‘Oh, yeah,’ she said.
Actually, Shadwell School was only a ten-minute stroll away but as the ambulance crews, including those on the mobile dressing stations, changed over at six and as Jo was on the day shift, he wanted to get there early.
As well as it being just over a week since his showdown with Reggie, it was also the same amount of time since he and Jo had spoken in the WVS canteen.
Since then it had been nothing short of hell, with bombardments starting as early as five o’clock some nights. At one point last week he and at least three-quarters of the ARP staff hadn’t been home for over seventy-two hours and only then to have a quick scrub before hurrying back. He’d seen Jo in passing, usually when she arrived to tend to those he and the Green Squad had just dug out from under a ton of rubble. Although they’d exchanged a few words as he handed over casualties, it wasn’t enough. She might still give him the cold shoulder, of course, but perhaps now she’d had a chance to chew things over, he might be able to explain.
Rolling over in his head what he might actually say to Jo, Tommy glanced at his mother’s untouched plate of pie and mash sitting on the table.
‘You want to eat your supper before it gets cold,’ he said.
‘Leave it there.’ She indicated the coffee table next to her. ‘I’ll have it when I’m ready.’
Tommy placed it where she’d indicated.
‘You know you ought to eat more, that dress is hanging off you,’ he said, taking his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on.
‘I ain’t never been a big eater,’ she replied.
Taking a fresh cigarette from the crumpled pack resting on the arm of the chair, she lit it with the butt of the spent one in her mouth.
‘I’ll be off then,’ he said, taking his keys and loose change from the mantelshelf.
‘Can you leave us a couple of bob, son?’ she asked, giving him a coy smile.
Tommy counted out two sixpences and a couple of coppers.
‘The bombing was bad last night, Mum, perhaps you should head for the shelter in Flood Street when the siren goes off rather than the Angel,’ he said.
She gave him a vague smile and then returned to her contemplation of the wall.
‘I’ll see you later then,’ Tommy said.
His mother flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette and then took another drag by way of an answer.
Tommy studied her averted face for a few seconds then, turning his collar up against the damp November evening, he strode out of the house.
Placing the artery forceps she’d just dried on the stainless-steel tray ready for the next time they were needed, Jo picked up a pair of dressing scissors and wiped them over with the tea towel.
She was in the back of Dobbin tidying away after an uneventful Wednesday patching up people who had injured themselves whilst scouring what was left of their home for anything salvageable.
Jo’s day shift had actually finished twenty minutes ago at six, but while the next mobile dressing station crew was grabbing a quick cuppa before the sirens sounded and tonight’s shenanigans started, she was just finishing off.
The horsebox was parked by the school wall and although the blackout was in force, Jo had left the back door open and was working by a hurricane lamp behind the screen.
She’d told Jim it was so she didn’t come over dizzy when decanting the surgical spirit from the storage bottle into the smaller flasks but really it was so she could keep an eye on Shadwell School’s main entrance.
Placing the scissors next to the forceps, Jo had just picked up the long tweezers when she spotted Tommy strolling through the gates. Quickly drying the instrument, she placed it with the others and turned the lamp out. She waited until Tommy was halfway across the playground and then, picking up her first-aid bag, climbed down from the back of the van.
‘Jo,’ he called, as he spotted her.
She turned and tried to look surprised as he hurried towards her, his long legs covering the distance in half a dozen strides.
‘Goodness, is it seven already?’ she asked as he came to a halt in front of her.
‘No, I’m early,’ Tommy replied, his eyes dark in the dim moonlight. ‘It’s only just after half past.’
‘I wondered why the sirens hadn’t gone off yet,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tommy replied, gazing up at the twinkling stars. ‘There’s not a cloud in the sky and it’s almost a full moon, so I’m sure Göring will be sending his boys for a visit.’
Tracing the angular shape of his raised jaw with her eyes, Jo didn’t reply.
With only the hum of the breeze passing through the wires anchoring the barrage balloon above them breaking the silence, Jo’s heart ached to touch him.
‘Look, Jo,’ he said, raking his fingers through his hair, ‘I know it won’t make any difference now, but the reason I thought you’d stopped writing was that Reggie had been taking your letters.’
‘But why?’
‘Because,’ Tommy gave her that wry smile of his, ‘he thinks you’re a bad influence on me.’
‘What!’ Jo laughed.
He joined in, his deep chuckle rolling over her.
‘I know it’s a bit rich coming from him, but he’s got this cock-eyed idea that you’re the reason I won’t go along with his little schemes any more. It’s not true because I’d already decided.’ His eyes softened, turning Jo’s innards to jelly. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d tell you. And that I was stupid. Stupid not to find out the reason why you’d stopped writing instead of assuming you’d met someone better. And about Lou—’
‘It doesn’t matter, Tommy,’ said Jo, taking half a step towards him.
‘But—’
‘Hey, Jo,’ someone shouted, ‘ain’t you got no home to go to?’
Jo turned to see the MDS night team emerging from the Infant Boys door.
‘Just going,’ she called, stepping back to let them pass.
Tommy did the same as the four-man crew strolled between them and climbed into the old horsebox.
The driver turned the engine a couple of times then the old vehicle spluttered into life, sending a cloud of exhaust into the air.
Jo stepped forward to avoid the choking fumes and her eyes met Tommy’s.
Rising on the balls of her feet she was just about to cross the space between them when Mick Riley and half a dozen members of the Green Squad ambled into the playground.
‘Oi, Tommy, I’m glad you’re here early cos it’s your turn to get the tea in,’ Mick called across.
‘I’m right on it,’ he called back, raising his hand in acknowledgement.
Although all she wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and kiss every bit of Tommy’s face, Jo forced a casual smile.
‘I’d better leave you to it, then,’ she said, not moving her feet an inch.
He nodded. ‘See you tomorrow then.’
‘Yes,’ Jo replied. ‘Hope you have good night.’
‘You too.’
She smiled and he smiled.
The space between them shrank for a second or two then, as another group of the night-shift ARP personnel wandered through the gate, Tommy turned and walked towards the door.
Clutching the crucifix through her uniform shirt, Jo watched as his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette disappeared into the gloom.
Keep him safe. Please, Holy Mother, keep Tommy safe.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘DO YOU WANT some jam?’
Jo looked up to see her gran staring anxiously down at her.
‘No thanks. I’m fine with just butter,’ she said.
It was just before seven thirty on the following morning and, despite the bombs dropping on the streets either side of Mafeking Terrace, she’d slept the full night through, waking half an hour ago. She was now sitting at the square table in the scullery with the warm fug of toast, fried eggs and sugary tea around her.
Her mother had protested when Jo had announced very soon a
fter she started on MDSB that she was no longer going to go to the shelter when the alarm went. But Jo had been adamant, pointing out that being tucked up in bed was no more dangerous than dodging bombs, which she did the rest of the time.
Jo had just finished washing when Mattie had arrived home and slipped into the warm bed Jo had vacated. Gran, as ever, was already making breakfast when Jo got downstairs.
‘What about some more tea?’ Queenie persisted, picking up the pot.
‘No, I’m fine, really,’ Jo replied.
She wasn’t, of course, and wouldn’t be until she clocked on at two and saw for herself that Tommy had survived the night.
When she’d woken, after six hours of dreamless sleep, her first thought was Tommy . . . Tommy and how close she’d come to kissing him the night before. Half of her wished she had, while the other half was pleased she hadn’t. Either way, since the night he’d saved her from certain death and she’d realised the reason he’d stopped writing was because none of her letters had reached him, something deep within her had changed. Well, perhaps not really changed because, if she was honest, she’d never stopped loving him. There was the issue of that barmaid, of course, but after almost three months of wondering if either of them would see the dawn, even him having a fling with Lou couldn’t stem her feelings for him.
The click of the back-door latch cut across her troubled thoughts.
Jo stopped stirring her tea and looked up from her cup as her mother walked into the kitchen.
‘What are you doing home, Mum?’ asked Jo.
‘Yes, Ida, shouldn’t you be cleaning at the bank by now?’ asked Queenie, pouring hot water into the washbowl.
‘I would be,’ Ida replied, ‘if there was a bank and not a bloody big crater. Pour us a cuppa, luv.’
‘The Town and Country’s gone?’ asked Jo, as she poured milk into a fresh cup and picked up the teapot.
Her mother nodded. ‘Direct hit. The hardware shop and the tobacconist next to it destroyed, too, plus the blast brought the back of the Angel pub down.’
Ida flopped in the chair opposite and Jo passed her mother her hot drink.
‘Were there many caught inside?’ asked Queenie.
‘About three dozen,’ said Ida. ‘Those in the main bar were caught by the flying glass and have been carted off to hospital. One of the heavy rescue team had a lump of masonry fall on him and he was carted off too.’
‘Do you know which team it was?’ asked Jo, hoping only she could hear the tremor in her voice.
‘One from the Poplar crew, I think.’ Her mother took a mouthful of tea. ‘But those poor souls sitting in the snug at the back weren’t so lucky. They were bringing the bodies out as I arrived. About a dozen, and you’ll never guess what: Ruby Sweete was one of them.’
Jo’s heart started pounding.
‘You know, Queenie, that crook Reggie Sweete’s drunk of a mother. Funny that, cos me and Jo only saw her a week or so back staggering about along the Highway as drunk as a skunk as usual.’
‘Ah, well,’ sighed Queenie, stacking a plate on the drainer, ‘didn’t I always say the drink would kill her.’
Swallowing the last of her tea, Jo stood up.
‘I just remembered,’ she said, hastily stepping out from behind the table, ‘I promised to help Gillian with . . . with her . . .’ She grabbed her coat from the hook and opened the back door.
‘Will you be back for lunch?’ her mother called after her as Jo hurried through it, shrugging on her coat.
‘Yes,’ shouted Jo, running across the frosty yard. ‘Possibly . . . Maybe.’ She wrenched the side gate open. ‘I don’t know.’
An ARP warden’s whistle, signalling it was half an hour until blackout, cut through the icy November air as Jo climbed the last few steps to the top landing of Potter Dwellings. Passing blacked-out windows and empty bottles left out for the milkman, she headed for the door at the end of the landing. Stopping outside, she hesitated a second or two then reached for the knocker, but before she could bring it down, Ruby Sweete’s door creaked open slightly.
‘Tommy,’ she called.
There was no answer.
Remembering the last time she’d arrived at Tommy’s unannounced, Jo cautiously pushed open the door and walked in.
Drawing the blackout curtain across behind her, she continued down the passageway and into the lounge.
The parlour was tidy, with a decent-sized fire glowing in the grate. One side of the drop-leaf table was extended and on it were three battered biscuit tins. One was open and Jo could see papers and sepia photos inside.
Tommy was standing at the other end of the room, his broad frame silhouetted in the dying rays of the winter sun as he stared out of the window. He was jacketless with the cuffs of his pale blue shirt undone and folded back.
‘Tommy,’ she whispered.
He turned. The top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened and Jo’s eyes flicked onto the triangle of flesh sprinkled with hair and then back to his face.
‘I only heard this morning and I’ve been dashing around looking for you ever since,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction.
‘So’s everyone. From the boy from Poplar heavy crew who dug her out right through to the almoner at the London Hospital who gave me her belongings.’ He indicated a plain gold ring, a pair of earrings and the handbag Jo had seen Ruby carrying in the street the day she and Ida had seen her. ‘You know, they’re so inundated with bomb victims in the hospital they’ve set up a temporary morgue in St Mary’s crypt in Whitechapel.’
Jo shook her head.
‘The funeral directors are in the same boat,’ continued Tommy. ‘So she’ll have to stay in the church until the day before the funeral. One of Tadman’s funeral chaps happened to be there when I arrived to identify her so I had a word with him. As there’ll only be me attending he said he’ll try to get me a slot at the City of London crematorium for early next week. I said I’d pop by tomorrow with the death certificate and marriage licence but . . .’ He gave a hard laugh. ‘Bloody stupid, isn’t it, that I should get all choked up sifting through her old letters and photos.’
‘Of course not, Tommy, you’re grieving,’ said Jo. ‘Does Reggie know yet?’
Tommy shrugged. ‘He might, but as far as he’s concerned she’s been dead to him for years. That’s why I looked after her.’ A bitter expression flitted across his angular face. ‘Although God only knows why.’
‘Because she was your mum,’ said Jo.
He gave another mirthless laugh. ‘That’s what I tell myself when I scrub her sick from the floor and wash her soiled clothes or buy her food that she leaves to rot because she prefers to swallow gin. Do you know something, Jo?’ he said, his eyes brittle with pain. ‘I can’t remember her ever actually cooking us a hot meal or tucking us into bed. Can you imagine that?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Jo replied truthfully, as a myriad joyful childhood memories crowded her mind.
‘To be honest, if it weren’t for my nan moving in when my father skipped off, I doubt I’d have made it to my first birthday.’ He pressed his lips together and turned away but not quick enough to stop Jo seeing the pain in his eyes.
Aching to hold him to her, Jo watched silently as Tommy strove to master his emotions.
The clock ticked away half a minute and then his attention returned to her. ‘You’re right, Jo, I am grieving.’ The brittleness returned to his eyes. ‘Not for the woman who died as she lived, propping up a bar, but for the two children she discarded like stale dregs in the bottom of a glass.’
His gaze held hers for several heartbeats. Jo’s brain scrabbled around in search of the right words to comfort him and then she found them.
‘Tommy,’ she said softly. ‘I love you.’
As Jo’s words cut through all the emotions churning inside him, he was suddenly still. The long-buried feelings of abandonment and rejection were still there, along with the memories of li
ce-ridden hair and gnawing hunger, but their hold on him diminished with Jo uttering those few small words.
He wanted to reply but couldn’t. He was struck dumb by the need to look at her. Look at that upturned nose of hers with the freckles across the bridge. Look at that rich chestnut hair that he wanted to see cascade across his chest as her head lay on his shoulder. Look at those full lips that he wanted to feel kiss every part of him. He wanted to look into those beautiful dark eyes until he was lost in their depth but, most of all, he wanted to sear the memory of her so deep in his mind that, until his dying breath, he would remember what she looked like at the moment she made his life complete.
‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘I’ve never stopped loving you even when . . .’ Hurt flashed across her eyes for a second but then she fixed her gaze on his face. ‘And I always will.’
There was a moment of utter quiet as they stood staring across at each other before a very different emotion rose up in his chest. Crossing the space between them in two strides, he slid his arm around Jo’s waist and drew her to him.
She placed her hand lightly on his chest and he felt it as if it were on his bare flesh. Savouring the feel of her in his arms, Tommy studied Jo’s beautiful face for a second or two then kissed her lightly on the lips. She ran her hands up his arms, her fingertips setting off a pulsing need in the pit of his stomach.
Tommy’s grip tightened as his hand slid down into the small of her back to anchor her against his hips while his other hand ran up her spine and cupped the back of her head. Their eyes met for an instant then he lowered his lips on hers again. The kiss was as light as the first then his mouth pressed onto hers and her lips opened in response.
After a moment, he lifted his head and planted light kisses over her eyes, cheeks and nose before returning to her mouth. He kissed her deep and hard and she returned the same.
After a long, pulse-thumping kiss, Jo broke free from his lips. ‘Take me to bed, Tommy.’
His body urged him to do just that but he held it in check. ‘But Jo—’
A Ration Book Christmas Page 26
