Chocolate Girls (14 page)

He frowned. ‘It’s no good, she’s too far away.
Damn
.’ She was moved by his anger and frustration at himself for not being able to help.

‘It’s all right—’ She tapped his arm. ‘Look – they’re coming now. We ought to go and see if there are others.’

They found one other casualty who needed to go to hospital and left before Mrs Rossi had been brought out from under her house. They fetched her the next time. By then she was barely conscious.

By the time the raid ended and the calls stopped coming the night was almost over. They drove back to the depot in silence, suddenly dazed with exhaustion. Janet could feel that her face was thickly coated with dust and the inside of her nose and mouth felt clogged with it as well. Martin drew the van to a halt outside and switched off the engine.

‘Phew.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What a night.’

‘Well—’ he gave a wry smile. ‘D’you think I made the grade?’

‘Oh yes.’ Janet thought of the gentle, reassuring voice she had been listening to through the night. ‘Very much so.’

‘Thanks.’ He stared out into the darkness for a moment. ‘It’s funny, I’m exhausted but the last thing I feel like is sleep. It feels as if we ought to go and have a drink or something. Live it up.’

‘Well—’ Janet laughed, nodding towards the depot. ‘At this time of night I think the best you’ll manage is another cup of tea.’

‘That would certainly be welcome.’ He looked round at her. ‘Would you care to join me?’

Common sense told her to get to bed as fast as possible before work tomorrow. But her stomach was rumbling and the thought of the walk home without even a drink was dismal. Stiffly, she said, ‘Yes, all right then.’

They took off their coats and sank down at the table with their tea. Martin passed her the sugar.

‘This is some well-brewed stuff. Still, I’m ready for anything after that.’

‘Me too,’ Janet stirred in the lumps of sugar then slumped back in her chair. ‘Actually, I’m ravenous.’

‘I’m sure they could provide you with a bun or something here, couldn’t they?’

‘I’ll skip it. It’ll only sit in my stomach like a lead weight at this time of night.’

‘Cigarette?’ He held out a packet.

‘No. Thanks.’

Martin seemed to think the better of lighting up himself and put the packet back in his pocket. He looked across at her in what seemed to her an appraising way which raised her hackles. She felt as if her skin was prickling under his gaze.

‘Where d’you live?’

‘Linden Road. Bournville.’

‘I’d be happy to give you a lift home.’

She looked at him over her teacup, one eyebrow raised. ‘Have you got a car?’ She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. ‘I thought all students were terribly poor?’

‘No, motorbike and sidecar. Would that be acceptable?’

Her mouth twitched into a smile. ‘That sounds rather fun. Yes, thank you. It would be very nice not to have to walk. But tell me, I didn’t get round to asking you before, about your training?’

Martin sat forward, animated. ‘As I said, I’ve almost finished. They’ve let the last of us stay on to finish qualifying and then, if this is still all going on, I suppose I’ll be an army medico or something – thank goodness. It’s such a relief to have a justifiable reason not to bear arms. The thing is, I’m trained to try to save life so it doesn’t seem consistent then to go out and take it. Although now we’re up against someone like Hitler, and all those other chaps are out there fighting, well . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I’m just glad I’m a doctor and I can carry on doing that. Perhaps that just sounds cowardly to you?’

‘Not cowardly, no. I’m a Friend, a Quaker, you see.’

‘Are you?’ He considered her with apparent respect. ‘Well, that’s interesting. A very serious body of people the Quakers. And hence your working at Cadbury’s.’

‘Well not hence, no. Most people who work there aren’t actually Friends.’

‘True. But they’ve had such an impact haven’t they? I mean it’s extraordinarily pleasant round there considering it’s a factory – all the trees and gardens. And aren’t I right in thinking they endowed the Woodlands Hospital?’

‘Yes, it was the Birmingham Cripples Union originally. And they gave a lot of the schools and colleges in the area – and the park in the Lickey Hills.’

‘No pubs though?’

She smiled, feeling the mask of dust on her face. ‘Definitely no pubs.’

She told him she lived with her mother and Marie Falla, the young woman from Guernsey, and Martin offered the information that he lived in a shared house.

‘That must be quite a squeeze, with children and everything?’ she asked.

‘It can be. Of course I’m out a lot, and now the boys have been sent out into the country. It’s rather desolate without them really. Doesn’t feel as if we’re a family any more. But yes, never a dull moment normally. I have to stay in the library if I want to get any work done!’

He stretched and got to his feet, yawning. She was suddenly conscious of just how tall he was. ‘It’s horribly late. We should really try to fit in some sleep. Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ she said sleepily. She felt suddenly warm and drowsy and wished she could curl up and sleep in the depot. But she soon woke up again when, tucked into the sidecar of his motorcycle, she was whizzing along in the very cold, smoky night air, his scarf, which he had gallantly lent her, wrapped round her neck. The sky still glowed pink. It was half past five when he deposited her outside her mother’s house, reaching for her hand to help her climb out. His gloved hand dwarfed hers. She was conscious that she must look a frightful mess, covered in dust and hair all over the place. Good job it’s still dark, she thought. Then she chastised herself bitterly for being so ridiculous. He’s married, and in any case I am not interested in men. They’re too much trouble altogether.

She stood on the pavement, unsteady with tiredness.

‘Thanks so much,’ she said, in formal tones. ‘I’m very grateful.’

Martin gave an amused smile which grated on her. What did he want her to do? Grovel with gratitude?

‘A pleasure,’ he said.

There was an awkward silence and she was about to turn away, but then the voice came again through the darkness.

‘It sounds awful to say it, but I’ve enjoyed tonight.’

‘Good. Well, I’m sure it won’t be the last time.’

‘I hope that Mrs Rossi is all right.’

‘Yes,’ Janet said more softly. ‘Horrible.’

‘Anyway, see you again perhaps.’ He revved up, gave her a brief wave, and was off.

‘Goodbye – Oh! I’ve still got your scarf!’ But he was gone, the roar of the motorcycle receding in the distance. She turned to go inside, reaching into her pocket for her key. She felt overwhelmed by exhaustion, and a sudden sense of anticlimax.

Edie settled Lizzie and her brother to sleep under the table in the front room. She brought a mattress down from one of the beds and they covered it with copies of the
Birmingham Despatch
for the woman, Alicia Jewel, to settle on. Mrs Lordly, who seemed to be in her element, rattled pans in the scullery, prepared water, found a sharp knife, string. She looked out two candles and stood them, lit, in saucers on the table with the lamp. Every so often there came a thump from outside and the windows rattled, but Edie found she had almost forgotten the raid, so caught up was she by the drama going on inside.

Mrs Lordly, hands on her broad hips, had ordered Alicia to lie on her back. But as soon as another bout of pain swept over her she scrambled on to her knees again. Edie was very nervous. Memories of her own labour came flashing back to her, raw and terrible. The agony, the fear. This was not Alicia’s first time, and she was older than Edie, but the pain was the same. All it would take to make it easier would be a little kindness. She found herself drawn to the woman’s side, kneeling down, taking her hand as she wished someone had done when she’d birthed and lost her baby.

‘We’ll help you, bab.’ She was surprised at the tender motherliness she heard in her own voice. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t leave you. It’ll be all right.’

She felt an answering squeeze. ‘It’s getting close,’ the woman panted. ‘My waters went ages back.’ She gave a sob, released by Edie’s kindness. ‘Oh God, the pain . . . I can’t do it again, I can’t!’

‘You can,’ Edie said, touched. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you? You
can
do it.’

Edie stroked her back. She was wearing a threadbare navy dress with tiny white polka dots all over it. Edie could feel the heat coming off her and she smelt pun-gently of sweat. Edie found her own breathing tuning in with Alicia’s.

‘What are you
doing
?’ Mrs Lordly appeared again, her pudgy face furious. ‘Lie down again – you can’t carry on like that, it’s a disgrace!’

Alicia, who was at the height of her pain, took no notice.

‘What’s the matter?’ Edie said, worried. ‘Does she need to lie down? Will she hurt herself?’

‘I’m not having her on her hands and knees like . . . like an animal! I said
lie down
, Mrs Jewel.’

Leave her alone! Edie wanted to scream. Can’t you see she’s in pain?

‘You must lie down,’ Mrs Lordly commanded afterwards. Edie loathed her bullying tone. Why did she have to carry on like this?

‘I couldn’t ’elp it,’ Alice said, turning back on to her back. She was frightened of Mrs Lordly. ‘Only when the pain starts it’s just what I do.’

‘Well, you must try to control yourself,’ Mrs Lordly said, tight-lipped.

The pains were coming even closer together now and Edie found it almost unbearable to watch. Alicia groaned through two more on her back, seeming in even greater pain, as Mrs Lordly stood over her. With the next one she cried, ‘I’m not doing what you say!’ and twisted back on to her knees.

‘Disgusting,’ Mrs Lordly commented. She was sitting on the chair now. ‘And do stop smothering her, Mrs Weale. None of that is necessary. She’s only in pup.’

Edie could feel her temper rising, but she tried to choke it back. ‘I’m just trying to help,’ she muttered.

‘Oh God,’ Alicia moaned, falling forward in exhaustion. ‘I can’t . . .’

‘You can!’ Edie urged. ‘You’re nearly there.’

‘Do try to control yourself,’ Mrs Lordly instructed.

‘Have you got children yourself?’ Edie asked, only just succeeding in keeping a civil tone. God help them if you have, she wanted to add.

‘I’ve two sons, thank you. And I certainly didn’t make all this fuss bringing them into the world. Nor did my sister, and I delivered both of hers.’

Edie bit her lip and tried to block the woman’s heavy body out of her view. Dried-up old cow! Why were people so nasty?

She lost track of time, of everything except the events of the birth. At last, after what felt like days, the intensity of it reached a peak.

‘It’s coming!’ Alicia shouted. She braced herself on her hands and knees and, short of physically throwing her on her back, there was nothing Mrs Lordly could do about it. After several more acute waves of pain the woman began to push the baby out. Mrs Lordly, Edie had to acknowledge, seemed to know what she was doing, and with a final groan Alicia had delivered herself of a little girl. As she slithered out, Edie watched, mesmerized, completely possessed by the moment.

‘Breathe!’ Fists clenched, she entreated the tiny figure, hardly realizing the thought had escaped through her lips. ‘Oh, breathe and be all right –
please
. . .’

The tiny infant made a small choking sound and Mrs Lordly cleared something out of her mouth. There came a thin, but full-throated wail.

Edie sank down on to her knees again, the tears pouring down her face.

‘My baby,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh my little baby.’ Grief poured out of her sharp and raw. She had barely glimpsed her little boy, her poor, dead child, had never held him before they whisked him away like something dirty. How could they have just snatched him from his mother without even letting her see him and say goodbye properly?

Walking home that night, leaving Alicia lying with her sweet daughter, and the smoke-filled sky quiet at last, Edie wept and wept. Living with Alicia through the intense, primal birthing of her child had ripped the surface off her inner wounds, leaving her raw and hurting. She sobbed her pain to the empty streets. Oh God, would she ever get over the ache of wanting to hold a baby of her own in her arms?

One evening in early November, after dark, Ethel Bonner heard a knock at her door in Glover Road.

‘Blast it, who can that be? And calling at the front an’ all.’ She’d just settled in her chair with a steaming cup of tea and didn’t have the energy to get up. ‘Get the door, Alfie.’

Eight-year-old Alf scampered along and tugged open the door on its stiff hinges. Outside in the dusk stood a short man with a neat little moustache, wearing a natty pinstriped suit with flamboyant lapels, his hat held against his chest as if in preparation for making a speech.

‘’Ello there, sonny.’ The man spoke in the tones of a Cockney bus conductor, though Alf was quite oblivious to this fact and just stared, mouth agape, at this apparition on the doorstep. ‘Is your muvver in the ’ouse terdie?’