22
RUBY
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry,’ Vera said again, trying to put an arm around me as the bus bumped back through the lanes to Bartonford. I shrugged her away, staring out of the window, my eyes bright with unshed tears.
We’d waited and waited outside Ilfracombe Register Office, me wearing the smart cream blouse and fawn skirt, jacket, hat and shoes I’d borrowed from Vera, Vera similarly attired in dark blue. Eleven o’clock had come and gone – half past eleven – then the town hall clock had struck twelve, and I’d finally been forced to admit defeat.
‘This means they’re on their way to France, doesn’t it?’ I’d said as we walked back to the bus stop. ‘It must do – Sam wouldn’t change his mind like that. And even if he had and he was too scared to tell me, surely Stanley would have let you know he wasn’t coming.’
Vera had squeezed my hand. She’d looked pensive, biting her lower lip, and despite my own crushing disappointment I’d realised she must be worried too. We’d walked the rest of the way to the bus stop in silence.
When we got back to Bartonford, we returned to her flat so I could change back into my ordinary clothes. Then I sat on the edge of her bed and cried. Vera brought me tissues and tea, and a cold flannel to wipe my face. ‘I’ll go up to the camp this afternoon,’ she said, ‘and see if I can find out what’s going on.’
Later, back at the cottage, I took Alfie’s box out of my underwear drawer. The stitchwort flower ring Sam had made me, shrivelled now, was inside, wrapped in a piece of tissue, next to the drawing he’d given me that first time we’d met at the cave. I gazed at it, biting back another sob.
I was supposed to be Mrs Ruby Archer by now, I thought bitterly. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. This bloody war. After all the trouble we’d gone to! I’d got around the problem of asking Father’s permission to marry Sam by typing a letter myself on a piece of headed notepaper I’d stolen from his study, and forging Father’s signature by copying it from some notes he’d left on his desk. I hadn’t been proud of myself, but Sam was right – I didn’t need to tell Father yet. For now, nothing had to change, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. Every minute seemed to take an hour; I didn’t know what to do with myself – couldn’t settle inside my own skin. Whenever I thought about Sam it was as if someone was twisting a knife into my stomach, a physical pain that took my breath away. Where was he? Was he all right?
On Monday morning, I lay dozing, pushing away the moment of complete awakening; of remembering. Then, in an unpleasant rush, it all came back to me. Slowly, drearily, I sat up and swung my legs out of bed.
When I went outside after breakfast, it was drizzling, and my bicycle had a puncture. I shouldn’t have been surprised; both wheels were more patch than tyre these days and it needed new ones really, but – like with so many things – they were impossible to find. Perhaps Sam could—
That pain stabbed through me. Oh, Sam, please be OK, I thought.
As I walked down the hill into town, the streets seemed unusually busy, everyone standing round in little groups on the pavement instead of queuing to go into the shops.
‘Yes, they’ve gone, every last one of them!’ I heard a woman outside the fishmonger’s say.
‘Who has?’ I asked her.
‘The Americans! The camp’s empty!’
I ran the rest of the way to the Herald offices, where I almost collided with Vera, who was in the hall putting on her coat and hat.
I didn’t need to say anything; I could see from her face that she already knew. She’d chewed all her lipstick off.
‘Howler wants me to go up there and report on it. Are you coming? Don’t worry about your work – I’ll help you catch up later.’
I didn’t need asking twice.
‘I went up yesterday afternoon and they were still there, but no one would tell me anything – the guards weren’t letting anyone in,’ she said as we hurried back through town, following a crowd of people making their way up to the camp.
It was just as the woman outside the fishmonger’s had said: the camp was empty, the gates standing open. The sandy ground outside the fence was churned up with tyre tracks, all of them fresh. On the other side of the wire were piles of food: tins and boxes, fresh fruit, meat and bread. They’ve left it for people to take because they won’t be needing it anymore, I thought, and a cold hand squeezed inside me.
Squabbles broke out as everyone fell on the food, desperate to grab whatever they could. Vera squared her shoulders. ‘Herald reporter, coming through!’ she said in a shaky voice, brandishing her notebook. The crowd parted and we pushed our way through into the camp.
I shivered, remembering how full of life and noise the place had been when I came to the dance last year. Now, it was like walking through a ghost town. Vera pushed the door to one of the soldiers’ huts open and we peered inside. The beds were unmade, books and packs of cards scattered everywhere, and in one corner, a wireless was still playing. Vera marched in and turned it off. The silence was deafening.
‘It looks like they could come back at any moment.’ Vera’s face was paler than ever, and she was gripping her notebook so hard her fingers made dents in the cover.
Eventually, we returned to the Herald offices, leaving the crowd still fighting over the food at the camp gates. We spent the rest of the day at our desks, trying, not very successfully, to work.
That evening, after supper, Father turned the wireless on for the BBC news bulletin. He’d heard about the Americans leaving too, from one of his colleagues at the hospital.
‘What on earth’s wrong with you?’ Grandmother said sharply, noticing the way my fingers were clenched around my knitting needles.
‘Nothing, Grandmother.’ I marvelled at how even my voice sounded. ‘I was just wondering if there was any news about the Americans – the camp’s empty, you know.’
‘Well, we all knew this day would come eventually. And it’s not just the Americans we need to think about. Our boys are over there too.’ Then her tone sharpened. ‘What were you doing up at the camp, anyway?’
‘Please will you both be quiet,’ Father pleaded. ‘I’m trying to listen.’
Grandmother sniffed, pursing her lips. I pretended to concentrate on my knitting. There was nothing much on the news about the Americans, and once it was over, Father switched the wireless off.
Later, in bed, I lay awake, listening to Grandmother’s snores and the thudding of my own heart. It was no good. Quietly, I got out of bed, bundling up my bedclothes so that if Grandmother should wake and light the lamp, she’d look over and think I was burrowed underneath them. I padded across to the door in my bare feet and slipped out onto the landing, holding my breath as I pushed the door closed behind me. I crept down the stairs and into the parlour, feeling my way across to the wireless and turning the volume right down before I clicked it on.
I didn’t have long to wait. Just after midnight, a broadcast came through.
‘This is Richard Dimbleby speaking from an aerodrome in England on the night of June 5th,’ a faint, crackling voice said, ‘and reporting the fact that the first aircraft carrying the first parachutists who are going to land on the fortress of Europe in the beginning of our great attack tomorrow morning, are taking off from this air station at this moment quite fast…’
I pressed my ear to the speaker, listening to the grumble and roar of plane engines firing in the background.
‘Eight machines have gone – a ninth – the tenth – the eleventh – the twelfth – and up to something like a score are coming round the aerodrome, one after the other…’
This was it. This was it. But what about the soldiers on the ground? Where were they? Where was Sam? I waited for Richard Dimbleby to mention them, but when the broadcast ended, I was none the wiser.
When I got to work the next morning, Vera had a wireless set on her desk, an ancient, monstrous thing with its cracked case held together by tape and string. ‘Howler dug it up from somewhere. I told him we’d listen and take notes.’ She tried to smile at me, but her face was as pale as it was yesterday and she’d forgotten to pencil in her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, did you?’
I shook my head, and took the Benzedrine tablet she offered me.
Half an hour later, Alfie arrived with the post. ‘What d’you think’s happening over there?’ he said breathlessly. His eyes were shining, his cheeks flushed.
‘They’re giving Jerry what for, I hope,’ Vera said.
Alfie sighed. ‘I wish I was there with them.’
‘No you don’t!’ My tone was so sharp that both Vera and Alfie look round at me, startled. ‘It’s dangerous – men are going to get killed. You can’t want that!’
He scowled at me. ‘It’s different for you. You’re a girl,’ he said, and stalked out without another word.
‘Oh dear,’ Vera said as the door to the street slammed below us, hard enough to make the building shake. ‘I don’t think he took that very well.’
‘Oh, blow him! It’s that Maud Tinney – you know she’s chucked him, and told him he was a coward for not joining up?’
Vera’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Silly cow. I’ll give her what for if I see her round here again.’
It wasn’t until midday that the announcement we’d been waiting for came crackling over the airwaves.
‘Here is a special bulletin, read by John Snagge,’ the announcer said. ‘D-Day has come. Early this morning the Allies began the assault on the north-western face of Hitler’s European Fortress…’
We listened in tense silence.
‘Oh, Ruby, do you think they’ll be OK?’ Vera said in a trembling voice when it was over.
She reached for my hand and I took hold of it, squeezing her fingers tightly. ‘They’ll have to be. They must,’ I said. I was trying to sound strong, although I wasn’t sure if I really believed it.
Would we ever see Sam and Stanley again?