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‘To get away from Jeffrey, you mean, or to get out of getting married,’ Evie demanded, wide-eyed. ‘Do you realise how very serious marriage is – and how very wonderful it can be?’
‘I’d like to think we could be like you and Bob, but we’re not. Do you know that when you talk about him your eyes go all far away, and tender? And do you realise that you touch your wedding ring, too?’ Carrie whispered. ‘And hadn’t you thought that I wear my engagement ring round my neck because I say I don’t want to get it greased up?
‘And I didn’t join up to get away from Jeffrey, or get out of getting married. It was really, I suppose, to get away from the pressure. Everybody seemed to assume that that’s how it would be. I wanted time to myself, to think it out.’
The tears came then, hot and salty, and she covered her face with her hands and wept. And Evie sat on the bed beside her, and held her close, and said, ‘Sssssh. Seems to me you’ve been bottling this up for far too long, Carrie Tiptree, and when you are ready, you and I are going to have a good talk about things, before young Nan gets back. And talking about our Nan,’ she smiled, offering a clean handkerchief, ‘I wonder if her young man made it or if she’s on her way back, now – stood up and fed up!’
Private Nan Morrissey turned the bend in the road and saw the Black Bull ahead. No one was waiting there. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes early, so where should she wait? Inside the pub, or outside? She remembered Grandad and decided to wait in the car park to the left where she wouldn’t be so conspicuous – especially if Chas didn’t turn up.
She heard the banging of a car door, and footsteps and then, ‘Nan!’
‘Hi!’ she called, hurrying to meet him.
‘I was sure you wouldn’t turn up.’ He took her hands in his, kissing her cheek.
‘And I was sure you’d be flying. I decided to give it till half-past, then shove off back. But you’re here. I wanted you to be.’
‘You did, Nan? Truly?’
‘Honest to God. Now – are we goin’ inside for a drink, or shall we have a stroll and a chat, before it gets dark?’
‘Whatever you want. We could, of course, sit in the car…?’
‘The car? You got a motor, Chas?’
‘I sort of share one. She’s a little darling. Come and meet her?’ He led her to a small car, a baby Austin, with one door tied up with wire and a mudguard missing. ‘We call her Boadicea.’
‘You call her what!’
Nan knew about Queen Boadicea. Indeed, she’d had nothing but admiration for the tribal queen who rebelled against the Romans who shouldn’t have been in England the first place!
‘But Chas – that motor isn’t one bit like a war chariot! Not the one Boadicea drove. Pulled by horses hers was and it had steel blades sticking out of the wheels so anybody that got a bit close got their legs cut off at the knees! That little thing shouldn’t be called Boadicea!’
‘What, then?’ He grinned.
‘We-e-ll – something like Violet or Primrose. Something delicate, sort of – and helpless!’
‘Sorry, Nan. Boadicea she is.’ He patted the bonnet with a gentle hand. ‘It was my turn to have her, tonight. She belonged to an air-gunner who didn’t make it back, so we kind of took her over.’
‘But where do you get petrol from?’ Petrol was severely rationed.
‘We sort of come by it. You can usually get hold of the odd gallon if you know where to look. And Boadicea goes a long way on a gallon.’
‘Y-yes. Well, I suppose we’d better go inside. I fancy a glass of shandy. How about you, Chas?’
‘Anything you say. I reckon we’ve got a lot of talking to do. And I’ll run you back in her.’
‘Do you know where my billet is – in the dark, I mean, and without lights? And can you find your way back to the aerodrome, from Heronflete?’
‘Darling girl, I can navigate my way to Berlin and back in the blackout – and without lights, too. Boadicea might have seen better days, but I trust her implicitly.’
‘Then I’ll be glad of a lift, only I haven’t got a late pass. I’ll have to be in by half-past ten or I’ll be in trouble.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll have you home in good time.’ He took her hand, pulling it through his arm. ‘Like I said, you & I have a lot of catching up to do.’
And Nan let slip a little sigh, and thought how nice it was to be walking arm in arm with a young man who called her darling girl. And, of far more importance, a young man who hadn’t stammered once since they met. Now that really was something!
‘Feeling better now?’ Evie asked softly.
‘Yes. And sorry I made such a show of myself. I can usually cope with things. I’ve had to, y’see, me being what you might call a fatherless only child. And you must think I’m dreadful, leaving my mother on her own like I did. But it seemed to be the only way out. And I’m not making a fuss, truly I’m not.’
‘You’ve every right to make a fuss. Getting married is for life, Carrie, and best you sort yourself out now than be sorry, afterwards. And can I just say, that in my opinion, Jeffrey should have been a bit more – well – careful, when it was your first time. Bob was lovely – so gentle – but it seems to me that Jeffrey just rushed in without any talking – y’know, love words – or coaxing and kissing. And touching, too. Touching is very important; makes you want to as much as he does. But then, it might have been his first time, too – had you thought about that?’
‘No I hadn’t. I suppose it could have been like that for him, too. But why didn’t he tell me, instead of just demanding and snatching, Evie? I think I’d have felt a bit better about it if he’d been straight with me.’
‘Yes – we-e-ll – you’re both going to have to be honest with each other, and both of you must try not to be accusing, or bitter. Just try to talk -or write – as friends; loving friends.’
‘I’m not writing to him, Evie. I know it would be far the best way because I could set out my feelings more carefully and without interruption, too. But the thought of my letter being censored – oh, no. And it would be the same for Jeffrey, as well.’
‘Then what you’re going to have to do is write it all in a letter, keeping nothing back, and then stick a stamp on it and post it in a pillarbox like civilians do. We’re going to Lincoln on Saturday – surely you can manage to post one without been seen? It’s the best way out, in my opinion.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that, Evie. After all, even if I were caught, it wouldn’t be Heronflete I’d be writing about, would it? It would just be -’ She hesitated, sighing deeply. ‘Well, it would just be about my love life, wouldn’t it. Or the lack of it.’
‘You’ll give it a go, then? All it needs is an unbiased, uncritical letter telling Jeffrey how you felt about what happened that night, and how willing you are to work things out between you so that, when you do get married, everything will be much less embarrassing. You do want your wedding night to be something to remember always, don’t you Carrie?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Just to think of a loving and gentle husband, caring about how she felt and wanting to make things wonderful for them both, made her feel more understanding towards the Jeffrey who had been so uncaring and brash that it had made her almost dislike him. ‘Thanks a lot, Mrs Turner. And I wish I’d talked to you like this ages ago.’
‘Ages ago, Carrie, we didn’t know each other well enough. And bless you for calling me Mrs Turner. I was Mrs Turner for a whole week, after which I became Turner, or lance-corporal again. And heavens! What is that awful din outside!’
‘Sounds like a threshing machine in pain!’
Carrie put out the light as Evie made for the front door, calling ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’
‘It’s me – Morrissey. Who did you think it was?’ Nan giggled. ‘And it was only Chas turning Boadicea round. She’s a bit naughty in reverse gear, he said.’
‘Boadicea? Have you been drinking Morrissey?’
‘No, Evie. We’ve been talking, mostly. And listen – there she goes, up the hill by the wood.’
They heard the sound of an engine protesting at so steep a hill, then the grating of gears and the parping of a horn.
‘That’s Chas letting me know he’s got her under control again.’
‘We’d better get inside. It’s turned half-past ten and I wouldn’t put it past the sergeant to do a sneaky check on us tonight – especially after all the commotion. And got who or what under control?’
‘Boadicea. She’s the little Austin they have as a runabout at Chas’s place. She’s very old and lots of bits have dropped off but they’re all very fond of her, so don’t mock her. And if I called your pick-up a rattletrap, Carrie, then I take it all back. You don’t know what rattletrap means, till you’ve been driven in Boadicea.’
‘So are you going to tell us about it,’ Evie prompted, a little alarmed at the flush in Nan’s cheeks and the shine in her eyes. ‘You had a good time?’
‘Luvely. And fingers crossed that we’ll both be able to make it on Tuesday. Chas says he’ll pick me up at Priest’s, so’s I don’t have to hoof all the way to the Black Bull, and would you mind if I don’t tell you, about it just now? So much happened, see, that it would take half the night.’
‘But everything was all right?’ Evie persisted. ‘He didn’t – er -’
‘Try anything on? Course he didn’t. But I hope it’s allowed for him to kiss me goodnight?’
‘Of course it is – and I’m not quizzing you, Nan. I haven’t got the right. I’d like to know, all the same, that Chas acted – well – like -’
‘Like a gentleman,’ Carrie supplied gravely.
‘Of course he did. He is a gentleman. And I’ll just do a quick nip down the garden.’
‘You’ll be all right, Nan?’
‘Course I will!’
The kitchen door slammed and Carrie said, ‘Well, if falling in love makes you that brave, then I’m all for it. And mark my words, Nan’s in love.’
‘Then I hope she doesn’t get hurt – after all, Chas does take more risks than most – flying, I mean.’
‘She won’t get hurt, Evie. She’ll be all right. Nan’s sort usually have a good guardian angel.’
‘Then I hope Chas has one, too.’
Evie really meant it, because Nan was so very young and this was her first falling in love. And probably Chas’s, too. Not twenty-one yet, but old enough to fly over Germany.
Evie hoped that Charles Lawson had a very vigilant guardian angel.
Seven
Carrie waited outside Priest’s Lodge. Three o’clock, Sergeant James had said, after which she would drive to Southgate, collect Evie and Nan, then set out for Lincoln. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, going over her instructions in her mind.
‘You can park behind Lincoln Barracks, no problem,’ Freddy had told her. ‘Best place to leave the truck, then nobody can get at your petrol. And Norm can take the big car to pick up the late shift. What’ll you be doing with yourself this afternoon, Carrie?’
‘Just having a look at the shops and maybe I’ll get something to eat if I can find a café.’
Carrie had felt uneasy. Not about driving through Lincoln for the first time, nor finding somewhere to park, but about the letter she was going to post sneakily in the first pillarbox she came across.
That letter to Jeffrey had not been easy to write. She had torn up several attempts before deciding that pussyfooting would get her nowhere. Straight and to the point it would have to be – and as reasonable as she could make it without seeming to criticise.
Dearest Jeffrey,
This letter will be very hard to write, but write it I must because something has been upsetting me for a long time – since the night mother was out playing whist, in fact – and we did something we should not have done. I was not proud of myself for giving in because I would rather have waited until our wedding night.
What we did made me feel so guilty, Jeffrey, that I did not enjoy it, and I know I should have, so can we talk about it, and will you at least try to understand how I feel, and what a terrible scandal there would have been in the village, if something had gone dreadfully wrong?
I cannot think about our wedding, you see, without remembering that night and how it upset me. And yes, I know I should have said something at the time, but I was too embarrassed and just wanted to forget it.
I do not know what I am trying to say, exactly, except that I want you to put my mind at rest and tell me it will be absolutely wonderful when next it happens – which will be on our honeymoon, I hope.
This letter is not meant to criticise you. I just think that we were both a bit hasty and spoiled something that should really be very precious.
I think I have put this badly, and I am sorry, but when next we meet I hope we will be able to talk to each other freely and frankly and put things to rights.
I am posting this letter sneakily, so you need not worry that someone had read it, and I hope you might be able to find a way to do the same when you reply to it. After all, things concerning you and me should be read by you and I only.
Write back very soon, and tell me you understand, darling. And tell me I am being an idiot, and that of course our honeymoon will be something I will never want to forget.
With love.
A disjointed, rambling letter with words tumbling out higgledy-piggledy; a letter she wished she need never have written, but one which, now it was in her pocket, she was glad that she had.
‘Wakey wakey, Tiptree!’ Sergeant James placed her respirator at her feet, then banged shut the door of the truck. ‘You were miles away!’
‘Sorry, Sergeant. Just thinking that once we get there I’ll be all right. Corporal Finnigan told me where to park. It’s just a bit awkward, with no road signs.’
‘Agreed, but necessary. Can’t have the enemy knowing where he is if he decides to parachute in!’
‘But I thought there wasn’t going to be an invasion, Sergeant. Not now that Hitler’s invaded Russia…’
‘The rate that man’s going at, he’ll be in Moscow by Christmas. Mind, it’ll be snowing there soon, so heaven only knows what’ll happen when everything is frozen over. But chop-chop, girl, and pick up the other two!’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’ Carrie could see Southgate at the bottom of the hill, and Evie and Nan waiting at the gate.
‘And what will you two be doing this afternoon,’ the sergeant asked when they had climbed into the back of the truck.
‘Me, Sergeant? I’ve got a date,’ Nan offered cheerily. ‘Well, I think I have. Course, he might be off bombin’ and that’ll be the end of it. Fingers crossed, eh?’
‘An airman, Morrissey? He wouldn’t by any chance own a very noisy car that awoke me at half-past ten the other night?’
‘Ar, sorry, Sergeant. That would be Boadicea. She’s a car he shares with some of the other lads at the aerodrome.’
‘Ha!’ Monica James was at a loss for words because, in her opinion, someone as young as Morrissey should be told the facts of life before she went on dates and allowed herself to be driven home in the dark in a car that wheezed and coughed – and backfired – fit to wake the dead!
But where did your duty as a sergeant end and where did interference take over? And surely Morrissey would have had the usual lectures in barracks during her training? Personal Hygiene, didn’t it come under? Keeping your nose clean and not landing yourself in trouble, it amounted to.
‘We’ll be dancing,’ Nan supplied when the silence had become noticeable. ‘He can’t dance, so I’m learning him.’
‘Then mind your young man gets you back to the truck for ten sharp.’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’ There didn’t seem much else to say, especially since Chas mightn’t even be there.
‘What will you do this afternoon?’ Evie asked the sergeant.
‘Got an appointment at the hairdressers for a trim and a shampoo and set, Turner. How about you?’
‘Carrie – er – Tiptree and I will tag along together – maybe look out for some under-the-counter-make-up.’
For the rest of the journey there was silence; Carrie concentrating on her driving, Sergeant James thinking how embarrassing it was having to mix with recruits so raw they hadn’t had their first leave, yet. Except Turner, that was.
