15

Last night Bomber Command had hit the Third Reich again, the early news bulletin gave out triumphantly. Yet another one-thousand bomber raid had dropped a massive bomb-load on Essen, inflicting heavy damage, leaving fires raging behind them that could be seen for miles. As yet, no indication of our own casualties had been released, the announcer said in his one-tone voice, but it was thought that our losses in men and aircraft had been light.

This morning, his words did not send fear tearing through Roz, for she knew already that Paul was safely back. The last of the Peddlesbury Lancasters had thundered overhead as she and Kath returned to Home Farm, walking either side of Daisy’s head.

‘That’s him! That’s Paul!’

The last aircraft home was always S-Sugar. It had to be because not until all had returned could she be certain that Paul was back. It was the same with take-off. When all were safely airborne, then Paul was safely airborne. It was the way her anxious mind worked and lately, Kath frowned, the strain was beginning to show in the tightness of her mouth, her paler than usual face.

‘There was a queen,’ Roz murmured, ‘who said that when she died they would find Calais written on her heart, and when I die there’ll be thirty written on mine.’

‘Getting bad, is it?’

‘Mm. I try to think how much worse it must be for Skip’s wife but it doesn’t help any. The baby’s due in about a month, I believe.’

‘Yes, but think how it’ll be for her when Skip goes on leave; the baby there all safe and sound, Skip safe and sound, too; well, for a year at least. And think how pleased your gran’s going to be to meet Paul. Don’t think about five more ops to go, Roz; think about the day you take Paul home. Your gran’ll fall for him – she won’t be able to help herself, bet you anything you like.’

‘Kath?’ Roz reached for a bottle from the crate. ‘It’s awful having a baby, isn’t it – really bad?’

‘Now how would I know, will you tell me? But I know women who’ve had babies.’

‘And what did they say it was like?’

‘They were all a bit apprehensive, I suppose, but every one of them said that the moment they held their baby they forgot every pain they’d ever had. And if having a baby is so awful, women would stop at one, now wouldn’t they, so go and give Polly her milk and less of your worrying. Skip’s wife is going to be just fine – and so is Skip, and Paul!’

‘Bless you, Kath. What would I do without you?’ Roz pushed open the gate, happy again. Mercurial Roz. In a state of bliss one minute and deep in despair the next.

‘Do without me?’ Kath whispered. ‘But you won’t have to. I’m not going anywhere – Scotland or Devon.’

She crossed her fingers, though, as she said it. Just to be sure.

Arnie Bagley walked slowly to school, thinking about life in general and its unfairness to one boy in particular.

He desperately needed sixpence, though fivepence would do, really. Fourpence for the card and a penny for the stamp, because birthday cards were better if the postman brought them.

Soon, it would be Aunty Poll’s birthday. He had seen the very card for her in the paper shop in Helpsley and it was important that he should buy it as soon as possible. There’d be no more cards like that one, said the shopkeeper; no more cards with red roses and gold writing on them till the war was over. Pre-war stock that birthday card was, and a pre-war price, too. Soon you wouldn’t be able to buy a card like that for love nor money, he said, never mind fourpence.

It wasn’t, Arnie frowned, as if he were poor. He was good at adding up and Mam had sent two pounds since Christmas – could Aunty Poll let him have sixpence out of that, he’d enquired. But indeed she could not! The money from Hull was staying in the Penny Bank where she’d put it until such time as it was needed for Grammar School uniform.

There was nothing else for it, Arnie accepted. He could earn the money, though how he wasn’t at all sure, or he could borrow it, but since Aunty Poll said never a lender nor a borrower be, it looked as if he would have to win it.

He waved to Mrs Fairchild who was picking roses in the ruins, then returned his thoughts to the matter of the money and the War Weapons Week, to be held on the fourth of July.

War Weapons Weeks had become a way of life in wartime Britain. Once a year, every hamlet, village and city held its money-raising week for the war effort, urging every man, woman and child to place every penny they could spare into national savings. It was amazing, Polly Appleby had said only last year, the amount of money Helpsley had saved, though it wasn’t all that much of a nine-day wonder since no one could buy anything in the shops these days, and what they could was rationed to the point of severity.

This year, the people of Helpsley and those who lived in the villages around had voted unanimously to save enough money to purchase an armoured gun-carrier as their particular contribution to Victory – though the Savings Committee had no idea at all how much an armoured gun-carrier cost and some, though they declined to admit it, had never even seen one. So they had set their target at one thousand pounds and hoped for the best, trusting that local people would save enough money during War Weapons Week to buy this magnificent weapon of war.

‘Buy it? What if the Germans drop a bomb on it – what happens to our money, then?’ Arnie had demanded anxiously.

‘Happens, lad? Nothing happens to our money. We don’t actually buy the dratted thing; we buy saving stamps and saving certificates on the understanding that we’ll leave the money where it is till the war’s over, that’s all.’

‘So what about the armoured gun-carrier, Aunty Poll?’

‘Well, the Government buys it on the strength of what we all save. It’s too complicated to explain proper. High finance, it’s called. The banks know more about it than I do.’

It was then, exactly, that Arnie began seriously to consider working in a bank. High finance sounded interesting. Buying something on a kind of understanding and not actually paying the money for it was very interesting. If he worked in a bank, fourpence for a birthday card would be no problem at all! But that wouldn’t be until he was sixteen and Aunty Poll’s birthday was next month, so it was the War Weapons Week, or nothing.

Not that he wasn’t looking forward to it. There would be the roll-the-penny and the bran tub at a ha’penny a go, though last year nobody had found the prize till the very end and then it was only a bar of chocolate wrapped in fancy paper. Arnie was looking forward most to guessing the weight of the pig – especially if the pig got away like it did last year. The commotion that followed had been magnificent, with all the ladies screaming something awful and the vicar damning and blasting, not caring who heard him since the animal had made a terrible mess of his rose beds. The Air Force band from Peddlesbury would be playing for the parade and then they would give what the programme said was a selection of melodies throughout the afternoon, outside the committee tent.

But it was the races that would be the saving of him. This year, each winner would receive a silver threepenny piece; those coming second would get twopence whilst the third would get a penny and even a penny would be welcome in his present state of poverty, Arnie thought morosely. He would, he calculated, have to win two firsts; two seconds at the very least. Two seconds would cover the cost of the card, he supposed, and if the worst came to the worst he could always write OHMS on the envelope and put it through the letter-box himself. And what was more, this year the boy and girl who won most races would each be presented with a saving-stamp, though saving-stamps were only paper to be stuck on a card for the duration, he considered, and what he was in desperate need of was the clink of real pennies, dropping into his hand.

There was nothing else for it. He would have to enter every race for the under-tens and try like mad. It was the only way to get the money.

‘Well now, Arnie. Putting the world to rights this morning, are you?’

Arnie looked up from his mental arithmetic to see a smiling Mrs Ramsden, bucket in hand, going to feed the hens in Two-acre field, like as not.

‘Not really,’ he sighed.

‘Then what?’ Arnie had a very engaging sigh. ‘Tell your Aunty Grace?’

‘I was thinking about fivepence, but fourpence would do, I suppose.’

‘That’s a lot of money, Arnie …’

‘Yes.’ Four weeks’ pocket money. You didn’t have to know a lot about high finance to work that one out.

‘And what’s this fourpence for, will you tell me?’

Grace was fond of Arnie. He reminded her of Jonty at that age, though she liked small boys no matter what shapes and sizes they came in.

‘It’s for Aunty Poll; for her birthday card, and oh …’ He told her all in a breath what the man in the paper shop had said and how that card would be gone, never to return for the duration, if he didn’t get fourpence, soon.

‘I could earn it,’ he brooded, ‘but there aren’t many jobs for boys, so I’ll have to try to win it at the War Weapons Week. If the card’s still there, that is.’

‘Well, there’s fourpence-worth of jobs around my house, if you want them.’ Grace did not hesitate. ‘I know for a fact that Mr Ramsden’s heavy boots need a good coat of dubbin before he puts them away for the summer and there’s my brass candlesticks to polish. Shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a sixpence to be earned on Saturday, if you set your mind to it.’ She smiled at the young boy who could be Jonty, all those years ago, fretting for twopence for a comic. ‘Shall I expect you at nine o’clock, say?’

Arnie struck a deal there and then. Sixpence covered the card and the stamp and a penny left over for a gob-stopper. And until he learned a bit more about high finance, he supposed that working for money was the surest way out.

Good old Mrs Ramsden. Grown-ups – some of them – weren’t all that bad, when you came to think about it. Not bad at all.

Grace watched him go, whistling. Bless the lad. Must see to it that he got his birthday card. She’d call in on Polly, later, to make it all right for Saturday.

My, but that boy had come on a treat since he’d lived at the gate lodge. A fair treat.

‘Roz,’ Kath ventured as they hoed their way steadily, monotonously through the last of the sugar-beet, ‘remember what I once asked you – about somewhere to live after the war?’

Roz stopped, glad of a break, leaning on her hoe.

‘What I’m trying to say is did you mean it, Roz? And you will remember, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, but what’s brought this on all of a sudden?’

‘Just me, I suppose. Thinking. And it isn’t any good; I’ve turned it over and over in my mind. I’ve told myself to be grateful for what Barney’s done for me but –’

‘Done for you? What’s Barney ever done for you that would set the world alight? Apart from going all dog-in-the-manger like a great spoiled schoolboy and making you miserable for no reason at all that I can see. Go on, Kath. Tell me!’

‘He married me. I had a name that was mine; really mine.’

‘And what else?’

‘He gave me a home of my own …’

‘Kath – he took you home to his mother’s house. And now his Aunty Minnie’s in it. You said yourself that she’ll never let go.’

‘I know, and I really did try to be grateful. But I can’t go back to things the way they were when the war’s over. I can’t go back to that house and that – that –’

‘Bed?’

Shrugging, Kath gazed steadily down. She had said it now and she ought to have felt relief that it was out in the open, but she didn’t. Because it was her own fault. She hadn’t had to marry Barney, but she’d been sick and tired of being a nobody; of scrubbing and cleaning someone else’s house. No one had ever paid her such attention before; she had fallen for his flattery and his blinkered determination to have her.

And then what? Just a few months of being a wife, then separation before either of them had learned to adjust; he to her dreams, she to his Victorian attitude to all women – except his mother and her sister Minnie.

‘Sometimes I think I’ll just clear off,’ she choked, no longer able to keep the trembling inside her away from her voice. ‘Sometimes I think I’ll ask for a transfer – put Alderby and Marco behind me. They’d give me one, I suppose, if I asked …’

‘Kath!’ Roz jabbed her hoe deep into the earth so that it stood upright, swaying from side to side, then digging deep into her pocket she took out cigarettes and matches. ‘Here – let’s stop for a puff? And for heaven’s sake don’t do anything stupid. If you’re determined to turn your life upside down, why do it amongst strangers? And besides, I need you. Had you forgotten that?’

‘My life’s upside-down already, only today is the first time I’ve said it out loud. And I’ll never get things straight in my mind with Marco around because he’s the cause of it, really.’

‘No, he isn’t! Marco just brought things to a head sooner than you expected, that’s all.’

‘Oh? What you’re trying to say is that if it hadn’t been Marco it would have been some other man?’ Kath lifted her head, her glance defiant. ‘So what does that make me, then? Some kind of mixed-up tart? And why don’t you hate Marco Roselli? You ought to hate him just as I should. Why don’t you?’

‘Don’t change the subject – but since you ask, I couldn’t hate anybody – not as Gran does. If anything happened to Paul I’d just go to pieces, go numb I suppose, but I couldn’t start hating the man who’d done it.

‘Although sometimes I think there’s more to it than that – Gran hating the Germans so, I mean, for killing Grandpa. I think there’s another grief that no one knows about. I can’t explain it, but it’s there. Still, all this talking isn’t getting the war won, is it?’

They began working again, steadily, automatically, thinning out the beet to a hoe’s width, staying close enough to chat.

‘What could Barney do if I told him I thought we’d made a mistake?’ Eventually, reluctantly, Kath spoke.

‘I don’t know. I suppose he could demand that you went back to being his wife – you know what I mean? There’s a legal phrase for it, but I’m not sure what.’

‘And if I said no, I wouldn’t go back?’ She could not prevent the shudder that ran through her.

‘Then I suppose he could divorce you for desertion or – or refusing him his rights.’

‘Roz! Stop it! You make it sound so awful. And it isn’t. It’s only that I wanted – just once – to do something I wanted to do. And this is how it’s ended up. You’re right, Marco isn’t to blame. He was nice to me, that was all, and I began comparing him to Barney and somehow it got out of hand. It could just as easily have been Jonty who sparked it all off, couldn’t it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Roz threw down her cigarette and stamped it out. ‘Tastes awful, that thing! I know you like Jonty, but –’

‘But I never wanted Jonty to kiss me, did I?’

‘No, Kath, you didn’t, so we’re back to square one, aren’t we; back to Marco? And that’s a pity, because you’ll never be able to have him – even if you weren’t married – because how long is this war going to go on for? It isn’t over in Europe yet, and still there’ll be Japan. The Americans have come in on our war and we’ll have to do the same for them, won’t we?

‘But you are married and Italy is a Catholic country. How do you think Marco’s mother would like a divorced woman for a daughter-in-law? Divorce – even here – is a nasty thing. There’s still a stigma attached to it. You being divorced would be almost as bad as me having an illegitimate child. It just isn’t done …’

‘It’s done all right, but it doesn’t half rock the boat when it happens, more like.’

‘Exactly. So be very careful, old love?’

‘Yes. You too …’

‘Hmm. Reckon we’ve both got problems, Kath.’

‘I reckon we have. But problems apart, it’s pretty well all plain sailing, isn’t it?’

Gravely they regarded each other, then suddenly the laughter came. It had to.

‘Oh, damn this war,’ Kath gasped.

‘No!’ Roz was instantly serious. ‘It gave me Paul.’

‘Yes. And I suppose it gave me what I’ve always longed for – to live in the country.’

‘And it gave you Marco, Kath.’

‘Back to Marco, again …’

‘We are. And we always will be. He’s in your life, whether you want to admit it or not.’

‘I’ve made a mess of things,’ Kath murmured, ‘haven’t I?’

‘Maybe. But why not wait and see? Why not take it one day at a time? Fifty years from now, you and me both could be looking back wondering what all the agonizing was about.’

‘You could be right. Maybe then, what’s happening now won’t seem all that important.’

‘Exactly. So why don’t we both wait and see?’

Roz stood very still in the shelter of the hedge. She liked to be early; to be there, when he arrived.

Sometimes he came swinging up the lane to meet her; other times a transport would slew to a stop and he’d jump down, smiling. Always smiling. Paul was confident, now, of finishing his tour of ops.

‘Get that thirteenth op behind you,’ he said, ‘and it’s a piece of cake, till the last one.’

They had survived that thirteenth op. All of them but Jock had walked from the shattered bomber. And then they’d got S-Sugar, the lucky one. They would be all right.

She heard his low, slow whistle; saw him walking up the lane. She didn’t run to him, or raise her hand. She just stood there, watching him, wanting him, loving him, the blue of his eyes, the brilliant fairness of his hair. Everything about him, she loved; the hands that touched her, caressed her, and his body that was hers and oh, dear sweet heaven, had anyone ever loved as they loved?

She lifted her face as his arms claimed her and closed her eyes as she always did when he kissed her.

‘Hi.’ His voice was low. ‘Missed me?’

‘I missed you,’ she whispered, her lips on his. ‘Can we walk a little? I want to talk to you. I told Gran about us, you see – well, that soon I want to take you home to meet her.’

‘How did she take it?’ He laced her fingers with his own then tucked her arm in his, drawing her closer. It was how they must be, now. Even walking, their bodies must touch.

‘She was fine. We’ll tell her we’re engaged, won’t we?’

‘I’ll tell her – ask her. It’s only right that I do. Where are we going?’

‘The riverbank. There won’t be many there tonight.’ Only lovers like themselves walking close, stopping, sometimes, to kiss. And being seen with him didn’t matter so much, now that Gran knew.

Theirs was a slow-moving river that looped back on itself, encompassing the village, almost, then straightening out to flow on through flat, fertile fields, to York. Here at Alderby it was pretty, its banks thick with greenery and rich with flowers. Here ducks nested and lately swans had come. They could walk the loop of the riverbank, then return to where they had started; at the Peddlesbury Lane Wood and its secret places that only lovers knew.

‘Darling – do you think she’d let us get married? If I tell her we’ll be fine, once I’ve got university behind me? I’ll be almost sure to get in – they’re giving more places to ex-servicemen when the war’s over. I’ll be able to look after you all right, when I’ve got my degree.’

‘Gran’ll like that – you wanting to be an architect, I mean. My father was an architect. It was he who prettied up Ridings, after the fire.’

‘He made a good job of it. I’ve seen it. You can get a good view flying over. From a height, you can see everything laid out and imagine how it used to be.

‘I’ve always wanted to be an architect, but now I suppose I ought to be. I’ve helped knock so many buildings down I think I should do something when the war’s over to make it good. But do you think she’ll see it our way?’

‘Yes, I do. She was only my age when she married Grandpa, though there wasn’t a war on for them. But didn’t you say your father was against you getting married, Paul? Doesn’t he want you to concentrate on getting a good degree – no distractions?’

‘He does. They both do.’ He smiled down and small, wanton shivers sliced through her as they always did when he smiled like that. ‘But, Roz – I’m nearly twenty-three and God alone knows how old I’ll be by the time it’s all over. They still treat me as if I’m their boy and I’m not. I’ve earned the right to marry. If your gran will let you we can start making plans as soon as the tour’s over – if you don’t want a big affair, that is.’

‘Darling! Who has a big affair these days? But are you asking; really asking?’

She wanted him to say it again, here on the riverbank, where copper-beech trees rustled brown and the grass beneath them grew green and lush; like he’d said it, hesitantly almost, at Micklegate Bar, only this time it was when, not if.

‘I’m asking, my lovely love. Marry me? Soon?’

‘I’ll marry you.’ Gently she touched his cheek, her eyes wide with wonder. ‘And as soon as we can. I do so love you, Paul. And I’ll go on loving you, always.’

‘Fifty years from now, will you?’ he teased, tweaking her nose.

‘Fifty years; a hundred years. On and on, into forever.’

‘Come back to the wood?’ he said thickly, sudden need in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her lips against his cheek.

And later she would lie still in his arms and he would tell her about that massive raid; about flying with a thousand bombers to Essen. He always told her, now; talked the killing out of himself.

But afterwards, that would be. When they had loved.

‘Paul said,’ Roz murmured, ‘that it was really something, on Tuesday night.’

‘The big raid on Essen, you mean? A thousand bombers – takes some imagining, doesn’t it? The ten that took off from Peddlesbury made enough noise.’

‘They all met up over the south coast, he said, then went in in waves.’

‘Bet it wasn’t very pleasant, being on the receiving end of that lot. You could almost feel sorry for them, couldn’t you?’

‘Yes, but never let Gran hear you being sorry for the Germans. Do you think we’ll win this war, Kath?’

‘Dear God, I hope so! Imagine being occupied? Trouble is, I just can’t see an end to it – not yet. There’s those Japs doing almost as they like in the Far East and as for the fighting in Russia …’

‘The early news said there’d been heavy fighting in North Africa. Seems Rommel’s trying to take Tobruk. If their lot get Tobruk it won’t look so good for us there.’ She stopped, a sudden flush on her cheeks. ‘Sorry, Kath. I should have thought about Barney being there. Do you worry about him – like I worry about Paul, I mean?’

‘I don’t want him to get wounded,’ Kath murmured. ‘Just because things are a bit awkward between us doesn’t mean that I don’t care. Oh, I don’t show my feelings like you do, Roz, but that’s the way I am.’ Of course she wanted Barney to come home safely but then, she’d always thought that he would.

‘Maybe you don’t, but it wouldn’t do for everyone to be like me, would it? Or could it be that you haven’t fallen in love yet – really in love. Wait till you do, and see how you feel, then.’ Roz swirled the dregs of cold tea around the bottom of her mug then upended it, frowning at the pattern of the tea-leaves. ‘Know anything about telling fortunes from teacups?’

‘No, I don’t. And don’t change the subject.’ Kath got to her feet, brushing grass from the seat of her overalls. ‘And don’t think I haven’t wondered what it’s like being crazy about a man. There’s a war on. Anything could happen to any one of us. Civilians are in the war, too. Don’t you think I haven’t wanted to be in love like you are? And how long do you think women like me are going to be able to put up with it? There’s a ring on my finger that’s supposed to make me immune to feeling; to give out a warning. Keep off! Don’t touch! She’s married! Well, I’m flesh and blood and this war could last for years and years – all my young years gone!’

‘I know, love. I know. It must be the very devil for you when I go on and on about Paul. Don’t think I want Paul to be flying for years and years. I don’t. One tour of ops – that’s lucky. Two tours – hardly ever.’ She shrugged her shoulders eloquently. ‘That’s why I’m going to ask Gran to let us get married. It’s so stupid, having to be twenty-one before you can please yourself what you can do. They conveniently forget we’re minors, though, when they want us to fire guns and fly bombers and drive tanks and get shot at.

‘Hell, but I’m sick of this war! If Paul is flying tonight I think I’ll go down to the Black Horse and get drunk!’

‘Let me know if you do.’ Kath’s mouth quirked down at the corners. ‘I just might join you. But right now there’s these arks to shift and cows to milk and –’

‘Kath – have you and Marco talked since – well –’

‘Since I made a fool of myself, you mean? No. Well – nothing personal, that is. Suppose you can’t blame him, though. I did offer it on a plate almost, then got cold feet. Maybe he thinks there’s no future in it, and maybe he’s right. Stupid of me, really, when probably all he wants is just to be friends. Tiamo. A friend.’

‘A what?’ Roz demanded, eyes wide. ‘What was that you said? The bit in Italian, I mean.’

‘Oh, just my lezione. I’m picking up quite a few words, now.’

‘And ti amo? That’s Italian for just good friends? You’re sure, Kath?’

‘Of course I’m sure. Marco said it was.’

‘Then I’ve got two bob that says he’s been having you on.’ Roz laughed, eyes bright with teasing.

‘Roz?’ Having her on? How? And come to that – why? So they’d kissed? A kiss meant nothing. They were friends, weren’t they? ‘What do you mean – two bob?’

‘Two shillings that says ti amo means I love you. I’m almost certain it does.’

‘But it can’t! Marco wouldn’t!’ She felt the heat of the flush that stained her cheeks. He’d said it to her and she, idiot that she was, had said it to him, too; had smiled into his eyes, and said it! ‘Roz, he wouldn’t …’

‘Seems he has.’

‘All right, so maybe – just maybe – you’re right. But you’d better wipe that smirk off your face because I don’t think it’s one bit funny. And when I see him, I’ll – I’ll –’

‘You’ll what, lovey?’

‘I’ll give him a good telling-off, that’s what!’ She drew in a deep, indignant breath. ‘Imagine if I’d said it – innocently, I mean – and someone heard me – someone who understood? We’d both be in big trouble.’

‘Kath! Can’t you take a joke? Think of it – it probably made his day having the best-looking landgirl for miles around tell him she loved him.’

‘A joke? You’re sure? You’re certain it doesn’t mean something well – really awful?’

‘Something like how about us making mad, passionate love? No, Kath – I’m almost sure it means what I said, and I’m sure he was only having a bit of fun, truly I am.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ But fun? Oh, no, he’d meant it. Looking back to the way it had been, she knew he’d meant it. ‘A joke, Roz; you’re right. But he’ll have to be told; he really will!’ The minute she saw him, he’d be told!

Kath sighed loudly, impatiently, plumping up her pillow yet again, turning over for the umpteenth time. Another sleepless night, she shouldn’t wonder – but there had been quite a few of those lately. Nights spent counting taking-off bombers; thinking about Roz and Paul; thinking about Marco and this afternoon that had given her reason for even more wide-awake nights. In the milking parlour, it had been. Not exactly the place, come to think of it, to have your entire life turned upside-down.

‘Damn!’ Roz had said. ‘I’ve forgotten to give the cats their milk! Won’t be long.’ And she had disappeared without another word, leaving the two of them alone.

‘It wasn’t very kind of you, Marco …’ She had been waiting, agitated, all afternoon for just this moment and the words came out as she had rehearsed them in her mind. ‘Saying what you did, I mean, about being my friend.’

‘Si, Kat? But I am your friend.’

‘Then you told me the wrong words for it.’ She turned to face him, eyes wary; unwilling to say those words, now that she knew their real meaning.

‘Ti amo? Who told you?’

‘Roz did.’ She watched the jet of water from the hosepipe collect into a pool at her feet. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘Because I wanted to say it, Kat.’ His eyes sought hers, begging for her understanding. ‘And because I wanted to hear you say it to me.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have. It could have got us both into trouble. And you know the way things are with me.’

She turned to walk away from him, but he took her arm and turned her to face him again.

‘I don’t know how things are with you. I only know how I feel about you, about us. What else matters?’

‘Matters?’ Shaking, cheeks blazing, she stuck out her left hand, jabbing with her forefinger at the ring there. ‘That’s what matters. Me, being married – or do you think a married woman on her own is fair game – is that it?’

‘Fair game? I don’t understand fair game. What I understand is that I love you. Io ti amo, Katarina,’ he said softly. ‘And I know you love me.’

‘Marco! We are not in love; we can’t be.’ She closed her eyes, shaking her head, unwilling to look at him. ‘We hardly know each other. It isn’t love you’re talking about; if it’s anything it’s – it’s attraction. It’s me being lonely and you being lonely, but it isn’t love, it mustn’t be.’

And please don’t look at me like that. Don’t want me, Marco. Please don’t want me with your eyes …

‘Why mustn’t it be? I loved you the first time I saw you, Kat. You brought soup. “Mrs Ramsden sends soup,” you say to me. I saw the ring on your finger then, and it make no difference.’

‘Then it should have!’

She stood there, fighting back tears; fighting the urge to touch him, gather him to her, lift her mouth to his. She stood unspeaking, for words must be carefully spoken when her heart contradicted her head. Love could happen in one small second. Roz had loved Paul right from their first meeting; from the first naked glance, even. Call it love, call it attraction, call it needing or wanting – it happened. When love happened it didn’t wait for moon and June, and soft lights and sensuous music, it was there, in the air, sometimes coming like a jabbing, flashing fork of lightning, taking no account of wedding rings or vows or if that man was your country’s enemy.

‘What’s to be done, Marco?’ She walked over to the tap and turned it off. The floor was awash, their long hessian aprons sodden at the hems. This couldn’t be love; not in a shed that smelled of cows. ‘It’s got to stop. It’s all so – so hopeless.’

‘Stop? You turn love off, then, like you just turned off that tap?’

‘I can try, Marco,’ she whispered. ‘I can try. And there must be no more kisses; no more saying I love you.’

‘So how can that be? You want I should leave here – no more coming to Home Farm?’

‘No! That wouldn’t be fair to you nor to Mat, either. But think; we can’t love each other. Even if the war ended tomorrow and suddenly you were free, it wouldn’t be any use. I’m married, Marco. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Married! Only you don’t love him. I know it. I see it in your eyes and I know it when you kiss me …’

‘Don’t! No more kisses, I said; no more touching, even.’ She had closed her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened; closed them because the sight of the hurt in his face sent pain stabbing through her. ‘Help me, Marco? Don’t stop being my friend, but don’t want me. Help me to try not to want you?’ she had begged him.

Try? She stared unblinking at the ceiling. She could still see it, dimly. Soon it would be the longest day, the shortest night. Winter it had been when she and Marco met and now summer blazed and with it had come a longing between them that couldn’t be denied, hopeless though it was.

Roz – I envied you; envied that dangerous loving of yours, even though it made me afraid and glad it hadn’t – couldn’t – happen to me. But it has happened, and I don’t know what to do about it, because I’m not like you. I’m not free to love.

The tears she had fought for so long came in a flood of self-pity and she buried her face in her pillow with a low cry of dismay.

How long she wept and when finally she slept, she had no idea. She only knew that as the alarm jangled her awake the first face she saw with her mind’s eye was not Marco’s nor Barney’s but that of Aunt Min, lips set, eyes narrowly triumphant.

‘What will I do?’ she whispered out loud and Minnie Jepson’s vinegared rasping voice answered, ‘Do, Kath Allen? You do your duty to your husband, that’s what!’

Duty. A cold word; cold, almost, as charity and she’d had enough of that in her life and enough of duty, too.

All at once a blaze of defiance took her, shaking away the melancholy that wrapped her round. She threw back the bedclothes and swung her feet to the floor.

Leave my conscience alone, Aunt Min! Get out of my life, won’t you, and take your smug hypocrisy with you! And next time you write to Barney, tell him that Kath’s up to the eyes in it, will you? You’ll enjoy that, won’t you, Aunt Min?

Up to the eyes, was she? Well, she’d see about that! Maybe soon they’d all see!

Snatching up spongebag and towel she hurried down to the washroom. She was in a hurry to get to Home Farm, and Roz. Roz must be the first to know. Roz would understand.

Kath was waiting, foot tapping, when Roz pushed open the dairy door. She had been eager to be out, snatching only a mug of tea, too impatient to be away to spare time for breakfast.

‘Roz! I’ve been waiting ages! Listen – I spoke to Marco, after milking …’

‘And?’ Roz had known she would, given the opportunity – one which had necessitated giving the grateful farm cats a second ration of milk. ‘Thought you might have told me about it, but then I saw you belting back to Peacock Hey like you’d got something on your mind.’

‘I had. Believe me, I had! Marco knew what he’d said. He wasn’t pulling my leg, either. He meant it. He said so.’

‘Oh, my word! Seems I owe you –’

‘Forget the bet – this is serious! I’m in a mess, Roz; a heck of a mess, but at least one thing’s come out of it all.

‘I worried myself sick last night – cried myself to sleep. But this morning it hit me. I don’t have to put up with it, you see.’ She paced the length of the dairy then turned, eyes wide in a chalk-white face. ‘So I’m married? Well, I’ve had enough, so you’d better take it seriously about letting me have a cottage because I’m not going back to Barney when the war’s over!’

‘You’re not what? Say that again? You’re leaving him?’

‘I mean I can’t face it; can’t face that house nor Aunt Min nor Barney touching me ever again. I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t!’

‘Oh, lovey.’ Roz shook her head, her expression one of blank disbelief. ‘You’ve got yourself into a mess all right. And you can’t have Marco, you know that, don’t you? Not for years and years – if ever.’

‘I know it, though how we’re going to manage is beyond me. Marco said he wouldn’t come to Home Farm any more – well, they can’t make him work …’

‘Best solution all round, I’d say, but you’d both be miserable, then; it’d be worse, I should think, than the two of you being here and having to pretend the other doesn’t exist. But what do you intend doing? Will you ask Barney for a divorce?’

‘No! How can I? It’s me that’s the guilty one, not him.’

‘Guilty? But you haven’t done anything – have you?’

‘Of course I haven’t. It just hasn’t worked for me and Barney, that’s all,’ Kath whispered, tears trembling on her voice. ‘Isn’t it a pity when a marriage dies that you can’t bury it decently? Why does there have to be a guilty party? Why does one of us have to go off the rails?’

‘I wouldn’t know. Divorce is something I don’t know a lot about. But are you absolutely sure, Kath? Is walking out on Barney going to be worth all the bother and worry it’s going to cause? He can make it difficult for you – he probably will.’

‘I know, but my mind’s made up.’

‘So you’ll write him a dear-John letter?’

‘Of course I won’t. I couldn’t do that to a man overseas. I’ll carry on with the letters. When he writes to me, I’ll write back to him. And I’ll tell him what I’m doing – around the farm, that is, and what’s happening at Peacock Hey. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t go on being grateful to him for the rest of my life. I’ll tell him, face to face, when he comes back, tell him I’m sorry and that if he wants it he can have all the Army allowance money I’ve saved.

‘But this morning – all of a sudden – I thought I’m me! Not Kathleen Sykes, that was; not Mrs Barney Allen – I’m Kath. And I won’t apologize any more for being left on a doorstep. I won’t live the rest of my life being ashamed because I was abandoned. I can milk a cow and drive a tractor and if the worst comes to the worst, I can still go back to scrubbing and polishing when the war is over. I’ll manage!’

‘Without Marco?’

‘I’ll have to. Oh, I could love him with all my heart, but I won’t let it happen. Maybe like you said, either of us could get moved on and that would be that, wouldn’t it? And heaven only knows what a mess I’m getting myself into, but I’m sick of being sorry about myself. The good Lord gave me a chin – think I’m just going to have to stick it out, and see what happens!’

‘Atta girl!’ Roz grinned. ‘I take it you’ll be coming to the dance, then?’

‘I’ll be coming.’ Pretty summer dress, gold sandals and all! ‘Oh, Roz, what on earth has got into me?’

‘Search me – but whatever it is, it suits you. Now – are you going to harness Daisy, or am I? There’s work to be done – don’t forget there’s still a war on!’

But fancy that, now? Roz frowned. Kath giving Barney his come-uppance? Talk about worms turning! Whatever next? Flying pigs dropping bombs on Berlin?