Under the Apple Tree (60 page)

quick, high voice as if she were embarrassed and upset and

happy all at once.

‘Jean!’

‘Mum!’ Jean sprang to her feet. ‘Mum, I didn’t think

you’d come. You didn’t write.’

‘I didn’t know what to say.’ Mrs Foster stopped a foot or

two away and the two gazed at each other, neither knowing

quite what to do next. ‘I did try. I tried a few times, but the words just wouldn’t come out right. And then your dad said

why not just come here and see you, so we got on the train and

here we are.’ She moved towards the pram and looked

down at the sleeping baby.

‘She’s called Hope,’ Jean said, putting her hand on the

baby’s blanket.

‘I know. Judy told us in the telegram. Oh Jeanie.’ Mrs

Foster bent closer. She touched the blanket, drawing it away

from the baby’s face, and stared down at her. Tears began to

slip down her cheeks and she whispered in a breaking voice,

‘Jeanie, she’s so lovely.’

She turned suddenly and caught her daughter in her

arms. Jean, who had been standing a little stiffly, crumpled

against her and the two held each other close, sobbing. Mr

Foster cleared his throat and came forward to look down

into the pram, and Judy saw that his eyes too were bright

and wet with tears.

‘She’s been breaking her heart over this,’ he murmured.

‘Thought we’d lost our Jeanie for good and it was all her

fault. I said to her, “You’re the girl’s mother, she’ll want to make it up” — but she was that upset, she made up her mind

that Jeanie wouldn’t want to know. It took a lot for her to

come out here.’ He reached out a hand and touched the

baby’s face with the tip of one finger. ‘Hope,’ he murmured.

‘Our Jean’s baby. Our granddaughter. Well, what a little

peach you are. What a little beauty.’ He turned to his

daughter. ‘Come here, girl, and give your dad a kiss.’

Judy caught Mrs Hazelwood’s eye. The vicar’s wife

nodded to her and they both tiptoed back into the house.

‘They’ll need to be alone,’ Mrs Hazelwood said. ‘I’ll take

out some tea in a little while. I think things will be all right now.’

‘Yes,’ Judy said, and glanced out through the French

windows at the little group under the apple tree. ‘I think

they will.’

Once the Fosters had been to see their daughter and new

granddaughter, Judy felt more at a loose end than ever.

There was plenty to do, for they were making desert scrim

now, the colour of sand, and instead of black and green their

hands were stained with pink and brown. The sphagnum

collecting was still going on and there were blackberries and

mushrooms coming along. Nothing could be wasted; even

though the country fresh food was more plentiful than in

town, anything that couldn’t be produced locally or had ‘to

be imported was just as strictly rationed. And even some of

the local foods were under threat. The Suttons were

desperately anxious about their cows, many of whom would

have to be slaughtered when winter came because no grain

was being imported and there would be no feed for them.

‘That means a shortage of milk and butter and no cream

at all,’ Mrs Sutton said. ‘And the hens’ll have to go too,

though they can live on scraps - if there are any.’ She

sighed. ‘I don’t know what we’re all going do, I’m sure. I

don’t know what the world’s coming to.’

Judy went out into the orchard and looked up at the apple

trees. The fruit was swelling and ripening now, little globes

of gold and scarlet amongst the leaves. She thought back to

the first time she had stood under these trees, when they had

been smothered in pink and white blossom, its scent strong

enough to waft through her open window at night. So short a time ago, and yet so much had happened. The bombing that terrible raid in which Polly had been trapped in that

collapsed building - her deafness - Terry’s death - Jean’s

pregnancy and now the birth of Hope. All in a few months.

And the war was not vet over. It was clear now that it

would go on for months, maybe years. If America came in, and Japan attacked, what would happen then? Like Mrs

Sutton, she didn’t know what the world was coming to.

Other things had happened too, she thought. Sean had

died, and she’d met Chris Barrett. Chris, who had come out

here to Ashdown to find her. Whom she’d sent away

because she was deaf and couldn’t hear his voice.

What a stupid reason, she thought, suddenly and

savagely. What a stupid, stupid reason!

A sound made her turn. Mrs Hazelwood was coming into

the orchard. She smiled at Judy and came over to her.

‘Mrs Sutton told me you were here.’ She was carrying a

folder and some papers. ‘There’s something I want to ask

you, Judy. Can we sit down for a moment?’

Judy led her to the old seat that stood against the wall

where it could catch the last of the evening sun. Mr Sutton,

who seldom rested, occasionally sat here with a glass of cider

after the day’s work was over. ‘What is it? What’s happened?

Is Jean all right - and the baby?’

‘Yes, yes, they’re both well. And Jean’s starting to work

again in the house and helping with some of the local war

work as well. I’ve told her she can stay as long as she likes — we’re glad to have her - and I think that’s what she’s going to do,’ Mrs Hazelwood said. ‘No, the reason I came was to

ask what you were going to do now, Judy. I’ve thought just lately that you seemed a little uncertain - as if you felt that now you had your hearing back, you ought to be doing

more.’

‘Well, I do.’ Judy met her eyes. ‘And I should, shouldn’t

I? I’m fit and healthy - there’s nothing wrong with me now.

I ought to be doing my bit, same as everyone else my age. I

mean, I don’t mind making scrim - not more than anyone

else does, anyway - but I ought to be doing something more

than that.’

‘And have you thought what that might be?’ the vicar’s

wife asked quietly. She tapped the folder on her lap. ‘I have

a few suggestions to make, if you haven’t made up your mind. The women’s Services - you may well be called up

soon anyway, and it’s better to volunteer so that you have a

choice. But the WVS can always find a place for young

women like you, energetic and capable, and if you feel you’d

like to stay here with us, I can certainly offer you plenty of

work. Perhaps you’d like to think about it.’

Judy gazed at her. She looked around the orchard and up

into the rippling leaves of the tree, lit by its gleaming fruits.

She thought of the devastation of Portsmouth, the nights of

fear and destruction, the terror of thinking Polly dead and

the nightmare of her deafness. She thought of Sean and

Terry and Johnny, all dead, and then of Chris, who was still

alive.

‘No,’ she said slowly, and then again as certainty grew in

her mind, ‘no, Mrs Hazelwood. Thank you, but I can’t stay

in the country. I love it here - I hope I’ll come back to see

you all, lots of times, when peace comes. But for now, I’ve

got to go back. I’ve got a job in Portsmouth, with the Lady

Mayoress. There’s work for me to do there. And - and

there’s someone I have to see as well.’

There was a small silence. Then, with the thought of

Chris filling her mind and warming her heart, she added

quietly, ‘That’s where my life is - in Portsmouth. That’s

where I belong.’