27

This morning she had stood at these very crossroads, thumb jabbing, wondering what would await her when she got to Shilton. A blind soldier, perhaps, raging bitterly against a mean-minded Fate that had placed him one step behind the man who had stepped on a land mine?

And by whose capricious whim had there been a nurse called Ellie at a hospital at Hafiif and why, Kath demanded, hadn’t her instincts warned her? The facts had all been there, yet she’d been too stupid even to suspect. How was she to go about getting a divorce? Was it to be a sordid affair with herself the injured, complaining party, or would Barney’s eagerness to be free of her make it easier? And had it really happened? Did she, even now, believe that suddenly there was another woman in Barney’s life; that now there was Ellie, from no more than three streets away …

‘I’d sell my soul for a mug of tea,’ she said soberly, hanging up her hat, peeling off her bright green pullover. ‘Just wait till I tell you!’ Water rattled into the kettle, the gas plopped alight. ‘It isn’t possible! I get there, and he’s fine. His eyes are going to be all right and for that, thank God. But guess who wants a divorce, Roz! Just guess!’

She hadn’t intended telling it like that; she’d planned to relate it as it really happened, and calmly, too. But her mind was still in a turmoil of disbelief because now it was Barney asking for his freedom.

‘Barney? You’re telling me Barney wants out? I don’t believe it!’

‘Then you’d better, because it’s true. He’s giving me grounds and he won’t defend it, either, he says. Well, I think that’s what he said, and oh, I want to tell Marco, and I can’t …’

All at once it was too much. She covered her face with her hands, fighting back tears.

‘Please don’t cry, Kath. It’ll be all right.’ Roz, arms close around her, leading her to a chair, offering a handkerchief, making little hushing sounds. ‘I’ll make the tea.’ She offered her cigarettes. ‘Go on – have one. I can’t find a lot of use for these things, now.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Kath’s agitated hand set the match flame shaking. ‘It’s a terrible thing to be divorced, Roz, but I’m glad. I am. In fact all I’m worried about is that I’ll wake up in the morning and find it was only a dream; that I’ll have to go back to Birmingham and Aunt Min – and that bed.’

‘So tell me?’ Roz said gently, and when she had, when Kath told how it had been at Shilton – every word they had said, and more besides, she took a shuddering breath of disbelief and whispered, ‘So there you are …’

‘So there we are, and Kath – isn’t it all so clear, now? Those shirty letters – they weren’t really because you’d joined the Land Army, were they? By that time he’d met Ellie, hadn’t he? The long convoys we didn’t understand, him actually sending you a postcard from Cairo, and all the time he was – well, you know. And now, if you please, he’s graciously allowing you to use your savings to pay for the divorce!’

‘I know. I’m a fool, but I want it too, don’t forget. But how do I go about it, and what will it cost? Are people going to point at me and say, “Look at that one – divorced …”’

‘Does it matter? Do you care what they say? So they’ll be talking about your divorce? At least they’ll be giving my unmarried pregnancy a rest, won’t they? And as for how – well, I think you should ring Mr Dunston in the morning and tell him all about it. If he can’t help you, he’ll know who can. Then you show them Barney’s confession and tell them to get on with it – pretty damn quick. And if you’re short of cash, I’ve some I can lend you – okay?’

‘Put like that it seems fairly straightforward.’

‘Fairly straightforward. Divorces are always – well – messy. But it’ll be a nine-day wonder and after all, you are the innocent party.’

‘Innocent? But am I? All right – so Barney went the whole way with Ellie in Cairo, but I wanted to, as well. I wanted Marco like there was no tomorrow and I wish, now, that we had!’

‘Then just be glad you didn’t, because if you’re blameless – technically blameless, that is – getting a divorce is going to be a whole lot easier. I wonder if Ellie is having a baby?’

‘He said not. He probably wants to marry her quickly in case either of them get sent overseas again. They might have to wait years, if that happened. After all, what Barney wants, Barney must have. Now. It was always the same.’

‘A spoiled child growing up into a selfish man?’

‘Something like that. But I wish Marco could know. I wish there was some way of telling him. There’d be something for us to hang on to, then – even though the war won’t be over for years.’

‘Me, too. I wish Paul could have known about the baby. Once, I almost told him, but I didn’t, and now it’s too late. But you, Kath, are going to find Marco and you’re going to tell him. Somewhere there’s got to be someone who knows where they all went.

‘So he’s a prisoner of war and it’ll be difficult, but I don’t think he’s all that far away, and if you love him like I think you do, then it’ll be up to you. Everything is coming right for you, so go out and grab it. Because I’d do anything – anything – to be able to see Paul. Just once more. I’d tear down York city walls, stone by stone with my bare hands if I could see him for just a minute; just long enough to say, “We have a child, Paul,” and to kiss him goodbye.’

‘Oh, Roz – don’t!’

‘No. I mustn’t, and I’m sorry. But think on as we say in these parts. And Kath – can I tell you something, now? Will you come into the sitting-room so I can tell you and show you? And when I have, will you hold my hand tightly and tell me I’m going to be able to cope and that you’ll stay at Ridings with me as long as you can? Will you?’

‘What is it?’ Suddenly Kath wasn’t hungry and the thick slice of bread and jam she’d been longing for since she had walked, thumb jabbing, along the road that led from Shilton, was forgotten. ‘What’s happened? Are you all right? Is it the baby?’

‘Sprog is fine – well, I hope he is, but this morning, after you’d gone, I thought I’d have another look in Gran’s desk.’

The desk. ‘Oh, yes?’ Dammit, why was she so obsessed with raking up the past?

‘I started reading letters and I found out that – well, you’d better read this.’ The diary lay open on the desk. ‘Look – January 3rd, 1904 – it’s all there …’

‘So sad a new year?’ Kath frowned. ‘Look – are you sure –’

‘Go on. Read it all – and the letter.’

‘All right, then.’ Kath read the flowing words, then read them again, just to be sure. Then she lifted her eyes to those of her friend and whispered, ‘Poor, poor lady. Loving Martin, loving Ridings the way she did – and no son. Ever. Cursed? You might almost believe it is, Roz.’

‘You might, because we are. But think, Kath. Just think …’

‘Yes, but what about? She was a lovely person. She didn’t deserve that.’

‘No, she didn’t, Kath. And nor did my mother, nor me!’

‘Oh, no!’ She was on her feet in an instant, hugging herself, walking up and down as she always did when upset. ‘Haemophilia? Isn’t that the one – that – that’s –’

‘Handed down? That’s the one. From Gran to my mother and from my mother, to me. Oh! I don’t blame Gran entirely. Neither she nor her sister knew about it when they married – a just cause or impediment that would have been, and no mistake. But my mother had me, Kath, and she shouldn’t have. Gran should have told her.’

‘Maybe she did tell her? Maybe your mother and father were so much in love that –’ She ran her tongue round her lips, then whispered, ‘Well, you above all should understand, Roz. You know what it’s like to love a man without rhyme or reason.’

‘Yes, I do. But Gran should have warned me.’

‘And if she had, would it have made any difference?’

‘No. But I could have told Paul – given him the chance to back away, to finish it between us.’

‘And would he have?’ Kath demanded, crossly. ‘Would either of you have accepted that? You know you wouldn’t. All you could have done was to have been a bit more careful. When you love someone like that – well, I do understand, Roz.’

‘I know you do. But what’s to become of this poor little baby? I want it so much – I still want it to be a son. It’s wicked of me, but I do.’

‘A part of Paul? Don’t you think I wouldn’t have loved Marco’s son the same way? A little living image of his father? But a son very often looks like his mother. You might have a little boy just like you; stubborn and quick-tempered and red-headed into the bargain.’ Why she was saying something so facetious she didn’t honestly know, because it was awful – really awful – if what Roz had stumbled on was true. ‘But are you sure there isn’t a mistake, love? I know it was a shock to you – but mightn’t you, if you’d read on a bit more, have found somewhere that they’d got it all wrong? Haemophilia must have got into your Gran’s family somehow, somewhere, so couldn’t there be a time it could have left it? Maybe you are all right, Roz – tell Dr Stewart about it? He might even tell you that it burns itself out, or something, after two generations. It just mightn’t be as bad as you think. You ought to see him. Worrying yourself to death is the last thing Sprog needs. That little baby has had all the shocks he can take, if you ask me.’

‘Yes. Tell the doctor. That’s exactly what Jonty said.’

‘Jonty knows?’

‘He came over. I was in such a panic that I rang him and he came straight away. Then this afternoon he came again, but he couldn’t stay long – it was his turn for Sunday milking. But he came …’

He came. He always would. Jonty would never be far away when Roz needed him, Kath acknowledged silently, sadly. He’d said he would be, the afternoon they had heard about Peg Bailey. They’d leaned on the gate and talked about – oh, all sorts of things. But especially about Roz being in love with Paul.

‘Be there, if she needs you,’ she asked of him though there had been no need to say it.

‘I still think you should do what he says – tell the doctor, Roz.’

‘I will. I shall have to. But the last time I went to the surgery he said I was fine and there was no need for me to go back for a while; not unless the sickness got worse, that was. And it hasn’t. It’s a whole lot better, in fact.

‘“Call in some time in September,” he said. “By then you’ll be about half way and you’ll have felt the baby moving. We’ll have a good look at you, then.” That’s what he said, Kath, so why don’t I leave it at that? Can’t I pretend – for just a little bit longer – that everything is all right?’

‘Okay – but just as long as you tell him. And as long as you don’t worry too much. Sprog can do without worry, don’t forget.’

‘Yes.’ She let go a sigh of relief. ‘And nobody knows but you and Jonty. I haven’t told Polly, nor Grace and Mat. Let’s leave it as it is, shall we, because I couldn’t bear to see the pity in their eyes. Not a word, Kath?’

‘Not a whisper and – oh, come here, will you?’ She held wide her arms and Roz went into them gladly. Kath held her tightly and whispered, ‘I said we’d love this little baby a million, no matter what. We might even love him a bit more, now.’

‘We will. Oh dear, he’s going to grow up to be as spoiled as Barney, isn’t he?’

Kath said perish the thought, but he probably would. Spoiled something awful.

But neither of them laughed.

Last year at this time, Roz considered, she hadn’t even known Paul existed yet now, on this eighth day of August – the day on which clocks were put back and one of the hours stolen from night-time to help the war effort given back – she had met and loved and lost him. Soon the days would be shortening and by the end of the month, blackout curtains would be drawn by nine o’clock, though the day would be bright again, long before six in the morning.

Long before six, Roz brooded, leaning on the gate-top, chin on hand, Grace would be up, making morning drinkings for Mat and Jonty, coaxing a reluctant herd to the milking shed.

The far cornfield looked ready for harvesting, her countrywoman’s eye told her; the ears of wheat golden brown, now, and if she were nearer, she would hear it swish and sigh as the breeze gentled through it to bend the poppies and daisies growing around the headlands of the field. Last year had been her first harvest; she was still a child, then, with not a worry in the world, save that somewhere beyond the bounds of Alderby St Mary a war raged – and that the faceless ones in London had announced the rationing of clothing and shoes.

Then suddenly Peddlesbury Manor, empty and decaying for almost a decade, came alive, the trees in its parkland torn out by the roots, and a squadron of Lancasters roared in. And Paul came.

But she didn’t want her innocence back. She wanted Paul with every breath she took; with every beat of her cold, aching heart. Please don’t let the bombers be operational, tonight, she silently begged; bombers that would heave themselves into the sky like over-full birds, fighting gravity until they became airborne and graceful once more, high in the evening sky. Please not tonight again the thrash and roar of take-off, because she still counted, still sent them on their way with fear and love, and still awoke to the first faint throb of homecoming engines.

To her left, to the east over Peddlesbury Wood, the moon was rising, big and round and gold. Soon it would be high in a darkening sky, silver-blue. No more August moons, Paul; no more bombers’ moons, my love.

‘Roz!’ Kath was calling her, walking through the ruins carrying a bright red cardigan. ‘There you are! Here, now, put this on or you’ll catch a chill. What are you doing out here?’ Kath, mothering and fussing; always caring for her.

‘I was watching the moon rise. Look at it, Kath. Huge, isn’t it?’

‘And beautiful,’ Kath breathed. But everything was beautiful and now she need never leave it. ‘Supper’s ready – only vegetable pie, but –’

Vegetable pie. An assortment of unrationed vegetables mixed with yesterday’s left-over gravy and topped with a suet crust.

‘I think Mat will be starting to cut the wheat any day now,’ Roz remarked, shrugging into the cardigan. ‘And next year, there’ll be wheat and barley on Ridings land, Kath. Next year –’ She stopped, eyes sad. ‘By next year, I wonder what will have happened?’

‘I don’t know. One day at a time, didn’t we say?’ She didn’t want to think about seeing the solicitor at York, or that soon she must tell Grace and Mat about the divorce. Mat had agreed at once when she had asked to change her rest-day from Sunday to Wednesday – without even asking her why, he’d said it was all right. ‘I shall tell Grace about me and Barney,’ she murmured as they walked across the grass to the yard gates. ‘It’s only fair.’

‘And about Marco, too?’

‘No. Not just yet. Not unless he manages to get a letter to me. I’ll tell her, if he does. But one day at a time is best. I’m only glad the solicitor Mr Dunston is sending me to is a woman. I won’t feel so bad, talking about things to a woman.’

‘Yes – and then it’ll really get moving.’

But as Kath said, one day at a time, because she was beginning to learn that it didn’t do to make plans or to look forward with hope. Not if you were a Fairchild.

‘By the way, I told Grace about Barney and me this morning.’ Kath picked up a sheaf of wheat.

‘Was she shocked? Bet she was. Grace thinks all marriages are made in heaven, like her own.’

‘Not shocked,’ Kath frowned. ‘More disappointed, and hurt for me when I told her about it – well, about some of it. She was more worried, I think, about what will happen to me now – a poor, discarded woman.’

‘Then I hope you told her you’ll be staying on at Ridings and that one day you’ll be living in the gate lodge?’

‘I did, and it seemed to satisfy her. But Grace judges all men by Mat’s standards, and I suppose you can’t blame her for not understanding. Well – just try to imagine Mat going off the rails? Or Jonty, either. I said she could tell them about it but not to let it go any farther – well, you know what they’re like in Alderby.’

‘I know.’ Roz counted the sheaves. Ten to each stook. Stooking was considered a woman’s job at harvest time and to make a stook, Kath had quickly learned, was to lay the sheaves together to form an ark; a tentlike shape with five sheaves on one side leaning against five on the other and a gap at the bottom for the breeze to blow through.

‘How soon will the wheat be dry?’ Kath asked of Grace who had come into the field carrying drinkings; a jug of tea, and water in screw-topped bottles to be laid in the shade of the hedge, for coolness.

‘Mat always gives it three clear Sundays after cutting. Always three Sundays, he reckons it takes.’

‘That’s a long time …’

‘Happen. But it took a long time to plough the fields and sow the seed, didn’t it; and time for it to grow and to ripen. So you don’t spoil it, lass, for the sake of the odd Sunday. Farming takes time. And patience.’

‘And a great deal of fortitude,’ Roz smiled, ‘when the barley is harvested. No bare arms, then. Barley horns are like little sharp needles, Kath, and it’s arms covered and shirts buttoned to the neck, isn’t it, Grace?’

‘It is, my word. But I’ll have to be getting back; dinner doesn’t cook itself. You’ll both be eating at Home Farm, today?’

‘Please. What is it?’ Roz was suddenly, amazingly hungry.

‘Rabbit pie, wouldn’t you know, and gooseberry tart to follow. And custard. The Lord bless rabbits,’ Grace murmured, though after this war was over she had taken a solemn vow never to cook another rabbit again. ‘Marco liked rabbit pie, didn’t he? Poor lad. I wonder where he is. We shall miss him, you know, before this harvest is over.’

‘Miss him,’ Kath whispered as Grace walked through the wide-open field gate. Oh, Grace – if only you knew. ‘Why is there such a stigma attached to divorce?’ she demanded, for no reason at all that she could think of.

‘And unmarried mothers …’

‘Because I’m the innocent party, Roz. Why should people point a finger at me?’

‘And Sprog is a love child, and wanted …’

‘Do you suppose it’s because we’re young? Do you suppose Those Up There are old and grizzled and jealous of us? Is it wrong, to be young?’

‘And foolish, sometimes?’

‘Oh, Roz, how long is this war going to last?’ All their precious years, was it to take? Would they, too, be old and grizzled and jealous before it was over?

‘Don’t know, old love. I’d make a fortune, if I did.’ Roz waved to Jonty who had seen the arrival of drinkings and was walking toward them, rubbing the small of his back. ‘Come on – let’s take a break for five minutes. I could do with a drink of water. I don’t suppose Grace has told Jonty, yet, about you and Barney. Why don’t you tell him, now? He’ll understand, Kath.’

‘Yes. I think he will.’ Of course he would understand. Jonty Ramsden was like that. Just about the nicest man she knew, in fact. Pity that Roz couldn’t think the same.

‘We’ll be done by St Matthew’s day,’ Mat said, relieved that the corn harvest was well-dried, stored in stacks and barns. ‘And the stacks thatched and netted, long before Michaelmas.’

But he had known this would be a good harvest, for hadn’t the first day of September dawned gently and lengthened into a glorious day, with the air clear and bright – golden, almost. And those who worked the land knew that a fine first day of September promised good weather for the remainder of the month. Mat had had his three clear Sundays and now the wheat and barley were almost in, the harvest finished, save for this one last load to be pulled by Duke to the stack. All that was left, now, were fields of bristly yellow stubble. Even the small creatures who had lived in the shelter of the cornfields all summer – fieldmice, voles and shrews, white-tailed baby rabbits – had fled the flailing blades of the reaper and found shelter in woods and hedgerows nearby, leaving the fields to starlings and sparrows to scavenge for fallen grain.

‘It’s a fine, thankful sight, that final load,’ Mat smiled. ‘Come on, everybody. Throw up your last sheaf!’

And everyone, even Grace who had come to see the end of the harvest, just as she had been there to watch the first cut, took a pitchfork and, laughing, threw her sheaf high to Jonty, standing precariously on top of the load.

‘And there goes mine!’ Roz sent her sheaf upwards. She knew how to handle a weighty sheaf on the end of a long fork; unlike Kath whose arms had ached something awful until she’d got the hang of it. ‘And another, for good luck!’

The pain hit her low in her back without warning, and she winced, silently. Stupid of her, really, to have thrown the sheaf with such panache. She had been careful all through the harvest, wearing loose-fitting dungarees to hide her swelling stomach and breasts. Soon, when the weather grew colder, a thick, too-large sweater and jacket would take her, disguised, into the seventh month of her pregnancy – by which time the whole village would know. But this far she had been lucky. The heavy work of the harvest had not been the problem she had feared, for Jonty and Kath had watched her like hawks for any signs of stress, and contrived to be there when there was lifting to do. She felt so well, now, with the early nausea long forgotten, and her appetite back.

‘Lost your appetite and found a donkey’s,’ Kath had taken to complaining. ‘The baby book says you aren’t supposed to eat for two!’

Roz rubbed away the pain in her back and laid aside her fork. She would enjoy the celebration supper at Home Farm, tonight. Not one of Grace’s grander feasts – the rationing of food had seen to that – but a young cock had already disappeared from the farmyard and there would be a piece of cold, boiled bacon, Grace said, and clove-scented apple pie. Afterwards, they would toast the harvest with a glass of carefully-hoarded parsnip wine. Made at the start of the war, it had been, just before sugar was rationed, and no more home-made wine till sugar was free for all to buy, more was the pity.

There would be seven of them around Grace’s table, counting Polly and Arnie, Roz considered as she stood beside the gate for Duke’s triumphant passing. No Gran, though, she yearned, and no Paul. Paul, my love …

‘I’m absolutely shattered!’ Kath sank into the kitchen rocking chair. ‘Who’s first for the bathroom?’

She looked at her hands, calloused and scratched, with dispassion. Every bone in her body ached; every muscle felt as if it had been pulled torturously on the rack. The thin red weals left by the barley horns on her arms would take ages to heal and, what was more, they hurt. It would all have been so much easier had Marco been there; but Marco would be working on some other farmer’s corn harvest, in some other place. Scotland, even, or Devon.

‘You go first, Kath. I think Grace would like it if we smartened ourselves up – just this once. I’ll have a look through my dresses – see if there’s one that doesn’t fit too tightly.’

‘You’re all right, Roz? Sure you’re not too tired to go?’

‘Sure. And Sprog is ravenous. I’m all right, Kath. Only a bit of backache and the baby book said I might have that.’

‘Mm.’ Kath had great faith in the baby book. ‘Why don’t you put your feet up till I’m finished – have a rest?’

Roz smiled. Fuss, fuss, fuss. But Sprog was important to Kath, too. And Kath would always be around, now. That divorce was just about the best thing that could happen, she thought, with never a scrap of remorse.

The pain came again, stabbing, as she began to undress and she cried out in surprise. A vicious pain, starting in the small of her back, grinding through to her abdomen.

‘Kath?’ she called over the noise of the running taps. ‘I – I think something’s the matter. When I threw up that second sheaf, I felt one then.’

‘Felt what? Where?’ Kath came at once, a strange crawling under her skin. ‘And what’s this?’ She picked up a piece of discarded underwear from the floor. ‘Roz – didn’t you know? When did this start? Didn’t you feel it?’ There was no mistaking it. Roz had started to bleed.

‘Oh, no! I didn’t realize, Kath – I didn’t!’

‘That pain – what was it like?’

‘It came suddenly. I thought – in the field – that it was because I’d overreached myself, sort of. But it happened again, just now; ended with a sort of grind.’

‘What do you mean – grind?’ Fear sharpened Kath’s voice.

‘Achy. Like just before the curse starts.’

‘Like a period pain?’

‘Yes, it was. But don’t fuss, Kath?’ She was afraid, now. ‘Maybe I did it when I threw the sheaf up.’

‘And maybe you didn’t! Look – get into bed, and stay there. Don’t get up. Just try to be calm. It’s maybe nothing at all, but I’m going to ring the doctor. Won’t be a minute,’ she called as she clattered down the stairs.

‘Please, please,’ she pleaded silently as she stood, fingers drumming on the dresser top. ‘I’ll never, ever, ask you for anything again if you let it be all right, God. Don’t let anything be happening to the baby? And God – why doesn’t he answer the phone?’

The doctor inclined his head in the direction of the bedroom door and Kath followed him out, and downstairs.

‘Do you have a car, here?’

‘Afraid we don’t. Nor at Home Farm – only tractors.’

‘Pity. I want her admitted right away, and I’ve just sent the Helpsley ambulance to York with an accident case.’

‘She isn’t going to lose the baby?’ Sudden fear slapped hard at the pit of Kath’s stomach.

‘Not if I can help it, but I want her in hospital – now. Pack her a few things, will you? I’ll take her in myself.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Why was she shaking so? And why, when she had had just about as much as she could take, was this happening to Roz? ‘Shall I come with you?’

‘No, thanks. There’d be no point. Just get her things into a case, will you, then ring the surgery if you don’t mind; tell them where I am.’

He carried Roz carefully down the stairs. Her eyes were wide with fear; her face paper white.

Kath held open the car door. ‘Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.’ She smiled, tucking a blanket around her knees.

‘What about Grace?’ Roz whispered. ‘What will you tell her tonight?’ Her eyes met those of the young doctor. ‘No one knows, you see, about the baby …’

‘Stop your worrying. I’ll think of something – your appendix –’ Kath looked at the doctor, her eyes asking help. He gave a small smile and nodded and she knew that Roz’s secret was safe – for a little while longer.

Briefly she kissed her cheek then watched the small black car as it bumped across the cobbles and out through the yard gates, then burying her face in her hands she let go a long, shuddering sigh. The ill-luck of the Fairchilds, again. Not even a tiny unborn baby was safe from it.

She walked slowly upstairs. She didn’t want a bath, now, but she had run it and it was unpatriotic to waste water – especially hot water. And, she thought, as she eased herself into the comforting warmth of it, she was only doing this to kill time. The truth of it was that she didn’t want to go to Home Farm and lie to Mat and Grace. They were good, dear people and they didn’t deserve untruths.

But Jonty would understand. When she was able to tell Jonty the truth of it, she would feel a lot better. That was something to be thankful for at least, because right now, speeding to hospital, Roz would be feeling anything but that.

She made a lather of soap and rubbed it on her arms, wincing as the hot water set the pricks and scratches tingling.

Oh, damn the barley horns and damn the war and damn everything!

‘Ward four,’ Kath murmured. ‘That’s what they told me when I rang.’

‘And nothing else?’ Jonty frowned.

‘Do they ever? Not even that she’d had a good night.’

The rosebuds she carried were still moist with dew. She had picked them early, before she did the milk-round, so that Roz could be reminded of Ridings – and perhaps cheered up a little.

‘When do you think she’ll be out?’ Their footsteps echoed loudly in the long, bare corridor, their eyes searching doors for the ward number.

‘Haven’t a clue, Jonty. They’ll keep her here till they’re sure the baby is safe. I miss her. I think even the house misses her.’ It was a relief to be able to talk openly to Jonty; not to have to watch every word she said. ‘I feel bad about not telling Grace – well, telling her a lie,’ she murmured, ‘but I suppose it can’t be helped. Polly looked at me a bit old-fashioned last night, and she was at the house early this morning, wanting to know what had really happened. She knows about the baby, you see. She guessed …’

‘And Mother will know, soon enough.’ Jonty knew how she worried and what she didn’t know, he considered, she couldn’t fret over. ‘Maybe, whilst Roz is here, they’ll give her those blood tests she ought to have. Will you talk to her about it, Kath? She’ll listen to you …’

‘About the haemophilia, you mean?’

‘It’s best she should face up to it. Poor little Roz. There are times, Kath, when you could almost believe it – the bad luck of the Fairchilds, I mean.’ He stopped, pointing to an arrow, painted on the wall. ‘That’s it. Ward four. Fingers crossed, Kath?’

Fingers crossed, she echoed silently, that Roz was all right and the baby, too. Her pulse quickened as she pushed open the wide, double doors.

‘It’s Rosalind Fairchild you’ve come to see?’ asked the nurse they met as they walked hesitantly inside. ‘I wonder if you’d mind seeing Sister, first?’

Kath knew, then, without being told; knew before the Sister rose to her feet, hand extended in greeting, that something was very wrong.

‘Are you family?’ The Sister was pretty and dark and looked too young for such responsibility. ‘By rights, Rosalind shouldn’t be here at all. We are right next to the maternity ward and she can hear babies crying, you see. But I’ve put her in the little room at the top of the ward where I can keep an eye on her, though it isn’t always possible – well, we’re so short-staffed, with half the nurses away to the war. She would do better at home if there was someone to look after her.’

‘We’ll take care of her,’ Kath said quickly. ‘She hasn’t any family of her own, but we’re both very near to her. She and I live together – more like sisters, really. She’ll be all right with me.’

‘And there’s my mother, and Miss Appleby, her guardian,’ Jonty urged. ‘But how is Roz?’

‘You don’t know, then? I’m so sorry. She went into premature labour in the night. She lost the baby …’

‘No!’ Tears rose to Kath’s eyes. ‘She wanted that baby!’

‘I know she did. But for all that, she seemed to take it calmly. Dr Stewart came, not long after. He sat with her – told her about it, but it was as if she didn’t want to know. He was most concerned.’

‘He’s concerned,’ Kath breathed. ‘Then just how’s this for bad luck, Sister? Roz lost her grandmother not long ago – the gran who brought her up. Remember the lady who was killed in June by a fighter? Then that same week her boyfriend was killed, just a few days before they were going to be married and she’s seemed to have been in a kind of limbo ever since. It went deep – you’ve only got to look at her eyes to know that. And now she’s lost the baby, too, and he’s concerned. Well, so am I, Sister. It terrifies me, just to think of it.’

‘It isn’t like her.’ Jonty frowned. ‘She’s usually so – so volatile – such a fire-cracker. I don’t understand it.’

‘Well I do,’ Kath whispered, though for the life of her she couldn’t put it into words. For weeks now, Roz had been on the outside, looking in. She had forsaken Roz Fairchild; stepped out of her body to stand there, watching the grief of some other young girl.

‘You’d better go in, I think. One at a time,’ the Sister said.

‘You first, Jonty?’ Kath choked. ‘Give me time to pull myself together.’

‘All right.’ Jonty rose to his feet. ‘Best it should be me, I suppose.’

‘Fine, then. I’ll take you to her. And ask about the baby, will you? Try to get her to talk about it.’

Dabbing her eyes, Kath watched them go. Jonty was taking the rough of it again; but hadn’t he promised always to be there when Roz needed him? And didn’t she need him, now?

Jonty took a deep breath as the Sister opened the door of the little side ward. Oh, my poor little love, I’d do anything to make things come right for you, but all I can do is offer a shoulder to cry on.

The room was very small and bare, with cream-painted walls and blackout curtains hanging at the high, narrow window.

Roz lay there, against a pile of pillows, her hands unmoving at either side of her. She looked small and afraid and alone.

‘Roz? How are you, love?’

‘Fine. Just fine.’

He was standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark with pain. He ran his fingers through his hair and said, ‘Good. Kath’s come, too. And Mum sent her love, and Polly –’

‘Polly? She knows about the baby.’

‘Yes. Kath told her – later – how it really was.’

‘Mm. I’m sorry about your mother, Jonty.’

‘Don’t be. She need never know now.’

‘Oh, Jonty. All that fuss; all the lies we told and it doesn’t matter, now. Because there isn’t a baby – not any more.’

Paul’s child, gone. Paul’s precious son had slipped away from her in a haze of pain and protest.

‘Ssssh, Roz. You don’t have to talk about it; not if you don’t want to.’

‘No. I don’t want to. But he was such a little thing. It was a boy; Dr Stewart told me.’

Her face was a mask of grief and she turned her head from side to side on the pillow, her hair bright against the whiteness. ‘What did I do that was so wicked?’

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her to him, holding her, rocking her. He felt her body begin to tremble, then the cry came: a harsh, animal cry of pain and anguish. It echoed round the bare little room, the most heart-tearing sound he had ever heard.

‘Ssssh, now. It’ll be all right; it will. Just cry, sweetheart. Cry for Paul and for the baby. Don’t hold back.’

The tears came in deep, jerking sobs as she cried out for her dead lover and her stillborn child. In Jonty’s arms she wept away the bitterness of pain and grief while he hushed her and stroked her hair, holding her tightly, until it was over.

‘I haven’t got a handkerchief.’ She looked up at him through swollen eyelids.

‘Here.’ He gave her his own and she dried her eyes then blew her nose noisily.

‘Can I have a drink, please?’

‘Sure, love.’ He poured water from the jug at her bedside, holding the glass to her lips. ‘That better?’

‘Yes, thanks. Sorry about all the noise …’ She closed her eyes and lay back against the pillows, exhausted. ‘And thanks for being there. I wanted to cry. I waited till you came …’

‘Any time at all.’ Why did he love her so? And why would he love her, God help him, to the end of his days? ‘Want to talk to Kath, now?’

She nodded, and taking his hand in hers, she laid it to her cheek.

‘You’re an old love, Jonty Ramsden. Come again to see me, if you aren’t too busy?’

‘I’ll come.’ He smoothed back the hair that lay across her face with gentle fingers. ‘Soon as I can.’

‘They’ve gone,’ Roz whispered as Kath bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Paul and the baby – I’ve lost them both. And he was such a little scrap. I asked Dr Stewart about it and he told me. A boy, he said. So tiny he could have lain on the palm of my hand. But perfect. Nobody’s fault, he said. Just bad luck. Oh, Kath, that poor little thing …’

‘Hush, love. The baby’s all right. He’ll be with Paul, now. Paul will take care of him.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled fleetingly. ‘Of course he will. And d’you know what else the doctor said? I’d be all right, next time. Next time – imagine? He doesn’t know there can’t be a next time.’

‘Sister said you can maybe come home in a couple of days – if you behave yourself and do as you’re told.’ Kath reached for her hand and held it tightly, tears trembling on her voice. ‘I told them I was like your sister, you see, that we live together and there’d be plenty of people to look after you.’

‘Well, you are my sister, Kath. And I do so want to come home. I – I finally had a good weep. All over Jonty’s clean shirt …’

‘I can tell. Your eyes are all puffy and your nose is red. Weep some more, if you want to. It’s what you’ve been needing.’ Kath sniffed inelegantly. ‘I’ve brought you some roses – the pink ones you like, from the ruins. Sister’s having them put in water for you. And Roz – I miss you something awful.’

‘I miss you, too. And Ridings and, oh, everybody.’

‘That’s my girl.’ Kath smiled weepily. ‘Polly’s coming to see you tonight – early, so she can get the last train back. Is there anything she can bring for you; anything you want?’

‘Nothing, thanks.’ Only Paul, and Paul’s child and to be able to turn back time to a June evening. Paul kissing her goodnight; Paul saying Fifty years from now, I’ll still love you. ‘Nothing at all, Kath. I’m fine. Just fine.’