For All Our Tomorrows Page 7

  ‘That’s the ticket. There you are, loads of things you can do. Hugh will be proud of you.’

  It was as if a balloon had burst. ‘Oh dear, he might object to my borrowing the car, or getting too involved with war work.’

  ‘For goodness sake, why on earth should he? He does his bit, why shouldn’t you do yours?’

  ‘You’re right, of course.’ But Sara still looked doubtful.

  Bette put her arms about her. ‘You deserve better, Sis. I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. It does no good at all to have a husband telling you what to do all the time. It worries me how he bosses you about, but he isn’t always in the right, you know. You said he was out the other night till the early hours, well the rest of the life-boat crew were in Safe Harbour, having a knee’s up.’

  Sara thought about this for a moment before answering. ‘It must have been the coast-guard patrol he was on then, or one of his other jobs. Like I say, he works hard and is involved in so many things. And I can’t ask questions, can I? It’s not allowed.’

  Bette sighed with exasperation. ‘Whatever he gets up to, he keeps you tied at home on a very short lead, won’t even let you talk to a few lonely soldiers. It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Now who’s over-reacting? He may be a bit of a fuss-pot but Hugh is a caring, considerate husband who wants only the best for me. All right, so he’s over-protective but he can’t help being a bit jealous, it’s in his nature, and I do adore him.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Say it often enough and you might come to believe it.’

  Sara ignored the jibe. ‘What’s more, he’s your brother-in-law don’t forget, so do try to be nice to him, for my sake.’ She playfully tweaked her sister’s nose.

  Bette pulled away, irritated by her sister’s lack of confidence in herself and not wishing to have her comments so lightly dismissed. ‘You’re always ready enough with advice to me, so let me hand some out for a change. Give yourself a chance, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows what you might be capable of, if you don’t try.’

  They were different in so many ways. Sara so quiet and sensible, a caring mum who always put her husband and children first, with no thought for herself, while she as the younger, unattached sister was, according to Hugh, a complete scatter-brain whose only object in life was to enjoy herself. Maybe his judgement of her was correct, but Bette knew that she also possessed a fierce determination to explore and experience life to the full, and not to be put upon by anyone. Least of all a man. She only wished Sara would show the same sort of spirit.

  Sara interrupted her thoughts. ‘What about this Chad then? Is he the one?’

  Bette gave a casual shrug, tossing her auburn curls with a studied air of nonchalance. ‘He might be. Then again, he might not. We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ and she giggled. ‘There are so many fanciable men around, it’s hard to choose. His mate is cute too. Barney Willert, he’s called. Maybe I’ll try him next.’

  ‘Oh, Bette, what am I to do with you? You’re man-mad.’

  ‘I am, aren’t I?’ said Bette with a grin. ‘Now why don’t Chad and I sit with the children tonight, and you and Hugh go out for a romantic supper, just the two of you. Do you good.’

  The suggestion quite perked Sara up. ‘That does sound rather nice. Would you mind?’

  ‘Of course not. What are aunts for but to indulge their niece and nephew with a bit of spoiling once in a while. We’ll play Ludo with them or, Snakes and Ladders. What do you say? And you can go out and enjoy a candlelight supper, somewhere grand like the Fowey Hotel, just the two of you.’

  Sara’s face was alight with hope. ‘It does sound a lovely idea. I’ll speak to Hugh.’

  Chapter Nine

  Hugh dismissed the idea as quite impossible. ‘I have training tonight.’

  ‘Tomorrow then, I shouldn’t think it makes any difference to Bette, though I’m not sure about Chad.’

  ‘Chad? That marine? No, Sara. Absolutely not! I’m not having a Yank in my house, not at any time. Your stupid sister is bad enough, utterly irresponsible. The last time she sat with the children, they got so over-excited they hardly slept a wink and she let them make some sort of liquorice juice which they spilled all over the sofa.’

  Sara giggled. ‘It’s a very old sofa, and it washed off quite easily.’

  ‘That’s not the point. Anyway, I’m out tomorrow night too.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sara was deeply disappointed. ‘But how will Iris manage on her own?’

  ‘She can’t, so Sid Penhale is going to lend a hand. He’s helped out at the Lugger and various other pubs in the town, so he’ll slip into the job quite easily.’

  ‘I assume by that, you are still against my doing a stint behind the bar then?’

  ‘Absolutely, Sara, on that point I am adamant.’ But then he softened slightly, as was his wont. ‘But you’re right, we do need more time alone. I’ll take you to the Fowey Hotel for lunch on Sunday.’

  But even that was denied her, as they discovered that the hotel had been taken over by the military and was being used as a galley and mess hall and goodness knows what else besides.

  Sara was welcomed by the WVS with open arms and Nora Snell soon put her in the picture. ‘Collecting is what we are renowned for, dear. Newspapers and cardboard, aluminium and all kinds of scrap metal from milk bottle tops to saucepans and kettles, used to build ships, don’t you know. Then there’s waste food for the pigs, rose hips for the vitamin C, blackberries for the jam making and any piece of second hand clothing we can lay our hands on.’

  ‘Goodness, that sounds like a great deal of work. What could I do?’

  Nora considered. ‘Well, I expect you are already saving food scraps and the like. Can you knit? Women and children are always needed to knit socks, scarves, helmets and mittens.’

  Sara admitted that she couldn’t, but offered to do a stint at pulling back old pullovers so the wool could be recycled. She also sorted clothes for a while, and came across a rather good overcoat that had been donated by Mrs Glynn, who lived in one of the big houses on the Esplanade.

  ‘Do you think she’d mind if I kept it for Hugh?’ Sara asked Nora. ‘I could put one of his old ones in its place.’

  ‘Not at all, dear. One overcoat is very much the same as another so far as I am concerned.’

  Hugh was of a different opinion entirely and raged at her when she made the suggestion. ‘You certainly will not give away my old overcoat.’

  ‘But it’s very worn, and the one Mrs Glynn has sent was made by a London tailor in very fine worsted. They are quite wealthy, you know.’

  ‘I will not wear their cast-offs,’ Hugh briskly responded, going quite pink with anger. ‘I’m surprised you even ask. This work you are doing is utterly demeaning. I will not have it. I shall have to speak to Nora Snell and demand she find you something more respectable.’

  ‘No, no, it’s all right. I’m sorry I even thought of it. Forget the overcoat. It was a silly idea, obviously, but I never meant to insult you.’

  Hugh did indeed speak to Nora and sorting second hand clothes was banned from that moment on.

  Nora was almost apologetic as she promised to find some other, more appropriate job for her to do. ‘Can you drive dear?’

  When it was discovered that Sara could, and had use of a vehicle occasionally, she was moved on to collecting salvage, which Sara gladly agreed to. Newspapers were surely safe and the total collected was published each week as there was fierce competition between the villages.

  Driving between Par, Lanlivery, Gollant and Fowey, it was amazing how often she passed American army vehicles. She would find herself checking on the driver to see if it was First Lieutenant Charles Denham, then chide herself for being foolish. On one occasion she thought she’d spotted him and almost waved, but then thought better of it. It could have been anybody, and it wasn’t at all the thing for a married woman to be seen waving at American Marines.

  Most of her time was spent making up parcels to be dispatched
to the local Cornish boys serving in H.M. forces. As well as the knitted items there were tins of food, home baked cakes and preserves, provided mainly by the ladies of Fowey who were veritable experts at pickling, salting and baking.

  Sara also went round the shops, begging for unsold stock or small treats which might be suitable and the shop keepers were, without fail, generous to a fault.

  She kept looking for Charles there too. She sometimes left off his full title, whenever she thought of him these days. Perhaps because the only private place she had, was in her head. And then one morning, on her way into the chandlers, there he was on his way out, just as if she’d conjured him out of her thoughts.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ She could feel her cheeks growing pink, and hated herself for this weakness.

  His face lit up into a delighted smile. ‘It’s good to see you again. We do so miss seeing your cheery face behind the bar, and hearing your merry laugh,’ which made Sara’s cheeks turn an even brighter crimson. ‘What are you doing with yourself these days that’s so much more important than serving beer to tired soldiers?’

  He’d taken her by the elbow and was leading her away from the shop, much to curiosity of the group of men waiting to be served, not to mention the woman who ran the drapers next door.

  I really must be careful, Sara thought, though she didn’t quite know which scared her the most, local gossip reaching Hugh, or her own vulnerability.

  ‘How about a cup of your wonderful tea? I’ve got an hour to kill before I have to get back. No, don’t even think of refusing. I absolutely insist.’

  He led her firmly to the Odd Spot, a tiny café so called because it was on the very edge of town, catering mainly for dockers; their great shovels, which they used for loading the clay, leaning up against the wall outside.

  He took off his cap and placed it on the table, his hair ruffled and untidy, refusing to be slicked down as it really should be. She resisted an urge to smooth it and folded her hands into her lap, to make sure they behaved.

  Tea was brought, and Charles ordered two toasted tea cakes as well. These were utterly delicious, for all they carried only a scraping of margarine rather than butter, and the jam was rather tart. Strangely, even though this was indeed an odd spot for her to be sitting in the midst of all these dockers taking tea with an American GI, Sara felt perfectly relaxed and at ease, starting to really quite enjoy herself.

  All the while they ate, he chattered away, telling her about Boston, and the fall, his work up at the base.

  Sara told him about the WVS, the children collecting salvage, the removal of gates and railings, small details of town life, of folk doing their bit. How she missed being able to go up to St Catherine’s castle, sit on the old stone walls to watch the ships coming in, now that it was covered in camouflage nets and gun batteries. Even how to make powdered egg taste good, and the fact the pasties she made weren’t as good as before the war, because of the lack of decent meat. ‘More of Fred Pullen’s home grown vegetables from his allotment than good steak, but I do my best, and people seem to enjoy them.’

  ‘I’m sure they do.’

  What am I saying? Sara thought, yet they were talking so easily, as if they’d been friends for years. ‘That was wonderful but I really should be going. It was most generous of you. Thank you.’

  ‘It was worth it to see you look so relaxed and smile. You still haven’t fully explained though, why we’ve been deprived of your delightful presence in the bar.’

  Not for the world would she tell him of Hugh’s absolute ban. Far too disloyal. ‘Actually,’ Sara said, trying to make light of it, ‘I don’t have time any more. I’m far too busy driving all around the countryside collecting newspaper and bottle tops to turn into battleships.’

  He was considering her expression with intense scrutiny, as if trying to read the truth behind her words. ‘Ah, I see, and this battleship will be made of such rubbish presumably?’

  ‘Got it in one.’ Sara leaned towards him, her voice suddenly eager. ‘I’m doing my best to be useful but, oh, I do envy the women who do real work: are despatch riders for the military, work in factories, on the land, or have joined the WRNS, ready and willing to fight the enemy in any way they can. My own efforts seem insignificant by comparison.’

  He didn’t laugh or pooh-pooh her feelings but considered them quite seriously. ‘I’m sure that is not the case at all. I was only teasing when I suggested the battleship would be made out of rubbish. Fund raising, salvage, all of that stuff is an essential part of the war effort too. I’ve heard how many thousands of pounds the folk of Fowey have raised this last year or so, and I’m deeply impressed. Enough to build two battleships, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Several torpedoes, I believe.’ Sara giggled. ‘You should have seen Fore Street and Trafalgar Square when it all first began. Everyone emptied their lofts and cellars and the streets were awash with tins and boxes, old iron bedsteads and battered frying pans. It was hilarious. The council didn’t know where to put it all. Poor Nora had to organise dozens of trucks to clear it all away. It’s getting harder to find so much now, although we have to keep trying, apparently. That’s what I’m doing today, begging for treats and comforts to send to sailors. Anyway, I’d like to think that it’s all worth while, and that I’m doing something useful.’

  She was talking too much, Sara knew it, but couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t bring herself to get up and walk away.

  There was something in the sympathetic tone of his voice, in his steady gaze that made her feelings come bubbling out, almost as if she had no control over them. ‘I do miss working in the pub and chatting to you all. I wish I was still allowed to . . .’ She stopped, appalled by what she’d been about to say.

  He pretended not to notice. ‘If anyone can prise stuff out of folk, you can. That’s what you were doing the other day, when I saw you driving from Lanlivery?’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t sure that it was you.’

  ‘I’ll wave next time, to make sure you do.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Again silence, their gaze locked. He had the gentlest eyes she’d ever seen, a dark, chocolate brown.

  ‘I really should be going.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Sara looked down at their hands resting on the table, almost side by side. His were tanned and square, the fingernails long and smooth and very clean. She saw the muscles twitch slightly, as if he wanted to reach out and grasp hers within them, and she quickly began to pull on her gloves, to gather up her bag.

  ‘I hoped to visit all the shops in this part of town today, and then I must pick up the children. Do you have children? Oh, I’m so sorry. How extraordinarily rude of me.’ Sara was flooded with embarrassment at her own forwardness. ‘Thanks again for the tea and toast,’ and she fled before ever he had chance to answer. Which was a pity, because she would like to have know what it was.

  Chapter Ten

  One day, Jenny’s teacher asked if she would help organise the school children into collecting bagfuls of seaweed. This was a special commodity which the coastal towns of Cornwall could provide, being a variety known as gonothyraea, used in the making of penicillin. ‘Someone needs to be with them, and I’m so short staffed.’

  Sara gladly accepted the challenge.

  ‘The seaweed helps our injured soldiers get well again,’ she told them, whenever they complained about the cold or the wet, or the slippy rocks. ‘Be brave, children, and think about those brave men.’

  ‘And at least we’re missing arithmetic,’ piped up one small voice.

  Sara laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose you are.’

  This appealed to such an extent that volunteers doubled overnight.

  By December she had been co-opted onto the War Weapons Week committee where plans were indeed in progress for a major fund-raising event the following year. Having done so well in the past the town meant to do even better this year, perhaps sufficient to buy boats or equipment for whatever operation was currently being planned
and carried out right here in Cornwall, before their very eyes.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll have some new ideas, dear,’ said Nora Snell, when the idea was broached at one of their regular meetings. ‘After all, it is well known how very friendly you are with the GIs.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so,’ Sara protested, thinking of what Hugh’s reaction would be to such a statement. ‘No more than anyone else.’

  ‘Come dear, don’t be modest. We all know how much they miss you at the Ship, but you could perhaps organise some sort of event for us, Sara dear, since you did the dance so well. Perhaps a whist drive or concert?’

  ‘I would need to ask my husband.’

  ‘Would you really?’ Nora clearly would never dream of asking Scobey’s permission to do anything.

  ‘Yes, I believe I should.’

  Well, I suppose you would dear, in the circumstances. We all perfectly understand why he has banned you from the bar, poor man. All the local men are so jealous of the GIs, and is it any wonder? Overpaid and oversexed, isn’t that what they call them? They’re like wild beasts, or so I’m told.’ She tittered rather foolishly, delighted by her own outrageousness.

  Sara was determined not to rise to the woman’s vindictiveness. Nevertheless, in view of Hugh’s strong objections to her involvement with the fish supper, it would be wise to check with him first before committing herself to anything further.

  ‘If you must, you must, dear, only we’d really like to get this matter settled then we can get on with other business. So run along and ask him now, if you please.’

  And Sara had no alternative but to comply, just as if she were a small child needing to ask permission from a parent or headmaster.

  She couldn’t find him behind the bar, nor was there any sight of Iris. Only Sid stood there, happily wiping glasses and pontificating on his favourite subject of fishing. ‘Have you seen Hugh anywhere, Sid? I’m really in the middle of a meeting at the town hall but I’d just like a quick word.’