The September Girls (46 page)

 

‘Cara!’ a voice yelled. ‘
Cara
!’

Cara searched for the owner of the voice among the crowds on the platform at Lime Street Station, and saw her brother, Fergus, struggling to reach her.

‘Cara!’ He picked her up and twirled her round, regardless of Kitty squashed between them.

‘Mind the baby,’ Cara gasped.

‘Ah, yes, the baby, let’s have a look at her.’ Cara removed the shawl from Kitty’s face and Fergus examined her carefully. ‘She’s not much like you,’ he said eventually.

‘She’s more like her father. How did you know we’d be on this train?’

‘I didn’t. I phoned Nancy before I left work and she said you still hadn’t arrived, so I walked up from Exchange Station and they said the London train was expected any minute. I waited, just in case you were on it and you were! Jaysus, it’s great to see you, Cara.’

‘It’s great to see you, Fergus.’ She marvelled at the change in her brother. Quiet, desperately shy Fergus had emerged from his shell, a loud and exuberant young man with laughing eyes behind a pair of flattering, horn-rimmed glasses, and a face beaming with confidence.

‘Where’s your luggage?’

‘Someone carried it off the train for me - there it is, right behind you. The big case belongs to Fielding.’

‘Who’s Fielding?’

‘I am,’ said Fielding.

‘She’s my friend from the Army,’ Cara said. ‘She’s going to live with us in the Allardyces’ house.’

‘How do you do, Fielding?’ They shook hands politely. ‘Have you got a first name?’ Fergus asked. ‘I’d sooner call you by that seeing as I’m no longer in the Army.’

‘It’s Juliette,’ Fielding said graciously. ‘I’m no longer in the Army either.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s silly, I know, but they draw the line at one-armed soldiers.’

‘Ouch! I’m sorry, I didn’t notice,’ Fergus groaned. ‘How did you lose it?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Fielding explained, wide-eyed, ‘I just woke up one morning and it wasn’t there. I’m always losing things, but it’s the first time an arm has gone missing.’

‘Take no notice of her, Fergus,’ Cara said. ‘She has this desperately weird sense of humour that takes some getting used to. Shall we go? I think the situation calls for a taxi, don’t you?’

 

‘You’re late,’ Mam snapped when Fergus arrived home. ‘Your tea’s in the oven. Sit down and I’ll fetch it.’

‘In a minute, Mam.’ Fergus sat down nevertheless. ‘I’ve just seen our Cara,’ he announced. ‘I met her off the train and we went back to Parliament Terrace. That’s why I’m late.’

Mam nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘Did you, son? What does she look like? Did she have the baby with her?’

‘Cara looks fine, except she seems much more grown up than when she went away. The baby, Kitty, isn’t a bit like her. Cara said she takes after the father.’

‘Did she say who the father is?’ Mam asked eagerly.

‘He was an airman called Kit Farthing.’ Fergus had been told the whole story from beginning to end and had promised to pass it on to Mam, to save Cara having to do it, and giving Mam time to come to terms with things in her own good time.

‘
Was
an airman?’ She’d noticed the past tense.

‘He and his friend were killed by a bomb the night before he and Cara were to get married.’

‘She never mentioned anything in her letters about getting married,’ Mam said pugnaciously.

‘That’s because he wasn’t a Catholic and they were getting married in a Protestant church and she knew you and Dad wouldn’t approve.’ Fergus flinched as he waited for the explosion that duly followed.

‘
What
?’ Mam shrieked. ‘Me own daughter getting married in a . . .’ She stopped, unable to finish the sentence, as if words had failed her.

‘But she didn’t, did she, Mam?’ Fergus said patiently. ‘Kit got killed before it could happen.’

‘She married Marcus Allardyce in a registry office.’

‘That’s because she had no choice. All Mr Allardyce wanted was to give the baby a name. I’d’ve thought you’d be pleased about that, Mam. It’s better than having a bastard granddaughter.’

Mam slammed her fist on the table and Fergus flinched again. ‘Don’t you dare use that word in this house, Fergus Caffrey.’

Fergus shrugged. ‘Illegitimate, then.’

‘I suppose I can expect Cara to come and see me later, full of excuses,’ Mam said bitterly.

‘No, Mam, you can’t.’ Fergus knew what he was about to say would only make matters worse, but he plunged ahead. ‘She ses you’re to go and see her, but not until you’ve calmed down. She’s not prepared to listen to you screaming your head off.’

At this, Mam’s face crumpled and she burst into tears. ‘No one understands,’ she wept. ‘No one cares about the way she’s treated me. Me own daughter, lying and cheating and sneaking around Parliament Terrace for months on end, pretending to send letters from Malta, marrying Marcus Allardyce and, worst of all, sleeping with some airman and having his child.’

Fergus was tempted to say that, if he’d been Cara, he might well have done the same. Lying, cheating and sneaking around were far preferable to coming home and telling Mam that you were pregnant. But she already looked awful, her face haggard and drained of colour, and he remembered the foggy night his tempestuous mother had come storming into St Hilda’s Convent, shouting for her lads, bringing them back to this very house that she’d endeavoured to make as comfortable as possible for them all. She loved her children to the point of obsession. Unfortunately, she also thought she
owned
them and they must live their lives according to her own strict rules. But now there was a war on and her children had changed. He had faced death and killed men before escaping from Dunkirk. Compared to that, sleeping with Jessie Clifford, a cheerful, kind-hearted soul, was a trite thing, and he resented being harangued every time he went to see her. As for Cara, who’d seen the dead body of her husband-to-be only hours before they were to be wed, she no doubt felt the same and wasn’t prepared to put up with Mam making a scene.

‘Don’t cry, Mam,’ he urged, putting his arm around her, feeling almost like crying himself because he loved her so much, but not enough to forget he was a grown man who wasn’t prepared to do as he was told for the rest of his life.

‘I can’t help it, son. I suppose you’re like Eleanor and blame me for the whole thing. Last night, your dad more or less did the same. It seems it’s all my fault.’

‘That’s not true, Mam.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll have me tea now seeing as it’s ready.’ He didn’t remotely feeling like eating, but didn’t want to upset his mother even more by turning down the meal she had so lovingly prepared.

 

Nancy was in her element. She loved having her kitchen full of people and now Cara and Kitty were back, along with Cara’s strange, badly wounded little friend, Fielding, whom she had immediately taken to her heart. Fergus had been and gone, and now Colm had arrived and was hugging his daughter so tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go. He released her and turned to look at Kitty, cooing happily as Nancy nursed her in her brawny arms. She passed the baby to her granddad and saw tears come to his eyes as he touched her sweet little face. He said, ‘I wish things could’ve been done differently, Cara, luv.’

‘So do I, Dad,’ was all Cara said fervently, and Nancy could tell the matter was over between them. Colm understood. Cara had been forgiven and that was that.

Colm hadn’t been gone for long when Eleanor came. She’d been in a right old temper the day before when the will had been read, but it seemed she’d got over it for she smiled at Cara and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I don’t quite know what to say, dear, only that I’m glad Marcus found happiness during his last few months on earth.’

‘I think he did,’ Cara said shyly.

‘Good,’ Eleanor said briskly. ‘Now, where’s the baby? I’m longing to see her.’

And
that
was all right too, Nancy thought, beaming contentedly at everyone. Now, there was only Brenna to come round and everything would be perfect. She completely forgot about Sybil.

 

Mummy had had no idea how to get in touch with her when Daddy had passed away so suddenly. It was no use writing a letter that would have taken ages to arrive, she wasn’t sure if it was possible to send a telegram to someone in the Army, so Oliver Chandler, her friend, had stepped into the breech and telephoned Army headquarters in London and someone there had promised to contact Sybil in Malta.

Perhaps it was because she was already in such an awful state that the news had upset her so dreadfully. She put down the phone and couldn’t stop crying. Too late, she realized that her father was the one person in the world on whom she could totally depend. When Cara had said, months ago, that her mother wouldn’t want her living at home while she was expecting a baby, Sybil had replied, ‘My father would be the same,’ knowing it wasn’t true, because Daddy would have forgiven her anything. He might disapprove, might even
say
he disapproved, but he would have taken her into his home and heaped gifts upon her in the way she’d used to think of as suffocating, but now would have welcomed with all her heart.

But now Daddy was dead and she’d made a terrible mess of Malta and her career in the Army. Lately, she’d been wondering if he could buy her out, but wasn’t sure if it were possible in wartime.

It was all the fault of John Glover, the other lieutenant she’d gone out with after she’d finished with Alec Townend. After a while, she’d allowed him into her bed, but he was a violent, sadistic lover with unnatural tastes. Within a few days, she’d had enough, but finishing with John wasn’t as easy as it had been with Alec. He came into her office at least a dozen times a day, not to plead with her to go out with him again, but to insult her and call her names she’d never heard before. He telephoned as many times, hurling at her the same insults. Other officers began to ask her out and Sybil would accept, only to find they expected to make love on the first date.

‘John and Alec said you were a whore,’ one said to her nastily. ‘Who do you think you are, turning up your nose at me?’

John must have discovered she’d slept with Alec and it seemed as if everyone in Marzipan Hall knew it too. The men looked at her with brazen insolence and the women with hostility. If only she had some friends among the women, but she’d studiously avoided them. She felt sure she wasn’t the only woman there who’d slept with two men, but it was her misfortune that one of them had been John Glover who was determined to make her pay for ditching him.

For months now, she’d felt ashamed and very alone, staying in her room at night, the door locked, because occasionally someone would try the handle and say loudly, ‘Can I come in for a shag?’ followed by titters, as if there was more than one man outside.

It was all too horrible for words and now Daddy was dead and she didn’t think it possible to feel more miserable than she did just then. She put her hands on the desk and pushed herself wearily to her feet. She’d ask Major Winkworth-Blythe, who was in overall charge of Marzipan Hall, if she could have a week’s compassionate leave. It wasn’t always possible to be sent home from Malta - it was too far away - no matter who had died, but it wouldn’t hurt to enquire.

‘The major is busy right now, ma’am,’ she was crisply told by the female clerk when she entered the outer office.

‘Can I wait?’

‘Suit yourself, ma’am,’ the woman said, shrugging.

It was an hour before a senior officer emerged from the major’s office. Sybil jumped to her feet and made to enter, but the clerk said sharply, ‘Kindly wait until I’ve asked if Major Winkworth-Blythe is willing to see you.’ She picked up the phone and spoke a few words. Another five minutes passed before a buzzer went and she said, ‘He’ll see you now.’

Sybil marched into the room, stood to attention and saluted. ‘Lieutenant Allardyce, sir. I’ve just heard that my father has died suddenly and I would like to go home for the funeral.’

‘Ah, yes, Allardyce.’ Major Winkworth-Blythe was a well-bred, distinguished-looking man with charming manners who’d been a high-ranking diplomat before the war. He regarded Sybil with a certain amount of sympathy. ‘I think that can be arranged,’ he said mildly and her heart leapt with joy. ‘In fact, Allardyce,’ he went on, ‘I’ve been wondering what to do with you for some time. It would seem you’ve gained a somewhat risqué reputation and I don’t think your presence here is entirely desirable.’ He coughed delicately. ‘I had already requested that you be transferred elsewhere and have been awaiting a decision on your next posting. That decision arrived this morning. You are being sent to a training camp in Suffolk. Under normal circumstances, you would be allowed a week’s leave and that should give you time to attend your father’s funeral.’ He gave her a gentle smile. ‘I realize, Allardyce, that you have been as much sinned against as sinning and Lieutenant Glover is also being moved elsewhere.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Sybil gulped, feeling her face turn scarlet with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

‘I wasn’t over-specific when I asked for your transfer, just wrote “doesn’t fit in”, and that could cover many reasons. You will take up your new posting without anyone being aware of the truth of what happened here.’ He nodded dismissively. ‘Come back in half an hour and my clerk will have your papers ready. Good luck, Allardyce.’

Now she was back in Liverpool with Mummy - Jonathan had only been allowed a few days’ leave and had gone straight back to Scotland after Daddy’s funeral. The day after tomorrow she would present herself at the camp in Suffolk. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, but it was preferable to Malta. She resolved that never again would she give any man she met a second glance.

In a way, the awfulness of Malta had been rather overshadowed by the equally awful events back home. She still kept hoping it had all been a mistake, that any minute the solicitor would telephone and say that Cara Caffrey shouldn’t have been mentioned in Daddy’s will, or that it was a forgery and Daddy had had nothing to do with it.