Our Last Goodbye: An absolutely gripping and emotional World War 2 historical novel Read online

  ‘Oh, hello, May…’ said Etty, when she answered the door, ‘I didn’t expect you tonight. Come in, but mind, ours is a madhouse tonight.’

  Seeing her friend, May’s eyes welled. That’s why she rarely went out these days; her emotions were so ragged she cried at the drop of a hat. As the overwhelming knowledge that larger-than-life Mam was gone forever and May now had no one, loneliness washed over her. She couldn’t fathom how to go on because Mam had always been there to advise her.

  ‘Eee, I won’t come in, not if you’re busy.’ May’s tone was gruff. ‘I’ll be in the way…’

  Etty, as though she knew her friend’s thoughts, smiled sympathetically. ‘Don’t be daft. I could do with some grown-up company.’

  ‘Only, if you’re sure.’

  Etty was a true friend; even though she had her hands full with a home and two bairns she was always there for May in time of need. There were times Etty went quiet and seemed withdrawn, as though uncomfortable in May’s presence, but May decided to let it be. For Etty could do no wrong and she’d always be May’s best mate. As Etty led the way along the dim passageway, May heard a baby’s relentless shrill cry coming from the back bedroom.

  She decided she wouldn’t outstay her welcome, knowing that Etty had troubles of her own to contend with. In the kitchen-come-living room stood a toddler staring in wide-eyed fascination through the bars of a wooden playpen, handmade toys all around her.

  ‘Don’t let Norma’s goody-two-shoes look fool you.’ Etty made a grim face at the toddler. ‘She’s been a little devil today.’

  ‘How come?’ May eyed the fresh-faced, blue-eyed child who appeared the picture of innocence.

  ‘Temper tantrums.’ Etty held out a hand for May’s coat. ‘Little minx is spoiled rotten by her upstairs.’ She raised her eyes heavenward to the flat above where her mother-in-law lived. ‘And seeing how I’ve got the two bairns to look after… I’ve neither the time nor the energy to do much about it.’

  Etty’s beloved sister, Dorothy, had been killed in a raid earlier in the year, when the area was bombed with great loss of life. Etty’s niece, Victoria, was only two weeks old at the time. Victoria’s dad had been lost at sea when his ship was torpedoed and so she was orphaned. Etty and her husband had taken the bairn into their home.

  ‘What’s wrong with Victoria?’

  ‘Teething. She’s got a tooth poking through her lower gum.’ Etty puffed her cheeks out in exasperation. ‘You’d think she’d sleep. She’s had me up all night.’

  Etty’s face was bloated with tiredness, with dark swathes beneath her hazel eyes.

  ‘I’ll rock her if you like,’ May volunteered.

  ‘You’re very good with bairns and that’s most kind, but no… I don’t want her to get used to being picked up.’ Etty grimaced ruefully at Norma in the playpen. ‘That’s what happened to this one.’

  Knowing she was being spoken about, the toddler threw back her head and giggled, showing off pink gums and a row of tiny white teeth.

  Etty shook her head and grinned. ‘Come on… I’ll make us a cuppa. Mind you, I wish it was sherry, there’s a drop left in the bottle that I’m saving for Christmas. I’m sorely in need of it’ – she pulled a mock face of regret – ‘but now is not the time when I’ve got the bairns to take care of.’

  Etty took the whistling kettle from the hob and traipsed down the two steps to the minuscule scullery. While she waited, May remembered when Derek was a baby. If he had a disturbed night, it was May who woke and rocked him in her arms while Derek stared up at her with those enormous blue knowing eyes. She was never happier than when taking care of him and making sure he was content. May recoiled from the memory. What was she doing? Like a door slamming, she closed her mind on the past. Those times when Derek was little and vulnerable were too painful to contemplate.

  ‘How many times have I told yi’…’ Mam’s voice rebuked her, ‘it’s unhealthy to dwell on the past.’

  Thing was, May thought as she sank heavily and helplessly into the couch, the voice in her head always spoke the truth.

  She looked up and was surprised to see Etty standing before her, as she hadn’t heard her friend return. Etty held a china cup of tea in each hand, her face etched with concern.

  ‘Remember when Dorothy died and you never left my side?’ Etty said. ‘You told me I could shout and scream if I wanted to, that it was what you’d do if it were your loss?’

  May was taken aback, because Etty never mentioned her sister, or the time Dorothy was killed in the street by a bomb. She nodded.

  ‘Well… since your Mam died you’ve done no such thing. You refuse to speak a word about her. Believe me, bottling up your feelings will do you no good and you’ll make yourself ill.’

  ‘You should talk,’ May replied, with an honesty she could never help.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Since when do you talk about Dorothy?’

  Etty appeared indignant and parted her lips as if to speak. Then at a loss to know what to say, she closed them again.

  ‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ May took the tea her friend offered. ‘I go wobbly inside if anyone mentions Mam’s name. I worry I’ll start bawling me eyes out and never stop.’

  ‘It’s still raw with me. Even thinking of Dorothy is too painful.’

  ‘It’s like you’re broken inside, isn’t it? And no matter how you hard you try you can’t fix it.’

  Etty nodded. She sat down on the couch and, side by side, they sipped their tea.

  May counted in her head. ‘It’s only five months since Dorothy died… but it feels like forever since I’ve seen her.’

  Etty’s chin quivered. ‘That’s the worst. If only she could visit for a minute.’ She paused. ‘I used to hear her voice in my head.’

  ‘Eee, I’m the same with Mam. And I’m sure she’s watching over us.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Little things… like me bait tin keeps falling from the table for no reason. Mam was always nagging us to wash it straight away after work so I’d have more time of a morning. Then the fireguard… it topples over when I’m nowhere near it. I get this strong feeling Mam’s in the room, reminding us to put the guard in front of the fire before I go to bed.’

  Etty’s eyes held a faraway gaze. She smiled, sadly. ‘It’s good talking about it. Mind you, anyone else would think we’re barmy.’

  They sat in silence together and it occurred to May that the baby in the next room had settled and stopped crying.

  Etty, her expression thoughtful, continued, ‘I mean, it could be just the imaginings of a fraught and overworked mind, but I’d like to think it’s evidence of something more…. it gives me hope for our loved ones.’

  By, Etty was clever. That was exactly how May felt but she didn’t have the skill to express her thoughts into words.

  Etty smiled fondly at May. ‘You’re such a good friend, May. You’ve got such a caring nature.’

  May was saved embarrassment when Norma started to whinge; Etty rose and picked up her daughter from the playpen, carrying her on her hip over to the couch where she sat with the bairn on her knee. Staring into space, she cuddled the toddler against her chest, curling blonde strands of her hair around a forefinger.

  A thought appeared to strike her and she turned to May. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask… what about Derek? Has he been told yet?’

  Anxiety rose in May’s chest and she could barely breathe. They’d been over this before. Etty was critical because Derek hadn’t attended Mam’s funeral. But Etty wasn’t aware of the complications. Of course, May yearned to see Derek but decisions had to be made first about the future. Since Mam’s death she’d been so immersed in grief and misery that nothing else registered, and May was incapable of making plans.

  ‘It might help the poor lad take his mam’s death in,’ Etty had told her. ‘You don’t want him criticizing your decision not to let him come to the funeral when he’s older.’

  May knew Da
d wouldn’t get involved as Derek’s welfare had never been any concern of his – and this lack of care had broken Mam’s heart and caused many a row between the couple.

  ‘I won’t have you drivin’ Derek away like you did your other sons,’ Mam would tell him.

  The thought of Derek turning against May was too much to bear. Etty was right; Derek needed to know about Mam – and now.

  She asked Etty, ‘What if I write to the couple he’s billeted with and ask them to explain the situation?’

  Derek lived with an older couple, a Mr and Mrs Talbot, whose two adult girls weren’t interested in the farm and had flown the nest.

  ‘Sounds like you’re shying away from your responsibilities, if you ask me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t… honest… not for the world. I only want what’s best for Derek.’

  Etty, tight-lipped, didn’t answer. She smoothed Norma’s cotton smock over her chubby knees.

  As May thought of the little lad, the heady little-boy smell of him, the desire to see him forced her to decide. May had sent Derek occasional letters ever since he was evacuated. And on his birthday, she’d included a ten-shilling note that she’d saved in the sixpenny-and-shilling jar. Derek always replied, short perfunctory replies as though it was something he’d been made to do – May smiled – which was probably the case.

  ‘I’m going to ask for time off and go and see Derek and tell him about Mam meself.’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Etty told May. ‘And if you ask me, the factory owes you leave.’

  Only two days after her mam’s accident May had turned up for work, and Etty thought the supervisor callous for not sending her home.

  ‘I don’t want to be in the house on me own,’ May had confessed at the time.

  Now, Etty agreed her friend was probably right. With her dad never in the house, May was best off in the company of the other machinists.

  ‘If you do ask for time off, don’t take no for an answer,’ Etty said. ‘With this war on, workers are just machines. Even the ample food they serve up in the canteen isn’t out of the kindness of managers’ hearts but to feed you so production goes up.’

  A look of shock passed over May’s face and Etty felt ashamed of her cynical attitude. May had such a kind soul but how far would her forgiving heart extend if she knew the true extent of Etty’s betrayal?

  Flustered, she replied, ‘Sorry, May… I’m just a bit down. With Christmas around the corner and—’

  ‘It’s fine, I understand… I feel the same way after losing Mam.’

  Etty made up her mind she’d make sure her friend had, if not the best Christmas, an uplifting one. But how could she achieve such a thing? She decided May must never be alone over the holiday period and she must be kept busy so she couldn’t dwell on her troubles – such an easy task with two kiddies around.

  ‘You’re welcome to spend Christmas with us.’

  May visibly cheered. ‘Ooo, thank you.’

  The arrangement suited Etty too. Trevor, her husband, would no doubt have little time off from his job at Westoe pit. What with him helping out at Newman’s funerals and volunteering as a firefighter, she probably wouldn’t see much of him.

  Which was a shame considering how much he would have enjoyed spending time with his daughter over the festive season. His daughter. Even now she couldn’t help but flinch at those words. Of course Trevor knew the truth of the matter because theirs was a marriage that worked on trust, but that didn’t mean that Etty could let go of the past.

  Recovering from her thoughts, she told May, ‘I’ll be glad of adult company at Christmas.’

  Etty vowed to make this Christmas special, but how? The shortages were harder than ever: fewer cards, less paper to make decorative chains for the ceiling, scarcely any toys, more rationing and less food. Etty gave herself a mental shake; it was time to buck up and stop complaining. But sometimes, despite this year’s tremendous military advances, victory and peace still seemed far away.

  Deep in thought, Etty was surprised by May’s next words. ‘Etty, I’ve been thinking… I’ve decided I want to train to become a nurse.’

  Etty looked at her friend, and, seeing her resolute expression, she knew the lass was deadly serious.

  ‘What brought this on?’

  May gulped air as if she’d just surfaced from drowning. ‘Mam died because of me.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘I’ve only got me first aid certificate… but if I’d had further training, I could’ve saved Mam… I was there at the time and I froze ’cos I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even feel her pulse and if only—’

  ‘Whoa, May.’

  May’s eyes, as they regarded Etty, were wild. ‘I heard her trip over the kerb. She fell into the path of the trolley and—’

  ‘She was fatally injured on impact,’ Etty quoted the coroner. ‘May, the end was quick. It was an accident, there was nothing you could do.’

  May crumpled, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘What if—’

  ‘What ifs won’t bring her back.’

  Head in hands, May sat as if unravelling some complicated mathematical problem. Then she looked up, and pulled back her shoulders, composing herself. ‘If I could be a nurse and help only one person to survive, then it would cancel out Mam dying, don’t you see?’

  Etty didn’t, because May’s child-like logic was beyond her. But if there was one thing she knew, it was that when May set her heart on something she always saw it through.

  Etty smiled fondly at her friend. ‘I think wanting to become a nurse is admirable,’ she volunteered. ‘And in my opinion, with your compassionate nature, you’ll make a good one.’

  ‘But will they have me?’ May wailed. ‘I’m a dunce! Me schooling was practically non-existent.’

  ‘May, you can only try. Why don’t you apply to the hospital?’

  May chewed her lip. ‘Being a nurse would make Mam proud.’ She spoke as though Mam was still physically here. ‘She never wanted me to be a skivvy like her, and after this war is done I’m not going back to being a parlour maid.’ She turned a troubled gaze on Etty. ‘D’you know how I should apply?’

  Etty’s lips twitched. ‘I’d write a letter to the hospital, if I was you, and apply to be a probationer nurse.’

  May wasn’t stupid, Etty knew, only uneducated.

  Her expression resolute, May stood and collected her things. ‘I’ll write to the hospital tonight and post me application in the morning, along with a letter to Derek’s billet.’

  She left the room and made her way along the narrow passageway. Etty rose, and taking Norma’s small hand in hers, followed behind.

  At the door, May turned. ‘Thanks for the help, Etty. You’re the best friend a girl could have.’

  A rush of guilt-ridden adrenalin surged through Etty. She couldn’t meet May’s gaze. She picked up the bairn and sat her on her hip. Faces level, Etty stared into her daughter’s amazing blue eyes, and a stab of shame poked her.

  If only she’d told May the truth long ago it would be over and done with now.

  3

  The next morning, as May bumped her bicycle down the front steps and steered it across the road, she felt in a positive mood. The talk yesterday with Etty had done her the power of good. Not only did May have a plan of action in respect of Derek and her own career, but she was also invited to spend Christmas at Etty’s. The future looked bright indeed.

  If only Mam were there to share it. In May’s mind – apart from the fact that May felt guilty at not being able to save her mother – Adolf Hitler caused her death. If he hadn’t started the war there’d be no need for blackouts and buses would have headlamps. May hated Hitler – for the devastation he’d wrought on her and thousands like her. Hate was a strong word, and one she’d previously never used because of her Christian upbringing, but there was no denying it was because of Hitler that Mam had died. A mild person generally, May was shocked at the strength of her rage. Etty had said there were diff
erent aspects of grief and she’d mentioned that undue anger was one of them, especially against the loved one who’d passed on. But May could never be mad with Mam over anything. And so she was glad Hitler was the one who she could vent her anger on.

  It was still getting light and, although pushed for time, May was determined to post the two letters before she went to work – one to Derek’s evacuation family and the other to the hospital to apply to be a nurse.

  Dad hadn’t come home till late last night and when he had, May was already in bed and had refrained from going downstairs because she didn’t know what kind of mood he’d be in. Once upon a time, when May could do no wrong, Dad used to call her his ‘little treasure, sent from heaven’ – but that was before her transgression… May brought the shutters of her mind down. Mam was right; it was best she lived in the present and left the past behind where it belonged.

  May balanced the bicycle by its pedal against the kerb and, removing the two envelopes from her shoulder bag, posted them in the red pillar box. She’d written to inform the Talbots that she’d visit the Saturday after next as she had something important to tell Derek. She briefly explained about Mam’s accident, so that they were prepared, but asked them not to say anything to Derek.

  At the thought of seeing Derek again, May experienced a fleeting glimpse of happiness.

  By Saturday her shift pattern would change and May would be working a night shift so there’d be no need to ask for time off. May was relieved because it would only cause a rumpus and confrontation didn’t sit well with her. Visiting the farm at Allendale meant she wouldn’t get any sleep but she’d gone without, plenty of times when a raid took place during the night.

  Cycling along the black cobbled road, her mind drifted to the rumours that Hitler had secret weapons. Most folk didn’t believe there was a serious threat and laughed the matter off and May prayed they were right. Involuntarily, she shuddered. When would this war with all its terror ever end?