Charlie. Even impersonal, commonplace remarks seemed better than nothing.
Charlie ran an appraising eye over the pig pen and chicken run that closed off one end of the garden, and the hutches that housed hares and rabbits bordering the vegetable plots.
‘It’s the same everywhere. People do whatever it takes to survive.’
‘Even where you’ve been?’ Alma risked asking a question she knew she shouldn’t.
‘Food’s scarce all over Europe.’ He went to the chicken run and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The hens came running.
‘I almost forgot. You told me you’d grown up in the country.’
‘Don’t you know the saying, scratch a Russian and find a peasant?’
‘Would you like to farm after the war?’
‘I can’t look that far ahead.’
‘Why not?’
‘How can we plan a future we may not have?’
‘Then you think the Germans will invade us?’ she asked, deliberately choosing to interpret his remark on a global not personal level.
‘I listened to the news when I made the tea. London’s been bombed again. They delivered the usual propaganda about the undefeated Cockney spirit, but I’ve been caught in a raid and I don’t mind admitting I was petrified. There’s only so much people can take.’
‘We can’t lose now. Not after all the lives this war has already cost.’
‘People in Germany are saying the same thing.’
‘You’ve been there?’
‘You know I can’t talk about where I’ve been.’
‘Charlie -’ she blocked his path feeling like a nervous child waylaying a rather formidable headmaster – ‘I love you,’ she blurted out uneasily. ‘I don’t know what’s happening between us, but everything I do, the shops, work, everything, it’s for you after the war. If I didn’t think it was going to end and that you were coming back I wouldn’t want to go on.’
‘You’ll survive,’ he reassured her gravely. ‘Look at you, expanding the business, taking care of the shops and your mother …’
‘Nothing means anything without you.’ She stepped closer and laid her head against his chest. After a few moments she felt the warmth of his powerful arms around her shoulders. ‘We’ve wasted one whole day. I want to go back up to the bedroom, close the door and shut out the entire world. Please, Charlie, just for tonight?’
He looked down into her eyes. She locked her arms around his neck and pulled his head to hers. He kissed her. It was simpler than trying to grapple with the mixed emotions whirling through his mind.
When she released him he led her towards the house. She trembled at her own audacity and the prospect of making love for the first time in over a year to a man who seemed more like a stranger than her husband.
‘This is a fine place.’ She stood back, pretending to admire the house.
He studied the triple bays that swept up to the turreted roof and row of attic windows. ‘Andrew John knew what he was doing when he persuaded Bethan to let him buy it for her. It’s the right sort of place to bring up a family.’
‘We’ll be a family one day,’ she declared, embarrassed because she suspected that he’d seen through her delaying tactics.
‘Perhaps.’ He put his arm around her, hugging her in an attempt to soften the pain he knew his vague answer had caused. He had lost his family home, his first wife and unborn child in Russia, and all reason told him he was about to lose Alma and the life he had built in Pontypridd. But just like the last time, he could do nothing to prevent it from happening. He, along with thousands of other men across Europe, was no longer master of his own destiny. The day after tomorrow he would leave Alma and board a train. And knowing what he did about his destination and the life expectancy of people in his line of work it would more than likely be for ever.
Earlier he had been angry because she had built a life for herself that excluded him; now he knew he should be grateful for her
Charlie ran an appraising eye over the pig pen and chicken run that closed off one end of the garden, and the hutches that housed hares and rabbits bordering the vegetable plots.
‘It’s the same everywhere. People do whatever it takes to survive.’
‘Even where you’ve been?’ Alma risked asking a question she knew she shouldn’t.
‘Food’s scarce all over Europe.’ He went to the chicken run and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The hens came running.
‘I almost forgot. You told me you’d grown up in the country.’
‘Don’t you know the saying, scratch a Russian and find a peasant?’
‘Would you like to farm after the war?’
‘I can’t look that far ahead.’
‘Why not?’
‘How can we plan a future we may not have?’
‘Then you think the Germans will invade us?’ she asked, deliberately choosing to interpret his remark on a global not personal level.
‘I listened to the news when I made the tea. London’s been bombed again. They delivered the usual propaganda about the undefeated Cockney spirit, but I’ve been caught in a raid and I don’t mind admitting I was petrified. There’s only so much people can take.’
‘We can’t lose now. Not after all the lives this war has already cost.’
‘People in Germany are saying the same thing.’
‘You’ve been there?’
‘You know I can’t talk about where I’ve been.’
‘Charlie -’ she blocked his path feeling like a nervous child waylaying a rather formidable headmaster – ‘I love you,’ she blurted out uneasily. ‘I don’t know what’s happening between us, but everything I do, the shops, work, everything, it’s for you after the war. If I didn’t think it was going to end and that you were coming back I wouldn’t want to go on.’
‘You’ll survive,’ he reassured her gravely. ‘Look at you, expanding the business, taking care of the shops and your mother …’
‘Nothing means anything without you.’ She stepped closer and laid her head against his chest. After a few moments she felt the warmth of his powerful arms around her shoulders. ‘We’ve wasted one whole day. I want to go back up to the bedroom, close the door and shut out the entire world. Please, Charlie, just for tonight?’
He looked down into her eyes. She locked her arms around his neck and pulled his head to hers. He kissed her. It was simpler than trying to grapple with the mixed emotions whirling through his mind.
When she released him he led her towards the house. She trembled at her own audacity and the prospect of making love for the first time in over a year to a man who seemed more like a stranger than her husband.
‘This is a fine place.’ She stood back, pretending to admire the house.
He studied the triple bays that swept up to the turreted roof and row of attic windows. ‘Andrew John knew what he was doing when he persuaded Bethan to let him buy it for her. It’s the right sort of place to bring up a family.’
‘We’ll be a family one day,’ she declared, embarrassed because she suspected that he’d seen through her delaying tactics.
‘Perhaps.’ He put his arm around her, hugging her in an attempt to soften the pain he knew his vague answer had caused. He had lost his family home, his first wife and unborn child in Russia, and all reason told him he was about to lose Alma and the life he had built in Pontypridd. But just like the last time, he could do nothing to prevent it from happening. He, along with thousands of other men across Europe, was no longer master of his own destiny. The day after tomorrow he would leave Alma and board a train. And knowing what he did about his destination and the life expectancy of people in his line of work it would more than likely be for ever.
Earlier he had been angry because she had built a life for herself that excluded him; now he knew he should be grateful for her
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