A Wartime Christmas Read online

  Kay walked home thinking the same about Alan. It was lovely having him all to herself lately. And those dark moods of his didn’t seem to come quite so often. His work still took up a lot of his time but the jobs at home were gradually getting done. She wasn’t surprised when she arrived home to find him at the top of a ladder. She smiled, gazing up to shield her eyes from the sun with her hand. Her husband’s naturally olive skin was tanned and weather-beaten, giving him a rakish appearance. His black hair crawled over his collar and his forearms were tanned and muscular. She felt a strong physical tug of attraction. Just as strong as when she had first met him in 1937. Before joining the local authority, he had been employed briefly at the factory where she worked. No more than a couple of words had been exchanged between them. But she had known at once that Alan Lewis would be someone very special in her life.

  ‘Did you get what you wanted at the grocer’s?’ he called, mopping the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

  ‘Yes, Jenny bought her bacon for Emily’s birthday. I decided to stop by the fishmonger’s after. With veg and mash you won’t notice the fish is invisible.’

  He chuckled, tossing back the heavy lock of black hair that flopped across his face. ‘I’ve one more brick to replace and then I’ll be down.’

  Kay went inside the house to prepare for supper. She loved her life in Slater Street, despite the bombs, dust, mess and often nerve-wracking situations. She had everything she wanted in a husband and an adorable son who had made their marriage complete. During the Blitz the loss of friends and neighbours had been very hard to bear and Jenny had reminded her this morning that the threat of another bombing campaign still hung over their heads. Kay accepted that the war wasn’t over by any means. But she could no longer bear to be parted from Alfie. The moment she held her baby in her arms again, she knew her happiness would be complete.

  Kay and Alan boarded the coach to Hertfordshire on a sunny day, three weeks later. Kay was beside herself with excitement. Alan had arranged the day-return tickets and seats at the front of the special service coach that left London for Hemel Hempstead. She and Alan had never travelled to her brother’s home before. In fact Kay had only ever travelled short distances out of London. Len and Doris had lived in Little Gadelsby, Hertfordshire, since they married in September 1934. Her brother preferred to drive to London to visit them instead; each year he seemed to have a bigger and better car to show off. For this reason Kay had bought him a leather-bound book with an illustration of a Rolls-Royce on the front. For Doris she had found a set of Irish linen chair-back covers. She wanted them to know how much she had appreciated their help with Alfie.

  Alan reached for Kay’s hand as they made themselves comfortable on the seats. ‘You look beautiful, love. With those pink cheeks you’re my true English rose.’

  ‘An English rose from the East End?’ Kay teased.

  ‘You’re knocking my socks off, Kay Lewis, I don’t mind admitting.’

  ‘Only your socks?’

  They laughed together, but she was pleased Alan had noticed the effort she’d made with her appearance. Though the pencil-slim green skirt and fitted jacket were bought at the market before the war, the outfit hid the weight loss she’d suffered over the duration of the bombing. Despite losing a little of her curves, she’d bought high heels from the market to give her more height and, hopefully, elegance. Though the shoes had had a previous owner, they were in very good condition and needed no coupons. The effect was meant to give her a more sophisticated appearance. She wanted to impress Doris and Len, but to hear Alan compliment her was the icing on her cake.

  Not that Alan hadn’t dolled himself up either, she thought admiringly. He wore his smart dark suit and clean white shirt and looked quite the gentleman. She knew he was nervous too, despite his calm exterior. Even though he and Len had not seen eye to eye over the years, she was certain this meeting was going to be cordial.

  Kay returned her gaze to the window and the ghostly sights of London’s bombed buildings as the coach swept them out of the city. Like Vi and the Chapmans’ houses, there were rows upon rows of black, broken and tumbled dwellings and as many mountains of bricks, timbers and debris to replace them. ‘Oh, Alan, what has this war done to us?’ she sighed. ‘Will London ever be the same again?’

  ‘No, it won’t, love, but something good will come of the conflict when the reconstruction begins.’

  ‘But when will that be? The war’s not even over yet.’

  ‘It will be, one day, you can count on that. And Britain will still be a democracy.’ Alan turned to smile at her, the expression in his eyes sincere and loving. He filled her with hope and expectation of a future. And that was what mattered to Kay.

  Chapter Six

  ‘How much longer to go?’ Kay asked. The swaying green trees and long lines of hedgerows seemed to be endless.

  ‘A few more stops before we reach Hemel Hempstead,’ Alan told her, a grin on his face. ‘How would you like to live out this way?’

  ‘It’d be all right for a week,’ Kay decided quickly. ‘Then I’d want to get back to the island and a bit of life.’

  Alan pointed to a quaint-looking little teashop. ‘Our Alfie would enjoy them homemade scones and jam they’ve got displayed there.’

  ‘Jam!’ Kay exclaimed longingly. ‘What a luxury! It doesn’t look like a war’s been going on here. Look, there’s a sign saying fresh eggs and dairy butter.’

  ‘That’s country living for you.’

  ‘I wonder if Doris has fed Alfie on homemade food,’ Kay mused. ‘Somehow she don’t strike me as the type to cook a lot.’

  Alan laughed, his eyes twinkling. ‘What type is she?’

  ‘She’s one of them smart, intelligent types who knows things like their times tables inside out.’

  ‘But Doris comes from Hertfordshire. Wasn’t that why your brother moved there? To be near her parents who were farmers.’

  Kay frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Me and Doris never talked much as she’s a quiet type and not very forthcoming. Mum said Doris would have liked a family but it never happened.’

  As they passed country inns with signs outside that advertised homegrown produce, Kay realized how little she knew about the more intimate side of her brother and sister-in-law’s marriage. Len had been best mates with Norman and they’d shared a passion for cars, buses, trams, anything equipped with an engine and wheels. But since Len and Doris had moved to Hertfordshire, she’d only met them during their occasional visits to London. Living so far away, and with their history, perhaps it was only to be expected that Len and Alan had been unable to find any common ground.

  ‘I didn’t realize the countryside could look as nice as this,’ Kay found herself admitting as she gazed from the window. ‘When me and Len were young, Mum sent us away on the Country Holiday Fund. It always seemed to rain the week we went. Len loved it. Him and his mates enjoyed the smelly old barns full of mud and poo that the cows trod everywhere. But I was bored stiff.’

  Alan wagged his finger. ‘The rain is what makes the crops grow and is important to the farmers. All that muck and mud you hated is part and parcel of our survival, in town and in the country.’

  She turned to Alan and made a face. ‘Clever clogs.’

  Alan squeezed her hand. ‘Perhaps one day when the war is over we could come back for a holiday. Stay in one of those pubs we saw along the way.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind that. We could visit Len and Doris instead of them having to drive all the way to us.’

  Alan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Me and Len might have had our differences but I know him and Doris have Alfie’s best at heart.’ He arched a wry eyebrow. ‘Do you remember the look on your family’s faces when we told them we were married?’

  Kay rolled her eyes. ‘Mum never let me forget.’

  ‘She wasn’t best pleased either when we told them you was pregnant and she worked out the dates.’

  ‘But we proved them wrong in the end,’ Kay whispered hap
pily. ‘You didn’t turn out to be a fifth-columnist or revolutionary. Instead you gave them a grandson and nephew that me and Norman didn’t—’ Kay stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, that’s tactless of me, Alan. I only meant I’m so proud of Alfie being ours.’

  Alan gave her a long, steady stare. ‘I’m sure you and Norman, if he’d lived longer, would have had that family you and your parents always wanted.’

  ‘Alan, it’s us and Alfie who counts. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alan said with a smile. ‘And I couldn’t be prouder.’

  Kay settled back in her seat. Sometimes she blurted out her thoughts without due care and consideration. She knew that Alan’s few memories of his hard-working and long-suffering mother were some of his saddest. She had tried hard to make ends meet for her three young sons while her husband had been away in prison. But she had been taken early from her family. Alan had never known the love of his wayward father. He’d run away to sea at an age when most young boys were only just beginning to form their character. Kay knew that Alan wanted Alfie’s life to be far different to his own. And she was determined she would always be by Alan’s side to make it so.

  ‘They’re big cows.’ Kay pointed to two large hairy brown heads sticking up above the five-bar gate.

  ‘They’re bulls,’ Alan told her as they walked down the country lane. ‘See their horns? I wouldn’t want to annoy one of them.’

  ‘I hope Doris don’t let our Alfie near a bull!’ Kay steered Alan to the far side of the winding path. ‘It’s a bit dangerous letting them loose like that.’

  Alan laughed. ‘The farmer keeps a good eye on them.’

  Kay had to admit that everything she had seen so far had surprised her. There hadn’t been one spot of rain and no mud at all. They’d enjoyed a very nice snack of tea and the luxury of apple cake at the coach station. The tiny shops had been stuffed full of things you couldn’t get in the East End, like homemade marmalade, apple damson jam and hand-knitted woollen garments spun from the local sheep’s wool. And there was even things like herb tea that people made from plants grown in their own back gardens. And what back gardens they were! Kay couldn’t believe her eyes when she’d seen bowers of roses over doors and vines that crept right up to the chimneys and over the other side of the cottages, just like in picture books or magazines. Willow trees, identified by Alan, had waved their long branches over little ponds with tiny ducks floating on the calm surface.

  Kay was mesmerized! She couldn’t wait to tell Vi all she had seen, as they had both supposed that outside of London, there wasn’t much to see or do. The truth was that people who lived in the country seemed very busy; they worked in the fields along with the Land Army girls who Alan said would probably be billeted on the local farms. There were dogs and cats too – pets weren’t allowed on the island. During the bombing the government had told everyone to either put down their animals or remove them to safety. Briefly she thought about Babs Chapman’s cat, Fluffy, who was killed on the last raid. She hoped the children wouldn’t be too upset.

  ‘Albion,’ Alan said as he squinted through the hedges at the hidden gardens and looked for name-plates on the cottages. ‘It’s got to be down here somewhere.’

  Kay was on tenterhooks. ‘I can hardly speak I’m so excited.’

  ‘I wonder if he’s grown much.’

  ‘He was a real mischief when he went away.’ Kay suppressed the lump in her throat. She felt she had missed a vital part of his growing-up. ‘This past ten months have seemed endless. I can’t believe he’ll be three in November.’

  ‘This must be it,’ Alan said, pointing to a large hedge in the form of an arch. The sign beneath it was an engraved brass plaque. ‘See, this says Albion.’

  As usual Kay had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that when she looked up the narrow path that Alan indicated, at first she didn’t recognize the child standing beside a woman who was on all fours, attending to the weeds. The boy, like the woman, was wearing blue dungarees and had big eyes that seemed to fill his round face. His dark hair peeped out in wisps from under a blue wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘My God,’ Alan breathed beside her. ‘Is that our Alfie?’

  Kay was too overwhelmed to reply as she stared at her son, magically transformed from a baby into a sturdy toddler since she had last held him in her arms ten months ago before Len and Doris had taken him away.

  Chapter Seven

  All Kay’s emotions were in turmoil as Doris caught sight of them and climbed to her feet. Kay watched breathlessly as Alfie held up his arms to Doris who lifted him with practised ease onto her hip. As Alan pushed open the garden gate, Alfie’s plump hands went tightly around Doris’s neck.

  ‘Alfie?’ Kay called, but Alfie turned away and buried his face in Doris’s blonde hair.

  Alan slipped his hand to Kay’s waist, drawing her back a little. ‘Don’t rush him, Kay. We caught him by surprise.’

  Kay realized that she had to be patient though her disappointment was bitter.

  ‘Hello,’ Alan said to Doris, who looked at them with a frown.

  ‘So you’ve come,’ Doris replied, her hand going protectively to Alfie’s back.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Kay had to restrain every muscle in her body from darting forward to Alfie. ‘We wouldn’t have let you down.’

  ‘Your letter only arrived this morning,’ Doris said hurriedly. She stepped aside from the fork and trowel that she had been using to dig in the rich brown earth.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Kay apologized, her eyes fixed on Alfie. ‘Alan only found out about his days off last week.’

  Doris transferred Alfie to her other hip and nodded to the door. ‘Well, now you’re here, you’d best come in.’

  Kay was shocked to find this rather plump, rosy-cheeked woman wearing dungarees and a grubby green gardener’s apron with earth-covered fingers in place of the somewhat thin and pale sister-in-law who she remembered as her brother’s wife. In ten months, Doris had blossomed. Obviously caring for Alfie had suited her. But what hurt Kay the most was Alfie’s reaction. He seemed to have forgotten them.

  ‘This is lovely,’ Alan said as they entered the cool interior of the cottage. Kay tried to catch Alfie’s attention but he continued to bury his face in Doris’s shoulder. Despite Kay’s urgent wish that he should look up and into her eyes he refused to do so. Alan squeezed her arm, as if to say he had guessed the thoughts running through her mind.

  Tearing her eyes away from her son, Kay glanced out of the pretty lattice window at the rear of the sitting room. From here she had full view of the lush, flower-filled garden radiating with bright sunshine. A neatly cut lawn folded its way around a child’s swing which was looped around the branches of an apple tree. There was also a large stuffed dog on wheels that had seen better days and was leaking horsehair. But the rope attached to it meant that someone was able to tow the rider along as they sat on the dog’s back. The thought gave Kay a cutting pain across her heart. Her little boy must have spent many hours with that dog on sunny days. Either Doris or Len or perhaps both had towed him around the garden, laughing and playing with him.

  Doris indicated two very large elderly chairs covered in flowered material and big, squashy cushions that spilled over the arms. While failing to catch Alfie’s eye, Kay had time to look around. The cottage was homely, but not expensively furnished. The furniture was obviously well cared for and the same black oak beams that crossed the ceiling also surrounded the wide brick hearth. A round china jug stood on its mantel and was filled with fresh flowers. There were brass ornaments hanging on the beams – horseshoes and tiny bells – and a big copper kettle stood next to the grate. The walls were a creamy colour that looked a bit like lumpy ice cream and had old mirrors and pictures of farm scenes and landscapes hanging on them.

  ‘Len’s at work, but he’ll be home soon,’ Doris told them as she sat on the big settee with Alfie. ‘He’s not seen your letter as the postman was late. It’s going to be a surprise for hi
m to find you here.’

  ‘I wrote in June to prepare you,’ Kay reminded her sister-in-law. ‘But we never heard back.’

  Doris lifted her head sharply. ‘We thought you were certain to reconsider as the war isn’t over.’ Doris slid off Alfie’s hat and slipped her hand through his rich, dark hair, stroking it into place. Once again, Alfie refused to look in Kay’s direction. ‘He’s wary with strangers,’ Doris said, then corrected herself quickly by adding, ‘I mean I know you’re not strangers, but he hasn’t seen you for a while.’

  Kay didn’t need to be reminded of that. Every hour, every day of every month away from her son was engraved in her mind. She leaned forward, a trembling smile on her face. ‘Alfie?’ she whispered. ‘It’s Mummy and Daddy. We’ve come to take you home.’

  At this, the little boy clung harder to Doris. ‘You should have given us more time,’ Doris berated, brushing her short hair from her eyes. ‘We would have told Alfie you were coming and showed him your picture so that he understands.’ She nodded to a shelf beside the settee. ‘Look, Alfie, this is your mum and dad. Like in the photograph up there.’

  They all gazed at the picture. It had been taken on the day when the council had kitted out Alan for his work with the Heavy Rescue Squad. He wore his new uniform of dark overalls and a tin helmet. Kay had been dressed in a smart utility suit with her hair coiled around her head. With arms linked, they smiled into the lens of the camera held by one of Alan’s friends from work.

  Alfie stared at the photograph. Doris lowered him to the floor and lifted the wooden-framed photograph from its shelf to place in Alfie’s small hands. ‘Alfie, give your mummy and daddy a hug.’