Polly's War (4 page)

They’d got by well enough but starting up the business again would need capital as well as will power, and more hard work than perhaps her mother realised. Polly no longer had the youth or the energy she’d once enjoyed in abundance. Not that Lucy would mind having a go herself, given the chance.

As for Benny, his mother’s pride and joy, perhaps he was no longer the biddable boy Polly fondly remembered. He’d always been streetwise, good at living by his wits as they all had once, yet also ambitious and filled with unrealistic dreams. Lucy wondered what these would be now, after six years of war.

Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet, then Sean was beside her, face scarlet with excitement. ‘There’s someone outside. I’m only allowed to say it’s a soldier Mam, and he’s asking for you.’

Lucy froze, then made a dash for the door, knocking a plate of fairy cakes to the floor as she ran, hardly noticing as she trampled over these fatless sponge treats. The soldier striding down the street towards her had light brown hair cut close to his bullet shaped head and eyes a familiar greeny-grey. Broad, almost stockily built with powerful shoulders and a ramrod back he did not carry a kit bag. The children gathered about him were carrying it for him. But he did swing Sarah Jane high on his shoulder and caught a giggling Sean as the little boy leapt into his arms.

Joy warred with disappointment as her pounding heart slowed to normal, this being her brother Benny, miraculously materialised out of her thoughts and, pleased as she was to see him, he was not her lovely husband. Then Lucy became aware of an eery silence.

Somewhere a blackbird trilled its piercingly sweet note, not even the sound of a tram or shunting train marring the suddenly silent street. Nothing but the squeak of the telegraph boy’s bike.

Not a soul spoke as he rode slowly towards the group of women hovering about the tables. Hearts stopped, mouths went ash-dry, skipping ropes dropped to the ground as even the children were attuned to the implications of such a visit.

He paused by one old man but only to ask a question, then the bike squeaked on as the boy struggled to pedal over the setts, carefully avoiding getting his wheels caught in the tramlines. Why didn’t he get off the damn thing and walk!

Seconds later the waiting was over, the orange envelope was in her hands and Lucy knew, even before she opened it that Tom wouldn’t be coming home next week, or even next month. He wouldn’t be coming home at all.

Locked in a state of disbelief, Lucy felt too numb to grieve, though a part of her was only too keenly aware that her world had fallen apart and nothing would ever be the same again. She hadn’t set eyes on Tom since before Sean was born when he was sent out to Italy and God-knows-where since, yet she should surely feel something other than this terrible sensation of resentment. To lose a husband at the end of the war seemed especially unfair somehow, as if war could ever be fair. She ached now to tell him all the things she’d never got the chance to say, to ask forgiveness for the quarrels they’d had, few as they were. She wished they’d made more of their marriage, that she’d been a perfect wife for him, since it was all the time they were to have.

Missing, presumed killed in action
. Cold, unfeeling words that would live with her for the rest of her life. How could anyone
presume
such a thing. Yet she knew that to continue to hope year after year was a kind of death in itself. She’d seen it happen to neighbours, to Doris-next-door for one. Mrs Shaw at the end house for another. Even after they’d sent back what was left of her eldest boy, she still left his razor out on the shelf, just in case.

Lucy could never do that. It wouldn’t be fair on Sarah Jane or Sean. She’d taken the children upstairs to her room and explained it all, as carefully as she could. They’d looked at her dry-eyed and uncomprehending. Then, as if seeing their bewilderment brought it finally home to her, it had been Lucy who wept, which in turn started Sean off, and Sarah Jane who had comforted them all.

After that Polly brewed tea, pot after pot, as if the hot steaming brew could put everything right. Sarah Jane put on her pink party frock, Lucy her best blue costume in an attempt to celebrate Benny home on leave, though her heart was no longer in it. And as if things weren’t bad enough, a row broke out as soon as Charlie emerged from the front parlour to find this young stranger lounging in his favourite chair by the kitchen fire.

‘I suppose you think you’re the only one who’s suffered during this dratted war?’ Charlie demanded, prodding a surprised Benny in the chest with one finger. ‘Well let me tell you there’s many a family round here can say different. Mary Lee for one. She went out to the Co-op for a bag of rations and came back to find her house and half of Hardman Street had been blasted off the face of the earth. There were many such.’

‘It’s good to see you too, Charlie,’ Benny drily commented. ‘How are you?’

‘He’s not been too well and that’s the truth.’ Polly flapped around the pair of them trying to keep the peace. ‘Hush, Charlie. Don't lay into him the minute he gets home. Glad we are to have our boy safe with us at last, are we not? Now sit
 
down and drink your tea and I’ll fetch you a bite of summat to eat.’ She tried not to meet her son’s puzzled gaze for Charlie had once been the gentlest of stepfathers. Whatever was ailing him was doing his temper no good at all.

People came and went all afternoon. Gran refused to emerge from the Anderson shelter as usual, and the whole day took on a deep sense of unreality. They at least remembered to thank Aunt Ida for her contribution of a tin of spam and Uncle Nobby for enough lettuce and tomatoes from his allotment to turn them all into rabbits. But nobody felt like eating, for all the sacrifices that had been made to provide such a spread.

Every now and then Polly would squeeze Lucy’s hand or whisper that
presumed
only meant the authorities hadn’t the first idea where he was. Some sort of bureaucratic mix-up and he was even now on his way home. Lucy tried to find comfort in these words and failed.

The only time any of them truly managed to lift their spirits was for the sake of the children. Later that evening, Sean, bewildered by the strangeness of what should have been an extra special day, marched into the kitchen and made a grab for his uncle’s leg. ‘Have you not fetched me a present, Uncle Benny?’

Benny, enjoying a glass of stout and a quiet read of the paper while his mother and Lucy washed up and tidied the table around him, gazed mystified about the room. ‘Did you hear summat, our Lucy? I reckon we’ve got a squeaking mouse in the house.’

‘I hope not,’ Polly said, with equal seriousness.

‘Well if we have, don’t expect me to oil it,’ Benny warned, making them all laugh and lightening the tension a little. Sean squealed with delight as his uncle swung him upside down before setting him back on his feet and suggesting he dig deep in his rucksack. ‘Fancy me forgetting. Fetch Sarah Jane. Go on, you. Have a look in there. You might both find something of interest.’

Sarah Jane came running, half glancing at her mother as if wanting reassurance that it was all right to take pleasure in a gift on this sad occasion. Lucy smiled and nodded at her to dig deep.

‘Happen you’re too old for toys now?’ Benny idly commented, helping the children to search. Then he held out a rag doll for Sarah Jane, and a small brown and grey dog for Sean.

Two pairs of shining eyes met his. ‘Oh no, Uncle Benny. I haven’t had much in the way of toys, there being a war on,’ Sarah Jane gravely explained.

‘Me neither,’ Sean agreed, reaching for the dog. ‘Can he sit on my pillow?’

‘I reckon he’d like that,’ Benny agreed.

There was a box of mints for his gran, cigarettes for Charlie, a scarf for his mother, and silk stockings for his sister. ‘No questions asked,’ warned Benny, tapping the side of his nose with one nicotine-stained finger, which for some reason took some of the pleasure out of the gift for Lucy, though not for the world would she say as much.

The excitement and trauma of the day meant it took a while to get the children to sleep, and their new playmates naturally must be suitably tucked up. But then as she lay listening to the even rhythm of their breathing in the bed beside her own, Lucy finally succumbed and sobbed out her grief, stuffing the pillow into her mouth so that she wouldn’t wake them. The hours of darkness seemed to protect her from prying eyes and gave her at last some release from the build-up of constrained emotion, if not from her heartache. She slept for a few short hours after that, out of sheer exhaustion but the first shafts of a grey dawn found practical matters once more occupying her mind.

Her dreams of being able to spend more time with Sarah Jane and Sean were bitter dust in her mouth. She was particularly sorry about Sean. The boy was growing a bit wild and although Lucy did what she could, he was sorely in need of a father. Life had always been hard and she didn’t need telling that it would become even harder without a husband to provide for their future. She might still get her allowance from the army, little as that was, but the long hours and backbreaking drudgery would continue indefinitely. Even when she’d finished work there was still all the washing, ironing and endless make-do-and-mend to do at home, not to mention the daily worry of finding something to eat.

And what about fun, she asked herself with a bitter twist of self-pity. She was still a young woman, with all her life before her. When did she get to enjoy that? Never, by the looks of it, for all the longed for peace had finally arrived, which brought on a fresh spurt of tears.

Losing one of her best clients had made things worse. She worked five mornings a week for Minnie Hopkins. In the afternoons she cleaned for Mrs Shaw, the Beckworth’s and the Taylors, while on Fridays she went right through the house behind the corner shop for the Benson sisters. Now, in one gesture of stupid defiance, she’d lost nearly half her week’s wages.

 
There was no help for it but to do as her mam suggested, swallow her pride and go and apologise to Minne Hopkins. Temper or no temper, she needed that job or they’d all starve.

‘So, you’ve had second thoughts, eh? You’ve remembered them as don’t work, don’t eat.’ Minnie Hopkins stood on her clean doorstep, arms folded, queen of her own domain and treated Lucy to her most blistering glare.

Lucy drew in a calming breath, gritted her teeth and forced her lips into a smile. It made her face feel all stiff and uncomfortable. ‘I thought you’d might be having second thoughts yourself. After all, somebody has to clean this place for you. It’s a big house.’

‘Aye, and there’s plenty would be glad of the chance to work
 

here.’

Silence fell while Lucy wondered how much more humiliation she could bear. Should she reveal the truth of her situation and appeal to the woman’s sympathy, or tell her she could keep her blasted job? She did neither.

Minnie was considering whether she could get Lucy back on reduced wages. The lass worked hard for all she was a bit lippy. For two pins she’d let her go, but Michael had a soft spot for her, which was why he paid her too much. Yet Minnie knew she’d be hard put to find someone else willing to take on the job of cleaning this great house. Stuck at the end of Pansy street, a cut above the rest, it had been the bane of her life ever since the pair of them had been left rattling around in it. A real white elephant it was with its seven bedrooms and three reception rooms for all it had a fine Edwardian front to it, complete with stone pillars and one doorstep more than everyone else.

With her chin up, back straight, Lucy kept her mind on her two children, the gas bill that had landed on the mat that very morning, and the sight of her mother’s face when she’d opened it. As if Polly didn’t have enough on her plate, what with losing her own job, worrying over Charlie who was frequently in a sour mood these days, and sharing Lucy’s grief. Not to mention Benny lording it over them all the minute he came downstairs, prattling on about how he was going to make his fortune on Civvy Street the minute his number came up and he was home for good.

‘Aw, indeed you are so, and isn’t that all settled,’ Polly had agreed, placing a substantial breakfast the like of which Lucy hadn’t seen in a long while before him. ‘We’ll be getting the business going again and you, m’cushla, can be my right hand man.’

Benny had laughed as he dipped a thick chunk of bread into his egg while Lucy’s mouth watered to watch the precious yellow yolk run. ‘Nay Mam. I haven’t made my mind up yet. I’ll be looking for something a bit more substantial than second hand carpets. A job that’ll make proper money.’ Just as if he could take his pick.

‘Don’t talk soft, what else would ye be doing?’ Polly had laughed at his dismissal of this precious dream but Lucy could see the hurt in the way her face stiffened up. ‘Carpets made us plenty of money before the war, did they not? Brought us out of Ancoats and saved the lot of us from near starvation at one time.’

‘That’s all in the past,’ Benny told her.

‘So, they can make us money again in the future. I mean to buy machines to offer a service of cleaning and steaming. Now won’t that be grand?’

‘Sounds like too much hard graft to me, Mam. I’ve had enough of hard labour and square bashing. I’m looking for a job which brings in good money for less sweat and toil, if you know what I mean,’ and grinning, he’d sliced the egg in two and put half of it into his mouth. Lucy had walked out at that point, unable to bear witness to the casual use of such good food.