A Sister's War

by Molly Green

  There was a stunned silence.

  Ronnie found her voice. ‘Miss Dummitt, please believe me but I didn’t say anything of the kind. Those words were Angela’s.’

  ‘Ronnie’s speaking the truth,’ Jessica said. ‘And thank goodness I was here to witness that little scene.’

  Dora threw Angela a glare. ‘The brasses need cleanin’ on the motor, Angela. You’ll find the brass cleaner in the cupboard. And the engine room’s in a bit of a mess, so you’d better get over there now and get crackin’ with that.’

  ‘Why aren’t the girls who live there doing it?’ Angela demanded.

  ‘They’re occupied with other things,’ Dora said. ‘And seein’ that I’m in charge here – and as I’m known as “Deadly Dora” – I don’t need to be explainin’. So off yer go, miss.’

  If looks could kill, Ronnie thought, stifling a giggle, Dora would have dropped dead right on the spot from Angela’s furious gaze. Then without another word Angela slid open the hatch and vanished.

  ‘I’m beginnin’ not to be too pleased with that one,’ Dora said, jerking her head towards the hatch.

  ‘Now you know how we feel,’ Jess put in.

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Dora grunted. ‘What I’m interested in – did the shoes do the trick?’

  And when Ronnie told Dora honestly the whole story about what happened, Dora slapped her leg and doubled up laughing until she said her side was ‘hurtin’ bad’.

  ‘But if it’s done one good thing, miss, it’s taken yer mind off Will Drake and fixed it more firmly onter Constable Scott,’ she roared again. ‘And he’s a darn sight better for yer than that young tyke!’

  ‘I expect yous’ll be goin’ to the pub this evenin’, bein’ as it’s Christmas Eve,’ Dora said as everyone squashed into Penelope after an early supper.

  ‘We thought we’d sing some carols,’ May said. She looked at Dora. ‘You don’t sound like you’re coming with us, Miss Dummitt.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Dora said, to Ronnie’s surprise, knowing how Dora loved calling in at the pubs along the cut most evenings, sleeping there overnight. ‘I don’t go much for Christmas, not bein’ religious-like. No, I’ve got me own plans.’

  She didn’t mention what they were and Ronnie couldn’t help being curious, but Dora didn’t say a further word.

  Lapworth, the village where Dora had decided to tie up the boats, was only twelve miles distant, but they had to proceed in a painstakingly slow way because parts of the canal had borne the brunt of the blizzard. Branches had come down in the wind and often made it difficult to negotiate the steering, although Ronnie had to admit Angela came into her own on the tiller. Best place for her, Ronnie thought, knowing Angela was out of everyone’s way and they didn’t have to put up with her barbed comments.

  When the girls finally tied up the pair of boats, May eagerly looked across the cut for a pub, but no one could make out any building looking remotely like one. The mist and gloom didn’t help. It was only three o’clock but already becoming dark.

  ‘I’m not bothered about going to the pub either,’ Ronnie said, smothering yet another yawn when she and Jessica and Angela were in the butty having a welcome cup of tea and the treat of a couple of biscuits each.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you are,’ Angela said. ‘Long as you’ve enjoyed yourself, doesn’t matter a hang about the rest of us.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘How late you were last night coming home … with your boyfriend.’

  ‘With my friend,’ Ronnie quickly corrected. ‘What were you doing, Angela? Spying on us?’

  Angela snorted. ‘As if I’m interested,’ she said. ‘I was making a cup of cocoa and I heard voices. I wondered who it was. I might have known it was you.’

  ‘You’re not a teensy-weensy bit jealous, are you, Angela?’ Jessica said.

  ‘Certainly not.’ Angela’s lip curled. ‘I’d hate a man nuzzling round me.’

  Ronnie bit back a retort. But it sounded as though Angela had witnessed Michael’s kiss. For some reason that bothered her more than anything.

  When Jessica and Angela had left for the pub, Ronnie pulled down the double bed. She sat on top of it and opened her novel, The Water Gipsies, reminding her of the interview with Mrs Hunter that she and Raine had attended. She shut her eyes, trying to picture her sister’s life. She couldn’t help thinking Maman was right and that Raine’s job was probably far more risky than she let on. A shiver ran across Ronnie’s shoulders. Keep safe, darling Raine. She wondered if Raine had been given a couple of days off from flying but thought probably not. The boys would want to surprise Jerry, if possible. But how dreadful to be forced to kill people at Christmas. But then how dreadful at any time of the year.

  Ronnie swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on her book. But when she’d read the same paragraph three times over, she snapped it shut, wishing she had a portable wireless and could listen to some music. Maybe a jazz programme to remind her of dearest Suzy, singing her heart out to the troops, perhaps not even that far away. What she would give to see her sisters’ smiling faces.

  She recalled her mother’s last letter.

  Véronique, ma chérie,

  You cannot know how disappointed I am to receive your letter you are not coming home for Christmas. It will be the first Christmas I am left here on my own. There is not even the possibility to see P. All I have is your dog who I think misses you as much as I do.

  Maman had gone on a bit longer before telling her she hoped she would have a nice Christmas with her new friends. Pierre would have been the perfect solution, Ronnie thought. But at least her mother would have Rusty. She closed her eyes, seeing his tail wagging and hearing his barks of excitement the minute he laid eyes on her. She choked back a sob, feeling the thin mattress harder than usual under her back and neck with the weight of her guilt and homesickness. She was alone in the world.

  Should she have joined the others who were probably by now having a jolly time? She pictured the whole pub singing to May’s ukulele and shrugged. No one would want her around when she was in this mood.

  What was that noise?

  She jolted up, her heart beating hard.

  Someone was on the roof! Who was it? Everyone had gone.

  Ronnie reached for the poker, waiting, her blood pumping as the hatch slowly slid open.

  She didn’t realise she was holding her breath until she breathed out her fear. A familiar face appeared in the hatchway.

  ‘Miss Dummitt! Thank goodness. I thought it was a burglar!’

  ‘No burglars out in this weather that’s enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey,’ Dora chuckled as she jumped down the last step. ‘But this in’t no place for a young girl alone on Christmas Eve neither, so I’ve come to take yer with me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To have a bit o’ Christmas cheer with a family I know.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t bother about Christmas.’

  ‘Well, they do,’ Dora said. ‘There’re five kiddies … or rather six, now, with the new’un. Not forgettin’ Cobber the horse. So what d’ya say?’

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘On a boat, o’ course,’ Dora said impatiently. Then she grinned, showing the black gaps. ‘And if yer want to know where Cobber lives, he gets stabled at the pub opposite so’s he can enjoy a pint with the locals.’ She threw her head back and roared at Ronnie’s disbelieving expression. ‘We in’t far from them. Their boat’s the Princess Dolly.’ Her laughter faded as the word ‘Dolly’ seemed to tremble on her lips. She sniffed. ‘So no more yakkin’. Are yer comin’ with me, or not?’ Her dark eyes were as stern as ever. ‘If so, bring yer torch – much good as it does.’

  Ronnie couldn’t help smiling. She stood and for the second time closed her book.

  ‘If they wouldn’t mind a stranger, I’d like to. Very much.’

  By the weak torchlight Ronnie could make out the boat’s name, Princess Dolly, decorated with b
unches of painted roses at either end. Inside, a baby howled and Ronnie could hear shouts and laughter from what sounded like several children. A man’s loud voice rose above the cacophony.

  He sounded fierce. Immediately, Ronnie wished she hadn’t come. Whatever had she let herself in for? She’d been perfectly all right on her own, quietly with her book. As though Dora read her thoughts she said, ‘Don’t take no notice of him. He has ter make himself heard with that lot.’

  Ronnie nodded and meekly followed Dora onto the deck.

  ‘Open up!’ Dora roared. ‘I’ve brought a visitor.’

  The hatch instantly slid open and Dora pushed Ronnie through the space. A man’s arm steadied her onto the floor and she found herself crushed against him.

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked up at a broad, strong-featured man, so tall he had to bend his auburn head so as not to hit it on the ceiling, which was draped with coloured festive chains like the ones she and Raine and Suzy used to spend hours gluing together. She extricated herself from his grip and stepped backwards.

  ‘Ow,’ a small ginger-haired boy shrieked. ‘Yer hurt my foot, you did.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  There didn’t appear to be an inch of space anywhere. How Dora was going to fit in as well, heaven knew.

  Dora burst through the hatch, grinning.

  ‘Leave the child be, Fred. She in’t used to real boat people.’

  ‘Sooner she be, the better.’ Fred looked at Ronnie. ‘Don’t say yer one of them wenches what takes the cargo up and down the cut without a man. You don’t look more’n a kiddie yerself.’

  ‘She’s one of ’em, all right,’ Dora said before Ronnie could answer. ‘And seein’ as she in’t fully learned yet, she’s not givin’ a bad hand.’

  ‘Wot’s yer name, missus?’ A little fair-haired girl, no more than three or four, put her arms round Ronnie’s legs.

  ‘It’s Ronnie.’

  ‘Can’t be.’ A boy of about nine muscled into the little group. ‘Ronnie in’t a girl’s name.’

  ‘I know,’ Ronnie smiled at him. This one had dark hair and eyes to match. ‘But when I was your age, I loved doing all the things boys did like climbing trees, going off on my bike, looking at birds’ nests …’

  The boy nodded, regarding her with new respect.

  ‘Don’t bother the lady, Georgie.’ A plump woman came in through the door from the hold carrying a bucket of coal.

  ‘Dolly,’ Dora said, ‘this is Ver-ron-eek, one of my wenches. The youngest as yer can tell. She were on ’er own while the others went to the pub so I took pity on her.’

  ‘Pleased to meet yer.’ Dolly wiped her tanned hand on her snow-white apron, then held it out. ‘That’s a fancy name yer got.’

  Even in that brief moment, Ronnie felt Dolly’s callouses. ‘Very pleased to meet you, too,’ she said. ‘And please call me Ronnie.’ The baby’s howl had softened to a whimper. ‘Congratulations, Mrs …’

  ‘We don’t stand on no cere-mony here,’ Dolly said, her dimpled face wreathed in smiles. ‘Dolly’ll do nicely.’

  ‘Dolly,’ Ronnie said, ‘congratulations on the new baby. May I see him – or is it a her?’

  ‘No need for congrattylations, dearie. She in’t mine. Her ma died borning her. Poor little scrap. So we took ’er in. You go ’n’ ’ave a peep while Fred’ – she swung her attention to her husband – ‘you go ’n’ fetch the bottle and we’ll give the lady a special Christmas drink.’

  ‘Oh, please, not for me,’ Ronnie protested, but Fred wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘’Ow d’ya think I’ll get one if yer refuse?’ he said, twinkling down at her. ‘Ma won’t let me ’ave one on me own.’

  ‘I’ll be more’n happy to join yer, Fred,’ Dora said quickly.

  Ronnie noticed him glance at Dora with a wink and Dora smiled back, looking almost coy.

  If Dora got her teeth fixed she’d actually have quite a pretty face, Ronnie thought. Maman would soon cart her off to the dentist. She smiled at the image of Maman taking Dora firmly by the arm and dragging her to see Mr Chapman. Ronnie peered into the makeshift crib, which looked as though it had once been the bottom drawer of a chest. The baby stared up at her with round blue eyes.

  ‘Hello, little one, what’s your name?’

  ‘She’s Rosy. Like them rosies Pa did on the boat,’ Georgie piped up.

  Ronnie wished she had a little soft toy for Rosy to play with. She stayed a minute or two with the baby’s hand locked around one of her fingers, then reluctantly and gently unhooked it and went back to her seat.

  The children gathered round her, curious to see this stranger.

  ‘Why d’yer speak funny,’ the oldest boy of about thirteen challenged her, staring at her from his stool, his face only inches away from hers.

  Ronnie hesitated, not wanting to say ‘at home’. ‘It’s how I learnt at school,’ she smiled.

  ‘Y’see, Ma,’ the boy said. ‘I keeps tellin’ yer I need ter get to school. They learn yer all sorta things.’

  ‘I’ll learn yer a clip over the ear, Dave, if yer don’t stop tormentin’ the nice lady,’ his mother warned him.

  ‘I’m happy to tell him anything he wants to know about school,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but first orf I want yous to sit yonder and I’ll pour the tea I were makin’ ’fore yer came.’ She pointed to the seat plank.

  Ronnie had no sooner sat down than the little girl climbed up on her lap.

  ‘That’s Liza. Shove ’er orf if she’s bein’ a nuisance,’ Fred said. ‘Yer gotta learn ’em at that age.’

  ‘I don’t know how you manage with five children and a new baby to look after,’ Ronnie said in an awed tone as she held Liza firmly and looked around. The cabin was as neat as a pin, positively sparkling in the light from the two oil lamps falling on the gleaming brassware. Wherever her eye took her she spotted picture frames with faded photographs, brasses by the stove – all gleaming and reflecting – making the cabin look larger than it really was. There were hand-embroidered coverings which she’d bet Dolly had made, pictures and decorative plates hung by string … really, how on earth did Dolly cope, Ronnie thought again, guessing the woman did the lion’s share of the work.

  ‘Oh, they in’t all mine,’ Dolly said, roaring with laughter as she handed Ronnie the tea. ‘Mine are them twins.’ She jerked her head towards a pair of ginger-haired, freckle-faced boys, one Ronnie had inadvertently trodden on. ‘They’re six,’ she said, a note of pride in her voice. ‘The other three are ’vacuees. But for easy sake I told ’em all to call me ma.’

  Ronnie gave a sharp intake of breath. This family who had so little had extended their tiny cabin to three other children they’d never set eyes on and blended them in with their own family, not to mention caring for a brand-new baby. What generous-hearted people.

  ‘It’s doin’ our bit fer the war effort,’ Fred said. ‘And Doll likes ter be surrounded with kiddies. That’s when she’s most ’appy.’

  ‘Off you git from the lady’s knee, Liza.’ The little girl jumped off. ‘And like or not, I want yer ter drink this oop, so’s Fred can ’ave one and stop crazin’ me.’ She put a glass half filled with a golden liquid in Ronnie’s hand.

  Ronnie took a sip, then wished she hadn’t. It burned the back of her throat making her cough. She felt the warmth spread inside her body.

  Fred gave a rich chuckle. ‘All right for yer?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ she managed.

  ‘I made it meself,’ he said. ‘I used—’

  ‘Enough, Fred,’ Dolly interrupted, chuckling. ‘Ronnie don’t want to hear all the ins and outs of how yer made it. Why don’t yer play ’er a tune on yer squeeze-box. The kiddies like it, ’n’ all.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Doll.’ He picked up a battered-looking concertina, unclipped it and drew out a few scattered notes. ‘Let’s see. We’d better ’ave a Christmas carol.’

  He played the introduction of ‘Away in
a Manger’ and to Ronnie’s astonishment everyone, including little Liza, joined in.

  ‘And you, Ver-ron-eek,’ Dora said, looking at Ronnie with her terrifying grin.

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you heard me sing, Miss Dummitt,’ Ronnie said, smiling, for once not irritated by Dora’s mocking pronunciation of her name.

  ‘Don’t matter if yer can hold a tune or not – it’s the joinin’ in what counts,’ Dora said.

  Fred played several more carols and most of the children – or kiddies, as Ronnie now thought of them – sang with gusto. Ronnie found herself doing just what Dora had ordered – joining in with this amazing family.

  ‘It’s gettin’ late,’ Dora said after several of the children began to yawn. ‘The kiddies need to get ter bed.’

  Ronnie raised her glass. ‘Thank you for making me so welcome,’ she said. ‘The tea and the special drink and singing the carols – and most of all meeting you and the kiddies. It’s made me feel more like Christmas than any Christmas I’ve ever had – and I mean it.’

  ‘Well, wot d’ya know,’ Fred said, looking Dora’s way. ‘This one’s growed up more’n I first seed.’ He turned to Ronnie. ‘This’ll be yous one day, miss,’ he said with a wink and a smile. ‘Kiddies needin’ yer attention all day long. But make sure yer take note of Ma. She allus puts me first, like. That’s the only way ter keep yer man ’appy.’

  Ronnie politely smiled back but Fred had already turned his attention to Dora. This time Ronnie noticed it was more than a quick glance.

  ‘Bring Ronnie back agin,’ Dolly said as she kissed Dora’s cheek. ‘We like ’er, don’t we, Moi-chap?’ Her plump face grinned up at Fred.

  ‘She’s a good’un,’ he said to his wife, at the same time pumping Ronnie’s hand. ‘She’ll make some geezer ’appy, no doubts about that.’

  Fred’s words floated through Ronnie’s mind as she was drifting off to sleep. That rule of keeping your man happy might well suit him and possibly Dolly too, but it wouldn’t suit her. Ronnie’s lips curved into a wry smile. But what sort of a marriage would suit her? Try as she might, she couldn’t envision being anyone’s wife. For one thing, no one would want to put up with all the animals she’d decided she would shelter when she finally left home and had a place of her own. Briefly, she wondered what sort of Christmas Michael was having. And the other girls in the pub. Well, she wouldn’t have swapped this evening for all the tea in Dolly’s enormous teapot.