The Forget-Me-Not Summer (30 page)

Steve telephoned Miranda by dialling the number of the box on the corner at the agreed hour, for though the Mess was on the telephone the flat was not. Sometimes he was unlucky and someone at Miranda's end who was already
waiting for a call snatched the receiver off its hook, breathing some other caller's name. This called for diplomacy to make sure that at the sound of an unfamiliar voice the girl, or feller, did not crossly slam the receiver down, thus cutting the connection before Miranda was able to intervene. Tonight, however, it was Miranda's own small voice which came to him as soon as the operator said ‘You're through' and left them to get on with their conversation, having first reminded them sternly that it was wartime and many other people were waiting for a chance to use the instrument.

‘Steve? Oh, it
is
you! I've got so much to tell you, but since we'll be together in a couple of days I won't waste telephone time. Avril's asked her supervisor to join us on Christmas Day itself, and since he's providing the food for Boxing Day I suppose he'll have to come along then too. I've never met him myself but Avril says we'll get along, and I'm sure she's right. Have they told you what time your train gets into Lime Street? And how's your mam and the little 'uns?'

Mrs Mickleborough, Kenny and the baby had been evacuated way back in September when the war had started and were now comfortably ensconced in a farmhouse somewhere in Wales, which was why Steve would be having his whole forty-eight with Miranda. Naturally, Steve would have liked to see his mam, Kenny and the baby – his stepdad had joined the Navy – but he quite agreed with the government feeling that Liverpool, once the war really got going, would be a major target, and anyone living there ran a far greater risk than if they allowed themselves to be sent to the relative safety of the countryside.

Steve cleared his throat. ‘Mam's doin' fine, Kenny loves the local school and Flora has settled down well,' he said. ‘I can't say much about Dad, or the others – classified information, I guess – but I'll spill the beans when we meet. As for train times, cross-country journeys are hell; I could have up to five changes, but I reckon I should be home before midnight.'

‘Oh dear, and you'll have to leave on Boxing Day . . .' Miranda was beginning when the operator's voice cut in.

‘You've had your three minutes, caller. Others are waiting for the line. Please replace your receiver.'

Miranda and Steve began simultaneously to say their farewells, while the operator, infuriatingly, tried to shut them up. In fact she did so just as Steve bawled ‘Love you Miranda' into his receiver, and he crashed it back on its rest before Miranda could remind him that they were supposed to be just good friends.

Miranda and Avril's preparations for Christmas proceeded smoothly. Miranda was one of the few people still left in the typing pool at Mr Grimshaw's office. There was an elderly lady, a Miss Burton, and another known as Miss Phyllis, who had been called out of retirement as the other typists either joined the forces or went to work in the factories which paid very much better than even the most generous of office jobs. Miranda had missed her friends at first but soon realised that Miss Burton and Miss Phyllis were well up to the work, and proved both faster and more efficient than the staff they had replaced. Miranda might have been lured by the high wages one could earn in, for instance, a munitions factory, save that she had it on good authority that applying to join one of the forces whilst employed in such a post might well be
doomed to failure. As it was, she and her two elderly companions managed to share out the work to everyone's satisfaction. They even bought each other tiny presents – Miranda gave each of her colleagues a very small bar of scented soap and they clubbed together to buy her rose geranium talcum, whilst Mr Grimshaw presented each woman with a ten shilling note.

‘It may not be much of a bonus, but it's all the firm can afford at the moment,' Mr Grimshaw had said as he handed over the money. ‘And we're giving you a whole week's holiday with pay, so I trust you don't feel too hard done by.'

Delighted with even a small amount of extra money, Miranda scoured the shops for Steve's favourite, chocolate ginger, and bought him the biggest box she could find. The rest of the money was spent on extras and a length of green ribbon with which she tied her hair back into a ponytail, getting Avril to knot the ribbon into a huge bow on the nape of her neck. ‘Making sure he'll reckernise you?' Avril asked derisively. ‘Better ring him up and tell him you're the lass with the green ribbon in her hair, just in case he's forgot your freckly old face.' It was Christmas Eve and they were in the kitchen at the flat, Avril cutting sandwiches so that they would have something to give Steve if he was starving after his long and complicated journey, whilst Miranda donned her thick navy blue overcoat and crammed a large floppy beret on her head, for at ten o'clock it was already very cold, with frost or snow threatening.

Avril looked up from her work. ‘You off already?' she enquired. ‘You're daft you are; the train's bound to be late, and you'll be waiting in the cold for ages.'

Miranda pulled a rueful face. ‘I don't mind waiting – better that than miss him. And once I'm on the platform there's all sorts I can do – I could even go into the refreshment room and buy a cup of coffee.'

‘Oh, you!' Avril said affectionately. ‘Why can't you admit you're mad about the bloke? Why d'you have to keep pretendin' that you're just good friends? He's a nice feller is Steve; you want to grab hold of him while you can.'

Miranda opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air. ‘Think what you like,' she said grandly, ‘but I repeat: Steve and I are just bezzies!' And with that she stepped on to the top stair and slammed the door behind her before clattering down the flight and beginning to walk with care along the frosted pavement. Everyone was always complaining that trains were late, and Steve had told her that cross-country journeys in particular were fraught with difficulties and delays, so she should arrive at the station first.

She reached the main road and turned towards the city centre. Because of the blackout, crossing side roads was a dodgy business, but she had a little torch in her pocket and flashed it discreetly each time she came to a kerb, and presently arrived at the station. The concourse was crowded despite the lateness of the hour, and though she glanced wistfully towards the refreshment room the queue at the counter was a long one. Perhaps she might go in later and buy herself a coffee, but for now she would simply stroll around and wait.

Despite Steve's hopes it was after midnight before his train drew in to Liverpool Lime Street, and though the
platform was by no means deserted it was not crowded either. Hefting his kitbag from the string rack, he jumped down, then turned to help an elderly lady to alight. She had told him as the train chugged slowly towards Liverpool that she was going to spend Christmas with her daughter and three grandchildren, and was hoping to persuade them to return with her when she left at the end of the holiday. ‘My grandchildren were evacuated back in September – their mum works in munitions so she couldn't get away – but since there's been no bombings, nor no landings from over the Continong, she sent for them to come home,' she had explained, as the two of them sat side by side in the crowded compartment. ‘I dunno if she were right, but the kids weren't happy where they was billeted. Said the woman didn't want 'em, made no secret of the fact. The eldest, Bessie, what's nine, wrote to her mam and said they weren't gettin' enough food for a sparra. She said the 'vacuation lady didn't like boys and picked on Herbie – he's five – no matter who were really at fault. So Maud, that's me daughter, decided to bring 'em home.' She looked hopefully at Steve. ‘If the bombs start, like what some folk say they will, then they can come to me. I'd treat 'em right . . . only my cottage is right up agin an airfield.'

Steve had given all the right answers to reassure her and had confided that his mother, his little brother, and Flora, his baby sister who was four months old and a great favourite, had also been evacuated. ‘They'd have liked to come home for Christmas once they knew I'd got leave – me brothers and me dad are in the Navy so no tellin' when they'll be in port again – but our dad got real angry when she wrote suggestin' it. So Mam give
up the idea and I'm the only one of us Mickleboroughs who'll be in dear old Liverpool for Christmas.' He had grinned sheepishly at his companion. ‘I'm goin' to stay with me girl,' he said proudly. ‘She's only young but she's gorran important job as secretary to a firm of solicitors. Mind you, she's goin' to join the WAAF as soon as she's old enough; wants to be in the same bunch as me, of course.'

The old lady had murmured that everyone must do their best because old 'uns like herself could still remember the horrors of the Great War. ‘I dunno how it come about that we ever let Germany get strong enough to take on the world again,' she had said sadly. ‘Don't us British never learn nothin'? It's plain as the nose on your face that the Huns has been armin' and gettin' ready ever since the Spanish Civil War; why, I remember . . .'

The carriage had contained not only themselves but five soldiers, all of whom appeared to be asleep, and a woman whose nurse's uniform could just be glimpsed beneath her heavy overcoat. As the old woman said the words Spanish Civil War, one of the soldiers, older than the rest, opened a lazy eye. ‘Careless talk costs lives,' he said reprovingly. He opened his other eye and fixed Steve with an admonitory glare. ‘You should know better, young feller. Why, you all but give away where your mam and the kids have gone, and you mentioned where you'll be spendin' Christmas. Accordin' to what I've heard, perishin' Hitler's got his spies everywhere, so don't you forget it.'

The fat little woman who had been chattering so freely to Steve swelled with indignation and Steve could scarcely hide his amusement, for she reminded him of
one of his mother's plump little broody hens when disturbed on the nest. Even so, though, he knew that the soldier was in the right even if his elderly companion was scarcely spy material. So he addressed the soldier in his most apologetic tone. ‘Sorry, mate, you're absolutely right,' he said humbly. ‘But I didn't lerron where me mam's stayin', nor what ship . . .'

‘Leave it,' the soldier said easily, but there was a warning glint in his eye. He sat up straighter and pulled a pack of cards from the pocket in his battledress. ‘How about a game of brag?' He lifted the blind a little to peer out into the pitch dark. ‘There's no tellin' when we'll arrive at Lime Street, but I guess a game of cards will help the time to go faster.'

The little old lady gave the soldier the sort of glare he had given Steve, then settled back in her seat and folded her plump little hands over her shabby handbag. ‘You can count me out, young feller. I's goin' to have a nap,' she said firmly, and spoke not another word until the train drew into the station. Then she had let everyone else get off the train before creaking to her feet and accepting Steve's offered hand. Having descended to the platform she looked all around her, then lowered her voice. ‘Walls have ears, so they say,' she muttered. ‘That perishin' soldier! Does I look like a spy, young feller? If he hadn't been so big I'd ha' been tempted to clack him across the lug. But thanks for your company and I wishes you a very merry Christmas.'

Steve, who had put his kitbag down on the platform whilst he helped his fellow passenger to descend, wished her the same. ‘And I don't think that brown job meant he suspected
you
of spying,' he said, trying to conquer
a quivering lip. ‘There were others in the carriage, you know, all listening. I think he meant one of them.'

The old woman sniffed. ‘Oh aye, I s'pose he were lookin' at that nurse, thinkin' she might be one of them paratroopers what they warned us about when the war first started,' she said. ‘And her pretty as a picture! But there you are, I suppose; anything's possible in wartime.'

Agreeing, Steve hefted his kitbag up on one shoulder and, suiting his pace to her leisurely one, with her small suitcase in his free hand, made his way towards the concourse. Glancing up at the clock when he drew level with it he saw that it was a quarter past midnight, and the faint hope that he might be met disappeared. He knew Miranda would have been working all day – no one got Christmas Eve off – and having seen his companion trot towards the taxi rank he was about to start walking towards Russell Street when he heard his name called and, turning in the direction of the voice, was just in time to slip his kitbag from his shoulder and hold out his arms so that Miranda might fly into them. Hugging her tightly he began to kiss her upturned face, but instead of returning his kisses she gave a breathless giggle, put a hand across his mouth and told him not to be so soppy. ‘I've been waiting since ten o'clock, you horrid person, so if you want cocoa and a bun before bed, we'd better get on the end of the taxi queue,' she said. ‘Hey, Steve, there's someone waving at you.' She giggled again. ‘So you've got yourself a girlfriend already? That's a nice state of affairs, I don't think!'

Steve grinned and raised a hand in response to the frantic beckonings from his erstwhile travelling companion. ‘That old lady and meself were in the same
compartment on the train,' he explained. He stretched and yawned. ‘Lord, I'm that tired, and stiff as a board into the bargain. Shall we walk to Russell Street? It's not far and that queue's awful long, and I don't feel like standing around getting colder and colder. If we walk, it'll keep our circulation going, 'cos this is what we in the RAF call brass monkey weather.'

Miranda, clutching his arm, informed him crisply that it was not only the RAF who described the weather thus. Then she agreed that walking was by far the better option and the pair set off.