The Back of Beyond Page 25

The minister was delighted to make Dougal’s acquaintance and, after his usual few words of welcome to the ‘boys from Ardley’, he made a point of introducing ‘Marjory’s husband’. There were shouts of ‘Good old Marge!’ and ‘Good luck, mate!’, and even one cheeky ‘He’s why we only get to dance with her,’ at which she beamed happily.

  At that moment, the band struck up, and a laughing Dougal swung her into their first lap of the church hall to the strains of ‘You Are My Sunshine’, played with gusto on sax, piano and drums by three ex-members of a quite well-known dance band.

  Dougal forgot everything and everyone else in the pleasure of holding his wife in his arms, their bodies moving in unison to the pulsating rhythm. ‘You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,’ he sang softly into her ear.

  ‘Oh, Dougal,’ Marge sighed, her heart performing all kinds of somersaults, ‘I didn’t know you were such a good dancer.’

  ‘We never went dancing, did we? Some of the other girls I took out were dancing mad, so I went with them, and I used to go to all the dances round here before I went to London.’

  ‘Sowing your wild oats?’ she teased.

  He chuckled at this. ‘What we thought was wild oats at the time, I wasn’t long sixteen when I left, remember. I looked on myself as a proper Romeo, you know, and if a girl let me kiss her when I saw her home, I thought I was the bee’s knees.’

  ‘Did you never …?’

  ‘I used to boast to Alistair I’d gone all the way, he was a lot quieter than me, but it wasn’t true. Oh, I admit I made some feeble attempts, but I’d have dropped flat on my face with shock if any of them had let me.’

  The quickstep ended with a flourish and was followed by a modern waltz, then a Paul Jones, where, miraculously, they ended up with each other every time the music changed. After the energy expended in most of this, they were glad of the dreamy slow foxtrot to which Dougal substituted the words ‘A Nightingale Sang in Russell Square’ instead of the proper Berkeley Square, but he broke off when he realized that his wife’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry, Marge, have I made you homesick?’ he asked, anxiously.

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ She dragged the back of her hand across her cheekbone. ‘It’s just … that Russell Square reminded me of Guilford Street, and the hotel … and Dad.’

  ‘I didn’t think – I could bite my tongue out. Will you be all right?’

  ‘I am all right. I was being silly.’

  Next, they were told to form into lines for the Lambeth Walk, which was all she needed to banish the nostalgia, and she joined in the fun right to the final ‘Oy!’ Spirits were high as the band took a well-deserved break, and the ladies of the Women’s Guild took up their positions on the small stage round the tables which held huge tea urns and dozens of plates of scones and pancakes, baked by the ladies themselves. The minister now said a brief grace which doubled as a prayer for absent friends, adding after the Amen, ‘Pray silence for the vice-president of the Women’s Guild, Mrs Georgina Tough.’

  Dougal couldn’t trust himself to look at Marge as Doodie stepped forward. ‘I just want to say,’ she began, in her best speechifying-English, ‘how sorry we are that our president is nae able to be here the night, and I think I spikk for yous all when I say we hope her operation’s a great success.’ She looked round the assembly and then observed, to the minister’s very obvious embarrassment, ‘Piles is nae a fine thing to ha’e – I ken that, for my Dod’s suffered wi’ them for years – and I’d be obliged, Mr Lennox, if you’ll pass on oor best wishes to your lady wife. Now, that’s me finished, so jist come up and help yoursel’s! There’s plenty, and you can come back for seconds if you want. Like my aul’ Granny used to say, “Stick in till you stick oot.”’ With a toothy smile, she returned to her station, ready for the rush.

  Surprisingly, the dancers made their way on to the stage in an orderly line, which resulted in a smooth operation where everyone was served in no time at all. Dougal was astonished by the amount on offer, but didn’t heap his plate like most of the other men. ‘These pancakes are out of this world,’ he enthused when he and Marge were seated. ‘How do they do it when everything’s rationed?’

  ‘All the women chip in a little something,’ she smiled. ‘Flour, sugar, eggs …’

  ‘Dried eggs? I heard they were awful.’

  ‘A lot of wives here keep hens, so we hardly ever have to use the dried stuff, though it’s not too bad when it’s reconstituted … not good, but bearable. And Lexie’s quite good at giving the committee a bit of Stork margarine, or Echo, no butter, of course.’

  ‘Does she ever attend these dances?’

  ‘Not every one, and she’s not here tonight. She’d a bad cold on Thursday when I saw her, so she probably didn’t feel up to it.’

  Dougal eyed his wife reflectively. ‘I don’t suppose you and Gwen ever made friends with her?’

  Marge lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. ‘Not friends as such. We talk to her in the shop, that’s all. I’ve never really taken to her, you know.’

  ‘If that’s because of Alistair, I’m nearly sure she gave up on him long ago.’

  Their little tête-à-tête was interrupted by a roll on the drums, and the first few bars of ‘Jealousy’ on the saxophone. A tall captain appeared in front of them now. ‘I hope I’m not intruding,’ he began, ‘but I really must have this tango with Marge. She’s the only one in the place who can do it properly. I hope you don’t mind … Dougal?’

  Marge jumped to her feet. ‘Of course he doesn’t mind.’

  As Dougal watched them, he thought what a stunning couple they made, their steps gracefully synchronized, as if they’d been partners for years. He felt slightly jealous, only very slightly, he told himself, but was it any wonder? Not only an officer, this man was devilishly good-looking – tightly-curled blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, dimpled cheeks – and Marge was laughing as she looked up at him.

  When the tango ended, she pulled the captain back to be introduced properly. ‘Dougal, this is Percival Lamont. Percy, this is my beloved husband.’

  The attractive smile widened. ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Dougal.’

  The lilting Highland accent would be another point in his favour with the women, Dougal thought, but he shook the man’s hand as warmly as he could. ‘Pleased to meet you, Captain.’

  ‘We don’t bother with rank at these dos. But I must tell you how much I envy you, Dougal, having this lovely lady for your wife, a faithful wife, at that. There are very few of them around now.’

  Blushing faintly, Marge giggled, ‘Get on with you, Percy. You could charm the birds off the trees if you tried.’

  ‘But not you, I fear.’ He winked at Dougal to show that he was only fooling. ‘Now Dougal, I must spread myself around – I wonder who will be the next lucky lady?’

  He turned away and headed for a small brunette at the other side of the hall as the band struck up a slow foxtrot, and Marge said, ‘Don’t mind Percy, Dougal. He’s an awful tease, but it’s all in fun. He’s very happily married, his wife had a baby a couple of months ago, and for all his flirting, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.’

  Her husband led her on to the floor. ‘I just wish he wasn’t so handsome … like a blinking film star.’

  ‘I like my men rugged,’ she said, softly, ‘with dark hair and called Dougal, not a cissy name like Percival.’

  The rugged, dark-haired man called Dougal tightened his hold on her. ‘I love you, Marjory Finnie,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘and I’m glad I came with you tonight.’ She looked so lovely, so happy, that he couldn’t resist kissing her. It didn’t go unnoticed, however, and they jumped apart as various teasing comments were made, but, because of the minister’s presence, nothing out of place.

  ‘We’ll have to excuse them – they haven’t seen each other for months.’

  ‘Couldn’t you two wait till you went home?’

  ‘I hope my old lady kisses me like that when I’m
on leave.’

  And so on, the Reverend James Lennox’s face never changing its affable expression, although he did unbend a little when the other dancers moved away and left Marge and her husband on their own. ‘Oh, God,’ Dougal muttered, ‘I don’t like everybody watching every move I make.’

  ‘It’s a compliment,’ she giggled, ‘so let’s show ’em!’

  Their intricate scissors-steps to ‘I’d Like to Get You on a Slow Boat to China’ drew frenzied applause from the onlookers, but Dougal was glad when they could return to their seats. ‘I felt awful,’ he groaned, while they watched the more energetic Eightsome Reel which followed, ‘like a goldfish in a bowl.’

  ‘Tell the truth now,’ Marge chuckled, ‘you really liked being the centre of all eyes, didn’t you?’

  ‘Aye, I suppose so. I always did like to show off.’

  At the end of the evening, several of the men shouted goodnight to them as they made their way outside, one even saying to Marge, ‘Have you got your bike tonight?’

  She hadn’t, there was only one adult bicycle at Benview, Alice’s old rattler, and the thought of having to walk three miles home after dancing all evening was not a pleasant one. The bus was waiting outside to take the soldiers back to Ardley, but the driver – not Ken, Marge was glad to see – came up to her and said, ‘It’s back along there, isn’t it? Hop in, it’s not taking me much out of the way.’

  As they plodded up the track some minutes later, Dougal observed, with deep feeling, ‘Thank goodness we got a lift a bit of the way. My legs feel like telephone poles with dancing so much, but I really enjoyed myself.’

  ‘That’s good, ’cos so did I.’

  He waited until they were in bed, until he had demonstrated how much he loved her, before he gave her the bad news. ‘This is embarkation leave, I’m afraid, darling, and the word is it’s the Far East, so God knows how long it’ll be before I get home again.’

  Marge frowned. ‘I know you’ve been dying to get back into it, but you did your bit in 1940, more than your bit. Why can’t you be satisfied with that?’

  ‘I wasn’t the only one, and we were just doing what we were trained for.’

  ‘When I remember how you were when you got back from Dunkirk …’ She broke off, her eyes softening. ‘I know you’ve got to obey orders, but you’re not really sorry to go, are you?’

  ‘I’m not sorry in one way, but I hate the idea of being away from you for … well, it’s indefinitely, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll survive, my darling, but I’ll never stop thinking about you, and praying for you.’

  He drew in a long contented breath and let it out slowly. ‘Marge, I’m really glad I went to that dance with you tonight. I’ve always known you liked to enjoy yourself, and no matter how often you said in your letters I could trust you, I couldn’t help wondering. But what those men said about you … it made me realize what a jewel you are. I love you so much, Marge Finnie, I’d bloody die for you if I had to.’

  Her eyes flashed in alarm. ‘No, Dougal, don’t say that! Please don’t say that!’

  He held her trembling body in his arms, as she sobbed out her fear for him, the fear that she had planned to hide if this moment ever came, but couldn’t when it had actually arrived, and when she pulled herself together at last, he made love to her again.

  ‘I know you’ll worry about me,’ he said afterwards, ‘but there’s no need. I’ll be back. I swear to you I’ll come back. Don’t ever forget that, my darling.’

  Marge’s heartache was almost unbearable, yet she was glad that Dougal hadn’t waited until the last minute before telling her his news, like Alistair had done. At least she could make the most of the ten nights she had left to enjoy her husband, but even when Gwen took her children to Aberdeen to let them be alone on his last Saturday, it didn’t seem long enough.

  When Ken Partridge put in his next apperance, the first thing he did was to hand David a slim wallet of photographs. ‘They’re all quite good,’ he observed, smiling at the boy’s haste to take them out and look.

  ‘So they are!’ David exulted. ‘Look, Mum, and Uncle Ken only took three. I took the rest myself.’

  The snapshots duly inspected by Gwen, Marge and Leila, and praise given where it was due, David wanted to play cricket again, so they all trooped outside to get some exercise and then soak in some sunshine while they recovered. Both Gwen and Marge had a feeling that Ken was holding something back, but neither of them said anything. If he had something to tell them, it was up to him to choose his moment.

  They had another picnic tea, but as soon as a move was made to gather the dirty dishes, Ken said, ‘Leave them for now. I’m not going to make a speech, exactly, but there’s a few things I’d like to say before I leave Forvit.’ He held up his hand to stop any comments on this, and continued, ‘First, I want to thank you two ladies for the pleasure you’ve given me over the past eighteen months. You always made me feel I was part of your family, and as for you two …’ he ruffled David’s hair with one hand and touched Leila’s cheek with the other, ‘… well, it was like being with my own kids.’

  David knuckled his eyes. ‘You’re not going away, are you, Uncle Ken?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have to. We’re being posted down south somewhere.’

  ‘But you’ll come back to see us?’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll ever be sent back to Forvit.’

  ‘Will you write to us?’

  Ken glanced hopelessly at Gwen, then clasped the two children closely for a second. ‘No, I don’t think that’s …’

  ‘No, of course, you’re not supposed to be friends with another soldier’s family, are you?’ David still believed the tale Marge had once spun him, but Ken was too involved in making sure he expressed his sentiments clearly to notice.

  ‘I’ll never forget you, though … any of you.’ The man’s voice was strained now, and he said nothing more until he composed himself. ‘What about a last shot at cricket, David? You learned pretty quick, you know, so maybe, if we promise to be careful, your Mum’ll let us use the proper ball?’

  It was Marge who jumped in. ‘Fifteen minutes, then, to let us get the dishes done, then it’s off to bed with you.’

  When Gwen finally managed to haul her son upstairs, still begging to stay up a bit later since it was the last time he would see Uncle Ken, Marge took advantage of her brief absence. ‘I’m going to tell Gwen I’ve got another headache,’ she told Ken, ‘so would you be a dear and take her out for a while? She won’t admit it, but she’s really worried about Alistair, and she must miss a man’s company.’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure, Marge, but are you sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, but don’t let on to Gwen. Ssh, here she comes.’ She raised her voice now and went on, ‘Well, I suppose it’s goodbye, Ken, so all the best, and take care of yourself.’

  ‘You’re not leaving already?’ Gwen asked, anxiously.

  ‘No, he’s not, but I’ve got another of my headaches so I’ll leave you to entertain him. Good night, Ken dear, and God bless.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen murmured, uncomfortably, when her sister closed the door, ‘she could surely have managed to stay with us till …’

  ‘It’s all right, it gives me a chance to let me have one last stroll with you.’

  ‘Oh, Ken, I don’t know if I should …’

  ‘Please, Gwen?’

  The entreaty in his eyes was too much for her. ‘All right, but just for a little while.’

  They walked up the hill again, making light conversation and scrupulously keeping their bodies from touching, but when Gwen stumbled over a bigger-than-normal stone and Ken’s arm shot round her waist to steady her, she didn’t object. Nor did she protest when he tucked her arm through his instead, and this is how they carried on walking.

  ‘You will hear from Alistair,’ Ken assured her. ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I wish I could be so sure.’ Feeling a wave of sa
dness wash over her, she wished that he hadn’t mentioned her husband. It was bad enough that she was about to lose him.

  As if he knew what was going through her mind, Ken said, softly, ‘This is the last time we’ll be together.’

  She could think of nothing to say. She had known it would come some day and had thought she would be able to wish him luck as she waved him goodbye, as Gracie Fields sang, but she couldn’t get it out. She had even planned to ask for his home address, so that she could write to his wife and tell her how good he had been to Leila and David, but perhaps that wouldn’t have been such a good idea. In any case, she was struck dumb, unable to wish him well, unable to tell him how much she would miss him.

  ‘Are you OK, Gwen? You’re not upset because I’m going away, are you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she managed to croak, ‘I am upset …’

  Tears welling up, she turned blindly to him and he took her in his arms. ‘Oh, God,’ he moaned, ‘are you crying for me, Gwen? I didn’t dream you felt … I’ve steeled myself for months not to let myself get too fond of you.’ His murmured words of affection became words of love, of passion, and before they knew it, they were lying on the heathery scrub kissing as if there would be no tomorrow. And neither there would … for them.

  ‘Come here, Floss.’ Lexie had thought the collie would be all right off the leash, but she was determined to get into a rabbit hole, burrowing away as if her life depended on it, but she did stand, a little impatiently, as the lead was fixed to her collar again.

  Lexie had never cared much for dogs, but when old Mary Johnston had asked her to look after Floss while she was in hospital having her varicose veins stripped, she hadn’t liked to refuse. The poor woman hadn’t long lost her husband, and having always kept herself to herself, she had few friends. Still, walking the collie took a person out, Lexie had told herself, and set out for the tower without thinking. It was the only walk she had ever taken when she was younger, and it aroused memories of happy times with Alistair. But she shouldn’t dwell on that; it was long behind her.

  She had to pull the dog back suddenly, for she was straining to bound towards a couple lying at the foot of the tower. Lexie didn’t consider herself a romantic, but it seemed a shame to disturb the young lovers, though she would have liked to know who the girl was. The snag was, she couldn’t see their heads, and she could hardly walk right up to them to find out. Just before she turned to walk back, however, a low voice made her strain to hear what was being said. ‘Oh, Lord, I’m sorry!’ That was all. It was an Englishman, but a lot of the lads at Ardley were from somewhere in England. ‘I didn’t set out tonight to do that. I’m truly sorry.’