Lexi’s War: A heart-warming wartime saga to bring hope and happiness in 2018

The biggest man among them lurched over to Reynard. ‘Wha’s the matter wi’ you, gaffer?’ he shouted rudely ‘Yer ol’ woman not givin’ you any? Well don’t blame us for that!’

The others all laughed and jeered, turning now on Reynard. ‘Try yer luck down the brothels!’ one of them shouted. ‘They’ll show you a trick or two to put a smile on yer miserable face! But don’t waste yer time with a mad woman, not with Mad Mary! You won’t get far with ‘er!’

Incensed at being caught up in this ugly business, Reynard was about to raise his cane again and give them a hiding when he thought better of it – the wily fox was too clever for that. There were five of them, and he was alone.

The men, now tired of this, stumbled away, still cursing amongst themselves. Reynard stared down at the woman, not wanting to meet her eyes, not wanting to look into that unwashed, pathetic face. Then, glancing around quickly – he didn’t wish to be observed, people might think he was going soft – he reached into his pocket and took out a half crown piece.

With her eyes fixed on the money, the woman knelt up and grabbed at it, then crawled away into the night, gibbering away to herself as she went. ‘I’m Mad Mary, Mad Mary, poor Mad Mary …’

Turning away, Reynard retraced his steps. He couldn’t go to the club, not after that. He was going home. Increasing his pace, he got back to the house, let himself in and shut the door quietly behind him. Everywhere was silent, though he could see a light under the basement kitchen door, so Anna, his housekeeper, was obviously still up.

Noiselessly, he made his way up the stairs to the first floor where his rooms were. His was the largest bedroom in the house, with a dressing room next to it, and beyond that his bathroom. At the far end of the long corridor was his study which overlooked the back garden. This room was his domain, where he could work uninterrupted, though the boys sometimes came in. Not so much Alfred, who, anyway, was only home during the holidays, but Johnny seemed to like being in the study. Johnny knew where everything was, where all the important papers were filed, and in which drawer to lock away the rents he’d collected. His younger son was beginning to act like his secretary, even refilling the ink well when it was needed.

Slowly, Reynard began to undress, feeling deeply disturbed at the memory of that bedraggled creature grovelling in the gutter. It had shaken him up. Presently, he would have an extra large brandy and soda – which sometimes helped him to get some sleep.

In his red velvet dressing gown and slippers, he left his bedroom and went along to the study. Switching on the desk lamp, he crossed over to the mahogany cabinet which contained wine and spirits and an array of expensive glasses and decanters. He was not a heavy drinker, seldom taking anything during the day, but this room was where he had meetings with his accountant or other business associates, and he liked to offer them quality refreshments. His father would say that apart from a tenner, nothing talked like a good tipple.

Reynard poured himself a drink, added the merest splash of soda water, then sat down heavily on the huge leather chair in front of his desk. Swivelling gently from side to side, he took the first few sips of the golden liquid, feeling his throat burn pleasantly as he swallowed. And presently, his thoughts began to mellow as he thought about his two boys, his two good boys. They’d seldom given him any trouble – and why should they? They had the best of everything that life could offer. But you never knew with families. Alfred, the older of the two, was hot-headed and self-opinionated – especially since being away at that college in Salisbury for the last couple of years – but that was no bad thing. Alfred would never allow himself to be pushed around in life.

But Johnny … Reynard didn’t like to admit this, but Johnny had always been his favourite. There was just something about Johnny – the boy would be sorely missed when he joined Alfred’s college in September. For one thing, Johnny had always been interested in the business and how it all worked. That was why he had been given charge of the rent-collecting last year. Well, that and the fact that it saved Reynard having to pay an older person much more than the small wage he gave Johnny. And the boy was so trustworthy, so good at figures. Reynard seldom checked the ledger against the money collected, before taking the cash to the bank.

He frowned briefly as he drank from his glass. Of course, they didn’t see so much of Alfred now, but when he was at home he seemed to spend a lot of time in town with friends he’d made. And from what Reynard managed to glean, he liked the girls. Well, when the time came, Reynard would issue certain warnings. Work came first, must always come first. Alfred had a long way to go before he could become seriously involved with a woman.

The thing that Reynard could not deny was that his older son was a rebel, had been from a young age, always questioning why he should or should not do this or that, always wanting his own way. Reynard’s brow furrowed even more deeply as his thoughts ran on, because there was that other thing, that other much, much worse thing.

War.

War with Germany was now highly likely and Alfred had announced in no uncertain terms that he would be joining up as soon as it began. Reynard dragged a hand through his hair. If only the boy realized how dreadful war was, how unbelievably savage and cruel and terrifying. Surely in a civilized world there should be no war ever again? War was a terrible waste of life, of resources, of opportunities …

But in their discussions Alfred had not wavered. He was going to volunteer for service and that was that.

Reynard took a gulp from his glass. There was no use denying it, Alfred was a carbon copy of himself.

Johnny, on the other hand, was different. No talk of war or girls with Johnny. You couldn’t count little Lexi, Lexi Martin, who seemed to scuttle out of sight as soon as she saw him. She was the daughter of the woman who helped Anna in the house now and then, a woman who was an expert with a needle. If Reynard needed the legs of a pair of trousers lengthened, or the sleeves of a new jacket brought down a tiny bit, Mrs Martin always obliged. And his favourite waistcoats were the ones she had made for him.

He poured himself another glass of brandy, then sat down again, recoiling once more at what he had witnessed earlier. Then he put down his glass and picked up the small bunch of keys always kept behind the inkwell. Selecting the smallest key, he leaned forward and inserted it into the bottom drawer of the desk. This was his private drawer, the only one which was out of bounds to everyone else – Johnny had never opened it, Reynard knew that.

Slowly, Reynard opened the drawer and took out a large brown envelope, realizing that his hands were shaking slightly – well, they usually did when he opened this envelope …

Then, carefully, carefully, he slid out the photograph. That photograph.

It was a picture of two young couples, standing close together, and smiling happily. One couple was Sylvia and himself – it always surprised him how young and carefree his wife looked in that shot. But he, as usual, was straight-faced … well, it was those teeth …

And the other two in the picture were his best friend Roland, the only friend Reynard had ever had, and Roland’s wife. A pretty, dark-haired girl, full of life. In their fairly short acquaintance, they’d had such good times, the four of them. Enjoyed being together, trusted each other implicitly …

For several minutes Reynard just sat there gazing at the picture, gazing into the past. Slowly, his forefinger traced the outline of the four in the photograph, as if by touching he might bring them all to life …

Then he slid the picture back into the envelope, replaced it in the drawer which he locked again carefully, and stood up, leaving the study to return to his bedroom.

Why had he done that, tonight? Why had he opened that drawer? Was it to punish himself, to make him even more miserable than he’d already been?

Was confronting the past ever any help at all?

Chapter Four (#ulink_98989713-c928-539e-8595-acb3e700e728)

Cecilia went back into the kitchen with her cup of tea and sat down gratefully in front of the fire.

Today’s Sunday lunch had seen the last of the very plump chicken which Albert had brought home a few days earlier and nothing had been wasted – the neck, giblets, wing tips, and every scrap of offal used, ending with the carcass providing a pan of glorious stew, with parsley and dumplings and potatoes. Cecilia had wondered whether the bird had been given to Albert, as he’d said, or whether her husband had “acquired” it, but she preferred not to dwell on that because the children had loved it.

It was lovely having Albert home, making them a proper family of five for once. The children, especially Lexi, had been so excited to see him again. Cecilia glanced down at them sprawled there on the floor, with Lexi testing Phoebe’s reading, and Joe laboriously colouring in a picture book – one of the several presents Albert had brought with him.

He came through, then, from the scullery, stopping to wash his hands. He shot a glance at Cecilia. ‘Now then, Cissy – sure you’re not after minding me going out for a pint or two,’ he said. ‘I shan’t be long.’

Cecilia didn’t even look up at him as she smiled. ‘Of course I don’t mind, Albert. You go and enjoy yourself.’ Though how anyone could take in another mouthful of anything, after all the food they’d just eaten, was beyond her. And why he would rather be in a crowded, smoke-filled pub than here with his family was another mystery to Cecilia. Surely he should rather be here with his children – he saw very little of them and they were growing up so fast.

Cecilia glanced after him as he went, humming a little tune under his breath, and she wondered if Albert ever felt guilty about picking and choosing at life as he did. About having everything all his own way. Did it never occur to him that she could do with his company, with his support, a little more often? To say nothing of providing more consistent housekeeping money? But no, she was sure her husband’s conscience never bothered him about anything at all. Which was lucky for him. Not many people could say that.

It was four o’clock, and just then there was a light tap on the door. Lexi immediately jumped up to answer it. It was Johnny and she hadn’t seen him all the week.

He came in, and after politely enquiring as to Mrs. Martin’s health, immediately crouched on the floor with Lexi and the children. Cecilia smiled down at him. He was such a good-looking lad, so well-mannered, had such a way with him. And so easy to talk to …well, he met so many people on his after-school round on a Friday, collecting rents for his father. Cecilia well remembered the first time she had seen him – a dear little thing about eighteen months of age with a brother a year or two older. It had seemed a curious situation with no mother on the scene – though there had been an elderly lady in attendance, obviously to take care of the children.

Mr McCann had moved here from the South, from London, someone said, and had moved into the big place in its own grounds, Grey Gables. Or just the Gables to locals. Before that, it had been unoccupied for a long time, prospective buyers apparently put off by the fact that the place was haunted – even though that was hardly unusual because Bath was full of ghosts. But the supernatural presence had obviously not concerned Reynard McCann at all, and he’d bought and restored Grey Gables to an elegant and comfortable home. It was on the edge of the Kensington area of the town and easy walking distance from the little rank of cottages the Martins had lived in at the time. It had been several months before the agent who’d usually collected the rents informed them that Mr McCann was now their new landlord.

Cecilia made a little face to herself as she remembered how their rents had immediately shot up from a shilling and sixpence to two shillings a week which had meant more scraping and making-do for all the tenants. But at least she’d soon gained some occasional employment at the house when it became known that Mr McCann was looking for a needlewoman, as well as someone reliable to help out. Because of that, Cecilia had known the little boys from the beginning, and they’d usually been allowed to play out with the local children despite being so much posher than everyone else.

Anna Hobbs had been the resident housekeeper for years now, as well as looking after the children – though with Cecilia frequently called upon to give a hand with the housework or to make or mend something or other. But that was all a very long time ago.

The Martins, of course, were now in their new cottage.

Lexi touched Johnny’s arm. ‘My Dada came home this week, Johnny,’

Johnny, still helping Joe with his colouring, raised his eyes. ‘Did he? That was nice …has he gone away again already?’

‘No,’ Cecilia said firmly. ‘Lexi’s father has gone to the pub where I’m sure he’s entertaining everyone on his harmonica. But he’ll be back in time for some supper. Or when he feels like it,’ she added.

‘Oh, but he was playing to us this morning, wasn’t he, Mama?’ Lexi said quickly. ‘When you were cooking dinner? And we were all singing “Dada wouldn’t buy me a bow wow” and “Follow the yellow brick road” and “Cockles and mussels alive alive oh!” and Dada was dancing around the room and pulling us around with him and you were laughing so much you were crying, weren’t you, Mama? I saw the tears running down your face!’

Oh, she’d been crying all right, Cecilia thought to herself. She’d cried for the past, and for the future … her own future, and the children’s futures. She’d wanted to hold the precious moment close to her and keep it there forever. She’d cried for the years that were slipping through her fingers, taking the children further and further away from her. And what would she do when they were all grown up, when there was no one left to care for, to worry about, and when there was no one to care about her, either? Cecilia should never expect anything from Albert, that was for sure.

After Johnny had played a couple of games of Snakes and Ladders with the children, he said reluctantly, ‘I ought to go back. I’ve still got homework to do – and you know what my father is like on the subject of work!’

‘It’s lovely to see you, Johnny, and you’re always welcome, you know that,’ Cecilia said, shooting a glance at him and Lexi standing there together like two peas in a pod. Cecilia breathed an inward sigh. She was very aware of the close relationship which had built up between the two youngsters over the years, and one day Lexi was going to be hurt. It was inevitable. Johnny would soon be going away to college, and after that probably to some other academic institution. And that would be the end of it. Nothing lasts forever, and Johnny would be mixing with other friends, friends of a superior rank … more appropriate friends in his own class. Oil and water never mix, and Mr McCann had great ambitions for his sons.

Lexi saw Johnny out, and they stood for a moment out of earshot of the others. Lexi looked up. ‘Guess what, Johnny?’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to have an audition at the Guildhall so that they can hear me sing my songs!’

Johnny’s eyes widened. ‘Really, Lexi? That’s brilliant! But how did that happen?’

Lexi went on to explain who’d come into the sweet shop and what had happened. ‘I’m so excited, Johnny,’ she said quietly, ‘but I haven’t told Mama yet because – well, I do feel a bit scared! Imagine me, Lexi Martin, maybe entertaining people at the Pump Room while they are taking tea! It’s like something out of a fairy tale!’