Chocolate Girls (12 page)

‘I’m not surprised,’ Ruby chuckled.

In fact Edie found she was proud of her uniform, with its green and grey tweed suit and beetroot-coloured jumper. Even the hat wasn’t too bad, and with her hair tied back neatly, its colour toning nicely with the green, she thought she looked rather fetching.

‘Mom told me she thought it was ridiculous, me working and volunteering nights as well,’ Edie said.

‘You asked her opinion then, did yer?’ Ruby asked wryly.

‘No, but I got it anyway.’ She winked. ‘You know, you could join up as well. Even though you’re a married woman now.’ Only half joking, she looked across at Ruby, who with her elbow on the table and head resting against her hand was eyeing her with what Edie suddenly realized was a wistful envy.

‘Can’t really, can I? With George firewatching nights in the Home Guard someone’s got to be at home with our mom. She won’t cope on ’er own.’

‘I thought you said she was better? She looked much more herself at the wedding.’

‘I know. She tried so hard, really pulled herself together. She’s trying the best she can but it’s hard for ’er and some days she’s still ever so low. I daren’t leave ’er, not at nights when George ain’t there. She hates the shelter and she’d be frightened to death. I mean anyone would – on their own with kids in all this.’ She sighed heavily.

‘Sorry, Rube.’ Edie lifted the kettle off the gas as it gushed steam, and mashed the tea.

‘What for?’

‘That thing’s’re so hard.’

‘No.’ Ruby sat up, rallying herself. ‘I’m all right. It’s just—’ She blushed. ‘I just feel a bit down today. I know it’s silly of me, but after Frank went back . . . well, my monthly was late so I thought, I hoped . . . I mean it’s stupid even to think of it in the middle of all this. Anyway, I came on today, so that’s come to nothing. I s’pose it’s for the best though really.’

‘Ah, shame for yer.’ Edie came up behind and gave her shoulders a squeeze. ‘Never mind, you’ll ’ave plenty of time for babbies when this is over. And if you had one now Frank wouldn’t be ’ere to see it, would he?’

‘No, I know.’ Ruby sniffed. ‘Only I really started thinking I was . . . Anyway I feel better just ’aving told yer.’

Edie emptied a bag of misshapen chocolates on to a plate. ‘Come on, cheer up – have a caramel and a cuppa.’

They sipped their tea. Ruby lit up a cigarette. Her grey eyes, suddenly full of laughter, looked at Edie over the rim of her teacup.

‘What?’ Edie demanded.

‘For God’s sake take that hat off, will yer? You’re putting me off my cuppa!’

After a time, that August, there were so many raids during working hours that they just had to carry on through most of them. But the last week of the month, the Germans turned their attention more to night bombing. On the last Sunday night of the month clusters of planes came over, showering the centre of the city with high explosives and incendiaries, and one of Birmingham’s favourite landmarks, the Market Hall, was gutted. The big clock inside, with its carved oak knights which had always fascinated Edie as a child, was destroyed as well.

It was the beginning of the nightly routine of the Blitz, which was to affect them for months to come. Ruby and Ethel Bonner made sure the boys had something warm to put on, piled ready by their beds at night. After each night cowering in the shelter they soon found out the things they would most need – a tilly lamp, candles, a flask of hot tea, and on the nights he was with them, George’s penny tin whistle to give them a tune and keep their spirits up. Ruby sat up most nights, unable to sleep in the cramped shelter, Smudge whimpering at her feet, listening to the drone of the engines coming over, the whistle and crump of the bombs, longing for Frank and wondering where Edie and Janet were on the nights they were on duty.

Later, Edie would always describe her first night with the WVS as a ‘proper baptism by fire’. She was sent to St Matthew’s church on Bristol Street, which was being used as a rest centre for people who were bombed out. St Matthew’s school next door was also a first-aid post.

Edie turned up for her evening duties flustered and afraid she was late, feeling very self-conscious as she travelled into town on the bus, the tweed suit hot and itchy on the mild evening. She’d been at Cadbury’s all day and wondered how on earth she was going to manage to stay awake all night, and what the other WVS ladies would be like.

When she reached the school it was dusk and the place was already blacked out. She pushed the door open timidly and immediately set eyes on another woman in WVS uniform, bustling away from her down the main corridor. She was short, plump and rather fearsome-looking, with what could only be described as an officiously wiggling backside.

A young, blonde nurse came out of a classroom and smiled at Edie.

‘Looking for the other WVS volunteers?’

Edie nodded.

‘They’re in the kitchen, along there. I think Mrs Lordly’s there – she’s in charge.’

Edie rounded the corner of the kitchen to see Mrs Lordly, the plump woman, at the sink, tapping her hand against the faucet in frustration as water trickled with exasperating slowness into a metal jug. Behind her were two rickety trolleys on to which a tall, very thin woman with a tragic expression was stacking tottering towers of white cups and biting her lip as if to prevent herself saying something she’d regret. The pair of them immediately reminded Edie of Laurel and Hardy.

‘Ah—’ Mrs Lordly caught sight of Edie. ‘About time! The others are late as well. What are we to call you?’

Edie hesitated for a second. First names seemed far too informal for Mrs Lordly.

‘Mrs Weale,’ she said, hoping her once-married status would give her weight in this rather frightening woman’s eyes.

‘Well, let’s hope you’ve got a bit more about you.’ Her eyes strayed scornfully towards the thin, tragic woman. ‘Come and fill these jugs and get them in there, fast as you can—’ She indicated the tea urn, which was heating over a miserable-looking flame on the range. ‘Miss Hansome
forgot
’ – this with much scorn – ‘to put the water on when she arrived. At this rate we shan’t have any boiled water before midnight.’

Edie jumped to do as she was told.

‘Now,’ Mrs Lordly said, waving an arm briskly at the trolleys, ‘one of these is going to the table in the hall here for the first-aid lot. We’ll take the other into the church once it’s ready.’ She picked up two large tins from the side. ‘I’ve baked a number of biscuits in my own time – rather dry I’m afraid, but needs must. Don’t fill that beyond the mark—’ she said to Edie, and bustled out.

Edie poured another jug of water into the urn. There was a clear plimsoll line up to which it was obviously normally filled. When the jug was under the dribbling tap again she turned to look at Miss Hansome.

‘Hello,’ she said, cautiously.

‘Oh—’ The woman looked up at her in a vague sort of way. Edie tried to guess her age. Sixty? ‘Hello, dear.’

‘I’m Edie.’ She wanted to be friendly, feeling pity for this sorry specimen with her red nose and wispy grey hair. To her surprise, Miss Hansome left her post, came over and offered a thin, veiny hand.

‘Deirdre Hansome – Oh! Oh, goodness me!’

One of the cups which she had put at the top of an already teetering pile had fallen and smashed loudly on the tiled floor.

‘Oh heavens—’ Miss Hansome wrung her hands helplessly. ‘I
shall
be in trouble now.’

Edie ran to one of the cupboards. ‘There must be a brush in here somewhere—’ She found an aged dustpan and a brush with a thin row of remaining bristles. ‘Here – come on – we can clear it up before she gets back!’

Edie energetically swept up the pieces while Miss Hansome dithered behind her. She tipped the broken china into the bin, concealing it under some of the rubbish, and was just stowing away the dustpan as Mrs Lordly reappeared. Miss Hansome jumped guiltily at the sight of her plump calves striding in.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mrs Lordly said suspiciously.

‘Nothing.’ Edie smiled, shutting the cupboard. ‘I was just wondering what was in the cupboards. The urn’s almost full now.’

‘Right. About time.’ She peered into it. Edie winked at Miss Hansome, whose eyes widened in astonishment and then she smiled back.

‘I don’t know what you’re finding to smirk about,’ Mrs Lordly snapped, turning on her. ‘It’s taken you half the evening just to set out a few cups. Come along – get this trolley over here. When the urns
finally
boil it’ll be no good having it left in here, will it? The first-aid staff want their drinks.’

The sirens went soon after nine o’clock. Edie felt her heart pounding immediately with dread. In this part of town they were much nearer some of the big works like the BSA which were prime targets for the bombers. She thought of her mom and dad and Ruby out in Selly Oak and wished for a moment she was there with them.

Janet was also on duty that night. She arrived slightly late, running into the depot in Selly Oak.

‘Oh,
bother
it.’ She banged her bag down on the table where a group of other volunteers were sitting enjoying a cup of tea. Her tin helmet, with the red cross on top, was reluctant to settle on her head with its wayward mop of hair.

‘Hello, Janet,’ the others greeted her affectionately.

‘Running a bit late are yer?’

‘It’s all right, you’ve got time for a cuppa. No sign of Jerry yet.’

‘Ah—’ Janet smiled, flustered, still trying to stuff her hair under the hat. ‘The night is young yet.’

Among the mixed group of young men and women whom she was coming to regard as friends she saw a new face. A very tall man was also making for the table with his cup and saucer. He sat his lean frame down with an easy, relaxed movement. All Janet took in at a first glance was dark, neatly cut hair and a rather prominent nose, but once she had fetched her own cup of tea and joined the others at the table she found her eyes drawn back to his face. He was at the other end of the table, listening to two of the older volunteers talking. None of his features was especially attractive individually, but there was something about the overall set of his face which kept drawing her gaze back to him. It was a strong face, almost hawkish. He seemed to be a quiet person, listening amid the chatter, sometimes giving a smile which showed a wide, sensuous mouth. Janet nudged the girl next to her.

‘Who’s that then?’

‘Oh, he’s a new one. Martin something or other. Shame about the conk, eh?’ she laughed.

A moment later she saw the man look at her for a moment, then away when he saw her return his gaze.

When they’d drunk their tea, Janet took a couple of the cups back.

‘Thanks ever so much,’ she smiled at the WVS women. ‘I needed that.’

Passing the end of the table, Janet noticed that the man’s arm was resting on the table, his hand toying with the salt cellar. For a second she took in long, agile fingers, a sprinkling of dark hair, and caught a snatch of his conversation.

‘. . . So yes – we did have to despatch the children – the older two at least . . . The little one’s still at home, running us ragged! . . . And she doesn’t enjoy going down in the cellar during the raids . . .’

She’d only been sitting down again a few minutes when the air-raid warning went off, its wail causing the usual sensation of sick panic. She wondered whether her innards would ever quite feel normal again after this combination of lack of sleep, snatched eating and frightening rushes of activity. They waited, first hearing the planes go over, hearts seeming to fail as they passed overhead, then muffled bangs from the distance.

‘Oh God,’ someone murmured. ‘There’s a lot of them. This is a bad ’un.’

When the calls started to come through, thick and fast, Mr Coggane, in charge of the depot, started to send them out. Janet was one of the later ones to go.

‘Right—’ he ordered. ‘Highgate.’ He gave more details. ‘You can go with – Mr Ferris!’ he called. Janet looked round. She was disappointed, had hoped to go with one of her friends, someone familiar. Who was Mr Ferris? The tall man jumped to attention and hurried over.

‘Get over to. Conybere Street area . . .’ Mr Coggane said again. ‘Off yer go.’

Janet looked at her new colleague. ‘Everything’s ready.’

‘Very good.’ His voice was rich and deep. He gestured to her to go ahead. ‘Lead on – this is my first time.’

Outside was a chilly, clear night, the smells of fallen leaves and smoke in the air. The siren was still howling and there were shouts in the street as the wardens went about their duty.

‘Looks as if this is ours!’ Janet shouted over the din as they ran to the leftover transport. Their ‘ambulance’ for the night turned out to be a carpet fitter’s van with a green and gold livery, loaned for the purpose. As Janet pushed the first-aid kit into the back the man waited behind her.

‘I’m Martin Ferris, by the way.’ He held out his hand.

‘Janet Hatton. Pleased to meet you,’ she said briskly.

It was a hurried handshake, both of them immediately moving away towards the van doors. She got into the driver’s seat.

As they rumbled off along the main road she wound the window down slightly, better to hear what was happening outside. The straight beams of searchlights jittered about the sky and there was a glow ahead, fires burning. The night felt chaotic and unsafe. She felt the usual combination of fear and exaltation, a kind of purity of purpose, surrender to the unknown. And the physical symptoms of fright – cold hands and feet, her breathing shallow, heart racing. She glanced at the figure beside her in the shadows, features eerie in the gloom. She was listening for more planes, and thought she could hear them faintly against their engine, but with half her mind she assessed him. Interesting. Rather attractive, actually, she realized. But it was no good thinking about that. She’d just heard him talking about his children: she wasn’t ever going down that road again. For a moment she wondered how Alec was, whether he ever thought about her. He’d be carrying on his life with his sweet-looking wife and that little boy, perhaps ashamed now of what she had been to him. Was she ashamed? she asked herself, and decided again that she was, only she was more sorry than ashamed.