Jenny said nothing. Her anger dissolved, overwhelmed by her mother’s hurtful words. But she wasn’t stupid; she wasn’t going to tell Dot any more about her time in Lincolnshire. She’d keep her mouth shut; not another word would pass her lips about Charlotte and Miles and never, ever, would she even breathe Georgie’s name in Dot’s hearing. She couldn’t bear to have her mother spoil her memories. Only in the loneliness of her bedroom would she relive those happy times.
‘Get that stuff upstairs, then. You can keep it for now, but if I get short of money . . .’ Dot left the threat hanging in the air, but Jenny knew that it would only be a matter of time before all her nice new clothes started disappearing one by one.
‘The stuff I bought for you is on your bed, but I ’spect that won’t be good enough now.’
‘Course it will, Mum.’ Jenny forced herself to sound grateful, trying to mend fences.
She went upstairs to the cramped bedroom at the back of the house. How small it seemed after the big bedroom at the manor. She glanced round at the dirty wallpaper and peeling paint and then moved towards the bed, where two dresses and a coat lay. The cotton dresses, as she’d known they would be, were faded and mended. The blue coat looked a little better but there was a strip of darker material where the hem had been let down. Some other girl had worn the coat until she could wear it no more. The cuffs were frayed, the elbows shiny. Jenny smiled sadly, realizing that before she’d gone away, the sight of such clothes would have thrilled her. Maybe her mother was right; Charlotte and Miles had spoiled her.
She tipped everything out of her suitcase on to the bed and began to hang her new clothes in the wardrobe. There was no use trying to hide anything; her mother would find it and she’d get a slap into the bargain. She sighed.
She came to the bottom of the pile and found the drawing book, the pencils and the box of paints that Charlotte had given her. She chewed her bottom lip, glancing round the sparsely furnished bedroom. Now she really didn’t want to lose these. Where could she hide them? The only place she could think of was on top of the wardrobe. Maybe Dot wouldn’t think of climbing up to look there. Quietly, Jenny pulled the chair near to the wardrobe, climbed on to it and tried to push the drawing book, pencils and paints as far back as she could out of sight. But they wouldn’t slide any further than about halfway. Jenny wasn’t tall enough to see from the chair she was balancing on what was in the way. She’d never put anything up there. She stretched out her fingers and touched something hard and round. Scrabbling at it till it came nearer the front, her hand closed around it and she pulled it down. It was a tin of peaches. Jenny stared at it in amazement, before understanding dawned. Her mother was hoarding food in case they ran short. She reached up and put the tin back where she’d found it, pushing it as far back as she could. It clinked against other tins. Jenny climbed down. The only place now to hide her paints was under the bed. She knelt on the floor began to push her belongings far underneath but again there was no room there. The whole area beneath her iron bedstead was taken up with boxes and packages. She pulled one out and opened the lid. It was full of more tinned fruit. She opened another to find bottles of whisky.
‘Jen, are you going to stop up there for ever?’ Her mother’s strident voice drifted up the stairs. ‘Yer tea’s ready. Look sharp, me an’ Arfer’s going out.’
Jenny pulled a face. ‘Fancy that,’ she muttered sarcastically. In her normal voice she called back. ‘Coming.’
Hastily, she pushed all the stuff back under her bed, but she was still faced with the problem of where to hide her paints. She’d have to leave them in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers for the moment. Maybe she’d think of a better place later . . .
As they were finishing tea, a loud knock came at the front door. Jenny saw Arthur and Dot glance at each other in alarm. Jenny began to get up from the table to go to the door, but Dot grabbed her arm. ‘You sit there. Keep quiet and don’t move.’
‘Why?’
‘Ssh, I said,’ Dot hissed, her eyes round with fear. ‘Arfer, is the door locked?’
Arthur shrugged. ‘Jenny came in last, I . . .’
Dot’s grip tightened on Jenny’s arm. ‘Did you lock the door?’
‘No, I—’
‘Ssh.’
‘We never lock the door,’ Jenny whispered, catching some of her mother’s fear. ‘Why?’
‘We do now. Just sit tight. Mebbe they’ll go away if—’
But at that moment they all heard the front door rattle and open. Dot drew in her breath sharply, her eyes widened as she stared, terror-struck, at Arthur.
Then a cheery voice called out, ‘Jen, are you ’ere?’
Jenny leapt to her feet and dragged herself out of her mother’s grasp. ‘It’s Bobby! Bobby!’
Dot relaxed as she muttered, ‘Silly little bugger, frightening us like that.’
But Jenny was gone, out of the room and rushing through the front room to the door. She didn’t see the look of relief that passed between Arthur and Dot. ‘Just make sure she knows to keep the doors locked now, eh?’
‘I will,’ Dot muttered grimly. ‘Don’t want no more scares like that.’
Twenty-Three
The boy was standing in the doorway grinning. ‘Thought it was you. I saw you walking down the street with a posh gent. Who was he, then?’
‘Miles. I’ve been staying with them in the country. Oh Bobby, it was awful when you went off on that train.’
His face was bleak for a moment. ‘I know. And it were no better when we got where we was going.’
‘Didn’t you like it?’
‘Like it?’ Bobby was scornful. ‘You kidding? We went to a farm – right out in the middle of nowhere, it were. Mind you, they did keep me an’ Sammy together. But work. Cor! Up at five to do the milking before we went to school and then the same when we got home at night. And talk about the cold. It was freezing in winter. Mind you, we came home just before that first Christmas. We wrote home soon after we got there saying how awful it was, but we reckon the farmer’s wife must’ve opened our letters and burnt ’em, cos Mam never got ’em.’
‘So, how did you get home, then?’
Bobby grinned. ‘Sammy ran away. Came all the way back home hitching lifts and he told Mam and she sent for me.’
‘You could have come to where I was. It was great, it—’ She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, fearful that her mother might be listening. ‘I’ll tell you sometime. So, your mam hasn’t sent you anywhere else.’
Bobby shook his head. ‘She wants us with her, specially now Dad’s gone.’
Jenny gasped. ‘Gone?’
‘Oh, not that. At least – ’ Bobby grimaced and his eyes were suddenly fearful – ‘not yet.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Jenny whispered.
‘He’s gone back in the navy.’
‘You said he might.’
Bobby nodded. ‘Volunteered, he did. He used to be in the merchant navy, yer know, but he came out when Mam had our Ronnie and got a job on the docks so’s he could be at home with his family. Fat lot o’ good that did, didn’t it? Now there’s a war, he’s gone back anyway.’
Jenny didn’t often read the newspapers or listen to the wireless, but she’d heard snippets about ships being attacked in the Channel by the Luftwaffe. Bobby’s dad would be in constant danger. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort her friend. She wanted to tell him about her own loss, how Georgie had been posted missing, presumed killed. Even though she had stoutly declared to anyone who would listen that he was still alive and would come back one day, secretly deep in her heart she knew that there was always the possibility that . . . no, no, she wouldn’t believe it, she couldn’t believe it.
She had to believe that somewhere he was safe.
Now she squeezed Bobby’s arm. ‘He’ll be all right,’ she said huskily.
Bobby made a valiant effort to smile and say cheerfully, ‘Come round whenever you want. Mam’ll be pleased to see
you.’
‘I will.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I might nip in later. Mum and Arfer are going out.’
‘Nothin’ new there, then.’ Bobby chuckled and cast her a sympathetic glance. ‘Just mind they show you how to get into the Morrison before they go out, in case we have an air raid. We get ’em all the time.’
Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘All the—?’
‘S’all right. We’re safe as houses, specially if we go down the underground.’ Now he laughed. ‘Actually, we’re safer than houses ’cos that’s what’s getting bombed.’
‘Oh Bobby!’ Jenny could think of nothing else to say.
Later, after Dot and Arthur had roared off in his sports car, Jenny went next door.
‘Jen – ’ Elsie Hutton greeted her with open arms. ‘It’s good to have you back, darlin’, but I’d rather you’d stayed safely in the country. Didn’t you like it?’
Unbidden and before she could stop them, tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes. ‘I loved it, Aunty Elsie, but Mum sent for me to come home.’
Elsie’s mouth was a hard line as she nodded grimly. ‘I thought as much. Never stopped going on about how she was the only one whose kid hadn’t come back and she didn’t want anyone to think she’d sent you away to get rid of you.’ Elsie snorted derisively. ‘But she should have left you there. London’s been taking a battering for months now an’ it’s not over yet.’
Jenny nodded, accepting the truth even though it hurt. ‘She only sent for me ’cos everyone else has come home and she didn’t want to be the odd one out. I know that. She didn’t really want me back. Not like you wanted your boys.’
Elsie put her arms around Jenny. ‘Aw, don’t you worry. You’re welcome here any time. An’ when we go down the shelter or the tube, we’ll send our Bobby round for you an’ you can come with us.’
Jenny hugged her in return, thankful to have this family who she knew really did care for her.
‘Now,’ Elsie said briskly, ‘come an’ have a bite of tea with us.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to take your food. ’Sides, I’ve already had tea.’
‘Then come and sit with us while we have ours and then you and Bobby can have a game of Ludo.’
The evening passed pleasantly enough and though part of Jenny was pleased to see her old friends again, the other part of her yearned to be back at the manor, playing with the doll’s house, out on the lawn playing football with Miles or painting in the quietness of Charlotte’s studio.
Or on the beach with Georgie.
‘What’s all that stuff under my bed?’
As soon as the words left her lips, Jenny knew she shouldn’t have asked. Dot gasped and lashed out at her. But Jenny, quicker once more in her reflexes, ducked. ‘Don’t you poke your nose into what doesn’t concern you.’ Dot tapped her own nose. ‘Keep it out. You hear?’
Jenny glared at her. ‘It’s in my bedroom.’
‘Your bedroom.’ Dot laughed nastily. ‘Since when did you contribute to the rent for this place? If it’s anybody’s now, it’s Arfer’s. He’s moved in an’ he pays the rent.’
Jenny had guessed as much.
When they’d arrived back the previous night, or rather early this morning, laughing and staggering up the stairs, she’d heard her mother’s bedroom door bang and, through the thin walls, other noises that a young girl should not be subjected to. In the morning, Arthur had still been there, sitting at the breakfast table, smoking, as if he did indeed own the place.
And now it seemed, in a manner of speaking, he did. He paid the rent.
‘And don’t you go telling folks about what’s under your bed, neither.’
Jenny said no more but she counted the boxes under her bed from time to time and noticed that sometimes there were more, sometimes less. And yet they never had tinned peaches for tea, nor did she see Dot and Arthur drinking whisky. There was no one she could ask, but gradually even she began to understand that with all the rationing and the shortages, people would pay a little bit extra to someone who could supply what they wanted. And Arthur, it seemed, was that ‘supply’. But she was careful never to ask questions, never to tell anyone – not even Bobby – about what she’d found.
Jenny had been home two weeks. She was back at school, back in Miss Chisholm’s class, and she was reasonably happy at home. Dot was better tempered when Arthur was around and, if Jenny kept out of their way, life was bearable. Though she still longed to be back at Ravensfleet Manor and to make matters worse, as she had threatened, Dot began to take the fine clothes that Jenny had been given to the pawnbrokers. She spent the money she got on new clothes for herself. A skirt and two blouses had already disappeared by the time Arthur noticed what was happening and said, ‘Yer don’t need to take the kid’s stuff, Dot. I give you enough to buy whatever you want.’
‘She don’t need posh clothes. She’ll only get ’em dirty. She’s a scruffy little urchin.’
Arthur winked at Jenny, who was watching sullenly as her mother folded two of the dresses that Charlotte had bought her ready to pawn.
‘Not so scruffy now. She keeps her hair ever so nice and—’
Dot rounded on him. ‘Are you sayin’ she didn’t before she went away? Are you saying I can’t look after me own kid? She’s always had a bath once a week and washed her hair, so don’t you go sayin’—’
‘No, ’course I’m not, Dot, but she’s growing up. Why don’t you let her keep the things she’s been given?’ Craftily, he added, ‘There’s a lot of wear in them and it’d save you having to buy more for her.’
Dot paused, undecided now. To press home his point, Arthur threw two pound notes on the table. ‘There, that’s more than you’d get up the pop shop, darlin’. Let her keep her stuff. I’ll see you right, you know I will.’
Grudgingly, Dot muttered, ‘All right, then, but she’d better look after ’em.’ Then she wagged her forefinger in Jenny’s face. ‘You’d better say “thank you” to your uncle Arfer. He’s very good to you, he is.’
Jenny grinned at Arthur as she scooped up the dresses from the table before her mother could change her mind and scuttled upstairs to hang them back in her wardrobe. Just as she was closing the wardrobe door, the now familiar sound of the wailing air-raid sirens began and she heard Arthur shouting up the stairs.
‘Look sharp, Jen. Get down here.’
‘Let’s go to the underground. It’ll be safer,’ Dot was saying as Jenny burst into the kitchen.
‘No time,’ Arthur said, pushing them both towards the front room where the Morrison shelter had been constructed. ‘I can hear the planes . . .’
The roaring and the thud of bombs dropping went on for what seemed hours. Squashed into the oblong metal box-like shelter with its steel-plate top and wire-mesh sides beside Dot and Arthur, Jenny clutched Bert closely and covered her ears. It had never been as bad as this in the country. Just a few noises in the distance, but this was right overhead. Any minute a bomb might fall on their house . . .
Dot lay with her head buried against Arthur’s chest.
‘We’ll go down the underground another night before it starts,’ he promised.
Dot raised her head to say accusingly, as if it was all Arthur’s fault, ‘If we get through this one.’ At that moment there was a loud whistling and a tremendous crash and the sound of breaking glass. The whole house, even the ground beneath them, shook. Dot screamed and clung to Arthur, whilst Jenny curled herself into a round ball. Dust choked her and she began to cough.
They emerged unscathed into the cold light of dawn, but when Arthur opened the front door it was to see that a house on the opposite side of the street had taken a direct hit.
‘Is Bobby’s house all right?’ Jenny asked fearfully, pushing her way out beneath Arthur’s arm.
‘Yeah. ’Sides, I reckon they went down the underground. I saw ’em setting off with blankets and pillows before the air raid started.’
‘And that’s what we’ll be doing in future,’ Dot said firmly
. ‘I ain’t standing another night like that.’
It seemed as if Hitler was determined to break the spirit of the Londoners. But if he could have seen them lying in rows on the station platform, sharing their food, joining in a sing-song and playing games with the children, he might have realized it was going to be a much harder task than he’d envisaged.
Elsie greeted them the following night when they arrived on the underground platform. ‘Come on, you lot, make room for Jenny and her mam. Ronnie, help Arthur spread the blankets out. There we are, all nice and cosy.’
Dot glanced around her and turned up her nose. ‘Is this where we sleep? On the draughty platform?’
‘’Fraid so,’ Elsie laughed and eyed her neighbour done up in her best clothes, full make-up on, her brassy hair piled up on top of her head and wearing high heels and silk stockings. Now I wonder how she’s come by them? Elsie Hutton thought. But she had no need to wonder for long; Arthur. He was a wide boy right enough. A spiv, as his sort were being called. She glanced down the lines of makeshift beds to see Arthur had settled himself at the very end, next to Ronnie, Elsie’s eldest boy. She frowned, worried to see that Arthur Osborne was engaging her son in whispered conversation.
‘Come on,’ she raised her voice, trying to break up the cosy chat. ‘Let’s ’ave a sing-song. “My Ol’ Man . . .” ’ Her voice was tuneless, but soon she had the whole crowd joining in and, to her delight, she saw Arthur shrug and abandon trying to talk to Ronnie above the noise. The boy turned and saw his mother watching them even whilst she was leading the singing. To her relief, Ronnie winked and grinned at her.
That’s my boy, she thought. He’ll have none of Arthur’s goings on.
They sang raucously, trying to drown out the sound of the dull thuds from above ground, trying desperately not to think of the damage being caused to their homes and, maybe, even the loss of life. Dot moved her position to sit next to Arthur, clinging on to him and making a great show of being frightened.
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