by Lily Baxter
‘Of course.’ Susan filled the kettle at the sink before putting it on the gas ring. ‘Can I do anything to help?’
Mr Richards was systematically going through a wall cupboard, sending showers of tea leaves onto the tabletop to mingle with breadcrumbs and what looked suspiciously like mouse droppings. ‘I’m not much good at housekeeping. I’ve got a bit better at it since …’ He paused, glancing at Susan over his shoulder. ‘I suppose Tony told you that we’d lost his mum, years back.’
‘Yes, he did. I’m so sorry.’
He uttered a murmur of triumph as he came across a tin of powdered milk tucked away behind a can of 3-in-One oil. ‘I knew I had one somewhere. Now where did I put the tea caddy?’
Susan had already found it beneath a crumpled newspaper. She handed it to him. ‘How is Tony?’ she asked, steering the conversation onto safer ground. ‘Do you hear from him often?’
‘He phones once a week. He’s a good son; he never forgets his dad. I’m really proud of him.’ Mr Richards emptied the teapot into the sink, adding a mound of soggy tea leaves to the lumps of sour milk. ‘He liked you, Susan. But he told me that you’d got a young man.’
She was quick to hear the note of regret in his voice, and the feelings of guilt that she had pushed to one side came flooding back. She could not bring herself to tell him that she had lied to his son. ‘We’re just good friends,’ she said, staring down at the floor. There was definitely a mouse hole in the skirting board. She wondered if she ought to draw his attention to it, but decided against saying anything that might upset him. She knew from experience how much it hurt when people like Mrs Girton-Chase said things that made their subject want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment.
‘Well, that’s how it goes,’ he said, sighing. ‘I’d like to see my boy settled with a nice girl, but he’s very choosy. I think losing his mum like that has made him hold back from getting too involved with anyone. But he’s young. There’s plenty of time.’
He took the bubbling kettle from the hob and poured hot water into the pot, swilling it round and tipping it down the sink. He was about to make the tea when the telephone in the shop rang, making them both jump. ‘I’ll bet that’s Tony,’ he said, putting the kettle down with a thud. ‘This is about the time he usually rings. I’ll tell him you’re here, shall I?’
‘No. Please don’t.’
But he had rushed into the shop and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello, Tony. Guess who’s just walked in.’
Chapter Three
Susan snatched up her gasmask case and handbag. She squeezed past Mr Richards, shaking her head and pointing to the door. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise it was so late. Must fly.’
He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Just a quick word with Tony?’
She lifted the hatch. ‘Say hello for me. It was lovely meeting him.’ She escaped from the shop not daring to look back. It had been a mistake to accept the offer of tea. She should have simply acknowledged Tony’s father and walked on. One day they would find out that she had lied to them. Pretending to be part of the Kemp family had been a foolish thing to do, and she was ashamed of herself. If Tony found out he would be quite justified in thinking she was just a silly girl who should have known better. She mounted the bike and set off in the direction of home. She did not like leaving Charlie for long periods of time, and quite soon it would be impossible to conceal his presence. He seemed to have grown, even though she had only had him for a week, and although he was content to take naps like a human baby, she knew this would not last. She had visited the library and studied a book on rearing dogs. If only she had realised that Charlie would mature into such a large animal she might have thought twice about taking him on, but it had been love at first sight. She knew in her heart that she would have rescued him from certain death even if she had known that he would grow to the size of a Bengal tiger. She pedalled harder.
As the days went by it became more and more difficult to keep Charlie hidden from the family. The constant air raids forced the Kemps to use the Anderson shelter every night and quite often in the daytime as well. If the siren went while Susan was letting Charlie have his run in the garden she had to act quickly in order to hide him away. Occasionally this entailed both of them sitting out the air raid in the shed amongst the plant pots, garden tools and spiders’ webs. Each evening when her work was done, Susan took him for a walk on Primrose Hill, regardless of the danger from falling shrapnel. The sight of London burning was appalling and deeply distressing. There were thousands dying beneath the rain of German bombs. Homes were wrecked and whole swathes of the East End razed to the ground. It was definitely the worst of times for the city, and yet the spirit of the Londoners remained unbroken. Susan read the daily reports in the newspapers after Mrs Kemp had finished with them. She wished that she could do something for the war effort. She had tentatively put this suggestion forward one evening after dinner when the family were assembled in the drawing room for coffee. She had been met with a firm refusal.
‘Fire watching! Are you out of you mind?’ Mrs Kemp spluttered, having swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee. ‘You’re forgetting your place, Banks.’
‘You should let her go, Mummy,’ Virginia said, smirking. ‘Let her do something useful for once.’
Susan stood stiffly to attention. It had been during one of her nightly excursions on Primrose Hill with Charlie that she had come up with the idea. She could combine dog walking with being on the lookout for the increasing number of fires caused by incendiary bombs, and put her time to good use.
Mrs Kemp put her coffee cup down on the side table with a decisive thud. ‘Certainly not. She’ll use it as an excuse to go out at night. She’s probably got a boyfriend waiting for her as we speak.’
Susan was used to being talked about as if she was not present, but this was too much to bear. ‘That’s not the reason I want to do this, madam.’
Mrs Kemp turned her head to glare at her. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, Banks.’
‘I can’t see that it would make any difference to us,’ Virginia said, taking a cigarette from the silver box on the coffee table and lighting it. ‘And it looks as though we’re all going to be in it soon.’
Pamela choked on a mouthful of chocolate. Susan had observed that she hoarded her weekly ration as carefully as any miser, allowing herself one tiny chunk each evening. Susan also knew that Pamela was not above using her sister’s points to satisfy her craving for sweets. She had had to search for Virginia’s ration book several times, and on each occasion had discovered it in Pamela’s room, tucked beneath her pillow. Luckily Virginia was too figure-conscious to consume anything containing sugar and considered it beneath her to shop for groceries, so the pilfering went unnoticed.
Pamela swallowed convulsively. ‘I won’t be conscripted. Not with my poor eyesight.’
‘Don’t count on that to save you.’ Virginia flicked ash from her cigarette into the fire. ‘We’ll all have to do something. Dudley says it’s just a matter of months and women will be called upon to do some kind of war work, if not actually conscripted into the forces.’
‘Stop it, girls.’ Mrs Kemp heaved her considerable bulk from the armchair. ‘I don’t want to hear any more. I won’t have my daughters mixing with the hoi polloi. Your father would be turning in his grave at the very thought of you in uniform, or doing any sordid war work.’ She picked up her ebony cane, leaning heavily on it. ‘As for you, Banks, voluntary work is out of the question.’
‘Yes, madam.’ Susan moved swiftly to open the door for her.
Mrs Kemp paused on the threshold. ‘I don’t want to hear any more about it. I’m virtually crippled and I need you here. D’you understand me, Banks?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘So no more of your nonsense.’ Mrs Kemp limped from the room and made her way towards the staircase.
‘I’ll have another cup of coffee, Banks,’ Virginia called out as Susan was about to leave.
‘Yes, miss.’
‘I’ll have one too,’ Pamela said, moving from her seat by the window to take her mother’s place by the fire. ‘And, Susan, before you disappear.’
‘Yes, miss?’
‘I think someone must have let their dog stray into our garden. I trod in something very nasty on my way to the shelter this afternoon.’ Pamela grimaced, shuddering. ‘And it wasn’t rabbit’s thingies.’
‘Yes, Banks. You really must make certain the side gate is kept shut,’ Virginia said crossly. ‘Anyone could be lurking outside in the darkness.’
‘We could be murdered in the air raid shelter,’ Pamela added, glaring at Susan. ‘And it would be your fault.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Susan left them discussing the dangers of living without a man to protect them, and she returned to the kitchen. She took the kettle from the range and added more hot water to the coffee in the percolator. Although it was not rationed, it was expensive and often in short supply. Given the unenviable task of balancing the household budget for groceries, she had to be careful when she went shopping. Mrs Kemp scrutinised every receipt and counted the change in a manner that would have been applauded by Scrooge.
Binkie-Boo yawned, exposing two rows of sharp teeth. He rose from his bed and stalked over to Susan with intent. Eyeing him warily, she filled a saucer with milk diluted with water and placed it on the floor in front of him. He lapped a few mouthfuls and with a disdainful shake of his head retired to his cushion to wash himself, casting baleful glances at her as if to say that he was not so easily fooled. Brought up on the cream off the top of the milk, Binkie-Boo was finding rationing hard to bear. Charlie was not so fussy. Susan had allowed him to remain in the kitchen, safe in the knowledge that neither of the Miss Kemps would offer to help with the washing-up. He finished off the contents of the saucer and chased it round the floor with his nose, making certain that not a drop was missed.
Susan was about to pour the coffee when the air raid siren almost caused her to drop the pot. She put it down on the hob and grabbing Charlie by the collar she dragged him to her room, only just making it before Pamela and Virginia burst into the kitchen. They were closely followed by their mother, who moved with surprising agility when faced with the threat of the Luftwaffe’s bombs.
‘We’ll have our coffee in the Anderson,’ Virginia shouted as she wrenched the back door open. ‘And bring my cigarettes, Banks. I left them on the table in the drawing room.’
‘Yes, miss,’ Susan murmured. ‘Three bags full, miss.’ She sat down on her bed and stroked Charlie. He licked her hand and looked up at her with such adoration in his liquid brown eyes that it brought a lump to her throat. She picked him up and gave him a hug. ‘You’re worth more than the lot of them put together.’ Reluctantly she put him down. ‘Stay there like a good boy. I’ll be back in two ticks.’ She set about finding Virginia’s cigarettes, not forgetting a box of matches, and she put them on the tray with the coffee, adding a plateful of rich tea biscuits for good measure.
Having satisfied their demands she returned to her room and made herself ready to face the cold on Primrose Hill. Charlie recognised the signs as she pulled on a woollen hat and scarf that she had knitted under Mrs Wilson’s guidance, and he bounced up and down, making excited whimpering noises. ‘Come on, Charlie,’ she said, clipping on his lead. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
It was a cold, crisp night and a bomber’s moon shone down on the city. Standing on the top of the hill Susan could see the red glow of yet more fires, and the crisscrossing of the searchlights etched patterns on the black velvet sky. The all too familiar sounds of aircraft engines, gunfire and explosions reverberated like the most terrible thunderstorm it was possible to imagine. She pulled her hat down over her ears in an attempt to deaden the noise as she stood watching Charlie gambolling about on the grass like a spring lamb. His joyful yelps were lost in the reverberating crumps and thuds that literally shook the earth.
She did not hear approaching footsteps, but suddenly she sensed that they were not alone. She spun round to see a man coming towards her. He wore a flat cap and a scarf partially obscured the lower part of his face. She felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck, realising that she was alone and defenceless. She whistled to attract Charlie’s attention but he had found a series of interesting smells and was scurrying away from her, nose to ground. She followed him, quickening her pace, but she could still hear the footsteps behind her. They seemed to be getting closer all the time, and then to her astonishment someone called her name.
‘Susan? Is that you?’
She stopped and turned round. She recognised the voice. ‘Mr Richards?’
He hurried up to her. ‘I thought it was you. What on earth are you doing out here in the middle of an air raid?’ He pushed his cap to the back of his head, peering at her through the misted-up lenses of his spectacles. ‘Why aren’t you in a shelter?’
‘Why aren’t you?’ Susan demanded, her relief turning to anger. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me.’
He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on the tail end of his scarf. ‘I’m sorry, love. I come up here because I hate the ruddy shelter, and because this is where I used to bring Tony’s mum when we were courting. But you shouldn’t be up here on your own.’
She was about to offer an explanation when she realised that she could no longer see the puppy. She panicked, calling his name. ‘Charlie! Here boy!’ She imagined him running off into the darkness and getting lost. She called him again and he bounced out from behind a tree, scampering towards her as if playing a delightful game. She bent down and picked him up. ‘You bad boy, Charlie. You gave me an awful fright.’
‘Charlie?’
She had almost forgotten Mr Richards’ presence and she turned slowly to face him. ‘Yes, this is Charlie.’
‘So it is.’ Mr Richards’ eyes twinkled and his lips curved in a wry smile.
‘I can explain.’ She set Charlie down on the grass. ‘It was all a misunderstanding.’ The successive explosions of bombs falling somewhere to the southeast of them made her shudder. ‘Poor things,’ she murmured. ‘I feel so sorry for the people in the East End.’
‘They’re certainly getting the worst of it.’ Mr Richards took her hand and slipped it through the crook of his arm. ‘Tell you what, Susan. Let’s go and sit on a seat and pretend it’s a lovely summer evening with no war, no bombs and no German aircraft flying overhead. You can tell me all about yourself, if you’ve a mind to, that is. If not, we’ll just sit and make small talk until the raid ends. Because I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.’
The sudden urge to cry rendered Susan speechless for a moment but she allowed him to lead her to a nearby bench and they sat side by side, watching Charlie as he recommenced his exploration of the deep shadows. She had to suppress a sudden urge to tell him everything. She could not remember anyone having shown such interest in her past before. It was a new and confusing experience and she did not know quite how to handle the situation. ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Well, you can start by telling me why you’re out here all alone in the middle of an air raid. I mean, won’t your family worry about you?’
She clenched her hands in her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms as tears stung her eyes. ‘I haven’t anyone close to me.’ She shot him a sideways glance. ‘I lied to Tony. I told him my name was Susan Kemp. It isn’t.’
‘Might I ask why?’
‘He was nice. I wanted him to think well of me, and when he saw the Kemps’ house I knew he was impressed. But I’m not one of them. I just work for Mrs Kemp. I’m a servant.’
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Susan. My father was in service, and so was my mother.’
‘I don’t know who my parents were.’ This time she turned to face him, lifting her chin and meeting his steady gaze. ‘I was a foundling, left on the steps of a church and taken to an orphanage. Mrs Kemp took me on as a maid when I was f
ourteen. I’ve been with the family ever since.’
Mr Richards laid his hand on hers. ‘Is she good to you, love?’
‘I get two uniforms a year and all my meals. She pays me weekly, so I suppose that answers your question.’
‘But does she treat you well? That would be my idea of someone who was a good employer.’
‘Mr Kemp was a civil servant and they spent most of their time living abroad in British embassies all over the place. Mrs Kemp was used to having servants at her beck and call.’
‘And so she treats you like a skivvy?’ Mr Richards’ eyes gleamed with humour. He patted her hand. ‘You don’t have to tell me. I can guess the rest. But whatever the woman is or was, you’re still a minor and she is responsible for you. She should look after you.’
‘I can take care of myself.’ Susan rose to her feet. ‘Thanks for listening to me, Mr Richards. I’m sorry I lied to you and Tony. I should have spoken to him on the phone, but I was embarrassed.’ She shivered as a cold wind laden with the smell of smoke and burning buildings blew in from the east. ‘I must take Charlie home. He’s just a puppy and it’s getting too cold to be out at night.’
Mr Richards stood up, straightening his cap and wrapping his scarf more tightly around his neck. ‘Call in at the shop any time you’re passing, Susan. I’m always pleased to have a bit of company.’
She hesitated. ‘You won’t tell Tony about me, will you?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to. It’ll be our secret, but you can trust my boy. He’d understand and wouldn’t think any the less of you.’
She called to Charlie who obeyed her this time and ran to her, jumping up excitedly as if life was a huge game. She clipped his lead onto his collar, and was about to walk away but she hesitated, turning to Mr Richards. ‘Shouldn’t you be going home too?’
