Wish Me Luck (26 page)

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Meg said. ‘I’ve a trunk in the loft at home full of old dresses I’ve collected over the years. You know, when people have been getting rid of them. There are at least three silk dresses up there. I’m sure I can turn one of them into something for you if we can’t raise enough coupons for new material. Only trouble is,’ Meg said with disappointment, ‘they’re not white.’

‘You can have my clothing coupons, dear,’ said Mrs Jackson. ‘I won’t need them all.’

‘And mine,’ Harry put in. ‘You can have all mine. Long as me good suit’ll still fit me for the big day, I don’t need no coupons for new clothes.’

Meg smiled at him archly. ‘You’ll have to try your suit on, Harry, and let me know if it needs any alteration.’

The old man chuckled, his eyes sparkling. ‘Well now, I’m sure it’ll need summát doing. It’s a long time since I wore it.’

Fleur shuddered as once again her mother’s words pushed their unwelcome way into her thoughts. Stop it! she told herself sharply. She’s only being nice to the old boy. We all have fun with Harry. Even Mary Jackson teases him and Ruth positively flirts with him.

But now, Fleur could not help thinking, Ruth might have a rival for Harry’s affections.

‘That’s very generous of you,’ Meg was saying, pulling Fleur’s thoughts back to the moment. ‘But it’s not only the coupons, it’s finding the right material too.’

‘Er . . .’ Mrs Jackson seemed suddenly hesitant. ‘Er . . . there is my wedding dress. It was white. You – you could have that, dear.’

Fleur stared at her. ‘Oh, Mrs Jackson, no, I couldn’t. It must hold such memories for you. I wouldn’t want to . . .’ Her voice faded away as Harry moved forward and put his arm around the old lady’s ample waist. ‘There now, Mary, that’s a kind thought. A very kind action. And I’ll match it. They can have my Doris’s things, an’ all. Time we stopped clinging to the past, eh, and let the young folks mek what they can of the present.’ He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘I reckon they’re earning it, don’t you? Besides’ – he chuckled and winked at Fleur – ‘Ruth’ll be pleased to hear I’m getting rid of some more rubbish.’ And they all laughed.

‘You’re right, Harry. My Arthur would agree and I know your Doris would have turfed all her old clothes out ages ago.’

The old man laughed again. ‘She would that. I bet she’s up there shaking her fist at me for letting the house get in such a mess. Anyway, thanks to young Ruth, it’s bright as a new pin now. Doris’d’ve been pleased to help you, lass.’ He nodded towards Fleur.

‘And wouldn’t Arthur be chuffed with his garden?’ Mary Jackson was not quite finished with her reminiscing yet. ‘And I owe that all to you, Fleur dear. So, yes, if Mrs Rodwell here . . .’

‘Meg,’ Meg interposed.

Mrs Jackson smiled. ‘If Meg here can do anything with my wedding dress, you’re very welcome to it.’

‘And I’ll get young Ruth to sort out all Doris’s clothes and let you have them.’

Mrs Jackson was already moving stiffly towards the front room of the cottage that was now her bedroom. ‘It’s in here. In a trunk . . .’

But when they unearthed Mary’s wedding dress, it was sadly yellowed and moth-eaten. The old lady fingered the material with tears in her eyes. ‘What a shame. Such a happy day we had.’

Meg glanced at Fleur and at Ruth, who had now arrived home. Then she put her arm around the old lady’s shoulders. ‘It’s a good job our memories last better than material, isn’t it?’ she said gently.

‘But I thought it’d help Fleur

‘Don’t worry,’ Meg reassured her. ‘I know just what we can do. We’ll scrape together enough coupons for Fleur to have a brand new dress.’ She looked at Ruth. ‘And I’m sure I can alter one of the dresses I’ve got, or one of Doris’s, into a bridesmaid’s dress for you. And some of the lace on this dress of yours, Mrs Jackson, is perfect. I can dye it to match whatever dress we decide on for Ruth.’

‘Pink,’ Fleur said.

‘Blue,’ Ruth insisted and fluffed her blonde curls. ‘I look all wishy-washy in pink.’ She made a moue with her mouth.

Meg regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You know, Fleur, I think blue would suit her better, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

Fleur smiled. ‘Of course I don’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t care what anybody wears as long as Robbie turns up.’

They all laughed now, but Meg said very seriously, ‘Oh, he’ll turn up all right, I promise you that.’ Though it was not spoken aloud, the thought was in everyone’s mind. Just so long as he’s able.

‘I’m here again,’ Meg trilled as she opened the back door of Mary Jackson’s cottage.

‘Come in, love, come in,’ Mary said, struggling to her feet.

‘Please don’t get up, Mrs Jackson,’ Meg said as she heaved the huge suitcase through the back door. As the old lady sank back thankfully into the armchair, Meg added, ‘But I could do with a cuppa. Mind if I make one?’

‘Of course not, love. Help yourself.’

‘I don’t like using your precious tea.’

‘Don’t worry. The girls bring supplies from the camp. They’re allowed to,’ she added hastily, ‘seeing as they’ve had to be billeted off the camp.’

Meg nodded. ‘How’re they getting on with building the WAAFs’ quarters?’

Mrs Jackson smiled. ‘Slowly.’

Meg chuckled. ‘But I can see you don’t mind about that.’

The old lady shook her head. ‘Those two lasses have changed my life.’ Her smile widened. ‘And I’ll be seeing a lot more of your boy too after they’re married, I expect. He’s a grand lad.’

Meg nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said earnestly, and then added with a smile, ‘but then I could be biased.’ She glanced out of the window overlooking the back garden.

It was the third week in June already and all Fleur’s hard work was beginning to pay off. Lettuces and radishes were sprouting up on top of the Anderson shelter and rows of green ferny leaves had appeared where she’d planted carrots. In the front garden, runner beans were climbing their frames, as too, unbeknown to Mrs Jackson, were the sweet peas at the end of the cottage.

‘She’s working so hard,’ Mrs Jackson told Meg. ‘Every spare minute she’s out there dressed in her old clothes and her woolly hat when it’s windy. And your boy, too, he comes whenever he can. They both helped me yesterday to bottle some gooseberries and make some strawberry jam. Harry’s got a strawberry bed and he gave us some of the fruit. Don’t forget – before you go – I’ll give you a jar.’

‘Oh, how lovely! Home-made jam. That will be a treat. Didn’t you find it tiring? You mustn’t overdo it,’ Meg added with concern.

Mrs Jackson laughed. ‘Oh, they did it all.’

Meg’s eyes widened. ‘My Robbie? Jam making?’

‘Well, under Fleur’s instruction. I didn’t have to do much. I just sat here and topped and tailed the gooseberries. Her mother must have trained her well. She knew just what to do.’

Meg’s eyes darkened as she said, ‘Yes, I expect she did.’ Her tone – though unnoticed by Mrs Jackson – hardened a little as she added, ‘I expect her mother is the perfect farmer’s wife.’

‘Fleur’s even saying,’ Mrs Jackson went on, ‘that she can’t be away too long on honeymoon because a lot of the fruit and vegetables will be ready in September.’

Meg laughed. ‘Well, I think Robbie might have something to say about that, don’t you? But I can understand what she means. She doesn’t want all her hard work – and the produce – to go to waste.’

‘Oh, I think we can manage for a week. Harry will come round and do what he can and even Ruth’s promised to help.’

Meg’s voice was dreamy as she murmured, ‘Perhaps Jake would come over.’

‘I expect he’s got enough to cope with on the farm,’ Mrs Jackson said, knowing nothing of Meg’s inner thoughts. ‘But Kenny will cycle over, I don’t doubt. We – Harry and me – think he’s got his eye on Ruth.’

‘So,’ Meg said, turning away from the window. ‘When will the girls be home?’

Mrs Jackson’s face sobered. ‘I don’t know. There’s some sort of flap on at the camp. I . . . I. . .’ She hesitated to worry the young airman’s mother, but she couldn’t lie. ‘I think there’s a big raid on tonight. We’re not supposed to know, but because so many of the personnel are living in the village at the moment, we . . . we sort of get the feel that something’s going on. They don’t say anything, of course. Not a word. But we’ve got to know how to read the signs.’

‘I see,’ Meg said quietly. ‘So . . . so you think the girls might not be back today at all?’

Mrs Jackson shook her head.

Meg bit her lip. ‘Well, I can’t stay. I have to get back because of my father.’ How she would love to have stayed – to have been here when the girls got home whatever time it was. To know at once that Robbie was safely back. But she couldn’t impose on Mrs Jackson and, more importantly, she couldn’t leave her father for all that time. Since his spell in hospital, he was even frailer and needed a helping hand to climb the stairs to his bed. ‘But I’ll leave the dresses here. They can try them on and help each other with the fitting. Tell them I’ll come back a week today and if they still can’t be here, then they must pin them carefully and leave me instructions. We’ve still over two months to the big day, so there’s plenty of time.’

Mrs Jackson nodded. ‘You’ll be surprised how fast the weeks go and with the girls working different shifts it’s difficult for you to meet up with them. But I’ll be sure to tell them what you’ve said. The big day will soon be here.’

Meg nodded, unable to speak. She was too busy praying that Robbie would be there.

She kissed the old lady’s wrinkled cheek and let herself out of the back door. As she walked down the narrow path between the two cottages, she heard Harry’s voice.

‘Now then, lass. All right?’

She glanced up, and despite her sober thoughts, couldn’t help smiling. To hear the old man call her, a woman of over forty, ‘lass’ always made her laugh. But, she supposed, to him she was ’no’ but a lass’.

‘Mustn’t grumble,’ she answered.

‘Doesn’t do any good if you do,’ Harry chuckled. ‘Nobody listens.’

He moved closer and leant on the fence running between the two pathways. ‘I saw you arrive. I was just coming round. Are you off again?’

Meg nodded. ‘Mrs Jackson doesn’t think the girls are going to be home today.’

‘Ah,’ Harry nodded knowingly. ‘So she said when I popped round this morning. . .’ The idea of old Harry ’popping’ anywhere, made Meg smile again. ‘I’m very fond of them lasses, y’ know. They’re like me own.’

‘Have you any family, Harry?’ Meg asked, trying desperately to get her thoughts away from her own son and, for a few moments, to concentrate on someone else.

‘Aye. Not now, lass,’ his face clouded. ‘Me an’ Doris only had the one son and he were killed in the last war.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Meg murmured.

‘What happened to Robbie’s father then?’ Harry asked, with the bluntness that old age seemed to believe it had a right to.

Meg gave a start and stared at him for a moment, then swallowed nervously. It was an innocent question. Of course, Harry couldn’t know anything. This wasn’t South Monkford . . .

‘My husband,’ Meg said carefully, ‘was quite a few years older than me. He was too old for the last war, but he died in the influenza epidemic just after.’

Harry nodded sympathetically. ‘Aye, I remember that. Took a few from this village. It were a bugger, weren’t it? All them lads surviving the trenches to be hit by the flu when they got home. Bad business. Bad business.’ He eyed her keenly. ‘And you’ve brought that lad up on yar own?’

Meg smiled. ‘It wasn’t difficult. He’s a good boy. And then my father came back – came to live with us. He worked a little at first. Here and there – just odd jobs, you know. And I’ve always been kept busy with my dressmaking.’

‘’Spect you’re in demand now with all the shortages,’ Harry nodded.

‘Well, yes, I am. And I expect it will get worse – or better’ – she smiled – ’depending on your point of view. Now they’ve brought in rationing, women want the clothes they’ve got altering to be a little more fashionable. Keeps their spirits up, you know.’

Harry looked her up and down. ‘You always look so pretty and smart. Now I know why.’ He paused, then cleared his throat and stroked his moustache with a quick nervous movement. ‘Did you find anything useful amongst Doris’s things?’

‘Oh yes.’ Meg was enthusiastic. ‘There was a lovely long silk gown I’ve been able to make into a bridesmaid’s dress. And it was blue – just the colour Ruth wanted.’

Harry nodded. ‘Aye, I remember that.’ His eyes misted over briefly. ‘Doris looked a picture in that.’ Then he chuckled. ‘You might not think looking at me now, but I used to be quite a good dancer. Loved dancing, did the wife, and she always liked to dress up if we went to a proper dance.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m real pleased if her things were some use to you. Ruth sorted ’em all out for me. She was real good, didn’t make me part with anything I didn’t want to, but she’s right, it’s high time I let go. Doesn’t mean I’m going to forget my Doris just because I let her old clothes go, does it?’

‘Of course not,’ Meg agreed gently. ‘And I’ve been able to make use of those two nice suits of your wife’s. It was such good material. I’ve altered one to fit Mrs Jackson for the wedding. They must have been almost the same size. I hope you don’t mind. I mean, it won’t upset you, will it, seeing her wearing it?’