by Joanna Toye
‘Thought the heavens were falling in!’ Rita remarked.
She’d overdone the rouge in an attempt to disguise how much sleep she’d lost and it gave her long face with its downturned mouth a slightly clownish appearance. Lily would normally have wanted to smile; today she just nodded agreement.
Apart from spreading the good news that Gladys had safely delivered not one but two babies, Lily and Jim had decided to keep the rest under wraps. Jim was going to tell Mr Simmonds; Lily told the full story to just one other friend in the store, known always as Brenda from Books. And at dinnertime, she got a pass out and went to find Beryl in her shop.
‘Dear God!’ Beryl cried, when the customer she’d been advising had settled on oyster crepe, paid her deposit, and departed. ‘Isn’t there anything the doctors can do?’
‘Nothing. Just watch and wait.’
Lily was so tired and dispirited she could hardly get the words out and Beryl moved from shocked to subdued as the full implications of the news sank in.
‘Puts everything else into perspective, doesn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘Even this wretched war.’
‘What war?’ said Lily.
She went straight to the hospital from work. Thoughtfully, they’d kept Gladys in the side room. It would have been too cruel to put her in the maternity ward with the other new mothers who could do everything for their babies and marvel at their tiny and perfect faces, fingers, and toes.
Gladys was sitting up in bed. Her eyes weren’t bandaged and they were open; they looked perfectly normal. They had last night – that was what was so unsettling. She turned her head towards the door when Lily opened it, but Lily might as well have been a nurse. Gladys looked blankly at her till she spoke.
‘Hello! It’s me.’
Gladys recognised her voice.
‘Lily,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘How could I not?’ Lily pulled up a chair and sat down. The miracle she’d been praying for all day – that Gladys’s sight might miraculously have come back – obviously hadn’t materialised.
‘You must be tired out after last night and a day at work, that’s all.’
Trust Gladys to be thinking about everyone else.
‘Don’t be daft! What about you?’
‘I’m OK.’
Until Gladys mentioned her sight or lack of it, Lily didn’t like to bring it up. The next obvious thing to ask was about the babies: where were they, had Gladys seen them? But then she couldn’t actually see them, could she?
‘Are the babies in the nursery?’ she hazarded. That seemed a safe bet.
‘Yes,’ said Gladys flatly. ‘They won’t let me have them with me. Too risky, they say.’
‘Well, I suppose they have to play safe.’ Lily chewed her lip. They had to get onto something a bit more cheerful. Ah! Inspiration. ‘But what about names? I’m dying to know what you came up with!’
Gladys had agonised. She favoured something modern, she’d said: Roy or Graham for a boy; Angela or Pauline for a girl. Bill, on the other hand, liked the more traditional names: William or George, Katherine or Anne. They were never going to fall out over it – it wasn’t in their natures – but there’d been some animated discussions while Bill had been at home, and Lily knew they’d continued back and forth in letters. But she suspected that Bill would give way to Gladys in the end – she’d done the hard work, after all.
‘They’re M. I. Webb and F. I. Webb.’
M. I.? F. I.? Lily couldn’t remember any of the names under consideration that began with those letters. Maybe Gladys had decided, in the end, to keep the final choice a secret between herself and Bill. Michael? Malcolm? Or was the little boy the ‘F’? Frederick maybe, or Frank? And Ian, perhaps. And what about Gladys’s daughter? Marianne? Mary? Frances? Isabel? Iris?
‘Right!’ she said brightly. ‘And what do they stand for?’
‘Male Infant Webb and Female Infant Webb.’ Gladys’s voice had started to wobble. ‘How can I give them their names, Lily, names they’ll have all their lives, till I can see them and see what they look like?’
‘Oh, Gladys!’ Lily seized her friend’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry about all this! You don’t deserve it! It’s so unfair! It’s always the wrong people! And you’re being so brave!’
‘I’m not.’ Gladys loosed her hand from Lily’s and groped for her hanky. Lily could see it on the coverlet, and gently pushed it towards her. Gladys put it to her eyes. ‘I thought I’d cried all my tears. All morning I was at it and had another good go when your mum was here. This stupid eye thing doesn’t seem to affect that!’
Lily was welling up herself, but she had to be strong – or at least sound it.
‘I know it’s hard, so hard. It’s the cruellest blow. But it’s not for ever. Your sight will come back, the doctor told us.’
‘So they say.’
‘You have to believe it, Gladys! It’s going to be all right!’
Gladys turned her head away.
‘You try lying here all day, hurting, empty, no baby in your arms, and tell yourself that.’
Lily didn’t stay long. Gladys said she was tired and in the stuffy atmosphere of the hospital, Lily was almost falling asleep herself. When she got home, completely wrung out, she had a good cry too, and all over Jim’s good work shirt. And she started again when she saw the telegram that the ecstatic Bill, in his ignorance, had wired straight back.
OVER THE MOON TELL GLAD I LOVE HER CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THEM ALL xxx
Three days passed with no change in Gladys’s condition. At work, Lily moved through the hours robotically but on Gladys’s fourth day in hospital, Mr Marlow, on his rounds, motioned Lily aside again. Rita threw her a meaningful look which she ignored. For once, Cedric ignored the formalities.
‘Mr Simmonds has apprised me of Miss Huskins – Mrs Webb’s – situation. I’ve sent flowers and a basket of fruit.’
‘I’ve seen them, sir,’ said Lily. ‘Thank you. Gladys was very touched. She’d write if she could—’
‘Goodness, I don’t need thanks!’ Cedric waved the idea away. ‘It’s the least I can do. But as her employer I want you to know that if this situation continues, I’m prepared to do more. If the doctors here in Hinton can’t do anything for her, I’d be very happy to pay for a second opinion – or in the future, any treatment that might help. You must tell her that.’
Lily was dumbfounded.
‘Oh, I will! That’s very good of you!’
‘Not at all. I’d do the same for any of the staff who found themselves in a medical emergency,’ Mr Marlow replied. ‘But this is especially sad. It’s a terrible thing when congratulations have to be mixed with condolences.’
Lily could only nod. He’d put it very well and she knew why: the death of his wife so soon after giving birth. He knew what he was talking about. Mr Marlow smiled his reedy smile.
‘Now, back to work. Business as usual. The show must go on, eh?’
And he moved away.
‘Well?’ Rita loomed up. ‘What’s he got to say this time? Any date for Betty coming back?’
Lily was too bamboozled, weary, and preoccupied to score points.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing about that. But,’ she added feelingly, ‘I really hope it won’t be long.’
That evening, as usual, she went to see Gladys. Her milk had come in and they were bringing the babies to her one at a time so she could feed them. She was trying to feed the little boy when Lily got there. The nurse motioned her to come in, but also to sit quietly while Gladys concentrated.
Male Infant Webb was having trouble latching on and with him flailing around and unable to see his little mouth, Lily could see what a struggle it was for Gladys. His face scarlet, he was yelling with hunger and frustration, trapping his hands in his nightgown and getting all hot and bothered. Gladys tried and tried without success and it wasn’t long before she began to cry too. The nurse frowned and nodded her head at Lily to go and she crept silently away.
; Jim was out on ARP duty, but thankfully, her mum was home when, in black despair, Lily got in. Dora was at the stove, reheating the end of yesterday’s stew stretched out with pearl barley and cabbage.
‘What are we going to do,’ Lily worried, ‘if this goes on? Mr Marlow can pay for all the specialists he likes, but right now … Gladys can’t stay in hospital for ever. Who’s going to look after her, let alone the babies? Not her gran; she’s only been to see her once as it is!’
Lily took the dreary National Loaf out of the bread crock and put it on the board.
Dora sighed. She’d been having the same worries herself, and another one she didn’t dare voice: even when Gladys got her sight back, as the doctors kept assuring them she would, what if, God forbid, Bill never made it through the war?
‘I went round for another word with Florrie today,’ she said. ‘All she could do was moan about how one baby would have been enough trouble, but Gladys had to go one better by having two. And as for this eyesight thing … the way she was talking, you’d think Gladys had asked to go blind.’
Lily sawed savagely at the loaf, wishing the crust was Florrie’s neck and the crumb her puddingy face.
‘And to cap it all,’ Dora went on, ‘we’ve had another telegram from Bill. Rambling on, no thought to the cost, sent when he’d been wetting the babies’ heads if you ask me. He wants every last detail and photographs of Gladys and the little ones! How long can we keep it from him, that’s what I’d like to know!’
Chapter 9
After a beautiful spring and the heat of May, the next few days were anything but ‘flaming June’. Lily shivered as she and Jim walked to work on the first Monday of the month.
‘A week,’ she marvelled. ‘A week, that’s all, since Gladys had the twins. It seems like years ago.’
Jim said nothing. He felt for Gladys, of course, but he had other things on his mind. There were staffing problems at work. Toys were a man (or woman) down as, to save on costs, Gladys wouldn’t be replaced. On Childrenswear, Betty Simkins was no substitute for Lily, with no interest in the stock and even less in her young customers. There was another edition of the Marlows Messenger to fill. Should he print the simple fact – that Gladys had had twins – or hold back till her sight returned and he could add a quote from the happy mother? And then there was the question of Lily’s ring. All that had been put on hold.
Neither of them was unduly cheerful when they presented themselves on their departments, but as ever it was not just best foot but best face forward for the customers. Lily had quite a successful morning, notching up three sales, including a wallet and purse set in navy calf – one of the best they had. That would be something to tell Gladys when she saw her. Beryl was going tonight which was just as well – Lily was running out of chirpy chat and poor Gladys had nothing to contribute.
She was all set to put a good face on things, then, when she ran into Miss Frobisher in the Ladies’ at dinnertime. Her back was turned and she was half leaning out of the window but Lily would have known Miss Frobisher anywhere: the bird’s-eye check suit, the sleek roll of honey-blonde hair. She was having a crafty smoke. She jumped and spun round when she heard the door, but relaxed when she saw it was Lily.
‘I know, I’m supposed to have given up!’ she sighed.
Mr Simmonds didn’t like her smoking, Lily knew. He wasn’t a smoker, unusual for ex-Army, but then he’d been a PT instructor and made a big fuss about lung capacity.
‘I won’t tell,’ she smiled.
Miss Frobisher took another long, delicious drag and stubbed her cigarette out on the sill. The end was stained with her crimson lipstick.
‘I have cut down,’ she said. ‘But really, after Miss Simkins was almost rude to Mrs MacRorie …’
‘She wasn’t!’
Mrs MacRorie was a long-standing and loyal customer, and with three boys to clothe, a valuable one.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve made representations.’
‘Have you? Good!’ Despite her resolve, the words were out before Lily could help herself. Miss Frobisher pounced on them.
‘Are you not enjoying life on the ground floor?’
Lily quickly backtracked.
‘No, no, really, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘I had three sales this morning.’
‘That wasn’t quite what I asked. And I daresay you’d rather be … well, in more familiar surroundings when you’re so worried about Gladys.’ Miss Frobisher was one of the few people who’d been told the full story.
She took a miniature tin of Parma violet sweets from her suit pocket and offered one to Lily. She took one out of politeness; they were too highly perfumed for her, but they disguised the smell of a cigarette pretty well. Miss Frobisher popped one in her mouth, snapped the tin shut, and stowed it away.
‘It must be devastating for her – even if they do say it’s temporary. How long is temporary, after all?’
‘That’s what we’d all like to know.’
‘I’m sure.’ Miss Frobisher pulled down her suit jacket and checked her lipstick in the mirror. ‘Still … by the end of the day, I hope you’ll be getting some good news. Even if there’s none from the hospital.’
Then, with her most enigmatic smile – she was good at those – Miss Frobisher was gone.
Good news? Had she served her time? Could she dare to hope …? Lily practised an enigmatic smile in the mirror, but it just made her look like a constipated cat. Giving up, she went back to her department, hoping that soon her smile would be a genuine one.
Sure enough, when she emerged after a long, dull afternoon – not a single sale – Jim was waiting for her at the staff entrance. If he’d been a cat, he’d have been the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.
‘Back to Childrenswear!’ he said. ‘Next Monday! And as first sales!’
‘What?’
‘Simmonds told me I could tell you. Happy?’
‘Oh yes, yes, yes!’ Lily dropped her bag and gas mask and flung her arms round his neck. He gave her a smacking kiss. ‘Now all we need is good news for Gladys too!’
The breakthrough, when it came, though, was one that no one had expected. The next day, Lily took her dinner break early, and Jim managed to get on early dinner too. So they were both in the canteen when the wireless, which the canteen ladies always had on in the background, was suddenly turned up loud. The clatter of knives and forks and the sound of voices was stilled amongst warnings of ‘Shh!’ and ‘Quiet!’
‘What’s going on?’ Lily whispered across the table to Jim.
He shrugged and put his finger to his lips as they heard:
‘Here is a special bulletin read by John Snagge.’
He paused. Then there was just the crackle of the wireless over the ether before the announcer continued:
‘D-Day has come. Early this morning, the Allies began the assault on the north-western face of Hitler’s European Fortress. The first official news came just after half-past nine when Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force – usually called SHAEF from its initials – issued Communique No. 1. This said:
Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied Naval Forces, supported by strong Air Forces, began landing Allied Armies this morning on the Northern coast of France.
It was announced a little later that General Montgomery is in Command of the Army Group carrying out the assault. This Army Group includes British, Canadian, and United States Forces.’
That was it. There was a stunned silence, then whoops and cheers from their fellow workmates. Lily felt tears leaking from her eyes and she wasn’t the only one.
‘Thank goodness!’ she said, grabbing for Jim’s hand. ‘Thank goodness it’s come at last, but thank God that Sid and Reg aren’t anything to do with it!’
Sid was in a desk job at the Admiralty; Reg, who’d fought in the Western Desert with the Eighth Army, was still in North Africa, working on the reconstruction of Libya. He’d met his fiancée, Gwenda, out there – she was a driver with the MTC. He
r sister was out there too, in the WAAF.
Jim nodded.
‘Yes. It won’t be a doddle, though. I don’t suppose Hitler’s going to sit by doing a jigsaw while we march on Berlin.’
Jim was right, but even so, thought Lily, even so. Mr Churchill had said that the victory at El Alamein was the end of the beginning. Could this, at last, be the beginning of the end?
There’d been rumours of a big push to recapture Europe for a while, and puzzlement when it hadn’t happened in May when the settled weather offered clear skies and a calm sea. The main thing was that it was happening now.
There was lots to talk about, then, when Lily visited Gladys the next day. The news about her return to Childrenswear and her promotion had been received with exclamations and hugs from Dora, naturally, but Lily felt almost guilty about telling Gladys her good news. At the same time she knew that Gladys was a good enough friend – and person – to be pleased for her even though her own situation still seemed so hopeless.
Sure enough, when Lily told her, Gladys reached up at once to give her a hug. She was now considered well enough to be up and dressed and was led up and down the corridor every day by a nurse ‘to get those muscles working again!’. As Lily had learnt more about this strange cortical blindness thing, it had emerged that Gladys could tell the difference between light and dark, roughly. She could tell when they shone a light in her eyes; she could tell that the window side of her room was lighter than the side with the door. Beyond that, she couldn’t make anything out. But it didn’t stop her being Gladys, and she was thrilled for Lily.
‘What did I tell you!’ she exclaimed. ‘I said at Christmas you’d be first sales before long!’
‘It’s felt long enough, putting up with Rita’s sneering,’ Lily grimaced. ‘But I am pleased, of course I am. And thank you for being pleased for me.’
‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ said Gladys. ‘Sit down and tell me what else has been going on.’
Lily pulled up a chair and sat down with her back to the window. It was another typical Midland evening, fine after a dull day.
