A Christmas Promise (5 page)

‘Dulcie isn’t coming this afternoon,’ Olive told Audrey Windle as they tidied away the remains of the morning’s knitting session in the church hall. She was feeling a bit better now after her little wobble with Agnes the other day, and after giving herself a good talking to she was back to her usual cheerful self. ‘Dulcie sent a boy around with a note before I left this morning to say Hope was feeling a little under the weather.’ Olive brought more cups into the little back room they used for making tea, while the other WVS members were busy making boot socks or balaclavas for men serving abroad.

‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ Audrey said, drying the first load of tea cups and putting them back into the cupboard with the saucers. There had been a good turnout this morning so there were a lot of cups to wash, dry and put away.

‘She’s teething,’ said Olive, putting the next lot of cups into the now cooling water and beginning to wash them. ‘You know what children are like at that age.’

‘Is Dulcie still looking after her sister’s boy?’ Audrey asked conversationally.

‘Yes, most definitely,’ Olive said. She told Audrey almost everything about her life. Being the good friend she was, Audrey would tell nobody else, and she was the only person with whom Olive could comfortably discuss her private concerns. ‘Dulcie and David are quite attached to the little fellow. They treat him exactly like their own child, and little Hope loves him to bits, and why wouldn’t she? Dulcie has reared him since he was born; he is like a son to her.’

‘It’s wonderful to see Dulcie’s caring nature come to the fore,’ Audrey said, smiling.

‘I know. She was quite a game girl when she first came to Article Row,’ Olive said, laughing, as she put the clean cups and saucers onto the draining board ready to be dried and put away. ‘I almost didn’t let the room to her, although she did have quite a forceful personality back then and I didn’t seem to have much choice.’ Both women smiled at the thought. ‘You are right, though, Audrey,’ Olive continued, ‘marriage and motherhood have been the making of Dulcie. She has such a happy little family now.’ As they finished their chores Olive told Audrey that she would go and see Dulcie later.

‘Well, if you’ve a couple of hours spare and don’t mind terribly, I could do with a hand at the Red Cross shop.’

‘Of course.’ Olive was glad to be of service and it would take her mind off Tilly. ‘I’ll just get my coat and hat.’

The two women headed towards the Red Cross shop, where they took in anything that could be sold off to raise funds to send parcels to servicemen in need. ‘Oh, look, somebody has left a box,’ said Audrey, bending to pick it up.

Olive unlocked the door and switched on the electric light, as Audrey put the brown cardboard box onto the L-shaped counter, the long side of which ran along the length of the shop. On the far wall, there was a tall bookcase that contained very old and much-thumbed books, which could be bought for coppers.

‘I heard that, the Japanese won’t let any ship into their waters, not even ones flying the Red Cross,’ said Audrey as she went to open the box.

‘I heard that too.’ Olive furrowed her brows. ‘I was told that food parcels meant for POWs in Japanese camps are being stockpiled in Vladivostok because the Japs won’t let anything through.’

‘Poor souls,’ said Audrey, ‘as if it isn’t bad enough our men are being taken prisoner and held under who knows what kind of conditions?’

‘All we can do is keep trying to get something out to them, a book or a packet of cigarettes …’

‘Talking of little luxuries, would you come and have a look at this lot.’ Audrey sounded surprised and when Olive looked inside the box she could understand why. There were luxury items that Olive had seen only in shop windows before the war; silk negligés, a fur jacket, beautiful leather shoes … Audrey’s eyes were wide with surprise. ‘Somebody has left us a fortune’s worth of stuff, and look at this!’ Beneath the quality clothing there were rings of gold; a beautiful sapphire pendant …

‘Oh, Olive, wouldn’t this be perfect for Tilly’s birthday – if you don’t mind, of course?’ Audrey said, handing the sparkling gem to Olive, who went over to the latticed sticky-taped windows and held it up to the bright sunshine.

‘Audrey, you are so right. Come and have a look at this!’ Olive exclaimed as dazzling violet and vivid purplish tones shot through the exquisite blue stone. ‘It is perfect, just the colour to compliment Tilly’s eyes – I can imagine her wearing it so clearly … How much shall I put in for it?’

‘That’s completely up to you, dear,’ Audrey said, patting Olive’s arm. ‘What do you think it’s worth?’

‘Well, I have put a bit by for Tilly’s present, and I do want to contribute … What do you think?’

‘It’s a fine piece,’ said Audrey, examining the beautiful pendant shaped like a tear- drop. ‘I hardly think the chain will be real gold, though; probably brass. How about two shillings and sixpence?

‘Oh, I couldn’t!’ Olive exclaimed. ‘It must be worth more than that. The stone is exquisite and that alone would tempt me to part with thirty shillings.’

‘I don’t think that much, dear,’ Audrey said, having another look at the beautiful stone. ‘I know, what do you say to a pound?’

‘A pound it is.’ Olive was thrilled with her purchase. ‘It is perfect at twice the price.’

‘Here, I think we’ve got a box somewhere,’ Audrey said, fishing in the counter drawer. Moments later, she held a dark blue leather box triumphantly aloft. ‘You won’t find a better gift in Hatton Garden!’

‘Audrey you are a life-saver,’ Olive declared, ‘and even though Tilly won’t be home to open it, it will be waiting for her as soon as she is.’ In a moment of exhilarated happiness she threw her arms around her long-time friend.

‘You always manage to come up with something special for the occasion.’ Olive laughed as tears filled her eyes. The pendant looked so delicately exclusive nestling in the white silken folds of the leather box that she could not fail to imagine Tilly being thrilled with the gift. ‘I hope it will be something for her to treasure and remember her twenty-first birthday by.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ said Audrey with a little catch in her voice. Then rallying: ‘Now who’s going to put the kettle on while the other one puts out the collection boxes?’

‘I’ll do that right now.’ Olive laughed, so relieved that she had secured Tilly’s gift. ‘And I’ve still got enough saved up to do a little buffet … You will come, won’t you, Audrey?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world and I’m sure there might be a spare bottle of communion wine knocking about somewhere to toast Tilly’s big day, even if she isn’t going to be there.’

‘You are so kind,’ Olive said. ‘But I wonder who left the box outside.’

‘We may never know. Some people don’t want to be recognised when they are giving to charity,’ Audrey said as the shop began to fill.

For the rest of the morning, Olive and Audrey operated as a team, each knowing how the other worked, having been working together for most of the war. Olive had never had a friend before Audrey. Having been orphaned and married young, she had not really had time for a close friendship and would have welcomed someone like Audrey when she was nursing her sick husband after the Great War. After that, raising Tilly alone and looking after her in-laws, she didn’t have a social life. And if there was one thing she did have to be grateful to this war for – if anything about it could make her grateful – it was joining the WVS and palling up with Audrey, who was a wonderful friend and always there if Olive needed discreetly to voice her worries about anything that was bothering her. Strangely, though, she had never mentioned her meeting with Drew Coleman’s father, letting Audrey think that Tilly’s relationship with the young American journalist had fizzled out naturally.

She enjoyed her days in the Red Cross shop with Audrey. It gave them a chance to catch up with everything that interested them and usually swap books they had just read. Also, as the air raids had become less frequent of late, it gave them a chance to review the stock and get on with the important work of sending parcels to prisoners of war and servicemen in colder climates, who needed new socks and balaclavas, which the other WVS members knitted in the church hall each morning. There was always something to keep them busy, and that was just the way Olive liked it.

‘How’s Archie these days?’ Audrey asked when they closed the shop at lunchtime and sat down in the small back room for a well-earned cup of tea. Olive didn’t mind Audrey’s interest. Audrey had a genuine interest in her friendship with Archie; whereas, Nancy Black was looking for salacious gossip. Also, Olive knew that if she didn’t talk to someone about her slowly developing relationship with Archie she might burst with the effort of keeping it to herself. It was Audrey who had persuaded her that she had done nothing wrong – and nor had Archie.

They were two people who had been through exactly the same thing – widowed, young in Olive’s case, and not so old in Archie’s – and they each knew exactly what the other was going through. Their friendship was a comfort to Archie, Olive knew – and it seemed that Audrey had more or less given her permission to allow herself to think that way, and not feel ashamed about giving Archie a shoulder to cry on, as she would have done if she had listened to Nancy Black’s toxic criticism of anyone or anything that did not concern her. There was something about Audrey’s kind, calming manner that was wonderfully comforting, and Olive felt she could be herself with Audrey and take time off from being everybody else’s mainstay.

‘I heard the butcher is having some meat delivered this afternoon, if you fancy queuing up with me,’ Audrey said over the rim of her cup, and Olive’s face lit up.

‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if it was a nice bit of brisket for a pot roast?’ Both women closed their eyes, savouring the memories of the days when they could walk into the butcher’s and choose any piece of meat they wanted. ‘It’ll probably be liver,’ said Olive. ‘I can’t stand liver.’

‘Better than the meat bones some housewives say are for the dog.’ Audrey laughed. ‘You know quite well they are rushing home to make a pan of soup with them.’

‘And glad of it, too,’ Olive added, looking at Audrey from the other side of the table, and they both burst out laughing.

‘Look what this war has turned us into,’ Olive said, when they had calmed a little, ‘a pair of drooling dreamers just at the mention of a cheap cut of meat.’

‘This pie’s lovely, Olive,’ Archie said appreciatively, enjoying the steak and kidney that Olive had managed to bag at the butcher’s.

‘I was lucky, there wasn’t much left after I’d been served, and I’m sure Audrey was sorry she let me go before her in the queue.’

‘I’ve heard some farmers are substituting beef with horse,’ said Archie, who was in a position to know these things.

Barney suddenly looked up from his plate, his face a mixture of don’t-say-that distress and revulsion, his knife and fork hovering between his pie and his mouth, and Olive raised her eyebrows.

‘You’d eat it if you were starving, lad,’ Archie said, tucking in, ‘and if you don’t want your share, just push it over this way.’

‘Oh, you don’t get me that easily,’ Barney said, relaxing and cutting a wedge of pie. ‘I nearly fell for that then!’ He chuckled as he tucked into his pie, enjoying every mouthful now.

‘I can assure you that I would never buy horse to eat, and our butcher would never dare sell it,’ Olive said in a voice that brooked no argument.

‘How would you know?’ Archie asked conversationally. ‘Have you ever tasted horse?’

‘No,’ said Olive, then, after pondering for a moment, added, ‘at least, I don’t think so.’ She looked around the table, satisfied with what she saw. Sally wasn’t home from the hospital yet, and Agnes was on a late shift and would eat at work, so that just left her and Archie, Barney and baby Alice. And a wonderful family scene it made too, she thought – except none of them was related. But that didn’t detract from her feeling of contentment. And after securing Tilly’s present for her twenty-first birthday, she knew the day could not be more perfect.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ Rick panted as he hurried on to the platform where Tilly was still patiently waiting, his khaki greatcoat flying in his wake.

‘Only most of the afternoon.’ Tilly laughed. ‘I’ve had to fend off many an amorous advance while I’ve been waiting for my knight in rusty armour to turn up!’ She laughed as Rick gave her an enormous bear hug that almost squeezed the air right out of her body. Holding on to her khaki cap as he twirled her around, she felt herself grow dizzy, staggering a little when he let her go. Regaining her balance, she playfully pushed him away.

‘Who said you had no strength, Mr Simmonds?’

‘That will be Lance Corporal Simmonds to you, young lady,’ Rick laughed, pointing to the stripe on his arm, and Tilly squealed with delight, knowing he had regained his place in the British Eighth Army.

Then, after a moment of mutual admiration, Tilly pointed to the two stripes on her own arm, saying, ‘And it’s Corporal to you, young man, so don’t come the old soldier with me.’ Then, as another burst of laughter bubbled in her throat, Tilly revelled in the look of amazement on Rick’s face.

‘So that means I have to salute you?’

‘Behave yourself,’ Tilly roared, looking up at him. ‘At a good twelve inches taller, you’d have to lean over for me to see it – especially on a railway station platform!’ However, she knew that if they were on an army base he would be her subordinate; the thought gave her a
frisson
of delight. But Tilly’s elation was short-lived as their train pulled into the station and Rick made a human shield of himself to allow her easy access to an empty carriage.

‘How do you fancy doing a stint at the Red Cross shop with me this afternoon, Barney?’ Olive asked as she inserted a pin into the red hatband of her bottle-green WVS hat.

‘I’d love it, Aunty Olive, but I’ve just got to check for the eggs,’ Barney said, disappearing out of the back door. He had stayed with Olive and the girls at number 13 the night before, when Archie was working his night shift at the local police station.

Olive smiled. She would have been proud to have a son like Barney. He had grown into a kind, thoughtful boy and had changed so much since Archie and the late Mrs Dawson took him under their wing. He stayed regularly at number 13 now; in fact, he was here more than he was in Archie’s house further up the Row, and he was marvellous with Alice, which gave Olive peace of mind, as she didn’t like him hanging around with the rough crowd from the East End he used to see a lot, and with whom he had got into a few scrapes.

Even though Archie had gone through a lot of grief and heartache over the last years, he never gave up on the lad whose soldier father had never come looking for him. When Mrs Dawson died, Archie found comfort in looking after Barney; it gave him something to get up for in the morning when there seemed little else. Now the boy had developed the same wry sense of humour and thoughtfulness as Archie, bringing to mind a little saying Olive’s own father had used: ‘As the twig is bent so the tree will grow …’

‘They’ve been busy,’ Barney said, coming back in, unrolling the bottom of his sleeveless pullover that Olive had knitted with the navy-blue wool unravelled from an old cardigan. ‘There’s six here.’ His face was alight; he had never got over the excitement of going out to the chicken coop and finding the rare, delicious prizes provided by the hens each day, which were shared with neighbours and friends.

‘I’ll pass some over to Nancy. I’ve heard her little grandchildren in the garden; they must be staying for a while,’ said Olive as she went out to the back garden to hang up the galvanised bucket on a nail hammered into the wall.

‘Mrs Black collared me to ask how many eggs had been laid today,’ Barney told Olive, whom he now looked on as an additional parent. ‘I didn’t tell her, though; I pretended I didn’t hear her.’

‘Knowing Nancy, she’ll have heard every one of them being laid,’ Olive said, laughing and shaking her head in wonderment at how the older woman could move at lightning speed when she had a mind. Olive knew her covetous eyes would have devoured the precious eggs, even though she had a lot to say about Article Row turning into a farm-yard when Barney first brought the chicks home. But Nancy wasn’t slow off the mark when Olive shared the surplus eggs and was usually the first to offer to take any going spare.

Olive shared them with Nancy, of course, but only after she had delivered them to those who deserved them, and who had pooled their potato peelings to boil up for chicken food and returned the shells to mix in with the mash and corn, which Nancy had been doing only recently – and now she knew why.

‘We can pass the eggs in to Nancy on the way to the shop,’ Olive said, checking her hat and giving a satisfied nod to her reflection they made their way to the front door.

Olive was just locking the front door when she was stopped in her tracks at the sight of the young telegraph boy, not much older and considerably shorter than Barney, heading down the Row of three-story houses on one side and the backs of ivy-clad business premises on the other. She watched his approach with a hint of dread, secretly praying he didn’t stop at her front gate.

In a flash, it seemed, Nancy’s door opened again and she was out by her own gate in no time at all. The two women looked fleetingly at each other as the telegraph boy approached the pavement outside their houses, and clenching his brakes before expertly swinging his leg over the crossbar of his bike.

Olive watched him skilfully balance the pedal of the bike on the pavement and she felt her heart thrumming in her throat as the cold hand of fear clutched at her heart, while every nerve in her body was screaming,
Please, Lord, don’t let it be Tilly … Please don’t let anything bad have happened to my precious daughter.

‘Mrs Robbins?’ The telegraph boy asked as fear screamed through her. Olive could only nod as words failed her. Then he handed her the dreaded telegram, every mother’s nightmare.

*

When Sally took her morning break she knew there was something she had to do before she even went for the cup of tea she was dying to drink. She looked at the clock: it was almost ten forty and if she was lucky she might just catch Drew before he was discharged.

He hadn’t been given a bed on Men’s Surgical as his father had an arrangement with the powers that be to keep him in a private room where he could recuperate in peace, be waited on hand and foot, and have visitors at any time of the day.

‘Steady on your pins?’ Sally asked as she popped her head round the door and was glad to see Drew smiling. ‘All set to go?’

‘I didn’t think I’d be this nervous,’ he laughed. ‘Dad’s ordered a car, would you believe?’ Drew was dressed in a smart new suit, the likes of which could not be bought here in London for love nor money – and even if it was possible to find one to buy, Sally was certain nobody had enough coupons to splash out on just one suit. Drew stood tall. He had been practising with the doctors for weeks now, and was determined he would walk out under his own steam with the aid of one walking stick, which had been sent over from America by his father specially for this day and which Drew vowed would be a temporary attachment.

‘What do you think?’ he said proudly, standing to attention at the side of his bed, which he had made himself even though the whole lot would be scrubbed and cleaned as soon as he vacated the room, as it was after every patient.

‘Oh, very smart, I must say,’ Sally beamed, taking in the plain, good quality navy-blue material of his suit, the broad-shouldered, loose-fitting jacket worn over a pristine white shirt, which, she assumed, would be handmade.

Drew’s father had all his clothes, even pyjamas, sent over from their tailor in America, and as Sally took in the plain but most certainly expensive gold cufflinks and blue silk tie, she said, ‘We’ll be sorry to see you go.’ Then she added, ‘I haven’t said anything … at home.’

Drew nodded; he knew exactly what she meant and he was glad that she was so discreet. It would be so much easier. The room grew silent and Drew shifted a little, looking uncomfortable, Sally thought, and why wouldn’t he? He had been stuck in this place for months.

‘I’ve been working so hard for this day,’ he said, breaking the oppressive silence, vaguely patting his pocket to check for something that Sally could not distinguish. Then, as if satisfied, he beamed one of those handsome smiles that had all the young nurses agog.

‘Do I look all right, Sal?’ He seemed nervous all of a sudden.

‘You look great,’ Sally said, proud of the fact that he had endured the gruelling months of recovery with such fortitude. Such suffering as he had been through would have finished off a weaker man.

‘Do I look good enough to go to a wedding?’ It was apparent he was eager for her response.

‘Well, you’d have to put some shoes and socks on, of course.’ Sally laughed, looking down at his bare feet. ‘But you look good enough to go to the Palace, never mind a wedding – why, who’s getting married?’

‘I am,’ said Drew. and suddenly alarm bells rang in Sally’s head.

*

‘Will there be a reply?’ the telegraph boy asked, and Olive shook her head. She didn’t have a clue what the telegram would say and she didn’t want to either. The young lad from the Post Office went back to his bicycle.

Olive felt her throat constrict as Barney stood beside her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. For once, Nancy was silent, her gaping mouth covered by the four fingers of her right hand. Olive regarded the official-looking cable in her hand. Every instinct told her to rip it open, find out what it said. But she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking too much.

‘Shall I open it for you, Aunty Olive?’ Barney said in that gentle, mature tone she had heard Archie use so often. Silently, too shaken to speak, she handed him the envelope. If anything had happened to her precious darling Tilly she didn’t know what she would do. How could she go on if her only daughter – her only child – had been injured, or … worse.

She watched Barney slip his forefinger under the flap of the envelope as if she was watching a scene from the pictures. This was happening to someone else, not to her! His long, sensitive fingers, which handled the chickens so expertly, so tenderly, were taking out the piece of paper from within the envelope … and he silently read the words.

He was quiet for a moment before he raised tearful eyes and said to Olive in a low voice, ‘It’s Tilly.’

Olive took in an anguished, painful gasp of air. All she wanted to do was run. She didn’t know where she wanted to run to, but she knew she didn’t want to hear it if Barney had bad news for her. He put his hand on her arm as if to steady her and Olive knew she had to hear what the telegram said one way or the other.

She couldn’t move as the painful cry caught in her throat and she found it hard to swallow … Then she saw Barney’s expression change … and he was smiling.

‘Oh, no, Aunty Olive – she’s not …’ His words were jumbled as he excitedly tried to explain. ‘She’s coming home! Tilly’s coming home – today!’

Olive felt her legs buckle and, if Barney hadn’t been there to hold her up, she was sure she would have sunk to the ground with relief. Tears of joy coursed down her cheeks as she took the telegram and tried to make sense of the words.

‘Oh, thank you, God! Thank you! My darling girl is coming home for her birthday!’ Olive cried, hugging Barney, while Nancy, unbeknown to her, let out a long stream of pent-up breath.

‘Well, Olive, I never thought I’d see the day when you cried in the street,’ Nancy said, quickly regaining her equilibrium.

‘Nor me, Nancy.’ Olive was laughing now. She hadn’t heard from Tilly for so long that this telegram had suddenly become a godsend. Tilly couldn’t wait to see everybody again, it seemed such a long time since she was last home. As the train swayed from side to side the rhythm of the engine lulled her. Tomorrow was her twenty-first birthday – the day when she and Drew had planned to marry and live together as man and wife for the rest of their days. But it wasn’t to be. Drew had gone back to America last year and she had never heard from him since.

Automatically her fingers sought the Harvard ring he had once placed on the third finger of her left hand. He had promised that he would never ask for it as long as he still loved her, and she had promised that she would never give it back as long as she loved him – and it still nestled on a gold chain close to her heart. Tilly felt her throat tighten as her head rested against the leather seat. She was tired and had been travelling for many hours, and the train was packed with soldiers and service personnel.

‘Is everything all right, Tilly?’ Rick asked as a slow smile played about his lips. They had been courting for a while now, and though they were happy enough, Tilly hadn’t felt that zing of breathless excitement when Rick put his arms around her as she had when … no, she mustn’t think of that any more. Drew had gone; he was in the past. Her future was a glorious journey of discovery. It was early days in her and Rick’s relationship and she didn’t want to rush things the way she had wanted to with Drew. Tilly nodded and gave a lazy smile back. She was tired now and she longed for the ease of her comfortable mattress back home, the pampering she knew she would receive from her mum and the welcome oblivion of sleep.

She hadn’t been home for months and had missed everybody terribly, but she couldn’t keep in touch with Mum or the girls while she had been training at a top-secret place known only as Station X.

Her work was strictly hush-hush and must never be spoken about to anybody, not even Mum. Maybe this would be her last leave before being sent somewhere else. Where that would be she did not know.

‘D’you fancy going to a dance tomorrow? Or would you prefer to have dinner at Quaglino’s?’ Rick asked. ‘Seeing as it’s your special birthday.’

Tilly surmised he wouldn’t choose to take her to such an exclusive, high-class establishment; Rick preferred singsongs around an old piano in a public bar. But the mere mention of the restaurant name once again brought back memories of Drew, and how he had held her hand across the table. Then their eyes had locked as she felt herself cocooned in the deepest fathoms of his soul as his forefinger lightly traced the outline of her face. That was the Christmas they vowed to be together for ever. But it wasn’t to be. She knew that now.