We'll Meet Again. Patricia Burns

how nice to see you. And Timmy too. Is your mother coming?’

      ‘No, she’s gone to the Whist Drive, so she asked me to look after Timmy. He wanted to come here so much that I had to bring him. I hope you don’t mind,’ she said.

      ‘Of course not. The children love playing with Timmy,’ Tom’s mother said.

      ‘Perhaps you’d like some lemonade,’ his aunt offered.

      ‘I’d rather have a cup of tea,’ Beryl answered.

      And so it was that Tom found himself sitting with Beryl and the grown-ups drinking tea. He glowered at her across the table. How could she sit there so calm and po-faced when she’d gone and told on him and Annie?

      The two mothers chatted on about Wittlesham and holidays.

      ‘We’ve enjoyed it so much here at Silver Sands that we’re thinking of coming back next year,’ Tom’s aunty Betty said.

      ‘That’s nice. My mother will be pleased to hear that. Not many people are going on holiday this year, on account of the war. We haven’t got any more bookings for Silver Sands this summer. My mother thinks you’re all very brave to be coming away,’ Beryl said, looking at Tom.

      Tom looked away.

      ‘We’re not going to let that Hitler stop us from having our usual family holiday,’ Tom’s mother said. ‘That would be giving in to bullying.’

      ‘Lots of people are letting him stop them. It’s really quiet here this summer. Of course, we don’t depend on the lettings. My father has a factory, you know, making parts for the radios in bombers—’

      Both women looked suitably impressed. Tom did not.

      ‘So Silver Sands is just a sideline. My mother says it’s her pin money project, but it’s a good thing it’s within walking distance as we can’t run our car any more. My father’s stood it up on bricks in the garage. For the duration, he says.’

      Tom could see why Annie loathed her. She was out to impress them at every turn. When his mother mentioned the Grand, Beryl had been there too, and went on about only going to the best places. What was more, she seemed to be directing it at him. She was for ever looking at him as if to see what sort of an impression she was making. It was time to put her in her place.

      ‘The rain’s stopped. Coming to the top of the sea wall?’ he asked the moment tea was over.

      As if pulled by strings, Beryl sprang out of her chair.

      ‘All right,’ she said, and trotted after him as he ran down the steps and strode out of the garden. Once outside, he didn’t make for the sea wall, but instead skirted one of the other chalets, so that nobody at Silver Sands could see them. Then he stopped so suddenly that Beryl nearly cannoned into him.

      ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he demanded.

      Guilt was written all over her face.

      ‘W-what?’ she said.

      ‘It was you who was spying on me and Annie. Prying into other people’s business and then going and telling.’

      Just talking about it made him furious all over again.

      Beryl tried to make her face look blank.

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Oh, yes, you do. It was your mother who came and told my mother, and someone must have told her. You’re the only person who knows both of us, so it must have been you. Made you feel good, did it? Sneaking on other people?’

      Beryl went red. ‘It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it! It was—it was my brother, Jeffrey. He’s always doing things like that. He’s a real little snitch. He likes getting people into trouble—’

      ‘I don’t believe you. I’ve never met your brother Jeffrey. You’re a liar as well as a sneak,’ Tom accused.

      ‘I’m not a liar! It’s true!’ Beryl cried. ‘He—he came up here a couple of times and watched your family through the fence. Spying. He likes spying. And then he saw you the other evening, with—with—her, and he went and told my mother. She thought she ought to tell your mother, because Annie Cross is such a common girl, but I said she shouldn’t. I said it wasn’t fair and Jeffrey shouldn’t go round telling tales and I said it wasn’t right that my mum should tell your mum and get you into trouble for being with a little guttersnipe like her. But you know what mothers are. They stick together. She went and came up here and told—’

      Tom was staring at her, trying to see inside her head.

      ‘You’d better not be lying,’ he said.

      ‘I’m not, I’m not! I tried to stop her—honest!’ Beryl squealed.

      Still Tom wasn’t convinced.

      ‘Now you listen to me,’ he said, ‘and you listen carefully. First, Annie Cross is not common or a guttersnipe. She’s a thousand times better than anyone in your family. Second, you tell your brother to keep his nose out of my business, or I’ll have his liver and lights and hang them up to dry. Have you got that?’

      ‘Y-yes,’ Beryl stammered.

      She looked terrified. Shame nibbled at Tom’s anger. He shouldn’t be shouting at a girl like this; it wasn’t right.

      ‘Right, now go and get your other brother and clear off.’

      ‘Y-yes, right—but it wasn’t my fault, Tom. Really it wasn’t. I tried to save you—’

      ‘All right, all right, so it wasn’t you. Just tell your brother.’

      ‘I will, really, I will—’

      He didn’t want to hear any more. He turned away and ran back past Silver Sands and up the sea wall. From there he ran as fast as he could along the top, until he was out of breath. As he ran he looked out across Marsh Edge Farm. Somewhere down there was Annie, and this evening he would see her for the last time. No one—not Beryl, not his mother—was going to spoil that.

      ‘You all right, Mum? Can you manage?’

      Annie hurried to help her mother with the heavy galvanised bucket of water to scrub the kitchen floor.

      ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ Edna assured her.

      But she winced as she lowered herself on to her knees.

      ‘It’s not right. He shouldn’t treat you like that, the bully. That’s what he is, a vicious bully,’ Annie burst out.

      Edna looked frightened. ‘Don’t talk about your father like that, love. A few bruises don’t matter. Men are just like that. It’s their nature. They can’t help it.’

      ‘Not all of them,’ Annie said.

      Tom wasn’t like that, she was sure. And Gwen never came to school with bruises on her.

      ‘He’s a good provider. That’s what matters.’

      Was it? Was that all that a man had to do—provide for his wife and children? Gwen’s dad did that, and he was nice to them all as well. Beastly Beryl’s dad was a much better provider, come to that, with enough money to run a car and send them all to the grammar. Did he beat Mrs Sutton and Beryl and the younger boys? She didn’t think so.

      Annie sighed. ‘Right, Mum,’ she agreed.

      Because it was no good trying to discuss it with her. She’d tried it before, many times, and got nowhere. Her mother simply accepted the beatings as her lot. Sometimes she even claimed to have deserved them, because of her own shortcomings.

      The one good thing about her father’s explosions of temper was that for a few days afterwards he was always calmer and quieter. Annie had no trouble getting away that evening to meet Tom. She put on a shirt with a high collar to hide the bruises on her neck and shoulders and set