Cockney Orphan (27 page)

‘Come,’ Len urged mischievously. ‘For my sake. It’ll be the only bit of life I’ll see over Christmas.’

Eventually he talked Connie round. That afternoon Pat suggested she borrow her pearl grey dress with the sunray pleated skirt. It wasn’t as frivolous as the little peach number she’d
borrowed from Ada, but it was her size and quite tasteful. She washed her hair and let it fall in waves on her shoulders. By the time she was ready to catch the bus, there was a big smile on
Olive’s face.

‘Have a good time,’ she told her daughter. ‘And enjoy yourself.’

Connie caught the bus feeling nervous. She hadn’t been out of an evening for a long time. But as soon as she arrived at Dalton’s, she felt better. Everyone was looking forward to the
evening, as they hurried in groups up the stairs to the canteen. Laughter and insults abounded. There were no raids to worry about, at least not like the Blitz. And it was an opportunity to eat,
drink and make merry.

Connie stood at the canteen door, looking for Len. She hoped nothing had happened to stop him from coming. The room looked very festive, nothing of course like the Barbizon Plaza, all glass and
marble and shining surfaces, apparently. But the bare, scuffed boards of the canteen floor were now cleared for dancing. Someone had strung paper chains across the ugly blackout material of the
windows and the upright piano was standing as usual at Christmas, beside Ted Lavender’s ancient drum set. Queenie Wright, the canteen manageress, had pinned bunches of genuine mistletoe to
the ceiling, already gaining much attention. The black market refreshment was said to be hidden in the kitchen, under lock and key.

‘You’ve got that look on your face again,’ a voice muttered beside her. Len, dressed smartly in a dark blue suit and tie, was frowning at her. ‘You’re not about to
do a bunk, are you?’

Connie grinned. ‘Course not.’

‘If you hadn’t turned up, I’d have done one myself.’ He steered her towards the serving hatch. ‘Now, what’s your fancy?’

‘Port, please. Don’t suppose they’ve got any lemon.’

Len ordered the drinks. ‘I bought one for Jenny too,’ he whispered from the corner of his mouth as they looked for her. ‘There she is, by the piano. At least the noise will
drown the silence.’

‘Thank you, Mr English, but I never drink,’ Jenny refused politely as he placed the glass of shandy in front of her.

‘It’s Len,’ he reminded her again as they sat down. ‘And shandy’s not really a drink, it’s mostly lemonade.’

Jenny braced her plump shoulders. She was dressed as usual, in a dark skirt and a sensible blouse to match. ‘I don’t like lemonade either.’

‘What do you like then?’

‘Water or tea, Mr En— I mean, Len.’

‘I’m drinking port, Jenny,’ Connie said, holding up her glass. ‘It’s very nice, a lady’s drink. Would you like a sip?’

‘No thank you.’

Connie met Len’s gaze and stifled a grin. She breathed a sigh of relief when Elsie Drinkwater took her seat at the piano. Placing her pint of frothy ale on its splintered top, she nodded
to her burly son, Norman, the accordion player. Ted Lavender joined them and banged heavily on his drums. Soon no one could hear themselves think.

By nine o’clock Connie was breathless. Neither she nor Len had missed a dance, in an attempt to avoid Jenny’s silent gaze. In this way, Connie had enjoyed herself thoroughly and
didn’t feel the least bit guilty either. Trevor Black had commented on her hair and Bob Cummings had told her how well she danced. Len, too, looked as if he was feeling more his old self,
having danced with every available female. When at last they collapsed on their seats, even Jenny’s flat smile didn’t seem to bother them.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Jenny?’ Connie asked as the band took a breather.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Would you like more water?’

‘No, I’ve still got some left.’

Silence ensued until Elsie bawled at the top of her voice. ‘Let’s put our hands together, boys and girls, for two very talented lads from the United States of America!’

There was a slow, mystified applause as a young GI took his place at the piano, the other seating himself on a stool.

‘It’s Clint!’ Len whispered hoarsely. ‘He never said he played the trumpet. Now that’s a dark horse for you, if ever I saw one.’

No one danced, spoke or attempted to eat as the duo played. The only trumpet player Connie had seen before was a man at the Queens on Variety Night who’d struggled his
way through the National Anthem. Clint was playing music like she’d never heard before. At first she didn’t know if she liked it, but half an hour later, like everyone else in the room,
she was demanding more. Couples began dancing and Len pulled her up. No one wanted the music to stop. Once more, the two musicians finished to huge applause.

‘Bloody brilliant!’ Len roared at the top of his voice as Elsie, Norman and Ted returned to their instruments.

Clint laid his trumpet on the piano and walked over to their table. ‘Mind if I take a seat?’ he asked, and everyone made space.

‘That was amazing,’ Len said. ‘What was the first number called?’

‘“Body and Soul”,’ the young GI told them.

‘What kind of music is it?’

‘Jazz,’ he explained. ‘Did you like it?’

‘Not half. Where did you learn to play like that?’ Len asked excitedly.

‘My old man,’ Clint explained.

‘He’s a musician?’ Connie asked.

Clint smiled softly into her eyes. ‘He was, till he died. Taught me to play as a kid. I still do a little jamming at Jimmy Ryan’s on 52nd Street. You know it?’ he asked
curiously.

‘No, but I know the Barbizon Plaza,’ she burst out before she could stop herself. ‘My fiancé Vic is staying there with the British navy.’

Clint looked impressed. ‘Then he’ll be having a swell time, you can be sure. Some of your English boys were arriving when I left. We’re sending them back with these lil’
ol’ boats that open up at the front.’

Connie didn’t know what he meant and wasn’t able to ask, as Len began to talk about the music. Soon Clint was explaining that it was jazz he liked to play. ‘Though Bop and
Swing are all the go Stateside,’ he ended, taking a gulp of the beer he had brought with him.

Connie blushed as he smiled at her.

‘You’re a very good player.’ Jenny nodded, speaking suddenly. ‘I love to hear the trumpet. Especially when it’s played so well.’

‘Than you, ma’am.’ Clint gave her a big white smile. ‘I’m real pleased to hear you say that.’

Elsie, Norman and Ted started to play. Connie decided that at the next available opportunity she would ask him more about those lil’ ol’ boats that opened up at the front.

I
t was the last waltz and Clint asked Connie to dance. ‘You dance real well, Connie,’ he said as he took her in his arms and placed his
cheek against her head. ‘Makes me forget about home for a while. New York is such a great place to be at Christmas. You get the full works, snow, Santa, and you’d go crazy for the
shops.’

‘Have you lived there long?’ she asked, pressing slightly away.

‘All my life, till Mom died. Me and my kid sister, Janey, went to live out of state, with relatives. But pretty soon we got sent back to Pop.’ He breathed softly into her hair.
‘With him being on the road and playing all over the country, Janey and me learned pretty fast to look after ourselves. She’s married now, moved out west.’

‘But you stayed in New York?’

‘Had this day job in construction so’s I could play the clubs with Pops at night. Then he got ill and died five years back. I signed up after Pearl Harbour; gee, those Japs sure
turned our country around. God alone knows what you Londoners have suffered.’

‘What you said about those small ships,’ she asked, taking her opportunity. ‘Do you really think Vic could be involved with them?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I do. The NY dockyards are building them in their hundreds so’s they’re ready for Roosevelt and Churchill’s plans to invade Europe. It’s guys like
Vic who are sailing them back across the pond and risking their necks against the subs.’

Connie shivered. She wished she hadn’t asked now. What had the world turned into when it sent so many young men to war with the threat of death looming over them at every moment?

When the music ended, Clint looked down at her. ‘I’ve sure had a swell time, Connie.’ Politely, he held out his arm and guided her back to the table.

Jenny and Len were preparing to leave and Clint lifted Connie’s coat from the back of the chair.

‘It’s mighty cold out there. Can I give you folks a lift home?’

Len and Jenny nodded but Connie hesitated.

Clint chuckled softly when he saw her waver. ‘Don’t tell me, you’d prefer to walk.’

‘No, she bloody wouldn’t,’ Len said before she could reply. ‘Not at this time of night. If you’re offering, Clint, then all of us are accepting.’

The sergeant collected his instrument and they all made their way downstairs. Connie sat with Len in the back of the truck and Jenny took the passenger seat.

Len nudged her arm gently. ‘Good night after all, wasn’t it?’

In the darkness, she gazed up at the clear, star-studded sky. For once it was cold and frosty, a typical winter’s night. The fog that had made everywhere so damp and dreary had lifted and
the spirit of Christmas was in the air.

She thought of Vic and wondered if he was in the middle of a sub-infested ocean. After what Clint had said, she hoped he was still at the Barbizon Plaza. She would rather have him safe than in
the thick of action, even if it did mean him dancing with the most glamorous women in New York!

This Christmas, three of the people she loved most were missing. Billy had never moved back home and only made occasional visits. Mum had gone spare at first, but no amount of her nagging had
brought him back and finally she’d given up. Vic was fighting a war, the end of which seemed nowhere in sight. Wherever Ada was, Connie hoped she was happy. Their quarrel had been over
nothing at all. She just wished she could see Ada and make amends.

The fog and the blackout made it dangerous to travel and Christmas week arrived low key. On the Saturday she had arranged to help Pat with her move, but Lucky was sick.
Reluctantly she had to cancel and Kevin and Sylvie went in her place. By Christmas Day, Lucky was worse. On Boxing Day, he was running a fever and Kevin cycled round for Dr Deakin.

‘Plenty to drink,’ the doctor advised after he’d given Lucky a thorough examination. ‘Keep him warm, but try to get the fever down. I’ll call again tomorrow.
We’ll watch him carefully. If he’s not better, I’m afraid he’ll have to go to hospital.’

Connie spent a sleepless night. She bathed Lucky’s face in cool water, but his cheeks were burning. The following day the doctor returned. ‘His temperature’s down, but
I’m still not happy.’

Once more Connie didn’t sleep. On Tuesday morning the rash appeared.

‘Measles,’ the doctor confirmed. He patted Lucky’s arm gently and pulled up his sheet. ‘You’re over the worst now, young man.’

Connie applied calamine lotion to the rash and both she and Lucky slept that night.

‘Where did Christmas go this year?’ Ebbie complained on Wednesday morning as he wearily opened his paper and yawned loudly.

Connie studied her father. She wondered if living with a small child in their midst was the cause of his fatigue. She was beginning to feel an imposition. Her mother had volunteered to have
Lucky when Connie went back to work. Lofty hadn’t had measles and it was dangerous for a grown-up to catch. Connie hadn’t considered the likelihood of things like infectious diseases.
What would be next on the list? she wondered, as New Year’s Eve arrived. She longed to talk to Ada, to have a laugh about their worries. Where was she? Why had she gone off without saying
goodbye?

That night Lucky’s breathing returned to normal. She wondered what the future would hold as one year ended and a new one began. Where was Vic? Suddenly the picture of Gilbert Tucker sprang
to mind. Was he really Lucky’s grandfather?

As her lids grew heavy, she said a prayer for the millions of people in turmoil. She was so lucky to have her family alive and well. The stories of atrocities towards the Jews were in every
newspaper. German cities were now being bombed in retaliation and innocent men, women and children were dying, just as they had in Britain. The Russians had suffered terrible tragedy, as had all
the countries of Europe, whilst Japan had turned a new page of the war at Pearl Harbour. Who could say when it all would end?

She missed Vic so much. She had to believe he would return. As she closed her eyes, she saw his face. His dark eyes looked down on her, his smile filled her with warmth and longing.

In sleep he drew her into his arms. His lips touched her face and she heard him whisper that he loved her.

In January, the Luftwaffe got its second wind. A school was flattened, killing forty-four children outright. Connie was afraid to leave Lucky. The raids were on the increase
again.

A month or so later, the warning went. In the panic to get down the Tube 173 lives were lost. Then rumours of a new and more deadly Nazi weapon began to circulate. Everyone feared the worst.
Even Jenny at work took time to join in the discussion.

What was it that Hitler had planned for them? In March, the RAF dropped 900 tons of bombs on Berlin. The British pilots reported they could still see the fires 200 miles away. A big part of
Dusseldorf was laid waste. In the Battle of the Ruhr, the sheet of orange flame from the explosions below shot 1000 feet into the air.

A letter arrived from Vic one Friday. Connie read it as she sat on the wall after work. ‘I don’t know when you’ll receive this, sweetheart, I hope in time for your birthday. I
wish I could be with you on your twenty-first. How is everyone? And Lucky? Grown I expect. I want to walk with you to Island Gardens and sit on the bench. I imagine it every night. We took freedom
for granted, but never again. Remember, freedom is what we’re fighting for. I’ll be with you in thought on the 3rd April. Sorry this is short and I can’t say much. You know why.
Deepest love as always, and remember me. Your Vic.’