He saw the tell-tale spiral of black dust rising above the roofs and guessed from experience it was somewhere near Lower Oxford Street.
As he glanced at his watch, he groaned. It was ten in the morning: whatever street the rocket had landed in, there would be massive casualties, and if it was Oxford Street it didn’t bear thinking about.
‘I ought to go and help,’ he murmured to himself, yet the thought of what he would see turned his stomach. Just a few days ago he’d been sent out to one in the city and as they approached the site he’d seen a young girl, no older than fifteen, impaled on a wall by a steel girder which had been flung some thirty yards by the force of the blast. She was still alive at that point, her mouth and eyes wide open as if screaming, but no sound coming out. Charley could do nothing but talk to her and hold her hand. She died before they managed to free her.
He made a pot of tea, still weighing up whether he should go or not. He silently cursed the authorities for laying off all the part-timers. The public were so quick to complain at firemen waiting around doing nothing when there were no raids or fires, not so quick to praise them when they toiled for up to forty-eight hours without any sleep under conditions that beggared belief. He was becoming convinced that Australia was the place for him after the war, if Ellie would marry him and come with him. But for now he was a fireman and he must go to help. He couldn’t live with himself if someone died under rubble for want of an extra pair of hands digging them out. His uniform was dry again at least. He pulled on his trousers and buttoned them up, flicked up his braces and pulled on his boots.
Pouring two cups of tea, he drank his down in one gulp then taking the other he carried it up to Ellie, his coat over his arm.
‘Did I hear an explosion, or was I dreaming?’ she said sleepily as he came into her room. She hauled herself up in bed and rubbed her eyes.
The room was gloomy with the curtains drawn, but even so Charley tried to avert his eyes from her breasts. Her thin nightdress was taut against them and her nipples stood out like two succulent raspberries.
‘Yes, you did,’ he said, putting the tea into her hands, and bent to kiss her forehead. She smelt wonderful, all warm and powdery and it was all he could do not to crush her into his arms. ‘I’m off there now, it looks like it’s around Oxford Street.’
Ellie’s face fell. ‘Must you? Oh, why, Charlie? I thought we’d have all day together.’
He looked so tired, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, stubble on his chin. But his hair was endearingly tousled, with the curls he normally tried so hard to suppress with Brylcreem spiralling on to his forehead and neck.
‘You know why.’ He smiled as he put on his coat and fastened up the buttons. Ellie was beautiful to him at all times, but there was something special about her face in the mornings without lipstick or rouge, kind of open and innocent like a child’s. ‘It’s been snowing and it’s so cold I doubt whether you’d want to go out. If they don’t need me I’ll come right back.’
At the mention of snow Ellie’s eyes opened wide in child-like excitement. She wriggled up into a kneeling position, pulled back the curtains and peered out.
‘Oh Charley! Doesn’t it look pretty!’ she exclaimed at the view. ‘All the soot and dirt covered up. I wish it always looked that way.’
Charley wasn’t looking at that view, only the one of her buttocks and tiny waist beneath her nightdress. ‘A cuddle before I go?’ he asked, but before she could reply he moved towards her and slid his arms round her, cupping her breasts in his hands.
‘Charley!’ she murmured reprovingly, but she didn’t move, only leaned her head back against his shoulder.
Just the merest touch from Charley made her heart pound, but the roughness of his coat through her nightdress, his big hands on her breasts and the smell of smoke on him heightened the eroticism. His lips were on her neck, kissing and licking away her shoulder-straps while he squeezed her nipples.
‘Annie might come up,’ she whispered, but she didn’t want him to stop.
‘She’s gone out,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘She won’t be back for ages. We’re all alone.’
This was the first time that Charley had caught her with so little on. Downstairs, fully dressed, it was a lot easier to find excuses to back away, but now his hand was on her belly, moving downwards with determination. Her thin nightdress offered no protection, not from him or her own feelings. Just the position she was in, kneeling up at the window, made her feel even more vulnerable and yet excited. She looked down at his hand, caressing her. It was big and calloused, so strong-looking yet so tender and sensitive and she could feel her resolve waning.
‘You’ve got to go to work,’ she reminded him.
‘Sod work.’ His voice was husky as he turned her around to kiss her.
Ellie had always thought she could call a halt at any stage in petting. But it had never been quite like this before. He was fully dressed right down to his boots, his coat buttoned and his heavy leather belt fastened, but his hands were sweeping up inside her nightdress exploratively, over her stomach, hips and thighs, sweeping away her resistance. Never before had she felt such overpowering passion. His mouth was devouring hers, his breath was hot and heavy and his hands on her naked skin made her tremble with wanting.
‘I love you,’ he gasped, taking one nipple in his lips, making ripples of exquisite pleasure run down her spine. ‘You’re so perfect and beautiful.’ Ellie wanted to caress his skin too, but he was so tightly wrapped in his uniform all she could do was trace the hard muscle in his shoulders and forearms.
As his hand met her pubic hair she welcomed it, yet at the same time she was afraid and embarrassed by a sudden wetness there.
But his fingers were so gentle, stroking her so delicately she responded wantonly, moaning deeply as he probed deep inside her, opening her thighs wider and clawing at his back, pulling him tighter to her still until the two rows of silver buttons on his coat were digging into her skin.
Nothing had prepared her for this. Until today she had never allowed him to touch her above her knees and she’d always had the vague thought in her mind that it was men who had all the pleasure, not women. Wave after wave of intense, savage delight washed over her. She forgot the snow outside, the threat of bombs or even of Annie suddenly appearing in the doorway, and abandoned herself to Charley.
Often in the past he’d guided her hands towards his penis when they were kissing, but always she’d withdrawn it, shrinking back in fright. But now as she undulated beneath him she could feel it throbbing beneath his serge trousers and she wanted to please him too.
Sliding one hand beneath his coat she found the buttons on his flies, opened them and slid her hand in. Still kissing her passionately he helped her and suddenly it was in her hand. It was alarmingly big, but smooth and warm and as her fingers closed round it, his gasp of pleasure encouraged her.
‘Oh Ellie my love,’ he moaned, biting her breast and moving against her. ‘I’ve longed for you to hold me.’
His breathing grew hotter and fiercer and in innocence Ellie held him more firmly, pressing herself hard against him.
‘I can’t hold back,’ he murmured and suddenly she felt something hot and sticky spurt against her wrist.
Ellie had only the most rudimentary knowledge of how love-making worked and she was baffled by why Charley was suddenly limp in her hand and lying panting on her chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘It was just too exciting. I messed it up.’
She was still burning up inside, every nerve-end tingling. She wanted him to go on petting her, but the way he lay still against her suggested it was over. She was much too embarrassed to guide his hands back to her, or even to speak of it.
‘Perhaps you’d better go to work,’ she said stiffly, surreptitiously wiping her wrist against the sheet. Just a moment ago she had been perspiring, but now her skin felt icy and she reached for a blanket to pull over her.
Charley lifted his head to look
at her, hurt by her tone. A moment ago she had been so eager, so abandoned. Now she wasn’t even looking at him and she seemed to be cringing away from him.
‘Is that really what you want?’ he asked, feeling deeply shamed. He hadn’t intended any of this, it had just reared up from nowhere. All he wanted now was to strip off his uniform, get into bed properly with her and cuddle. But she didn’t seem to want that.
‘You said you had to go.’ Ellie turned her face away from his, for some inexplicable reason wanting to cry.
Charley was confused. Was she angry because she thought he put his job before her, or had he offended her by what he’d done. His experience with girls was limited to fumbled petting behind the dance hall or in a parlour with the girl’s father upstairs. It had never felt like this. He wanted to tell her how wonderful it had been, but perhaps she thought it was disgusting.
‘I won’t go if you want me to stay,’ he said tentatively, wishing he knew what girls felt at times like this. ‘Maybe I’d better go downstairs. Mum might come back. I’ll take you out to the pictures tonight.’
‘I can’t,’ Ellie said, without thinking. ‘I’m going out to dinner with Jimbo, he wants a serious talk with me about my future.’
Charley was already smarting with a sense of failure, but as Ellie spoke it turned to deep hurt. He leaped off the bed as if he’d been scalded. ‘I see,’ he said icily as he buttoned up his flies. ‘And I was mug enough to think I had a part in your future.’
Ellie was smitten with remorse. She didn’t know why she felt let down, or indeed how everything had suddenly turned sour. Now she’d made things much worse by blurting out about Jimbo.
She wanted him to get back into bed with her, to hold her and whisper words of love, but his eyes were so cold she felt as if she’d been slapped.
‘I suppose you see that future as me being here whenever it suits you,’ she snapped back, sitting up and pulling the covers right up to her neck. ‘A quick fumble, then off to do what you want. Well Just clear off to work and don’t hurry back.’
Charley turned towards the door and wrenched it open, but as he glanced back at Ellie he saw the black dress hanging on the wardrobe door. ‘Oh, I see,’ he snarled. ‘He’s bought you a dress to wear! I suppose he’s a better lover too?’
He pounded off down the stairs before Ellie had time to think of a reply. Seconds later she heard the basement door slam behind him, then silence.
She sobbed then, lying down and burying her face in the pillow, anger and remorse welling up inside her in equal measures.
‘What on earth’s the matter, Ellie?’ Annie said at five o’clock. She’d arrived home at one, having stopped off to see a friend on the way back from the market, and it was clear to her by Ellie’s swollen eyes that she and Charley had had a fight. As the afternoon wore on the girl’s silence, punctuated only by deep sighs and glances at the clock, made Annie agitated. She had heard gossip that a V-2 had demolished an office building round the back of Oxford Street and although it wasn’t yet substantiated, dozens of people were reported to have been killed and even more injured. She was proud of her son putting duty before his personal life and a little cross with Ellie if this was what their row had been about. ‘He has to go if they need him. You know that.’
Ellie refused to be drawn into any sort of explanation; in fact Annie’s assumption that she was cross because Charley put his job first made her even more angry. She wished Charley would come home so she could apologise, maybe even explain herself. But the time was ticking by and she couldn’t contact Jimbo to put him off.
What should she do? Jimbo would be angry if she let him down; perhaps he’d forget whatever plan he had for her. But how could she go out without making peace with Charley first?
‘There’s nothing the matter,’ Ellie snapped. She wished she could tell Annie, but how could she talk of anything so private to anyone, least of all to Charley’s mother!
At six, when Charley still hadn’t come back, she went upstairs to have a bath. It was snowing again, so cold she felt she would never be warm, and the smell of fish cooking for the lodgers’ evening meal made her quite bilious.
She felt a sense of righteous indignation as she coaxed her hair into curls with setting lotion. It was just like Charley to stay away: he was probably in the fire station bar, swilling down pints of beer and laughing with his mates, avoiding her. Maybe everything the girls said at the club was true: men only wanted one thing and once they’d got that they lost interest.
Charley was just coming up Melton Street as the car pulled out of Coburgh Street. There was only one dim light on the corner, but the thick blanket of snow and the yellow glow of headlamps was enough for him to recognise the occupants. He slunk back into a shop doorway and watched it cruise past. Ellie was sitting in the front like a duchess, her hair piled up in loose curls, her head turned towards the driver.
Of all the jobs Charley had worked on, today’s had been one of the most harrowing. Nearly all the dead were women: young typists, telephonists and office clerks, many of them crushed as they sat at their desks. Coal and paraffin fires had caught piles of papers alight, burning the injured before they could reach them. A mother walking past with a pram had thrown her body protectively over her child and been killed outright, but the baby miraculously survived, screaming lustily beneath not only its mother, but a pile of smoking rubble. Charley lost count of the bodies lying on the pavement under blankets, snow falling on them until they were taken away.
He had been frozen all day, and the only thing he’d had to eat was a couple of Spam sandwiches and lukewarm tea. But he’d managed to keep going by telling himself Ellie would be waiting for him. He was so sure she wouldn’t go out, whatever she’d said. It was all so clear in his mind: he’d tell her how wonderful she made him feel and he’d make her talk about it too. Maybe he could even take her away for the weekend somewhere and start all over again.
But he was wrong about her. She didn’t love him.
‘You bitch,’ he muttered. ‘You don’t care for anyone but yourself. Go and find fame and fortune, but don’t expect me to be waiting for you.’
Chapter Thirteen
April 1945
‘You don’t sound like my Ellie. What’s wrong, love?’ Marleen asked.
Ellie looked at her aunt sitting in a wheelchair, sightless eye sockets hidden by dark glasses, and she felt suddenly ashamed of having considered herself hard done by.
It was the first of April. On the way down to Aylesbury on the train Ellie had seen lambs in the fields and a green haze of buds on the trees, but she had been so immersed in her own misery at being rejected by Charley and forced to leave Coburgh Street that she’d been unable to take any pleasure in knowing that spring had arrived, or that the war was almost over.
‘I’m just tired,’ she lied.
They were in a room off the main ward at Stoke Mandeville Hospital. There was little furniture, just a utility table under the window, three or four chairs for visitors and a grey tiled floor, but a few paintings by patients and a vase of daffodils on the window sill gave a cheery, optimistic note to an otherwise drab room.
Marleen’s hair had turned grey, cut to the level of her chin, pinned unflatteringly to one side with a hair slide. She was wearing a checked, man’s dressing-gown, a blanket over her knees and dark glasses.
Dr Guttmann and his team at Stoke Mandeville had performed miracles. In any other hospital she would probably have died or been tormented by futile operations: urinary infections, renal deficiency and bed sores were all problems common to spinal patients. But here they not only pioneered new treatments to mobilise the natural forces of healing, but believed most patients could be rehabilitated to lead a useful life.
They had rescued her aunt from utter despair and given her back some pride, but even so her situation was still tragic. Marleen would never regain the use of her legs, and neither would she ever see again. She couldn’t survive without constant medical attention. On
e day she might just be moved to a less congenial home for incurables to grow old and bitter surrounded by other casualties of war.
Marleen was one of only three women patients; the others were mostly servicemen wounded in battle. Her cheery, cockney humour had won her a special place in everyone’s affections, and her efforts to wash and dress herself, to manoeuvre her wheelchair unaided without sight, were an inspiration to all the other patients.
But while the others were learning new skills and crafts, filling the long days with reading, jigsaw puzzles and writing letters to their loved ones, some even playing table tennis from their wheelchairs, Marleen had nothing to occupy her. To watch her attempting to steer her chair was so sad, for there seemed little point in becoming mobile when wherever she went was dark.
Each of Ellie’s visits here upset her. It was a pleasant, bright, single-storey building, surrounded by open space, with everything geared for people in wheelchairs, and it was run with dedication and compassion. But the tragedy of these brave people struggling to rise above such insurmountable problems made her want to cry. The nurses reassured Ellie that Marleen had accepted her disabilities, yet Ellie always left the hospital with the feeling that her aunt was praying silently for death to release her from the need to pretend.
‘You’ve told me all about this ’ere theatre Jimbo plans to get,’ Marleen said now, smoothing Ellie’s hand between her two. ‘I’ve heard about ’ow well your act is coming along and about the other girls at the club. But you ain’t mentioned Annie or Charley once. Now suppose you tell me why?’
‘It’s over with Charley and me, and I’ve moved,’ Ellie said, realising she couldn’t hope to keep up the pretence much longer. ‘I’ve got a room near the club.’
Marleen didn’t reply for a moment, but lifted her hand and groped for Ellie’s face. When her fingers found tears her lips quivered. ‘The whole story, love?’ she said gently. ‘What ’appened?’
Ellie Page 28
