We'll Meet Again. Patricia Burns

of Beryl.

      He picked up his hand and studied it.

      ‘You playing?’ he asked.

      He glanced at his watch. Only four hours till he might see Annie again.

      Beryl and her family finally left. The time crawled round to evening. To his joy, Annie managed to get away from the farm. This time they decided to go for a walk along the promenade.

      ‘Just in case my mam takes it into her head to call me in,’ Tom said. ‘Every now and again she thinks I shouldn’t be spending so much time by myself, and makes me come and join them. I don’t want that happening when you’re here.’

      They wandered along towards the town. The beach was deserted and there weren’t the crowds about that there were during the day, but there were still plenty of people enjoying the warm evening, couples strolling arm in arm, girls in chattering groups dressed up for a night out, men on their way to the pub.

      ‘I got good and caught today,’ Tom admitted. ‘That Mrs Sutton who owns the place came to call, and I got lumbered with her daughter.’

      To his surprise, Annie stopped still and stared at him.

      ‘Beryl? You’ve been talking to Beryl Sutton?’

      ‘Well—yes,’ Tom said. ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘Her, that’s the matter. I can’t stand Beryl Sutton. She’s my worst enemy.’

      ‘Oh—I see—you never said,’ Tom floundered. There was so much he didn’t know about Annie. ‘What’s she gone and done, then?’

      ‘Everything,’ Annie said. She started walking along again, her body stiff, refusing to meet his eyes. ‘She’s just such a stuck-up madam. She thinks she’s so much better than me, just because her dad owns a factory and she goes to the grammar. I could’ve gone, you know. I was always better than her at school, but she got to go to the grammar and I was stuck at Church Road Elementary.’

      ‘That’s so unfair,’ Tom said.

      ‘And another thing, she’s got the same birthday as me. Imagine that—having to share your birthday with your worst enemy. Her mum and mine met in hospital when they were having us, and now her mum comes over and has her clothes made by my mum—’

      ‘Your mam’s a dressmaker?’ Tom asked. This was a piece of information she hadn’t let drop before.

      ‘Yes. And you should see the flap she gets into when Mrs High-and-Mighty Sutton is coming! The best china comes out and the embroidered tablecloth. You’d think it was the flipping Queen coming to tea. Makes me sick, it does.’

      ‘It must do,’ Tom agreed, though he couldn’t really see what the problem was.

      ‘And now you’re seeing beastly Beryl behind my back!’

      ‘It wasn’t deliberate! I tried to get out of it, but Joan went and told Mam where I was and then I was stuck with her. It wasn’t any fun, I can tell you. She’s boring and stupid. Not like you.’

      Annie flexed her shoulders and made a h’rmph noise in her throat.

      ‘You’re a thousand times nicer than she is,’ Tom elaborated.

      Annie stole a look at him. ‘Really?’

      ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

      ‘If you really mean that—’

      ‘Look, we don’t want that great lump to spoil things, do we?’ Tom insisted, tired of these games.

      Annie tossed off her bad mood like a coat.

      ‘No, we don’t,’ she agreed. ‘Tell me what else you’ve been doing today.’

      Peace restored, they ambled along as far as the pier, then turned to go back towards Silver Sands. At one point they swerved to go round a large group of young men spilling out of a pub. Their hands touched, and then, of their own accord, it seemed, slid into each other. The warmth of their joined palms, the touch of their fingers, glowed all up Tom’s arm. The blacked-out promenade of a small seaside town was a place of magic.

      Neither of them noticed a solitary figure behind them staring with outrage at those clasped hands.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      THE storm had been brewing all day. Annie could feel it in the viciousness of her father’s criticisms. He always picked holes in everything she did, but on some days it was different. Instead of it being just the way he was, there was an added force behind his words, winding tighter and tighter until the inevitable explosion. The best thing to do was to keep out of his way, but it wasn’t always possible. When the mood was upon him, he seemed to seek difficult jobs that needed both of them to complete so that he could feed his anger at the world and at her. Today it was replacing some fencing. Annie had to hold the posts while Walter hammered them into ground hardened by the summer sun. As they started on their task, planes droned across the sky—a formation of bombers. To the south, ack-ack fire started.

      ‘It’s them, the Jerries,’ Annie said, gazing up and seawards at the dark shapes. Puffs of smoke were breaking around them, but they flew on unharmed. ‘Where are our boys?’

      Her father took no notice.

      ‘Hold it still, yer useless bitch,’ he growled. ‘How can I hit it if yer waving it about like that?’

      Head averted, eyes screwed shut, Annie held the post at arm’s length as Walter smashed down with the sledgehammer.

      From the west she heard a higher-pitched engine noise. With an accelerating roar, fighters swooped overhead. Annie squinted skyward. Spitfires! Her hands shook as she held the fence post.

      ‘For Christ’s sake, you stupid mare—’

      Her head stung as her father caught her a blow with the back of his hand. She looked at the post. Straight, she had to hold it straight.

      Gunfire cracked over the sea. The engines whined and roared and droned. Caught between fear of her father and of the approaching planes, Annie hung on to the post for all she was worth. Walter swung the sledgehammer. Each blow drove the stake a fraction of an inch deeper into the unyielding soil. The vibration kicked up her arms and felt as if it were shaking her brain inside her skull. Half a mile away over the sea, there was an explosion. Annie looked up. A bomber was going down in flames.

      ‘They’ve got one!’ she cried.

      At that moment the sledgehammer descended again, out of true. The post split at the top.

      Walter’s hand cracked into her.

      ‘I told you!’

      ‘Sorry,’ Annie gasped.

      The life-or-death struggle continued in the air, the planes passing over the coast not half a mile to the south of them, but Annie dared not look up from her task. Her father was nearer than the invaders, and she feared him more.

      Each fence post seemed to take an age; none of them went in entirely straight and it was all her fault.

      As always, her mother had the meal ready dead on midday. Not even the possibility of a German plane landing on the farm would stop Edna from having dinner ready the moment Walter wanted it.

      ‘Did you see—?’ she started as Walter and Annie came through the back door.

      Then she saw their faces, sensed the atmosphere and lapsed into silence. Her hand shook a little as she ladled out the stew and handed it round. Annie noticed that, as usual, most of the meagre portion of meat was on her father’s plate, while she and Edna had vegetables and gravy. It didn’t even occur to her to question this. Appeasing her father was the number-one priority.

      Both women ate silently, covertly