We'll Meet Again (10 page)

‘OK, I’ll come with you.’

‘No need, you stay and enjoy yourself.’

‘I’m not letting you go home alone. Besides, I’ve had enough myself.’ She said goodnight to Alice, seized Sheila’s arm and marched her out of the room to change back into their daytime clothes and find a taxi.

Constance was in the drawing room knitting and listening to a carol concert on the wireless when they arrived. ‘We’re back, Mrs Tranter,’ Prue said, ‘Did you have a nice day?’

‘Very nice, thank you, my lady. Can I get you anything?’

‘No, thank you, we’ve had plenty to eat and drink. We’ll go up to bed now. Sheila needs her sleep. She has the panto tomorrow.’

‘Yes, of course, the pantomime.’

‘You could come if you want,’ Sheila said. ‘I could get you a ticket.’

‘No, thank you. I have never liked pantomime, it all seems very silly to me.’

‘You’d think she’d make the effort for your sake, wouldn’t you?’ Prue said in an undertone as they made their way upstairs.

‘Well, I don’t care. She would probably find fault anyway.’

‘True.’ They stopped outside Sheila’s bedroom door. ‘Bed now or you’ll never get through tomorrow’s performance.’

‘I feel all woozy.’

‘Drink plenty of water.’

‘You aren’t tipsy.’

‘Perhaps I’m more used to wine than you are.’ She took Sheila’s hand. ‘Come on, I’ll see you safely in bed. Lucky you, having tomorrow off, you can have a lie in. I have to go to work.’

Left alone with the room revolving around her and her
stomach definitely uneasy, Sheila reflected on the evening’s events. It had been good to feel part of the fun and jollity, but she also felt guilty that she had enjoyed herself when her family were lying in the cold, dark earth and Charlie was goodness knows where. She wondered how Chris had spent his day and whether he liked the tie she had sent him. Tomorrow she would have thank-you letters to write to Chris for the ‘Evening in Paris’ scent, Janet for handkerchiefs, Bob and June for slippers.

She heard her aunt come up to bed just as she drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow she would pull herself together and sing her heart out for them all. If she couldn’t do anything else, she could sing.

The pantomime was a great success. Sheila did sing her heart out and was rewarded with enthusiastic applause. Prue was one of the first to congratulate her. ‘You were stupendous,’ she said, watching Sheila change and clean off her make-up.

‘Thank you. James managed to get the best out of everyone.’

‘Especially you.’

‘You are just saying that.’

‘No, I mean it. Are you ready to go home?’

‘Yes, let’s walk. I need to clear my head.’

It was bitterly cold but there was no snow. The sky was like a blue-black pincushion studded with shiny pinhead stars. A moon hung low just above the tree tops. They didn’t need their torches.

‘A bomber’s moon,’ Sheila said. ‘No doubt they’ll be over London again tonight, Christmas or no Christmas.’

‘I suppose our boys will be over Germany too.’

‘Are you worried about Tim?’

‘Yes, wouldn’t you be? I listen to the news about where we’ve bombed and how many aeroplanes were lost and I can’t help wondering whether he was among them.’

‘You would hear if he was.’

‘Not directly. I’m not next of kin, but I expect his mother would let me know.’

‘When are you going to see him again?’

Prue shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s been transferred to Wyton in Huntingdonshire and that’s not so far to go as Scampton. I’ll go when we both have a weekend free.’

‘I’ve got leave. I’m off to London tomorrow.’

‘How long will you be gone?’

‘A week. I’ll go to the Bennetts’ first and then to my friend, Janet. If they can’t put me up, I’ll find a boarding house. And I’ll see Chris, of course.’

‘He’s important to you, isn’t he?’

‘I suppose he is. He writes me lovely letters. It’s almost as if I can hear him talking to me. He reminds me of home.’

‘What do you want to go back there for?’ Constance demanded when she was told about the trip to London. ‘There’s no one there you know.’

‘There’s Mr and Mrs Bennett and my friend, Janet, and seven graves I want to visit …’

‘Oh, so you’ve finally come to your senses and admitted they’re all dead.’

‘I never denied it. And they might not all be dead. Charlie might be alive somewhere.’

‘If he were, you’d have heard long before now. And the name is Charles not Charlie. I do so hate it when people mangle names.’

‘I’m still going to try and find out what happened to him. I’ll catch the first train in the morning.’

‘Sheila! My goodness, where have you sprung from?’ June Bennett held the door open to admit her. ‘Come on in, I’ll
make some tea and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’

‘I’ve got a week’s holiday, so I thought I’d look up my old friends.’ She followed June into the kitchen where there was a fire in the range and sat at the table watching her as she busied herself with kettle and teapot.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘I thought I’d find a boarding house, if there’s one still operating. The bomb damage is scary, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, we’ve only had one night without a raid since September. Poor Bob is feeling the strain.’ She poured two cups of tea and fetched out a tin of biscuits. ‘Only plain I’m afraid.’

‘Thank you.’ She took the tea but not a biscuit. ‘Mr Bennett is still a warden, then?’

‘Yes, he didn’t pass the medical for the forces. He’s mad about it, but I’m glad, though I sometimes wonder if he’s any safer here than in the front line. What about you? Are you happy with your aunt?’

‘She’s OK, I suppose. An awful snob, not a bit like Mum. I’ve got a job as a post girl with a company in Bletchley.’ That was the nearest she dare go to the truth.

‘Will you see Chris while you’re here?’

‘I expect so. I want to see Janet too. She’s a very poor letter writer. And I might call on the Mortons.’

‘The shop got hit a few weeks ago, Mrs Morton lost a leg and poor old Mr Morton is finding it hard to cope with looking after her and the shop. They repaired the damage and he’s still trading, but how long for I don’t know.’

‘Oh, how dreadful. I want to see if I can find out what happened to Charlie, too. I don’t suppose Mr Bennett has discovered anything?’

‘No, we would have written and told you if he had. Sheila, I
think you must accept that your brother is dead. If he were alive, he’d have come home.’

‘But there’s no home to come home to, that’s the trouble. He’d have seen that hole in the ground and gone away again.’

‘But where? Sheila, this is his home ground. He wouldn’t have strayed far, especially if he learnt you had survived. People would have seen him.’

‘Yes, I know you are right, but it’s so difficult to let go.’

‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. You know if Bob or I could help, we would.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘You can stay here, if you like, use it as a base.’ She laughed. ‘You might find yourself in the Anderson shelter again if there’s a raid.’

‘Thank you. I’d like to stay if I may. I’ve brought my ration book.’

Bob was equally pleased to see her when he came home from work, but reiterated what his wife had said, that he didn’t think they would ever know what had happened to Charlie. ‘It’s not just the damage caused on that first night,’ he said, ‘It’s all the destruction later. He could have been buried many times over.’ He saw her shiver. ‘I’m sorry, Sheila, but it’s best you face the truth.’

What was the truth? It was not knowing that which gave her sleepless nights. She smiled. ‘You are probably right.’

They had hardly finished their evening meal when the siren sounded. Bob left the table and reached for his coat, tin hat and gas mask. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he said. ‘See you later.’

‘I don’t know how much longer he can keep going,’ June said after he had gone. ‘Working all day in the factory, up half the night, and the sights he sees are enough to give anyone nightmares. He’s tired out. But then, aren’t we all?’

‘Perhaps the raid won’t last long.’

They sat in the kitchen because that was the only place where June kept a fire in. It also had a sturdy table they could dive under if they had to. It was not long before they heard the bombers overhead, wave after wave of them. And then explosions which shook the house. ‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ June said, pouring the remainder of the tea from the pot into a Thermos flask. ‘I think we’d better go into the shelter.’

She banked down the fire and they gathered up gas masks, cushions, bags, knitting, a newspaper and the flask and, making sure the gas and electricity were turned off, let themselves out of the back door. In whatever direction they looked, the whole sky was orange with flames and smoke and it wasn’t just the east end and the docks; to the west and north, London was on fire. ‘God! It’s the worst yet,’ June said as they stood and watched in awe. Incendiaries were being rained down from hundreds of bombers, causing fires which gave the bombers something to aim at with their high explosives. They saw one or two aircraft caught in searchlights and heard the guns firing at them. They even saw one brought down. But still they came.

‘Come on,’ June said, as Sheila hesitated. ‘We’d better get under cover.’

‘What a way to start a holiday,’ Sheila said, as they sat on deck chairs in the Anderson shelter, drinking the rather stewed tea and straining their ears to catch the all-too-familiar noises.

‘Haven’t you had any raids?’

‘We had one that did a bit of damage, not like this though. We were told it was a single bomber who’d lost his way and saw the railway lines. I was off duty at the time, so was Prue.’

‘Prue’s your new friend, is she?’

‘Yes. We work for the same company and she lodges with my
aunt.’ She laughed. ‘You’ll never believe it, but she is the daughter of an earl and her real title is Lady Prudence Le Strange. There’s no side to her at all and she’s been a good friend to me.’

‘Going up in the world, are you?’

‘I don’t know about that, but I would like to better myself. I want to make Ma and Pa proud of me. I’d like to sing on the stage. I was Cinderella in the firm’s pantomime. It was hard work, but I really enjoyed it.’

‘Your mother sang in the church choir for years. She had a lovely voice.’

‘I know.’

‘I wonder where Bob is. I can’t rest easy when I know he’s out on the streets in the thick of it.’

They fell silent. June knitted furiously and Sheila tried to read by the light of an oil lamp, the sort every household had before the advent of electricity, now hard to come by. The allies were defeating the Italians in North Africa and the Dutch fleet had made a daring escape and arrived in Hull loaded with volunteers, but that was all the good news. The rest was about air raids, rationing, new regulations and the black market, which was seen as criminal if not downright treason. She let the paper drop and shut her eyes.

Now she was back in London it was mostly of Charlie she was thinking, wondering where he was and if he had suffered. If he was still alive, why hadn’t she been able to find him? In spite of the noise outside, she dozed a little and dreamt of home, a home with everyone there sitting round the dining table, smiling and happy, everyone except Charlie. The extraordinary thing was that no one seemed troubled by his absence. ‘He’s all right,’ her mother said. ‘Don’t worry about him.’

‘There’s the All Clear.’ June’s voice roused her, as the steady sound told them the raid was over. ‘And we’re still alive to tell the tale.’

They gathered up their belongings and returned to the house. It was still intact, as were the other houses at their end of the street. They had been spared, but the rest of the great city seemed to be on fire. ‘It reminds me of stories of the Great Fire of London I heard about at school,’ Sheila said. ‘But most of the buildings in those days were wooden.’

It was only half past nine, earlier than most raids ended, and they wondered if there might be more to come later. In the meantime they would go to bed.

Sheila had hardly drifted off to sleep when she was woken by sounds coming from downstairs. Grabbing her dressing gown, she wrapped it round her and left her room to investigate. There was a light on in the kitchen and she could hear voices, June’s and a lower voice she took to be Bob’s. She knocked gently and entered. Bob was sitting at the table with his back to her, one arm stretched out in front of him covered in blood. The sleeve of his shirt was in shreds. June had a bowl of water on the table which was red with blood. ‘Don’t make such a fuss,’ he was saying as she tried to clean the wound. ‘It’s only a scratch …’

‘Can I help?’

They both turned towards her. June was looking worried but it was Bob’s face that caught her attention. It had no colour at all, unless chalky, begrimed dust was a colour. And even that was marked by deep scratches that oozed blood. His hair, his eyebrows and his clothes were all scorched. There was a smell about him of acrid smoke. His hands had been burnt too.

‘He was trying to get a baby out of a burning building,’ June said.

‘I was cut by glass when the windows blew out,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing much.’

‘Well, there’s glass in this cut,’ June said. ‘I’m not competent
enough to deal with it. I think you need a doctor.’

‘I’ll get one,’ Sheila said. ‘Just give me a minute to throw on some clothes.’ She ran upstairs to dress, then flung herself out of the front door. She didn’t need a torch, the fires were enough to light her way, though in the shadow of tall buildings it was dark. The contrast was eerie and might have unnerved her if she hadn’t been in such a hurry. The doctor was out, looking after casualties at the first aid centre, but a nurse agreed to go back with her. She set to work on Bob at once, stitching the wound and bandaging him up. She treated the cuts on his face too, but he still looked dreadful.

‘Go to bed and stay at home for a day or two,’ she said, giving June some ointment for his burns. ‘They can manage without you for once. I’ll come back tomorrow.’ She snapped her bag shut. ‘I expect to find you here.’