‘MOON.’ DUNCAN BOWMAN stood at the door of his hut, hands on hips, cap shoved back. ‘I’ll see you in my office.’
It was after six. All the girls were in the dining shed; Elspeth could hear the clatter of dishes and the waves of chatter and laughter and longed to join them. She was hungry.
She was always late for meals. She had to feed and water her horse before she fed herself. She had rinsed her hands in the water trough and was drying them by wiping them on her dungarees as she walked. The ground, once a quagmire, was baked hard. It hadn’t rained for weeks.
‘Won’t take a minute,’ Duncan said. He noticed her long sad glance towards the dining hut.
‘It’s lovely and cool in here,’ she said. Her skin stung from a day in the sun. She sat on the dubiously shaky wooden chair across from his desk.
‘You’re doing fine with the horse,’ said Duncan.
She nodded, a little disappointed to find he was pleased with her. Her hopes of getting sacked were fading.
‘So,’ Duncan went on, ‘I’m going to increase your quota. Sixty logs.’
‘A day?’ said Elspeth. ‘I have to take sixty logs a day to be loaded on the lorry?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘That means I have to run back and forwards one hundred and twenty times a day.’
‘You’re young and fit. There are quotas to meet and there’s a war on. Though, from the way you young lasses behave, nobody would know it.’
She said nothing. Shifted in her seat, a little guilty at this remark.
‘There’s goings-on in the woods.’
‘Well,’ said Elspeth. ‘People have to amuse themselves somehow. There’s not a lot to do out here.’
‘And there’s miles and miles of forest to get up to what you’re calling not a lot to do.’
Elspeth sniffed and studied her fingers.
‘It needs to stop. I’m not having any of you girls getting in the family way. I’d need to send them home and there might be no replacements. I’m putting you in charge of that.’
‘In charge of stopping girls getting pregnant? You want me to give contraceptive advice?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Do I get a whistle?’ asked Elspeth. ‘I can walk about blasting at people I see getting into mischief.’
He ignored this. ‘You need you arrange some entertainment. Play your accordion. Do something to stop people wandering off and . . . you know . . . getting up to things they shouldn’t be getting up to.’ He waved her away. ‘That’s it. New quota and arrange something to take people’s minds off –’ he searched for a word ‘– things.’
She rose, said she’d see what she could do.
As she was leaving, he said, ‘Oh, and I’ve got something for you.’ He opened a drawer in his desk, peered inside.
Please don’t let it be a whistle, Elspeth prayed.
Duncan brought out an envelope and an orange, slapped them on the desk. ‘There. A letter for you. And that, it’s an orange.’
Elspeth, never one to hide her feelings, swooned. ‘An orange. An actual orange. I haven’t had one for years. Where did you get it?’
‘I get things from time to time.’
‘But an orange,’ said Elspeth. ‘They’re awfully good for you. Are you sure you don’t want it for yourself?’
‘Can’t be doing with fruit,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s not proper food.’ He waved her out, a long sweep of his arm, gesturing towards the door. ‘Away you go and have your tea. And remember, sixty logs tomorrow.’
Elspeth slid into her seat beside Lorna at the table. ‘Guess what.’
‘What?’ said Lorna.
Elspeth started to eat her Spam, potatoes and carrots. ‘I’m starved.’
‘Just as well, or you wouldn’t eat this stuff,’ said Lorna.
‘Actually, I’m getting a taste for Spam. I quite like it.’
Lorna said, ‘Good. Now, what am I to guess?’
Elspeth turned to her, eyes agleam. ‘Guess what Duncan Bowman gave me. You never will.’
‘A kick in the bum,’ said Lorna.
‘No.’ Elspeth shook her head, looked solemn. She took a slice of bread, folded it over, put a slice of Spam in the middle and bit into the sandwich, eyes shut. ‘So starved.’
‘A puppy,’ said Lorna.
Elspeth shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘An engagement ring, a kiss, a bottle of gin, a bunch of red roses, a whistle, a quick look at his . . .’
‘Stop,’ said Elspeth. ‘You’re getting rude.’ She leaned over, whispered in Lorna’s ear. ‘An orange.’
‘Really, a real one?’
Elspeth nodded, a furiously eager bobbing of her head. ‘An actual orange.’ She gripped Lorna’s arm. ‘We’ll sneak away and eat it after supper.’
Tricia, sitting across from them, suspicious at their fervent whispering, asked what was going on.
‘Nothing.’ Elspeth’s voice went up an octave. She never could tell a lie.
‘It’s Duncan,’ said Lorna. ‘He’s given Elspeth –’ She stopped, leaned down to rub her ankle where Elspeth had just kicked it.
‘He’s given me a new quota,’ said Elspeth. ‘And he wants me to organise a concert or some sort of entertainment.’
‘Why?’ said Tricia.
‘To stop you all slipping into the woods and having hanky-panky.’
The girls round the table, who’d been listening, gave a loud whoop. ‘Oooh, hanky-panky.’
Elspeth put a firm palm on the table. ‘It has got to stop. We’ll have a concert to take your mind off it.’
Somebody said she’d rather slip into the woods for a bit of slap and tickle than go to a boring concert.
Elspeth protested, ‘It won’t be boring. It will be a merry evening of music, songs, jokes and skits. Can anybody do anything?’
Lorna said she could flare her nostrils, and gave a demonstration. Elspeth shook her head. ‘I don’t think people at the back will see that. Or people at the front, actually.’
Tricia said she could play the William Tell overture on her head. Her boast was met by calls to prove it, and she did. She tapped on the top of her skull, and by moving her jaw, opening and closing her mouth, she made a wide-ranging variety of notes. ‘Took me ages to learn a tune,’ she said. ‘Got a real headache at times.’
Girls round the table drummed on their heads while opening and shutting their mouths.
‘How did you discover you could do that?’ Elspeth asked.
‘Holidays at the seaside. We rented a caravan and it always rained. We’d be stuck inside with nothing to do. It was really boring. My sister could play “Land of Hope and Glory”. She’s dead now. A bomb fell on her house.’
The tune-makers stopped, everyone sighed.
Lorna said she was sick of this war. Everybody she knew had a relative or friend who’d died. ‘Too many people are dying. Just think, right now somebody is dying.’
Communal gloom – everyone round the table, except Elspeth, had lost somebody. Thinking about brothers, lovers, fathers, cousins and friends was kept for private moments in bed with the blankets pulled over their heads when nobody would see them cry.
Elspeth’s black moments came when she thought that probably some of her old friends had died, but she didn’t know for sure, she’d lost touch with them all. Her blackest moment was when she realised she had nobody to lose. Everybody she had ever loved was gone from her. Except Izzy, of course. Fingers crossed for Izzy.
She took Lorna’s arm. ‘C’mon, let’s go for a walk before we get all maudlin.’
They strolled up to the stables, then took the steep path that led down to the spot where Elspeth and Tyler had picnicked. The ring of stones where he had built the fire was still there. And the grass was flattened slightly in the place beneath the trees where they had lain many times since, making love.
Lorna looked round. ‘Lovely spot. How did you find it?’
‘Tyler,’ said Elspeth.
It was still warm. The river widened here, gathered into a pool that was glassily still. Nothing moved.
‘Is this where you and him get together?’
Elspeth nodded.
‘You’ll have to be careful. You don’t want to get in the family way.’
‘I won’t,’ said Elspeth. ‘I take precautions.’
‘You do? Golly.’ Lorna thought Elspeth the most sophisticated person she’d ever met.
‘I have a cap. Don’t you?’
Lorna shook her head. ‘No. How would I get one? I’m not married.’
‘I just went to the doctor and told him I was going to get married and didn’t want a baby yet. Of course that was some time ago. Before I came here. Long, long before I came here.’ She’d only brought it with her because she thought her cottage might be requisitioned (it would be empty, after all), then some stranger might find it. A Dutch cap was not the sort of thing a single woman was meant to own.
‘I just don’t let Freddie go all the way. I don’t want to get pregnant. Sent home in disgrace. God, my mother’s face if I had to tell her I was expecting.’ Lorna put her hand to her mouth, imagining the horror of her mother’s expression. ‘She’d go off her head. She’d fold her arms and glare at me and tell me I’d let her down. That’s how she brought us up, by feeding us boiled cabbage and potatoes and glaring at us if we were bad. Actually, that’s why I like it here. I’m miles and miles away from my mother. And the war, and everything.’
‘I like the smell,’ said Elspeth. ‘And Harry the horse. And the companionship.’ But other than that, she felt stuck. Far away beyond this forest, all sorts of things were going on, and she was missing it. She sank her hands into her pockets, felt the letter Duncan Bowman had given her. She’d read it tonight.
She brought out the orange. She held in her cupped hands, breathed in its scent, handed it to Lorna. ‘Smell that.’
Lorna took it, turned it over and over. ‘It’s perfect. Not all old and wrinkled and dried up.’ She held it to her nose. ‘Orangey. I’d forgotten that smell.’
Elspeth slowly peeled it, split it in two and gave half to Lorna. They ate in silence, wiping with relish the stray streams of sticky juice that ran down their chins. It was a moment too precious for talk. They tenderly took segments to suck, eyes shut, as they drifted through memories of oranges past. Christmas oranges stuck in the toe of the stocking at the foot of the bed, a bowl of oranges on the dresser in the best room, an orange hurriedly eaten in the school playground, sticky hands wiped on gymslipped bum as the bell rang.
‘This is the best orange I’ve ever had,’ said Lorna. She stroked her lips with the back of her hand. ‘I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.’
‘Me, too.’ Elspeth got up, walked to the bank to rinse her fingers in the river. Squatting, hands wrist deep in the water, she was tempted to jump in. It was that time of year when, this far north, twilight lingers late. It never quite got dark. The air was soft, still warm and there wasn’t a ripple of a breeze. ‘Oh, to hell with it, I’m going in.’
Quickly, before the impulse gave way to common sense, she pulled off her clothes, tossed them into a heap beside her. Then, she sat on the bank and eased herself into the river. Shrieking, gasping as the sudden chill hit her chest, she waded into the deep holding her arms aloft. ‘Bloody hell, it’s freezing.’
When she was finally out of her depth, she took off swimming. Head held above the surface, she moved out to the middle of the pool, turned and called on Lorna to join her. ‘It’s lovely.’
Lorna was shocked. ‘I can’t come in. I haven’t got a swimming costume.’
‘Neither have I,’ shouted Elspeth.
Their voices, shrill in the quiet of the forest, ricocheted round the small clearing, rose up, seemed to bounce off the trees and sounded a lot louder than they actually were.
‘I know!’ Lorna shouted back. ‘You’re naked.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with naked,’ said Elspeth. ‘Skinny-dipping in the evening in a cool clear pool is a splendid thing to do.’ She could see Lorna was tempted.
‘I can’t get naked,’ said Lorna. ‘Nobody’s ever seen me without my clothes.’
‘What? Nobody?’ Elspeth laughed.
‘Nobody,’ said Lorna.
‘You’ve got nothing I haven’t got. Come on.’
The river was clear, tinged peaty brown. Looking down, Elspeth could see her legs treading water, small sparks and bubbles rising round them, green moss-covered rocks. She swam to the far side and beckoned Lorna to take the plunge. ‘Scaredy cat. I dare you.’
Lorna never could resist a challenge. Besides, Elspeth looked serene and really rather beautiful swimming back and forth. What fun, Lorna thought. She took off her clothes slowly, folding each thing, leaving them in a polite pile. She kept her knickers on. She was a good girl, after all. She minced to the bank, tiny steps, arms crossed over her breasts. She was shy.
At the water’s edge, she paused, wondering how best to get into the water. The gentle slide in from the bank, or the abandoned leap into centre stream? The leap won. She launched herself, screaming, from the bank, sending a deluge of water into the air as she landed. The screaming resumed once she surfaced. ‘It’s freezing.’
Elspeth swam round her. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
Lorna gasped, sucked in air, flailed about and asked if there would be any fish about.
‘Not since you arrived,’ said Elspeth. ‘They’ll have scarpered, thinking a whale’s come to get them.’
They moved in circles round one another, from time to time one would skim the surface with her arm sending a shower sparkling over the other. They lay on their backs, kicking up a cascade with their feet. Elspeth dived, sped along the bottom of the river, watching waving plants. She pushed her way back up, burst through the surface, heaving air into her lungs and shoved her hair out of her eyes. She looked round at the thickly treed slopes and saw a movement among the branches about halfway up.
‘Sometimes, when I come here, I get the feeling someone’s watching,’ she said.
Lorna looked round. ‘There’s nobody.’ Then, she called out, ‘Hello, hello, is there anybody there? Are you spying on us?’ Her yell went ringing up through the trees. ‘Nope, nobody there.’
Elspeth thought it time to go. ‘Best get back before it gets dark.’
They headed for the bank.
‘You know what we haven’t got?’ asked Elspeth.
‘No.’
‘A towel.’
They dried themselves roughly with their dungarees. Dressed, wriggling damp bodies into damp clothes, and headed back to the hut.
Elspeth took her toilet bag across to the ablutions hut. She brushed her teeth, noting that her tin of Gibb’s toothpaste was running out, washed her face, then carefully rubbed Pond’s cream onto her cheeks. She changed into her pyjamas – men’s striped pyjamas, they were warm – and walked back over the duckboards.
She hung a tilley lamp beside her bed and turned the letter Duncan had given her over in her hands. It seemed to be from Avril, but the writing on the envelope wasn’t hers. She opened it.
My dear Elspeth,
I hope you don’t mind my calling you by your first name when we haven’t met. But Avril spoke of you so often, I feel I know you.
I’m afraid I have very bad news. Avril, my lovely daughter, died last week. We buried her yesterday. As you probably know, she had TB and was very ill by the time we lost her. There was hardly anything of her when she finally went. She was so pale and thin, it broke my heart to see her.
We visited her most days at the sanatorium, but, of course, we were not allowed near her. She was on one side of a glass screen, my husband and myself on the other. It is a cruel life, I sometimes think. I would so have loved to hold Avril in my arms before she died. How dreadful it is not to be able to comfort the sick. Especially when the one who is sick is someone you love.
Anyway, I won’t detain you any longer, dear Elspeth. I just wanted to let you know about Avril. And to tell you how much she liked you and enjoyed your company up there in the wilds. I don’t know why, but she claimed that her days in the forest were the happiest of her life. I often think of you girls working in the forest, doing your bit for the war. I hope that from time to time you will spare a kindly thought for our dear Avril.
Yours sincerely,
Morag Osborne
Elspeth put down the letter. ‘Avril’s dead.’
Cries of, ‘No,’ and ‘She can’t be.’
‘When did she die?’ asked Lorna.
Elspeth told her last week. ‘Her mother wrote this letter the day after the funeral.’
Lorna took the letter, read it and handed it to Tricia, who, in turn, handed it to Dorothy. Slowly it was passed round till everyone had seen it.
The atmosphere turned black. Minutes before, the girls had been quietly pottering, preparing for bed. Now, they stared at one another in gloomy disbelief.
‘Only weeks ago she was running with the logs,’ said someone.
‘She was only nineteen, maybe twenty,’ said Lorna. ‘That’s too young to die. I hate death. Why do people have to die?’
Elspeth didn’t know the answer to that.
Tricia said they should have a memorial service. ‘Tomorrow morning, before we go to work. Someone should say a few words about Avril and we’ll sing a song.’
‘Duncan Bowman wouldn’t like that,’ said Lorna.
‘To hell with him,’ said Elspeth.
‘He might dock our pay.’ Lorna worried about this.
‘If he does,’ said Elspeth, ‘we’ll go on strike.’
‘Yes.’ A ripple of rebellion shifted round the room. ‘Strike.’
‘We have a right to mourn one of our fellow lumberjills.’
In the end, though, their dreams of rebellion came to nothing.
After breakfast, the girls had ignored the call to climb on the trailer that would take them into the forest. They gathered in a circle and listened as Elspeth spoke of Avril. ‘A good and true friend. An honour to have known her . . .’
They nudged one another, watching in quiet amazement as Duncan joined them. They sneaked shy peaks at him as he took off his cap. How odd he looked without it, they thought.
‘Let’s have a minute’s silence,’ Elspeth said. ‘We’ll have a quiet word with God, as we remember her.’ She wasn’t sure about God. She wasn’t sure about praying. But she thought the other girls might want a moment’s communion, and a chance to convey good thoughts about their old friend to whomever might be up there would be comforting. They sang a thin wavering rendition of ‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’. Only Elspeth knew all the words. After that she bowed her head and said, ‘Thank you for bringing Avril into our lives. She was a wonderful lead girl, may her whistle never be silent. May she forever be at peace. Amen.’
The girls gathered their axes and trudged down the track to the trailer, Elspeth behind them. Duncan caught her arm. The cap was back in place.
‘That was a grand thing to do,’ he said. ‘A bit of a service for the dead, helps us all.’ He smiled.
It was the same stiff upwards movement of the lips he’d given her when he’d turned up to stop the party – a begrudging shifting of rarely used muscles. Elspeth’s stomach turned over. She had a niggling notion that this man’s approval was not something she wanted.
But she smiled back, picked up her axe and joined Lorna on the back of the trailer.
‘I’m a terrible person,’ said Lorna. ‘I didn’t think about Avril at all when we had that silence. I didn’t pray or anything. All I thought was how funny Duncan Bowman looked without his cap. Sort of naked and vulnerable. I wondered if he kept it on in bed.’
‘Me, too,’ said Elspeth.
She vowed that the state of Duncan’s head at night, cap on or cap off, was something she would never discover.