by Rosie Archer
An extra loud bang made the table jump. Bits of plaster fell down around them. Della made her way over to Ivy, who was now lying on the bed with her eyes closed. She was scared, Della could tell, but rather than say anything, her daughter would pretend sleep. She bent over Ivy. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ she said. ‘I’m not a good model of a mother, am I?’
Ivy opened her eyes. ‘You’re the only one I’ve got, though.’
Della laughed. She thought suddenly of her own mother, who’d drunk herself to death a long time ago. She unclasped her fox fur and put it at the bottom of the bed, then kicked off her high heels. With a contented sigh she curled herself around her daughter. ‘If we’ve got to go, at least we’ll go together.’ Her daughter smelled of school and freshly washed hair.
‘If you’re going to sleep there, I’ll have the other bed,’ said Bert.
He heaved himself up from the chair and the bed creaked as he lay down, facing away from Della.
She could hear thuds and bangs coming from outside and occasionally the walls seemed to shake, then settle again. She listened to Ivy’s even breathing and guessed that her child now slept. Della carefully moved the book from Ivy’s hand and set it down out of the way. She loved Ivy with a fierceness that knew no boundaries.
Della shivered, remembering the hands that had touched her while her mother was spark out on the living-room sofa, gin bottles and fag ends souring the air. She had been too young, too scared, to leave the two rooms they lived in.
She’d learned to spot the men who would come for her when they’d had enough of her mother. The trouble was, she wasn’t strong enough to haul the big wardrobe in front of the door to keep them out of the bedroom. The rest of the flimsy furniture was no barrier to their advances. Oh, she’d told her mum all right, but Big Florrie could only see as far as the next drink in a bloke’s hand. Della’s escape would have been school, but when she was tiny her mother couldn’t be bothered to send her. Then, when she did go, the taunts from the other kids about her dirty clothes and smelly hair put a stop to her learning. She’d rather roam the Gosport streets than be jeered at. Della soon found she could charge for what her mother’s boyfriends had taken for free.
She remembered the time she’d approached a bakery she’d heard was hiring assistants.
‘Can you write down orders, girl?’ the manager had asked.
Della couldn’t read the names of the cakes and bread, even though the fragrant batches were clearly marked. She’d shaken her head and slunk away, knowing she was good for only one thing. The thing she could let men do to her while her mind soared to different places.
At thirteen she remembered crying out her mother’s name when her baby was born in a flower-shop doorway. At first she’d thought the tiny scrap was dead. But when she held the little girl in her arms, she began to cry. Della thought she’d never held anything as precious as that child. There were vases of daffodils among pots of trailing ivy, its green leaves shiny and beautiful in the shop’s windows, so Ivy became her name. She’d slept with the child latched to her breast and was awoken by an elderly woman, a cleaner, who took off her coat and spread it about Della. ‘If you can walk, come home with me, child.’
Elizabeth Petty had been more of a mother than Big Florrie ever had.
For two years Della lived with her, cleaning and cooking and earning her keep. Mrs Petty tried to teach her to read but whenever Della looked at a line of words they jumbled themselves into nonsense. She could write her name but no more, although she was as sharp as a tack. From Mrs Petty Della learned how to care for her daughter. Della loved Ivy but she had no mothering skills except those that came naturally. Then Mrs Petty began to do and say strange things. One time the police brought her home. Della used to stay awake to make sure Mrs Petty didn’t leave at nights. A son Della had never seen before came to the house and got his mother to sign a paper. It wasn’t long afterwards that Mrs Petty was taken away. The son sold the house and the furniture, and Della was out on the streets again.
When Della turned up at Bert’s café, she was sixteen and Ivy was clutching her skirts. Bert, feeling sorry for her and the clinging child, took her in to clean and occasionally cook. He was a perfect gentleman, a rough diamond but loved the bones of Ivy. Then, when Della was seventeen, Jim came into her life. He told her he loved her and he bought her pretty things. Of course she fell for him and his sharp suits, his expensive watch, his flash car. Bert wouldn’t allow any funny stuff, as he called it, above the café so sometimes Della left Ivy with Bert and spent time at Jim’s place.
When Jim asked her to sleep with a friend of his because he owed money and Della’s body would clear the slate, she agreed because she loved him. One man spiralled to several, and to show his gratitude Jim gave her money and bought her and Ivy presents. To show her love and trust of Jim, Della began working nights at the premises opposite the bus station. Now she had money to put aside for Ivy. Was Della happy? No. But she’d make sure Ivy never wanted for anything.
Now, listening to the bangs and thumps from bombs outside and the crash of falling furniture and crockery inside, Della realized both Ivy and Bert were asleep. She was cocooned between the only two people who loved her. She had long ago realized that Jim used her.
Her arm tightened about her daughter. Ivy was clever. Della wasn’t sure who her father was but Ivy had a talent for learning. She had a voice to melt a snowman’s icy heart and her office skills would soon land her a decent job.
Maybe Ivy would go away, leave Gosport. That was fine. Della wanted Ivy to do well and she’d move heaven and earth to help her.
The steady wail of the all-clear penetrated the walls of the cellar.
‘It’s five in the morning,’ said Bert, looking at the clock. He yawned, scratched his head, got up from the bed and went across to the table. He poured two thick black cups of tea from the flask, came back and handed one to Della. She took it with a smile. They sat, not speaking but companionable, while Ivy slept.
‘I thought, from the noise last night, the stairs had caved in,’ said Della, handing him the cup when it was empty.
‘We’re still here,’ said Bert.
After putting the crockery back on the table, Bert tried the door at the top of the steps, while Della shook brick dust from her fox fur.
The door opened a crack but would go no further. ‘Bike’s stuck across the passage,’ Bert said, and managed to shove it out of the way. Its bell rang as it tumbled to the ground.
‘Can I have some tea?’ Ivy murmured.
‘There’s some in the flask,’ answered Bert. ‘Good morning, Ivy.’
‘That’ll be stewed,’ said Ivy, wide awake now.
‘Make some fresh in a minute,’ said Della. ‘When we get out of here.’
She stood on the stairs, looking past Bert. Glass covered the hallway. The front-door panels had shattered. Bert went straight into the café. He wasn’t swearing so she guessed, despite the noise she’d heard last night, there wasn’t much damage. Ivy scrambled past, moaning about the bike.
Della left the passage and stood in the street, looking about her. Red dust from Gosport bricks clung to every surface and hung in the air, like mist. People were emerging from the Fox and Murphy’s the ironmonger’s. They looked dazed.
The sky across the ferry was orange, and black smoke poured into the heavens. An ARP man covered with dust was pushing his bike carefully through glass and rubble.
‘What got hit?’ Della called.
‘Part of the Dockyard’s still burning,’ he shouted back. ‘The shipyard near the ferry went up. Timber’s still burning. Anybody hurt in there?’ He motioned towards the café.
‘No, thank God,’ answered Della.
‘Give it a few hours if you’re hoping to get out of Gosport. The road to Fareham’s in a hell of a state.’
Della watched him skirt around a tumbledown wall. She called to the manager of the Fox, who was standing in the rubble scratching his head and looking at the brok
en window in the bar: ‘You all right, Sam?’
He shrugged. ‘Put your shoes on, Della, before you cut your feet something terrible.’
Della looked down. Her nylons were laddered. One of her red-painted toenails poked through a hole. ‘Silly cow.’
Chapter Twenty
‘It’s funny not hearing her gramophone, isn’t it?’
‘She could be out, Ivy,’ Rainey said.
‘I don’t think so.’ Ivy banged on the door of Bea’s house. After a short while it opened to reveal Eddie, his shirtsleeves rolled up. Ivy couldn’t help herself. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
Eddie looked sheepish. ‘Building work’s going through a sticky patch. I got a sub-contractor doing repairs and small stuff. Someone’s got to be here for Granddad because Mum’s got a cleaning job to help out.’ He paused. ‘Regular policeman, aren’t you?’
Ivy knew she was blushing. If only Eddie wasn’t so good-looking, and kind. In a way he reminded her of Bert, a similar sort of solid man. ‘We’ve come to take Bea to the Criterion to see Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. It’s Babes in Arms and we know she’ll love the singing.’
‘You’d best come in before the neighbours start earwigging.’ He stood aside and allowed them to pass along the passage into the kitchen.
Granddad was asleep in his chair, a newspaper across his lap.
Eddie’s blue eyes fixed on Ivy. ‘She won’t go with you. She’s hardly been out of her bedroom since . . .’ He couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘What about her job?’ Rainey looked at Eddie.
‘I telephoned to say she was quitting.’ For a moment there was silence, except for Granddad’s snoring. ‘She can do without the girls she was with that night. Anyway, she couldn’t face the gossip.’
He used his fingers to push back his blond hair. ‘We decided it was for the best.’ Ivy saw he was exhausted. She felt a fluttering inside her just looking at his worried, honest face.
‘I can understand that,’ Rainey said. ‘Did you tell the police?’
‘What can they do?’ Eddie was angry. ‘The manager of the Fox said best to leave things be. Local gossip will be bad enough. I agreed with him. That bloody sailor could be anywhere in the world by now.’ His face was hard. ‘If I ever meet up with him I’ll kill the bastard.’ He sighed. ‘I’m glad you didn’t let the grass grow under your feet before you came round. Bea’s only missed one choir practice but already she’s saying she’s thinking of packing it in—’
Ivy put her hand on his arm. ‘We’ve got to get Bea to stop hiding away. She needs to start feeling good about herself again.’
Eddie was staring at her. So was Rainey. But Ivy knew they had to bolster Bea’s confidence, not only because she was their friend but because with the mood she was in now she might permanently drop out of the choir, and all the hard work they’d put into ‘The Bluebird Song’ would go down the drain, along with their hopes and dreams. It needed three voices. Two weren’t enough.
‘She couldn’t stand on a stage and sing, not now.’ Eddie’s brow was furrowed.
‘Not straight away, but she can get back into the land of the living by coming to the pictures with us.’
‘She’s in bed, not washed or anything.’
‘Don’t make excuses. Why d’you think we came round early? There’s plenty of time before the second showing. Why don’t you make us a cup of tea?’
Eddie looked bewildered. Ivy knew he was more used to giving orders than taking them, but he went out into the scullery and Ivy heard the pop of the gas.
‘Come on,’ Ivy said to Rainey, and made for the stairs.
Ivy knocked politely on Bea’s bedroom door then, hearing no answer, opened it and went in, dragging Rainey with her. The room smelled of stale perfume and Ivy had to step carefully over the clothes and magazines on the floor. She went to the sash window and lifted the bottom panes, allowing fresh air in.
She heard Rainey say gently, ‘Come on, love.’
Ivy turned and saw the inert bundle in the bed. Rainey’s soft words had done nothing. Ivy picked up the glass of water on the chair by the bed and pulled back the candlewick bedspread. Bea’s eyes were tightly shut but they opened wide when the water hit her. She sat up, bewilderment on her swollen face, her blonde hair dripping.
‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
‘Putting fire back into you.’ Ivy grinned at her.
‘I’m not ready—’
‘Course you are.’
Already Ivy was trying to scrub Bea’s face using the bedspread. ‘We’re not going to let you rot in that bed.’ Ivy tugged at the bedspread and blankets, pulling them off her. ‘Get up, washed and dressed. We’re going to the pictures.’
‘I can’t. I feel so ashamed.’ For a single moment silence reigned.
‘So you ought to, drinking yourself silly like that,’ said Ivy. ‘But what he did was wrong. He took advantage of you. You’ve got two choices. Let the damn bloke spoil the rest of your life or get on with it.’ She bent down and took Bea’s hand. It was damp and clammy. ‘I know what it’s like having people gossip about you,’ she said. ‘You sink or you swim.’
Bea was staring at her. ‘I packed in my job.’
‘Get another one. Go and work in Priddy’s Hard armament factory – they’re always wanting girls.’ Ivy started humming ‘The Bluebird Song’, then looked at Rainey, who was sitting on the end of the bed holding Bea’s favourite grey slacks and fluffy pink jumper, ready for her to put them on. ‘Come on, Rainey, sing!’
Rainey joined in, then stopped. ‘The film is Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.’ She started singing once more, and stopped again. ‘C’mon, Bea, we need three voices.’
Chapter Twenty-one
‘I’m never going to be able to thank you enough for what you’re doing for me, Syd.’ Jo liked it when he was in her shed, tinkering with the car. It gave her the chance to do some of the little things for him she’d almost forgotten how to do for a man. She’d baked a Madeira cake, his favourite, intending to wrap it and send him home with it later. She’d been saving her sugar and marge rations for ages.
He finished wiping his hands on the oily cloth and said, ‘I’ll be here when the bloke calls tomorrow night. I’ve told him cash only, no cheques.’ He stared hard at her. ‘Look, you don’t have to sell this little beauty, if you want to keep her for yourself.’ He ran a hand lovingly over the MG’s bonnet.
He’d probably be as tender with a woman, Jo thought. ‘Syd, of course I want to keep her but half of Queens Road went up in smoke the other night and that’s only across the railway lines. I’m scared stiff for myself and Rainey. Besides, I can’t afford to run a car and I’ve got used to my bike, so I’d rather have the money for the MG in the bank for when Rainey needs it.’
‘There you go again. You never think of yourself, do you? Anyway, where is Rainey?’
Jo grinned at him. ‘She’s gone to the pictures with her mates. Look, I need to pay you for fixing this car, especially for sorting out the petrol gauge. It’s never worked properly before.’
‘I don’t want your money. I said I’d get her up and running in my spare time and you’ve more than repaid me with hot dinners.’
Jo wanted to throw her arms around his neck but she held back, as usual. She felt the blush rise to her cheeks. He stared at her, then said, ‘Jo, if you really want to thank me why don’t you let me into your confidence? I’m not stupid. You’ve not been treated right and it’s made you wary of me when there’s no need . . . I’d like to get to know you better. I’ll keep anything you tell me a secret, I promise.’
Jo had revealed nothing of her life before coming to Gosport but now the desire to blurt it all out nearly overwhelmed her. The words burst from her lips. ‘Not here, inside. I do want to tell you because sometimes I think I’ll go doolally bottling everything up.’
Jo made him sit by the range, and after she’d made tea, she told him why she and Rainey had left Portsmouth.
> Syd listened without interrupting. When she’d finished he said, ‘It makes sense now, why you shy away whenever I come near you.’ His face was inscrutable.
‘I never used to be like that,’ Jo said, and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m on edge all the time, waiting for him to find me. Common sense tells me he must be abroad fighting, or he’d have found us before now. Every time there’s a knock at the door I start shaking.’
‘He sounds a right bastard!’ There was disgust in Syd’s eyes. After a while he said, ‘You could find out where he is. After all, you’re still his wife.’
‘No!’ Jo almost shouted. ‘I don’t want him to find me, ever.’
Jo could see Syd wanted to comfort her, and she wanted relief from her suffering more than anything, but she didn’t have the courage to move into his arms. ‘Please keep my secret,’ she said.
For a moment he gazed at her. Then he said, ‘Jo, I’ll do anything for you, anything.’ And Jo believed him. He turned to leave, and as he reached the front door, he said, ‘You know where I am if you need me, but I’ll be here tomorrow night to make sure you get a good deal on the car.’
*
On the screen Judy Garland strode purposefully along, arm in arm with Mickey Rooney. A crowd of young people marched behind them, singing.
For a single moment Bea was unashamedly happy. She stole a look at Ivy’s rapt expression in the dull light of the auditorium and sighed. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would spend this afternoon with Ivy and Rainey. As if she had read her mind, Rainey squeezed her hand and Bea smiled at her.
If they hadn’t come to the house today she’d still be in bed, her mind going over and over what she had allowed to happen to her. If she hadn’t been falling-down drunk she would never have contemplated stepping outside with that sailor. While it was true he shouldn’t have taken advantage of her, she hadn’t resisted his advances. It was like she’d needed someone to care about her, and when he’d wanted her body it was like he’d wanted all of her. Self-loathing swamped her. Bea forced herself to stare again at the screen.
