Annie Groves - Only a Mother Knows

‘Battle-hardened,’ Drew suggested, wondering what Tilly would say if he told her how much he envied men like Rick who were doing their bit, and how he felt he was having it easy whilst they were risking their lives.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Tilly agreed, sombre now, knowing the first time she had met Rick she was bowled over by his good looks and easy charm.

In fact she had more than a bit of a crush on him. But that was before she met her darling Drew. Now there was nobody and nothing in her heart except him, even though her love didn’t prevent her having a very natural concern for Rick. She looked up and shielded her eyes from the golden dipping rays of sunshine to see that Drew had commenced writing in his journal, probably recording their time together.

‘How lucky I am to have a man who is so clever as to write such a wonderful book,’ she said, trying to inject a little light into their dark conversation.

‘My greatest achievement is finding you, my darling Tilly.’ Drew smiled and stroked her hair. ‘You fill my life with sunshine every day, no matter what the weather.’ He reached out and touched the ring Tilly wore on a chain around her neck. The one he’d given her the first Christmas they had known one another.

‘Remember what we said to each other about this?’ he asked her, his eyes tender. Tilly nodded; how could she ever forget? They would only break up for good if she sent him his ring back, or if he ever asked her for it.

‘I will never ask you for this ring back,’ Drew said, his words thick, his eyes solemn.

‘And I will never offer it to you,’ Tilly said, her brow puckered in a confused crease. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time, neither one wanting to break this idyllic moment. This precious time they had together was sacrosanct, when nothing and nobody could come between them. Then, all too soon, the keeper was patrolling the park, and one of the only sets of gates that had not yet been requisitioned for the war effort was about to be locked.

‘C’mon. We’ll have to get back.’ Drew’s voice was laced with regret before he bent to kiss her gently on her ever-accepting lips.

‘I know, we’re on fire-watch duty tonight,’ Tilly offered. ‘Not that there are likely to be any bombs tonight, thank goodness, the enemies are too busy fighting overseas.’ She looked pensive. ‘But we mustn’t become complacent; there is talk that Hitler could start bombing again but probably only when he’s finished attacking Russia when winter sets in over there.’

‘You’re right,’ said Drew. ‘No attacking army has been victorious against the Russian winter – as Napoleon Bonaparte learned to his cost.’

‘You are so clever to know that,’ Tilly said, adoration in her eyes.

‘I know, I can’t help it,’ Drew laughed. ‘But come on, we’d better make tracks.’

He was talking about anything he could think of to try to prevent him feeling like the heel he most certainly was, afraid that if there was a moment’s silence between them then he would blurt out the very thing he had been keeping from Tilly all day.

He knew she deserved to be told that he was leaving as soon as he dropped her off home. It was her right to know. But he wasn’t the courageous hero Tilly thought he was. In fact he felt like a spineless rat and not the desert kind like Rick either. Drew was too damned scared to tell the woman he loved that he was going away. And had no idea when he was coming back.

‘Oh, hello, Dulcie, you’re home late,’ Olive said as Dulcie popped her head around the front-room door. ‘I’m glad you’re back safe and sound though, did you manage to get to a shelter?’

Dulcie nodded, unable to say much, and kept the door half-closed, covering herself so as not to alert Olive to her dishevelled clothing and hoping her humiliation didn’t show on her face. She had a splitting headache and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget tonight had ever happened, and she certainly didn’t want to go into the front room where questions might be asked.

‘I was hoping to be able to take a bath, is there any hot water?’

‘Enough for five inches I would say,’ Olive answered, her brows meeting in a troubled frown. ‘Is everything all right, Dulcie?’

‘Fine. Just a bit of a headache,’ Dulcie lied with uncharacteristic calmness. She had a lot to think about and she needed privacy to do it. Thankfully, Olive had the company of Mrs Black from next door and Tilly, who had just come in from fire-watching.

‘I’ll make you a hot cocoa and see if we have something for your headache,’ Olive said, rising from the chair.

‘Maybe later,’ Dulcie said, not wanting any fuss. ‘The bath might do the trick. I won’t be long,’ she managed to add as she closed the door, tears just a blink away as Olive’s kindness touched her heart and made her feel tawdry, whilst Nancy Black’s strident opinion echoed after her.

‘I don’t know as I like that common voice on the wireless,’ Nancy said, sitting on Olive’s settee, wrinkling her flared nostrils like there was a bad smell floating about the room, much to Olive’s chagrin.

‘It’s Wilfred Pickles!’ Olive exclaimed, retrieving the newspaper, which Nancy had borrowed and brought back two days late. This was becoming a regular occurrence, and even though Olive didn’t mind lending her the newspaper, she did object to not getting it back when the news was still fresh, instead of being fit for nothing except tomorrow’s chip wrapper; especially when Nancy took half of it to polish her windows and Olive had to remind her who it actually belonged to.

‘It comes to something when the news has to be read in a Yorkshire accent,’ Nancy continued. ‘Have all the true Englishmen gone to fight? That’s what I want to know.’

‘I quite like a Yorkshire accent, myself,’ Olive replied, ‘and of course he is a true Englishman.’ She folded the paper to give her hands something to do to stave off the nervous energy Nancy always seemed to encourage in her and, then, putting the paper on the arm of the chair she continued, ‘I told you, he’s a very fine actor, is Wilfred Pickles. I think he’s got a lovely soothing voice and he’s very handsome.’ She gave an emphatic nod of her head and just stopped short of telling Nancy that she was being absurd.

‘It’s not right,’ Nancy began, but she was cut off mid-sentence.

‘Oh, I dunno.’ Tilly imitated the common slang, knowing it irked Nancy, cautiously splaying her fingers down the inside leg of her last pair of nylons that Drew had given her to examine it for ladders. ‘Mum’s right, his voice is very gentle on the old nerves, I must say.’ Olive smiled at her daughter whilst Nancy sniffed her disregard, her mouth set in a straight line.

‘Is she sickening for something?’ Nancy asked Olive and it took all of Tilly’s resolve to stop herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. ‘It just doesn’t seem right somehow,’ Nancy continued, ‘unpatriotic.’

‘Maybe if the BBC has a word on your behalf, as you’re such an avid listener.’ Tilly couldn’t look at her neighbour in case she gave the game away. Her mother gave her a raised eyebrow, but Tilly could see she too was amused and even more so when she actually joined in.

‘They could get Mr Churchill to do the honours and read the nine o’clock edition if he’s got nothing better to do,’ Olive suggested. Tilly’s lips formed a silent moue of surprise.

‘Well,’ Nancy exclaimed, obviously peeved at their impudence, ‘I’ve got better things I must be getting on with. I haven’t got time to sit around here gossiping all night with you pair of giddy kippers.’ Shrugging her discontent Nancy shuffled out of the room.