The Serial: The Pepper Girls At War Day 11

There was no fear in Billy. When you’ve got nothing to lose, he reasoned, fear doesn’t hold you in its grip

Billy answered stonily: “Embarkation leave, if it’s anything to you.”

“France, is it?” asked Billy trying to stem the rush of anger that rose every time he encountered the man.

Billy shrugged and returned to his beer. “Nancy and the bairns all right?” Billy persisted. He could see his son-in-law’s jaw muscles tighten into granite.

“Why don’t you go and ask her,” Billy retorted bitterly, “you don’t believe anything I tell you.”

It was Billy’s turn to bristle. “I’ll be sure to,” he said, letting the young man know that his past was still alive in the present.

He drained his glass, “Just make sure you keep your nose clean,” he said.

“I’ve been trained to kill people, Mr Dawson,” Billy said quietly. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, so keep your advice to yourself.”

Fighting

The barman was polishing a tumbler and stopped abruptly.

“We don’t want any trouble now, do we lads,” he said nervously, trying to avert what could turn into a punch-up. “Enough fighting going on in the world as it is.” “No trouble,” said Billy, “Mr Dawson’s just going.” “No, no trouble,” Billy echoed, “I’ll see you later, Albert.”

The barman nodded his relief. “Right you are, Billy, right you are.”

“What waz that ah’ aboot?” a voice said next to Billy. “Has he got a problem wi’ fighting men then?”

Billy tossed back his drink. “He’s my father-in-law,” he said coldly, “and can’t keep his neb out of my business.”

His new companion nudged Billy. “Whut you need is somethin’ to cheer you up,” he said, “know whut I mean?”

Billy knew exactly what he meant and visions of Gladys Kelly filled his head and his loins.

“I’ll find my own fun,” Billy said, “but thanks for the reminder.”

The pavements leading to Dens Brae and Gladys Kelly were all too familiar to Billy. Despite all his protestations of innocence to Billy Dawson, he’d never stopped visiting her.

In the beginning, he had believed it was to keep Nancy safe but very soon it became obvious that he kept going to Gladys’s door because he loved the excitement and danger of being with her. Everything about her intoxicated him and kept him coming back for more.

“Well, well,” said the husky voice of Gladys Kelly, “look what the wind’s blown in.”

Billy’s eyes never left her face. “I’m off to France in a few days,” he said, hungrily, “and I need something to remind me what I’m fighting for.” Gladys stepped back, indicating he was free to enter.

Since their first encounter, when Billy had come to work at Baxter’s and lodge at her mother’s boarding house, there had been forces at work in his heart that Gladys barely understood.

Grim warnings

Then as their meetings kept happening, despite grim warnings from Billy Dawson and Nancy finding out about her, he’d keep visiting her every chance he got.

She didn’t delude herself it was love that Billy felt for her but whatever it was she knew that he would always want her more than anyone else, especially Nancy.

Being with Gladys always left him happy, unlike with his wife which always left him feeling empty.

“When do you go?” Gladys asked Billy who lay beside her, her hand stroking the hair that whispered over his chest.

“End of the week,” he said, his eyes closed and his breathing steady.

He’d heard word back from others about the power of the Nazis and their weapons but there was no fear in Billy.

When you’ve got nothing to lose, he reasoned, fear doesn’t hold you in its grip. He turned slowly towards Gladys.

“If I don’t come back,” he said, suddenly bleak, “will you always remember me?”

Gladys pulled back, the better to see his eyes. “What kind of talk is that?” she asked, trying to hide the fear inside that he might, indeed, never come back.

“You know I’ll never forget you, Billy Donnelly,” she said quietly, “and when you’re canoodling with all these French ladies,” she added, trying to lighten the mood, “remember I’ll be right here, waiting for you to come home again.” Abruptly, Billy sat up. “Well, at least someone will miss me,” he said almost to himself, “so keep the bed warm for me Gladys Kelly, because my wife won’t be caring if I live or die.”

Gladys flinched. Word in the Thrums was that Nancy Donnelly wasn’t exactly living the life of abstinence while Billy was at war with the Hun.

Men and drink are easy bedfellows and Gladys’s customers were no exception.

With tongues loosened by a few tots of whisky and inhibitions gone west, she’d been able to find out just how far Nancy Donnelly was going to ease her “loneliness”.

Temptation

“I’m sure she cares, Billy,” Gladys said, choosing her words carefully, “it’s just that sometimes temptation gets in the way of Godliness.” Billy froze. “Meaning?” Gladys fussed around the bed, smoothing the coverlet and plumping the pillows.

“Meaning,” she said, cautiously, “while the cat’s away!”

Billy could feel temper rising from the soles of his boots through to the top of his head. His hands pulled Gladys round to face him.

“And who is this mouse playing with?” Billy almost shouted the question.

Gladys knew she’d said too much. If she ever thought Billy wanted her more than he wanted his wife, she knew now that she was wrong. She blinked back a fearful tear. “Jim Murphy.” The slamming of the door told Gladys all she needed to know. Billy Donnelly would never be back. (More tomorrow.)