by Annie Murray
Thinking about it made Margaret’s chest tighten. Her heart was racing, it was horrible, this feeling, but if this stranger whose name was Alan had moved away at that moment and ceased to listen, she felt she would have screamed. She had to say it – had to, to someone.
‘They took him to a farm and he never wanted to come back,’ Margaret said. She felt herself becoming emotional in a way that hadn’t happened for years – or ever. She had to fight to keep it under control. ‘I came back here; he never did. He was stolen from me, that’s what he was. And the first lady I was sent to was very cruel – I think she was off her head; but then, after that, where I went was lovely and . . . and . . .’ She was shaking now, so that her cup was rattling on the saucer, and he could see it.
‘Dear, oh dear,’ Alan said, and the kindness in his voice was almost her undoing. She wanted to fall to her knees and weep and weep. ‘Would you like to come and sit down over here?’ he suggested.
But Margaret shook her head, because she spotted Joanne coming towards them slowly, holding Amy’s hand.
Alan followed her gaze.
‘That’s my daughter,’ Margaret said, trying to control her trembling. ‘And granddaughter.’ Quickly she added, ‘I’ve never even told them – none of it.’
The man nodded as if he understood and greeted Joanne and Amy kindly. Amy ran to Margaret, brandishing a custard cream and calling out, ‘Nanna! Bikkit!’
‘I probably should be getting off, Mom,’ Joanne said. ‘D’you mind if I go ahead of you? Amy’ll need her dinner.’
‘Oh, I’ll come now,’ Margaret said. Any more and she would be overwhelmed.
Alan stopped her, a hand on her arm. He bent slightly to look into her face.
‘Look, I hope they’ll be able to move it to the evenings next week. I shall have to miss it otherwise. But you will come, won’t you? I don’t want to be the only one!’
Margaret looked down, trying to compose herself. What a kind look he had! She felt so foolish. ‘Yes, I expect I will,’ she said.
As he moved away she had to sit down for a moment anyway, because her legs would not hold her.
Fifty-Five
It was a week since Dave had left hospital and Joanne had found it very difficult.
She had been to see him with Amy three times, taking him extra clothes and things he needed. He seemed so broken and helpless, and wanted just to sit beside her holding her hand. He kept begging her to let him come home.
‘You’re my wife – my family,’ he kept saying. ‘All I want is to be near you both.’
Seeing him so vulnerable tore at her. She wanted to comfort him, but she was still afraid of giving into it all. His need was too much for her.
On Tuesday she had taken Amy back to the toddler group. She felt a bit nervous turning up, realizing that Tess probably knew from Sooky what had happened. Would she have told everyone? But of course Tess hadn’t. As she pushed Amy into the hall, Tess caught sight of her and waved. She came over, carrying her new baby. Joanne could see that Tess looked more back to normal, her face thinner again.
‘Joanne!’ Tess held the baby with one arm and gave her a hug with the other. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘How’re things? Are you okay? And Amy?’
Joanne nodded, blushing. ‘Yeah, I’m back home – my husband’s not, though. Taking it, you know, one day at a time. Amy’s all right, I think.’ She smiled at the sight of Tess’s baby. ‘He’s gorgeous.’
‘Yes,’ Tess looked down fondly. ‘He’s great. Really easy so far, thank goodness. Anyway,’ she patted Joanne’s shoulder, ‘great to see you. And don’t forget – if you need any help with anything . . .’
It was really nice to be back. She missed Sooky a lot, though they were trying to get together every Thursday. There was no sign of Kieran, either, and Tess told her when they chatted again later that he had gone back to work. His wife was at home now with the boys.
‘He’s hoping she’ll feel confident enough to bring them here soon,’ Tess said. ‘She’s getting there, gradually.’
Joanne was glad to hear it, though she missed Kieran too. But she got chatting to one or two new people, and Amy made another little friend called Clara. It felt good to be one of the ones who knew what to do, and to show other people. There was also a new volunteer, a skinny white girl, who was sweet, but much shyer than Mavis.
Once the toddler group had finished she walked up to the library on the Soho Road. As well as getting out some books for Amy, she picked up information about the local colleges where you could do A-levels.
The phone was ringing. Joanne stood in the middle of the back room holding a basket full of wet washing, tempted just to ignore it. Which one of them would it be this time? Sighing, she dropped the basket and went to answer.
‘Joanne?’ Dave’s mom sounded really flustered. ‘Look, I really need an answer from you as to how much longer . . . I mean, it’s been nice having Dave back here for a bit, but it can’t go on. It’s driving me round the bend, him forever under my feet. It’s upsetting the whole energy of the house. He’s gone out for a little walk now, just round the block, and I feel so relieved not to have him in the house . . .’
Joanne closed her eyes for a minute.
‘It’s been a week now, and I know you need some time, but this can’t go on. You’re going to have to have him with you . . .’
A wry smile turned up Joanne’s lips. Wendy’s delight in having ‘my boy’ back at home hadn’t lasted for long. In between her phoning there were Dave’s calls, which ranged in tone from imploring to petulant.
‘Look, Jo, I need to come home. There’ll be no trouble, I promise. You know I’ve promised – it’ll never happen again. I mean, what more can I do?’
‘Just give us a couple more days, Wendy, all right?’ She tried to keep her voice calm. ‘I’m sure we can sort something out.’
It was grey outside, but not raining – just about worth putting the washing out. Amy was dozing, so she was rushing to get things done. There was something soothing about pegging out washing, the pegs kept in an empty ice-cream box. She breathed deeply in the breeze, hanging up one of Amy’s little shirts.
She knew she wasn’t ready. The thought of having Dave here filled her with dismay. It wasn’t just the violence she was afraid of. Just as much it was the thought of sinking back into things as they were before, when she knew now that she needed something to change. She kept thinking about Sooky. How would it be if she went and did some classes, started on her A-levels, and just lived here with Amy: alone? Sooky had her mom, of course. Moving back in with Mom and Dad was out of the question – it would drive her crazy.
She imagined it, finding someone to mind Amy, learning, getting a good job. Her heart flipped with happiness, then landed belly-up in the realization of how lonely it would be. No Dave – the old Dave – coming home with jokes and kisses and playing with Amy. No Dave, full stop. She stood for a long time staring across the garden. She thought back fondly on the good times. Then she recalled the bad times.
Never before had she had to choose like this. Life had happened, and she had fallen into it: she had fallen into following Dave. But now she had to decide and pay the price for her decision, whatever that was.
All that week Margaret couldn’t stop thinking about the group at the library in Kings Heath. The experience had shaken her up. At least while she was there she’d just about managed to keep her emotions under control. Once she was alone in the bathroom at home, where no one would hear, she let go. Perched on the fluffy cover of the lavatory seat, she put her head in her hands and sobbed and sobbed as if her chest would split open. It was all beyond her: she couldn’t control it. Afterwards she felt exhausted, but lighter in herself.
Two days before the next one, she called into the library to check whether the time had changed. Audrey told her that it would be in the evening. She seemed delighted that the group had proved so popular.
Margaret went home jittery wi
th excitement. She’d never known herself get in such a state over anything like this.
‘What the hell’s got into you, Margaret Tolley?’ she demanded as she made coffee back at home with shaking hands.
All she could think about was getting back there on Thursday. She wanted to see that chap she’d talked to. It was something about the way he’d looked at her, as if he really wanted to hear what she had to say. He had such a warm, lively look in those brown eyes. She couldn’t explain it to herself – it wasn’t as if she was ever going to say anything in the group, but she knew she just had to be there.
‘So, are you going back to that reminiscence thing?’ Karen had asked that morning. ‘It sounded quite nice.’
Margaret took a long drag on her cigarette, taking her time to answer.
‘Yes, I might.’ She wanted to tell Karen to mind her own business. This was hers. She didn’t want anyone else interfering. ‘It’s going to be in the evening now, though.’
‘Oh.’ Karen sounded disappointed, as if she thought this meant Margaret would never go to it now. ‘That’s a shame. Thing is, I’ve got my evening class on a Thursday.’ This was said with importance. Karen had enrolled on a twelve-week course entitled ‘Introduction to Counselling’. ‘And Joanne can’t really come out at that time.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Margaret said. She didn’t want any of them coming along with her. ‘I think I can manage to get to the library and back without an escort. I’m not quite over the hill yet, you know.’
Karen looked surprised, then laughed. ‘Oh! Well, that’s really good. Great!’
On Thursday night she and Fred had chicken cooked in a tinned wine sauce, which he liked, then she left him in front of Channel 4 News, reading the Evening Mail.
‘I shan’t be late,’ she told him.
Fred looked up, bemused. ‘Where’re you off to?’
‘I told you. The thing at the library. About the war.’ She knew he wouldn’t ask if he could come.
‘Oh ar, right then. Tara. See yer later.’ He returned to his paper.
Margaret watched him for a few seconds. He was already completely oblivious to her being there. It had always been the same with Fred. He was a poor thing really. Sometimes she thought his mother had taken a piece of him with her to the grave. He was like a boy with his face pressed against a window, looking at the colours of life inside and wishing he could find a way in. Seeing this in him made her boil inwardly, because she knew that she had been just the same.
‘Don’t know why I bother,’ she muttered, putting on her coat.
She got there too early and lingered out in the cold, waiting until a few others came and she could go in with them. She didn’t see the man, Alan, among them. She was afraid he wouldn’t come.
Once again there was Audrey and a double ring of chairs. Margaret sat down and put her bag and coat on the chair beside her as if she was reserving it for someone. A stream of people came in, chattering, all about her age and older. Soon, among them, she saw Alan. She wondered if he had come with anyone, but he seemed to be alone. As he came in he spotted her and raised his hand in greeting. He came straight over to her and she was quick to take her things off the chair.
‘Is that a spare one?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Hello, Margaret.’
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Alan.’
He was wearing a navy raincoat and took a minute to get it off and folded, placing it under the chair as he sank down. She noticed his black trousers looked spruce and his shoes well polished. She was suddenly overcome by her own sense of dowdiness. She was tidy and clean, of course – always that. But her clothes, her beige blouse and brown skirt, were so shabby and old. When was the last time she had given a thought to getting some new things? And she was suddenly conscious that she stank of smoke. She found herself wishing she had kept her coat on.
‘It was touch and go tonight,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘But I’ve made it!’
He told her that he ran a small engineering firm, and there’d been a bit of a rush on, but they’d managed to get done in time.
Something in his stocky build and dark eyes reminded her for a second of her father, Ted Winters. Except that Alan was different in every other way. The Old Man had died from the drink years back, alone in his house. It was true he’d been a charmer, but he was an idle sod for most of his life, whereas Alan was active-looking, intelligent and busy, by the sound of things. She wondered what his wife was like.
‘You said your wife was an evacuee as well. Didn’t she want to come to this?’
‘Oh,’ Alan said, his face creasing sorrowfully. ‘Well, she might if she knew about it. Thing is, we aren’t together any more. She left me – two years or more, it is now – for a tour guide on a holiday we went on, would you believe.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘It was supposed to be our second honeymoon!’
‘Oh, good Lord,’ Margaret said.
Alan started chuckling at her reaction, and though she couldn’t really see why it was funny, Margaret joined in. She suddenly felt wildly happy.
‘Yeah, well, you have to laugh, don’t you?’ he said eventually, just as Audrey started calling everyone to order. ‘That or go mad.’
Margaret recognized a lot of the faces from last time, but there were some new ones too. Her laughter with Alan had put her in a strange frame of mind. She felt safe, with him beside her, as if she was floating in comfortable warm water. She wasn’t going to say anything of course. She just wasn’t that type. But she could listen to all the others.
Audrey gave her introduction, then turned to Alan.
‘I felt rather bad last week, stopping you from speaking – Alan, isn’t it? So I’m glad you’ve managed to be here tonight. Would you be happy to start us off?’
‘Well, yes, all right,’ Alan said. He looked down for a minute, collecting himself. He rubbed a hand down his face and Margaret heard the rasp of stubble. It sounded loud to her, as if her senses were heightened.
‘I s’pose I’d have to say I was one of the ones who didn’t have it too bad with evacuation. Course, when we left Brum I’d never known anything else. I was from the Vauxhall area, and life was just – well, it was what it was. Pretty poor really. But when I had to come back . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I mean, it was only three years I was there. But it changed me all right.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to say where you were sent to?’ Audrey suggested.
‘We – that is, me and my brother – were sent to Wales: Abergavenny.’
Margaret sat riveted as Alan told his story. Compared with her own, it was a straightforward one. Alan and his brother had gone to a kindly couple, who treated them well, kept his parents informed about him and even had a real bathroom in the house! He had gone to the local school and, apart from a bit of argy-bargy with the local kids for not being Welsh, he had thrived and fallen for the place. It was coming back to Birmingham, to his overstretched parents and an impoverished city life, that had been the biggest shock.
As soon as he had stopped speaking, others were eager to say their piece. Some had been evacuated in those early days, several only staying a short while before their families fetched them back. One man had made his own way back from Wales, walking most of the way just to get home. Others were evacuated later, in 1942, in another wave of concern for their safety. Their experiences had been very mixed. There was an attentive silence as one woman told them how cruel the family had been where she was sent.
‘It wasn’t even just the father, Mr Granger – he was a brutal man all right,’ she said. ‘But it was as if I was the enemy. I was the outsider. They all sort of ganged up on me. The worst were the children, because at least with the adults you could just keep out of their way. Mrs Granger was the sort who’d give you a slap for so much as breathing. But there were two girls and a boy – the youngest about my age. They were wicked, what they did. There was a well at the back of the house and they were always on at me, “We’re going to throw you down the well. No one’ll know �
�� they’ll think you jumped in.” That sort of thing. One day they caught me and tied a rope to my ankles and let me down into the well head-first. It was dark and cobwebby, and all the blood went to my head. I was scraped all down my side, against the rough bricks. They kept it up for a while and then they got bored and pulled me back up. But I thought I was going to die.’
A whole catalogue of cruel bullying followed at the hands of the Grangers. There were murmurs of horror, but the woman herself told the stories in a flat way with no emotion. Margaret found herself wondering if she was on Valium as well.
By the time they broke for tea and coffee, she felt tired out with hearing it all.
‘What would you like?’ Alan asked her.
‘Oh, I’ll come over with you and stretch my legs,’ Margaret said. She liked the way he looked after her and stuck with her. He was friendly and spoke to other people, but seemed to gravitate back to her. It made her feel special.
There was a buzz in the room.
‘Some people want stringing up, don’t they?’ Alan said angrily as they sorted out their drinks. ‘What that poor woman went through – well, child she would have been. And I bet there was no comeback on any of them, the whole vile lot of them.’
Margaret looked up at him. ‘The first woman I was with was fined after what she did to me,’ she said. ‘My teacher called the police, because she kept locking me out in the shed all night – in the middle of winter, this was. They sent her to the asylum in the end. She had her dead husband up in bed, nursing him. I mean he wasn’t really there, but she thought he was.’
‘What – you mean . . . ?’ Alan stopped what he was doing, eyes ablaze. He put a hand to his forehead, then looked back at her. ‘Christ! What some people went through. All we hear about is people in the forces, but all those poor kids . . . Look, Margaret, don’t take this wrong or anything, but – would you like to come out after this? For a drink or something? I mean this bit’s over now, they’re moving on to another topic next week. You should tell me about it, even if you don’t want to say anything here. We could just pop into The Station or somewhere – it’s not far.’
