by Annie Murray
‘I’m not going to hide it from ’er – I’ll tell ’er when I get back in. I just want the chance to go, find out. If I say beforehand she’ll kick up one ’ell of a fuss. I’m just going to slip out – tell ’er later. So will yer, Jess – please? If I give Grace a feed I’ll be back before she’s ready for the next one. It’s just if she cries . . .’
Jess could feel herself giving in. Polly didn’t seem any madder than the next person, she just wanted comfort. Who was she to stop her going out?
‘Awright then. But for ’eaven’s sake watch what yer getting into.’
After tea, Polly slipped out into the light, warm evening, without announcing she was leaving.
‘Where’s Poll?’ Olive said after a while. ‘She still in the lav?’
‘I think she went out – said she was going to see someone,’ Jess said, her heart thumping hard. She saw Sis frown. Polly hadn’t been out to see her friends for weeks.
‘She didn’t say.’ Olive wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged or worried. ‘What about Grace?’ Jess saw her aunt’s expression change and Olive was on her feet and across the room. ‘Grace – where is she? Has she taken the babby?’
‘No—’ Jess was bewildered. ‘She’s upstairs, asleep.’
They heard Olive’s frantic tread on the stairs.
‘Well where’s she gone?’ Sis demanded. ‘What’s all the flaming fuss about?’
‘To a meeting,’ Jess hissed. ‘Some Spiritualist thing or summat. For God’s sake don’t say nothing.’
Sis rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh blimey – there’ll be all hell let loose.’
Olive came back, her face relaxed again, having found Grace splayed peacefully on the bed upstairs.
‘So why’d she go out and not say then?’
Polly came in at half past nine, her cheeks pinker than they’d been in weeks, and a slight smile on her lips.
‘Is Gracie awright?’
Jess smiled, holding Grace, who was staring mesmerized up at the sputtering gas mantle. ‘You can see.’
‘Well – where’ve yer been?’ Olive asked fairly cheerfully, but Jess and Sis eyed each other, both holding their breath.
Polly leaned over and lifted Grace off Jess’s lap. ‘’Ello, my pet! How’ve yer bin – awright?’ She rubbed noses with the baby and kissed her. ‘Ooh, I’ve missed yer, I ’ave!’ She turned to her mother. ‘I’ll tell yer, but yer not to bite my ’ead off.’
‘Oh yes?’ Olive said suspiciously.
Polly looked at Jess as she spoke, as if feeling that was safer. ‘There was this meeting – just in this woman’s house, down in Balsall ’Eath. She’s got a special gift like, she can get messages from people who’ve passed away . . .’
This was an immediate red rag to a bull. Olive was tutting loudly straight away.
‘It’s awright, Mom – really. Mrs Bullivant came with me, and they were all very nice. And I got a message from Ernie . . .’
But her mother got up and walked out of the room. They heard her going upstairs.
Polly looked at Jess with desperate appeal in her eyes. ‘’E said ’e’s in the pink where ’e is and I’m not to worry and that ’e loves me and is looking out for me . . .’ As she spoke her voice cracked and tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I know it ain’t much and Mom don’t want to hear about it, but it’s everything to me, to know e’s getting on awright and ’e’s still with me! I hadn’t seen him for such a long time and it felt as if ’e’d gone forever without us being able to say goodbye . . .’
Jess felt a lump rise in her throat, seeing the pain Polly was in, the joy that this simple message had brought to her, whether it was real or not. She got up, saying ‘Oh Poll—’ She and Sis went to her and took her in their arms.
Twenty-Six
Monday morning. Jess stepped into the Rumbling Shed and exchanged her cardigan for the overall and cap. It was going to be a hot day. Work started at eight and even on the journey she had felt almost too warm. As she slipped the rubber overshoes on, the other two girls came in saying ‘Morning, Jess!’
She greeted them absent-mindedly and stepped through into her section of the shed at the end. The other two exchanged looks which said, ‘What’s up with ’er?’
‘Yer never know with people from day to day nowadays, do yer?’ one of them said. ‘Anything could’ve happened.’
‘It could. Or maybe she’s just mardy ’cause she is.’
‘Nah – she ain’t like that.’
In the few moments before work was due to start, Jess leaned her back against the brick wall of the shed and pulled Ned’s latest letter from her pocket. She had collected it from Iris’s the evening before. Each time she read it hoping she’d missed something. A postcard fluttered to the floor and she bent to pick it up. It was a view of a French town, its church spire standing tall and noble. Small grey print on the back said, ‘Albert – la basilique’. He had enclosed a second card of the same view, but this time most of the buildings were wrecked, heaps of crumbling brickwork: the spire of the basilica was smashed away at the sides, its statue at the top lurching sideways at a right angle to the spire.
She read Ned’s letter again, urgently trying to find in it the warmth of the man she loved from this foreign country which felt so far away. Her eyes moved quickly over his sloping hand and settled on the end of the letter, needing his parting words which always meant so much to her. But they were so brief, matter of fact almost. And things he said in the letter: ‘bombed it to hell,’ . . . ‘we were dead beat . . .’ It didn’t sound like him. It was almost as if it was written by another man.
She folded the letter away and went to work, counting the detonators with half her mind, distracted. She turned the drum fiercely, feeling her cheeks turn pink with exertion, pounding all her misery and frustration into it.
For a while she fought against giving in to her emotions, mechanically doing her job. But after a time, going to re-load it she turned too sharply and caught her elbow hard on the edge of the drum.
‘Oh sod and damn it!’ She doubled up nursing her elbow and gave in to her feelings, tears running down her cheeks. ‘Oh Ned, I want you – I want you here now, just to see you!’
She was barely aware of the door opening.
‘Jess – are you all right? What’ve you done?’
She straightened up immediately, rubbing her elbow, then quickly wiping tears from her face. ‘Nothing. I just caught my elbow. I’m awright.’
Peter Stevenson looked closely at her. He had dark, sleepless rings under his eyes. The kindness in his expression, when she knew the loss he must be suffering, made Jess fill up with tears all over again.
‘It’s not just that, is it? Has something happened?’
‘No—’ Jess pulled out her hanky and mopped her eyes. She felt very stupid and her hands had gone all clammy. ‘No – not really. I mean . . .’
Peter Stevenson hesitated, struggling to overcome his natural shyness. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t be asking, but do you have a young man at the Front?’
‘Yes . . .’ She was in an agony of indecision and embarrassment. Mr Stevenson catching her in this state – but she could hardly tell him anything about Ned! Yes, I’ve got a young man at the Front who I love like crazy and he’s married to someone else and he’s left her and his child for me and everyone thinks we’re wicked . . .
‘Nothing’s happened, I don’t think. It’s just I had a letter and . . . and . . .’ Her cheeks were on fire. She had no idea how lovely she looked, face glowing, her eyes wet with tears. ‘I just want the war to end,’ she added lamely. ‘It’s silly of me. And compared with what you must be going through with your wife and everything . . .’ Then she wanted to bite her tongue out. She shouldn’t have said that! They’d all put together a card for him, from the works, but she’d never imagined saying anything to him. It’d never’ve happened before the war, she thought. So much was nearer the surface now.
‘Oh . . .’ Peter Stevenson looked at the
floor. Oh God, Jess thought, don’t let him start breaking down or carrying on as well because I shan’t have the first idea what to do.
‘Her name was Sylvia.’ He looked up at her again. ‘Everything feels pretty grim, at the moment.’ Jess felt her heart contract at the tender sadness in his voice. Ned was alive – what did she have to complain about? ‘But you know, although I miss her a great deal, what was worse almost was when she was very sick and we didn’t know how long she had left. How much she was going to suffer. Not knowing is terrible – the waiting.’ He tried to give a rueful smile but it reached no further than his lips. ‘So I do understand. There’re so many people waiting at the moment . . .’
‘I’m sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say.
‘Thank you.’ For the first time she saw him really smile, a wide, rather melancholy uplift of his features, but wholehearted. It reminded her of the way Iris’s smiles transformed her face. What a lovely face, she thought. He’s a nice man. His kindness warmed her and she felt better for having let out her emotion.
Peter Stevenson’s tone changed, became businesslike again. ‘I really came to say – to warn you – that there’s another group here from the Woolwich Arsenal.’
He rolled his eyes half comically to the ceiling.
‘What, again?’
‘I’m afraid so. They’re over in the filling sheds at the moment so I thought I’d pop in and let you three know.’
‘Oh well – I’d better get to work then.’ Jess paused. ‘I’ll do my best, don’t you worry.’
Peter Stevenson turned away, smiling faintly again. ‘I know.’
That night, Jess lay in bed listening to the rain. The day had been intensely hot and close. Her temples throbbed and her body felt clammy and heavy. It was an effort to move.
The atmosphere at home was fraught. Polly had sloped out again, and though Olive didn’t say anything, the strength of her feelings seeped out in the way she slammed pans down on the range, chewed at the edges of her fingers when they were sitting together after tea. The sense that she was charged, ready to explode with some fearsome emotion, increased daily, making all of them nervous of her, not just Jess.
Jess and Sis had carried pails of water in from the tap and poured them into the tin bath so they could all have a wash to cool down. Ronny always loved it when it was bath night, and chuckled as they stood him naked in the tub like a little white freckly fish, to pour water over him. Their splashing and activity relaxed the atmosphere a little, and afterwards, Sis bundled Ronny up in an old shirt of Bert’s and rubbed him dry. Jess sat by her aunt twisting the long, wet skein of her hair between her hands. She liked the summer: they had bare legs so she didn’t have to keep darning stockings every night.
‘Yer know, Auntie—’ Jess reached out and dared to touch Olive’s hand for a second. ‘Poll’s awright. I know she’s picked up a few odd notions for the moment, but . . .’
Olive jerked her hand away and Jess retreated, chastened.
‘She said she’ll come back to work if Grace can stop with you and Ronny.’
‘She knows she can,’ Olive snapped. ‘I’ve said enough times, ain’t I?’ She was keen for Polly to get back to work, thinking it would help restore her to normality.
Polly got in just as the first growls of thunder echoed round the sky.
‘It’s flaming dark out there already!’ She sounded cheerful enough.
Don’t say nothing, Jess pleaded with her eyes. Don’t tell us about messages you’ve had from the ‘other side’ for goodness sake. Just keep them to yourself for now ’cause we need that like a hole in the head.
The storm distracted everyone. The strange quietness, as if the whole city was waiting for each lightning flash, for the loud wrenching of the thunder, as a release from the fetid stillness which had settled over everything. They sat in the gloom, not even lighting the gas. Their horizon was limited by the row of houses opposite, only a thin border of sky visible to them, but they watched, sometimes glimpsing the lightning across the thick swirl of clouds. At last the rain came in force, a hissing, sighing sound sweeping over the rooftops, swelled by the wind. Grace slept on despite the noise, but Ronny was too excited and frightened to go to bed and sat cuddled up on Sis’s lap, cowering when the thunder came.
They went up for the night when the worst of it had passed, but Jess could not settle. She lay for a long time with her eyes shut but no closer to sleep, feeling stirred up by the force of the storm outside. Storms visited themselves on you, powerful and out of your control, and it brought to her mind sharply the other events going on beyond them all, yet touching them, over which they had just as little influence. People said the guns sounded like the thunder. The feeling of her own insignificance which sometimes came over her at night filled her now. Sometimes that was comforting, but tonight her nerves were on edge with worry and longing and she felt small and frightened.
All she could hear was the steady fall of rain. But a few moments later there came a cry from the other end of the house, so agonized that it made her skin come up in goose pimples. She jolted upright, her heart banging, and found she was drenched in cold sweat.
Sis stirred, her bedsprings creaking as she half sat up. Jess could see her, dimly, across the room, hair hanging dark each side of her face.
‘What was that?’
‘I dunno. God, it was horrible. Sshh.’
They both sat absolutely still. The cry was not repeated, but gradually they heard the sound, at first low and intermittent, then louder, of anguished, unstoppable weeping.
Sis gasped. In a small, frightened voice she said, ‘I think it must be our mom.’
Twenty-Seven
The two of them tip-toed along the landing, sliding their hands along the walls in the dark. As they passed Polly’s door it opened and Jess and Sis jumped, clutching at each other.
‘Poll!’ Sis whispered furiously. ‘Yer nearly made my heart stop coming out like that!’
Polly was holding Grace, who was awake. ‘That ain’t just Ronny, is it?’ She sounded frightened. The crying was childlike and utterly desolate.
‘I think ’e’s blarting as well now,’ Sis said. ‘She must’ve woke ’im and set ’im off.’
‘What’re we going to do?’ Polly held Grace close, the baby’s head tucked under her chin.
‘God only knows. Let’s get Ronny out of there anyhow.’
Sis pushed open the door of Olive’s room and felt around in the darkness for her distraught little brother, lifting him into her arms. He sobbed into her neck and she stroked him, murmuring comforting things to him. Olive was still weeping, more quietly now, sounding tired and defeated.
Jess, the only one with her hands free, knelt down by the bed.
‘You ain’t going to wake ’er, are yer?’ Polly said, alarmed. She moved Grace who was rooting around for milk and began to feed her.
‘She sounds so sad. What’s the matter with her?’
‘I don’t know. Honest I don’t.’
‘Sis – fetch us a candle, will yer?’
Sis persuaded Ronny to get down and in a couple of moments they were back with a lighted candle.
‘Auntie.’ Jess’s hands were shaking as she very gently prodded Olive’s shoulder. ‘Auntie, wake up.’
Olive’s eyes opened but at first it was as if she couldn’t see them or make sense of their presence in the room and she was still crying. After a moment she sat up, knuckling her eyes like a child. Her arms were bare and she had on an old vest which was tight across her slack breasts. Sitting close to her, Jess could feel the moist heat coming off her body.
Gradually she quietened and sat with her head in her hands. Minutes passed. At last, more composed, Olive spoke quietly through her fingers.
‘What’ve I been doing?’
‘You were crying out, Mom,’ Polly said gently.
They all waited. Jess expected Olive to say she was all right now, it was nothing, just a dream and what were they all mitherin
g round her for in the middle of the night. But instead she continued to sit there, rocking gently back and forth, her breathing still ragged from crying. Jess thought how vulnerable and broken she looked in her yellowed old vest, her hair hanging down, no longer on her dignity, the fight gone from her. She wanted to embrace her, but didn’t dare.
After a time Olive wiped her eyes. ‘I can’t keep on like this.’
‘Auntie—’ Jess dared ask. ‘What’re yer so sad about?’
Olive’s hand went to her mouth as her emotion began to well up. Tears spilled from her eyes again.
‘I can’t stop crying,’ she shook her head helplessly. ‘Don’t know what’s got into me. I’ve tried never to think of it, never burden anyone with it, but lately I can’t . . . it keeps . . . I keep remembering.’
‘What, Mom?’ Polly moved closer. She sounded near to tears herself. ‘Why don’t yer tell us – get it off yer chest, ’stead of bottling it all up. Is it summat about our granddad?’
Olive shook her head. ‘No – not ’im. Not exactly.’
‘If yer tell us,’ Jess at last found the courage to touch her aunt’s arm. ‘Maybe it’ll make yer feel better.’
‘I worry I’m going off me head, that I do.’
‘We’ve worried about yer an’ all, Mom,’ Polly said.
‘And then you started on about all this . . . after Ernie died and I’ve been frightened to death you was – poorly . . .’
‘I ain’t, Mom. I just miss him so bad, that’s all.’
Olive looked at the stricken faces of the girls gathered round her. They’re not children any more, she thought. None of them.
‘If I’m coming out with it it’s now or never. By morning I’ll’ve changed me mind.’ More in command of herself, she beckoned to Sis who was still holding Ronny’s hand. ‘Bring ’im here.’ She gave the little boy a kiss. Jess was touched. She’d seldom seen her aunt show the boy much warmth.
