Rainbow's End (40 page)

Yet even as he went the coldness in him grew, and the pain in his heart.

Chapter Eleven

June onwards 1916

‘Donny! Hey, Donny, over here!’

Deirdre had given a really good shout, but even so it took a moment or two for her twin to spot her. And no wonder, Deirdre thought, with the size of the queue and all.

Queuing had really got its grip on the nation now, largely because of the food shortages. And the prices! Mam had always been a canny cook, but now she had to be a canny shopper as well. Only since she was working full time in the bakery shop it was the younger members of the family who had become expert at queuing.

There were times when Deirdre didn’t mind queuing, to be honest. If you were stuck in a queue, no one could expect you to do anything else. You could be sent on a message nowadays, Deirdre had reflected smugly yesterday, and if you said ‘There was a queue’ when your mam asked why you were so perishin’ late, no more questions would be asked. Fair was fair – being in two places at once was impossible! Of course, you didn’t have to spend the whole day in the line, it was quite possible to be trotting homeward with your messages intact after an hour . . . but if you didn’t trot home . . .

So queues were a blessing in some ways. But not on a sunny September Saturday when your twin had got up early and gone off, and was now demanding your presence at the top of a fine pair of lungs. Deirdre thought – fleeting – about letting the queue go hang and joining Donal at whatever ploy he was up to, but she was fond of a nice stew and her mam had said if she would queue for some meat – any meat – a nice stew would be the result.

And anyway, Donal had seen her. He came bustling over, grinning. ‘Hey up, Dee,’ he greeted her. ‘How long’s you goin’ to be?’

Deirdre looked ahead of her. The shop door had been getting nearer and nearer; now she reckoned another fifteen minutes would see her inside and, with luck, another five after that she would reach the counter.

‘About twenty minutes to out,’ she said, having done her sums. ‘Why, Donny? What’s up?’

Donal grinned and opened his hand. On the palm nestled a shiny silver coin.

‘That’s a bob!’ Deirdre said. ‘Where d’you gerrit?’

‘Someone give it me. Guess who?’

Deirdre stared hard at her twin. He had very bright blue eyes – as did she – and at present they were guilelessly blank, but that didn’t stop her from reading them. She gave a squeak. ‘Our dad’s come home!’ she said.

Donal nodded energetically. ‘That’s it, our Dee. So when you’ve done your messages you’ll gerra bob too. And Mam says we can go to the flicks, or fishin’ off the Pier Head, or anything we like, so long as we don’t go hangin’ about at home all afternoon. She said to be back for supper at six, though.’

‘Cor!’ Deirdre said reverently. ‘Oh, but I want to see our dad ever so!’

‘Well, acourse. You’ll be tekin’ your messages home, an’ you’ll see him then,’ Donal said reasonably. ‘What’ll it be, Dee? Flicks?’

‘Nah, norron a day like today,’ Dee said, shuffling forward with the queue. ‘We could catch the ferry, have a day out.’

‘Yeah, only it’s gettin’ on for noon already – I looked at the clock when I come out. An’ Dad’ll tek us out tomorrer, you bet your life he will.’

‘Besides, Mam don’t like us goin’ off to the seaside, not since Seaforth,’ Deirdre remembered regretfully. ‘Crossin’ the water means seaside so far as Mam’s concerned, even if we’re really only goin’ to the woods.’

‘Well, where, then?’ Donal said urgently. ‘Swimmin’ baths? The scaldy?’

‘No point, the scaldy’s free,’ Deirdre reminded her twin. ‘We’ll think of somethin’, Donny.’ The queue shuffled forward again and Deirdre shuffled with it. ‘Oh, I wonder if I oughter gerra bit more stew-meat if I can, seein’ as Dad’s home?’

‘They won’t give you more,’ Donal pointed out. ‘You know wharrit’s like. If you ask, Mr Austen’ll just say
Don’t you know there’s a war on?
an’ you’ll wish you hadn’t asked.’

‘It’s worth an
ask
, though, Donny,’ Deirdre said reasonably. She was at the doorway now, her next shuffle would bring her on to the wooden floor of the butcher’s shop with its thick layer of sawdust and its smell of blood. ‘Oh . . . I got onions an’ carrots but I didn’t get no cornflour. Could you do that?’

Donny groaned but he saw the sense of it. ‘Sure. How much?’ he asked. ‘I’ll use me bob; Mam can pay me back when we get home.’

‘How much? Oh, go to the Co-op on the corner of Dido Street. They’ll tell you how much to get,’ Deirdre decided. ‘See you, Donny.’

‘Shan’t be long,’ Donal said, scooting purposefully off up the road. Deirdre squeezed into the shop and counted the customers before her. Only five . . . she really shouldn’t be long now.

‘Did that twin o’ yourn say your pa was ’ome, chuck?’ Mrs Roberts, fat and wheezy and good-natured, nudged Deirdre in the back with a cushiony hand. ‘Well, well, well, we’ve not seen Mick Docherty for a while!’

‘Well, he’s dodgin’ subs now, as well as bein’ bombed at an’ shot at, Mrs Roberts,’ Deirdre explained. ‘But this time, mebbe he’ll have some leave. It ’ud be prime if he did.’

The line shuffled forward again whilst Mrs Roberts extolled the Navy, whether Royal or Merchant: she had sons in both. And as Deirdre came level with the counter Mrs Roberts dug her in the back again. ‘Tell old Austen your da’s ’ome,’ she hissed. ‘Mick’s doin’ a good job – they all are – so why shouldn’t ’e get anythin’ extry what’s goin’?’

Deirdre, who had every intention of milking her father’s return for every bit of extra meat it would bring forth, nodded. ‘Right, Mrs Roberts, I’ll do that. Thanks.’

And presently her virtuosity was given full rein, for she reached the head of the quieue.

‘Mornin’, Deirdre. There ain’t a lot left . . . Alf of scrag do you?’

‘Oh, Mr Austen . . .’ Deirdre began, then giggled as she realised she was quoting Marie Lloyd. The butcher leaned confidentially across the counter as she went on, unable to stop herself: ‘What shall I do? I want to go to Birmingham, but they carried me on to Crewe . . .’

‘That’s enough of that, young ‘oman,’ Mr Austen said, but he didn’t sound annoyed, she was glad to hear. ‘Else you’ll not get even that ’alf of scrag and then what’ll your mam say, eh?’

‘Sorry, Mr Austen,’ Deirdre said contritely. ‘The fact is, me dad’s come into port an’ I’m that happy . . . any chance of a bit of liver, perhaps? Course the scrag’ll come in right handy for some stew, but liver, or kidneys . . .’

‘Well, I dunno,’ Mr Austen said doubtfully. ‘’Ow long is it since ’e were last ’ome, chuck?’

‘More’n a year,’ Deirdre said pathetically. ‘We doesn’t see much of our da, now the war’s on. Oh aye, he were torpedoed, y’know, six months past, spent four days afloat in the Atlantic without no grub an’ with only seawater to drink.’

Mr Austen tutted sympathetically and began to add meat to the meagre half-pound already on the big scale pan. ‘Torpedoed, eh? The poor bugger – an’ you don’t oughter drink seawater, it sends you mad, they say.’

Deirdre considered going into a description of the maniacal behaviour exhibited by her father, but changed her mind. With my luck, she thought, me dad’ll walk in here tomorrer an’ have a crack wi’ Mr Austen an’ he’ll think I’m a liar. Well, he’ll know I am. Better not overdo it. ‘They caught the rain in their sailor hats, I think,’ she said. ‘An’ . . . an’ they ate fish; fish is awright. Raw, acourse,’ she added.

Mr Austen continued to pile meat on to the scale pan, though it had hit rock bottom some time ago, Deirdre saw with glee. Then he shot the contents of the pan into a couple of sheets of newspaper and gave her a wink. ‘Aye, I’ve ’eard tell as shipwrecked mariners can get fresh water outer raw fish. Ah, well, nice to know ’e’s ’ome, anyroad. Tell you what, you’ve gorra dog, haven’t you? I’ll put in a nice marrer bone, you can mek soup with it first, then give it to your dog. Shan’t be a jiffy, chuck.’

Deirdre, who had never owned a dog, smiled and nodded. You didn’t contradict a butcher, particularly one bent on being generous. She watched Mr Austen go into the back of the shop and when he came out again the newspaper parcel was appreciably bigger.

‘There y’are, Deirdre, and tell your da I’m glad ’e’s come safe to port. Me son Geoff’s at sea, in a destroyer, you know. That’ll be four bob. Gorrenough gelt?’

‘I got three and nine; can I owe the other thruppence?’ Deirdre asked hopefully. ‘Oh, you are so good, Mr Austen! Tell you what, I’ll run home an’ come back wi’ the rest o’ the money.’

‘No need for that; we’ll call it three and nine,’ Mr Austen said, beaming. He was clearly quite carried away by his own generosity, Deirdre thought. She made a mental note to torpedo her father’s ship more often. ‘Tell you what, me ole lady could do wid one of them onions, if you could spare it.’

Deirdre handed over an onion willingly and after only the slightest hesitation added a carrot too, then turned and humped her now heavy basket towards the door.

‘See?’ Mrs Roberts said as she passed. ‘Never no ’arm in axin’.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Roberts,’ Deirdre panted. What on earth was in the package, besides the scrag? She began to wonder whether the butcher had really only added a large marrow bone, though it seemed likelier that he’d popped in a lump of lead as well, by the weight of it. She had hoped for some kidneys or liver, which her father loved, but she was pretty sure they weighed quite light. I suppose it would serve me right for lyin’ like a flat-fish if it really were just a marrer bone, she thought dolefully, heaving the basket along the pavement. But there you are, all’s fair in love and war and, as every adult in the world was anxious to remind her, there
was
a war on.

She reached the corner of Mere Lane just as a voice haled her. ‘Dee! Are you deaf, girl? I been hollerin’ an’ hollerin’ an’ you never so much as looked round!’ It was Donal, panting, red-faced, with a bag of what she presumed was cornflour in one hand.

‘Oh, Donny, gi’s an ’and wi’ this basket,’ Deirdre gasped. ‘What wi’ spuds an’ carrots an’ onions an’ now a huge parcel o’ meat, me arm’s longer than a bleedin’ chimpanzee’s.’

‘That ain’t the only resemblance,’ Donal remarked kindly, taking the basket from her. ‘Still, we’ve done the messages, now all we’ve gorra do is clear off for the rest o’ the day. C’mon, you said you wanted to see Da; let’s gerra hustle on.’

The two of them hustled, therefore, and in no time, it seemed, were darting up the back jigger, throwing open the gate and charging across the yard and into the kitchen.

‘Oh Mam, I telled Mr Austen our da was home an’ he give me . . .’ Deirdre began breathlessly, then stopped short. Her mother sat on one side of the table, with Mick standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder, and opposite her sat Ellen. Ellen was facing the back door and it didn’t take more than the most cursory of glances to see that she had been crying. Donal thumped the basket down on the table and Deirdre said: ‘Ellie? Whass up?’

‘Oh, Dee, it’s Tolly,’ Ellen said, gulping. ‘He’s leavin’ for France in two days’ time. He’ll be killed, I know he will!’

‘Don’t be so daft, our Ellie,’ Deirdre said bracingly. ‘’Sides, no one don’t know what’s goin’ to happen. Unless you know the Kaiser’s gorra special sorta down on Tolly, that is, he’s got the same chance as everyone else. Remember, queen, loads of fellers go to France and they ain’t all killed.’

‘I
know
he’ll be killed,’ Ellen sobbed. ‘I’ve been havin’ this dream, Dee, an’ it always ends the same. It’s so
real
, there’s the trenches, an’ the mud . . . and then there’s this great big enormous explosion an’. . . an’ somethin’ comes rollin’ across the ground towards the trench an’ the men shout: “It’s gas . . . dive for cover, fellers!” an’ I can’t help, there’s nothin’ I can do . . . an’ I see Tolly fall . . . Oh, if Tolly dies I want to die too . . . I can’t bear for him to be dead an’ for me to go on livin’.’

‘I’ve said it before an’ I’ll say it again. You’ve been overworkin’ to the point where you’re just wore out all through,’ Ada Docherty said. ‘As for dreams, well they may be one thing, but that there dream’s a nightmare, Ellie, an’ everyone knows nightmares don’t mean nothin’, they just come to cause us pain when we’re down. Now dry your face an’ give poor Mick a smile – he’ll think he’s walked into a wake!’

‘You shouldn’t ha’ stuck at the hospital, queen,’ Mick said gently, leaning across the table and taking Ellen’s small pale hands in his large brown ones. ‘I know you wanted to do your bit for the soldiers, but they take advantage. A young girl like you, workin’ all hours, stayin’ late, doin’ double shifts . . .’

‘I’m puttin’ down for France, that’s what I’m doin’,’ Ellen said in a small, gruff voice which sounded totally unlike herself. ‘If Tolly goes then I’ll go. He . . . he needs someone, honest he does, Mam. Otherwise . . . oh, why did he have to say he’d go?’

‘I didn’t think the Sally Army went in for fightin’,’ Mick said, handing Ellen a clean handkerchief. ‘I t’ought they were pacifists.’

‘Oh, he isn’t going into one of the regiments,’ Ellen explained. She dried her face and blew her nose fiercely. ‘He’s going to be a stretcher bearer . . . they have to go right up to the trenches – beyond them, sometimes – to fetch back the wounded. They’re in deadly danger all the while they’re on duty.’

‘I hope Tolly didn’t tell you that,’ Ada said, her voice heavy. ‘If so, queen, I’d like to have a word with him.’

‘No, course he didn’t. It were Teddy Brewer, the feller I were tellin’ you about who’s lost both his arms,’ Ellen said faintly. ‘He was saying he owed his life to the stretcher bearers who fished him out of no man’s land after he’d got his . . . he didn’t know Tolly had volunteered.’ She blew her nose again, a fierce blast, then heaved a great sigh. ‘Oh well, I feel better now I’ve had a good old howl,’ she said. ‘But I’m going to France I tell you, whether they like it or not.’

She got to her feet and kissed her mother, then gave Mick a hug. ‘Sorry to spoil your first day,’ she said humbly. ‘It . . . it was the shock. I’m goin’ up to me room now, to write out me letter of resignation and to put in for a job in France.’