‘Fiddle-de-dee,’ said Poppy and drank more soup.
There was a short silence and then Jessie said, ‘All, the same, how is she?’
‘Oh, damned irritating!’ Poppy burst out and put down her spoon with a little clatter. ‘She does nothing but work and work. Swotting for exams and so forth, I know, but all the same – ’
‘Won’t talk, huh?’ Jessie said sympathetically.
‘The proverbial oyster,’ Poppy said with some bitterness. ‘But I’m not as silly as she thinks. It’s that wretched Hamish who’s upsetting her.’
‘You think it’s serious then?’ Jessie looked almost comically dismayed. ‘He’s not right for our little – our Robin.’
‘Who can say who’s right for anyone? All I know is that something happened at the party to upset her over him and ever since there’ve been all sorts of problems. I talked to Chick and she was unwilling to gossip – ’
‘Nice girl, that Chick,’ Jessie said and reached for a roll and pushed the plate towards Poppy. ‘I always say you can tell what people are like from their friends and that Chick proves what a lovely girl our Robin is.’
Poppy had to laugh. ‘Darling Jessie, does everything have to revolve around you and yours this way?’
Jessie looked surprised. ‘Of course!’
‘Well, I suppose – anyway, Chick said that it was because Chloe was making a pest of herself.’
Jessie looked dark then. ‘Chloe makes a lot of trouble for all sorts of people. Not just now, either. Always did – ’
‘We won’t talk about that, Jessie,’ Poppy said firmly, and for a moment there was a chill between them inhabited by Bernie. ‘All I know is she seems to be seeing something of Hamish and – ’
‘And Robin’s annoyed. What girl wouldn’t be?’ Jessie got to her feet and went to fetch the inevitable pot of tea and with it a plate of her apple strudel. ‘It doesn’t mean a lot. It doesn’t mean she wants to make it a serious thing.’
‘I wish I could be so sure,’ Poppy said, almost absently, and Jessie looked at her and smiled in satisfaction.
‘So you don’t think he’s right for Robin, either.’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Poppy said. ‘She’s an adult now, for good or ill, and she has to make her own choices.’ But she was uneasy and it showed.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have made so free with my invitations to your party,’ Jessie said after a while and Poppy made a face.
‘Mildred’s party as much as mine, and yes, you’re right. Maybe you shouldn’t have. But since when did you ever stop to think when you wanted to invite people anywhere? Especially when the food’s in your department? No, don’t blame yourself, love. This would have happened anyway.’
She got to her feet and stretched. ‘Time I was going home. I’ll be at Poppy’s tomorrow at the usual time. With a bit of luck Minnie’ll be back, and that should help. But if you can spare a pair of waiters’ hands I’d be grateful. Is Jessie’s staff doing all right?’
‘Touch wood. No one off at all. I’ll send old Ivor, if you’re pushed. Give me a ring.’
‘I’ll do that –’ Poppy began to shrug herself into her coat and searched her pockets for gloves and scarf and Jessie watched her and then said awkwardly, ‘You need some more stuff for the canteen?’
Poppy had her head down as she fixed her scarf, and her hands stopped moving for a moment but she didn’t look up and then went on with what she was doing.
‘No thanks,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ve managed to make an arrangement with the M of F. They’ve agreed to send me the same supplies they’re giving the British restaurants. So we’re managing fine – ’
‘I can get you fish,’ Jessie said. ‘There’s no black market in fish. Some kippers, maybe, or salmon? They’d like that, your firefighters and wardens – ’
‘No doubt,’ Poppy said and now she did look at Jessie. ‘But I wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Jessie, but it was bad enough I accepted things that once. It helped at the time and I won’t deny it, but I felt dreadful about it and still do. Thank heavens I’ve got enough now not to need to take anything from – from you.’
‘From Bernie you mean,’ Jessie said flatly. ‘Oh, Poppy, I wish you didn’t hate him so!’
Poppy shook her head. ‘It’s not as simple as that, though, is it Jessie? I’m not just being awkward. It’s not like Robin finding Chloe so tiresome. It’s that Bernie is bad news. He treats you abominably and always has – ’
‘He does not!’ Jessie flared. ‘He’s a good son to me – ’
‘When it suits him, darling,’ Poppy said gently. ‘When it suits him because he wants to use you in some way, he’s all over you. But when all is well with him, do you hear a word? You know you don’t. That’s why I won’t get involved with him. He’s a – ’
Jessie was on her feet, her face red. ‘It’s enough,’ she said and her voice was husky. ‘It’s enough already. I should know better than to even ask. Listen, take care of yourself on the way home. Get a taxi if you can. At least it’s quiet tonight. No sirens – ’
‘Maybe they’re sick of it. Maybe the raids are going to stop –’ Poppy said, glad to change the subject, and headed for the door. ‘Who knows?’
‘Who knows indeed,’ Jessie said grimly and then reached for the light switch. ‘Here. I’ll turn off so I can come and see you off the premises on your way – ’
‘Thanks,’ Poppy said, knowing the old lady needed to make the gesture. She hated arguing with her aunt as much as Jessie hated crossing swords with her; and the only time they ever did was when Bernie came into the picture. Poppy had seen nothing of him since his reappearance last autumn, but she was very aware of the fact that he was still around and still using the cellars here at Cable Street for his own dubious purposes.
Poppy had actually wondered what would happen if she turned informer and directed the police to the cellars. That would deal with Bernie in a very satisfying manner, but what would it do to Jessie? And what would it to do the business? Possibly the police wouldn’t believe that the whole thing was Bernie’s doing. They’d be sure to think that Jessie and Poppy themselves had benefited; and hadn’t she been stupid enough once actually to accept goods from Bernie via Jessie? The fact that it had been only once and that she had been in dire need for her firemen and wardens was beside the point. The police would be sure to see the worst side of it all. No, she couldn’t dispose of the hateful Bernie that way, no matter what. But she could pray and often did that he would disappear again out of their lives as suddenly as he had returned to them.
Outside the street was bitterly cold, and she hugged her gloved hands under her arms to protect them from it, and waited a moment till her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and could see the faint clouds of her own breath steaming in the bitter air.
‘I’ll be sure to get a taxi at Aldgate,’ she said. ‘Or a train. One or the other. Goodnight, darling. Speak to you in the morning –’ And she kissed Jessie and then went, leaving the old woman to lock herself back inside and to brood over her son. Poppy knew that she did that, knew she spent more time thinking about him and worrying over him than he could ever have deserved, and it made her bitterly angry. Jessie was worth more than that, and once again she marvelled that so warm and good a woman could have reared so unpleasant a son.
A thought that made her think of her own mothering. She walked quickly through the dark streets, knowing almost by instinct where the kerbs were, and where the dangers might be, the faint light of her pocket torch bobbing ahead of her (and heaven knew where she’d next get any number eight batteries for it; they were like gold dust these days) and thought of her children.
Lee seemed to be the only happy one, or at least contented one. She wrote long solemn letters about her schoolwork and her life on the farm with Goosey’s nephew and his wife and in the village where she had made enough friends to fill page after page with her round writing of accounts of their exploits and activities. She ended each letter by
telling her mother to take care of herself and make sure she kept out of the way of the bombs and added rows of kisses that straggled off the page. Lovely warm comforting letters, Lee’s were.
Joshy’s weren’t. He poured out his misery and his homesickness in spidery writing well illustrated with blots and exaggerated accounts of his anguish. He would tell her he didn’t get enough to eat, which Poppy knew to be untrue, for one of the things that Lee’s letters tended to include was detailed accounts of their meals; all of which, as far as Poppy could tell, were embellished with quantities of the sorts of treats that only farmers could possibly enjoy these days. Eggs seemed to be plentiful and so far they ate only butter at the farm’s kitchen table, and scorned margarine. So Poppy had written back to assure Joshy that she wasn’t worried about how much he ate, at which he’d changed tack and wrote piteously about his bad dreams and sleepless nights. Poppy had phoned the farm then, taking ages to get through and had been greeted with clucking and some laughter by Goosey’s nephew.
‘That lad?’ he burred at her. ‘That little lad sleeps right fit to bust hisself and there’s the truth of it. I’m late to bed and early up and he’s always spark out when I look in on him. Believe me, Mrs Poppy, the lad’s a-teasing of you. He’s as happy as a sandboy most of the time. It’s only when he has to go to school on Fridays when they do music he gets upset – ’
‘Music?’ Poppy said then, remembering Mildred’s words. ‘Music upsets him?’
‘He reckons Miss Summers don’t know so much as he does about it,’ the voice said and laughed fatly. ‘And he’s right. She doesn’t. Other than that, he ain’t got no cause to complain. He’s as brown as a nut and getting that chubby – he’ll need new trousers he will, any minute now. An’ shoes and underwear, the missus says – ’
So Poppy had sent new clothes in her next parcel and at the last moment had collected the trumpet her mother had told her of from the attics at Leinster Terrace, and sent it as well, together with a request to Mr Gosling to seek out a teacher in Norwich who might be able to help Joshy with it. Maybe, she told herself now, as she reached the main road and could at last glimpse the dim glow across it that showed where the entrance to the underground station was, maybe that would help him settle better. It would be dreadful if he ran away again –
And then she thought about Robin and felt the black curtain come down over her. She loved all her children with an equal passion, but it could not be denied that there had always been and always would be a special emotion saved for Robin. She was the child of her first and deepest love, as well as her firstborn, so how could it be otherwise? And to see Robin as miserable as she now undoubtedly was was sometimes more than she could bear. It made her so angry that there were times that she could have shouted aloud her fury, but she dared not, knowing she would direct it wrongly, at Robin herself. The girl was unhappy enough without being blamed as the author of her own troubles, though in truth that was how Poppy saw it. To fall in love with someone who allowed himself to be beguiled by someone like Chloe – how could she be so silly? And even as she thought about that she knew how unjust she was being, for how could she help falling in love, poor child? How could anyone? And she thought confusedly of Bobby who had died before his daughter had been born, and of David who had been for Robin the best father any girl could have wanted and felt her eyes fill with tears, and then sniffed them away angrily, knowing them to be born as much of her fatigue as her concern over her children. It really was a miserable business being Poppy Deveen at the moment, she told herself drearily as at last she reached the station and saw on the board that there was another train still expected to run to the West End, and plunged gratefully down to pick her way past the sleeping shelterers to wait for it. Once she got home she’d be fine, she promised herself. There’d be peace and comfort there and a chance to sleep away her miseries.
But it wasn’t to be so. She came in to find not the half-lit silence she expected but the hall light on and the wireless playing, muffled, from the kitchen, and alarmed, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen to see what was wrong. For Goosey to be up at this hour there had to be something badly amiss. Or was it David? Had he perhaps come home after all? And she was furious with herself for not being here if he had.
But it was just Goosey sitting there asleep in her chair, while the wireless on the dresser played organ music by Sandy McPherson, and Poppy stood at the top of the steps looking down at the familiar old kitchen with its polished black range and its rag rug and tried to find the sense of security and comfort in it that she usually did, and couldn’t, for she was filled with anxiety. Why on earth was Goosey sitting up so late? It was now past midnight –
She woke her more sharply than she meant to and the old woman dragged herself out of her sleep in response to Poppy’s hand shaking her arm and stared at her with confused milky eyes, bewildered and frightened; and then her expression cleared and she was Goosey again, dear familiar old Goosey.
‘Well, there you are, Mrs Poppy – I thought you’d be back long before this, but there, with these dratted raids and that there canteen o’ yours who can know what’s what? So I thought I’d better just sit here and wait for you and not just leave the letter for you – ’
‘What letter?’ Poppy could have shaken her again, she was so frustrated, but she controlled her impulse and said again more gently, ‘What letter, Goosey?’
‘Mr David’s.’ The old woman hauled herself out of her chair and went padding across the room to the dresser, and then Poppy saw it and darted in front of her to pick up the big white envelope that was leaning against the blue and white willow pattern teapot, and had it open and the pages smoothed out even before Goosey had reached the dresser herself.
‘Darling,’ she read. ‘I hoped you’d be home in time for me to say a proper goodbye, but I couldn’t wait any longer. The thing is, they want me to cover a convoy of merchantmen from the US. Don’t panic – they’re not all sinking by any means. And I’ll be very carefully looked after. Foreign correspondents tend to be coddled – dinner with the captain and all that – so there’s no need to fret yourself. The trip starts in Boston and takes the route that runs north of Ireland to Liverpool. It’s well accompanied – corvettes, cruisers, the lot. (Is that info me indulging in ‘Careless talk’? Of course not – you won’t tell Adolf, will you?) Anyway, it may take a while. I go to Liverpool tonight and they’re taking me out to meet the convoy on one of their smaller corvettes or whatever they call them. By the time I get back I’ll be deeply knowledgeable about nautical terms, take it from me. Don’t worry, darling, but it will take time – I may have to go further than at present is planned, and that means I could be away as much as four weeks. I’ve made sure that the Admiralty will have all the information about where we are at all times (to the best of my ability, that is!) so don’t worry, you’ll get news of me as often as possible. But remember that “often as possible” could turn out to be hardly at all. They’re fighting this war as best they can and putting things in order of priority, and let’s face it sweetheart, our billets doux aren’t exactly top priority. But you are with me and always will be and I’ll be thinking of you. This could be the best piece of reporting I’ve done yet, you know that? Take care, sweetheart, I love you absolutely ever so much all the time. D.’
She put the letter back in its envelope carefully and lifted her head and looked at old Goosey who was making the inevitable pot of tea from the kettle which had been sitting hissing quietly to itself on the range.
‘It’s all right, Goosey,’ she said and was enormously pleased with herself, for her voice was as steady as it normally was. ‘Mr David’s had to go on a special job and he’ll be away a while – ’
‘How long a while?’ Goosey said bluntly, still bent over the kettle, her plait of thin grey hair flopping over her shoulder to make her look like a very elderly baby. ‘And where?’
‘Maybe a month or so,’ Poppy said, and was still steady. ‘As to where –’ And she look
ed down at the envelope in her hand and then folded it carefully and put it in her pocket. ‘To sea, Goosey,’ she said and this time her voice shook a little. ‘He’s going with an American food convoy, on the North Atlantic run – ’
And then she turned and went upstairs, leaving Goosey alone with her tea, unable to stay another moment. Because she knew there were tears of desperate fear in her own eyes, and greatly suspected they’d be in Goosey’s too. And she couldn’t have borne to see them.
21
Christmas came and went in a flurry of activity, but not much fun. At the hospital great efforts were made to provide the patients with a little Christmas cheer, with boxes of last year’s decorations being dug out of ward cupboards and arranged hastily on battered walls, and a measure of beer provided for every adult male patient and a glass of sherry for every woman. The children were lavished with sweets from staff and from parents, so they had a lovely time making themselves thoroughly sick, and by the end of Boxing Day Robin and Chick, like most of the nursing staff, were exhausted and thoroughly out of temper with the whole notion of Yuletide.
‘As if there wasn’t enough to do without all this!’ Chick said disgustedly on the Sunday after Christmas, looking at the rows of drunks sporting assorted examples of battered anatomy who filled the waiting hall benches in Casualty. ‘It’s odds on they’ll start raiding us again tonight – it hasn’t been that much of a respite, Christmas or not – and the last thing we want is boozers getting in the way.’
‘You wouldn’t mind so much if you weren’t tired out,’ Robin said and lifted her head from the pile of mackintoshes she was scrubbing. Staff Nurse Meek was still being as hateful as she knew how to be to Robin and Hamish, and Robin consequently spent more of her time up to her elbows in dirty water than any other nurse. ‘What time did you get to bed today?’
Chick was evasive. ‘Early enough,’ and went on spreading kaolin on lint to make the antiphlogistine poultices that the department used in such vast amounts for the treatment of infected wounds and boils. ‘God, I hate this job. It’s like putty, this stuff, and the smell of it – ’
Blitz - Book 4 of the Poppy Chronicles Page 21
