‘Oh, it’s some old rubbish that’s been sitting in the cellar for Lord knows how long – since our Charlie was a scholar, probably. When they caught sight of Reg taking it to be chopped up for the fire, they begged for a game with it. He was awkward about joining in at first, but he knows they’ve been missing Charlie so he gave it his best try.’ She smiled. ‘Do you know, Bobby, I think he might actually be enjoying himself? I never realised he remembered so many of his schoolboy jokes.’
It made Bobby laugh to see Reg in the role of schoolmaster. It just suited him; Charlie couldn’t have done as good a job. He was pretending he hadn’t seen her, but she saw the side of his mouth flicker in her direction.
‘It’s a pity to interrupt their game, but their father is due soon,’ Mary said. ‘Reg is going to drive up and collect him from the bus stop. The girls ought to get themselves dry and into their good clothes to greet him.’ She clapped her hands for attention. ‘All right, bairns both big and small, I’m afraid it’s time to get ready. Florrie, Jessie, up to the attic to get yourselves dry and dressed. Reg, you ought to be setting off.’
‘You heard Mary,’ Reg said to the girls. ‘Quick march and upstairs with you both.’
‘Aww.’ Jessie stuck out her lip. ‘But Florrie had more dunce’s duckings than what I did.’
‘We can play it again on another hot day. You need to smarten up for your father.’
‘Come on, Jessie,’ Florrie said. ‘We want to look nice for Dad. And maybe he’ll play Ducking School with us too, when he comes.’ They scampered off upstairs.
Mary approached her husband to kiss his cheek before he left. ‘Well done, Reg,’ she said quietly. ‘I never would have believed you had it in you.’
He rubbed his cheek where she’d kissed him, casting an embarrassed look at Bobby. ‘Ah, well. Lot of daftness but it makes them smile. I’ll be off then, Mary. Get kettle on, eh?’
When Reg had left to start the car, Bobby followed Mary into the kitchen.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ she asked.
‘Aye, you can read me our Charlie’s latest letter while I get the tea things ready,’ she said, handing her an envelope from the dresser. ‘I should imagine you’re anxious to hear all his news.’
‘A letter from Charlie? I’m sure I never saw Gil bring it.’
‘Came on Friday morning.’ Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘Watching out for it, were you?’
‘No.I just… I usually see him bringing the post when I come over for breakfast,’ Bobby said, flushing. She wasn’t prepared to admit that she listened near the door every morning at post time to hear whether Gil was paying the farmhouse a visit with fresh letters. ‘Haven’t you read it already?’
‘Yes, but I can stand to hear it again.’
Bobby opened the letter and started to read it aloud.
‘“My dear Mother. I wonder if I’ve been gone long enough for all of you at Moorside to forget me, or do you miss me a little still? It seems so long since I left that in taking up my pen to write to you, I feel much as Rip Van Winkle must have done on waking from his century-long sleep. At any rate, I feel about a hundred years old. My body is broken after all the cross-country runs, parades and drills I’ve been put through in the past fortnight. The drill sergeant is a horrid, shrivelled dwarf of a man named Murdoch. He has the same hooded, despotic eyes shared by both Joe Goebbels and my fourth-form Latin master – or perhaps that’s only how I see the little sadist in my mind after flogging myself half to death on an eight-mile run yesterday. I thought we country vets were generally fit, healthy specimens, but I see now what a broken-down wreck I’ve let myself become. At this rate, I doubt I’ll survive long enough to make it into the air. I’ll be dead of fatigue long before the Luftwaffe have a chance to put me down.”’
Bobby paused, and Mary looked up from making the tea. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘Sorry. I just don’t like it when he jokes about things like that.’
‘No.I don’t consider myself prone to superstition but it does feel a little like tempting fate. Still, you know Charlie – he can’t help but be flippant about the most serious of things.’
‘I know.’ She looked down at the letter to read on. ‘“And so you may tell Reggie that he was right after all and I truly was a great idle loafer who ought to get more exercise, which will absolutely make his day. Other than the news of my poor broken body I have not much to tell, except that Smithy – the friend I wrote you of with the painfully Liverpudlian accent – is on at me to keep him company tonight at the flicks, since the WAAF he’s had his eye on refuses to go with him without a girlfriend along to chaperone. He assures me the girlfriend is very pretty and jolly and so forth, and that I shan’t regret going as her escort, but of course he would say that, wouldn’t he? I shan’t be at all surprised if she turns out to be forty-seven with only three remaining teeth. Still, like a loyal pal, I said I would go along. I do hope Captain Parry’s visit is everything the girls are hoping for. Tell me how it goes off when you write, and also any news of the Polish airmen. My love to Florrie and Jessie, and to you and Reggie and Rob, and all at Moorside. Until the next time, your devoted foster son, Charlie. PS Please could you send a couple of Erle Stanley Gardners from my bookshelf in the cow house? I’m famished for want of thrilling reading material here.”’
‘Well?’ Mary said when Bobby had finished reading.
Bobby smiled sadly. ‘He missed me off again.’
‘He said love to all at Moorside. That includes you, I suppose.’
‘But he mentioned everyone else by name. He even mentioned my dad.’
Mary left the tea and put an arm round her.
‘He’s hurt, Bobby,’ she said gently. ‘He loved you very much and you threw him off. How did you expect him to feel?’
Something about her friend’s use of the past tense, ‘loved’, felt like a hot knitting needle in Bobby’s side.
She looked at the paragraph about Charlie’s date and laughed bleakly. ‘He seems to be recovering quickly.’
