Far From Home (19 page)

The all-clear went an hour later, and Peggy and Mrs Finch returned to the house. There had been no bombs or incendiaries this time, for which they were thankful, but some poor souls somewhere must have taken the full brunt of the attack.

‘I’m feeling a little tired, dear,’ said Mrs Finch. ‘I think I’ll go and have a nap.’

Peggy helped her up the stairs and, once she was settled, came back to the kitchen to begin preparing the evening meal. It was a chore she’d come to hate, for there was very little variety in the food available, and the last of the summer vegetables were beginning to look rather sorry for themselves. But at least they could fill up on potatoes, and the onions Ron had hung in the shed would provide a bit of flavour to the hash.

Cissy felt awful. The shock of her fall and the knowledge that there was blood on her face was nothing compared to the pain in her ankle. She managed to haul herself up the steps, but had to bite her lip to stifle the yelp of pain as she inadvertently put her weight on her ankle while trying to dodge the dining room rug which had been rolled into the middle of the hall.

‘Mum,’ she said plaintively on finally reaching the kitchen. ‘Mum, can you help me?’

Peggy turned from the sink and gasped in horror before rushing to help her sit down. ‘Cissy? Oh, Cissy, what happened?’

Cissy felt like a rag doll as she slumped into the chair, the string bag of groceries falling to the floor from her limp fingers. Her head was pounding and she felt sick. ‘The sirens went and, in the rush for the shelter, I tripped and banged my head,’ she stuttered. ‘And I’ve done something to my ankle. It really hurts, Mum.’

‘So I see,’ murmured Peggy. ‘It does look horribly swollen.’

‘I think it’s broken,’ Cissy said with a hiss of pain as she tried to move it.

‘If it is, then I’ll have to get you to the hospital,’ said Peggy. ‘Oh dear,’ she fretted. ‘I have a house full of nurses and just when I really need one, none of them are to be seen. What a to-do.’ She eyed the swollen ankle and then turned her attention to the blood on Cissy’s face. ‘Let’s clean you up first,’ she murmured. ‘Then we’ll think about what to do with that ankle.’

Peggy rushed to get a clean cloth which she soaked with cold water. ‘I’ll be as gentle as I can,’ she soothed, ‘but I need to clean away this blood so I can see what the damage is to your face.’

‘Is it very bad?’ Cissy’s headache was pounding in time with the throb in her ankle, and she winced as the cold cloth dabbed at her sore cheek.

‘You’ve got a nasty graze there,’ murmured Peggy, ‘and a lump the size of a pullet’s egg on your forehead. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up with a black eye.’

Cissy looked at her in horror. ‘I can’t go out with a black eye,’ she gasped.

‘You won’t be able to dance on that ankle either,’ muttered Peggy as she put a cold compress against the swelling. ‘Put your foot on that chair and keep it there. It might help ease the pain.’

Cissy covered her face with her hands and, although she remained dry-eyed, she let out a few dramatic sobs for good measure. Her mother would expect her to cry, but actually she was thinking fast. The accident could be turned to her advantage, and although the injuries were painful and probably made her look ugly, they would be far easier to bear than having to face Jack Witherspoon tonight.

At the thought of the awful events of the previous day she felt tears well, and now she was truly sobbing. ‘But I can’t let everyone down,’ she said, hoping she sounded stalwart and brave. ‘They’ll be furious if I don’t turn up.’

‘There will be no point in you going,’ said Peggy firmly as she ran cold water over another cloth. ‘You won’t be able to dance with an ankle like that. I’ll telephone the theatre and tell them you won’t be back for at least two days.’

Cissy dipped her chin, her blonde hair falling in a waterfall over her face so that her mother couldn’t see the relief that was flooding through her.

Polly had been kept busy on her ward for the rest of her shift, and now she was so tired she almost had to drag herself back to Beach View. Stepping through the entrance that had once held a front door, she peeked into the dining room and realised Peggy had been extremely busy, for it looked almost back to normal.

She dumped her gas-mask box and cloak over the newel post, stepped over the roll of carpet and went in search of a cup of tea. The sight of the young girl being fussed over by Peggy made her falter. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she breathed. ‘What’s happened? You weren’t hit in that raid, were you?’

Peggy looked up, her worried expression clearing. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come back, Polly. This is my youngest daughter, Cissy,’ she explained quickly. ‘She’s had a bit of a fall, and I think she might have broken her ankle. Would you mind taking a look at it?’

‘Of course I will.’ Polly knelt beside the girl. ‘Hello, Cissy. I’m Polly Brown.’ She looked into a wan little face streaked with tears and saw the dark bruising that was already spreading round one of her blue eyes. ‘You’ve got a bit of a shiner coming and will need a drop of iodine on it to help the bruising go down quickly,’ she said lightly. ‘But let me look at that ankle first. Is it very painful?’

‘It is a bit,’ Cissy replied, and winced as Polly gently felt the delicate bones of her foot and pressed against her toes.

Polly smiled reassuringly at her. ‘No bones broken, but it’s a nasty sprain. The swelling should go down if you rest it for a couple of days.’ She took the little bottle of iodine and the roll of bandaging Peggy had dug out of her cupboard. ‘Thanks, Peggy, and a cup of sweet tea wouldn’t go amiss, if you wouldn’t mind. I suspect she’s a bit shocked.’

‘I think you could both do with one,’ replied Peggy as she set out the cups and put two spoonfuls of precious sugar in each. ‘But the tea’s awfully weak, I’m afraid.’

‘Wet and warm will do,’ said Polly before turning back to Cissy. ‘Peggy tells me you dance with a theatre troupe. That must be such fun, with all the lovely costumes and the music and everything. Me and Adam used to go to the theatre a lot before Alice came along.’

Cissy gave her a wan smile over the lip of her teacup. ‘You must come and watch sometime,’ she muttered with little enthusiasm. ‘I can always get you free tickets.’

‘Perhaps once you’re feeling better,’ murmured Polly. ‘You won’t be up to dancing for a few days, I’m afraid. That ankle has to rest.’

‘I’ve telephoned the theatre and warned them,’ said Peggy. ‘Mr Witherspoon was very understanding.’

Polly had quickly bandaged the swollen ankle and was now carefully dabbing iodine on the swelling above Cissy’s brow. She frowned as she caught the fleeting gleam of contempt in the girl’s eyes at the mention of his name. Whoever Mr Witherspoon was, he clearly didn’t rate highly in Cissy’s estimation.

‘Does it hurt anywhere else?’ she asked softly.

Cissy set aside her tea and rubbed her forehead. ‘I’ve got the most awful headache,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’

Polly frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you sit in that chair by the range for a while. Peggy, do you have any aspirin?’

Peggy dug into her cupboard again for the tin box where she kept such things. ‘It’s not serious, is it?’ Her dark eyes were clouded with concern as she handed over two aspirin.

‘She might have concussion, so she’ll need to be watched for a while. It’s always difficult with head injuries, one never knows what sort of damage might have been done.’ Polly saw Peggy’s look of horror and rushed to reassure her. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Let her fall asleep in the chair here, but if she’s sick, then ring the hospital immediately.’

‘But surely, with you in the house …?’

‘There’s only so much I can do, Peggy. I’m sorry. If she has concussion, then she needs to be seen by a doctor.’ Polly looked at the watch pinned to her starched apron. ‘Talking of hospitals,’ she sighed. ‘I need to get some sleep before I go back to visit Adam.’

She helped Cissy into the fireside chair and covered her in a blanket. The girl’s colour had improved even though the bruising was already darkening one eye. A quick check of her pulse told her it was steady and strong, and it didn’t feel as if she had a temperature, so she didn’t think there was too much to worry about.

Leaving the kitchen, she collected her cloak, bag and gas mask from the newel post and trudged upstairs to her room. Peggy had certainly been busy, for the glass had been cleared and a sheet of hardboard covered the window, and although Polly was immensely grateful, she was so tired she couldn’t think straight as she stripped off her uniform and hung it up. With a sigh of pleasure, she sank into her bed, set the alarm, and was asleep within seconds.

Peggy rescued the string bag from where she’d slung it on to the table and dug out a loaf of bread, a few ounces of margarine, a packet of tea and a pound and a half of stewing beef. It was quite a haul for so late in the day. She was about to congratulate Cissy when she realised the girl was asleep. Her colour was back to normal, her breathing was easier, and all in all, she suspected Cissy would be as right as rain before morning.

Peggy moved round her kitchen trying to make as little noise as possible so she didn’t disturb Cissy as she prepared the dinner and tidied up.

A while later, she heard the tramp of heavy footsteps coming up the front steps and rushed into the hall. ‘Jim,’ she breathed thankfully. ‘At last. I thought you were never coming home.’

‘And where else would I be, me darling?’ he murmured, staring in puzzlement at the lack of a front door. ‘What the devil happened here? Are you all right?’

‘Everyone’s fine, except for Cissy who fell over and hurt her ankle. The door was blown off along with the front windows during the raid last night.’ She looked at his weary, dirt-streaked face, his lank hair and filthy clothes, and realised he was probably even more tired than she. ‘I’m sorry, Jim, but you’ll have to find something to replace them before it gets dark.’

‘I’ve still got some plywood in Dad’s shed. I’ll do it after I’ve had something to eat and drink and a bit of a sit-down.’ His dark blue eyes fell on the rolled up rug. ‘What’s that doing here?’

‘We had a fall of soot from the dining room chimney,’ she said shortly. ‘All in all, it has been quite a day.’ Peggy looked up into his handsome face and returned his weary smile. ‘Come on into the kitchen,’ she said softly, ‘but mind Cissy. She’s asleep.’

The usual twinkle in Jim’s blue eyes was dimmed by his tiredness as he sank into a kitchen chair. He was covered in dust and soot and grease, his usual dapper appearance discarded on a bomb site somewhere in the town. He eyed his sleeping daughter with a frown. ‘She’s all right, though, isn’t she?’

Peggy explained as she quickly made a pot of fresh tea and toasted some bread for him which she slathered in home-made jam to hide the fact there was so little margarine.

He smiled fondly at Cissy and gave a vast yawn. ‘As long as there’re no broken bones,’ he murmured. ‘B’jesus, I could kill for a few hours’ sleep, Peg. Me and Da have been at it all night.’

‘Where is Ron?’ Peggy poured the tea and passed him the toast. ‘The last time I saw him was this morning at the bomb site down the road.’

‘He’ll be here in a minute,’ mumbled Jim with his mouth full of toast. ‘He’s gone to check on Rosie Braithwaite, and help her change the barrels and get those crates up from the cellar before she opens at six.’

Peggy settled on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and lit a cigarette. ‘You both must be dead on your feet,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry you’ve got to sort out the doors and windows before you can rest.’

‘So am I,’ he muttered, ‘but needs must.’

‘I hope you don’t have to go in to the cinema tonight?’

‘No, thank goodness. I’m off now until tomorrow afternoon.’

Peggy eyed him as he slurped his tea and munched his toast. ‘I see they’ve got a new usherette at the Odeon. She looks about the same age as Cissy. Nice girl, is she?’

‘Nice enough,’ he muttered. Raising one dark brow, he eyed her quizzically. ‘Nothing much gets past you, does it, Peg?’

‘No,’ she replied, holding his gaze, her expression speaking volumes.

Jim broke the eye contact first, finished the toast and drained the last of his tea. ‘I’ll sort out the door and windows, then I’m for me bed.’

Peggy watched as he strode across the kitchen and hurried down the stairs. Within minutes he was back, armed with several sheets of plywood, a hammer and a bag of nails. ‘We’ll have to use the back door until I can get a replacement,’ he muttered as he crossed the kitchen.

Peggy listened to the hammer blows and the occasional curse. Jim had never been very good at doing things about the house, but at least he was trying his best, so she didn’t have the right to complain. She eyed her daughter, a little concerned that she could sleep through the racket.

Jim reappeared almost an hour later. ‘The house is secure, and I’ll go down to the scrapyard tomorrow and see if Bert has any doors.’ He dropped the hammer and bag of nails on the table. ‘I’m for me bed now, Peg. I could sleep for a week.’

‘You’ll have a bath first,’ she said, alarmed at the thought of all that muck on her nice clean sheets. ‘Leave those clothes in the bathroom and I’ll wash them tomorrow.’

Mindful of the state of his clothing, he carefully gave her a hug. ‘You’re the only one for me, Peg Reilly, and don’t you ever lose sight of that,’ he murmured.