The Heart of the Family (22 page)

Grace gave a small giggle. ‘He’d probably insist that you marry me immediately.’ All her longing that they were actually in a position to do that was in her voice.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ Seb warned her, hearing that longing and sharing it. ‘You know you’d never forgive me if you had to give up your nursing.’

Grace did know it, but she also knew how much she loved him and wanted them to be together as husband and wife.

‘I’m so lucky,’ she told him tenderly. ‘When I think of poor Katie, newly engaged and with Luke on the point of going overseas, I’m sorry I’ve been so unhappy about you going to Whitchurch.’

‘I like it that you’re unhappy that we’re going to be apart,’ Seb assured her gently, bending his head to kiss her again.

A warning cough alerted them to the fact that, just as Seb had suggested, Sam was on his way down the garden for his last cigarette of the evening.

‘Well, yes, the weather is lovely now but Daphne has always wanted to be married in June, just like her father and I were.’

Charlie tried to move out of earshot of Daphne’s mother’s voice but with so many people emerging from church after the service and congregating outside, it just wasn’t possible.

Even so, his small bid for freedom had been noticed and now Daphne herself was tugging on his sleeve and whispering reproachfully, her face pink, ‘Charles, Mummy’s speaking, and it looks so ill mannered when you start looking round like that instead of listening.’

Just for a second Charlie contemplated the blissful luxury of pointing out that since he had already heard more times than he wanted to remember that Daphne wanted to get married in June just like her parents, he was entitled to feel bored, but only for a second. As he had learned rather painfully since his return to his unit and his CO’s suggestion that he might want to recuperate fully from his injuries via some compassionate leave with his bride-to-be and her family, Daphne did not take kindly to plain speaking. Charlie had never known a girl cry as much or as
easily. And as for Mrs Wrighton-Bude, she had a way of looking at him that made it plain that she considered him solely responsible for Daphne’s happiness and her tears.

If he had thought for one minute that he could get away with doing so, Charlie would have broken off his engagement with a glad heart. There was no chance of his being allowed to do that, though. Charlie felt quite sure that even if his CO turned up and announced that Charlie was leaving with him to go overseas with his unit immediately, Daphne’s mother would insist that he and Daphne were to be married first. The only bright side of things was that at least once they were married and he was declared fit he would be able to return to duty at the barracks, and once he did he was certainly going to make up for all the fun and freedom that had been lost to him.

He really resented having to hang about here, playing the doting fiancé whilst Daphne’s mother watched him like a hawk, and all because that silly little cousin of Daphne’s had gone running to Daphne’s mother to complain that Charlie had tried to kiss her. As though that was some kind of crime. They were going to be related, weren’t they, and it had only been a bit of a peck, just a bit of fun. Mrs Wrighton-Bude had not seen it that way, though, and there had been an uncomfortable and mutually embarrassing and resented lecture from Daphne’s father to Charlie to the effect that people of their social standing did not behave as they obviously did in Wallasey, and that Daphne was not to be embarrassed by a fiancé who did not know the correct way to conduct himself.

Oh, yes, Charlie would have backed out of marrying Daphne if he could, especially now that he had heard from the silly little cousin that Daphne’s parents had had high hopes of Daphne marrying the son of a well-to-do local landowner, only he had gone and joined the RAF and then married some dreadful common girl he had met and broken his parents and poor Daphne’s heart.

Charlie, the silly little cousin had implied nastily, had come along at just the right moment to prevent Daphne from looking as though she and her parents and their plans had virtually been jilted at the altar.

Daphne’s father was talking to the retired major who was their neighbour, about ‘gof’, as he and all his neighbours pronounced golf. He’d taken Charlie for a round earlier in the week and Charlie had lost count of the number of times his lack of officer status had been met with looks of surprise.

Soon it would be time for them to return to the house for lunch – overcooked meat and watery cabbage because ‘Cook’ had left to go and do her bit. His own mother could be a pain in the backside, and often was, but at least she could cook. Charlie’s belly growled at the thought of her Sunday roasts with all the trimmings. He’d eaten better in the Naafi than he was doing at Daphne’s parents’.

His boredom increasing, he moved his weight from one foot to the other, the movement causing the letter in his pocket to crackle.

He had been surprised when Bella had written to him. They weren’t exactly close, and he supposed he should thank her for taking the trouble to tell him that a girl from the slums had been round to their parents’ looking for him, claiming that he had
promised to marry her. Not that she had written to him for his own benefit. Oh, no. Her letter had been more of a criticism of his behaviour to ‘a poor young girl to whom you lied in the cruelest way’.

He had laughed out aloud at first until he remembered that there had been a girl like the one Bella had described to him, although he was damn sure he had never promised her anything other than payment for a bit of fun. To read Bella’s letter you’d think he actually owed the girl something. Charlie didn’t know what was happening to his sister. Since she had started working at that crèche she had become far too much of a do-gooder, extraordinary though it was to think of someone as selfish as his sister changing to such an extent. Still, at least, according to Bella, his parents had seen the girl off. Though now that Bella had reminded him about her, Charlie felt even less enthusiastic about his marriage and Daphne, and even more impatient to start having fun again.

The small area next to the shed on Sam’s allotment was filled with people. Sam’s own family and their neighbours who had come round to celebrate Katie and Luke’s engagement and to wish Luke good luck, although officially, of course, no one was supposed to know that he was leaving.

As Jean looked around herself, she decided that what she had promoted out of protective maternal instinct was turning out to be an event for which she was now reaping what she felt in reality was undeserved neighbourly praise, with everyone saying what a good idea her picnic was and how much they were enjoying it.

The still-bare stems of the wisteria climbing against the shed were just beginning to show the soft greyish buds that would be the long racemes of lilac-blue flowers in another couple of weeks’ time, while the bluebells beneath it were in full flower. Sam had planted that wisteria when Luke had been a year old, and they’d grown to maturity together, Jean thought as she touched one soft feathery bud with tender fingers, knowing that she couldn’t touch her son with that same tenderness now that he was all grown up, and certainly not in public.

The fruit trees were emerging into blossom, and thanks to Sam’s careful husbandry and use of protective cloches there was plenty of early lettuce to join the first of the new potatoes, normally such a treat but not quite the same without a generous helping of butter, Jean admitted.

At least Grace seemed happier, Jean noticed with relief, and much more her normal self as she bustled about handing out sandwiches and cups of tea.

Everyone who could had helped out with donations of food so that the fictional party Jean had fibbed about to keep Grace at home overnight had become a reality.

‘And what’s this about you having an admirer, Sasha? A certain young man was very keen and attentive last night, so I’ve heard,’ Grace teased her younger sister. She felt so very different about Seb’s move now in the knowledge that Luke was being sent overseas, and she was determined to make the picnic a happy occasion, especially for Katie and Luke, newly engaged and so soon to be parted.

‘He was just being polite,’ Sasha denied Grace’s teasing, but then blushed so hard that everyone
laughed. Everyone, that was, except Lou, who bent her head and scuffed the side of her sandal-clad foot against the ground. A horrible tight angry feeling had filled her chest, and humiliatingly she felt as though she might actually start to cry.

Sasha had not mentioned the bomb disposal lad at all to her last night when they had got back home and they were on their own in their room; she had not said one single word about him, or about the number of times he had danced with her, or how he had hung around their table for so long that Luke had eventually been obliged to ask him to join them – nothing, and yet the moment Grace mentioned him Sasha had gone all silly, laughing and blushing and acting like there was something between the two of them.

‘What about you, Lou?’ Seb asked in a kind voice. ‘Who did you dance with?’

‘Lots of boys asked her to dance, but she wouldn’t,’ Sasha answered for her twin.

‘I danced with you,’ Lou told her sharply, unable to resist adding the pointed reminder, ‘We said that we would before we went out.’

There was a small silence, awkward and prickly and just like the way she felt inside, Lou acknowledged miserably. She hadn’t said anything to Sasha about having seen Kieran in uniform. Had her twin seen him and was she too not saying anything? The misery inside her was making her feel sick and close to tears.

The afternoon slipped into evening, neighbours with young families gathering their children together and saying their good nights to one another and their goodbyes to Luke, whilst Jean watched with a huge
lump in her throat. It didn’t seem all that long ago that Luke had been the age and the size of the little ones now held in paternal or maternal arms as their tiredness caught up with them. Now Luke was a man, a fine upstanding son that anyone could be proud of, and Jean was fiercely proud of him. But a part of her also wished that he was still a little boy who could be held safe from all harm in her arms.

November 1941

‘You’re carrying, aren’t you?’ Judith demanded in a voice hard with bad temper and recognition.

When Lena didn’t answer her immediately, she gave an angry shake of her head and demanded again, ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you, you stupid little tart? And don’t bother denying it, ’cos if me mum says you are, and she does, then you are. And there was me thinking you was just putting on a bit of weight. Well, you can’t carry on working here now, and that’s a fact, not in that condition and you without a ring on your finger. The woman wot I rent this place from has some funny ideas about things like that, and she’ll have me out as well as you if she gets to hear. Besides, the clients all know you aren’t married and I don’t want me salon getting a reputation on account of you not having any marriage lines and a belly that will soon be as bit as a barrage balloon.’

Still Lena said nothing and the reason for that was that until Judith’s mother, Mrs Walker, had confronted her in her bedroom this morning, coming in without knocking just when Lena was getting dressed, and
informing her caustically that she had had her suspicious for a while, Lena herself had had no idea that the reason for her expanding waistline could have something to do with the time she had spent in Charlie’s arms.

‘How far gone are you?’

Lena counted back mentally and told Judith shakily, ‘Six months.’

‘Oh, so you know who he is then, the chap wot give it to you?’

Lena nodded.

‘And there’s no chance of him doing the right thing by you, I don’t suppose?’ Judith’s voice was sarcastic.

Now Lena shook her head.

‘Well, I dunno what’s to be done with you and I dunno why I should worry either, seeing as you ain’t my responsibility, thank heavens. You know that my mum won’t have you back in the house, don’t you?’

Again Lena nodded. It had been Judith’s mother who had marched her downstairs and then announced to Judith that Lena was pregnant, and that she wanted her out of her house immediately.

‘It’s bad enough you carrying on the way you do, our Judith, coming in at all hours and setting tongues wagging. I’m not having the likes of her making things even worse.’

Under Judith’s mother’s eagle eye Lena had been forced to pack all her belongings into the straw basket she had arrived with all those months ago when she had first got her job with Judith, and an old battered holdall that Judith had found for her, and now they and Judith and Lena were down at the salon, and Lena was being told that she had lost her job as well as her room.

She couldn’t take it all in. She had known that she was getting plumper but she had not thought anything much of it. Naïvely she realised now it had never occurred to her that she might be going to have a baby. But now that she knew, an unexpected feeling of protective love was growing inside her that was as much of a surprise to her as the baby itself, and it was a feeling that overrode her shock and the sick feeling of panic that had engulfed her when Judith’s mother had confronted and accused her and then announced that she was throwing her out.

‘You’ll have to tell the authorities,’ Judith warned. ‘I dare say they’ll send you to one of those mother and baby homes out in the country whilst you have it, and they’ll give it to the nuns or summat like that to find a good home for it.’

Although she didn’t say anything Lena immediately tensed her body and placed her right hand protectively over her belly. No one was going to take her baby away from her, no one.

‘And don’t you go thinking that you can come back here afterwards and expect me to give you your job back because I can’t. Me mum will be down on me like a ton of bricks if I do. If you ask me it’s a pity you’ve not got a bit of a family to help you out, take you in and that. Anyway, here’s your wages and a bit extra,’ Judith told her, pushing some money into Lena’s hand, ‘although I’m a fool to myself for being so daft and generous, I dare say. If you was to take my advice you’d try one of the churches first. Catholic, are you?’

Lena denied it. That had been another bone of contention between her parents: her mother was Church of England and had refused to convert to
Catholicism when she had married Lena’s Italian father.

‘Well, I dare say they’re both used to dealing with girls that have got themselves into trouble.’

Lena could feel the fluttering sensation that had invaded her belly increase as she realised that now that Judith had had her say she was waiting for her to leave.

She had liked working in the salon, despite Judith’s bad temper and the poor wages. She reached down to pick up her cumbersome bags. She was wearing most of her winter clothes. It was easier to carry them that way, and it had been a cold morning with a white frost on the bedroom window.

Judith opened the door for her. Feeling sick with dread Lena walked through it.

Bella rarely came into Liverpool city centre any more – even those shops that had not suffered bomb damage hardly had anything to sell – but this morning she’d been invited to attend a City Council meeting about crèche places, so that she could tell the committee members what she had learned from her own crèche. To Bella’s delight, her crèche had recently been singled out as one of outstanding excellence, both in administration and from the point of view of the mothers who used it for their children.

Bella had even been given a larger budget so that they could increase the number of children they took in. That, though, meant finding extra staff, and with so many women now doing war work Bella knew that wasn’t going to be easy.

She didn’t want to linger in the city. It was cold and she had work to do.

If she had been shocked and frightened when Judith’s mother had told her that she was pregnant, that was nothing to what she was feeling now, Lena admitted shakily.

She’d gone to a church as Judith had suggested, but the clergyman to whom she’d poured out her anxieties and her desire to keep her baby had sent her to see a council official, who had told Lena firmly that it was out of the question for her to keep her baby and that she would make arrangements for her to be found a room at a special home for girls like her who had got themselves into trouble. Lena had left her office feeling as though she was about to be sent to some kind of prison. She hadn’t eaten all day, and her arms ached so much from carrying her bags that she had to put them down. She had just done so when a couple of rough-looking boys ran towards her, weaving their way through the people on the street, to grab hold of her handbag. Lena reacted immediately and instinctively, determinedly holding on to it and refusing to let go. When the stronger and older of the boys pushed her to the ground she called out for help.

Bella heard the commotion as she was on the point of crossing the road, and turned automatically to see what was going on. She recognised Lena immediately and with an unwanted jolt of shock. She could and should ignore her, Bella told herself. After all, the girl was nothing to her. She turned away and continued to cross the road, but something made her stop and look back and then reluctantly retrace her steps.

Lena put her hand on her handbag. Thank goodness they hadn’t managed to steal it. She would have
lost everything if she’d lost that. The wages Judith had paid her earlier were in it, along with her ration book and her Post Office savings book.

She struggled to sit up.

‘Are you all right?’

Lena looked up, her eyes widening when she saw Bella leaning towards her, and she recognised her immediately.

‘Yes,’ Lena began and then to her own shame, she suddenly started to cry, blurting out, ‘No, I’m not all right. I’m having your Charlie’s baby, and I’ve lost me job and me room, and now I’m to go to some home for fallen women until I have the baby and then they’ll take it away from me and give it to someone else.’ She was sobbing uncontrollably now, causing a small crowd to gather round them.

‘What’s to do with her?’ asked an older stout woman with a disapproving expression.

‘Looks like she’s homeless, to me, and in the family way. I know her sort. Someone wants to find someone in authority and let them deal with her.’

‘She isn’t homeless,’ Bella heard herself saying.

‘Oh, and how would you know that? It looks like she’s homeless to me, and not married neither.’

The stout woman had folded her arms now and was confronting Bella as though it would give her some kind of personal satisfaction to have Lena dragged off by the authorities. The poor little thing looked terrified, Bella recognised, and that baby she was carrying was her niece or nephew.

‘She works for me,’ Bella lied to the stout woman,

‘Works for you? Doing what, I’d like to know.’

‘I’m the manageress of a crèche in Wallasey and I’ve just taken on Lena here to work there as a trainee
nursemaid. Come along, Lena,’ Bella demanded, turning her back on her aggressor and putting a hand under Lena’s elbow to help her to her feet. ‘I did warn you to keep up with me. Now get your things together and give me one of those bags.’

Lena gawped at Charlie’s sister.

‘Come along, Lena, we haven’t got all day,’ Bella urged her. She didn’t want to hang around in case the stout woman decided to go and summon someone in real authority, and then she suspected they would both be in trouble.

Charlie’s sister really wanted her to go with her?

Lena struggled to her feet, determined not to let on how sick and dizzy she felt in case Bella changed her mind and went off without her. How different they looked, Bella in her smart winter coat with its fur collar and her matching fur hat, her hands covered by leather gloves and little button boots on her feet, whilst Lena was wearing a heavy multicoloured long cardigan she had knitted herself from rewound wool, over one of the two elasticated-waist thin winter skirts she had made for herself, and a second-hand jumper. She did not have any gloves or a hat, and her shoes were stuffed with newspaper because the soles were nearly through.

What on earth was she doing, Bella asked herself as she marched off, gingerly carrying Lena’s grubby wicker basket with Lena herself trailing behind her. Had she gone mad? This girl meant nothing to her and nor did her child. She had a position to maintain, a reputation now as crèche manageress; she couldn’t possibly involve herself with someone like Lena, and especially not an unmarried and pregnant someone like Lena. She’d wait until they were out
of sight of the stout woman and then she’d give her a couple of pounds and leave her to it, Bella decided.

It was November already and Luke had been gone for over five months. Katie had received a letter from him earlier in the week. His letters were arriving regularly now, not like at first when they hadn’t heard anything for weeks, and they’d all sat round the Campions’ table at night looking at an old atlas Katie had begged from her parents when she had gone to visit them, trying to work out just how far Luke’s transport ship would have travelled if he and his men were going to fight in the desert. Then they’d received his first letters home, heavily censored and sent from South Africa, where the troop ships had put in on their long journey. They’d all had several letters within a matter of days of the first, and then nothing until Luke had reached Alexandria.

Katie missed him dreadfully and worried for him even more, but she knew she had to be brave for Jean and Sam’s sake. Sometimes, though, she and Carole went out together and had a little cry for their brave boys, and tried to reassure one another that all would be well.

She bent her head over her work, reminding herself that she had to do her bit.

Grace had had to hang around outside the nurses’ home during her lunch break, instead of having her lunch, in order to catch the postman and receive her precious daily letter from Seb, the receipt of it all the sweeter because it had not arrived with the early morning post, but now, as she read it quickly, Grace’s spirits rose. This would be her last shift before she
and Seb had two precious shared days off together. They’d got it all planned. She was going to go to Whitchurch by train, and Seb had managed to get her a room. He and the men he worked with were all billeted with local families and Grace knew that there would be very little opportunity for them to be alone together, but at least they would be together. This would be the first time she had gone down to Whitchurch since Seb started work there. On previous days off Seb had come to Liverpool, sleeping in Katie’s room whilst Katie generously shared with the twins. Grace was in her final month of training now, and soon she and Seb would be able to start making proper plans to get married.

‘From your fiancé, is it, your letter?’ The voice of the new ward sister, who had replaced the previous ward sister, who was pregnant, interrupted Grace’s concentration on Seb’s letter, good manners forcing her to refold it and put it back in its envelope as she said politely, ‘Yes,’ even whilst her heart sank. Maureen Westland, who had caught up with her on her way back into the hospital, was pleasant enough but she had a poor opinion of the male sex and always seemed to be offering dire warnings of the heartache in store for girls who were, as she put it, ‘soft enough to let men twist them round their little finger’.

‘Well, I hope for your sake he’s not one of those men who pretend to be faithful to a girl but who secretly plays around behind her back.’

‘Seb would never do anything like that,’ Grace defended her fiancé.