‘You must have known for days,’ she whispered, her voice scraped and raw.
Ruby shook her head and crept into the kitchen, bringing tea and bread with honey.
‘Con must have known. Why didn’t he tell us?’
‘I don’t know. He said he didn’t know how to.’
Sadie turned her face away, and when Sergeant Mayfield arrived later that day, shaking the water from his raincoat and telling them that Con had left the hospital, Sadie’s sallow face had twisted with envy.
‘Can I see him now?’ Ruby asked.
‘He’s under guard.’
‘When he comes back to the camp?’
Sergeant Mayfield stared into the cup of tea she’d made for him and shook his head. ‘He won’t come back to camp. Con’s to be transferred to a US military jail, and then be shipped back to the US and out of the army.’
After the sergeant left she’d cried, but Sadie didn’t sympathise.
‘At least he’s alive,’ she said, ‘and in a few months he could write, and when the war’s over – who knows.’
The next time Sergeant Mayfield called, it was to return the books that Mrs Bland had lent to Con, and Ruby took him to meet the old lady.
‘My goodness, ma’am,’ he said, gazing around the bookshelves in the tiny room, ‘this is a truly wonderful collection.’
‘You must avail yourself as often as you like, Sergeant Mayfield,’ Mrs Bland said. ‘I’m delighted to meet a fellow bibliophile, and I know how much you have contributed to Con’s education.’
Sergeant Mayfield looked up from the book he was examining. ‘Do you think we were right, ma’am? All that Con really wanted when he came out here was adventure. He wanted to be a soldier and fight in Europe.’
‘But you wouldn’t have left the young man in ignorance of his own situation and that of his people and of how to make sense of his experience here? Sergeant, your example gave him a model, a template; you showed him how important it was to teach others what you know. Books must be read, and the reader then must decide for themselves what to do with that knowledge.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I guess so.’
Ruby turned the pages of the books that Con had been reading. She’d imagined that they would be novels, but instead she found that most of the tissue-thin pages were covered with tight lines of text she found difficult to read. She examined the spines.
‘What’s a Jacobin?’ she asked.
‘I think you, too, Ruby, would benefit from a more challenging diet,’ Mrs Bland said, ‘and when I come back, I’ll draw up a list. Some history, possibly, to back up the classics you’ve enjoyed.’
The next evening after work, she went with her granddad to Auntie Maud’s to say prayers for Uncle Joe. When they arrived, Johnny was already there with Bert Lyons, who’d brought a couple of bottles of whisky from the pub, along with glasses, trays and extra teacups. Ruby helped him set out the trays in the scullery and boiled the kettle ready for the tea. From the window, she could see that the door of one of the toilets in the yard had been replaced by a large Union Jack.
‘We took the petty door off to lay poor Joe out,’ Bert said, following her gaze. ‘Table wasn’t big enough. It’s just the job, propped on trestles from the pub and covered with a sheet. Folk quite often borrow the flag for a laying out, but usually to cover the coffin, if the bloke’s been in the army. We use it at the pub to cover the tables for prize-giving for the bowling league and such. We’ve taken Maud’s table next door, until after the funeral. She was concerned folk would be put out, when they found we’d taken the door off the petty. I told her there was still two they could use, but she wasn’t happy. Then Johnny came up with the idea of using the flag, since it was big enough to cover the door hole, and like he says, if you’re in there, you’ll get plenty of warning. Tha’ll not be startled, as folk will have to salute, an’ that’ll give um time to say, if it’s occupied.’
The coffin took up most of the space in the living room. Although it was still daylight outside, the curtains had been drawn and the room was lit by candles. Auntie Maud sat by Joe’s head. When the neighbours began to arrive, they each went up to speak to her and to pat Joe’s folded hands. Then they took a seat along the wall, accepting a cup of tea from Ruby’s tray, or a glass of whisky from Bert’s. By the time Father O’ Flynn arrived to say prayers, the house was full. Johnny opened the door, in order that the people in the street outside could join in the responses to the rosary.
Ruby had expected to see Jenny and Sadie with the rest of the mourners, but they didn’t arrive. Next day, the day of the funeral, Jenny left for work as usual, leaving Sadie in bed and Granddad’s breakfast on the table. The church was crowded, the organ played softly and she and Granddad walked behind the coffin with Maud. Outside in the churchyard, Father O’Flynn swung the incense, and when Joe was lowered into the earth, Maud closed her eyes. Bert had prepared a ham tea in the pub. Her granddad and Maud sat together, and in the late afternoon when everyone began leaving, they stood side by side and shook hands with the mourners as they left.
‘You and Auntie Maud head off back home, Ruby love,’ Granddad said. ‘I’ll just need to settle up with Bert. Johnny’s coming with us; I need a hand to get that door back on its hinges and to carry the table in from next door.’
Outside the sky was a clear, deep blue. Auntie Maud and Johnny walked in front of her arm in arm; their funeral clothes – her dress the colour of dry shingle and his black suit – looked incongruous in the dazzling light. The curtains were still drawn in Maud’s little house, and in the half-light the dress became ghostly. As she’d walked through the door, Maud had given a little cry; the table and chairs were back in their places, the two wooden trestles stood against the wall with the flag folded neatly on top of them, and when they pulled back the curtains, the sunshine crept over the newly starched tablecloth and the freshly mopped floor. Maud sat down heavily in her usual place by the table and gazed around the room. Johnny hovered by the door, peering out at the street looking for Granddad, and Ruby sat down opposite her auntie. She would have liked to take her hand, but instead she asked if she should make a pot of tea. Then, as if waking from a dream, Maud got up and went upstairs.
‘She’ll have gone to change out of her good things,’ Johnny said, and went to put the kettle on.
By the time Granddad arrived, the tea was ready. Maud, dressed in her everyday skirt and blouse, came down and poured out some tea for each of them in some pretty cups that Ruby hadn’t seen before; then Granddad added a tot of whisky and they drank a toast to Joe.
A few days after Joe’s funeral, Sergeant Mayfield arrived at the cottage one evening with a book under his arm.
‘I wanted to return this to Mrs Bland,’ he said, ‘but there isn’t anyone at home.’
‘She’s away at her sister’s,’ Ruby said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I’ll give it to her if you like. We don’t know when she’s coming back. She could be away some time; she took the cat with her.’
‘I was glad of the loan. I’m pretty short of reading materials, except for back numbers of some newspapers.’
The house was quiet. Jenny and Sadie were at work, and she and Granddad were sitting in the garden. The sergeant joined them on the bench. He sat for a while smoking with Granddad and talked about his home in the South, describing the cotton fields and the smell of honeysuckle on summer mornings.
‘I have a message for you all from Con,’ he said.
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No. I got the message off a friend. I’m to tell you that he knows how much he owes Henry and Johnny and your priest and that he’ll never forget you all. I wanted to come and tell you. I’ll be getting my orders any day now.’
‘You’re going as well?’ Henry asked.
Sergeant Mayfield smiled and drew the cigarette smoke deep into his lungs. ‘There’s been big changes at the camp, though I’m not sure any of the MPs will be punished. Some of them were moved out, but I’m p
retty certain that will be the end of it. The rest of our guys, the ones involved, got moved out straight away. Some were sent to other camps and some will be given jail. Holt was arrested, and Wes was moved out a few days ago. I don’t know where. Don’t know where I’ll be sent either, but if I were to guess, I’d say the south, someplace near the coast or an airbase. The word is most of the guys – even those who’ll be given jail – won’t serve the whole of their sentences. They’ll be released, once everything dies down, perhaps in a year or so, we don’t really know.’
‘What about Con?’
‘I guess he’ll be on a ship home by now. They didn’t rightly know what to do with him. Once in the US, he’ll be discharged and sent to a correctional facility in New York. I understand that’s because he lied about his age when he enlisted. I know he found … I know all the men found the folks round here opened their eyes. We didn’t expect such a welcome.’
Granddad sent Ruby inside to get the bottle of Irish whiskey left over from Frank and Lou’s wedding. He and the sergeant drank a toast to Bo and to the end of the war. Then they walked with him to the gate, and as she watched his jeep disappear into the twilight, Ruby knew she had lost another link to Con.
‘Do you think Con will write?’ she asked Granddad, as she helped him check the hens.
‘I don’t know, love, it might not be allowed. Best not to count on it too much.’
When Ruby came home from work the next day, a young brindled spaniel trotted along the front-garden path to meet her.
‘Somebody tied the poor little bugger up to the rails,’ Granddad said, appearing around the side of the cottage. ‘Take him in through the front, Ruby, our Monty isn’t too suited. I thought we could do with a dog. From next Monday, I’ll have linesman duties. I’ll be on me own, walking up and down the line, and he’ll be company. Won’t you, lad?’ Granddad said, following them into the house and easing himself into his armchair. The dog, as if understanding what was needed, immediately sat down at his feet and allowed his ears to be tickled. ‘I’ve called him Brag. Same as my dad’s old dog. He’ll need a bowl and a dish for his water. See if you can find him a biscuit or two, will you, or a nice bone. What do you say to that, Brag me lad?’
Ruby went into the kitchen and opened the biscuit tin. Before Jenny found the money in her dress pocket and Granddad heard about Rollo and the attack, he wouldn’t have dared to bring a dog home, no matter how badly it had been treated. At the sight of a strange dog in the cottage, Jenny would have been furious and ordered him to get rid of it, but now Grandma Jenny didn’t scold him as she used to. Other things had changed as well: now he didn’t hide the fact that he gave Maud vegetables from the garden, and now he went to the pub with Johnny whenever he liked. At first, she’d felt glad that Granddad was angry with Jenny for the way she’d deceived him. Jenny had been mean to her and to Johnny and she deserved it. For a while, she’d enjoyed the relief from Jenny’s sharp tongue, but Granddad needed someone to keep him in check, and now the cottage felt strange without Jenny scolding everyone.
‘Is that all you could find?’ Granddad said, when she returned with two broken biscuits. ‘We’ll have to do better than that, laddie, won’t we? I’ll need you to help me, Ruby. He’ll need taking out, looking after, walking and such, on the days he doesn’t come with me. This breed needs plenty of exercise.’
On his first night, Brag kept them awake with his whining. When Ruby came down next morning he’d piddled in the kitchen, but as Granddad pointed out in Brag’s defence, the puddle was by the back door. Sadie showed little interest in the new member of the family, except to bawl at him to be quiet, and Jenny ignored him completely, behaving as though there wasn’t an animal under the table at breakfast, begging for crusts and wagging its tail.
On the second night when he began to cry, Ruby carried him upstairs to her room, where he settled contentedly at the foot of her bed. After tea she took him for a walk by the river; she’d been down there only once since Con’s arrest, and that had been to find her shoes. Now, glad to escape the silent house, Ruby followed the paths she’d wandered with Con, remembering as she walked by each tree the things they’d talked about and how pretty everything had looked when they’d been there together. As Brag sniffed and investigated his new territory, she stretched out on the soft grass, trying to imagine the feel of Con’s tunic under her head and the buttery, spicy smell of his skin in the hot sun. When the dog returned, he gave her face an impatient, sloppy lick that made her giggle. She got up, and followed his waggy tail through the wood. Brag was foraging under a tree not far from the hut when he found it; the rope was heavy with rain. Ruby picked it up. It coiled around her arm and soaked her fingers as – tracing the twists and spirals they would have put around his neck – she said a silent prayer that Con was safe.
When they got back, her granddad was sitting on the bench against the cottage wall, swatting and cursing at the frantic midges around his head. In the garden, the plants drooped, pressed down by the weight of a threatening storm, and over in the west, the sky was the colour of rabbit fur.
‘I reckon there’s rain on the way,’ he said. ‘Good thing too. Garden could do with a good deggin’ and this heat isn’t healthy.’
‘It was even hot by the river,’ Ruby said. ‘Look at the dog, how he’s panting. I’ll take him in and get him a drink.’
‘I’d not go in yet, lass,’ he said, patting the dog. ‘There’s been a bit of upset. It’s Sadie; she’s joined up. Papers have come through. I suspected as much, and ’appen it’s best. Her mother’s upset. Only to be expected.’
‘When?’
‘Couple of weeks, I would think.’
The couple of weeks stretched to almost six before Sadie’s travel pass arrived. On the night before Sadie left, Ruby knocked on her door.
‘I know you like it,’ she said, handing her two tablets of fern soap wrapped in tissue paper.
‘Thanks,’ Sadie said, turning away and slipping them into her case. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘Are you going out? Last night of freedom, before you join up.’
‘Out? Where to?’ Sadie asked, fastening the clasp on her small brown suitcase and taking out a cigarette. ‘If you went out, you’d notice there’s no one as will even dance with any of us who had a black boyfriend. Not the white GIs, anyway. If I were you, I’d start thinking of moving out as well, once you’re old enough.’
It was true that since Con had been arrested, Ruby didn’t bother to go out. In fact, all she longed for was to sleep. Sleeping was her escape. In her dreams Con was still there, sitting next to her by the river, and sometimes for a moment, she could hear the rippling water and almost reach out and touch him.
The next day Granddad insisted that they all go into town to see Sadie off. The day was blustery; white clouds blew across the sky, each in turn covering and then revealing the sun.
‘I’ll treat you to a cup of tea in the Kardomah,’ he said, as they followed him, clutching on to their hats and holding down their skirts at the corner of each street. Sadie wore a sober navy jacket over a pale-blue dress, her hair pinned up in a neat roll under a shiny straw hat in the same shade of blue. The café was busy, but the waitress found them a place, a high-backed booth near the window. Ruby sat next to her granddad, and looked down the length of the narrow room towards the counter. The hot water hissed in the shiny urns, and the glass cases, that in better times would have held cream cakes, displayed a dejected collection of biscuits and slices of dry-looking tea bread. When the waitress left, Granddad tried to make them laugh, telling jokes about his own training days that they’d all heard him tell before. The tea was served from a silver teapot, along with extra hot water in a white jug that matched the cups and saucers.
Jenny refilled their cups and they drank in silence. In the weeks since Bo’s death, the long hours of shift work meant that Ruby had spent very little time with Sadie or her mother; now, sitting opposite the two women, she could see how they’d both
changed: Sadie was no longer the cheerful girl who would have giggled and made fun of Henry’s stories, and Jenny appeared to have grown smaller, her once-round cheeks now deflated and crinkled under their coating of rouge. She saw Granddad check his pocket watch, and when they’d finished their tea, no one suggested refilling the pot with the hot water for another cup.
They walked two by two along the pavement, Sadie with Jenny in front of them arm in arm. At the station, as they waited for Granddad to get the platform tickets, Ruby gave Sadie a bag of sweets for the journey. For an instant, the old Sadie grinned at her from under the staid little hat.
‘Ruby, the things Mum said about New Year’s Eve, it’s because she knows it was her fault. She was scared that when Henry found out what had happened he would tell her to go, that’s what was at the back of it.’
Then Granddad called to them from the barrier and the moment had gone. The station was busy and he led the way to the far end of the platform where the train was waiting.
‘Do you remember the last time you were here?’ Granddad asked, when Jenny had climbed on board to help Sadie find a seat. ‘There was a young soldier gave us a letter for his girl. I wonder if she ever got it.’
When the train moved off, they waved until it disappeared, looking as any family might do who were sending a daughter off into the services. As they walked back down the main platform towards the barrier, Granddad gave Jenny his hankie and patted her shoulder. Walking along behind them, Ruby saw that the young woman she’d become – reflected repeatedly through the windows of the station’s waiting rooms and bar – had begun to smile.
In the evening, Granddad didn’t go to meet Johnny. Instead, they settled down to listen to the radio as they used to do. The next day, the breeze had dropped and the temperature began to climb. The heat and the long hours made everyone at the factory short-tempered, but in the evenings, Jenny and Granddad were content to sit on the old bench, enjoying the cool air and watching the sun slip out of sight. Over the weeks, the riot was gradually forgotten; now the gossip at the factory wasn’t about the doings at the camp, but the suspected cheating in the weaving sheds.
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