War Orphans (5 page)

‘I wasn't suggesting you get married again. I was suggesting you get out a bit more. There's plenty of your own age down at the allotment. And let's face it, the allotment does look a bit bedraggled at present. The Ministry of Food are urging everyone to dig for victory. Vegetables, not flowers.'

Perhaps this war might have a positive side if it helped her father rebuild his life, making him feel useful, if still a bit lonely.
The only problem was persuading him to plant vegetables instead of flowers. She told herself that it was just a case of being patient. He was bound to come round in time.

He sighed. ‘I might go down to the allotment tomorrow.'

‘I think you should.'

He grunted something inaudible.

She kissed his cheek before starting on dinner. ‘Can't wait for you to tell me what you plant.'

Leaving him sitting there, she walked stiff shouldered into the kitchen, worrying and hoping for him to improve. In the meantime she had an evening meal to prepare.

People were planting vegetables in every scrap of earth available but it would be some time yet before they had the benefit of home grown vegetables – if ever. It all depended on when her father stopped grieving and started living again.

Elspeth Ryan set a slice of streaky bacon and a piece of toast on the table in front of her stepdaughter.

Wide eyed with surprise, Joanna wondered if this was some kind of trick. Would it be snatched away from her the moment she tucked into it.

‘Well, get on with it! And don't you run telling tales to that teacher that I don't feed and clothe you proper.' Elspeth used the butter knife for emphasis, pointing it directly into Joanna's face.

Joanna didn't wait to be threatened a second time. It was rare she had anything to eat except bread and dripping. If it hadn't been for Mrs Allen next door bringing in the odd piece of pie or pot of stew, she'd have starved by now.

Elspeth watched as she ate, her jaw clenched. It was against her character to be kind to the girl. Joanna was the whipping boy that she used to be, growing up with a bullying stepfather until she'd ran away from home. Being cruel had become second nature.

Unlike her stepfather, Elspeth had a conniving mind. From the moment she'd left home she'd put herself first. Even Tom had been a means to an end, giving her the home she'd never had and the money to go with it. The last thing she wanted was for her stepdaughter to be taken into care because that meant losing the money Joanna's father would be sending via the army paymaster. And she had appearances to keep up.

The neighbours called Elspeth Lady Muck, because she never went out unless she was dressed to kill. Plus she had her own teeth and wore earrings. Most of the other women in The Vale,
Susan's mother included, wore curlers in their hair all day long and big flowery aprons that crossed over their ample chests. A lot of them had bad teeth, never wore makeup and their standard jewellery was a wedding ring, which for some of them was pawned on Monday and redeemed on Friday. That was before the war began and they started to get regular army pay – or at least a good portion of it. But they were proud to be able to put dinner on the table every night, and keep their houses clean, unlike Elspeth, who although she dressed to the nines, was known for being a slovenly housekeeper. Even when she did put out a line of washing, it never looked that clean.

Later that night, not trusting her stepmother's good humour to last, Joanna kept her head down, carrying out her household chores as usual.

It was another big surprise when Elspeth bought her a winter coat – not a brand-new one, but at least it fitted though it came with a warning. ‘And don't get it dirty or torn. Money don't grow on trees you know.'

Joanna thanked her. Elspeth threw across a bundle of clothes. ‘There's a few other bits and pieces.'

Judging by the smell of mothballs the source of the clothes was probably the Salvation Army. They certainly weren't new.

‘I'll wash them,' she said, wrinkling her nose.

It was the wrong thing to do and say. She realised that when she saw the sudden stiffening of her stepmother's face. ‘You ungrateful little cow!'

Fearing a slap Joanna stepped swiftly back. ‘I can't wear smelly things. My schoolfriends will make fun and Miss Hadley might notice.'

That was definitely the right thing to say. Elspeth's expression changed immediately. ‘Well, that's me. No sense of smell. You wash them then. Do I get a hug?'

Joanna hid her surprise and did as she was instructed. Elspeth hadn't asked her for a hug since her father went away. Even
then it was only for show so he wouldn't suspect the woman she really was.

Elspeth sat on the opposite side of the table, smoking as she watched Joanna eat a portion of liver and onions with potatoes.

‘Hope you're enjoying that. There wasn't enough for me. Still, I've got to watch my figure.'

‘Did Mrs Allen cook it?'

Elspeth's face dropped, her real character bursting through. ‘What if she did? I still gave it to you didn't I? I didn't eat any for myself!'

‘Thank you.' Sensing her stepmother was returning to type Joanna ate quickly glad that tonight she would have a full belly for a change.

For a moment Elspeth put on the persona she most certainly was not, even reassuring her stepdaughter about Lottie the cat. ‘Probably having a whale of a time. All that country air.'

Joanna kept her eyes lowered and her head down.

‘Now off to bed.'

‘It's only—'

She'd been about to point out that it was only seven o'clock and she wasn't usually in bed until eight.

Her stepmother grabbed the dirty plate. ‘Don't contradict me!'

‘But what about the dishes?'

‘I'll do those!'

Joanna couldn't believe it. Her stepmother didn't usually do the dishes, though she had done them a few times in the last few days.

Elspeth thrust a small glass of dark liquid under her nose. ‘Drink this. It'll help you sleep.'

Joanna eyed the glass. The liquid had a strong smell. She didn't want to drink it but didn't dare say no.

‘Drink it,' Elspeth ordered, more determined this time.

Joanna did as she was told, pulling her face as the dark red liquid slid over her tongue.

‘Sherry,' said Elspeth in a cheery voice and drank some herself. ‘See? I'm not trying to poison you.'

The liquid did indeed help her fall asleep. It also made her head throb and she had strange dreams. At one point she thought she heard a man's voice in the living room downstairs, the sound of him laughing and her stepmother joining in.

For one brief moment her spirits soared.
It must be Daddy!
She thought in her half-asleep state.
He's come home. He's home!

The glass of sherry did its work. She tried to wake up but her eyelids and her head refused to obey. She fell back into a heavy sleep and didn't wake again until the morning.

The next morning dawned chilly and grey. Raindrops drummed on the windowpanes driven by a westerly wind. Condensation misted the windows on the inside and the living room smelled strongly of beer and cigarettes. Dirty plates, dirty glasses and empty beer bottles shared the table with an overflowing ashtray. Joanna had a headache and a strange metallic taste in her mouth.

There was no sign of Elspeth, just of the mess she'd left from the night before. It was Joanna's job to clear it up. There was so much to do before going to school.

Her stomach rumbled. The meal the night before had been much enjoyed but she needed something for breakfast. But much as she needed to eat, first priority was to light the fire. Before the war, that had been her father's job but became hers immediately after her father had been called up. If she didn't do it then it wouldn't get done and although Elspeth had not lost her temper so much of late, Joanna suspected her good humour was only temporary.

‘Everyone has to do their bit,' her stepmother constantly barked.

In the week after war had been declared lots of government leaflets had dropped through the letterbox, mostly about air-raid precautions, rationing and where to collect your gas mask. Joanna's stepmother had kept those she'd deemed most
important and placed the rest in the orange box where she also kept kindling for lighting the fire.

‘Only fit for lighting the fire with,' she'd declared regarding the pamphlets. ‘Waste not, want not.'

Joanna staggered in with the orange box. First she screwed up the newspaper and tore up bits of leaflets. She'd almost finished piling on the bits of kindling, when the two halves of one particular leaflet caught her eye. Her breath caught in her throat as she began to read.

A number of organisations were listed on the last page. One of them was the one who had taken Lottie.

Her heart felt as though a set of icy fingers had gripped her heart. The man had lied. Her stepmother had lied. Lottie hadn't been rehomed in the country. She'd been put to sleep. Killed.

Engrossed in reading the leaflet, she didn't realise her stepmother was up and about until she suddenly appeared at the door. ‘Ain't you got that fire lit yet? I'm bloody perishing.'

Her stepmother's face was blotchy and smeared with yesterday's makeup. She was still wearing her dressing gown. Even this early in the morning a cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth and it was hard to tell which smelled worse, her or the overflowing ashtray.

Joanna's eyes blazed with anger. Outright despair gave her courage. ‘Lottie's dead! You lied to me. That man lied to me.
It says so in this leaflet!' She waved the leaflet, her expression defiant though she trembled inside.

Elspeth Ryan jolted awake. If there was one thing guaranteed to make her angry it was Joanna standing up to her. She'd married the child's father for the house and for security, not to pander to a nine-year-old brat.

Joanna immediately regretted her outburst. She saw her stepmother's face change from slovenly sleepiness to grim-faced anger and knew instantly that the effect of Miss Hadley's visit was wearing off. Elspeth was sliding back into her true character.

‘You and that bloody cat!' In a flash of pink quilted dressing gown she was across the room and standing over her. A yellow-stained finger stabbed at Joanna's cheek. ‘Don't you cheek me, my girl!'

Joanna winced. Her stepmother had long scarlet fingernails that she spent hours keeping trim and painting and their sharp points left indents in her cheek. But despite her fear and the sharp pain caused by the fingernails, Joanna remained defiant. ‘You lied! Lottie's dead!'

Her stepmother laughed, a great hooting laugh from deep in her throat. Smoke exhaled out of her mouth and down her nostrils. Her face came close, haggard with shadows and the smell of old face powder. ‘So what! It was just a bloody cat. There's a war on. Cats are not important.'

‘Lottie was important to me.' A lone tear rolled down Joanna's face. ‘She was to me,' she repeated, her voice trembling with emotion.

Tears and sad words broke no ice with her stepmother. She raised one plucked eyebrow and her small red mouth pursed sourly. ‘Right! That's it! Get that fire lit then get off to school.'

‘I haven't had any breakfast.'

Her stepmother's face loomed close again. Joanna balked at the sickening smell of her, stale sweat and cheap perfume.

‘Then let that be the first lesson of the day. This is how it would be if the cat had stayed here. It would have to be fed.
You're the one who'd have to go without. Only food enough for one of you so today would have been the cat's turn, not yours. Now get out of my sight. Now!' She said it gloatingly not hiding the fact that she enjoyed being a bully, or the fact that she resented that Joanna had ever been born. ‘I want you to be a mother to my girl,' Tom had said to her. She'd smiled and accepted while choking back the suggestion he should have hired a nursemaid!

She gave Joanna a rough shove that almost sent her into the kindling box and went out into the kitchen. Joanna heard the sound of the kettle being filled and the teapot being emptied.

By the time flames were licking around the coals, Joanna's stomach was rumbling loudly. If her stepmother hadn't been in the kitchen she would have found something to eat, even if it was only a crust of bread. But Elspeth Ryan was still there, pouring herself a second cup of tea and eating a bacon sandwich, the smell of which filled Joanna's nostrils and almost made her wish she'd kept her mouth shut.

The fire roaring in the grate, she cleared the table and took everything to the kitchen sink. There was just enough hot water left in the kettle for the washing up.

‘And don't hang about.'

Her stepmother left her while she went to the lavatory.

Joanna waited a moment until she heard the bolt slide across on the downstairs bathroom. Once she was certain she had a few minutes, she wiped her hands, took a bite out of her stepmother's bacon sandwich, then found a crust of bread which she wiped around the frying pan, the fat transferring to the bread.

There was no time to eat it there and then so she swiftly wrapped it in a piece of newspaper and stuffed it into the pocket of her new winter coat. It might make a mess but she didn't care.

On arrival at school she lingered at the gate to the junior boys' school waiting to catch a glimpse of Paul.