Wish Me Luck (15 page)

‘Oh, my goodness, let’s hope so,’ Fleur said fervently.

There was a silence between them as Mrs Jackson shaped her pastry to fit the pie dish.

‘Has Harry any family?’

‘Not now. They only had one child – a boy – and he was killed an’ all in the last lot. Ypres, I think it was.’

Fleur couldn’t think of anything to say. How sad it was for these lonely old people and now they were being plunged into another terrible war. Hearing about Mrs Jackson’s loss and old Harry’s made Fleur understand her mother’s fears a little more. What she couldn’t understand was Betsy’s vehement hatred of Meg and her son. Surely, in such troubled times past animosities and feuds should be laid aside, forgotten and forgiven. Whatever could have happened to make her mother so bitter and resentful against Robbie’s?

Outside again, Fleur eyed the area she had marked out for the Anderson shelter with a frown. She’d made a start but was getting tired now, and she had to remember that she still had a full eight-hour night shift to do.

‘I’ll do a bit in the front garden,’ she decided. ‘The ground might be a bit softer there.’

She hadn’t been digging for many minutes when she heard the familiar, ‘Hi, Sis.’

Fleur looked up at the sound of squeaking brakes as Kenny slithered to a halt at the gate. He jumped off his bike, reared it against the fence and straddled the gate without bothering to open it. Fleur grinned and leant on her fork. ‘Hello. What brings you here?’

‘To see my sister, of course.’ Kenny grinned and the twinkle in his eyes told the rest.

‘Really?’ Fleur teased with a wry note of disbelief in her tone. Then she capitulated and laughed. ‘It’s good to see you – whatever the reason. But shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘Nope. Our school’s sharing with another that got bombed out. So we go in the morning and they have the afternoons. And before you say anything – yes, I have taken this morning off to get here, but don’t tell Mum, will you?’

‘You bad lad!’ Fleur laughed again, but Kenny knew she wouldn’t give him away.

‘What are you going to do here?’ He changed the subject, pointing to the newly turned earth at her feet.

‘I thought runner beans. I’ll get them planted and then build a frame from canes for the plants to climb. I’ve seen a bundle in Harry’s shed.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And Mrs Jackson said that her Arthur always used to grow her a row of sweet peas. They’re her favourite flowers. I’d love to grow some for her, but I don’t think I dare.’

Kenny frowned thoughtfully. ‘Wait a minute. What about . . . ?’ He moved to the corner of the cottage furthest away from Harry’s cottage and pointed at the end wall. ‘Down this narrow border here. It’s not much use for anything else, and behind that big bush she’s got there near the fence, it won’t be easily seen from the road. I reckon you could get away with it there. And if the authorities say anything . . .’ he shrugged. ‘Then you’ll just have to rip ’em up again.’

Fleur beamed at him. ‘You clever old thing. That’d be perfect. It’d just take a narrow frame, wouldn’t it?’

‘And it’ll get a bit of sun,’ Kenny added. ‘Not much, but enough. Mind you, you’re a bit late now for getting sweet peas sown, aren’t you?’

‘Dad’s got some seedlings, hasn’t he?’

Kenny’s face cleared. ‘So he has. I’d forgotten. I’ll bring you a trayful next time I come.’

‘Meantime, I’ll get that narrow border dug over and a cane frame built, but not a word to her.’

‘Won’t she see it?’

Fleur shook her head. ‘Doubtful. She only comes out once a week to go to church and then she walks round the other end of the cottage and down this front path.’ She stood a moment and glanced towards the other end of the building. ‘No, she’ll not see it. Not unless she goes that end deliberately – and I don’t think she will.’

‘Mum’s the word then, until you present her with a bouquet of sweet peas.’

Fleur hugged herself. ‘I can’t wait to see her face.’ Then her expression sobered. ‘Talking of “mum” – is everybody all right at home?’

Kenny laughed. ‘Right as they’ll ever be. She’s still adamant that if I apply for college, I won’t be called up, and nothing we say will persuade her any different.’ He pulled a face. ‘I reckon when the time comes, she’ll march into the nearest recruiting office and tell them I’m not going and that’s it.’

Fleur wasn’t laughing. ‘You know,’ she said seriously, ’she might very well do just that.’

‘Eh?’ Kenny looked scandalized. ‘I was only joking. Oh, Sis, she wouldn’t really, would she?’

‘She’ll do anything to stop you going. Anything she can. She’ll use the “reserved occupation” argument and anything else she can think of. She certainly might apply to the local War Agricultural Executive Committee for your exemption.’

‘But it wouldn’t work, would it? I mean – they wouldn’t take any notice of a chap’s mother, would they?’

‘If she makes a proper application as your employer, then, yes, I think they might.’

‘Does she know that?’ he asked worriedly.

Fleur shrugged. ‘If she doesn’t yet, she’ll soon make enquiries and find out. You can be sure of that.’

‘Fleur, I want to go. Just like you.’

‘Oh, don’t say that, Kenny.’ Fleur groaned. ‘You make me feel so guilty.’

Kenny shook his head. ‘That’s not what I mean. I’d go anyway – I’ve told you that already – even if you hadn’t volunteered.’

Fleur looked at him, wanting to believe him but not sure she could. She had set an example to her younger brother and he didn’t want to be outdone by her. If anything happened to him . . .

‘Right then, where do you want me to start?’ Kenny interrupted her maudlin thoughts with his ready grin and willing pair of hands. ‘By the way,’ he added, trying to sound nonchalant, ‘Ruth here, is she?’

‘She’ll be home later. She should be back before you go. But, yes, I would be glad of your help.’

Kenny grinned. ‘More digging? I thought you’d’ve got it finished by now.’

‘It is – more or less – but I want to build an Anderson shelter that both Mrs Jackson and Harry can share. Down the bottom of the garden. I’ve made a start, but the ground’s so hard.’

‘Right-o. I’ll help you dig out the foundations.’

‘Actually, there’s something else I’d rather you helped me with today, if you would.’

‘Oh yes. What’s that then?’

‘I’ve made arrangements to go up to Top End Farm and see about some manure. If I can get some for this afternoon, I was hoping to get it dug in tomorrow. I’ll be off all day after tonight’s shift. In fact I’m not on again until the day after tomorrow in the afternoon, so I’ll get a good long go at it. But now you’re here.’ She smiled archly at him. ‘You could help me dig it in this afternoon. I was going to ask Robbie, but his plane’s grounded for repairs and he’s gone home to see his mother, so I thought I might twist Ruth’s arm to lend a hand.’

Kenny guffawed loudly. ‘I don’t think you’ll get either of that pair of townies to deal with a pile of—’

‘Careful, Kenny,’ Fleur laughed. ‘Mrs Jackson’s a lady. It’s “manure” to her.’

Her brother’s grin widened. ‘I’ll try to remember, Sis. She’s a sweet old dear. I wouldn’t want to upset her. She reminds me of Gran.’

They were both silent for a moment, remembering with affection their father’s mother who had lived with them for the last two years of her life.

‘She is a bit, I suppose. Gran had arthritis just like her.’

‘And she’s round and waddly – just like Gran.’ After another brief pause, Kenny said, ‘Right then, what about this – manure? How are we to get it here?’

‘I saw the farmer. Mr Clegg. He said if I went up today, I could have one of his horses and his cart. I’ve to do the loading up that end and the unloading this end and take the horse and cart back before I go on duty.’

‘Sounds as if it’s a good job I’ve come then.’

‘Bro, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.’

‘You only want me for my brawn,’ Kenny teased, flexing his muscles.

‘Absolutely!’ she retorted, but brother and sister smiled at each other with deep affection.

They walked the half-mile through the village until, a short distance after the houses ended, Fleur pointed to a rough track leading down a slight incline towards a farmhouse and outbuildings nestling in a natural shallow vale. Kenny glanced around him. ‘Is this what they call the Lincolnshire Wolds?’

‘I’m not sure. I think they’re a bit further east. More in the centre of the county. And then there’s the Lincoln Edge. Not so flat as people think, is it? I think it’s flatter to the east – towards the sea and in the south of the county.’

‘Oh yeah. What they call the fens down there, isn’t it? Mind you, you can see why it’s ideal for all the airfields they’re building, can’t you? I heard someone call it “bomber county” the other day.’

‘Really?’ Fleur was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Well, yes, I can see why they might call it that. Right,’ she said more briskly as they reached the farm. ‘Now, where is Mr Clegg?’

‘Well, there’s his horse and cart standing over there near that pile of . . .’ He grinned. ‘Manure. And if I’m not mistaken, someone’s already started loading.’

As he spoke, a forkful of manure flew up in the air and landed with a thud on the growing pile in the back of the cart. As they approached, Fleur stroked the horse’s nose and patted his neck. ‘Now, big feller,’ she murmured.

Hearing her voice, the man at the back of the cart straightened up. ‘Na’ then, lass. Thought I’d mek a start for ya.’

The farmer was a big man, tall and broad with iron muscles standing out on his arms. He wore heavy workaday boots, dark green corduroy trousers that had seen better days, a striped, collarless shirt and a checked cap. Mr Clegg nodded towards Kenny. ‘Brought reinforcements, I see. Yar young man, is it?’

‘My brother.’

‘Pleased to meet you, young feller.’

Kenny stuck out his hand, ‘Kenny Bosley, sir. Pleased to meet you, an’ all.’

The farmer blinked down at the young man’s outstretched hand. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d better shek yar hand, lad. Not with my mucky ’un.’

Kenny laughed. ‘We’re used to it, Mr Clegg. Born and bred on a farm. Never afraid of good, clean dirt, our dad always says.’ He nodded comically towards the manure heap. ‘And especially not this that’s going to do Mrs Jackson’s garden a power of good.’

The big man laughed loudly. ‘Ah well, in that case, lad, put it there.’ And the two shook hands.

‘It’s very good of you to let us have it,’ Fleur said.

‘Pleased to get rid of some of it. I keep pigs, cows an’ chickens so there’s plenty to go at. Mind you, you’d be surprised at the number of folks asking for it nowadays. Now then, if I can hand over to you, I must get on wi’ me other work. Just mind you have old Prince here back for ’is tea, else ’ee’s likely to get a bit cussed and take off on his own. Trouble is,’ he added, laughing, ‘he knows ’is way home so ’ee won’t think twice about it.’ He paused and eyed Kenny again, his gaze running up and down him as if assessing him. Bluntly, though not unkindly, Mr Clegg said, ‘Home on a spot of leave, a’ ya, lad?’

The flush rose in Kenny’s face at once. ‘Well, no, actually . . .’

‘Ah, reserved occupation, is it? On yar dad’s farm?’ Now there was the tiniest note of disapproval in his tone.

Fleur caught and held the big man’s gaze. Quietly, she said, ‘Kenny’s only seventeen, Mr Clegg.’

‘I’ll be joining up next year,’ Kenny put in. ‘Soon as I can.’

Mr Clegg smiled. ‘That’s the spirit, lad. Pleased to hear it.’ His face sobered. ‘Same as me own boy. He joined up, though his mam wanted him to stay wi’ me on the farm. But I was in the last lot. Two years in the trenches, I was, and never a scratch.’ He paused before saying in a low voice, ‘I was lucky, though. I know that.’

Fleur nodded. ‘Our dad was too. He was wounded and has a stiff leg, but at least he came back.’ She bit her lip before she added quietly, ‘A lot from the town never did.’

‘Aye,’ the big farmer sighed heavily. ‘Bad business, it was. And now they’ve no more sense than to get us involved in another one.’ He sighed. ‘Aye well, I wish you luck, young feller. When you go. Good luck to you.’

Kenny nodded. ‘And I hope your son’s – all right.’

‘Aye, so do I, lad. So do I. He’s all we’ve got. If owt happens to him, the missis will never forgive me.’ His voice was low as he added, ‘Won’t forgive mesen, if it comes to that.’ Then briskly he shook himself and smiled. ‘Aye well, let’s not dwell on all that. Not when there’s work to be done. Look, I tell you what, you carry on here now loading up and if I’ve got me own work done, I’ll see if I can come with you. Give you a bit of a hand, like.’

‘Oh, Mr Clegg. Are you sure? You must have such a lot to do, ’specially if you’re on your own now.’

‘Aye, there is. But I’m never too busy to help a neighbour. Old Arthur Jackson used to work for me, see? Good man, he was. Worked on this farm most of his life – well, the latter part of it anyway. I’d like to help his widow.’

Fleur and Kenny grinned at him. ‘Then we’ll gladly accept your offer,’ Fleur said.

‘Right you are, then. Come and find me when you’re ready to go. In fact, come to the back door of the house. I’m sure the missis will find you a drink and a bit of summat to eat.’