Birmingham Blitz (14 page)

‘Here – I’ve got summat for you.’ Dad pulled a little folded piece of paper from a pocket of his kitbag. ‘Not much, but I thought they’d suit you.’

Inside were three ribbons, red, white and blue.

‘Patriotic too,’ Mom gushed. ‘What d’you say, Genie?’

‘Thanks Dad, they’re smashing.’ And they were. I was so chuffed, not just with the gift but because he’d thought of me. A smile worked its way across my face and settled there.

‘We’re having Christmas here,’ Mom said. ‘Our mom and Lil and the kids can come over. We’ll make a real celebration of it.’

Dad put his arm round her. ‘That’s my wench. It’s good to be back where I belong.’

The Spini household was alight with celebration. The kids were home!

‘And they’re not going back, neither,’ Vera vowed from behind one of the lines of washing strung across the tiny room due to the rain outside. ‘Never again.’ She poked her head out from behind a row of the damp children’s clothes which she’d washed as soon as they arrived home. Her face looked shaken out and softer, the tension gone from it. ‘Whatever happens, if anything ever does the rate we’re going, at least we’ll all be together.’

The tiny back-house seemed to have shrunk even further now it was full of children, all bigger than they had been when they left. The two younger ones, Giovanna and Luke, who was now nearly five, came home and settled in as if they’d never left it. Francesca, who was twelve, was glad to be back with Teresa and her mom and dad, although she seemed more moody and far more grown up than before. It was Tony who was finding it hardest to settle back.

‘He keeps saying the house is too small,’ Vera said dismally. ‘The family he went to had a rabbit hutch not much smaller than our house.’

‘He’ll be OK – give him a chance,’ Micky said. He was happy now, sat at the table in the heart of the family, all his kids around him. ‘Another three months and he won’t remember he was ever there.’ He gave Giovanna’s cheek a playful pinch. ‘Who’s my beautiful girl, eh?’ And she went pink and said, ‘Gerroff, Dad!’ the little ponytail swinging at the back.

It was Christmas Eve and I’d brought a few sweets for the Spini kids. They were all home after the rush in the shop, customers clearing the shelves of Brussels and chestnuts and potatoes. There wasn’t room for a tree, but Francesca, who was now used to being in charge, was organizing the younger kids, making streamers, so they were up to their ears in strips of paper and flour and water paste at the table and squabbling over the scissors. Luke was sat on the floor smearing paste down his legs as if he was embalming himself. They fell on the sweets, jelly babies and fruit drops – ‘Cor – thanks Genie!’ through hardworking mouths.

Stevie was hooking bits of holly over the mantel, adorning a picture he’d got hold of of a shiny Lagonda. There wasn’t room for Teresa and me to sit so we stood around watching. Vera was stirring pots on the stove and the room smelt of stew and was steamy with boiling spuds.

‘What about a bit round here?’ Stevie said to Micky, pointing to his Italian tile.

‘Yes – go on. Put it there, put it everywhere!’ Micky waved his hands, ready today to decorate his house, his life, everything.

Vera gave us all a cup of Tizer. Teresa was in a good mood too.

‘Must be lovely having Eric and your dad home,’ she said. ‘Proper family again.’

‘Ummm – ’tis,’ I said. I hadn’t told her about Mom and Bob of course. I just couldn’t. Even if I’d wanted to she hadn’t had much time for listening lately.

Amid the chaos I whispered, ‘How’s Jack?’

Teresa’s face clouded over for a second. ‘OK – I think.’

‘Haven’t you seen him?’

‘He’s busy.’

‘Take a hint then. He’s had enough of you.’

‘That’s just like you, ain’t it?’ She managed to snarl in a whisper, which isn’t easy. ‘Making me think the worst. I knew you were jealous.’

‘I’m not,’ I lied. ‘I just don’t want to see you get your feelings hurt.’

‘They won’t be,’ she said haughtily. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Oi – you two aren’t falling out, are you?’ Vera scolded. ‘You staying to have a bite with us, Genie? There’ll be enough.’

‘Can’t, Mrs Spini, thanks very much. Got too much to do at home.’ In fact that brought me up sharp. ‘Blimey. I’ve got to go.’

All the family kissed me and wished me a happy Christmas. Vera pushed a small packet into my hand.

‘That’s for you, love. You deserve a little summat. And these are for the family.’

She sent me off with a bag of fruit and a warm happiness fizzing inside me.

That night I tucked Eric up in bed. Now I was better he was sharing my bed, which I didn’t mind at all. I quite liked it. After all, he wasn’t Lola. I sat on the bed beside him.

‘Look – I’ve put you this old stocking here for Daddy Christmas.’ I laid it at the foot of the bed. I was puzzled he hadn’t asked for one. Last year he’d been on about it for days. ‘You need to get to sleep quick – he won’t come if he knows you’re awake.’

‘There’s no such thing as Father Christmas,’ Eric retorted. ‘Mrs Spenser says. She says it’s just a story made up by grown ups and I’m too old for it now.’

‘Mrs Spenser’s got a lot to say for ’erself, hasn’t she?’ I snapped. Then I was sorry and patted him. ‘You just get to sleep and see what happens.’ There wasn’t much to put in it but I’d gathered up a few bits and pieces.

As Eric dozed off to sleep I sat there feeling very low in myself. Damn you, Mrs Spenser, I thought, for nothing like the first time. Even if my childhood seemed to have long vanished, I’d still wanted to share what was left of his. To have something pretty and magical and more than real life to believe in. Reindeer on the roof and bells and a white world when it wasn’t really snowing. I still half believed in it all myself. But now even that was gone.

Mom did us proud over Christmas. She put on such a good show that even I was lulled into forgetting what a deceiver she was. She adorned the house with a tree in the front room, mistletoe (of all things) in the doorway of the back room so Dad kept bashing his head on it, and tinsel all along the mantel, which Len loved. He kept going and stroking it.

We had turkey and trimmings. Len and I sat and peeled spuds, scraped carrots and put criss-crosses on the stalks of sprouts. Mom took over the main cooking for once and did her best to get it all the right consistency and a colour other than black. She filled the turkey’s behind with sage and onion and the craw with a cooking apple. She was like another person, bright and chirpy and singing carols along with Gloria and the rest of us, stirring the gravy, pink-cheeked and happy looking. Dad was allowed to go in the kitchen and put his arm round her waist. I watched from the back room.

‘Love you, Dor. You know that, don’t you?’ This, by Dad’s standards, was an outburst fit to be put on stage.

She said, ‘Oh Victor,’ in a half-reproachful voice but she turned and kissed him and he touched her hair.

Before lunch Nanny Rawson and Lil brought the kids over and they all came in singing, ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’ out of time with each other and laughing, and Patsy was shouting with excitement. Tom came straight over to me. Nan had brought her accordion. She had a bad chest but was cheerful. Eric seemed happy enough to see his cousins.

‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ Lil said to Mom, and she didn’t sound spiteful about it for once.

Mom was feeling so well disposed to the world in general that she even invited Gladys and Molly over after dinner to listen to the concert on the wireless put on for the boys in France. They had taken their pinners off and wore flower-print dresses in the same material and had dabs of rouge on their cheeks.

‘This is ever so kind of you,’ they kept saying. They’d brought over cake with a scattering of dried fruit and a little packet of butterscotch.

Molly made a beeline for Len who was sat at the table and plonked herself down right next to him, smiling away like mad. Most of the butterscotch went by Molly’s hand straight into his mouth, which was definitely the way to Len’s heart.

It was grey and cold outside but cosy in the house. We listened to the concert, opened our few presents and drank ruby port, the scraped turkey bones still jutting up on the table. Vera’s present to me was a pretty hairslide, Mom had talc from Dad and there were chocolates. Gracie Fields was singing ‘The Biggest Aspidistra in the World’ as Gladys fell asleep in the armchair with her legs apart. Molly barely took her eyes off her until she was letting out little snores. Then she shifted her chair even closer to Len’s, giggling and peeping round into his eyes. Their two hands crept together and lay there like ham joints on the pale blue tablecloth. Mom pretended not to notice. Molly slipped the last square of butterscotch into Len’s mouth.

Dad was due to leave in the New Year. It’d been a happy week, the happiest I could remember in a long time, since way before the war ever started. Lots of singing and talking and people being nice to each other. I kept trying to forget it was a lie. That the glow on Mom’s face was put there by a stocky copper called Bob several years younger than both her and my dad.

On New Year’s Eve we joined in ‘Auld Lang Syne’ along with the people singing on Gloria. We listened to the King’s stumbling voice: ‘I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied, “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”’

We looked over the year’s dark rim into the unknown of 1940.

Once Christmas was over we came down to earth with a crash. Dad had to go and so, apparently, did Eric.

‘D’you want to go back to Mrs Spenser?’ I asked him.

Mom was watching us like a hawk. ‘He’s got to go, there’s no two ways about it. “Leave the children where they are.” That’s what they’re saying.’ For a moment she squatted down next to Eric and looked into his face. ‘You do understand, don’t you love? It’s for your own safety. It’s not ’cause we don’t want you. I wish you could stay.’

Fortunately I had the wisdom to keep my mouth shut about the Spinis. ‘But d’you
want
to go?’ I asked again.

Eric shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

‘Oh Eric, spit it out!’ I nudged his arm impatiently. ‘You must know whether you want to or not.’

‘Don’t mind going,’ Eric said. ‘Mrs Spenser’s all right.’

‘I’ve told you,’ Mom snapped, straightening up again. ‘He’s going.’

Ten whole days of Bob deprivation had left her nerves properly frayed. The sugary act she’d managed for Dad was beginning to wear off too and she was being short and snidy with him again. Now Christmas was over there was nothing to look forward to but being back where we were with more work, more blackout, more drudgery. Mom at least had a grand reunion with Bob to look forward to, so she was better off than the rest of us.

Dad knew he was bound for France and he was a bit emotional. I didn’t see Mom shed any tears for him, although she was smoking her fags end to end the morning he went. He set off very early so he could take Eric on the way and meet the dreaded Mrs Spenser. So the two of them got togged up, Dad in his uniform, which suddenly made him stand up straighter, his kitbag over one shoulder, and Eric as before with the gaberdine, little case and gas mask. Mom and I weren’t yet dressed.

Dad came and gave me a big tender hug and I felt like bawling and saying, don’t go because everything’s going to be terrible once you’ve gone. But I didn’t, I just hugged him back and swallowed on the lump in my throat as I felt his newly shaven cheek against mine. He stroked my head like I’d seen him do Mom’s. ‘Tara, Genie,’ he said, looking into my eyes, and I saw his were watery. Then he hugged me again. ‘Be a good girl now.’

All I managed to get out was, ‘Bye Dad.’

Eric clung to me and I tried to talk in a normal voice, still sounding as if I had a bad cold. ‘Be a good boy for Mrs Spenser, won’t you? I s’pect you’ll be ’ome again in no time.’

Len gave Eric a bear-hug and Mom, Len and I stood out the front as the two of them walked off down the street into the pale dawn, hand in hand, Eric swinging the gas mask from its string. At the corner they turned and waved a last time.

Mom let out a big breath, said, ‘So . . .’ and went indoors.

That very evening Bob was round again. Must’ve been psychic. Later on in the night I had a dream about the pie factory and the bloke with the leaking nose. In my dream, Bob had fallen into a gigantic mincing machine and scraps of blue uniform kept turning up, pressed tightly into the pies. I woke feeling quite happy the next morning.

Teresa managed to tear herself away from Jack long enough to come with me into town one Saturday. Big of her.

‘It’s blooming freezing, isn’t it?’ she said as we cut down Bradford Street to the Bull Ring. She pulled the collar of her old blue coat close round her. Our cheeks were pink and raw.

‘S’going to snow. Gloria said.’

The sky looked grey and full.

‘Jack said too.’

‘Oh well – must be true then.’

‘Cheeky cow.’ She decided not to take offence, which made a welcome change. ‘Here, what you going to get? I’m going to Woollies to buy a lipstick.’