‘Well, I suppose in that case we will have to accept your submission and release Thomas Sweete,’ said the magistrate.
Tommy thrust his manacled hands towards the policeman standing behind him in the dock and grudgingly the officer unlocked the cuffs.
Rubbing his wrists, he looked at his brother.
‘Fortunately for me, not everyone abides by the rules,’ he said.
Reggie grinned. ‘Well, let’s hope your luck holds when ’er father catches up with you.’
As the closing bars of Music in Your Home played out the programme at a quarter to twelve, Mattie placed the last newspaper-wrapped parcel into the fruit box on the floor bedside her.
‘How many’s that?’ asked her grandmother, who was sitting opposite her.
‘Two dozen,’ said Mattie. ‘Twelve for the boys and twelve for the girls.’
She and Queenie were sitting in the family parlour warming themselves by the fire, enjoying a cup of tea and a quiet hour before her father came home for his midday meal. That was simmering on the stove in the kitchen with the family smalls, which Queenie had washed that morning, hanging them on the dryer above.
Mattie had finally handed all her warden equipment to the new senior warden and was looking forward to enjoying the last three or four weeks at home before the baby arrived. To be truthful, what she was really enjoying was having her gran fuss over her and, given the fact she’d carried on at Post 7 two extra weeks because poor Cyril died, she deserved it. Of course, the drawback of having time on her hands was that she had more opportunity to worry. Worry as to why she’d not received a postcard from Aunt Fanny now for almost three months, which is why she had volunteered to set up the Christmas tree and help the WVS to make the food for the spread for the Post 7 children’s Christmas party later that afternoon.
‘Will that be enough?’ asked Queenie, cutting across her troubled thoughts.
‘It should be,’ said Mattie, glancing at the presents. ‘But Brenda’s done another dozen, just in case.’ She sighed. ‘It’s not much. Just socks and mittens for the small children and scarfs and balaclavas for the older ones and a penny chocolate bar.’
‘I’m sure the young ’uns’ eyes will fair light up when they open them,’ said Queenie.
‘I hope so,’ said Mattie. ‘Because we’ve been unravelling old jumpers and knitting for months and those without their own children at the post have been donating their Christmas sweet ration.’
‘It’s a bit different from last year,’ said Gran.
Mattie laughed. ‘Yes, Mum did go a bit mad.’
‘A bit,’ said Queenie. ‘I’d say your mother must have taken leave of her senses and bought everything in the market as there wasn’t space to put the gravy jug on the table.’
‘Poor Mum,’ said Mattie. ‘She’s beside herself worrying that if the butcher can’t get her an ox heart, she’ll only have half a dozen lamb chops and potatoes for Christmas dinner. Still, at least Charlie will be home so no matter what—’
Mattie gasped and clutched her expanded waistline.
‘Pain?’ asked her grandmother.
Mattie nodded.
‘Has it gone?’
‘Yes, just about.’ Mattie shifted in her chair. ‘But I’ve had back ache all morning and I feel like I’m sitting on this poor child’s head.’
Her grandmother cast her eyes over her. ‘I thought you’d dropped a bit.’ Rising from her chair she tottered over and placed her hand on Mattie’s tightly swollen stomach.
‘I’d say the sweet babe will be with us before too long,’ she said, as her fingers feathered over her bump.
Mattie looked puzzled. ‘Sister Sullivan at Munroe House said I had weeks yet.’
Queenie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Did she now?’
Running her gnarled finger over Mattie’s cheek, she kissed her briefly on the forehead and then returned to her chair. However, before she got her rear back on the seat there was a knock at the door.
Mattie swung her feet off the footstool and went to stand up but her grandmother raised her hand.
‘You stay right where you are, my girl,’ she said, heading towards the door.
Mattie smiled. Resting her head back, she closed her eyes. The baby moved again and her hands automatically closed around her bulge, imagining the small hands and feet contained within. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it have Daniel’s hazel eyes or her brown ones? Perhaps its hair would be wavy like hers instead of—
‘Mattie, sweetheart,’ her Gran said softly.
She opened her eyes.
It took a moment for Mattie to recognise the man in the long raincoat, with a club tie at his throat and holding a fedora in his hand, but then her heart leapt in her throat.
‘Brigadier,’ she said, as she looked across her family’s cramped back parlour at Francis Lennox, her husband’s commanding officer at MI5.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, turning the hat in his hands around as he spoke. ‘How are you?’
‘Well, I’m . . . I’m very well,’ she managed to force out over the lump clogging her throat.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he replied.
‘And this is my gran,’ Mattie added.
‘Mrs Brogan.’ He inclined his head towards Queenie. ‘We met at the wedding.’
‘And a grand day it was, too,’ said Queenie. ‘Can I get you some tea, Mr Lennox?’
‘Thank you, no, Mrs Brogan,’ said Francis, still fiddling with his hat. ‘I have to get back to Whitehall.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to talk to Mattie,’ said Queenie.
Francis raised his hand. ‘Perhaps if you wouldn’t mind staying, Mrs Brogan.’
He gave Queenie a sorrowful look.
Mattie’s heart thumped and the baby wriggled around in response.
Taking one of the upright chairs from the table, he pulled it close to Mattie and sat down. He took Mattie’s hands and a cheerless smile lifted his sandy moustache.
‘There’s no easy way to tell you this, my dear,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you where Daniel was posted but you know he was somewhere in Northern France working with the French resistance.’
Unable to speak, Mattie nodded.
‘Up until three months ago we were in contact with him on a regular basis,’ he continued. ‘But twelve weeks ago, the radio line from him went dead. Often when the enemy get too close the operators have to shift their location so we weren’t too bothered for a week or two but after a month we started making enquiries of other operatives in the area. It took a few weeks but we heard three weeks ago that the resistance group he was linked too had been infiltrated by collaborators. However, as sometimes things are misreported we contacted another unit in an adjacent location to Daniel’s and asked them to investigate.’ His rough hands held hers firmly. ‘I’m afraid, Mattie, we had a radio message back from them today confirming that Daniel’s cell had been captured. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what’s happened to Daniel with any certainty but it’s not looking good.’
Her gran put an arm tight around Mattie’s shoulders. ‘So you’re saying Daniel’s a German prisoner?’
Francis looked wretchedly at Mattie.
‘No, Gran,’ she said, ‘he would have been treated as a spy and—’
The word ‘shot’ wedged itself in her throat.
With the baby inside swirling around in protest at her hammering heart, Mattie stared dumbly at him.
‘Daniel was a very brave man,’ the commander continued. ‘And he was someone I admired greatly and although it won’t take away your grief, my dear, I hope you might draw some comfort from knowing that he saved countless lives.’
Mattie didn’t reply.
Queenie cleared her throat.
‘Well, thank you for coming to tell us,’ she said, her gnarled fingers gripping Mattie’s hand firmly. ‘And I hope you won’t mind seeing yourself out.’
‘Not at all.’ He stood up. ‘The secretary of defence will be in touch in due course,
regarding your husband’s pay and effects.’
‘Thank you,’ Mattie whispered.
Francis’s gaze flickered down to her heavily pregnant stomach and then back to her face.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly with the glint of moisture in his eyes.
He turned his hat in his hand a couple more times then put it on and walked out of the house.
Mattie sat perfectly still for a moment, watching the particles of dust playing in the up draught from the fire and listening to the tick of the clock as it counted away the seconds to the half-hour but as it chimed twelve thirty she turned and gazed up at her gran.
‘Ten days we were married, Gran,’ she whispered.
With her thin lips pressed together, Queenie nodded.
‘Just ten short—’ She covered her face with her hands and as Queenie’s scrawny arms closed around her, Mattie sobbed into grandmother’s frail chest.
‘Well,’ said Tommy, ‘I suppose the die is cast.’
Jo forced a smile. ‘Well and truly.’
It was just before midday and she and Tommy were sitting on the long bench in Arbour Square police station’s reception awaiting the return of his property. It was some thirty minutes since Tommy had been released in Thames Magistrate Court. Yesterday’s drunks had been turfed out of the cells earlier and the pubs had only just opened so the public area was quiet. Jo was extremely grateful for this small mercy as she’d attracted quite enough attention already that morning.
‘I’m so sorry, Jo,’ he said.
Jo gave him a puzzled look. ‘For what?’
‘For getting you involved in this mess,’ he said.
‘It’s not your fault,’ she replied. ‘I was the one who decided to announce to the world we’d spent the night together.’
‘What will your father say?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jo.
Actually, she did, and the rest of her family, but she was trying not to think about it.
‘And I’m sorry about Reggie,’ she added.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Tommy sighed. ‘So am I. Sorry the gormless idiot was too stupid to listen to me and now he’s facing . . .’
Tommy pressed his lips together and fixed his eyes on the royal crest above the door in front of them.
Stretching up, Jo kissed him on the cheek.
‘I love you,’ she whispered.
He gave her that quirky smile of his.
The metal and glass doors of the police station burst open with such force that they crashed against the walls on either side. Jo jumped and looked around to see her father filling the doorway.
Dressed in his rough working clothes with his leather cap backwards on his head and his hobnail boots crushed with mud and dirt, he’d clearly heard of the morning’s events while out on his rounds. He spotted Jo with Tommy and his expression went from furious to murderous in an instant.
Tommy rose to his feet and, with her heart beating wildly in her chest, so did Jo as the two men she loved most in the world squared up to each other.
‘Didn’t I warn you?’ Jerimiah yelled, jabbing his finger at Tommy. ‘Didn’t I warn you straight, boy, to stay away from my daughter?’
‘You don’t understand, Mr Brogan,’ said Tommy.
‘Understand,’ bellowed her father, his massive hand balled into tight fists. ‘I think I understand clear and plain what you’ve been up to, Tommy Sweete. As does every gossip and old wife from the Aldgate Pump to Bow Bridge.’
He stepped forward but Jo blocked his path.
‘Don’t, Dad,’ she said. ‘It’s not Tommy’s fault.’
‘Move aside, Jo,’ her father said. ‘Cos I’m going to teach that bastard beside you a lesson he’ll take to the grave.’
He tried to walk past her but Jo planted her hands on his chest. ‘No, you’re not, Dad.’
Her father’s eyes, full of hurt and disappointment, held hers for a moment then, sweeping her aside, he strode across the mottled grey lobby tiles and grabbed the front of Tommy’s jacket. Holding him firm, Jerimiah drew back to headbutt Tommy but, jamming his arms up between Jerimiah’s, Tommy broke free.
‘Help!’ screamed Jo, stepping between them.
‘I’ll not fight you, Mr Brogan,’ Tommy said, sidestepping out of reach. ‘Because I’m going to marry Jo and—’
‘Marry, are you?’ yelled Jerimiah, raising his fist. ‘You’ll be fortunate to have your balls attached to your body when I’m done with you, let alone—’
‘Someone help!’ Jo screamed, shoving her father back.
Two thickset policemen rushed through from the front office just as Jerimiah was about to spring at Tommy again. They grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.
‘Oi, Paddy, pack it in,’ yelled one of the officers.
Glaring at Tommy, Jerimiah thrashed about for a second or two more then the fury faded a little from his eyes and he stopped struggling.
‘That’s better,’ said the other officer as they let go of Jo’s father. ‘Now I suggest you take your daughter home and deal with her there or you’ll be up in front of the magistrate yourself for causing an affray.’
Jo’s father shook himself like a wet dog then straightened his coat. ‘Thank you, Officer, I most surely will.’
Letting go of the breath she was holding, Jo looked at Tommy and their eyes met for a second before her father grabbed her arm. He dragged her towards the door but after a couple of steps he stopped and turned back.
Watching him warily, the officers braced themselves for another onslaught.
‘Sorry, lads, me hat’s escaped me,’ he said, pointing to his leather headgear lying on the floor.
The policemen relaxed again but as Jo’s father picked up his cap with his left hand, he stepped forward and, with a sickening crunch, smashed his right fist square onto Tommy’s nose.
Jo screamed and sprang towards him but her father caught her arm and propelled her through the front doors of the police station.
Chapter Twenty-Five
HAVING TO DO a little half-step every fourth or fifth stride, Jo, with her father still hauling her along, turned into Mafeking Terrace some twenty minutes later. As it was now just after twelve thirty there was only a handful of women milling around the street; however, by the time they turned down the alleyway there were three times that number to witness Jo’s walk of shame.
With her arm aching from his grip, Jo glanced up at her father’s stony face as he kicked open the side gate and strode in to the yard. Without pausing, he marched up to the back door, pushed it open and continued through the kitchen into the parlour.
Mattie was sitting in the fireside chair with Queenie perched on the footstool in front of her, holding her hands. Both looked around as Jerimiah and Jo burst into the room.
‘What in the name of all that’s holy has happened?’ asked Queenie.
‘You tell her,’ her father bellowed, shoving Jo into the centre of the room. ‘Tell your gran and your sister what you were so proud to announce to the world and his wife this morning in court.’
Squaring her shoulders, Jo raised her head and looked at the two women. ‘That me and Tommy Sweete were together the night Upington’s was broken into and Mr Potter was killed.’
Mattie looked stunned.
‘Now why in heaven’s name did you do that, girl?’ asked Queenie.
‘Because if I hadn’t he’d have been sent to prison for something he didn’t do,’ Jo replied.
‘Well, son, you can’t be riled at the girl for speaking the truth, can you now?’ said Queenie.
‘It’s not her honesty I’m querying, Mother,’ said Jerimiah between tight lips. ‘It’s the truth itself – that Jo got herself tangled up with Tommy Sweete – that has raised my fury.’
‘I’m not tangled up with Tommy,’ Jo shouted at her father. ‘I’m in love with him and he loves me and we’re going to get married.’
Her father gave a mirthless laugh. ‘The Sweetes don’t
marry women, they just use them. The Lord himself only knows how many kids without a name Reggie Sweete has, sure wasn’t their father the same? Went through women like a knife through butter did Harry Sweete and his boys are no different.’
‘Reggie might be like that but Tommy’s different,’ said Jo. ‘He’s decent and honest—’
‘Is he?’ Her father cut in. ‘I suppose that’s why he persuaded you to open your legs—’
‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Jo yelled. ‘You must be daft in the head if you think any of us believes that Charlie was a six-month baby. And if you must know Tommy was actually going to speak to you at the Catholic Club yesterday but—’
‘He got arrested for burglary and murder instead,’ said her father.
‘Which he had no part of,’ Jo replied. ‘Can’t you get it into your head that Tommy’s not like his brother?’
‘He’s done time like Reggie,’ said her father.
‘He was sent to borstal,’ said Jo. ‘And, of course, you’ve never seen the inside of a police cell, have you, Dad?’
A flush spread up her father’s face.
‘Me and your mother have worked our fingers to the bone so we could afford for you to go to grammar school,’ he said, jabbing his finger at her. ‘But instead of using your education to make something of yourself you get mixed up with one of the Sweetes.’
‘For the Love of God,’ shouted Jo. ‘He’s not “one of the Sweetes”, he’s Tommy. Who’s honest and hard-working, kind and funny, brilliantly clever and the man I lov—’
‘And it wasn’t just me and your mum who worked so you could go get an education, but Charlie, Cathy and Mattie, too.’ He pointed at her sister, who sat stony-faced in the chair.
‘About Mattie,’ said Queenie, glancing at her granddaughter. ‘If the both of you would hush up for a second—’
‘Your sister,’ continued her father, still glaring at Jo, ‘had to do her school certificate at night classes after working in a clothing sweatshop all day because we couldn’t afford to send her to Coburn Girls—’
‘Let’s talk about Mattie, shall we?’ said Jo, watching her father’s hard expression. ‘You keep going on about the Sweetes this and the Sweetes that and how Tommy’s a villain and crook like his brother but what about her husband?’
A Ration Book Christmas Page 31
