The Girls They Left Behind (15 page)

went hungry on my ship. Fed ‘em like fighting cocks, I did.

Been to sea yet?’

‘Yes.’ Graham told him about their attempt to thwart the

air-raid a month ago, and how they’d been damaged and had

to limp back to Portsmouth. ‘We only got just past the

Needles. They didn’t warn us in time, that’s what it was.’

‘They didn’t warn anyone in time,’ Tommy said. ‘There’d

been two attacks already that day, down Portland, and they

got there too late for those too. Caught with their pants right

down. And they reckon they spotted our lot coming over the

French coast, plenty of time to get everyone into shelters.’

‘That’s right,’ Graham said. ‘We saw ‘em at a quarter to six.

Heinkels, they were, with ME 10s holding their hands. Our

lads were in Hurricanes but while they were attacking the

MEs, the Heinkels just went on and bombed Pompey.’ His

face was angry, but he gave a sudden reminiscent grin. ‘Mind

you, we saw two of’em off— a couple of Hurricanes got round

the Heinkels and started driving ‘em just like sheep. Two of

‘em collided in mid-air and fell straight into the drink. But

they couldn’t do nothing about the rest.’

‘It was a bad do,’ Tommy said, and they fell silent. He

drank the rest of his beer. ‘Well, we won’t be caught napping

again. I reckon they must’ve learnt their lesson, up at Bomber

Command. Drink up, son. There’s time for another one

before they close.’

Graham flushed scarlet and felt in his pocket. ‘I -I haven’t

got much dosh,’ he stammered, but Tommy waved a hand at

him.

‘Did I ask you to pay? I was in the last lot, y’know. I came

through it all right, but there were a lot of blokes, good mates

of mine, who didn’t. This one’s on me. Call it one for them if

you like.’

He went back to the bar and Graham glanced around the

room. It was filled with smoke and there were a couple of

other sailors there and a few women, but no one he knew.

Unless that face was familiar? He stared hard and then

realised who it was.

Nancy Baxter from April Grove. She was sitting with a

couple of other women, drinking port and lemon by the look

of it. She looked much the same as he’d always known her,

thin and scraggy, her dark hair cut in a short, ragged bob. She

had on a summer frock, the sort women wore when it was hot

and sunny, with straps instead of sleeves, and her shoulders

looked brown. The front was cut low and he could see the

tops of her breasts. They didn’t look all that much, but he

couldn’t help staring all the same.

Nancy Baxter was a tart, the whole street knew that. She

was supposed to work nights in a hotel somewhere, but

nobody had ever managed to find out which one and it was

anyone’s guess what kind of hotel it was. The two women with

her were probably tarts too, dressed flashily and showing

more leg than his Betty ever would. One of them caught his

eye and gave him an enquiring smile. She crossed her legs

and swung the foot towards him and he heard her laugh as he

flushed and turned away.

He was still feeling hot when Tommy came back with the

drinks, and his body was behaving in an embarrassing way.

He picked up the glass and gulped down some beer.

‘Ta. That’s good.’

Tommy nodded and gave Graham a shrewd glance. ‘Still

feeling fed-up?’

‘Yeah.’ Graham hesitated, then said, ‘What did you do

when you went to sea, Mr Vickers? About - you know -‘ he

blushed again’- girls, that sort of thing.’

‘So that’s it, is it?’ The older man gave a short laugh. He

was about fifty, Graham thought, and must be past it long ago.

What was he doing, asking an old man’s advice?

‘Oh, forget I asked,’ he said quickly, picking up his drink

again to cover his embarrassment. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Doesn’t matter? Of course it matters. It matters a helluva

lot. And drop this Mr Vickers nonsense, my name’s Tommy

as well you know.’ He leaned forwards. ‘Look, I’ll tell you

this, sex never stops mattering. Well, not till you’re a lot older than I am, anyway!’ He grinned. ‘And there’s all the time in

the world to find out about it - or ought to be.’ He looked

more sober. ‘That’s what’s biting you, isn’t it? You’re off to

sea tomorrow and you’re scared you’re never going to know

what it’s all about.’

Graham looked down at the table. Some of the beer had

slopped over when Tommy set down the glasses, and he

made patterns in it with one finger.

‘Well

‘Course you are. You’re a healthy young man, it’d be a

funny thing if you didn’t have women on your mind. Been

there for a few years too, I should think, eh?’ He paused.

‘You’ve been calling round Betty Chapman’s place quite a bit

lately.’

‘Betty and me haven’t done anything,’ Graham said

quickly. ‘She’s a decent girl. We -‘ He broke off. He wanted

to tell Tommy that he and Betty were secretly engaged, but

Tommy Vickers knew the Chapmans well, he lived only a

stone’s throw away from them and what’s more he was the

same generation, he’d be just as likely to pass it on. ‘We’re just friends,’ he said lamely.

Tommy laughed. ‘Tell that to the marines! Well, I can tell

she hasn’t given you any goodbye presents, anyway. And you

might think yourself lucky, at that. You might’ve left her with

one neither of you wanted.’ He drank some of his beer. ‘Are

you telling me you’ve never done it at all?’

Graham shook his head miserably.

‘What would you do, Mr Vickers? I know there’s girls women

-‘ he couldn’t help his eyes straying in the direction of

Nancy Baxter and her two friends ‘ -I mean, I know you can

get it, but’

‘But you’ve heard all the horror stories.’ Tommy too

glanced across the room. ‘Well, if I were you, I’d listen to ‘em.

There’s more than one kind of present you can get from girls,

and some are worse than others. I’ve always steered clear,

myself. Once you’re at sea, you’re safe, that’s always been my

motto, and don’t drink too much on shore runs.’ He gave

Graham a shrewd but kindly glance with his blue eyes. ‘I

know it seems hard, as the bishop said to the actress, but

you’re better off wondering than collecting a packet of what

those sluts could hand you. But you’re a big boy, as the actress

said to the bishop, and you’ve got to make up your own mind.’

Nancy Baxter had got up and was moving in their direction.

She leaned over them and said, ‘That’s right, Tommy. He’s

got to decide for himself She winked at Graham. ‘Bet I know

what you’re talking about!’

Graham felt his skin colour yet again and Tommy said

warningly, ‘You leave the kid alone, Nance. He don’t need

your attentions.’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said, ‘this is my night off.’ She

picked up the glass she had set down on the table. ‘Just out for

a bit of fun with me pals, what’s wrong with that?’ She winked

at Graham again and moved away, swaying her thin hips.

Tommy snorted. ‘Beats me how she gets the business.

She’s nothing to look at. Well, it’s coming up to drinking up

time and my missus’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. Very

handy with the rolling pin, is my missus!’

He winked at Graham and finished his beer. The landlord

had rung the bell and more people were beginning to leave.

The three tarts were on their way to the door.

‘Okay, Mr Vickers - I mean, Tommy,’ Graham said, still

feeling awkward at using the first name of a man he’d known

when he was little. ‘I’ll remember. And thanks for the drink.’

They walked outside. The twilight of midsummer was

deepening to a shadowed blue. The sky was cloudless, with

just a few stars prickling its indigo dome. Tommy stood still,

looking upwards as everyone did these days. He turned to

Graham and stuck out his hand.

‘Good luck, Ginger. You’re going to need it, I reckon, but

someone always gets through, and there’s no reason why it

shouldn’t be you. I did, after all, always reckoned I was lucky,

so I’ll pass my luck on to you. You remind me of myself a bit,

when I was your age.’ He grinned. ‘Look us up next time

you’re in Pompey, eh?’

‘Thanks. I will.’ Graham shook the hand, feeling a sudden

urge to hold on to it. ‘Cheerio, then.’

He turned and walked away along September Street. The

encounter hadn’t eased his frustration, but he did feel a bit

better for it. At least he’d been able to tell someone how he

felt, someone who understood. Maybe Tommy Vickers

wasn’t past it after all. Or perhaps it was just that his memory

was good!

He grinned at the thought, and then jumped as a voice

spoke in his ear.

‘Ginger? It is little Ginger, ain’t it?’

Graham looked round, startled. Nancy Baxter was beside

him, her bare shoulder almost touching his. She gave him a

smile.

‘Didn’t you used to live in September Street? I knew your

ma, Elsie. And Charlie, your dad. Course, I was only a kiddy

then, but I remember’em well.’

Some kiddy, thought Graham. Nancy Baxter had a boy of

around eleven, she must have been at least twenty when he

was born. Nobody knew who his father was, supposed to be a

soldier, or was it a sailor, someone high-up anyway. So what

were Nancy and her mum and Micky doing, living in a two

up, two-down terraced house in a backstreet in Pompey? And

didn’t she have another kid now? Still, it wasn’t worth arguing

about, and maybe she really had known his parents when she

was young.

‘Do they still call you Ginger?’ she asked. ‘I bet they do,

with those carrots! So what’re you doing now, then? Off back

to your ship? I’d have thought you’d be stopping with Betty

Chapman tonight.’

Graham stared at her. ‘Stopping with Betty? Why?’

‘Well, it’s your last night, innit?’ She laughed. ‘Shouldn’t

know that, should I! But you’d be surprised what I get to know

in my line of business.’ She winked and lowered her voice a

bit. ‘F’r instance, I always know when a bloke’s gasping for it.

And when it’s a nice-looking chap like yourself…’

Graham remembered Tommy’s warning. ‘No thanks. I’ve

got to get back.’

‘Why? You ain’t sailing till morning.’

‘You know more than you ought to,’ Graham said. ‘And

you-shouldn’t be blabbing it round the streets, either. You

know what they say.’

‘Oh, I know! Walls have ears, be like Dad and keep Mum,

there’s a fifth columnist under every bed.’ She sniggered

again. She’s had too much to drink, he thought. ‘You don’t

have to worry about me, Ginger. And if there’s anything you

want, to help speed you on your way, well, you’ve only got to

ask.’

Graham looked at her and turned away quickly, thankful

that the twilight hid his blush. ‘No thanks.’

‘Sure?’ She took his arm, turning him back towards her,

and searched his face. ‘You didn’t look too cheerful, back

there in the pub with Tommy Vickers. Just said goodbye to

young Betty, had you?’

Blimey, Graham thought, everyone knows your bloody

business round here. He twisted away again.

‘Look, sorry. I’ve got to get back to the ship …’

‘What’s the hurry?’ Nancy held on to his arm. She moved

closer and he caught another glimpse of her breasts, where

the sundress gaped from her body. ‘Look, Ginger, I’m not

after business. I’ve seen too many young chaps going off to

sea lately. I know the look - the look you all get. Specially you

young ‘uns. Never had it and scared you’re never going to get

it. That’s right, innit? Don’t try to flannel me, you won’t have

got much joy out of young Betty, I know, not with a dad like

hers hovering outside the door. So what’s the hurry? Why not come home with me and go back to your ship in the morning.’

She grinned. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t oversleep!’

Graham felt the heat flood over his body, from his neck

upwards, from his waist down. He shook his head and

stammered.

‘I’m not -I don’t -I can’t - look, I’ve got to get back. I’ve

got to!’

‘Not till morning.’ Nancy said calmly. ‘And you are, you do

and you can. What’s more, you want to. Why not come and

have a bit of fun while you’ve got the chance? Where’s the

harm in it?’ She held her head on one side, her eyes like black

buttons in the darkness, and reached down to stroke his thigh.

‘No one’s going to know,’ she whispered cajolingly. ‘Betty

thinks you’ve gone back ages ago, and Tommy Vickers is

home in bed with his own missus by now. And I know how to

keep my mouth shut.’

She was thin and a bit scraggy, with bony shoulders. But

she was offering him something no other woman had offered,

something he badly wanted. He’d wanted it to be Betty, but it

couldn’t be, wouldn’t, for years. And he couldn’t wait for

years. Nobody had the right to make him wait years.

‘I can’t,’ he stuttered miserably. ‘I haven’t got any money.

I’m skint.’

‘Who’s talking about money?’ she retorted. ‘Look, I told

Tommy Vickers this was my night off. But that don’t mean I

can’t accommodate a friend, does it? Specially when I knew