We'll Meet Again

Tom wanted to hit himself for being so stupid.

‘Yes,’ he had to admit.

His mother put a hand on his knee. He jerked his leg away.

‘Well, dear, I have to say that I think you’re still far too young to be having girlfriends—’

‘She’s not a girlfriend—!’ Tom protested.

And then stopped short as he realised that maybe she was. What he felt about her was quite different from what he felt for anyone else, boy or girl.

‘All right,’ his mother conceded, though he could tell that she was just going along with him in order to gain a point. ‘So she’s just a friend. But you see, dear, this girl—she really isn’t a very suitable friend for you. Mrs Sutton knows her, you see, and she says she’s a very coarse, common girl. Not at all the sort of person that I or your father could approve of.’

Incensed, Tom jumped up.

‘Oh, really? Well, that’s just too bad, because I’m not asking you to approve of her. She’s my friend and you’re not stopping me from seeing her.’

He ran down the steps, ignoring his mother’s protests. How dared she say that about Annie? Annie was—

‘She’s not coarse and she’s not common,’ he shouted back at her.

‘Tom, dear—’

‘She’s better than Mrs Nosey Parker Sutton and Fat Beryl any day!’

‘Tom—’

He bolted round the side of the house, across the garden and out down the track, heading for Marsh Edge Farm. Anger propelled him across the fields, talking out loud to himself as his mother’s words revolved in his head. That interfering old bag, Mrs Sutton. He wanted to wipe her face in one of the cow-pats he was jumping over. And his mam believed her! She had no right. Nobody was going to stop him from seeing Annie if he wanted to.

It occurred to him that Annie had told him never to come to the farmhouse. But this was important. This was their last but one evening. They couldn’t waste it.

He slowed to a trot, and then a walk. The field he was walking across had a shiny new piece of barbed wire fencing down one side. That must be what Annie had been helping with today. He had seen two figures working while he’d watched the battle in the air. He opened a gate into the track leading up to the farmhouse and closed it carefully behind him. The edge of his anger had dulled now. He just wanted to see Annie.

And then there she was, coming out of the farmyard. Joy glowed inside him, lighting a great big smile on his face. He waved his arm above his head.

‘Annie!’

She came trotting down the track towards him. Tom broke into a run and, as they got nearer to each other, he noticed that Annie was limping. She stopped before they met. Her face looked different. Pinched. Distressed. Anxiety threaded through his delight. Something was wrong.

He came up to her and put his hand out to touch her arm. She flinched.

‘Annie—what is it? What’s the matter?’

‘What are you doing here? I told you not to come.’ Her voice was sharp, not like her ordinary voice at all.

‘You didn’t come,’ he explained. ‘I wanted to—’

‘You can’t stay here. He’ll see you, and then everything’ll be spoilt.’

‘Who?’ Tom asked. But, even as he said it, he knew. ‘Your father? Is it him? What’s happened?’

‘Just go! Now!’ Annie was frantic. ‘Please. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. I promise.’

And she turned and hurried away from him, still limping.

‘But, Annie—’

He took a few steps after her, his arm reaching out. Then he stopped. She was in deadly earnest. Whatever the trouble was, she thought his being there would make it worse. Slowly, reluctantly, he made his way back.

He got very little sleep that night.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f1373a10-1041-52ba-87ea-00d4535bbaca)

ON THE very last day of the holiday, Tom’s family went out to lunch at the Grand Hotel. It was far too stiff and starchy a place for Tom or the children to find enjoyable, but the grown-ups seemed to like it, and talked a lot about keeping up standards despite there being a war on. In the afternoon it rained and Tom was dragooned into playing an interminable game of ludo with the others. And then they had a visitor, or, rather, two visitors. Beryl and her little brother came tramping on to the veranda in their macs and wellingtons. Tom’s heart sank when he heard their voices, but the mothers greeted them kindly.

‘Beryl, dear, how nice to see you. And Timmy too. Is your mother coming?’

‘No, she’s gone to the Whist Drive, so she asked me to look after Timmy. He wanted to come here so much that I had to bring him. I hope you don’t mind,’ she said.

‘Of course not. The children love playing with Timmy,’ Tom’s mother said.

‘Perhaps you’d like some lemonade,’ his aunt offered.

‘I’d rather have a cup of tea,’ Beryl answered.

And so it was that Tom found himself sitting with Beryl and the grown-ups drinking tea. He glowered at her across the table. How could she sit there so calm and po-faced when she’d gone and told on him and Annie?

The two mothers chatted on about Wittlesham and holidays.

‘We’ve enjoyed it so much here at Silver Sands that we’re thinking of coming back next year,’ Tom’s aunty Betty said.

‘That’s nice. My mother will be pleased to hear that. Not many people are going on holiday this year, on account of the war. We haven’t got any more bookings for Silver Sands this summer. My mother thinks you’re all very brave to be coming away,’ Beryl said, looking at Tom.

Tom looked away.

‘We’re not going to let that Hitler stop us from having our usual family holiday,’ Tom’s mother said. ‘That would be giving in to bullying.’

‘Lots of people are letting him stop them. It’s really quiet here this summer. Of course, we don’t depend on the lettings. My father has a factory, you know, making parts for the radios in bombers—’

Both women looked suitably impressed. Tom did not.

‘So Silver Sands is just a sideline. My mother says it’s her pin money project, but it’s a good thing it’s within walking distance as we can’t run our car any more. My father’s stood it up on bricks in the garage. For the duration, he says.’

Tom could see why Annie loathed her. She was out to impress them at every turn. When his mother mentioned the Grand, Beryl had been there too, and went on about only going to the best places. What was more, she seemed to be directing it at him. She was for ever looking at him as if to see what sort of an impression she was making. It was time to put her in her place.

‘The rain’s stopped. Coming to the top of the sea wall?’ he asked the moment tea was over.

As if pulled by strings, Beryl sprang out of her chair.