Poppy's War Page 15
‘That didn’t stop you shinning up the tree.’ He turned his head away. ‘I’m not looking.’
With an almost euphoric feeling of relief, Poppy lowered herself until she could drop safely to the ground. She mounted Romeo with ease, glancing at Guy to make sure he was not looking as she arranged her skirt so that not too much leg was showing. ‘All right then. I’m ready.’
They rode for a while in silence with Guy leading the way across the park and out through a gateway that led into a narrow lane bounded by high hedgerows. It was a steep descent to the rocky cove overlooking the wide expanse of the bay. The island of Portland loomed above a line of lowlying cloud, giving it the appearance of floating on the calm ultramarine sea. They dismounted and Guy tethered both horses to a five-barred gate leading into a field.
‘Guy, about last night,’ Poppy began hesitantly. ‘I’m sorry …’
He held up his hand. ‘Don’t be. If anyone should apologise it’s I and my family. We should have known it was your birthday and done something about it. At least your friends had the right idea, even if they were a bit misguided in their attempts to entertain you.’
‘Amy would have remembered,’ Poppy said, watching his expression closely. ‘You must miss her a lot.’
He walked to the water’s edge and picked up a stone, flinging it so that it bounced several times before sinking beneath the waves. ‘She was keen to join her parents, and I can’t blame her for wanting to get away from the war.’
It was hardly an answer to her question but Poppy could tell by the set of his shoulders that she had touched on a raw subject. She attempted to emulate his action with a pebble but it sank to the bottom.
‘Sunk without trace,’ Guy said, turning his head to grin at her.
‘Don’t say that. It might come true.’
‘Not a chance. I’m fireproof.’
‘Don’t say that either, it’s like tempting fate.’ Her hand went automatically to the glass heart hanging on its silver chain. She had not taken it off since Mum gave it to her and the simple act of touching it brought the family closer and made her feel safe.
‘What’s that, Poppy?’
She displayed it proudly. ‘Mum gave it to me last time I saw her. She said my dad had given it to her years ago, but I have to be careful as it’s fragile and breaks easily.’
‘That’s true of all hearts, I suppose.’ His serious expression melted into a smile. ‘Easily broken, I mean. But not yours, I hope, Poppy. You’ve borne everything like a real trooper. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’
‘Oh, well, I don’t know about that.’ Suddenly shy, Poppy stared down at the wet sand as she traced a wavy line with the toe of her shoe.
‘I mean it,’ he said emphatically. ‘You must miss your home and family but I’ve never heard you complain. You’ve been neglected by my mother and largely ignored by the rest of my family, and yet you still come up smiling. I don’t think I would have had as much guts at such a young age.’
Poppy shrugged her shoulders. ‘There’s a war on.’ She looked up and met his worried gaze with a chuckle. ‘That’s what everyone says when things go wrong, isn’t it?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’ve got a wicked sense of humour, Poppy Brown.’
‘Have I?’ She experienced a thrill that was even more intoxicating than the cider she had drunk the previous evening. Guy was speaking to her like an adult and an equal. ‘No one ever told me that before.’
Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he gave her a hug. ‘I wish I’d had you as a little sister. If it was possible to adopt siblings, I’d choose you.’
A cloud blotted out the sun and Poppy shivered. ‘Ta,’ she murmured, although inside she felt as though an ice-cold hand had clutched her warm heart.
‘Of course I would, but I think your parents might object if anyone tried to take you away from them. You’re special, Poppy, and don’t you ever forget it.’
‘I’ll be going home soon, I expect.’
He frowned. ‘I thought Amy had arranged for you to stay on at school.’
‘It’s complicated, and anyway I’d rather join the Land Army and work with the girls. I love it here, although of course I miss my family, but I don’t miss brick and concrete, the thick smelly fog in winter, or pavements so hot in summer you could fry an egg on them.’
Guy stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. ‘I had no idea you felt like this.’
‘Why would you? I’m just an evacuee. I’ll go home when the war is over and we’ll never see each other again. I don’t fit in with your lot.’ The bitter words came tumbling out unbidden, but she was surprised to see the look of shock on Guy’s face. ‘It’s the truth,’ she added.
‘You make me ashamed of myself and my family.’ He lifted her onto Romeo’s saddle. ‘But it’s only the truth as you see it, Poppy. I’m truly sorry if that’s the impression you’ve been given, but I don’t think of you in that way, and neither did Amy. My parents are dinosaurs, living in a bygone age that began to fragment during the Great War, and will be gone forever by the time this one ends.’ He vaulted onto Goliath’s back. ‘You’re the future, and my family will have to get used to the idea. Now let’s get home before it rains. I can see clouds forming over the island. We’re in for a storm unless I’m very much mistaken.’
Guy left that night, taking the train to Waterloo, having left his car at the Pallisters’ London home in order to save petrol. The family stood on the steps to see him off, but Poppy stood apart, as if separated from them by an invisible barrier. Guy brushed his mother’s cheek with a brief kiss, gave Pamela a hug and ruffled Rupert’s curls. He shook his father’s hand and just when Poppy thought she was forgotten, he turned and walked over to her. The dying rays of the sun caught the crystal hanging round her neck, and he touched it gently with his finger. ‘Take care of that glass heart, Poppy. Don’t let anyone break it.’ He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a brief moment before turning away and striding down the steps to the waiting car. Jackson made a move to open the rear door, but Guy shook his head and climbed into the front passenger seat.
As the Bentley pulled away, Poppy clasped the glass heart in her hand. She was certain the imprint of Guy’s touch would be stored in it forever like a fly trapped in amber.
The family had gone indoors without acknowledging her presence, and Nancy’s spiteful words rang in Poppy’s head.
‘Cooee.’
Poppy turned to see Mavis was waving frantically from the entrance to the stable yard. ‘D’you fancy a cup of cocoa?’
Poppy ran down the steps to join her. ‘I’d love some.’
‘Edie’s heating some milk on the stove in our room, and that Algy Fenton-whatshisname gave Jean a packet of chocolate biscuits that he’d bought as a present for his aunt but he decided that our need was greater. Jeannie obviously made a hit with him.’
‘Algy’s all right,’ Poppy said vaguely. ‘Guy’s engaged to his sister. She was really good to me.’
‘I heard that she’d scarpered off to Singapore to join her parents. If I was in love with a bloke like Guy I’m blowed if I’d leave him a prey to man-hungry females. Anyway, that’s not our problem. Let’s go and get some biscuits before those two greedy pigs scoff the lot.’ Mavis hesitated, eyeing Poppy with a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re fond of him, aren’t you?’
Poppy nodded her head. Her throat felt tight and tears stung the backs of her eyes. ‘It’s dangerous flying planes.’
‘Guy’s a survivor if ever I saw one. He’s not the sort to get into a flap and panic. I’ll bet he can keep a cool head in the worst situations. He’ll be all right, I promise you.’
In the months that followed Mavis’s confident prediction often sprang to mind, but that did not stop Poppy from worrying. Keeping busy was one way to allay her fears for Guy and for her family in London, although as yet there had been no air raid. Mum wrote once a week at least and Poppy sent a reply by return of post.
But the real nightmare began for her at the end of September, when the harvest had been gathered in and the trees in the orchard were groaning beneath the weight of apples ready to be picked and stored for winter. In the midst of this seeming bucolic idyll came the news of the savage air raid attack on London, and in particular the East End. They called it the Blitz, and in the days to come Poppy began to dread the mere mention of the word. She cried with relief when she received a letter from her mother making light of the terrors they faced and assuring her that they were all fine. They were all well and Poppy was not to worry, but she must remain in Dorset and not think of coming home until it was all over.
Poppy had been working full time on the land since she left school at the end of July, and Mrs Carroll had seemed content to allow this state of affairs to continue, but Edie urged her to get things on a more formal basis. Although Poppy had been putting it off, she knew that what Edie said made sense. If she was officially enrolled as a land girl she would be paid for her labours, and there would be no chance of her being compelled to do war work. Sid, although he was only just sixteen, was making noises about enlisting in the army. He did not, he told Poppy, want to work with a lot of silly women who thought they could boss him about, but in the end he departed for the munitions factory, no doubt encouraged by the fact that he could earn a great deal more money there than he did working for the Carrolls. This left the care of the horses, including the hefty Percheron, to the girls, who were already working from dawn until dusk on the farm.
Poppy had completely conquered her fear of horses, and had made it her business to learn as much as she could from Sid before he left. Armed with this knowledge, she plucked up the courage to speak to Marina.
‘So you want to be a land girl, Poppy?’
‘Yes, Mrs Carroll.’
‘How old are you? I’m sure I should know, but I’ve completely forgotten.’
‘I’ll be fifteen next April.’
‘You have to be eighteen. I don’t make the rules.’
‘But I’m doing the same work as the girls, Mrs Carroll.’
Marina leaned her elbows on the desk in her small study, steepling her fingers as she eyed Poppy thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that’s true. I know you work hard, and you also help out with Rupert, but it doesn’t alter the fact that you can’t enlist in the Land Army until you are at least seventeen, although it’s officially eighteen. I could bend the rules a little but I can’t break them. I’m afraid until then you will have to continue as you are. Unless, of course, you want to return home to London, although I wouldn’t recommend it with the bombs raining down on the East End and the docks almost every night, and I’m sure that your mother wouldn’t wish to put you in harm’s way.’
Disappointment cramped her stomach as if she had just eaten several unripe apples. ‘No. She doesn’t want me to go home yet.’
‘Then you must abide by your mother’s wishes.’ Marina sat back in her chair, and a hint of a smile curved her lips. ‘Keep up the good work.’
Poppy left the house muttering, ‘Keep up the good work, my foot.’ A cold wind whipped across the fields as she trudged over the muddy furrows to relieve Jean who was taking a turn at ploughing, but obviously having some difficulty in handling Bob, the Percheron, who had a mind of his own. Jean’s nose was pink at the tip and her cheeks reddened by the chilly east wind as she turned her head to grin at Poppy.
‘Thank goodness. I thought I’d have to drive this beast all morning. He knows that I’m a complete amateur and he’s so stubborn I’m sure the horrible thing is part mule. You’d think that Mrs C would hire one of those steam tractors they use on Tatton Farm, wouldn’t you, only she’s too tight-fisted. This contraption is positively mediaeval.’ Jean paused, eyeing Poppy warily. ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t it go too well?’
Poppy shook her head. ‘She says I’m too young.’
‘It’s more like she doesn’t want to pay you. Edie would call it slave labour, and I’d be inclined to agree with her.’ She handed the reins to Poppy. ‘Here you are then. I’m going for a cuppa. See you later.’
Poppy flicked the reins, clicking her tongue to make Bob lurch into action. Concentrating on the art of ploughing a straight line kept her mind off her own problems and by the end of the day she was too exhausted to care one way or the other. Having put Rupert to bed and read him his favourite story about Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Poppy had a splash about in the obligatory five inches of water, and went to bed early.
She was awakened from a deep sleep by someone shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes, blinking as she tried to focus on Mrs Carroll’s face in the dim light of early dawn. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some rather bad news for you.’
Chapter Ten
POPPY SAT ASTRIDE the strongest branch of the oak tree, now in its autumn finery with acorns formed and ready to fall to the ground. She stared at the peaceful scene below with unseeing eyes. It was more than a week since she had received the terrible news, and she was still finding it almost impossible to believe that what Marina had told her was fact and not some cruel fiction. Surely there must have been a mistake? She had remained numb with shock as she struggled to come to terms with the loss of her entire family in one cataclysmic night. The red-brick terraced houses in Quebec Road had been built at the beginning of the century by skilled artisans. They were not particularly handsome, but they were solid and might have provided homes for countless generations, if it had not been for the direct hit by a bomb that the Luftwaffe pilot had apparently intended for the docks.
Poppy could barely remember what had happened after Mrs Carroll had told her the facts in her calm, dispassionate manner. The rest of the day was a blur, but for the first time since her arrival at Squire’s Knapp she had been the centre of attention, when all she had wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide. But no matter how grief-stricken she was, or how appalling her loss, the clock still ticked on. Day turned into night and with each dawn came a fresh start, but the pain was still there and she doubted if it would ever go away. Nevertheless, she had to get up in the morning if only to dress Rupert and give him his breakfast. He was too little to understand what had happened, but in an odd way this had been a comfort. She did not have to pretend to be cheerful or to fend off well-intentioned questions about how she was feeling. Sometimes the sympathy of others was almost harder to cope with than the grief itself.
Everyone had been kind, even Mrs Carroll in her unemotional way. Edie, Jean and Mavis had done their best to raise her spirits, but it seemed that the whole village knew of her loss and she could not walk down the street without somebody coming up to her and giving her a hug or a pat on the shoulder. Colin had drawn a picture for her which he presented shyly, explaining t
hat it was supposed to be a bar of chocolate, the thing he missed the most. He had written a request to Santa Claus, asking for a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate in his stocking on Christmas Day; that was his dream and he hoped the picture would make Poppy happy. She had thanked him solemnly and promised to pin the slightly crumpled piece of paper on the wall by her bed. She had shaken his hand and hurried on her way, hoping that no one in the village shop mentioned her loss. She did not want to break down and make a fool of herself in public.
A cool breeze fanned her cheeks and the cloudless sky showed promise of a fine day to come. It was only here, in Guy’s tree, that she felt safe from prying eyes. In this serene rural setting it was almost impossible to imagine the war raging across the Channel and in the air over Britain. She could see deer grazing at the edge of the spinney, and rabbits were hopping about on the brow of the hill oblivious to the fact that their lives were likely to be short unless they kept away from snares and men with shotguns. On the ground below Goliath was munching the sweet grass. If she closed her eyes she could visualise Guy sitting on his back, looking up at her through the branches and smiling. Her hand flew to the heart pendant that he had touched as he said goodbye. He was risking his life every day in this awful war. She felt her throat constrict as she recalled the snowy day in December when Mum had given her the pendant that had meant so much to her. She curled her fingers around the glass drop, which was still warm from her body. In her mind’s eyes she could see Mum in her shabby grey woollen coat with the unflattering felt hat pinned to her head by the ridiculously long hatpin. If she closed her eyes she could see her mother’s pale hand waving from the rear window of the coach. She bowed her head, wrapping her arms around her body in an attempt to hold herself together.
The tinny sound of a bicycle bell made her open her eyes and looking down she saw Jean pedalling frantically on the old sit-up-and-beg bike that they had found in a corner of the coach house. She was bouncing up and down as she rode across the furrows which were ready for sowing winter wheat. ‘Poppy, come down quick. You’ve got a trunk call.’