Roz whistled loudly and cheerfully.
‘Grace says you’ve had your tea, Kath, so can you give me a hand in the milking parlour? I’ve fed the calves and filled the trough in the foldyard. There’s only the mucking-out to do, then Mat might let us give the men a hand this afternoon. It’s such a lovely day to be outdoors.’
‘Marco could do with some help. He’s there alone. Will Jonty be long away?’
‘No. The smithy’s only half a mile the other side of the village. He’ll be back by dinnertime. Oh, Kath, this day is dragging so.’
‘When are you meeting Paul?’
‘Tomorrow night. God! I’ve missed him. I’m grateful he’s been away from flying, but it hurts like hell when he isn’t near me. Why isn’t it nineteen forty-four?’
‘Is that when the war’s going to end?’
‘Wish I knew. It’s Leap Year I’m talking about. That’s when I’ll propose to Paul, and he won’t be able to refuse me.’
‘Idiot! In nineteen forty-four you’ll be twenty-one, and no one can stop you marrying him. Which date in April is it?’
‘The twenty-fourth. St Mark’s Eve – or so Polly says.’
‘And does that make it special?’
‘Not really. It’s just that on St Mark’s Eve – oh, it’s a long story! I’ll tell you some other time. Let’s get the milking parlour brushed out and then we’ll have done a fair morning’s work for King and Country. Let’s work like mad, Kath, then tomorrow will come sooner. And just think – they’re saying it’ll be a week at least before they can use the runway again.’
‘Wonder why they’ve never thought to take off over the grass,’ Kath reasoned, ever practical, if they really had to, that is.’
‘Couldn’t be done, especially now with the ground so soft and wet. Those Lancasters weigh a lot. Bombed-up and with a full fuel load on they’d get bogged down if they tried it. Oh no, Kath. Paul’s off flying for another week, thank heaven, and if I’m being unpatriotic, then hard luck!’
Whistling, she picked up brush and shovel and Kath watched her go, eyes sad.
She’s so happy. Don’t let her get hurt. Please, God, look after Paul and Barney. And all husbands and sweethearts and sons.
Poor God. His ears must be ringing with prayers.
‘Roz. I think I’ve just done something stupid. It – it’s about Marco.’
‘Oh, yes. And what has Signor So-So been up to, then?’
‘That wasn’t kind, Roz, and he hasn’t done anything. It was me; something I said that I shouldn’t have.’
‘Like Italians go home?’
‘All right – if you don’t want to listen –’
‘I do. Tell me.’
‘Well – it was just that we got to talking about letters – and by the way, he’s had bad news from home about his cousin. Anyway, I mentioned that Barney got upset about women in uniform and young men who didn’t join up …’
‘Like Jonty?’
‘Yes. I haven’t told Barney about Jonty, you see, and if I told him about Marco, Lord knows what would happen. And as for telling him about what happened on threshing day – well –’
‘You’re afraid of him, aren’t you; you’re scared to tell him in case he gets upset, and nothing must upset Barney, must it? Queen Victoria’s been gone a long time, y’know. You should stand up to him.’
‘Roz, no! You’ve got it all wrong. Barney is good and kind – it’s just that he has strong views about certain things.’ She laid aside her brush and took a cigarette packet from the pocket of her dungarees. ‘Oh, let’s have a smoke! Go on, I can spare it. The WVS ladies came to the hostel last night and they let me have ten. No, it’s just that I want him to be proud of me for joining up, that’s all. I wanted to be a landgirl so much.’ Sighing, she struck a match.
‘And so he should be proud of you. But your trouble, Kath Allen, is that you think you owe Barney something for marrying you – but you don’t need me to tell you that, do you? And d’you know what I think you should do? I think you should take a long, smug look in a mirror, then tell that Barney of yours to grow up.’
‘Roz!’ Oh my goodness, hadn’t Marco said much the same thing?
‘I mean it, Kath. You could have married any man you wanted but you settled for someone like Barney. When are you going to accept that what happened when you were a baby wasn’t any of your fault? And that’s something else. You said you’d go to the Friday-night dances at Peddlesbury, and you haven’t been. Wouldn’t Barney like that, either?’
‘I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I feel it isn’t right for a married woman to go to dances without her husband; not right for me, that is. Yet there are married girls at the hostel who go and nobody bothers about it.’
‘So why don’t you come on Friday and meet Paul? You’d enjoy yourself, and a good night out with the girls might stop you feeling so guilty about nothing, or maybe,’ she grinned, ‘with a bit of luck it just might give you something to feel guilty about.’
‘You’re wicked, Roz Fairchild, and I’ll go to that dance, just to show you!’
‘Great. You’ll have a smashing time. The band’s really good and there’s loads of partners.’
‘You’ve persuaded me. I do like dancing and I miss not going. And as long as I’m wearing my wedding ring, I suppose it’ll –’
‘Oh, wear the thing through your nose if it’ll make you feel any happier, but come! Promise you will?’
‘Promise.’
‘And you don’t have to tell Barney, you know.’
‘The way he’s acting now,’ Kath tilted her chin defiantly, ‘I don’t think I will.’
‘Great! A bit of sense at last! But let’s get on with it. Leaning on shovels isn’t going to get this war won.’
Kath did not reply. She was thinking about the dance, wishing she’d thought to bring just one nice dress with her, and her dancing shoes. She could, of course, send stamps to Aunt Min and ask her to post them, but Aunt Min might want to know why she needed her gold slippers, and that would never do.
‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘that when I’m due for some time off, I’ll look out a few civvy clothes to bring back with me.’
Sneakily, of course. So Aunt Min wouldn’t know.
They were walking through the orchard when Kath saw the little white flower. It stood small and frail beneath the holly hedge.
‘Roz! A snowdrop. Isn’t it beautiful?’
‘It is, and a sure sign that winter’s on the way out. Think I’ll take it in for Gran – cheer her up.’ She bent to pick it carefully. ‘She’s been a bit quiet these last few days. I’ll put it in an egg cup in the kitchen window. Come in and say hullo. She’d like that.’
‘It was good of Mr Ramsden to let us help the men this afternoon, wasn’t it?’ Kath kicked off her boots at Ridings’ back door.
‘It was. He’s a lovely man.’
‘An older edition of Jonty, I suppose. They say,’ Kath murmured obliquely, ‘that when a man chooses a wife he should take a long, hard look at her mother, because that’s how his bride might look in about twenty-five years.’
‘Ah,