‘So do I. But I needed to, all the same.’
‘So you’re going to turn him down, are you?’
‘I have to,’ she said quietly.
‘You couldn’t ask if he’d agree to a long engagement and wait until the war’s over? No bairns to consider then, and you’d keep your job – at least until the knot was tied. Might be long enough for Reg to reconsider.’
‘I don’t think that’s very fair, do you? Who knows how many months or even years it’ll be until the war ends?’ She shivered. ‘Or what the world might look like if we lose.’
‘You really believe that’s the best decision for you and this lad?’
‘It’s the fairest. The best thing I can do for him is set him free.’
A small sob escaped. Don patted her hand somewhat awkwardly.
‘Then why do I sense that isn’t really what you want?’ he asked.
She blew her nose on her handkerchief. ‘There are many things I want, Don. I want the war to end tomorrow and the world to go back to how it was before. I want all the men away fighting to come home safe and whole to the people who love them. I want to make a success of my job atThe Tyke.And yes, I want to marry Charlie Atherton. I want to wake up every morning lying next to him, and to protect him from the German guns. But only one of those things is something I can actually have.’ She looked up at him. ‘Am I right?’
Don smoked his pipe. It was a little while before he answered.
‘When you lay it all out like that, I can see why you feel that’s the only choice you can make,’ he said.
‘That wasn’t what I asked.’
‘No, but it’s all the answer you’ll get from me. Right and wrong are matters for you alone.’ He looked at her. ‘Just don’t write yourself off, that’s all. Things change – these days they seem to change hour by hour. There might be a time you’ll think and feel differently about marriage.’
‘It wouldn’t matter if I did. If I don’t marry Charlie Atherton, I sure as hell won’t be marrying anyone else,’ she said fervently.
‘Aye, you say that. Keep an open mind, that’s all. Things that seem clear to us one day can have a habit of looking different once the light changes.’
‘I can’t imagine how things could ever look any different. I wish they could.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know how I can bring myself to tell Charlie.’
Chapter 26
It was late in the evening when Bobby arrived home. Her head was throbbing with exhaustion and thoughts of the terrible task that lay ahead of her. How she wished she could wake up tomorrow with the burden removed from her shoulders, and the prospect of a Saturday night spent dancing in Charlie’s arms as she had on so many Saturday nights before. How she wished everything could just be fixed somehow, as if by the wave of a good fairy’s wand. How she wished to God the war could be over!
She frowned as she reached the bottom of the track that led down to Moorside. Reg and Mary didn’t keep late hours and must surely be in bed by now, and yet she could hear music. The tinny tinkle of an old piano… was it coming from Cow House Cottage? It sounded louder and more vivid than anything that might be playing on their old wireless set. And someone was singing too: a deep baritone Bobby vaguely remembered from the dim and distant past, singing along to the tune of ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’.
She had a surprise when she entered the parlour. Charlie was in there, sitting at the old piano that Mary had brought down from the attic at Moorside the day the Parrys came to stay. Someone had screwed the legs back on and it had been squeezed into a corner by the fire. Her father stood beside it, singing while Charlie played. Bobby hadn’t heard him sing since her mother was alive.
The piano was out of tune and her father’s rich, deep voice – out of practice for so many years – quavered on some of the notes. Still, it was a homely little scene. For some reason Bobby found herself rather tearful, and she turned away from the men while she unslung the gas mask box from her shoulder and removed her coat. She didn’t want to interrupt while they were singing.
Her dad smiled at her when he’d finished. ‘Here she is at last. We’ve been waiting up for thee, lass.’
Bobby knew when her father lapsed into the familiar ‘thee’ of her early childhood that he was in a nostalgic mood. She went to give him a kiss.
‘What prompted the sing-song?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Charlie called round to see if you’d come home and there were nowt but Sandy and that bloody organ of his on t’ wireless again. We decided to make our own entertainment. Got this old instrument fettled while we waited for you.’
‘You sounded grand, Dad. Just like old times.’ She’d been avoiding looking at Charlie, but she turned to him now. ‘You too, Charlie. The pair of you could go into music hall together.’
Charlie laughed, standing to greet her. ‘Well, the piano needs a good tuning and the pianist probably needs a kick in the rump for letting himself get so shockingly out of practice. Still, it was nice to give the old ivories a tickle again.’
‘I never knew you could play.’
‘I’m a man of many talents, Bobby.’
