Land Girls, The Promise Read online

  “Maybe we should keep an eye on things. See what she’s after, then?” Iris asked. Something else was bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Before she could try to identify what it was, the conversation continued, further distracting her.

  “Or we should just keep our noses out of it and let him get on with it. Now, drink your tea,” John scolded. It was too early in the morning for all this gossip.

  Joyce went to sip her cup, but John took it away. He smiled at her playfully. “Not you. You’ve got to get back to barracks.”

  “No!” Joyce said, realising the time. She said hasty goodbyes and kissed John, before hurrying out of the kitchen. They could hear Joyce’s feet running up the stairs to go and get dressed.

  As they waited for her to return, they sipped their tea and John outlined what he planned to do today. Martin was coming over at seven and they were going to start weeding the large field at the farm. The soil had been turned over and treated with manure before Vernon had left, but now nature had reclaimed it and it was a mass of horsetail and dandelions.

  “You’re welcome to stay and help,” John suggested. “If Esther can spare you.”

  “I think she’s got plans for me. As always.”

  Iris tipped the dregs of her tea down the butler’s sink. She was about to leave when John spoke.

  “Did you find what you wanted here? You know, to make you feel better.”

  “Not really,” Iris admitted. “Don’t really know what I was looking for.”

  John stared at her doleful expression. He could see she was scared and uncertain. “Come back any time, eh?” he said kindly as she nodded and left the room.

  Dr Channing appeared to be picking at an invisible piece of lint on the knee of his trousers as he sat in the study at Hoxley Manor. Iris had glanced at his leg a number of times and now accepted that there was probably nothing there. It was just a nervous tic, like the way she’d clear her throat when it didn’t need clearing.

  Iris felt more intimidated than usual by the suave and charismatic doctor, as they sat looking at each other in the eerie quietness of the book-lined room. The meeting had been arranged by Esther. Iris was supposed to be here to talk about how she was feeling, about the problems she was having. But she never felt at ease with Dr Channing at the best of times. There was something cold about him. As her mum said, some people had a cold centre where their heart should be. She had wanted to bring her tiny rag doll with her, just to keep it in her hands for comfort. But she decided that Channing would spot it and read some mammoth psychological problem or other into it. So it was best it stayed back in her bedroom. The predominantly circular study was adorned with bookshelves arching around its walls, each filled with hardback books and encyclopaedias. Iris was sitting on a leather-backed green chair, ten feet away from Channing, who was seated in a similar chair. The grandmother clock near the door ticked in soporific calmness as they sat looking at each other.

  “In your own time.” Channing’s words sounded encouraging, but they were said with the strained smile of a man who considered he’d wasted quite enough of his valuable time on this pointless activity. Iris noticed the irritability bubbling under the surface and realised she ought to say something. But, by the same token, it made her want to clam up.

  “Just a bit scared at night, you know.”

  “You’re worried that Mr Storey will come back?”

  “Yeah. I know it’s ridiculous.” Iris struggled to put it across. “But it seems real enough at night.”

  “If he comes back, the police will charge him with the murder of his son.” Dr Channing picked at the invisible lint again. “And it’s highly likely that he’d be hanged by his neck for the crime. So it’s not a probability that he’ll come back just to scare you, Iris.”

  Suddenly Iris felt annoyed. It wasn’t that she wanted to be at the centre of this situation, in fact she’d do anything to get away from it. She wasn’t manufacturing this fear to receive attention. It was a real and palpable dread.

  “It wasn’t a probability that my mum would be kissed by Errol Flynn, but she was,” Iris blustered.

  “Sorry?”

  For the first time during their meeting, Dr Channing looked surprised. He gave a confused look and furrowed his brow at Iris.

  “You’re talking about probability, strange things happening and I’m saying that no one would have thought Errol Flynn would have kissed my mum, would they? But he did.”

  “Errol Flynn –”

  “Kissed my mum, yes,” Iris finished. She had been eight years old when her mother had been working as an assistant stage manager at Northampton Royal Theatre. The repertory company included a young actor named Errol Flynn. At the end of the final show, he had kissed Margot on the cheek and thanked her for her help. It was no big deal at the time - he hadn’t made many films and wasn’t famous. In recent years, though, it had become something of an interesting Dawson family anecdote. But Iris didn’t see the point of explaining it to Dr Channing. She’d rather tease him and leave him wondering how it might have happened. Channing was writing something on the notepad on the nearby table.

  “Esther Reeves said you had a ready imagination,” he commented.

  “I’m not making it up,” Iris replied, alarmed that he seemed to be condemning her story as a fabrication.

  But Dr Channing hastily changed the subject before she got a chance to explain. “I think it would be beneficial for you to go to Shallow Brook Farm and see that nothing can harm you there.”

  Iris nearly blurted out that she had already been there, but she guessed that she might get in trouble. So again, she stayed silent. Was this making things worse? Should she talk more and tell him more things? Should she explain about Errol Flynn? How should this work? Iris felt he wouldn’t want to know, and besides, she didn’t want to spend any more time here than she had to.

  “And I’ll give you some medicine that will help you to sleep.”

  This seemed as if the meeting was about to finish, and Iris felt relieved. She’d take any medicine just to get out of here.

  Dr Channing scrawled something else on his notepad and got to his feet. Iris realised that the consultation had ended. She got up and stretched out her hand to thank him. But he was already on his way out of the room, his white coat billowing as he marched down the corridor.

  “How rude …” Iris mumbled to herself.

  When Iris returned to Pasture Farm, the kitchen was already full of the steam and heat of the evening’s stew. But a red-faced Esther still had time to ask Iris how things had gone with Dr Channing. “Has it made a difference talking to him?”

  “Yeah. A lot.” Iris smiled. She thought she might as well tell a fib. Esther and Finch had arranged the appointment for her, and the last thing they probably wanted to hear was that Iris hadn’t appreciated it. No, it was fine. Case closed.

  Thankfully, Esther didn’t have the time or inclination for details. She needed the table to be laid and the plates to be put out before the rest of the girls returned hungry from the fields. So Iris busied herself. Just as she was laying the final place mat, the latch on the door opened and Shelley Conrad came in, wiping her brow. She was slightly older than Iris, with a mass of blonde curls and a rosy face. Prone to clumsiness, Shelley was the sort of person who could somehow manage to find a rake to step on in an empty yard.

  “The others will be along in a minute.” Shelley sat on one of the chairs and started to pull her boots off.

  “Not in here, lady,” Esther admonished, as she hauled the stew over to the serving plates.

  “Sorry, forgot.” But Shelley looked confused, as if she’d never been told this before in her life. Iris gave a warm smile. She liked Shelley and knew how distracted she was. Shelley rose from the seat and started hopping towards the back of the kitchen. Iris was just about to warn her about the dangers of trying to walk with a boot half on, when Shelley crashed out of view onto the floor. Thud. Iris ran to her side, but luckily Shell
ey was unhurt, just embarrassed by the awkwardness of her own body.

  “How did that happen?” Shelley said, bemused.

  Iris shrugged. She was used to hearing Shelley say that every time she fell over or hurt herself.

  Iris helped her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  “Someone’s put an extra step on this kitchen floor. That’s what’s done it.” Shelley shook her head. Iris laughed, assuming that she was joking, but this earned her a confused look. Maybe Shelley was being serious? It was hard to tell sometimes.

  “It’ll be the stairs to the cellar, love,” Esther chipped in, whilst she plopped generous amounts of potato stew onto each plate. “That cellar we haven’t got.” But Shelley had gone and didn’t hear the joke. Iris returned to the table and greeted the rest of the Land Girls, who were pouring into the kitchen. Joyce, Connie and Dolores entered, full of tales from the fields of exhaustion and sunburn. Martin came in, his cheeks flushing slightly at the sight of Iris. The girls talked about the drainage problems and the lack of manure. As Iris listened, she thought of the small bottle of pills in her pocket. She felt happy that they might allow her to sleep tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t have to resort to getting drunk tonight. Maybe.

  I will come for you, Iris. Mark my words.

  The words didn’t scare her. Not in the daylight. But Iris didn’t have long to contemplate them because Shelley bounded back into the room. Taking a slice of bread and chewing it before she sat down, she turned to Iris. ‘Are you going to the flicks tomorrow?’

  “Yes, I am,” Iris replied.

  Martin struggled to hide his discomfort.

  “Oooh!” Connie cooed. “Got yourself a date?”

  “Well …”

  “‘Ere, is it you, Martin? Are you stepping out with Iris?” Connie asked. Martin blushed and hurriedly shook his head. Iris felt her own cheeks redden. She didn’t want to discuss this in front of Martin. She liked him and didn’t want to hurt him. The fact was, if he’d got his act together and asked her first, Iris would have gone with him instead of Joe Batch.

  To her surprise, Martin spoke. “Actually I’m going. But on my own.”

  Esther glanced from her plates. This was news to her. She didn’t look entirely happy about the prospect of her son going out of an evening. But what could she do? He was growing up and getting more independent than ever. He spent a lot of time working with John at Shallow Brook. He wasn’t her little boy any more. She was just relieved he hadn’t set his cap at ditzy Shelley.

  “You make sure you wear a clean shirt, that’s all,” Esther chided.

  It was as near to an endorsement as he was likely to get. Martin nodded, taking it on the chin. John and Finch bustled into the room and sat at their places. Esther said grace and everyone tucked in. As usual, the room went silent apart from the sounds of contented eating, until everyone had finished what was on their plates.

  After dinner, as Connie went home to the vicarage to Henry, Iris was about to walk the short distance from the farmhouse to Frank’s outbuilding when Martin stopped her. He kept his voice low so that Esther couldn’t hear him, but he indicated for Iris to go outside. Once in the yard, he produced something from behind his back. It was a small collection of hardback children’s books, full of colourful pictures and big writing.

  “Hope you won’t mind, but I found these. Thought they might be useful.”

  “Thanks,” Iris said, genuinely grateful. Martin knew that she was learning to read and write - he was one of the few who did. She flicked through the well-thumbed pages. A goose in a hat was falling into a puddle. A horse in a waistcoat was berating a cat.

  “It’s funny. I used to love it,” Martin said.

  “It’ll really help me.”

  “How are you getting on?”

  “Slowly. But Frank is very patient and he listens while I stumble over every word.”

  They smiled at each other. She got the impression that Martin wanted to say something, perhaps about who she was going to the film with, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He nodded goodbye to her and, with the books tucked under her arm, she made her way to Frank’s den. He was inside tinkering with a rusted metal trap. Its jaws were clenched shut and Frank was trying to prise them apart with an equally rusty chisel. He laid it aside and opened a drawer, taking out a pencil and a note pad, in readiness for their lesson. But Iris wanted to talk about her appointment earlier. She was worried about what Dr Channing had thought about her. Could he say she was mad? Get her locked up? And what would the pills do to her? After about twenty minutes of repeating the same things to her, Frank decided that they should call it a night.

  “Come back tomorrow, when you’ve had a rest, eh?”

  Iris nodded. She apologised for not being able to concentrate.

  “Dr Channing thought I should go to Shallow Brook,” she said. “I think I might ask Finch if I can work there for a bit. Just until it’s not a scary place. That might help. Do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Iris. Might do.” Frank picked up his trap and resumed trying to get its jaws open. He was no expert. Besides he dealt with problems by keeping them to himself and soldiering on. Iris picked up her books, left the outbuilding and walked back to the farmhouse. Back in her bedroom, she bolted the door and sat on her bed. She knew that Esther had forbade her from locking it, but she needed the security. She took out the small brown bottle of white pills. She put one in her mouth, but it was hard to swallow. Iris reached for the wardrobe, took the carrot whisky and downed a slug of the orange liquid to help the medicine down.

  To her dismay, sleep didn’t come any more easily that night. She was still haunted by every sound and creak in the yard outside, still wary of every long shadow in her room. After an hour of restlessness, Iris hauled herself out of bed and with a heavy heart went to the wardrobe. This time she drank until she passed out on the bed.

  Scrish.

  Scrish.

  The sound of the homemade broom scraping its heavy twigs over the concrete was beginning to annoy Iris. She and Shelley Conrad had been working on the yard of Shallow Brook Farm for well over three hours, and both girls’ backs were beginning to burn and throb with the exertion. At first it had been fun, a chance to chat and laugh about things with a girl she didn’t see all the time. But now they worked in monosyllabic silence, willing John to come to the door of the farm and call them in for lunch. Surely it must be lunchtime soon? Had he forgotten about them?

  Iris had been pleased that Esther had allowed her to work at Shallow Brook for the day. She’d looked surprised when Iris asked her, and glanced at Finch for approval. It made little odds to him. So Iris was seconded to the farm for a day, maybe more. If it helped get her back on track that was a good thing. She had overheard them talking this morning, not knowing she was awake and dressed.

  “Dr Channing thinks she needs watching,” Esther said.

  “Watching, how? I can’t watch her all day.”

  “He’s worried that her imagination might not be all that healthy. About all this Vernon business.”

  From her sitting position on the stairs, Iris assumed that Finch had screwed up his face in a confused expression at this because Esther continued, “He said she comes out with things that clearly haven’t happened. Her mum got kissed by Errol Flynn, apparently.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve got Betty Grable hiding in my shed!” Finch laughed. Iris felt a flash of anger, a moment of hot tears welling in her throat. She knew what was true and what was imaginary. Of course she did. She had half a mind to storm downstairs and put them right, but she felt too washed out. Having had about two hours’ sleep, she didn’t feel like fighting any battles. So she had taken a deep breath to force back any tears and when she was sure that the rawness in her throat had gone, Iris walked casually into the kitchen. Esther and Finch had stopped talking. And that’s when Iris had asked about Shallow Brook Farm. She mentioned that Dr Channing thought it would be a good idea.

  And nearly four
hours later, Iris was regretting her decision.

  “We’ve only cleared a quarter of this,” Shelley said, arching backwards as far as she could to relieve the muscle strain. “I tell you, you’ll be so tired, you’ll fall asleep at the flicks.”

  “I’ll try not to. It’s exciting.”

  “Yes, I suppose. You are stepping out with a handsome GI.”

  “No, I meant the picture will be exciting,” Iris said, hesitantly. “It’s Gary Cooper.”

  Shelley laughed at her friend’s naivety and both girls continued with their work.

  Iris thought about her impending date. A proper date with a handsome GI. That was big news. She felt suddenly anxious. What should she do? What should she say? Would he know what to do? Would she? Maybe all this courtship business was innate and it just came to you when you needed it. It didn’t even really help that Iris had once kissed a boy before. It had been a long time ago and it didn’t really count. She had been 10 years old. Brian Marley had been 10 years old too and he had assured Iris that he knew all about kissing. Daring Iris to try it, they had gone to Brian’s room. They sat on the floor, kneeling in front of each other and Brian moved forward. He smelt of toffees and he kissed her, chastely, on the lips. It was a second of contact. Iris had been confused that it hadn’t resulted in some magical effect. Her ears didn’t spin around, there were no fireworks or anything. She looked quizzically at Brian. He looked equally confused. But that was the end of it. In that scattergun children’s way, they’d done that and then she raced downstairs to go back home.

  A twinge of sadness filled her heart.

  Black, patent-leather shoes running full pelt over the cobbles of a terraced street -

  She had to shut that out. It wasn’t the time to think about that. She had an outing to get ready for. She was stepping out with Joe Batch.

  As Iris started to daydream, John called from the house to say that lunch was ready. Iris and Shelley didn’t need asking twice. They dropped their rakes mid-sweep and were in the front door almost before the tools had landed on the concrete.