Dear Mrs Bird Read online

  As a jovial sort of engagement present, I bought Bunty The Guide Book For The Modern Bride, which had been written three years earlier and was full of practical advice and ideas that were now quite hopeless in the middle of war.

  ‘“No house is a home without a piano”,’ Bunty read out loud, adding gravely, ‘That’s Bill and me up a gum tree then.’ She roared with laughter.

  ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough,’ I said, reading the book over her shoulder as she flipped through the index. ‘Look up how to become the perfect hostess by using Exciting Sandwich Fillings For An Informal Supper.’

  Bunty snorted.

  ‘Crikey,’ she said, reading the page. ‘I had no idea you could do that many things with a tin of sardines. I’d better get up to speed. I don’t want to let myself down.’

  We laughed even more at that. Everything listed was now impossible to find, but we did study the chapter on Cocktail Suggestions so that we could both confidently run up a Stinger as soon as Peace was declared. The combination of brandy, peppermint syrup, and absinthe sounded quite vile but we wouldn’t know until we had tried.

  It was all huge fun and even though it would have been nice to spend months talking about a fancy white wedding as perhaps we might have in a different place and time, Bunty was so very happy and in love that it didn’t matter. She just wanted to get on with it and become Mrs William Barnes. Whenever he popped in to see her at the flat, which was whenever he had time off between shifts, you could see that Mr William Barnes felt very much the same too.

  With less than two weeks to the big day, I was frantically making Bunty’s dress, in a very elegant green crepe which we had been terrifically lucky to find and she would be able to get good wear out of at other occasions. I wasn’t too wretched on the sewing machine and so far it was going to plan. Bunty had chosen the material in the Army & Navy, and Mother and I had clubbed together to get it. Bunty was thrilled. Mrs Tavistock surprised us all by sending the most glamorous pair of brown suede court shoes ordered from Lilley & Skinner and a friend of Bunty’s at work was lending her a tiny velvet-ribboned brown hat that went wonderfully with the shoes. Whatever the weather, Bunty would look lovely.

  One evening, William called in to the flat on his way to the station with some news. I still hadn’t had a chance to speak with him about our silly row. At home he was stuck like glue to Bunty, and at the fire station there were always lots of people around, or he was horribly busy. So busy, in fact, that I was beginning to wonder if he was avoiding me.

  Bunty let him in downstairs, and the two of them came racing up to the kitchen, William with a spring in his step and Bunty skipping up the stairs behind him, laughing and telling him he’d gone quite mad.

  I looked up from where I was cutting a slice of herring pie to eat on my overnight shift.

  ‘Evening, Bill,’ I said pleasantly. ‘It’s nice to see you. Would you like a Jam Square? Bunty’s been baking.’

  I reached into the breadbin and handed over a pastry with a friendly smile.

  ‘Don’t go getting jam on your uniform now,’ said Bunty, behind him. ‘I’m not having a husband who lets himself go. And it’s a waste.’

  William turned and put his arm around her. ‘Yes, darling,’ he said looking proud and as if they’d already been married a hundred years. ‘Just think. In less than two weeks you can boss me around as much as you like.’

  ‘Never,’ said Bunty and we all laughed.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Bill, managing to stop grinning at his fiancée for a moment. ‘I have an important Social Announcement.’

  ‘Oooh,’ said Bunty and I together.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, used to us speaking at the same time. He fished inside his uniform pocket for a moment, before pulling out some tickets and clearing his throat. ‘Ahem. This Saturday evening. Nine o’clock sharp. The Café de Paris. Ladies, you are cordially invited to a pre-wedding celebration on behalf of the beautiful Miss Marigold Tavistock and her greatest admirer, Mr William Barnes.’

  ‘No!’ shrieked Bunty.

  ‘Goodness,’ I gasped, hugely impressed. ‘I say!’

  Bunty and I looked at each other with our mouths open. The Café de Paris wasn’t the kind of place any of us normally went to. It was the sort of evening out that rich London types had all the time, but it was very swank for us. I knew Bunty had always wanted to go there as the band was supposed to be top drawer, and although she said a girl at work reckoned it wasn’t quite as fancy as it used to be what with the war on, it was a smashing effort for William to have arranged it.

  ‘Is that all right, then?’ asked William as Bunty came to her senses and started hugging the breath out of him.

  ‘YES PLEASE,’ said Bunty into his coat. Then she pulled herself away, her face suddenly sad. ‘Oh, but I do wish Charles was here for Emmy.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ I said, shoving my supper into my bag and playing things down. ‘I’ve only seen him twice, and once was with you.’

  ‘What about all the times you’ve written to him already?’ challenged Bunty, kissing William on the cheek and looking for some bread and butter for him to take to work. ‘I’ve never seen anyone write so many letters as you.’

  ‘Rot,’ I said, doing an unnecessary inspection inside my bag.

  ‘You’ll be next,’ she laughed, which was a bit keen.

  ‘Actually, I’ve lined up a sub,’ said William, stepping into the breach. ‘For this special event, I felt it appropriate to invite my Best Man. I do hope Captain Mayhew won’t mind Fireman Roy Hodges joining us, and accompanying Miss Lake for the evening if she will allow.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, slightly giddy and thinking of the hysteria this was going to cause with the girls. ‘It will be my honour.’ Then I remembered. ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I’m on a shift Saturday night.’

  William grinned. ‘I’ve sorted it,’ he said. ‘Vera said she’d cover for you if you don’t mind doing a double for her in return.’

  I was taken aback at that. I had to admit it was a kind thing to do.

  ‘Hurrah!’ said Bunty.

  William couldn’t stop smiling.

  ‘And you’ll be surprised at Roy. He may be knocking forty but I’m told he cuts a bit of a dash on the dancing front. He’s been to the Café de Paris, so he can show us the ropes.’

  It was an unlikely turn up. Roy had an allotment and liked murder mysteries. He was an absolute good sort.

  ‘Watch out, Captain Mayhew,’ said Bunty. ‘Here comes Fireman Hodges on the inside.’

  I pulled a face at her and then looked at the kitchen clock.

  ‘I say,’ I said, throwing William a smile. ‘Would you mind if I come with you to the station?’

  ‘Oh,’ said William rather sharply. ‘I was going in early.’

  My heart sank a little. William had seemed so cheery that I had hoped he had forgiven me for falling out with him. I ploughed on, trying to keep my voice light. ‘It is a bit, but what with Roy turning into Fred Astaire, the girls are going to need at least twenty minutes to get over this before they can start the shift.’

  ‘Go on, darling,’ said Bunty. ‘But don’t ask Emmy any questions about my dress. I want it to be a surprise.’

  William smiled gamely, unable to say no. I picked up my bag and raced off to fetch my coat and cap.

  *

  William and I were wrapped up well against the early evening damp as we set off together on the short walk to the station.

  ‘Thanks awfully for inviting me next week,’ I said as we picked our way along in the dark. ‘I’m looking forward to it such a lot.’

  ‘Bunty wouldn’t have it any other way. And, obviously, er, neither would I of course.’ He added that quickly, but I was sure meant no harm by the afterthought. ‘Watch out, there’s a bit of a dip there.’

  I manoeuvred my way around a large hole in the pavement where part of a house had landed when it was hit in a raid a week or so ago. Mr Bone had told me three fami
lies had been bombed out and one of his regular Daily Mirrors had had a leg taken off at the knee.

  ‘Nasty one,’ I said, looking into the hole. ‘Mr Bone said.’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ answered William. ‘George’s boys on A Watch took it. They’re a really good team.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said keenly. ‘You all are, of course.’

  I heard a Hmm in the darkness, but nothing more.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek as we walked along. Once they were married, William was going to move in with Bunty and set up a little home in three rooms on the first floor of the house. Bunty had insisted that I should continue to live in the flat upstairs which was lovely, but this tricky atmosphere just couldn’t go on. I might have been one of their oldest friends, but I was also going to be their lodger. More than that though I wanted William to know that I was terrifically glad things had worked out for Bunty and him and I had only been cross because I wanted him to be safe. We just needed to clear the air and get on.

  Now was as good a time as any. I’d get it out of the way and then we could talk about going to the dance and the day of the wedding and be normal with each other again.

  ‘Nice and cloudy, looks like it’ll . . .’ said William, just as I launched in.

  ‘The thing is,’ I said interrupting him. He stopped speaking abruptly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I, um, well I just wanted to say.’

  William had speeded up a bit and I had to trot to keep up which wasn’t easy in the dark.

  ‘Thing is, Bill,’ I said in a half gasp. I reached out and touched his arm. If he could just slow down for a moment, I could apologise properly.

  ‘We’re going to be late,’ he replied, which was a very big hint to shut up, but he did at least stop striding on.

  ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry we rowed,’ I said in a rush and in case he decided to push on again at a pace. ‘And I’m really so terribly happy for you and Bunts.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and then paused for a second before continuing. ‘You do know how much I love her, don’t you? And I’m not an idiot.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said.

  ‘And, Emmy, I’m not going to do anything to spoil things for her. So to be honest, you don’t need to tell me how to do my job.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘You don’t need to go nagging me about things.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ I said. He’d made his point.

  ‘Good,’ said William somewhat shortly, and started to walk off again. I kept up beside him, trying to remember where the road got really wonky. My torch was so dim that it didn’t show anything very well and I stubbed my shoe on a stone and had to do a little jump so as not to trip. William was still talking.

  ‘I know what I’m doing, Em. You don’t. While you’ve been sitting there at the station, we’ve been out doing this every night for months. You don’t know what you’re talking about. If you did you’d know it’s not as dangerous as it looks.’

  I thought this was rather rich. I knew what I’d seen at the bombsite. Fred had broken his arm in the scramble and it had been poking out at an angle that would make most people feel sick. And the bombed-out house had been on the brink of caving in on all of them. You didn’t need to be an expert to know the danger they had been in.

  We were at the corner of Bellamy Street and only a minute or two from work. I’d hoped we would be chatting about the Café de Paris by this point.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, trying to move on in a positive way even though William was speaking to me as if I was soft in the head. ‘I’m looking forward to the Café de Paris enormously.’

  ‘. . . and actually in Church Street it was completely under control.’

  He still hadn’t accepted my apology and now it was turning into a lecture.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Bill, that’s rubbish,’ I said, overtaken with frustration, my good intentions flung out of the window. ‘You and the boys were nearly buried alive.’

  He stopped walking.

  ‘Really, Emmeline,’ he snapped. ‘Can’t you just leave it alone?’

  He hadn’t called me Emmeline for years. And I had left it alone – at least until trying to say I was sorry. I hadn’t even mentioned Church Street since the morning of the bombing and I hadn’t breathed a word to Bunty. You’d think I’d written it on a big sign and pasted it up at the station.

  ‘No, Bill,’ I said. ‘I can’t. Not when you’re acting as if it’s perfectly reasonable to mess about saving a dolly which very nearly got you and half the crew killed.’

  As soon as the words came out, I regretted them. No one would ever say William didn’t admire and even love his crew as if they were his family. I shouldn’t have put it like that. I shouldn’t have mentioned the others. I opened my mouth to apologise, but he got in before me.

  ‘That’s low, Emmy,’ he said. ‘That really is low.’

  He turned his back and marched off towards the station.

  ‘Bill,’ I called, but he didn’t slow down. ‘Bill, please.’

  I stood on my own in the middle of a pothole, staring into the darkness as he disappeared from view.

  ‘Hello, is that you, Emmy?’ Footsteps crunched unevenly along the road behind me. ‘Wait for me, won’t you? My batteries have gone and I can’t see a thing.’

  It was Thelma, with rotten timing. I said hello back, trying to make my voice appear chirpy.

  ‘You all right, love?’ asked Thelma, who had a very good nose for a brave front. ‘Has our William gone off on his own?’

  ‘Oh it’s fine,’ I lied. ‘We’re both running a bit late so I told him to go on ahead.’

  ‘Bless him,’ said Thelma, making me feel worse. ‘He’s so excited about next week. Has he told you his big surprise?’

  Thelma took my arm and we followed the light from my dim little torch up the road.

  ‘The Café de Paris,’ she marvelled, oblivious to the fact I hadn’t answered her. ‘He asked me last week if I thought Bunty and you would be pleased and I said you’d be cock-a-hoop. Are you excited?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said in a small voice. ‘Neither of us can wait.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ said Thelma, squeezing my arm. ‘And old Roy is over the moon. Honestly, your Bunty is the luckiest girl. Isn’t it smashing she’s marrying such a lovely chap?’

  I nodded and felt like a heel. Of course Thelma was right. William loved his job and was mad keen to prove he was doing his bit. But I knew full well he loved Bunty more than anything else in the world. I could have kicked myself for snapping at him again – we’d been chums for years and he was about to marry my best friend. Thelma continued to chat as I chewed my lip and walked in silence. In ten years William and I had not had a cross word, and now this. I felt a surge of anger, but not at William – or even at myself. It was this stupid war. Stupid, stupid, bloody war.

  ‘You sure you’re all right, Emmy?’ asked Thelma in the dark.

  ‘Yes, of course. Just a bit cold,’ I said. I put my arm in hers and hurried us both along to the station. If I was quick I could get hold of William before the start of the shift and try to make things right, once and for all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Impersonating an Editress

  I couldn’t get hold of William. Ignoring the Café de Paris induced excitement of the girls on B Watch, I went to look for him, but he was deep in discussion with Captain Davies about equipment, so I was forced to go back to my phone. Thelma and the girls were following Bunty’s plans for the wedding as if it was one of the serials in Woman’s Friend, and you could tell everyone was pleased to have something cheerful to focus on, especially details about outfits and the possibility of the sort of food we rarely caught sight of any more. There was something about planning a wedding that felt as if it was one in the eye for Hitler. He could send over as many Luftwaffe planes as he liked, but he couldn’t stop people being in love and everyone getting excited.

  A
t the end of the shift Captain Davies wanted to discuss rotas with us so I ended up having to rush to get home and missed the chance to speak with William. As usual it would be a quick change before going to the office and I would sleep later. Mother always worried about how we kept going. I had no idea. We just did.

  Even though I desperately needed to sort things out with William, I was looking forward to telling Kathleen all about the Café de Paris and I arrived at the office early, squeezing into our tiny shared room and noticing that the pot plant needed watering. As I only worked in the mornings, Kathleen had left yesterday’s last post on my desk and I was pleased to see a slightly bigger stack of letters than usual for Mrs Bird. Hanging my overcoat on the hook on the back of the door, I settled at my desk and began to open the little pile of post, hopeful that there would be enough to pass on. I was lucky enough to strike gold straight away.

  Dear Mrs. Bird

  Your magazine has run several articles about shorter hair being safest for war work, but my husband won’t have it. He says if long hair is good enough for Dorothy Lamour then it should be good enough for me. He says I shouldn’t have to pin it back at work.

  What should I do?

  Married To A Fan Of Miss Lamour

  I grinned. It was the sort of letter that sent Mrs Bird up the wall but I thought she secretly liked. I was quite sure she wouldn’t know who the Hollywood actress was and probably thought she was a bad influence who lived next door, but I was equally sure she would tell Married To A Fan Of Miss Lamour to belt up and fetch a hairnet.

  I put it in the Mrs Bird folder straight away.

  And then the oddest thing happened. I opened a letter from a reader who didn’t ask for any advice, although she’d got up some steam telling her story.

  Dear Mrs. Bird

  I am writing to thank you for printing the girl called Fed Up’s letter in this week’s issue. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to write in but I was ever so glad when I read your answer to her.