Rosie Goes to War (18 page)

Nell bursts out laughing. ‘Oh my gawd, you don't half come up with them, Queenie. Minger. I've never heard that one before. But you're right. It describes Harry to a tee.'

‘The question is, how do we get May to see it? I mean, she'd be much better off with Bill.'

‘Bill? Oh, you mean Jock. Hang on, I thought you had your eye on him.'

‘Um, I would … he's lovely, right, but I'm pretty sure he fancies May, and I've just got a feeling that they'd be really good together.'

Nelly stares at me, and I have to force myself not to squirm.

‘Mmm, you might be right. I never thought about it before, but they do get on well. But what if they start courting and end up hating each other? He's a family friend, and his nan's ever so good to us, even if she does have her mad moments. If they fell out, his family'd never talk to us again.'

‘Yeah, but if I'm right and they do get married, we – I mean you'd all be related.'

‘Married! She too young for that sort of thing. Don't you go putting ideas like that in her head.'

‘I'm not talking about straight away,' I say. ‘But maybe in the future.'

‘If we have a future.' She puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. ‘We could all be blown to kingdom come one of these nights. Not much point in talking about the future.'

‘Come on Nelly, you can't just give up.'

Nelly sighs and rubs her eyes. ‘I suppose. I'm just so bloody tired. I'm sick of the raids, night after night. Every morning the bus has to take a different route 'cause Jerry's blown up another street.'

‘I thought it took longer yesterday morning,' I say. ‘I didn't realise. I still don't know my way around here.'

‘There ain't much point. It changes every time a bomb drops. Soon there won't be nothing but rubble between here and the docks.'

‘But that's miles away.'

‘I know.'

‘Oh, come on, Nell, don't let it get you down. We can't let Jerry win.' Oh God, I can't believe I just said that. ‘Anyway, about Bill. It took me a nanosecond to see he's mad for May. They'd make a great couple. Trust me. He's perfect for her.'

Nell frowns. ‘He always runs off when he sees me coming. I reckon he's a bit of a girl, meself.'

‘No, he's not. You just make him nervous.'

‘Why? I've never done nothing to him. Why would I make him nervous?'

I shrug, trying to keep it light. ‘Well, you're obviously brainy. And you don't suffer fools. I think he's quite shy, and feels a bit intimidated when you're around.'

Nell looks thoughtful. ‘Who says I'm brainy?'

‘Come on, it's obvious. You're always reading; and you're clever at numbers, because I saw you doing the house accounts earlier and you can work it all out in your head. I'm useless at maths without a calculator.'

‘A calculator?'

Oh crap. Pocket calculators aren't invented for ages yet. ‘Um, er, an adding machine.'

‘Don't tell me you've got an adding machine at home, Queenie. They only have them in offices and banks, not houses.'

‘No, of course not. I, er, used one at my dad's office. Look, what I'm saying is you're clever, and some boys are scared of clever girls. They're probably frightened you're going to win all the arguments and make them look stupid.'

Nell nodded. ‘Yeah. I usually do. Maybe that's why I don't have a fella.'

Oh God, why do I always say the wrong thing? I'm trying to cheer her up, and now she's getting seriously depressed.

‘You were dancing with loads of them the other night,' I point out.

‘I know, but as soon as we stop dancing and start chatting, well, I get so impatient. I don't like silly beggers who think a uniform is a ticket into your knickers, and I don't hold with daft compliments. I want a
conversation
with someone. If I ask them what they think about the new prime minister, Mr Churchill's latest speech, they tell me not to “worry my little head about it”, 'cause they're so cocky they reckon they're going to sort out Jerry single-handed. Bloody idiots!'

‘I'm sure they're not all like that. There must be some decent guys around,' I say, then I remember what a prat Simon really is. She might just be right. How depressing is that?

‘Maybe,' said Nell, but she didn't seem convinced either. For a moment she looks really fed up about it, but then she straightens her shoulders. ‘But I haven't got time for courting, and if our May starts carrying on with that flash Harry I'll have my work cut out for me, keeping her on the straight and narrow until Dad comes home. You're right though, Queenie. We've got to think about the future. Once this war is over – and please God we all live to see it – I want to do something with my life. I ain't staying round here. Not if I can help it.'

‘You won't,' I smile, knowing just how far Nell is going to go.

‘Don't you mock me, Miss High and Mighty. Just 'cause I left school at fourteen don't mean I can't work hard and make something of meself.'

‘Of course you can. I didn't mean … Look, I
know
you're going to go far, Nell. Further than you've ever imagined.'

‘Oh, yeah? Well what would you know about what I imagine, eh? Read minds, do you?'

Spoilers, Rosie, spoilers!
I ignore the voice in my head. Nell looks so miserable, I've got to do something to cheer her up. ‘No. So tell me what you imagine.'

‘It don't matter,' she sighs, getting up from the table and starting to clear up the dishes.

‘Yes, it does,' I say, standing up to help. ‘Everyone needs dreams, and isn't this war supposed to make a better world for us all?'

For a moment, I think she's going to ignore me. She fills the sink up with soapy water and starts to wash up. I grab a tea-towel and dry. But in the end she says: ‘I wanted to be a teacher.'

I want to punch the air, but I keep it cool and smile. ‘I can definitely see you as a teacher. You'd be good at it. Maybe one day you'll be a headmistress.'

Nell laughs. ‘Now you're talking daft. It's a pipe-dream, that's all it is. I'll be lucky to make it to the school gates. I ain't got no qualifications.'

‘So get them.'

‘I can't go back to school now. I'm too old.'

‘You'll find a way. After the war, I bet loads of people will want to change their lives. Technology is developing much quicker in war-time. Everyone will be learning new stuff.'

‘But we'll all be working,' she says. ‘God knows, there'll be plenty to do, rebuilding everything Jerry's smashed.'

‘You can take evening classes,' I say, seriously pleased with myself. I'm not spoiling anything. Nell is determined to do something, and she is going to be a very good teacher. A bit scary, maybe. But hey, a lot of teachers are scary. They get you through your exams, though, so really they're quite cool.

But Nelly isn't so sure. ‘Yeah, and I'm a monkey's uncle,' she says. ‘I've never heard of anything so daft in all my life.'

I shrug. ‘Suit yourself. But lots of people will be doing it. If you really want to teach, you can do it.' She might not believe me now, but I'm feeling just a bit smug, because I know something that know-it-all Nelly doesn't for a change. I can't resist adding: ‘My Great-aunt Eleanor reckons you can do anything you set your mind to. It might take some people longer than others, but if you're prepared to work at it you'll get there in the end.'

‘Eleanor, eh? That's my name. I never get called it though. I'm just plain old Nelly.'

‘Really?' I say, trying not to smile. ‘Eleanor's a lovely name. You should use it.'

She shrugs. ‘It's a bit posh for round here.'

We're still halfway through the washing up when the sirens start up.

‘Here we go again,' sighs Nelly, drying her hands on the tea-towel I'm holding. ‘Leave it and get down the shelter. I'll get May.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I can't believe I've been here nearly a week,
and
I've nearly finished my first week at work. OK, so I know I missed a day at the factory, but hey, that was because I had a night of bloody hard work helping dig Shirley out, didn't I?

It's about four o'clock, and someone from the office comes into the workshop carrying a bundle of small brown envelopes. Everyone cheers and stops what they're doing.

‘What's going on?' I ask Esther, the girl next to me.

She smiles. ‘It's pay day.'

‘Do you think I'll get anything? Don't I have to work a month first?'

‘What you on about, Queenie?' says one of the older women. ‘You rich enough to wait a month to get paid? Us peasants get our money every Friday, thanks very much.'

I feel a right idiot as everyone laughs. The cashier from the office ignores them, and sits down at the supervisor's table. The machinists all get up and form a queue in front of her. I don't know what to do until Esther calls me over. As each worker reaches the table, they give their name. They're handed an envelope and have to sign the list the cashier has on a clipboard in front of her. When I get to the table, there's one envelope left.

‘Smith?'

‘Er, yes. Rose Smith. That's me.'

She gives me the envelope. I can feel the weight of coins inside. ‘Sign here.' I scribbled something illegible, and go back to my seat. The others are opening their paypackets, counting out their wages. I notice that Esther just tucks her unopened envelope into her pocket.

‘Aren't you going to open it?' I ask.

Esther shakes her head. ‘I give it to my uncle. He takes care of us.'

‘Don't you live with your parents?'

‘No. They are still in Amsterdam. My little brother Rudi and I came here two years ago.'

‘They sent you on your own?'

‘We were very lucky. My uncle sponsored us, and he'll take care of us until our parents come to England.' She sighs. ‘But I worry that they will not be able to get here until after the war. There are so many restrictions on travel, even in our home town. And with a yellow star on their coats, it's not easy to move around without being noticed.'

‘So you're a Jew, right?'

‘Yes.' She looks a bit miffed. ‘Does that bother you?'

‘No, of course not,' I say. ‘It doesn't matter what religion you are. My friend Saffi is Muslim, and she's cool. I … I just didn't realise …' But I'm suddenly thinking about reading
Anne Frank's Diary
at school last year, and studying the Holocaust. I remember all those pictures of bodies piled up in the concentration camps, the gas chambers, the starving survivors with their heads shaved. I thought they were awful before, but suddenly I'm talking to someone whose family could be in one of those camps. It's horrible to realise Esther's mum and dad could be caught up in that. Oh my God, they could die and she has no idea what's going on! This isn't some boring history lesson, this is real life.

‘Er … are in you touch with your parents, Esther?'

‘Not for a while now,' she says, looking sad. ‘My uncle says we must pray for them, and try not to worry. He has some contacts and they say my parents are well. But it's hard to get news – the war, you know?'

I want to give Esther a hug, but Mrs Bloomfield is yelling at us. ‘Oi, you two. Just 'cause you've been paid, don't mean it's time to stop. You're still on the clock, so get on with it.' So we get back to work.

But I can't stop thinking about Esther's parents, trapped in Amsterdam. I'm probably the only person in Britain who knows what is going to happen to the Jews in Europe. It's making me feel sick, and I don't know what to do.

Esther might even know Anne Frank; they're about the same age. That would be really weird. Maybe I should ask her? Oh God, what am I thinking! I am seriously freaked right now.

Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers …
it's like a chant in my head. I desperately want to tell Esther about the Holocaust – maybe she could do something to get her mum and dad out of danger –

Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers …
my mind is going to explode. What if I did manage to get someone to believe me – there's a bloody war on, so what could they do? If I tell Esther, what could she do? She's just a kid like me. And if it all happens anyway, that would be seriously horrible. At least now she thinks her mum and dad are OK.

But what if I
could
stop it? That would be really awesome. Maybe that's why I'm here, stuck in 1940. To change the world. I should at least try. You know, use my head like Lil told me. But how am I going to explain how I know about this? Who's going to believe me? Nelly already thinks I'm a spy.

Arghh! I've got a splitting headache. My hand slips on the material I'm working on and I nearly puncture my finger on the needle. Seriously, I can't cope with this. I start to cry.

‘What's the matter now?' Mrs Bloomfield looms over me.

‘Nothing,' I sniff, wiping my eyes. ‘I'm all right.'

‘Yeah, you look it. Can't say the same for your seams,' she says. ‘You'll have to unpick that lot.'

‘Sorry,' I grab my unpicker, but I'm shaking so much I drop it.

‘Give it here, before you stab yourself,' she picks up the tool and plucks the material out of my hand. ‘Go on. I heard you helped dig someone out Wednesday night. That must've been rough. It's nearly five. Go and wash your face. Then go home and sort yourself out. But I want you back to speed on Monday, young lady. We can't afford no slackers round here. There's a war on, you know.'

‘Thanks,' I say. ‘I'm sorry.' I glance at Esther, who smiles in sympathy. It's too much, this is so awful. I run from the room, and when I finally lock the door to the loo, I break down and cry my eyes out.