The Soldier's Daughter (5 page)

‘He does have a point,’ Briony commented and Mrs Brindley sighed as she took the offending articles out of his bag again.

‘Well, don’t go complainin’ to me then if yer get cold,’ she grumbled, but despite her harsh words Briony could see how distressing this was for her. Once Ernie was gone, the poor woman would be completely alone and Briony felt for her. At least
she
still had her mother – for what use she was – and her brother and sister.

‘Have you been to say goodbye to Ruth?’ Briony asked as Ernie pushed a washbag containing his razor and a few toiletries across the table to his mother.

He paused to look at her before asking, ‘Do you think I should?’

Briony nodded. ‘Yes, I do. She’ll be gutted if you go without so much as a by your leave.’

‘In that case then I’ll pop along as soon as this bit o’ packin’ is done. Do yer fancy coming with me?’

Briony nodded and ten minutes later they set off. However, they had gone no more than a few yards down the darkened street when they spotted Ruth hurrying towards them.

‘Is it true what I’ve heard – that you’re leavin’ tomorrow, Ernie?’ she gasped breathlessly and he nodded.

‘Yes, it is. Matter o’ fact, I was just comin’ to say goodbye to yer,’ he answered awkwardly. News travels fast in this neck of the woods, he thought to himself, trying not to see the misery on Ruth’s face. She was wringing her hands together and even in the darkness he thought he could see tears sparkling on her lashes.

‘Then in that case let’s pop down to the Prince an’ I’ll stand you a drink,’ she offered with a wobbly smile.

‘I won’t refuse an offer like that,’ Ernie told her with a grin, and positioning himself between the two girls he linked his arms through theirs and they hurried along the chilly streets until the pub came into view.

Once inside, Ruth nervously approached the bar where she ordered a pint for Ernie and a shandy for herself and Briony, then she carried their drinks to the table. There were few in the pub apart from a handful of older regulars and they managed to find a table right beside the fire that roared up the grate.

‘Phew, that hit the spot all right,’ Ernie said after taking a long swallow of his beer. ‘Best make the most of it, eh? Who knows how long it’ll be before I get another.’

‘You’ll miss seeing Marlene Dietrich in
The Blue Angel
with us at the Scala on Friday an’ all,’ Ruth muttered, and then to Ernie’s horror she promptly burst into tears.

Deeply embarrassed, he patted her hand before passing her a somewhat grubby handkerchief. ‘Never mind,’ he mumbled. ‘There’ll be lots of other pictures for us all to go an’ see, once this war is over.’

‘Y-yes, there probably will be, but how far away will that be?’ she sniffed.

Ernie shrugged. ‘No one knows the answer to that question at present, but what I do know is I have to go an’ do my bit. Look how the war has affected our town already. There are shelters poppin’ up like mushrooms in people’s back gardens. There’s sandbags all along the front of the shops in town, an’ people are goin’ mad, buyin’ food before the strict rationin’ comes in.’

‘But nothing has happened here yet, has it?’ Ruth argued. ‘What I mean is,
we
ain’t been bombed or anythin’. In fact, me dad reckons the folks hereabouts are callin’ it the phoney war, an’ some o’ the kids that were evacuated earlier in the year are already tricklin’ back.’

‘Then yer dad ain’t been readin’ the same newspapers as me,’ Ernie said, his lips set in a grim line. ‘We ain’t had much goin’ on here yet admittedly, but not everyone has been so lucky. Only today I read that the Germans have been droppin’ bombs on the Thames Estuary, and the paper was full o’ pictures o’ Jewish children arrivin’ in London on Kindertransport trains from their homelands, poor little sods. No, by hook or by crook, this devil Hitler has got to be stopped in his tracks – an’ I’ll be doin’ my bit to make sure as that happens.’

Despite her fears for his safety, Briony felt a measure of pride pulse through her as she listened to Ernie’s words. He was very brave, and now all she could do was pray that he would survive the war and come back to them safe and sound.

Ruth reached out and gripped his hand, and suddenly feeling in the way, Briony rose hastily. ‘I’d best get home and check on Mum and the kids,’ she said with a lump in her throat, and although Ernie raised his eyebrows, she avoided looking at him and addressed Ruth, saying, ‘I’ll see you in the morning, eh?’ And with that she was off, leaving them to it.

The door had no sooner closed behind Briony when Ruth’s grip on Ernie’s hand tightened and she gulped deep in her throat. It was now or never, so taking a deep breath she said tentatively, ‘You must know how I feel about you, Ernie? What I should say is . . . I’ve cared about yer for as long as I can remember – and not just as a friend.’ Noting his bemused expression, she rushed on, ‘What I’m trying to say is, if you wanted me to be your girl, I’d wait for you . . . for as long as it took.’

Ernie squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. It seemed that Briony’s suspicions had been right, but whilst he thought of Ruth as a dear friend, he had never considered her as anything else. The problem was, now, how could he get out of this without hurting her feelings?

Gently disentangling his hand from hers he smiled at her kindly before saying, ‘That’s a right nice thing for yer to say, Ruth. But to be honest, even if I were thinkin’ of courtin’ anyone, I don’t feel now would be the right time to start. Who knows how long this war could go on for, and even if I’ll ever come home? It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect anyone to wait for me under these conditions. It could go on for years and people’s feelings can change in that time, so let’s just leave things as they are, eh? Good mates . . . for always.’

Swallowing her disappointment, Ruth nodded. She knew that her feelings for Ernie would never change, but she didn’t want to put him under pressure. He would have enough of that in the days and possibly years ahead.

‘All right then – but will you write to me?’

‘Of course I will, when I’m able to,’ he assured her. Then quickly draining his glass, he rose and asked, ‘Would yer like me to see yer home?’

‘Yes, please.’ Ruth would have traded years of her life just for a few more moments with him but she followed him quietly and soon they were outside again and hastening through the bitterly cold streets.

It was almost two hours later, as Briony was damping down the fire for the night, that a tap came at the back door. When she opened it, she found Ernie standing on the doorstep.

‘Come in,’ she said, closing the door behind him. Then, feeling more than a little self-conscious, she said, ‘You got Ruth safely home then?’

‘Yes, I did – but why did you have to go scuttling off like that?’ he answered irritably. He had found the whole incident with Ruth professing her feelings for him rather embarrassing.

‘I thought you two needed a little time alone,’ she replied. Her mother had gone to bed a while ago and now there was nothing to be heard but the sound of the clock ticking on the mantelpiece and the coals settling in the grate. In fact, had he come just a few minutes later she would have been in bed herself, and she wondered if that wouldn’t have been better all round. After all, Ruth was her best friend – so how could she admit to Ernie that she had feelings for him herself? It would be a betrayal of Ruth.

Ernie sighed, then reaching out he took her hand. ‘I couldn’t go without saying goodbye properly,’ he said, and the touch of his fingers caused colour to flame into her cheeks.

‘Well, you know we will all be thinking of you, so take care of yourself, won’t you?’ The words sounded inadequate even to her own ears, but what else could she say?

‘I’ll do me best, but I’d leave happier knowin’ that you were back here waitin’ fer me,’ he answered, then before she could say anything he rushed on, ‘Ruth said almost the same words to me when you left us earlier on but I had to put her straight. I don’t have those sort o’ feelings for Ruth – but I do for you, Briony, so what do you say? Will you be my girl? I know I’ve left it a bit late in the day to ask, but it would mean the world to me to know that you cared.’

‘I
do
care, Ernie. You are a very dear friend,’ she said cautiously. ‘But the thing is, I could get shipped off to Cornwall at any time with the children if Mum decides it isn’t safe for them to be here any more. And knowing how Ruth feels about you, it would be like betraying her if I agreed to be your girl. Can you even begin to understand how she would feel? And so, I have to say it’s best if we stay just as friends for now. Who knows what the future has in store for both of us? But that doesn’t mean that I won’t think about you and worry about you, so take care – please.’

He was shocked at the irony of it. Briony was saying almost the identical words that he had said to Ruth not so long ago.

She saw his shoulders slump but held herself together, knowing that she was doing the right thing. Up until now, she, Ernie and Ruth had been like the Three Musketeers and it was better if things stayed that way as far as she was concerned.

Seeing the determined set of her chin, Ernie stayed silent. Briony could be as stubborn as a mule at times, as he had learned over the years, and he guessed that anything he said now was not going to sway her decision. And so he leaned forward, kissed her gently on the lips and whispered, ‘Stay safe,’ before going home and leaving her to dissolve into tears.

It was the first week in December, and as the double-decker bus swayed towards the town centre, Ruth pointed out of the window.

‘Can’t see what good that’s supposed to do in the pitch-dark,’ she said glumly, staring from the upper deck at the workmen who were busily painting white lines along the edges of the pavements and around the postboxes and phone boxes.

‘It’s supposed to stop you slipping off the edge and falling onto the road, or stop you from bumping into them in the blackout,’ Briony answered.

‘Well, I know that, don’t I? But like I said, what good will they be in the bloody dark?’ Ruth grumped.

It was now two weeks since Ernie had left for his training and a week since the girls had been taking the bus to work. It was so cold now that they couldn’t face the long trek into town on foot. Ruth had barely smiled since Ernie’s departure, and Briony hadn’t been able to tempt her to their monthly night out at the pictures.

Things weren’t much better at home either, for Briony was getting increasingly concerned about her mother’s drinking – not that she was able to do much about it. Only the night before, she had found an empty sherry bottle in the dustbin and another one under the sink behind the cleaning materials, but she hadn’t said anything. It seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her mother going, and at least she wasn’t bursting into tears at the drop of a hat any more, which was something to be thankful for at least. Briony was more concerned about Sarah than anyone else at present. The child’s cough had worsened to the point that the week before, Briony had finished work early one afternoon and taken her to the doctor, who had informed her that Sarah now had whooping cough. This, of course, meant that the little girl could not attend school, and with both herself and her mother working now it presented a problem. Thankfully, Mrs Brindley had stepped in and offered to care for the child whilst Lois was at the shop. Secretly, Briony had felt that Mrs Brindley would take better care of her little sister than her mother did, and she was very grateful for the kindly neighbour’s help. However, all the extra work was finally catching up on her, and over the last week, Mr Trimble, the office manager, had chastised her on several occasions.

‘Miss Valentine,’ he had said sternly only the afternoon before, as he returned a letter that was full of mistakes. ‘Could you type this again, please, and
try
to keep your mind on what you are supposed to be doing! This really isn’t good enough.’

Briony knew that she had deserved the reprimand but she was so tired that she could barely think straight. Her day began at six thirty each morning when she would get the children up and make them their breakfast before getting them ready for school, and then it would be a mad dash to get herself ready for work before she raced off to catch the bus and face a busy day at the office. After work she would rush home and start the dinner before tackling the housework and the washing and ironing – and by the time she tumbled into bed each night she was so exhausted that she would be asleep before her head hit the pillow.

But at least today is Friday, she thought to herself as the bus trundled along, and I don’t have to get up for work in the morning, unlike Ruth, who was expected to work almost every Saturday. But then Ruth’s job on the shop floor did have its perks. Lately she had been stocking up on lipsticks and other cosmetics, and being the kindly soul that she was, she was always happy to share them with Briony.

‘I reckon they’ll be harder to get soon,’ she confided to her friend one day. ‘And as for the food part of the shop – phew! Yer wouldn’t believe how people are stockin’ up on tinned stuff. At the rate we’re goin’ there’ll be nothin’ left fer Christmas – but then I suppose yer can’t blame ’em, can yer?’

The bus continued along Tomkinson Road until it was forced to stop behind a lorry to allow some workmen to unload a cargo of great corrugated sheets; these would soon form the roofs of Anderson shelters in the yards of the rows of terraced houses they were passing. The sheets glinted dully in the early-morning light and made enough racket to waken the dead as the men threw them down onto the pavements.

Ruth sighed impatiently. ‘I hope they get a move on else we’ll be late for work,’ she fretted and Briony could only nod in agreement. She was already in Mr Trimble’s bad books and didn’t wish to add poor time-keeping to her list of crimes.

Thankfully they made it just in time and Briony tried to concentrate on the work piled up on her desk. Friday was one of the busiest days of the week because she was in charge of handing all the employees their wage packets as they came to the office to collect them. At last it was six o’clock and with a weary sigh she placed the cover over her typewriter and went to fetch her coat from the staff cloakroom. Ruth was already there, and she stared at Briony and frowned.