

‘I haven’t forgotten, no. She came to tea the other night to meet my new lodger and on Sunday I’m taking her and Jonathan to a farewell lunch at the Adelphi. We’ve met quite a few times since she came home from London, Marcus.’

‘I hadn’t realized.’ He looked crestfallen. Sybil obviously hadn’t bothered to tell him.

‘I love her,’ Eleanor said simply. ‘I concede we don’t share a bond, like some mothers to do with their daughters, like Brenna does with Cara, for instance, but I still love her. I suppose we’re more like friends than mother and daughter.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

She looked at him quickly, thinking there’d been a trace of sarcasm in his voice, but his face showed no hint of it. He looked sad and defeated. She deduced it was Sybil who had reduced him to the same state as he’d reduced
her
when she’d lived with him in Parliament Terrace.

‘Why are you here, Eleanor?’

‘I came . . .’ She paused, not wanting to make him even more miserable than he already was, then remembered he’d never shown her an ounce of pity in the past. ‘I came to ask if you will give me a divorce,’ she said. ‘You could give desertion as the reason, it would create less scandal than adultery.’

‘For you or for me?’ His mouth twisted in a dry smile.

‘For you. Make it adultery if you wish. I’m not in the least bothered if people shun me. Nancy, Jonathan and the Caffreys already know the truth and they’re the only people I care about. I doubt if my lodgers give two hoots about my background.’

He looked slightly surprised. ‘You’ve told Jonathan?’

‘He knows you’re not his father, I had to tell him that. I said his real father was dead. I’ve never spoken about it to Sybil, but she must surely have guessed the truth - she realizes Jonathan is only her half-brother.’

‘I see.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll phone my solicitor tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, Marcus.’ She was astounded that it had been so easy.

‘Out of interest, are you asking for a divorce after all this time so you can get married again?’

It was none of his business, but he’d been so civilized about everything she didn’t mind answering. ‘No, I just want to be free, although I might get married again. I’ll just have to see.’ She smiled, feeling extraordinarily happy. ‘You never know, Marcus, one of these days you might want to marry again.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘There is absolutely no chance of that.’

Eleanor believed him. It would have stunned them both had they known that within eighteen months Marcus would have a new and very beautiful wife the same age as his daughter.

 

Brenna was about to lose all three of her children. Cara was off to Lincolnshire on Monday and on Wednesday Fergus would leave for Kent - she was amazed he’d managed to pass the eye test. Tyrone, resentful at being left behind, had gone that very day to the Army Recruiting Office to volunteer, not prepared to wait for his call-up papers to arrive.

‘Maria and the lads will be better off without me,’ he’d said the night before.

‘I doubt it,’ Brenna replied. ‘Joey and Mike love you to bits and so does Maria - and you love them back. Don’t deny it,’ she added when Tyrone opened his mouth to do that very thing.

He groaned. ‘Maybe I do, but it’s hell on earth living in that place, Mam. We’ve got no room to breathe and I’m bound to be called up one day, so I’d only be going sooner rather than later.’

Brenna would rather he went later, after she’d got used to Cara and Fergus being away - if she ever did. ‘What about Maria?’ she asked. ‘What’s she got to say about it?’

‘I haven’t talked it over with her. It’s always too noisy. Her gran’s deaf and she and that mad uncle yell at each other all the time and the lads can’t get to sleep. Oh, Mam!’ he looked on the verge of tears. ‘It’s dead horrible in that house.’

‘There, there.’ Brenna tenderly patted his shoulder. There was a catch in her voice. He looked so young, far too young to have the responsibility of a wife and family. ‘Maria won’t thank you for leaving her and the lads behind in her gran’s, will she, darlin’?’

Tyrone sniffed pathetically. ‘Once I’m out the road, they can go and live with her mam. They get along just fine, it’s only me Mrs Murphy won’t speak to.’

‘They can come and live here,’ Brenna said instantly. ‘There’ll be two spare rooms once Cara and Fergus go.’ She should really discuss it first with Colm, but felt sure he would agree that they didn’t want their grandchildren living under Annie Murphy’s roof, Tyrone coming home when the war was over to find them hardened criminals. That Squinty still lived with his mam, the lad who’d nudged Tyrone off the straight and narrow and would no doubt do the same with his old mate’s little sons.

Colm, the most easygoing of husbands, had said later it was fine with him and that he hadn’t been looking forward to living in an empty house. ‘Any road, I’ll be out most of the time. It’s you who’ll have the extra work, luv.’

Brenna said that she didn’t mind a bit. In fact, she’d love to have Joey and Mike there all the time and it’d be one in the eye for Annie Murphy. And if Maria decided to send the lads to Southport as evacuees, they could all go to see them on Sundays in the van and have a nice day out at the same time.

Now she was waiting for Tyrone to come home and announce he’d joined the forces. She made a cup of tea and walked around the house drinking it, feeling restless, knowing she would never be able to sit still. Everyone said tea was the first thing that would be rationed because every leaf had to be imported from places like India and Ceylon and the Merchant Navy couldn’t be expected to risk their lives so the population could enjoy never-ending cuppas. Unknown to Colm, because he wouldn’t approve and would regard it as unpatriotic, Brenna had a secret hoard in the cupboard under the stairs. Every day she bought a quarter from a different shop - she could do without most things, but not tea.

She was pouring a second cup when Tyrone came in. There was something about his pale, set face that made her go cold. ‘What’s the matter, son?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been rejected, Mam,’ he said in an appalled voice. ‘There’s something wrong with me heart.’

‘There never is!’ she gasped, going even colder.

‘Yes, there is, Mam. It’s got a murmur or something. The doctor said it’s nothing to worry about, it’s not dangerous, and lots of people have them and they never even know, but it means I can’t go in the forces.’ He sat down at the table and burst into tears. ‘Oh, Mam! I feel like a bloody invalid.’

‘Tyrone, me darlin’ boy.’ She took him in her arms and at the same time the coldness left and a feeling of relief spread over her. The doctor had said it wasn’t dangerous and it meant that she’d have at least one of her children left. Tyrone could sleep in his old room with Maria - the beds could be shoved together - and Joey and Mike in Cara’s, one at each end of Paddy’s old bed.

There was no doubt about it, she thought, feeling deeply ashamed, she truly was the most selfish woman alive.

 

It was a breathtaking August day. The sun shone brilliantly out of a luminous blue sky and the air positively sparkled. It was far too nice a day to see your daughter off to war.

‘It doesn’t seem right,’ Brenna said to Colm on the way to the station. Cara had gone early to make sure she got a seat.

‘What doesn’t seem right, luv?’ Colm asked.

‘That the Good Lord should give us such glorious weather at the same time as there’s a war about to start. It’s too much of a contrast: the sun reminds you of how good life can be. I’d sooner it was raining and the sky was as black as soot: it’d be more fitting.’

‘The Good Lord might be responsible for the weather, I wouldn’t know, but he’s not responsible for the war, Bren,’ Colm said soberly. ‘Wars are caused by human beings for all sorts of different reasons. This time it’s to stop a madman from taking over Europe and turning it into a fascist state with all the evil that goes with it. It’ll be a just war, Bren, a war that had to happen because good men couldn’t sit back and let Hitler have his way.’

‘I know.’ Brenna sighed. Until recently, Colm had been a pacifist and it had taken a just war to make him change. ‘I only wish our Cara wasn’t taking part in it.’