The Back of Beyond Page 24

‘If you ever do, let me know,’ laughed Marge, ‘so I can be on the lookout for someone, too. I don’t want to miss out on any fun.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘I hope Uncle Ken remembered to buy me a cricket bat.’

  Gwen shook her head reprovingly at her son. ‘He gives you far too much, Leila too, and don’t ask him about it. It’s not manners to ask for presents.’

  ‘I didn’t ask,’ David protested, bright blue eyes flashing indignantly. ‘It was him promised to get one so he could teach me how to play proper cricket.’

  ‘If he promised, he’ll likely have it, but if he’s forgotten, don’t get in a paddy.’

  The boy looked hurt now. ‘I never get in a paddy … only when Leila makes fun of me, her and her chums. That Kirsty Droopy-Drawers …’

  ‘That’s enough, David! Her name’s Kirsty Kelman, and it’s no wonder the girls tease you if that’s the kind of things you say about them.’ Becoming aware that her sister was chuckling in the background, she snapped, ‘It’s not funny, Marge! He’s getting worse and he’ll have to learn some manners, else people will think I can’t control my children.’

  ‘Calm down, Gwennie, he’s just a kid, but …’ Marge gave her nephew a poke in the ribs, ‘… you will have to learn how to behave, David. You don’t want to make your Dad ashamed of you, do you? He wants to come home to a boy people respect.’

  His head drooped. ‘I’m sorry, and I won’t say anything to Uncle Ken if he hasn’t got a bat … but Auntie Marge, is it OK if I ask him when we’ll be playing cricket?’

  She had to turn her head away to hide a smile, but Gwen heaved a lengthy sigh of exasperation, ‘David Ritchie! Don’t you dare mention cricket!’

  Keeping her face straight with something of a struggle, Marge coaxed, ‘Why don’t you come outside, my boy, and help me tidy up the tool shed. It’ll be something for you to do till Uncle Ken comes, and keep you out of your Mum’s way.’

  ‘This isn’t his weekend on duty, is it? I don’t like the Saturdays he can’t come.’

  David was still chattering when the back door closed behind them, leaving Gwen wondering what would happen when Ken Partridge was posted away from Ardley Camp, as was bound to happen sooner or later. He had been spending three Saturdays out of every four with them for almost a year now, and she had an uneasy feeling that David had begun to regard him as a father-figure. It wasn’t surprising, really, when his real father wasn’t there to guide him through his formative years. And Ken was so good with him and Leila, giving them the affection and attention he should be giving his own children. It was a terrible world, she reflected morosely, when families were kept apart like this.

  She dabbed away an unwelcome tear that had edged out. She mustn’t let herself wallow in misery, even though her sadness wasn’t just for her own family and Ken’s, it was for families everywhere. There must be hundreds, thousands, of wives praying every night for the safe return of their husbands, quaking every time someone came to the door in case it was a telegraph boy bearing the news they dreaded.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  Her daughter’s concerned voice shook Gwen out of her reverie. ‘Yes, dear, I’m fine. I was just feeling a bit sad, missing your Dad.’

  ‘I miss Dad, too, but Uncle Ken won’t be long now and he’ll cheer us all up …’ Leila paused thoughtfully, then went on, ‘… though he must be missing his wife and children, too. Hardly any of my friends at school have Dads at home. Most of them are in the army, and there’s a few in the RAF, but there’s only one in the Navy. Why’s that?’

  ‘Probably because Forvit is nowhere near the sea. The men haven’t got the sea in their blood like people from towns and villages on the coast.’

  ‘It must be ever so dangerous on the sea, and up in the air,’ Leila observed. ‘I’m glad my Dad’s a soldier on dry land.’

  Gwen was only glad the girl hadn’t realized that her father was in just as much danger on land as in the sky or on the waves. She was better not having that worry.

  The shrilling of a bicycle bell made Leila jump up in excitement. ‘That’ll be Uncle Ken,’ she cried, rushing to the door.

  Gwen’s heart contracted when she saw how the man scooped her daughter up in his arms. He was always so attentive to the children, showing more affection than Alistair, a reserved Scotsman, had ever done, yet she wished that it was he who had just come in.

  ‘How are things, Gwen, girl?’ Ken was standing looking down at her anxiously.

  ‘Fine.’ Even to herself her reply sounded listlessly insincere, and she tried to correct the impression she must be giving. ‘I am fine. Just a bit down, thinking of Alistair.’

  ‘Have you heard from him lately?’

  ‘It’s been nearly five weeks.’

  ‘Given the state of the army postal service,’ he smiled, ‘that’s not too bad. You’ll get a whole bunch at once, no doubt.’

  The door banged open as David burst in. ‘I knew you were here, Uncle Ken! I saw your bike outside.’

  ‘Did you take a good look at it?’

  ‘No. Why? Should I have?’

  ‘It might be a good idea.’

  David whipped round and scampered out, almost knocking Marge off her feet as she came in. ‘Where’s the fire?’ she gasped, but he didn’t hear.

  In less than a minute, he was back, grinning from ear to ear and brandishing a shiny cricket bat and a set of stumps. ‘You did remember!’ he crowed.

  ‘Manners,’ Gwen prompted.

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Ken, thank you, thank you, thank you. I knew you wouldn’t forget.’

  With David on heckle pins at his side, Ken took time to drink the cup of tea he’d been given before he got to his feet. ‘Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any, David. Have you got a cricket ball to practise with?’

  ‘Won’t the sponge ball do?’

  Ken put his hand in his trouser pocket and drew out a brand new cricket ball. ‘I think we should keep this for a while yet, though. It’s a bit too hard, and we don’t want you breaking any windows. We’d better use the sponge ball till you’ve had some practice.’ He still didn’t move, however, but extricated a small package from his other pocket and handed it to the girl with a flourish usually executed by conjurers. ‘Can’t give to one and not the other, can I, Leila?’

  ‘You shouldn’t give either of them anything,’ Gwen admonished him.

  ‘I want to,’ he said, simply, thus putting an end to her protestations.

  ‘Oh, gosh, Uncle Ken!’ Leila held up a little brooch in the shape of her name for them all to see. ‘It’s lovely! Thank you ever so, ever so much.’

  ‘It’s made of gold wire, and the boys are all making them for their daughters.’ Gwen’s frown made him smile broadly. ‘I made one for my own daughter first, then I thought Leila might like one, too.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you.’

  His ruddy face even redder than usual, he cleared his throat. ‘Right, then! Who wants to come and field for us?’

  They all trooped out, Leila proudly sporting her ‘identity’ brooch, and each one participated in the fun game until Gwen said she should go in to organize tea, and Marge and Leila offered to help. So now Ken was free to give young David some lessons on holding the bat, how to stand properly, how to keep his eye on the ball – the serious business of coaching. He called a halt when the picnic meal was carried out by the ‘three ladies’ as he called them, making Leila straighten her back proudly and Gwen glance at him in gratitude. It was a beautiful day, exceptionally warm even for September, so they lingered over their makeshift meal, taken on the ‘drying-green’, the only spot in the whole garden not given over to growing vegetables.

  Looking around him with satisfaction, Ken suddenly said, ‘Fetch the camera, David. I’d like to have some reminders of this day.’

  The boy dashed off and returned with the box Brownie Ken had given him a few weeks earlier. ‘It’s showing eight,’ he said, seriously, ‘so that means there’s still
four left to take.’

  Ken unwound his long legs and rose to his feet. ‘Sit down so I can get you all in.’ He waited until they arranged themselves as Marge considered best, then pressed the catch. ‘You all look too posed,’ he laughed. ‘Can’t you pretend to be doing something, so it’ll look more natural?’

  David flung his arm round his sister’s neck as if he were about to strangle her, and Marge lolled drunkenly against Gwen. ‘How’s that?’ she asked, grinning.

  ‘That’s better.’ Ken took another snap, then handed the camera to her. ‘Take one of me and the kids. I’d like to have a keepsake of them.’

  ‘There’s still one left,’ she smiled, after taking him capering with the two children.

  David ran over. ‘Let me take the last one, Auntie Marge. Uncle Ken, get in the middle between her and Mum. No, that looks too stiff …’

  Ken obliged by putting his arms round the women, and David pressed the button while his mother and aunt were still laughing. ‘That should be a good one,’ he crowed.

  ‘I’d better go inside the shed to take the film out.’ Ken held out his hand for the camera. ‘The photos’ll be spoiled if any light gets in.’

  David went with him. ‘I want to see how to take the spool out,’ he told his mother, who had frowned at him for dogging the man’s footsteps.

  A few minutes later, when they rejoined the others, Ken said, ‘I’m being sent to London on a two-week course next Thursday, so I’ll get it developed and printed there. In fact, I’ll get two sets, one for myself as well, but you’ll have to wait till I get back, David, before you can see them, I’m afraid.’

  David looked crestfallen. ‘That’ll be three weeks, won’t it?’

  ‘It’ll soon pass, and anyway, you’ll have your Uncle Dougal for most of the time.’

  ‘I’d nearly forgot about that.’ The boy perked up again. ‘Can we have another game now? Mum will want to clear up, so Leila and Auntie Marge can …’

  ‘Hold your horses, David, my lad.’ Marge got stiffly to her feet. ‘I’m not doing any more running after that ball. I’m going to help your Mum.’

  They all shared in the clearing up, then the two ladies were left in the kitchen to do the washing-up while the other three went back outside. After a few moments of silence, Marge said, reflectively, ‘It’s funny Ken having to go on a course just now, isn’t it?’

  Gwen looked up in puzzlement. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I think he’s volunteered to go. It’s a year and a half since he first came here, and he always stays away when Dougal’s on leave. Always some excuse.’

  ‘But he can’t plan things like that. He’s got to go where he’s told … when he’s told. Anyway, I never asked him not to come while Dougal was here.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Marge said, sharply. ‘I’d have been quite happy for them to meet. I’m sure they’d like each other … Alistair, too.’

  ‘I wish he would write more often.’

  ‘He’s fighting a war, remember, not having a holiday by the Mediterranean. He hasn’t got time to write to you every other day.’

  ‘I know that, but …’ Gwen tailed off, forlornly.

  ‘Getting back to Ken, I don’t understand why you want him kept secret. He’s only a friend, after all, and he’s been jolly good with the kids.’

  Not quite sure why herself, Gwen floundered a little before saying, ‘I’ve the feeling Alistair would be hurt if he knew … because he can’t be here to give them presents or play games with them. It’s almost as if they look on Ken as their father, and that’s …’

  ‘Yes, but when Ken’s posted away, they’ll soon forget him and look forward to their real Dad coming home …’

  Another few moments elapsed before Gwen murmured, ‘I don’t know how David’s going to take it when Ken does have to leave Ardley. He dotes on him.’

  ‘He’ll cope. He was all right when Alistair went away, wasn’t he? Now, can I go, or are you going to make me wait half an hour before you hand over that plate you’re trying to scrub the pattern off?’

  The last plate duly dried, everything tidied away, the sisters went to join the others, who, exhausted now, were sprawled out on the grass. The women sat down beside them, letting the newly-sprung cool breeze help them to recover from their exertions and ruffled emotions.

  At nine o’clock, the usual hour for the children’s bedtime on Saturdays, Marge said, ‘I’ll see these two settled, Gwen, then I think I’ll go to bed myself. I’ve got a blinder of a headache with sitting in the sun too long, but it’s too good a night to be cooped up inside. Why don’t you two go for a walk?’

  Ken beamed at her. ‘I’d love to. What about it, Gwen?’

  She cast a glance of appeal at her sister, who interpreted it correctly and gave her the push she needed. ‘Go on, Gwennie, it’ll do you good and nobody’ll see you.’

  ‘Even suppose someone did see us,’ Ken remarked as they strolled up the track a few minutes later, ‘we’re doing nothing wrong, are we?’

  ‘We know that,’ she murmured, ‘but other people wouldn’t.’

  ‘Forget about other people. Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the walk? I’ve always felt easy in your company, though I know you took quite a while to feel completely at ease with me. I can assure you I’ve no intention of doing anything out of place, I respect you far too much, and I know you miss Alistair as much as I miss Rhoda. A man and a woman can have a close platonic relationship, Gwen. They can feel affection, even love in a kind of way, without anything … physical, if you get my meaning.’

  She got his meaning, and the thought of what could happen made her nervous, but Ken was a decent man, and Marge must trust him, otherwise she wouldn’t have suggested them taking this walk. Besides, Alistair couldn’t object if he knew how innocent it was.

  Because it wasn’t too far, they made for the tower, and while they stood looking down on the panorama spread out below them, and across at the snow-capped mountains in the distance, she thought of all the men and girls who must have stood there over the years, had perhaps consummated their love there, and gave an involuntary shiver.

  ‘You’re cold!’ Ken exclaimed, removing his battledress blouse and wrapping it round her. ‘We’d better put a step in going back. I don’t want you ending up with pneumonia.’

  ‘I’m not cold,’ she protested. ‘I was thinking of all the people who had stood here – since the tower was first built, and it gave me a queer feeling.’

  His arm was still round her waist when they returned to the house, and she was quite relieved that Marge had gone to bed and didn’t see. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ she said, her voice low and breathy.

  ‘No, I’d better go.’

  She didn’t want to let him go just yet. ‘It won’t take long.’ She lifted the kettle and held it under the tap.

  ‘I’d better go. Believe me, Gwen, it is better.’ He retrieved his jacket and put it on, then said, ‘Good night, I’ve really enjoyed my day … as usual. I won’t see you next week or the week after, of course, but I should manage the week after that … with any luck.’

  He was gone before she could set the kettle down, and the rattle of the old bike told her that he hadn’t waited for her to see him off. She lit the gas ring and sat down to think over what he had said. They did have a close relationship, she did feel affection for him, but not love. Not any kind of love – well, maybe just a touch. Why did he have to be so nice? Why did Marge have to pair them off? Why was she trembling at the memory of his arm around her?

  The hiss of water on the gas flame made her jump up. When the tea was infused, she poured out two cups, one for herself and one for Marge. Her sister would likely wonder why Ken hadn’t stayed for a cup, too, so she’d have to think of a reason to explain it.

  Marge’s light was still on, so she went straight in. ‘How’s your head now?’

  ‘A bit better. I took a couple of aspirins and I dozed off for a while. Did you and Ken go up to the tower?
’

  ‘Mmm. It was lovely up there, so clear we could see for miles.’

  ‘Um … he didn’t stay very long when you came back?’

  ‘No, he thought I’d caught a cold, because I was shivering. It was only somebody walking over my grave, but … he insisted on giving me his jacket.’

  ‘You look kind of guilty, Gwennie, so you’d better tell me. Did he try anything?’

  ‘No, he didn’t!’ Gwen was truly indignant.

  ‘He didn’t even kiss you?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did you wish he had?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Marge’s eye hardened. ‘Change the record, Gwen. I can read you like a book.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong tonight. Nothing happened, and I wasn’t sorry. Ken said ours was a platonic relationship, and that’s how we both want it.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I did wonder, after I sent you out with him, if I was stirring up a hornets’ nest, so I’m pleased you’re both so adult and sensible about it.’

  ‘Well, we’re both married and love our …’

  ‘Spouses, that’s the word. Now you’ll maybe understand how I feel when I’m out dancing. It’s nice to be in a man’s company again, especially when there’s no chemistry to foul things up. I won’t feel so bad now about leaving you on your own. And that’s another thing. Would Ken have volunteered to be the permanent bus driver taking the soldiers to Forvit? He always makes a point of staying in the hall all the time, nowadays, but he never asks any girl up to dance … not even me.’

  In her own bed, Gwen turned Marge’s last remark over in her mind. Ken probably had volunteered to ferry his friends from the camp to the village and back, and had remained in the hall to save even her sister getting any wrong ideas about her.

  Because the monthly dance fell on Dougal’s second night home, Marge said she couldn’t desert him, but he pulled a face. ‘I don’t want you giving up your night out … d’you think any of the boys would mind if I went with you?’

  ‘I don’t see why they should. You’re in the forces, the same as them.’