Jim he might have been her first-born who’d won a Bonny Baby Contest.
‘And? Tell him the rest, Jim!’
‘All right, I’m getting there.’ Jim had been hoping to get stuck into his jam sponge, but he could see Lily wasn’t going to let up. ‘Simmonds wasn’t convinced the staff were doing enough for Civil Defence. So he’s got the ARP in, and the Voluntary Fire Service and the Home Guard. To give talks and drum up some recruits. In fact, he wants to make it compulsory for anyone who’s not medically unfit.’
‘Huh, you can take the bloke out of the Army …’ mused Sid.
‘And for the girls—’
‘Women,’ corrected Lily.
‘Sorry. For women, we’re going to start sewing and knitting classes in the Haberdashery department. For staff and customers. Beginner, intermediate and advanced.’
‘And let me guess! They can buy everything they need at Marlow’s!’
‘Never entered our heads,’ said Jim innocently.
‘Well, well. I can’t wait to see you join those, Lil!’
Lily rolled her eyes. She’d told Sid in letters about her cack-handed attempts to knit something for Beryl’s baby, and how the wool had got so grubby and stringy with having to unravel it where she’d gone wrong that she’d had to give it up as a bad job.
‘I might try the sewing,’ she said. ‘But that’s just the “doing more for the war” bit, isn’t it, Jim? And for keeping the staff happy and involved. Tell him your ideas for the shop.’
‘No, no, that’s more than enough about me,’ said Jim. ‘Tell us what you’ve been up to, Sid.’
‘Oh, no, that can wait,’ said Sid dismissively. ‘It’s not much, and I’ll only have to tell it all over again to Mum. One thing’s bothering me about this Fowl Club of yours, though, Jim. The name.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, it’s not very catchy, is it? In fact, it’s most unfortunate. How about … “The Feather Club” or … I dunno … yes, I do!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘“The Cluck-Cluck Club”! Wouldn’t that be better?’
Lily burst out laughing. Chicken keeping might have its mucky side, but Sid didn’t have to make it sound like a sleazy nightclub. Or, knowing Sid, perhaps he did.
Gladys, meanwhile, had planned her half-day with care. Time off from work without some chore to do for her gran, who was a bit of a moaner and inclined to take to her bed at the drop of an aspirin, was too precious to waste. Today, a neighbour was sitting with her, and, joy of joys, the Gaumont was showing That Hamilton Woman! again. Gladys had loved it first time round – a proper two-hankie job – so, with a bag of penny creams, she was planning a cosy, if weepy, afternoon in the stalls. Lily might normally have come with her, but Sid’s leave had put paid to that, and it was only natural she’d want to spend the time with him. And in truth, Gladys didn’t really need any more company than Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh. The prospect unfurled happily in front of her as she walked towards the cinema. A lovely romantic weepie – and such pretty frocks too …
But then, there in front of her, leaning on a lamp post – all that was missing was the ukulele – was—
‘Bill! No! No! It can’t be! Is it really you?’
‘Hello there, Gladys. I’m real enough – pinch me if you like! Pleased to see me, are you?’
In films this was the point where the heroine would have fallen into her loved one’s arms, but Gladys was enough of a realist to know that she was no heroine, even in her own life. Though she was sure Bill would be quick and strong enough to catch her, she wasn’t at all sure she could manage the graceful, loose-limbed melting that others like, well, Vivien Leigh, say, could achieve. Instead she stared, dumb-struck and open-mouthed.
Bill grinned the gappy, jaggle-toothed grin that made her insides melt.
‘That’s a “yes”, is it?’
Leaving no room for doubt, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a close embrace.
‘Oh Bill! I can’t believe—’ was all Gladys had time to say before the rest of the sentence was lost in a kiss.
When their enthusiastic reunion had finally run its course, Bill tucked a lock of her disarranged hair behind her ear.
‘It’s good to see you, Glad,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Not as much as I’ve missed you!’
It was what they’d said last time they’d met. He’d promised they’d say it every time – and he’d remembered! Gladys gazed at him adoringly. She hadn’t seen him since the good news about her forthcoming promotion, but she’d written to him about it, and he’d sent back not a letter but a card, a proper ‘Congratulations’ card, with a little bellboy in a frogged red uniform on it, carrying a basket of flowers. Gladys had been moved to tears. Not only had he gone to all that trouble to find a card, he’d written inside: ‘So proud of you!’. It was still up on the little mantelpiece in her room: in fact, she doubted she’d ever take it down.
‘But how did you get leave?’ she marvelled. ‘And why didn’t you let me know?’
Bill folded her arm through his, and, taking the outside of the pavement – such a gentleman! – led her off towards Lyons Corner House. (‘No point being in the Navy if you can’t push the boat out!’)
‘There’s no hiding it, Glad, I’m on standby now. I could be deployed any day. So any chance I get for leave, I’m going to jump at it. No time to warn you, though. Good job you weren’t strolling along with your other boyfriend, eh?’
‘Oh, you! But—’ she paused. ‘How did you know where to find me? How did you guess?’
‘No guess needed. You told me you were going to the Gaumont, silly. Don’t you remember? In your last letter.’
‘So I did!’ Gladys leant over, aiming for his cheek, but kissing his ear instead. It didn’t matter. ‘So you do read my letters, then?’
‘All of them, every line!’ Bill sounded indignant. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Well …’ Along with Gladys’s growing confidence had come at least some self-awareness. ‘I know I can go on a bit. And often I don’t have anything that interesting to say.’
‘It’s interesting to me,’ Bill insisted.
Gladys clutched his arm more tightly. She’d at least had a childhood filled with love. Bill had never had anyone – no hugs, no one to wipe his tears when he fell down, or to make a fuss of his smallest achievements. No one to take an interest in his school work, to buy him a toy of his own, or even a bag of sweets. It was the same when he joined up. Pals, yes, but no letters, no birthday cards, nowhere to go on his
