Keep Smiling Through (7 page)

As they waited for the tea to mash, Peggy dug her packet of Park Drive out of her apron pocket, lit one and tried to relax. But there were so many things to think about, what with the wedding only three days away, that she found it impossible. She gazed around her kitchen, noted the worn lino, the faded oilcloth on the table, the flaking paint on the window frames and the dust lining the shelves next to the range. This was the heart of her home and although it was shabby, and a world away from her sister Doris’s pristine kitchen in Havelock Gardens, she drew comfort from it, and the lovely memories it recalled.

Ron tramped into the kitchen, closely followed by an equally dishevelled Harvey. ‘Can I smell tea brewing?’

Peggy eyed them in horror. ‘Take your boots off, Ron. You’ve got half a garden of mud on them and I’ve just scrubbed the lino.’

‘To be sure, you’re a hard woman, Peggy Reilly,’ he said with a deep sigh, his brogue as strong as ever despite having left Ireland many years before.

Peggy eyed him with a mixture of exasperation and affection. Ron was a widower of many years and, at sixty-three, was as fit as a butcher’s dog, with strong shoulders and arms and a rather disconcerting habit of wearing the first thing he picked up from the floor each morning. His favourite clothes were baggy corduroy trousers, threadbare sweaters and the large poacher’s coat he wore when he took Harvey up into the hills hunting for game and anything else that might just happen to fall into the many hidden pockets.

The only times he looked passably smart were when he was in his Defence Volunteers’ uniform, or on his way to court Rosie Braithwaite, who was the middle-aged but very glamorous landlady of the nearby Anchor pub. He’d lusted after her for years, and despite the fact that Rosie was at least ten years younger than him, he remained determined to snare her.

Peggy wrinkled her nose as Harvey investigated the biscuit tin. ‘You can take him out of here as well,’ she said in disgust. ‘He’s been rolling in something and absolutely stinks.’

Ron grabbed the dog’s collar and grimaced as the aroma finally hit him. ‘He got in the compost before I could stop him,’ he grumbled. ‘Go on, ye heathen animal – downstairs.’

Harvey put his tail between his legs and, with a look of utter dejection that was meant to change Peggy’s mind, reluctantly made his way down the steps to the basement scullery where he slumped on the bottom step with a defeated sigh.

Ron pulled off his boots to reveal unsavoury socks and reached for the cup of tea Peggy had placed in front of him. ‘To be sure, and that hits the spot, so it does,’ he murmured.

Peggy was about to ask him how the tomato plants were coming on when she heard the front door slam. Jim was back. She looked up as he strode into the room and her pulse gave a little jump as it always did every time she saw him. He was still so handsome with his dark hair and twinkling eyes – how could she ever be cross with him?

‘You’ll not believe what happened last night,’ he said without preamble as he flung his cap on the table. ‘And in Cliffehaven of all places.’

‘My goodness,’ chirped Mrs Finch as she patted her hair, adjusted her hearing aid, and gazed at him in admiration. ‘Whatever have you been up to, you young rogue?’

‘We’ll no doubt find out soon enough,’ said Peggy dryly as she fetched another cup and saucer, happy to let him have his moment of drama.

Jim winked at Mrs Finch. ‘To be sure, ’tis not me causing the trouble this time.’

Mrs Finch frowned, clearly not understanding a word he’d said, and rather than repeat himself, he turned back to Peggy. ‘I was chatting to Alf the butcher,’ he said as she put his tea in front of him. ‘He said the police had to be called and the amount of damage done would probably amount to hundreds of pounds.’

He blew on his tea, took a sip and grimaced. Reaching for the almost empty bowl of sugar, he tipped most of it into his cup and stirred it vigorously.

‘Jim,’ protested Peggy. ‘You’ve got to take it easy on the sugar. It
is
rationed, you know.’

‘War or no war, I’ll not be drinking tea without sugar,’ he declared. ‘And besides, there’s plenty more where that came from.’

Peggy didn’t want to know about illicit sugar. ‘Never mind all that,’ she replied. ‘I want to hear what sort of trouble had the police out.’

He looked at her over the lip of his cup, his expression solemn. ‘The local Italian families had their businesses and homes wrecked last night. Alf said Gino and his brothers put up a hell of a fight, but they were outnumbered and the police got there too late to stop the mob from burning down two of their shops.’

Peggy stiffened. ‘Dear God,’ she breathed. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

‘They got the women and children out in time, but two of Gino’s brothers had to be taken to hospital with broken bones.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ she gasped. ‘Not here. Not Cliffehaven.’

Jim slurped his tea. ‘There’s always been a rough element over on the other side of the rail tracks, and they need little excuse to start trouble.’

‘What about the Minellis?’ Peggy’s voice was sharp with concern.

‘Their café was wrecked, but the mob moved on without setting fire to the place.’ He eyed Peggy over the cup. ‘Rita and Louise are all right, Peg, but that’s not the half of it.’

‘What?’ Peggy’s fear for Rita made her tone sharper than she’d meant.

‘The police let the hooligans go free and promptly arrested all the Italians, including the women, children and old folk.’

‘But why?’

‘Defence of the Realm Act, according to Alf,’ he muttered darkly. ‘The same thing happened to the German families in the last war, if you remember.’

Peggy could remember it all too well. She stood and reached for her coat and scarf which were hanging on the back of the door. ‘I must go to Rita and make sure she and Louise are all right.’

‘You’ll not be going anywhere near that side of town until things calm down,’ he replied firmly. ‘Feelings are still running high and it’s not safe.’

‘Safe or not, I’m going.’ She kicked off her slippers, pulled on her coat, grabbed her handbag and gas mask and slid her feet into her outdoor shoes. ‘Louise isn’t strong at the best of times, and relies on Antonino for everything. I dread to think what all this must have done to her.’

‘Sit down, Peg,’ he growled. ‘It’s not our business and it won’t do any good to meddle.’

‘Of course it’s our business,’ snapped Peggy, who was now thoroughly overwrought. ‘Rita’s been coming here since she was a little girl, and she relies on the Minellis – they’ve been a second family to her. I need to make sure Louise hasn’t been arrested along with the others.’

‘For God’s sake, woman, would you listen to yourself?’ Jim rose from his chair and towered over her, his eyes glinting with what looked suspiciously like amusement. ‘Louise won’t have been arrested. She’s one of us.’

‘My point entirely,’ she retorted, ‘and because she’s one of our own she’ll need all the support she can get until her husband and son are released. Now, are you coming with me, or do I have to go alone?’

He heaved a great sigh, finished his tea and reached reluctantly for his cap. ‘God preserve me from interfering women,’ he muttered, tipping a wink at his father who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘If I’d known you’d make such a fuss, I wouldn’t have told you anything.’

Peggy wasn’t even listening to him as she hurried into the hall. ‘Hurry up,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘or we’ll miss the trolleybus to the station.’

‘Thanks for standing by me today.’ Rita gave her friend a hug. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

May hugged her back and climbed onto her BSA motorbike. ‘I’ll be here waiting for you, so don’t be late.’ She kicked the bike into life and shot out of the estate, the powerful bike barely missing the broad, wobbling beam of Aggie Rawlings – earning a shaken fist and some ripe language.

It was after four, and Rita walked quickly past the furious Aggie, the gas mask box bumping on her hip, her heavy, steel-capped boots ringing out on the pavement as she hurried home. The day had not been a pleasant one, for a lot of the other women had refused to speak to her at all. At least she’d had May at her side, and two or three of the other younger girls had come forward to offer their sympathy and make it clear they wanted no part of her being sent to Coventry.

Rita had never been a victim of bullying before, had never experienced such suspicion and spite, and it had unsettled her more than she liked to admit. Still, she thought with some relief, now she knew where she stood and who her real friends were – and May had proved to be a stalwart.

As she entered Barrow Lane she felt her spirits rise as she saw the café had been boarded up with heavy sheets of plywood, the door replaced, and the ruined furniture piled neatly outside awaiting the rubbish collection. Perhaps their darkest dread had been in vain, and Roberto and Tino had come home.

But hope faltered as she stood there. It was hard to tell if anyone was at home, for the upstairs window had been boarded up, too, and it was rather worrying that she couldn’t smell cooking or hear voices.

With rising panic, Rita hurried to the narrow alley that ran between two of the houses and headed for the Minellis’ back gate. As she unlocked the gate and stepped into the neat concreted yard with its array of potted herbs and seedlings, she looked up at the rear window. The curtains were drawn and the sash window was tightly shut, which was most unusual at this time of day.

Her mouth dry, she let herself in through the back door. This was where Antonino and Roberto baked their pies, cakes and pastries, but since plentiful supplies of cream, sugar, flour and eggs had become almost impossible to maintain, they’d had to cut down on production, and Roberto had gone to work in the hospital kitchens. The fire in the range in the corner had gone out, the mixing bowls and baking tins were neatly stacked on shelves, and the cool slab of marble where Papa Tino rolled his pastry and made his bread had been polished clean. The paraphernalia of rolling pins, knives, spatulas and spoons were neatly stacked in jars, waiting for him to return. The only sound came from the quiet hum of the gas fridge.

Fearful for Louise, Rita ran into the shop, noted it had been cleaned of all trace of the brawl, and raced up the stairs. ‘Louise,’ she called, hurtling into the main room.

There was no reply, and she quickly checked the two bedrooms before finding the note Louise had left on the mantelpiece.

‘Have gone to police station. Please come.’

‘Oh, no,’ she groaned, and fled back downstairs again. She didn’t have enough petrol in the tank to use the motorbike, and although she had a couple of cans stowed in the garage for emergencies, it would take too long to top it up, so she locked the back door, grabbed Roberto’s bicycle and pedalled furiously into town.

Louise was waiting for her beside the great stacks of sandbags that guarded the door to the police station. Her face was drawn, her eyelids swollen as she gratefully clasped Rita’s hands with her cold fingers. ‘I waited,’ she murmured in Italian, ‘knowing you would come as soon as you could.’

‘Have you had any news?’

Louise shook her head as the tears welled again. ‘They haven’t come home and I’m frightened, Rita.’

Rita noted the straggle of untidy hair drifting from beneath the headscarf, the deep lines of worry etched into the sweet face that was usually wreathed in smiles. Louise was slowly falling apart, and Rita realised she had to be strong for both of them. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking her hand. ‘I’ll see if we can get any sense out of anyone.’

They climbed the concrete steps and pushed through the heavy door into a vast hall with a desk at one end. Sergeant Williams stood behind it, and when he caught sight of them he ducked his head and continued to write something in a large ledger.

Rita hurried forward, Louise alongside her. ‘We want to know what’s happened to Roberto and Antonino,’ she said. ‘You told us you would keep us informed, but they still haven’t come home, and you said . . .’

‘They won’t be coming home, miss,’ he interrupted. ‘Not for a long while yet.’

‘Why not?’ Rita snapped. ‘They aren’t criminals.’

‘Where are my husband and son?’ pleaded Louise as she twisted the strap of her gas mask box in her fingers. ‘I must talk to them; make sure they are all right.’

Sergeant Williams stood tall, his expression implacable. ‘They’ve been taken to Wormwood Scrubs for questioning.’ He glared down at Louise. ‘It’s no good you looking like that, missus. You want to thank your lucky stars you’re English and didn’t go with them. All the other Italian families have been rounded up and sent to camps where they’ll stay for the duration.’

‘All of them?’ breathed Louise. ‘Even Gino’s
nonna
Frizzelli?’ At his nod she burst into tears. ‘But she’s eighty years old. What possible risk could she be?’

‘It’s not my place to question the law, madam, just to see it obeyed.’

‘But Wormwood Scrubs is miles away. How am I supposed to get to them?’ wailed Louise.

Rita could feel her temper rising and had to struggle to remain calm in the face of his inflexibility. ‘Can we visit them at the Scrubs? Or perhaps write to them?’

‘There’s no visiting or correspondence allowed. Not for internees. Besides, you won’t be allowed travel warrants.’

‘Murderers are allowed visitors,’ Rita retorted. ‘I don’t see why . . .’

‘It’s out of my hands, miss. But the way things are going, I doubt they’ll be there for much longer. The German and Italian nationals are being processed pretty swiftly to get them away from strategic areas before the invasion comes. You’ll just have to wait until they can write to you.’

Rita stared at him as Louise sobbed. ‘But this is England,’ she said, her own voice trembling with emotion. ‘We don’t treat people like this.’

The sergeant slammed the large logbook shut. ‘There’s a war on,’ he said grimly. ‘Things happen whether we like it or not.’ With that, he pushed through the nearby door and was gone.

Rita put her arm round Louise’s shoulder. ‘Come, Mamma,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s get you home.’

She gently steered the weeping woman out of the police station, past the sandbags and into the almost deserted High Street. There was no sign of a bus and neither of them could afford a taxi even if, by some miracle, one happened along. Rita retrieved the bicycle from where it leaned against a nearby lamp post. It was going to be a long, slow walk home.