from his, and tried to draw his easy confidence into her own body, now taut with the thought of the unknown.
As the vicar started to address the congregation, Johnny turned towards her and Maxine noticed the same concerned expression he’d had only a few weeks ago, when they were sitting on their favourite park bench feeding the pigeons.
‘I’ve got something to tell you, Max,’ he’d said then. ‘I’m joining the army. I think I can be of use with my medical training.’
At his words her heart had turned over. Johnny. If anything should happen to him … She daren’t think further.
‘So what say you and I get hitched?’ He’d coated the words with a mock-American accent. It had taken her completely by surprise. Yes, she loved him. More than anyone in the world. He was the one she’d run to since she was a little girl, right from when he and his parents had moved next door but one. Being a boy of eleven, he hadn’t wanted to be bothered with an eight-year-old, and a girl at that, but she’d badgered him until he’d sometimes nodded and allowed her to accompany him when he went off birdwatching, or climbed trees in the nearby woods. Best of all she loved it when he’d take her down to the docks. She’d hand over her pocket money to Johnny and they’d go a couple of stations on the ‘Dockers’ Umbrella’, the overhead railway which followed the seven miles of docklands. She could have watched the ships come and go for hours, her eyes stretching all the way across the Mersey. Luckily, he was every bit as fascinated and would tell her where the ships had come from and where they were going.
He’d always been her teacher and her ‘bestest’ friend, as she used to call him when she was a child – sometimes still did, to make him laugh – but her lover? She’d never once thought of him in that way, and had suddenly felt almost embarrassed when he’d made his proposal.
‘You’ve been watching too many cowboy films,’ she’d answered, trying to make light of his clumsy proposal, not wanting to hurt him by saying she didn’t think she loved him in the way a wife should love her husband. She saw his face drop.
‘You do love me, don’t you?’ As if he’d read her mind, he’d grabbed both her hands and planted a firm kiss on her lips, then grinned at her. ‘You always said you’d marry me when you grew up.’
‘It’s what children say to one another.’ Maxine had bitten her lip. ‘Why don’t we wait and see what happens. If there really is going to be a war—’
‘Not “if” but “when”,’ Johnny had said, his grin fading. ‘And if the worst should happen—’
‘Don’t say it!’ Maxine jumped up. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’
‘We have to be realistic.’ Johnny took hold of her hand and gently pulled her back onto the seat again. ‘If it does, then at least you’ll get a pension as a soldier’s widow. And if we start a family – which I’d love more than anything in the world – you’ll be glad of the extra money for the baby.’
She couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to think beyond Johnny becoming a soldier. He was closer to her than her own flesh and blood. Mickey had never taken any interest in her whatsoever, even though there was only thirteen months between them. That was the trouble. Johnny was the brother she’d never had.
For a moment neither had spoken. Then he’d taken her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him.
‘I love you so much, Max,’ Johnny said, his voice thick. ‘Right from when you were a snotty-nosed kid. I’d do anything for you – you know that. And because I’m older you’ve usually left me to make the decisions – so I’m making this one for you. You’ll make me the happiest man in town and the envy of all the lads if you say yes.’ He looked at her, his eyes the colour of the conkers they used to play with. ‘Maybe this will help make up your mind.’ He drew from his pocket a small navy blue velvet box.
And then she knew. Before he’d even flipped open the lid on its little spring with his thumb, she knew she couldn’t turn him down. He was quite the dearest man on Earth. If there was a war and he died she’d never forgive herself for not making him happy by telling him she would be honoured to be his wife.
The emerald had shone back at her, as though to reinforce her thoughts.
She hadn’t the heart to tell him that emeralds were considered to bring bad luck.
‘Do you, Maxine Elizabeth, take John Laurence to be thy wedded husband?’
The words rang in Maxine’s ears and she gave a start, pulling herself out of the past and back to the church where she was getting married. Forcing herself to be calm, she repeated the words of the vicar as though in a dream, her voice low and trembling. She felt the brush of Johnny’s hand, and when he said his vows she realised he wasn’t quite so assured as he made out. Twice he stumbled on the words and sent her a rueful smile, but when it was over he grasped her hand and they stepped to the back of the altar where they signed the register.
She looked down at her signature. Strange how it was still Maxine Grey. But it would be the last time. From now on she would be known as Mrs Maxine Taylor. And on letters even worse – she would be Mrs John Taylor.
Would Maxine Grey be gone forever?
‘Now we’re married you won’t have to work anymore.’
Maxine regarded her new husband with astonishment. Breaking away from the small party the two sets of parents had given them had proved more difficult than she’d imagined, but now they were in a comfortable bedroom in The Royal Hotel, which Johnny had chosen for their first three nights together. He’d already had his call-up papers and would be leaving in four days. Maxine’s mind whirled with events that were racing ahead. He’d never mentioned her giving up work before. She hadn’t even thought to discuss it as she’d never imagined marrying him. During this past month she’d seen very little of her fiancé to talk about such matters, what with making the wedding dress in every spare moment she’d had from the hospital. Now that war had been officially declared she’d naturally assumed she’d carry on and finish her training.
Her mother had wanted her to become a nurse ever since she’d watched her bandaging her dolls one day and talking to them in a wise and encouraging seven-year-old voice.
‘You’re a born nurse,’ her mother always said.
At sixteen Maxine knew she wanted to teach, not nurse, but her father had insisted she stay on at grammar school for at least another year to give her time to make up her mind. When she was eighteen and told her parents she had applied to the teachers’ training college in Cambridge which specialised in teaching young children with no fathers, her mother put her foot down.
‘It’s a more important job to heal the sick,’ her mother told her. ‘Your father and I have set our hearts on you becoming a nurse … and one day, when you’re higher up in the hospital, you’ll catch the eye of a nice doctor – or even a surgeon,’ she laughed. ‘I can’t wait to help you arrange the wedding.’ She giggled like a young girl. ‘You’ll be set for life … and one day we’ll be able to look forward to our first grandchild.’
Maxine couldn’t answer. Her mother gave her a sharp look. ‘I know you’ll always make us proud, my dear, and always do the right thing.’
Maxine felt a shudder of despair. Her mother had already planned every important aspect of her life.
‘We’re
