War Orphans (14 page)

As seemed to be his custom, Harry wagged his whole body, his little face upturned and looking at Seb, his newfound friend.

‘There's no more,' said Seb showing him the empty paper bag. Harry promptly shoved his nose in the bag, snuffling as he licked up every last crumb of food.

Tummy bulging after the unexpected feast, he ignored the piece of fruitcake Seb offered him from a separate paper bag. His eyes were drooping and his wagging tail was not so vigorous as it had been.

‘Tired out old fellah?'

With a quick hop over the side rail the puppy returned to his bed beneath the table.

Seb watched, heart brimming over with affection as the little fellow curled himself into a ball and fell asleep. Tears brimmed in his eyes as something deep inside broke open, something that had been closed for years.

He stayed there watching for a while until finally reminding himself of the reason he was here.

He spent the next two hours clearing the ragged remains of straggly plants from the allotment, piling most of it onto a heap he intended for compost, weighing it down with a piece of heavy slate. He'd never put in so much effort since Grace had died, and the morning went fast.

Lunchtime he spent with Harry, sharing the piece of pie he'd wrapped in tissue and placed in the same paper bag as the fruitcake. There was only enough tea left for Seb.

‘You'll have to make do with water, old chap. I've only got enough for one.'

Harry didn't seem to mind.

Once lunch was over and Harry had again settled down to sleep, Seb did another two hours pulling out more of the old plants before looking up at the sky and rubbing his back. The rain wouldn't be long coming if his aches and pains were anything to go by.

By four o'clock he looked at the bare expanse of allotment and told himself he'd done a good job. Grace would have been
proud of him. The dark brown rectangle of earth was cleared and ready for planting, though this time only with vegetables.

Methodically and purposefully he cleaned his gardening tools, then entered the shed and proceeded to put them away.

If he'd thought he was getting away with a quiet end to his gardening day he was very much mistaken. Harry had woken up, yapping with delight on seeing that Seb his new friend was back and running round and round Seb's legs.

‘Steady on, Harry, my boy.'

He almost tripped over the puppy and eventually was forced to pick him up so that Harry could welcome him properly, washing his face with his darting pink tongue and wagging tip of nose to tip of tail.

He laughed as he put him down, wiping the earth off his hands on a piece of old rag, as he considered clearing away the little chap's litter tray and making him comfortable for the night. Something stopped him. He didn't want the little girl to know he'd been here. If she did find out she might very well remove Harry from his little nest beneath the table and he didn't want her to do that. Already he was certain he would miss him.

He reconsidered his decision but still arrived at the same conclusion.

It had taken him a long time to return here and what he'd found had surprised him. Harry had decided to love him despite him being a total stranger. Now they were strangers no more.

The government were full of advice nowadays and, although some was helpful, he found their suggestions regarding beloved pets totally abhorrent.

So many had died and so many others had been abandoned. He guessed that Harry was one of them and that the little girl was keeping him hidden.

For the foreseeable future he would respect her secret.

Harry watched him with soulful eyes as he put on his hat and coat.

‘I expect I'll be seeing you tomorrow,' he said, speaking to the little dog as though he could understand every word. The puppy looked up at him with his big mournful eyes. One look from those eyes and Seb knew there was no expect about it. He had to come here. He had to make sure the puppy was thriving, besides which he enjoyed his company.

He didn't go home straightaway. He wanted to ensure the little girl was coming back with Harry's evening meal. The little chap must be feeling hungry by now. He grinned as the realisation hit him that Harry was always hungry. He was a growing lad.

Still, it won't hurt to check, he said to himself.

With that in mind he hid behind the shed on a neighbouring plot, waiting to see if the little girl dropped by.

Sure enough, a small figure bobbed out of the descending twilight, running down the path, her pigtails flying out behind her, her arms pumping like the pistons of a steam train.

Once at the shed, she heaved upon the door to the sound of excited barking coming from within. The puppy sounded very pleased to see her and Seb was almost disappointed at that.

‘You old fool,' he muttered to himself. In the blink of an eye he had grown fond of Harry and was almost jealous that the puppy's first loyalty was to the little girl.

The girl would have brought Harry food, and Seb pictured the puppy jumping up and down with excitement as he waited to be fed.

He smiled as he turned away, glad that he'd left everything more or less the same as he'd found it. The girl would be none the wiser and tomorrow he would attend his allotment again and share his food with Harry. He was very happy.

It was Friday night. The saloon bar of the Engineer's Arms throbbed with conversation and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. The fug and noise was louder in the public bar where the men piled six deep, shoulder-to-shoulder and elbow-to-elbow.

An unwritten rule prevailed that only men drank in the public bar while those women who were out and about were confined to the saloon bar.

The saloon bar had a certain ambience about it, due in no small part to the tinkling keys of the piano and the fact that the floor was wood-block rather than sprinkled with sawdust. The seating too was more comfortable.

A crowd were gathered around the piano, drinks in hand, fingers and feet tapping. Eyes that had become tired, thanks to long hours working a lathe or measuring the dimensions of engine parts, regained a little sparkle as they sang along, glad to have finished their shift, escaping for a moment into another world.

Elspeth Hadley studied the scene with half-closed eyes. The smoke from her cigarette only added to the fug already there.

Before she got the job, working in an engineering factory making bits for artillery shells had never appealed as much as working as an usherette, but now she reckoned it the best thing she'd ever done.

Why be stuck at home with a kid that wasn't yours when you could be working among all these men? She loved being in male company and didn't complain when one gave her the wink or pinched her bottom; she loved that kind of attention.

Friday night was the best night of the week. All those that could headed for the bar of The Engineer's – mainly single women and what men were lingering on the way home to their nearest and dearest.

Elspeth loved it.

‘Penny for 'em, Elspeth, me love.'

Elspeth smiled. Every man here called her ‘me love'. Not all the women got the same attention she did and it made her feel special. The woman she worked next to had got quite irate when the foreman had slapped her bottom.

‘It's not right,' she'd protested. ‘It's disrespectful.'

Elspeth didn't agree. She loved what everyone called ‘a bit of slap and tickle'.

‘I was thinking about when war broke out,' she said, smiling sweetly at the man who had asked the question. ‘Never thought I'd get involved in it.' She shrugged. ‘But there you are. None of us can see what's coming, can we?'

When Tom, Joanna's father, had gone off to war, Elspeth had had no intention of getting a job and to her great delight her husband had agreed with her.

‘You just keep the home fires burning, love. The army pay should do you proud. In the meantime, here's a bit to spend on things you need. You might include a new coat for our Joanna. She's growing that fast. Her old one won't last.'

Smiling seductively, Elspeth had got him on her side without any fuss. She could read her husband like a book, and in that respect was no different from many of the other men she met. Elspeth Wood, as she used to be before marriage, had always had a way with men. Her hair colour was not natural and she was in the habit of over-painting her face. However, her figure was her own, she knew how to dress to entice, and knew that she had eyes that were full of promise.

Without her needing to say a word, a man knew what was on offer and how good she was at delivering it. She could cook a bit, enough to feed a hungry man, and her skills in bed made
up for her slovenliness around the house. Still, she had Joanna to do the housework. Even before Tom had gone to war, she'd bullied Joanna into doing as she said.

‘You're not my kid. I don't have to look after you. All I've got to do is to tell your dad I don't want you and you get put in an orphanage. That's why he married me. Just so you wouldn't end up in an orphanage.'

Joanna had believed her. Elspeth sniggered to herself at the memory.

‘What you laughing at, darling?'

The bull-headed docker was hardly the most handsome of men but he was generous with his money.

‘I was just thinking I'm glad I never had kids.'

Her companion – she remembered his name was Fred – pulled a face before tipping the last of a pint of bitter into his mouth.

‘Fancy another? Port and lemon, ain't it?'

She smiled at him and nodded. He was married. Even if she hadn't already known it – gossip was rife at the factory – she could tell that by the way he swigged back his beer rather than comment on her statement. He had kids too. Not that she cared. He could buy her all the drinks he liked. But he wasn't her type. He was too coarse. She did like a bit of refinement. She had her sights set on something better, a more refined man who didn't stink of sweat and wore cologne. She wanted somebody to spoil her, take her dancing or to the pictures, at least until Tom came home.

Of course there was always the chance that Tom wouldn't come home and then she'd have to quickly find a replacement. The truth was she couldn't live without a man. She loved the smell of men, their strength, the way they towered over her, the feeling of security they gave. Of course, men always thought they were in control, that they were the dominant partners in the relationship. She let them believe that. She could play a man like George Formby could play a ukulele.

Her head jerked round the moment a blast of cold air came into the bar from outside. It was her date, a respectable-looking
man who didn't smell of engineering grease and always drank in the saloon bar.

The moment she saw him, the anxious tightening of her stomach relaxed and she smiled at him.

‘Here you are, love.' A drink was set down on the table. The man who had bought her the drink made a move to sit down but Elspeth slapped her handbag onto the seat of the chair and smiled up at him ‘Sorry. My date's arrived.'

The man scowled, his bushy eyebrows meeting in an angry V above his nose, but Elspeth kept her composure.

Arnold Thomas sat down, took off his hat and placed it on the table. He was nervous, as usual, glancing around him in case he was recognised. Elspeth knew that this was another married man, and again she didn't care. This was the man she wanted.

‘So how is she?' He'd told her all about his wife, Miranda, that she was an invalid and not in the best of health.

‘Not good. I made soup for her dinner, but she didn't eat much of it.' His eyes were downcast as he sipped at his drink.

Elspeth patted his hand. ‘I bet she's asleep now. Best thing for her, I'd say. Sleep is a great healer.'

‘You're probably right.'

He nodded at her, his pale blue eyes bright with appreciation and a smile came to his face.

Drawing on her vast experience of men, Elspeth had worked out that possessing her body did not appeal to him, at least for now. It didn't mean he didn't want her physically, but Arnold Thomas was not the sort of man to grope her in public or take her in a back alley against a dirty wall. He was a schoolteacher, with a house in Jubilee Road, and he had a sick wife. Bearing in mind they both had spouses who might not make old bones, she would snap him up at once if the chance arose. All she had to do for now was appear to be his best friend, the person with time to listen.

His gaze strayed, a faraway look in his eyes as they travelled to the saloon bar door.

Elspeth read his expression. He was in two minds whether to go or stay. The last thing Elspeth wanted was for him to think too deeply.

‘Are you a good cook?'

Her sudden question brought him back from his reverie. He made a so-so gesture with his right hand and gave her a nervous smile. ‘I do what I can.'

‘Well, if you ate it yourself it must have been tasty enough,' she said.

He shook his head before sipping at his beer and swallowing. ‘By the time I tucked her in and made sure she was asleep, my appetite was gone.'

The sudden growling of his stomach made them both laugh.

‘Sounds like you should have lingered and made yourself a sandwich. It don't do to drink beer on an empty stomach.'

Arnold sighed. ‘I suppose you're right.'

Despite his rumbling stomach they had another drink each. The conversation continued to centre round his wife.

Absorbed in his woes, it didn't occur to Arnold that he was being selfish. He always talked about himself and his wife, their humdrum lives in their semi-detached house in Jubilee Road.

Elspeth knew better than to let her annoyance show. Maintaining an expression of sympathy wasn't easy, but it seemed to please him.

After two more drinks each, they both declared themselves finished for the evening.

Each had their own reasons for calling a halt. Arnold didn't have a head for drink, but Elspeth had another motive.