Pack Up Your Troubles (32 page)

So she’d been left in the office while he went to find her son and ask him.

The room was sparsely decorated. The walls were cream at the top and evergreen below the dado rail. There was a desk and chair, a clutter of papers and folders on the top of the filing cabinet and a wastepaper basket, chock-a-block full, next to her. A doctor’s white coat hung from a hook on the back of the door. Not a very tidy place but she noted with some gratitude that it was spotlessly clean. She had seen a ward cleaner mopping the floor as she came in, a tired looking woman with grey hair and a lined face, who looked as if she felt unappreciated and probably taken for granted. Gwen determined that she would compliment her on the way out.

The door opened and a pleasant-faced nurse walked in. ‘Good morning, Mrs Craig,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll take you to see your son now, if you would like to follow me.’

Gwen had rehearsed in her own mind everything she would say when she saw Kenneth but all her romantic speeches evaporated when she saw her son. Thank God, her wartime stoicism kicked in. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she walked towards him.
Oh God, look at your poor face.
‘Hello, darling.’ She put her arms out and he struggled to his feet.
Dear Lord, what happened to your fingers? They never said you’d lost all your fingers on that hand.
‘Don’t get up, dear. It’ all right.’

‘Hello, Mum.’

Your eye is drooping.

‘It’s lovely to see you again.’ She felt the warmth of his body as he put his arms around her but she didn’t squeeze. Who knew what was lurking under that uniform of his? He was taller than she remembered. He’d grown up. Grown up and been shot down. Oh Kenneth, Kenneth. They released each other and the nurse had put a chair in place for her. Gwen turned to thank her.

‘Mum, this is Pearl.’

Gwen looked up at her. Pretty … well-rounded figure, a trustworthy open face.
Oh
Kenneth, you’ve lost all the hair on one side of your head, and your ear … it looks almost as if it has melted.

‘Hello, dear.’

Kenneth put his hand out and Pearl went to his side and grasped it. ‘Pearl and I are to be married.’

‘That’s nice, dear.’
Connie was right. She looks like a nice girl. She’d look after you but what sort of marriage will you have? Didn’t Connie
say the flames came up between your legs? What about … down there?

‘I’m sorry I refused to see you, Mum,’ said Kenneth. ‘I didn’t want you to worry.’

‘That’s all right, dear.’

Gwen was aware that she sounded like an automaton but it was the only way she could keep the smile on her face and the tears at bay.

‘You obviously must have a lot to talk about,’ said Pearl. ‘I’ll get you some tea.’

She’s so young. Too young. Why would she want to saddle herself with a cripple?

‘Isn’t she wonderful?’ said Kenneth as he watched her go inside.

‘Yes dear, she’s very pretty.’
I don’t want her hurting you. She might love you here in this setting but what happens when you are both in a little flat on your own and you can’t give her babies?

‘Mum,’ he began. ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to be brave. You can have a cry if you want to.’

If I start, I won’t stop.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Gwen brokenly.

‘You don’t have to do anything, Mum. I’m fine. I’m getting better and Pearl will look after me.’

‘Oh, Kenneth,’ said Gwen. ‘She’s so young. Are you absolutely sure …’

‘Yes, Mum, we are. Don’t you think I haven’t already gone over and over all this? I did my best to put her off, but she is determined.’

Gwen could see Pearl coming through the doors with a tea tray. ‘Forgive me, son, but can you be a proper husband to her?’

Kenneth gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Don’t you worry on that score, Mum,’ he whispered. ‘We’ve already tried the equipment and it works just fine.’

Gwen felt her face colour but at the same time a sense of peace flooded her body. ‘I still have a dilemma,’ she said.

Kenneth frowned and then as Pearl poured the tea, she told them about Australia.

When Eva and Roger strolled into the Lyon’s Tea Room on South Street, everyone sitting at the table seemed a little awkward and embarrassed. Steven was busy ordering afternoon tea while Vi and Cissy Maxwell and Mr and Mrs Mitchell sat primly in their seats. As Eva approached, Steven rose to his feet and kissed her cheek. Roger gave him a firm handshake as the waitress, neatly dressed in her nippy uniform and cap, hurried away with their order.

Once all the formal introductions were complete, everybody relaxed a little and started off with small talk.

‘The traffic on the A24 was horrendous.’

‘The bus was late too.’

‘Looks like we’ll be having more rain.’

Steven winked at Eva across the table.

The waitress came back with a pot of tea and the cake stand. Vi Maxwell elected herself as ‘mother’ and poured the tea. The cake selection was wonderful. Butterfly cakes, Victoria sponge and some jam tarts.

‘I’m sure Eva is a lovely girl,’ Mr Mitchell began, ‘but Mother and I think this is all a bit quick.’

‘Eva and I have been seeing each other for over a year now, Dad,’ said Steven stoutly. ‘We just didn’t tell anyone, that’s all.’

‘Crafty devils,’ muttered Roger.

‘We hear that you’ve been married before,’ said Mrs Mitchell. Her tone was a tad accusatory.

‘Her husband was killed after only six weeks,’ said Cissy.

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Mitchell, the wind clearly taken from her sails. ‘How sad.’

‘Yes, it was actually,’ said Roger.

Eva talked briefly about Dermid adding, ‘His family knows about us and have given us their blessing.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Mrs Mitchell absently.

‘Queenie is a big-hearted woman,’ said Vi.

‘Very generous,’ Roger agreed.

The tension was rising so Eva kicked him under the table. Roger looked surprised and mouthed, ‘What?’

‘You’re a lot older than my son,’ said Mr Mitchell.

‘She’s only three years older than me,’ said Steven. ‘That’s all.’

Mr Mitchell was unrepentant. ‘One has to think of these things, especially where having children is concerned.’

‘I hardly think the late twenties is too old, Dad,’ said Steven crossly.

His father turned his attention back to Eva. ‘And what did you do during the war?’

‘I was in the WAAFs,’ said Eva sweetly.

‘You travelled around?’ asked Mrs Mitchell.

‘Yes,’ said Eva. ‘I was stationed in Poling but I had a couple of brief sorties to Blackpool and London.’

‘Blackpool,’ said Mrs Mitchell wrinkling her nose.

‘It’s where I trained,’ said Eva.

‘But you were brought up in Worthing?’

‘Dad,’ said Steven again. ‘This is beginning to sound like the Spanish Inquisition.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said his father. ‘I don’t mean it to. I just want to get to know Eva.’

‘Is this going to be a long engagement, dear?’ asked his mother.

‘We have to wait until Eva finishes her training,’ said Steven.

‘So it’ll be at least a year,’ said Vi Maxwell wiping her jammy fingers on the snowy white napkin. ‘Plenty of time for you to get to know my lovely daughter.’

Eva’s heart sank. They’d only been together a few minutes and already the parents were in competition with each other. She glanced helplessly at her grandmother.

‘Pardon me for saying so, Mrs Mitchell,’ said Cissy, ‘but I can’t help admiring your splendid hat.’

‘‘You know I was thinking exactly the same thing,’ said Roger. ‘It’s quite the best thing I’ve seen in ages. Such a beautiful colour.’

‘More tea anyone?’ said Vi. Mrs Mitchell, her face glowing a delicate pink of pleasure, passed her cup across.

‘Perhaps you might all like to come and have Sunday lunch with us,’ said Mrs Mitchell. ‘When Eva and Steven can get off duty, of course.’

‘Thank you,’ said Eva, much relieved. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Roger. ‘You’re right on the doorstep for me. My unit is in Horsham.’

At the door as they said their goodbyes, Eva hugged her brother gratefully.

‘I think that went very well,’ he grinned.

‘Thanks to you and the hat,’ whispered Eva.

‘Looks like a dead ferret, doesn’t it?’ Roger whispered in her ear.

‘What about you and Connie?’ said Eva laughing.

‘Stop matchmaking, sis,’ Roger grinned. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’

‘Don’t take too long,’ said Eva. ‘She’s an attractive woman. It won’t be too long before somebody snaps her up.’

Twenty-Five

By the time she was halfway down the lane, it had started to spot with rain. She had put Mandy to bed but Mum wasn’t back home yet so she couldn’t ask about Kenneth and she had to go back to be on duty the next day. Connie toyed with the idea of going straight to the bus stop and back to the hospital but she was really worried about the Frenchie. She wondered if he had gone with Isaac to Slinden to see Kez the previous week and the minute Clifford mentioned that he was back in his caravan next to the workshop, Connie was anxious to see him. There was no doubt that Eugène had been dealt a bitter blow but she didn’t like the thought of him being on his own. The past few weeks had been awful for her too. What with Reuben’s death, meeting Emmett and his new wife, and then her mother announcing that she was leaving the country, even though her friends had helped her get a more rational approach to life, Connie still felt as if everything was changing too quickly. Her mother had returned from East Grinstead so everyone knew about Kenneth. As a result, Ga wasn’t speaking to her, which was no hardship but if that wasn’t enough to contend with, there was the problem of Roger. Roger who seemed to like her so much but stayed away days and weeks at a time, with hardly any contact at all. She quickened her step. The cloud burst long before she reached the door and knocked. A second later it opened and the Frenchie stood in front of her.

‘Connie,’ he cried as he pulled her inside. ‘You’re soaked.’

She stood inside his caravan for the first time. They stared at each other for a second and then he sprang into life. Pulling open a drawer, he handed her a clean towel. ‘You must dry yourself,’ he said, the words dying on his lips as he spoke. He touched the side of her face with the towel, his large dark eyes fixed upon her. He wasn’t drunk but Connie could smell whisky on his breath. Her heart was pounding as a tendril of her wet hair fell across her cheek and he moved to brush it away.

‘I was worried about you,’ she said lamely.

She should go. She shouldn’t be here. He was still getting over Mavis and she was feeling bruised and vulnerable, but then he touched her hair with the towel and Connie shivered.

‘You must take off your things,’ he said. ‘You will get a cold.’ He went back to the drawer and pulled out a crisp white shirt. Connie gave him a quizzical look and he shrugged. ‘Mavis kept me well supplied with clean shirts. She insisted I was clean when she came.’ His voice was full of regret and sadness.

‘She gave you a bit of a hard time,’ Connie observed.

‘I like strong women,’ he said unashamedly. ‘I liked it when she was difficult. It was exciting.’

He handed her the shirt but they both knew she wouldn’t be putting it on.

Connie unbuttoned her wet blouse slowly and as she slid it from her shoulders, he was waiting with the towel to pat her dry. She could feel his warm whisky breath close to her cheeks and she was the one who was drunk. Drunk with pleasure and desire and love. She began to pull her wet hair down and as it cascaded onto her shoulders, he rubbed it gently between his fingers and then put it to his lips. His slightly stubbly cheek brushed next to hers and she heard the sound of his breath against her ear. She trembled again and he put the towel right around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she said and their eyes locked. Connie could hardly breathe.

‘But I am glad you are,’ he said huskily.

He let go of the towel and pulled a chair towards the oil stove and put her wet blouse over the back of it to dry. ‘I should go,’ she said feebly.

The rain on the caravan roof was gathering pace as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. The first kiss was as gentle as if he’d brushed her lips with a feather, but when she didn’t resist him, he looked at her again and then kissed her with passion. Connie moaned with delight. This was what she’d always dreamed of. Every cell in her body was electrified. She leaned into him, willing him on. She was conscious of only two things, the sound of the rain pounding on the roof, and her awakening desire. As the one grew louder, the other grew stronger. All at once he caught her by the tops of her arms and held her gently away from him. Connie opened her eyes.

‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it?’ Her voice sounded shrill, almost panicky and she hated the sound of it.

‘Are you sure?’

This was the moment to say no. This was the time to come to her senses. To stay would be madness. Connie drew a breath and for a nanosecond took in her surroundings. She was in a battered old caravan with a broken man and yet as she looked at Eugène’s face she saw a hunger in his eyes. Mavis Hampton, the most beautiful girl in Worthing, had ditched him and she’d been so wrong about Emmett and confused about Roger. They were both broken … kindred spirits.

‘Connie?’ The sound of his gentle whisper brought everything into focus. All at once, Connie didn’t care if this was the one and only time he was with her. She wanted him, like she’d never wanted anyone before, not even Emmett and certainly not Roger.

‘I am sure.’

He moved quickly hurling a whole lot of things away from the cramped little sofa and Connie chuckled as he led her to it and presented it to her as if it were a beautiful marriage bed. They undressed slowly and by the time every garment had fallen to the floor, Connie was awash with desire. As a last act before they lay together, he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a rubber johnny. Connie wasn’t aware of it, but her face must have registered surprise.