Backstreet Child (47 page)

The door opened and Tony saw Rachel peer in. Her face broke into a huge smile and she hurried over to him.

‘I’m sorry, Tony. We got delayed,’ she told him, laying her hand on his arm and hinting with her eyes that she could not say more.

‘It’s all right, Rachel,’ he said smiling. ‘I knew yer’d come if yer could. What can I get yer?’

‘A large gin an’ tonic, if they’ve got any gin,’ she replied.

The landlord smiled at them. ‘Two bottles left,’ he said, reaching down for a glass.

Tony led the way to a corner by the log fire and threw his greatcoat over the back of a spare chair. ‘I’m glad yer could get away, especially after that last letter,’ he said quietly.

Rachel’s face coloured slightly and she gave him a shy smile. ‘I was feelin’ very lovin’ that night,’ she replied.

‘Well, it was a lovely letter an’ I read it twice before I chucked it in the bin,’ he said with a serious look on his face.

Rachel looked shocked. ‘Yer put it in the dustbin?’ she almost cried.

Tony’s face relaxed. ‘I’m just teasin’ yer. I keep it next ter me’eart,’ he replied, touching his breast pocket with his fingertips.

Rachel sipped her drink and looked at him, her pale blue eyes twinkling. ‘I’m really glad yer could make it,’ she said. ‘ ’Ow’s yer mum?’

‘About the same,’ Tony replied. ‘She looked very weak.’

Rachel’s face became sad. ‘I am sorry,’ she said softly.

Tony was quiet for a few moments as he stared at the burning log fire, then he looked up at her. ‘I got the room,’ he said.

‘I knew yer would,’ Rachel replied. ‘I already spoke ter the landlord. ’E reserved it. Is it nice?’

‘It’s just like ’ome,’ Tony laughed. ‘No, it’s really nice. The ceiling’s pretty low though,’ he joked, touching the side of his head gingerly.

Rachel looked down at the flames. ‘I don’t ’ave ter be back ter camp till mornin’,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Will yer stay wiv me?’ he asked, his hand going out to touch her arm.

She avoided his urgent gaze for a few moments, toying with her glass. ‘I want to, Tony, really I do,’ she replied, ‘but I can’t give meself just yet. I explained why in the letter.’

‘It was a lovely letter, Rachel,’ he said quietly. ‘But yer ferget one fing. We are involved. Us bein’ ’ere right now is proof enough. I love yer, an’ I want yer. I can’t fink o’ bein’ wivout yer. D’yer understand?’

Rachel sighed deeply. ‘I want ter give meself ter yer. Make yer know ’ow much I care fer yer, but I’m frightened. I’m frightened I might lose yer. I couldn’t bear it. I’d just die, I know I would.’

Tony leaned forward over the small round table and rested his arms on the hard surface. ‘Listen ter me,’ he began. ‘This war is goin’ ter last fer a long while yet. None of us knows if we’ll be around ter see the end of it. Very soon our mob’s goin’ overseas. Rumour ’as it we’re goin’ ter the Middle East. I don’t know fer ’ow long. It could be years. Then there’s you. Your airfield’s bin attacked. You could ’ave bin killed. None of us know what’s in store fer us, Rachel, but I’ll tell yer this. As far as I’m concerned, I want ter enjoy every minute, every second that we’re tergevver. I want ter love yer an’ ’old yer close an’ shut the war out. I wanna live fer the moment, an’ I want you ter feel the way I do. Just remember that if eivver of us gets killed, then the one who’s left will at least ’ave those lovely memories. Fer me it would last ferever, an’ it’d be enough.’

Rachel’s eyes glistened as she listened to him and she breathed deeply to fight back the tears. ‘I love you, Tony,’ she whispered.

‘Will yer spend the night wiv me?’ he asked.

‘Do me one fing,’ she said.

‘What’s that?’

‘Get me anuvver drink.’

Tony looked serious as he got up from his chair. ‘Let’s make it a large one,’ he said. ‘There’s somefink I wanna talk ter yer about.’

The evening wore on and the small pub became packed. Smoke rose up to the old oaken beams and laughter filled the bar. Tony and Rachel sat facing each other in the corner, talking quietly and occasionally smiling fondly. His hand enclosed hers, and she sometimes lowered her head bashfully. The clock struck the hour and the landlord rang the old brass bell over the bar. ‘Time, gentlemen, please, and ladies,’ he called out.

‘I should see ’im about the room,’ Tony said, stroking his chin.

‘There’s no worry. Wait until the mornin’,’ Rachel replied.

‘Will ’e mind?’ Tony asked.

Rachel gave him a smile. ‘My friend Mary Hannen’s boy friend used ter stay ’ere sometimes,’ she said. ‘If Mary could get time off, she’d stay wiv ’im. The landlord always settled wiv them next mornin’. ’E’ll do the same fer us. Ole Ben’s a nice bloke, an’ very understandin’.’

The two young lovers climbed the steep flight of stairs and slipped the latch on the creaking door to the bedroom. Inside, the air smelled of mothballs and lavender and in the light of the small bedside lamp the bed seemed to fill the tiny room. Tony threw his greatcoat on the chair under the window and turned to face Rachel. She closed the door and leaned against it. For a few moments they stood looking at each other then she went to him, her arms open to receive him. Tony wrapped his arms round her slim figure and bent his head down, his lips hovering inches from hers. ‘I love yer, Rachel,’ he whispered.

Their lips met in a soft, then hard, smouldering kiss. Rachel stood on tiptoe, her arm about his neck. He held her in a tight embrace, his lips moving from her mouth to her neck, brushing her throat. She sighed deeply, her breath beginning to come faster as he caressed her. She could feel his hands stroking her back, down and round to the top of her thigh. Rachel let her body arch backwards, feeling his full length pressing against her. She could feel the urgency of him and he groaned as she stroked him. With a quick movement he picked her up bodily and moved over the bed. Slowly he lowered her down, his breath coming hot against her soft flushed cheek. He was above her now, feeling the roundness of her small firm breasts. He started to undo the buttons of her uniform jacket and suddenly she stopped him. ‘Wait, Tony. I need ter freshen up,’ she whispered.

He watched her walk out to the adjoining bathroom and then got up from the bed, hot and ready with the promise and excitement. He turned off the lamp before opening the curtains. In the far distance he could see searchlights probing the night sky and knew that London was preparing for another night of bombing. For a while he stared out over the dark hills and then he heard the bathroom door creak open. He drew the curtains shut and turned round. Rachel stood naked before him, her slim body silhouetted against the light behind her. Tony gasped at her beauty. Her legs were long and slender and her waist was narrow above her wide round hips. He gazed at her breasts standing out firmly and glimpsed her small pink nipples in the darkness. Rachel had loosened her hair and it hung down round her shoulders and over one side of her forehead.

‘Yer look stunnin’,’ he gasped.

Very slowly she moved to him, her body seeming to glide across the floor. She put her arms round his neck and her lips parted slightly for his kiss. Tony was suddenly aware of his rough battledress against her bare skin and his kiss was soft and gentle, almost apologetic.

‘I gotta undress,’ he said in a whisper.

She smiled at him as he moved away. ‘Don’t be long, lover. I need yer badly.’

Tony came out from the bathroom, turning the light off behind him, and in the blackness he found her aching body. She could feel him trembling as he moved against her on the bed, his lips touching her mouth, her neck, and then her stiffening nipples, licking them with his tongue, softly and slowly, tracing the shape of the tiny mounds. She sighed and wrapped her long slender legs round his thighs, guiding him, urging him into her as he moved up to kiss her open mouth. In that ecstatic moment they became one, as he thrust deep into her, filling her with a delicious sensation she wished would last for ever. He groaned as he pressed faster and deeper and then with a deep sigh and shudder he was spent, his love exploding out of him in waves of quick hot pleasure. He sank down sweating on top of her and they rolled sideways, still locked together in a lingering desire. For a few moments they lay there silently, listening to each other’s quick heartbeats and quiet breathlessness. The feelings of frantic excitement were slowly dissolving into gentle sensations of warm satisfaction, and Rachel sighed. ‘God, I’m tingling all over,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I do love yer, Tony.’

He kissed her lips softly and held her to him, wanting this moment to become etched in his mind for ever. ‘I love you too, Rachel,’ he said quietly.

Far in the distance the light from raging fires grew wider and higher in the clear night sky. The flash of high explosives made the glow pulsate, a living nightmare that lasted through the long night, searing the saddened eyes of the two young lovers as they sat huddled together in blankets at the small bedroom window.

‘’Ow much more can they take, Tony?’ she said, brushing a tear from her eye.

He shook his head. ‘They’ll take it as long as it goes on, darlin’,’ he whispered. ‘The women’ll be standin’ in the queues termorrer an’ the men’ll go ter work. The kids’ll be out playin’ in the ruins an’ collectin’ shrapnel.’

Rachel turned her back to the window and went over to the bed. ‘Close the curtains, darlin’, and hold me. Hold me tight. I’m so frightened.’

‘Of that?’ he said, nodding toward the distant glow.

‘No, fer us. I can see no future fer us while that goes on,’ she replied.

Tony went to her, enveloping her in his strong arms. ‘We’ll survive, Rachel,’ he said softly. ‘You an’ I both.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Throughout the bitterly cold December, the air-raid sirens sounded nightly and the blitz continued unabated. Wharves burned, warehouses crumbled in ruins, and tramlines in Jamaica Road were torn out and twisted into knots by the ferocity of one high explosive that landed in the middle of the thoroughfare. Albert Lockwood had the front of his shop blown out, and another bomb landed on the desolation that had once been Bacon Buildings. The little houses in Page Street were still intact, however, apart from missing windowpanes and roof slates. The shelter remained unscathed and folk felt comparatively safe as they sat along its arched length on uncomfortable benches. The promised bunks had still not arrived and Josiah Dawson felt the brunt of the locals’ anger.

‘’Ow much longer do they reckon we can sit ’ere?’ Sadie grumbled.

‘I’ll die if I ’ave ter spend anuvver night sittin’ up,’ Maudie groaned.

‘They don’t care,’ Maisie growled. ‘I bet the council people sleep in bunks. They don’t ’ave ter sit up every night.’

‘We ought ter write ter the papers,’ Bert Jolly remarked.

Granny Massey sat silent while the anger boiled around her. She felt that her neighbours were plotting against her and she did not intend to be duped into anything. Her daughter Brenda would not believe her when she said that there should have been a party that night in the shelter and the only reason it did not take place was because she decided to turn up.

‘They’ve all got it in fer me,’ she moaned to her long-suffering daughters.

Rose ignored the outburst but Brenda worried, and when she asked her mother where she heard about the intended shelter party, the old lady pointed the finger at Maurice.

‘Do me a favour,’ Maurice growled. ‘Now would I lead the old lady up the garden path like that? She most probably dreamed it.’

Brenda agreed with him. After all, her mother had taken to having arguments with the tailor’s dummy recently, and she was getting more and more difficult to manage. She was making it impossible for her and Maurice to have any fun whatsoever.

Early each morning after the raiders had left, Brenda was in the habit of slipping from the shelter to make a jug of tea. Sometimes, when Maurice was not on night shift, she would meet him for a few precious minutes of lovemaking in her quiet house. It was all too brief for Brenda and Maurice’s liking, but they were grateful for the chance to be alone together. Granny Massey enjoyed her early-morning cup of tea, however, and was impatient for it to arrive. One morning when all was quiet the old lady decided to leave the shelter on the proffered arm of Maudie, who was leaving unusually early. The sound of bed springs being pounded overhead did not go down very well with Granny Massey, and when Maurice came down the stairs red-faced a few minutes later the old lady became angry. ‘I could be dyin’ wiv thirst fer all you two care,’ she moaned. ‘Is that all yer fink of?’

Maurice made a discreet exit while Brenda made the tea, suffering her ageing mother’s tirade. ‘’E’s no good fer yer,’ she went on. ‘Too bloody sure of ’imself if yer ask me.’

Brenda did not feel like asking her mother anything just then, and she endured in silence.

‘Maurice Salter’s gonna make me the laughin’ stock o’ the street,’ Granny continued. ‘Those daughters of ’is are all no-good little cows. The blokes they bring ’ome. ’E’ll make you as bad, mark my words.’

Brenda had heard enough. ‘Shut up, Muvver, fer Gawd’s sake,’ she said sharply.

‘That’s right, shut me up. Don’t let me get a word in edge-ways,’ Granny raved, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Yer’ll be sorry when I’ve gorn.’