Cockney Orphan (34 page)

Connie stared into Pat’s face. ‘Vic is missing?’ she repeated numbly.

‘When Gran was reading it, she kind of, well, keeled over. It was awful. Terrible. She was lying on the floor and me and the kids were screaming and Albie rushed in and then
Eve—’

Ada appeared from the front room. ‘Hello, Pat. Did I hear Vic’s name mentioned?’

Pat nodded. ‘Gran got a telegram . . . it said he’s gone missing.’

Connie felt the same sinking sensation she’d had on the day they took Lucky. ‘What about Gran?’ she asked in barely a whisper.

‘I don’t know – the doctor’s come and she’s in bed.’ She began to sob.

‘I’ll get my coat and come with you.’

‘Me too,’ Ada said quickly. ‘Can I borrow a skirt or something, Con? I’ve only got my blue dress.’

‘Look in the wardrobe and take what you want.’

Ten minutes later they were all hurrying towards East Ferry Road.

Gran was trying to see where she was. She didn’t recognize this place. Where was she? It was nice and light, no dark shadows or cobwebby ceilings. The thought reminded
her that her own ceilings needed dusting and briefly she felt a wave of tiredness, an inner tiredness that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She used to have plenty of energy before the
war. It was as if the enemy hadn’t just dropped bombs, but sapped people’s spirits, too. Even Albie said that lately he’d been nodding off over his pint at the Queens. Funny, she
couldn’t see Albie now, yet he was here a minute ago. Where was Pat and the kids? The house felt empty without them. But, then, this wasn’t her house, was it?

She looked around again. Slowly, the light grew even brighter and a warm upliftment filled her. Like . . . like being young again. Yes, that was it! The sense of wonder when you looked up into
an endless blue sky, or breathed in the change between seasons. Or when you paddled in the river mud and squeezed it between your toes. There was so much to discover when the tide went out.

Bobby was best at mudlarking. Her elder brother had the biggest feet in the family, with long, curling toes like the beak of bird. He used them to find treasures in the warm, black silt. There
he was now, barefoot. Ribbons of black hair running wild down his shoulders. Trousers rolled up around his ankles, braces knotted, shirt patched and darned. Gran waved.

‘Well, if it ain’t me kid sister, Alice!’ He slapped a muddy hand on her shoulder. ‘Where’ve you been all this time?’

Gran shook her head. ‘To be honest, I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘Blimey, you lost yer memory, then?’

Gran studied him closely. ‘Bobby, you don’t look a day older than when you—’ she stopped as her brother nodded.

‘It was the current that did for me, gel. One minute I was swimming south towards Greenwich, the next I was on me way out to sea.’

Gran felt sad. ‘We missed you. Especially Mother.’

Bobby nodded. ‘She tanned my hide till I could barely walk when she found out what me and the other boys was doing. But a hiding never made no difference and I still went ahead and did
it.’

‘You should have listened to her, Bobby.’

‘Yeah, but a dare was a dare, see? We all wanted to be first over. Course, I’ve swum the river hundreds of time since. Look, I’ll show you.’ Laughing, he ran into the
grey, murky water.

Gran felt a moment’s unease. ‘Bobby, come back!’ she called.

‘It’s all right, you can do anything you want to now.’ He began to swim and something told Gran there was nothing to worry about any more.

She walked along the shore and saw a group of figures. Wasn’t that Mother and Dad, her sisters and brothers, too?

A soldier, ramrod straight in his uniform, stepped out of their midst and strode towards her.

‘Why, Alice.’ He smiled, taking her hands. ‘You’re here!’

‘Maurice?’

‘I’ve been waiting for so long, my darling. We all have.’

Gran was perplexed. She was normally so punctual. ‘I would have come sooner if I’d known the time.’

He gently touched her face. A feeling of great peace descended. The light was so beautiful, filling the figures surrounding her until they almost glowed. If she didn’t know better, she
would have said they were angels.

A young man appeared. He touched her shoulder. ‘Mother?’

She squinted through the brightness. ‘Freddie? Is it really you, son? Or am I dreaming?’ A little flutter, like the tips of birds’ wings, troubled her tummy. ‘I
can’t see properly.’

‘You will. Step forward. It’s easy.’

Gran tried to but something held her back. ‘What’s wrong with me, Maurice?’ She wanted to go towards the light not back into the dark from where she had started.

‘There’s something you still have to do,’ he whispered.

‘But what is it?’ she cried. ‘I’ve forgotten what it is.’

They all stood around her then, her family, her bloodline, bathed in a radiance that she yearned to be part of. She had been seeing these lights all her life and didn’t know what they were
until now. What a discovery to make so late in life! She wouldn’t have ever doubted if she’d known there really was a stairway to heaven.

As she thought of the word heaven, a great force gripped her. She was swept away, sucked into a vacuum, returned to the darkness again. She had so wanted to stay. Why couldn’t she see or
move? Why had the light faded and left her stranded like this?

A voice called her. She moved, a little clumsily, towards it. Then she felt the power of those who loved her, willing her on through the pain. And suddenly, with perfect clarity, she recalled
exactly what she had returned for.

Dr Deakin took Connie aside. ‘I’ve done all I can. She’s very weak, but she’s holding on, though for how long I can’t say. In my opinion, it would
be better for her to remain at home than be moved to hospital.’

‘Isn’t there something you can do?’

He smiled gently. ‘If there was, I would have done it by now.’

Connie looked at the bed. Pat was sitting beside it holding Gran’s hand. Gran looked very peaceful, but small, as if she had shrunk to half her size since yesterday.

‘Can she hear us?’ Connie asked.

The doctor nodded. ‘Most certainly. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness but she may not be able to respond clearly.’ He took his case. ‘I’ll come immediately
if you send for me, otherwise I’ll call first thing in the morning.’

Connie saw him out. She returned to the kitchen, where Ada was making tea.

‘What did he say?’

Connie told her.

Ada sat down with a sigh. ‘What can we do to help?’

‘Nothing, I don’t think.’

‘How’s Pat?’

‘She’s taking it hard. I’ve left her to have a bit of time alone.’

‘Course,’ Ada said quietly, then looked at Connie. ‘The telegram’s in the front room. I saw it lying on the table.’

Connie nodded silently. She didn’t want to go in there to read it.

‘Want me to come with you?’

‘No, it’s all right.’

She went into the front room. It was as it always was, neat and tidy, smelling of lavender and ash. The only disturbance was the fireguard standing to one side of the grate, a brush and pan
beside it. Gran must have been cleaning it when the telegram arrived.

An envelope lay on the table, a loose sheet of paper beside it. Connie seated herself on the dining chair. She stared at the odd-shaped letters that looked as if they’d been cut from the
newspaper.

‘Priority: Mrs Alice Champion.’ Connie’s heart raced as her eyes moved down the page. ‘. . .deeply regret to inform you . . . your grandson . . . Lieutenant Victor
Champion . . . missing as a result of combined operations, Sicily 6–10 June 1943 STOP Any further information forwarded to you immediately STOP Pending receipt of written notification from
the Admiralty STOP.’

She read it once more. ‘Missing as a result of combined operations.’ What did that mean? If someone went missing, where did they go?

Suddenly Pat rushed in, her eyes wide and staring. ‘Gran’s awake! She’s trying to speak.’

They both ran into the bedroom. Pat stood as if in a dream, then began to sob. Connie sat on the edge of the bed. She took Gran’s hand. It felt smaller than ever, as delicate as paper.

‘Gran, it’s me, Connie. Pat’s here too.’

Gran’s short, black eyelashes fluttered on her cheek. She mumbled and Connie leaned closer.

‘I’m here, Gran. Pat and me are with you.’

Frail fingers tightened across her thumb. ‘He’s not on the other side, girl. I looked.’

‘Looked for who, Gran?’

A smile flickered on her lips. Connie watched her facial expressions change, saw her skin soften over the round bone of her cheeks and smooth out across her forehead. She looked almost
transparent, as though she was made of glass. ‘I saw everyone else, Mother and Dad, Maurice and Freddie, too. Bobby was in the river, swimming the Reach . . .’

‘That was a lovely dream.’

Gran’s eyes flickered open. ‘You’ve got lovely lights again, all pink and blue with a bit of orange and purple, exactly the way they should be.’

Connie squeezed the tiny hand tight. For a moment she thought Gran was going to speak, but her eyes closed. She looked serene and peaceful and when the last breath slipped from her lips Connie
thought she was witness to the face of a young girl, at the beginning of life, not at the end of it.

‘Gran?’ Pat dropped to her knees beside the bed.

‘She’s at rest now, Pat. I know she is.’ Connie reached out, pulling Pat against her to absorb the sobs.

Then despite the overcast sky outside it was as if the sun broke through the clouds and spilled a lustrous glow of golden lights across the bed.

Even Pat, in her deep distress, seemed to sense it. Her weeping ceased and the smell of the river’s mud washed into the room. In the distance they heard children’s voices and the
echo of a ship’s horn, making headway against the tide and ploughing out to the wide open spaces of the sea.

G
ran was buried in East London Cemetery on a fine September morning. The burial plot was marked by a mossy green headstone bearing the names of her
husband, Maurice, her son, Frederick, and his wife, Josephine. The cost of the interment was borne by Gran’s thriftiness, an insurance she had maintained since her husband died in the war.
Her friends and neighbours attended, most of whom had lived in East Ferry Road or somewhere close by for as long as they could remember. Alice Ethel Champion had lived sixty-eight years of a full
and productive life and Connie knew that Gran would want her passing celebrated rather than mourned.

Albie Cross paid tribute to her at the graveside. ‘Not a churchgoer, nor a do-gooder, nor a bible-basher. But to my mind there’s not anyone in church of a Sunday that could hold a
candle to Alice Champion.’

‘She was generous to a fault,’ Eve Beale agreed. ‘And wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. She was an honest woman and a brave one. I’m proud to have been called her
friend. I know the only favour she’d ask of us now is to look out for the family she left behind.’

All heads turned to Pat, who stood lost in grief, her white face devoid of make-up under a small black hat. Connie carried Lawrence in her arms, whilst Doris held her mother’s hand.

The gathering returned to East Ferry Road, where Connie and Ada had prepared the buffet. With shortages as they were, everyone donated rations. Gran’s butcher provided the bacon and ham
for the thin-cut sandwiches. The eggs came courtesy of her favoured stall at Cox Street market and cheese, tea and beer appeared from behind the counter of the Queens in Manchester Road.

Connie saw to it that no one was excluded, as Gran would have wished. As evening drew near, the gathering dispersed. Ada washed the kids’ mucky faces and put them to bed.

When Connie joined her in the bedroom, Doris was already asleep. Ada was changing Lawrence’s nappy.

‘How’s Pat?’ she asked as Connie sat beside her on the bed.

‘I think she wants to be alone,’ Connie sighed. ‘So I’ve left her doing the dishes.’

‘What will she do without Gran, I wonder?’

Connie shrugged. ‘There’s a big gap in her life.’

‘Has she got any money?’

‘Gran left her some to tide her over and there’s Laurie’s army allowance.’

‘Will the landlord let her stay?’

‘If she can pay the rent, I don’t see why not.’

Ada did up the last two buttons of Lawrence’s nightgown. She placed him in Connie’s arms. ‘Take him. I know you’re dying to have a cuddle.’

Connie rocked him gently. ‘He’s a lovely baby and never cries. Lucky was the same, a happy baby for all he’d been through.’ She felt the tears prick behind her lids.

‘You still miss him, don’t you?’

‘I just hope they love him as much as I do.’

Ada frowned as she gazed at Connie. ‘I don’t know how you’ve kept going, what with Lucky being taken away and Gran going on top of it, not to mention the telegram.’ She
reached across and pushed a stray lock of Connie’s hair from her eyes. ‘I’m worried about you, Con, about how calmly you’re taking all this. I know it’s good to be
positive about Vic but you have to be realistic.’

Connie slowly turned to look at Ada. ‘You think he’s dead, don’t you?’

‘I never said that.’

Connie got up and laid the baby in his cot. ‘You know, Ada, Gran said something funny just before she died and I’ve been trying to work it out.’

Ada joined her. ‘What do you mean by funny?’

‘Well, she said she’d seen all her family, Mother and Dad, her husband, who was called Maurice, Frederick, her son, and her brother, Bobby.’

‘But they’re dead,’ Ada protested. ‘She must have been delirious.’

‘She wasn’t,’ Connie said slowly. ‘She said quite clearly, “
He
’s not on the other side. I looked.”’

Ada shivered. ‘Go on, frighten me some more.’

‘I think it was Vic she was talking about.’

Ada rubbed her arms. ‘Now I’ve got goose bumps.’

‘I think instead of the seeing with the leaves, this time she had some kind of heavenly vision.’

‘Well, you’re entitled to believe what you like, but I haven’t the stomach for all that.’