War Orphans (11 page)

He'd almost been persuaded not to escort her to school. Today she had relented because tonight she would be leaving him alone. Tonight she was going out to dinner with the dashing young Frenchman. On the night before she had studied his name on the card he'd given her again and again, turning it over in her hand before going to bed. Pierre DeVere.

Sally glanced at her father. His expression was as stoic as usual.

‘You've remembered I'm going out tonight?'

There was silence for a time, the only sound the clicking of her heels and his heavier footsteps a beat or two behind.

‘Sally, I don't think you should go—'

Sally stopped so suddenly, he overtook her before coming to a standstill, turning and seeing the determination in her face.

‘Well, I am going, Father. I am going and there is nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. Now go back home. I'm here at school and I'm safe at school.'

Although his hurt expression gave rise to a moment of guilt, she held back from saying anything soothing. She needed to remain firm. She had a life to lead and she couldn't allow him to ruin it.

‘Now, please, Dad. I have to go.'

She glanced at her watch, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and went through the school gates.

A host of children gathered round, wishing her good morning and showing her treasures they'd found in a field: a red autumn leaf, an abandoned bird's nest, a fish in a jar taken from the Malago, a slow flowing stream close to St. John's Lane.

Seb found it hard to turn away from his daughter. The sight of Sally being in such great demand from the children gave him mixed feelings. He was proud of her but also jealous that she had the attention of others, even if they were her pupils. She was his baby and he could not easily let her go. Today was bad enough. Tonight she was going out with a man. He had no objection to the young man's nationality, but he
had objections to any man who came between him and his daughter.

Not wishing to return to an empty house, his footsteps led him down the cobbled path leading to the allotment. He stopped some distance away noting the bowed heads of dead flowers, raindrops dripping miserably from the withered leaves.

The rain had grown stronger since earlier that morning though it still fell in a fine mist from a leaden sky. Everything looked grey. November had been wet and foggy so far. It wasn't likely to get any better.

Rain trickled from the brim of his hat, from his eyebrows and off the end of his nose. His scarf kept the water from getting inside his coat.

Once at the allotment he surveyed the plot where flowers had once grown in riotous colour. The remains of dead blooms barely held their heads above the forest of weeds. If he followed the advice from the government, as clearly all his fellow allotment holders were doing, he would pull them all out and plant vegetables instead.

The truth was he couldn't bring himself to do it. When Grace was alive he'd come down here with a Thermos flask and sandwiches and enjoyed digging the earth, the dark loam crumbling between his fingers. If she wasn't too busy around the house, Grace had come with him.
What times they'd had
, he thought to himself,
and damn God for taking her!

He pursed his lips as he took in the sad-looking allotment. The dead flowers could stay until he was ready. In the meantime he would go for a walk in the park. At one time he would have also called in at the Park House, the pub on the corner of Merioneth Street, not the larger Engineer's Arms where factory workers gathered. The Park House was small and intimate, no more than a small room with a bar, darts and a shove ha'peny board. He hadn't been in there since his wife's death. Neither had he been to church. They'd used to go, the two of them, but he no longer attended. God was in disgrace because he'd taken Grace away from him.

Head bent, his eyes watering, he turned away from the shed but something made him stop. Had he heard something? Or had he only felt that he heard something? Perhaps just the rain.

Narrowing his eyes he took a longer look at his shed. He and Grace had laughed themselves stupid when together they'd built it from odd bits of wood and a window they'd found abandoned on the side of the road.

‘A good wind and it'll be blown to bits,' she'd said, laughing as they stood side by side admiring their handiwork.

For a moment it seemed as though she was yet again standing beside him, her laughter ringing in his ears.

‘There's nobody there,' he muttered, shrugging his shoulders against the rain. It was just the creaking of old wood and second-hand nails slowly falling apart.

Over a period of days Joanna cleared away the spiders' webs from the solitary window so she could see a bit better. She also used an old broom she found to sweep the floor and brought a shabby rug from home. The rug had lain curled up behind the back door for ages and was in need of a good beating. Once she was sure nobody was around, Joanna bashed it against the outside of the shed until it was as clean as she could get it. Unable to take the solitary torch from the house without Elspeth noticing, she found her father's old bicycle lamp. The light came on when she flicked the switch. Thankfully the battery was still charged. She'd have some light to see better in the shed.

At the same time as sneaking things that would not be missed from home, she brought food. She'd taken to saving some of her supper from the night before. The bits of bone and bread soaked in gravy formed Harry's breakfast. Things saved from her school dinner was his evening meal, plus a third of the pint of milk she was given at school just before morning break. Unused milk was left in a crate outside the kitchen door. When she could Joanna had taken one of these, making sure she wore her coat at breaktime so she could hide it in her pocket.

Harry was becoming more and more confident, and had started to bark the moment he heard her coming, which was beginning to worry her.

‘Shh! Harry, you've got to be quiet,' she said to him, softening her voice in the hope he would understand her tone if not the words she was speaking.

Harry, full of youthful energy, bounced around in response, his stumpy tail wagging happily, pink tongue lolling and eyes bright with mischief.

Joanna smiled. She didn't have it in her heart to scold Harry. Having her very own puppy had made such a difference to the emptiness of her life and the coldness of the house that was supposed to be home.

Harry loved her because she was the first human to be kind to him. She loved him because she had nobody else. And he was so very cute and affectionate

Food played a part in Harry's affection. He was filling out and getting bigger thanks to the food she scraped from her school dinner. His coat was shiny, his body rounder than it had been and to her great delight, his coat was a coppery brown. So far he hadn't gone outside, but once he did she was sure his coat would shine like gold in the sun.

When she turned on the bicycle lamp Harry attempted to catch the circular beam it threw on the floor, patting it with his paws, dancing from one leg to the other when she moved the lamp and the beam moved too.

Joanna laughed at his antics. She laughed here in this shed more than she had ever laughed at home, more even than she had ever laughed at school.

Once he'd eaten his fill and finished playing, Joanna settled him down among the dry sacks in the seed box. When she'd first placed him here he'd fallen asleep quite quickly, but he was getting older now, and his energy increasing accordingly.

Joanna looked up at the window. She'd had the foresight to cover it with yet another old sack just as everyone was doing
because of the blackout. In her case it wasn't so much about German bombers seeing her. Occasionally a man might come down to inspect his allotment following a hard day at work and she greatly feared being discovered. She would do everything in her power to ensure that Harry did not meet the same fate of so many other animals.

December was approaching. Twilight seemed to begin around three thirty in the afternoon and all was pitch black by five o'clock.

Before the imposition of the blackout, streetlamps would have lit her way home, orange halos piercing the darkness. A little light would even have filtered down from the street lamps on the road running above the allotments, falling like strips of gold cloth from amber globes. Since the outbreak of war the world had turned more densely black than it had ever done before.

Now there was only darkness and because of this and Harry's increased exuberance she was arriving home later and later. With sudden panic she realised tonight she would be later home than ever. Hurrying was impossible. The only way she might gain more speed was if she took the bicycle lamp to light her way.

She wasn't sure of the time but knew this was something she had to chance. Once she'd reassured herself that Harry was asleep, she picked up the lamp, shut the door firmly behind her and hurried up the slope.

The lamp's flickering glow picked up the shininess of the frost-covered cobbles. Her feet slid, but she hurried towards home, her breath turning to steam before hanging like ice in the frozen air.

Worries about Harry stayed with her all the way home. Would he be warm enough? She thought about his silky coat and the sack she'd covered him with. Hopefully he would be fine, though his water was bound to turn to ice. Never mind, she thought to herself. I can deal with that in the morning.

She'd taken to going down to light the fire and put the kettle on half an hour earlier than usual. One advantage of this that she
had not considered was that it gave her the opportunity to grab something to eat before her stepmother came down. Not bacon or eggs, which would be instantly remarked upon, but a slice of dry bread fried in fat saved from the meal the night before. She even managed to grab herself the first cup of tea from the pot, carefully washing the teacup afterwards so the evidence wouldn't be so obvious. Her stepmother would be drinking from the same teacup but would not know that. It was a small triumph but pleased Joanna no end.

By the time she got to the bottom of The Vale, she knew she was in for it. Although all the shops at the bottom of the hill would be in darkness anyway, she knew by looking at the shop doors that they were closed for the night. She was very, very late!

The hill was steep but she ran as fast as she could, her legs kicking out behind her. She was a good runner but The Vale was steep, so steep that buses refused to go up there following a fall of snow or a thick layer of ice.

Here, where houses and hedges protected them, the pavements were less icy than the cobbles leading up from the allotments. She didn't slip but she did get breathless.

By the time she pushed open the front gate her breath was coming in quick, snatched gasps. The door was left on the latch as usual – few people in the street ever locked their doors, a habit they'd brought with them from the Victorian back to backs in the heart of the city.

Elspeth was standing in front of the fireplace when she went in, her lips turning ruby red as she applied the tip of a fresh new tube of lipstick.

‘About bloody time,' she shouted.

Joanna kept the dining table between them. The dining table was square and filled the middle of the room. Two armchairs sat either side of the fireplace and a settee behind her. A nice smell wafted in from the kitchen. Had her stepmother turned over a new leaf and prepared an evening meal?

‘Sorry. I didn't know it was so late.'

It was best to be like a mouse when Elspeth was having a tantrum and she didn't want her asking any awkward questions, get suspicious and beat the truth out of her. Not that she would ever tell. Not now she had Harry.

‘There's stew in the kitchen. Help yourself. I'm off out.'

So that was the smell. ‘Thank you.'

‘Don't thank me. It was that daft old cow next door. “Made too much,?” she said. “Would you like some,” she said. “Would your lovely little daughter like some.”'

Elspeth had nothing but contempt for Mrs Allen next door even though the old lady occasionally handed a pot of stew, pork bones or a slice of fruitcake over the back fence.

Joanna's spirits leapt at the thought of pork bones, a little bit extra for a growing dog.

Elspeth pushed past the table, her scarlet fingernails flashing as she reached for the door.

‘Things are going to be different in future, my girl,' she said, pointing one scarlet nail in Joanna's direction. ‘Tomorrow I'm starting a job so you'll have to fend for yourself. So get used to it. Starting from now!'

Joanna didn't dare say that for most of the time she fended for herself anyway. Her stomach was churning. As usual, she had saved some of her school dinner for Harry and today, of all days, there had been no chance of having a second helping, in fact, there was barely enough to go round.

‘Are you going to work now?' Joanna asked timorously.

Glassy eyes glared from Elspeth's painted face. Her bright red lips parted in a contemptuous smile. ‘No, you silly bitch. I'm off to celebrate. And make sure you do the dishes before I get back or you'll be gettin' what for. Is that clear?'

Joanna nodded that she understood. She stayed very still until she heard the slamming of the front door then the squeak of the rusty springs on the garden gate before it clanged shut. Even her
grumbling stomach couldn't send her running to the kitchen, not until she heard those distinctive sounds. She was home alone and she couldn't have been happier.

After helping herself to a large portion of stew and a chunk of bread, washed down with a cup of tea, she began the dishes.

There weren't many and her stepmother had had the good grace to leave two chop bones on the edge of the plate. No stew for her stepmother, then. The butcher in North Street was always giving her bits of extra meat.

‘Fancy a nibble on a nice pork chop, Mrs Ryan? Or how about a couple of fat sausages? One for tonight and one for tomorrow night.'