Come Home Soon (3 page)

Five

A motorbus was parked in front of the library, its engine purring. It was a deep red, polished to a shine; a thing of beauty, agreed the crowd of villagers gathered around it. Some of the braver children – Jack's brother George included – crept aboard when the driver wasn't watching, giggling and then shushing each other noisily.

At the heart of the throng were the eleven men who had signed up, arms around wives, children on their shoulders, or being fussed over by mothers. And yet, Ellie thought, they somehow seemed separate, already far away. That was how she felt about Father.

If anyone else felt that way, they were doing a good job of hiding it. The holiday atmosphere that had underlined everything since the outbreak of war was still alive. Cheerful bunting was strung across the square, children were waving Union Jacks a hastily assembled band were belting out popular tunes such as “The Girl I Left Behind Me”. Jack was among them, playing his fiddle with such vigour and enthusiasm as though he thought this performance might convince them to let him join up on the spot. Even the weather was adding to the feel of a picnic or summer party; the sun was shining and there was only the gentlest breeze from the seafront.

Slowly, the men began to board the motorbus, duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Mrs Anderson, who was expecting her first baby, started to cry softly as her husband made his way to a seat, waving as he went.

Jack's mother put an arm around her. “Now, now, my love,” she said in bouncy tones that didn't match the furrow between her eyebrows, “there's nothing to cry about. He'll be back and under your feet again before you even have time to miss him!”

At a word from Jack, the band began to play “Land of Hope and Glory”, and the crowd joined in.

As Billie Farrow boarded, he swung around on the handrail, bellowing at his fiancée, “Best set a date for a Christmas wedding, Moll! The war'll be over and I'll get some leave for a honeymoon!”

This was greeted by a rowdy cheer from the men on the bus.

“See you under the mistletoe,” she replied with a grin, causing whoops and calls to go up from the crowd.

Ellie's father had been circulating through the throng, making time to talk to everyone. He clapped his young colleague, Thomas, on the shoulder and shook his hand enthusiastically. The young man had only just arrived in Endstone. He stood on the edge of the crowd, blinking anxiously through his thick glasses at anyone who looked his way.

Dr Phillips returned to his family, standing a little away from the crowd. As usual, Ellie wished her mother wouldn't keep herself so apart, and seem to look down her nose so at all the others. What if people thought Ellie was the same?

She watched her mother give her father a cool peck on the cheek and felt an unfamiliar pang of sympathy. Her mother's face looked so pale and pinched. No doubt the other villagers saw it as pride or coldness or irritation, but Ellie could detect real fear in her mother's darting eyes.

Her father shook her from her thoughts as he swept her into his arms, hugging her tight. Crushed into his jacket, with his familiar smell engulfing her, Ellie felt a wave of panic rising up her throat, threatening to choke her.

“When are you going to France?” she managed to stammer.

“I told you, darling girl, I don't know exactly. Probably in a few weeks' time, after we've completed our training.”

They'd had this same conversation many times since he'd signed up. It was as though imprinting the details on her mind would keep her father closer by her side.

“Till then you'll be in Aldershot?” She looked up at the lines around his eyes, the deep set dimples in his cheeks.

“I'll be in Aldershot,” he agreed patiently. She was clinging on to his lapels now. She had a hundred questions, and if she didn't ask them now she wouldn't get another chance. But she knew she had asked them all before.

He pulled her in close again and murmured into her hair. “You'll look after Mother, won't you? I know she can be a bit hard on you sometimes, but she's not as tough as she likes to pretend.”

Ellie wondered about that but she nodded into his chest, “I will.”

“That's enough now, you two,” her mother interrupted sharply. Ellie and her father exchanged a smile. “The other men are waiting for you. There's no need to make a scene.”

“You're right, my dear, as always.” He leaned into the pram to ruffle Charlie's fair hair. “I'll be back in no time. Take care!”

With a last wave, he made his way through the crowd and climbed on to the bus. The driver clambered into his seat and started the engine, causing the smaller children to cheer with delight.

Slowly the bus pulled away. Ellie watched her father joking with the other men. There was a deep, dragging ache in her chest. She glanced at her mother, whose shoulders looked stiffer than ever, her expression curiously frozen. Ellie felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch her, maybe even hug her. But she resisted, imagining her mother's reaction. Still, perhaps her father was right. Mother wasn't as strong as she liked to pretend. His leaving would affect her more than anyone. At least Ellie had Jack and her other friends. Mother kept everyone at a distance, even little Charlie.

Ellie resolved to do all that she could to keep her mother happy from now on. No more arguing back. She would help out more around the house – as boring as it was. She nodded to herself. Everyone was having to do their part for the war effort and this would be hers. It would make Father happy when he came home at Christmas too.

It was at this point that her mother swung sharply round, all trace of vulnerability gone from her face.

“Stop gawping, Eleanor, and straighten your dress – you look like one of the factory girls!”

Ellie clenched her jaw. She felt her resolve sliding away like a dribble of milk on Charlie's chin. She strode away to join Jack's mother and sister Anna still standing in the crowd. They greeted her with sad smiles.

Behind them, Jack was talking to the other musicians, laughing despite all his earlier complaints about being left behind. Ellie noticed that his father had not arrived to see Will off, but she knew better than to mention it.

It was as though Mrs Scott had read her mind though. “Of course, Joe would have been here if he could have. He couldn't get away from the factory. I'm sure he's ever so proud of our Will, though.”

“Are you?” said Anna with a raised eyebrow. “That's not what he said to me.”

Mrs Scott hushed her hastily, her cheeks flaming. “That's enough out of you,” she hissed. “Go and get your little brother, before he tries to run away again.”

Anna sauntered off, tossing her copper-coloured hair, and Mrs Scott and Ellie exchanged a smile, before looking back in the direction of the departing bus that was taking their men away from them.

For Endstone, the war had truly begun.

Six

Ellie woke early on her first day back at school, pushing back the coverlet with unusual enthusiasm and almost skipping to the basin to splash her face.

She was not normally so happy to go to school. She found it desperately dull most of the time, often wondering if there were some kind of conspiracy to keep all interesting knowledge from the pupils. But anything had to be better than being cooped up in the house day after day, missing her father, wondering where he was and what he was doing.

In the weeks since he had left, Ellie had done her very best to keep her promise to herself by helping her mother as much as she could, and not arguing with her. But if Mother had noticed the difference, she certainly wasn't letting it show. If anything, her temper was shorter than ever, when she was speaking at all. She claimed agonizing headaches almost every day, and these sent her to her room, leaving Ellie to look after Charlie. Ellie loved her little brother, but he couldn't speak whole sentences yet and she was beginning to feel she was losing her mind, from all the one-sided conversations and repetitive games and songs he demanded.

Jack often called by after he finished at the factory and Ellie longed to go with him down to the river, the seafront or just into the village. But she couldn't leave Charlie and she certainly couldn't manage with the pram or a wobbly-legged toddler in tow. Charlie's forehead already had one fading bruise from a tumble on the cobblestones. The weather had held and it felt like torture staring out of the window and thinking about all the adventures she might be having. Normally the summer holidays were a time for freedom and wildness – at least as much as she could get away with behind her mother's back. This year she had felt more imprisoned than during term time.

Before she left for school, Ellie got Charlie his breakfast, and made some toast for her mother, which she and Charlie took to her in her bedroom. She was pleased to see that her mother was up and dressed, pinning her long, silvery hair into a bun.

As so often in the past, Ellie worried about leaving Charlie alone with her mother. But delaying wouldn't make it any easier. Kissing her brother on the cheek she ran back down the stairs, grabbed her worn leather satchel and swept through the door. She seized her bicycle from where it was propped against the fence and bumped down the steep and stony path that led down towards the seafront.

When she reached the bottom, the path levelled out into a smoother track than ran along the beach. After so many days indoors, the fresh sea breeze felt wonderful against her hot, tight skin, and it lifted her hair off her sticky neck. As she cycled along the length of Big Beach (as the locals called it, though it wasn't really big enough to merit the name), she glanced to the left, across the sea. If she could fly across the Channel in a straight line, it would take her to France, to her father. She felt as though maybe, if she could just get up enough speed she might take flight. She lifted her left hand from the handlebars and let it coast on the breeze like a hovering seagull.

They had received several letters from Father while he was in Aldershot, one enclosing a photograph of him posing with some of the other men in their crisp new uniforms. In them he had written that they would be shipping out soon. But there had been nothing since he arrived in France. Ellie had hoped that he might come home before shipping out – Will and some of the other men had been back briefly – but sadly her father hadn't returned to Endstone before leaving for France.

Sometimes it felt as though he'd been gone for ever. On the other hand, sometimes Ellie would wake up in the morning and forget that he wasn't just down the hallway in her parents' bedroom.

“Come home soon, Father!” she cried towards the waves, the wind tearing the words out of her throat, her dark brown hair snapping and whipping around her face like the rigging on the fishing boats.

She put on an extra burst of speed for the last minutes of the journey and swerved to a halt in front of the school. Catching a glimpse of herself in the classroom window, she saw that her cheeks were pink and her hair more bedraggled than her mother would have tolerated.

Miss Smith, who taught the girls was waiting by the door. She gave Ellie a smile as she stowed her bicycle, though one eyebrow was raised.

“Welcome back, Eleanor. I see the holidays have done little to calm you down.”

Ellie tugged her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to tame it. Miss Smith was not as strict as Ellie's mother, but Ellie knew she didn't really approve of her unladylike behaviour. And although her teacher was kind-hearted, Ellie struggled to see anything of use in her lessons.

Sure enough, any hope that school might provide a pleasant break from the tedium at home was swiftly quashed.

“Now, girls, settle down please. This term we're going to be focusing on what we can do to help the war effort.”

Ellie sat up in her seat, eyes wide with hope.

“We're going to be knitting clothes for the troops, to keep our boys warm in the cold months ahead in France.”

Ellie's shoulders slumped. Knitting! Of all the pointless tasks school inflicted, knitting was the worst! Not only was it dull, but she had never managed to master it, so it was always incredibly frustrating. Was this really the most useful thing they could do?

“Hats, gloves, scarves,” Miss Smith continued, pacing back and forth at the front of the room as though she were reciting poetry. “As many as we can. This is going to be a whole school effort.”

“The boys too, miss?” Ellie asked.

Miss Smith sighed, pausing in her march. “I suppose there's little point in me asking you to raise your hand before you speak, Eleanor?”

“Sorry, miss.” Ellie grinned, belatedly raising her hand.

“The boys may do it too, if they wish. Though I somehow doubt. . .”

“But they don't have to, miss?” Ellie insisted, her hand still in the air. She could feel some of the other girls shifting impatiently, rolling their eyes and muttering.

“No, they don't have to. They have other work to do.”

“Couldn't I do the other work, miss? You know I'm no good at knitting. . .”

“Eleanor, I don't know why you always have to be so difficult. I should have thought you would want to do something for the war effort, with your own father over there in France.”

“I do, miss. . .”

“Well, then,
please
, let's have no more fuss.”

“Yes, miss. I'm sorry,” Ellie mumbled. She knew the other girls saw her as a troublemaker, and she hated it. But she could never quite seem to stop herself. She so desperately wanted to learn about real, interesting things, things that would help her to escape Endstone and the life her mother had planned for her.

Miss Smith darted about the room, distributing knitting needles and the girls were allowed to select wool and patterns from a collection on the teacher's desk. The wool, Miss Smith explained, had been kindly salvaged from unwanted clothes or donated by some of the well-to-do ladies of Canterbury, the nearest major city.

Ellie trudged to the front of the classroom, trying to tell herself that this was her chance to contribute something from the home front, to do something worthwhile. Maybe her father would be the one to receive what she made and it would keep him warm and remind him of home.

With this in mind, she selected a royal blue, which would match the colour of his eyes. She was idly flicking through the patterns for a pair of mittens when a dainty hand appeared and plucked them from her grasp. She looked up.

“I think it's probably best if you stick to something simple, like a scarf, don't you?” Miss Smith said, not unkindly.

Ellie flushed and nodded, taking the simple pattern the teacher was holding out to her. She returned to her desk, peering at the instructions.

“What are you making, then?” asked Anna Scott, leaning over, her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder. Her own needles were already flying away in a blur of scarlet, though she barely glanced at them.

“Scarf,” Ellie muttered.

“Coo, surely you don't need a pattern for a scarf? It's the simplest thing there is!”

“Not for me.”

Anna laughed, gaily, returning to her work.

Ellie picked up her needles. She imagined her father in his garrison in France. She pictured him receiving a package, tearing it open in that hurried way that always made Josephine tut. He would pull out the beautiful blue scarf and immediately wind it round his neck. He would know at once it was from Ellie – maybe she could knit a secret message into it for him!

“Oh, Ellie, what have you done?” It was Miss Smith. Ellie followed the teacher's gaze towards her knitting. It was twisted and uneven, a different number of stitches on each of the three rows she had completed.

“Here, give it to me.”

Ellie passed the knitting over mutely and watched as Miss Smith pulled out the rows. “Try again. You just need to pay a bit more attention.”

“Away with the fairies again, Ellie?” Anna giggled.

Ellie knew she didn't mean it nastily, but to her embarrassment she felt a sudden wave of emotion.

“May I visit the lavatory, Miss?”

“Oh, you really should wait until morning break. . .” Miss Smith registered the tears hovering on Ellie's lower lashes. “Go on, then, be quick.”

Ellie barely made it out of the classroom before the tears began flow. Once safely out of earshot she let herself sob freely, her frustrations, her sadness and her fears finally pouring out. Even when her tears were spent she stayed in the girl's lavatories, unable to re-face her class.

 

Ellie was glad to escape when school was finished. But as she cycled back along the beach front, the thought of returning home to her mother's claustrophobic silence and only Charlie for company was unbearable. Jack would be able to cheer her up but it was days since she had seen him, and he would still be working at the factory for a couple more hours.

At the turn-off for her house, Ellie glanced in its direction, before continuing straight along the path as it skirted the outside of the main village square. She would go to the surgery and see how Thomas was getting on, she decided.

Her father's surgery sat a little way behind the main square and could be reached via the church graveyard, which gave rise to gloomy jokes among some of the older villagers. It was the only surgery serving several villages in the surrounding area, as well as the farms outside them.

Ellie propped her bicycle against the front gate and walked along the path. As soon as she pushed the door open, she could tell something was wrong. The tiny waiting room was crammed with five adult patients and a wailing baby, all looking extremely grumpy. Her father never had more than one person waiting. Ellie didn't recognize the two men or the young mother with the infant, whom she guessed must be from outside Endstone, but the other patients were heavily pregnant Mrs Anderson and Miss Webb.

“All day we've been waiting for that young doctor!” Miss Webb burst out angrily. “All day, or near as makes no odds!” She broke into a spluttering cough, which caused the young mother to wrinkle her nose and edge further away – not easy given the size of the room.

“The Germans will be arriving any day now, any minute! And here I am, wasting my last moments in the wretched doctor's surgery.” Miss Webb punctuated this statement with more coughing.

“Now, Miss Webb,” Ellie said soothingly, pouring her a glass of water from the jug on the desk, “the Germans aren't coming. That's why our men are over in Europe – to make sure they don't get anywhere close.”

Miss Webb harrumphed, but accepted the glass.

“I expect Dr Pritchard is just making sure he's doing everything properly,” Ellie continued. “You wouldn't want him to rush such an important job, would you?”

The old lady gave a grunt, which Ellie decided to take as agreement. “I'm sure everything's under control, but I'll just pop in and see if the doctor needs any help.”

The young mother was attempting to soothe her squalling baby again and barely looked up, but Mrs Anderson gave Ellie a grateful smile.

Ellie walked down the short corridor and knocked on the door of the main examination room. There was no answer, so after a few seconds she decided to just walk in. Thomas Pritchard was hunched over her father's desk, head in his hands, surrounded by towering mountains of paperwork.

“Dr Pritchard?” Ellie said, hesitantly.

He startled. “Oh! Oh! Hello, Ellie, I'm afraid you've caught me at rather a bad time. Did you want something?” He pushed his glasses, which had slid to the end of his nose, back up the bridge with his index finger.

“No, no, I'm fine, thank you. But I thought maybe you could do with a hand. . .”

“Oh, ah . . . I'm fine really. Well, no, I'm not. I'm struggling to understand your father's filing system. I can't find anyone's notes.” Now he pulled his glasses off altogether and rubbed at them distractedly with a handkerchief. “And I'm terrified of prescribing someone the wrong treatment, without having access to all their medical history. But there are so many people out there and they're getting so impatient, and I can't see the wood for the trees. . .”

“I'm sure I can help. Let me see . . . Yes, look, Daddy keeps the files for Endstone separate from those for elsewhere. It's very simple when you know what to look for, but of course you've only arrived recently so it might not be obvious. . .”

Ellie leaned over the desk. Her father's familiar handwriting leaped out at her from the swathes of notes, and her heart squeezed tight. But she fought the feeling. After all her hopeless knitting, here, at last, was somewhere she could be genuinely useful. She had spent countless hours with her father at his surgery. She knew how his brain worked and understood his systems.