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Authors: Lizzie Lane

War Baby (20 page)

BOOK: War Baby
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The women showered attention on the baby rather than acknowledge Stan's bad mood.

Stan glowered at the clock. It was half past ten. Hard to credit how much time a baby snatched from your life, he thought. Half past ten and they'd only just got back from London and Ruby was just getting home.

‘She should have been here! Damn it! She should have been here!'

‘She's here now, Stan.' Bettina could see how agitated he was because this was a special day. However, Ruby had only missed their arrival by minutes.

Face flushed with anger, he was just about to rush out there and give both Ruby and her young man a piece of his mind, when Bettina suggested, quite forcefully, that it was time young Charlie was put to bed.

‘It's been a long day. You're tired and so is this child. Now then. Are you going to take him up, Stan? Or do you want Mary to do it?'

Her eyes met his in warning. He knew what she was silently advising him: leave them be. Ruby had come home and the baby wasn't going anywhere. There were tough times ahead and he'd need both of his daughters and his niece to give a hand. Her too, she hoped.

The tension in Stan's shoulders lessened. Up until then he could have been described as hard as a block of wood or a wedge of cheese. He nodded and gruffly agreed. Bettina smiled and turned to Mary.

‘Do you mind if I go up and give you a hand, Mary?'

Ruby had enjoyed a lovely evening, one full of sweetness, conversation and shared thoughts and reminiscences.

They'd driven to a small country pub at Upton Cheyney, no more than a hamlet of old stone houses and cottages situated up a turning off the main road. The pub bar was divided into small rooms, most unable to take more than eight people at a time.

Ivan and Ruby had one to themselves.

Ivan had told her about learning to fly when he'd been studying law in Holland. He also spoke about the horror of his country invaded by a foreign power, and as he did, he clenched his hands in front of him, his eyes staring into distant scenes only he could see.

‘We were helpless. Our army still had horses; our air force was out of date. The Germans had tanks and modern aircraft, Stuka bombers that made a screaming noise as they dived to bomb their targets. I went back to Poland only for a few weeks. When I saw what was happening I got out as quickly as I could, back to Holland, and then I came here. I have been very happy here. Very happy.'

It was impossible to read the look in his eyes, but she caught something there, something that he wasn't telling her. She presumed it was about Poland and what it had been like to be enslaved.

When he kissed her goodnight, she promised she would see him again and he gave her the telephone number at the base.

‘I like you,' he said in his matter-of-fact way.

‘And I like you!' She meant what she said.

‘And I like your cooking.'

‘I'm glad.'

He touched her mole with his fingertip. ‘And I like your beauty spot.'

They kissed again, his lips warm and soft as velvet. She wished the night could go on for ever. A clinch with him was nothing like being in a clinch with any of her previous dates or even, God forbid, Gareth Stead. Ruby shivered at the very thought of Gareth's hands on her and the way his lips had seemed to suck her into his mouth. Ivan was different: she loved his accent, his romantic ways, a kiss on the hand, the clicking of heels. So very different.

His lips only reluctantly left hers.

‘I'll write to you,' she exclaimed breathlessly. He retained his hold on her, holding her tightly against his body. He wanted her and she wanted him. Perhaps this was the one she would give into; after all, he had swept her off her feet.

‘I will write to you,' she said again. ‘At the base. Would that be all right?' She wasn't sure what the form was, whether he could receive telephone calls.

‘I would like that, but my writing is not good … my English …'

She thought his English was fine. ‘Whenever there is a word you don't know, call me, or write to me. I'll explain. I promise I will.'

‘You have a telephone?'

‘Yes.'

‘I telephone you.'

Ruby almost fainted at the thought of him ringing her, of that lovely accent speaking to her over the telephone.

‘I will telephone you,' he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. ‘There is a dance at the base soon. You will come?'

She liked the way he said,
you will come,
a command rather than an invitation. It made her feel cherished, especially the way he said it. She loved his accent.

‘A dance? Lovely. Just try and stop me.'

She glanced in the general direction of her father's shop. The building itself wasn't easily seen except for the outlines of the chimneys and rooftop against a sky that glowed indigo at its outer edges.

Due to the thickness of the blackout curtains it was hard to tell whether anybody was still up, though she guessed they were. The baby would see to that. At this very moment somebody might be peering out at her through a window. She couldn't tell.

She tucked her fingers beneath the collar of Ivan's jacket, tilted her head back and playfully kissed his chin.

‘So smooth,' she whispered.

Her tilted back head was enough of an invitation to receive more kisses and a closer pressing of bodies.

It was as if their lips had become magnetic, unable to resist meeting and not letting go. They clung together like that until Ruby pulled away.

She glanced again at the bakery. Her father would be livid. She hadn't been there for the homecoming, and him so engrossed in everything and anything to do with her brother's baby.

‘I have to go,' she said.

He groaned as she drew away from him. He had been about to kiss her again, and although she wanted that, it was getting late. It was time to go.

She touched his mouth with her fingers, felt them purse under her touch. ‘I'm all kissed out, and besides, I think I can see my father looking out of the window.'

It was rubbish. She couldn't see a thing, but that didn't mean her father wasn't looking out of the window and more than ready to give her the dressing down she deserved. The guilt she'd put to one side for the evening slowly resurfaced.

Ivan was, of course, ignorant of this.

‘Saturday,' he said. ‘I will see you Saturday. For the dance. That is when it is. We always have dances on Saturdays. Not every Saturday. But often.'

Unwinding his arms from around her body, Ruby gave him one last kiss, nothing more than a quick peck.

‘I have to go.'

Her voice was breathless and her heart was singing and it was so terribly difficult to turn her back and walk away. Even then she threw him a smile and a wave, though he wouldn't have seen it, not in that incessant blackness.

The bell above the shop door jangled as she pushed it open. The smell of bread wafted out along with what seemed to be a rich stew, the one Bettina had promised to make. And there would be tea, of course; there was always tea.

Ruby grinned. Very weak tea nowadays, the leaves used more than once. There was still some sugar left in the sack she'd purloined from Gareth Stead, but not much. Mary's wedding and the delicious cakes they sold in the shop saw to that.

Pushing open the kitchen door, Ruby was met by the warmth of the gas stove and an atmosphere. Her father's face looked as though it had been carved from stone. He was not pleased; not that it was going to stop her from being full of vim and vigour.

Frances was there too. Ruby ruffled her hair. ‘Hi, poppet.'

‘The baby's here,' Frances exclaimed. ‘He's here and tomorrow I'm going to take him out in the pram. Do you want to come?'

‘If I can, I most certainly will,' Ruby replied while feeling her father's eyes cast sternly in her direction.

Mary was looking distracted. ‘I've put him to bed. He was tired out. As we all are.'

‘So am I. Run off my feet today.'

Mary didn't seem to have heard her. Ruby didn't bother to repeat herself. Mary was like that a lot of late.

‘He's a lovely baby,' added Bettina Hicks.

‘I don't doubt it,' Ruby responded. ‘He's Charlie's, so is bound to be lovely. I'd like to see him as soon as possible, right now I think would be a good time.'

‘We've just put him down. You should have been here earlier,' growled her father.

‘I had a date.'

‘So I noticed.'

‘He's Polish.'

‘So I hear.'

‘He's a flier. Just like Mike, though he hasn't asked me to marry him and live happily ever after like Mike did Mary. Well, not yet he hasn't. I just don't seem to have your luck, Mary. You must tell me your secret some time.'

A red flush appeared on Mary's neck spreading fast up on to her face.

‘He flies Hurricanes,' she declared proudly. ‘Did you know that there are more Hurricane fighter planes than Spitfires? Apparently they're easier to repair than Spitfires and no pilot has managed to tear the wings off a Hurricane. It has happened to Spitfires when the pilots got a little overexcited.'

She held her bright expression even though everyone was eyeing her silently.

‘Very interesting.'

The speaker was Bettina Hicks. She was sitting at the kitchen table, both hands resting on the handle of her cane. Out of all the people in the room, Bettina was the one who, with one look, seemed to read what you were thinking. That's how it felt now, as though Bettina knew exactly what Ruby had been up to and what was on her mind.

Her father's face was like stone. ‘I expected you to be here when your nephew came home.'

‘Sorry. But I can see him now, can't I?'

Smiling as though she didn't have a care in the world even though nobody had actually replied to her question, she felt the teapot. ‘Oh lovely. It's still warm. I could just do with a cuppa. Would anyone else like one? Dad?' She poured herself a cup before waiting for an answer.

‘I expected you to be here,' her father repeated. His iron-grey brows beetled so they met just above the bridge of his nose.

Ruby stood holding her cup and saucer with both hands. The warmth was welcome after the ride back on the motorbike, her hands clinging to Ivan's body.

‘I'm sorry. I promised Ivan I would meet him and I did. I'm seeing him again. On Saturday.' She looked tellingly at Mary. ‘Tonight he told me how dreadful it was in Poland before he managed to escape and come here. The Germans just marched in. He's very brave. I felt I couldn't turn him down.'

‘What about Johnnie?' said Mary.

‘He's not here. Ivan is.'

Nobody made comment and despite her father's displeased expression, she was determined not to back down.

Bettina Hicks attempted to struggle up from her chair, but didn't succeed. Her arthritis was getting worse of late. ‘She's young, Stan. Just like we once were.'

There seemed just a beat when a pin could have dropped and been heard as though it were a hammer striking the floor.

Ruby maintained her buoyant attitude. ‘So! Where is he?'

Bettina smiled. ‘Where all babies should be at this time of night. In bed. How about you and me go up and see him? I'd love another look at him. If you don't mind giving me a hand up from this chair …'

Bettina reached for Ruby's hand.

‘Right,' Bettina said resolutely as they headed for the stairs. ‘Let me have one more look at the lovely child.'

Ruby helped Bettina along, conscious of her father's eyes dark with disapproval. At the bottom of the stairs Bettina let go of her arm.

‘I'll go first shall I?'

Ruby watched as Bettina climbed the stairs. Suddenly the stiff joints didn't seem as pronounced as they'd been in the kitchen. Ruby followed her up.

The baby was in her father's old room, which had been turned into a makeshift nursery. It smelled fresh and clean and also of something else, something warm and milky and quite indescribable; it smelled of baby.

Stan Sweet moved up into Charlie's old room up in the attic. The twins and Frances had helped turn what had been their parents' room into one fit for a baby. The floorboards were painted blue and a yellow, beige and green rag rug lay beside the cot.

There were new yellow curtains hanging at the window behind the blackout curtains, cut down from an old pair that used to be hanging at the living-room window of Stratham House. When it came to fabrics, Bettina Hicks appeared to have an Aladdin's cave of riches!

The cot was set against the wall next to the small cast-iron fireplace. It was made of beech and although its original colour had glowed like honey, it was now darkened in places thanks to the sticky hands of the children who had once slept in it.

The light shining into the room from the landing was just enough to see by. Bettina stood at the head of the cot, her smile beatific, and her surprisingly small hands resting on the rail.

‘Take a look,' she said softly. ‘Isn't he beautiful?'

The moment she set eyes on her nephew, Ruby was dumbstruck. For the first time that day all thoughts of Ivan flew from her mind and she felt regretful that she hadn't been here the moment he came through the door.

She couldn't drag her eyes away from the pink cheeks, the downy soft head of hair, the plump fists clenched as though he might take a jab at the people who'd killed his parents. And who could blame him? she thought to herself. Something changed inside her then and something fierce was born, the kind of fierceness a tigress acquires once she's given birth to her cubs. Ruby was not the mother of this child, yet the fierceness was there.

She stroked each little fist in turn and then each flushed cheek, amazed at the softness of his skin, the creamy freshness of his complexion. And the smell. That beautiful smell.

‘Please God. Once this war is over, please don't ever let there be another.' The words had welled up inside her and were out before she knew what she was saying. She didn't want this Charlie to go to war and die as her brother had.

BOOK: War Baby
4.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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