Poppy's War Page 7

  Poppy started at the prestigious girls’ school on the following Monday. The girls in her class were neither friendly nor unfriendly. She was the first evacuee to attend the school and the girls treated her with a certain amount of reticence, but at least no one attempted to bully her. She actually preferred to be left alone as she struggled to learn the rules and regulations. She threw herself into her studies with an enthusiasm that brought plaudits from her teachers, and her days drifted into a set routine.

  Breakfast in the nursery was delivered by a silently resentful Violet. Poppy left the house alone and unnoticed as she began the long walk to the main road where she caught the bus to Fairford. She returned in the afternoon on the four o’clock bus, and after tea, also eaten in solitary state, she set about her homework, after which she was free to read or write long letters home.

  Her residence in the house was barely acknowledged by Mr and Mrs Carroll, unless they happened to pass her on the stairs. Edwin always enquired solicitously about her schoolwork, and Marina spoke politely but always looked faintly surprised to see her, as if she had forgotten that Poppy was living in the same house. If it had not been for Amy’s faithful visits on Saturday afternoons, Poppy would have lived a monastic existence, suspended between the two worlds of upstairs and below stairs, and belonging to neither. Amy always came armed with a new letter from Guy which she read to Poppy as they ate lunch in the Cosy Corner Café in Fairford or took afternoon tea in Nan’s Pantry on the other side of the High Street. When she came to some passages, Amy would blush rosily and skip the next few lines, leaving Poppy in no doubt that these must be very personal and filled with love and kisses and all that stuff. If Amy had not been her friend, she would have been deeply jealous.

  With Christmas not far off, Amy decided that Poppy should have some pocket money, something unheard of in the Brown family. Poppy had tried to refuse but Amy gave her a shilling every Saturday afternoon, telling her that it was hers to save or spend as she pleased. Poppy hoarded it faithfully, hiding the coins in the toe of an old sock under her mattress in the night nursery.

  September quickly faded away into October. The days became shorter and the leaves were whipped off the trees by the boisterous south-westerly gales. The hedgerows grew bright with scarlet berries, and the newly ploughed fields stretched as far as Poppy’s eyes could see in a rolling patchwork of ribbed umber earth, tipped with white chalk where the subsoil pushed to the surface. The undulating countryside looked so peaceful from the bus as Poppy travelled to and from school that it was almost impossible to imagine that the country was at war. Mum’s letters were filled with hope that they might be together again very soon as the expected bombing of London had not occurred, and everyone said that the war would soon be over.

  By the end of the first week in December Poppy had saved up the magnificent sum of twelve shillings, which she intended to spend on Christmas presents. She could barely control her excitement as she set off with Amy on their customary Saturday outing to Fairford. Amy left her in Woolworth’s while she visited the hairdressers in South Street, and Poppy spent a happy hour browsing amongst the counters heaped with exciting things. It was the first time she had ever had money to spend as she pleased, and she walked up and down the aisles, her feet echoing on the bare wooden boards, carefully working out how far her money would go. After much deliberation, she bought a white lace-trimmed hanky for Gran and a brooch in the shape of a flower for Mum; a woollen scarf each for Dad and Grandad and a pair of gloves for Joe. She selected a string of pearl beads for Mabel and a book of nursery rhymes for Rupert. Mr and Mrs Carroll obviously lacked for nothing, and she decided on a colour photograph of Durdle Door with a calendar suspended from it by two pieces of pink tape. For Amy she chose a blue chiffon headscarf, and for Guy she purchased a St Christopher medallion which claimed on the label to be genuine nine carat gold-plated. It took her last penny to buy it, but Poppy was so proud of her purchase that she ran all the way to the hairdressers and burst into the cubicle where Amy sat beneath the hairdryer reading a copy of Modern Woman.

  Poppy dangled the St Christopher in front of her eyes. ‘Look what I got for Guy. D’you think he’ll like it?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Amy raised her voice to make herself heard over the din of the hairdryer. ‘He’ll be absolutely thrilled with it.’

  ‘I’ve got heaps more to show you, but not yours, of course.’

  ‘Excuse me, miss.’ The hairdresser pulled back the curtain. ‘If you’d like to wait outside, I’m just about to brush out Modom’s hair.’

  Amy smiled at Poppy’s reflection in the mirror. ‘I’ll meet you in Nan’s Pantry.’

  Feeling very grand and grown-up, Poppy made her way to the tearoom and was delighted to be recognised by the waitress who showed her to their usual table in the window. She ordered tea for two and pastries, and she sat looking out into the drizzly gloom of a December afternoon, surrounded by her packages. As she waited for Amy, she felt happier than she had for months. Christmas was just three weeks away and Mum had written to say that she hoped they would all be together by then as the threat of air raids seemed to have passed. She waved as she spotted Amy making her way towards the tearoom. She entered on a gust of cold air and threaded her way between the packed tables to join Poppy just as the waitress brought their order.

  ‘You can be mother,’ Amy said, taking off her mink jacket and tossing it onto an empty chair.

  Poppy poured the tea but she was shocked by Amy’s casual treatment of what must have been a very expensive garment. However hard she tried, she could not get used to the way that rich people seemed to take their expensive things for granted. She recalled how Mum always put her clothes on hangers as soon as she took them off, even if the dress or the cardigan was patched and darned. The thought of seeing Mum and everyone brought a smile to her lips as she passed Amy a cup of tea. ‘I can’t wait to show you what I bought for my family. If what Mum said in her letter is true, I’ll be able to give them their presents in person.’

  ‘I know I’m being selfish, Poppy,’ Amy said, as she sipped her tea, ‘but I’ll miss you terribly when you go home. Living with my Aunt Jane is terribly dull. She’s a dear, of course, but if it hadn’t been for my silly old illness I’d have gone to Singapore with my parents.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too, Amy. You’re my best friend in the whole world.’

  ‘I’m very flattered, but surely you must have some friends at school by now?’ Amy’s blue eyes darkened with concern.

  ‘Not really.’ Poppy eyed the plate of fondant fancies. ‘May I have another one?’

  ‘Of course you may. You don’t have to ask.’

  ‘I do. You said I must always ask before I take anything.’

  ‘That’s in polite society. You can do more or less what you like when you’re out with me. I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be your age.’

  ‘How old are you, Amy?’

  ‘I’ll be twenty-one in February and Guy will be twenty-two in December.’ Amy’s eyes softened as she mentioned Guy’s name, and a tender smile curved her lips. ‘Shall I tell you another secret, Poppy?’

  Poppy leaned forward, the cakes forgotten. ‘Oh please.’

  ‘Guy writes that he’s almost finished his initial pilot training and he’s expecting to be posted soon. We don’t know where, and I doubt that he’ll be able to tell us, but he hopes to get some leave before Christmas. And then …’ Amy broke off, blushing prettily.

  ‘And then?’ Poppy held her breath.

  ‘You’re not to breathe a word of this, Poppy. But we’re going announce our engagement on Guy’s first home leave.’

  ‘Oh!’ The shock of Amy’s words hit Poppy like a blow to the heart.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased for us?’

  ‘Of course I am. It’s a surprise, that’s all.’

  ‘I knew you would be happy for us, and I want you to be one of my bridesmaids.’ Amy paused, eyeing Poppy anxiously. ‘What’s the matter? Don�
�t you want another cake?’

  Poppy forced a smile. ‘No, I’m quite full after all.’ She swallowed a mouthful of tea and her eyes watered as the hot liquid burnt her mouth.

  ‘And when we have a home of our own, you must come and stay with us. We’ll keep a bedroom especially for you and you may choose the wallpaper and curtain material too.’ Amy hesitated and leaned towards Poppy. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You’ve gone quite pale. Perhaps we should get you outside into the fresh air.’

  Back in the nursery, Poppy wrapped her gifts in brown paper tied with scraps of red knitting wool that she unravelled from an old cardigan. She was just packing them all away in the chest of drawers when Violet burst into the room. She put the supper tray down on the table with a loud thud. ‘Mrs Carroll wants to see you in the drawing room, Popeye. Better go double-quick; I expect you’re in for it. What’ve you done this time?’

  Refusing to retaliate, Poppy closed the drawer and hurried from the room. She raced downstairs and arrived outside the drawing room breathless and expecting the worst. It must be something serious if Mrs Carroll sent for her, but try as she might she could not think what she had done wrong. It was cold and draughty in the hallway despite the central heating, and Poppy was shivering as she raised her hand to knock on the door.

  ‘Enter.’ Marina’s voice did not sound welcoming.

  The warmth in the drawing room almost took Poppy’s breath away. Marina was seated in her usual chair by a roaring log fire with her feet resting on a footstool. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the bleak chill of the December evening, and the room was bathed in lamplight.

  ‘Don’t stand in the doorway,’ Marina said sharply. ‘Come over here where I can see you.’

  Her tone and the tight-lipped expression on her well-moulded features did nothing to inspire Poppy with confidence. Her palms were moist as she moved closer.

  ‘You wanted to see me, Mrs Carroll?’

  Marina drained the last of her drink, and set the glass down on a side table. Unsmiling, she met Poppy’s anxious gaze. ‘I received a telephone call from your mother today.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Her lips were so dry that Poppy could hardly frame the words.

  ‘Yes and no.’ Marina hesitated, as if unsure how to break what must be terrible news. Poppy had visions of their home having been flattened by a bomb or one of her family having fallen ill with an incurable disease. She felt sick and faint all at the same time. ‘For heaven’s sake sit down, silly girl. There’s no need to look so terrified. The good news is that your mother will be arriving by coach tomorrow with other parents who have come to take their children back to London with them.’

  ‘Mum is coming here?’ Poppy could hardly believe her ears. Her hands flew to her face as she uttered a gasp of delight. ‘I’m going home for Christmas?’

  Marina shook her head. ‘No. I’m afraid not, but I’ll leave it to your mother to explain why.’

  Chapter Five

  THE COACH WAS late. Poppy stood like a statue amidst the group of evacuee children who were stamping their feet and flapping their arms in an attempt to keep warm. Small powdery flakes of snow swirled around them and their shouts of excited laughter echoed off the buildings in the village square.

  ‘It’s wizard, isn’t it?’

  Poppy turned slowly to look at Vera, who was standing beside her. ‘What is?’

  ‘Us going home, of course. My mum will be on one of them buses and I can’t wait to see her again. I ain’t never coming back to this place, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘So you’re going home then,’ Poppy said dully. She had not yet recovered from the shock of being told that Mum was coming to Squire’s Knapp for a brief visit only, and that she was planning to return home without her. The decision had been taken without asking her opinion. It had not made sense then and it did not make sense now.

  ‘Are you stupid or something?’ Vera muttered, frowning. ‘They ain’t coming down on a day trip with kiss-me-quick hats on their bonces.’

  A cheer went up as a coach nosed its way into the square and Vera surged forward with the rest of the children. Poppy remained standing at the back of the crowd, craning her neck as the occupants clambered stiffly down the steps. Despite the bitter cold there was a carnival atmosphere in the square as children were reunited with their parents. Poppy was becoming anxious when the last passenger alighted with no sign of her mother, but then a second coach drew up. The driver climbed down onto the pavement. ‘You’ve got two hours, ladies and gents. Then we’ve got to set off back to London. Don’t be late or you’ll get left behind and have to thumb your way back to town.’ He strolled off to speak to the other driver, leaving the passengers to alight and seek out their offspring.

  For a horrible moment, Poppy thought that her mother was not amongst the second wave of eager parents, but then she recognised the top of Mum’s grey felt hat, the one she wore for best, which was skewered in place by a mother of pearl hatpin. When she was little, Poppy had thought that the vicious-looking pin went straight through Mum’s head, and she had expected to see the tip covered in blood. It was a long time before she realised that the pin only went through her tightly curled hair. ‘Mum,’ she cried, raising her voice to a shout in order to make herself heard above the babble of voices. ‘Over here.’ Standing on tiptoe, she waved frantically until her mother spotted her. Poppy forgot about manners and pushed and shoved with the rest of the eager children and parents as they surged towards each other.

  ‘Poppy, love. I hardly recognised you!’ Mary held her daughter at arms’ length before enveloping her in a warm hug. ‘You look so smart and grown-up.’

  ‘I’m just the same, Mum.’ Poppy kissed her mother’s soft cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of Californian Poppy and Lifebuoy soap tinged with the camphor smell of mothballs. She could not help comparing her mother’s old and slightly threadbare woollen coat which had seen at least ten winters with her own outfit. The well-cut camel three-quarter-length jacket, grey flannel skirt and coral-pink jumper might have belonged to Miss Pamela when she was much younger, but they were the sort of classic style that stayed in fashion for years. Poppy felt suddenly ashamed for taking pride in her appearance, particularly when she glanced down at Mum’s shoes, which were well polished but sensible rather than smart, and slightly down at heel, whereas Poppy was wearing a pair of fur-lined suede ankle boots that Amy had bought for her on one of the shopping sprees in Fairford.

  ‘You look ever so posh,’ Mary said, gazing at Poppy with a delighted smile. ‘Quite a young lady, in fact.’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘It’s only the clothes that make me look different.’

  ‘Of course you are, and I’ll swear you’ve grown an inch at least. Are they treating you well? Are you happy here, love?’

  ‘I’m feeling much better for seeing you, Mum.’ Poppy linked her hand through her mother’s arm. ‘Let’s get back to Squire’s Knapp. Jackson is waiting with the car, and Mrs Carroll has arranged for us to have some lunch. You must be starving after that long bus ride.’

  ‘Oh, Poppy, love, I’m not dressed to have dinner in a posh house.’

  ‘Not dinner, Mum,’ Poppy said, chuckling. ‘Dinner’s what the family have at night. Lunch is what they eat midday.’

  ‘I know that, but it’s not what we say at home.’ Mary shot her a sideways glance as they made their way towards the Bentley which was parked on the far side of the square. ‘If you carry on like this I expect we’ll have to pay to speak to you soon.’

  Stung by the inference that she was showing off, Poppy felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean it that way, Mum. It’s just that they do things different at Squire’s Knapp. I’m still learning and I make mistakes all the time. Anyway, there’s Jackson with the car. We’re riding in style to the big house.’

  ‘So I see.’ Mary folded her lips in a thin line as Jackson stepped out of the limousine and opened the door for them. ‘Very nice I
’m sure.’ She climbed inside and sat on the edge of the seat, clutching her handbag. ‘Do you always travel like this?’

  ‘No. Hardly ever. Usually I go with Amy in Guy’s roadster. She’s lovely, Mum, and such a kind person. She’s done everything for me.’

  ‘So I believe.’ Mary stared straight ahead as the car purred forward and Jackson drove carefully through the narrow streets, which were thronged with reunited parents and children.

  Poppy stared down at her gloved hands, knotted tightly in her lap. ‘Mrs Carroll said I wasn’t to come home with you, Mum. It’s not true, is it? You wouldn’t leave me here and go home without me?’

  Mary seemed to shrink in size as she slumped back against the leather squabs. She eyed Jackson warily through the glass that separated the chauffeur from his passengers. ‘Can he hear me?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘Not unless you speak to him through the tube thing. Mum, what’s going on? You’ve got to tell me.’

  ‘Your dad and me had a letter from that lady what’s taken you under her wing; Miss Amy something double-barrelled.’

  ‘Amy wrote to you?’

  ‘She said she’d heard on the news that some parents were taking their nippers back to London and she asked ever so nicely if you could stay on in Dorset. She said you were getting on well in that posh school, and that she’d be only too happy to keep an eye on you. She said she’d talked it over with Mrs Carroll and they were both in agreement.’

  ‘But I want to come home, Mum. I miss you all and I don’t belong here.’

  ‘Aren’t you happy here, ducks?’

  ‘That’s not the point, Mum. If there isn’t going to be any bombing, I don’t see why I can’t come home with you.’

  Mary reached out to hold Poppy’s hand. ‘You’re a bright girl, Poppy. You were meant for better things than going into service like I did. I want you to make the most of yourself and not end up a dreary housewife scrimping and wearing yourself out bringing up a family on a working man’s wage.’