The Londoners (37 page)

‘Apparently the officer in charge took one look at him and what he was loaded with and told him he was in the wrong place and that he should take his present to the ARP post. When he got
there Mr Nibbs was on duty and apparently only relieved him of his burden with the greatest reluctance.’

And it was via Leon that she learned that Ted Lomax had been recommended for a medal after courageously saving the lives of wounded comrades when under heavy fire. He also told
her of how Miriam was now not only looking after Beryl and Billy while Mavis braved the Blitz as a motor cycle despatch-rider, but that she was also caring for a little girl Beryl’s age,
whose family had been bombed out of their Catford home.

‘Her name is Jenny,’ Leon said to her as they sat out another night of bombing in the Anderson. ‘She’s a pretty little thing, but quiet.’

‘So Billy has two female acolytes now, not just one,’ Kate said, laughing despite the sickening
crump, crump, crump
of shells spattering into Magnolia Square. ‘That
young man is going to finish up with a harem!’

In the second week of February, on the same day, Kate received a postcard from Lance Merton and Leon attended his long-awaited medical and was declared once again fit for
active service.

‘But you’re not fit!’ Kate protested, hardly able to believe what he was telling her. ‘You still limp badly!’

‘What’s a limp between friends?’ Leon said humorously, hiding his real feelings with difficulty. ‘There’s a fellow flying in the RAF who has two tin
legs.’

Ordinarily, he would have been over the moon at having persuaded the medical officer that he was fit enough to return to duty. He had never enjoyed long spells ashore, even in peacetime. But
that had been because time spent ashore was always time spent in cheerless lodgings. He had never had a home to return to. He had never, since his father had died, known anything approaching a
home. Until now.

They were in the kitchen and it was early evening. A potbellied wood-burning stove gave out cosy heat; soup simmered on one of the gas hobs; there was a batch of freshly baked bread on a wire
cooling tray on the table. Though he didn’t know how it had happened, and he couldn’t even tell her that it
had
happened, Kate Voigt’s home had become his.
Unintentionally, by her generosity and gentleness and gaiety, she had made it so. Reluctance to leave such a haven, knowing that he was in all likelihood leaving it for ever, was not the only
reason for the tumult raging behind his false show of humour.

The baby was due in a few weeks’ time. Though the subject had never been mentioned between them, he knew that she was depending on him still lodging with her when her time came. For if he
wasn’t there, who else would look after her? Who else would queue endlessly at the shops for groceries and vegetables? Who else would make sure there was enough wood in the house to eke out
her small supply of coal? And if she went into labour suddenly, without warning, who else would notify the doctor?

At the thought of her struggling on her own, his heart felt as if it was being squeezed by icy fingers. Harriet Godfrey would give her all the help she could, as would her other middle-aged
friend, Ellen Pierce. It wouldn’t be easy for them though. Harriet Godfrey was wholeheartedly committed to her ambulance-driving work and Ellen Pierce lived a fair distance away and had her
large collection of bombed-out and abandoned animals to care for.

Not for the first time his thoughts turned to Carrie Collins. When Kate had told him how close she and Carrie had once been, and the cause of the rift that now divided them, he had been
appalled. He wondered what Carrie’s response would be if he were to approach her with the aim of effecting a reconciliation between them.

‘When will you be leaving?’ Kate asked him, breaking in on his thoughts, her voice sounding as if it were being strangled in her throat.

The prospect of life without him was nearly intolerable. He cheered and comforted her and even through the heaviest bombardments by the
Luftwaffe
his presence made her feel safe and
secure. She had imagined he would be with her all through the spring and possibly all through the summer too. She wasn’t mentally prepared for him leaving so abruptly; she wasn’t
prepared for the loneliness that would follow; for the sense of loss she knew she would feel.

‘I’m not sure. I have to wait to be notified.’

He saw the postcard she was holding and said, still wondering how the hell he could arrange for her to be suitably looked after during her confinement, ‘Who is that from? Ellen?’

‘No.’ Her voice was odd. Thick. She looked down at the postcard in her hand as if seeing it for the first time. ‘It’s from someone who was friends with Toby, Lance
Merton. He was in Toby’s squadron and he came to visit me after Toby’s death. Hector was with him when he visited me and he was kind enough to leave him with me. Hector was Toby’s
dog,’ she said, wondering if she had told him so previously; wondering how to phrase the question she so desperately wanted to ask.

‘He sounds like a decent bloke,’ Leon said, sure that whatever kind of bloke Merton was, they would hate each other on sight. ‘And a lucky one, too. Not many pilots who fought
in the early days of the Battle of Britain are alive to tell the tale.’

‘No. He is lucky. I think that’s why he drops me the occasional postcard. Just to let me know that he’s still alive.’

Leon was damn sure he knew the reason Merton dropped her the occasional postcard. He was determined to keep in touch with her. And when the opportunity arose, he would visit again. And when he
visited her again he would do so in the hope that she had recovered sufficiently from her grief over Toby Harvey’s death to be able to consider him as a replacement. His hands clenched into
fists.

‘I don’t suppose you have leave very often in the Navy,’ Kate said, wondering how she could frame her question without sounding as if she were taking far too much for granted,
‘but when you do have leave . . . if you want to come back here . . .’

‘Like a shot,’ he said, aware that for the first time since they had met, their conversation was stiltedly awkward and constrained.

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smile. It was brittle, almost false. The happiness flooding through him was chilled immediately. Had her invitation been prompted by pity? Had she made
the offer because she knew he had no family and she felt sorry for him?

Hardly able to contain her relief at his answer, Kate said, her voice still odd, still thick, ‘Good. I’m glad. I’ll make sure the billeting officer doesn’t put anyone
else in your room.’ So that he shouldn’t be aware of the depth of her relief, she began busily laying cutlery on the kitchen table, saying as she did so, ‘It’s a pity you
won’t be here when the baby is born. It will be months, perhaps, before you know whether it’s a girl or a boy.’

‘I’ll be thinking of you both,’ he said gruffly. From the moment they had first met, the baby’s existence had disconcerted him. He wasn’t accustomed to being in the
company of a pregnant woman. Not one he knew was pregnant, anyway. Not one so heavily pregnant. It made him feel unsure; uncertain. Should she be walking Hector so energetically on the Heath
between bombing raids? Was it wise for her to get down on her hands and knees to clean the kitchen floor? He had offered to do it for her but she had laughed his offer away, saying that she was
pregnant, not ill, and that she
enjoyed
cleaning the floor.

Her preparations for the birth, and her unfazed attitude towards it, had disconcerted him even more.

‘What is this for?’ he had asked one evening as she began putting everything she would need for the birth in a basket, not sure he truly wanted to know the answer.

‘The crêpe bandaging?’ The electricity was down and in the light of emergency candles her blue eyes looked almost amethyst. ‘It’s to hold the pad on the
baby’s tummy in place.’

He must have looked blank for she gave a husky giggle, saying, ‘After the umbilical cord has been cut, Doctor Roberts will put a sterilizing pad on what will be the baby’s
tummy-button.’

‘Is that what the safety-pins are for?’ he had asked, thankful the bandaging wasn’t for a more grisly purpose.

She nodded. ‘And the alcohol and string and lint.’

As she was talking she was putting other items into the basket. A pair of strong scissors, Vaseline, antiseptic.

Watching her, he had worried then about how she would manage. Now, knowing that he wouldn’t be around to do the heavy tasks in the house and to take care of her safety and the baby’s
safety during an air raid, he worried even more.

He would have to speak to both Harriet Godfrey and Ellen Pierce. And he would have to speak to Carrie.

Harriet Godfrey and Ellen Pierce both assured him that they would take good care of Kate in his absence. Leon was reassured, but only marginally. It was highly likely that when
Kate went into labour, Harriet Godfrey would be miles away, driving her ambulance through streets strewn with shattered glass and rubble. And Ellen Pierce didn’t live near enough. Depending
on the activity of the
Luftwaffe
it might be days after the baby’s birth before Kate could even get a message to her. Which left Carrie.

‘She ain’t at ’ome and she ain’t dahn the market,’ Billy said to him helpfully when he knocked on the Jennings’ door and asked for her. ‘She’s
doing war-work. Can I give ’er a message?’

Leon shook his head. He knew he was on exceedingly dangerous ground in speaking to Carrie about Kate and he didn’t want the situation made even more volatile by any message Billy might
mutilate.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch up with her later.’

‘She’s workin’ as a clippie on the buses,’ Billy said, staring at Leon with undisguised fascination. ‘If I touch yer, will any o’ that black rub
off?’

It was a sincerely asked question, not meant to be rude or insulting.

‘No,’ Leon said equably, knowing that Billy could have no idea of the echoes his question had raised in him. The chant by the orphanage bully when he had first arrived there, nearly
insensible with shock after his father’s perfunctory burial: ‘
Your father was a nigger!
’ The demand to know if he could swing from tree to tree like a monkey; if his hair
was real hair, or wire.

‘Are you joining your ship soon?’ Billy asked, wanting to keep Leon on the doorstep for as long as possible, hoping some of his mates would see the two of them deep in conversation.
‘My mum says you’re a bloody fool for playin’ fit when you could swing it for a bit longer. She says my dad was a bloody fool as well, riskin’ ’is neck when ’e
’ad no need. My dad’s goin’ to get a medal. I don’t know anyone else whose dad is goin’ to get a medal. ’ave you got a medal?’

‘No. Sorry to be a disappointment, Billy.’

‘’S’ all right,’ Billy said magnanimously. ‘Not everyone’s a ’ero.’ His gap-fronted teeth flashed in a smile of blinding brilliance. ‘My dad
is though!’

‘This came for you while you were out,’ Kate said, handing him an official-looking buff envelope. For once there was no smile of welcome for him on her face. She
knew what the envelope contained. She knew that soon, within hours maybe, he would be leaving the house with his kit-bag over his shoulder.

He slit the envelope open and read the brief notification within. ‘I’m to report for duty in twenty-four hours’ time. My ship is HMS
Viking.
It doesn’t say so,
but I imagine we’ll be sailing to the Mediterranean to give back-up to the troops in North Africa.’

She winced, shock flaring through her eyes.

‘Steady on,’ he said, concerned. ‘The Med isn’t bad news, Kate. It’s a cinch compared to convoy duty in the Atlantic.’

‘It’s not that . . .’ She took tight hold of the back of the nearest chair. ‘It’s the baby.’ There was incredulity in her voice. ‘I’m having a
contraction, Leon! The baby’s on its way!’

‘
Jesus Christ!
’ It was the first time he had ever blasphemed in front of her, but he could no more have contained his reaction than flown to the moon. How
long did babies take to come? How long was it before he had to be aboard ship? If she was beginning labour now, in the early afternoon, did it mean the baby would be born sometime during the night
when, in all likelihood, there would be an air raid at its height?

‘Are you sure?’ he demanded as her tense fingers began to relax their hold of the chair-back. ‘I thought you weren’t due for another two weeks or so?’

She took a deep, steadying breath, her body slowly once again relaxing. ‘I’m sure.’ There was excitement in her voice. And apprehension. ‘Doctor Roberts told me first
babies take their time. He said I wouldn’t need to send word to him until the contractions are coming regularly.’

Leon stared at her. ‘Regularly? What’s regularly? Every five minutes? Every fifteen minutes? Every half an hour?’

His alarm was so obvious that she began to giggle. ‘Every fifteen minutes probably. I don’t remember him saying.’

‘Jesus Christ, Kate!’ For the first time he felt utterly exasperated with her. ‘Do you mean you didn’t ask him? Do you mean you don’t
know
?’