Chapter Two

“Am I too late?” Penny Blake rushed into Betty’s front room, her brown hair flying in all directions in her haste to take her seat before Shirley could start.

Ever since Shirley had received the first letter from her prisoner-of-war husband before last Christmas, a semi-tradition had sprung up. Whenever she received a letter, first she’d read it in private and then, if she felt up to it, share it with her friends. This one was a postcard, so by necessity, short:

My Dearest Shirley. Another day has gone by and another day where this war keeps me from you. I miss you more than I can say and can only while away the time until I’m back with you and my family. Perhaps we’ll be blessed with our own family then? This thought, above all else, keeps me going. Write soon. Ted. X.

When the postcard had come, they’d all given her space and time to read it. However, the few words from her husband had affected their friend more deeply than most others. Normally she’d manage a smile, no matter the lack of real news in them.

Betty, a little more world weary than the rest of her friends, barring perhaps Doris, who’d lost her husband in the Spanish Civil War, picked up on this quickly. Getting to her feet, she kissed Shirley on the cheek. “Cup of tea’s what you need.”

Doris jumped to her feet and grabbed Betty’s hand before she could disappear to the kitchen. “You stay put. I think Shirley needs your wisdom more than your tea.”

Mary pulled a face, earning herself a dig in the ribs from Penny’s elbow. “Still on a quest to make a decent cuppa, Doris?”

“I live in hope!” Doris shot back with a grin.

“You know she’ll never be happy until she finds some American coffee again,” Penny said out loud.

Doris yelled from the kitchen over the sound of the boiling kettle, “Too true!”

Betty had taken a seat on the sofa next to where Shirley still sat, not having moved a muscle since reading the postcard. She was gripping it so tightly Betty thought it might rip in half. Gently, she eased her friend’s fingers from their vise-like grip until she was able to take the card and place it gently onto Shirley’s lap. She took one of her hands into hers, finding it cold and clammy. Looking at her friend’s face, the smile she usually wore after hearing from her husband was noticeable by its absence.

Recalling the words she’d read out loud, Betty thought she knew what was troubling her friend. “You haven’t told him about the baby, or about his parents’ treatment of you, have you?”

Sadly, Shirley shook her head. Betty could see unshed tears in the corners of her eyes and passed her a handkerchief.

“How can I, Betty?” she told her in a voice barely above a whisper. Across from them, Mary and Penny were being as quiet as they could, their faces masks of concern. “How can I tell him I’ve lost our baby, and his parents threw me out of their house?”

Penny and Mary looked up into the eyes of their landlady, knowing nothing anyone could say or do could ease Shirley’s troubles. Not only was there a limited amount of space on a POW postcard or the two pages of writing paper you were allowed to send to them, but you were severely limited in what you could put down. Naturally, you couldn’t put any military details down. Even though they weren’t military, Shirley couldn’t tell her husband she was a mechanic in the ATA. Everyone knew the enemy read the correspondence, so this had the effect of discouraging one from putting down anything too personal. She couldn’t even send him a photo of herself, as you weren’t allowed to put anything into the letters. Ruth had explained all this to them when Shirley had found out her husband was a POW and not dead, as she’d thought late last year. It hadn’t seemed important then, but after months of writing and being written to, some of the happiness at knowing she wasn’t a widow after all had gone away. However, this was the lowest she’d seen their young friend, and knowing there being nothing she could do to directly help wasn’t easy to stomach.

“Here we go!” announced Doris, as she toed the door wide enough so she could carry a tray of tea and biscuits into the room. “Let’s see if I’ve made a decent brew,” she added. “Maybe one I could stomach.”

Somewhat warily everyone—except Shirley, who had her eyes closed, still with her head on Betty’s shoulder—gathered around the tray. Ever since she’d been in Britain, Doris hadn’t stopped complaining about the tea. She’d made it quite clear she was a devoted coffee drinker and, in her opinion, the national beverage of choice, tea, wasn’t to her liking. At virtually every opportunity she followed up her first sip with the sentence, “Still not as good as coffee,” or something similar. Camp coffee had been declared best for painting roads! And lately, she had taken to experimenting, trying to brew a cup she could compare to how she took her coffee—strong. However, this wasn’t going down too well with Betty, who worried her spoons were going to melt!

A few seconds later, Doris piped up with the usual refrain, “Still not as good as coffee,” whilst everyone else grinned and bore it as they did their best to force down the hot drink, all unwilling to waste it. The only one not to pull a face was Shirley, who showed no reaction as she slowly drank hers after having a cup forced into her hands by Betty.

After she’d finished, Betty nodded at Penny and Mary, who got to their feet. “Girls, take Shirley upstairs and put her in my room. Shirley,” she addressed the girl who did her best to focus upon what was being said to her, “go upstairs, rest. I’ll get Doris to pop around Ruth’s and tell her you’ll be staying here tonight.”

****

The three had disappeared into Betty’s bedroom when there came a knock on the door. Doris answered, and a minute later a grim-faced, slightly pale Ruth was sitting at the kitchen table. After not saying a word for a few minutes, Ruth swallowed a couple of times and reached into her cardigan pocket. Slowly, almost as if each inch cost her physical pain, she pushed a crumpled piece of paper across the table toward Doris.

“Look, but don’t read it, though!”

With an arch of an eyebrow, Doris picked up and smoothed out the paper until she could see the rear of what was a telegram. A foreigner in a foreign land she may have been, but she knew what one of these usually meant. Having no relations which it could allude to, she turned it over, and her eyes couldn’t help but alight on the name typed there. Her other eyebrow shot up to join the first.

“Alsop? That’s Penny’s boyfriend’s last name. Where did this come from?” She pushed it away.

Ruth nudged it with a finger.

“How come this came to you?” Doris asked.

Ruth turned it back over and rested her finger on the address. “Looks like someone down the post office got our addresses mixed up. Think they may have someone new behind the counter.”

Doris shook her head, pursing her lips. “Not something anyone should get wrong. I’ll pop in tomorrow and have a quiet word.”

“A quiet word, about what?”

Unnoticed by either of them, Mary and Penny had entered the kitchen, Betty bringing up the rear. “Hello, Ruth,” she said, taking a chair next to her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning her head sideways to read the telegram.

Behind her, Penny gasped as Betty had turned the piece of paper a little and she’d read the name. “Tom!” she gasped out, before her legs started to buckle, Mary only just catching her in time.

“Give us a hand,” she puffed as she struggled to hold a panting Penny upright.

Ruth and Doris pushed their chairs back and helped Mary lower Penny into a seat. Betty put a glass of water in front of her and held Penny’s hair out of the way whilst she helped her to drink some, not letting her ease up until the glass was empty.

“Okay?” Betty asked, and eventually Penny nodded her head, reaching forward to take the telegram between her fingers. As she read, her face first lost more color, then as she finished, a little came back. She looked around at her friends. “Where did this come from?”

“They delivered to my place by mistake,” Ruth explained.

“Did you read it?”

“Only the address,” Ruth explained. “Mrs. Alsop?”

Everyone else sported matching eyebrows at hearing these words, as the blood returned rapidly to Penny’s cheeks.

Betty asked the question on everyone’s lips, “Something you have to tell us, Penny?”

Penny looked around the room at her friends, all of whose eyes were upon her. Instead of speaking, she raised her hands to her neck and pulled out a silver chain, upon which hung a gold ring. Multiple sharp intakes of breath were the accompaniment to her placing this combination upon the table. Not a soul touched the ring, though all eyes were upon it. You could have heard a pin drop.

“What’s going on?”

The silence was broken by Shirley’s voice. No one had noticed her coming into the room.

Recovering her voice, Betty got to her feet in case the younger girl needed help, but she was waved away, and Shirley took the last seat, next to Penny.

“I thought I said you should go and rest,” Betty admonished her.

Shirley gave her older friend an odd smile. “I’m okay, Betty. I’ve thought about it, and I shouldn’t be wasting time on things I can’t do anything about. I know it’s easier said than done, but”—she shrugged her shoulders—“I don’t see what else I can do. Or try to do.”

Not wanting to give anyone the chance to comment, Shirley reached out to take up the telegram from Penny’s unprotesting fingers. “So, who’s this Mrs. Alsop?”

Penny held up the ring on the chain. “Take a guess.”

“Congratulations,” Shirley automatically said and then, when what Penny had said registered, “I beg your pardon!”

Everyone’s faces were once again turned toward Penny.

“I’m Mrs. Thomas Alsop.”

“When the hell did this happen?” asked Doris.

“Why did this happen?” enquired Betty.

“Why wasn’t I a bridesmaid?” demanded Mary finally, which broke the ice a little.

Penny took a deep breath. “Around Easter time. I’m not pregnant, Betty, and nobody was invited, Mary. Sorry.”

“I suppose we can wait a while for a better answer,” decided Ruth, nodding her head toward the telegram Shirley had placed back on the table. “Care to tell us why this came and who it’s about?”

Penny took up the telegram once again, held it briefly before putting it back down. “Tom only has—had one brother. His parents are long gone, so before I came along they were on their own. When we got married, Tom convinced me to be the contact if anything happened to either of them. When I saw this, I thought…I thought…” She was unable to continue until she’d taken a swallow from the glass of water Shirley had brought down with her. “I thought my Tom was gone. Instead, I’ve now got to tell my husband his little brother Sam is dead.”