She was so afraid that her outburst the day she had told her dad the real reason Lil had become involved with Tony Scott would send him straight to the bottom of a bottle. She didn’t dare to take her eyes off him, knowing that when he was craving spirits, he would find a way to get them.
Bobby made sure she was at the cow house every day when her father arrived home, and watched carefully to see if there were any telltale humps under his coat that suggested he had been buying the liquorice-scented spirit he got from Pete Dixon. She checked the outhouse for concealed bottles, and made sure there was no sign of tampering with the locked cupboard in Charlie’s surgery where she kept the stuff she bought for him from Don.
There was no evidence her dad had tried to get access to strong alcohol behind her back, however, which was some relief. He did ask for a drink in the evening more often than usual – ever since he had started working again, the only time he had seemed to need one had been after a nightmare, but now he frequently had two or even three generous measures before bed. But he submitted tamely when Bobby took the bottle away, and didn’t ask for more. At his worst, he would have drunk many times that amount – as much as it took to send him into a stupor black enough for no bad memories to permeate.
Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the cottage was heavy with words said that couldn’t be taken back. Bobby was gratefulher dad had his job to occupy him during the day, when the temptation to drink alone might have been too strong to resist, and made sure she was always there in the evenings. Still, many was the time as she sat opposite her father while he ate the food she had prepared for him in silence, avoiding her eye, that she longed for the warmth of the farmhouse across the way, or a cosy evening sewing beside Topsy. Even a shift in the freezing ARP hut would have been welcome if it spared her the oppressive atmosphere of home.
‘I’m so sick of walking on eggshells around him,’ she grumbled to Mary a week later, in the kitchen at Moorside as she helped with the washing-up.
It was the 19th of January, the day Bobby had been summoned to go back to Bradford for enrolment in the WAAF. Her appointment was relatively early, so she had promised Reg she would be back as soon as she could to fit in at least a few hours’ work – although she was planning to pay a short visit to Lilian at the Scotts’ home too. In fact it was her new brother-in-law she needed to speak to, but she was keen to see how the newlyweds were getting on in their married life before they visited here in two days’ time.
Mary had ordered her to drop in to Moorside for breakfast before leaving, and Reg had offered to take her to the bus stop in Charlie’s horse-drawn trap. Their pony Boxer needed the exercise, Reg said, after weeks of being trapped in his stable by the weather, but Bobby could sense Reg was anxious to do her a favour.
Mary laughed. ‘Walking on eggshells, is it? I know it well. Good practice for marriage, Bobby.’
‘Oh Lord, I hope not. I’d like to think Charlie was a different sort, but who knows what his nerves will be like when we come out of this? I couldn’t bear to live my whole life that way.’
‘If they ever realised how we put ourselves to one side to keep them happy, happen our menfolk would stop acting like beneficent emperors when they dole out our little bit of housekeeping,’ Mary observed. ‘We’ve ourselves to blame, I suppose, for trying to keep all we do for them invisible. I’m sure they think their home comforts are conjured by the pixies.’
‘My dad’s no different from Reg in that respect. I suppose they’re both men of their time.’
‘Is your father often this way?’
‘He can be distant when his spirits are depressed,’ Bobby said. ‘I can’t get through to him at all at the moment. The only time he opens his mouth, it’s to ask me to bring him his tea or a— or for something else he wants. No conversation about work or the wireless, or any of the things we’d normally talk about.’
‘Hmm. Sulking, is he?’ Mary said, pursing her lips. ‘I’ve always said a man is just another bairn in the house.’
‘I don’t think it’s that. He isn’t angry with me – at least, I don’t think so. He’s just gone off somewhere in his head. I always worry when he gets like that.’ Bobby sighed. ‘And it’s my fault. I said something I shouldn’t have – told him a home truth he was better off for not knowing. Now I feel like I’m perpetually tiptoeing around him, trying not to make his mood any worse. I know he hates feeling like I’m watching him, but I have to when he’s like this.’
Mary handed her the pan she’d just washed to dry. ‘What was it you told him?’
‘Nothing he’d like me to share, I’m certain. But I oughtn’t to have said it. I was cross and it slipped out.’
‘There’s only so far we can bottle things up for the comfort of men before it all comes fizzing out like shaken lemonade,’ Mary said. ‘It’s not good for the nerves, trying to keep too much in. We need to know when to coddle and when to stand up tothem, and sometimes our weary bodies make that decision for us regardless of what our brain thinks we ought to do.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ Bobby bent to put the pan away in the cupboard. ‘I have been living on increasingly frayed nerves since Christmas.’
‘Are there big objections to this lad of your sister’s then?’
‘Notbigobjections,’ Bobby said slowly. ‘Tony’s always been wayward, and not overly fond of hard work. Has an eye for a pretty girl. But he isn’t vicious or violent.’
Mary smiled. ‘Sounds like what they used to say about Charlie. The love of a good woman soon settled him. Lads will go through that wild-oat phase.’
‘Mmm. Tony’s turned thirty so I’d say it was high time his wild oats were all sown.’
‘Heard from him, have you? Our Charlie, I mean.’
Bobby smiled wanly. ‘Yes, this morning.’
‘I’m assuming from your expression it wasn’t good news.’
‘There was some good news. His CO has approved his application to marry, although he’s unlikely to get leave to do it until spring. Once I know when and where I’ll be posted, we might finally be able to set a date.’
‘Then why the sad little smile?’
Bobby sighed. ‘I think sad little smiles are all I’m going to have in me until I get used to the idea of him flying ops. Every minute, I have to think about him up there. I feel so nervy and restless, like I can’t concentrate on anything knowing he’s in danger. Do you think it’ll ever get easier?’
‘I wish I knew, my love,’ Mary said, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘I’ve been worried to bits myself, so I’m afraid I don’t have many words of comfort. Did he mention his missions? He never says a word about them to me.’
