War Baby (7 page)

‘Why doesn't Miriam ever wear pretty dresses?'

Ada's eyes darkened, as though her thoughts were going somewhere she herself had no wish to go to.

‘Her mother doesn't believe in pretty dresses, so she doesn't. She might have one, though, hidden away somewhere.'

‘She just wears that old coat all the time.' Frances wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells of mothballs and is much too big for her – or was,' she added as a thought came to her. ‘It's a bit tighter now. She must be getting fatter.'

Ada Perkins heard all this and fell to silence. They'd be coming over then – her daughter and her granddaughter. They'd be coming over soon.

 

 

RUBY NO LONGER
regarded the hard eyes and strong faces of factory workers with apprehension. She'd learned that the way they looked at her through half-closed eyes was because they were tired. They were all working twelve-hour shifts, some more than that depending on shortages and the demand for whatever they were making.

‘Ladies,' she began, ‘I'm sure you'll agree that sandwiches are the mainstay of a worker's lunch. Luckily for us all, bread is not on ration just yet. But let's be fair, it isn't easy to make that two ounces of cheese per person go far when you've got sandwiches to make. This especially applies when there's more than one of you in the house working every hour in the day. So here are a few simple suggestions …'

‘Number one,' she said, her voice resonant as she counted the first one on her finger. ‘Try adding chopped onion to dripping before spreading it on bread.

‘Number two: use a spoonful of chutney – home-made or otherwise – instead of butter.

‘Number three: always grate cheese and, again, add a little chopped onion for your sandwich filling. You'll find it goes a lot further.

‘Number four: carrot tops can be used as you would lettuce; just chop it up and sprinkle on whatever filling you're using.

‘My only warning is not to use onion in the sandwiches you make for yourself if you've got a date that night, eh girls? Even the most hardened army veteran draws the line at kissing a mouth that tastes of onion!'

It pleased her to hear a smattering of laughter. She'd learned pretty quickly that it paid to be amusing.

‘Grated white cabbage and carrot make good sandwich fillers especially when mixed with cold meat. And mince the meat to make it go further. You'll find it goes further still if you mince it the night before then press it between two plates and place a weight on top of it; that way it flattens, goes further and is easier to place between two slices of bread.'

As she spoke, her gaze swept over her audience, settling for a moment on Corporal Smith. He was sitting with his arms folded, his eyes fixed on his boots, a quirky grin on his face. His expression was like that of a boy about to get up to mischief.

‘Now for the best part,' she cried, loud enough to ensure that everyone was wide awake. ‘We come to the subject of pastry and cakes. We all know how difficult it is getting enough fat, sugar and basic ingredients for making a pie, a tart or a cake. But, with a little ingenuity you will find you can produce something to tickle even the most sceptical of taste buds. I use the word “sceptical” because jam isn't always real jam, cream isn't always real cream and the ingredients of mock duck pie have nothing to do with duck whatsoever!'

Once a murmur of approval ran through her audience, she knew they were really listening.

‘As you may or may not have noticed, my name is Miss Sweet. There are two of us: I'm Ruby and then there's my sister Mary. You may have heard her on the BBC
Kitchen Front
programme. You may also have noted that we both advocate that every main meal should be followed by something sweet, a little luxury to keep our spirits up. To that end we have gathered together some baking recipes you may like. Sweet-tasting recipes produced by the Sweet sisters!'

Even to her own ears, Ruby thought again how very apt and wonderful it sounded. Sweet things produced by the Sweet sisters!

At the end of the talk when she'd handed out recipe leaflets, the atmosphere literally buzzed with enthusiastic conversation.

‘Cakes and pastries courtesy of the Sweet sisters,' declared the factory foreman. ‘Give her a hand, girls. Sweets from the Sweets!'

Titters of laughter accompanied the clapping, and then it was all over. Another talk and baking demonstration had come to an end.

Corporal Smith followed her out, the wicker hamper swinging from one hand. He was looking down at the ground and shaking his head. She wasn't fooled: he was smiling to himself. Or smirking. Either way something had amused him.

‘So what were you grinning about?' she said once they were in the car. The morning had been given over to the factory audience, but the day was not yet over. She was scheduled to demonstrate the best ways to save fuel at a department store in the Georgian city of Bath.

Corporal Smith changed down a gear before sweeping around a hairpin bend. ‘You were talking about onions and going out on a date.'

Ruby shrugged. ‘It's called empathy, Corporal. I wouldn't want to go out on a date with my breath smelling of onions. I reckoned they wouldn't either. Empathy! See? Meaning we can put ourselves in the shoes of others.'

‘I'm not ignorant. I know what it means!'

Ruby bit her lip. She hadn't meant to be patronising, but she'd obviously hurt his feelings.

‘Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Are we still friends?'

‘Is that what we are?'

He was being facetious, but Ruby knew he was only pretending to be vexed. John Smith was one of those people who invited conflict.

Ruby had taken to sitting in the front passenger seat of late. When they'd first been thrown together she'd always sat in the back.

‘Like Lady Muck being driven around by 'er chauffeur,' her father had said. The comment had affected her deeply. She didn't want to be Lady Muck, and she didn't want Corporal Smith to think of her that way. Even though he was curmudgeonly, she had grown quite fond of him.

While he was focused on the road ahead, she eyed his profile. He had a straight nose, a high forehead and a strong chin. Despite his army haircut, tufts of curly hair sprouted from his neck. They looked soft. Touchable. She had to look away in order not to follow her inclination.

‘So when was the last time you went on a date?'

His question took her by surprise.

‘That's none of your business!'

Suddenly she wasn't so keen on touching him.

‘I thought you'd say that. Keep the working man at bay …'

‘Don't start that again!' There it was: her old self barging through just when she'd thought it safe to like him.

He shrugged. ‘It strikes me that you're a right one for giving out advice that you know nothing about.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

Ruby thought she had got used to Corporal Smith and his ways. In the beginning he'd been sullen verging on downright rude. Now he was only surly – not much of an improvement but better than he had been.

‘A date. I asked you when was the last time you went on a date.'

‘And I said it was none of your business!'

He seemed to think about her statement before shaking his head. ‘A man would have to be brave to ask you out for a date.'

She gurgled with laughter. ‘I haven't been eating onions if that's what you mean.'

‘That's not what I mean. You're the sort who can't leave the job behind. You've always got to be in charge and people like that find it hard to relax. Laugh. Dance. Have a drink. Especially the drinking part. Bet you don't do that too often.'

He glanced at her before turning his eyes back to the road ahead, a smile twitching around his mouth.

‘Are you saying I'm not good company when I'm relaxed?' she asked. He had riled her, and she knew he knew it.

‘How can I say that? I wouldn't know, would I?'

‘That's right. You've never been out with me. I would point out that I don't drink much and I never get drunk.'

‘Never?'

Ruby chewed the inside of her mouth, a desperate habit that only served to make her mouth sore. ‘Only tipsy. But as I've already said, you wouldn't know. You've never been out with me.'

‘Well, I can sort that here and now. How about we go to the pictures once you've finished with this lot in Bath?'

For a moment she couldn't find the right words. She liked this Corporal Smith. Over a period of time she'd got to like him more and more. But did she want to go out with him?

She glanced at him, that curl of hair around his neck that she'd so wanted to touch. Unfortunately, she had other plans.

‘I can't. Mary and Dad are expecting me for supper. Besides, I have to be up in the morning to fetch Frances from Gloucester. She's coming back for Mary's wedding, and I guess she'll stay with us now for good. She'll be fourteen next year so there doesn't seem to be much point in her going back.'

‘And no longer a child. No longer an evacuee.'

‘That's right. So I'm off to Gloucester first thing. It's going to have to be on the train. Dad couldn't get the petrol coupons.'

‘No need. Your sister's got no speaking engagements tomorrow and neither have you, but I'll still have the car. I can go with you. We've got some unused petrol coupons from the van we sometimes use to deliver bread, and luckily the Ministry give us a very generous allowance. We'll have enough to get there and back. I know the way. We can take sandwiches and stop in a pub for a beer. No onions though.'

She saw him grin. He was definitely being a bit forward, but under the circumstances she could hardly hold that against him. What was that old saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?

The prospect of getting to Gloucester railway station hadn't been an attractive one. The journey was long by either train or bus, the services lengthened on account of rolling stock – both goods trucks and carriages – being diverted to war work and the ferrying of military personnel.

Ruby looked out of the window as she weighed up her objections to going with him. Still thinking it through, she faced forward again. On turning to face him their eyes met briefly. She read a challenge in that look, in the clear calm of those bright hazel eyes.

Again she looked out of the passenger side window.

Yes, no, yes, no: her fingers tapped the walnut-veneer trim of the door in time with her thoughts.

‘You'll need more petrol,' she finally said.

‘I‘ve got plenty of petrol and a chitty to get more. Your sister didn't use up the allowance the other day.'

‘All right,' said Ruby relaxing against the warm leather of the passenger seat. ‘You can drive me to Gloucester.'

‘I will. There's just one thing you have to agree to.'

‘What's that?'

‘You have to continue to sit in the front with me, not behind like a bloody duchess like you used to.'

Ruby agreed. ‘I like sitting up front. In fact I've got quite used to it.'

As it turned out, Ruby had made the right decision. The day was fine and she'd done better than make sandwiches, she'd made pork pies with hot water pastry and the leftovers from the shoulder of pork they'd eaten for Sunday lunch. A little gravy, rolled oats and some leftover vegetables made the filling stretch further.

They left early that morning taking the A46, which would take them to Nailsworth where they were likely to find a decent pub for a break, through Stroud and thence to Gloucester.

Every so often she looked at Corporal Smith and giggled. He looked at her, frowned and asked her what she was giggling at.

‘I only used to see the back of your head when you were driving. Now I can see the expressions you pull when there's something about the road or the traffic that you don't like.'

‘I do not!' His face was quite taut.

‘Yes, you do. Your lips move as though you're swearing at them – especially the milk cart back there. The poor horse can only go so fast you know.'

She didn't give him chance to comment, but continued to giggle so infectiously that his lips, usually set in a surly line, broke into a smile. And then, when she least expected it, he pulled a face.

By the time they were halfway through the journey they were both laughing and feeling comfortable with each other.

They found a pub at the side of the road near Nailsworth and while Johnnie – he now insisted she called him Johnnie – went in to buy a pint of beer and a half of shandy, Ruby attended to the small basket she'd brought with her in which were the pies she'd made, two apples and half a dozen cheese straws.

At first their conversation was about their jobs, the war, the car and how late the train would have been. Once those particular subjects had been exhausted, Ruby asked him where he came from.

‘London.'

‘What part of London?'

‘Bermondsey.'

‘What's it like there?'

‘Rough. It's near the docks.'

‘You don't seem rough.'

He paused as though he were in two minds whether to tell her any more. ‘I've been away from there for a long time,' he said in a clipped manner.

‘But you still have family there?'

‘Some. Some are away in the army. Some are dead. Scattered to the four winds. That's my family.'

Somehow she didn't believe him. She sensed there was another truth behind what he'd told her that he was keeping to himself.

‘I know that the docks in London have been heavily bombed. Have your family been affected?'

‘No. They were already dead.'

He looked away, his eyes fixed on a cow that had pushed its head between two lines of barbed wire.

‘The other man's grass is always greener,' he said suddenly. ‘At least as far as that cow is concerned.'