refrained from saying that both she and Ellen had been working the land for ages on her smallholding, and she didn’t know what she would have done without their help. When they left, she’d be lost – but as there was no sign of the war ending, thankfully she didn’t have to worry about it yet.
When they got back to the cottage, Hilda safely stowed the cake. Mrs Brandon had kindly offered to make it, insisting that she had enough ingredients hoarded to make it special. And it was, Hilda thought as she peeped inside the box.
‘Let me look,’ Gertie whispered as she came alongside, placing an arm casually around Hilda as she leaned forward. ‘I told Ellen to go upstairs and change into her old trousers.’
Hilda tensed. When Doug had left seventeen months ago she had missed him so much, and had thought nothing of it when Gertie had comforted her when she cried. The trouble was that since then Gertie still took to throwing an arm around her at every opportunity. Equally casually, Hilda moved away, saying, ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, very pretty, and Ellen’s going to love it. Is it fruit or sponge?’
‘Fruit! You must be joking; dried fruit is getting like gold dust. It’s sponge, but Mrs Brandon has sandwiched it with jam.’
‘I don’t know how she had the patience to make all those tiny little flowers out of icing sugar. I hate doing anything that’s fiddly.’
‘Gertie, let’s face it, you hate anything to do with cooking.’
She grinned. ‘Yes, that’s true, but thankfully you do it now. It’s nice to have you in the kitchen while I’m doing the mucky jobs outside.’
‘When it comes to the pigs, rather you than me.’
‘They’re clean creatures really, but I’d better get on with it,’ Gertie said, giving Hilda another quick hug.
Hilda stiffened, but seeing Gertie’s open smile she decided that she had to be imagining things. Gertie was just being friendly, that was all. They were as close as sisters, and surely sisters occasionally hugged? Not that she had one to judge by and, like Gertie, she was an only child. Hilda was saddened. History was repeating itself with Ellen, and though she’d hoped to find that she was pregnant when Doug had left, once again her hopes had been dashed.
‘Yes, Gertie, you get on while I make a start on our lunch.’
‘Righto, but I can’t wait to see Ellen’s face.’
She’s just being nice, Hilda told herself yet again as Gertie hurried off, yet there was still a niggle of doubt …
At two o’clock, Hilda called both Gertie and Ellen inside. ‘Grub’s up, but before both of you sit down, I think a wash is called for.’
‘Oh … Mum.’
‘Don’t argue, Ellen.’
‘Come on,’ Gertie urged. ‘We are a bit dirty.’
‘A bit! It looks like the two of you have been rolling in mud.’
‘You look nice, Hilda,’ said Gertie, a soft smile on her face.
‘As it’s Ellen’s birthday lunch I thought I’d make a bit of an effort,’ she said, looking down at her skirt. ‘You two should do the same.’
‘I don’t own a skirt,’ Gertie said. ‘Ellen does, though she’s grown so much and I doubt the two she has would fit her now. Go on,’ she urged, ‘at least make yourself presentable.’
They were soon back, smiling with appreciation at the nicely laid table. ‘My, aren’t we posh?’ Gertie said. ‘It’s almost like being back in my father’s house.’
‘Hardly. For one we haven’t got silver cutlery, and this table only seats four, not twelve, but for once I’ve put a nice tablecloth on it.’
‘I think it looks lovely,’ Ellen said as she took a seat. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘Vegetable soup.’
They all tucked in, and, once finished, Ellen was about to leave the table. ‘Hold on,’ Hilda said. ‘Stay there.’
‘Why?’
‘Never you mind.’
Hilda hurried to the scullery and, taking the cake out from under its cover, she lit the candles, but then suddenly, from nowhere, a strange feeling washed over her. No, no, she had to be imagining it, yet the sense of someone standing beside her, a presence, was strong. She wanted to turn her head, wanted to look, but, frozen with fear, she couldn’t move a muscle.
‘Come on, Hilda,’ Gertie called.
In that instant the spell was broken, leaving Hilda shaken and bewildered. At last she was able to move, to turn her head, but saw nobody there. Still trembling, she picked up the cake, and somehow managed to plant a smile on her face as she carried it into the living room. Her voice sounded a bit quivery, but this was a special moment for Ellen and she didn’t want to spoil it as she sang, ‘Happy birthday to you … Happy birthday to you …’
Gertie joined in and Hilda saw her daughter’s delighted smile. There had been few real treats since the war had started, and suddenly she found her eyes moist with tears. If only Doug were here – if only he hadn’t missed his daughter’s birthday again. Hilda shivered; the incident in the scullery was still with her and now she almost cried out against the thought that crossed her mind. Of course it hadn’t been Doug. She didn’t really believe in ghosts, in spirits, so why was she letting it get to her? It was just fear, Hilda told herself, that was all, the day-in, day-out fear for Doug’s safety.
‘Oh, Mum, it’s smashing,’ Ellen said, her eyes on the cake that Mrs Brandon had decorated so beautifully with pink and white icing.
‘Blow out the candles and make a wish,’ Gertie urged.
‘I … I wish my dad …’
‘Don’t say it out loud,’ Gertie warned. ‘If you do, it won’t come true.’
Ellen closed her eyes, this time making the wish silently, and then opening them she blew out all of the candles in one go. ‘There, it’ll come true now,’ she said, smiling happily.
Hilda fought to pull herself together. She could guess what her daughter had wished for and hoped it would be fulfilled – that Doug would get leave again soon, or, even better, that this rotten war would end and he would come home for good.
All Hilda’s worries and imaginings left her early in December when she got a letter from Doug. Christmas came, a spartan one, followed by a dismal New Year. There hadn’t been any more strange incidents, but sometimes Hilda found herself thinking about the feeling of someone being there, beside her in the scullery, yet she still couldn’t come up with an explanation.
One day in early January, Hilda decided to talk to Gertie about it, and said, ‘Gertie, do you believe in ghosts?’
‘Of course not. Why?’
‘You’ll think I’m mad, and anyway, it happened over two months ago.’
‘What happened?’
Hilda told her and, seeing the expression on Gertie’s face, she wished she’d continued to keep her mouth shut. ‘All right, I know it sounds potty.’
‘Our mind, senses and eyes can play all sorts of tricks on us, and if you want my opinion, that’s all it was. I refuse to believe in any of the mumbo jumbo that people come up with: ectoplasm, speaking to the dead, or, even worse, fairies at the bottom of our gardens.’
‘What on earth is ectoplasm?’