Anne Douglas (32 page)

‘I can shoot,’ Rod retorted. ‘At one time I used to do a lot of target practice; I got into it at school. I admit I haven’t done it for some time, but there’ll be intensive training.’

There was another silence as eyes turned to Lindy, who was still stroking Gingerboy with quickly moving fingers. She was looking at no one.

‘Lindy, how can you let this happen?’ Myra demanded. ‘Stop this foolish laddie from risking everything for a country he doesn’t even know!’

For some moments Lindy made no answer. Then she let Gingerboy go and looked across at her stepmother. ‘It’s the way he is,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s no way I can change him.’

‘Oh, Lindy,’ Rod muttered and, reaching towards her, clasped her hand.

‘So you’ll just wait and hope for the best?’ asked Myra. ‘I don’t know what you’re thinking of.’

‘She’s right,’ George said slowly. ‘It’s the way Rod is. He’s one for justice, like he was for me.’

‘One for himself,’ Myra said curtly. ‘What about the ones he’s hurting, eh? Our Lindy. His dad? What’s your dad going to say, Rod?’

‘I’m hoping he’ll understand why I’m going,’ Rod said in a low voice. ‘I think he will.’

‘Oh, yes, everybody has to understand, eh? Rod, I’ll never think the same of you, never!’

‘It’s between him and Lindy what they do, Aunt Myra,’ Struan told her. ‘We shouldn’t interfere.’

‘Believe me, Mrs Gillan, I wish with all my heart that things were different,’ Rod said desperately. ‘Believe me, I do.’

When she said nothing, only sat staring at her hands on her lap, he rose and moved towards the door. ‘I think I’d better go. Goodnight to you all. And . . . I’m sorry.’

As no one spoke he glanced at Lindy, who joined him at the door, and after a moment or two they went together from the flat into the street.

‘I don’t blame them for hating me,’ Rod muttered. ‘I wonder you don’t do the same.’

‘I don’t hate you, Rod.’

‘You know I love you? However it seems, I love you?’

‘I know, Rod.’

‘And you’ll wait for me?’

‘I’ll wait.’

Their arms wound around each other, their lips met.

‘This isn’t the last goodbye, Lindy,’ Rod whispered. ‘Not yet.’

‘When will it be?’ she faltered.

‘I’ll tell you as soon as I know.’

‘Goodnight, then.’

He shook his head, unable to speak, and opened his car door to take his seat. When, after a long moment, he drove away, he did not look at her and she did not wave, but stood for a while without moving.

‘Don’t say anything,’ she murmured when she returned to the flat. ‘I don’t want to talk.’

‘Poor lassie,’ murmured George, but no one else spoke.

The last goodbye to Rod was something Lindy never wanted to live through again. It took place at Waverley, Edinburgh’s central station, from where he was due to travel to London for the boat train and Channel crossing to France. From there he’d be making for Spain to join other volunteers for training before active service.

Active service. She knew what that meant. Fighting. Danger. But all she could do was hope. In the Great War millions had been killed but some came back. Please God, let Rod come back this time, she prayed, though what right she had to ask that she couldn’t say. The wives and sweethearts of all the volunteers willing to fight in Spain would be feeling the same as she did; all knew some would not be coming back.

Rod, of course, was trying to keep his once usual calm, but as they stood on the platform by the side of the long London train she could detect a tension in him which had only appeared since his decision to go to Spain. She knew that he was worrying about her and, at the same time, wondering if he would be able to face whatever he had to face. Now that the time had arrived to depart, the tests ahead had come closer, the call on his courage nearer, and the last goodbye to his beloved was upon him. Sorry as she was for herself, Lindy could feel her sympathy flowing over him and, as the hands of the station clock moved on, she flung her arms round him and clung to him, her tears not far away.

‘Oh, God, Lindy will you be all right?’ he groaned. ‘I feel so bad – so guilty –’

‘Look, you’re doing what you have to do. I’ll be fine. I’ve got my life all mapped out for when you’re away.’

‘All mapped out?’ Rod tried to smile. ‘You mean your evening classes?’

‘That’s right – my English and maths I’ve signed up for. And then there’s my Logie’s job and any modelling – for the time being, anyway – and checking on your house and writing to your dad. You needn’t worry about me, Rod. I won’t have time to think.’

‘It’s good of you to write to Dad, though when he’ll get the letters I don’t know. He probably hasn’t had mine yet.’ Rod sighed. ‘I wish I hadn’t had to tell him what I’m doing, but I had to, hadn’t I?’

‘He’ll understand,’ Lindy said, her eyes misting as she looked across to the clock. ‘Rod, dearest – it’s time.’

‘I’ll write to you,’ he said fiercely, ‘even though I’ve been told we’ll be lucky if any post gets through, in or out. But I’ll get news to you somehow, Lindy, I promise.’

‘The guard’s got his flag ready,’ she whispered. ‘Better get on the train, Rod.’

‘One last kiss, Lindy.’

They kissed long and passionately, both shedding tears, then Rod, moving stiffly, climbed aboard the train, staying by the door that a porter slammed behind him so that he could take a last look at Lindy. But the train was moving, slowly, slowly, then gathering speed, and though Lindy ran down the platform, waving as she went, her steps soon slowed and she was left alone, her hand dropping to her side. There was nothing to do but to turn away and go back to Logie’s, from where she’d been given permission to take the time off for this last, terrible, wrenching goodbye.

But as she passed the refreshment room she felt so suddenly faint she knew she must have something to get her through – tea or coffee, a scone, maybe – and went inside.

Gratefully drinking coffee at a small table, she began to feel stronger, able to go on to work, anyway, but not better. Oh, God, no. When could she ever hope to feel better? She was crumbling the scone, keeping her tears at bay, when someone came to sit beside her and a man’s quiet voice said, ‘Lindy?’

She looked up and saw that it was Neil. Neil as he used to be, not anxious, not eaten up with feeling, not even a little strained, but looking well, really well – even – could it be – happy?

‘Neil,’ she said faintly. ‘You’ve found me again. What are you doing here?’

‘Waiting for the next London train. What about you?’

She hesitated. ‘I’ve just been seeing Rod away.’

‘Rod? Your young man? Look, mind if I bring my coffee across?’

When he’d brought his coffee over he gazed at her, taking in, she guessed, the tear stains on her face, her look of desolation.

‘He was going to London, too?’ he asked.

‘Further than that. He’s joined the Republican International Brigade. He’s gone to fight in Spain.’

‘Oh my God!’ Neil’s eyes were horrified. ‘And left you? How could he do that, Lindy? Why, you’re engaged. How could he leave you like that?’

She almost told him that he had once left her, too, but she only shook her head. ‘He feels he has to help. It’s the way he is. But I don’t want to talk about it.’ She drank her coffee. ‘What’s taking you to London, then?’

He relaxed, smiling again. ‘You’ll never believe it, Lindy, but I’m going to see a publisher. He likes what I’ve sent him of my novel. He wants to take it.’

For a moment the mists of her grief cleared and she stared in amazement. ‘You’re going to be published, Neil? That’s wonderful! Tell me about it.’

‘Well, this was the third publisher I’d tried. The others turned it down, but he thinks it’s terrific. It’s called
Rejection
– and if you think it’s about me, it is, partly. The hero is rejected in love, but he goes on a journey of discovery, of the world and of himself.’ Neil sat back. ‘And he triumphs, Lindy. He comes through. So what do you think of that?’

‘I think it’s terrific, too,’ she said quietly. ‘I couldn’t be more pleased for you. Will you let me read it when it’s published?’

‘You bet. Look, can I get you another coffee?’

‘No, thanks. I have to go back to work. This is my day at Logie’s.’ Lindy touched Neil’s hand. ‘It was grand to see you, Neil. Good luck in London.’

‘I wish I could walk with you but I’ve got to catch my train.’ Neil, standing, suddenly stooped and kissed her cheek. ‘Keep in touch, Lindy, and I hope . . . I hope all goes well for you and for Rod. May he come safely home.’

‘Thank you.’

Slowly she made her way from the refreshment room, Neil following, then they smiled and parted, and she continued alone to travel the short distance from Waverley into Princes Street and Logie’s. Now the dark clouds had descended over her again and she knew she must endure them. For how long there was no way of knowing. How could there be, when no one knew how long a war would last? Or if a soldier would return?

Time passed but, in spite of all her attempts to keep busy, it was too slow for Lindy. She had her jobs and her studies, even the hope that she might soon be able to think of switching to work for the welfare of women and children, but nothing dulled her anxiety for Rod, whose few letters told her so little.

Even great events in the United Kingdom – the abdication of Edward the Eighth and the coronation of his brother, George the Sixth, scarcely drew her attention, most of which she concentrated on daily reports in the newspapers on the changing situation in Spain. She followed all the battles and sieges, including the vital siege of Madrid, which seemed to have ended with a win for government forces and might have been cause for celebration, except that it wasn’t long before the pendulum swung the other way and the rebel nationalist forces, led by the powerful General Franco, were in control of much of Spain.

Yet the fighting went on and there were rumours of cruelty and atrocities on both sides, and still so little news of Rod. All he would say was that he was all right, managing well, and as for her letters to him, he hardly ever received them.

Everyone she knew was sorry for her, wondering how on earth she was bearing up, to which she could only reply that people in her situation had no choice. They kept going because they had to. All the same she knew that, secretly, her family, Jemima, Neil and all at number nineteen were preparing one day to treat her as someone who, though never married, had become a kind of widow. She, though, would not accept that. Not until she had no choice.

Of course, there were pieces of good news she could enjoy. Jemima’s engagement to Struan, for instance, as soon as he had managed to land a full-time job with Wellmore’s, where George was doing so well. And then there was Rosemary’s wedding, which Lindy and Jemima attended, stepping for a while into Never-Never Land, where everyone seemed rich and beautiful and drank champagne, but which they kept secret from Neil. His recently published book had been a huge success, and even though folk at number nineteen couldn’t afford to buy it, they’d queued up to read it from the public library, amazed that their ‘Mr Shakespeare’ had done well after all. Lindy, of course, had her own signed copy, and did take real pleasure in that.

There were some good things in life, then, but as time moved on and news of Rod dried up, Lindy’s courage slowly began to seep away and she sometimes felt she could not go on. Only when she saw Rod’s father on his return from Australia did she manage to put on a brave face, as the two of them exchanged hopes that all might still be well. In the melting pot that was Spain it was not surprising that there should be no news of individuals – they must just be patient. But when Rod’s father had sailed away again, down sank Lindy’s heart, never, she thought, to rise.

And then it happened. Out of the blue, for the civil war had not come to an end, it was announced in the League of Nations in September, 1938, that all Republican international brigades were to be disbanded. No more foreign nationals would be required. Why, it was not clear, though the papers seemed to think that such a move would win support from the West for the government. All Lindy knew was that there was the light of hope streaming into her life at last. If Rod were alive, surely, surely, he would be coming home?

Every day she waited for news and every day was disappointed, until one morning a postcard arrived with an indecipherable postmark. It was from Rod. Myra had brought it in before everyone left for work, and when Lindy saw it she turned so pale, Struan cried, ‘Watch out, she’s going over!’

‘I’m not, I’m not!’ she cried, but as her legs collapsed under her she sank into the nearest chair, the postcard still in her hand. ‘Oh, listen, listen – he says he’ll be arriving at Victoria Station, London, on December the seventh! Can you believe it? I must go. I must be there!’

‘Lindy, it’s only September,’ said Myra.

‘I know, I know.’ Lindy put her hand to her brow. ‘You know, I feel so strange – everything seems to be going round . . .’

‘Struan, fetch some water,’ Myra ordered, but it was George who squeezed the teapot.

‘A cup o’ tea is what Lindy needs,’ he declared. ‘Seeing as we have no brandy.’

‘You no’ got any o’ that port left?’ asked Struan.

‘Tea will be fine,’ said Lindy, and burst into tears.

Where was he, where was he? On the platform at Victoria, that chill December day, Lindy was bobbing up and down in the waiting crowd, searching for Rod. There were so many men alighting from the train, shaking the hands of Clement Attlee and other well-known people come to welcome them home that she couldn’t single him out, yet he must be there. But where?

Most of the men, she noticed, were still in rough uniforms; others had found a variety of things to wear, and though some looked well, others were bandaged or leaning on sticks. Was Rod one of these? Her eyes were everywhere, searching, searching . . .

And then she saw him. He had just spoken a word or two to one of the official party and was now moving on; his eyes, too, were searching, searching. For her, of course, but at first she couldn’t speak his name. The sight of him, so gaunt, so weary, in a jacket she couldn’t remember, had seemed to close her throat and she could only wave and wave, until – thank God – he saw her.