We'll Meet Again

Edna hurried to do as she was bid, kneeling on the rag rug in front of him. She fumbled the laces undone, then began to draw off the boot. It stuck. Edna tugged and caught Walter’s bad toe.

‘Aagh! You stupid—’

He lashed out with his other foot. The heavy boot smashed into Edna’s shoulder, flinging her back so that her head cracked against the flagstone floor.

‘Mum!’

For a vital few seconds fear for her mother overcame fear for herself. Annie flew across the kitchen to cradle Edna’s head in her arms.

‘Leave her be, you interfering little bitch! Coming between man and wife—!’

Walter’s boot thudded into her legs and buttocks, while Annie and Edna clung together and whimpered with terror …

The mothers were talking on the veranda again—his mam, his aunty Betty and Mrs Sutton. This time, thank goodness, Beryl hadn’t come. The anticipation of seeing Annie filled Tom up, so that he felt as if he could almost burst with the excitement of it. There was so much to talk about, with the Battle of Britain happening right over their heads that very day. On top of that, he wanted to hold her hand again, and to walk along together with her as they discussed what had gone on in the sky. There wasn’t much time left now, just this evening and tomorrow, for on Saturday they had to go home. So every minute counted. He slipped out of the chalet, checked that his sister and the cousins weren’t looking, and made a run for the sea wall.

He was used to waiting. Sometimes Annie didn’t manage to get away till quite late. One evening, she hadn’t come at all. When he’d asked about it, she wouldn’t answer directly, wouldn’t even look at him, had just said she had to help her mother. Something about her expression had alarmed him. That look of fierce hatred that came into her face when her father was mentioned.

‘Why? What was so important that you couldn’t get away?’ he asked.

‘I just had to stay,’ she said.

‘But what for?’ he persisted.

‘I just had to, all right? Don’t you have to do things when your parents tell you?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

But he was sure there was more to it than that.

He slid down the wall and sat on the sand at the bottom. It was still warm from the day’s sunshine. He had given up all pretence of painting now and just lay against the rough grass, looking out across the water and thinking. Soon, Annie would be here.

The minutes ticked by and turned into a quarter of an hour, then half an hour. Annie did not come. Tom heard the mothers calling goodbye to Mrs Sutton. Another five minutes went by, and then someone came over the top of the wall. It was his sister Joan. Disappointment kicked him in the stomach.

‘Tom, Mam wants to see you.’

‘I can’t come now.’

‘You’ve got to.’

‘Tell her I’m busy.’

‘But you’re not. You’re not doing anything.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re just sitting.’

‘I’m thinking. Now, go away.’

It took a bit more arguing, but in the end Joan went.

Where was Annie?

He didn’t allow himself to look at his watch. He sang Over The Rainbow to himself all the way through, twice. That was Annie’s favourite song. Still she hadn’t come. Bursting with impatience now, he climbed up to the top of the wall and looked out over the fields.

‘Tom!’

It was his mother, standing by the fence.

‘Hell’s bells,’ Tom muttered.

‘Tom, come down here, will you? There’s something I want to speak to you about.’

Reluctantly, he went.

‘Come and sit down here, dear.’

His mother was using her Very Reasonable voice. It was a sure sign of trouble. Silently, he sat down on the edge of the veranda with her. The children could be heard playing in the garden at the back. The other grown-ups were nowhere to be seen.

‘Now, dear,’ his mother began.

Tom looked at his watch.

Where was Annie? Was she coming across the fields this very minute?

‘You know I don’t like to interfere with your friendships—’

That wasn’t true for a start. She never had liked his pal Keith, because his dad was a collier. He made a non-committal noise.

‘But I have to say, I am a little bit concerned—’

Tom looked at her. What was she on about?

‘What?’ he said.

‘I’ve just had a little chat with Mrs Sutton,’ his mother went on. ‘Such a nice woman. Very genteel. And very well-meaning. She has got your best interests at heart, you know, Tom.’

‘Who—Mrs Sutton?’ Tom said, puzzled.

‘Yes, dear. That’s why she thought she ought to speak to me. You see—’ his mother hesitated, then went on ‘—you’ve been seen, dear, walking along the promenade. With a girl. Hand in hand.’

‘What?’

Outrage flared through him. How dared people spy on him and Annie? How dared they? He felt as if something precious had been ripped open and exposed to the world.

‘Who told her that? I know! It was that beastly Beryl, wasn’t it? Great fat lump. She’s got no right—’

‘So it’s true, then?’ his mother asked.