Birmingham Blitz (48 page)

‘She’s gone, Mrs Spini,’ I said. ‘I was just standing there, and—’

It was expected, but still a shock. Vera’s face tightened and she gave out a long breath almost as her mother had done. I was upset and embarrassed. I wasn’t family. I was the wrong person to have been there. Why did old women have to keep choosing to die suddenly when I was around?

But Vera stepped forward and embraced me, kissing my face on each cheek before she went upstairs. ‘I think it was a compliment to you.’

Thick clouds and foul weather saved us from bombing that week but also meant that the day of Nonna Amelia’s funeral was cold and wet. Whatever the weather the Italians were going to send Nonna Amelia off with all the pomp and splendour they could gather together.

I paid my respects to her again once the women had laid out and clothed her in a stiff black dress. Now she was dead her face looked like someone else.

They carried her to the Requiem Mass at St Michael’s in a horse-drawn hearse. The six black horses, blinkered and adorned with noble black plumes, gleamed in the rain, their breath snorting out jets of steam around them, and walked with high steps as if they sensed the honour of the occasion.

Vera’s brothers and other friends of the family carried wreaths to the church, the biggest taller than they were themselves, and there was an enormous crowd inside. She had been very much loved, that old lady, for her kindness, and very much respected.

Teresa walked in with Vera and the other girls, all in their black lace, and Nanny Rawson limped beside me. Nan could swallow her misgivings about Catholics generally for the sake of this family in particular.

The strain was showing on Vera’s face. As we settled in our pews, Nan steadfastly refusing to bob up and down to the High Altar or any of that, I whispered, ‘If only Mr Spini was here. It’s so hard on her, in’t it?’

After the solemn Mass Nonna Amelia was taken off to Witton Cemetery with the closest of the family. But we called round later to join in the wake, the men and bottles ensconced in the front room, the women in the back, some of them crying as if they were there with the job of letting out grief on everyone’s behalf.

We sat with the women for a time, everyone in black, accepting food and drink. Teresa came and sat by us in her black crêpe dress, looking worn out.

‘You all right, love?’ Nan said to her.

‘I’m OK, ta. Thanks for coming both of you.’ She seemed a bit distracted I thought, in a bit of an odd mood, because through all the tiredness and formalities she looked somehow excited. While the other women were talking loudly she moved closer to me. ‘I’ve got summat to tell you.’

I looked round at her.

‘Carlo’s asked me to marry him.’ I hadn’t imagined it then, that light in her eyes. He’d written to her, couldn’t even wait to come home and ask.

‘He’s such a hothead,’ Teresa said affectionately. ‘Not quite the same as going down on one knee, is it!’

I didn’t have to ask what the reply was going to be.

‘But at your age – what does your mom say?’

‘I’ll be seventeen soon and she adores Carlo. Always has. I s’pose if it wasn’t for the war she’d tell us to wait, but she was so scared I’d go off and marry a Prot and leave her, she’s quite happy. A good Italian Catholic boy with his family in the Quarter, she’s not going to let that one slip past!’

I flung my arms round her. ‘I’m really happy for you, Teresa. Nice to have some good news for once.’

‘Well, good luck to you both,’ Nan said when we told her, though we had to keep our congratulations low as no one else was to know yet. Even despite the sadness of that day Teresa did look happy and settled in herself.

As we left she kissed me extravagantly and hung on to my arm, hugging it. ‘Maybe you and I should make a double wedding?’

Gently I pulled away. No one was going to see the ache in my heart, not now. I covered it with a laugh. ‘Bit tricky that one, ain’t it, since neither of us are Catholics!’

That Sunday afternoon I answered a knock on our door to find Mr Broadbent standing there. His car was parked across the road. My knees went weak.

‘Genie?’ He looked ever so uncomfortable having turned up like that. I couldn’t ask him in. There was Mom asleep in a chair and out of pride I didn’t want him seeing her. And I guessed why he was here. I just couldn’t let him near me because if he said too much I knew I’d cave in completely. I stood stiffly in the doorway, my expression closed tight as an iron door.

‘Sorry to bother you, love,’ he said. ‘I know it’s a bit funny me calling. But Joe’s very anxious about you. Said he hasn’t heard a thing from you for ages and he asked me to check and see if you were all right.’

I swallowed, looked past him seeing the ground was wet outside and it was filthy still, mess from the street’s wreckage continually trodden back and forth. ‘I’m awright.’

Mr Broadbent seemed so embarrassed I felt guilty, but I couldn’t help him.

‘He keeps hearing about the raids of course. It’s not as bad where they are, nothing like.’ He paused. ‘Are you sure everything’s all right, Genie? Only Joe’s wondering why he hasn’t heard. He’s upset and worried. You mean a lot to ’im.’

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, arms folded tight, stared over Mr Broadbent’s head across our smashed-up street.

‘I can’t write,’ I said, holding on tight to myself inside and out. ‘Just can’t. You’d better tell Joe he’s made a mistake. Tell him to forget me.’

‘Oh.’ He stroked his hand back over his hair. ‘I didn’t know it was like that.’

I was moving back into the house.

‘But Genie – wait, love . . .’

‘Love’ undid me. ‘Got to go. Mom’s calling.’ And I shut the door. Leaned on it, gulping, and closed my eyes.

Tuesday. And there was Lil at Nan’s, sobbing her heart out, and Nan’s face clenched like a rat trap with ‘What did I tell you?’ written all over it. It took me quite a time to get the whole sorry story. Nanny Rawson, it seemed, had been right about Frank with a vengeance.

‘That didn’t take long, did it?’ Nan said. ‘Talk about living in Cloud Cuckoo Land – people like that believe their own lies.’

Lil sobbed even harder.

‘So you mean he’s got another woman?’ I said, trying to put together the bits of information dribbling out between Lil’s snuffles and sobs.

‘I – I was so sure about him,’ she wailed. ‘How could I have got it all so wrong? How could he tell me so many lies?’ She had no make up on and her lids looked naked, pink and puffy. She put her head in her hands, so betrayed and dejected. I looked at Nan, framed in the window’s dying light. She folded her arms, glanced at Cathleen who was on the floor with a rag doll.

‘Not only is lover boy already married with a kid, ’e’s got this other trollop set up across town – where is it? Hockley or somewhere – doing all this fortune telling and that . . . Only she’s a bit more to ’im than ’e was letting on before!’

‘And there’s a flat over the top of that one,’ Lil wailed. ‘I reckon she sees more of him than I do!’

‘Christ,’ I said, ‘how does he manage it?’

Nan frowned at my blaspheming.

I didn’t know whether I was surprised or not. I mean I was, by the facts, by Frank’s cunning, his sheer energy. But somehow not by the actual truth of it. He was much too good to be real, too charming, too slippery.

‘So how did you find out, Lil?’

‘Oh—’ She waved a hand tiredly, as if that hardly mattered any more. ‘He didn’t come home.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Not that that should surprise me, by all accounts. Anyway, he’d been on duty, or so he said. So I went up to the ARP post. I mean it’s not as if we’ve had any raids, is it? They were ever so funny with me at first, wouldn’t say a thing. Didn’t know where he was. So I was going, then one of them came after me and said Frank’d been in an accident. They’d gone into a bombed out warehouse and Frank’d had a load of stuff come down on him and done his neck in bad. So I go carting up the General to find ’im . . .’ She sat twisting her hanky round and round. ‘I’m sat there by the bed when this bird walks in, looks at me as if I stink and says, “Who the hell are you?” So I say, “Well, who are you?” And she says—’ Lil’s voice broke again. ‘“I’m his wife.” They’ve got a little lad an’ all, six years old, called Bertie.’

‘Well, what about the other woman?’ I could feel rage rise in me for my poor auntie Lil. What I wouldn’t do to that smarmy . . .

‘She, his wife, knew about her. Suspected anyway. Didn’t know about me.’

Did now though.

‘The raids gave him the perfect excuse,’ Lil sobbed. ‘He was always telling us he had to be somewhere else. And the flat over the garage was a bit bare, but I thought it was just his bachelor way of life.’

Nan’s fury twitched in her cheeks. She sliced bread for Cathleen, loaf under one arm, with a look of it being Frank’s neck.

‘Oh Lil,’ I said. We put our arms round each other and I stroked her back. Sweet, loving Lil. It knifed me through to see her so hurt and destroyed, so alone all over again.

‘How could he do it?’ she sobbed, shaking. ‘How could he? What have I done to deserve this? How could he lie to me and me not know – and to her? Poor cow’s got a kid and she’s saddled with him. The worst of it is . . .’ She pulled away from me and sat up wiping her eyes with the wet hanky. ‘I really loved him. I still do. I mean if he walked in here and spun me some tale about it was all a mistake and none of it was true I’d have him back, I would.’

Nan yanked the blackout viciously across the window. ‘Then you’re a bigger fool than you look.’

‘Can’t all be like you, can we, Mom?’ Lil said, without aggression. ‘Some of us have to believe you can have something better.’

Nan didn’t rise to that, just slopped tinned pears in Cathleen’s bowl.

‘What’re you going to do, Lil?’ I said softly.

She sat very still, staring into the fire. ‘I dunno. Oh God. I suppose I’ll have to come back here – if Mom’ll have me.’ She didn’t look at Nan. ‘Go back to Parkinson Cowan or somewhere. The factory. Right back to square one.’

When I left them, feeling guilty that I’d be so late home, I was bursting inside. I had a tight feeling in me from pent up emotion about everything that had happened, and seeing Lil in that state of betrayal and lost hope had brought it all to the surface. We were all so stuck, waiting, and not knowing whether what we were waiting for was going to bring more pain and more disaster into our lives. We could lose the war, my mom was stuck in a mockery of what was once her body, I’d rejected a good man who loved me because of my anger with myself – and now this. Now I’d seen Lil fall victim to Frank’s self-obsessed greed and lust.

It was already dark as I stormed along the Moseley Road, trying to release some of the feelings. If it was light I’d have run. This time of the evening there was too much danger of colliding with someone or knocking myself out on a lamp-post. But the sky was clear and there was a moon. Bomber’s moon, I thought.
God.

It was as if my thoughts set it off. The sirens wailed round me so loud and horrible I wanted to scream myself. People out on the street started rushing and I could see threads of light from torches moving fast, combing the pavement.

I needed to get home quick. At least Shirl was there. Wonderful Shirl. She’d get Mom and Len organized. But the thought of the shelter, of sitting still in there when I was so frantic with anger and frustration was hateful.

Turning the corner of St Paul’s Road I could just make out that someone was standing there, and as I passed, in the quick yellow flare as a match was struck, lighting the end of a fag into a glowing orange bead, I knew those features. Dark brows, heavy-set face. Bob. My rage boiled over.

‘You bastard! You shit-faced bastard!’

With all the fury of my compressed emotion I flung myself at him, taking him completely by surprise, yelling and screaming against the noise of the siren. I tore my nails down his face with every bit of my strength, kicked at him, grabbed something, his hand, took the fleshy bit above the thumb knuckle in my mouth and bit right into it until I felt it crunch.

‘Aaagh – what the
fuck
. . .?’

He caught hold of me, easily stronger now he’d got his act together and was furious and in pain, pinned my two hands together, pulled out a torch and shone it in my face.

‘You! You little bitch!’

With pleasure I saw blood on his cheeks. I drew up a big gob of spit and let him have it in one eye.

‘Christ.’ He had to wipe it with his shoulder, moving his grip to the tops of my arms, pinning them to me hard.

‘Get off me.’ I struggled, fighting him. ‘Don’t you touch me.’

‘You evil little bitch, you—’

‘My mom nearly died because of you. She was having your babby, the one you ran off and left her with, you lump of dog muck. She put her head in the gas oven and now she’s a cripple thanks to you. I hate you! I hate you . . . Get your fucking hands off of me. I’ve got to get her into the shelter – she can’t walk properly. Let me go . . .’ I was sobbing and cursing, beside myself, and Bob relaxed his grip on me. I twisted free and started running.

‘I hope they get you—’ Through my tears I screamed at the sky. ‘Come on you stupid Jerry bastards – come and get this one!’