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  ‘We often wondered what had happened to you,’ Renee said.

  ‘Yes, we wondered how you were getting on, and if you’d had any family.’ Anne’s eyebrows went down in pretended displeasure. ‘You never wrote to us, you naughty thing.’

  His face sobered. ‘We did mean to write after we got settled down, but the man I was working for, an old bachelor, died about three months after we got there, so my job was finished.’

  ‘Oh, Bill, what a shame.’ She looked sympathetic. ‘And I believe jobs weren’t so easy to come by in Canada in 1937.’

  ‘No, you’re right there, Mrs Gordon, and we were put out of our house, for his nieces and nephews sold the whole place up. We couldn’t find work where we were, so we kept on the move, and got lifts sometimes. We maybe got a job for a day at a little farm, and a decent meal, before we moved on again.

  ‘I couldn’t let anybody back home know how we were living. We were like tramps for over two years, and slept out in the open most nights, except in the winter. Some farmer’s wife usually took pity on us if it was bad weather, and let us sleep in an outhouse or something. If we’d had the money, we’d have come home, but . . .’ His face clouded at the memory of what they’d suffered.

  ‘Lena was the one thing that kept me going. She wouldn’t let me feel sorry for myself, and she never blamed me for taking her away from Aberdeen.’

  Anne was quite distressed at what he was telling her. ‘Oh, Bill, what a terrible time you must have had.’

  ‘Our luck changed, though,’ he said quickly. ‘I happened to land at the right place at the right time, when they were needing a storeman at this big warehouse just outside Toronto. The boss belonged to Aberdeen himself, so I had the job as soon as I opened my mouth. Then, when he discovered that I was really a gardener, he introduced me to one of his friends who was looking for a man to take charge of a new branch of his horticultural firm in Toronto, and I was back on my feet again. We’ve managed to buy our own little house now – well, we’re still paying it up – and we’re quite comfortable.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Anne was smiling again, pleased that everything had turned out so well for him in the end.

  ‘Have you any family, though? You never said.’

  ‘No, Mrs Gordon, we haven’t any yet.’ He smiled. ‘At first, we . . . well, we couldn’t afford any, and we hadn’t a roof over our heads. Then, when I got this job, we were saving as much as we could to buy a house. When the war started, I wanted to come over right away and do my bit for the old country, but I hadn’t long started working, and I wanted to see Lena settled, so I didn’t manage to volunteer till the middle of 1940. She wasn’t all that keen on the idea, but she came round to it.’

  Anne’s heart went out to the girl whose life had been so disrupted at a time when she had thought it ordered at last.

  ‘I’m not surprised she was against it, Bill. She’ll be lonely in a strange country on her own.’

  ‘She’s made quite a few friends now, and our neighbours are very good. Anyway, she’s taken a job to keep her occupied till I get back.’ His eyes twinkled suddenly, and he laughed. ‘After that, we intend to have a big family, and that’ll keep us both busy – night and day.’ He winked.

  ‘You haven’t changed, Bill.’ Anne smiled broadly.

  ‘Neither have you, Mrs Gordon.’

  ‘Oh, come off it. Waist spreading, hair turning grey? I’m beginning to feel ancient.’

  Renee had been feeling too shy to enter into the conversation, but found her tongue at last. ‘Oh, Mum, you’re only forty-one. That’s not ancient old, just ordinary old.’

  ‘Thank you for those kind words.’ Anne roared with laughter. ‘I’ll have to shift my ordinary old bones now, anyway. I’ve to get the tea ready for my four land girls.’

  ‘Oh.’ Bill looked crestfallen. ‘I was going to ask you about staying, Mrs Gordon. You see, I went to Lena’s mother this morning when I came off the train, but she’s still mad at me for taking her daughter away from her, so I thought you could maybe put me up for a few days, but if you’ve got four . . .’

  ‘Bill Scroggie! You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,’ Anne said, indignantly. ‘You can sleep on the bed settee, if you don’t object?’

  ‘No, no, it’s OK. I’ll find somewhere in the town. I don’t want to put you out.’

  ‘You’re not putting me out. It’s all right with me, if it’s all right with you. We’ll be delighted to have you.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Gordon. It’s very kind of you, for I’ve nobody left in Huntly, now. My father died just weeks after we went to Canada, and my mother died five months after that. I didn’t write to her after my chauffeur job was finished, but I sent a letter once I was settled in Toronto, to let her know we were all right, and one of her neighbours, the postie’s wife, got my address off the envelope, so she wrote to tell me about my mother’s death. It was an awful shock, especially when we’d just got ourselves sorted out.’

  ‘Poor Bill.’ Anne laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve had more than your share of troubles, haven’t you?’

  He shrugged philosophically. ‘Oh, well. I’ll take you up on your offer of a bed, Mrs Gordon.’

  ‘That’s settled, then. Renee, you keep Bill amused while I get on with the tea.’

  He looked at the girl properly then. ‘My goodness, there’s a big change in you. I wouldn’t have recognised you if I’d met you in the street. You’re quite a sophisticated young lady now, not a little schoolgirl any more.’

  Her shyness returned, although their ex-boarder was not so unfamiliar as he’d seemed at first. ‘I didn’t know who you were, either, till you took off your cap.’

  There was a slight, awkward pause, then Bill started the conversation rolling. ‘How’s your Uncle George?’

  She told him the story of George Gordon’s abrupt departure, and about the debts he had left behind, and Bill was completely shocked. ‘Your mother’s had a hard struggle as well, then? I’m sorry to hear that, for it was bad enough for her before. Have you heard anything from him since he went away?’

  ‘Not one word.’

  ‘And what about young Jack? What’s he doing now?’

  ‘He was called up over a year ago, to the Ordnance Corps, but he writes quite a lot. I’ll get his last letter for you to read.’ She took the envelope from her handbag and handed it to him, smiling when he hesitated to open it.

  ‘There’s nothing private in it.’

  ‘He seems to be enjoying himself,’ Bill remarked when he handed the letter back.

  ‘Yes, I’m pleased about that.’

  ‘He was never a boyfriend, then?’

  ‘We went out together quite a lot,’ she answered carefully, ‘but there was never anything serious in it.’

  Bill regarded her quizzically. ‘He signs off ‘‘Love, Jack’’.’

  ‘So does Tim,’ she said hastily. ‘That’s Tim Donaldson. He would be after your time, though. He came here with his brother, Mike, after Uncle George left. Mike got married before he was called up, and Tim’s going steady with Mike’s sister-in-law. So writing ‘‘Love’’ at the end of a letter doesn’t mean a thing. Not these days, anyway.’

  ‘It maybe doesn’t mean anything with this Tim.’ He rubbed his chin with his little finger. ‘Most men find writing

  ‘‘Love’’ an easy way to finish off a letter, but I got to know Jack pretty well when I was sharing the room with him, and I’d say he wouldn’t write that lightly.’

  Renee blew out her cheeks. ‘He never gives any sign of . . . anything when he’s here.’

  ‘That’s just how he is.’ Bill didn’t sound convinced that he was wrong. ‘What happened to . . . Fergus, wasn’t it? The one that came after Lena and me were married? I saw him a few times when we were visiting. Is he still here?’

  ‘He’s in
the army, too. He joined the Engineers the day after the war started.’ She could speak rationally about him now, though she much preferred not to.

  ‘Oh? I didn’t think he had it in him. I got the impression that he was just out for number one, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘I know, and you’re quite right, Bill. He never thought about anybody but himself.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘I wonder why he joined up as quickly as that. His kind aren’t usually so self-sacrificing. He’d got himself in trouble over some girl, likely, and was taking the easy way out.’

  ‘Likely.’ Renee was amazed at Bill’s correct assessment, but wished that he would change the subject, because it was well over a year since she had purged Fergus Cooper out of her system.

  ‘What about you, Renee? Are you in the forces, do you work, or is it college?’

  ‘I work, in a reserved occupation, worse luck, but it’s quite interesting, really.’

  ‘You said ‘‘worse luck’’. Would you like to be in the forces?’

  ‘I believe I would. It might be more exciting, though I enjoy myself pretty well as it is.’

  ‘What about boyfriends?’

  ‘Nobody serious, and that’s how I like it.’

  Bill regarded her thoughtfully. ‘It seems to me you’ve had a bad experience with somebody. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes, and it was quite bad, but I was too young to realise what was going on until it was too late.’

  ‘Hmmm. Well, you’re right to play the field and enjoy yourself, but be careful not to tie yourself down till you’re quite sure it’s the real thing. Love’s the most marvellous thing in the world, as they say, but it can be a dodgy business sometimes, and not everybody’s as lucky as I’ve been.’

  ‘Were you sure it was the real thing when you married Lena?’

  ‘I was, and I’ve never regretted it. I love Lena as much now as I did the day I married her – more, maybe. When you’ve to struggle to exist, like we did, you grow closer together.’ He sighed. ‘I miss her, Renee, but I had to do my bit.’

  ‘What are you two so serious about?’ Anne came in, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘We were discussing love, Mrs Gordon,’ Bill smiled.

  ‘Did you come to any conclusion about it?’

  ‘Just that it’s a dodgy business.’

  Anne looked alarmed. ‘Are you and Lena not . . . ?’

  ‘We’re perfect. I was just saying how much I missed her.’

  ‘She’s missing you, too, I bet.’ Anne sat down. ‘I’ll leave you to set the table, Renee, and remember, there’ll be seven of us.’

  ‘I feel terrible about imposing myself on you like this.’ Bill sounded very apologetic.

  ‘One more’s not going to make much difference.’ Anne lay back against the cushions and Renee went to carry out her task.

  When the four land girls came in they were delighted to see the handsome man in the Canadian uniform, and flirted madly with Bill, who lapped it up in amusement.

  ‘Wait till I tell my wife about you lot,’ he giggled. ‘She’ll come over on the next boat to keep her eye on me.’

  He turned to Anne when they went out. ‘They’re a great bunch, very nice girls.’

  ‘You’ll change your mind when you try getting into the bathroom in the morning.’

  ‘Yes,’ added Renee. ‘It’s a good thing they leave the house before me, or I’d never get myself washed.’

  ‘I won’t be in any hurry, though,’ Bill said. ‘I can wait till the rush is past.’

  On the following night, he took Anne and Renee to His Majesty’s Theatre. Anne was quite overcome at being asked.

  ‘I haven’t been out for an evening like this for . . . years, and I don’t have anything fancy enough to wear.’

  ‘You’ll look fine whatever you’ve got on,’ Bill assured her gallantly, and Renee felt a pang of regret that she’d never realised how drab her mother’s life must be. She made up her mind to take her out occasionally in future.

  ‘This must have cost you a fortune,’ Anne whispered when they were settling into their seats in the dress circle.

  ‘I’m only repaying you for all the kindness you showed me when you were my landlady,’ Bill said seriously. ‘I’m very glad to be able to do it, belated though it is.’ After the show, he took them to a small cafeteria and treated them to a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

  ‘Thank you very much, Bill,’ Anne said, when they were going home in the bus. ‘I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my night out.’

  ‘I’m happy about that, and it was my pleasure.’ On that wet, miserable Tuesday evening, Bill kept them regaled with stories about his experiences as a man of the road, and they marvelled at how he and his wife had survived. When he switched to the cheerier topic of reminiscing about his time as a boarder with them, they were soon chuckling at the memories of ten-year-old Renee being teased by Bill and Jack, and her futile attempts to get her own back on them.

  Bill Scroggie left on Wednesday morning. After the four land girls had dashed out, he had gone into the dining room. ‘I think I’ll have a day in Huntly, going round my mother’s neighbours, for old times’ sake, then I’m going to Edinburgh for a couple of days before I go back to the drome. Now, Mrs Gordon, you’ll have to let me pay for my stay.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Anne was outraged. ‘You’re an old friend, and seven didn’t cost me any more than six. Come to see us again, if you get the chance, remember.’

  ‘Right, I’ll hold you to that,’ he smiled. ‘Goodbye, and thank you for everything. Goodbye, Renee, and remember what I told you.’

  ‘I will.’ The girl laughed self-consciously.

  ‘If you’ve time, write and let us know how you’re getting on, and where you are if you’re posted.’ Anne went to the door with him and waved as he walked along the street.

  ‘He’s a pet, isn’t he?’ she said to Renee as she closed the front door.

  ‘Yes, he is. Lena’s lucky,’ Renee sighed.

  ‘She probably knows that, but Bill’s a lucky man to have a wife like her, sticking by him through all his troubles.’

  Their life returned to normal, except that Renee now took her mother out once a fortnight, to the cinema or the theatre – not in the dress circle, which was far above her means – and Anne’s gratitude made her ashamed that she hadn’t thought of it before. Renee’s own social life was still quite hectic, and she often took a lonely serviceman in for a cup of tea when he saw her home. She met several older men, in the Palais or in the snack bars she frequented with Sheila Daun, and somehow felt more at ease with them, although they were probably married and purely out for a bit of fun now that they were off the leash.

  She also let some of them see her home, but made it quite clear that there was to be no pawing or messing about. Most of them were happy to have it like that, for the sake of feminine company for a short time, but one or two of them tried to find out if she really meant it. They found out, to their chagrin, that she did.

  One night, about two and a half months after Bill Scroggie’s visit, Renee found herself in conversation with an army sergeant in a cafeteria. He was definitely over forty, she thought, but he was polite and very easy to talk to, no flirting or innuendoes. He told her that he had been in the regular army, a widower who had been stationed at Aldershot before the war, with a grown-up son and daughter.

  ‘David’s nearly twenty, and he’s in the Artillery like me. Patricia – Pat – is in the ATS. She’s just turned eighteen.’

  ‘I’ll be eighteen in a couple of weeks,’ Renee told him.

  ‘Where are your son and daughter now?’

  ‘Pat’s just outside London, and she goes home every weekend.’

  ‘Who looks after your house, if you’re a widower?’

  ‘My mother moved in after Marjory died, so there’s s
till a home for us all. David’s in Shetland. Or he was, the last time I heard from him, but he’s not very good at corresponding, so he could have been moved by this time.’

  ‘Were they quite young when your wife died?’

  ‘It was five years ago, and they were both still at school, that’s why their grandmother took over, because I was often away on manoeuvres and things like that. Since the war started, of course, I only get back when I’m on leave.’ He lifted his shoulders expressively.

  ‘My father died when I was hardly ten,’ Renee told him.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Is your mother . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, Mum’s still around, criticising me for going out so much.’ She grinned impishly.

  ‘She has the right idea.’ His face was serious. ‘A lot of young servicemen are only out for one thing, and haven’t the least intention of marrying the girls they play around with. I’m always telling Pat that in my letters.’

  Sheila Daun, sitting on Renee’s other side, nudged her arm. ‘Chris here wants to see me home, Renee. Is it OK with you if I leave you now? There’s no buses running because of the air-raid warning.’

  Renee had almost forgotten that the sirens had been howling when they came out of the cinema. ‘Yes, OK. I’ll manage fine. I’ve done it before.’

  Her confidence wasn’t as strong as she professed, and it was with a touch of apprehension that she watched her friend leave with the sailor. Aberdeen hadn’t suffered a night raid for some time, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one tonight. She felt a hand on her arm and turned round. The sergeant was regarding her apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I’ve spoiled your chance of an escort by sitting beside you, but may I offer my services? I promise I’ve no ulterior motive, just a craving for feminine company and a need to while away the time.’ His eyebrows lifted in question.

  ‘I’ll be all right, thanks.’ Renee didn’t want him to feel obliged to accompany her. ‘I walk it quite a lot.’ Usually with a frisky young soldier or sailor, came the wry thought, and never during an air-raid warning.

  ‘There’s the alert as well as the blackout,’ he persisted.