She could understand what Charlie meant when he talked about wanting his home to stay just as it had been when he left – something reassuring to cling to in a world that was going mad. In many ways, Bobby had felt the same about theCourier.
Home had never really felt like a haven to her – at least, not since her mam had died. Her dad had been too troubled after that for it to be anything other than a place of hardship and care. But even after moving to the Dales, Bobby had liked to think of the boys at theCouriersitting at their desks the same as always. She could still conjure up the smell of the office – Don’s Tom Long tobacco mingling with the smell of over-brewed tea and the ancient parchment of the archives, with perhaps the vinegary tang of some chips and scraps Tony had managed to cadge from the local chip hole. It was telling, she supposed, that the first thing she had thought to do after the harrowing night she had climbed Great Bowside to rescue the injured airmen was to telephone Don and ask to see him at work. It seemed impossible that his reassuring, big-brotherly presence wouldn’t be behind his desk waiting to welcome her whenever she chose to drop in.
She smiled as she thought back to the day she had left for her new job in the Dales: Don, Tony and Jem surprising her on the railway platform with a sign they had made bearing the message ‘We’ll Meet Again’, and the farewell gift of an onion that had cost a whole guinea between them in a charity auction.
Yet now they were all gone. Poor Jem, only barely a man, Bobby never had met again. He had been called up shortly after and killed in action the previous spring. Tony, unable to be conscripted on account of his asthma, had been out of work ever since Don had let him go from the paper. And now even Don himself, the one person who had always made theCourierfeel like theCourier, was gone, preparing to leave for the Army.Their old boss Pete Clarke was back at the helm, Don had told Bobby in his last letter, coming out of retirement to keep things running until the war was over and men could be found to fill the jobs.
Bobby stared at the door a while longer before she carried on.
She would drop in on Don later. Time had been too short to write and let him know she was coming, and Lord knew she couldn’t afford to be sending telegrams all over the place at ninepence a time, but she did want to say goodbye.
She wondered how he was feeling about being called up. At thirty-nine, Don had been almost at the maximum call-up age and probably hoped he’d get away with it – until the age had been extended to fifty over Christmas. It would be a wrench to leave his wife Joan and daughter Sal at home with a new baby. Their little lad Robert, Bobby’s namesake and godson, was barely six weeks old.
Of course, Bobby reflected as she turned on to Southampton Street, as much as she valued Don as a friend and mentor, in some ways it would have been better if she had never gone to work for theCourier. She couldn’t help feeling guilty that it was through her that Lilian had first become acquainted with Tony Scott. And like a fool, she hadn’t bothered to warn her sister away, thinking the man essentially harmless even if he did enjoy a flirt.
But it wasn’t her fault, was it? It was Tony’s fault, and it was for damn sure she wouldn’t be leaving Bradford without giving him a piece of her mind.
Bobby didn’t have long to wait. She found Tony at Clara’s lodging house, sitting beside her sister in the public lounge.
It was a strange scene. Tony had his arm around Lilian, but he didn’t look much like a lover. It lay limply over her shoulders, like an understuffed draught excluder. The pair sat in silence while Tony smoked one of the pungent Egyptian cigarettes he’dfavoured since Capstans had become scarce. He appeared wan and worried, and Lil, too, was pale. But she smiled when she saw Bobby, and stood to embrace her.
‘Oh, Lil, I’m so glad to see you,’ Bobby whispered, squeezing her sister tight. ‘Is it done?’
‘Not yet. It’s to be Monday.’ Lilian held her back. ‘It’s all right, Bobby, I promise. You really had no need to come.’
The expression in her eyes was resigned and somewhat wistful, but not unhappy. She sounded like the same old Lil, even if the bright note in her voice was rather forced. But there were other people in the room, and Bobby couldn’t speak freely to ask her sister how she was really feeling. She did, however, turn a glare on Tony, who looked a million miles away as he smoked his cigarette.
‘So,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘It’s you, is it?’
‘Heyup, Bob.’ He made an effort to summon the old Tony grin, although it looked ill at ease on his tired, drawn face. ‘Here for the wedding? You’re early.’
‘I’m here to—’ She stopped, glancing around at the handful of people reading their newspapers or listening to the wireless. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘Spending some time with my future wife. That’s allowed, I suppose?’
‘You’d be better off getting down the Labour Exchange and trying to find a job.’
Lilian put a hand on her arm. ‘Bobby, it’s fine. It’s our business. Anyhow, Tony was just leaving. We can go up to my room and talk.’
Tony stood up. ‘Actually, Bobby, could I have a word in private? Want to ask a favour.’
‘A favour? You’ll be bloody lucky,’ Bobby muttered, still looking daggers at her old friend. ‘But I’ll talk to you in private.I’ve got a few things to say that I don’t want to turn the air in here blue with.’
Lilian looked worried. ‘What is it, Tony?’
‘Nothing to do with… nothing that need worry you,’ he said. ‘Something Bobby can help me with, that’s all. If it works out, I’ll tell you.’
‘Tell me now. If you think I’m going to be one of those wives who let themselves be kept in the dark about what their husbands are up to, you’re very wrong.’
‘Look, let me handle it, all right? I don’t want to get your hopes up if it comes to nothing.’ He hesitated, then planted an awkward kiss on her cheek. Lilian flinched slightly. ‘I’ll see you soon. Um, dear.’
He headed for the door. Bobby cast a look at Lilian, who shrugged, before following him.
‘You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?’ she said when they were on the empty street outside. ‘My sister, Tony!’
He sighed, with no trace of his usual cockiness or swagger. He looked so weary, she might almost feel sorry for him in other circumstances – almost.
‘All right, I know,’ he said. ‘I never meant… but it doesn’t matter now. Go on, fly at me and scratch my eyes out or whatever it is you’re going to do. Call me all the names you like. Let’s get it out of the way.’
