Authors: Kathleen McGurl
Ali nodded. Gran had told her before about her bully of a father. She watched as the old lady ate the rest of her cake. Gran was looking tired and frail today. Ali hoped it hadn’t all been too much for her—the trip out, the shock of finding out where they’d moved to, and the emotional upheaval of visiting this house. She cursed herself inwardly. She should never have kept it secret. She should have discussed their move with Gran before, rather than springing it on her like this. ‘I’m sorry, Gran, for not telling you we were moving here. I should have done. If you’re not comfortable here, next time we’ll take you out to a café somewhere, or we’ll visit you at The Beeches.’
Gran smiled weakly. ‘Don’t you worry, Alison, dear. I’m just a little tired today. Another slice of that lovely cake might help perk me up a little. And it is lovely to see you all. I’ll get used to the idea of you living here, I’m sure. It’s time I moved on and forgot about it all. It was all so long ago, after all.’
‘Forgot what, Great-gran?’ asked Kelly.
‘Just—the way things were back then. The war. Everything that happened. Ah, thank you, Alison.’ She tucked into her second slice of cake, as Pete began chatting about his plans to knock down the coal shed at the back of the house and rebuild it as a utility room.
‘What do you think your gran meant, about things that happened here?’ asked Pete, as they sat together watching TV later that evening.
Ali shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I feel so bad about the whole thing, springing that surprise on her like that. I should have thought it through a bit more.’
‘You weren’t to know. She’d never said before that she hated this house, had she? Not even after Betty died and you told her you’d inherited it.’
‘No. But I think I said that we’d just sell it straight away. Now I can’t help but wonder what happened here that made her hate the house so much.’
‘You’ll have to ask her. Maybe she’ll talk about it when she’s away from here.’
‘I’d be afraid of upsetting her. She looked quite unwell by the time we took her back to The Beeches. I’m worried about her, Pete.’
He hugged her. ‘She’s a tough old bird, your gran. She was just a bit tired, that’s all. And probably it’s just the memories of her bullying father that makes her hate the house. I doubt there’s anything more sinister than that.’
Ali leaned her head on his shoulder. He was probably right. But she was concerned about Gran. She hadn’t been on good form at all today.
January 1944
Joan made her way back into the dance hall to look for Mags and the others.
‘There you are. We wondered where you’d got to,’ Mags said, clasping Joan’s hands. ‘I was scared you’d got caught up in that fight.’
‘What fight? I was in the ladies’ room. Oh, Mags, I’ve done something very silly.’ Joan felt her eyes well up with tears.
But Mags had turned her attention away. ‘Oh look, there’s that Canadian airman. They’ve pulled him off the boy. Looks like he came off worse anyway—that’ll be quite a shiner he’s got there. He started it. Did you see? He just went for that poor boy with glasses, totally unprovoked, from what I could see. Joanie, did you see any of the fight?’
‘No, not at all. Mags, I think I’d like to go home now,’ said Joan, trying to hide behind her sister so that Freddie would not see her. He certainly did look a bit of a mess. She hoped the other boy was all right.
Mags pulled a face. ‘Aw, Joan, I’m not ready to go yet. Things are just beginning to get lively. What’s happened? You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier. Weren’t you dancing—oh, you were dancing with that Canadian who was in the fight!’
‘You stay, Mags. I’m going home.’
‘On your own?’
‘I’ll be all right. Don’t worry. See you later.’ Joan kissed her sister on the cheek and hurried away before Mags’s sense of sisterly duty got the better of her. She retrieved her coat from the cloakroom and gratefully stepped outside into the fresh night air. She breathed deeply, two shuddering breaths, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Next time she’d know better.
‘Are you all right?’
Joan turned to see who had spoken, and gasped. It was the boy with broken glasses. They were even more broken now—he was holding them in his hand. He had a split, bloodied lip and his shirt collar was torn. Despite all this, his eyes were full of concern for her, and she felt touched by his care.
‘I am, yes. But you look in a bad way. I heard you were in a fight with that horrible chap. What happened?’
‘I thought I’d seen him off, but he grabbed me as I went back into the dance hall, and managed to land a punch on me.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his lip.
‘That looks sore. I’m so sorry.’
‘What for? It wasn’t you who threw the punch. Besides, I got a good right hook in and I think he came off worse.’
Joan bit her lip. To think this boy had taken a beating and all because he had tried to protect her. And she still didn’t know his name!
‘But it was all because of me, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Joan.’
The boy smiled. Despite his swollen lip his face lit up when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled and his eyes shone. He held out a hand. ‘I’m Jack. Jack McBride. I suppose circumstances weren’t really right for us to be properly introduced in there.’
She shook his hand. It felt warm and strong. ‘Hello, Jack McBride. I’m pleased to meet you. And thank you for defending me.’
He made a formal bow. ‘At your service, my lady.’
She smiled. ‘Wish I was a lady. With a horse and carriage waiting here to take me home.’
‘I’m no horse, and I have no carriage, but if you are going home now I will walk you. With your permission, of course. I shall understand if you’ve had enough of young men’s attentions for one evening. Though I can assure you, I am
nothing
like that thug in there.’
Joan had little experience of boys, but she could already tell there were at least two types, and that Jack and Freddie were polar opposites. She also knew which type she preferred, by far. She felt safe with Jack.
‘I should very much like you to walk me home. But I must warn you, it is quite a long way. I live on the east side of town, near the beach.’
‘That’s no problem at all. I’m going that way myself. Is your sister coming?’
‘She’s staying for a while longer.’
‘All right. Shall we walk along the promenade?’
‘In the dark?’
‘Nonsense, it’s not dark. Look, there’s a full moon tonight.’ He gestured upwards, and Joan noticed the moon for the first time. The streetlamps that usually lit the promenade had been turned off due to blackout restrictions, but the moon was providing more than enough silvery light to show them the way.
‘All right then, why not?’
Jack crooked his elbow and Joan slipped her hand through, as he led her down to the pier entrance then along the promenade. The pier was closed, of course. Its middle section had been removed at the start of the war to prevent it being used by invading forces. Thankfully the beach had not been mined, although there were anti-tank obstacles poking out of the sand throughout its length.
It felt so natural to be walking along with Jack, holding on to his arm like this. Natural, grown-up and very pleasant. She put all thoughts of the repulsive Freddie out of her head. Thank goodness not all boys were like that. She’d found a good one in Jack. Or rather, he’d found, and rescued, her. She smiled up at him as they walked, hoping he liked her as much as she was beginning to like him.
‘Look. Do you see the moonlight reflecting off the sea?’ Jack pointed across the bay.
‘It looks like a silver path, leading over the horizon. I wonder where you would end up if you could follow it.’
‘France, I should think. Or maybe somewhere magical, where you would never be found.’ Jack led her to a bench under a Victorian wrought-iron shelter on the edge of the prom and they sat down, gazing out over the silken sea. The tide was high, and the anti-invasion defences were only just visible.
‘It’s so beautiful. Maybe in the land at the end of the moonlight road there is no war.’
Jack nodded. ‘Mmm. Everyone lives in peace there. No bombs, no guns, no one dying or being hurt.’
‘If only it could be like that here. I can scarcely remember how things were before the war. It seems as though it’s been going on for ever.’ She moved a little closer to him for the warmth.
‘It’ll be a while longer yet,’ he said. ‘But maybe this year the tide will turn.’
‘Why have you not joined up? Do you mind me asking?’
‘I don’t mind at all. I’ve only just turned eighteen, that’s why. I’ll probably be joining up quite soon now. I’m not a conchie, if that’s what you thought.’
‘No, I didn’t think that, although I wouldn’t mind if you were. Nobody should be forced to fight. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, aren’t they?’
He turned to look at her, and nodded seriously. ‘Yes. I wish everyone thought like you. The world would be a happier place if only people would live and let live. But I do want to do my bit. Maybe there’s some little thing I’ll do as a soldier that will be the start of a chain of events, and the end of that chain will be that Britain wins the war sooner and thousands of lives are saved. Or maybe I’ll save the life of someone who goes on to be important to the whole human race. We can’t know what’s ahead of us, or where our actions will take us. All we can do is follow where our hearts lead, and act upon our beliefs.’
He had turned to look at the shimmering sea again. She watched him, as a small muscle in his jaw clenched and relaxed. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, not feeling the intensity of her gaze upon him. She considered his words. How right he was! Follow your heart. Act upon your beliefs. Stay true to yourself, even in this time of war. She let her eyes follow his across the water, towards the dark distant horizon, and then up to the night sky, to where the moon hung, huge and full. That was where the moonlight trail led. Off this planet, away from its wars, and across the universe to a peaceful, untroubled world. She wished she could step onto the sea and follow it.
‘Where will your heart lead you, Joan?’ His voice broke into her thoughts. She leaned back on the bench, and his arm slipped around her shoulders. She nestled into his warmth.
‘To tell the truth, Jack, I don’t know. I’m only seventeen. My life is ahead of me. The only thing I’m certain of is that you are right—we must all follow wherever our hearts lead. When my heart calls to me I shall follow. I promise you that.’
He smiled at her. For a moment she thought he was going to try to kiss her, and she wondered how that would feel. Not like Freddie’s rough, urgent slobberings, she guessed. Jack would be gentle and considerate. But he turned his face away, and she felt an unexpected shiver of disappointment.
‘You’re cold. Here, take my coat.’ He shrugged off his thin tweed jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. She pulled it close around her neck. The collar smelt of wool and spice, as though his aftershave had rubbed off on it.
‘Thank you. You are very kind.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes more. Joan was still considering what he had said about doing his part in the war. Could it really be that a small action from one person could change the whole course of the war? She supposed it was like dominoes—as a child she had spent hours standing her set in a row up on their ends, then gently flicking the first one and watching as the whole series tumbled down. Maybe what Jack meant was that he might be the first domino. Some action of his in the future could be like the toppling of that first domino, and could lead ultimately to the toppling of Hitler. It was the most compelling reason she’d heard yet for why a man would want to join up.
‘I wonder if perhaps I should take you home, now?’
Joan wished she could sit there on the bench gazing at the moonlit sea, with Jack’s arm around her shoulders, for ever. But no doubt he was cold without his coat, and it must be getting late. She nodded, and stood up, handing him back his jacket. ‘I shan’t need that while I’m walking, but thank you so much.’
He slipped it on, and she held out her hand to him. After a moment’s hesitation he took it. His hand was surprisingly warm despite the chilly evening. They walked in step along the prom, under the cliffs, and finally up a zigzag path that led to the clifftop. ‘This is my road,’ Joan said, as they turned away from the sea.
‘I’d better say goodbye to you here,’ said Jack, stopping on the corner. ‘In case your parents are looking out of the window. I don’t want you to get in trouble for walking home with a boy.’ He let go of her hand and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
‘Goodbye, then, and thank you, again, for saving me from that horrible thug.’ On a whim she put her hands on his shoulders, reached up and kissed his cheek, before turning and running along the street and back to her house. At the garden gate she looked back. He was still standing there on the corner, shoulders hunched, watching her. He lifted a hand to wave. She waved back, and darted into the house by the back door into the kitchen.
Mother was sitting at the kitchen table. She wagged a finger at Joan. ‘There you are! Margaret was back ten minutes ago. I know you were at the dance with her and not at the WVS, so you needn’t try to pretend you weren’t. Thankfully your father went out to his bridge club and isn’t home yet, or you’d be in real trouble, my girl. You’re very lucky.’
‘We walked back separately. I came along the prom as it is such a beautiful evening. I stopped to look at the moonlight on the sea.’ Best to be as truthful as possible, Joan reasoned, but no need to say she’d walked home with a young man. Mother would only suspect the worst. With a shudder Joan realised that Mother would suspect Jack of being like Freddie, trying to take advantage of innocent young girls.
‘Are you all right? You look frozen half to death. I don’t know, wandering along the prom on your own at this time of night. Anything could have happened to you! There are bad people out there, Joan, bad men who will hurt girls like you.’