Elizabeth Elgin - The Linden Walk

‘No, we haven’t.’ He closed the door behind them with an unnecessary bang. ‘Once, we might have been but not now, it seems.’

Not since the night, outside Wrens’ quarters, that Lyn had told him she loved him, wanted him. Offered it, actually, though nothing happened because he hadn’t been quite sure. Of himself, that was. It was as if he’d known, even then, that he was waiting for Kitty. But he couldn’t say that. Not to his mother. Not to anyone. There were things you just didn’t talk about, and that was one of them.

‘Once? Before that night you met up with Kitty? You were very sure, about her .’

‘Very sure. She knocked me for six. I’d loved her all my life, and I hadn’t known it. We spent the night together and it was so easy, so right. Are you shocked?’

‘Shocked? And what makes you think that only you and Kitty knew about love? I loved like that, once. When Andrew and I were apart, all I could think of was soft, sinful double beds. And I would have, even before we were married, but Andrew counted to ten for both of us! I know what it’s like to love desperately in wartime, so don’t think I’m uptight about you and Kitty. I was young, too, don’t forget.’

‘Then you married Nathan, Mother?’

‘Yes. I married him because I loved him. Differently, I’ll grant you, and the only mistake I made was not doing it sooner. I can talk about Andrew now with affection, and Nathan accepts that. Does Kitty have to come between you and Lyn, Drew, because it seems she is!’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned, she isn’t. But there was a war on when Kitty and I were together. No tomorrows, remember …’

‘I remember. God Himself knows I remember, but if you can’t convince Lyn that it’s her you are marrying, then things aren’t going to get any better. You’ve got to be sure – both of you .’

‘I’m sure, Mother, but I know Lyn isn’t. Not entirely. She wanted the wedding changed from June to April. I don’t think she wants to carry white orchids, either. She said that June seemed to her to be a remembering month; that it was in June Kitty and I should have been married and another June when Kitty was killed. And it’s every June that Jack Catchpole puts a bouquet on her grave. Can you blame Lyn for getting the jitters?’

‘No, I can’t,’ Julia said softly. ‘But I blame you, Drew, for letting her have doubts. Don’t you think it’s about time you sorted things between you?’

‘So what do you suggest I do?’

‘ Do? You get yourself over to Wales this next weekend, show willing for once. Lyn can’t come to you, so you must go to her! And I don’t mean you should both leap into bed. Far from it. It seems Lyn is unsure enough, without you making it worse. Just be with her, Drew. Talk to her, because she sure as anything wants to talk to you ! Be nice to her and if you’ve got to, eat fish and chips out of newspaper!’

‘You’re right. You usually are, dearest. But in what way do you think Lyn is unsure? Might help a bit, if I knew.’

‘I’d bet anything you like that she’s unsure about herself; unsure because she’s a virgin, still, and she’s afraid you’ll compare her to Kitty.’

‘Oh, no. I can’t accept that! Lyn was always very blasé; completely sure of herself.’

‘Well, for what my opinion is worth, she isn’t so sure about things now. Lyn is a woman in love and she’s afraid of losing you. I think she fell in love with you the first time you met and nothing has changed, I’m pretty sure of it.’

She dropped the letters in the pillar box, then turned for home.

‘My, but it’s cold. One good thing about late November is that there are very few people about. No one stops you for a chat! Let’s go to the kitchen, and sweetheart a pot of tea out of Tilda?’

And Drew smiled and said, ‘Y’know, for someone who isn’t a mother, you’ve made a pretty good job of being mine. And I’ll go to Llangollen this weekend – surprise her.’

‘Yes, and get something sorted out, eh? Clear the air, why don’t you?’

‘Clear the air,’ Drew nodded, though how, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Play things by ear, should he? Alone together in that little house, things just might be different. He would have to go carefully, for all that, because he didn’t want to lose Lyn; would never forgive himself if he said the wrong thing and got his ring thrown back at him for his pains.

Dear Lyn, who had always loved him.

Drew stowed away his bag, then laid the flowers carefully on top of it, thankful he was on the last leg of his journey. Change at Manchester, change at Chester for Wrexham; bus from there to Lyn’s place. And she had done it every weekend she could get away, bless the girl.

But he was bearing gifts. Tom had given him a young pheasant, plucked and ready for roasting. Alice had sent a new-baked loaf and Tilda had scraped enough rations together to make a baking of cherry scones and wrapped four in greaseproof paper, with her love. And Willis had sent chrysanthemum blooms because he feared frost, soon, and those he couldn’t dig up and plant again in the shelter of the greenhouse, he had cut for folk deserving of them.

‘There’s ten tawnies for your intended, Sir Andrew. Match that hair of hers,’ Sidney Willis had chuckled. ‘Sent with compliments. And mind you don’t knock their heads off between here and there. Very top-heavy those big blooms are.’

Tawny, to match her hair. Lyn was very beautiful; had the green eyes and porcelain skin of a true redhead. And in summer her face freckled – on her cheekbones and across her nose.

He had thought often, lately, about her body and how it would be. Her naked body, that was. He had never seen her anything but well covered. At first in thick black stockings and shirt and collar and tie; latterly in civilian clothes, true, but only in his imaginings had he seen her naked, in bed, in his arms.

The conductor of the green bus interrupted his thoughts, asking where to, and a return or a single, was it? And Drew handed him the correct money and was told that in five minutes he would be at Croesy-Dwfr, which he knew to be the crossroads near the hamlet in which Lyn lived. Only a few more minutes and she would open the door and say, ‘Hullo, sailor!’ like she used to and he would wonder how he could ever have thought things weren’t right between them.

But she didn’t say it. She just stood there, eyes wide, and whispered, ‘Drew? What is it? Why have you come?’ then stood aside to let him in.

‘Come, idiot? To see my girl!’ He laid bag and flowers on the floor. ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’

‘Of course you do!’ Laughing, she was in his arms, eyes closed, lips parted. ‘It was just that I didn’t expect you – didn’t think I’d see you for ages.’ Her cheeks pinked, her eyes shone. ‘Oh, Drew cariad , there’s lovely to see you!’ she laughed breathlessly when they had kissed and kissed again. ‘And how did you know I’d just put the kettle on?’

And Drew was all at once certain that given a little time together sitting close in the firelight and kissing sometimes, and laughing too, things would be as they had once been when he kissed her a passionate goodnight on the stone steps of Hellas House – and she had told him she loved him.

‘Flowers,’ he said, giving her the chrysanthemums. ‘From Willis.’

And Lyn thanked him and told him to take off his jacket and get himself to the fire, for a warm. Then went in search of a vase.

They shared a tin of tomato soup and a tin of baked beans for supper, eked out with thick slices of the Keeper’s Cottage loaf.

‘There’s no one bakes bread like Daisy’s Mum,’ Lyn said.

‘You are speaking, if I may say so, to the converted. We used to smell baking day from the other end of Brattocks, then swoop on Keeper’s for bread and honey. Like a swarm of locusts, we must have been.’