‘Sheffield.’
‘So why’re you here, then? Why’ve you come back?’
Now, Jenny couldn’t meet Elsie’s eyes. ‘Oh, you know Mum. Doesn’t stay with anyone for very long. We were with Jim a whole year and as for Arthur, well, he lasted over four.’
‘Mm.’ Elsie eyed her shrewdly. That was true enough though Elsie knew there was more than Jenny was telling her, but she decided not to press her. As long as it was nothing that had harmed Jenny, then Elsie wasn’t worried. Dot could take care of herself, but the young girl was another matter and now they were back home Elsie meant to keep a sharp eye out for how Jenny was treated.
‘Have you kept on with your drawing, then?’ Elsie had known about Jenny’s ability for years. On wet days, the children – Jenny amongst them – had sat at her kitchen table playing games or drawing pictures. Even then, Jenny’s picture had always been the best and easily recognizable for whatever it was.
Now they were on safer ground, Jenny smiled easily, ‘Oh yes. Uncle Arthur was very good about it. He used to bring me drawing paper and paints. I did loads of pictures, but – but I had to leave them behind.’
‘Ne’er mind, darlin’, you can soon do more.’ There was a pause before Elsie asked gently, ‘Your mam still not interested in your painting, then?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘I’ve run out of a lot of my paints now and I’ve hardly any paper left.
Elsie squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll get our Sammy to see what he can do. He knows a lot of people. He works on the docks now. At least – ’ Elsie bit her lip – ‘at least until he’s called up.’
Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘Sammy?’
Elsie nodded. ‘He’s eighteen next January.’
Jenny stared at her. Poor Aunty Elsie. She’d have three of her family in the forces then. ‘Maybe it’ll all be over before then.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say but they both knew it was a vain hope.
‘We met a lot of soldiers – and airmen – on the train when we were coming home. One of them said all their leave had been cancelled. He might have said more, but one of his mates shushed him.’
Elsie laughed. ‘Quite right too, though we’ve heard rumours that there might be something going on. Evidently there’s been a lot of movement of troops to the south coast. Sammy hears bits of gossip, y’know, from the dockers. Let’s hope they’re starting to get back at old ’Itler.’
‘What a lovely man,’ Dot enthused when she returned over an hour later. ‘Donald says we can move in whenever we like. And he’ll give us the first month free ’cos the place needs a bit of tarting up.’
Elsie raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. She’d never heard of any landlord being quite so generous before. And already, it seemed, Dot was on first-name terms with him whereas Elsie had known him for years and still called him ‘Mr Jenkins’.
‘And,’ Dot went on, ‘he’s letting Bobby borrow his horse and cart after work to fetch our trunk.’
‘Bobby’s always said he’s all right, is Mr Jenkins,’ Elsie said.
Dot’s eyes sparkled with triumph as she waved a door key at them. ‘He certainly is.’
Elsie sighed.
The house at the end of the street was habitable; just.
‘It needs a lot of elbow grease,’ Elsie remarked, wrinkling her nose. This was something Dot wasn’t very good at, but Jenny’s eyes were sparkling. ‘It’s bigger than our old place, Mum. There are three bedrooms. Oh Mum, can I have the big one at the back? Please?’ Jenny knew better than to ask to take possession of two of the rooms, but the one at the back had a bigger window than the other two. The natural lighting was good and there was room enough for her to set out her paints on a table under the window. She’d soon find another job, she was sure, and then she’d be able to buy paints and paper for herself.
‘Yeah, course you can.’ Dot was walking through the house with a smile on her face. True, it needed a lot of cleaning and a lick of paint wouldn’t do it any harm. She was seeing herself nicely settled here, and entertaining her friends. And the room Jenny had set her heart on at the back was nicely out of the way. ‘We’ll get you some paint – a pretty pink – and you can decorate it.’
‘You’ll have to ask the landlord first, Dot,’ Elsie warned. She was beginning to have misgivings about Dot being a tenant of Bobby’s boss. She hoped it wasn’t going to cause trouble for her son. He’d got a good job. It was close to home and Mr Jenkins was as generous as he could be with food items without actually breaking the law.
‘I don’t hold with all these black market goings on, Mrs Hutton,’ he’d told her as he cut out the coupons from her ration book. Elsie was registered with him and did her weekly shopping there. ‘I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been offered all sorts of stuff. I like to help my customers, ’course I do, but where’d they all be if I got myself locked up in prison? Besides, I’ve my reputation to think of. I’ve always been an honest trader, Mrs Hutton. I never give short weight nor charge more than I have to. None of this taking advantage of a bad situation to make an extra few shillings for myself.’
‘I know that, Mr Jenkins. I wouldn’t have let my lad come and work for you if I hadn’t known you to be as honest as the day is long.’
‘Mind you,’ he confessed, ‘I’ve been tempted now and again. When these ’ere spivs come along with their sugar and tins of fruit, it’s very difficult to refuse when I know how much my customers would like an extra few ounces of sugar or a taste of fruit. But I couldn’t let the wife down. She’d never forgive me. A very unforgiving woman, is Mrs Jenkins.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a pity, ain’t it, Mrs Hutton, that us honest folk are having the hardest time?’
‘The law’ll catch up with them that breaks it, Mr Jenkins. Some of the sentences the courts are handing out to those that get caught are quite severe.’ She leaned closer. ‘That butcher two streets away got sent to jail only last week.’
‘Not Joe Robinson?’
Elsie nodded, her lips pursed. ‘And he’s got a wife and little girl. What’s going to happen to them, I’d like to know? They’ve closed his shop, so I heard tell.’
Donald Jenkins stared at her, sighed and shook his head. ‘Not worth it, is it, Mrs Hutton?’
‘No, Mr Jenkins, it isn’t,’ she said quietly. She was thinking about Dot’s fancy man, Arthur Osborne, and wondering what exactly had happened to bring Dot and Jen running back home without Arthur in tow, or even the new chap Jenny said her mother had been with for a year.
When her next shopping day came around, Mr Jenkins asked, ‘And how’s your friend settling into the house at the end of your street?’
‘Very nicely, thank you, Mr Jenkins. She said you’d given permission for her to paint it up a bit.’
He nodded. ‘She’s a lovely woman. Very – what’s the word – energetic?’
Elsie said nothing. That was one way of describing Dot, she thought, but it had nothing to do with painting and decorating, nor even with day-to-day housework. That was falling heavily on Jenny’s shoulders.
‘I’ll have to call round to see if there’s anything they need. There’s a daughter, I understand, and they’re all on their own. Such a shame. Where’s her husband, d’you know? Oh,’ his voice dropped to a whisper, ‘he’s not been killed, has he?’
Elsie was very tempted to tell this gullible man the truth as she knew it; that Dot Mercer had never had a husband. But then, weren’t all men putty in the hands of women like Dot? Would he believe her anyway? Would he want to believe her? So Elsie sighed and said, ‘I really don’t know what happened to him, Mr Jenkins. I think she “lost” him before the war. I never knew him. Anyway, I’d best be getting back.’
‘Give my regards to your friend. Tell her I’ll pop by and see her when I can find a minute.’
Elsie gave him a thin smile as she picked up her shopping basket and left the shop, her shoulders stiff with anger. Dot, it seemed, had made yet another conquest and this time, it was a married man. Su
rely, she tried to tell herself, an upstanding man like Mr Jenkins wouldn’t be so foolish? Elsie sighed as she walked back home. Yes, he would. Oh yes, he would.
Forty-Seven
Only a week after Dot and Jenny had moved into their new home, the papers were full of the news of the D-Day landings in Normandy. The whole street celebrated – everyone, that is, except Elsie, whose fears for her husband and eldest son intensified. She was glad that the Allies had landed back on the mainland of Europe and believed, as everyone else hoped, that this was the beginning of the end, but her overriding emotion was one of dread. And Jenny’s thoughts, too, turned yet again to the Thornton family. Were Philip and Ben involved? she wondered. And what about Georgie?
‘I thought I’d just pop round and see if you were settling in and if – if there was anything you needed.’
‘Why, Mr Jenkins,’ Dot purred, thankful that she’d just washed her hair and renewed her make-up. She’d been about to go out, but now the prospect of charming Mr Jenkins – the man with a big house and a grocery business that seemed to be thriving even in these hard times – was far more appealing than even the shops. ‘How very kind of you. Do come in.’
Dot ushered him through the front room, where a Morrison shelter sat taking up a large space in the middle of the floor of what should have been Dot’s best parlour. She pulled a face. ‘Sorry about that contraption, but the folks that were here before us left it.’
Donald Jenkins smiled wryly. ‘Ah yes. I expect it was too cumbersome to move in the middle of the night.’
‘Dear me,’ Dot simpered, ‘the things some folks will do. I’m so sorry to hear you were treated so badly. Please come into the back room. We’ve made it quite comfy.’
And they had. Jenny had painted the walls. Rag rugs, bought from a market stall, covered the floor and freshly washed curtains covered the windows. Two armchairs, slightly the worse for wear but clean and comfortable, stood either side of the range. On the warm June day this was unlit, for there was a brand-new cooker, provided by Mr Jenkins for his new tenants, sitting in the scullery.
‘Sit down. I’ll make us a cuppa. You’ve time, I hope?’ Dot, with pretended innocence, asked. ‘You don’t have to be rushing home, do you?’
‘No,’ Donald said flatly, thinking of the reception that awaited him in his own home; an empty house and a cold evening meal. His wife, Celia, had thrown herself into war work with a vengeance. She’d always flatly refused to help her husband in the shop, stating from the early days of their marriage that her place was at home caring for him and the family they’d have one day. But children had never come along and over the years the embittered, disappointed woman had lost interest in caring for just one man. She still refused to help in the shop but when war was declared she embraced the war effort with a passion, at last finding fulfilment. She’d joined the Women’s Voluntary Service to help with the war effort and now Donald returned home most evenings to a cold, deserted house and a solitary evening meal.
But at least, he thought, I don’t have to put up with Celia’s constant nagging and belittling accusations about what a failure of a husband I am. He sat down as Dot reached up to pull the blackout curtains, her already short skirt riding even higher up her shapely legs.
‘Here, let me,’ he offered, half rising again. He felt obliged to make the offer, but he’d much rather have sat and admired the bare legs with the stirring of long-denied feelings.
‘No, no, I can manage. I’ve got the knack.’ She gave the curtains a final twitch and turned. ‘There, now we can put the light on.’
As she sashayed across the room in the half-light, Donald pulled in a deep breath, trying to quell his rising desire. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and tried to set his mind on something – anything – else. ‘I understand you have a daughter. I’d like to meet her.’
‘Yes. She’s only young,’ Dot emphasized, deliberately ignoring the fact that when the man saw Jenny for himself, as he was bound to do, he would see her as a blossoming young woman, not a child any more. ‘She looks a lot older than she really is. The war’s robbing our youngsters of their childhood.’
‘Is she still at school?’
Dot gave a helpless shrug and the lie slipped easily from her lips. ‘She should be, but as we’ve only just moved back here, she’s refusing to go back, saying it’s time she found a job.’
‘I might be able to help you there. She’ll have to register for work, of course, and might have to go where she’s sent, but if I can help in any way . . .’
‘Oh, Mr Jenkins,’ Dot clasped her hands together, ‘I don’t want her to go anywhere unsuitable. She’s such a little innocent.’ She dabbed her eyes gently with a handkerchief, but was careful not to smudge her make-up.
Donald nodded. ‘I understand, though, sadly, I’ve no children of my own. We – we were never blessed.’
‘Weren’t you? Oh, I am sorry. You’d have been a wonderful father, I’m sure. You seem such a kind and caring man.’
Donald smiled weakly, quite overcome by the warmth of her praise. It had been a long time since any woman, other than his customers, who he knew were only grateful to him for what he could offer in the way of extra rations – legitimately, of course – had made him feel worthwhile. He basked in the long-forgotten feeling.
‘I’ll get you that tea,’ Dot said and, as she passed his chair, she patted his hand.
Only eight days after the euphoria surrounding the news of D-Day, a new and terrifying weapon was unleashed on the stoic Londoners. Warnings were soon issued to the public that should they hear the strange buzzing of the pilotless aircraft’s engine suddenly cut out above them, they should seek shelter immediately, for at that point the weapon would dive towards the ground and explode on impact.
‘As if we haven’t had enough,’ Dot grumbled. ‘No time to get to the underground with these blessed doodlebugs.’
‘At least we’ve got a Morrison in the front room, Mum,’ Jenny said reasonably.
‘If you think I’m sleeping in there, you’ve got another think coming.’ She fluffed her hair as she added, ‘I’ve got better things to do with my nights.’
Donald had begun calling two or three times a week after he’d closed the shop. Gradually, the sad little story of his home life emerged.
‘I don’t want to malign my wife. She’s a wonderful woman in many ways. She’s very good at organizing and – and running things. I expect she’s a great asset to the WVS. And she wasn’t always so – so cold. When we were courting and even when we were first married, she was always busy and lively, but she’s never been what you’d call an affectionate woman, not like – ’ here, he’d paused and gazed into Dot’s eyes. She leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. ‘You’re welcome here any time, Donald. You know that.’
And so the visits became even more frequent until the whole neighbourhood was aware of Donald Jenkins trotting down the street with a little parcel of goodies under his arm.
‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before that little mare had another feller in tow,’ Gladys remarked to Elsie over the backyard wall.
‘And he’s a married man. She’s never gone for a married man before.’
‘As far as you know, Elsie. We didn’t know a fat lot about that Arfer, now did we?’
‘True, but I’m more worried about what effect it’s having on young Jenny. She spends a lot of time at our house now. Keeping out of their way I suppose.’
‘Best thing, as long as she’s no trouble to you.’
‘None at all. She’s a real help about the place.’ Elsie laughed wryly. ‘Boys think housework’s beneath them.’
‘Shame she’s not your daughter, Elsie, she’d’ve had a much better life than the one she’s got with that mother of hers.’
Jenny saw little of Donald; she always made sure she was in her bedroom or at the Huttons’ house when he was due to call, which was most nights of the week now. But, inevitably, they were bound to meet now and again.
>
‘Donald’s coming for his tea on Sunday,’ Dot told her. ‘Now just you make sure you’re nice to him. He was going to ask around about a job for you.’
‘But I’ve registered for work. I’ve got to wait until—’
‘No harm in seeing what he’s got to say.’ She gripped Jenny’s arm tightly until the girl winced. ‘You be nice to him, you hear me? We’re in there, so you just do whatever he ses.’
Anger surged through Jenny as she thrust her face close to her mother’s. ‘And he’s got a wife in the big house, so just how d’you intend to get rid of her, eh?’
‘No need.’ Dot smiled. ‘I’m not anticipating marrying him. I just want what he can give us – for the moment.’
‘But he worships you, Mum. I can see it in his eyes. More than any of the others. I – I think he really loves you.’
‘There you are, then. Like I said, we’re in there.’
‘But—’
‘No “buts”, miss. Just do as I say. Be nice to him.’
Donald came with good news. ‘I’ve talked to the authorities and they’ve agreed that I can take Jenny on to help out in the shop. There’s such a lot of paperwork with all the rationing and the coupons. There, now what do you think to that?’ He beamed at them both and Dot gave a little squeal of delight and flung her arms round his neck, pressing herself to him.
But Jenny was thinking, Oh no! Not again. Not working in a shop receiving stolen goods and serving the customers with under-the-counter black market produce. I can’t bear it. But her mother’s words still rang in her ears: Be nice to Donald. You do whatever he asks you to do.
There was no escape for the young girl. If only she could run away. But, now, there was nowhere for her to run.
But Jenny had been wrong about one thing; Donald Jenkins was not taking part in any black market schemes. Even when Elsie had told her that he was an honest trader, Jenny hadn’t wholeheartedly believed her. But now she saw it for herself. If anyone approached him, they were sent packing, as Donald Jenkins said himself, with a flea in their ear.
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