Cockney Orphan (41 page)

‘Billy?’ Spike grabbed his arm.

‘What?’

‘Shit or bust, eh?’

Billy grinned. ‘Shit or bust.’ He briefly met Spike’s eyes then frowned ahead of him. ‘I’m off then, or hallay-feet as the mademoiselles say.’

Spike smiled nervously. ‘You ain’t gonna find a bit of crumpet in that bunker, you know.’

‘I’m not planning to look.’

Billy scrambled on to all fours. He didn’t remember counting, or jumping to his feet and running, zig-zagging from one toppled tree to another, listening to the silence broken only by the
squelch of mud and the throb of his heart. He didn’t remember the first burst of razor fire, but acted on instinct, throwing himself flat and choking as he inhaled the mud.

A warm trickle slithered down his shin. The pain came, hot and piercing. He shifted his leg, surprised he could still move. The fire roared past him, beyond him, ricocheting past his ear.
Another volley zipped over his head. Bullets burst through a log in front of him, splintering the bark. He choked on a mouthful and spat out. He was still able to move so whatever had blown a hole
in his ankle wasn’t killing him. He gritted his teeth on the pain. Singed grass lodged in his teeth. He felt the ground shake and he waited, dazed, expecting the glint of steel in his
face.

‘Billy?’

‘Spike?’ He blinked the sweat from his eyes. ‘Blimey, I thought you was a Kraut.’

His pal lay beside him, a smile on his face. ‘I’m reinforcements, ain’t I?’ Then, as gently as a baby, his friend laid his head on the earth. ‘I’m done for,
Billy.’

‘Don’t be a silly sod. You’re just winded.’

Spike grinned sloppily. ‘If you say so, chum.’

Billy listened to the whining and cracking above them.
He reached out and laid his fingers on the quiet uniform, felt the warm wetness soaking through his fingers. ‘Look, I’m gonna be back for you, mate. But I got to get rid of them sods
first so’s we can get through to our blokes. Now I want you to stay here and not even fart.’

Spike looked up with glassy eyes.

Once more Billy was on his feet and running. This time he remembered every second, every gulped breath and the sob that rose from his chest. The whistling and zipping of bullets, the nose of the
gun in the hole jumping violently as it ate up the snake of ammunition. Turf ripping up in front of him. The puddles of mortar and strangers’ blood. A battlefield that refused to die and he
with it, hope sailing like a flag beside him.

When his heart seemed to stop beating, he grasped the small round instrument of death tightly in the palm of his hand. Falling flat, he released the pin and spun the metal ball high. As the next
– and last – bullet ripped past him, he smiled; the explosion blew the roof off the bunker just like the top coming off a lemonade bottle.

Connie was on her way home from work when she heard the familiar clattering in the distance. The tinny, grating noise grew louder. Her heart stopped still. Everyone’s
worst dread had come true. There was a new secret weapon after all. The V-1 flying bomb. No one knew which direction the single bomb would come from. Hitler’s doodlebugs, as they had been
named, had brought a new wave of terror to the country. When the engine cut out there was only fifteen seconds to take shelter before the missile came boring down.

‘Go on, you bugger, get out of here!’ cried a man on his bicycle. He jumped off and stood staring up at the sky. Connie did the same, selfishly praying the doodlebug would continue
its journey.

‘Thank the Good Lord it ain’t us,’ the man muttered to Connie as the missile trundled onward. ‘Makes me feel guilty to want it to land elsewhere, but it’s every man
Jack for hisself, ain’t it?’ When a distant explosion echoed in the air, his shoulders slumped. ‘Someone’s copped it,’ he sighed. ‘God rest their
souls.’

When Connie arrived home, the house was quiet. She knew where Pat and the children would be. Quickly she went to the under-stairs cupboard and opened the door. Inside was the old armchair, and
Pat and the three kids were huddled in it.

Connie gathered them in her arms. ‘You can all come out now.’

‘Is it all clear?’ Pat asked.

‘Until the next one, yes.’

They all scrambled out. ‘I heard on the wireless that over seventy have landed on London in the past thirty hours,’ Pat said as she lifted Lawrence against her. ‘The army is
stationing more ack-ack units over Kent and Sussex, trying to shoot them down. But they’re too fast.’

‘I hate them buzz bombs,’ Doris said as she and Lucky ran into the kitchen. ‘They make an ’orrible noise.’

‘I’m hungry.’ Lucky was oblivious to the danger as he climbed on a chair and looked over the empty table.

Connie kissed his cheek hard. ‘Your tea will have to be cooked first.’

‘I’m hungry too.’ Doris sat beside him. They picked up their spoons. ‘What have we got today, Aunty Con?’

‘Meatloaf and mash, followed by apple pie.’

‘You mean that squishy squashy stuff?’

‘Squishy squashy,’ repeated Lucky. ‘I like squishy squashy.’

‘Can me and Lucky go out to play while we wait?’ Doris asked as Pat lowered Lawrence into his playpen.

‘You can sit on the step but if you hear that funny noise in the sky, run in quickly.’

‘We will!’ both children yelled, and, grabbing hands, they ran out together.

Pat smiled at Connie. ‘You can’t keep them wrapped in cotton wool you know.’

‘I still can’t believe he’s going to be here when I come home.’ Connie shrugged as she took off her coat and tied an apron around her.

Pat nodded. ‘It’s almost three months since Peggy brought him back but the funny thing is he seems to have been with us for ever.’ She glanced at Connie. ‘I still find it
hard to believe that Gilbert Tucker was only after that poor woman’s money and used Lucky to get her to marry him.’

Connie sat down at the table with a bag of vegetables. Thoughtfully she began to peel them. ‘He knew she was mentally ill and convinced her that Lucky would replace Sydney. As soon as they
married and Lucky was installed, he took everything he could get his hands on. Now what kind of heartless creature would do that?’

‘I only hope the police will catch up with him.’

Connie had her doubts about that. The policeman who had come round afterwards had told her that they believed Gilbert Tucker was a serial bigamist, extorting money from vulnerable women. But so
far they hadn’t caught up with him.

‘What a monster!’ Pat exclaimed as she put on the kettle. ‘He didn’t care about the boy at all. I still get angry when I think about it.’

‘Me too,’ Connie replied passionately. ‘I don’t know what he did to Rita and her mother, but it was bad enough for Rita to run away from him and beg me on her dying
breath to look after her son. I just wish I’d trusted my instincts and put up a better fight.’

‘What beats me,’ Pat frowned as she took the milk from the larder, ‘is why didn’t the authorities discover this when he applied for custody of his grandson? I mean, that
was a big mistake on their part.’

Connie sighed. ‘Their excuse is that it’s wartime and hard to keep track of people. As he went under different names they didn’t trace him. And he would have gone on undetected
had not Grace taken Lucky to Peggy’s soup kitchen.’

‘That little girl must have had a dreadful time.’

‘I’ve got her to thank for keeping Lucky safe.’

‘At least she’s got a good home with Peggy now. The sad thing is her mother will never recover and has to stay in the asylum. Poor Grace.’

Both women sighed as they looked at one another. ‘Aren’t we lucky to have survived with such a wonderful family?’ Pat said, tears in her eyes.

Connie smiled up at her. There had been a change in Pat over the past months. She was her old chatty self again and had regained all her enthusiasm for life. The arrangement of Connie lodging
there seemed to be working well. Pat had overcome her worries about Lawrence’s leg and even with the threat of the doodlebugs her spirits didn’t flag.

Just then the kids came tumbling in. ‘Is tea ready yet?’

Connie laughed. ‘You’ve only just gone out.’

Lucky wriggled himself on to her lap. She gave a slice of carrot to each child. ‘Both of you draw us a nice picture,’ Connie said, indicating the paper and pencils in the table
drawer.

Lucky scribbled happily but Doris frowned as she chewed the end of her pencil. ‘What shall I draw?

‘A picture of the river and boats on a bright sunny day,’ Pat suggested.

Head bent, Doris set to work.

Connie sipped the tea that Pat had made. She smiled into the bottom of the cup. ‘I can almost hear Gran telling me to tip up and turn.’

‘I seen Gran,’ Doris said with a big smile as she continued to draw. ‘I seen her a lot.’

Connie and Pat looked at one another.

‘Where have you seen her?’ Connie asked.

‘Dunno. Everywhere really.’

There was silence in the kitchen for a few minutes as this new piece of information was digested. Then Doris held up her picture.

‘Look, I didn’t do boats. I drawed Gran instead. She showed me her new apron, see? It’s all white with frills round the edge.’

Pat and Connie stared at the drawing. Although it was a child’s composition, the figure was clearly recognizable as Gran. A lady with a big smile on her face, dressed all in black, the
lead pencil having filled in the spaces, leaving the white paper to denote the apron with frills around its edge.

‘Th . . . that’s beautiful,’ Connie stammered.

Pat’s eyes were big as saucers. ‘You can tell it’s Gran all right.’

‘Course you can,’ Doris said, returning the paper to the table and adding extra flourishes. ‘She says I’m gonna be a really good drawer when I go to school. And come top
of my class.’ She gazed up at the two shocked adult faces. ‘Is tea nearly ready now?

At the end of August Paris was liberated. Laurie’s letter arrived in September telling Pat he was homeward bound to convalesce from a bout of pneumonia. He’d caught
it whilst in the trenches but he was better now after a spell in hospital. He had been granted a weekend’s leave, a big surprise for everyone. Pat was so happy that she even went to the
market with Connie and bought a new dress. The Friday evening he arrived there was a rapturous welcome. They all hugged him until he could hardly breathe.

‘Are you better now?’ everyone demanded, examining him from cap to boot.

‘I’ll do.’ He grinned, showing the kids his muscles and making them laugh. But he looked tired and pale and carefully avoided talking about the things he’d seen and
done.

The big surprise for Laurie was his son. It was only the second time he had seen him. Tears came into his eyes as he held the child.

‘My beautiful boy,’ he called him and, looking at Pat and Doris, his face filled with pride. Pat cleverly disguised the bad leg with a pair of stockings and, other than the way
Lawrence crawled around the floor in a clumsy way, there was no evidence of his deformity.

On Saturday morning Laurie and Pat took a walk up to Island Gardens. In the afternoon, Connie looked after the children whilst Laurie and Pat caught a bus to Poplar. Laurie wanted to buy Pat a
souvenir from the market. They came home with a second-hand jumper for Doris, a little wooden soldier for Lawrence and a bunch of flowers for Connie. Pat was wearing a small brooch, a posy of
flowers that had two stones missing but looked nice all the same. They ate tea all together and played games until the children’s bedtime.

‘I’m having an early night and leaving you two lovebirds to it,’ Connie yawned a little later.

Laurie stood up and took her in his big embrace. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a bit quiet, gel. It’s like living in two worlds. The good and normal one here with me family and the one
out there somewhere, that I don’t want to think about.’

‘We understand, Laurie. Just take care of yourself.’

‘Thank you for looking after Pat for me,’ he told her softly. ‘And I’m right pleased you’ve got your little lad back again. Reckon him and my Larry are going to be
best mates.’

As Connie went in to see Lucky, now sleeping next to Lawrence in the big double bed, she wondered when they would all meet up again. Laurie would soon be rejoining his infantry division. After
the Normandy landings, stories abounded that German troops were on the run across Europe. But another new Nazi weapon called the V2 rocket had been launched, and one had landed in west London. The
blast wave had been felt for miles around. What with the doodlebugs and the rockets could it be true that Germany had a new master plan?

Kissing all three children softly goodnight, she thought of Vic and wondered what he would think of this big brood now. She could almost hear his voice saying how proud he was of them.

‘Y
our dad and Lofty managed to find us a nice rabbit, though don’t ask me where it came from.’ Olive raised her eyebrows.
‘We’ll sit down for dinner as soon as the twins are fed.’

Connie took off her apron and glanced at the clock. ‘Dad and Kevin should be home from the pub soon.’

Olive opened the oven door and peered in. ‘I told your father I wanted them back for two sharp. No sense in spoiling good food when there’s so little of it. Between the rockets and
the rationing, we’re lucky to get a square meal these days. Nora Hibbert said the vibration of the last V2 cracked her washbasin and sent a cloud of soot from the chimney into the front room.
They even felt the floorboards shudder and Nora lives half a mile away from where it was dropped.’

People were terrified of the new weapon. The rockets were much deadlier than doodlebugs, hitting the ground without warning and penetrating deeply into the earth. They caused great destruction,
an earthquake effect, and the noise of the sonic boom could be heard all over the capital.

Connie shuddered at the thought of the sight she had witnessed from the top of a bus just the other day. The V2 had demolished a whole row of houses, leaving a steaming crater, the depth of
which was later said in the newspapers to extend fifteen feet.

‘Shame Pat and the kids couldn’t come to dinner today,’ Olive sighed as she closed the oven door and mopped her brow. ‘Is Doris any better?’