The Letter (10 page)

‘Bugger off, dog,’ he said, waving his hand at Leo. ‘A bloody passion killer that dog is.’

He ruffled Leo’s head and he wagged his tail enthusiastically. ‘Bloody hell, he thinks that’s an invitation to join in!’

Chrissie loved Billy with all her heart, of that she was certain. The situation with her father was trying, to say the least, but she hoped that he would come round eventually and grow to accept Billy. He was her first boyfriend, however, and Chrissie was nervous about the physical side of their relationship. She need not have worried. Billy was a perfect gentleman and never forced her to go further than she was comfortable with. That day by the river though, had it not been for Leo… Chrissie found herself aroused by the thought, and felt embarrassed. After all, hadn’t she been brought up better than that? Her father would be incensed if he knew the extent of their physical relationship as it was.

As the weeks passed, the days grew longer and hotter and Billy and Chrissie spent many hours down by Stoney Brook. The babbling sound of the water running over the pebbles making them gleam was soothing, the sight of the cattle grazing contentedly in the pastures was reassuring and most importantly, they could find solace together away from the disapproving glare of her father. This was a special place, a quiet haven in the suburbs of Manchester which seemed a world away from that huge, sprawling grey city with its billowing, belching chimneys and noisy motor vehicles.

On this particular day, the sky had an ominous look to it. Although it was stiflingly warm the sky was a myriad of colours, mostly grey, black and purple, a landscape artist’s dream. Thunder was in the air. As Billy and Chrissie approached their favourite spot under the oak tree, they both stopped in their tracks at the same time. The figure was unmistakable. There, crouched down in the stream with his back to them was Clark.

‘What shall we do?’ whispered Chrissie.

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Billy. ‘He hasn’t seen us yet.’

‘Go and talk to him,’ urged Chrissie. ‘I’ll wait here.’

Billy hesitated only for a second before creeping up to Clark. His heart was pounding, as though trying to escape the confines of his rib cage.

‘Alright there, mate?’

Clark jumped and turned round. He straightened up and looked at Billy, recognition taking a few seconds. Billy’s hair was shorter now and his face tanned.

‘Christ, you startled me,’ said Clark.

‘What have you got there?’

Clark held up the jar by a piece of tatty string.

‘Sticklebacks!’

For a moment his blue eyes shone with excitement and then clouded over. He ran his wet hands through his red hair and swept it off his face. Due to the warm weather his freckles were more pronounced now and for a moment Billy saw him as an eleven year old again. He felt his throat constrict, which made his next sentence a strangled croak.

‘We had fun, didn’t we, Clark?’

Clark snorted and set the jar of fish down on a large stone. He waded out of the water and sat down heavily on the bank. Billy edged closer and then tentatively sat down next to him.

‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ said Clark.

‘Look, Clark. Can’t we be friends again?’

‘
Can’t we be friends again,’
mimicked Clark. ‘We’re not in the school playground now, Billy.’

‘Why did you come here?’ asked Billy.

Clark thought for a moment. ‘To reflect.’ He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a brown envelope. ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting it into Billy’s hands.

Billy opened up the envelope and stared at the contents.

‘You’ve been called up?’

‘Military training,’ explained Clark.

Billy knew it was only a matter of time. Since Parliament had passed the Act in April, all men aged 20 and 21 were required to undertake six months’ military training.

Billy didn’t know what to say. ‘Clark, look...’ He passed the envelope back to Clark.

‘How’s Chrissie?’ asked Clark, looking Billy directly in the eye.

Billy was taken by surprise at the sudden mention of Chrissie’s name and picked at a blade of grass.

‘She’s fine, thanks. In fact, she’s with me now, over there.’

Clark looked in the direction of Billy’s finger and Chrissie slid out sheepishly from behind a tree.

Billy motioned with his head for her to join them. It was the first time she had seen Clark since the night of the dance.

‘Clark,’ she began. ‘How nice to see you again.’

Clark stood up and nodded. He paused awkwardly.

‘I’d better be going, it looks like rain.’

Right on cue, a huge swollen raindrop landed on the brown envelope, staining it a dark brown. Clark put his jacket on and pulled up his collar. ‘I’ll see you around.’

He set off up the bank and quickened his pace with each falling raindrop. Chrissie looked at Billy, a look of hopelessness on her face. Billy called after his friend. ‘Clark, wait!’

Clark stopped, turned round and waited for Billy as he jogged his way over. He stopped a yard in front of Clark and the two men stared at each other. Billy was the first to speak. ‘Good luck, mate.’

He held out his hand and Clark stared at it for a moment. Then very slowly he pulled his hand out of his pocket and took hold of Billy’s. He shook it firmly and then seemed reluctant to let go. He looked Billy directly in the eye and gave him a faint smile. No further words were exchanged, but they both knew a hatchet had been buried. Clark turned and never looked back as he made his way home in the pouring, miserable, depressing rain.

Billy sprinted over to where Chrissie was sheltering under the tree.

‘Everything alright?’ she enquired anxiously. Billy stared at the jar of Clark’s sticklebacks. The two fish were swimming round in circles, banging into the side of the glass in a desperate attempt at freedom. Billy picked up the jar and tipped it into the stream. In a flash of silver, the two fish wriggled off in separate directions. Billy looked up at Chrissie and smiled. ‘Everything’s fine now.’

Despite the shelter of the old oak, raindrops dripped off the leaves and onto the rug where Billy and Chrissie lay. The lightning lit up the sky and the thunder rumbled like the stomach of a starving elephant.

‘I’m not sure this is the safest place to shelter,’ said Chrissie.

Billy looked around. ‘It’s not the tallest tree around, so I think it will be alright.’

He looked at Chrissie’s anxious face. Her hair was now soaked and curls of it clung to her face. He pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on, it’s drier by the trunk.’

They both leant against the trunk of the mighty tree waiting for the storm to pass. The cows in the field were now all huddled against the hedge and the stream became swollen and rapid as it tried to cope with the sudden influx of water.

‘Our shoes!’ cried Chrissie, as a surge of water engulfed them where they had been abandoned at the side of the stream. ‘We shall have to walk home barefoot.’

Billy dashed out, picked up the shoes and poured the water out. He stood there in the open for a few seconds and turned his face to the skies. The water ran down his neck and he shivered involuntarily. He remembered an incident from his childhood when he and Clark had been caught in a storm in this very spot. The bank had become very slippery and Billy had fallen down and ripped his shorts on a rock. They had come to the river instead of going to school. He’d known he would be in big trouble on two counts. Billy hated disappointing his mother and was now too afraid to return home. When Clark suggested they swap shorts, Billy had never been more grateful. Once again his friend had bailed him out, and it wasn’t until months later that Billy learned about the scolding Clark himself had received from his own mother when she saw the state of his shorts.

‘Billy, come back here,’ called Chrissie. ‘You are soaked.’

Chrissie’s voice halted his reverie and he joined her under the tree. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘You look awful,’ exclaimed Chrissie. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I was just thinking about Clark. I can’t believe he’s going away. I still think of him as a little boy sometimes and now he’s going off to fight. I’m not sure how he’ll cope.’

‘Billy, he is not going off to fight. He’s only been called up for military training. We are not at war, remember.’

‘I know, you’re right, but he’ll be away for six months and by then we might be.’

Chrissie clamped her hand over Billy’s mouth.

‘Don’t say it. There isn’t going to be a war. I don’t want to lose you now.’

Billy gazed into Chrissie’s blue eyes glistening with tears, took her into his arms and held her tightly.

‘Your shirt is drenched,’ said Chrissie. ‘Here, let me.’

Without taking her eyes off his face, Chrissie slowly unbuttoned Billy’s shirt and let it fall to the floor. He was breathing harder now and he kissed her urgently. She opened her mouth as his tongue probed between her lips and he pressed her body against the trunk of the tree. The roughness of the bark caused her to gasp out loud. Billy closed his eyes and thought of Clark. It should be Clark here now with Chrissie up against this tree trunk. All Billy had ever done was take from his friend. In school he had passed his homework over to Clark to complete and he had done it all, grateful for the fact that Billy had deigned to be his friend when nobody else cared. At that moment, Billy hated himself and his mind became clouded. He pressed his body harder against Chrissie and she emitted a muffled squeal. He lifted her arms over her head and pinned them together at the wrist against the tree. With his other hand he lifted her skirt, which made Chrissie catch her breath but she did not pull away, so he let go of her arms and unbuttoned his trousers. He buried his face in her neck, his own breath coming in short, hot bursts.

This was not how Chrissie had planned to lose her virginity, but she was at least grateful that it was not possible to get pregnant whilst standing up.

Chapter 8

September 1939

Chrissie had been up for around two hours, unable to sleep. She sat at the kitchen table and poured herself a third cup of tea. She dunked yet another ginger biscuit and sucked on it miserably. It was supposed to cure you of the feeling of nausea, but that had to be an old wives’ tale as Chrissie still felt wretched. She heard the letterbox flap in the hallway as the paper boy shoved the
Daily Telegraph
through, thrusting yet more unwelcome news into her life. She reluctantly heaved herself up and retrieved the paper. The headline screamed out at her. ‘BRITAIN’S LAST WARNING’.

Yesterday, Adolf Hitler had invaded Poland and war now seemed inevitable. Air raid shelters had been erected and thousands of children had already been evacuated. Chrissie cupped her stomach with both hands and sighed. She was harbouring a secret that would bring more disruption and upset to this household than the declaration of war ever could. She was startled by the urgent ringing of the doorbell and glanced at the clock on the wall. Who on earth could be here at six-thirty in the morning? Whoever it was now banged on the door as well.

‘Alright, I’m coming,’ called Chrissie, irritably.

She opened the door to Mr Cutler, a neighbour and one of their patients.

‘Where’s your mother?’ he demanded. ‘Maud’s gone into labour, screaming the place down she is.’ He pushed his way into the hall. ‘Where is she?’ He called up the stairs. ‘Mrs Skinner?’

Chrissie lifted her eyes skywards and tutted. These first-time fathers were all the same.

‘She’s in bed asleep, or at least she was until you started banging the door down.’

Mabel Skinner appeared on the landing, hurriedly tying the cord of her dressing gown.

‘Mr Cutler,’ she exclaimed. ‘What is it?’

‘Maud’s having the baby, please come quick.’

Chrissie and her mother exchanged worried glances. Maud Cutler’s baby wasn’t due for another four weeks.

‘Chrissie,’ barked Mabel. ‘Get my bag ready will you, get dressed and go and pull your father’s car round. I’ll have to drive Maud to the hospital.’

Mr Cutler look alarmed. ‘Can’t you deliver the baby at home, Mrs Skinner? You know she wanted to give birth in her own bed.’

‘No, Jamie, I can’t,’ explained Mabel. ‘Your baby isn’t due for another month, there may be complications. Given Maud’s age, I think it would be better to go to hospital. Now go home and wait for me there.’

Chrissie stood rooted to the spot. In just a few short months she would be in this position, screaming in pain, legs akimbo in stirrups, the disapproving stares of the midwives, the wrath of her father, the disappointment of her mother. She began to have difficulty breathing and tried to tell herself it would be alright. Billy would be with her and as long as she had him she could get through anything. She gripped the door frame to steady herself. Her mother’s sharp voice made her jump.

‘Chrissie! Move!’

The next day, Sunday 3
^rd
September, was a gloriously sunny day. It seemed unthinkable that war could be declared on such a beautiful day. The Skinners sat around the kitchen table with the wireless in the middle, each nursing a mug of tea, lost in their own thoughts. Chrissie was thinking about her unborn baby because she never thought about anything else. Mabel Skinner was thinking about the Cutler’s baby born yesterday, too soon, too small, and willing him to live. Dr Skinner was already thinking about how to celebrate the fact that Billy Stirling would soon be out of his daughter’s life for good. His call-up papers would surely arrive soon. The silence was broken by a timid tap on the back door. Dr Skinner rose and opened it cautiously.

It was the last person on Earth he wanted to see right now. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

‘I wanted to listen to the broadcast with Chrissie. Is she in?’

Chrissie heard Billy’s voice and jumped up.

‘Come in, Billy, have a seat.’

He kissed her on the cheek and took his place at the table. He took hold of Chrissie’s hand and stared Dr Skinner in the eye. He looked away and fiddled with a knob on the wireless. At eleven-fifteen, the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, addressed the nation, struggling to keep the anguish from his voice: