Before the Dawn

33

RUBY

10th May

Come on, come ON, I thought as the train puffed and clanked its way towards Southampton, the final leg of my journey. It had taken all day, and getting back to Bartonford would take me all day tomorrow, leaving me with only a few hours to see Sam. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing fervently that I didn’t live so far from everywhere. I could have waited until the weekend, but that was too long: besides which, it was a nightmare simply getting to Ilfracombe on a Sunday, never mind travelling halfway along the south coast.

No one knew where I was going or who I was going to see. I’d told Father Vera was back over in England for a few days, in London, and wanted desperately to see me, and I’d given Howler a story about an aunt in Bournemouth who’d been bombed out and was unwell. Thankfully, both had believed me, although by the time I’d finished pleading with Howler my poor old non-existent aunt was virtually at death’s door. I’d told Alfie I was going to see Vera too, sickened by guilt at lying to him.

But I had to see Sam. I had to.

The letter was in my pocket. I took it out and read it again, for what must have been the hundredth time; I had to keep looking at it to reassure myself it was real. I still had no idea how I’d held it together when I’d returned to the cottage two evenings ago and Father had met me at the door, a rare smile on his face. ‘I’ve just had Alfie Blythe here,’ he’d said. ‘He’s asked if I’ll let you marry him – I said yes, of course, and I will write a letter giving my permission.’

I’d stared stupidly at him; Alfie had gone completely out of my head. Father was still smiling. ‘I’m glad, Ruby. He’s a nice chap and it means I’ll still have you close by.’ Patting me on the arm – the closest he ever got to a hug – he’d stood back to let me past, not seeming to notice my dazed expression.

‘Humbug, dearie?’ The woman in the seat opposite thrust a disreputable-looking paper bag at me, tearing me away from my thoughts. All day, at the most inconvenient moments, she’d been trying to chat to me about this or that, or offer me food. I knew she meant well – she was fat, kind and motherly, the sort I always seemed to attract when I was travelling alone. I shook my head and gave her a tight little smile, mentally thanking whoever was above that at least it wasn’t a fish paste sandwich on Victory bread this time. ‘No, thank you.’

The woman reached into the bag’s sticky depths and extracted a striped humbug, popping it into her mouth. ‘Watching your figure, eh?’ she said with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Well, when you get to my age, dearie, it won’t bother you so much! I’ve had these since Easter time. Makin’ them last, see?’ She sighed. ‘The war might be over but there’s still no end to the rationing yet, is there?’

I nodded and gave her another smile, wishing I smoked or had brought my knitting so I had something to do. Instead, I leaned back, gazing out of the window. Sam wasn’t expecting me – there hadn’t been time to write to him. I’d just hopped on the train, hoping for the best. Excitement, nerves and a fresh surge of guilt swirled inside me. What sort of person was I turning into? Two days ago, I’d agreed to marry Alfie. I should have come clean – told him straight away that I couldn’t do it because I was already engaged to someone else and had just found out he was still alive – but I hadn’t. I’d avoided him, pretending to be busy. What a coward I was! I hated myself for it. And yet the thought of seeing Sam again eclipsed all that; eclipsed everything.

At last – long last – we reached Southampton. Even though I’d seen photographs of it in the newspaper, the reality of the bomb damage was a dreadful shock. It must have been terrible, listening to Jerry drone over night after night for years on end, wondering if your house would still be standing in the morning. As for those awful rockets they’d dropped on London – Doodlebugs, they’d called them, a name that seemed inappropriately jolly to me – I couldn’t begin to imagine how frightening that must have been. Oh, well. It was all over now.

‘Goodbye, dearie,’ the woman said as the train pulled into the station and I got up, brushing smuts off my skirt and lifting my overnight bag down from the rack. I didn’t actually know where I was going to stay tonight; I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Perhaps someone at the hospital would be able to help me find somewhere.

I waited to help the woman off the train with her things, then bid her goodbye too. I could have waited for another train to take me to Netley station, which was almost next door to the hospital, but it had started to rain so I hailed a taxi cab instead. All I wanted to do was get there. ‘Going to see your sweetheart, are you, love?’ the driver said when we arrived, pulling up in front of a vast brick building that looked a quarter of a mile wide, at least.

The way he was looking me up and down irritated me. ‘Actually, I’m a newspaper reporter,’ I said frostily. I paid him with the exact change, grabbed my bag, got out and slammed the door hard, gratified to see the annoyance on his face as he drove away.

The entrance hall of the hospital was cavernous. I looked around for someone to ask about Sam, but couldn’t see anyone. Eventually I caught the arm of a white-coated doctor walking past. ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ he said in an American accent, sounding slightly annoyed. I showed him Sam’s letter and explained why I was there. ‘Ah, yes, Private Archer,’ he said, and a jolt went through me. He was here – really here.

‘Well, it isn’t strictly visiting hours—’ the doctor began.

‘Please,’ I begged him. ‘I’ve come all the way from Devon.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘Wait here.’ He walked off.

I waited for what felt like hours, until eventually a brisk, efficient nurse, also American, arrived to take me down to his ward, which was at the end of what seemed like miles of corridors. The building had rows of tall windows, none of which actually seemed to let in any light. The floors were scuffed, the paintwork cracked, and underneath the tang of disinfectant, which reminded me of Barton Hall, there was a strong smell of mildew. I barely noticed any of it; my heart was thudding and I felt slightly sick with nerves and excitement. Doubts were crowding my mind, too. What if the doctors had got it wrong? What if it was a case of mistaken identity, and it wasn’t Sam after all?

As we entered the ward, I felt as if my heart was trying to climb into my mouth. I couldn’t see him anywhere.

‘Down here.’ The nurse led me to a bed at the end of the ward, screened with curtains, and stuck her head around them. ‘Private Archer, you have a visitor,’ she said. She nodded at me, and left.

Sam was propped up against his pillows, his eyes closed. At the sight of him, my heart gave another great lurch. He looked older, thinner, more tired wearing a pair of blue and white striped pyjamas unbuttoned at the neck. His hands, resting on top of the covers, had thick bandages wrapped around the palms, leaving his fingers free. As I stepped around the curtains, his eyelids fluttered open.

I was shaking. ‘Hullo, Sam,’ I managed to say.

He sat up with a start. ‘Ruby? Oh my God, is it really you?’

I flew to him; his arms went around me; then we were kissing, and I was crying, and when I finally pulled away I saw there were tears rolling down his face too.

‘I thought you were dead.’ My voice was trembling. ‘Vera got a letter from Stanley. He said you were captured by the Germans at a farm. He said he heard you get shot—’

He shook his head. ‘Not me. They shot the farmer and his family, and their dogs, but they took me and Freddie Gardner to one of their camps. Oh, Christ, I’m so sorry about our wedding. I couldn’t get to Ilfracombe. They closed the camp and they wouldn’t let anyone out – I couldn’t even get a message to you—’

‘It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.’ I sat down on the edge of the bed, gently taking one of his bandaged hands in mine.

His fingers squeezed mine. ‘I thought I was never gonna see you again. God, Ruby—’

I saw shivers go through him. I stroked his arm. ‘It’s OK. You’re safe now.’

Gradually, his trembling began to subside.

‘Tell me what happened if you want to. But only if you want to.’

He took a deep breath, and then he told me: about landing on the beach in France; about being captured, and being sent to a prisoner of war camp in Germany; about his attempt to escape, and working in a soap factory. He and his friend Davy had put cement powder in one of the mixers instead of pumice to try and sabotage it, but something had gone wrong and the factory had burned down, and they were put in prison in the middle of Dresden. For some reason the name of the city was familiar, but I couldn’t work out why. ‘We were due to be executed,’ Sam said, ‘but then the bombing raid happened.’

Shock jolted through me. Now I knew why I’d recognised the name: I’d seen a story in Father’s paper about it. In mid-February, the allies had coordinated a massive bombing raid on the city, causing a firestorm that had cost thousands of people their lives. ‘You were there?’

‘Right in the goddamn middle of it.’

He was trembling again.

‘Don’t talk about it.’ My heart was pounding, my throat tight.

‘No, I want to. I need to tell someone. I—’

He took in a deep, shuddering breath.

‘The bombs blasted a hole in the prison wall. Davy – the guy I was in there with – he was killed, but I managed to get out. I wandered the streets for a while. Everything was burning. It was like being in the middle of hell.

‘At one point I thought I’d had it – a building at the end of the street I was on collapsed and I got trapped. But then more rubble fell on top of the stuff that was burning and put the flames out. I don’t recall how I got out of the city. I just walked, at night mostly, and rested during the day. It was easier to stay hidden that way. I kept expecting to be picked up and arrested again, but I saw almost no one. Most of the towns and villages I came to were ruins. Eventually I ended up crossing the border back into France. By then I was sick – really sick – I was running a fever. My hands had gotten burned during the firebombing and they were infected.

‘I found my way to this farmhouse somehow – it looked a bit like the one I was hiding out in before I was captured, but it can’t have been, because that got burned down. There was still a family living there who were part of the French Resistance, like the ones who helped me and Stanley after we got to France. They managed to get in touch with the Brits and well, here I am. For now, anyway.’

I looked at him, at the familiar lines of the face I loved so much and had been sure I would never see again. I still couldn’t believe he was here – that he was real.

‘Stanley’s all right, you know,’ I told him. ‘He was found by the British. They brought him here, and now he’s back in America with Vera. They’re both working at the Washington Post.’

Sam’s face sagged with relief. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ He managed to smile. ‘Hey – how long do we have? Are you staying in Southampton overnight?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I was in such a rush to see you that I came down here without making any arrangements. Father and A… er, Grandmother think I’m visiting Vera in London – they don’t know she’s over in America – and Howler thinks I’m visiting an invalid aunt in Bournemouth. I was going to look for a room somewhere.’

My stomach twisted as I thought of Alfie again, waiting for me back in Bartonford, oblivious and trusting.

Sam threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. ‘You wanna get out of here for a while?’

‘Is that allowed? Are you well enough?’

‘Pass me those clothes.’ He nodded at a shirt, trousers and jacket, slung over the back of a chair beside the bed; I hadn’t even noticed it was there. I turned my back on him while he dressed.

‘Can you help me with these buttons?’

I looked round again, and felt a jolt. His shirt was hanging open, exposing his jutting ribs, hips and collarbone.

The smile he gave me was a shadow of its former self too. ‘Believe me, I look a hell of a lot better than I did a coupla months ago.’

As we left the hospital, creeping furtively like a pair of naughty children, I was expecting a nurse or doctor to try and stop us, but no one did. ‘They drive jeeps down here sometimes,’ Sam said as we made our way down the long corridor with the rows of windows that didn’t let in enough light.

I raised an eyebrow. ‘That would explain the marks on the floor, then.’

Then we were outside in the fresh air and lightly misting rain. Sam turned his face up to it, breathing in deeply. ‘Where to?’

I linked my arm through his. ‘I have no idea. Let’s just walk, if you can manage it.’

‘Sure. Nothing wrong with my legs.’

We began to walk. ‘What happened to your hands?’ I asked Sam. At the same time he said, ‘So, how’s life in Devon been since I left?’

We both laughed. ‘You first,’ he said.

So I told him about Grandmother, and how awful she still was, what was happening at the Herald, and all the stories and gossip circulating around Bartonford. Everything except being engaged to Alfie. Every time I looked round and saw Sam beside me, I wanted to pinch myself because I was convinced this was all some wonderful dream; I was scared that if I mentioned Alfie, Sam would be upset or angry, and it would spoil everything. I’d tell him later, I decided. And of course, I would break things off with Alfie as soon as I got back to Bartonford – I’d go and see him the moment I stepped off the train, before I went home. If I’d had even the slightest inkling Sam was still alive, I’d never have said yes to Alfie in the first place.

We passed a parade of shops, and Sam said, ‘Wait here.’

He ducked into a jeweller’s. I stood outside, feeling oddly self-conscious and wondering what on earth he was up to. He reappeared about ten minutes later, holding a small velvet box.

I opened it. Nestled inside was a simple silver ring with a single ruby set into it.

He grinned. ‘Told you I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?’

I was half afraid he’d go down on one knee like Alfie had, but he just slid it onto my finger. I held out my hand, admiring it. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said in a shaky voice. ‘The most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.’

‘Aw, no. I had to send some more money home for Ma but when I get the rest of my pay I’ll get you a nicer one – gold, with a diamond. If you still wanna get married, that is.’

My heart soared; my stomach sank. Oh, God, how had my life become so complicated?

‘Ruby?’ Sam was frowning now. ‘You do want to, don’t you?’

‘Yes – yes – more than anything!’ I said. He flung his arms around me and we kissed.

Tell him, I thought. You HAVE to.

I took a deep breath, the words on the tip of my tongue. Then I noticed how quiet he was. Now it was my turn to frown. ‘Sam? What is it?’ Had he guessed, somehow? No – that was ridiculous – impossible.

He took a deep breath too. ‘A sergeant came to see me yesterday. From the US army.’

‘Oh – are you being transferred to another hospital? Well, don’t worry – I’ll come and see you. I’ll find a way.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m being discharged.’

‘Discharged?’

‘Yeah. My hands—’ He held them up, waggling his fingers where they poked out above the bandages. ‘They’re healing OK, but I won’t ever be able to fire a gun again. There’s too much scar tissue. I leave for Portsmouth on Monday.’

‘No! No! That’s not fair!’

‘I know. I know.’

‘This bloody war.’ My voice was trembling; tears sprung into my eyes.

‘Yeah, but if it wasn’t for the war we’d’ve never met each other at all.’ Clumsily, he wiped my face with the backs of his bandaged hands. I could tell he was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but underneath it I could sense his turmoil; it matched mine. I’d had one day with him – not even that. And now he was being taken away from me again.

‘It won’t be forever. Only a little while. I have to go back and find Meggie and Ma, make sure they’re OK. But I’ll come back for you, I promise.’

I pressed my face against his shoulder. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to make the most of each other while we’re here, then.’

I decided then not to mention Alfie after all. Sam didn’t need to know – not yet. Not when I was going to end the engagement to Alfie as soon as I got back to Bartonford anyway. I’d tell him later, once we were back together again.

Walking down to the seafront, we passed a little boarding house, a sign saying VACANCIES by the front gate, and I remembered that I didn’t have anywhere to stay tonight yet. ‘Sam – I ought to book a room,’ I said.

He looked at me, and I felt that old, familiar spark pass between us. Heat flared in my belly and my face as I remembered those afternoons in the lodge, holding each other, kissing, our hands slipping under one another’s clothes. Who knew when I might see him again?

I swallowed. ‘Can you – can you stay too?’

‘I guess so. If that’s what you want?’

With an enormous effort, loathing myself for it, I finally pushed all thoughts of Alfie away. ‘Yes. Definitely. If you won’t get into trouble?’

‘I’ll already be in trouble for going AWOL. And I’m done with the army anyway.’ He held up his hands again. ‘I’m no use to them like this.’

I could hear from his tone what he was thinking: No use to anybody. I gave his arm a squeeze.

The boarding house was a shabby sort of place, but the nets at the windows were clean and there were pots brimming with late spring pansies either side of the front door. As we walked up the path, I twisted the ring on my finger, a rapid pulse beating in my throat, and tightened my grip on the handle of my overnight bag. ‘You’re really sure?’ Sam said softly. ‘Because if it’s not, just say. It’s fine.’

I nodded, and he rang the bell.