The War Widows (28 page)

‘Trust you to stick up for foreigners. Mark my words, it’ll all end in tears. That Romeo at the sink is on the sly. Walls have ears. If her in-laws find out she’s being soft-soaped by that ball of grease there’ll be slaughter on the streets. I’ve seen what gangsters do to their molls.’ Ivy was wagging her finger in righteous indignation.

‘Oh, go and boil yer head! Talking rubbish, as usual. Why do you always see the worst in folks and ignore what’s staring you in the face?’

Su had never seen Lily so fired up. Now Ivy would get her overturning.

‘Pardon me for breathing, Miss Hoity-Toity I tell the truth as I see it. If you don’t like my words—’

‘If you don’t believe me, come and see the stuff I’ve got in the jam jar. I wonder why our Levi had to deal in forbidden drugs. To keep you in all the fancy goods no one else can afford. You’ve made a criminal of my
brother with your pestering! It’s not right to use our stall to fund that extravagance so I had to protect everyone.’

Now at last the pennies were dropping. It was Su’s turn to join in the fray.

‘Ask Ana why she was so eager to leave the stall. Go on…A man like that is not worth protecting but the good Winstanley name is. My Stan would cry in his grave to see his mother shamed. If you don’t believe me, wait a second and we’ll bring down some evidence that will speak for itself. Ask your precious husband to explain that to his mother. I shall be pleased to hear what he says then!’

‘I’m not taking this from you. Who do you think you are? One of us? Hah, just you wait! You’ve not heard the last of this, blaming a sick man who can’t defend his corner. Just you wait, you lot’ll pay for this!’ Ivy ran out of the room.

What a to-do! Esme sat in the chair with her head in her hands, not looking at any of them. Ana was crying, slopping tea over the cups. Su feared that the Battle of Division Street was about to begin.

Lily was silent, ‘What have we done?’ written all over her face. She was going to get all the blame.

Su sighed. Girls were the same the world over. As the proverb said: ‘An unmarried girl has no honour even if she has ten brothers.’

It was as if poor Lily was the villain, not the son, in the mother’s eyes. Those two rubbed along like shoes on the wrong feet.

Esme Winstanley looked down at her son lying in the bed with dismay and relief. He was still out for the count and under sedation but he would live.

‘What were you playing at, son?’ she sighed. What was happening to her family? First Freddie and now Levi letting her down. What had she done to deserve such disappointment in her children? She sat slumped like an empty sack, sipping hospital tea that young Sister Unsworth had brought for her. What must Diana be thinking about all these antics? The Winstanleys used to be a respectable family and now they had more secrets than the Secret Service.

No one must say a word out of turn. She had laid that on thick with a trowel.

‘Family first and only, Lily. No blabbing to anyone, not Polly, Enid or even Walt. Let’s just say Levi fell and banged his head and knocked himself out on the ice.’

The nurse had said the ward was full of broken hips, and legs and ankles. If only this winter ice would shift.
There had been three power cuts last week, but the hospital had its own generator and was safe. They’d lit candles and storm lamps, huddling by the fire. The coal in the bunker was shrinking and still the blizzards came. No wonder people wanted cheering up.

Was that what these funny tea leaves did? Cheered you up so the world looked sunny and warm and full of good cheer? What was wrong with that, then?

Out came the old white coat from the back of Esme’s wardrobe. It had shrunk since she’d last put it on, but she was down at that stall first thing next morning to examine the books and sort out the stock.

There would be no more layabouts and dodgy dealers shuffling up when they saw
her
on the warpath. A hundred years of respectable trading was not going to be jeopardised by the stupidity of her son. She would stand sentry for as long as it took until everyone got the message that families stand firm in a crisis.

Susan was a bright girl, and Enid scuttled around wondering what was up but asking no questions. Lily’s mind was not on the job. Esme was worried about that girl. The Lord was certainly sending her her share of trials.

Levi must learn to shoulder his own burdens and not rely on her for handouts. Lily must stop shillyshallying and name the wedding day. The trouble with children was they all needed kicking with a different foot.

She made up a proper roster for Saturdays so Lily could have time to sort out her wedding plans and Susan had time to spend with Joy. And what were they doing still harbouring these two lodgers? Truth was, Freddie’s ladies were the least trouble of all lately.

If only Redvers was here to guide her. What should she do next? Wasn’t it enough to have lost one son without now being in danger of losing another to greed and meanness? How could she bring back Levi from the dead? Put that in your Almighty pipe, Dear Lord, and smoke it, she prayed, looking to the ceiling in defiance. It’s over to you now!

The terraces were filling up slowly for the last match of the season. Lily was impatient, standing in the dampness on a rare afternoon off. Spring was in the air at last. No more snow but the pitch was waterlogged and the concrete stands were sodden. Walt was late, having stopped off for a pint or two of Wilson’s best bitter.

I don’t know what I’m doing here, she thought, looking around the familiar faces huddled against the chill. She supposed it was a relief to get out of the house and the bad atmosphere. Since the funny business with the stolen hash Levi was not speaking to anyone. His bruises were healing and no bones were broken, but his temper was that foul. He had a face on him like sore feet. Ivy and the war had a lot to answer for. It was her fancy ideas that pushed them to spend what they hadn’t got. Neville was being a pain in the bum, throwing his dinner across the kitchen. He’d got the girls playing up too.

Ivy ignored everyone and the atmosphere in Division Street was like a blocked sewer. Mother went around as if there was a big black cloud above her head. Ana scurried off on hospital duty, out of the way, while Susan spent her time upstairs sewing sequins on a costume for Joy.

Lily was the pig in the middle, as usual, and Walt didn’t help matters. Where was he when she needed him? Everything was going wrong

The supper club wasn’t meeting any more. Maria and Queenie were caught up in Sylvio’s latest hairdressing competition attempt. Diana and Eva had nursing exams to pass. Soon it would be the summer season and the dancing class would close. It ought not to matter but, to her consternation, it mattered. She missed the gatherings, the gossip round someone’s fire, the outings to the pictures. Perhaps she ought to organise something herself.

It was not as if there weren’t a hundred other things she ought to be doing. Only last week she and Walt had sat in the vestry of Zion listening to the Reverend Atkinson going through all the paperwork and arrangements for their summer wedding. It had finally been booked for the first Saturday in August. They would be sitting down to a cold meat salad in Zion Sunday school hall with a small square fruit cake covered in a plaster of Paris icing, a gift from Crompton’s Biscuits. Dina and Joy would be the little bridesmaids and Neville the pageboy, if Levi and Ivy turned up at all to the do. Susan was going to help Lily make her outfits.

It all ought to be exciting, but here she was, thinking about a day out at the seaside with the Olive Oils when there was the business of applying for passports casting a cloud on the horizon. Her forms were signed and sent off, but Walt had done nothing about his. He said he’d lost his birth certificate! He was still not convinced about going abroad and suggested they went to the Isle of Man instead. Why couldn’t they agree on anything?

There was some good news. On one of their jaunts to the edge of the moor they found a small stone-built cottage to rent, a house with thick walls and an outside toilet, a long garden with a wonderful view. It would need bottoming out from top to toe, and distempering in bright colours. They ought to be up there now sorting it all out. As newlyweds they could claim extra coupons to buy furnishings. At last, here was a home of her very own to plan, away from all the feuding. Roll on August!

So what was the point of standing here watching a lacklustre end-of-season game?

Even Pete Walsh was injured and out of the team. Barry was playing like a one-legged blind man. It was wet and windy, and she was not in the mood for cheering and catcalling. They were out of the Cup and second in the league.

Walt was late for the kick-off. They always stood on the same terrace, third row from the back, with the Division Street fans. She waited another ten minutes and then turned back down the stairs and out of the stadium. The two of them seemed to be on parallel tram tracks, side by side but never close enough to touch, these days. She blamed it on all the funny business going on and having to hide things from him. The sooner they were wed and together, the sooner all their misunderstandings would be sorted out.

The thought of all the preparations was making her nervous. She hoped they didn’t end up like Levi or Ivy, bickering and rowing. Nothing was turning out as she hoped.

Perhaps it was this blessed chill. What was needed
was a bit of cheering up, a cup of hot Vimto and a seat in Santini’s to cheer her flagging spirits. It would be good to see Maria’s bright face in the café. She could relax and make a list of all her plans, and pop in the travel agent’s on the way back to see what was on offer. She was determined to make their honeymoon special, even if she had to do it herself.

‘You look
bellissima
,’ Marco smiled, sitting on the open balcony of the sanatorium in his dressing gown. ‘You have the big show tonight?’

‘I can’t stop long but I just wanted to show you.’ Maria kissed him, patting his head like a dog. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘How do you think? I am sick of this vista, snow on hills. Nice on a Christmas card but I’m sick of living in a Christmas card. I wanna come home and see Rosa and Mamma, not sit like a lump of dough in this chair. I am trying to get strong but when I walk too much, I can’t breathe. I wanna go home with you…All this costs too much money.’

‘Be patient, the
dottore
says not yet. It is too smoky and sooty. Perhaps in the summer.’

‘The summer’ll never come for me,’ he whispered, turning his grey face from her in distress.

‘Soon the snow will melt on the hills and the garden will grow flowers. Rosa and I will come to have picnics with you, and she will show you her dancing steps.’ It was hard to stop the panic rising in her voice.

‘Make it soon,
mia cara…
.’

*  *  *

Maria sat on the bus home with a heavy heart. This has got to stop, you mustn’t see Sylvio alone again, she ordered herself, repeating it over again, fingering her rosary for the strength to resist temptation.

If only it were that easy to shut off the excitement, the longings and the fantasies. He was everything Marco was not. He was young, fit and full of energy, full of creative dreams. He was talented and eager to succeed. Everything he’d achieved was by his own hard work. His path was not smoothed over by family connections.

Perhaps Marco would have returned from war with such vigour if he’d not been so badly wounded. They would’ve made plans to change the décor, improve the café and have more babies.

Now his poor body was like a sack of straw, his spirit so fragile and tired, but he clung on to life for her sake, patient in his suffering like a saintly martyr. But I don’t want a saint for a lover, I want real flesh and blood, strong arms to hold me, strong thighs to press on me, the warm breath of sucking lips, she cried in shame.

No one could accuse her of neglecting her husband. Every possible visiting hour, she turned up. She should have shares in the bus company, so many tickets she’d purchased to get to the ward on time and back between shifts. Faithful in her presence but not in her body.

This evening she sat on the upstairs deck in the twilight, watching the twinkling lights of the town fading as the road rose higher onto the moor and the dark starlit night. She could do this journey blindfolded: round the bend out of town, up under the arched railway viaduct and past the grammar school
with its windows ablaze with light. Onwards and upwards to the terminal stop and the iron gate leading to the long flat single-storey sanatorium, with windows open to the sky and balconies facing the windswept lawns, facing away from the foul air and the dust, catching the west wind over the Pennines.

No one could accuse her of not doing her duty by Marco but duty didn’t warm her toes at night, duty put no skip in her step. Duty kept her at her post behind the counter and doing the books at night.

She’d sensed the loss of him the minute he was carried from the troopship on a stretcher. He was as much a victim of war as all the names on the Grimbleton cenotaph; a Tommy with an Italian name, while Sylvio was the enemy, defeated, despised by her family. Marco was a frail shadow of what he might have been and it was not his fault. In the eyes of the Church he was her
marito
and she was dirt, a faithless wife. How could she think of betraying him?

She had done her duty and come from Sicily to marry one of the brothers. That was the arrangement and she was grateful for the chance of a new life. The family had once visited from England and it was an honour to be betrothed to such a successful
famiglia.
By the time she’d arrived the other brothers were spoken for and it was assumed she and Marco would make a fine couple. He was gentle and shy, and she was so naïve and ignorant.

The wedding was lavish, with dancing and music. They had taken the train to London for their honeymoon and saw all the sights. Then came the miscarriages,
one after another. Marco joined up and one brief reunion resulted in precious Rosaria. Now when she looked at him all she felt was loving pity.