A hope that really had no right to exist swelled in Bobby’s chest: a foolish, futile hope, but one that pushed up within her, demanding to be heard. Could Lil have thought better of it? Perhaps she was even now on her way here, a single woman still. Bobby knew it was wrong to hope for such a thing when there was a baby coming, but she simply couldn’t help it.
Once she had lit the fire and put a pan of lentil soup on to heat, she sat as close to the flames as she could and took out the letter that had arrived along with her enrolment notice. It was military, with the Army censor’s stamp, but the service number didn’t belong to either of her brothers. It couldn’t be Don, who would still be in Bradford until tomorrow. Who else did she know in the Army?
That question was answered when Bobby tore open the envelope and skimmed to the signature: Captain George Parry. She had written to the girls’ father the day after speaking to Jessie, following a rather solemn funeral for Hetty the hen in the garden at Moorside. The little girl had cried bitter tears for that poor old bird, Ace had whimpered his goodbye, and like atrue housewife, Mary had looked more than a little wistful at the waste of the meat. It couldn’t be helped though. Jessie would never eat chicken from her beloved pets, and besides, it might not be safe if the disease that had killed poor Hetty was still present. So the family had said goodbye and sat down to a post-funeral tea of brown bread and dripping before Bobby had gone home to write her letter to the captain.
In it, she had tried to explain as kindly as possible how his little daughter was feeling. It had been something to take her mind off her own worries, and made her feel she was helping in the only way she could: with words.
Choosing the right ones had been a challenge though. She didn’t want to risk angering the man, who might well feel she was interfering. Nor did she want him to be hurt by what must seem like his daughter’s alienation, even though Bobby had endeavoured to reassure him that both his children loved him very much and it was only the sudden change in her way of living that was distressing poor Jessie.
The captain must have written back to her almost immediately. Bobby read what he had written with some trepidation. Would he be angry? Resentful? Might she, in trying to help, actually have made things worse?
Dear Miss Bancroft,
I would like to thank you for taking the time to write, and to let me know how my little Jessie is bearing up. I can’t tell you what my feelings were on reading about her sufferings. At first I felt pained that she should so dread a homecoming I had believed would be heartily welcomed. This was soon replaced by guilt, knowing my absence from her life these past few years had caused her to forget the love she once felt for her father.
Bobby found herself flinching. She had tried to soften the nature of Jessie’s feelings to avoid giving too much pain, but clearly even this had been enough to wound. The captain was naturally formal in expressing himself, and it gave Bobby a pang to know that his carefully chosen words must mask more pain than he was able to fully give voice to.
She returned to the letter.
I confess I did feel aggrieved that a stranger should write to tell me she enjoyed the confidence of my children while I did not, and knew their feelings better than I ever could. But this was only the impetuous response of the moment. Once I had thought through what you told me, I saw that there was much sense in what you said. Jess has had a very little taste of life, and it is natural that what is recent should be uppermost in her thoughts and affections. When I had subdued my feelings, I found myself grateful that though their early life may have contained much tragedy, the last nine months have been joyful ones for my two little girls thanks to the kindness of their hosts and the healthy nature of their environment.
To be entirely truthful, I confess that while of course I do not wish to tear the girls from the place they have come to see as home, I am afraid. When other feelings inspired by your letter had been overcome, that fear remained: that in the new life they have found, my little ones may no longer feel there is room for me. Were I a selfish man, this alone would have persuaded me to take them far away. Your faith in what you call my ‘honourable nature’ reminded me it is my daughters I must think of first, however, and so I am persuaded to seek a compromise.
I must here ask for help. I have a little put aside with which to rent a small property – enough to live on fora few months while I seek civilian employment. If either you or Mr and Mrs Atherton were able to recommend an affordable cottage where my children and I could—
Here Bobby was interrupted by the arrival of her father, home from his day’s work. He was later than usual, which probably meant he had paid a visit to the Hart.
‘Evening,’ he grunted affably, evincing the good mood that a pint or two usually inspired. He nodded to the letter in her hand. ‘Who’s writing to thee this time? I swear you get more letters than Father Christmas, our Bobby. There’s whispers in the village that Gil Capstick must be sweet on you, he’s seen heading down here so often.’
‘It’s the captain,’ Bobby told him with a smile. ‘Captain Parry, I mean. Jess asked if I’d write to him for her. She’s a little befuddled by the idea of living with her dad again once he’s been discharged, poor soul. I really think she thought evacuation was going to be forever.’
Her father laughed. ‘So you’ve been sticking your oar in, have you?’
‘What is a journalist if not a professional oar-sticker-inner?’
‘What’s he say then?’
‘He’s planning to move here to Silverdale, at least until he’s seen whether he’ll be able to find work,’ Bobby said, skimming the rest of the letter. ‘I hope the family can stay nearby. Mary would be devastated if the children had to go back to London. So would Reg, although he’d never admit it.’
Her dad raised an eyebrow. ‘Moving here, is he? That must’ve been a good letter you wrote.’
She smiled. ‘No need to sound so surprised.’
‘Oh. Here.’ He fished in his coat pocket for an envelope. ‘Speaking of young Gil, I bumped into t’ lad on my way to thepub, getting ready to head down with this for you. Told him not to bother, I’d bring it back wi’ me.’
Bobby looked at the telegram he handed her, and felt her spirits sink. It had to be from Lilian.
She tore it open, still with the tiny flame of hope that something might have happened to prevent her sister’s marriage, but that quickly died when she saw the message.
It’s done. Tell Dad. There Wednesday week. Lilian xxx
‘What is it?’ her dad asked.
‘It’s from our Lil,’ Bobby said, endeavouring to keep any tremor from her voice. ‘She’s coming to visit next week.’
‘Again? She’s not long gone back. Happen the forces can’t need lasses as badly as all that if they’re giving them home leave every other week.’ He sank into his easy chair by the fire and started unlacing his boots. ‘Still, be good to see her, eh?’
‘It will.’ Bobby forced a smile. ‘You get warm while I serve up this soup. Your slippers are on the fender. Then I need to talk to you.’
