Orphans of War (60 page)

Barney Andrews had come on board with a useful suggestion to form a Board of Trustees. He was being extra attentive, but she ignored his mild flirtation. She’d no time for romance now. This was her cause, her baby, she thought wryly.

If life had taught her anything it was that she must make herself useful, leave her own stamp on all she’d been given, justify her existence and make her parents proud.

Only she, of all the committee, knew the shame, guilt and confusion of a young girl finding herself pregnant in an unforgiving world.

At the Brooklyn there would be choices made away from prying eyes, a safe haven for some that decided to brave it out and keep their babies. If Sowerthwaite didn’t like it, well, tough! That was how it was going to be.

In the months following Gloria’s death, Greg fought the nightmares with his bed sheets, the smell of acrid smoke waking him, the scorching heat burning his skin. In slow motion he kept seeing the silhouette of those girls edging onto the hoist, the crack of the joist and the figures falling into the black canal, the limp bodies on the tow path, and he woke up sweating and crying out, ‘Gloria! I’m sorry…’

Each morning he got up only for the sake of Bebe, the precious daughter who was a daily reminder of his wife, with that glorious red hair and those bright eyes. When she was tired and cross she cried for her mummy and wouldn’t be consoled, kicking and screaming until he soothed her with tales of her parents as little children.

‘Tell me again about the Victory Tree?’ she’d ask. They were reading Enid Blyton’s
The Enchanted Wood,
with its story of the Faraway Tree and she got it into her head that it was real. ‘Can we go and find the magic tree?’

‘One day, when I can drive properly,’ Greg promised.

‘I want to see it now. Uncle Charlie will drive us there,’ his daughter demanded, stamping her foot.

Greg had no energy to protest. It was as if his whole world had fallen apart in a few weeks. Nothing was as it once was: his wife, his rally hopes, his business, his agility, his health. He could hardly make a simple decision.

It was Charlie who suggested they take a holiday far away from recent memories to the Lakes or Wales. ‘It’s time you got away from these four walls,’ he said ‘Bebe needs to have some treats. Let’s ask her where she would like to go, let her decide, if you want, and perhaps we might catch sight of some stages of the RAC Rally if we plan our route carefully.’

Greg grinned. Trust Charlie to have an ulterior motive but he’d never been more in need of a friend in his life.

They drove south and then west through Wales, landing at the coast near Aberdovey, with its long beach, taking a cottage by the sea front, and ate fish and chips and freshly caught mackerel. They walked and talked for miles every day. Greg felt his legs strengthening with fresh air and exercise. It was then that he told Charlie all about Ken Silverstone and Gloria’s chequered past. Charlie listened and made encouraging noises but offered no comments at first.

It was later, over a pint of beer when Bebe was in bed, that Charlie laid into him.

‘The trouble with you, Mr Love ’em and leave ’em,’ he said, ‘is that you want every girl to be perfect. Up on that pedestal or down in the gutter. I saw you in
Germany, remember…poor Marthe? She adored you, not me, but you dismissed her because she’d had to sell herself to the highest bidder to put food on the table for her family. She could do no right in your eyes. You’re a bit of a prude at heart. I’ve seen you in the dance hall, charming the pants off every lass, and then when they give in to you and don’t measure up, you lose interest. I reckon the only one that got under your skin was young Maddy–and she dumped you first so you’ve sulked over her ever since.’

‘That’s not true!’ Greg protested, but Charlie was determined to have his say.

‘It may be the beer talking but poor Gloria never stood a chance. She tried so hard to be the ideal wife but she wasn’t and never could be another Maddy Belfield. I don’t think you’ve ever got over her.’

‘Rubbish!’ Greg snapped. ‘What do you know?’

‘Hear me out. What are friends for if they can’t tell you the facts now and then? It must be hard being up on your pedestal; one wobble and off they go! What makes you so bloody perfect?’

Greg shook his head. ‘You’ve got it all wrong there, mate. I just wanted someone better than me. I think men and girls should be different. We look to them to set an example.’

‘Don’t be so old-fashioned. What century are you living in?’ said Charlie. ‘It’s one rule for us and another for them, according to you, Greg. We’re all just human beings. Weakness and mistakes aren’t the preserve of any one sex. We expect girls to close their legs while we spend all our time trying to open them and get up
their skirts. It’s not fair on them. It’s two-faced nonsense.’

‘Hark to Marge Proops! What’s brought this on? I don’t see you playing around much, do I? You sound like an old woman. What’s it got to do with you?’ Greg was back-footed by Charlie’s outburst.

‘My turn will come. She’s out there somewhere,’ said Charlie. ‘I just haven’t met her yet but I’ll know her when she turns up. Poor sod will have to put up with my moods and my boring habits so I’ll not be making an idol of her, chucking her away if she’s not Miss Perfect. When you meet Mrs Right, I hope you’ll learn sense from your mistakes.’

‘You can forget that. I’m never getting wed again,’ Greg snapped, peeved by Charlie’s harsh words.

‘Famous words. Think about Bebe–she needs a woman in the house.’

‘I never had one and it didn’t do me any harm.’ Greg was going to argue his corner. What did Charlie know of being an orphan?

‘Pull the other one! There was Mrs Plum Belfield, Maddy and Gloria, my mother. There’s always been plenty of women in your life, but I’m not sure you ever appreciated any of them,’ Charlie said.

‘Why’re you saying all this? Poor Gloria’s hardly cold in her grave,’ Greg snapped.

‘Because it needs to be said. I’m your oldest mate. I owe you my life. I want you to find some peace and get back on the treadmill of life. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Make some more profit. Perhaps when you’re recovered I’ll be free to find someone of my own.’

Greg was shocked at Charlie’s frankness. He’d never spoken out before or challenged him. Had Charlie put his own life on hold since the accident just to nursemaid him?

As they strolled over the sand the next day, Greg felt the salt wind up his nostrils, and he smiled.

Dear old Charlie was a good mate. He was a friend who liked him even though he knew him, warts and all. Perhaps he was more right than Greg cared to think as he watched Bebe throwing pebbles on the beach, her jacket puffing out like a balloon. How was he going to advise her when she was older?

He loved her so much just as she was, a sad little lost girl who cried for her mummy in the night and was trying to be brave. But he couldn’t be both mother and father to her. What about all that female stuff to come?

Spending the rest of his life as a monk didn’t appeal either, but it was far too soon to think about any romance. Bebe was the most important thing in his life now.

‘Bebe Byrne,’ he yelled, ‘how would you like to visit my magic tree?’

Maddy was fixing up the new twin tub in the wash house of the Old Vic Hostel. She’d begged it from an advert in the
Gazette
for a good cause. No questions were asked but now they had to fix the pipes and the whole place needed lime washing.

She was covered in plaster dust, wearing an old shirt and dungarees, and her hair wrapped up in a turban like the skivvy that she was.

Everything was being set up ready for the arrival of the first batch of mothers-to-be. Nappy washing in a machine would make life easier all round. She wanted everything to be welcoming and easy to run. They would have to start small and learn on the job, but she was looking forward to the challenge and hoped she wouldn’t make too many mistakes.

It was a beautiful afternoon in late spring, with blossom on the apple trees and the beech leaves glistened in the sunshine. It was hard work cajoling friends and townsfolk into giving furniture, old prams, baby clothes, anything to fill cupboards. The most generous offers came from the council houses at the back of town. Her venture was the worst kept secret in town.

Bit by bit, her list of jobs was ticked off. Plum and Steve had sent such a generous cheque, the vicar had contacted the Church of England Children’s Society, ‘The Waifs and Strays’, who sent a special almoner and adviser to help the mothers with their difficult decisions. All that was left was to wait for the first nervous arrivals and make them at home.

Maddy leaned against the tree to catch her breath and have a smoke. This tree was still her private thinking place. Suddenly there was a twitch of leaves and a pair of little legs dangled from the tree house, black patent leather shoes with ankle straps swinging. She was not alone. The curtain of leaves brushed aside to reveal a girl with bright copper curls and a pair of green eyes. It was like seeing a ghost.

‘Hello…Is this the Faraway Tree, the magic tree?’ squeaked the child of about five.

Maddy’s heart leaped at the sight of little Miss Byrne. She’d have recognised that hair anywhere. ‘We used to call it the V for Victory Tree…Yes, I suppose it’s a magic tree,’ she replied.

‘My daddy and mummy used to play in here in the big war,’ the child continued.

‘And so did I,’ Maddy smiled.

‘You knew my mummy? She’s in Heaven now with the angels.’

‘If her name was Gloria, then, yes, I did know her. We were friends once upon a time.’

‘Once upon a time we were all friends,’ came a familiar voice from out of the shadows behind the gate. He’d been watching the encounter with interest. ‘Hello, Maddy. Still hard at it, changing the world, I hear.’

‘Greg!’ Maddy blushed. She must look an absolute wreck. ‘It’s been a long time. And this little lady, I presume, is the famous Bebe. I’ve heard all about you.’

‘I’m going to be a ballet dancer when I grow up,’ Bebe smiled.

‘Are you now? What’s all this about a magic tree? You’d better tell me about it.’

‘Daddy says you can make wishes in its branches and they’ll come true. I’ve asked it to send Mummy back from Heaven.’

Maddy looked at Greg, who looked so much thinner and older, and now troubled by the child’s words.

‘I’m not sure it works that sort of magic, love,’ he said, struggling to explain.

Maddy came to his rescue. ‘When I was little like you, my mummy and daddy went to Heaven and I sat
in the tree, just like you, making wishes. It didn’t bring them back to me but it brought me friends to play with and lots of things to do.’

‘Will it bring me a puppy, if I ask?’

‘If it thinks it will help you, I’m sure it will,’ she whispered, looking at Greg, who nodded with relief.

‘How’s your leg?’ she asked, seeing his walking stick. ‘I’m glad to see you’re recovering. What a terrible year for you all. Grace and I have been thinking about you. I didn’t come to the funeral but did Gloria tell you I came to visit you in hospital? But you were too ill…’

‘Never too ill to see you.’ He paused. ‘No, she didn’t. You heard about the fire…?’

‘Yes, it made all the papers in the country. What a dreadful thing to happen. The coroner said it was an unfortunate accident…I’m so sorry. Where are you staying?’

‘Just passing through on our way to see Uncle Sid, but I promised Bebe I’d show her the Old Vic. What happened between you girls?’ he said as he walked alongside her.

‘It was a long time ago and not for a child’s hearing, Greg. Have you got time for a snifter at the Brooklyn? You won’t recognise the place.’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ He smiled the old smile, and she felt the familiar magnetic pull to his side but drew back, flushing.

‘Come on, Bebe. I’ll race you up the Avenue like your mummy and me used to do.’

‘Perhaps Miss Belfield will tell you the story about the trees.’

‘Aunt Maddy sounds better…’

Suddenly it didn’t matter that she looked a wreck or that the place was a tip. They were her guests and she’d show them round the rooms with pride. What would Greg make of her new venture? Would she ever explain why she was taking on this mammoth task? Not today, no…she smiled. It was just wonderful to see him alive and well, broken though he seemed now. Perhaps if she made him welcome he might come back again.

They sat in the kitchen, sipping tea, taking sideways glances at each other. She just couldn’t believe he was sitting there. Bebe was being plied with ginger biscuits that she dunked in the hot tea with relish.

‘I’m taking in special guests,’ Maddy began. Better he knew the worst first. ‘Young expectant mothers who have nowhere else to go…just for a few weeks until they are confined and then some of them will live in the Old Vic.’

‘That’s very brave,’ he said, looking directly into her eyes. To her relief she saw compassion not disgust. ‘I bet that took a bit of doing round here.’

‘Times are changing,’ she quipped. ‘People have to make allowances for the unexpected.’

‘I’ve learned that the hard way,’ Greg replied, and he looked so sad and lost and tired she just wanted to take him in her arms and hug him. ‘Now we’d better be off if we’re to catch Sid before milking.’