Under the Apple Tree (39 page)

and made up her mind to go round and see if she was all

right, settle her down for the night. Only she never got

there. Knocked down by a car, she was, two streets away.

Banged her head, never knew nothing about it - that was the

only comfort.’ He stared at their hands, still clasped

together on the table. ‘Never knew nothing about it.’

‘Oh Joe,’ Polly whispered. There was a long pause. Then

she said, ‘Where were you when it happened? Were you

away?’

He nodded. ‘In France. Couldn’t come back, neither, not

straight off. They got me back first chance they could, but it

was all over by then. Her sister had done everything, the

funeral and that, and the nippers were out in the country.’

‘Nippers? You mean you’ve got children, too?’

‘Two boys,’ he said. ‘That’s where I was going the day we

met on that train. They’re down in Devon, smashing place,

right on the edge of Dartmoor, think they’re on a flipping

holiday. Well, it hit ‘em hard, losing their ma like that, I

won’t say it didn’t, but you know what kids are, they get

over it better than we do. Nine and seven, they are,’ he said

with a touch of pride in his voice. ‘Billy and George. Couple

of scallywags, too.’

‘And what about your wife’s mother?’ Polly asked, trying

to take all this in. ‘What happened to her? Did she get

better?’

He shook his head. ‘Rosie was right. She was poorly.

She’d had a bit of a stroke a day or two before, only they

didn’t realise it, see, and she wouldn’t hear of getting the

doctor. But when she heard what had happened to Rosie,

she had another one and they had to take her into hospital.

She died a couple of days later. So that was two funerals

poor Annie had to sort out. She had ‘em both buried in the

same plot,’ he added. ‘It was all over by the time I come home.’

‘It must have been dreadful,’ Polly said, shaking her head.

‘Dreadful.’

‘Well, it wasn’t a bundle of laughs,’ he said. ‘But I had

the boys home for Christmas - that was when I got leave and

Annie and her hubby had us round there for the day,

and it wasn’t too bad. They didn’t really want to go back to

Devon after that - a lot of nippers didn’t go back, there was

nothing much happening over here then - but Annie

couldn’t have them and I wanted them out of the way if

London did get bombed. And I had to give up me quarters,

too. So they went back to Meavy, down in Devon, and I

went back to France, and the next time I come home to

Blighty it was on a stretcher with half me leg blown away.’

The Nippy appeared beside them again and looked down

at their pudding bowls. ‘Is there something the matter with

the plums?’

Polly jumped and looked guilty. ‘I’m sorry, I’d forgotten

all about them.’ She picked up her spoon, not feeling in the

least like eating but guiltily aware that good food mustn’t be

wasted. The Nippy looked anxious.

‘Only there’s a lot of people waiting for tables.’

‘We’ll be finished in a minute or two.’ They spooned

plums rapidly into their mouths, scarcely tasting their

sharpness, and it was not until they were out in the street

again that they resumed their conversation. By now, Polly

had regained some of her composure. She turned to her

companion and tucked her hand into his arm again.

‘It’s a terribly sad story, Joe. I’m really sorry. But I’m

glad you told me, all the same.’

‘I just wanted you to know.’ He looked down at her and

seemed about to add more, then changed his mind. ‘I’d like

us to be pals, Polly, and pals ought to know the big things

about each other.’

‘Yes.’ They walked in silence for a moment or two. They

were going down Whitehall now, past the great offices of the Government. Soon they would be back in Tothill Street; it

was nearly time for the meeting to end. They would have to

say goodbye.

‘I dunno about you,’ he said, ‘but I ain’t got so many pals

I can pass up the chance of another one. So what d’you say?

Keep in touch, shall we? Meet up now and then? Write to

each other?’ His fingers were big and warm about hers and

she found herself wondering again what it would be like to

be hugged by him. ‘Will you say yes to that, Poll?’

Poll. It was as if she had always known him, as if he had

always called her that. She nodded, smiling, and his face

broke into a big, crinkly grin, his eyes almost disappearing

amongst the wrinkles. He flung his arms around her and

hugged her tightly.

It was just as she had known it would be. Warm and

comforting. Strong. It was all that she had been missing,

ever since Johnny went away.

But he was not Johnny. He never would be. And she

would never be Rose.

Polly and Joe walked in silence for the rest of the way, past

Downing Street where Mr Churchill lived and worked, past

the Cenotaph with its list of men killed during the Great

War of 1914-1918, and back to Parliament Square where

the tower of Big Ben still rose proudly over the bombed

House of Commons. They were sobered by both the

devastation they could see on every side, and by the story

Joe had told, which seemed to bring that wider devastation

down to ordinary human terms - the anguish that had been

suffered by so many people since this war had begun. It

didn’t matter whether you were killed by a bomb or by

simply walking down the street in the blackout, Polly

thought, it was the war that had done it. And her heart went

out to the big man beside her, with his crinkly, humorous

face and his stoical acceptance of the tragedies he had suffered.

Yet she knew that however stalwart he seemed, deep

down he was lonely and bewildered. Her hand was still

tucked through his arm, as if he were the stronger, but she

could sense that deep need for comfort. I understand it

because I feel it too, she thought. We’re two lonely people

who have met and think we could be friends - and so we

could be. But neither of us is ready for any more than that.

Perhaps we never will be.

They came to the WVS Headquarters and rang the

doorbell. It was Edna Cousins herself who came to answer

it, and she stared at them in surprise, her eyebrows lifted.

‘Well, you don’t need to look so flummoxed, our Edna,’ her brother admonished her. The and Mrs Dunn are old acquaintances. Bumped into each other in the park, we did,

and been up to the Lyons’ Corner House for a bite of

dinner, and me being a gentleman I’ve walked her back

here.’

‘Where you were coming anyway,’ Mrs Cousins told him,

unimpressed by his claim. ‘Well, trust you to find yourself

some nice company. Don’t you take no notice of him, love,’

she said to Polly. ‘He’s full of blarney, that one. Our mum

had an uncle who came from Ireland, that’s where we

reckon he got it from.’

‘Don’t be daft, Uncle Pat wasn’t no relation to us, he was

only our uncle by marriage to Auntie Margie and she had no

more Irish blood in her than this door. Speaking of which,

are you going to let us in or ain’t you? This foot of mine’s

had enough, if you want to know the truth.’

‘Come on, then.’ They walked into the hallway and Polly

glanced about a little anxiously, afraid that she might have

kept the Mayoress waiting. But the door to the meeting

room was still closed and she could hear the murmur of

voices within. Joe disappeared into the cloakroom and she

followed Mrs Cousins through to the kitchen, where she

had evidently just finished washing up after the midday

meal. Polly felt a pang of guilt.

‘Look at that mountain of crocks! I ought to have stayed

and helped you.’

‘I told you, you’ve done your job and you’ve still got to

drive back to Portsmouth. Now, how d’you fancy a cup of

tea? I’ve got the kettle on for them in there and I dare say

you’re ready for one after your walk. Specially if you’ve had

to put up with him nattering on,’ she added, with a

humorous glance.

Polly hesitated, then said quietly, ‘He told me about his

wife. It must have been dreadful.’

‘He never did! Well!’ The cook sat down suddenly,

looking upset. ‘He don’t talk about it much,’ she said. ‘I

wish he would, sometimes, it’d do him good to let it out, but

he was always one for keeping cheerful — well, we were

brought up that way, all of us. I’m surprised he’d tell

someone he’s only just met.’ A small frown creased her

brow and she looked very like her brother. ‘But didn’t he

say you already knew each other?’

‘Well, not really. We met on a train a few months ago.’

Quickly, Polly recounted the story of their meeting. ‘I

wouldn’t say we knew each other.’

Edna Cousins’s eyes rested on her thoughtfully. ‘Well,

there must be something, to make him come out with it like

that.’ The kettle started to whistle and she got up and began

to make the tea. ‘You don’t want to take no notice of what I

says about him,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘That’s just the

way we go on. If you’ve got any brothers, you’ll know what I

mean.’

‘I haven’t,’ Polly said. ‘But I’ve got a sister, and she’s got

a son and daughter, so I know what you mean. And I know

how he feels too,’ she added in a rush. ‘I lost my hubby,

early in the war. It knocks you sideways, but you’ve got to

carry on. You’ve got to do your best for the war, for their

sake.’

‘That’s right,’ Edna said. ‘The hard thing for our Joe is that there don’t seem to be nothing he can do, not with his

foot. He says he’s no use to the Army any more. It’s daft - a

man who can walk the distance he’s walked today could do

any amount of jobs - but he’s a soldier, see; he wants to go

and fight - that’s what a soldier does, he says - and that’s

what they won’t let him do.’

‘But other jobs are as important,’ Polly said. ‘There must

be hundreds of things he can do.’

‘Try telling him that,’ the cook said, and began to pour

milk into a row of cups already set on a big tray.

They heard Joe’s footsteps coming along the hall then and

the conversation ceased. Polly took the tray into the meeting

room and found the Mayoress at the head of a long table

with a dozen other women around it. They thanked her for

the tea and the Mayoress told her that the meeting would be

over soon and she would be ready to go back to Portsmouth.

Polly went back to the kitchen, where she found Joe and his

sister drinking tea and talking about his boys in Devon.

‘Bit different to Blighty, where they are,’ he said. ‘Little

village, it is, proper picture postcard place — church, pub,

village green with a big old oak tree, and a lot of little

cottages all round. You go up the lane a bit and you’re out

on Dartmoor.’ He pulled a face. ‘Don’t fancy it meself, big

wide open spaces like that with hardly so much as a tree in

sight, and all them rocks, but the nippers think they’re in

paradise. Do what they like, see - roam about making dens

and playing cowboys and indians, and nobody to tell ‘em to

bu— shove off and play somewhere else. Don’t reckon as

they’ll ever want to come home, once it’s all over.’

‘Don’t be silly, Joe,’ Edna said. ‘You know they wanted to

stay with you after Christmas.’

‘Yeah, but they went back and had all that snow, didn’t

they, and since then there’s been all the lambs getting born,

and I don’t know what else, and I reckon they’ve got their

feet well under the table with that woman what’s looking

after them. She’s a widow,’ he explained to Polly. ‘Never had no nippers, so she treats ‘em like they’re her own.

Stands to reason they’d rather stop with someone like that

than come back to their dad with his foot blowed off and no

proper job to do, nor even a decent home for them.’

Polly looked at him in dismay. It was the nearest he had

come to appearing sorry for himself. Before she could speak,

however, his sister said sharply, ‘Now you know it’s no use

talking like that, Joe. It doesn’t matter how good Mrs

Ellacombe is, she isn’t their mum, nor ever will be. Blood’s

thicker than water and they’ll want to come back to their

dad once it’s safe. It’s like you always say — this evacuation’s like holiday for them, and nobody wants to be on holiday for

ever.’

There was a small silence. Polly glanced at Joe and

wondered if the widow Ellacombe had ideas of becoming the

boys’ stepmother. No doubt she knew of the tragedy of their

mother’s death, and if she found Joe a congenial companion

when he went to visit them she might well have allowed the

thought to cross her mind.

The kitchen door opened and the Mayoress appeared.

She smiled round at the little gathering and said to Polly,

‘We’ve finished the meeting and I’ll be ready to leave in

about ten minutes. I just want a word in the office first.’ She disappeared and they heard her go into the room where all

the typewriters were still clattering away. Polly got up and pushed her chair under the table.