Whisper on the Wind (62 page)

‘I’m coming.’ She followed him to the door. ‘And Jonty – thanks.’

She wished she could love him as he deserved to be loved, but there could only be Paul. Fifty years from now she would still remember him and love him.

It was the way it must be.

It had been bad enough missing the grand opening day of the War Weapons Week, but Arnie had understood that Aunty Poll was sad about Mrs Fairchild and hadn’t felt like enjoying herself. But there were things a boy could not forgive; things that made him almost change his mind about being a pilot. Dropping bombs on Hitler might not be such a bad thing after all, he thought malevolently. Because it was his fault; all because of Hitler that many a small boy’s world had been ruined for ever.

Sweets, that’s what.
Sweets rationed.
Terrible, wash-your-mouth-out words. Rationed to two ounces a week and two ounces wasn’t worth walking to the shop for! Eight caramels, or two gob-stoppers or two ounces of dolly mixtures or two ounces of jelly babies. Whichever way you said it, it was still only two ounces.

‘Not such a bad thing, really,’ Aunty Poll had said. ‘Sweets take sugar and we’re desperate short of sugar. And sweets give you bad teeth, and toothache.’

Toothache. The Drill. Arnie considered it was a risk small boys must take. The decision should be theirs alone.

‘And fair shares for all,’ she’d added, well satisfied that fair shares would stop milady from Hull bringing any more bags of black market humbugs – if ever they were to set eyes on her again, that was.

‘I suppose you wouldn’t do a deal, Aunty Poll? If I was to swop my soap coupons for your sweetie coupons …’

But she had turned his proposition down flat, remarking that all he’d be getting was a clip around the ear for his cheek!

Then she had smiled and said that maybe, just maybe, mind, if he were prepared to black his boots every night, fill the log basket without being asked and clean his teeth regular, twice a day, she just
might
let him have her own ration, as well.

Arnie had brightened considerably.
Four
gob-stoppers made more sense; sixteen caramels sounded a whole lot better than eight. Good old Aunty Poll. There were days when she was really very nice.

The breeding sow had done well, Kath considered, counting the pink and pretty piglets that squealed and nudged at the full, fat teats. Newly born pigs were engaging little creatures. Pity they would grow up fat and ugly like their mother – given the chance, of course. ‘Sad that they’ll end up as bacon,’ she sighed, emptying swill into the trough.

‘Mm. But please don’t say that word – not for a while?’ Even to think of bacon sizzling and snapping in a pan did things to Roz’s inside.

‘The swallows are low.’ Kath regarded the swooping, screeching birds with a countrywoman’s eye. ‘Rain, would you think?’

Without knowing why, she thought back to April and her swallow-wish and the first cuckoo-call: the lucky one. ‘I haven’t heard any cuckoos, these last few days, Roz. Don’t they call when it’s going to rain?’

‘You won’t hear them a lot, now. They’re getting ready to leave. They’ll all be gone by the end of the month. Polly says they bring summer and they take it away …’

‘They’ll be taking my wish with them, then. But it could never have come true.’

‘Never is a long time, Kath, and wishes can come true.’

Sometimes. But not for Roz Fairchild. No Paul. No happy ever after. Just a dull pain inside her that sharpened to a stab whenever she thought of him. She had wanted to weep at Jonty’s goodness; she would have, had there been any tears inside her. But she was right not to say yes. To marry him would have been wrong, however easy a solution. It was as Polly said, ‘When in doubt, do nowt,’ and doubts she’d had in plenty.

She hadn’t told Kath about it – not all of it; just that everything was all right again between them, and that they’d agreed to be friends.

And think of angels, for there was Jonty, now; coming into the yard with the tractor and taking Kath’s suitcase from the trailer, waving.

‘Looks as if the rest of your belongings have arrived from Peacock. Do you mind, Kath, leaving the hostel and the girls?’

‘No. I like it here, too.’ Jonty was holding something up. ‘I think there must have been a letter for me, as well.’

She picked up the empty buckets and hurried to where he waited, wondering about the buff-coloured envelope and why, all at once, there should be this feeling of apprehension.

‘For you, Kath. One from His Majesty.’ Jonty smiled.

She took it, frowning. On His Majesty’s Service, the postmark pale and indecipherable. ‘Now what on earth …’

The address at the top of the letter was Shilton House Hospital, Shilton, Yorkshire. It was signed by the Sister-in-Charge, Ward 3A and it told her that her husband had been admitted to the above military hospital and that telephone enquiries could be made at any time between the hours of 0800 and 2000 hours.

Barney was home. He was here, Somewhere in England. And far sooner than she had ever thought.

‘Read this.’ She pushed the letter at Roz. ‘Barney’s in England, but I don’t know where. Somewhere not too far away, though.’

‘Shilton House. It rings a bell.’

‘I’ll phone. They’ll tell me where, exactly.’ Her heart thudded dully. She should have been glad and was ashamed that she wasn’t. ‘I mean – Yorkshire is nearer than Scotland …’

‘Or somewhere in deepest Devon. Y’know, I’m sure there’s a Shilton about three miles the other side of York. How much nearer could you get?’

‘I’ll have to tell Mat. I’ll have to go there …’ Oh, dear sweet heaven, why did she feel like this?

‘Ring them first. I might be wrong, Kath.’

‘Wrong. Yes …’

‘What is it? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

‘I don’t know. Didn’t expect it, I suppose; not just yet.’

Shock, was it? Apprehension? She began to shake. God – what was she to do?

‘Well, don’t look so miserable. We’ll ring at dinner-break. There mightn’t be any delay on a call to Shilton – if it’s where I think it is. And Kath – pull yourself together. It’s Barney you’ll be going to see – your husband, not the Gestapo.’

It proved surprisingly easy to make the call. Sooner than she had expected – had wanted – Kath was speaking to the Sister in charge of Ward 3A.

‘Shilton? Yes – a few miles east of York. There’s a bus will get you here. On the hour every hour from outside York station. And you are …?’

‘Allen. Mrs Allen.’ She ran her tongue round her lips. ‘I’m Barney –’

‘Mrs Kathleen Allen? Driver Allen’s next of kin, of course.’ Her voice was bright and no-nonsense and Kath tried to make a mental picture of her, but couldn’t. ‘Will you be able to visit him, Mrs Allen? A visit helps such a lot.’

‘Yes. I’m quite near. I’ll come. Maybe tomorrow. It’s almost certain I can get time off. Is it – can I – I don’t suppose I could speak to my husband?’

‘Well – we don’t normally encourage it. And they’re all out in the garden at the moment, getting some sunshine. I’m afraid it would take quite a time to get him here … But I’ll tell him you phoned, of course, and that you’ll be coming.’

‘Sister? How is he? How badly is –’

‘Perhaps tomorrow? And when you do come, Mrs Allen, can you first speak to me, or to the duty nurse? Perhaps then we could have a little chat. Do you have a telephone number I can reach you on? Just in case of emergencies – which hardly ever happen, of course.’

‘Yes. I’m at Helpsley 181 – but I go out to work, so you’d have to keep trying,’ Kath volunteered, realizing she was to be told nothing on the phone. ‘I suppose my husband couldn’t ring me?’

‘Now that, I’m afraid, wouldn’t be possible. We’re a house, you see, not really a hospital, and there are only two lines. I’m sorry, but rules, you know. I
will
tell your husband you phoned, though, and that you’ll be visiting.’

‘Those nurses,’ Kath said, putting down the phone. ‘They just won’t tell you anything. All I know is that I can get to Shilton on the bus; every hour, on the hour. I asked her how he was and all I could get out of her was that he was out in the garden getting some sunshine and that she’ll tell him I rang.’

‘Bossy, was she?’

‘N-no. She sounded very cheerful.’ Though she’d told her nothing she had really wanted to hear. But nurses were taught to be like that, weren’t they – dead-pan and non-committal?

‘I’m going to tell Mat,’ she said. ‘
Now.
’

Shilton House stood at the far end of a pretty village not very much bigger than Alderby St Mary. The on-the-hour bus stopped outside the post office and the postmistress told Kath cheerily that if she turned to her left outside and walked down the little path between the churchyard and the vicarage, she would come out at the back gates of Shilton House and save herself a long, winding walk down the drive. She had smiled at the pretty landgirl and felt pleased that some poor wounded soldier would feel all the better for having his hand held by so bonny a lass.

Kath pulled in her breath then let it go with a whoosh. She did it three times, but it didn’t do anything to calm the turmoil inside her. She wished now that she hadn’t worn her uniform, but Roz had said she ought to; that Barney had to see her in it one day so why not now? And anyway, she had said, it would be easier to thumb a lift in her uniform. Drivers always stopped for a uniform – had she considered that?

So she had worn her walking-out clothes, set her hat at a too-jaunty angle and borrowed Roz’s bicycle for the three-mile ride to Helpsley Halt. And please God let everything be all right; all right about her uniform and about the way she felt and oh, about
everything.
And please don’t let Barney read anything in her eyes because she didn’t want to hurt him; she really didn’t.

There was bright purple clematis and sweet-scented honeysuckle hanging over the wall of the vicarage and normally they would have pleased her. After her brick-walls and chimney-stacks life, just to see any flower growing in sweet-smelling profusion made Kath happy. But today was different. Soon she would meet Barney; after more than two years of growing apart they would suddenly be face to face and she didn’t know what she should say or do. Her cheeks burned, her heart thumped uncomfortably and she wondered if it was the same for him, too.

But Barney wouldn’t know she was coming. He’d have got her message, but he wouldn’t know about today – not for certain.

She looked up from her brooding and saw the big house ahead of her; saw the outbuildings and stables through two large wooden gates, standing wide open, and on them a neatly-painted notice:
Hospital. No parking outside these gates.
She walked through without thought. Somewhere to her right, around the side of the house, would be the front entrance. There, she could ask for the Sister from Barney’s ward and then they would have their little talk. Why was she still shaking and why had her mouth gone so dry?

‘’Allo there, sweetheart! Got lost, have you?’

A soldier on crutches, wearing the uniform of the wounded, smiling cheerfully and doubtless glad to be out of the war for a little while. ‘Come visiting, have you?’ He swung along beside her.

‘Yes. Driver Allen, though I’m looking for the front entrance, really.’

‘Barney, is he called? Came a couple of days ago, didn’t he? Last time I saw him he was sitting outside. Come on, then – I’ll show you. His girlfriend, are you?’

‘His wife. But shouldn’t I let them know I’m here?’

‘’S all right. I’ll tell Sister you’ve come. Over there, see? Under that big tree.’ He leaned on one crutch and pointed with the other. ‘Go on, girl. Be a devil, surprise him!’

‘Yes – I
will.
’ She smiled her thanks. ‘If you’d tell Sister, I’d be grateful.’

‘I’m on my way. All the best …’

She stood quite still, breathing deeply. Just a few steps more across the grass, though which one of the talking, laughing group was Barney she couldn’t be sure, for they were all dressed alike; all wearing trousers and jackets in the colour that had come to be known as hospital blue. And soft-collared white shirts and bright red ties.

He’s your husband.
As Roz said, he wasn’t the Gestapo and he wouldn’t, couldn’t, make a fuss about her uniform in front of all the other soldiers.

She looked about her. The house – she could see the front of it now – was very beautiful. Exactly the place a battle-scarred soldier could get well. Old, tall trees and sweeps of lawn; flowers in surprisingly well-kept beds. Peaceful and green, away from war and wounding.

Go on, then. Go to him. Nothing to be afraid of. You can milk a cow, and drive a tractor. You’re not the wife he left behind him.

Straightening her shoulders, tilting her chin, she began to walk slowly to the big tree under which he sat.

‘Barney?’ Still a way off, she called his name. The talking and laughing stopped, heads turned. There came a long-drawn-out wolf whistle and then more good-natured laughter.

She stopped walking, because there was Barney, looking at her; a thinner-faced, sun-browned Barney and not looking
at
her, but through her. She shouldn’t have worn her uniform because he was frowning and turning his head away.