Chapter 12 Lilias
Lilias
It was getting light, which must mean it was close to eight o’clock. Time to get up. If she could extricate herself without waking David, that was. This winter was so cold, David had taken to creeping into her bed in the middle of the night, and Lilias hadn’t got the heart to turn him out.
Besides, provided she managed to avoid his ice-block feet, he kept her warm too.
Although goodness knew what his mother would think of this new habit were she ever to discover it.
And Lilias wondered, as she so often had done during the past few weeks, how she and Harry were coping with the extreme cold snap in London.
It had begun to snow on Boxing Day afternoon and had been snowing every day since then.
At first, being so near to Christmas, the snow had been a novelty—Lilias couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a white Christmas—and day after day, David had played out in the winter wonderland.
But it had gone on too long now, and it was getting seriously difficult to find the supplies they needed to keep going.
Symonds had been ill with bronchitis, and Lilias insisted he stay at home and keep as warm as he could.
But even though she, David, and Ruth had restricted themselves to living almost exclusively in the kitchen, their stocks of firewood were now almost entirely depleted.
They would have to do something about it urgently if they didn’t want to freeze to death.
At least the chickens were all right, huddled together in their coop.
At first when it had started to snow, David had wanted to bring the chickens into the house to keep them warm, but Lilias had explained their feathers were designed in such a way to keep their body warmth in.
“We just need to keep the snow cleared outside their run if we can, and replace their water regularly,” she’d told him.
“Don’t worry, David. They’ll be tickety-boo.
” And so far, thank goodness, they had been.
Lilias had taken to wearing two dressing gowns and a woollen hat when she first got up in the mornings, and she carefully retrieved these from the hook on the bedroom door now, tiptoeing about with one eye on David, still in the bed.
He stirred slightly, no doubt sensing her absence, and Lilias froze for a long moment to allow him to settle again, shivering as she waited to open the door.
Love him as she did—and she had quickly come to love the little boy very much indeed—it was quite nice to have a short space of time to welcome the new day without his exuberance if she could manage it.
Ruth had warned her on Christmas morning about getting too fond of the boy when they’d been watching him play happily with his Meccano set, a carol service playing on the wireless in the background.
Lilias had just been thinking this was the happiest Christmas she could remember for very many years, when Ruth leant close to her to whisper so only Lilias could hear, “Don’t forget this is only temporary, my dear.
When all this is over, you’ll have to hand him back. ”
“I know that,” Lilias responded defensively, the glow of the perfect morning dimming slightly.
But surely, if David were to spend a good few more months, possibly even years, here, they would still see him every now and then after the war ended?
But then she thought about Nadine and knew instinctively that her sister was right.
Nadine would no doubt do her very best to make sure all ties between Lilias and David were permanently severed.
Harry might not be of the same mind, of course, but Lilias wasn’t sure what sway he held over such matters in their marriage.
Which was why it was best to live in the moment as far as possible, not to think too much about the future and what it may or may not hold.
Fortunately, the continual struggle to survive during the coldest winter since records had begun, and during wartime to boot, made living in the moment a good deal easier than it might otherwise have been.
Much to her surprise, when Lilias went into the kitchen, she found Ruth already up and about, sipping tea at the kitchen table.
“Good morning, Lily. There’s tea in the pot,” she said, as Lilias walked over to kiss her.
“Thank you, darling,” Lilias said, noticing as she did so how pinched and cold Ruth’s face was. Like Lilias, her sister was dressed in lots of extra clothes, but unlike Lilias, these largely consisted of fur stoles and hats. Even half freezing to death, Ruth had style.
“I put the dog out ten minutes ago,” Ruth said. “He hasn’t come back yet.”
“He’s probably finding his own breakfast,” Lilias said, fetching a cup from the draining board. But before she could fill it, there was a kerfuffle outside—a man’s harsh, guttural voice, and the unmistakable sound of Compass crying and whimpering.
“What on earth?” Lilias said, clutching her throat and quickly making for the door.
“What is it? What’s wrong with him?” Ruth was asking, as Lilias tugged the door to get it open.
The bad weather had swollen the wood, making the simple task difficult, and she had to put both her hands around the door handle, jerking it several times before it finally flew open, to reveal Compass, being held aloft by the scruff of his neck by none other than Percy Cook.
The moment the little dog saw Lilias, his cries redoubled, his little body jerking pathetically in his efforts to get free.
“I believe this ’ere dog belongs to you?” Cook said, standing close enough for Lilias to see the rotten teeth in his mouth as he spoke.
“I’ll thank you to put him down this instant,” she said, having to clench her hands to her sides to stop herself from lashing out at him, knowing even in her outrage that lashing out at Percy Cook would not be a good idea.
Staring Lilias straight in the face, Cook opened the hand holding Compass, causing the dog to fall, yelping, to the ground.
“You wants to make sure he don’t snap at horses’ heels if you want him to keep ahold of his head, missus,” Cook said, as Compass ran across the room to hide beneath the kitchen table.
“I’m out in all weathers doing valuable work for the community.
Don’t ’spect to have dogs biting my horse’s legs while I’m doing it. ”
“What valuable work can you possibly be doing, Mr. Cook?” Lilias might have managed to stop herself from hitting the man, but she was quite incapable of keeping the scathing dislike she felt for him from her voice.
“I’m selling firewood,” he said, looking across the kitchen at their meagre wood pile next to the Aga. “You want some, afore it’s all gone, missus?”
Of course Cook would have wood to sell when it was scarce. Just as he would have rabbits if they were all suddenly gone.
“No, thank you,” she told him coldly, starting to shut the door in his face.
Cook moved his boot to prevent the door from closing. “You change your mind, you know where to find me. I heard say this weather’s set for weeks to come. And what with the boy to keep warm, I reckon you can’t be as high and mighty as you may like to be.”
Cook’s dark gaze was looking further into the room, and Lilias turned to see David, dressed only in his pyjamas, staring at Cook, pale faced and frightened.
“Do you know, Mr. Cook,” said Lilias, turning back to him, “I rather think I’d prefer to burn every door in this house rather than buy any firewood from you. Now, kindly remove your foot.”
Cook’s eyes were two glittering beads of dislike. “Next time that dog of yours bites my horse’s ankles, I’ll shoot the little bugger.” The door slammed shut as he finally pulled his foot away and clumped off through the snow.
Lilias turned, trying to control her trembling as she took David’s hand.
“You won’t let him shoot Compass, will you, Auntie Lilias?”
She squatted down in front of him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. The encounter with Cook had left her shaken up, but somehow she managed to smile at him. “Of course I won’t, David.”
Ruth was holding Compass on her lap, but as soon as Lilias looked over at him, the little dog tore across the kitchen floor into her arms, and she pressed her face into his wet fur, checking his legs to make sure they hadn’t been hurt from Cook dropping him so callously from a height.
“Was it wise to reject that odious man’s firewood?” Ruth asked her softly. “He may be vile, but if this snow keeps up, we might not be able to stay so proud and principled. He’s right, isn’t he, about young David? And now there’s Symonds to think about too.”
Lilias crossed to the larder to fetch Compass some breakfast, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Was Ruth right? Would they be forced to go crawling, cap in hand, to Cook? No, it was unthinkable.
“I can’t imagine where he’s got his stock of firewood from anyway,” she said.
“I believe it was from the boats which got wrecked in the harbour during last winter’s high winds. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
Of course. It was so typical of Cook to capitalise on someone else’s bad luck. He was like a carrion bird. A vulture.
“I can wear extra pullovers, Auntie Lilias,” David said, and Lilias smiled at him.
“Good show,” she said. “Auntie Ruth better get her knitting needles out.”
“And learn to knit pronto, since I’ve never managed to apply myself to it,” came her sister’s dry reply.
“Do you want me to teach you to knit, Auntie Ruth?” David asked.
Ruth looked so appalled at this idea, Lilias was hard pressed not to burst out laughing. “I think Auntie Ruth might prefer to come out with me and some of the other ladies from the Women’s Institute to help deliver leaflets about the new National Savings Campaign,” she said.
“Oh yes,” lied Ruth. “That’s sounds much more interesting.”
“We’ve all got to do our bit for the war effort,” Lilias reminded her, and Ruth sighed.
“If only it weren’t all so desperately dull,” she said.