War Orphans (24 page)

Still smiling, eyes still sparkling, Joanna shook her head.

‘Because your teacher, Miss Hadley, will tell me all about what happened in school today.'

He saw the mystified look on her face and finally told her who he was and who her teacher was.

‘Miss Hadley's my daughter,' he said to her. ‘And sometimes she tells me about her day. She takes a pride in all you kids – some of you more than others. You are one of her favourites,
though I suppose I shouldn't say that.' He winked. ‘But there you are. It's out now.'

‘Wow!' she exclaimed, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears as the wonderful news flooded over her.

Once Harry had eaten and snuggled down in his bed, she said goodbye to Seb and ran all the way home, excited beyond belief at what Seb had told her. In fact, she was bubbling over with the news and desperately wanted to tell someone.

As she ran up The Vale, she looked in each garden on the way up, desperate to see somebody she knew so she could tell them the good news that her father was coming home and that her friend Seb was her teacher's father.

The afternoon was grey and cold. She saw nobody until she caught up with Mrs Allen walking slowly up the hill.

Mrs Allen's legs were bad, her ankles bulging over the rims of her shoes. A shopping bag weighed her down on one side and her hand was pink from the effort of carrying it.

Joanna hailed her brightly and offered to carry her bag.

‘That would be lovely, dear. I'm getting too old for carrying shopping bags.'

Joanna took it from her, balancing it with the bag of vegetables Seb had given to her. ‘It's not too heavy for me,' she said reassuringly.

‘You've got the strength of youth,' said Mrs Allen kindly. ‘I used to be strong when I was your age, but now I can't even get all the shopping I need. As for this rationing and having to queue for everything – well! It's too much for me. I would have liked some carrots, but my old legs won't let me stand too long. Have you had a good day at school? Bit late getting home, aren't you?'

‘I've been with a friend. Did you hear that my dad's coming home?'

Mrs Allen chuckled. ‘Well, well, well. That'll be nice for you. Tell you what, I'll make him a nice cottage pie when he gets
back. Potatoes, onions and a bit of gristly meat I expect and if I can get carrots, I will. Just for you and your dad.'

‘That would be lovely.'

Mrs Allen purposely didn't mention Joanna's stepmother. She wasn't one to gossip or criticise, but she disapproved of Elspeth Ryan, a woman who was rarely home and neglected a child.

‘And if there's no hot meal for you when you get home, come round and see me. I've get a bit of stew on the go.'

Joanna looked down at her shoes and felt the weight of Seb's vegetables bumping against her legs.

There would be no hot meal on the table. Her main meal of the day was the one she got in school. Still, a hot meal at the end of the day would be most welcome. In fact, she'd found the smell of the pigeon and rabbit Seb had cooked for Harry quite appetising.

‘I'll take it to your front door,' offered Joanna as they arrived at Mrs Allen's garden gate.

‘That's lovely of you, dear.'

While Mrs Allen turned her key in the lock, Joanna placed Mrs Allen's shopping bag on the step and placed her own brown carrier bag beside it.

She was back at the garden gate before Mrs Allen noticed.

‘What's this?' said a surprised Mrs Allen.

‘Carrots,' shouted Joanna. ‘And sprouts. They're a present.'

It seemed far more likely that Mrs Allen would make a decent meal of the vegetables. Her stepmother was unlikely to do anything with them unless she kept them for when her father got home.

Joanna reminded herself that her father wasn't coming home just yet and the vegetables might have gone rotten by the time he was.

Mrs Allen peered into the bag then looked up. ‘Carrots and sprouts. Just what I wanted! Where did you get them?'

‘They were a present.'

Mrs Allen heaved a big sigh. ‘One good turn deserves another. Come on in and have a bowl of that hot meal I promised you.'

Warmed by the stew which was thick with vegetables and thickened with dumplings, Joanna told Mrs Allen about the man at the allotment who was also her teacher's father.

‘He looks after my puppy when I can't get there to see him. My puppy lives in his shed.'

‘A puppy! Well I never.'

‘But you mustn't tell Elspeth about him. She had my cat destroyed. She'd have Harry destroyed too if she ever found out. You do promise to keep it a secret?'

Joanna's alarmed expression pulled at Mrs Allen's heartstrings. She'd so often seen this child looking thin and neglected, her face dirty with coal dust, specks of it sparkling in her hair.

‘Of course I will,' she said softly. ‘Have you told anyone else?'

Joanna shook her head as her spoon scraped the last vestige of food from her bowl.

‘Not even your friends at school?'

Joanna shook her head again and wiped her greasy lips on the back of her hand. ‘No. But I will tell them once I've told my father.'

Creases crowded around Mrs Allen's eyes when she smiled sadly. ‘Well then, I feel really privileged.'

She meant what she said. The poor child had lost her mother and was missing her father. Whatever had the man been thinking of marrying a conniving cow like that dreadful Elspeth?

‘Because my father's in the army do you think he might bring his gun home with him? Do you think he might shoot her when he finds out about my cat?' Joanna asked her.

Mrs Allen's jaw dropped, and then she laughed fit to burst. ‘Well, I for one wouldn't blame him if he did!'

That evening, Seb Hadley sat down after his evening meal and decided the time was right to tell his daughter about Joanna and her dog.

Sally spoke first. ‘I've still had no news from Pierre.'

‘That's a shame.'

She headed straight for the sink and the washing up, a ruse he realised to hide her breaking heart.

‘Leave that for now. I want to tell you something.'

‘In a minute, Dad. Just give me a minute.'

Something about the way the light picked up the dark auburn of her hair threw him. So did her soft curves and the way she moved, purposefully yet gracefully. When was it she'd started looking so much like her mother?

For the first time in a while his thoughts brooded on the woman he had lost. So carried away with his thoughts did he become, that he didn't notice Sally's disappearance until she was gone.

He heard the sound of her moving around upstairs in her bedroom and thought about following her up there and telling her about Joanna and her dog, but something told him that now was not the time. ‘
Let her have a moment to herself,
' whispered a voice he recognised as his late wife's. ‘
Sometimes a woman needs to be alone
.'

Sally ducked her hand beneath the silk shade of the table lamp and turned it on. The lamp, its pale apricot shade warming the
room, stood on her dressing table that doubled as a writing desk.

With a heartfelt sigh, she took the box of Basildon Bond lined letter paper from the right-hand drawer along with the matching envelopes.

An old friend had bought her the writing set two Christmases ago, and she'd been frugal about using it. It had turned out that she was right to do so. Paper was in short supply and quality letter writing material such as Basildon Bond was becoming difficult to get hold of.

The fresh page glared at her as though it were begging to be written on. Her pen was full of ink. This would be the sixth letter she had written to Pierre. So far she had received no reply and the obvious questions clutched at her heart.

Keeping busy, especially at school, helped enormously. Only then did she manage to push her concerns to a far corner of her mind so she could concentrate on the job in hand.

At night, or when her hands and mind were not busy, fear came creeping back.

Why hadn't he written? Was he hurt? Had he joined the army? Or was it just that absence, contrary to making the heart grow fonder, had destroyed his love for her?

She couldn't know anything for sure and hadn't expressed her feelings and fears to anyone.

The empty page loomed like a glaring challenge, almost to the extent that it stung her eyes.

‘Write something,' she growled and somehow the verbal command travelled to her fingers. Her pen began to write.

She read the letter through one last time before consigning it to a matching envelope on which she wrote the address he'd given her.

On Saturday she would take it along to Lady Ambrose as she had the others.

‘I'm sending him some luxuries – plus socks and soap – just in case he can't get those there,' his aunt had told her. ‘Might as well put the letters in with it.'

It had seemed a sensible enough action and Sally had not hesitated to agree to the idea.

After slipping the letter into her handbag, she went back downstairs. Her father looked up as she entered the room.

‘Well. Are you interested in what I've got to say or what?' He sounded almost as grumpy as he used to before he'd started attending the allotment again.

Sally apologised. ‘Sorry. I had to write a letter.'

Her father's face softened. ‘To Pierre?'

She nodded her head.

Seb Hadley sighed. ‘I should imagine things are getting a bit difficult over there. Panic breeds mayhem and I reckon there'll be a lot of that going on before very long.'

‘Do you have to be so gloomy?' Sally snapped, annoyed at being reminded just how dangerous Pierre's predicament might be. ‘There might not be a war – not a proper one anyway. Chamberlain said—'

‘Like a lot of us, Chamberlain lived through the carnage of the Great War. He did his best to keep us out of this, but by my reckoning it's gone beyond that now. Best prepare yourself . . .'

On seeing the worried look on his daughter's face, Seb clamped his mouth tightly shut before choosing his words.

‘It's bound to be difficult over there. Don't fret until you know something for certain. Now how about we have another cup of tea?'

Sally was in no mood for drinking more tea, besides which she was trying to make it go further.

‘It's all right, Dad. I'm fine. Now what was it you wanted to talk to me about?'

Suddenly, wanting to tell her all about Joanna and her puppy seemed trivial. ‘Never mind. You've got far weightier problems on your mind.'

Sally perched on the arm of his chair. ‘I'm sorry for flying off the handle. It was inexcusable. Tell me what you wanted to tell me.' She kissed the top of his head.

‘It's about two waifs I've met. A little girl and her dog.'

Her father began telling her about Joanna and the dog and his concerns for the girl's welfare.

‘Though I understand her father's about to come home. I also understand she's already told you that particular piece of news.'

‘Yes. She did. She's very excited and quite frankly I'm rather glad. Her stepmother is not the nicest person I've ever met. She works at that place along Coronation Road that used to be a garage. She strikes me as a right cow!'

Seb's eyebrows rose at her unexpected use of an expletive he'd never heard fall from her lips before. ‘That bad?'

‘Yes. She is. Peroxide-blonde hair and a very bad attitude.'

‘So you've met her.'

‘Yes,' she said, turning slightly and placing her arm around her father's neck. ‘Joanna could introduce the dog to her father, but I don't rate its chances once his leave's come to an end. The dog will go the same way as the cat. Not that it really needs to. The government has backtracked and left the decision to pet owners – thanks to the intervention of the RSPCA.'

Seb pursed his lips. ‘You're right. Trouble is the kid's bursting to tell her father, I don't think she'll be able to stop herself. And as you say, once her dad's gone back, that woman will do as she pleases.'

‘She's mean and Joanna is a real-life Cinderella, hated and treated badly by her stepmother.'

Seb sat thinking for a while. ‘Would it be all right with you that, if all else fails, the dog comes to live here? He's wearing Flossie's old collar and lead.'

‘Well, that's as good a reason as any!'

Sally looked at him. Over the last few months she'd thought his getting over her mother's death had been a natural process and not dependant on any outside factors. Now, on mentioning Joanna and her dog, she knew better.

‘You're a good man,' she said, stroking her father's white hair back from his face.

He looked up at her in some alarm. ‘You won't tell Joanna I told you about the dog, will you?'

‘Of course I won't.' Her expression disappeared along with her smile. ‘And I don't think she should tell her father – under the circumstances.'