They had switched on the loud speakers. Judy stopped humming and let her capstan turret swing to “Coming Home on a Wing and a Prayer”. “How quickly one gets used to things,” she thought. “Three weeks ago I couldn’t believe I could hear the music over the din in here, and now I don’t notice the din.” She felt a touch on her arm and turned. The welfare supervisor was beside her. Except for a “getting on all right?” and a nod and a smile the welfare supervisor had not so far had any dealings with Judy. Now she was clearly paying a business call. She had some papers in one hand and a pencil obviously poised to write in the other.
“It’s Judy Rest, isn’t it?” Judy nodded. “I understand you want to change your billet.”
A mass of words collected in Judy’s mind ready to pour out, but she held them back. No good splurging all she thought about Clara to the welfare supervisor, who would not be interested and would merely think she was one of those girls who took unreasoning dislikes to people.
“No, I don’t.”
The welfare supervisor frowned at the paper in her hand.
“You don’t! This report has come from your billet. It says that it is not suitable for you. Have you been complaining about anything?”
“No. I like it there.”
The welfare supervisor looked worried.
“Have you done anything to upset the family?”
Judy shook her head.
“No.”
The welfare supervisor was clearly puzzled. She was a nice woman with a youngish face under grey hair and a friendly smile. She had been summing Judy up and decided to take her into her confidence.
“It’s a note I’ve had from your landlady.” She opened a folded sheet of paper. “It says, ‘Miss Judy Rest, whom you have billeted on this house, is not suited here. We also feel this house is not right for her and would be glad if you could arrange something else as soon as possible’.”
“Fancy that!” said Judy. “Who signed that letter?”
“Mrs. Roal.”
Judy smiled.
“Oh, her! Well, it’s not her house, you know.”
“Not? But it’s with her I’ve fixed previous billets. And it’s with her I communicated when a charge hand felt she should move. It was because of a death in the house.”
“That’s right. Mrs. White.” Judy tapped Clara’s letter. “I think she doesn’t like billetees. She’s the granddaughter by marriage and the only young person in the house, so it’s all extra work for her, but she can’t turn me out. The person who should have written if she wants me to be moved is Mrs. Former. It’s her house.”
“But isn’t she very old and not able to do business?”
“Goodness, no! If you and I are one quarter as spry when we’re that age we’ll be fine. She’s a little deaf and she’s a diabetic, but she’s very much all there, and very independent. Always injects her own insulin.”
“You sound fond of her.”
“I am and of her daughter, Miss Rose. She’s another old pet.”
“I see, and this Mrs. Roal, the grand-daughter by marriage, lives with them to look after them.”
“Don’t you believe it. To look after herself and her boy, Desmond. Between them Mrs. Former and Miss Rose could manage quite all right on their own, even with me thrown in.”
The welfare supervisor’s eyes were twinkling.
“I understand, my dear. By the way, my name is Mrs. Edwards. Now, what do you suggest I do? Write to Mb’s. Former?”
“You might, so that you’ll see I’m telling you the truth. I’ll tell her it’s coming.”
“And Mrs. Roal?”
“Wait until you’ve heard from Mrs. Former. Then if she writes the sort of answer I think she will you can just tell Clara where she gets off. Do her good.”
Mrs. Edwards was making a note on her pad. She paused and looked up, her face serious.
“If I might advise you, my child, go about this tactfully. You don’t want to make an enemy, do you?” She clearly wanted to say more, then changed her mind. “Well, I’ll go and write to Mrs. Former. I’ll come and see you again when I hear from her.”
Queer how that talk upset Judy. Of course she knew Clara did not want her in the house, but she had not thought she would go to such lengths to get rid of her. Why? Of course she made work, but not much. She ate, but then she brought her rations to the house. That the house was dull for her was Clara’s story, but why should Clara care? She had no interest but Desmond. It looked as though she was up to something. But what? Was it money? “Wishing will make it so” sang a voice through the loud speaker. “I wish wishing would make me understand Clara,” thought Judy. “Suppose she’s sneaking a bit that she saves on the books, which more than likely she is, which would account for her being so mean, what am I going to do about it? Even suppose I knew she was parking a bit, she can’t suppose I’d be able to stop her. I might be able to persuade Mrs. Former to go and see Mr. John, that lawyer of hers, but I doubt it. Besides, what possible reason can Clara have for thinking I’d interfere with her? Why should she fuss about me? I’m not the interfering sort.”
You can’t work a lathe and let your attention completely wander. Judy, moving some waste, brought one of her tools across her knuckles, and she had three quite deep cuts. She held her hand well away from her overall and felt for a handkerchief.
The charge hand came to her. She examined the cuts. “You’ll have to go to the first aid, dear. It’s in number eight bay. You feel all right to go alone?”
Judy twisted her bandage round her fingers.
“Of course. It’s nothing. If I had some bandage I’d treat them myself.”
There were two or three patients waiting for attention in the first-aid post, and only the nurse in charge and a V.A.D. to look after them.
“Sit down over there, dear.” The nurse pointed to some chairs. “I won’t be a minute.”
Judy sat and studied the V.A.D. with a professional eye, wondering how she got on with the nurse, and how much real first-aiding she was allowed to do.
“I hate all this smell of disinfectant, don’t you?”
Judy turned to the speaker, a big woman in her forties, with a determined but generous mouth and wrinkles of laughter round her eyes.
“I don’t notice it. I was a V.A.D. myself before I came here.”
The woman’s face grew interested.
“You’re not Miss Rest?”
“Yes, I am. Why?”
“I was wanting to meet you. You see, you’re in the billet I was in. I’m Mrs. White.”
The fragments that she knew about Mrs. White fell into a pattern in Judy’s mind. She was a woman who liked things run her way. She disliked Clara; well, she wasn’t alone in that. She must be fairly friendly with Nicholas for she had told him how the house gave her the creeps. Nicholas was the sort of person everybody liked and would talk to, but he was also the sort of person who could avoid, without appearing rude, being talked to when he did not want to be. Obviously, therefore, he had wanted to talk to Mrs. White, and that made Judy feel there must be something nice about Mrs. White. She smiled at her.
“How did you like our Clara?”
Mrs. White had a most expressive face. It now creased as if it was revolted by some appalling smell.
“She’s a shocker, dear. Made my skin creep.”
“You mean, because of the food?”
“Oh, no! She tried that on, but she didn’t get far with that with me. Come on, I said, let’s see me butter ration, put me jam in front of me, and if you can’t do better than that with me meat ration I’ll do the shopping meself, and I kept me points. I don’t mind the expense, I said, but I won’t starve. I’ll lay out the points and see that I eat them.”
Judy giggled.
“I wish I’d been a fly on the wall. But if it wasn’t starvation why did she give you the creeps?”
Mrs. White looked round to see that nobody was listening. She dropped her voice to a whisper.
“It was when the old man died.”
Judy’s eyes widened.
“What happened then?”
“Gloat. That’s the only word.”
“But Mrs. Former said she looked after him so wonderfully.”
“Too true. Couldn’t have been more devoted. That’s what made it so extra queer.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Well, if you looked after somebody, wouldn’t you get downed a bit if they didn’t get on? You see, he wasn’t really ill, only run down and needing a bit of care and a tonic.”
“Didn’t she mind?”
“No. I tell you it gave me the shudders. The night the old boy conked out she had a kind of triumph look. It wasn’t nice at all. Of course, his going so suddenly was a shock to everybody, and I suppose that’s how it took her, but it was queer somehow. Anyway, I couldn’t get out quick enough. You should have seen me run to Mrs. Edwards! ‘Out,’ I said, ‘out. Put me on a couple of chairs in the church if you’ve nothing else, but I’ve spent the last night I’m spending in Old House, Longbottom Lane’.” She got up, for the nurse was looking at her. “You take my advice and move. There’s something queer about that Clara. You mark my words.”
Judy, with her fingers bandaged, came back to her machine. Shirley enquired after the cuts, but she did not give Judy time to answer.
“There’s been an announcement. There’s going to be a dance on Saturday. Special do with spot prizes and all sorts. It’s part of that holidays-at-home stuff. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“How do they work? Do you have to bring a partner?” Shirley dug an elbow into Judy.
“Give over! As if everybody didn’t know who you’ll bring. But, as a matter of fact, you don’t need to bring anyone. It’s in and out of one pair of arms after another and, if you’ll take my advice, don’t wear your last pair of good shoes. Some people’s dancing!”
“Does the whole works come?”
Shirley looked pitying.
“Not the office staff. You don’t think they’d foul their lovely fingers touching the likes of us! No, dear, just the people who make the shells. Us, in fact.”
Judy laughed. The incredible feeling of superiority which permeated the office staff was outside her understanding, but she knew it truly existed.
“What d’you wear?”
Shirley looked across at her machine on which the setter was working.
“A long frock if you have one because it always looks nicest, I think. I wear a long dress, but then I sing some of the numbers with the band. But anything you have does. You could come in trousers if you liked.”
For the rest of the day Judy’s mind kept turning to the dance. She had no doubt Nicholas would come. No doubt that he would dance with her, but a queer doubt of herself. What was this excitement at the thought of his arms round her? Was she getting sloppy about him? For goodness’ sake, no. There had been plenty of other men who had liked her and she them, and they’d had a grand time at dances, but there’d been no slop. It was pretty stupid to be feeling like that alone, for there was nothing sloppy about Nicholas. He looked upon her as a friend and a sister. Pretty good laugh he’d have if he knew she was getting all of a do-da at the thought of dancing with him.
Judy was still deep in these thoughts at knock-off time, so she did not see Nicholas standing outside the factory gates until he spoke to her. She jumped and to her fury, for almost the first time in her life, flushed.
“Goodness, you startled me!”
He fell into step beside her.
“I came to ask you to have a drink.”
“I’d adore one.” She felt she must explain the flush. “I was thinking about clothes. There’s a dance on Saturday.”
“I know. I’m an M.C. part of the time, but the rest of the evening I can dance. You’ll keep some for me?”
“Actually, except for our setter, you’re the only man I really know, so I should think it’s more a case of you keeping some for me.”
He gave her one of his shy slow smiles.
“That’s what you think. But I meet the men Home Guarding and you wouldn’t believe what a sly dog I’m considered for knowing you. I was apparently considered a bit of a bookworm before, but since you came on the scene I’m supposed to be something of a lad. It’s my ear into which go the worst of the stories, and when on the march we pass anything particularly dazzling in the way of a village beauty, they look at me and say, ‘How’s that? Up to your standard?’”
Judy remembered Shirley’s dig.
“I believe it works both ways. I asked Shirley if one brought a partner and she told me not to put on an act.” Nicholas nodded.
“I’m not sure of the local rules, but I think by Pinlock’s standards we’re what’s known as walking out. That’s the very early stages of what could blossom into a romance.”
Judy felt her cheeks burning again. How difficult Nicholas was to compete with! He could say things like that and the words just meant what they appeared to. She must take a pull on herself and match his casual attitude.
Over shandies, for it was a ginless day at The Bull, Nicholas said:
“You’ve seen Mrs. White, I hear.”
Judy was lighting a cigarette. She looked up in surprise.
“How on earth did you know that? Do you spend the whole day gossiping with the hands?”
“My dear girl, I’m Parsons for Punch. You know, the last knock is the one that counts. As a matter of fact, I—” he hesitated. “She sent a message she wanted to see me. The surgery had laid her off for the day.” He touched Judy’s bandages. “I heard about these and what was said.”
“Yes?”
“I told Mrs. White I could do nothing with a stubborn creature. I said she had been warned.”
“But what about? Mrs. White thought that Clara gloated when the old man died. Well, suppose she did? Suppose she was pleased? Suppose his death meant she had his money in her hands and could do more what she liked, what the hell’s it got to do with me? My death wouldn’t do her any good.”
Nicholas played with his beer mug.
“It’s just unpleasant. I, amongst others, don’t like it.” Judy fixed her eyes firmly on his.
“Well, let’s drop the argument. I’m not being stubborn or difficult, but I just think, if you’ll let me sound a bit smug, the old lady and Miss Rose find me a prop and stay, and as long as that’s so, I stop.”
Nicholas nodded.
“I told Mrs. White you’d say that.” He sipped his beer. “The week after next is August bank holiday. I have to go and see my mother. Care to come?”
Judy’s heart somersaulted, but she managed to keep him from knowing.
“Is my journey really necessary?”
“I think so. With the works closed for three days Clara really could starve you. Will you come?”
Judy thought of his mother. Of her dead sons and what Nicholas must mean.
“It’s nice of you; I think I won’t. I imagine your mother rather counts on getting you to herself.”
“As a matter of fact it’s partly to give the old lady a kick that I asked you. When Dennis and Lionel were about the house crawled with pin-up girls.”
Judy tipped back her beer.
“I wonder just what sort of pin-up girl I look. The sort with only stockings, or just a muff made of flowers?”
She could not get a rise out of him.
“I’ve told you before, ‘the girl behind the gun’. Red hair, blue eyes and all the rest of it. Will you come?”
She leant across the table.
“Being serious for once, don’t you think honestly she’d rather have you alone?”
He smiled, and getting up came round the table and tucked his hand under her arm and raised her out of her chair.
“If I thought that I wouldn’t have asked you. I dote on my mother. And, apart from her, it suits me. You will stop on at that billet and I can’t stop you; but you can’t stop my protective eye on you. One cry of ‘Nick, I’m starving!’ and there I’ll be with a tin of pilchards.”
She laughed.
“Does that mean you’ll never go away without me?”
He laughed with her.
“It does. Aren’t you learning nicely?”