‘Let’s leave Ma a little while longer yet. She needs the rest,’ she said. ‘Shall we go and see if the chickens have laid any more eggs, Henry?’
The three of them went to the bottom of the garden and Henry carried the only two eggs carefully back to the house. They collected potatoes and onions from the sacks in the outhouse, counting them out with Henry as he placed them in a bowl. The two sisters then began the dinner while Henry played with his old wooden car with the wobbly wheels that Pa had made for him. As they settled to food preparation, they fell into the old ways of dividing the tasks between them and chatting as they worked.
‘You peel the potatoes,’ Dot said, ‘and I’ll chop the onions. If Ma comes down, she’ll complain about the thickness of my peelings.’
‘Leave us some potato. We don’t want marbles,’ Kate said, mimicking Mrs B, and exchanged a smile with Dot.
The potatoes were set to boil on the range and Dot retrieved the mincer from the cupboard and screwed it to the edge of the old wooden table.
‘Me help,’ Henry said, jumping up.
‘All right,’ Dot replied. She brought the chunks of leftover cooked meat from the pantry and let Henry turn the handle of the mincer while she fed the meat through.
Once the potatoes were mashed and the pie assembled, it was placed in the oven. Their mother came downstairs, bleary eyed from her sleep and complaining that they should havewoken her, but when she’d drunk a cup of tea her good-humoured nature returned.
‘You are good girls,’ she said. ‘Smells good,’ she continued, inhaling the rich meaty smell. ‘Where’s your father? I hope he’s back soon. It will soon be time to eat.’
‘Sounds like him now,’ said Kate. ‘I hope he’s brought some cabbage from the allotment.’
Jim Truscott came into the kitchen and placed a cabbage, a bunch of carrots and a brace of pigeons on the table. Kate knew that he took pride in being able to put food on the table for his family and, although he still wore a deep furrow between his brows, the physical labour and time alone to gather his thoughts had clearly helped him to calm himself. Kate was aware that his silent contribution to the evening meal was his own way of saying that grief may be gnawing away at his insides but he had a responsibility to the living.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
April 1916
Leaving was so painful. The hugs and the held-back tears said everything that needed to be said. There was no alternative; each had to hold on to their own grief. Belonging to a family gave Kate such great support, knowing that she was loved. She loved them all back, but she had to return to Forest Hill, alone.
As she gathered up her bags and Dot held the door open, she knew that she had no choice but to leave them. Dot kissed her on the cheek and held Henry up to kiss her goodbye too. Her mother pressed a small, wrapped meat and potato pie into her hands.
‘For the journey,’ she said and the two women kissed each other.
‘And this is for all of you,’ Kate said, handing over a purse of money to her father.
‘Kate, you don’t need to . . .’ her father began but Kate interrupted him.
‘I don’t need to but I want to,’ she replied. ‘Take it.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you. Look after yourself, Kate.’ He held her tightly in his arms. Tears welled up in his eyes and she knew that he was hurting deeply, his first born, his son, taken from him and buried in the muddy fields of Flanders. As she walked away from them she let her own tears fall, for all that now could never be.
The walk to the train station at Hook would take Kate an hour at least, so she left plenty of time. As she walked down past the school, her feet dragged and she felt a compulsion to turn around and run back home. Her sight was bleary and she stumbled over some stones in the lane.
‘Careful there, Kate,’ a voice said. It was Miss Clarence the schoolmistress. ‘How are you, Kate? Your sister tells me that you’re quite the Florence Nightingale now, as well as a nursemaid. Have you been visiting?’
‘Yes,’ Kate replied, trying to cover her red face. ‘I’m on my way to catch the train back to London now.’
‘What a shame we didn’t get to see each other, Kate . . .’ Miss Clarence paused.
‘I was so sorry to hear about your brother. If there’s anything I can do to help?’
At this kindly offer Kate couldn’t contain her sorrow anymore and she released all the force of her sadness. Miss Clarence stepped forward and took Kate’s bag from her hand.
‘Come with me,’ she said.
‘But my train . . . ?’ Kate sobbed.
‘There’ll be another,’ Miss Clarence said. ‘You need some time. Don’t worry. I’ll arrange things.’
When they were inside Miss Clarence’s schoolhouse, the teacher put down the bag and drew Kate to her, her arms folding Kate close, her breasts absorbing the force of Kate’s sobs, her voice whispering words of comfort.
