Wartime for the District Nurses. Annie Groves
frowned. ‘You sure that was all?’ He knew Kathleen would always seek to downplay anything bad that happened to her, rather than worry anybody. She’d put up with Ray’s mistreatment for ages before it became too obvious to hide. He couldn’t bear it if she was hiding something now.
‘Really, Billy, that was all it was. I’m probably making something out of nothing, so don’t mind me.’ She tried to smile to take the edge off her words.
Billy nodded slowly. ‘All right. Fair enough. But Kath, if you see or hear something more, anything at all, you let me know, all right?’ Suddenly his voice was full of intensity. ‘It don’t matter if it’s day or night, you get word to me. If I’m on shift then Stan or Flo will know where I am. I’m not having any—’ He bit back the word he wanted to use as he realised Brian was taking an interest in what he was saying. ‘Any strange man interfering with your safety. You been through enough.’ Without thinking, he rubbed his injured leg.
Kath at once grew alarmed. ‘Your leg still hurting you, Billy? After all this time?’
Billy swiftly folded his arms. ‘No, just habit. It don’t bother me at all now. Think nothing of it.’ He finished his tea. ‘Look, I better be going. I don’t want to hold up the boy’s supper, or yours either for that matter, and I got to be on duty later on.’ He rose to go and Kathleen rose with him.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘Sorry again for being all jumpy.’ She smiled but kept the table between them, before turning and opening the door. ‘See you again, Billy.’
He took a step towards her then, recognising her reticence, went no further. ‘Yes, hope so, Kath. And you remember what I said. Day or night, you let me know if you need me.’ He could hardly keep the pain out of his voice as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was desperate to draw her close, to enfold her safely – but he could tell that was not what she wanted at all.
She nodded. ‘I won’t forget,’ she said softly.
Kathleen shut the door and leant against it, shutting her eyes for a brief moment. She had seen the longing in Billy’s eyes but could do nothing about it. She was torn between the urge to accept all he was so clearly ready to offer and the suffocating guilt that it was too soon after Ray’s death. It was so much worse because she wasn’t sorry Ray had died. She should be grieving, as were so many others – for husbands, lovers, sons and brothers. Edith and the Banhams were mourning Harry with every waking breath, and yet she was secretly glad she was free of her violent husband.
Nobody must know how she felt. It had to remain her secret. Brian must never suspect the sort of man his father had truly been. The shame of it all flooded through her again, that she should have been reduced to that mangled heap on the floor, that she had misread the man’s character so completely. It would kill her if anyone found out what she felt deep down.
So all she could do was keep Billy at a distance, because the love she saw in his eyes threatened to undo her and break her resolve. She couldn’t let it happen. Better he thought she had stopped caring than he knew the truth – even if it cost her what she longed for most.
Peggy glanced around the interior of the pub. It wasn’t quite what she had expected. Somehow she had imagined that Laurence would have a taste for the good things in life, after he had appeared to have money to spend so liberally on drinks for a group of people he hardly knew. This place could not be described as luxurious. It was even a bit rundown, if she was honest, but she made up her mind not to be disappointed. He had probably chosen it because of its convenient location, halfway between the station where his train would pull in and where she lived.
It wasn’t as if she was out to snare a rich husband either. Nothing could have been further from her mind, although she knew some of the women she worked with were targeting airmen as they were most likely to have plenty of cash. This was solely to escape from everything that now weighed her down. She took in the sight of the other customers. There were plenty of young men in uniform, but mostly army rather than RAF. There were equal numbers of young women and older men, some who had perhaps come straight from work, as she herself had. She’d taken the precaution of telling Mrs Cannon that she might stay at Clarrie’s so the older woman would not wait up for her. Not that she intended to stay out, but she didn’t fancy a grilling about where she’d been and with whom.
There was no sign of Laurence yet. Peggy was not sure if he was staying in London or coming up from his airfield that day, and she’d heard that the trains were now often delayed and so it was nothing to worry about. She knew the sensible thing to do would be to find a table and sit there to wait for him, but she was in a reckless mood. She elbowed her way to the bar, its deep wood surface marked with scores of rings from where glasses had stood. The bar staff at the Duke’s Arms would never have stood for that, but this place evidently had different standards.
There was a middle-aged man serving at one end, his thinning hair combed unconvincingly across his pink scalp. Peggy looked away before he could meet her eye. She didn’t fancy getting stuck in conversation with him. Then, from around the other side of the bar, a youngish woman appeared, older than Peggy but with a far friendlier demeanour than the barman. ‘Evening,’ she said brightly, her big brass necklace flashing in the beams of the overhead lights. ‘What can I get you?’
Again Peggy thought of the sensible choices, lemonade or ginger beer. ‘Port and lemon please,’ she said decisively.
‘Port and lemon coming up.’ The barmaid reached for a glass, held it up to the light and hurriedly wiped it with a tea towel. ‘Your first time in here, is it?’
Peggy nodded. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’
The barmaid raised an eyebrow. ‘A male friend, might that be?’
‘He’s in the air force,’ Peggy told her eagerly. ‘He’s a pilot.’
The woman pulled a face. ‘Is he now? We get some of them in here all right. Well, don’t go getting too fond of him if you take my meaning.’
Peggy was confused. ‘Not sure I do. What do you mean?’ Now the woman was standing more closely Peggy could tell that she was older than she’d first appeared, with worry lines across her forehead and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes.
The woman sighed. ‘Because they’re getting shot down like nobody’s business,’ she said brusquely. ‘Day after day, all those fights with Hitler’s planes. You can call it the Battle of Britain if you like, but all I see is customers who suddenly don’t show their faces again.’
Peggy bristled. ‘That’s not what they say on the news,’ she began, even though she often didn’t listen properly. It hadn’t saved Pete, after all.
‘I’m only giving you a friendly tip,’ said the barmaid. ‘You can be friends with whoever you like, no skin off my nose. But those boys have a habit of not coming back, so have a care.’
‘Enough of that, Marge, you’ll frighten her off,’ growled the man. ‘Don’t go saying such things in public.’
Marge tossed her head and the necklace flashed. ‘Still true though,’ she said. ‘You mark my words.’ She slammed the full glass on the counter, gave the barman a filthy look and disappeared around the corner of the bar to the snug.
Peggy took her drink and gave the money to the barman, who glared at her as if it was all her fault. She took a quick sip and turned, scanning the room for a table. There was one in the corner. Making her way across the saloon, she decided that the woman was jealous, probably because she was stuck with the miserable barman and couldn’t flirt with the pilots any more. Well, that wasn’t Peggy’s problem. Marge must have gone straight to the wireless as the sounds of the Andrews Sisters rose over the hubbub of chatter from the punters.
Taking her seat, Peggy toyed with her glass, knowing she had better not finish this drink too quickly. She ignored all the interested glances from the young lads in army uniform, or those from the men old enough to be her father. Dirty so-and-sos, she thought.
Finally, when