Wives at War (56 page)

Angus and Archie Harding were in the field too, practising acrobatic tricks on Archie's old bicycle, which had arrived roped to the roof of Auntie Polly's motorcar. Since Auntie Polly had gone to stay in America, the motorcar was theirs now. Provided Mr Harding could scrounge enough petrol coupons to keep it running Mum and April would stay at the farm for the holidays and Mum would drive across the river to work every day.

Angus was pleased that his mother and little sister were staying at Blackstone. He was even more pleased to have the big black motorcar sitting in the yard and, though he wasn't quite ready to admit it yet, to have Mr Harding dropping in to insult him and to teach him how to ride a bicycle backwards without using your hands.

If his dad had been daring on the Excelsior Manxman, his dad had also been, in that capacity, rather remote. There was something about the old boneshaker that Mr Harding had given him that made it, and Mr Harding, seem more approachable, particularly as Mr Harding was willing to attempt all sorts of tricks that Mum, let alone Miss Dawlish, condemned as dangerous, like riding up a plank of wood hanging from the rusty fence to see if you could land without falling off. Angus often fell off, but so did Mr Harding. The pair of them looked like a couple of tinkers after half an hour of practice and Miss Dawlish would have slobbered them both with iodine and slapped on sticking plasters if Mr Harding hadn't told her that a man must bear his scars bravely and, under his breath, back turned, had suggested that Miss Dawlish go chase herself.

Dougie had come out of the house and had watched their antics for ten minutes or so but when Mr Harding had suggested that he give it a go too, Dougie had beaten a hasty retreat to the vegetable patch.

‘That boy's going to buh-break his neck,' Rosie said. ‘Aren't you going to tuh-tell your chap to be careful?'

‘Nope,' Babs said, contentedly.

‘Is he giving you something?'

‘Petrol coupons,' said Babs.

‘I don't mean puh-petrol coupons.'

‘I know what you mean, Rosie, and I'm not going to dignify the question by giving an answer. Mr Harding and I are friends and colleagues, that's all.'

‘He's not hanging round just because you're his cuh-colleague,' Rosie said. ‘He wuh-wants something.'

‘Course he does,' Babs said. ‘He wants to marry me.'

‘What! Has he asked you already?'

‘Not yet,' Babs said. ‘But he will when the time's ripe.'

‘When will that be?'

‘When the kids have got used to him.'

‘And when he asks you, if ever he does, what'll you say?'

‘Are you kiddin'?' Babs said. ‘I'll say “yes” like a shot.'

‘Have you forgotten about Juh-Jackie already?'

‘No,' Babs said. ‘I'll never forget my Jackie.'

‘Bet you will,' said Rosie, ‘once you've guh-got a new man in your bed.'

Babs shook her head and sighed. ‘To think,' she said, ‘that you were once Mammy's prized possession, her sweet, wee innocent girl.'

‘I've changed,' said Rosie.

‘I know you have. We all have.'

‘It's the wuh-war.'

‘Probably,' Babs said.

She watched April stick a buttercup in Davy MacGregor's ear and give him a kiss to make up for her clumsiness.

May and June were gathering buttercups too but there was something less than charming about the way her older daughters went about it, not plucking the flowers but ripping them up by the roots and tossing them at poor, chuckling Davy. She would, she knew, have trouble with that pair, just as Mammy in her day had had trouble with Polly and her.

Now, with Polly gone, it was Rosie who had taken the bit between her teeth and, a new baby notwithstanding, had experienced a little more of real life than was good for her. Kenny would keep Rosie in check, though, for Kenny was a good man too.

Babs said, ‘I wonder where she is right now?'

‘Mammy? She's at huh-home in Knightswood cooking the dinner, I expect,' Rosie said. ‘I wish she'd stayed. I wanted her to see Davy.'

‘She's doesn't approve,' Babs said.

‘Doesn't approve of Davy?'

‘Doesn't approve of any of us,' Babs said. ‘I think she feels she's let us down, or maybe that we've let her down.'

‘That's duh-daft,' Rosie said. ‘As if we'd ever let Mammy down.'

‘Well, bringing up kids is worse than a marriage,' Babs said. ‘You bring them into the world not knowing whether they'll turn out for better or worse.'

‘Which was it for us?' Rosie asked.

‘Both,' Babs said. ‘Neither. Oh, I don't know. It just sort of …
is
, I suppose. Anyway, I wasn't thinking about us.'

‘Uh-huh, you muh-mean Polly. She'll fall on her feet,' Rosie said. ‘Our Polly always falls on her feet.'

‘Funny how things work out,' Babs said.

‘What is that supposed to mean?'

‘If Christy and Polly hadn't … Oh, never mind.'

‘He wasn't for you, Babs,' Rosie said. ‘Did you sleep with him?'

‘Nope.'

‘Don't you wish you had?'

‘Nope.'

The sisters were silent for a moment, each occupied with her own thoughts, none of which were very profound. They watched Archie balance the boneshaker on the plank, holding pose perfectly, then dip and shoot down on to the ground and, with a whoop, swerve round to face Angus.

‘
Voilà!
' he shouted. ‘What do you think of that, prune-face?'

‘Not bad,' said Angus, grudgingly.

‘Not bad! It was brilliant,' Archie said.

‘Okay,' said Angus, ‘now it's my turn.'

‘Be my guest,' said Archie, and handed the bicycle over the fence.

The girls, and Davy, had gone quiet.

They were lying on their tummies on the grass, peering at some small insect that had had the temerity to crawl out from among the buttercup roots. Davy had his bum in the air and April had an arm about his waist.

‘Peaceful,' said Rosie.

‘Make the most of it,' Babs said. ‘It won't last.'

‘Nuh-no,' said Rosie. ‘It never does, does it?' just as the gang among the buttercups broke into shrieks and howls and fled from the threat of the invisible bug and Angus, poised on the bicycle on the plank, held out both arms and shouted, ‘Mum, Mum, look at me, Mum,' and nose-dived into the grass.

About the Author

Born in Glasgow, Jessica Stirling is the author of more than twenty heartwarming novels, many with Scottish backgrounds.

WIVES AT WAR
. Copyright © 2003 by Jessica Stirling. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Stirling, Jessica.

Wives at war / Jessica Stirling

p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-34024-9

EAN 978-0312-34024-7

1. World War, 1939–1945—Scotland—Glasgow—Fiction. 2. Married women—Fiction. 3. Sisters—Fiction. 4. Glasgow (Scotland)—Fiction.

PR6069.T497 W57 2005

823'.914—dc22

2004060016

First published in Great Britain by Hodder and Stoughton A Division of Hodder Headline

First U.S. Edition: April 2005

eISBN 9781466861527

First eBook edition: December 2013