Across the Mersey - Annie Groves [48]
‘Didn’t you hear that message they gave out on Friday over the wireless, saying that all army personnel have to report a.s.a.p. to their drill hall?’
‘No, I can’t say that I did,’ Charlie told him, shrugging dismissively. ‘We’re only in the TA, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like we’re in the real army, is it?’
‘Hasn’t Luke come back with you?’ Jean asked Sam when her husband walked into the kitchen.
They’d all been glued to the wireless since they’d got back, even the twins.
Old Mr Edwards had come round to tell them that the Liverpool Echo had brought out a Sunday edition and that he’d got them a copy.
It had made Jean’s heart bump against her ribs to see the bold headlines announcing the commencement of war instead of the normal front-page advertisements.
‘No. I thought he left with you and the girls.’
Jean looked at the clock on the wall. It was gone six o’clock. Luke wasn’t the sort to ignore family meal times without warning her in advance. Her heart started to beat too fast and too heavily.
‘He’ll be with the other lads, talking about what’s happened, I expect,’ Sam told her.
Jean nodded, but deep down inside she felt something was wrong. Not that she’d say so to Sam. He’d just laugh at her and say she was being a fussing mother hen.
‘You’ll be hungry,’ she told him. ‘You missed your dinner, after all. I’ll make you a sandwich.’
‘Ta, love.’ Sam sat down and picked up the paper, quickly becoming engrossed in it, whilst Jean filled the kettle and set about cutting bread. The wireless was on and she could hear the sound of the twins’ voices from their bedroom upstairs.
The kitchen door opened and Grace came in, holding a piece of paper.
‘Mum, look at this list. I just hope we’re going to be able to get everything it says I have to have.’
She sat down at the table, frowning over the list, and then got up again when she saw that the kettle was boiling.
That was typical of Grace, Jean thought gratefully. She never needed to be asked, and she was always quick to help.
Sam had eaten his sandwiches and she and Grace had done the washing up. It was gone seven now and Luke still wasn’t back, and Jean couldn’t help continually glancing at the clock.
It was nearly eight when Luke finally came in.
‘There you are. I’ll put the kettle on,’ Jean told him, not wanting to let on how worried and uneasy she had felt. He was back now, after all.
‘I’ve joined up. I’ve got to report for training tomorrow morning.’
The cup Jean had been holding slipped through her fingers onto the linoleum. She looked at the broken pieces of pottery and then at her son, afraid to move or speak in case she made what he had just said real, when she knew that it surely couldn’t be real. Luke didn’t need to join up. He was going to work in the Salvage Corps with Sam.
Sam! She looked at her husband. He was getting to his feet, his face burning a dark angry red, his fists clenched at his sides.
‘You’ve done what?’
‘You heard me, Dad. I’ve joined up. It’s no use you looking at me like that. I had to.’
‘You had to do no such bloody thing. I’d got you a place in the Salvage Corps. All you had to do was wait another couple of weeks.’
‘It’s all right for you to say that, you don’t know what it’s like,’ Luke objected fiercely.
‘It’s because I do ruddy well know what it’s like. I watched more than one man cough himself to death from the gas in the trenches. You’re the one that knows nothing about what war’s like, Luke.’
‘Not war, no. I do know what it’s like to be called a coward. That might not bother you, Dad, but it bothers me.’
Sam’s face changed colour from red to white. Jean had never seen him look at anyone the way he was looking at Luke now. Instinctively she moved over to him, begging, ‘Sam …’
‘You don’t need to protect me, Mum,’ Luke told her, his young