Lost Angel
Kitty Neale
Hope never dies… The dramatic new novel from the Sunday Times bestselling author of NOBODY’S GIRL.DesperateWithout any possessions or even a home, Hilda Stone and her 14-year-old daughter Ellen are desperate for a miracle. Approached by a strange woman foretelling that Hilda's lost husband is alive, they are astonished when the prediction becomes a reality and against all odds, Douglas Stone returns home.DevastatedYears later Ellen is happily married when her baby daughter, Sarah, is tragically killed. Blaming herself for the accident Ellen feels unable to go on until she remembers the woman's prediction all those years ago.DistraughtEager to believe that Sarah is still with her Ellen becomes obsessed with finding proof of an afterlife, only to be disappointed. She reaches rock bottom.DeterminedBut then one day, when she least expects it, Ellen is given a sign. But will it provide her with the answers she so desperately needs?
KITTY NEALE
Lost Angel
Copyright (#ulink_a4446d14-b99c-555d-87ee-2c6241424287)
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers, 2009
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2009
Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016
Cover photographs: Alamy/Getty
Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9781847563538
Ebook Edition © May 2016 ISBN 9780007346332
Version: 2016-04-14
Dedication (#ulink_06575b0a-912b-51b9-a058-1490a58f3968)
For Shelley Blofeld.
Thank you, darling, for giving me two beautiful great-grandchildren and for making my grandson so happy. I hope your marriage will go from strength to strength, and though distant, you will always be able to see us as a part of your family.
Contents
Cover (#ub583ae31-2a33-5162-b328-bfdd0db9a6cd)
Title Page (#u68f4933a-3563-51d1-b939-156f00f4b5ab)
Copyright (#ua2f75881-e15f-5e79-9a55-4f2945580da3)
Dedication (#u4d3dcd80-b502-5527-9aba-5f03dc100718)
Chapter One (#uf51315b8-2063-599d-a48b-aa02bc64b014)
Chapter Two (#u7dd72444-85ad-5cdc-b56b-246a8932bea6)
Chapter Three (#uebd91947-849d-53f5-8cc0-e77584853852)
Chapter Four (#u6b7d6fc4-59ba-519b-bf4b-701433c579ad)
Chapter Five (#u58eeed25-ad12-5c18-b0a4-ae085027aea4)
Chapter Six (#u7e6646ea-3b55-5985-bdcd-515dcaa9cb88)
Chapter Seven (#ud65e1b7c-394d-5e01-b7bb-f5da4274c8ce)
Chapter Eight (#u0d66b7fa-78f2-5ebe-b6c8-22d5ab1dfaea)
Chapter Nine (#u099a4912-7d06-57ad-937d-b6fb95862b21)
Chapter Ten (#u214f19ee-f24d-5a53-8aa0-5285d4c91b14)
Chapter Eleven (#u20d0fb59-08b7-5023-8509-f0c29a2468f2)
Chapter Twelve (#ud2a71cae-ebeb-5121-92a2-a6ea197e1da1)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_099548c6-5d39-53b1-ae3a-33bd50e9128a)
Battersea, South London, September 1940
Nine-year-old Ellen Stone woke to the incessant wail of the air raid siren. Neighbourhood dogs were already howling and Ellen’s stomach churned with fear as she flung back the blankets.
‘Come on, get a move on,’ her mother, Hilda, shouted, ‘and don’t forget your gas mask.’
Ellen’s thin legs wobbled as she reached out in total darkness to fumble for the light switch. With the blackout in force, and the windows covered to prevent even a chink of light escaping, her bedroom looked gloomy in the dim glow of a bare lightbulb. Ellen pushed her shoulder-length dark hair aside as she thrust bare feet into her shoes, and then, grabbing the hated gas mask, she ran downstairs.
‘Hurry up,’ her mum urged.
They stumbled down the garden to the Anderson shelter, but could already hear the heavy, uneven throb of bombers flying across London.
‘Oh, Mum,’ cried Ellen.
‘I know, love, I know,’ she consoled, closing the shelter door behind them. ‘Don’t worry. They’re probably going for the Surrey Docks again. Now hold the torch so I can light the oil lamp.’
With hands shaking, Ellen did as she was told, and though her mum was a tiny woman, less than five foot tall, she leaned on her strength. With light brown hair, small dark eyes and a thin face that ended in a pointed chin, her mother was like a pretty mouse in appearance, yet there was nothing meek in her demeanour. She could be soft and kind, but woe betide anyone who crossed her.
‘There, that’s better,’ Hilda said in the glow from the oil lamp.
They sat on the camp bed, but Ellen jumped as a loud barrage of gunfire sounded, relieved when her mum put an arm around her shoulder, saying, ‘They’re ours, love. It’s those huge banks of anti-aircraft guns they’ve set up in Battersea Park.’
‘I … I’m still scared, Mum.’
‘I know, and this can’t go on. We need to get you out of London, but I don’t fancy this evacuation lark where you’d be sent off to strangers. I’ve sent a letter to my old friend Gertie, asking if you can stay with her for a while.’
‘But … but what about you? I don’t want to go without you.’
‘Your gran and granddad won’t shift and I can’t leave them. You’ll be fine with Gertie and you’ll love it on her smallholding. She’s even got chickens.’
There was the sudden shriek of stick bombs falling, along with the clatter of incendiaries as they landed on roofs and pavements. This was followed almost immediately by a loud boom, and another, so many that Ellen lost count as the ground shook beneath them. She was deafened by the noise, terrified, her mum now hunched over her like a shield.
All sense of time was lost, but then came a strange stillness, a hush before more noise – this time the dull thud of walls collapsing. ‘Mum, I can smell burning.’
They sat up to hear the crackle of flames and swiftly her mum moved to douse the oil lamp, a tremor in her voice. ‘The … the gas mains may have been hit, but it’s all right, we’re safe here. I think it’s over now, but we’ll have to wait for the all-clear. I can’t light the Primus so we’ll just have a drop of water.’
Fumbling in the dim light, her mum poured water from a bottle into tin mugs and, throat parched, Ellen drank it greedily. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
They sat, ears alert, dreading another wave of bombers until at last, after what felt like another hour, the all-clear tone from the siren sounded.
Tentatively they left the shelter, only to stand almost paralysed with shock at the sight that greeted them. Their house, along with every other in the street, had been destroyed, crushed, and all that remained were piles of rubble.
‘Oh, no, no,’ Hilda gasped.
The landscape appeared vast, alien, and at first beyond Ellen’s comprehension, but then she realised why. It wasn’t just their street that had been hit; it was the next one and the one beyond that, the area now a huge open mass of destruction. Dust was thick in the air, along with the smell of gas and smoke. Fires burned and Ellen was dimly aware of the distant sound of bells clanging as fire engines rushed to the scene. Yet still she and her mother stood, dazed and unmoving.
Gradually more people appeared, covered in dust like them, and it was only then that Ellen’s mother seemed to come to life.
‘Mum! Dad,’ she cried, grabbing Ellen’s hand to drag her forward. They stumbled over rubble, disorientated, both soon coated in filth, until at last Ellen thought they might be in what had once been the next street. Even though she knew what to expect, a sob caught in her throat. It was gone, like theirs … her grandparents’ house was gone.
‘Mum! Dad!’ Hilda yelled, falling to her knees as she frantically dug at the rubble. Ellen ran to help, their hands and fingers soon bleeding, yet still they dug.
‘I told them,’ Hilda sobbed. ‘I told them to use their shelter, but they just wouldn’t listen and preferred to crawl under the table. Mum! Dad! Can you hear me?’
For a moment they paused, listening, praying to hear voices, but there was nothing. They began to pull at the rubble again, but then hands reached out to drag them away.
‘Come on, you’ve got to stand back,’ an ARP warden said. ‘It’s too dangerous and the heavy rescue teams are here now.’
Exhausted, they were led from the devastation and not long after a mobile canteen arrived. They were given cups of tea, a woman saying sympathetically, ‘Are you all right?’
‘My parents, they’re under that lot. I’ve got to help,’ Hilda gasped, about to move forward again.
‘You won’t be allowed past the cordon. Leave it to the rescue teams. They know how to assess the risks, how to find people buried under rubble; it’s best if you stay out of the way.’
The vast area was a hive of activity now, firemen, policemen, ambulances, heavy rescue teams, ARP wardens, but all Ellen could think about was her beloved gran and granddad. She was aware of other people around them, women and children crying, but she felt strange, remote, the sounds coming as though from a distance. She swayed, a rushing sound in her ears, and then, as her knees caved beneath her, Ellen knew no more.
Hilda was reeling with grief. It had been a dreadful twenty-four hours and she was almost on the point of collapse, yet she had to hold herself together for her daughter’s sake. Her only relief was that Ellen wasn’t hurt; the fainting fit a combination of shock and nervous exhaustion. She was still whey-faced, her blue eyes bruised with pain; her daughter, like her, was grieving.
It had been hours before her parents were pulled from the rubble, both dead, and for the rest of her life Hilda knew she would never forget the night-marish sight of their broken bodies. Now she had the funeral to arrange, and even though her friend, Mabel Johnson – whose house was outside the bombed area and untouched – had taken them in, Hilda felt so alone. If only Doug was here; but at the outset of the war her husband had enlisted in the navy. He was on a ship, somewhere at sea, and, with so many naval losses being reported, she feared for his safety.
‘Here, get that down you,’ Mabel said, her kind, round face soft with concern as she handed Hilda a cup of tea.
‘Mabel, I’ve lost everything. My home, furniture and, until you all rallied round, we only had the filthy clothes we stood in.’
‘You’ll be found somewhere else to live, but in the meantime didn’t you mention once that your mum had a sister? I expect you’ll want to go to her.’
‘She died years ago, Mabel, and after that her husband and son moved away. They didn’t bother to keep in touch with us and I’ve no idea where they are.’
‘Until you’re re-housed you’re welcome to stay here,’ Mabel said soothingly. ‘With my Jack away fighting in this bloody war and both my boys evacuated to Devon, I’ve got plenty of room.’
‘Thanks, it’s good of you.’
‘Don’t be daft. We’ve been mates since we were nippers and I know you’d do the same for me.’
‘I still can’t believe my parents have gone. All I’ve got left of them is this necklace, Mum’s chain and crucifix. She always wore it, swore by it, but … but a lot of good that did her,’ Hilda said, once again overwhelmed by grief.
Mabel let her cry for a while, but then said, ‘I knew your mum well, although … I didn’t know she was religious.’
‘She wasn’t really, well, not a churchgoer. The necklace was my grandmother’s, passed on to Mum when she died. For some reason she used to say that wearing it made her feel as though Gran was watching over her.’
‘Who knows? Maybe she was.’
‘She’s dead, Mabel. My dad too. What was the point of believing in a daft cross and chain?’
‘From what you’ve been told, they didn’t suffer.’
Hilda nodded and, though thankful for that, she still felt lost, bereft. She clutched the chain, her mother’s face still so clear in her mind, and then slowly fastened it around her neck.
‘That’s it, girl. Sometimes we all need something to cling to, something that gives us a bit of hope.’
‘I don’t think this necklace has some sort of mysterious power. I’m only wearing it because … because it was hers …’ And with those words Hilda broke down again. She was a grown woman, a wife and a mother, yet now her parents were gone she felt lost. They had always been there for her to run to – had always loved her unconditionally. Now, without them, she felt so alone.
Chapter Two (#ulink_0cd5ce87-3f50-5ee4-9b5a-30211027bc02)
Bombs continued to rain down on London, and Hilda soon lost count of the number of times they had to flee to Mabel’s air raid shelter. The funeral had been dreadful and she’d barely managed to get through it. So many of her parents’ friends had been there, people like them who had lived in this neighbourhood all their lives. Now they were watching it crumbling around them as more and more houses were destroyed. Those whose homes remained refused to leave the area, stoically saying that the Luftwaffe weren’t going to chase them out, but Hilda had found it hard to listen to. If her parents had left Battersea, they’d still be alive. She had to get Ellen to safety and was still waiting to hear from Gertie, but the thought of parting with her daughter was almost more than she could bear. With her parents gone and Doug away, Ellen was all she had left.
Hilda stood in the queue now, there to beg for accommodation again, and when it came to her turn she said, ‘Please, you must have something?’
‘We’re doing our best, Mrs Stone. We’ve got so many families to re-house and at least you’ve got temporary accommodation with Mrs Johnson.’
‘My daughter’s in a dreadful state. Her nerves have gone and she needs the stability of her own home again.’
‘She should be evacuated.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Hilda snapped. ‘I’m waiting to hear from a friend and if she’ll take her in, my daughter will be sent to Somerset.’
‘Perhaps you should go with her.’
Hilda stared at the woman, mouth agape, yet as her words sunk in, they gave her food for thought.
‘If you ask me, it would be the ideal solution,’ the woman continued, ‘or you could try some private landlords. I’m afraid you aren’t a high priority, Mrs Stone, but if anything becomes available, we’ll let you know. Next, please!’
Dismissed, Hilda moved aside, her place quickly taken by the next person in the queue. It was hopeless, she thought, dejected as she made her way back to Mabel’s.
‘How did you get on?’ Mabel asked when Hilda returned, footsore and downcast.
‘It was a waste of time. I think you’d have to be kipping on the street before they’d help. Oh, I shouldn’t moan, Mabel. I know there’s worse off than me.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Pat Randle got re-housed – not that it was much, just a couple of rooms – but within a week she was bombed out again. It’s terrible, Hilda, and I live in dread of this place being hit.’
Hilda didn’t say it, but she too lived with the same fear. It broke her heart to pass through the streets where she and her parents once lived, the area a vast, ugly bombsite now, and Mabel was right, the same thing could happen to this house, to this street, and they’d be homeless again. Was it any wonder that they were all so jumpy and Ellen a bundle of nerves?
‘You’re miles away, Hilda.’
‘Sorry, I was thinking about Ellen. If I don’t hear from Gertie soon, I’ll have to think about having her evacuated.’
‘It’d be for the best. I know your mum used to take you to play with Gertie, but after what came out later I wouldn’t fancy sending my kids to her.’
‘Don’t be daft. Gertie wouldn’t hurt Ellen, she loves children, and I’d rather she went there than to strangers. Mind you, something the housing officer said has set me thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘She suggested that I go to Somerset too.’ 11
‘What! But you’re a Londoner. You’d go mad living in the sticks.’
‘At one time I might have, but now I’m not so sure. The thought of being away from these bombing raids, of a bit of peace and quiet, is more than tempting.’
‘When this war started everyone said it’d be over in five minutes, but they were wrong. Families have been torn apart, mine included. Jack’s away fighting, my kids are miles from me and … and now you’re going too.’
Hilda was shocked to see tears in Mabel’s eyes. She wasn’t usually an emotional woman; more the take what life throws at you and get on with it type.
‘I’m only thinking about it, Mabel. I haven’t made my mind up yet.’
The air raid siren suddenly wailed and Mabel jumped to her feet. ‘Oh, sod it, not again.’
They hurried to the shelter, Hilda’s forehead creased with worry. ‘I hope Ellen’s all right. I wish I’d kept her at home now.’
‘She had to go back to school sometime, and, if you ask me, it’ll do her good to play with her friends again. Stop worrying. She’ll be fine.’
They sat down, Hilda’s heart racing with fear and her hand clutching the crucifix. Whenever she was frightened or deep in thought it was something she seemed to do automatically now and impatiently she let it go. It couldn’t help her, just as it hadn’t helped her mother, and she was just being silly.
Tense, they listened for the sound of bombers, but heard nothing and less than an hour later looked at each other with relief when the all-clear sounded. Back in the house Mabel immediately put the kettle on the gas.
‘I don’t know about you, mate, but false alarm or not, I could murder a cup of tea.’
‘I hate it being rationed. How are we doing?’
‘We’ve got enough and, anyway, I use the same tea leaves twice to stretch them out.’
‘Yes, I know. Sometimes I can see through the tea to the bottom of my cup.’
‘You cheeky mare. Still, it’s nice to hear you sounding a bit lighthearted again.’
‘I don’t feel lighthearted, Mabel. When I wake up in the morning the first thing I think about is my parents, and they seem to remain constantly on my mind.’
‘It’s early days yet, but it’ll get easier, you’ll see.’
They sat drinking their tea, Hilda trying to keep up with Mabel’s chatter while her mind kept drifting elsewhere – to Gertie and Somerset.
It was an hour later when the door opened and Ellen walked in.
‘Hello, pet. Did you have a nice day at school?’
‘It … it was all right,’ Ellen said, the stammer she’d developed evident. ‘I … I was frightened when th … the siren went off an … and we all had to go down to the basement again.’
‘It was a false alarm and nothing to worry about.’
‘M … Mr Green said th … the school will be closing. He gave us letters to … to bring home.’
Hilda took it, but after what Ellen had just said, she wasn’t surprised by the contents. It was a general letter, addressed to all the parents, saying that the school would be closing at the end of the month. As others had before him, the headmaster also urged that any children still in London should be evacuated. Hilda looked at Mabel, dreaded telling her, but the letter had sealed her decision.
‘I’ve got to get Ellen away from here, Mabel. If Gertie had got my last letter I’m sure she’d have replied by now. I’m going to write to her again.’
‘N … no, Mum. I don’t want to go away. I … I want to stay with you.’
‘Don’t fret, love. This time I’m going to ask Gertie if we can both stay with her.’ Smiling sadly at her friend, Hilda added, ‘I’m sorry, Mabel.’
‘It’s all right, I understand, but I’m gonna miss you,’ she said, a choke in her voice.
‘I’ll miss you too, and doing this blows any chance I’ve got of getting re-housed. I’m beginning to feel like a gypsy with no fixed abode, travelling from one place to another. I just hope it won’t be for long, that it’ll be over soon and we can come back to where we belong.’
‘Yes, mate, you’ll be back,’ Mabel said with a show of bravery now. ‘Once a Londoner, always a Londoner.’
Hilda knew she was putting on a brave front and smiled gratefully. If Mabel broke down she would too, but more tears were the last thing Ellen needed to see. Yes, Gertie would take them in, she was sure of it, and a little time in the country was just what Ellen needed.
It would be hard to leave her friends, especially Mabel, but in Somerset they’d be safe, Gertie’s home providing a haven until soon, she was sure, this dreadful war would be over.
Chapter Three (#ulink_b0b5d24c-e82e-51d0-9752-b2aa6b9097af)
Ellen was shaken awake when the train pulled into Crewkerne station and climbed bleary-eyed out of the carriage. It was three in the afternoon as she and her mother stood on the platform, a bitter cold wind cutting through their clothes. Only moments later a tall, big-boned woman appeared and Ellen was amazed to see that she was wearing scruffy, brown, corduroy trousers that were tucked into wellington boots, along with a dirty navy duffel coat. Not only that, she was wearing a brown flat cap with her dark blonde hair tucked up beneath it.
‘Hilda,’ the woman cried, her dark brown eyes warm as she strode up to them and her strong features softened by a wide smile.
‘Hello, Gertie,’ smiled Hilda.
‘You look exhausted. Come on, let’s get you home,’ Gertrude Forbes said as she grabbed both suitcases. ‘My goodness, is that Ellen? I can’t believe it.’
‘Of course it’s Ellen. It was her birthday last month and she’s ten now.’
‘She’s so pretty – but has it been that long since I’ve seen you?’
‘Yes, nearly seven years and you’ve been in Somerset for six of them.’
‘Where does the time go? Come on, follow me,’ said Gertie, striding ahead of them now.
‘Blimey, is that yours?’ Hilda asked when she saw a small horse and cart.
‘Yes. Ned’s the only transport I have and I’d be lost without him.’
Hilda eyed the horse warily, but Gertie urged them to climb onto a bench-like seat at the front of the flat cart. She then stowed their cases in the back before heaving herself up beside them.
‘Right, we’re off,’ she said, taking the reins, and with a gentle click of her tongue, the horse moved forward.
Ellen had never been on a horse and cart before and found it strange: the gentle sway, the clip, clop of hooves as they rode along a narrow street. Soon they were passing through a small town and she listened as her mother spoke with Gertie.
‘Thanks for this. Thanks for taking us in.’
‘It’s nothing and I’m sorry it took so long to answer your letters. I don’t get post delivered, and rarely go to the village. It was quite a surprise to find two waiting for me, but awful to hear about your parents. I should have kept in touch with your mother, but when it all came out I wasn’t sure she’d want anything to do with me.’
‘She was shocked, but you know my mum, she never had a bad word to say about anyone. Oh, Gertie, I still can’t believe she’s gone, that they’re both gone.’
‘I’m so sorry, Hilda, so very sorry.’
Ellen leaned against her mother, shivering, her teeth beginning to chatter. ‘Mum … I … I’m cold.’
‘Here,’ Gertie said as a tarpaulin-like cover was thrown over them. ‘Tuck that around you and it’ll keep you both warm.’
‘How far is it to your place?’ Hilda asked.
‘It’s a fair trot, and don’t expect too much. By the time we get there you’ll find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and as for those daft shoes, forget it. Like me, you’ll need boots and the same goes for Ellen.’
‘Gertie, I can’t believe how different you look. In London you always looked so smart, if a bit severe, and I never thought I’d see the day when you’d wear trousers and wellies.’
‘Needs must,’ Gertie said dismissively, ‘and anyway, I prefer them.’
‘You said in your letters that you’re fine, but it’s been years since Susan left. Have you found anyone else?’
‘No, and I don’t want to.’
‘Aren’t you lonely?’
‘Not really. I have my animals, and – unlike people – they don’t let you down.’
‘You sound so bitter, Gertie.’
‘What do you expect?’ she replied, eyes flashing. ‘I lost everything for Susan, my reputation, my career, then after moving here she left me.’
‘You could have returned to London.’
‘At first I wanted to lick my wounds in private, then, as time passed, I became used to the seclusion. I love it now. I’m self-sufficient and I doubt I’ll ever leave.’
‘At the moment you’re better off here. London is hell. Since September we’ve had bombing raids day and night, but mostly at night now.’
‘You’ll be safe here.’
‘Have you heard from your father?’ Hilda asked. ‘Is he still in London?’
‘I expect so, but I haven’t heard from him and doubt I ever will. You know what happened when he found out. He almost had an apoplectic fit and said I’d disgraced the family name. He’ll never forgive me.’
Ellen was at a loss to understand this strange conversation. Forgive Gertie for what? She spoke of licking wounds, and what on earth was an apothingy fit? Ellen wanted to ask, but knew better than to interrupt her mother when she was talking. She’d learned that if she kept quiet, sometimes adults would forget she was there, but one sound, one word, and they’d either stop speaking or chase her out.
They had left the town behind; the countryside they were passing through wintry and bleak. It was so quiet, so peaceful and warm beneath the cover that Ellen closed her eyes. She felt the sway of the cart and found the voices drifting, growing distant.
Hilda saw that Ellen had fallen asleep again and held her close. She sighed heavily, the tension in her neck easing. Gertie had welcomed them and at last they were away from the bombings. Surely in the peace of the countryside Ellen’s nerves would heal?
‘It’s lovely to have you here, Hilda, and yonks since I’ve seen you. Just how long have we been friends?’
‘I’ll have a go at working it out. I was about eight years old when my mum started work as a domestic in your father’s house and you were the same age. I think we saw each other occasionally, though at that time I’d hardly call us friends.’
Gertie chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember now, and my goodness I was such a stuck-up little bitch.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Hilda said ruefully.
‘When my mother died and I was sent to boarding school, it was a rude awakening. I missed her so much and hated it, yet it was worse when I came home during school holidays. My father had changed so much and, other than religious instruction, he ignored me. If it hadn’t been for your mother’s kindness, my life would have been very bleak.’
‘Mum was a good woman, but even then you and I rarely saw each other. I think it all changed when you were expelled and by then we must have been close to twelve years old.’
‘I wasn’t sorry to be expelled; in fact, I think I pushed for it by behaving so badly, yet I came unstuck. It was worse being tutored at home and I was so bloody lonely. My father was wrapped up in his work, the church, and was hardly ever home. After lessons I just rattled around in that huge house, with only your mother and the cook for company.’
‘That was when Mum started dragging me to your house every weekend and during school holidays.’
‘She dragged you! Was it that bad?’
‘Gertie, I hate to say it, but it was at first. I hardly knew you, and, let’s face it, you were a lot different from my usual friends. To me you sounded posh, upper class, and in fact, you still do.’
‘It certainly didn’t rub off on you though,’ Gertie said, but the sting was taken out of her words by her warm smile. ‘You’ve never mentioned it, but you must have resented having to come to Kensington, especially when my father would only allow you to play with me if you joined us in religious instruction.’
‘I must admit I didn’t like all that stuff from the Old Testament.’
‘Oh, yes, he loved to talk about God’s wrath, of fire and brimstone.’
‘It frightened the life out of me, but Mum still made me join you. It was years later before I found out why. She thought a lot of you, Gertie, and knew that I’d have to keep it up or be banned from the house. I think in some ways she came to see you as her second daughter.’
‘Did she? I thought your mother was being kind because she felt sorry for me. In fact, I envied you your family – the closeness you shared.’
‘I don’t know why. Compared to mine, your home was like a palace.’
‘My life was so restricted that it was more like a prison. Thank goodness you came along and we became more than just friends. I wish I’d known that your mother saw me as a daughter, because to me you were like a sister, one who stood by me through thick and thin.’
‘Now don’t exaggerate,’ Hilda protested. ‘As adults we went our separate ways. You for teacher training, and me, well, until I met Doug, I only worked in a local shop.’
‘Yes, but we always stayed in touch, and unlike everyone else you didn’t judge me, or ostracise me.’
‘Why should I? You’re still the same person and a good one at that. Take now for instance. If it wasn’t for you I’d have been forced to have Ellen evacuated to strangers.’
‘When I read your first letter, asking if Ellen could come to stay with me, I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. When the school found out, they couldn’t get rid of me quickly enough. I was treated like a monster, a bad influence and unsafe to be around children. My father was the worst, saying I was an abomination in God’s eyes.’
‘That’s rubbish. There’s nobody I’d trust more with Ellen.’
‘Thanks, and it’s nice you’ve arrived just before Christmas. Mind you, I’ve had enough religion stuffed down my throat to last me a lifetime, but as it was once a pagan festival I won’t feel like a hypocrite if we have a bit of a celebration.’
Hilda’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about Christmas – her first one without her parents – yet for Ellen’s sake, she’d have to make some kind of effort.
Ellen stirred, sitting up to look around her. ‘Are … are we there yet?’
It was Gertie who answered. ‘Sorry, but we’ve still got a way to go. Are you hungry?’
Ellen nodded. ‘Ye … yes.’
‘I’ve left a beef casserole braising in the range and it’ll be ready when we arrive.’
‘Cor,’ Ellen said, fully awake now.
‘I’m not much of a cook, but hopefully it’ll be all right.’
‘How do you get on with rationing?’ Hilda asked.
‘So far it isn’t a problem, and the butcher doesn’t even ask for a coupon.’
‘You’re lucky. In London we only get our rationed amounts and there’s talk of it getting worse.’
Soon a tiny village loomed in front of them, but Gertie just drove through it and out the other side. On and on they went, the light dimming and no sign of any other habitations, until at last Gertie eased the horse and cart left into a narrow lane. At the end she finally pulled on the reins, saying as the horse drew to a halt and she hopped down, ‘I’ll just open the gates.’
Ellen could see little as her eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Gertie didn’t get onto the cart again; instead she gripped the bridle to lead the horse through. Ellen could now see a small cottage, and as Gertie tethered the animal she watched her mother climb down from the cart, her feet sinking into thick, heavy mud.
‘Yeah, I can see what you mean about boots,’ her mum complained then held up her arms. ‘Come on, Ellen.’
Ellen felt the ooze as her feet touched the ground, then the sucking sensation as she lifted one foot.
‘Come on, this way,’ Gertie said as she grabbed their cases, ‘but watch your step.’
Tentatively they squelched to the front door, both taking off their mud-caked shoes before stepping inside. It was dark, but they felt a welcome blast of warm air, along with a low growl.
‘Oh Gawd, what’s that?’ Hilda gasped.
‘It’s only Bertie,’ said Gertie as she lit an oil lamp.
‘Bertie?’ she yelped as the growls turned to sharp yaps.
‘He won’t hurt you,’ Gertie assured and, as light pierced the gloom, a small white dog with a blaze of black on his face came into view.
The dog ran up to Ellen, yapping and jumping around her with excitement. She smiled, crouching down to stroke him. ‘He … he’s so sweet.’
‘He’s a Jack Russell terrier and perfect for ratting.’
‘Rats,’ her mother squeaked. ‘Oh, blimey.’
‘There are rats in London – in fact, probably more than around here. Now take your things off and make yourself at home while I see to the horse. I expect you’re dying for a cup of tea so you can put the kettle on the range to boil.’
‘Why the oil lamps? Ain’t you got electricity?’
‘No, but at least I’ve got running water.’
The journey had seemed to go on for ever, and now unable to hold it any longer, Ellen said, ‘I … I need the toilet.’
‘Go through the scullery and you’ll find it outside the back door,’ Gertie told her.
Ellen barely took in the deep sink and draining board as she passed through the scullery. The wooden door to the outside toilet squeaked, but there was no light so she left it open, managing in the gloom as she perched on such a funny seat.
It was strange here, so quiet, but sort of nice too, and Ellen thought she might like living in the country.
When Gertie marched outside again, the dog at her heels, Hilda took a look around the room. The ceiling was low, crossed with heavy, dark beams, the room dominated by a huge, black cooking range. A small, scruffy wooden table stood in the centre, and on each side of the range she saw wing-back chairs, one with horsehair stuffing poking through the upholstery. Other than that there was a dresser, the shelves packed with a mishmash of china.
Gertie was right, this place wasn’t much, but nevertheless Hilda was charmed by the cosy atmosphere. Gertie had done her best, the tiny, deep-set, lead-paned window dressed with chintz curtains, the wide sill sporting a jug of dried flowers. Hilda found herself sniffing the air, her mouth salivating at the rich aroma of beef casserole.
‘It … it’s a funny toilet,’ Ellen said as she came back inside. ‘There isn’t a … a proper seat, just a long wooden bench with … with a hole in it.’
‘I never thought I’d see the day when I thought our little house was luxurious, but compared to this …’ Hilda had to pause, a lump in her throat. There was no house now, her home just a pile of rubble. Hilda managed to swallow her emotions. They were here now, safe, and that was the most important thing. ‘We’ll be eating soon, but in the meantime I’ll make us all a drink.’
‘Why … why does Gertie wear men’s clothes?’
Hilda paused as she wondered how to answer her daughter’s question. Ellen was too young to understand so, grasping, she said, ‘I expect it’s because it’s sensible to wear trousers when you’re working outdoors, and warmer too.’
‘Can … can I wear trousers?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but I don’t know how we’ll get hold of any.’
‘Get hold of what?’ Gertie asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as she stepped inside.
‘Like you, Ellen wants to wear trousers.’
‘That won’t be a problem. I’ve got an old sewing machine and we can soon knock her up a couple of pairs. You’ll need some too, Hilda.’
‘Me! No, I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll see. Now then, have you put the kettle on the range?’ she asked brusquely.
‘I was just about to do it.’
‘Get a move on, and you, Ellen, can lay the table for dinner.’
‘Gertie, you haven’t changed and sound as bossy as ever,’ Hilda said, giggling as she added, ‘Talk about a school mistress. What next? If we don’t behave, will you give us the cane?’
Gertie at first looked shocked, but then she too began to laugh. ‘Oh, Hilda, I really am glad you’re here.’
‘Can … can we have our dinner now?’ a small voice said.
‘Yes, all right,’ Gertie agreed, ‘and tomorrow I’ll show you how to collect eggs for our breakfast.’ ‘Where’s your dog?’
‘He’s been cooped up in here while I went to fetch you, but once we’ve eaten you can call him in again. I’ve a cat too, but Wilfred’s a tom and is mostly off roaming.’
‘Wh … what else have you got?’ Ellen asked eagerly.
‘Two pigs and a goat.’
Hilda saw her daughter’s delight and smiled. It was going to be all right, and she was sure that bringing Ellen here had been the right decision. Ellen would recover and enjoy exploring the countryside. And I’ll be fine too, Hilda decided, yet there was no way that Gertie was going to get her into trousers.
Chapter Four (#ulink_9d6d02e3-e1e8-56b5-969d-c225b5fc5161)
During the next five months Hilda saw a huge change in her daughter. Ellen’s stammer disappeared, and, though they were both still grieving, the horrors of living in London during the Blitz soon seemed far away. Instead of an air raid siren, they now woke up to the sound of birdsong and Gertie’s cockerel.
The only school was on the other side of the village and, as it was a long way to go, Gertie was tutoring Ellen at home. At first she had missed the company of other children, but once spring had arrived and the skeletal trees burst into new growth, Ellen had become totally enamoured with the countryside. When not having lessons or helping out on the smallholding, she spent hours roaming the woods, bringing home all sorts of things – bugs, bluebells and other wildflowers – all of which Gertie would identify for her. Gertie also showed her how to press the flowers and leaves before carefully placing them in albums, and, for Ellen, a love of nature was born. Hilda’s smile was wry when she thought about her daughter’s new passion. She couldn’t feel the same. Yes, it was safe here, but she hated living in such total isolation. Gertie didn’t have a wireless, so the only news they got was when they made the hour-long trip to the village. She kept in touch by letter with Mabel and had received shocking news. Mabel’s house had been structurally damaged during a bombing raid, but thankfully she hadn’t been hurt. Mabel had then had a stroke of luck when, through the grapevine, she’d found a private landlord who offered her a flat in Clapham. It seemed that Mabel loved it there, and, not only that, it was an area that so far had been barely touched by bombs.
It made Hilda realise how lucky they were to have left Battersea, though she still wasn’t keen on working outdoors. Thankfully Gertie always mucked out the pigs, though that still left the back-breaking work of digging for spring planting. If she had news of Doug it would be something, but though she’d sent him a letter with her new address, so far there had been no reply. God, she missed him so much, prayed he was safe, and for a moment tears stung her eyes. Britain had lost so many vessels, so many seamen, and Hilda lived in constant fear of hearing that his ship had been sunk. Inadvertently her hand rose to clutch the crucifix.
‘Hilda, I know you only wear that thing because it belonged to your mother, but when you’re miles away you always seem to hold it,’ commented Gertie. ‘I thought that, like me, you’d had enough religion rammed down your throat.’
‘I have, especially after the way your father turned on you. What happened to all that stuff he used to spout about not judging others lest you be judged?’
‘Try telling him that.’
Hilda shuddered, remembering her childhood fear and awe of Gertie’s father. The man had been almost maniacal in his preaching, and it had been enough to turn her off going to church for life.
‘Gertie, can we go to the village today?’
‘There’s no need to go every week and I’d rather get the rest of the potatoes in, along with cabbage and carrots. There’s the salad crop too and tomatoes to bring on in the greenhouse.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Gertie, give it a break. I’m worried about Doug and there might be a letter.’
‘This is a busy time of year and if I don’t plant, I don’t eat. I know I’ve preserved fruit from last year, made jam and pickles, but I need to sell produce to buy flour, meat, and anything else I can’t grow.’
‘It still seems strange to think of you making jam.’
‘I hate it, hate any kind of cooking, but needs must.’
‘Before we came I had no idea how much land you had. How on earth have you managed on your own?’
‘I had a lad of fourteen working for me, but once conscription started labour became short. He found a job earning more than I could possibly pay him, and since then it’s been impossible to find hired help. I had to cut down on planting, but now you’ve arrived we’ve managed to start a lot more off.’
‘Yeah, and I’ve done my best to muck in, but I’m really worried about Doug. I haven’t heard from him yet, and if you take me to the village I promise I’ll really get stuck in again when we get back.’
‘If you’d only learn to handle Ned you could go on your own.’
‘He hates me.’
‘Hilda, he’s a horse and just needs firm hands on the reins.’
‘I was firm, but the sod wouldn’t move.’
Gertie shook her head with obvious disgust, but Hilda tried a winning smile. It was all right for Gertie. She was happy living like a virtual recluse, but for Hilda it was becoming more and more difficult. She missed her friends, the bustle of London, and if only the Luftwaffe would stop dropping bombs she’d go back like a shot.
‘Please, Gertie.’
‘Oh, all right. I need to see the butcher so might as well do that, but I’m not hanging about while you waste time gossiping with the locals again.’
Hilda smiled with delight as she went to the bottom of the stairs to call Ellen. They shared a bedroom under the eaves, snuggled up in a huge, lumpy, iron-framed bed.
‘Ellen, Ellen, come on, get up.’
‘Another one,’ Ellen said when she finally appeared, her hands cupped around a catch.
Hilda shuddered as she backed away. That was another thing she hated, the huge spiders that regularly appeared in their bedroom and the rest of the cottage.
‘Is it one of them whoppers?’
‘Yes, a tree spider,’ Ellen said as she walked over to the back door.
‘Hurry up! Get it out of here before you drop it.’
‘Honestly, Hilda,’ said Gertie, ‘anyone would think you’ve never seen a spider before. You should be used to them by now and there are plenty of spiders in London.’
‘Yes, but not those bloody great hairy things.’
‘They won’t hurt you,’ Gertie said as she opened the back door for Ellen and the spider was dispatched.
Hilda’s cheeks puffed with relief, the insect soon forgotten as she began to boil eggs for their breakfast. She was anxious to go and as soon as they’d eaten she chivvied Ellen to get ready, while Gertie went to get the horse from the small field.
Just getting the horse and cart harnessed took ages and it drove Hilda mad but, knowing better than to complain, she just smiled gratefully at Gertie when at last they set off. It was a nice morning with hardly a cloud in the sky and just a slight nip in the air. ‘Oh, Gertie, I hope there’s a letter.’
‘Stop worrying. If anything had happened to Doug you’d have heard.’
‘I haven’t got a clue where he is, what ocean, where he’s headed. I think he tried to tell me in his last letter, but it was so heavily censored with line after line blacked out that it was unreadable.’
‘How did he end up in the navy?’
‘As soon as the war started he couldn’t wait to get to a recruitment office. He said he didn’t fancy the army with all the foot slogging, so volunteered for the navy.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s a stoker and I’ve been allotted most of his pay, but I don’t know why the silly bugger was so quick to enlist.’
‘Mum, you sweared,’ Ellen protested.
‘Swore,’ Gertie corrected.
Hilda smiled ruefully as she ruffled her daughter’s hair. ‘Yeah, well, this war is enough to make a saint swear – not that I want to hear you using bad language.’
Ellen leaned against her. Hilda’s mind was full of her husband. When they met she had fallen for his tall, dark good looks and twinkling blue eyes. Doug had been a milkman before the war, up at the crack of dawn, out in all weathers, but nothing had seemed to get him down and he always had a ready smile. Ellen took after him, and every time Hilda looked at her daughter she could see her husband. She longed to see him, and though Hilda knew that she and Doug looked odd together – him six foot tall and her under five – she didn’t care. She loved Doug, missed him so much and cursed this bloody war. His letters had been fairly regular until now, but then this gap had come and she was worried sick.
At last the village came into view and, pulling on the reins, Gertie said, ‘Whoa, Ned,’ as she brought the horse to a stop outside the general store-cum-post office.
Gertie had hardly tethered Ned before Hilda was hurrying inside, thankful to find she was the only customer.
‘Is there any mail for me?’ she asked eagerly.
‘No, I’m sorry, there’s nothing,’ Mrs Brandon, the elderly postmistress said.
Hilda sagged with disappointment, but as Ellen rushed into the shop she managed to hide her feelings.
‘Is there a letter, Mum?’
‘No, pet, but don’t worry. Your dad’s sure to write soon.’
‘Can I have some sweets?’
‘I suppose so and I might as well get a few things in.’
There was still no evidence of food shortages as Hilda pulled out their ration books, glad that at least she had always taken these, along with their birth certificates and marriage lines to the shelter. She asked for butter, sugar, flour, yeast, along with a newspaper, while Ellen chose a gobstopper and some barley sugar.
Mrs Brandon was totting up the bill when Gertie stepped inside. ‘Come on, Hilda, get a move on,’ she chided.
‘Morning, Miss Forbes,’ the postmistress said pointedly.
‘Good morning, Mrs Brandon,’ Gertie replied, her tone clipped.
‘I was only saying to Mrs Cook earlier that it must be nice for you having a friend to stay.’
Gertie didn’t answer the woman, only saying to Hilda as she marched out of the shop again, ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’
Mrs Brandon’s neck stretched with indignation as she puffed, ‘Well, I never.’
‘Sorry,’ Hilda said as she hurriedly paid for her goods before leaving the shop.
‘Look, I’ve got a gobstopper,’ Ellen said as she ran to Gertie’s side.
‘That’ll keep you quiet for all of five minutes.’
‘Gertie, you were a bit short with Mrs Brandon,’ Hilda complained.
‘She was just after gossip and I won’t give her, or anyone else in the village, the satisfaction of knowing my business. Now let’s get to the butcher’s and then we can go home.’
Hilda sighed. Unlike Gertie, she missed chatting to people – all right, gossiping if that’s what Gertie wanted to call it – but nowadays she didn’t get the chance. ‘While we’re there I’ll get some sausages and a bit of bacon, but why do you need to talk to him?’
‘Until I get new crops to sell money will be a bit tight, so at this time of year I take him one of my pigs for slaughter.’
‘No! No!’ Ellen yelped.
‘Oh, darn, I shouldn’t have said anything in front of her.’
‘It’s a bit late now,’ Hilda snapped as Ellen flung herself against her.
Gertie crouched down. ‘Listen, Ellen, you like eating roast pork, sausages, and bacon, don’t you? I raise pigs for food, not as pets – but I’m sorry, I should have warned you.’
‘Wh … what about the other one?’
‘She’ll be having a litter soon, and once weaned I’ll sell all the piglets but one which I’ll fatten up for next year. I know it all sounds awful to you, but it’s the way of life on farms and smallholdings.’
Ellen wasn’t mollified, but just then they were all distracted by the roar of an engine as a motorbike drove into the village. At first Hilda thought the driver was going to pass straight through, but then he suddenly braked. The man lifted his goggles, turned to look at her, and Hilda blinked, unable to believe her eyes.
The bag of shopping left her hand in shock and groceries spilled onto the pavement, unheeded as Hilda dashed forward. ‘Doug! Ohh … Doug,’ she cried, her face alight with joy.
Chapter Five (#ulink_88d7ef9f-0693-5124-95a1-31106d73a53b)
Ellen couldn’t stop smiling. Her dad was here, staying in the cottage, and almost immediately she saw a change in her mother. She was wearing make-up again, even when working outside, and instead of wrapping her hair in a turban, she wore it softly curled around her face.
Working side by side, they got on with the planting, but now her mother’s voice often rose in song as they put in row after row of vegetables. Ellen didn’t understand why she had to sleep with Gertie now. She’d rather have squashed in between her parents, especially as Gertie snored so loudly, but for some reason they wanted to be on their own. There were times too when her parents went off on the motorbike, leaving her feeling excluded, but then they’d come back, her mum rosy-cheeked and smiling, and her dad lifting her in the air, calling her his pumpkin again.
One morning, over a week later, the sun was shining, and Ellen was bashing the top of her egg as her parents chatted.
‘Travelling by train is murder now, Doug. Thank Gawd that bloke lent you his motorbike. It was good of him.’
‘Yeah, he’s a good mate, on board ship and off.’
‘I wish you hadn’t joined the navy. I hate it that you’re at sea with the constant danger from those German U-boats.’
‘I’d have been in just as much danger in the army.’
‘What’s a U-boat?’ Ellen asked.
‘It’s a German submarine. But enough talk about the war. I’ve only got another five days’ leave, so let’s make the most of it.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Gertie said, ‘and as we’ve done so much planting, why don’t the three of you go out on your own for a while?’
‘That isn’t a bad idea,’ Doug said.
‘You can take Bertie with you. I want to go into the village, but tomorrow we need to make a start on the salad crops.’
‘Some leave this is,’ joked Doug, ‘and there was I, expecting you women to spoil me for fourteen days. Come on, Ellen, get dressed and then we can explore the woods.’
Ellen rose eagerly to her feet, but as she did so she noticed a look pass between her mother and Gertie. She frowned. They looked secretive … but why?
As soon as the three of them left the cottage, Doug’s arm around Hilda’s shoulder and Ellen clinging happily to his other hand, the false smile Gertie had put on for their benefit left her face. It had been pre-arranged that while they got Ellen out of the way, she would take the pig for slaughter – but that wasn’t why Gertie had to put on a false front.
As a child she had thought her feelings for Hilda were sisterly, but that had all changed at puberty. While Gertie had battled with her confused feelings, Hilda had been attracted to boys. Ashamed and bewildered, Gertie had pretended interest in them too, but all the time she had grown more and more enamoured with Hilda.
They’d always been such a complete contrast, she tall, big-boned, whereas Hilda was tiny, petite and feminine. Gertie had longed to hold her, to kiss her, but knew it was unnatural – that if Hilda, or anyone else, found out, they’d be disgusted. She had hated her feelings, wanted to be normal, but the thought of being touched, held, or kissed by a man repelled her.
Somehow Gertie had kept up the pretence, but, in the end, fearing she would no longer be able to contain her feelings for Hilda, it had been a relief when they went their separate ways. To her utter amazement, once out in the world, Gertie discovered that she wasn’t a freak – that there were other so-called unnatural women. She had met Susan, found happiness, but the affair had cost her everything. To escape they had moved here to Somerset, and until now she hadn’t seen Hilda for many years. When she’d written to ask if both she and Ellen could come to stay, Gertie had hesitated, but then hadn’t had the strength of will to refuse. They were in danger and she couldn’t bear to think about that, but as soon as she saw Hilda again, Gertie found her feelings rekindled.
It made her feel so guilty, pretending to Hilda that she saw her as a sister, but now that she was here, Gertie couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving again. To cope she’d created a fantasy, albeit a celibate one, where they were a family and Ellen their daughter. But then Doug had turned up and one look at Hilda’s face when she saw him was enough to shatter Gertie’s fragile illusion. Her lips tightened. Hilda was so obviously in love with her husband that it was painful to watch, the two of them barely able to keep their hands off each other.
Five more days – five more days of this purgatory before Doug left, and Gertie couldn’t wait to see the back of him. Of course Hilda would never turn to her, Gertie had long accepted that, but at least they’d be a family again. Hilda was bound to stay until the war was over and, with no end in sight, she and Ellen could be with her for years.
Doug smiled at Hilda, his hand now holding hers as they walked along with Ellen and the dog running ahead through the woods.
‘Blimey, love, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be on your knees planting vegetables.’
‘Me neither, but we had to get out of London.’
‘It was good of Gertie to take you in, but aren’t you a bit nervous?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you know. What if she tries it on?’
‘Don’t be daft. We’re like sisters and Gertie would never do that.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. She comes over as a bit bossy to me and sometimes it feels as though she resents me being here.’
‘Of course she doesn’t, and Gertie’s always been a bit bossy. We’ve been friends since childhood and, as I said, we became like sisters. You’ve got nothing to worry about and, anyway, Doug, you know me. If she tried anything I’d flatten her – not that she would and I’m sure of that.’
‘Yeah, you might be small, but you’re a little spitfire,’ Doug agreed. ‘All right, stay, and at least when I go back I’ll know you’re safe.’
‘It’s a shame I can’t say the same. When I didn’t hear from you for so long I was worried sick.’
‘I’ve told you. I did write, honest.’
‘Maybe the bloomin’ Luftwaffe bombed the sorting office.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Doug mused.
‘Like I said, we lost our place, and … and my mum and dad …’
Doug turned Hilda round to pull her into his arms, her head resting on his chest. ‘I was shocked to the core when I read your letter. It must have been hell for you and I see you’re wearing your mum’s cross and chain now.’
‘I know it sounds daft, but it’s all I’ve got left of her and it sort of brings me a bit of comfort. It … it was an awful time, Doug, and to top it all Ellen’s nerves went.’
‘She seems all right now, though it’s a shame you’re so far from the village that she hasn’t got any friends to play with.’
‘I know, but she’s grown to love it here, the peace, the quiet, the animals and the woods, yet I can’t stand it.’
‘It won’t be for ever and, now I know I haven’t got anything to worry about with Gertie, you’re to stay here until the war’s over,’ Doug ordered, but then as Hilda reared back he knew he’d put his foot in it.
Her shoulders stiff, neck stretched to look up at him and eyes flashing, she snapped, ‘If I want to go back to London I will, and neither you, nor the bloody Germans, are going to stop me.’
‘All right, calm down,’ Doug placated. Just a moment ago Hilda had seemed so soft and vulnerable, but now she was back on form. His wife might be tiny, but he had long since learned that he couldn’t win an argument. If you got Hilda’s back up, woe betide you, and he should have known better than to issue an order. He tried a different approach. ‘What about Ellen? Surely you don’t want to put her at risk again?’
‘Of course I don’t. Oh, take no notice of me, Doug,’ she said, her features softening as their daughter ran up to them. ‘It’s just that I’m fed up, that’s all.’
Doug couldn’t get over the change in Ellen. She was so much taller, her nose sprinkled with freckles and her complexion glowing with health. Life in the country suited her and, in fact, Doug had found he liked it, too, enjoyed working the land – the digging, the planting – and when the war was over he’d love to live out of London. Of course, Hilda would take some persuading, but surely he’d be able to talk her round?
‘Come on, Mum, come on, Dad,’ Ellen urged.
‘Yeah, all right, but slow down,’ Hilda called as Ellen dashed off again, Bertie at her heels, yapping with excitement.
‘It’s a shame we’ve only managed the one child,’ Doug mused.
‘I know, but after having so much trouble falling pregnant, Ellen still seems like a miracle. My mum was the same, and her sister, all of us only managing one child.’
‘You never know, you might fall again one day.’
‘Don’t bank on it, Doug.’
‘I’m not,’ he said, with a cheeky smile and a wink as he added, ‘though if you ask me nicely, I’ll give it another go tonight.’
Ellen had become used to playing alone. She loved exploring, finding things, and had turned the woods into her own magic kingdom. This time, instead of roaming alone, it felt strange to be out with her parents and so far, amongst other things, they had seen a squirrel that was thankfully in a tree and safe from Bertie. Ellen led her dad to one of her favourite places, a pretty glade where if she sat quietly rabbits would emerge from their burrows, noses sniffing, but there was no sign of them today.
‘Come on, Ellen, it’s time to go back to the cottage.’
‘Oh, Dad, do we have to?’ Ellen appealed. ‘There are so many things I want to show you.’
‘I’m afraid so, but we’ll come here again another day.’
Ellen nodded, looking forward to that, but sadly aware that her dad would be leaving again soon. She still found that if she kept quiet, her parents would sometimes forget she was there and it was then that she found things out – like at breakfast, when they had been talking about U-boats. Ellen was still worried about the danger she’d heard her dad was in and asked now, ‘Dad, what’s a submarine?’
‘Well, I suppose the easiest way to describe one is to say that it’s a kind of boat, but one that submerges and spends most of the time underwater.’
‘Have you been on one?’
‘No, and I don’t want to.’
‘Why did Mum say you’re in danger?’
A look passed between her parents and Ellen saw the small shake of her mum’s head before her dad replied, ‘You know what a worryguts your mum is, but there’s no need. I’m not in danger, pumpkin, and she’s worried about nothing.’
Ellen wasn’t convinced, but her dad refused to talk about the war again and soon they were back at the cottage. Once again Ellen saw a strange look pass between Gertie and her mother, a sort of half-nod from Gertie that puzzled her.
‘Why did you have to go to the village?’ Ellen asked, sure that the trip held the answer.
‘I went to get a few things in. Now let’s grab some lunch and then it’s back to work.’
‘Slave driver,’ Hilda groaned.
While her mother began to make sandwiches, Ellen wandered outside with Bertie, the dog running to his bowl to slurp water. There was something going on, Ellen was sure of it, but if she kept really quiet during lunch they might let something slip. Why did grown ups have to be so secretive? She wasn’t a baby now, she was nearly ten and a half years old, but still treated like a little kid. The village – Gertie hated going to the village, so why had she gone that morning? It was only when Ellen thought about their last trip that the penny dropped. Gertie had told her about the pig, but then her dad had turned up and everything else had been forgotten in the excitement.
With her heart thudding, Ellen ran to the sty. There was only one pig now, her belly fat with babies, and, sobbing, Ellen ran back to the cottage.
‘Pinkie’s gone! You took her to be killed, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
It was her mum who answered. ‘Because we knew you’d be upset.’
‘I … I don’t want Pinkie to be killed.’
‘Ellen, I told you not to give the pigs names,’ said Gertie, ‘and warned that you shouldn’t get too fond of them. They aren’t pets and you know that.’
‘You’re horrible! I hate you,’ Ellen yelled before dashing outside again, but only five minutes later her dad found her.
‘You shouldn’t have yelled at Gertie like that. She knew you’d be upset, we all did, but Gertie hoped to make you feel better with a special surprise.’
‘Don’t care. I hate her.’
‘Let’s see if you feel the same in a minute,’ he said, taking her hand to pull her along. ‘Come back inside.’
Sullen, Ellen was dragged back to the cottage, but she refused to look at the cardboard box that Gertie held out.
‘Come on, Ellen, open it,’ her mother urged.
Gertie laid the box on the table. ‘It’s something for you, Ellen, something all of your own to love.’
‘Don’t want it.’
‘Are you sure?’ Gertie asked and opening the box herself she drew out a tiny bundle of black and white fluff.
There was a mewling sound and, unbidden, Ellen rushed forward. A kitten! Gertie had got her a kitten, and, her eyes brimming, Ellen took it from her hands.
‘Do you like him?’ Gertie asked.
‘Oh … oh … yes, and … and thank you.’
‘You need to apologise too,’ her mum cajoled.
‘No, it’s all right, Hilda. She was upset, and I understand that. Now then, Ellen, what are you going to call him?’
Ellen looked at the kitten. He was mostly black, but there was a white band at the bottom of both front legs. She grinned. ‘I’m gonna call him Socks.’
‘Socks,’ her dad chuckled. ‘Yeah, it kind of suits him.’
Bertie jumped up at her legs and Ellen held the kitten protectively to her chest.
‘It’s all right,’ Gertie said. ‘Bertie has had a few scuffles with Wilfred and knows better than to go up against a cat. Just let him smell Socks and he’ll be fine.’
Tentatively Ellen crouched down, her fears soon alleviated, but then the kitten burrowed inside her cardigan.
‘Right, Ellen, he’s your cat and you’ll have to look after him. It’ll be your job to feed him, and until he can go out you’ll have to change his litter box regularly,’ her mum said, then puffed out her cheeks. ‘I must have been mad to agree to this and heaven knows how we’ll get him back to London.’
‘London! But I don’t want to go back to London.’
‘I’m not talking about now, you daft moo, but the war won’t last for ever.’
Ellen pulled back her cardigan to look at Socks. He was almost under her arm, snuggled close, and though she wasn’t looking at her father she was aware of his words.
‘There isn’t an end in sight yet and, who knows, you could be here for years.’
‘Doug, I hope you’re wrong,’ sighed Hilda. ‘I’m going potty stuck here in the sticks.’
‘Well, thanks,’ Gertie snapped.
‘I’m not having a go at you, Gertie, and I’m really grateful that you took us in. It’s just that I’m not suited to life in the country, that’s all.’
‘Suited or not, it’s where you need to stay,’ Doug warned.
‘All right, don’t go on about it.’
Ellen’s emotions were mixed. She was thrilled with the kitten, sad that her dad would be leaving soon, but ecstatic at the thought of staying here with Gertie for a long, long time.
The next five days seemed to fly past, and soon Gertie was hiding her feelings of satisfaction as Doug said his goodbyes. It was irritating to see how Hilda clung to him, tears in her eyes, but touching to see Ellen doing the same.
Gertie shook Doug’s hand and then left them to it, pleased to hear the roar of the motorbike only minutes later as he sped away. It might take a few days, but then it would be back to normal, the three of them again living contentedly together.
Both Hilda and Ellen were in pieces when they came indoors, and Gertie did her best to sound sympathetic. ‘Oh dear. You poor things.’
‘I can’t believe how quickly the time went, and … and who knows when I’ll see him again …’ Hilda said as she dashed tears from her cheeks.
Ellen ran to pick up Socks, seeking comfort as she held the kitten close, and Gertie was pleased with her idea. Ellen had soon forgotten the pig in her joy at having her own pet, and as the farmer’s cat had just had kittens, the timing was perfect. Her own cat, Wilfred, rarely ventured indoors and so far hadn’t seen the kitten, but Gertie feared that fur might fly when he did.
‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ she suggested, deciding that there was time enough later to worry about Wilfred.
‘I won’t say no.’
Gertie busied herself with putting the kettle on the range and by time it came to the boil, Hilda had at last stopped sniffling. Gertie decided to try a touch of lightness as she poured the tea, saying with a smile, ‘I suppose you’ll be back to wearing trousers now.’
‘I suppose so. I never thought you’d get me to wear them, but must admit they’re comfortable. It was murder doing the planting in a skirt.’
‘Once summer’s here, we’ll all be in shorts.’
‘Things in London may have eased up by then. I might be able to go back; to find us somewhere to live, a home for Doug to return to.’
‘Don’t bank on it,’ Gertie said. There was no sign of a let up, the Luftwaffe still bombing the city and, as Doug had said, they could be with her for years. At least she hoped so – the thought of Hilda leaving was more than she could bear.
Chapter Six (#ulink_4239a607-2061-5d8b-96bd-19f9c50e7375)
Hilda turned over in bed, hating that it was winter again, and loathing life in Somerset. She had come here expecting the war to be over long before this, but how long had they been here now? Nearly two years, but it felt like ten, and so long, so very long since she’d seen Doug. At least in London she saw people, had friends, heard a bit of music and jollity; but nothing happened here to break the month in, month out of boring routine.
Hilda heaved a sigh. She had stuck it out for Ellen’s sake, and Gertie had seemed to sense how she felt, taking her to the village at least once a week now. Though Hilda enjoyed a bit of gossip with the shopkeeper, and one or two other villagers, she felt she had little in common with them. They were nice folks who seemed content with their lot, with their sleepy, tiny community, but even after all this time in Somerset, Hilda knew she’d never feel the same.
Ellen woke beside her and as soon as the sleepiness left her eyes she said, ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘I know. Happy twelfth birthday, but don’t expect much,’ Hilda warned. This would be Ellen’s second birthday in Somerset, but there wasn’t a lot on offer in the village store now, though thanks to Mrs Brandon she had a little extra something up her sleeve. It was Monday, and with the shop closed yesterday they’d have to go into the village to pick it up today. It was a special treat and sure to bring a smile to her daughter’s face.
‘Mum, I feel a bit funny, sticky,’ Ellen said as she got out of bed. Her voice then rose to a yelp of fear. ‘Mum! Mum, I’m bleeding.’
Oh no, Hilda thought, already? What a thing to happen on her daughter’s birthday. ‘It’s all right. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘But what’s wrong with me?’
Hilda fought for words as she flung back the blankets. As far as she was concerned, Ellen was far too young to be told the facts of life. Her tone was brusque as she said, ‘It’s just something that happens to all girls when they get to a certain age.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s just that things are changing in your body, that’s all, and this is going to happen every month now.’
Ellen looked appalled. ‘Every month!’
‘I know it sounds awful, but you’ll get used to it. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up,’ Hilda said, knowing that Ellen’s questions were far from over.
Ellen was still confused by what was happening to her, and felt too queasy to eat her breakfast. She also had little cramps of pain in her tummy, but was distracted now as her mother held out three packages.
‘Happy birthday and these are from me,’ she said.
Ellen tore one open, loving the blue scarf with matching hat and mittens. She was sure her mum must have unravelled her nice jumper to provide the wool and managed a smile. ‘Thanks, they’re lovely.’
‘I made them in the evenings when you were in bed.’
In the next package Ellen found a new vest, but finally, best of all, she tore open the last one to find a large, beautiful book of plant illustrations. Ellen could see that it wasn’t new, but loved it anyway and hugged it to her chest. ‘Oh, Mum.’
‘I managed to buy it from one of the villagers.’
‘Happy birthday,’ Gertie said as she came in and handed over a roughly wrapped parcel.
Inside Ellen found tweed trousers that had been cut down, the pains in her tummy forgotten now as she grinned. ‘Thanks, Gertie, but weren’t these your best ones?’
‘Yes, but you’ve grown out of your others, and will need warm trousers now that winter is here. Here you are,’ Gertie said, holding out a paper bag. ‘I got these too. I know you love barley sugar.’
Ellen smiled with delight, but then her mother spoke again as she held out another parcel, saying softly, ‘I thought I’d save this one till last.’
As soon as Ellen took it, she knew who it was from and ripped it open eagerly. Along with a letter, there was a beautifully carved wooden cat.
‘Oh, look,’ she said holding it up. ‘It’s from Dad.’
‘I know, darling, and he made it himself.’
Ellen stroked the cat lovingly and then placed it down to pick up the accompanying letter, her eyes filling with tears as she read it. She missed her dad so much, longed to see him again, and said sadly, ‘He … he doesn’t say he’s coming home. It’s been so long since his last leave and he must be due in port again soon.’
Socks rubbed against her legs and Ellen bent down to pick him up. He was a big cat now, sleek and lovely, but like Wilfred he’d taken to wandering. She looked at the beautifully carved one, her voice a croak. ‘Dad must remember Socks and that’s why he made me a cat.’
‘I’m sure he does, but don’t cry, love. It’s your birthday and it should be a happy time.’
‘Come on, Hilda,’ said Gertie brusquely as she rose to her feet. ‘You said you wanted to go to the village. We’ll wrap up warm and, Ellen, you can wear your new trousers, along with the hat, scarf and mittens.’
Ellen felt uncomfortable as she pulled on her new trousers, hating that it might show. ‘I’m ready,’ she said returning downstairs.
‘Right, I’ll harness Ned.’
As Gertie went outside, Ellen saw her mother looking at her before she said, ‘I’m sick of seeing you in trousers.’
‘You wear them all the time too.’
‘Sorry, pet, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that, like you, I’m missing your dad and it’s always worse when we’ve had letters.’
‘It’d be lovely if he was here for Christmas.’
‘Yes, it would, but come on, it’s your birthday and it’ll be nice to have a ride into the village.’
‘Mum, I feel funny wearing this … this rag thing. Does it show?’
‘No, you look fine.’
It wasn’t long before Gertie called out, saying as they set off, ‘As it’s your birthday, there’ll be no lessons for you today, especially as you did so well with your arithmetic yesterday.’
‘Thanks,’ Ellen said, but she really didn’t mind her lessons with Gertie. In fact, she made learning things fun. With Gertie’s way of bringing events to life, even history wasn’t boring, though Ellen knew she still struggled with geography.
‘It’s good of you to teach Ellen so much,’ said Hilda, ‘but once we’re back in London she’ll be able to go to a proper school again.’
‘That could be years away.’
‘Since the beginning of the war and that awful Blitz, there aren’t many bombing raids on London now.’
‘It still isn’t safe,’ Gertie warned.
‘Mum, you aren’t thinking about going back, are you?’ Ellen interrupted. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.’
‘All right, don’t go on about it. I didn’t say we’re leaving.’
They were all quiet then, the mood subdued, and Ellen doubled over as her tummy cramped. Gertie turned her head, her smile sympathetic.
‘Your mum told me that you’re menstruating. It’s a rotten thing to happen on your birthday.’
Ellen said nothing as she tried to get to grips with a new word. Menstruating, so that’s what they called it. She hated it – hated that she would have to go through this every month and she still didn’t understand why.
‘Nearly there, Hilda,’ said Gertie as at last they neared the village.
‘Good, I’m flaming freezing.’
‘It’ll get worse before it gets better.’
When they reached the general store, Ellen was about to climb down, but her mum said, ‘There’s no need for you to come in with me. Stay with Gertie.’
‘But …’
She was ignored, her mum hurrying into the shop.
‘What’s going on, Gertie?’ Ellen asked. ‘Don’t ask me, darling.’
It wasn’t long before her mum was back and clutching a cardboard box that Gertie leaned down to take from her while she climbed onto the cart.
‘Mum, what’s that?’ Ellen asked curiously.
‘Nothing much, a bit of shopping, that’s all. Right,’ she said, taking the box from Gertie, ‘we can go back to the cottage now.’
Ellen was puzzled, wondering how her mother had finished her shopping so quickly. ‘Aren’t you going to the butcher’s?’
‘No, now enough questions and let’s get home.’
As Gertie eased the horse out into the road a truck tooted from behind. As she pulled over, the sound of singing reached them as the vehicle passed. The tarpaulin was raised at the back, and they saw several women dressed in breeches, with green jerseys visible under open coats, all of them sporting brown felt hats. Some of them waved and Ellen waved back.
‘It’s the Land Army girls.’
‘The Land Army was first set up during the Great War following disastrous attacks on our merchant shipping,’ Gertie said, using this opportunity to give Ellen a history lesson. ‘We import about sixty percent of our produce, and with so many ships sunk during that war, Britain came close to starvation. The Land Army was formed and the girls carried out vital work in increasing our agricultural output. They were disbanded in 1919, but as we’re now in the same position, the government has re-formed the Land Army. Those women are invaluable to farms, either arable or dairy to increase production, and, though it’s jolly hard work, it’s once again vital.’
‘Rather them than me,’ Hilda said.
Gertie refrained from saying that both she and Ellen had been working the land for ages on her smallholding, and she didn’t know what she would have done without their help. When they left, she’d be lost – but as there was no sign of the war ending, thankfully she didn’t have to worry about it yet.
When they got back to the cottage, Hilda safely stowed the cake. Mrs Brandon had kindly offered to make it, insisting that she had enough ingredients hoarded to make it special. And it was, Hilda thought as she peeped inside the box.
‘Let me look,’ Gertie whispered as she came alongside, placing an arm casually around Hilda as she leaned forward. ‘I told Ellen to go upstairs and change into her old trousers.’
Hilda tensed. When Doug had left seventeen months ago she had missed him so much, and had thought nothing of it when Gertie had comforted her when she cried. The trouble was that since then Gertie still took to throwing an arm around her at every opportunity. Equally casually, Hilda moved away, saying, ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, very pretty, and Ellen’s going to love it. Is it fruit or sponge?’
‘Fruit! You must be joking; dried fruit is getting like gold dust. It’s sponge, but Mrs Brandon has sandwiched it with jam.’
‘I don’t know how she had the patience to make all those tiny little flowers out of icing sugar. I hate doing anything that’s fiddly.’
‘Gertie, let’s face it, you hate anything to do with cooking.’
She grinned. ‘Yes, that’s true, but thankfully you do it now. It’s nice to have you in the kitchen while I’m doing the mucky jobs outside.’
‘When it comes to the pigs, rather you than me.’
‘They’re clean creatures really, but I’d better get on with it,’ Gertie said, giving Hilda another quick hug.
Hilda stiffened, but seeing Gertie’s open smile she decided that she had to be imagining things. Gertie was just being friendly, that was all. They were as close as sisters, and surely sisters occasionally hugged? Not that she had one to judge by and, like Gertie, she was an only child. Hilda was saddened. History was repeating itself with Ellen, and though she’d hoped to find that she was pregnant when Doug had left, once again her hopes had been dashed.
‘Yes, Gertie, you get on while I make a start on our lunch.’
‘Righto, but I can’t wait to see Ellen’s face.’
She’s just being nice, Hilda told herself yet again as Gertie hurried off, yet there was still a niggle of doubt …
At two o’clock, Hilda called both Gertie and Ellen inside. ‘Grub’s up, but before both of you sit down, I think a wash is called for.’
‘Oh … Mum.’
‘Don’t argue, Ellen.’
‘Come on,’ Gertie urged. ‘We are a bit dirty.’
‘A bit! It looks like the two of you have been rolling in mud.’
‘You look nice, Hilda,’ said Gertie, a soft smile on her face.
‘As it’s Ellen’s birthday lunch I thought I’d make a bit of an effort,’ she said, looking down at her skirt. ‘You two should do the same.’
‘I don’t own a skirt,’ Gertie said. ‘Ellen does, though she’s grown so much and I doubt the two she has would fit her now. Go on,’ she urged, ‘at least make yourself presentable.’
They were soon back, smiling with appreciation at the nicely laid table. ‘My, aren’t we posh?’ Gertie said. ‘It’s almost like being back in my father’s house.’
‘Hardly. For one we haven’t got silver cutlery, and this table only seats four, not twelve, but for once I’ve put a nice tablecloth on it.’
‘I think it looks lovely,’ Ellen said as she took a seat. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘Vegetable soup.’
They all tucked in, and, once finished, Ellen was about to leave the table. ‘Hold on,’ Hilda said. ‘Stay there.’
‘Why?’
‘Never you mind.’
Hilda hurried to the scullery and, taking the cake out from under its cover, she lit the candles, but then suddenly, from nowhere, a strange feeling washed over her. No, no, she had to be imagining it, yet the sense of someone standing beside her, a presence, was strong. She wanted to turn her head, wanted to look, but, frozen with fear, she couldn’t move a muscle.
‘Come on, Hilda,’ Gertie called.
In that instant the spell was broken, leaving Hilda shaken and bewildered. At last she was able to move, to turn her head, but saw nobody there. Still trembling, she picked up the cake, and somehow managed to plant a smile on her face as she carried it into the living room. Her voice sounded a bit quivery, but this was a special moment for Ellen and she didn’t want to spoil it as she sang, ‘Happy birthday to you … Happy birthday to you …’
Gertie joined in and Hilda saw her daughter’s delighted smile. There had been few real treats since the war had started, and suddenly she found her eyes moist with tears. If only Doug were here – if only he hadn’t missed his daughter’s birthday again. Hilda shivered; the incident in the scullery was still with her and now she almost cried out against the thought that crossed her mind. Of course it hadn’t been Doug. She didn’t really believe in ghosts, in spirits, so why was she letting it get to her? It was just fear, Hilda told herself, that was all, the day-in, day-out fear for Doug’s safety.
‘Oh, Mum, it’s smashing,’ Ellen said, her eyes on the cake that Mrs Brandon had decorated so beautifully with pink and white icing.
‘Blow out the candles and make a wish,’ Gertie urged.
‘I … I wish my dad …’
‘Don’t say it out loud,’ Gertie warned. ‘If you do, it won’t come true.’
Ellen closed her eyes, this time making the wish silently, and then opening them she blew out all of the candles in one go. ‘There, it’ll come true now,’ she said, smiling happily.
Hilda fought to pull herself together. She could guess what her daughter had wished for and hoped it would be fulfilled – that Doug would get leave again soon, or, even better, that this rotten war would end and he would come home for good.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_a8e68567-6478-5caa-8c19-f7c7dcb6818d)
All Hilda’s worries and imaginings left her early in December when she got a letter from Doug. Christmas came, a spartan one, followed by a dismal New Year. There hadn’t been any more strange incidents, but sometimes Hilda found herself thinking about the feeling of someone being there, beside her in the scullery, yet she still couldn’t come up with an explanation.
One day in early January, Hilda decided to talk to Gertie about it, and said, ‘Gertie, do you believe in ghosts?’
‘Of course not. Why?’
‘You’ll think I’m mad, and anyway, it happened over two months ago.’
‘What happened?’
Hilda told her and, seeing the expression on Gertie’s face, she wished she’d continued to keep her mouth shut. ‘All right, I know it sounds potty.’
‘Our mind, senses and eyes can play all sorts of tricks on us, and if you want my opinion, that’s all it was. I refuse to believe in any of the mumbo jumbo that people come up with: ectoplasm, speaking to the dead, or, even worse, fairies at the bottom of our gardens.’
‘What on earth is ectoplasm?’
‘A substance emerges from so-called mediums and is supposed to be spirit, but if you ask me it’s just a clever conjuring trick, an illusion.’
‘So you don’t believe in life after death?’
‘I’d like to think there is, but there lies the problem. Scientists have looked into these claims and so far nothing has been proved. Until it is, I’ll stick with the scientists who deal with fact, not fiction.’
When Gertie talked about ectoplasm and fairies in the garden, Hilda had to admit it sounded a bit silly, yet she still wasn’t convinced. What happened to her had felt so real, yet if investigated she couldn’t offer proof. Oh, she was tired. With windows shut and curtains drawn to keep out the cold, she found the room stuffy and yawned widely. ‘I think I’ll turn in.’
‘All right and goodnight, dear.’
Hilda lit a candle to guide her upstairs, nervous as the flames flickered, illuminating some areas while others remained creepily shadowed. It was this old place, having no electricity, along with being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps Gertie was right and her mind had played tricks on her. In fact, if she stayed here for much longer, Hilda was beginning to think that it would slowly drive her mad.
Another couple of months passed and at last winter changed to spring again. Ellen loved this time of year when new green shoots emerged on plants and trees. It would be a time of planting again, working outdoors, something she loved.
It was still cold though, and any time spent on the smallholding meant wrapping up well, but digging was a great way to warm up. All three of them worked steadily and, at last, close to the end of March, Ellen’s wish came true. The cottage was too remote for visitors, so when there was a knock on the door they all looked at each other in surprise; Ellen was the one to answer it.
‘Dad! Oh, Dad!’
Moments later her mum was there. ‘Doug! I can’t believe it! It’s nearly two years since you were last here and I was beginning to despair of you ever getting leave again.’
Ellen moved aside as her father took her mother into his arms and their hug seemed to go on for ever.
‘Well, are you going to let me in?’ he finally asked.
Smiling with joy, Ellen walked in ahead of them, but Gertie looked less than pleased. ‘Doug. How long are you here for?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Is that all?’ Hilda wailed.
‘I know, love, but considering the journey was a bloody nightmare, at least I’m here.’
‘Did you come on that motorbike again?’
‘No, pumpkin, I had to get a train this time.’
‘How did you get here from the station?’ asked Gertie.
‘I managed to get a lift for part of the way, but had to walk the rest.’
Ellen couldn’t take her eyes off her father. He looked so handsome in his navy blue uniform, sailor’s hat worn at a jaunty angle and blue eyes shining as he held his arms out to her mum. She ran into them again, the two of them locked in an embrace. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he murmured.
‘I’ve missed you too, but look at me, in trousers, no make-up, and my hair in a turban.’
‘Darlin’, to me you’d look great in a sack, in fact, I can’t wait to get you into one.’
‘Doug! Ellen’s listening.’
‘Sorry, but how about a kiss?’
Ellen looked away as her parents’ lips met and her eyes fell on Gertie. She frowned, puzzled. Gertie looked furious, her face dark with anger. Yet why? She was about to ask her what was wrong, but then found herself pulled forward, her father’s arms enclosing her as well.
‘Come here, pumpkin. My God, look at you. You’ve grown so much.’
‘Are you hungry, Doug?’
‘Hilda, you know me, I’m always hungry.’
‘Yes, like father like daughter,’ Hilda said happily. ‘Well then, I’d best get you something to eat.’
Gertie had seen Ellen looking at her, the puzzled look on her face, and somehow managed to compose herself. It hadn’t been easy. She hated seeing Hilda in Doug’s arms, kissing him, and anger, along with jealousy, made her stomach churn. Hilda looked ecstatic as she scurried to make Doug something to eat, and now his attention was focused on Ellen as he sat down, pulling her onto his lap.
‘How’s my girl, then?’ he asked, hugging her close.
Gertie couldn’t stand it any more. Doug’s arrival was an unwanted intrusion, spoiling everything, and her carefully built-up illusion was being shattered again. When he’d left last time she had picked up the pieces, comforted Hilda, pretending sympathy when she cried, but feeling nothing but joy as she held Hilda’s slender body in her arms. Hilda seemed so fragile, so delicate, but of course that was an illusion too. Hilda was an enigma, appearing frail, yet sometimes as tough as old boots and was it any wonder that she loved this feisty, yet sometimes soft, woman?
Of course it hadn’t lasted, Hilda’s tears abating, and, with no excuse to wrap her arms around her, Gertie had to be content with just the occasional quick hug. Hilda had been with her for so long now and she’d been sure they were growing closer, dreamed of feeling Hilda’s lips on hers, but now Doug was here to come between them again.
‘What’s up, Gertie? You don’t look pleased to see me.’
Startled out of her thoughts, she said, ‘Er … of course I am, Doug. It’s nice for Hilda and Ellen, but such a shame you’re only here for three weeks. Anyway, lots to do so I’d best get on.’ On that note, Gertie hurried outside. Three weeks! Why couldn’t it be three days? Even better, three hours. There was only one crumb of comfort, Gertie decided as she tramped over the smallholding. When Doug left, Hilda would be distraught and would turn to her again for comfort.
It was only when they were in bed that night that Hilda and Doug could talk privately, but as they fell into each other’s arms after nearly two years apart, all Doug’s worries were put to one side as he made love, first passionately, and then gently, to his wife.
The sheets and blankets were in a tangle, their bodies glistening with perspiration, but now, as Hilda lay with her head on his chest, his worries returned and Doug voiced his thoughts. ‘Hilda, what’s going on with Gertie? She didn’t look too pleased when I arrived.’
‘I didn’t notice. I was too busy looking at you.’
‘I know I asked this last time I was here, but has she, you know, tried it on?’
‘Of course she hasn’t. I’ve told you before, we’re like sisters.’
‘Then how come when I was hugging you she looked jealous?’
‘Don’t be daft. You’re imagining things,’ Hilda told him.
‘If you say so,’ Doug said doubtfully as his eyelids drooped with tiredness. It had been a long day, delay after delay on the trains before he’d finally arrived; his last thought before falling asleep that he’d keep an eye on Gertie while he was here. If his suspicions were right, he wanted his wife and daughter as far away from her as possible.
Hilda lifted her head to see that Doug was asleep, the soft glow of a full, luminous moon shining on his face. She moved gently away to prop herself up on one elbow, gazing at him, heart bursting with love. Every day she had worried about his safety, fearing that his ship would join so many others that had been sunk with horrendous loss of lives. The thought of U-boats terrified her, visions of huge, dark prey, sneaking silently under the seas, torpedoes ready to strike unsuspecting vessels. She had nightmares, seeing Doug’s ship hit, of him fighting to get on deck while fire raged all around him. Hilda shuddered, recalling the many times she had awoken in the night, her nightmares so vivid she had thought them real.
She frowned, thinking about what he’d said about Gertie, and, though she had denied them at the time, his concerns echoed her own. Gertie had looked annoyed when Doug arrived, and she’d been funny with him all day.
Doug turned in his sleep and as his arm wrapped around her body, Hilda at last lay down. She didn’t want to worry about Gertie, didn’t want her short time with Doug ruined. She’d continue to deny her concerns and, anyway, Gertie hadn’t really tried anything – just an occasional hug that didn’t really make her feel threatened in any way. If Doug thought there was more to it, he’d go mad, so she would just have to alleviate his worries somehow.
Hilda snuggled closer, pushing thoughts of Gertie away. For now she could hold Doug – for now he was safe, but already she was dreading the thought of him going back to sea.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_b3b8a32b-47ac-57e6-9feb-7247a753879a)
The dawn chorus woke Ellen, and finding herself in a different room for a moment she was disorientated. Her last memory was of falling asleep on her dad’s lap, that thought causing her to sit bolt upright in bed. Her dad! Her dad was here and must have carried her up to bed in Gertie’s room.
Excitedly, Ellen flung back the blankets, careless of the cold linoleum underfoot as she scampered to see him. ‘Dad!’ she cried, jumping onto the bed.
An eye opened, a groan, and then he said, ‘Blimey, pumpkin, you’re up early. Come on, you’re cold. Get in between me and your mum.’
Ellen scrambled into the bed, uncaring that she had woken her mum as her arms wrapped joyfully around her father.
‘Ellen, your feet are freezing,’ Hilda complained, ‘and you’re a bit big for getting into bed with us now.’
‘Leave her, Hilda. She’s all right with us for a while.’
‘Doug … you … you haven’t got anything on.’
‘Bugger, I forgot about that.’
‘Why haven’t you got your pyjamas on, Dad? Did you forget to bring them?’
‘Er … no,’ he said, ‘but shift over for a minute and I’ll put the bottoms on.’
As his arm reached out to grab them from a nearby chair, Ellen was aware that her mother was getting out of bed. She turned over, eyes wide when she saw that her mum was naked. ‘Mum, where’s your nightdress?’
‘Stop looking at me. I forgot to put it on, that’s all.’
‘Hilda, now that you’re up, how about a nice cup of tea for your old man?’
‘See what you’ve done, Ellen,’ she complained, shrugging her flannelette nightdress over her head.
‘Blimey, talk about a passion killer.’
‘Doug, watch what you’re saying in front of Ellen.’
‘What’s passion?’ Ellen asked. ‘See what I mean?’
‘It’s just another word for enthusiasm, that’s all.’
Ellen still didn’t understand, but after wriggling about under the bedclothes her dad managed to get his pyjama bottoms on and she snuggled up to him again.
‘You needn’t think you can stay there for long, my girl,’ her mother warned. ‘Now that you’ve got us up at the crack of dawn you can give me a hand with our breakfast.’
‘I’ll get up when you fetch Dad his tea.’
‘Oh, so now he’s to have it in bed, is he?’
‘Cor, yes, please, love.’
Though her mum was trying to look cross, Ellen could see that she was happy, her brown eyes bright as she left the room. It was lovely to see her smiling all the time and she said sadly, ‘Dad, I wish you didn’t have to go back to sea.’
‘So do I, but buck up. We’ve got three lovely weeks together before that happens.’
There was the sound of a miaow and moments later Socks jumped on the bed, lying down on her father’s chest. He stroked his head, saying, ‘He was only a kitten the last time I saw him. He’s a whopper now.’
‘Yes, but he isn’t around much. He turns up every morning for something to eat and it’s my job to feed him, but then he’s off again.’
‘He should have been neutered.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Er … it’s something that’s done to tomcats to stop them roaming. Now tell me, did you like the carving I sent for your last birthday?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely and looks a bit like Socks.’
‘That’s what I was hoping,’ he said, but then as Ellen saw her mother walking in with a cup of tea he added, ‘Well, Ellen, if it’s your job to feed this cat, I think you’d best do it.’
‘But …’
‘No arguments. Now scat,’ he said. ‘I’ll be up soon, but stay downstairs until I am.’
Ellen reluctantly climbed out of bed, Socks jumping down to follow her out of the room. She heard her mum giggle, followed by the sound of the bed creaking, and it was over half an hour later before they appeared again.
Usually Gertie was the first one up, but not today. She forced a cheerful smile, saying as she sat at the table, ‘Good morning, Doug. Did you sleep well?’
‘Eventually,’ Doug said, winking lewdly.
Gertie couldn’t hold back a scowl, but hoped to hide it as she picked up the teapot to pour a cup, then adding milk.
‘Gertie, that tea’s been made for ages. I’ll make a fresh one,’ Hilda said as she walked through from the outhouse.
‘No, this will do me. I’ve got a lot to do and running late.’
‘I’ll cook you an egg on toast.’
‘No, Hilda,’ snapped Doug. ‘Ellen’s waiting and we’re going for a walk. Gertie wasn’t up when you were cooking breakfast and, anyway, I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of making her own.’
‘Yes, I am. Go on, Hilda, you can go for a walk.’
‘She doesn’t need your permission,’ Doug snapped.
‘Doug, what’s the matter with you?’ Hilda asked.
‘I just don’t think you need Gertie’s say so to go out. It’s not as if you work here or that Gertie’s your boss.’
‘Gertie took us in, you seem to be forgetting that.’
‘You pay your way and work on her smallholding. If you ask me she’s got a good deal.’
Hilda seemed to stretch, neck high and face flaming with temper. ‘Now you listen to me, Douglas Stone. I choose to do the cooking and, when necessary, outdoor work. Gertie works like a dog and, as her friend, I’m pleased to be able to help.’
‘Your friend, yes, but is that all she is?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Don’t act the innocent again. You know full well what I mean.’
‘My God, I can’t believe you’d even think such a thing.’
‘I saw what it was like when I was last here, with you waiting on Gertie hand and foot. She acts more like your husband than your so-called friend.’
‘Now you sound jealous.’
‘What do you expect! I’m in the navy and there isn’t much I haven’t seen, between both two men, and two women.’
‘Well, there’s nothing like that going on between Gertie and me,’ Hilda said forcefully.
Gertie said nothing as the row raged. She thought she’d hidden her feelings from both of them, but in Doug’s case she obviously hadn’t been successful. He thought she and Hilda were lovers but, oh, if only that were true. Still, she would have to be careful, to hide her feelings, or Doug might just persuade Hilda to leave.
Doug seemed to slump, his elbows on the table and his hands rubbing his face. ‘I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘I should think so too, but it isn’t just me who deserves an apology.’
Doug looked up, swallowed, then said, ‘Sorry, Gertie.’
‘That’s all right. You’re obviously under a lot of strain, and maybe you just needed to release a bit of anger.’
‘It’s the things I’ve seen, ships going down, men drowning before we could pick them up, horrible, terrible things.’
‘Oh, Doug,’ Hilda cried, running to kneel by his side.
Gertie couldn’t watch and quietly she went out of the back door. It’s a shame it wasn’t Doug’s ship that went down, she thought, then was immediately appalled with herself. How could she think like that? It was disgusting, dreadful – but nevertheless the thought wouldn’t go away.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_76419310-0382-5d2f-a9be-cbb94004960c)
Hilda didn’t have any nightmares while Doug was there, but he did, his sleep often broken as he would suddenly sit bolt upright, crying with horror in the night. She had of course forgiven him for his outburst over Gertie. More so now that she was seeing the evidence of what he had been through and, anyway, maybe he did have reason to be suspicious. Oh, not of her, but of Gertie.
Perhaps it was time to leave Somerset, to go back to London. As soon as Doug left in the morning, she’d put out feelers and write to Mabel to see if it was safe. Of course there’d be the problem of finding somewhere to stay. With so many houses destroyed, accommodation was short, but surely she’d be able to find something, even if it only had one room for now.
Hilda snuggled closer as she lay in Doug’s arms, her three weeks of happiness almost over.
‘The time has gone so fast and I can’t believe you’ll be leaving in the morning.’
‘I know, but come on, let’s make the most of our last night together.’
Hilda gave herself up to his lovemaking, and when it was over they were lying peacefully when she told Doug what was on her mind. ‘I’m so fed up here. I hate being in the middle of nowhere and might go back to London.’
‘I’m not going to argue with you, but you’ve got to think about Ellen and whether it’s safe.’
‘I know that, Doug, and I wouldn’t be daft enough to put our daughter at risk.’
‘I’d feel better if you stay here.’
‘I thought you didn’t like us living with Gertie.’
‘I don’t mind, love. I was mad to think there was anything going on between you.’
‘Yes, you were. I don’t fancy women, Doug. In fact, I don’t fancy other men. There’s only you.’
‘And you’re the only woman for me,’ he said, hugging her.
‘I thought sailors had a girl in every port.’
‘Not me, but I can only speak for myself. I don’t know about the rest of the crew.’
‘You’d better not be unfaithful,’ Hilda warned.
‘I wouldn’t dare. You’d have my guts for garters,’ he said, then yawned widely. ‘Let’s hope I get a night of unbroken sleep for once.’
‘I dunno about that. I might just wake you for another bit of nooky.’
‘You’re insatiable,’ he said, grinning widely. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing else for it. I’ll just have to wear you out now. That should stop your games.’
‘Ooh, yes, please,’ she said cheekily, yet as Doug bent to kiss her, Hilda felt another surge of sadness. With Ellen diving in on them every morning, this would probably be the last time they could make love – the last time she would be totally alone with her husband – and now she struggled against tears.
In the early hours of the morning, Gertie was still awake too. She could hear the noise coming from Hilda’s room. Every night had been the same, while Gertie lay with her stomach churning, longing for it to stop. At least it was the last night, she thought, and Doug would be gone in the morning.
Maybe, just maybe, now that Doug had planted the seed of the idea, Hilda might actually turn to her; after all, a woman without a man must grow frustrated. You’re a fool, an idiot, Gertie told herself as she turned over to thump her pillow. Hilda was normal and would never be attracted to someone of the same sex. But I’m not – I’m not! Gertie cried inwardly. In my mind I’m a man, yet cursed with this body of a woman.
At last, after a restless few hours’ sleep, Gertie woke early, pleased to find that Ellen was no longer beside her in bed. She smiled. Good. The girl had probably gone to her parents’ room and that would put paid to any more lovemaking.
It was over. Doug was going, and she couldn’t wait to see the back of him. Hilda would be upset, devastated, but after that they’d get back to normal – just the three of them, living like a family again.
Ellen could barely eat her breakfast as she sat across from her father. Gertie was the only one who looked cheerful, which made a change because out of sight of her parents, Gertie had been moody and snappy. Ellen had hated sleeping in her bed again, but if it meant her dad could stay, she’d do it for ever.
When her dad stood up, Ellen felt the tears welling and was unable to stifle a sob. She flung back her chair, rushing to him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. ‘Do you have to go, Dad? Can’t you stay?’
‘There’s nothing I’d like more, but if I don’t go back I’d be a deserter.’
‘What’s a deserter?’
‘Someone who runs away, who doesn’t go back on duty when their leave’s over.’
‘You could do that, Dad,’ she said excitedly.
‘If I did, I’d be named a coward and end up in prison. Never mind, pumpkin. This war won’t go on for ever, and when it’s over I’ll be home for good.’
‘Oh, Dad … I still wish you could stay here now.’
He held her close for a moment, stroked her hair, but then gently moved away. ‘Me too, but sorry, pumpkin, I’ve got to pop upstairs to get my kit.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Ellen cried, unwilling to let him out of her sight.
‘No, stay there. I won’t be a minute,’ he croaked, quickly heading for the stairs.
‘Listen, Ellen, I know it’s hard, but somehow we’ve got to be brave for your dad’s sake. He’s upset, too, so let’s see if we can send him off with smiles.’
‘I … I’ll try.’
‘That’s my girl.’
Her dad appeared again, kitbag slung over his shoulder. ‘Right, all set?’
‘Ned’s harnessed, so let’s go,’ said Gertie.
‘It’s good of you to take me to the station.’
‘Oh, it’s my pleasure.’
‘Right then, my lovely girls, time to go.’
‘Girl, huh, I wish I was.’
‘You’ll always be my girl, Hilda, even when you’re old and grey.’
‘I’d better be,’ she warned.
Gertie marched ahead of them out of the door and swung up onto the cart. ‘There isn’t room for all three of you up here. Perhaps you should sit on the back, Doug.’
‘I’m sure we’ll manage with Ellen on my lap,’ he said.
Ellen thought Gertie looked angry, but then her expression rapidly changed. With a shrug of her shoulders, she said, ‘OK, Doug, whatever you say.’
Ellen settled onto her dad’s lap, his arms tight around her. As they set off, she wished the journey could go on for ever, that they’d never reach the station; but if anything, Gertie seemed to be urging the horse to a faster pace than usual.
When they arrived in Crewkerne, Hilda fought to keep her composure, but inside she felt as though her heart was breaking. She wanted the train to be late, anything to stop Doug’s departure, but when they got to the platform it was already drawing in. She cursed Gertie, wishing the bloody woman hadn’t been in such an all-fired hurry to get here. Poor Ned had looked almost on the point of collapse by the time Gertie had drawn the cart to a halt. If the journey had taken longer, Doug would have missed this one and had to wait for the next. It might have taken hours, perhaps giving them time to walk around Crewkerne, to explore the town together; but instead it would be a hurried goodbye.
Steam hissed, engulfing part of the platform, as Doug said, ‘Gertie timed that right.’
Few people had got off the train and Hilda could see that the female guard was about to blow her whistle, her arm up and waiting to signal the train’s departure.
‘Bye, pumpkin,’ Doug croaked, quickly hugging Ellen.
Hilda then found herself crushed against him, and fighting tears she said, ‘I love you, Doug. I’ll always love you.’
The whistle sounded now, Doug’s voice strangled in his throat as he let her go to pick up his kitbag. ‘I love you too – both of you,’ and then he had to dive into the nearest carriage, only able to pull down the window to blow them a kiss before the train pulled away.
Hilda would never know how she managed it, her heart swelling with love for her daughter when she saw that Ellen, too, was somehow smiling as they waved him off.
They remained where they were, both still with fixed smiles on their faces and waving until the train went out of sight. Only then did Ellen turn to fling herself into Hilda’s arms.
‘Ned needs a bit of a rest,’ Gertie said innocently as they at last went outside, ‘but wasn’t it good that I managed to get Doug here in time to catch that train?’
Hilda was too upset to speak, but this was the final straw. She’d had enough. No matter what, she and Ellen were going back to London.
Chapter Ten (#ulink_b263d9aa-3130-5bbc-b9eb-89c1aca086a1)
Just a few days after Doug left, Ellen went down with an awful cold that turned to a raging fever, and two days later she passed it on to Gertie.
Hilda was run ragged as she nursed them both, along with seeing to the chickens, pigs and the goat. Bertie was contented once he’d been fed and would lie on Gertie’s bed, and the cats were happy and off out as soon as they finished the food in their bowls but Hilda became seriously worried as Ellen and Gertie’s temperatures fluctuated – one minute they were hot, the next cold. Tiredly she went into Gertie’s room.
‘I’m thirsty and my head’s splitting,’ Gertie moaned.
‘Somehow I’m going to have to go into the village. You both need to be seen by a doctor.’
‘Waste of time. He’s at least eighty,’ she said, then bent double with coughing before she croaked, ‘See how we are in a couple of days.’
Hilda rubbed her eyes. They’d been like this for over a week now and she was now feeling a bit rough herself. Maybe Gertie was right, maybe there would be an improvement soon. ‘All right, but if Ellen gets any worse, no matter what, I want her seen by the doctor.’
‘My throat’s raw.’
‘Here, drink this,’ Hilda said as she poured Gertie a glass of water. ‘I’ll be back soon, but I must see to Ellen now.’
Gertie lay back, closing her eyes, and Hilda quietly left the room. She found Ellen tossing and turning, her hair wet with perspiration and the bedding in a tangle around her. Hilda sorted the bed, bathed her with cool water and for a moment Ellen opened her eyes, but then they closed again. Hilda shook her head in despair. She felt so helpless and the feeling of isolation, of living so many miles from any other human beings, overwhelmed her.
For the rest of the day Hilda kept up her vigil, only leaving Ellen to see to Gertie and the animals. At night she sat in a chair by her daughter, unaware in the early hours of the morning that she had fallen asleep, her upper body and head resting on the bed.
‘Mum … Mum …’
Hilda awoke with a start, her back screaming with pain as she sat up. She groaned, still half asleep at first, but as soon as her eyes settled on her daughter, she was instantly awake. Ellen looked a lot better and, as Hilda reached out to place a hand on her daughter’s forehead, for the first time in a week she smiled. ‘Your temperature’s down. How do you feel?’
‘A lot better, and I’m hungry.’
Hilda could have danced with joy but, standing up, she swayed. Her throat was on fire, head thumping, but she fought it off, determined to get her daughter something to eat. ‘I’ll look in on Gertie, and then make you some breakfast. Hopefully, Gertie’s feeling better too.’
‘Mum, you look awful.’
‘I’m fine,’ Hilda lied.
Gertie was still asleep when Hilda peeped in the room, so leaving her for now she went downstairs, clinging to the banister for balance as her head swam. The range would need lighting and, opening the doors, she stuffed in paper and wood, before adding coke, praying she could get it going. Was that a knock on the door? No, surely not? The cottage was so remote and they didn’t get visitors. Another knock and, swaying with dizziness, Hilda finally managed to get to the door.
‘Mrs Brandon,’ she croaked.
‘You haven’t been to the village for a long time and I was worried about you,’ the woman said, but then paled, her hand reaching out. ‘My dear, are you all right?’
Mrs Brandon’s voice barely reached Hilda as she sank into a pit of darkness.
As Hilda’s condition worsened, she lost any sense of time passing, vaguely thinking at one point that she was in some sort of motorised vehicle. She drifted in and out of consciousness, hardly aware of what was going on around her as her temperature raged. When briefly conscious, coughs racked her body, the pain in her chest excruciating before she sank, exhausted, into blackness once again.
Voices reached her again and Hilda forced her eyes open, her first thought for her daughter. ‘Ellen … Ellen,’ she gasped.
‘Your daughter’s fine,’ she heard a gentle voice say, but then Hilda knew nothing once again, unaware until later that day that both her daughter and Gertie were sitting beside her.
‘Is she gonna be all right?’ Ellen asked a nurse worriedly as she stared at her mother’s ashen face.
‘There’s been some improvement,’ said the nurse.
Ellen saw her mother’s eyelids flicker, and then they opened, her eyes dazed and confused.
‘Wh … where am I?’
‘You’re in hospital, my dear; and, look, your daughter has come to see you.’
‘Ellen,’ Hilda said, her head turning.
‘Oh, Mum … Mum.’
Hilda started to cough, the nurse raising her shoulders, and Ellen stared with horror as her mum’s chest heaved and she fought for breath.
‘I think you should both go now,’ the nurse urged.
‘Go?!’ Gertie said, looking annoyed. ‘But we’ve only just got here.’
‘I’m sorry, but maybe Mrs Stone will be more up to visitors tomorrow.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ Ellen cried. ‘I don’t want to leave her.’
‘Your mother needs to rest, my dear,’ the nurse said. ‘I promise you she’s in good hands.’
Ellen looked frantically at her mum as the nurse lowered her gently back onto the pillows. Her eyes were closed again, body limp. ‘Mum … can you hear me?’
There was no response and, unable to help it, Ellen began to cry. Gertie had told her to be brave, but how could she be brave when her mum looked so ill? ‘She … she’s not going to die, is she?’ she sobbed.
‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse said kindly. ‘I’m sure your mother is going to be fine.’
‘Ellen, you know your mum,’ Gertie said. ‘She’s a fighter and she’ll get better, you’ll see. Now come on, let her rest and we’ll come back tomorrow.’
Gertie hoped she was right as she took Ellen’s hand, gently drawing her away and out of the small ward. They had all been ill, apparently flu, and if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon taking it upon herself to call, Gertie dreaded to think what would have happened. Gertie had shunned the people in the village, called them nosy busybodies, but now she knew that if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon, Hilda could have died. The woman had rallied help, and taking it in turns to use an ancient bicycle, two villagers had come in to nurse them all, but then, as she and Ellen recovered, Hilda had worsened, developing what they now knew to be a serious chest infection.
‘Oh, Gertie,’ sobbed Ellen. ‘My mum looked awful.’
‘I know, darling, but, as the nurse said, she is improving,’ Gertie said, trying to reassure Ellen, yet equally worried by what she had seen. Hilda didn’t look any better to her, but she had been unable to fob Ellen off any longer and had given in, allowing the child to come with her when she went to the hospital instead of leaving her with Mrs Brandon. It had been a bad decision, one she regretted now. Maybe the nurse was right, maybe they would see an improvement tomorrow, especially as she doubted that she’d be able to keep Ellen away now.
On the way back to the cottage, Gertie stopped off at the village and, holding out her arms, Ellen jumped off the cart and into them, the two then going into the general store together.
‘How is she?’ Mrs Brandon asked.
‘The nurse said she’s improving.’
‘Oh, God is good,’ the woman said. ‘Mrs Stone is such a lovely person and we’ve all been praying for her. I’ll pass on the news and I know that everyone will be delighted.’
‘I’ve already thanked Mrs Levison and Miss Pringle, but my added thanks to you for all you’ve done and for looking after Ellen while I went to the hospital. I don’t think it will be necessary any longer, but it was very kind of you.’
‘She’s such a lovely girl, no trouble at all. Ellen, I bet you were pleased to see your mum.’
‘Yes, but … but she looks awful.’
‘As she’s been so ill, it isn’t surprising, but it’s lovely to hear that she’s getting better. You wait and see; your mummy will be on her feet and home again in no time now.’
Ellen looked a little more cheerful, and after she got a hug from Mrs Brandon, they said their goodbyes and left the shop. Gertie helped Ellen onto the cart, and then climbed up beside her, taking the reins.
‘Mrs Brandon said that God is good and that they’ve been praying for my mum. Gertie, do you believe in God?’
‘I think I’ll have to pass on that one, darling.’
‘We used to sing hymns in assembly when I was at school, and one of the teachers used to teach us about things in the Bible. You never do that.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. All I can say is that I can’t teach you things that … well … I’m not sure about,’ Gertie said, hating this subject. Her father had turned her away from any leanings she might have had towards religion. Did he really think that she wanted to be this way? That she chose to be this way? With a sigh of exasperation, she signalled Ned to move off, but then had to pull him up again as someone called out to her.
‘Miss Forbes … Miss Forbes.’
Gertie turned to see Martha Pringle hurrying towards her, a basket clutched in her hands. ‘I’m so glad I caught you,’ the woman said. ‘I know it takes such a long time getting to Crewkerne and back, so I made you this.’
Gertie took the proffered basket, seeing an earthenware dish in the bottom.
‘It’s a chicken casserole,’ Martha Pringle said, ‘something for the two of you to have for your dinner.’
‘Goodness, how kind,’ Gertie said, amazed that these women she had snubbed were still rallying round to help. Yesterday Mrs Levison had given her a lovely rabbit pie, and now this.
‘How’s Mrs Stone?’
Once again Gertie passed on the news, but, anxious about the animals now, she again thanked Martha Pringle before setting off.
‘Give her my kindest regards,’ the woman called and once again Gertie was humbled. She’d been a snob, stuck up, afraid that if the villagers found out about her, they’d make her life a misery. She’d lived like a recluse until Hilda arrived, but, unlike her, Hilda had always been friendly to these women when she saw them in the village, taking an interest in their lives. Gertie sighed. The barriers she had put up had been breached now, and though grateful for all their help, Gertie wasn’t sure that she wanted any more intrusions into her life.
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_62a64b48-8575-50bc-b02f-a975d9778bff)
Hilda slowly recovered, but it took a long time. She was left debilitated, but at last allowed home, only to have Gertie fussing over her. At bedtimes, Gertie had wanted to help her undress, but, no matter how weak she felt, Hilda wouldn’t stand for that.
So much time had passed since her illness and it was now early June, the weather lovely as, earlier than usual, Hilda climbed out of bed. Gertie was still treating her like an invalid, the physical contact getting worse, the touching, the stroking, and it was turning Hilda’s stomach. Not only that, Gertie was even more reluctant to go to the village now, and they had only been once since Hilda had left hospital. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner, though at least that one occasion had given her the chance to post two letters.
Socks made an unusual appearance, jumping up on the bed. ‘Leave her alone,’ Hilda said as the cat lay on Ellen’s chest, his front paws paddling her as he purred loudly. ‘I’ll feed you today.’
As if he understood her words, the cat jumped down again to follow Hilda. She fed him, then lit the range, hoping that Gertie would take them to the village once again. It didn’t help that she was so busy and behind with the planting. Ellen did her best, but no matter how many times Hilda said she felt strong enough, Gertie wouldn’t let her help.
Socks licked his paws, and then went out through the cat flap, but only moments later Wilfred pushed through, his round, green eyes looking up at her in appeal.
‘All right, I know you want feeding too.’
‘You’re up early,’ came Gertie’s voice from behind her.
‘So are you.’
‘I’ve got a lot to do.’ Laying an arm around Hilda’s shoulder, she asked solicitously, ‘How are you feeling today?’
‘Gertie, how many times have I got to tell you? I’m fine. In fact, if you’ll run me to the village after breakfast, I’ll make it up to you by giving you a hand with the planting when we get back.’
‘I can’t spare the time.’
‘Gertie, we’re low on food and need to stock up.’
‘Can’t you just knock up some vegetable soup again?’
‘I’m sick of the sight of it,’ Hilda said, then trying another tactic, ‘If you won’t take me, fine, I’ll walk.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m not being silly. Ellen needs more than soup for nourishment, and I can’t even make any bread. We’ve run out of flour, and yeast, let alone not having a scrap of meat.’
‘All right, we’ll go to the village, but we can’t stay long.’
Hilda busied herself with feeding Wilfred. Yes, she had talked Gertie into going, but her feelings of isolation, of being trapped here, were growing ever stronger. Please, please, let there be a reply to her letters, because if she didn’t escape soon, Hilda feared she’d go out of her mind.
Ellen was happy as they rode to the village, the sunshine warm on her back, but wished she could say the same about her mum. She was well again now, but so quiet and moody. Gertie was always giving her mum hugs in an attempt to cheer her up, but if anything that just seemed to make it worse.
‘Now remember, we can’t stay long,’ Gertie warned as Ned trotted along. ‘I’m not only planting, I’m weaning the piglets.’
‘All right, there’s no need to nag. I just want some shopping, a newspaper, and to see if there’s any mail.’
Ellen wished Gertie hadn’t mentioned the pigs. Like last year, and the year before, she knew there’d been a large litter. All but one would be sold again, a part of living on the smallholding Ellen still didn’t like.
Gertie took one hand from the reins, leaning across Ellen to lay it on her mum’s leg. ‘Cheer up, Hilda.’
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, impatiently pushing her hand away.
Gertie then patted Ellen’s leg, too. ‘Your mum might be a bit short-tempered, but it’s nice to see her looking so well now.’
Ellen glanced at her mother, but she was staring straight ahead, her lips tight; sensing her mood, Ellen remained quiet for the rest of the journey.
When they arrived at the general store, Gertie made no attempt to climb down, only saying, ‘Don’t be long, Hilda.’
‘I’ll be as long as it takes,’ she retorted angrily.
Ellen clambered down and inside the shop, Mrs Brandon returned their greetings. ‘Hello, and it’s nice to see you both. There are two letters for you, Mrs Stone.’
Ellen saw her mum’s face light up as she took them. ‘This one’s from my husband, but as I only wrote to him ten days ago, they must have crossed in the post.’
‘What else can I get you?’ Mrs Brandon asked. Hilda passed her a list, chatting to Mrs Brandon as she gathered the goods together, while Ellen ogled the few sweets on offer, thrilled when her mum said they had enough coupons to buy some. The sherbet lemons looked sticky and clung to the jar as they were shaken onto the scales, but Ellen’s mouth watered with anticipation.
‘There you are, Ellen,’ said Mrs Brandon as she passed her the paper bag.
‘I’m sorry I can’t stay longer to chat,’ her mum said, ‘but Gertie is anxious to get back to the smallholding.’
‘Yes, it’s a busy time of year.’
Calling goodbye, they left the shop.
‘It’s about time,’ said Gertie as they returned to the cart.
‘I’m going to the butcher’s, so you’ll just have to wait.’
Ellen didn’t like his shop. Sometimes he had whole dead rabbits hanging from hooks and the sight sickened her. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she called as her mum hurried off, and then, climbing up beside Gertie, held out the bag of sherbet lemons. ‘Do you want one?’
‘No, you eat them. I haven’t got a sweet tooth.’
Ellen pried one sticky sweet from another and popped it into her mouth as her eyes roamed the small village. To her it was beautiful, the thatched cottages, the stone walls behind which lay pretty gardens. She loved it here, the countryside, and living on the smallholding. She sighed with happiness, hoping they’d never leave.
When Hilda returned again to the cart, Gertie asked, ‘Did you get everything we need?’
‘Yes,’ Hilda said shortly, and as the horse ambled along she pulled out Doug’s letter, anxious to read it. She smiled at first, loving his cheeky innuendoes, but when she got to the second page her expression changed. Doug must be out of his tiny mind, writing about how much he’d enjoyed working on the smallholding and going on to suggest that after the war they move out of London. No way, Hilda thought as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She’d had enough of living in the back of beyond with hardly any amenities other than a few village shops. In London you could jump on a bus, a train, or the tube and go anywhere without a problem. Here there wasn’t any transport and all they had to rely on was a flaming, cantankerous horse.
‘What did Dad say?’ Ellen asked again.
‘He misses us, he’s fine, and he sends you his love.’
‘When’s he coming home again?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hilda said sadly.
Once outside the village the road became uneven and they bounced as the cart hit an occasional hump, but despite this Hilda managed to scan the newspaper. Her mood lightened. There hadn’t been any raids over London, and she dared to hope. She wanted to be away from Gertie, to have her own home again, somewhere to settle and for Doug to return to when this rotten war was over. Keeping her thoughts to herself, Hilda folded the newspaper. She didn’t want to talk about her plans in front of Ellen, and, anyway, with the way Gertie was behaving lately, she might kick up a fuss. Hilda wondered yet again if she was imagining things; yet recalling the many times Gertie found any excuse to touch her nowadays, she doubted it. There’d been so many hugs, so many occasions when she’d caught Gertie looking at her with a strange, almost lustful expression.
Hilda shivered. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but, just in case, she wanted to be away from Gertie; the thought of her wanting a love affair nauseating.
Gertie knew that Hilda was fed up with life in the country and there’d been times when she’d talked about going back to London, yet, despite this, she wasn’t worried. Hilda was a loving and protective mother who would never put her daughter at risk, their stay with her assured until the war was over. ‘I saw you had two letters,’ she said. ‘Who was the other one from?’
‘Mabel. I’ll read it when we’re back at the cottage.’
‘Was there anything interesting in the newspaper?’
‘There’s no mention of bombing raids on London and, as Hitler has turned his attention to other targets, there’s speculation there might not be any more.’
‘You said it, speculation, and no guarantee.’
‘Look,’ Ellen said, pointing to a farmer’s field. ‘It’s full of Land Army girls.’
‘Lucky farmer,’ Gertie said. ‘I wouldn’t mind a few of them helping out on my smallholding.’
‘I’ve offered to get stuck in, but you won’t let me,’ Hilda said curtly.
‘Once you’re fully recovered, I’ll welcome it.’
‘I am fully recovered, and I’ll tell you something else, I’m fed up with you telling me what I can and cannot do.’
‘All right, calm down. It’s just that you were so ill and I’m worried about you over-exerting yourself.’
‘I’m a grown woman, not a child, and if I say I’m up to giving you a hand, then I am.’
‘Fair enough,’ Gertie said. ‘You can start tomorrow.’
‘I’ll start when I’m good and ready – not when you decide to give your permission.’
Gertie shook her head. When Hilda was in this mood there was no pleasing her. Her chest infection had been serious, so bad that Gertie had feared she would lose her. Maybe she had been a bit bossy, over-protective, but it was time to loosen up. They needed to get back to normal, to return to their old routine, and once that was achieved, Hilda was sure to brighten up.
Chapter Twelve (#ulink_488cc5f0-ad71-55df-b46f-994395e5ef14)
When they returned to the cottage, it wasn’t long before Gertie and Ellen were working outside again, while Hilda read Mabel’s letter, her mind racing. Mabel wrote that South Clapham was still lovely, hardly touched by the Blitz, or any of the infrequent bombing raids that followed. The next bit of the letter was more exciting. By an absolute fluke, Hilda’s letter to Mabel had arrived at an opportune time. Apparently the old lady who lived downstairs was unable to look after herself any longer and was going to live with her daughter. Mabel had already spoken to the landlord on Hilda’s behalf and he was willing to let her have the place, but to secure it she’d have to travel back to London as soon as possible.
Gertie was sure to kick up a fuss, and Hilda didn’t want Ellen to hear what might develop into a row, so going to the back door she called, ‘Gertie, can you come in for a minute? I need a hand with something.’
Thankfully Hilda saw that Ellen remained where she was, and as soon as Gertie reached her, she beckoned her inside, saying curtly, ‘Gertie, we’re going back to London.’
‘What! No, Hilda, tell me you don’t mean it.’
‘Mabel said a flat has come up, and if I go back I’ve got a strong chance of getting it.’
‘You’re being selfish. Ellen loves it here, but you’re going to drag her back to London where it isn’t safe.’
‘It is safe and I am not selfish.’
Gertie’s stance became rigid, her lips set in a tight line. ‘You’re not going. Despite what you say, London is too dangerous. I insist you stay here.’
Anger flared in Hilda and she yelled, ‘Who are you to tell me what to do? If I want to go back, I will. In fact, we’re going right now!’
‘And how do you think you’re going to get to the station? I’m not taking you.’
Hilda fumed. It was miles to the village, let alone Crewkerne, but even if it took many hours, somehow she’d get there. ‘And you call me selfish. It won’t work though, Gertie. You can’t keep me a prisoner and if you won’t take us, fine. We’ll walk to the village and I’m sure someone there will give us a lift to Crewkerne.’
As Hilda stomped outside, Gertie almost doubled over in anguish. She’d said all the wrong things, been too forceful, and her stupid threat that she wouldn’t take them to the station had rebounded. She’d wanted to delay Hilda, to have time to talk some sense into her, but instead it had made Hilda even more determined to leave. Gertie wanted to chase after her, to beg her to stay, but Hilda was now so angry that there’d be no getting round her.
Poor Ellen, she’d be so upset, but that thought gave Gertie a smidgeon of hope. Seeing her daughter’s distress might be enough to sway Hilda, and Gertie now hurried back outside, hearing Ellen’s voice high in appeal as she drew closer.
‘No, Mum! I don’t want to go.’
‘It’s safe in London now and we’ve no reason to stay here. Now get a move on. We’ve got packing to do.’
‘No,’ Ellen said mutinously.
‘You’ll do as I say, my girl.’
‘I want to stay here!’
Gertie laid a hand on Hilda’s arm. ‘Please, at least leave Ellen with me.’
‘No!’ Hilda spat, pushing a protesting Ellen ahead of her to the cottage.
Gertie knew she had lost and, heartsick, she stood unmoving, watching them go. Before they’d arrived she had become used to living on her own, adapted to the loneliness by burying herself in working the smallholding. She’d found a contentment of sorts, but their arrival had changed all that; her way of living, of thinking, had been transformed and Gertie knew she couldn’t face the life of a recluse again.
She had loved teaching Ellen, had seen how she enjoyed the lessons, her mind absorbing so much. Gertie knew she was a talented teacher, a wasted talent now, and with that thought came a yearning to teach again. With her past record she doubted it would be possible and for the first time in years Gertie felt tears flooding her eyes. She wasn’t an emotional woman, but Gertie cried now, cried at the thought of losing Hilda, of losing Ellen, and for the loss of her career.
Sobs racked Gertie’s body and she folded at the waist, clutching both arms around her stomach. Oh Hilda, Hilda, please don’t leave me, her mind screamed, until her knees gave way and she sank onto the ground.
Ellen didn’t want to leave, couldn’t bear the thought of going back to London, but her mother was so angry that she found herself almost shoved upstairs and into the bedroom.
‘Do … do we have to go?’
‘Yes, and I can’t believe that selfish bitch. We’ve worked like bloody dogs since we’ve been here, outside in all weathers, and what thanks do we get? None! She won’t even take us to the station.’
‘I … I didn’t mind doing the planting, Mum. I like seeing things grow.’
Ellen was ignored, her mum opening drawers and stuffing things into a case, but she tried again nevertheless. ‘Mum. I … I’m scared. Ger … Gertie said there still might be bombing raids in London.’
At last her mum’s face softened as she beckoned Ellen to her. ‘Now listen, I wouldn’t take you back to London if I didn’t think it was safe, and not only that, we won’t be living in Battersea. We’re going to Clapham. From what Mabel told me, it’s a nice house. She lives upstairs, and we’ll be downstairs. You’ll love it there, and it’s close to the Common with a nice school too.’
‘I … I’d rather stay here.’
‘I know you would, but it’s time you went to a proper school and mixed with girls of your own age again.’
‘I could go to the one in the village,’ Ellen suggested in a desperate attempt to change her mother’s mind.
‘You know it’s too far away. Now come on, buck up. We’ve a train to catch and a long walk ahead of us to the village. To start with, grab that carving your dad made for you from the windowsill.’
Ellen did as she was told, but as she picked up the cat and looked down onto the smallholding, she frowned. ‘Mum, what’s wrong with Gertie?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look,’ she urged.
‘Oh Gawd,’ her mother said when she saw Gertie on her knees, the dog frantically scrambling all over her and trying to lick her face. ‘Stay here and take over the packing.’
Ellen didn’t do as she was told, but remained at the window, watching as her mum rushed outside. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but moments later Gertie was on her feet, reaching out to drag her mum into her arms.
Hilda had been worried about Gertie, but was now more worried about herself as she fought the vice-like embrace.
‘Gertie, leave off. I know you’re upset, but let me go.’
‘Don’t leave me, Hilda. Please don’t go.’
‘Stop it!’ she yelled, writhing with panic as Gertie’s lips sought hers. With her arms clamped, Hilda did the only thing possible and stamped hard on Gertie’s foot. ‘Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare kiss me!’
At last she was free, sickened by what had happened as she stared at Gertie in disgust. ‘And you wonder why I’m leaving!’
‘Hilda, please, I’m sorry, it … it’s just that you haven’t objected when I’ve touched you, and … and I was beginning to think …’
‘Well, you thought wrong! I took it as just friendly affection, a sort of sisterly affection, so of course I didn’t object.’
‘Oh, Hilda, what I feel for you is more than that. I … I love you … I’ve always loved you and can’t bear the thought of losing you.’
Hilda stood rigidly in shock and indignation. ‘Losing me! You never blinking well had me. I’m a married woman – married to a man! I don’t fancy women and you know that!’
‘Of course I know and I was stupid, mad, to hope. Honestly, it was just a moment of madness, that’s all. If you stay I promise it’ll never happen again.’
‘Too bloody right it won’t. The sooner I get out of here the better.’
Gertie seemed to deflate before Hilda’s eyes, her tone desolate when she spoke. ‘All right, I understand, but don’t leave like this. Can’t we at least part as friends?’
Ellen came running out of the back door, white-faced and calling, ‘Mum, what’s wrong? Why are you fighting? Why did you stamp on Gertie’s foot?’
Hilda drew in a deep breath, fighting for composure. ‘We’re not fighting. It’s just a bit of a misunderstanding, that’s all.’
Ellen didn’t look convinced, but then Gertie knelt down and beckoned her over. ‘It was my fault, Ellen. I wasn’t very nice, so no wonder your mother stamped on my foot.’
‘Does it hurt?’
Gertie’s laugh sounded forced as she said ruefully, ‘Yes, a bit, but I forgive her and I hope she forgives me. Don’t worry, we’re friends again now. Isn’t that right, Hilda?’
Hilda paused before answering, yet saw the concern in her daughter’s eyes and knew she’d have to go along with it. ‘Yes, but come on, Ellen, we’ve still got packing to do.’
‘What about Socks? We can’t leave Socks.’
‘Sod it, I forgot about the cat. With our luggage, I don’t know how we’re going to manage him too.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Gertie. ‘I’ve got a basket somewhere and he’ll be fine in that. You won’t have to walk. I’ll take you to the station.’
Hilda knew that Ellen would kick up a fuss if they left without the cat so it wasn’t practical to refuse the offer. Her thanks were begrudging as she urged Ellen inside and she dreaded the long ride to town. At least Ellen would be with them so they wouldn’t be alone, but if Gertie laid another finger on her, bigger in stature or not, she’d flatten the unnatural cow.
With a spurt of energy, Hilda threw their things into the cases. She had used every excuse in her mind to return to London: the need for her own home, to find some sort of work that would help the war effort, along with Ellen’s education. Mabel said it was safe, so she’d chosen to ignore Gertie’s warnings of more air raids. Now, after what had just happened, she no longer had to find excuses to leave – her conscience was at last clear.
Gertie reluctantly harnessed the horse, her emotions in turmoil as they set off. Hilda wouldn’t look her in the eye, her expression implacable as they left the smallholding. She cursed her own lack of control. If she’d kept her hands to herself, maybe Hilda wouldn’t be so intent on leaving, yet, even as this thought crossed her mind, Gertie knew that it wouldn’t have made any difference. Hilda hated it in Somerset, and though living with her for well over two years, she’d never adapted to country life.
Sadly, Gertie glanced at Ellen and saw she was close to tears. Ellen had come to Somerset a pale, stammering, nervous wreck, but now she had blossomed, glowed with health and had been a pleasure to teach.
‘Ellen, did you pack your books?’
‘I wanted to, but Mum said they’d make my case too heavy. Will … will you look after them for me?’
‘I’ll do my best, but as I too might be leaving, perhaps I should parcel up our favourites and post them to you.’
Hilda’s head shot around. ‘Leaving! What do you mean? I hope you’re not going to follow me back to London.’
‘No, Hilda, but I feel it’s time for me to wake up, join the world again. I’m thinking about enlisting in one of the armed forces.’
‘Yeah, well, the uniform would suit you,’ Hilda said derisively. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure that as a woman, you’d be allowed to wear trousers.’
‘Hilda, don’t be like this. I’d kept away from you for years, and you seem to be forgetting that it was you who asked to stay with me. I wasn’t sure how I’d cope, but knowing you were in danger, how could I refuse?’
‘I asked to stay with you because I saw you as a sister. I trusted you!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been in such a state. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving and lost control.’
‘That’s enough! Ellen shouldn’t be hearing any of this. All I’ll say is that you shouldn’t have tried it on, and now just shut up about it.’
‘What did you try on, Gertie? Was it one of Mummy’s dresses?’
Gertie floundered for a moment, but then said, ‘Yes, my dear, I’m afraid I did try on your mother’s best dress and she wasn’t very happy about it.’
‘Why? Did you tear it?’
‘Well, darling, look at the size of me compared to your mother.’
Ellen giggled, and it was followed by a chuckle from Hilda before she said, ‘I suppose in a way I should be flattered, but I wasn’t, Gertie. I was just disgusted and in future, don’t you dare do that again.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Your friendship means too much to me and I won’t risk losing it. We are still friends, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose so, but only friends and no more.’
‘I’m happy with that,’ Gertie assured her. She’d been mad to want more – mad to expect that Hilda would feel the same, and though Gertie doubted her feelings would ever change, at least she had the compensation of Hilda’s continued friendship.
‘Are you really going to join up?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Will you sell the smallholding?’
‘It wouldn’t be practical to keep it. Unattended it would just go to rack and ruin and I have to think about the animals too.’
‘What about Bertie?’ asked Ellen.
‘I’ll have to find a new home for him.’
‘And Wilfred?’
‘Him too.’
‘Mum, can we have Bertie?’ Ellen appealed.
‘We can’t, love. We’ve already got Socks.’
‘Socks won’t mind. He likes Bertie.’
‘I’m not sure the landlord will allow one pet, let alone two. As it is, if we get the flat, we may have to sneak the cat in.’
‘But, Mum …’
‘That’s enough,’ Hilda snapped, her patience obviously wearing thin and her mood changing again.
‘Your mother’s right, Ellen, and anyway, I doubt Bertie would be happy living in London. Don’t worry, I’ll find him a good home locally,’ Gertie assured her as they neared the village. ‘Hilda, if you want to catch the train, we won’t be able to stop. If we do it’ll mean getting a later one.’
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