Time to Say Goodbye (19 page)

There might have been an argument, or at least more discussion, but at that moment they reached the head of the queue and Debby, always the peacemaker, gave a little squeak. ‘Fruit gums!’ she said. ‘I wonder if Mrs Bailey will let us have a tube each?’

This incident strengthened the girls’ resolve to go home, though when Auntie telephoned Mrs Clarke, Mrs Jeffries and the elderly Viners, it soon became clear that the girls’ relatives were not enamoured of the idea. Old Mr and Mrs Viner had moved out of the city centre and now lived on the Wirral as paying guests of an elderly couple who had a couple of rooms to spare. They had offered to take evacuees, but the plan had fallen through when it was realised that the old couple just could not cope. They volunteered immediately to take the Viners in and charge a very reasonable rent. ‘Very welcome my granddaughter would be, but there’s nowhere in a village so tiny – and already bursting at the seams – who could put her up overnight,’ Mrs Viner had explained to Auntie, in response to the suggested visit.

Mrs Jeffries had said uncompromisingly that her boarding house was full of sailors. ‘Not suitable company at all for a young girl like Rita,’ she said primly.

And Mrs Clarke, though anxious to see her daughter and to reassure Imogen that so far Elizabeth Court had escaped damage, thought it would be more suitable if she came to them. ‘If you could put me up just for the one night, that would be fine,’ she said. ‘Of course it would mean taking a couple of days off – I’m sure Immy has told you that I’m an ARP warden as well as organising the canteen vans for the WI. I know the girls want to come home for a visit but between you and me, Miss Marcy, to have them in Liverpool just as the raids are hotting up is unlikely to lessen anyone’s worries. How would it be if I got in touch with the other parents and we all came down together? A taxi from the town to the Canary and Linnet, shared three ways, wouldn’t break the bank.’

Auntie thought this a very good idea, and when she returned from the village telephone box and told the children what she and Mrs Clarke had arranged everyone seemed to think it a good solution to their worries. Partly, this was because the children’s immediate anxiety had lessened by the time the final arrangements for parents to come a-visiting were made. Overhead the battles still raged, but the Luftwaffe’s attacks on airfields decreased as the British pilots in their turn became stronger and more confident. When Laurie and Dave visited the pub they were pale and hollow-eyed, but always smiling. They kept a tally of the aircraft they downed and it grew steadily, and even when they were posted to a much larger airfield in Lincolnshire they kept in touch with Jill and Auntie by telephone. Their confidence continued to grow, as did the confidence of the general public. Everyone now felt they had a personal hand in the war. Schoolchildren spent their pocket money on the ‘Buy a Spitfire’ fund, housewives handed in enamel saucepans – though Auntie was heard to remark that she did not see what use could be made of such domestic utensils – and the authorities came along and took away gates and garden fences.

The Linnet, deep in its grove of trees, had no fences to be taken, but there was a big fuss at the Pilgrims’ farm when the salvage men, as they were called, tried to commandeer the bull pen. Mrs Pilgrim advised them in a honeyed voice that they were welcome to it so long as they didn’t mind disputing ownership with the Minotaur. The salvage men, after one horrified look at the bull’s massive body and glittering eyes, decided that he might be best behind bars, and went on their way leaving the bull pen intact.

Rita awoke on the morning of the parental visit not sure whether excitement or apprehension was uppermost in her mind. She supposed she loved her mother, because it was her duty, but she had never liked the boarding house or the constant turnover of different guests, mainly seamen whose ships had come into port for maintenance work. And she had been away from home now for the best part of a year, as indeed had Imogen and Debby. She knew she had changed and supposed that her mother would have changed, too. The dreadful thought that they might not recognise each other began to haunt her. They would walk into the village after breakfast to meet the ten o’clock bus, for Mrs Clarke and Mrs Jeffries had chosen to spend the night at a guest house in town rather than arrive at the Canary and Linnet after their children were in bed. Debby’s grandparents, in the end, had been unable to come after all. Mr Viner had written to Auntie explaining that his wife’s rheumatoid arthritis was now so bad that she could only walk very short distances with the aid of two sticks. He felt he could not leave her, but promised that as soon as she had a good spell they would undertake the journey.

Debby had not seemed unduly disappointed, and when Imogen had commiserated with her she had reminded her friends that she scarcely knew the old couple, having been evacuated a matter of weeks after they had arrived from the Continent. ‘I should have known they wouldn’t be able to come, but as soon as Auntie will let me I’ll go and visit them,’ she had said cheerfully. ‘I shan’t come to meet the bus, though, if you don’t mind. I’ll walk up to the farm and spend some time with Mrs Pilgrim after I’ve finished my chores.’

Now Rita stared very hard at her two friends, assured herself that they both slept still, and swung her legs out of bed. She padded over to the window and drew back the curtains a little, then gasped. The view was entirely obscured by thick mist, and even as she rubbed at the windowpane, thinking that perhaps it was merely condensation, she heard a squeak from behind her and turned to jerk her thumb at the window. ‘It’s fog, one of those pea-soupers that we used to get when we lived at home. It would come rolling up the Mersey and envelop all the streets down by the docks, and your mum would walk to school with you ’cos of the traffic not being able to see too clearly. I didn’t know they happened in the country, though.’

Imogen joined her at the window and gave her a playful push. ‘It just shows how often you get up early,’ she said mockingly. ‘At this time of year you get what they call autumn mists which disappear as the sun rises. Don’t worry, by the time we’ve had our brekker and walked into the village it’ll be another lovely sunny day.’

And so it proved. Before they had even gone downstairs the fog had become a mere mist through which the sun shone brightly. Despite their intention not to wake Debby the other girl got up as soon as they had done washing and dressing and the three of them clattered down the stairs together. In the kitchen, Auntie and Jill were busy, Auntie dealing with breakfast whilst Jill ironed the neat white blouses, grey cardigans and pleated skirts which Imogen and Rita wore for best.

Jill looked up from her work and smiled at them. ‘You’re going to look smart as paint whether you like it or not,’ she said, then turned the smile on Debby. ‘Not you, chick; you can wear your scruffy old togs, but Imogen and Rita must have their breakfast and then change.’ She laid the last garment she had been ironing over the back of a chair, dusted her hands briskly and picked up the ivory-backed hairbrush which they all shared. ‘Sit down and eat up. Who wants plaits or a ponytail? I’ve already ironed the ribbons – blue for Rita, red for you, Imogen – so once you’ve eaten your porridge you’ll be free to leave.’

It was tempting, Rita thought, to linger over breakfast, to put off the moment when they would see Mrs Jeffries and Mrs Clarke descending from the bus. But Imogen was eating fast, her eyes sparkling with excitement, so Rita had, of course, to follow suit, and presently, carefully avoiding dusty patches, they found themselves emerging from the lane and walking rather awkwardly across the village green, to sit down on the rustic bench near which the ancient bus would presently draw up.

Sitting there in the sunshine, Rita began to feel a little better, and wondered whether she would sound silly if she shared her worries with Imogen. She was pretty certain the other girl would understand her apprehension; surely she must be feeling it herself. Rita was glad Debby had decided not to accompany them; she would have scorned to admit to the younger girl that she was afraid of not recognising her own mother. Rita was the oldest of the three, though only by a few months, and Debby the youngest, but as she sat on the sun-warmed bench and watched as the villagers came and went it occurred to Rita that Debby had changed a lot. When they had first arrived at the Canary and Linnet Debby had been prone to nightmares, was painfully shy and most definitely a follower rather than a leader. Perhaps the latter still applied, but she was no longer shy and the nightmares had ceased long since. I wonder whether it was us or the boys who changed her, Rita thought. But whichever it was, she’s just like the rest of us now. She takes things in her stride and if a row erupts she doesn’t cry or run away but joins in. Goodness, I’d quite forgotten how even the smallest disagreement used to upset her. Now she can hold her own even when things get nasty, not that they do, or not often at any rate.

She was still pondering this fact when Imogen, who had been gazing thoughtfully into the middle distance, her thoughts obviously miles away, spoke. ‘I say, Rita, wouldn’t it be strange if our mums walked straight past us! I’m several inches taller than I was when we left home, and I believe you’re the same. And we’ve grown our hair, so I bet we look quite a lot different.’ She hesitated, then looked shyly at her companion. ‘My mum was rather strict, not a bit like Auntie and Jill . . . but of course she’s my mum, so I love her.’ She peered into Rita’s face. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? You have to love your mum and dad; it’s one of the rules. You see, since Dad died Mum’s always worked, so probably you know your mum better than I know mine.’

Rita felt an enormous wave of relief break over her and the sun, which had appeared to go behind a cloud at the thought of the imminent meeting, came out again and fell warm on her neatly plaited hair and long bare legs. ‘Oh, Imogen, you’ve made me feel a whole lot better,’ she breathed. ‘And as for not knowing your mum very well, I sometimes feel I hardly know mine at all. The hotel is one of the best, you see; it’s extremely popular and there’s always a queue for beds, so Mum has to work awfully hard and when I lived at home I worked awfully hard too. I’m afraid there were times when we had fearful rows and I stormed out of the house because I never seemed to have any time to myself.’ She giggled. ‘But of course she’s had to manage without me now, so when the war’s over and I go home I think things will be better between us.’

‘Here comes the bus,’ Imogen said, jumping to her feet. ‘Tell you what, let’s have a bet: I bet my mum is first off the bus. Sixpence if I’m right.’

‘Sure. And I’ve got sixpence that says my mum will be first,’ Rita said firmly. ‘Oh, I see her! She’s got a new coat, and a new hat. She and Mrs Clarke must have sat next to each other, and now they’re neck and neck!’

‘Oh, oh, and my mum’s done her hair different,’ Imogen squeaked, and then, as the two women descended from the bus, all doubts and fears disappeared. Imogen flew into Mrs Clarke’s arms, hugging her tightly whilst tears filled her eyes, though all she could say was: ‘Oh, Mum, oh, Mum, it’s so good to see you. Oh, I’ve missed you so much; I hadn’t realised how much until I saw you coming off the bus.’

Imogen would have said her mother was down-to-earth and undemonstrative, but as the older woman held her back and smiled reassuringly Imogen saw that tears had filled her eyes too. But Mrs Clarke was not one to give way to emotion. ‘My goodness, how you’ve grown, love,’ she said. ‘And you’ve not only grown tall, you’ve grown pretty. My, I wish your dad could see you now.’

She turned to where Mrs Jeffries was giving Rita a long surprised look. She was an angular woman with bleached blonde hair pulled back from her sharp face. She had light blue eyes, white eyelashes and brows and a peevish expression. However, she greeted her daughter pleasantly, saying briskly, in a strong Liverpool accent: ‘Well, Rita, it’s plain you’ve landed on your bleedin’ feet! It’s nothin’ but the best if you live in the country, by the look of you. Oh aye, whiles your poor old mam struggles to put bread on the table, you’ve been livin’ off the fat of the land. But we’d best get to this Canary and Linnet and them ladies what have been lookin’ after you, ’cos we’ve only got till six this evening and then we’ll have to be off.’

Imogen and her mother exchanged startled looks. So this was the elegant hotel owner they had heard about! Somehow, Rita had managed to give a very different impression of Mrs Jeffries. But just because she spoke with a local accent, that did not mean Rita need be ashamed of her mother, Imogen thought, and saw the thought reflected in her mother’s face. Resolutely, Mrs Clarke tucked her hand into Mrs Jeffries’s elbow. ‘Off we go,’ she said cheerfully, ‘I can’t wait to see the Canary and Linnet, can you?’

Later, after supper had been enjoyed and farewells said, Rita and Imogen climbed wearily up the stairs, closely followed by Debby, and began to undress. They had been chattering all day, talking about life at the Canary and Linnet, about the village school and about their companions, who had disappeared on some ploy of their own. The girls had listened too, of course, sometimes with amusement and sometimes with dismay, for it appeared that during their journey the mothers had agreed that it would be foolish to keep the truth from their children.

Imogen’s little cousin Ruth, who had been evacuated to North Wales, had been injured when a plane had crashed quite near her school as the children made their way home after classes. ‘London’s getting the worst of it so far, and the Channel ports,’ Mrs Clarke told her daughter. ‘Our chaps do their best to intercept the Luftwaffe and stop them getting to the ports in the west – Barrow-in-Furness and Liverpool are the main ones, with both food and armaments going through – but I suppose eventually, when the Nazis have done their worst down south, it’ll be our turn.’ She had smiled affectionately at her daughter, with the warmth and tenderness which showed her love more clearly than words could do. ‘And I don’t want you listening to the wireless and deciding you’d better come home,’ she added firmly. ‘It’s not as though there’s anything you could do. In fact the truly useful thing is what you are doing, you and your pals: you’re keeping hope alive for the next generation. So no heroics, young lady. I can see Auntie and Jill take very good care of you and that’s how it should be. We all have our war work, you as much as Mrs Jeffries and I, and yours is to keep safe until it’s all over.’