Come Home Soon (6 page)

Ten

Ellie glanced anxiously through the window of the village store. She could see Anna talking to her mother. She took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks. She couldn't avoid Jack's sister for ever. Endstone just wasn't big enough. She pushed against the door with her back, making the bell tinkle as she reversed in with Charlie's pram. She parked him in the corner, cooing happily to himself, and walked up to the counter.

Mrs Scott turned round as she approached and Ellie was shocked by her appearance. She was grey and drawn, and barely managed a smile as she greeted Ellie. “Hello, Ellie, love. How are you?”

“I'm well, thank you, Mrs Scott. How . . . how are you?”

“Oh fine, fine, thank you, my dear,” she replied distractedly. “It's nice to see you.” She paused and turned to her daughter. “Anna, I just have to bring some more flour through from the back. Will you help Ellie?”

Ellie looked nervously at Anna, but the other girl grinned back at her a little sheepishly, pulling at the end of her braid. Ellie wondered if her helping Jack with their father the other day was responsible for this change. Whatever the reason, she was glad of it. She and Anna had never been especially close, but Ellie didn't like to feel there was animosity between them.

“Hello, Ellie!” Anna said brightly. “What are you after?”

“Just a loaf of bread, please.”

Anna reached up to one of the shelves behind her, pulling down a floury loaf and putting it into a paper bag. “How are things at school? I miss it, you know.” The admission felt like a small peace-offering to Ellie.

“Do you?” Ellie grinned back. “I'm sick of the place! We're still knitting.”

“Oh dear, any improvement?”

“I'm afraid not. I thought I'd try a pair of gloves, and they seemed to be going well until I got to the end and realized they were both completely different sizes. I think Charlie's probably a better knitter than me!”

“I don't doubt it!” The girls both laughed and Charlie joined in, without the slightest understanding why, which only made them laugh harder. Ellie felt herself relaxing.

Mabel returned from the storeroom and, at the same time, the bell jangled again as Mrs Baxter and Mrs Dorling – widowed sisters both in their seventies – marched in purposefully.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mabel said. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, my dear,” began Mrs Baxter, “we came to see if you'd heard the terrible news?”

“Terrible!” echoed Mrs Dorling.

“What's happened?” Ellie asked.

“Well, it's poor Billie Farrow,” Mrs Baxter went on, shaking her head.

“Just terrible,” her sister agreed.

“What about him?” Anna snapped impatiently, earning a scowl from her mother.

“Killed, my dear! Killed in action! His family received the telegram this afternoon.”

“They did,” Mrs Dorling confirmed.

Ellie felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. A glance at Mabel and Anna suggested they felt the same way. She thought of Billie giving up his Saturdays to coach the Endstone boy's football team, and how much the young lads all loved him. She thought of him laughing outside The Dog and Duck with his best friend Stephen Chase. She thought of him calling out to his fiancée Molly that he'd be back for a Christmas wedding. Poor Molly.

“That's awful. . .” she managed.

“Indeed it is, indeed it is. I had it from Miss Webb and Ethel heard it from Mr Berry in the post office, didn't you, dear?”

“I did.”

“Did Mr Berry tell you what had happened to the him?” Ellie asked.

Looking glad to have finally been given the floor, Mrs Dorling tutted. “No, of course not. The telegrams just say ‘sympathy and regret' from the army council, that sort of thing. But it's a terrible shame.”

“It's a tragedy!”

“It is.”

“I just hope no more of our lads follow behind him.”

“Indeed. But they've had so little training, especially the young ones. And it seems the Germans are much better soldiers than we were led to believe.”

“Quite so, my dear.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” an ashen Mrs Scott gasped, stumbling out from behind the counter. “I must just go and—” She staggered from the shop without finishing her sentence. Ellie watched her go knowing she was thinking of Will. Anna looked equally shaken. Ellie took a deep breath.

Suddenly the fact that she hadn't heard from her father seemed ten times worse. If only the two sisters would stop wittering on!

“Mrs Baxter!” Ellie exclaimed, causing the two ladies to look round in alarm. “Mrs Dorling! Would you . . . erm . . . would you like to see Charlie's new socks?”

The ladies looked taken aback for a moment, but then bent over the pram. “Well, they're very nice, dear,” said Mrs Baxter hesitantly. “Did you make them?”

“Oh, no.” Ellie laughed, perhaps a little too gaily, for the sisters looked startled once more. “No, I'm a hopeless knitter, as Anna will tell you. No, my Aunt Frances sent them from Brighton.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Mrs Baxter. “They're a lovely shade of yellow, aren't they, Ethel?”

Charlie chose this moment to pull one of the socks from his foot and throw it to the floor.

“Lovely,” Mrs Dorling agreed, puffing a little as she stooped to pick it up. “You know, I always say yellow is so cheering. . .”

Anna gave Ellie a grateful smile but both girls could see that the other was shaken. As Mrs Baxter and Mrs Dorling cooed over Charlie, Ellie thought of her father.

Please
, she said silently, without really knowing who she was speaking to.
Please let him be safe. Please let him come home.

She couldn't bear this feeling of powerlessness. When she managed to drag her mind away from her father it drifted to Billie's fiancée, Molly. Who had told her the news? One of Billie's family, she supposed. What must she be feeling now? Ellie's mind recoiled from the thought.

When the sisters had finally collected their groceries and left the shop, Ellie bid Anna goodbye and set off once again with the pram.

I want to
do
something.

Before she was even aware of her intention, she found herself steering the pram towards her father's surgery.

And why not?
she thought. It had made her feel better to be useful there before; maybe it would again today.

But when she reached the surgery, it was closed up and dark. There was no sign of Thomas.

With nowhere else to go, she turned the pram up the lane towards home. Charlie began to grizzle and grumble, and distractedly she soothed him, but her mind was elsewhere.

Reversing through the front door with a bump, Ellie stowed the pram under the stairs and released a complaining Charlie to toddle away towards his toys.

Pushing open the kitchen door with a slam, she startled her mother and Thomas, whose heads were bent over some paperwork on the table, cups of tea in their hands.

“Sorry,” she said in surprise.

“Oh, there you are,” her mother responded. “We were just looking over the surgery's finances.”

Thomas, usually so shy and nervous – especially around Josephine – was smiling. Even her mother looked animated and bright-eyed. It was so rare to see her mother comfortable in company that Ellie was momentarily dumbfounded.

“Oh, that's . . . good.”

“How are you, Ellie?” Thomas asked warmly.

“I'm. . .” The memory came crashing back and it took her a moment to regain her voice. “Did you hear about Billie Farrow?”

“What about him?” her mother asked.

“He was . . . killed. In action.”

Mother's hand went to her mouth.

“That's terrible,” said Thomas, all trace of his smile gone. Ellie nodded. He sighed. “The poor man. No wonder they have been asking for more men to sign up. The number of casualties. . .” He stopped, his gaze falling to his teacup.

Silence fell over the room. The cheer that had greeted Ellie evaporated.

“I should call in to the Farrows,” Thomas said at last. “Offer my condolences and see if I can be of any assistance to them, or to Miss Fletchling.”

Ellie closed her eyes tight, thinking of these people she had known all her life. How could their lives ever be the same again?

 

In her room later that evening, Ellie sat in front of a blank sheet of paper and sucked on the end of her pen. She must have started a hundred letters to her father but none had made it past the first paragraph. Now it suddenly felt urgent.

Dear Father,

We miss you a lot but we're very proud of you for what you are doing, and there's no need to worry about us. We are all just fine.

I am working hard at school, though I'm sorry to say there is no improvement in my knitting. If only we were given exams in daydreaming – I would be top of the class every time!

Charlie is happy and as funny as ever. I think he's grown since you left. I'm getting big muscles in my arms from lifting him!

Dr Pritchard seems to be doing well and managing fine on his own. I have been into the surgery to help him a few times and gave him a few pointers on your unique filing system – and on Miss Webb's “condition”! Mother and he have been looking at the paperwork and seem to have everything well under control.

I am helping Mother around the house a lot and haven't broken too many plates! I am getting very good at making pies.

The weather is cooling somewhat and there are thousands of blackberries in the woods. Charlie's favourite game is to make his face purple and his tummy gurgle by eating as many as he can before Mother and I realize what he is up to.

I wonder what the countryside is like in France. Do they have blackberries there? Is it warmer than here? I think of you all the time and wonder what you are doing. I know you can't say much about where you are but please tell me a little more next time you write. I'd like to be able to imagine it.

When are you coming home, Father? Please let it be soon.

All my love,

Ellie xx

Eleven

A towering pile of logs sat in the centre of the square, interwoven with twigs and bits of old newspaper for kindling. Dr Pritchard and Ted Townsend circled the pile, lighting scraps of paper to try to get the fire going.

The night was crisp, cloudless and beautifully starry. Ellie hugged Charlie closer, as much for her own warmth as for his. Almost the whole village had turned out for Bonfire Night, though not, of course, her mother, who was disapproving of the entire thing – but luckily not so much so that she prevented Ellie from going with Charlie.

Her little brother was squirming in her arms so she put him down. As soon as his feet hit the cobbles, he sped off, as fast as he could on his little legs, in the direction of a crowd of bigger children. Ellie picked up one of his mittens from where it had fallen and hurried after him.

Jack was in the centre of the gathering, playing his fiddle to the delight of Mrs Baxter, Mrs Dorling and other older ladies of Endstone. Around them was the group of whirling, shrieking children. Jack's little brother George stood next to him, beaming proudly, and now Charlie halted next to George, gazing up at the older boy with the same look of awe. Ellie smiled to herself.
Boys
. Always such admiration for the next boy, who might barely be bigger than themselves.

A ragged cheer went up as the fire finally caught and soon the flames were licking up the sides of the pile, sending warm light flickering over the faces of the onlookers and the smell of smoke and burning wood out into the square. Ellie longed to inch closer to the heat but didn't dare move away from Charlie, who was running around at the edge of the crowd, in danger of being trampled by one of the older children.

“Here you go now, my love.” Ellie looked round to see Mrs Scott approaching with a steaming flask and a fistful of cups. “You look like you could do with a drop of something to warm those cockles!”

“Oh, thank you,” Ellie said gratefully, taking a cup and instantly feeling the heat spread through her gloved fingers. Her mind drifted to France. She wondered how cold it was there, and whether the soldiers had somewhere warm to sleep at night.

A group of children had made a Guy Fawkes and had been taking it from door to door, collecting money. Ellie saw them staggering under its weight as they lugged it towards the flames. They had dressed it in scruffy old khaki-coloured clothes, and put a colander on its head with a stick poking out of the top.

“Burn the Hun!” cried Harry Parkes. “Burn the Kaiser!”

His cry was taken up by some of the other villagers. Ellie frowned. She couldn't put her finger on what it was that bothered her.

The children stopped a couple of yards from the fire. They began to swing the Guy back and forth between them to gather momentum, before releasing it to sail towards the top of the pile, where it dislodged some burning logs, and finally came to rest, quickly catching light. The flames flared higher and an unpleasant, mouldy sort of smell mixed with the scent of burning wood

“You know, if a German soldier were to walk through this square,” Mrs Scott whispered to Ellie, “something tells me he would struggle to mistake that chap for one of his countrymen.”

Ellie giggled, glad to be distracted from her thoughts. She glanced at Jack's mother, glad she was smiling tonight.

Over Mrs Scott's shoulder, at the edge of the crowd, Ellie saw Molly Fletchling standing with Billie Farrow's younger sister Aggie. In the weeks since the news of Billie's death, his family and fiancée had scarcely been seen around the village, though the Farrows had appeared all three Sundays at church. The first time, Ellie had gone up to them after the service, palms moist and heart pounding so loud in her ears that she could hardly form a coherent thought.

“Mrs Farrow, Mr Farrow,” she had choked out, feeling young and stupid. “I am so, so sorry to hear about Billie. We all are. So sorry. . .”

It felt feeble and inadequate. All Ellie could think about was her father convincing Billie to join up, but Bessie Farrow had smiled at her and seized her hand.

“Thank you, Ellie, dear. That's so kind of you.”

“Oh, no. . .” Ellie began in protest.

“Everyone's been so kind, haven't they, Mr Farrow?” Her grip on Ellie's hand had got tighter until she almost couldn't feel it any more.

Mr Farrow's eyes were dry but his expression was fierce. “No more than our boy deserved, Bessie. He was the pride of this village!” He looked at Ellie as though challenging her to disagree.

“He was. . .” she started.

“He
was
a good boy,” Bessie interrupted, her voice wavering. “I know pride is a sin, but I don't mind telling you, Ellie, I was that proud of him. . .”

Ellie hadn't known what to say. There was nothing to say. She had just stood, holding the woman's hand, until another sympathetic villager had descended, bustling her out of the way.

Molly, on the other hand, hadn't appeared at church. Ellie couldn't remember when she had last seen her. Her heart felt heavy at the thought that it might have been the day when they waved the motorbus off. Molly had been so happy, so sure her Billie would be home for their Christmas wedding.

Ellie caught the older girl's eye across the wafting smoke and waved.

I'm sure she doesn't want me to go over,
she told herself as Molly half raised her hand in reply. Or was she just being a coward not going to speak to her?

“George, watch
out
,” Mrs Scott called suddenly, interrupting Ellie's thoughts. “Little Charlie is just behind you!”

George looked back impatiently to see Charlie's small but sturdy form wobbling after him. Charlie looked unfazed, smiling gummily at George, who scowled back.

“Don't worry, Mrs Scott, I think Charlie is having the time of his life!”

The sound of her little brother's gurgly laugh was contagious and soon both she and Mrs Scott were laughing too. But Ellie could hear in the woman's voice the same note of desperation that she felt herself, the same threat that laughter might suddenly change to tears. Ellie glanced again at the older woman's face, which looked thinner every time she saw her. She considered asking if she'd heard from Will recently, but decided against it.

Ellie stopped asking her mother if there was any word from her father. It was weeks and weeks since they'd had news – almost a month since she'd sent her own letter. She knew her mother had been writing too. It was unspoken between them, but Ellie knew that her mother was feeling the silence more and more by the day.

The sight of portly Mr Berry the postman walking up the front path earlier in the week had caused her heart to lurch towards her throat. But it had turned out to be a letter from Aunt Frances, who was being sent away for training as a volunteer nurse, having given up her job at the bank.

Once she'd got over her disappointment, Ellie had been delighted to hear from her aunt and very excited to learn about her volunteer work. But she knew better than to discuss it with her mother, who cast only the briefest eye over the letter, one eyebrow arched and lips pursed tightly.

A tug at her leg drew Ellie's attention back to the present. She looked down to see a sleepy Charlie, his arm wrapped behind her knee and his woollen hat knocked to one side.

“Come on then, you,” she said, reaching down to heave him into her arms.

His cheeks were pink and his eyelids heavy as he rested his head against her shoulder, one thumb creeping towards his mouth.

Feeling him still and secure in her arms, Ellie at last moved closer to the fire, rocking him as she went. The crackling hiss of the burning logs felt almost hypnotic. Her eyes were mesmerized by the dancing flames that engulfed the blackened remnants of the Guy, as the notes from Jack's fiddle soared up towards the smoke-filled sky.