War Orphans (32 page)

She took one more glance at the mirror before going to the door and letting him in. He hugged and kissed her even before taking off his hat and coat, and once free of them ran his hands over her body.

Elspeth had certain priorities to deal with before she would let him take full advantage.

‘Food first, you naughty boy.' She smiled as she slapped his hand playfully. ‘I need to talk to you. We've got things to plan now that we're both free.'

Being a gentleman, Arnold went along with her wishes. He didn't seem at all surprised when she stated her intention to ditch the house and make the move with him to Scotland.

Arnold was pleased. He went on to tell her the finer details, about the house available to him until he could see his way to buying his own and how lovely the town was with a loch not far away.

Elspeth listened with a smile on her face as she dished up the pie the affable Mrs Allen had brought in. Well, sod the kid, though she might leave a bit for her depending on Arnold's appetite. After a day's work she was hungry herself but her sights were set on changing her life. The thought of being with Arnold in a place far away without any family encumbrance thrilled her.

Reining in her wandering thoughts, she tuned in again to what Arnold was saying. ‘And we're not likely to be bombed seeing as it's a rural area.'

Having heard enough of his plans, Elspeth decided now was the time to cement her own.

‘When is this move likely to be? I mean, I have to make plans.
We
have to make plans,' she corrected, slipping her arm through his and looking into his eyes. ‘I have to give notice on this house,' she added by way of explanation.

Giving notice to the council was only part of her reason to press him for a definite date. She had to have some time to get Joanna evacuated for as long as possible. When and if the girl did ever return it would be to a house occupied by strangers. She had no intention of leaving a forwarding address or informing anyone of her impending marriage. Joanna must never find her. She wanted Arnold to herself.

The last thing she wanted was to scare him off, but she knew how to pace herself. She was using all the tactics she had used to snare Joanna's father. The old tricks never failed and once they were married it would be too late for him to change his mind.

‘About a month,' he said to her. ‘If that's all right with you? We can get a special licence tomorrow and be married by then.'

Elspeth kissed him, not minding sucking in pie crumbs that had stuck to his mouth.

‘Mr and Mrs Thomas! I can't wait,' she squealed, resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging him tightly.

‘Neither can I,' he answered, his voice husky with desire. There was just one thing holding him back.

‘Your stepdaughter. Is she here?'

Elspeth was taken aback. ‘Joanna?'

‘Her teacher mentioned her. Joanna Ryan. That's your stepdaughter's name, isn't it?'

Elspeth's mind worked quickly. Damn that bloody Miss Hadley.

‘Oh yes. But she's not here. Didn't I tell you? Joanna was very upset when her father died. I did arrange to have her evacuated, but then a relative offered to take her in. Joanna was given the option to stay with me or live with her favourite aunt. She decided to go with her aunt. I can't say I blame her. After all, blood is thicker than water. The child has to go with family and where she's happiest.'

‘And you don't mind?'

Elspeth pouted and adopted a doleful look. ‘A little. But she isn't my true daughter and, anyway, I've got a future with a new husband to consider.'

When he smiled his breath covered her face.

‘So,' she said seductively, eyes shining, lips smiling. ‘What would you like for dessert?'

The stairs above Joanna's head, which formed the roof of the coalhouse, creaked with the weight of footsteps before the house fell to silence.

Joanna felt very alone and very afraid. It was as though the world had disappeared. Not a sound did she hear and not a single chink of light found its way into the coalhouse.

Was being dead like this? Joanna shivered at the thought.

For a while she dozed and in her dream she was running along the railway embankment with Harry, who was chasing rabbits. One of the rabbits was very big and turned round to face them.
To Joanna's horror its face resembled her stepmother. Sensing her disquiet Harry barked at the rabbit, causing it to turn tail and run across the railway line into the path of a goods train. The noise was tremendous and everything was shaking as the train left the rails and thundered over her.

At least she thought it was a goods train, but when she found herself flung backwards and covered in coal dust, she knew it was not.

The coal had moved, flinging great clouds of dust into the air. She could feel its grittiness covering her skin, its taste on her tongue.

When she'd fallen asleep she'd been at the higher end of the coalhouse close to the door. She was now wedged into the narrowest part, where the stairs were at their lowest point at the hallway end.

Curling into a ball, she covered her head with her arms, coughing as she inhaled the coal dust that presently surrounded her in a dense cloud of grit and choking dust.

No heavy breathing steam locomotive could have done this. Reality replaced the dream and even though she was only a child she thought she knew what it was. The worst of the war had finally arrived. A bomb had fallen on her house.

As the coal dust settled she rubbed the dirt from her eyes and peered through the darkness. A slit of light showed at the very top of the coalhouse door. Although it was no more than a sliver, to her it was like the beam of a lighthouse.

Struggling onto her hands and knees, she made her way out of the lowest part of the coalhouse, the ceiling height increasing as she crawled over the heaped coal. Although it scraped at her knees and her hands, she gritted her teeth and kept her eyes focused on the sliver of light.

Pieces of coal rolled and tumbled beneath her hands and knees. Climbing up over a mountain of coal was far from easy, but Joanna was determined to reach that chink of light.

She coughed as she climbed, swiping at her gritty eyes and wiping her runny nose on her sleeve. Some of the coal had shifted against the door rather than away from it.

Joanna scrabbled up as far as she could, stretching in an effort to reach the top of the door. Time and again she stretched her arms, her fingers barely failing to fold over the top of the door.

Her calf muscles ached with the effort of standing on tiptoe, but still she couldn't reach.

A little more height. That was all she needed. And some air to breathe.

More coal would help.

With that in mind she felt for pieces of coal – big pieces that she could pile one on top of another so she could climb higher.

Despite the thin beam of light, it was still too dark to see. All she could do was feel her way and judge when the pile of coal was high enough.

She was tired, thirsty and dirty, but she kept going, piling pieces of coal higher and higher.

At last she judged that it was as high as she could make it. Carefully, so as not to disturb any of the underlying base of her coal mountain, she struggled to the top of the heap and almost cried out with joy when her fingertips folded over the top of the door.

A little more effort and . . .

Suddenly the coal gave way and her feet were sliding behind her until she was face down, blood trickling from a wound above her eye.

The bombing, the fear and the effort of trying to get out lay heavy on her small body. For the first time since her father died she began to cry and softly, very softly, she began to count.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . .

*   *   *

Before the bombing raid, Sally Hadley and her father had just finished supper when Harry suddenly sat bolt upright. Raising his long floppy ears he began to whine, low at first then louder and louder.

Seb was concerned. ‘What is it, boy? What is it?'

His whine intensified and was accompanied by a series of high-pitched barks. The hair around his neck formed a stiff ruff. Suddenly his fragile whines were joined by the thin wail of the air-raid siren, its whine intensifying to a high-pitched screech.

Seb exchanged a worried look with his daughter. ‘It's for real. It's an air raid.'

The house shook as the droning of aircraft sounded from overhead.

Harry's ears, far better than that of a human, had heard the enemy aircraft before they'd heard the sirens.

Father and daughter grabbed what they could and headed for the shelter. Harry went with them. The shelter was hardly the most comfortable place in the world, though they'd done their best with camp beds, blankets, a flask of tea and sandwiches.

‘It's going to be a long night,' said Sally's father.

He was right. The raid went on until the early hours of the morning when the all clear finally sounded. When her father ordered her to stay put, Sally was adamant she would do no such thing. ‘If our house is still standing, I'm going to bed even if it's only an hour of sleep before I head for school.'

Seb didn't argue. Sally and the dog followed him out.

Gratefully he pushed open the shelter door, noting that it wasn't stiff so hadn't suffered any blast damage that might have wedged it in place.

The air outside had a particular smell about it. As Seb lifted his head and sniffed the air, old memories resurfaced. A bomb had fallen somewhere, though not on their house. Seb patted the old walls and muttered, ‘Thank God.'

Outside in the street a number of people were running up and down blowing whistles.

‘Please evacuate your houses. We have an unexploded bomb.'

After each warning those shouting resumed blowing on whistles.

Seb hailed one of them and asked where the bomb had landed.

The man pointed over to where figures barely distinguishable in the early morning light, were moving around in the park.

‘There's an unexploded bomb at the bottom of a bloody big crater. We need to get everyone out in case it goes off before the sappers get here.'

Seb knew he was referring to the bomb disposal section of the Royal Engineers who were always called sappers.

‘If you've nowhere else to go, everyone's gathering at the Methodist Hall.'

‘Any other damage?' asked Seb.

‘Not here, thank God. A house up in The Vale scored a direct hit though. Poor buggers in it didn't stand a chance.'

At mention of the direct hit being halfway up The Vale, something curled in Seb's stomach.

‘The Vale you say. Any idea what number?'

The man shrugged. ‘Not sure. You got relatives up there?'

‘A friend. About halfway up.'

Even though there was no streetlight by which to see Seb's expression, the air-raid warden could tell he was worried.

‘Hang on. I'll see if I can find out more.' He shouted to somebody further down the street. ‘Ted. There's a chap here with friends up in The Vale. Any idea what number got hit?'

‘Not sure of the number. Lower hundreds I think,' the man named Ted shouted back.

Nodding his thanks, Seb went back to where Sally was waiting for him, an enquiring expression on her face. ‘We have to get out?'

Seb nodded. Being evacuated until the bomb was made safe didn't concern him so much as Joanna's safety.

‘I heard him mention the Methodist Hall.'

Seb nodded again. ‘Unless you've got somewhere else to go.'

Sally frowned. ‘Where are you going?'

‘The Vale. A house halfway up was bombed. The warden doesn't know the number, only that it was in the lower hundreds.'

Sally passed him Harry's lead. ‘Hold this. I'll get my coat and bring yours out too. It's chilly and we might need it where we're going.'

‘I'm not going to no Methodist Hall,' he shouted after her as she disappeared back into the house.

‘Neither am I,' she said breathlessly on reappearing and shrugging herself into her coat. ‘I'm going with you. We have to check on Joanna.'

The news of number 116 The Vale being bombed spread like wildfire. Neighbours began shifting debris before the rescue services arrived.

An ambulance, its bell jangling all the way, pulled up outside the pile of debris that had once been a house. The police and other people in assorted uniforms arrived to offer their help.

‘The whole of the upper floor fell in,' said Mrs Allen in a shaky voice. Her nightdress was shredded, bits flying around her like so many ribbons. Her body was barely covered. She had however thought to put on her hat.

‘What number did you live in?' asked a policeman, who was attempting to guide her towards an ambulance.

‘Number?'

‘What number was your house,' he repeated, more loudly this time.

She looked at him in a daze. ‘One hundred and fourteen. Everyone knows I live there, especially the rent man.'

The policeman recognised she was in shock. ‘Can you tell us what happened,' he said gently.

‘What happened? A bomb fell. I heard the noise. Didn't you heard the noise?'

The policeman tried again. ‘Where were you when you heard the bomb fall?'

Suddenly she seemed to come to, a more knowing look brightening her eyes. ‘I was out in the Anderson. I only had it put in a few days ago. Just a few days,' she said, her expression one of total bewilderment. ‘Then I found I'd left my knitting
behind and went back in the house to look for it. Couldn't find it though. I reckon somebody pinched it – after he'd dropped the bomb.'

The rescue workers helping her exchanged rueful smiles.

‘Don't think old Hitler likes to knit,' one of them said.

‘But Goering might,' returned Mrs Allen.

An ambulance man passed the policeman a blanket, which they placed around Mrs Allen's shoulders before leading her to the ambulance.