a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1) Read online

  Annie stared at her mother as she returned to peeling the potatoes. ‘I thought I always did.’

  The thud of heavy footsteps trundled down the stairs, almost drowning out the groans of the wood underfoot.

  Annie turned round just as her father walked into the kitchen.

  Tom beamed at his daughter. ‘I thought you’d be upstairs doing what girls do when they’re going out with a young man.’

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on?’

  Tom’s smile disappeared. ‘Why does anything have to be going on?’

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know, but you both clearly think I should be more dressed up than I am, and you’ve said that before when I’ve been going out with Sam.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘I never said anything was wrong with what you’re wearing.’

  Ivy peered at her daughter. ‘You don’t have to, but sometimes it’s good to dress up, other than to go to church, that is. It was only a suggestion.’ She glanced at her husband before quickly looking back at Annie. ‘After all, he’s a nice lad, and you could do much worse.’

  Annie frowned. She wanted to shout “Do much worse? We haven’t even kissed”, but she bit her tongue until she could taste blood seeping from it. ‘Well, I’m happy as I am, thank you very much, and I don’t want to give him, or you, the wrong idea.’

  Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘Your ma’s right, you could do a lot worse than Sam, especially now he’s matured and stopped getting into mischief.’

  A rap at the front door stopped Annie from answering. They didn’t get it; after all these years they still didn’t understand who she was.

  Tom strode over and opened the heavy wooden door. ‘Hello, Sam, come in, you’ve picked a lovely day for it.’

  Sam pulled vigorously at the bottom of his short jacket as he stepped inside. Clearing his throat, he eyed Annie standing near the fireplace. He lifted his chin and ran his tongue over his dry lips. ‘Yes… yes, I thought we could go and sit in the meadow.’ He looked over at Ivy and gave a small smile. ‘Something smells lovely, Mrs Cradwell.’

  Ivy dropped her kitchen knife into the muddy water in the sink, and quickly wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Thank you, Sam, I made a sponge earlier and put together a picnic for you both.’ Her gaze flitted to Annie but quickly returned to Sam. ‘It’ll be good to be out in the early sunshine we’re having.’ Ivy picked up the large woven basket that had been hidden under the table. ‘It looks bigger than it is because there’s also a blanket in there.’

  Sam nodded and took it from her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Cradwell, that’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure we’ll enjoy it, won’t we, Annie?’

  Annie’s mouth dropped open as she eyed her mother with suspicion. Why has she gone to all this trouble? They’ve gone for walks before but never taken a picnic with them. Annie frowned as her mind raced along.

  ‘Won’t we, Annie?’ Sam’s stern tone caught her attention.

  ‘I’m sure, although, Ma, it wasn’t necessary to go to so much trouble.’ Annie couldn’t decide if she was imagining the tension that had entered the cottage with Sam or not.

  Tom pulled open the front door. ‘I’m not throwing you out, but you don’t want to miss the best of the day.’

  Sam nodded. ‘No, sir. Come on, Annie, let’s go.’

  Annie let her gaze wander around the three of them before stepping forward. Her mother avoided looking at her.

  ‘Come on.’ Sam beckoned. ‘Or we’ll never get out.’

  Annie forced herself to smile but couldn’t get rid of the feeling she shouldn’t be going. ‘Sam, maybe I should give it a miss today, I feel a little under the weather.’

  Sam stared at Annie. His brows drew together. ‘Nonsense, you’ll be fine once the sun is on your back.’ He stepped forward and took her hand. ‘We won’t go far, and it would be a shame to waste the picnic.’

  Everyone’s eyes were on her and she could feel herself getting hot. ‘All right, as long as we’re not out for too long.’

  Sam took Annie’s hand and placed it under his arm. ‘We won’t be.’

  Tom nodded to them as they walked past him and out through the open doorway. ‘There’s no rush for you to get back, don’t worry about the chores.’

  Ivy called out. ‘Take your time, enjoy yourselves.’

  They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Annie resisted the urge to look back at the house for fear of seeing her parents waving them off. There was no doubt they were pointing her towards Sam. Did Rose also think they had a future together? Annie shook her head.

  Sam glanced at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  Annie nodded.

  ‘Only you were shaking your head.’ Sam peered over his shoulder. Annie’s home was already a dot on the landscape. ‘Why don’t you take your hair down, you look like a schoolgirl with it tied back like that?’

  Annie gave him a sideways glance. ‘Sometimes I prefer it out of my way.’

  Sam’s lips tightened. ‘I suppose it’s practical when you’re busy around the house but I prefer it loose.’

  She opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it.

  Sam stared straight ahead before glancing at Annie. ‘This is a good spot.’ He pulled the blanket out of the basket. Breathing in the fresh air, he waved his arm around him. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? I don’t understand why anyone would want to live anywhere else.’ He threw open the blanket, smoothing it over the slightly damp grass. ‘Come, let’s sit down.’ He emptied the basket and moved it to one side before dropping to his knees, patting the space next to him. ‘Come on, I want us to talk before we enjoy your mother’s picnic.’

  Annie glanced down at the red checked blanket before slowly lowering herself next to him.

  Sam smiled. ‘Don’t look so anxious, it’s nothing to worry about.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I just wanted to say I’ve spoken to your father.’

  ‘I’m sure my father can’t give you any advice that your own couldn’t give, after all they’ve both worked the land all their lives.’

  Sam gave a hollow laugh. ‘No, I’ve spoken to your father about our future together.’

  Annie’s eyes widened as the penny dropped, everything suddenly becoming clear. Her lungs fought to catch the air around her. Her heart was pounding and the palms of her hands were damp, as they gripped each other hidden under the folds of the long black skirt her mother had made her. Her fingers gripped the soft material. She gasped for breath. ‘What?’

  Tension sat in the silence between them. The early spring sunshine gave warmth to the coldness that had wrapped itself around Annie. Did Rose know about this? Why hadn’t she warned her? She looked down at the untouched cake and sandwiches her mother had provided and wanted to jump up and run for the hills, but she stayed put, trying to desperately hide her dismay.

  Sam lifted his hand and rested it on her cheek, gently edging her face round to look at him, before repeating what he had said earlier. ‘I’ve spoken to your father about our future together.’

  Annie looked down, suddenly absorbed in watching an ant climb onto the blanket from a blade of grass. Sam’s eyes were boring into her, watching, waiting for her reaction. ‘Yes, you said.’

  Sam frowned. ‘You said, “What?” so I thought you hadn’t heard me. I just––’

  ‘Please Sam, don’t do this.’ Annie squeezed her eyes tight.

  Sam cleared his throat. ‘Annie, you would make me a very happy man if you would agree to be my wife.’

  A tear rolled down Annie’s cheek. ‘Sam, it’s an honour to be asked, in fact there’s no greater honour.’

  ‘But?’

  Annie sucked in her breath. ‘I can’t, I just can’t.’

  Sam shook his head and clasped her hand in his. ‘Your father gave his permission for us to get married.’

  Annie’s eyes snapped open and colour flooded her face. ‘He had no right to do that.’

  Sam’s lips tightened for a moment. ‘I think he does, and h
e knows I will look after you and keep you safe.’

  ‘And in the village,’ Annie snapped.

  Sam frowned. ‘Annie, just listen to me. You love this village and your family. Look at this beautiful view. Isn’t this a place to bring up our children, where they can be free to climb trees and run through the woods like we did when we were younger?’

  The breeze caught Annie’s dark hair, whipping her ponytail in front of her face. She gently freed her hand from his to pull it away again. She stared at the undisturbed landscape in front of her for a few seconds before whispering, ‘It’s certainly beautiful, I’m not denying that, but there’s things that I want to do.’

  Sam groaned. ‘Not this again.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you seriously want to throw all this away for some half-baked dream of being on the stage? I’m offering you a family, a life, one we can build together. It’s time to put away those fantasies of yours. It’s not like you’re ever going to do anything about them, it’s clearly never going to happen. Once we’re married and have lots of children running around, you’ll forget about it all. I’m offering you something real here, not some outlandish childhood dream that’s never going to happen.’

  Annie thought about her parents’ happy marriage and shook her head. Wasn’t that what she had always wanted?

  ‘I’ve been saving hard, and your Pa has said they will contribute towards our home together.’

  Annie stared into the distance, perhaps it was time she stopped being whimsical. She forced a smile to her lips. ‘You’re right, as always, Sam. It’s probably time to let go of it.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I think so because it’s never going to happen and you’re just making yourself, and your parents, a laughing stock. This is real, and remember, they want us to marry.’

  Annie thought about her trip to the village. She hadn’t thought about her parents being ridiculed, perhaps they were all right and she was wrong. She forced a smile to her lips and nodded. ‘I’m honoured you’ve asked me, so my answer is yes.’

  Sam beamed. ‘Excellent, we must set a date soon and for now we can live with my family, and while we save up for our own farm, we can decide how many children we should have. I’d like a big family, wouldn’t you?’

  Annie nodded.

  Sam gave Annie a pensive look. ‘You’re going to be busy making things for our home, looking after our many children, and we’ll have chickens, maybe pigs or cows as well to look after. That’s without the vegetables we’ll grow, it’s exciting isn’t it?’ He picked up the silver cake knife. ‘Let’s celebrate with a slice of your ma’s homemade cake.’ He chuckled. ‘Just think, in twenty years this could be our children sitting here doing exactly the same thing.’

  *

  Joyce Taylor dragged her feet along Great Lion Street. The London Streets were still busy despite the evening drawing in. Tiredness swamped her, and her feet and legs ached more than usual as she trudged home. It had been a stifling hot day, which meant serving more customers than usual with sandwiches, light lunches and drinks. Customers had delayed her leaving, even though the café was closed for the evening. She had stayed later than intended, helping out in the kitchen with the washing up. Simon, who owned the café, was always grateful for the extra help. Joyce had loitered for as long as she dared, she said her goodbyes and reluctantly closed the café door behind her, the bell above the door chiming in her wake. The aroma of fried food followed her everywhere. The smell oozed from her skin, while her face had broken out in little red spots, despite scrubbing it vigorously every night. The briskness of her walk that morning had disappeared.

  Joyce dawdled passed several three-storey red-brick buildings with shops on the ground floor, their various wares creeping out onto the pavement. Shoppers were still milling around looking for last minute bargains. She watched Peter bag up some fruit with his grubby hands, before turning round and passing it to a grey-haired man huddled in a blanket near a shop doorway. The smile spread across her face. ‘You won’t get rich giving away your fruit.’

  Without ceremony, the man snatched the bag, pulled out an apple and bit into it.

  Peter smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Richness isn’t just about money. I’m lucky to have a roof over my head and a few coins in my pocket.’

  Joyce watched the old man wipe away the juice that was dribbling down his chin with his sleeve.

  ‘Thank you for your kindness, sir.’ The old man bit into the apple again.

  Peter nodded before turning back to his stall. ‘Do yer need some potatoes for your dinner tonight?’

  Joyce smiled. ‘I’m too tired to carry them tonight, I’ll get some off you tomorrow.’ She watched him turn to serve a customer with his ready smile and chatter, wondering why she wasn’t attracted to him. He was a very handsome and kind man, but then she felt sure he didn’t have those feelings for her either and that’s what made their friendship so wonderful.

  ‘That’s all right, I’ll drop some round to yer on my way home.’

  Joyce jerked at the sound of his voice and panic rose in her throat. ‘No, no, I’ll take them now. I don’t want you to go out of your way, I was just being lazy.’

  Peter laughed. ‘Yer do know we’re friends and there’s no hidden code here, the potatoes come with no expectations whatsoever.’ He paused. ‘Yer do, don’t yer?’

  Joyce tried to force a smile to chase away her fear. ‘I know, it’s just…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does, but I won’t pry.’ He dropped some muddy potatoes into a box before looking up at Joyce. ‘I’ll just knock and leave them on your doorstep in about an hour or so.’

  Joyce thought she saw sadness in his eyes for a moment. Her throat tightened, she tried to swallow but couldn’t. Did he know about how her uncle had been since her aunt had gone? Where was she these days? There had been no word. She blinked away the tears that were threatening to follow and whispered to Peter, ‘Thank you.’

  Peter nodded. ‘Yer do know you’re not on yer own, yer have friends here. Me ma would luv to see yer, she don’t get much female company these days, that’s if yer don’t count the theatre lot that she rents rooms to.’

  ‘I know, thank you.’ Joyce paused. ‘I’ve got to get home, I’m late as it is.’

  Peter waved his hand in the air. ‘Go on then, off wiv yer and I’ll see yer tomorrow.’

  Reluctantly, Joyce turned to walk away. She peered over her shoulder and gave him a wave. He would make someone a good husband one day… just not her.

  It was with trepidation, and exhaustion, that Joyce held her breath and gently pulled the rough piece of string through the letterbox. The key on the end knocked against the other side of the black front door and clattered against the letterbox as she tugged it through. She waited, hoping her uncle was out or at least asleep in his armchair. The key clicked as she turned it in the lock, her lips tightened as she waited for the inevitable squeak of the front door as she pushed it open. Stepping into the square hall, Joyce was hit with the stench of alcohol quickly followed by loud snoring from the sitting room. She shut the front door and breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly pulled the key back through the letterbox. Walking to the bottom of the stairs on tiptoe, she sat down on the second step and removed her curved heeled boots, carefully placing them on the red-and-black tiled floor underneath the coat hooks. It was only then she noticed a white envelope lying on the floor. She leant forward and picked it up; it was addressed to her. Excitement bubbled inside her when she recognised the handwriting of her friend, Rose. Forgetting about her uncle, Joyce lifted her ankle-length skirt and ran up the stairs, ignoring the creaks of each step.

  Joyce flopped on to her narrow bed and turned the envelope over. She missed Rose and was thankful for her weekly letters. Ripping open the envelope she pulled out the single sheet of paper and scanned the page, eager to receive any news she might have. Her face lit up as her hand, clutching it tight, dropped to he
r lap. She looked around her tiny bedroom, scarce of furniture and decoration; she imagined it was once the servant’s quarters. It was the room she retreated to after a hard day at the café to avoid her uncle’s temper. The stacks of books on the floor by her bed were testament to the places she escaped to. The places where everyone found love, and real heroes lived. Joyce peered down at the letter and started reading it again.

  Dear Joyce,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Annie and I are talking about coming to London for a visit. Well, actually, I want to visit but Annie still wants to be on the stage so she will be looking for work. Does the offer to stay with you while we find our feet still stand, or can you recommend somewhere cheap for us to stay? It’s been a long time and I can’t wait to see you and catch up with everything. I hope you know I’m expecting you to bake us one of your fabulous cakes. Annie and her mother were only recently talking about how you were a great cook and could have worked anywhere, and they’re right so I’m hoping you’re chasing your dreams in the city that’s paved with gold.

  I think Annie wants to talk to her father about it – I don’t think he will let her go, but she insists she’s coming regardless. I’m not so sure she will though. My family, on the other hand, won’t miss me, so I’ll definitely come. Please write and let me know about staying with you and I’ll let you know when we are coming.

  Best wishes,

  Rose xx

  Her happiness was quickly chased away by thoughts of her uncle’s drinking. Could she let her friends see how her life was now? Did she want her friends to see how she was living? Did it matter she was no longer chasing her dream?

  *

  Annie shifted the weight of the basket of fresh eggs as she walked past the bed sheets fluttering on the line in the garden. The damp wooden rollers of the mangle stood drying in the spring sunshine. A sparrow stood cheekily on the metal frame watching her walk past. She looked back over the farm; the green leaves of the plants were glistening in the early morning dew. The chickens were clucking with contentment and Sam’s words were resonating in her ears, “You’re going to be busy making things for our home, looking after our many children, and we’ll have chickens, maybe pigs or cows as well to look after. That’s without the vegetables we’ll grow, it’s exciting isn’t it?” Shaking her head and sighing, Annie pushed open the heavy back door to the farmhouse. Rex, the black and white border collie followed her in and immediately flopped down on the stone flooring. ‘Ma, the chickens have given us plenty of eggs today,’ she called out as she sat the basket down next to the yellow and blue packet of Sunlight soap on the scrubbed wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. ‘David is bringing the potatoes in; the basket has been filled up to the top and was too heavy for me to carry.’