The Promise Read Free Page B

Kemp.
    In the end, weary of the argument, Chrissie let the subject drop. But not the plan. Without any furtherdiscussion on the matter, since she was a grown woman, after all, and surely capable of making her own decisions, she resolved to go ahead with it on her own. A holiday would do her good, and give her the time and space she needed to think properly about her own future, and whether Peter was the man to share it.
    There would be no problem in getting time off from work as she hadn’t taken a fraction of the leave due to her. Chrissie went straight downstairs to ask Mrs Lawson, their neighbour, if she would cook and clean for her mother while she was away.
    ‘Course I will, chuck. Do you good to have a bit of a holiday. You’ve been looking a mite peaky lately. Go and get some sunshine and fresh air. I’ll see to madam.’
    ‘Bless you. I’ll bring you back a stick of rock … oh no, Kendal mint cake, I suppose, from the Lakes. I really do appreciate this, and I’ll pay you, of course.’ They both knew she couldn’t afford to, but Mrs Lawson simply smiled.
    ‘Ooh, don’t you worry about that none. What are neighbours for if not to lend a hand when folk are a bit down?’
    ‘No, I insist. I have a bit put by, I’ll see you don’t lose out.’
    Concerned that the summer holidays were almost upon them, Chrissie decided a booking by post would take too long and rang Rosegill Hall from the public call box at the end of the street. The housekeeper informed her that they were fully booked, but the loft over the boathouse was nearing completion, if she was prepared to take therisk that it would be ready in time. Chrissie was, and just ten days later, leaving a note for Vanessa on her dressing table, she quietly left.
    The adventure had begun.
     
    The train was late leaving Euston, constantly stopping and starting, once spending two hours sitting in a siding near Crewe in temperatures well into the seventies. And since it was July it was also packed to the doors with families going on holiday, screaming children, mothers fretting, soot and smoke and noise everywhere. The entire journey was a complete nightmare. Chrissie didn’t even feel able to eat the sandwiches she’d so carefully prepared, robbing her mother of precious eggs, mixing them with even more scarce butter, crusts neatly cut off as Vanessa insisted upon. Yet the sight of those curled triangles filled her with a strange nausea, and she gave them to an old soldier who looked half starved.
    The juddering and rocking of the train made her bones ache and she leant her head against the dirty window, tears blurring her vision. When he asked if she was all right, Chrissie blamed it on the smoke and pulled on the window strap to shut out the soot-encrusted air, but still the tears trickled over her hot cheeks.
    This should have been a joyous moment, the start of an exciting journey of discovery, an adventure. Perhaps it was being on a train again, with its inevitable connection to painful goodbyes, but all Chrissie could think of was Tom, and the pain of losing the man she’d truly loved. It felt as raw as if it were only yesterday and not over three years ago.
    She’d stood on the platform at Paddington one bright sunny morning in May 1945, kissing him and thinking he would be demobbed in a matter of months, and they could then start to put the horrors of war behind them. Tom had been granted compassionate leave and a special licence so they could be married. They’d known each other less than a year but had felt instinctively it was love at first sight, and believed they would be together for ever. The wedding had taken place at the registry office with only her disapproving mother and a couple of witnesses present. Their honeymoon had comprised one night in a cheap hotel close to the station, but it had been utter bliss. Not for a moment did Chrissie regret that night. Her last sight of Tom was his cheery grin, arm waving, as the train curved around