Chapter Five
Wednesday, 10th December, 1919
The sudden change in Nicholas troubled Rose greatly. She had slept fitfully and could think of little else today. She tried to recall every word she had said, questioning herself as to what she had missed. She knew very little about Nicholas, but his sudden sadness was not easy to ignore.Hewas not easy to ignore. His smile and the way a brief touch of his arm sent an exciting shiver through her, was not easy to ignore.
She noticed his silhouette standing at her shop window, shielding his eyes with his hand pressed against the glass. She rushed over to open the door.
‘I thought you had gone,’ he said stepping inside and out of the rain. He shook the drops off his cap. ‘Why were you standing so still?’
Rose tried to conceal her delight that he had come back and had not forgotten it was Wednesday and half day closing.
‘I was just daydreaming.’
He winked boyishly at her. ‘About me?’
‘No!’ She turned away to fetch her hat and coat. Out of his line of sight she allowed herself a smile. He appeared pleased to see her — perhaps she had read too much into his quiet mood the evening before. ‘You made me jump,’ she called out to him as she reached for her hat which hung on a bent nail. She had never used a hammer before, but during the war she had learnt to do a lot of things that Arthur or Sam would have done if they were around. ‘What were you doing?’ she asked, tucking a stray curl into place. ‘Trying to scare me half to death?’
‘Trying to see if you were inside. It looked so dark. I’m here to take you out.’
Rose peeped around the door. ‘Out? Where?’
‘There’s a nativity on this afternoon.’
‘No there isn’t.’
‘There is in Truro and the motor bus company has organised a trip.’
‘But that’s over twenty-five miles away!’
‘I know. I have booked two seats. I thought it would be fun. A car takes concentration to drive. We can talk and look at the view on a motor bus.’ He glanced out the window. ‘And we’re in luck, it has finally stopped raining.’
‘We’re going on an outing? Me and you?’ She had not been on an organised trip since the day she met Sam.
‘Yes. I thought the opportunity was too good to miss . . . you don’t mind, do you?’
She thought of her parents. ‘I would have to tell my parents. They will be worried.’ As she said it she wondered if “worried” was the right word to use. Father would be too busy working on the quay to notice and her mother wouldn’t miss her until it was dark. However, telling them where she had gone was the dutiful thing to do. It would also save a lot of explanation later.
‘Then we had better be quick. The motor bus leaves at two.’
Moments later, they were running across the bridge. At some point he had grabbed her hand and, to her surprise, she didn’t want him to let it go. He did, of course, as they approached her house, instinctively knowing that she would not want her mother to see. He waited for her outside as she ran indoors and hastily searched for her mother. She found her in the backyard looking at an old pair of worn boots. She stacked them on a pile ready to topple, looked about her and selected another item. Rose bit her bottom lip as she watched her move it from one place to another. Her mother could spend hours moving things but in reality making little progress. Rose retreated before her mother noticed her. What if she did not allow her to go out with Nicholas? Her heart sank as she realised this was a strongpossibility. She hardly knew Nicholas and her mother would have every right to be concerned. She didn’t want to take that chance. She would scribble a note for her instead. Rose found some paper and a pencil and began to write. Her hands trembled with excitement. ‘I am going on a bus trip to Truro with a friend,’ she wrote, laughing to herself at the absurdity of it all and the thought of her parents’ faces when they read it.
* * *
The downstairs of the motor bus was already full when Nicholas and Rose climbed aboard, so despite it being December, they climbed the exterior steps to the open-roofed seats on the top and sat at the front. An odour of disinfectant, used by the Glenville Transport Company in an attempt to keep the last wave of Spanish flu at bay, wafted up to greet them. It was both a reminder and a comfort, as it was reported that the illness had re-emerged yet again during the late autumn.
‘Did you catch it?’ asked Nicholas, as they settled into their seats. He did not need to explain what he was referring to.
‘Yes, last winter, but I did not suffer as bad as some.’ Her sister had briefly returned home to nurse her, bringing her chicken soup daily to help build her strength. Her mother took no part in her nursing, which made the fleeting glimpses of her passing her bedroom door all the harder to bear. ‘A young couple, who lived four doors away, died from it. They say that they caught it in the morning and were dead by the evening. The most recent cases have not been so deadly.’
‘I hear that soldiers, weakened by the war, are at risk.’
Nicholas’s observation, said so matter-of-factly, unsettled her. He was a returning soldier. She sneaked a peek at him as he studied the view. Surely he was too strong to fall victim now?
‘Did you have it?’ she asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant. She had read in the newspaper that it was not onlyEngland that had suffered. She found herself hoping he would say yes as it was rumoured you couldn’t catch it twice.
‘No. I was lucky and dodged it.’ He grinned back at her. ‘Stop looking so glum. We are off to see a nativity play. Did I tell you it’s going to be held in the cathedral? I expect there will be lots of carol singing too . . . and a special visitor.’
The motor bus’s engine spluttered into life. The bus’s rigid frame and solid wheels promised a bone-jolting ride. A cheer rose up from under their feet as the passengers below hailed the start of the trip.
