A Song for Joey (6 page)

He carried me to a hall, filled with a great mass of people, where volunteers were caring
for refugees like me. A doctor bandaged my ankle, and one of the helpers brought me a
mug of soup. Then, for several hours, I sat alone, watching the door, waiting for Gran to
appear. Though safe and warm, I was scared, and needed the reassurance of her warm
voice and loving smile. She surely could not have stayed in the house all night; but if not
there, then where?

One thing I knew, I could not find her on my own, and I couldn't walk far - I needed
help. I looked around the hall. There was an ebb and flow of dazed humanity. Some
arriving, others gathering their possessions and leaving, everyone seemed to be talking or
arguing, eating, drinking or sleeping. No-one seemed to be in charge, the only sign of
organisation was in one corner where a kind of cafeteria had been set up, with members of
the WRVS serving soup and bread. I hobbled across and approached one of the women,
who was standing idly, smoking a cigarette..

She looked down at me and frowned. "What are you doing away from your parents?"
she demanded, brusquely.
"I'm ... " I began, but she cut me off.
"Go back to your mother and let me get on with my work." The old witch! She was
doing nothing!
"My mother is dead!" I shouted, fighting off the tears that were welling up.
One of the other women standing nearby stopped what she was doing and crouched
down to talk to me, glaring at the harridan.
"Tell me what has happened, dear," she said gently, with a reassuring smile.
"A boat rescued me in the night and brought me here. I can't get home, it's under water,
and I can't find my Gran." I burst into tears as the words came out. I felt so lost and
helpless and alone. "And I hurt my ankle."
"Oh poor thing," she said. She foraged in her pocket and passed me a hankie. "My name
is Sue, what's yours?"
"Belinda Bellini, miss."
"Right, Belinda, here's what we are going to do. First you sit down here and rest your
ankle, and I am going to get you some cocoa. Then we can work out how to find your
Gran." She helped me to a chair and brought me a mug of hot, milky cocoa to drink. As I
sipped it, she asked me about Gran and where I lived.
"I think we need to let the police know where you are," she suggested. "Your Gran will
be sure to get in touch with them. What's her name?"
"Gladys Cartwright, she bought me up after my mum died. She runs a guest-house in
Trafalgar Road.
The Nest
, it's called."
Sue left me to finish my drink while she went to telephone the police station. When she
returned, she brought a sticky bun for me.
"Inspector Randal knows your Gran, so he's coming here himself to help you find her."
She smiled, "You have friends in high places, Belinda."

I had known Mr Randal since my childhood. He was an occasional visitor to
The Nest
,
sometimes bringing guests, sometimes responding to phone calls from Gran about
doubtful characters staying or enquiring. Gran called him Archie, and he always stayed
for a cup of tea and a chat.

He was what I think is everyone's image of a policeman - tall, clean-shaven and smartly
dressed, and he carried himself with a confidence that said "I can handle anything".
He had been offered, and declined, a post as Desk Sergeant; I recall him telling Gran
that he would go mad if forced to stay indoors. But eventually he had promotion thrust
upon him, and found himself tethered to a desk. Even so, he used every excuse to get out
and "do some real policing".
A patrol car pulled up outside the hall doors, and I saw Mr Randal climb out and enter
the hall. Sue escorted him to where I was sitting. He smiled when he reached me, and sat
on the bench beside me. "Hello Belinda, how is your ankle?"
I showed him my bandaged leg. "It's ok, thank you - hurts a bit, but not as bad as it did."
"Good. I've brought you a walking stick, to help take your weight." He produced a
battered old stick with a curved handle. "It has been in our 'Lost Property' cupboard for
over a year - I had to clean the dust off it."
He grinned. "Now, I'm trying to find out where your Gran is. She's not in the guesthouse, which is still flooded, but we don't know where she's gone."
He saw that I was crestfallen. "Don't worry, we will soon find her. In the meantime, you
need somewhere to stay. We have a list of people who have volunteered to offer a
temporary place for folks like you who can't get home. I'm going to take you to a couple
who have said they would prefer young people; their kids have grown up and moved
away, so they have a spare bedroom."
When this scene plays through in my memory, as it frequently does, the next line echoes
round and round my head. As he helped me to my feet, he said: "Mr and Mrs Grainger."

I wasn't sure about living with strangers, but I could see there was no other way; and it
was only temporary, until Gran came home. Mr Randal took me in his police car to a
smart semi-detached house on the outskirts of town, on the Caister road. There I met the
Graingers, a middle-aged couple. Mrs Grainger ("Call me Phylis, dear.") was a small,
frail-looking woman with her hair tied up in a bun. She wore a long, pleated, tartan skirt,
a plain blouse and a thick woollen cardigan. She seemed nice, when she greeted me with a
hug and a lot of 'oohs' and 'aahs'.

"Ooh, look at the poor thing," she cooed, holding me at arms length to study me. "Don't
worry lovie, we'll soon get you clean and warm and a hot dinner inside you, won't we
Jack?"

He was a plump man, with thinning brown hair pasted back with a shiny, greasy
dressing. In his yellow-stained fingers, he cupped a ragged, smoking cigarette. He wore an
old, sleeveless pullover, dotted with holes, over a grey shirt, and grubby corduroy
trousers. He stared at me in a strange way, as though assessing me, weighing me up."

Inspector Randal left, and Phylis led me upstairs to her cosy bathroom, chattering all the
way, like a mother hen clucking at her chicks.
"Let's get you out of those damp clothes," she said, turning the taps of the big, white,
enamelled bath. She crumbled a lavender bath cube into the steaming water that gushed
forth. I sat on a chair while she unwound the bandage from my swollen foot, tutting and
sucking in her breath.
When there was enough water in the bath, and after she turned off the taps, I waited for
her to leave, so I could undress in private, but she hustled me along. "Come on dear, don't
be shy, I've had daughters of my own." She began to help me off with my ruined clothes.
No-one but my Gran had ever seen me naked, and I was acutely embarrassed at being
exposed in front of a stranger, but she seemed unconcerned.
"Hop in, dear," she chirped, testing the water temperature with her fingers.
I clambered into the foaming, tinted, sweet-smelling water. It felt good, and soon I
relaxed. Gradually, warmth began to soak into my flesh, and I allowed her to sponge off
the grime from my back and shoulders.
"That's more like it, now you look better," she enthused as she lifted me out. She dried
me off, then wrapped a towel around me, and sat me on the chair again to carefully wind
the bandage tightly back around my ankle.
"Now, come through to the bedroom and I'll sort out some clothes for you. I have lots,
left by my daughters when they flew the nest."
She led me along the landing. Mr Grainger was loitering at the top of the stairs, and my
embarrassment returned when I felt his intense gaze on me. There was something about
him, a kind of arrogance, that reminded me, for some reason, of the boys who tormented
me at school. I avoided meeting his eyes, chilled by the hardness of his expression.
Mrs Grainger, Phylis, took me into a pretty little bedroom, decorated in pink and lemon,
with frilly curtains and dainty furniture. Rummaging through drawers and cupboards, she
produced dresses and undies and shoes, which I eagerly tried on. When we were satisfied
that I looked clean and tidy, she took me back downstairs to her kitchen.
Once again, at the foot of the stairs, I found myself running the gauntlet of her husband's
stare. His searching eyes frightened me, and I clutched at his wife's skirt for protection.
She sat me at the table, then produced from the oven of the big range a plated dinner.
"Here we are, love. We ate ours earlier, but I saved some for you after Mr Randal
phoned."

That afternoon, Mr Randal returned. Phylis greeted him warmly at the door, but I
noticed that her husband slunk away into the garden.
"I can't stay, Phylis. I just came with a little bit of good news for Belinda," Archie said. I
saw him look over her shoulder at the receding back of Mr Grainger. "Can't Jack stay with
us?" he asked.
"Oh, he likes to potter in his shed, doesn't much care for conversation."
Archie's eyebrows knitted, briefly, and he gave a little grunt, but said no more. I always
had the impression with Mr Randal that he missed nothing.
Mrs Grainger took us into the front room, where Archie took a seat on an armchair and I
perched on the pouffe.
"I'm glad to say we have found your Gran," he said, smiling. "She was rescued and
taken to the big hospital in Norwich, suffering from exposure. I don't yet know how she
came to be outside the guest-house, but we are trying to find the lodger who was staying
with you, to see if he can help us." He saw how concerned I looked. "Don't worry, the
matron at the hospital assured me that, although she has been through a rough time, she is
not in any danger, and they hope to send her home soon."
He stood up. "I'm really sorry, I have to rush off. I'm sure you understand, it's a busy
time for us."
As he stepped into the hallway, I saw him look right, towards the kitchen and the back
door. It was not an idle glance, I could see his shrewd mind was working. And, the
moment the front door was closed behind him, Grainger re-appeared.
"Why did you go and open your big mouth, volunteering to have strangers in our house?
Now the bloody coppers are coming and going. You know I like my privacy."
Phylis opened her mouth to reply, but he had turned and stormed off upstairs. She glared
after him for a moment, then turned to me. "Come on, Pet," she said, pretending nothing
had happened, "let's play a game of Snakes and Ladders, shall we?"

That night I went to bed early, exhausted after all that had happened. I slept soundly, but
woke with surprise before daybreak to the sound of someone opening my bedroom door.
I smelt the stale tobacco smoke on his clothes as he tiptoed across the lino to my
bedside, heard his breathing. Then the bed creaked as he sat on the edge, his weight
stretching the blankets tighter across me. He leaned over me and lifted the covers, peeling
them back, exposing my body. I curled up, like a hedgehog, trying to protect myself, but
felt his hand sliding down my bare arm, his foul breath heavy against my skin.
"What ... ?" I began to ask, but he clamped a huge hand painfully over my mouth,
stifling any further sound and making it hard for me to breathe.
Still with one hand smothering my face, he began to grope with the other at the hem of
my nightdress. I felt the cold night air on my thighs, and began to struggle, desperately
afraid and suffocating under his cruel grip.
Suddenly his breath was hot and strong on my face.
"Stop struggling, little girl, or it will be worse for you," he whispered, hoarsely,
squeezing my cheeks harder to emphasis his words. I clawed at his hand, trying to pull it
from my face, mumbling urgently.
"I'm not moving my hand until you promise not to make a sound. Do you agree?" I
nodded, desperately.
Cautiously, he released his grip, and I sucked in the welcome air, panting, my chest
rasping with the effort.
"Now just be a good girl and no harm will come to you," he hissed.
I felt his hand on my leg, stroking my skin, sliding up my thigh. I tensed as it moved
around to my tummy, then down between my legs.
I could stand it no more, and began to scream as loudly as I could. Awful pain slashed
across my face as he angrily slapped me, then he was gone, running from my room.
Sobbing and shaking, I stumbled from my bed and groped around in the dark for my
clothes. I was just putting on my shoes when Phylis ran into the room and switched on the
light. Behind her stood her anxious-looking husband.
"Whatever is the matter, child?" she asked.
I could not speak. I ran past her to the door, but was confronted by Grainger, who
stepped to block my way. Without thinking, I kicked him as hard as I could in the shin.
With my small foot, it probably didn't hurt much, but it was enough to throw him of
balance for a moment, and I dodged past him and stumbled down the stairs.
At the front door, I panicked for a moment as I struggled with the lock, but then I was
out into their front garden, through the gate and down the dark street as fast as my poor,
damaged little legs could carry me. Running, half-limping, sobbing, I escaped from that
monster as fast as I could.

I hobbled along a wide, dark avenue, lined with trees. Large houses on either side of the
road hid behind hedges in enclosed gardens, the sleeping citizens within unaware of the
beast living nearby. I listened for sounds of pursuit, afraid to look over my shoulder as I
hobbled on, but thankfully heard none. Eventually the pain in my ankle became
unbearable and I had to stop, sucking in the cold night air and exhaling great clouds of
steam, like the milkman's horse. Cautiously, I hopped into a gateway and looked back to
see if Grainger was following me, but if he had started to chase me he must have given
up, because there was no sign of him.

When my breathing had settled, I resumed my progress, but at a much slower pace. Now
that my fear had subsided, the pain in my ankle was excruciating and I struggled to keep
going. Also, having stopped running, I soon became aware of how cold it was. I had no
coat, just the cotton dress given to me by Phylis, and I found myself shivering violently.
Somehow I needed to get warm.