When the Lights Come on Again (14 page)

Adam and Eddie shook hands. It was a little wary. Liz had noticed that men were often like that when they met for the first time. Sometimes it made her think of two wild animals circling around each other.

‘How very nice to see you,’ Adam Buchanan said again to Liz, smiling warmly. ‘Are you enjoying the exhibition?’

‘It’s great,’ she replied. Looking up at him - gosh, he was tall - she returned his smile and saw the hazel eyes crinkle at the corners in response. There was a pause which threatened to go on for too long. Now that the social niceties were out of the way, no one seemed very sure what to say next.

‘I say,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m meeting some friends at the Atlantic Restaurant. Why don’t you join us for lunch?’ He turned to Helen and Eddie. ‘The three of you, of course.’

Eddie, still doing the sizing-up business, answered for all of them.

‘Sorry, old chap, the Atlantic Restaurant’s a bit out of our league. Not for the likes of us, you might say. In fact, you and your friends probably would say that.’

Liz blinked. Had she heard him properly? It was Adam Buchanan, however, who seemed to be covered in embarrassment.

‘Oh, yes, of course-’ He broke off, realizing he was appearing to agree with what Eddie had said. ‘Oh, I say, I’m terribly sorry. I really didn’t mean anything by that. I mean... I do apologize,’ he finished lamely.

Helen stepped into the breach. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, Mr Buchanan, but we’ve already made alternative arrangements. And,’ she added, smiling up at him, but with an edge to her voice which was unmistakably meant for someone else, ‘you have no need to apologize for anything. I hope you enjoy your lunch.’

Once Adam Buchanan had taken his embarrassed leave of them, Helen spoke, her voice steely. ‘I’d like to go back to the Roman Catholic Pavilion, Liz. Will you meet me at the Tower in about half an hour?’

Liz nodded. Expecting Helen to turn on her heel and go immediately, she was surprised when she spoke again. ‘I have to get my daily dose of opium, you see. And be told what to think, of course.’

Eddie coughed, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Helen looked him straight in the eye.

‘I don’t see that there was any call for you to be so rude to him. He’s a very nice man, and he was only trying to be friendly. See you later, Liz.’

She stalked off without giving Eddie the chance to reply. Liz wasn’t sure he would have managed to. He spent the next minute or two in silence, watching Helen’s retreating figure grow smaller and smaller until she finally turned a corner in the path and went out of sight.

Liz coughed, measuring her words carefully before she spoke. She was very angry, but she wasn’t going to fall out with Eddie in public.

‘Do you want to go back home now? I’ll easily wait for Helen by myself.’

His voice was expressionless. ‘I said I’d escort you both, didn’t I? I’m hardly going to go off without you. Credit me with some manners. You don’t have to speak with a marble in your mouth to know how to act like a gentleman.’

Oh, dear. She’d wanted so much for Helen and him to like each other.

‘Cheer up, Helen. It might never happen.’

Helen grimaced at Janet Brown’s teasing comment, following it with a rueful smile to indicate that she appreciated the impulse which had provoked it.

‘We seem to take it in turns to cheer each other up, don’t we?’ observed Liz as the three girls sat waiting at the tea table for the second half of the evening’s programme to commence. The first part had been a rather sombre affair, going into more detail about the consequences of a chemical attack. Helen and Liz had been discussing the gas mask question again, as Liz explained to Janet.

‘Helen was wondering if they’re going to make any specifically designed for dogs. Or cats too, I suppose,’ she mused, thinking about it.

Janet laughed. ‘For dogs and cats? Do you want one for your budgie too, Helen? How about special miniature masks for goldfish?’ she added, warming to her theme.

‘No,’ said Helen, shaking her head, ‘I’m perfectly serious, Janet. My brother dotes on his dog. If he couldn’t protect Finn, he’d take to the hills with him. I’m sure of it.’

Liz saw Janet’s laughter fade as she registered Helen’s real concern. Her own observation had been an accurate one. As anxiety continued to rise, they did all seem to take turns at being strong and bolstering each other up when the seriousness of the situation facing the country suddenly hit one of them really hard.

Liz was pretty sure it hadn’t yet occurred to Helen that her brothers might be called up to the army if war broke out with Germany. Conor and Finn would have to be separated then. He’d hardly be allowed to take the big dog with him.

‘How’s Eddie doing these days, Liz?’ asked Janet. ‘Still wanting to storm the barricades?’

Helen dropped her head, murmuring something about the buckle on one of her shoes having come undone. About to answer Janet, Liz noticed something which distracted her completely from her gloomy thoughts.

Her own chair was pushed back from the table. She could see Helen’s feet without moving her head. The buckles on both of her shoes were fastened perfectly neatly. Liz could also see the side of Helen’s face. Miss Gallagher was blushing.

Because Edward MacMillan’s name had been mentioned? That couldn’t possibly be the case. Could it? Yet why else would Helen have invented that story about her buckle, if not to hide her embarrassment?

Well, well, well, thought Liz. That was interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Mrs Galbraith called them to order for the second half of the evening, reminding them about the practice exercise.

‘So please get all your family and friends to volunteer to come along as casualties for you to practise your new skills on!’

Next week, she told them in the same bright tone of voice, they would be learning how to deal with bomb, blast and shrapnel injury - just in case, as she put it, the worst came to the worst.

‘And now,’ she said with obvious relief, ‘it’s a great privilege for me to introduce Mrs Buchanan, who’s going to tell us about the Voluntary Aid Detachment of the Red Cross. We know her well, of course. She’s been a good friend to our Clydebank group - so let me ask you to give her a warm welcome. Mrs Buchanan?’

Adam Buchanan’s mother was a good speaker. She knew what she wanted to say, had her information well organized and was surprisingly witty. It wasn’t so much what she said, as the way that she said it. Several of her comments provoked laughs and chuckles.

She related the history of the Voluntary Aid Detachment, and told them how the Red Cross, particularly in the current crisis, would be looking for volunteers of both sexes and all ages - at this point she directed a big beaming smile towards Liz and Helen - and for all branches of their work.

‘Drivers, cooks and, of course,’ she went on, ‘nursing auxiliaries.’

Helen gave Liz a discreet elbow in the ribs.

‘Now,’ Mrs Buchanan was saying, ‘I can speak about this with some authority, as I was myself a VAD nursing assistant during the Great War. Gentlemen, close your ears for a moment, I’ve got something that’s for the ladies only ...’

Liz had to admire the technique. All the men present looked instantly as alert as the women.

‘Well now. You might find this hard to believe, but I was once a slim and attractive young thing-’

‘You still are, hen,’ came a rough but gallant voice from the back of the room. Amelia Buchanan acknowledged the compliment with a graceful inclination of her head. In the midst of the general merriment, her eyes - hazel like her son’s - sparkled. With some surprise, Liz realized that she must be enjoying the banter. Funny, that. She would never have thought that a refined lady like Mrs Buchanan would have got on so well with a crowd of rough and ready Bankies.

She seemed to thrive on it, responding to her audience, relaxing and telling ever more outrageous stories about her experiences as a field nurse on the Western Front. Digging deep into a capacious handbag, she brought out a bundle of hatpins and passed them around.

‘Uniform buttons,’ she explained. ‘Gifts from grateful patients. We VADs used to get them made up into hatpins, as you see here, or sometimes brooches.’

She gave the assembled company a sheepish look. That reminded Liz of her son too.

‘Until the powers-that-be found out about it and clamped down on the practice. The British Army was running out of tunic buttons. Never mind the ammunition. The colonel couldn’t have his men looking sloppy on parade.’

‘Not just the British Army either,’ Mrs Buchanan said after the laughter had subsided, ‘you’ll see some French and Belgian ones in my collection.’

‘Hang on a wee minute,’ came the same rough male voice which had made the earlier compliment. ‘This one I’ve got here looks German.’

She gave him a charmingly rueful smile.

‘Well, he was very handsome, we had shot him down, and he did speak impeccable English.’

By the time Mrs Buchanan sat down at the end of her talk, the room was reverberating to great gales of laughter.

‘Oh, that was good,’ said Janet Brown, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. ‘Did you not think so, Liz?’

Liz pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I think she should have treated it a bit more seriously. The Great War’s hardly a subject for jokes and funny stories.’

‘Has it not occurred to you,’ chipped in Helen, sitting on her other side, ‘that she saw we were all looking a bit worried and decided to cheer us up?’

Liz swung round in the hard wooden chair to face her friend. ‘You know what your biggest fault is, Helen Gallagher?’

‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me!’ Helen, an impish grin on her face, waited patiently for Liz to speak.

‘Your biggest fault, Miss Gallagher,’ she told her with mock severity, ‘is that you always see the best in people. Just when I want to get a good dislike of someone going, you manage to find their redeeming features. It’s very aggravating.’

Helen grinned. ‘Well, Miss MacMillan, all I can say is that I’m sure it’s very good for your soul.’

‘You mean Proddies have got souls?’ asked Liz in tones of astonishment. ‘Well, fancy that. Who’d have thought it?’

‘Miss MacMillan? Miss Gallagher?’ Liz spun around. Amelia Buchanan was standing there, a sheaf of papers in her hand.

‘I enjoyed your talk, Mrs Buchanan,’ said Helen shyly.

‘One does one’s best,’ she murmured, looking pleased, but with a decided twinkle in her eye. This woman knows how to laugh at herself, thought Liz, surprised again.

‘So have I convinced any of you young ladies that you should apply to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment?’

‘Not me, I’m afraid,’ said Helen, ‘but Liz wants to join. Janet too.’

‘Good, excellent. You’ll need these then.’ She handed both girls some sheets of paper. ‘Application form and further information.’

Liz took them with a murmur of thanks, thrilled at the knowledge that she was getting closer and closer to her goal.

‘And I could really become a VAD, but still keep working - do it in the evenings and at weekends?’

Mrs Buchanan, now wearing gold half-moon glasses, smiled at Liz over them.

‘Yes. You would then be a non-mobile VAD, based at one of the hospitals, where you would probably be asked to do a certain number of hours per week. Oh,’ she said absently, ‘there’s one form I’ve forgotten to give you.’

Excited, Liz held out her hand for the further sheet. Extracting it from the bundle of papers she held and handing it to Liz, Amelia Buchanan enumerated each one.