Under the Apple Tree (38 page)

‘Copped it two or three times, back in March. There was

craters there you could’ve dropped a house into, and there

was some damage round the back of the building, too. You

gotta hand it to Their Majesties, they didn’t let it scare ‘em

off. Been out round the bombed areas every day, they have,

talking to people and shaking their hands. Not just London,

neither - Liverpool, Plymouth, anywhere that’s been hit.’

‘They came to Portsmouth,’ Polly said. ‘We saw them in

our offices and then all the WVS workers went out to one of

the hospitals and met the Queen there. She’s lovely. She

told us that sunshine would come again.’

‘Well, she was right. It’s come today, for a start,’ Joe

Turner said, looking at her, and Polly felt her cheeks blush

slightly. ‘Let’s cut across Green Park now and go down Pall

Mall.’

‘You seem to know London very well,’ Polly said as they

crossed the park and made their way through a maze of

streets. ‘Is it where you grew up?’

”S right. Whitechapel, that’s my old stamping ground.’

‘Does that make you a Cockney? I don’t know much about London,’ Polly confessed.

‘Well, not far off. I reckon you can hear Bow Bells on a

good day, with the wind in the right direction. I don’t live

there now, though.’ He closed his mouth, as if he didn’t

want to say any more, and Polly fell silent. After a few

minutes they came to Pall Mall. ‘This is where all the posh

people hang out. Or used to - most of ‘em have gone now,

got places out in the country.’ He fished an old chain watch

from his pocket. ‘Tell you what, I’m getting a bit peckish how

about a bite to eat at the Corner House? They do a

decent dinner there.’

Polly nodded. ‘Mrs Cousins told me that. She said it was

the sort of place a woman could go to on her own.’

‘Well, so it is, but I hope you ain’t going to do that.’ He

kept her hand pressed firmly between his arm and his body.

‘It ain’t every day I gets a nice young woman to step out

with. And I’ll get you back to Tothill Street afterwards in

good time to pick up your boss.’ They continued along the

wide road and then through to Trafalgar Square and

Charing Cross. Joe Turner was walking more slowly now,

and Polly wondered if his leg pained him. Perhaps we

shouldn’t have come so far, she thought, but didn’t like to

say so. She knew from Dick that men could be very funny

about admitting to a weakness.

Charing Cross railway station was closed as, it seemed,

was every other big station in London, and all the way

around Polly could see signs of the massive Blitz. Fires were

still smouldering, buildings destroyed, rubble blocking the

roads, cars crushed beneath a weight of fallen masonry, and

yet amongst it all life was struggling to continue as normal. People were coming out of offices and shops, dressed in their working clothes, as if it were any other lunchtime. And

many of them were heading for the imposing white building

of the Lyons Corner House.

‘It’s enormous!’ she said, staring up at it. ‘Is it all one restaurant?’

”S right. You’ve heard of Corner Houses, haven’t you?

And the Nippies - the waitresses there? They’re famous,

they are.’ They joined the queue and moved slowly towards

the big doors. ‘I’m surprised your mum never brought you

here when you come up to see the sights.’

‘We couldn’t afford restaurants. We always took a few

sandwiches.’ They were at the doors now, and as they

passed through they were met by a smiling young girl who

showed them to a table. Polly sat down, feeling rather awed.

She had seldom been to a restaurant and thought that Mrs

Cousins was wrong. She would never have had the nerve to

come in here on her own.

‘Mind, they used to be really grand before the war

started,’ Joe Turner told her. ‘Big glass chandeliers, they

had, and a gipsy band playing — almost as good as the Cafe

de Paris, they were. And they always had a decent menu,

see, not too pricey. So that ordinary people like you and me could come in.’ He gazed around for a moment. ‘Had to take all that away-, of course, in case of bomb damage. You

couldn’t have glass flying all over the place, getting in the

soup.’

Polly stared at him, then caught the twinkle in his eye and

laughed. ‘I never know whether you’re being serious or not,’

she said, picking up the menu.

‘Oh, you’ll know when I am.’ He glanced at her for a

moment. ‘But it ain’t very often, so don’t look so worried.

Now, what’re you going to have? You’re only allowed one

protein per meal, if I remember rightly.’

They both chose shepherd’s pie and peas. The peas might

even be fresh instead of tinned, he said without much hope,

but in any case it would be good. They might not be able to

get all the best ingredients now, like they used to, but

whatever it was it would be well cooked and the Nippy who

served it would have a smile on her face and wouldn’t keep them hanging about.

‘That’s why they’re called Nippies,’ Joe said. ‘But I

dunno how much longer they’ll last. A lot of them are going

into the Wrens and ATS and that now. If the war goes on

much longer, we’ll all have to queue up and help ourselves,

like in a blooming canteen!’

Polly laughed. ‘Oh, I’m sure there’ll still be plenty of

women who’ll want waitressing jobs. It won’t seem like

going out if you have to carry your own tray.’ Their own

Nippy arrived at that moment and set their plates down

before them. As Joe had expected, the peas were tinned but

the mashed potato was good and the gravy rich and tasty.

Joe had asked for a glass of beer as well, while Polly stuck to water, and they settled hungrily to their food.

This is the first time I’ve been out with a man since

Johnny died, Polly thought - the first time I’ve been out

with anyone except Johnny. Yet somehow there seemed to

be nothing awkward about it, nothing to make her feel

uncomfortable. Of course, it hadn’t been arranged, it wasn’t

a proper date or anything like that, and she didn’t suppose

she’d ever see him again. To her surprise, the thought of

never seeing him again seemed disappointing. He’s a nice

man, she thought, the sort of man I could be friends with.

But of course, she couldn’t be — he was a married man. And

she still felt herself to be a married woman.

‘D’you reckon you’ll be coming up to London again with

your boss?’ he asked, once again seeming to read her

thoughts. ‘I mean, if she’s going to come to meetings

regular, she might want you to drive her, same as today.

Only, I was thinking, if you could let me know, we might do

this again. Have a bit of a walk together, and a bite to eat. If you felt like it, I mean,’ he added quickly.

‘Well…’ Polly felt flustered. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I

don’t know if the Mayoress - she’s never said anything

about it before, she usually comes on the train. And anyway,

won’t you be back with your regiment?’

He shook his head. ‘No chance of that.’ He glanced down

at his leg, stuck awkwardly out from the table. ‘Told you I’d

got a gammy leg, didn’t I? Well, to tell you the truth, it ain’t my leg at all. Well, it is mine - they give it me, see? At the

hospital.’ He caught her glance and nodded. ‘Wooden one.

The other one got shot off just below the knee. They won’t

want me back on service, that’s the truth of it. Pensioning

me off.’

‘Oh,’ Polly said blankly. ‘Oh Mr Turner, I’m so sorry.

That’s awful.’

‘Well, it weren’t much fun,’ he admitted. ‘And the name’s

Joe. I’d take it kindly if you’d call me that.’ He looked at her and his face crinkled. ‘And I’d like to call you Polly, if you

wouldn’t mind.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t mind at all.’ He reached his

hand across the table and she took it. They shook hands

formally, as if they’d only just met, and then both laughed a

little. ‘But what will happen now? I mean, what will you

do?’

‘Oh, they’ll find me things to do,’ he said. ‘Polish up the

knocker on the big front door, that sorta thing. Just for the

minute I’m still with my old boss, doing for him, but when

he goes overseas again he’ll get a new batman. I’m training

up a new young chap now. Can’t let the Colonel go back

with no one to shine his buttons up for him.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Polly said inadequately. ‘You must be

very disappointed. Were you in the Army before the war

started?’

He nodded. ‘Enlisted as a boy, went through the ranks,

finished up as Sergeant. I was in the regimental band trumpeter.

Give you a tune one day, if you like.’ He winked.

‘Thought I might get a place in a dance band, bit of the old

Glenn Miller stuff - “Moonlight Serenade”, that sorta

thing.’

‘Oh, I love Glenn Miller,’ Polly exclaimed. ‘I like

Ambrose, Joe Loss - all those sort of bands. We have the

wireless on at home whenever they’re on. I live with my

sister and her husband,’ she added, ‘and my niece, Judy.

And when we were bombed out we went to live with Mum.

It’s a bit of a squash but it’s better to be all together.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it must be.’

There was an odd note in his voice and Polly gave him a

curious glance. For once, he didn’t meet her eyes but stared

down at his empty plate, scraped almost clean of gravy and

potato. Before either of them could speak again, the Nippy

was at their side, swiftly removing the plates and asking if

they’d like pudding. ‘There’s tapioca or plums and custard.’

‘I’ll have the plums,’ Polly said, and Joe nodded in

agreement. He looked up at last and grinned at her.

‘We seem to have the same tastes. Music, food …’

‘Same tastes as a lot of other people, then,’ Polly said, a

flicker of panic making her voice come out a little sharply. ‘I dare say nearly everyone in the country likes Glenn Miller and

Lyons wouldn’t put shepherd’s pie and plums on the

menu if they didn’t think a lot of people would like them.’

‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘Sorry - talking out of turn.’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Polly told him, feeling ashamed of her

sharpness. She gave him a smile. ‘You’re right, it, is nice to

meet someone who seems to like the same sort of things as

you do. But…’ she hesitated.

‘But don’t expect anything to come of it,’ he said quietly.

‘No, I don’t. I don’t think we can expect anything at all

these days. You’ve only got to look around you and see all

the bomb damage to know that. Here today, gone tomorrow,

that’s what they say, ain’t it - and they never said a truer

word. Never.’ Once again there was that strained note in his

voice. He looked at her, his face suddenly grave, the crinkles

no longer of laughter, and said, ‘Look, Polly, there’s

summat I want to tell you. I know I might be talking out of

turn again, and I want you to know I wouldn’t do this in the

ordinary way - let out all my business to someone I’ve only just met. But somehow - well, it’s as if we’ve known each

other a long time. That day we met on the train - I felt it

then, a bit. I was sorry you got off so soon. And then,

bumping into you again today - well, it seemed to me as if it

was meant. I don’t feel as if I want to let this chance go by

me.’

He stopped as the Nippy appeared again and set two

bowls of plums and custard in front of them. Polly stared at

him. Her heart was beating fast and she cast a panic-stricken

glance around the restaurant. ‘Mr Turner—’ she began.

‘Joe …’ But he raised one hand to stop her.

‘Let me have me say out, Polly. If you don’t like it, you

can get up and walk out, and I swear I’ll never bother you

again — but just let me say it. Please.’

His dark brown eyes were fixed on her face, like those of a

big, anxious dog. Polly couldn’t help smiling at him, and he

grinned back, but the grin faded quickly and his eyes were

serious again. When he spoke, his voice was husky.

‘Maybe I oughter told you before, only it ain’t summat I

talks about a lot.’

‘We’ve only really known each other a couple of hours,’

Polly pointed out, thinking how strange that seemed.

‘You’ve hardly had time.’

‘Well, I know, but you told me about your old man,

didn’t you? I could’ve told you then.’ He paused. ‘It’s the

same for me, see. I lost my missus. Early on in the war November thirty-nine. So - so I know what it’s like.’

Polly gazed at him. The crinkles were all of pain now, a

pain she understood all too well. She put out her hand and covered his. ‘Joe, I’m so sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I’m ever so sorry. What happened?’

‘It was in the blackout,’ he said heavily. ‘When it first

started. There wasn’t no lights allowed at all. Cars and buses

were going about in the pitch dark, and you know what

London’s like for fogs - it was a real pea-souper. Couldn’t

see your hand in front of your face. Anyway, my Rosie, she had to go out one night, round to her mum’s; the old girl’d

been poorly for a week or two and took a turn for the worse.

Rosie told the woman next door she was worried about her