Patricia Burns - We'll Meet Again

‘We could get married next year,’ said Gwen, whose birthday was a few weeks earlier than hers.

They both tried the lipstick, which was dark red. They tried to do each other’s hair up in fashionable rolls around the face, though Annie’s hair wasn’t really long enough and Gwen’s was too fly-away. Neither of them looked very much like a film star or a dance band singer, but still they were quite pleased with the result.

‘We do look a lot more grown up. That blouse is lovely, very fashionable. You are lucky, Annie, having a mum who can make you things like that,’ Gwen said.

‘Yes, I am,’ Annie agreed, stroking the silky fabric.

‘And you’ve got a boyfriend, you lucky thing.’

Two things to feel lucky about. Annie savoured the feeling. Usually, it was Gwen who had so much more than she did in the way of people in her life.

‘He’s not really a boyfriend. More like a pen-pal,’ Annie said.

‘Ooh!’ Gwen teased. ‘I’ve seen how desperate you are for a letter from him. And you never show them to me. I bet they’re full of lovey-dovey stuff and kisses.’

‘No, they’re not. We just write about what we’ve been doing.’

‘So you say. I wish I had a boyfriend. My mum and dad would go potty, but I’d really like to have one. I want to know what it’s like, being in love.’

‘Mmm,’ Annie said.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror of Gwen’s dressing table. She did look older, what with the lipstick and the hairstyle and the new blouse. No longer a little girl. Love. She imagined love being something all floaty and dreamy, like a romantic song in a film. What she felt for Tom was not like that. It was sometimes quite gnawing and painful and desperate. If he didn’t manage to get to Wittlesham …

‘Wakey wakey!’

Gwen was making faces at her in the mirror. Annie put her tongue out. Gwen crossed her eyes. Annie put her thumbs in her ears and waggled her hands. They collapsed against each other, giggling.

‘Some of the girls at work like John Sutton,’ Gwen said when they had recovered.

‘Ugh! Beryl’s brother!’ Annie squealed.

‘I know but—wouldn’t she be mad if he was my boyfriend. Supposing I married him! She’d have to be my bridesmaid—just think! And that boot-faced mother of theirs, she’d have to smile and be happy. It’d be wonderful!’

‘Why not marry Jeffrey?’ Annie teased.

‘What, that little squirt? No, thank you!’

They both screwed up their faces and collapsed into giggles again.

‘You will let me meet this Tom of yours, won’t you?’ Gwen said.

‘If he comes,’ Annie said.

‘But you will, won’t you?’

‘I expect so,’ Annie prevaricated.

She wasn’t sure. If he did come, she wanted him all to herself.

‘You’d better,’ Gwen told her.

Annie changed the subject.

The nearer it got to the last week in July, the more she wanted to see him, and the less likely it seemed that he would actually arrive. And then, if he did make it, it wasn’t going to be plain sailing. What was he going to do during the day, for a start? It was different when he was here with his family. Even if he did think the little ones were brats and the grown-ups were boring, still they were company. She could only get away in the evenings, and sometimes not even then. It was all so difficult. She turned it over in her mind all day. She lay awake at night worrying. She began to feel quite ill.

On the Friday, she was taking the cows back to their pasture in the evening when she saw a girl on a bike where the track met the Wittlesham road. As she looked, she girl waved frantically and Annie realised that it was Gwen. She waved back. Gwen made beckoning gestures. Annie shut the cows in their field and ran down the track.

‘Gwen! What are you doing here? Whose bike is that?’

‘I borrowed it off my friend at work. Look—I had to bring you this. It says “Urgent”.’

Gwen flashed a letter in front of Annie’s eyes just long enough for her to recognise Tom’s writing, then whipped it behind her back.

‘D’you want it, then?’ she teased, dodging as Annie tried to snatch it from her.

‘Yes—you know I do. Give it—please—!’ Annie squealed.

Gwen was bigger than her and had longer arms. However hard she tried, her friend kept the letter just beyond her reach.

‘Just give it, Gwen. It’s mine!’ she demanded.

She aimed a kick at Gwen’s shins, but she leapt out of the way.

‘Ooh! Kick donkey!’

Annie was practically crying with frustration.

Gwen held the letter with the ends of her fingers, a tan-talising two inches too high for Annie to reach.

‘Promise you’ll let me meet him,’ she bargained.

‘Gwe-en—’

‘Promise!’

‘All right, then.’

Anything, just as long as she could get her hands on that letter.

‘You promised, remember,’ Gwen insisted, and handed it to her.

Annie ripped it open. There was just one sheet of paper inside.

Dear Annie,

Just a note to say that I’ll be on the seven-twenty train on Saturday. Hope you can meet me at the station. It’s going to be a terrific holiday.

Your friend,

Tom.

X

‘Ooh,’ Gwen said, breathing down her neck. ‘Kisses! Who’s a lucky girl, then?’

Annie didn’t even care about the teasing. She flung her arms round her friend.

‘He’s coming!’ she cried. ‘He really is coming!’

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