Backstreet Child (54 page)

‘There’s no ill feeling, none whatsoever,’ Frank replied quickly. ‘Well, take care. I hope sleeping in the shelter doesn’t affect you too much.’

‘I never use the shelter,’ Mary told him as she showed him to the front door. ‘I couldn’t stand it wiv my complaint. I take me chances ’ere.’

‘You don’t sleep upstairs, do you?’ Frank asked.

Mary shook her head. ‘I sleep in the back room. I’ve got the winders boarded up an’ I sleep comfortable.’

As Frank was about to step out into the street, Mary touched his arm. ‘My Tony’s found ’imself a young lady,’ she said. ‘She’s Carrie Tanner’s daughter, Rachel. I fink yer’ve a right ter know. After all, you are family.’

For an instant Frank Galloway’s face changed as he looked wide-eyed at the frail woman, then he smiled briefly. ‘Is it serious?’ he asked.

Mary nodded. ‘It looks like it. I ’ope so anyway. Maybe it’s the best fing, fer both families, if they do decide ter wed,’ she remarked. ‘Life’s too short ter bear malice. I pray the two families can come tergevver.’

Frank walked away along the street cursing Mary O’Reilly. Her revelation had been a big shock, and a dark anger rose up within him. He had been compelled to go to see her. Since the reading of the will he had not been able to sleep; his head ached constantly, and the pain was getting worse. All he had been able to think about was the injustice of it all and revenge against the woman who had borne the bastard son, the grandson who gained almost everything. He had been keen to see the woman, to find out more about her, her habits, friends, and the lay-out of the house so that he could finalise his plans to get rid of her and her son without the finger of suspicion pointing in his direction.

Now, as he walked along the narrow turning his head was pounding and all he could think about was the Tanner family. They were laughing at him, deriding him as they opened their arms to welcome the bastard grandchild, and the Galloway wealth into the fold. He could not allow it to happen. He would sooner die than let it happen.

The knowledge Frank had gained just a few short minutes ago was enough to push him over the thin line of reasoning, and his thoughts became maniacal.

Rachel sat at the plotting table on Saturday evening, and as she stared down at the blank expanse of map, her thoughts were with Tony. His letter had filled her with both joy and sadness. They would be together for a whole week, and then would come the parting. He had said nothing in the letter about his destination, but he had told her before that it would most likely be the Middle East. The separation would probably be a long one and Rachel was determined to make their brief time together something that she would remember and cherish until he returned, and he would come back to her, she knew in her heart. She felt sure that it was meant to be.

The loud ringing of the phone roused her from her reverie and she sat up straight in her chair, waiting for the alert.

The controller smiled as he put down the phone. ‘Heavy cloud over the Channel,’ he said. ‘No sign of activity.’

The plotters relaxed once more, each engrossed in their own thoughts.

The plotter next to Rachel removed her headphones and rubbed her aching neck. ‘I envy you, Rachel,’ she said with a sigh. ‘A whole week away from this. I bet you’ll come back pregnant.’

Rachel held up her crossed fingers. ‘Don’t wish a baby on me, Carol,’ she replied with a grin. ‘Tony’s on embarkation leave.’

‘How did you fiddle it?’ Carol asked.

‘Friends in the right places,’ Rachel answered with a straight face.

‘You must have,’ Carol replied. ‘I couldn’t get leave when my fella was home.’

‘Luck o’ the draw,’ Rachel replied with a sly smile.

‘When’s your fella get home?’ Carol asked, toying with her headset.

‘’E should be ’ome by now, an’ I’ll be there wiv ’im termorrer,’ Rachel told her, her eyes flashing.

Suddenly the phone rang and this time the controller’s face took on a serious look. ‘Alert!’ he shouted as he banged down the phone.

The expanse of map was no longer blank and in the balcony above the room anxious officers watched the build-up of enemy aircraft. As the plotters pushed and pulled the counters over the large map it became evident that formations of aircraft were converging to form an armada, and the destination soon became clear: London.

‘God help ’em,’ the senior officer said quietly to his subordinate as he watched the build-up. ‘This is the biggest yet.’

Rachel felt the familiar sickness in the pit of her stomach. Tonight her family would face the heaviest air raid so far, and Tony was there too.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Billy Sullivan had found time to write to Annie during the few quiet nights and he yawned as he kicked off his boots and put his feet up onto the chair facing him. He had finished his tea and looked forward to a short nap before going off to the Bargee for a pint with Danny.

The loud knock on the front door startled him. He quickly opened it to see a young messenger standing there holding on to the handles of his bicycle.

‘There’s a red alert!’ he said breathlessly.

Billy nodded, his face set firm. ‘Tell ’em I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,’ he said quickly.

The messenger hurried off to warn the street warden and Billy went out into the scullery and splashed his face with cold water. He felt a strange sense of impending danger as he got ready to leave. The letter he had only just posted off to Annie told her he was well and that he hoped that the worst of the bombing was now over. He had assured her in the letter that he would take no undue risks, and said how he was dying to hold her in his arms once more. Now he was readying himself to go about the dangerous task of rescuing the trapped, some of whom would be badly maimed, and recovering the bodies of the dead that would be lying crushed beneath the rubble.

Billy grabbed his steel helmet and gas-mask case, and then before leaving he glanced up at the crucifix over the mantelshelf, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

Danny Tanner sat waiting for Billy in the Bargee, and as he picked up his pint he glanced up at the large clock on the wall behind the counter. Billy was late, he thought. It was unlike him to be late for a drink. Perhaps he had fallen asleep or there might be an alert.

The publican voiced Danny’s fears. ‘There’s a full moon ternight,’ he said as he pulled on the beer pump. ‘The tide’s runnin’ fast, too.’

Danny knew just what the publican meant. It would be an unusually low tide tonight, and with the bright moon lighting up London, it was very probable that the lull in the bombing would come to an end. The low tide would be in the raiders’ favour, making it difficult for the firefighters to pump water from the Thames.

Danny realised that Billy was not going to show up and he finished his pint. ‘I’ll be seein’ yer, Charlie,’ he called out to the publican as he made for the door.

‘Are yer workin’, Danny?’ Charlie asked.

The lighterman nodded. ‘We’re takin’ some barges out on the tide,’ he replied.

He heard the words ‘Good luck’ called out to him as he pulled the collar of his seaman’s coat up round his ears. Even on a mild peaceful night Danny knew that the river could be cold and treacherous.

Josiah Dawson had had a hard day at work, and after tea he dozed off in his favourite chair. An hour later he stirred and grunted as his shoulder was shaken roughly. ‘Whassa matter?’ he growled.

‘It’s the messenger boy. There’s a red alert!’ Dolly told him urgently.

Josiah sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. ‘Right. Get the kids ready fer the shelter,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s a full moon ternight. We can expect the worst.’

Dolly watched as her husband threw on his coat and grabbed his steel helmet. ‘Mind ’ow yer go, luv,’ she called out as he hurried from the house.

Dolly’s daughter Joyce was already putting her coat on. Although only seven years old, she knew that the bombs would soon be falling and she wanted to get to the safety of the air-raid shelter. The boys answered their mother’s loud cry and they hurried down the stairs clutching their coats.

‘Where’s Wallace?’ Dolly asked Dennis, the elder of the two.

‘ ’E’s gone out, Mum,’ Dennis answered.

Dolly sighed deeply. ‘That boy’s gonna be the death o’ me,’ she groaned. ‘Well, we can’t wait. Dennis, take that bundle o’ beddin’. Leslie, grab that bag.’

The two lads did as they were told and Dolly quickly turned off the gas and electricity before leading the three children out into the bright moonlight.

The siren began to wail as the Dawsons hurried along Page Street, being joined by their neighbours. Iris Tanner was hurrying along with her three boys and Maudie was holding on to her husband’s arm, grateful that the siren had sounded before they got into bed.

‘I told yer, didn’t I?’ she was moaning to Ernest. ‘I’d sooner be bitten by bugs than bombed in me bed.’

‘Shut yer noise, woman,’ Ernest reproached her. ‘People are gonna fink we got bugs indoors.’

Dolly’s daughter was whimpering in fear and Leslie put his arm round her as they reached the shelter entrance. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he said, trying to be grown-up.

The three Salter girls came running along the street, ‘’E makes me so mad,’ Brenda puffed. ‘’E’s so bloody obstinate.’

‘Well, it’s up to ’im. If ’e wants ter stay in the ’ouse, it’s ’is look-out,’ Lily gasped.

Sadie and Maisie hurried along the turning behind Mrs Watson, Mrs Green and the elderly Mrs Haggerty. ‘Don’t sit near those three wise monkeys,’ Sadie said sharply to her friend. ‘They’ll give us an earache wiv their bloody nonstop chatterin’.’

Josiah was ushering everyone into the safety of the concrete caverns. When he caught sight of Dolly with the children he pulled her to one side. ‘Where’s Wallace?’ he growled.

‘He went out earlier. Gawd knows where ’e’s got to,’ Dolly groaned.

Josiah swore under his breath. ‘Get the kids inside an’ soon as I get a chance I’ll go an’ look fer ’im,’ he told her.

Danny glanced up at the large bright moon in the night sky as he walked swiftly along the cobbled lane that led down to the Cherry Garden steps. The cutter was waiting and as he climbed aboard he heard the wail of the siren. Already the roar of aircraft was becoming louder and suddenly the guns in nearby Southwark Park opened up. Amid the deafening noise, the cutter made its way midstream on the ebbing tide and manoeuvred into position beside the brace of laden barges. Danny clambered aboard the first one and began working away at the mooring rope, ready for the approaching tug which he could see clearly by the light of the full moon.

Suddenly there was a loud roar and a nearby wharf erupted in flames. Danny almost lost his footing in the blast, steadying himself quickly as the tug was manoeuvring to come alongside. He heard a shout and saw the tug’s skipper pointing upriver, his urgent warning lost in the din. Danny glanced over to Tower Bridge and saw the dark object coming towards them, flying low above the twin towers. He threw himself prone on the deck of the barge, his hands over his ears. The next instant he was lifted bodily from the deck as the first bomb fell. He had the sensation of floating in mid-air, then suddenly the cold water shocked him back to stark reality.

When Danny broke surface he saw the burning wharves and the smoking remains of the tug. One of the barges was lying on its side slowly sinking in the muddy water and the other was drifting downstream. His heavy coat was waterlogged and badly hampering his movement. As he fought to undo the buttons, he was gripped by an agonising pain in his left arm and he gulped a deep breath as the water closed over him. He struggled back to the surface, somehow managing with tormenting pain to twist himself out of his coat. He realised that the tide was carrying him downstream. He knew that once he got into the swirling eddies, he would surely drown. He struck out for the quayside but his left arm was useless, torturing him with pain. He tried a side stroke but he could not make any headway. He could feel the undertow pulling him down and he knew that his life was coming to an end. He thought of Iris in that instant, and of the children. Were they safe in the shelter?

Something brushed past him and he saw that it was a length of timber. With a last despairing effort he reached out and with his good arm he managed to cling to it, desperately trying to straddle it as he felt his strength fading fast.

Wallace sat by the river, watching the distorted reflection of the moon in the muddy waters. He listened to the gurgling, sucking noise as the tide ebbed and he felt at peace. There had been no racket of war for the past few nights and he hoped that there would be no more bombs falling and no more guns roaring ever again. He wanted the lights to come on upriver and to see the gentle glow in the night sky. There were no lights tonight, but at least the moon was shining brightly.

The scream of the air-raid siren made Wallace jump down from his perch on the river wall. For a time he stood rooted to the spot, and then he decided to hurry back home before the other noises started. The sudden swish and violent explosion along the turning rocked him on his feet and he crouched down against the wall, pressing his hands over his ears. The street in front of him was full of flames and he realised he could not get back that way. Another explosion came from the direction of the river and a spray of water fell on him, wetting him through. He became desperate. He wanted to run, but he dare not rise from his meagre shelter. Overhead, shells burst brightly in the sky and he could feel the rumbling earth beneath him. Slowly, trembling, he raised himself up and peered over the wall at the river. He could see a ship burning and a smouldering barge drifting downriver. Along the quayside, fires were raging, and just then Wallace spotted the floating plank of wood. It seemed to be swirling round in the water, caught in an eddy, and he saw what looked like someone clinging to it.