She hadn’t thought much about the money situation if she were to go, but it was a point to consider. The daily wage for WAAFs during basic training was pretty poor, but if Bobby got into a trade with good promotion prospects, she might find she was quickly on better money than she earned on the mag. She wouldn’t have food and clothing to pay for either. She could afford to send part of her wages home, which meant that financially, at least, her dad would be better off – as long as he could manage to remain in work himself. They had been lean days when Bobby had been the only one at home earning.
She would send her contribution directly to Mary for housekeeping though. The last thing her dad needed when he was by himself was the temptation a pocketful of brass would bring. That meant more money to chuck into the till at the Golden Hart – or into the pockets of his spiv pal Pete Dixon, who was always happy to sell him bottles of the strong foreign spirit he dealt in.
Her dad was in bed when Bobby arrived back at the cow house, for which she was grateful. She felt far too exhausted to try to hide her feelings, and was worried everything would come pouring out with the slightest provocation. Lilian, Tony, her guilt over whether to apply for a call-up postponement – everything.
By the time Bobby awoke the next morning, however, she felt sufficiently refreshed to put on a brave face. The postponement form was next to her bed, under Charlie’s picture. She had filled in all the essential information the night before – her name, registration number and so on – with the exception of the final box, where she was invited to make her case for hardship. Her intention was to fill it in that evening, then she could take it to the post office tomorrow with the other office correspondence. That was if she decided to send it.
As for the Lilian/Tony situation, she felt the best time to discuss that with her dad would be after the wedding had taken place. However angry he might be about the baby, once his daughter had been legally bound to Tony Scott, he would understand there was no going back. Bobby hoped he would have calmed down and accepted the situation, however reluctantly, by the time the couple arrived to pay their marital visit.
By the time her dad got up, Bobby had just completed her morning chores. She had visited the pump, given the partially carpeted stone flags of the cottage a sweep and scrub, raked out the grate, prepared a packet of sandwiches for her father’s lunch, darned a hole in his favourite work jumper, and finally got herself ready to begin her own day’s work. As she rubbed her aching arm, which she was sure must be developing muscles the size of a circus strongman’s from pumping the water every day, Bobby reflected that life in the Air Force might seem a relaxing change of pace compared to the rigours of keeping the cow house.
‘Morning,’ she said when her dad emerged, dressed foranother day of work in the woodland around Topsy’s hunting lodge.
‘Aye, morning,’ he said wearily. He looked as though he might have passed a bad night, although, exhausted from her journey, Bobby hadn’t heard any sound from his room to wake her. ‘How was Bradford then?’
‘Good.’ Bobby turned away to hide the twitch in her features. She had no intention of telling him that Lilian was anywhere other than Greenwich – not yet. ‘I dropped in to see Don and the baby. That’s why I was so late back.’
Rob smiled at the mention of the baby. As the child’s other godparent, he always took a lively interest in the sections of Don’s letters that concerned the little lad.
‘How is he?’ he asked.
‘Oh, a real strapper,’ Bobby said with a laugh. ‘He nearly cut off my blood flow when he grabbed my finger. I think Joan’s feeling the strain though. She and Sal will miss Don when he goes to the Army.’
‘He’ll miss them, I reckon.’
‘Very much. He’s always been a family man. Are you coming over for breakfast?’
‘Give me quarter of an hour. I need to clean out my gun. Had to unload it on a family of mink yesterday.’
‘All right, have a good day if I don’t see you at the table. Sandwiches are in the pantry.’
As soon as Bobby opened the door to Moorside, she was confronted by the children’s border collie Ace, who came sniffing his way along the corridor. When he reached her, he jumped up and snuffled with his cold, wet nose under her cardigan.
Bobby grimaced. ‘Thanks, Ace.’ She pushed him down again. ‘What’s the matter with you, you strange dog?’
But Ace was already snuffling his way back down the hall, like a bloodhound on the trail of an escaped convict. He stopped toexplore a small table with a vase of flowers on top, knocking it down in the process, then very suddenly bounded off up the stairs.
Tutting, Bobby set the table right. It was lucky the vase was filled only with artificial flowers at this time of year, or Mary’s precious carpet would be soaking wet.
Mary herself appeared now, Reg leaning on his stick at her side. She shook her head when she saw the flowers strewn across the hall carpet.
‘Now what’s all this mess?’
‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ Bobby said with a smile, stuffing the flowers back into their vase.
‘Aye, I know who it was. That daft hound Ace.’
‘What on earth is up with him? He was acting very oddly when he came to greet me just now. Like he’d lost something.’
Mary sighed. ‘It’s old Hetty. Her cold took a turn for the worse yesterday. We lost her in the night, dear little chuck.’
‘Oh, I am sorry, Mary,’ Bobby said, glancing up. ‘After you tried so hard to get her well again.’
‘The pup’s behaving like he’s lost one of his flock. He’s been turning the house upside down, convinced we’ve hidden her away.’
Bobby set the vase, once again replete with flowers, back on the table. ‘How’s Jessie?’
‘Sobbing fit to burst in the attic, poor soul,’ Mary said. ‘You know what store she sets by them hens – loves them like they’re her own bairns, I’m sure. She says she couldn’t manage a bite of breakfast.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Could we not write a note saying she’s too badly for school, Reg? I’m sure she barely slept for worrying about Hetty.’
