She turned right and opened Jo’s and Mattie’s bedroom door, then stormed in.
Mattie was sitting up in bed with the bedcovers pulled down, showing her swollen stomach. She was hunched over their old china gazunder, which was resting on her knees.
She looked up as Pearl and Jo walked in.
‘Hello, Aunt Pearl . . .’ She retched and with her head hung over the pot she gave them a wan smile. ‘Sorry. Morning sickness.’
She dry-retched again.
Pearl put her hand over her mouth and, spinning on her heels, left the room with Jo right behind her.
Pressing herself into the wall, Jo pushed past Pearl and planted herself squarely in front of her parents’ bedroom.
‘Get out of my way,’ snarled Pearl.
‘No,’ said Jo. ‘It’s private.’
Pearl glared at her for a moment then with surprising strength for someone who idled away their days on a bar stool with a drink in their hand, her aunt grabbed her and dragged her out of the way and burst in.
Jo closed her eyes and waited for her to see the made-up bed on the floor and Billy’s clothes hanging on the wardrobe door and his toys in the box but after a few moments of ferreting around in the room, Pearl re-emerged and stomped back downstairs.
She stopped at Queenie’s door. Her hand hovered over the handle for a second then, taking a deep breath, she turned it and walked in.
A tangy smell of stale chamber pot wafted out as Pearl entered and Prince Albert, Queenie’s elderly grey parrot who lived in a cage by the old woman’s bed, squawked its protest.
Pearl came out a few moments later looking shaken. Adjusting the fur on her shoulder, she strode past Jo into the back parlour. Her eyes narrowed as they flitted over Jo’s family’s mismatched furniture but as it was clear no boy Billy’s size could be hiding anywhere in the room, she walked on through to the kitchen.
The room was empty and although there was a breakfast bowl and cup still on the table, Billy’s satchel was missing from the back of the chair.
Pearl poked her nose in the pantry before turning to glare at her niece.
‘See, I told you,’ said Jo. ‘Billy’s not here.’
Pearl gave her a caustic glance and then, ripping open the back door, she strode out into the yard.
Marching across to the privy, Pearl banged on the door.
‘Feck off,’ Queenie shouted back. ‘I’m having a shite.’
‘I’m looking for Billy,’ Pearl bawled through the outhouse door. ‘I know he’s—’
A rip-roaring fart cut across her words.
‘For the love of mercy,’ hollered Queenie from inside the toilet, ‘will you not leave me in peace to grapple with the squits?’
‘Is he in there?’ Pearl demanded, thumping her manicured fist on the rough wood.
There was a pause and then the door creaked open to reveal Queenie, sitting on the scrubbed wooden toilet board with her skirts rucked up, and her washed-out grey bloomers gathered around her ankles.
‘So,’ said Queenie, resting her hands on her knobbly knees, ‘perhaps now you’ll be satisfied that ’tis only myself in this here bog. Or would you be after searching the bowl beneath me arse as well?’
Aunt Pearl glared at the old woman for a moment then she spun around to face Jo.
‘Tell your mother, if I find out Billy is here,’ she jabbed her finger at her, ‘I’ll get my Lenny to drive me straight back—’
‘Back?’ said Jo.
Pearl made a play of adjusting the angle of her hat. ‘This damp has given Lenny a bit of a cough so we’re going to spend a few months by the coast, in Seaton.’
‘Away from all the bombing, then,’ said Jo, giving her aunt a scornful look.
Pearl didn’t reply.
‘And is he taking his real wife as well?’ called Queenie from her back-yard throne. ‘Or is she staying in Southend?’
Pearl’s lipsticked mouth pulled into a tight line.
‘So you can tell your mother,’ she said, hooking her handbag firmly over her arm, ‘if I find out that my sweet boy is in danger, I’ll come and take him from you.’
Pearl gave Jo and Queenie another withering look before striding out of the back gate, her heels clip-clopping as she hurried down the side alley back to the street.
No one moved until they heard a car revving away and then Jo looked at her grandmother.
‘What have you done with him?’ she asked.
Pulling up her knickers, Queenie smiled and raised her eyes upwards as a pair of small hands gripped the edge of the roof tiles and Billy’s bewildered face appeared between them.
Half an hour later, after a breakfast of fried bread dipped in egg and a mug of hot, sweet tea, Jo finally dragged herself upstairs to bed.
Opening the door to her old bedroom at the front of the house, she crept in to find that Billy’s clothes, having been retrieved from wherever her sister had hidden them, were now folded in a neat pile on the dressing table. Mattie herself was lying on her back, with her arms out of the covers and fast asleep.
Closing the door quietly, Jo kicked off her shoes and quickly got undressed. Pulling her suitcase from under the bed where she’d stored it earlier, she took out a clean nightdress and slipped it on. In the distance, fire-engine bells, no doubt from other areas, arrived to lend a hand.
Careful not to disturb her sister, Jo slipped under the covers, setting the springs creaking as they took her weight. She settled into the familiar moulds of the mattress. Mattie sighed and unconsciously she smoothed her fingers over the patchwork counterpane covering her swelling stomach.
As she gazed at her sister’s hands resting protectively over her unborn child, a lump formed itself in Jo’s throat.
Chapter Fifteen
WITH THE ACK-ACK guns sending an arc of light towards the Royal Docks, Tommy spread his feet and braced his back against the splintered beam.
‘OK, easy does it,’ he said, feeling the sweat start to trickle down his spine with the effort. ‘Just a bit more and she’ll be free.’
Ducking their heads to get under the obstruction, two members of A team light rescue inched forward, carrying the stretcher with a dust-covered woman on it.
It was the first Saturday in November and, as there had been six waves of German bombers overhead since the air raid siren sounded at six thirty, Tommy guessed it must be somewhere close to one o’clock in the morning. This elderly woman was the thirteenth person he’d pulled from the rubble so far, but judging by the distant high-pitched drone coming up the Thames, she wouldn’t be the last. Mercifully, she was a casualty not a corpse, which made her unique for the night’s work so far.
She’d taken refuge in the basement under her house but then the side wall of the house had collapsed, taking the stairs with it and blocking off the exit from the cellar. It had taken Tommy and the rest of the team an hour to dig down to her and make the building above safe. The crew had been called to another collapsed building a few streets over in Bow Common Lane. They had gone but Tommy had stayed behind in case any further muscle was required to get the old lady out.
Over six weeks had passed since he and Reggie had arrived at Post 7 and he’d now lost count of the number of dead men, women and, heartbreakingly, children he’d dug from the wreckage of their homes. For a few weeks, he had tried to remember their faces but as night after night brought a new crop of bodies, already they were merging into one. A few stood out, like the two young girls, sisters probably, still in pigtails, who’d died in each other’s arms with their dolls tucked in beside them. Or the old man still sitting in the fireside chair when his home had collapsed around him; his pipe had still been alight when they’d dug him out. There had been a baby, too, blown from a second-floor window but Tommy tried not to let his mind wander back to that terrible scene.
A flash of red lit the sky and the woman on the stretcher screamed.
‘It’s all right, Ma,’ said Tommy, as the Mudchute ack-ack guns started again. ‘We�
��ll soon have you out.’
As the stretcher bearer at the back staggered up the last couple of stairs and cleared the building, Tommy heaved the joist he was shouldering backwards, where it landed amongst the shattered bricks and mortar it had once held upright.
Collecting his crowbar from what remained of the house’s upstairs, Tommy jumped down from the rubble to where the first-aid party had laid their patient.
Now they were clear of the building, he could see in the red glow of the burning building opposite that the woman’s leg was lying at an odd angle.
Tommy hunkered down beside the elderly patient and her hand shot out and gripped his arm.
‘Can you take me home?’ she asked in a faltering voice as her bony fingers dug into his flesh.
‘I think we’re going to have to get our first-aid chaps to take a look at you first, my love,’ Tommy replied.
Disentangling himself from the terrified woman, he straightened up. ‘Have you seen any other first-aid parties?’
‘No, but mobile B is parked in Gunner Street,’ said the rear stretcher bearer. ‘We could ferry her around there and let them sort her out.’
‘Good idea,’ said Tommy. ‘I’ll lead the way.’
He didn’t need his muted torch to find the way as the fire from the blazing houses around him was so bright you could have read a newspaper by the light. Stepping over smashed brickwork and skirting around potholes, Tommy led them down to the end of the street and across Three Colts Lane. As he turned the corner, he saw the converted horsebox parked in front of the baker’s shop.
As always, knowing that Jo was somewhere close, Tommy’s eyes searched for a glimpse of her. His heart soared when they found her tying a sling on a patient in front of the van’s open back doors.
Although she’d been one of the mobile dressing station’s crew for just over a month, they had barely exchanged more than a few words and then always in the company of others. It was hardly surprising, given all anyone in Post 7 had done for eight weeks of nightly air raids was eat and sleep, often on the school’s floor with their tin helmets over their eyes. With the familiar urges of regret and hope tangled in his chest, Tommy led the small party forward.
As he got within a few feet of her, Jo looked up.
Her hat was tilted back slightly on her head so the burning sky lit her face in a mellow glow. Despite the chill of the evening air, damp curls stuck to her forehead and there was dirt streaked across her left cheek. There was a light layer of brick dust on her jacket and wet patches on her trousers where she’d been kneeling on the ground. In truth, she looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, but to Tommy’s mind he’d never seen her looking more beautiful, although he seemed to think that every time he saw her.
As her gaze rested on him, the soft expression in her lovely eyes vanished. Several heartbeats passed as they stared at each other and then a voice cut between them.
‘We’ve another one for you, luv,’ said the lead stretcher bearer.
Jo’s attention shifted onto the two men behind him.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to put her on the ground,’ she said. ‘We’ve already got four people inside.’
The light rescue pair lowered the metal frame onto the floor and then strolled off to have a quick fag while they waited.
The old woman lay with her eyes closed and even in the red glow all around them her face looked ashen.
‘Pelvis?’ Tommy asked Jo as she studied her patient.
She nodded. ‘And femur, I shouldn’t wonder. Poor thing. Will you send a runner back to Post so they can ring for an ambulance?’
Leaving Jo to tend to her patient, Tommy went over to the mobile first-aid station. After sending one of the boys pedalling back to Shadwell School, he returned to Jo.
Heedless of the hard cobbles, she was kneeling beside the old woman and although he should have been heading off to join Reggie and the rest of Blue Squad, Tommy crouched down, too.
Taking the old woman’s wrist, Jo held it gently and studied her watch for a moment then put her hand on her patient’s shoulder.
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ she asked softly.
The ack-ack guns sent a trace of fire arching into the sky and the old woman’s eyes darted back and forth as her gnarled hand plucked at her torn and dirt-caked clothes.
Tommy took one of her hands in his. ‘Tell the young lady your name, luv.’
‘Vera West,’ she replied, the bones of her hand cracking as she gripped his.
‘Well, Vera, I’m going to have to ship you off to the hospital,’ said Jo. ‘So they can fix you up properly.’ She looked up at Tommy. ‘Could you fetch me six straps from the van? Joan will show you where they are.’
Letting go of Vera’s hand, Tommy stood up and climbed into the back of the van just as another explosion sent instruments crashing to the floor as the vehicle shook back and forth. Dirt-covered and blood-spattered, Jo’s fellow firstaiders were dealing with a man with blood pumping from his arm, a young boy with a head injury and a man lying on one of the fixed stretchers who was white and motionless with both eyes bandaged. Joan nodded towards one of the stainless-steel cabinets and, having retrieved what he came in for, Tommy left them to it.
Jo had finished her examination and was now standing up looking down at her patient.
‘Is she all right?’ asked Tommy as he handed Jo the webbing.
‘She’s passed out,’ she replied. ‘Which will make putting these on a lot easier. Her pulse is thready and rapid so she’s probably got internal bleeding.’ She glanced down the road and bit her lower lip. ‘I hope that ambulance gets here soon. Do you think you could give me a hand?’
Tommy nodded. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Take her ankles and gently pull the broken one straight,’ Jo replied.
Tommy started to do as she bid but just then a blast a few streets away roared overhead. Instinctively, he caught Jo to him and tucked her into his chest to shield her from the shower of shards of glass, splinters and brick residue that rained down on them.
The ack-ack guns started again.
As the last of the grit pitter-pattered at their feet, Jo stepped out of his embrace and Tommy reluctantly let her go.
‘That was a bit close for comfort,’ he said, grinning at her.
She gave him an awkward smile. ‘Yes, it was.’
Looking away, she continued to organise the straps.
Tommy took up his place at Vera’s feet and, when Jo gave him the nod, slowly applied traction as she braced her patient’s injured leg against the good by buckling the webbing across the old woman’s hips, thighs, knees and ankles.
As she secured the final buckle in place, the ambulance, in this case an old Wolseley with the back seats missing, drove around the corner with its bell ringing.
Coming to a halt beside them, the ambulance men jumped out. Jo quickly handed over her patient and Tommy and the other two men eased the old woman into the back of the car, strapping the stretcher in place for the three-quarters-of-amile drive to the London Hospital.
Having finished their roll-ups, the light rescue chaps came back to retrieve their iron-mesh stretcher and headed off to where they were next needed.
‘Oi! We have injured,’ someone cried from the other end of the street.
‘Coming,’ Jo shouted.
She reached for her first-aid haversack but Tommy picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.
‘I’ve got to go that way to join Blue Squad in Shadwell Walk so I’ll come with you,’ he said.
Jo gave him a guarded look but didn’t argue, just fell in step beside him as they skirted around the mounds of pulverised rubble and mangled household items scattered across their path.
They walked down the street but when they turned the corner they found an eight-foot garden wall had collapsed across their path.
‘It’s all right, we can climb over,’ said Tommy, leaping up onto the rubble.
He held out his hand but as Jo took it an explosion a few streets away sent a streak of white light across the sky. The blast reverberated in their ears and shook the ground beneath their feet.
Gripping her tightly, Tommy guided her over the jagged fragments of the demolished wall. Once safely on the other side, she pulled her hand away from his.
Picking his way over dislodged cobbles and shattered concrete, Tommy led them through the blazing streets until they reached the Temperance Memorial Hall halfway up Lucas Street, but then something whistled overhead.
There was a split second of unearthly silence then the row of houses directly in front of them shuddered before a burst of blinding light shattered all the windows, spewing glass onto the street. The explosion sucked Tommy’s breath away and tugged at his clothes before propelling him onto the floor as gravel, glass and scraps of paper flew past him.
He shook his head, blinked the grit from his eyes and looked around.
Jo was lying face down on the pavement a few yards behind him. Scrambling to his feet, Tommy hurried over to her.
‘Jo!’ he shouted through the hurricane of wind whipping at his hair and face.
She didn’t move.
Trying to hold the tide of panic rising in his chest, Tommy turned her over.
Despite her hair being dishevelled and the dirt streaked across her face, Jo looked otherwise uninjured. Of course, that’s exactly how victims who’d had their lungs blown by a blast looked when you dug them out.
‘Jo,’ he shouted again, trying not to imagine the emptiness of his life without her.
Her eyelids fluttered up. ‘Tommy?’
‘Thank God,’ he said, smoothing her hair out of her eyes.
She frowned up at him and he withdrew his hand.
‘Are you in pain?’ he asked.
Jo flexed her hands and shifted her feet. ‘No, I don’t think so. What happened?’
‘We got caught in that lot,’ he replied, nodding towards the crumpled row of houses a hundred yards in front of them. ‘And we were just blown over by the blast.’
A Ration Book Christmas Page 19
