by Carol Rivers
Connie blushed as he smiled at her.
‘You’re a very good player.’ Jenny nodded, speaking suddenly. ‘I love to hear the trumpet. Especially when it’s played so well.’
‘Than you, ma’am.’ Clint gave her a big white smile. ‘I’m real pleased to hear you say that.’
Elsie, Norman and Ted started to play. Connie decided that at the next available opportunity she would ask him more about those lil’ ol’ boats that opened up at the front.
Chapter Eighteen
It was the last waltz and Clint asked Connie to dance. ‘You dance real well, Connie,’ he said as he took her in his arms and placed his cheek against her head. ‘Makes me forget about home for a while. New York is such a great place to be at Christmas. You get the full works, snow, Santa, and you’d go crazy for the shops.’
‘Have you lived there long?’ she asked, pressing slightly away.
‘All my life, till Mom died. Me and my kid sister, Janey, went to live out of state, with relatives. But pretty soon we got sent back to Pop.’ He breathed softly into her hair. ‘With him being on the road and playing all over the country, Janey and me learned pretty fast to look after ourselves. She’s married now, moved out west.’
‘But you stayed in New York?’
‘Had this day job in construction so’s I could play the clubs with Pops at night. Then he got ill and died five years back. I signed up after Pearl Harbour; gee, those Japs sure turned our country around. God alone knows what you Londoners have suffered.’
‘What you said about those small ships,’ she asked, taking her opportunity. ‘Do you really think Vic could be involved with them?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I do. The NY dockyards are building them in their hundreds so’s they’re ready for Roosevelt and Churchill’s plans to invade Europe. It’s guys like Vic who are sailing them back across the pond and risking their necks against the subs.’
Connie shivered. She wished she hadn’t asked now. What had the world turned into when it sent so many young men to war with the threat of death looming over them at every moment?
When the music ended, Clint looked down at her. ‘I’ve sure had a swell time, Connie.’ Politely, he held out his arm and guided her back to the table.
Jenny and Len were preparing to leave and Clint lifted Connie’s coat from the back of the chair.
‘It’s mighty cold out there. Can I give you folks a lift home?’
Len and Jenny nodded but Connie hesitated.
Clint chuckled softly when he saw her waver. ‘Don’t tell me, you’d prefer to walk.’
‘No, she bloody wouldn’t,’ Len said before she could reply. ‘Not at this time of night. If you’re offering, Clint, then all of us are accepting.’
The sergeant collected his instrument and they all made their way downstairs. Connie sat with Len in the back of the truck and Jenny took the passenger seat.
Len nudged her arm gently. ‘Good night after all, wasn’t it?’
In the darkness, she gazed up at the clear, star-studded sky. For once it was cold and frosty, a typical winter’s night. The fog that had made everywhere so damp and dreary had lifted and the spirit of Christmas was in the air.
She thought of Vic and wondered if he was in the middle of a sub-infested ocean. After what Clint had said, she hoped he was still at the Barbizon Plaza. She would rather have him safe than in the thick of action, even if it did mean him dancing with the most glamorous women in New York!
This Christmas, three of the people she loved most were missing. Billy had never moved back home and only made occasional visits. Mum had gone spare at first, but no amount of her nagging had brought him back and finally she’d given up. Vic was fighting a war, the end of which seemed nowhere in sight. Wherever Ada was, Connie hoped she was happy. Their quarrel had been over nothing at all. She just wished she could see Ada and make amends.
The fog and the blackout made it dangerous to travel and Christmas week arrived low key. On the Saturday she had arranged to help Pat with her move, but Lucky was sick. Reluctantly she had to cancel and Kevin and Sylvie went in her place. By Christmas Day, Lucky was worse. On Boxing Day, he was running a fever and Kevin cycled round for Dr Deakin.
‘Plenty to drink,’ the doctor advised after he’d given Lucky a thorough examination. ‘Keep him warm, but try to get the fever down. I’ll call again tomorrow. We’ll watch him carefully. If he’s not better, I’m afraid he’ll have to go to hospital.’
Connie spent a sleepless night. She bathed Lucky’s face in cool water, but his cheeks were burning. The following day the doctor returned. ‘His temperature’s down, but I’m still not happy.’
Once more Connie didn’t sleep. On Tuesday morning the rash appeared.
‘Measles,’ the doctor confirmed. He patted Lucky’s arm gently and pulled up his sheet. ‘You’re over the worst now, young man.’
Connie applied calamine lotion to the rash and both she and Lucky slept that night.
‘Where did Christmas go this year?’ Ebbie complained on Wednesday morning as he wearily opened his paper and yawned loudly.
Connie studied her father. She wondered if living with a small child in their midst was the cause of his fatigue. She was beginning to feel an imposition. Her mother had volunteered to have Lucky when Connie went back to work. Lofty hadn’t had measles and it was dangerous for a grown-up to catch. Connie hadn’t considered the likelihood of things like infectious diseases. What would be next on the list? she wondered, as New Year’s Eve arrived. She longed to talk to Ada, to have a laugh about their worries. Where was she? Why had she gone off without saying goodbye?
That night Lucky’s breathing returned to normal. She wondered what the future would hold as one year ended and a new one began. Where was Vic? Suddenly the picture of Gilbert Tucker sprang to mind. Was he really Lucky’s grandfather?
As her lids grew heavy, she said a prayer for the millions of people in turmoil. She was so lucky to have her family alive and well. The stories of atrocities towards the Jews were in every newspaper. German cities were now being bombed in retaliation and innocent men, women and children were dying, just as they had in Britain. The Russians had suffered terrible tragedy, as had all the countries of Europe, whilst Japan had turned a new page of the war at Pearl Harbour. Who could say when it all would end?
She missed Vic so much. She had to believe he would return. As she closed her eyes, she saw his face. His dark eyes looked down on her, his smile filled her with warmth and longing.
In sleep he drew her into his arms. His lips touched her face and she heard him whisper that he loved her.
In January, the Luftwaffe got its second wind. A school was flattened, killing forty-four children outright. Connie was afraid to leave Lucky. The raids were on the increase again.
A month or so later, the warning went. In the panic to get down the Tube 173 lives were lost. Then rumours of a new and more deadly Nazi weapon began to circulate. Everyone feared the worst. Even Jenny at work took time to join in the discussion.
What was it that Hitler had planned for them? In March, the RAF dropped 900 tons of bombs on Berlin. The British pilots reported they could still see the fires 200 miles away. A big part of Dusseldorf was laid waste. In the Battle of the Ruhr, the sheet of orange flame from the explosions below shot 1000 feet into the air.
A letter arrived from Vic one Friday. Connie read it as she sat on the wall after work. ‘I don’t know when you’ll receive this, sweetheart, I hope in time for your birthday. I wish I could be with you on your twenty-first. How is everyone? And Lucky? Grown I expect. I want to walk with you to Island Gardens and sit on the bench. I imagine it every night. We took freedom for granted, but never again. Remember, freedom is what we’re fighting for. I’ll be with you in thought on the 3rd April. Sorry this is short and I can’t say much. You know why. Deepest love as always, and remember me. Your Vic.’
Connie was staring at the letter, when someone tapped her shoulder.
‘Are you Connie?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Albie Cross, Gran’s friend.’
Connie jumped off the wall. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Pat. She’s having the baby.’
‘But she’s not due for three weeks!’
‘Can you come?’
They hurried to the gate, only seeing the truck as they turned into the street. Clint waved through the open window. She grabbed the old man’s arm and pulled him with her. This time it was Connie who asked Clint for his help.
‘How is she?’ Connie asked the doctor as she scrambled out from the truck. ‘Has she had the baby?’
Doctor Deakin nodded. ‘I’m sending round the midwife.’
‘Is Pat all right?’
‘Yes, but there were complications,’ was all he said as he climbed into his little black car. ‘Gran will explain.’
Connie ran back to the truck. ‘Thanks for the lift, Clint.’
‘Has she had the baby?’
‘Yes, but the doctor said she had complications.’
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t know how long I’m going to be. But it would help if you could tell Nan and Lofty what’s happened. I’ll be late home tonight.’
He nodded and started the engine. ‘Can I call back for you?’
‘No, I’ll catch the bus.’
‘Take care, Connie.’ The truck roared off.
Albie was still standing on the pavement. ‘Tell Alice to shout if she wants me.’
‘Thanks, Albie.’ Connie hurried up the steps. The house was quiet, too quiet. The door to Pat’s room was closed but Vic’s was open. A crib stood beside his empty bed. She could hear movement from the kitchen, but made a detour to the baby. A little red face surrounded by thick black hair poked out above the white covers. He looked perfect.
‘Hello, ducks,’ Gran said softly as Connie entered the kitchen. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Where’s Doris?’
‘I sent her next door to Eve Beale.’ Connie sat down at the table and waited for Gran to continue. ‘The baby isn’t quite right.’
‘He looks fine . . .’
Gran shook her head before Connie finished. ‘His foot is misshapen. No one knows why. Doctor said most likely he was growing like it inside her.’
‘Will he be able to walk?’ Connie asked quickly.
Gran sighed heavily. ‘At the moment it’s just a stub that turns inward. And, as if that’s not bad enough for the poor girl, Dr Deakin says this is the end of her childbearing days.’
‘Oh, Gran, poor Pat.’
A small sound echoed and they both stood up. ‘That’s the baby,’ Gran said hurriedly. ‘He must be hungry again. Go and talk to Pat and cheer her up. The birth took it out of her. She fed him, then fell asleep as we cleaned her up. Must be feeling rotten about now, especially with what the doc told her.’
Connie hurried towards Pat’s closed door. Without Laurie, she was going to need all the support she could get and by hook or by crook that was what she was going to get if it cost Connie every last ounce of strength she had.
It was third of April and a warm, sunny Saturday. The skies were clear when Connie left for work.
‘Happy birthday, Con,’ Len said, pressing an envelope into her hand.
‘Happy birthday,’ Jenny added pleasantly. She held out a small packet. ‘It’s not much, I’m afraid.’
Connie opened them both. A card depicting a bowl of red roses from Len and Jenny’s gift, a white lacy handkerchief with a pink ‘21’ embroidered in the corner.
‘It’s lovely, Jenny.’
‘I wish I was twenty-one again,’ Len said ruefully.
‘Just start counting backwards.’ Connie grinned.
‘Are you celebrating tonight?’
‘Mum is making a cake.’ Connie nodded. ‘Though it might be made out of cardboard.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s the thought that counts.’
‘Happy birthday, Connie.’ Mr Burns handed her a card.
‘Thank you, Mr Burns.’
‘Enjoy it while you may. Youth doesn’t last for ever.’ Connie glanced at Len, who was smothering a chuckle, and even Jenny smiled as they studied it.
‘Don’t forget to put out this birthday card for salvage!’ it warned under the heading of ‘Happy 21st Birthday’.
The girls of the typing pool and canteen had clubbed together for a small bunch of flowers. She had three more cards from the other offices and several from the girls in the packing department.
Connie left at one o’clock, wondering if Clint would be sitting in his truck by the gates. But the yard was empty. As usual she hurried, intending to catch the bus to Gran’s and be home in time for tea. Kevin and Sylvie had promised to be there. And Olive had asked Nan and Lofty to come as well. Connie would have liked a party, it was her twenty-first after all, but no one had suggested it.
When she arrived at Nan’s, Lucky was busy playing with his train. She thought of Vic as she helped him push it over the lino. Her twenty-first and the man she loved could be anywhere in the world by now. Still, at least his letter had arrived in time.
‘Going out anywhere tonight?’ Nan enquired as she brought in Lucky’s coat and threaded his arms through the sleeves.
‘No, Mum’s made a cake though. You coming along to share it?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Connie held Lucky’s hand as they walked to the door. ‘See you later, then.’
‘Yes – oh, and happy birthday, love.’
‘Thanks, Nan.’
Olive and Ebbie were out when she got in. ‘Well, it looks as though it’s just you and me.’ She smiled as she gathered Lucky in her arms. ‘We’ll catch the bus over to Gran’s, shall we?’
‘Gran’s!’ Lucky exclaimed excitedly.
Connie gave him a big kiss. ‘We’ll see Doris and baby Lawrence too.’
They set off and caught the bus at the end of the road. She hoped Pat was feeling better. She hadn’t set foot in the street since the birth of the baby. It would be lovely if they could celebrate her birthday by walking up the road with the pram and the two kids. They could even stop for a drink at the café. But when they arrived at Pat’s, Laurie was home.
He put his arms around Connie and hugged her. There were tears in his eyes. ‘It’s good to see you, girl. And Lucky, blimey, haven’t you grown?’ He patted Lucky’s cheek. ‘You’re a handsome lad, you are, chum.’
‘Have you got leave, Laurie?’ Connie asked as she hung their coats and gas masks on the hall-stand.
He nodded. ‘Two days. But it’s better than nothing. I’ve been trying to get a smile out of Pat, but she’s not her old self. We always wanted a big family and now it seems that’s never going to happen. For me it’s not such a big thing, as Pat and the kids we’ve got is enough for me. But for a woman as young as Pat, it’s a bitter pill to swallow.’
‘It’s early days yet, Laurie, she needs time to recover her health.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, course. Maybe she’ll cheer up when she sees you.’
They went into the front room, where Gran was sitting with little Lawrence in her arms. He was bawling louder than the kettle whistling in the kitchen and Doris was in tears. Pat looked distressed as she tried to comfort her little girl.
‘None of us had any sleep last night,’ she complained to Connie. ‘I don’t know if he’s in pain with his foot or if he’s just hungry.’
‘Has he been fed?’
‘Yes, just this minute.’
Laurie shook his head. ‘You’re worrying too much, love.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Pat replied on the verge of tears. ‘You don’t understand. You’re away all the time.’
Connie took the baby from Gran, who retreated out to the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you and Laurie take Doris out for a walk?’ Connie suggested as she rocked Lawrence. ‘It’s a lovely afternoon. The fresh air will do you good.’
>
Ten minutes later Connie had rocked Lawrence off to sleep in the pram. Gran was taking forty winks in her bedroom and the house was quiet again.
Connie turned her attention to the pile of nappies and dirty rompers in a basket by the boiler. She would have them hanging on the rack all smelling nice by the time Pat and Laurie returned. No one had remembered it was her birthday, though. But did it matter?
Connie couldn’t help feeling a little neglected as she rolled up her sleeves and began the washing.
When she got home at five o’clock, her mother had made a real cake. The sponge had two small candles stuck in the top and a paper fringe tied around it. A carrot had been diced up to read, ‘Happy 21st’.
‘It’s lovely, Mum,’ Connie said as her mother lowered the plate to the front room table.
‘Happy birthday, Constance.’ Her mum and dad kissed her, then sat down.
‘’Appy, ’appy,’ warbled Lucky, climbing on to the chair and poking his finger in the sponge.
‘What time are Nan and Lofty coming?’ Connie asked, taking Lucky on her lap.
‘We said we’d go down to them,’ her father replied stiffly.
‘Oh.’
Her mother stood up. ‘Let’s go and spruce ourselves up, dear,’ Olive suggested to Connie. ‘Put on something nice. It is your twenty-first after all.’
Yes, but it doesn’t feel much like it, Connie thought as they went upstairs.
‘You two look nice,’ her father greeted them when they returned.
Lucky flung his arms around her. ‘Con-Con, birfday!’ He pushed his head through the folds of her soft blue summer dress and pulled her round and round, making them laugh.
At six o’clock they all walked down to number eighteen. ‘Anyone home?’ Ebbie called as he pushed open Nan’s front door.
No one replied. They all stood in the hall, gazing at the closed front-room door.
‘We might as well go in,’ Olive said. ‘Open the door, dear.’
Connie turned the handle. ‘Happy twenty-first!’ everyone shouted as a multitude surged forward to greet them.
