Only a Mother Knows. Annie Groves

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      ‘I was hoping to be able to take a bath, is there any hot water?’

      ‘Enough for five inches I would say,’ Olive answered, her brows meeting in a troubled frown. ‘Is everything all right, Dulcie?’

      ‘Fine. Just a bit of a headache,’ Dulcie lied with uncharacteristic calmness. She had a lot to think about and she needed privacy to do it. Thankfully, Olive had the company of Mrs Black from next door and Tilly, who had just come in from fire-watching.

      ‘I’ll make you a hot cocoa and see if we have something for your headache,’ Olive said, rising from the chair.

      ‘Maybe later,’ Dulcie said, not wanting any fuss. ‘The bath might do the trick. I won’t be long,’ she managed to add as she closed the door, tears just a blink away as Olive’s kindness touched her heart and made her feel tawdry, whilst Nancy Black’s strident opinion echoed after her.

      ‘I don’t know as I like that common voice on the wireless,’ Nancy said, sitting on Olive’s settee, wrinkling her flared nostrils like there was a bad smell floating about the room, much to Olive’s chagrin.

      ‘It’s Wilfred Pickles!’ Olive exclaimed, retrieving the newspaper, which Nancy had borrowed and brought back two days late. This was becoming a regular occurrence, and even though Olive didn’t mind lending her the newspaper, she did object to not getting it back when the news was still fresh, instead of being fit for nothing except tomorrow’s chip wrapper; especially when Nancy took half of it to polish her windows and Olive had to remind her who it actually belonged to.

      ‘It comes to something when the news has to be read in a Yorkshire accent,’ Nancy continued. ‘Have all the true Englishmen gone to fight? That’s what I want to know.’

      ‘I quite like a Yorkshire accent, myself,’ Olive replied, ‘and of course he is a true Englishman.’ She folded the paper to give her hands something to do to stave off the nervous energy Nancy always seemed to encourage in her and, then, putting the paper on the arm of the chair she continued, ‘I told you, he’s a very fine actor, is Wilfred Pickles. I think he’s got a lovely soothing voice and he’s very handsome.’ She gave an emphatic nod of her head and just stopped short of telling Nancy that she was being absurd.

      ‘It’s not right,’ Nancy began, but she was cut off mid-sentence.

      ‘Oh, I dunno.’ Tilly imitated the common slang, knowing it irked Nancy, cautiously splaying her fingers down the inside leg of her last pair of nylons that Drew had given her to examine it for ladders. ‘Mum’s right, his voice is very gentle on the old nerves, I must say.’ Olive smiled at her daughter whilst Nancy sniffed her disregard, her mouth set in a straight line.

      ‘Is she sickening for something?’ Nancy asked Olive and it took all of Tilly’s resolve to stop herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. ‘It just doesn’t seem right somehow,’ Nancy continued, ‘unpatriotic.’

      ‘Maybe if the BBC has a word on your behalf, as you’re such an avid listener.’ Tilly couldn’t look at her neighbour in case she gave the game away. Her mother gave her a raised eyebrow, but Tilly could see she too was amused and even more so when she actually joined in.

      ‘They could get Mr Churchill to do the honours and read the nine o’clock edition if he’s got nothing better to do,’ Olive suggested. Tilly’s lips formed a silent moue of surprise.

      ‘Well,’ Nancy exclaimed, obviously peeved at their impudence, ‘I’ve got better things I must be getting on with. I haven’t got time to sit around here gossiping all night with you pair of giddy kippers.’ Shrugging her discontent Nancy shuffled out of the room.

      ‘Don’t let me keep you, Nancy, I’m sure you must be very busy,’ Olive managed to say, only just subduing her laughter until they heard the front door slam.

      ‘Oh, Mum, you are a one,’ Tillie laughed, hugging her sides as she rolled on the arm of the chair. Olive was glad to see that Tilly was in good spirits; the war seemed to have made her a little too serious than was good for her and she was pleased that Tilly had suggested she might go to the pictures with Dulcie on Saturday night.

      ‘Well, serves her right, frosty-faced perisher, she …’ Olive stopped herself just in time when the back door opened and Sally came into the room. Then, in a more sober tone, she said, ‘I don’t know what’s got into me lately, I would never have said boo to a goose before the war.’ She was laughing softly as Sally was followed by Dulcie, clad now in her dressing gown as she entered the front room. Tilly was laughing still, glad to see her mother carefree for a change.

      ‘Are you going to share the joke?’ Dulcie asked, so glad to be home. Her ‘episode’ in the air-raid shelter with Reece Redgrave had been played over and over again in her mind even though she tried to force herself not to think of it; a trick she’d learned years ago when her mother ignored her in favour of Edith, it was her safety mechanism and it worked well usually, but not tonight. The air-raid tryst was something she was going to try her very best to forget. But she had the feeling it was going to be difficult, very difficult indeed.

      ‘Alice is awake if you want to see her before you eat your supper, Sally,’ Olive said. ‘I put her down for the night but she’s a bit fretful since the air-raid siren went off.’

      I know how she feels, Dulcie thought, then remembering the envelope she said to Tilly, ‘This was on the mat in the hall.’ She handed over the letter.

      ‘It is Drew’s handwriting,’ Tilly said, surprised and pleased all at the same time.

      ‘He adores you so much he even sends you love letters a couple of hours after he’s seen you,’ Sally chuckled. But their happy chatter faded when there was a volley of impatient-sounding raps on the front door.

      ‘I’ll go,’ Tilly said but was stopped by her mother who looked a little concerned and hurried to the hall. ‘Wait there, I’ll see to it,’ Olive called over her shoulder.

      ‘One day Mum will see I’m not a little girl any more and quite able to answer the front door in the blackout,’ Tilly laughed but her amusement was short-lived when she saw Drew standing behind her mother.

      ‘You’d better go into the corridor,’ Olive told Tilly, her eyes troubled. ‘Drew has something he wants to say to you.’ Tilly felt her heart slump in her chest; this didn’t look good. It didn’t look good at all.

      ‘Drew?’ was all she could manage before she noticed his suitcase. No! Her mind refused to believe what she could see with her own eyes.

      She didn’t like this. Not one bit. Drew hadn’t dressed in his best suit to go fire-watching. Her instincts were bristling now, telling her that no matter what he was about to say, there was nothing she could do about it.

      ‘I have to go. Forthwith.’ Drew made an attempt at humour but it didn’t work.

      ‘Forthwith?’ Tilly asked, bemused, but his answer came all too swiftly, and a chill sliced right through her.

      ‘It means I have to go away tonight.’ Drew’s voice dropped to a whisper as he gazed into her tearful blue eyes. ‘Now. Immediately. I have to catch the flight my father has arranged tonight …’ His smile slipped a little and she could see tears brimming in his eyes.

      ‘You mean you СКАЧАТЬ