Jenny's War (19 page)

This state of affairs carried on for the next two days. Arthur stayed in the house the whole time, peering out of the front windows yet keeping well back so that he could not be seen. The slightest sound made him jumpy and even Dot got irritated with him.

‘I’m going shopping,’ she announced.

‘No, yer not,’ Arthur snapped. ‘Yer not leaving this house.’

‘But we’ve no food and—’

‘Send the kid. No one’ll bother her.’

‘She doesn’t know how to shop. Yer ’ave to queue for hours just to get a bit of scrag end. They’ll do ’er.’

‘Jen’s got more nous than you give ’er credit for,’ Arthur said, turning away from the window. ‘Let her go this once and see how she gets on. You never know.’ He grinned. ‘If Jen puts on her pathetic look and smiles nicely, they might take pity on her.’

Dot regarded her daughter steadily. ‘It might work, I suppose.’

Arthur laughed – the first time he’d done so since he’d discovered that his hoard had gone missing. ‘I know she can’t flash her tits at ’em like you do, Dot, but she’s got a cheeky little smile that might work just as well.’

Dot’s eyes narrowed. ‘You saying I can’t work me magic any longer?’

‘Nah, Dot, would I?’ He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, ‘And while she’s out . . .’

Dot hurried to find her handbag.

Jenny joined the long queue of women outside the butcher’s shop. After a few moments, someone else came up behind her.

‘Hello, darlin’. Where’s yer mum?’

Jenny turned to smile up at Elsie Hutton. ‘At home.’

‘Is she poorly?’

‘No.’

Elsie’s face darkened. ‘Then, why . . . ?’ She stopped and her mouth tightened in fury. Had Dot Mercer no shame? Sending a young girl to queue for hours to get a tiny piece of meat? But, no, she hadn’t, Elsie thought, else she wouldn’t have shacked up with that rascal, Arthur Osborne. She forced a smile on to her face for Jenny’s sake and tried to think of something they could talk about, anything to steer the conversation away from Jenny’s home life. ‘Have you heard from those folks you were staying with in the country?’

Jenny bit her lip and shook her head.

‘Have you written to them?’

The girl nodded and whispered, ‘Three times. Mum said she’d put stamps on them and post them, but they’ve never written back.’ From the tone of Jenny’s voice, it was obvious to Elsie that the girl was deeply hurt and her next words tugged at Elsie’s heartstrings. ‘I thought they’d have written to me.’

‘I’m sure they will, love. You just keep writing to them.’

‘Mum ses it’s a waste of paper and her money buying stamps. She – she ses they must’ve been glad to get rid of me.’

Was there nothing Dot wouldn’t stoop to? Elsie had to clamp her lips together to stop herself from saying exactly what she thought. Forcing her tone to sound casual, she said, ‘I’m sure that’s not true, Jen. I bet they loved having you.’

‘They were very kind and Georgie . . .’ Her voice broke and she stopped.

‘Who’s Georgie?’ Elsie asked gently, noticing the catch in the girl’s voice.

‘He – he was – is – a fighter pilot. He was posted missing.’ Her head shot up as she met Elsie’s sympathetic eyes. ‘But he’s coming back. I know he is.’

Elsie could think of nothing to say, so she just squeezed the girl’s shoulder. Instead, she changed the subject to the matter uppermost in their thoughts. ‘Now, when you get to the counter –
if
we ever get to the counter – don’t you let Mr Chops diddle you.’

Jenny’s eyes widened and she giggled, her thoughts turned away – as Elsie had hoped they would be – from sadness. ‘Is that his name? Is it really “Mr Chops”?’

Elsie chuckled. ‘No, but it’s what we all call him. He’s always saying “’Ow abart a nice pawk chop?’ Elsie broadened her own cockney accent even more to imitate their local butcher. Then she pulled a face. ‘But I don’t reckon there’ll be many pork chops left by the time we get to the front, Jen.’

At last, Jenny was standing in front of the rotund figure of Mr Chops.

‘Good morning, madam,’ he said, his eyes twinkling behind his round spectacles. He was a big man, rotund and jovial. ‘And what can I get for you today?’

‘A nice piece of brisket, if you please, Mr Chops,’ Jenny said in her best, grown-up voice.

There was a ripple of laughter amongst those in the queue just behind her, who had heard her words. Elsie nudged her and whispered, hardly able to keep the laughter from her voice. ‘His real name’s Mr Bartholomew.’

But the butcher was laughing uproariously, his great belly shaking. Jenny smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling prettily, her blue eyes dancing. She could see that he hadn’t taken offence in the slightest. ‘I ain’t got no brisket today, but you give me your ration books and I’ll see what I can find for yer.’ As he placed the ration of meat for three people into a newspaper parcel, he reached beneath the counter and winked at her. Then he slapped three sausages on top of the portions of meat and wrapped it up swiftly. Only Elsie, standing close behind Jenny, saw his actions. He leaned forward and whispered, ‘Tell yer mam, them’s for you. Nobody else, just you.’ He winked again, straightened up to take her money and then glanced at the loose coupons Jenny had shaken out of an envelope on to the counter. For a moment his smile faded. ‘Ain’t you brought your ration books, love?’

‘Mum said I might lose them, so she cut them out,’ Jenny said innocently. It was what Dot had told her to say, although the girl hadn’t actually seen her do it.

‘Mm.’ The butcher was frowning worriedly. He picked up the coupons and scrutinized them carefully. ‘All right. I’ll take ’em just this once, but you tell yer mam to sent the books next time, eh?’

Above her head, he exchanged a glance with Elsie, raising his eyebrows in a question. He knew Mrs Hutton lived next door to Dot Mercer. But Elsie shrugged, thankful that she didn’t know whether the coupons were forgeries or not.

‘Thank you, Mr Ch— Mr Bartholomew,’ Jenny said politely.

‘Oh, Mr Chops to you, darlin’,’ the man said kindly, fully aware that if there was anything dodgy about the coupons she’d handed over, it wasn’t the little lass’s fault. ‘We’re mates now, ain’t we?’

Again, Jenny gave him her most winning smile as she turned and wove her way amongst the lengthening queue out of the shop. Outside, she waited until Elsie joined her so that they could walk home together.

The house was quiet when she let herself in by the front door and Jenny knew better than to disturb Dot and Arthur, so she put her bag of shopping on the table and slipped out again to the Huttons’ house, remembering to lock the door carefully behind her.

‘You playing out, Bobby?’ she asked her friend, who was lounging against the front door frame of their house.

‘Nah. I’m waiting for Sammy. He reckons he can get me a job as a delivery boy for the butcher.’

‘Mr Chops?’

Bobby blinked. ‘Eh?’

‘I mean – Mr Bartholomew?’

Bobby grinned. ‘Yeah, that’s him.’

‘Me an’ yer mam have just been up there. He gave me three sausages, he did.’

‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’

But she didn’t feel so lucky when she returned home later to find Arthur sitting at the table and tucking into her sausages.

‘They were for me,’ she said, standing beside the table, eyeing the disappearing sausages enviously. ‘Mr Chops said so.’

Dot tweaked her ear painfully. ‘We share in this house, young lady, and don’t you forget it.’

But Arthur looked up with an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Tich. I didn’t know. Look, there’s one left. You have that.’

‘Arthur . . .’ Dot began warningly, but he pushed the plate towards Jenny and insisted she should eat the last one. Dot, pursing her mouth in disapproval, turned away. For once, there was nothing she could do.

There was no air raid that evening and some families stayed in their own homes, thankful for the respite and the chance to spend just one night in their own beds, though Jenny saw the Huttons setting off as usual to the underground armed with food and blankets.

‘I ain’t goin’,’ Dot declared. ‘I could do with one night’s proper sleep.’

But in the middle of the night, there came such a banging on the front door that Jenny woke up, startled by the sudden noise. She sat up in bed, her heart thudding, her whole body shaking.

Dot rushed into the room, her hair tousled, her eyes wide. ‘Don’t go down, Jen. Arthur ses not to answer it.’

‘But—’

‘Do as ’ee ses.’

‘Who is it?’ Jenny whispered, catching her mother’s fear.

‘The coppers.’

Jenny gasped. ‘The – the – why?’

‘Why d’yer think?’ Dot snapped.

Jenny blinked in the darkness, her mind working rapidly. ‘Is it about the stuff that was under my bed? Has Uncle Arthur told the police that it’s been nicked and—’

Dot stared at her. ‘A’ yer stupid, or what? ’Course he’s not reported it. Haven’t you heard of the black market? It were stolen goods. Oh, I don’t mean he stole the stuff,’ her mother added swiftly, realizing that in her agitation she was saying too much. ‘He was keepin’ it for a mate.’

Jenny stared at her. She didn’t believe Dot. If all those tins and bottles that had been under her bed had been stolen goods, then Arthur Osborne had done the stealing or had at least organized it.

They stayed quietly in Jenny’s bedroom until Arthur crept in. ‘They’ve gone, but they’ve shouted through the letter box that they’ll be back. We’ll have to go, Dot. Right now.’

For a moment Dot stared at him and then got up, muttering, ‘Why the hell I ever got myself mixed up with a wide boy, I don’t know.’

Even amidst their anxiety, Arthur grinned and tweaked her nose. ‘Cos you can’t resist me, that’s why. An’ I’m good to yer, aren’t I?’

But Dot wasn’t in a playful mood and she slapped his hand away. ‘I’ll not deny that.’ She glared at him as she added, ‘But I’m good to you an’ all, ain’t I?’

He seemed about to take her in his arms but she shoved him away. ‘We’d better get going. Jen, pack yer stuff. We’re getting out.’

Jenny bounced up and down on her bed. ‘Back to Lincolnshire? You’re taking me back to Ravensfleet?’

Dot rounded on her, her face twisted into a sneer. ‘No, we’re not. And you can forget all about the posh folk you stayed with. They don’t want yer no more. A dirty little tyke like you. Now get dressed and put yer clothes into that suitcase they gave you. Least they were useful for something.’

Jenny sat very still, staring after her mother as she hurried from the room.

Arthur touched her shoulder. ‘Come on, darlin’. It’ll be all right. I’ll look after you.’

Jenny tried to smile weakly. She knew he meant well, but it wasn’t how she thought a man should take care of his family. Doing a moonlight. It wasn’t what Miles or Charlotte or Georgie would have done. But then, she reasoned, they wouldn’t have been on the wrong side of the law in the first place.

But just as they were about to collect their belongings together, the sirens began to wail.

They huddled together for the rest of the night in the Morrison shelter in the front room.

‘I reckon it’s stopping,’ Arthur whispered after they’d listened to wave after wave of bombers flying overhead and heard the thud of bombs falling. Luckily, nothing fell very close.

‘I ain’t heard the all-clear,’ Dot muttered.

‘We’ll have to risk it. We must be gone before the neighbours get back.’

‘I want to say ’bye to Bobby and Aunty Elsie,’ Jenny said, sitting up suddenly and banging her head on the top of the shelter. ‘Ouch!’

‘Serves yer right,’ Dot muttered. ‘And no, you can’t say goodbye to nobody. No one must know we’re going.’

Arthur eased himself out of the confined space and stood up, turning to help Dot out. ‘Come on, Jen. Look lively.’

‘But they might still be bombing.’

‘He said,’ Dot snarled, reaching in to grab the girl’s arm, ‘come
on
.’

Jenny scrambled out and headed for the stairs. She threw her best clothes – the ones that Charlotte had bought her – into the suitcase Charlotte had given her and put her precious drawing book and paints on the top. She closed the lid and, clutching Bert firmly, bumped it down the stairs.

‘Don’t make such a racket,’ Dot hissed. ‘We don’t want nobody hearing us.’

In the murky early morning light of a city still under the threat of attack – still the All Clear hadn’t sounded – Arthur pushed their belongings into a van.

When she saw it, Dot turned up her nose. ‘Where’s yer nice car?’

‘Done a good deal on it.’ Arthur winked at her. ‘This’ll be far more useful.’ He turned to Jenny. ‘You get in the back, darlin’. I’ve put a rug for you to sit on. And don’t make a noise if we’re stopped, will yer?’

Shivering, Jenny scrambled in and pulled the rug around her, still clutching Bert tightly against her. She wrinkled her nose. There was a funny smell. Beside her were more boxes – Jenny presumed them to be more tinned peaches or bottles of whisky – but the smell seemed to be coming from an oddly shaped parcel wrapped in cheesecloth.

Dot and Arthur climbed into the front of the van and Arthur started the engine. It echoed loudly in the still air and, catching the grown-ups’ tension, Jenny didn’t breathe easily until they were well away from their street and on their way north out of the city. There were two small windows in the rear doors of the van and for a while, she peered out. They passed through the bombed-out streets where disconsolate residents were already climbing over mounds of rubble attempting to salvage whatever belongings they could find. Tears prickled Jenny’s eyes. She hadn’t many belongings in the world – not that amounted to much – but she’d had to leave most of what she did possess behind. And she knew nothing would remain by the time they returned – if they ever did. Everything would have been either blown to smithereens in the bombing or taken by unscrupulous looters.

And, with every day that passed, Jenny was beginning to understand that she was in the clutches of just such a person.

By the time they’d left the London suburbs behind and were heading north, the day was fully light. Jenny was buffeted and bounced around in the back of the van, the petrol fumes from the dilapidated vehicle making her feel sick. And the feeling was not helped by the strange smell permeating the whole van. She wanted to knock on the thin partition between the back of the van and the front seats, but she dared not do so. She could clearly hear Arthur and her mother arguing almost as soon as they’d set out.