I said my farewells to Michael and Aunt Jessie with a feeling of foreboding as if I might never see them again. I was only going home to Swansea to visit with my father for a week or two but the time would drag, I just knew it.
Hari came to fetch me and as usual she chatted to Michael, standing a touch too close to him, looking up into his face, her long shimmering eyelashes ready to bat at him whenever the moment required it which, it seemed to me, was too often for comfort.
‘Come on Hari!’ I shifted impatiently from one foot to the other and Hari at last turned her attention to me. ‘If we’re to get back to Swansea before dark we’d better get a move on.’ I knew I sounded sulky but I couldn’t help it.
Michael hugged me close. ‘Sharp-tongued as ever!’ he said, kissing the top of my head in an awful, brotherly fashion. I longed to wind my arms around his neck, to press my lips to his, show Hari he was mine, but I didn’t dare.
When we were in the car I glanced at Hari. She had on a neat white shirt and a navy skirt, a tie and a nice fitted jacket; it was almost a uniform. ‘Have you had promotion or something?’
‘In a way,’ she said. ‘I’m attached to a signal corps but as a civilian. It makes no difference to my working life, I’m doing the same job and coming home at nights so don’t worry, I’ll be there to care for Father.’
‘Does he need much? Caring for I mean?’ I was apprehensive, I didn’t fancy being a ministering angel or Hari having an excuse to bring me home from the country. ‘I’m no nurse, mind.’ I shuddered, exaggerating a little.
‘I see to his leg before I go to work, don’t worry,’ Hari said, laughing.
‘His leg? Good grief! What’s happened to him then?’
‘Father has had his foot amputated but his wounds are more or less healed now.’ She glanced at me, a wicked light in her eyes. ‘It will take him a bit of time to adjust to his false foot though.’
‘False foot!’ I made a face. ‘I won’t have to see it, will I?’
Hari grimaced. ‘Not much of a heroine, are you? Grow up for heaven’s sake and remember Father is a very private man.’
‘How can I remember?’ I was exasperated. ‘I hardly know Father, he was always away, wasn’t he?’
You’re right, sorry.’ Hari was such a nice person she sometimes made me sick. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be back in the country with Michael and Aunt Jessie.’
I sighed again with relief and thankfulness. ‘I do like it there,’ I admitted, ‘more than I thought I would. I even quite like Georgie Porgy though I’ll never like that mother of his.’
‘Are you and George going out together then?’
God she could be so obtuse. Or was that a gleam of mischief I could see as she glanced my way again.
I didn’t bother to answer, I just snorted inelegantly and humped into my seat and watched the countryside fly past. I must have slept because at last we came to the edge of Swansea. I could see the smoke from across the bay and I could see the twin rise of Kilvey and Townhill like a mother’s breasts protectively leaning over the untidy rows of houses in the town itself.
Father was hearty in the way most older folk are when they’re not used to young people but I saw at once he didn’t even think of me as a young person. ‘Come to kiss me, child,’ he said.
I wanted to protest and then I paused. It would suit me to be a child I decided, that way I’d have no responsibilities. I realized I was a selfish bitch but I needed to look out for myself, I’d learned that in my fight with George all those months ago.
I dutifully kissed his cheek, which was sharp with bristles. ‘You haven’t shaved.’ It came out like an accusation. My father apologized.
‘I’m sorry, I was waiting for the kettle to boil. I need hot water, you see.’
I did feel awful then and hastily I pushed the kettle on the gas stove. ‘I’ll do what little I can to help you, Father.’ I was repentant and looked at his pale face and shadowed eyes, wondering what horrors he’d seen at the place they called ‘the front’.
‘Does it hurt much?’ I pointed to his bandaged stump without really looking. He replied with the bravery of the officer and gentleman.
‘Hardly at all, er…’
‘Meryl,’ I supplied helpfully.
‘Yes… Meryl.’ He leaned back in his chair and stared at me and I sort of slumped, not wanting him to see I was budding under my jumper, growing up.
‘It’s a pity your mother isn’t here to, well, to tell you things about, well… life.’
‘Hari’s here,’ I said at once, ‘she’s a good sister, she sees I’m safe down in Carmarthen away from the bombs.’ It didn’t hurt to emphasize the point that it wasn’t safe for me in Swansea, not when the bombers came.
In the afternoon, Hari called at the house briefly. ‘I’ve got to work tonight,’ she said casually, ‘but it’s a one-off, don’t worry, and Meryl is here if you need anything.’
I was alarmed and must have looked it. Hari frowned at me and her look told me to pull myself together. ‘It’s only this once.’ Her tone was brisk. ‘It won’t hurt you to help for one night, Meryl. You’ve got it easy the rest of the time.’
I’d never seen her so cross and I hugged her tight. ‘We’ll manage, don’t worry, we’ll be all right, won’t we, Father?’
‘Of course we will. You go, Angharad.’ I was to find that Father always called my sister by her full name. ‘You have your war work to do like the rest of us.’
I found myself making my father’s supper for him. I wasn’t a cook by any stretch of the imagination but I’d watched Aunt Jessie countless times whisk an egg with a little milk and scramble it in a pan. So I did that for my father and made a pile of toast with the bread and butter I’d brought from the farm.
He ate hungrily and for the first time I felt the satisfaction of feeding someone and watching their enjoyment of the food I’d prepared. I could hear Aunt Jessie’s voice in my head.
‘You’ll make someone a good wife yet, my girl.’ I thought lovingly of Michael and as always hugged to me the thought of us together that night, it seemed long ago now, that we’d huddled together for warmth and I’d slept with my cheek against his chest.
‘You’re dreaming, Meryl. Some boy is it?’
I looked sharply at my father—he was a clever man, I’d do well to remember that.
‘More tea?’ I lifted the pot and he smiled without saying any more.
That night there was an air raid. I hurried downstairs and Father was sitting on the edge of his bed looking for his stick. Then I saw his face go grey as he tried to stand.
‘We’ll need to get to the shelter, Meryl,’ he said, trying to sound as if he wasn’t in agony.
‘Let’s stay here,’ I suggested. ‘I’ll make us tea and we’ll take our chances. Folk in shelters get hurt too.’ I told him what Kate had said about the girl in the shelter who had cried out about her ears and how the ambulance man had called her a ‘poor bugger’.
So we sat and listened to the bombs fall. We drank tea and we talked and I began to learn a little about my father. And then a bomb fell near, very near, perhaps next door. Father covered me with his body to protect me, his big hands shielding my head. I hugged his body and felt the bond between father and daughter for the first time in my life and I knew I didn’t want my father to die.
I drew him from the bed, felt him wince as his bad leg touched the floor and then I was drawing him underneath the table and we clung there together while the walls shuddered, plaster fell from the ceiling and the air raid railed around us like a thunderstorm. I looked up and touched his now-shaven face. ‘I love you, Daddy,’ I said softly, and we both knew I meant it.