Sins of the Father (3 page)

Oh Mum, how am I going to cope?

On a balmy Sunday morning in June, Alice Moon sat quietly across from her husband, the words she had rehearsed sticking in her throat. Would he agree? God, she hoped so. They had a strong marriage, and she was thankful every day that Cyril had been demobbed in 1945 without a scratch to show for the years of fighting.

Oh, it had been awful without him, and many times she had feared for her own life as bombs rained down on London. Like Myra, she had refused to leave, but felt the children should have been evacuated. Instead, when Myra moved into the attic, Alice had spent night after night helping her to get the kids up when the warning sirens pierced the air, all of them half asleep as they hurried to the nearest shelter. It sometimes felt like a miracle that they’d all survived when so many houses and factories in the area had been flattened. Alice shuddered at the memories, glad
they hadn’t ever had to shelter in an underground station, as many people had during the raids. In Balham it had been dreadful, and she was still haunted by what happened in 1940. A high-explosive bomb hit Balham High Road, penetrating the booking hall at the underground station. It had ruptured a large water main, along with the sewer, causing water, mud and gravel to pour down the stairs onto the platform, where about five hundred people were sheltering. Her friend Doreen Broker had been killed, along with sixty-four other poor souls.

Who’d have thought the war would last so long? Cyril had only been on home leave twice in six years. It had been the same for Tom Chambers, but Myra had been lucky, Tom leaving her pregnant on both occasions.

Tears welled in her eyes. Lucky! How could she think that? The poor woman was dead now, and those kids left without a mother. Surreptitiously wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron, she took a deep breath, hoping against hope that she could do something for at least two of them. ‘Cyril.’

He looked up from his newspaper, expression impatient. Cyril’s time on the Sunday morning crossword was sacrosanct and she’d disrupted his concentration. ‘What?’

Now that she had his attention, Alice was
determined to plough on. ‘I’m worried about poor Emma.’

‘What? Emma upstairs?’

‘Who else do we know called Emma?’ Alice asked. Not waiting for a reply, she added, ‘She’s not coping with the kids.’

‘Well, that ain’t surprising. Bloody hell, seven of them, and noisy little sods they are too!’

‘That’s just it. I think she could manage the older ones, but little Archie is nearly three now and James four. They’re too much of a handful for her.’

Cyril shrugged, his eyes going back to his newspaper. ‘They’ll soon grow up and join the others at school.’

Alice stiffened, determined to keep his attention. ‘Tom Chambers isn’t any help. When he’s not at work, he’s in the pub and rolls home drunk all hours.’

‘Have a heart, Alice. The man’s just lost his wife.’

‘Huh! He’s been like it since he was demobbed. As for losing Myra, it’s been six months now, and if you ask me, things can’t go on the way they are.’

‘He had a rough time of it, and Tom’s one of many who can’t pick up the pieces. Anyway, I reckon you should keep your nose out of it. What goes on upstairs is none of our business.’

‘Myra was my best friend, and for that reason
I think it
is
my business. I’ve been trying to help Emma as much as I can. In fact, to give her a break so she can keep up with the housework and laundry, I’ve been looking after Archie and James for a few hours every day, but it’s rotten for her in the evenings too. She never gets the chance to go out with her friends now, and from what she’s told me, they’ve all drifted away.’

‘I don’t see why the older lads can’t look after the younger ones now and then.’

‘Since when have lads taken on babysitting?’

Cyril pursed his lips. ‘Well, it’s good of you to help her out, but I hope you’re not suggesting babysitting in the evenings.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Good, and don’t go wearing yourself out looking after Archie and James during the day.’ On that note he seemed to lose interest, his eyes going back to his crossword.

‘Cyril Moon! I’m not an old woman! I’m only thirty-eight and quite capable of looking after a couple of kids. In fact, I enjoy it.’

‘All right, there’s no need to shout.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I want to put something to you and I’m all of a dither.’

His head tipped to one side, brow creased. ‘Well, you’d best spit it out.’

‘It’s like this. You see, I’ve been thinking…’ She hesitated, trying to find the words.

‘Go on.’

With a spurt, Alice said, ‘You know I love kids, Cyril, but we ain’t been lucky, have we? We’ve tried and tried, and though the doctor said there’s no reason why I can’t fall, well, it hasn’t happened.’

‘We needn’t give up, and anyway, it’s fun trying,’ he said, winking lewdly.

Alice had to smile, but then her face straightened. ‘Cyril, fun or not, we’ve been married fifteen years and it’s time we faced the facts. We’re never going to have kids of our own.’

His lips pursed. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right, but never mind, love. We’ve still got each other.’

‘I know we have, but as I said, I’ve been looking after little Archie and James, and I’ve grown very fond of them. I…I was wondering if we could take them on.’

‘Take them on! What do you mean? Surely you’re not talking about adoption?’

‘Well, not right away, but maybe later, if they settle with us.’

‘No!’ he said emphatically. ‘I don’t fancy taking on another bloke’s kids.’

‘Please, Cyril.’

‘No, and that’s final!’

At his tone, her expression became a contrived one of despair.

‘Alice, don’t look at me like that. Surely you
don’t seriously expect me to take on Tom’s little brats?’

‘They aren’t brats!’ Alice cried, jumping to her feet. ‘They’re lovely little boys who need love, attention, and a stable home. We can give them that!’

Cyril voice hardened. ‘Pack it in, Alice. Doing your nut ain’t gonna make any difference. I said no, and that’s that.’

Alice flopped back onto her chair and, throwing up her apron to cover her face, she began to cry, sobs shaking her shoulders. She should have known he wouldn’t agree, but as minutes passed, a hand touched her shoulder.

‘Come on, don’t take on so. Surely it doesn’t mean
that
much to you?’

‘Oh, Cyril, you have no idea how much I’ve longed for a baby, ached to hold our son or daughter in my arms. It’s never going to be, but whilst looking after the boys I really have come to love them. Archie is like a little monkey, and likes nothing better than to be cuddled. He used to latch on to Dick, but now that the boy’s working, he’s turned to me. James is cheeky, but not in a bad way, and he’s gorgeous, with his blond hair and grey eyes.’

‘Dick! Working? This is the first I’ve heard of it.’

Alice mopped her eyes. ‘He was fifteen in March
and has got himself a job on the market, working on Charlie Roper’s stall.’

‘Has he now? Well, he’ll do all right with Charlie, but the lad would have been better off learning a trade.’

‘Yes, maybe, but as an apprentice he’d only be paid peanuts, and though he doesn’t earn a great deal on the stall, it’s been a godsend. They couldn’t cope without it.’

Cyril returned to his chair, his expression thoughtful, and Alice knew to keep her mouth shut. She sat quietly, her breath held and fingers secretly crossed as she watched his face.

At last he sighed and their eyes met. ‘All right, Alice. If it means that much to you, we’ll give it a go with the kids. Mind you, don’t count your chickens yet. I can’t see Tom wanting to give them up just like that.’

Once again she jumped to her feet, kissing Cyril on the cheek. ‘The pub isn’t open yet, so he’s sure to be in. I’ll go and have a word with him now.’

‘You do that, but as I said, don’t count your…’

But the door had already slammed shut, Alice not hearing the rest of her husband’s warning as she hurried upstairs.

Tom couldn’t stand the noise and had chucked the kids out. At last the room was quiet. Only Emma remained, perched on a low wooden stool,
her face set in concentration as she endeavoured to sew a patch onto a pair of trousers. He glanced at her and the pain of his loss was like a blow to his stomach. Christ, she was so like her mother, with the same golden blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. As if sensing his scrutiny, Emma raised her head, lips curling in distaste as her cold gaze met his. He seethed. She should show him some bloody respect, but instead she hardly spoke to him, her hatred like a living thing, that filled the room and tainted the air.

Tom looked away from Emma, tempted to give her a good hiding, but he knew it would only make things worse. She wasn’t a child now, she was seventeen, and if the girl took it into her head to walk out, he’d be in a right old fix. Christ, he needed to get out of there–he needed a drink, but with little money left this week he could afford only a pint. He sank back in the chair, berating his life, thoughts drifting.

They’d been happy once, him and Myra, but then the war had started and he’d been called up. As his mind took him to the front, Tom shook his head, not wanting to think about it, yet still the memories invaded. He didn’t want to remember the sickening things he’d seen and done. Yet as always, even as he struggled to forget, the first horror returned to haunt him. He was in a landing craft, nerves taut as they waited to beach. The
young chap next to him was in the same state, shaking, his eyes wide with fear, and they’d started to talk, inane chatter just to break the tension.

When they’d hit the beach, the shout went up to disembark and, lugging their packs, they surged forward. Tom didn’t know how far he had run when the bloke next to him suddenly spun, a look of shock on his face before he fell. Until that moment he hadn’t realised how frail the human body was, but as the soldier clutched at his stomach, guts spilling out, his screams combined with the sound of explosions and gunfire. Tom shuddered at the memory, recalling how he’d been paralysed with shock, unable to move, horrified to see the soldier’s dying moments.

Bullets raked only inches away and at last he moved, diving to the ground, terrified as he used the young man’s body as shelter. It was like a living hell; the thunder of mortars, machine-gun fire, the stench of cordite, shouts, yells, cries as more bodies fell to the ground. He had no idea how long he had lain prone behind the soldier’s body, hands over his ears as shell after shell exploded, but then a corporal hauled him to his feet. Tom had seen the look of disgust on his face, and then he’d been shoved forward.

‘Get moving,’ the corporal had shouted and, feeling like a coward, Tom had followed the command, bent double as he raced up the beach,
more and more soldiers falling beside him. He’d lost it then, firing his weapon without thought, determined to kill or be killed.

That moment had changed him, and as the weeks went by he had hardened. He would kill, feeling nothing, becoming an animal with only one thought–survival. One enemy soldier had actually begged for mercy, but, grim-faced, Tom had shot him, uncaring of the blood that spilled from his body.

When the war ended, he no longer felt human, returning home to find that many streets and buildings he’d known were gone, bombed to oblivion. He’d tried–oh, how he had tried–but soon after his return the memories began to haunt him until, day and night, he relived the horrors of war. It had been years now, but still they plagued him. When would they stop? When would he find peace…?

There was a tap on the door. Alice Moon poked her head inside and Tom welcomed the interruption.

‘Can I have a word?’ she said.

‘Yes, come on in.’

‘Hello, Emma,’ Alice greeted as she crossed the room. ‘Doing a bit of sewing, are you?’

‘Yes, but I’m still useless at it.’

‘You’ll learn.’ As her eyes raked the room, Alice added, ‘Where are the youngsters?’

‘Dad made them go out to play.’

Alice’s lips tightened momentarily, but then she focused on Tom. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘There’s only a stool.’

‘That’ll do me,’ she said, making herself comfortable. ‘Look, I won’t beat about the bush. I’ve seen the way Emma struggles to look after the kids, and to help her out I’ve had the two youngest for a couple of hours in the afternoons.’ Shifting a bit on the stool she rushed on, ‘I’ve grown fond of them, Tom. They’re lovely boys, and Cyril and I would like to take them on permanently.’

There was a stunned silence, but then Emma’s voice rang out. ‘Alice, it…it’s good of you, but we can’t let you take James and Archie.’

‘Shut your mouth, girl. This is my decision, not yours,’ Tom barked.

‘But, Dad—’

Tom felt his face redden. ‘I said shut up!’

‘Now then, Tom, there’s no need to shout. It must be a shock for her, but listen, love,’ Alice turned to Emma. ‘They’ll be better off with Cyril and me. I love them and we can give them a good home. They’ll want for nothing, I’ll see to that.’

‘Oh, Alice, I know your place is like a palace compared to this, but Dad can’t break the family up.’

Tom surged to his feet. ‘I’ll do what I bloody well like.’

‘Please, Tom, calm down,’ Alice cajoled. Then she spoke softly to Emma again. ‘It’s for the best, love. I’m only downstairs and you can see the lads whenever you want.’

‘Hold your horses, Alice,’ Tom protested. ‘It’s me you should be talking to, and I ain’t said you can have them yet.’

‘Surely you can see the sense of it? Emma is run ragged.’

Tom flopped onto his chair again, running a hand over his chin. There was no denying that it made sense. With the others at school, Emma had only James and Archie to worry about, and without them she could go out and earn a few bob, if only part time. After all, the girl had turned seventeen in February and it was about time she earned her keep. The rent owed was piling up, he knew that, and he doubted the landlord would put up with it for much longer. Tom knew he should pull himself together, cut down the booze, but he had a craving inside, eating away at him and driving him to the pub whenever he earned a few bob. A wave of self-pity washed over him. Bloody hell, no wonder he’d turned to drink! Any man would. He’d fought a war, and instead of things getting better, they were still stuck with bloody rationing. Work was tight, and on top of that he’d lost his missus. All he had left was a horde of bloody kids that drove him mad with their constant noise.