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  She shook her head to be rid of the picture. Blast Jack Thomson! No, she didn’t mean that. Forget about him, that was more like it. Think about John Smith again. Look forward to Friday. She decided that she would ask him to come to tea some day, on his day off. He would probably be glad of somewhere to spend his free time away from the hospital. Next morning, Renee asked her mother if it was all right if she invited him.

  ‘Are you getting serious about this one?’ Anne eyed her keenly.

  ‘I might be – it depends,’ the girl said, cagily. She found it difficult to confide in her mother – not like Granny.

  ‘Ask him any time you like, but be sensible. You haven’t known him very long, have you?’ Anne tried not to lecture.

  ‘I’m going to know him better. We’re going to the Palais on Friday.’

  When she went to work, Renee told Sheila Daun about John Smith. ‘He doesn’t put on any airs, he even told me that he was only an apprentice mechanic before he went into the navy and became a sick-berth attendant.’

  Sheila burst out laughing, and Renee, rather piqued, snapped, ‘What’s so funny about that?’

  ‘From mechanic to sick-berth attendant?’ Sheila giggled.

  ‘From patching engines to patching people? Don’t you think it’s funny?’

  ‘Not really.’ But Renee smiled. ‘You’ll meet him on Friday, if you’re going to the Palais.’

  ‘That’s right, of course, though I did catch a glimpse of him last week. He seemed a decent sort of chap.’

  John was very attentive to Renee on Friday night, while they were dancing and while they were sitting chatting to Sheila and the RAF corporal who had attached himself to her, and his eyes made her heart turn over every time he looked at her. When he was holding her closely during the last dance, Renee issued her invitation. ‘Mum says she’d be pleased if you came to tea, any time you’ve a day off.’ She could feel the stiffening of his back, and her heart sank. ‘Whenever you like,’ she added, desperately.

  He remained silent for a long time, then his hold on her slackened and he said carefully, ‘Thank you, but no. I make it a rule never to meet the mothers, or fathers, of any of the girls I pick up.’

  Renee gasped, and her eyes filled with tears as she jerked away from him and ran to the cloakroom. Once inside, she gave way to them and sobbed bitterly for a few minutes. Then she splashed her face with cold water and put on her coat. She opened the door slowly, but John Smith wasn’t waiting for her as she’d feared, so she walked quickly to the exit. When she started her long walk home, she found that she was trembling. She’d known she would have to make the trek on her own, but had never dreamt that she would be in such a state. What a fool she’d been. John Smith was certainly honest. More than honest – he was absolutely brutal. She was just another of the girls he had picked up.

  Her grief changed to anger suddenly. He was only a big, conceited lump after all, a practised ladies’ man. She strode purposefully along Union Terrace, glancing at the statue of Robert Burns as she passed it. Another ladies’ man. Love ’em and leave ’em. Her fury abated as quickly as it had started, and she gave a sad laugh. She was too vulnerable, that was the trouble. A few kisses and romantic looks, and she was hooked. John Smith had never said anything, or done anything, to her that could be construed as words or actions of love. He had asked if he could kiss her, and had done so several times, but that was all. She had been too eager, too intense, too hasty. If she’d only waited, it would have been . . . No, it was just as well that she’d found out about him before things went any further.

  She turned the corner, and thought of her first nasty experience with a man. That had been a slippery-sided mountain which had beaten her, but this was only a mole-hill. Everything to do with John Smith had been in her imagination, and she had embarrassed him out of his usual gentlemanly behaviour by asking him to her home after such a short acquaintance. Her mood lightened as she carried on walking. She’d acted like a child, not a seventeen-year-old, and she deserved the slap-down she’d received. If John came to the Palais next Friday, she would apologise to him, but one thing was certain. He couldn’t have been her Mr Right.

  Her route took her between the Victoria and Westburn Parks, and with no street lighting during wartime, she felt slightly uneasy after she passed the last of the houses. To cover her fears, she began to whistle, and stepped out even more quickly than before. She arrived home at last, breathless and windblown, but in a far happier frame of mind than when she left the dancehall.

  Maggie McIntosh looked expectantly at her granddaughter as soon as the girl went into the house the following afternoon. ‘How’s yer romance wi’ the famous John Smith goin’?’

  Renee made a face. ‘It’s gone. The romance that never was.’

  Anne seemed surprised. ‘He won’t be coming to tea any time?’

  ‘He certainly won’t. I scared the living daylights out of him by asking.’ She joined in the older women’s laughter, and the visit went on in the usual pattern.

  Renee never saw John Smith again, either. ‘I blew it,’ she said to Sheila Daun, when she told her the whole story.

  ‘I wondered where you’d disappeared to when the dance finished on Friday,’ the other girl said. ‘It’s a pity, though. He seemed to be quite a decent sort.’

  ‘He was, I think. It was me that was silly. If I’d left things to develop naturally, he might have come to care for me. Maybe not. Anyway, I’m not broken-hearted, and I’ve learned another lesson.’

  ‘Good. Just remember it.’

  After she finished tidying up at teatime, one stormy night in November, Anne Gordon picked up the newspaper. The first thing she always turned to was the ‘Births, Marriages and Deaths’ page, or as Peter McIntosh called it, ‘Hatches, Matches and Despatches’, and sometimes even ‘Yells, Bells and Knells’. She sat for a few minutes, then looked up in great excitement.

  ‘Babs has had her baby, it’s in the Births tonight. A boy. I’ll have to get a congratulations card for her.’

  Renee was delighted. ‘That’s great. Mike’ll be a father at last. I bet he’ll be pleased it’s over, but what a shame he couldn’t have been here. And God knows how old his son’ll be before he gets home.’

  ‘It’s sad, isn’t it?’ Anne’s eyes misted. ‘But it’s happening all over the country – all over the world, I suppose.’

  It was over a month later when they received Mike’s letter. He told them the baby’s name was Michael, and that he had been seven pounds two ounces at birth. ‘Babs says he’s a perfect darling, and he’s going to be spoiled rotten between his grandmother and his Auntie Moira. I wish I could see him, but there you are. That’s war.’

  ‘Poor Mike,’ Anne remarked. ‘Having to keep on fighting out there in the desert and his son growing up without a father.’

  ‘He has a father,’ Renee corrected her.

  ‘Yes, I meant not knowing his father, wise guy.’

  They fell silent. The news about the war in North Africa had not been good. Every day, the wireless told of fierce battles, and of the Allies having to retreat. Each knew what the other was thinking – would Mike ever come home to see his son?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Just before Christmas 1940, Jack Thomson paid the Gordons another quick call. This time there was no greeting kiss for Renee, merely a firm handshake, and she felt rather hurt. He was gradually drifting away from her and there was nothing she could do about it – or perhaps his love for her had also been in her imagination. She tried to act naturally when he was there, and found that they could talk and tease each other much more easily without the invisible barrier she had created before. Kitty Miller was on leave at the time, and had gone home to Yorkshire, and the other three land girls were more subdued without her effervescent presence.

  The evening meal passed in companionable joking, even little Nora telling a few funny stori
es. In the couple of hours which Jack spent talking to Renee and her mother afterwards, he kept them amused with anecdotes about his army and social lives, and asked the girl to tell him about the servicemen she’d met. He left to catch the nine o’clock Peterhead bus, and again, Renee only received a handclasp at the door. The end of a phantom love-affair, she thought, and put it down to another lesson learnt not to count her chickens. She gave herself up to having a good time, but never allowed herself to become emotionally involved with any of the boys.

  She exchanged confidences with Sheila – which boy had kissed them, which had tried to get fresh, which had said he was already married – and revelled in the moral danger they were courting. They had both become adept at fending off unwelcome advances, and the attempts, and the tactics they used to foil them, made hilarious telling.

  To brighten up their spells of fire-watching duty in the office building, the girls sometimes asked the boys they had met the previous evening to come and sit with them, making it quite clear that, although there were two camp beds provided in the room, there was to be no hanky-panky, and the servicemen generally stuck to the rule. Renee kept up her correspondence with Jack and Tim, and told them about most of her escapades, making them as humorous as she could, and Jack retaliated by telling her about the girls who made it clear they were available to him, and those who rebuffed him. She felt a strong pang of jealousy at the first such letter, but gradually came to enjoy reading them. After all, there was no reason why Jack shouldn’t be doing the same as she was herself.

  Kitty Miller caused some excitement at the beginning of January, when she came back off leave and announced that she was engaged. Renee and the other girls showered her with congratulations and questions about the lucky man.

  ‘He’s a boy I went to school with.’ Kitty was uncharacteristically shy. ‘But he joined up and I kind of lost touch with him till I ran into him again on my last leave.’

  The ring was duly admired again, and the questions went on. What did he look like? How tall was he? What did he do in peacetime? When did they intend getting married? Anne sat silently until the clamour subsided, then she said quietly,

  ‘I’m very happy for you, Kitty. You’re the last one I thought would settle down.’

  Kitty laughed uproariously. ‘Who said I’d settled down? When the tom-cat’s away . . .’ She caught Anne’s disapproving frown and sobered. ‘No, you’re right, Mrs G. My wild days are over.’

  Flora Sims tossed her auburn tresses aside. ‘Well, mine aren’t, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Nor mine,’ added Renee.

  ‘Me, neither.’ Hilda looked at Nora, who looked away.

  ‘I’m not as wild as you lot, anyway,’ she said softly. ‘I did have a steady boyfriend once, but he was killed at Dunkirk.’ They all remembered her remark about the ‘lucky ones’, and their hearts went out to her.

  Kitty voiced their feelings. ‘I’m sorry, Nora, really very sorry, but why didn’t you tell us before?’

  ‘I don’t like speaking about it, though it’s a bit easier now. I was frozen when my mother wrote and told me.’

  ‘You’ll meet someone else,’ Anne said gently. ‘Don’t let that tragedy ruin your life.’

  Nora smiled sadly. ‘I try not to.’

  Nora’s sorrow affected Renee’s thoughts that night. She had believed that she’d been treated harshly by fate, but the death of a man she loved was something she hoped never to experience. Not that there was any fear of that at the moment, because she had no steady boyfriend, but . . . how would she feel if Jack were killed? Even if he’d scrupulously avoided ever telling her that he loved her, she would be absolutely devastated. Then she realised that she would feel almost as bad if anything happened to Tim, or to Mike, and she’d never imagined herself to be in love with either of them. War, although she had been relishing it lately, was unpredictable. Tragedy could strike at any moment, so it was just as well to enjoy herself while she could.

  Tim came to see them the following Saturday forenoon on his own, because Moira was working. She had been employed in the haberdashery department of the same large store since she left school, and was now second in charge.

  ‘You should see young Michael now,’ Tim told them.

  ‘He’s growing so fast, you wouldn’t believe it.’

  ‘As long as he’s healthy, that’s the main thing,’ Anne smiled. ‘Doesn’t seeing him give you any ideas?’

  ‘Now, now, Mrs Gordon.’ He shook his head ruefully.

  ‘You should know me better than that, by this time. A child would tie Moira down, and that’s one of the reasons I don’t want to ask her to get married.’ Anne pouted and glanced at Renee, who raised her eyebrows in resignation. Tim would not be bulldozed into marriage.

  ‘How’s your mother and father keeping these days?’ he asked his ex-landlady.

  ‘Granny’s not able to get about much,’ she told him sadly. ‘And Granda’s failing now, too, with having to do nearly everything in the house, as well as the shopping, but they’re full of spunk.’

  ‘They’re good folk. I’m sorry to hear they’re not in the best of health.’

  ‘They’re getting on in years, of course,’ Anne reminded him. ‘We’re going over there this afternoon, so I’ll tell them you asked about them. Granny always asks if we’ve heard from you. What’s been happening since we saw you last?’ Tim told them about his life in the Shetlands, where the soldiers were billeted in the huts previously used by the girls who followed the herring fleet to gut and pack the fish. At half past twelve, he stood up. ‘I’ll have to go. I promised to meet Moira in her dinner hour. I’ll see you the next time I’m home, though. You’ve been very quiet for a while, Renee. Having trouble with one of your boyfriends?’

  She forced a short laugh. ‘No, there’s nothing. I just feel a bit down in the dumps today.’ She couldn’t explain to him that she’d been feeling sorry for Moira because Tim wouldn’t ask her to marry him, and sorry for herself because she’d nobody to love her. When they went to visit Maggie in the afternoon, she was still full of spunk, as her daughter had told Tim, and it cheered Renee up quite a bit.

  Her grandmother seemed to be pleased that Tim had been visiting, and was delighted that he had asked after her health. Then she looked at the girl and said, ‘Is there a boyfriend, the noo, Renee? You havena said onythin’ aboot it.’

  ‘There’s dozens, Granny,’ she giggled. ‘But nobody you’d give tuppence for.’

  The old lady looked relieved that Renee could joke about it, and asked about Jack, and then about the land girls, so the conversation was kept going for quite a while, until Peter came back from his weekly shopping expedition, earlier than usual.

  It had been several weeks since Anne and Renee had seen him, and he looked more frail and tired than he had been then. His faded eyes lit up when he saw them, and he made them laugh about his price-comparing.

  ‘I can get butter thruppence cheaper in Lipton’s than the Home and Colonial, but their tea’s dearer, so I get some things at one place an’ some things at the other. Whichever’s cheapest.’

  Renee laughed. ‘Good for you, Granda. You know more about prices than I do.’

  It was Anne who was quiet on the way home, and at last Renee said, ‘What’s wrong, Mum? If you’re worrying about Granny and Granda, don’t. They’re quite happy, you know.’

  Anne’s anxious expression didn’t alter. ‘Yes, just now, but what’s going to happen when your Granda’s not able to go out, either? He wasn’t looking well today, and there’ll come a time when the shopping’s going to be too much for him. I wish I could take them into our house, but there’s no room.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’d want to come, anyway,’ Renee said, sensibly. ‘They’re too independent, but I could offer to do the shopping for him.’

  That made Anne laugh. ‘He’d always be telling you he could ha
ve got things cheaper than you.’

  Life in Cattofield continued on a fairly even keel, the weeks and months passing with monotonous regularity. The two ex-boarders came to see them, on their different times at home, and Renee began to regard them both in the same light – Jack being just another close friend, like Tim.

  Her only wish now was that the war would soon be over, even if that happy event might complicate her routine existence. The land girls would leave, Tim would probably marry Moira, and Jack would . . . But would Jack want to return to Aberdeen and a dull job? And if he did, would he be her old friend again, or a stranger?

  Chapter Seventeen

  On the last Sunday in May 1941, the Gordons were relaxing with the newspapers after their lunch, when someone came to the door.

  ‘Who on earth can that be?’ Anne hoisted herself lazily from her armchair. ‘It’s not that long since Jack was here, and Tim was just a wee while after that.’

  Renee straightened up from her lolling position on the settee and smoothed down her old jumper and skirt, in case it was a male caller. She could hear her mother’s excited voice as she brought the visitor through the hall, but she looked up without a sign of recognition at the bronzed face of the air force sergeant who came in. Even the Canada flash on his arm meant nothing to her.

  The man took off his cap, and the fiery red hair stirred the girl’s memory. ‘Bill Scroggie!’ She jumped to her feet and shook his outstretched hand wildly until a shyness came over her. She should remember that she would be eighteen years old in just over three months, and that her dear old friend was almost a stranger to her now.

  ‘He hasn’t been in this country long,’ Anne informed her.

  ‘He’s stationed in Lincolnshire, but he had some leave, so he came to see us.’

  Bill smiled. ‘Lena gave me strict instructions to visit you, but I’d have come even if she hadn’t.’