Cockney Orphan (6 page)

At one o’clock, she and Ada made their way to the canteen. Len was waiting for them. Over hot mugs of tea and slightly stale spam sandwiches, they swapped tales of the last two
unbelievable days. Connie’s discovery of Lucky and the night spent under the stairs in Gran’s cupboard was enough to make Ada’s eyes pop out from their sockets. Len said the drama
quite eclipsed his own. The one story Connie didn’t relate, though, was of Billy and the burglary. Even to Connie, the incident was beginning to fade into realms of fantasy.

Just after lunch, Mr Burns instructed them to pack away their books. ‘Due to unforeseen circumstances,’ he explained briefly, ‘we are closing early. The time
lost will be made up by arrival at work in the morning and every day thereafter for two weeks, at eight o’clock prompt.’

‘I saw some official-looking bods arriving in a big black jam jar,’ Len whispered as Connie and Ada completed their work and closed their ledgers. ‘I’ll bet it’s to
do with them.’

‘What could they want?’ Connie wondered aloud.

‘I’ve a feeling we’ll all find out soon enough,’ Len said nervously.

‘And why should we have to come in early for two weeks?’ Ada demanded as they went to put on their coats.

‘I’ve never known Mr Burns to let us off early before, not even in the summer when the city was bombed,’ Connie agreed as they hurried to the gates.

‘Yeah, but our planes were giving Jerry a run for their money then. Last night it was all one way, and sadly not ours.’

‘Look after yourself,’ Connie said as the two girls stood together in the mild September afternoon. ‘Will you be seeing Wally?’

‘We only met for half an hour yesterday because I had to help Mum with me three younger sisters. I gotta see him tonight or I’ll bust,’ Ada sighed bleakly. ‘We
can’t even kiss without Dad breathing down our necks lately, let alone have a bit of how’s your father. What about your new bloke?’

‘He’s not my bloke, Ada. I told you, he was at British Street School with us.’

‘Well, I don’t remember him.’

‘You wouldn’t. He wasn’t your type.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Only that he was in the football team and older than us. You never watched any of the matches. You was always hanging round the bike sheds having a fag when they were on.’

‘S’pose I was. But you’re seeing him on Saturday, aren’t you? What’s that if it not going out with someone?’

Connie smiled. ‘It’s certainly not a bit of how’s your father.’

‘You’ll never know till you try it,’ Ada responded with a wink. ‘And in my opinion it’s the best thing since fried bread. And I’d eat it every day if I could.
Fried bread, I mean.’

Connie gasped. ‘Ada Freeman, you be careful!’

Ada grinned, tossing back her red hair. ‘I want a bit of fun whilst I’m young enough to enjoy it.’

‘Just as long as it’s fun you want and not babies,’ Connie warned.

‘Hark at you,’ her friend cried as she took her leave, ‘you’re looking after a kid and you haven’t had any fun getting it. T’ra now. See you at eight o’
clock tomorrow morning!’

Connie watched Ada’s little bottom under her raincoat wiggle off into the distance. Trust Ada to put the situation into perspective. But she was wrong on one count. She hadn’t had
fun in finding Lucky, it had been a traumatic experience all round. But from the moment the baby smiled at her, something inside her had changed. Added to this was the appearance of Vic, who today
she had spent a good deal of time thinking about.

If only she could keep Lucky a little longer! Then Connie had an idea. Perhaps he had won over her mother’s heart, just as he had hers. Perhaps her mum would be holding him tenderly in her
arms, an entranced smile on her face.

‘Constance, we’ll manage him somehow,’ she would say.

Almost breaking into a run, Connie set off for home. Her heart was much lighter than it had been at the beginning of the day.

‘H
e’s had wind all morning,’ Olive complained as she stood in the kitchen, holding the baby over her shoulder. ‘I
haven’t been able to get on with a thing. Crying continually he was.’

Connie, breathless from hurrying home, took the baby in her arms. She rocked him gently, gazing into his little red face. If she had entertained any hope of the infant charming her mother, it
had now disappeared.

‘Did he drink his milk?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think it agrees with him. He was probably breast-fed.’

‘Oh dear. Does it make much difference?’

‘Not in wartime,’ her mother said briskly.

‘Pat suggested he might eat mashed or strained food,’ Connie offered unwisely, regretting the remark as soon as she’d made it.

Her mother’s eyebrows jumped to her hairline. ‘And where would I find the time to mash and strain food,’ she demanded shakily, ‘when I haven’t even had a spare
moment to prepare your father’s dinner?’

‘Is the gas on?’

‘Yes, but I don’t even know if we’ll have time to eat. Not if we want to get down to Tiller Road before that dratted siren goes off.’

The subject of the public shelter was weighing heavily on Connie’s mind too. And now it was broached, she braced herself for the opposition to follow. ‘I’d prefer to stay in
the Anderson, Mum, with the baby of course.’

Olive gasped. ‘Rubbish, Constance. You’re coming with us.’

‘I’m sorry, but Dad said if we had any objections to voice them. Public shelters aren’t for me, Mum. I know you feel safer there, but I don’t. It was like being trapped
in a sardine can, with all the fish still wriggling. I didn’t get a wink of sleep all night.’

‘And you think you’ll fare any better in that rabbit hutch outside?’ Olive said scornfully.

‘I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.’

Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but then her face crumpled. ‘Oh, this dreadful war! Look what it’s doing to us. Driving families apart who should be standing shoulder to
shoulder.’

Despite the sorrow in her mother’s voice, Connie saw the funny side. ‘It was more like bum to bum in Tiller Road. The farts were bouncing off the walls like tennis balls.’

‘Oh, this is not a joke!’ Olive dabbed her eyes with the hem of her pinny. ‘I don’t know what’s to become of us, I’m sure.’

Connie put her free arm round her mother’s shoulders. ‘As soon as Dad and the boys come home, you’ll feel better.’

‘Much hope of that!’ Olive wailed. ‘Billy’s probably down the river again, the little devil, despite your father giving him a right ticking off after Saturday. And Kevin
– well, words fail me! He’s going straight from the factory to the Nobbs’s house. I ask you! Preferring someone else’s home to his own.’ She looked indignantly at
Connie. ‘It’s not right you know, he’s only fifteen. That girl will latch on to him if he’s not careful.’

‘Our Kevin knows what he’s doing,’ Connie answered quietly. ‘He’s sensible – like you. He knows what he wants out of life.’

Olive looked askance. ‘And what choice does a woman have in this world? If she’s a wife and mother she is everyone’s property but her own. You put yourself last and your family
first. Is it so wrong to expect a little loyalty now and then? You never ask for anything in return. Just a little peace occasionally. A moment or two to get your thoughts together. And then what
happens? The war, that’s what.’ Red in the face, she heaved in a quick breath. ‘Now, I know this poor child couldn’t help crying, but I’d forgotten how much attention
babies need. Feeding, changing, washing out the nappies and drying them – the work is endless.’

Connie was aware that any moment now one of her mother’s ‘turns’ was on the cards, curable only by an early night and the household treading on eggshells, a remedy that in
wartime was highly unlikely to be available.

‘Anyone at home?’ Nan and Lofty Barnes ambled into the kitchen, filling the small space with their large bodies.

‘What’s up, me old china?’ Taking one glance at Olive’s flushed face, Lofty dropped his tool bag and pulled her into his arms.

‘Don’t suffocate the poor bitch,’ Nan rebuked her husband. ‘What is it, Ollie? Tell us what’s wrong.’

‘Nothing, nothing!’ Olive pushed herself from her neighbour’s clumsy embrace, hurriedly repairing the damage to her hair. ‘Things got on top of me for a bit, that’s
all. But I’m fine now,’ she ended through gritted teeth.

Nan raised an eyebrow at Connie.

‘The baby had wind,’ Connie offered, doing her best to sound calm and unperturbed.

Nan held out her arms. ‘Give him to me, love. Olive, why don’t you go upstairs for forty winks? Connie, make yer mum a nice cup of rosie and take it up to her. Lofty, off you trot
and get that door back on its hinges. Now, me and the kiddy will be in the front room out of everyone’s way.’

‘I don’t want any tea, thank you, Constance,’ Olive said indignantly.

‘Please yourself, ducks.’ Nan winked at Connie and disappeared into the hall.

Alone with her daughter, Olive whispered, ‘Nan means well, but she hasn’t had a day’s illness in her life and doesn’t know what it’s like to feel out of
sorts.’

‘Why don’t you go to the shops, then?’ Connie suggested. ‘A breath of fresh air always cheers you up. I’ll peel the veg and there’s a tin of spam on the top
shelf. By the time you get back, dinner will be ready.’

Olive, looking brighter, grasped her handbag. ‘Well, I have been saving up me coupons. Enough for . . . let me see, four ounces of tea, that’ll make a nice change, having a strong
cup instead of dishwater. And four ounces of jam would make us a good breakfast through the week instead of dripping . . . just lucky that I saved last week’s meat rations too, due to Kevin
being over at
that
girl’s house for his meals.’

Connie took the grey coat from the peg on the kitchen door. ‘It’s not cold, but you’d better put this on.’

‘Quite right, dear, I don’t want a chill.’ Olive slid in her arms and turned down the collar. ‘You always seem to get these complaints when the weather turns.’

Connie gently ushered her from the kitchen. Once on her own, she felt like a hearty sigh herself. She heated the milk for Lucky and took the bottle to Nan. Five minutes later he was feeding
nicely and the front door was a screw away from total repair.

Other than Lofty’s whistling, the silence was golden. Connie absorbed it as she stood at the sink peeling vegetables. She couldn’t wait to give Lucky a cuddle and knew that later, in
the Anderson, she would be holding him close. By which time her mother would be installed in a public shelter, the most torturous form of existence Connie could imagine!

Had she made the right decision after all? Connie wondered that night. She was sitting, petrified, next to Billy in the Anderson. The bombs that had been dropping incessantly
since dusk were pounding the earth like giant footsteps across the land. Every impact sent a vibration through the ground, but at least Billy was beside her and the baby was asleep after screaming
his lungs out for the past two hours.

Thanks to the Valor paraffin stove that her father had transferred from the front room, she was able to heat the milk. In addition to the candles, a Tilley lamp and Dad’s old army hammock
had been resurrected from the attic. Billy had also produced a contraption for the baby to sleep in. A crude wooden crate balanced on four small, rusty wheels attached to an iron frame.

When a sudden lull in the bombing came, Billy gave a hefty sigh. ‘He’s gone off, at last.’ He nodded at the slumbering child swathed in a blanket, his pink face illuminated by
the glow of the candle. ‘The cart’s done the trick, eh?’

Connie nodded, her ears still ringing. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘The rag and bone yard. Well, the wheels anyway. I stuck the bit of wood across the metal and tied on the rope so’s you can pull it along.’

‘You can be useful when you try.’

‘I thought I better get back in your good books.’

‘Oh, so that’s your game.’ Connie relented a little. ‘Well, you’ve made a start, so don’t go blotting your copybook.’

‘I don’t intend to.’ He gestured to the hammock strung from one end of the shelter to the other. ‘Get your head down and I’ll take first watch.’

Connie felt a little shudder of delight at the mention of sleep. She had been treading air all day and was ready to fall asleep sitting up. But Billy’s sudden concern worried her.
‘You’re not thinking of doing another bunk, are you?’

‘Not likely. I’m a changed man, now.’

‘A man, eh? You was just a fourteen-year-old kid yesterday.’

Billy grinned. ‘Seen your bloke then?’ he asked mischievously.

‘If you mean Vic Champion,’ she huffed, ‘he’s not my bloke. I told you, we went to school together.’

After a small silence, Billy nudged her arm. ‘Connie?’

‘What?’

‘Lend us three bob, will you?’

Connie’s jaw dropped. ‘I thought you was after something!’

‘Only till next week. I owe the bloke for them wheels.’ He nodded down at the baby’s cart.

‘Those rusty old things cost three shillings!’

Billy looked insulted. ‘Every bit of metal’s going on the war effort. I was lucky to get them.’

Connie picked up her bag and opened her purse. ‘I suppose, as it’s for the baby . . .’

‘Thanks, Con. You’re a sweetheart.’

‘So you keep telling me.’

Billy stuffed the money in his pocket. ‘Come on, I’ll show you how to get in the hammock. Me and Kev used to muck about with it in the yard. It’s a right laugh, I can tell
you.’

Connie placed her foot in Billy’s cupped hand. He heaved her into the hammock. They were both laughing as she swung precariously to and fro. ‘Hold on, I’ll push your bum
in!’

‘You leave my bum alone, Billy Marsh,’ Connie giggled, wriggling herself into place and snuggling down. If only Billy was always like this, the brother who made her laugh and was
kind and considerate. She could hardly believe this was the same boy who had abandoned her in Haverick Street.

As she looked up into his laughing face, she wondered again if she was being naïve. Was he really going to change his ways? A concern that soon disappeared as she fell fast asleep.