Peter soon returned from the pigsty with Tilly, the twoof them giggling over some whispered joke, though of course there wasn’t much of an age difference between them, only four or five years.
There was a difference between Grace and Selina, though. And not just one of age. The difference, Caroline decided, lay in her own feelings. She’d trailed after Selina for years during the war, admiring her passionately, copying her behaviour and attitudes even when she disagreed with them, too afraid of losing her friendship to rebel. With Grace, however, they were on more of an equal footing. Caroline was fascinated by her striking looks and quick wit, but not overawed. It felt more real than her passion for Selina had ever done. She had always known, deep down, that Selina would never be hers. Yet there was something about Grace that allowed her to hope … and that realisation both excited and terrified her.
It felt strange to smile at Selina, knowing she was no longer head over heels in love with her. Had she made a fool of herself over nothing but a silly crush? She wished now that she’d kept quiet and never admitted to her feelings. Not that her friend would betray her confidence, now that it was over.
‘I say, cake!’ Peter exclaimed, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table, before glancing warily at Mrs Postbridge. ‘May I?’
‘Help yourself,’ Violet told him, though with more restraint than she usually showed to visiting children.
Caroline guessed that she must still be fretting about the boy’s recent expulsion from school, perhaps considering him a troublemaker, and felt embarrassed for her friend. She’d encouraged Selina in her letter to feel free to bring her nephew on this visit, but now the farmer’s wife was not bothering to hide her disapproval.
Thankfully, Selina seemed oblivious to any atmosphere. She was studying Grace with occasional sidelong glances, while Grace herself looked back at Selina quite openly, as though accustomed to being stared at and not thrown by it.
‘Tomorrow,’ Caroline said awkwardly, ‘I’m going to get up early and show our guests around the farm before work.’ She hesitated. ‘If that’s all right with you, Mr Postbridge?’
‘You’re welcome to do what you like, outside work hours,’ Joe said easily, and threw a few crusts down for the dogs, who came running, wagging their tails. ‘You could show them my new chicken coop,’ he added with a hint of pride, glancing at Selina. ‘I built it meself, and the chickens are very comfortable in there now.’
‘Yes,’ his wife agreed, beaming, ‘and they’re laying heavier now than they ever did before. My mother’s been selling the surplus down in the village shop, which brings in a few welcome extra shillings.’
‘How’s the shop getting along these days?’ Selina asked politely.
Listening with interest to the adults’ conversation, Peter brushed cake crumbs onto the kitchen floor, where the waiting dogs made short work of them too. Abruptly, he asked Joe, ‘Sir? Now the war’s over, how long before the soldiers come home, do you think, and take over the Land Girls’ work again?’
An awkward silence fell in the kitchen, and Peter blushed.
‘That is, I know women can do the job,’ he went on, stammering a little, ‘because Aunt Selly did, and she says it was no big deal. But the thing is, that was during the war, and I would have thought most girls must be ready to jack in the war work by now and get married. And even if theydon’t want to get married, girls hate getting mucky, don’t they? So when the men come back—’
‘Peter, for goodness’ sake,’ Selina began, but Violet interrupted her.
‘No,’ she said sharply, replying for her husband, ‘that’s a fair question, let the boy ask it. The truth is, Peter, we don’t know when the soldiers will be coming home. Soon, I hope. And some are home already. Like young Arthur Green, who married Joan this summer, one of our Land Girls. But one thing’s for sure,’ she added, not looking at the three Land Girls in the room. ‘Women can’t keep working on farms and in factories forever, and I’m sure some of themdowant to settle down and start a family, now the war’s over. And this country needs more children to be born. We lost so many …’ She stopped, choking on the words.
Caroline swallowed, a lump in her own throat too. She didn’t agree with throwing women aside in favour of men now the war was over. But the thought of how many had died during the war – millions upon millions across the globe, a newspaper had claimed recently, almost half a million among them British citizens – left her close to tears. Not only men, but women and children too.
It didn’t bear thinking about. And yet they had to, didn’t they? If they didn’t remember those who’d died, they might go blindly into yet another conflict, forgetting how bloody war was …
‘Funnily enough,’ Joe said slowly, washing his hands at the sink, ‘I was speaking to a young lad in the village only this afternoon, while waiting for Violet to finish her business. He was asking about a job on the farm. Of course, we’re headed into winter now, and likely a cold one at that, andnot much labouring required. So I told him no. But I did say I might take him on early next year, weather depending. And he’s not the first to have asked.’
Caroline caught her breath, not quite able to believe what she’d just heard.
Tilly, too, was staring at the farmer, aghast. ‘I don’t understand … Are you saying you’ll be letting us go next year, Mr Postbridge, and employing men instead?’
‘There’s no simple answer to that. But, as you know, farm labour is hard work, and dirty too, the boy’s not wrong about that.’ Joe frowned, drying his hands. ‘I was thankful to have you ladies here during the war. We couldn’t have got by without you, and that’s the truth of it. But once the men are home …’ He caught his wife’s eye and cleared his throat. ‘Well, I don’t plan on letting anyone go just yet. But I may take on a few lads come the spring. And that’s an end to the matter.’ And with that, he collected his newspaper from the table and limped into the snug, closing the door behind him.
Violet, who had turned away to stack clean plates on the sideboard, gave a long sigh but said nothing.
Shocked, Caroline put a hand to her mouth, her heart thumping.
Grace made a noise under her breath. ‘That’s us told.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Selina asked her softly, a barb in her voice. ‘You worried about having young men about the farm?’
‘I don’t mind young men,’ Grace shot back. ‘What I mind is losing my job and having to go home again. I love my parents and Liverpool, don’t get me wrong, but I’m happy here in Cornwall, doing an honest day’s work like any man, and being free and independent. I don’t want any of that to end.’
‘I’m sure it won’t,’ Caroline told her earnestly, though Joe’s admission had shaken her to the core. She didn’t want to go home either. This was her life now, here at Postbridge Farm, with Tilly and Grace, and fresh country air in her lungs every morning.
‘I wish I could share your optimism.’ Grace pulled a face and got up from the table. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Selina, and you too, Peter. I’ll see you at dinner. Right now, I’m going upstairs to read a magazine and maybe paint my toenails too.’ She quirked an ironic brow. ‘Because that’s what girls do, isn’t it?’
When she’d gone, Selina got up and insisted on helping to clear the table, even though she was a guest. As she bent to collect Caroline’s empty teacup, she whispered in her ear, ‘I must say, I like your new Land Girl. Though she’s no mild-mannered Joan, that’s for certain. Got rather a sharp tongue, hasn’t she?’
