Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (139 page)

If Jack came home she didn't want him to see her in all her old muck and make-do. The other Land Girls would be giving him the eye. ‘Eau de Farmyard'; that pong of stale milk, dung and sweat took a bit of stomaching, and getting rid of, but they'd soon got used to it. Everyone competed to have the strongest perfumes, just in case, but all Mirren could manage was lavender water and Lifebuoy soap. She hoped it was enough.

Ben would pick her up in the farm truck and just so it looked a legitimate use of petrol, he'd tether the nanny goat in the back as if she was being taken to the vet. They all did this from time to time, stretching the War-Ag regs a little bit.

As she dressed with care Mirren wished it was Jack escorting her to the dance, but there'd been no letter for a week. She'd lost track of him since his accident and he was vague about his new posting. If only he'd get back for Christmas it would be the best ever, war or no war.

Ben took trouble to brush down his uniform for the dance and polish his boots to a glass finish. He'd washed and shaved, Brylcreemed his fair hair when he found a parting, and brushed his teeth. He didn't want to smell of the farmyard tonight, not when he was escorting Mirren in her best clobber, but he was not in the mood for dancing.

He had heard that his big brother, Bert, was missing. The telegram came a week ago and so far there was nothing else. They were praying he was shot down and captured. So many young men lost on bombing raids ended up as prisoners. It was better than the alternative, but the news was awful and he felt sick whenever he thought of it.

He'd gone straight to Leeds to comfort his mam and dad. They were putting a brave face on things
but his mam's eyes were red-rimmed with crying. He'd felt so helpless.

‘We have to keep hoping and getting on with the job,' she'd smiled through her tears. ‘Thank God you're safe.' There was not one iota of reproach in her voice that he was in a reserved occupation but he could see it in the faces of other town folk, who passed on their condolences at the front door of their villa close to West Park.

When he saw Mirren coming down the grand front staircase in her velvet dress, with her hair half up and down, carrying her dancing shoes and looking like a ripe plum, he forgot his sorrows.

‘You scrub up well,' he said, trying not to show how much her appearance stirred him. ‘Better wrap up and take yer gumboots. It's right clashy weather outside. There'll be snow before long.'

She looked put out at his words for some reason and gave him a scowl but he bundled her into the passenger seat, shoving his rucksack to one side.

‘Any news? How's Auntie Pam?' she asked. ‘You must bring them here for Christmas.'

He nodded, not wanting to spoil the evening by thinking of the war.

‘You go everywhere with that old thing–has it got your life's savings in it?' she said, starting to fidget with the strap of his canvas bag.

He pushed it onto the floor. He could tell no one that it was his survival kit. If there were a
sudden warning, he would down tools, grab it and go into hiding. Inside was all the weaponry for killing: a pistol, a few rounds of ammo, a Fairburn knife, wires, tools, maps, Horlicks tablets, rations to keep him on the go until he went into his secret bunker to await instructions.

They'd done so many rehearsals now: exercises in the dead of night, recces of the camp on the moors, seizing the battery in a mock battle, laying dummy traps on the railway line, living off the land for days on end. It was
Boy's Own
stuff but in deadly earnest. Uncle Tom once caught him for being late and gave him an earful for skiving off but he took it like a man. It would have been treason to betray the truth and reveal anything.

The two of them bumped down the track to Windebank in silence, leaving the truck parked out of sight up the top lane, and tethered Jezebel to the verge to munch around. There were plenty of other revellers with the same idea, with chickens squawking and dogs barking. He could hear the trio warming up and the windows were blacked out, but it was pitch-dark with only a few white lines etched onto the street corners to guide wary travellers.

The church hall had been done up by some of the Home Guard wives; lanterns, storm lamps and candles in jars on windowsills, paper chains and bells hanging from the ceiling. There was a
Christmas tree on the stage where the Jimmy Benson Trio had set up shop; fiddle, drums and piano to give the dance a bit of swing.

Ben looked hopefully to the far end where under cloths was a Jacob's join supper laid out with the usual sausage rolls and pies, bridge rolls full of cold cuts and meat paste, pasties, fruit pies, slices of cake, all portioned out to give everyone a fair share. He was starving just thinking about the supper. There was a licensed bar but little beer to go round, pop and crisps if they were lucky. Some of the lads would be sneaking off back down to The Fleece to top up. Dancing was thirsty work and they'd be here until dawn, if it was a good do.

There were a gaggle of schoolgirls in ankle socks, trying to look grown up. Mirren's friends from the hostel eyed Ben up with interest; the lipstick and rouge brigade, smelling like a chemist's shop. A few village ladies were hovering around the tablecloth to shoo away sneaky fingers.

Ben wasn't much of a dancer: two large left feet in the waltzing, but he could swing around better in the country dances. He spotted some of his platoon lurking in the doorway, eyeing up the talent, and went over to have a chat. He felt safer in male company. When he turned round again, Mirren was tripping the light fantastic with Arnie Blewitt. She did look grand in the lamplight, full of life, her fair hair bouncing after her, neat ankles
twisting and turning. She made the other girls look common and over-made-up, he thought.

Halfway through the evening, when the stir was hotting up, he wondered about giving his cousin a twirl. She might be his cousin but he'd hardly known her until he came from Leeds just before war started. Their paths had never crossed much as children, just occasional visits and the escapade when she broke her arm in one of Jack's madcap schemes.

She had looked a right tomboy in her grammar school gear and always had her head stuck in a book when they came to visit. In truth he was a little in awe of her book learning. But, like everyone else, she'd put any career ambitions on hold once war was declared, which made him admire her all the more.

It was about time he told her how much he liked her, but that would sound daft and she'd probably laugh him away. They were mates on the farm, a good team. He wasn't any good at all this romance lark and was in no position to go courting. He didn't fancy making a fool of himself on the dance floor so he hung back, content to let others swing her around the floor.

There was the usual scramble for the supper plates and Ben ended up going back and forth to the kitchen on somebody's orders. It was eleven o'clock before he plucked up courage to ask Mirren
for the slow foxtrot, which was a big mistake as it was also a gentleman's ‘Excuse me'.

Arnie was shuffling around, polishing the floor with his feet and clinging on to her for dear life so he decided to rescue her, butting in: ‘It's my turn now.'

He hadn't realised she was so small. She barely came up to his shoulders. He could smell her newly washed hair and when she smiled up at him he went all wobbly inside. They did a few steps and he trod on her toes.

‘Excuse me.' There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned round to see Jack Sowerby smirking at them.

‘Jack! Oh, Jack, you made it!' squealed Mirren with such obvious delight that Ben stood back to release her, watching bemused as she hugged Tom's stepson with a little too much enthusiasm for his liking. They glided off together without a backward glance.

So that was how the land lay, he sighed. Ah well, perhaps as well. He backed off to the doorway and pulled out a packet of ciggies to join the lads. That was his last foray onto the dance floor tonight. Once was enough. He needed a smoke and some fresh air.

Mirren had no eyes for any of the other soldiers once Jack was in her arms. He looked so bright
and handsome, his dark eyes flashing mischief as they twirled around the floor, dancing and dancing until she was giddy with excitement.

He was home for Christmas, for five whole days. For once, trains had run on time, snow hadn't disrupted the roads, his arm was healed; everything was perfect.

How glad she was to have made that extra effort to glam up. He'd saved her toes from being broken by Ben's size twelves. When you worked alongside someone all day what was there to say to each other except, ‘How's Daisy's udders?', ‘Have you set that trap for the rats?', ‘Did the new lad see to the hen hut roof?' but with Jack there was a whole world of fresh topics. Where was he now? What had he seen? What's on in London?

‘I can't believe you're here,' she sighed. ‘Why didn't you write? I could have come and met you.'

‘And spoil the look on your face when I breezed in? You can never tell with trains and I hitched a lift from Scarperton station. If you'd been waiting and I'd not shown, you'd have a face on you like sore feet. Come on, let's get out of here…' he whispered.

‘You've brought a bike?'

‘'Fraid not. It's shanks's pony for a bit until I get another one,' he said as he guided her by the elbow out of the crush. ‘Let's pop into The Fleece.'

‘It's after hours and you know I don't go in those places,' she said.

‘Signed the pledge, have we?'

‘I did as a kiddy…I just don't fancy the stuff,' she insisted.

‘Well, let's walk the slow way home then. We've a lot of catching up to do.'

They climbed the path to Gunnerside Foss and on up to World's End, holding hands. The sky had cleared and stars were dotted right across the sky, making patterns and shapes. The moon was bright but in the distance the searchlights arced over the moors.

They found some shelter out of the wind and Jack whipped off his greatcoat and sat down, holding out his hand. ‘Come on, Land Girl. Backs to the land!'

‘Stop that!' she snapped, and caught him on the arm and he winced. ‘Sorry, is that your bad arm? Is it badly hurt?'

‘I'll get worse before this war's over,' he quipped.

‘Don't let's talk about the war…Let it wait. It's Christmas and you're here,' she sighed, snuggling into his side.

‘Is that all the welcome I get?' he laughed, pulling her closer, and she kissed him with a closed mouth.

‘That's a little girl's kiss,' he teased. ‘Let me show you another way.'

He was kissing her so deeply, forcing open her
mouth to receive deeper longer kisses that sent shivers down her insides. His hands began to feel for her breasts and finger them roughly. Even Mirren knew where this would lead and drew back coyly.

‘Not here, not now, Jack,' she whispered. Things were moving too fast and she was afraid.

‘When then?' he whispered back. ‘You're my girl, my only girl…don't you want me to…?'

‘I do, but it's damp and cold and I'm frozen. This is my best frock…if it gets stained,' she said, knowing they weren't the real reasons she was holding back.

His jibes about Land Girls being ‘easy' had gone deep, making her wary of spoiling the romance of his return. She felt a novice and clumsy, not knowing what to do next. There were dangers in letting a lad have his way. One of the girls in the hostel had already been discharged pregnant and in trouble.

‘I'd make it right, love. I'd never do anything to get you in trouble, if that's what you're thinking. I'll not force you into anything either. It's just I'll be going away soon and we might not see each other for ages, or ever again. You can't blame me for wanting an early Christmas present,' he said, standing up. ‘But you're right. It's a bit parky up here. Funny how we always trek up to World's End…'

‘Because it's quiet and no one comes here, and
this is where you found me or have you forgotten?' she whispered, thinking of the night in the snow.

The moment had passed and the chill was getting to both of them. Time to plod downwards and towards Cragside.

‘We could have got a lift with Ben,' she offered. ‘He ran me down to the hall. Have you heard about Bert?'

Jack nodded but said nothing.

She sensed his disappointment hanging unspoken like icicles, cross with herself for being so slow and calculating, but there was a warning light flashing in her eyes and a voice saying: ‘Be careful, slow down. There's plenty of time, no rush to fulfil your loving.' Now it felt awkward and her excitement deflated.

‘You'll be coming for Christmas? We'll play silly games and do carol singing–you will, won't you?' she asked, desperate to know she was still his special girl.

‘Same old Cragside Christmas. Don't worry, Mirren, I'll be there…hoping and waiting…You're my girl.'

‘Am I? You don't mind me being…?' she pleaded, looking him straight in the eye.

‘You looked gorgeous tonight. Every man in the hall was jealous. You should have seen Ben's face when I turned up,' Jack laughed. ‘You and me're meant for each other.'

She sensed he was no virgin lover, no novice declaring his undying love. He knew what he was doing and how to go about loosening her up, but she couldn't help herself when she was in his arms. Why was it all right for lads to have fun but if a girl experimented she was a slut?

He saw her to the farmhouse door, pecked her on the cheek and walked on up to Scar Head, leaving her feeling mean and silly, confused, excited, nervous and suddenly afraid. She mustn't let Jack down. He was going to fight. He could be killed and he needed comfort. If she didn't give it perhaps someone else would.

If only there was someone she could trust enough to talk this over? Florrie was too close, and family. The girls in the hostel talked about sex all the time but she didn't live in and had no special friend there. Lorna had gone very religious since Freddy died. She would be horrified at this behaviour. The only mate she had was Ben. He was her listening ear but he was the last person she could ever tell about this.