Again, the noise rattled up the old water pipes but before it faded there was a dull corresponding two-three-two wooden thud somewhere to the left of her.
Keeping hold of the bat, Jo scrambled to her feet and searched along the wall with her fingertips until she came to the wooden door of the coal hole. She banged on the door and got an immediate answering knock at the top of the frame.
‘Jo?’ Mattie called from the darkness.
‘It’s all right, Matt, someone’s coming,’ Jo shouted back. ‘They’re coming down the coal hole.’
Frantically, she searched around until she found the handle and then yanked it open six or seven inches.
Another explosion shook the wall and there was squeaking and rattling as nuggets of coal bounced across the floor.
Kicking them aside, Jo wedged her face into the gap.
‘We’re down here!’ she screamed.
A beam of light from above blinded her vision. Shading her eyes, Jo looked up to see Tommy’s face, looking sideways down at her from the top of a stack of coal.
He grinned, his teeth showing in stark whiteness against his coal-dust covered face.
‘Over here, Mr Brogan,’ he shouted, his eyes not leaving her face. ‘We’ve found them.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘SHE’S SO BEAUTIFUL,’ said Jo, gazing at her five-dayold niece, Alicia, resting across her mother’s knee as she buttoned up her nightdress.
It was the last Saturday before Christmas and Jo was sitting at her sister’s bedside in Marie Celeste Ward in the London Hospital. Mattie was in the third bed down on the right of the long Nightingale maternity ward.
Jo had been the first one through the door when ward visiting time started at three thirty and had spent the last twenty minutes admiring the latest edition to the Brogan family, marvelling at how much the baby had changed since she’d seen her the day before and again from the day before that. She had been in every day since the Poplar’s light rescue stretcher bearers had carried Mattie, clutching tight to Alicia, out of Shadwell School’s cellar.
‘Isn’t she?’ Mattie replied, cradling her in her arms and pressing her lips on her daughter’s downy head. ‘And so like her father.’
Closing her hand over her sister’s, Jo gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘It must be so hard.’
Mattie gave her a brave little smile and kissed the baby’s head again. ‘Not as hard as it would be without this little sweetheart.’
Feeling a lump forming in her throat, Jo squeezed her sister’s hand again.
Mattie looked up and she and Jo exchanged a tender look.
Neither of them had mentioned the argument at the house because it was already forgotten.
Alicia gave a windy little smile and farted.
‘But she sounds like you in bed,’ said Jo.
‘Like you, you mean,’ Mattie laughed.
‘When are they going to let you out?’ Jo asked.
‘Monday,’ said Mattie. ‘And I can’t wait to get home.’
‘I bet,’ said Jo. ‘Mum’s put all the baby clothes on the dryer to air them and Dad’s shifted the beds around so you’re in Charlie’s old room with Alicia. Francesca’s moved into the front room with me.’
‘Where’s Charlie going to sleep when he comes home?’ asked Mattie.
‘He’ll have to bed down in the parlour, I suppose,’ Jo replied. ‘Anyway, he’s only got a forty-eight-hour pass over Christmas so it’s only for a couple of nights.’
‘Is Mum still fretting about feeding up?’ asked Mattie.
‘What do you think?’ said Jo. ‘Every day she brings home whatever’s on sale in Watney Street, but I’m not sure pilchards and semolina are any substitute for beef or chicken.’
Alicia hiccupped and a dribble of milk escaped down her chin.
‘Do they know how many people were killed at Post 7 yet?’ asked Mattie, wiping it away with a muslin.
‘Fifteen,’ said Jo, remembering the faces of her colleagues who were now lying at peace in the City of London cemetery. ‘Including three of the WVS women who were setting up the spread for the party,’ said Jo.
She and Mattie crossed themselves.
‘I just keep thinking thank God that UXB didn’t get off an hour later or there would have been children in the building too,’ Jo added. ‘Your mate Brenda had a narrow escape. She was using the girls’ bogs in the playground so other than a few cuts and bruises she walked away unscathed. Once all the funerals are over we’re being transferred to other posts. I’ve been allocated to Post 11 in Bow but some have been sent as far afield as Fulham.’
‘Where’s Tommy being sent?’ asked Mattie.
‘To Holborn,’ Jo replied. ‘But it’s only to help out for a couple of weeks. I went with him to sign up two days ago and he’s waiting to hear where he should report.’
‘Has Dad said anything yet?’ asked Mattie.
Jo shook her head. ‘Although he’s no longer banned Tommy from the house.’
‘After listening to Mum and Gran telling me every time they visit what a hero “that lovely lad Tommy is” I don’t think he’d dare,’ said Mattie.
Jo smiled. ‘Not with Mum and Gran treating Tommy like a returning hero every time he appears.’
‘Well, he was a hero,’ said Mattie softly. ‘Just like you were a heroine, Jo.’
Feeling her cheeks grow warm, Jo waved her sister’s words away. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘No, honestly,’ said Mattie. ‘I don’t think me or Alicia would be here now if you hadn’t been with us.’
They exchanged another fond look.
‘Perhaps Dad will let you and Tommy get engaged at least before he leaves for the army,’ said Mattie, shifting her daughter across to the other arm.
‘It doesn’t matter if he does or he doesn’t,’ said Jo, ‘because even if we have to wait, me and Tommy will be getting married the day after I’m twenty-one.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ said Mattie. ‘And if you want my advice, I’d say just keep badgering at Dad until he gives his consent because,’ gazing down at her daughter, tears welled in Mattie’s eyes, ‘you have to grab happiness while you can, Jo.’
The lump reformed itself in Jo’s throat as her eyes grew moist too.
‘Mattie,’ a male voice said softy.
Jo looked around and although it took her a moment or two to work out who the gaunt, dishevelled-looking man at the end of the bed was, her sister knew in an instant.
‘Daniel!’ she cried.
Mattie’s husband crossed the floor in two strides and took her in his arms.
‘Oh, Daniel,’ Mattie sobbed, clinging to him with their baby in her free arm.
Feeling her heart ache with happiness for her sister, Jo stood up.
‘I’ll just leave you two to . . . to . . .’
Mattie continued to sob while Daniel held her and their new daughter.
With tears streaming down her face and the biggest smile on her face, Jo tiptoed away between the rows of beds towards the double doors at the far end of the ward.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘SO,’ SAID REGGIE, flicking his roll-up towards the brown Bakelite ashtray on the bench in front of him. ‘You and that Brogan girl will be getting spliced then.’
‘Yes, we will,’ said Tommy.
‘I suppose if things had turned out different I could have walked you down the aisle or summin, Tommy boy, but as you can see,’ he raised his handcuffed hands, ‘I’m going to be out of circulation for a while.’
It was two days before Christmas and just after midday. Tommy was sitting in the visitors’ room in Wandsworth Prison along with a dozen or so other relatives and a handful of po-faced prison wardens. He was on one side of the mesh window in his allocated cubicle and Reggie on the other. They were about halfway through their pre-booked thirty-minute visit and had so far established that Reggie’s cell was like a fridge, the food like pig swill and that none of the prison guards knew their
fathers.
‘Well, at least with you banged up in here when we’re wed there’s a chance we can get through the whole day without a punch-up,’ Tommy replied, his breath showing in little puffs in the freezing air as he spoke.
‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’ Reggie pulled a face. ‘Your Paddy’s rellies will probably just fight amongst themselves. And besides, it wouldn’t be a proper wedding if someone on the bride’s side didn’t swing a punch at one of the groom’s lot. Have you set a date?’
‘Not yet,’ said Tommy. ‘But I hope it won’t be long now I’m firmly in the family’s good books.’
He told his brother about Jo’s and Mattie’s rescue.
‘Blimey, they were lucky,’ Reggie said when he’d finished.
‘They were,’ said Tommy. ‘But the rest who were inside the school weren’t.’
Flicking the ash off his cigarette again, Reggie gave him a considered look. ‘I heard Ugly and Squeaky copped it.’
Tommy nodded.
‘Poor sods,’ said Reggie. ‘How many were there all together?’
‘Fifteen,’ said Tommy. ‘The last one was laid to rest on Friday.’
‘I suppose we ought to be thankful none of the kiddies for the party were in there,’ said Reggie.
‘That’s what everyone said. The other ARP depots chipped in and the children had their party on Wednesday at the Memorial Hall,’ said Tommy.
The prison guard on his brother’s side of the divide strolled past, tapping his baton lightly in his hand as he eyed the inmates under his supervision.
‘I suppose you’ve signed up,’ said Reggie, pulling a fresh roll-up from behind his ear.
‘I have,’ said Tommy. ‘And I got a letter yesterday telling me to report the first Monday in January.’
‘You’ll look the dog’s doodahs in uniform, you will,’ Reggie said. ‘But take my advice and find yourself a cushy number in stores or something. And keep your bloody head down. I don’t want you coming home in a box.’
Tommy smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I know how to look after myself.’
One of the visitors at the far end of the room started shouting and the prison guard standing behind Reggie hurried off to sort out the commotion.
‘Do you know when you’re getting transferred to Wakefield?’ asked Tommy.
‘Tomorrow,’ Reggie replied. ‘Just in time for Christmas. I hope Santa knows so he can deliver my presents.’
Tommy laughed. ‘It won’t matter, Reggie, because you’ll be on his naughty list, for sure.’
Reggie chuckled then his expression became serious.
‘Some bloody Christmas I’m going to have banged up in here?’ he said, as the woman in the next cubicle started crying. ‘With just a poxy date at the Bailey to look forward to.’
‘At least they’ve dropped the murder charge against you and Jimmy,’ said Tommy, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together.
‘I suppose so,’ Reggie replied glumly. ‘I’ll still go down for a twenty-five-year stretch for manslaughter.’
Keys jangled and a heavy metal door slammed, the noise reverberating around the stark tiled room.
‘Time!’ bellowed a warden, his hobnail boots echoing on the concrete floor as he marched behind the row of visitors.
Reggie took a long drag from his cigarette and looked Tommy over.
‘Well, here we are then, Tommy boy,’ his brother said, his heavy features lifting in a sad smile. ‘You on the right side of the fence and me on the wrong.’
‘But we’re still the Sweete brothers,’ said Tommy.
‘But not like those three musketeer whatsits any more,’ said Reggie, with just a trace of bitterness.
‘No, not any more,’ said Tommy, as a tinge of sadness creeped over him. ‘But I want you to know, Reggie, I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for me.’
Reggie shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, I’m your brother, ain’t I?’ Pinching out his cigarette he stowed it behind his ear and stood up. ‘I suppose this is it for a while.’
A lump formed in Tommy’s throat. ‘I’ll write and tell you what I’m up to.’
Reggie nodded.
‘It was good of you to come, Tommy,’ he said. ‘Especially after all that business of me keeping schtum about Upington’s, you might have—’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Tommy. ‘Like you said. I’m your brother.’
They looked through the mesh grille at each other for a long moment then Reggie smiled.
‘Mind how you go, little bruv,’ he said. Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, he joined the line of prisoners being marched back to their cells.
Tommy stared after him until the metal door slammed into place then, with a heavy heart, he made his way out of the room with the other visitors.
Images of him and Reggie as snotty-nosed urchins dashing barefooted over the cobbled streets flashed through his mind as he trudged between the battle-grey prison walls and past bolted iron doors.
He was almost the last one to exit through the prison’s main gates and back into the bitingly cold outside world. The winter sun hadn’t managed to penetrate the thick clouds so it was more like sunset than midday.
Turning his collar up against the icy air, Tommy was just about to head off across the common to catch a bus back to the city when someone called his name.
He turned to see Jo, in her AAS uniform, standing amongst a group of soldiers and ARP workers next to the WVS mobile canteen on the other side of the road.
‘Tommy,’ she shouted again, waving furiously at him.
He waved back and then hurried over to her.
Her cheeks were pinched and red with cold but her smile and eyes were warm.
‘Jo,’ he said, taking her into his arms.
Resting her hands on his chest she smiled up at him. ‘I thought I’d come and meet you.’
She should have been on duty and he had no idea why she wasn’t but in an instant the weight that had been pressing down on him since he’d watched the prison door close behind Reggie lifted. Captured in the love shining in Jo Brogan’s eyes, Tommy smiled down at her, then pressing his lips onto hers, he embraced his future.
Chapter Thirty
TAKING A CHUNK of coal from the scuttle beside the fire, Tommy threw it on the other half a dozen lumps that were smoking in the grate. Straightening up, he placed a sheet of newspaper over the fire to draw it further. He held it there for a moment or two and then, satisfied that the fire was alight, he screwed it up and threw it on the flames.
Leaving the blaze to warm the room, Tommy went to the kitchen just as the steam from the kettle on the stove started to rattle the whistle as it came to the boil. Taking it from the range, Tommy poured it onto the Camp coffee he’d spooned into a mug then stirred in the last of that morning’s milk.
It was now almost four o’clock and over three hours since he’d walked out of Wandsworth prison and into Jo’s arms.
She’d swapped a shift on the MDS to meet him and he loved her for her thoughtfulness. They’d had a dinner in the British Restaurant in Blackfriars Road then caught the bus to Liverpool Street and walked, hand in hand, down to St Katherine’s ambulance station where Jo was on duty that evening. Having kissed her goodbye, Tommy had jumped on the tram that ran along Commercial Road to St Anne’s Church and then headed for his mother’s flat to get ready for his own night shift in Gray’s Inn Road depot, which started at eight.
With his mug in his hand, Tommy walked back into the lounge but as he placed his coffee on the table next to his armchair, there was a knock on the door.
‘It’s open,’ he shouted, thinking it was Vera from two doors down bringing back his washing.
Going over to his jacket hanging on the back of a chair, Tommy took out the Evening News from the pocket and turned to see Jerimiah Brogan standing in the doorway.
Wearing a sheepskin coat over his Home Guard uniform, and with his piercing eyes fixed on Tommy, Jo’s father looked like a grizzly bear contemplating
its next meal.
‘Good evening, Mr Brogan,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine enough,’ said Jo’s father.
‘And Mattie?’ said Tommy. ‘Jo tells me she and the baby are doing well and that her husband’s home.’
Chewing the inside of his mouth, Jerimiah stepped into the room, his thick hair scraping the top of the frame as he passed under it.
‘The kettle’s just boiled,’ continued Tommy, dropping his evening paper on the chair. ‘Can I make you a cuppa?’ He glanced at the bottle of Scotch on the sideboard. ‘Or perhaps something stronger?’
Jo’s father scrutinised him for another long, uncomfortable moment then spoke.
‘I’m sure you’ll agree with me that the prospect of losing someone you love more than life itself has a way of focusing a man’s mind on what’s important and what’s not.’
‘It certainly does,’ said Tommy, as the searing pain at the thought of losing Jo gripped his chest again.
‘Do you know what people around here call me?’ asked Jerimiah.
Tommy did but he wasn’t about to repeat it.
‘A tinker,’ Jerimiah said, answering his own question. ‘And that’s when they’re thinking kindly of me. The rest of the time I’m a thief.’
‘Of course, you know they say much the same about me,’ said Tommy. ‘In fact, you did yourself when you dropped in to see me at the boxing club.’
‘So I did,’ said Jerimiah. ‘But in the light of recent events I got to thinking that if people are wrong about me, then it stands to reason they may well be wrong about you, too.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Brogan, they are,’ Tommy replied, matching the other man’s powerful stare.
‘So Jo tells me,’ said Jerimiah. ‘In fact, over the last week Jo has told me a lot about you.’
‘All of it good, I hope,’ said Tommy.
Jerimiah raised an eyebrow. ‘For the most part, although I’ve an inclination she’s a mite biased on that score. I believe when you came around last week you had something you wanted to say to me but in the furore and commotion that followed you didn’t get around to it so I thought I might give you the chance now.’
A Ration Book Christmas Page 34
