Avalanche of Daisies (40 page)

As Victor was told by one of his farming friends. ‘No good asking fer eggs,' he said, a bit too cheerfully. ‘Hens won't come into lay till the spring. Tell 'em they'll have to make do with powdered.'

Victor didn't think much of that for an answer. ‘Might as well be eating rubber,' he said.

‘It's rubber or nothing!' the farmer told him. ‘Roll on peacetime, eh?'

It was galling to have customers waiting and no goods to sell them, especially as the Skibbereen had just talked his way into opening the gate on a consignment of tinned peaches and had then sold them on himself without offering anyone else so much as a single tin. From time to time he called on the entire gang to assist, including Victor and Phossie, so they were obviously still in his employ – but he did them no favours.

‘We can go hang, you notice,' Phossie grumbled, as they mooched round the corner to the pub. ‘He don't care. No skin off his nose.' Then his tone changed abruptly. ‘Oh Christ!'

‘What?' Vic asked, following his friend's frightened gaze. ‘What is it?'

It was two military policemen, red caps bold in the
light from the pub windows, striding along the road in their menacingly purposeful way.

‘I'm off!' Phossie said, and disappeared into the darkness of the nearest alley.

Now who's going to pay for the beer? Vic thought crossly. With few goods of his own to sell and the Skibbereen providing fewer opportunities, he was rather short of cash at the moment and he needed every penny he could scrape together now that he was taking Spitfire out. The final push he'd promised himself at Christmas was still eluding him, although they went to the pictures at least once a week. We're all grinding to a halt, he thought as he walked on to the pub, and that's bad for trade. People won't buy things when they're feeling low. What we need is something to give us a lift. A victory or something. In the meantime, he'd have to find someone else to stand the round that evening.

But the lift they needed didn't come until the beginning of March, when the snow had thawed and spring had finally arrived. Then and at last, the news they all wanted to hear was blazed across the front page. The US 3rd Army had crossed the Rhine. Now, with the Russians over the River Oder and within forty miles of Berlin, the Allied trap was closing around the hated Third Reich at last.

‘Great stuff!' Bob said, when he'd read it. ‘The beginning of the end.'

‘Can't be more than a few months now,' Sis agreed. ‘We could have our general election by the summer.'

And Steve will be home for it, Barbara thought. Oh it
was
good news. Just keep him safe till it's all over, she prayed. Thass all I want.

Even Heather raised a smile.

And in his dark kitchen in the Isle of Dogs, Victor was delighted. But once he'd scanned the headlines, he went on to read an article lower down the page, his attention caught by the new and exciting word ‘prefabricated'.

We have a chance to rebuild 1,000,000 damaged homes, or to replace them with new pre-fabricated houses. Now what about these emergency houses? What are they like? Work will start on them as soon as the war is over and there are plans to build more than a million. I have seen the fullsized model myself and steps are being taken to make sure that a good number of housewives have a chance of expressing their views about them. Currently on view at the following sites …
'

This is it! he thought. This is the push I need. I'll promise her a home of her own. She'll never be able to resist
that.
Not after living in the North End. That's a clincher. More than that stupid soldier will
ever
be able to offer her.

He read on, avidly, hoping they'd give some indication what the rent would be. But they only said it was ‘
likely to be reasonable
' and hinted that there would be a list for prospective tenants. He wasn't deterred. However much it was, he could afford it. He'd take her to see one of them the minute he could arrange it and he'd put his name on the list the minute it was opened. I'll write and ask her to the Lyceum, he thought. If I play my cards right, I bet she'll come dancing now. Then I'll tell her about the houses while we're on the floor.

It was a cunning letter.

Good news about the Rhine crossing. I bet you are all pleased as Punch. Me and a few friends are going to the Lyceum dancing on Saturday to celebrate. Would you like to join us? It is a good place. I told you about it before if you remember. It is in the Strand where the GI's go. I think you would enjoy it. I shall understand if you do not feel up to it yet. I do not want to put you under any pressure. I shall be at our usual meeting place at
eight o'clock and if you would like to come with us I would be happy to take you.

It was delivered by second post the next afternoon when Barbara was in her bedroom rereading some of Steve's letters, the way she often did when she was feeling low or lonely – as she was at that moment because the good news had made her too aware of how much she missed him. It was nearly time for her to go to work, for she was on late turn that day, but there was just time to read one more. The bundle lay on his brown counterpane with its red ribbon untied, and naturally, the letter in her hand was his one-and-only love letter.
I could never for get you
,' she read, eager for the words to warm her. ‘
You are under my skin. I remember everything about you, how you look, how you smell, how you feel … You are my own dear darling …
' But oddly, and for the first time ever, the warmth didn't begin, the familiar, necessary magic wasn't working, and what was worse, when she tried to remember him, the details of his face were vague, as if the memory of him was fading like the ink on the page. It was so horrible the tears stung in her eyes. I can't be forgetting him, she thought. Thass not possible. Not when I love him so much. Not when the war's nearly over.

Their wedding album was still standing on his bookshelf, white as snow among the blues and oranges of his collection. She took it down quickly, and opened it to gaze hungrily at his recorded face, but there was distance in that image too. It seemed an age ago, as if they were two different people. She turned the page, hoping for better with another photograph, and there was the group picture, with Aunt Becky holding on to her hat, and Mr Wilkins smiling sheepishly, and Mrs Wilkins with that awful disapproving look on her face. She didn't like me then, Barbara remembered, and she don't like me much more now. Not if the truth be told. We put up with each other, thass all, but deep down she
ain't changed. She give me just the same look every time I go out, as if I got no right to enjoy myself. If it wasn't for the odd trip to the pictures now and then I reckon I'd go potty living here. Oh if only they'd let Steve home for a day or two.

And at that moment she heard the letter fall through the letter box and rushed down the stairs at once to pick it up, thinking of Steve all the way. It was quite a surprise to find that it was from Victor Castlemain, for although they went to the pictures every week, he never wrote to her.

But she was glad of the letter just the same. The thought of going dancing again was very tempting and they'd certainly got something to celebrate. She knew it would annoy Mrs Wilkins – if she ever found out about it – but Steve wouldn't mind. He'd told her to go out and enjoy herself. She'd read the letter just a few minutes ago. ‘
Live your life to the full,'
he'd said. And there was no harm in going out with old Victor. He never tried anything on, no kissing or saying silly things. He didn't even hold her hand, although they walked along arm in arm sometimes. It was really rather noble of him when he was still attracted by her. She'd been a bit worried about that at first, but now she took it as proof that she hadn't changed, that she would still be attractive when Steve came home. That wasn't fair to Vic but it wasn't as if she was encouraging him, and anyway he didn't seem to mind. He was a good friend.

Even so, she
did
feel a bit guilty as she walked in through the tall columns of the old theatre in the Strand. Perhaps she was being heartless. Perhaps she shouldn't be out dancing, when Norman was drowned and poor Betty'd been killed and Steve was still in France. But then they were inside and the band was playing ‘Pennsylvania Six Five Thousand' and the place was so loud and frenetic and overcrowded that she couldn't think of anything except the excitement of the moment and the fun of dancing again.

There was no sign of any of Vic's friends but she had partners in plenty for the floor was packed with servicemen and Vic was an attentive companion. After the first hour the bandsmen began to mop their foreheads and the GI's threw off their tunics as the beat grew faster and faster. Barbara's hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat and her shoes were covered in dust.

‘What an evenin'!' she said to Vic, as she came back to join him after an energetic jitterbug with a cheerful GI.

‘Glad you came?'

Her answer was rapturous. ‘You bet!'

It was the perfect moment. ‘I got some news for you,' he said.

She wasn't terribly interested. After all, what could he say to beat the news she'd been reading that week? ‘Have you?'

He leant towards her until he could see the reflection of his face in the pupils of her eyes. ‘How would you like a home of your own?'

She laughed at him, teasing, ‘You got one to sell then?'

‘Not exactly,' he admitted. ‘But I could find you one for rent.'

‘Really?' She was still teasing but her curiosity was roused.

‘Really. They're the latest thing. Pre-fabricated. They can build one in four hours.' And he showed her the cutting, walking her across to the nearest wall-light so that she could see to read it.

She was very interested but she saw a drawback straight away. ‘I wouldn't be eligible though, would I?'

‘Why not?'

‘That says here, Londoners an' their families. I hain't a Londoner for a start. Nor a family.'

‘They're for couples as well,' he told her. ‘Servicemen and their wives are gonna be top priority. People on war work. Things like that. You'd be just the sort of
person they're looking for. They're putting them up on the commons already. They want to know what people think of them. I could get you a preview ticket if you'd like.'

Yes, she would, very much. ‘When?'

‘You tell me.'

‘I hain't got a day off till Monday week,' she said. ‘An' I promised to go to Bellington South in the afternoon with Aunt Sis. Would the morning be all right?'

‘I'll fix it,' he said. ‘Wanna dance?' And was thrilled by how happily she stepped into his arms.

The prefabs stood in a row along the edge of the common, between the pavement and an avenue of limes, each with its own plot of garden around it, defined by a tiny picket fence, each with a flat roof, a tin chimney, walls made of plain grey panels and green doors and windows, neat and new like a line of well-wrapped parcels. One of them had net curtains in the windows and a long queue of people waiting on the front path.

‘What d'you think?' Vic said happily, smiling towards them as if he'd designed and built them himself.

‘They're smashing,' Barbara said. ‘Look at all the trees 'longside. Thass like bein' in the country.' They reminded her of the trees in the Walks in Lynn, so straight and tall and shapely and all putting out new leaf, pale green and tender in the gentle sunshine, the way things ought to be. And that made her think of Steve and the way they'd kissed under the trees all those long, long months ago. More than a year. ‘What a place to live!'

‘Wait till you see inside,' Vic said, leading her towards the queue. ‘By all accounts that's first rate.'

It was a long wait, but the sunshine was warm and the air balmy and they had plenty to talk about – schooldays in Lynn, the characters they'd met at work there, the awful houses in the North End, how different it was from London – so the time passed pleasantly. Barbara noticed that people were being allowed into the building six at a time so there was obviously plenty of room inside. The queue shuffled forward at steady
intervals, and eventually it was their turn. Victor produced two tickets from his inside pocket and they were in.

If the outside of the house was like a well painted box, the inside was a dream. Barbara walked from room to room in a daze, living room, bathroom, three bedrooms and all so neat and uncluttered and easy to keep clean. Most of the furniture was built into the walls and came with the house, drawers and wardrobes in the bedroom and cupboards in the living room on either side of a gas fire that would keep the place warm without all that filthy business of raking ashes and blackleading a grate. There was even a built-in table that you could fold back into the wall when you weren't using it. Wouldn't Aunt Becky like
that!

But it was the kitchen that set the seal on the place. It was the cleanest, neatest kitchen she'd ever seen, with a brand new gas cooker, a modern copper for washing the clothes, a geyser to provide hot water whenever you wanted it, an entire wall of shelves and cupboards where you could keep enough food for a family and still have room left over, and wonder of wonders, a small white cupboard that turned out to be one of those new refrigerators. The young woman guiding them round explained how useful it would be. ‘No more runny butter in the summer. Nice fresh eggs – once they're off the ration. Meat and fish as fresh as it was when you bought it. You can't get flies in a refrigerator. I think it's the best thing that's ever been invented.'

‘So do I,' Barbara agreed. ‘Thass really hygienic.'

‘Are you putting your name down?' the young woman asked Victor.