Orphans of the Storm (17 page)
‘So why’s he writing now?’ Debbie asked. ‘I s’pose he wants something. You say men are only nice when they want something.’
Jess had turned the page over and was reading the rest of the letter. She finished it and, after a moment’s hesitation, handed it to her daughter. ‘You’re right in a way,’ she admitted. ‘He’s too old to join the armed forces, of course, but he’s in some rather important job with the Ministry of Supply. He’s been working in London but his whole department is being moved to Liverpool. He says he’ll be given a generous lodging allowance, and since he’d rather family benefited than strangers he wonders if we could offer him accommodation.’
‘Well, you won’t have him, of course,’ Debbie said, with a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘I know how you’ve always refused to consider a male lodger, so obviously you’ll have to turn him down. After all, you’ve always said one’s principles . . .’ She had been scanning the letter as she spoke and now she broke off, giving a low whistle. ‘Gosh, Mam, it’s a huge amount of money to turn down. What’ll you do?’
‘I’ll write straight away and say he’ll be very welcome,’ Jess said, plucking her coat and hat from the peg on the back of the door. ‘After all, he is family; it’s not as if he were a complete stranger. And I know you’ll like him.’ She glanced up at the mantelpiece as she spoke and gave a muffled shriek. ‘Heavens! Look at the time! You’re going to have to run like a rabbit if you mean to catch your tram!’
Debbie enjoyed her work in the factory for she was neat fingered and quick, which meant she was popular with other workers and supervisors alike. At first, she had found the long hours of standing at her bench trying, and suffered from backache and cramp in her legs and feet. But gradually she learned to move her feet gently as she worked and to take every opportunity to sit down. Then she was moved from simple assembly to the more complicated job of fitting together tiny parts, and for this she was perched on a high stool under a strong light and was soon so accustomed to the task that she could talk and laugh and listen to the wireless set playing music and comedy shows without stopping her work for a moment.
When she had gone for the interview, Gwen had accompanied her, equally eager for a job. Fortunately, both girls had been diligent pupils at the Daisy Street school and had been given excellent references by the teaching staff, so the factory management had had no hesitation in employing them for a trial period, at the end of which both girls were confirmed in their new jobs. So Debbie and Gwen caught the same tram each morning, sat side by side at the long bench, and ate their sandwiches perched on the wall which fronted the factory building. The older members of staff preferred to stay in the workers’ rest room, but unless it was wet the younger ones usually congregated on the wall, chattering like sparrows, and commenting on any man who had the temerity to walk past.
Right now, however, Debbie glanced up at the big clock at the end of the room, and even as she did so the hooter went signalling the end of their shift. Debbie knew that in other departments girls would simply turn away from the benches and rush to get their coats. But here, in Assembly, that would never do. She finished the delicate task upon which she had embarked and sat back to watch Gwen doing the same. Then the two girls turned in the direction of the cloakroom, not hurrying because they had learned, from bitter experience, that the scrum at the tram stop did not begin to ease until shift end was ten or fifteen minutes distant.
‘You doing anything nice this evening, queen?’ Gwen asked, as the two girls stood at adjacent basins, thoroughly washing their hands, for the work made their fingers greasy and grease was fatally easy to overlook until you saw the marks on your only winter coat.
‘No, not that I know of; it’s up to me mam, really,’ Debbie said. ‘Life’s a lot easier at home, now there’s only Mam and me and no lodgers. But Mam’s gone into spring cleaning mode now because her cousin Max has written to say he’ll be with us in a couple of days. Mam was ever so keen on him when she were a kid, and from the fuss she’s making you’d think he were the King of England. It’s scrub the kitchen floor, help me to lay a new roll of lino in the big spare room, iron them pillow cases, run out and buy a white tablecloth ’cos she don’t want Uncle Max sitting down to our old gingham one. Why? Gorrany ideas?’
‘I thought we might see a flick,’ Gwen said, rather wistfully. ‘There’s a good one on at the Commodore.’ As she spoke, they emerged from the factory building into the soft May sunshine and saw a tram trundling towards them. Gwen gave a squeak. ‘Quick, queen, if we run . . .’
Breathlessly, the two girls charged up the road and leapt on to the tram just as it began to move off. The conductor shouted at them but he was trapped at the far end of the vehicle by the sheer number of passengers, and by the time they reached their stop he had forgotten their abrupt arrival and merely took their fares. The girls got off the tram, and as they did so Gwen pointed at a fly sheet. ‘Look at that!’ she said. ‘Who’s Churchill, anyway?’
Debbie followed the direction of her friend’s pointing finger:
Chamberlain resigns, Churchill to form new Gov’t
.
Chamberlain resigns, Churchill to form new Gov’t
.
Debbie gasped. Ever since the war had started, she and her mother had made a point of listening to the news broadcasts on their small wireless set, so she was familiar with both Churchill’s name and his reputation. ‘I’d best get a paper,’ she said excitedly. ‘It’s wonderful news, Gwen. Everyone’s been saying for weeks and weeks that Chamberlain’s too old and weak to govern a country at war, but Mr Churchill’s just grand.’ As she spoke, she was proffering her pennies and taking a paper from the newsvendor.
Gwen, who could have told you the exact amount of butter, sugar and bacon one was allowed per ration book, but had far less interest in the running of the country than her friend, craned her neck to read the headlines. ‘What’s a coalition?’ she asked. ‘And what difference will it make, anyhow? I don’t reckon it’ll affect us.’
Debbie sighed. She knew that the Soames family did not possess a wireless set, so Gwen’s ignorance was understandable, but she did not feel up to lecturing her on current affairs just now. ‘Come home wi’ me and we’ll listen to the six o’clock news,’ she suggested. ‘And if we do decide to go to the flicks, then you can jolly well pay attention during the Pathé News instead of chattering the way you usually do. Honestly, Gwen, this war will affect us whichever way it goes, so it’s time we both took an interest.’
When they burst into the kitchen, Debbie waving the newspaper, Jess’s enthusiastic interest quite made up for Gwen’s ignorance. ‘Churchill’s a great man and he understands the Nazis in a way poor Mr Chamberlain never did,’ she informed the two girls. ‘He was a reporter in the Boer War, so he knows a thing or two, and he started warning the country that Hitler was a dangerous maniac years ago, only no one would listen. Now he’s been proved right and he’ll lead us to victory, you see if he doesn’t.’ Jess turned and smiled at Gwen. ‘Are you going to stay to tea, chuck? I made a sausagemeat pie and there’s a treacle sponge for afters.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Ryan, that ’ud be grand,’ Gwen said gratefully. ‘We thought we might go to a flick later, if that’s all right by you.’
‘A good idea; if you’re going to the Commodore then I think I’ll come with you,’ Jess said, to her daughter’s surprise. ‘I expect Debbie’s told you that her Uncle Max is moving in the day after tomorrow, so I guess I shan’t have much time for trips to the cinema after that.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘I shall have to start cooking big meals again – men eat much more than women – and he’ll probably expect me to be home of an evening until he begins to make friends of his own.’
Debbie stared at her mother. ‘But lodgers never stopped you from having a trip to the cinema or a bus ride out into the country before,’ she observed. ‘Why should things be different just because it’s Uncle Max? I should have thought things would be easier since he’s a relative an’ all.’
She was watching her mother’s face as she spoke and saw a tide of pink creep up her cheeks. ‘Things will be easier once Uncle Max settles in,’ Jess said, rather defensively. ‘But remember, queen, there was no rationing before the war. Now, putting a decent meal on the table takes a lot of work. So many things simply aren’t available even though they’re not rationed yet. Now be a good girl and lay the table while I check that the pie is cooked.’
The three of them bustled around, Gwen pouring large mugs of tea, whilst Debbie laid the table and Jess dished up. They listened attentively to the six o’clock news as they ate, and when they had all finished Jess glanced at the clock. ‘We’d best get a move on if we’re not to miss the beginning of the big film,’ she said. ‘Only another couple of days and Max will be here and then, Debbie, you’ll see for yourself why I’m so anxious to make my cousin feel at home. I’m sure you’ll love him as much as I do.’
Debbie had not quite known whether to look forward to Uncle Max’s arrival or to dread it, since her mother was making such a fuss, but she did expect to like this new relative since her mother thought so highly of him. He arrived at teatime on the day appointed and Debbie let him in. They greeted each other warily and then he followed her into the kitchen carrying a very large suitcase in one hand and a very small bunch of flowers in the other. He was a tall, heavily built man, with a mop of light brown hair, rather small blue eyes and a mouth partly hidden by a large, drooping moustache. He entered, crashed the suitcase on to the kitchen tiles, dropped the flowers on the draining board, and crossed the room in a couple of strides to take Jess in his arms and plonk a smacking kiss on her flushed cheek. ‘Hello, ’ello, ’ello, if it ain’t my pretty little cousin grown into a beautiful woman!’ he shouted boisterously. ‘Eh, the old town ain’t changed a dot since I were last here. Same old trams, same old buildings, same old folk throngin’ the streets. I dunno what I expected but I’m glad it’s the same – makes me feel at home like.’ He stopped hugging Jess and beamed, broadly, at Debbie, showing a great many sparklingly white teeth. ‘And this is your little girl who just let me in – only she ain’t so little.’ He held out a large red hand. ‘I was going to pick you up and give you a kiss but now I see you’re a young lady and won’t fancy being treated like a child, so what say we shake hands and make friends, eh?’
Debbie, who had felt her hackles rising when Uncle Max grabbed her mother, held out her own hand, saying rather stiffly as his huge palm engulfed it: ‘How do you do, Uncle Max? I hope you had a pleasant journey . . .’
The big man laughed heartily. ‘You call me Max, young lady,’ he said, pumping her hand up and down with great energy. ‘I ain’t your uncle and there’s no point in usin’ two words when one will do. I’m just plain old Max, and though my work will keep me pretty busy I mean to see that you and your mam have some fun.’ Debbie began to say that she and her mother had fun anyway, but Jess cut across her words.
‘I’m sure you will and it will be wonderful to have you living here,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But at the minute you must be hungry as a hunter, so take off your coat and sit down. I’m afraid it’s only meat and potato pie, but as you know, rationing has made things difficult. Or would you rather see your room first?’
‘I’d best do that and get some of the grime of me journey off,’ the big man said, picking up his suitcase and heading for the stairs. ‘No need for you to come up; just tell me which door to open.’
Jess, however, shook her head chidingly at him. ‘Don’t be so silly, Max. I’ll bring a jug of hot water up and show you to your room. Then when you’ve washed, you can come down and have a meal.’
Max consented to wait and Jess poured hot water from the kettle into an enamel jug and followed him out of the room, leaving Debbie sitting at the table and staring resentfully at the closed kitchen door. Far from liking the newcomer, she found everything about him objectionable: his size, his loud voice, his whole attitude. He had scarcely been in the kitchen five minutes, but in that time he had contrived to intimate that she and her mother were a dreary couple whose lives would be brightened up by his mere presence. Debbie sighed and picked up her knitting. Her mother had abandoned her work but Debbie saw no reason why she should do likewise. She decided that after they had eaten she would go straight round to Gwen’s house, where she knew her friend would be simply longing to hear what their new lodger was really like.
However, this intention was foiled by her mother’s speedy return to the kitchen. She was pink-faced and smiling and clearly assumed that Debbie shared her own enthusiasm for the newcomer. ‘Isn’t he nice, queen?’ she hissed. ‘Of course he’s changed, but he’s still a real breath of fresh air, full of fun and jokes. We shan’t be dull for one moment with Max in the house.’
‘We shan’t be able to hear ourselves think for a start, because he’s got a voice like a foghorn,’ Debbie muttered. Aloud, she said: ‘How long’s he going to stay for, Mam?’
If Jess had heard the first part of her daughter’s remark she gave no sign, merely turning away from the stove and raising her eyebrows. ‘How long? Well, for as long as the war lasts, I suppose. He’s doing important work. He wouldn’t tell me much about it because it’s very hush-hush, as they say nowadays, but I don’t imagine they’ll move him again.’
Debbie would have liked to say that people who put two and two together often made five, but she did not want to upset Jess and told herself, philosophically, that her mother would soon begin to realise that, however delightful Max had been thirty-odd years before, he was now noisy and self-opinionated; definitely not the ideal lodger. But she realised that the less she said the better, and closed her lips firmly over the critical remarks she longed to make. Instead, she said: ‘Oh, I see. Will it be all right if I go round to Gwen’s when we’ve finished supper, Mam? Only I want to tell her that Uncle Max has arrived.’
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