‘Two teas,’ he said, rummaging in his pocket for some change.
She poured two cups and Tommy handed over tuppence. Picking them up, he strolled between the tables towards Jo.
As he got within a few feet of her, she looked up. There were black splodges on her cheeks where her mascara had run and the cherry-red lipstick she’d been wearing had long since vanished. Her tin hat was somewhere under the rubble and her plait had half fallen out and hung in uneven coils around her shoulders. Even the dim glow from the regulation 40-watt light bulbs couldn’t disguise the fact that her eyes were red and puffy from weeping.
If she could see herself she’d say she looked a complete mess, and truthfully, she did, but to Tommy she’d never looked more beautiful.
‘Two cups of Rosie Lee,’ he said, pushing the overflowing ashtray to one side and placing their drinks on the table.
‘Thanks,’ she replied, her eyes large and dark as they held his.
‘Sugar?’
‘Two please.’
Spooning a couple in her drink and adding one to his own, Tommy pushed her cup towards her and took the seat opposite.
Cupping her hands around her drink, Jo blew across the top. ‘Do you think they’ve recovered them yet?’
Tommy shook his head. ‘It’ll take hours.’
Jo bit the inside of her lower lip. ‘Perhaps we ought to drink this and get back. I feel a bit guilty sitting here slurping tea while the rest of the team are still working.’
‘I’m sure they can manage without us just this once,’ said Tommy. ‘You’ve had a shock, remember. And didn’t Eddie herself say you were to get a cup of hot sweet tea.’
‘I know but—’
‘But nothing,’ Tommy cut in. ‘You’ve done more than your fair share tonight.’
She sighed.
‘I wish I could have done more.’ She forced a brave little smile which tore at his heart. ‘But then I say that every night.’
‘Don’t we all?’ said Tommy.
Tears welled up in Jo’s lovely eyes but she blinked them away and buried her nose in her drink.
Raising his cup, Tommy took a mouthful of tea and watched her over the rim of his mug.
Tears still shimmered on her lower eyelashes but the tight pinched look across her nose told him she was holding them at bay. Still cradling it in both hands, Jo placed the cup on the table and studied the coil of steam drifting upwards.
‘How are you feeling, Jo?’ he asked, after a moment or two.
Lifting her head, she opened her mouth to speak.
‘And don’t say all right,’ he added. ‘Because I can tell you’re not.’
‘Like someone reached in and scooped my innards out.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘It’s stupid, really. I mean, it’s not as if in the past two months I haven’t seen people killed and maimed every day. For goodness’ sake, I’ve even taken the body parts found by the rescue teams to Billingsgate for the coroner to identify, but tonight . . .’
Her chin started to tremble and she looked away.
The clock above the door ticked off a dozen seconds. Tommy’s gaze ran slowly down Jo’s profile, and he pondered again at just how much he loved her.
‘It’s odd, you know,’ she said, turning back once she’d regained her composure, ‘but somehow, speaking to the women in the cellar and hearing their names has made their deaths more real – more part of me. And what I can’t stop thinking about is the two babies. My sister Cathy’s boy is just five months and it could have been them trapped in a cellar.’ She wiped under her eyes with the base of her thumbs and sighed. ‘People tell me you get used to it – to death, but—’
‘I don’t believe them,’ said Tommy.
‘Me neither.’ Her mouth pulled into a firm line. ‘And I never want to get used to seeing men, women, children and babies’ bodies mangled in the ruins of their homes.’
A vice-like grip tightened around Tommy’s chest as an image of Jo’s lifeless body lying crushed beneath a hundred tons of rubble flashed through his mind.
‘And something like this,’ Tommy said, in a low voice and looking deep into her eyes, ‘makes you realise what’s really important in life.’
Her eyes widened for a second as an emotion he couldn’t interpret flashed across them then she looked down.
On the table, Tommy’s left hand was only inches from her right one. Jo’s gaze rested on their hands for a second or two then she placed hers back on her mug.
‘Yes, it does make you appreciate your family and friends,’ she said, studying the tip of her finger as she ran it around the rim.
‘And others,’ he replied.
Still playing with her cup, Jo said nothing
Several heartbeats passed and then Tommy spoke again.
‘Why did you stop writing, Jo?’ he asked softly as her finger started its third circuit.
She looked up.
‘I didn’t,’ she said, looking puzzled at the question. ‘It was you who stopped writing to me.’
‘Only because you stopped writing to me,’ he said. ‘The last letter I had from you was on the thirty-first of July, a week before the Bank Holiday Monday, and even then I sent you at least three more letters.’
‘Four,’ said Jo. ‘You wrote four and I have them. In fact, I sent you a letter every other day when I was away.’
‘Did you?’ asked Tommy, trying to make sense of what she was saying.
‘Yes, I did,’ said Jo. ‘And I phoned the Admiral, too, and spoke to Rita. I even rang the night before I left Melton Winchet to let you know I was coming home.’
Tommy frowned. ‘She never mentioned it.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jo. ‘She told me to sling my hook.’
Tommy raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t understa—’
‘It doesn’t matter, Tommy,’ she cut in. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all water under the bridge now anyway.’
She swallowed the last mouthful of her tea. ‘We ought to get back—’
The wail of the all-clear siren cut across Jo’s words.
‘Well,’ she said, placing her empty mug down and rising to her feet, ‘that’s it for another night. I’d better go and clock off with Eddie.’
Tommy stood up. ‘I’ll walk back with you.’
Jo gave him a brittle smile. ‘There’s no need but thanks for the tea.’
Unhooking her kitbag from the back of the chair, Jo slung it over her shoulder and turned to leave.
‘Honest, Jo,’ Tommy said, as she started to leave, ‘I didn’t get a single letter from you in August.’
Jo looked around and raised an eyebrow.
‘Well,’ she said, her cool expression hitting him like a blast of arctic air, ‘they couldn’t all have been lost in the post, could they?’
Turning, she left.
With his arms hanging at his side, Tommy watched helplessly as she walked away from him but as the rest-centre door slammed shut behind her, he clenched his fist. She was right, of course. Even with a war on, a dozen-plus letters couldn’t all have been lost in the post.
*
Stifling a yawn, Reggie threw back the tarpaulin covering the pickaxes and scaffolding in the back of the lorry and slipped the corner of his shovel between the metal floor plates. Twisting it to the right, he flicked off one of the floor plates to reveal the hidden compartment he’d built underneath.
‘A tidy night’s work, eh, boss,’ said Fred, who was standing by the backboard.
Reggie and the rest of Blue Squad had clocked off at seven and, after a swift half, had made it back to the yard about half an hour ago. The rest of the crew had wandered off with their pickings soon after that, leaving him, Fred and Jimmy to tidy the lorry and stash away the goods. The sun was now just peeking over the top of the yard gates so Reggie reckoned it must be close to eight thirty.
‘I ain’t complaining,’ said Reggie.
‘How much you reckon so far?’ asked Jimmy who, having
finished stowing the three bottles of brandy in the space above the office ceiling, now strolled over to join them.
The spirits, along with a gross of Senior Service, had come from an off-licence in Poplar that they’d been sent to after the shop had had its front blown off.
‘I’d say, with the two bottles of malted whisky from the doctor’s gaff in Whitehorse Lane, the dozen pitchforks, hoes, rakes and shovels from the hardware store in Ben Johnson Road, along with all the odds and sods we’ve picked up, we’re at least a cock and hen up.’
Fred whistled between his teeth. ‘Ten quid.’
‘As long as Blue Nose Benny gives us a fair price for the lot,’ said Fred.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he does,’ said Reggie, threading his fingers together and cracking his knuckles. ‘Of course, it would have been double that if old Potter hadn’t called the rozzers over when we were digging out that jeweller’s in Whitechapel.’
‘Do you think he’s rumbled us?’ asked Fred.
‘He might have,’ said Reggie. ‘But it don’t matter cos ’e ain’t got no proof. And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his bloody nose out of my business.’
‘Still, even with Potter sticking his oar in, we’ve got a tidy haul,’ said Jimmy.
‘Helped by the fact that your Tommy’s been shifted to Green team,’ added Fred.
Irritation niggled in Reggie’s chest.
Fred was right, of course. Without Tommy hovering over them, they’d netted more in the past four days than they’d netted in an entire month, but Reggie didn’t like it. For one, Tommy was getting a bit of a reputation amongst the Civil Defence wallahs in Post 7 as a solid, upfront sort of fella, and him offering to shift over to another heavy team meant people at the depot were now starting to give Reggie and his crew a sideward look. Secondly, knowing Tommy had moved over because of Blue Squad’s little sideline made Reggie feel as if his own flesh and blood was sitting in judgement over him. Stupid, of course, because Reggie was no worse than hundreds of other who were doing the same each night but it irked him nonetheless.
However, if the truth were told, the main reason he was irked by Tommy working with another crew was because, having looked out for his brother since he was a scabby-kneed ten-year-old, it was downright ungrateful and bang out of order.
Jimmy grinned. ‘Yeah, good old Tommy.’
‘Good old Tommy what?’ Tommy said, stepping out from in front of the lorry.
‘Tommy,’ said Reggie, using the toe of his hobnail boot to shift the lid back over the stash of loot. ‘We were just talking about you.’
His brother’s gaze flickered onto the metal plate under Reggie’s foot then he looked at the two men standing beside the back of the lorry.
‘I’m sure you’re both ready for your beds, aren’t you?’ he said, in a light conversational tone.
Jimmy and Fred exchanged wary looks.
Reggie jerked his head towards the double gates and his men hurried off.
‘So,’ said Reggie, stepping on the compartment lid to secure it as he jumped down, ‘what’s yanking your chain then, Tommy boy?’
Tommy took a pace forward and loomed over his brother.
‘What,’ he said in a voice that could slice steel, ‘did you do with Jo’s letters?’
Tommy clenched his fists tight and fought the urge to smash them into his brother’s lying face.
Reggie’s heavy features formed themselves into a puzzled expression. ‘Letters? I don’t know nuffink about—’
‘Don’t you dare deny it, Reggie,’ Tommy cut in, taking another half-step towards him.
His brother flinched and moved back.
‘All right, Tommy, I won’t,’ said Reggie, matching Tommy’s bald stare. ‘I got fed up to the back teeth seeing you mooning about like a bleeding love-sick ponce after she got shipped out. And it weren’t doing you nor no one no good so I thought, “Reggie, my son, old Tommy boy needs your help so you’ve got to do what you always do and look after him.”’
Tommy’s mouth pulled into a hard line. ‘Did you now?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Reggie, thrusting his chin forward. ‘After all, that’s what I’ve been doing all your life and it pained me to see you so down in the dumps.’
Tommy raised an eyebrow.
‘Well, pardon me for trying to help my little brother,’ said Reggie, with a huff.
‘So you did it for me, did you?’
‘Course.’ Reggie’s big-hearted-geezer expression spread across his face. ‘I just wanted to see you happy again. What do you want me to say?’
Tommy gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Sorry would be a start.’
Reggie’s head snapped up and his aggressive expression returned. ‘Well, you can whistle for that because I was just doing what I’ve always done: looking out for you.’
‘And I suppose you were looking out for me when you let Jo into the house knowing I was there with Lou?’ snapped Tommy.
‘Don’t try and lay that one on me, boy,’ Reggie replied, jabbing a chubby finger at him. ‘I didn’t force you to let her spend the night at our gaff.’
Tommy’s stance lost some of its tension.
He stared down at his brother for a long moment then weariness swept over him.
‘I’m too tired to argue with you, Reggie,’ he said, suppressing a yawn and running his hands over his face. ‘But I’m going.’
‘Good idea,’ said Reggie. ‘You get your head down for a couple of hours and we’ll have a pint or two in the Admiral later.’
‘No, Reggie,’ said Tommy, looking his brother in the eye. ‘I mean, I’m leaving.’
‘Leaving!’ Reggie frowned. ‘What do you mean leaving?’
‘Packing up,’ said Tommy. ‘Moving out. Going to live somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tommy replied truthfully. ‘But anywhere I don’t have to turn a blind eye to you nicking stuff from people you’re supposed to be rescuing. I might even kip at Mum’s for a few days until I’ve sorted myself—’
‘You’re going to live in that shit hole?’ sneered Reggie.
The image of decaying food in the pantry and the pool of vomit he’d found in the middle of the kitchen floor when he’d visited the week before flashed through Tommy’s mind.
‘I’ll clean it,’ he said, feeling his throat heave at the thought. ‘I’m paying the bloody rent so I might as well.’
With his eyes bulging and a mottled purple hue spreading over his cheeks, Reggie stared at Tommy a moment longer then stomped forward.
‘You know what you are?’ he said, jabbing his index finger within an inch of Tommy’s face.
‘No, what?’
‘Ungrateful,’ Reggie bellowed, spit flecking from his lips as he spoke. ‘You’re all muscle and balls now, Tommy boy, but I remember what you looked like when I came and found you huddled up with hunger and alone in the dark while she was out drinking herself into a stupor somewhere. You were covered in bloody flea bites and I had to shave your head because you were running alive with nits. But I don’t suppose you remember that?’
‘I remember,’ said Tommy, as the images that still occasionally crept into his dreams turned over in his mind. ‘You’re my brother, Reggie, and I’ll never forget what you did for me, but you shouldn’t have taken Jo’s letters.’ Reaching down he picked up his kitbag. ‘And if you really want to see me happy you better hope to God that one day I can persuade her to give me another chance.’
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Tommy turned, leaving Reggie standing in the middle of the yard. Without looking back, he walked out through the double gates.
Chapter Twenty
CLOSING THE TOP drawer of his dresser, Tommy glanced in the mirror on the wall above it and, satisfied that his hair was in place, left his bedroom. Closing the door behind him he strolled down the hall to the lounge.
His mother, who was sitting in the fireside chair with a half-smoked cigarette between h
er fingers, staring at the wall, looked around as he walked in.
She was wearing a wine-coloured dress, with a stain down the front, which hung on her gaunt frame.
‘You going somewhere?’ she asked, flicking the ash without regard to where it fell.
It was the last Wednesday in November and although it was only just after five the blackout curtains he’d installed had been drawn for three hours.
It was also a week since he’d confronted Reggie about Jo’s letters. Although he’d dreaded returning to the house that held so many painful memories, he’d had no choice so he’d resolved to make the best of it.
When he’d walked in that morning, with his suitcase in one hand and his linen in a sack in the other, he’d found his mother in the fireside chair, sleeping off whatever she’d put away the night before. The flat was in the usual state of squalor.
He’d been so tired after the night that, despite the decrepit state of the mattress on his old bed, Tommy had curled up in his clothes and slept the day through. When he’d walked into the lounge some seven hours later his mother was still sitting in the same chair and showed only mild surprise that her son, who’d left ten years before, had moved back in.
Despite telling Reggie he’d clean the flat himself, Tommy had given two women from the floor below half a crown each to do the job. Money well spent considering they had to burn two carpets because of the vermin nesting in them. Between shifts he had given the walls and floors a coating with some chemical the gas contamination squad at the depot had given him that smelt like geraniums. Although he’d had to burn most of the furniture he’d only had time to replace the bed and mattress and other bits of furniture would have to wait. He’d arranged for one of the women below to clean the flat and do the laundry once a week for half a crown so at least the flat was fairly tidy when he came home.
‘I’m on duty, remember,’ he said, picking up the envelope with his competition entry from the sideboard.
It had taken him a good few weeks but he’d finished the series of number and word puzzles. He reckoned his chances of winning were slim as there were probably thousands of others who’d completed the task too, but as it would only cost a couple of coppers to send it Tommy thought he might as well.
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