32
RUBY
8th May
‘Yesterday morning at 2:41 a.m. at headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and Grand Admiral Doenitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force, and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command…’
I stared at the wireless set, which had taken up permanent residence in the office after D-Day – my office, since Vera was no longer here – listening to Churchill’s voice crackling through the speaker. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. I should have been typing up a story about a stolen bicycle. But instead, everyone at the Herald was crammed in this tiny room to listen to the announcement being broadcast from London. Even Howler was here.
When the announcement had finished, he took off his spectacles and polished them on a corner of his waistcoat. ‘Well, thank goodness for that.’
‘I have some brandy in my office,’ Dobbsy said. ‘I think, if the occasion permits…’
She went out, returning a few minutes later with a bottle and an assortment of glasses.
Howler lifted his in the air. ‘To the defeat of the Nazis!’
‘To the defeat of the Nazis!’ I, Dobbsy, Charlie Hopkins and Robert Towle echoed.
Oh, Vera, I wish you could be here, I thought as I choked down the brandy. I wondered what she was doing right now in Washington. What time was it over there? Was she celebrating too? I’d had a letter from her a few days ago, telling me how homesick she was even though she was enjoying her new job at the Washington Post.
I didn’t let myself think about Sam.
No one was in the mood to work after that, not even Dobbsy, so Howler let us all go home. Outside, crowds were spilling onto the streets, laughing, smiling, singing, chattering excitedly. Is it really over… Still fighting in Asia, don’t forget… Our boys will be home soon!
‘Ruby!’
Struggling to weave my bicycle through the throng of people on the pavement, I turned. It was Alfie in his post office uniform, waving at me and beaming.
‘Did you hear the news?’ he said as he reached me, and I was reminded of that day, all those years ago, when he’d come to find me on the beach to tell me war had been declared. We’d both changed so much since then. Everything had changed.
I took his hands, and shook my head. ‘I can’t believe it. It doesn’t feel quite real. Oh, isn’t it wonderful!’
He kissed me, right on the mouth. He didn’t normally go for public displays of affection; it made me laugh. ‘Why, Alfie!’
He flushed, but he was still smiling. Then, with a mixture of amusement and horror, I watched him go down on one knee.
‘Will you marry me, Ruby?’ he said, looking up at me earnestly, as people gathered round, watching us.
Panic clawed inside me. I began to stutter. ‘I – I—’
‘You can’t turn him down, miss! Not today!’ someone called.
Alfie was still gazing at me. ‘I’ll do it properly, of course – get a ring – and I’ll have to ask your father – we’ll need permission – but please say yes!’
The arguments for and against marrying Alfie whirled through my head like a swarm of bees. The fors were obvious: if I married Alfie, I could leave home – leave the suffocating little cottage and Grandmother – of course we’d stay in Bartonford, so I’d still be close enough to see Father every day and help him when he wasn’t well, but I’d have my own space – my own home. Alfie wasn’t Sam, but he was kind and I knew he loved me and would look after me. His family loved me too, and I them – Annie would be thrilled when she found out she was going to have me for a big sister. If I married Alfie, I wouldn’t want for anything – wouldn’t have to worry.
As for the againsts, there was only one: Sam.
And he was nothing but a memory.
Allow yourself to grieve, Ruby love, but don’t spend the rest of your life pining away. Your Sam wouldn’t have wanted that; I’m sure of it. Heart pounding, face bright red, I took a deep breath. ‘All right, Alfie. But get up, do! Everyone’s staring!’
He stood, brushing grit off the knees of his trousers, and kissed me again, so hard he crushed my lips against my teeth. The crowd around us cheered.
We walked through town together hand in hand, back in the direction of Barton Hall. ‘Should I come and speak to your father now?’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘He’ll still be working – call round this evening.’
‘OK. Will you come in for a while? We should celebrate!’
We went back to the cottage on Barton Lane. Alfie didn’t say anything about our engagement – he wanted to talk to Father first – but I had another drink with his parents, whisky this time, and Annie put a record on. Mr Blythe swept Mrs Blythe to her feet and danced around the living room with her, while the rest of us watched them, Alfie and his sister grinning from ear to ear.
We’ve been happy enough, Wilf and I…
Would Alfie and I be happy enough? I hoped so.
When the record ended and Mr and Mrs Blythe had collapsed breathlessly into their armchairs again, I stood, a little dizzily. ‘I must go.’
Alfie walked me to the front door. Out of earshot of the rest of his family, he said, ‘I’ll call round later – about eight?’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘Ruby—’
I looked round at him.
He grinned. ‘See you later, Mrs Blythe!’
‘Oh, Alfie!’ I said, and laughed. I’d get used to being called that eventually, I supposed.
He kissed me on the cheek, chastely, and I went home.
*
‘A letter came to the main house for you today, Ruby,’ Father said at dinner, absently patting his pockets. ‘Now, where did I put it? Ah – here it is.’
He passed me a slim envelope with my name and the hospital’s address written on it in an unfamiliar hand.
‘Who’s that from?’ Grandmother’s face was sharp with curiosity.
‘Something for work, I expect – perhaps they couldn’t find the Herald’s office address.’ I put the letter into my own pocket without looking further at it so it was safe from her prying eyes, and, glancing at the clock, pushed my chair back. It was five past seven – less than an hour before Alfie was due to call. For some reason, the thought of being here when he arrived made me uneasy. ‘I must walk Toffee,’ I told Father. ‘I’ll be back in a little while.’
When I went to Mrs-Baxter-down-the-lane’s, she was beaming from ear to ear. ‘I was so pleased to hear the news! All that dreadful fighting, over at last!’
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’
Her face grew sober. ‘Although there’s still all those terrible things going on in the Far East, of course.’ She sighed. ‘Someone’s always fighting over something somewhere, aren’t they? Anyway, don’t let me keep you.’
I walked Toffee up to the coast path. When I reached Wreckers Cove, I remembered the letter in my pocket, and sat down on a rock at the mouth of the cave to open it. A strange little shiver went down my spine: the envelope had a Southampton postmark. There was one thin sheet of paper inside, typed. The letter was dated a week earlier and the address at the top said: Royal Victoria Military Hospital Netley, Netley Abbey, Southampton.
My scalp began to prickle, my throat tightening.
Dearest, dearest Ruby,
I know you’ve probably given up on me by now and if that’s the case I don’t blame you. There were so many times I wanted to write to you to let you know I was still alive but the Germans wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t rememberthe address of your offices either so I had to send thisto the hospital. I hope it’s reached you OK and not fallen into enemy (your pa’s or grandma’s) hands!!
I know it must be a shock, finding out I’m alive after all this time. It’s a shock to me too to be honest – there were so many times I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I want to tell you about them all but the guy typing this letter for me will probably die of boredom if I don’t hurry up.
As you’ll see from the address I’m at the American military hospital in Southampton. Don’t worry, I’m OK, it’s just my hands aren’t so good right now and it hurts to hold a pen for too long, which is why I’m dictating this.
If this letter gets to you do you think you can make it down here? I’d give anything to see you again.
All my love,
Sam xxxxx
My breath caught in my throat in a sob. I scanned the letter again, my lips moving soundlessly as I reread Sam’s words. I was shaking. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Someone was playing a cruel joke on me.
Then I noticed something at the bottom of the page: PTO, written in laborious, crooked capitals. I turned it over and, on the back, saw a clumsy but recognisable drawing of a girl’s face – mine – and next to it, a stitchwort flower.
I clutched the letter, trying to remember how to breathe. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. Toffee came bounding up and whined softly, concerned. I picked the little dog up, burying my face in his wiry fur. Seeming to sense I needed comfort, he let me hold him instead of trying to wriggle away.
‘Oh, Sam,’ I whispered. ‘Sam.’