All Fall Down (23 page)

Amy sat down beside the dazed woman. ‘What about you? Were you hurt?'

‘Not a scratch, see.' She opened up the coat to show a blood-soaked blouse. ‘All Charlie's!'

Amy gasped. ‘And has anyone given you a hot cuppa?' She didn't wait for an answer, but took Dorothy's arm, raised her to her feet and led her towards the hospital canteen, where she shovelled sugar into the hot tea and made her drink it. ‘Have they let you see him?'

Dorothy shook her head. ‘They said to stay outside.'

‘Come on!' Amy made sure she drank to the dregs, then they were on the move again. ‘He'll want you there when he comes round, so let's get a move on.' Back up the tiled corridor past squeaking trolleys and silent, starched nurses, swinging through the doors into Charlie's ward.

‘Ma, here's Dorothy to see how he is.' Amy stood the poor woman at the end of the bed where her brother lay, still motionless,
tubes feeding into his arm, white bandages strapped across his chest.

Dolly stiffened. She refused to look round.

‘Ma, they stuck her out in the corridor.'

Still no answer.

‘She has a right to see him, like the rest of us.' Dogged, Amy cut through the resistance of Dolly's stiff back. No one should have to go through what Dorothy had just gone through; the explosion, the confusion, the blood.

‘She ain't family.' Dolly echoed the hospital policy.

‘So what? She only went and saved his life.' She watched the news creep up on her mother, heard her sigh and give a small sob. ‘She stopped him from bleeding to death, that's all.'

Amy said later that she'd never seen anyone shake as much as Dorothy did when she finally got to sit by Charlie's bed, on the opposite side to Dolly, holding his other hand. ‘They're there now,' she told Rob. ‘Ma on one side, Dorothy on the other, like a pair of bookends. When he finally comes round he'll think he's seeing double. Two of them crying all over him and hugging him half to death.'

‘Poor geezer.' Rob thoroughly enjoyed the picture. ‘They'll most likely finish, him off between them; your ma and Tommy O'Hagan's ex-missus.' They'd do what Jerry couldn't, the pair of them.

‘Who'd have thought that Charlie Ogden would be the first round here to cop it?' Conversation round the bar at the Duke next night had only one focus.

‘He ain't copped it for good though?'

‘No. Tommy says he took one across the chest, here.' Jimmie demonstrated. ‘A bleeding great beam falls on top of him. He's lucky it ain't finished him off.'

‘What was he up to?' Bobby had a new respect for Charlie now that he was a war hero. But he wouldn't let on. ‘Didn't he have the savvy to keep his head down like the rest of us?'

‘Search me. Something to do with Her Royal Highness, according to Tommy.'

‘Her Royal who?'

‘Dorothy. Charlie gets back from work to find her in the flat tipsy, sitting in the blackout, taking not a blind bit of notice. He'd been over on Blackfriars Road where the church got bombed out.'

‘Sixty-four copped it there. The altar went up in white-hot flames, just before the six o'clock service.' Annie provided dramatic details from behind the bar.

‘I still don't see why they say Dorothy's to blame for Charlie copping it.' Back at home, Amy had been in too much of a hurry to explain to Bobby.

‘He ain't copped it,' Annie insisted. ‘Dolly's still at the hospital. She'll send news when she can.'

‘Anyhow, if Dorothy hadn't been squiffy, Charlie wouldn't have had to help her downstairs and head for Nelson Gardens right in the thick of it. He could've saved his own skin.' Jimmie broadcast his opinion. ‘She slowed him right down. They was there when the Sally Army hostel on Bear Lane took a hit. The whole front blew off, smashed to smithereens. Charlie got caught, never knew what hit him.'

‘What did Dorothy do?'

He shrugged. ‘I bet she's sober as a judge now, though.'

Chapter Fourteen

Meggie ran along the platform at Victoria Station to meet Ronnie. Her coat flew open, she held onto her hat as she ran and the great locomotive sighed and settled against the buffers. Ronnie had hopped out of the carriage before the train had fully stopped and dumped his kitbag at his feet. He stood waiting for her, arms wide open. She felt herself lifted from her feet and swung round, enveloped in a cloud of steam which cut them off from other couples caught in a flurry of passionate reunions. Her arms were round his neck, his round her waist, their cold lips kissed.

‘Did you miss me?' At last he swung his bag onto his shoulder and walked her up the platform, one arm around her waist.

‘Need you ask?' To her he looked more handsome than ever in his black doeskin jacket with its gold braid.

‘Just checking. 'Cos I missed you.'

‘Not you. You've got a girl in every port, I bet.'

‘Two in some,' he grinned. As Meggie headed for the tube station he pulled her towards the street. ‘Come on, let's take a cab.'

‘You must be joking.'

‘No, I can afford it. I got money to burn.' Endless weeks on duty and nothing to spend it on had given him a wallet full of cash.

‘It ain't that.' They stood in the vast arched entrance to argue it out. The station, packed with uniforms, was the venue for hundreds of meetings and partings. Couples criss-crossed the marble-tiled floor; young men in khaki, navy blue, grey and black, hats set at an angle, shoulders square, boots clicking alongside the tap-tapping of their girls' high heels. Meggie gestured towards the raw, dark
expanse of the streets. ‘Cabs take forever these days. They get diverted because of the roadblocks,' she explained. ‘Or because there's been a bomb down this street or that and they have to steer well clear. Even Uncle Rob was saying he gets lost, and he's been a cabbie Lord knows how long.'

But Ronnie was curious to see if this could possibly be true. He wanted to see how London was taking it, he said.

‘No you don't, believe me.' She didn't go in for the official picture of heroic fighting on the home front, not if it meant the destruction of half of her known world; the familiar streets smashed by bombs from the dreaded Stukas and Domiers, her friends and family in danger of being blown to bits each and every night. If this was their finest hour, she wanted none of it.

Anyway, there were no cabs in the forecourt. Ronnie stopped to light a cigarette and consider the options. ‘Let's try shanks's pony.'

‘Ronnie!'

‘Come on, shake a leg, we'll be there in two ticks.' He picked up his bag and strode onto Buckingham Palace Road, jaunty at first, but soon taken aback by the damage: the dark side streets cordoned off, the buildings ripped open, the mountains of rubble. He stopped to stare at the sight of women queuing in a bombed-out street, each patiently holding an empty milk bottle, waiting to reach the head of the queue for the bottle to be filled by the WVS from a battered churn.

‘No milk,' Meggie commented. ‘No bread, no electricity, no gas. You get used to it.'

Firehoses still snaked down the middle of the street. A couple of ARP wardens stood atop a pile of smoking bricks.

‘Blimey.' Ronnie imagined that dodging torpedoes in the Med was going to be bad enough but this was worse. That's where he was due to be posted when he reported back for duty on Tuesday night.

‘You were the one who wanted to take a look,' she reminded him. ‘They even bombed the Palace.'

He shook his head. ‘Never! And did the Queen have to queue for milk?'

‘That ain't funny.' She dug him in the ribs and smiled anyway. ‘You do see them round and about, though, and hear them on the news. Everyone puts on a brave face for them. I suppose it does some good.'

‘You don't sound sold on the idea.' Slowly they walked on along the dusty, damaged streets, past the Albert Memorial and other grand, austere emblems of the nation's power and importance.

She shook her head. ‘Now they're saying we should give Jerry what he's given us. They want to send Spitfires over there, then they can see how they like being blitzed.'

‘And so we should.' Ronnie wouldn't see it any other way. ‘You can't go soft on Jerry, Meggie, not when you stop to think about it.'

‘But women and children . . .?'

‘And do they think of that?'

‘We make ourselves as bad as them, then?' She grew heated. She hated the simple-minded war talk, yet at the same time she recognized that Ronnie himself had signed up to save them from being overrun by Hitler. And now she seemed to be doing him down. So she clammed up and walked on in confused silence.

‘Look, I know it's hard.' Ronnie put it down to female squeamishness. ‘It don't do to think about it too much. Let's just get on with the job and hope the Yanks come in on our side, right?' He took her silence as acquiescence. ‘And let's have a good knees-up while I'm here and try and forget the whole bleeding business.'

It seemed the best way. To walk through the ruins with her chin up, listening to stories of Ronnie's close shaves, looking forward to a warm greeting from Gertie and an evening in the pub, drinking, dancing, wallowing in his company, trying not to think a day, an hour, even a minute ahead.

‘They say Tommy Handley earns over three hundred quid a week!'

‘Get away!'

‘He does. And what about Arthur Askey, then?' Talk at the Bell
was all of theatre and wireless stars. Some people, at least, made a profit out of the war.

‘I wouldn't mind jumping on his band wagon.' There was obviously money in being a cheeky chappie.

‘Not a chance, Wormy, mate. You ain't good looking enough.' Eddie enjoyed goading someone in front of an audience.

‘Arthur Askey ain't no oil painting.'

‘Exactly. I'll tell you what though; why don't you audition to be George Formby's lamp-post?'

‘Leave the poor bloke alone.' Shankley did his rounds, bringing with him the aroma of vinegar and salt. ‘Here, Wormy, have these on the house, see if we can fatten you up a bit.'

‘And ruin his show business career?' Eddie was relentless. He winked at Meggie. ‘Now Meggie here, she could definitely be top of my bill.' He appreciated the effort she'd put into her outfit for Ronnie's homecoming: a cream woollen dress that skimmed her knees. Her thick dark hair fell to her shoulders.

But something distracted her from responding to Eddie's flattery.

‘Cheer up,' Shankley said. ‘You ain't run out of Guinness, have you?'

‘What? Oh no.' She pulled the pint and set it before him.

‘Where's Gorgeous Gert tonight?' He slapped a coin onto the bar.

‘Upstairs with Ronnie. He just got back on leave.' They'd walked through the door and Gertie had whisked him out of sight, sticking Meggie behind the bar and leaving her to cope. Luckily, trade was slow.

‘What, she's hogging him to herself?'

‘She's giving him a good feed.' Meggie tried not to mind; it was natural that Gertie would want some time to herself with Ronnie.

‘And how is the boy? The Navy ain't ruined his good looks yet? Come to think of it, there ain't no point asking you. You think the sun shines out of him in any case.'

Shankley seemed in no hurry to move off. Business was slack for him too, he said. It was cold outside and he fancied a spell in the warmth. ‘Did you track down that Richie Palmer yet?' He
leaned over the bar as if for a confidential chat, keeping close to his chest the fact that he'd straight away gone and betrayed Meggie's trust by telling Gertie the vital truth. Now he broadcast his question loud and clear. Several heads turned.

‘Shh, Shankley. No I ain't.' Somehow, her courage had waned. Now, when she had him almost at her fingertips, she hesitated and let other events get in the way.

He grunted. ‘Just as well, maybe.'

‘You sound like my ma.'

‘Don't she want you to find him neither?'

‘She ain't over the moon about it, no.'

‘Well, then.' He drained his glass. ‘Why not let sleeping dogs lie?'

No reply from Meggie, who didn't look much like a girl newly reunited with her sweetheart.

‘You ain't in any trouble, are you?' He was genuinely concerned. ‘Or has the course of true love turned choppy all of a sudden?'

‘Nothing like that.' Her gaze drifted to the door, around the half-empty room where the piano stood silent, the film stars gazed down from the frames containing their looped and scrawled signatures.

‘Come on, Ronnie, come and cheer the girl up.' Shankley spotted his entrance, newly changed into civvies, wavy hair parted and slicked back.

The moment Ronnie's smile flashed at her across the room, Meggie felt herself light up. It didn't matter that he looked on edge after his talk with Gertie, so long as he went and dragged Jacko the piano player away from the group that included Eddie and Wormy, and sat him down to play. The place would soon liven up.

‘Thanks, Shankley.' Meggie nodded and smiled.

‘What for?'

‘Just thanks.'

Gertie followed Ronnie downstairs. Now she swept through the bar, clearing empties. ‘Place looks like a rag and bone yard.' She barged past Shankley, giving him the sort of look that suggested that he was responsible for the mess.

He read the signs. ‘I'm on my way.' Pulling his cap low over his forehead, he winked at Meggie. ‘You have a nice time, you hear. Take her somewhere nice,' he told Ronnie. ‘Take her to see
Gone With The Wind:
they like that one.'

‘And who'll stay here and give me a hand?' Gertie protested.

‘I will.' Eddie sprang up. He waltzed her, glasses and all, across the room. ‘What's wrong? Don't you think I can keep my fingers out of the till?'

‘I don't trust you as far as I could throw you, Eddie Greenwood.' She rose to the challenge and gave him a hefty jab with her elbow. ‘I wasn't born yesterday.'